#Danny Oc

[leink-leyalink]

He got the best of everything - the crazyness from his first father and the redhead from his second father (although redheads are also crazy, but we'll skip that part) 👁👁

[abalonetea]

i don't have off tomorrow but i AM back on my bullshit with danny so you all have to look at this picture of him with Ugly Cat. he's finally managed to make it to somewhere around twenty in my hypothetical timeline for him (congrats, he finally made it out of the Perpetually Sixteen category!) so there's that!

[fromduck]

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[wanologic]

sorry danny, sam will never think you’re cool

[pineconewithapencil]

Flower crowns are awesomeee

not rlly proud of how it turned out but might as well post it

[kermdoeswriting]

Bruce Wayne's a Foster Parent. Also he avoids death a lot so a dead person can usually tell if a humans meant to have died but didn't.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Bruce you know I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to but-"

Bruce just sighed from his side of the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nobody ever really expects to get a phone call nearing 3 am but exceptions had to be made when you were a legal foster parent and also a part-time secret super hero. If it wasn't one thing calling for him it was the other.

On the other side of the phone, Bruce heard the caseworker, Roni, chuckle.

"It's just for 3 nights and half of the day after, but I need you to be prepared for something before I can pass them off to you."

Bruce sat upright now on his bed, attentively listening to her words. Usually the kids didn't really come with any pre-warnings from the Caseworker themselves, letting anything about each Foster kid be said inside of their personal files that got sent along with them.

But when she gave out this information it was usually important. The last time Bruce had gotten a warning like this it was for Jason which was ages ago it feels at this point.

"What is it?"

"The kids are-" Her voice trailed off, like as if she was still searching for the right words to say. "They've been through what I can honestly only describe as the equivalent to a meta-kid trafficking lab"

Bruce shifted as he heard the driving continue on the other side of the phone.

"They're very guarded because of what they went through and they might display.. unusual behavior. More unusual then a meta-kids behavior after such a situation would be, but don't let it fool you! The kids are really sweet beyond being afraid."

Bruce frowns at the descriptions before replying to her, mentally trying to prepare himself for the idea of these kids and what they might have went through.

"I'll make a note of it then. Thank you, Roni"

"No, thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate this last minute placement. We'll be by really soon"

He was left with a click as he removed himself off his bed and threw the covers to the side of him. Alfred would want to know that they would have 2 new guests in the manor, at the very least to greet them and have rooms prepared even if they didn't need to have them prepared further then what they already were.

It was less then 5 minutes later that Bruce found himself, with Alfred, greeting the temporary fosters at the front door. Roni looked tiredly at them as she pushed the kids front and center.

Bruce could relate heavily.

"Hello Danny, Ellie. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Danny just stared at the mans outstretched hand for a second before he turned to look up at him, a pinched look on his face. Ellie matched his expression, although being a bit more subtle about it as she looked over Bruce as a whole.

Eerily, Bruce felt like his very soul was being judge the longer the kids stared at him. He also felt a sense of familiarity with these two kids the longer this continued.

They seemed detached rather than afraid like their caseworker had explained earlier, more so viewing the world as if they were outside of it rather then in it in any way.

Danny was quick to glare at him after another moment, "You're a fruit-loop, aren't you?"

Ellie broke from her own scanning almost immediately when she heard Danny's comment, cackling beside him before shoving him off with her arm. The action made Bruce smile as he took his arm back and placed it by his side.

Alfred also looked amused between the pair of siblings before turning attention to the task at hand again. Bruce just smiled at his pseudo-fathers usual fondness over children, knowing he was being reminded of his own grandchildren.

"This is Alfred. He's going to be the one to show you over to your rooms for the next few nights." Alfred greeted the kids in the same polite way he usually greeted all guests before he leaned down and extended his hands towards their belongings. He didn't grab their belongings just remained leaning over them before questioning the kids if they would like help to take their stuff to their rooms.

Bruce only really saw it faintly and if it were any other moment he might have ignored it as a sleepless hallucination, but for some reason he noticed the change immediately. The twins eyes go from a darker blue to a flashing bright green.

As if alarmed by the sudden movement towards their belongings.

Danny was quick to catch his own staring as well, eyes flashing back to blue for only a second before reverting back to green. Almost as if to give off some kind of warning.

Ellie noticed his staring immediately and shoved Danny again, this time more forceful for his attention before turning to whisper something to him when she had him back.

Bruce felt his skin crawl before turning away to face their caseworker, not really understanding anything they were saying beyond hearing a few words and feeling their eyes look between each other and his back.

Death Touched was an especially new description, and one that stuck in his head the second he heard it.

Bruce waited until the kids were guided away by Alfred before talking to their caseworker officially and waking her up from her half delirious tired drop-off.

"Hey Roni? Is there any chance we can extend the Fenton kids stay?"

There was something going on here with these kids and he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.

[fruitcakebro]

Jason and Danny start dating, and then at some point Vlad shows up to a Wayne charity gala while Danny is there with Dan, Ellie, and Jackie. Vlad spots Ellie, and confronts her. Ellie yells stranger danger, and Vlad says something along the lines of "I am your FATHER". Hence followed by "You're not my real mom! Jason is my real mom!". (Logic is: Danny=Dad. Remembers having a Mom and a Dad. Therefore, other parent=Mom.) Then Vlad gets weird looks while he tries to figure out who the fuck Jason is.

Jason walks up, having heard the commotion, and says "Yo." Vlad scoffs at him, and says "And who are you?" To which, Jason replies: "Her mom, apparently."

[astronnova]

danny phantom cast explorations and thoughts :v

[dcxdpdabbles]

I found and read this cute story on AO3, about Frostbite being Danny's legal parental guardian. In the story Bruce Wayne runs into Frostbite (in his full yeti glory no disguise) who is setting up for school bake sale. Got me thinking about what if Danny's past rogues took turns filling in and doing parental stuff especially at school functions. Like Frostbite does the bake sale, Pandora shows up for his games, Ghostwriter goes to all of the PTA meetings, Clockwork goes to teacher meetings, so on and so forth.

The 43rd Annual Gotham Academy Bake Sale by Faeriekit

Ohhh, that sounds good! I'll get it a read when I have some time. Thank you for the rec!

Danny Fenton is one of the lucky few who have a very involved household. His various family members would always sign up for any school event the boy needed support in. It didn't mean that the boy won everything, but as a teacher for nine years, Emily has come to learn how much it mattered to just have someone show up.

She had seen students whose entire faces light up after spotting someone in the crowd in the same amount she saw a student's hope crumble after they scanned the room.

Danny was a polite young man, a bit on the shyer side, but kind and not a troublemaker, his previous school had her believe. If anything, he seemed to struggle with fitting in, but no students blatantly disliked him.

The general opinion of Danny matched, as her students would say, "I know him from class, but I don't really talk to him. He seems cool though".

Maybe that's why so many people were supposed by his family to march into the auditorium during Danny's talent show. Seeing him wave at the row before starting his gymnastic act had been such a surprise.

Now, Gotham wasn't a close-knit community, not with the size of their city and the millions of people living within it, but everyone would have noticed that Danny was adopted.

After all, he was the only one that wasn't glowing or a large humanoid animal. They cheered the loudest among the crowd; uncaring Danny got bronze- having lost to Joey's tapping dancing for second and Damian's spectacular multi-instrumental cover of a meme song for first place- and Danny beamed back at them.

Gotham was known for not being meta-friendly, but that was only due to a few mean people who shouted the loudest on media outlets. Many of Emily's students were meta, had family that were meta, or knew someone meta. It wasn't a common enough trait one would encounter a meta on every outing, but you would see them in Gotham well enough.

Everyone knew, but no one said it out loud. In the same way, she knew which students' parents were in the country illegally but worked harder than anyone else. Saying anything would help the cops, or worse, the rich running Gotham.

Even the most prejudiced Gothamite would rather be spat on then give them aid. And those who were so prejudiced to help the poor man's enemies, well, Emily has lived here long enough to know they vanished rather quickly. The smart ones kept their mouths shut.

No one could forget what happened to that guy who accidentally insulted Penguin. His grandmother had been an illegal immigrant on his mother's side.

No one messed with that side of the family.

"Hello, Mrs. Jackson." Danny's adoptive father, Dr. Frostbite said, ducking down to avoid banging his head on the door. On one of his shoulders was a box of hotdog wieners; on the other were multiple bags of bread. "I'm here for my snack bar shift."

Emily tilts her head back to look the Yeti in the eye. He had been shocked the first time they met, but she could admit that Dr. Frostbite was a relatively gentle and wise soul. "Welcome aboard. The girls are just about to take the field. You can put that down by the crock pot over there."

The mountain of white fur brushes by her with the grace of a king as Dr. Frostbite does as she says. There were no customers at the window, so she leaned on the counter and offered him a smile. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"Yes. I was saddened our team did not win, but Danny hit a home run." Dr. Frostbite's sharp smile could have been frightening if he wasn't oozing parental pride. "I caught it all on video."

Emily opens her mouth to respond when a hand lands loudly on the counter with a loud crack. Her heart leaps, and she looks into Danny's Ember. She isn't one of Emily's students, though she does appear to be a teenager in appearance.

You know. If it wasn't for her hair made of fire. Or her blue skin. Or her glow.

"I set a boy on fire," She announces with a cackle.

"That's so?" Dr. Frostbite gently rips open the box, taking out the hotdog packages. With one large claw, he rips a hole into it and lets the few weiners slide into the crockpot with a gentle splash. "What did he do?"

"Tried to slap me on the butt." She huffs, rolling her eyes, but her smirk doesn't lose an edge of smugness.

"Well done." Dr. Frostbite praises placing the lid back on. It always surprised Emily to see such careful actions from the large creature. "I assume you did so out of Pandora's line of sight?"

"Naturally. I don't want her lecturing me in front of the whole community." Ember scoffs, crossing her arms. Behind her, the top of Pandora's head can be seen swinging side to side over the dugout, keeping an eye on the ball.

She was the best volunteer referee because even the parents knew not to shout insulting things when she was present. Emily doesn't think she has had such peaceful games in a long while. Hopefully, Danny will try out again for baseball next year so the woman can return.

"Oh hey, you're Danny's English teacher, right? Mrs. Johnson?" Ember asks, leaning on the counter to give Emily a curious look.

When the blond nods, holding out her hand for a shake. "That's right. It's nice to see you again, Ember."

The girl's hair flairs a little as a grin grows on her face. Her hand is ice cold to the touch, but she's got a firm grip that her husband would appreciate. "Likewise. I got a message for you from Ghostwriter. He sent the notes for the last PTA meeting to you and the revision playwright for the musical you two were working on."

Emily's mood brightens up. "That's wonderful. Could you tell him I'll check it out when I get home and get to my laptop since my phone broke in the last Two-Face attack?"

Ember's hair flickers in the wind when she nods, but Danny bounces right up behind her just as she opens her mouth to speak. He's wearing his Gotham Acadamy Baseball uniform with pride despite them losing. "Hey, Frostbite, can I go with Tim and Duke to get Peoeria Pizza? We'll be back before the girl's game ends."

"Only if you take Ember with you," Dr.Frostbite says, nodding to his daughter, who looks alarmed to be included. "She needs more friends."

"Hey!"

"Sure. Come on, Ember, you'll get along with Duke. He likes old-school rock."

"It's not old-school!"

Emily laughs, watching the two siblings bicker as they stride away, blending into the crowd with no one batting an eye at the glowing girl anymore. How blessed that boy was.

"I'm glad Danny has gotten comfortable here. I always worried he never was going to have a normal childhood." Dr. Frostbite confesses to swirling the hotdogs around in the water to ensure each one is cooked.

"I think you and the rest are doing a wonderful job. You're a great father." She assures him, thinking wistfully of her William. He's been on deployment for a few months now and will likely miss the holidays again, but his contract is almost up. They may try for a child when he gets in the reserves. "How are things at the clinic?"

"Oh, wonderful. I'm grateful that Mr. Wayne has allowed the expansion of Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic. Dr. Thompkins will be covering the east side of Gotham while I help those on the west. It's much more fulfilling than working in some hospital that demands funds for the silliest things. Back home, that would have been illegal. The people would have burned me at the stake if I had allowed anyone to pass away due to greed."

"My kind of people." She laughs. A sharp crack sounds from the field as the bat makes contact with the ball, and the crowd goes wild. It's a wonderful day.

[spookberry]

Penelope hates her sooo much

[leink-leyalink]

If Jeff and Randy had a biological son, he would look something like this, and his name would be Danny Woods-Warren or Warren-Woods (and this is not because his name is made from the names of his parents, it is a reference to one of the vocalists of the group Hollywood Undead - Danny)

[abalonetea]

(Imagine receiving this ask via June bug, don't question it) 🪲

How does your character normally dress? What's their Style and/or signature article of clothing?

Danny's signature clothing is a big red jacket, about four sizes too big. It's a very worn soft hoodie and it belongs to Markus (who belongs to @mothersart) and he also has a couple of super bright clips he wears in his hair and bright colorful bandaids on his fingers!

how about you?

[unwanted-house-guest]

A Little Late (DPxDC)

“You have the absolute worst timing ever, as always” a familiar voice shocked Batman and made him stop and turn around, ready to fight who ever spoke. Only for him to suffer yet another shock that made his insides cold, almost unable to fully register what he was seeing.

Batman stood frozen looking at a Ghost version of Jason as Robin carrying a bleeding Phantom in his arms. Ghost Robin gave the Living Counterpart to his Batman a disbelieving look then glanced over the other Living heroes. 

A flair of anger and irritation flash through Ghost Robin. “How dare they!? How many times did his Beloved and his friends have called for help for the Justice League? Sure, the other times there’s a world ending shit to deal with so they are busy and his Beloved was able to fight the ghost. BUT THIS, they had been hounding about the Anti-Ecto Acts for months, this is Living Government Experimenting on HIS PEOPLE and worse they moved on to Liminals! the Living who cannot withstand what the dead could.”

“We had been calling about the Unethical experiments on OUR people, For MONTHS over and over again. It was fine as we could attack and free the ghosts but we increased the calls for help when they started taking the Living. What took you so long.” Batman flinched as Ghost Robin visibly glitched as Ghost Robin seethed. “Just listening to those bastards without checking things.”

Sam stood by Robin’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. She was wounded wearing a hospital gown and holding on a badly bandaged Tucker. Red blood seeped into the cloth, showing everyone how very alive and human the two ‘specimens’ Ghost Robin had liberated. Robin took a deep breath and sighed, though he didn’t need it, it helped regulate his anger.

“Technus, Send the info and videos to them. Not just the Ghosts experiment but the Liminals as well.” Robin held the bleeding Phantom closer to himself. “If they don’t give a fuck about the ghost, at least i hope saving the Living liminals might make them stop these Bastards.”

“Lord Consort, I’ve freed all of the ghosts in the facilities and are ready to leave. What do we do with the Amity residents that are too injured?”

“Lead the heroes to them, let them see and do their jobs. I’m taking my King to Frostbite” Robin replied. He took a spectral crowbar and pried a tear into reality, a portal to Far Frozen. “Sam… I”

Sam shut Robin up. “Just take Danny to the healer. Tucker and I will talk to the Heroes who Finally decided to show up.” She then glared at the heroes standing around. “If push comes to shove, we’ll carry one without them.”

“Indeed, we’ll handle it. Take the young king to the royal healer.” Technus stated.

“At least, your Other Self seems willing to help us blow these bastards up.” Tucker chimed in. Of course, Tucker was referring to Red Robin since they knew the Neverborn was the Spirit of Robin. The term Other Self is one Ghost robin used to refer to any of his living counterparts.  Never realizing that yes, RR was willing but it also could also refer to Red Hood whom they didn’t know was a former Robin, just standing there as well. The Red Hood who was once the current ‘Robin form’ the Neverborne was wearing. Red Hood who died and came back.

Ghost robin stepped through and closed the portal behind him. Only then he vaguely realised that the Heroes probably assumed he was Jason’s other self rather than all the Robins, yet he had pressing matters to attend to such as keeping his Beloved half alive. They can deal with complicated human and Living politics later. Robin’s form started cycling through various Robin now that he doesn’t have to hold himself and his emotions in check as he watches Frostbite start healing Danny.

~~~~

The idea won't leave me, so I'm planning on just posting things that I've written about the Idea I have for the fanfic that I never wrote, "Just a Simple Wish." a DPxDC crossover where Danny accidentally spoke a wish to have a proper mentor and a friend that understands him, only for Desiree to drop him in the Cursed City Infinite Realm Gotham in front of Cryptid!Batman and Spirit!Robin who just came to being after death of Jason, hence Cryptid!Batman raising the two Ghostling in the Ghost Gotham. 

 I figured Someone else might like to give it a try. so im throwing the idea here and hope someone else adopts it.

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Greedy

Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader x Bob Reynolds

SMUTTYSMUTTYSMUTTYSMUTTY

THIS IS A MARVEL FIC BUT I NEEDED A GIF OF THEM TOGETHER SO IM USING THIS TOP GUN MAVERICK GIF

The music pulsed through the bar like a heartbeat—fast, heavy, low. The kind of bass that lived in your chest. You were already two drinks in, swaying like temptation in heels too high and a dress too tight. Perfect. You wanted attention. Needed it.

And you knew exactly how to get it.

You found Joaquin by the bar, leaning back, beer bottle loose in one hand, black shirt rolled to the elbows. His jaw ticked when he saw you coming.

“Dance with me,” you purred, sliding between his legs like you belonged there—which you did.

He didn’t move.

“I’m enjoying the party,” he said flatly, taking a sip of his drink. His tone was smooth, but you knew that edge—that Joaquin.

You pouted up at him, running a hand up his chest. “We can have our own party.”

He arched a brow. “You being needy already, princesa?”

“Only a little.”

His hand slid down your thigh, firm grip bruising. But that was all. No pull. No follow-through. Just that unreadable smirk as he said, “I don’t reward needy little brats. You want attention? Be good for it.”

You blinked at him. Stunned. Denied.

“Fine,” you snapped, jerking back. “I’ll go to my favorite boyfriend. At least he cares about me and my needs.”

You didn’t wait for his response. You stormed off—barely hiding the grin on your lips.

⸻

You found Bob leaning against a wall by the patio, nursing a whiskey, all golden warmth and soft eyes. Just what you needed.

“Bobbyyy,” you sighed, curling into him like a cat in heat. “Joaquin’s being mean to me again.”

Bob looked down immediately, brows furrowed in concern. “What happened?”

“He said I was being a brat,” you sniffed. “Just because I wanted a little attention. Just because I wanted him to touch me…”

His eyes dropped to your lips. Your neck. Your cleavage.

“…But you care about me, don’t you?” you whispered, pressing your body against his. “You want me.”

Bob swallowed hard. “Of course I do, sweetheart. I always want you.”

“Then let me take care of you.” Your hand slid down, slow and soft, fingers teasing the front of his pants. “Let me suck your cock, Bobby. Please? Just for a minute. Just until you tell me to stop. I’ll be so gentle. You deserve it after the mission…”

Bob was already hard. You felt him throb under your palm.

“I—I hate seeing you like this,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “You’re so needy, baby…”

“Take me somewhere,” you breathed, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Let me be good for you.”

⸻

You found an empty storage closet, dimly lit and too small, but perfect. The door clicked shut behind you, and you immediately sank to your knees, yanking at his belt with shaky fingers.

“You’re gonna feel so good,” you promised, pupils blown wide. “I missed the way you taste.”

Bob moaned when your fingers brushed his cock. “Sweetheart—fuck—okay, okay…”

You had just unzipped his pants, tugged them halfway down his hips, tongue darting out to tease when—

SLAM.

The door burst open.

Joaquin.

Still calm. Still dressed. Still in control.

You didn’t even get a chance to react before he crossed the room and fisted your hair, yanking you up with a jerk that made you gasp.

“Oh, so this is what we’re doing now?” he growled, dragging your back against his chest. “Getting on your knees for him like a cheap little slut?”

Bob stepped back, wide-eyed, pants half open. “Joaquín—”

“Shut it.” He didn’t even look at him. His eyes were all on you. “And you.”

You glared at him, chest heaving. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you did your fucking job.”

That smile. That fucking cocky, cruel smirk.

He shoved you against the wall with one hand on your throat, the other gripping your hip so tight you’d feel it for days.

“You don’t come unless I say you come,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “You don’t even breathe unless I say you can, princesa.”

Bob tried again, “She just—she looks like she needs—”

Joaquin turned his head, slow and deliberate.

“She gets nothing,” he snapped. “Not until she learns.”

You twisted against him, thighs rubbing together.

“Touch your cunt again,” Joaquin growled, “and I’ll leave you dripping and empty all fucking night.”

———

You barely had time to pull your dress down over your thighs before Joaquin yanked the door open again, hand still tangled in your hair. Bob trailed behind, pants zipped but still tented, flushed and silent.

Not a word was exchanged on the ride back to your place. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was coiled, tight, full of unspoken punishment and desperate heat.

You knew you were in for it.

You wanted to be in for it.

⸻

The moment the door shut behind you, Joaquin shoved you up against it, one palm flat to your chest, the other tugging at your hair just enough to tilt your head back.

His voice was low, dangerous.

“You wanna act like a fucking brat in front of people? Try to make me jealous? Get on your knees for him like you’re some street-corner whore?”

You shivered.

“You are jealous,” you whispered, smiling up at him. “You just hate when he gets my mouth first.”

His grip tightened.

“You want my cock that bad?” he snarled. “Beg. And if I don’t like how you do it, I’ll gag you with Bob’s boxers and let him fuck your throat while you cry.”

Bob shifted behind him, clearly struggling.

“Joaquín—”

“Quiet.” His eyes never left yours. “She wants to be greedy? Let her find out what that really feels like.”

⸻

He dragged you to the bedroom.

Not gently. Not lovingly. Like he owned you. Like you were his problem to correct.

He sat on the edge of the bed, spread his legs, and nodded down.

“Strip. Now. And if you touch yourself, I swear to God…”

Your hands shook as you peeled your dress over your head, revealing your soaked panties. Bob sucked in a breath behind you.

“Fuck,” he murmured. “Sweetheart…”

You stepped out of them slowly, locking eyes with Joaquin as you did.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, sir. I need—”

He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor.

“On your knees.”

You dropped instantly.

“Now beg.”

You hesitated.

“Now.”

Your voice broke on the first word.

“Please let me have your cock. Please, I need to feel it. I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll do whatever you want—”

“You said that in the closet,” he cut in. “Didn’t stop you from unzipping Bob’s pants, did it?”

You whimpered.

“Open your mouth.”

You did.

He stood, walked behind you, and slapped your ass so hard your knees jolted forward. You cried out, back arching from the sting.

“That’s one for acting up in public.”

He smacked you again.

“One for that smart little mouth.”

Again.

“One for trying to pit us against each other. What kind of stupid little whore pulls that stunt?”

You were shaking now, face hot, thighs clenched.

He ran a finger through your folds, slow and deliberate, then brought it to your lips.

“Taste how fucking wet you are for being denied. Pathetic.”

You moaned around his fingers, sucking greedily, desperate for any part of him.

Bob finally moved—stepped forward, hands gentle as he helped you to your feet, voice like warm syrup:

“It’s okay, honey. You’re doing so well. You’re so pretty when you listen.”

He kissed your jaw, your shoulder, guiding you onto the bed with such reverence it made you ache.

“You ready for me?” he whispered. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes—yes, please, Bobby, I need it—I need you—”

He pushed in slow, thick and perfect, stretching you open until your fingers clawed at the sheets.

“God, you’re tight,” he groaned. “Like you were made for me. That’s it, sweetheart. Just take it. You’re doing so well.”

Joaquin stood at the head of the bed, cock out, thick and flushed.

“Look at you. Getting fucked nice and slow while you stare at the cock that should be choking you. Want it?”

You nodded, whimpering.

“Beg.”

Your voice cracked.

“Please, sir. Please fuck my mouth. I’ll be good, I swear.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He slid his cock between your lips without warning, one hand in your hair, the other gripping the headboard. You choked a little, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, but you took it—desperate and eager.

Bob thrust into you slowly, carefully, panting sweet words against your ear:

“So good for us… so beautiful… I’m so proud of you…”

Joaquin had no mercy. He fucked your throat like it was his to ruin.

“You’re nothing but a cock-hungry little brat. You think you’re in control? This is what greedy girls get—stuffed full of cock and used.”

Your moans were garbled around his length, but they didn’t stop.

Neither did the tears.

⸻

You were wrecked—sloppy, dripping, body trembling from too much stimulation, not enough release.

And then—

“Flip her,” Joaquin ordered.

Bob obeyed instantly, pulling out and helping you turn over. You were on your hands and knees now, barely able to hold yourself up.

Bob slid back inside, his cock coated in your slick, hands on your waist.

Joaquin moved behind you, spat between your cheeks, and rubbed it over your tight hole.

“You want both? That’s what this was all for, right?”

You whimpered, nodding rapidly.

“Please. I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll be so good—”

“We’ll see.”

He pushed in slowly, stretching you open, and the moment he bottomed out you screamed—loud, raw, filthy.

They moved together, perfectly timed, filling every inch of you. You were sobbing by the second thrust.

Bob kissed your neck, whispering, “You’re perfect. So perfect. You’re taking us so well, baby.”

Joaquin slapped your ass, deeper, rougher.

“Tight little holes begging to be ruined. You love this. Say it.”

“I—I love it—”

“Say you’re our greedy little fucktoy.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m your greedy little fucktoy—”

⸻

You came so hard it blacked out your vision. They didn’t stop.

They didn’t let up until your body was shaking, twitching, fully spent—used, exactly how you wanted to be.

You were still shaking.

Face down on the mattress, drool on the pillow, your body limp and pulsing. Your thighs twitched with aftershocks, your cunt and ass leaking, red and used.

Bob hovered behind you, hands gentle as ever, voice soft and tender.

“Let’s give her a minute,” he said, brushing your hair back. “She needs water. Maybe some space—”

Joaquin didn’t even look up from where he was stroking his cock lazily.

“No.”

Bob blinked. “She’s barely—”

“She wanted to act like a greedy little whore tonight?” Joaquin said, voice dark and cutting. “She gets used like one.”

Bob hesitated.

“She’s… she’s shaking.”

That’s when Joaquin finally looked at him.

“You don’t join.”

Bob’s brows pinched. “What?”

“You heard me. You’re gonna sit over there, and you’re gonna watch me fuck her. And if I so much as see your hand move to your cock?” He leaned in, kissed your hip possessively. “I’ll make her deny you the same way I deny her.”

Bob went quiet.

His cock was still aching—red, leaking, throbbing. But he backed up, lowered himself into the chair near the edge of the bed. Close enough to see. Far enough to be useless.

You were half-aware, legs trembling as Joaquin flipped you over, laid you on your back.

“Eyes open, princesa,” he whispered, tapping your cheek. “Let him see your face while I fuck you stupid.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted, wrecked and messy and soaked. Bob let out a breath he clearly hadn’t realized he was holding.

Joaquin didn’t start slow.

He shoved into you with one brutal thrust, and your entire body jolted. The sound was obscene—wet and loud and filthy.

Bob let out a quiet, “Fuck…”

Joaquin grinned.

“You watching? See how she takes it now? Loose and dumb and perfect.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Joaquin was punishing—each thrust harder than the last, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

Bob shifted in his seat. His thighs spread wider. His hand hovered near his cock—not touching. But close.

His face was flushed. His breathing shallow.

“Look at her tits bounce,” Joaquin muttered, low and cruel. “Look how she moans for me. You wish you were inside her again, don’t you?”

Bob whimpered.

“Don’t touch it,” Joaquin snapped.

Bob’s hand jerked back like he’d been slapped. He clenched his fists instead, thighs twitching, his cock dripping against his stomach.

You were babbling now, incoherent, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Too much—can’t—f-fuck—”

“Yes you can. You wanted this, remember? Be grateful I’m even letting you breathe right now.”

Bob groaned under his breath, palms flat on his thighs, rubbing them—anything to relieve the pressure. His whole body was tense, cock bobbing with every shallow breath.

“Please—” he whispered, eyes locked on your soaked cunt. “Please let me—”

“What did I say?” Joaquin barked. “You don’t get to come.”

And then—

He smirked.

Pulled out of you.

“Ride him.”

You both froze.

Bob blinked. “W-what?”

“Go ahead,” Joaquin said, still holding his slick cock in one hand. “Sit on him. Let him feel how wet you are. Let him get close.”

Bob scrambled onto the bed like a man possessed, laying back against the pillows, cock already twitching, thick and heavy against his abs.

You straddled him, legs weak, body still trembling. He gripped your thighs like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You sure?” he whispered.

You nodded, sinking down with a shaky gasp. You were still so full from Joaquin. Bob slid in easier than usual, and the stretch was softer—but deeper.

Bob’s head fell back with a choked sound.

“Oh, sweetheart… you feel like heaven.”

You rocked your hips slowly, and his hands found your waist—tight, needy, reverent.

Then he did it.

That thing.

That tell.

He pulled you down against his chest, arms wrapped around your back in a tight bear hug, and started thrusting up into you—fast, desperate, body lifting off the bed with each push.

Joaquin’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Bob froze. Mid-thrust. Whole body rigid.

You were panting, riding the edge again, so close to falling apart.

“I didn’t say he could finish,” Joaquin said coldly.

And then—yanked you off of him.

You let out a strangled cry, pussy clenching around nothing.

Bob gasped, nearly came from the loss of sensation, his cock twitching wildly, untouched and denied.

“You wanted her so bad?” Joaquin sneered. “Now sit there and watch me take her again.”

Bob was a mess—sweat-drenched, red, panting, his cock angry and leaking.

And you?

You were dragged back onto your knees, shoved forward, and Joaquin entered you again with no warning, fucking you hard enough to bounce you on the mattress.

Bob could see everything—your mouth open in a silent scream, drool stringing from your lips, your pussy swollen and dripping.

He palmed the sheets. Fisted them. Thighs clenched. He didn’t dare touch himself.

He watched.

Helpless.

Hard.

Ruined.

Joaquin’s pace hadn’t slowed.

If anything, it had gotten worse—sharper, deeper, crueler. Every thrust had you sobbing against the mattress, your whole body slick with sweat and spit, your pussy swollen and sore from how long he’d kept you in this state—used, ruined, shaking.

Your voice was barely a whisper now.

“Please… oh my god, please…”

But Joaquin didn’t give a fuck. He gripped your hips harder, thumb digging in so deep it made your spine arch.

“You’re not done,” he snarled. “You want to come so bad, you’re gonna earn it. On your knees.”

He pulled out—your pussy clenching at the sudden loss, dripping down your thighs—and manhandled you upright, pushed you down between his legs on the bed.

“Open your mouth.”

You obeyed, lips glossy, tongue already out like a starved little thing. He grabbed you by the back of the head, cock already smeared with your slick and spit, and shoved himself in deep.

You gagged on impact.

“That’s it,” he growled, rocking into your throat. “Take it. You know this is your favorite.”

It was. You fucking loved this—loved the weight of him on your tongue, the stretch, the way your throat fluttered and burned with each punishing thrust.

He was relentless.

His hips snapped forward, using your mouth like it was his, like it didn’t belong to you anymore. You moaned around him, drool spilling down your chin, tears leaking from your eyes—not from pain, but from bliss.

“Look at her,” Joaquin said, glancing over at Bob. “So fucking happy choking on cock. Aren’t you, baby?”

You blinked up at him, tears trailing down your cheeks, and nodded with his cock still stuffed in your mouth.

He pulled back just long enough to let you gasp a broken breath, then shoved himself in again with a grunt.

“Sloppy little mouth,” he muttered. “Built for this.”

⸻

Bob was dying.

Still sitting at the edge of the bed, cock throbbing against his stomach, eyes wide and wet.

He was trying to be good. Trying to follow Joaquin’s command. But his thighs were clenching. His fists were white-knuckled in the sheets. His hips kept twitching like his body was begging for friction.

And then—

He sniffled.

A real one. Sharp. Fast. Quiet.

Joaquin didn’t miss it.

“You crying, baby boy?”

Bob’s head snapped up, red-faced and miserable.

“N-No—just—” He cut off with a soft whimper, biting his lip. “I can’t—it’s too much—watching her like that, I—fuck—”

Joaquin barked a low laugh.

“Look at you. Cock so hard it’s dripping, eyes full of tears, and you’re still not touching it. That’s cute.”

You pulled off Joaquin’s cock with a wet gasp, drool coating your lips and chin, eyes glassy.

“Can I help him?” you whispered hoarsely. “Please? He’s hurting—he’s—he looks like he’s in pain, Joaquín—”

He grabbed your jaw, hard.

“No. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Bob whimpered again, a tear sliding down his cheek, his cock twitching without a single touch.

“You both wanted this. Now fucking take it.”

⸻

Joaquin laid back.

Spread his legs, thick cock resting heavy against his stomach, glistening with spit.

“Climb on.”

You didn’t hesitate.

Your legs were jelly, your mind was foggy, but you needed it—needed him inside you, needed to be filled again. You crawled onto his lap and sank down on him, moaning as your body melted around the stretch.

Joaquin’s hands gripped your waist, holding you still.

“Ride me.”

You started to move—slowly, hips circling, thighs trembling.

Bob whimpered.

You turned your head to him, saw him sitting there like a wreck—eyes wet, face red, cock flushed purple and leaking like a faucet.

“Touching yourself yet?” Joaquin asked, voice low.

Bob shook his head violently. “No—no, sir.”

“Good.”

You bounced harder now, moaning with each rise and fall, your slick coating Joaquin’s thighs. You were babbling—thank yous, pleads, incoherent praise—completely gone.

And Bob?

Bob cried.

Not loud. Not sobbing. But real tears slipped down his cheeks as he watched you fall apart on Joaquin’s cock, listened to the sound of skin-on-skin, and couldn’t join. Couldn’t help. Couldn’t even relieve himself.

“You see this?” Joaquin growled, pulling your head back by your hair, forcing your eyes to Bob’s.

“This is what happens when you act like a needy little slut in public. You get cock. He gets nothing.”

You came like that.

Hard.

Back arched, scream torn from your throat, legs shaking as Joaquin held you down and fucked up into you mercilessly, milking every twitch, every cry, every single wave of pleasure.

Bob sobbed silently in the chair.

Your body collapsed boneless against Joaquin’s chest, his cock still buried inside you, pulsing from the sheer force of your orgasm. His arms were heavy around you, grounding, his breath warm and steady against your ear.

And then—finally—he came.

A groan ripped from his throat as he gripped your waist hard and slammed into you one last time, thick spurts spilling deep inside your already dripping cunt. You moaned at the stretch, the fullness, the mess.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered against your neck, voice rough. “Took me so fucking good.”

You were gone. Floating. Dripping in every way.

He pulled out with a squelch, slapping your ass once as he stood.

“Don’t move. I’ll get us some water.”

And just like that—he disappeared into the kitchen.

⸻

Bob was still in the chair.

Sweaty. Tear-streaked. Cock angry red and twitching so hard it looked painful. You turned your head slowly to look at him, guilt and affection mixing deep in your chest.

“Bobby…” you whispered.

He let out a breathy whimper. “I—please—Y/N, I can’t take it anymore. It hurts.”

You crawled off the bed—shaky, disobedient, aching—and dropped to your knees between his legs.

“I’m not supposed to—”

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “You deserve it.”

Your mouth wrapped around him in one slick, sudden motion. Bob shouted.

“Oh, f-fuck—baby, fuck—”

You sucked him deep, messy and wet, not even trying to tease. Just pleasure. You’d been ruined, sore, trembling—and still, all you wanted was to take care of him. He sobbed a quiet thank you as your tongue worked him over.

His hands found your hair, trembling.

“Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—I’m gonna—fuck—”

He grabbed your head with both hands, suddenly forceful, and shoved your mouth all the way down until your nose was flush against his stomach, cock buried to the base. You gagged, throat clenched—

And Bob. Lost it.

“Fucking c-coming—fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming—shit—Y/N—”

He wailed as he came, hips twitching, cock spurting straight down your throat. You swallowed instinctively, tears running down your cheeks again, more from how deep he held you than anything else.

He kept your head there—hands shaking, holding you tight—until his whole body slumped forward, forehead dropping against yours, breath ragged.

“I-I’m sorry—I couldn’t—fuck, I couldn’t stop…”

⸻

And then the door creaked.

Bob’s eyes snapped open.

You both froze.

Joaquin stood in the doorway, holding a glass of water, expression blank.

Dead silent.

His eyes dropped to the sight: your lips red and swollen around Bob’s softening cock, his hands still in your hair, your knees on the floor.

A slow blink.

Then:

“What,” he said, calm and terrifying, “the fuck is this?”

Bob choked.

“I—I didn’t ask her to—she just—”

Joaquin walked forward slowly, each step deliberate.

“I told you not to touch your cock.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t touch myself, I just—she—she sucked me off, I’m sorry—”

Joaquin dropped the glass of water hard on the nightstand.

It didn’t break, but the crack of it echoed.

“And you,” he growled, eyes cutting to you, “knew the fucking rule.”

You were still on your knees, mouth shiny, chest rising and falling. You didn’t deny it. You just looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes.

“He needed it,” you whispered. “I couldn’t watch him cry again…”

Joaquin let out a low, humorless laugh. Then he looked at Bob, who was still red, dazed, lips parted in panic.

“You think that was an orgasm?” he asked coldly. “That was permissionyou never had. You’re gonna learn what it feels like to really come. After I take everything else from you first.”

Bob swallowed, hard.

Joaquin looked at both of you like you were prey now.

“You want to come without permission?”

He stepped closer, grabbed you by the throat, and pulled you up to standing, face-to-face.

“Then you can beg me both on your fucking knees while I decide who gets punished first.”

Joaquin shoved you back against the wall—not roughly, but enough to make your breath catch. His hand stayed wrapped tight around your throat, thumb pressing into the pulse point beneath your jaw.

Bob didn’t even try to move.

“You two made a choice,” Joaquin said, voice low and dangerous. “You wanna come without my say-so? Fine. But you’ll regret it.”

He pointed to the bed.

“Get on your back. Arms above your head.”

You obeyed without hesitation, still tasting Bob on your tongue. Your body was wrecked, but some primal part of you thrived under the threat.

Joaquin pulled the leather cuffs from the drawer—ones he’d used before on both of you—and bound your wrists to the headboard. Firm. Final.

Then he turned to Bob.

“Stand.”

Bob’s legs shook as he got up, eyes wide and damp. He looked like he was still floating in post-orgasm haze, but Joaquin wasn’t going to let him bask in it.

“Hands behind your back.”

Bob did it.

Joaquin circled him like a predator, grabbing the base of Bob’s cock, now sticky and soft but still twitching at his touch.

“You come without permission again,” Joaquin murmured, “I’ll make her edge you with her tongue for hours. You won’t come for days. Understand?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He snapped a cock ring in place with terrifying ease.

Bob whimpered.

⸻

Then Joaquin climbed onto the bed.

He straddled your waist, cock hard again—this man didn’t stop—and leaned over until his mouth was at your ear.

“You’ll come when I say. Not before. And you won’t say no, because you asked for this.”

You nodded frantically.

“Yes, sir.”

He moved lower, lined himself up, and slid inside you again—no warning, no prep—and you screamed, body jolting from the sensitivity.

“That’s right,” he grunted, hips grinding deep. “Feel it. Cry if you need to. I’m gonna make you come until you’re fucking ruined.”

⸻

Bob watched.

Still cuffed.

Still aching.

His cock filled back out in minutes, hard and angry against the restraint. He couldn’t come again, but the pressure was already unbearable.

And Joaquin?

He put on a show for him.

Made you moan, whimper, beg. Rubbed your clit with brutal circles until your legs kicked. Slammed into you with fast, punishing thrusts while holding your wrists down and forcing your mouth open for him to spit in.

“Look at him,” Joaquin growled, pulling your head to the side so you could see Bob panting, shaking. “He wants to come again so bad it hurts.”

“Please,” you whimpered. “Can I make him feel good again?”

“No.”

He reached down, gripped your throat again, and fucked you harder.

“You’ll make me feel good. He’s gonna sit there and ache. Just like you will after this.”

You came again—loud, writhing, toes curling, drool slipping from your lips.

Bob sobbed.

Your name fell from his lips like a prayer, voice cracked and helpless.

“Please—please let her touch me—I can’t—fuck, I’ll come in seconds, I’ll do anything—”

Joaquin laughed against your neck, still thrusting.

“Yeah? You want her to touch you that bad?”

Bob nodded frantically.

“Then beg her. Look her in the eyes and beg her not to listen to me.”

Bob met your gaze, wrecked.

“Y/N… baby, please. I—I need you. Just one touch. One suck. You’re so good at it, I’ll be good too—I swear, I’ll be so fucking good for you…”

Joaquin grinned like the devil.

“That’s cute. You still think she gets to choose.”

And then he spat on your face and came inside you again—hot, deep, and final.

You sobbed through the overstimulation, hips twitching, cunt milking him as your brain just short-circuited.

⸻

He pulled out, adjusted his pants like nothing happened, then turned to Bob.

“You? Stay cuffed. No coming. No touching. You move, I’ll edge her in your lap until you pass out from the pain.”

He walked out of the room without another word.

Bob sat there.

Breathing hard.

Crying again.

Cock hard, trapped, tortured.

And you?

You whispered, barely audible:

“I’m sorry…”

But part of you loved it.

Joaquin returned twenty minutes later.

Not sweaty. Not messy. Fully dressed.

Black fitted tee, jeans low on his hips, water bottle in one hand. Calm. Cool. Untouched.

The complete opposite of you and Bob.

You were still spread on the bed, body trembling, thighs sticky with slick and cum. Bob was kneeling on the mattress, still cuffed, still rock hard in that brutal cock ring—face red, jaw clenched, aching.

Joaquin didn’t say a word at first.

Just sat.

Pulled the chair around to the front of the bed.

Sat backwards in it, arms resting on the top rail, legs spread wide as he watched you both with a terrifying kind of casual ease.

Then—finally:

“Get on top of him.”

You blinked, eyes wide. “What…?”

“Ride him,” Joaquin said, voice low and sure. “You’ve both been so desperate to come, now I want to see how well you behave when I call the shots.”

You crawled over to Bob slowly, straddled his lap with shaky legs. He looked up at you like you were a miracle, his cock twitching violently under the ring.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he whispered, eyes glassy. “I missed you…”

“Don’t move,” Joaquin snapped. “She rides you. Not the other way around.”

Bob nodded quickly, swallowing a desperate moan.

You reached between you, lined him up, and sank down—slow, slow, slow. Bob let out a wounded sound, hands curling into fists behind his back.

“Oh my God—”

“Don’t come,” Joaquin said coolly, not even blinking. “If you even twitchlike you’re close, I’ll edge her right off you again.”

You started to move.

Bob was a wreck already—cock trapped in that ring, pulsing so hard it must have hurt, your walls squeezing around him like heaven.

And Joaquin?

He gave orders like it was nothing.

“Circle your hips—yeah. Just like that. Let him feel you milk him, slow and deep.”

“Now lean forward. Let your tits brush his chest. You like that, Bob?”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob gasped. “Feels—fuck—feels so good—”

“Don’t touch her. You don’t get hands yet.”

“Yes, sir—”

You whimpered as you ground down, slow and torturous, Bob’s cock so thick inside you, so full.

“Now rub her clit.”

Bob froze beneath you.

“I—I thought I couldn’t use my hands—”

“You can now. Just your right hand.”

You leaned back a little to give him room, your hands planted on his chest, and Bob brought one trembling hand between your legs.

His fingers found your clit—slick, swollen, throbbing—and started rubbing slow, careful circles, eyes locked on yours.

“That’s it,” Joaquin said. “Just like that. Let her work for that orgasm.”

Your hips moved with it, the friction building fast—your thighs shaking, moans falling from your lips uncontrollably.

Bob was whispering to you, soft and reverent.

“You’re doing so good, baby… so pretty on top of me… come for me, please…”

“Now go faster,” Joaquin commanded, voice still cool, still seated like a king watching his subjects fuck for his amusement.

Bob obeyed.

Your whole body tensed—orgasm cresting hard, so fucking close—

“Stop.”

You screamed, every muscle seizing up as Bob’s fingers yanked away.

He looked like he might cry again, eyes wide and terrified, cock pulsing painfully beneath you.

“You come without my say,” Joaquin warned, “and I’ll edge you both again until the sun comes up.”

You were still on top of Bob, thighs trembling, cunt spasming around his cock with every aftershock of that denied orgasm. Your body tried to chase it, to finish on instinct, but you forced yourself still—because you knew Joaquin meant it.

Bob was the one who nearly broke.

“Please, sir,” he choked, voice trembling. “I—fuck—please let her come. I can’t take it—her pussy’s clenching so hard—I’m gonna—”

“No,” Joaquin said simply. “You don’t come until she does. She doesn’t come until I say.”

He stood slowly, still fully dressed, walking in a slow circle around the bed like a man inspecting his work. You were soaking Bob’s lap, his thighs, the sheets. His chest was slick with sweat, lips parted, face flushed.

And still—his hands stayed behind him. Obedient.

“You look so fucking desperate,” Joaquin murmured. “Both of you.”

He leaned down, grabbed your jaw, made you look at him.

“Do you deserve to come yet?”

You swallowed.

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because I disobeyed.”

“And him?”

You looked down at Bob, who could barely breathe.

“Because he came without permission.”

“Good girl.”

Joaquin pulled your hair back roughly and kissed your cheek, just once.

“Keep riding him.”

You whimpered, already aching, and began to move again—slow, shallow bounces, slick noises echoing through the room as Bob moaned helplessly beneath you.

“Faster,” Joaquin commanded. “Don’t stop until he’s shaking.”

Bob cried out, head thrown back. “Fuck—Y/N—please—too much—”

“Don’t you dare come,” Joaquin snapped. “If you feel close, tell me.”

“Yes, sir—fuck—yes—”

Your pace stuttered. You were right there again, the pleasure curling up your spine, ready to explode. You couldn’t hold it—

“Sir—please—please let me come—”

“Not yet.”

You sobbed—your head dropped to Bob’s shoulder, nails digging into his chest as your pussy spasmed around him.

Bob was groaning like he was in pain, cock twitching violently inside you.

“Sir, I—I’m gonna come—I can’t stop it—”

Joaquin moved fast.

He gripped your waist, pulled you off Bob’s cock just as his hips surged—and Bob screamed, body jolting, orgasm completely ripped away as his cock slapped against his stomach, leaking but untouched.

“NO—fuck—fuck—”

“You don’t get to come until I say,” Joaquin growled. “You’re fucking lucky I don’t make you eat it off the floor.”

You collapsed into Joaquin’s arms, twitching and soaked, and he caught you easily—kissed your temple, rubbed your spine gently.

Bob was shaking.

Eyes wet. Mouth open. The cock ring looked brutal now, straining around his base, angry and purple.

“One more round,” Joaquin said softly, looking down at you. “You take him again. And this time, when you come—I’ll let him come inside you.”

“Th-thank you,” you whispered, voice broken. “Thank you, sir.”

You sank down again, this time leaning forward against Bob’s chest, his arms still bound, his lips whispering how good you felt, how much he missed you, how pretty you were like this.

“Please let her come, sir,” he begged. “Please, I want to feel it—I want to give it to her—”

“Not yet.”

Your eyes rolled back.

You clenched down so hard it made Bob scream.

“She’s close—sir—she’s so close—”

“Now,” Joaquin said.

And you both broke.

You came with a wail, whole body convulsing as Bob let go at the same time—cock jerking inside you as he came so fucking hard it hurt, filling you deep and full.

“Thank you—thank you, sir—thank you—” you both sobbed it like prayer, collapsing into each other, finally spent, finally free.

Joaquin stood there, arms crossed, watching you both with something almost like satisfaction.

You were still in Bob’s arms, trembling, both of you breathless, covered in sweat and slick and tears. Your cunt ached, stuffed and dripping, but all you could feel was the warmth of him—his arms tight around you, his lips pressed to your forehead, whispering over and over:

“You were perfect. So good. My sweet girl…”

Joaquin watched for another long second.

Then—finally—he moved.

The chair scraped back. His boots crossed the room slowly, deliberately. He crouched beside the bed, bringing a soft, damp towel with him.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmured, voice no longer sharp but low and steady. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He helped you off Bob’s lap—gently, careful of your knees and thighs—and eased you down onto the sheets, tugging the covers away so he could wipe between your legs. You hissed at the touch, overstimulated and raw.

“I know, I know,” Joaquin murmured, wiping delicately, his brow furrowed with focus. “You did so well. I got you.”

Bob was sitting up now, arms finally free, rubbing slow circles into your calves as you let Joaquin clean the mess he left inside you.

“You okay?” Bob asked softly, voice still thick with emotion.

You nodded, barely.

“I’m okay.”

Bob kissed your ankle.

“You were incredible.”

Once Joaquin was done, he tossed the towel aside and came to sit at the head of the bed. He opened his arms without speaking—and you went to him instinctively, curling into his chest, legs tangled between his. He cradled the back of your head, thumb stroking the slope of your jaw.

“Proud of you,” he said, low and warm. “You took everything. Even the punishment.”

You felt tears sting behind your eyes—not from pain, but from the release. The tenderness of it all after how rough the night had been.

“I didn’t mean to disobey,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, kissing your temple. “That’s why you get this.”

Bob joined you both, easing in behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you between them.

Now you were cocooned—held completely—Joaquin behind your head, Bob tucked to your front, your body between theirs like something cherished.

No more orders. No more rules. Just warm skin, steady breath, and quiet praise.

“I love you,” Bob whispered into your hair. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Me too,” Joaquin said, brushing your curls from your face. “Even when you’re a brat.”

You giggled, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry I sucked his dick.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Joaquin said, smirking. “Right now, you rest.”

“You’ll let me sleep?”

“Yeah,” Bob said gently. “We’ll hold you while you do.”

[sillygoose067]

Hii!! Ive never sent a request so I hope im doing this right lol. I was wondering if you could write some hurt/comfort for lewis pullman with a reader who is getting a lot of hate online for her looks and he comforts her? No worries if not! Love ur writing!

Hey! I'm pretty sure there's no wrong way to send requests, but this is great! Sorry about this taking so long, I just had a hard time putting my thoughts into writing for this one— I love hurt/comfort, but it's slightly more of a lengthy process since I try to put more real-life based experiences into these fics (key word: TRY).

I hope this is something along the lines of what you were looking for!

———————————————————————————-

This Is How You Fall In Love

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You sat on the edge of the bed, frozen. Eyes vacant. Your phone buzzed relentlessly beside you, the screen lighting up every few seconds like it was mocking you.

The photos from your beach trip—sunlight warming your skin, Lewis’s arm draped around your waist, you in a bikini you’d worn bravely for the first time—had turned into a battlefield. A flood of hateful comments poured in.

“She’s lucky Lewis even looks at her.” “Stretch marks? No thanks” “Why does he settle for someone so ordinary?” “She’s just using him for clout.”

You swallowed hard. Each word sank deeper, cutting in places you’d worked so hard to heal.

The bathroom door creaked open behind you.

“Babe,” Lewis called casually, towel around his neck, water still dripping from his hair. “You won’t believe how soft this shampoo makes my—”

He trailed off.

You didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch. Just kept staring at a distant corner of the room, trying not to cry.

“...Babe?”

Concern threaded through his voice. He stepped closer, taking in your silence, the blank stare, and the phone beside you buzzing like a warning light.

He picked it up, glanced at the screen, then unlocked it.

The comments stared back at him.

“Those thighs are working overtime.” “She has the body of a school lunch lady.” “How did he end up with that?” “Stretch marks aren’t sexy. Sorry.” “There’s brave, and then there’s delusional…”

Lewis didn’t speak at first. His jaw tightened. His shoulders stiffened.

When he finally did, his voice was quiet—but it carried weight.

“They said this to you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just lowered your head.

“They’re right,” you whispered. “I thought I was finally okay with how I looked… but maybe I was just deluding myself.”

Lewis gently set the phone aside and sat beside you, his expression stormy but softening as he reached for you.

“Sweetheart.”

You blinked. A tear slipped free before you could stop it.

He pulled you into his arms like he could shield you from all of it.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, cradling your head. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You buried your face in his chest, breath hitching as the emotions cracked open. “I thought I looked okay.”

He held you tighter.

“You looked beautiful. You are beautiful,” he said, with quiet certainty. “You wore that because you felt good. Because you felt free. That’s not something to be ashamed of—that’s something to be proud of.”

Your voice was raw. “You made me feel good in my body. And now I feel stupid for ever thinking I could be.”

Lewis’s hands trembled slightly as they stroked your arms. “Don’t let them take that from you.”

You gave a weak, broken nod.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “You think those stretch marks are ugly? I think they’re beautiful. They tell your story. I kiss every one like it’s a secret I’m lucky to know.”

He slid a hand along your hip, his touch reverent.

“Your hip dips? I could trace them forever. They’re you. Not flaws—features. Art. The thick thighs I hold when you’re cold, the softness I rest against when I need comfort—everything about you is something I love.”

Your eyes brimmed with new tears, voice cracking. “I never thought anyone could love those parts.”

“I do,” he said. “All of you. Without exception.”

After a long, quiet moment, he kissed your forehead.

“Go splash some water on your face,” he said gently. “Take a second. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

You hesitated, then nodded and rose from the bed, walking slowly into the bathroom.

Lewis sat still for a beat, staring at your phone as the screen lit up again and again.

And something in him snapped.

He picked it up, opened Instagram, and tapped the Live button.

The screen blinked to life.

Lewis stared straight into the camera—hair still damp, eyes sharp, jaw clenched with controlled fury.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and steady. “Lewis Pullman here.”

He let the silence hold for a second, letting his presence settle before he continued.

“I know a lot of you follow this account because you want glimpses of me. I get it. I’m an actor. That’s part of the job. But if you’re here just to tear her down—my girlfriend—because of how she looks, or because you think she’s not ‘good enough’ for me? Then do us both a favor and unfollow right now.”

His gaze hardened.

“She is not a side character in my story. She’s not a prop for your fantasies. She’s a real person. And you have no idea what it takes to be that open, to show herself the way she did.”

He leaned closer.

“If you think you get to rip into her because you don't like seeing someone real and unfiltered, if you think her stretch marks, her curves, her body make her less deserving of love—then go. Unfollow her, if that’s what you think love looks like.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t want fans who tear down the person I love. If you can’t respect her, you don’t respect me. And I don’t need your attention.”

His voice dropped, quieter but intense.

“I’ve seen her when she’s glowing. I’ve seen her when she’s broken. And she is still the most breathtaking person I’ve ever known.”

He exhaled slowly.

“She’s in the next room right now, trying to put herself back together because of some of the things you’ve said. And even after all that, she still has more grace in her pinky finger than any of you do behind your anonymous usernames.”

He stared at the screen a moment longer.

“She doesn’t owe you beauty. She doesn’t owe you perfection. And she sure as hell doesn’t owe you her pain.”

You stood still in the doorway. Barely breathing. Warmth bloomed quietly in your chest—deep and full and aching in a good way.

This was Lewis, as he was, standing between you and the world’s cruelty like it was second nature.

You pressed a trembling hand over your mouth.

This was love, if you'd ever witnessed it—in its rawest form.

He finally exhaled and glanced down at the screen. “That’s all. She doesn’t owe you anything.” A pause. Then, quieter: “She’s in the next room right now trying to put herself back together after what some of you said. But she’ll be okay. But I hope that you guys really reflect on yourselves.”

He tapped the screen to end the live.

Silence fell.

You stepped into the room, and he turned—eyes widening slightly when he saw you standing there. “Oh,” he breathed. “You—how long were you…”

“Long enough,” you said softly.

“I just—I had to say something. I couldn’t let them—”

“I know,” you said.

And you meant it. You felt it. Deep in your chest, where shame had been living a moment ago—something new had taken its place. Something steadier. Warmer.

You crossed the room and climbed into his lap. He embraced you instantly, pressing kisses to your temple.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

He looked at you with so much love it almost hurt. Almost. Because he would never let anything—anyone—hurt you.

[belu-bleeb]

-

Danny lost count.

belu_bleeb is typing…

I changed up my style formatting, trying to experiment, since this kind of formatting style will be like in the upcoming mini series.