#because his heart takes priority over his dick

[nocanonhere]

Happy Wyll's Week! Day 6/7

-Say Yes (NSFW, finally) Set the night of his proposal, and what happens after. (centered around my Tav, Aiya. Elf-Dragon Sorceress)

“Here?” She huffs, on top of him but still being cautious about lowering onto him.

“Right here,” he answers confidently, then his eyes widen. “Or rather, over there, where I put the blankets.”

She laughs, leans back down to kiss him. “And the pillows. And the candles. And the wine.”

“I wanted us to be comfortable,” he answers in between kisses.

The slide of their lips against each other is drawing something down Wyll’s chest, through his core and lower still.

“Comfortable for what?” she asks innocently, as if her hands hadn’t already started unbuttoning his shirt. As if he isn’t already straining against his pants. As if he hadn’t just told her a moment ago, before they started this tumbling, to get down here so they could start their happily ever after.

She had seemed pleased with his surprise throw, letting him revel in the success for just a moment before locking her thighs around him and flipping them both.

He’s going to get her on her back again, because he has things to do to her that require it. But for now, he is enjoying this view of her on top of him; he is enjoying the tease of her hovering over him instead of sitting.

And he recognizes her goading for what it is. He’s eager to play along. What good is him being long-winded if he couldn’t utilize it where it really counted.

“Would you like me to tell you, or show you?” he asks, stopping their kissing for a moment.

She smirks at him then; its slow, sure, and coupled with the glint in her eyes, predatory.

She leans back in, hovering above his lips before moving to the side of his neck instead.

“Both,” she answers, pressing her lips against his skin. He groans, shifting a bit, hips raising up minutely, searching for the contact he wants there.

“In that order,” she continues, moving her kisses across his throat to the other side. He likes her on top, wants to get her back there later. But as she darts her tongue out and licks the shell of his ear, he curses, moves his own legs around hers, and flips them again.

He’s careful about keeping a hand on the back of her head as he does so. And they still aren’t on the blankets, but they are getting close. He presses himself to her finally, letting her feel just where his intentions lie.

She licks her lips, and it is a gesture he has noticed she always does. When she’s lost in thought, particularly.

It’s not just a quick slip of the appendage over her mouth. It’s a slow, circling trail from her top lip to her bottom lip. And he has always found it distracting, silently chiding himself for thinking too hard about the action. It’s even more disarming now, with that look in her eyes again.

She likes being thrown around a bit.

He notes that for later as he leans down, mimicking her from a moment ago, and moving to the side of her neck. He decides to do worse than her, and lets his tongue make the first contact, followed by his lips.

The sound it brings out of her is a stifled moan, held back by her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. He wants more of that, unbound and louder.

He groans at the knowledge of what he’s about to do; what he has refrained from doing every time they steal away to run their lips over each other.

He moves up, and trails his tongue over the high point of her ear. He had always wondered if they were sensitive, and if they were, how sensitive. But he never asked.

He’ll never have to, now.

He got his wish from just a moment ago. She moans for him, open and needy. He does it again, and he can very well tell that an addiction to her noises is going to form.

He keeps doing it, dipping down to tease the middle of her ear instead of the shell, and she bucks against him.

He switches to the other side, hands clenching the grass around her as she begins to undulate against him.

“First,” he begins, moving to trail light kisses over her neck. “I’m going to lay you out on those blankets.”

She exhales a laugh.

“I’m going to get you out of your clothes, and anything underneath.”

He pulls back to look her in the eyes, bringing their noses together. He grabs one of her hands with his, lacing their fingers.

“I’m going to kiss you, everywhere. Your wrists, up your arms, over your chest. And then down.”

He shifts again, lining the hard ridge of him up with her core.

“And?” she asks.

“I’m going to kiss your beautiful legs, then grab them behind the knee and push them back.”

She moves against him faster, a little frantic, compared to his expectations. He wonders how long it has been for her.

He is going to give this first round his best try. Because it’s been a while for him too, and coupling like this was an infrequent thing as well.

Contrary to their group’s jokes, yes, he had done this before.

“And you’re going to hold them, so I can have some room.”

“Oh,” she says.

“And I am going to spell out the rest right between your legs.”

She exhales sharply. “Wyll, come on.”

He adores her impatience, reveling in how it contrasts to her usual demeanor. She’s not a mess, not yet. But this is already so different from how she is with everyone else. She’s always focused, quiet, and collected.

He doesn’t want any of that tonight, not in this setting.

He gets off her, and they both move over to the blanketed area he set up earlier under the tree.

If she ended up not wanting to go that far tonight, that was fine. He had brought the wine, and a few snacks in a backpack hidden behind the tree.

She decides to start on herself first, unlacing her sandals and flinging them off her feet.

“You too,” she orders, moving her hands to unlace her pants.

“Not yet,” he answers, to both. He grabs her hands and moves them back to her sides. “Allow me.”

He slowly trails his hands up her stomach to her neck. He lets them linger there, lighting grasping the sides of her face.

She is jittery. Maybe he doesn’t need to draw this first one out.

He brings his hands back to her stomach again, but this time it’s to ease her shirt up, revealing skin where he doesn’t normally see it.

He sighs, and she sits up to help him take her shirt off easier.

What’s underneath catches him by surprise.

“Oh,” he says, staring at her chest. “That’s…where did that set come from?”

“Figaro’s,” she answers, smug. Glad to have caught him off guard.

“Noted,” he says, leaning down to kiss her again.

It’s a flattering, sage colored bralette. The material is no mere cotton. Rather, shimmering with what is supposed to resemble snake skin. It looks gorgeous on her skin. He wasn’t aware Figaro’s was making wares such as these. But he knows where to shop in the future for her, if he wants to see more of their work.

He moves down, kissing over her neck, and stopping at the top of her chest, reaching for one of her arms instead and starting there.

“Wyll,” she says. “Don’t tease.”

“So impatient,” he whispers, trailing kisses up her inner arm. “You told me to tell you, then show you.”

“Then can you tell me more?”

He smirks, reaching her inner elbow and planting a kiss there before mirroring his actions on the opposite arm. He kisses up this one slower, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“I want you quivering on my tongue.”

“Oh my-

“I want you moaning for me.”

She nods, lip drawn back between her teeth, thighs pressed together.

“I want to taste you, especially when you peak.”

“Wyll,” she moans.

“And I want to see it. Because I have to know how you do it.”

“Wyll,” she says more urgently.

He puts her arm down then leans back to finish unfastening her pants.

“Have to know if you go silent or if you scream.”

“Oh hells.”

“If it rushes out of you, drowning me in your essence. Or if it trickles out of you.”

She exhales again, a high pitched whine in her voice.

He has her pants undone, and reaches for her waist to start sliding them down.

“If you’ll let me keep going, even though you just came. And if I can slide a finger inside you and feel where I know you’re going to devastate me the most.”

She moans, long and needy. “Wyll, please. Please.”

He’s done teasing her for now, because he’s messed himself up in the process of trying to mess her up as well. He reaches for his own pants, undoing the laces and giving himself a little more room. He finishes sliding the fabric off her legs, smiling at the matching set of underwear covering her.

She looks so pretty in them. But she’s going to look better with them off.

He hooks a finger under the line of fabric on her hip, and teases.

“Wyll, for the love.”

He laughs at her insistence. Likes that he’s got her bossy here. He hopes his love for her will grant him enough stamina to stroke that tone out of her.

If not the first time, then later on. They really have all night.

“Take that off” he points to her bra, and starts to undo the lacings at her hip.

He undoes both sides, using a hand to grab them off her at the middle and tossing those to the side.

“Fuck,” he says lowly. “No, keep them spread,” he adds on, once he sees her closing her thighs out of sheer reaction.

She whines, doing as he said, and opening her legs.

For now, he’s done teasing. He grabs one of the pillows from the side and plants it under her lower back. He grabs another and asks her to sit up so he can set it under her head.

He grabs her legs and folds them back, and she remembers what he said and grabs the backs of her knees, fully baring her lower half to him.

He places a palm over himself and presses down as he stares at her. He stares at the hair there, getting a little light headed at how shiny she already is.

He looks further, daring to stare at something else he’s been wondering about, but isn’t ready to confess just yet.

He look at her face, sees the slight nervousness there, mixed in with her attraction.

“So beautiful,” he assures her, leaning down to kiss her stomach. “May I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

He kisses above her lower lips first, sighing at the touch of her curls against his mouth. When he goes lower, she jolts hard, already losing her grip on one of her legs.

“You alright, my love?” he looks up to ask.

“Yes,” she says. “You can keep going.”

He nods, maintaining that eye contact as he leans back down, pressing a kiss to her again.

He continues to do it, holding her gaze and watching her chest heave the more intense he goes with it. He slips his tongue out, adding it to his kisses, filling the air around them with the sounds. She is whining gently, but she is keeping her legs supported still.

He wants to make her buck again.

He opens his mouth and latches it onto the nub he was slowly coaxing from between her lips.

She hisses. “Oh. Oh, Wyll.”

He hums into her, closing his eyes for a moment and indulging in her taste. She’s already so aroused, it is strong on his tongue.

He wants to know specifically what she likes. Every body is different, and he wants to learn which actions were going to get her mewling for him the fastest.

So he tries a few things; he continues to suck at her, which causes her to grunt behind her bitten lips. He licks her; long, deep laps from the flat of his tongue. She likes it, and it causes more of her arousal to slip out of her.

He takes one more lap before curling his tongue and flicking it over her gently.

“Fuck,” she yells. “Yes. Yes, like that.”

He continues, alternating with flicking his tongue, sucking her into his mouth, and pulling back to breathe.

He chooses to move the time clock up a bit. He wants to slip a finger into her now. He shifts a bit from where he’s laying, bringing his right hand up to rub over her.

“Is this okay?” he asks, mesmerized by the motion of his own hand over her.

“Yes.”

He brings his hand down, flipping it palm up, and teasing his pointer finger against her opening. He gently eases it in and out, sinking more into her every few strokes. He’s panting, because she feels so silken and wet and-

“I cant wait to be inside you,” he says, continuing to move his finger in and out.

He goes back to her nub, continuing the pattern of flicking and sucking, along with moving his finger in and out of her.

“Can I put another one in?” he leans up to ask. “Huh?”

“Yes,” she whines. “Just…be gentle.”

“Of course, my love,” he whispers, bringing his middle finger up and teasing its entry as well. “I’ll be very kind to her.”

He slides it in along his first finger, and already feels that this is a tight fit for just two of his fingers for now. He gets lightheaded just thinking about pushing his cock in.

“Hmm,” she says. “It’s okay if you’re a little mean to her sometimes.”

He laughs, dark and suggestive. “Is that so? My love likes to be roughed up a bit?”

“More than a bit.”

“You’ll have to teach me how,” he reminds her.

“I will,” she assures, throwing her head back and letting herself get lost to the sensations.

He isn’t sure how long he’s at it, but he switches from staring at her glistening, heaving chest to his own fingers pumping in and out of her. He experiments with the speed, finding that a moderate pace with intermittent flicks of his tongue is what keeps her mewling. It takes him a moment to notice, but his own hips are thrusting into the ground.

She manages to keep her legs balanced while reaching her hands down to grab his horns. And though he had hoped she would, though he had thought about this, and picked this position specifically for that reason, it throws him.

He pulls back and hisses, feeling himself get a bit more untamed, opening his mouth slightly and letting drool slip down onto her.

She says something in praise, but it’s slurred and unintelligible. He thinks it was something in astonishment at his boldness. And he will be smug about that later when he can focus; he’s too lost in her right now to make sense of it.

It has been a while since he’s done this. A long while. But even when things went no further than this, he was always happy to engage in this activity. There was something so thrilling about having someone supplicate to him for something he could provide. Power of the tongue, and all that.

“Move,” she orders.

He takes his mouth off her and looks up. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m…I’m close.”

He grins, looking back at his current obsession, languidly thrusting his fingers in her. “Aiya, I didn’t know you were hard of hearing,” he accuses her.

She starts to curse him, head glued back to her pillow, and he laughs.

“You told me to tell you, and I did. I want to see how you do it.”

“You fucking-

“Are you going to soak me? Did you get shy about flooding my tongue?”

“Wyll,” she cries out. “I just…wanted to warn you.”

He thrusts harder. He might, unfortunately, finish in his trousers due to this. It’s fine. He has time with her tonight. Time he is going to spend stopping the clock.

“And I’ll heed your warning,” he says, before he sucks her once more. “But I’m ready.”

She exhales, and starts panting.

He discovers that when she’s finishing, at least from this, she goes relatively quiet. It’s just her breath, no bass to it. No true use of her vocal cords. Just her heaving chest, dry throat, trembling legs, and seeping cunt.

The tell-tale sign of her climax is the forceful stream that hits his mouth, rushing over his lips and down his chin. Some of it rushing up to his nose.

This is a prepossessing form of torture. He can’t breathe, and he doesn’t care because he is taken by the rush of her covering his face. The uncontrolled rise of her hips to his mouth is enough to melt his mind, and he stays there, letting her thrust against his face and push out that onus that’s been locked in her walls.

He notices he’s been separated from her because she is pushing him back by the horns. He stops resisting when he hears her whines, knowing she needs a break. But his brain-to-mouth grapevine is still telling him to use his tongue, and he latches onto one of her inner thighs and makes out with her there.

She is coming down, whole body trembling. It’s only when she sobs his name that he is broken from his reverie, lifting up to look at her face. And it is better than what he even imagined. Because she didn’t scream, and she wasn’t exactly silent either.

When she comes, she cries.

The tears flowing down her face are in pleasure, but he still swallows and moves over her, coming up to wipe them.

“Aiya,” he breathes.

“Fuck…you,” she responds, no real threat in her voice at all. Only the horrible realization of what he’s done to her; what he can do to her, when given the chance.

He leans down, letting his lips linger above hers before she demands a kiss, and meets her with tongue. Her taste is on him, in him. And he shares it with her freely.

It’s nothing else, for a bit. Nothing but their lips, tongue, and spit; swapping back and forth while she settles. He is bristling, but he can hold out a bit longer for her.

“Soon,” she says, disconnecting her lips and gazing up at him. “I’m going to shove your cock down my throat and keep you there.”

“Hells,”

“But right now, I need you inside me. I need you to stretch me more.”

He thrusts against her without thinking, letting her soak through the seat of his pants. “Are you sure?” he breathes. “I can let you take a moment.”

She sits up, pushing him further back while rising to perch on her elbows.

“The only thing I want to take is you,” she says confidently. “But I would prefer to be on top. It’s easier for me, that way.”

He nods, kissing her deeply once more before pulling away completely so they can switch their positions.

He adjusts the pillow supporting his head the way he needs it for his horns. Since his pants were already unlaced, he starts removing them without her assistance.

He pulls them down, and sighs in annoyance that he didn’t grab his underwear along with it too. Once his pants are off, he reaches for the top of them, but she stops him.

“Allow me,” she says, on her knees between the spread of his legs.

He moves his hands and lets them fall to his sides, fingers already sporadically curling into the blanket underneath them.

He suddenly feels a slap of bashfulness as her hands are pulling his underwear off, because while everyone has seen these horns, they haven’t seen-

“Fucking hells,” she says.

And he knows it’s a compliment, but his face still gets warm.

“You weren’t joking,” she continues.

And he knows he’s talking about the comment he made about himself the night of the Tiefling party. The ridges and prongs in unmentionable places. He is surprised she remembers.

She pulls the garments the rest of the way, sliding her thighs on either side of his waist while looking down at him.

“How are you going to explain this to the others, hmm?” she asks, lowering herself to grind against his pubis. “How are you going to tell them how I died out here?”

He is so swept by the movement of her hips right above the head of his cock, but he burst out in laughter anyhow.

“You are dramatic,” he says, shaking his head.

“And you,” she combats, sliding down further to nudge herself against him, “are going to kill me.”

He moans, low and long because gods above and below she is drenched. She is wetting his cock with herself and he is now fearful that this will last exactly however long it took for him to realize he found her pretty. Which was no time at all. He realized it as soon as they had dispatched that small troupe of goblins outside the grove; noticed it while she was panting and sweaty and somewhat covered in blood.

And it’s not as though he’s had much alone time lately. With their new and temporary sleeping arrangements, he has less privacy than he had before. The luxury of a bed and four walls around him, but no luxury of a tent, perched a certain distance from others.

He hasn’t been indulging himself that much. But he certainly had, once or twice, slipped his hand underneath his bedroll and thought about her while he pleasured himself.

The contented attitude he had about taking her apart with his mouth has evaporated under the weight of her gaze and the thrust of her hips.

She sits up, lifting her hips up with it, and he still moans because he knows what’s coming.

“Let me know,” she says, grabbing him by the base, stroking her fingers around the ridge there, “if you need to stop.”

“Don’t let me finish inside you,” he responds. And it’s not because he doesn’t want it; it’s because it isn’t smart. And because he just knows once she sinks down, all higher thinking for him will cease.

Her smirk at him then is just fiendish, and perhaps he made a mistake, thinking that he had this force of a person bested.

“Is the Blade of Frontiers feeling beside himself?” she asks, letting her head loll back for a moment while she enjoys the heat of his tip teasing her opening.

He exhales, clenching his fists tighter. “I’ve never faced a threat like you.”

She doesn’t smile. In fact, her face falls. It settles into a gaze so serious and all-encompassing that he has to hold his breath.

When she attempts to make him sink into her, it’s only by a bit, and it’s enough to make him groan openly and loudly.

“Is that so?” she asks lowly. She leans over his torso more, keeping her hand where it is on his cock, and continuing to move herself up and down on his tip.

The wet squelch of her already has him undone. He wants to ask her to not talk while she does this, at least not now. Because it will be over embarrassingly quick.

But he can’t say anything right now. He is trying to even his breathing while feeling the best he has in his life, in a setting like this.

She does this for a few more moments, eyes closed and biting her lip while she concentrates. Despite his attention on her earlier, she isn’t quite opening up how both of them want her to.

Power of the tongue, truly. A maxim that extends to all kinds of settings.

He moans and speaks to her. “Let me in.”

Her jaw drops and her eyes widen, and she presses down onto him harder and lets the tip of him stretch her.

They both groan. The feeling is like coming home after a long, arduous day. It feels like he was supposed to know this all along. It feels like he’s supposed to be here.

She moans and moves her hand, letting both of them support her on his damp chest while she slowly moves back and forth, letting him breach her bit by bit.

When she reaches the first ridge, she squeals. She compliments him and sinks lower, more of her arousal covering his cock.

“Aiya,” he breathes, already feeling dangerously close, and she hasn’t even reached the root of him.

She doesn’t respond, just continues to undulate her hips so that more and more of him can fill her. When she sinks to the root, his lidded eyes are still open enough to see a tear slip out of one of hers.

He reaches a shaky hand up to her face.

“Are you alright?”

She shakes her head no, closing her eyes and letting her neck fall back again. “You’re perfect.”

It’s not exactly an answer, but he understands it well when she starts lifting and sinking herself on his member, slowly and steadily.

He keeps his hand there, despite his arm trembling. And the other takes place on her stomach, pressing there while she moves.

“I love you,” she whispers, eyes still closed. “I fucking love you.”

He should warn her now, he thinks. Go ahead and tell her that she maybe, at best, has a few minutes before he erupts. But he doesn’t; there is something more pressing he has to tell her.

“I love you too,” he responds, feeling the joy of the statement wash over him. “Now, show me.”

She makes him eat those words.

Despite his impending loss, he knows that as long as he gets to have her like this, he’ll never stop challenging her. He wants to continue winding her up with his words as much as he can, making her take it out on his tongue and throbbing cock. He wants this woman to end him, over and over and-

“Aiya,” he says, urgently. “I’m-

She answers by leaning back down, causing his hands to move and plant elsewhere instead. They support themselves on her ass as she continues moving on him.

“It’s okay, Wyll,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss one side of his neck. “Do it.”

“I am,” he groans, gripping harder. “But you need to move.”

She continues laving at his neck, moving up to his ear to entice him. “No.”

He loses it then, lifting his legs up at the knees and beginning to thrust into her instead.

“That’s it,” she encourages softly. “Take it.”

He doesn’t register the sounds leaving him that much. He knows they are open and needy and flowing through a staccato beat. But he keeps moving.

“It’s okay,” she continues, licking over his ear. “We’re okay. Magic has all sorts of uses.”

He growls, thrusting into her harder. Trembling with the implications.

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes closing.

“Yes,” she answers. “Inside, Wyll. Let it out inside me.”

He gasps, thrusting once more before feeling his entire body quake as he finishes inside her. His eyes are closed, yet he’s still dizzy. There’s no one out here but them, yet he’s sure he’s too loud. He should pull out still, but after the third rope, he’s locked to her.

Even as he comes down, he fears he’s too loud. But he will excuse it, this time. He hasn’t finished like that in…ever. Not even his first time, with the one he had known longer than Aiya.

She kisses him for a long time, moaning in annoyance when he slips out of her. But he can feel a drop of the mix of them fall back on his member, and knows it won’t be long before he’s ready to fill her again.

-

“So have you done this a lot, or…” she asks, trailing off to take a sip of her wine instead.

He huffs, caressing a hand over her stomach. “Define a lot?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure how to measure this by human lifespan standards. And honestly, it doesn’t need a measurement at all. I suppose what I’m asking is have you done this with more than one person?”

“Yes.”

“And,” she continues, setting her wine goblet back down on the flat stone by her head, “were they all partners of yours?”

He hesitates.

She turns to him then, long hair flowing over her pillow, and stares with something in her eyes. He asked her to get comfortable and take her hair down while he re-arranged the bed set he brought out here so they can rest for a bit.

“I see,” she whispers. “I know about your first one. Nasina, who I would like to meet, by the way.”

His brows show up. “You want to meet her?”

She shrugs. “You are the next Duke of Baldur’s Gate, if you choose. Gortash will cease to exist and your father will step down eventually. I assume all of those who were one your friends will want to come back. Especially your real friends.”

“I feel so stupid,” he begins, “asking you this now. After all this time, but Aiya…how old are you?”

She laughs; cackles. Loud enough to cut the air. “Oh my gods, I thought I had told you already. I’m one-hundred-forty years.”

He lets it sink it for a moment, not able to stop himself from making the very expected joke. “You are old.”

She’s gasping, trying to gather her bearings. “Wyll, I swore I told you.”

He is educated enough to know that is not that far above the age of maturity of Elves. He is unsure about Dragonborns.

“You certainly did not,” he says, bringing his caressing hand up to her face. “But it’s no matter.”

She smiles at him, bare body hidden underneath the sheet. “The last time you did this, when was it?”

“You insist on bringing up the past,” he laughs.

“For a reason.”

He studies her face, only finding intrigue there. He thinks he knows where this is going, but the only way to know is to jump over the edge.

“I was in Plainwater.”

She hums. “Nothing plain about that place. Anyway, go on.”

He swallows, turning to look up at the swaying tree branches above. “They do not use the standard terms of monarchy there, but by all definitions, this person a monarch.”

“I’m already hooked.”

“It was a deluge,” he says, setting the scene. “And it had ruined half their house’s crops, which were the most plentiful in the town. Without those, the support it provided the community was smashed.”

“Ah, so not a monster.”

“No,” he sighs. “Just the forces of nature, but it gave me the opportunity to help their house, and sharpen my diplomacy skills. The town had a meeting regarding their status. Their name was Ainsel, by the way.”

“Go on,” she encouraged.

“Somehow, I was involved in mediation. And somehow, I convinced the prominent townspeople to continue to respect their house as an authority. They were kind, and good. Had I not thought so, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to defend them.”

He looks at her, and notices her eyes are closed, taking in the story. “I am unsure what I said that turned the tides, no pun intended, but it worked.”

“Congratulations.”

“And Ainsel was so…gentle about suggesting they thank me in a more…intimate way than gold. They still paid me in gold, by the way. But yes. It became physical.”

She opens her eyes then, gold staring back at him.

“Go on.”

“You are terrible,” he says. “What about this is enticing for you?”

“If you don’t want to continue, you don’t have to.”

“I…okay. Well, they insisted on thanking me in the most based way you could think of. And I tried to resist, truly. I didn’t believe doing good was a cause for any compensation like that.”

She turned toward him, supporting herself on her right shoulder. “So, what happened?”

“You want to know the details?” he asked with incredulity in his tone.

“I’ve only been asking.”

“Okay. Well, they cornered me behind their library door and insisted on using their mouth on me.”

“Now we’re getting to it.”

“It was…lovely. I truly was not going around the Coast looking for that kind of entertainment. But that time, I agreed to it.”

“That is so sexy.”

“What about that do you find sexy?” he asks, reaching a hand up to run through her loosened locks.

“I’m a bit too old to deny how gorgeous the image of one pleasing another is” she answers, a serious note in her voice. “You are handsome, and kind, and conscientious. To gift those qualities to another…I don’t know; it’s nice to think of.”

He loves the compliment, even if he has difficulty understanding the appeal of it.

“I gained an appreciation for the art of the tongue, after that.”

“As if you didn’t already have one.”

“Yes, but in an intimate way.”

“Yes, and I just bore witness to that.”

He runs his thumb over her bottom lip. “And what about you? Do you have an admiration for the same?”

“Oh, Wyll,” she answers. “You have no idea. And if you want an idea, I’m glad to show you. Only if you’re ready.”

And he is ready, except he…isn’t.

“Actually,” he says. “I need to…relieve myself first.”

He turns away, expecting her to laugh, but when she doesn’t make a sound, he looks back at her, only finding curiosity in her expression.

“You don’t have to go too far,” she suggests.

He is shocked; speechless.

She sees the look on his face. “Too soon? Another time, perhaps.”

“Please, have mercy,” he says, rolling over to go find a distant bush.

-

The wine is half empty, but it’s a good thing he packed water to keep them hydrated.

He’s on top of her, kissing her again. It is slower this time, lacking the desperation from earlier. But it still builds heat in his core.

He’s going to let her make good on her earlier comment, about what she wanted to do with her mouth. This time, instead of lying on his back, he props himself up against the tree trunk; a couple pillows supporting his back.

She’s lying down between his legs, already reaching for him. He’s already erect for her, but when she pauses her mouth right over his tip and looks up at him, he hardens even further.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back a bit, wincing at his sensitivity, then moaning at the soft acceptance of her mouth.

Without thinking, he ends up propping up his legs at the knee, reaching his hands down and placing them on her head. He’s not moving her, but he just wants to feel her move.

She translates the action a different way.

She inhales through her nose and moves further down, taking him to the hilt. He groans and asks her to keep going, keep moving. But she doesn’t.

He looks down at her, and sees her looking up at him expectantly. He tests the waters by rolling his hips up first, languidly. She moans around him, and it causes his grip to tighten in her hair.

The next few moments are bliss for him. He’s gently thrusting his hips up, reveling in the soft sounds of him pressing against the back of her throat. She’s focused on being an opening, so she’s not focused on the mess that drools out of her mouth and onto his pelvis.

He pulls her off, keeping one hand buried in her hair while the other fists his cock.

“Will you, shit…Can I?”

She smiles at him, and that’s all the answer that he needs before he is releasing on her waiting tongue, holding her in place so she can take all of it.

He’s not as loud this time, groaning tenderly while he comes down. He welcomes her body coming up to press against his; enjoys the taste of himself in her mouth.

“You’re so handsome,” she whispers, kissing his cheek. “So beautiful.”

He gets her to lay back down and finds his face between her thighs again. She is less sensitive this time, as in she’s not shaking at every movement of his tongue, but she is responsive.

He wants to be on top his time, and he makes sure that’s okay before moving back up her body. He grabs one of her hands and laces their fingers, placing them by her head. His free hand is what he uses to tease himself and her; rubbing his cock over her.

“Get inside me,” she says, moving her hips up.

He presses against her opening, and slips inside, bit by bit. She hasn’t been opposed to the size of him at all, and she seems to adore the features this form has given him. But he is still cautious about moving in and out of her until he feels her open up and accept the rest.

He raises his other hand and links their fingers there too, leaning down to kiss her and thrust lazily into her.

It’s quieter this time. It’s just them, the wind, their sounds of love, and the slide of the sheets against the grass. Neither of them are thinking about anything outside of this moment; not what came before, and not the near future. He’s just a person loving another person in an archaic way.

He moves faster when he hears her gasping; he’s determined to get her to finish around him in the way he didn’t have stamina for earlier. It requires a steady, sure thrusting of his hips, and one of his hands slipping between them.

This thumb is pressed to her nub, and his fingers are splayed against her pelvis and the bottom of her belly. He presses down and she whines.

“Keep going, just like that,” she begs.

He does. The rock of his hips is only difficult to hold because he wants to move harder. But he is barely letting the fronts of his thighs kiss the back of hers. This is less about force and more about aim.

Her eyes are watery again, and he sighs, tells her he loves how she looks when she cries for him like that. When she asks for more, that’s when he thrusts harder, adding more sound to the air.

“Wyll,” she says, voice cracking. “I…

“It’s okay, love,” he says, biting his lip momentarily. “I have you.”

She locks eyes with him, letting the shine of them coupled with her whimpers tell him her end is near. He feels a prick behind his eyes as well, although it’s not from his oncoming climax.

He just loves her, and he loves this moment. He would never forget it for the rest of his life. And he hopes she understands that he meant what he said earlier before they started this physical dance. He wants her forever.

“Aiya,” he breathes, wavering. “I love you.”

She whines, whole body tensing. “I love you too, Wyll��.Wyll, can I-

“Yes, love.”

Her face scrunches, and her high pitched keen falls to a low, broken moan as she releases around him. He thinks he might enjoy this feeling more than tasting her while she does this. He couldn’t pull out if he wanted to.

The fitful pulse of her orgasm does bring him closer than he thought he was. When she loosens, when her shaking stops, he lets force overtake aim, just for a few more thrusts, before pulling out and releasing her on stomach.

They are panting, covered in sweat, and so, so in love.

-

“Is there something you really enjoy doing in bed that we haven’t done yet?”

She hums, content in her position of lying on his bare chest. “Quite a few things, actually. But I did not assume we were completing the entire itinerary tonight.”

He smiles and keeps his eyes closed, running a hand over her back. “To narrow it down, then. Is there a position you prefer that we haven’t already done?”

“You’re asking me what my favorite position is.”

“Well, yes.”

She sits up, gazing at his relaxed expression. He cracks his eyes open slowly when he feels her fingertip trailing over his nose.

“We haven’t done it, yet,” she answers. “I’m tempted to let you guess.”

And Wyll knows there are so many angles they can do this from. So many ways they just can’t get done before the sun splits the horizon.

So he’d rather her just tell him, or show him, what angle truly ignites her so he can learn it, thoroughly.

He moves her searching fingertips, and kisses them.

They make out for a bit, more weight in their kisses this time. She seems primed and ready to go with the knowledge that he will be taking her in the way she favors.

She moves, asks him to move, and takes the space where he was, with her back toward him.

“Is that so?” he groans, one of his hands already wrapped around himself and stroking weakly. She is on her hands and knees, and she answers him.

“No,” she says, her tone leading elsewhere. Then, her body sinks onto the ground, front pressed against sheets. “This is so.”

He feels sweat prick the back of his neck. He may not be able to see her face, but he will still be close to her this way.

He leans over her, letting his length thrust between her cheeks and kissing the back of her neck when she sighs.

“Are you ready?” he asks. He prays she is.

“Fuck me,” she answers, pushing her hips up.

The angle allows him to slowly thrust into her, moving in and out until he gets the signal to start pounding her back to the ground.

This round feels a bit more primal. She’s loud and encouraging, and he’s propped up on his hands while dripping sweat onto her back.

His own sounds are high pitched and breathy. He does what she asks, and moves against her harder, disturbing the air around them.

It’s still the dead of night, but he has a brief wonder of what would happen if someone walked by. They are secluded, he made sure of that. But what if…what if-

He’s sure her cries would attract any potential passerby. They would clearly know what was happening just by the sound of it, but would they follow her siren call?

She makes him think of things that he hadn’t seriously considered, previously. He doesn’t want anyone else to see her like this, per se. But he doesn’t not want them to see him pleasing her like this.

It’s strange, yet the unfamiliarity of it entices him to fuck her harder, loving the whip-crack of her sounds.

“This is it?” he asks. And obviously. Obviously. She put them in this position. But questioning her seems to turn her on, in this environment. She mewls an affirmative, and turns her head to kiss one of his inner arms, right by this wrist.

“Together this time,” she whispers against his skin, resuming her peppering affections.

The soft press of her lips against his arm while he is doing nothing short of knocking her into her next orgasm makes him growl. And she doesn’t seem to want to raise her hips, so he cant really get a hand underneath her. But the wet sounds from between her legs makes him wonder if she’s already as close as he is. He can’t really tell this time around, because she’s been pulsing nonstop.

He learns down, licking one of her ear tips. “Are you close?”

She groans. “Yes. Yes, Wyll. Can you…just a little bit more?”

“As long as you need,” he lies. He doesn’t know why he says it, when everything about him right now is telling of his approaching climax. But something about the statement seems to kick her into high gear, and she nearly yells.

“Oh. I’m…oh. Wyll, love. Wyll!”

“Now?” he asks, burying his face in the side of her neck.

“Yes,” she hisses.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!”

“Inside you?”

“Please.”

“Deep?”

“Wyll-

“Say it.”

She’s already crying, and nearly out of breath. “Come inside me, please. Please, love. You feel so good; I want it.”

“Yeah? I make you feel good?”

She can’t answer him anymore. Any remaining breath she has is expended on her panting and moaning. And that’s answer enough for him.

It’s not quite synchronous. She is wailing, and she was already clenching, so the staple sign of it is the forceful rush flowing out of her and soaking him.

“Holy-

He can’t finish that statement. He grunts hard, keeping his hips locked to hers, filling her over and over. There’s nothing holy happening here, not in a pure way. Perhaps in a divine way.

 Exhaustion finally seeps in. He slides out of her to flop on his back, cringing when his horns remind him they are there. But he reaches for her and pulls her in, letting her pant into his neck.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you so much. I-

He grabs the back of her neck and gently moves her away so he can lean up and kiss her. “I love you, too. My time-stopper.”

-

The sun is barely up by the time they return to the Elfsong. They are quiet as they enter, hoping no one was already awake.

He swats her ass right as they get to the hall door, making her gasp and laugh before to leans back to kiss him over her shoulder.

She opens the door as quietly as she can, steps silent as they creep in. No sunlight has breached the room yet, but they do both stare at the companion sitting by the unlit fireplace.

Jaheira is sitting in a chair, book in hand. Yenna and Grub are a few feet away from her, still asleep.

She gives them a knowing look, smirking and whispering into the air. “Really, you two? All night?”

Aiya shakes her head and tries not to laugh. Wyll smiles and places a finger over his lips, warning her not to wake the others.

It is very much back to business once the sun is present and everyone is awake, but Karlach cannot read a room, and asks what time they got back in last night.

“Last night?” Astarion responds. “They crept in with the sunrays this morning.”

A few of their companions praise them for finally breaking the mold. Aiya is so clearly embarrassed, and Wyll pities her. But they are not too cruel, and he doesn’t care too much.

He loves her. And he wants everyone to know it.

[sangunary]

- Draw My Own Wings.

Batfam × Neglected Reader( artist )!

SYPNOSIS: Your only escape from your cruel life is in your own hands.

WARNING: Not for sensetive people! Have several triggers.

Time flew fast and things chance it was simply normal for the earth to continue orbiting it's sun until it's gone.

It was normal for a father to forget one of his children and favour the rest.

It was normal to be forgotten but it's hard to be forgotten and making it obvious you are no longer welcomed in their home.. your home.

Taken by him after seeing your pathetic self and taking pitty he brought you home in his arms as your rested. Like a baby bird nesting with it's mother.

The first time you got to rest, in the arms of an unknown man that took you in his arms with the warmth of father.

It was dangerous to be at mercy so quickly but you were just a kid, tired, dirty and who missed any physical touch. Deprived of others and normality.

You could still remember it so vividly.

You were sitting by the wooden bed scaring away the bugs and pests especially the rats.

You were hungry but didn't dare to move away, scared that they would began festing on your poor mother who haven't woken up in weeks.

The stench could turn anyone stomach into a mush of green yet your loves for your mother stood stronger. Ignoring the stench as you fought off rats and bugs.

Then he came, look at your pathetic state and convince you to stay with him, as you let go of your mothers cold hand's for the first time.

His knees was on the floor as he hug you tight, his arms wrap around your smaller frame like a father meeting their child after a long time a long and hard time.

You remembered his wonderful word that sent you to another life you've never dreamt of.

"You'll be my daughter from today... I won't leave you cold, you'll have a father..."

He himself didn't knew what came over him when he saw you, to speak so unlikely of himself to do. But his mouth moves without any warning and he embrace you.

But now that fatherly embrace and warmth was for someone else... his affection and words didn't last long with you.

He used to read you bedtime story but now he rarely speak to you directly instead he would rather stay at his son bedroom when he's asleep to check on him.

You weren't his priority anymore, your privilege of having a father rip out form your own hands before you could even enjoy it longer.

Even the eldest Dick who was very enthusiastic to meet you acted like you weren't a living breathing person.

Everyday you texted him, updating him on anything because you just wanted to talk, you've never had anyone to talk to never.

You couldn't speak at times because of all the time you shut your mouth while crying so your mother could rest in peace, the countless days you spent covering your mouth so she won't be disturbed.

Forcing yourself to not speak made you hard at speech at times, but talking to him your older brother felt natural and you liked it. He helped you reach your potential yet he left you at the edge by yourself.

You've tried reaching for his hands for him to listen to your voice hoping that he might turn back and everything will he normal again. Your difficulty in speaking only increase when he harshly push you aside.

"You shouldn't be this clingy and desperate, you're not a baby anymore and it's annoying not adorable"

His words simple yet did something weird inside your heart, this wasn't the older brother you've always idolise... He's simple grown tired of you as usual.

You two had something special a bond that you only read about it in novels.. But now he doesn't even seem to recognise your face.

Busy with the new kid as well, who was cocky and full of himself and mean. You didn't understand why they wanted to bond with him so bad for.

You've tried so hard to be likeable and for this new demon to come out of nowhere and to be better? That isn't fair.

He didn't try his hardest to fit in with everything while you did everything to be likeable, you hate the idea of being forgotten when you are already addicted to the taste of being wanted.

You've never had anything great and this kid had something already and he's greedily taking yours, infront of your eyes and unable to do anything.

Now that everything was slowly rotting infront of your eyes you couldn't handle it. Your only escape from the true world was your own art.

"Dick? Are you busy?"

you asked wanting to invite him for a hangout which you've never had in years.

Honestly the only time you even managed to have a word with him was when he was with someone else and they weren't talking, other than that he wasn't around.

Not to see you, not to talk to you and not even when you were crying at nights due to pressure and your poor health yet he never came for you.

Your first ever solution of comfort broke into pieces and taken by another face, you were jealous of course but you couldn't do anything but to watch.

"Me and Damian are going to the museum, I'll be busy"

He wasn't even looking at you, just staring at his phone typing whatever nonsense and it broke you genuinely.

"Could you call him? Im really excited to spend times with my little brother, they're growing so fast better take advantage"

He obviously doesn't see you as a younger sibling anymore, if it wasn't Damian it would be Tim or annoying Jason.

He always went out with him, never you. He acted like you had no feelings nor needs and it's unfair.

Isolation from the world was your only hope in slowing down the damage.

Your family that once loves you now replaced you with another face, that kept you wondering if you ever meant a thing... Was loving you simply a phase?

Is loving you so hard? You weren't extraordinary or anything according to yourself atleast. You've restrained your weird behaviour so they won't be weirded out yet that doesn't mean anything.

your hands are cramping from holding onto the pencil hard, you couldn't careless.

Your tears soaking the paper as you continue drawing, everything ache so badly and you wanted it gone.

Then suddenly a drop of red fell on your drawing ruining it, you sigh heavily.

Your nose was bleeding slowly, the blood dropping onto the white sheet as it got absorbed by it with poor efforts.

Your eyes felt heavy but you didn't complain just looking up as the blood still trickle down onto the sides of your face.

The drawing of Bruce, your supposed father. You have drawn the way you had remembered how you first saw him, that gentle smile and the best hug ever... How come time change people so much?

You tried to wipe the blood to no avail it soak through and smeared the blood all over his face, you turn the next page to saw that your other drawing weren't save either.

The drawing of everyone of them soaked with your blood, you almost cried because that was days of work down the drain because your stupid nose decided to bleed.

"Fucking God... Why me"

You muttered, closing the note at the verge of bursting into tears. Then suddenly something sharp hit you.

Your stomach is tearing itself, that what's it felt like atleast.

You haven't eaten well, Alfred already fed him more leaving you with less portions, always cleaning after him leaving you in the dark alone and scared.

You didn't understand why you weren't allowed basic needs.

Is it because im terrible? I've never done much, I've tried so hard to be good yet they always find a reason... to make me wish myself death.

Nothing satisfied them. Your outstanding scores you achieve with several lack of sleep that resulted into sleep paralysis every tine you slept, you've told dick about it he told you that... it was nothing compared to damian.

There again, always mentioning the slob even when it's about you, clearly nothing in this house is ever about you. You're just the adorable child for three years, easily replaceable.

Right everything you did was just behind him no matter what, no one could celebrate you without bringing him into the conversation... He was your shadow, always mentioned and speak more favourable of.

You tried so hard to not hate or be jealous but something inside of you just want him gone. Away from your family... It's a horrifying thought but your heart couldn't think of anything else better for you.

You clutch onto your stomach as you whimper in pain, you couldn't tell if it was hunger or a normal ache.

Everyone else could be sick except you, cause the moment you utter your sickness everything was always about you right.

"Im feeling unwell, my stomach is hurting..."

You told Alfred alone in the kitchen while he wash the dishes.

You've been ignoring the pain that makes eating unbearable, the feeling of food still in your intestine yet felt undigested...

"Master, you are aware that I am quite occupied as of now?"

His voice hold the same gentleness or you couldn't hear it because of the pain, the underlying annoyance.

"Alfred please, it's been like this son-"

"Master do I have to remind you that you aren't the one with bad illness constantly?"

You stood there shock, you didn't understand why he would even mentioned that... You just felt sick. You didn't mean to... Do anything bad.

"I-"

"You cannot bother or try to attract attention this way Master, those with serious illness are envious of your state yet you perform their greatest weakness... Do behaviour Master"

You were utterly shock, wanted to cry bit nothing even bother to roll out.

You stood there frozen, trying to understand what you said wrong to always be the troubled one...

"Im sorry?"

You didn't know what to do or feel. Sad because he didn't even listen or doubt... maybe he was right.

You don't speak of your illness you can't. Nobody listen, they never do.

Even starvation felt better than being ignored by the people you cared for...

Everyday you wome up you couldn't help but always think of Damian.

How Jason spent more time with him and let's not forget Jason hated your gut from the beginning.

Still to this day while he went easier on Tim towards you? He's an absolute devil on earth ro torment you.

Tim is too busy to acknowledge you as a person, he doesn't even remember your names... Just talked to you to make him some coffe and complain everytime you made them.

"It's too sweet, are you trying to poison me?"

You couldn't tell if he was joking or not, he seems serious his gaze right at yours his brows focus.

"Can't you be useful for anything?"

Alright, you understood your value.

"If you have no use then you shouldn't even be here... I don't need a complete slot as my sibling"

He seems pissed off now, you blamed it on the lack of sleep and over working himself. He wouldn't speak to you like that, right?

"Damian?"

You called his name, abit nervous he did texted you to come outside into the backyard...

He was burning something's, seems like a cramping set-up.

A big smile spread onto your face as you walk closer. Is your wish coming through, did pne of your family members finally remembered you were apart of their family?

So many questions yet no answers, he was smiling as well with a book on his hand's reading.

When you came closer and look at the fuel pf the fire it looks like books- drawing books.

Your face went pale, he threw the book he was holding into the fire you saw the cover... a pink and blue imagine, the same one Bruce gave to you on your first birthday...

You went straight for the fire, not caring how much it hurt.

He was burning your drawing books, every one of them as he watch in horror as you reach into the fire and tried to took them out.

Your hands were burning yet you didn't stop, some note contains pictures of your mother the one you have drawn tons of times to remember... You CANNOT lose them...

The skin on your hand was melting yet you didn't stop, reach inside the fire embracing it and taking the burning note out as hot tears stream down your cheeks.

"No! no no no... Please no, not this- I can't... No..."

You couldn't think straight, the pain the high emotions you were feelings and the thought of losing you mother drawing...

Damian pulled you away from the fire after he saw you reaching in without caring about the fact that your skin was melting off.

"You dumb-ass! Are you trying to intentionally kill yourself infront of me for silly books you've kept away!?"

He yelled at you furious, not because you've hurt yourself to salvage the damage he has cause because he will be in trouble now that you burnt your hands.

"No! Let go, it's still doable! I won't let you take everything from me... It's not fair!"

You scream struggle and even hit him hard for him to let you go, those silly books were everything.

You memories, the mouth when you couldn't express, the feelings you've felt you couldn't tell anyone, the image of another you with the whole family... Everything.

You've kept them hidden for a reason, browsing through each of them whenever life was killing you again.

Everyone have gone out to witness what was going on and obviously the moment they saw the red on Damian face they went off on you.

Ignoring the blood and skin that was all over the place, Damian seems shocked as well. You couldn't stop the tears and your heart from ripping itself.

"It's just some drawings books... I can always buy another, you do not need to hit your brother"

He doesn't understand the value it hold, the new one would be soul less and no love... it couldn't compare.

"You just wanted to hit Damian cause you are helping because you are a spoiled brat that cannot go without attention"

"They shouldn't be here... They only caust trouble for us"

"This is utterly unacceptable Master Bruce, this is a behaviour of a child with no decipline"

Your books were gone... You were sent to your room and Damian was being taken care of... Well they bandage your hands but Damian was still being cared for but much longer..

You tried to draw but you couldn't, the pain was all over the place after the adrenaline wear off.

You couldn't draw... You're dead. You are no longer important, you are to be dead.

You covered your face with your hands as panick sets in, your only escape from everything was gone...

Now you truly are over.

"No... I am dead"

You utter quietly, ever since Damian came into the picture your only superiority was drawing... He was good but not as much as you, afterall you practice till you puke.

Your only talent that surpress the love child... Was now gone, it would be the same thing as dying if you couldn't even be of use now...

Bruce who decided to check up on you to discuss about your behaviour and maybe sending you away came inside.

"We need to talk, your action towards Damian is un-"

He stood frozen, your door creaking as it open further. His blood went cold and the word left his mouth completely.

Your body on the ground with foam seeping out of your mouth, your eyes wide open as a bottle was on your hands.

The same pills he have given to you to ease your stomachache, the one he didn't tell you anything about or how to ingest them... He didn't wanted to waste him time talking about that with you.

Next to you was a paper, a drawing... The mast thing you drew a butterfly with incomplete wings, it was messy and it felt like it was drawn by a young child.

Bruce remembered now... He remembered your soft small hands on his as you would smile at him brightly speaking nonsense.

"I like butterflies, they're free to do whatever... When I die I want to be one! Dad I promise to always visit you if I became one!"

Today was the day you've met him... The day he opened his arms so willingly for a stray he's just met...

What have he done?

[bluukive]

This is my first time actually making a request/ ask of any kind because I feel like such a pervert 🫣 but could you possibly write how the JJk guys would react to a reader who’s a surprise squriter? -🦎

!MDNI: Surprise? - JJK

an - I actually know nothing about sqwuirting so this might be unrealistic? Ty for the ask tho <3

ᡣ𐭩 G. Satoru

Starts crying

Like he's so dramatic about it, lower lip jutted out as he thinks 'Oh, shit. My girl's a supersoaker???', all whilst he's staring at your twitching body below him.

Tries giving you a high-five, ignoring the fact you're boneless right now. You can't really blame him, he's beyond excited. Probably just ends up slapping your thigh.

He's brought back into reality when your pussy refuses to let him go almost, gripping him like a vice.

Says he needs to see you do it again for 'scientific purposes' - he's got his phone out with the flash on, recording from all angles possible as his fingers slide in and out, curl up inside you with his face as close to your pussy as possible so that he can throw a cheeky wink at the camera.

Non-stop yapper after, like... worse than usual. He's laying on his belly in bed, legs swinging as he goes on and on about how flattered he is and how you must love him so much

ᡣ𐭩 G. Suguru

Quiet when it happens. He just stares for a while before exhaling and pulling his cock out of you. Suguru's head is tilted as he admired his still pulsing length. It as hard as ever, but the only difference now is that it's glistening with your release.

Slaps his cock against your clit, smirking when you curl in on yourself due to overstimulation. Will also whisper about how nasty of a slut you are, getting his dick wet like that

He restrains you (consensually ofc) with whatever he can. Suguru wants to see you frustrated, so he'll use anything to edge you, whether that be his tongue, fingers, toys. etc.

Dare I say when you finally orgasm and squirt again, he comes untouched too. He developed a fascination with edging just because it made that final release all the more satisfying for you both

All cuddles and praise after, but he's thinking of different ways to make you do it again

ᡣ𐭩 T. Fushiguro

Nearly stops completely, cursing as his hips falter. You've been folded in half when it happens, and the spurts of your release hit his aps, coating them in a glossy sheen that he's staring down at. Feels his heart thumping in his ears, Toji's that turned on

Smug as hell once he's recovered (acting like he didn't pull out and squeeze his cock slightly to prevent himself from cumming on the spot)

Runs his entire hand down both his abs and chest and makes you lick it all clean after staring at it. You swear it looked like he was rebooting, and you mentally log it in your head to tease him about it later.

Once that's all done, your knees are practically by your ears as he pushes your legs back even further (idek how that's possible, my fatass could never). Toji's swearing to wring you out like a damn towel, determined to make you do it again

You both end up overstimulated, Toji just couldn't stop himself from getting hard whenever he saw your pussy gush all over him

ᡣ𐭩 N. Kento

Mr. Short-circuit pt 2 yessir. Starts saying stuff like 'Did I do that to you?, 'Was that because of me?', and he knows damn well it was all him.

You squirt for the first time when he's eating you out, actually. His glasses are covered in stray drops of your orgasm, and he politely wipes them clean, all whilst taking a moment to smile privately. He's made you do that, no-one else. Nanami's face is a pretty pink throughout it all.

First makes sure you're okay. After all, your comfort is Nanami's priority above everything else. He wants verbal confirmation that you felt good, a nod isn't good enough.

Once you give him that shaky 'yes', something shifts in Nanami. He's borderline clinical with how he touches and inspects your pussy after. His glasses are off, and his eyes remain trained on your pussy whilst he's fucking into you.

A thumb stays on your clit throughout it all, and he's changing the pace of the focused digit. When Nanami feels like you're close to orgasm, he slows down. He's unintentionally edging you, but neither of you are complaining when your back arches off the bed for the nth time that night

Thanks you when you squirt, for trusting him this much

ᡣ𐭩 S. Ryomen

Pretends that it's an inconvenience when you accidentally squirt on him. He's actually hiding how obsessed he is with you at that moment

Grabs your face, practically snarling when he degrades you. Sukuna's hissing out commands, talking about how you've soiled him. It's apparently now your duty to squirt again with ONLY his permission

It's become a challenge for him to make you soak his body over and over, and he's dragging his tongue all over your cunt when it happens (even if that means he has to pull his cock/s out of you)

Calls you weak multiple times. Frankly doesn't care if you're crying, he'll just lick the tears right back up. Time to recover from an orgasm is practically non-existent

Develops a need to have you ride his thigh at least once a day whilst he's on his throne. It's a way for him to humiliate you, making you buck your hips like you're in heat until he can feel the wetness coat the thick muscle.

[skyahri]

How They'd Do You |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Sasuke Uchiha, Kakashi Hatake, Shikamaru Nara, Madara Uchiha, and Naruto Uzumaki.

Summary: How they are in bed.

Warnings: NSFW. Mentions of sex and foreplay. Breeding kink, breast and nipple play, head, etc.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Sasuke Uchiha

Sasuke isn't one to give up control very easily, especially when he's in any sort of vulnerable state.

More often than not, he's on top of you, forcing your legs against your chest and not holding anything back as he thrusts into you.

On the rare occasion he allows you to top, he's still 100% in control. He always ends up taking over towards the end when he can't take it anymore. His release is close, and something in his brain is begging him to rail you.

He wouldn't be into actual choking in fear he'd lose control of his strength, but he's not afraid to use your neck as a handle of sorts to keep your body from moving too much.

Hes the embodiment of a breeding kink.

He's close to his end. He places his hand on your stomach and forces his seed in you.

If he's still got stamina, he's pushing you onto your hands and knees for round two, ass high up in the air.

"Not a single drop spills. Got it?"

Emergency contraceptive is your best friend, but let's be real. It fails sooner rather than later based on the sheer amount you rely on it.

Kakashi Hatake

Foreplay king. He loves head, both giving and receiving, sometimes even at the same time. Nipple play, fingering, whatever it is you're needing, he's providing.

Passionate.

When he does share his mind, it's never a light matter, and sex is no different.

Kissing, hand holding, praising - it's all a very important part of the act for him. He's pouring his heart and soul into you every time you're together.

But don't get it wrong, he's still a man. Those sweet nothings and soft whispers about how much he loves you quickly turn into dirty talk.

"You're such a good girl."

"You look so pretty wrapped around my cock."

"You're mine, you know that?"

He definitely sticks his fingers in your mouth.

After a certain point, he let's his dick do the thinking for him. You don't mind one bit.

He's all about aftercare. Rags or showers or just physical contact, whatever you want, he's got it. He knows he's not always the best at taking care of you, but this is one instance where he's confident about what he's doing.

Shikamaru Nara

My man is lazy and that doesn't change, even in the bedroom.

He usually doesn't go down on you but enjoys when you sit on his face. He'll wrap his arms around to grip your thighs. He's never one to turn down head but doesn't really make foreplay a priority.

Some might call him a pillow princess at first glance, but it's deeper than that. He has the control, he just let's you do the work most of the time.

You may be on top, but his strong grip and guiding fingers tell you exactly what to do.

Sometimes, he doesn't care for the pleasantries that come with dragging it out. He'll nestle between your legs and let his head dip down to your neck.

Lazy thrusts, but that's fine. Deeper is always better than faster.

He doesn't really do dirty talk, but he's definitely not silent. He's vocal, always groaning, maybe he'll tell you that he loves you if he's feeling a certain way.

Madara Uchiha

Most of the time, he's hate fucking you.

There's no time for foreplay when he's immediately slamming you against the wall when he gets home.

Despite all the anger radiating off of him as he mercilessly thrusts into you, he's calling you the sweetest nicknames he can think of. Love or Darling or something of the sort.

He always finishes inside. You're not sure if he's just too busy letting his frustration out to think, or if he's actively trying to get you pregnant.

It's both... sort of. For him, anger is just passion and fuel. It has nothing to do with his actions. He's pumping you full of his cum because he likes to claim you. He wants you to bare his children. He wants people to know you're his.

Aftercare isn't as straightforward for him. He's not offering to clean you up, but he tries to find ways to subtly apologize for turning you into a toy.

Naruto Uzumaki

Naruto runs on pure instinct in every aspect of his life.

He's doing what feels right in the moment and confirming it with you if it's something he's unsure about. (Consent is key).

He's a people pleaser. He's always making sure he takes care of you before he even thinks about himself. Eating you out, fingering, breast play, whatever you want.

He's sloppy. It's just something that always emerges with him. He's placing wet kisses on your neck, his hand placement can sometimes be a bit awkward, but it all adds to the experience.

His head gets so foggy with love and lust that he honestly can't think straight. The way his body takes control and he ravages you in an almost primal way, it's to die for.

[sugarwarachan]

summary: A city-wide blackout leads to some questionable decisions on Eraserhead's part: for four nights in a row now, Aizawa Shouta has been watching you get yourself off. Is tonight the night he joins in? pairing: aizawa shouta x reader wc: 1.7k content warnings: SMUT mdni, dark content, stalker!aizawa, stalking, voyeurism, dubcon, power imbalance (pro hero/civilian, ya know) voice kink, dirty talk, aizawa's big dick, truly don't know if his quirk helps him see in the dark but i don't care

The watching starts before Aizawa knows how to stop it.

One minute, he’s on patrol during the worst blackout the city’s ever seen; the next, he’s looking into your room and watching you get undressed.

You stopped him dead in his tracks, all plush curves and soft skin, almost otherworldly in the cool blue dark. Maybe that’s why he stayed that first time, frozen on the ledge of a neighboring building, watching you writhe and whimper on a purple dildo.

He has no excuse for why he returns the second and the third night, only that he's hungry for more, that the cover of dark in a still imperiled city is making it easier for him to accept the dark desire churning in his veins that he needs to know exactly what you sound like when you stuff yourself full.

He takes a shaky breath, cold air stinging his cheeks. Darkness blankets the city as thoroughly as gauze, a hazy film that puts anyone with eyes that aren’t his at a disadvantage.

He can see you perfectly, surrounded in your bedroom by candles and wearing those sleep shorts that hug the meat of your ass so well he has to palm his dick roughly through his pants, grunting into his fist.

You can’t see him.

Aizawa pulls out a burner phone before he can stop himself and punches in your number. Your face scrunches adorably at the unfamiliar caller, but you answer all the same.

“Hello?”

Fuck. You’ve got a voice like heaven, soft and low and sweet.

“Hi,” is all he can think to say, and he sucks in a breath when your nipples pebble under your thin cami.

You like his voice already. That’s good. He can work with that.

“Who is this?”

You’d be lying if you didn’t already have a suspicion. Just because you don’t have a quirk doesn’t mean you don’t have senses; you clocked him the first night he watched you out in that expansive dark, the gleam of something like goggles shining in the dark.

You don’t know why you kept touching yourself, why his gaze on you made your heart race instead of reach for the phone to call the cops.

Not much good they’d do anyway. They’d just send Mr. Pro Hero outside, or someone like him.

“Does it matter who I am?”

His voice is everything you like. Deep and rumbling, a little rasp raking over the syllables and zipping up your spine.

“Guess not.” You shrug one shoulder; the strap of your cami slides down. On cue, you hear the faintest inhale of air. Dude must have fucking super vision. “Why did you keep coming back?”

You almost roll your eyes at how off-route your priorities are. There’s been a man watching you fuck yourself, and you’re hung up on specifics?

“You’re beautiful,” he says, simply, like he’s rattling off stock prices, but it makes your heart stop all the same. “Why is it you’re alone?”

You can't help but laugh. “You’re not pulling the ‘you’re too pretty to be alone’ card, are you?”

He laughs, too, a soft rumble that crackles the phone with static. “So what if I am? The only action I’ve seen you get the past few days is when that toy of yours disappears between your legs.”

Arousal knocks the wind out of you. Heat flushes up your hairline.

Another low chuckle on his end. “Embarrassed, pretty girl?”

You walk up to the window, peer out into the dark night. You can’t make anything out other than shadows.

“How many times have you watched me now?”

“You don’t know? Seemed like you were putting on a show.”

His teasing tone makes your cunt clench.

“Four days now, sweetheart,” like he’s counting down your anniversary, not how often he’s spied on you masturbating. “What were you thinking about last night that had you shuddering and gasping like that? Knew I had to get your number just so I could hear you fall apart.”

This is wrong this is wrong this is wrong is blaring on repeat in your head, but that’s increasingly falling to the wayside with every word that falls out of this stranger’s mouth. Your sleep shorts slide between your folds. Blood rushes in your ears as your heart beats in your throat. You feel so turned on it’s like every cell is alight, responding to the chemical reaction that is the man on the other side of the window.

It’s cold tonight. The window sticks just like it always does when you open it up, the cool night air a balm for your arousal-drenched skin.

You don’t address him; you’re not really sure why, but you like not knowing where he is, a figure in the dark hell bent on nothing more than watching you cum.

You settle back down on your bed, crossing your legs and groaning a little. You’re damp and sticky and so turned on it’s already starting to hurt.

“I was thinking about you,” you answer honestly. "I like your voice.” Your own shakes, with a mixture of lust and fear and excitement. “Can you talk to me?”

“Of course I can talk to you.” His voice drops another octave, takes on an even more gravelly tone. Your whole body erupts in goosebumps. “What’s my pretty girl wanna hear?”

“Anything,” you say, and you mean it. This man could probably read you the directions to a microwave meal and get you off. “You can see me, right?”

“Mmhmm,” he intones.

“Then tell me how to touch myself. Like if you were here.”

Aizawa crushes the phone in his grip so tightly he hears it crack.

You’re already squirming on your bed, sitting on your fucking hands like you’re waiting for permission. His heart kicks up against his ribs, his cock jumping violently against his uniform.

“I can do that, sweetheart.”

You smile, tuck your chin into your chest like his attention is all of a sudden making you shy. He wonders if you’re doing it to tease him, or if he’s bringing it out of you. It doesn't matter either way; he's harder than he's been in his entire life.

“Lay back down on the bed for me, yeah?” You comply instantly. “Make sure I can see that gorgeous cunt, baby, don’t be hiding from me.”

Your breath hitches. You scoot forward just enough, and the flickering candlelight plays over your skin like water. His mouth dries up at the sight.

“Spread yourself open, use those pretty hands of yours.”

You part your folds, the pad of your middle finger gathering up the arousal pooling between your legs. “Jesus—fuck—look at you, gorgeous. All that just for me?”

He sees you nod.

“You gotta talk to me too, sweetheart. Use that cute mouth of yours.”

You choke out a little whine that blacks out his vision.

“S-sorry. I don’t understand how it feels so fucking good already.”

Your hips move in little circles, chasing your release.

“How many toys do you have there with you?”

“A few. Why?”

“Which is the biggest?”

You huff out a disbelieving giggle. “You’re not doing that thing where you lie about your endowments, are you?”

The grin that crosses his mouth is wild, hungry. He wasn’t planning on touching himself tonight; only wanted to tease you in the dark until he splattered the front of his pants like a teenager. But your tone is making him ignore his earlier impulses as he tugs out his cock and snaps a photo of it, hard and heavy and leaking in his palm.

He sends it.

You’re silent for a moment. He sees your legs press together before he hears—

“Fuck,” you whimper, so desperately it’s like he can see your mouth water. “I don’t—I don’t have anything as big as you.”

His cock literally jumps in his hand. Pre-cum oozes from the tip; he stuffs it back into his briefs before he can change his mind.

“You can’t tell me things like that. Makes me want to climb through your window and stuff you full with what you really need.” The muscles in his stomach bunch as he fights for composure. “Take out that purple toy of yours. It’ll be enough for now, ‘kay princesss? Don’t whine for things you can’t have.”

It’s an admonishment to himself, too.

“Don’t turn it on just yet. Get it all nice and wet, pretty girl, I know you’re fucking dripping.”

You follow instructions in a way that soothes the miasma of thoughts in his head. Here the world makes sense again. Here he can do good.

“Can I know your name?” You pant. He watches you trace small caresses across your belly, the soft undersides of your tits.

God, he wants his teeth on you, devouring you whole.

Against his better judgement, he tells you. “Sho is fine.”

“Okay. Sho,” you breathe it out in an overdrawn sexy drawl, but fuck, even his shortened name is enough to make that low-belly punch of arousal spike.

“Inch that toy in nice and slow, honey, go on now, stop being a tease.” He watches the tip start to part you open, your ragged gasp harsh in his ear. “If I was there, we’d be stretching out your little cunt for hours, make sure you’re ready for me. I could probably sit you on just the tip of my dick and make you cum. Isn't that right, sweetheart? You're fucking shaking and I haven't even touched you—”

“Sho,” you’re pleading, and it’s making his head fucking spin. “Can I turn it on, please? Let me turn it on—”

“Of course you can, baby, that’s it, look at you.” Your legs are spread obscenely, arousal dripping from your hole, glistening on your thighs and core. “Show me you how you like it, sweet girl, show me how you want me to fuck you next time, yeah?”

Aizawa feels each shuddering gasp and keening moan like you’re there beside him. Your orgasm overtakes you, back bowing off the bed, his name like a prayer on your lips. His hips jerk as he watches you, one hand tight on the phone, the other pressing against the pulsing-hot ache of his cock as he ruts into his palm.

His phone pings a moment later as he's catching his breath, a too-dark picture of the mess between your thighs and a text:

[y/n]: Come back tomorrow <3

a/n: actively launching myself into outer space!!! part two!

[flwrkid14]

Had the silliest idea while making breakfast.. what if Damian’s Favorite Brother is Tim, but for the Dumbest Reason...pancakes

My idea is that Tim is Damian’s favorite brother, but not for the reasons one might expect. It’s not because of Tim’s skill, his smarts, or his ability to stay three steps ahead in every fight. Nope. Damian’s real reason for favoring Tim over Dick, Jason, or even Bruce is much simpler.

It’s because Tim makes the best pancakes. Like, legendary pancakes.

Not even kidding.

One morning, Tim casually whips up a batch of pancakes in the kitchen—y’know, because Alfred’s off running errands and the rest of the family doesn’t know the first thing about breakfast beyond opening a box of cereal, and Tim's been feeding himself since he was six. So Tim steps up to the stove, and bam—fluffy, golden stacks of heaven.

Damian, who never really cared for breakfast, takes one bite of Tim’s pancakes and is sold. From that moment on, he’s obsessed.

“Drake, you will make me those pancakes again tomorrow."

And Tim just blinks, completely confused, but shrugs it off like, “Uh, sure?”

The next morning, Damian’s right there in the kitchen, bright and early, waiting for his daily dose of pancake perfection. By the third day, he’s even dragging a chair next to Tim, watching like a hawk as Tim cooks, making sure he’s using the right ingredients.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Batfamily is just like, “Really? This is the thing that bonds them?”

Tim, being Tim, just rolls with it. He doesn’t ask questions. If Damian wants pancakes, Damian gets pancakes. He’s just trying to survive his new role as “Pancake Master.”

But Damian? Oh, he’s serious about this.

Damian tells anyone who will listen that Tim is the only one who knows how to make breakfast properly. He’ll give the other brothers side-eye anytime they dare to suggest they could cook for him. Even Alfred raises an eyebrow, but Damian’s already set: Tim’s pancakes or nothing.

What’s even funnier is that when Damian gets pissed off at anyone, he refuses to eat their cooking. But Tim? Untouchable. The one person who can screw up as many times as he wants and still be in Damian’s good graces—because those pancakes? Irreplaceable.

So, while the Batfamily argues over strategy, patrols, or who gets to drive the Batmobile, Damian's priorities are clear:

"You’re all amateurs. Drake’s the only one who makes pancakes worthy of the Wayne name.”

And now, Tim’s been promoted to Damian’s favorite brother for the silliest reason imaginable. But hey, if the key to Damian’s heart is pancakes, Tim’s got that title locked down.

[mixingandmelting]

Hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with a reader who makes it very obvious they’re crushing on the batboys? For not serious situations, they’re sweeter and just more in a good mood whenever the boys are around? Blushes a lot around them and the boys don’t have to be talking directly to them? (Crush can talk to the bat boys normally if the situations serious). (Crush has normal conversations with others people. But goes around telling other super hero friends or just normal friends whenever the bat boys is brought up by other people, they think the bat boys are cute. And always hyping them up to their friends/and the batboy friends even when the batboys are there).

Dick:

He’s flattered really. Yes, unfortunately for everyone, he’s quite aware that he’s attractive but it’s not something he often pays attention to. With trying to protect the world and fighting crime 24/7, being attractive is the last of his priority. But when you gush about him- his abilities, ideals, skills, him as a person - he preens. Sure, he’ll get flustered when you go off on how great he is (and how cute which really takes him off guard) despite the fact he’s right there. And of course he covers himself with the good old classic of clearing his throat even though the corner of his lips won’t stop twitching and the blush on his face gets worse by the second. It’s adorable really. You’re so obvious from how you fan over him whenever he’s brought up in conversations and completely burning when it’s just the two of you and all he’s doing is standing next to you. He sometimes struggles to keep his intrusive thoughts to himself, to tease and see if you can possibly flush even more if he were to poke or “accidentally” brush against you. Though, he’s starting to think you’re doing it on purpose and trying to trip him up when you become completely normal when he’s talking about a mission only to go back on talking about how cute and amazing he is to the person next to you (extra kudos to you when you somehow successfully get the other become a fellow Nightwing stan). Still cute though.

Jason:

People often think he’s dense in the romantic field. From being dead to being back alive and being all rough and reckless, all the typical stuff. It’s truly unfortunate (not really) that that’s not the case and he knows you have a crush on him. Like seriously? It’s so obvious, he’s concerned if there are people who can’t tell that you have a crush on him. The problem is that he doesn’t know what warranted it. He knows he’s quite a shot. Perhaps not as much as Dick given his personality and dark humor, but he has charmed plenty of women with his looks. However, being a former crime lord to now a vigilante outlaw isn’t really all that  glorious or something that gets others to swoon over… So yeah, he doesn’t know why you would get all hyped up over him whenever he’s brought up in conversations. Whether he’s there or not, you would rave over him which gets him to do a double take and play with his helmet or muzzle, whichever one he chooses to wear, because suddenly he’s feeling a bit too hot and needs some air to cool his face. All he does is stand next to you and when it’s you and him alone, he sometimes worries how red you get. He won’t lie, seeing you smile more because he’s there makes his heart itch and grin a bit. Plus, he doesn’t mind as much as others would think since you know when to get back to normal and become serious when things are serious.

Tim:

Someone save him. Someone please save him. You have an obvious crush on him and he has no idea what to do. In fact, he didn’t think anyone would possibly develop a crush on him as big as yours. He’s Red Robin and the former third Robin not many people really take note of. Well other than he’s Batman’s former sidekick and also fights crimes like the rest of the Bat family. You, on the other hand, are making it your life mission to tell everyone how incredible he is. Doesn’t matter where, when, and if he’s right there or not. The minute he’s brought up, boom. You’re off describing him in every way possible. Amazing, intellectual. Also what do you mean he’s cute? Since when was he considered cute? A part of him is on to you, wanting to believe this is all a set-up. A prank set up by his friends or family. The other part, he can’t keep a calm facade around you, covering his face with one or both hands to hide the blush that goes down his face to the base of his neck. There’s also lots of fake coughing and clearing his throat involved. Lots, to cover the happy tingles he gets, registering there’s someone who acknowledges his efforts and  talents. It gets worse and he gets even more conscious when you’re matching his expression when the two of you are alone. He’s grateful that at least you’re back to normal when things are going down at least. 

Duke:

Okay. Wow. You have a crush on him and it’s painfully obvious. There’s a first time for everything and this? This is definitely a first. Forget about Tim and his whole deal with Red Robin, some of the villains in Gotham don't even know his name. That should be telling how low in the pyramid he is. Not that it matters to you apparently. He’s with you and his group of friends and he can hear all the things you say about him given he’s right there. And it doesn’t stop you from fawning over his powers, his fighting and detective abilities, and- uhm ok. Good to know you’re into his looks. He lost track how many times this happened. He does remember by the end, he’s rubbing his face and resigning to sigh through his nose in lieu of groaning out loud. You describe him as if he’s the world’s finest. He can feel the heat radiating off his whole head and body so he has a pretty good idea how he looks. It’s better when he’s alone with you. Your face is burning and he does everything to make the vibe less awkward. It doesn’t work and he makes it more awkward as his mind and your face now resembling a tomato reminds him you have a crush on him. He does wonder how in the world you’re able to snap back to normal so quickly when he’s going through heavy material with you. All fan-vibe gone, you’re listening and giving input which are often good points and covers any areas that were missed. 

Damian:

He doesn’t understand your behavior. One moment you’re fine, societal “normal” according to what those around him taught him. You’re casually chatting, making jokes, and expressing emotions like anyone else. On another, you’d suddenly be jumping around and praising him all over the place the second someone drops his name. Disregarding how he stands literally behind you and his cheeks completely pink, gradually turning to red, he thinks of you being just as embarrassing when Dick or someone else in the family brags about him. His skills with the katana, compassion for animals- he can somewhat tolerate that. He completely disagrees over him being hot-cold. He is not hot-cold. His personality also does not resemble a cat. Also how is he cute? He’s far from the word cute, period. Then there’s when you’re alone with him. Face completely rosy and dusted in pink. Every single time without fail, it’s only you and him. All he’s doing is standing next to you and instead of being either normal or chaotic, you’re suddenly blushing. He had entertained the idea of you having interest in him. Until he brings up a new case to you. It’s concerning how you go back to being normal and, surprisingly, making plausible conclusions that help him find a new lead. So despite what everyone around tells him that you have a crush on him, he’s having a hard time seeing it. You are sweeter when he’s around but he feels as though having a crush doesn’t associate with split personalities.

[whowantshota]

DADDY'S HOME —— kim mingyu

in which your husband comes home late on valentines. but it's okay, he has his ways of making it up to you.

warnings ☆ MATURE CONTENT AHEAD. smut, husband!mingyu, somno, gyu is pussy whipped, kim mingyu x afab!reader

i get off work late today :/ 

c u ltr, ok?

You frown at the texts, irritability rubbing your thumb against your temples. 

This is not the first time your husband has texted you that he’d be late from work, oh of course not. You understand—-sometimes, his schedule is tight and that makes work the temporary number one priority. You obviously mean more to Mingyu than his paycheck.

Or so you thought. You groan, flopping back onto the couch miserably. Mingyu has come late at night at least twice a week for the past month now, so it should be a normal occurrence. At least, if tonight wasn’t Valentine's.

Yes, today was the commercial holiday that pisses about off half the world. And funnily enough, Mingyu had only sworn to you three major things in his life. One, good dick. Two loving you. And three, that he’d never miss Valentine's day. 

While the last one was mostly a long inside joke from before you got married, you’re still glancing worriedly at the clock. 9:30 and you’re still holed up alone in your apartment, a box of chocolates with his name on it set on top of the kitchen table. 

Mingyu hadn’t promised you a dinner date at a restaurant tonight —you both knew that wouldn't fit with his schedule. But he had promised to cook you something romantic, pour you a glass of wine, and then fuck you till you see stars. 

And being very honest, you think you would’ve loved that much more than a night out. Loved it so much, by the way you’re sneaking your hand into your panties. Pushing one, two fingers in; but it's never good enough—it'll never be Mingyu. 

So you quit early, stand up because you're tired of waiting around. He’ll be home tomorrow. You can wash up now, clean up and see him later. It’ll be fine. You can celebrate then, right?

★ . *- .

Mingyu didn’t think he’d be making up Valentines like this. When he thought about it on the way home, he had pictured at dinner out at your favorite restaurant, or flowers and an even bigger gift basket than the ones he had already bought for you. 

But, you didn’t hear the crack of the door, or the creek of the apartment floors when he walked in. You didn’t even hear when the loud thunk! when his work bag hit the floor. Or when he sets down the heart shaped pendant Joshua had picked out on top of a pink gift basket he had planned to give you much earlier.

He realized then, that you would not be waking up for a while. You were tired, basically passed out. He does feel bad for making you wait so long, but shit, he swears his cock never throbbed as hard as it did when he caught the sight of your sleeping figure curled up in bed. Only in a small tee and new pair of panties he got you a couple of weeks ago. Fuck, you look perfect.

So he went, took a shower and got dressed before laying next to you in bed. You murmur something when his arm wraps around you, snuggling into him. But you don’t wake up.

“Pretty,” he mumbles, slowly running his thumb over the skin of your cheek. He pokes you a couple of times with a finger. You look so cute—eyes shut with your mouth partially open. You might’ve been drooling even. 

His hand dips down to your torso, rests on your hip. He was nearly starting to fall asleep too, blinking in a poor attempt to keep himself up too. And right then, you just had to shuffle, pushing back against him. A small noise slips past his lips when the curve of your ass pressed against his clothed, semi-hard cock.

Poor Gyu, stuck in bed while you’re sound asleep. How’s he supposed to take care of that? He feels his cock twitch again, grip on your hip tightening just barely.

It wouldn’t be a problem if he just helped himself, right? Inhaling, his hand moves a bit further, hooking around the bottom of your panties. He prods against the warmth of your entrance pushing a finger in.

Fuck, you’re so wet. He can hear the sound of your slick when he presses another finger inside. It’s almost as if your cunt is begging for him to fuck you. And it’s only right that what his lovely wife and her pretty cunt wants, they get. 

Mingyu pulls his fingers out, sucks on it. Moving slowly, he climbs until he’s hovering over your still figure. There’s a tight feeling in his core, dick hard as pulls the crotch of your panties to the side. He pulls the waistband of his sweats down, groaning when cold air hits his cock. He spreads your legs a little wider, teases himself against your pussy.

Mingyu sees Heaven when the tip slips past your entrance. Swears he could cum on the spot. You’re so warm, so soft. It’s not his fault, you’re the one who lured him into this trap.

He can do a little more than the tip. You haven’t moved yet, still partially twisted one way with your legs spread wide for him. You were just made to take his cock, weren’t you?

He should have been making up Valentines with a picnic date in the park. Should have been thinking about what he’ll cook you for breakfast tomorrow morning, if he’ll deliver it to you with a card and a rose.

Instead, he’s got you trapped under him on the mattress, seemingly so passive and docile as you sleep, not conscious of the fact that he’s got you stuffed with his fat cock. He wonders if you’re dreaming about it now. You’re not necessarily a deep sleeper, so he’s surprised you don’t wake up when he bottoms out.

He doesn’t know what to say, can’t even speak. You feel so good, too good. Cunt wrapped around him, clenching. He’d kiss you if you were awake right now, but you’re not so he’ll settle with what he has. He fucks a soft thrust into you, watching for your reaction. Your breath catches, but you don’t do more than that.

“Perfect. You’re just perfect, baby.” He groans, pulling out until the tip before he forces himself back in. You let out a moan, arching so slightly. Mingyu thumbs your nipple through your shirt, speeding up the pace of his strokes.

He dips his head to press a kiss to your sternum, lips skimming and peppering kisses along your collarbone next. 

You twist just barely under his hold, eyes fluttering open. You’re still coming to, blurry eyes barely making out the sight of Mingyu’s body caging over you. Whining, you bite your down on your lip when you feel the stupidly fat cock slowly fucking into your cunt.

“Hey baby,” Mingyu murmurs, now kissing the side of your neck. Your whimpers get louder, and you move one arm and snake your it over his shoulder. He groans when you clench on him, sucking harder on your skin. “Don’t worry baby, daddy’s home.”

Tiredly, you rub your eyes with your free hand. There’s pleasure building in your stomach rapidly, and you start to force yourself to sink deeper onto his cock. “Gyu– daddy, please.” You cry, fucking back on him. 

You hear him hum in response, but you can’t answer. Not when he’s picking up the pace of his strokes, pushing hard, deep thrusts into your tight cunt. “Yeah baby? Come on, tell daddy what you need.” He teases, pushing your legs back before moving to grope your ass cheeks with his big hands.

Now that you’re awake, Mingyu tightens his grip, fucking into you harder. “Need Daddy to help you cum, hm?” He says, voice playful. As if he wasn’t the one whimpering and fucking himself into your pussy moments ago. 

“Couldn’t help it, you looked so good.” He murmurs. His hips are starting to buck into your sloppily, You mewl, nodding. Pretty sure you might even be drooling but you couldn’t give a fuck. Everything feels too good, and you’ve got no idea what’s going on. Mingyu says something you can’t hear, kisses along your jawline before he presses his lips to yours.

You can barely make out the “Happy Valentines.” he whispers, cumming too hard. Your cunt clenching around his dick, mouth falling open. He wants to spit in it, call you a slut, but he can’t when he feels you pulse around his cock. 

Gyu’s eyes roll back, and he lets out a low hiss, warm cum filling up your cunt. His body flops over yours, sweaty chest pressing to the front of your shirt. You run a hand through his hair, kiss his nape softly. “Someones late,” you joke, voice breathy.

“I know. ‘M sorry.” he says, moving down so that his head lies on your chest. He loves the feeling of you tugging on his hair slightly, ruffling his hair.

He looks up suddenly, disheveled but handsome as ever. “I’ll make it up. Wine and spa?” 

You laugh, seeing the way he pouts. He looks like a giant puppy, cuddled up into you. You love it, love it so much you’re not even remotely bothered by the mess on cum or the fact that he still hasn’t pulled out. Pushing his hair back with a hand, you kiss him on the forehead once more. “Sure. Happy Valentines.”

didn't realize that even tho it's still valentines in my country, it's late in other places :( happy valentines! not beta read

[womanofwords]

Frozen Heart (Part 5)

TW: hospitals, descriptions of injuries.

The first non-Alfred person to visit you was Dick. Sunshine boy, golden retriever Dick Grayson. Waltz-in-like-nothing's-wrong Dick Grayson. Baby talk big bro Dick Grayson.

Ick.

"Baby bird!" he trilled, sweeping himself into a chair next to your bed. "How have you been doing, little buddy?"

"How do you think?" you asked, staring at him with a bruised face. Dick looked at you with warm, large eyes. He looked at you like he wanted to fix you himself, bring down the swelling of your bruises and lull you to sleep.

"You know, Y/N, we're worried about you. We thought you were about to die. We had no idea what to do if we ever lost you."

You snorted. No idea? Was that the best he could come up with? "I already know what you would have done, Dick. Nothing."

Dick's smile faltered. "What?"

"You wouldn't have done anything. I was not your priority. I was a burden to be filed away. I tried talking to you guys about being bullied, and none of you cared. Why do you only want me now I've been broken? Are you drawn to things that are ruined?"

"You're not ruined," Dick placated. "You're just injured. And I'm going to find who did this to you, I swear, Y/N."

"Really? I doubt it. Maybe you're just saying you'll find them, but then you forget about it and go on with your life," you scoffed. "You aren't going to find anybody or anything. You'll just reschedule the investigation into oblivion."

"What? No no no no no, Y/N, I'll do it! Honestly, little wing, I-"

You cut him off. "Go home, Dick. Someone has to be the friendly face of the Wayne family, and it certainly won't be me."

Dick's hand clamped itself down over his mouth. Where had your happiness gone? You used to be such a sweet, happy kid, bouncing around the walls of the manor. But here you were, frail and almost deflated on a hospital bed, and your eyes had no spark in them.

But had you lost that spark because of the beating you'd received, or had it been absent for much longer than that?

Dick rushed out of the hospital crying his eyes out, not caring that he was being photographed. "Little wing," he sobbed, once he was safely in his room.

"Wasn't Y/N happy to see you, Master Dick?" Alfred asked. The wails grew louder, as if to answer him.

"I'll take that as a no, Master Dick."

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Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia, @kittzu, @justwannabecat, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @vanessa-boo, @jscrawls, @sirenetheblogger.

[kisses4kaia]

— in love with him so. (18+ mdni. nsfw content below the cut.) also such a fun way to make my comeback hehe hope u love ♥️

not many could have predicted luke castellan was a virgin.

in all his grandeur and glory and valor, the greatest swordsman at camp has only ever felt that carnal pleasure derived from his own fist. it’s not like it’s a priority of his or anything, what with planning for a war between gods taking dramatic precedent over mere lust.

however you, on the other hand, weren’t necessarily the ‘opposite’ per se, but you still liked to let loose every once in a while—with sneaking away at bonfires and parties kept clandestine from chiron, you found worthwhile hook-ups here and there amidst the chaos of demigod life.

so when you find yourself straddling luke with lips and teeth and tongues in a heated clash, surprise settles over you when the whispered confession slips past his lips. “i—i haven’t done anything like… this before. is that… is that okay?”

to see the pure symbol of confidence and surety stumble over his words because of you and what was to come at your hands was a gratifying feat, but you didn’t want to drive him away by poking fun.

“that’s okay, we can go slow,” your words were meant to be reassuring, but luke’s eyes widen as he shakes his head vigorously. “no, no. i want you—all of you. don’t hold back. please.” his eyes are so piercingly sincere and it almost breaks your heart as you press a ginger, yet still passionate, kiss on the scar etched on his cheek, and then his lipstick-stained mouth.

you’re wordless as you move off of his lap and onto your knees in front of him. “is this okay?” you look up at him through your eyelashes as you play with the hem of his gray sweats to be met with a heavy-breathing luke, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “yes, please.”

“so polite,” you tease before pulling his sweatpants and boxers down in one go. his achingly hard cock springs out from the restrictive confines and rests insatiably on his lower abs.

he was so pretty: a veiny girth with a leaky, red, tip. pre-cum seeped from his slit and you wrapped your hand around the base before kitten-licking it all off, earning an impatient groan from luke. “fuck,” he breathes, and you notice how his hands are balled into fists on the chair’s arms. “you can touch me, luke. i won’t bite.” you press a lust-filled kiss to the side of the length before dragging your tongue along a prominent vein. he curses under his breath at the sight.

luke’s large hands timidly moved to rake through the hair on your scalp, before growing more confident and gathering most of it into a make-shift ponytail. “good boy,” your voice is sickeningly sweet as you continue peppering teasing kisses along his cock, determined to savour this positively transcendent view you’re pleased to know only you have had the pleasure of beholding.

it seemed the both of you have grown tired of your teasing when luke tried to push your head down onto his cock desperately. “ah, ah, ah. patience, angel. i know, baby. i’ll get there soon, hm?” you nod, and luke nods with you, before you finally lower your warm mouth onto his painfully hard cock. “sh-shit!” his voice accelerates in volume as your head begins bobbing up and down his dick, making chaste stops at his tips to swirl your tongue around it greedily. the sounds are disgusting: your saliva mixed in with his pre, slurping his alacritous cock like you can’t get enough, like you’re starved (you can’t, and you are)—his whimpers and moans and whines urge you further, the way your name spills out from him like an incantation between cries of pleasure sends jolts through you every time you hear it.

and you don’t neglect indulging in the sight before you. his head is thrown back as he loses himself in the brain-numbing pleasure, sweat glistening on his defined collarbones. you aren’t sure you’ve ever viewed a more perfectly erotic scene.

“fuck, fuck, fuck. wait, wait, i think i’m gonna—!“ quite selfishly, he holds your head down onto his cock as his abs flex through his orgasm, tip prodding at your throat, causing a sore to begin to dwell. luke’s cum is warm as it slides down your throat and it’s easy to swallow with its delicious balance of saltiness and saccharinity.

“sorry—i’m sorry,” luke breathes laboriously as his climax subdues and you regretfully take your head off of luke for the last time. “it’s okay, luke. how was it?” your voice was raspy from the abuse on your throat and luke could’ve sworn he felt his cock hardening once again.

“so fucking good. thank you. will you… let me make it up to you?”

[frudoo]

The 141!slasher au has me cackling. Reader lowkey being like "well, if the dick is good"

Imagining reader being taken in to be questioned by the cops for something unrelated to the boys killing. Maybe she witnessed a crime, or maybe someone else got assaulted by the guy who grabbed her. Would the guys be suspicious? Do they have a "get picked up by the cops" protocol, or do they believe there's no chance of ever getting caught? (Does reader already have a "don't talk to the fucking cops without a lawyer [ACAB!]" mindset that helped Johnny be confident in telling her the truth?)

Does reader ever help with kills? Ngl kind of seeing reader work at a children's hospital or as a social worker and taking note of ppl she knows are abusive and being like hey...Simon...<3...did u need ideas of who to kill next...

Anyway thank you for letting me share my thoughts:)

We love a reader who has her priorities straight ;)

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse/trauma.

Deep breaths. It has nothing to do with you or your boys.

     The blinds are shut and there’s a weird buzzing noise coming from somewhere inside the room. Across from you sits a social worker and a detective, and your leg bounces anxiously. 

     It’s mandatory. You’re helping a child and his mom out of a bad situation.

     You’d suspected something was wrong the first time Oliver was brought to your class with a couple of bruises on his leg. You had immediately written your observations down on his sheet and reported it to your bosses, but they brushed it off. Little boys are clumsy, after all, especially when they’ve just recently learned to start walking. The next couple of weeks, the toddler showed up unscathed and happy. 

     This morning, however, his mother dropped him off with a black eye and scratches all over his torso. You could see cuts of her own beneath the makeup she’d been crying off. You’d paged your bosses to come to your classroom immediately, and this time, they took it seriously. You weren’t thrilled that the police had to be involved, but you understood that it was necessary in saving this sweet family. You answered all of their questions honestly—neither saying too little nor too much.

     “Thank you for your time, ma’am. You’re dismissed,” the detective gives you a solemn smile and rises from her seat, opening the door to allow you out. 

     You clutch your purse tightly as you walk through the precinct, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. You’re no stranger to facilities like these. Much of your childhood was spent sitting beside your father at his desk, acting like a good little girl, coloring on blank sheets of paper and pretending that daddy wasn’t such a monster. At work, he was a hero who citizens and coworkers alike depended on to keep them safe and happy. At home, he was a tyrant, taking every opportunity he could to use you and your mother as a punching bag.

     As a child, you’re taught to depend on all the people who are meant to care for you—family members, the police—those whose first priority should be to protect. You should have been able to trust your father. You should have been able to run to him whenever you scraped your knee or got bullied at school, but instead, he was often the one causing you harm. Your mother got sick of the abuse and left when you were five but didn’t bother taking you with her, so he was all you had. He intimidated you into silence, but even if you had reported him, who would have believed the troubled young daughter of such a dependable officer? You learned too quickly, too young, that it would always be their word over yours.

     When you first became a daycare teacher, you didn’t expect to see yourself in so many of the children you either cared for or saw in passing. It broke your heart every time you saw a toddler with a limp or an older child who still wet themselves at naptime, because you knew what they were feeling. You knew the despair they felt in every step they took, the fear they felt every time someone came to pick them up and take them right back to their broken home. The very day you started is the same day you decided you had to stay there, to be some kind of light in the darkness too many of these children should have been too young to ever know.

     You have an unspecified amount of time off—your bosses decided that there was too much of a risk that Oliver’s dad might show up and try to start shit with you for reporting him. There’s still a lot of investigating that the police and child services have to do, and as of right now, the scumbag’s whereabouts are unknown. It’s nerve-wracking to leave your babies even despite knowing they’re in good hands. You’ll have to make sure and call in every day to check on them. 

     It’s about an hour drive back to the farm, and you spend every minute dreading the reunion with your lovers. None of them know about the situation, and you’re not exactly thrilled to catch them up to speed. Still, you owe it to them to be honest. God forbid they find out about it somewhere else and start believing some warped version of the truth. Just the mere idea of them distrusting you makes a sour feeling rise in your gut. 

     Kyle is working in the garden when you arrive, a wide smile on his face as he waves to greet you. The grin you send his way isn’t quite so excited, and immediately he knows something is up. If he was a bloodhound, you’d be sure he could smell the unrest in the air. The slam of your car door alerts the other three men of your presence, and they all line up by the front door curiously. Your heart is racing as you walk inside, motioning for them all to join you in the living room.

     You sit in the recliner with your hands folded in your lap, nervously eyeing each of your husbands. The fear that they might hate you because of what happened gnaws at the front of your brain, chewing until it aches. You’re not even sure if you could blame them—after all, they had a good thing going before they met you. One wrong move and the cog in the machine gets tossed aside like trash. 

     “Speak, lovie,” Simon grunts impatiently, syrupy brown eyes scanning over your face, watching, analyzing.

     “There was an incident at the daycare today,” you begin. “Child services had to get involved, and I was called to the police station to explain my side of things.”

     You’re shaking like a leaf, unable to look at any of them. The tension in the room is so thick that John could probably cut through it with his machete. Not one of them has so much as blinked, each waiting on another to say or do something first. You do.

     “It had nothing to do with any of you, I swear. I’m off work for a few days while the whole thing gets settled. I can’t say much about the case, just that… there was an abusive father involved. They haven’t found him yet, and they’re exercising the idea that I might be a target for reporting him.”

     “Fuck,” Kyle mutters exasperatedly, rubbing his hands over his face as Johnny wraps an arm around his shoulder.

     You finally gather the courage to lift your head, and to your surprise, there is no fury or hatred in any of their expressions. At least, not directed at you. They look more like they’re waiting for an order, leaning forward in their seats like attack dogs ready to pounce. Suddenly it’s clear to you—they may have been an item before you entered the picture, but once you joined them, you became their commander, one that they’ll remain loyal to until the day they die. 

     “I have a proposition,” you whisper, looking directly at John.

     “Give us a name, sweetheart.”

[skzdarlings]

the kiss ; skz ; lee know x reader

pairing: lee know/reader content info: friends to lovers, established friends w benefits but they are in love, your honour. reader is a gnc woman. top!reader, bottom!minho, some light dom!reader, sub!minho. mahandling, teasing, handjobs, rimming, spitting, strap-ons, mentions of past pegging, mentions of spanking/belting, lots of smooching word count: 3000 words.

this was originally going to be a multi-part story but i changed my mind thus this went to die in my graveyard of scraps. however i love this couple and i liked this scene and it seemed a shame to not post it at all haha. hopefully others will enjoy it too :)

<3

-

Raising your kid brother means you will forever occupy the nebulous, fucked up space of Not-Your-Parent, Still-Your-Mom, even when said kid brother has long stopped being a kid.  Jeongin will always be your first priority. 

Minho knows it too.  He has been your best friend for several years now.  He knows you.  He knows you will always stop what you’re doing if Jeongin needs you. 

Even at the tragic expense of an orgasm. 

It’s two o-clock in the morning, an hour after you got off work bartending.  Minho has to be up for his office job in four hours so he was grumbly when your horny ass woke him up with a bulge pic.  You like to consider yourself above obnoxious hormone-driven decisions, but that’s before the strap-on straps on.  Several inches of silicone later and you’re taking (tasteful) fake-dick dick pics in the bar bathroom. 

Minho answers the door shirtless, his grey sweatpants betraying his already chubbed up semi, and with an extraordinarily icy glare that not even his sleep-mussed blonde hair can diminish.  He snarks at you until you curl your fingers into his dark roots and yank. 

It takes only minutes to manhandle him back into his bed, moments to get his sweatpants off, and seconds to have your fingers around his throat and his dick gliding through your spit-wet fist. 

You end up horizontal across the middle of his big bed.  You’re still in a t-shirt and jeans, your boots and leather jacket somewhere on the floor.  Minho is naked and covered in little love bites, his body a fading canvas of your previous times together.  The sight never fails to make you ache, your fingers tracing the evidence of your own hungry desires. 

You kneel between his open legs and he impatiently pries open your belt.  His mouth ticks up in an amused grin as you let him whip the belt out of its loops.  He tosses it behind him, his smile a smidgeon cocky even while on his back. 

You would never call him cute, because he’d probably slap and correct you (he’s handsome, thank you very much), but he is.  Cute.  Sweet.  The way he cocks his head, the way he gazes up at you.  There’s an erratic heartbeat in both your cunt and actual heart, the latter more pronounced than usual.   Your eyes have already adjusted but the blue darkness of his bedroom seems fuzzier, everything around him disappearing in a blurry smog of relative insignificance.   

“You’re staring,” he says, his fingers crawling under your shirt.  His knuckles brush your nipple through your sports bra.  He pulls a face when he pinches it meanly. 

You grab both his wrists and yank his hand out of your shirt.  He does not look remotely chagrined, instead he is beaming with satisfaction, like he was the one who planned your reaction.  

You pin his hands above his head then lean over him.  His playful arrogance fades, his gaze jumping to your mouth then back to your eyes.  It brings your attention to his mouth, pink and wet, his bottom lip plump and bitten from his own teeth running over it. 

You have kissed him before.  It isn’t a habit but also isn’t strange.  You were the first to ever initiate a kiss.  It was the third time you slept together and the first time you properly came from fucking someone.  The base of a toy in a strap-on can sometimes provide some stimulation against your clit, depending on a few factors, but you usually have to be pretty worked up to even get close. 

He got you more than close, taking you right over the edge.  You all but fell onto him with the desperation of your kiss.  His ankles were hooked behind your back, his face warm where your thumb stroked his skin, where you raked fingers into his sweaty hair as you sunk deep inside him with dick and tongue at once. 

You usually kiss like that: in the throes of something especially electrifying.  You think this might be the first time you kiss him so simply, just like this, with clarity and consciousness, spurred by affection more than thoughtless passion.  A deliberate kiss, as you lean down and do just that, his lips warm and open against yours. 

His eyes close, his brow furrows.  

The thing about Minho that turns you on the most is how he… well, how he Minhos.  His smirking, his snarking, his fake impatience, how much he dishes out.  He’s your friend, someone you’ve sat beside on weekend camping trips, resting in comfortable silence around a fire while Jeongin and his friends cause a ruckus somewhere down on a beach.  Minho will sit on your couch with his feet in your lap, his hat backwards, wearing glasses so he can read the nutritional content on a snack bag while you carelessly scarf down its contents.  He’ll tease you kindly, let you playfully knock your knuckles under his chin.  He’ll cook you meals when you haven’t eaten all day, too busy with everything to take care of yourself, but he’ll wave away any expression of gratitude after the fact.  He’s good, utterly, but he likes to be trouble too. 

And that’s what really gets you going, something you admit can’t be replicated with any other lover.  Because they aren’t Minho.  And that’s the best part. 

Like this.  Playful and catty and mad you woke him when he has work tomorrow, but turning soft and pliant under your body.  His brow is drawn tight as you kiss him, like he can’t comprehend the sheer pleasure of it.  He breathes in through the kiss, a trembling breath that flutters on your lips, then he cranes his neck to kiss you again. 

You press his head into the bed.  Somewhere in the simmering warmth of your kiss, your hands shift so your fingers lace and push against the bed.  He makes a keening sound, his back arching, kiss breaking with a deep breath as his hips and cock and thighs make contact with your jeans.  

He turns his face to the side and closes his eyes.  His chest moves with the quickness of his breathing, somehow looking like you’ve fucked for him hours when all you’ve really done is kiss him. 

His fingers tighten around yours when you kiss his exposed cheek, down his jaw, down his neck.  He rips his hands out from under yours only to throw them around your shoulders.  His fingers dive into your hair, rough and demanding when he pulls your head back to his.  His mouth opens for a kiss, his tongue slashing against yours when you give it to him.  You kiss him hard, kiss him until his fingers go weak and his arms are shaky, clinging to your neck like a lifeline. 

“That’s it, baby. So good,” you say, a slur of words without thinking too hard.  You blink with some amazement at the noise he makes, the way his whole body rears up against yours.  You cradle his hips and lick his red over-kissed mouth.   

Then your phone buzzes.  He hears it first, or at least registers the reality of it first, head whipping to his bedside table where you left it.  He is already glaring when you lift your face.  Your head is spinning, your mouth as raw as his.   

He digs his fingernails into your back through your t-shirt.  He has also painted something of a mosaic there, faded thin lines from overeager fingers scratching when you fuck him.  You obviously cannot directly feel when you are inside him, but he makes sure you feel it other ways.  Sometimes you feel it for days.  

He’s still glaring.  God, that expression really does get you so hot.  You are literally throbbing under the silicone in your jeans. 

“You’re going to check that, aren’t you, asshole,” he says with more resignation than genuine malice. 

“I should,” you say.  “Just in case it’s—”

He makes a noise that starts as a sigh and turns to a scream.  You rub your ear after. 

“Your dick isn’t even real,” he says, throwing an arm over his eyes, “and you still manage to disappoint me.”

You laugh, so fond of him.  Your pounding heart is not slowing down.   It’s hard to look away from him, though you manage it long enough to see your phone light up with a text alert. 

He grabs your chin, turning your face back to his. 

“Make me come first, or I’m biting it,” he says.

“B-biting what?”

“Your dick.  I’ll chew the head off.”

“Please don’t gnaw on my dick.  It was expensive.”

“Orgasm. Now.”

He throws his arms out to the sides, eyebrows lifted in an expression of pointed expectation. 

His position briefly reminds you of the first time you ever did this, years ago.  You never complained about the obligations that came with raising Jeongin, but it wasn’t exactly easy.  Between leaving school to work and shirking your social life, you made more than a few sacrifices. You off handedly expressed the vaguest desire for something more substantial than one night stands but not as serious as a relationship, given your responsibilities, and Minho replied by throwing his arms up and giving you that exact same look. 

Well? his challenging eyes have always said.  You have never backed down from a challenge. 

You run your hands down his sides.  His arms jerk because it tickles, but you hold him down to lick and bite from hip to pit to shoulder.  He wriggles under you, his breath getting shallower.  His dick twitches when your hand curls tightly around it. 

You know how to make him come quickly.  You know his body like a well-loved song, every peak and crescent long since memorized. 

You manhandle him onto his front.  He gives in when you push down his head and shoulders, lets his knees push his backside up, up, up.  His toes curl and uncurl, his voice breaking into choppy little mewls that make you throb.   You spit on his hole and your mouth chases it, tongue doing what your dick would have done.   Your other hand is under him, stroking in steady tandem.  

You don’t rush.  It won’t take long anyway because he isn’t trying to hold back. 

That makes you wonder, for a moment.  If he even could hold his orgasm.  Your sex doesn’t exactly resemble conventional intercourse between a man and a woman so it’s not usually too important if he stays very hard or not, greedy with his orgasms and never restraining long.  Denial isn’t something you’ve ever played with.   Prolonged orgasm control is something of a commitment in its own right.   Years ago, when you started this, you were avoiding those commitments.  

Now…  Well, Jeongin is older, living in a university dorm.  You live in a flat on your own.   You aren’t seeing anyone else and haven’t so much as hooked up with a stranger in months.  You know Minho hasn’t slept with anyone else in more than a year.  

You think about how he kissed you back.  You think of his backwards hats, his laughter, his sighing as he wraps himself around you.   

You imagine slowing your touch, telling him to hold it.  Don’t come.  Because I’m going to fuck you tomorrow, because you’re mine, and I want you ready for it. 

Your mouth gets him wet enough that spit runs down his skin.  You circle your thumb around his rim, press in, and murmur, “Wish I could come inside you.” 

He comes like that, shoving his face into the bedcovers to stifle his strangled yell.  Minho is always loud when he finishes, maybe something to do with being an only child and latchkey kid to boot.  He has lived alone for most of his life so he has never had a reason to be quiet.  As someone who comes silently, you like it, that unabashed eruption of pleasure that he can’t really hide. 

You nip the curve of his ass and narrowly dodge the backward swipe of his hand.  He keeps his face buried in the blanket, grumbling nonsense as he finally lowers his hips.  You straddle his ass and smooth your hands up his spine, watching him shudder under your touch.  You run your hands up and up, over his shoulders to cup his face and lift it out of the blankets.

“Up more,” you say. 

He’s always at his nicest and most obedient right after coming.  With only a little huff, he pushes his torso up and tips his head back.  His eyes flick up to where you lean over him.  The bulge of your packed toy is sitting on his ass. 

“Open,” you say. 

He opens his mouth, still gazing up and back at you.  Those dark eyes make all the blood in your heart rush lower, thumping frantically.  His head falls all the way back when your hands circle his throat to hold him there.  He only closes his eyes when you spit in his mouth, lips closing around it as he moans like you just gave him the sweetest gift in the world. 

“Good,” you say, kissing the top of his head.   

He groans and flops back down, then brings his arms forward to fold and cushion them under his head.  He lifts his hips to grind his ass against your bulge, probably smirking into his elbow. 

“Better check your phone,” he says.  He yelps when you slap his ass.  

“You’re lucky you tossed that belt away, smartass,” you say.   

That degree of playing is also not something you have ever done, though you’ve skirted the idea once or twice.  Your red handprint on his ass attests to it. 

“Promises, promises,” he mutters. 

You are tempted to give him another smack for good measure, but it will only work you up more.  Instead you muster the resolve to pull away.  His discarded sweatpants are the closest fabric so you wipe your hands on it.  It earns your own backside a smack as you crawl to his bedside table. 

“Hey,” you say, menacing but humorously so. 

He knows you have no intention of following through with any threats, so he clamps both hands on your ass and squeezes.  He cackles evilly before rolling out of arm’s reach.  

Shaking your head and smiling, you check your phone.  It is Jeongin.  You can’t help but facepalm when you read his message. 

Hi it’s Jeongin from family.  Your brother Jeongin.  Hello. We went to a Party far away and Uber dropped us off but now they don’t have anyone to pick us up!! :(  Please rescue us.  There are woods and trees and maybe bears.  and we are drunk.  Nothing Illegal

Ah, fuck.  Nothing says illegal substance like swearing the opposite unprompted.  You would know; before your parents died, you were indubitably on track to being the problem child.  Your first year of university was a mess you intended to straighten out later, but later never came.   Your parents died, Jeongin was still a minor, and you made a series of hard choices overnight.    

After all these years, you’re still not sure if your wayward experiences made you a better pseudo-parent or a worse one.  Maybe ignorance would have made you less panicky all the time.  Maybe it would have made you worse. 

Minho ducks into the bathroom while you text with Jeongin.  You are lacing up your boots when Minho returns with your toothbrush, one he keeps for your overnight visits.  Looking at his thighs in his boxers, the hickey poking out just under the hem, makes you wish tonight was one of those nights.  Tragically, the only one being deprived of an orgasm is you. 

You scrub the brush around your mouth, just enough, then swallow.  He leaves again, your eyes on every step of his retreat. 

“You’re staring again,” he says from the bathroom. 

“Duh,” you say.  You go back to tying your boots but your mind is elsewhere.   You are thinking about Jeongin and his friends, of course, but you are also thinking about Minho.  A lot about Minho.  Mostly about Minho.  Arousal is still coursing through your veins, never mind all the emotions you kept so carefully tucked away for so long. 

Suddenly, it’s all you can think about.  He’s all you can think about. 

Minho kneels behind you on the bed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.  He kisses behind your ear, then your neck, your clothed shoulder.   Your fingers dance anxiously over your knees. 

“Don’t tempt me,” you say. 

It isn’t a joke but he laughs, mistaking it for one.  “Sure,” he says.  “You just can’t take your own teasing.” 

“Minho.”  

“Tyrant.”

You turn, grasping his chin so quickly he gasps.  You guide his face to yours and kiss him. 

This kiss is slower, bold and open-mouthed.  Hot.  His moan is a light sound at the back of his throat and it zaps through you like an electric bolt.  He drags his nails down the middle of your back, making every hair stand on end.  When the kiss eventually comes apart, he presses his forehead to yours. 

You are both breathing hard. 

“I’m not working tomorrow night,” you say, your voice a low rumble.  You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip.  “Can I come over?”

He nods.  Minho can be loud to say the least, but sometimes his voice gets so delicate that it turns your brain to mush.  He talks like that now, all soft and sweet, so close to your mouth.  “You promised to fuck me tonight,” he says. “I’ll be thinking about it all day now.”

“Me too,” you say.

“Mm.”  He flops over and rolls so his back is to you.  “That’s too bad for you.”  He accompanies this comment with a wiggle of his hips. 

You can’t help but smile at him. 

“See you then, brat,” you say. 

“You’ll see me in your dreams,” he says, accompanying it with a dramatic yawn.  “And when you masturbate tonight.  Good night!”      

[lazycats-stuff]

Artist toddler batbro! Can't help but draw/ paint at least once a day and at the end of the day batfam is anticipating who will be the lucky family member that'll receive which ever art piece their youngest has created that day (sometimes the art piece is on the walls or floor of the mansion but no one has the heart to be angry when little batbro is just proudly presenting his art)

Toddler batbro *leaves a paint covered tiny handprint on the wall*

Bruce: alfred, frame that

Oh my, that's cute. Oh my God... Aww. Also, I know it's short, but this is all my inspiration is willing to give at this moment. Next time, I'll try to write more.

Summary: (Y/N) is an artist.

Warnings: None, really fluffy

Every child has a talent. Whether that be in sports or arts, every child has a hidden talent for something. Even if some kids are average, there is nothing wrong with it. Bruce, amongst his four older sons, had a toddler. Yes, a toddler.

How did it happen?

A one night stand. The mom couldn't take care of (Y/N) and Bruce took him in and the other 4 accepted (Y/N) as if he was their blood brother and Bruce was grateful that they did it. Of course, they had to change their schedules to accommodate to make sure that (Y/N) was a priority. Of course, no one minded to do that.

And speak of talents? While his four older sons had their own specialties. Damian had his knowledge of blades and martial arts, Tim for his hacking and detective skills, Jason for his accuracy with guns and other firearms and Dick with his acrobatic skills.

(Y/N) was an artistic child. He didn't show it at first, but as he got more comfortable, he started asking for paper and crayons. Crayons slowly evolved into something more and (Y/N) would draw daily. It could be anything. It could be a couch or even Titus. Maybe it would be one of the boys too.

And, at the moment, there was a big honor in the house. What that honor may be? (Y/N) handing you his own artwork. It became a tradition and sort of a competition between everyone. Everyone wanted to see what (Y/N) has created that day.

It was considered the biggest honor in the manor, to get a piece of paper, created by (Y/N). It makes everyone's day when they get an artwork. Dick nearly cried. Damian was close to crying too. Alfred and Bruce got one too and the two grown men, who have seen stuff... Safe to say, they nearly broke down into tears and shambles.

Nearly.

But there was a one problem in this entire story. (Y/N) wouldn't limit himself to drawing on paper. Oh no. Many parents would punish the child if the child drew on the walls or floor. Right? Well... Not if you are (Y/N) Wayne who is clearly artistically talented.

(Y/N) would often draw whenever he could, even if that meant on the wall or the floor. And whoever saw (Y/N) drawing on the floor or the wall, didn't have a heart to even yell or be remotely angry, especially since (Y/N) had that shine in his eyes when he was showing them their art.

Bruce wasn't supposed allow (Y/N) to paint over the walls or the floor. That's what Bruce was supposed to correct. A correct thing to do... Right? Well, Bruce didn't know. Parenting doesn't have a book and a set of rules, but Bruce wished he had some sort of rules so he could solve this.

He can keep on dreaming when it comes to universal rules for a perfect parenting style.

But he has actually decided what he was going to do, without a doubt. (Y/N) was allowed to doddle and draw wherever he wanted. That was something that was relayed to all the other members, whoever, they put certain restrictions.

No drawing in their rooms without supervision. Bruce's study was also off limits if there is no supervision. And only at home is doodling and drawing allowed.

Because Bruce is just ready to frame it all. Alfred already has frames ready to go.

It was always fun.

As of now, (Y/N) was doodling on the wall, just sitting on the floor, without a care in the world. Bruce and Alfred were walking by, stopping when they saw (Y/N) drawing. This time, it was just a simple handprint.

Bruce was smiling and instructed (Y/N) to go wash his hands and then eat. Bruce and Alfred looked at the handprint on the wall.

" Alfred, frame that. " Bruce said and Alfred did just that. Took out a frame and made sure that handprint was framed. And it looked adorable.

" He is growing up too quickly, Master Bruce. " Alfred said said as he looked at the little handprint.

" I agree Alfred. " Bruce said sadly.

[ghostly-bat]

re: the clark & damian topic - so I am a fan who doesn't ship the other bat & supes combos but does for jondami and part of the reason why is bc how the dynamics of their parents lend itself in the ship; im a sucker for childhood friends to lovers but there's something so charming about both being the sort where there's no hesitation to know and treat their partner (in heroing and in romance) as a priority. Clark as a parent, watching this dynamic evolved, worried because Damian at that age and with first impressions can be a lot-- he is a child who is processing a ton of trauma, i think at that point of time has *died* and came back; he has seen the ugly side of their world, been a part of it for so long.

But in my interpetation, Clark does pick up a few things just observing Damian: a) he's tries so hard to be good and b) he wants to be seen as useful so badly. And how can your heart NOT soften at that? I think that what would ultimately win Clark over and let Jon & Damian's friendship persist. It's that human quality and proof that goodness is a skill thats honed, empathy is a purposeful choice. Damian is sharp-tongued and clever enough to get under most people's skin, but how can a father, especially when that child is your #1 superhero friend's kid, see Damian and go like "obviously I would never ever let him around my kid"? Character precedes reputation.

I also love / hc as Damian veers into civilian life more, opting the doctor life, him finding that bond with Lois. I know Lois is currently superwoman but in this outlook, I love her presence and purpose as a civilian in Clark's stories and Dami is sooooo fascinating taking that unique path of hero -> civilian. Maybe they're in their funny little support group of sorts, though Damian would refused to admit that what it was.

Because she would be the one who know how to balance loving a Super and not being in the life that way. Them having dinners while maybe a disaster happening in the world, even if both have that instinct of wanting to be there and help. Damian is horrible at the waiting, he gets antsy, but he has that faith of his Super always coming back. Lois commiserate on the idea of what if im a burden? what if im not useful, constantly? i think it was you mention this but God is that relatable to her, daughter of Sam Lane. Like idk if you watch my adventures with superman but that Lois version and Damian would (emotionally) be similar in that case; i see doctor Damian being such a risk taker, even though he can never truly shake his bat cautiousness and Lois always being his number 1 to bat 🙂‍↕️ yes it was reckless but between the choice of doing good and doing nothing, she'd do the same too.

Also a side thought: it's so funny people harp that Clark's favorite Robin is Dick and I agree because, as canon dictates, they're friends. But I do like to think Damian has that special place because he's the Robin he knows from the perspective of being a father. And that's so different from his other experiences with the Robin. He doesn't doubt any of the robins capabilities but gosh, this is a child, his child's best friend/crush, etc. He's a little spitfire, he's prickly like a stray wanting love, and he's so deeply introspective on the nature of life + people, I have the picture of this scenario where Clark has this version of 20 questions that most Bats hate on instinct of "thats too personal" but Damian seems to really love, after the performance of "no i dont want to give my secrets". Clark is an investigative journalist with a wife that won awards, he's people savvy, he knows how to ask the right question but I like the idea of how often Damian surprises him and make him pause, in a good way and in a sad way because a LOT of those answers are windows into Damian's unique upbringing.

Or another scenario where there's a silly dilemma where Superman wants to rope Jon and Damian into an adventure thats "age appropriate" and at first both kids are whining because it's very kiddie-- helping to catch this neighbor feral and her kittens. However, as soon as Damian finds the first kitten, he locks in and by nature of competitiveness, so does Jon. I know Jon would likely not want to a cat around because of his childhood incident but the Kents fostering the kittens and feral to be barn cats at his grandparents' old farm is cute. It becomes Damian's intitial excuse to come visit often and Clark knows this. That was the round about goal, funnily enough because he would quickly understand that Damian's love of animals is one of his quirks unique for his son's Robin.

🙂‍↕️ thats... all. Have a good day!

First! I'm with you when it comes to only shipping jondami when it cames to all the other super/bat ships I feel it and Two! I'm gonna plug two of my own post that I've made before that describes why I personally really like jondami as a concept cus I feel like me and you are the same when it comes to that and the other is a one shot I write about the similarities between Damian and Lois because ugh I absolutely love the idea of them bonding over the fact that they are just civilians and and they can only do so much but they do the best that they can.

And she 100% would be a support for Damian and I think he'd be one for her too in return because now she has someone who also understands what it's like to be with a super.

Love the idea of Clark taking both Jon and Damian to just do simple ground work as heroes. Especially for Damian who's so used to fast, hectic, adrenaline pumping type of hero work that for him to do some nice and simple is so good for him just to show him that "hey you don't have to just punch bad guys in the face to help the people around you, sometimes all you have to do is help a cat out of a tree and that invoke the same feeling" it's an incredibly sweet gesture when you think about it and helps give both Jon and Damian a sense of normalcy of just being kids and helping a community that doesn't always involve having to fight or putting yourself in danger.

And I agree I think Clark would find Damian quite interesting to say the least compared to all the other Robins before him. I feel like Damian with all the knowledge he was provided with growing up is very introspective and is able to have deep philosophical conversations and I also think that in return he would also ask Clark questions that Clark himself probably never thought to ask and that would also surprise him to say the least. I can see both Clark and Lois having some deep amazing conversations with Damian about certain topics and Jon just beaming at the fact that his parents and Damian are bonding with each other.

And Clark would find so many quirks about Damian that just makes so much sense for him to be Jon's robin that make him so unique lol. Damian loves animals, he makes art, knows how to play instruments, watches anime and reads romance manga, he draws comics about himself and the people around him.

Clark looks at both his son and Damian and it's just like "Yeah... they make sense together"

[silentglassbreak]

hi bestie is it too late to request? you said you liked writing angst, well, i love reading it 💔💔painfully unrequited love!!!!! gimme gimme

friends with benefits with (overly affectionate!!!!) Noah and reader who falls sick to her stomach head over heels in love with him. blurring the lines between sex and love.

going to a bad omens concert however long after and it’s like they’re strangers oOF rip my heart out and stomp on it idc. been listening to Novocaine on a loop all day. i’m not okay

feel to totally disregard if you’re not feeling it angel <33 thank you bby I love your writing 🥺🥺

Angst............. UGH I've been WAITING babes. My goal is to rip your heart out...fair fucking warning. MMMLOVEYOUUUUU. After Writing Notes: I'm the actual worst. I hope you don't hate it!

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: smut, heartbreak, lots and lots of angst

Can You Feel My Heart

Love languages are such a strange concept, aren't they? That seems to be a fairly new idea that someone came up with in the last decade or so?

If you like to buy love...your love language is gifting.

If you can't communicate well...your love language is affection.

If the only way you know how to show feelings is with sex...your love language is intimacy.

At what point are we allowed to call someone out for being a dick? At what point are we allowed to confront the fact that someone is skipping around the idea of commitment, and ask them to just admit what they really want?

This wasn't the first time these thoughts had danced around my head, in the wee hours of the morning, while Noah's arm laid heavy across my waist, him snoozing behind me.

Noah and I had been friends since we were seven years old. We met on the playground at the park in the center of the neighborhood of our small town in West Virginia. He told me he liked my butterfly hair clips, and I let him have the blue one. He wore it in his hair every day for three weeks.

He grew up in a broken home, only his Mom around most of his years, and even then - that relationship was...strained. So many nights he had snuck into my bedroom window, curling up next to me, tears free falling down his cheeks. We never talked about why, but it didn't take a psychic to figure it out.

He moved in with his Grandmother when he was fourteen, and even though he lived in the next town over, he still made it a point to take the city bus to me every day after school, even when he dropped out.

We were never more than twin flames, incapable of existing without each other, moral support for the other during any type of hardship. Looking back, I guess that was what built our serious dependence issues.

"I can't live without you, Y/N. I'll die if I ever lose you."

"No you won't Noah, don't be stupid."

He was stupid. As stupid as they come, because when I turned eighteen, and started college, he had paid one of his friends to drive him all the way up to Columbus to see me. He showed up at the door of my dorm, drunk and broken, blathering on about how only having been away from me for a week had killed him, and he needed to see me.

That was the first night he kissed me, and I let him.

As most people do when having grown up with someone so closely, I had developed an attachment to Noah very early on. I first recognized it when he turned twelve, and started skateboarding. He would insist on trying to teach me how, despite my undeniable clumsiness. His hands would grip my hips, his face so close to my ear, and his chest pressed to my back. He would talk in this deep voice, his puberty hitting early. I was awe-struck.

He was my best friend, sure. But he belonged to me, that's what he always said.

Even when he had girlfriends, I always came first. Dates would get cancelled for me; plans changed. Hell, he even blew off one girl whose birthday fell on the same day as mine. I was his priority. I was his person.

So when he leaned in to me, sitting on the edge of my mattress in the dorm, liquor stained-breath against my face, I just closed my eyes and let it happen.

He spent the night with me, and had to leave early. Vowing to come back, he never broke his word.

There he was the following weekend, sober this time, with snacks, DVDs, and a week’s worth of clothes. I managed to hide him in my room for four days before the dorm advisor caught him.

The second day he was there was the first time we had sex. I was a virgin, and he was not. That hurt me, sure. Not enough to deny him what was rightfully his. I belonged to Noah, body and soul. He took his time, walked me through it, and gave me the best possible experience I could expect. It hurt, and it was weird, but a sense of relief washed over me.

We had finally crossed that threshold. We had sex three times that week, until he was forced to leave.

That's when the words left his mouth.

"We need to talk."

That conversation broke something inside of me. He loved me, but he didn't love me. He was honored to have been allowed to give me something so meaningful, but he could never see me as more than his best friend. Our friendship was too important, and he wouldn't even allow himself to entertain the idea of jeopardizing that. He had made up his mind, and he couldn't have feelings for me.

It was with the heaviest heart imaginable, I sucked back my tears, painted an easy smile on my face, and held his hands in mine.

"I totally understand, Noah. No worries! We can just have fun, you know?"

And that was it. We were stuck in this sick, frozen place for the last two years. I was about to finish my Associates in Columbus, and hoped to become pre-med at Boston U, but Noah didn't know that yet. I could never figure out how to tell him.

Noah Davis was this heavy, bright flame that I was desperately afraid to extinguish. He had formed a band right after our arrangement began, and he was twenty-four hours away from leaving on their first major tour that would take him around the entire country, and then across the Atlantic to Europe.

How could I tell him that while he was gone, I was likely moving even further, and starting my life without him?

I didn't want to live without him, but he was leaving, and I couldn't sit and wait forever...

I breathed out a sigh, the light beginning to stream in the window of my one-bedroom apartment. He needed to wake up, drive home, and make sure he was ready to leave tomorrow. It was only 6AM, so I knew he'd be cranky, but I couldn't put this off any longer.

“Noah?” I breathed out his name. He groaned in response. “You’ve got to get up. You have to get ready to head home.”

"Mm, ten more minutes." I rolled my eyes, and began sliding out from underneath him.

His arm locked, and held me in place. I giggled, and saw as he turned his face, one eye cracking open. "Don't get up. It's too early."

I narrowed my eyes. "I have class at 8AM."

Noah used his strength against me, pulling my body to him and holding me tight so I couldn't get up. This only made me laugh louder.

"You don't need to get up for another hour."

"Not if I want to shower."

He sighed into the pillow. "So crazy, cause I don't think you do."

I rolled my eyes. "Dude, you've got to get home. Nick will kill us both if you're not ready in time."

"I'm not scared of her." He smirked, and I smacked his arm.

"Shut up. And get off me!"

He stuck his bottom lip out, pouting heavily.

"Not going to work. C'mon." I wriggled hard enough to break his grip, and sat up, stretching my arms over my head. He sat up as well, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

I pulled a robe over myself, turning to look at him as he scrolled through his phone, checking messages.

"Coffee?" I asked, and he threw a thumbs up at me.

I left the room, headed for the kitchen, trying to keep my breathing even. I had very little time left.

Filling the pot with water, I felt his arms wrap around me from behind, his face burying in my neck.

"I don't want to go. I'm going to miss you so much."

I leaned into the touch, taking anything I could at this point. "I know. I'll miss you more."

He scoffed. "Not a chance."

Holding me for a few more moments, he let go to head to the fridge, pulling out the bagels and cream cheese, and plopping down at the dining table. I continued my work of preparing our coffee.

"Hey, uh," I started, keeping my voice as calm as I could. "there's something I wanted to chat with you about."

I turned around, two hot mugs in my hand. He was spreading the cream on a bagel, already having prepared one for me. I sat next to him at the table.

"What's up?" He didn't look up at me.

"I told you I had been trying to decide where to start medical school?" He just nodded in response. "Well, I find out today if I got into Boston."

He halted, his eyes snapping up to me. "Boston?"

I took a sip of coffee. "They've got the best med program on the East coast-"

He cut me off. "Since when were you looking on the East coast?"

His tone was darkening. This was going to go about as well as I expected.

"Since I realized I had a chance. Noah, my GPA and scholar program gives me a real shot."

He grit his teeth, setting his bagel down. "Boston is far, Y/N."

I kept calm, setting my mug down as well. "I know."

"So, why would you want to be so far away?"

"Well, you're going far too, Noah. Your first show is in San Diego."

He sat back in his chair. "Yeah, but the last one puts me right back here in Columbus for a month before I go overseas."

I nodded. "I know. I'll still be here, then. You get back six weeks before the end of the semester."

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can't go to Boston."

There was a finality to his tone, and something about it made my insides flinch with irritation.

"Oh no? And if I do?"

"You can't."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Can't? And since when do you tell me what I can and can't do?"

He rolled his eyes, standing from the table and walking over to the trash, binning the half of his bagel he didn't eat. "We can't be that far away from each other."

Lifting my eyebrows, I stood as well, crossing my arms. "And why is that, Noah?"

He leaned back against the counter. "Y/N, you know why."

"What? So you have someone to fuck whenever you want? Whenever one of your little groupies isn't around?"

His eyes popped open, then. "What?"

"You heard me." My tone was deadly, matching my stare at him.

"You really think the only reason I want you close is because of the sex?" He seemed truly stunned.

"Well, why else would you want me around?" I threw my hands up, walking back down the hallway toward my bedroom. I could hear his footfall behind me. I just continued, stepping into the closet to get dressed.

"What is that supposed to mean? I always want you around."

Rolling my eyes, I clasped my bra on and popped my head out to look at him. "Noah, I'm convenient for you. Unless you have any other valid reasons to keep coming over, I don't know why else it matters."

His jaw dropped open. "That is not true."

Pulling my shirt on, I scoffed. "Please, dude. Spare me the act, okay?"

"What act?"

I pulled my jeans on, buttoning them before stepping out to face him again. "The 'you're my person, and I can't lose you' act." I quoted myself. Something about that pissed him off, because he crossed his own arms and stared me down.

"The fuck are you getting at, Y/N?"

I shook my head, brushing past him, and walked toward the bathroom.

"Noah," I turned to look directly at him. "we've been at this for years. It's kind of old, don't you think?"

His face softened slightly. "We had an agreement."

I nodded. "You're right, we did. Just sex, for the sake of our friendship. That's what you wanted."

"I thought that's what we wanted."

Waving a hand between us, I took a step toward him. "Oh no, Noah. That's what you wanted. Not me."

He was silent, then.

"I wanted more. I always have. I thought that had become clear over the years, but I fucking guess not." I could hear my voice raising a few octaves. "You didn't give me a choice. You came in, broke that boundary, and then put it right back up again. And I stayed, just so I wouldn't lose you."

I could feel the tears beginning to well in my eyes.

His voice came out small, then, his hands now buried in his pockets.

"What do you want from me, Y/N?"

I sighed, letting one tear escape. "I want you to love me."

He pulled his hands out, stepping toward me and taking one of mine. I let him.

"I do love you!"

I stared at him, my teeth ground together. "Do you? The way I love you?"

Noah was a lot of things. He was brilliant, funny, generous, dedicated. He had the most redeeming qualities of anyone I knew.

And sure, he could be stupid. But not that stupid.

He had known how I felt about him. Of course he did. That was why I kissed him every chance I got. Why I always let him in. Why I never dated anyone else. Why I stayed all this time.

But here? In this moment? He was the biggest idiot I knew, because he dropped my hand, his eyes falling with it, and took a step backward.

"I..." He huffed out a breath, looking back up at my tear-stained face. "I can't. I'm sorry."

I averted my eyes, then. I could feel myself breaking, crumbling right before him.

"You need to leave, Noah."

I could feel he wanted to pull back to me, like a moon in orbit of a planet. Gravity. But he didn't. He just stepped back toward the doorway.

"What does this mean?" I heard his voice, but wouldn't meet his eyes.

I sniffed hard, trying like hell to keep myself upright.

"It means you go on tour. Be who you are, Noah. And I'll be who I am. Without each other."

His body shifted, but I was stone, unmoving.

"I can't lose you." I heard him let out a light, sarcastic laugh. "I'll die."

I let myself laugh at that.

"No you won't, Noah. Don't be stupid."

7 Years Later

Residency is going to kill me. I may actually die in pursuit of this God awful career I've chosen. I was three years in to a five year program, intending to finish in General Practice, but until that time, I was just an idiotic twenty-seven year-old with no life, no sleep, and no clean fucking clothes to wear.

Every resident gets exactly forty-eight hours of paid time off every three months, and I had not taken mine in over a year. I finally had taken all of my hours - six days total - off of work, and after spending the entire first day sleeping, I was due to meet with Raylene in an hour.

Ray and I met at the beginning of residency, and quickly gotten close. We managed to find an affordable apartment together within walking distance of the hospital, and spent any rare free time we had together. She was currently at her boyfriend's place, spending some much needed time with him, before we went out for the evening.

I was digging through my unfolded laundry, trying to find something not too wrinkled or stained to wear tonight. Ray had told me we were going to a concert for a band she had recently discovered, but she didn't tell me who it was. I didn't care, to be honest. Existing somewhere other than the Emergency Room or my own bed sounded heavenly.

Finally settling on a deep red cropped t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and the Vans I rarely got to wear, I straightened my hair and applied what little makeup I could. I set out of the building to the waiting vehicle downstairs, Ray practically hanging from the passenger window.

"You look so fine!"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Sure. Like I might've slept in the last two weeks?"

She chortled back at me, leaning in her seat once I was in the car. I waved hello to her boyfriend Sean, and gazed at Ray.

"So, Tyler isn't coming."

She frowned at me. "Why not?"

I shrugged. "Said he had a case he was working on, and he really couldn't spare the time."

She rolled her eyes. "Typical lawyer. Too busy for anyone but his clients."

Tyler and I had been dating for about six months now. Maintaining a relationship while having jobs as busy as ours was difficult, but he somehow managed to work it out. He would pop in when he knew I had breaks to bring me food, or have me spend nights off at his place, massaging my neck and helping me get caught up on my favorite series. He was an honest man. A good man.

I liked him.

Right?

It's so hard to tell what's like and what's convenient when you live your life exhausted and overworked, so I didn't have a lot of time to question it.

"Bummer for him. I'm so excited to see this show!" Ray was beaming in the front seat.

"Yeah, who are we seeing, anyway?"

"A band called ERRA. They're opening for a bigger headliner, who I've heard are pretty good too."

I nodded. "I've never heard them."

"It's rock. Metal, really." Sean chimed in, and I acknowledged him silently, looking out of the window.

My mind zoned out while we drove to the House of Blues. Ray and Sean chatted idly up front, but I was just enjoying the fact that I was finally out of the house for once.

That is, until we walked into the venue. The banner poster stared at me, the photographs of the band mocking me...

Bad Omens...they were the headliner.

Memories flooded back to my brain, my insides clenching at the visions.

I hadn't spoken to him since that day...that last day in my apartment. When he left, and never looked back. I didn't even keep in touch with the rest of the guys, for fear that I would be sucked back into the maelstrom that was Noah Davis...

“Y/N?” I turned to see Ray stood behind me, noticing my reaction. “You okay?”

My mind wasn’t comprehending what I was seeing. There’s no way that was them? The last time I had heard of the band, they were one-of-four supporting bands on much larger headliners. Now, they were selling out tickets at their own tour? Seven years was a long time…but how had they gotten this popular?

I wondered this, as if I didn’t know how wildly talented those boys were. Aside from Noah, Nicky, Jolly, and Nick Folio were some of the most intelligent and creative minds I had known. They all brought something special to that band, but I would have never expected this.

Huh. Guess he could live without me after all?

Something bitter crept into the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down, staring at his photograph on the poster.

“Yeah,” I tore my eyes away for a second to look at Raylene. “sorry, I’m fine. Just didn’t realize Bad Omens was the headliner.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of them?”

I pulled my lips to the side. Did I want to tell her?

“Long time ago.”

I couldn’t get past how different he looked in the picture. Last time I saw Noah, his hair was halfway down his back, he was skinny, and he had the thinnest little mustache growing on his upper lip.

In these promo pictures, however, his hair was short, not even reaching his ears, he looked much more muscular, and he had no facial hair. He also had many more tattoos than I remembered. That wasn’t surprising. Noah was a tattoo addict from a very young age.

Jolly had let his hair grow and had the cutest goatee on his chin. Nicky looked almost exactly the same. And Nick, bless his heart, had grown into such a handsome guy. They all looked so grown, so serious and broody. It almost made me giggle, knowing how goofy these guys were in real life.

Noah looked the most stunningly different from the rest. Not only did his entire appearance change, but his eyes…something in them was just so much darker. That harsh flame I had once known was so dim. It almost hurt to see. Almost.

We were making our way out to the pit of the GA floor. I had decided to get myself a cocktail to take the edge off. I didn't plan to come face-to-face with him, and likely wouldn't even get the opportunity to get a good look at him period, but still...just knowing we were in the same room made my throat tighten. I washed it down with Vodka and cranberry juice, hoping the warmth of the liquor would unfreeze my nerves.

The first band, Invent Animate, was entertaining enough. Very interactive with the crowd and high-energy. I found it pleasant, but couldn't get myself to focus long enough to notice what they were singing about. I struggled to breathe, the set ending, and knowing I was one hour closer to seeing his face.

During the intermission, Ray excused herself to the restroom, and I stood with Sean, feeling dizzier as the moments passed.

"Hey, I think I'm going to step out for a second. Get some air."

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "You okay? Want me to come with?"

I shook my head. "Nah, don't want you to miss the band you guys came to see. I'll be back."

He nodded, patting me on the shoulder before I weaved in and out of the crowd. I discarded my plastic cup in a trash can before exiting out into the main lobby. I found a spot on the wall near the doors that was unoccupied, and leaned against it, letting my eyes close and my breathing even out.

When I opened my eyes, I searched the room, looking for nothing specific. I landed on the merch tables, and saw someone oddly familiar talking to the lead singer of the last band we had watched...

The liquid courage is what carried me in that direction, smiling to myself.

He stood with his hair pulled back, as usual, and was talking with his hands. Same as he always did.

"Nicky Ruffilo..." I said loud enough to hopefully catch his attention, my hands now grasping the edge of the table.

His head snapped over to look at me, his brows knit together curiously. I could tell he was putting it together.

"No fucking way..." His voice sounded the same as it always had. "Y/N?!"

My teeth flashed at him, and he circled the table to approach me, his arms pulling me into a tight hug.

"Jesus Christ, I didn't recognize you!" That was fair.

Since the last time I had seen any of the guys, I had bleached my hair a pale blonde, lost twenty-five pounds, and had grown two cup sizes. I was, for all intents and purposes, an entirely different person.

"Yeah, well I absolutely recognized you." I said as I gripped his shirt, squeezing him tight.

"How long has it been?" He asked, pulling back to look at me.

"Uh," I thought for a moment. "seven-ish years?"

Nick's eyes were in disbelief, an amazed leer on his face. "God damn, girl. I can't believe it."

I pointed to the banner above his head. "Headlining now, huh? That's amazing!"

He smiled, proudly. "Yeah, we've worked really hard. A lot's changed."

My eyes fell on Noah's face on the poster. "I can see that."

I could tell he was pondering, a question hanging on the edge of his tongue. It was the most obvious question, so I answered for him.

"He doesn't know I'm here."

He nodded, leaning an arm on the table comfortably. "Ah, okay. You didn't want him to?"

I snorted. "I didn't even know I'd be here. My friends came to see ERRA, and that's when I realized you guys were here."

"Makes sense." He had crossed his arms. "Do you want him to know?"

Contemplating this, I let my face fall to get away from his gaze. I wasn't certain how to answer that, but it seemed like the answer was clear regardless.

"No." I sighed hard. "It's probably for the best that he doesn't, right?"

I couldn't read Nick's face, if he was disappointed or relieved. He seemed to be pretty satisfied with my answer, but I could tell he had more he wished he could say.

"Fair enough." Was all he gave me, before letting out a breath. "So, you still live up here?"

I let my muscles relax for a second. "Yeah, doing a residency at Brigham right now."

"Residency? Does that mean you're a doctor?" He asked, clearly confused.

I cackled at this. "Yeah, full blown doctor. Got the little 'MD' after my name and everything."

He beamed at me. "That's so great! Congratulations!"

"Thank you, Nicky." It fell quiet between us once again, and I could hear ERRA's set beginning. "Well, I should probably-"

He spoke over me. "Yeah! Those guys put on a great show. Don't miss it!"

I gave him another hug, reveling in how warm he still felt.

Turning to walk away, I stopped, needing one last thing...

"Nick?"

His face turned back to me.

"How is he?"

I could see the sadness fall over his tan features, and I instantly regretted asking.

"He's..." He trailed off, taking in a large breath. "He's different, Y/N. I doubt you'd recognize him."

"How so?"

Something about my question almost seemed to annoy him. Odd?

"Like I said, a lot has changed. He's changed. He had to." He gestured to me. "Same way you did."

I accepted this, not wanting to press any further. "Thanks, Nick."

He pointed a finger at me. "Hey, we're going to be back here in the fall for a couple days. Don't be a stranger, okay?" I grinned at this. "I know Jolly and Folio would kill to see you."

I just nodded, turning and walking away. My eyes met with Ray's, who was standing, watching my interaction. How much had she seen? Did she hear anything?

"Hey, what are you doing? You're missing ERRA!"

Her brows were pulled up suspiciously. "Who was that?" She pointed after Nick, who had now disappeared from the merch table.

I shook my head. "Oh, that guy? He's the bassist in the headliner band."

This wasn't good enough for her, I could tell by the way she pursed her lips. "Uh-huh. And...you just decided to chat him up like old friends?"

I groaned. "Ugh, how long were you standing there?"

She put all her weight on one hip. "Long enough to see you two talking like you've known each other before. Care to explain?"

Raylene was so nosey. She came by it honestly, her father being a police detective. But still, why did this matter?

"It's not a big deal, Ray. I'll tell you later."

I pulled on her arm, trying to lead her back to the concert hall, but she stood firm, eyeing me. I sucked my teeth in frustration.

"Damn it, alright, come here."

She followed me to the doors leading outside, and we stepped into the cool air.

"Alright, look, I've known Nick since I was ten."

Her eyes jumped. "Oh? Back in West Virginia?"

I nodded. "Exactly. I had no idea their band was going to be here."

"Do you know anyone else in the band?"

I glanced around, feeling wildly uncomfortable by the conversation.

"I may know the entire band."

Her eyes exploded, nearly shooting out of her face cartoonistically.

"What?! The whole band?" I just nodded. "Jesus, Y/N. That's insane!"

I giggled. "I guess. It's just a coincidence."

She smiled at me. "Well that's awesome! Do you want to see the rest of them after? They're doing a free merch signing."

Panic filled my chest, and I put a hand out to grab her shoulder. "No, no. I don't, uh..." I tried to keep my voice solid. "I don't keep in touch with them anymore."

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh? Okay, if you're sure." Something in my voice must have made her feel my anxiety.

We turned, ready to make our way back inside.

"It is too bad. The lead singer's a real looker. I heard one of the girls in the crowd say his name was Noah Sebastian? He's pretty cute."

I almost walked straight into the door, my foot banging off of the pillar. Ray turned around to see me, and something about the look on my face made realization flash over her.

"Oh my God, are you ok-" She stopped dead, eyes widening again. "Wait..."

"Ray, don't." I knew what she had figured out.

"Noah..." I put my hands up, glancing around to ensure no one was looking at us. "As in...Noah? Your old best friend?!"

I shushed her harshly. "Please, Ray. I don't want to think about this."

"That's the guy?! Noah Sebastian is the guy that broke your heart?!"

I was going to actually vomit at that.

"Fuck! Can we not?!" I raised my voice, which made her snap her mouth closed. "Besides, I don't know a Noah Sebastian."

She looked confused. "Is that not his real name?"

I rolled my eyes, turning to walk back in. "It's his middle name."

I spaced out most of what was left of ERRA's set, just trying to put the pieces back together in my brain. This night had not turned into what I had hoped.

I just wanted one night, an easy night, to take a deep breath away from my hectic life. Instead, I was reliving some of my most painful memories, and had a headache to go right along with it from the alcohol. My chest vibrated, the bass just making it so much more difficult to focus.

I stood off of the GA floor, near the bar area, not even realizing the band had finished, and people were swarming to grab drinks and use the restrooms before the men of the evening appeared. Ray approached me, another Vodka cran in her hand, and pushed it into mine.

"Here my love, drink this." I took a long gulp of it. "Do you want us to go? We don't have to stay..."

My eyes were fixed on the stage, where I could see people setting up the equipment. "No." I huffed out a breath, and squeezed my cup. "No, I want to see them play, I think."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're sure? This can't be easy for you."

My eyes burned into her face, which almost made her flinch. "I may never get to see him again, Ray. I have to."

She just nodded, arm linking with mine. "You want to watch from up here?"

I nodded, crunching on a piece of ice from my drink. "No chance of him spotting me back here."

She affirmed my request, and leaned back against the wall with me.

I felt my phone vibrate, and I pulled it from my pocket to see Tyler's name on the screen.

Tyler: Hey beautiful! How's the show?

I held my breath. What kind of a question was that?

Me: Fine. Almost over, just one band left.

He didn't take but a minute to respond.

Tyler: Having fun?

Ha, what a joke.

Me: Yeah. I've had some drinks, so it's helping.

Tyler: Well, enjoy it baby! You deserve it.

That wasn't fair. None of it was. Having to see Noah? The fact that I had an amazing guy, who genuinely liked me, who waited for me. But I still couldn't get my mind off of that irritatingly beautiful face about to take the stage.

The lights went down, and I felt myself tense, throwing back the rest of my drink. My teeth were numb, if that made any sense at all. Ray's hand gripped mine tight, holding me up.

A cinematic scene played on the screens, but I wasn't watching, eyes hastily searching the stage.

A tall man, who I instantly recognized as Jolly, stepped center-stage, a guitar in his hand playing the opening riff to the song. It was heavy, deep and soul shaking.

Folio came out next, his face, like Jolly's, covered in a black ski mask.

Nick took his spot, playing his bass tones.

And then, as the opening crescendoed, a voice rang through the speakers.

A voice I'd never forget.

"Can you hear me through the white noise?"

He blasted onto the stage, glory and all, face covered and thick black jacket on his shoulders.

He sounded different. Angry. Raw, Aggressive. The feeling that sank in my stomach pulled me back further against the wall.

The song played through, his words pulsing through my veins.

As quick as it had started, it was over, and we were on to the next.

The next track was calmer, red lights glowing all throughout the stage.

They had all removed their masks, and I saw his face for the first time. He looked so much older, making it difficult for me to believe he was the same person.

The words of the song resonated deep in my thoughts.

"I don't want to know all your secrets, cause I'll tell. It's hard enough being alone with myself. I don't know how long I'll be holding on..."

Breathing deeply, I watched as the crowd moved with the music, electrifying the energy in the room. It was intoxicating.

Noah had changed...

The set played on without hitch, the entire time I caught myself holding in breaths until I felt my lungs nearly bursting. I couldn't take my eyes off of him, feeling the familiar ache beginning to creep back in.

The music stopped, and a bunch of lights came up. By this time, Noah had discarded his jacket, button-up, and only stood in a black tank top, hands wrapped in what looked like boxing wraps?

"Alright, Boston, how we feeling?" His speaking voice even sounded different...

The crowd erupted.

"We are Bad Omens, and we sincerely appreciate you all being here tonight. The next song we are going to play for you all has been the biggest turning point this band has ever seen." I heard the screams, and did my best to tune them out so I could hear his words. "Is anyone familiar with a song called Just Pretend?"

The room rocked with the cheers and chants of the crowd.

"That volume that I just heard? That's the volume I want to hear you sing this with me, okay? Don't worry about trying to hit the perfect note or get all of the words right. It's about us all, being here together tonight."

The music played softly behind him when his lips reached the microphone.

"I can wait for you at the bottom. I can stay away if you want me to. I can wait for years if I gotta. Heaven knows I ain't getting over you..."

My heart twisted in my chest.

"I'm not afraid, of the war you've come to wage against my sins. I'm not okay, but I can try my best to just pretend. So will you wait me out? Or will you drown me out?"

The tears pooled in my eyes. No fucking way. The song played on, mocking me with the lyrics.

"I know the pain that you hide behind the smile on your face. And not a day goes by where I don't think I feel the same."

"We'll try again, when we're not so different. We will make amends, till then I'll just pretend."

My hands came up to cover my face, my lip trembling hard.

"Weigh down on me. Stay till morning. Way down. Would you say I'm worthy?"

I choked on a sob, my legs pushing me forward, and I ran out of the room. I felt my stomach lurching, my mouth clamping closed as I ran toward the bathroom.

I heard Ray chasing behind me. "Y/N! Wait!"

Flying into the bathroom and finding the first open stall, I fell to my knees, emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet. My hands gripped my hair, tears falling hard down my face.

"Oh God, babe." Ray reached to grab my hair from me as I wretched all of the Vodka out of my stomach, my heart and soul pouring out with it.

When I finished, I let my chest heave with sobs, my hand covering my eyes in ebarrassment.

"Fuck, Ray." I said as I wiped my face with the tissue she handed me. "I've got to get the hell out of here."

She nodded. "Okay, my love. Let's do that."

After a solid twenty minutes of cleaning myself up in the bathroom, we stepped out, noticing the crowd now formed outside, waiting at the table for the band to come out for the signing. Ray was frantically dialing Sean, trying to find him among the sea of people. I just plopped myself down on the floor near the restroom, trying to relax as best as I could.

"Y/N?" I looked up at her. "I have to go find Sean. He isn't answering. Can you wait here for me?"

I just nodded, defeated. She was gone, lost within the abyss of people, and I sat, waiting, head in my hands.

I was pulled out of my stupor by the sound of cheering. The band had come out, all waving and smiling. I didn't even bother chancing a glance at him, for fear I may vomit again.

Ray had not come back yet, despite the four or five texts I had now sent her. I had been waiting for a solid thirty minutes, people watching the line and avoiding seeing his face. The ropes of the line were blocking my view of the faces sitting at the table.

After another fifteen, Ray finally bounded up to me, out of breath, Sean in tow.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry! That crowd is vicious!"

I stood slowly, the room only slightly spinning. I swallowed the dry, disgusting feeling in my throat, and began moving toward the exits that were now mostly clear.

"Let's go." She nodded at me, and took my arm. We had to wait behind several people trying to all get through the same revolving door. My skin felt spiky and cold.

"Hang on! Wait!"

A voice behind me made ice run through my veins, and I closed my eyes, begging whatever God existed to spare me in this moment.

A hand gripped my shoulder, and I tensed, turning my face, and my eyes looked straight at him.

He had spotted me, running from his table to catch me. He had to have been pretty damn sure it was me to chase after me like that. Fans began to crowd us, camera phones coming out, pictures snapping.

The look on his face was much less certain than I expected, as if he possibly made a mistake.

"I'm sorry..." His voice was unsteady. "Do I," He cleared his throat, eyes bouncing back and forth between my own. "know you?"

My eyebrows shot up. He really didn't recognize me?

He thought he did, but now...

"No. I don't think so." I spit out my words, teeth grinding together. It felt exactly the same as the last time I had seen him.

He dropped his hand, eyes still transfixed on mine. "I swore..."

I just turned my body, pressing my way past the gathered crowd, not giving him the chance to think it through.

In the car, I stared out the back window, arms wrapped around myself.

"What did he say, honey?" Ray's voice was so gentle.

"He didn't recognize me. He thought he did, but once he got up close, I guess I look too different." My words were only a peg above a whisper.

"You going to be okay? I don't have to stay at Sean's."

I just wiped the stray tear off of my cheek. "It's fine. I'd rather be alone."

-

A long, scalding shower, two handfuls of shredded cheese, and a solid half-hour crying session later, I was laid catatonically on my bed, eyes staring at the screen as Grey's Anatomy flashed across my screen.

I had blanked my mind out, forcing myself to let the thoughts go for the night. I was too tired and broken to let my heart hurt like this again. It took a solid year to get over Noah enough that I was able to function again. My first year of med school was disappointing, and I didn't make any friends until I made it into the second year. It took me nearly three to start dating.

I couldn't do that again.

I had been ignoring the texts going off on my phone, assuming it was Ray just checking on me for the thousandth time. I did, however, decide to take a look when I heard my ringtone going off.

Who would be calling me at 2AM?

I didn't even bother checking the screen before I put the phone up to my ear, my voice hoarse from crying.

"Hello?"

"What are the odds that you haven't changed your number after all this time?"

I sat bolt upright, my voice catching in my throat. The voice on the other end sounded nearly as wrecked as mine.

"Noah?" It barely came out.

"It's been a long time."

I cleared the newly formed phlegm out of my throat. "It has."

"I knew that was you." It sounded deadly quiet in the background of his end of the line. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming tonight?"

I sighed. "Nick told you?"

"He might've."

I groaned. "Well, I asked him not to."

"Why?"

I scoffed. "What do you mean, why?" I rubbed my eyes. "We're not exactly speaking anymore, Noah."

He hummed. "That's true."

I chewed on my lip, not having any kind of clue of what to say.

"What did you think?"

"Of the show?"

"Mhm."

I sighed. "It was good. Different than what I would have expected."

A soft laugh came through the line. "How so?"

I smiled at that. "It's just a lot different than what I expected your music to sound like."

"In a bad way?"

"No. Not at all."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." His voice was so serious. So monotone. Nothing at all like what I remembered.

The line fell silent again, and I found this irritating. What was he playing at?

"Why did you call, Noah?"

I heard a breath on the other end, and some rustling. "I don't know."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have."

"Maybe. I wanted to hear your voice."

My stomach tightened. "Now you have. I should go."

"Wait..." I held the phone firm, waiting. "I want to see you."

My heart pounded. "What?"

"I need to see you." His words were so matter-of-fact.

"I don't think so, Noah. That's not a great idea."

"It's not, but I'm asking..." He sounded so small. "Can I please see you?"

I perused the idea. "When?"

"Now?"

I scrunched up my face, sitting up again. "Now? It's after two in the morning."

"I don't care. I'll come to wherever you are."

This struck me. Maybe he hadn't changed?

"I, uh," I struggled to speak. "Noah, I don't know. I'm at home, it's late. I should be sleeping."

"Y/N?" I stopped, listening. "Please?"

I am a weak woman, and that is just plain fact. I was frantically running throughout the apartment, attempting to tidy any kind of mess I could get my hands on. Ray and I hadn't taken the time to really clean in months, so it was stressing me out. My pajama pants were hanging low on my hips, and I swam in my large sweatshirt.

My hair was falling loose around my face, and I was sure my eyes were puffy from the crying I had done. How insane was I? Had I completely lost it?

It was almost 3AM when a knock came at my apartment door, and I froze in place. What was I doing? Why was I allowing this to happen? I didn't need to do this to myself.

I was fine, living in my normal, tired bubble. I was headed towards a successful career that would take me further than I ever imagined. Why was I allowing this trainwreck of a friendship back into my life? What was I thinking?!

I wasn't. That was the answer to that question.

I opened the door, not sure what to expect on the other side. He stood, still as tall as I remembered, looming in the doorway. He wore a black hoodie, hands tucked neatly in the pocket. Dark blue jeans and black Converse. A white beanie covering his hair.

Like this, he looked almost recognizable. Except for his eyes...

Just like in the photograph I had seen earlier, his eyes were so dark. There was very little life behind them. Deep blue circles hung under the rims, making a pull in my chest show itself.

I just stood, blocking the doorway, hand white-knuckling the frame.

"Hi." Was all he managed. He was staring at me, eyes moving up and down my face as if he was seeing an apparition.

"Hi." I echoed, trying to not feel out of place under his stare.

"I'm glad you agreed to see me." He didn't move an inch, his jaw ticking closed with his last work.

I just nodded, letting out all of my air. "Yeah, well, you were insistent."

He nodded, finally looking away from me and down at the ground.

"I had to."

I pursed my lips, narrowing my eyes. "Did you?" He raised a brow at me. "Did you just have to see me? Because I think we probably would've been alright without it."

I could see his face fall, hurt by what I said, but I didn't care. He never did.

"I'm sorry. I know it's selfish."

"Mm," I pinched my lips together, and opened my door wider. "come in."

I stalked back into the house, not daring to look back at him. I heard the door shut behind me, and I steadied myself, expecting to turn around and see him vanished.

To my chagrin, he was still there.

Deciding not to stagnate, I walked into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of tea from the fridge, and walking back out to the living area. He hadn't moved, and was still staring at me.

"So." I motioned to him. "What can I do for you?"

Noah was so statuesque, as if carved right out of stone. "I don't really know."

My face lifted, a smirk on my lips. "You don't know? Noah," I placed a hand on my hip. "you show up here at 3AM, and you have no idea why?"

He shrugged, eyes begging me for mercy. "I'm sorry. I don't."

"Can you stop apologizing and just tell me why you're here?!" My patience snapped, startling even me.

This took him back, but instead of tucking tail and backing away, he stood straighter, face hardening.

"I can't tell you why I'm here if I don't know, alright?" His words were stern.

"Well you must have some kind of reason? Because this feels wildly unnecessary."

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "It is? So you didn't want to see me?"

I set my tea on the coffee table and stood nonchalantly. "Not really."

He narrowed his eyes. "I don't buy it." He took a step toward me, but I stood firm. "If you didn't you wouldn't have stayed, tonight. You would've left after you saw the band your friends went to see."

He was closer now, and it felt like a string had tethered between us, the tension slowly slacking.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to see your set. See how the band was doing."

He snickered at me. "Oh, sure. Of course." His hands finally appeared from his pockets, one running over his chin. "Which song was your favorite?"

Oop. I wasn't expecting that.

"The second one. Villain, or something?"

He nodded. "Like A Villain." Noah's eyes weren't buying it. "Which one did you like least?"

I scoffed. "I don't know, Noah? The first one?"

"Mm, and which one was that?"

I was swallowing the lump in my throat. I couldn't remember, the night blurring together.

"Uh, I don't know the name."

He took a step back, triumphant. "You weren't there for the set. You wanted to see me."

Rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms. "Still as self-absorbed as ever, I see?"

"Am I wrong?"

He had me backed into a corner, and he fucking knew it.

I threw my arms up. "Fine! Maybe I did. But you wanted to see me too."

He sneered at me, venom on his lips. "Obviously, or else I wouldn't be here."

"You still haven't said why."

"Why did you want to see me?"

My voice was raising, frustration growing. "I don't know!"

"I don't know either!" He yelled back at me, and my mouth snapped closed. Noah never raised his voice at me. Not ever.

He took three long strides over to me until he was only stood a foot away.

"I didn't expect to ever see you again, Y/N! I thought you were gone forever! So imagine my surprise when I see you walking out of the House of Blues, and you deny even knowing me!"

I felt like shrinking into a ball right there on the floor, ceasing to exist.

"I wanted to see you because how could I not?! Seven fucking years, Y/N!" He backed down for a second, his breathing becoming ragged. "I've been waiting seven years."

I furrowed my brow. "Waiting?"

"For you to reach out. To tell me you missed me. To give me some kind of indication we could reconcile and be us again."

There was a fire, deep down in my gut, that I had never been able to truly extinguish. A fire Noah had lit years ago. A mine shaft burning like the depths of hell in my belly that I had buried under concrete and therapy, keeping it at bay.

In my apartment, tonight, that fire broke loose. And there was no stopping it.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" I took a step forward, pressing into his space, index finger jabbing into his chest. "I was supposed to reach out?!"

He took a step back, eyes now full of fear.

"I professed my love to you, Noah! I told you I wanted you, and you fucking left!"

He puffed at me, pointing a finger back at me. "You told me to leave!'

"Yes! Because you told me you didn't love me! You told me you couldn't love me the way I loved you!"

He squeezed his lids shut tight, growling and turning away from me, taking several steps away. His hands came up, gripping the beanie on his head.

"God damn it Y/N!" He turned to look at me, a fiery rage matching my own behind his eyes. "Of course I fucking loved you!"

My heart stopped, completely motionless.

"What?"

"I've always loved you! From the moment I laid fucking eyes on you! I've never loved anyone, no one, the way I loved you!" He charged me, backing me toward the couch. "But I couldn't love you, Y/N! I wasn't good enough. I was a piss-poor high school dropout musician trying to make a name for himself, and, until recently, failing miserably."

I couldn't speak, thoughts racing so fast, I struggled to keep up.

"And you?" He pointed a finger back into my chest. "You were smart, and motivated, and you were going to make something of yourself. I couldn't drag you down with me. I couldn't force you to follow this journey with me. It would've ruined your life!"

My lungs weren't working right, and my hands were shaking. He wasn't actually saying this. I was hallucinating.

"So I left. I left to give you a chance at a real life. Which, evidently, you've managed to build without me." He took a step back, then, dropping his hands. "And I, somehow, without you."

This hurt me, hearing he had managed to become so successful, despite my involvement.

"Noah, I had no idea-"

"No," He cut me off. "you didn't."

I hadn't even caught the tears falling from my eyes, blurring my vision until he was just a watery mess in front of me.

"You didn't need me." I choked out, and he looked directly at me, inquisitively. "You've made it so far. You're a rockstar now, Noah."

He scoffed. "Y/N, you don't get it." He looked away from me, focused on the wall behind me. "I died without you. Something inside of me was lost the day I left, and I never got it back."

"Well, you're successful now, so it can't be so bad, right?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Success always comes with a price."

My lips were wet with the tears I couldn't hold in, and I couldn't keep my breathing even. I knew he saw it, but hesitated to engage, wanting to keep a wide berth between us. I couldn't take it. It was too much.

Hearing he loved me. Hearing I had been wrong all this time. Hearing that the heartbreak I felt for so long wasn't his fault. He was protecting me, even after all these years.

"Noah?" He chanced a glance at me, and I saw his own eyes sparkling with moisture.

I couldn't take it.

I rushed him, grabbing hold of his shoulder and clinging on, desperate to find relief against him. My lips smashed into his, tearing apart the barrier I had worked so hard to build.

His hands grabbed me, holding me into place against him, his lips melted into mine, returning the kiss fervently. We were hopeless. We were hungry.

My tears didn't stop flowing, emotion pouring out of every pore. My fingers clawed at him, needing to get closer. My hand grabbed the beanie, and pulled it off of his head, his dark hair falling over his eyes. I gripped it at the scalp, trying to pull myself closer.

Feeling what I was attempting to do, his hands lifted me by the back of my legs, so I could wrap them around his midsection. I refused to disconnect the kiss, breathing in his soul. It was so real and so familiar. How I missed it like hell.

His legs carried us to the couch, where he sat us down. My legs straddled him, and I finally pulled away to tug at the sweatshirt he wore. He made quick work of pulling it up over his head while I did the same with my own. Reconnecting our lips, my hands wandered over his neck and chest, scratching at the fabric of his shirt.

His teeth caught my bottom lip, and I moaned into his mouth. His fingers pulled at the waistband of my pajama pants, and I lifted myself enough to slip them off, replacing myself on his lap. His jeans were already getting tighter as his hands smoothed up and down my thighs.

"Fucking hell." He looked down, staring at my bare breasts in front of him. "These got bigger, huh?"

I laughed, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, well, things change."

His fingers gripped around my left breast, lips falling to circle around the hardened nipple. I let my head fall back, relishing in the warm feeling spreading throughout my body.

"Still so fucking beautiful, just like I remember." I pulled at the hair on the back of his neck. "Did you miss me, baby girl?"

I ground my hips down against him in response. His hand began playing with the button of his jeans, and I moved it away to open them myself.

I stood up to pull his jeans down to his knees, his boxers bulging in the crotch.

"Oh, fuck." I sighed out. "Yeah, I missed you."

His smile then was devious, some of that regular spark shining back in his eyes. "Then show me, huh?"

Reaching into the opening of his underwear, I pulled his cock free, taking a moment to remember just how large it was. It had been a very long time since I had seen anything quite that impressive. Dipping my head down, I licked a long stripe up the shaft, lingering on the head to gather the precome leaking out.

"Holy shit." His head fell back on the couch, his eyes rolling back with it. "Mm, do that again, please?"

I smirked, looking up at him. "Only since you asked so nicely."

My tongue repeated the movement, drawing out a hard groan out of him, his legs twitching. "Fuck yeah, baby."

Without warning, I wrapped my lips around him and swallowed him as far down as my throat would allow, gagging on the tip as it struck my tonsils. His hips jolted upward, effectively fucking my throat.

"Please, Y/N, I won't last that way." He begged, his words only coming out as breaths. "I need to feel you, please."

He was begging, and I couldn't resist it. I needed him too.

I stood back up, and kneeled on either side of him, carefully lining him up with my entrance. When I sunk down, that delicious burn pierced through me, and my body collapsed onto him at the intensity of it.

"Noah, oh my God." He ran a hand up my back, allowing me a moment to adjust.

"I know, baby. I know." He soothed me, rubbing small circles into my skin.

My hips stuttered forward, needing to feel the friction. His hand reached down to grab my ass, and lifted me upward. Without warning, his hips snapped forward and fucked into me, making a sharp scream leave my lips.

My face rested on his chest, whimpers falling from my throat with each hard thrust.

"Fuck, you missed me, pretty girl?" He was panting between his words, his rhythm picking up speed. "Missed the way I fuck you?"

My eyes were rolling back, the tears from before now replaced with tears of raw pleasure.

"I'll bet you've never been fucked like this, huh?" His words were just tones of desire playing in my ears, his cock absolutely destroying me. "No one can fuck you like I can, baby. No one."

My nails dug hard into his shirt, begging for release.

"Let me know when you come, baby. Not finishing until you do."

Luckily for him, I was riding the edge so hard it was making the room spin. Biting my lip to keep from screaming, I lifted myself to look at his face.

"Noah," I searched his eyes, his hips not faltering. "I love you."

He grit his teeth, trying to focus on me and his hips at the same time. "I love you, too. So fucking much."

My face fell back down, landing on the side of his neck. "I'm going to come. Please, Noah, I'm so close..."

He, somehow, managed to pump into me harder, sending my body over the cliff and into the warm waves of my orgasm. My body went slack against him as my walls pulsed around his length.

I heard him curse, and his hips stilled. I felt him spasming inside me, and silently thanked myself for my IUD.

We laid that way, sweaty and heaving, for a solid ten minutes before either of us could find the strength to move. I slipped him out of me, and sat up to look at him. He looked absolutely wrecked, in the best possible way.

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread over me.

"Hi." Was all I could manage.

He chuckled tiredly. "Hi."

-

After our excursion, Noah and I had taken a few minutes to clean up, and, being as exhausted as you'd expect, decided to lay together for a while.

He told me he had to leave within a few hours to get back to his hotel, heading to the next city bright and early, so I told him I'd stay up until he had to leave.

However, in my bed, his arms wrapped tightly around me, his voice whispering sweet words in my ears, I struggled to remain conscious.

"Do you remember when I bought you that Oasis album for your fourteenth birthday? That was basically me professing my love to you."

"I was such an idiot. I should've just told you."

"You have no idea how much I've missed you. I don't think you'll ever understand."

"I'm so sorry. I wish things were different..."

And that's how I woke up, light in my bedroom far too bright, and my bed empty.

I don't know what I expected? For him to stay? Fuck off his tour to make up for lost time with me?

But still, my chest stung when I saw he had left, but I wasn't surprised.

Something had changed last night, and the darkness that lingered in the depths of my being had lifted, leaving me with a sense of hope I hadn't felt before.

When I had woken for the day, clearing the cobwebs from my eyes, I contemplated my next move. He had surely left town already, but that didn't mean I couldn't keep in touch, right?

Pulling out my phone, I found his contact, and opened a text thread.

Me: Hey, call me when you can. I think we have a lot to talk about. :)

I set my phone down on the bathroom counter, preparing to brush my teeth when my phone dinged, and the notification told me the text had failed.

Odd?

I resent it, getting the same response.

Why would my messages fail? I paid my bill, right?

Quickly dialing Ray's number, I held the phone to my ear and heard the ringing, so I knew my service was fine. Giving her a quick apology for waking her, I hung up, and went back to my texts.

His number was the same, right?

I went back to my call logs, seeing it was his number that called me last night, so it was the same as it had always been.

So...what the hell?

My finger hovered over the number for a moment, and I weighed the options before finally resolving to just call him. Make sure I wasn't losing my mind.

I held the phone to my face as I started brushing my teeth, waiting for the call to connect.

"The number you have reached is not in service. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try your call again."

[overangel]

Jason calling darling princess while eating her out or something lmao /j

I can see any of of the siblings, specifically dick for some reason, to be into the whole Risky taboo thing by having her call them brother while Bruce, Alfred or anyone else is in the same room as them. For example, Damian could be sucking on her chest or just playing with them in the library while Jason is reading and Alfred is just on the other side of the shelf cleaning and dusting the books. Dick could be using his fingers to play with her and pleasure her while the entire family watches a movie with him forcing her to sit on his lap with a bowl of popcorn on her lap and a thick blanket over them to cover their act. Tim with remote controlled toys which he uses when they have to attend gala's and having the paparazzi taking pics of the entire family because it's the first time they see the entire family together WITH DARLING THERE FOR THE FIRST TIME

(Im so sorry for this omg it's 12 am and I feel very hyper :') )

🦇-

Jason so would, princess and Angel are his go to's that no one else is allowed to use. He's got dibs.

Dick would def relish in the taboo of it. You're his sister, and he's the big brother here so he has certain authority over you (delulu) and he's the one you have to trust and come to with all of your problems. Not just problems but everything! Tell him your period started lol, he's fascinated and tracking everything. He wants inside you so bad.

He's supposed to be your number one priority in life because he made you his without hesitation. He won't take it well if he's second banana to anything.

He tries so hard to get you to call him brother, and when you finally do out of pity, he's rock hard instantly. Shame he was in his Nightwing suit at the time in front of Bruce and everyone.

Damian plays the sibling thing straight. You're his sister. His other half. He says you were made for him with the added bonus that you have all of your mom's good traits and flaws and weeded out Bruce's bad ones. Perfection, and ofc he deserves you.

You're his to have and to hold until death do you part. One heart, one soul.

In the past life, he took every chance he could to touch you and that came with violence, grabbing, and shoving. Holding you down against any surface you were unfortunate enough to be standing near, as he pressed your bodies close, so much that you could feel his heart beating against your frightened one.

His breaths were ragged and he'd just stare at you with those impossibly brilliant eyes. You thought he was fighting the urge to kill you. He was fighting the urge to fuck you. Same thing?

Imagine Jason impaling you on his cock in the library. He's "helping" you study for a college course and he's making you recite a sonnet from memory as he does. Naturally, you can't think a coherent thought. Tsk, you'll have to start from the beginning until you get it right. Practice makes perfect, princess.

Tim turning up the bullet every time you even look at another man. If you're feeling weak he'd be happy to take you to get some air. Oh, the pic that would make.