deep thrusts which have you clawing the sheets, lewd sounds of his cock pistoning out of your clutching heat, dragging against your most sensitive places, the practiced rolls of his hips. everything.
he doesn’t like hearing you whine and beg him to slow down, or stop. he knows you don’t actually mean that so he clamps a tight palm over your mouth and continues shifting your organs around so good.
he pulls your hair, chokes you, grips your hips so tight they might bruise. he cums inside of you not once, not twice but as many times as he’d like because he just has so much.
he’s sweet when he’s caring for you.
he kisses your wet, messy face and soothes you. apologizing for how hard he went on you. he rubs the places where he marked you lovingly, giving you a warm bath and apologizing all the way for the number he had done to you.
but when he tucks you into bed, your body nestled against his larger one, he doesn’t feel a single ounce of guilt. watching your adorable face drift into sleep, he knows he would fuck you up again, and again, and again.
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PAIRING: hudson williams x fem!reader
WARNINGS: overbearing paparazzi, intentional lowercase, no use of y/n
GENRE: fluff?
PLAYLIST: here
WORD COUNT: 602
NOTE: got hudson on the brainnn
navigation | ask | hudson williams masterlist
you weren’t even supposed to stop.
that was the plan, at least. the car would pull up, hudson’s security would clear a path, and you’d be inside his hotel before anyone could really get a look at you.
heated rivalry had only been out a few days, surely things couldn’t have changed that much.
they had.
the moment the car slowed, shouting erupted. security was already out, two guards moving fast to the curb, hands out, voices firm as they tried to keep the crowd back. it didn’t matter. cameras still flashed from every angle, bright enough to sting your eyes.
“hudson! hudson, over here!”
“is that your girlfriend?”
“look this way!”
your hand found his automatically. hudson squeezed back hard, his other arm coming around you, anchoring you to his side as the door opened.
“just keep your eyes forward,” he murmured, “stay close to me.”
you stepped out between him and a guard, boxed in but still exposed. the sidewalk felt like it was vibrating, people pushing against barricades, shouting questions that weren’t really questions at all.
security tried to funnel you toward the hotel entrance, but someone still managed to break the line.
a photographer stepped forward without looking, trying to get a shot over a guard’s shoulder, and slammed straight into you. the impact jolted you, knocking you off balance with a gasp.
before security could even react, hudson was already there.
“hey!” his voice cut through the noise as he shoved the guy back, pure instinct. “back the hell up.”
the guards pushed toward the guy immediately, pulling the photographer away, barking warnings, but he barely noticed. his hands were on you, shaking just slightly as he looked you over.
“are you okay?” he worried, “did he hurt you?” quickly checking you over.
his jaw was tight, anger simmering just under the surface. more security closed around you tighter now, practically forming a wall as they rushed you the rest of the way inside. hudson stayed half a step behind you, one hand at your back.
the hotel doors slid shut, muting the chaos outside.
hudson turned to you immediately.
“let me see you,” he said as he searched for bruises that hadn’t appeared yet. “i know you said you’re okay, but just let me look.”
you softened then, seeing how rattled he really was.
“i’m really okay,” you promised.
he shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “they had security. we had security and still-”
you stepped closer to him before he could fully spiral.
your hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently along his jaw. he stilled at the touch, eyes snapping back to yours. you tugged him into a hug, arms wrapping around his neck, holding him firmly.
“i’m okay,” you whispered. “‘i need you to believe me.”
he hesitated only a second before his arms came around you, tight, grounding himself in the feel of you. his forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath finally slowing.
“i lost it,” he admitted quietly, “my managers going to kill me.”
“you did what you had to,” you smile, “and they’ll handle it.” you tilt your head slightly towards the impatient security guards behind you.
“just want you to know that i've got you.” he whispered.
you smiled gently, brushing your thumb back over his cheek. “i know you do.”
you rose onto your toes to kiss him, before pulling back, your hand hooked around his arm as security urged you toward the elevators.
2026 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
PAIRING: hudson williams x fem!reader x connor storrie
WARNINGS: intentional use of lowercase, no use of y/n
GENRE: fluff
PLAYLIST: here
WORD COUNT: 805
NOTE: lowkey wanna make a series out of this . . .
navigation | request | two is infact better than one masterlist
that’s the thing about the globes. every five steps, someone stops you. a producer you haven’t seen in years. a reporter who remembers a quote you gave once and will never let it go. a camera swiveling toward you the second you slow down.
you’re midway through another interview when it happens.
the interviewer. bright smile, mic angled, tilts her head toward the carpet behind you. “so, we have to ask. heated rivalry has basically taken over the internet. have you watched it and if you did, did you like it?”
you blink. then your face lights up.
“did i like it?” you repeat, already laughing. “i loved it.”
the interviewer grins, clearly pleased. “yeah?”
“oh, i binged it in less than a day,” you ramble. “like, canceled plans, phone on silent, unwell about it.”
somewhere just off to your left, you're oblivious that hudson is mid interview himself, glances over, already slightly smirking to himself. he knows where this is going.
“the chemistry,” you continue, hands coming up as you talk, animated now. “that’s what got me. it wasn’t just tension for tension’s sake, you know? there was so much chemistry. like, the way they looked at each other-”
you cut yourself off, laughing. “sorry. i’m getting too into this.”
“no, please,” the interviewer says. “go on.”
“it just hooked me,” you nod, “i don’t even know how to explain it. you start one episode thinking you’ll stop halfway and then suddenly it’s four in the morning and you’re like, what am i supposed to do with myself now?”
the camera zooms slightly closer.
“and,” you add, turning fully toward the lens now, eyes sparkling with mischief, “i am formally begging. publicly. on record. please cast me in season two.”
the interviewer laughs, “oh?”
“i don’t care if it’s a small scene,” you insist, clasping your hands dramatically. “i’ll be a random girl in the background. i’ll do something embarrassing. i’ll do anything.”
you glance straight into the camera again, completely unserious and fully committed. “call me.”
hudson actually snorts from his interview, shaking his head.
you’re still smiling when movement catches your eye, someone passing just by you. tall. dark suit. familiar face.
connor storrie.
your brain short circuits instantly.
“oh my god, wait, connor,” you blurt, turning completely away from the interview without hesitation.
the interviewer looks momentarily startled as you call out, “hi! hi, sorry, hi!”
connor stops mid step, clearly surprised. his face breaks into a grin the second he realises you’re talking to him.
“hey,” he acknowledges, laughing a little, stepping closer.
you don’t even think, you reach out, lightly grabbing his arm to get his attention fully. “hi. i’m so sorry, i’m being rude, i’m mid interview, but i wanted to say hi.”
he laughs, shaking his head. “no, it’s okay, hi to you too.”
he leans in and pulls you into a quick side hug, arm warm and around your shoulders. it’s brief, cameras immediately swing toward the two of you.
“good to see you,” his words quiet against your ear.
“you too,” you reply, beaming up at him. “seriously.”
he gives a little nod, still smiling, before letting you go and continuing on toward his own interview spot.
the second he’s gone, you turn back toward the camera, pressing a hand to your chest dramatically.
“i’m fine,” you announce, “woo! i'm totally fine.”
the interviewer laughs, “you alright?”
you fan yourself with your hand, a little over the top. “it should be illegal.”
“what should?”
you glance between where connor disappeared and now realising where hudson is doing his own interview a few feet away, then back to the camera.
“is it weird if i say that they both smell and look so good?” you fangirl, “it’s actually unfair to the rest of us.”
“i mean,” you continue, grinning, “how is anyone else supposed to compete with that? i walked onto this carpet confident and now i’m just-”
you flutter your hand again, mock dazed.
“ruined,” the interviewer finishes for you.
“ruined,” you confirm.
hudson glances over again, catching the tail end of your dramatics. he watches you with an amused, fond smile, completely unaware that he's just watched you just publicly sing his praises.
“and final question,” the interviewer says, still smiling. “if you were cast in season two… who would you want scenes with?”
you don’t even hesitate.
“both,” you blurt out, “together, preferably.”
the interviewer laughs as the segment wraps, thanking you. you step back, still riding the buzz, cheeks warm, heart thudding.
as you finally move toward the ballroom entrance, hudson finishes his interview too, catching up to you as you go and take your pictures.
walking side by side with you now, he raises his brows, amused. “did i hear my show just got aggressively promoted?”
Mild smut { Bruce treating Reader like a goddess }
The Gotham Academy Spring Fair was in full swing, laughter and chatter mixing with the scent of cotton candy and popcorn. Thomas clung to his stuffed dog — a floppy-eared, black-and-white thing Jason had won for him at the ring toss — while his small hand was tucked in Damian’s. The older boy’s usual scowl was absent for once, replaced with something approaching ease as he actually listened to Thomas chatter about the petting zoo and the “biggest caramel apple ever.”
Damian was never one for fairs or the children who ran wild in them, but Thomas… Thomas was different. His half-brother was a bright, unfiltered four-year-old who looked at him like he hung the moon, and it was a weight Damian had decided he would carry without complaint.
They had just stepped away from the dunk tank when a cluster of boys from the Academy approached. Damian’s shoulders stiffened immediately — he recognized them, and not fondly.
One of them smirked, eyes flicking between Damian and Thomas. “Hey, Wayne. Didn’t know you were babysitting today.”
Damian’s tone was clipped but polite enough. “He’s my brother.”
“Ohhh,” another boy drawled loudly enough for the nearby parents to glance over, “the little one’s from your dad’s… other wife, right? The bakery lady?”
Damian’s eyes narrowed. Thomas blinked up at him, confusion knitting his brows.
“Yeah,” the first boy snorted. “The big one. The cow who married your dad for his money.”
Another chimed in, lips curling in mock pity. “Wouldn’t blame Wayne for cheating on the cow. My dad says she’s a tramp who hit the jackpot.”
Before Damian could speak, a third boy stepped closer to Thomas, shoving him lightly so he stumbled back. The stuffed dog hit the ground.
Thomas scrambled for it, but the boy snatched it up first, holding it above his head. “Aw, did the little bakery brat cry when he dropped his toy?”
Damian’s control snapped like a taut wire. “Give it back.”
The boy laughed. “Or what? You gonna cry too? Just like your—”
Damian’s fist connected with his jaw before the sentence finished. The boy stumbled back, and chaos erupted. Another boy lunged at Damian, only to be shoved into a table of cupcakes. Damian moved like he was back in the League — precise, furious, unrelenting — until a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“Damian!” Dick’s hand grabbed his shoulder, yanking him back before he could land another punch. The older boy’s breathing was sharp, eyes blazing, fists still clenched.
Bruce arrived seconds later, already pulling the situation under control with that deep, commanding tone. “Enough.” His gaze swept the scene — the boys nursing bruised pride, Thomas clutching his stuffed dog to his chest, the smashed cupcakes — and landed on Damian. “What happened?”
Damian didn’t hesitate. “They insulted my mother.”
Bruce’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t push for details there in public. His eyes slid to Dick, and something passed between them silently. The two ushered Damian and Thomas away from the crowd.
Neither told you what had happened.
Later that night, you noticed the scrape on Damian’s knuckles when he reached for the mashed potatoes you’d made because you knew they were his favorite. You frowned, taking his hand gently. “What happened here?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, pulling back.
You didn’t believe him, but you didn’t press. You simply fixed his plate a little fuller, adding the roasted vegetables you knew he liked, and gave him a soft, “Eat.”
Across the table, Thomas beamed at him, small voice carrying easily. “You’re amazing, Damian. You’re like… a superhero.”
Jason, sprawled in his chair with a lazy smirk, lifted his glass. “Kid’s not wrong.”
Damian ducked his head, but there was a faint, satisfied curve to his mouth. He’d do it again — a hundred times over — if anyone dared talk about you or Thomas that way.
You didn’t know the words that had been said, but you didn’t need to. Damian was your son, blood or not, and the quiet way he protected his family said everything you needed to hear.
Bruce had heard the bones of the story that night — Damian’s clipped statement, “They insulted my mother,” and the defensive set of his jaw. But Dick filled in the rest later, once you’d gone upstairs to tuck Thomas in. He told Bruce word-for-word what had been said, and it took everything in Bruce’s control to keep his expression neutral.
By the time the house was quiet, Bruce was in his office with his tie loosened, sleeves rolled, and his laptop open. He pulled up the Gotham Academy student files, cross-referenced names with public records, and then with the Wayne Enterprises private database.
In less than four hours, he knew everything.
The next morning, he was in full Bruce Wayne mode — billionaire CEO, not Batman — and he set the plan in motion.
Phase One: The Fathers
The first father was in a corner office on the 23rd floor of a steel-and-glass tower. He looked up from his desk, startled, when Bruce walked in unannounced.
“Mr. Wayne! This is— I didn’t know you were—”
“Sit.” Bruce’s voice was quiet, but there was no room for refusal.
The man obeyed.
“I own this company now,” Bruce said plainly, setting a leather folder on the desk. “As of this morning, Wayne Enterprises holds the controlling interest. That means I control your future here.”
The man swallowed hard. “I—what is this about?”
“This is about your son. And you.” Bruce’s gaze was like cold steel. “Your son shoved my six-year-old and mocked him. He and his friends called my wife a ‘cow’ and a ‘tramp.’ You encouraged that. You will correct it.”
“I—Mr. Wayne—”
“You will deal with your son,” Bruce continued smoothly, “and you will issue a public apology to my wife and both of my sons. If you fail, you will be terminated immediately. And I will make sure every other company in Gotham sees the report on why.”
By the time Bruce left, the man was pale and sweating.
It was the same at the next two offices. Calm, precise, surgical — no raised voice, just the promise of ruin if they didn’t fall in line.
Phase Two: The Wives
Thursday morning, Bruce walked into the city’s most exclusive salon. The sound of blow dryers and gossip cut off when the receptionist recognized him.
The three women were seated together, hair in foils, mid-laugh. Their faces froze when he stopped in front of them.
“Ladies,” Bruce said, voice smooth as glass. “I own this salon now. As of this morning.”
One of them laughed nervously. “Is this… a joke?”
Bruce leaned down just enough for them to see the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Silence.
“You will publicly apologize to my wife and to my sons,” he said evenly. “And you will deal with your children. If you do not, you will be banned from this salon and every other in Gotham. Permanently. Try to book anywhere, and I will know.”
Their lips parted, but no one dared speak.
“If you want your hair done again,” Bruce added, straightening to his full height, “your husband can cut it. I’m sure he’ll do a fine job.”
The color drained from their faces.
The Public Apology
Two days later, at the Spring Fair’s closing, you stood with Damian and Thomas near the baked goods table, beaming as you told a group of parents about Damian’s recent science project. Thomas gripped his stuffed dog proudly, chattering about how “Damian made it work all by himself!”
Across the lawn, the offending families approached. The fathers gave stiff, awkward apologies; the mothers mumbled theirs with a forced sweetness. You thanked them politely, unaware of the iron fist Bruce had wrapped around their lives.
From a few feet away, Bruce watched, his arm folded, eyes cool.
Damian caught the look in his father’s eyes and smirked faintly. Jason, leaning against a nearby booth, muttered just loud enough for Damian to hear, “Guess money’s good for more than just cars.”
Damian didn’t reply, but the faint satisfaction on his face spoke volumes.
The house was quiet. Damian was in his room, Thomas curled up asleep with his stuffed dog. You’d just finished putting the last of the fair-day clutter away when you felt Bruce’s presence in the doorway.
He was leaning against the frame, tie loose, shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled. His eyes found you immediately — not a passing glance, but that long, deliberate stare that made it feel like he could strip you bare without touching you.
“Come here,” he said, low and quiet.
You stepped toward him, and he caught your hand, pulling you against his chest. His kiss was slow at first — deep, lingering, his palm warm against your cheek. He didn’t rush it; he kissed you like there was nothing else in the world to do, tasting you, savoring you.
When he finally broke the kiss, he didn’t move back. His hand trailed down to your jaw, his thumb stroking lazily. “Do you have any idea,” he murmured, “how beautiful you are?”
You started to shake your head, to deflect, but his voice cut through, firmer now. “Don’t. Don’t downplay it. You’re perfect.”
He backed you toward the bedroom slowly, his mouth never leaving yours for more than a breath. When your knees hit the bed, he eased you down, his hands moving to the buttons of your blouse.
It wasn’t hurried — he unfastened each one with unshaking patience, parting the fabric to reveal skin like he’d been waiting for this all day. His gaze followed his touch, sweeping over the curves of your breasts, your stomach, the softness of your waist. His fingers traced over them like they were precious, his lips following to kiss every spot his hands explored.
“You’re mine,” he said softly, between kisses at your shoulder, your collarbone, the swell of your breast. “Every inch.”
When he had you stripped down to just your panties, he sat back for a moment, eyes roaming over you with open hunger. Then he leaned in again, kneeling over you and lowering his mouth to your stomach, pressing slow, lingering kisses there.
“I love this,” he murmured, kissing lower, his hands holding your hips like he was anchoring you. “I love you.”
By the time his fingers hooked in your panties, you were warm all over, your chest rising and falling faster. He slid them down and tossed them aside, his eyes meeting yours with that smoldering mix of reverence and intent.
When he finally pressed into you, it was smooth, deep — and that’s when the shift happened. The tenderness sharpened into something else, his grip firm on your hips.
“They called you names,” he growled, his voice rough against your lips. “Said things I should have broken their jaws for.” His thrusts grew harder, his cock filling you completely with each one. “They’re wrong. So fucking wrong.”
He held your gaze as he drove into you, his breathing harsh, every movement a wordless reminder of exactly who you belonged to.
“You’re mine,” he said again, almost a snarl now. “My wife. My love. The mother of my children. No one — no one — gets to speak about you like that.”
The pace built, his earlier worship now a possessive rhythm that had you clinging to him, the pleasure curling tight inside you until it broke. You came with his name on your lips, and he followed with a guttural groan, holding you close, keeping himself buried deep.
Even after, he didn’t let you go. His forehead rested against yours, his hand sliding along your side.
“Beautiful,” he whispered again. “Perfect. And the only opinion that matters is mine.”
The smell of coffee and something sweet pulled you from sleep. When you sat up, the house was still hushed — but the faint sound of Thomas laughing carried from the kitchen. You pulled on one of Bruce’s shirts from the floor and padded out barefoot, hair still mussed from the night before.
The sight waiting for you made your chest ache in the best way.
Damian sat at the counter, clearly pretending to be disinterested but eating a stack of pancakes topped with berries. Thomas was next to him, swinging his legs and grinning, crumbs all over his face. And behind the stove, still in pajama pants and a black t-shirt, Bruce was making another batch of pancakes from scratch — not the boxed mix.
“Morning,” he said when he saw you, that small, private smile tugging at his mouth.
Thomas waved enthusiastically. “We’re having pancakes! Damian likes them but he’s pretending he doesn’t!”
Damian scowled without looking up. “I’m not pretending. They’re tolerable.”
Bruce slid a plate toward you, the pancakes perfectly golden, steam curling up from the butter melting on top. He poured you coffee without asking, just the way you liked it, then leaned down to kiss you slow enough to make Thomas giggle.
When you went to sit beside the boys, Bruce’s hand caught your waist and guided you to his side instead. He stood behind you, one hand resting on your hip, the other idly tracing over the curve of your thigh while you ate. It wasn’t overtly possessive in front of the kids — but it was a steady, warm reminder of the way he’d touched you last night.
Halfway through breakfast, Damian said in that flat, matter-of-fact tone of his, “Father made these pancakes himself. He doesn’t usually do that unless it’s for someone important.”
You blinked at him, caught between surprise and warmth. “Oh?”
Damian didn’t look up from his plate. “He wanted to make sure you knew you were worth the effort.”
Bruce’s fingers pressed lightly into your hip at that, and when you glanced back, there was that same look from last night — the one that told you you’d never have to question your worth in his eyes.
Jason wandered in just then, hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looked between Bruce, you, and the kids, then smirked. “Guess we’re having a family breakfast. That’s… new. Did I miss something?”
Damian smirked faintly, not looking up. “You missed Father proving a point.”
Jason arched a brow. “Uh-huh. Figures.” He stole a pancake off Damian’s plate, earning himself a fork jab.
Bruce only tightened his arm around your waist, leaning down to murmur in your ear, just for you, “And I’m not done proving it.”
The rest of the morning passed in warmth and ease — laughter, coffee refills, Thomas insisting Bruce flip more pancakes. But under it all, there was a quiet, unshakable certainty: Bruce had made his stance known, not just to those who’d insulted you, but to you, to the kids, to himself.
You weren’t just his wife. You were his everything.
It happened a week later, in one of Gotham’s high-end shopping districts. You had the day free and decided to take Thomas for a treat at a little gelato café — Damian had even agreed to come along, quietly shadowing you both like a watchful guardian. Bruce had been called into a short meeting but promised to join you after.
You were leaning over Thomas’s tiny cup of strawberry gelato, helping him keep it from dripping everywhere, when a familiar voice cut through the air.
“Well, if it isn’t Gotham’s favorite charity case,” one of the Spring Fair mothers drawled.
Damian’s eyes snapped up instantly, narrowing like a hawk sighting prey. You straightened slowly, turning to face her. She was dressed to impress — gold jewelry, tailored dress — and her smirk said she thought she’d already won whatever game she thought this was.
Another of the mothers from that day was with her, though this one wouldn’t quite meet your eye. She shifted uncomfortably, mumbled a hello, and excused herself to cross the street.
But the first? She doubled down. “Enjoying spending Wayne money, are we? Or is your husband keeping you on a tighter leash now?” Her voice dropped into a mock whisper. “Don’t worry, sweetie. He’ll tire of you eventually.”
Damian stepped forward before you could, his voice sharp as a blade. “Watch your mouth.”
She scoffed. “Oh, please. You think anyone takes you seriously, little prince?” Her gaze slid back to you, and she spat out a word that made Damian’s entire body go taut — vile, ugly, dripping with disdain.
Before you could react, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
“What did you just say?”
Bruce’s presence was immediate, his shadow falling over the woman as he stepped up beside you. His hand found the small of your back, steady and grounding, but his eyes were locked on her — cold, unblinking.
The woman faltered, but only for a moment. “I’m just saying what everyone thinks—”
“No,” Bruce interrupted, his tone deadly calm. “You’re saying what you think. And you seem to have forgotten the agreement we made.”
Her smirk flickered. “Agreement?”
“You were told to apologize and keep my wife’s name out of your mouth. You failed.” Bruce’s voice didn’t rise, but it didn’t need to. “You’ll find out exactly what that means the next time you try to book your salon appointment.”
She found out two hours later.
The moment she walked into her usual salon, the receptionist went stiff. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kincaid, but your account’s been flagged. We can’t take you as a client anymore.”
“What?” she demanded. “This is absurd—”
“It’s non-negotiable,” the receptionist said, clearly uncomfortable. “You’ve been blacklisted from every affiliated salon in Gotham.”
Mrs. Kincaid’s face went red. “Blacklisted? By who?”
The receptionist hesitated, then answered quietly, “Mr. Wayne’s order. It’s… permanent.”
⸻
Back at home, you sat with Bruce on the couch, Thomas curled against your side while Damian read in the armchair.
“You didn’t have to—” you began.
“Yes,” Bruce said simply, his arm tightening around you. “I did. And I’ll keep doing it. As many times as it takes.”
Damian glanced up from his book, his mouth twitching in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. Thomas, oblivious, declared, “Daddy’s the boss of everything.”
Bruce’s lips quirked. “Just of the people who need reminding.”And in that moment, you believed him.
⸻
Two days after the salon ban, Jason was leaning against his bike outside one of the trendier coffee shops when he overheard it.
Mrs. Kincaid — the same woman — was standing with a friend, voice pitched just loud enough for passerby to hear. She was going on about how “some bakery brat tricked Bruce Wayne into marriage” and how she wasn’t “done telling people the truth.”
Jason’s jaw flexed. He didn’t step in, didn’t even look directly at her — not at first. He finished his coffee, tossed the cup in the bin, and strolled casually toward the parking lot where her shiny imported SUV was sitting pretty.
No one paid him any mind as he crouched by the back tire, flicking open his knife. One smooth motion and the hiss of air escaping filled the quiet. He moved to the next one. And the next. And the next. By the time he straightened, the SUV was sitting on four very dead tires.
He didn’t bother hiding the satisfied smirk as he swung a leg over his bike. He caught Mrs. Kincaid’s gaze across the lot, tapped two fingers to his temple in a mock salute, and roared off.
⸻
That night, Jason strolled into the manor’s kitchen where you, Bruce, and Damian were finishing dinner.
Bruce eyed him over his glass of wine. “You look… pleased with yourself.”
Jason’s grin was slow. “Let’s just say our favorite salon exile won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
Damian glanced up from his plate, catching the implication instantly. “Did you—”
Jason winked. “I didn’t say I did anything. But if four luxury tires happened to go flat at once, I’m sure it was just… coincidence.”
You shook your head, trying not to smile. “Jason…”
He shrugged, grabbing a biscuit from the table. “What? You married into the family, Ma. We protect our own. Some of us just have more… hands-on methods.”
Bruce didn’t comment, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch — just enough to know he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.
Out of all of them, Dick had known you the longest. He’d been there the day you first walked into Wayne Manor with a box of pastries from your family’s bakery, wearing that modest coat and smiling at Alfred like you’d known him forever. He’d liked you immediately — not because you were marrying Bruce, but because you fit. You didn’t treat any of them like charity cases, you didn’t try to impress them, you just… cared.
So when Dick overheard two Gotham socialites whispering at a charity gala about “the bakery girl who landed the Wayne fortune,” something in him went ice-cold.
They didn’t even notice him at first. He was just part of the crowd, easy smile in place, champagne glass in hand. But the second one of them called you “a professional gold digger with good PR,” Dick stepped right into their conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi,” he said, flashing that easy, charming grin that could disarm anyone. “You’re talking about Mrs. Wayne, right?”
Both women froze, caught between surprise and guilt. “Oh, we were just—”
“She’s my mother,” Dick cut in smoothly. “So, here’s how this works. You stop running your mouths, and I don’t repeat your names to Bruce.” His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes had gone sharp. “Because if I do, you’ll be lucky to find an invitation to a soup kitchen, let alone another gala.”
He set his empty glass down on the nearest tray, gave them a mock salute, and walked away without another word.
Later that night, when you came by to drop a plate of cookies in the study for him and Bruce, Dick just smiled up at you from the couch.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said lightly — but there was a weight behind it that made Bruce glance at him over his papers, curious.
You didn’t know what had happened at the gala. But Dick knew, and that was enough.
Tim hadn’t said much during the aftermath of the Spring Fair incident nor the Gala. He’d been there when Bruce came back from “handling” things, and he’d smirked a little when Jason bragged about his “coincidental” tire work. But Tim’s version of protecting family didn’t involve boardrooms or crowbars.
It involved data.
So when he heard Mrs. Kincaid was still mouthing off at luncheons — claiming you were “nothing but a social climber” — Tim decided she’d had her last word.
It took him all of fifteen minutes. A few lines of code, a VPN bounce through three countries, and he had her social media logins. The next five minutes were just… artistry.
Profile pictures? Gone. Posts? Deleted. Friend lists? Wiped. Years of carefully curated photos of gala dresses, brunches, and “candid” vacation shots — erased. Her entire online identity, the one she used to preen and posture, vanished overnight.
As a finishing touch, Tim made sure her accounts were locked from recovery — the password changed to an unguessable, random 48-character string he didn’t even bother saving.
By morning, Mrs. Kincaid was essentially a ghost online.
⸻
At breakfast, Tim strolled into the kitchen, poured himself coffee, and sat down without looking up from his tablet.
Jason glanced at him. “You look smug. What’d you do?”
“Nothing illegal,” Tim said mildly. Then, after a beat, “Just… digital housekeeping.”
Bruce didn’t ask. Damian smirked faintly. You blinked between them, suspicious.
Jason leaned back in his chair. “Tell me you didn’t—”
Tim took a slow sip of coffee. “She won’t be posting anything about anyone for a while.”
Dick barked out a laugh, though you had to hide your smile.
"You didn't have to, but thank you Tim."
The manor was warm with the smell of dinner — Alfred had outdone himself, as usual. You were in the dining room, setting out the last dish when the sound of voices and footsteps echoed from the hall.
Damian appeared first, carrying Thomas on his hip like it was second nature now. “Your son,” he said dryly, “insists he needs to show you his art before dinner.”
Thomas grinned, holding up a crayon drawing — a messy but heartfelt depiction of the entire family, complete with you in the center, smiling. “See? You’re the hero,” he said proudly.
Jason came in behind them, dropping into a chair with all the grace of a wolf flopping down to nap. “Kid’s not wrong.”
Tim was next, sliding his phone into his pocket as he smirked faintly at you. “Don’t worry. No one’s saying anything about you online anymore.”
From the doorway, Dick added with that familiar easy grin, “Or at the galas. I made sure of that.”
Bruce stepped in last, shedding his jacket and kissing your temple in front of everyone without hesitation. “And the boardrooms are quiet too,” he murmured, his voice warm enough to melt the steel in his words.
Alfred appeared with the roast, clearing his throat with a subtle smile. “It’s rather impressive, madam. You seem to have the entire household working security for your reputation.”
Jason snorted. “Damn right.”
Tim lifted his glass. “To our favorite Wayne.”
Damian rolled his eyes, but the faintest smirk betrayed him. “She is.”
You laughed, shaking your head, but when Bruce’s hand found yours under the table and Thomas leaned against your arm, you felt it — the truth in all of it. You weren’t just married into the Wayne family.
You were at its center.
And they’d made it perfectly clear — no one touched the center without answering to all of them.
Ი𐑼 established relationship fluff jealousy nerd!jake (nerds need love too!jake) popular!reader short drabble skinship profanity possible grammer & spelling mistakes university au non-idol au counts as a sequel, but can be read as a stand-alone.
note. hihi this idea has been brewing even before the smau was posted and im glad I could link them together ♥️ I lovelove nerd jake content hehe..
you hadn't thought much of it at first.
you thought the sudden attention was just curiosity, and not to be self-centered, but you thought that it was just because people were curious about who you were dating, people being nosy about your love life as always.
but the attention towards jake never lessened.
you noticed, of course you noticed.
you saw how people would try to ask you more about him, under the pretense of "learning about your relationship", or how every freaking girl in your class suddenly needed tutoring.
it can't be a coincidence, right?
but jake, sweet pure-hearted jake, he always answered with kindness, he always agreed to help, because how could he assume that they had an ulterior motive?
this was the 3rd time this week that he had to stay back because he wanted to help someone with their notes.
seriously, how could he not know this was the oldest trick in the book to hit on a hot nerd? and you'd done it before, but that doesn't mean they could, too. he was yours.
your whole mood was sour as you walked in your lecture with jungwon, pouting slightly as you sighed out of frustration.
"what is it this time?" jungwon asks knowingly. sometimes you wonder if he could read you too easily, or if you're really just that obvious.
you look at him, your pout deepening. and although you always tend to call jungwon your child, he seems to parent you alot more than you do. "wonnnnn, is this what I get for being a slut before settling down?" you whine, and he tried to hold in his laughter, keyword: tries.
"don't laugh!" you hit his shoulder, but he only shakes his head. "I'm not laughing. it's just.. it's fun to see you all riled up while jake doesn't even notice it."
"that's the problem! I can't even tell him. because what if I'm being this weird insecure girlfriend and he breaks up with me?"
"impossible, he's smitten with you." he added
"but we just started dating." you argue, still in distress about this. oh how you wished jake would just see how much you liked him.
sure, you had a reputation for your questionably short relationships. you get over people easily, you break up with your boyfriends using stupid excuses, because you can't just say the truth: you get bored.
not in the mean way, at least not how you view it, but it happens. It was easy to catch feelings, for you to get attracted, it was even easier to get someone to date you, who'd reject you? but then they'd mess up. you let it slide once, then twice, but more than that? you get bored. bored of their empty promises, bored of their ulterior motives that had nothing to do with your happiness and everything to do with their pleasure, bored of them, the idea of them, and everything that comes with it.
but with jake, it was different. sure it was an accidental kiss that started everything, but you always noticed him.
you noticed how he stumbled over his words when asked a question, you noticed how he toyed with the hem of his sleeve when nervous, you noticed how messy his hair looks after a long study session, just because he ran his fingers through it one too many times, you noticed everything that felt distinctively him.
and when fate pulled you two together, when you finally got to be with the one who made your heart race like no other, you were over the moon.
so now? seeing girls all over him when all you ever wanted was hold him close and leave an imprint that said he was yours? it made your blood boil.
you weren't angry at him, no, you knew he meant no harm, but you still couldn't tame this unexplainable jealousy.
who knew you were capable of such emotion? it's not like any of your past relationships has made you feel this way.
you were deep in thought when jungwon's voice pulled you out your bubble. "don't even think about it." he scolds, how'd he even know?
"won! how else am I supposed to get him to look at me?" you whine once again, jungwon only rolls his eyes.
"maybe without being a brat and trying to make the poor guy jealous."
"its just an idea!" you defend.
"a bad one."
you slump in your chair, out of ideas. annoying jungwon, always has to be the responsible one.
you focus in your lecture, trying to push any distracting thought out of the way.
as you were packing up, with students filling out after the end of the lecture, you felt something poke your cheek, or rather, someone.
you look up to see jake standing there, an endearing smile on his face at the sight of you.
"yunie!" you stand up, a smile automatically painted your face.
"hi, love" he says softly, and it makes you melt.
"why are you here?"
jake giggles, it almost makes you blush. "to pick you up, aren't we having a sleepover today?"
right. you were so occupied with your own jealousy that you forgot the plans you'd made together.
"right! right.. let's go then?" you say as you pack up your bag and wave goodbye to jungwon, who was still there.
jake just holds your hand, leading you out the lecture hall.
'this is fine, you're fine, there's no need to be jealous, no need to make a scene over your emotions.' you insisted.
you look down at your intertwined hands, was it really fine?
the rest of the day went well, really well. at least, that's what you kept telling yourself.
you were on edge. still unsure if it was okay for you to voice feelings like this, or if you should just suck it up and deal with it yourself.
it's hard when you've never been in a proper relationship before. were you always this timid?
it all broke down when you were watching a movie, some romcom with a classic ending, but the words came out before you can stop them.
"do you think jealousy could break up a relationship?" you asked carefully, looking for an answer in his eyes.
jake was surprised by the sudden question, and the seriousness of it, but he could see the doubt in your eyes, the part of you that wants to brush it off and deny everything.
"I think it could, but I don't think it should." he says carefully, his gaze burned your skin.
"if someone I care about is jealous, or if I'm the jealous one, I'd like hear their thoughts, and share mine. I'd want them to understand my feelings, and not brush them off as unimportant, or ridiculous." he answers, and it leaves you in a daze of questions.
you look down at your lap, unsure what to say now. you never knew how to deal with your own feelings.
his hands move to your cheek, cradling it softly as he tilts your head up so you could meet his gaze.
"what's wrong?" he asks gently, and it sends a tug through your chest, he was so gentle it hurts.
"y/n?" no response.
"baby?" still none.
so he leans in, and catches your lips in a searing kiss.
he was so overwhelmingly gentle, making sure you're responding before he deepens the kiss, pouring everything you wouldn't understand with words into the kiss.
when he pulls back, panting, you chase after his lips instinctively, making him giggle.
"as much as I'd love to, we can't kiss all night." he said while stroking your hair, and you let out a small whine, barely a protest.
"why not? if two people like each other, they can kiss as much as they want."
"they can.. but what if these two people aren't being honest with each other?"
you frown "what do you mean?"
"is there something you're not telling me, y/n?" he prompts.
"maybe.." you start, unsure if you can lie your way out of this one.
"hm?" he softly nudges you, looking at you with tenderness you've never seen before, and suddenly, you don't have it in you to lie.
"I'm a bit jealous.. of everyone. I hate that everyone suddenly wants to look at you, I hate that girls now ask you for your number, I hate that some of them try to make moves by asking you to tutor them or help them with something. but I cant control what you do." you somehow admitted, your breath shallower than it was a few minutes ago.
you continue, "I know I shouldn't be. I know you like me. there's just this part of me, this voice inside of me that won't shut up about it."
you couldn't meet his eyes after, scared of his reaction.
jake could see it. the way blood rushed to your cheeks from embarrassment, the way you were bracing for something painful, like a bad reaction from him.
he just smiled fondly.
"I chose you. flaws and all. you're the one who makes me smile with just a look, you're the one who makes my heart beat in an unexplainable rhythm, you're the one I look at and wonder, 'wow, I can't believe she chose me.' y/n, it's you."
your eyes widen, because for the longest time, you forced yourself to believe you were the only one who felt this deeply about your relationship.
"you can tell me when you feel these types of things, I'll comfort you, I'll reassure you, I'll hold you tight and never let go." he searched your eyes for approval, and when you finally looked at him, teary eyes you couldn't quite explain, he engulfed you in a tight hug.
🔖 @ewstain @angelhyuka @wobblymug @hi00000234567 @nataliasdiary @remwon @sucrosxi @eyeslikedracula @mystgene @vexzkd @viatopia @cokewithcameron @wonist @lunaryoongie @yumimeimi @stwrlightt @ni-k1ttie @wonuziex (i used the same taglist for this as the smau one, sorry if u didn't wanna be tagged!)
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bff rafe thats has a past of being a notorious fuckboy is shocked when his lifelong bff (reader) mentions that shes a virgin bc shes undeniably HOT. and hes experienced... shes not... so they do something about it..!
pov. while playing truth or dare, he discovers his long time bestfriend (who’s so hot and cute) has never had sex before.
notes. i love this plot, it’s so similar to my nerd x frat boy rafe fanfic! thank you for recommending this anonymous
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, gentle sex, vanilla sex, praising, cussing, titty sucking, no proof read, rafe teaching kissing, oral sex
rafe grew up swearing he’d never be attracted to you, swore he’d never let himself be perverted toward you. but ever since you hit college, it’s been a different story.
he’s been with so many girls. every age, every type, but none of them ever hit like you do. your tits sit so perfectly in your bra that he gets nervous whenever you stand there casually talking about life while getting dressed.
he’s seen you almost naked plenty of times, just in a bra and panties, but never fully bare. he acted cool in the moment, eyes not lowering down to the obvious outline of your pussy. but he’d be lying if he said he’d never fantasized about you being fully bare and finally seeing the outlines.
the soft curves of your body make him hard in seconds. even the lightest brush of his fingers against you while he was taking a photo for your mom’s facebook left him aching.
it’s honestly laughable how many times rafe has told himself you’re completely off limits. all those almost-kisses, the times he’s accidentally walked in on you changing, and the sharp jealousy he felt whenever his friends started showing interest in you, none of it helped.
but right now, the two of you are playing truth or dare with a generous side of alcohol that wasn’t exactly part of the rules. it’s been light and playful so far; crushes, stripping off a hoodie or socks, handstands against the wall, holding your breath for thirty seconds. then you both decided to make it more interesting.
“someone you’d fuck for access to their partner?” you asked, reading from a website full of spicy questions. rafe laughed. “any lesbian couple,” he teased. you rolled your eyes. “cheater!” you yell. he grinned before asking his own. “do you prefer virgins or experienced guys?” he questioned. the question came too smooth, like he’d been waiting to ask it for a while. “i don’t know… i’m a virgin,” you said, then laughed. “i haven’t gotten that far yet.” you add.
rafe didn’t laugh with you. he stared at you like you’d just said something insane. “what?” he asked quietly. “sorry, i was joking,” you clarified, still smiling. “i meant i basically am a virgin.” you continue.
his expression didn’t change. his eyes dragged slowly down your body, taking you in. “no… i heard you,” he said, voice low. you blinked, suddenly aware of how intently he was looking at you. “oh.” a small smile tugged at your lips.
“how are you still a virgin?” he asked before he could stop himself. his gaze wandered shamelessly over your curves, no longer pretending it was casual. you felt heat rise in your cheeks, but the alcohol made you bold. “wanna come do something about it?” you teased, locking eyes with him.
rafe’s smirk was slow and hungry. “you giving me a go?” he asked and you paused, tilting your head as you held his stare. then you nodded.
rafe didn’t waste another second. still sitting on the floor across from you, he leaned forward, one hand bracing on the carpet as he closed the distance.
his other hand gently cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. you could smell the faint mix of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath right before his lips met yours.
the kiss was soft at first, warm and careful, like he was testing the waters. but when you stayed frozen, unsure, he pulled back just enough to look at you. “i… i don’t know how to kiss,” you whispered, a little embarrassed.
rafe’s eyes softened, but his smirk stayed. “that’s okay, baby. i’ll teach you.” he said. he tilted your chin up slightly with his fingers. “just relax your lips… don’t tense up.” his voice was low and patient. “follow what i do.” he adds.
he leaned in again, slower this time, pressing his mouth to yours with a little more pressure. his lips moved gently, guiding yours to part just enough. when you started to mirror him, he hummed approvingly against your mouth.
“good girl… like that,” he murmured between kisses. “use a little tongue if you want.”
he demonstrated, licking softly at your bottom lip until you opened for him. the moment your tongues touched, a small sound escaped you, and rafe deepened the kiss, taking control but staying gentle enough for you to keep up.
his hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he kissed you like he’d been waiting years to do it. he pulled back for air, forehead resting against yours, breathing a little heavier. “see? you’re a natural,” he whispered, voice rough. “again?” he whispered, voice low and rough.
you nodded, cheeks flushed. “yes.”
he pulled back just enough to look at you, a wicked little smirk tugging at his mouth. “beg me for it then.” he teased. you bit your lip, heart racing, but the heat between you made you brave. “please, rafe… kiss me. i want you to teach me.” you begged. his eyes darkened with satisfaction. “good girl.”
he leaned in and captured your mouth again, slow but deliberate to make you ache. “relax your lips,” he murmured against you. “open for me a little… yeah, just like that.” he kissed you deeper, guiding your mouth with his, teaching you how to move, how to respond, all to him. his tongue slipped in lazily, stroking yours until you started kissing him back properly, all soft and eager.
while his mouth worked against yours, your hands moved on their own. you tugged at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up slowly and over your head. he quickly kissed you once again, as you dropped it beside you, now sitting there in just your bra, chest rising and falling quickly.
rafe broke the kiss to look down at you. his gaze locked on your tits, big and perky, straining against the thin fabric of your bra. they were so full and plump, perfectly rounded with a soft, sexy bounce as you breathed. he smiled, slow and hungry. “so fucking pretty,” he breathed.
he couldn’t hold back anymore. rafe leaned down, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along the swell of your breasts. his hands cupped them, squeezing gently, feeling their weight and softness. “fuck… look at these tits,” he groaned, clearly obsessed with how big and plush they were.
he pulled one cup down, exposing a nipple, and immediately dragged his tongue over it before sucking it into his mouth. he moaned against your skin, sucking harder, switching between licking broad strokes and deep, greedy pulls. his other hand kneaded your other tit, thumb brushing the nipple through the fabric.
he was completely lost in them, burying his face between your soft, plump curves, kissing and sucking like he couldn’t get enough.
you got shy all of a sudden, face burning as the heat between your legs became too much. biting your lip, you reached down, grabbed his hand, and slowly guided it to the waistband of your shorts, pressing his fingers there.
rafe pulled back from your chest, eyes filled with desire and hungry as he understood exactly what you wanted. “yeah?” he murmured, voice rough. without another word he hooked his fingers into your shorts and panties, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion and tossing them aside.
you were completely bare now. rafe’s gaze dropped between your thighs, and he let out a low groan. his fingers found your clit instantly, rubbing slow, firm circles over the sensitive little bundle. your hips jerked hard at the first touch, twitching and bucking uncontrollably as he played with your soaked, horny clit.
“fuck, look at you,” he breathed, eyes locked on the way your body reacted, twitching and jerking every time he stroked you. “so sensitive already.” he comments.
you moaned loudly, the sound spilling out as pleasure shot through you. your back arched and you leaned back until you were lying flat on the floor, chest heaving.
rafe didn’t stop. he moved down between your legs, spreading them wider. before you could catch your breath, he pinned your hips down firmly to the floor with both hands, holding you in place so you couldn’t squirm away.
then his mouth was on you. his tongue dragged hot and wet over your clit, licking and sucking with filthy hunger.
he kept you pinned down tight, strong hands gripping your thighs as he ate you out like he’d been starving for it, tongue flicking and circling, lips sucking gently then harder. every time you tried to buck or twist, his grip only tightened, keeping you right there for him.
rafe kept his mouth on you, licking and sucking your clit until your moans turned into desperate little cries. you couldn’t take it anymore.
“rafe… please,” you whimpered, voice shaky. “please fuck me. i want you inside me. please.” you plead.
he pulled back from between your thighs, lips shiny, eyes full with lust. “yeah? you want my cock, baby?” he asked, already moving up your body. he shoved his shorts down just enough, freeing himself, and settled between your spread legs. you nodded quickly, breathing fast. “please… i need it.” you continued on.
rafe leaned down, kissing you softly as he lined himself up. he rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, then started pushing in, very slow and careful.
just the tip stretched you open, and you gasped, body tensing hard. it was a lot. your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping tight as you struggled to adjust.
“shh, easy baby,” rafe murmured, voice low and sweet against your ear. he stayed perfectly still, only the head inside you. “you’re doing so good already. just breathe for me. we’ve got all the time you need, okay? i’m not gonna hurt you.” he says sweetly.
you whimpered, nodding, trying to relax around his thick tip. “that’s my good girl,” he praised, kissing your neck and jaw. “you can take it. just let me in nice and slow… there you go.” he continued.
he pushed forward another inch, then stopped again, letting you feel every bit of him. his hand stroked your hair, thumb brushing your cheek as he whispered encouragement. “look at you… so tight and pretty for me. you’re doing perfect, baby. whenever you’re ready, i’ll give you more. no rush.”
after a few deep breaths, the stretch started turning into something hotter. you nodded again, and rafe began moving, continuing the slow, shallow thrusts, easing more of his cock into you with every gentle rock of his hips. he kept talking you through it, voice warm and steady.
“feel that? that’s all for you. just relax and let me fuck you nice and slow… good girl. you’re taking me so well already.” he kept that gentle rhythm, letting you feel every inch as he worked himself deeper, patient and sweet while your body slowly opened up for him.
rafe kept his pace slow and deep, rocking into you with steady thrusts that gradually grew stronger. your legs were spread wide open for him, knees bent and falling further apart with every push of his hips. they bounced and shook each time he sank back in, the soft flesh of your thighs jiggling from the impact.
you were holding onto him for dear life. arms wrapped tightly around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as your body rocked beneath him. every thrust pulled a shaky moan from your throat, your chest pressed flush against his while he fucked you.
“fuck… you feel so good,” he groaned against your neck, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread nice and wide for him. “look at these legs… all open for me.” he said.
your grip on him tightened as he thrust a little deeper, your walls fluttering around his cock. you buried your face in his shoulder, breathing hard, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded while he filled you over and over again.
the wet sounds of him sliding in and out mixed with your soft, desperate moans, your body bouncing gently on the floor with each roll of his hips. rafe kissed the side of your head, still talking you through it in that low, sweet voice. “that’s it, baby… just hold onto me. you’re taking my cock so fucking well.” he said.
rafe kept fucking you with his deep, and steady thrusts. your legs spread wide and bouncing softly with every roll of his hips. you were still clinging to him tightly when you reached up and tugged desperately at the bottom of his shirt.
“take it off,” you breathed.
he didn’t hesitate. rafe slowed his thrusts just enough to yank his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, since he has done it so many times, tossing it aside. the second his bare chest pressed against yours, you pulled him down harder, craving his mouth.
he leaned all the way down, covering your body with his as he kissed you. at first your kissing was eager but messy, a little too much tongue too fast, lips slipping awkwardly as you tried to keep up.
rafe smiled against your mouth. “slow down, baby,” he murmured, voice husky. “watch…”
he took control, tilting his head slightly and kissing you deeper, slower. his tongue slid sensually along yours, teasing and stroking in long, wet strokes that made your stomach flutter. you tried to match him but slipped again, pushing your tongue too eagerly. he gently sucked on your bottom lip, correcting you.
“easy… let me lead,” he whispered. “open your mouth a little more… yeah, you got it baby.” he coos.
then he really kissed you, hot, filthy, and unhurried. his tongue licked into your mouth deeply, curling around yours in slow, sexy strokes.
wet sounds filled the space between you as he fucked you and kissed you at the same time, tongues sliding and tangling sensually. every time you messed up the rhythm he fixed it with a soft groan, guiding you until you were kissing him back perfectly, sloppy, passionate, tongue heavy making out that left you both breathless.
you moaned into his mouth, legs trembling around his waist as he kept thrusting into you, never breaking the intense kiss. his tongue explored yours like he owned it, slow and dirty, sucking lightly on your tongue before sliding back in deep again.
“good girl” he praised against your lips once more, then dove right back in for another kiss. rafe groaned against your mouth as you kept kissing him, your tongues sliding hot and wet together. he could feel how desperate you were getting, the way your pussy clenched around him tighter with every thrust.
“you want it harder, baby?” he rasped, breaking the kiss just enough to look at you. you nodded, biting your lip. his hips snapped forward suddenly, driving his cock deeper and faster. your legs bounced harder, spread wide and shaking as he started fucking you with more force.
you cried out, nails digging into his back as he picked up the pace. the wet slap of skin on skin got louder, his thrusts turning rougher, pounding into you steadily. every hard stroke hit that perfect spot inside you, making your whole body jolt.
“rafe—fuck—” you moaned, holding onto him tighter, legs trembling uncontrollably around his waist. “that’s it,” he encouraged, fucking you harder, deeper, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread open for him. “cum on my cock, baby. i can feel how close you are.” he continues.
rafe kept pounding into you harder, hips snapping with deep, relentless thrusts that made your whole body bounce beneath him. your legs stayed spread wide, trembling violently as your orgasm crashed over you.
“rafe—!” you cried out, back arching hard off the floor as you came hard on his cock. your pussy clenched and pulsed around him in tight, wet spasms, gushing slick, creamy liquid all over his thick shaft. the warm wetness painted his dick with every thrust, coating him shiny and messy, dripping down his balls as he fucked you through it.
he looked down between your bodies, groaning loudly at the sight. “fuck, baby… look at that. you’re soaking my dick so good,” he rasped, voice strained with lust. he didn’t slow down, sliding in and out of your spasming, drenched pussy, the wet sounds even filthier now as your cum coated every inch of him.
your body kept twitching and jerking, soft whimpers falling from your lips while he kept thrusting through your orgasm, his cock glistening with your release.
Wrapped in warm blankets and your boyfriend’s arms, you sleep peacefully. You aren’t even dreaming, just resting, letting your mind reset.
That is until you feel something rutting against your backside.
You whimper softly, sleepily.
“Steve..?” You rub your eyes, turning your head a bit to glance at him.
Sure enough, his brows are knit together and his hips are bucking. You sigh, turning around in his hold to face him.
Cupping his jaw, you very lightly smack his cheek a couple times to wake him up. He groans and takes a moment to actually open his eyes.
His cheeks flush when he meets your critical stare.
“Sorry, baby. Was I rubbing on you?” He asks, voice low and laced with guilt and embarrassment.
You nod, nuzzling your nose into the side of his neck. Your thumbs run over his jawline and you meet his gaze.
“S’okay.” You mumble. “M’sorry I woke you before you came.”
He laughs slightly and presses his face into your hair.
“I am a bit sore now, yeah.” He readjusts himself, trying to get more comfortable with full and achy balls between his thighs.
“You can put it in if you want,” You offer sleepily. “just not all the way in.”
His cock is too much stimulation when he forces it in in its entirety. It hurts and presses on your sweet spot too much. Shallow, on the other hand, would just be comfy and gentle.
He mumbles a quiet thank you and pulls himself out of his boxers.
A hand slips in the front of your pyjama pants and two fingers rub at your clit in wide circles. It’s the perfect technique, enough to get you wet, but too little to completely wake you up.
You let out a soft whimper, his free hand palming at your breasts.
“Not so much foreplay, Steve. M’tired, c’mon.” You beg, just wanting to get back to your beauty sleep.
He concedes and removes his hand from your pants, using it instead to tug them down enough to reveal your soft hole.
His tip rubs haphazardly through the wet folds before it catches on your entrance. He presses his hips forward, sinking himself 4 inches into your heat.
Stopping when he hits your cervix with his tip, he allows a pause to adjust. The thickness of his cock was nice for real sex, but right now it was a pain in the ass. Literally.
You don’t get as long as usual to acclimatize because his dream made him so horny, and he starts to rock himself in and out of you.
The gentle push and pull of it makes your mouth part slightly and some drool to darken a small spot on your pillow.
“That’s my good girl,” He whispers. “s’good for me. Fuck, baby, you’re so warm.”
His voice is rough with sleep and raw need as the quiet wet sounds fill the otherwise silent room.
He won’t force you to come, the absolute gentleman. He generally tries to avoid your clit and just keep his hips rolling.
His cock is twitching, but his balls seem to also twitch a bit too, the skin tightening just seconds before his smooth come paints your insides.
A soft whimper is vibrated into the skin of your shoulder.
“Thank you.” He breathes, finally feeling relieved.
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