kaileyrose28

[kaileyrose28]

“if you’re sensitive to sounds when sleeping, just use earplugs!” i cannot stress enough that the sensory feeling of having my ears fully blocked AND now being able to hear my own heartbeat and breathing and every other sound that’s happening inside my own body is a million times worse than whatever ambient noise may be keeping me awake

[kaileyrose28]

Older Boys

Note.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ: Older Boys is about an established relationship between Remus and you, someone older then him. It’s the early 80s, who doesn’t go to a house party to get drunk or high or fucked? But it doesn’t exactly go how you’d wanted it to. Well, in the beginning at least. 

18+, this has sexual content, like seriously.

Kinks or fetishes: Dom/sub variables (just in the dynamic position sense), anal prep, anal fingering, mild dirty talk, anal sex, M/M sex, slight age gap but what queer in the 70s/80s didn’t let’s be honest, protected sex. 

It’s pride month, I’m queer and hate JK Rowling so I took her beloved intellect and had him take it up the ass.

8,241 words. Non-magic AU. This has male center pronouns when someone talks about you in third person, male organ centered sex. (cock, dick, stiffy, erection, etc)

The music was smooth—so smooth it felt like something Remus should’ve grown up with instead of the cackling, staticky pop that always felt behind the times. This wasn’t like that. It was mellow, a little funky, with bass vibrating beneath the floorboards and voices that didn’t have to yell to be heard.

It smelled like weed and perfume—powdery, heady, expensive. Warm bodies packed in too close, low lights, a splash of laughter from people who knew they were safe to be loud.

And Remus didn’t belong here.

Not bitterly—not exactly. But he felt like he was in a film, like he’d wandered onto the set and no one had kicked him out.

They were all so easy in their skin—the way they dressed, danced, kissed like it didn’t mean anything and didn’t have to. Like they’d done this again and again because that was just what adults did.

This was a proper party. No one throwing up from nicked vodka, no one boasting about their first shag in a way that made it obvious they had no idea what they were doing.

These were uni students. The real kind. Ones who knew about joints that didn’t burn too fast. Ones who drank bourbon like it was beer.

And Remus?

He’d spent seven years watching James snog the life out of anyone with a mouth and Sirius light things on fire for fun. His only reference was that kind of party. This one felt like another planet.

But you—fuck, you fit here like you’d been carved from this world.

People knew you. Touched your shoulder, leaned in to grin and say things he couldn’t hear. They didn’t really talk, not properly. But they knew of you. And it was enough.

And Remus watched, sitting on your lap, fingers curled in your shirt because it was the only thing grounding him.

Your hand toyed with his collar, lazy, like instinct—touch him so he doesn’t float too far. Hold him close enough that he doesn’t look like he might bolt.

He probably looked like he might bolt.

The drink in his hand was half-warm now. Something dark and sweet and expensive, poured for him by someone with winged eyeliner and gold bangles. She’d smiled like she knew you and had decided he was safe because of it.

But she didn’t know him.

None of them did.

Remus was just some kid who followed you in. Someone’s boyfriend, a plus-one, a tagalong.

Except you didn’t treat him like one.

Your arm was around him like it belonged there. Not staking a claim, not really—just comfortable. Like he was.

But he didn’t know how to sit still on you. Not in a place like this, where everyone else had already passed through whatever awkward phase he was still fighting through. He was 18 and brand new to everything like this, and you were 24 and carved out of marble.

Sharp nose, sharp eyes, sharp everything.

Even your touch was sharp. Assured. Like there was no doubt he wanted to be here. That he was good enough to be here.

Remus didn’t think he was. But maybe if he pretended hard enough, it’d stop showing on his face.

The music shifted. Someone stood to dance, and someone else joined, hips moving like they’d been trained to. He watched them, envied how unafraid they looked.

He pressed closer to you without meaning to. Your knee shifted beneath him, and he breathed in the scent of you—smoke, aftershave, a little leather. Always something masculine, clean, like you knew how you smelled and had done it on purpose.

You always did things on purpose.

Remus glanced at your face. You were watching the room, relaxed, but not unaware. You never really were. There was always calculation in your eyes, even if your mouth was easy, even if your body said, “I’m just here for the ride.”

You weren’t.

And yet you still had him folded into your chest, legs spread wide to make space for him, like Remus was something you’d brought and didn’t mind showing off.

Like he wasn’t out of place at all.

Remus let his head rest against your jaw and closed his eyes for a second. Just a second. Let the music thrum beneath his ribs, let the warmth of you wrap around him.

Let himself pretend, for just a little bit, that he belonged.

Maybe, if you kept looking at him like that, he’d start to believe it.

You tipped your head back on the couch after a moment, when someone approached from behind, probably wanting to chat. 

You didn’t know everyone here, not by name at least but you’ve probably met half of them some way. You partied a lot more when you were younger, bit of a whore. 

But what queer man in the late seventies—’84 now—wasn’t? 

Your fingers traced along the collar of Remus’ shirt still, even as your eyes turned to look at the person who approached only to go stock still. Your grasp on him tightened a bit and you straightened up from your relaxed lean back. 

Your arms moved to drape around his waist instead of the lazy touch it’d been. 

“So, a new plaything, yeah? Not to say I’m surprised.” Rennay’s voice rings over the music, just loud enough to be heard over it. Your jaw ticks, and you resolutely look away from her. 

It’s the shittiest part of living in the same town; ghosts sometimes reappear to haunt again. 

The change was subtle, but Remus felt it.

That easy slouch, the lazy grip, disappearing in an instant.

He looked up, expecting a stranger. A random interruption, maybe someone selling drugs, maybe something worse.

Instead, it was a girl.

Older than him, though likely younger than you. Early twenties at most, maybe, with shiny dark hair like a raven’s wing. She had sharp eyes, a sharper tongue. 

A wicked sort of beauty that might’ve been pretty if she hadn’t leaned so hard into striking.

You hadn’t been told she’d be here, but you also didn’t expect to be. You didn’t keep tabs on the woman, didn’t care to. Until now. 

And you sort of wish you’d kept track of where she’d turn up because there’s no part of you that ever wanted to see her ever again. 

You shifted, gently moving Remus to stand up first so you could get up. You’re not going to let her subject him to the same treatment you’d gotten from her years ago. 

There’s no point when you’re a capable adult now, with priorities instead of way too much recklessness. 

“Piss off.” The words are sharp coming out of you, warning. 

Your hands land on Remus’ hips after standing to your feet, keeping him close to you as you move the both of you away from the sofa—not moving fast like you’d prefer because you don’t want to hurt him doing that.

I followed him off of the couch, but the distance was *minimal*. His stance, like he was shielding me. His hand, gripping tight to my waist. 

You were protective. Not the aggressive, “stay away from what’s mine” way—the subtle, effortless way.

As if it was second-nature.

Your body was solid, shoulders like a wall. Remus knew, instinctively, that you didn’t think he needed it.

This was for your own comfort.

Remus watched the girl’s face, still plastered with a sly sort of smirk. She followed the two of you.

“Don’t be like that,” she said. “You didn’t even stop to say hello.”

Your jaw clenched at that, at the way she just followed. You hadn’t expected her to give up exactly, but you just wished she’d get shoulder checked or something and you could lose her. 

You kept him in front of your body, so he didn’t get bumped by people as you kept walking for the door. 

You never really left parties without saying bye to your mates, but this wasn’t exactly a situation you wanted to spend more time than necessary in. 

Not with Remus there, not when you’re not exactly stable enough to stand up for yourself and him at the same time. Not when you feel small.

“Take a hint, Rennay. Usually that means someone doesn’t want to fuckin’ talk to you.” You spit the words out, arm wrapping around your boyfriends waist to guide him through people, elbow out so it was bumped into instead of him. 

Your focus split on quite a few things. 

Rennay had no hint of shame on her face. A small laugh left her instead, a pretty little sound that held just a hint of mockery.

She leaned around your shoulder, getting a proper look at Remus. He stiffened automatically at being the subject of her glare.

And her face lit with recognition.

“You look familiar,” she said to him, not hiding the once-over she gave him. “What’s your name again, sweetheart?”

It barely took you any time to respond to the light touch on your shoulder of her leaning around it, and the tightness that hit your chest at the idea of her even looking at Remus let alone talking to him. 

You released him for a moment, shoving her back by the shoulder touching yours. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” The words leave in a harsh, cold snap. Your hand retracted like you didn’t even want to touch her, your arm went back around his waist—tugging him closer. 

You weren’t comfortable with this—never was, but more so now that she’d turned focus. 

“You look at him, talk to him, even breathe in his direction, I will put you out on your arse, Rennay.” You say, not even caring to be subtle with the threat in it. You don’t care if she’s a girl, if she plans to start something you won’t let her. 

She gets away with too much as is. 

Always did. 

Something flickered across her face.

Her smile didn’t falter, of course. But her eyes gleamed with annoyance now.

“Jealous already?” Her tone was mocking. She was laughing at you. “I don’t want your used up little boytoy. Got plenty of those of my own.”

The words made Remus shiver, like she’d reached over and wrapped an icy hand around his throat.

But your grip on him didn’t release—if anything, it tightened.

There was a lot he tolerated, mostly because you didn’t really feel the need to fight until it was a last ditch effort. But hearing her call your boyfriend a ‘boytoy’ like he’s just another body. Like your still fucking around, like Remus isn’t anything but some new thing you want. 

You release him, hand shooting out to grab her by the front of her top and dragging her face to face with you. You don’t care who she is anymore, not that you’d been trying to get away a few seconds ago. 

Because she’d crossed a line you refuse to let her stay over. 

“Call him that again, that face of yours won’t look the same ever again.” The words are biting, and you have her pulled up onto her tiptoes from the height difference. 

You don’t hurt women, but she was less a person and more a parasite. One that won’t leave you alone.

There was a flicker of something in her gaze.

A hint of fear.

But it was gone a second later, buried beneath bravado.

She smiled at you, a smirk that was meant to be coy.

“Bit of a harsh reaction, love,” she said, like she was talking to a temperamental puppy. “What, you think he’s going to stay? Think you’ve found a nice piece of ass that’s willing to—“

That was as far as she got before you slammed her up against a wall.

You wanted to hurt her, you did. For everything she did to you and continues to do, like some kind of shadow on your life that wouldn’t go away. 

You aren’t some scrawny teenager anymore who just wanted to be wanted but was ashamed to be wanted by lads. And she twisted that up. 

And you refuse to let her go after the one good thing in your life now. You get close to her face, your lips turned up in a sneer, eyes dark and narrowed. You want her to feel every bit of what she caused you. 

But you can’t make yourself do it. You might’ve a year ago, when you were still lost.

But retaliation doesn’t taste so sweet anymore.

You release her with a shove back into the wall, harsh and rough.

“Stay the fuck out of my life.” The words are spat out roughly before turning back towards Remus, you move back to him. Arm slipping around his waist once more, touch careful as you move the two of you towards the front door again.

Remus had never seen you like this.

All hard lines and violence barely leashed, even if it had never come out.

And for him, you’d gone soft again. The hand on his hip gentle, almost a caress.

You took him to the front door. People were watching now, but all he saw was the back of your neck—the muscles taut and flexing beneath your skin.

He touched your shirt, just a finger on the edge of your shoulder.

“Are we—are we leaving, then?”

You nod at that, opening the door with your free hand when you reach it. You move him out first, refusing to let him be behind you. You step out after, closing the door behind you both. 

The night’s colder than it’d been when you first arrived. Or maybe you're cold. You aren’t sure. 

You pull Remus closer again just in case it is cold, in case it’s not just you. The cars only down the road, it’s not like you’d be walking all the way to your flat. 

But you also don't quite think you could stomach any sort of space right now—even just walking. You’re uncomfortable in your skin. 

You walk down the pathway, steps slower than they'd been. To make sure Remus is able to keep up without straining himself, you’ve learned that the cold can sometimes impact his bad leg, and he decided to leave his cane in the car, so it wasn’t lost or misplaced at the party. 

Every step he took sent a small spark of pain up his bad leg.

Nothing that would make him wince or stop, but something he was fully aware of. Something he tried to ignore.

But you were aware of it too. The change in pace was subtle, but it was there.

All so he wouldn’t lag behind. So you could keep your grip on him, still locked around his hip like there was a chance he’d pull away.

He wasn’t going to—he could feel your unease like a palpable thing.

It wasn’t long before the car was reached and you unlocked the passenger side first so he could get in safely. You open the door for him, holding it by the top of the window frame. 

Once he’s inside and settled you closed the door gently, not wanting to accidentally knock a knee. 

You get in the drivers side a moment later, turning the car on so the heat could warm you both up. 

You leaned back in your seat after, hands dropping to your lap. You needed to compose yourself a bit more before thinking of actually driving, you felt too… tight to safely do anything. 

You look down at your hands, fingers closed against your lap. You spoke up after a moment, voice low. 

“It was her,” there’s a brief pause, like you had to think about the next few words. “The ex that outed me when I was a teenager.” You say, exhaling through your nose a bit.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The story hadn’t come all at once. About what happened.

Not in some sit-down, eyes-meeting, hand-on-heart sort of way. That wasn’t your style. You didn’t do confessions the way people expected—you let them unravel, thread by thread, until suddenly someone was holding a piece of you and realizing you’d handed it over when they weren’t looking.

The first hint came on one of those late nights where everything was soft: the music, the light, the way you touched him, like you didn’t want to wake the version of yourself you used to be.

You’d both been lying in bed, half-tangled and half-naked, when Remus asked something offhand. Not even heavy—something like “Did you always know?” because you two were talking about coming out. And you had gone quiet in that way you did when your thoughts slipped behind your eyes.

You didn’t answer then. Just pulled Remus closer, pressed your nose to the side of his neck, and said, “Another time.”

It came in pieces after that.

A month later, over burnt toast at your flat, you’d muttered, “Seventeen. That’s how old I was.” You said it like you were handing over a weapon. “She was pissed I left her. Told everyone in the pub I’d been sneaking off with a bloke while I was still with her. Which wasn’t true. I hadn’t even touched a lad yet.”

Remus didn’t say anything, just reached for the knife to butter his toast and brushed your fingers together.

That was enough for you to keep going.

“She knew I liked looking. I’d told her. Thought we could be honest. She used it like a bloody knife. And that was it. Whole street knew before I’d even gotten home. My mates stopped ringing. People I’d grown up with wouldn’t sit next to me on the bus. And the girls? Christ, they wouldn’t even look at me. Not unless they wanted to laugh.”

There was something bitter in your laugh—not self-pitying, just tired. Worn out from holding it.

“I was a coward back then. Started pulling girls again. Anyone who’d let me. Thought I could fuck it out of my system. Be normal again. My dad didn’t ask. Just stopped looking me in the eye for a bit.”

Remus remembered that story. From Rosalind, your mum, actually. She told it over tea once when you were out buying cigarettes. How you used to come home reeking of booze and perfume, too loud, too brittle. How it broke her heart to see you trying so hard to feel nothing.

She'd looked at Remus then, across her steaming cup, and said, “He doesn’t do that anymore, you know. Doesn’t come home with strangers. Doesn’t fill the house with ghosts. Just comes home with you. That's all I ever prayed for.”

The full story came on a rainy night, after you’d argued about something small—something stupid. Remus had pulled away a little too fast, frustrated, and you had gone cold, flinched like you’d been slapped.

Later, wrapped in a towel, dripping from the rain, you’d said it low: "When you grow up believing no one's going to stay, you get good at pushing first. I didn’t mean to."

That’s when Remus asked again, softer this time.

“Did it hurt, being outed like that?”

And you had stared out the window for a long time before replying.

“Not as much as pretending I wasn’t. That part... that’s what rotted me.”

Remus never pressed again. He didn’t need to.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Remus’ breath caught in his lungs.

The image of her came rushing to mind, harsh and bitter. Gorgeous. Sharp. Like the type of girl who would never know what it meant to hold something softly and fear breaking it.

"That was *her*?" He asked, the surprise unmistakeable.

The words 'I'm sorry' were on the tip of his tongue, but you didn't look like you needed to hear those.

He didn't know what you needed to hear instead.

You exhale softly, letting your head fall back against the seat's headrest. You’d gotten over majority of what happened in your teenage years, mostly because it never really mattered in the end. 

You’d grown up, changed—mostly because of the boy sitting next to you. But this still stung.

Still rotted in the marrow of his bones. Because it was a moment you’d been stripped of control and choice. 

And that kind of thing sticks around for a long time and you haven’t yet figured out how to let go of that kind of anger. 

You’re trying. And you walked away when you needed to.

When before, you’d have lightly gone through with your words. Because anger ate away at the marrow of your bones when it festered long enough. 

And that anger festered for seven years.

You turn your head, eyes roaming along the lines of his face. Taking in the worry and hesitation. And you smile a little, hands moving to pat your lap in invitation before muttering one just in case. 

“Com’ere.” The words are soft, softer than your other ones had been. Quiet too.

Remus unbuckled his seatbelt and moved closer without hesitation.

It was impossible not to—not when you were asking like that, not when he wanted to be close just as much as you seemed to.

He settled on your lap, straddling your thighs, and it was immediately easier to breathe.

Better.

Your breath was hot against his throat, warm everywhere you both touched. His fingers sought out your skin, and he traced along your arms—your shoulders—the sharp jut of your collarbone.

You watched him with a tilt of your head, smiling slightly. This was probably the only time you’ve ever had to look up at him, it’s a bit endearing. How he looks from this angle, the touch of his fingers sliding along you like he’s exploring what he already knows. 

And you let him, easily. 

Your arms are draped loosely around his hips, fingers tracing up and down along the small of his back. 

It felt better like this, having him close, being able to touch him. 

The words Rennay had said were still there, and you didn’t like how it made you feel. That tightness in your gut. 

Your hands slide up slightly, dipping under the fabric of his shirt to touch skin. The waxy feeling of scars sliding against your palm before it fades into softer skin makes a breath leave your chest. 

“What she said isn’t true, you know that right?” You murmur, fingers tracing skin softly. 

Your touch left sparks in its wake, heat that pooled low in his stomach.

Remus nodded, shifting closer, closer, until your mouth feathered across the sharp line of your jaw. The words came out as a breathless whisper against your skin.

“I know. Of course I know.”

He kissed your throat, open mouthed, wanting to taste you. Wanting you to know.

Your eyes drift closed at the first kiss, lips twitching with a smile. It’s a bit of a comfort, to know he wasn’t stung by the words or that he was thinking on it. 

It was good that he wasn’t, because it wasn’t true. He wasn’t just something you were keeping around, wasn’t a toy. 

He was… a lot of things. And none of them shallow. 

You spent a long time being shallow, liking people for their bodies and the hole it filled momentarily in the moment—but he was more. Your heart stuttered too often to be anything less. 

And he’s so beautiful. Inside and out. 

Your hands slide up his back as you lean forward in your seat, pressing against him as you tilt your head to find his lips with your own. 

Hands coming out from beneath his shirt to cradle his jaw in your fingers, bringing his face closer to yours to angle him into the kiss. 

It was the sort of kiss that melted Remus: hard and hot and intense, the kind where every touch felt like fire against his skin.

His hands clutched at your shoulders. His fingers gripped the material of your shirt a little desperately, the need to get closer overriding his better sense.

One of you groaned—maybe you, maybe him. He didn’t know.

His hips rocked against yours—just the barest bit of friction that still sent sparks of heat through him, made his heart speed up.

“God,” he murmured, the word lost in the kiss.

Your brows furrowed at the barest hint of fiction from him grinding his hips down, your hands dropped from his jaw to his hips. You pressed further into the kiss, the edge turning a bit rougher but no less tender—you didn’t get properly rough unless he asked you to be. 

One of your hands slides down to cup his arse, pulling him down against you properly. Having no issue guiding him, or letting him figure it out himself. 

But you wanted to touch him. 

Your own hips rose up slightly, allowing yourself to meet into the friction as you groaned lowly against his mouth. 

You’re not sure how it went from something vocally vulnerable to this, but you’re not complaining. You’ll take the physical intimacy as well; it always felt different with him. 

You’ve fucked plenty, experienced more than your decent fill. But it still managed to feel different with him. 

Remus’ hips rocked again, more purposefully this time.

Harder. Faster.

He could feel how you both affected one another—heat and need and a desperation he couldn’t name. His blood felt like it was boiling. Every inch of him ached and he was still craving more.

He wanted to be naked and breathless and pinned down. He wanted you on top of him. Around him. In him.

His breath hitched.

The words left his mouth, raw and wanting.

“Take me home.”

You grinned, pulling back to maneuver him back into the passenger seat—it was easy enough, but you were careful not to hit his bad hip into anything. 

You leaned back in your seat, adjusting your jeans a bit—not your fault the bloody boy could get you bothered like a teenager. The erection sitting uncomfortably. 

You’d have suggested the car if you had anything here to aid in the process, or if he were more versed in bottoming—it was still a whole process to prep him, and there’s no way you’d shag him otherwise. 

He’s not ready for something like that. And it’s one thing you won’t do with him.

You wait for him to buckle in before putting the car in drive, after buckling in yourself of course. It’s a bit hard to focus on driving when you’ve got a stiff one and your boyfriend is mere feet beside you. But you manage fine enough, even if it’s taking all your effort to focus.

Remus reached across the space between you two, his fingers seeking your thigh.

He didn’t tease you—didn’t try to get your attention with a touch.

He needed it for himself.

Every one of his breaths was just a little too fast. Every part of him was too hot.

He wanted to get his hands on you. He wanted you to touch him until he gasped.

He wanted you to push him back against the wall. He wanted you to drive a little farther, pull over onto some dark street and—

By some miracle, you two made it back to your flat without Remus going mad. It was a short drive, but every minute felt like an hour.

You felt like you were seconds away from imploding, but you managed to pull the keys out of the ignition and get out of the car—a bit reluctant to leave the touch on your leg. But managed. 

You closed the driver side door before walking around to his side, opening the door for him. 

You wait long enough for him to unbuckle but not a second after, you pull him from the car—gently—and your hands drop to the backs of his thighs, bending down slightly before hauling him up into your arms. Hands cupping his arse to keep him held against you.

You’re moving for your flat a moment later, freeing up one hand to unlock the door and shoving it open with a kick of your foot. You walk through the door, shutting it behind you with your hip as you move through the hallway. 

Not really wasting much time in moving through the layout.

You carried Remus like he weighed nothing, his body held against yours like something precious.

He held on to your shoulders for balance, his legs wrapped around your waist instinctively.

You moved fast—not rushed, exactly, but as impatient as he was.

By the time you two made it to your bedroom, his hands were pulling at your shirt, wanting to touch your skin. 

He needed it more than he needed air, but he couldn’t get words out. Instead, he buried his face against your throat.

You didn’t let him get far with pulling at your shirt before depositing him on the bed carefully. Tossing him carelessly wasn’t an option with his bad hip and leg. 

Not that you’d do that anyway, you liked to be careful with him. You don’t join him right away either, you’ve got shite to grab. 

You move to your dresser, opening the top drawer where you keep all the miscellaneous shite—doobies, joints, lighters, condoms, lube, etc. 

The things you’d need for situations like this. It’s just been customized for him these days, to fit what you’d need for him in these scenarios.

You grab a condom, because you’re safe first, and then your thing of water-based lube—you used to use oil based but you learned that your pretty boy has more sensitive skin. 

You moved back to the bed, tossing both the lube and the condom down on the mattress beside you.

Remus watched you when you’d been rummaging through the drawer.

You knew what you were looking for, your eyes set and determined even as you sorted through lighters and half-empty bottles of aftershave.

His hands played with the sheets, the fabric twisting in his fingers. All of his attention was focused on you, the shifting of your shoulders, the flex of your back beneath your shirt, the curve of your spine.

You made him feel like his brain was leaking out of his head. Like he’d never think straight again.

You rested a knee on the bed, leaning over him. Your back bends as you use your fingers to tip his head back and press your lips together. 

The kiss is unhurried, slow, tender. Prep isn’t always the most comfortable thing, at least for a bottom—you’ve learned that being with him. 

You never used to care, because most of the people you’d shag came prepared for that to occur. Your boy always needed the process first, the prep that came with the territory. 

Especially since he’s not as experienced as you are, his body still needs to adapt to it all. 

You pull from the kiss a moment later, moving to undress him. Your hands gentle as you pull his shirt off, careful of not tugging around his bad hip, before tossing it to the floor. 

Your hands skimmed down his sides. “Alright?” You murmur, checking in like you always do.

Remus nodded immediately, his breath leaving in a sharp rush from just the touch of your hands on his skin.

He was too sensitive, too desperate for your touch. He had been all evening—since the two of you left the party, in the car, here.

He needed you.

He reached for you, tugging you a little closer. His hands went for the buttons on your shirt, starting to undo them.

He wanted you out of those clothes. He wanted you to be just as bare as he was, so he could feel you against him.

You complied with the tug, moving to kneel between his legs, hands falling to his knees to spread them open more. 

You looked down at him from there, eyes roaming. He always looked beautiful on his back, looking up at you with nothing but utter want and the safety to express that.

You liked that feeling, being safe enough to see it so openly on someone's face. Especially someone you love as much as you love him. 

You help him unbutton the rest, shrugging the weightless fabric off your shoulders after it comes undone, tossing it off the bed. 

You lean down, planting your weight on your elbows so you don’t place too much on his body. You brush your noses together, breaths mingling slightly. 

“Use your words f’me, love. I need to hear you.” You mutter, thumbs brushing his temples. Vocal yeses and nos are better.

Your skin brushed against his own—hot and smooth and almost unbearably tempting.

Remus let out a shaky breath, shuddering slightly at the touch. Your weight pinning him to the bed made him ache with need and want, his hips shifting reflexively against you.

You wanted verbal consent—and he was more than happy to give it.

"Yes," he murmured, the word almost a moan. "Yes, please, please—"

You grin slightly, dipping your head to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then down his jaw. You took your time despite it all, despite the fact you’d been impatient before. 

But now that you had him beneath you, willing and wanting, you wanted to savor it like you prefer to. 

You lean up on your knees after a moment, your hands tracing down his sides. He was so pretty. 

Soft skin, coarse hair on the chest, scars crawling up his left side from his hip. The little trail of sandy brown hair disappearing into the waistline of his trousers. 

He’s beautiful. 

Your hands drop to the button of his trousers after your moment of admiring, fingers working it open. Your gaze finds his again, keeping focused on them. 

“Shall we get started then, hm?” You murmur, voice low and light. At least trying to make this part pleasant enough in the beginning.

Remus nodded again, his breath coming in short and fast.

He wasn't afraid.

He was needy.

He could feel his body heating up from your touch, like a flame being stoked to life bit by bit. He shifted his hips again, grinding against you lightly. Just a hint of friction—not enough to do more than tease.

"Please—" he echoed again. His breathing was quick, his skin on fire. "Touch me."

You planned to, of course you did. You wouldn’t get him this pent up and leave him there, that’s just cruel. And you’d be torturing yourself. 

You gently pull his trousers off, careful of his bad hip in the process. You tossed them away after getting them off his ankles. Fingers sliding up to his scarred calf, lifting the leg up to press light kisses along the warm skin. 

You let it go to draw your fingers up along his thighs, coarse hair tickling your palms. “Relax,” you mutter, dipping your head to press your lips together. 

Your left hand moved from off his thigh to palm against the erection pressing against the soft fabric of his boxers—the touch firm enough to give him some relief without properly getting him off.

Remus’ legs fell open immediately, his hips tilting upward. His fingers dug into your hair, holding you there. His lips parted immediately, giving you access to his mouth. He kissed you back fiercely—like his entire body had been waiting for the chance to press into you. 

He needed you to really touch him, to prep him properly before you took him apart with your cock like you always did.

You licked into his mouth when his lips parted for you, tasting him and consuming him however much you want to. 

The way he tilts up into your touch, knowing full well how much he wants more, is almost addicting enough to keep playing with him. But you won’t make him suffer waiting longer. 

You keep him plenty occupied with the feverish kiss as you pull his boxers down, shifting his legs to free him of the fabric. Your fingers trace along his inner thigh while your unoccupied hand moves to grab the tube of lube you’d set off to the side. 

His hips jerked upwards again as your fingers teased his inner thighs, close but not close enough. 

You break the kiss momentarily to pop the cap and squeeze the viscous gel onto your fingers before tossing it to the side again. You lean over him to press your lips together again.

"Mmmph—" He hummed against your lips, spreading his legs wider apart to give you better access. Your mouth was like a drug—addictive and hot and perfect.

Your fingers found their way between his thighs, past his weeping cock—which you’d give proper attention to later—to his pucker. You start slow, like you always do because it’s just better that way for your pretty boy. 

Your finger presses against him, messaging lightly at first while you devour his mouth like you’ve been starving of it—all a distraction for the most part. It’s better to keep him preoccupied with a good sensation to distract from an uncomfortable one. 

You pressed your middle finger firmly, feeling the ring of muscle slowly give way until it slips inside—only to your first knuckle at first, and you work with that to slowly relax it to ease more in. 

It’s a slow process with him still, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make it good, even if it’s not the most comfortable thing at first, it’ll gradually get better once you can get more than one finger in.

"Fuck, yes..." Remus gasped against your lips as you slowly breached him. The initial discomfort was quickly overshadowed by the delicious stretch and the way your tongue danced with his. 

His hips lifted to meet your finger, encouraging you to go deeper even though it hurt a little at first. 

He needed more.

You grin at the gasped words against your mouth, the way he arches into it. He’s come a long way from your first time together, took ages to get him to properly open up, enough that you had hesitated to even try proper penetration. 

But he’s much better now. 

You pump your middle finger in and out of him, feeling the muscles slowly relax around your digit. You pulled from the kiss to trail them down his jaw, to his neck. You pressed a second finger against his pucker, pushing it in to join the first. 

With that done easily enough, you begin to pump your fingers more deliberately. You curl them slightly, pressing against his prostate every inward pump of your digits. 

You mouth along his throat, knee sliding up slightly to press his right thigh further open to angle your hand better.

"Mmm... fuck, right there..." Remus whimpered as you hit that perfect spot inside him with your fingers. His legs trembled uncontrollably now, his body completely surrendered to you. 

The pleasure was overwhelming—your fingers stretching him open while your mouth devoured his neck and shoulder.

You’ve never gotten off so much on someone else’s pleasure like you have his. There’s something about the way he reacts, the way he’ll shake or moan, or make those bloody stomach tightening whimpers. 

It makes you feel like a horny teenager with no control, cream in your pants from a touch type. It’s bullshite and yet you love it. 

You don’t stop hitting his prostate, but you scissor your fingers to properly stretch him because you’re not really sure you can last longer without feeling him properly around you. 

Now you’re the impatient one again. 

You continue until you’re sure he’s good, your fingers leaving his too-lovely arse to lean back. You're breathing a touch ragged as you shuck off your own boxers and grab the tossed condom from off the mattress, eyes roaming his flushed body as you do.

He looked up at you through hooded eyes, biting his bottom lip as he watched you roll the condom onto his thick, hard length. 

He spread his legs wider, planting his feet on the bed to lift his hips up slightly—exposing himself to you completely. "You're taking too long."

Your gaze falls to his lovely arse when he lifts his hips up, breathing out a chuckle as his impatient words. So bossy for someone doing none of the work, but you can’t act like you don’t love it. 

Your hands grasp around the fronts of his thighs, dragging him down further to position him better. Once satisfied you grab the lube again, popping the cap as you watch him—god, he looks too good like this. It should be fucking illegal. 

You smear a generous amount of lube onto your condom covered dick, for extra aid. And you lean over him, squeezing some out on his flushed cock, so it’s not rubbing dry against your stomachs. 

You toss the tube to the side, one hand finding his waist and the other guiding you to his prepped hole. “So impatient.” You mutter, leaning over his body as you slowly press inside. Not too fast.

Remus gasps sharply as the head of your cock presses against his entrance, already stretching him open. He whimpers as you slowly push inside, body tensing for a moment before relaxing around you as you start to slide in deeper. His legs wrap around your waist automatically, pulling you closer.

A lesser man would buckle at the way he feels wrapped around you, warm and tight. And you might be teetering there. 

Your now unoccupied hand moves to brace your weight, forearm resting next to his head. Your head drops to the crook of his neck, mouthing along his throat. You don’t move for a moment, letting him adjust first. And maybe soaking in the bloody phenomenal sensation. 

You can feel his cock pressed between your stomachs, the cold viscous lube mixing with the warmth of leaking precum. You move after a moment, hips pulling out barely an inch before pressing back in—just to test whether or not he’s ready for any kind of moving. 

And god, the drag has you seeing stars like a fucking virgin, it’s almost pathetic how whipped you are for him. 

You’ve fucked too many people to react this way. And yet here you are, weak kneed for his lovely arse.

He lets out a soft, strangled noise as you start to move. Arching his back, pushing his chest out at the sensation of you sliding in and out of him making him lose all rational thought. 

He’s a mess, a needy, desperate mess for you. 

His hips start to meet your thrusts, needing more friction, more pressure. With the instant reciprocation you shift slightly, your hand at his waist slides down to his hip and your other hand rests against his head. 

You thrust your hips more deliberately, pulling out more and more each time. You aren’t rough but you’re teetering on the edge of it—you never go past it without being asked. 

You’re always careful with him first and foremost. 

You groan low in your throat, the feeling of him wrapped around you has your gut tightening and blood boiling. He feels so good. And you tell him as such, muttering sweet, dirty nothings into his ear as you fuck him like you’ve been starved of it. 

And you sort of have, the last time you got him like this was way too long ago. You’re definitely taking this opportunity and running with it. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, love.” Your voice is rough, raspy, but it’s no less of a praise.

"Harder," Remus whispers breathlessly against your ear, needing more than sweet words right now. He can feel his climax building already, his body clenching around you with each thrust. His hands run down your back, nails digging into your skin. "I'm not fucking fragile."

His words send a shiver up your spine, it’s not like the two of you haven’t gone rough before—it’s something you're into, maybe too much, so of course sometimes you do on good days. 

But most of the time you avoid it to avoid mucking something up, and maybe you do need to be reminded he’s not fragile. That he can take some roughening up. 

And god, does the idea sound good. You don’t need much persuading. 

You shift, sitting up on your knees instead of leaning over him. Both your hands drop down to hold his hips and prop his lower half up, your knees spreading to widen your stance. 

Your gaze roams over his body, his flushed cock. All of it. You pull out, nearly all the way, before shoving back in. And that sets the pace—you move faster than before, your thrusts ending rougher, skin slapping skin harder. Your head drops back, brows furrowing, eyes closing as you groan raggedly.

"Fuck... yes..." He moans out on each harsh thrust, practically pushing up to meet them, greedy for more. One hand moves to dig into the sheets while the other reaches for his sensitive flesh, fasting around himself in time with your movements. His entire body tenses as he gets closer, closer.

There’s always a level of rough you stay on with him, mostly because you know that too much could hurt his bad leg and you refuse to do that for momentary pleasure. But fuck if this doesn’t feel so good. 

Your chin drops and your eyes reopen to look at him, watch the way he self pleasures to reach the peak he’s chasing. Usually you’d be doing that, but there’s something hot about seeing him do it while you roughly fuck his arse. 

Watching the way he jerks with the thrusts, the way his skins flushed and sweaty and his cocks weeping for release. It’s a sight that’s your new favourite. 

“God, fucking look at you.” The words leave you gruffly, your thrusts growing a touch rougher than you’d usually let yourself because you’re so close and you want to finish him off first. And fuck it feels phenomenal.

His head rolls back as he watches you watching him, his strokes becoming more desperate as you fuck him harder and harder until he’s finally pushed over the edge. 

His body convulses around you, his cock spilling out hot ropes of cum onto his stomach and chest while he cries out your name.

Your pace stutters when his arse spasms around you as he comes, your fingers tighten their hold around his hips before you forcefully relax your grip. But you’re teetering off the edge regardless, the spasming muscles around you are too much to even attempt to hold off. 

You thrust in roughly before stopping, staying deep in him as you pump the condom full with a groan low in your throat. Your stomach clenching with your breaths and orgasm, head falling back and eyes closing. 

Talk about sweet relief, they definitely meant coming in your boyfriend’s arse when they said it. 

You stay like that for a second, coming down from the high before you look back down at him and slowly pull out, careful of hurting him. You pull the used condom off and tie it shut, tossing it in the bin beside your bed. 

You lean over him after that, hands cupping his face gently. “You alright, love?” You murmur softly, checking in like you always do. Beginning and end.

"Mmhm..." He hums softly, his body still buzzing from the intense orgasm. His legs feel weak and his arse is tender from how hard you fucked him, but it's in the best way possible. He reaches up to pull you down for a soft kiss, lips still swollen from earlier.

You return the soft kiss in full, peppering his pretty, swollen lips in gentle kisses. You’re glad he’s alright, he usually is but you’ll never stop asking. Not out of worry he’ll break, just naturally going too far maybe. 

Your fingers trace his cheeks and jawline gently, pulling back to look at him. All spent and satisfied looking, like he could knock out and wake up a full day later. Poor thing, you just wrecked not only his arse but his schedule too. Can’t say you feel too badly about it, it was well worth it if he’s okay and happy. 

You brush sweat damp hairs out of his face with gentle hands, giving him an amused smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up and settled, yeah?” You mutter, you’ll probably force him to eat and drink something before letting him crash out for the night. 

You’re pretty sure he just drained him of all his fluids.

"M'mm..." He nods sleepily, his body already starting to feel heavy and exhausted. 

He lets you help him up and clean him up, your gentle touches soothing his sore muscles. You make him drink water and eat some fruit before finally allowing him to crawl back into bed under the covers.

You join him not much later after cleaning up the leftover fruit from the kitchen, you’d have left it if you didn’t know he’d probably eat the rest when he wakes up. 

You crawl into the bed carefully, settling behind him before wrapping your arms around his torso, gently pulling him into the curve of your body. He exhales quietly, relaxing into you like sun-warmed putty. 

You press a kiss to his sweat damp hair, feeling as his breaths even out and he goes soft in your arms. Smiling slightly, you close your eyes and just savor the feeling.

────────────────

So, how do we feel about bottom Remus? Imo, I feel like he'd be a switch but the OC original to this before I switched it to fit here was a rather dominant one (in and out of sheets)

[kaileyrose28]

Recon Mission

Note.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ: Recon Mission is about an established relationship between Wally and You. He was supposed to have Dick as a partner for this but he got reassigned with Artemis and the only teammate they had left over was you, his biggest distraction.

16+, this is suggestive but pg for the most part, pretty fluffy.

Kinks or fetishes: None.

3,330 words.

You’re at an abandoned facility just outside Keystone, soft wind stirring the dust, mid-afternoon sun casting long shadows. mission is strictly recon, no threats on radar—just a follow-up on something Nightwing’s team wrapped last week. Their earpieces crackling quietly with silence, comms mostly off.

But it’s there if anything ever popped up, although the chances are low it’s still a possibility.

But as thorough as the team is, one member is not exactly pulling his weight right now. 

☕︎

Okay, so maybe this wasn't how the mission was supposed to go.

Wally was supposed to be partnered with Dick—clean, fast, in and out. He’d keep things professional, hit all the checkpoints, log every bit of info, and then they’d race back and call it a day. Easy recon. Just gather data from an old crime scene, check for stragglers, maybe flirt with a vending machine if Wally was bored enough.

But Dick got rerouted. Something about Artemis needing backup—figures—and now he’s stuck with…

You.

Last resort, his ass. More like last nerve if the team hears how little recon he’s actually doing. They know what happens. They’ve seen him trail off mid-sentence during briefings just to stare at you. M’gann literally had to flick him once. 

Not proud of it—but also, have you seen how you look?

You’re crouched a few feet away, picking over some scorch marks on the concrete, and Wally’s been pretending to scan the perimeter for, like, ten minutes now. Real talk: he could’ve done a loop around this place twice already. 

But why would he, when he can just stand here and watch the light hit your cheekbones like it’s got a personal vendetta?

Your hair’s caught in the breeze. Not like, action-movie style—more like lazy, sun-dappled, ‘should be illegal to look this good while you’re technically working’ kind of way.

Focus, Wally. Scan. Data. Recon.

...or maybe take one more second to appreciate the way your fingers move over that burnt metal, like it’s a piano key and not some relic from a villain’s temper tantrum. 

Yeah. One more second.

It’s not like you’re in danger. The place is dead quiet. He’s running circles around you without moving a muscle.

And sure, the team tried keeping you two apart. Something about “compromised mission integrity” or “Wally, you’re literally drooling.” he doesn’t remember. He was probably too busy watching you tie your hair up. 

Tactical distraction? Unfair advantage? He thinks so.

Anyway, they’re not here now. It’s just Wally, you, and a bunch of charred debris that means absolutely nothing compared to the way your lips purse when you’re concentrating.

He shifts just a little closer. Casual. Not at all because he wants to bump shoulders or breathe in your shampoo or say something dumb just to make you laugh.

It’s a recon mission.

Totally professional.

Except he’s been staring at your back like you’re the answer to every question he’s ever had.

God, he loves recon.

You know he’s staring at you, hell, you’ve known for the past 20 minutes. It’s not like he’s ever been discrete about it, and it’s not like you’ve ever not liked it. 

It’s never lost its cute quality to it, like a puppy wagging its tail like it sees nothing but you, not the world around you. 

The sky could be crumbling, the sun imploding, the ground cracking open and Wally wouldn’t spare it a glance. He’d just keep looking at you.

You lean back, brushing a gloved hand though your hair and turning your head to look at him. He’s supposed to be doing a scan, although you’re sure he could’ve gotten done with that ages ago if he was actually doing it. 

You're pretty sure he’s in the same spot you left him in. 

You breathe a laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s adorable, he really is. 

You stand to your feet, dusting your gloved hands off by swiping them against your suit—the deep golds and white a little dusty from moving around in this place. 

“You’re gonna catch a fly like that.” You mumble, glancing down at his parted lips. 

“Like what?” He says, all feigned innocence. He’s been busted. Might as well roll with it.

You’re standing now, stretching slightly, and Wally’s traitor of a brain instantly conjures up images that have no business being part of a League mission. He pushes those away, replacing them with less distracting, slightly more professional thoughts.

You’re looking at him, your lips curling into that half-smile that feels like a secret.

“I’m doing recon,” he protests, glancing around dramatically. “Recon is important.”

You roll your eyes at his response, but it’s nothing if not endearing. It’s not even a serious mission, not really—it’s just left overs, a quick recon to see if anyone missed something potentially important. 

Although the others are rather officiant, you never know. 

But he always manages to derail it when you two are in the same room together, or you’re within his viewing distance. 

It’s cute, attractive, and flattering all at once. 

It makes it feel lighter, like you guys aren’t supposed to be doing a real job right now. One of his specialties. 

“Uh huh.” You hum, turning your back to him to do the rest of what you’re supposed to do, and probably pick up his slack so you don’t potentially miss anything. 

You could force him to do it, make him behave, but it’s not serious enough to warrant that quite yet. 

And he’s been good, so far.

“Hey, come on!” He protests, putting on his best wounded puppy voice. It probably works—he should patent the speedster-in-distress look.

“You know I'm multitasking.”

Is he? Nope. He’s already at your side, shamelessly standing right behind you. 

He’s close enough to see the dust in your hair, the sweat on your neck, the way you bite your lower lip when you’re focused, the little glint in your eyes from the sun bleeding in. 

He resists the urge to press his chest against your back and circle his arms around your waist.

Professional, Wally. Focus.

You get why you both are usually separated during missions ages ago, and you were on par with it because unlike him you can’t blip out of the way of oncoming harm. 

But it doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy how whiny or teasing he can get when you’re together. 

He’s utterly shameless, in a way that’s more in line with a hormonal teenager than a grown, 28-year-old man. 

But it’s your Wally and you love your Wally, you wouldn’t change a thing about him—even if he can be a little exasperating when you two are meant to be working. 

“Of course you are.” You murmur just to keep him entertained, sometimes he reminds you of a puppy that needs constant attention and you’re content to give it. 

You’ve been doing it for god knows how long by now. 

“Hold this.” You add, handing off a piece of metal to him. 

Wally obediently takes the metal, gripping it firmly, and then proceeds to promptly forget about it entirely. The second your hand leaves his, he gravitates toward you again, drawn like a magnet.

He’s standing so close that he can count the marks on your face, which is pretty impressive considering the dim lighting in here. He'd probably be able to kiss you if he leaned down and…

Right. Mission.

He clears his throat, desperately trying to keep his hands busy with anything that isn't you. "Sooo... find anything interesting in this charming hellhole?"

Your lips twitch at his deceptively casual question, he asks it like he hasn’t been staring at you the whole time you’ve been in this crumbled place. 

If you found something interesting he’d probably be the first to notice it, or maybe he really is that puppy-eyed around you. 

You shake your head as a confirmative ‘no’, pulling your own scanning device out of its spot in your utility belt. 

You do a quick scan of the area in front of them, getting nothing about. The metal is all from earth, no weird space tech, no engravings. Not a thing here, really. 

“Seems like a one and done kinda thing.” You murmur aloud, it’s mostly to yourself but since he’s practically glued to your back right now he might as well be the one you’re talking to as you air your thoughts out.

“I think we can head out of here, nothings here.” You add with a shrug.

Wally’s heart skips a very undignified beat when you say you two can go. It's probably a little too eager, the way he’s already shifting into position, ready to loop them back to HQ. 

He has to rein it back in a bit, though. Gotta keep up appearances. Can't look like a hyperactive five-year-old on a sugar high. 

He leans forward, letting his chin rest on your shoulder, keeping his voice low and casual.

"So... just you and me, huh?"

Your lips turn up into a small smile at the familiar weight of his chin resting on your shoulder, his voice low in her ear, and the way his eyes settle on the side of your face. 

He’s too adorable, sometimes. Makes your want to pinch his cheek, ruffle his hair, or kiss him. 

Maybe all three.

You lean back against him only because you’ve technically completed the mission, and there’s no point in remaining professional—or at least trying to be the level-headed one here—when there’s nothing to be professional about. Your hand lifts to his hair, resting on his head. 

“Just you and me.” You mumble, leaning your cheek against his temple. He makes it hard not to want to let him smother you with his love and affection until you’re sick of it, if that’s ever possible. 

It’s like he’s got his own gravitational pull and your all but lost to it, pulled in his orbit. 

He hums at the touch of your hand in his hair, a sound that's half sigh, half purr.

He can't help it. It's like you flip a switch in his brain. One second he’s the suave, charming, professional Flash and the next he’s just Wally, the guy who can barely string a coherent sentence together when you’re this close.

He turns his head, his nose brushing against your neck, your cheek.

"You know..." He starts, his voice a low rumble. "We could technically take our time getting back."

The small smile on your face slowly lifts into a full, fond smile. The light brush of his nose up your neck and to your cheek makes you breathe a soft laugh, somewhere between endearment and affection mixing in the noise. 

You’re not sure you’re ever been capable of ignoring him, even in those moments where you really did try before you two got together. 

Where he’d chase you around during missions, trying to flaunt his best lines and get you to smile. You used to be much better at hiding your reactions. 

All of it is built on late-night conversations, shared looks across chaos, and the kind of bond you don’t mean to form but just… happens. At first, you weren’t impressed. 

He flirted, you ignored. 

He chased, you sidestepped. 

But Wally? He’s persistent. Not in a pushy way—just in that sweet, golden-retriever loyalty that makes you look twice.

Over time, you saw it. The cracks in the jokes. The depth in the laughter. And the way he always showed up, even when he shouldn’t have been able to.

Wally adores you. Worships you, really—but in the goofy, heartfelt way that’s more about celebrating your existence than putting you on a pedestal. 

He listens when you talk. He remembers things you say in passing. He’s a mess around you, but it’s never insincere. 

You slow his world down. He speeds yours up.

He’d take a bullet for you. Run across time itself to save you. Not because you’re fragile, but because loving you is the one thing that makes sense in every timeline.

You’re his center. And no matter how fast he runs, you’re the one thing he’ll always slow down for.

You lean into his touch, letting it settle in your bones like a relaxant made just for you. And the idea of just taking time, however long it actually is, and just being with him sounds fun—sounds nice. 

It’s not like your job allows much free time for dates or just to relax and private moments where you two can be together in the fullest of ways. 

He always somehow manages to carve out something, whether it’s somehow finding his way to wherever you are, or cracking wise-ass jokes to get a smile or a laugh out of you. 

And you never not appreciated how he’s always able to do that. To be luminous. 

“We can do that.” You hum softly, leaning into caving into him. He doesn’t even have to do much of anything anymore to get you to cave in. 

As if he needed more permission to stop pretending to be professional. The second you give the okay, he’s pulling you into him, his arm snaking around your waist.

You feel even better like this: his chest against your back, your fingers in his hair, your laugh brushing against his ear.

His other hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. He presses a kiss against your neck just because he can, feeling your pulse against his lips.

"God, I love recon." He mumbles, his voice muffled by your skin.

You might love recon too. Maybe just a little bit. If it brings moments like this? The slow, simple kind that makes your chest loosen up and feel warm at the same time, that makes your heart flutter at his proximity only because you love it, love him so much. 

You’d take recon any day. 

You both have better, important things to do with your time—you could help the team with other things since you dug nothing up here. 

But Wally kind of has this way about him that pulls you in and makes you want to just stay, settle, let him mend you both into one being for just a little. 

It feels mundane, normal. Like you aren’t two heroes in a world that never has a break for you. It feels like it’s just you, and him, and the act of simply being. 

And you indulge, if just for a little bit. Because why not? 

“I love you,” You retorted sweetly, pressing a kiss to his head lightly.

"Yeah?" He murmurs against your skin, tightening his grip on your hand reflexively. The words never fail to get a reaction out of him.

Wally’s 28 years old. He’s been doing this hero gig for nearly 15 years. He’s seen things ordinary people couldn't even dream of. And yet somehow...those words still make him swoon like a lovesick teenager.

He smiles against your neck, planting another kiss just beneath your ear. His fingers find the edge of your suit, toying with the fabric there.

"Say it again," He mumbles.

You lean into his touch like it’s the reason you breathe, the why behind your heart beating. Your lips twitch when he presses a kiss beneath your ear, his fingers against your suit making the skin tingle. 

He’s like a natural tease without even trying, it makes you want to giggle a little. 

His mumbled words vibrate against her skin making it tickle a little, a small shiver running up her spine because of it. 

He makes the world feel stable, grounded, like for a moment it’s not spinning and they aren’t constantly everywhere all at once. She’s here, he’s here. 

And she’d give him anything he asked, whenever, whatever, however. 

You’d bring him the sun, the moon, and the stars if he wanted to hang them in his room just to have. You put up the cape and mask, you’d settle, you’d die for him. 

You’d live for him. 

“I love you.” You repeat, your voice soft and low.

Hearing those words again lights a fire in him that's equal parts warm and electric, leaving him lightheaded in the best possible way.

Wally spins you around, gently but with purpose, until he’s holding your face in his hands. You eyes are even more gorgeous this close, practically glowing in the dim light that somehow makes everything a little bit more intimate.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, his fingers tracing your jawline like something precious and delicate.

"Say it again," he whispers, even though he knows he’s being greedy, "Please."

You lean into his hands holding your face, the smooth textured touch of his gloves against your skin isn’t as great as feeling his skin on you but it’s him and it’s enough. 

His warmth seeps through, like he’s the sun and you’re a flower soaking it up. 

Leaning towards him just to get a little more of that luminance.

The way he looks at you is just breathtaking, like you’re everything the world has to offer him and he’s utterly transfixed with it. 

You’ll never grow tired of seeing it, of seeing that love smeared across his face all the time. 

Never hidden, always out in the open for anyone and everyone to see. 

You breathe a quiet laugh through your nose at his whispered plea for you to say it again, like you’d ever say no. Like that would ever be a possibility. You’ll say it to him until you can’t breathe anymore. 

Until he’s heard enough of the words.

“I love you, so much.” You say, your hands moving to rest on his sides.

Hearing those three words feels like it might just undo him right here, right now. He’s torn between laughing, crying, and kissing you until he passes out from lack of oxygen.

So naturally, he does all three.

His laughter is mingled with a gasp as he pulls you against him, one hand burying in your hair while the other finds a home on your hip. 

He’s kissing you like you're the only thing that matters at this moment, like you're the one who controls gravity and he’s just helpless in your orbit.

You melt into the kiss and him like it’s second nature, one of your hands moving up to the side of his neck, your thumb against his jaw. 

He kisses you like a man that’s just come home to the love of his life, like he's starving of oxygen and the taste of your mouth all at the same time. 

Your hand still on his side slips around to his back, fingers splayed against his mid back, holding him as close as he’s pulling you. This is what makes everything you two do, all the stress and the exhaustion, worth it in the end. 

Just getting to have him in any capacity. 

It’s like coming home. 

And the fact he does it with such ease, loving you like it’s just something he’s done all his life. Holding you, touching you, looking at you like you’re the reason he does anything at all—it’s all consuming and so lovely, like being cherished and being cradled in gentle hands all at once. 

Wally could kiss you forever, lose himself in the taste of your lips, the feel of your hands on his skin, the way your body molds into his. But eventually oxygen becomes a problem, and he has to pull away, breathing heavily.

He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, just taking this moment in. Your hair is ruffled, his lips are kiss-swollen, you’re both a mess in your dirty suits.

He laughs, low and slightly hoarse.

"I love you too, you know."

Your lips turn up into a wide smile, a soft laugh leaving you at his confession. It’s adorable. And you’d never want to give this up for anything. 

“I know.” You murmur softly, exhaling softly. 

He never fails to always remind you. 

[kaileyrose28]

luv how male animals gotta fucking dance around and cry and shit for female attention and sex. and then men irl complain about fat women and body hair like get on ur fucking knees and beg me actually

[kaileyrose28]

The agony of thinking you’re finished doing the dishes only to turn around and to your horror: the pot.

[kaileyrose28]

Yearning

Note.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ: Yearning is about an established relationship between alpha Kory and omega FMC. Kory's still getting used to the differences between her home planets way of functioning and Earths. And that also comes with earthly instincts she doesn't exactly have a full grasp on, and one pretty omega that triggers it in her.

18+ (I have to say this), this has sexual content, like seriously.

Kinks or fetishes: Sexual encouragement, claiming in a non-traditional sense, W/W action, dry humping, vaginal fingering, affectionate sex.

Who doesn’t love some W/W sex for pride month.

4,537 words.

The Earth designations are... strange.

Not bad, no. Just narrow. Flattened into three little letters—A, B, O—as though the complexity of someone's essence could be contained by a single letter on a government form. Back on Kory's home, things are not so—compressed. On Tamaran, you radiate what you are. The universe sings your role in harmonics and light, in the way energy bends when you move through a space. She is Flarekind. It means something. It means—

But on Earth, she's just an Alpha.

And here... their roommate is an Omega. A designation that sounds so quiet. Submissive. Like a hush meant to be tucked into corners.

Yet you’re anything but that.

You’re soft, yes—but warm like a starseed cradle. You gleam, and you glow, even when you’re doing the most mundane of Earth things. Toast. Pajamas. A blanket around your shoulders like you’re a comet that forgot it was supposed to burn.

You lean against Kory like it's nothing, like it's instinct, and perhaps for you, it is. Back home, you would be a Solarbloom—beloved, bright, alluring by nature rather than intention. They are known for touch, for heat, for the kind of closeness that nourishes rather than demands.

But on Earth, your scent carries weight. Influence. Something primal, tugging at the Flarekind in her in a way Kory wasn't prepared for.

You smell like nectar in the moment before sunrise. Sweet, but layered—notes of warmth, skin, soft spice, and something Kory can't name but always recognize. It isn't the same as Dick's scent, his grounding musk that slides under her skin like the pull of gravity. But it moves her, in a parallel way. As if Kory's body hasn't quite figured out the difference.

As if her instincts don't care that this is not a mating scent meant for her.

And you don't mean anything by it. You’re open and gentle, and Kory can see it—feel it—in the way you curl into them on the couch, like two solarflares are simply pillows to her moonlit ease.

You smell happy when you’re near Dick. You smell safe when you’re near Kory. It's confusing in the most human of ways.

Because part of her wants to press her face to your neck and breathe. Not because she wants to claim. But because she wants to understand.

You feel like sunlight in a form Kory's never learned to hold properly. Not a threat, not competition, not even temptation. Just... a different rhythm of warmth. One she wants to honor.

But Earth is full of rules she doesn't yet know how to break or follow. So she sits with your glow beside her, and she smiles like it's nothing when her lungs tighten with instinct.

Back home, Kory would be able to tell you exactly what you do to her.

But here?

Here, she simply breathes you in—and tries not to burn.

୨ৎ

It's one of those rare days that just go by slowly, languidly. No phone calls, no overpacked schedules. Just time and a blue sky, which is also pretty rare for Blüdhaven if you were being honest.

Dick's not home, he left early for work but you know Kory's around somewhere.

You were sipping on some juice—you aren't a coffee or tea kind of person, too bitter for you even with sugar—sitting on the kitchen counter because some of Dick's files are on the table and you don't want to move them and mess up something he was working on.

You’re content here.

You can scent Kory somewhere in the apartment, like the warmth of the sun through the window—touching your skin and warming you up.

It's weird how different it is compared to humans. Her scent is both olfactory and tactile at the same time, at least to you.

Kory's reading a book of Earth's poetry, sprawled on the couch in a white tank and jeans when a quiet hum of a scent filters through the apartment.

Her head raises, the subtle pull of instinct guiding her to the kitchen.

And there you are, sitting on the counter like a flower on a windowsill, sipping a glass of juice that looks like amber against your lips.

A smile plays on her face, the sight of you in a loose shirt and leggings—no bra, no makeup, no guards up—something that pleases the part of Kory who thinks you should feel safe enough to just...be.

Your instincts prickle a little, not in a bad way—just conscious. You lift your head up, eyes flickering around until they land on the pretty face looking at you from the couch in the living room—golden skin shiny in the sunlight, green eyes locked on you with a softness.

You smile almost immediately once it registers that it's just her, the familiarity of her pupil-less green eyes watching you with a gentleness you didn't really know before coming here.

She looks comfortable, sprawled on the couch with a new book in her hands.

"I didn't even know you were there." You mumble, sliding off the counter carefully. You make your way into the living room instead, like the decision was easy the moment you noticed her.

"Good morning, how long have you been out here?" You ask, settling on the arm of the couch.

Kory laughs softly, the sound of it like wind-chimes at sunset. It's something she's come to learn about you—your natural tendency to seek closeness, even if it's only a few inches.

"Not too long," she replies, lifting the book to show you the cover. "Found a book of Earth poetry. Some are quite insightful."

Kory's keenly aware of your body—of the way the sunlight dapples your skin, making a constellation of freckles shine like stars. And your scent...

It weaves in the air like a summer breeze.

Your eyes drop to the cover of the book she found when she lifts it for you to see, it's a plain cover with elegant cursive making up the title. It's probably fun and insightful to a new perspective, you like the way her green eyes sparkle when she's interested in stuff.

You scoot onto the cushion beside her, your legs bending to stay in the space between her outstretched, long legs.

You peer around the side to look at what chapter she's on, if it's historical poetry or just a book of random poetry excerpts. Both are good.

"Oh, yeah? Do you have a favorite yet?" You ask, leaning back to look at her properly, setting your glass on the coffee table to focus onto her entirely. Might as well, she always talks in a way that makes anything and everything sound so interesting.

You could listen forever.

Your interest makes Kory smile, tilting the book so you can see the chapter title on the page. "I'm currently reading a selection from Emily Dickinson," she says, shifting her position so her bent knee presses into your thigh.

Your soft body is a contrast against Kory's muscle and bone, and close this way, your scent is stronger, wrapping her in a hazy, addictive cloud. She inhales deeply, trying to find words that don't exist on her tongue.

"Her poetry is quite intimate," she says, eyes scanning the page to distract herself. "Like she's confessing secrets."

Your hand falls to the knee pressed against your thigh, the movement natural and easy. You aren't all that into poetry, but Emily Dickinson is a different topic altogether.

A classic, brilliant writer, and a beautiful woman.

But the way Kory talks makes it seem so... fascinating.

You watch the way her eyes, pupil-less and drowning in green, move along the pages. Everything about her is so enamoring, the way she moves to the way she speaks.

You experience it sometimes with Dick, but it's mostly with her.

Like watching the stars.

"Yeah?" You hum, mostly to keep her talking. Maybe to make her talk more about the poems she likes or the poets she's come to be familiar with in the book.

Anything, really.

Maybe you just like the sound of her voice, the way the words form on her tongue.

There's something about being the center of your attention that makes Kory's throat dry, butterflies fluttering in her stomach like they've never felt hunger before.

But she's not shy, so she swallows thickly and nods, leaning back against the couch. Kory's body seems to seek your closeness even as she struggles to stay in control—the urge to bury her face in the crook of your neck and inhale getting harder to resist by the second.

She swallows again. "There's a verse," she manages to say, fingers tracing over the words. "I particularly like it."

You shift slightly to account for the way she leaned back against the couch, scooting closer. It's easy in a way to seek proximity and touch from her or Dick, natural and safe in a way you hadn't exactly been accustomed to before being brought in by them.

It was always so nice.

You’re sitting in the spread space between her thighs, your hand still settled on the curve of her knee. You're focused on her face, the way her green eyes flicker along the book and her finger traces over the paper.

It's hard not to be enamored with her, downright criminal not to.

"Which one?" You ask, leaning in to look down at the book in her hands like you'd be able to find the verse she likes by will alone.

It's a mixture of instinct and just natural want, to know everything she likes—to cater to what she likes, indulge and see that sparkle in her eye.

Being so close to you stirs Kory's instincts in ways she was never warned about. Earth dynamics are nothing like Tamaran. No cosmic harmony, no natural resonance. This body is human, and it responds to you like hunger. It craves your scent, your body. And Kory...

She does too.

She swallows down a breath that tastes of sun-warmed honey and wild marigolds. She needs you closer. Her knee presses involuntarily into your thigh, seeking contact she's never wanted like this before.

She points to the top of the page. "That one,"

You wobble slightly when her knee pressed against your thigh more insistently, your hand slides around it, fingers curling under slightly to hold onto her leg.

You don't have a problem with the touch, you’ve always been rather tactile ever since coming to her and Dick.

Your eyes drop down to the part of the page she points out to you, your eyes tracing the inky black words written out. It's 'I cannot live with you' by Emily Dickinson, and the words settle into your body like warm wax filling the crevices and cracks.

It's a strange sensation.

Your gaze turns back onto her, the proximity has you practically nose to nose with each other. Your eyes find her endless green, and your sort of gets stuck for a moment.

Just looking at her, your eyes dilating like you’re too focused before you snap out of it. "It's a very pretty poem."

Kory can't help but notice how close you are, and the scent of you is making it harder for her to think.

Your hand on her thigh, the way your eyes are dark with pupils blown wide... your sweet, soft body, sitting between her legs as if the space is made for you...

It makes the words catch in her throat as she breathes you in, leaning back against the couch.

"Yes," Kory agrees, her voice a low hum. "Pretty."

You can't tear your gaze away from her face.

It's a bit like losing yourself in a beautiful art piece hung up on museum walls to be remembered forever, or something a lover carved in stone.

That's what it's always felt like when you look at Kory, get to admire the beauty that she is.

Like the stars and the sun.

Bright and luminous.

Her voice makes your skin tingle a little bit, your body feeling just a tad bit warmer than before. And the way her eyes stay on your face, looking perhaps just as stuck as you feel.

It's strange, this pull you always feel towards her and even towards Dick. It feels bad to turn away from it.

Your eyes drop down to her lips, the pretty, full shape of them and the way the light makes them look like a soft peachy brown color. Plush and soft and kissable, the thought came unbidden and doesn't leave.

Your instincts release that tangible mating scent before you can register it.

The scent is like pollen on the air: warm and sweet and heavy with desire. Kory's body responds instantly, inhaling deeply, nostrils flaring as she's flooded with the scent of a mate.

Because it's the scent of a mate—that instinctual, possessive urge to hold and touch and press so close you can't tell where your body ends and theirs begins.

The book drops from her hands without protest, and the next thing she knows, her palm is sliding up your thigh.

The moment you realize what you’re releasing, the signals you’ve openly given—you can't bring yourself to stop. Hell, the idea of stopping feels like a burn through your body.

Your gaze doesn't leave her face even as you feel her warm hand sliding up your thigh—the touch tingling.

It's not the first time you’ve felt the need to display, to release that mating signal to her—Dick too—it's nowhere close to being the first time. It's just the first time you’ve let yourself actually let go and do it.

Pull her in in the most connecting of ways, even if she's different she still reacts.

You move, needing to be closer, wanting to be closer. You straddle her hips, the sliver of skin pressing against yours from the way Kory's tank top rides up is like electricity through your body.

You drop your head, nuzzling along her neck even if she doesn't have the proper glands.

It feels like a dam breaking.

Finally, Kory's instincts cry. Home. Safe. Mine.

Her arm locks around your waist, the touch firm and possessive when Kory drags you against her. Skin against skin, sweet scent like nectar, your body against Kory's, warm and soft and perfect.

Her head falls back as you nuzzle against her neck, baring her throat like a supplication. A moan spills from her open lips.

It's a wordless song of longing: Mine. Hers. Mate.

The way Kory brackets you against her body, solid, secure, gentle, and warm all at once. Holding you close like she doesn't want an ounce of space between you, like she wants to mend you into one being—you aren't complaining, it's an unexplainable sensation to feel.

The noise that leaves her, the moan, has your spine tingling and skin all warm. It's like music to your ears, and you’re not sure you could ever go back to being anything but this.

Close, touching, feeling all consumed but cradled at the same time.

It's addicting in a way.

She’s addicting.

You lift your head from the crook of her neck, your hands sliding up to gently cradle her jaw and turn her head towards you. The look of want and bliss on her face, matching your own, is a comfort in a tangible way.

Your eyes drop to her pretty lips, "I want to kiss you." You murmur.

Kory's drowning.

Her hands roam your body with the possessive touch of a mate on her skin, needing to feel you, taste you, claim you. Your scent washes over her, filling her nose and throat, an overdose of sweetness that makes Kory dizzy and needy.

You’re all over her: thighs locked around her hips, hands on her face, eyes dark with desire. You’re so close, so warm, and Kory realizes that a lifetime is not enough to satisfy her of your touch.

"Yes," she says. "Please."

You’ve never been looked at so wantonly, like every word you say and every breath you take is being held onto like it's the very thing keeping Kory tethered to life.

It's like a warm fire building in your gut, traveling up to your heart until all you can feel is the heat of the sun in front of you.

The lack of hesitation, the lack of any sort of wait to the way she instantly responds, it pulls at you and it's like the world has zeroed into her—everything you see, smell, feel, taste is all wrapped up in her.

Something beyond tunnel vision, something delectable.

Your hands slide down to her neck, feeling the thump of her pulse against your thumbs as you lean your head down. You’ve wanted this for so long she's not even sure when it started—with her, with Dick, it was just there one day, all-consuming.

You press your lips together, like a woman starved.

Kory's kissed before, but not like this.

Your lips are soft and sweet, pressing against hers with a hunger that makes her shiver. She surrenders to it, yielding like a tree under a summer downpour. Your scent envelops her, fills her up, makes her moan against your mouth.

She needs more.

Kory's hands slide under your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin under her palms. Your body is so soft, so pliable, and she's overcome with the urge to take—to mark you as her own.

It's so different, the way the control is easily more your own than it is hers. Like it's not an alpha beneath you and you aren't an omega.

The want settling between you both is a steady burn that feels never-ending, the way she touches you but doesn't do it demandingly.

It's everything.

The searing warmth of her hands against bare skin beneath your shirt makes a shiver run up your spine, everything falling down to something so innately primal but chosen, nonetheless.

Your own hands slide around into the thick, curly tresses of her hair, pulling her closer.

You swipe your tongue against her plush lower lip, diving in when her mouth opens for you. She tastes like everything sweet, a drug you’re already so gone for. Something you never want to be clean and sober of.

The intensity and fervor between you builds into something bigger.

Kory's lost in you.

The taste of you against her tongue, the scent of your skin under her nose, your heat pressed against her, Kory's hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs. You’re everything: sun and honey and lightning in a summer storm.

Her body moves of its own accord, rolling so you’re lying beneath her. The possessive urge is overwhelming, the need to mark you and claim you a desperate fire under Kory's skin. Her head bows, fangs scraping against the sensitive pulse in your throat.

You don't even grapple with the sudden position change, the way you’re pinned on your back against the couch, your legs spread open to fit her in between your thighs.

You just accept it, with a sort of thrill up your spine, and tilts your head back to give her more access to your neck—baring it openly for her, submitting openly.

The sensation of her teeth dragging against the pulse in your neck should've been intimidating or even vaguely threatening if it wasn't her doing it.

It just lights the fire in your gut even more, pooling lower, throbbing with your pulse.

A shudder ripples through Kory at your submission, the throb of your pulse against her teeth sending a jolt of pure lust straight to her core. Kory drags her fangs harder along your throat, not quite breaking skin but leaving no doubt of her intent to claim every inch of you.

A moan slips past your lips, low and soft, at the way the pressure grows against her throat. Every instinct in your body screams that this is what you’ve been wanting for so long, what you’ve waited for.

This moment, the itch of getting closer to be claimed.

Your back arches slightly, pressing your body up and against hers, wanting more. Wanting everything.

It's like a deep ache in your body, pulsing everywhere. Arousal filling every part of you, a steady throb in her cunt.

"Please, Kory." You murmur, practically a whimper.

Her body tenses as you whimper her name. Her hips roll down of their own accord, grinding against your center. "Jesus," she mutters softly, feeling how wet you already are through your pajama shorts. Her fangs ache to sink into your neck, to mark you. "You make the sweetest noises, pretty girl."

You moan at the grinding of her hips against you, your own tilting up with a jerk. The denim of her jeans against the softer fabric of your own pajama shorts makes for a rough texture that hits just right.

So little of contact and yet it alights all your nerves, your cunt throbbing like tangible evidence of your need.

The compliments falling from her lips makes your skin hot and heart flutter, a soft noise leaving your throat—somewhere between a rumble and a purr. Your hips involuntarily rocking to meet her grinding movements, needing the friction.

"Please, please. Need you." You whine, falling into the consuming sensation of her, and her body against yours.

Kory's hands slide down to grip your hips, squeezing possessively as she continues to grind against you through the fabric. "You need me to fuck you with these pajama shorts on?" She asks, her voice a low purr. "Or do you need my fingers inside you? My tongue licking you open?"

You want everything under the sun, really. Choosing is suddenly the hardest thing in the world when so many mouthwatering options are open for pick.

And the way her voice wraps around those words, making it sound like something enamoring and sensual instead of openly vulgar. It makes your heart race and pound in your chest, like it wants to beat right out of your chest.

"Everything, anything," you whimper, unable to really wrap your head around one choice. "Please." You whine, hips jerking with the delicious grinds against your aching cunt through your shorts.

A slow, fond grin spreads across Kory's face at your desperate, all-encompassing plea. "Greedy girl," she murmurs appreciatively, lifting her hips just long enough to rip your pajama shorts clean off your body. The fabric tears easily under her strength, fingers smoothing against your skin to make sure it didn't hurt you.

"Looks like fingers first," she decides for you, her voice a gentle purr.

You didn't exactly expect your shorts to get ripped off your body, the sound of fabric tearing catching you off guard as much as cold air hitting wet, sensitive skin did. Her voice distracts you from it, and the way she touches your skin gently as if to soothe what didn't hurt.

You can't help the way you respond to it, your legs spreading open further for her, blood pumping and slick soaking your pussy making your panties damp and stick to your skin.

Your heart picks up pace at the idea of being touched in the way she’s promising.

Your head drops back against the couch, heavy-lidded, dilated eyes watching her.

Kory slides her fingers through your folds over your damp panties, feeling your heat through the thin fabric. "Gods," she mutters under her breath at how ready you are. "You're so wet, pretty girl." Her voice drops to a whisper as she slowly traces your clit through the fabric.

Your eyes roll back at the first touch of her fingers against your cunt through your panties, the slide of her warm fingers has your stomach full of butterflies. Your thighs twitch when she traces your clit slowly, like she's memorizing you through touch, and God if it doesn't feel phenomenal.

You moan breathily, hips lifting slightly to press into her touch. It's not even teasing, she's just exploring, feeling you, touching you.

And it feels so good for being something so simple.

One of your hands moves to one of her shoulders and the other rests on her arm that's not being used.

Kory hooks her fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly pulls them down your legs, her eyes fixed on your bare cunt. "So pretty," she murmurs, before pressing her fingers back against your folds. Kory slides two fingers inside you easily, your arousal coating her skin.

You’d usually feel shy being so exposed and bare in front of someone, especially someone you’re so enamored with. But all you can think and feel is how good it all is. How pretty she looks between your legs, above you.

Your back arches and you choke on a moan when you feel her warm, slender fingers push inside, your legs twitching like they want to close around her, but they don't.

Your hips jerk, grinding against her hand involuntarily, needing friction, needing her touch.

Needing everything she's willing to give you.

Kory curls her fingers inside you, stroking along your front wall, searching for that spot that'll make you see stars. Her thumb finds your clit, circling slowly as she fucks you with her fingers. "That's it, sweet girl, take my fingers." She encourages you, her voice husky with arousal.

You whimper and moan, hips grinding steadily as she pumps her fingers in and out of you, stroking against a bundle of nerves inside you perfectly.

Your stomach tightens and loosens with your moans and each time she hits that spot in you, the sounds of her fingers and your own slick is obscene, filling the room faintly.

Her encouragement in that low, sexy voice that has no right sounding so good, makes your body heat up, heart racing. Your fingers tighten around her arm and shoulder, neck arching back as your eyes close.

She can feel you tightening around her fingers, getting close to that edge. Kory's thumb moves faster on your clit, and she adds another finger, stretching you deliciously. "That's it," she murmurs, pressing kisses along your neck. "Are you gonna come for me, pretty girl?"

You gasp in a breath as her thumb speeds up on rubbing your clit, sending thrums of pleasure through your body—toes curling slightly. You moan, your brows furrowing as you gasp in breaths whenever your moaning doesn't cut it off.

Your back arches almost painfully, stomach tightening as that pressure builds gradually. Her crooning words, low and soft like the kisses she presses to your neck, it's like she's trying to pull you over the edge with her voice alone.

And it works.

The pressure snaps and you reach your orgasm with a moaning cry, legs shaking and cunt convulsing.

She feels you pulsating around her fingers as you come undone, and she continues those slow, steady circles on your clit, drawing out your pleasure.

Her free hand supports your weight as you shiver and moan through your orgasm, pressing kisses against your neck and jaw. "That's my sweet girl," she whispers against your skin, like a prayer.

"Don't worry, I'm not done with you yet." She hums lowly, a soft purr against you as she trails her kisses lower.

[kaileyrose28]

Late Night

Note.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ: Late Night is about an established relationship between Duke and FMC. He works off hours, late schedules, it's not like crime in Gotham has a public schedule. But he always, always, manages to come home to her. Always up waiting for him one way or another. Tonight was just... charged.

18+(I have to say this), this has sexual content, like seriously.

Kinks or fetishes: Dry humping, soft sex, intimacy, gentle sex, multiple orgasms, female focused pleasure, doggy style, missionary style, multiple rounds, unprotected p in v (wrap it).

I’m like so in love with Duke Thomas guys you don’t even understand.

4,349 words. Female centered sex and gendered phrases sometimes. Second Person POV.

It's almost 2 a.m. when Duke gets in—quiet, with his gear half-undone, boots slung over his shoulder, and sweat cooling on his neck. The apartment smells like home: your vanilla body butter, the faint trace of sage you light before bed, and something warm he can't name but always loosens his chest.

You’re not asleep. You never are when he's late.

It's part of your rhythm, this silent understanding. He doesn't have to text or call—you just know. Some nights you wait up in the living room, a book open in your lap that you’re not really reading. Other nights you’re curled beneath the covers, pretending to sleep until he slides in beside you.

But tonight you’re in the kitchen, barefoot in one of his hoodies, mug in your hands. When you look at him, he feels it—that flicker, low in his stomach, like a match struck against the dark.

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. He steps close enough for you to rest your hand on his chest like you always do—right over the armor where his heartbeat drums beneath it. Your thumb moves in slow circles there, and something in him goes still.

You make it easy to stop running.

The tension's different tonight. Not heavy, not sharp—just charged, like static. The kind that lifts the hairs on the back of his neck. The kind that makes him notice the way your eyes linger when you look at him too long, or how the hem of his hoodie barely covers your thighs, or how you bite your lip when he tugs off his shirt and drops it on the back of a chair.

You two don't talk about it. Not yet. They just move through your routine—him in the shower, steam thick and hot as he washes off the city, you bringing him water and leaving it on the nightstand.

He catches you watching him in the mirror when he steps out, towel slung low on his hips. You don't look away.

And maybe he doesn't either.

When he slips into bed, the sheets are warm. You’re warmer. He wraps an arm around your waist and presses his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. Your fingers trace slow, soft lines across his shoulder blades, like you’re memorizing every scar all over again.

That's the part that undoes Duke. Not the heat, not the want—though God knows it's there, simmering between them like a current waiting to surge.

It's you knowing him.

All of him.

And loving him not despite it, but because of it.

He breathes in deep. Let it out slowly. Lets his hand settle low on your back, anchoring you to him while the city fades from his skin and your warmth soaks into his bones.

Whatever else happened out there—it's gone now.

This is where he ends the night.

With you. Always you.

This is definitely your preferred way to spend your night, wrapped up in him in your bed, breathing him in—fresh after a warm shower, smelling like his body wash—knowing he's okay.

Feeling the warm, solid press of his body against yours, blanket tucked around you.

Your eyes are closed, chin resting on his shoulder as your fingers continue their light tracing on his back. He wasn't gone long, not technically, a few hours tops—but you’d missed him regardless.

In a lot of ways, definitely a lot of ways.

And now you get to have him again.

You turn your head slightly, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder. And then another in the crook where it meets his neck, moving up with light, barely there presses of your lips.

Sure, you should probably sleep, it's late. But you want to soak him in for just a little while longer.

This... he knows this rhythm. He knows what you’re doing now, the quiet, almost innocent kisses and touches that will quickly turn into more.

His body responds with the sharp-edged awareness it always does around you. He breathes in deep, forcing himself to stay still, even as the muscles in his abdomen involuntarily tighten, as the warmth settles in his stomach and the ache between his legs gets stronger.

God, he wants you. He wants you all the time.

You find the pulse point on his neck. He swallows hard, muttering your name quietly. Meant to be a warning, probably.

You can feel his throat move as he swallows, the whisper of his voice saying your name. Your lips twitch, a smile pulling at the corners as you kiss his pulse point.

The gentle but speedy thump, thump of his heart against you, it's a little addicting sometimes.

Your lips part, pressing open mouthed kisses along the column of his throat before sucking a mark against his pulse point. It's a little needy, a little more out there than your more languid kisses.

But you don't speed up, don't grow hurried.

You take your time.

"Hmm?" You hum against his skin, a response to him saying your name.

You don't pull away from your ministrations though, just move to a different spot on his neck to suck a mark before returning to the slow, soft kisses. Trailing up to his jawline slowly.

Duke breathes in slowly through his nose, a vain attempt to ease his rapidly beating heart and the want coursing through him. Your kisses feel good. So good. But he can tell you’re doing it for a reason, trying to drive him insane and he...

Well, it's working.

He lets out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. He turns your head, capturing your lips with his.

His tongue slides against yours, gentle at first, then more insistent, stealing your breath and replacing it with his own.

A noise leaves your nose when his lips are sealed to yours, the taste of him invading your mouth. Your hands slide from his back up to the sides of his neck, thumbs resting over his pulse.

It's easy to lose yourself in him, whatever control you had over him melts away easily.

The plushness of his lips against yours, his tongue sliding along your own, the taste of him. All of it.

Like a blanket over your brain, making it easy to just give up your own teasing in favor of getting him.

If you could call it teasing, anyway, it was mostly just you enjoying him in a simple way.

One of your legs hike up, draping across his hip to get a little closer to him. You can feel the evidence of the effect your kisses and marking had on him against you, it makes your lips curve into a slight smile against his.

It's something else, being wanted by him so wholly.

The hand on your jaw slides to the back of your neck, holding you against him. He needs more. He needs you. His other hand skims down your side to grip your hip, fingers digging into pliant skin.

He shifts suddenly, rolling you onto your back and pinning you beneath him. He swallows your gasp, his kisses moving harder, more urgent. His tongue sweeps inside your mouth, seeking yours out with an urgency that surprises him.

He needs to taste you, all of you.

Your thighs part and your legs straddle his hips, ankles locking together at his tailbone. It's a move as easily as breathing, maybe a touch instinctive, to make room for him above you.

His kisses steal your breath, his taste addicting against your tongue. All of him is addicting.

You meet his urgency and fervor with your own, arms moving to drape over his neck. One hand on the nape of his neck and the other loose against his back, keeping him close as he all but consumes you through your mouth, small breaths leaving your nose a little too close to moans.

It's always an experience with him like this, their intimacy never losing that spark that makes it burn and tingle.

You'll never grow tired of having him like this, of feeling his touch along your body, his breath mingling with yours, the urgent presses of his lips to yours.

Duke's hand in your hair tightens, pulling your head back to expose the smooth, pale skin of your neck. His mouth moves lower, teeth scraping your pulse point, then your collarbone, leaving a trail of dark marks in their wake.

Your moans make the edge in him grow sharper, that want to taste every inch of you growing sharper and stronger. He wants you breathless, beneath him, saying his name like a prayer.

He runs his hand down your side, lifting the hem of his hoodie.

"Off," he murmurs into your neck.

It takes you a moment to actually act, to move at his words. A shiver runs through your body, tingles running up your spine. You had every intention to get this far, you really did.

But it'll never fail to make you feel all giddy and hot and good. Because it's him you get.

You move a moment after your brain catches up, hands sliding from their spots on him down to the hem of the hoodie you’re wearing—his hoodie—your back lifts off the bed as you tug it up and over your head. You toss it off the bed, not caring where it lands.

You’re not entirely bare, you’ve got your bra and underwear on still. Your blood is rushing, heart beating like a hummingbird flying.

And your world focuses entirely on him, on the way he's looking at you.

Dilated pupils, parted, kiss-swollen lips.

God, he looks too good.

Just looking at you steals his breath away.

Seeing you like this, a slight flush to your chest, hair fanned out on the pillow, skin marked with evidence of his hands...

You’re his girl.

His eyes roam your body, trying to catalogue every inch. He leans down, capturing your mouth in another deep kiss, his hand smoothing up your waist, the curve of your hip.

"So beautiful." He whispers into your mouth, words tinged with a low, reverent tone.

A shiver runs up your spine at his whispered words into your mouth, how he sounded as he said them. Like a whispered vow.

You arch into his touch, seeking it out, wanting more of it. More of him, always more of him. You'll never get enough of how he looks at you, how he touches you, how he kisses your, and the way he breathes reverence into all of it.

Like you’re just something so precious. Precious to him.

It makes your stomach pool with heat and butterflies at the same time as you meet his kiss with your own fervor.

Duke pulls back, only slightly, enough to look into your eyes. The way you kiss him back, with such hunger and passion, it only fuels the fire burning in his chest. His hand continues to smooth over your hip, your side, your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

His touch makes your skin tingle, like a trail of pleasuring fire along your skin as his fingers slide along your body.

The way he's watching you, close enough still that you can feel his breath on your lips. It makes you want him even more, makes you want to say screw all to the sweet tenderness and just ravage him how your body wants.

But you don't, your hands trail along his shoulders to the sides of his neck, savoring his presence.

"Please, I want you. Please." You murmur softly, breathless because of him. From everything he's doing to you.

The sound of your pleading voice sends a jolt of electricity through him. He can see the desire burning in your eyes, the way your chest rises and falls rapidly. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours as he whispers back, "Tell me what you need, baby."

Your hands slide to the nape of his neck when he leans in again, his forehead resting against yours. His words whispered over your lips, sweet and soft like he always is. Looking for what you need, always what you need.

He never fails to work you over first, however it happens. Your needs are always met. It's addicting.

He makes your brain feel like mush, like stringing together thoughts is the most difficult thing in the world. Breathing him in is easier.

"You. Just need you." You mumble, tilting your head up enough to press a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, your legs tightening around his hips.

Duke smiles against your lips, a soft, content sound rumbling in his chest at your words. He knows exactly what you need, and he's more than willing to give it to you. His hands slide down to your thighs, gripping them gently as he presses his hips forward, grinding against your cunt.

You moan softly when he grinds against you, the delicious friction of his boxers against your panties is like heaven on earth. You lean your head forward, against his shoulder, breaths and moans muffled against his neck.

It's simple, slow, and a slight press and move of his hips into yours, but it alights your nerves like a brush fire. It's him doing it, him touching your, and that alone amplifies everything he does.

And he always feels so good, no matter how you’re doing it or what you’re doing—heavy petting or sex—it feels phenomenal.

Because it's the two of you.

His hands stay firm on your thighs as he continues that steady rhythm, smiling at the way you’re clinging to him. Your soft moans against his neck are driving him crazy, making his own breathing grow heavier. "You feel so fucking good," He mutters, pressing his lips to your shoulder.

A tingle travels up your spine at his muttered words and the gentle kiss against your shoulder, it makes your chest feel warm and full.

You raise your hips to meet his, moving yours in a rolling motion against his thrusts. Something as simple as dry humping makes your nerves tingle and your cunt throb with need. Your thighs tense and loosen beneath his grip, against his hips with each of your own hip movements.

"Fuck— please, Duke. Please." You practically whine, you need more, you want more.

He can feel your desperation, the way you’re clinging to him and begging with your body. He knows you need more, he can feel it in the way you’re tensing and relaxing your thighs around his hips. 

He breaks away from your shoulder to whisper, "Turn over."

It takes a minute for your brain to catch up to your body, his whispered order registering and you untangle your legs from around his hips. You turn over, stomach flat on the mattress, head propped up by your arms.

You’ve done this numerous different ways, and you’re sure this time will be no different and yet you’re still excited like it's the first time with him.

You look over your shoulder best you can at him, the way he seems to take you in with his eyes. He never fails to make you feel like you’re one of the prettiest women in the world when he looks at you.

Duke takes a moment to just admire the view—your figure, the way your hair falls over your arms. God, you’re beautiful.

He crawls up behind you, his hands sliding up your sides as he presses his body against yours. "Lift your hips," he commands softly.

His touch along your sides makes a shiver run through your body, his own pressing against yours—solid, warm, sexy. You'll never get over how it feels to be pinned beneath his body, how surrounded it makes you feel in all the best ways.

You listen to his soft command, your legs spreading as your knees draw up and your hips rise. Your ass pressing against his bulge, spine dipping a little as your stomach presses more into the mattress.

You just want him to make love to you—any way, every way, it didn't matter.

Duke groans softly at the feeling of you pressing back against him. His hands continue their path up to your shoulders, gently pressing you down flat onto the bed.

He quickly pulls his boxers down, freeing himself. He pulls your panties to the side, exposing you to him as he guides the head of his cock between your thighs.

He takes a moment to rub himself against you, coating his length with your wetness before slowly pushing inside you.

You moan as he slowly enters, long and drawn out. It always feels so good, the first initial stretch as he pushes inside. Touching everything delicious, skillfully.

You arch your back more, pressing your ass back against him. Your fingers fist the sheet beneath you slightly, forehead resting against your arm.

This will always be your most favorite part of it, feeling him physically connect with you, the most intimate you can be with each other.

It's one of the most amazing feelings in the world, one of the most pleasurable sensations.

He hisses through his teeth as you arch back, taking him deeper. Your warm, wet walls feel like heaven wrapped around his cock. He grips your hips tightly, holding your in place as he starts to move. Slow, deep thrusts that have the bed creaking and your moans filling the room.

He watches himself disappear inside you again and again, a milky white ring slowly building up on the base of his dick each stroke in and out.

God, he feels so good. Brain numbingly good. Each pull and drag of his cock along your inner walls like a burst of pleasure through your body, kissing your cervix each time he bottoms out inside you.

The weight of his hands on your hips, holding tightly, is just all the more to it all.

You can feel each time he brushes against one of the sensitive spots in you and hits the other perfectly. It has your blood rushing, skin hot and sweaty.

You move one of your hands back, placing it on top of one of his on your hips, fingers curling around his wrist as he fucks you deep and slow.

Duke feels your fingers curl around his wrist and tighten. He knows you love deep, slow sex. It hits all the right spots for you. He lifts one hand from your hip and brings it around to your stomach, pulling your body back against his with each snap of his hips.

Your moans grow a bit in consistency, a bit more breathless than before as he used your own body to meet each snap of his hips. Your eyes roll slightly before closing, brows furrowing and your grip on his wrist tightens slightly.

Pleasure is a steady thrum up and down your body, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. Every enter of his cock and exit has you seeing stars one way or another.

The coil in your stomach building with each deep, deliberate thrust of his hips. Tightening in your stomach until it gets too much, and you reach your orgasm with a breathless moan.

He feels you tighten around him as you come, body shaking and quivering. He continues to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm and drawing it out as long as possible. Once you start to come down, he pulls out and flips you over onto your back.

The sudden emptiness in your cunt and the change in position has your brain reeling for a moment to catch up—disoriented so fresh from your orgasm. Your cunt clenching around nothing, throbbing with your release and arousal.

You shift your weight, brushing your hair from off your face where it'd landed from his, albeit gentle, manhandling.

"Jesus," you laugh the word out slightly, hands finding his arms once he's above you again. "Didn't expect to be flipped over." You murmur with a dopey smile, your cheeks flushed.

Duke smirks down at you, his cock throbbing and slick from your release, a white coating around the dark skin. "Thought you might like a different view." He quips playfully, settling himself between your thighs again. His hands find yours, pinning them above your head gently.

Your eyes meet his gaze, smiling at his playful quip. The sweet, almost casual air despite the situation is amusing.

You shift to accommodate him pinning your hands above your head, your stomach caving in with your breaths and your chest brushing his. You can feel his cock pressing against your cunt, pulsing with his heartbeat.

You definitely do like this view, getting to see him, watch him as he fucks you. Always a dream.

"It's a pretty handsome view, I gotta admit." You mumble, fingers curling in slightly to touch his hands even as he keeps yours pinned.

A low chuckle escapes him as he leans down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss before sliding back into you with one smooth thrust. Your compliment and the way you’re touching his hands even as he pins them has his ego and his dick both swelling. "Mmm, glad you approve."

Your lips part against his as a moan slips from yours, the stretch he caused even after just being inside you moments ago feels as amazing as before. Your back arches, pressing your stomach against his.

Your eyes slip shut, fingers pressing against his hands pinning yours as he starts to thrust again. Your legs spread wider, wrapping around his hips. Your arms twitch like they want to move but remain where they are from his restraining grasp.

"God, Duke." You moan his name softly, your eyes fluttering open to look at him. Your eyelids twitching like they want to close again but stay open regardless.

He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, feeling your legs wrap around him tighter. The sight of you struggling to keep your eyes open, trying to maintain that connection with him, sends a surge of lust through his veins. He picks up the pace, thrusting deeper and harder into you.

You’re still sensitive from your orgasm, the pace of his thrusts mixing with that extra sensitivity is like a burst of electricity beneath your skin. Your cunt walls quiver around his cock, squeezing and releasing periodically.

The obscene sounds it all makes fill the room, mixing with both of your breathing, his groans, and your moans.

Your body tenses up briefly as another coil builds in your stomach, faster than before. Your head drops back, eyes rolling, even as you did try to keep your eyes on him it felt impossible.

"Fuck— fuck, m'gonna—" You don't even get to finish before your second orgasm is rolling through you.

The sudden tension and the desperate, cut-off words have him nearly losing it right there. Seeing your head drop back, your eyes rolling back into your head as you come again sends Duke over the edge.

He buries himself deep inside you, letting out a long, low groan as he starts to spill into you, painting your walls white with his come.

Your moan chokes off at the sensation of him filling you up with his spent, warmth spreading through your belly.

Your body relaxes after a moment, coming down from your high. Breathing heavily and skin sweaty, but completely content and satisfied. Your lips twitch slightly as a smile forms, your eyes refocusing and landing on him.

His dilated eyes and blissed expression. God, you'd never get enough of it. Of him. Your legs relax around his hips, sliding off slightly.

"God," you exhale, slowly catching your breath again as your gaze roams his face. "You're so handsome." You murmur almost reverently.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him momentarily stunned. It's not often that someone, let alone someone as incredible as you, looks at him with such obvious admiration and desire.

A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. It's slow, lazy, but still sweet.

"Let's get you cleaned up, hm?" He hums against your lips, his voice low and gentle as he pulls out of you carefully before getting up to get a rag and wet it in the bathroom.

You sprawl out on the bed while waiting for him, stretching your limbs—a content groan leaving you. You could feel his spent slowly leaking out of you, you'll probably have to clean the sheets tomorrow.

Your eyes find him almost the moment he reenters the room, shamelessly ogling his figure. From his toned pecs—bitable man boobs, to be honest—down his stomach to the softening dick between his toned thighs.

He was so handsome, sexy, and pretty wrapped up into one. You didn't know how to settle on one thing, he was everything.

Your eyes find his as he leans a knee against the bed, gently spreading your thighs open with one hand. "I made sure the water warmed up first," he mumbles absentmindedly as he gently wipes you clean of his leaking come.

It was gentle, sweet, and full of love.

"You're too sweet t'me." You mumble, watching him with a small smile.

He presses a light kiss to your thigh, giving it a squeeze with his hand before moving to toss the hand towel into their hamper by the door.

You do look at his butt as he goes. Utterly shamelessly. He's got a phenomenal ass.

When he comes back to you, he gently moves you up to the pillows again. He gets in next to you, pulling the blanket up and over you both. "S'nothing." He mumbles against your shoulder after pulling you into him, responding to your earlier words.

His hands hold you by the waist, keeping you close and pressed to him. Perfectly curved against his warm body. You sigh contently, tucking your face against his neck, listening to him breath, letting it lull you. 

[kaileyrose28]

Too Close To The Sun

Note.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ: Too Close To The Sun is about an established relationship between DBF Dick and BFD FMC. Everyone knows how much Dick loves Wally, how he'd probably do anything under the sun for that man. And when she appeared, with that radiant pull, he tried to steer clear as best he could. But he's only a man.

18+ (I have to say this), this has sexual content, like seriously.

Kinks or fetishes: Age gap, thing for redheads (we all know Dick), slow sex, love making not fucking, yearning, Dick's totally an emotional fucker, unprotected p in v (wraapp itt)

There are a few specified traits (physical) in this one, only because I liked them too much to trash it.

5,549 words. Female centered sex and gendered phrases sometimes. Second Person POV.

Wally's house always felt like a second home. Familiar, loud in a good way, filled with the smell of whatever Artemis was experimenting with in the kitchen and the comforting buzz of static from the old TV Wally still hadn't replaced. It was the kind of place that wrapped around you like a warm hoodie on a lazy Sunday—casual, easy. Safe.

Until you walked in.

And suddenly, nothing about it was easy anymore.

He'd heard about you for years—Wally had talked, always talked. About how smart you were, how stubborn, how fast you learned, how you were growing up too damn quick. He'd never met you, not really. Just glimpses in passing, photos Wally showed him at dinner, stories shared between bites of pizza or beers on the balcony. You’d been just a kid then. Some distant figure he'd never really paid attention to.

And then you turned eighteen.

And then you walked into the room.

And suddenly everything about who he thought he was got put under a microscope.

You weren't a vigilante—thank god. Wally and Artemis had shielded you from it. Let you live. You had this softness about you that Dick had never had the luxury of knowing in his own life, and certainly not in Gotham. You smiled with your whole face. Laughed like you meant it. You didn't carry the weight of twenty crimes scenes behind your eyes like everyone else in his world did.

You were light. Pure, blinding, soul-splitting light.

And he was a moth with scorched wings pretending he wasn't already halfway gone.

He told himself it was harmless. Admiring from a distance. Noticing the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, or how your eyes lit up when you talked about your favorite books. Not a crime. Not a sin.

But it felt like one. Every damn time you hugged him hello and he had to fight not to melt into your warmth. Every time you sat too close on the couch and he caught your perfume—vanilla and some kind of citrus, sunshine in a bottle. Every time you looked at him like he was someone, not Nightwing or the Bat's golden boy, just... Dick.

He hated how easily you made him forget the lines. The moral high ground. The years between you. Who your father was.

Wally would kill him.

No—he'd kill himself before he ever let it come to that. He'd spent his whole life fighting for control, for discipline. He was discipline. The tightrope walker, the tactician, the golden son who always knew better.

And yet... here he was.

Sitting on Wally's worn-out sectional, pretending to listen to some story about a mission gone sideways, while every cell in his body was tuned to the sound of the front door opening.

Because you were back.

And that meant the next few hours were going to be absolute, unrelenting hell.

You'd walk in with that smile—your smile—and the world would tilt again. His gut would clench, his jaw would tighten, and he'd have to act normal. Act like he wasn't holding himself together by the frayed edges of his own damn soul.

He was failing. Tremendously.

And worse—he didn't want to stop.

You had just gotten back from an outing with a few of your friends, it was a mutual friend's birthday you’d tagged along as a plus one. It was mostly an excuse to go out and see a few good friends while celebrating someone.

You walk into the living room, a few bags in hand. You pause in the doorway, eyes flickering between your dad and Dick—you didn't know he was over, you probably would've greeted him like you usually did if you did.

Their unpredictable schedules make for unpredictable hang outs between your dad and him.

"Hey, Dickie. Hi, dad." You greet the both of them lightly, shuffling over to the coffee table to set the few bags down.

Your eyes drift to the TV playing some sports game you don't care to know. You stand back up straight after setting the bags down, hands going to your hips.

Dick's eyes flick toward you—just for a half second—before he forces them to go back to the game. Pretending like your greeting doesn't send his stomach careening into his gut.

Dickie.

He'd long ago given up trying to change that nickname. You’re the only one who gets to use that one. The only one he wants to use it.

You’re in a short dress, showing more skin than he's ever seen you expose. Redheads have always been his thing—which is not a helpful trait right now.

He forces himself to speak up when the silence stretches. "Hey. Having a good night?" It's normal. Casual, even.

Don't think about the dress.

Don't look at the way the fabric hugs your skin.

Don't let his eyes linger too long on your freckled thighs.

Wally's voice interrupts Dick's own self-destructive spiral. "She was out with some friends. They threw a party."

That doesn't help his self control.

You plop down on the sofa next to Dick as your dad answers for you, it's not like he was wrong. You tell your dad where you’re going and whose you’re going with all the time, even at your age.

It's a habit, and a good one to be honest. A family of vigilantes does that to you.

You recline comfortably, legs propped up next to his thighs. You’ve been up and walking around all day, helping friends and shopping, taking photos or carrying bags because it's just who you are.

Constantly lending a hand because it's just how you were raised.

"I didn't go to the party, though. I did the pre-stuff and then left early." You say, checking your phone for the time for a brief second. "They didn't plan to end till, like, one and I didn't want to wander around that late." You add, dropping your phone onto your lap lazily.

You were a people person but not exactly a party-all-night-till-your-blackout type of people person. You liked a good club, a sexy night out with the girls, but it's just been conditioned into you to get home before midnight no matter what.

Pre-stuff. Meaning you'd spent hours gone before he got here.

With other people.

He has to swallow a pang of irrational jealousy as you settle next to him.

Wally's in the armchair, watching your exchange with a smile, completely unaware of how Dick's about to short-circuit.

You’re close—too close. He can smell your perfume. Something fruity and sweet, like strawberries.

He has very explicit thoughts about biting your neck while you wear it, and that's just not okay.

You stretch slightly, groaning. This is the first time in hours you’ve gotten to actually rest in one spot relaxed, it's like heaven on your feet.

You stretch your legs out, plopping them over his legs comfortably. It's not like you’ve never gotten close to him before, plus he's comfy.

"What've you two been up to?" You mumble, brushing a hand through your hair, letting it fan out over the armrest behind you—the ginger strands contrasting with the muted color of the sofa.

You glance at the TV, but the sports game is still playing and it might as well bore you to sleep.

Your legs are warm on his thighs.

It's not fair—you’re doing it just because he's comfortable, that's all. It's not an excuse to get closer. You’re just tired.

Then, you put your hand through that hair—red tresses spilling over your arm—and the breath hitches in his throat.

He wants to touch you.

He wants to run his hand over those strands. He wants to trace his thumb over your jawline and feel your skin. He wants to press his face against your throat and bury his nose in the soft skin of your neck.

But that's bad.

A line he can't cross, for so many reasons. Instead, he pushes that ache down and turns his head to answer you.

"Nothing special," he says, hoping to god his voice doesn't waver. "Got dinner with Tim. Talked shop."

You hum in acknowledgement of his response, smiling a little at the mention of his younger brother. He's got more siblings than you have parents, you haven't met all of them yet—but sometimes Jason comes to see your step-mom and Tim comes over to talk cases with your dad.

You shift slightly, getting comfortable mostly because you don't want to get up and move. You’re content with talking, comfy in your spot on the sofa with your legs sprawled across his legs.

Feels a bit domestic and a bit intimate but you’re not gonna think about that.

"Do you, like, ever do anything fun?" You say jokingly, knocking his stomach with your knee playfully—it stays lightly pressed there because you’re honestly too lazy to move it back to lay straight across again.

You don't even pay attention to the fact you’re still in a dress.

Dick almost chokes at the contact.

He can't think straight when his brain is split in two—he's feeling too much all at once, getting high on your touch like you’re the world's worst drug.

You’d knocked his stomach, but the gentle pressure of your knee against his abs feels like it's sending lightning through his body. He wants to take your calves and pull your legs into his lap. Spread you open and have you closer, against him, for just a few seconds.

Instead, all he does is clear his throat around a rasping, "Define 'fun'."

You can feel his stomach tense against your knee, the slight hitch of his breath—it makes you both curious and honestly... feeling a little mischievous.

You didn't notice it before, but now that you felt a subtle reaction when you nudged him, you’re looking a lot more.

Noticing.

His pupils are just dilated enough to notice at your angle, the way he seems to be focused on you instead of split between you and your dad, and the way he's talking at you instead of at both of you.

It was kind of... well, it was kind of hot actually.

Makes you feel a little special.

"Something... I don't know. Exhilarating, entertaining. And your job doesn't count." You say keeping up your joking, playful demeanor.

Your dad excuses himself to get another beer from the fridge, oblivious to whatever you noticed as he walks away.

"Like partying or something." You add.

Dick could laugh at the irony, the way his chest tightens when you mention partying.

If only you knew what kind of party he wanted to do with you at the moment.

As soon as your dad disappears out of the room, his eyes lock onto your with a dangerous flicker. Dick lets his gaze rake over you in your little red sundress, his fingers clenching into the soft couch fabric. His voice is a warning on the last word.

"Partying? Really?"

You grin a little, almost small enough to be excused as a smile. You like this, you’re glad you noticed the way he's acting—you almost wish you’d noticed it sooner, those little reactions, the way he looks at you.

Like he's looking at you right now, a slight heat to those blue eyes.

You shouldn't be flirting, or even attempting to flirt, with someone like him. Maybe if he wasn't so connected to your life, wasn't your dads best friend—a man you know your dad trusts more than anything and anyone.

But he's all but asking for you to with those eyes, to be honest.

"Yeah, partying. What? You don't go out to clubs when you're not doing something related to work? Go out on dates or I dunno, hook up?" You say teasingly, shrugging your shoulders a little without moving from your spot. "I'd find that very hard to believe." You add.

You’re playing with fire.

And so is he.

Dick tilts his head and arch an eyebrow at you. He knows he's pushing his luck, and he knows you know you’re pushing yours.

He leans just a little closer, his voice a low rumble. "You're asking if I've got a love life?"

You’re playing dirty, and he's letting you.

He keeps his gaze pinned to yours, forcing himself to sound nonchalant, to be cocky. "Jealous?"

God, there's something about that act he does. The cocky, charming thing.

You’re sure he definitely does it all the time, whether or not it's with other women or in past relationships—you frankly don't care because right now, it's directed at you and for your enjoyment.

And the way he got closer, slightly bent over you from how your legs are in his lap. It's fucking hot, in a way that has you wanting to push him till he breaks and actually does something.

It's inappropriate and definitely wrong in a sense, not you.

But you want to do it nonetheless.

"Why? You want me to be?" You ask, your tone downright flirty because why not? You’re parents out of earshot, the kitchen doesn't look into the living room, and he's basically pulling it out of you.

With that easy act, and that too-good-looking face that makes you wanna do anything for him.

You’re going to get caught.

Dick knows this.

He knows he should stop.

But, god, the way you're looking at him. The teasing in your voice, the challenge. The little hitch to your breath that's just loud enough for him to hear.

He leans in even closer, his body now turned towards you. One of his hands is still pressed into the couch, but the other is resting lightly on your ankle.

He rubs his thumb along the small exposed patch of skin, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

"Maybe."

The touch of his hand on your ankle, light, barely there aside from the circular drag of his thumb against your skin—it has a slight shiver running up your spine.

A line drawn somewhere between them has definitely been crossed and you can't find yourself caring, not now, not ever.

The way he leans closer, his body curled over yours, practically trapping you against the couch—but you know he'd back off if you wanted him to, let you go.

It's what makes it so sexy, so thrilling. Because he's so safe, and you know that. And he's so fucking handsome.

"I kind of really want to kiss you right now." You mumble, tossing the game you two were tiptoeing around out the window because he's so close, he smells good, and he looks even better.

You can imagine what his weight would feel like on you, how he'd taste.

It's addicting, honestly.

The words hit him harder than he was expecting and his eyes darken.

No more games. No more teasing, no more pretending.

He needs you. Needs to feel you.

And when those words leave your lips, everything in him snaps.

Dick presses forward with a low growl, his body now hovering over yours. He pushes your legs apart and settles his hips between them, both his hands gripping your waist now, like he's incapable of letting go.

"Please," he breathes against your mouth, his lips barely an inch from yours.

He maneuvers her so easily, so quickly you barely had any time to process the shift—the way he's now pressed between your thighs, his hands gripping your waist, his weight pressed against yours and pinning you against the couch.

His breath against your lips, and you’re gone.

He absolutely zaps any remaining rational thought, if there ever was any to begin with, leaving behind a blank space.

The way he says please instead of just going for it, or telling you to do it—it's pleading, desperate, and honestly the most attractive thing you’ve ever heard.

You glance to the side, just to check before immediately turning back to his face. Your hands come up and cup his jaw, thumbs pressed against the curve of his cheeks.

You close that remaining distance, crashing your lips together without any more thought behind it.

As soon as your lips touch his, everything explodes.

God, you’re beautiful. And soft. And so perfect pressed against him that it almost hurts.

All he can think is more.

He slants his mouth against yours, shifting his weight to one hand so his free one can slide into your hair, angling your head to fit him better. He swipes his tongue against your lower lip and groans at the taste.

He's never wanted anything more than he wants you.

He kisses like he's been starved it, touches you like he's a man going to war, and god—it's like a fucking firework show in your stomach.

The way he shifts you around, pulls and grabs until you’re perfect against him, their mouths moving together in sync.

And he tastes like heaven.

You’ve never been so consumed, so devoured, by someone. Not like this. Not like he'd die if you stopped, if he never got to taste your saliva or your lips again.

Your lips part when you feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip, his groan tickling skin.

He's a drug and you’re addicted.

Your hands slide up from his jaw to his hair, fingers threading into the dark locks just behind his ears. Your legs rise slightly, locking around his hips to fit your body better against his on the sofa.

Losing yourself a bit in him, it's almost too easy to just let the feel of him take over.

Dick can't think, not with you pressing yourself against him like that.

You’re intoxicating, like sunshine in tangible form. Like pure honey against his tongue, and he can't get enough. If you’re the sun, then he's Icarus ready to fly too close to your fire.

He pulls you impossibly closer, his hand grasping your thigh now instead of your waist. He lifts his head just enough to speak—his voice is a wrecked rasp. He can't help but sound like he's desperate. "How quiet can you be?"

You almost whine when he pulls from your kiss, you’ve never been so consumed in something as simple as kissing but God.

Kissing him is like a whole new experience, it's like coming home to a man who loves you and wants to devour you to show it.

His grasp remains steadfast around your thigh, like he wants to keep you wrapped around him. It's a semi-grounding feeling as you catch the breaths he stole from your lungs, and also a reassurance he wasn't pulling away. Wasn't stopping.

Not yet at least.

His words make a shiver run up your spine and heat pool in your gut, you immediately know what he's getting at. It makes your lips twitch slightly as you smile a little, a slight quirk at the corner of your mouth.

"Pretty quiet." You mumble, you learn how to be quiet with parents like yours.

And that's the right answer.

Dick lets out a low, guttural moan, his fingers digging into your thigh harder at the thought of trying to keep you silent.

There's a lot of ways he wants to touch you first. A lot of ways he wants to draw it out, listen to you whimper and mewl for every touch.

But the fact that you know just makes him feral, makes his body vibrate with the need to take you.

"Good," he hisses, nipping at your lower lip. "Because you're gonna need to be."

That low moan that left him, too quiet for anyone but you to catch, makes a shudder run through your body because he sounds so delectable.

You want to hear what other noises he'd make, you want to watch him crumble because of you, because of what you can do to him.

You breathe out through your nose when he nips your lower lip, heat pooling in your belly almost instantly. He's so effortlessly sexy, it's almost unfair. He doesn't even seem like he's trying and he's already basically made your panties useless for any future use.

And, God, you want to indulge and give into him here. Right now, however he wants, because it sounds like the best fucking thing ever.

But you’re in the living room, parents in the kitchen. Bad idea.

"Bathroom, they'll think I went up to bed." You murmur, barely strung together.

The fact that you already sound so wrecked by nothing more than a few kisses and a touch to your thigh goes straight to his ego. He wants to hear how loud he can make you when he gets you beneath him.

But then you’re muttering something about parents and a bathroom and he's suddenly on his feet, pulling you up and into his arms in seconds.

He's walking before you’ve even finished the statement, his hand gripping your ass as he carries you down the hallway and into the bathroom.

You have to actively fight not to giggle like a maniac when he's suddenly lifted you into his arms, holding you up as he makes his way to the bathroom without a word.

His hand gripping your ass is a nice little addition, makes you feel giddy and hot all at the same time.

You drop your head, arms around his shoulders as you kiss his neck, along the hollow of his throat.

Taking full advantage of the position he's holding you in.

You bite and suck at his neck until pink marks appear—not going further because it's too risky to leave long term marks.

You can feel his pulse beneath your tongue, beating fast and hard—you want to bite it, feel it stutter against your mouth. His skin tastes like sweat and something addicting.

Your hands slide up and into the hair at the back of his head, fingers grasping the soft strands.

The feeling of your teeth and the suction of your mouth on his neck has him clenching his jaw hard to suppress an embarrassingly loud moan.

He has to stop for a moment once he's through the door, closing it softly behind them and dropping you on the counter so he can step between your legs again.

He shoves his face into your neck, biting at the soft skin of your throat, making sure to leave no more than a faint hint of redness at your pulse point.

"How bad do you want me, sweetheart?" He asks, the words whispered against your skin.

Your eyes are slipping shut when his mouth is on your neck, giving you the same treatment that you'd sweetly tortured him with. And God it feels so good. Your fingers tighten in his hair as your head drops back to give him more access, locking your ankles against his back.

His whispered words tickled your skin and sent a jolt of heat between your legs, he's so unbelievably attractive it's so unfair.

Those gorgeous blue eyes being eaten up by his pupils all because of you, those lips kiss-bruised, his heart racing for you.

It's all so mesmerizing.

"So bad," you mumble, opening your eyes to look at him. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging slightly. "I want you so badly." Your voice is a little breathy, your legs pulling him closer.

He's like a drug you’re already gone for, that you never want to be sober of.

Fuck, the way you look at him right now, all flushed and needy with his hair in your hands... he's fucking ruined.

Before you can even finish your sentence, his mouth crashes down on yours in a brutal, claiming kiss as he starts fumbling with the button of his jeans.

It's almost too thrilling, knowing how much you’ve affected him—how much you can affect him. You’re only a woman, and to know you’ve got a man like him—older, experienced, could and has had any woman he wants—down, metaphorically, on his knees for you. It's addicting.

You drop a hand from his hair when he kisses you again, looping an arm around his shoulders to hold him closer to you. The sound of him fumbling with his jeans makes your skin tingle and your stomach pool with heat.

Anticipation, excitement, and arousal all mixing together into one heady feeling in your body.

Your free hand drops down to hike your dress up over your hips for him.

Feeling your dress ride up sends a fucking surge of adrenaline through him. He groans into your mouth as his fingers finally manage to undo his jeans, shoving them down just enough to free himself.

He breaks the kiss, breathing hard as he grabs your hips and yanks you to the very edge of the counter.

The way he just manhandles you with enough gentleness to belay the ease in how he moves your body like you weigh nothing, is sexy as all hell. His heavy breathing against your mouth is nearly just as hot, how desperate it feels. How desperate he seems to be just to have you.

It's one of the most attractive things you’ve gone through.

You bring your other hand down to tug your panties down your legs, briefly dropping your legs off his hips to remove the fabric. You drop it to the floor, locking your legs back around him.

One of your hands grabs the side of the counter and the other goes to grasp onto his bicep.

Seeing you so eager and ready for him has his cock throbbing. He can feel the heat radiating from you, and it's driving him wild. He leans back just enough to line himself up with your entrance, his voice a low groan as he asks, "You sure about this, sweetheart?"

You’ve had sex before, plenty of times. But you’ve never wanted to fuck someone so badly before, it feels like you might burst if you don't.

The heat in your body, the thudding of your heart, and how good it feels just to have that anticipation building from him being lined up and just so close to giving you what you want.

Your gaze turns up to his at his question, the groan in his voice, how earnest yet desperate he looks. God, you’re never giving that up after this.

"I'm sure, please." You mumble, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. Gentle and slow.

The kiss is sweet and gentle, unlike the rest of the situation. It's a stark contrast that somehow only heightens his arousal. He groans into your mouth as you pull away, his eyes locking onto yours. Without another word, he pushes inside of you, slow and steady until he's buried to the hilt.

You moan softly as he pushed inside, your head dropping to his shoulder. The stretch is phenomenal, and the way he fills you completely—kissing your cervix and brushing against all sorts of nerves.

Sex is fun, good, but this? This is something else entirely and it feels so much better.

Your hand on the counter moves up to his side, just below his ribs, feeling his muscles tense and loosen. One of your legs slides down his hip slightly as the other hikes higher up, trying to stay grounded in the moment but it's like he's consuming all your senses.

Surrounding you in the best of ways. The scent of his sweat and cologne, the touch of his skin against yours, the fullness of him inside you.

Dick can feel your moans vibrating against his shoulder, and it's the sexiest fucking thing. He starts to move, slow and deep, each thrust designed to hit that spot inside you that makes you gasp.

His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he begins to pick up the pace.

Your moans pick up slightly, muffled enough against his shoulder to be mostly smothered. He feels so good, it's like experiencing it all over for the first time again—being fucked. Except you’re not even sure if that's the right word, fucking is rough and fast and everything unemotional.

This feels too real to be something unfeeling.

His thrusts are deep and deliberate, like he knows your body already even having never touched you before now. It's slow and sensual like he wants to savor you, hold onto you. And you find yourself wanting that same thing.

"God," you groan softly, your hips rocking with his thrusts despite his hold on you.

He can feel you moving with him, your body molding to his like they were made for each other. It's overwhelming how good this feels, how right it feels.

His hands slide up your hips to your waist, pulling you even closer as he leans in and buries his face in your neck. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge with every thrust. "Fuck."

Your hand on his arm moved up to wrap around his shoulders when he pulled you closer and buried his face against your neck. You can feel his breaths hot against your skin, every soft groan and curse vibrating against your neck.

You moan against his shoulder, a slow pressure building in your stomach as every thrust of his hips hits against buzzing nerves like he's some kind of skilled marksmen.

It's so slow, so sensual, languid and yet it feels like you’re one stroke away from coming undone completely.

Your hand on his side slides down to his hip, feeling the muscles contract at his slow thrusts, your fingers curling slightly against his skin.

Feeling your fingers curl into his hip sends a jolt of pleasure down his spine. He lifts his head just enough to capture your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss as he suddenly snaps his hips forward, hitting that spot inside you with perfect precision. 

The kiss caught you off guard but you’d melted into it not a second later, meeting his hunger with your own. You moan deeply against his mouth when he hits that perfect mark inside you—heat pooling and spreading through your skin, pulse starting to speed up and throb in your cunt.

He breaks the kiss to croon against your lips, "You gonna come for me like this, sweetheart?"

Your breaths are heavy when he broke your kiss, those soft words murmured against your lips and the way he's fucking you has your brain going to mush. It's so good, so deep, so... god, just everything. He's everything.

"Yes, yes. Fuck—" you moan brokenly, that pressure finally snapping as your orgasm washes over you. Your thighs shaking and inner walls spasming.

Hearing you moan and feeling the way your body clenches around him is almost too much. He groans deeply, his thrusts becoming more urgent but still maintaining that deep, steady rhythm.

"Fuck, yes," he murmurs against your lips, feeling his own orgasm building rapidly. "Just like that, sweetheart."

You moan as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, legs trembling around his hips. Your eyes roll back slightly before shutting, the way his thrusts shift slightly, still deep and deliberate but he's chasing his own finish now too.

The sensitivity sets in and it feels so good, it has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. Each drag and push of his cock inside you, amplified by your orgasming, has your body trembling a little.

Your cunt contracts in pulses around him, like it wants to keep him there. Your fingers dig into his skin as your head drops back against his shoulder again.

He watches you fall apart, completely lost in pleasure. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

His control finally snaps as your pulsing walls drag along his length. With a deep groan, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his hips jerking as he comes hard inside you.

You moan deeply, your own hips jerking slightly when that searing warmth spreads through your cunt and lower belly, his come filling you up. And god, it feels just as good.

Your legs tighten around his hips, pulling him close like you want to keep him there before the energy leaves you and your legs slip off him. You lean your body against his as he slowly grows soft inside you, still pulsing come into you.

You press a trail of light, sweet kisses along the column of his throat slowly before finding his mouth and pressing your lips together in a lazy, albeit sensual kiss.

Dick kisses you back deeply, savoring the sweetness of your lips. His hands slide up to cup your face gently, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he continues to kiss you slowly.

He can feel his softening dick slipping out of you, replaced by a warm gush of his come leaking out.

It's all warmth, fullness mixed with emptiness—his come keeps you nice and stuffed but the absence of his cock is definitely felt. It's a little unfortunate, you'd have settled to have him inside for a little longer.

But it's not like this is normal circumstances. But you’re definitely not letting this be the only time. You’re pretty sure he's shifted something in you, for you.

"Let's get you cleaned up, hm?" He croons gently, leaning over you to turn on the faucet to your left, holding you to him still—his fingers trailing up and down your spine.

[kaileyrose28]

[kaileyrose28]

Horny Teens

Note.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ: Horny Teens is honestly pretty self explanatory, it’s about two teens left alone in a big empty house after not seeing each other because of busy schedules, no one to enforce the ‘open doors’. So, they take advantage of the time given. Messy and dirty. (both are late teens)

18+ (I have to say this), this has sexual content, like seriously. 

Content: First time (together not entirely), mutual masturbation, semi-dry humping, quickie, mutual orgasm, riding, protected sex. 

4,837 words. Female centered sex and gendered phrases sometimes. Second Person POV.

P.S. – It is mentioned that you have paler skin than him, not white specifically, just not as warmed-toned as him. This was originally an oc that's redheaded and white, but I won’t limit it like that here, if there are mistakes it’s not purposeful.

It’s rare—this. Time. Just time. No responsibilities clawing at Damian’s heels, no expectations weighing on his shoulders. No Gotham pulling him in one direction and his family in another. Just a quiet moment in his room, the heavy manor doors shut, the world outside kept at bay. And you.

You’re curled up beside him on the bed, flipping through one of his sketchbooks, completely at ease in a way he envies. He watches you, committing every little detail to memory—the way your fingers ghost over the pages, how your eyes soften at certain sketches, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. 

He should be used to it by now, how effortlessly you weave yourself into his world, into the spaces he guards so carefully.

But he’s not. He doesn’t think he ever will be.

He won’t say it aloud—he has no interest in reducing what they are to shallow words—but he loves you. Not in the juvenile, fleeting way people expect from those your age, but in the only way he knows how. Fiercely. Unapologetically. In a way that burrows deep, settles in his bones. 

He’s lived more lifetimes than most, has carried more weight than anyone would dare place on a child’s shoulders, and yet, here you are, fitting so seamlessly into the chaos. Like you were meant to be there.

Damian’s schedule is merciless. The little time he does get with you is often stolen in brief moments—a shared lunch at school, a lingering touch before he’s pulled away to play the part of Wayne heir, a hushed phone call before patrol. And even now, even in the quiet of his room, there’s an edge to it. 

He can’t take you out, not properly, can’t walk through the city without the ever-present threat of exposure. Paparazzi would love nothing more than to sink their teeth into something personal, something real. 

And he refuses—adamantly, violently—to let them have you. Ever. Not for any reason, because nothing would ever justify letting others have you.

So, this will have to do.

He leans back against the headboard, exhaling slowly. The manor is empty enough that no one is here to enforce rules, to remind him of open doors or the illusion of propriety. 

The preferred way to soak in having you against him, even in the simplest of ways. 

You stretch out slightly once he leans back against the headboard, your head resting on his stomach as you continue to flip through his sketchbook. 

You’ve always liked his sketches, how good they always were—he had a knack for everything, really. 

You exhale softly, soaking the peaceful moment in for a quiet little second. 

He’s always busy, somewhere, everywhere, for everyone and you don’t envy him. You admire his ability to do everything and adore the way he still makes time for you. 

Little ol’ you. 

The hand not busy with his sketch book manages to find one of his, lacing their fingers together. 

His skin is a warmer shade then yours, sometimes he makes you look paler than you are—she burns more often where he tans, unfortunately. Sometimes she’ll get a nice color going, but not always.

The contrast is something that has always fascinated him. His skin is darker, yours pale. His body built for combat, yours softly curved. His life is bound by duty and obligation, yours… free, in comparison. 

Free in ways he’s never quite been able to grasp.

His eyes fall to where your head rests on his stomach—your hair a stark contrast against the white cotton of his shirt. He absently runs his thumb against the back of your hand, feeling the ridges of your knuckles—a gentle rhythm, grounding.

“See anything you like?” He asks, his voice low.

The soft feeling of his thumb running back and forth along your knuckles is as soothing as it is cute, the way he touches you without thinking about it. 

You study the sketches, they always look so smooth, so well done. Like some kind of professional did them.

He might as well be an artist, he was so good at it. Portraits, landscapes, animals. Anything. It always looked so good. He was always so good at things, anything really. 

You admire it and envy it to some extent. The way he can do just about anything. 

You hum softly at his question, like there was ever a sketch he could make that you wouldn’t like. You’re not even sure that’s possible. 

“I like all of them.” You mumble softly, giving his hand a soft squeeze as you flip to another page in his sketchbook. 

"Of course you do." He teases gently, closing the sketchbook and turning towards you. 

You let him have the sketchbook as he teases you gently, a small smile twitching the corners of your lips. You lift your head off his stomach and look up at him when he turns towards you, meeting his gaze.

The way you admire his drawings still manages to make his chest warm—not many people appreciate things like you do. His thumb traces small patterns on the back of your hand, enjoying the softness of your skin.

The soft feeling of it is as soothing as it is cute, it’s rare, this little thing you’ve got going right now. You adore the way he’s so soft with you, so sweet. 

You scoot up to be level with him on the bed, brushing your noses together affectionately. “Mm-hmm.” You hum softly, your free hand sliding up to rest on the side of his neck.

His heart rate increases slightly at your affectionate touch. He tilts his head into your palm, resting against your touch. His eyes flit between yours before he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your mouth. “You’re allowed to have a favorite.”

He distracts you momentarily when he leans in after looking you in the eyes, giving that soft little kiss, far enough to not be a proper kiss but close enough to be a touch teasing. 

Your lips twitch with a smile, gaze finding his eyes at his words, breathing a soft sound in response. 

You love all his sketches, he’s too talented to pick a favorite. Instead of saying that you lean back in yourself, tilting your head to press your lips together in a soft kiss. 

Your hand on the side of his neck sliding around to his nape, holding gently.

His eyes flutter shut at the feel of those lips on his. He deepens the kiss slightly, parting his lips to press his tongue gently against the seam of your lips, silently asking for entry. 

You shift slightly, to reach him better and to be at a more comfortable angle. Your other hand comes up from your side to his chest, helping keep you balanced in your half-upright half lying down position. 

You both have kissed in more awkward positions than this before. 

You part your lips when you felt his tongue press against your lips, silently requesting entry even though he definitely doesn’t have to—a gentleman even when he’s pulling you apart at the seams with his mouth, it’s endearing and sweet in the same way it’s unfairly attractive. 

His hand leaves yours to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as he loses himself in the kiss. A soft breath leaves your nose when you feel that hand on your waist, pulling.

He takes advantage of your parted lips, slipping his tongue inside to caress yours. The kiss turns heated as he explores your mouth with sensual strokes. His hand at your waist slides up your side, fingers brushing the underside of your breast accidentally.

His touch tickles you when his hand slides up, exploring, the accidental brush makes her stomach flutter. You groan softly against his lips involuntarily, although you’re lost to the kiss too much to acknowledge the new sound. 

As mature as you both are on the best days, during these times it’s simply who you both are. 

He’s always far too composed and yet just as desperate as any teenager would be when kisses turn a bit more and you’re always melting for him; it never mattered what he did. Just that it was him doing it. Although you both have never gone further than making out.

He pulls back from the kiss, breathing heavily. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you, taking in your flushed cheeks and parted lips. 

He leans in to press a series of soft kisses along your jawline and down your neck, his hand still resting on the side of your breast. He can feel you melting into him, and it makes him want to do more than just make out.

You exhale softly when his lips break away and turn to trail kisses along your jawline and down the exposed line of your neck instead. You tip your head back slightly to give him better access. 

It’s easy to get lost in the feeling of his mouth against your skin, pressing soft kisses into the sensitive, soft skin of your neck and you’re all but at the mercy of the sensation of it and his hand still resting where it is—almost tantalizing.

He’s like a drug, intoxicating and addictive. This definitely has a different feeling than usual quick make outs you both find yourselves in when he’s particularly busy and you don’t have time to do anything and choose to kiss.

His kisses pause at the hollow of your throat as he feels you soften further beneath his touch. The scent of your perfume mingles with your natural scent, a dizzyingly arousing combination. 

He glances up at you through his lashes, noting your parted lips and unfocused eyes.

You look down when you feel him pause his kisses along your neck. The way he looks at you is something else entirely, you’re not sure you’d ever get used to it. 

His pretty green eyes gazing at you through his dark lashes like you’re the very thing he wants most. Your hands lift to cup his jaw, thumbs tracing along his smooth olive-toned skin. 

Your eyes drop to his lips, practically a magnetic pull to be honest, he’s a drug that you’re addicted to. 

You bow your head down, tipping his head up at the same time and capturing his lips with your own—drawing his lips open with your tongue easily, although he’s easily the more controlled of the two, you try your best to match him.

He lets out a low groan as your tongue slips past his lips, momentarily losing his cool composure. His hands slide around your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepens. He can feel every curve of your body pressing into his own, igniting a fire low in his belly.

Whatever control you had for a moment over him evaporated when his hands slid to your back, pressing you to him until there’s nowhere else to be but flush together as the kiss deepens. 

You decide to maneuver into straddling his lap without breaking your kiss. You can feel him against you, quite obviously. 

You slide your hands from his jaw to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark tresses and cupping the back of his head to keep him close. 

You tilt your head slightly, getting a better angle. Both your tongues meet in sensual strokes that keep the burn in your blood moving through your body.

His fingers dig into your back as you wrap your legs around his waist, the sudden pressure against his groin making him catch his breath. His hips move of their own accord, grinding against you as he continues to devour your mouth.

The suddenness of his hips grinding makes your skin tingle and your stomach to a somersault, heat building in your gut. The way he continues to devour you mouth like he isn’t grinding himself against you makes a shiver run up your spine. 

It’s been a while for you both to even get far into make outs, his schedule always packed. But you’ve definitely never gotten this far before and the pleasure of it makes you wonder why it never did. 

The kiss grows more hungry, more intense, noises of lips meeting and tongues against each other filling his bedroom. Your hips eventually move against his grinding, mimicking the way his hips move. Unable not to.

His hands roam from your back to your thighs, squeezing possessively as he helps lift you up and down against him. He’s losing himself in the sensation, forgetting about the time and his schedule.

Fuck, he can’t even bring himself to care.

Your spine tingles when his hands clasp around your thighs, squeezing the flesh as he lifts her up and down like she weighs basically nothing—which she knows isn’t true. 

Neither of you have ever dry-humped before but you can definitely understand why people do it, the drag of his jeans against your shorts is just the perfect sensation. 

You slide one hand down from his hair to between your bodies, to the button of his jeans—not really caring about what's been done and what hasn't, anymore. There’s just the need to do something more.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, his breath catching in his throat as he feels your hands moving to his jeans. It's been far too long since he’s been intimate with someone, as long as he’s been with you, and the way you're touching him is enough to short-circuit his brain.

You eventually manage to get his jeans button undone and tug his jeans down his hips once they’re unzipped—below his knees before leaving them where they are, considering it takes for too much effort to get jeans off. 

You settle back on him, the smooth fabric of his boxers tickling your skin. You can feel the outline of his dick a lot more like this, it’s both nerve wracking and incredibly arousing at the same time. 

You lean back down, hands sliding to his jawline as you begin to press kisses around his lips and down his jaw. Exploring him for just a moment because you can and you want to.

He groans uncontrollably as those kisses trail along his jaw. His hands tighten on your hips as he feels your warmth. With you pressing against him like this, he can feel every inch of you through the thin fabric of your shorts. His resolve weakens as his hips lift slightly, pressing against you.

You groan softly against his lips at the feeling of him pressing against you. You lift your head to press your lips together again. 

The kiss is messy and desperate, teeth grazing over lips and tongues rolling against each other. You don’t waste much time at the way he keeps groaning, you’ve never seen him like this and it’s almost an addicting feeling.

You pull back for a second to undo the button of your shorts before your lips are back on his. Sloppy and messy as you work on your bottoms, unwilling to part from his mouth to actually focus the needed attention on the fabric.

He breaks the kiss to help you anyway, his fingers fumbling with the button and zipper. He’s so hard it's painful, and the feeling of you against him is driving him wild. 

You’re not particularly fond of him breaking the kiss, but you do appreciate the help with getting the shorts undone. Both of you fumbling like the teenagers you are, focused on what could be happening too much to coordinate your movements.

Finally getting your shorts open, he slides his hands inside, gripping your bare ass and pulling you even closer. You can’t help the small laugh that leaves you at his action. 

His fingers dig into your flesh as you laugh, his own lips curling into a soft smile.

Without removing his greedy hands you lift your hips to pull your shorts down, moving off his lap to pull them off yourself completely before straddling him again. 

Feeling his erection against you through the thin fabric of both of your underwears is new and arousing. You press your lips together again in a messy kiss.

You’re so responsive, so eager, and it's driving him wild. As you straddle him again, he groans at the feeling pressed against him, his dick throbbing painfully. He breaks the kiss again to whisper against your lips. “Lift up.”

His fingers digging into your flesh is familiar and pleasant but so, so different this time around. Your spine tingles each time he groans because of you and at the way he’s pressed against you. 

You whine slightly when he breaks the kiss again, but his whispered words against your lips stifle it. You shift slightly, one of your hands flattening on his bed and the other on his stomach to balance yourself as you does what he says. 

The whine is the best sound in the world to him right now, and he groans in response. You're so innocent, so pure, and he loves it. 

You lift your hips up, knees pressing into the mattress to keep your lower body elevated above his own. “Like this?” You ask quietly, mostly because he’s the more experienced between the two of you when it comes to this particular thing.

He reaches down and pulls his underwear down his hips just enough to reveal his hard length. 

You look down between them, watching him tug his boxers down his hips just enough to expose himself. Your eyes trail along the length of his dick, taking in the one part of him you’ve never seen till now. 

He’s well groomed, which you’re unsurprised by, he’s always been meticulous about his hygiene. 

His dick, now that, that’s one of the prettiest dicks you’ve probably ever seen. 

Smooth and warm-toned like the rest of him with a pretty, glossy dark tip, veins running down his shaft, a good eight inches. You bite your lip slightly, openly ogling your boyfriend’s dick.

“Like this,” he confirms, his voice hoarse with desire. He can't help but smile at your reaction, the blush creeping up your cheeks as you bite your lip. 

You’re cute when you’re shy, he thinks, and it's making him even harder. He wraps his hand around his length, squeezing gently as he watches you stare. “Do you like what you see?”

The way his hand wraps around himself, squeezing his dick gently. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it was to watch, the ease in which he did it in front of you is so hot. 

Your gaze flickers up to his face at his question, lips twitching because you hadn’t meant to be so obvious but sue a girl, it’s your first time seeing him so exposed. 

You’ve seen a few dicks in your life, none of them as nice as his. Maybe you’re biased because he’s your boyfriend. 

“‘Course.” You mutter, dipping your head down to press a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling up again.

He chuckles softly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you back on top of him, you move easily for him. You meet his kiss easily, this one more languid than the others have been.

He kisses you back, pulling you closer as his other hand continues to slowly jerk himself off. He knows you can feel it pressing against you, and he loves the way you squirm slightly against him.

The sensation of his arm between your bodies, hand wrapped around himself slowly jerking off is almost a tease, really. You can feel it pressing against you, feel the motion of his wrist moving along his dick. 

It’s erotic in a way you’re wholly unfamiliar to but definitely like. The wetness in your panties makes that obvious despite yourself, all because of what he’s doing.

He breaks the kiss and nuzzle into your neck, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone. His hand moves a little faster now, the motion pressing his dick against your cunt with each pump. 

He can feel you getting wetter through your panties, and it's driving him crazy.

You let your head drop to his shoulder when he breaks the kiss to nuzzle into your neck and press soft kisses along your collarbone. You can feel his hand speed up its motions on his dick, each pump pressing his dick against you. 

You bite your lip slightly, your breaths through your nose fanning his neck. One of your hands moves between your bodies, if he’s jerking himself off you might as well meet him where he is. 

You slide your hand into your panties, rubbing yourself at the same pace as his hands moving on his dick. Noises leaving through your nose against him.

He groans softly against your neck, feeling your hand move between your legs. The sound of you rubbing yourself in sync with his strokes is incredibly hot. 

He can feel you getting wetter and wetter, and it's taking every ounce of his self-control not to rip off your panties and take you right here.

The soft groan that comes from him against your neck makes you shiver slightly. A soft moan slips from your throat against his shoulder as your fingers keep rubbing your clit in sync with his strokes, breathing as heavy as his. 

You’ve never done this before and you’re really questioning why, it’s so good, so easy. You keep at it for a moment before the ache to have him grows too much to ignore with simply doing what you are. 

“Damie,” you manage to say your nickname for him clearly. “Wanna have sex, need you. M’ready.” You string the words together, whether or not it’s comprehensible isn’t your problem.

The desperate need in your voice sends a jolt of shock through him. "Fuck yes," he groans, moving quickly to peel your panties off. His boxers go flying somewhere across the room. 

You’re both impressed and surprised at how fast he acted after hearing your words, the way he all but yanked your panties off and threw his boxers somewhere in the room.

He grabs a condom from the nightstand drawer, fumbling slightly as he tries to put it on.

You can’t help but giggle, shifting your weight when he grabbed a condom out of the nightstand drawer. Both of you have had sex before, but not with each other. This would technically be the first time with one another. 

It was exciting, especially after a year together. You’d think it would’ve happened sooner considering your both hormonal teens but his schedule made it hard. 

You can feel him fumbling with the condom, trying to get it over his dick as quickly as he can.

He finally gets the condom on, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He pulls you back onto him, positioning himself at your entrance. "Guide me in," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. 

He wants this to be good for you, your first time together.

You sit up slightly, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips as you elevate your hips above him. You look down, reaching between them to guide his condom covered dick to your entrance. 

If there’s one thing you could always appreciate, it’s the way he can relinquish control to you whenever he thinks you could benefit from it. It's sweet. 

You align him and slowly sink down, his dick sliding into you. You moan softly, hands planting on his toned stomach for balance. “Mmhf,” the noise leaves you softly, eyes fluttering slightly.

"Shit..." He lets out a choked curse, his hands moving to your waist to help support you as you slowly take him in. Holy fuck, you feels amazing. Better than he ever imagined. 

He watches where you’re connected, seeing you stretch around him making his hips twitch involuntarily. "Baby..."

He feels so good inside you, settled deep and brushing every nerve like you’ve honestly never had before. Your eyes drift up to his face after a moment, taking in his expression. 

His pretty green eyes are overtaken by his dilated pupils, the way he’s watching where you’re connected. You bite your lip, hands on his stomach pressing slightly as you move your hips. 

Feeling his dick slide out a little bit and sink back in as she moves slowly, a soft moan leaving your throat. You savor the feeling of him inside you, his schedule is far too busy to not soak in what this feels like.

"Fuck... just like that, babe..." He praises you, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. He lifts his own to meet yours, pushing up into you as you sink down. The combination of both your movements has you moving slowly, your breasts bouncing slightly with each motion, is almost too much to handle.

His praise makes your skin tingle, you’ve heard it in other scenarios but god this one just hits in a different way. The way he lifts his own hips to meet yours, pushing up into every time you sink down. 

It almost amplifies the sensation of him inside you, touching deep spots you didn’t even know existed. 

You pick up the pace slightly, slight sounds coming from where your connected. Your breasts bounce and ass jiggles each time you drop down. 

“You feel so good, Damie.” You moan, hands sliding up from his stomach to his chest for better stability.

"So do you," he groans, his eyes locked onto the connection between you. The sight of you riding him, breasts bouncing with each movement, is almost too much. He can feel his control slipping away. "Harder, baby," he encourages, his voice strained with desire.

You listen, because what else would you do? He’s so good to you, what better to do than give him what he wants. You stop for a moment to shift your position slightly, your hands sliding to his shoulders before you resume.

Just faster and harder, the slapping of skin meeting filling the room obscenely. Your breathing grows more ragged, breasts bouncing as you properly ride him. 

The moaning grows more consistent, mixed whimpering noises that come out of your nose, stealing your breath. Your thighs are trembling from exertion and overwhelming pleasure.

"Fuck..." The sight of you lost in pleasure, taking what you want from him, nearly has him losing it entirely. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, guiding your movements. "Right there, baby... just like that..."

Your head drops back, exposing the arch of your throat, your moans choked off. His grip on your hips is hard and bruising but fuck if it doesn’t feel good. It’s the fact you know he’s capable of so much more but knowing he’d never do anything to actually hurt you. 

You don’t change your rhythm because she’s so close. So, so close. Your stomach’s tightening, the coil building faster than you honestly want. Your hands slide from his shoulders down to his hands gripping your hips, fingers curling around his wrists. 

It’s only a few more bounces on his dick before the coil in your stomach snaps. “Oh, god. I’m coming— fuck, Damien.” You reach your orgasm with a moan of his name, cunt clenching around his cock.

"Fuck, yes... come for me, baby," he encourages, his own release building rapidly at the feel of you coming undone around him. Your tight, wet heat is too much to resist and with a final, hard thrust, he finds his own release. "Holy shit..."

You slowly come to a stop, your breathing heavy and fast, skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. You go slack against him, laying your hot body against his, arms sliding around his neck, letting his body hold your weight. 

That was probably the best sex you’ve had, which isn’t much, but you’ve honestly never come so fast before. The warmth of his cum filling the condom is a strange but not bad sensation inside you. 

“This is definitely happening again some time.” You mumble against his shoulder, albeit humorously.

"Multiple times." He laughs softly, one hand moving up to stroke through your messy hair. He’s still buried inside, enjoying the feeling of connection. "Though next time, I'd like to return the favor with my tongue." He whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck that makes you shiver.

You bite your lip slightly, a soft giggle leaving you. It’s not a bad image that he planted in your mind, him using his tongue, going down on you. You don’t have much experience surrounding receiving head, but damn if it doesn’t sound appealing when it’s him. 

Especially with him still buried deep in you, stimulating even without moving. You shift your hips slightly, getting comfortable. 

“Yeah? I might have something left in the tank.” You say jokingly, although not completely, before pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

He breathes a quiet chuckle through his nose, giving your body a gentle squeeze.

[kaileyrose28]

A Feeling

Note.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ: A Feeling is about an established relationship between Tim and Reader. Reader is the second roommate living in Tim’s apartment—done to split costs, Tim wanted to live independent from Bruce's money. The only problem is the other roommate has no sense of boundaries. A real… nice guy. 

18+ 

Content warning: Feferences to potential rape (described as a ‘feeling’ and ‘vibe’), harassment, not taking discomfort or no as what it is.

6,071 words. Second person POV oriented.

Exhaustion draped over Tim like a weighted blanket, the kind he welcomed after a night like this.

He barely remembered climbing the stairs, barely felt the doorknob turn beneath his fingers. The apartment was dim, save for the soft glow of the kitchen light. Late. Too late to be awake, and yet, he could hear voices. Not loud, but enough.

Noah. Of course.

His voice carried that easy confidence, that persistent hum of someone who thought they were charming. He didn’t have to see to know you were there, just off to the side, probably with that polite smile you always wore when he was like this. The kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Tim wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. His body ached, the adrenaline long since burned through, replaced by a bone-deep fatigue. His jacket felt heavier than it should as he shrugged it off, his boots dragging against the floor.

Noah didn’t acknowledge him right away. He was too caught up in whatever half-assed attempt at flirtation he was trying this time. 

Too close. Always too close.

You laughed, but it wasn’t real. He knew you enough to know that.

Tim could’ve said something. Should’ve. But the words caught in his throat, tangled in exhaustion and the quiet understanding that it wouldn’t make a difference.

You didn’t need saving.

He needed sleep.

His bed was calling, but he felt your eyes on him. That familiar, unspoken thing passing between them. Concern. Worry. Maybe something else Tim didn’t have the energy to name.

He muttered something incoherent—maybe a goodnight, maybe nothing at all—and let his door shut behind him.

Collapsing onto the mattress, he barely had the strength to pull the blankets over him before sleep pulled him under.

You’ve been alone practically all day with Noah, aside from the short time he worked—remotely like you unfortunately—but every moment before that and after that was full of being harassed left and right under the guise of ‘innocent flirting’ or however he puts it. 

So, when Tim all but walked past you and Noah and mumbled something you didn’t catch before he was already in his room, you were honestly a little… unnerved. 

You couldn’t fault him for it though, he was probably exhausted. 

But you didn’t want to be alone with Noah. 

In the simplest of terms, you don’t trust the man. Don’t want to find out what he’s capable of if he reads something wrong, if he’ll take your uncomfortable stance as an invitation. 

They slowly move from the kitchen to the hall—you trying to get to your room, him following you like you aren’t.

“Come on. I promise it’ll be worth it, just one night.” He says, the nickname he came up with for you falling from his lips, his grin promising nothing but… something else. Something not worth anything. 

“I’m busy, you know that. Work, school, I just don’t have time.” You try to be light-hearted, keeping a smile on your face. 

One wrong move isn’t on the table, you don’t want to tempt fate with a mistake.

“Oh, that’s bullshit. We have the same schedule. I’m just asking for one date. C’mon.” He steps closer to you, more in your space then he’s been before. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t what you’ve navigated before. 

He’s maintained distance before, like there was a line between them he hadn’t wanted to cross yet. It was harmless, aside from being emotionally draining. 

But that line, that line didn’t feel like it was as deep as before. It didn’t feel like he had any issues with crossing it tonight. 

It makes your stomach knot up, your heart beats faster, and your skin gets all clammy. 

It took a while for Tim to fall asleep. Too many thoughts, too many... feelings, still churning in his head, mixing with the exhaustion and the lingering memories of the night. When he finally started to drift off, it was to the distant sound of voices beyond his door.    

He could make out Noah's voice easily enough—low, persistent. And your soft, hesitant responses. There was no mistaking the tension in your voice, even through the wood of the door.    

He was tempted to get up, to check on you. But he was just so damn tired.

Your hand moved behind your back as you moved one step at a time down the hall, walking backward—you aren’t comfortable with the idea of turning your back on Noah right now, if you ever have been. 

You grab the first doorknob to come into contact with your hand. 

You push the door open behind you, stepping through before quickly closing the door in Noah's face—it’s rude, it is, but you were just… honestly scared shitless right now. 

The familiar smell in the room tells you it’s in fact not your room. It’s in fact Tim’s. 

You jump when the door shakes with a loud knock against it, followed by Noah's voice. “Fuck, fuck—” you murmur, frantic, booking it towards his bed, which honestly felt like the safest place you could be right now. 

“Tim— Timmy.” You rush his name out quietly, crawling onto his bed.

Tim’s eyes snapped open at the sudden, urgent sound of his name. He was still half-asleep, disoriented for a second, before he realized the voice was... yours. 

What were you doing in here?    

Before he could even fully sit up, he saw you climbing onto the bed. You looked panicked, your breaths coming in short bursts. And then it clicked.    

Noah.    

Tim shifted onto his elbows, quickly more awake. He mumbles your name quietly, his voice rough with sleep. "What's going on?"

You don’t even know how to articulate it to him, or even to yourself. It’s a feeling, you just know Noah wasn’t planning to do anything good or back off. 

He hadn’t tried anything past trying to get you to go out with him, but tonight just felt… different. 

It was terrifying. 

You crawl up his bed the rest of the way, your hand finding his arm in the dark—just to make sure he’s still where you saw him. You sit on your knees, glancing over your shoulder at the door—the dark making it hard but the light seeping through at the bottom helped. 

“I don’t know— I don’t—” It was a little hard to string words together without your voice wavering, it was something else to feel so threatened when nothing outright definitive happened. 

It was just an energy; a vibe Noah was giving off. It was… scary. 

The fear in your voice was raw, and it sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. He shifted closer to you, sitting up fully and pulling you a little closer to him. His hand found one of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.    

"Hey, it's okay. You're okay." His voice was softer now, more awake. He could feel the tension in you, the way you kept looking back towards the door.    

"What happened with Noah?" He asked, the soft way he says your name after is as comforting as his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

You didn’t mean to come in here, to disturb him when he obviously needed sleep—but you're sort of relieved you did, whether by accident or not. 

It felt better to be here with him then alone in your room with the potential of Noah getting in and you being—well, alone. 

When he pulled you closer you slid off your knees, partially on the side of your leg, your knee pressing against his hip. His hand holding yours was grounding, at least a little bit—it brought you back from reeling in your own emotions. 

Making it a little easier to breathe. 

You don’t even know how to answer his question, is it even okay to say you just felt something. That he hadn’t even really done anything physically to warrant your fear, it was just… it felt like he was going to do something. 

“He was just… I dunno. It felt like something.” Your words were hesitant, unsure. It was clear you were trying to process something that didn't quite make sense logically, but was nonetheless real. 

Tim could tell that you were scared, and he knew you well enough to know that it took a lot for you to admit that.    

He shifted on the bed, pulling you fully onto the mattress next to him. You settled against his side, your head on his shoulder. Even in the semi-darkness, he could see the fear in your eyes. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer.    

"You're safe," he tries to reassure you, the words a soft murmur in the dark room. "Just take your time. I'm here."

You sniffle slightly, settling into him when he pulls you onto the mattress next to him. The ease in how he just accepts it, your answer—or lack of a substantial one—and how he just pulled you down and against him like it was so natural to him. 

It was comforting beyond words. 

Your hand moves from his arm to his shirt, grasping it in your fist as you bury your face against his shoulder. Noah was tolerable to an extent, you figured out ways to move around him—but tonight just… it was different. 

You hadn’t been able to get him to leave you be. 

His persistence was normal, but the pushiness was up a notch tonight. Like it was an all or nothing kind of thing, it didn’t feel normal tonight. 

It felt like it was either you said yes, or it’d become a yes soon enough. 

You hold tight to Tim, his reassurances comforting.

Your grip on his shirt, the way you’d buried your face into his shoulder... it was a silent cry for safety. He tightened his arm around you, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. He could feel the tension in your body, the fear that lingered in your voice.    

The clock on Tim’s bedside table read 3:00 AM. Too late, or rather, too early. The silence in the room seemed to amplify the sound of your slightly shaky breaths.    

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks quietly, his chin resting on top of your head.

Everything about him was comforting and safe, it always has been. Since they were younger and stupider—if he ever was stupid, really. His soothing touch and the gentle way he held you close against him made everything feel better, even if nothing really happened. 

You exhale quietly at his quiet question, the weight of his chin on top of your head felt nice—like you were surrounded by him, untouchable in some way. 

Nothing could get to you here, and right now that was what you needed. That inexplicable safety. 

You shake your head after a moment, a short, small movement. Spending all day navigating Noah and trying to get your work done, alone in the apartment with the man. 

Without Tim there. 

Was exhausting, and it was late, far later than you’ve ever stayed up.

He could sense the exhaustion in your body, the way you seemed to sink further into him. You were tired, both physically and emotionally. And you didn't want to talk about what happened with Noah, not right now. 

He could respect that.     

He continued to run his hand gently up and down your back, offering a wordless form of comfort. 

The silence in the room was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came with being completely understood.     

After a few minutes, he said quietly, "You should sleep. It's late."

You had dozed off for a moment, to the feeling of his hand gently running up and down your back and the comfort of his presence. His voice brought you back, the quiet tone stating the obvious, and if it were any other time you would’ve called him Captain Obvious but you’re too tired.

The thought of getting up, moving away from the little bubble of safety he created for you and going to your room felt like… well, it felt terrible. 

To have to walk through the hallway, pass Noah's room—if he even went to his room—to get to yours.

You don’t want to.

You stay quiet for a little, thinking it over—if you have to, you will. You’d never invade his space without being wanted, Noah does that to you and you’d never want to impose that feeling on Tim. Or anyone. 

“Can I stay?” You ask quietly after a moment. 

Your voice was a murmur against the quiet of the room. His grip on your body tightened almost imperceptibly before he answered.   

"Of course," he says softly, your name soft on his lips. "You don't have to ask. You're not invading."     

Tim shifted slightly, moving a little further back onto the bed and pulling you with him. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel uncomfortable or intrusive. 

His bed was big enough for two, and he wanted you to feel welcome here, safe.

You settle with him, his words reassuring. It was nice to know you weren’t invading, or making him uncomfortable in some way. Especially after how you’ve been made to feel, it felt weighted to know there’s ever a possibility that you could do that to Tim. 

You never want to. 

You relax your hands grasp on his shirt, letting your arm stay loose around his torso, your head resting on his shoulder. 

As tense and scared as you’d been when you’d first stumbled into his room by accident, you felt a lot better now. 

With him, with everything he’s done. 

You let your eyes close, listening to the steady beating of his heart and feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It has its own subtle comfort to it, knowing he’s right here and that he’s not going anywhere. 

That you aren’t alone, at least for now. 

Tim could feel the tension slowly draining from your body as you settled into the mattress beside him. Your grip on his shirt loosened, arm curling around his torso in a loose hold. He could feel your exhales against his neck, slow and rhythmic.     

He pulled the blanket up further, tucking it around you, making sure you were comfortable. His hand found the back of your head, his fingers gently playing with your hair, offering silent reassurance.     

Sleep was tugging at the edges of his own consciousness, the exhaustion from the night finally catching up to him.

His gentle fingers playing with your hair is what pulls you the rest of the way, the comforting tingles it causes making you fall asleep a lot faster. Your breathing evening out with your body gradually losing its remaining tension as sleep takes you. 

It was almost easy to fall asleep like this, wrapped up in him and in his bed. Far easier than sleeping alone, it was warm and safe and comfortable. 

The faint beat of his heart like white noise even while you’re sleeping, a subconscious comfort even then. 

Everything that’s happened today for you, to you, bleeds away—leaving this mundane, warm comfort behind. 

Keeping you pacified and relaxed, your fingers twitching slightly. 

It’s probably the most comfortable and safest you’ve felt sleeping in a while.

Tim felt your body relax completely as you fell asleep, your breathing becoming slow and steady. Your fingers twitched slightly, and he could feel the warmth of your breath against his neck.    

He watched you sleep for a few minutes, taking in the serenity of your face, the way your features were soft and peaceful in slumber. It was a sharp contrast to the scared and anxious look in your eyes when you had first stumbled into his room.     

Finally, he allowed himself to close his eyes, succumbing to the exhaustion that had been tugging at him. He fell asleep, the weight of exhaustion and your presence next to him easing him into it. 

You were roused the next morning as the sunlight faintly bled through his curtains, you were a bit disoriented and it took you a second to gather your surroundings. And remember what happened last night. 

You don’t move from your spot, which has changed through the night. 

You went from being tucked into his side, his arms around you comfortingly, to being partially on top of him somehow. You aren’t awake enough to want to figure out the logistics of that. 

He’s comfortable too, warm and solid—his breathing rising and falling against you. 

You stay where you are for a while there, somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. Too comfortable to fully wake up and too unwilling to move from the warm, comfy spot to try to wake up fully. 

You can hear Noah moving around the apartment though.

Tim’s own sleep is restless, plagued by fragments of dreams and the lingering exhaustion from the night before. The first light of morning seeps into his room, rousing him from sleep. 

He blinks his eyes open, disoriented for a moment. And then he felt you.    

The way your practically on top of him, head on his chest, one of your legs thrown over his. It takes him a second to gather his bearings, to remember what happened last night. The fear in your eyes, the way you sought refuge in his room.    

He can hear noise coming from elsewhere in the apartment as well, assuming it’s likely Noah rummaging about—probably purposefully trying to be loud and obnoxious. 

Why? One can assume the easy answer, you.

You only move when you feel him shifting slightly, your head lifting from off his chest to look up at him—your eyes heavy-lidded and still a little sleepy, but a grin cracks across your face at his bedhead. 

Messy around his face, more than usual anyway. 

You rest your cheek on top of his ribs, one of your hands lifting to brush through his hair. Moving the messy strands off his forehead, smoothing it out as best you can with both of them still lying down. 

You usually don't see this, just him stumbling about in the morning like a zombie. 

“Morning,” you murmur quietly, voice thick with sleep. “Coffee?” You ask, mostly because usually he gets some in the mornings and sometimes you’ll make it for him. 

You’re not a coffee person, don't like the taste. But you always brew some for him when he’s had late nights.

Tim chuckled at the way your eyes were still half-shut, your voice hoarse with sleep. "Morning," he mumbles, his own voice rough.    

He can feel the way your fingers run through his hair, smoothing out the messy strands that have fallen onto his forehead.     

"Coffee sounds amazing," he says, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on your back. "I'm too lazy to get up though. You're warm."

You breathe a soft laugh at his words, humming an acknowledging noise as you stay where your laid on him. It’s still relatively early, there’s no reason to rush to get up like most mornings. 

At least you don’t feel the need to rush through the morning here. With him.

You let your eyes slip closed again, enjoying the feeling of his fingers tracing patterns on your back. You’ve slept alone for so long you kind of forgot how nice it is to sleep and wake up with another person, the warmth and comfort it has. 

Maybe more so since it’s him. 

“Just a few more minutes then.” You mumble after a moment, quiet and sleepy. You don’t plan to fall back asleep though, you plan on basking in the feeling of this. 

Of him. 

Of the bubble of safety and comfort this has, unwilling to give it up quite yet and let Noah ruin it. 

Tim hummed in agreement, content to just lie there with you. The world outside their little bubble could wait a few more minutes.

He kept tracing patterns on your back, the rhythmic motion of his fingers on your skin relaxing him in a way he didn't even know he needed. Your body was warm and comfortable against his, and the rise and fall of your back with each breath was almost mesmerizing.

After a few more minutes, he gave you a small nudge. "We should probably get up soon. Noah's up."

You grumble slightly at the small nudge and words that followed, you honestly didn’t want to get up. To see Noah, to be anywhere near him after last night. 

You don’t know what it even was, but it was… lingering, and you aren't sure you're ready to face that directly.

Nonetheless you extract yourself from the warmth and comfort of lying on him, pushing his blanket from off of your lower body—where it’d ended up throughout the night, probably from them moving around. 

You sit up with a silent yawn, stretching your arms above your head. Joints popping a little, small, quiet sounds. You drop your arms after a moment, blinking to clear up your vision before looking at him. 

“So bossy.” You mumble, your voice soft and low.

Tim chuckled at her grumbles, watching as you slowly extract yourself from his arms and the warmth of his bedsheets. You looked adorable, with your sleepy face and messy hair.    

"I'm not bossy. I just know you, and I know you'll fall back asleep if we stay here for any longer." He says, sitting up as well, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Plus, there's coffee to be had." He adds, like it’s obvious.

You scrunch your nose up at that, there’s coffee to be had for him—you’ll probably drink some juice. You look him over instead of responding, eyes roaming his rumpled look. It was adorable, seeing him like this. 

You could get used to it, but you won’t think about that.

“I’m tainting it with sugar.” You mumble, teasingly as you scoot off his bed. Your feet touching the comfy carpet as you stand up, stretching again for good measure—arms up and spine straightening with a soft grunt. 

It was a process, to be honest. 

Usually you have a whole morning routine, but since you’re in his room there’s nothing to go step by step to. 

You’d have to go to your room for all your stuff, and you might. Maybe drag him along just because you’re still a little uncomfortable with the idea of Noah catching you off guard.

Tim groaned as you mentioned sugar in his coffee. "You're evil." He says, glaring at you with mock annoyance.   

He watched as you stretched, your body moving in a way that was both alluring and comfortingly domestic. The room was still half in shadows, the morning sun still growing through the window.    

He stood up from the bed, running his hands through his hair again, trying to make it look somewhat presentable. "You can use my shower, if you want. It's a lot nicer than yours."

You look over at him at his offer, a small smile crossing your face. It hadn’t crossed your mind to ask him if you could, mostly because you were thinking of your own products. 

The idea of smelling like him creeping into your head unbidden, but you push that away quite fast.

“I don’t have a change of clothes, and walking around in a towel seems like the worst idea.” You say with a small shrug. You lean against the side of his bed, mostly because you’re still a little tired and standing up feels like a chore right now. 

You’re still drained from last night, really. 

A warm, nice shower honestly sounds amazing. But the vulnerability of being alone in a bathroom, naked and in the most enclosed spot is also a bit unnerving. 

It’s like Noah’s thrown you off balance somehow, he didn’t even do anything substantial. 

It was just the feeling it gave you.

Tim chuckled slightly at your excuse. He could see the exhaustion in your eyes, and the lingering fear. You wouldn't admit it, but he knew you didn't want to be alone right now.    

"I've got some clean clothes you can borrow. They might be a little big on you, but they'll do until you can grab yours." He says with a small shrug.   

He moved towards you, standing in front of you. "And if it makes you feel better, I'll stay right outside the door."

You look up at him when he comes to stand in front of you, his sweet offers make your heart melt a little. He’s trying so hard to make you feel better, to make you feel safe even if he doesn’t know exactly what Noah did to make you feel so unsettled. 

It was just so… it was everything. 

The fact he was willing to even stay right outside the door for you, just to make you feel comfortable being in a vulnerable position, makes the tension that had been slowly growing bleed out of you. 

He was so sweet, so good to you. 

You’re not sure how it happened, when it started. But she’s grateful.

You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug—trying to convey everything you were feeling through it. It was difficult to articulate just how grateful you were for everything he was doing for you. 

“Thank you.” You murmur quietly, face hidden against his neck.

He instinctively put his arms around your waist, holding you close. He could feel the tightness in your body ease a bit, and he knew you were grateful for his offer without having to be told. 

"Of course, sweetheart." He says softly, pressing a faint kiss to the top of your head. 

"Now go on, take your shower, and get changed. I'll go find you something to wear. And if you need me, for any reason, just shout." He pulls back slightly, looking at your face.

Everything about him made her body all warm and fuzzy with fondness, and love—in a sense. The gentle kiss on your head, the sweet term of endearment, all of it. It settled somewhere in your heart, nestled deep and it made everything feel so much better. 

You meet his gaze, a small smile growing on your face again. You’re not sure what you’d do without him, where you’d be right now if he hadn’t been here—picking up pieces of you that he didn’t even realize needed to be put back together. 

It was everything, it always would be.

“Yeah, okay.” You mumble quietly, nodding a little. He’d be here, in the room still and that’s all that matters. Just a door between them, it made you feel better about it. 

You press a kiss to his cheek lightly before extracting yourself from him and moving to his bathroom. 

Tim watches you walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. He hears the shower turn on, the sound of the water hitting the porcelain walls like a distant roar.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his own racing thoughts. He knew he was getting too attached, too invested in you. But he couldn't help it, you always brought out a different part of him. 

Part of him didn't even want to stop the feeling from growing, it was a little intoxicating.    

He shakes his head at the thought.

Focus, Drake.

He quickly grabbed some clean boxers and an oversized T-shirt for you to wear. They would be a bit big on you, but they would do for now until you could grab your own clothes.

He placed the items on the bed, waiting for you to finish up in the bathroom.

It wasn’t long before the shower shut off, and not much longer after that when the door to the bathroom opened and you shuffled out—wrapped in a towel, your hair damp but not dripping, probably from your towel drying it before you stepped out. 

The shower did help, you felt better.

You looked at him standing next to his bed, waiting for you like he said he would. It’s not like you didn’t believe him, it was just relieving to know he really did stay and wait for you. 

Your eyes move off him and onto the clothes on the bed he’d picked out for you, a small smile on your face. 

You move over to him and the bed, picking up the boxers in your hand with a small snort. It was sweet of him, you probably wouldn’t have fit into any of his pants anyway. 

“Turn around so I can change.” You could go back to the bathroom but it’s just quicker to change here.

Tim rolled his eyes at your bossy command, but he turned around anyway. He could feel you moving behind him, the sound of the towel hitting the floor, you getting changed. 

He tried to ignore the mental images that ran through his head, his hands clenching slightly at his sides.

God, he had it bad.

"Are you decent yet?" He asks, still facing away from you.

It took you a minute to respond, mostly because you were honestly amazed at how comfortable brief boxers were. Honestly the most breathable you’ve felt underwear be, or maybe it’s because you don't have a dangler or something. Who knows. 

You look up at the back of his head, breathing a soft laugh. He was sweet, it felt a little juvenile—changing in his room, his back facing you because you’d asked him not to look. 

It’s like being in middle school, alone with your first boy crush or something. 

“Yeah, you can turn back around.” You say, picking up the towel you used and folding it. You’ll clean it with some of the other stuff for him, it’s the least you can do with everything he’s done for you. 

You’re definitely going to make this up to him, even though you know you don't have to.

As soon as you said the words, Tim turned around to look at you. You were standing there, wearing his oversized shirt and boxers. You looked adorable.

He could feel the familiar pull of something brewing between them. It was always there, lingering under the surface, but now it seemed stronger, more intense. 

He tried to ignore that but couldn't help but find his eyes wandering down the length of your body.

"Those look good on you." He says, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.

It didn’t escape your notice the way his eyes seemed to stray, roaming down your body. It didn’t bother you, for some reason—maybe it should have with everything happening with Noah, being blatantly checked out should make you feel weird. 

But it just… didn’t. 

If anything it felt a little nice, to be complimented and looked at by him. By Tim. It didn’t feel gross, it didn’t feel pushy, it didn’t feel like you had to go along with it to get out of it. It just felt good, it felt nice. 

It made you want to smile and twirl your hair or something. 

“Thanks. For all of this, Timmy.” You say softly, smoothing your hands down your sides. The material of his shirt is soft, probably a cotton fabric, it was nice and comfy. 

It smelled like him too, whatever cologne he uses and something just distinctly him.

He could tell you liked wearing his clothes, and that made him a little bit too happy. He loved the way they looked on you, dwarfed by the garment, looking so damn cute.

But he needed to focus, he didn't want to get too lost in his feelings for you.

"It's no problem." He says, trying to sound nonchalant. He walks over to you, reaching out to adjust the collar of the shirt on you.

Your eyes follow him as he comes over before dropping to his hand as he adjusts the shirt, his fingers skimming your skin a little. It was uncomfortable or invading, you didn’t feel like you were being cornered—it didn’t feel like how it’s always felt when Noah got too close to you. 

This was nice. 

You trusted him.

You look back up at him, the way he seemed focused on adjusting the collar of the shirt but you could see the lapse in it. It was obvious he was trying to distract himself from something, although you aren’t sure what exactly. 

It could be the situation, or you. Maybe something else. 

You tilt your head a little, briefly roaming his face as he fiddles with your shirt—catching at his lips for a moment, he was close enough to notice the small details. 

The subtle shape of them, the smoothness. You probably shouldn’t be staring at his mouth, especially because it’s rather obvious even if you tried to be subtle. 

But he was close, and he was touching you, and it was making a lot of things bubble to the surface. 

He could feel your eyes on him, and he knew you were studying him. He could practically feel the weight of your gaze.     

Tim finished adjusting the collar of the shirt on you, but he didn't pull his hands back. Instead, he let them rest on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing gently against the exposed skin on your collarbone.    

He looked down at you, meeting your eyes. "Something on your mind?"

The gentle brush along the skin of your collarbone was honestly unfair, you could call this plain ass teasing if he didn’t look so nonchalant. Like he was just touching you the same way he’d held you last night when you were scared. 

But this was different, you know it is. 

A snort leaves your nose at his question, your lips twitching into an amused grin. Your eyes flicker up to his, one brow raising. He’s got the nerve to ask you if something's on your mind when he just spent a minute fiddling with your shirt collar? 

Classic. 

“Yeah, when’re you gonna shut up and just kiss me already?” You say, feigning it as a question like you were just simply airing out something you’d been thinking. 

You’re a grown woman, he’s a grown man, neither of them need to tiptoe like they’re teenagers. 

Your boldness caught him off guard, but in the best way possible. You were right, they didn't have to tiptoe around each other, they were adults.

He smiled at you, his hands still on your shoulders. "You're something else, you know that?" He says, his voice low and laced with amusement.

Before you can snark back, he leans in and presses his lips gently against yours. The kiss was slow and sensual, but laced with a sense of pent up tension.

You met the kiss easily, smiling into it. Your hands come up to gently cradle the sides of his jaw, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle. His lips were soft, smooth against yours. 

You’d thought about this a lot, even if you shouldn’t have, but the reality is definitely much better. 

It was slow and sweet, everything they’ve always been with each other, underlined with everything they’ve kept bottled up for way too long. God knows it could be as old as they’re friendship. 

Both of them aren’t the ‘take what you want’ types until pushed. 

You pull back just a breadth away from his lips, grinning slightly. “I’ve been waiting for you to do this, you know.” You murmur quietly, lips brushing slightly. 

And you definitely have been waiting. 

You don’t stay apart long enough for him to respond, pressing your lips together again. 

Your words and the way you pressed closer to him made his heart race. This was everything he’s wanted for so long, and finally having you in his arms was intoxicating.

Tim wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The kiss intensified, both of you giving into the pent-up desire that had been building between you for months.

Despite the intensity of the kiss, somehow it also felt gentle, like you were rediscovering each other. Your hands still on his jaw, his hands on your waist, you both seemed content to simply explore each other's lips for a long time.

Noah didn’t matter anymore, what happened didn’t matter, all that mattered in the moment was this. Was him. 

And you were happy to indulge. 

[kaileyrose28]

Sapphire Night's Lounge

Note.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ: Sapphire Night's Lounge is about a you as stripper and Red Hood, obviously. Might be a little OOC, I think. Idk. Jason's probably a whore in secret, who knows.

18+ (I have to say this), this has sexual content, like seriously.

Content: Daddy kink, size kink if you squint, quick fuck, strangers, rough fucking, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, please), possessive Jason, he's obsessed and untouched tbh.

8,097 words. Female centered sex and pronouns, second person POV oriented.

Jason pulls his red helmet over his head, the familiar hum of the internal systems activating giving him a sense of readiness. The Red Hood was back in action. 

Gotham’s underbelly had been rumbling, whispers of illicit activities centered around a seedy strip club in the East End. It was time to pay a visit. 

He’s perched on the edge of a rooftop across from the club, the neon sign flickering “Sapphire Night’s Lounge” in garnish pinks and purples. The place was a front, he was sure of it. Drugs, trafficking, maybe even weapons—something big was going down here, and he intended to find out what. 

Scanning the perimeter, he noted the bouncers at the entrance. They were big, sure, but not subtle. Typical muscle, probably packing heat but lacking in brains. Easy enough to get past, but he needed to be smarter. He opted for a back entrance, the alleyway dimly lit and reeking of garbage. He moved silently, a shadow in the night, avoiding the drunks and junkies slumped against the walls. 

The back door was locked, but a quick pick of the lock and he was inside, slipping into the dark, narrow corridor behind the main rooms. Music thumped through the walls, the heavy bass reverberating in his chest. He moved forward, every sense on high alert. He could hear muffled conversations, laughter, and the clink of glasses. 

You, or known in the club as Crimson, is an exotic dancer for the club and you were getting ready for your routine when you spotted the large—seriously large—man entering through the back door of the hallway that usually led up to the main floor. You only noticed because the changing room for the dancers is in the same area. 

You were fixing her red, lacy—slightly sheen—bralette that was tied together at the crevice of your breast, when he nearly bumped into you doing all his sneaking around. 

To keep from falling you grabbed onto his thick forearms, your hands squeezing the leather of his jacket, something solid and hard beneath. 

Her stilettos nearly gave beneath you at the sudden unbalance that came with bumping into a person. You didn’t know who this guy was, why he was wearing a concealing, red helmet, or why he was coming in through the back. 

Jason was expecting a lot of things, but being grabbed suddenly by a scantily clad woman was definitely not one of them. His muscles tensed reflexively as the woman clutched onto him for balance, your hands on his forearms sending a surprising jolt through his body. 

He was caught off guard for a moment, frozen by the unexpected encounter.

Maybe he was new security? You and the girls were having some issues with some too-handsy patrons, so maybe that's why he was here. He was giant, burly, and rather intimidating, so maybe that was it. 

Gotham had its freaks, the helmet was honestly the least of your worries.

“Security doesn’t usually loiter back here, are you lost? It’s alright if you are, I still get lost sometimes.” You step back after stabilizing your feet again, smoothing out the leather of his jacket that you accidentally creased when you grabbed onto him to keep from falling.

You placed your hands on your basically bare hips not a moment after and looked up at him—literally had to crane your head back some to look up at him—with an understanding smile on your crimson lips. 

As soon as you stabilized yourself, he looked down at you, and his breath caught in his throat. You were almost comically small compared to him, your stiletto heels bringing you to about mid-chest. 

He could feel the heat coming off you, and the scent of your perfume, something spicy and exotic, invaded his senses. Your eyes were framed with a hint of makeup, and your skin was dusted with a smattering of freckles. 

He thought you were beautiful. In a sense. One he’d never admit to. 

He mentally shook himself, regaining his focus. He couldn't let himself get distracted by a pretty face, no matter how much his libido might appreciate it. 

He was here for business, not pleasure. 

"I’m not security,” he finally replied, his voice gruff and deep. “I’m not lost either. I'm looking for someone."

You crossed your arms comfortably across your breasts as you tilted your head, thinking about what he said. Nothing could really stand out in a strip club, you’ve got naked or half naked women dancing on stages and drunk or high men throwing bills at them. 

Who knows what got on in the private rooms, well you did but you didn’t take shady sounding offers. 

So, if he wasn’t security he was probably just a patron. 

“Baby, you’re in a strip club, there's plenty of people as far as you can see.” You said with a slight shrug of your bare shoulders, freckles dotting your skin, visible along your body and face under the LED light. 

You looked over your shoulder, down the hall where it opens up to the main area where you’re meant to be. 

“How about you stick around if you can’t find your person, I’ve got a routine comin’ up.” You said, cracking a small grin as you looked back at, and up, at him. 

Most men that came here were older, sometimes even married, and often did it to ogle the naked dancers. 

Maybe make themselves feel superior to the girls because they had all the money, but this guy—he sounded younger, and was definitely a lot more of an eyeful than the old men you routinely danced for. And taller; so much taller. 

Could be fun to have someone possibly near your age watching, sue a girl for wanting a change. 

Jason's lips almost curled in a smile under his helmet at the dancer's suggestion. You weren’t wrong, there were plenty of people here, but none that he was looking for. 

But then you offered him an invitation to stay and watch, and he felt a pang of interest despite himself.

He looked down at you, taking in the way your bare arms crossed over your chest, the freckles that dusted your skin like confetti. You weren’t much like the women he'd encountered before that are often tied to these kinds of professions, and that intrigued him. 

"I could stick around." He agreed, his voice still gruff but with a hint of something else. 

He followed you out of the hallway, emerging into the main area of the club. The music was thundering, and the scent of alcohol and sweat hung heavy in the air. He stood near the edge of the stage in the shadows, watching as you prepared for your routine. 

He could feel the eyes of other men on you, but he blocked them out, focusing solely on you. There was something captivating about you, something that made it impossible to look away.

You often did stage routines that were more of a sexual art then just a dance, or at least people told you that. 

You stepped up the stage steps with a huff. You didn’t particularly like your routine, but you weren’t in charge of changing it or making that decision. So, you walked onto the stage, looking up at the seated sleazy men who held wolfish grins and whistled at you.

You got into position to start your routine, your bare leg wrapped partially around the pole in the middle of the stage, back arched enough to barely press the barest hint of belly against the cold metal, and you tilted your head back; the arch of your neck on display as you waited for the song to start. 

You could hear the whistles and calls of the men watching, like a bunch of untouched virgins seeing their first woman. 

The song starts, it was I See Red by Everybody Loves An Outlaw, her personal favorite. Your dance started slow with the beginning of the song, gradually growing more explicit as it went into the chorus. 

You’ve worked in the club for nearly 6 years with basically the same routine, it was muscle memory at this point.

Near the minute mark of the song, you dropped down onto your knees near the front end of the stage, thighs spreading as your back arches to the lyrics. 

The men sitting closest to where you were poised on the stage whistled and tossed bills at you, one very confident man leaned against the stage to slide a bill into the strap of your small bottoms. 

You slid back against the stage, your legs closing as you laid down on your back, posing yourself in a slightly obscene position. Your heels sliding up until your knees were bent and you spread your thighs, your hands slid down your chest all the way down your stomach to your thighs before your legs shut again as the song fades out. 

She posed in a final position, a sharp intake of breath escaped his lips. He wasn't used to losing control like this, to being completely consumed by a woman's presence.

Holy shit. 

He swallowed hard, you’d gone from one seductive pose to another. The guys around the stage were throwing money like crazy. It didn’t escape his notice of one overeager man slipping a bill into your bottoms. 

Jesus. He couldn’t tell if he was turned on or offended. This was full-on pornographic.

His eyes were glued to the stage. His usual cool, controlled demeanor was completely shattered by the hypnotizing sight of this minx’s routine. Somehow. 

He felt a heat rise in his chest, the contortion of your body looked sinful and divine all at once. The way you moved was like a snake, slithery and seductive, but also filled with a certain grace and power. 

He could feel the eyes of the other men around him, but for once, he didn't try to fight their gaze or hide his own. He just stood there, enthralled by the woman on stage. 

His hands clenched into fists at his side, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. He should have been focused on the mission, on why he was here, but instead, all he could think about was you. 

You sat up, giving the men sitting closest a seductive grin, all apart of your act, as you collected bills held out to you before you came back to your feet. Starting to pick up the fallen bills off the stage floor so you can leave before you start to finally walk away towards the stage stairs so the next girl can ready her routine.  

After placing your earnings safely away with the other girls, you headed back out onto the main floor, watching the other girls' routines as you walked the floor like you’re required to do after a dance. 

Some men liked to pay for lap dances, or private room dances, and those definitely paid a lot more than routine dances on stage. 

You stopped by the bar to talk to the female barkeeper that also dances sometimes, but she mostly just mixed drinks. Said she liked it better than the pole, which you can’t exactly fault her for. 

You’d find that hunk of a man after you were finished with your rounds, you were sure of it. 

He was… interesting. And you liked interesting things. 

You went back to prowling the floor, sometimes stopping to talk to men that propositioned you for private dances, which you declined mostly. 

You didn’t do private dances because they always seemed shady to you, you weren’t the ‘happy ending’ kind of stripper and that’s usually what happens in the private rooms. Not much dancing occurred back there.

He watched you move through the floor, declining most offers you got. Good girl. You had standards, and he respected that.

He leaned against the wall, still out of sight of most of the room. Part of him wanted to walk up to you, talk to you, learn more about you. 

But the more logical part of his mind reminded him that he was working, that he was here for a reason... Not to flirt with a pretty stripper.  But as the night wore on, he found himself getting more and more interested in you.

You accepted money held out to you, a crisp 100 dollar bill, as the owner of it asked for a ‘pretty little lap dance’ and you gave him a wink and grin. All a part of the act the job required. 

You walked around his chair until you stood between his legs, your hands poised on his shoulders—he was on the older side, perhaps in his 40s, and not that you minded; he just wasn’t your particular audience. 

You began the lap dance, sliding your hand down his arms, down his chest, leaning into his space before you turned sharply, dancing your ass and hips against his before you slid your hands down your legs, bending forward slowly before straightening back up and turning to face him. 

You slid your hands down his thighs as you slid down to your knees, essentially creating the illusion of crawling up his body as you straightened back up slowly. 

As You finished, you gave the man a sensual wave before walking away with a near silent sigh, rolling your eyes once your backs turned to him. 

You weren’t keen on lap dances, most of the time the guys got handy when they weren't supposed to. You strolled the floor for another few minutes, just in case.

Jason had a front-row seat to the spectacle, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to react. He just stood there, clenching his hands into fists, when you’d done your dance against that older man. 

His thoughts were a mess of conflicting feelings. Part of him was aroused, but another part was resentful, hating seeing you touch that man the way you should be touching him. 

He felt oddly possessive, which was honestly completely unlike him. There has got to be something going on, it can’t be him. No way.

He couldn’t look away, though. He followed your every move, his eyes fixated on you like a predator tracking its prey.

You had another scheduled routine coming up, though this one was a bit different. You didn’t often do ���naked’ dances, you wouldn’t really be naked just the illusion of it, but the girl that was meant to do it called in sick and it fell onto your shoulders. 

You didn’t particularly mind, it just wasn’t your usual routine and two consecutive routines were tiring. But you weren’t going to be caught screwing over a girl in need.

But nonetheless, you walked off to the backroom to change outfits, you still had bottoms on, they were just a lot more skimpy then yours usually are. And you didn’t wear a top but put pasties over your peaks to conceal at least some of your body. 

Too much exposure could lead to the male patrons to think they had some right to reach out and touch the dancers, which isn’t allowed. 

You walked back out onto the floor after switching heels to shorter ones, and they were a dark purple instead of your signature red. You passed the girl that just finished her routine as you walked up the stage steps. 

It was a bit new to you—to have your breasts basically on display despite the pasties covering you but you didn’t really mind it as much as you thought you might’ve.

Jason's gaze darkened as he watched you walk back out onto the stage in your new outfit. The sight of your nearly bare body sent a chill through him, and he felt a wave of possessiveness wash over him again. 

He pushed down the feeling, reminding himself that he was supposed to be here on business, not to lust after a woman he just met. But it was hard, damn hard, to keep his thoughts under control. 

He could feel the stares of the other men in the room, all of whom were shamelessly ogling the curves of your body.

You stopped at the pole in the middle of the stage, positioning yourself against it, hands raised above your head holding onto the pole sensually, sliding down some so your ass was arched outward and your breasts pushed against the cold metal as you waited for the routine song to come on after introductions. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we know how much you loved her first routine—clap for her return, the mysterious Crimson!”

As the song starts, you moved slowly with the beat of it, your body slid down the pole until you were on your knees and your head tilted back, arms above your head holding the pole before you pulled yourself up. 

You lifted your body high enough off the ground, using the pole to wrap your thighs around, sliding up until you were high enough to let your upper body fall back, your legs keeping you from sliding down the pole. 

You slid your hands down your bare breasts, fingers brushing over the pasties concealing your nipples, and down the expanse of your stomach. 

You lifted back up and grabbed the pole with your hands, dropping one leg off and keeping your other hooked as you spun around the pole. 

You came back down to your feet and slid down to your knees, facing the audience of men, you walked on your hands and knees with a seductive look on your face towards the front of the stage, your eyes drift up and towards where Jason was by accident, but your eyes remain on him as you continued.

Ass arched in the air as you slowly slid down into a ‘doggy style’ position, palms flat against the stage as you pressed your chest down against the stage. 

Your hips wiggle slowly with the beat of the song before you slowly slide up again and sit back on your ass and you spread your thighs and lay down on your back as the song comes to an end. 

Holy fuck. His jaw was tight, hands clenched into fists. The way you moved… the way you fucking teased… he was grateful for the tinted visor of his helmet, because your expression had to be obvious. He shifted in his stance, glad he stayed mostly hidden because he’s suddenly very aware of how tight his tactical pants were feeling.

As you walked off the stage with your extra earnings you couldn’t help but subconsciously look about the room for him, the behemoth with the helmet concealing his face. 

You don’t know why you're so interested in him. He was watching your routine and that made you want to perform for more than just the crowd. It was a weird sensation. 

You stopped looking for him as you walked past two men, they were having an odd conversation ill-suited for a strip club. You slowed your steps, listening in as you walked past them slowly trying to be discrete about it all. 

The two men spoke in hushed tones, unaware that you were eavesdropping. “...Need to find that shipment tonight. Boss said Red Hood might be sniffing around for it.” 

You walked away as normal as you could, it sounded like something he could possibly be here for. 

You’re not stupid, you put together he’s not exactly here for good reasons. And the helmet kind of made sense now, Red Hood. She’s not sure why it hadn’t clicked right away. 

You’ve never actually come across much gossip about him, his territory is usually downtown, around Crime Alley. Midtown mostly saw the action of Robin and Red Robin.

Blurry pictures were the most you’ve ever honestly been exposed to surrounding the elusive and dangerous Red Hood.

You quickly secure your earnings in a safe place with the other girls’ earnings and you slide your red bralette back on before exiting back onto the floor to look for him, you felt like you had to find him and tell him.

When you spotted him, watching the floor and its patrons from the hall you approached quickly but not too quickly to turn eyes. 

You paused for a moment beside him, facing the hall rather than the room. “Meet me in a private dancing room.” You said it quickly and quietly. 

You looked over your shoulder, playing it off like he’s just a client paying for a private room with you as you walked past him to find an empty private room. Most are in use at this time of night, dancers with high-paying clients.

He raises an eyebrow under his helmet at your sudden appearance, and even more sudden demand and walk off. But something about the way your acting, the urgency and the secrecy, catches his attention. 

Why were you suddenly so eager to talk to him? What did you overhear that made you want to speak with him in private? 

He tried to push away the thoughts that came unbidden in his mind, the image of your body pressed up against his own for one. 

You slipped into an empty one after scouring the PR hall and looks around, spotting the usual camera that’s in all the private rooms for the dancer's safety. 

Alright, that's easy enough. You’d just have to dance like you would with any other private payer. You go over to the music panel, picking a quiet song to drown out anything you might say. 

When he entered a few moments later you peeked at the camera in the corner one more time before you guided him to the couch, making him sit down as you slid her heels off. Private dances usually took up to an hour, so the girls never usually wore their heels. 

You looked at the helmet concealing his face from you for a brief moment before you started your normal routine. 

Your hands rested on his shoulders as the song started and slid down his arms, then his chest as it continued. You leaned into his space, a bit harder to do considering his helmet but you managed. 

“I overheard two men talking,” you started off quietly, turned around and slid your hands down your legs as you bent your upper body sensually, like you usually do. 

He watches your movements, a flicker of confusion in his eyes—not that you can see, anyway. You’re acting like you’re giving a private dance, but your words suggested something way more serious. 

He leaned back against the couch, hand resting on your hip as you bent over—almost instinct to reach out. “About what?

You turned back around, feeling his gloved hand on your hip. You looked up at his concealed face as your hands slid to his thighs and you bent forward, sliding down to your knees and moving upward, giving the illusion of crawling up his body. 

Your bralette covered breasts brushing against the fabric of his tactical pants. “Something about a ‘shipment’,” you said once you were close enough to his helmet. 

Your head tilted as you slid one hand up his thigh towards his stomach and you dropped your head down his body before leaning back on your ass, both hands moving down his thighs again. 

His jaw tenses. “And?” He asks softly, trying not to get distracted by your body pressed against his legs. Your small hands sliding down his thighs like that… Jesus. “What else did they say?” He asks again, his voice deeper this time. 

You were making it really damn hard to concentrate.

You stood up to your feet, moving in and straddling his lap to keep the dance going, your eyes moving up to the camera in the corner before looking back down at him as you rolled your hips, leaning towards his helmet to continue speaking. 

“They spoke about needing to find the shipment because of some ‘Red Hood’, which I assume is you considering the red helmet.” You slid your hands up his sides, the armor-plates of his suit beneath the leather jacket odd against your palms but it wasn’t bad. 

“Smart girl,” he murmurs, caught somewhere between impressed and distracted. Fuck, you felt good in his lap. He slid his hands to your waist, more out of instinct than anything else. You’re damn good at this dance thing—a little too good. “When did they say this shipment would arrive?” 

His murmured compliment makes your lips twitch with a smile slightly. You turned in his lap as his gloved hands slid to your waist, your thighs spreading open to accommodate the wide berth of his own toned thighs. 

You arched your back against him, head laying on his shoulder as you rolled your ass against him. Usually you didn’t let patrons touch you, but he wasn’t exactly that was he? And you enjoyed it. 

“They didn’t, just a shipment, you, and their boss growin’ annoyed with you.” You said quietly, lifting one hand up to rest it against the side of his covered neck, the fabric felt thick. 

Rolling your ass against him a few more times before you’re leaning forward, hands positioned against his armored knees, back arched as you slowly undulate your hips. 

The feeling of you grinding against him is driving him crazy, especially since he can tell you’re enjoying yourself—the minx. 

Your words are music to his ears though, and the fact you’re helping him get information is even better. “Boss’ name.” He growls softly, his hands tightening slightly against your hips. 

He really had that dominant thing going for him, naturally almost. Most guys you danced for are sleazy and would probably do anything you asked. This big boy wasn’t like that, you can tell that much. 

You turned back around, settling on the spread of his thighs as you slid your hands up his upper thighs, close to his dick, and up his stomach and chest before you leaned into his space again—breasts against his sternum. 

“Just between you and me, check in on a guy named Domino, runs this place.” You said quietly, by where you assumed his ear would be beneath that helmet.

The name Domino is seared into his memory instantly. He files it away for later, his focus snapping back to the present when you leaned in close. Fuck, you smelled good. Like spice and something else… something uniquely you. “You’re a good girl, anything else?” 

You slid off his lap, slightly reluctant to leave the feel of his gloved hands on your skin. Kneeling on the ground again as your hands slowly trail down his body, inches from his dick again as they slide down the expanse of his thighs and down to his calves as you leaned in between his legs. 

You looked up at him, sliding up his body, staying on the ground though. You get as high as his sternum before you’re leaning back and running your hands down his chest and armor. 

“No, they were pretty vague and I didn’t want to linger.” You said quietly, knowing you’re helping whatever he’s seeking and that made you feel proud of finding what you did. 

He nods, satisfied with the information given. You’re incredibly helpful, and he finds himself wanting to reward you for it. His gaze drops to your kneeling form, taking in the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. 

“You’ve been very helpful,” He praises gruffly. “Stay out of trouble, pretty girl.” 

A small smile growing on your lips at his praise for your help, leaving you feeling a little tingly. And his reactions to your touch were enticing and definitely a change from the usual type that comes through here. 

You kept your hands on his calves, the material of his tactical pants rough against your palms. With him so close, you wondered briefly about the face that lays beneath that helmet. You brushed it away as quickly as it came. 

You stood to your feet. “Will do, big boy.” You hummed as you pressed a finger against the cold and sleek helmet concealing his face, you pushed it back so his head titles up to look at you. 

“Come watch me again sometime, year? You looked like you enjoyed it.” You teased a little, giving a grin. 

He smirks beneath the helmet, surprised and honestly a little pleased by your boldness. Nobody’s ever touched his helmet like that before, especially not while giving him something like you were. 

He lets himself imagine for a second what you might look like without all this makeup and bright lights, in normal clothes—probably fucking gorgeous. 

“Maybe I will.”

You leaned down, still slightly between his spread legs, and pressed a kiss to the top-half of the red helmet, your crimson lipstick leaving a slightly visible imprint of your lips against the shiny helmet. 

You pulled back, taking a few steps away from him as you picked your heels up off the floor. He was something else, something different to your usual and you liked it. You savored it. 

“I’ll keep my eyes on them for the rest of my shift, for you.” You said as you leaned back against the wall to slide your heels back on, tightening the strap before you stood back up properly and blew him a cheeky kiss.

“See you later, Daddy.” You crooned loud enough for the camera in the corner to hear before opening the door to the private room and leaving to go back to the main floor. 

The room is instantly colder without your body pressed against his. Jesus, you’re a damn vixen. “See you later, baby girl.” He mutters softly to the empty room. You’re smart, hot as sin, and helped him out without asking questions. 

Fuck, he’s interested. Too interested. 

You smiled to yourself as you walked down the dimly lit hallway, stomach fluttering and fuzzy with some new feeling you can’t really name. It’s not just attraction, or interest, it’s something else too. Something she wants to explore, to ravish. 

You did keep your word, you kept your eyes on the two men the whole rest of your shift. Even when you was giving short lap dances to paying patrons or walking the floor—you did get one complaint for not paying attention to the guy you were giving a dance to—they didn’t do anything suspicious, but that felt more suspicious. 

They didn’t even ask for any dances. Just sat and drank while watching the main stage routines. 

As the night wore on, he kept a close eye on the two men you’d brought to his attention. They were acting suspiciously normal, even to him—It’s like a sixth sense, reading people. Their behavior only serves to make him more suspicious. 

He decided to hang around the club until closing, sitting in a curtained booth, helmet still on, watching. 

You didn’t know how to feel about it, they didn’t seem inherently bad or criminal, but they also felt off. The vibe they gave off was murky and made you want to keep your distance. You knew your big guy was watching from somewhere as well, which made you feel a bit safer. 

But they were still a strange duo. 

You had to give some old guy a lap dance and he kept trying to grope up on your breasts; something the old ones try. You took the money and walked away right after, security approaching the old guy to lecture him on the rules. 

You approached the bar, leaning against it to slip your heels off as you talked to the bartender. 

Jason watched from where he was as you approached the bar, you looked relieved to be taking a break. The bartender seemed to know you well, chatting with you and handing you a drink. It wasn’t hard to notice the way he looked at you, with a mix of admiration and something else. 

It irritated the hell out of him. 

You’ve known the bartender for a few months, he’s still a newbie but he’s nice. A young guy, probably nineteen. You thanked him for the drink, taking it in your free hand as you stepped away from the bar. 

Your eyes scan the floor before landing on a booth with the privacy curtain closed—inside the booth you can see out, but no one can see inside. You could guess who’s behind it. 

You walked over, slipping around the curtain and settling your drink on the table. “You know, you’re kind of predictable.” You said with a playful smile, setting your heels on the floor under the table. 

He smirks beneath the helmet when his gaze lands on you sneaking into the booth, closing the curtain behind you. “Is that so?” He asks, his voice low and rough. He pats his lap invitingly. “Come here, baby girl. Let me hold you for a bit.” 

You hadn’t taken him for the touchy type, with the body armor, helmet, and sexy deep voice. But hey, you’re not complaining. 

You slid into the booth, settling on his lap easily. He’s a stranger you’re helping—a really tall, hot stranger that you can’t see the face of. You’re going absolutely insane. 

You leaned back against him, pulling a wad of wrinkled bills out of your bralette. He’s a perfect perch to sit on while you count your lap dance tips. 

“Haven’t heard much from your two guys, nothing about that shipment anymore.” You said idly as you counted your bills. 

He wraps an arm around you possessively, watching you count money earned from nearly naked lap dances. Jesus Christ. “They haven’t done anything suspicious?” He asks softly, keeping his voice low. His free hand finds your bare thigh, playing with the tiny lace shorts you’re wearing. 

You could get used to this, and somehow that feels dangerous. A stripper and a vigilante? Sounds like a goddamn book. You don't even know who he is by anything other than Red Hood and he doesn’t know you outside your stage name. 

Two personas that shouldn’t go together but he’s gravitational. 

“Not being suspicious here is basically a red flag.” You said, your lips twitching with a smile as you felt his gloved hand on your bare thigh, toying with your bottoms. You organized your bills by amount on the tabletop. 

His gloved fingers trace the lace edge of your shorts, teasingly close to where he knows you have nothing underneath. “You think they’re planning something?” He asks, trying to focus on the conversation despite the distracting urge to slip his hand under your shorts. 

You bite your bottom lip slightly, your lips curled in a smile despite it. He’s a bold, bold man. You already knew that, with the way he spoke and held himself, but he’s damn confident. 

The way his gloved fingers traced along the edge of your bottoms teasingly, all while keeping the tone of seriousness. A man of variety, it seems. 

“Probably, they looked it. Could be waiting for Domino.” You said quietly, your thighs shifting on his lap slightly as you folded your organized money up after counting it properly. 

He grunts softly at your shifting thighs, the friction making his cock stir uncomfortably beneath your ass. Focus, asshole. He taps your thigh lightly before pulling his hand away. “Domino’s a busy guy. Could be a while.” His eyes narrow slightly. 

You can feel the subtle bulge beneath your ass, although it’s just a subtle thing right now you know what a slowly growing dick feels like. You focused back on the topic when you felt his hand tap your thigh before being pulled away from you, unfortunately. 

You hummed agreeingly at his assessment, but it’s not like either of them have anything better to do. This is his job and you’ve got nothing planned after your shift but to go home, get in a hot bath, and drink wine. 

You shifted on his lap, putting the folded money in your bralette for safe keeping, of course.  

He watched as you shifted on his lap, the movement causing his dick to harden further. Fuck. He clears his throat and adjusts you slightly, trying to get more comfortable. “You gonna stay here with me, baby girl? Keep an eye on those two until Domino shows up?” 

You can feel him adjust your body slightly, your lips twitching with a stifled smile, although with how your sitting on him—back to chest—it’s not like he can see it. 

You hummed contemplatively at his question, just for show really because of course you’re going to stay here with him and keep an eye on his targets. 

His hardening dick in his tactical pants beneath your ass is much too fun to walk away now, messing with him when he’s trying to do vigilante work seems too good to pass up. 

“Don’t see why not. You like my company, daddy.” You use the name you’d used earlier, mostly to be cheeky. 

He lets out a low chuckle at your use of ‘daddy’, the sound rumbling in his chest against your back. “Baby girl, if you keep teasing me like that, you’re gonna find yourself bent over this table soon.” 

His chuckle made your stomach flutter a little, it’s a nice sound you wouldn’t mind hearing him make again. The way he tries to warn you off your teasing like it’d work is cute, but he’s threatening you with a damn good time, really. 

You leaned forward, planting your elbows on the table as you rubbed your ass side to side on him, glancing over your shoulder at him—technically his helmet, really. 

“Maybe that’s what I want.” You said playfully with a small shrug of your shoulders, grinning a little. 

He groans at your grinding, the teasing little brat. You’re purposefully trying to distract him now, he’s not stupid but he’s also not moving to stop you. Quite the opposite, really. 

“Look at that perfect fucking ass grinding on me…” He mutters to himself, one gauntleted hand moving to grab your hip, squeezing tightly. Your flesh indenting with the shape of his fingers. 

He just makes it too easy to get such good responses out of him, the sound of his ground made your skin tingle. His muttered words to himself about your ass making you smile slightly. 

You do have a great ass, rounded and fatty—the kind you can grab and squeeze handfuls of. (for the sake of the story, I’m sorry my no booty bitches)

It’s perfect for the stripper thing, really. Most men love assed. You took his hand grabbing at your hip and squeezing it as encouragement to keep going. You ground your ass down against his bulge, the rough material of his tactical pants rubbing your skin. 

He grunts as you ground against him, squeezing your hip harder as he pulls you back a little further, making you arch your back. His other hand moves to your other hip, holding you in place as he humps you slowly, the thick outline of his dick obvious against the thin fabric of your shorts. 

The one good thing about being an exotic dancer is the flexibility, your body moves easily when he pulls you back further. Your back arches and your stomach presses against the table slightly. You let out a soft noise when he starts to hump you slowly, you can feel the thick outline of his dick against you through your bottoms. 

It’s as delicious as it is arousing as fuck.

You rocked your ass back into him to meet his humping movements. Never in a million years did you think you’d ever have a vigilante rub his hard dick against your ass while he’s supposed to be working.

"Jesus Christ," He mutters softly, watching your full ass bounce back against him. His hips snap forward harder, giving you deeper thrusts. The helmet hides his expression, thank god, because you’ve got him wound up like a teen boy watching his first porno.

You groaned quietly when he starts to snap his hips harder, your ass jiggling with the rough movement. The deep thrusts he’s trying to imitate almost give an illusion that he’s fucking you without actually fucking you. 

Dry humping in a curtained booth like two teenagers wasn’t something you saw yourself doing tonight but god he makes it feel so good. 

One of your hands slid off the table and moved behind you to rest on top of his gloved hand on your hip. The front of your hips hitting the edge of the table slightly with each of his thrusts against your ass.

He grunts as you rested your hand on top of his. The heat of your touch burns through the glove he’s wearing. He pulls his hands back slightly, releasing your hips. You exhale quietly when he’s suddenly stopping, but jump a little when your shorts are pushed down, bunching around your knees, letting his dick grind directly against your bare flesh. 

"Fuck these stupid shorts." He doesn’t give you time to react or say anything before his dick is grinding directly against bare flesh, the rough material of his tactical pants a mix between bordering uncomfortable and god damn arousing as fuck. 

You dropped your head down on the table, biting your bottom lip to keep quiet. You spread your thighs open a little wider almost instinctively at the sensation.

He groans as your bare skin meets his pants, the feeling overwhelming. He grabs your hips again, lifting you slightly to press his dick against your wetness, grinding up and down against your bare pussy. He can feel how fucking wet you are through his pants, making them damp. "Fuck..."

He manhandles you like you weigh absolutely nothing, it’s surprising and unsurprising at the same time. He’s a large man, a vigilante, of course he can lift your body weight but you’re so unused to the ease of which he does it. 

Your eyes roll back when he presses his clothed dick against your wet cunt, grinding up and down against you. Your hands curl into fists on the table as your hips jerk, it was almost impossible to keep quiet. You bite your lip harder, stifling any noise that wants to come out.

He grinds against you harder, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. He reaches down and unbuckles his belt, unzipping his pants and pushing them down just enough to free his dick. He presses the head of his dick against your entrance, slowly pushing inside of you.

Your body tenses when he suddenly presses the head of his cock against you, pushing inside. Your knuckles are white with how tight you’ve fisted them, your cunt clenching around his dick as he bullies his way inside your soaking pussy. 

Unprepped it’s a tedious process, and he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to be patient. But your not exactly patient either. 

The pain is almost good. Tingly all the way up from the base of her spine to the top of her head.

You can’t help it, a moan left your throat despite your attempts to keep it down. You might be a stripper but you haven’t been properly laid in a while, and he feels so fucking good. 

Stretching you deliciously, inching his way inside slowly. Your hands unfurl and move behind you, you grab your ass, spreading your cheeks slightly to help him slide inside better.

"Fuck," he hisses as you spread your ass, allowing him in deeper. He grips your hips tightly, holding you in place as he starts thrusting slowly, savoring every tight inch of your slick pussy gripping his cock. The helmet hides how hard his eyes roll back at the incredible sensation.

You panted slightly, your head pressed to the table as you muffled your moans by keeping your lips closed. Breaths fanning the smooth wood of the table audibly as he thrusts slowly, letting you feel every drag of his cock against your velvety walls. 

Your fingers dig into the fatty flesh of your ass, keeping yourself spread for him. You groaned softly, your mind almost going blank at the deliciously agonizing pace he’s set. Able to savor him fucking you but god, it’s almost unbearable. 

He feels so good and he’s barely done anything but sink inside and slowly thrust.

He picks up the pace gradually, his hips slapping against your ass harder and faster with each thrust. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the small booth, mixing with your muffled moans. He leans forward, placing a gloved hand on the table next to your head, the other gripping your hip tightly.

Each thrust of his hips slapping against your ass harder and faster forces a moan out of your throat despite yourself. You groaned and whimpered, your ass bouncing each time he slapped his hips against it. 

One of your hands left your ass and moved up to hold onto the wrist of his hand next to your head on the table. Using it as some kind of stability as he jerked your body against the smooth wood of the table with his thrusts. 

Your eyes roll back and you moaned more consistently, your free hand grabbed his other gloved hand on her hip. “Fuck… f.. fuck.” His hard pace has your voice choking off.

"Shh, quiet," he whispers harshly, though he knows his own breathing has gotten heavier beneath the helmet. His thrusts become more forceful, hitting deeper and faster against your tight walls. He tightens his grip on your hip hard enough to leave marks, knowing you probably won't mind.

“Mmhf,” you tried to muffle your noises by bringing your hand around to your mouth, covering it. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut, stomach muscles tightening as he fucks you deep and fast. His grip on your hip is almost bruising, but fuck if it isn’t hot. 

Your hips hit the edge of the table with each of his rough inward thrusts, sweaty skin making your skin stick. The coil in your stomach tightens, building fast until it snaps. 

You moaned against your hand brokenly, your eyes rolled under your lids as you came hard and fast—seeing stars for a second. He felt the way your pussy tightened and pulsed around his dick, the sensation forced him to grit his teeth to keep from following. 

Your silent orgasm makes your body tense and jerk slightly, pushing your ass back against him harder. He growls softly, picking up the pace again to make those tight walls milk his dick.

You don’t have a moment of recovery from your orgasm, his cock continuing to drag in and out of you hard and fast. Your hand drops from your mouth to the table, your breaths being pushed out of your lungs with his thrusts, mixed with broken off moaning. 

The sensitivity feels like it went up almost unbearably, your stomach tightening and relaxing with your quick breaths and his brutal pace. “Fuck— oh, my god.” You choked the words out barely coherently, your cunt pulsing in time with your heartbeat. 

"That's it, take it," He pants, his hips snapping forward to bury himself balls deep inside you. He can feel his own orgasm building, the pressure in his gut growing more intense with each thrust. His hands grip you tighter, fingers digging into soft flesh as he chases his release.

Your lips parted in a silent moan, the sound getting caught in your throat, with the snap of his hips. You do take it, and fuck if you’re ever going to even think of doing anything else. 

Your mind blank, cunt throbbing with sensitivity. His tightening grip on your hips is almost too much, his fingers digging into the soft flesh like nothing. 

“Oh, god. Fuck, fuck— m’gonna come—“ You don’t even know if the words strung together coherently before your second orgasm hits you harder than the first. Your body shaking, moaning choked off, your cunt convulsing around him. 

His own body stiffens and jerks violently as he follows you into another climax. His dick pumps stream after stream of hot, sticky cum inside you, filling you up completely. 

He bites back a loud groan, his body shuddering as he drains his balls into your tight little cunt. "Fuck…”

He’s not sure how he’s going to explain how he let a lead get away from him to Tim. Cause he’s sure as hell not sharing this part with him. 

[kaileyrose28]

Fair Warning

This is my first time posting on tumblr at any point, I've usually just read posts. I know, I know, everyone hates blank blogs that don't repost and comment and just like and move on, but this deadass took me so much to work up to LMAO.

I'm genuinely a really introverted person, I struggle with these things, I get all clammy about responding to comments on my OWN work tbh.

I've been writing for years now, and tumblr is a hotspot for the stuff I write these days, so I figured I should take that step and post and start engaging.

My work ranges pretty wide, sometimes I do original 100% or I do pure fanfic, just depends on the mood.

Majority of people don't give feedback anymore (unfortunately my social skills grouped me into that majority) and it really sucks as an author, which is why I'm trying to engage more.

This is a pretty big step for me, so I hope you enjoy my work if you happen to stumble upon it! ♡♡