prettyacademia00

[prettyacademia00]

Haiii you don’t have to do this (obviously) but could you write for Levi who loves his s/o boobs? Like he like to rest his head on them and stuff, nothing 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 (unless you want, I wouldn’t be opposed lol)

ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ

levi ackerman x fem!reader warnings: lowk smut, not that detailed but still implied

It had been going on for months.

At first, you thought it was just your imagination, the flick of his eyes when you walked by, the subtle way his jaw clenched when your shirt dipped just a little too low, the way he stared too long at your collarbones before sharply turning away like he'd been caught.

He didn’t mean to stare. You knew that. Levi was too respectful, too tightly-wound to act on anything. But you could feel it, the tension, the heat in the air whenever your skin showed, even accidentally. You’d bend over to grab something, and he’d freeze. You’d lift your arms to stretch after drills, and he’d glance, just a second, before his gaze dropped and his ears turned pink.

And he never said a word.

Levi Ackerman, a man with more control than god, was helpless in the presence of your chest. And it was driving him insane.

So you started teasing him. Softly. Slowly. Innocent, at first.

Your shirts dipped just a little lower during off-duty hours. Your hugs lingered longer. When he collapsed beside you after long days, you let his head fall to your chest, and pretended not to notice how still he went. How quiet.

How reverent.

Because he wanted it. Wanted you. You could feel it.

He just didn’t know how to ask.

So you waited. And tonight? Tonight was the night you stopped waiting.

It was late. The barracks were nearly empty, Hange off on some overnight experiment, Erwin tucked away in his office. You and Levi were alone in his quarters, going over deployment charts you didn’t even need to finish. The fire crackled softly beside you. The air between you buzzed.

He was tense, as always. Sitting straight-backed in the chair, arms crossed, brows drawn in.

“You look tired,” you said.

“I’m fine.”

You tilted your head. “Let me help.”

“With what? You don’t need to—”

You rose to your feet and stepped closer. He watched you, guarded but quiet, as you reached for his hands. Gently pulled him up from the chair. His posture stiffened immediately.

You stepped into him.

Close.

Chest to chest.

And when his breath hitched, you smiled.

“Let me,” you said again, guiding him toward the bed.

He followed.

You sat on the edge, then tugged gently at his belt loops until he came between your legs. He stood frozen, looking down at you like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

So you reached for him again, took his hand and placed it just above your chest. His fingers twitched.

“Look at me, Levi.”

He did.

Softly, you whispered, “You always look when you think I’m not paying attention.”

He flinched. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you said, guiding his hand lower, just enough for him to feel the curve of your breast beneath your shirt. “You can look.”

His breath caught.

“You can touch too,” you added, voice low, featherlight.

He stared at you, lips parted, eyes wide, heart clearly racing. Still, he didn’t move.

“And,” you whispered, leaning in so your mouth brushed his jaw, “you can taste, if you want.”

That was the moment he broke.

He sank to his knees, almost on instinct, between your thighs like you were something holy. His hands found your waist, hesitant, shaking. His forehead pressed against your chest as he exhaled in one ragged, shuddering breath.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispered. “I’ve never—”

“You don’t have to know,” you said, curling your fingers into his hair. “Just let yourself feel. I’ll show you.”

He looked up, and his expression nearly destroyed you. He looked wrecked, like someone who’d been starved for years and was finally allowed to eat.

So you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, slowly. His eyes followed the movement like it was life or death.

You weren’t wearing a bra.

And he went silent.

His gaze dropped instantly, locked on your bare chest. His mouth parted. One hand lifted instinctively, and stopped halfway.

“Go ahead.” you murmured.

Softly. Barely more than a graze of fingertips. His palm brushed over the curve of one breast, and his whole body shivered. He exhaled a curse, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to your skin.

Just one kiss. Barely there. Then another. And another.

He nuzzled into your chest like it was the safest place in the world, letting his hands explore with trembling awe. He was slow, gentle, like every part of you was sacred.

“God, you’re soft…” he whispered, breath hot against your skin.

You hummed, stroking his hair. “You like them?”

He nodded against you.

“They’re all yours.”

A whimper escaped him at that, barely audible, but it made your chest ache. You could feel the tension unraveling in him with every kiss, every squeeze, every little noise he made against your skin.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in close, like he wanted to disappear into you. Like he didn’t know how to say thank you for being gentle with him, so he just held you tighter.

“Can I…?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded. “Yes. Whatever you want.”

He leaned in again, lips parting this time, and gently, so gently, he took one of your nipples into his mouth.

You gasped, hand tightening in his hair.

Levi groaned softly against you, overwhelmed. His mouth moved slowly, open-mouthed kisses, delicate sucks, tongue flicking experimentally. You whispered his name, breathless, as he switched to the other breast, lavishing it with the same tender focus.

“You’re doing so good, Levi,” you breathed.

He moaned again, deep, needy, muffled by your skin. His hands roamed your back now, pulling you closer, and you let him explore. Let him take his time. Let him have you.

He kept tasting you like he didn’t know what to do with himself, flicking his tongue gently, then suckling softly, then pausing just to breathe against your chest, as if the warmth alone was enough to undo him.

And it was.

When he finally pulled back, lips wet and cheeks flushed, his eyes were glassy. He looked overwhelmed. Beautifully, hopelessly overwhelmed.

“You okay?” you asked softly, brushing his hair back from his face.

He nodded, but it was shaky. “No one’s ever… I’ve never had…”

You leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

“You have it now,” you whispered. “You have me.”

He wrapped his arms around you and held you there, head buried against your bare chest, letting you rock him gently.

And in that quiet moment, Levi Ackerman, the strongest soldier, the cleanest man, the most emotionally closed-off person you’d ever met melted.

Because for the first time in his life, he felt safe enough to fall apart.

taglist: @lvstyangel @alebrasil0101 @creati-bunny @porcelain-soupspoon4 @r4td0lll @wedypopcytragedy @nxcxllxsevens @levkuna @glads-stuff @bnbaochauuu @maskedbunni

©ackermanrage - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

[prettyacademia00]

Don't Tease

Pairing: Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader

Handjobs, Grinding, Dry Humping, Levi Ackerman Being a Brat, Bottom Levi Ackerman, Soft Levi Ackerman, Orgasm Control, Forced Orgasm, Vaginal Fingering, Teasing, Light Dom/sub, Submissive Levi Ackerman, Captain Levi Ackerman, Sexual Overstimulation, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut. MINORS DNI 18+

✎ Words: 2.5k

✎ Chapters: 1/1

The Captain sometimes has a hard time telling you what he needs, good thing you're very attentive. And very good with your hands.

Drabble where reader jerks Levi off while lightly domming him. Pure filth.

Ao3 link | Masterlist

You knew you were soaked. Knew you were dripping through your panties onto the curve of his thighs, smearing yourself over his smooth black slacks, which were tightening beneath you by the second.

You felt the rumble in his chest, and his fingers shot up to grab at your waist.

Smiling softly, you resumed the slow, methodical roll of your hips. Pressing yourself tight against him with each rocking motion.

“Feel that Captain?” You were leaned in close, breath hot and tickling over the shell of his ear.

You felt him huff a breath through his nose.

“Yeah.” Levi grumbled, the sound surely intended to be laced with annoyance, but ultimately breathless as it left his lips. 

“Feel you making a mess all over me, Cadet.”

To the untrained eye, the Captain might look as bored and unimpressed as always. But you knew better, you could tell how affected he really was.

By the way his eyes were softened, like a knife’s edge sheathed - worn dull from use. The way he was blinking slow, lost in the little rolls of your hips.

His words came delayed and breathy - like he had to think about the shape of them in his mouth, how they felt on his tongue, how to make them come out properly.

Yeah. He was gone.

You tilted your head quizzically, paused your slow, teasing grind over his lap, the aching tension between your legs beginning to dissipate with the lack of motion.

“What, you want me to stop?” You pouted, voice sweet and heavy, thick with feigned ignorance.

In an instant his fingers - previously trailing light touches over your waist - were gripping at your hips hard; kneading the flesh, holding you down roughly against the warmth of his thighs.

His silver eyes flicked to yours, pinned you against the glinting, sharp edge of the blade; apparently not worn down as much as you’d thought. 

“Didn’t say that.” Came his flat reply, holding your simmering gaze through low-lidded eyes.

You felt your lips tug into a satisfied smile, watched the slow dilation of his pupils as you settled back down into the comfort of his lap, the plush skin of your thighs pressing up against him once again.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” You teased, leaning forward to murmur into his ear, fingers trailing feather light touches over his broad shoulders - feeling the muscles twitch below smooth fabric.

He flashed you a dark look, mouth opening to retort, before you parted your lips and slid your tongue up the column of his throat, nipping the pale skin lightly between your teeth, planting hot, open mouthed kisses along the expanse.

“Brat- hah-…”

You tutted, beginning to rock your hips over him once more, pressing down hard and purposeful now where he was straining against his slacks - trapping him between the chair and the sweet friction of your aching heat.

“I'd say it’s you who’s the brat, Captain.” You mused, palms sliding up the back of his neck, trailing teasing fingers along the prickled skin of his undercut.

“Or are you gonna be a good boy and tell me what you want?”

He was really losing it now. Tense jaw slack, bitten pink lips dropped open to let out tiny, frustrated pants. Brows furrowed as if he was annoyed with himself at his dwindling sense of control, his lack of restraint when faced with just how good you felt grinding up against his cock, trapped in the confines of his now sullied black slacks.

"What was that sir?" You questioned, pressing gentle kitten licks along his throat.

"Stop teasing." His words were short, biting. "Touch me."

His cheeks were tinted pink.

You'd found that he always got embarrassed when you were together like this; as if one part of him wanted to be good for you, relinquish control, let himself give in and resign to the pleasure, and the other was riling against it, fighting his better judgement, teeth bared and defensive like a cornered animal. 

He tilted his face away from you, darkened eyes averted. "...Please."

You hummed, satisfied, and pressed a soft kiss to the curve of his jaw, leaning back to study his blushed face.

"Only because you asked so nicely, Captain."

You slid your palm down the parted fabric of his shirt, teasing the slips open with the tips of your fingers, hungry eyes trailing over curves of muscle, pale wisps of scars long since healed over.

You worked your way down until you reached the glimmering metal of his belt buckle, and you traced the shape of the cool silver thoughtfully with the curve of your fingernail. 

Dipping further down, you slid your palm over him, wrapping your fingers to feel the shape of him through his tight slacks, pleased to find that he was achingly hard beneath the fabric, stained with your arousal.

Levi let out a choked sound below you, and you felt his toned thighs jump at the sensation of your warm palm, your delicate fingers gripping him through the layers.

You took a moment, relishing in the strained sounds he was making, before you released him, straightening you spine to fix him with a heavy, serious look.

"Go on, let me see how bad you want it."

Hands still running soothingly along his shoulders, you leaned back on his thighs to watch his slender hands work his pants open, watched the veins running over the skin of his knuckles twitch as he tugged the belt open and slid the zipper down, impatience palpable.

Levi sighed out a shaky, uneven breath and slipped his thumb beneath the waistband of his dark boxers, beginning to tug the fabric down past a spatter of trimmed dark hair. You shook you head, tutting, and the motion of his hand stopped instantly, as if shocked.

His eyes flicked up to your face, thin brows knitted together in an expression of mild worry, assessing your reaction.

"That's enough, hands off." You directed.

He swallowed, throat bobbing, and his hands retracted - settling back over your thighs tentatively, tense, squeezing slightly.

Your fingers replaced his at the apex of his thighs, teasing over the waistband before they dipped below, tugging down to let his cock spring free. You were faced with the reality of just how far you had pushed your Captain.

He was undeniably hard, thick and curved upward. Even without touching you could see he was throbbing - cock head blushed a pretty pink and weeping, arousal leaking down over twitching veins.

Lips between your teeth, you traced the tip of your finger from the base of him, following the river of thick veins up to the head, where glistening droplets were pooling.

You felt him shudder beneath you as the curve of your nail scratched up the sensitive skin.

You swallowed, and released his shoulder from your grasp, hand instead coming to rest, open palmed, in front of Levi's face.

He gazed past your outstretched palm, fixing you with a dazed look of mild confusion.

“Lick.” Came your simple direction, meeting his questioning gaze with a steady, content smile.

You watched a flurry of emotions flutter over his lust blown expression. Confusion, disgust, embarrassment.

But ultimately you were pleased to see any remaining resolve give way to desire when he parted his lips, darkened eyes shooting up to lock with yours as he slipped his pink tongue out, and licked a wet strip up the center of your palm, carving a slow, hot path up to the tips of your fingers.

You felt goosebumps prickle over your skin at the sensation. 

"Thankyou, Captain." You praised, removing your now slick fingers from his face.

His grey eyes were hot coals, burning a hole through you, tracking your hand as you reached down and finally captured him in your grasp, slippery with his own spit, and began to pump his cock, slow and tight.

You watched his body jolt, shoulders curved and tugged forward, head dropped to watch your hand curl around him, moving at an agonisingly slow pace.

“Shit…hah-….” He moaned, the sound breathless, eyes blown - locked on the movement of your hand.

You slid your thumb over the tight bundle of nerves at the tip, swirled drops of pre cum to mix with the slick spit as you worked him. He sucked in a breath, whined out a low sound, eyes softened and glossy as he watched you pump his cock.

“There you go.” You soothed. “Feels good, doesn’t it sir?”

Levi nodded his head mindlessly, eyes locked on the painstaking glide of your hand. You registered the twitch of his hips below you, jostling you slightly as he began to thrust up into your tight, wet hand, greedy for more friction.

Suddenly the rhythm of your motion stopped, and he grunted, the sound deep and unhappy in his throat as you pulled your hand entirely from him, leaving his leaking cock strained and throbbing in the empty air.

“Uh-uh.” You shook your head, tutting at him. “Stay still.”

Levi grumbled, almost a growl, but said nothing, silver eyes still burning hot as he stared you down.

After a moment of silent contemplation, you felt him relax once again beneath you, nestled back into the chair, his chin pulled up in defiance as his eyes roamed your face, lightly daring, but ultimately compliant.

You hummed, a pleased sound, and dropped your hand back down, resuming the steady pump. You curled your shoulders forward for balance, slipping your other hand below his spread zipper to massage his balls in tandem with the steady roll of your wrist. He hissed below you.

You held his fiery gaze, burning hot as smothered flames, and watched him blink slowly, face flushed as he moaned out soft little ‘ah’ sounds under his breath.

You watched him fight the waves of pleasure to hold your gaze, pretty grey eyes blinking, threatening to roll back in his head before he caught himself and set his determined gaze back on your face.

His brows furrowed, lips parted to let out tiny, stifled noises.

“You're being so stubborn.” You tutted, shaking your head. 

Still pumping him tight in your fist, you trailed your other hand down to tug up the fabric of your skirt, slide your fingers under the soft damp cotton of your panties so you could pull them to the side, felt the wet thread of arousal caught on the fabric as you exposed yourself. 

You released his cock, and in an instant, Levi's eyes left yours, glazing over, face loosened with awe as he watched you slip the first two fingers you'd just had wrapped around him inside yourself instead, watched you tease yourself open.

You let him watch, let yourself enjoy the feeling of your fingers curling up, massaging that soft bundle of nerves, sparking pangs of pleasure deep in your stomach for a few selfish moments.

Sufficiently slick, you slipped your fingers from yourself and captured his cock once again in your grasp, trailing your own wetness over him. You heard his breath catch.

"Oh fuck." He groaned.

In an instant the room was once again filled with an obscene mix of Levi's breathy moans and the wet ‘schlick' 'schlick’ sounds as you worked him, cock now slippery with the mix of both of your arousal.

"Such a filthy mouth, Captain." You teased.

You inched your way down his thighs until you were pressed taut to his body.

Levi watched in dazed surprise as you leaned back on his toned thighs and bucked your hips forward, inching closer until you could press your hot, wet pussy against his bare cock.

His hips stuttered at the sensation and you heard him suck in a shaky breath.

You grinned, watched his resolve finally shatter in front of you - his eyes rolling up into his skull, head tossed back as he groaned out a strangled moan at the vulgar sensation.

Your lips dropped open in a low moan of your own, rutting your hips up, chasing the friction of your hand bumping down against your clit, the feeling of his length pressed up tight and throbbing against you as you slid your hand up and down in a dizzying rhythm.

“You wanna put it in - don’t you, Captain?” You huffed. "Wanna fuck me?"

Levi nodded his head wildly, head now tilted forward, lolled limply to the side, cheekbone pressed against his shoulder as he watched you grind up against him through his dark lashes.

You gripped him tight, trailed fingers up his length to press him flat against the soft skin of your stomach, watching his pooling arousal turn your skin slippery, dripping down the curve of your belly. You bit your lip.

“Look how deep you’d be.”

His jaw twitched, lips parted, panting and whining, and you felt his cock throb in your grasp - trapped under the relentless glide of your hand, the slide of your slick pussy against him, the soft skin of your belly brushing against his sensitive head.

“Fuck... -Mmmclose." He slurred, hips stuttering.

Loosening your grip, you slowed the roll of your hand, let him buck his hips up to meet your pace - start to fuck your fist, thrusts sloppy and frantic. You swallowed a moan, felt his length slide up against your clit.

"Gonna cum for me, sir?"

You felt him shiver beneath you, head thrashing in a wild nod. "-Hah... please."

"Go on then, Captain." You pressed a kiss to his heated temple, whispered low and sickly sweet into his ear. "Come for me."

Body arrested, Levi tossed his head back. His eyes squeezed closed, fingers grasping desperately over the skin of your thighs, nails scratching, digging in hard.

You watched the cut of his jaw, tracked the bobbing of his throat as he choked out a strangled groan - writhing beneath the weight of your body, thighs twitching, spurting thick ropes, painting his toned stomach and coating your fingers where they were still curled around him.

Your hand didn't relent, didn't slow; milking him through his orgasm until he was squirming in your grasp, whining out high pitched frustrated sounds, cock bruised red and twitching with over stimulation.

Releasing him from your tight grasp, you peppered soft, sweet kisses along his damp cheek until his breathing slowed.

When his head finally dipped back forward, his face was flushed, eyes still distant and heated as he watched rivets of his cum drip down your stomach, slip down between your thighs, through dark curls.

You gasped - impressed, but not surprised by his quick recovery - when you felt him slide his arms beneath your tensed thighs and pull you up as he stood, twisting so he could place you back down into the very chair he had just been sat in.

You blinked down at him, gaze affectionate, watching him slide down to his knees before you and edge his way between your parted thighs, his fingers grasping at your plush skin, tugging your legs open.

Levi's eyes flicked up to yours and he licked his lips, a sliver of silver behind dark swirls, swimming with adoration.

"Gonna let me pay you back?" His voice was graveled, hot breath puffing over the slippery skin of your inner thighs.

You felt your lips tug up into a smile, chest tight with an unnamed emotion as you weaved your fingers through his dark, inky hair and tugged him in close.

[prettyacademia00]

RAT BOY

[prettyacademia00]

the silly

[prettyacademia00]

Nap time at Wayne Manor :)

[prettyacademia00]

thinking about the sully siblings and how Spider was smaller than them physically, but he was still their big brother, and the pure shenanigans it must cause.

like. they're so much bigger than him, but they no doubt still act like they're little compared to their brother at times.

like you want to tell me they don't hide behind him or lean over so they can rest their head on his shoulder or tuck under his arm. tell me they don't lay on top of him like he's their personal pillow.

its not odd to see all his siblings gathering around him, Kiri resting her head on Spi, while Lo'ak holds his arm, Tuk tucked against his waist, while 'tey rests his chin on Spi's head (he loves all the attention, even if he huffs and puffs like any good big brother). they look silly cause the kids have to crouch and twist and bend to use their brother as a leaning post, and he practically disappears under all their blue.

and that includes rough housing, even if it's unintentional. the kids jumping up for a piggyback ride even when they're nearly double if not triple Spider's size.

Tuk wanting to be carried around by her big brother all the time. Kiri accidentally tugging her brother too hard when excited to show him something. the boys teaming up against their brother when playing, forgetting he can hardly handle one of them, let alone both at once.

his siblings getting the rare chance for a sleepover and cuddling around him like a bunch of big cats. they're tucked around him, under him, on top of him, with just enough care to make sure he doesn't suffocate in his sleep.

when they need some loving, Spider has to beckon them down to give their foreheads a kiss or to wrap them up in a proper hug. Spider likes to tuck his siblings head to his chest with both his arms and squeeze them tight.

when he's got to give them a big brother chat, the kids have to be kneeled down so Spider doesn't have to stare up at them (he tends to kneel too, so they're eye to eye, cause when he looks down on them, they tuck their little ears and he feels bad).

like. they're just big babies that need their big brother to take care of them and love them, even if they're giants compared to him.

[prettyacademia00]

You know what super sweet to think about, Jason getting his first cheek kiss by someone he likes🥺 I know I said I'd submit something for Dick or Tim to break up all the Jason Todd on the dash, but ugh can you blame me?? Like maybe it's a first date or a second, and he's nervous, like she can tell even though he's hiding it pretty well. Maybe he does something sweet, hold the door open for her, pull her seat out, give her his jacket, something chivalrous that just comes naturally from being around Alfred for so long, and she thanks him with a sweet kiss to the cheek. I imagine he short circuits completely, couldn't recover in time even if he tried, and believe me, he tried. Red blush, starting from his chest all the way to his ears, eye brows shooting up involuntarily like he didn't know a cheek kiss could exist, and he's just frozen in time. You look at him and giggle, and that sound breaks him out of it, and he's just a fumbling mess the rest of the night, but secretly he's just trying to earn another one of those. Ugh, I love him your honor

@herodedicatedblog

Publishing this request to try and summon @herodedicatedblog. I miss my friends crazy commentary. I got lost in the sauce of this, I think, but I still think it works out pretty good. Flustered Jason is the best! I love him!!

_____

“Trivia? You're taking me to trivia?” Jason gives you a very judgey face and it makes you wrinkle your nose.

“Don't say it like that. I thought long and hard about this.” This being the first time Jason was letting you plan a date.

“So that's where the smell of smoke was from.” Jason retorts. You step slowly into his space, hands behind your back and you grin at him innocently. 

He eyes you but doesn't step away from you, if anything leans just a bit closer. It gives you ample opportunity to flick his cheek.

“Don't be mean to me,” you tell him with a pout. He grabs the hand that flickered him, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. 

“Alright, I'm sorry, okay?” You can see the sincerity in his eyes but you flounder anyway.

“Do you really not like trivia?” You ask quietly, eyes downcast. He tips your chin with his free hand to make you look up at him again.

“I like anything you plan. I didn't mean to rag on you, sweetheart. Just wasn't expecting trivia is all.” 

“It's at the library,” you start, feeling more confident and hoping to explain why you had chosen trivia for the date, “and it's specifically on classic literature.” 

You tug him down the sidewalk where you two halted for your conversation. Your jittering nerves enough to finally answer him after he asked what you had planned for the third time. 

“The library?” He asks, letting you pull him slightly. 

“Yeah, you mentioned how you spent a lot of time at the library when you were younger and how you try to support them as much as possible. I figured we could hit two birds with one stone. A date and support the library by participating in their activities.” You suck in a breath at the end of your words. 

“Anyone ever tell you you're perfect, sweetheart, cause you are.” The compliment has you flustering a little but you find relief when the library comes into view.

You pause to look at it. The buildings in Gotham never ceased to amaze you, the architecture always so detailed. Jason stands beside you as you admire the building and then offers you an elbow.

“I think we have a fun trivia night to get to.” He says and you take his arm letting him lead you this time.

“You called it fun,” you say in almost a tease.

“I never said otherwise,” he lightly chides as you climb the steps. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you roll your eyes and reach for the door but Jason beats you to it and pulls the door open. 

“Thank you, handsome,” you say as you walk through the open door. When you turn to wait for him you find a light red dusting across his cheeks and find yourself pleased with getting him to blush. 

The past three date's you had been on you had felt like a total fool. It's why you asked if you could plan the next one, for some semblance of control when it came to being around Jason. 

You check in for trivia and settle in. A small crowd, mostly families and a few couples and friends. Trivia goes by easily or as easily as being tested on old books could be. 

Jason kept looking at you and smiling. You could tell he was trying to make up for his teasing from before, telling you periodically how he was enjoying this and that it was fun. 

The trivia was set up like March madness. You would go up against one team and whoever won would move onto the next round. 

Jason was good, like really good and so were you. You had lightly studied up on classic literature beforehand. It wasn't to show off but you didn't want to look like a total idiot during the date. As the game went on the questions got harder and more specific.

You were in the second to last round. You just had to beat this one and you would be in the finals. You were actually excited, a quiet adrenaline thrumming through your veins. You had one last question in this round.

“Shakespeare wrote over 150 works in his lifetime. Which of these works ends in the death of the noble Trojan Hector?”

You find your competitors turn to each other in a panic. You don't think about it and don’t listen to the question thoroughly as you turn to Jason, “It's the Iliad, right?”

Jason blinks at you apparently startled, he already has the mark uncapped and pressed to the white board. His face turns into a grimace like he’s about to tell you some bad news.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently and makes you smile at his placating attempts, “that's not Shakespeare.”

“I know,” you nod slowly with pinched brows. He gives you a look and you turn to where they have the question posted, “Oh sorry. I wasn't listening to the first part.” you fluster. He reaches over and gives your hand a squeeze. 

“You would've been right without,” he lets go of your hand and picks the mark back up. You lean over his shoulder to watch his answer.

“I never knew Shakespeare wrote anything about the Trojan War.” you whisper into his ear and you swear Jason shudders. He turns his head to meet your eye once he’s done writing.

“It's not very popular. People find it confusing and the name is deceptive.”

“You're actually pretty positive about this, aren’t you?” you question.

“It's why you brought me.” he says with a cocky grin which makes you laugh because it's something you'd expect from a man winning a sport not classic literature trivia.

“Times up, Ladies and Gentlemen, please show us your answers.”

The other team flips the board first, Timon of Athens. Despite the written answer they still seem entirely unsure of it.

“”While Timon of Athens is a tragedy, it is not the tragedy of Troy. Unfortunately that is incorrect. And our second team?”

You give Jason a reassuring nod and he flips the board. Troilus and Cressida

“It seems we have our first contestants for the final round.” the host rambles on more information that you entirely ignore because you made it to the final round! You and Jason stand to swap out  seats with the next group. You shuffle over to the “Audience” seating and sit down suddenly aware of the tight grip you have on Jason’s hand. He doesn't complain, doesn't say anything. 

It's only once the next round starts that you can't contain your excitement anymore. You shake Jason’s hand and turn in your seat, lean up and press an excited kiss to his cheek, “We won.” you whisper, still vibrating with glee.

As you pull back, Jason turns his head slowly to stare at you. He blinks and stares and blinks again. The apples of his cheeks turn red first. It creeps up to his ears and down his neck disappearing under the collar of his shirt. Your glee shifts from excitement about winning to excitement over how fluster Jason suddenly is.

“What’s wrong, handsome? Need another victory kiss?” you swear he turns redder at your teasing.

“No, that's okay. Is it hot in here?” he mumbles and you laugh, loud enough to earn a glare from the people around you. You couldn't care less about the trivia night anymore, enamored by how Jason blushes. 

You leave Jason alone other than periodically staring at him. His blush settles mostly, though it resides on his cheeks indefinitely. He fidgets in his seat clearly no longer paying attention to the trivia game in front of you. 

You want to kiss him on the cheek again then kiss him on the mouth and sit back and watch that blush grow. You want to do it when his shirt is off so you can press kisses to his reddened neck and hopefully follow it as far down as it goes. Maybe go lower to see if the red would follow.

You blink at the poking at your shoulder, a woman behind you gesturing to the trivia contest. It was time for the final round. Apparently, neither you or Jason were paying attention because you have to tug him out of his seat to get him to come along.

You settle in your seat, markers at the ready. The host explains that there will only be one question this round and that was it. You glance at Jason, cheeks still red and you're not entirely sure he’s even listening which would have bothered you if you even cared about the trivia game anymore.

“The final round, the winner takes it all, all being this small trophy we found on Amazon and this bag of candy.” The host presents the prize and a ripple of laughter moves through the group with a small child yelling out, “there was candy!?”

“Are you ready contestants?” the host asks and you nod only slightly hoping Jason will come back to the moment.

“How often does Mr Darcy call Elizabeth by her first name in Jane Austen's book Pride and Prejudice? Time starts now.”

You gingerly set the marker down. This question was so not meant for you. Jason had teased you about not having read it at least once. It wasn't a requirement at your school. 

You turn in your seat and find him still looking a little dazed and decide you're probably not going to be winning this.

“Jason,” you whisper to him and gain no reaction, “Jason!” You poke at his rib and his eyes snap to you.

“What?” You press your hand to your mouth to keep from laughing.

“I can't answer this question.”

“What question?”

“Jason,” you chide and gesture to the posted question and the time you were running out of fast.

“Oh, shit,” his brows raise in surprise and you stifle another laugh.

“Jason, there's children here.”

“Sorry,” he doesn't sound very sorry, “I don't know the answer.” 

That he does sound sorry about. You give him what you hope is a calm smile.

“That's okay. Take your best guess.” 

“But we're so close, sweetheart.” He insists even though there's nothing he can do.

“I know, handsome but we're out of time,” you gesture back to the clock now in seconds. He hurries with the marker and writes down his answer, once.

“I think it's when he proposed, but there may have been another time.I can't remember.” He leans to whisper to you, cheeks a slightly redder than before.

“And our answers are once and twice. I'm so sorry but the answer is twice!” The little girl on the competing team bounces out of her mom's lap and nearly dives at the host for the candy. 

You finally let out your ill contained laughter, hand grabbing Jason’s and intertwining your fingers. Partially so he won't think you're mad about the loss, mostly because you're about to kiss his cheek again and you're definitely going to make him stay there so you can watch him turn red again.

_____

Masterlist

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[prettyacademia00]

i’m in love with your art!! i was wondering if you could draw more curly hair star fire? 🫣 she’s absolutely gorgeous in your style and her curls are just everything to me

🫶

[prettyacademia00]

Happy Father’s Day! Here’s a very real, canon image of Kanan Jarrus with baby Jacen because nothing bad ever happened to him ever.

[prettyacademia00]

Survive && Thrive / @jedijune

✨🌙  ART LOG ->  @404ama

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lady of the force redraw

[prettyacademia00]

Classic bonding with your older brother’s alien girlfriend

[prettyacademia00]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤEVERY INCH IN THAT SUITㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : He Looks Good In His Thight Suit, So Why Not Just Fuck Him?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ WARNINGS : NSFW, MINORS DNI, Daddy kink, breeding kink, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex, a lil bit gun play, blow job, choking, spitting, slapping, riding, power play.

☆⁠ NOTES : Damian is an adult. And yes we have an adult version of Damian who is still Robin and wear a Robin suit. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

The cave’s damp air clings to your skin as you stumble in, heels clicking against the stone floor, your breath hitching at the sight of him. Bruce stands there, the suit clinging to every muscle like it was poured over him. The cowl’s still on, those white slits glaring at you, and fuck, it’s doing things to you—your thighs clench just looking at him. He’s fresh off patrol, chest heaving, a thin sheen of sweat making the black Kevlar gleam under the dim lights. Gotham’s knight, your goddamn ruin.

“You shouldn’t be down here, sweetheart,” he growls, voice low and modulated through the mask, but you hear the edge—raw, hungry, barely restrained. He steps forward, boots thudding heavy, and you’re already wet, practically dripping down your thighs because fuck, it’s Bruce, and he’s looking at you like prey.

“Don’t care,” you breathe, bold and stupid, stepping closer ‘til you’re in his shadow. “Needed to see you, Daddy.”

That word—Daddy—hits him like a punch. His head tilts, cowl shifting slightly, and you swear you hear a sharp intake of breath under that mask. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, little girl,” he rasps, gloved hand flexing at his side, and you grin, all teeth and heat, because you want him.

“Then punish me,” you whisper, reaching out to drag your fingers down the bat emblem, feeling the hard planes of his chest. “Show me what happens when I’m bad.”

He snaps. One second you’re standing, the next he’s got you slammed against the Batcomputer console, the cold metal biting into your ass as he looms over you, massive and unyielding. “You wanna be a brat for Daddy?” he snarls, ripping your skirt up with one brutal yank, exposing your soaked panties. “Gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

You whimper, and he’s already tearing the lace off—gloved fingers rough, calloused through the fabric, shoving between your legs. “Fuckin’ drenched,” he mutters, sliding two fingers into your cunt without warning, stretching you open while you arch and gasp. “This all for me? Huh? My needy little slut, soakin’ herself for me?”

“Yes—Daddy—just for you,” you moan, hips bucking into his hand, and he growls, pumping harder, curling those thick digits ‘til your vision blurs. The suit’s rubbing against your thighs, coarse and unforgiving, and it’s filthy—he’s filthy—still stinking of smoke and adrenaline, fucking you with his gloves on.

He pulls his fingers out, slick and glistening, and smears your mess across your lips before shoving them into your mouth. “Taste yourself,” he orders, and you suck, desperate, gagging around the leather while he watches, those white slits narrowing. “Good girl. Daddy’s gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t walk, ‘til you’re full of me.”

You whine, and he’s unbuckling the lower half of the suit—just enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, dripping pre-cum like he’s been hard for hours.

He grabs your throat with one gloved hand, squeezing just enough to make you dizzy, and lines himself up, the fat head of his cock nudging your entrance. “Beg for it,” he demands, voice a gravelly snarl, and you’re too far gone to care how pathetic you sound.

“Please, Daddy, fuck me—breed me—fill me up, I need it,” you plead, voice breaking, and that’s all it takes. He thrusts in hard, splitting you open, the stretch burning as he bottoms out in one brutal stroke. You scream, nails clawing at the suit, and he doesn’t wait—starts pounding you, relentless, the console rattling with every slam.

“Fuckin’ take it,” he grunts, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the cave. “Gonna stuff this tight little cunt—make you mine, princess.” The glove on your throat tightens, cutting your air just enough to make your head spin, and you’re sobbing, legs shaking as he fucks you raw—Bruce's cock wrecking you, the suit chafing your inner thighs red.

He leans down, cowl brushing your cheek, and the modulator makes him sound obscene. “You want Daddy’s cum? Want me to breed you ‘til you’re dripping, ‘til you’re swollen with it?” he growls, and you nod, frantic, clenching around him like you’re trying to milk him dry.

“Yes—fuck, yes, Daddy, fill me up, please,” you gasp, and he shifts, hoisting your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half under him. The angle’s insane—his cock hits so deep you feel it in your guts, and you’re screaming, cumming so hard your whole body locks up, gushing around him while he keeps going, fucking you through it ‘til you’re a trembling, overstimulated mess.

“That’s it, cum on Daddy’s cock,” he snarls, pace turning feral, and you feel him swell, twitching inside you. “Gonna pump you full—gonna make you my little breeding bitch.” He slams in one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and cums with a guttural roar—hot, thick spurts flooding your cunt, spilling out around his dick as he keeps thrusting, forcing it deeper, marking you inside.

You’re a wreck—pussy throbbing, leaking his cum down your thighs, the suit’s rough edges still digging into your skin—and he doesn’t stop. He pulls out just to flip you over, bending you across the console face-down, ass up, and shoves back in, fucking his cum into you like he’s trying to make damn sure it sticks. “Not done,” he growls, gloved hands bruising your hips. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t think, ‘til all you know is my cock.”

You’re whimpering, incoherent—“Too much, Daddy, fuck”—but he doesn’t care, keeps railing you ‘til your knees buckle, ‘til you’re drooling on the keyboard, another orgasm ripping through you so hard you black out for a second. He’s relentless, a machine, the suit creaking with every thrust, and when he cums again, it’s a flood—dripping down your legs, pooling on the floor, a nasty, freaky mess that only Bruce could leave behind.

Finally, he slows, breathing ragged through the modulator, and pulls you back against his chest—the suit cold and hard, his cock still twitching inside you. “Such a good girl for Daddy,” he murmurs, softer now, gloved hand stroking your hair as you tremble, fucked-out and full. He doesn’t take the cowl off, just tilts your chin up to kiss you—lips rough against yours, tasting of sweat and sin.

“Mine,” he growls, possessive, and you feel it—his cum leaking out, the ache settling in, the way he’s claimed you. You’re his, alright—Daddy’s little breeding toy, fucked stupid in the heart of his cave.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

The Blüdhaven night’s alive with neon and grime, and you’re perched on a rooftop, waiting for him—Nightwing, the city’s golden boy turned reckless tease. You’ve been playing this game too long: flirting over comms, brushing hands during stakeouts, until he finally snapped last week and fucked you senseless in an alley. Now, he’s late, and you’re antsy—legs dangling over the edge, heartbeat ticking up—when you hear that familiar whistle, cocky and bright.

“Miss me, babe?” he calls, flipping down from a higher ledge, landing in a crouch that shows off every damn line of that skin-tight Nightwing suit. The black and blue clings to him like a second skin, outlining his broad shoulders, tight ass, and the bulge you’ve been dreaming about all day. He straightens, grinning—those white lenses glinting in the dark—and saunters over, all swagger and mischief. “Caught you waiting. That’s cute.”

“Caught you staring,” you fire back, smirking, and he laughs—bright, infectious—before he’s on you, fast as a blur. One gloved hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up, and he kisses you like he’s been dying for it—hot, messy, a little sloppy with how eager he is. His tongue’s in your mouth instantly, tasting you, teasing, and you can feel him grinning against your lips. “Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to nip your bottom lip, eyes twinkling behind the mask.

Dick’s playful, needy, and oh-so-fucking horny. He spins you around, pressing you chest-first against a rusted billboard frame, and you feel the hard planes of his suit grind against your ass. “Been thinking about this all patrol,” he groans, hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips as he rocks into you. “You in my head, driving me nuts—gonna make you pay for it, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t waste time—fingers deft and quick, peeling your pants down just enough to bare you to the night air. The suit’s rough against your skin, textured where it brushes your thighs, and you hear him fumble with the hidden zipper at his crotch, freeing that gorgeous cock—long, thick, already leaking for you. “Look at you, all ready for me,” he teases, smacking your ass lightly, playfully, before dragging the tip through your slick folds. “So fucking wet—bet you’ve been thinking about me pounding you, huh?”

“Shut up and do it,” you snap, half-laughing, half-desperate, and he chuckles—low and dirty—before sinking in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch stretch you open. “Oh, fuck, yes,” he moans, head tipping back, suit creaking as he bottoms out, balls snug against you. He doesn’t go brutal like Bruce—he’s all rhythm, hips rolling smooth and deep, fucking you with a grin you can hear. “That’s my girl—taking me so good.”

He’s a talker—won’t shut up even as he picks up the pace, slamming into you now, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with the city’s hum. “Goddamn, this pussy’s perfect—gonna dream about this later,” he pants, one hand slipping around to rub your clit with those clever fingers, the gloves slick and cool against your heat. You moan—loud, shameless—and he laughs again, delighted. “Yeah, let me hear you, babe—scream for Nightwing.”

He’s relentless but fun—grabbing your hair to pull you back just enough to kiss your neck, sucking bruises there while he fucks you harder, the suit’s edges scraping your skin in the best way. “Wanna flip you over—see that pretty face when you cum,” he says, and before you can blink, he’s spinning you, lifting you like you weigh nothing—acrobat strength on full display. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, pinning you against the billboard, and thrusts back in, grinning like a kid who stole the candy jar.

“Fuck—Dick—” you gasp, and he winks—those lenses flashing—driving deeper, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. “That’s it, say my name—gonna make you lose it,” he promises, voice husky now, less playful, more feral. His fingers circle your clit faster, and you’re done—cumming hard, clenching around him, crying out as your whole body shakes. He groans, watching you fall apart, “So fucking hot—love it when you squeeze me like that.”

He’s close—hips stuttering, grip tightening—and he pulls you flush against him, suit rubbing your tits raw as he chases it. “Where do you want me, huh? Tell me quick,” he pants, and you smirk, breathless—“On me, all over me.” That’s his cue—he pulls out, stroking himself fast, and cums with a loud, “Fuck, yes—” painting your stomach, your thighs, even catching your chin with hot, thick ropes. He’s grinning, chest heaving, swiping a finger through it and popping it in his mouth like a goddamn tease. “Tastes better with you.”

You’re a mess—panting, covered in him—and he’s still got that cheeky spark, tugging you close, kissing you soft now, all lazy and satisfied. “Round two back at my place?” he murmurs, tucking himself back into the suit, adjusting the escrima sticks on his back like he didn’t just fuck you stupid. “Got a bed with your name on it—and maybe some handcuffs.”

“Lead the way, Grayson,” you say, and he scoops you up—half-carrying, half-dragging—already plotting the next way he’ll wreck you.

— JASON TODD ⋆

The safehouse reeks of gunpowder and copper when Jason kicks the door open, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards. He’s a fucking mess—blood streaked across his Red Hood helmet, leather jacket torn at the shoulder, crimson dripping down his gloves from a night of cracking skulls. The guns strapped to his thighs clink with every step, and he’s still riding that adrenaline high, chest heaving, muscles coiled tight. He wasn’t expecting you here—not tonight—but there you are, sprawled on his shitty mattress, fingers buried deep in your own cunt, moaning his name like a prayer.

“Fuck me,” he rasps, voice distorted through the modulator, low and guttural as he freezes in the doorway. His helmet tilts, taking in the sight—your legs spread wide, pussy glistening, eyes half-lidded with lust. You don’t even flinch, just keep fucking yourself, smirking like you knew he’d walk in like this. “Couldn’t wait, huh, you needy little slut?” he growls, kicking the door shut with a bang, already shrugging off the jacket but leaving the holsters on—guns and all.

“Jason—” you whimper, fingers slowing, and he’s on you in a flash, still bloody, still armored, grabbing your wrist and yanking your hand away. “Oh no, you don’t get to stop now,” he snarls, smearing your slick over his glove as he shoves your thighs apart wider, the cold metal of his gauntlets biting your skin. “You wanted me, you’re fuckin’ getting me.” His free hand rips at his belt, pulling his cock out—thick, hard, tip already leaking—and you barely get a breath before he’s hauling you up by your hair, forcing you onto your knees.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he orders, voice rough as gravel, and when you do—lips parting, tongue out—he doesn’t wait. He grabs one of his guns from the holster, still warm from the fight, and presses the barrel to your temple, cold steel kissing your skin. “You like this, don’t you? My dirty fuckin’ girl,” he taunts, smearing blood from his glove across your cheek as he shoves his cock past your lips, deep and brutal, hitting the back of your throat ‘til you gag.

He’s feral—nothing gentle, nothing soft—just pure, unfiltered Jason. His hips snap forward, fucking your face like it’s a goddamn mission, the wet choke of your throat filling the room as he grips your hair tighter, pulling ‘til your scalp stings. “That’s it—take it, choke on me,” he groans, modulator crackling with his ragged breaths, the helmet’s red glow casting shadows over your tear-streaked face. The gun stays steady, a fucked-up promise—he won’t pull the trigger, but the threat’s got your cunt dripping, thighs clenching as he uses you.

“Fuck, you’re a sight—drooling all over my dick,” he mutters, yanking you off with a wet pop, strings of spit hanging between your lips and his cock. He doesn’t give you time to recover—just drags you up by the hair, spinning you around, and shoves you face-first into the mattress. “Ass up, now,” he barks, smacking your thigh hard enough to leave a welt, and you scramble to obey, pussy throbbing, aching for him.

He doesn’t bother stripping—keeps the helmet on, the leather creaking, blood still tacky on his hands as he lines up, slamming into you with one vicious thrust. You scream, the stretch burning, and he laughs—dark, filthy—grabbing the gun again and pressing it to your lower back. “Move, baby—fuck yourself on me,” he growls, but he’s already pounding, hips slamming so hard the bed shakes, his cock splitting you open, hitting deep and relentless.

“Jason—fuck—too much—” you gasp, but he just pulls your hair ‘til your back arches, forcing you to take more, the gun sliding up your spine, cold and dangerous. “Too much? Nah, you can take it—you were begging for it with your fingers in that slutty little cunt,” he snarls, voice dripping with lust and menace. Blood smears on your skin where he grips you, and the helmet’s modulator makes every grunt sound inhuman, primal—fucking you like an animal fresh from the hunt.

He leans over, chest plate digging into your back, and bites your shoulder through the suit—teeth scraping, bruising. “Gonna mark you up—let everyone know who owns this pussy,” he rasps, thrusting harder, the gun now tracing your jawline as he reaches around, shoving two bloody fingers into your mouth. “Suck ‘em clean, c’mon,” he demands, and you do—tasting iron and him, moaning around them while he fucks you into the mattress.

You’re close—too close—clenching tight around him, and he feels it, growling, “Cum for me, you filthy bitch—let me feel it.” The gun presses harder, his pace turning sloppy, brutal, and when you shatter—screaming, gushing all over his cock—he doesn’t slow down, just keeps railing you, chasing his own end. “Fuck—gonna fill you up,” he grunts, yanking your head back one last time as he cums, hot and thick, spilling deep inside you ‘til it’s leaking out around him.

He pulls out, panting, helmet still on, and smacks your ass one more time for good measure, leaving a bloody handprint. “Stay there—look at that mess,” he says, voice low and smug, watching his cum drip down your thighs. He drags the gun barrel through it, smearing it over your skin, then leans close—modulator crackling—“Next time, I’m fucking you with this loaded.”

You’re wrecked, trembling, and he’s already holstering the gun, adjusting his jacket like he didn’t just destroy you. “Clean up, princess,” he tosses over his shoulder, but the way he lingers by the door says he’s not done—not by a long shot. Red Hood doesn’t play nice, and you’re his favorite fucking toy.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

The Wayne Manor study is a damn fortress—dark wood, flickering lamplight, and Damian hunched over a desk littered with maps and case files, looking like he’s about to murder someone. He’s in that stupidly hot Robin tunic—green and red clinging to his lean frame, mask off, black hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times. You’ve been pacing behind him for twenty minutes, thighs rubbing together, pussy throbbing, because he promised he’d fuck you hours ago and now he’s buried in work like some self-righteous little bitch.

“Damian,” you snap, voice dripping with heat, leaning over his shoulder so your tits brush his back. “Put the damn papers down and fuck me already.” He doesn’t even flinch—just keeps scribbling, muttering something about “Gotham’s safety” like you give a shit. “Beloved, I’m occupied,” he says, all clipped and cold, that posh accent making your blood boil hotter. Occupied? Oh, fuck that.

You grab his chair, spin it around so fast he drops his pen, and he’s glaring up at you—emerald eyes sharp, jaw tight, all that bratty defiance he’s so damn good at. “I said I’m busy,” he growls, but his hands twitch, like he’s fighting not to grab you, and you clock it—he’s hard under those tights, bulge straining like a liar’s promise. “Busy being a little bitch,” you spit back, and before he can snap, you slap him—hard—right across that pretty face. His head jerks, cheek blooming red, and his eyes widen, stunned, then darken with something feral.

“You—” he starts, but you don’t let him finish. You climb onto his lap, straddling him, yanking his head back by his hair ‘til he’s forced to look at you. “Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, grinding down on that thick, trapped cock, feeling it twitch under you. “You don’t get to play martyr while I’m soaking wet and dying for it.” He groans—low, broken—and you smirk, spitting right into his open mouth. He chokes, swallowing it, and you see it: the moment he cracks, pride crumbling, lust taking over.

“Fuck, you’re disgusting,” he rasps, but his hands are on your hips now, gripping tight, and you know you’ve got him. “Yeah, and you love it,” you taunt, ripping your shirt off, letting your tits spill out, nipples hard and begging. His eyes lock on them, hungry, and you slap him again—lighter this time, playful, but it still stings. “Eyes up here, asshole,” you say, spitting again—this time on his cheek, watching it drip down as he shudders, cock jumping against you.

You don’t bother with his tunic—just shove the tights down enough to free that gorgeous dick—long, veiny, leaking precum like he’s been aching as bad as you. “Gonna ride you ‘til you cry,” you promise, lining him up, and he snarls—“Try it, harlot”—but it’s all bravado, because when you sink down, taking him in one brutal drop, he moans like a fucking virgin, head tipping back, throat bared. “Oh—fuck—” he gasps, and you laugh, nasty and loud, starting to bounce.

You ride him hard—hips slamming down, pussy clenching tight around him, wet and messy, soaking his lap. The chair creaks, threatening to collapse, and you don’t care—let it break, let the whole damn manor hear. “Look at you,” you pant, grabbing his jaw, forcing him to meet your gaze. “All that big talk, and you’re just my little fucktoy now.” He growls, but it’s weak, hips bucking up to meet you, desperate, and you spit into his mouth again—harder this time. “Swallow it,” you order, and he does, choking, eyes glassy with need.

Your pace is relentless—grinding, bouncing, thighs burning as you fuck him stupid. His hands claw at your ass, your tits, everywhere, and you slap them away, pinning his wrists above his head. “No touching,” you snarl, and he whines—actually whines—struggling but loving it, cock pulsing inside you. “Please—fuck—beloved—” he begs, voice cracking, and you grin, feral, leaning down to bite his lip ‘til it bleeds, licking it clean while you ride him faster.

“Thought you were too busy,” you mock, spitting on his chest now, rubbing it into the Robin emblem with your fingers. “Too good for this pussy—guess you’re not, huh?” He’s a mess—sweat-slick, bloody-lipped, moaning your name like a prayer—and you feel him throb, close, so you slow down, dragging it out ‘til he’s thrashing under you. “No—no, don’t stop—” he pleads, and you slap him again, sharp and loud. “You don’t tell me what to do,” you growl, picking up speed, riding him so hard the desk rattles.

“Gonna cum for me, Dami?” you purr, clenching tight, and he nods, frantic—“Yes—fuck, yes—” You feel it building, that tight, hot coil in your gut, and you spit one last time—right on his tongue—as you slam down, cumming hard, screaming his name as your pussy milks him dry. He breaks—crying out, hips jerking, spilling deep inside you, hot and thick, shuddering through it ‘til he’s whimpering, wrecked.

You don’t stop—keep riding, slow and mean, overstimulating him ‘til he’s squirming, gasping, “Too much—fuck—” but you just laugh, grinding ‘til he’s twitching, cum leaking out around his cock, staining his tights. “Should’ve fucked me sooner,” you say, climbing off, leaving him slumped, panting, a sweaty, bloody mess in that chair—work forgotten, pride gone, just your perfect, ruined boy.

“Next time,” you warn, wiping your spit-slick hand on his tunic, “don’t make me wait.” He looks up, dazed, lips swollen, and mumbles, “Never again,” voice hoarse, and you know he means it.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[prettyacademia00]

Taking a work break

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[prettyacademia00]

Spa Days

navigation , dc navigation

WARNINGS: none really, just funny banter

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

inspired from this fic by @yeoniverseee

Jason Todd, the brooding, gun-toting vigilante known as the Red Hood, isn't exactly the first person you'd picture slathered in a cucumber face mask. Yet, here we are, face-deep in a concoction of avocado and honey, with a fluffy pink headband perched precariously on his dark hair. This is your spa day, a rare moment of domestic bliss carved out from the chaos of Gotham, and honestly, it's been surprisingly…relaxing.

"Seriously? This is what you're doing?" Jason grumbled, his voice echoing in the vast cavern. He surveyed the scene with narrowed eyes: a blanket spread on the floor, laden with an arsenal of brightly colored nail polishes, facemasks that looked suspiciously like something Frankenstein's monster would wear, fluffy headbands, and a bowl of steaming water infused with essential oils that smelled suspiciously like lavender.

Jason scoffed. "De-stressing involves firing rounds at targets, not... whatever this is."

"Humor me," You pleaded, employing my best puppy-dog eyes. Jason, despite his gruff exterior, had a soft spot for those. After a moment of internal debate that was visible in the tic in his jaw, he sighed. "Fine. But if anyone sees this, you're dead."

Your relationship, a clandestine affair built on stolen moments and whispered promises, is often a tightrope walk between my civilian life and his dangerous world. Dates usually involve rooftop picnics offering a breathtaking view of the city, or quiet nights in his surprisingly cozy (and heavily fortified) apartment. But today, you decided we needed something lighter, something…normal. You'd envisioned a day dedicated to pampering, a chance to unwind and reconnect amidst the constant pressure of his double life.

First came the headbands. Wrestling one onto Jason’s stubborn, perpetually tousled hair was a feat in itself, but eventually, you managed to secure the fuzzy pink band. He looked, to put it kindly, ridiculous. You snorted with laughter, earning a glare that could curdle milk.

Next, the nail polish. You convinced him to let me paint just one finger, arguing that it was "research" to see which color best suited his… unique personality. He chose a matte black, which, honestly, wasn’t surprising. You opted for a vibrant turquoise, and you painstakingly applied layer after layer, trying to avoid getting it all over your fingers. Jason quickly realized that painting nails was far more difficult than disarming a bomb. The frustration was palpable.

"This is a waste of time," he muttered, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on his single, gothic-chic fingernail.

"Relax," You chirped, gently buffing away a smudge on his pinky. "Enjoy the process. Embrace the… manicure."

Then came the facemasks. This was where things truly devolved into chaos. You had chosen a particularly gooey, green clay mask, promising it would "draw out impurities" and leave your skin "glowing." The application was messy, to say the least. Jason smeared the mask with the grace of a toddler finger-painting, getting it in his hair, on his clothes, and even managing to flick some onto the Batmobile.

You both looked like swamp monsters, but you couldn’t help but laugh. Jason, however, was not amused.

"This is the dumbest thing I've ever done," he declared, his voice muffled by the drying clay. "You know, I've faced down Scarecrow hopped up on Fear Toxin, and this is still the most terrifying thing I've done all week."

You giggled, gently smoothing the mask around his jawline. "Oh, relax, Jay. It's supposed to be soothing. Besides, you look…kinda cute."

He grumbled something unintelligible, but you saw the corners of his lips twitch. Progress. The whole process started with a bit of reluctant participation. You'd lured him in with the promise of quality time and the persuasive argument that a little self-care was essential, even for hardened vigilantes. I’d prepped everything beforehand. Soft, fluffy towels, essential oils diffusing lavender and chamomile, and a meticulously curated selection of face masks, nail polishes, and bath bombs.

The atmosphere was surprisingly comfortable. We talked, not about the gritty realities of Gotham’s underbelly, but about mundane things: favorite movies, childhood memories, even his surprisingly discerning taste in music. For a few precious hours, you were just two people enjoying each other’s company, a welcome respite from the ever-present threat looming over our lives.

That's when disaster struck.

It started with a knock. A hesitant, almost sheepish knock that I immediately recognized.

"That'll be Tim and Damian," Jason sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "What do they want?"

You shrugged. "Probably just checking in. Don't worry, I'll handle it."

You opened the door to find Tim Drake, the ever-logical Red Robin, and Damian Wayne, the fiercely competitive Robin, standing awkwardly on the doorstep. The scene that greeted them was, you imagine, rather unexpected. Two figures covered in green goo, one sporting a pink headband and a single black fingernail, surrounded by an array of brightly colored beauty products.

Tim's jaw dropped. Damian, on the other hand, simply raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"What," Damian said, his voice dripping with disdain, "is the meaning of this… unspeakable horror?"

Jason, seizing the opportunity, immediately threw me under the bus. "It's all her fault!" he exclaimed, gesturing wildly in my direction with his goo-covered hands. "She forced me into this ridiculous charade!"

"Uh…we were just…wondering if everything was alright?" Tim stammered, his voice betraying his surprise. "We saw the light on and…well…"

Before you could formulate a coherent explanation, Jason emerged from the living room, face mask still firmly in place. The sight of the Red Hood, notorious for his lethal methods, looking like a pampered spa enthusiast was clearly too much for them to process.

Tim’s jaw dropped. Damian, however, simply raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Todd," Damian said, his voice laced with thinly veiled mockery. "What exactly is going on here?"

Jason, never one to back down from a challenge, crossed his arms, a defiant glint in his eyes. "It's a spa day. What's it to you?"

"A spa day?" Tim repeated, his voice cracking slightly. "You? Really?"

"Yeah, really," Jason retorted. "Got a problem with that, Replacement?"

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You could see this quickly escalating into a full-blown argument, complete with hurled insults and possibly even a few Batarangs. You decided to intervene.

"Guys, chill out," You said, stepping between them. "It's just a little relaxation. Why don't you come in? We've got plenty of face masks to go around."

Tim, recovering from his initial shock, started to chuckle. "Are those… facemasks?" he asked, gesturing to your green faces.

"Indeed," Damian replied, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "It appears our elder brother has succumbed to the allure of… self-care."

"Don't even start," Jason growled, but a faint smile played on his lips.

You expected resistance, perhaps even outright refusal. But to your surprise, Tim and Damian exchanged a hesitant glance. The allure of pampered relaxation, it seemed, was stronger than sibling rivalry.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

"Actually," Tim said, his voice thoughtful, "I could use a facial. All-nighters take a toll on your skin."

Damian, ever the competitive one, wasn't about to be outdone. "If Drake is participating in this… frivolous activity, then I shall as well. One must maintain a flawless complexion, even while fighting crime."

Suddenly, Operation Spa Day expanded.

Convincing Tim and Damian to participate was surprisingly easy. Getting them to relax, however, was another story. Damian insisted on analyzing the ingredients of the facemask for potential toxins, while Tim meticulously researched the benefits of each nail polish color. Jason, surprisingly, seemed to be enjoying himself, albeit in a begrudging sort of way.

You ended up painting Damian's nails a subtle, sophisticated grey, while Tim opted for a bright, almost neon green. Jason, emboldened by the presence of his brothers, demanded you paint his other nails black as well.

Of course, your newfound zen was short-lived. As you were rinsing off your facemasks, a deep voice boomed from the shadows.

"What," Batman said, his voice laced with disbelief, "is going on here?"

The sight that greeted him was even more absurd than what Tim and Damian had stumbled upon. Four figures, faces still slightly green, sporting various shades of nail polish, surrounded by a chaotic mess of beauty products.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at you, his cowl casting his face in shadow. Then, a very faint, almost imperceptible twitch appeared at the corner of his lips.

“Did you… paint your nails?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Jason, never one to miss an opportunity, grinned. “Yeah, Batsy. You’re next.”

Batman simply shook his head, a mixture of exasperation and amusement in his eyes. He surveyed the scene one last time, then turned and walked away, muttering something about needing a stronger cup of coffee.

You all exchanged glances, then burst out laughing. Even Damian, surprisingly, cracked a small smile.

[prettyacademia00]

Yes please JASON