You’re riding König, he’s laid out beneath you as his dick sits in you. You made a bet with him saying you could make him cum in less than 10 minutes.
“W-wait, stop, stop…”
“What? Don’t tell me you’re already ready to tap out. Scared you’re going to lose?”
He shakes his head, looking up at you. He looked so vulnerable beneath you.
“No…just stop moving like that…” he mumbles, not looking away from you.
“Like what…? Like this?” You grind on his dick, he lets out a small gasp as his eyes roll backwards.
“Oh…fuck…” he whispers.
You smirk down at him and place your hands on his pecs to lean down closer to him. “What was that?” You ask in a playful voice.
“N-nothing!” He says quickly, eyes fluttering shut.
“Okay. Well, I’ll get off the-”
“Wait!” He says hurriedly, grabbing your hips to keep you on him. “Don’t move…”
You look down at him to see his blissed out eyes…what a good boy he was.
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the problem is that being single is seen as the consolidation prize, and not the natural neutral state of being-a-person. at the end of the movie or the book or the poetry, there is a person waiting for you at the altar, and they love you. if the play is a comedy, everyone gets married. the metaphor is about how you are not-whole. the metaphor is about how everyone is going to be happily-ever-after. the metaphor is that romantic love is the most important resource on the planet, not just all-love. all-love is not a thing, that is a disappointment. the treasure is not the friends we made along the way. the treasure is the girl you landed.
the metaphor is that you cannot be alone, that means you are broken. are you getting over someone? that is acceptable, you can be getting over someone, but not for long. you must be single because you would rather not be single. you must be single and looking to not-be-single. you must want to date, eventually.
friendship and community are never seen as being equal-to or even-better than romantic connection. that person is your one! you need to find them. you need to hunt through the sand particles until you can shift out some kind of gem. this is regardless to your own experience of the beach and the sun. you need to be somewhere with someone.
if you are taking this time alone to heal, that is so sad. everyone gives you this little pitying look. the understanding is that you are not actually happier than you were before you were single. it is seen as a sort of pity - oh, you are choosing yourself, making yourself the priority? - that isn't quite right. you must mean that you are making yourself ready for the right person. you are just laying the bed better this time. open up your heart. you'll find them, we promise!
what do you mean you're really-truly genuinely-very happy? you are probably misremembering what it was like to be in a relationship. and besides, once you meet your person, that time will look grey and bland and wasted. your person is the only way for you to see in color. so what if you have taken this time - for the first time in your entire life - to actually-for-real do the fucking work. you can be proud of yourself, sure. but the way we need to know that you got better is that you get a partner. you're healed enough for the next bad part!
people don't choose to be single, they just say they're choosing to be single - they actually mean "nobody wants to date me." it doesn't matter how many people you have gently rejected or how many times you've talked it over carefully in therapy. what matters is that you are single, and by all accounts - that means you are something worth our pity. your successes and life all seem pale in the sunlight. sure, you have done amazing things and finally found your way in life. what matters is that there wasn't a person in the room with you while you did it.
you want to tell them - that's the whole thing. i didn't know how to be alone in the room. i didn't know how to handle the silence. every moment was so sharp, and i kept choosing the wrong way to close the door. i have spent my entire life in the empty well, living in the ricochet of someone else's cruelty. for once i have built myself a ladder. for once everything i taste is all mine, every bite of sunshine and laughter. i have learned how to sleep out in the open with my memories. recently, they have started to purr.
your father rolls his eyes. listen. this isn't about you. i just want a grandchild in my future.
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thinking about frat boy abby…
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ masterlist ˚୨୧⋆。˚⋆
a/n: this is just pure smut thoughts I had abt abby. I'll write more after the holidays!
warnings: 18+ content, strap talk, mention of cunnilingus, no actual smut just nsfw headcannons.
words: 446, shorter than usual :(
shes so cocky and full of herself. always showing off. bragging about her muscles all the time. anytime she sees you she'll flex for you and try to impress you. she'll pick you up and say it's sooooo easy for her to manhandle you.
imagine being fwb with frat boy abby. oh my god all I can think about. she'll jokingly flirt with you in front of your friends but if another one of your friends does it, she's pissed. crossing her arms and huffing with a big pout.
she'll ask you to come back to her dorm that night. you know to "gently remind you how much you mean to her." and by that I mean she'll fucking rail you into the mattress.
if she can even last that long. usually she'll go to the bathroom and message you to follow her in. and the moment the bathroom door is shut, she's pulling your clothes off faster than you can even process what she's doing.
I bet she flexes her biceps when she eats you out. her huge hands on your thighs with her broad shoulders and arms on display as she laps at her sensitive folds. she'd totally look up at you and flex her arms to make you squirm.
ugh bringing you to frat parties just to fuck you in a bedroom upstairs. girl is always strapped. pushing you up against a wall, her massive hand covering your mouth, well more like half your fucking face. you grip onto it to ground yourself as her strap invades your weeping hole. small grunts coming from her lips.
I just know she'd want to watch her strap go in and out of you. she'd lean back a bit to see your hole swallowing her strap, praising you the whole time.
"atta girl. there you go. look at you. doing so good for me."
she'd speed up or thrust her hips into you with even more force and coo softly with her big arms around you. "you can take it. you've done it before. cmon, don't give out on me now, doll…"
she loves a noisy girl. your moans get her going. God, does she love it when you whine and whimper and make little pathetic noises. or when you beg. she could get off on that alone, and she has before.
especially with the base of the strap bumping her clit with every thrust. she's done for. she'll hide her face in your neck and just ramble incoherently about how good it feels then slow down to a stop.
in conclusion I'm a slut for abby's strap good god
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I’m kinda imagining Ghost gets you some kinky collar to wear, saying “Slut” or something and he puts it on you, gets a matching leash and all that great stuff
but one day, he’s woken up from a nap by you sitting on his lap and he only has on boxer briefs (since pants are to uncomfortable) and you’re sitting there, rubbing his cock through the briefs. He never likes not having power and you knew that, so you handcuffed his wrists to the bed frame.
seeing the black leash come down from his neck, the fact you were rubbing him so nicely through his boxers, he knew what you were doing.
he ended up tied up beneath you as you bounced on his cock, holding the leash tightly so you could pull him up to kiss you. You edged him for a while, getting off of him, licking his tip and spreading the cum heading at the top. But once you heard his pleas and whining, he finally got to cum. And as he came, he ended up moaning…but instead of your name, he moaned “mommy” and god, a round two was in order.
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The Adoptive Son. Part 2
Dick tries his best to keep his smile as Danny Crowne fumbles with his laptop, attempting to show Dick all the fantastic features he programmed onto it.
Don't be wrong; he enjoys new software, and the stuff Crowne made was awe-inspiring. He just wished it wasn't being used for one of his most disgusting crimes.
Babs, who was recently super into coding, had been all but foaming at the mouth when she got access to the new writing application Crowne Industries put out.
Yes, she got access a bit earlier than most since she hacked into the system attempting to find evidence of criminal activity, but she had tested it out and wanted it for herself.
"This writing program has an automatic save option after a certain amount of time goes by." Crowne blushes a little, looking bashful when Dick sends him a winning smile. "I-ugh, I forget how often computers crash, taking with them hours of work, so hopefully, this will help tired college students. It even has a way to retrieve lost files, just in case something does get deleted."
"Wow, you made all this by yourself? That's so impressive." Dick purrs, allowing his hand to land on Crowne's knee. The other man jumps slightly, looking down at the hand like he's never seen one before. At least this mission was easy.
Crowne's had plenty of people flirt with him over the years of his adoption. Dick had watched him at galas, sidestepping any courtship attempts like a well-practiced waltz. He charmed so many would-be suitors simply by his prince-like mannerism, silver tongue, dripping good looks, and of course, very large wallet.
He had thought it meant that Crowne was experienced in this sort of thing. Imagine his surprise at the beginning of the mission; Crowne fumbled through his flirtations and seemed so awkward it was almost endearing.
Danny Crowne didn't make much sense to Dick in this way.
He quickly became one of Gotham's most eligible bachelors and one of the first openly bisexual ones. Despite his adoptive parents less than ideal views on the gay community, Crowne never hid that part of himself. Once he had taken over the company, he had even gotten charities set up to support the gay youths of Gothams. He practically funded the Pride Celebrations, even more than Bruce, which showed how he became the new head of Crowne Industries
In four short years, he had snatched the company from the jaws of bankruptcy and dragged it to the top again. Everything they made was so revolutionary, even Bruce had been tempted to ask Crowne to join him for the first two years.
Back then, Dick had thought Crowne was weird.
All the guy did was talk about tech, and when he wasn't, he was staring into space or attempting to get into different equipment so he could take it apart and figure it out.
Crowne had been invited to his birthday party a few months after his adoption. Dick had seen him arrive, but he vanished from the room not long after- at the time, he didn't blame the other. The rest of their classmates were snobbish and a pain to be around- he later found Crowne pulling out one of his light sockets to check the wiring in Bruce's house.
It may have been the cheap light he was using, but Dick swore he had seen the guy's eyes glowing while he muttered to himself in an unknown language.
The Crownes had been mortified, forcing Crowne to apologize profoundly for ripping Bruce's things. Bruce had to play his part of Brucie, so he had laughed it off, asking the boy why he had done it in the first place.
" I meant no offense. I apologize for allowing my curiosity to cross a line. I was only interested in how advanced your home is. I figured the Wayne's would indicate where the world's leading systems would be." Fourteen-year-old Danny Crowne had told Bruce with a sweet smile that was far too wide and eyes that were far too bright.
It creeped fourteen-year-old Dick out so much he actively avoided the adoptive son of the Crowne for the last four years.
Now he wishes he had paid a little more attention. Maybe then he would have caught on to Crowne selling street kids on the black market.
"It's nothing, really." Crowne laughs nervously, flushing read as Dick gently rubs his knee. He smirks inwardly as the other man fumbles. "I couldn't have done it without Tim so-"
"Tim?" That's a new name. Dick quickly pressed the recording device that Bruce had installed into his bracelet. He hated that he was working with his ex-mentor again, but this was too big of an issue to allow his hurt feelings to get in the way. There were so many kids at stake.
"Tim Drake. His parents are out of the country a lot, so I started babysitting him when he was eight. He's thirteen now, but I got temporary guardianship of him when I turned eighteen. He's my pride and joy. " Crowne clarifies with a growing smile. Dick wanted to punch his teeth in for acting so loving, so caring, so fucking kind when it came to children.
He swallows the urge with incredible difficulty. "He sounds great."
He did know Timothy Drake, actually. The boy was his neighbor for years but didn't stand out much. He always looked like a little doll at the galas, vanishing from sight once his parents' backs were turned.
Dick often thought the boy was out of the country with his parents, primarily when they enrolled him in homeschool when he turned eight.
To think the Drakes were working on making a good relationship with Crowne since he first showed up, and no one within the Bats noticed. It was a little troubling.
Were the Drakes involved with the trafficking ring? Were the world trips just a means to smother out poor victims? Were they using their son, or was Tim Drake part of the scheme?
More questions and not enough answers.
"Y-you could meet him if you want," Crowne coughs, playing with a specialized keyboard- it was so flat. Dick had never seen a slimmer design- his face was a lovely red hue. "I have him for this month, so he's back at my apartment with his babysitter."
Perfect an opening.
"Mr. Crowne, are you inviting me back to yours?" Dick asks, allowing his voice to turn husky with sinful promise.
Crowne face turns even redder. "I didn't mean to assume, but...ugh, are you hitting on me?"
Dick almost laughs.
"I am." He says even as he thinks If only you weren't a scum bag. You are not ever going to get this lucky, you disgusting pig.
"Thank the Ancients. I was worried I may have interpreted your intentions. I would be honored if you accompanied me home-but, not for sex! I mean, I wouldn't be opposed to sex at a later date-just dinner? I can cook." Crowne closes his eyes as if pained, and Dick wishes he was the person he was pretending to be.
Oh well.
They all have their own masks.
Dick just happens to be someone who was bestowed with a criminal. He slips it on as quickly as his NightWing one, throwing an arm over Crowne and placing a tracker on his neck. The bastard didn't even notice. Good.
"I would love that Crowne."
"Danny." The man says with a warm relieved smile. "You can call me Danny."
"Then you can call me Dick"
Dick will have this man rotting away in a jail cell soon. He swears it.
(Part 1) (part 3)
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