cuntybird

[cuntybird]

┊ ┊ •*. LOVE YOU LIKE A GOD

Synopsis: Your boyfriend deserves a little TLC and maybe some head?

Warnings: [NSFW MINORS DNI] [nuetral reader pretty sure] [blowjob/handjob?] [smut is gonna be less detailed this time around sorryyy] [overstimulation] [Smut but mainly fluff] [dry orgasm] [mentions of throat fucking]

w.c 1.7k

Jason had never been good at staying still.

Even now, lying beneath you in the dim glow of the bedroom, his fingers twitched against the sheets, body tense like he was waiting for something to go wrong. You could feel it in the way his muscles coiled under your touch, the way his breath hitched as your lips brushed over his collarbone.

But you weren’t in a hurry.

Your fingers traced the faint silver lines scattered across his skin, a patchwork of battles fought and survived. Some were smooth, long healed; others were rough, jagged, proof of wounds that ran deeper than flesh. And Jason—your Jason—wore them like armour, never letting anyone linger on them for too long.

Until now.

You kissed over a scar at his shoulder, slow and deliberate, whispering against his skin, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Jason swallowed hard. His hands twitched again, like he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or push you away. “…Don’t know about that.” He responded with a sardonic but meek laugh.

You ignored his doubt, trailing your lips down to the mark along his ribs, pressing a soft kiss there. “Strong.” Another kiss. “Resilient.” Another. “Still here.”

Jason exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re getting sappy on me, sweetheart…”

You smiled, resting your chin against his chest so you could meet his gaze. His expression was guarded, but his eyes—those deep, stormy blues—were soft, unsure in a way that made your heart ache.

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But you deserve it.”

Jason’s hand finally moved, sliding up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he let out a quiet, shaky breath.

“…You’re too good to me.”

You pressed another kiss to the centre of his chest, right over his heart. “Not possible.”

Jason didn’t respond right away. He just held you there, fingers curling into your hair, like he was grounding himself in you.

And maybe, just maybe, he was finally starting to believe you.

Jason had gone quiet beneath you.

Not in a bad way, not in the way that meant he was retreating into himself. No, this was different—his breathing was slower, deeper, his fingers tightening in your hair like he didn’t want you going anywhere. Like he was letting himself be here, with you.

You kissed him again, just below his collarbone, letting your lips linger this time. His skin was warm under your touch, rising and falling steadily with each breath, but you could feel the way his heartbeat stuttered slightly—just for a second—before settling again.

It made something curl in your chest, something both tender and greedy.

“Jay,” you murmured, dragging your lips down the centre of his torso, nosing along the faint lines of muscle there. “You’re so warm.”

Jason huffed out a quiet, breathless laugh. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”

You grinned against his skin, hands smoothing over his sides as you pressed another kiss just above his stomach. “Mhm.”

His grip in your hair tightened for half a second before his fingers slid down, tracing the line of your jaw, coaxing your face back up to his. When your eyes met, there was something molten in his gaze—like he was still half-disbelieving, half-dazed by the way you were touching him, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“You’re killin’ me here,” he muttered, voice rough around the edges.

You smiled, shifting slightly so you were fully sprawled over him, chest to chest, warmth bleeding between you. “Am I?”

Jason exhaled sharply as your weight settled over him, hands finding your hips on instinct. His thumbs brushed over your sides, slow and thoughtful, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“…Nah,” he admitted after a pause, voice quieter now. “Might actually be saving me.”

That was all it took to undo you.

You leaned in, kissing him fully this time, your lips soft but insistent against his. Jason inhaled sharply, hands tightening at your waist as he pulled you closer, tilting his head to deepen it.

His lips were warm, a little chapped, but he kissed you like he meant it, like he needed it, and you poured everything into it—every whispered praise, every touch, every unspoken promise.

Jason groaned softly into your mouth, rolling his hips suddenly into yours.

“You sure you wanna keep this up?” he murmured, voice low and teasing, but you could feel the heat simmering just under the surface.

You smirked, arms looping around his neck to keep him close. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

Jason chuckled, dipping down to kiss you again—slower this time, deeper.

And no, he definitely wasn’t complaining.

Your lips slotted out from his with ease, looking down at his slightly hazed eyes. Jason was only a man, he couldn't stop himself from taking and taking when all you wanted to do was give and give.

Soft lips trailed back down his neck with bites and nips to his skin and your tongue running over the pinkish flesh as you moved down. His chest was peppered in your lips before you'd move down again.

His abdomen, taut and slick with sweat under your mouth, Jason was always one to get worked up even from a little making out, he hadn't quite gotten used to the idea of someone loving him so intimately yet.

"Babe- Nhh… c'mon don't you think you're being a little mean? What happened to 'I'll take care of you' hmm" He tried to tease under his aching need for you, under his desperation to feel you "I don't feel very taken care of.."

That was the only initiative you needed.

"Oh really? Well I better fix my mistakes hm?"

It felt like hours had passed, although it was most likely more like twenty minutes, but how can you expect him to keep track like this? You'd initially given him mind-blowing head, don't get him wrong, he always appreciated when you used your mouth, but you seemed a lot more eager tonight.

Then he soon found out why, after he'd blissed out under your touch, you'd decided to keep going and once you heard that first whimper glide past his lips like he was clawing for it to come back in his throat, you needed more.

Now here he was, hands desperately gripping the sheets like a lifeline, his jaw is clenches, and he can't even open his eyes with how much he's straining from overstimulation. It's borderline painful, but he knew you'd stop at the drop of a hat if he said the magic words.

His hips were stuttering, trying to escape your grasp while your hand glides over his cockhead, twisting with every small bob and focusing on his most sensitive parts. He's leaking like a fuacet at this point, not just his cock but his eyes, weeping as he pulled back tears.

It wasn't often Jason wanted anyone else in control of his body, ever. Not after what had happened to him, but he had control here, at the sound of his safeword you'd stop, you had before. He trusted you, even if you were torturing him right now.

He whined out in a guttural tone when your mouth took him in again, gliding his length into your mouth while his tip briefly popped into your throat. He knew he could go deeper at a different angle, the memory of your head hanging off the bed as he face fucked your thro-

fuck.

He was close, again. You'd of course taken notice and doubled your efforts, which made him finally look down at the messy sight between his legs. You're drooling all over his cock, there is cum smeared on his thighs from countless orgasms and his entire pelvis has a glassy sheen.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his through your lashes, and he chokes when you moan around his shaft, suddenly taking him to the hilt.

"Oh- ah..! fuck.. fuck baby I can't.. I caaan't"

That only urged you to stay there, throat clenching his tip coaxing him to finish, but it just wasn't enough. His hand gripped your hair as he snapped his hips up in a daze and pulled your head back down to meet his thrusts for friction.

He could feel his balls draw up tight, he was about to snap like a twig. Then it came rushing, but it felt ruined, he had nothing left to give. His orgasm was completely dry from the amount of times you'd made him cum. He felt all the tingling sensations every single pulse, but it was almost like it lacked the relief.

"Mnnh- you did perfect love" Your voice rung out, a little hoarse but loving nonetheless, he hadn't even noticed you pulling off, you captured his lips and he could taste himself.

Jason was completely spent.

His chest rose and fell steadily, muscles loose and pliant beneath your touch, his usually sharp edges melted into something soft and unguarded. His head rested against your shoulder, lips parted as he took slow, even breaths, and his arms were still loosely wrapped around your waist—like even in his haze, he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

You smiled, brushing damp strands of hair away from his forehead. “You okay, baby?” you murmured, voice quiet in the dimly lit room.

Jason let out a low, content hum, nuzzling further into your warmth. “Mmm.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his temple. That was about all you were going to get out of him for now—he was completely wrecked, body heavy with exhaustion, but there was something undeniably sweet about seeing him this relaxed.

Grabbing the nearby towel, you gently wiped down his chest, careful with every touch. Jason barely stirred, only sighing when your hands moved over his skin, his fingers twitching slightly against your back like he was grounding himself in you.

“You were so good for me,” you whispered, tracing soothing circles along his spine. “So perfect.”

Jason shivered at your words, burying his face deeper against your shoulder. You felt his lips brush against your skin, a lazy, barely-there kiss, and your heart clenched at the tenderness of it.

You shifted, reaching for the water bottle on the nightstand. “Here, Jay—drink a little for me.”

He made a grumbly noise but obediently took a slow sip before collapsing back against you, entirely boneless. You laughed softly, setting the bottle aside before pulling the blankets up around you both.

Fingers combing through his hair, you pressed another kiss to his temple. “Love you.”

Jason didn’t answer right away, but his arms tightened around you, a slow, deliberate squeeze that said everything he couldn’t.

And that was more than enough.

[cuntybird]

I giggled doing this hehe

[cuntybird]

more yearner jason!!<33 thank u all from the prompts in twt!! the two last ones are father jason todd as frei malthus from hilda furacao, tysm to my brazilian moots and followers for helping me about it!<33

[cuntybird]

Bruce, half asleep and walking through a living room where heads of black hair peak over the couch. He goes and kisses each mess of hair.

Connor, who also gets his head, kissed: "Oh!"

Tim and Dick laugh so hard they cry, Bruce walks away obliviously to go take a nap.

[cuntybird]

Tim Drake is a hoe, he is Bruce Wayne level playboyness. He has not met a single woman who's heart he will not break. He has also moved onto the men. He will threaten to sleep with your mom and he will. Dick, Jason, and Damain would never.

For the streets: Bruce and Tim

Take him to your mother: Dick, Damian

Virgin: Jason

[cuntybird]

OH HELLOOO?? he looks so good wtf.

[cuntybird]

so uhhh. yeah.

[cuntybird]

oscar and lando attempting to speak spanish and figure out spanish slang 😭

[cuntybird]

I'm sane (I'm not)

[cuntybird]

There's plenty of lives I'd like to experience but rn the one that I'm craving the most is the skater sassy older brother with a nice friend group and one oddly complicated homoerotic friendship.

I want to be the teenager that has always his room dark and full of posters, he's a skater and has he's knees always scratched and cut. He has an electric guitar, he loves it but he sucks so he only practices when he's family is out so his little sister doesn't complain.

Talking about little sister, he pretends he doesn't really care about her but takes his time to share all his little intrests with her and listen to her gossip.

He has dark hair that he cut himself, eyebags, probably a bit of acne. He's always full of bruises frol falling on his skate or doing stupid stuff with his friends.

Like I know someone is living the life I'm talking about and I just wanna steal it from him, walk around wearing his person suit for a bit, just to know how it feels like.

[cuntybird]

She’s so nice taking time out of her holiday to take a pic with a super fan 🙏❤️❤️

[cuntybird]

who's with me

[cuntybird]

more fluff as always!!!! stay cosy everyone

gaz who of course loves a clean, nice smelling space and even moreso when that nice smell's source is your post-shower products. comes sniffing into your shared room like a hound, eyes lighting up when he sees you already comfortable in bed. you give him a small smile from behind your phone as your attention shifts from the scrolling and you take the chance to stretch your limbs. he climbs into bed next to you, placing kisses trailing down from your shoulder.

"anything going on i should know about?" you tease.

"s'nothin. just always smell real good," he mutters against silky skin.

"and you're equally yummy," you reply, wrapping your arms around him as he grins his blinding smile.

[cuntybird]

[cuntybird]

Harpy!Kyle x Winged!GN!Reader

Summary: Kyle needs some comfort after a bad nightmare.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: Tried writing something sweet, it isn’t the best but I think the concept is really sweet and I just wanna give Kyle a big, loving hug. Criticism and comments are greatly encouraged.

You open your eyes to total darkness, feeling the distinct loss of warm arms that were no longer holding you in your sleep. You figure Kyle rolled over, but as you snuggle closer to where he should be, hoping to find the warmth of his body, you realize the bed is empty.

Panic sets in, you feel it in the the widening of your eyes, the deep weight settling in your gut, and the monstrous voice in your head that you’ve worked your whole life to quiet down sickly whispering in your ears all the things you fear and all the things you don’t want to think about.

You sit up, looking around. The bathroom light is turned off, his shoes are not there, and the closet is open, it doesn’t look empty, so you rule out the possibility of him just leaving, and you also rule out kidnapping since no kidnapper would care enough to make sure he puts his shoes on and grabs some clothes before taking him. The option that seems the most likely now is that he went for a flight.

Kyle loves a good flight to clear his head, although getting up in the middle of the night and leaving for a flight isn’t really a great sign, and you are getting pretty worried because of it.

You walk out of bed, stretching your back and wings, ready to find your feathered lover. You make quick work of throwing on a jacket, popping your wings through the holes in the back of it, and putting on some loafers to go find Kyle.

You get to the top of your apartment building. The cold air hits you in the face, you welcome it by extending your wings, letting them catch the breeze. You look around, seeing lights and stars and clouds, a beautiful full moon, and the silhouette of a man even more beautiful besides it.

You take flight, your wings aching with the strain of pushing you into the air just after being all twisted and tangled while you slept.

There’s truly something wonderful about seeing a city like this, you look down and see cars, a group of people heading for the club, you see trees and dogs. Being above them, watching down like that makes you take a step back and appreciate the sight, makes you understand why Kyle likes it, because you feel separated from everything going on down there, just you and your thoughts, no work, no neighbors, no to-do tasks, no expectations or dead-lines, nothing that could interrupt you from doing one of Kyle’s favorite things; breaking down every thought with surgical precision, analyzing it from 20 different angles until you succesfully used logic to abstract it, detach it from you, and throw in somewhere in your mind where all hose thoughts go.

As you get closer to him, you try to stay quiet. You’re not sure if you were successful in that or if he was too far gone in his head to notice, but when you wrap your arms around him, he flinches, almost going in for a punch before recognizing the sweet hold around his body. He turns around, both so he can keep flapping his wings and to look at you, eyes wide, carrying heavy eyebags, a few tear stains, and lips bitten and chapped.

“Why are you up for a flight so late, baby? What happened?” You ask, gently holding his face, to your surprise, he moves his head away, opposite to his usual touch-loving self. You take the hint, and although a little bit hurt, you respect it and move away, flapping about a meter in front of him. “Nothing happened.” He’s quick to respond, crossing his arms over his broad chest, shaky with irregular breathing. He doesn’t even give you the mercy of looking into your eyes when he speaks. “Just wanted some fresh air.” His tone feels cold and you know there’s something he’s not telling you; you’re not dumb, and he knows it. “There’s evidence in your face to suggest otherwise.” You say, referring to his tear stains and his bitten lips, he huffs, not in the mood for it. “It’s nothing.” He repeats, and you don’t press further as he’s clearly stating that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Do you want to go back to bed, Kyle?” You ask to break the silence. Even though it is a literal invitation to bed, both you and Kyle know the meaning it has; it’s an invitation for Kyle to rest his heart on your hands and trust you won’t drop it. You’re asking him if he’ll let you in with the promise that you’ll see the ugliest parts of him and will hug them and kiss them just like everything else that makes Kyle himself. It’s a little code, set unofficially after one too many times having to do this same thing. He looks at the night sky and the city below him. You see he’s thinking, weighing all the pros and cons in his mind, the cute way his eyebrows furrow and his slight thinking pout are tell tale signs of it. He sighs, you see the way his eyes soften and his walls lower. Without a word, he grabs your wrist gently, flying back to the roof of your apartment building. “Not feeling talkative?” You adventure, looking at him softly. Even though Kyle’s nature is more reserved and quiet, he can be quite the chatterbox when it is the two of you, so it is easy to notice when he’s quieter than usual. He shakes his head and mutters a quick. “No.” You, again, respect it and don’t press further.

As you two walk into the apartment, Kyle goes straight to the shared bedroom, and you know he’s going through something, so you’ll take care of him to the best of your abilities. Kyle settles into bed, and you follow right behind him. The moment your body is settled into the mattress, he cuddles up to you. Big change compared to when you were outside. You wrap your wings around his back as a protective hold and lean down to kiss the top of his head.

Poor boy Garrick nuzzles his face closer to you, and you hear his unsteady and shaky breathing. “Sorry for being harsh up there.” You hear him quietly mumble. You chuckle softly. It feels like it’s almost a different person, but you understand that he was distressed and he feels terrible. “Don’t worry about it.” You say, caressing his head gently. He squeezes you tighter, and after a few minutes in cuddly silence, a soft sob breaks through the air, accompanied by the characteristic gasp of a person crying who ran out of air.

Clearly concerned, you grab Kyle’s jaw, holding him so you can see his face, and in fact, you see eyes glossy with tears, not daring to look at you. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him cry; all his strength doesn’t take away from the fact he’s a sensitive guy, but it doesn’t make the sight any easier for you. Before you can ask what happened, he speaks. “I had a nightmare…” He whispers like a confession to a sin, a shaky sob leaving his lips, and it suddenly clicks for you what really happened.

Kyle had come back from a mission; he didn’t tell you much about it, but you know how he is, and you should’ve known what would happen. Maybe you were too busy with other things to remember, but there’s a terrible pattern that haunts your feathered lover: no mission comes without a new nightmare. He’s haunted by night terrors. He says your presence helps, but you can’t imagine how they were before then because at least once a month you wake up to him either crying, gone, or hyperventilating.

Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration since most of the time you’re able to just hug it out without much effort. “Don’t worry, babe, none of that is real; you’re here, you’re safe, you’re a great person, and I love you.” Is the usual mantra you whsiper and then you cuddle him until he falls asleep, but today seems a bit more complicated, so you refrain from saying it yet and instead ask about it, seeing if he’s willing to share his nightmare with you.

“What was it about?” You gently ask, worrying about the topic since he seemed so affected by it, and it seems like you’ve made a mistake because his eyes close like he’s in there again, his breathing picks up, and he shakes his head desperately, a few tears falling. “I… I don’t… please don’t make me tell you.” He says shakily, and you understand. You take hold of his hand and kiss it, deciding it is best to go through the usual steps.

First you ground him and assure him. While kissing softly every bit of skin you can reach, making sure to pay attention to the fact he doesn’t get overwhelmed by your touch as you softly whisper a variation of the aforementioned mantra. “That’s okay. I’m sorry, love. You absolutely don’t need to tell me.” You start by apologizing for overstepping and then continue. “But I want you to know that whatever it was, it’s not real, okay? You’re safe, loved, wonderful, enough, kind, and all those other pretty things I could say about you, alright?” He softly nods, moving to nuzzle the crook of your neck.

Second, you make him repeat it to make sure he believes it. “Can you repeat it?” You request, and he softly mumbles it out for you, his sobbing coming to a slow halt. This part always takes a bit more effort from him and patience from you.

Third, you just hug him and hope for the best. Sadly, you can only help in the waking world because once he’s asleep, not even he can control what his mind will make up. Kissing him and whispering sweet things might help, but at the end of the day, you’re a liar every time you promise him that if he goes to sleep again, he won’t have another nightmare.

Doesn’t take long for his exhausted figure to succumb to the welcoming arms of Morpheus; you make an effort to stay awake, hearing his soft breathing and feeling him stir around, but soon you’ll succumb too.

Daylight finds the two of you still curled up close to each other, your wing covering Kyle’s body and his wing covering yours. The lights entering your window and some soft snores wake you up. You’re greeted by the sight of your lover’s face resting on your chest. You keep quiet so he keeps sleeping, knowing he needs as much rest as he can get after the mission and his turbulent night.

He looks like an angel, truly. You wish he could look this content and at peace all the time, but nothing lasts forever, and as you gently caress his hair, he starts opening his eyes. You smile softly and kiss the top of his head. “Good morning, love.”

[cuntybird]

gaz study

[cuntybird]

★ — Hold Me, Console Me

Pairing: Jayce Talis x GN!Reader

CW: fluff, Jayce is a golden retriever (and definitely a lapdog), takes place in s1

English isn't my native language

Jayce was a beacon of light and energy for Piltover—a symbol of innovation, hope, and determination. But even the "Golden Boy" had his moments of exhaustion.

After a particularly grueling day of council meetings, overseeing Hextech developments, and dodging endless waves of criticism, Jayce found himself craving something simple and unassuming: solace.

He trudged through the place he shared with you, his boots heavy on the floor, his shoulders slumped. The weight of Piltover’s expectations had pressed into him all day, and he couldn’t shake it off. He barely managed a grunt of greeting as he walked in, his honey-brown eyes dull and tired.

You were curled up on the couch with a book, but the moment you saw him, you closed it without hesitation.

"Jayce?" you asked gently, concern lacing your voice.

His lips quirked up in a weary smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Just tired."

You scooted over on the couch, patting your lap invitingly. "Come here."

His head tilted like a curious puppy’s, and his eyes lit up ever so slightly. "Really?"

"Really," you said with a soft chuckle.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Jayce immediately kicked off his boots and collapsed onto the couch, resting his head in your lap with an audible sigh of relief. His broad frame barely fit on the couch, but he didn’t care—he melted against you like molten gold, his arm draping across your legs possessively.

"You’re warm," he murmured, his voice muffled by your shirt.

"You’re heavy," you teased, running your fingers through his thick, caramel-colored hair.

"Not too heavy, right?" His words had a hint of playfulness, but there was an undercurrent of vulnerability in them.

"Not at all," you assured him. "You’re perfect right where you are."

Jayce hummed contentedly, his eyes fluttering closed as your fingers worked their magic. You gently massaged his scalp, trailing your fingertips down to his temples and back again. It didn’t take long for his tense shoulders to relax, the strain of the day slowly melting away.

"You know," you said after a moment, "you really do remind me of a golden retriever sometimes."

His eyes snapped open, and he looked up at you, mock-offended. "Golden retriever?!"

"Yeah," you said, laughing softly. "All big and lovable and eager to please. Plus, you’ve got that golden-boy glow about you."

Jayce groaned but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. "Great. Now I’m Piltover’s mascot and your lapdog."

"Hey, don’t knock it," you said, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "You make a very good lapdog."

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through your legs. "Guess I’ll take it, as long as I get to stay here."

"As long as you need," you promised.

Jayce stayed there for hours, nestled in your lap, letting your touch and presence restore him in ways nothing else could. For Piltover, he might always be the Golden Boy, but for you, he was simply Jayce—the man who loved you, and sometimes, the man who just needed to be held.