#sobbingscripter

Mark let's out a snort of laughter, perching up and resting his weight in his elbows, the edge of his sweater raising the tiniest bit and you catch a peek of a neat, dark little happy trail that disappears beneath the fabric of his clothing.

"I can guarantee an orgasm." Mark boasts. "I'll bet anything."

"If I don't cum, I want you to grow a full bush and then, wear cycling shorts for a week."

Your wager has Mark's lips pursing, chocolate pools moving towards the ceiling as he weighs his options. "Oddly specific but okay." Mark shrugs. "And if you cum, anytime I learn a sex trick, I get to try it on you. Unless you get into a relationship but," he snorts, "let's be realistic."

The insult has you flinging the magazine across the bedroom, hitting Mark in the face with the spine and he winces, although, you know it's more out of habit than from actual feeling.

"It's so weird." He mumbles. "I don't feel your abuse anymore."

Mark's grin is cocky.

"Oh, Marky," you coo, lifting yourself from his desk chair and you cradle his face in your hands, an action that's so familiarly condescending but Mark can't help but lean into your warm palms, "you're only unaffected by the physical abuse. I can still hurt you self-esteem."

Mark's eyes narrow at you. "Try it." There's a challenge in his voice that you just can't ignore. Especially when he's looking at you like that. Brown eyes trained intensely on you, black strands tousled ever so slightly from the long day he's had.

"You have feminine hands." And you swear, the way his expression falls is an aphrodisiac in of itself before you straighten up.

"It's easy to hurt your ego, Marky." You hum. "Heroes get a lot of hate if they do something wrong. But lucky for you, you have years of experience."

"Yeah," Mark hums, "no one's a bigger dick than you."

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨💛💙୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

"It's so weird that you're losing your virginity on your parents' anniversary." You hum quietly, carefully traveling along the sides of Mark's bedroom, attaching the LED light strips along the cornish.

"Don't make it weird." Mark grumbles, stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fuzzy robe as he towel dries his hair, messy strands poking in every direction and he watches you with amusement. "Their anniversary is like, the only time when they travel far enough that I can't hear them. So.... It's the only night I can do it."

"They probably don't want you to hear them fucking." You hum, almost absentmindedly and when Mark gags, you let out a laugh and your foot slips from the backrest of his desk chair, and you slip.

But instead of meeting the carpeted floor in an unceremonious crash, you instead crash into Mark's chest, his arms wrapped around your midsection and your knees tucked up. And he dips his head low, head tilted.

"You okay?"

And if your pussy didn't have a heartbeat before, it does now. The way he looks down at you, his expression so soft, brows creased in concern and his lips. So soft and inviting, the scent of mint lingering in the air and you nod your head.

"Mhm," you mutter quietly, "I'm okay."

Mark sets you on your feet, before examining where you had stuck the lights and he nods his head, a grin cocking at his lips.

"Yeah, this is a mood setter."

"Can I open my eyes now?" Mark grumbles, arms folded over his chest but his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones and you let out a hum.

"Go ahead." You mumble and he allows his eyes to open and drink in the sight of you.

Freshly showered, steam still rising from your skin and in his T-shirt. The faded Batman shirt ends just below your crotch, your ankle socks aren't even matching and your hair's tied into a bun that looks so half-assed.

You look nervous. Eyes lowered to the carpet and Mark reaches forward, large hands bracketing your hips and his thumbs brush over the trimming of your panties. And he pulls you to stand between his thighs, his head tips back and his chin comes up to rest on your sternum as he stares up at you.

"We don't have—" "I want to." You interrupt him, your hands raising to rest on either side of his neck, thumbs brushing along his jawline. "I want to." You repeat quietly, looking down at Mark.

The plan is to lose your virginities before the gap year is over. Because you'd both much rather make a mistake with each other than with strangers.

"Move your hand."

Mark lets out a snicker of laughter, your thighs tossed over his and his tip notched at your entrance, and he can barely think.

Not when he knows how tightly you felt around his fingers, sucking him in with such a neediness, not when he saw the way your brows knitted into the prettiest little pinched expression when his tongue lapped against your clit just right.

"I looked at the logistics of it and it's not gonna fit."

You state, and those pretty brown eyes roll at your words, before Mark slaps your hand away, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he taps it against your clit. Just to watch the way your stomach caves in with an unsteady breath.

"It'll fit." Mark reassures. "Trust me, I'm a doctor."

And you let out a laugh, your body slumped against the mattress and you snort.

"No you're n—nahh..."

Mark watches the way your head tips back when he pushes his tip past the ring of muscle, and he watches the way your eyes shut, brows knitting into a pinch.

"You little... Fuck.."

You breathe out, your expression a little pouty frown and Mark moves a strand of hair out of your face, leaning forward and as he presses a kiss to your forehead, he pushes another inch inside.

And as you gasp, his lips press against yours, and Mark swallows each moan and groan of pain, his forearm supporting his weight while his other hand grips your hip, thumb brushing over the protruding bone of your hip and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

"You're so warm..." Mark murmurs into the kiss, but he keeps his hips still, slotted between your thighs and he feels your gummy walls pulsing around him, trying to get used to the intrusion. And Mark lifts his head, kissing the apples of your cheeks.

"So I'm big, huh?"

He teases and watching as your pained expression gives way to an annoyed expression, eyes bored and brows furrowed.

"Just fuck me already."

You grumble.

And Mark pulls out, until just the rosy tip of his cock is poked into your sopping cunt, before he slowly pushes back into you.

The stretch burns, and you can feel the way your nails dig into your palms and you take a deep breath. His hips are pressed against yours, and you can feel that painful pinch behind your navel.

"Are you inside yet?" You question, peeking up at Mark through your lashes, enough to watch the way that dorkish grin spread across his face as he readjusts his position, leaning forward and shifting himself to rest more comfortably.

"Ha-ha, very funny." He rolls his eyes, his voice just a tad breathy and his hands move, thumbs moving your pussy lips out of the way, spreading them so he can see the pinkish flesh that swallows him whole.

"Mark!" You hiss, swatting away his hands, and covering your folds from his view. "What are you doing?"

"They do it in porn!" He defends, moving his hands to rest on your hips instead as his hips slowly begin to roll against you, the soft strands of his happy trail tickles your neglected and swollen clit, and you take a shaky breath.

"Those people are ass naked." You deadpan. "You've never even seen my feet."

With one hand, Mark shifts the covers and lets out a bark of laughter at the sight of your socks, still on your feet. And he reaches back for your ankle, lifting your leg and he places a soft kiss on the inside of your foot, causing your walls to flutter around him.

His kiss is warm through the cotton, a lingering show of affection as his hips thrust, cock nudging your insides to his shape. And he lowers your foot.

"Put your foot on my chest. I wanna try something." Mark hums quietly, resting your sock covered foot on his chest. And you let out a snort.

"My pussy isn't a skate park. You can't try things you've never done." You huff, but you comply, keeping your foot against his brawny chest, even as Mark shifts you into position, straddling your one thigh and resting your foot on his chest.

And when he moves, your foot slides off his chest, instead, resting beside him. And a snicker slips past your lips at the frustrated expression on his face.

"Please participate." Mark grumbles, moving your foot, and resting your leg over his shoulder, ignoring the way a laugh ruptures from your lips.

Kiss-swollen and pouty lips curling into a wicked grin.

"Bro said 'please par—'... Shit..."

Your eyes roll back in your head when the divot of Mark's tip presses against your cervix, pressing a sloppy, slick kiss against the plug as he grinds into you, leaning forward and pressing his lips against the curve of your jaw.

Mark isn't even fucking you anymore.

He's slowly rutting into you, pressing adorning kisses to the side of your face, sucking marks into the supple skin of your neck while he slowly fucks an orgasm out of you.

Kissing you deeply, his hand grasping the fat of your hip while the other massages the plumpness of your thigh, pressing a warm kiss against your calf before going back to swallowing your honeyed moans.

"... shit, you're gonna make me come..." You breathe out, your nails dragging lines down the expanse of his muscular and slightly damp back, the pain and pleasure mixing into a delicious concoction that has Mark burying his face into your neck.

Inhaling the scent of you.

"Mhm.... 's okay, baby, come for me..."

His voice is husky, a low timbre that makes your stomach knot and you whine when you feel that wave of ecstasy crash over you, waves breaking on the jagged rocks of your being and you're lashes flutter, tears brimming on your lower lashline because you're just so... Full.

Mark perches up, wiping the teardrops from your cheeks and he looks down at your hazy and flushed expression. His gaze lingering on your lips, wet and rosy, and before he even registers, your hand is on his face.

"Stop making such heavy eye contact." You whine. "You're gonna make me catch feelings."

And a laugh tumbles from his lips.

"You know, I have your entire future in my hands right now." Mark states quietly and when you hum, quietly mumbling a 'how do you mean', he simply presses a kiss against your pulse.

"I could fuck a baby into you right now." Mark breathes out.

"And you'd thank me for it."

Damian's voice is a quiet murmur, the thick, wooden spined book tumbling from his limp hand as he stares at you, emerald pools wide and pink lips parted to let out the shakiest of breaths.

It feels like time stands still.

You hadn't seen him in so long. The last you can remember is waking up to the sound of screams and clashing blades, blood seeping into the Egyptian rugs that covered the floorboards and you'd found assassins slain.

Body after body after body.

He looks older. Boyish features remain but tinged with the sharpness of maturity, broad shoulders and muscles in place of lean, slender limbs. But that couldn't be anyone else.

The scent of oud and cinnamon musk clings to the air as he takes tentative steps towards you, shaky hands cupping your cheeks and making you look up at him.

You have the same mischievous eyes, your iris flecked with that metallic hue that always seemed to suit your eyes, your face still fits so perfectly in his hands. You're taller than you were, you weigh a bit more, your hips are fuller. Grabbable. There's a sensual dip in your waist that he'll be sure to explore later.

And Damian's forehead rests against yours, feeling the contact of your skin and he lets out a shuddering breath.

"I missed you." You whisper quietly, your voice filling the silent air of the foyer and Damian nods his head.

"As have I." He murmurs quietly. "More than you could imagine."

────୨ৎ────

You sit anxiously on the edge of Damian's bed, and you watch as he steps out of the ensuite bathroom, steam rising from his tanned skin and rivulets of hot water dripping between the cords of his muscles. His hair is damp, a towel low on his waist before he moves towards you, standing between your thighs and he looks down at you, a hand lifting to cradle your cheek.

Watching the way you peer up at him through your lashes, tilting your head ever so slightly, capturing his thumb between your full lips. And you watch the way that slow blush creeps up his features.

"Still so easy to fluster." You tease him softly, and you watch as his eyes narrow.

"Still such a raging asshole." He retorts, before leaning forward, pressing the softest kiss against your forehead.

You lean back against the headboard, Damian's head resting on your lower belly, fingers idly tracing patterns on your hips, exposed by where the T-shirt had ridden up.

"Your head is still fat." You murmur, your voice a soft sound against the sound of Gotham's pouring rain, streets and sidewalks soaked with rain and slippery to the touch.

Bruce had given Damian the night off, and it would be a lie to say Damian doesn't intend to make the most of the night.

Whether it be losing his virginity or falling asleep in your arms like when times were... Ridiculously simple. When his focus was taking lives and not protecting them.

"I can see the hair on your forearms." Damian mocks, and he watches as you tuck your hands behind your back, a snort of boyish laughter tumbling from his lips. He reaches behind your back, pulling your arms forward before pressing the sweetest kisses to your palms.

"I'm just kidding." He reassures quietly. "I like that you're a Sasqua-" Damian's words are cut off when you push his head back into your stomach, and you can tell by the tension in his shoulders that he's going to argue.

So you card your fingers through those raven strands, scratching his scalp lightly and you watch the way the muscles in his back relax, and a minty sigh leaves his lips.

"You're lucky I love you." Damian mumbles, his voice muffled by the slight pudge of your belly and your fingers still just a bit in his hair.

"Still?" You question, almost incredulously and Damian lifts his head, staring up at you from beneath furrowed brows.

"The years apart doesn't diminish the fact that you're my wife." Damian murmurs. "My grandfather may have been a dick but he made a good choice to make my best friend my bride."

Your heart swells and thuds. Your eyes feel the tiniest bit misty and almost immediately, your free hand reaches for the bedside lamp, switching off the light and shrouding the bedroom in shadows and silvery moonlight.

"Are you crying?" Damian asks, a tinge of humour in his voice as he sits up, your thighs tossed over his and his hands move to your cheeks.

"...no."

You sniffle, tears dropping down your flushed cheeks in fat droplets, rolling until Damian's thumbs brush them away. His hands are warm against your cheeks, palms just a bit rougher than they were and you feel the way his lips press sweet kisses to your eyelids.

"You complete me." Damian whispers. "Emotionally, not physically." He adds, almost like it needs clarification and you let out a teary snicker.

"Wow, thank you so much for clarifying that." You answer sarcastically, before your hands move to cradle his face, just like you used to after a particularly hard day of training and you watch the way the moonlight illuminates his features, and you watch the way his eyes soften at the action.

Eyes closing to commit the sensation to memory once again and he lets out an almost unsteady breath.

Leaning forward to rest his cheek against your chest, before feeling the familiar feel of a ring that you've chosen to keep on a chain instead.

"It felt rather... Peculiar without it." Damian murmurs under his breath, reaching for one of the drawers of his bedside table, and tugging it open, and he rifles through the bits and bobs until he finds the tiny satin satchel he was looking for.

And he opens it up, turning the light on but on a dimmer setting, before he pulls the ring out of the baggie.

A tungsten carbide wedding band, two thin strips of gold on it, divided by flakes of gold and emerald, encapsulated.

Reaching for the clasp behind your neck, you slide the necklace off and remove the ring. Your wedding ring.

An ornate gold band, the centre stone being an upside down, pear-shaped emerald, accented by two diamonds on either side.

The rings had been too big for either of your fingers, so you'd simply held onto them. But now, you're both old enough.

Old enough to know that the arrangement could be nullified, and old enough to know that neither wanted that.

Damian slides your ring onto your left hand, the act so intimate as he stares up at your face, scanning for any hints of hesitance but he only sees adoration. A hopeful expression of love.

And you mimic his actions.

And there isn't a lick of doubt in his expression, not even a flicker of hesitance, just pure... Relief. Contentment. Adoration.

Damian interlocks your hands with his, enjoying the warmth of the metal against his fingers an he presses his lips against yours in a sweet, adoring kiss that lingers for far longer than one of the friendly pecks you'd given back then.

He savours the feeling of you near, his bare chest pressed against yours, only kept apart by the soft fabric of the cotton between you and he pulls back.

Watching the way you stare up at at him through fluttering lashes, kiss-reddened lips parted to let out sweet symphonies of quiet breaths.

And you see his pupils dilate even more in the dim light, as his hands disentangle from yours, moving to rest on the swell of your hips.

You pretend that you don't notice his shaking hands as he reaches for the edge of the T-shirt you'd snatched from his closet, and you pretend you don't notice the way those shaky hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble while his knee slots between your thighs, kisses slowly pressed against the soft skin of your neck.

Your hands move to rest on his biceps, manicured nails tracing over the faintest of scars marring his perfect flesh and you feel him gently guide you to rest back against the thick, Egyptian covers, his hands anxiously roaming along your sides.

"Does this feel good?" Damian questions softly, his lips sucking a mark into the sensitive skin right over your pulse and you swallow, nodding meekly.

You wet your lips when he lifts his head, looking down at you from beneath thick lashes and his muscular thigh presses against your core, feeling the way your pussy throbs against the stretchy, soaked fabric of his boxers that you'd stolen as well. Only to peel it away in the next few seconds.

Damian's sweet when he's guiding your thighs to rest over his broad, sinewy shoulders.

Pressing sweet kisses along the flesh of your inner thighs, hands gently kneading the fat of your hips with so much reverence that it makes your toes curl.

Especially when his hands move to aid him, thumbs pressing against the puffy, plump flesh of your pussy and parting the lips, watching the way your slick and slippery folds twitch and Damian takes a deep breath.

"How much teeth do you suppose I use?" Damian questions softly, and the amount of stress that runs through your body is insane.

"None at a-or... Oh..."

Your lips form the cutest little 'o' shape when Damian drags his tongue through your folds, juniper gaze locked on your expression that he finds as a mixture of surprise and aroused.

Your hands move to his hair, fingers carding through them affectionately. And Damian takes that as a sign that he should keep doing that. Long strokes of his tongue have your fingers clutching at his hair, brows knitting into a twitchy frown, your hips nearly bucking.

And you need to stifle a loud and pitchy gasp when he circles what he assumes to be your clit.

"Is that it?" Damian asks softly, before you nod your head, swallowing down every sound that possibly threatens to spill in the quietness of the manor.

And Damian lifts his head, locating the exact spot he just laved over and committing it to memory.

"But... Not all girls' are like... On the same spot..." You breathe out quietly, still trying to teach him while he's slowly flicking his tongue along your needy clit.

"I only need to know where yours is." Damian hums, the low vibration causing the pleasure in your belly to build like an accumulating wildfire. And your lashes flutter, a whine slipping past your lips as Damian suckles at your clit, teasing the sensitive button before he lifts his head.

His chin is wet with your slick, and he spits at your hole, watching the way your pussy pulses the tiniest bit before he goes back to lapping at your clit. And one of his muscular fingers slowly push past ring of muscle, and his brows furrow at the way you twitch around his finger.

And your toes curl as his digit crooks.

"Shit, shit, shit..." You whimper, your chest heaving as you feel your orgasm building and Damian slowly adds a second finger, slowly fucking you with his digits, eyes watching the way your body shivers and shudders.

And you grab a pillow, muffling your moan as you come around his fingers, and Damian swallows, licking up any of the mess and keeping your hips anchored with one of his forearms, resting across your pelvis.

Damian slurps, the sound is lewd and it makes your hips b uck harder.

He's gentle. Licking at your clit, teasing the bud until it peeks out from beneath the hood, oversensitive and slippery against his tongue, before he lifts his head.

His chin is shiny in the moonlight that pours in and the low light of the lamp beside the bed. He peels off the towel from around his waist, tossing it to the carpet in a fuzzy puddle before he watches your bleary gaze lower.

He's... Thick. Perfect in literally every way. A flushed tip, leaking beads of precum down his long shaft, a pretty and prominent vein on the underside and Damian gives himself a few shy strokes.

Not to excite himself, obviously. Just so the obscene sound fills the silence, and he lets out a shaky breath, before he brushes his tip along your sloppy folds.

The feeling is... Surreal.

Your toes feel like when you put your lips against a TV, a muffled gasp slipping past your lips every time his slit catches against your clit, and Damian shifts, resting your legs against his thighs.

"Are you ready?" Damian asks quietly, his free hand fiddling, thumbing your clit sweetly and you nod your head.

"I'm ready." Your voice is a soft murmur. "Are you?"

And he nods his head, before notching himself at your entrance.

"Tell me if it hurts." Damian instructs, before he slowly pushes into you. It's... Uncomfortable. The slightest pinch of pain, but not unbearable and your hands fist at the sheets, before Damian stops abruptly.

Taking your hands and placing them on his tightly toned lower belly, the faintest and thinnest sliver of dark hair between your palms.

"This is so you can... Control the depth." Damian mutters.

Control.

Damian's never given that to anyone. Especially not over his own body.

And slowly, Damian pushes until his whole tip is nestled snugly inside you.

"H-... How is it?" You mutter shyly, your gaze locked on where the two of you meet, and he swallows.

"Tight... Warm... It's so wet..." Damian shudders, a cool sweat prickling across his skin. "You're so perfect."

"Would you rate it 5 stars?" You question teasingly and he lets out a huff of laughter. A cute snort of laughter and he leans forward, his hands moving to rest on the mahogany headboard,, fingers absentmindedly tracing the decadent carvings in the wood.

"4.5." Damian answers. "Because you asked me to rate it."

You watch his stomach muscles flex, his abs rippling beneath his tawny skin before the watch on his wrist beeps. And he lets out a quiet groan, looking down at you with those sweet, adoring eyes.

"I'm sorry- I-" "You don't need to explain." You reassure quietly, kissing Damian sweetly when he leans close enough and he pulls out of you.

"I'll be back before you know it, beloved."

────୨ৎ────

"Why do you smell like pussy?" Jason questions over the intercom, his voice staticky over the connection.

"How dare you?" Damian scowls, bringing his hood over his head, obscuring his face in the shadow of the fabric.

"I smell like my wife's pussy. Get it right."

Your sheets were soaked in sweat (all his), the smell of some overpriced body mist that's, god, you don't know if it smells like eucalyptus or whiskey, and in all honesty, you didn't care enough to find out.

And now you're here, half asleep on the day before Valentine's Day while some stand up routine plays on your Netflix, covers half thrown up, the thermostat turned up enough that you could convince yourself that you're somewhere tropical instead of the middle of a bustling city with a couple of flashers lurking at EVERY corner.

One leg poking out from underneath the comforter, granny panties decorated with different seashells. It's comfortable, easy, stretchy with a sexy lace frill that is not real lace but in fact, elastic.

You like the lie.

You've got a titty out your tank top, bud perked under the cool breeze that sneaks through the crack in the window, big enough to let in a breeze, small enough to keep out that pigeon who keeps shitting on your lampshade.

And all is right in your world.

The first thing that overtakes your senses is that cloyingly sweet scent that makes your nose twitch, brows furrowing in your sleep at the sudden heaviness and heat in the air. And you shift, an arm tossed over your eyes, plush lips soft and parted to let out a content sigh.

It smells like you've walked into a bakery, but your sleepy brain's decided to pin the scent of vanilla and cinnamon on the apartment down the hall.

He's always baking anyway, so it's probably him. You'd bet his apartment smells like the Pillsbury Doughboy's ass.

Then comes the breath. Heated, warm, accompanied by a flexible tongue curling against the shell of your ear, and your heart begins to hammer because it's been so long since you've felt a not overly wet tongue tracing the cartilage.

And it, he, breathes out your name. Sex curling around the syllables.

"Can I fuck you?"

The hum of confirmation leaves you before you can even think about it and in all honesty, even if you did think about it, you'd say yes.

Never look a gift horse in the mouth.

And besides, there's no real consequences. You're like... 80 percent sure this is a dream. A really vivid, really... Tangible dream.

The air's too hot, too heavy. Your skin already damp with perspiration and your panties already clinging to your poor, neglected pussy.

It feels like you're in a fucking steam room, your legs thrashing unattractively as you kick the covers towards the foot of the bed, and you're bleary enough to ignore the very real weight beside you.

"Yeah?" Dextrous fingers slide down your tummy, feeling the softness of your skin, dipping into the elastic waistband of your panties and your belly dips inward when calloused fingertips slide between your slick folds.

"You're gonna let me fuck you like I've been wanting to, aren't you?" His voice cuts off with a quiet, almost theatrical gasp. "Oh, look how wet you got. No one to take care of this pretty pussy, huh?"

Your voice is a lazy drawl, lashes still fluttering as your lips part.

"I'm an independent woman...." It's weak, it's definitely not fitting the vibe and Dick's lips purse, because if he laughs now, it breaks the trance entirely.

"Yeah, you a—"

"—don't need no man."

Vibrant blue eyes peer down at your barely there form, splayed, pliable and so, so fucking weird that he needs to take several moments before he's shifting his weight. Hooking strong fingers into your panties, and dragging them so painstakingly slowly down the length of your legs.

Your hips lift almost instinctively, and you're allowing those pillowy thighs to fall softly to your sides and he sighs.

Almost dreamily.

"Look at you." Dick nearly moans, his tail swishing behind him absentmindedly, prehensile and decorated with something akin to a space-shaped tip.

His wings remain folded against his back, leathery and batlike, blue veins running underneath the surface and his hands slide down the length of your thighs, before he's sliding his hands under your knees, pushing them up to your chest.

And he shifts, low enough for his head to dip, overgrown ink strands falling over his features, and his tongue drags between your puffy lips, ghosting over your clit in a way that has your back bowing just a bit.

"Oh—" You breathe, lashes fluttering open and you're peering down at Dick with hazy eyes, pupils blown wide and skin flushed, propping yourself up onto your elbows.

And you meet his gaze.

Electric blue eyes meet yours and you're fucking hypnotized, one of your manicured hands coming up to slide through those obsidian strands, pushing his hair out of his face so you can watch the way he circles that sensitive bundle of flesh until your toes curl.

Your nails drag against his scalp, when he pushes your thighs further up, parting them just enough for sloppy folds to part and your lips part when you watch him spit. Saliva trickling down between the already soaked lips of your pussy before he dives back in.

And you've never had a tonguefuck like this.

Ever.

Having your knees pinned to your chest, having the PERFECT view of watching the muscles of his back shift beneath slightly tanned skin, leathery wings twitching and effortlessly spreading out, falling lazily over the sides of your bed.

"Fuck," he groans against your cunt, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine, "you taste perfect."

Your cunt clenches around nothing. Slick trickling down your perineum and pooling on the sheets beneath you, along with his saliva.

You moan when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue laving over overstimulated nerves, one of his hands leaving your thigh, before he's pushing two fingers into you at once.

The stretch burns, cool metallic rings kissing your heated skin with each slow drag of his tongue and you feel the way he doesn't hesitate to look.

The pudgy pads of his digits immediately pressing against that spot that makes your moans turn high pitched, your morals waver and your brain leak out through your pussy. Your fingers fist in his hair, your eyes well up because it's just so good and it's just a fucking dream.

Dick flicks his tongue, brows knitting in concentration and enjoyment, tracing figure eights and infinities in ways that make the heel of your foot dig into his back.

"Fuck—" you gasp, "m'gonna come...."

The words sound foreign on your tongue because you can't think of anytime you've said that to someone. Ever.

The heat behind your belly burns like an inferno, flames stoked by each lazy drag of his tongue, each flicker of those painfully familiar blue eyes towards your face, reading each scrunch of your features.

And you shudder, thighs clamping against his ears, and your hips buck against his face.

It's desperate and undignified, drenching his face and his fingers, feeling the way his digits scissor inside you, stretching you, you're mewling and your legs are already shaking.

And by the time you're falling flat against your sheets, chest heaving and lashes fluttering, lips spit-slicked and parted around weak whimpers, he's already guiding your thighs onto one of his broad, sinewy shoulders, your knees knocking against one another ceremoniously.

Sweat glossing over his musculature, rockhard abs and beefy thighs, milky pecs that you can't help but ogle because you're just a girl, but the perversion leaves you in a shallow shudder when he's sliding his cock between your thighs.

Precum, spit and your cum mixing into something viscuous, lubricating the way he fucks your thighs, mushroom-y tip leaking onto your mound and he's grinding against your clit.

Veins dragging against oversensitive flesh, slick and slippery, heavy balls pressed against your greedy hole, feeling the way your cunt clenches around nothing.

And your brain's mush.

But despite the barely-there cohesion, you're watching Dick's face with hazy eyes.

Watching the way his perfect, pouty lips fall slack with each hump of those stupidly carved hips, meaty thighs flexing with his movements and his perfectly carved brows knitted into the cutest little furrow.

A deep flush has taken over his features, the deepest tones at the tips of his pierced ears, tail flickering behind him and his wings flutter, the membrane thin enough to showcase the slightest peek of light through them.

"Fuck," he pants, head tipped back, your thighs still pressed together while his hips buck wildly, balls slapping against your oversensitive folds, "your thighs're so soft..."

Dick looks fucked out of his mind, whimpered breaths slipping from his mouth each time you squeeze your thighs hard enough to push all the blood to his sensitive and swollen crown.

Precum grows stickier on the planes of your tummy and you're reaching forward, dragging your nails down the front of his chest because if you're gonna be having a sex dream that feels THIS good, you're gonna milk it for as long as you can.

Leaving streaks down his chest, watching the way his eyes go glassy, his hips jerking and he shifts his angle, veins dragging along your puffy clit in a way that has your pussy soaking the sheets beneath you.

That dark tuft of hair at his pubic bone tickles the back of your thigh, and well, call you Elmo the way you want it to tickle your nose.

"So— hah— s'messy for me, huh?" He breathes out, diamond blue irises flecked with silver as his gaze roams over you, your heaving chest, the sweat that coats your skin in a thin sheen.

"So messy." Your tongue swipes across your bottom lip. "But it can get messier if you like," you whistle, "speed it up cause I've got work tomor—oh..."

The words die in your throat when Dick pushes into you, and the stretch makes your slump back against your puffed up pillows and sweaty sheets.

You can feel the way he smears precum against your oversensitive walls with the slow rocks of his hips, the way lightning-esque veins drag against spots you didn't even know you had and he's spreading your legs, perfect hands, decorated with veins that scale up his forearms, wrap around your ankles.

Keeping your legs spread obscenely, while his tail curls around his torso, it's spade-tipped edge sliding against your clit and you can feel the hum of energy beneath the leathery feel.

Your cunt squelches around him, rhythmic squeezes that has his cheeks flushing deeper, his abs flexing with each buck of his hips, and his biceps bulge when he pushes your legs forward, and he follows. Pinning you beneath his oddly... real body weight, your thighs moving to rest over those sinewy trapezius muscles, your toes curling when he angles his hips enough to fuck into that spongy spot.

And his tongue, wet and hot, drags along your jugular vein, and he moans into your skin, feeling your pulse beneath his taste buds, the salt of your skin tickling a part of his brain that makes his cock push out another glob of precum.

"You're so fucking sexy." He doesn't fuck you. He humps, panting into your ear like some kind of desperate animal, and it's working for you.

Working your pussy hard enough for that frothy ring to appear at the base of his pretty, pretty cock, swollen pink tip grinding into the deepest parts of you, smearing sloppy kisses against the plug of your cervix.

And your arms move, nails forging a reddened path into his thickly corded and stupidly beefy back, before you're digging an expensive ass nail set into the fat of his ass.

It's... Tangible.

Really fucking tangible, muscle giving way underneath your fingertips when you pull his hips closer, urging him to fuck you deeper.

Dick moans. It's slutty in the way an ankle used to be, his face tucked into the curve of your neck, tongue laving over hickeys you don't remember him sucking into your skin, balls smacking against the fat of your ass and the heat of his breath against your skin is so hot.

So close, so fucking intimate but not as intimate as it would be if you were fucking him but this isn't the time or place for your pegging fantasies.

That saccharine smell fills your senses, mixed with a musk that has you breathing him in, leaving marks in his skin that'd show up the next day if he wasn't, well, a figment of your very sexually depraved imagination.

The heat behind your navel intensifies, and you're not sure if you're coming or going, but you're soaking him thoroughly, and he's fucking you through your orgasm. Slick dripping down his lower abs, following that whorish V-line you've only ever seen on your neighbour, and along the carved lines of his muscles and you're so pliable and stupid beneath him.

So genuinely fucked dumb that it barely registers in your brain that you're asking him for something until he lets out a husky, and boyish laugh.

"You wan' me to fuck a baby into this sweet pussy?"

𓊆❤︎ྀི𓊇ྀི ❤️ ྀི𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇

You're shuffling out of your apartment like you're in a trance. Your thighs are aching, your ankles hurt (for some reason), your sheets look like they've been underwater and you feel full in a way that has your ass sweating.

"Morning, neighbour!" Dick's voice is a chirp that carries across the hall, that familiar smell of vanilla and cinnamon hitting you like a train going at light speed and you might as well throw your pussy across the hallway with how quickly you flood your panties.

"Morning..." Your voice is hoarse. "How'd you sleep?"

You can barely meet his gaze but when you do, there's a fucking twinkle in his eyes that you just don't trust. Something that looks like it extends past that almost hypnotic shade of blue that had you BEGGING the mail man to deliver his mail to you so you could personally hand them to him.

Something beyond those long, girlish lashes, beyond the dimples and those pointed canines that make your knees threaten to buckle.

"Pretty good, actually." His arms stretch over his head and you catch a glimpse of a happy trail.

"By the way, you should probably close your window at night. You're gonna get spiders."

"Good morning, wench."

Damian's voice is muffled, a muscular arm tossed over your waist, his face pressed into your back and his legs entangled with yours. His face doesn't move, blankets low on his hips but tugged protectively up to your chest and you let out a snort of laughter.

"Wow. The switch up is crazy." You murmur and Damian's chest vibrates with a hoarse laugh before he shifts, pressing the sweetest kiss against your shoulder, and slowly trailing up, along the back of your neck before nipping at the curve.

Damian's hand finds its way beneath the covers, delft digits nestling against your folds and you let out a quiet breath, tongue peeking out between your teeth to stifle any sound that threatens to leave you.

Lazy fingers begin to circle your clit, teasing the sensitive little bud until it perks, lips pressing sweet kisses to the supple skin of your neck, and his broad chest presses against your back.

"How did you sleep?" Damian murmurs, the ball of his nose brushing against your thrumming pulse and you hum quietly.

"You kept poking me in the back." You complain and he snorts quietly, two fingers dipping into your cunt with ease, gooey walls clinging to his digits.

"I see myself poking you in the front too."

────୨ৎ────

Damian's eyes roll back in his head when your nails scratch against his scalp, shampoo emulsifying between the raven strands and he groans quietly.

The hot water surrounds the two of you, thighs straddling Damian's lap as you continue to wash his hair, his hands resting on the curve of your hips. His expression remains relaxed, brows eased and his eyes fluttered shut.

The ease in his expression makes your heart swell, your fingers scrubbing his hair.

"I don't understand why I have to wash your hair." You murmured under your breath, blunt fingertips scratching along Damian's scalp as you leaned over him, glaring down at his form as he kept his eyes open, emerald pools glowering at you.

It wasn't unusual that he didn't trust you.

After being in your company for only, you know, a few months.

"Keep staring and I'll splash water in your eyes." You threatened, eyes narrowed and Damian didn't look away, staring up at you from beneath thick, dark brows.

And you dropped frothy water into his eyes, the hiss that fell from his lips had you snorting.

"You deviant bitch!"

"You called me a deviant bitch once." You murmur, your hands halting in Damian's hair and one eye peeks open to stare up at you, brows knitting in confusion.

"Are you seriously having flashbacks right now?"

Damian's voice is a low laugh, his hands massaging your hips beneath the surface of the water, a sweet touch and you shift closer on his lap.

You nod your head, continuing to scrub at his temples and he goes cross-eyed, blunt nails gripping your hips at the tingly sensation that has him letting out deep and relaxed breaths, eyes fluttering shut once again.

"Stop having flashbacks..." Damian mumbles lazily, fingertips trailing up the curve of your spine, feeling the damp flesh beneath his fingers and he pulls you closer, soapy tits pressed against his broad chest.

"Focus on me right now."

Leaning forward, you press your lips against Damian's before you murmur quietly.

"You're trying to get me to not remember how mean you were." You tease and you watch the way the corners of his mouth twitch in that cocky and amused way that makes your belly flutter.

"Now, why would I try to gaslight my beautiful and perfect wife?"

Damian hums, one of his hands leaving your flesh and he shifts beneath you, in a way that you're not too sure what he's doing but you're more intent on being right.

Because catching Damian Wayne in a lie is most likely, one of the greatest accomplishments in the world.

"You're trying to ga— ah..."

Your eyes roll back in your head when you feel Damian's cock slowly slip into you, your walls pulsing around him and your forehead moves to rest against his shoulder, nails moving from his hair and instead, resting on his shoulder.

Your brows crease and Damian's hands move to rest on your lower back, stroking up your spine carefully before his fingers come to wrap around the back of your neck.

"My love, can you move your hips for me?"

Damian requests so sweetly, turning his head to kiss at your temple. And you meekly nod your head, grinding your hips in a lazy and sloppy circular motion.

But as lazy as it is, it has Damian's fingers digging into your flesh, a shaky breaths leaving his lips.

"Just like that..."

Damian breathes out, watching as you lean back, hands moving to comb his hair out of his face, using the detachable showerhead to rinse the suds out of his raven strands.

Your hips continue to roll, your free hand resting on one of his broad shoulders. Damian's hips don't lift, eyes locked on the jiggle of your breasts as you keep moving, and his hands raise, palming your chest with reverance.

You fit so perfectly in his hands, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they stiffen to pointy peaks, and he hums, eyes nearly fluttering shut when your hips lift and roll, only his flushed tip being buried in your tight and drooling cunt.

"Just the tip... Just the tip... Focus on it— fuck, just like that." Damian whines softly, his grip on your breasts tightening when his head tips back, droplets trailing down his raven strands and onto the thick, stone rim of the tub.

And he leans forward, lowering his head before dragging his tongue along your stiff bud, while his thumb continues to idly tease the other.

Even when you take Damian deep, his cock kissing your cervix, he keeps his head dipped, eager to tease your sensitive and stiff nubs, sucking and nipping at the skin of your chest.

Your hips stutter when you come, your lashes fluttering and your walls spasming, and Damian swallows, eyes lifted to remain on your face as your features screw up with pleasure.

This is where he's meant to be.

Beneath his beloved wife, the best thing in the world to him, pulling orgasms from her body with a single twitch of his hips. Adoringly watching the ecstasy paint her face in shades of pleasure and euphoria, while bucking hips cause the water in the tub to ripple.

And for once, everything is right in the world of Damian Wayne.

Damian lets out a laugh at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he stares down at you, and he raises one of his hands to his lips, fingertips pressing against the flesh to check the temperature for himself and he winces.

"I might have." He mumbles, before moving closer to you, his face returning to the warmth of your neck and your hand travels to the back of his neck without a second thought.

"How was patrol?" You murmur quietly, the slightest of slurs to your speech and Damian just lets out a deep sigh.

A low, almost petulant sound with a warm breath. Internally, it's to see if you'll understand exactly what he means by that, but also, it's an inherent response.

And you let out a sleepy snort.

"Waynes don't kill, Damian." You murmur. "It's not the Batman way."

"I know." Damian mumbles before his brows knit the tiniest bit, his pearly teeth nibbling on his bottom lip as he thinks.

You have the Al Ghul surname, and he wonders if he should bring it up.

"Beloved, your surname..." Damian hums quietly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing along the dip of your waist, his free hand tangled in your hair.

"I'm keeping it." You announce. "Al Ghul has... Gravitas. It's sexy and like...— Wayne?" You repeat the surname, a snort of laughter to your lips as your nails scratch against the nape of his neck.

The two of you are shrouded in thick covers and a lack of light, a thundering storm outside the brick walls of the manor, rain pouring and washing away the filth left behind by the criminals.

The fresh scent clings to the air, accompanied by a nose-burning frost.

"Mrs Al Ghul." Damian murmurs, enjoying the familiarity of calling you that.

When you were younger, he'd call you that to tease you on the fact that you'd taken his surname. A boast, in his own way. You'd become an extension of him.

His heart, undoubtedly.

"Mr Wayne." You repeat quietly and it just... It makes an unpleasant itch in his name that you don't have the same surname anymore. And he chuffs, hands moving to grasp your hips firmly, thumbs brushing along the protruding bones before pressing a long, lingering kiss to your pulse, which slowly becomes more erratic the longer his lips remain.

"No, beloved. I'm going to be Al Ghul tonight."

And Al Ghul, he is.

After a 30 minute shower, Damian steps out of the en suite smelling like a mixture of spices and musk.

A unique mixture of his that could only ever entice you.

Oud and cinnamon, cardamom powder with the tiniest hint of smoke.

Droplets of water travel down the carvings within his muscles, his body perfectly toned and covered in taut, tanned skin that glows the prettiest golden hue in the slivers of warm light that creeps through the slightly agape en suite door.

A dark grey towel clings to his hips, lowering with each step he takes. A commanding aura surrounds him, alongside the steam that rises from his skin and he runs a damp hand through his messy hair, carding the strands out of his face although that mischievous curl keeps clinging to his dewy forehead.

"You're looking at me funny." Damian speaks, arms moving to cross over his chest, that emerald and tungsten ring glinting on his finger in a way that makes your pussy throb. You can tell that he's trying to put you on the spot, that faint twitch of the corner of his mouth, the glint in his eyes.

And you let out a scoff.

"Cause you're funny looking."

Damian raises a thick, dark brow and you feel your palms become sweaty.

This isn't a trust fund kid. This isn't American.

This is the exact same person from back then. Broad, squared shoulders, proud posture. An Arabian-Mongolian prince who knows that his spot at the top of the food chain is secured, and he doesn't need to hide that.

He looks like he's only missing peacocks and concubines who wear sheer fabric and dance with feathery fans.

"You're intimidated." Damian speaks, his voice low, a husky timbre that makes your belly flop. And you huff, but before you can answer, his hand moves to your ankle and he tugs you closer to him, towards the edge of the bed

"But I would be too." He leans forward, a knee between your thighs and his face nears yours, before his lips press against your temple.

No cockiness, no teasing, just love that makes his lips linger before brushing against the curve of your ear.

"Love of my heart, let me adore you."

—†—

Two fingers pump into your drooling cunt, Damian's lips press sweet, soothing kisses to the curve of your neck and the side of your face. Your lips part to let out moans that die when his thumb begins to circle your clit, stoking the flame that burns in your belly.

And he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your bouncing throat, dragging his tongue along your jugular vein before he lets out an almost reverent sigh.

"Look at me, my beautiful wife." Damian breathes out, watching as your lashes flutter and big, bleary doe eyes look up at him, your bottom lip caught between your teeth to stifle any sounds and he presses a kiss to the space between your brows.

"Your eyes are the only my heart answers to."

Damian murmurs softly, his lips pressing against yours, swallowing the moan you let out when your toes curl, your belly's knot snapping and you come on his fingers.

Liquids trickle down your thighs, soaking through the sheet beneath you and he keeps fucking you with his fingers. Rough pads brush against that gummy spot, and he watches the way your brows crease and twitch at the sensations of him curling his fingers.

You can feel the coolness of his wedding ring brush against your puffy, overstimulated pussy lips and your thighs twitch.

"My goddess."

Damian croons, pulling his fingers out of you before licking them clean, savouring the taste of you on his finger before he lifts you with ease, resting your head on one of the pillows.

And two fingers, two very strong, muscular fingers stroke your folds teasingly, before nestling comfortably over your clit.

You're not sure what it is.

If it's the speed at which his digits vibrate against your clit, if it's the way he sucks hickeys into the skin of your thighs but your stomach sucks in and you barely muffle the whine that leaves you as you cum.

Trickling the smallest little spurt of squirt against his palm.

And Damian's hums, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, flat against the sensitive and overstimulated bud until your hand pushes at his forehead, trying to catch a breather.

You're barely able to string together a coherent sentence before Damian's sliding into you, cock stretching you until there's a burn in your walls. Your nails dig into his biceps, tears threatening to spit from your eyes and he leans over you, lips pressing adoring kisses to your eyes.

"It's gonna feel really good, I promise." Damian breathes quietly, his hands moving up your sides to cup your breasts, your thighs on either side of him. And twitching against his sides when his thumbs brush over your pebbled nipples, his lips pressing against your tear-stained cheeks and he's still.

Trying not to come too quickly at the inviting warmth of your cunt, gummy walls adjusting to his intrusion as his thumbs tease and circle your nipples.

And Damian feels your hands move to his lower belly, nails dragging along the skin over his abs and he knows he can move.

Slowly, Damian drags his cock out of you, leaving only the plump, flushed tip buried in you before he pushes back into you.

You're warm. So, so warm.

He's never felt this before.

Damian's face is flushed, his body smattered with goosebumps and his hands move to your thighs, squeezing the flesh in his calloused hands before lifting them.

Pushing your knees to your chest, and Damian slowly picks up the pace.

He inclines just enough for his pubic bone to make the best amount of friction against your oversensitive clit, your nails scratching at his broad back, your lashes fluttering and your lips parted to let out the cutest little breathy moans and Damian moans.

A low, whiny sound that has his voice cracking before he pulls out of you, resting his cock flat on your mound before letting out a shuddering breath.

"Shit, you're so tight and warm." Damian sighs, carding his fingers through his raven strands, his chest heaving before he taps the head of his cock against your sopping folds.

And he watches your body twitch and Damian lets out a quiet snort, before his hands caress your hips, thumbs tracing over the spots where there are the faintest stretch marks.

Before Damian shifts you, your knees and hands pressing against the mattress and the silken sheets, and your back arched. Before relaxing into the position, your forearms folded over one another and your cheek resting against the pillow, your arch deepening into a steep slope.

And Damian gulps.

"You intimidated?" You tease, wriggling your hips lazily before Damian's hands bracket them, and he scoffs.

"As if." He mutters under his breath, before pushing himself into your hole, the warmth inviting and so so tempting, and Damian leans forward, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

His hands caress the curve of your spine, pawing at your hips and waist, as his hips roll against yours.

Damian's leaky cock meets your cervix, sloppy kisses pressed deeper than you thought anything could reach and your brain is already mush. Leaky wetness dripping down his twitching length.

You're so close.

Any cocky comment flies out of your lips, and your walls flutter when Damian lets out that breathy, boyish laugh at the sight of your hand moving to rest against the headboard.

"Are you intimidated?" Damian mocks, before he feels that rhythmic clamp of an orgasm as you whine into the pillow, your eyes fluttering shut as you come, spasming around his cock.

And he shudders, pulling out of you immediately and Damian flips you onto your back, sitting back on his haunches before he comes.

Pearly white liquid, thick and stringy cum clings to your pussy, he jerks himself, milking his cock and painting your pretty pussy with his spent.

Damian moans softly, his jaw clenching as he tries to keep quiet, not wanting to let anyone know that after a decade, his marriage is....

Thoroughly, consummated.

And Damian shifts, resting on his stomach and you'd have to be even more blinded to not see the way his lips quirk in excitement, his hands guiding your thighs to rest on his broad shoulders and his calves lift the tiniest bit, absentmindedly kicking as he stares at your messy cunt.

And slowly, Damian drags his tongue through your cum-covered folds.

"I've always enjoyed licking the frosting off my dessert first.

He responds with a hum, lips brushing against the hollow of your temple and you're trying to wriggle free. But it's damn near impossible.

His bicep bulges, and Nolan's free hand continues to push at the buttons of the remote, your search history displayed on a 70 inch screen.

"Baby, no. This is—" You're interrupted when Nolan tuts you, the corners of his brilliant blue eyes crinkling with amusement at the way your cheeks begin to flush.

"I wanna know what kind of things you're into, sweetheart." He coos, before clearing his throat.

"Okay, first one, 'how to fold an origami chihuahua'." Nolan snorts. "Did you learn how to do it?"

He glances down at you, your lips pursed before you nod your head. Almost reluctantly and he hums, a low rumble of approvement in his broad, burly chest.

"My nimble fingered girl."

And he diverts his attention back to the screen. You're not even sure what to be more embarassed about.

Your trips to Oxford dictionary, your dawdling spent on Urban Dictionary or the stupid things you look up for on WikiHow.

"Ohhh... A Cosmo article." Nolan hums. "You wanna learn how to squirt?"

And your cheeks flare up, and you try to slide lower, but he's got one of those stupidly muscular arms tucked beneath your arms, and he's keeping you anchored.

"You know, everytime you come close, you start crying and make me feel bad." Nolan hums, mocking you and you let out a disgruntled whine.

"Literally, what's the point of you doing this?" You complain. "It's embarassing."

"Is it so wrong of me to wanna learn about my wife and her interests?" Nolan huffs, almost dramatic as he stares down at you, inky moustache raising with his grin as he spots the way your eyes narrow.

"Especially since, you know, I'm never really at home and you feel all," he lets out a heavy sigh, "neglected and all."

And your eyes widen.

"Were— were you eavesdropping on my conversation?" You question, brows scrunching into a frown and Nolan leans down, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head once again.

"Focus on the part that I'm improving my schedule." Nolan chides you gently and he gently uses the hand that's not wrapped around you, to guide your face back towards the TV.

You'd complain and gripe, if you weren't so acutely intune to the way he touches you. Almost reverently.

His hand splayed across the expanse of your belly, his thumb swiping gently at the soft skin just below your breast, tracing the flesh through the fabric of your nightie. And he's just so warm and burly. It feels like you're curled up against a furnace and you're not even mad about that.

"You looked at our house eighteen times on Google Earth."

The laughter in his voice isn't hidden, dimples appearing in his sculpted cheeks and full, dark brows raise in surprise at your next search.

"Omni-Man... Up cape?" He reads, mulling the words over before letting out a breath. "You are shameless."

"I'm plenty ashamed now." You argue and he snorts.

"You weren't ashamed when you were trying to find pictures of my ass on the internet."

The glow of the TV is the only light in the room, the door shut and the light of the ensuite is dimmed, the door slightly ajar. The covers are heavy, weighted blankets that make you feel just a bit more secure in Nolan's arms and his head dips occasionally, pressing ticklish kisses to the curve of your neck.

And he hums. Low and rumbly.

"What's this?" He muses, before scrolling further.

"You watch a lot of porn." He comments. "Like... A lot."

"I'm very particular." You defend, eyes downcast to where his muscular thighs press against yours on either side, bracketing you against his body and your chest heaves as you let out a breath.

"I'll bet." He mumbles. "Guess that's why you went to page 113."

And you press your face against Nolan's bicep, your cheeks burning and your ears tinge red when the screen goes down, a little arrow forming a circle appears for a brief moment before one of the videos show.

Showcasing the exact timestamp where you stopped.

"Hm..." He hums softly. "S'that where you came?"

His voice is so quiet, a husky sound that sends chills up your spine and you weakly nod your head, peeking at the screen and you're watching a girl get her back blown out. Eyes shut, brows furrowed and mouth parted to let out pitchy moans that seemed a bit too loud for your comfort right now.

Especially since it's on a huge ass TV.

Nolan's hand moves between your thighs and you open them willingly, shifting your legs until they're spread salaciously, suspended over his own, thickly corded legs. And he lets out an amused huff of laughter, fingers sliding over the swell of your folds, pressed so snugly against the cotton of your panties. You bite your bottom lip, tilting your head back enough to peer at Nolan through your lashes.

"Keep your eyes on the screen." He instructs you so gently, guiding your head back to focus on the screen of the TV, and he hums softly, dragging a calloused digit along your soaked gusset, tracing your slit. He narrowly dips his fingers into you, just to feel the way your panties cling to your slick, before they move back into place.

Before you breath can stutter, Nolan's ripping your panties at the sides with ease, pulling the fabric out from beneath you and discarding it to God knows where.

And he glances back towards the screen. Tight circles being rubbed around your clit, his blunt digit nestled between velvety folds and he listens to the way your heart pounds in your chest. Breathy sighs slipping past your lips and your brows scrunch in that way that makes his heart sputter just a bit, and he brushes his tongue along his bottom lip.

"That's it..." He whispers softly. "Just keep watching TV."

You keep your eyes glued on the screen. Not because you necessarily want to, but because you know Nolan's spiteful enough to pull away and ruin the orgasm that's creeping up your legs in that steady rhythm.

And you swallow.

"Does it feel good?" He coos softly and you nod weakly, muttering the sweetest 'uh-huh' as your eyes don't even move from the TV screen, lashes fluttering and cheeks flushing.

You look like the cutest thing right now.

A little doll in his lap.

You're just so pretty. Big, blown out eyes, plump lips that are parted to let out the sluttiest sighs and he feels the way your clit throbs beneath the pressure of his finger.

"You almost there, sweet girl?" He hums softly and you nod your head.

Biting down on your bottom lip and your brows scrunch.

Your belly dips inward and that tightly wound cord in your belly snaps.

You're coming at the soft, gentle stimulation so easily, your toes curling against the sheets and your legs attempting to close but his infallible thighs keep them from doing so.

Slick coats Nolan's fingers but he's not really paying too much attention to that, focused more on the way you shift and wriggle in his grasp, and the arm around you tightens it's grip.

One meaty finger pushes into your cunt, the squelch is lewd and your lips are parting in an 'o' shape that makes him dizzy.

Your head lolls and you feel like a whore when drool trickles down your bottom lip, swiped away by Nolan's thumb as his finger curls, pressing against that sweet, spongy spot that makes your vision dot.

Nolan feels the way your nails dig into his forearm, watches the way your brows knit and his head dips, tongue dragging along your pulse. Lingering just long enough to feel the thrumming hidden beneath the curve of your jaw, and he laps up the perspiration speckled across your skin.

"You gonna start clearing your cookies, sweetheart?" He teases you, slowly pushing another thick finger into your drooling pussy and your eyes nearly cross, head tipping back and you can feel the way your brain melts with each pump of his thick fingers.

You feel each callous, each knuckle, you feel the cool band of his wedding ring kissing your plump pussy with each pump.

And you nod weakly.

"Uh huh..." You're lying.

You both know you are and a large, powerful hand grasps your jaw, tilting your head to meet his gaze and Nolan presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is desperate, needy, his tongue dragging against yours, claiming each inch of your soft mouth, your lips slick with your drool and he swallows each of your moans. Each whine you let into his mouth, is an unforgiving thrust of his fingers.

When you're coming around his fingers, you melt into a pliable puddle in his grasp, and you feel the way he presses kisses to the side of your face, gently bringing you down from your high. He pushes your cum back into you, slick fingers dragging against your walls and he lets out a soft breath.

Handing you the remote.

"Pick the next video."