#thread: holding out for a hero

[bladespromotedpawn]

"..."

Mareeta places a hand of her own on Ayra's cheek, face sinking as she thinks back, back to when she was alone, when she was first picking up her first apprentice.

"C'mon, you can do it. Just believe in yourself. Heart and Blade. You can do it. Come on."

Eager coaxing came from her mouth as she looked down at her apprentice, one of the best swordsmen she knew, struggling, failing, again and again to get the stars of Astra to shine in his blade.

"I'm... giving it all it has, Mareeta..."

She knows he can do it.

He can do it.

She could do it.

So should he.

"..."

Daggers burst from her past, embedding themselves in her mind.

She did everything she did to become perfect. Pushed herself to her limits, surpassed them, then started pushing up against the next set of boundaries all over again.

She was perfect.

But she BECAME perfect.

She forged herself in trials, skilled as she could become.

"He taught me."

She refutes it, simple as, the daggers in her mind coming out in her glare, grey eyes overcast as her blade sparks green in her grip, hand itching, begging to get her frustrations out.

"I am who I am from who I learned from. I am perfect because of them. And it doesn't matter who or what they are. They taught me. He taught me."

She came from plenty, though that life of hers was long lost.

She made herself from the missing pieces she lost. She would never be a noble, posh, proprietary, pimp and proper. She was rough, she was a mercenary. She was her people's warrior. And she was a warrior anyone could become.

"Now. Are. We. Sparring?"

She knew nightfall would bring no succor for the pain now eating at her mind. But she needs to let it out.

Or she is going to aim this pain somewhere far worse, internally.

Holding Out for a Hero

[nightmaretist]

TIMING: Mid April PARTIES: Mercy & Inge LOCATION: Dance Macabre SUMMARY: Inge finds Mercy in the club bathroom, where the vampire is hiding from the loud noise and flashing lights. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Going to Dance Macabre had lost some of its charm now that Inge couldn’t get down on the dance floor as she was used to. She tended to get into the club with an air of confidence, ready to dance to the goth music that usually ruled the speakers and make it through a sleepless night. But there was no fun to be found in dancing now and so she found herself evading the club or, if she visited, sitting in a booth, sulking.

Most days, she didn’t even make her way there by car and foot — she just manifested in a bathroom stall, locked it and waited a moment before exiting. Today she chose that way, preferring her commute through the astral. She’d been back at school teaching and her body hurt from the standing, but she didn’t want another day at home.

So she swung open the door of the bathroom, finding it empty save for one person. A woman – no surprise there – and as would be Inge’s luck, she was upset. For a moment she stood there in the doorway of the bathroom stall, wondering if she could get away with astral projecting somewhere else but eventually deciding against it. “Hey,” she said, walking up to the sinks and mirrors. She opened a faucet, let cold water run over her hands despite her not having used the toilet. “Everything okay?” She wondered if this was a human, hoped it wasn’t. “Something happen out there?”

—

Mercy was tired of being confined to Caleb’s house. It was where she lingered most days, unless she were at The Sugar Pot working in the shadows learning about how the 21st century seemed to work. And even then, those days could be quite frustrating. Nothing about Wicked’s Rest was as she had remembered, except the occasional stroll through nature where somehow man had decided to leave things untouched. Those were her favorite places. And they had reminded her briefly of the life she had once lived.

But tonight, while Caleb was out doing his own thing, Mercy had found herself venturing out into the darkness and down sidewalks and streets until she had come to a place known as Dance Macabre. For whatever reason, it had given her an odd sensation. It had felt right and where she belonged. Even the name seemed to remind her of the works of one of the greatest playwrights of her time…William Shakespeare.

As she moved forward, drawn in, she smiled as a man who was much larger than her small 5’2” stature allowed her to pass into the haze of living and undead alike. It wasn’t what she had expected at all. And in fact, it was so loud that it hurt her ears. Music thumped and the smoke and haze with strobing lights left her feeling disoriented. She had immediately regretted coming into the loud nightclub. But Mercy couldn’t seem to find her way out, and instead, she stumbled towards the bar, where a tall blonde woman had asked if she was okay, before the vampire made a break for what seemed to be a dark hall that was mute with anything flashing.

Coming to a doorway, she desperately looked for the handle and out of frustration pushed on it, which sent her careening forward and into a smaller room that wreaked of an all too familiar stink that lingered in the fields of Salem many, many years ago. But Mercy didn’t care. It seemed like a safer place to be - with muffled sounds and steady white candlelight overhead, and without thinking any harder, she found a dark and safe space to crawl up under, until she heard a voice speak to her.

Peering out from under the sink, Mercy looked up to see a woman standing there, “Nay, tis much too loud and all consuming. I hath made quite the mistake in coming here. But I know not of how to leave.” The 17th century vampire realized her words were once again aging her, but in this moment, the fear and anxiety she felt was much too great to worry about what someone thought.

—

The bathroom was often a place for things like this, wasn’t it? For drunk girls to deliver compliments as if they were soliloquies and wipe a strand of hair from your face. To hold someone’s hand, tell another that the man she was after was hardly worth her time, to exchange tampons and lipgloss. Inge still carried tampons with her for this reason, even if she didn’t need them any more. 

And those things she was good at, but this? A woman crouching under a sink, looking absolutely overwhelmed with her surroundings. As if this was the first time she’d been a club. Distantly she remembered what it had been like, to venture into the city and go into a place like this for the first time. She’d gone to parties back in town, but they’d been held in sheds and living rooms, sometimes in the town cafe — and the attendants had all been familiar figures. Former babysitters, classmates, colleagues of her parents, the veterinarian and friends of her husband.

Going out in Amsterdam had been dizzying. Everything had been dizzying after she had been transformed, of course, but she had felt like this. That was so long ago now — Inge frequented clubs aplenty these days, found their noise and sounds comforting. 

She dried off her hands, looked down at the other woman. She spoke like she was stuck in a different era which might have made plenty raise their eyebrows. But Inge was an undead woman in an undead nightclub, so it wasn’t entirely out there. She gave a look of sympathy, something she extended primarily because she hoped the other was undead like her.

“Alright,” she said, crouching down a little. “Why don’t you get out from under there, huh?” She extended a hand. “I know this place like the back of my hand, so I can show you the way out.” Inge hadn’t planned on doing something like this tonight, but she found that life never seemed to go as planned as of late. “What’s your name? Did anyone bother you?”

—

The new world had really been something. Over the course of nearly four hundred years, Mercy had laid deep underground in a pine box that held dirt and decay leaving her with one struggle…keep her mind intact. There had been a lifetime’s worth of worry to dwell on for centuries having no answers and never having contact with anyone but bugs crawling over her slowly rotting form. In and out of her mouth on occasion. Over her eyes, in and out of her ears. Nibbling on her clothing and flesh. And at first, she would scream trying to shake off the creatures that scared her so, but as time passed, she had given in…allowed them to linger on her form considering it was as close to human touch and companionship as she could get. The millions of tiny legs and bodies over the years crawled around looking for food or a place to reside, all while she began to focus more on mental tasks and memories. Until finally, one day, there was just silence from giving up, except for the occasional hard thump, rumble, or rattle that shook the ground around her.

But now, here she was surrounded by too much noise. Too many people. Too much stimulation struggling to accept all of it and understand what it meant and why people were so different.

Leaning back slightly as she watched the other woman kneel down, Mercy was cautious. And as soon as she noticed her hand, she hesitated, before giving in and taking it. Managing to pull herself out and up, the petite woman straightened up in her posture, “Thankee. My name is Mercy, and what shall I call thee?” She looked with sad blue eyes in her direction, “Nay. No one hath bothered me.” It probably seemed absurd to someone such as the woman standing in front of Mercy, but here they both were having this strange interaction.

—

There was some kind of nurturing instinct within her still. Inge didn’t enjoy it when this instinct gave her responsibility, but that didn’t mean it didn’t prop up from time to time. She wasn’t wholly uncaring, after all — she cared for her fellow undead, in most cases, and even as a professor she didn’t mind being a bit of a guide. And so it made sense to extend a hand and be glad when it was taken, looking at the shaking woman with a hint of concern.

She continued to speak in that ancient way and it reminded her of Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet, with all the flashing lights behind the door but the Shakespearean speech falling off her lips. Something about it was theatrical, but it was also not wholly strange in a world where people could live to be a thousand years old and not age a day. Inge moved a pluck of the other’s blonde hair behind her ear.

“I’m Inge,” she said. “And I am glad no one has bothered you.” She had a small inner debate on how to broach the subject of the other’s potential immortality. She let it go for now. It could be discussed outside. “Alright. We’re just going to get out of here now, okay?” She took her hand again. “Get some fresh air. I’ll guide the way.” She gave a small smile, used her free hand to open the bathroom door and welcome the sounds of the club, heavy bass pumping through her ears. She pushed past people with ease, as she was practiced in the art of moving through large masses and reached for the doors once she’d gotten there, letting go of Mercy’s hand as they got outside. “Better?”

—

Mercy, though apprehensive about leaving the safety of the bathroom, no matter how dingy it was, had felt something familiar and warm with the woman that stood in front of her. Her words were soft and kind. There were no harsh stares, just someone who spoke gently, compared to the other people who had milled about earlier in the bathroom not even noticing Mercy tucked away in her hiding space, “Tis a pleasure to meet thee, even under such circumstance. I am Mercy.” A small, subtle smile appeared across her face cutting through the sadness that lingered in her blue eyes.

At the request to leave, Mercy inhaled deeply and released a small sigh as she nodded in approval of the plan. And with a grip much tighter than before, she latched onto Inge and followed the other woman through the overwhelming loudness of the music and modern people to finally reach the outside of the club.

With the coolness of the night air hitting her face, she let out another sigh, but this time it was one of full relief. Mercy was free and safe. The music thumping inside the building was still somewhat intimidating and the people wandering around outside Dance Macabre made her somewhat nervous, but she was free from the modern prison of a cacophony of sounds and peculiar people, “Much better, aye. Thankee from freeing me from such a prison. How dost one stand such chaos?” She looked to Inge with genuine concern.

—

Mercy’s hand was cold in her own, which was to say, she was the same temperature. Inge knew some people were just coldblooded but this was a meeting place of the undead. She would take the leap, she decided, once they were outside. For now her goal was clear: she was to take this confused and lost woman outside, to lead her to a place where lights didn’t flash and music didn’t pump.

She laughed softly at the question Mercy asked once they were outside. She had been like this once, she kept telling herself. Overwhelmed and wide eyed. Wondering why people enjoyed places so crowded, so filled with the stench of alcohol and cigarettes. Back then people had smoked inside. Back then she had smoked inside. “You learn to like it, if you want. It’s nice to enjoy the music together. To find people …” She smiled. “To have fun.” 

She started to walk from the sound of the pulsing music, though, looking at Mercy to see if she was following. “So … and correct me if I’m wrong,” Inge said. It was dark out. She could disappear if this was a mistake. “But are you of the unaging kind? You seem much older than you look. And that is a compliment.”

—

Mercy looked back as people stumbled out of the club laughing. It was nice to see people enjoying themselves. To see happiness, when she had come from a stricter time. One of morals and standards you did not question out of fear of what could happen. People liked to talk, and Mercy hated being the subject of their talk, but it seemed that people in this day and age were more wrapped up in their own needs, then that of those around them. Of course, the vampire had only been present in this new, modern world for the briefest of moments, so she hadn’t discovered tabloid magazines and online trolls.

“Fun? I do not recall such a word.” It was true. The word hadn’t come around until the early 1700s when Mercy was already buried deep underground. And like the people leaving Dance Macabre, laughing and smiling was something she hadn’t done in quite a while. In fact, the only genuine smile she could remember recently was something Caleb had said. The moving people in the wall often made her laugh, but it was somewhat hollow and only because it got her mind off of things, “I hope to find enjoyment in life once more, when the shock of these modern times has dulled.”

Noticing Inge move forward, Mercy followed, “Aye. I hath not aged. At least as far as one can tell without being able to see one’s own reflection. I was born in 1657 and lived in Salem town, up until I was accused of being a witch. From there I fled to Wicked’s Rest, but fate hath determined an early grave after being accused of being a demon, in which I was laid to rest in a pine box where I hath been for nearly 400 years.” She looked towards the ground remembering what both Caleb and Alistair had warned against, but Inge had saved her, and she felt she had owed the woman an explanation.

—

There was a chance that this woman was some kind of cosplayer, a goth who committed to the bit very hard, but Inge doubted it. Mercy had seemed genuinely upset by the noise and chaos in the club and hadn’t seemed to be performing for any kind of audience. Besides, Inge had met people who were old before — vampires and mares who’d ran around the world for multiple centuries and weren’t able to shake the antiquity from their way of speaking. This seemed more like that.

“Maybe you’ll have to look somewhere else besides clubs, then. They aren’t for everyone.” She gave a little hint of a smile, glad that the other was walking with her. And then Mercy offered a kind of honesty that was dangerous in these parts — even though she had been the one with the forward questioning in the first place. She was nearly half a century old, it was hard to imagine such a life – especially such a life spent in a pine box.

She could not be a mare, then. If Inge had been buried alive for so long, she would have perished after a while due to starvation. Her mind flashed to Ariadne, locked in a van. It flashed to Italy, where she’d hungered  while trapped. “That’s horrible,” she said, “Fate …” She tsk-ed, halted and looked at Mercy. “There is no such thing as fate. Just ignorant and cruel humans. I’m sorry that happened to you.” She shook her head. “I’m undead too, for what it’s worth. A mare.” She looked over the other. She hoped this wasn’t a lie. She wondered if it was — but she knew how cruel hunters could be. She could still flee away if this woman was a hunter who knew how to play her cards. “And I am of the opinion our kind should stick together, hm? Watch each other’s backs. Maybe teach you a thing or two about this twenty first century.”

— Mercy was starting to relax and find comfort in Inge’s company. She had spoken harshly, but from the last days of the vampire’s time with the living, before being shoved in a box, there was some truth held in Inge’s words. However, Caleb had been kind. Even Alistair. The paths she had crossed so far held kindness, but the more she thought about it, including learning what Inge was – not that Mercy knew what a mare was, she was coming to find that everyone who had been kind had been far from being a mere human, “I suppose you speak truth in the regard of humans.” It was still an odd notion knowing she wasn’t technically a part of the living human world anymore.

“Preytell, Inge, but what is a mare?” Mercy looked to her new friend as they walked slowly down the sidewalk. There was still so much to learn in this world. More about vampires, such as herself, and the other creatures that seemed to roam the modern streets of Wicked’s Rest. But she wanted to learn. She wanted to know. If this was to be her new life, she had to know.

“I propose a deal. I shall teach thee of life in the 1600s, if thee shall be so kind as to teach me of life in the 2000s.” With a more confident smile, now that she was away from the booming nightlife of Wicked’s Rest, Mercy locked arms with her new friend. If there were more people like the Inges, Calebs, and Alistairs of the world, she had hoped she would cross paths with them sooner or later, because at least life in modern times wouldn’t be so lonely or so hard.

[divinelght]

tag dump.

OOC TAGS. i've got a lot on my mind. ⸻ ( ooc. ) do it all for love. ⸻ ( promo. ) keep the sun in your heart. ⸻ ( answered. ) the gold and the rust. ⸻ ( dash games. ) to live for the hope of it all. ⸻ ( memes & prompts. ) after this i'm never gonna be the same. ⸻ ( threads. ) AURORA TAGS. always an angel / never a god. ⸻ ( mirror. ) a light that never goes out. ⸻ ( study. ) sun: keeper of flame. ⸻ ( aesthetics. ) walk always in the light. ⸻ ( lathander. ) every good intention. ⸻ ( musings. ) let me put my lips to something. ⸻ ( desires. ) VERSE TAGS. a hero's journey. ⸻ ( act i. ) i have seen what the darkness does. ⸻ ( act ii. ) these roads are changing me. ⸻ ( act iii. ) now the darkness got a hold on me. ⸻ ( corrupt. ) DYNAMIC TAGS. where you go i'm going. ⸻ ( daemon. ) here is my hand. ⸻ ( astarion. ) your needs / my needs ⸻ ( sidxreus. )

[crushmeeren]

omg but imagine secretly giving the mha boys aphrodisiac chocolate and seeing how they react..

No but you’re RIGHT…. ( ੭ ˙ᗜ˙ )੭

𝛏 Master List Link 𝛏

Katsuki would stare at you with narrowed eyes when you hold your hand out and offer the piece of chocolate to him, your gaze wide and innocent until he pops the candy in his mouth.

Katsuki would be in a meeting not too long after, jaw clenched and teeth creaking when his uniform pants get too fucking snug for no reason. His cheeks will flush bubblegum pink, biting the head off of some hero he can’t remember the name of when asked what’s wrong.

Why the fuck can he only picture you face down and ass up in the air?

Why does he have to sink his nails into his thighs to hang onto his last thread of self control and restrain himself from palming his stiff cock when he thinks of your pussy split open for him?

Why the hell is sweat running down his temples and along his jaw like a goddamn river??

He doesn’t know.

What he is certain of, is his plan to tackle you to the bed as soon as he gets home. To cum the second he slides his achy cock inside your tight pussy, and then to fuck you until neither of you can stand to climax one more time.

Eijirou would happily accept the chocolate, humming in delight once he begins chewing.

Eijirou would then be relaxing with you on the couch, using every ounce of willpower to concentrate on the movie you’re watching together. His cheeks would turn as scarlet as his hair and he’d try to hide his face with the loose strands when you glance at him.

He’d squeak out that’s he’s fine when you ask if he’s feeling feverish. He’ll clumsily cover his cock with large hands, knees knocking into one another when he tries to close his legs.

Eijirou would whimper in your ear “fuck, I’m sorry baby, I need your pussy. I can’t stop myself,” as he gives in to the heat churning in his belly and bends you over the armrest of your couch to fuck you like a dog.

You’ll babble and gasp it’s okay, crying out his name when he makes you orgasm for what feels like the hundredth time — only for his dick to remain hot and full after he’s already cum inside you so much that you’re sure you’re going to get pregnant.

Shouto would take a bit more convincing. He doesn’t ordinarily eat chocolate, but he’s willing to try it if you’re the one presenting it to him.

Shouto would be leisurely walking alongside you in the grocery store, occasionally making noises of agreement as you tell him about your day.

Shouto would suddenly freeze mid stride, becoming rigid in the middle of the aisle. He’ll blink owlish eyes at you several times when you turn back to question what he’s doing.

You’ll snap your fingers to get his attention when he starts to stare at the swell of your tits for way too long instead of listening to you, cheeks filling out with a blush when he meets your gaze.

The next thing you know, your half full grocery cart is abandoned in the aisle and you’re yanked by the wrist back to your car in the parking lot.

Shouto would mutter breathlessly “sorry baby, I can’t seem to control myself,” when he gets your pants off, leaving the material to dangle from one ankle before tugging you down to straddle his lap in the backseat.

He’ll unbutton his pants and shove them down far enough to free himself, not bothering with your panties and sliding them to the side as he sits you down on his cock and let’s out a low moan.

Shouto will match your every move, thrusting upwards harshly each time you sit down. He won’t give a single fuck if someone walks past the car, he just knows he needs your pussy to keep swallowing his cock until the insatiable burn in his lower belly subsides.

It takes…awhile.

[nanaslutt]

always the hero

ʚ pairing: nanami kento x reader

ʚ cont: fem reader, oral (nanami!r), deep throating, established relationship, kinda sub nanami??

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Once the door clicks shut, the silence that falls is deafening. Nanami is backed up against the door, with you standing too close to him, but neither of you move, neither of you breathes. Ever since the argument earlier, things have been tense. That tension that radiates between you is now filling up the room and making breathing nearly impossible. Unbearable.

After a few moments pass, Nanami clears his throat and steals your eyes to his, but before his parted lips can make words, you raise a finger to them and shake your head, all in silence. His brows furrow, but you don't feel like talking. Not right now. Not like this.

Dragging your finger down his nape, he lifts his chin as you trace down his chest, staying for a second longer on the warm skin that peaks out from his unbuttoned collar. Your touches are painfully slow and torturous, meant to drag this out until he's clenching his fists and breathing ragged.

You stop at his belt line and pull his tucked shirt up, dragging it out of the confines from where it's tucked into his pants. Through it, Nanami is quiet, but his breath hitches when you pull the shirt free. Lifting the fabric, you toy a single finger between his belt and lower abdomen.

Nanami lifts a hand and grips your wrist--not to tell you to stop, but his eyes are full of questions, unspoken thoughts, and... Lust. He's exactly where you want him. "What are you doing?" His deep whispered voice seems to echo off the walls of your shared home.

Holding eye contact, you pull your finger out and use both hands to undo his belt, his hand still cautiously on your wrist. "I thought I told you not to speak right now?" You said, the clinking of metal filling up the space around you. His breath hitches when you bump into the proof of his arousal while undoing his belt, and his throat bobs as he looks down at your hands that make slow, precise work of him.

"We should talk." He says, his grip on your wrist turning firm.

Earlier, Nanami put himself in danger to eliminate a curse--something you had told him before not to do. The last time he did it, you weren't with him, so your fright wasn't as potent, but seeing how close he got to... 

Seeing it so close made you feel helpless. It was a feeling you never wanted to replicate again.

"I don't want to talk." You said, slowly dropping to your knees while looking up at him through your lashes.

Nanami pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and fights back a groan at the sight, warring with himself internally. You look so beautiful, but he knows you're still upset with him. 

You run your hand up his thighs and stop at the top before sliding your fingers into the band of his boxers and sliding them down inch by inch. His breath seems to stop completely as you rid him of his clothes, slowly barring him and giving him no choice but to repent in the way you want him to. By letting you take him.

"Sweetheart..." He whispers through a groan when his cock bounces free of its confines, wet at the tip and so hard he's fucking twitching.

"Kento." You chastise. What about not talking doesn't he understand?

His hand threads into your hair gently, and his eyes look so tortured and pained. You love it. "I don't deserve this." He says so softly, almost insecurely. And you nod. "No, you don't"

"Then why-"

Your hand wraps around his impossibly stiff cock, and he cuts himself off, inhaling sharply through his teeth while the back of his head knocks into the door. Such a simple touch and Nanami Kento is debased to his most basic animalistic urges. You rub the head of his cock, massaging your thumb into that sensitive spot on the underside of his head, and are rewarded with his abs clenching and a drop of precum.

"Speak again, and I'll stop." With those parting words, you suck him between your lips and he fucking melts. 

Kento grunts, his free hand slamming into the wall behind him in a balled fist when you effortlessly slide him to the back of your throat. This isn't about his pleasure, much as it seems. You aren't going to take it easy or spare his pride, this is to torture him, to make him feel as helpless as he did you.

His hand in your hair tightens, but he makes no move to thrust into your mouth or shove you onto his cock. His body jerks and his back arches when you take him too deep, but he catches himself before he thrusts into your warm mouth as much as he wants to.

A long grunt that turns into a groan is torn free from his throat when you start bobbing your head up and down at a merciless pace, using a hand to stroke the rest of his length that doesn't fit in your mouth, while you slide your other hand up his shirt to caress his abdomen and feel what you do to him.

His abs flex under your touch and your ministrations. His breathing is ragged and ruined, and sounds that would usually be hidden back from your ears, are being forced free. He's not hiding a thing. You didn't even know he could be this loud while receiving head even after being together for a year. The sounds are mostly pants and grunts, but they're sounds all the same, and they're making you feel insane.

Pre-cum floods your tongue when you swallow around him and time your thrusts with your hand, determined to jerk his soul out of his cock when he cums. And he feels fucking close. He keeps twitching inside your mouth, his abs are flexing his body is bowing, and his breaths are turning choppy and debauched.

"Sweetheart... A-ah." You know you said you would stop if he spoke again, but when he sounded so fucking good, it was hard to want to stop. "I'm going to cum, stop." The last word is grunted with a surprising amount of restraint and control, but you continue regardless as if you didn't hear it.

This time, his hips do jerk, and the precum that floods your mouth makes it feel like he's already cum. "My love, you need to-" You look up in time to watch his mouth fall open and his eyes roll back in his head before he bites down on his teeth and groans through them. "You need to stop or I'm going to cum."

Always so considerate, even when he's getting blown an inch from his life. Popping off from his cock only long enough to talk, you rake your nails down his abdomen and jerk him off as quickly as you were sucking him, not wanting him to lose that buildup. "Cum in my mouth."

He looks like he wants to retort, but it dies on his tongue when you take him back into your mouth and double your efforts, massaging your tongue on that one spot that makes him see fucking stars. 

It only takes a second before his grunts turn to pants and his pitch raises in volume. You hold eye contact with him while he watches you take him to the near base, then he explodes, and you taste the specific taste of him on your tongue.

His face screws into pleasure and his body goes rigid as his balls empty into your mouth. It's a fucking pleasure seeing him come undone. His cheeks and ears are flushed, even in the dark they look like bright red tomatoes, and his throat that bobs as he struggles to do so much as swallow is beautiful.

When you pull his cock free, he twitches and his hand balls in your hair before he's dropping to his knees and slamminghis mouth to yours, tasting himself on your tongue. He grunts and groans into the kiss, licking inside like he's greedy to share some of the burden. And you love it. 

He parts your lips and cradles your face in his hands, wiping away the saliva on your cheeks and lips. "I don't deserve you, but please let me return the favor." He whispers, a misbehaving hand sliding down your body to rub you over your panties.

Your eyes roll back, and his lips part in awe as he decides between watching you as he rubs your clit, or watching your face screw into pleasure. "Please, my love." He begs in that sinfully deep voice.

He's so damn polite.

[lady-lauren]

❥ ENJI TODOROKI X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 1.7k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: stuckage (aka you get stuck and fucked), major dub-con, some ass play, spitting (on your ass), degradation, creampie, Enji is dirty and mean and he's really not sorry for it

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

The sink of spandex between your thighs reminds him of why you are such a vexation. Fabric stretches across the mound of your cunt as you struggle, a perfect contour of what lies just out of reach.

“Finally found something you can’t escape, hm?” 

Enji hears your scoff echo across the panes of the air duct, elbows pinging the metal as you try to shift your weight. 

You won’t slip away. Not this time. 

“Pull me out,” your hips arch and shake with your demand. 

The hero claws inside his chest, your plea reaching his sensibilities. But the curve of your thick, open legs strokes a more sinister flame in the pit of his stomach.

“Where’s the fun in that? I’ve chased you for long enough.” He deserves a reward.

For a cat burglar, he expected you to be more clever. Yet here you are, stuck at the waist in the old factory’s ventilation, in a hole your thighs were never going to breach no matter how much you struggled.

Now he gets to be the judge and jury of your punishment. 

“Almost like you wanted to be caught,” he muses to himself as he finally gives in to the itch to sink his fingers into the fat of your ass. 

Your gasp sounds like the hiss of air down the duct, shrill and quick. You’re not a naive villain—you know what’s coming. 

Blunt nails scrape against your costume, black threads splitting with just a fraction of the force he can give. 

Your skin spreads into view like a ripe fruit being peeled. Sweet flesh is already dripping as he snaps away the spandex over your cunt, a thrill sparking in his cock at the sight of your pussy lips opening as you wiggle yourself in his hold.

“Oh you fucking pervert! Let me go!”

He could. He should. He won’t.

Intentions are made clear when his massive hand cups your cunt, thumb rubbing over your asshole as he grips your body, shoving you tighter into your trap.

You grunt and groan, shoulders thumping against metal. You seem to be testing your flexibility in a guise to rub yourself back against the palm of his hand. Your wetness smears against his skin, labia spreading against callouses. 

He presses his hand until he finds the swell of your clit. A muffled moan makes him rub hard, hard enough to have a muscle in your thigh clenching and shaking. 

Grinning, he spits a string of saliva to drip down onto your ass, moving his thumb just enough to catch the lubrication and smother it against your puckered hole. He dips his thick digit into your ass and delights at how you buck back against him.

“You’re a better whore than a thief.” 

There’s no denial, just short moans against metal at each thrust of his thumb into your ass. He twists the digit in your tight cavern, moving his fingers away from your cunt so he can watch your pussy clench in anticipation of more. 

You’re a prettier sight than he imagined, already messy, body begging for his touch. He’s had many frustrated nights fisting his dick to dreams of catching you.

Enji toys with you just long enough to get his cock fully hard and aching.

You whine as he pulls away, hips pushing back like you’re searching for him, desperate and needy. 

He keeps quiet as he unbuckles his suit, wrapping his cock in his hand and pumping, squeezing his fingers around the base of his cockhead. 

Taking advantage of you shouldn’t turn him on so much, yet his balls feel heavy as he watches you panic, unable to see the world behind you.

Your head clinks against the air duct, your trapped hands slapping against the bottom.

“En…Endeavor? Please. Please don’t leave me like this.”

He hates that he won’t be able to see the look in your eyes when he fucks you, but it’s too much of a risk to let you free. You’ll slip away like every time before.

You purr with comfort when he grips your ass, pulling at the fat until your pussy is spread to hungry, flaming eyes. 

He bursts your relief by prodding his cock into your wetness. Your cunt clenches at the feel of him and he can practically smell your fear. 

“I’m not going anywhere, little whore.”

It takes a few purposeful thrusts to get his thick cock to push inside you, your cunt stretching and burning at his intrusion. He doesn’t care to hurt you, mean hands wrapping around your thighs and using your weight to pull your pussy down his cock.

He doesn’t want you ready, he wants to feel your struggle, feel the tightness of your pussy as he punishes you. 

Whimpering as he finally gets his length inside you, you grind back against him. He can’t tell if you’re trying to push him out or pull him in. 

It doesn’t matter what you want; what matters is what you can give him. 

Your pussy starts to gush as he begins his pace—quick, deep, balls slapping against your clit. 

Enji’s fascinated by the sight of your wet flesh dragging along his length, sucking so securely it’s like you’re afraid he’s going to leave again. 

“I’ve got you,” he sneers in some twisted sense of heroism.

Your reply moan is bubbly, as if you’ve resigned yourself to take whatever you can get.

He pulls your hips up, squishing your body to the top of the air duct as he gets into the heat of his stride. He’s blinded by the pleasure of your warm, went cunt, lost to the primal urge to take, to use. 

It’s too easy to abuse you. So small, so exposed. You’re putty in his hands as he spreads you apart even wider, shreds of fabric shuddering against the bounce of your ass.

You sound like an animal trapped in the wall, yelping and cooing all the same as his fat cockhead bullies into your depths.

“You like being a cocksleeve,” he grunts, “your cunt’s so fucking wet.” 

Cream is building at his base, smearing into red curls. Your stomach flutters at his words and he realizes he can feel himself in your core. 

He could break you if he isn’t careful. 

Yet he doesn’t slow down, barely breaking a sweat as he pushes harder, faster, jaw clenching as he chases his high. 

He drops one of your thighs, pulling the other higher around his waist as he pounds a fist into the brick wall. The new leverage has your body slipping farther down the chute, trapping you more snugly.

“P-please,” you pant, nails scraping against the metal prison, “I c-can’t take it…”

“Don’t fucking care. You’re cunt’s mine.” 

Your ass ripples as his muscular thighs slap against yours, slick dripping into the rips of your costume.

“Such a stupid little girl. This is what happens when you, ah, run from me.” 

He can’t hear any response over the wet slap of skin against skin, the slurp of your greedy cunt.

Putting his hips flush to yours, he grinds into your cunt, so deep he knows it hurts. 

His hand scrapes up your thigh, big fingers searching for your clit. When his index finger swirls against your swollen bud, you scream, the sound reverberating like a confession in your trap. 

Enji presses his forehead to the wall, eyes closing as he feels hot pleasure starting to build in his balls, twitching in his cock. 

“Go on,” he pinches your clit between his fat fingers, “cum, cum little whore.”

Your body starts to shake as you whimper, thighs quivering as you lose control. He rubs two fingers against your clit as he pushes harder into you, motions getting sloppy.

Enji grunts, “I said cum, fucking cum.”

He slams into you so roughly that he hears the air duct creak from his pressure. He puts his focus into filling you, stretching you, letting you feel his cockhead spear against the abused, gummy spots inside your cunt. 

Your orgasm is rough, sputtering, slick gushing against where he invades the tight suck of your pussy. You thrash against his hold and whine like a bitch in heat, rolls and smashes of pleasure fissuring down every nerve, making your legs kick.

Against every lingering heroic instinct, Endeavor lets himself fill your guts with his cum. 

He feels like a volcanic eruption, spewing flames from his skin and molten cum from his balls. You keep him sucked tight as he unloads, cum spilling from the tight squeeze and down your thighs. 

His chest heaves with deep breaths, blue eyes opening to stare down at the havoc he’s wrecked. 

Your poor body is limp, lodged around his impaling cock. Sweat, cum, and slick drip down your thighs, his fingerprints bruised into your skin. Your costume has come apart even more, peeling down your legs like he’s ripped you apart. 

He wonders for a moment if you’ve suffocated; if he’s fucked you to death. 

After a few moments, you stir, one weak hand knocking against the air duct.

“For the love of god…” you choke. 

Heating the metal just enough to make it malleable, he bends the air duct away from your sweaty, shaking body. Then he tugs you without care, letting you fall onto the floor before his feet.

“Suck me clean.” 

A dumb girl would’ve run on shaky, messy legs. But like the smart girl you are, you get on your knees and pop his heavy cock between your lips. 

He smirks at the mess of makeup on your face as you look up at him, tongue flat as you lick his cum from underneath his shaft. 

Enji grips the hair on the back of your head, shoving your face down to his balls for you to suck the mess you’ve made. 

“Not gonna run again, are you?” 

“I might,” your moan vibrates against oversensitive skin, “if it means I get your cock again.”

[godblooded]

" whatever you're thinking about asking ? the answer is no. I don't even have to look up to know it's coming. "

“but consider the answer being yes.”

the hellcat’s grinning with a mouthful of fangs, wintergreen eyes reflecting, a rainbow glint — tapetum, she can see in the dark.

“consider, even, the answer being enthusiastically yes.”

[writeriguess]

Hi Neema!

May I please request Katsuki x Reader, where they'd broken up a few years before because he was so into his work that he accidentally made her feel like she was holding him back, and at the reunion he apologizes and asks her if she's willing to try again? (And of course the answer is yes!) Fluff, maybe hurt/comfort, possibly car smut?

Never Really Over

The reunion wasn’t your idea. If it had been, you wouldn’t be here.

You’d spent the last few years carefully avoiding the places and people that would bring up memories of him. Not because you hated him—not even close—but because it had taken you so damn long to stop hurting every time you thought of Katsuki Bakugou.

But here you were.

The bar was buzzing with familiar voices, old classmates from UA greeting each other with excitement, some already three drinks in and laughing too loudly. You nursed your drink at the edge of the crowd, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might ask too many questions.

And then, you felt it.

That crackle in the air, like the moment before a storm.

You turned before you could stop yourself. And there he was.

Katsuki Bakugou, in the flesh.

He looked… good. Too good. He always had, but the years had refined him, softening some of the sharp edges just enough to make them even more dangerous. His hero uniform was gone, replaced by dark jeans and a fitted black button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing the corded muscle of his forearms.

And his eyes. The moment they landed on you, they widened—just slightly, but enough. A flicker of something raw passed through them before he masked it.

You forced yourself to look away, pretending to be engrossed in the condensation on your glass.

But it didn’t matter. His footsteps were already headed in your direction.

“Hey.”

The voice sent a shiver down your spine. Deep, familiar, threaded with hesitation—something you never thought you’d hear from him.

You took a steadying breath before looking up. “Hey.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. You could hear the chatter of your old classmates, the clink of glasses, the hum of music in the background. But all of it faded because Katsuki was here, standing right in front of you, and you had no idea what to say to him.

He was the one who broke it.

“You look good,” he said, eyes scanning you like he was memorizing every detail.

You gave a small smile. “You too.”

A dry chuckle. “Yeah, right.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You been doin’ okay?”

You hesitated. That was a complicated question. “Yeah,” you settled on. “I mean, it took a while, but I’ve been good.”

Katsuki exhaled, looking away for a moment. “Yeah. Same.” His voice was gruff, like the words were hard to admit.

Silence again. It wasn’t awkward, exactly—just heavy.

You sighed, deciding to rip the band-aid off. “Katsuki, why are you here?”

His gaze snapped back to you, and for the first time, you saw it—guilt.

“I needed to see you,” he said, voice quieter now.

You swallowed. “Why?”

He exhaled, jaw tightening. “Because I was an idiot. And I owe you an apology.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. “An apology?”

His hands clenched at his sides before he forced them to relax. “Yeah. For… everything.”

You let out a soft breath, staring into your drink. “Katsuki, that was years ago.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “Too fuckin’ long, actually. But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it every goddamn day.”

Your chest tightened. “What exactly do you regret?”

His crimson eyes flickered with something pained. “Pushing you away. Making you think you weren’t important to me.” He took a deep breath. “You were the most important thing in my life, and I was too fuckin’ blind to see it.”

Your breath caught.

Katsuki clenched his jaw. “I thought I was doin’ the right thing. Thought I had to put everything into being a hero so I could be good enough. And you—” He broke off, exhaling sharply. “You were always so damn supportive, and instead of appreciating that, I just made you feel like you were in the way.”

He looked at you then, eyes raw and open in a way you’d never seen before.

“I was wrong.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“I never shoulda let you go,” he admitted, voice rough. “I should’ve fought for us. Should’ve fucking seen you instead of drownin’ myself in work like an idiot.” His hands clenched again. “And I know I can’t change what happened, but I just—” He broke off, exhaling sharply. “I just needed you to know that. That it wasn’t you. It was me.”

Your fingers curled around your glass. “Katsuki…”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “I still—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just wanted to say it. To finally tell you how sorry I am.”

You stared at him, feeling everything all at once—the heartbreak, the longing, the years of missing him. The late nights where you wondered if he ever thought about you the way you thought about him.

And now, here he was, telling you everything you had once needed to hear.

You inhaled sharply, gripping your glass. “You still what?”

Katsuki’s gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, he just looked at you. Then, quietly—almost too quiet for him—he admitted,

“I still love you.”

Your breath caught.

He let out a rough exhale. “And I know I don’t deserve shit from you. But if—” He hesitated, eyes flickering with uncertainty. “If there’s any part of you that still feels the same, I—” His jaw tightened. “I wanna try again. If you’ll have me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You should’ve been angry. Should’ve told him he was too late, that you’d moved on, that you didn’t need him anymore.

But the truth was, you’d never stopped loving him either.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “You mean that?”

He exhaled sharply. “More than anything.”

You bit your lip, searching his face. He was serious.

Your fingers tightened around your glass. “If we do this… I need to know it’ll be different.”

Katsuki nodded without hesitation. “I will make it different. I swear it.”

You inhaled, your heart screaming at you to just say yes.

And then you did.

“Okay.”

His eyes widened. “Wait—seriously?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yes, dumbass. Seriously.”

For the first time that night, Katsuki actually looked stunned.

Then, without thinking, he grabbed you—one arm wrapping around your waist, the other cupping your face as he kissed you hard.

You gasped against his mouth, but it only took a second before you melted into him, gripping his shirt as he kissed you like he was making up for lost time.

When he finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, breathless.

“I won’t fuck this up again,” he murmured.

You smiled, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You better not.”

He smirked. “Guess I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life provin’ it to you, huh?”

Your heart swelled. “Guess so.”

And as he kissed you again, you knew—this time, you weren’t letting go.

***

The reunion was long over by the time you and Katsuki stumbled out into the parking lot. The cool night air kissed your flushed skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his body beside you. Your hand was clasped tightly in his, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his thumb traced soft, nervous circles against your knuckles—an almost boyish fidget you’d never seen from him before.

He glanced at you, crimson eyes flicking down to your lips. The hunger in his gaze made your stomach flip, and your body responded instinctively, leaning closer.

“Gonna keep lookin’ at me like that all night?” he rumbled, voice low and dangerous.

You smirked, emboldened by the rush of adrenaline. “Depends. You gonna do something about it?”

A growl escaped him, a predatory grin spreading across his face. “Get your ass in the car.”

He dragged you to his sleek black car—an obnoxiously expensive model you recognized from countless magazine covers. The Hero Dynamight’s flashy ride. The moment the doors unlocked, Katsuki shoved the driver’s seat back, giving himself enough space before pulling you in.

The second the door clicked shut, his hands were on you. Rough, calloused palms skimmed up your thighs, dragging your dress higher as he crashed his mouth against yours. The kiss was all heat and desperation—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, a groan rumbling from his chest when you bit his bottom lip.

“Fuck,” he grunted, dragging you closer until you straddled him, knees pressing into the soft leather of his seat.

His hands roamed possessively—one gripping your hip, the other trailing up your spine before tangling in your hair. He tugged just hard enough to force your head back, exposing the length of your throat. Hot lips brushed against your pulse point, nipping and licking, and you couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out.

“Katsuki—”

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice a growl against your skin.

“Katsuki,” you repeated, breath hitching.

His mouth latched onto the curve of your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark—a signature of sorts. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the firm lines of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Missed this,” he muttered against your skin, palms squeezing your hips. “Missed you.”

The admission sent a jolt through you. “Me too,” you breathed.

Katsuki’s eyes burned as he reached for the buttons of your dress, nimble fingers making quick work of them. The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling around your waist and exposing the lacy bra you’d picked out on a whim. His gaze lingered, hunger darkening his eyes as he traced the curve of your breasts.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he rasped, large hands cupping you through the lace. His thumbs brushed over the peaks of your nipples, teasing until they hardened beneath his touch.

Heat pooled low in your belly, and you rolled your hips against him, dragging a ragged groan from his throat. You could already feel him hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans.

“Impatient?” you teased, breathless.

He smirked, fingers sliding beneath your bra to flick your nipple. “You’re talkin’ a lot of shit for someone already so wet for me.”

You bit back a whimper as his hand drifted lower, slipping beneath the hem of your dress. Rough fingers pressed against your clothed core, feeling the dampness already seeping through.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawled, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Heat flushed your face as he pressed two fingers against your slit, rubbing slow circles that had your thighs trembling. He pushed your panties aside, a satisfied grunt rumbling from him when he felt how slick you were.

“Shit,” he muttered, eyes blazing. “Didn’t even fuckin’ touch you yet.”

Your head fell back as he slipped a finger inside, curling it just right. A soft moan slipped past your lips, and he took advantage, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“More,” you gasped, hips rocking against his hand.

He complied, slipping in another finger, pumping them slowly before picking up the pace. The lewd sound of your arousal filled the car, mixing with your soft moans and his rough growls.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he grunted, pulling his fingers free. The slick sheen coating them had his eyes flashing dangerously. He brought them to his mouth, tongue dragging over them as he hummed appreciatively. “Still taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

A whine escaped you, and Katsuki’s lips curled into a cocky grin. “Impatient little thing.”

Your hands found his belt, fumbling in your haste to unbuckle it. Katsuki’s lips found your jaw, trailing heated kisses down your throat as he reached to help, shoving his jeans and boxers down enough to free his length.

You bit your lip as you looked down. He was as intimidating as you remembered—thick and heavy, tip already flushed.

“See somethin’ you like?” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, but your hands wrapped around him anyway, earning a low, guttural curse. He was hot and hard beneath your touch, and you stroked him slowly, relishing the way his eyes narrowed.

“Quit teasin’,” he growled.

“I thought you liked a challenge?” you taunted.

He shot you a glare that melted into hunger as you lined yourself up, pushing your panties aside and sinking down onto him. The stretch was intense, a burn that quickly melted into pleasure as you took him inch by inch.

Katsuki’s head fell back against the headrest, a strangled groan escaping him. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in as he fought for control.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted. “Tight as ever.”

You gasped as he thrust up, filling you to the hilt. The angle had sparks dancing behind your eyelids.

“Katsuki—!”

He smirked, teeth catching his bottom lip. “C’mon, move. You can take it.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You rocked your hips, setting a rhythm that quickly turned desperate. Katsuki met your movements with bruising thrusts, fingers digging into your hips to keep you steady.

“Always so damn good,” he praised, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

Your head fell back, a broken moan spilling out as he angled just right, brushing against that sweet spot.

“There,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “Right there—”

Katsuki’s smirk widened, pace turning relentless. “Yeah? Like that?”

“Yes—fuck—Katsuki!”

His grip tightened as he thrust harder, determined to unravel you. Heat coiled tighter, and your breath caught as the wave crashed over you—pleasure stealing your breath, leaving you trembling around him.

Katsuki cursed, hips stuttering before he buried himself deep, groaning your name as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, you were both still, breaths mingling as you leaned against his chest, bodies sticky and tangled. Katsuki’s fingers brushed soothing circles along your spine.

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled against his skin. “Missed you too.”

He smirked. “We’re not done, y’know.”

You blinked. “What?”

The wicked grin spreading across his face sent a shiver down your spine. “Said I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?”

Heat pooled low in your belly again as he bucked his hips. “Hope you’re ready for a long night.”

You bit your lip, grinning. “Bring it on, Dynamight.”

[i-like-loserz]

hey so. i had an idea about bottom mingi.

i have a strong sense that he has a thing for cowgirl. but imagine he wanted to try and top for the first time (in a long time) and slapping his ass playfully and teasing him cause hes trying to hype himself up or something but it doesn't work and you just end up riding him 🙈🙈

our cute pillow princess ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

cw: explicit (18+), sub!mingi, afab!reader, adorable boyfriend vibes, tit-play, mention of hickies, he tries lol -- no actual penetration :( IM SORRY ANON THIS ONE-SHOT WENT ITS OWN WAY

note: anon. your mind. it's beautiful.

masterlist

---

before you can thread your fingers into his pretty hair and teasingly tug on it the way you know he likes, large hands take a hold of your wrists and pin them on either side of your head.

the coolness of his rings press into your warm skin, exciting your senses as he presses his body against you. sometimes you forget just how big he is. usually, he's the one laying under you, begging for your touch with a broken tone that slips easily from his pretty lips. this time, his deep voice is steady as he holds you against the mattress.

"tonight i'm gonna take control."

"oh, yeah?" you challenge.

it's amusing when mingi gets into these moods -- thinking that he can be the big bad boyfriend for the night when, in reality, he's the one melting for you from a single kiss.

maybe this idea came up because of the way you're dressed. there's something about seeing you in his shirt and nothing else that makes him believe you've grown soft.

it could be the way the hem brushes over your mid-thigh, highlighting the size difference between the two of you. or how the stretched-out collar fails to hide the hickies he (desperately) left on your skin the day before.

your wrists are now held by one hand above your head as his other drags your shirt upwards, revealing your body to the cool air of the room. you hear the faint sound of his breath hitching when he notices the lacy underwear you are wearing underneath.

"have you been wearing these all night?" he hooks a finger around the delicate waistband before letting it snap back. it fits you like a glove. his hand presses against the thickness of your thigh for a moment as he tries to control his reactions. he can't give up that easily.

"i was wondering when you'd notice..." you say slyly, arching your back to press your body against his. he immediately pushes you down, refusing to give in.

"why're you acting so needy? hm?" you recognize those words. you've said them to him plenty of times. of course, mingi can only regurgitate what's already been said to him.

you decide to humor him.

you round your eyes and stare up at him, a small pout on your lips, "i can't help it, i've been waiting for you all day."

"really?"

"mingi~ won't you touch me? " your voice is high pitched and sweet as you play the role. "give me what i need? i feel so empty without you."

his expression softens and hand shifts on your hip to lightly caress your skin. you ignore the way it makes goosebumps trail up your body. you're too enamored by the cute boba eyes of your sweet, naive boyfriend.

"you need me?" he cups your covered cunt which already throbs with want, "don't worry baby, i'll take care of you." he says confidently -- as if he's a hero saving his damsel in distress. aw, how sweet and caring~

"can i...touch you too?" you ask timidly, playing up your shy expression. mingi is a sucker to please you. and even when he tries to teach you a lesson, or "punish" you, he ends up playing right into your hand. whether he realizes it or not.

"o-okay," he quickly releases your wrists from his hold, "that better?" you hold back a smile from how adorably serious and attentive he's being.

he'd be such a good daddy... that is, if he could ever keep up with the role. but you much prefer him under you, if anything.

you immediately put your hands on him, greedily feeling over his broad shoulders and firm chest. "perfect." his body tenses as your hand moves downwards, dragging over his covered abs to feel over his hard cock. you're already salivating at the thought of his hard cock weeping for you.

he unconsciously bucks against your hand, loving how it perfectly presses against him to relieve some of that pressure. but before you can get far, he has enough self-control to pull your touch away.

"b-baby...t-this wasn't how it was supposed to go."

"how was it supposed to go then?" you tease, already settling back into your regular role.

"i'm supposed to be touching you and you're supposed to be begging me."

"then touch me, mingi," you place your arms back at your side, allowing him free rein of your body, "please~"

he takes the opportunity to push your shirt up to your chin, leaving you nearly naked underneath him as you aren't wearing a bra to cover yourself. warm hands cup over your tits, feeling the plushness of your curves before teasing your sensitive buds with the pads of his thumbs.

your body shivers and arches from his touch as he gently tweaks your hard nipples with his fingers. sparks of pleasure swiftly travel down to your core with every movement he makes.

you look at him from under your lashes, eyes dark as you let him play with your body. this whole time he's focused on your every reaction, eager to please you.

"you're so pretty..." he groans, "fuck, you make me so hard all the time."

"i know baby," you sigh, "you're such a good boy for me." you can't help but praise him when he's making you feel good.

he doesn't like that. at least, not when he's the one on top.

he gets all pouty, "babe, i'm trying to be sexy right now!"

"you are sexy, mimi~" you coo, "very sexy." you sit yourself up and mingi lets you, not even bothering to protest. you both know where this is going, especially when you have that look in your eye.

he huffs, "i told you to stop calling me that. it sounds like you're talking to a small dog or something..."

"okay, then what should i call you?"

"call me...sir."

"sir, you've been working so hard today," you praise, briefly gesturing to the sizable tent under his sweatpants as you lean closer to him, "maybe i can take care of you? just this once?"

"ok, but next time it'll be my turn." he argues as he leans back so you can straddle him, "seriously."

"of course, baby, next time." you agree.

[frostyresolve]

washed away by the tides ꒰ ᝬ amphoreus men

you live on in the shards scattered around amphoreus. spoilers for 3.3 trailblaze mission: the fall at dawn’s rise. features phainon, mydei and anaxa. 2.7k words. angst. fluff.

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧

“only the best for you," he says jokingly, stepping into the elevator and pulling you along with him. you’ve been a victim to his ideas before. secret moments in between his daily patrols, seen him in the most atrocious of outfits that he declares the pinnacle of fashion, watch him haggle for hours over an artifact. sneaking into the bathhouse after hours wasn’t really a crime, just something that was frowned upon. but being somewhere you shouldn’t was an entirely different story. 

you’re staring at PHAINON in disbelief, mouth parting slightly as he practically forces you in along with him. you shouldn’t be here, you feel; the hero’s bath was reserved for chrysos heirs and you most definitely were not one. your gaze is questioning, almost, unsure if he was breaking a rule by bringing you with him.

“the hero’s bath?” your breath hitches as the elevator ascends. immediately you think of the consequences of getting caught; you’d probably be breaking an unspoken law by being here without the permission of the lady goldweaver. 

he catches your questioning gaze, noticing the disbelief and uncertainty in your expression, chuckling softly at your questioning expression, and squeezes your hand reassuringly. "don’t worry; i’m allowed to bring guests. besides, i’m the only one here right now, so no harm in having some company."

it’s quiet and ambient without the sounds of the other patrons, only the two of you here. the water looks almost magical, tiny gold flecks shimmering beneath the surface. the tranquil atmosphere is a stark contrast to the crowded main bath area, and he enjoys having the entire place to himself. he’s even more gorgeous you realise suddenly when he beams at you, you don’t mind getting lectured now, if it means he’ll smile at you like you’re his world. 

looking at you with a cheeky grin, he sheds his tunic and enters the pool, the water lapping at his waist. "are you coming in?" he teases.

when you finally emerge from behind the shade, he takes in the sight of you, sitting at the edge of the pool, with your toes touching the water. with a teasing glint in his eyes, PHAINON pads over to you and stops by the edge, his hands on either side of your thighs. so he inches even more closer to the edge of the pool where you are, resting his chin on your knee and looking up at you with feigned innocence. instinctively your palm reaches out to cup his face; his cheeks puff at the gesture of affection. only to you would he melt in your hands, the blazing sun destined to rise now the moon aching for the presence of warmth.

he leans into your soothing motions as you thread your fingers through his wet hair, a small shiver running down his spine. you could’ve sworn the low hum rumbling in his throat sounds like a purr or maybe a moan, you’re not too sure with the sound of water rushing from the waterfalls. closing his eyes for a moment, savouring the feeling of your touch before opening them again, his gaze fixes on you. 

he clears his throat, beautiful ocean eyes sparkling in the night like stars in the sky, wet hair covering his gaze before your other hand gently brushes it away.

"it isn’t fair, i know," he says suddenly, the conflict in his voice palpable, catching you off guard from the sudden turn of a conversation. "but please, believe me when i say that my heart is yours."

you’re quick to reassure him, thumbs rubbing gentle circles onto his dimples as if soothing him with your mere touch alone. “i don’t doubt you for a second. so…don’t take it upon yourself to hold the weight of the world alone. i’m here if you ever need anything.”

he nods, his voice taking a tone that was gentle but yet intense. "i know you do," PHAINON whispers, his voice soft but firm. "and i’ll always be grateful for it. but i wish it could be different—that i could promise you more than just my heart."

“you’ve given me your time; that’s more than enough to me.” your words cut deep through your shared bond. his expression falters at the implication of your silent affirmations, so you take it upon yourself to turn that frown upside down.

so you splash water at him playfully, and he sputters as he’s caught off guard, water spraying his already damp hair, looking more like a wet puppy as he pouts at you. before he retaliates, of course, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you in with him.

you shriek while PHAINON laughs, a husky yet melodious sound that echoes through the empty bathhouse. for just a second, everything feels perfect when your eyes meet his, the purest blue you’ve ever seen, and his lips touch yours reverently.

══════════════════

“actually, i was wondering if you could try this. was thinking about replicating your own, but i think it's about the same.” you perk up, pulling out a plate of honey cakes coloured pink from behind your back, the same he usually prides himself with baking.

his golden eyes fixate on the pink-tinted honey cakes that you're presenting to MYDEI, his features subtly shifting to a state of perplexity and caution. a small wrinkle appears on his usually smooth forehead.

he observes the pastry with wariness, the sudden feeling of dread sending a chilling sensation down his tenth thoracic vertebrae. "i see," he begins slowly, his voice a mere hum, "where did you obtain these?"

“i made them, of course.” you’re a little puzzled now by his reaction, sparing a glance at the honey cakes before turning back to him.

“you made them?” he reiterates, his response tinged with disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite fathom the words you were speaking.

with slight hesitation, he picks up a honey cake from the plate, observing its appearance with a mixture of curiosity and caution. sniffing it carefully like a chimera cat, it smells the same as the ones he’d make.

yet, something nagged at him.

“tell me," MYDEI continues, his voice stern, “what did you add to these cakes?”

“pomegranate milk like you usually do? i know you like your treats pink.” you’re getting more confused by the minute, unsure why he was acting so off. guarded as if he was facing a titankin and not a plate of desserts.

“why don’t you try them? i really want to get your input.” you press on, looking at him intently as you hold the plate out to him.

his eyes harden at your insistence. sighing and looking at the pastries, he knew you meant no harm, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to doubt you.

“alright.” he relents, picking up one of the pink cakes and taking a tentative bite, his expression unreadable.

it’s like an assault on his taste buds. he’s died before, multiple times. that’s the reason why one of his many names was ‘MYDEIMOS the undying’, but he thinks this, has been the closest to actual irreversible and absolute death that he will ever get. instantaneously, his jaw locks as if preventing him from taking another bite.

his mouth is dry from the horrendous flavour that attacks his tongue, and the lump in his throat makes it difficult to swallow. wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he tries to eradicate the taste that lingers there, only to be left with a nauseatingly sweet aftertaste that clings to the inside of his cheeks.

you look at him expectantly, eyes sparkling innocently as you wait for his opinion, oblivious to the fact that you nearly sent him alone to the sea of flowers. “so…how does it taste?”

he swallows once, twice, to moisten his throat. his voice is hoarse as he responds, "it’s... wonderful."

“you’re sure? it seems like you didn’t like it. did i do something wrong?” you ask in scepticism, the paleness of his expression not reflecting the praise he’s just given you. looking back at the plate of pink cakes, pondering an idea for a moment. “maybe i should try just to be sure.”

his face contorts into one of mild panic, and his mind races.

so MYDEI quickly snatches the plate out of your hands and, in a twist of events, starts scarfing down the pink pancakes at an alarming rate.

his stomach aches with every bite he takes of the cakes, the sweet flavour now a torment he can’t escape. the texture, so soft and spongy, feels like sandpaper against his throat.

but, he manages to keep a calm demeanour as he swallows the last bite, his heart pounding as he looks at you, a forced smile plastered on his face.

"delicious," he manages to choke out, trying to sound convincing.

“really? i’ll get you something to wash away the taste. i have some juice.” you nod with a relieved sigh, about to make a beeline to the kitchen. he’s learnt his lesson, four times actually, with each honeycake he’s gagged over, catching your wrist before you leave and pulling you flush back to him. chests touching, your eyes are wide at the sudden proximity, and your hand brushes his bare chest where tattoos ink his skin.

“i have an idea of something that’ll help.” this is his revenge, MYDEI thinks; he’ll scrape the taste of those vile cakes away with a kiss, maybe one for each bite he's taken. he’s gentle as he can be, gloved hands tilting your chin up as his lips brush yours. you don’t notice the flavour of your failed attempt at desserts, addicted to the taste of him as your eyes shut.

══════════════════

"one wish, no boundaries, no limits. what would it be?” your voice a low hum that echoes across the room of his laboratory, feet barely touching the ground as you sit on the edge of his desk, watching curiously as he sifts through the papers. you’re not sure how he keeps track of his documents, from the essays of his students, his own personal experiments, and receipts for droma merchandise that he’s had shipped to the grove.

his gaze lingers on you for a moment as ANAXA pauses, breaking down your question into pieces before he carefully crafts his answer to fit his ideals.

"i want a world where truth,” he begins, “where truth isn’t locked away beneath the weight of power. where people could learn and understand without the fear of retribution."

“that sounds like a very… you answer, professor. you’re not scared of it? the truth and the consequences it may bring, i mean. sometimes…they don’t hold the answer you want.”

a faint, amused smile touches his lips. it was an answer he was accustomed to hearing, and yet, there was something about the way you said it that made it sound less like a rebuke and more like a warning.

"not scared?" he repeats, the words rolling off his tongue like a quiet laugh, "perhaps i’m not… or perhaps i’m simply too tired to fear anything any more."

he tilts his head slightly, gaze flickering over you again. "i never said the answer would be one you wanted.”

“you’re perceptive as always; it’s infuriating. i’d expect no less from one of the seven sages. you make the rest of us look like naive chimera cats next to a verax leo with your insights and observations, don’t you?” a huff of exasperation leaves your lips, shaking your head at ANAXA. there’s dry humour in your tone, a hint of sarcasm that he finds almost refreshing.

"am i now? i think you give me too much credit. i am but a feeble scholar with too much time in his hands." his faint smile deepens into a barely audible chuckle, a rare display of amusement. while many others might have bristled at your words, he only seems mildly amused.

he regards the night sky out the window as if for guidance, stars mocking. "naive chimera kittens, you say? i don’t doubt they’d scratch just as fiercely given the chance."

“didn’t answer my question. are you scared about what the truth brings? not everything’s sunshine and rainbows, especially in amphoreus. never here.” you roll your eyes at him, fingers digging into the side of the desk as you wait pointedly for his reply. a truthful one this time instead of an attempt at deflection.

he sighs, dry humour and nonchalance giving way to seriousness once more. "of course i’m not scared," he says quietly, his words a mere breath on the wind. "the truth is always a risk. it could be a miracle; it could be a nightmare. it could free us or condemn us."

he finally peels himself away from whatever he was doing, straightening to his full height from his previous slouching position over one of the laboratory tables as he approaches you. in the softly dancing light, he seems to cast shadows, a reflection of dark uncertainty that he’s familiar with all too well.

"but some risks", he murmurs, "are worth taking."

“even if it means losing everything along the way. even if it means you’ll pay the price with your soul?” you asks hesitantly, yelling inwardly at yourself for letting your guard down. you can’t help but lay your heart bare to him; it’s a curse in itself, one you can’t cure.

his gaze softens ever so slightly, the crimson of his eye flashing with a hint of something—understanding, perhaps. ANAXA took another step forward, closing the distance between you.

"even then," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "even if the world turns against me, i will not shy away from the truth. too long have i lived in the shadows, in deceit and lies. better death, better damnation, than to live in ignorance."

his words hang in the air like a promise, or maybe a threat. you’re not too sure, he wants you to figure it out on your own. 

“you’ve thought long about this, haven’t you? you’re always two steps ahead of me.” you nod quietly. your own confession is reluctant; you don’t know how he’ll respond to it, but that shouldn’t worry you. everyone has their own opinions and beliefs, but some part of you wants your answer to please him, but you speak up regardless. “i don’t know what i’d do actually. is that so bad?”

he seems to consider your question more carefully this time, and you hope he won’t go overboard with his reactions like he usually does, cackling himself into a frenzy out of his own lectures. "not bad," he says finally, "just...surprising."

reaching out, his fingertips barely skimming the edge of your cheek, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to touch you. his fingers lingered there, in that space just millimetres from your skin, and you resist the urge to lean your cheek into his palm to close the distance between you both. "you, with your secrets and half-truths..." he murmurs, words a breath against your ear.

“then i hope you don’t mind if you unravel the truth, with me by your side then?” another question, this one soft and gentle that it tugs on the heartstrings he thought he had severed long ago.

he purses his lips thoughtfully. he looks away, a glint of something in his scarlet eye.

"with you by my side..." he echoes thoughtfully. "i suppose i could make an exception."

he steps closer, his presence closer than ever before. eye lingering on your mouth for a moment before returning to your gaze. hand curling to cup your face, you feel the cold metal of the rings on his finger against your cheek.

"i think it would be...enlightening. shall we give it a try?” ANAXA murmurs, noses brushing and lips tantalising.

══════════════════

the memory shard whirs, crystals forever frozen in time as the pink creature floats around the two figures. it’s a stark contrast against the red sky and the fire falling from the horizon.

“do you think they got their happy ending?” the creature called mem asks, blue curious eyes staring intently at the memory, itching to replay it again despite knowing how the story ends.

with a heavy heart, the shard hums to a close, sealing whatever wish it carried. some romance stories end with tragedy after all, like how not all dreams come true. and this was just another memory lost to the black tides and cruel fate.

© FROSTYRESOLVE 2025. DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REUPLOAD OR FEED MY WORKS INTO AI

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

trick of the light | n. monoma

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader, reader is intended to be curvy, hate-sex, hooking up, blood (you bite his lip and it bleeds and u keep kissing fdkjsds), fingering, unprotected sex, post-timeskip monoma, reader and monoma are pro-heros, 18+

✮ wc ; 2.8k (dude sdkfjd)

✮ a/n ; fic for @antique-remains SORRY FOR HOW LONG ITS TAKEN. but i like this version much better dsjksjdk and i hope u like it too.

also . lord i want to fuck this guy

“Crazy bastard,”  

Monoma laughs, his teeth tugging at your lower lip, blue eyes lidded low. He’s more sober than you are, yet he seems intoxicated. “And you’re still taking me to bed, huh? Aren’t you something?”  

You land against the door of your apartment with a thump, pulling your mouth back in some silent protest—lips pulled into a thin line. You both know you’re not protesting at all. You wouldn’t last long even if you tried. He swipes at your mouth with the tip of his tongue and you open for him easy but unnerved, frustrated. He’s always been good at getting under your skin, knowing exactly what makes you tick.  

It’s not like he’s always right. It’s Monoma. That insufferable jackass who can’t shut up to save his life, always making assumptions. So unbearable that even Kirishima thinks it. So annoying you spent half of your highschool career getting into with him on the training grounds, trying your best not to strangle him and get your license revoked. He always picked fights with you specifically, even over the rest of your class as you got older 

You’ve always hated him. He shaped up a little before graduation, but now he’s— 

You feel teeth again. Monoma makes a low sound in the back of his throat that goes right to your core. Your pussy is throbbing and it’s so annoying it makes you want to cover your face. He’s thrilled when he speaks. “Pay attention, hm? I know you Class 1-A kids are all brawn and no brains but,”  

You go to protest but Monoma is quicker. Sharper. Stronger than you remember him being given the way he uses his hands to pin you into place underneath him 

You give in easily when he leans into kiss you again. One nip of his lips is all it takes for you to open your mouth back up. Your head feels heavy, arms around his shoulders as his hands hold onto you tight. His hand cups the nape of your neck and brings you forward to him. He kisses you shallowly first, drawing it out as he pulls away. When you chase his mouth, you can feel him smile against your lips. Proof that you want him, you think. It frustrates you. Both how good he is at kissing you and how easily he’s working you up.  

But he’s so good at this, whatever it is. Good at kissing you. Good at knowing where to put his hands and how exactly to feel you up. He slips his tongue into your mouth, forcing your own own open. You gasp as you fist at the back of his shirt from surprise. You sink under the weight of it. He nips into your mouth with intent, his eyes lidded. Not quite closed even as he kisses you in a way that makes your stomach churn.  

It’s something in his demeanor that’s making you want to slink back—direct conflict with whatever desire is burning you through you so quickly. You thread your fingers through his hair and pull. Monoma groans into your mouth, the hand on the back of your neck growing even tighter.  

“You’re being quite feisty,” Monoma says. His voice is pitched high with familiar amusement. “Any reason? Or are you hoping for me to have my way with you? That’s my guess at least,”  

You open your mouth to say something but Monoma leans into you again. Actslike he’s going to kiss you - his nose brushing yours. “Don’t worry. There’s a lot I wanna do with you, see?”  

Your curiosity gets the better of you. “…Like what,”  

“Aren’t you here to find out?”  

“Shut up and tell me already,”  

Monoma clicks his teeth. His lips press against your jaw, teeth pressing into the skin below - tender under the dulled ends of his incisors. There’s a touch of irritation to it. “All grown up and you still don’t have manners,”  

Words of protest die in your mouth as he trails down further, all the way down to your throat where he bites down. His mouth closes over your pulse, your spine arching up into his grasp as you slump against the wall. Something washes over you, your mind clouding. He laughs a little into your skin as his hands find the hem of your shirt - skirting past your waistband.  

Your chest rises and falls in anticipation for what comes next. He keeps you on the threads of his last words as his hand slips down further. His fingers are slender, long enough to reach easily. You were staring at them earlier at the bar. Part of you wonders if he noticed your staring.  

His middle finger slides over the the seam of your panties, just over your clit. You hiss as he presses against it. He laughs again, and he sounds a little bit like scumbag in the way he has his whole life. Instead of resenting him for it, it makes you moan. You feel your pussy get wet at the callous touch to his voice. “We have all evening, but I don’t really want to wait to fuck you. I’ve waited long enough.”  

Your hands finds purchase in his arms. His laughter only becomes brighter the way you tremble at his teasing. He’s hardly doing anything of note, but your body is so keyed up it makes you feel dizzy. “I’ve been wanting to feel you like this for so long,” He says, voice almost hysterical. “So, I won’t take it for granted. You want to know right? But I fear trying talk to you during this is pointless a task as they come,”  

He slides your panties over just slight before his fingers slide through your arousal. You’re so wet it’s so soaking, sliding down the pudge of your inner thighs. You wince hearing the slick sound of his fingers sliding through your folds. “Hah! How are you so wet?” 

You moan as you feel his middle finger push further, deeper until it comes into your cunt. Your pussy opens up easily as proof of your arousal. He’s mean. In one go, you feel his middle finger down to knuckle  - curling up immediately until they find your sweet spot. His name comes out of your mouth in a squeal. 

“Fuck, fuck—slowly, dammit,”  

His fingers are so much longer then yours. Reach much deeper. You try to squirm away from him but there’s nowhere for you to run away to.  

“You were talking so tough on the ride back,” Monoma muses. He fucks his finger in and out of you. The soft shlick shlick shlick sound feels so loud in your empty apartment. “Is this all you can handle?”  

“Shut up,” You hiss. Monoma grins against your throat. Another finger slides in alongside the first, this one slower. There’s tension to the way your pussy stretched but barely enough to make it hard. When his second fingers reach all the way down to the base  - he scissors them inside of you. You moan, suppressing the sound by keeping your lips shut. 

Monoma uses his other hand to cup your face, thumb pressing your lip and forcing your mouth open. His tone is light but the look in his eyes is harsh. Serious, almost. “None of that, hm?”  

Your glare at him weakly. He rubs against your sweet spot on purpose, palms grinding against your clit until your eyes roll back. He laughs again as you whimper, unable to suppress it. “Much better. Should I make you cum just like this, do you think? It seems like it’d make you more docile,”  

You frown at him, biting at his thumb. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The words have less bite then they should, given the way your voice breaks. “If you want me to be docile then hurry up and fuck it out of me,”  

Monoma pauses, eyes going wide as he inhales a sharp breath. He crashes his lips into yours, almost violently - more teeth than tongue. You bite hard at his lips, enough for him to bleed. Even as blood smears, iron in between kisses, it doesn’t deter either of you. 

His eyes have a crazy look to them when you pull away. Foreheads touching as he pulls his hand away from your skirt and forces them into your mouth. You make a noise of protest as you taste yourself, the length of his fingers making you gag. He asses you closely, laughter on the tip of his tongue. “It’d be cuter if you were honest and just begged me to fuck you but your attitude is what I like about you,”  

“You’re so annoying,” You say muffled. Monoma pulls away his spit covered fingers.  

“Let’s pretend I believe you,”  

You roll your eyes as Monoma steps back to undress. Your eyes travel down the length of his body. You’re both still clothed for the most part, but you can see his figure well enough. His dick is straining against the slacks he’s wearing. Your hands come up to his waistband on automatic, unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper.  

His cock is…bigger than you thought it’d be. You can tell even through his boxers as he slacks slide down. Your hand cups his length. Monoma hisses above you. His usual arrogance melted, face red as he covers it with one hand. Your eyes widen as your heart does a little flip.  

“I can undress myself,” He hisses.  

There’s… no way you thought of this fucker as cute just now.  

You feel like you’re entranced. You squeeze the outline of his cock experimentally, feeling him twitch. He wants you just as bad as you want him. 

“You’re so hard,” You murmur. “You’re—“  

Your thoughts are buzzing. It’s weird. The shift in the air. The sudden tension that’s no longer just lust. Your heartbeat is loud but you almost feel calm. Hooking your finger in the waist band of his boxers, you tug them down until his cock is revealed. 

Even in the darkness of your apartment, you can see it clear enough. The tip, red and flushed. Long with a nice curve, slender and tight. A laundry list of dirty thoughts crosses your mind.  

Your eyes meet. A mistake maybe. The look on his face is so different than the Monoma in your head. Anticipatory. Wanting. Just a little desperate. You feel like you’re hallucinating it but you don’t think you are. There’s something suddenly sweet about him. He shudders as you wrap your hand around it, suddenly avoiding your eyes. He puts his hand on your wrist as if to stop you.  

“I’ve—there’s a condom in my—“  

“Just fuck me,” You reply. “Shut up and do it,” 

Monoma shudders over you, teeth clenched. Trying to keep up the facade but failing. He hisses.  

“Fine. Just. Turn around,”  

You oblige and press yourself up against the door, ass facing him. You expect for him to undress you but he doesn’t. His hands squeeze your hips, merely flipping your skirt up as he presses his cock against the curve of your ass. Your breath catches.  

Wordlessly, he slicks himself up with spit and sticky fingers before sliding through your folds. Your eyes roll back as your pussy stretches around his cock to accommodate him. It goes in so easy it makes you gasp. The lower half of your waist goes weak, the only thing keeping you upright being him. Where he has you sheathed on his cock and how tightly he’s gripping onto you. He moans over you. It’s loud. Deeper than you expect. Makes you clench down on him so tight your breathless.  

“You feel—” His head drops onto your shoulder. “Shit that’s so good.”  

It’s the first time you hear him curse. The first time he’s ever praised you. Fuck. You whine his name out loud, and he groans against your shoulder again.  

He pulls out before slamming right back into you, your knees nearly making you drop. You cry out as Monoma fucks you. He sets the pace more brutally then you thought he had in him. It’s hard and fast, has his teeth sinking into your shoulder blade over your sweater. Your skin is burning hot, almost feverishly as you feel it. The sensation of emptiness before being filled over and over like a drug to your brain. Your limbs weak as your mind drowns in such sudden, unexpected pleasure. Monoma fucks you thoroughly, a hand around your waist with his fingers toying at your clit— determined to make you cum right on his cock. It’s the quietest you’ve ever heard him be. Always running his mouth, you didn’t think he had it in him to fuck you like this. Wouldn’t have imagined it in a thousand years.  

It feels too good too fast. Overwhelmingly. Your stomach tenses, orgasm making your hands curl into fists as you lean against the door. You can barely make out a coherent sentence to tell him you’re getting close.In the end you only manage one word.  

“C-cumming,”  

Your orgasm crashes into you. It feels like you’re on fire, electricity sparking through your nerves. It’s the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life with any partner and by yourself. Your pussy clamps down hard on his cock as your thighs shake.  

Monoma follows you soon after, pulling out to cum against your pussy instead of in it. You quiet the small part of you thats disappointed as you feel thick, warm cum against your skin. He leans against you as the both of you stand, panting.  

Your voice is hoarse. You still feel so horny.  

“What? Is that it?” You goad, secretly hoping it’s not.  

He laughs. Not in the usual way. It’s softer. Still amused but not so annoying. It’s the orgasm talking. You feel your skin grow even hotter. “Don’t underestimate me. We have all night,”  

__  

EPILOGUE:  

You wake up the next morning sore.  

Sore but… clean. And warm.  

There’s a nice scent coming from somewhere in your house. You sit up in bed still naked, covered in hickeys and bruises. You pull the sheets over your chest as you rub the sleep from your eyes, trying to remember when exactly you slept. You don’t remember showering but the lack of stickiness makes it seem like you did.  

Which means that Monoma must’ve wiped you down before bed. The thought makes your face hot. So he’s considerate to sex partners. A pleasant surprise. You reach for your phone on your bedside to find it charging there.  

Another surprise.  

Okay. So he’s really considerate. Whatever.  

Before you get to wonder where he is, Monoma comes back to your room. He’s shirtless, wearing his boxers from last night and holding a mug of something. He blinks.  

“So you’re up. I came in to wake you. It’s noon by the way,”  

Your eyes go wide. “Noon? I have patrols,” 

He snorts. “No you don’t. You’re welcome.”  

“…You called in for me?”  

He looks at you before rolling his eyes. “Well aren’t you clever?” He says sarcastically. He walks in and places the mug on your bedside table. “I just called into your agency and said you weren’t feeling well. I gave them my hero ID so it wasn’t hard. Drink your tea before it gonna get cold,” 

“It’s for me?”  

“Well I didn’t bring it here to drink in front of you,”  

You feel incredibly conflicted, so much so you can’t even tell him to fuck off. This… this is not the way you remember him. Not at all. You frown, looking down at your lap.  

“Stop being so nice. It’s weirding me out.”  

He laughs again. “I was always nice, just not to your class and by extension not to you,”  

“You were not nice last night,”  

“Is that a complaint?”  

You stay quiet.  

“Thought so,”  

There’s a beat of silence. Monoma sighs a little, turning to leave. And, for some ungodly reason, you grab hold of his hand. He pauses and looks back at you. You frown, your voice uncertain.  

“Have you… had anything to eat?”  

Monoma pauses. “Not yet.”  

“Then…”  

“Are you inviting me on a date?”  

You look up at him, expecting to see his usual expression. And sure, he does look like an arrogant jackass like normal but he’s… smiling too. In a sincere way. You’re seriously losing your mind. There’s  no way this guy is… 

“If I was?”  

“Beat me to the punch,” Monoma says, half-way shrugging. He leans down again to get eye-level with you. Nose to nose. You pull away, very conscious of having half-woken up.  

He kisses the corner of your mouth instead of directly, smug like always. Instead of it being deeply annoying, though - you find your heart beating fast. He stands and stretches after, observing you with a hand on his hip. 

“It’d be good if you thought about how other people felt for a change. But well, you 1-A kids were all self absorbed like that. You were always so hung up on hating me, you didn’t consider why I picked fights with you over everyone else,”  

You pause. “What does that—“  

Monoma stands and turns around without answering. “I’m borrowing your shower,” 

Damn him.  

 “Asshole! Answer my question first!”  

[too-much-tma-stuff]

This idea sort of burst out of me like Alien so it's unedited. There will probably be more.

In short, Cas picks up on the fact that Danny is pregnant at a Wayne Gala and have the right idea but the wrong context.

Masterpost

------

Danny was barely holding it together and really he had been for a long time. It had sort of been fun and games at first when he became a hero. Sure his accident had hurt like hell but he'd sort of repressed that and for real? Lunch Lady? Box Ghost? Even Skulker was sort of a joke and he hasn't actually felt threatened. Sneaking around behind his parents backs and sneaking out with his friends had been fun. It had all felt like a game at first, and then somewhere in there things had gotten very real.

He'd known he couldn't count on his family to protect him but they couldn't even see Vlad was a threat. And he felt like he had lost the last of his innocence when he saw the clone Vlad had made of him melt. He hasn't been in time, he had panicked and he had only managed to save a couple by taking them into his own body to shield their still forming cores. Ellie and... should Danny name the other one or would he name himself when he was ready?

He kept touching his stomach over where he could feel the little balls of his mirror children hovering just below his own core. He was so tired all the time as they relied on his energy, he was eating more then ever and he knew his family was worried. He didn't think he could hide this and he couldn't predict when they would emerge. What if they did in front of his parents? They definitely wouldn't react well. And Vlad kept trying to use this against Danny. Promising to look after him and the babies if he was really insisting on carrying them, as if Danny could rip those tiny 'lives' out of himself now.

And no matter how many times he tried to tell his parents that Vlad was bad news, that he creeped Danny out and made him feel unsafe they wouldn't listen! Dad didn't even hear him and mom made sympathetic noises and then told him to bear with it for Jack's sake because he didn't have many friends.

So of course when Vlad had asked if 'Daniel' could accompany him to a gala in Gotham his father had agreed! Even his mother had agreed when Vlad promised it would be educational and safe! And here Danny was, hanging on by a fucking thread in a suit that felt uncomfortably tight around his middle, having just escaped being paraded around as Vlad heir like a particularly expensive watch. He was behind the snack table having piled a plate as high as he could and scarfing it down before Vlad could find him again and scold him for being rude. He hadn't noticed yet that a family of dark haired socialites kept giving him worried looks. A young woman with dark eyes signing frantically to a man with blue eyes and a dimpled frown.

It was the man who slid up carefully next to Danny trying not to startle since he seemed to have genuine food aggression.

"Yeesh kid you seem like you're starving! All those fancy Hors d'oeuvres are fun but not very cooling and I feel like I'd be a poor host if I didn't offer you something more filling! If you'll come me to the kitchen I'm sure our family butler would be happy to whip something up for you?" The man said with an inviting some that did nothing to sooth the way Danny's hackles raised instinctively.

He was about to say no on reflex when he spotted Vlad heading towards them with an expression like a thunder cloud. Danny's back went ridged and the other man followed his gaze with a frown. "You know what ya that sounds great let's go now!" Danny said dropping his half full plate on a nearby tray and dragged the stranger away with him as Vlad shouted after him.

"Daniel come back this instant! Unhand mister Wayne! Daniel this is unacceptable!"

'Mr. Wayne' took over leading them and spirited Danny through a back door as a bubbly blonde intercepted Vlad and a small woman slid in behind them like a shadow.

"So, Danial I assume?" The man asked, amusement crinkling around his eyes as Danny grimaced.

"Mr. Wayne I assume?" Danny returned, unaware of the way one arm was protectively wrapped around his stomach, but the girl noticed. It was Dicks turn to grimace.

"Okay ya, I go by Dick. What about you?"

"Danny," he said not reacting to the name, he'd heard far stranger. "And what about you?" He asked Cas, startling Dick a little because she was doing her 'shadow thing' and not many people would have noticed her.

"That's Cas, she has a hard time talking sometimes," Dick explained as Cas materialized and gave Danny a reassuring smile and wave.

The teen harrumphed but he did follow them down to the kitchen where Alfred was drinking a cup of tea, staying well clear of the foolishness upstairs. "Ah, hello young masters," Alfred he said, glancing between the three with a raised brow. Though the two who knew him could see the way his expression softened when Danny shrunk in on himself. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey Alfred do we have any leftovers from dinner or something filling we can whip up fast? Danny here is too hungry for just the fancy font for upstairs." Dick asked cheerfully.

Alfred raised his eyebrows again and looked at Cas who was standing behind Danny. Glancing at Danny to make sure he wasn't looking she grimaced then touched her stomach and mimed holding an infant.

Alfred's expression turned stormy for just a moment then smoothed. "Of course we do, Why don't you make our guest comfortable and I'll see what I can do. Do you have any allergies young man?" Alfred asked and Danny shook his head mutely.

"You're the best Alfie!" Dick said, hovering a hand over Danny's shoulder rather then actually touching him as he leas him towards the comfortable breakfast nook.

The boy seemed tight lipped and gaunt, his eyes flicking around them as if he expected a threat to pop up at any time. Dick slipped into the booth across from him. Trying to think of the best way to ask this kid how... why, and who hurt him.

Cas has stayed in the kitchen, but not for long. She came to them with a tray of mugs moments later and slipped into the booth next to Danny. Gently she took his hands and pressed the warm mug unto them. He blinked and focused of it, as if on autopilot he lifted it to his lips, Cas keeping a hand on his elbow to steady him as he drank.

The warm comforting drink, and hand on his arm, presence by his side as Cas slid imperceptibly closet and closer till she was pressed against Danny's shoulder, felt like they were taking him apart from the inside. Thawing out the cold numbness he shielded himself behind. Half way through his tea he glanced up, at the worried blue eyes so like Jazz, so worried and warm.

He put down the mug suddenly as a sob shook his body. Cas wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, cooing comforting wordless little sounds as she let him bury his face into her chest and just sob heaving, exhausting outbursts of repressed emotion.

"Are the babies okay?" She asked and he froze, his breath catching in his throat. She clicked her tongue and rocked him gently. "Okay, okay, not in trouble," she promised.

"They- I don't know, they were so weak, I’m trying, but I don't know if I can keep them alive." Danny sobbed lifting his hands to cover his face.

"The stress can't be helping," Dick pointed out, climbing across the table like it was nothing to sit next to them and rub Danny's back. Danny gave a little hiccupping hysterical laugh. "Do you have support, or like, do you know your options?" He asked awkwardly.

"I'm not getting rid of my babies! I don't care if the man who made them is an obsessive creep who drugged me! I love them they're MINE!" The feral protectiveness seemed to startle Dick even as Cas continued to make soothing sounds.

"Your choice, only yours," she promised. "Have help?"

Danny sniffled and shook his head. "Safe?" Another shake of the head.

"The man who... did this?" Dick asked as delicately as he could. Another hysterical laugh.

"I've tried! I've tried to tell my parents he's a creep, he's dangerous but they don't listen! My dad thinks he hung the fucking stars, mom says he's harmless. They don't believe me! I-I can't tell them about the babies. They'd make me get rid of them or worse! I can't." Danny sobbed and Cas soothed.

"Okay, okay, you don't have to." She promised. "You stay with us, you and babies safe, never have to see him again."

"Ya right. Wait, your serious? What" Danny asked, pulling back and looking at her with wide bloodshot eyes.

"She's very serious young master," Alfred said as he approached making Danny jump. there was a hard set to the old man's jaw and steal in his eyes that left no room for questions as he set a plate of eggs, sausage, and fruit in front of Danny. "Master Bruce has a foster license and is a mandatory reporter. I'm sure once he hears even a fraction of this he will insist you stay. I will prepare a room for you. Am I to assume the man who's shouting demanding your return upstairs is the source of this distress?"

Danny swallowed and nodded, Alfred nodded back and paused to rest a gloved hand gently on Danny's hair before walking away briskly.

"Eat," Cas said, nudging him gently to let go of her. "As much as you want. Still hungry? We raid Tim's secret cereal stash."

"Gasp! You know where it is? You've been holding out on me?!" Dick demanded with exaggerated betrayal and as the two started to banter Danny ate. He was glad of the distraction, of not having the attention on him as he devoured the healthy, and nutritious meal the butler had made for him. It had been a while since he'd had a good home cooked meal, it made his core feel warm and he could feel the two little echoes as his hummed.

The babies were happy too, he didn't believe these people could keep him safe from Vlad really, but this was nice. Maybe he would let them try, get a few more good meals, a respite, and maybe... maybe his parents would finally notice that something was wrong and actually stand up for him?

That was probably wishful thinking but he could hope right? there was no harm in that.

Part 2

[the-modern-typewriter]

Can you please write something where the villain has to take care of the hero’s wounds. Thanks! I absolutely love your writing!

"Don't bloody touch me."

"Your wounds will get infected without the right care."

"Then get one of your lackeys to do it," the hero snapped. "But you - you -" Their throat tightened. Maybe because there were no words to describe the villain, the thing that had once been their friend. Maybe because there were too many words, and they all crowded the hero's windpipe, making it difficult to breathe.

The villain considered them, head tilting, still clutching the first aid kit in their hands.

The hero let out a breath between gritted teeth, tugging at the chains holding their wrists useless above their head.

The villain gave an unreadable sort of hum, then stepped forward with the first aid kit anyway. They knelt. It felt like getting kicked in the jugular.

"If you headbutt me," the villain said, "you'll just get even more restrained. You won't like it. It will set off your claustrophobia."

"Then don't touch me. Don't - why - don't act as if you give a crap."

"Of course I do." The villain took a pair of scissors out first, cutting away the hero's trousers so that they couldn't get at the ruined skin on their leg. Their hands were terribly gentle as they cleaned the cut. "I mean, I also need you alive. But. You know."

"If you gave a crap about me you wouldn't do this. Any of this."

"Ah, love. You're mistaking care with being my first priority," the villain said. "You are, as ever and always, my third."

The hero scoffed, bitterly. Stupid tears threatened to well in their eyes and they jerked their head away, glad, at least, for the sting of disinfectant as an excuse.

They knew the exact list without asking.

The villain's grand plans. Their power.

The villain's life.

The hero's life.

As ever. As bloody always.

The villain glanced up, unerringly finding the hurt.

"I say mistaken," the villain kept their voice light, their hands busy. "It's closer to you thinking it doesn't count, right? If you're not everything?"

The hero's jaw clenched. The tears rolled down, as they knew the tears would, if the villain insisted on touching them with those familiar hands. They were so different, and yet they smelled the same up close, same body wash and shampoo or whatever as they'd always had. Amber. Their touch was the same, precise and dangerous and oh so careful. The hero would know it anywhere. Because, well...

You were everything to me.

It was the fundamental, rotting, entirely infected truth of their relationship.

"What would that team of yours think if they knew you only do what you do to - what? Spite your ex? Get them back?" the villain asked. They moved from disinfectant to the needle and thread.

"You killed people! You need to be stopped. It's not - it's never enough for you! All the power and it's never going to be enough for you, is it? You're a monster."

"And you still want me." The villain smiled at them, blandly. "Worst thing that ever happened to you. That I ever did to you. Is love a thing one does to another, like violence, do you think?"

"You disgust me."

"Mm. Would you like to bite down on something before I give you stitches? Or do you want to take this as an opportunity to work on biting your tongue?"

"I'm not going to stop."

"Of course not. That would require moving on."

The hero snarled, feeling feral, feeling animal. Feeling like they hated that the villain had reduced them to that. All blood, and exposed nerves and bones sticking out where they shouldn't be.

The thread went in and out, in and out.

"Pressure on the wound," the villain said, softly. Then they shoved their hands down hard enough to make the hero whimper, make them writhe. The villain watched. They held on a beat longer than needed, capturing a pained gasp with a press of lips. A nip of teeth. It couldn't really be called a kiss. "You think I'd ever, ever, let my lackeys put their hands on you? You're mine."

Then it was gone, and the hands were gone, and the villain deftly did their bandages as the hero slumped. Clammy with cold sweat.

"And I will always give you the right care you need." The villain straightened, they loomed, looking down at the hero. "Get some rest. It's good to see you again."

They left with the hero still swearing at their back.

[zrvllya]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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sweater weather, the neighbourhood

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remus lupin x reader ! one shot ⏾

and if i may just take your breath away.

ᵎ!ᵎ post-full moon , slightly explicit/mature , fluff , hurt/comfort , hogwarts era , heavy emotional vulnerability , “tell me to stop” , emotional & physical intimacy

word count [ 1,200 ]

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the dorm is too quiet without the others. james left his quidditch jersey slung over the bedpost, sirius’s boots are kicked haphazardly near the door, and peter’s half-eaten chocolate frog sits abandoned on his nightstand. but they’re gone now—off to hogsmeade with the girls, laughing and shoving each other in the snow. you stayed. you always stay.

remus sits cross-legged in front of the fireplace, his back to you. the flames paint his skin gold, but they can’t hide the new bruises on his neck, the way his shoulders slump under the weight of what he becomes once a month. his sweater is too big on him, the sleeves unraveling at the cuffs. you want to thread your fingers through every hole, stitch him back together with your hands.

“you should’ve gone with them,” he says, voice rough. he’s been saying variations of this since you slipped into the dorm an hour ago, your knees bumping his as you settled beside him. “you’d be warmer there. butterbeer. the three broomsticks. not… this.”

you don’t answer. instead, you reach for the sleeve of his sweater, tugging it gently until his hand is in your lap. his fingers twitch, cold and scraped raw. you press your palm to his, measuring the difference—his knuckles broader, your fingertips softer. he exhales, shaky.

“see?” you murmur. “i am warm.”

his throat works. the fire pops. he turns his hand over in yours, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. his touch is hesitant, like he’s still afraid you’ll pull away. but you don’t. you never do.

“you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. just that quiet, tired fondness that makes your chest ache. “sitting here with me when you could be drinking butterbeer and listening to sirius make a fool of himself.”

you grin, nudging his knee with yours. “sirius makes a fool of himself every day. this is more special.”

he huffs a laugh, low and rough. “special. right. watching me brood by the fire like some tragic hero.”

“you are tragic,” you say, leaning into him just enough that your shoulder presses against his. “but not in the way you think.”

he goes still for a second, then tilts his head to look at you. the firelight catches in his eyes, turning them honey-gold. “oh? enlighten me, then.”

you pretend to think, tapping a finger against your chin. “hm. tragic because you’re so dramatic about everything. tragic because you refuse to admit you like my company. tragic because—”

“alright, alright,” he groans, but he’s smiling now, just a little. the kind of smile that only shows when he forgets to hold it back. “you’ve made your point.”

“have i?” you tease, tugging at his sleeve again. “because i could keep going.”

he rolls his eyes, but his fingers tighten around yours. “you’re insufferable.” “you love it.”

the words slip out before you can stop them, light and joking—but the second they hang in the air, something shifts. his breath catches, just barely. the fire crackles. your heart pounds.

and then, softly, so softly you almost miss it:

“...yeah. i do.”

the silence stretches between you, thick and sweet like honey. his words hang in the air—yeah. i do.— and suddenly the room feels smaller, the fire brighter, the space between your bodies electric.

you don’t speak. you don’t need to.

his fingers trace idle patterns against your palm, calloused and careful, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. the firelight flickers, casting shadows across his face—the curve of his mouth, the dip of his throat, the faint scar cutting through his brow. you want to touch all of it. you want to taste the salt on his skin.

slowly, so slowly, his hand slips from yours. for a heartbeat, you think he’s pulling away—but then his fingertips brush your waist, tentative, testing. your breath hitches. his eyes dart to yours, searching for permission, for protest. you give him neither. you just watch him, lips parted, chest rising too fast.

the touch lingers, warm through the fabric of your shirt. his thumb presses into the dip of your hip, and you shiver. he notices. of course he does.

“cold?” he murmurs, voice rough.

you shake your head. “no.”

his fingers tighten, just a little. “liar.”

but he’s smiling—that rare, real smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes. the one he saves for moments like this, when the world outside doesn’t exist, when it’s just the two of you and the fire and the quiet.

outside, the rain starts to fall. it patters against the windows, soft and steady, but inside, it’s warm. inside, his hand is on your waist, his breath mingling with yours. inside, his heart is beating hard enough that you can feel it where your knees touch.

you lean in. just a little. just enough.

his gaze drops to your mouth as the rain drums harder against the glass. his fingers flex at your waist, gripping like you might vanish if he doesn’t hold on. your lips are so close now you can almost taste the words he hasn’t said—the ones stuck in his throat, the ones that smell like wolfsbane and sound like a heartbeat.

“remus,” you whisper.

his name is a spell, a plea. his eyes darken.

for a second, he hesitates. you see it—the flicker of fear, the old ghost of i ruin everything i touch. but then your hand finds his chest, right over the scar padfoot swears looks like a crescent moon, and he makes a sound so quiet it’s barely there at all.

when he kisses you, it’s not sweet. it’s not soft. it’s a collision—lips bruising, teeth clashing, his hands tangling in your hair like he’s drowning and you’re air. you gasp, and he swallows it, pulls you closer until there’s no space left between you, until you’re pressed so tight you can feel the shake in his bones.

it’s messy. it’s perfect.

he breaks away first, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. “...sorry,” he mutters, but he doesn’t let go. his thumbs dig into your hips like he’s mapping the shape of you. “i didn’t—i shouldn’t have—”

you bite his lower lip, sharp. he groans.

“shut up,” you murmur against his mouth.

and this time, when he kisses you, he doesn’t stop as the fire sputters, casting jagged shadows across the walls while his hands slide under your sweater, rough palms skating over the dip of your spine.

you arch into him, nails scraping the nape of his neck, and he growls—actually growls—low in his throat. it’s not human. it’s not safe. but still, it makes your stomach flip.

“remus,” you gasp again, but he’s already dragging his mouth down your jaw, your throat, teeth scraping where your pulse jumps. his breath is hot, uneven. you can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he’s holding back, always holding back.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your collarbone, voice wrecked. his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise. “please.”

you don’t.

instead, you fist your hands in his hair and yank his head up, forcing him to look at you. his pupils are blown wide, gold almost swallowed by black. there’s a wildness there, something barely leashed. it should scare you. it doesn’t.

“i’m not afraid of you,” you say, slow, deliberate.

his breath hitches. his grip tightens. for a heartbeat, he just stares at you, chest heaving, like he’s waiting for the punchline. then, with a broken sound, he crashes into you again, mouth desperate, hands frantic.

the couch creaks under your weight as he pins you down, his body a solid line of heat against yours. his lips are everywhere—your neck, your shoulders, the hollow beneath your ear—each kiss more bruising than the last.

you can feel the tremors running through him, the war between what he wants and what he thinks he deserves.

“you’re shaking,” you whisper.

he stills, forehead pressed to your sternum. “i know.”

you card your fingers through his hair, gentle now. “look at me.”

when he does, his expression guts you—raw, vulnerable, aching. you kiss him softly this time, just a brush of lips, and he makes a noise like it hurts.

outside, the storm rages. inside, he comes apart in your hands.

[euphoria-looney]

Hold Me, Console Me, And then I’ll Leave Without a Trace, No One Noticed by The Marias

Before we start this has many ideas for authors and some are specific, so if you notice “Hey that looks like what idea I put into my post” PLEASE TELL ME, I would love to give you credit, bc I probably would have never made this without it!

and greatgooglymoogly (my friend, I don't discriminate against other greatgogglymoogly's) if you see this scroll, admire how aesthetic this post is and scroll./j

(This has a mother!darling and a daughter!darling, and they are separate from the reader- unless you decide they aren’t 😍😍)

gn!reader (if I accidentally make them seem too feminine, I’m sorry 😞)

So Much More.

Pt. 1 Pt.2

All my life, I held onto this thin piece of thread called hope. It started off as a rope, almost strangled myself with it, but as time went on and as it started dwindling down, it started snapping.

So, now, the only thing that kept this “rope” connected was a thin piece of thread, too bad, it broke. Due to people who were honestly victims.

Bruce Wayne.

Everyone knows him, who cares if you love him, who cares if you hate him, I mean eat the rich, and who cares if you don’t care about him. To me, he’s a good-for-nothing sperm donor who was also my landlord.

My dear mother, (M/N) (L/N). What a diva she was. She gave me everything and so much more. She embraced me in such comfort that I could feel myself slipping when it disappeared from right under me.

Gotham City is one of the many crime-raided cities there is in the world, anything could go wrong.

Luckily for momma, she died through a natural death, unluckily for me, she was my everything. I mean really, a child no older than 4 frantically searching for something, anything. Desperation creeping in, dialing an emergency call, with terrible service and small fat fingers that didn’t even know how to operate such a stupid telephone that only worked if you used it at an angle.

May my dearest momma lay in a field of flowers, sunlight kissing her skin, that was the fantasy she told me she’d love to take me to. Something Gotham City could only be reached if there was no such thing as heroes, villains, or vigilantes.

If it wasn’t for my appearance I’d would had gone to an orphanage, th officer or whatever he was, Gorgan? Gordon? Doesn’t matter, he called him someone.

a man who seemed so formal and elegant showed up, he would be my father figure, for the time I would spend in the manor. Since, it just so happens I had a 100 percent match with a certain millionaire, billionaire. The man that showed up was none other than my light in the dim, depressing place.

Alfred, the butler for the Bruce Wayne.

Ecstatic, I was, that’s when the rope appeared, my thoughts ran rapid.

Do I have siblings? How many? How’s my dad?

Questions after question, answered with… I hope you’re hungry for…

nothing 😐-

Alfred had answered all my questions, of course I met them all… eventually,

Richard, other wise known as “Dick”

He tried to give the impression to the family as a caring big brother. Well, not to me obviously. When he first met me, his first words were “Who’s the kid?”

“Who’s the kid?” Dick asked

“This is your new sibling, [name] Wayne”

He was there, for y’know that one second, moving on Tim.

Tim

I’ve never held a conversation with him, he breezed past me.

Jason.

BFFs, before he died, then came back to life, then shut me out.

Barbara, Cassandra, and Stephanie

Was my idol, but they stuck their head up so high that they didn’t notice me. Making her nothing more than a second thought in my head.

Duke

Sweet kid, from what I've seen in the shadows.

Damian

He really, broke me in, hell if anyone’s impacted me, it’s him.

degrading me like I was a bug infestation.

Then he stopped, saying “I don’t have time to waste on you.”

Are you kidding me?

I did everything and more for the attention of my family.

Sports? You name it. I probably did it.

Instruments? Do you even know how many medals I've won?

Singing and dance are challenging but that doesn't mean I'm not perfect to the T.

But nothing worked, it's funny you'd think, with how pathetic I am, especially with all these attempts that idiotic thin thread would've already snapped.

No.

Do you know what made it snap? [M/D] and [D/D]. (The second D- stands for darling)

The pair were everyone's obsession.

[M/D], Bruce Wayne's one true love, if this hasn't been obvious my mother was a fling/rebound of Mr. Wayne. [M/D], beautiful, kind, and the object in the family's eyes. It's quite sad if anything, she's like a caged bird.

[D/D], younger than Damian.

Oh, I haven't given you the age scale from oldest to youngest.

Dick and Barbara are the same age, being the oldest

Jason

Tim, Stephanie, and Cassandra

Me

Duke

Damian

[D/D]

Out of these many children. Three are blood-related with Bruce Wayne, Me, Damian, and [D/D].

I'm getting off track.

[D/D], adored, so small you'd want to keep her in your pocket.

One thing was clear about these two. They were everything to the Wayne family.

That's when the string broke.

They came probably by force and hated the very thing I wanted, attention, and love.

I wish I could say I hate them, as they were parallel to me and my mother.

My mother, who was the other woman.

My mother, who never held a grudge.

My mother, who died in a cold, dark room.

My mother, who could never see what type of person I am today.

But I couldn't hate them. I can't. They were the only other ones who gave me that family bond that wanted for so long.

It didn't help that they seemed to deem me to be the favorite. [M/D] loved to be my 'mother' and in her eyes, I was her favorite child, of course behind [D/D] since I was normal compared to them.

[D/D] If I'm near her, maybe grabbing a snack while the family is having 'family game night' she'd somehow spot me, giving that puppy-eyed look, pulling me to join them.

I would, if it's not for the way I would feel these eyes boring on me.

'Why do you have to be here, why are you ruining the moment, who are you?'

I'd pull my hand away, shaking my head, patting her hair, before making it back to the dim, dark hallway, so empty, that you could hear each echo of the step.

As I sit here complaining, at least today's, the day. I'm officially 18.

That's right. 18 years of age and everything I just wrote down has been a recap of my life.

This is my 14th journal. For each year that I've been in the manor, I had a journal, that captured each year of my life, from my emo phase to my popular phase, and now here, the year I graduate, the year that I officially move out.

My first journal was a composition journal, Alfred had no idea what I would like, everyone else was busy according to him, he gave me this journal and told me to write everything I felt, and nobody would ever see it. It's stained definitely. My first-ever entry was: "I wish I got a pet to keep me company, at least that would be better than this stupid silence."

Okay, so maybe there were a lot of spelling mistakes. I don't need to write it down. Even trying to decipher that whole sentence was hard. Not the point I would lose interest every few months before coming back to it. Then it became a hobby. It's very important to me.

I graduated yesterday, too bad nobody was there. Alfred was too busy to come to celebrate it, since graduations are long and take a while, his job came first before anything. Today is my birthday, it's a joke if anything. The day before my graduation is my birthday. I bought this journal yesterday as a little celebration gift and to me in general to celebrate my birthday.

That should be all for my entry.

Yours truly,

[Name] [Last Name]

-

Standing up I glance at my bookshelf filled with different genres of books, split into non-fiction and fiction. Journals filled with information from books, facts that mattered, and scenes that hit me deeply.

Junk journals, bullet journals, and the sheld that mattered the most to me.

My personal journals. 15 journals including the one that I was holding my hand.

A knock broke my thoughts, I slipped the journal I had in my hand onto the shelf before opening the door.

"Happy birthday, young master. I made a cupcake batch for you. Even an edible candle." He held cupcakes to me arranged so delicately with a candle on the center cupcake.

I'm going to miss him so much when I leave. So much so that I didn't even notice the tears slipping from my eyes.

"Oh dear, young master, I'm so sorry that I missed your graduation yesterday, and of course, the others wanted to be there- they were-"

"No, it's not that Alfred- Thank you so much, for everything." I engulfed him in a hug. Something I hadn't done since I was a child.

He held me and consoled me before leaving as it seemed [D/D] had adopted another feral animal or something like that.

I smiled and nodded at him when he apologized for having to go, shaking my head in understanding.

I looked over everything in my room. I would leave everything behind, including my journals. Even the newly bought one. If I was going to leave. I wanted to at least have something that showed.

I existed.

I would leave without a trace that I had left in the first place. And even leaving all these books here, I'm sure you couldn't even tell this would be a room without the bed, just some library with random entries from this random room.

Like a coward, I'll leave a letter for Alfred. For him, and only him.

With that, I bid the manor goodbye. With whatever presents I had anyway.

Also if this is cringy, just let me be delusional and believe that I ate this shit up.

Kind of new to how to format on Tumblr, and how to make posts pretty.

Anyway I wrote this with Grammarly so if you see any mistakes with the writing, I say "boo"

Hoped you enjoyed, bc I'm brewing up the next part... and also how to make a masterlist and all that jazz.

[barnesonly]

Half-return

dad!bucky barnes x reader (implied)

trope: absolute angst.

summary: your daughter skips school to visit Bucky’s — her father’s — grave.

word count: 1499

A/N: Oh gods, I actually made myself cry while writing this. I imagine this happening in 2010’s, reader was pregnant when her and Steve fell into ice. I might write part two one day, let me know what you think! Also this is heavily inspired by this song.

The cemetery was quiet that morning.

No birdsong, no wind. Just the gentle crunch of gravel under small, determined footsteps. Her backpack bounced against her spine with every step, heavier than usual — not because of books, but because of the secret folded in the front pocket.

A homemade card. Pink construction paper. Crayon hearts. A little drawing of a man she never met.

She hugged her hoodie tighter around herself as she walked between rows of graves, her sneakers brushing against wildflowers that hadn’t been cut back yet. The sky hung low with heavy clouds, soft and gray, like the world was holding its breath.

She knew where he was.

She didn’t need help finding it anymore.

James Buchanan Barnes.

1917 — 1945.

Beloved friend. Cherished soldier. Never forgotten.

The letters on the stone were starting to wear a little. She ran her fingers across the name like she always did, just to feel it. She imagined his hand might’ve felt rough like the stone, big and strong and warm if she ever got to hold it.

She glanced around — empty. No one saw her. No one followed.

“I skipped school,” she said quietly, her voice too small for the sky. “I’m not supposed to. But I needed to see you.”

She sat down cross-legged in front of the headstone, brushing some leaves away from the base. Then she opened her backpack and carefully pulled out the card, like it was treasure.

“I made this at school,” she whispered. “Everyone was making cards for their dads. And I didn’t know what to do at first… but then I made this for you.”

She set it down gently against the headstone, the crayon hearts already smudging a little from the mist in the air.

“I just wanted to come alone this time… Without mommy… I wanted you to myself today.” She smiled, just barely. Her chin trembled.

She picked at a thread on her sleeve, then leaned forward like she was telling a secret.

“They gave us this math test yesterday,” she said, nose wrinkling. “I didn’t do so good.” She frowned for a second, like she was scolding herself. Then she glanced up at the headstone and shrugged.

“But… I think you wouldn’t have minded. Mommy says you weren’t great at math either.”

There was a small pause, and she plucked a piece of grass, twisting it between her fingers.

“My teacher, Miss Carr, she’s always talking about heroes. She says we’re supposed to write about one for this essay thing. I picked you.” She smiled again, a tiny, proud thing.

“Even though you’re not in any of the books at school. I had to ask Mommy a bunch of stuff so I could write about you right. I said you were brave and kind and that you protected people. And that you fell off a train ‘cause you were trying to save people. I think you would’ve liked that part.”

Her voice wavered a little at the end, but she pushed through it.

“They all picked people like Captain America… Or other Avengers… or firefighters. But I picked you. ‘Cause you’re my dad. Even if you’re not… here.”

She reached out and adjusted the card again where it leaned against the stone, like it needed to stand straighter.

“I think maybe you would’ve walked me to school. Or helped me with spelling. I bet you’d tell really funny jokes that made Mommy roll her eyes but laugh when you weren’t looking.”

A soft gust of wind blew her hair into her face, and she tucked it behind her ear absentmindedly.

“Sometimes I see kids with their dads, and I wonder if you’d be like that. Or if you’d carry me on your shoulders even though I’m not that little anymore. Mommy says you’d love me so, so much.”

Her throat tightened.

“I think I’d love you too.”

She was quiet for a long time after that. Just sitting, legs curled beneath her, fingers tugging at grass. The wind picked up a little, brushing against her cheek like a hand that wasn’t there.

Then she spoke again, even softer than before.

“Uncle Steve told me you’d always protect him from bullies when he was younger…” Her voice cracked, just slightly. “I wish you were here to help me like that now. I’d really need it.”

She blinked fast and looked up at the sky, like maybe if she didn’t look at the headstone, the sting in her eyes would stop.

“There’s this girl at school who always laughs when I get answers wrong. She says I’m weird. She makes fun of my shoes, and my backpack, and one time she called Mommy weird ‘cause she always looks tired.”

She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

“I didn’t tell Mommy. I don’t wanna make her sad. She’s got enough worries. But I thought… if you were here, maybe you’d wait outside school for me. And if she said something mean, you’d just look at her and she’d stop.”

She smiled at the thought. A sad, flickering smile.

“Uncle Steve said you were like that. That no one messed with him when you were around.”

She traced the edge of the headstone with her finger again, slow and gentle.

“I really wish you were around.”

She sat still for a while, eyes locked on the card like it might fix everything just by being there. The crayon lines were running now — little streaks from the mist or maybe her fingers, she wasn’t sure.

Then suddenly, it hit her.

The weight.

The emptiness.

The truth.

Her lip trembled. She looked down at her knees, then back at the stone. And the words tumbled out in a breathless rush—broken, cracked, helpless.

“I don’t even know why I came here alone…” Her voice shook, barely holding on. “I always come here with Mommy but… I wanted to talk with you alone. I…”

Her small hands curled into fists against her jeans.

“I realized I don’t have a single memory with you. None.” Her shoulders started to shake. One sob slipped out before she could stop it.

“I don’t know your voice. Or your laugh. Or how your hugs feel. I don’t even know what your hands looked like.”

Tears spilled over now, hot and silent at first, then building until they came in waves.

“And I… I just really wanted to have one. Just one memory. Just you and me, Dad.”

She covered her face with her hands, sobbing into the quiet.

“I came here so I could pretend. Just for a little bit. That you’re here. That you’re real and you’re listening and… and that I’m not alone.”

The card fluttered a little where it leaned against the stone, caught in the wind like it was reaching for her.

She sniffled, dragging her sleeve across her face, and then — barely above a whisper:

“Mommy misses you so much.”

She didn’t look up. Just spoke into her knees, into the earth.

“She tries to be strong… but it hurts her. I see it.”

Another tear fell, but slower now. Heavier.

“She cries when she thinks I’m asleep. Sometimes I hear her say your name. Sometimes she just sits in the kitchen with the lights off.”

She looked up at the grave, eyes red and full of something bigger than a ten-year-old should ever have to carry.

“I don’t think she ever stopped loving you. I don’t think she ever will.”

She reached out again, touching the stone like it was his hand.

“Neither will I.”

She sat like that for a while — still, small, and hurting — until her legs began to ache. Slowly, she unfolded from the grass, stiff and heavy, like every part of her was tired.

She looked down at the card, bent from the wind but still standing. She knelt and adjusted it carefully, pressing a small rock against the corner so it wouldn’t blow away.

Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out something small — just a string bracelet, all crooked and uneven knots, the kind only a kid could make.

“I made this in art class,” she whispered, holding it in her palm for a second. “It’s not… very good. But it’s yours.”

She laid it beside the card, fingers lingering for a moment before pulling away.

Standing again, she looked at the grave, at the name carved so deep it would never fade. And even though her face was blotchy and red, her voice was steady — shaky, but trying.

“I have to go now.”

She hugged herself tightly.

“Mommy’s gonna be mad I skipped school. But I just… I needed this.”

A pause.

“I needed you.”

The wind rustled the trees above her, and she looked up, eyes shining.

“I’ll come back soon. I promise.”

She stepped back, wiped her cheeks one last time, then raised her fingers to her lips, kissed them and pressed them gently against his name.

“Bye, Dad.”

Then she turned. And walked away.

The bracelet stayed.

The card fluttered quietly.

And the empty grave watched.