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y2khellhound · 3 months ago

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[18+] What a Woman! | Ronald Knox/reader

Contains: smut, milf undertones, office s*x, blowjobs, eating out, “female friendly”, tougue f-ing

"And then I said, 'sorry sweet, you're just gonna have to wait a bit longer!" The women sweeper with orange and black hair bragged with all the other male reapers as they awed in fascination.

"Knox," A droning and stern voice was heard as a slight chill was felt across the room. His looks contained of simple things such as jet black hair, neatly combed to the right. "Yes, sir!" The same oranged haired young man stood up from the table swiftly with a slight grin. "Have you finished that paperwork about the upcoming soul collection this week?" The supervisor asked as he straighten his rectangled spectacles. "Uh, not yet." He replied, chuckled nervously. "Well, get it done today or I'll place you in a room with another reaper where you will have no break privileges." His supervisor ordered and left, giving the laid back reaper, Ronald Knox nothing to say other then 'yes, sir...'

"Are you sure I'm not a bother to you, Miss (Name)?" A worrisome tone brought up by a brown haired reaper, twiching his glasses a bit. "Of course not, Alan. What kind of grim reaper would I be if I never help out a colleague in need." She replied, giving a smile of determination.

"Right, right." The reaper named Alan muttered.

"See! Finished in no time." She chimed. "And that paperwork would've taken you hours and hours of overtime." She added. "It truly is nice of you to help me out in such short notice, (Name)." Alan smiled faintly. "Maybe I could treat you for lunch?" He inquired politely. "Oh no, I think I'm fine for now." She declined. "Well if you need anything, reach me." Alan said by the doorway, holding a stack of finished papers. "Will do!" She shouted as he left.

The women closed her hands together, feeling a little proud that she helped someone. Then again, she can't help it. Mainly due to the fact that everyone keeps to themselves and so reserved that maybe some rookies are afraid of asking for a little help once in awhile.

But this was no mystery to her. She took the test, she saw how the higher-ranked said to the new recruits everytime. Saying how it wasn't going to be easy and you can't be too sure about these demons running around, hidden in the shadows. Pretty scary.

Being one of the most influential people in the Grim Reaper Association, She was known to be a well-respected veteran around the English branch. Some praised her for how much she was so passionate about her job and for how she always gave new recruits advice.

As she got older, people viewed her as a mother figure because of how supportive she was when it came to everyone.

A few hours rolled in and almost done with her paperwork! This was just a good day for you, huh?

"Finally, take that Mr. Spears! I can get my paperwork done with five minutes left to spare!" She said in her empty office. Great, you're talking to yourself..Hopefully no one heard me...

You peaked out of your window with the blinds, seeing most of your colleagues leaving one by one. You smiled, and started to pack up your things with no hesitation, gleefully and swiftly. Putting your bag over your shoulder, your heels turned around until you stopped by the doorway.

"Miss (L/n), I'd like a word with you." Great, you heard that droning, yet sophisticated voice anywhere. "Yes, Mr. Spears?" You rasied your eyebrows curiously. "I'm afraid your going to have to stay here for overtime."

"What?" You blankly asked. Before you could asked even more, a young reaper with an orange cowlick and dyed black hair walked behind him a little tirelessly, as if he didn't want to be there.

"This here, is Ronald Knox, Knox this (Y/n) (L/n), she's one of our best females in the British Branch. I'm sure you know of her." He introduced us.

"Not at all, old man Spears. But I'm sure I'll do my best." His tiresome look went away in a flash. Shaking your hand as he playfully winked at his comment.

Meanwhile as this Ronald shaked your hand, you could've sworn he smirked a little. Did William even notice or does he not care anymore? Especially since it's the last day of the week.

Your eyes rasied a little in confusion by this. "Is there something I'm missing here?" You asked your supervisor. "My apologies but Ronald has incomplete work and needs some type of supervision. Especially one that has a good track record. Which is why I ask of you (Y/n), to let Ronald stay in your office until he has finished his work."

"Do I have a choice?" You said. "No, unless you want a more paperwork flooding your way soon." He droned.

"Don't fail me now, miss (Y/n)." He left, leaving only you and Ronald.

Only a couple of minutes have passed since you've seen Ronald do anything. Of course, you just used your computer in the office to pass the time.

"Hey, (Y/n) isn't it? Uh, how is it that someone as beautiful as you isn't with anyone yet?" He charmed across the room. "Aren't you supposed to be working?" You commented.

"I'll get to that. Just that talking wouldn't hurt a little." He replied. The room became filled with silence. You sighed, I supposed having a bit of chat wouldn't hurt even a little..

"Fine, but only if its work-related." You articulated harshly at him. Ronald smirked a little. "Alright, when was the last time you took a break from work and settled down." He asked curiously. You blinked. "I said 'work-related'." You stated. "Taking a break IS work-related." He responded back.

You pinched the bridge of your nose in annoyance. "Is this why William put my hands on you?" You mumbled.

"Hey now, I'm just as confused as you are, love." Ronald said in defense. "Like, how could my mind just brush the fact that I haven't heard of such a beautiful lady like yourself!" He exclaimed proudly. You just rolled your eyes. Although the compliments were shamelessly getting to you, just a little...ok maybe alot.

"Say, how 'bout a little help? You are my supervisor for tonight after all." He effused. You breathed from your nose, stood from your chair and walked to the orange haired charmer.

You bent down a little. "What do you need help with?" You shamelessly asked.

Ronald didn't think that would actually work. He expected you to scold him and tell him to leave you alone.

But now he was mere inches from your body, and dare his dirty mind peak at your chest pushing up a little whenever you exhaled.

And the perfume you were wearing was no help either, it was basically a walking cloud following you.

"Ronald?" His face lit up a little, unaware of what time had past. "Oh sorry, love. Your scent distracted me a little, what smell is that anyway?" He chuckled lighty. "Erm, vanilla." You cleared your throat a little with all this closeness. "Man, that is one scent I wouldn't mind waking up to everyday!" He exclaimed. "Wouldn't hurt being around often."

"What exactly are you hinting at?" You questioned. "I'm just saying that since we've met and all, it wouldn't hurt hanging around you more then supervising."

"Please, I know what you're intentions are, Ronald. I'm aware of your past "nights" with the ladies around here." You huffed.

"Come on, you're not jealous are you?" He playfully winked. "What? Why would I be jealous, I'm just saying that your tricks don't work on me." You replied harshy.

"Then prove it."

"What?"

"Kiss me." He said. "How will that prove anything?" You protested. "Prove that my tricks won't swoon you from one kiss." He explained simply.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this." You said in disbelief, turning your head away from the young reaper. "If you kiss me, I'll go back to finishing my paperwork in time." He added. You shot your head up a little, you looked at your watch, it appeared that almost 40 minutes have been wasted from you and Ronald talking.

"Go on." You demanded, obviously curious as to what else he had to say.

"And if my tricks work on you, you'll have no choice but to join me for lunch and after work for a month." He smirked.

"And if it doesn't?" You responded. "Then, I'll go back to working and I won't bother you again." He gulped.

This was one unbreakable deal. Although in the back of your mind, you feel as though you might swoon over to what he holds in his sleeves.

You sighed effortlessly. "Alright, but you better get right on your paperwork." You stated. "In a heartbeat." He replied quickly, he almost look like a boy excited for his mother's homemade cooking. You couldn't help but smirk at the thought of how Ronald was happy in this moment.

"Say, what's with the smile there, Miss (Y/n)." He asked curiously. You laughed a little. "Oh nothing, just looking at the way you're so excited right now."

"Can't help it, I've never been with experienced woman before." He admitted happily. "Experienced, huh?" You smirked. "Yes ma'am!"

You went back to Ronald's desk, leaned over and pushed your lips on his soft ones. As both of your lips touched, both each pushed together, fighting which one was going to dominate. Your cheeks were getting a bit warm from all this steam going on between your lips. You both broke apart. Breathing heavily for more air. Ronald couldn't take it! The sight of you right now was just too much to handle in his little mind.

He didn't know what to think right now. His body was taking over, next thing he knew, his arm reached out and glided his hand up and down your leg to thigh, almost reaching underneath your pencil skirt.

You were so hot and bothered that even you couldn't think straight! Just feeling his touch on you made your body give a little tingling sensation.

You slapped his hand away, Ronald opened his eyes a little in surprised at your sudden action. You pushed his shoulders back, and made your way to sit on his lap. Straddling his hips, arms giving you support, you pushed your lips on his again, his mouth opened a little and so you followed what he wanted.

Your tougue making traveling to his, now colliding together. Both his hands wondered, gliding your legs again, fully enjoying it.

You cupped his face, pushing more into the kiss. Ronald's hands wandered to your legs, and gave your bottom a good squeeze. You gasped a little, making Ronald smirk into the kiss.

You took a break from his lips and traveled towards his neck. Giving small pecks here and there, Ronald sat back and held your head as you gave small little marks. You couldn't help but obliged.

You pulled back, breathing heavily from all this work. Ronald just admired your features and body. He ran his hand up to your chest groping them a little. You just responded with your fingers gliding through his orange locks, faintly smiling at his curiosity.

Ronald took this as a chance to unbutton your silky dress shirt. Before he could get a chance to unbuttoned the forth button, you stopped his hand from going further, teasing him a little. "You're driving me mad, woman!" He cursed as you smirked seeing him flustered. "We'll get to that in a little while, but I want to do something a little more bold." You then kissed his chest from top to bottom, he knew what was coming for him, and he knew he was gonna enjoy every last part of it.

You got down on your knees and moved your hands up and down his thighs for a bit, he groned at your touch. You unzipped his pants, seeing his member twich a little. You bit your lip a little in anticipation.

You licked tip and his shaft a little. He grabbed your hair, pushing your head down in response. Bobbing your head up and down on his member, Ronald groned just feeling your mouth around him and wetness. He gasped, those lips were just wonders to him.

You left your mouth away from his member and licked your lips, staring into his eyes again. He was out of breath with words until, "That was amazing! Now I'm really glad you're supervising little ol' me." He grinned. You stood up and ran your fingers through his scalp.

"You can make it up to me by making me feel good."

You then felt your back press against the wooden desk, legs bended and spread apart. Ronald was just looking at the position you were in. He pushed your skirt out of the way, taking off those panties of yours now seeing your wet core.

He licked his fingers and rubbed his thumb at your core a little to see you squirm a little at his touch. Your mouth opened a little, while quiet moans escaped your lips. And let me tell you, those moans made him weak to his knees but of course he wasn't gonna show that.

"Fuck ~!"

You cursed. Ronald looked up at you, he wished that if only you saw yourself right now. Sexy, sweating, and touching yourself from time to time, truly a sight Ronald approved of. His face got closer to your heat, you felt his breath in your heat a little as you bit your lip, wondering what his tougue would feel inside you.

He lick the outside of your core, your breath hiched at the wetness of his tongue, lathering on the outside. "Ronald, stop teasing ~~!" You moaned.

All he did was smirk at you before going back down on you. More aroused at hearing you moan out his name.

Without warning, you grabbed a fistful of his orange locks, running your fingers through, tangled up. You pushed his mouth further into you. As he was smothered, his hands wandered around your body, giving your hips a squeeze.

A few curse words and quiet moans came out of your lips, as Ronald fucked you with his tougue. You getting even more wet by the second. "Fuck, Ronald! I-I think I'm gonna cum!" It was hard to even get a sentence out without moaning like crazy. Ronald just continued to plunge his tongue into your clit.

Your moaning was like ecstasy each second. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

You felt hot, your core felt like a wet cavern that exploded. Ronald broke away, now on your level. You sat up from the desk, and got Ronald by his loose tie. The kissing was just passionate and tender. Your slender fingers were getting tangled by his hair again. His hands wandered at your chest, he broke the kiss and decided to give attention to your chest area. His mouth explored around your breasts. You favored him by bringing him more closer in, arms around his neck, your hands patting behind his head.

"Keep going, Ronald ~" You said as in encouragement. His licks going around your nipples. You sighed in pleasure as you kept petting behind his hair.

Your eyes met with his. He went back to your level to give you another passionate kiss. "Was that worth getting your work done?" You smirked. "If I get all my work done, can we possibly do that again sometime?"

"Fine, let's continue back at my place." You said

"Yes ma'am!"

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y2khellhound · 3 months ago

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TRAINING

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: A training session with Dick gets out of hand. He's sweaty, you're desperate, and the Batcave's gym mat ends up being put to much better use.

Words: way too many because I'm a horny bitch who can't help herself ✋🏻

CW: established relationship, playful banter, teasing, nipple play, (semi??) public sex, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare, Dick just being Dick lmao

A/N: Kept reading and rereading @neontiger 's version of Jason (link here, because missing out on this hotness should be illegal) like a woman possessed, and naturally, my brain went, "But what if... Dick?" So here we are. Thank you for the delicious inspo, bestie!! 🏃🏻‍♀️

You groan as the blanket is rudely yanked away, making you shiver at the loss of warmth. But before you can even think about grabbing it back, Dick wraps himself around you like a human blanket instead. Bare chest warm against your back, one strong arm hooking around your waist, pulling you snug against him. And then come the kisses. Soft, sweet, pressing along your temple, your cheek, your jaw, everywhere he can reach, like he's trying to butter you up.

"Baby," you mutter, burrowing deeper into the mattress. "Too early."

"Too early?" he echoes, his voice all mock offense as he shifts. "Sweet girl, it's nine-thirty."

You groan again, wiggling, trying to get away, but he just holds you tighter, one leg slinging over yours, caging you in.

"Mmm, nope," he hums against your skin, lips moving lower, trailing down the side of your throat. "No escape."

"Dick," you whine, blindly reaching for the blanket he stole, but he just laughs, keeping it out of reach.

You regret everything. Mostly, you regret what you said yesterday. Because yesterday, you were feeling good, work stress melting away after finally getting some time off, and you let yourself be tricked into agreeing to this.

To be fair, it's not unusual for you and Dick to train together. Sometimes you'll join him at the gym, sometimes you'll go on a morning run, and sometimes, when he's sparring in the Batcave, you'll do your own exercises off to the side, watching him work up a sweat as you pretend to stretch.

But this week? This week has been long. You're exhausted. And all you want is to relax, to sleep in, to take it easy, to enjoy your weekend without any training, sweating, or being tackled to the mat by your six foot menace of a boyfriend.

And yet, here you are.

"Too damn early," you whine in protest, rolling onto your stomach and dragging a pillow over your head like it might protect you from your relentless man.

Dick laughs, completely unfazed by your dramatics. Instead of backing off, he steals the pillow too, tossing it to the floor before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his bare chest.

"Nine-thirty is early, huh?" he teases, fingers slipping under your sleep shirt, brushing absent-minded circles against your stomach. "You were all talk yesterday, my love."

"I was delusional yesterday."

He laughs, warm and fond, his lips trailing over your shoulder, lingering before he presses another soft, lazy kiss.

"C'mon," he murmurs, his voice dropping just slightly, smooth as honey. "The Batcave's empty. Begging for us to use it."

You groan, curling up tighter.

"Oh, baby," he coos, teasing, mouth moving up to the shell of your ear. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

You try to squirm away, but he won't let you, just laughs against your skin, one arm keeping you firmly pinned while his lips wander, pressing to that one spot on your neck, the one that always makes you shiver.

"Dick," you whine, smacking at his arm, voice still drowsy. "I just got time off work. I don't wanna train, I wanna relax."

"Hmmm," he pretends to consider it, but you know he's not done yet. He never gives up easy. And sure enough—

"Come with me and I'll take you somewhere nice for dinner tonight."

That makes you pause. Not that it's unusual for Dick to take you on weekly dates even after all this time, but still, you turn your head just enough to glare at him, squinting.

"Somewhere nice nice?"

The corners of his lips twitch, like he knows exactly where your mind went. He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, grinning when you don't pull away.

"Promise," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You think about it for a second, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his bicep. You've been dying to try that one new restaurant—the one with the ridiculous waiting list that stretches out for months—but unless you get insanely lucky, there's no way you're getting in anytime soon.

Your eyes narrow slightly. "Okay. But only if you get us into that new restaurant I want."

His grin turns downright smug. "Consider it done."

But you squint at him, already suspicious. "...you're making Bruce pull the strings, aren't you?"

He laughs, tipping your chin up and kissing you, soft and sweet, his breath warm against your lips. "Bet. It's the least he can do sometimes."

And, well... you just know you're gonna eat good tonight.

You lie there for a few more minutes, basking in the warmth of the bed, but you know if you don't get up soon, Dick's gonna manhandle you out of it himself. So with a deep, suffering sigh, you finally drag yourself upright, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before you shuffle to the bathroom.

The bright light makes you grimace—ugh, too early. But you push through, reaching for your toothbrush, going through the motions as you blink groggily at your reflection.

Next comes skincare, your hands moving on autopilot. A splash of water, a gentle cleanser, a bit of moisturizer. Then, concealer, just enough to hide how tired you look, and your brows, brushing them into place because, yeah, you might be about to get your ass handed to you in the Batcave, but that's no excuse to look messy. Except... your hair.

You groan, tilting your head, staring at it in frustration.

You washed it last night, and because you were too lazy to dry it properly, now it's sticking out in, like, twenty different directions—half of it flattened weirdly, the other half frizzy as hell.

You glare at it, fingers raking through the strands, debating whether to just throw it up in a ponytail and hope for the best. But no. No, you can do better. Braids. Two cute little braids.

You part your hair quickly, fingers working on autopilot as you twist the strands together, securing them into two neat tails, way more presentable than the disaster from earlier.

You admire yourself for a second, pleased, before you leave the bathroom and head back to the bedroom, only to come to a dead stop. Because Dick?

Dick is already getting dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed as he puts on his socks. And he looks so good.

The kind of good that makes your stomach flip, that makes you forget why you're even leaving the house, that makes you think maybe you could convince him to just... stay home. Because God.

He's in a fitted compression shirt—black, short-sleeved, clinging to his chest and arms, the fabric molding perfectly over muscle. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, sitting just right, loose and comfortable but still showing enough that your brain immediately starts short circuiting.

He pushes a hand through his hair, his biceps flexing, and... yeah. Yeah, maybe training can wait. You could definitely stay home. You could definitely pull him back into bed, climb into his lap, and—

Before you can finish the thought, he glances up, lips twitching in amusement, like he knows exactly what's going through your pretty little mind.

Then he steps forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before murmuring, "I'm gonna go put my shoes on and wait for you in the living room, baby."

And just like that, the moment is gone. You sigh as he walks off, leaving you alone in the bedroom, your brain still running through every way you could possibly lure him back.

But no. You promised. So, with a grumble, you shuffle to your side of the closet, fishing out a pair of leggings—high waisted, snatching you up perfectly—a matching sports bra, and a fitted t-shirt.

After slipping them on, you pause in front of the mirror, smoothing a hand over your stomach, turning slightly to check yourself out. Yep. You look good. And if you're going to get thrown around today, you might as well look hot doing it.

Before heading out, you detour to Dick's side of the closet, grabbing one of his hoodies, a habit you've never bothered breaking, because why would you? His hoodies are big, soft, and they smell like him—a mix of clean laundry, soap, and something distinctly him.

By the time you make it to the living room, he's already sprawled on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, scrolling through his phone with that effortless kind of ease that makes your stomach flip. He looks so good, all relaxed and stupidly hot in that fitted shirt, and for a second, you almost forget what you were about to do.

But you recover quickly, stepping up to him and tossing the hoodie onto his lap before leaning down to kiss him.

"Hold my hoodie for me a little, yeah?"

He chuckles, his lips curling into a smirk against yours as his hand slides down to your ass, giving it a playful slap.

"You mean my hoodie," he corrects.

"Same thing," you murmur, pulling away before he can deepen the kiss, just to be annoying.

He watches you as you turn away, amusement flickering in his bright blue eyes, but you don't miss the way they drift, the way his gaze naturally follows the curve of your ass as you move toward the hallway.

And that's when you decide, why not push him a little further? Just a little. Just to see how much self control he really has. So, when you reach for your shoes, you do it slowly, deliberately bending over, giving him the full view of your ass, the tight stretch of your leggings leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

And oh, you know he's watching. You can feel his gaze burning into you, can practically hear the way his breath hitches, the second he makes the mistake of looking.

Because holy fucking shit, you're not playing fair. He knows you're doing it on purpose, knows you're teasing him, but God, it doesn't matter, because the second his eyes land on you, his brain short circuits.

Your leggings are so fucking tight, hugging every curve of your ass, accentuating the dip of your waist, the length of your legs, the way your muscles flex as you adjust your stance. And worse? The position you're in, it's like you're presenting yourself to him, back arched just enough, like you're asking for him to come up behind you, press his hands to your hips, and—

No. Nope. He needs to stop thinking like that. Needs to think about anything else before his dick gets the wrong idea.

So he clenches his jaw, forces his gaze upward, tries to focus on literally anything that isn't the fact that you are perfectly bent over in front of him, wearing the tightest fucking leggings known to man.

Taxes. The Gotham Knights losing. The last time Jason ate a chili dog in the Batmobile and nearly got murdered for it.

But none of it works, because you are right there, your ass right there, and he suddenly regrets everything. And you? You know exactly what you're doing, taking your sweet time tying your laces, shifting your weight just enough to make the fabric pull tighter.

Fuck. Dick shifts, jaw tight, exhaling slowly through his nose as he wills his body to calm the fuck down. This is fine. He can handle this.

He's a grown ass man, he's trained his body to withstand pain, he can absolutely resist the urge to grab your hips and grind against you until you're both panting. Probably.

When you finally straighten up, you glance at him over your shoulder, lips twitching like you know exactly what you just did. And all he can do is swallow down the heat rising in his chest, exhaling sharply as he leans back against the couch, feigning casual indifference.

Except he's not casual. He is fighting for his life.

But you don't give him a second to recover. Because next, you're grabbing your little backpack, stuffing it with water bottles and a few granola bars from the pantry.

And Dick? Dick takes the opportunity to get a little revenge. Because if you're gonna tease him, then he's gonna return the favor.

Every time you reach for something, he finds a reason to move behind you, brushing against your ass, his touch just light enough to be accidental.

But you know it's not. You know exactly what he's doing. And you refuse to acknowledge it. Because this is his fault.

He wanted to train instead of staying home and fucking you? Well, he's in for a treat.

A few minutes later, you're perched on the back of Dick's bike, adjusting the new helmet he got for you. Custom made, of course, because he never does things halfway. This one is sleek, perfectly fitted to your head, and worst—or best—of all, it has cat ears.

"Really?" you deadpan as you poke at them.

He grins, sliding his own helmet on. "You love it."

You huff, but yeah. Yeah, you do love it, even if you won't admit it out loud.

With one smooth motion, he swings his leg over the bike, settling into the front seat. The second he's in place, you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing yourself against his back.

"Ready, baby?"

You nod, giving him a squeeze, and the bike rumbles to life beneath you, and oh, God, that sound is so hot.

The streets of Gotham are uncharacteristically light on traffic today, which means one thing: Dick is putting on a show. He leans into every turn effortlessly, weaving through the roads with a confidence that makes your stomach flip, the sheer control in his movements making you hold tighter onto him.

And he knows it.

He knows exactly what he's doing, showing off just to feel the way your fingers tighten around his torso, the way your breath catches when he accelerates, taking full advantage of Gotham's rare lack of traffic.

By the time you finally reach the Batcave, your grip on him is ironclad, and he's grinning under his helmet. He pulls smoothly into the luxurious underground lair, parking the bike with a level of ease that makes you want to roll your eyes.

The second he cuts the engine, he shifts, tugging off his helmet before turning to you.

"Alright, sweet girl, c'mere," he murmurs, reaching for you.

You let him help you off, rolling your shoulders as he gently unclasps your helmet, pulling it from your head with so much care, as if it's some delicate thing. Then, without missing a beat, he cups your face and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

You hum against him, then pull back just enough to narrow your eyes at him.

"Showing off much?" you ask, raising a brow.

His lips curl, not even pretending to deny it. "Did it work?"

You huff, fighting back a smile. Yeah. Yeah, it worked. It always works. He grins, taking your hand and tugging you toward the sparring room.

Now, despite being called a sparring room, the space itself is borderline excessive, but then again, Bruce built it, so of course it is.

Half of it is a high tech training area—sleek mats, an entire section dedicated to weapons, a reinforced wall for target practice, and state-of-the-art tech monitoring every possible performance metric.

The other half?

A fully equipped gym, the kind of setup that would make even professional athletes jealous. There's a ridiculous range of equipment, a custom built treadmill that can handle inhuman speeds, racks of weights, punching bags, and even a climbing wall.

It's the epitome of form meets function—practical as hell but still exuding the kind of wealth only someone like Bruce Wayne could casually throw at a training room.

And right now? It's completely empty, just as Dick promised.

He leads you to the gym side, fingers laced with yours, guiding you toward a nearby bench. The second you sit down, you immediately pull out a granola bar from your backpack, peeling the wrapper with zero hesitation.

Dick snorts, crossing his arms as he watches you take the first bite. "Really?"

"What?" you mumble around your mouthful. "You dragged me here. Least I can do is have a snack first."

He chuckles, shaking his head as he kneels to retie one of his sneakers. "Fine, fine. Get your pre-workout in."

You roll your eyes, finishing off the bar while he straightens up, reaching for his arms to gently tug him closer. He hums, allowing it, and you press your forehead against his stomach for a moment, breathing him in, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

It's comforting, being here with him, wrapped in the familiarity of his warmth. His hand comes up, fingers brushing gently over your braids before resting against the back of your head.

"You good, baby?"

You nod against him. "Yeah. Just stealing some energy before you kick my ass."

That makes him laugh, a soft, throaty sound that vibrates through his core. "C'mon, sweet girl," he murmurs, tilting your chin up with his fingers. "Let's start with some stretches."

You groan, but let him pull you up, following him onto one of the mats. And that's where the real trouble starts.

Because yeah, stretching is important, but why the fuck does he have to look like that while doing it? You drop into a lunge, arms reaching over your head, but your eyes immediately flick to him, to the way his muscles shift so fluidly as he raises his arms, tilting to one side, then the other. The dip of his waist, the flex of his biceps, the subtle little furrow in his brow as he concentrates. You swallow, quickly averting your gaze before he catches you.

Dick, however, is having a similar problem.

Because he knows—knows—you look good in tight clothes. He's been with you long enough to have that fact permanently ingrained in his brain.

But something about you in gym clothes, stretched out on the mat, moving so effortlessly as you go through your routine... it's really fucking distracting. He wants to focus, but every time you reach for your toes, your leggings pull just a little tighter around your thighs. Every time you twist your torso, the curve of your waist becomes painfully obvious.

And when you drop into a seated stretch, legs spread apart as you reach forward, touching your hands to the mat—

He looks away, running a hand through his hair, forcing his mind onto something else.

Training. Right. That's why you're here. Training, not staring at you like a teenager seeing their first pair of tits.

He thinks for a moment, considering their options. "Let's start easy. Some bodyweight exercises."

You shrug. "Sounds good, baby."

And so, the real workout begins, simple at first. A few rounds of squats, lunges, and push ups. Some core work. Even a bit of light shadowboxing.

But the problem?

Neither of you can stop stealing glances at the other. Because yeah, the Batcave's gym is nice. Top tier, expensive as hell, better than the majority of Gotham's gyms. But it's nothing compared to the view.

By the time you and Dick make it to the sparring mats, you're already sweaty, your body warm from the workout. Your muscles are loose, and honestly? You're feeling pretty damn good. That is, until you realize what exactly he's suggesting.

"Sparring?" you echo, eyeing him skeptically as he stretches his arms over his head. "With you?"

He grins. "Scared, my love?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes even as your pulse kicks up. "Oh, please."

But internally? Yeah, you're feeling the slightest flutter of nerves, not because you think he'd hurt you—he'd rather die—but because you know exactly what sparring with him means.

It means his hands all over you, gripping, steady, possessive. It means bodies tangling together, muscles flexing and straining, sweat slicked skin brushing in ways that are not at all good for self control.

And after an entire morning of watching him, of feeling him, of listening to every low groan and quiet grunt he makes while working out, his jaw tight with concentration, his shirt clinging to his chest in a way that should be illegal—yeah, you're in trouble. But you refuse to back down.

"Alright," you say, shaking out your arms, rolling your shoulders. "Let's do it."

His grin widens, eyes darkening just a fraction. "That's my girl."

The first round starts off easy—a warm up more than anything. He lets you get used to the rhythm, lets you test the give and take of each strike, each block. You counter, dodge, try to anticipate his movements, but he's so damn quick, it's like trying to fight a shadow.

He doesn't just react, he predicts. Every time you move, he's already a step ahead, his body fluid and controlled, striking with the kind of effortless precision that makes you realize just how out of your depth you are.

Or maybe it's just the fact that your boyfriend is also a vigilante and has years of circus acrobatics behind him, his body trained for this in ways yours never could be. He moves like it's second nature, like he was made for this—because, in a way, he was.

Still, you're holding your own. For the first few minutes, at least. But then? Then he grabs you.

It happens fast. One second, you're slipping out of the way of a jab, the next, he's got you pinned. Your back slams onto the mat, wrists trapped above your head in a solid grip, his weight hot and heavy between your thighs.

A soft sigh escapes you, and you blink up at him, dazed.

He's smirking. "Got you, baby."

Your pulse spikes. Because he's right there, hovering over you, breath warm against your lips, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled breaths. His body is solid, pressing into yours, his grip firm enough to make your fingers twitch.

You swallow, eyes flicking over his face. He's sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead, the curve of his biceps glistening, and you feel a deep, slow heat curl in your stomach.

But before you can dwell on it, he clears his throat, shifting slightly, the tiniest flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

"Again," he says, his voice just a touch rougher than before.

You barely get to catch your breath before he's helping you up, stepping back, giving you space. And then you do it again.

This time, you push harder, trying to be unpredictable, trying to get the upper hand, but it's useless. No matter how fast you move, how hard you strike, he's always just a fraction ahead.

And once again, he gets you pinned. Your breath catches as your back meets the mat, your arms above your head, his body covering yours.

He smirks down at you. "Damn, baby. Thought you were tougher than this."

Your stomach tightens. Your fingers flex against his hold, your skin burning from the way he's pressed into you. He's so warm, his shirt damp with sweat, clinging to his torso, and it's honestly not fair how good he looks like this.

He releases you, pulling away with a smirk as he stands, offering you a hand.

"Again," he says, that same rough edge to his voice.

And this time? Yeah, you're not sure if you want to win or if you just want to keep letting him pin you down.

"Let me take this off," you murmur, voice light, casual, as if you don't know exactly what you're doing.

And then you strip. It's nothing dramatic, you just grip the hem of your shirt and pull it up over your head, letting it fall to the floor beside you. But to him? It's like slow motion. His breath hitches, his eyes locking onto you like he's been starved for weeks. Because that sports bra? The one you picked for function, for support?

Yeah. It's doing things to him. The snug fabric cups your tits perfectly, lifting them just right, leaving nothing to the imagination except the parts he already knows by heart. The curve of your cleavage is glistening with sweat, and the way the material stretches across your chest has his hands itching to touch, to grab, to pull.

His thoughts derail before he can stop them. Because he's seen them, felt them, tasted them. He knows exactly how sensitive your nipples are, how you arch when he flicks his tongue just right.

He remembers the way your back curves when he palms them, the way you gasp when he squeezes a little rougher than necessary. And his body? It reacts before his brain can catch up.

Heat pools low in his stomach, a sharp, throbbing ache settling between his legs as blood rushes south. His cock twitches in his sweats, already thickening, and he knows he needs to stop looking, needs to breathe, needs to think about literally anything else before this gets too obvious.

But then your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, light and teasing. "Ready, or are you stalling?"

His gaze snaps up to your face just in time to catch your smirk—that playful, mischievous little curve of your lips, the one that always means trouble.

His throat works as he swallows hard, his voice a little breathless when he says, "Yeah. Ready."

And then, because he refuses to let you have the upper hand, he reaches for the hem of his own shirt and pulls it off in one smooth motion. The reaction is instant. You bite your lip, hard. Because your man? He's unreal.

Broad shoulders, thick arms, sculpted chest, all of it glistening with sweat, his abs flexing slightly with every breath. And then there's the happy trail, that perfect dusting of hair leading down, disappearing beneath his waistband, teasing at something you know way too well.

Something you know every ridge and vein of. Heat pulses through you, pooling low, making your thighs press together instinctively.

But then he is the one pulling you out of your thoughts, tilting his head, smirking just a little too knowingly as he murmurs, "You good, baby?"

It takes a second for you to process the question. "Yeah," you say quickly, shaking yourself out of it. "Just—yeah. Ready."

You try again. You really do. You focus on the fight, on strategy, on winning, but it doesn't even matter. Because it's the same as before—no matter what you do, no matter how fast or clever you are, he's just better.

And this time? This time when he gets you pinned, you moan. Because the second your back hits the mat, you feel it. The solid weight of him pressing you down, his thighs bracketing yours, his hands wrapped around your wrists, his cock—

Hard. Thick. Pressing right against your pussy through the layers of fabric between you.

A slow, drowning heat spreads through you, your breath hitching as you shift, and yep, it's worse. The friction, the pressure, the sheer heat of him against you, and your body reacts before you can stop it, hips tilting up the tiniest bit, just enough to grind.

His grip tightens. His breath shudders. And when you dare to glance up at his face? His pupils are blown wide, his jaw clenched, his expression caught somewhere between control and absolute wreckage.

"D-Dick, we—"

Your voice breaks, barely more than a breathless stammer, but he doesn't let you finish. Doesn't let you think. Doesn't give you a single second to process what's happening before his mouth is on yours, swallowing the rest of your words in a kiss so deep, so hungry, it knocks the air from your lungs.

And you don't even hesitate.

Your lips part for him the second he pushes in, a soft, desperate moan spilling from your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth, hot and claiming. There's no teasing, no testing, just need, pure and consuming, his mouth moving against yours in a rhythm that's all too familiar, all too dangerous.

Because it's him. Because he knows exactly how to kiss you, exactly how to angle his head, exactly how to steal the breath from your lungs and make you crave more, chase more.

And you do.

Your fingers twitch against his grip, your body arching instinctively, your thighs clenching as you feel it again. Him, grinding against you, his cock pressing right where you need it, rubbing so perfectly, the friction sending little shocks of heat straight to your core.

And he doesn't stop. Doesn't hesitate, doesn't hold back. He just rocks into you, slow and purposeful, letting you feel every inch of him, letting you squirm beneath him, letting the heat between you build with every slow, teasing thrust.

And God, you're getting so wet. You can feel it, the way your slick soaks through your leggings, the way it makes every drag of his cock feel hotter, messier, more desperate. And he notices. Of course he notices.

Because suddenly, his grip shifts—one hand still pinning your wrists above your head, the other palm pressing firm against your tits. Fingers squeeze through the thin fabric of your bra, teasing over your hardened nipples, making you gasp into his mouth.

And he groans, low and gravelly, his hips jerking forward, grinding against you just a little harder, a little faster, dragging another moan from your lips as your head tilts back against the mat.

He follows. Doesn't even give you time to catch your breath before his mouth is on you again, lips tracing the curve of your jaw, teeth nipping at the soft skin beneath your ear, tongue soothing over the sting before moving lower. Down, down, to your neck, where he sucks, hot and wet, marking you in a way that sends a sharp thrill straight through you.

And you whimper, hips rolling up against him, thighs trembling as he works his way lower, as his mouth devours every inch of skin it finds. Your collarbone, your chest, his breath hot against your sweat slicked skin as he licks a slow, teasing stripe across the swell of your tits.

And then? Then he yanks your bra up. Not off, just high enough to free your tits, high enough to leave them bare, to leave them at his mercy. And he doesn't hesitate.

His mouth is on you in seconds, lips wrapping around one stiffened peak, tongue swirling, teasing, before he sucks, slow and deep, and the sensation shoots straight down your spine, leaving your head spinning, your body burning.

And then? Then he bites.

Just the tiniest scrape of his teeth, just enough to make you gasp, to make you arch, to make heat flood between your thighs as you moan his name. And he smirks against your skin. You're so wet.

You feel it—feel the way your slick soaks through your leggings, the way every slow, teasing drag of his cock against your clit leaves a damp, sticky patch against his sweats. And from the way his breathing shudders, from the way his hips jerk, just a little, every time he rubs against you, you know he can feel it too.

But does he stop? Of course not.

If anything, he doubles down, rolling his hips in slow, torturous circles, just to hear those little gasps you can't hold back, just to see the way your lashes flutter, your lips parting as another soft, desperate moan slips free.

God, you're a mess. Flushed and panting, chest rising and falling with every sharp inhale, your nipples stiff and aching as he blows a teasing breath over them, the cool air making you whimper.

"Baby..."

It's barely a sound, more of a breathy little whine, but he hears it. Feels it. The desperation, the plea. And it drives him insane.

He hums, mouth pressing to your skin again, sucking a deep, dark mark right above your breast before he pulls back, before his lips hover just over yours, warm and teasing, taunting.

"Yeah, my love?"

His voice is low, rough, but you barely register it, barely even hear him over the way his cock keeps grinding against your swollen clit, rubbing just right, just enough.

You moan, hips rolling instinctively, chasing more, chasing him, your hands trembling where he still has them pinned.

"I need you."

His mind goes blank. Because usually? He has a little more self control. He thinks things through, considers where he's about to fuck you before he actually does it. But now? Now, that part of his brain shuts off completely. Because he needs you. Now.

He groans, low and wrecked, his entire body tensing before he moves—fast, determined, not even giving you time to think before his grip shifts, before he releases your hands and grabs you instead, folding you up so easily it makes your breath catch.

And then? Then he tugs. Your leggings, your panties—down, just enough to bare you, just enough to give him what he wants.

Jesus, your pussy is so wet. So fucking pretty, so needy, glistening in the dim lighting, slick already dripping through your lips, and the sight alone has his cock aching, has his hands shaking with the effort it takes not to just shove his sweats down and fuck you right now.

But he needs access.

So he yanks one sneaker off your foot, quick and practiced, and then your leggings and panties follow, just from that leg, just enough to let him spread you open, just enough to let him fuck you properly.

His sweats and boxers follow, tugging them down just enough to free his dick, and shit, he's so hard.

Thick and flushed, his cock standing heavy between you both, the tip leaking, smearing precum against the soft skin of your thigh as he moves, as he presses back over you.

Then he grinds. Slow, teasing, dragging his cock through your soaked folds, parting them with his shaft, slick and warm and so fucking wet that it leaves a shining trail along his length.

You whimper, hips rolling up, chasing it, your clit throbbing every time the thick, swollen head of his cock catches against it, sending little sparks of pleasure jolting up your spine.

But then he kisses you, and you just fucking melt.

It's messy, hot and needy, his lips slanting over yours, swallowing down every soft little sound you make. His hands grip you, one curled around your thigh, the other tangled into your hair, keeping you in place as he deepens it, as he drinks you in.

You moan, mouth parting for him, letting him lick inside, letting him taste the desperation on your tongue. Your hands slide up, burying into his dark hair, tugging, pulling, making him groan into your mouth, making his hips stutter against yours, his cock pressing harder into your soaked cunt.

And fuck, it's filthy.

The slick, messy sounds of his cock grinding through your folds, his precum clinging to you in strings, mixing with your own arousal, warm and sticky, coating every inch of him.

But it's not enough. You need more. You need his dick.

So you reach between your bodies, fingers curling around the thick, solid weight of him, and he shudders. "Shit—"

You guide him down, aligning him with your entrance, so slick, so ready, so fucking desperate to be filled. And he doesn't hesitate, doesn't even think twice before he starts to push in.

And holy fuck, the stretch—

Thick, hot, bare, his cock splitting you open, inch by inch, making you feel every vein, every ridge, every perfect, blissful drag as your walls squeeze around him, sucking him in.

Your breath catches, a long, broken moan spilling from your lips, your hands tangling into his hair, clutching at him as he sinks deeper. He presses his forehead to yours, panting, groaning, trying not to lose his mind completely at the way you clench around him.

But then he's bottoming out, buried to the hilt, so deep, so fucking deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

He hisses when you move, when your hips lift just the slightest bit, when your walls clench around him, tight and wet and hot, making his cock throb, making his muscles tighten, making him feel like he's seconds away from losing it.

"Dick," you murmur, breathless, wrecked, your voice all soft and needy, your nails digging into his scalp as you shift beneath him. "M-Move, baby. Fuck—"

That's all he needs. He pulls out almost entirely, the thick head of his cock dragging along your walls, slick and hot and messy, making you gasp as the stretch flares up all over again.

Then he slams back in. Hard. Deep. Filling you completely, stretching your cunt so fucking perfectly that you arch against him, that you whine, that your thighs tremble as he buries himself to the hilt.

And then? Then he fucks you.

No teasing, no hesitation, just pure, desperate need. His hand grips your thigh, lifting it, keeping it up so he can sink deeper. So he can fuck you just the way he knows you love, making you feel every thick, throbbing inch as his cock drags in and out of your soaked cunt.

And God, you're so wet. It's filthy—the slick, messy sounds of your pussy taking him, of your arousal coating his cock, dripping down his length, smearing over his thighs, soaking the mat beneath you.

Every thrust is perfect, the thick, flushed head of his cock hitting all the right spots, grinding against that sweet, sensitive place inside you, making your walls flutter, making your stomach tighten, making your clit throb every time his skin slaps against it.

You gasp a moan, and before you know it, his lips crash against yours.

Hot. Messy. Desperate. His lips slant over yours, his tongue licking into your mouth, claiming, devouring, drinking down every moan, every whimper, every broken little sound he pulls from your throat.

You kiss him back just as hungrily, your arms wrapping around his neck, your fingers tangling into his damp hair, clutching at the dark strands as he pounds into you. His dick splits you open as he fucks you deeper, harder, faster, like he needs it, like he can't breathe without it. Like he can't breathe without you.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, his voice rough, almost wrecked, panting against your lips.

He keeps fucking into you, deep and steady, each thrust perfect, each grind of his hips sending sparks down your spine, making your whole body burn.

"Taking me so well, you feel so fucking good... so tight, so warm, so wet for me."

His words make your cunt clench, gripping him harder, and he feels it. You know he does, because he groans, his head tipping back for a second before he leans in again, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he keeps going.

"You love this, don't you?" he pants, voice laced with pure hunger, punctuated by the deep, wet slap of his cock sinking into you again and again. "Love how deep I am?"

You can't even answer. Your mouth is open, lips trembling, but the only thing coming out are these breathy, helpless little moans. You're too overwhelmed to form words, too caught up in the way he's fucking you—fast, deep, needy, like he has to, like he's got no choice but to ruin you.

And you're so close, you can taste it. And he knows.

"Cum for me, baby," he urges, voice thick with lust, with want, his cock grinding against that sweet, sensitive spot inside you, each thrust dragging his skin along your swollen, throbbing clit. "C'mon, love, let me feel you—let me feel you cum on my dick."

And fuck, it hits almost instantly.

A sharp, hot, blinding pleasure that shatters you, rips through your whole body. It makes your back arch and your nails dig into his skin as your walls tighten hard around him, squeezing his cock, sucking him in, milking him as your orgasm crashes over you.

Your cunt spasms, pulsing, clenching, and you swear you black out for a second, pleasure surging through every nerve ending. The intensity makes your thighs tremble, your mouth falling open in a silent scream before it finally turns into a choked moan.

And he doesn't stop. He fucks you through it, praising you, whispering soft, filthy things against your skin. "That's it, baby, fuck—so good, so tight—you're so fucking perfect for me, you feel so good—"

And it's too much.

You're still shaking, still clenching around him, and he's right there. His thrusts get rougher, his hips snapping against you faster, deeper, sloppier, chasing his own high because God, you're still gripping him so tight, still soaking his cock, your slick smeared all over his thighs, his abs, dripping down onto the mat.

"Baby," he groans, his voice shaking now, "fuck—I'm—fuck—"

And then he loses it.

His hips slam into you one last time, burying himself deep, his cock twitching, pulsing before he spills. Hot. Thick. So much.

His cum floods your pussy, filling you completely, coating your walls, his whole body tensing as he groans deep into your mouth, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you still as he fucks you through it, grinding into you, pushing his release deeper.

And you're just babbling, pleasure still wracking your body, your arms wrapped tight around him as you murmur, "Baby, I love you, I love you so much—"

"I love you too, doll," he groans, his voice hoarse, raw, thick with need.

His hips moving slower, dragging his dick through your still clenching walls, letting you feel every inch as he gives you every last drop of his cum.

Then his lips are back on yours. Messy. Desperate. Like he's starving for you, like he can't breathe without your lips on his, without the taste of you, without the heat of your body pressed so tightly against his own.

And before you can even catch your breath, before you can even think, he's moving, flipping you over in one smooth motion, pulling you on top of him, his cock slipping out just a little before you sink back down, making you both gasp.

Your chest rises and falls against his as you try to catch your breath, but the way he feels inside you—hot, thick, still pulsing—makes it impossible to focus on anything but him. Your hands smooth over his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips, the way his muscles twitch when you shift, rotating your hips in a slow, teasing grind.

"Fuck," he groans, voice low, almost wrecked, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass, gripping like he can't help it.

You smirk, leaning down until your lips barely graze his, your tits pressing against his sweat dampened chest, nipples brushing against his warm skin as your elbows hit the mat on either side of his head.

"That good, baby?"

His only response is a sharp inhale through his nose, a needy, helpless little whimper that shoots straight through you, settling deep in your cunt.

You start to move again, rolling your hips, letting his cock drag slowly out of you before sinking right back in, stretching you all over again. His cum makes it so messy, so slick, letting him slide in and out so easily. But the stretch is still so good, the fullness so perfect that you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning too loud.

He feels everything.

Your tight, fluttering walls squeezing around him, your wetness coating his dick, dripping down over his balls, making a sticky mess between your thighs. And he's sensitive, overstimulated from his orgasm, every slow, deliberate roll of your hips sending jolts of pleasure straight up his spine, but he doesn't care.

Not when you feel like this. Not when your body is wrapped around him, soft and hot and wet, moving with that perfect, lazy rhythm, dragging out his pleasure, making it last.

"Baby," he pants, voice breathless, desperate, his fingers flexing on your ass, squeezing, guiding your movements even though you don't need it, because he just needs to touch you. "Fuck, you're gonna kill me."

You hum, amusement curling at the edges of your pleasure as you rock your hips again, deeper this time, pressing your clit against his pelvis with each slow grind.

"You're still so hard," you murmur, nipping at his bottom lip before soothing it with your tongue. "Gonna give me another one?"

His whole body shudders.

"Fuck, baby—"

But you swallow the rest of his words with a kiss, slow and wet, all tongue and heat and need. He groans into your mouth, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, pressing you tighter against him as his cock twitches inside you, so fucking deep, so perfectly snug in the grip of your soft, soaked pussy.

His mind is a mess.

You're everywhere—wrapped around him, squeezing him, your scent flooding his lungs, your body moving so fucking perfectly against his.

He needs more.

His hands slide up your back, over your ribs, before grabbing your tits, squeezing as he thumbs your nipples, making you gasp into his mouth, your hips stuttering as another slow grind makes his cock rub against that perfect, swollen spot inside you.

"Baby," you whimper, your voice breathy, needy, your fingers tangling into his hair as your hips pick up the pace.

He groans, his lips dragging from your mouth to your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse before he whispers, "That's it, my love—fuck, ride me, just like that."

"Shit—baby—fuck, your dick—so deep, so good—"

The words spill out between gasps, between moans, barely coherent, your voice high and breathy as you fuck yourself down onto him, taking every thick, pulsing inch of his cock.

Dick is losing it. His hands are all over you—gripping your waist, squeezing your ass, cupping your tits, anything to ground himself. Because the way you're riding him, the way your tight, soaked cunt is squeezing around him, making those obscene, wet sounds every time you sink down? Yeah, he's barely holding it together.

And then you straighten up. Your hands plant on his abs, and you lean back just a little, just enough to let him see.

His stomach tightens, his dick throbs, because the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, stretching around him, your soft, slick folds parting every time you take him to the hilt—fuck, it's perfect.

"Jesus Christ," he groans, his fingers digging into your skin, his hips bucking up on their own, because he can't help it. He needs more, he needs to feel more.

His gaze drags up, and your tits are bouncing with every roll of your hips, your nipples tight and flushed, practically begging for his mouth, his hands, his teeth.

But it's your pussy that ruins him.

The way your pussy is slick, coated in your arousal and his cum, stretched so perfectly around him, your creamy wetness making a mess of his cock, dripping down onto his pelvis, smearing over his abs as you keep fucking yourself on him, taking him so deep, so fucking good.

He moves without thinking. One hand presses against your belly, feeling himself inside you, feeling how deep he is, how your pussy is gripping him so tight he swears he can barely breathe.

"Baby—" he pants, his voice wrecked, his thumb slipping lower, lazily rubbing over your swollen, soaked clit.

You whimper, your head falling back, your back arching, your pace stuttering for just a second before you grind deeper, chasing that feeling, chasing that pressure as you keep taking all of his dick, every inch, until the thick, sensitive tip kisses your womb.

"That's it, baby," Dick groans, his voice thick with heat, "fuck yourself on me—just like that, my perfect girl—"

Your moan is high and needy, your body trembling as you ride him, each grind of your hips making your clit drag against his thumb, slick and swollen, sending little shocks of pleasure through your body. His cock is so deep, filling you up so perfectly, every thick inch stretching you, splitting you open, fucking you into bliss.

"Look at you, love," he pants, his free hand gripping your hip, fingers pressing into your heated skin as he watches you, eyes dark and hazy. "So fucking pretty—so wet for me—taking my dick so fucking well—"

His words sink into you, hot and filthy, curling deep in your gut, making your walls flutter around him. He can feel it, can feel how close you are, how your pussy keeps clenching, getting tighter, slicker, dripping down his length, leaving a mess of arousal and cum between your thighs.

"You gonna cum, baby?" he murmurs, his fingers pressing firmer against your clit, rubbing tight, slow circles, making your whole body jolt, "gonna cum on my dick like a good girl?"

You sob out a gasp, your hips jerking, grinding down harder, chasing the release that's right there, coiling deep, burning hot.

"Dick—fuck—I'm—"

It hits you, slamming into you all at once, pleasure bursting through your body as you clench down around him, your cunt spasming, pulsing tight as you cum, soaking him, dripping down his cock, your whole body shuddering as the pleasure wracks through you.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, watching you come apart, feeling you come apart around him. "That's my girl—so good—so fucking good—"

You're panting, your body still trembling, your head light, and then he moves.

A strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you down, pressing your chest against his, pinning you tight against his body as his other hand grips the back of your head, tilting your face, slamming his mouth against yours.

You whimper into the kiss, your lips parting instantly, letting him devour you, tongue deep, filthy, claiming your mouth as his hips snap up, thrusting into you, deep and hard.

You gasp, the stretch overwhelming, still so sensitive, still fluttering around his cock as he starts fucking into you. His body grinds against yours, keeping you trapped against him, his cock splitting you open, every stroke pushing him deeper into your needy, messy cunt.

"More, baby—" you're moaning, panting against his lips, "moremoremore—"

Dick's mind is a fucking mess.

Because he loves you. Loves you so much it makes his chest tight, makes his head spin, makes his cock throb inside you every time you gasp, every time you moan his name, every time you take him like this, like you were fucking made for him.

And it's not just the sex, it's everything.

It's the way you kiss him, the way you look at him, the way you laugh, the way you love him. The way you know him, every inch of him, inside and out. The way you drive him crazy, make him weak, make him want to give you everything.

And he can't deny you. So he doesn't.

His hips snap up, harder, faster, driving his cock so deep inside your cunt he feels you twitch around him. Feels the way your tight, wet walls suck him back in every time he pulls out, making it so hard to think, so hard to focus on anything except the heat of your body, the desperate way you grind down on him, meeting him halfway, fucking yourself onto his dick as fast as he's fucking into you.

The gym echoes with it, loud and filthy, the wet slap of skin on skin, your breathless moans, his guttural groans, your gasps, his whimpers. His balls slap against your ass every time you drop down onto his cock, his sweat-slicked abs grinding against your swollen clit, making you jolt, making you tremble, your cunt drenched, dripping, so warm, so fucking wet.

"Fuck—" he gasps, "you're so—baby, I'm gonna—"

He's so close, and he knows you feel it too. The way his thrusts get sloppy, the way his cock twitches inside you, how his abs tighten with every desperate snap of his hips. And fuck, the way you're squeezing him, milking him, dragging him deeper.

"Baby—"

His voice is hoarse, breaking on your name as his fingers dig into your waist, grip tightening like he needs to hold onto you, needs to ground himself, because he's about to fucking lose it.

And then he does.

His head tips back, a strangled, wrecked moan leaving his lips as his cock buries itself inside you one last time—throbbing, pulsing, his cum spilling, filling you up so deep you swear you can feel the heat of it in your belly.

And that does it.

The moment you feel him pump you full, it sends you spiraling, your whole body shuddering above him as your cunt clenches around his cock, squeezing every last drop from him, pulling him deeper, holding him tight.

Your orgasm washes over you, hot and blinding, making you tremble, making you whimper, making your back arch as your hips rock, fucking him through it, dragging out every last jolt of pleasure, every last spurt of cum inside you.

You finally collapse onto his heaving chest, panting, shaking, wrecked, you feel the warmth of it seeping out, thick and sticky, trickling down your thighs, making a mess between your legs. You both feel spent, your bodies burning, slick with sweat, soaked in each other.

His breath is uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath you as his hand finds your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles, his touch gentle after how desperate he just was.

You whimper softly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, melting against him. He smiles, exhausted, dazed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple before he exhales, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close.

He lets you come back to yourself slowly, his hands soothing, gentle, as they rub slow, lazy circles into your skin. His chest rises and falls beneath you, the steady rhythm lulling you, and at some point, you realize that your heartbeat is synced to his.

You sigh, content, lifting your head just enough to press a soft kiss to his jaw, and he turns, looking down at you. His gaze is warm, fond, and when he leans in to kiss your forehead, it makes your chest flutter.

"Good, my love?"

A hum leaves your lips, soft, sleepy, your body still boneless on top of him. "Mhmm."

But then your eyes drift down to where you're still connected, where his cock rests inside you, where the mess you made together is seeping out, sticky between your thighs, and reality hits.

"But now we have to clean up here... and ourselves, if we're at that."

You groan, dreading it, and he chuckles, amused, voice husky when he murmurs, "Lucky for us, the showers are just next door."

That makes you tense, your eyes widening slightly as the thought hits you.

"But what if someone comes down and sees us?"

He grins, teasing, smug as he tilts his head. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted to fuck—"

Your hand flies up, slapping his chest with a scandalized gasp as you pout, "That's not true! Don't be mean, baby."

His smile softens, lips twitching as he concedes, "Alright, maybe I wanted it a bit too..."

Your eyes narrow, lips curling into something mischievous, and before he realizes it, you squeeze your walls around him.

His breath catches, his hips jerk, and he hisses, his grip on you tightening. "Okay, okay, fine, yeah. I wanted to fuck you badly."

A soft giggle escapes your lips, satisfaction swelling in your chest as you murmur, "That's better."

His hand cups the back of your head, pulling you in, and when your lips meet, it's slow, lazy, deep. Your tongues tangle, your moans swallowed, your bodies still pressed so close, his cock still inside you, still hard.

And God, it'd be so easy to move again, to rock your hips, to keep going, to fuck him one more time, to feel him fill you up again. But you can't.

Because the last thing you want is for Alfred, or Bruce, or literally anyone else to walk in and see you like this. And from the way Dick moves the moment the kiss breaks, you know he's thinking the exact same thing.

He grabs your ass, keeping you tight against him as he pushes himself up from the mat—his cock still buried inside you, still stretching you, holding you open, making sure not a single drop of his cum is wasted just yet.

And he carries you straight to the showers.

It's only when he finally steps inside that he lets you go, slowly pulling out, his cock leaving you aching, empty, and the moment he does, his cum spills out of you.

It drips, slick, sticky, warm, sliding down your thighs, clinging to your swollen folds, coating your skin, And he watches, ravenous, his throat bobbing, his jaw tightening as his fingers twitch at his sides. Like he's tempted, so tempted, to shove his fingers inside you, to push it all back in, but he forces himself to look away.

Instead, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he murmurs, "I'll get you a towel in a sec. Go on, start without me, love. I'll clean there and join you, okay?"

And by the way his voice dips, the way his fingers trail along your hips, the way his eyes darken as they flicker back down to your messy pussy... you already know he won't last long before he's back on you.

You move quickly, unpeeling yourself from your clothes with practiced ease, trying not to make a mess on the fabric. Or at the very least, not a big one.

Dick's cum is still slick between your thighs, thick and warm, and the last thing you want is to ruin something you actually like, so you're careful, rolling down your leggings, stepping out of them with a sigh, before making your way to the nearest stall.

The moment you step inside, you turn on the water, the warm spray soothing as it cascades down your body, washing away the sweat, the heat, the lingering haze of your orgasm. But as you predicted, Dick is back in less than a few minutes.

You feel him before you see him, his presence enveloping you as he steps in behind you, his chest pressing to your bare back, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you in.

"Couldn't stay away, huh?" you tease, your voice soft, playful, a smile tugging at your lips as you lean into him.

His lips find your shoulder, his kisses slow, lazy, trailing along your damp skin as he murmurs, smug, "Didn't even try, sweet girl."

A breathless laugh leaves you, and you tilt your head back, meeting his eyes, warm, fond, filled with something deeper, something softer. And he leans in, kissing you gently, lips lingering, hands exploring, touching, holding.

You sigh into it, melting, your fingers tangling into his wet hair as his arms tighten around you, and for a while, you just stand there, pressed together beneath the warm spray, soaking in each other.

When you finally pull away, he reaches for the soap, lathering up his hands before running them over your shoulders, your arms, down to your hips, his fingers gliding over every curve, every dip of your body.

And you do the same, smoothing your hands over his chest, down his abs, over his sides, mapping him out, washing him slowly, lazily, as his lips keep finding yours, over and over, soft, tender, like he can't help himself.

And honestly? You don't mind.

By the time you're drying off, your body feels loose, content, your muscles relaxed, and you're just about to slip back into your sweaty clothes when he clears his throat.

"Here."

You blink as he hands you something. A clean set of clothes. Sweatpants. A t-shirt. Panties. All your size. All new.

Your brows furrow, and you look at him, confused, voice soft as you ask, "Baby, what's with these?"

He shrugs, rubbing a towel through his wet hair, his expression casual, like it's nothing, like it's not a big deal, even though it is.

"I bought those a while ago, just in case you ever need a change."

Your chest tightens, your breath catches, and you stare at him, stunned, warmth swelling, spreading, something tender and sweet blooming inside you.

Because of course he did.

Of course he thought of you, of course he made sure you'd have something here, something comfortable, something yours.

Because that's who he is.

He's thoughtful, attentive, he loves you in a way that's so effortless, so genuine, so all-encompassing, that sometimes it catches you off guard, makes you feel so lucky, so cherished, you don't know how to handle it.

And as you keep staring, he finally notices, his towel lowering, his lips quirking as he raises a brow.

"What?"

You just shake your head, a soft, disbelieving smile on your lips as you murmur, "Nothing... just can't believe how perfect my man is."

And when he grins, bright, boyish, so in love, you swear your heart skips a beat.

You both finish getting dressed, the soft fabric of your new clothes making you feel more comfortable, and as Dick pulls on his shirt, you take a last look around the gym, making sure everything's in the same state you found it.

Not a single piece of equipment out of place. Not a single sign that you just spent the last half an hour getting fucked stupid on the mats.

Though, if anyone actually stepped in, you're pretty sure the scent of sweat, sex, and Dick's desperation is still hanging in the air.

But otherwise, perfectly fine. Dick stretches, rolling his shoulders before grabbing his helmet, and you follow him out, stepping into the cool air of the Batcave as he swings a leg over his bike.

He glances at you, tilting his head toward the seat behind him, smirking as he says, "C'mon, baby. Let's go home."

And you do, sliding in behind him, arms wrapping tight around his waist, cheek pressing to his back as the engine purrs beneath you.

The ride is smooth, the city lights blurring past as he weaves through the streets, taking the longer route, letting the wind rush over you, cool and invigorating, as you just hold on, completely content, completely at ease.

By the time you get home, your body is spent, your muscles loose, and you barely make it to the bed before collapsing onto it, melting into the sheets with a happy sigh.

Later, after a much needed nap, you stir against his chest, stretching slightly as a deep, content sigh escapes you, only to freeze when you hear his voice, low, warm, pressing against your ear.

"Still up for tonight?"

You blink, sleepy, your brain lagging, trying to catch up, until it clicks. Your eyes snap open, and you gasp, breath catching as you lift your head, grabbing his arm.

"No way... We're going to that restaurant?"

His grin is instant, his hand sliding down your waist as he murmurs, smug, affectionate, "Yeah, my love, we're going to the restaurant."

And just like that, you perk up, excitement sparking through you, and you don't even hesitate before grabbing your phone and firing off a quick message to Bruce:

thank you thank you thank you!!!

And you make sure to thank Dick, too.

The moment you put your phone down, you don't even hesitate. You tackle him back onto the bed, giggling, covering his face with kisses, your heart bursting with love.

And he laughs, warm and fond, holding you close, soaking in your affection, right up until your kisses start drifting lower.

Your lips brush along his jaw, then his throat, slow, purposeful, your hands sliding down his chest, nails scratching lightly over his abs as you shift, slipping between his legs.

"Baby..." he breathes, voice already deep, already knowing, his cock hardening beneath his sweats.

But you just smirk, settling yourself comfortably, pressing a kiss just above his waistband, eyes flicking up to meet his as you murmur, "Gotta thank you properly, don't I?"

His jaw clenches, his fingers digging into the sheets, but he doesn't stop you when you tug his sweats down, freeing his thick, heavy cock, already leaking at the tip.

And you waste no time. You lick up the length, slow, teasing, swirling your tongue around the head before closing your lips around it, sucking lightly, making him curse, his hand fisting into your hair.

"Fuck, my love..."

You hum, taking him deeper, your mouth hot, wet, your tongue lapping against the sensitive vein running along his cock as you bob your head, taking him inch by inch.

He's panting, groaning, his hips jerking, and when you hollow your cheeks, sucking him down until he hits the back of your throat, his head drops back, a low, desperate moan leaving him.

"Shit, baby—fuck, just like that."

You whimper, arousal pulsing through you, thighs clenching, and you know he feels it too. Knows you're already soaked, already needy just from sucking his dick.

But you keep going, keep swirling your tongue, keep fucking your mouth onto him until he grits out a warning, his grip tightening, his abs tensing beneath your hands.

"Gonna cum, baby—gonna—"

And you take it. Swallowing him down, drinking every drop, his groans filling the room as he twitches, his cock pulsing against your tongue.

But you're not done yet. Because the moment he catches his breath, he flips you over, pinning you beneath him, and within seconds, his cock is sliding back into your soaking cunt, stretching you wide, filling you deep, fucking you the way he knows you need.

"Gonna keep you full all day, my love—fuck, you feel so good."

And you thank him with every moan, every whimper, every orgasm he pulls from you.

And after dinner?

Let's just say you thank him again. Bent over the dining table, his cock slamming into you from behind, tits pressed into the wood, his hand fisted in your hair, his groans hot against your neck as he fills you up.

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y2khellhound · 3 months ago

Text

for your eyes only

smut under the cut, minors dni

⋆｡°✩ thinking about dick grayson and how he loves his perfect, pretty girl so much. his entire gallery is filled with pictures of you; photos of you that look as if they were taken by a professional photographer with just the right lighting as he captures you in all your good angles (though let’s face it—every angle of you is a good angle, especially to him) for you to post on your social media, others are of the two of you on dates, his hand in yours or at the small of your back, or nights in with the two of you wearing face masks and stuffing your mouths with popcorn as you watch trashy reality TV shows or riveting drama series on Netflix.

most of his gallery, however, is filled with candid pictures of you that he takes when you’re not looking or he snaps at just the right moments in order to capture the memory; you putting on lipgloss as you use your compact, pictures of your eyes crinkling at the corners as you laugh heartily at his jokes, or grinning and your eyes twinkling with excitement as you play with the puppy the two of you adopted, or those of you with yours lips pursed and brows furrowed slightly as you concentrated on reading a book or drawing, mind too lost in your imagination and thoughts to notice the his phone’s camera flash in the warm, dim lighting of your room.

but his favorite pictures are concealed in a separate folder, one that requires a password and is guarded by several protections to keep others from potentially seeing or hacking into it. in all honesty though, most of these are videos of you that he likes to look at on those late nights he has to be away from you, just like tonight.

dick’s hand wraps around his cock, thumb rubbing over his thick, leaking tip, copying as best as he could how you’d hold him in your soft hands, pumping his fist up and down his shaft, desperate for some semblance of you as his eyes are glued to his screen, the sounds of his own voice echoing in his earphones (as if he’d ever risk anyone else hearing the sounds you’d make for him).

“pussy’s so good f’me, pretty,” he moans in the video as his hand spreads your folds, watching intently on how your cunt greedily stretches around his cock. “fuck—won’t last long, baby. you’re so fuckin’ tight.” he groans, burying himself inside you as you whine and moan and mewl against his hips snapping at your ass, each of his thrusts causing the fat of it to jiggle, until he finally pulls out, his cum painting your ass with creamy white ropes. but he’s not done yet, not when he scoops up some of it on his fingers and brings it up to your mouth— the good girl that you were for him, your tongue immediately darts out as you suck on his digits, and he lets out another groan; though this time dick isn’t sure if the sound is emanating from the video or from his own lips.

he scrolls through the folder, before landing on his favorite picture of you, knees pressed to your chest, legs spread so beautifully for him, the tip of his cock just a little bit cut off from the frame, your wet hole leaking with his cum, a blissed out, cockdrunk smile on your lips as your eyes catch in the light of the camera’s flash.

just thinking about that time with you is enough to make him finally cum from his own hand, imagining his fist was your tight cunt he loves so much.

he sighs, sweat trickling down his forehead as he slowly comes down from his high—only for him to perk up once again, blood rushing towards his cock when he sees a notification pop on on his screen: a message from you.

‘for your eyes only❣️” it read.

man, was he lucky to have you.

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y2khellhound · 3 months ago

Note

Allies and Axis finding self harm scars on their s/o (sorry if this is triggering you can ignore it if you want to)

Of course! Just a word from me, I want to say that I sincerely hope that none of you currently or have self-harmed in the past. If you have and stopped, I’m so proud of you <3 Keep going like that and don’t let anyone get you down. If you’re currently self-harming, please please stop. You’re worth so much more than you think. I know it’s easy for me to say these things behind my computer but I’ve said it and I’ll keep saying it. ALL of you are important to me. Every single one of you. If you’re reading this, you’re important to me. Do not ever forget that. And for those of you who have thought or are thinking about starting, please don’t. I promise whatever it is making you think about this will pass, and things will get better. And also, I’d like to say that if it’s a specific person making you feel bad, go up to that little shit and punch the fucker right in the face. You’re all beautiful and awesome people, and I know this because I’m awesome and therefore can recognize other awesome people. And you guys are all awesome. Don’t let ANYONE make you think differently. Ever. No excuses. And if you ever feel like you need to talk to someone about anything, please feel free to send me a message on my messenger! It can be anything! I’ll be glad to be your friend honestly. I’ve done this before when going through a rough patch and am so glad I did. We became friends and talk regularly! It’s worth it trust me. Alrighty! Now to the request!

Allies

America: The afternoon had started off like any other. Building forts together and play fighting with lots of snacks. But then, Alfred started a tickle fight and attacked your sides. Laughing too much to notice the sides of your shirt begin to rise until he suddenly stopped and the room became dead quiet. You could hear a pin drop. When you looked up at him, his face almost made your heart stop. He wore the saddest and most heartbroken expression you had ever seen. You noticed the formation of tears in the corner of his eyes and looked down to see what he was looking at. To your horror, you could see scars from your past of self harm. There were a few of them, all close together. They were small, but you could still remember the reason for each one of them. Some were deeper then others, some fresher. You had never shown them to anyone. You hadn’t done it for attention. You merely needed an escape for the pain. But now here you were, exposed in front Alfred, with no hope of brushing it off or lying.

“W-why? Tell me why.” You could hear his voice crack and this brought tears to your own eyes.

“I just needed a way to let it out. To escape the pain.” You saw a flash of anger and he whipped his face to look at you in the eye.

“You could have come to see me! You could have talked to me about it! Do you not trust me enough?!” He was shouting, and it was scaring you a little. He never yelled, and he rarely ever got mad.

“I didn”t-”

“Why would you do this to yourself?! Is it so hard to talk to me?!” You remained quiet partly out of fear and partly because you weren’t exactly sure why either. You had thought about it of course. You had wanted to. But you never did. Alfred was quiet now, and when you looked up you could see him looking at you seriously, though you he didn’t look angry anymore. Slowly he began moving towards you and you tensed up. You knew he would never hurt you, it was just an instinct. He walked over to you and crouched down, since you were still sitting. You looked at him wide eyed, while he still had his serious demeanor. He moved in and pulled you into a tight hug, placing your face in his chest with his head on top of yours. He hugged you tightly, like you would disappear if he didn’t and you remained still in shock. Suddenly, you could hear quiet sobbing, and it took a few seconds to realize it was coming from him. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around him and began to comfort him.

“Shh. Alfred it’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t cry.” At this his sobbing got louder and he clutched you harder.

“I’m the one that;’s supposed to be saying that to you.” He said through his crying. You laughed lightly through the tears.

“Promise me,” he began as he pulled away slightly to look you in the eye,” that the next time you feel sad, even only a little bit. You’ll talk to me. I don’t want you doing that ever again. Okay?” He wiped some tears away.

“Okay. I promise.” You said as you pulled him back in for a hug.

England: It was in the morning. You were having your coffee/tea, and he as always was having his second tea of the day. Or was it the third? You really didn’t even keep track anymore. It was quiet, as both of you left each other with your thoughts. Deciding your drink needed more sugar, you moved your hand out to grab the jar, when Arthur went to place his tea down at the same time. Of course, with your luck, they collided and his hot tea landed all over your hand and up your arm. Gasping in pain, you had tears fill the corner of your eyes. It was burning really badly. England jumped out of his chair.

“Oh no! I’m terribly sorry love! I’ll take care of this right away.” He says as he runs to get a washcloth with cold water. You clutch your arm in pain and start rolling up the sleeves of your shirt so you can wash off the hot liquid. When Arthur comes back, he runs back over to you, and goes to wipe to place the washcloth on your arm. When he looks, he almost drops the cloth as he gasps.

“W-what are those?” He asks, his voice shaky and he looks like he’s trying very hard to contain himself.

You look down to see what he’s talking about, and you see some scars. All of them were from yourself. Most of them were old, but there were a few fresh ones. You sit in silence and stare up at him, not wanting to admit to anything. He gives you a serious look.

“Fine. We’ll get you cleaned up first. But you will tell me after.” He states, as he starts cleaning off the liquid that has cooled down slightly, but the skin is all red. You remove your shirt, leaving you in your tank top. This reveals a few scars that were higher up. You notice Arthur now has a clenched jaw and you take this as a bad sign. What if he didn’t want to be with someone weak like you? Of course, you were the opposite of weak, but this is what you thought. What if he found the scars ugly and decided to leave you? Before you could continue with your negative thoughts, Arthur lifted you up and brought you over to the couch where he sat next to you.

“Now. Explain.”

You fidgeted. No one had ever seen your scars. It wasn’t something you showed people or would talk about. It was personal. But now he had seen them. You remained quiet.

“(Y/n). I’m waiting.” He was staring at you intensely making you even more nervous than you already were. Without wanting them to, tears started to form in your eyes. His eyes widened and he brought you into his chest, holding you and rubbing your back in a soothing manner. “Shh, it’s alright love. Please just tell me why you would do this to yourself.”

Through your quiet sobs, you attempted to explain. “I-I just always t-thought I’m not good enough, for you or for anything. I’m not attractive or smart. I’m not s-special at all! I was scared you would leave me…”

He remained silent for a few moments, still staring at you.

“How could you think that?..I love you so much, I can’t even put it in words. You are the most intelligent and attractive person I’ve ever met, and even if you weren’t, it wouldn’t matter because I’m in love with you and not your appearance. I love everything about you and it hurts me when I think of you feeling this way..so please love. Never do this again, alright?”

You looked at him slightly shocked. “O-okay.” You had stopped crying and Arthur delicately wiped away the remaining tears, “Good,” he said “Now let’s go finish our drinks. Without spilling them this time.” He says as he smiles.

You giggle quietly and nod, taking his hand as you go back to enjoy your morning together.

France: There was the sound of a door opening and closing before a familiar voice called out. “Ma cherie! Où es tu? Je veux voir votre belle visage.” (My dear/darling. Where are you? I want to see your beautiful face.)

You panicked at the sound of his voice. You were currently in the bathroom with a blade in your hand and a fresh cut on your wrist. He wasn’t supposed to be home until later, so you figured you would have time. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you covered the wound and started washing the blade. Unfortunately, despite your effort to be quiet, Francis could hear the sound of the running water and started up the stairs towards the bathroom. Hearing him coming, you went into overdrive and started going double speed to clean everything up. You were able to wash the blade before Francis was at the door knocking.

“Mon amour! (My love) Open the door please!”

“Uh, just a second!” You shouted as desperately tried to wash off the drops of blood that had landed on the counter and floor. In your rush, you started knocking things off the counter and they fell to the floor, making Francis think something happened to you. He quickly threw the door open and looked at you with an expression of concern.

“Are you alr-” He stopped mid sentence as he saw what you were doing. He saw the blood on the counter and looked confused and worried for a moment before he noticed your frightened expression and the bandage on your arm and put two and two together. His heartbroken expression made you regret what you had done right away.

“I can explain-” He put up a hand to cut you off. He walked over to you and gently held your arm. He lifted up the sleeve slightly so he could see the older scars that were there. He inhaled sharply. He brought your arm up to his lips and started placing light butterfly kisses on each one of your scars.

“You don’t need to explain. I understand. But I don’t want you doing this anymore. You are beautiful and I love you and don’t want you doing this to yourself.” He says in a quiet voice.

“Alright.”

He looks up at you. “Do you promise?”

“…I promise.”

A small smile graced his lips. “Good.” He states before scooping you up into his arms and carries you out of the bathroom.

“What are you doing?!” He looked down at you with a sly look.

“I’m bringing you to show you just how much I love you.” He says, cheekily with a wink. You blush like crazy and can feel your heart already starting to pick up in pace. You had a feeling it was going to be a long night. Not that you minded.

Russia: You had been with the Russian man for a little over a year now, and during all that time, you had never gotten “intimate”. You know. You never frickle frackled. He had never even seen you without a shirt. All you wore was long sleeves. This was slowly starting to worry the man. Was it something he was doing? Were you too embarrassed to let him see you like that? Did you not trust him enough? These questions raced through his mind as he watched you sitting on the couch, watching some Hollywood film that he couldn’t care less about.

“Hey sunflower…”

“Yeah Ivan?” You asked, pausing the show to turn and look at him.

“Is there something wrong?” At this, your eyes widen slightly in surprise. Why would he think such a thing? Had you made it seem that way?

“No of course not! Why would you think that?” You asked, honestly confused.

“Well, we’ve been together for a while, da? And we’ve never..” You picked up on his hint and your entire face went red.

“W-well, I-I uh..no we haven’t, you’re right.”

“Is it because you don’t want to?” He asked, a hint of sadness in his voice and when you looked up at him, he looked really sad and upset.

“No! I mean yes! I don’t know!” Ivan jumped slightly at your outburst not expecting such a response. ‘Well then why,..”he started.

“I just, um. It’s hard to explain.” You tried. But you knew he wouldn’t leave it at that. He wouldn’t let it go until he got a proper explanation.

“You can tell me.” He says, a close eyed smile on his face, his usual childish demeanor coming back.

“I just um, don’t want you to see..some things.” You start slowly.

“Like what?” Still holding his childish smile. You knew he knew this was making you uncomfortable and yet he pressed on. Damn him.

“Like..things.” He sighed and got off the couch walking over to you. You could feel your heart beat increase in speed and slightly panicked. Not because you were afraid he would hurt you but because you were afraid he would find out about your scars. During all the time you’d been together, you were always super careful to make sure to cover all of them to make sure he never saw them. But know he wanted to know. And he wouldn’t stop until he did.

“Sunflower. Do you not trust me?” He asked as he sat down right next to you, his leg touching yours. You had to tilt your head up now to look at his face, since he was so close and due to your difference in height. Even sitting down he was almost a head taller than you.

“Of course I do! What kind of question is that?”

He finally stopped smiling and the sad look returned. “Because you will not tell me what is wrong..” Immediately you felt bad, and you cursed him for having that effect on you.

Knowing you were going to regret this, but not wanting him to think badly of himself, you slowly start to roll up your sleeves. You watch Ivan’s expressions as it as the scars go into view. It goes from blank, to confused and finally angry. His famous purple aura started surrounding him and you felt slightly scared, even though you knew he would never hurt you.

“Who did this?” He asked, standing up and pulling out his metal pipe from inside his jacket that he generally refused to take off. He holds it tightly in his grip like a baseball bat. “I’ll pay them a little visit. Just tell me who it was.” You can hear him start to mutter words in Russian, and you guessed none of them were nice.

“No no! Ivan! No one did this to me! I did it!”

“W-what?” He asked, slowly lowering the pipe until he let it go and it dropped onto the floor with a bang. He looked so confused and sad, like a whipped puppy and it hurt your heart to see the normally strong man so vulnerable. He slowly sat back down on the couch next to you, not taking his eyes off you unless to look down at the scars covering your forearms.

“I, uh. I used to cut myself.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…I was just never happy. That’s why I always wear long sleeves. I didn’t want you to see them and think I’m weak.” You said quietly, looking down in shame. Before you could think of anything else to say, the personification of Russia engulfed you in a tight bear hug, with barely any room to breathe. “Um..Ivan?”

“You are not weak. You are a very strong sunflower who was missing the sun for a while.” He said, placing his head on top of yours. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments in silence, as you secretly felt relieved he hadn’t thought you were weak and left you.

“So..” started Ivan. “Now that I know, are we going to be able to..”

You’re face went fire engine red as you tried not to choke in embarrassment.

(I’m sorry I had to XD)

I won’t be doing China on this ask nor the Axis (I’ll make a separate one for them, because otherwise it would take way too long and I still need to think of ideas for China! Sorry! Hope you like it anyway - and sooooooooo sorry for the wait

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