#and the bottom image is emotion

[raptorwozhere]

Marinette and Kagami episodes are some of my favourites because every time they interact it looks like this:

Additionally if we add the senti-twin-cousins into the mix it just becomes three autistic-coded senti-people and their emotional support chaotic adhd-er

[krashlite]

OK part 1 of how I think the curses work in the Life Series

This is something I'm gonna come back and update over time :]

Part 1 (you are Here!) , Part 2

[ph7soy]

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

“when will you learn that it isn’t about you and your problems? this is about my name–the prescott name.”

“nathan is everybody’s favorite voodoo doll–kill the rich kid!”

“yes, he takes serious meds–but that’s not his fault, his family treats him like a total freak!”

“i prefer the term ‘manipulated’–i became a sort of father figure to nathan.”

“i think about him chilling out on the grass in the other timeline–i hate what he did, but i can’t hate him.”

“��my life is hell.”

[perilegs]

It's been over a decade but Clear's moles are still to this day peak character design. He's an robot guy appearing the exact same as his brothers – except for those moles. They're so good. And being right next to Clear's mouth they're in such a tenderly kissable spot. If I was put into Aoba's place my favorite activity would be gently cupping clear's face and kissing his moles and forehead and the tip of his nose and i think i lost the plot here but i just think clear's neat and pretty and i miss him

[the-stove-is-on-fire]

After School Ghost Theory 101 with Professor Fenton

Switch to light mode or Classic Blue to get the full transparency effect!

[Image ID: A four page comic that starts with Danny Fenton standing in front of a whiteboard holding up a white cat. "Question: Do ghosts purr?” 

Tucker: “Danny when was the last time you slept?” Danny: “Irrelevant.” 

Danny info-dumps: “The answer is yes, but also no. Technically, all beings that possess a core are constantly "purring", a.k.a. Core Vibrations. Core Vibrations are a nonverbal, emotion-based communication system between Ghosts, similar to how some living species use pheromones to communicate. The exact tone of each ghost is different the same way people's voices are different. Humans can only hear these vibrations when the frequency passes through their audible range (20Hz - 20KHz), hence the 'purring' sound. When the range dips into infrasound (16 - 20Hz) it can cause feelings of fear and unease in humans that they often associate with ghosts and the supernatural. Also known as the ‘Heebie Jeebies.’”

Danny, wiping off the whiteboard: “Any questions before we move on?"

Danny’s audience consists of Wes Weston, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson, Danny’s clone Ellie, and Dash Baxter in a classroom. Wes is seated at a desk at the front taking notes. Tucker is sitting on Sam’s lap playing on a Switch, Ellie is sitting on a desk behind them. Dash is asleep at the back of the room.

Ellie, now holding the cat: “Is this Vlad’s first cat!?” Wes: "Could you tone down the floating eyes before the next part? They're kinda distracting." Danny: "What eyes?" Wes: “Please stop gaslighting me.”

A transparency trick on the last page reveals dark shadows and eyes all around Danny when viewed in dark mode. /.End ID]

An Extended Image ID is available under the read more because it’s over 1k. Side by side light and dark mode versions of the transparency trick is also available under the cut.

[Extended Image ID: The post contains a four page comic. The first page shows two comic panels with white borders. The top panel features a bedraggled looking Danny Fenton from the waist up holding a disgruntled fluffy white cat. There are bags under his eyes, his hair is messy, his arms are covered in bandaids and cat scratches, and his nails are painted black. He’s wearing a white shirt with red sleeves and a red oval on the front. In a large green text bubble he says “Question: Do ghosts purr?” A small orange text bubble under it asks “Danny when was the last time you slept?” “Irrelevant” Danny replies. 

In the bottom panel Danny is standing on the far left side of the panel in front of a whiteboard in a classroom with the cat under his arm. He’s wearing baggy jeans with holes in the knees and his classic white and red Converse shoes. The whiteboard behind him has partially erased doodles around the edges including some flowers, stars, and Phantom’s DP symbol. There are a few balls of paper on the floor. Partially out of frame on the wall behind Danny is a poster of  Einstein and above it a clock. Pointing at the whiteboard with a marker Danny says “The answer: Yes but also no” His words are written on the whiteboard. Under the words is a drawing of a stick figure and a green bedsheet ghost with a circle between them. The circle is surrounded by green squiggly lines radiating out from it. Under the circle, an arrow is drawn pointing to it with the words ‘core vibrations’ written on the board. A green text bubble in the space under the whiteboard says “Technically, all beings that possess a core are constantly "purring", a.k.a. Core Vibrations.”

On the second page there are two blocks of text, each followed by a drawing. The page background is a pale, greenish-grey with subtle scuff marks imitating the look of a whiteboard. The first block of text at the top of the page reads “Core Vibrations are a nonverbal, emotion-based communication system between Ghosts, similar to how some living species use pheromones to communicate. The exact tone of each ghost is different the same way people's voices are different.” Under the text, imitating the look of dry erase marker, is a drawing of two simple ghosts smiling and waving to each other. They both have a small green circle drawn on their chest area with green squiggly lines radiating out from each ghost. Between the two cores, two parallel arrows are drawn, facing opposite directions. Under the arrows is the text “core to core communication.” 

Under the ghosts is a second block of text reading “Humans can only hear these vibrations when the frequency passes through their audible range (20Hz - 20KHz), hence the 'purring' sound. When the range dips into infrasound (16 - 20Hz) it can cause feelings of fear and unease in humans that they often associate with ghosts and the supernatural. Also known as the ‘Heebie Jeebies.’” Under the text a red arrow points from the words ‘heebie jeebies’ to a simple drawing of Dash Baxter holding a flashlight and looking scared. There is a cobweb with a dangling spider drawn to his right and a bunch of green blob ghosts behind him to his left. In blue text the blobs say “you forgot to update your mailing address with the IRS” and “you filed your taxes incorrectly.”

The third page once again shows two comic panels. In the top panel Danny takes up the centre. He’s stretched across the whiteboard in a dynamic pose erasing the drawing of frightened Dash with a big swipe. One hand is braced on the board as he looks over his shoulder and asks “Anyone got questions before we move on?” If the image is viewed in dark mode, there are five, messily drawn eyes of varying sizes surrounding Danny. If viewed in light mode, the eyes are absent. 

The bottom comic panel reveals Danny’s audience to be Wes Weston, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson, Danny’s clone Ellie, and Dash Baxter. In the bottom left corner, Wes sits slouched at a desk at the front of the classroom with papers and an open notebook spread out over his desk. He’s wearing a red zip up hoodie with white sleeves. His hoodie is unzipped showing a green shirt underneath that matches the colour of his eyes. At the desk beside him Tucker and Sam share a chair with their focus on Tucker’s Switch and not Danny’s presentation. Tucker is sitting in Sam’s lap with her arms around his waist and her head resting on his shoulder. Tucker is wearing a red beanie with short dreads, goldenrod yellow turtleneck sweater, green cargo pants, and white shoes. Sam is wearing a black crop top with a fishnet layer over top, purple pleated plaid skirt, artistically ripped purple leggings, and black combat boots with bright green laces. Tucker has the tips of his dread dyed green and purple. Sam has streaks of purple, green, and orange in her hair. Ellie is sitting cross legged on top of a desk two rows behind Sam and Tucker. She’s wearing a cropped hoodie with the same colours as Danny’s shirt and black track pants with white and red shoes. Her hair is tied in a high ponytail and she is holding the squirming fluffy white cat up in the air. At the very back of the classroom behind Wes’ left shoulder Dash can be seen asleep slouched over his desk. Wes has one hand resting on his desk holding a mechanical pencil the other partially raised with his hand open. In a beige text bubble with red text he replies to Danny’s question with an unimpressed look on his face “Could you tone down the floating eyes before the next part? They're kinda distracting.” Under his text bubble a small blue text bubble from Ellie asks “Is this Vlad’s first cat!?” If the image is viewed in dark mode, there are three visible floating eyes off to the side of the panel. If viewed in light mode, the eyes are absent. 

The final comic page is a single, full body shot of Danny standing in front of the blank whiteboard. He’s looking over his shoulder, slightly turned with his back mostly towards the classroom and the eraser in his hand. He has an incredulous look on his face. If the page is viewed in dark mode, the background looks dark and Danny is surrounded by dozens eyes of in all different sizes. If viewed in light mode, the eyes are absent. In a green text bubble Danny asks “What eyes?” In the bottom left corner Wes replies “Please stop gaslighting me.” /.End ID]

[kenntoria]

tags/warnings ⋆·˚ ༘ * breeding kink, creampie, slight overstimulation, nanami being so in love he can’t stand it, afab reader, mentions of babies, possessive!nanami, unprotected sex, established relationship

nanami doesn’t think of himself as a possessive man.

he’s spent most of his life keeping things at arm’s length. he doesn’t attach easily—didn’t, until you came along—and for the most part, he prides himself on the control he has over his emotions. he’s had to build his life that way. quiet, dependable, steady. never reckless, never impulsive.

but all of that restraint splinters the moment he sees you holding a baby.

he hadn’t expected it to rattle him the way it does. you’re just cradling your cousin’s newborn, bouncing them gently in your arms, cooing softly as you brush your nose against the baby’s chubby cheek. you’re wearing one of his old sweaters too, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, and he can see the familiar slope of your collarbone peeking out of the neckline. the way you hum quietly. the way the baby clutches your finger.

he’s always known you’d be good with children, but he’s never seen you like this before—glowing, gentle, swaying back and forth in a rhythm that feels ancient and natural.

and something primal inside him roars awake.

it’s not just lust. it’s deeper than that. it’s a need. a possessive, aching, almost unbearable desire that has him clenching his fists and shifting his stance and averting his eyes before someone sees what he’s thinking.

you look so natural like this. too natural. like that baby was meant to be in your arms. like you were meant to carry something that’s his.

he’s quiet the whole way home.

you notice. of course you do. you always do.

“you okay?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand once you’re both inside, your voice as sweet and calm as ever. “did seeing the baby freak you out a little?”

and god, it almost makes him laugh. you’re so innocent. so unaware of the way you unravel him just by smiling.

“no, sweetheart,” he says, voice low. “it didn’t freak me out.”

you blink up at him, confused, and that’s when it happens—that last thread of self-control snaps.

“go to the bedroom,” he says, fingers tightening around yours. “please.”

—

you’re on your back and nanami’s over you before you can even ask what’s gotten into him, his mouth warm and desperate on your neck, hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to anchor himself. he needs to feel you. needs to bury himself so deep inside you that he forgets what it felt like to not be touching you.

“you looked so fucking perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, panting already, rutting into you like he can’t help himself. “you and that baby—fuck.”

“kento—” your voice is soft, breathless, eyes wide as you wrap your arms around him. “what’s gotten into you?”

he doesn’t answer at first. just groans and shoves your legs open wider so he can sink into you, raw and deep. you gasp at the stretch, already wet and warm and fluttering around him.

he has to pause once he’s fully inside—buried to the hilt, his cock pulsing where it fills you—because if he moves too soon, he’s not going to last. not with how tight you are. not with how his mind keeps replaying the image of you swaying with a baby in your arms.

his baby. your baby.

you’re still his sweet girl, but the look on your face when he bottomed out in one smooth thrust—half-shocked, half-fucked-out—tells him you’re not exactly innocent anymore. you know what he’s doing to you. you know what this is.

and he knows you want it.

“want to put a baby in you,” he whispers, voice rough and shaking. “can’t stop thinking about it. want to see you all round and glowing. full of me.”

your breath catches, a sweet little whimper breaking in your throat as you arch into him.

“kento—”

he pulls back and thrusts in hard, swallowing your gasp with his mouth.

“you want that too, don’t you?” he growls. “want me to fill you up? want to carry my child?”

you nod, dazed and wide-eyed beneath him. “yes,” you whisper, clinging to his shoulders. “yes, please—i want that. i want you.”

he groans and fucks into you harder, deeper, his hips snapping against yours like he’s starving for it. every thrust punches little breathless sounds out of your chest, and it only fuels him more.

“you’d be such a good mom,” he murmurs into your hair. “so soft. so gentle. they’d be lucky to have you.”

“they’d be lucky to have you,” you reply, and the sincerity in your voice nearly breaks him.

you’re looking up at him like he’s everything and precisely like you want to be filled. bred. ruined.

he grabs your thighs and pushes them up, folding you in half as he pounds into you now, deeper than before, the angle perfect to grind against the sensitive spot inside you.

“gonna give it to you,” he pants. “gonna give you everything. every last drop.”

“please,” you cry out, teary-eyed and sweet and so goddamn perfect. “please, kenny, i want it—want you to come inside—”

he doesn’t even last another thrust after that.

he spills deep inside you with a guttural moan, pressing his forehead to yours as his hips stutter. he groans your name, holding himself there, pulsing thick and hot and full until you’re gasping at the warmth that floods you. and even then, he doesn’t move.

he stays there, locked inside, as if letting any of it spill out would ruin the moment.

“you okay?” he asks softly, brushing the hair away from your face. “was that too much?”

you shake your head, smiling up at him, dazed and blissed out and still trembling slightly.

“no,” you whisper. “never too much. especially not with you.”

nanami exhales, resting his weight on his elbows so he can kiss you again—slow this time, deep and reverent.

he still doesn’t think of himself as a possessive man.

but you’re his. and he’s yours. and the thought of seeing you round and glowing with his child?

he’ll spend the rest of the night making sure it happens.

[cherrysinner]

── NOT IN THE MOOD ♡

♡ pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader

♡ summary: rafe starts to notice that you haven’t been as affectionate, and it confuses him.

♡ warnings / tags: angst. comfort. fluff. smut. body image issues. insecurities. MDNI!

♡ author's note: i’ve been reading so much lately i barely have time to write…

PERVERT MASTERLIST ♡ RAFE MASTERLIST

rafe didn't have a lot of experience when it came to dating before you; he'd gone out on a few dates, but nothing serious ever until he met you. you were the wittiest, freakiest, sexiest girl who had ever even glanced at him, but his inexperience sometimes meant that he missed signals you sometimes tried to send him. what he lacked in emotional intelligence, the boy made up in practical intelligence.

but rafe would have to be blind to miss how the girl who loved having her hands on him more than anything suddenly no longer gave him more than a single peck on his cheek, how the girl who'd whine whenever he didn't have his arms around her all throughout the night no matter if his arm fell asleep or not now pulled away minutes after he'd started holding her. most alarmingly, how the girl with a sex drive as high as K12 hadn't initiated anything for two. weeks.

rafe was sitting at his desk doing homework, the reflection of his monitor reflected in his glasses, blue eyes occasionally darting to you, clad in one of rafe's sweatshirts and a pair of his pajama pants as you read one of your romance books. even that had changed; you used to love wearing anything and everything revealing, but as he thought back, he hadn't seen you in anything that didn't cover you up entirely.

rafe let out a soft sigh, turning his computer off and removing his glasses, which he then set on top of his keyboard. with an exaggerated groan, he flopped on top of the bed, right between your legs.

"what are you doing?" you asked with amusement clear in your tone as you closed your book, "i'm getting bored of homework." rafe shrugged, his hand starting to trail your inner thigh through the pajama pants.

your breath hitched when you felt rafe's hand move to your crotch, starting to rub you through the fabric. you closed your eyes, your head leaning back, a low breath leaving your lips as you arch into his touch, your breathing getting heavier.

however, as soon as rafe's other hand started pushing up the hem of your shirt, you cleared your throat, pulling away as you tug your shirt back down. "i'm… sorry, rafe, i'm not really in the mood." you give him a tight-lipped smile, and he pulls his hand away, a slight furrow in his brows.

"alright." rafe pulls back, moving to sit next to you, watching as you begin to twiddle your thumbs, the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall the only noise to be heard in the room, for once the silence between you charged.

"talk to me."

rafe's words pulled you out of your daze, your thumbs stopping at once. you bit down on your lower lip, your throat suddenly feeling dry, like the words that had been bouncing around in your brain for the past few weeks suddenly disappearing. "it's nothing." you mumble.

"i know it's something." rafe sighs, squeezing your hand, "you've been acting strange for the past few weeks. you don't want me to touch you, you don't touch me… did something happen? did i do something?"

"you're just overthinking things…"

"i know i'm not. if i did something, i'm really sorry. but please, just talk to me. i miss touching you. i miss holding you at night. i get it if it really is that you're just not in the mood, but… i can't help but feel like something more is going on."

finally, you turned to look at him, your eyes glistening, your teeth letting go of your bottom teeth as you took in a deep breath, preparing yourself.

"i'm a bit…" you spoke weakly, "i'm a bit insecure." rafe furrowed his brows, squeezing your hand once again as a way to tell you to keep talking. you swallowed, "it's silly. it's dumb, and i'm aware of that. but… uh, i was getting dressed, and my… my favorite dress wouldn't zip." you let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh, looking down.

"what…?"

"i know, it's so stupid!" you laughed humorlessly and rolled your eyes, "but it… made me insecure. it made me feel so aware of my body. about it changing. about how it'd feel to you. how it'd look to you."

"it's not stupid." rafe said softly, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you into his side, "it's normal to be scared of changing. of you and things about you changing." his hand cupped your cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb, "i think that everything about you, whether it changes or stays the same is beautiful. because it's you."

"yeah?"

"yes." rafe pressed a kiss on your cheek, "i don't think there's a world in which i don't think you're not the most beautiful thing in the world to me."

and as the soft touches and the small kisses slowly got more intense, more passionate, more heated, as rafe's hands, his lips, his cock, the whispered words against your skin… everything, made you feel beautiful, rafe thrusting into you, his forehead pressed against yours, the word 'beautiful' leaving rafe's lips like a prayer every time he bottomed out inside of you. how the hell did you manage to go two weeks without him?

and every morning since that night, the first words rafe said to you in the morning were "you're gorgeous." without fail. and you never doubted him.

taglist: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @flow33didontsmoke @cameronsbabydoll @love-ella333 @haylorbestie @k4yr14 @harringtonsbowgirl @lacelottie @st8rkey @lunaleah @cicicavill7 @lillied31 @doremimosasol @lerclec @deeninadream @constantsadness @drewsephrry @rafemeow

join the taglist! ♡

[yintous]

party 4 u

❪ masterlist ❫ · out of character (or not) things the batboys did while being head over heels for you ⸝⸝⸝ crackfic ノ situationship hcs

🗒️ not proofread, more content under the cut ; VERY SATIRE. inspired by my sweeter than honey work and stupid things i did for my ex-situationship

DICK GRAYSON

wholeheartedly cussed out a barista inside his head when he saw them subtly flirting with you at the cashier

when his jealousy is mild he’s like “oh my god. i hope they slip on a drink and ruin that stupidly clean apron.” or “i can make a better latte! (name) just hasn’t seen it yet 🙄”

and he actually did learn how to make a better latte—that resulted in you visiting his apartment for morning coffee (when you went home he turned to the sky and absorbed the sunlight. eyes closed and everything out of pure gratitude)

started journaling whenever he got impulsively jealous and frustrated over the unlabeled relationship and somehow it always ends up being a love letter to you???

when he senses your presence, he gives himself five seconds to fix his hair and practice a charming smile before facing you 😭😭😭 atp it’s a habit he can never get rid of

you once saw him smiling weirdly at a mirror when he thought you weren’t looking (he was trying to see what the best smile was…..literally scrolled abt the types of smiles people have before it all) and you had to resist the urge to outright giggle

JASON TODD

listened to radiohead’s whole discography when he first got jealous while glaring at his ceiling, arms crossed and everything

his brooding got ruined when his earphones started glitching and he had to hold one of them at a specific angle so both of them would have audio

brushes his bangs back whenever he sighs at the thought of you (you literally cannot leave his brain). he brushed his hair back so often you thought he suddenly started liking slickbacks

scrolled through a comment section full of people that were ranting abt the annoying stuff their partners do and made a vow to himself to never do the things mentioned to you

goons CANNOT get away from him when he’s having a day wherein he got jealous over someone else flirting with you 😭 and after allat beating up and shooting the said goons, he acts like nothing happened

as in he literally texts you a “good evening” text and asked if you were free for dinner (it was two am)

TIM DRAKE

he felt like he was in a bad romcom. desperate times call for desperate measures i fear 💔 tried to analyze your body language to somehow read your mind/feelings toward him (he got 0 sleep that day)

wasn’t a believer in astrology but proceeded to analyze his and your birth chart to see if you guys would fit (he somehow found your documents)

tried the “triangle method” on you where he looks to your left eye, then your right, then to your lips—and was genuinely confused when YOU looked confused

you overheard him ranting to himself about your situationship. he was putting a lot of emotion into it

(sometimes he literally mumbles in ANGER abt it when he sleeps)

tried to deepen his voice around you (esp during the times where you two banter) but it did nothing but make the mood awkward (grew the habit of sending vms instead of text messages while deepening his voice bc he thought it’ll make you like him more)

DUKE THOMAS

bit a little too hard on your bottom lip while kissing you

he could’ve sworn he saw the grim reaper because of how embarrassed he was when he heard your noise of pain LIKE 💔💔 every time he closes his eyes, he sees it happening again

like jason, his charger instead of his earphones broke while texting you so he had to angle his phone a certain way while trying to keep up a convo with you

to make it even worse, it was overheating and all too 🥀🥀🥀 in the back of his mind he could already see the image of his phone exploding right in front of him but he still didn’t gaf and continued texting you

was lowkey obsessed with your perfume and hated the push-and-pull situationship thing so when you were away from him, he went on a whole perfume hunt

and the salespeople who assisted him were so?? confused?? because of how specific his description was??? and the description felt targeted to a certain someone instead of it being about an actual perfume??

DAMIAN WAYNE

dedicates every art he’s consumed to you OR gets inspired by said art to create something similar to the media that was presented to him

once wrote a romeo and juliet piece but it was yours and his version of it with no death or wtv (he made one of the lines from the story his wallpaper)

made a 100 excuses about needing to learn body anatomy so you’d get the hint and FINALLY let him use your appearance to study anatomy (he needed an excuse to look at you more without getting teased)

overheard that you liked ear piercings on guys so he pierced himself while half asleep in his bathroom

he would’ve regretted it if he didn’t catch your eyes wandering to the new piercing the morning after

impulsively carved your name on his sword and he is NOT hearing the end of it from his family at all

© yintous do not copy, repost, plagiarize, or feed any of my work into ai.

[fromdove]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⁞ what is wrong with me?

word count: ~4025 words

pairing: damian wayne x fem!reader

warnings: no warnings!! just damian wayne in agony (in-love)

content: damian wayne can't stop sketching you or thinking about you

dove's notes: this has been sitting in my drafts, waiting, begging to be released. also i was listening to artic monkeys when i was editing this. also this is my longest work yet .. lord.. enjoy!!

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 �� . `💭` ㆍ

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Damian Wayne has officially lost his mind. (Or—at least, that’s what it feels like, which is almost worse than it being true.)

It doesn’t come on all at once. It’s not loud like breaking a door down a flash of gunfire. no, it creeps in slowly. subtly. It starts with the nausea, the quiet kind, not the kind that doubles you over or makes you rush to the bathroom. not food poisoning. not a training injury. nothing that can be pinned down to anything practical.

It's just this low, burning discomfort that curls in his gut and stretches upward, making a home beneath his ribs, curling around his spine. the kind of unease that originates from something deeper, something more inconvenient. something more emotional.

He can’t stand it.

His palms are sweating, and that alone is enough to make him scowl. his shirt sticks just a little too tightly at the collar, suffocating in a way it never has before. there's a feverish heat crawling up the back of his neck, winding behind his ears, and it makes his skin itch with irritation.

he’s already scanned himself for symptoms. checked his vitals, ran through every checklist and possibility in his head. besides the nausea, he’s not actually sick. his pulse is as steady as it can be. reflexes are sharp. no bruises he’s missed, no toxins in his system. nothing out of the ordinary. on paper, he’s fine. perfectly functional. but something’s still off.

because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop thinking about you.

your face has apparently decided to move in and take up residence in his mind. your face has staked a claim on his sanity. It keeps showing up, again, again, and again. relentlessly. a ghost with no regard for personal boundaries.

there you are, when he closes his eyes. when he blinks. when he spaces out for a single second.

the image of you burns at the backs of his eyelids with a persistence that borders on cruel. It’s not just your laugh, though that’s bad enough. It’s the details, the things he shouldn’t have noticed. the things he has no business remembering.

The way you hold a pencil, balanced so precisely between your fingers like it grew out of your hand. the way you bite your bottom lip when you're focused, completely unaware of the way it softens your whole face. the furrow between your brows when you’re reading something the teacher assigned. the exaggerated eye-roll you give him when he’s being, as you so kindly put it, “uptight.”

he hated the word. he still does. but the memory of you saying it loops in his mind anyway. the way your nose scrunches when you laugh. the way you tuck your hair behind your ear. the way you exist, so thoroughly and vividly, in every god forsaken part of his head.

He clenches his fists and holds them there, knuckles white and aching, like if he grips hard enough, he can force the thoughts out of him by sheer will.

Enough.

A breath hisses through his teeth, tight and thin and far more emotional than he’d ever allow himself to sound out loud. he throws himself onto the old leather chair shoved into the corner of his bedroom.

The thing groans beneath him like it’s just as exasperated with him as he is. It’s been his brooding chair since he was ten. It’s seen everything: blood, bruises, silence. tonight, it sees a kind of ache it's never seen before.

Rain drizzles down the windows in a soft, half-hearted rhythm. It’s the gotham kind of rain. but this time it's not the angry kind, not storming kind either. just tired. persistent. the sky outside is a smear of cold, colorless gray. he doesn't need to check the time. not again. he already has multiple times, it's 2:00 am.

Wayne Manor at night is its own sort of living thing. It breathes in silence and exhales memory. every hallway feels too long. every portrait watches too closely. the air seems too still. you can hear a clock ticking from three rooms away. even the shadows feel old. and when the house is this quiet, his thoughts get loud. they expand. echo. and right now, his thoughts are the last damn thing he wants amplified.

His sketchbook rests open on his desk. The page stares back at him-blank. waiting. taunting. page number... who knows. It doesn’t matter. he’s filled hundreds of these pages by now. but somehow this one feels heavier. more expectant. like it already knows what he’s going to draw. and like it’s laughing at him for trying to fight it.

It’s mocking him.

the blank page. the pencil in his hand. the silence of the room. all of it. mocking.

he would say it aloud-confess that he can hear it laughing at him. that would sound insane. and Damian Wayne doesn’t do insane. at least not the kind that makes you talk to paper. but sounding crazy isn’t even what’s bothering him right now. that’s how far gone he is. that’s how bad this is. right now, everything else seems like a minor inconvenience.

he’s not worried about sleep or the exam he has tomorrow in a class with the worlds most insufferable teacher. what’s getting under his skin is the idea that his own brain has decided this piece of paper knows him better than he does. and the fact that tonight you've followed your own yellow brick road right into his head and made yourself at home.

To be honest, quietly, bitterly honest, this isn’t the first time you’ve found your way into his head.

It started the day he met you. he doesn’t know why. you weren’t the loudest voice in the room. you didn’t chase the spotlight or try to charm everyone like the people he’s seen at his father’s galas. their perfect smiles and polished words. that kind of performance never worked on him anyway.

You didn’t demand attention the way those people did. didn’t perform for the room or try to catch anyone’s eye. but by some divine intervention, you slipped past his guard like it was nothing. beat the odds of staying in his head, like the kind of odds and luck people win the lottery with. only, he wouldn’t call it luck. it's not lucky for him though. If it were luck, you wouldn’t be there all the time. you wouldn't be there constantly, threaded through his thoughts, sitting stubbornly in the back of his mind when he’s supposed to be focusing on literally anything else.

you showed up, a director to his brain, and announced action and his brain has been following your lead ever since.

you’ve been showing up in his dreams. in quiet moments between drills. between breaths. between the pages of books he doesn’t finish anymore because he ends up thinking about how you’d probably like them. he’s tried everything to push you out. he meditated until his limbs went numb. that didn’t work. tried ignoring you which lasted two days before he cracked and said something cold and clipped just so he could break the silence, he trained until his hands were shaking from exhaustion. that didn’t work either.

he also can’t talk to anyone about it. he has to deal with this on his own, despite having no experiences with feelings like this.

not grayson, who would tease and then say something ridiculous like “it's just a crush, it's okay to feel like this yada yada.” because it wasn't okay. and this obviously was way worse than just a crush.

he couldn't ask father, who would raise an eyebrow and say something vaguely wise and completely unhelpful. not todd or drake. and definitely not his mother. she’d sneer. call it weakness. maybe it is. maybe she’s right. maybe he agrees with her.

what kind of warrior gets undone by a girl?

the thought of therapy crossed his mind once. he’s heard of it. read enough reports to understand how it’s supposed to work. talk. process. heal. whatever. but it’s not for him. he’s Damian Wayne. he doesn’t talk about feelings to some stranger in a white coat. he gets through. he survives. therapy was never for someone like him. and even if he did try, what the hell would he say?

that there’s a girl stuck in his head and it’s annoying? that it gets under his skin in ways he doesn’t have names for? that some days, it feels like your voice echoes louder than his own thoughts, and no amount of training, of silence, of bruised knuckles can push it out?

he would never say that some part of him, some small, treacherous part, would give up the fight, the league, all of it, just to sit across from you in peace, to live a life where he never has to say the words “assassin” or “bloodline” again. nope. he will also never say that your absence leaves a sharper ache than any blade he's ever taken to the ribs.

It sounds weak. soft. pathetic, even.

something he would’ve scoffed at not long ago. something he might’ve called pitiful in someone else.

but it’s so very real.

because he’s been shot. stabbed. left in the dirt with nothing but the sound of his own breathing and the sting of his own failures. he’s taken hits that shattered bone. fought through pain so sharp it made the edges of the world go white and still, none of it ever made him feel this exposed.

this unguarded. like someone cracked open his chest and left everything on display. every nerve, every feeling he never wanted to name. It’s not physical pain that unsettles him. he can handle pain. he can't handle the fact that you matter though.

somewhere along the way of all those thoughts, the pencil made its way into his hand. he doesn’t remember reaching for it. doesn’t remember curling his fingers around it. but it’s there now, resting lightly between calloused fingers, like it always does. he’s on autopilot. which is already a bad sign.

he tells himself to get it together. to sketch something practical. a bird’s wingspan. a new gauntlet modification. the layout of a building if he has to. something tactical. something with purpose.

but when the pencil meets the paper, it doesn’t obey. his hand moves on its own. long, confident strokes, trained muscle memory. a familiar line forms. then another. the slope of a jaw. the curve of a mouth. the arch of an eyebrow that always seems to rise whenever you’re being particularly annoying. and then, worst of all, the eyes. not just generic ones. yours. the ones that squint when you’re holding back a laugh. and the ones that widen when you taste something you really love, so much so that you’d swear it’s life-changing.

He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until it’s already done.

he scowls, swears under his breath in arabic, and slams the sketchbook shut. the sound is loud in the silence, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of his own heartbeat, which seems to speed up at the thought of you. he tosses the pencil down with too much force. it rolls across the desk, hits the edge, falls. he lets it.

damian leans back in the chair and stares up at the ceiling, jaw clenched, hands pressed together. His arms are stiff. His spine aches. His chest feels tight, like there’s something inside him clawing to be let out.

he tells himself- no, commands himself to draw something else. anything else. a skyline. a katana. the curve of a rooftop edge, the silhouette of a bat against the moon, the outline of a fucking grapefruit. this time he doesn't care about drawing something tactical or practical. he just needs to get you out of his mind, or try to.

he should draw something safe. neutral. objective. Something that proves he is in control of himself and his brain and his hands. something that proves he is not thinking about you.

but.

of course.

you’re already in his head.

you’ve moved in and brought noise with you.

not actual noise. not your voice. he knows that much. he hasn’t quite crossed the line into hearing things that aren’t there. at least, not yet. but with how things are going, he wouldn’t be surprised if that happened soon.

you’re probably asleep right now, tucked away somewhere on the other side of the city, curled under a blanket with half your face smashed into a pillow. the same pillow you shamelessly drool on, though you’d deny it if anyone called you out.

he knows how you sleep and how you sprawl. it's in the way that looks like your limbs forgot they belonged to one body. arms flung this way, legs tangled that way, taking up every inch of the bed.

he’s seen it.

on movie nights you insisted on. when your eyes got heavy halfway through some old black-and-white film you were adamant on watching. you’d knock out leaning against him. mouth open, breathing slow, completely unaware of what you were doing to him. and he let you. sat there like a statue, an idiot statue. but letting you rest against him was a test he refused to fail. he could’ve nudged you off. could’ve cleared his throat, shifted away.

but he didn’t.

not once.

he told himself he didn’t care.

he told himself it meant nothing.

but that was a lie.

and he hasn’t stopped lying since.

back to the sketch. or the lack thereof. he's starting over.

he doesn’t bother picking up the pencil that rolled off the desk. just lets it stay there on the floor, like it’s exiled. maybe it deserved it for betraying him by drawing you in the first place.

instead, he grabs another.

the graphite scratches quiet across the page.

the first line is nothing. a curve, shapeless and vague. could be the edge of a rooftop. the arc of a blade. the bend of a cat’s back mid-pounce. it doesn’t matter. he keeps going. another line. then another. his hand moves on instinct, not intention.

It should be nothing. just muscle memory. just form and technique.

but it’s not. he knows where this is heading.

his wrist keeps moving. thoughtlessly. confidently. it seems his fingers have a map his mind hasn’t seen yet. and by the time he registers what he’s doing and really, truly looks down, it’s too late.

there’s your jawline.

crisp and familiar.

Your cheekbones begin to form, graceful and sloped in that way he won't admit he’s spent time analyzing. the bridge of your nose is there now, and worse, his hand has already started filling in the curve of your lips. he’s not even halfway done and his body has betrayed him once more. his heart beating fast and loud and infuriatingly alive.

no. no, no, no.

this is not happening. he’s not doing this. he cannot be doing this.

and yet, he is. he is doing this.

his grip tightens around the new pencil. of course, this one ends up turning on him too.

his stomach twists, it’s punishing him for something he hasn’t come to terms with yet. His shoulders lock out of habit, discipline digging in where softness tries to get through.

it’s really annoying.

his body already made a decision his mind hasn’t agreed to. he's feeling like every hour he spent learning control, precision, resistance-- every scar, every strike, every silence, meant nothing the second he laid eyes on you.

He shuts the cover of the sketchbook gently before he even finishes the drawing. the lines are still half-formed, the image incomplete, but he can’t bring himself to keep going. his hand stills, hovering for a moment like maybe he’ll change his mind and re-open the book, but he doesn’t. the pencil drops beside his sketchbook with a soft, final sort of sound.

he sits there thinking about how there’s something unkind about it. about what's happening to him. about what he's feeling. that even now, even with everything he knows about control, about restraint, about keeping his distance, his hands still choose you despite him not wanting them too.

maybe it’s karma. he wouldn’t be surprised. that would make sense, wouldn’t it? he’s not naive enough to think he’s owed peace, or grace, or anything soft. he can admit he’s made mistakes, though even that word feels too gentle, too forgiving.

“mistake” sounds like tripping over a crack in the sidewalk or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. he wouldn't consider what he's done as "mistakes". they’re not mistakes. they’re choices. intentional. calculated. final. blood on his hands that no amount of training, time, or water can wash off. every decision, every action, feels etched into him in a way that no word can fully capture.

and then there’s the thought. an ugly, persistent whisper in the back of his mind, the one that won’t shut up: what would you think if you knew everything? If you knew the full measure of his deeds, the cold precision with which he carried out his orders, the blood and ruin left in his wake and also the way he’s thinking about you right now.

would you recoil in horror? Would you look at him with disgust, seeing in him a monster too far gone to be redeemed? the idea gnaws at him, twisting his insides until it feels like his stomach has tied itself in knots.

Why is he terrified of what you’d think? why would he care if you see him as a monster? Why is it that, at the same time, he thinks about the fact that you make him forget all of it? even if it’s just for a second. the way his mind turns to you, even when he knows he has no right to feel this way.

the guilt presses down hard, suffocating. But what hurts more is the disgust. the way he can’t stand the idea that he’s even capable of feeling this about you.

he tells himself he deserves every ounce of this self-reproach. he’s not innocent, not in the slightest. but despite all the harsh logic and unyielding discipline he’s clung to, there’s a softness in his heart that makes him long for redemption, or perhaps even forgiveness. every heartbeat is a reminder of his past, echoing the silent question: Could you ever see beyond the sins of his past to something different?

Would you? He knows you. or at least he thinks he does.

He knows the softness of your expressions. the curve of your smile. the light in your eyes when you’re teasing him. the exact tilt of your head when you laugh, and the way your eyes crease at the corners. he remembers everything.

and all of it has bled onto the pages of his sketchbook. line by stupid line.

there’s a dull throb behind his eyes. he blinks, finally, and swallows hard around nothing.

What the hell is happening to him? deep down he knows, but he won't accept it. so for now, he'll play the fool.

his body feels wrong. slow. off-balance. his thoughts are moving faster than his skin can keep up with. It's like he’s chasing something in a dream and keeps waking up just before he catches it.

And you are the center of that dissonance.

he shouldn't crave any of this. not for warmth that asks nothing of him. not for feelings that arrive uninvited. quiet, persistent things that slip beneath his guard in the dead of night and make a home out of the places he swore were impenetrable.

they settle in his chest like they’ve always belonged. but they can’t. because Damian Wayne doesn’t fall apart. he doesn’t lose focus. he can't afford to. he can't want something just because it makes him feel good.

He was trained before he knew what it meant to choose anything for himself. before he had a chance to want anything. and yet here he is, wanting. but at the same time not wanting to want. and it’s unbearable. he's so very conflicted.

there’s no margin for any of that in his bloodline. no one trained him to sit still with his feelings. no one handed him the cure for this kind of ache. there were no lessons on vulnerability. only on how to strike first, how to read a threat before it made itself known, how to shut every door that made him human. he was taught to break bones, not fall in love. he certainly wasn't taught how to navigate the tremble in his hands when he sees your name on his phone screen.

this thing he's experiencing takes up too much room inside him. this ache in his chest that spikes every time he sees you talking to someone else. this frustration that coils in his stomach when he can’t seem to find the right words to say to you.

no one gave him a blueprint for this.

and he never asked for one.

but now he thinks maybe he should’ve. despite whatever answer he would've gotten.

because whatever this is, this thing with your face tangled in every corner, this thing with your name written all over it, is not fading. not blurring. not leaving like it should. it’s staying.

He's angry. at you. at himself. at whatever cruel, laughing god decided this was his fate. why the hell is he here. sitting in the dark with a sketchbook on his desk that he closed after whatever just happened and your face living in every corner of his skull?

he forces his eyes shut. breathes in through his nose, slow and deliberate, he wants to believe discipline alone might save him from whatever the hell this is. He sits motionless for a beat, jaw tight, spine stiff, a soldier awaiting orders. maybe if he holds still enough, it’ll all fall away.

because he is not some moonstruck teenager. He does not sit around sighing at ceilings like an idiot with a crush in some poorly written teen drama.

his childhood was silence where there should’ve been comfort, order where there should’ve been chaos, expectation where there should’ve been choice. He was built to survive, not to feel. everything he’s ever felt, he’s learned to hide. emotions are weaknesses. vulnerabilities. and he’s always kept his locked away, sealed tight like volatile gas behind reinforced glass. out of reach. out of sight. contained.

he tells himself once more that he shouldn’t be feeling any of this.

He hates how much he does.

this entire spiral feels beneath him. It’s inefficient. irrational. weak. there is no function to this emotion. It doesn’t sharpen his aim. It doesn’t enhance his reflexes. It clutters his thoughts, derails his focus. and he prides himself on focus. discipline. efficiency. his brain has always been a fortress. impenetrable. calculated. he trains harder, pushes longer, endures more than anyone around him. because he has to. because he always has.

His breathing stumbles, uneven, shallow. and it disgusts him. he presses his fingertips to his temple like he could physically push the thoughts out of his skull. his other hand curls into a fist in his lap, nails digging into his palm. he can feel the pulse in his jaw. fast. reluctant. he’s getting a headache, and he can’t even sketch his way out of it this time.

he tips his head back, eyes open now, staring at the ornate ceiling of his room like it might offer some sort of answer. It doesn’t. It never has. the silence in Wayne Manor is heavy and constant, stretching through the halls like a second atmosphere. He’s used to it. but tonight, it feels suffocating.

there’s no solution in the ceiling. no clarity in the walls. only this feeling. this wild, rising pressure inside him that he doesn’t have the words for.

“What the hell is happening to me,” he mutters under his breath, voice low and ragged.

He lets the question hang in the silence. no answers come, only the steady pulse of his own breath and the distant city sounds bleeding through the windows.

[logicpng]

so, i have some thoughts. i feel like the game doesn't explore doey much, so i'm gonna take that as an opportunity to stretch him a lil.

in short, i see him as neither one whole nor 3 kids in a trench coat, but something in the middle of the two: a grown up who never really got to experience a proper childhood, the 3 originals in a blend with each other.

the time between creation and game events likely is enough for them to learn how to cooperate (up until. yknow). collectively or individually though, goddamn they need therapy

[ Description in ALT, text transcribed under cut ]

1st image:

point at head with teeth peeking: teeth may show more subtly, particularly when mischevious

point at hat: hat always at an angle

point at hand: stubby hands omg <3

point at neck: neck constantly bent in some fashion

Generally friendly and curious, may be more closed off and bitter if kevin is more dominant.

Collectively an adult due to passage of time and gaining experience, but still retains some more childish traits due to isolation from outside world and trauma, both collective and individual (holy shit do they need therapy).

Parts operate more or less seamlessly, but depending on situation some may show more or less of their traits.

When stressed, cooperation between parts may break down.

2nd image:

Kevin

present strongest when angry, most of anger processing goes through him.

not actually angry/cranky all of the time though, just a bit more gruff/edgy compared to the other two. tends to show teeth when talking.

over the years learned to control his rage better, can redirect it into being a bit of a troll w/ the others

understandably, safe haven's destruction made him revert and lose all restraint, resulting in lashing out, mixed with extreme emotions from others.

Jack

loved doey strongest before conversion (rip), as such expressions tend to default to his

learned to cope with constantly fighting for survival by cracking jokes and being more optimistic

present strongest when happy, may speak more childishly when in distress or comfortable

reverts into reliving trauma of death and family loss with safe haven's destruction

Matt

present strongest when focused on the leader role, strikes a balance between kevin and jack

through time learned to focus more on necessary action rather than allowing to succumb to past guilt

definitely still very stressed out from responsibility, especially after poppy leaving, learned not to show it through cooperation with kevin and jack

safe haven's destruction just plunges him straight into a guilt spiral

Note pointing at bottom notes for each: safe haven's destruction is a massively traumatic event for them, resulting in the three regressing into child selves from distress, mixed in with emotions from individual traumatic memories

[rafesangelita]

♡ babydaddy!rafe and pogue!sweetheart!reader see their baby via ultrasound for the first time!

warnings: pregnancy, sweet fluff, both reader and rafe crying, medical terminology, brief flashback, small time skip

a/n: pogue!sweetheart!reader is only pregnant in this universe alone! if you want to read more of her and babydaddy!rafe you could click the tag with their pairing down below or you could just go to pogue!sweetheart!reader’s masterlist <3

“alright, mom and dad.. are we ready?” you and rafe shared a look, your eyes fluttering closed as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. taking hold of rafe’s hand, you hissed softly once you felt the warm clear jelly smear against your tummy. “so this might take a minute because i have to find the perfect spot, but if you feel any kind of discomfort just let me know.” the technician smiled sweetly as both you and rafe zeroed in on the monitor screen. he was so gentle and tender with you, his large build crouched down next to yours as he whispered encouragements in your ear.

“you’ve been doing so good, baby, you’re already the best mommy ever,” he praised you, “i love you so much, there’s no one else i’d want to be doing this with.” you were already so emotional before and during your appointment, you couldn’t help but get teary eyed at his words. “i love you, too.” you sniffled, averting your attention back to the ultrasound machine. “here we are!” you gasped when the technician got the right spot, the image of your baby illuminating the screen. “oh!” you melted at the sight as rafe rubbed your arm, his bottom lip trembling as the tiny little thing stared back at the two of you.

“so what you’re seeing right here is the head,” she paused the image, pointing a finger at the monitor, “and if you look closely you could see the daintiest little button nose i’ve ever seen.” you giggled, tears streaming down your cheeks now as she moved the transducer over your lower abdomen. “so since you’re at ten weeks, that means baby is about as big as a strawberry right now.” rafe stared down at you in awe, his heart feeling so full in this moment. his baby was having his baby, he couldn’t grasp just how beautiful that really was.

“look at the tiny feet!” you squealed. you were smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt. if you were already dying of cuteness overload right now, you couldn’t imagine the pure and utter joy you’d feel once your little one was finally in your arms. “please tell me we could take home copies today..” you cried, sighing in relief once the technician nodded. “of course! i’ll start taking those pictures right now.” rafe wrapped an arm around your chest, leaning down so he could leave a trail of small pecks along the underside of your jaw. “oh, man, can you believe this?” he asked incredulously.

you shook your head, stroking the skin of his arm as you admired the different angles that popped up on the monitor. you’ve been pregnant for well over a month, already going on two and it was barely starting to hit you right now that you were really growing something inside of you. the feeling was surreal almost, like you couldn’t even articulate the words to describe how whole you felt having rafe by your side through absolutely everything. “no, not at all.” you whispered, clinging onto him as if he’d disappear into thin air if you let him go.

thinking back to whenever you first met rafe, you would’ve never thought in your most wildest dreams that you’d be having his baby. you two were so brand new to everything, the excitement never dwindling in your relationship. you were sweet and kind, and just overall good, rafe hoped with every fiber of his being that his baby would inherit every ounce of your heart. your gentle and nurturing nature was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. to feel your love all around him no matter how close or far you were, he had no doubt in his mind that your baby could feel the same love tenfold.

rafe was in pure bliss just thinking about seeing you carry a baby on your hip everywhere, that smile of yours adorning your lips as you gaze up at him through your lashes. the vision was so vivid, he felt his heart squeeze in his chest at finally having everything he ever wanted right in front of him. “are you two going to find out the sex after your first trimester, or will you be waiting until birth?” you pouted once the technician started cleaning you up, her screen going blank as she shut it off. “we’ll be finding out with a gender reveal.” rafe smiled, helping you sit up.

“that won’t be very long then,” she raised her eyebrows excitedly, “you’re not really showing just yet, but this is completely normal, especially since it’s your first pregnancy.. but any day now, and you should start seeing a little bump.” you smiled, lifting your arms up so rafe can adjust your clothes. “aw, i can’t wait.” you were already thinking of the shopping spree you’d have to go on in order to accommodate your new shape. yoga pants and fuzzy slippers here you come. “i’ll be right back with those photos!” she scurried out of the room, leaving you and rafe staring at each other in disbelief.

“i hope she prints enough copies, i want one for everywhere. the house, the truck, my purse—” rafe interjected, “oh! and one for my wallet—”

[wildfloweroutlaw]

Sticky Fingers

warnings: SMUT!! minors dni. some fluff. friends to lovers. switch!azriel. unprotected sex. oral (male and female receiving). underwear fetish. a bit of voyeurism. azriel is an after care king. wing play. shadow play. i really threw the kitchen sink at this one so lmk if i missed anything!

word count: ~7k WHOOPS my fingers slipped.

a/n: reader matches azriel’s freak!! this is more fleshed out continuation of this little piece AND my first ever azriel fic. for the sake of this story, let’s just assume that you can winnow to The House of Wind because let’s be fr, only being able to fly or walk up the 10,000 steps would be such an inconvenience. and to the one person who asked for this @darkbloodsly …. thank you ❤️

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Azriel’s little escapade in your bedroom a few weeks ago had been one of the most exciting things he’d done in quite some time. It was also one of the most violating. After he had returned to his room with your obscenely tiny pair of panties, he had been filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Shame. Guilt. Self loathing. But underneath all of that, the desire remained, unchecked and unbound.

Which is probably why every couple of days since that incident, he found himself staking out your room, waiting on you to leave The House so he could go in and rummage through your underwear drawer freely. He found that you had acquired a very intriguing collection. Several lacy black pairs, a pair that was a deep red and made of the softest silk, a strappy blue pair that he felt perfectly matched his siphons.

He couldn’t help but to let his mind run rampant, picturing you in every single one, picturing himself pulling them off of you. However, today’s discovery may have just been his most favorite of all.

Unsure of how he missed them all the times before, Azriel’s eyes caught on a light shade of pink. Digging to the very bottom of the drawer, he grasped the lovely material and pulled it free.

While not as daring or extravagant as some of the other items in your trove, this pair was sinfully soft and seemed so unlike anything you would normally wear. Instantly taken with the dainty pink shade and the tiny little bow adorning the front, Azriel decided that these would be his prize of the day.

Pocketing the skimpy undergarment, he sent several of his shadows through the house to ensure you were still out running errands. When they reported that the coast was clear, Azriel silently made his way down the hall and back to his own quarters.

A sick thrill went through his body and curled low in his stomach as he closed the door behind him. He pulled your lovely pink panties out of his pocket and studied them once more. Gods he should not be as turned on as he was by a pair of fucking underwear, but they were yours and they had touched you more intimately than he knew he ever would, no matter how often he dreamed of that.

Typically, Azriel held off on this part until it was late at night and everyone had already gone to sleep… but The House was empty for the next few hours and his cock was already painfully straining against his pants.

Fuck it. Pushing off the door, he made quick work of his clothes as he crossed the room to his large bed.

Laying back against his dark, plush pillows, Azriel made himself comfortable, tuning everything in the world out except for the thought of you and these godsdamned panties.

He palmed himself gently at first, the head of his cock already flushed and leaking with anticipation.

He imagined what your hands would feel like against him, how big he would look in your smaller hands, how you would stroke him. Would you prefer to pleasure him soft and tenderly? Or would you set a punishing pace with a tight grip? Azriel knew that he would let you touch him anyway you wanted to, he would let you do anything you wanted to him.

He let depraved images of all kinds fill his mind. He let himself imagine what your soft skin would feel like under his touch, let himself imagine what beautiful sounds he could pull from you. Azriel knew it was unlikely he would ever truly know, considering he had never allowed himself to openly pursue you. However, he supposed he would settle for your panties.

Finding the delicate fabric beside him on the bed, he brought the soft material that carried your sweet scent to his aching member. He shuddered at the first touch and let out a deep groan at the sensation. Several of his shadows trailed down his body, the cool sensation only adding to his pleasure. They always got rather excited when he used your undergarments in this way.

Seeing your panties against him like this always brought about a feeling of wrongness that only served to turn Azriel on even more. Now, watching the pink cloth and that fucking little bow caress his cock, he was fairly certain this could count as a sin.

And damn if that didn’t make his blood pump all the faster.

Fisting your panties against his cock, Azriel let his head fall back, soft black curls splaying upon his pillow. He allowed his mind continue to run wild with thoughts of you, deep guttural groans and soft moans of your name slipping from his lips.

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You opened the front door to The House, finding the place quiet. Which made sense considering Cassian had matters to tend to in Illyria this evening, and you were supposed to meet Nesta for dinner in just a little while. Azriel most likely had plans of his own that he almost never felt inclined to share.

You had been out running errands for the last few hours, but the evening had proved to be chillier than you anticipated. You decided to just run home and grab a sweater, assuming you would probably be out late with Nesta. Kicking off your shoes by the door, you made for the stairs.

As soon as you rounded the corner to your hallway, you were greeted by several of Azriel’s shadows.

Suppose he is here then.

The wispy tendrils wrapped themselves around you and begin to gently tug you down the hall. Confused but curious, you followed along hesitantly.

“Is everything okay?” You knew you would never get a response, but you always had a habit of speaking to Azriel’s shadows. You were actually very fond of them.

Several of the shadows trailed up your arms and twined into your hair. Apparently they had grown fond of you as well. The feeling of them against your skin was always something you enjoyed, and you found their presence to be very comforting.

You allowed them to lead you past your own bedroom door and down the hall to Az’s room. You found a few more shadows waiting outside, and they too greeted you warmly. Tugging you forward, the shadows continued to urge you towards the door. “I-I don’t understand…” you whispered to the wisps of darkness.

“(Y/N).”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, and for a moment you questioned if you were hearing things. But you had heard your name, however faint. You were certain of it.

You raised your hand to knock on the door, not wanting to just barge in to Azriel’s room, even if he had presumably called out to you.

Before your fist could make contact with the wood, some of the shadows darted out, turning the knob and silently pushing the door open. You were certain your heart stopped beating as you took in the sight in front of you.

Azriel. With his head tossed back. Face dusted with pink. Large wings splayed across his bed, eyes screwed shut, plump lips parted, legs spread wide, tendrils of shadows trailing down his body.

And he was stark naked.

Oh gods. You should walk away. You should close the door and pretend you never even came home. But by the mother, he was pumping himself with his hand, hips bucking up in response, and you couldn’t help but drink in the beautiful sight and the lovely sounds tumbling from his lips.

This was wrong. You should not be here. You weren’t sure why his shadows had pulled you to his room, but Azriel’s lack of awareness of your presence made it clear this was not intended. And the longer you stood here, watching like a fucking pervert, the stronger the pulsing between your legs grew.

Suddenly your eyes caught on a piece of pink fabric clutched against Azriel’s… well, extremely large member. You quickly took note of the familiar tiny bow peaking out from his hand and you thought your heart was going to break free from your ribcage and leave you standing here like the fool that you were.

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Azriel was lost in his darkest fantasies. He wasn’t sure if it was the long week he had, or the way you had looked in that dress that fit you just right before you had left The House this afternoon, but he just completely gave himself to the pleasure.

And gods he could smell you, stronger than any other time before. Your lovely scent entrapped within the fabric of your panties seemed thicker, sweeter… headier.

Azriel’s eyes flew open, shooting to the other side of the room and he saw you, standing there. Face tinged with red, eyes wide, and chest heaving against your dress.

And he wanted to die.

With an unspoken command, the mass of his shadows flocked to him, some of them unfurling themselves from where they had been twinning around you, and came to conceal his naked form. of course he had left his clothes halfway across the room.

He pushed himself up off the bed and felt heat crawling up his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. He literally could not imagine a worse scenario than this.

Fuck, you would probably hate him after this. This would ruin your friendship for sure. You would want to move out of The House, far far away from him and his demented perversions. Azriel’s mind, once filled with glorious images of you, was now flooded with a whirlwind of thoughts. And none of them were good.

“(Y/N) I-I can explain-“ Azriel managed to stammer out. How could he explain this? He doubted there was any excuse he could come up with that wouldn’t make him look creepy. Maybe you hadn’t seen the panties? He could perhaps say they weren’t yours, even if you had seen, but he wasn’t sure how long you had been standing there.

“Those are mine.” You simply stated, as if you were telling him the sky was blue.

“I…. Well, I-“ gods be damned, this would be a good time to be able to form a cohesive thought. But his racing heart and overwhelming mortification were short circuiting his brain.

“And you said my name.” You took a step forward into the doorway. Azriel’s shadows were obscuring the majority of his body, and at your words, they seemed to grow all the more restless.

Azriel briefly considered winnowing out of his room and fleeing Velaris- No, Prythian. “(Y/N) I am so sorry, shit, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry. I-I know this is so wrong-“

You took another step forward. Well, you were already knee deep in this horrifically embarassing situation, for both of you it seemed. You may as well see where this takes you. “You can continue… if you are comfortable doing so, that is.”

Azriel’s heart stopped beating for probably the hundredth time in the last 5 minutes. “I… what?” His hazel eyes scanned your face for any sign of mockery or judgment or disgust.

“I was enjoying the show. Quite thoroughly, I must admit.” Your heart was thundering, and you were terrified of what Azriel might think. But you felt the overwhelming need to own up to invading his privacy, to watching him. To take control of this situation.

And he had very clearly been thinking of you… “If you are alright with it, you can carry on. Don’t feel like you must though. I can also leave if you’d like.” You motioned behind you to the door.

“You… aren’t angry with me?” Azriel’s shadows dissipated slightly, now he was visible to you from the chest up.

“Do I seem angry to you?” You asked, managing a smirk that you hoped made you look braver than you truly felt.

Azriel allowed himself to take you in fully now. You had been shocked, yes, but there was also something else dancing in your eyes. And your scent was slightly different than usual. He took a deep breath in, mind going quiet. You were aroused. “No. I suppose you don’t seem angry.”

Azriel allowed his shadows to slowly leave him, some of them choosing to return to you. A chill ran down his spine as he watched your eyes drink in his bare form.

He took a couple steps backward until he could rest on the edge of the bed.

He searched your face again, wanting to ensure that this was really alright with you. Finding no signs of discomfort, he plucked the dainty undergarment from the bedspread and began to tentatively work the material against his still hard cock. “Is this… what you wanted to see?”

Your chest began to rise and fall quickly again and you sucked in a breath at the sight of him. “Yes…” you sighed out, fingers going to the clasp of your dress at your neck. You quickly undid the mechanism and let the material fall and pool at your bare feet.

Azriel’s eyes widened and he let out a soft moan at the beautiful sight. You weren’t wearing a bra and stood before him in only your underwear, the tiny, lacey black pair that had originally caught his eye the very first time he thieved from your chambers.

What in the seven hells was happening? He decided not to question it, tightening his grip on his member and began to stroke more confidently.

Your eyes were glued to him, wandering from his proud wings, across his gorgeous face, down his heavily tattooed chest and muscled stomach, all the way to his scarred hand fisting your fucking panties against himself.

You had desired Azriel for so long, but he never pursued you beyond friendship. The male was notoriously difficult to read, and you were always too afraid to go beyond simply flirting with him in case he truly wasn’t interested in you. You never in your wildest dreams could have imagined this.

You took a few more steps forward, brushing your fingers against the erect tips of your breasts, sighing at the sensation. The pounding between your legs had amplified to an all out ache, and you were more than eager to find out just how far Azriel would let this go.

You now stood before him, between his spread legs, eyes locked to his hazel ones. You brushed back a stray lock of his dark hair, and lightly ran your fingers across his flushed cheek. “Do you enjoy pleasuring yourself with my panties Shadowsinger?” You let your eyes drift back down to where he worked himself.

Azriel was reveling in your sweet touches and felt there was no reason to attempt to deny the claim now. “Yes.” He groaned.

You felt a sudden surge of power, his words stroking your ego like his hand stroked his cock. “And is this the first time you’ve stolen a pair from my room for this purpose?”

Azriel tried to avert his eyes, still feeling ashamed of his actions, but your hand gripped his chin and turned his gaze up to meet yours. If his senses weren’t currently being overwhelmed with the scent of your arousal and you weren’t staring down at him like you wanted to devour him, he would have thought this was some cruel attempt to get him to confess. “No.” He answered honestly.

You smirked at his admittance and you could feel your panties growing more soaked by the second. You dropped to your knees before him and you could not deny that he looked like a god above you. He was absolutely divine. And your face was a mere foot from his cock. This was not at all how you had expected your evening to go, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

You took in the sight of his swollen tip, shaded an angry color of red from lack of release. His pre-cum had soaked both his member and the fabric of your panties, leaving him glistening in the evening light

“Fuck, you are so hard.”

Azriel moaned in response, as he watched you with curious eyes. He wasn’t sure what you were doing, but he loved that you were here with him, and seemed to be just as turned on as he was.

You inched your face a little closer, leaning between his thick thighs. “Oh Azzie, this seems rather uncomfortable. Would you allow me to help you?” You crooned as you looked up at him through your lashes.

Azriel felt like he could die happily any moment now. That nickname and the image of you, between his legs, staring up at him like that, was something that would stick with him long past the grave. However, a thousand protests rose to his mind.

He didn’t want you to feel like you had to do this. He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to, that you shouldn’t, because he was unworthy of your touch. But he stopped himself.

Everything told him that you wanted this too, wanted him. As hard as it was to believe, he did not think you would be here, responding so… positively, if you didn’t want to. However unworthy he felt that he was, he felt the desire to be selfish more.

He had dreamed of this for so long, and now the opportunity to have you, in whatever capacity, finally has arisen. He would be damned if he didn’t seize it.

“Yes. Please.” He didn’t care if the plead sounded pathetic. He needed you to touch him. Now.

With a grin that could only be described as devilish, you gently grasped his wrist, urging his hand away from his member. He still clutched the now spoiled pink panties in his hand. You tenderly pulled them from his grip, unbunching the material and letting it dangle in the space between you two.

You studied the damp fabric, glancing between it and Azriel’s face. “You’ve made such a pretty mess of these Az. I can tell how much you like them.”

Beyond words and drowning in anticipation, Azriel could only muster a nod in response.

You tossed the underwear across the room to join your dress. Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly gripped Azriel’s cock. You tested the waters with a gentle, almost teasing stroke and you felt him throb in your hand. You quickly glanced up at his face to see if he was still okay with this.

You found him leaned back on his palms and studying you intently, eyes half lidded and filled with desire. The look of sheer need gave you a shot of courage, and you tightened your grip slightly and increased your pace.

Azriel moaned out your name and your core turned to molten at the sound.

“Does that feel good, Az?” You cooed to him, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there.

“Gods, yes (Y/N). Touch me however you like… please.” He could not stop staring at you, your gorgeous practically naked form, and how small your hand looked wrapped around him.

This was better than any fantasy he had ever conjured up.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth at his praise, loving how it sounded in his deep voice. “How about this?” You leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, sucking gingerly.

Azriel short circuited, his entire body shuddering from the feel of your warm, wet mouth on him. He let his head loll back and his eyes flutter closed as a guttural groan reverberated from deep in his chest. “Fuck I- yes.” He gripped the blankets beneath him.

You hummed against him in response. You always felt that Azriel was too hard on himself, punishing himself for gods knew why. You were determined to spoil him with much deserved pleasure.

You licked him from root to stem before taking him deep, one hand working what you could not fit in your mouth, and the other gently caressing his balls.

Sounds that may have been considered embarrassing to some males, spewed from Azriel. He could not help it, nor did he care to hide them. You were making him feel this good and you deserved to hear that. “Sweet girl, shit- that feels incredible.” He growled.

As you continued your ministrations, Azriel worked a hand into your hair. Not forcing your head down, or applying any pressure, just reverently caressing your locks. He finally peered down at you again, discovering you staring back up at him, head bobbing up and down his length and moaning around him. He noticed you had brought one of your hands between your legs and were grinding your clothed cunt against your palm.

You were going to kill him.

You were going to suck him within an inch of his life, and the sight of you touching yourself to pleasuring him was going to send him on to the after life.

Just as Azriel was about to pull you off of him, you released his cock with a pop of your lips. You stood then, placing your hands on Azriel’s firm chest and urging him backwards. “Lay in the center of the bed for me please, Azzie.” You asked sweetly.

Azriel nodded and found himself scrambling backwards, doing as you said and moving to lay back. Azriel rarely ever relinquished control in the bedroom, preferring to service his lovers to their liking. However, he felt very comfortable following your lead and this was actually really lovely. Well, it was far beyond lovely.

You moved to hover over him, straddling his waist and you felt a thrill surge through your body at the sight of the massive Illyrian warrior beneath you. “Is it alright if I try something else?” You asked, still unsure about how much Azriel wanted from you.

He gingerly grasped your hand, one of the first few touches he had allowed himself since this all began, and guided it to his chest where he pinned it beneath his own larger hand. “Of course,” he rasped, “I told you already. Touch me however you like… I am yours.” The admission was vulnerable, but felt so right to him.

Your heart clenched at his words and you nodded, lowering your hips to his. You began to slowly, but firmly grind your still clothed pussy against his length, loosing an airy moan in response to the glorious contact.

“I bet my panties feel much better like this, hm?” You leaned down to murmur in his ear, nipping at his lobe.

Azriel shuddered underneath you, wings twitching against the sheets. “Y-yes, (Y/N). So much better.” His hands hesitantly reached up to grip your waist, giving you time to protest if you wanted. When you showed no objections, he tightened his hold on you and pulled you down against him, harder. Azriel delighted in the noise he drew from you.

He continued dragging your hips across him, both of you breathless at the sensation. “Gods above, you are so gorgeous…” He let one hand travel up to your breast, stroking a thumb across a hard nipple and smiling to himself when you cried out.

“Would you like to see what you’ve done to me?” You breathed against his neck, a hand tracing circles against his chest.

Azriel nodded, then almost protested when you pulled away from him. That was until he saw you standing at the end of the bed, slowly shimmying out of your panties. His breath hitched to see you completely and utterly bare before him, then sputtered out of him when he took in the way you crawled up the bed towards him.

Kneeling beside him, you pressed the soaked cotton of your underwear into Azriel’s hand. “You’ve turned me into a complete mess Az…” you confessed.

Azriel took in the absolutely drenched material, and let out an almost animalistic groan when he scented your arousal coating the fabric. “All of this is for me? I’ve barely gotten the chance to touch you yet.” He would be lying if he said that wasn’t a major boost to his ego.

He slipped an arm around your waist and turned, pinning you beneath him and slotting himself between your legs. “Let me change that…”

He pressed messy kisses along the length of your neck, sharp teeth grazing over a particularly sensitive area. Azriel reveled in the sound of your breathless moan and the way you pulled him tighter.

He dipped his head to lav at a nipple, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger before latching his lips around the sensitive bud. Azriel slid a well muscled thigh against your leaking cunt, applying just enough pressure to have you gasping for air.

He did not miss how you rocked your hips against him, desperate for friction.

Thus far, Azriel had allowed you to take the lead, to show him how much you wanted from him, making him feel better than anyone ever had before. Now, Azriel wanted to return the favor and show you how good he can make you feel.

He kissed a path between your breasts and down your stomach, glancing up to find your bottom lip between your teeth and eyes pressed closed. He worked his way lower, and lower, until all he could smell was your heated sweetness.

He inhaled deeply, and let out a long breath that fanned against your sensitive cunt, causing chills to erupt all over your body.

Guiding each of your legs over his shoulders, his hands found purchase on your thighs, spreading you open for him. He placed a couple of gentle nips along the inside of your thigh, before softly asking “Is this alright?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.” You excitedly nodded your head, as if you took too long to answer he may change his mind. Although, a quick glance down at Azriel’s face told you that wasn’t the case. He stared up at you like you were his favorite meal. You lifted your hips slightly, urging yourself closer to his mouth.

He huffed a laugh before pinning you back down to the bed. “Try to stay still for me, sweet girl. Want to make you feel good.” And then his tongue was upon you. He licked a strip right up your center, expertly locating the sensitive bundle of nerves and swirling around it.

White hot pleasure shot up your spine, and you cried out. Hands searching for more contact, you reached down and entangled your fingers in his dark locks, Azriel rewarding you with a low growl when you pulled slightly.

His mouth was maddening. It was like he already knew all of your favorite things as he stroked your clit with the warm velvet of his tongue. Every time you managed to crack your eyes open, you found hazel ones staring back at you, full of hunger and reverence. He kept your hips throughly pinned down, leaving you no choice but to take everything he was giving you.

Suddenly, you felt a cool brush against your collar bone and looked down to find several of his shadows curiously exploring you. The inky tendrils wound themselves around your nipples, the ghost of a touch just enough to drive you crazy, just as Azriel wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

Every thought in your head ceased to exist and your back arched away from the sheets. A wanton scream tore its way up your throat and you fisted Azriel’s hair tightly, which only seemed to spur him on more.

“Fuck Azriel, there- yes!” You babbled as his grip on your hips loosened slightly, allowing you to wind your hips against his mouth. And mother above he was moaning into your pussy and… oh gods.

You raised your head and watched him unabashedly rut into the mattress, just as needy as you were.

And that was nearly your breaking point. Seeing this beautiful male, wings spread behind him, letting you fuck yourself on his face, shadows twining around your body. You were not like to forget this as long as you lived.

Right as you teetered on the edge of oblivion, you pulled him off of you quickly. “Azriel… need you. Want to cum on your cock. Please.”

“As you wish.” Azriel rose slowly, chin glistening with your slick, and placed his aching cock where his face had just been.

He leaned down and studied your pretty face intently, sliding one scarred hand to your jaw. He then pressed his lips against yours, the kiss searing his very soul.

This was the first time his lips had ever touched yours, other than that one drunken night when you all had played spin the bottle. Although that kiss had kept him up for many nights, it was nothing like this.

“Can you taste yourself? Can you taste how sweet you are? Could spend an eternity with my face between those beautiful legs…” Az mumbled against you.

“Y-yes. I want you to show me more of what you can do with that mouth another time.” You grinned up at him.

Another time. His heart leapt at that. Azriel had not allowed himself to think past this moment, for fear that this could be the first and only time he experienced you this way. Yes, he could show you everything he knew and more.

Grabbing the base of his cock, he lined himself up with your entrance, and pressed his forehead against yours. He ever so slightly began to push in. You were soaking wet, but you were also extremely tight and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

The stretch burned, but not in a way that was painful, just uncomfortable. Holy gods he was huge. You felt his shadows run up and down your arms in a soothing caress, Azriel’s hand at your waist mimicking their motions.

Once his hips were flush with yours, you both sat utterly still, chests heaving against each other. Azriel fought back the urge to thrust as he allowed your body to adjust to his size. “Are you alright, Princess?” He cooed, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek.

“Yes… Azzie. Please.” You began to squirm underneath him, unable to patiently wait any longer.

“I know, sweet girl. I just don’t want to hurt you.” He brushed a loose strand of hair back that had fallen into your face.

“I appreciate your concern Azriel, but I will die if you don’t move. I need you to move.” You pleaded, fingers digging into his muscular shoulders.

Without another moment of hesitation, Azriel slowly drew out of you before pressing back in to the hilt. He had never, never, felt anything as good as this before. He knew that with just the first fucking stroke, he was losing himself to you

“Fucking hells (Y/N). You’re so godsdamned tight… feel so good on my cock sweet girl.”

You cried out at both the sensation and his words, any feelings of discomfort giving way to burning hot pleasure as Azriel fucked you slow and deep. The normally stoic and reserved Shadowsinger was passionate, shocking you with how intently and thoroughly he was loving you.

Azriel angled his hips, rutting in to you at a slightly faster pace now. He buried his face deep into your neck, panting and moaning like he was young male all over again. He was trying his best to fuck you the way you deserved, but it was already so difficult to not unravel completely.

“Azriel…” you moaned his name like it was a prayer, “gods you’re so big… stretching me out just right. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.” You pulled his face to yours for another searing kiss, carding your fingers through his soft hair.

Azriel was genuinely surprised that you had thought about this with him, and the confession only turned him on more. He sped up his pace more, pulling back slightly to watch you.

And you stared back at him. You took in the massive wings looming behind Azriel, noticing how they twitched every so often, like they were restless. You remembered one drunken night that Azriel had admitted to you that the rumors about Illyrian wings were in fact true, but that he very rarely felt comfortable enough to allow his lovers to actually touch them.

You wanted so badly to run your fingers down the beautiful membrane. Not only to see his reaction for yourself, but also because you wanted to feel special to him.

Maybe that was foolish, and maybe this whole situation was no more than a manifestation of your shared physical attraction and nothing more. But you could not stop yourself from wanting. “Az… may I touch your wings?” You asked nervously, afraid to ruin the moment.

Azriel drove home a particularly deep stroke, causing you to cry out and tremble around him. His hand came up to guide your eyes to his, and his stare was molten. “I’ve already told you baby, touch me however you like.”

Your heart squeezed at the fact that he felt safe enough with you to allow you to touch him in a way he rarely let others.

You nodded, taking in his words through the haze of pleasure. You reached out slowly, fingertips just inches from his wings. “H-how?” Your hand remained hovering in the air, unsure.

He huffed a laugh that turned into a groan as his hips met yours. “However feels natural to you. There’s no wrong way, just be gentle.” He extended a wing, offering you better access.

You searched his face for any signs of discomfort or hesitancy. Finding none, you simply nodded and ever so lightly grazed your finger tips across the ridge of his wing.

Azriel’s entire body went taught as a bowstring before he shook, the most delectable whimper working its way out of him. His fingers found that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs and began to draw quick, tight circles against it.

You were certain the entirety of Velaris could hear your sounds of pleasure now. You placed another exploratory stroke on a different part of his wing, and continued when you saw the way Azriel’s eyes screwed shut and his brow furrowed.

“If you keep doing that you are going to make me-“ Azriel was interrupted when the soft pads of your fingers rubbed against a particularly sensitive spot.

His hips faltered, a string of curses tumbling from his lips as he went careening over the edge and into the abyss of ecstasy, crying out your name and hips snapping against yours.

At the feel of his fingers against your clit, his shadows caressing your body, and his warm seed pumping deep inside you, you came completely undone on his cock. Consumed by burning pleasure, all thoughts eddied out of your brain except for Azriel.

For several moments the two of you remained there, chests heaving against each other, both attempting to unscramble your minds. Azriel eventually pulled out rather reluctantly. “Sit tight.” He murmured against your heated skin, before disappearing from sight.

Minutes later, Azriel reappeared with a wet rag in one hand and a glass of ice water in the other. He set the glass on the table before turning back to you, using the rag to clean you up. “Are you alright?” His eyes flickered between your face and his hands.

You nodded, a grin blooming on your face. “I think I’m more than alright Az. Are you alright?” You parroted his question back to him.

“Yeah. Yes. I am… maybe a little surprised that we somehow ended up here, but I’m glad that we did.” He offered you a grin to match your own that showed his dimples.

His hand found your back, helping you to sit up, and he situated you against the mountain of pillows on his bed before handing you the glass of water. “Here. Drink.”

You accepted the refreshing drink greedily, drinking about half the glass in just a few gulps. Offering the drink back to Azriel, you cleared your throat. “I myself am surprised as well. This was… not really what I expected of my evening. Or ever honestly.” You gave a small shrug.

Azriel settled in beside you, pulling the fluffy duvet up to cover you both. “(Y/N) I do really need to apologize for what I did-what I’ve been doing…” he studied his lap intently, suddenly finding the bed spread mighty interesting.

“It was wrong. Very wrong. I shouldn’t have entered your room without your permission, let alone rummage through your dresser and…” he trailed off, feeling red hot shame creep up his neck.

“And steal my underwear?” You finished for him, brows raising in amusement.

“Yes. That. It was an extreme invasion of your privacy, and wrong on so many levels. If you never want to speak of this again, or never want to speak to me again… I would understand.” Azriel could not bring himself to look at you, to see what you might be feeling.

You gripped his jaw, guiding his gaze back to you. “Az… I told you already, I’m not angry with you. I felt like I proved that rather thoroughly, but I will say it again. You are my friend Azriel. None of this changes that fact. If you are open to it, I’d actually like to do more of… this.” You motioned between the two of you and gave him a big smile.

“I-I am definitely open to it. I would like that very much. I guess you could say I’ve had a bit of a crush on you for a while now…” Azriel glanced at you with heated cheeks and a dimple peeking out as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You let out a breathless laugh, the sound making Azriel’s heart jump in his chest. “Well I guess I can now admit that the feeling is mutual.” You snuggled down into the pillows further, cherishing the warmth of his body next to yours.

Azriel turned to you, propping his head up on a fist. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving. I was actually supposed to meet Nesta for dinner.” You glanced to the window in Azriel’s room, noticing that the sun had already slipped below the ridge. “She is probably pissed I stood her up, but there’s no sense in going now… and I’d like to stay with you.”

Azriel grinned at you then. “Well perhaps you would consider sharing a meal with me? We can stay here if you want.”

You agreed eagerly and Azriel offered you one of his large, but incredibly soft shirts to wear even though your room was just down the hall. You cherished the feel of the material against your otherwise naked body, his scent surrounding you, the shirt reaching your knees. It made you feel special.

Azriel had the house whip you up your favorite foods and the two of you stayed in his room for the remainder of the evening, chatting and swapping stories as usual. However things definitely felt…. different between the two of you. But in a good way. In the best way.

You must have dozed off eventually, because you awoke to the early morning sun spilling in through Azriel’s parted curtains. You quickly realized that Azriel himself was curled around you, one arm slung over your waist and your back pressed to his chest.

Feeling you stir, he mumbled a groggy good morning, voice rough with sleep. You would be lying if you said the sound didn’t send heat straight to your core all over again.

You turned in his grip to face him, “good morning…” you brushed a couple of your wild strands of hair back from your face and cleared your throat. “I’m sorry if I have over stayed my welcome. I didn’t intend to fall asleep here last night.” You studied his face for any sign of annoyance.

One side of his lips tipped up in a lazy grin, revealing a dimple. “Nonsense. I’ve enjoyed your company... even if you did snore.”

Your eyes widened for a moment, face growing hot. “I do not snore Azriel! I think I would know if I did.” You protested, brow furrowing.

Azriel’s grin only grew, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “And how would you know that?”

“Well I’ve never had any complaints about it before.” You explained, praying to the gods that you actually didn’t snore the very first night you ever spent in Azriel’s bed.

Tracing lazy circles on your side, Azriel’s eyes perused your form. You looked so beautiful wrapped in his huge shirt, blankets pulled up over your hips, hair askew in a thousand different directions.

“Perhaps they were just too polite to mention it?” His gaze flicked back up to yours, unable to hide his full on smile at your flustered responses to his teasing.

“You could have done me the same courtesy, asshole.” You shoved his bare chest playfully causing a laugh to spill from Azriel’s lips. Despite what happened yesterday, things felt… comfortable.

You reluctantly untangled yourself from his arms, sitting up to stretch. “I better go inform Nesta that I’m still alive. She’s probably assuming someone kidnapped me last night.”

“I pity the person who would try to kidnap you.” Azriel placed an arm behind his head, watching you shuffle out of the bed, secretly wishing you would stay longer.

You snorted. “True. I also better find a peace offering to give her as well, as an apology for flaking on our dinner date.” You turned to Azriel then, drinking in the sight of him sprawled on his back, blankets pooling around his waist, tattoos swirling down his bare chest and arms. Gods, he was delectable and you wanted to jump his bones all over again.

Azriel was staring at you as well, admiring the length of your bare legs and how his shirt hung down to almost your knees. A surge of male satisfaction flowed through him at the sight. “I think that’s a good idea. I apologize for ruining your plans.” Azriel wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

You gave him another big smile, something you found happening very frequently when he was around. “You can ruin my plans anytime you’d like Shadowsinger.” You began gathering your belongings, preparing to make the trek down the hall to your own quarters. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Azriel nodded. “Anytime you’d like.” He parroted your earlier words back to you.

You bid Azriel goodbye and began making your way out the door, your pile of clothes filing your arms, when you heard Az call out your name.

Turning back towards him, you found him holding up your lacy black panties from yesterday, a smirk plastered on his face. “I think you’re forgetting these.”

You gave a one shouldered shrug, one corner of your lips curling to match Azriel’s. “You can just hang on to those for me.” Watching his eyes widen, you closed the door behind you, smiling all the way down the hall to your own room, and already counting down the seconds until you could see the Shadowsinger again.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°

EEEEK i had SO much fun writing this!! feel free to let me know what you liked, i always appreciate feedback 🫶🏼.

[pa1nrema1ns]

You've Seen the Butcher || Sung Jin-woo Headcanons (18+ MDNI)

Featuring: fluff, smut, and the lingerie he loves most on you

You slowly enter 'Cause you know my room And then you crawl your knees off And then you shake my tomb

A/N: I've been meaning to make a thirst/shameless smut post for this scrumptious man, and his appearance in the last episode finally gave me the push to do it. As always, please be mindful of the content warnings listed below.

༺♡༻ Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

༺♡༻ Lingerie set images from @martysimone

Content warnings: 18+ MDNI, shameless smut, body worship, praise, slight degradation, afab!reader, A-rankhealer!reader, established relationship, feral!Jin-woo

Sets featured (top left to bottom right): 1.) Agent Provocateur | Dianah in leavers lace + crystals | Spring Summer 2024, 2.) I.D. Sarrieri | Venetian Glass in Blue Jeans embroidered tulle + silk, 3.) Dita Von Teese | Victresse in Kingfisher Blue satin + embroidered tulle, 4.) Dita Von Teese | Rosewyn black + green embroidery on tulle + velvet straps + finishes

Dungeons are harsh, unforgiving landscapes devoid of warmth or light. There was no room for error in these dangerous outliers. Even attempting an "easy" raid in a D-rank gate can come at the cost of your life. The double dungeon incident was more than enough proof of that. Due to the unpredictability in their line of work, many hunters simply could not afford the luxury of a love life much less a committed relationship. Sung Jin-woo was one such hunter.

As the man once mocked as being the “weakest hunter of all mankind”, he had more than his fair share of life stressors: a father who's been missing and presumed dead for the last ten years, a sick mother whose hospital bills would’ve totaled in the billions of won if not for the Hunters Association, and being the sole provider for his hardworking and studious little sister. Compound all this by him nearly dying every day and it was easy to see how romance was furthest thing from Jin-woo’s mind.

And then you stepped into his life –

Prior to entering a relationship, you and Jin-woo were fellow hunters who embarked on many of the same raids together. Despite being an A-rank healer, you chose to frequent E- and D-rank gates to render aid to those in need. Many of your peers sneered at your actions deeming them to be beneath a hunter of your caliber. But you paid them no heed. You enjoyed being able to use your mage craft to help others.

You're constantly crossing paths with Jin-woo because of how often he’s injured. He's never left a raid without at least one broken bone, a nasty gash, or some other form of bodily harm. Yet no matter how grievous his wounds are, he’s always coming back to participate in more raids. You can’t help but feel for the young man especially after witnessing his sheer grit and determination. You find Jin-woo's strength of will to be admirable and in your opinion he's far more courageous than most of the A- and S-ranks you’re acquainted with.

You tend to be very hands-on when it comes to healing Jin-woo: cradling his head in your lap, running your fingers through his hair, and speaking in soothing voice to distract him from the pain. He was just so vulnerable like this; you couldn’t help but coddle him. Within the span of a few weeks, you became comfortable enough around Jin-woo to share the intimacies of your life with him. And he did as well. Ironically it’s in a dungeon of all places that a deep emotional connection develops. It isn't long before your mutual friendship progresses into something more.

Unfortunately, the former E-rank was too insecure at the time to act on his feelings. It’s not until he acquires the system and starts leveling up that he becomes confident enough to confess to you. The radiant smile that blossoms across your face and the sensation of your soft lips molding against his has Jin-woo mentally kicking himself for not doing this sooner. He’d only had a small taste but he was already addicted to you.

It's only after he falls in love that Jin-woo discovers his appreciation of lingerie.

He's never given much thought to women’s undergarments before. Sure, the intricate patterns of tulle, silk, and lace appealed to the eye, but Jin-woo much prefers you bared in all your naked glory. To the reawakened hunter there was nothing more gorgeous than the sight of your lush body writhing in ecstasy as he fucks you into oblivion.

Jin-woo absolutely adores fucking you. He just can't get enough of his pretty girl. He'll make you cum repeatedly until your mind melts and you're completely consumed by pleasure. The man revels in your softness, delights in your cute moans and sighs. Hell, he’d spend all of eternity with his head buried between your thighs if you'd let him. Jin-woo wants to drown in you and your perfect little cunt.

Making love to Jin-woo is an otherworldly experience. He's the most selfless and giving partner you've ever had, bar none. Part of this can be attributed to his high perception stat. It enables him to be fully attuned to all your sexual needs and desires. He can even sense when you're ovulating, and it’s at the peak of your fertility when your normally gentle and considerate lover becomes downright insatiable.

Running his calloused hands all over your smooth thighs while he spreads them apart. Grunting rough and low into your ear when he sees just how much of "wet and needy little slut" you are for him. Sinking his deft fingers into the fat of your hips as he bounces you up and down on his cock at a frantic pace. Every delicious drag of his thick cockhead has your eyes rolling back into your skull and pressure continuously mounts in the pit of your stomach. He's hitting all your best spots just right causing you to keen and arch against him. And just as your climax washes over you he silences your cries with his lips, kissing you to completion.

Although he can be incredibly rough with you at times, Jin-woo always ensures you receive an ample amount of body worship and after care. You’re the most cherished person in his life after all. You were there for him when he was at his lowest point. A source of solace in a world filled with violence, deception, and betrayal. How could he not treat you with the utmost reverence?

As you come down from your high, Jin-woo gently caresses your inner thighs with his hands, trailing a path of feather-light kisses from your ankles to your calves and all the way up to your hips. He then brings his face towards your soaked pussy, still puffy and swollen from being ravished earlier. Jin-woo smirks and shoots a smoldering gaze at you.

“Want me to kiss it better, pretty girl?”

Your only response is to stroke his mussed-up hair and push him directly into your cunt. Liquid heat courses through your veins as Jin-woo lavishes attention on your core. You almost tumble off the bed when he abruptly takes your aching clit into his mouth and sucks hard on it. At this rate he’d be making you cum for the sixth time that evening.

Throughout his ministrations a ceaseless stream of praise falls from his lips in between wet smacks and groans.

“You’re doing so good, so fucking good for me sweetheart.”

“You needed this, didn’t you pretty girl? Big strong hands all over your body and that perfect little pussy.”

“You’re gonna cum? Go ahead and cum then, sweetheart. Take what you need, yeah. Take what you fucking need.”

“Mhm –  yeah, that’s it! Cum all over my tongue! Good girl, perfect fucking girl!”

Suffice to say the man is enamored with every last inch of you. The very idea of impeding your mouthwatering curves with flimsy pieces of fabric seems like a crime against nature to Jin-woo.

After a series of particularly grueling raids, Jin-woo wants nothing more than to return home, wash away the day’s frustrations in a hot shower, and fall asleep with you in his arms. You had other ideas, however.

A sudden vibration from his phone catches his attention. When he retrieves the device from his pocket, he's greeted by a text from you with an image attached to it. Shit, he forgot to call or text you as soon as he closed the gate! Jin-woo hadn't been able to stay in contact while traversing through dungeons due to the interference from their magical energy, so he always made sure to reach out to you as soon as he was back. He must've been so tired that it slipped his mind. He'd also been gone longer than he intended to. Dammit, you were probably worried about him...

When he opens your text, he expects you to have sent a short message to check in on him like you usually do in these situations. However, there's only the attached image. The moment Jin-woo takes in what's seeing, he nearly ends up crushing his phone from how hard he was gripping it. The text contained a picture of you, dressed to kill in a royal blue lingerie set. Your body was splayed out provocatively over the king-sized bed you both shared. Jin-woo finds himself at an utter loss for words. You were just stunning, like sex incarnate.

An embroidered bra comprised of tulle and silk cups your supple breasts, accentuating their beauty. The matching garter belt and thong are equally flattering, trailing across the dips and curves of your figure like running water. Kohl rimmed eyes and rouge lips round out your sumptuous appearance, making you even more beguiling. Jin-woo feels as if he's been enraptured by an enchantress; he can’t tear his eyes away from you. Unable to bear being apart from you for another second, he performs a hasty Shadow Exchange with the high orc appointed as your bodyguard.

A coy smile tugs at your lips as you see Jin-woo manifest behind you from the top of your vanity mirror. His timing was impeccable, you had just finished touching up your make up. He all but pounces on you before you even have the chance to turn around. Jin-woo captures your lips in a flurry of hot, open mouthed kisses. His hands grope and wander all over your form, pinching and teasing your nipples through the sheer material of your bra. You moan and tilt your head back, granting him access to the column of your neck. You chuckle breathlessly as he mouths against the tender flesh.

"I take it you liked my surprise for you, huh Jin-woo?"

"Mhm," Jin-woo hums as he leaves a small love bite under your ear, "I loved it. You're the hottest thing I've ever seen, sweetheart. I couldn't last another moment without having my lips on your skin. Fuck, how did I get to be so lucky?"

You wrap your arms around the back of his broad shoulders and lean forward to whisper seductively in his ear.

"It's been so long since I've had you, Jin-woo. Please, don't stop. I need you inside of me."

He pulls his head back, and the look he sends you almost causes your knees to buckle. His eyes have taken on a beautiful amethyst hue and there's a voracious hunger in them. You felt like a rabbit staring into the gaze of a wolf, and it thrilled you. You loved when Jin-woo got like this – completely unhinged and feral for you.

He effortlessly hoists you over his shoulder and tosses you onto the bed like a ragdoll. It knocks the wind out of you, and you can only stare up at him as he begins to remove his shirt, his eyes never once leaving yours. You drink in his appearance as more and more tantalizing skin is revealed. The muscles of his chest and abdomen are drawn taught, and his biceps flex and bulge when they come into view. Your legs spread automatically at the sight, and Jin-woo proceeds to pin you to the bed, unable to control his lust any longer. You feel yourself sinking into the abyss as he has his wicked way with you. Neither of you end up leaving the room for the next three days.

From that point on, Jin-woo made sure to fill your wardrobe with multiple sets of expensive lingerie. He was finally beginning to understand the appeal of an S-rank hunter's exorbitant salary. One would think Jin-woo would be drawn to darker, more mature pieces that matched his tenebrous aura. But his taste in lingerie was very much the polar opposite.

Teal, sky blue, navy blue, and neutral shades of green, beige and white are his favorite colors on you. He's also obsessed with garters, sheer material, and lace. Nothing gets Jin-woo more fired up than seeing his girl all dolled up. You're a goddess in his eyes and you only deserve the best.

[latenightdaydreams]

König x Pregnant!Y/N

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

cw: p in v, pregnancy

1.7k word count

Happy Mothers day to all the moms, maternal guardians, expecting moms, and those with babies who have left the earth!! You're all kick ass and deserve so much more than one day to appreciate all you do🩷

🤰

.

.

.

Being your neighbor for the last two years, König has watched your marriage slowly dissolve into nothing. The loud arguments that boom through the shared walls are hard to miss. He would often keep his ear close to the wall, being ready to barge in if your husband were to take things too far. That’s why when you banged on his door around 5am to cry in his arms about your pending divorce there was no surprise. What did surprise him was the information of you being pregnant.

Since that day, König has taken you and your unborn child’s care personally. Driving you to your appointments, getting you whatever you craved, and even massaging your swollen feet. He’s always right there; pushing aside his feelings for you because it’s not something you need on your plate right now.

On Mother’s Day, you lie on your bed naked. Your arms above your head as you try to catch your breath from the hot shower you just took. That’s when you hear the doorbell. A long exhale escapes you as you struggle up to sitting position. Grabbing your fluffy blue robe, you cover yourself and walk towards the front door.

There König stands with a bouquet of pink roses and a bag in hand. You look up at him with shimmering eyes and a wide smile causing his heart to pick up pace. He extends his hand out to you.

“Für dich.”

You grasp the flowers by their stems and inspect them before returning your gaze to his. “They’re beautiful!” You step aside and hold the door open more. “Come on in.”

König crouches and enters your space. His eyes look around at the crib, still in its box and he makes a mental note to put it together for you sooner than later. The baby should be here in a month or so. He takes a seat on the end of the sofa and watches you sit.

“This is also for you.” He hands you the bag.

When you grab the bag, you pull out the tissue paper and place it beside you. There is a small black box at the bottom of the bag. You reach in and grab it, opening it slowly with a wide smile still on your face. Inside is a golden chain with a heart made with the birthstone of your childs due date and yours.

“Kö…you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Plus, its your first Mother’s Day. It should be special.”

Placing the box on your lap you look up with him, tears in your eyes. “Thank you.” Your voice cracks while you try your best to hold back your emotions.

“Of course, Schatz.” König stands, walking to you and taking the necklace from the box. He walks behind you on the sofa to put the necklace on you.

You grab your hair and pull it up, exposing your neck to him. For a moment he looks at your soft skin and envisions himself kissing you. He quickly shakes that image from his mind, bending down slightly to put the jewelry on you. Your freshly washed hair smells strongly like tropical fruit and your skin like warm vanilla.

“There you are.” König smiles down at you, turning to look at the box in the corner. “Would you like for me to put that together for you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“It’s really no problem.” He says, pulling a pocket knife out and approaching the box. He cuts the tape and looks inside, pulling out the instructions. “It would be a simple task.”

“You’re too good to me, Kö. I don’t know where I’d be without you here.”

“How have you been feeling?” He asks as he kneels on the floor, pulling out the pieces he needs.

“Eh, I’ve been okay.” You lean back on the couch, exposing more of your thighs underneath your already short robe. “I feel like everything is running a marathon, I’m constantly out of breath. The hot flashes are unbearable. I feel like a giant whale.”

A small chuckle comes from König, his eyes darting to your legs for a split second. “You still look beautiful.”

“I don’t feel it.” You huff, resting your hands on your large belly. “I’ve also been so unbelievably horny, but I can barely reach myself anymore. It’s more work than it’s worth.” Once the words leave your mouth you can feel your face turn hot. For a moment you forgot you were speaking to the man you have a crush on, not just a close friend.

König puts down the wood in his hands and turns his head in your direction after hearing your comment. A small smirk on the corner of his lips as you admit that your body craves to be touched. “I’ve heard the hormones make you more…” he tries to think of a more subtle word other than horny. “excitable.”

“I—yeah. It’s true.” You look up at the ceiling for a moment. “Why do you help me so much?”

“I like to.” He replies simply as he continues to piece things together.

There is a lull of silence as he quietly works and you contemplate your next move. Is it worth possibly ruining a friendship? Does he like you or is he simply a kind soul? What if he thinks your pregnant body is unattractive?

No longer wishing to be in this awkward silence you stand up and approach him. König looks up, confused. Before he can say anything, you drop your robe.

His eyes widen as he looks at your body. Your breasts swollen with darkened areoles. Your belly large with a few stretch marks and a thin brown line down the center leading to the bush between your legs. He swallows before meeting your gaze again. Words escape him as he nods his head, standing to his feet.

König runs his finger tips down your arms before leaning in for a kiss. The moment your lips meet there is a spark between you both. His lips consume yours, breathing heavily through his nose as he trails down your chin to your neck. He lets his hands wander to your full breasts, gently tugging on your nipple.

You grab his waist and lead him back towards the couch, gently pushing him down. He sits and looks up at you once you pull back. His hands are quick to undo his pants, pulling them down to expose his hard cock. You look at it before looking back up to his eyes and straddling him.

“Wait—don’t you want me to eat you…” The words fall from his lips as he feels the tip of his cock enter your warm and wet cunt. His head falls back on the couch as his eyes lock with yours.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You whimper as you sit completely on his fat cock and begin to rock back and forth on him.

“Mein Gott….” König’s hands grab your thighs and squeezes them as he tries to allow you to remain in charge.

The feeling of his cock stretching you after months of not having human contact sends your body into euphoria. You begin to softly bounce, your breasts moving in motion with you. Underneath you can feel his hips meeting yours, his hands gradually sliding up to your hips to assist in movement.  Quickly, your body tires. Eyes meeting his you whimper, “I want you to fuck me.”

König nods eagerly. Wrapping his arms around you, assisting in resting you back on the couch. You’re the first pregnant woman he’s been with so there is a level of fear inside of him. He’s worried he would be too rough and hurt you.

His body positioned between you legs as you hold on back, he slowly slips himself back inside of you. Your body welcomes him so perfectly he lets out a quiet groan. Gently, he pulls his hips back and thrust into you. He watches you face intently waiting for any sign that you might be uncomfortable.

“Harder.” You demand.

“I don’t want to hurt—”

“You won’t. Fuck me, please.” You feel pathetic practically begging for him to ravish your body.

No words as König places one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on your leg. He begins to trust into you like a man starved for human touch. Your pussy so wet that your sweet cum begins to drip down onto the fabric beneath you. The look on his face changes from worry to a lustful haze.

“God yes!” You cry out. The sound of his hips slamming into yours ring out in the small living space. Your fingers dig into whatever you can grab as you feel a build up begin. A wave of ecstasy crashes over your body as a borderline scream leaves your mouth.  “Fucking…fuck!”

“Cum on my cock. Cum for me.” König demands as he relentlessly fucks you.

One of his hands moves from the couch to your large round belly, gently touching it as you tremble. Your pussy pulsating on his shaft. His balls tighten, a pressure building deep inside his loin. Watching your orgasm only beckons his own.

“Schatz.” The pet name comes out in a growl as he tries to control himself.

“Please cum inside of me.” You beg. “Please, I want you cum König.”

He’s in no position to deny you want you crave. His hips pause as he feels the pleasure overwhelm him. Your name falls from his lips as he looks deeply into your eyes, filling you with his cum. There is a moment of heavy breathing before he gently leans back and pulls out, sitting on the floor next to you on the couch.

“That was amazing.” You pant with a small smile on your lips. For once your body feels desirable and pleased.

“You…wow.” König says still trying to catch his breath.

You turn on your side and comb your fingers through his messy blond hair. His eyes close as he allows himself to enjoy the feeling of being pet by you. There are obvious conversations that need to be had, for now your both just relishing in the euphoria and peace of this very moment. After a few minutes pass König turns to kiss your lips. The kiss gentle and lingers.

“I should finish the crib.” He chuckles softly before kissing you again.

[talon-the-hawk]

Yandere! Batfam x Neglected Streamer! Reader

Previous Next

Chapter 4: Fatherless Behaviour

You were living in ignorant bliss.

Although your apartment wasn't in the nicest part of Gotham, it was still something you could call yours. Sure the ceiling had spots where it was leaking, and your neighbours were up at all hours of the night screaming at each other, but they weren't loud enough for your mic to pick up so you tried your best to just block it out.

Your apartment wasn't luxurious by any means. The carpeted floors were stained from the previous owners, and the provided bedframe creaked whenever you laid down. The kitchen cabinets never fully closed, and you would have to run your shoulder into the pantry door for the lock to catch.

But it was only temporary until you found a new place to live.

Or so you hoped.

As much as you loved the few friends you had made in Gotham, you knew you needed something more.

Metropolis, maybe? Star city? The options were endless, and the goal of getting as far away from your past seemed to be right in your reach.

"What are you wearing?" Damian asked, looking at the new hoodie Jon adorned himself with.

"Huh? Oh, the hoodie? It's the newest merch from that streamer I showed you! It even came signed by them!" Jon replied happily, showing off the signature.

How does Jon have signed merch before he did. It wasn't fair.

"I can see that. Why are you wearing it?" Damian asked, feeling an odd sense of jealously rising up in him. It didn't make sense to be jealous. Damian Wayne is above emotions like jealousy.

Jon just stared at him with an innocent look of confusion.

"Because I'm a fan, duh?"

Damian just stayed silent, lips pursed.

It was his own fault for mocking you. He can't be jealous when he was the one that drove you away. And yet...he longs to be the one in the hoodie; He longs to be the one that you go to for consults on merch designs. You knew how artistic he could be, he could help with your branding.

"Here, wanna watch the newest stream with me?" Jon hummed, waving his phone around. All Jon got in reply was a soft 'tch' and a nod.

"Alright, chat. Everyone's been asking for it, so here we go." You state, pulling up the little rank board on your monitor.

"Ranking people my chat has shipped me with."

You show off the small collection of little images at the bottom of your screen.

"I've scoured the deepest darkest corners of the internet...cough cough, reddit and tumblr, to see just who my chat think I'd be compatible with."

You pull up the first little image.

"First up we've got.." You had to take a moment to breathe, barely containing your laughter.

"The penguin."

You watched the chat flood with different opinions on the ship, ranging from disgust to mocking jests.

"Yeah, this is going in the F tier. Chat, he's like 60. At that point you can't even make Daddy jokes...that's like grandpa type shit. Thanks, but no thanks."

You quickly drop the little image into the F tier slot moving onto the next one.

"Next up we've got Kid Flash...honestly, y'all. He pops in for a cameo on stream one time and suddenly there's fanart."

A little ping noise alerts you to a donation, and you look over.

Speedster098 donated $10: Happy to cameo again whenever you need me to ;)

You scoff, clicking your tongue as your chat reacts to the text to speech message.

"I thought I told you to stop donating, KF. I know you have like $13 total in your bank account." You state, quietly dragging the little image into the A tier space. You watch your chat go crazy with ship names and 'awwws', snorting.

"Yeah yeah, no comment. Those who know, know."

You repeat the process, listing off a couple more streamers until an image pops up that makes you grin.

"Red Arrow." You hum in amusement. Your mouse stutters for a moment, but then you slowly move the picture into the S tier space.

"Chat, hear me out." You begin, watching your fans blow up in reaction. A donation pinged, the text to speech bot reading out the little note that came with the money.

Areyoushore?345 donated $5: Robin hood junior? Really?

"Aye, aye...all Imma say is that he's an archer. That means he's good with his hands, no?"

You looked over your chat, a certain comment catching your eye and making you laugh.

" 'Fatherless behaviour'...oh, ToxicCreed. I hate to be the one to burst your bubble here mate, but that's kinda my thing. Fatherless, Motherless. The whole orphan shabang."

That was all Dick needed to hear to shut his laptop quickly.

Roy? And Wally?

He wasn't sure how to feel. His baby sibling was pining over one of his best friends, and they didn't even know it. This wasn't right. He knew both of the men you spoke of, and neither of them were good enough for you.

And this talk of fatherless behaviour? You have a father, a family. Why make jokes about things that aren't true? Don't you know how much Bruce cares?

Speaking of, why would Bruce have even approved of your leaving? Surely you spoke to your father before leaving, why wouldn't he have told the rest of them about your departure? How could he let you live in a dangerous city completely alone with no protection?

This just wouldn't do. This stream alone proved that he needed to see you. Making such comments are just opening you up to being exploited by the darkest corners of Gotham.

Don't even get him started on Wally's flirting with you. How could he- your big brother not know that one of his best friends had been hanging out with you behind his back? He would definitely have a talk with Wally, and soon.

All he's waiting for is the call from Jason confirming your location.

A/N:

Y'all I am so sorry, school has been whooping my ass so I haven't had a lot of time to write lately lol. Anyways hope you guys found this chapter satisfactory!

Taglist: @vanessa-boo @jjsmeowthie @cxcilla @itsberrydreemurstuff @trashlanternfish360 @starsswaggy @legolas-the-homeschooled-elf @nickithearticorn @hallahella @lettucel0ver @kittzu @cssammyyarts @ryuushou @welpthisisboring @neverdead2 @mallowryblog @lingxio @the-dumber-scaramouche @oxionsworld @raini-sanchez @jellyedkazoo @alishii @bellethesleepypotato @icefox8155 @wizzerreblogs @darling-dearesttt @depressed--therapist @crazycaoticsimp @briceericeee @venomsvl @tulnukaz @deathbynarcisstick @cqerrz @sadeem575 @question-mark-v2 @b4tm4nn @mxvoid26 @eli-chris @wisefuncherryblossom @frank-vanderboom @atomicarose @sleeping-l0s3rs @lovebug-apple @jellystar-star @definitely-not-sammie @chi1lllb @peche4et3chocolat @agsggebhzgehkfisnx @zhentheraven @flightless-magpie @wpdarlingpan @wishiwaswritingrn @mysticalcollectionheartme @hai-there-how-are-you @godoreo22 @ive-made-so-many-mistakes @funtimekoda14 @ilovecoffe0 @estella-satn

[tryagainenthusiast]

words of affirmation

mdni!

summary , jeong jaehyun can't seem to take a compliment about his stroke game...

jaehyun thinks that one of the times that you look your most beautiful is right after the two of you have just had sex. you’re a complete mess, in a good way, your hair is disheveled, and the hot steam from the shower makes it that bit frizzier. your cheeks are going to be a flushed pink colour until the next morning when you wake up, and your lips feel a tad softer with the reminiscent thought that jaehyun was right there only moments ago.

he peeks his head from behind the bathroom door, placing his toothbrush into the little cup that you balance on your sink and shuffling towards you in the obnoxiously fluffy slippers that you bought for yourself, conveniently in his size.

“look at my girlfriend…” jaehyun hums, looking down at your limp body on the bed that is covered barely with his shirt. he leans down over the bed, running his hands down your sides gently, “why do you look so tired?” he jokes, falling into the space next to you, head hitting the pillow and damp hair being thrown across his face.

look at him, thinking he’s so smug. he thinks his subtle bragging goes unnoticed, and it makes you want to take him down a notch. you pull yourself up to his ear, pressing your warm face against his, “its because my boyfriend is so good to me.” you mumble into his ear and immediately jaehyun is frozen still. it’s only until you pull away to look at his face, ears and cheeks red, smiling from ear to ear that he huffs, “why would you say that?” he hides his face in the crook of your neck in embarrassment.

his lips pout to leave small kisses on your skin that try to conceal his utter joy mixed with the feeling in stomach that makes him want to make you feel good all over again. honestly, he could start jumping up and down on the bed, or break out into dance to get his emotions out and stop him from asking you to keep repeating that in your smooth voice a hundred more times.

the look on your face is amused, and he pulls away with a sulking face as soon as he realises, hitting his head against the pillow and looking up at the ceiling to avoid eye contact; but even the shadows that dance across it mimic the way your lips moved when you whispered out to him. “what? what did i say?” you thrum, and he just groans out, furrowing his brows and looking away.

“i can’t say that my jaehyun makes me feel sooo nice?” you breathe out a laugh and he groans again even louder, grabbing the pillow from underneath his head and smothering his face with it to stop his breathing before it gets out control and he explodes out of happiness.

your hand reaches for the pillow covering his whole head and he doesn’t fight when you take it away from his hot face because he’ll succumb to anything your heart desires. he’s still sulking, bottom lip even pouted out a little bit. “you need to learn to take a compliment.” you say, pressing a finger into the exact spot on his cheek where his dimple is, and it appears suddenly because he really cant control himself. “i can take compliments, just not when they’re about that.” he tries to sound serious behind his massive smile.

you scoff, “then how are you supposed to know if you’re doing well?”

he just shrugs. “you tell me in the moment, doing it after feels wrong.” he says, but what he means is that having a post-sex debrief riles him up enough to undo the shower he’s just had, and flashes images in his mind that he saves only for when he misses you. his face turns to take a quick look at yours, and to see the smile on your face that feels almost deliberately evil.

“well i want to tell you now.”

jaehyun shakes his head but it just spurs you on further, “i want to say now that it always feels super good.” the palms of your hands run around the curve of his shoulders and his nose scrunches. you lean back into him to cup his cheeks and see him try and fight a smile, “and your face always looks super cute during it.” you squish his cheeks and he muffles out an unintelligible grumble.

never in your life have you seen him so worked-up. “you’re voice is so nice too.” you nod and he groans out. “just like that.”

“stop.” he groans again, bothered by the smirk on your lips that looks annoyingly good on your face, unsure whether he’s desperately asking you to stop or the blood in his veins that is rapidly pumping away from his face and into something else now.

jaehyun strokes through your hair calmly to distract himself from the thoughts that cloud his head but your slick tongue never knows when to stop.

“and i want to say i wanna do it again.”

you shriek loudly when his hands reach out to grab your waist, pulling you across the bed and into his torso, reaching for you like they have been waiting to be this greedy. his lips immediately at your jaw again and working their way down to your collarbones as you giggle out, arms wrapping around his neck. he doesn’t stop when you laugh breathlessly, trying to push him off you—giving you a taste of your own medicine. “stop saying things like that.” he strums with a grin, pressing a kiss across your giggling mouth in between every word until you give in and lay back weakly. to shut you up and stop this from going too far, because water bills are pricey and because the both of you have to be up early tomorrow.