#there is no life without you afterall

[terymlxyrstdus]

I understand now, after I have loved, why did Orpheus turn around.

After Eurydice died he truly understood that he could not live without her, so he went to the underground to bring her back. And I can see the moment he is walking from the underground and the realisiation hits him suddenly, that there is a chance that Eurydice is not walking behind, that it is all just a trick, and most importantly that maybe he is walking in to a world without Eurydice. That is the moment he turns around.

The love he held for Eurydice was so big that just the chance of walking in to world without her was a torment for him. He turned around because he knew that he would rather face underground than earth without Eurydice. Rather death with his true love than life on his own.

[ombiblombi]

Joined a pressure oc community and the rp there is like, so calm - I'm still waiting for an eyefest death level event to happen but nobody's dying, getting kidnapped or being injured; although we've had 2 OCs fuse into one by some evil scientist lol.

Oh hell yeah, evil scientist fusion,,,,

.....hmmm.... damn.... maybe I should join and stirr some things up lol /j

[kittsuneriyu]

For a while I really wanted to make my own designs for a "role swap" AU.

The idea is that characters change roles, not in between, they change sides but still have their own unique quirks to hunt or survive.

007n7 basically goes insane after losing both Noli and c00lkidd, turning back into his old hacker persona, he decides to make his sorrow into everyone's problem. 007n7's actions are way more destructive and reckless, with nothing else to lose, why should he fear getting hurt or punished? This mentality is what pushes him further into keep living to make hell break lose.

Elliot is still a worker on Builder Brother's Pizza's, the best as always. But sometimes you never felt like making some jerk pay for his actions? That's Elliot's mindset, using his freetime to hunt down anyone that dared to mistreat him or other employees. Having a twisted kind of satisfaction on making "justice" with his own hands. Of course, he would never let it affect the Pizzaria's service.

Chance is a thrill seeker, to achive it he always took the most risky choices. It lead him into involving himself with some shady people. Now working as some hitman, Chance uses this title to coerce his targets into gambling with him in change of their mercy. But somehow Chance always wins either way.

The rest of the survivors aren't as elaborated as those three.

Noob is just some generic killer, the kind that looks like an average person but later shows themselves as some maniac.

Guest 1337 as stated on the drawing works like Fliqpy, genuinely feeling guilty for hurting someone, his flight or fight reaction really blinds him when something triggers him.

Two Time achived a very high connection with the spawn after a bunch of sacrifice's. One life in change of a extra one, this allows them to insta-heal a deadly injury an keep going, of course it doesn't comes without consequences. Each scar and rebirth disfigure's Two Time's form further and further.

Builderman alongside Telamon started an iron fist moderation, punishing and banning anyone that broke rules or defied their ideals.

Builderman didn't changed much design wise, glasses to only focus on their ideals, headsets to not hear their pleas or opinions and a hardhat to protection of course.

Telamon never gave up on his hatred, some still spilled over his creation but most of it still with him.

Dusekkar never agreed with this nonsense, and the two Admins didn't took it lightly, now Duse doesn't mind that much, afterall he doesn't have a thinkng mind at all anymore.

Taph would do anything for builderman, so they hopped along with the two Admin's, Taph happened to mess up a few times but now that they got the message they're not going to fail Builderman anymore.

And of course we have our survivors.

"Poor kidd there's something about us people never really liked." Not sure about what happened to c00lkidd for him to disappear. Up to you I guess.

1x a vessel for the admin's experiment, nothing but that. And when falling purposeless they felt anger, a powerful need for revenge. 1x and 2x never happened to become sepparated entities.

John Doe a mere moderator, only wanting to ensure that robloxia's problems were solved, too good for his own sake. This was his ruin.

Noli since the start aspired that one day he would reach out the starts, but now that he has them in hands theres no one left to share their glimmer with.

Guest 666 was just some rebel, a trouble maker as people say. Unable to properly speak without an account, but also unnable to be properly punished. Not sure how his relation with Noob could go.

Azure was, alongside his partner, one out of the most faithful ones of their cult. This feat led him and Two Time into a huge sacrificial rabbit hole. After being killed Azure turned his back to anything related to spawn or cults in general.

[galacticlavender]

You Only Think When I Allow It

cw: intelligence play, light memory play, clicker training

“I’m smart when I want to be!” You regretted your words the second they left your mouth, and sure enough you now had your Mistress’s undivided attention.

“Petal? I think you meant to say that you are smart when I want you do be.” You hear the slight hum of her biorhythm bouncing off your implant, not strong enough to overwhelm you but enough to warn you that you were on thin ice.

“I uh well sorry Mistress I just thought…” 

She cuts you off before you can even finish the sentence: “No. You don’t think, pet.” This time her biorhythm gave you no room to argue or explain yourself. Your mind simply went 

Blank.

“Come back to me dear.” You hear the musical tones of your Mistress’s voice as you suddenly snap back to awareness. How long had it been? It couldn’t have been long you’re still in the same spot. You decide that it isn’t really important especially when Mistress is talking. “Darling are you back?” You nod silently as the last of the fog clears your head. 

“Normally I would say that this was enough of a demonstration but brats need reminded of their place sometimes don’t they dear?”

“Yes Mistress.” You say it automatically and without hesitation, you know better than to say or do anything else.

“Good pet!” A pulse of pleasure radiates through you before she quickly catches your attention again. 

“I think it’s time for a pop quiz pet! I know how much you used to pride yourself on how smart you were and that fancy education you had. That’s not inherently a bad thing, but the pressures and expectations that they put on you were crushing you before I found you flower. Thinking all the time was hurting you and I simply cannot allow that. Of course it’s ok to be smart sometimes too, but you need balance just as in all other parts of life. You seem to have forgotten that and it’s time for me to give you a reminder that you can be smart, yes, but only when I allow it. Now can you think clearly right now pet?”

You nod again, not knowing what she has planned but eager to find out. “Excellent then lets begin. Don’t worry the questions aren’t hard, especially for a smart girl like you who got such a fancy education,” you feel as well as hear the mocking tone of her voice and remember that with their long lifespans and superior intelligence even the smartest and most educated terran couldn’t hope to compair to an affini. 

“First question: what year did the Affini compact make diplomatic contact with humanity?” That’s easy, it was only a few years ago afterall. Before you can answer though you hear a sharp Click and feel a rush of pleasure that leaves your thoughts just a little more fuzzy than they were before. “Well pet? Whats the answer?” 

You hear another Click and another wave of that fuzzy pleasure floods over you. “That’s easy it’s…” The answer eludes you, replaced with a fuzzy, tingly warmth. Why is your head so foggy  suddenly? You don’t know, but Mistress is waiting for an answer. “I don’t know” you quietly admit.

“Good floret!”

Your Mistress’s praise feels so good that you barely even notice the Click that accompanied it or the fog rising behind it. What was going on again? You were proving you were smart so why is it so hard to think right now?

“Mistress, are you cheating by using xenodruggies to make me stupid?” You slur the words slightly reenforcing your theory that you have been drugged.

“Well first off, it would not be cheating to use xenodrugs on you. You are my pet and I can drug or play with you whenever I choose. But, no dear, you aren’t drugged. You don’t need to be anymore, remember this?” She produces a small plastic object. You whimper involuntarily as memories of countless hours of painstaking training rush back.

“Wait… you clicker trained me then made me forget about it?” You try to sound assertive but fail to hide your arousal at the thought of being trained.

“Watching you remember always was my favorite part. It’s just so cute watching you realize how much I own you. How much control I have over you.” You a faint moan escapes your lips but thankfully she interrupts you before you could embarrass yourself further. “I think its time for the next question: what is the name of the ship we are on?” Click.

Again you know that you should know the answer but it just can’t quite make it through the rising fog. “Uhhhhh I don’t know?” 

“Good pet!” another Click another wave of fuzzy pleasure hits your brain. “That’s right! You don’t know. Afterall why would a silly little pet like you need to remember things like that?” 

Another Click reminds you just how owned you are. “Good pets like you don’t need to think. Good pets like you can’t think, not without their owners permission anyway. You only think when I allow it. You aren’t a person anymore dear, you’re my adorable, obedient pet.” You don’t even try to hide your moan this time, you aren’t even sure you could hide it at this point iso you decide not to bother with trying.

“Ok pet, last question: what are you?” The anticipation you feel waiting for that beautiful Click almost feels as good as hearing it at this point.

“I’m your obedient pet, Mistress.”

“Yes you certainly are dear. I think you deserve a reward for doing such a good job.

Click.

[lockea]

I've been seeing a lot of Discourse around outdoor cats that talks past one of the biggest problems addressing community cats/outdoor working cats so I thought I'd chime in with my two cents.

Many arguments I see just... don't think about the cats at all? Or don't consider the logistics of actually addressing the feral cat problem in a humane way. It's always about how outdoor cats shouldn't be outdoors, which is neither realistic nor helpful.

I used to volunteer at an municipal animal shelter in the USA that had a TNR program (Trap, Neuter, Return) and also adopted out community cats to local farms and businesses. Here's my side of the story.

"Your cat doesn't need to be outside" -- Yes, correct. Your domesticated (non-feral) house cat does not need to go outside at all. They can have a fully actualized life safely indoors. When I see this argument, proponents of indoor only cats are correct in most or all their arguments regarding this.

"Outdoor cats are the largest invasive species in the world, and decimate bird populations." -- This is also correct, and part of the reason why you can help by bringing your house cat indoors. Cats are the largest invasive species. Spay and Neuter your cats, bring them inside, and socialize them so they don't become feral.

"TNR doesn't work." -- False. Whether we like it or not, feral cats exist. We have two methods by which we can address the feral cat population -- decimating them (humanely euthanizing the whole colony) or TNR. For a long time, euthanasia was the preferred way to address the feral cat problem. Afterall, if the cats aren't there, doesn't that save the local wildlife population?

Except that we found, studying these colonies, that when a colony is wiped out, the cats of another colony will spread into their territory and continue to have kittens and the population of feral cats is neither controlled nor diminished.

Hence, TNR. What we found performing TNR on cat colonies was that this controlled the population of the colonies, allowing them to stay in their territory, which kept other colonies from spreading (especially colonies we hadn't performed TNR on yet). We at the shelter felt this was the most humane way to control the feral cat population and safely deflate their existence without dealing with the population blooms that euthanasia caused.

"What about kittens?" -- Kittens from these colonies were brought into the shelter, socialized, and fostered out until they could be adopted. Some of these semi-feral kittens needed special homes to be adopted into, but this was the best quality of life for these cats.

"What about cats that get missed during TNR?" -- We would return to the colony several times over a period of several years to perform TNR on the same colony. We mark cats that have been neutered by clipping their ear (this is done humanely, but is the most reliable way to tell if a cat has been neutered so the poor thing doesn't have to have surgery 3-4 times in their life). Also, during the TNR process the cats would be vaccinated to ensure disease did not spread from the colony (i.e. rabies). Still, even getting 60% of the colony TNR'd would dramatically reduce the number of kittens being added to the colony each year. This controlled the population by allowing the territory to naturally deflate in size over time, buying us time to address the larger feral cat problem.

"What if the colony was in an unsafe location?" -- There were two ways we addressed unsafe colony locations -- remember, we know that when the colony is removed, a new colony will move into its place, so we tried not to move the colony unless we really felt the cats or the public was unsafe -- one was to move the whole colony to a new location. Preferably someplace like a warehouse where we have an agreement with the owners of the warehouse. Some of the cats were even relocated to shelter grounds as our community cats. If the colony was small enough we would bring them into our Feral Cats room and adopt them out as community cats.

"What is a community cat?" -- The way the program worked, was that anyone who needed a working cat could apply to the program. These were often rural farmers or businesses with warehouses that needed rodent protection. We trained the farmers and businesses on how to acclimatize the cats to their new home, and as part of the agreement, they had to care for the cats (veterinary care, vaccinations, food and water). This gave businesses and farms an alternative to expensive and environmentally unfriendly rodent control, and also gave these feral cats good places to live out their natural lives.

"Can't you just adopt out feral cats?" -- No. Cats that have not been socialized around humans as kittens, or who have several generations of feral cat in them could not interact with humans in a way that did not cause them undue stress. This was not a humane way to handle feral cats. However, when a cat was brought into the feral cat room, they would be monitored for up to a week. If the cat displayed signs of being semi-social or fully social (hanging out outside of their den, allowing staff to pet them, showing interest in staff in the room), then we would either move the cat into the adoption room or place them in foster to be socialized before adoption. Feral cats who displayed signs of being able to live full and healthy lives with human companions were NOT adopted out as community cats. We also observed this behavior during TNRs and would do the same for those cats too.

"But aren't cats bad hunters?" -- Compared to other species, cats are not the most effective form of rodent control. This is true. However, you have to understand that feral cats exist. There is no "undo" button we can push to stop them from existing. We have to deal with the problem we have right now, which is to safely and humanely decrease the number of feral cats in our communities. And yes, we do that by using cats as rodent control in the community.

"What can I do?" -- Stop saying community cats shouldn't exist. That's not helpful and doesn't solve the problem we have. Bring your cat indoors. Spay and neuter your cats. Adopt from shelters. Volunteer with a TNR team. Support TNR efforts in your community. Recognize that those of us actively dealing with the community/feral problem are trying to do what is in the best interest of our communities and the animals we love. We aren't sitting over here saying these cats should exist -- a feral cat will not have the same quality of life as one that is indoors with a family -- but we have to address the problem in practical terms. We don't have the moral high ground to just do nothing while pontificating solutions that have no basis in actuality.

And yes, it's okay to celebrate community cats. If your local farm has a couple of working cats, that means that farm is helping participate in the safe deflation of the feral cat population. Don't shame a farm or business for using community cats. We're all doing the best we can to solve the problem that we have.

[ilylovelyz]

⍣ ೋ Alucard x Pregnant S/O Headcannons

i feel as if alucard will be the one to know about the pregnancy first

depending on the timeline you envision reader/you in, alucard will have more or less some knowledge on pregnancies and childbirth

esp cuz yk his mom was a doctor

but regardless i feel alucard would wake up one day and be hit with your scent being completely offputting

not in a bad way, but in a way that he immediately notices

being that he is humanely superior than most, your physical attributes are all he notices!

even your scent cuz he loves sniffing you and he uses it to know if youre flocking around somewhere!

but anyways he'll notice the way you smell different

his suspicions immediately rise, afterall you both are a couple that has a lot of love to offer <3

but he won't say anything to you, no

or at least not for awhile

i think he'd know it's something special for you to find out first by yourself and THEN you'd tell him like some cutesy surprise although its not a surprise considering he already knows

but A+ for effort in his eyes!

he'll leave you to it

it's not like he could see through you like an MRI scan so all he can really do his rely on your scent and just assume you're with child but he'll make sure to have other possibilities in mind like your body just changing naturally or age

once the thought is in his mind he's still instantly becoming 10x more overprotective

as your lover he'll always keep his eyes on you in situations, whether it'd be across a busy room 10ft away from you or in dangerous situations like fighting night creatures

but if you're with child, you're 1st in line to yourself in his priority list! <3

once the symptoms start to bring you aware of the pregnancy he's just waiting in silence excitedly for you to acknowledge him to it so he can finally express how he feels

once you do, he wont say that he already knew, but he wont act like a fool out of "surprise"

but either way, the happiness is evident with him

he'll then begin to publicly coo all over you

never lets you out of his sight, you're always on his mind 24/7 and the baby as well

is constantly thinking about how to improve his current situation for the future of the baby

will definitely want to create the baby furniture and toys himself with you, maybe give the baby any remaining toys he has left from his own childhood

he really has no preference for gender

but in his mind, when it comes to envisioning the future, it always comes down to soft lace cotton tiny dresses and pink ribbons

once your pregnancy begins to really affect you, his over protectiveness is going to be at it's peak

you can't sleep at night? oh! neither can he, and he'll spend all night massaging your sore back and aching ankles if that's what it takes for you to be comfortable

stands outside the restroom while you puke if you don't allow him to be in there and waits patiently

sometimes will hold up your hair for you or pat your back if your sickness is really paining him

he thinks you absolutely glow with your belly all round! never a day without him caressing your skin and telling you how beautiful you are

when it comes closer and closer to the due date, he highkey begins internally stressing

he worries that something bad will happen, worries that one of the few things in his life will be taken away, if not all

will try to calm himself by sniffing you

if you let him, he'll definitely get down on his knees and practically worship your baby bump

puts his ear to your skin and tries to see if he can hear the heartbeat

his own flutters when it does and boy does it melt him down to a puddle of sweetness

when you begin labor he's 100% going to try to be by your side for the entire thing

he's half-vampire, a little soreness from you squeezing the blood out of his hand will not deter him from leaving your side

if complications arise, he's going to do his best for you to stay calm and try to help minimize your pain, but internally he's sweating and feels like he's gonna pass out if things get that bad

will definitely read his mother's notes on pregnancy and childbirth to aid him in your birth

once the baby is delivered, he audibly releases a sigh of relief

kisses your forehead, your cheek, your lips, everything, in a silent thanks to you

definitely is anxious to hold the baby, but will let you first obviously if you're able to

once it's his turn to hold his child it's like he's glued in place and just admires his little baby

next few days are just of you resting, even if you try to help, he's taking over everything and anything baby related

does not let you do the night feedings

becomes basically your doctor and feeds you foods that he researched helps energizes the exhausted and improvement of health

his bond with your baby is soul deep, he'd spend the remainder of time holding them if he could

see trevor's version!

[ssa-dado]

I could totally see Aaron being jealous. Maybe a oneshot of her meeting Sean Hotchner for the first time.

Covering Up - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff Summary: You’re late, and while Gideon’s passive-aggressive remarks are expected, it’s Hotch who really has you on edge. But it’s not just his authority; it’s the way you inadvertently caught the attention of Hotch’s brother, Sean. Warnings: None, just wanted to clarify the story is set around late 1998 or early 1999, before Hotch became Unit Chief (Gideon was in charge instead). Word Count: 3k Dado's Corner: You didn't see this coming, did you? Something cute to celebrate the end of the year. Sorry it took so much to respond, I totally forgot about this ask... hope you like itttttt. Again, HOTCH IN LOOOOOOOVE but doesn't want to admit hahaha what a fool.

masterlist

You were late today. Remarkably late.

For the first time ever in your life.

And while the idea of Gideon giving you one of his passive-aggressive “I’m not mad, just disappointed” speeches wasn’t exactly fun, there was one person who truly terrified you in this situation.

Hotch.

How ironic: it wasn’t your boss you were afraid of - it was your fussy coworker. The same coworker whose desk, unfortunately, happened to sit right in front of yours.

Perfect.

You were still trying to salvage your dignity in the elevator, jabbing at the elevator button, fumbling with your hair as the doors closed. Maybe an updo would make you look less… late. But by the time you reached your floor, the mess you’d made felt more “distressed damsel” than “competent federal agent.”

So, naturally, you made the split-second decision to undo the whole thing, pulling your hair loose halfway to your desk.

You winced.

Not because anyone was watching - everyone seemed too absorbed in their own work - but because if someone had been looking, you’d have perfectly executed that clichéd, overly dramatic hair flip straight out of a low-budget action movie.

The kind made by men, for men.

The ones where the femme fatale struts into the room, stiletto heels clicking, hair whipping in slow motion, cleavage doing all the talking, her entire existence engineered for the male gaze.

And here you were. No stilettos. No slow motion. Just… the hair flip.

Fantastic.

You shook it off, hoping to slink to your desk unnoticed, now more focused to brace yourself for the silent judgement of-

A man.

Not the man you expected - Hotch.

An actual man, a somehow handsome man.

Oh God. He’d definitely seen you do the dramatic hair flip.

His smirk confirmed it - no need for a profiler to figure that one out.

A man, sitting comfortably in Hotch’s chair. And, notably, no Hotch in sight.

“Are you here for a consultation with Agent Hotchner?” you asked, doing your best to sound at least professional as you set your bag down.

He chuckled – like you were the punchline of some inside joke you weren’t in on. “Actually, yes.”

Though you couldn’t help but study him... it was in your nature afterall.

He was about Hotch’s height, blond, blue-eyed, and generically good-looking in a way that probably gave him the nerve to sit at an agent’s desk without any kind of second thought.

But what really stood out? He looked about your age.

Very early twenties - which, mathematically speaking, made him way too young to be here asking for a consultation.

Not that you were one to talk. You were constantly reminded you were “too young” to be working for the FBI. So, at least you had that in common.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he read from your badge, dragging out the syllables for some of his twisted reasons you chose to ignore. Then he smirked. “You’re young.”

“She is.” Hotch’s voice cut through the air before you could form a response, making you startle slightly. He was suddenly there, right behind you, like he’d materialized out of thin air.

“Sean,” he said, his tone clipped in that uniquely Hotch way that made you feel guilty even if you’d done nothing wrong, “I told you to wait for me outside.”

“And why are you so late?” Hotch added, his focus snapping to you with laser precision, his brows drawing together in that way that made your stomach twist in both irritation and… something else.

Classic Aaron Hotchner.

Two seconds on the scene, already cataloging what annoyed him. Efficiency at its finest.

“Damn, Aaron, relax. It’s barely been a minute,” Sean said, standing up finally, though not without flinching slightly under the weight of Hotch’s glare.

He stepped closer to you, extending a hand like he wasn’t about to be vaporized by the man’s disapproval. “I’m Sean, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

Before you could decide whether to shake his hand or politely tell him to run for cover, Hotch’s voice sliced through the air, as sharp and unyielding as ever. “No, you haven’t. Y/N, this is Sean, my brother. Sean, this is Agent Y/L/N, my partner.”

It took approximately two seconds after those words left his mouth for Hotch to realize he’d made not one but two rookie mistakes.

The first? The fact that, for some reason, you got to be “Y/N” while Sean - his brother - was firmly stuck with Agent Y/L/N.

A seemingly innocuous choice, but an interesting one.

Almost as if Hotch didn’t want Sean to forget who you were. Or worse, as if he wanted to keep that small, intimate privilege - using your first name - exclusively for himself.

And why?

Perhaps because, whether he admitted it or not, you’d managed to take up residence in his overworked brain. You weren’t just his colleague - you were his very own walking, talking paradox.

Equal parts intellect and quick wit, you could quote anything from your beloved dead philosophers as easily as you could dismantle someone’s argument with a single sarcastic comment.

You lingered, persistently, in his thoughts - too vividly, too often - so much so that you’d even started showing up in his dreams.

That might explain why his tongue betrayed him now - a slip you would undoubtedly label as ‘textbook Freudian.’

Somehow, through the cracks in the armor of the man who prided himself on control and precision, a truth he had no business acknowledging had leaked out.

Because, inexplicably and irreversibly, he’d just let his younger brother - of all people - catch the faintest glimpse of something he refused to admit even to himself: that he wasn’t entirely indifferent to you.

Not that Sean picked up on it - yet.

No, Sean’s focus was already drifting toward his second mistake, the one Hotch really hoped would keep Sean too distracted to notice the first. And, to Hotch’s silent horror, it worked like a charm.

“Partner?” Sean repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Are the two of you…?” He let the insinuation hang, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

Because here’s the thing - thanks to the way Hotch had worded it, Sean wasn’t just thinking that his big brother was casually sleeping with you. Oh no, this was way bigger.

This was Sean, standing here wide-eyed and completely convinced that his older, emotionally constipated, miserably single brother - who’d spent years brooding after his breakup Haley - had somehow not only managed to get a girlfriend but had kept it a secret.

And worse? That this whole scenario meant Hotch was maybe, just maybe, a little happy these days.

That alone was enough to blow Sean’s mind.

But before his imagination could run too far, you stepped in, your voice sharp and immediate. “God, no,” you blurted, practically recoiling from the suggestion.

“No,” Hotch said at the same time, though in stark contrast to your reaction, his was flat and unbothered.

Sean chuckled at your synchronized denial, which only prompted Hotch to fix you with one of his looks - the kind that felt like it could peel layers off your soul. Judgy, silent, but impossibly loud at the same time.

The kind of look that made you curious.

“Was he like this as a kid,” you asked Sean, “or was he ever actually a normal person?”

Sean’s smirk widened. “The only difference between then and now is that now they pay him to act like this.”

You laughed, loud and genuine, and Sean joined in - a perfect snapshot of solidarity between two survivors of Hotch’s relentless Hotch-ness. “Though I have to wonder… maybe he misunderstood the government’s contributions as a green light to act this way. It’s kind of like when you teach a dog to stand on two legs for a treat, and then he just keeps doing it.” You commented.

You and Sean burst into laughter, your voices echoing through the bullpen, while Hotch just stood there.

Watching. Seething.

But not entirely for the reasons he’d expect.

Sure, he was irritated that you had the audacity to make fun of him within perfect earshot - a clear, deliberate payback for all the grief and micromanagement he’d put you through.

But there was something deeper beneath his discomfort, something far more unsettling.

It wasn’t just that you were laughing at him - it was that you were laughing with Sean.

That easy, effortless kind of laughter, the kind he so rarely managed to coax out of you. Sean, his little brother, was already pulling it out of you like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like he’d cracked some code Hotch didn’t even know existed.

And that stung. More than it should’ve.

Because as much as he told himself it was ridiculous - childish, even - he couldn’t shake the flicker of jealousy curling in his chest.

A low, unwelcome burn.

It wasn’t just about the laughter. It was the way you looked at Sean. The way you seemed curious, intrigued by him in a way that made Hotch feel like an outsider in his own space. Like he was standing just outside the circle, close enough to see but not close enough to touch.

And he hated that.

He hated how much it bothered him.

Hated that he cared at all.

Hated the fact that, for all his discipline and carefully crafted walls, you always managed to slip through the cracks.

Unnoticed until it was too late.

Though you weren’t quite as unnoticed by everyone else.

Standing on the mezzanine, there was Gideon, watching you with that unshakeable calm of his. His eyes locked onto yours, and before you could even catch your breath, he called you over to his office.

It was probably for showing up two full hours late, but who could say?

Panic was all over you, though you were certain you kept it well-hidden - at least, you hoped so.

But before you could second-guess yourself, Hotch, who had been silently observing everything, grabbed a file from his desk and walked toward you at a precise angle that turned his back to Gideon.

Then, in a blur of words, he started speaking faster than you thought possible.

“I covered for you,” he said, voice low and hurried. “Tell him you went to see your mom yesterday. You took the 5:07 a.m. train. It broke down in Baltimore - stuck for an hour and forty-two minutes. That’s why you’re late. It’s all fact checked. If he asks - and he probably won’t - you don’t have the ticket because after a 90-minute delay, the company offers a full reimbursement if you send in the original.”

Before you could process what he was saying, he thrust the file into your hands.

“I filled out all the interrogatory statements for the Arlington case. If he asks why I had them, say I’m an idiot and that you cracked the unsub before I did, so the paperwork fell to me.” His dark eyes bore into yours, and for the first time since you’d met him, he sounded almost…desperate. “Don’t panic.”

Your brain short-circuited. The only thing you managed was a breathless, “Thanks.”

He watched you go, tracking every step you took until you disappeared into Gideon’s office. His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his side like he was bracing himself to pull you out of trouble if it came to that.

Though Sean, ever the opportunist, broke the silence. “Since when do you cover for people?” he asked.

Hotch didn’t bother looking at him, his focus firmly fixed on the files in his hands, though his grip had tightened ever so slightly. “Since her boss called her in for something unfair. She’s the first - well, second - person to arrive every day and the last to leave. She works harder than anyone here, including me, and she never complains about it. It’s not fair to punish her for being late once when she’s the one who picks up everyone else’s slack. This is a one-time thing, and frankly, it’s probably for the best - at least she got some sleep for once.”

Was that an over-articulated answer to what was likely more of an exclamation than an actual question? Yes. But better to be thorough than shallow - or at least, that’s what Hotch told himself.

Sean, on the other hand, had no qualms about being a bit shallow.

“You’re sure that’s the reason she was late?” Sean asked, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “Not because she, you know…” He trailed off, tilting his head, the mischievous grin practically begging Hotch to take the bait.

No. Of course not.

Not that there would’ve been anything wrong with it. Not because he wanted to come off as paternalistic or prudish about it.

Hell, if you really did, he hoped it was… fine.

Great, even.

But then, there was that annoying, traitorous part of him whispering - shouting, really - that he hoped it wasn’t too good.

Or serious.

Or anything worth bringing up more than once.

Damn it, Hotchner, could he not just be a normal, well-adjusted adult and be happy for someone else’s happiness without making it weird? Apparently not.

Still, he needed to give an actual response. Out of the 600,000 words available in the English language, what did he choose? The most original, expressive, and earth-shattering one of all: “No.”

Of course, it probably came out sounding way too sharp, betraying every tightly-coiled emotion he was trying to keep hidden.

Luckily - or unluckily - Sean was too busy zeroing in on something else to even notice.

“So,” Sean began, dragging out the word, “she’s single.”

…it wasn’t even a question.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, his patience already wearing thin. “Yes.” He admitted. “But don’t think about it.” He stopped him, already knowing where this conversation would eventually go.

“Why not?” Sean asked, his smirk practically carved into his face now. “You like her?” The teasing lilt in his voice was impossible to miss, but beneath it, there was a flicker of genuine curiosity.

Yes. Absolutely.

More than liked.

Liked in a way that he thought about you far too often, in places he shouldn’t, and at times he didn’t have the luxury of indulging.

Liked in a way that made him occasionally catch himself smiling in the middle of a meeting because some stray thought of you had slipped past his defenses.

Liked in a way that he imagined you during his early-morning runs, wondering if you’d find the sunrise as breathtaking as he did - or if you’d roll your eyes at his choice of music.

You probably would, because it was either the original cast recording of whatever Broadway musical he’d recently become obsessed with, or something from The Beatles.

Not just their classics, but the deeper cuts - the kind his mom had played on repeat during her own Beatlemania phase back in the ’60s, which was, admittedly, a phenomenon he’d inherited in his own way.

He liked you in a way that felt ridiculous, really.

Like the time he caught himself wondering if you’d like the tie he was wearing, not that he’d ever admit he chose it with you in mind.

Or when he stayed up too late re-reading one of your old case reports, pretending it was for work when it was really just to admire how sharp and thoughtful your insights were.

But admitting that? Out loud?

To Sean, of all people?

He’d rather reorganize the mountain of case files sitting on your desk alphabetically and chronologically - twice.

“No,” Hotch said instead, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact. “I work with her, Sean.”

Sean wasn’t one to let things go easily - especially when he sensed he was onto something. “Okay, so you work with her,” he said, dragging out the words like they were some kind of weak excuse. “But that doesn’t explain why I can’t take a shot. What’s stopping me?”

Hotch’s jaw clenched as he shifted his attention back to the windows of Gideon’s office. He didn’t want to say it, but he also didn’t trust his brother to let the subject drop without some kind of deflection. “You’re not her type,” he said flatly.

Sean blinked, caught off guard for a moment before recovering with an incredulous laugh. “Not her type? How do you know what her type is?”

Hotch didn’t respond right away.

He didn’t need to.

The deadpan look he shot Sean over his shoulder was enough to say ‘I know her type because I know her’.

Sean, however, wasn’t deterred. “Okay, genius, enlighten me. What exactly is her type, then? Because I’m charming, good-looking, and - let’s not forget - single.” He motioned to himself like he was presenting the world’s greatest catch.

Hotch sighed. “Her type,” he began almost whispering, now suddenly afraid that someone would hear him, “is someone more serious. Someone who knows how to respect her work ethic, her intelligence, and the fact that she’s earned her place here. Someone who doesn’t think he can waltz in and-” He cut himself off, realizing he was veering dangerously close to sounding personal.

Too personal.

Too bad he stopped talking before he could drop the one crucial piece of information Sean probably needed to know: as far as Hotch knew, you only dated older... much older.

And him being the same age as you? Yeah, that definitely didn’t work in his favor.

Sean tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So… basically, someone who isn’t me. But someone who is… maybe a little more like you?” He watched the way Hotch’s shoulders stiffened at the suggestion.

Hotch turned fully to face his brother, his expression dark. “Sean,” he warned, his voice a low rumble.

But Sean wasn’t fazed. “I’m just saying, Aaron. You’re standing here, going on about how she deserves someone serious and respectful and all that, but you’re practically describing yourself. So maybe the reason you don’t want me going after her is because-”

“That’s enough,” Hotch interrupted, his tone sharp enough to cut through any further teasing. “It’s not appropriate, and it’s not happening. End of discussion.”

Sean held up his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk stayed firmly in place. “Alright, alright. But for the record, you didn’t deny it.”

Hotch didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Instead, he turned back toward the windows of Gideon’s office, his gaze locking on your profile once more.

Sean followed his brother’s line of sight, leaning closer “She really does have you all twisted up, doesn’t she?”

Hotch ignored him.

But as much as he wanted to pretend Sean was wrong, the burn in his chest told him otherwise.

Because 'twisted up' was probably an understatement for what you were doing to him.

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[presepohne]

peaches and wine.

nsfw. Fuckboy!John McTavish x F!Reader [ALTERNATE UNIVERSE]

summary: johnny fucks the sweet innocent bird, just a trailer or intro to the bigger oneshot i'm writing.

warnings: johnny is a filthy man and we love that, the reader is inexperienced asf, virgin, just the reader getting half way naked, mostly for shits and giggles.

note: as i was taking forever for the johnny smut so i posted a small snippet from it.

FULL FIC !

Johnny has seen many men and women in his life, fucked 'em good. Pretty blondes, sassy women, men who could bend him at different angles, women who could step on him, men who would beg for him, women who are sweet and kind, men who are absolutely amazing at their dick game, women who cheated on their husbands, experienced and inexperienced alike.

And gods, he loves women and men both.

But women mostly.

But it bewilders him to see you creep up to him at a party. He knows you, yeah he does. He has seen you lurk at the last benches of the classes, a pen in your mouth or sometimes fiddling with it. You're a good student, great even— top scores always and he admires you for your dedication.

So it comes to him as a shock as you ask him to fuck you, straight up, no bulshit.

Clearly, you are drunk, cheeks flushed pretty as you pouted and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. The shorts looking so fucking good on you and making you ass look so fucking bite-able.

He shakes his head, clearly you're out of your mind. A sweetheart, who has never focused on anything else but her academics asking him to fuck you, without any hesitation.

"Aye lass you sure—"

He just wants to make sure, doesn't wanna take advantage, afterall he's a gentleman fuckboy. He'll ask if you're comfy, he'll make sure consent is consent, hell he'll stop half way naked if you ask him to stop.

But that gets a nervous reaction out of you, lips trembling and lashes damp with tears as you start to stutter, a fumbling mess with words as you try to look away, the soft bloom of red on your cheeks now absolutely flushing you.

That makes him groan, in want. He's trying to think of ten different ways to clam his chubbing up dick down.

Think about her doing maths– that's hot, fuck. Think about Simon– fuck he's hot too, think about Gaz— aye nah mate—

His brows are furrowed as he tries to negotiate with you— "Ay– lass nah me didn't wanne make ye cry–"

But it's already out of the box and you're getting all teary and sobbing so he complies.

He takes you to his apartment, doesn't shove his tongue down your throat— but does squeeze your waist as he leads you to his door— it's a nice place, smells like cheese more than anything. You grimace, but smile at him.

He looks at you, "Should I get ye some water lass?"

"No thank you"

Your head is now drowning in guilt— of using Johnny to lose your virginity. Some sort of pitch black feeling clawing up into the pit you call your stomach— salt already dampening your cheek because—

You are reminded of Simon's words.

Now you know you look all sweet and innocent, kind of a person who would never indulge into such activities, it makes you head spin how easily people fuck each other and give away their body.

It makes you absolutely sick.

But it also makes you feel alienated from your friend circle when they talk about sex, or one night stands. You awkwardly standing and looking here and there to appear nonchalant about the whole sex talk of your group.

It began to get worse everyday when your friends started to coo and coddle you with the tag of the innocent friend. To the point where they wouldn't really take you out— that's bad, that's mean.

Maybe logical too if you tried to squint a little— because honestly you really wouldn't enjoy.

But humiliation plays a bigger role and here you are at Johnny's apartment, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt as you try to undress yourself in a seductive manner failing horribly when you can't unbutton your shirt. Johnny has vanished somewhere in the hallway— you know Simon stays here too.

Simon, that bastard of a man. God's you want to punch him square in his face and maybe break his already crooked nose.

Tears that were on the bay now falling down your cheeks again as you wipe them furiously, recalling his words of dismissing you. Nah, don't do innocent girls like ya sweet'art. And turn around without soaring a second glance.

Johnny is back from god knows where with two popsicles in his hands, honestly he thought of trying to talk you out of it— share something sweet and book you a taxi back to your apartment.

You are half way undressed, bra on the floor, shirt crumpled somewhere along the doorway, your hands on your shorts— clearly unbuttoning it to pull 'em down.

A few minutes might have gone, Johnny gulps, the popsicles melting down his hands as he straightens up. "Ye– ye serious lass?" He's looking like a puppy, too shocked or something– closer to thanking God.

He does, in his head he is reciting prayers in the name of almighty suddenly.

Your skin is so tender, soft to look at and Johnny wonders how it would feel under his hands. Your breasts round and so fucking pretty, nipples perked up because of the cold air of the AC, your shy gaze.

All the fucking sheer will he used to clam his cock down thrown out of the window— (he shoved his dick under the cold tap water, blue balls) and the only thought that consumed him was how many angles would he be able to bend you in and fuck you raw.

You're a shy but squirmy thing now, arms wrapping around your chest instinctively as you look away, a hot blush of red over your skin as you bite your lips nervously, but then again you're more embarrassed and hurt at Simon's rejection than Johnny seeing you naked.

The surge of adrenaline as you look at him again and speak clearly, "John McTavish fuck me" has his blood searing down south.

He whistles, throws the popsicles into the dustbin.

"Aye— as you command mam—"

Oh he's gonna fuck you to oblivion.

[miiyas]

each and every scar on satoru gojo’s body is a mark and sign telling the world that he was always only ever used as a weapon of mass destruction, a fate already decided for him the moment he was known to be born with the blessings of limitless and the six eyes. the battle between sukuna only proved that point further, and as gojo was the final one standing, the sting and burn of fresh, deep cuts made the thought numb his head a little.

but gojo is relived that he survived. afterall, he has a wife and son waiting for his safe return.

meeting you after the battle broke his heart, chords pulling and tightening as he watched you rush over with tearful eyes and reddened cheeks, a stain left from crying endlessly. he’s bloodied and numb, but the desperate hug you give him is like a revival of life itself. like he was born anew.

but with quick use of his reverse curse technique, along with the support of shoko by his side, most of the scars healed. some were still left fresh and pink, irritating him as it still stung as alcohol on a paper cut, but most hide in his skin, white streaks tainting it in a way that looked almost, as you claim, charming.

charming. gojo never found it charming. he found it as a mark of burdened pastimes and battles that never came in his favor. it’s rare for gojo to be defeated, he is the strongest after all, but the little bumps that are left after formed after scars heal make him irk. it’s all over his body and his face, every inch and surface covered in the reminders of when he was almost killed. of a time where he almost didn’t come back home to you.

despite this, his little six year old, a splitting image of him, had thought otherwise and found his fathers battle scars the best thing in the world. it’s a canvas awaiting to be used.

bright markers are picked up on almost a daily and doodles are drawn with the scars being a base of creativity. it happens suddenly and without warning whenever satoru’s resting or working. a tug in the hem of his shirt makes him look down and see a grinning boy wave around a few markers and he can’t help but reveal his arms or back, allowing it to be used as a new art form.

“papa, it’s drawing time !!” a handful of obnoxiously reds, oranges, green, and blues are clutched in the hands of the grubby child, a few uncapped and ready to take action in graffiti work. and what kind of father would satoru be if he refused such a cute smile ?

gojo bends his back from his seat and with a swift use of his arms, he has his son sitting on his lap, already getting to work. the boys giggles fill the tense workspace atmosphere, the cool feeling of the marker tip softening the rough grooves of his skin.

“what’cha drawing, buddy ?”

“mama.” he responds, tongue sticking out in concentration. a grin grows on the man’s lips, tilting his head to see his arm, eyeing the messy stick figure of you. the boy lifts his head to meet his eyes with his fathers, a toothy grin forming, one that reflects satoru’s. “does it look like mama ?”

“just like her.” the adult responds back without any hesitation lagging him. “but the real deal is a lot prettier, don’t you think ?” his finger taps on his skin, inches away from the still wet ink. he watches his son nod eagerly, the grip on his marker tightening and he ruffles his hair messy, allowing him to get back to drawing, the moment tender.

satoru gojo has long been used as a weapon, each scar tells his story. but now, as the wet inks of the markers streak the rough patches of his skin, your husband finds solace and fresh air. his scars aren’t his favorite, but if they’re viewed as glorious by his son, then the rough patches of he heart will melt into the crevices, making it full and whole.

[priisprii]

I am trying to tell you somethin' , somethin' I already said - C.SC

Summary: Parties are all good, but getting fucked by your hot fuck buddy is better.

Warnings: dom! Seungcheol, sub!reader, fingering, unprotected sex, oral (m&f receiving) , spit kink, pussy slapping, light degradation.

Word count: 2.3 k

Minors don't interact.

All your friends warned you about Seungcheol, he was a bad influence, Heartbreaker, red flag blah..blah.. blah.

You actually didn't really gave damn about the rumours and gossips surrounding him, he's a Playboy.... So what? If blessed with that beautiful face and delicious body it would be waste to not to get laid left and right.Choi Seungcheol was fever dream for you.Buisness major, good gpa, athlete, plays guitar, looks like Greek God and so on. He was perfect and you want him.

So you plan on getting him.

Confessing to a guy a getting rejected might not be the worst thing that could happen right? You were sure Seungcheol felt something for you too, his lingering gaze on you in a crowded room was enough proof for you. Even though you both never exchanged any words, there was a strong pull between you too , which your bestfriend described as delusion. Turns out it wasn't your delusion, You confessed your feelings through Dm, ready to get rejected but all you got a one line message, meet me after class.

Six months passed to that incident, and you have Seungcheol in your life.Not as a boyfriend though but as fuck buddy and it was enough. Afterall all you wanted was to be one of his girls. So here you are attending some useless party, locked up in one of the room upstairs and getting used by Seungcheol just as you always wanted to be.

" I am gonna make you ride my shoe if keep sucking like stupid inexperienced whore. Come on I taught you better than that" Seungcheol warned, his voice dripping with lust. He was getting impatient with the way you were sucking him without any effort but what could you do? The way he was bobbing your head up and down was intoxicating, the rough carpet brusising your knees,his cock touching the back of your throat in most delicious way, he was big, so big that your lips started hurting, lipstick ruined long ago, spit dripping straight to your exposed tits, mascara ruined, Seungcheol would trade half of his life to see you like that forever.

Your grip on Seungcheol's thigh tightened, you tried taking him deeper in your mouth than he already was, gagging uncontrollably around him, your moans sending vibrations straight to his spine. The way he was grunting made it clear that he was close to his release, so you increased your speed, desperate for his cum and his pleasure.

"Yes babe Just like that, soo good"

His voice was so sweet now unlike the scary tone he used earlier, he rarely praised you and whenever he did it made you lose your mind a little bit. He was everything you wished for and he fucked you just like you wished, he fulfilled all your depraved fantasies, he was your first and when he gotta know that, he was absolutely gentle with you, cause he didn't wanted your first experience to leave bitter taste in mouth, the memory making you curl your toes, pussy dripping uncontrollably, crying for some stimulation.

"Open wide" Seungcheol purred, removing his dick from your mouth, you whined loudly not liking the emptiness you were left with, your action made him lightly slap your cheek, not in mood for your complaints. Nevertheless you obeyed mouth streching widely ,tongue out. Pathetic. Seungcheol thought to himself.

He pumped his cock few times before exploding on your tongue, you knew better to not swallow until he gave permission to do so, he purposely aimed for your cheek and forehead, something about you being covered in his cum made him go absolutely feral, he loved seeing you so vulnerable and fucked up,no one looked as pretty as you in his eyes.

"Swallow"

His one command was enough for you to quickly swallow his cum which was already over dripping from your lips. You looked at him with doe eyes, vision blurry with tears, waiting for him to give attention to your wet weeping pussy. He scooped the remaining cum from your cheeks and forehead by his fingers and put them straight to your lips mouthing suck which you compiled almost like a dog. With his two fingers he streched your lips wide, creating enough space for him to land spit directly in your mouth, the actions making you clench your empty wet cunt .

"You like everything I do with you, don't you?" Seungcheol asked cockily, none of his previous partners were as freaky as you were and none of them made him as wild you made him, you bring that side of him that no one knows.

"Please Cheol.. Touch me please"

you begged breathlessly. panties were soaked with your arousal and sticking against your folds, crying for his, fingers, his tongue, his cock, him. Cheol let out a chuckle, laughing at your neediness nevertheless you were so turned on that his voice alone could make get you off.

"Get on the bed"

Your heart cried out in happiness ,finally getting what you wanted since evening, when he invited you to this mediocre party, you got on bed almost immediately lying on your back, not caring about the pain in your knees, or your iron deficiency, you were already drunk on Seungcheol. He was better than any drug. Seungcheol discarded his pants which were barely hanging around his torso, his black T-shirt coming off next, your mouth watering at the beautiful sight infront of you, his abs, oh how much you wish you could ride them, well that's for another day. He climbed on the bed, not breaking the eye contact, his intense gaze making you squirm. You were almost naked, the only article on your body were your useless panties, who did a terrible job of hiding your arousal. Seungcheol pressed two of his fingers against your cunt and a breathless moan escaped your lips ,pleased with your reaction, pressed down deeper against the fabric.

"Always so wet and ready for me"

He removed your panties in blink of an eye, your bare cunt now fully visible to him, he eyed you up and down, his intense gaze making you try to close your legs, which earned you a slap on your thigh from Seungcheol.

" Try closing your legs again and I will tie you against bed and leave you like this all naked and desperate mess" Seungcheol threatened you , you immediately spread your legs as far as you could, the shame flying out your body.

"Please, Cheol I am sorry, please fuck me, I promise I'll be good"

He didn't replied to your begging but, a smirk made it's way on his lips, he eyed your pussy, diving straight to get a taste. His tongue lapped against your clit while his fingers aimed for your g-spot, burrying them deep inside your cunt and scissoring them deep inside, the sudden pleasure was overwhelming for you, you held yourself back from closing your legs, not wanting to disobey him. You gripped Seungcheol's hair, burrying his face deeper into your pussy, you could feel his smirk against your folds, your whole body trembling with pleasure. You were a blabbering mess , moaning Cheol's name like a prayer.

"Fuck Cheol, I am so close... Please don't stop"

He grunted against your cunt, blowing hot breathe against your folds, he knew you could combust any second but he had other plans, he liked denying you, keeping you on edge was addicting to him. Just when you were about to get your sweet release, Cheol removed his fingers and mouth, discarding you fully and delivering a sharp slap against your cunt, the sudden overwhelming force making you whimper and cry out in pain.

"Oh, poor baby wanted to cum?" Cheol asked you, lacing his voice with fake sympathy while moving his fingers up and down against your bare pussy.

"Please Cheol, fuck me" you cried out, giving him your best doe eyes. Seungcheol again slapped your cunt hard enough to make your whole body jolt up with pleasure.

"You like it, don't you? You could easily get off by me slapping your cunt" Seungcheol cooed, an evil idea plaguing his head, you were beyond stimulated, even a light touch could make you cum right then and there and the intensity with which he was smacking your cunt was enough for you to squirt uncontrollably.

"No.. please want your cock" you pleaded, squirming against bed, you just wished for Seungcheol to fuck you without any more teasing.

Maybe it's your tears or the desperation in your voice which made Seungcheol line his cock against your cunt, the movement sending you to clouds, even though he fingered you thoroughly, you were not prepared for his cock, the warmth of your walls making him grunt out in pleasure, your pussy was his favourite place right after your mouth.

"Always so tight"

"That's it, take it"

Cheol didn't gave you time to adjust, he grabbed your left thigh and without wasting any time started thrusting into your wet needy pussy. You let out string of broken moans , overwhelmed by sudden delicious strech . Seungcheol captured your lips for a ferocious kiss, his tongue diving straight to your mouth, nothing was cute or innocent about this kiss, it was dripping with passion and fire Seungcheol had for you, which he wasn't able to confess yet, he only hoped you would understand his incandescent desire.

"God, you're so beautiful" Seungcheol whispers against your lips, his unforgiving thrusts never stopping , he drags his tongue slowly against your lower lip, making you clench against his cock harder, with his free hand, he grabbed your tit, pinching and twisting your sensitive bud , you let out a yelp which was swallowed by him, he kept fondling with your tits pushing your body deeper into the bed, he was drunk on your scent.

"Cheol, Cheol hand, your hand please" you voiced out incoherently , trying to reach out to grab Seungcheol's hand , he stopped his movements for a second, processing your words, then it clicked to him , you wanted to intervene hands with him, how romantic he thought to himself before continuing his punishing thrusts and grabbing your hand, intervening your fingers with his and bringing it up to kiss your knuckles, the action swelling your heart with unexplainable feeling.

"You're mine" Seungcheol said , rolling his hips against you, he could feel that you are near with the way you were arching your back almost painfully, the room was filled with echos of skin slapping and strong scent of sex , all overwhelming your senses, you loved this. Loved getting used by him as he desired and he knows you love it too.

"All yours" you whispered, voice breaking with each syllabus, those words were enough for Seungcheol to pound against you harder, chasing his release along with you.

"Fuck Cheol, I am so close" you cried out, feeling your your orgasam ripping through you, your moans grew louder with each passing second. Seungcheol himself wasn't able to maintain a steady pace, your walls engulfing him , making him chase his own release.

"Cum for me, babe"

His words were enough for you to let go of all thoughts and cum "G-God, oh God, Cheollie," you whine, your eyes shut because of overwhelming sweet pleasure, it feels  too fucking good, you kept spaming around his cock like crazy, making him cum too.

"“Fuck, gonna let me fill this little pussy to the brim pretty, fuck keep squeezing me like that baby" Seungcheol breathe out, pushing warm ropes of cum deep inside you,His thrusts slowing down dragging his cock in and out of you, his breathe ragged against your lips , he halted after ensuring every bit of his cum was deep inside your womb, he crashed on bed beside you, engulfing you into a tight hug.

"So good for me" he purred, his fingers making its way to your bruised cunt, pushing the overflowing cum back inside with two fingers, you yelped, body burning with over sensitivity. You tried grabbing his hand but he didn't let you .

" Can't let any of the drop go to waste" Seungcheol said cockily, after few more strokes , he shoved his fingers to your mouth, you sucked them immediately not needing any further command, his sweet taste overpowering your senses.

Seungcheol pulled you into a kiss, stroking your hair so tenderly afraid you could breake, his kiss was soft and gentle, pouring his heart to you, the words I love you were sitting right on his lips, threatening to escape his any second.

But he stopped, he will confess but not today, not until he thinks he's worthy of you, till then he will settle for your having you in his arms like this, outlining I love you on your back with his fingertips not knowing that you understood each stroke.

A/N : Thank you for reading my first work after so many years, i apologise for the cranky writing, i promise I will be better.

[shaiyasstuff]

Sylus and Zayne reacting to you not saying ‘I love you’ back.

I saw a tiktok with this same skit and it was so funny I thought I’d share an idea I got LOL

Sylus

he’d be on his way out from the HQ

he’s on the phone with you while you’re yapping away about how mephisto is annoying and that he should deactivate him

he would laugh and then check his watch

“I will see what I can do. But won’t you feel bad? He is just a crow.” To which you will snort and say NO

he chuckles and then, “I’ll hang up now, Sweetie. I love you.”

a pause, some shuffling on your side, then, “Okay! See ya!”

then beep. line cut.

he would stare at his phone, look at the time and then get in his car.

30 minutes later, he is in your apartment, pinning you against the wall and grabbing you by your cheeks with one hand while the other hovers above you.

you yelp and glare up at him, “What’s wrong with you?!”

then, with a smirk and soft eyes, “You didn’t say it back.”

you blink. “What?”

he rolls his eyes and kisses you. “Let’s make it a habit.”

and he drags you into the bedroom with the words “I love you.” Burned into your brain.

you wouldn’t dare forget to say it back every again

okay maybe you will. its a blessing in disguise afterall

Zayne

he probably wouldn’t even realise it until later that day.

he’d kiss you on your forehead, mumble an “I love you,” into your hair and then turns to leave after you give him a smile and kiss his cheek.

he’d come out of surgery, sit at his desk eating a piece of chocolate when the poor piece of plastic crumples in his fist.

“She didn’t say it back.”

his brows would furrow as he sends you a text and stresses even more when you don’t reply.

but he can’t leave his 9 hour shift so, he waits

and time passes painfully slow for him because he just wants to go home and see you

he’d stare at the clock (though he won’t admit it) and wills it to go faster, cursing internally at the clock hands that seemed to mock him.

last surgery. hurrah. done. he’s never gotten out of Akso Hospital so fast ever in his life.

in record speed he is home and finds you sleeping on the couch.

without warning he scoops you up into his arms and carries you into the room, waking you in the process.

you groggily rub your eyes as you look at him, “You’re home.” You say, voice hoarse from sleep.

he’d turn to you, small smile on his face, then sets you down on the bed.

“Yes,” then his eyes lowers and you raise a brow.

“Are you okay?”

He would turn away and sigh, realising how embarrassing he had been his entire shift all because you didn’t say it back.

but he’d still turn to you and admit it

to which you burst into laughter as he recollects his whole day to you and how uneasy he felt not hearing it back

you’d pull him into your arms and he would let you.

he rests his head on your chest and you giggle.

“I love you, too. Zayne.” You would say, as sleep pulls you in.

he doesn’t reply but his lips would pull into a smile as he breathes in your scent, eyelids fluttering closed too.

[formulamar]

CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GF | PROLOGUE

max verstappen x femalereader

680 words

➛ disclaimer ➛

seven year age gap. please do not read if it makes you uncomfortable!!! completely fictional.

When you began to go out with Max Verstappen you anticipated for the news to make the celebrity gossip pages and cause an uproar among his fans. Afterall, it was Max Verstappen – four time world champion - you could hardly believe it yourself!

Miraculously, you and Max dated for six months without any interference from the media. It's not like your relationship was a secret or anything. Like any other couple you went out to the movies and dinned at nice restaurants. But early on in your relationship you discovered Max was a homebody, like you! So as you grew closer most of your time together consisted of hanging out at his apartment or yours watching movies or talking for hours. Still, everyone in your inner circle was astounded at how long you were able to maintain your relationship out of the media's radar.

Once you hit the six-month mark and it became clear to both you and Max that your relationship was serious you had a discussion about how outside discourse from the media would affect your relationship. Although you had only been with Max for six months you had witnessed how invasive fans and the media could be. You constantly saw articles discussing Max's private relationships with his family and his team. Every word, every action, every glance was examined and scrutinized. Max often joked that the more interviews he did the more he wished to move somewhere isolated and live out the rest of his days with you far from the judgment of anyone else. But you knew he loved driving too much to retire so early on in his career even with all of his success.

As always Max was direct, "The media is going to be annoying. They're going to make up the most ridiculous stories you've ever heard. Honestly, the best thing we can do is try ignore them as much as we can." You both agreed, the smartest decision was to take control of the narrative instead of running the risk of having your relationship leaked. So you decided to attend a beginning of the season Redbull event with Max. It was a well documented event and important media figures and photographers would be present. The timing was a bonus. Everyone was focused on the upcoming season and most of their curiosity was concentrated on the new car rather than the personal lives of the drivers. It was a perfect way to debut your relationship to the media.

That night approached quickly, and it would be a lie to say it wasn't one of the most nerve-racking nights of your life. As someone who wasn't famous it was intimidating to be exposed to that world. Luckily, your boyfriend saved you from overthinking. Max was reassuring and attentive the entire night. On the car ride to the event, he made sure to hold your hand and make casual conversation as if it were any other night. He also organized for you guys to enter through the back, away from the paparazzi. Throughout the whole night he barely left your side and when he did he made sure you were comfortable. These small details helped you stay grounded.

Overall, it was a good night. It was nice to finally meet members of the team who had such close bonds with Max. You loved hearing all the stories about Max's victories and his race weekend habits. It was obvious that his team adored him and that only confirmed what you had felt in your heart since the day you first met him -- he was a keeper. You and Max went home confident that you had beaten the media. What could they even say? Max was in a new relationship and he was happy. There was nothing else to it.

Except you made the mistake of glossing over a detail the media would never forget. Before you, Max had only dated women older than him. And you were seven years younger than Max.

The next morning you woke up with a new identity. Max Verstappen's controversially young girlfriend.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: happy 2025 everyone 🫧 i had this idea… so i decided to go through with posting the first part. i’m thinking writing + social media posts! what do we think??? i’m open to suggestions so don’t be afraid to comment or inbox me!

[overangel]

αƒтєя мι∂ηιgнт

❥ This is a yandere batfam x neglected reader story.

act 1, act 2, act 3

You take the first steps towards your new life and prepare for the battlefield that is Wayne manor. Alfred chooses you. He will always choose you, and Jason Todd starts to move. Fuck the legacy. MDNI 18+, TW: suicide (past life), parental death, depression & anxiety, pseudo-incest

You were going to need as much codeine as Nurse Patrice could carry. Sprinkle in a little oxy too. Would it look like you had a problem if you asked for a morphine drip?

Willing to risk the suspicion, you tried to raise your left pointer finger towards the nurse call button, but your strength failed you. A strangled growl vibrated around the ET tube.

‘I’d even take a tylenol at this point!’

 

Another night’s sleep in the hospital was another week fighting the dummy in the pocket dimension. That made it two weeks of training and that meant two weeks of pushing your body farther than it had ever gone before. 

You sniffled, 'I knew I wasn't weak.' You had been called that word so many times that you took it as an immutable fact, but that false truth was starting to crack.

That dummy was like the real thing—his moves, his ferocity, the viciousness with trained precision in his youth that tempered with maturity and became a lethal force for good as he aged—it was all so familiar.

You swallowed a nervous lump around the ET tube. 

You had felt enough pain over the last couple of days and finally accepted your predicament for what it was.

This really wasn’t a dream, afterall. 

The beatings you took in the pocket dimension felt like what you got in the real world but on steroids. When you felt your ribs being broken, you actually felt them snap and puncture a lung when you failed to evade him, and then could feel the bone mending itself so you could continue the fight. The internal bleeding ceased and the puncture wound closed. 

You were getting real time consequences of the fight, but healing simultaneously so you could keep going. It was disorienting as you watched your shattered shin bone rip through your skin and felt the white hot pain that brought tears and stars to your eyes, only for it to mend itself and disappear without a trace in seconds.

It’s like something wouldn’t let you give up even if you wanted to, but retreating was the furthest thing from your mind now. If you quit here, you’d never get to where you wanted to be, and all you wanted was to be able to protect yourself. 

To not be a victim. 

To not let anyone make you feel the way you did before. There was no point in getting this second chance at life if you didn’t make it count. 

Besides fighting, your goals also included your education. 

This was one of your greatest shames. You closed your eyes, the soft morning sunbeams suddenly too much.

Your mom and family had been so proud of you. She and nana, and all of your aunts, uncles, and cousins swore you could be whatever you wanted to be, and If there was one thing in your life you were sure of, it was that they believed in you completely with all they had.

Then, you were taken in by Bruce Wayne and the ghouls and wraiths that haunted both the manor and the man set upon you and stole your soul. 

You weren’t a stranger to anxiety and depression before the Waynes, but there was just something about that man and about the ghosts—that were far from just metaphorical—that latched on to you and made you the sacrifice. 

That word. 

 

Ｓａｃｒｉｆｉｃｅ.

Were all the lives lost that day a sacrifice? Four hundred and thirty-two dead, and for what? 

Performative outrage that was smoothed over when a handsome man trotted out his beautiful kids and showed how compassionate he was? 

Was it forgiven and forgotten when the lost princess was whisked away to the castle on the hill by the king?

They all bought what Bruce Wayne sold.

You were starting to hear the waves crashing again and turned your mind back on topic. 

Education. 

You’re sure it broke your nana’s heart that you barely graduated high school. She was long gone but you could feel the guilt weighing you down in this life as well. This isn’t the way she left you. The woman you became under that roof wasn’t who you were meant to be. 

You thought of your worst subject and scowled.

‘I need to get a head start before I go back to school...’

In the past, you begged to go to a regular public school and you barely graduated then with the lax coursework. 

It was hard. there was a target on your back before your first day. So many lunch breaks were spent having panic attacks in the bathroom, but at least lower income to upper middle class was the crowd you understood over the elite. 

Sadly, you couldn’t go back to public school this time. You only had two years to secure a good enough transcript and some accolades for admission to a decent college. 

You were going to fulfill your Nana’s dream of being college educated.

And if you had to be a Wayne to do it? You were going to milk that legacy for all it’s worth.

Just think of getting every penny of the child support your mother never filed for with interest. What’s wrong with collecting your and your mother’s due?

Not a damn thing.

You shut your eyes for a moment and found yourself standing in the pocket dimension. The dirt wasn’t as dry as it had once been, and the grass was starting to sprout green.

The Damian dummy was gone since you wouldn’t need him, but there was a new addition to your space. Sat at the base of the lonely tree, was a short table with several books and notebooks on top of it. Walking closer, they were textbooks in the subjects you were the worst at. You sat on the pillow behind the table and picked up a pencil, not knowing where to start.

You read the cover of the first textbook, and turned to the front page. ‘You shouldn’t be able to read in dreams.’ But you could read it as clearly as if you were awake.

‘Well, I wanted to improve…’ You grumbled, thinking you’d rather take a physical beatdown over a mental one.

You awake after a short nap, blinking the shapes and letters from your vision. The textbook pages were still fresh in your mind and you found that you were still holding the pencil you were using. You brought it to the real world and stared at it in disbelief.

A polite knock resounded through the room, and a familiar face peered in through the gap. “Hello, Young Mistress Y/n.”

You jumped and almost poked yourself with the pencil but it disappeared from sight when you gave it a surprised squeeze. 

The soreness immediately left your muscles when you saw who it was. You perked up and twisted about and Alfred Pennyworth crossed the room in graceful strides to stand beside you. 

“Did you sleep well?” Despite your smile being hidden behind the ventilator’s mask, he could tell you were beaming since your eyes crinkled and softened when you gazed up at him.

“I’ve come bearing gifts.” He took a seat in the armchair at your bedside and put a bag in your lap. Both of your hands were still heavily bandaged and your right arm was in a sling, so he gingerly opened the bag for you and produced a cell phone box. 

“Young people these days and their gadgets.” He chided sarcastically as he powered on the phone and you both watched the animation. 

It was a pleasant silence, a young person and an older person marveling at a smartphone, when he said “It has your old phone number.” 

The air went still, and the only sound you could hear was the blood in your ears and your panicked thoughts.

How did he know?

Why did he think about you?

He was always the one thinking about your feelings. Why did he care? Why didn't he just follow everyone else's lead when they decided you weren't worth the effort? Why didn't he follow his master when it came to you? 

He pulled down the navigation menu and you saw that your main email was already listed and you were signed into the carrier with your old account. 

Your phone had been the last thing on your mind, but months later it would hit you that it was gone. Years worth of texts and memories would be gone without a trace. It was like Alfred was making sure you stayed where he could reach you. 

You tried to wipe the tears that clouded your vision and were race hot tracks down your cheeks, as Alfred took the phone and typed something before showing it to you again. 

“And now you have my number, Young Mistress.” 

The name 'Alfred Pennyworth' was saved there proudly at the top of your contacts as a favorite, right beside your mother's, Nana’s, and closest friends. You laid back in your pillows and cried. Everyone you loved was right there.

It's just that most of them would never pick up again.

Alfred made quick work and pulled up the text-to-speech app he was most excited for and tapped your arm. “Young Mistress,” you pulled yourself together and wiped your blurry eyes. The bandages were itchy against your skin. 

“Would you mind typing something for me?” He presented the smartphone to you and you recognized that it was the latest model when you were 16. It was a flex if someone had this, and the cases for it were the cutest. 

You remember admiring your classmates’ phones. Your mom could never afford a high end model for you, but you were more sad instead of envious. 

Now, Alfred presented it to you in pristine condition and you knew that it was his doing.

He went to the outlet and picked it up himself.

He probably had someone like Tim retrieve your passwords, but he logged into your emails and configured it so it’d be easily accessible to you, so you wouldn't be kicking yourself for not being able to remember a simple login after your entire life had been ripped from you. 

You took the phone at a loss for words. What could you say to him? There was too much to say and so much that hadn't even happened yet that he wouldn't understand. You stared at the text window as the cursor blinked. 

You could never let him know how much he meant to you, not now at least, you'd look insane. However, in time, you would definitely make him proud too. 

You laid the device in your lap and gently entered your message, deleting and correcting several times because your fingers twitched.

After rereading the message you took a shuddering breath and hit “Enter.”

“𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒.” 

You held your breath and Alfred was stunned for a moment before a grin broke across his face. “I'm glad to be here, Young Mistress.”

You beamed, “𝑀𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒴/𝓃.” 

“I'm aware, Young Mistress Y/n. Hm," He mused, “Ms. Y/n L/n. It has a lovely ring to it.”

“𝐼𝓉'𝓈 𝒶 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝑀𝓇. 𝒫𝑒𝓃𝓃𝓎𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒽.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He placed a hand over his heart and bowed slightly. “And please, there's no need for titles with me. Alfred is perfect.”

“𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒 '𝒴/𝓃.'”

The smile that rose to his eyes betrayed the professionalism, “No problem at all, Young Mistress Y/n.”

“𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃.”

“I'm afraid that I don't.”

“𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 '𝒴/𝓃' 𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉.”

“I agree, she is.”

You lifted and raised your legs in a mock tantrum. You would've pressed your lips together if you could and your cheeks burned. 

“𝒩𝑜 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓈, 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒!”

“I can't do that, Young Mistress. There is etiquette that I must follow as head butler of the Wayne family.”

“𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝐼'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶 𝒲𝒶𝓎𝓃𝑒.” 

His heart clenched, he incorrectly assumed you already felt like you didn't belong. Little did he know, you didn't want to. 

“You are. You are by blood and will soon be in name, and that is something no one can take from you.” He took your hand in his and looked into your eyes in the same reassuring way he would when he told you your panic attacks didn't make you weak. 

“𝐵𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒?”

“Yes, you will soon be Y/n Wayne. We thought it would be appropriate to wait until you woke up and had time to settle in.”

‘’We’ meaning you, right?’ You thought.

You let him think you believed that. 

You hated the name 'Wayne'. You carried it with you like an idiot in the past. A Wayne in name with none of the perks, but since you’ve resolved to use that name to your advantage—you were talking transcripts, college admissions, and scholarships here—you were going to take it again but with some stipulations.

You were going to change it after you accomplished what you wanted to do and didn't need it as a fallback, and you weren't giving up your identity to try to fit in again.

“𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝓈𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔?” The AI voice sounded particularly pitiful which worked in your favor. 

“Anything.”

“𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝑒 𝐿/𝓃-𝒲𝒶𝓎𝓃𝑒? 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓂𝓎 𝓂𝒶𝓂𝒶 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝑒.”

And make the Waynes an afterthought.

“Oh.” You are always surprising him, “I don't see why not.” He rubbed his chin as he pondered. “Young Mistress Y/n L/n-Wayne.”  Trying on each syllable for size.

You squinted at him to show the dissatisfaction with the long and frilly title while his eyes held a hint of mischief. 

You switched gears, “𝒟𝑜 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈?” 

This was a subject that Alfred was more than prepared for. He had wished for you to get adjusted and start bonding with you new siblings as soon as possible, and although they didn’t visit, he dropped seeds of interest about you whenever he could, and now it was time to plant those same seeds for your siblings with you.

“Where should I begin?” He exhaled and thought back to the beginning when Dick was brought home. “I was willing to accept the manor being child-free forever with Master Bruce’s bachelor lifestyle, so you can imagine my surprise when he brought home this young boy just out of the blue—”

You rested comfortably and gazed at him. You didn’t take in a word because these people were your least favorite topic, but you enjoyed whenever Alfred explained something. He could make the most mundane feel worth knowing.

“I was more prepared when he brought Master Jason home.”

You made a show of perking up at the name, he caught your renewed interest and continued with gusto.

“He was much smaller than other boys his age, but his heart was far larger than most.” You hugged a pillow as Alfred spoke of Jason like he was his own grandson.

He explained how Jason possessed an inner strength rarely found in grown (it broke his heart someone had to grow up so fast. It hurt every time I see it.), and was an avid reader who enjoyed finding first additions together and studying the craftsmanship. 

“I’m still so proud of him.” and Alfred stopped before getting to the Second Robin’s final chapter, when Robin ended and the Red Hood began.

You knew about it all, but kept quiet. To the rest of the world, Bruce Wayne’s second adopted son died by a tragic accident only for it to be revealed to the public to be a misunderstanding.

The public had a way of rolling with whatever it was fed, but you knew that Jason had been a “child soldier” and that was something you would never forgive Bruce for.

“𝒟𝑜𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔?”

Alfred smiled, “Once a bookworm, always a bookworm.” 

You peppered him with questions about Jason, coming across as really looking forward to having a big brother to protect you and he was more than happy to indulge. 

You were so good at the game, discussing books and themes, circling back to Jason in some way or other, that Alfred didn’t have a chance to talk up Tim and the others or your only actual blood-related sibling. 

“𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊.” 

Alfred felt like he was splashed by a scalding pot of Earl Grey. “Perish the thought. Speaking with you brightened this old man’s day.” He checked his pocket watch, visibly dimming at the time.

“𝐼’𝓂 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝑒𝓍𝒸𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝐼’𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝑔 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝓂𝑒.” You looked down shyly and fiddled with the blanket self consciously. 

“𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝒶𝓈𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝐼’𝓂 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓉!”

Alfred’s heart swelled. “I’m sure he feels the same way, dear girl.” 

He would make sure of it.

You bid Alfred a good evening, and he walked the halls with his heart soaring. He would share everything he learned about you with Jason, and was going to move heaven and Earth to make sure you were loved as you deserved.

You snuggled under the blankets after Alfred left. If all went according to plan you would make a second ally before even reaching Wayne manor. 

A phone that only accepted one phone number vibrated, and ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ dropped from the pullup bar knowing exactly who was on the other end. 

“'Sup?” 

“Master Jason, I’m so glad you answered.” The accented voice came through smoothly.

“Of course, Alfred. What’s up?”

“Must something be up, Master Jason?”

Jason raised a brow that Alfred somehow detected. 

“I wanted to share good news.”

“Oh? Are you finally taking that Elder singles cruise?”

“Haha,” Alfred said flatly, “and miss out on our chats in favor of cocktails in Tahiti? Never.” Jason grinned, the sarcasm in Alfred’s voice wasn’t heavy and burdened. He sounded light, actually. Like something caught him from falling. 

“I spent my afternoon with someone and we discussed books and cinema. I almost doubted the literacy of the younger generation, but she restored my faith in humanity.”

“Now, she sounds like an incredible person.”

“She is, and that’s why I’d like you to meet her.”

The record scratched.

“Look, Alfred, I don’t need to be set up—”

“It’s Young Mistress Y/n.”

Alfred didn’t break the silence and let Jason’s mind lead the way. 

ʏ/ɴ.

The girl he had only seen on the news. There wasn’t a channel that hadn’t shown that million dollar picture, or a Gothamite who hadn’t seen the bloodied face of Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

Jason didn’t know how to feel about you. You were discovered because of tragedy and being reunited with your billionaire father should’ve been the sign that things were looking up for you. 

This should’ve been your golden ticket, so why did he feel like things would only get worse for you in Bruce Wayne’s care?

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire…” He whispered to himself. Nothing could ever equal the suffering you were already experiencing, but you would face a new dilemma when you officially became a Wayne. 

First of all, you were a civilian. An extremely vulnerable civilian that Bruce Wayne wouldn’t be equipped to care for in the ways you needed: emotionally. 

“This is going to be a disaster.”

“It’s not like she hasn’t survived one before.”

Jason twitched, he didn’t mean to let that thought slip. “Alfred, seriously. You don’t think this is a good idea, right?”

“It’s a great idea.”

“She needs to be around normal people, Alfred.”

“She needs to be around people who will understand her.”

“Exactly!”

“And who better than someone who’s been to hell and back.”

Jason went silent. Damn you, Alfred Pennyworth.

“She had many hot takes.” The butler offered.

Jason snorted, and shifted the phone to his other ear, settling in for what may be a long chat. “Okay, Alfred, let’s hear ‘em.”

They talked late into the night like how they did so many years before when Jason’s biggest problems were math homework and if Bruce would let him patrol that night. There was laughter, and for a moment they both forgot how cruel the world could be.

These were the moments worth fighting for.

After the call ended, Jason got a text from Alfred with your phone number.

His thumb hovered over the screen, so close to swiping it away, but then he saved it. 

It wouldn’t hurt. Just in case.

The ET tube was removed ahead of schedule and Alfred could finally see your pretty face. The bandage beside your left eye was still there and it hurt to smile too wide, but you were so expressive and he loved it. It was as if he could hear your voice speaking instead of the AI from your phone.

He was looking forward to your laugh. He could tell by the rapport you two had built in only a few days, that your laughter would come easily. 

You two watched telenovelas and he guided you through tactile exercises to strengthen your hands and maintain dexterity. Sometimes a tear would spring from your eyes, but your eyes were relentless as they had been in that photo that shocked the world.

He knew you would thrive at the manor. 

You quickly noticed that Alfred wasn’t your only guest.

After Alfred leaves and the dusk stains the sky in pinks and purples, the creatures of the night begin to stir. A presence cloaked in black, born in the shadows, watches you attentively. 

The first night, he watched from the roof of a medical building far across the campus. He was able to spy you from his scope when Alfred left the blinds opened at just the right angle.

You read and he enjoyed watching your emotions play across your face. He could watch you for hours, following the story alongside you. He stood in position for so long that his legs were on pins and needles. That’s when he realized he had watched you for hours.

The following night, he was closer, just on the roof above the medical pavilion facing your room. He had a knack for avoiding light, natural or artificial, he found the darkness and made it home.

Tonight, he watched you from your window and frowned as you kept rereading the same sentence, unable to concentrate. A frown twisted your lips and you huffed, finally closing the book and setting it aside. 

Anticipation prevented you from focusing no matter how engaging the story was. You officially started PT tomorrow which would be the most physical work you've done in the real world since the flood.

It would hurt just as much as your training with the dummy if not more and you hoped you could shoot through it all and finish on target. 

You remembered the frustrated tears. The trembling, the falls, the hopelessness that came with the creeping fear that you would never have what you once had. ‘What if I had taken it all for granted?’

Jason watched, his brows furrowed as he could sense that you were going to do something you shouldn’t. You sat up and threw the blanket from your legs. You hadn’t taken a step in weeks and you couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see if you could. 

You turned to the side and dragged your numb legs to the edge of the bed.

“She isn’t…” Jason was pulling out his phone and swiping to Alfred’s contact without taking his eyes from you. Alfred didn’t make him wait, “We’ve got a runner!”

“Excuse me?” 

“She’s going to—ah, damn it!” 

Jason shoved his phone in his topic and started sprinting across the roof, eyes focused as you dropped your legs over the side of the bed.

He pulled a grapple gun from his belt, shot and secured a good grasp on the roof of your building’s roof, and swung forward with a running leap. He was at your windows in seconds and didn’t have the grace to stop himself with it being such a short distance.

He hit the window with a gloved hand and knee guard and the bang almost startled you off the bed.

You froze before you could set a single toe on the floor. 

You two stared at each other. His red lenses and mask didn’t reveal his feelings, but you could imagine the embarrassed look on his face.

You grinned and silently chuckled. He’s like a bird that crashed into the really shiny window from those cleaning commercials.

You put your weight against the bed and was about to lean forward to take a step before you heard two deliberate taps at your window.

Looking up, you saw the Red Hood shaking his head. Your smile grew more as you locked eyes with his goggles and gingerly lifted a foot to take a step.

He stopped nodding and stared.

You pulled your legs back from the edge. No sound came out, and it hurt too much to speak, but he could see you shake with laughter.

He watched this all, astonished. Why weren’t you afraid?

He knew you weren’t from Gotham, so it'd make sense why you wouldn’t recognize an infamous vigilante from Gotham and The Hill, but why weren't you scrambling for help from a masked weirdo at your 13th floor window?

‘She must be on a lot of meds.’ Jason thinks to himself.

You look at him, with your grin shrinking into a normal half-smile. He wasn’t expecting the attention tonight, Actually, he wasn’t expecting any attention at all.

Giving away his presence wasn’t the plan, but he just had to play the good guy and not let an injured girl fall to the floor in front of him.

He wasn’t a monster.

You chewed the inside of your cheek in thought. He was hyper aware of every move you made.

He would see your smile and your sparkling eyes when he closed his eyes for weeks.

You'd drawn him out, and fought the triumphant grin from spreading across your face.

In your past life, Jason ignored you, but never really ridiculed you. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, his lips curled in dissatisfaction when you were sad—when you were weak. You always had the feeling that you disgusted him with your vulnerability. And why wouldn't he? He was the type to not break under adversity, but apparently you were the type who did.

Maybe it was hard for him to watch.

You would never know that he avoided you because he thought you were too precious for him to touch.

Your softness, your humanity, your compassion even when the world and your family did everything it could to beat it out of you. The spot of darkness that you sometimes fed and sometimes starved, he knew it all.

He wanted it all.

But he ruined everything he touched.

He convinced himself that getting close to you was a delusion, and that self-sabotage caused him to miss out.

Before he could even act on it, you had sealed yourself in that damned room. He put up a guard between you two, but you locked the padlock and threw away the key.

When your life ended, he realized that he deluded himself into thinking that staying away for you was for your safety, when he was truly just trying to protect himself.

He was the weak one. 

You dragged yourself back against your pillows and tossed the blanket back over your legs. Jason hadn’t thought to pull himself from the window while you weren’t looking since his brain was short-circuiting. Damn you, Alfred Pennyworth.

You looked back at him and smiled dreamily. You waved and closed your eyes.

He hoped the spell you cast on him would wear off soon, and he waited but his legs wouldn’t move on their own. “Oh, fuck this.” He forced his legs beneath him and propelled from the roof and swung across the medical campus and away to clear his head.

He wasn't expecting that. 

He wasn’t expecting you, and your big clear eyes that seemed to see all of him beneath that mask and show no fear. He wasn’t expecting the cheeky grins and easy laughter, and he wasn’t expecting to want to see you again so soon.

“Come on, Young Mistress. You can do this.” Alfred encouraged as he watched you on the parallel bars.

You shook violently and carried all of your weight in your trembling arms because you just knew that if you put even a pound of pressure on one foot you would drop.

Sweat beaded at your brow and you exhaled sharply from your nose. You placed half your weight in one foot and your hips immediately fell. Alfred waited anxiously on the side as the physical therapist helped you. 

His jaw was set tightly, it was so hard to hold himself back but he needed you to improve by your own efforts so you could be healthy when he brought you to the manor. He repeated this to himself, trying to fight back the desire to catch you every time. 

You huffed and carefully placed one foot in front of the other. Your sweaty palms almost lost their grip on the parallel bars and you shook them with your trembling. 

Your ankle twisted and your arms gave out like you knew it would. You fell to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Alfred gazed at you with admiration as you pulled yourself back up and started again. That determination was definitely a Wayne trait and he was sure your mother must’ve possessed the same as she worked hard to raise you well as a single mother.

He had never met her personally, but he meeting you told him that she must’ve been an amazing mother and woman to bring up someone like you.

So your days went on like that. Physical therapy, and cleaning your wounds, never allowed to push harder than your therapists said or you’d be sent 3 steps back in recovery.

In the pocket dimension, you studied tirelessly and trained with the dummy. The thing scowled at you and lashed out with killing intent, but it was an effective teacher. No words were spoken between you two, the dummy didn’t have the ability to speak, and you were glad for it.

You found out you could’ve liked Damian if he didn’t talk. Who knew?

Working hard was always a good thing, and you were making strides in the time in the hospital. You tried to calm your mind. You weren’t expecting a transformation overnight, but you were changing for the better and getting stronger by the day. 

Besides reading, you practiced the arts. You were sure that Gotham Academy had excellent extra curricular programs including an art department so it wouldn't hurt to use it and put together a portfolio.

In your past life, you had given up what made your soul sing. Your hands felt unworthy to touch a pencil, your joints locked up in panic when you tried to press pen to paper. Hands hovered over keyboards at a loss for words and instruments lay silent as the grave. 

One afternoon after therapy, you took a pencil and sheet of paper and sketched for the first time in years. 

Alfred caught himself wondering where he had gone wrong when raising Bruce. He was proud, don’t get him wrong, but Alfred knew that he was guilty of enabling the man until he grew up and was able to disregard the butler’s concerns and advice entirely.

Alfred could only lament as he stitched shut a knife wound on Bruce’s shoulder with expert position. The Dark Knight droned on about protocols that would need to be updated, and chastised Damian for rushing ahead.

It was the same story, different day, and it only frustrated Alfred even more that they chose this monotony when there was a vibrant new life they should be welcoming with open arms. 

Not only that, he hadn’t been able to visit you in 3 days! That first day, he was needed for air support. The second day, he was watching the comms while Batman, Red Robin, and Robin went on a manhunt. You didn’t add to the old man’s stress, though. You were patient and sent him updates on your PT progress, and hoped you weren’t bothering him. 

The texts you managed to share throughout the day eased his nerves.

‘Nurse Patrice said ‘Hi!’ :D’

Or 

‘Did you see the new episode?’

Damian once watched the way Alfred’s eyes lit up at his phone before he could contain himself and sent the butler a quizzical frown. That was a close one. 

 

At least Jason was having a good time. He watched you from afar from the moment the last rays of sunlight retreated from the sky. He was outside your window now, far closer than previous nights, emboldened by your cheerful reception nights ago. 

He still remained one with the night and was undetectable by the naked eye, but he was so close now that it felt little he was there with you. 

He watched every gesture; admired every facial expression. He scanned the covers of the books you held carefully in your bandaged hands and watched you as you watched TV.

He watched you as you slept.

You looked so fragile in the hospital bed amongst the tubing and monitors. The ET tube and neck brace had come off a few days prior, and now what remained was a splint and bandaging. 

It was a quiet moment like this when there was nothing to watch that he finally acknowledged the feeling in his chest. 

You were tucked away in a private hospital, only accessible to an elite class, and no one but Bruce Wayne's family members could get to you. You were safe, so why was he watching? Why did he stand guard like a knight outside of his lady's chambers? He wasn't in the bodyguard business. 

But he wasn't as emotionally constipated as his adoptive father and could see this for what it was. 

Something took root before he knew it, and he felt like he had fallen into a beautiful trap. In a matter of days, he developed an affection for and desire to protect a girl who he originally wasn't going to accept as his adopted sister weeks earlier.

All it took was a smile for you to completely disarm him. 

He had always wanted to protect others, to be what stood between the innocent and the dangerous, but he failed every time he tried. He even accepted that he wasn't meant to be one of the ‘good guys.’

Maybe the kid of a junkie and dealer from Gotham's roughest streets wasn’t meant to be a hero, and he was just the last one to realize.

You stirred in bed and whimpered.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he leaned forward against the glass. You were having a nightmare, tears squeezed through your tightly shut lids as you gripped your blankets like a lifeline. 

Your mouth popped open but no sound came out. He read your lips, felt your silent cries in his blood, 'Mama!' Your face twisted in anguish and he almost bashed in the window. 

'I can't do this alone…' you broke down into silent sobs and struggled to breathe. He couldn't take it any longer and started loudly knocking on the window until you woke up. 

Your eyes opened wide. You gasped for air painfully  before looking to the source of the noise as the nightmare was being pulled away from you by invisible hands.

You looked to the window and saw red lenses on black goggles and a red half mask. Jason watched you and your pouty, trembling lips, and your startled eyes.

He wanted to reach through the window. 

You smiled a soft, teary smile and waved again and mouthed a 'Thank you.' That almost made him slip from the window ledge.

You fixed your ventilator to your face and took steady breaths before you started hyperventilating. He watched as you settled into bed and even more after you closed your eyes. 

Jason Todd had someone he wanted to protect. 

You were being discharged soon after a few weeks of treatment and therapy. Alfred couldn't visit as much as he had wanted but bringing you home was a planned event and he made sure everyone knew he would be busy and that they should free up their schedules as well.

Damian was disgruntled and combative. He wasn't going to arrange his schedule for some “vagrant” and why should he stand on ceremony? 

Alfred wondered if his patience was thinning with age, because at times like these venom coated his tongue ready to retort and thoroughly dress down his opponents, but he kept it under lock and behind his teeth.

Damian was a child, he reminded himself, he was merely taking his cues from his role model and father.

Bruce Wayne was the problem. Alfred hid away correspondence and froze all appointments and reminders on today's calendar. Bruce wouldn't need any distractions.

It wasn't lost on the butler that Jason had been poking around at the manor. He lazed about at the library or home theatre, but he wasn't invested in whatever he was doing. He just wanted to be near, waiting for Alfred to get the call that you were ready to be discharged. 

Alfred, in his benevolence, decided not to tease him. He was going to eventually, of course, but now wasn't the time. 

Jason slipped away for something when Alfred got the call he had been waiting weeks for. He flew as if he had stolen Hermes's winged sandals, jumping in the town car and beating traffic like he was Dom Toretto.

The gentleman was upstairs and at your door before his “visitor” sticker was fully stuck to his jacket, when you were being settled into your wheelchair.

“Ready, Young Mistress?”

You smiled the soft smile that made the space around you glow with sunlight.

Your hair was groomed and styled by Nurse Patrice and the casual outfit that Alfred had brought for you fit well. You felt good, and it was a strange sensation but you looked forward to getting to know the woman you would become.

“As ever.” 

Alfred took the handles and wheeled you down the halls, you thanked the staff as you passed, truly grateful for their care and gave Nurse Patrice the longest hug. She and Alfred both laughed as you tried to drag her with you when Alfred tried to wheel you forward.

It was past the front desk, just before you crossed the entrance into the outside world and felt the sun against your skin, when you saw her.

Peeping from behind a corner was a little girl who was a mix of pale blue and mossy green and soaking wet. 

Her hair and oversized T-shirt dripped water on the floor around her tiny, dirtied feet and your shoulders tensed more with every heavy “drip, drop, drip, drop.” 

Matted hair was plastered to her face, but her large, sunken eyes penetrated the veil and stabbed into your spirit. 

A victim of the flood.

You were a survivor and your father was at fault. Why did his child get to survive? Were the other children not special enough?

It was unfair that you got off and they were just another section on Bruce Wayne's wiki page when the media circus died. You knew the lives lost would be added with all the other ones Batman let slip through the cracks. 

You wouldn’t carry his burden for him.

You stared at the girl, your eyes locked with her bottomless pools as you began to hear the waves crashing and feel the wind blow your hair, and a silent understanding was formed between you.

You reached back and gingerly touched Alfred’s hand as he wheeled you into the parking lot.

ʜɪꜱ ʟᴇɢᴀᴄʏ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴀʀ.

To be continued.

Thanks sm for wanting to be tagged, and please let me know how I did and stop by to chat <3

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[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Fingers Intertwined

pairing: kaz brekker x wife!reader

genre: fluff

requested: yes

el's thoughts: i haven't written for kaz in a while, and the last time i did i was writing tpatc and it's very different from this kaz... but i hope i didn't lose my touch hahaha

kaz masterlist

Kaz Brekker did not hold hands.

That much was a well known fact.

He did not wrap an arm around anyone’s waist, did not let someone lean into his side as they walked. He did not allow softness in a place like Ketterdam, where softness got you killed. And yet—here he was, threading through the shadowed alleys with Y/N’s fingers laced between his own, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t that he disliked it—no, Kaz had long since come to terms with the fact that Y/N had a way of bypassing his usual aversions without even trying. A casual brush of her hand here, a fleeting touch there, and suddenly his body had started learning that her touch wasn’t a threat. It was warmth. It was safety. It was simply her.

But the real problem was the looks.

He could feel the stares burning into him from the dim-lit streets, the way the few who recognized him faltered in their steps, eyes darting to where his gloved fingers curled so easily around hers, her diamond ring on display. He was Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. He was not the kind of man who strolled around holding hands with his wife.

And yet, here he was.

He should have seen it coming, really. The moment Y/N walked into his life, Kaz had known—deep in that part of him that he rarely acknowledged—that she was going to be trouble, stir the waters of his life. Not in the way most people were trouble for him. No, she was his kind of trouble.

She had slipped into Ketterdam like a whisper against the tide, moving through the Barrel with quiet confidence, always watching, always listening. She had been careful, at first, keeping her distance from him. But then she spoke. And that was the first crack.

She had a way of talking to him like he was just a man—not a myth, not a monster. She met his sharp edges with unwavering patience, never pushing, never prying. And yet, somehow, she had gotten past all his walls without even trying.

He hadn’t realized how far he had fallen until it was too late. Until he caught himself watching her instead of his surroundings, until his hands started reaching for hers before his mind could catch up. Until she leaned close to him one evening, her breath barely ghosting against his jaw, and murmured, “You care for me, don’t you?”

And Kaz—ruthless, cold, untouchable Kaz—had not been able to lie.

So he had married her. Because there was no one else in the world he trusted with his name, with his future, with the fragile, broken thing in his chest that still dared to beat.

“Are you aware,” he murmured now, low enough for only her to hear, “that you do an awful lot of public displays of affection?”

Y/N barely glanced up at him, utterly unfazed as she adjusted her grip on his hand, squeezing gently. “Is that your way of telling me to stop?”

Kaz exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t say that.”

She turned her head toward him, a soft, amused smile tugging at her lips. “So you don’t mind?”

He could have lied. Could have let his pride dictate his answer. But the thing was, if he truly minded, he wouldn’t have let her do it in the first place. Afterall, he was still the Bastard of the Barrel

Kaz glanced down at their joined hands, then back up at her expectant face. “I mind the staring,” he admitted. “But not this.”

Her expression softened, and before he could react, she stopped walking, tugging him to a halt. Without hesitation, she lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to his gloved knuckles, completely ignoring the way a drunkard down the street sputtered at the sight.

Kaz sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re not making this any better.”

Y/N grinned up at him and tilted her head in faux innocence, the dim alley light casting a glow over her features. “Better for who?”

He shook his head, exasperated, but didn’t let go of her hand.

And when they started walking again, Kaz Brekker—the infamous Dirtyhands—kept holding on.

[ilylovelyz]

⍣ ೋ the last jewel

˚ · . sanemi shinazugawa x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ baby trapping (?), breeding, impregnation, choking, dubcon

call me thunder man when you can't see my eyes to who oppose me, you can die now

sanemi had a dilemma.

he never thought it would happen in his lifetime, but it did. he fell in love. he fell in love with you, a strong and beautiful woman. he's grateful to have you, though now he's come of a dilemma.

throughout his life, he's come across unfortunate events and despair, loosing those who he loves most. it's basic knowledge that the enivronment you had as a child shapes who you are as an adult, it was bound for sanemi to become such a ferocious and off-putting man when he grew up.

yet, out of all the people in the world, you chose him. you saw through his deep scars and empty eyes that he was much more than a killing machine.

he didn't know how to accept it. he tried pushing you away, tried scaring you off, but you were just so damn stupid and persistent, following him around like a naive puppy.

time went so fast around those months, he can't even remember how he wound up in this position.

this delicate position, where he's trembling underneath your touch. your hands are like fire, warming up his skin with every interaction. his eyelashes flutter at the way goosebumps rise on his pale skin, a hot wave rising up his spine.

his hand reaches for your other grips at the sheets below you, encasing it with his much larger ones. his nose rests in the crook of your neck, inhaling your intoxicating scent, smelling of desperation and sex.

"ugh." he groans, his hips rolling deeply into the soft flesh of your ass. he's glad you can't see his face right now, the brat you are would never let him live without teasing him. his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes clenched shut, teeth nipping on his own flushed lips to prevent himself from sounding like some desperate boy.

"you feel so good.." he mumbles into your ear, his hand coming up to wrap around your delicate neck. sanemi sucks and bites at the flesh of your shoulder, your blood attacking his tastebuds. he now knows why demons eat humans, afterall, you taste pretty damn good.

"auhh, 'nemi–more—" you cry out, his cock teasing at your sweet spot. "yeah? like that? you sound like such a pretty slut," sanemi groans out, detaching from your neck and sitting upright to watch the way your even prettier pussy grips onto his cock.

he inhales sharply when he feels his cock twitch when your tight walls consulve around him so tightly it has him struggling to breathe. sanemi tries his best to fuck you through your orgasm, tries his best to not cum in that addictive pussy of yours.

he should though, now that he thinks of it.

before he thinks more about it, his strong arms wrap around your torso, lifting you up to where your back meets his chest. "'nemi—" you whine out, throwing back your head onto his shoulder. sanemi brings up a callosed hand up to your breast, groping you so roughly, pinching at your sensitive buds.

"there's something i need to talk to you about," sanemi says, his tone uncharacteristically stern. "h-huh?" you dumbly say, back arching away from his abdomen. "in the middle o-of-of sex?" you stutter out, barely able to get a coherent sentence out.

god you can't even think. you're so cute. sanemi cups at your jaw, directing your face towards his so he could shove his tongue down your throat before he's pulling away once more an suddenly pulling out his cock from your dripping pussy.

"sanemi?" you cry out, tears dropping down from your waterline at the feeling of being so empty. though, you aren't empty for long as sanemi flips you over onto your back and roughly forces his fat cock back into your small cunt.

the sudden intrusion has you seeing stars, nearly blacking out from the intense feeling of being stuffed full.

"you need to drop of out the demon slayer corps." sanemi says, his purple eyes watching through his long eyelashes down at you. your own eyes stare directly at his, widened with confusion. "w-what? why?" you ask, so confused and shocked at you try to shuffle out of sanemi's grasp.

his hands grab at your hips, his own angling for that sensitive spot within you to keep you weak.

he had his hips grinding against yours, too painfully slow in order to get you to cum again, but also too painfully deep to stop you from not feeling anything.

"you need to drop out from the demon slayer corps–from being a hashira, it's too dangerous." sanemi says once more. "a-and? do you not think i'm strong enough? i'm literally a hashira, just like you."

yes, you are a hashira, just like him. but even the strongest hashira die, it's too much of a risk. you've had him wrapped around his finger, he's too attached to let you go now. he just won't have it. he won't let another person in his life die anymore, especially not you.

there's a couple seconds as he stares down at you with a blank face, his hips stilled away from yours. his sudden quietness scares you, "sanemi?"

before another second could pass, his hips are pushing against yours and his cock tip is flush against your cervix. your mouth opens up in a silent scream, hand coming up to hide the way your eyes roll to the back of your heah.

sanemi's free hand comes to grip at your jaw, squishing your cheeks together to form a pitiful pout to get your attention.

sanemi feels a switch inside of him flip, veins in his neck protruding, jaw clenching tightly. he's not asking. he's demanding. "no, y/n. the demon slayer corps doesn't need a woman who's already knocked up."

a gutteral groan leaves your throat at his words, fat tears being swiped away from his fingers. you can barely put two and two together at this point, only knowing the words knocked up.

"sh-shanemi.." you drool, hand coming up to grip at his wrist. "it's okay. you'll make a good mommy. you'll be able to protect our babies with how strong you a-are—fuck, i'm gonna c-cum in you–" sanemi groans out, his hips loosing rhythm as he comes closer and closer to his orgasm.

sanemi can barely hold himself up as he teeters over his orgasm, his mouth salivating of getting his sweet little girlfriend knocked up with his babies. "i'm cummin', i'm cumming in your pretty pussy—" he cries out before his hands fly down to grip at the sheets, bracing himself as a wave of intense pleasure washes over him.

his cock splurts out a fat load of seed inside your poor pussy, his tip flush with your cervix to ensure all of his cum reaches your fertile womb.

sanemi pants once his orgasm settles down, slowly sitting himself up to see the masterpiece he's created. he pulls his cock out of you, growing hard once more he sees the state you are in, covered in sweat and dried cum, passed out from how good he fucked you.

you may not see it, but he does. this is the only way he can get you to drop out, being a mommy to his children. you can't really argue against this, after all, you signed up for his antics when you chose him.

please repost with tags and leave a like.

[e-vay]

("Sonic") Hands Study

I get asked a lot how I draw hands, and particularly how I draw hands in the "Sonic" style. Let me preface by saying I am mostly self-taught, so please do your research and study what techniques work best for you. The following demonstration is what I personally use to help me draw hands in general and–more specifically–how I draw “Sonic” hands. This is less of a tutorial and more of a series of observations.

*And remember, there are always exceptions to the rules!*

I personally believe before you can go about stylizing hands, you have to understand how to draw hands in the first place. Afterall, I think you have to know the rules before you can best bend/break them. Think about super stylized hands in animation like the characters from Atlantis or Hercules. Even though these hands are unlike what we see in real life, they still look and feel ‘natural’ because the artists understand how hands function and are able to bend the rules while still demonstrating proper anatomy. 

Sources: [x] [x]

I highly recommend studying the anatomy of a hand. It’s educational and fascinating! There are plenty of free resources online!

I understand many people find hands intimidating to draw, but the best way to learn how to draw anything is by breaking it down into shapes. Everything is made up of shapes.

3 is the magic number

In simple terms, our hands can be seen in patterns of 3. Your palm can be broken into 3 segments that can move semi-independently. Your fingers are composed of 3 segments each (proximal, middle, distal). There are 3 phalangeal joints per finger. The average shape a person’s fingertips make when aligned is a triangle (a 3-sided shape), with the middle finger being the highest most point of the triangle and the other fingers cascading down (there are exceptions to this rule). Keeping the number 3 in mind will help you remember how hands/fingers articulate. 

Everything is connected

Even though elements of your hand can move somewhat independently, every movement influences the other segments of the hand. Notice when you put one finger down how (most likely) at least one other finger moves slightly? Or notice how you can only do certain gestures with the assistance of your other fingers or sections of your palm? Keeping in mind how segments of the hand affect the others will help make your drawings feel more organic and less stiff.

I usually start with the palm (or back of the hand) first and that determines where everything else falls into place.

Once you grasp how hands work, that’s when I believe you can determine how stylized you want to get. There is a very large range of drawings hands from super realistic to very simplistic.

If you’re wanting to emulate a certain style, you have to study it and learn how it works.

"Sonic" hands

As far as Sonic hands go, it depends on which version you’re best hoping to emulate. Notice how the styles vary even throughout the franchise?

In the 3D video games, Sonic characters tend to have what I classify as more ‘cartoon-y’ hands while in illustrated media, it often leans more towards realism. (Note I said ‘leans towards,’ not full realism). How and why is that?

Let’s break it down into shapes again, Sonic Style! Pt 1

In many of the 3D rendered media, the characters’ fingers are made of more round shapes. The models also don’t conform to realistic proportions. The tips of the fingers are usually larger than the segments closer to the palms (the middle and proximal phalanges), and this helps to deviate them from a more realistic look. Speaking of proportions, the hands overall tend to be disproportionately larger than the rest of the characters’ bodies. This also makes it feel more like a cartoon, even without resorting to a super simplified, 3-fingered hand like Mickey Mouse or Bob Belcher.

Breaking down shapes, Sonic Style! pt 2

Illustrated samples vary depending on the artist/studio, but I’ve noticed that in general, illustrated Sonic characters’ hands tend to have more square/rectangular shapes. The phalanx proportions often resemble what we see in real life, with the fingertips tapering down in size compared to the segments closest to the palm. The overall size of the hands in proportion to the body are still larger than that of real humans, but they tend to be closer in proportion compared to their 3D counterparts. This is why in illustrations, the characters are more capable of crossing their arms, interlacing their fingers, or making other natural hand gestures.

Also, notice in these examples, there’s more detail to the hands than what you’d find on a Looney Tunes character? There are often folds in the material of the gloves, some knuckle definition present, more natural bends to the fingers. However, the hands are almost never as detailed as that of say, a Dragon Ball character where you’re seeing muscle tendons, veins, definition of each finger segment, finger nails, etc.

Sources: Dragon Ball Z, The Looney Tunes Show

MY STYLE

With all that in mind, I happen to find the sweet spot for the Sonic character style right in this range:

Everyone has their own preferences and it’s up to you to decide what you like best, but this is what I prefer. 

MY STYLE - Cont’d

I use a blend of the two previous Sonic styles I mentioned, Cartoon-Round + SemiRealistic-Square. I like to go with a more “Squoval” shape (rounded squares) to the fingers. I try to keep the fingers in a naturally proportionate scale with the ends tapering down in size, but the overall size of the hands are still bigger than what you’d see in real life. I like to add a bit more detail when warranted, but I personally rarely resort to definition in the tendons/veins or complex wrinkles in the bends of the fingers (unless it suits a specific character or emotion). 

Like I said, this is less of a tutorial and more a series of observations. But perhaps looking at hands in the way that I do might help you with your own drawings! You should absolutely do your own studies to find what works best for you. But I hope you found this helpful in some way!