I’m thinking about Incubus!Leon finding Succabus!Reader in a book store, of all places.
cw: 18+ mdni, dub-con, oral (m receiving)
It’s rare for him to find one of his kind in the first place, usually your species meet just in passing. No need to feed on your own kind. But he can practically sniff you out, you’re practically a kid to the man, in your twenties or thirties, who knows. But you live for almost two hundred years and you can learn a couple things. You’re passed out in on of the reading nooks, if Incubus!Leon was human he’d almost think you’d just fallen asleep. Head resting on the bookshelf, long lashes fluttering, you’re beautiful, but you’re taking shallow breaths. Too slow.
The man can’t just take you out of there, can he? Then have someone suspecting he’s kidnapping you, he calls 911 and they won’t give you what you need. He manages to get you to lean on him, shaking you out of your sleep just from the smell of his cologne. His hand is on your hip to steady you, making sure your arm is slung over his broad shoulders. Your hand lays flat on his toned stomach, abs hiding behind the tight long sleeve shirt he’s wearing. You giggle, eyes low, tempting— “ ‘M starved.”
Leon gives the stranger near by a forced smile, only hurrying you out of the book store to his truck, “Yeah kid, I can tell.”
If Leon had the proper restraint, he would’ve taken you to the hospital designed for hybrids and— the inhuman— but you filled the car with an unfathomably sweet aroma— intoxicating but it all screamed you, you, you. Your hands trailed up and down his torso, rubbing your body against his, letting out such sesnsual moans, murmurs of ‘please’ over and over. Hand getting so dangerously low, thigh creeping into his lap as your hand circles around his hardening length in his pants. You suck in a breath, whining, “need it so bad, mm- please, need you so much.”
He groans, running a hand through his greying hair, “Fuck, You don’t even know my name.”
“I can know it, I- tell me what you need baby- please, can be exactly what you need.” You nuzzle your face into his neck. It’s wrong, you’re not in the right mindset. Just a starved succubus willing to do anything to feed. Your entire body controlled by instinct you can’t help.
He sighs, “Just once, alright?”
You could’ve came in your own pants from that alone, the way his husky voice filled your ears and made butterflies fly in your stomach, sticky heat drenching your panties. Incoherent mumbles of ‘thank you’ escaping your plump lips, soon to be wrapped around his thick mushroom tip that’s leaking pre. You push your hair back, tongue swirling around his cockhead with a wet ‘pop’
“Fuck ’s good,” you lick your lips panting, rolling your hand up and down his shaft, burning strawberry red and fat, heavy and pulsing in your hand. Your mouth is watering for that salty taste once more, eyes peering up at Leon, literal sparks going off like fireworks in your brown eyes, “Why’s it so good?”
You don’t give him a chance to reply either, yout warm mouth taking him as far as you can, Leon’s teeth clench together, hand going to the back of your nape as your roughly suck and slurp his cock. Trying to get you to slow down, but your head only bobs down faster, gagging at how big he fills your mouth, only turning you on more, “Take it fuckin easy- Jesus fucking— fuuck!“
And this unearthly feeling you’re giving him, swirling your tongue around the sides of his length, moaning around him as he only gets harder in your mouth. A mix of spit and cum dripping down your chin, down to the pubes that tickle your nose hair everytime you try taking him deeper, more, more, more—
The older man gently eases you to his tip, groaning at the sloppy and wet sight, strings of his cum falling from your lips, “Gonna- shit- gonna hurt yourself like that dolly, told you t’take your time, didn’t I?” But it doesn’t even waved in your dilated eyes, cockdrunk, kitten licks hitting the slit of his cock. He lets out a deep breath, “I’ll help you, alright? Take this- that’s perfect sweetheart- fuck- take this as a teachin moment, alright? Mmf- Most guys arent like this.”
Leon has goosebumps rolling down his skin, you’re good, like you were made for this exact moment, no one’s ever made him feel this good. He’s been with his fair share of women and men, a few hybrids here and fhere, but this is a different ballpark. Pure erotica, the way your hips are rocking in the air as Leon slowly starts to fuck your mouth, not as rough, but fast, the sloppy sound of your muffled moans with the sopping wet sputter and gawking while you suck his dick.
You can see just how handsome he looks with his head thrown back mouth agape against the head rest, disheaveked . Adam’s apple bobs as he croon, “Angh- you’re amazing hun, fuck you’re amazin, god damn- keep goin pretty- mm!” His chest rising and falling, His sick so damn wide, ends of your lips sure to be cracked by the end of the day.
Tears brim your eyelids, feeling the way his cock twitches on your tongue, and you hollow your mouth out, earning a much desired hoarse moan from the older man’s mouth, daring to suck his soul.
And you can feel the, the exact moment his load hits the back of your throat, filling the back of your throat that makes you moan. Chocking but sucking him clean, to his cock is limp in your mouth. You come up for air, letting the cum go down your throat, you can feel your clit pulsing, walls of your cunt snapping together. “Thank you for the meal.” You mewl, and your savoring the taste, drunk on the feeling.
Leon is wiping a hand down his face, embarrassment hitting him, because he’s got a girl who looks like you keep your nose in a book, glasses foggy, lips glossed with his cum dripping down to your shirt in the middle of the day on the side of a busy street.
“Fuck, we gotta move.” The older man starts the engine to the truck, pulling out of his parking spot.
“Youre soooo pretty when you cum mister.” You slur, fingers trailing his bicep, pressing your wet face onto it.
“First I’ve heard ‘f that,” he jokes, leaning over and grabbing a few napkins in the glove box. He hands them for you to take and you do, but you’re only looking up at him with those pretty doe eyes, still glazed over and shining.
“For your face honey.”
And it clicks in your brain, repeating his words and wiping your face.
“‘Nd it’s Leon, Leon Kennedy. Not old for mister yet.”
“Leon,” you repeated so dreamily, practically let yourself bathe in the sound of it. It just got so perfectly on your tongue. What the older man would give to hear you say that one more time. “How nice, what a nice name you got, Leon.”
Oh, does it move him more than it should. Maybe you’re still putting at that intoxicating smell that had his heart pumping, dick threatening to revive itself again. He clears his throat, adjusting himself slightly but you’re still clinging to him. Watching the warm hue of red lightly change on his ears. The man doesn’t really have a place to drop you off yet, not that he can with the state you’re in, absolutely more prone to a predator of any kind to come your ways
It’s after eating for a succubus or incubus which can take some time to come down if you haven’t eaten for a long time. Just like sub space, but you’re practically glowing after eating, hazy. Could easily attract anyone in a five mile radius else and go again, and again, and again— worse, you eat to kill.
“You should make sure you don’t starve yourself like that again. If you don’t eat properly you could die. It’s when you’re older you don’t have to eat as much, ‘nd I’m an incubus so I can hold off. You on the other hand, not so much.”
You’re rubbing your eyes, yawning ever to cutely, “I never heard ‘f that, the manual- the manual said I could go atleast a month or two.”
“The manual?” 
And you’re rummaging through your person, managing to find it in your shoulder bag, a little flimsy and worn little booklet that you pass him. Leon quickly flips through the small thing when the light stops red, brows only knitting further together and frown lines forming with every word he reads.
“What a load of fucking garbage! They probably made that when I was still a kid, who gave you that?”
“My mom, she gave it t’me on my eighteenth birthday, when the symptoms- when I really became one. But, I haven’t see ‘er since.”
“So you’re basically clueless.” He asks but it’s more like a statement, you only lean into him more, humming along to the low radio, mind still not fully getting the gravity of it.
It would be irresponsible to just leave you, even when you do come to, you’re only a little ways from going down the right path and then Leon will have to be the one to hunt you down if things go in disarray. Hybrids are still a controlled population, no matter how many go undocumented, you’re both still seen by the state as other. You go against humans, Leon Kennedy is sent to… handle it.
But if he can prevent that—
“‘S almost as if I like signing myself up for major favors.” He grumbles, taking a glance at you.
“I can teach you, you know.”
Your ears perk up, “teach me?”
His fingers tap on the steering wheel, “Just so you don’t end up passed out in another book store. Most of us, have a little help growing up. I guess this is you stumbling on it. Just until you get on your feet—“
“—So I can eat you again—“
“—No, no,” he cut you off, this one time and one time only, “I can help you get proper meals though. It’d be easier to just get in a relationship—“
“—But yours, I only want yours. That was the best I’ve ever had.”
You’re out of your mind, surely. Maybe because of him being an incubus it really ripped you a new one.
“You’ll find better.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Story of our lives sweetheart.” He says exasperatedly, feeling you only cuddle back into him and star at the road. “Can’t always get what you want.”
a/n: wanna make this into a series so bad but I’m scared no one’s gonna like/read this. Did I stick major plot in this? Well yes.
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In the three months you've lived in your apartment, you've only seen your neighbor twice.
Once, when you caught him on his way back from the store. Carrying an obscene amount of bags in one arm, all of them looking suspiciously like microwave-dinners. The other time you had caught him in the lobby looking about ready to murder the out-of-service elevator. You chatted with him while you both walked up the stairs, and he introduced himself as "simon"
And, sue you, you feel bad for the guy. Doesn't get visitors, doesn't go anywhere as far as you know.
And those damn tv dinners.
So, you buy all the fancy ingredients you usually reserve for celebrations and cook dinner for two. Your school drama teacher would have been proud of your performance when you sheepishly knocked on his door with a tray of lasagna "uhm, hi. I'm your neighbor, I don't know if you remember me–"
"I do." Simon cuts you off, door barely hedged open. His arm, the one on his cane, shakes with effort. Eyes cutting down to your tray, narrowing, "what's that?"
"Oh– uhm. Lasagna. I made more than I expected, and I'm out of town in a few days and I don't want to waste it–" you rattle off, faster than you'd like but conscious of the way his shoulder must be aching just to stand and talk to you, "I thought– if we shared–"
"Fine." Cutting you off again, door pulling further open "but I don't own dishes. Bring yer own."
Which is how you end up sharing a tense dinner with simon, footie match on the tv in the next room. You try not to stare but...he's handsome under that surgical maks he always wears. Good, strong jaw, pretty lips, nice scars.
When he's done, simon whipes the food that spilled off his chin and grunts "best damn meal I've had in years."
Really, it becomes routine from there.
You bring over a homecooked meal, every week at least. Eventually you and simon start chatting, at first bitching about the elevator and neighbors, then life in general. Ghost starts to accumulate actual plates and cups in his home, some food items other than microwave meals.
You learn a lot about simon. About what he did before the injury, about the mates he calls now and again. Eventually, you bully him into using his wheelchair when you visit instead of forcing himself to use a cane. He also bullies you into getting your shower head fixed.
It's....nice. you never notice, but when you aren't looking simon looks at you like a lovestruck fool.
#O1 - the first sighting — dick grayson ( hook, line & grayson )
tags !! smut, pussydrunk dick, love at first sight, consensual, slight degradation, dirty talk, praise. so much praise. desperate sex. needy sex. hungry grayson. pleaser grayson. i think this is what they refer to as a service top. slightly pathetic dick grayson. voyeurism if you squint. implied aftercare. meet cute (albeit horny). mutual attraction. oral sex. semi-public sex. closet sex. feeling you up. he falls first, and hard.
a/n !! second series, i just wanted an excuse to fuck dick grayson fictionally. that's it. that's the post. ric's my baby and i will die on the hill that he is a very versatile switch and i was very much thinking about marking him up while writing this. richard john grayson, if you see me, RUN. anyway, i hope yall enjoy this!! this will be a two part series; maybe three if the plot thickens. lemme know what you think in the comments + send me asks!! much love, xoxo, val.
dick grayson was never one for love at first sight.
he did not believe in it, and he did not think he would ever believe in it. at least, until now.
he did not know what triggered it, but he felt himself extremely enraptured by how good you looked in that versace black viscose-jersey gown dress, the fabric hugging every curve and that slit revealing just enough skin up to your mid-thigh for his mouth to water.
he wanted a taste of you, and he wanted it soon, or the gods know he will lose his mind.
so it was no surprise when he had asked you to a dance when the orchestra struck up to a waltz, much to bruce's dismay (nothing new there).
"you look gorgeous tonight."
he purred into your ear at a turn, his dimples on full display as he smiled that charming gotham's most eligible bachelor smile, charm dialled to a hundred. mentally, he was hoping and praying you would entertain his advances. god, he wanted you so bad.
"can i have a name to put to that pretty face?"
and when you did give him your name? heavens, he felt like he was in the presence of an angel when you looked up at him after, eyebrow raised like you were telling him 'i see through your shit. i know what you want.'
and he swore he saw a little bit of that hunger that has been brewing in his gut reflect in your eyes when your gaze dropped to his arms. or maybe he was being delusional.
either way, he was definitely getting a piece of you tonight. or at the very least, a kiss.
the waltz comes in smoothly, despite both of you knowing each other for barely 5 minutes. dick grayson, though bless his heart for leading you through it seamlessly, will not shut up. you supposed it was not really a downside, and you had heard rumors about it but, goddamn.
dick grayson never shuts up.
"so, what brings a pretty face like you here?"
he asked, trying to act all nonchalant, murmuring into your ear while your perfume was making his knees slightly weak and his mouth water.
fuck, you smelled so good. was that versace too?
this should be illegal.
"do I need a reason to attend a charity ball?"
your voice was low, teasing.
i mean, it was not like your identity was a secret anyway.
your family was not huge, but they also were not low profile either. they were decent — your father was a pharmaceutical company ceo and your mother a model, both of them with actual moral compasses and a pretty affluent status.
but right now, they were talking to some businessman - and you were content with where you were.
in fact, you would be lying if you said you were not enjoying this, and that dick was not affecting you as well.
the man, to his credit, was sex appeal on legs.
his hands were big, strong from all the acrobatics and whatever else he does. his smile was sharpened to seem both friendly and charismatic, yet predatory enough to make heat curl in your abdomen and your clit tingle.
you were distracted by his dimples, and then his arms — god his huge fucking arms. you wondered what it would be like to bite them, or to grab onto them when you trip or when you drag your hips up and down his cock—
you look away from his face, glancing around almost too quickly, trying to find something else to latch onto, praying dick did not catch that flicker of heat in yours.
but oh, dick - that bastard - he caught it.
he smirked faintly to himself, pressing you closer to his chest by pressing his hand into your lower back slightly rougher, murmuring into your ear.
"like what you see, doll?"
and he could audibly hear you swallow.
now, you are not one to lose your cool so easily.
but richard john grayson was no ordinary man.
you dug your nails lightly into the shoulder of his suit, eliciting a soft hiss and a low chuckle from him that made the heat pooled in your gut flicker to an ember.
"easy, darling. i don't bite."
he murmured roughly before plunging you into a deep dip, twisting your body effortlessly before pulling you back up onto your feet.
he feels his lips pull into a smirk at the breathless look on your face, momentarily speechless at just how good you looked all flushed and flustered.
"and what if I want you to?"
you murmur right into his ear, all honeyed and innocent sounding, and god, dick would have dropped to his knees right there if you had wanted him to.
"how can I refuse you anything when you look so pretty, baby?"
he purrs back, fingers trailing up your spine and counting the vertebrae, pressing his fingers down just a tad bit rougher as he drags his hand back down your spine before resting low, just above the curve of your ass.
he catches bruce's raised eyebrow for a moment (propriety, grayson) before he is swayed by how your grip tightens on his hand, nails digging lightly into the back of his hand.
"eyes on me, grayson."
he swallows dryly, his adam's apple bobbing, and he becomes very much aware of your gaze on it as it moves up and down.
he feels your breath ghosting over his throat and he has to suppress a shiver that emanates from the base of his spine.
by the time the waltz ended - which was simultaneously far too long and far too short, dick could not wait to get his hands and mouth on you.
one moment you are dancing with him. then the next moment, he is guiding you by the small of your back to a secluded corridor and into a closet, pushing you in roughly before he closes the door behind him.
his hands were everywhere - down your sides, on your waist, pressing into your stomach before sliding down to grab your thighs, grabbing them and hooking it around his hip.
he was already half-hard, his cock throbbing lightly the more he felt your body.
"can I kiss you?"
he sounded so pathetic.
you barely nod before his lips are on you, consuming and hot and needy.
he is kissing you like he had never kissed anyone before, and you were almost smug you had that effect until you feel his hand on your nipples, pinching and tugging and kneading so desperately.
you gasp as it sends a jolt to your pussy, and he slides his tongue into your mouth, licking into every crevice he can find, moaning at your taste and smell and how good your tit feels in his hand.
his other hand is moving down to your ass, pulling it apart and kneading it, rutting his clothed cock into you shamelessly. you felt him gasping and whining into your lips at the friction between his boxers and his cock with your body pressed so close to him. god, he could barely think.
you could feel the slick pooling in your panties, dripping down your thighs slightly at just how turned on you were. the cotton stuck obscenely, almost uncomfortably to your heated core. you could feel the heat emanating in waves, your hole pulsing - so needy, so empty.
you had to give it to him, grayson knew how to turn a woman on.
you felt his hand drag down your sternum, still kissing you fervently as he slipped his hand under the slit of your dress, fingers finding your clothed pussy and groaning at the slickness he finds. fuck, you were gushing.
"fuck, doll, so fuckin' wet for me, ain't you?"
he groans, kissing and biting down your neck as he rubs your clothed mound. you were sure he had left some visible marks, but at this point? all you could think about was how good you would look marked up by him.
he bites down onto your shoulder before tugging your panties aside, coating his fingers with your sickness before he rubs his thumb over your clit in tight circles, spelling out his name on the nub periodically.
"oh- fffuck, dick-"
you moan out, hips bucking against his when he presses the letter k on it, hands scrambling to grab something for stability
pleasure zinged through every single nerve ending, making your extremities and spine tingle with how intensely this man rubbed your clit, toes curling as you squeezed your eyes shut from how overwhelming it was.
"mm, yeah. you like that, don'tcha? jus' needed a real man who knows what he's doin' t'touch you, prettygirl..."
you heard dick mouthing off again as he kissed down the hollow of your throat and your chest. using a hand to roughly yank your dress down, he latched onto a nipple greedily as soon as it was exposed, sucking hard as his fingers moved deftly. he smirk faintly at your hissed moan following the heated contact, nibbling on the nub so very lightly.
"god, s'fuckin' wet, sweetheart. I can't wait to taste this pretty cunt."
he pulled back to murmur before diving back in to suck your other nipple, groaning softly as your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging on the strands roughly.
"ohhh fuck, ahn- ahhh-"
you would be quieter. you can be. or maybe that is just wishful thinking because you never knew you could make these kinds of noises. you could barely hold your moans in and dick loved it. he felt your hips buck against his hand, almost riding his fingers desperately, making them tap against your clit just right, and he groaned.
"yeah, I know it feels good baby, I know it does. use me, just like that, use me like a needy little slut."
he murmurs, pinching your nipple roughly, watching your back arch almost unnaturally, resisting the urge to bend you over and pound into you right then and there. but he could be patient. he wanted to worship your body - feel and map every inch of it, inside and out.
you feel yourself nodding dumbly, distantly registering the clink of his belt behind undone before he pulled his hand away from your sopping wet pussy.
"dick!"
you find yourself whining, blinking your eyes open, pupils blown wide and gaze slightly hazy. dick thinks he could cream just from the way you look like that.
"easy, darling. hold on for me."
he say, smirking as he tugs off his pants, leaving his boxers on.
the print in his boxers really leaves nothing to imagination– seemingly thick and long, huge in every sense of the word and you cannot wait to feel it stretch your pussy out and mold your walls to the shape of his cock, or feel the weight of it on your tongue.
you wanted to ask to suck him off, but before you could even blink, dick was already on his knees, hiking your dress up with jerky motions, completely overtaken by the sheer need to see your cunny before his hands fumble with the waistband of your panties, groaning at the sight of the lace and the drenched crotch sticking obscenely to your pussy lips, outlining the shape of them.
he presses a kiss to your clothed mound, his tongue darting out to grab a taste, the tip of his tongue tracing the shape of your sweet, sopping core before he whimpers.
"fuck- sorry- can I tear this? i'll buy you more, i just- needa taste you-"
he inhaled the scent of your pussy, pressing his nose to your clothed cunt; moaning loudly at how sweet and slick and musky you smell.
"please, pretty. wanna taste you so bad-"
he's blabbering mindlessly, before tugging your panties down with so much desperation and urgency that he ended up accidentally ripping it.
you gasped at the sound, swallowing dryly, eyes wide as you drunk in the scene. he looked so fucking good on his knees, his shirt disheveled, untucked and an unnaturally big patch of precum on his boxers, eyes blown wide and hair messed up because of your fingers tugging on them earlier. his lips are swollen and slick with spit, a really sexy red mixed with a little bit of your lipstick smudged on the corner of his lips.
god, you wished you could take a picture.
and that was really all you had time to think before dick latched onto your clit almost clumsily with eagerness, sucking hard.
"o-oh fuck! dick!"
you basically yelped, head thrown back against the wall, one leg coming up to drape over his shoulder and back as the other keeps you upright, planted firmly on the floor.
you were not sure how long your legs would keep up though, because the pleasure zinged waaaaaay too much and way too hard into your nerve endings, making you twitch and buck against his lips and tongue as every press of his tongue flat against your pussy made electricity shoot through your veins.
dick was going to town, tongue flicking against your clit rapidly, eyes closed in pure bliss as he moaned into your cunt, drowning himself in the taste and smell of your cunt.
"tastes so good, baby. s'fuckin good. my pretty lil' slut's soaking wet pussy, weepin' for me."
he muttered before kissing your clit once, twice, and then licking down to your entrance, circling it lightly with the tip of his tongue.
he heard you keen above him, trying to press his tongue further into your hole with a sharp buck of your hips and, with a smug smirk, he obliged.
it felt way too good to be just his tongue, you thought hazily.
the appendage pressed into you, hot and wet and so fucking textured into your gummy walls, rubbing against them and curling just right to both hit that dizzying spot in you and scoop your slick into his mouth. the obscene slurps and shlick noises echoed in the closet, as his hand snaked up your thigh and onto your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth, using the newfound leverage to fuck you on his tongue.
he looks up at you through his lashes, moaning into your sopping wet cunny at how debauchery you look – mascara running down your cheeks, lipstick smudges, eyeliner half gone and your hair sticking up every which way. he feels your walls flutter around him as he slurps, drinking down your slick like it was ambrosia from the gods. he swears up and down that he could cum just from the sight and taste alone.
he pulls back for a moment, spreading your pussy lips and spitting right onto your clit, giving it a full sloppy kiss before the hand on your ass moves, tapping your clit a couple times before he slowly pushed a finger into your entrance, curling it just right
"oh baby, you're so tight. when was the last time you were fucked, hm? no one fuckin' you like you need?"
he says between sloppy, wet kisses to your clit, voice dropping into that patronizing tone as he hears you whine just from the pressure of his fingers molding and exploring your walls. he can barely hold back anymore, his cock throbbing painfully in his boxers, the precum making the fabric stick to his length both obscenely and uncomfortably.
he dips his free hand into his boxers, tugging out his cock while not breaking stride in eating you out at all. the head was flushed an angry red, leaking furiously from the tip, a string of precum connecting the shaft and the insides of his boxers. he carefully stroked himself, moaning into your pussy because his cock was just so fucking sensitive.
jerking off had never felt that good before, ever.
and you could barely take the pleasure anymore either.
"nnh, 'msoclose dick-"
was the last thing dick heard before he was absolutely smothered by your pussy, his fingers slipping out to grab the side of your thigh that was on his shoulder, his nose bumping into your clit as he eats you out with fervor, head moving side to side before he drags the flat of his tongue up, down, up and down and up.
he speeds up his hand on his cock, hand flying over it in a blur, thumb circling his slit as he feels his hips buck needily, jerking, spasming - and he feels so filthy, so fucking pathetic for jerking off to eating your pussy out - to the way your sweet, pretty fucking cunt tasted and smelled and felt and how soft it was, how warm it was - in the closet of a Bruce Wayne charity gala, where anyone could walk by and hearing him absolutely destroying you.
the thought makes him moan whorishly, and he feels your pussy flutter.
"close, baby?"
he murmurs into your pussy, drowned out by the sound of your slick, hot flesh against his mouth as he tongue-fucks you desperately, rolling his tongue around in your walls, plunging it in and out in tandem with the hand that is pumping his cock.
he sees you nod through half lidded eyes before doubling up his efforts, letting his nose bump more purposefully against your clit. he feels it coming, pressing down on your stomach as you writhe, squealing
"tongue so fuckimg good, m'cumming on it ric- mcummin- cumming cummingcumming!"
and then he feels your walls spasm around his tongue, yelling and shaking and your hand in his hair is pressing his pretty face flush to your cunt as you arch your back HARD.
he hears you moan his name, babbling nonsense, all high pitched like a pornstar and he squeezes his cockhead, feeling his own orgasm crash over him out of nowhere, bursting out of him. his tongue keeps moving on your cunt, unrelenting as he helps you ride out your high. he fucks desperately into his fist, groaning into your pussy as thick, long ropes of pearly white cum shoot onto the floor from his cock, painting the concrete in streaks of translucent white.
you eventually mewl and whine from overstimulation, pulling him away from your oversensitive pussy, eyes latching onto the string of saliva and your pussy juices connecting your mound to his lips hazily.
brushing his hair back idly, gently, you swallow as your breathing slowly calms down before your eyes finally focus.
"grayson, did you just cum from eating me out?"
and dick — sweet, sweet dick, who had half a mind to look sheepish, nods shyly, swallowing.
"uh... yeah. jus'... you felt so good, pretty. had to."
his voice is rough - fucked out and hoarse, the bass in his voice sounding like smooth whiskey with how intoxicating it was, the roughness giving it a few hitches that sounded delicious, reminding you of exactly what he had done to sound like that.
he presses one last kiss to your pussy, laughing as you twitch and swat at his head. standing up on shaky legs, dick carefully lowers your leg from over his shoulder, kissing you slowly as he massages your thigh.
this kiss was deep and slow, fully reverent and awed and oh-so-smitten. love at first sight. like a whispered thank you. like he loved you.
when he pulled back, he sighed, fully satisfied and swallowed, licking his bottom lip to pick up any remaining traces of your taste.
"so uh... is it too late to ask you out?"
you laugh, shaking your head as you wrap your arms around him, letting him lean on you for a moment, humming as he buries his head into your neck instinctively, arms wrapping around your waist possessively. you were surprised that your dress had survived that ordeal.
"after you ate me out like you were starving?"
he laughs, smooth and a really rumbly timbre that sounds so hot - and you cannot help the swelling affection in your chest as you smile up at him, admiring the way he looks absolutely ruined and put back together simultaneously.
"hey, a man's gotta eat."
and the next thing you know, you had a dinner date scheduled at 7pm with the golden boy of gotham in two days.
SUMMARY: You and Price have been keeping your relationship a secret. After a successful mission, the tension between you becomes impossible to ignore.
WORD COUNT: ~1,900
WARNING(S): smut, age gap, swearing, alcohol, smoking, 18+ content
The worst part about working with John Price was that you learned him too well.
You had known John for almost four years. Four years of missions, long flights, sleepless nights, arguments, close calls and far too many moments where one of you had to trust the other with your life.
You knew the slight change in his voice when a mission went wrong. You knew the look he gave you when he wanted you to stay close. You knew when he was angry, when he was tired and, unfortunately, when he wanted you.
It hadn't always been like this.
When you first joined Task Force 141, John was simply your captain. Professional, demanding and annoyingly observant. You respected him, and he respected you. There was nothing more to it.
At least, that's what you both thought.
It started after one particular mission.
The mission had been brutal. You'd spent hours running on adrenaline, barely getting through it without losing someone. When you finally returned to base, neither of you could sleep. You were both exhausted, restless and still carrying the tension of everything that had happened.
One conversation turned into another.
Then one stupid decision became another.
Neither of you planned for it to happen again.
But it did.
And then again.
Eventually, the two of you stopped pretending it was only about needing somewhere to put all that post-mission adrenaline.
Somewhere along the way, John started staying after you'd fallen asleep. You started finding excuses to sit beside him during briefings. His hand would occasionally brush yours when nobody was looking, and sometimes you'd catch him watching you from across the room.
Neither of you ever called it a relationship.
That would've made it real.
And real would've meant that someone could find out.
So you made rules.
No touching at base.
No flirting during missions.
No obvious looks across the briefing room.
And most importantly, nobody in Task Force 141 could know.
Tonight was supposed to be another successful mission followed by a few drinks and sleep.
Instead, Soap had decided everyone needed to celebrate at the nearest bar.
The place was crowded and loud, filled with music, alcohol and people who had no idea that four members of Task Force 141 were sitting in the corner.
You sat between Gaz and Soap, listening to them argue about something that had happened during the mission.
John sat opposite you with Ghost beside him.
You tried not to look at him.
You failed almost immediately.
John was already looking at you.
You raised your glass slightly.
He only lifted an eyebrow.
- What?
You mouthed the words.
He shook his head.
- Nothing.
You narrowed your eyes at him.
- You're staring.
His mouth twitched.
- I'm looking at you.
- That's called staring, Captain.
Soap suddenly looked between you and Price.
- What are you two whispering about?
You turned toward him quickly.
- Nothing.
John took a calm sip of his drink.
- She's accusing me of staring.
Gaz laughed.
- At her?
You kicked Gaz lightly underneath the table.
- Shut up.
Soap grinned.
- Price, mate, you've been staring at her all night.
John looked at him with an unimpressed expression.
- Have I?
Ghost finally looked up from his drink.
- Yes.
You almost choked.
John slowly turned toward Ghost.
- Thanks, Lieutenant.
- You're welcome.
Soap burst out laughing.
You lowered your head, trying to hide your smile behind your glass.
John's eyes found you again.
This time, there was something warmer in them.
Something that belonged only to you.
You took another drink.
The conversation moved on, but John kept finding small reasons to look at you.
When you laughed at something Gaz said, his gaze stayed on you.
When you pushed your hair behind your ear, he noticed.
When you leaned closer to Soap to hear him over the music, John's jaw tightened slightly.
You knew that expression.
Jealous.
You almost smiled.
Almost.
- You okay, Price? Gaz asked.
- Fine.
- You look like you want to kill someone.
John glanced at him.
- I'm enjoying myself.
Soap snorted.
- That's your enjoying-yourself face?
Ghost muttered something beneath his breath.
- Could've fooled me.
You laughed quietly.
John looked directly at you.
- Something funny, sweetheart?
The word hit you harder than it should have.
Your smile disappeared for half a second.
John knew exactly what he'd done.
You looked around quickly.
Nobody seemed to have noticed.
You leaned slightly toward John.
- Careful.
His eyes stayed on yours.
- About what?
- You almost forgot we're supposed to be pretending.
John's expression softened.
- I didn't forget.
- Could've fooled me.
He leaned back in his chair.
- Maybe you're distracting me.
You stared at him.
- You're impossible.
- And yet you're still sitting there.
You wanted to kick him again.
Instead, you smiled into your glass.
An hour passed.
The drinks disappeared slowly, the conversation becoming louder and more relaxed. Soap was telling another ridiculous story, Gaz was laughing at him, and even Ghost seemed less irritated than usual.
You were enjoying yourself.
You really were.
But every time you looked at John, you remembered what happened between you two years ago.
That first night.
The mission.
The adrenaline.
The exhaustion.
The way you'd both convinced yourselves that it was nothing.
It had been easier when it was nothing.
Now you knew how John took his coffee. You knew which side of the bed he preferred. You knew the sound of his laugh when he was genuinely amused, even though he rarely let it out.
You knew him.
Too well.
And he knew you.
Your phone buzzed on the table.
You looked down.
A message from your mother.
You sighed.
- Everything alright? Gaz asked.
- Yeah. I should probably go soon.
Soap immediately looked offended.
- Already?
- I have an early morning.
- It's midnight.
- Exactly.
Gaz laughed.
You stood and grabbed your coat.
- Goodnight, guys.
- Night, Y/N, Gaz said.
Soap lifted his glass.
- Don't do anything stupid.
You paused.
For a second, you looked at John.
His face was completely neutral.
- I'll try, you answered.
You walked toward the exit.
You didn't look back.
Not until you were outside.
The cold air hit your face, and you pulled your coat tighter around yourself.
You checked your phone.
Nothing.
You rolled your eyes.
Of course.
John was probably going to make you wait.
You had barely taken ten steps when the door opened behind you.
You didn't need to turn around.
- You're late, Captain.
John walked beside you.
- I had to make sure nobody followed me.
- You mean Soap?
- Mostly Soap.
You laughed.
- He was suspicious tonight.
John looked at you.
- He wasn't suspicious.
- He literally said you were staring at me.
- Maybe he was drunk.
- He wasn't that drunk.
John's mouth curved into a small smile.
- You noticed?
You stopped walking and looked at him.
- I notice everything about you.
The smile disappeared.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
John looked down the street before speaking.
- That's what got us into trouble in the first place.
Your expression softened.
- I know.
You continued walking.
His shoulder brushed yours.
Once.
Then again.
Neither of you moved away.
- You remember that night? you asked quietly.
John looked at you.
- I remember every second.
Your heart jumped.
- We said it was only because of the mission.
- We were exhausted.
- And apparently had terrible judgment.
John laughed under his breath.
- Still do.
You looked at him.
- You don't regret it.
- Do you?
You didn't answer immediately.
Instead, you looked ahead.
- No.
John nodded.
- Neither do I.
His car appeared at the end of the street.
You stopped beside it.
- So what's the plan?
John unlocked the car.
- You tell me.
- I asked you.
- And I'm asking you.
You rolled your eyes.
- You're annoying.
- You've mentioned that.
You opened the passenger door.
- Are you taking me home?
John looked at you for a long moment.
- Do you want me to?
You met his gaze.
- Not really.
That was enough.
He opened the driver's door and got inside.
You climbed into the passenger seat.
The doors closed, cutting off the noise of the street.
For a few seconds, neither of you spoke.
John started the engine.
- Where are we going?
You looked at him.
- You know where.
His eyes moved toward you.
- Your place?
- No.
A small smile appeared on his lips.
- Mine?
You nodded.
- Nobody from 141 goes there.
- That's the point.
John drove away from the bar.
You watched the lights disappear behind you.
After a few minutes, you reached across the center console and placed your hand over his.
His fingers immediately closed around yours.
No words.
You didn't need them.
This was the part nobody knew about.
Not Soap.
Not Gaz.
Not Ghost.
Nobody knew that the captain who looked so controlled in front of his team had a completely different side when he was alone with you.
Nobody knew that the woman who could walk into a briefing room and argue with him about tactics was the same woman who sometimes fell asleep against his chest.
Nobody knew that somewhere between missions, late nights and one terrible decision, you had stopped being just colleagues.
And maybe that was the most dangerous part.
You didn't know what you were anymore either.
By the time John parked outside his place, your hand was still in his.
He turned off the engine.
You looked at him.
- John.
- Hmm?
- Tomorrow we're going to act like nothing happened.
He looked at you for a long moment.
- We always do.
- And if Soap notices?
John smirked.
- Then I'll deal with Soap.
You laughed.
- You're so confident.
- I'm your captain.
- Unfortunately.
He leaned closer.
- Still think I'm annoying?
You smiled.
- Very.
His hand settled gently against your waist.
- Good.
- Why?
His eyes dropped to your lips.
- Because I like you difficult.
You rolled your eyes, but you were already smiling.
- You're impossible.
- And you're still here.
You leaned closer and kissed him.
This time there was no bar full of teammates, no pretending, no careful glances across the table.
Just John.
And you.
The same secret you'd been keeping for months.
Only now, you were starting to wonder how long you could keep pretending it was only lust.
"so good baby keep going" he praises, taking a drag out of his cigar as you whimper and roll your bare cunt on his thigh, clutching his biceps for dear life as one of his large hands guide your hips
your moans grow louder as you find the perfect angle clit trobbing against the steady pressure. your head tips back, hair falling across your face as price's hand comes up to cover your mouth
"shhh we don't want the others to hear, huh love?" you muffle between his fingers, squeezing your eyes shut as he flexes his muscles beneath you, making your cunt leak more slick onto his trousers
"such a fuckin little mess" he mutters, circling his thumb over your clit adding more stimulation. your cheeks burn from humiliation as you bit your lower lip trying not to make a sound. he presses harder on your clit whilst you rut faster and deeper on his thigh, making your stomach tighten
"john no mor-" you cry out, a low whine tearing its way out of your throat as you release yourself on him. he drags you over his thigh, forcing you to ride the aftershocks as you shudder and shake in his grip, over sensitivity burning through your core. your forehead drops to his shoulder, breath stuttering as the last waves of pleasure leave your body. he slaps your swollen pussy in satisfaction, your body jolting from the contact as you curl into him like a kitten
"that's my girl" he whispers forcing your chin up, meeting your dazed eyes with his. his lips curl into a smug filthy grin seeing your teary eyes and the prominent wet stain imprinted on his trousers
"lunch times over doll. back out you go" he murmurs after a while, leaving sloppy kisses on your neck as you gather your senses and come back to reality. he leans back on his chair, puffing his cigar as you wince and scramble around trying to make it seem you didn't ride your boyfriends thigh in the middle of work
this might have been your favourite lunch break yet
this is a repost from my sideblog ! (@/luvrdollz) - trying to put all my writing in one area
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Price who comes home from deployment, and the first thing he does after hugging you is hold you at arms length and narrow his eyes at you "why do you smell like that, love."
"Like what?" You smile, tuck yourself under his arm and attempt to coral him to the bedroom.
"Like garrick," price grunts, mustache turned into a frown. He takes a sniff of your neck then pulls the same disgruntled face "you smell like his cigarettes."
"Hm? Oh, yeah, I've been bumming them off him," you shrug, waving a dismissive hand. You know john trusts you and kyle not to do anything.
"You don't smell like me," john pouts, two large hands settling on your hips to push you against the wall. "I left cigars here, why don't you use them?"
"John, I love you but I'm not gonna pantomime sucking dick when I need a hit," you sigh.
"I–! Wha– it does not–!" Price stutters, astonished.
"It does. Look, it's a good look on you," you tease, hook a finger under his chin "real cute of you, yeah?"
After price got you back twice over for that sucking dick comment, he mumbles something about picking out cigarettes for you. So posessive and territorial it's almost cute.
Summary: You had a few new shades of lipstick you needed to try, and decided that your boyfriend was the perfect canvas to test them on.
Pairing: Tim Drake x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1.2k
Content Warning: FLUFF, Suggestive at the end, Tim is down bad, reader likes makeup, second person, no use of y/n
A/N: It’s my fav robin and almost bday twin’s birthday :P so yall KNOWWWW I had to get something out. This was a request from my wonderful dada @bat2nsignia thank you for thissssss I hope you like it <3 and as always my lovelies, I hope you enjoy
•───────•°•♡•°•───────•
“Baby,” you call out quietly.
Your boyfriend, who’s seated right next to you, hums at the nickname. It’s his way of telling you that he’s all ears for you, without removing his eyes from the monitor.
“Are you busy?”
His fingers hesitate on the keyboard, weighing the answer before finally deciding on, “A bit.”
Your eyes sparkle in your mirror before dropping the question that always makes him fold, “too busy for me?”
And like clockwork, his fingers pause indefinitely and rest on the keys before turning to you. There’s a slight upcurve of his lips, with a tease lingering in his eyes when he narrows them playfully at you.
“You know the answer to that.”
You did. It was always never.
It’s almost funny, you would’ve never imagined that Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne had separation anxiety. From the beginning of your relationship, he was the most avoidant guy you’d ever gone out with. He’d say it was fine if you couldn’t see him for a week, or went a full day without talking, or hell even going to bed before saying goodnight.
He wasn’t good at letting himself want things- not truly anyway. Then after a few months and you both got more serious, it was like a light switch flickered on.
He rarely wanted to be apart from you. He’d be with you every opportunity he could. It didn’t always have to be a date, you guys didn’t even have to talk. It was just comforting to know that you were somewhere near him, choosing to exist with him.
It was actually so serious, that when he started organizing the apartment for you to move in, he made room next to his desk for your vanity. While he would spend hours on his computer working on files or looking over spreadsheets for WE, you would spend hours testing new makeup looks. This was just another way for him to coexist with you- a parallel play of sorts.
When you both visited the manor last week, Selina gifted you a brand new lipstick collection someone sent her in the mail. After her wedding to the most eligible bachelor in Gotham, brands began to send her thousands of packages of PR.
She knew realistically, she wasn’t going to use it all. So, most of the packages ended up donated to woman’s shelters or regifted to some of the bats or bat-adjacent people, like you.
Now, after weeks of putting it off, you finally got to cleaning your vanity. While taking in your work, you began eyeing the new collection from where it rested in front of you for a few minutes; debating what to do with it when the idea hit you.
“Well, Selina gave me these lipsticks when we were at the manor last week,” you start off the pitch and he raises an eyebrow, amused.
“I remember,” he removes his hands from the keyboards. Pushing off the desk, he crosses his arms over his chest turning all his attention to you.
“And I was thinking, how on earth could I test all of these and see what I think of each shade?” opening the drawer to your left without looking away from him, you retrieve the small packet of makeup wipes from it and place it on his desk.
His eyes shoot to it for a second before turning back to you. “I don’t know darling, how do you plan on doing all that?”
A big toothy smile creeps onto your face and he mirrors it. He knew what you were planning, but it was always fun to watch him play along when you got in your moods.
“Well I just remembered,” leaning over, you drag his chair to right in front of you, “I have the perfect canvas right here.”
He laughs, it’s not loud and it doesn’t fill the room, but it fills your heart. It’s a quiet thing that eases every discomfort you’ve had through the day. This little laugh is him unguarded, it’s him giving you a part of him he doesn’t give anyone else.
There’s a small shake of his head, before he picks you up and sits you on top of him. Your legs are straddling his and a small giggle escapes you when he places a hand on your back. Leaning forward to grab the box filled with thirty different lip sticks, he moves them to his desk.
“Come on Ms. Arteest, make me beautiful.”
You can’t help the snort that escapes you. He’s relaxed back on his chair ready for you to attack him with different shades of red, pink, and mauve.
Opening the first one, you twist the bottom to apply it on your lips, and he springs into action. Carefully taking it from your hands, he whispers a quiet domestic “let me,” before applying it for you.
And that- well that, has your face burning to a red that rivals your lips. Tim was always an acts of service guy, so this wasn’t particularly new, but it was still sweet. It winded you sometimes because it always came from nowhere. It was out of the blue when you least expected it, he would jump at little things.
His eyebrows furrow together with a barely there wrinkle between them when he focuses, making sure to apply it on your lips just right.
Pulling back to admire his work, no amount of strength from you biting your cheeks could hold back the smile.
You place the first kiss on his cheek and back away, admiring the first of many. Then Tim reaches behind you and picks up a makeup wipe from your pack to clean the shade off for you, and the process repeats.
You filled his right cheek, then his left, then pinned back his hair to paint his forehead, then his neck. And when you ran out of room, you pulled over his shirt and continued going down. Giggles echoed in the vents of the apartment you shared, and Tim thought he could die happy in this chair looking up at you.
When you got to the last shade, you dropped the kiss right above his heart. His face was pink for an entirely different reason now.
Without saying anything, he holds you close to him and stands up. Your legs wrap around his waist with a yelp. He moves to look at both of you in the mirror and grins.
You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look this happy before. In your reflections, you don’t see the mastermind vigilante Red Robin. You don’t see the boy who held the world on his shoulders. No, you see your boyfriend. You see the man who always shows up for you, the man who didn’t think he was ever going to be loved, and the man who adored you like it was the easiest thing in the world.
“What do you think?” your voice is breathless while making eye contact with him through the mirror.
“I think,” his face has still has the ghost of all your laughs lingering in his cheeks and you would treasure this sight forever, “I think that this one,” he points to the bright red stain on the center of his forehead, “is my favorite.”
Then he turns away from the mirror and starts making his way across the apartment, peppering your face and neck with kisses of his own. Sounds of Joy filling the hallways as you give yourselves a break from the world.
Arriving to the bedroom, he drops both of you on the bed. Caging you under him with his arms, he has a wicked smile before whispering above your mouth,
ɞ After a long and exhausting night at the hospital, the only things Damian longs for are the warmth of home and the arms of the woman he loves. Sometimes, a person’s greatest source of peace is the one waiting for them when they return home.
ɞ Warnings: Damian is a doctor, husband and wife mentions, fluff and fluff
The apartment was quiet. It was wrapped in that peaceful stillness that only arrived after midnight, when the city finally seemed willing to breathe.
There was something almost sacred about the hour. The world outside had grown distant, reduced to the occasional whisper of tires against wet pavement and the muted glow of windows belonging to people who, like them, had not yet surrendered completely to sleep.
The lights in the living room were low.
Rain tapped softly against the windows, blurring the lights of the city beyond into streaks of gold and silver. You were sitting in front of the television, counting the minutes to yourself. A movie was playing on the screen, but you had already lost the plot.
You had stopped following it somewhere around the hour mark. Perhaps even earlier. Every few moments, your eyes drifted toward the clock. Your gaze would drift from there to the door, then back to the clock. You couldn't help yourself.
It was well past midnight, yet you didn't want to sleep alone.
You knew this was ridiculous. You were both adults. You knew Damian was safe. You knew the hospital had its own protocols, its own security, its own people watching over him. You knew he had promised he would come home. And yet promises did not make waiting easier.
Whenever Damian worked late, there was always a strange little emptiness in the apartment. It wasn't frightening. It wasn't even particularly lonely. It was simply the absence of him. And you had discovered, over the years, that you had become extraordinarily sensitive to that absence.
Even though Damian had promised otherwise, he never woke you up when he came home late. Whenever you complained to him about this, he would launch into a long lecture on the importance of getting a good night's sleep.
You smiled to yourself. You could almost hear him now.
You have work tomorrow.
It is irresponsible to compromise your sleep schedule.
There is no practical reason for you to remain awake.
He always said these things as though they were objective medical facts rather than the transparent concern of a husband who couldn't bear the thought of his wife being exhausted because she had waited for him.
You had missed him so much; yes, perhaps you had seen him in the morning, but that wasn't enough. It never seemed to be enough.
There was a peculiar intimacy in loving someone deeply enough that an entire day could feel too long simply because you hadn't properly spoken to them.
You knew Damian had told you not to wait up. You also knew he would walk through that door exhausted enough to insist he was "perfectly functional," despite having spent thirteen hours in the emergency department making impossible decisions, comforting frightened families, and refusing to take enough breaks.
Doctor.
The title suited him far better than Damian would ever admit. It is because he enjoyed the lofty praise attached to it, and certainly not because he cared about the prestige. It suited him because beneath all the sharpness, discipline, pride, and intimidating competence, saving people had always been the truest part of him.
Damian had been raised to fight. He had learned how to dismantle an opponent before most children learned how to tie their shoes. He had been taught to recognize weaknesses, anticipate danger, and never hesitate when someone else's life depended upon him. Medicine had simply given that instinct a different language.
Instead of a sword, he held a scalpel. Instead of defeating enemies, he stood beside frightened families and told them, with as much certainty as he could honestly offer, that they were going to get through the night.
He was still saving people. Only now, he came home carrying their stories in the quiet spaces behind his eyes.
You were lost in thought when you were startled by the sound of the door lock opening. Your head lifted immediately. The sound was soft and almost cautious.
Then the door silently opened. Damian stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him.
For a moment he simply stood there. The apartment was warm, familiar and safe.
And after thirteen hours beneath fluorescent hospital lights, surrounded by monitors, alarms, hurried footsteps, and the constant tension of people waiting for news they were terrified to hear, the quietness almost seemed unreal.
His dark hair was slightly disheveled from repeatedly running a hand through it during the shift. His white coat had been folded neatly over one arm, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his forearms.
There were faint shadows beneath his eyes. He looked so tired. But the moment he looked up and saw you, something in his face softened. It wasn't done dramatically; on the contrary, it was almost imperceptible. Just enough that the weight of the day seemed to loosen from his shoulders.
That was what you had always loved about his affection. Damian was not a man of grand gestures. He didn't need to be. His love lived in small things. In the way he remembered exactly how you liked your coffee, which books you had already read, which songs made you emotional, the way his eyes searched for you whenever he entered a room and which stories you pretended not to like even though he knew you secretly did.
He loved you in details. And sometimes those details were more devastatingly romantic than anything he could have said. "I told you to sleep, beloved."
"I know."
"You ignored me, again."
"I did, again." He sighed, though there wasn't the slightest annoyance in it. There never really was when it came to you. His sigh carried the faintest trace of resignation, the particular kind belonging to a man who had long ago realized that certain battles were not worth fighting because he had no intention of winning them.
"You have work in the morning."
"So do you."
"I've just finished."
"And now you're home." You turned off the television and stood up. "Which means I've won."
He raised an eyebrow. "Won?"
"I get my husband back."
The corners of Damian's mouth lifted. "I was unaware I had been taken."
"For approximately thirteen hours."
"I see."
You walked toward him. He watched you come closer without moving. There was something almost boyishly tender in the way his attention remained fixed on you. The exhaustion hadn't disappeared, but it had become secondary now. You had replaced it.
You walked toward him and you stood right in front of him. You didn't move, even though you knew Damian was dying to touch you. You also knew he was waiting for you to make the first move. That was another thing about him. For all his confidence, all his certainty, all the force with which he moved through the world, there were moments when he became almost strangely careful with you.
As though loving you had taught him that strength did not always mean reaching first.
Sometimes it meant waiting.
"So," you said with exaggerated seriousness, "I'd like to file a formal complaint against the hospital."
"For employing me?"
"For stealing you." You said it as if explaining something simple.
"I believe that is considered employment."
"I dislike it."
"I had gathered as much." There was the faintest amusement in his voice.
You smiled. And for a moment you simply stood there looking at one another. It was strange how much could be said without either of you speaking. As you stood before one another, let your eyes, too, satisfy their longing. Like your hearts, they too had remained far apart throughout the day. Your eyes traveled over his face, memorizing him again despite having seen him that very morning. His gaze lingered on yours with the same quiet intensity.
And perhaps that was why the first sight of each other always felt like returning home.
Damian thought, perhaps for the thousandth time, that there was no sight in the world more capable of quieting him than you waiting at the end of a long day.
He had seen joy in patients discharged after terrible illnesses. He had seen children laugh despite broken bones. He had witnessed sunrises from hospital windows after impossible nights.
None of it compared. And they couldn't have, either. Seeing you safe and sound in your warm home was beyond compare.
"You've been worrying." It wasn't a question.
You smiled sheepishly. "Maybe a little. You always know."
"I always know." He set his coat over the chair by the entrance. The white fabric landed neatly, because of course Damian had even learned how to be exhausted without becoming careless.
Then he turned back toward you. The next moment, you wrapped your arms around him.
Even though you had been there for hours, even though you had technically been home long before he arrived, right now you felt like you were home for the first time that evening. In his arms. Your face buried against his chest. Your fingers curled gently into the fabric of his shirt. That was what home felt like. It was like Damian.
He let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he had been holding all evening. His arms circled you almost instinctively. There was no hesitation in the movement. No thought. His body simply knew where it belonged when you were close.
Damian rested his cheek lightly against your hair. For several seconds, neither of you spoke. The rain continued against the windows. The city continued moving beyond them. But inside that embrace, none of it seemed important.
"You smell like a peony."
You laughed softly. "And you smell like antiseptic."
"My apologies."
"I didn't say I minded."
He smiled against your hair. They stayed there for a long time. Neither counting the minutes. Neither feeling the need to fill the silence.
Damian didn't dare interrupt this moment. He had been thinking about this ever since he left the house and went to the hospital. How could he possibly dare, when he lived every morning, upon waking, with the quiet hope of returning to you?
Every shift had an ending because there was somewhere to return to. And that somewhere was not merely the apartment. It was you.
Eventually you tilted your head back. "You've really missed me."
"I have, Umri."
"I thought perhaps you'd deny it."
"I see no advantage in dishonesty when it concerns you." His answer came so naturally that he didn't seem to realize how deeply affectionate it sounded.
Your expression melted. "You never stop saying things that make me fall in love with you all over again."
Damian looked genuinely puzzled. "I merely answered your observation."
"I know."
"Was it... overly sentimental?"
You laughed. "You don't even realize when you're being romantic."
"I rarely understand what qualifies."
"That's because it comes naturally." You reached up and cupped his face. "I love that about you."
He leaned into your hand without thinking. It was a tiny movement. Almost imperceptible. But you noticed.
You always noticed the things Damian believed no one saw. The slight relaxation of his shoulders. The way his eyes softened when you touched him. The way his head instinctively tilted toward your palm.
You smiled with quiet satisfaction. "There you are."
"Where?"
"My Damian."
He blinked. "I have been here the entire time."
"No." You gently brushed a thumb across his cheek."The doctor who has been carrying everyone else's worries is finally gone."
Your voice became softer. "Now it's just you."
His eyes closed briefly. "Yes. It's just me." His voice was quieter when he opened his eyes again. "Your Damian."
You could hear the fatigue in those words. Not physical exhaustion alone, but the emotional weight of caring too. Staying composed for strangers who needed certainty, and bbeing the person everyone turned toward when they were frightened...
Damian was very good at being strong. Perhaps too good. Sometimes he forgot that strength was not the same thing as never needing to be held.
"You gave everything today, didn't you?" He nodded once.
"There was a child." His voice was quiet. "She reminded me of someone I once treated during residency."
You listened without interrupting. "Did she recover?"
"Yes." Relief flickered across your face.
"I keep thinking about how frightened her parents were." He exhaled. "They trusted us completely."
"You carried that with you all the way home."
"I did." There was no shame in his admission. That was one of the things that had changed in him over the years. He had once believed that carrying pain silently was a form of strength. You had taught him otherwise.
You took both of his hands. Fingers fit together naturally, as though they had been learning the shape of each other for years. "You don't have to carry it by yourself anymore."
He looked at you. There it was again. That astonishing ability you possessed to see straight through him. Not past him. Through him. You never demanded that he become someone else. You simply saw him. And somehow, that was enough to make the parts of himself he usually kept hidden feel less frightening.
"I know, beloved."
"And tonight I am under strict instructions from myself to take care of my favorite doctor."
"I was unaware such instructions existed."
"They've been issued."
"By whom?"
"Chief of Household Affairs."
"I see."
"They're non-negotiable."
He inclined his head with mock solemnity. "Very well."
You took his hand. "Come with me."
He followed without question. That simple obedience still amused you sometimes. He could stand before powerful enemies without blinking. Yet when you held out your hand and said come with me, he followed.
The shared bedroom was illuminated only by a small desk lamp. Soft golden light pooled across the room, turning everything gentle; the rumpled sheets, the books on the nightstand, the rain-streaked glass.
You smiled over your shoulder. "You've been on your feet all day."
"That is accurate."
"Your shoulders are probably impossible." You said that while gently pushing him toward the bed.
"They are somewhat... tense."
"Somewhat?"
"I am attempting optimism."
You laughed and gestured for Damian to take off his shirt. Even though he furrowed his brows, the amused look on his face prompted you to toss a cushion from the couch at him.
"Pervert."
"Not a word came out of my mouth, beloved." He calmly removed his shirt and set it aside.
You gave him a knowing look but didn't say anything. "Lie down with your face down."
Without a single complaint, Damian obeyed. You couldn't help smiling. "The legendary Damian Wayne."
"Hm?"
"The man who questions everyone."
"Generally."
"But never me."
He turned his head just enough to look at you. "I trust you." Then, with the same quiet certainty with which he had said everything that mattered most to him:
"What kind of man am I if I can't trust my own wife?"
The simplicity of those words settled warmly in your heart. This is not because of the possessiveness of my own wife. It is because of the trust contained within them. For Damian, trust had never been a casual thing. It was earned and guarded. Sometimes withheld even from the people he loved. And yet with you, he gave it freely.
He stretched out across the bed. A moment later you settled over him carefully, positioning yourself so you could comfortably reach his shoulders and upper back.
"You tell me immediately if anything hurts."
"I believe the purpose is to reduce discomfort Hayati."
"Exactly, baby." Your hands rested gently against his shoulders.
The muscles beneath your fingertips were far tighter than he'd admitted. You frowned. "Oh, Damian..."
"I did mention they were somewhat tense."
"This is your definition of 'somewhat'?"
"I was attempting to avoid worrying you."
"It had the opposite effect."
He gave the faintest chuckle. "I suspected it might."
You began slowly, your movements gentle and unhurried, easing the stiffness from his shoulders with practiced care.
At first, Damian remained almost unnaturally still. Then his shoulders gradually began to loosen beneath your hands. A slow breath escaped him. Then another. The tension he had carried for twelve hours began to leave his body in tiny increments.
It feels better, much better. Damian's eyes closed. The mattress beneath him was warm. The rain was soft. Your hands were steady. There were no monitors or alarms. No voices calling his name decisions waiting for him.
Only you.
Damian’s unconscious little sighs made you smile. "What?"
"Those little sighs."
"I sighed?"
"You did."
"I was unaware."
"It means you're finally relaxing."
"I suppose..." Another slow breath escaped him. "you may be correct."
"I usually am."
"I shall refrain from commenting."
You laughed, continuing the massage. Minutes passed. The room remained peaceful. There was something almost miraculous about ordinary intimacy. Not the kind written about in grand stories. Not declarations beneath stars or impossible promises made in the middle of battles.
This.
A tired man lying quietly beneath the hands of the woman he loved. Her laughter and his breathing. The sound of rain. A room that belonged to neither duty nor responsibility. Just them.
After a while, Damian spoke without opening his eyes. "Do you know what I thought about during my drive home?"
"What?"
"This."
You paused. "A massage?"
"Walking through the door and hearing your voice." He smiled faintly into the pillow. "I knew you would be awake despite my instructions."
"I was."
"And I knew you would pretend you hadn't been waiting."
"I absolutely intended to."
"You were never convincing."
"I'll have to improve."
"I hope you never do, beloved." There was the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth. "I like knowing someone is happy I'm home."
Your expression softened so completely that for a moment you couldn't speak. There were people who loved Damian because of what he could do. Because he was brilliant and capable. But you loved him for something much simpler. You loved the man who came home tired and loosened his tie at the door. The man who fell silent after difficult days and still looked for you first.
You leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of his shoulder. "Always."
Another kiss. "I'm always happy you're home, my love."
You rested your forehead lightly against him. "And no matter how many people you help..." Your voice became quiet. "don't ever forget that someone is waiting to take care of you, too."
Damian reached back without looking, finding your hand with effortless certainty. Your fingers intertwined. "I could never forget." His thumb moved once across your knuckles. A tiny gesture. An answer of its own.
Outside, the rain continued to fall over the sleeping city. Inside, the world had become wonderfully small. A tired doctor and the woman he loved beyond words. And the quiet certainty that, after giving so much of themselves to everyone else, they had finally found a place where they could simply rest in each other's company.
I LOOOOVE DAMIAN 😩 Writing is no longer enough!!
If you have any requests, feel free to write to me. If I like the idea or think I can pull it off, I’ll definitely do it!
English is not my first language! So please do not hesitate to politely point out if I make a mistake. I'm writing this story just to unwind, it's nothing serious. Please keep that in mind and enjoy it together! Thank you for reading! 🤍
Synopsis : your beloved Boyfriend, Damian Wayne, sleeps like a corpse, literally.
Your beloved boyfriend—Damian Wayne—sleeps like a fucking corpse.
No exaggeration.
The first time you had witnessed your boyfriend’s resting form, you almost called for Alfred to ready the medical station. Fully convinced that he was either dead or on his way to be dead.
It was early on in your relationship. Yet, Damian was already fed up with you taking a guest room instead of staying in his.
So when you came over to spend the night at his home, he made sure to inform Alfred not to arrange any other accommodation for you.
You didn’t even fight him on it—much to his delight. It’s not like you weren’t always on him 24/7, sleeping in the same bed was just another opportunity for a cuddle session.
But nothing—absolute nothing—could have prepared you to the horror of waking up next to Damian at three in the morning.
He didn’t toss. He didn’t turn. He didn’t snore. No twitching or shifting either. Damian laid there on his sheets, flat on his back, hands folded over his stomach like an ancient monarch forever resting in an extravagant tomb.
His breathing was silent. Even the rise and fall of his chest was so slight, you could barely make it out in the darkened room.
To make matters even stranger, he wasn’t a deep sleeper. Quite the contrary, actually.
How did you find that out, you ask?
Simple; you made the mistake of extending your arm over, letting it hover hesitantly for a second before attempting to touch Damian’s shoulder.
Keyword being; attempted.
Your wrist was seized immediately in a blur of rapid movement. Green eyes narrowed at you in confusion, still heavy with the haze of sleep.
To say you were startled would be an understatement. You would have been a perfect addition to the carpets on the floor, if it wasn’t for the boy currently holding you in place.
He noticeably relaxed upon realizing that it was you trying to touch him. “Beloved, what are you doing awake?” He inquired, loosening his grip on you, assessing you for any injuries, signs of distress or discomfort, and anything else he should pay attention to.
“Checking for pulse.” You admitted, voice a little shaky from the heart attack his reflexes almost gave you. “You were like…dead.”
He stared down, clearly confused by your statement. “Habibti, I am very much alive.” He stated, smoothing his thumb over the erratic pulse fluttering against your wrist.
“You weren’t moving!” You hissed, dropping back onto the pillows with a dramatic groan. “You were lying there like a statue! Normal people breathe, Damian.”
He clicked his tongue—an audible ‘Tt’ that lacked any bite—as he shifted to lay on his side, facing you.
“Normal people don’t possess the ability to maintain environmental awareness while sleeping.” He spoke as if he were reading you a page from an encyclopedia—at which you side eyed him. “You should be proud, beloved. That means I can efficiently protect you, even while resting.”
You turned your head to look at him, distraught by the implications of his words—of course you knew that Damian would stop at nothing to keep you safe, even if it meant permanent harm to himself, or even flinging himself to his death.
Looking in your eyes, he anticipated the lecture you would give him; you would say he wasn’t obliged to protect you. That you don’t need that protection, and how he would be stupid to face his death just to save you from a flesh wound.
But he wasn’t protective of you because he thought you incapable of doing so yourself or because he was obligated to do so as your boyfriend. It was because he loved you, and to Damian loving someone meant giving his all.
Heart, body, and soul.
There was a reason he called you hayati—which means my life in Arabic.
Before you could start your rant, his hand was on you on your waist, hauling you flush against his chest.
“You are the worst.” You mumbled into his chest, though your hands instinctively came to wrap around him anyway, soaking in his warmth. “I was two seconds away from screaming for Alfred.”
“Pennyworth is well aware of my resting heart rate,” Damian countered, fingers slowly tracing shapes on your back. “Now, hayati. Cease your dramatic monitoring and go back to sleep.”
You let out a soft hum, closing your eyes as the steady thump... thump... thump of his heart reverberated right against your cheek.
A soft, reverent brush of his lips to your temple was all you felt, before slipping back into deep sleep.
Months had passed since that peculiar sleepover, and you had gotten somewhat used to Damian’s less than normal sleeping habits.
Yet again, what exactly was normal about your darling Damian?
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
a/n : greeting and salutations, moonbeams! (Idk just go with it) while browsing the ever so powerful Pinterest, i came across a comic panel of my beloved Dami sleeping like a literal corpse and then wrote this lol. I think it’s so funny and cute. Anyhow, I don’t think I am done with that idea tho, maybe I will write more about sleepy time intimacy because I think it’s so cute. As always, thank u for reading <3
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The locker room had steadily emptied while you waited for Kyle to get out of the shower. Scrolling on your phone idly as you sat on the bench near his locker. Only glancing up when you heard Kyle's voice rounding the corner.
He looked good. Obviously. Skin still damp and glistening under the fluorescents. Towel slung dangerously low on his hips. Head turned to the side mid conversation.
Then your eyes drifted to who he was talking to. Then drifted lower. Johnny, no towel at all. Cock swinging heavy between his legs without a care in the world. Towel uselessly hanging over his shoulder. Hair curling over his chest dripping with water, slicking down his happy trail all the way to the base of his cock. Jesus christ. Kyle was a treat in itself, but this was actually making your mouth water. You couldn't stop yourself from staring. And unfortunately it wasn't long before they caught sight of you as well.
"Ye like wha' ye see?" Johnny grinned.
Obviously you were quick to turn away. Growing tense as you watched him near in your peripheral.
"Ye cannae get all shy on me now..."
You slowly turned your head. Eye level with his cock. Close enough to see the veins raised below the velvety skin. Johnny thrust his hips into the air gently so it bounced. Making your stomach twist with need. Subconsciously leaning just a little closer.
"Nosy wee whore..." Johnny muttered. Thrusting again so this time his cock dragged against your cheek. Laughing at your surprised expression.
He gripped the base of his cock. Slapping the half hard length against your face. Only laughing louder at the blissed out expression on your face.
"See how far the runt can throat it..." Kyle ordered somewhere to your left. His own towel now dropped. Fisting his cock. Normally you'd be desperate to get a peek. But for now you were far too preoccupied.
bf!wally west is so clingy that he sits on the floor while you take a shower fluff
“...and you’ll never guess what he said next—”
for the last couple of minutes, your boyfriend had been sitting on the cold tile floor, his back resting against the white wall as he yapped and yapped your ear off. you had barely had the time to step into your apartment that wally had rushed to your side, holding you into his arms and peppering a lot of sweet kisses all over your face. then, he had followed you into the bathroom, telling you stuff that had happened to him during the day—which seemed to never end considering that he had been talking for more than thirty minutes straight—as you took off your clothes and turned on the water.
so there you were, standing under the shower head, relishing in the feeling on the cold water sliding down your skin and hair, at humming from time to time at your boyfriend's excited chatting. the redhead turned his face towards you every few seconds, wanting to see your reaction to every little thing that he was saying.
turning off the water, you grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your body, securing it snuggly on the side. as soon as you stepped out of the shower, wally’s hands found their place around your waist, pressing his clothed torso against your back, not caring at all for the droplets of water that fell from your hair. he just held you close to him, swaying a bit from side to side to make you laugh and kissing the damp skin of the back of your shoulder.
so yeah, he might be a clingy guy but he’s your clingy guy.
sorry if there are any mistakes on writing, english is not my first language, i wrote this at four in the morning so i hope you guys enjoy it !
also im open to do requests
you and john price fell in love two years ago when you first arrived for training , as a rescuit , at task force 141. eventually you two got married a year after you two started dating but never really had time together like husband and wife, beside on free hours where you’d slip in his office or late at night in his bunk, sometimes having sex or just embracing eachother . you both knew that was gonna happen…afterall both of you were in the military.
john always loved to spoil you with as much as he could while at work, small gestures like him doing your paperwork so you could go earlier to bed. handing you his protein bars (mactavish gave him a whole box) or waiting for you in his room with a cup of your favorite lavander tea to help you relax after a harsh day
afterall you were his wife, his love, his soulmate, his bunny and he wanted to take care of you and pamper you.
today, a miracle happened, literally. the whole task force 141 got four days of leave due to repairs in the base, and well a small “vacantion” didn’t sound so bad after months of hard working.
you and john went to his place , you already visited it a few times, it was minimal but cozy in its own way. so as you two arrived there , dropped your duffle bags while you headed to take a shower and john already began to fix things around the house, like the wooden kitchen table.
when you got out of the shower, in only a towel around you, hair damp, skin glistening with droplets of water and the scent of jasmine sticking to you? price couldn’t help putting his bear hands on your waist, pulling you close.
“you fixed the table? is it steady?” you asked as you glanced at him and he gave you that charming smile of his …”yeah, wanna try it out?” he said as he looked at you with an expression you knew too well
“what you mean?” you asked with a smirk on your face , looking up at him as he already picked you up and put you sitting on the table, you let a small gasp out . “what are you—“ the words died in your throat as price pulled the towel off you, leaving you bare and beautiful in front of him.
“ye so beautiful, m’love” he said in his low tone, his hands already spreading you up on the dinner table, and you let him. as he lowered himself to the point that his mouth was aligned with your sensitive cunt “so wet already ye?” he said as his thumb brushed once over your sensitive pearl. as he leaned in, he murmured “dinner is served” before he dug in and his tongue licked between your folds, his hand holding you spread for him and his other hand played with your clit as you got ate out.
every moan you let out went straight to price cock, he got hard since he saw you come out of the shower , but now? his cock was throbbing with arousal from eating you out untill he couldnt hold anymore and got his cock free and slid it inside you while you let a delicious moan/gasp out
“ye good bunny? my bunny cant take some cock in her pretty little cunt?” he asked as he toyed with that clit of. yours.
pleasure hit you in that intense way you love, in that way only john could make you squirm and come undone beneath him. now he turned you around, you were over the table, drooling on the table as he fucked you from behind, his large hand giving slaps and squeezings to your ass
after almost two hours of fucking, of him feeling you clench around his cock, of you getting wetter and wetter with every move he did, both of you come undone , breathing hard and skin glistening with sweat instead of water. he helped you get cleaned up and after that he teased you a bit
“so is it steady? hm?” he teased you as he kisssed your bare shoulder. you looked at him and rolled your eyes before a small smile kissed your lips.
i am once again thinking about simon riley's stoner!missus.
you're all wriggly and soft next to him in the sofa, curled into his side whilst you watch some shite action film he's picked.
(you're never sure why he chooses them, he spends the entire time ripping everything from the plot to the special effects to the fight scene choreography apart.)
then he notices you're a little… too wriggly. his eyes glance down, see your heel tucked up under you on the sofa and realisation dawn's that your attention is nowhere near the film or his narration.
that's why he spends the rest of the film with one hand between your thighs, pads of his fingers circling your clit mindlessly; swapping to fucking two fingers into you when you seem to get a little too close to the edge.
you spend the next two hours like that, melted into the couch, thighs spread wide while the film drones one. he never stops, but he's not really trying either. just thoughtlessly playing with your cunt until his hand and the sofa cushion are soaked.
he keeps up his little narration, occasionally prompting you for input after he says something like "that's not how a fuckin' rifle works, jesus christ."
you're too far gone, too stoned and soft for your thoughts to do anything but slide over each other - so you just whine in respons. something to show that somehow you are actually listening.
he swaps to pinching your clit between two fingers gently. "yeah. that's what i thought too, petal."
all you wanted was to bring simon his lunchbox, but the new recruits saw you as nothing more than an joke. they learn the hard way that no one can mess with the lieutenant's wife.
tags: hurt/comfort, angsty, wife!reader, husband!ghost, hurt!reader, simon riley is a devoted husband
the clock had long since struck midnight when simon finally made his way home. he eased himself onto the bed, careful not to make any noise, not wanting to wake you up. his muscles ached, his eyes burned after sleepless nights, but none of that mattered the moment he held you in his arms.
he placed a kiss on your forehead, soft, barely there, afraid to interrupt your sleep. his lips lingered a second longer than necessary, just breathing you in.
you smelled like home.
"i'm back." he whispered into the dark, more to himself than to you. he pulled the covers up a little higher over your shoulder, tucked you tightly beneath them, and finally let his heavy eyes rest.
the following morning you'd woken up early, before the sun had even rise to make him a warm meal.
the snow had been falling for days, making it hard for you to reach the military base. you clutched the lunchbox to your chest, your fingers numb from the fierce wind.
here you were now, fidgeting with your hands, as you slowly approached the base. you had been here before, once, when simon forgot some urgent documents in his office at home and asked you to deliver them.
the guard at the gate barely glanced at you before exclaiming "training yard's to the left," he said, his voice bored "lieutenant is probably there."
you thanked him with a whisper and made your way through the gates.
you spotted some recruits as you came to the proximity of the field.
"excuse me," you called softly, clearing your throat. "i'm looking for lieutenant riley."
a young soldier turned, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, probably wondering what were you doing in a place like that. he was taller than you, double your size, but not as big as simon, and his piercing eyes made you shiver.
"and you must be?" the soldier sneered, his tone dripping with arrogance. "do you think anyone can meet him?"
"i-i'm here to bring him his lunch," you said, showing him the bag that was held tight to your chest.
the soldier turned around, exchanging a glance with his friend. "his lunch? you his personal errand girl?"
the other recruit laughed, joining the teasing. "im sure lieutenant doesn't need a little thing like you bringing him food. he's got proper food here. not whatever home cooked rubbish you've got in there."
your cheeks flushed, heat rising to your face. "it's not uhm... like that. he forgot it this morning. i just wanted to-" you began to stutter, avoiding their mocking gaze.
"you wanted to what? speak louder won't ya?" the first soldier stepped closer, leaning down to reach your eye level "a stupid girl who can't even make a simple sentence without stuttering wants to see him? you think you're special?"
"i-i'm his wife," you managed to say but you could feel your eyes begin to well up.
the soldiers stared at you for a moment, then burst into laughter. the sound was loud and mocking, echoing through the corridors. "right," the first one said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "and i'm the captain. nice try, love. lieutenant riley doesn't have a wife. everyone knows that."
you wanted to correct him but got quickly interrupted.
"look, sweetheart," the second recruit cut in, "we don't have time for this. he's a busy man." he gestured vaguely to the gates "you need to leave. now."
"b-but I'm telling you the truth," you said, your voice trembling. "i'm n-not lying."
the first soldier rolled his eyes. "you're not authorised to be here," he said, his voice hardening. "if you don't leave on your own, we'll have you escorted out."
"i-i have a pass," you said, fumbling in your pocket. "i have a visitor's pass. see?" with shaking hands, you held your pass.
the soldier snatched it from your hand, glancing at it briefly before tossing it to the ground. "probably stolen," he said dismissively.
"get the fuck out now." the second soldier said, as he grabbed your arm and began pushing you toward the gate.
you stumbled, falling down on your butt, then the gate was slamming shut behind you.
you stood there, frozen. you reached for your phone to call your husband but it wasn't there. in a hurry to leave the house, you left it on the kitchen counter.
this is why ghost always tells you to be more careful with your belongings.
"clumsy little girl." was what simon would often call you.
the snow continued to fall, piling up around you. you were going to freeze out here.
you were so cold you could barely hear a distant voice calling your name.
the voice was low and behind his mask you saw a strangely familiar face. you lifted your head, your vision blurry with tears and snowflakes, and found yourself staring at a bearded man. his dark eyes were the only thing you could see.
"oh, john." you breathed, and then you were sobbing. "i...they didn't believe me...i couldn't...i just wanted to bring him lunch and they-"
"hey, it's alright," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. he stepped forward, shrugging off his heavy coat and draping it over her shoulders. it was too big, swallowing you whole, but it was warm. "come on. let's get you inside."
he led you through the gate once again, past the recruits who had just thrown you out. price didn't say a word to them, but the look he shot them held a lot of warnings.
the captain guided you to a chair, sat you down, and knelt in front of you.
"are you hurt?" he asked, checking for any possible injury.
you shook your head, scared your voice would betray you. "j-just c-cold. r-really cold."
price's eyes hardened. "i'll take care of it."
he pulled out his phone and called simon.
the recruits were still in the yard when ghost appeared, and the shift in the atmosphere was immediate. his mask was pulled tight, but it did nothing to conceal the fury radiating from his posture.
"which one of you," he said, his voice low and threatening, "did it?"
the first recruit, the one who'd laughed at you, tried to play it cool. "lieutenant, there was some woman trying to get in, claimed to be your wife. i mean its ridiculous, uh? but i handled it."
"you handled it," ghost repeated, with a nod; his voice flat, emotionless. "you fucking handled my wife."
the colour drained from the recruit's face. "sir, i didn't, we didn't know-"
"i will deal with you later." simon spat out, not sparing them another glance.
he crossed the yard in a few long strides, his hands shaking with fury. he found you in the common room, wrapped in price's coat. you were still clutching the lunchbox, and the sight of it, the sight of you being so pitiful, nearly made him lose the control.
his hands found your waist, and then you were pulled into his arms, crushed against his chest so tightly you could feel the frantic beating of his heart. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, the fabric of his mask damp and warm against your skin, and wrapped his arms around you like he was afraid you'd dissolve if he loosened his grip even a bit.
he pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest.
"sweetheart," he breathed, the word cracking somewhere in his throat. "i'm sorry. fuck."
"it's okay," you whispered, your fingers clutching his shirt. "y-you're here."
"no, it's not alright." he pulled back, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. "i will never, ever let that happen again."
he pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes closed. his fingers were stroking your cheeks, trying to warm you.
he scooped you up, cradling you against his chest, and carried you toward his quarters. his arms were strong and steady, as you whimpered from the cold.
"price," he called over his shoulder, "round them up. i'll deal with them properly later."
the door to his quarters closed behind you, and simon set you down gently on his chair. he knelt in front of you, his hands working to unzip your coat, to peel off the wet layers.
"bastards," he cursed under his breath. "i'll kill them all."
you flinched, but were too exhausted to speak, so you let him wrap you in his clothes, and hold you until the shaking stopped. wrapped by simon's thick scent and his body warmth, you soon fell asleep from the exhaustion.
outside, the recruits stood shivering in the yard, watching the snow pile up around their boots.
ghost quickly crossed the yard, his face a mask of cold fury, and grabbed the first recruit by the throat.
simon's fist quickly connected with the soldier's jaw, a sickening crack echoing through the silent yard. then he turned to the second one, the one who'd grabbed your arm.
"your turn." the man tried to run, but price was there, blocking his path. ghost caught him by the collar, dragging him back, and drove his feet into his stomach. one kick, two kicks, until he collapsed, unconscious, into the snow.
"get them off my base," he said to john.
and from that day on, whenever you walked into the base, every soldier snapped to attention, avoiding looking at you, because they all knew, without a single doubt, that simon riley would kill to ensure your safety.
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☆ cw. fem! reader, college au, first lesson, dumbification, praise, he's so nerdy, squırting, unprotected, mdni.
nerd! nanami who ends up teaching you a few ‘fundamentals’ of squirting after you end up gushing out by accident.
“oh, my,” he’d huskily croon, taking a short glance at your body that’s laid flat on his timber desk. mousy eyes zero up ‘n down your entire frame before he groans, feeling your legs snake around his slim torso. after another hourly long session of cramming your brain with pounds of boring information, you’d probably forget by the next day, you told nanami that you wanted to try out ‘penetration.’ and now, that came with you gushing straight out with his meaty shaft buried snugly deep inside of you. he grows quiet, smacking his lips as he feels your slobbering cunt dripping wetly like a running never-ending faucet. it’s almost adorable with the way your face scrunches up and you’re clawing at the buckle of his drooping belt with shaky hands. “we haven’t gone over that area yet, sweetheart,” and you’re moaning, feeling your back tickle against the scattered piles of marked papers that laid directly underneath you. “ah, ah. don’t close ‘em,” he purrs, staring as your stick-glossed quavery legs try to snap themselves shut. “let me examine the wet problem a bit closer.”
“w- was that supposed to happen?” you breathe through rushed pants, frantically chewing on your bottom lip as you watch him pull out. he’s slow, feeling your slight muscles tense and spasm as you drenched the entirety of his stilled dick with molasses of your webby slick. “f- fuck,” you whimper, and nanami’s pressing a pointed thumb down against the pearly top part of your tender clit. gradually, he’s swirling a plethora of exaggerated shapes alllll around your tender entrance, lowering his head once his turgid cock’s fully out of you.
with a placid hum, nanami nods. “don’t fret, sweet thing. it’s normal,” and you prepare a deep, heavy breath as you try to peek down, watching nanami re-adjust his clear-framed glasses. “but, do you think you can do that again? i’m . . having a bit of trouble with my vision,” and he softly presses a chaste kiss against your cunt. shortly after, a slimy dewy web of stringy juices merrily glues against his lips. “i believe if my hypothesis is correct . . if ‘m closer like thiiiis,” and you moan, feeling the cold lenses of his glasses press right up against your puffed folds. “you’ll help me solve just how much of a wet girl you can get for me this time.”
openly, nanami eyes at your sopping pussy that’s just pouring from all areas with so many dewdrops of slick. a shimmery stream of your syrupy arousal cascades down the slot of your entrance and oh- it’s so pretty. at least to him.
if you squinted enough, you could see the obscene mirroring reflection of the shiny glossed view that rests between your legs from the clear lenses of his glasses. “clitoral glands,” he starts to ramble, rubbing a thumb near the top bulb-shaped part of your twitching heat. “clitoral body,” and you moan, feeling him swerve his digit down lower. “but let’s skip to . . . her,” nanami coos huskily, and you gasp once his round thumb plugs itself inside you after just a few loose inches. you swallowed that single digit right up oh-so blissfully.
like a hidden trick of a magician—his finger disappears inside of your cunt, and it presses against a particular small texture right above your lower opening. “. . that pretty urethra of yours.”
there - that’s where you felt the exact pressure of yourself gushing out, creaming down his cock with such a vivid risqué spray.
you’re still getting over it as your jaw dangles open—mouth cutely wholly ajar and all. as nanami continues to toy with your slobbering clit, he silently grumbles whatever extra clitoris facts underneath his breath. a single finger that was tucked inside of your gummy orifice gradually transitions into two, and you let off the sweetest moan that rang against his ears.
“such a pretty pussy from an even prettier girl,” and his words smokily deepen as he loudly ‘pops!’ both fingers out of your drenched slit. it’s all puffy now, drooling from each slippery flap. nanami sits up before re-aligning his milky-covered tip against your sobbing cunt.. “mini pop quiz,” he grumbles, letting off a deep sigh once his flushed crownhead languidly slides its way between the split of your folds. you’re laid back against the desk with a pout twisting across both sides of your lips.
pop… quiz?
nanami adjusts his crooked glasses by shoving them slightly back with a middle finger before humming. “riddle me this,” and a sweet moan drags its way past your throat once he’s smearing his bulbous tip across your sticky entrance.
left-to-right and it’s hypnotic. “what is the majorly important gland of the clit that helps lubricate the vagina properly?” and nanami presses a large hand on your tummy, simpering at the cute silence for an answer. with a snicker, he tilts his head at your quirked brow. “oh- c’mon. this is easy, we talked about this two days ago.”
“t . . the um-” you stammer, the throbbing of your clit increasing with each delicious second that passed. with your mind joggling its empty memory, you inhale a moan that was desperately trying to escape from your spit-stained lips. “the clitoral glands?”
“close, but no, dumb girl,” and with a smack, nanami whacks his swollen tip against the front of your weeping pussy. you finally release that moan you were holding onto with heave after heave puffing out your chest. “try again. this time, actually use that brain for me, yeah?”
you pout, and after about four seconds you left off a whiny grump. “is it . . the skene’s glands?”
“good girl,” and you let off a needy mewl once he rubs a palm against your pussy. his personal way of praising you without words, even after calling you a ‘good girl.’
it’s a soft, enticing rub that smears the entirety of your slick around his entire palm, coating it right away.
you’re so wet - pathetically drenched that you stick your candied juices all over the prints of his hand.
“it’s very important that you know about the skene’s glands. just like how important it is for me to teach you how soaked you are,” and you don’t even realize it, but the second he spanks against your cunt once more with his palm, you’re squirting . . again.
it’s a thick shiny geyser that ends up spurting out of you with a loud pssssh! and your toes curled in ecstatic rapture. you’re whining at how sudden and abrupt it was, and nanami just shakes his head with a wry smile. a hand maneuvers in a circular rotation against your pussy as you finish your three-second monumental high. “f- fuuuck, fuck!” you whimper out the same colorful syllables through your lips as your eyelids droop.
as you’re panting, still feeling the scattered bundles of paper rub and prick against the back of your skin, you eye nanami through murky peripherals. pretty ‘n glossed-eyed, you let off a shaky puff before moaning. “did . . did i pass?”
“not quite,” nanami takes his glasses off. they were still a bit soaked from earlier, a bit of your own droplets of literal juices fogging the lenses before he gave it a sweet lick. filthy. nanami squints at your twitching body before slithering a fat thumb down your tender, convulsing pussy for the nth and last time. “think we still have more basics to go over,” and he positions his head right back down between the eagle-spread valley of your legs, whistling riiiight between your driveling, puffy slit.
“besides,” and you whine once he gives your cunt its final, sloppy spank. “my only criticism— is that, we could work on that squirt velocity a little bit more,” and he pats your cunt before staring straight at your pulsating entrance, hungrily licking his lips.
"Nah, I need a real woman." Is all Ghost has to say about the group of objectively hot, young women at the bar. The type that wants to fuck a soldier or even looks for a husband. The type that thinks they want a dominant man but they only read 50 shades and play the tradwife but never commit to either of it. Looking for the dark romance type of shit where the guy is cruel but never with them. The type that plays games.
"You daft? What do you mean 'a real woman'?" Soap stares at him. The Scot knows that Ghost had fun with pretty things like this before.
"You know. A woman who knows that it's not always good times. Who knows hard work and understands. Getting tired of just a few weeks or months. I need more... More substance."
Soap still stares at him. "Are you saying you are looking for long term? Are you for real?"
"Positive. Sure, we might not come back the next time. But we might come back more damaged than medical can fix. And then? Would be nice to have something to return to?"
His eyes are searching the room and land on you, one of the local gardeners that tend to the vegetation on base. He has seen you haul bags of soil and equipment, knows you work out at the gym after work. Since you are allowed to work on base you have had basic background checks already. And he knows you also work in a small flower shop on occasions. He knows that because you brought flowers for Price when you heard about his baby's birthday the other week. The flowers were for his wife. "People always forget to congratulate the parents for taking such good care of their kids. So these are for the mother. And don't worry, I won't mind if you pretend it was your idea, captain, I know you have been busy."
At first Ghost was alarmed that you knew so much but when he followed you around he realized it was just the way you interacted with people. You talked to them, about mundane things, as if they were just normal people. And you never asked about missions. You even avoided looking at any file on a desk, strictly focusing on the plants.
And maybe you are not pretty with your messy hair and dirty hands, crooked teeth and big ass. You don't have to. You know who you are and what you do. You don't need to find a man to validate you. And considering you sit with some soldiers and other base personnel at a table, laughing and drinking, you know how to have a social life. Still, it doesn't explain why he is drawn to you. Maybe it is the way you never shy away from his presence. Or because you remembered his allergies and plant flowers under his window that don't trigger it. Or because you snort at his jokes, even when you are not part of the conversation and just in proximity.
Or maybe it is the way you suddenly stand before him, a small grin on your face. "Oi, big boy. If ya keep starin, you'll be buying the next round. Or ask me out for a proper date."
Soap is snickering next to him but Ghost knows an opportunity when he sees it.
"Tomorrow, 8 pm, pick you up from your shop. Wear whatever you want." He ignores the choked laughter from Soap, and also that Gaz is handing a bill over. All he needs to see is the surprised look on your face and then something that could be hope and the beautiful rose tint your cheeks are suddenly showing.
"Alright. But not the pub or any other place you'd go with your boys. When I say proper date, I mean it."
"Yea ma'am."
You seem satisfied and continue to the bar. When you pass him on the way back, you slip him your number. "Just in case the world needs you more."
This time Soap hands money to Gaz.
Later Ghost finds out they were betting on you, not him. Apparently you had been eyeing Ghost for quite some time.
~~~~~~~~
Edit: I wrote this for myself, but I also wrote this for my gorgeous "ugly" girls out there. Don't let your teeth or double chin or curves that are definitely not in all the right places hold you back. We are so much more than our looks.
