Untitled

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who’s got permanent damage in his right ear from years of explosions, gunfire, and close-quarters chaos—no one on base really comments on it anymore, but he’s used to tilting his head slightly when someone talks, or barking a gruff “Wot?” when the words blur together.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who meets you and immediately notices how you don’t dial it down. You talk and talk—rambling about your day, laughing loud enough that it echoes off the walls, filling every quiet corner of his flat like you were made to chase away the silence he’s lived in for years. Past partners always told you to lower your voice, said you were “too much,” but Simon just watches you with those dark eyes and lets you keep going.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who starts positioning himself on your left side without thinking, the good ear turned toward you so he doesn’t miss a single word. He never asks you to speak up or repeat yourself; instead he leans in closer, mask tugged down just enough that you can see the faint scar along his jaw, and mutters, “Keep talkin’, love. Like hearin’ you.”

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who finds your volume oddly comforting after missions. The flat used to feel like a tomb—too still, too quiet. Now it’s full of your voice: you singing off-key in the kitchen, yelling excitedly at the telly, chattering while you cook. He catches fragments sometimes, but the tone? The energy? That comes through crystal clear, and it settles something restless in his chest.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who gets a little smug when you forget and raise your voice even more around him. You’ll be mid-rant about some coworker and suddenly boom a laugh, and he’ll just smirk under the mask, pulling you into his lap with one big hand on your hip. “Didn’t catch all that,” he rumbles, “but I liked the last bit. Say it again.”

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who never once makes you feel like your loudness is a flaw. If anything, he guards it. When Soap or Gaz tease you lightly about being the “loud one” in the relationship, Simon shuts it down with a flat stare and a low, “She talks how she talks. Fuck off.” You’re his noise. His life. The one sound he never wants muffled.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley whose favorite thing is when you’re in bed and that volume of yours really comes out. He loves the way you can’t stay quiet—whining his name, gasping loud when he drags his cock slow and deep, moaning without shame as he pins your wrists above your head and fucks you harder just to hear you get even louder.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who growls against your throat, “Louder, sweetheart. Want the whole fuckin’ block to know who’s makin’ you sound like that.” He angles his hips just right, thick length stretching you open, and when you cry out—sharp, unrestrained, voice cracking on a broken “Simon, fuck, right there”—he swears it hits him harder than any explosion ever did.

Hard of hearing!Simon Riley who buries his face in your neck as you come undone, your loud, messy moans vibrating against his skin while he spills inside you with a deep, guttural groan of his own. Afterward he stays buried deep, breathing you in, one calloused thumb brushing your cheek as he murmurs, “Never get tired of hearin’ you lose it for me. Loud as you want, love. Always.”

It's a common question asked by children all over the world with varying answers from the stork or finding babies under a cabbage leaf but in Gotham, parents came up with the much more local version. Where do babies come from? Batman brings them, obviously. The Robins? Children that couldn't find their parents in time so Batman kept them. And bad children? Where do you think all the Bats in Gotham come from?

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ʙᴇɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ʀɪʟᴇʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘʏ ᴄᴏɴᴄʟᴜꜱɪᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ᴊᴏᴋᴇ. ʜᴇ’ꜱ ɢʀᴜᴍʙʟɪɴɢ ᴀ ʜᴏʀʀɪʙʟᴇ ᴅᴀᴅ ᴊᴏᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴛᴏɴᴇ. “ʜᴇᴀʀ ‘ʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴛᴀᴜʀᴀɴᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ?”

ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ʜᴀʟꜰ ᴀꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴜᴛ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴀ ʜᴜᴍ ᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴ. ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴏᴡ ꜰᴜʀʀᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. ꜱɪᴍᴏɴ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇꜱ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴀꜱ ʜᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜᴇꜱ ʜɪꜱ ᴊᴏᴋᴇ. “ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ, ᴀᴘᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏ ᴀᴛᴍᴏꜱᴘʜᴇʀᴇ.”

ɪᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴡ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴜʀʟ ᴜᴘ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱɴᴏʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ.

"tojiiiiii!" you whimper pathetically, head deep in a pillow. your pussy is being stretched unbelievably wide by your husband. "feels s-shoo good—!"

his thrusts become deeper and meaner, drilling his cock deeper and deeper into the warmth of your cunt. "you're doing so well for me, doll." toji grunts, the hands on your hips tightening to chase your high. "i think i'm starting to like this whole 'ovulation' thing."

you practically pounced on him earlier this morning. it's day two of your ovulation cycle and you've only gotten more needier than yesterday.

after begrudgingly reading a woman's health article last night, toji learned that this timeframe was when you were the most fertile. and what did he interpret it as? that you're a fertility goddess who needs to be bred.

and that's what he's doing right now— fucking you deep from behind with your ass high in the air. you always knew he had a thing for breeding, but your ovulation has got him riled up.

"do you feel how deep i am, baby?" toji asks, thumb pressing against your lower belly. "i'm hitting all the right spots too. you're gonna be the prettiest momma soon."

"y-you're shoooo deep!" you cry, drool staining the once pristine pillow under you.

"fuck, you're tight." he hisses, hips smacking against your plush ass with every thrust. a hand delivers a sharp smack against your ass and your tight hole immediately clenches around his girth. "cute. your pussy's clenching around my dick like she doesn't want me to leave."

"s-stop talking and j-jus' fuck me, toji!" you whine. and he does.

toji doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon because of the brutal pace he's fucking you with. his thick cock grazing against your sensitive g-spot and nudging against your cervix every time he bottoms out. with the help of your sweet slick, he's going at a beat so quick you can barely keep up.

"t-toji!" you whine, hugging the pillow to ground you to the bed. god, you sound so beautiful right now— moaning his name out followed by the smaller, equally pretty noises. you truly are a goddess.

toji physically shudders at your voice, cock twitching deep within your pussy. "didn't know i married a succubus," he taunts, slowing down and grinding his hips against yours to rile you up. "taking me so well, aren't you?"

you nod, mouth biting the pillow to control your sinful noises. a hand travels to your perky clit to rub it in agonizing circles, causing you to quiver underneath him. toji flashes a shit-eating grin and continues his mean pace.

it's all so much— your sensitive nipples rub against the sheets and the hand on your clit continues to rub it in circles. because of your ovulation, you're even more sensitive than usual.

the insides of your thighs are sticky with slick from previous orgasms and from where this is going, your next one is coming soon.

"fuck, baby— i'm close." toji groans as if he can read your mind. "i'm gonna cum so deep inside you that you're gonna be leaking with my cum this entire damn week."

"p-please, toji!" you beg, hands moving from the pillow to claw at the sheets. "give m-me all of it! w-wan' your babies—!"

toji's final string snaps and he buries himself to the hilt inside your leaking, well-spent cunt. as if on cue, you both release at the same time. you feel his thick and stringy cum fill you to the brim for the nth time. it shoots up to your womb, where he knows it will stay and take root.

some of it begins to trickle down your thighs, a result of being stuffed a bit too full. it doesn't bother him too much because he's wrapping his arms around your midsection, large chest coming in contact with your smaller back.

as the two of you bask in the aftermath of a passionate lovemaking session, toji breaks the silence by pressing a kiss to your temple.

"i'm naming the baby 'megumi', okay?"

𝙎𝙤𝙛𝙩!𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

˚⟡˖ ࣪Rafe remembers every little detail about you. He'll pretend he doesn't care and will deny it every time anyone brings it up but he secretly hangs onto every word you say. He can knows your favourite song by heart, which flowers you love and can recite your go-to restaurant order from memory.

˚⟡˖ ࣪Rafe will buy you things he randomly sees. Your favourite snacks, a piece of jewellery, a novel, just because he saw them and thought of you. At first you insisted that you didn't need those even though you were thankful but over time you got used it and now look forward to the little gifts.

˚⟡˖ ࣪Rafe cannot sleep properly unless he's pressed up against you. Before you he could barely sleep and when he did he often got nightmares. Now the only way he can sleep peacefully if you're next to him, his grip always tight around you. It gives him an odd sense of comfort.

˚⟡˖ ࣪Rafe's lockscreen is always a picture of you. Sometimes when he's missing you he'll just stare at it for a while. He also has a polaroid photo of the two of you in his wallet. It's slightly washed out and faded but he refuses to change it out. You have a copy of the same polaroid on a photo holder on your nightstand.

˚⟡˖ ࣪Rafe always takes care of you when you're on your period. He'll never let you feel bad about it and will get you everything you need. Heating pads, painkillers, a blanket, chocolate, whatever you want. He'll hold you and comfort you until the cramps die down and you eventually fall asleep.

˚⟡˖ ࣪Rafe craves being held even if he'll never admit it. Every time you ask for cuddles he'll act annoyed but practically always jump at the chance, subtly shifting so you're the one holding him. When you pull him closer so his head is on your chest and your fingers thread through his hair, he'll involuntarily melt. It reminds him of when his mother used to hold him. Until you, no one ever held him like that again.

˚⟡˖ ࣪Rafe loves watching you sleep. Not in a weird or creepy way but he likes how peaceful you look. Sometimes he'll just stare and think about the fact that you're actually here and you chose him. He still doesn't understand why but he knows that he doesn't want to ruin this and that he'll do anything to keep you content like this.

˚⟡˖ ࣪Rafe is protective of you in subtle ways. He'll always walk on the outside of the sidewalk, make sure you text him when you get home, pull you behind him whenever a fight breaks out a party. He doesn't even think about it, it's instinctive. His first priority is making sure you are safe and okay.

might start doing some short fics or oneshots soon ⋆౨ৎ˚

dividers: @cursed-carmine @chrisssiren

sleepy "dry" humping with rafe

you were cuddled up against rafe in the bed you both shared, his warm skin pressing against yours as his arms wrapped around your barely clothed body.

his fingers drawing lazy patterns into the exposed skin between your tiny tank top and the little pair of grey panties you had on.

rafe's steady breathing matched your own and you could feel his rock hard cock pressing against you through his boxer shorts.

your leg was wrapped loosely around his waist, so when you shifted to try and get more comfortable, your cunt unintentionally rubbed against his bulge.

warnings ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა : big dih rafe , kind of subby rafe >-< , p in v ( missionary ) , dih description , brief oral ( fem rec. ) , belly bulges :D

nerd!rafe had a hung smile. y’know that smile guys have when you know it’s big. real sultry n’ wide that had you wondering if anything else was wide down low, if you’re pickin’ up what i’m puttin’ down. 

yeah, that was rafe. the handsome nerd in your physics class who you’ve wanted since the first day of classes. laughing at one of his buddy's jokes with that dimpled grin, and smile lines that only added to his charm. 

& a woman’s intuition is never wrong, so when you finally got him in your bed, you were pleased to see you were 100% correct . . . 

“w–what’s wrong?” he stammered, noticing your eyes were glued onto his cock. “you don’t like it? i–i’ll see what i can do, jus’ don’t look at it for too long.” 

“no, it’s pretty,” you finally looked up at him, stopping his rambling. pretty was honestly an understatement; his dick was unreal. 

it was tanned with a prominent vein that ran along the underside of his cock. his tip was mushroom-like, and you were surprised that those actually existed in real life. it was also quite flushed as he grew needier, a pearl of pre jus’ nearly dribbling down his length. both wide n’ heavy, the thickness literally weighing his cock down. 

“it won’t be too much for you, will it?” he questions, mindlessly dragging his leaky tip between your folds, his heart hammering against his chest as he begins coating himself in your sticky slick. 

he already ate you out moments before to prepare you. lapping up your juices for what felt like hours, remnants of your arousal glistened on his lips. he nods when you tell him, “it’s okay, i can take it, rafey . . .”

it felt like rafe was in your throat. by no means was he rough; he was just soooo big that you felt him at your deepest spots with the smallest roll of his hips. he wasn’t even going fast, nervously looking up at each clench, sharp breath, or shiver, making sure you were enjoying it. 

“am i good?” he’d ask with a whine. if you were sane enough, you’d scoff. was he good? good wasn’t nearly enough to describe how perfect he was. the way he filled you, hitting your sweet spot in a way that had you pulsing and expelling your essence around him in creamy rivulets. 

“ ‘s big, rafey,” you managed between moans. all he could do was offer you an apologetic look while your tummy bulged with each thrust. 

his mind and body would go on autopilot, forcing himself to drive deeper into your heat when he saw that dazed expression on your face . . . 

well, it’s safe to say rafe cameron took you thru there, but you certainly weren’t done with him just yet. maybe next time you’ll cockwarm him & see what that’s giving!

xo, blissedbunni

“n it’s just my fingers, doll.” he teases, his pointer and middle finger deep within your cunt. “can ya imagine how stuffed you’re gonna feel when i fuck you with my cock?”

you only weep, trembling under his touch. his free hand ghosts over your skin, causing shivers to run through your viens, pushing into his touch. you can barely concentrate on anything other than the way he stretches you in half, and the coy sound of his voice. his large frame looms over you, his face hovering oh-so close, you can smell his cologne— hypnotized by every part of him.

“you’ve been such a sweet girl, baby.” his tone is laced with sweet honey, “takin me so well. just wanna spoil you.”

his thumb lazily brushes your clit, tsking at how he’s let it go neglected for so long. the circles he rub are electric, surging your body, parting your glossy lips so that he can see the way you’re drooling for him.

your hands reach up, clawing at his forearms, but it only drives him crazier, the lust in his pupils doubling. your velvet walls only clench, and your pussy radiates a needy kinda warmth. the sloppy clenching and sticky sounds are muted in your ringing ears, feeling only that familiar euphoric sensation.

“that’s my girl, yeah, let go f’r me.” he coaxes you closer to your climax with ever curl of his finger. “cum. cum on my fingers like a good girl.”

creamy fingers form around his digits, you pant , trying to hold onto him for stability. you’re practically gushing. he kisses your check, anchoring you back to reality, praising you without falter.

Don't ever touch your Batling in view of the Big Bat. Holding hands is OK but only when necessary. Kissing is forbidden. Arm around the shoulders? Waist? The Bat will glare until you back off. It's important to retreat as soon as possible. "He carved a hand out of Kryptonite and smacked me with it" an anonymous source added.

Don't ever taste or steal something from the plate of your Bat even when invited because the Bat won't take kindly to you "taking food out of his child's mouth," as another anonymous source says.

Don't ever bring your Bat back late. The Bat can have his kids up all hours punching clowns and headbutting back robbers but his kids come in from a date ten minutes after curfew? Expect to find Batman rapping on your window, pointing to "what looks like a clock they teach little kids to tell the time" stated a redacted source.

Don't ever honk when you're outside to pick up your Bat. It doesn't matter if they told you to do so to avoid their siblings and the stiff small talk with the Bat. "Walk to the door, knock and wait for the Bat to drift by," one author of the list insists, "If he ignores you, that's good. If he nods, you can come in. If he just hovers and speaks only to his kid, you're in danger."

Namely, your tendency to eat half your body weight in food before promptly passing out on the recroom couch. Being a human, you're small enough that all price sees is a cub practicing for the winter and it makes his instincts scream about protecting you.

Which is how you end up in his office after lunch, passed out in your usual food coma where he can monitor you. Price may trust soldiers on the field, but he knows better than to assume no mal-intent on base for someone foolish enough to nap in public.

You get your own blanket and pillow, and you always set an alarm so you can get back to work in time. It's been weeks and you still don't notice that price disables the alarms so you don't have a headache from a ruined nap.

Dick, distraught: how did this happen!?!

Jason: i don’t even know, neither of us realised we were together until Kori asked what our plans were for our one year anniversary.

Dick: ?!?!?

Tim: they flirt with each other all the time, i don’t know how you didn’t expect this Dick.

Dick: I THOUGHT THEY WERE JOKING AROUND! LIKE ME AND WALLY DO!

Tim:

Jason:

Bruce: chum… you know i abhor being even remotely involved in your love life…

Bruce: but that weird yellow boy has been in love with you since you were twelve.

Dick:

Dick: EXCUSE ME?!

Tim, muttering to himself in disbelief: weird yellow boy…

Roy, wistfully looking into the distance: the flirting was a joke at first… we both used to be so happy with having sex with women.

Damian: i’m going to kill him and then myself.

Roy: it’s like… Icarus.

Jason, flatly: Roy shut up.

Roy, ignoring him, looking afar dramatically: Jay and i, we flew too close to the gay sun, and our straight wings were left ablaze.

Tim, baffled: what fucking words just came out of your mouth?

Bosco Leroy x f!reader

ACT I - THE INVITATION

 pepperony week day 1: battle couple

i totally forgot that pepperony week starts today.. for some reason i thought it was going to start on monday and no matter how many times i read “june 20″, my mind did not process that. anyway, i didn’t really have anything prepared for today, so i just finished a concept sketch that i originally just made to figure out designs for day 4 (which kind of makes this a spoiler, my bad)

Anything For You

✦ Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader ✦ Word Count: ~1k ✦ Summary: You asked him to try the toy. He said yes like he’d been waiting his whole life. ✦ CW: NSFW, smut, vibrator use, unprotected p in v sex, physical power imbalance, soft dom dynamics, praise kink, gentle dirty talk, emotional vulnerability, first-time experimentation, overstimulation (mild), creampie. ✦ A/N: Sorry for the pause in posting my Kinktober fics—I got a little stuck on editing. But I’ll do my best to keep posting the rest of them regularly. Love you all, and I hope you like this one!💖 ✦ Kinktober 2025 M-LIST // Main M-LIST

Damian was almost asleep when you suddenly leapt on him, holding a vibrator you had just acquired.

"I want to try this tonight," you said—murmured, almost nonchalantly.

He froze—one arm draped lazily across your waist, breath just evening out on the edge of sleep. His eyes fluttered open slowly, brows shifting slightly when he saw what you were holding in your hand.

“...Really?”

Pairing : Damian wayne(Al Ghul) x pregnant!reader

Synopsis : Damian Wayne thought he was prepared for anything. He has survived assassins, alien invasions, and the Batfamily, which is, objectively, the most impressive of the three. Nothing had prepared him for you. Nor for a very specific craving for Romanian pickles at three in the morning. Some forms of love are unspoken. They slip on like a coat, half-asleep, without asking questions.

Divider from @pixopix

Three in the morning. In January.

Damian knows because his phone reads 3:07 when he reaches for the nightstand, and because the kitchen light filters under the bedroom door, a particularly accusing yellow.

He stands motionless for thirty seconds. Then he gets up.

You're standing in front of the open refrigerator, hair a mess, bare feet on the cold tiles, one hand on your lower back and the other methodically pushing containers along the middle shelf as if the thing you're looking for will appear if you persist.

"What are you doing ?" It's not a question. It's the tone of someone who sees exactly what's happening and still hopes they're wrong.

"I'm looking."

"It's three in the morning."

"The food is organized illogically in this refrigerator."

"You're not asleep."

"I'm hungry."

He leans against the wall and looks at you. You're thirty-two weeks pregnant and carrying his child with an energy that, some days, makes him feel like the only adult in the room, a feeling that is both absurd and perfectly true.

"What do you want ?"

You turn to him. The expression on your face is that of someone who has carefully weighed the risks before speaking.

"Pickles."

Silence.

"We have pickles. Right here. Second shelf."

"Not those pickles."

He looks at the jar. He looks at your face. "What's wrong with these pickles?"

"They're dill-flavored."

"All pickles are dill-flavored."

"No." You close the refrigerator door with the conviction of someone stating a fact. "There are old-fashioned mustard and honey pickles at the Romanian grocer ten streets away, and they're the only pickles that really exist."

Damian considers this information.

"The Romanian grocer ten streets away..." he repeats slowly.

"He opens at five. I checked."

"It's three in the morning."

"Yes. That's why I'm waiting."

There's a pause as he takes in exactly what's happening. You weren't going to wake him. You were going to stand in the kitchen, barefoot on the cold tiles, waiting for a Romanian grocery store to open for honey pickles, without saying a word to him.

"Go back to bed."

"Dami-"

"Bed, now."

"You don't have to-"

"I know."

You look at him. He holds your gaze with the patience of someone who has already made up their mind and is simply waiting for you to catch up.

"It's ridiculous," you say. "At this hour."

"Yes."

"It's cold outside."

"I know how winter works."

"I just want to say-"

"Do you want honey-mustard pickles from the Romanian grocer ?" He grabs his coat from the chair. "I can hear you. Go to bed, hayati."

Something shifts in your face, that slight release you get when you stop fighting something. You don't like asking. He's known that for a long time. He still doesn't know if it will get better with time or if it's just the way you are, but he's learned to read the moment you're about to give something up out of politeness, and he's learned not to let him.

You walk past him toward the bedroom. Your hand gently brushes his forearm as you pass.

He grabs his keys.

~~~

The grocer's name is Andrei, and he does indeed open at five o'clock. He recognizes Damian Wayne with an expression that clearly indicates customers in coats over pajamas aren't common, but they're not exactly cause for concern either.

The jar is small, the label is handwritten, and it smells of mustard and honey as soon as he takes it out of the bag in the elevator.

~~~

You haven't gone back to sleep. You're sitting in bed, knees drawn up as high as your stomach allows, pretending to read something on your phone with the app upside down. You look up when he comes in he places the jar on the nightstand without a word.

You look at it. Then at the jar. Then at him again.

"Damian."

"Eat your pickles."

"Damian, it was 3:30 in the morning-"

"3:22, technically."

"It's worse."

"I know."

You open the jar. The smell fills the room, vinegary, sweet, improbable. You take a pickle, taste it, and the noise you make is an absolute disgrace to both of you.

"Well?" he says, because he's human and some battles aren't worth losing with dignity.

"That's exactly it." Your voice has taken on that softness it sometimes has, late at night, when your guard is down. "That's exactly what I wanted."

He turns off the light on his side. You eat your pickles in the dark with quiet satisfaction and without the slightest trace of guilt, and after a while your leg rests against hers under the sheets, warm and familiar.

"Thank you," you murmur.

"Sleep, Albi."

"The baby says thank you too."

"The baby has perfectly reasonable tastes at thirty-two weeks." A pause. "You're the problem."

You laugh, softly, in the dark, the jar still in your hands, and it settles somewhere in her chest with the precision of something that has always known where it was going.

Taglist : @starrydustedwinter

Thanks for reading my fic.