plorable - Tumblr blog

[plorable]

MDNI but ah

Jason doesn't always turn off his brain while he's stuffing his cock into you. He likes being alert, aware enough to watch the way your face changes. He likes being able to focus on the pretty sounds you make.

But sometimes you just feel so good clenching around his cock that he looses his inhibitions. He gets messy. Slobbering and drooling onto your skin. Shiny, wet marks are left littering your chest, your shoulders, your throat.

It's not his fault that he can't form a complete thought because he's too focused on squelching sounds that fill the room every time he drives his hips into yours. He's just too distracted by the string of spit connecting his lips to yours.

(He's going to cum when you swallow it)

[plorable]

For whatever reason Jack and Janet die on the same night as Dick’s parents, so Bruce adopts him too.

Tim was only a baby, and from what Bruce’s been able to gather were very neglectful — Tim barely notices that they’re gone. Dick is distraught, a mess for months… so maybe Bruce spoils him a little, allows him to get away with more than he should. It’s fine, really.

Even as 12 year old dick pounds into Tim at breakfast, after Bruce hearing him fuck the kid’s pussy hard all night, even as Tim has stopped crying and trying to get him to stop. It’s fine

Even in movie night when dick throws a fit and slaps Tim until he rides him while they watch his favourite porn. It’s fine

(Can’t think of more, maybe some public/semi-public stuff? Dark dick, sexually abusing Tim and Bruce allowing him to use Tim as his free use sex toy with no regard for him. Dick’s a real spoiled brat too, whiny and needy and stomps his feet and screams and breaks stuff, Bruce is weak against him)

tw/cw// rape, underaged

yesss! im in love with this because the idea of something in dick just breaking the day his parents died is so good. something in him died along with them and he's no longer able to be this kind, gentle boy anymore. he was good and kind all his life what did that get him?

the weeks after his parents death are horrendous. dick struggles with nightmares, his temper, he yells and he throws things and no one comes to comfort him, to scold him. bruce is there and lets him act out but never swoops in to hold him when dick is standing in the center of the room, broken toys and ripped sheets around him.

bruce is busy and is gone most of the day at work and then at night he's gone as well. alfred is too busy doing errands and maintaining the home and so they leave dick to his own devices. the only other person dick has for company is timmy. a boy who had been at the circus whose parents had been crushed by part of the failed machinery from the trapeze rig. tim's parents were gone too, his clothes had been soaked through with their blood when the firefighters arrived and they'd found him whimpering and softly crying under the beams, his parent's bodies having cushioned him from getting hurt. it was a miracle the papers had proclaimed. little timothy drake, a miracle baby from the horrendous tragedy at the circus.

bruce had tried hiding the paper from dick but he'd still seen it.

tim is a baby and dick's new "brother". his parents are dead but he doesn't cry like dick does, doesn't mourn them like dick does. he doesn't even wet his pants from his nightmares like dick does and it makes. dick. furious.

timmy tries playing with him, tries touching him and the first time he reaches out a chubby baby fist towards him dick shoves him back so hard and viciously that tim's body launches like a ragdoll in the air.

tim cries at the action but not loud red-cheeked sobs like babies usually do. his is more of a quiet whimper as he presses his hands against his eyes and sobs softly.

it's why bruce never finds out about dick's bullying. how he'd push and pinch timmy until he cried and his skin purpled into bruises. the sight of his wet, crying face and soft injured animal noises soothed something in dick's soul. it made the rage and hurt inside him quell because dick couldn't stop his parents from dying and he couldn't do anything to make the world pay for his grief. but he could pinch timmy's cheek until he cried and sobbed for dick to stop. dick could control nothing but he could control timmy. he could do whatever he wanted to him and even when bruce walked in on dick hitting timmy with a pillow far too hard- he hadn't done anything.

bruce never stopped him, never interfered or scolded dick. he'd do nothing just like when he found out dick had broken another one of his toys.

it's how it is for years. dick pushing and bullying tim, taking his candy and breaking his toys when he finds him playing with one for too long. tim cries everytime, sits helplessly as dick relentlessly punishes him, never doing anything to protect or defend himself.

maybe if he did dick wouldn't be so harsh, so mean. but he never. does. anything. he just sits there and lets dick do things to him.

dick gets older, starts going through puberty and his acts of cruelty...change.

dick is changing, starts having desires and then frustrations because of those desires. he doesn't like the girls at his school and they all avoid him because he's 'mean'. at first dick suffers like all teenage boys, rutting against pillows and grinding his hands against his warm cock in the mornings.

tim goes to a specialty school and only for a few hours a day. apparently he was kicked out of normal school and the teachers told bruce it was because he wasn't properly 'socialized' because tim would do things like pee his pants if someone raised their voice at him or cry when one of the other kids would get too rough with him. dick heard the headmaster over the phone tell bruce that tim was better suited for a specialty care school and had made sure to tell tim that it was because they thought he was stupid.

tim had cried when dick told him that. the specialty school did things like make tim wear diapers so he wouldn't have an accident and dick had been giddy when he'd heard about it. dick always thought tim was a big baby and now the diapers had proved it.

dick is messing with tim one day. pulling at his clothes sewn with his name and tugging down his pants. alfred is in the pantry reorganizing and bruce had already left having only stopped by the manor to drop him off. they're alone and cartoons are playing the tv, baby shows for tim.

dick pulls at the tabs of tim's diapered panties and pulls them down to finish pantsing him like some older boys at school had been doing to other kids. that's when he sees it.

dick had been sneaking into bruce's office when he wasn't there. going through his things and using his computer to cheat on his math homework. it's how he found those tabs that led to various websites for porn. dick had taken to watching them, the videos feeding the simmering flame of puberty.

it's why dick knows what a cunt is when he sees one.

it's pink and soft looking. it's a lot smaller than the ones in the videos but that doesn't stop dick. he's in the midst of puberty, angry, and made so easily horny.

tim cries but he cries all the time and dick pushing him down to press his cock into his baby cunt is no different.

the slide is slow and dick needs to stop several times to get a better angle and sink in deeper. tim is warm and his insides twitch around him as he fucks him. he's tight and wet and feels so good, it's the only time that dick actually likes tim- when he's fucking him.

dick isn't like those bigger men in the pornos he watches- able to fuck for hours until they pull out and start grunting and stroking at their cocks to cum on the woman's stomach, dick cums almost immediately, barely a minute of being in tim. but dick is young and he recovers obscenely quickly. barely another minute passes and he's aroused and pushing his cum-streaked cock in and out of a red, puffy cunt. dick fucks tim harder and faster the second time around, grunting and making noises as he plants his hands on either side of tim's head and stares down at where his cock is disappearing into his hole. tim occasionally tries to close his knees, but dick reaches for his soft thighs and wrenches them open before tugging tim further down to him and slamming deeper into him. tim makes pained noises the entire time, crying and burying his face into his soft sweater. eventually, dick gets tired of the noises and flips tim's sweater up to cover his face and mufle the noises. he's by greeted by the sight of tim's chubby baby tits that he squeezes and gropes while fucking tim.

dick fucks tim until his cock is weakly spurting droplets of cum, when he pulls out, pools of dick's cum flow out of tim's weakly twitching cunt. the insides look red and rubbed raw and tim doesn't try to close his legs again even when bruce gets home from work and finds dick watching tv while tim remains on the carpet, face puffy and streaked with dried tears. bruce never says anything to dick about what he does, but that day, standing in the doorway, he pauses while staring at the sight.

then he picks tim up and murmurs something about giving him a bath. it's what he says everytime tim wets himself.

he says nothing else.

not even at dinner where dick reaches over to tim and snakes a hand between his legs.

tim lets out a full body flinch and goes tense like a wound up toy. he desperatly looks towards bruce who is eating his dinner silently and tries to squirm away from dick's hands.

"n-no" he whines, shifting in his chair uncomfortably, "n-no"

tim is shaking so hard his teeth practically chatter and dick is almost surprised enough at his protest to stop. then he collects himself and wraps a bruising hand around tim's thigh to tug him closer.

bruce says nothing.

that night dick doesn't hide his actions as he drags tim into his room rather than letting him go to his own, bruce watches him silently from the hall as dick's bedroom "door" slides closed. dick doesn't have a door on his room just a brownish curtain (he'd lost door privileges years ago and never gotten them back), neither does tim. bruce claims its for safety reasons, so that in case either of them is hurt he can come help them. that's what he says but dick doesn't hear him come anywhere close to his room to help tim while dick fucks him most of the night.

in the morning tim is exhausted and weary. he keeps nearly tipping over into his oatmeal. bruce is driving them both to school. while sitting in the drop-off line of cars dick undoes the tabs on tim's diaper and fucks him quickly one last time before leaving.

after school, bruce says nothing when he picks him up. tim's not in front of the tv when he gets to the manor and dick has to go looking for him, eventually finding him hiding under the desk of bruce's office. a pretty unfortunate hiding place. dick drags him up and onto his lap deciding to take the opportunity to look at more of the porn while he pushes tim's cunt onto his cock.

dick finds a good video, one where the girl is pushing her hips back against the guy's while he fucks hard and deep into her, he's gripping her hair and snapping her head back with each thrust. dick tangles his fingers into tim's hair as they watch. tim's palms are on the desk and dick is mashing their hips together as they watch, jolting his hips at each groan. tim is shivering either in fear or arousal as dick pushes his clunky diaper away. its already wet and dick makes a disgusted noise before letting it fall to the ground and soak into the carpet.

tim is still nicely stretched and warm and dick's cock meets no resistance as he grips tim's soft hips and tugs him down until they're pressed together. it's hard to push up against tim so dick switches tactics and changes the video to another one, one where the girl is in the guys lap and pushing up and down on him while he sits back.

"tim, see that? do that" he taps on the screen pointedly so the dumb baby will understand. but tim doesn't move, just makes another of his animal noises until dick harshly smacks one of his exposed cheeks. a bright red mark throbs against his skin as tim makes a sniffling sound and begins mechanically moving his hips slowly, and then faster when dick hits him over the head. tim gets tired much faster like this, letting out exhausted wheezes and trembling at every push up, but it feels nicer. dick enjoys being able to watch and control the speed based on what he tells tim. dick likes it, he cums slower like this but enjoys it much more. tim's more wet with the porn playing and he clenches involuntarily around dick, making himself even tighter while watching someone else get fucked the way he's supposed to.

bruce finds them in his office, tim's head hanging down as he grinds his cunt against dick's cock, too tired to keep bouncing on him.

bruce takes tim for a bath again and that night doesn't protest when dick once again drags tim to bed. tim's much more tired, he doesn't even protest or make a noise as dick uses up the energy he saved to fuck him.

in the morning he's still going and fucks tim at the table.

after school tim hides again and dick finds him again. and its how it goes.

eventually bruce starts spending more time at home and even implements movie nights. they're supposed to take turns choosing the movie but tim always chooses a baby movie and dick refuses to watch it, yelling, and throwing the popcorn until bruce agrees to let him choose again.

that night dick is more pent up than usual, he hasn't gotten a chance to fuck tim at all because the basketball season has started and dick was on the team so that meant instead of going home after school he went to practice.

so instead of choosing a movie he picks a porno and tugs at tim. but tim is resistant, he's been getting more and more vocally objective lately. sometimes he'll even be squirming and even trying to push him away when dick's busy fucking him.

but dick is frustrated and tired from practice and he just wants to cum in tim's cunt like usual. and so dick's temper spikes once more and his hand whips up fast and hard, hitting tim's cheek with a loud strike.

tim lets out a sound of hurt and doesn't protest again as dick forces him onto his lap and tells him to start riding. dick doesn't let him face the tv this time though, instead making him put his hands on dick's shoulders for stability and endure dick's stare as he looks at the blossoming bruise on his cheek.

tim makes soft sounds and grunts of effort as he fucks himself on dick's cock. raising himself up and down on the cock inside him.

bruce is two couch cushions away, having watched everything that transpired. but he makes no move to stop dick or help tim. he makes no sound or noise of disapproval over dick's actions. he just sits there and stares up at the screen with a moaning woman getting roughly fucked and smacked around.

bruce, like always, does nothing.

[plorable]

being soooo nice to my little sibling while i rape it so that there's no way anyone would believe it when it tried to ask for help 💕 it's really cute how you think telling them big sis said "i love you so much" and held you really close and told you you're safe with her and you can tell her anything will convince anyone you got raped.

[plorable]

getting tied up and blindfolded by a group of girls and you have to guess whose cock is slapping your face. if you guess wrong, they get to fuck your ass. sometimes you guess right but they fuck your ass anyway because how are you going to prove it? what are you going to do about it?

[plorable]

Men who are so excited for winter. Not only because they run at a slightly above normal temperature but because that means they have free range to cuddle you. When it's summer, sometimes you push him off at night, not because you don't love him (contrary to his belief), but because it gets a little sweltering under the covers. Oh, but now it's chilly outside and he may have cranked up the AC so you can't refuse his cuddles. He's waiting for his nightly cuddles every day in the winter.

Clark Kent, Jason Todd, Logan Howlett

[plorable]

God ever since reading A Gilded Cage I cant get the thought out of my head of a part 2 where Reader doesn't see Jason for a few days after the revelation. Like maybe he thinks he's being kind and giving us some time to process, maybe he's on his angst again, or maybe some outside factor has taken his attention so the only time he's able to visit is while we're asleep.

And the whole night of the reveal feels like a fever dream when we wake up but there's a blanket draped over us and a fuzzy little kitten purring up a storm on our chest (in my heart his name is Bean (short for Toebean)), so we're at least kind of sure it happened. But as the time passes with no sign of Jason our certainty begins to wane and until we finally get fed up and write on the notepad the first thing we've asked for since that night: "You."

Or something like that idek okay I've been over here clawing at my walls frothing at the mouth I never really even liked ak!Jason before reading your stuff and now I'm feral for him and its all your fault and I'm not even mad about it

A Glimmering Collar

AKA Part Two of A Gilded Cage. Ahh, nonnie, you literally cooked with this. I love when my fics inspire people enough to keep thinking on them! Seriously, ty for dropping these ideas in my inbox cause I had nothing going on in my brain for a part two initially. Hope you enjoy!

You wake up to something tickling your nose. Your body feels heavy, your mind even more so. Nothing in you is ready to open your eyes, to face the fact that last night could all have been a dream. That he isn't– that was just a dream.

Something soft flicks your nose again, and you force your eyes open. You blink hard once. Then twice. It's a kitten. It's tiny, and it's sitting by your face. Every few seconds, its tail sways and brushes your nose.

Oh. You sit up slowly, trying not to frighten the small thing. It looks at you contently over its shoulder and meows. The kitten stretches as you stare at it, then plops itself directly on the blanket resting over your lap.

Huh. There's a blanket you definitely don't remember grabbing sprawled over your legs. You carefully reach down to pet the kitten's head. Your heart melts a little when it nuzzles your fingers and purrs.

You look around the room slowly. Nothing else looks different. The notepad is still in place, but the kitten and blanket all point to one thing. Last night was real. Jason is alive. Jason is the Arkhakm Knight.

You're trying to wrap your brain around that when the door flies open, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

"Good morning!!" A flurry of voice call from the doorway. Your eyes widen as three brightly dressed people strut their way into your apartment, "Are you ready for your shopping trip, hun?"

"My– excuse me?" You stumble out, tucking the kitten to your chest as you stand.

They giggle, and one of them steps forward, "You're shopping trip, sweetie! And spa day, of course. Oh, ha, we haven't even been introduced, have we? I'm Krystal with a K, she's Destini with an i and he's Robbi also with an i."

Robbi huffs and walks up to you to pet your kitten, "Why can't you ever introduce Destini second? She can be Destini also with an i, ya know."

The other girl walks up to you as well and picks affectionately at your clothes, "Because it's alphabetical that way, Robbi. Now you better go get dressed, we have brunch reservations and mimosa plans!"

"I– sorry? What?" You ask, eyes darting between the three of them. Whatever this is, you can't keep up. You've barely processed Jason kidnapped you, and now you're supposed to go get a massage and drinks?

"The boss wants you to go out," a flat voice cuts in. You're the only one that stiffens at the sight of two large men stepping through the door.

Krystal speaks up, "We're here to make sure you have a good time! And Mack and John are here to keep us safe!"

"Mack and John," You echo weakly.

"Your body guards, silly," Destini chirps, ushering you to your room. She plucks the kitten from your hands, "Now get dressed! Wear something nice!"

You stare at the door as she shuts it. What just happened? You hear them chattering happily in the kitchen, idly talking about pregaming your shopping trip.

Your whole mind is a mess, and you sluggishly get ready, thoughts whirling. You've barely talked to soul since you were kidnapped, and now you have five new names to remember, a kitten, and a day out.

You're not exactly sure if you should be unsettled or grateful at how quickly Jason worked to get you what you asked for. By the time you've opened your bedroom door, Krystal, Destini and Robbi are passing around a flask, and playfully trying to get your 'bodyguards' to drink it.

You wonder what they must think of all this. Who they think you are. You're struck with the realization that Jason must be paying them to entertain you today.

You don't get to linger on the thought before Robbi hooked his arm with yours, dragging you towards the door, "Let's gooo, the brunch place we're going to does the best pineapple mimosas. Or cherry, if that's your thing."

"Wait," Mack– or John, you're not exactly sure which one is which– stops you, "Boss wants you to wear this."

The girls and Robbi coo in awe when Mack opens a box, revealing a glittery, jaw-dropping choker. You waver at the sight of it. It's not that it doesn't match what you're wearing. You'd dressed up like Destini suggested, but it feels like some kind of trap.

You reluctantly pick up the necklace, eyeing how it catches the light, "Is it– are sure it's safe to wear this out?" Safety isn't really what you're concerned about at the moment.

You're more worried about the crushing weight that this means more than you understand.

John nods once, "There won't be any problems."

Krystal happily plucks the necklace from your fingers, and before you have time to argue, she drapes the necklace around your throat. "It's beautiful, hun. Just like you. Let's go get you something to eat," her voice is soft, measured, and full of so much understanding it makes you want to cry.

You don't know much they know, but when she hooks her arm with yours to guide you out the door, you have a feeling there's more awareness than their bubbly attitudes let on.

The day ends up being wonderful. Being around people, out under the sun (the sun Gotham does get), was rejuvenating. You had fun, joked, smiled, and for a day, it was almost like you didn't have a prison cell to go back to.

The food was delicious, the spa relaxing, and you didn't have to carry back a single bag. Krystal had flashed a black card at every payment, every place ever could want to shop at, reassuring you it's all been taken care of.

But the time you've collapsed on the couch, exhausted but content, the uneasy feelings from this morning are gone.

You settle on the cushions to wait for Jason. To thank him for listening or to yell at him for still keeping you here, you're not exactly sure yet.

But he doesn't come, you fall asleep in your expensive necklace and pretty clothes with one hand petting your kitten. He doesn't come the next day either, at least no while you're awake, but Krystal, Destini, and Robbi do.

Your friends, the people being paid to entertain are nice, perfect even. They're exactly what you would have asked for.

Your kitten is perfect too, it cuddles with you at night and nuzzles under your chin after you're left alone, when the unease finds its way back to you.

It's been days since you've seen him. It's starting to feel like a lifetime. You know he comes back after you fall asleep, he moves things. You think it's his way of showing that he listened, that he came back because you asked.

The notepad, the one you haven't written on since that night, shifts closer to you on the glass table if you sleep on the couch.

The glimmering choker gets pulled out of the drawer every time you try to put it away. Your kitten has a growing collection of toys and things to climb on.

It's obvious he's visiting, so why won't he let you see him? Day five of dancing around each other breaks you. You want to see him, want to talk to him, and understand. You want Jason.

Your hand shakes a little, when you go to write on the notepad, and when you wake up the next morning, the paper is blank again.

You wait. You wait some more. All day you wait for him. No one else comes. It's strangely quiet, with just you and your kitten. You've just about given up, collapsed in your bed, when the glowing whites of his helmet catch your attention.

You sit up quickly and throw your legs off the bed as you stare into the doorway, "You came."

"Did you mean it," he asks, any emotion he's feeling hidden by the aggravating modulator.

"Mean what," You question, standing off the bed to walk closer to him, "Will you take the mask off?"

He doesn't move for a moment, just takes in the sight of you. The silence that drags almost makes you regret the question, but he carefully pulls off his helmet, "What you wrote. That you wanted me."

"I– yeah, Jason. I haven't– it's been days since I saw you," You only notice mid sentence that his hand is reaching for your face, it makes your voice waver. "You never answered any of my questions," You finish weakly.

His hand stills and he drops it, "Questions. That's what you wanted?"

You nod a little, searching his face for any hint of what he's feeling, but he gives nothing away.

He sighs softly, and looks away, adjusting his helmet under his arm. You think he might look disappointed, "I can't give you the answers you're looking for."

"Why not," You question softly, worried to push him away.

Jason turns his focus back to you, "I just need you to stay here. Please," he sighs out your name, and his hand twitches as if to touch you, "Don't fight me on this."

"That's not fair," You mumble, "Why am I here, Jason? You know I would have listened if you came to talk to me instead of– this."

Silence falls again, and he steps past you into your room. He sets his helmet on your dresser and picks up the choker resting on the wooden surface, "I wish you would wear this. I picked it out for you."

"Jason," You start, tracking his movements.

"I know," he cuts you off, "but I told you, you don't need to understand anything." You stiffen when he steps back towards you and guides you to turn around.

The air leaves your lungs as his gloves brush over your skin. He sets the necklace around your throat, and even after it rests heavy against your skin, his touch lingers.

"You just need to stay here. It's safe. I've given you everything you've asked for, and everything you haven't," Jason says softly, stepping out from behind you. His gaze lingers on your neck for a moment, and the stifling, unexplainable feeling sets back into your gut.

Your words stick in your throat. There's a sense of danger, one that doesn't make sense. Jason wouldn't hurt you. Not the Jason you know. But is this the Jason you know? The thought makes you want to tear the choker from your skin and throw it at him.

"It feels like a collar," You say quietly, and your breath hitches when his gaze snaps go yours, "I mean, it's pretty. Really. But, it feels– like it's more," You stumble out.

He nods slowly, and he doesn't stop himself from touching you this time. His fingers trace the choker, linger over your collarbones, brush along your pulse, "Maybe it is."

You blink at him, every thought flying from your brain, "What?"

He hums softly, hooking a finger under the shiny jewels to draw you closer, "Does that scare you? Knowing that you can't leave? Knowing that no matter how pretty these are, it's just another way to keep you?"

"You wouldn't hurt me," you say instead, it sounds like you believe it, but you're not sure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.

"I don't want to," He admits, fingers leaving your throat to trail up your jaw, "but I probably could."

"I don't believe that. I remember–" He tuts, tapping your cheek. Your heart drops when you realize he's mirroring where his own brand is.

"I'm not what you remember," he says firmly, before whispering your name, "I'm not that Jason. Not really."

"Then who are you," You ask, even though you don't want to know the answer. You want to pretend he's still something you know.

His eyes dart over your face, then back down to the necklace, "I'm still Jason. But I'm also the Arkhakm Knight."

"What does that mean," You push, reach up to grab his wrist, demanding his attention, demanding real answers.

"It means that you stay. It means that I give you what you want. Everything and anything except leaving," he says, voice lowering to something kinder, gentler, "it'll make sense eventually. You'll be happy here. Safe."

"Will that make you happy?" You ask, fingers tightening on his wrist. Half of you wants to pull him away, stop him from tracing patterns over your cheek, but the other part of you wants to press his hand closer.

Something flicks in his eyes at your words, "Yes."

"Will it keep you safe?" You murmur, eyes locked on his.

He doesn't answer, clenching and unclenching his jaw for a moment, "Safety is an option I don't have."

"It could be, if you wanted it," You say, dropping his wrist. It must be true. Even with all the secrets he's keeping, his evasive disappearing act, he could take off the armor. Leave behind the new symbol engraved over his chest.

He laughs a little and swipes his thumb under your eye, "I'm glad that you don't understand. It's good, that they didn't twist you into something unrecognizable."

"Understand?" You prompt, unsettled by his laughter.

"That they need to pay. All of them do," he smiles a little, it's a mockery of the one you remember. Jason traces the choker one last time before stepping back.

"You're leaving," You say, not a question, a statement of fact. He's leaving, without explaining anything again.

"I am," he affirms, moving to grab his helmet.

"I want you to stay," You breathe out and he freezes in place.

He exhales softly and faces you again, "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do. I want you to stay," You repeat, reaching out to push his helmet back towards the dresser.

"And then what?" He asks lowly, a warning, "What do you expect to happen?"

It makes you waver, "I– I don't know. But it's what I want."

It's another long moment of nothing before he answers, gesturing towards the bed, "Go to sleep."

"You'll stay?" He nods at your question, unceremoniously dragging the chair from your desk to your bedside.

"Is that going to be comfortable–" You begin, settling yourself in the bed.

"You're overthinking it," he mumbles, waving at you to lay down. You do, watching as your kitten jumps into his lap, curling up like this is something that happens all the time. (You have the feeling it is) "Have you named him," he asks quietly.

"The kitten? Mm, no. Wanted you to," You say softly, carefully not to unsettle either of them.

"I wouldn't be good at it," Jason protests, eyes flicking between you and the kitten.

"I don't mind," You murmur, "anything's better than 'kitten'."

He pauses, so quiet and still you think he won't answer, "Bean," he mumbles, reluctant as the newly appointed Bean cuddles into his armor.

You smile, "Bean's a good name."

He doesn't answer, seemingly engrossed with watching the kitten.

You take him in for another moment, memorizing his face before closing your eyes. It's not an accident that you leave your palm open and face up by the side of the bed.

There's no more pleasantries exchanged, no sweet goodnights or the gentle touches against your face you've grown used to. But just as you finally start to drift off, as darkness finally draws you to rest, a warm, rough hand weaves itself into yours and squeezes.

[plorable]

laying my head in a dommes lap, whining and trying not to cry as a man holds my thighs open and fucks me raw and bruises my cervix, his big cock rubbing against the underside of my much smaller dick. the girl whose lap im laying in and whose hands im holding presses kisses to my forehead and tells me im doing such a good job, it's clear i was born to be a faggot.

[plorable]

Dumbification to the point where they don’t know their name. Dumbification to the point they only recognize one tone of your voice. Dumbification to the point they get confused when you talk normally to other people. Dumbification to the point you have to talk to them like a child to get them to understand what you mean. <33

[plorable]

not to be gross (intentionally being gross in every way) but few things are hotter than holding someone tight and feeling their insides surrendering and easing and accepting you deep

[plorable]

Need more of you kinky fucks to talk about how fucking good it is to be mutually subby with someone. The desperate whiny humping, the drooling and moaning into each other's mouths as we dumbly make out, the biting and scratching and needy groping, and making a pretty mess of cum on each other

Really just euphoric to cuddle and hump away, two dumb horny pets moaning and whining please at each other, both being such good fucking pets as we cum at the same time, whining and whispering I love you and falling asleep in each other's arms, all spent and fucked out in each other's cum

[plorable]

i am thinking so hard about a cute boy rutting his cock into me, whining about how close he is to cumming nd he doesn’t want it to be over yet but his hips are still snapping into me so fast and then he’s whimpering and filling me up and sniffling into my neck about how he wanted it to last longer he just couldn’t help it :((

[plorable]

imagine Jason sleeping with reader and having to rest his hand on their neck. He just wants to feel their pulse at all times, terrified of them disappearing .

The Blood In Your Veins

Hi nonnie. Kinda tweaked this ask because holding your throat feels more AK!Jason Todd to me. Sorry if you're not an Arkham Knight fan!

The Arkham Knight sleeps with a hand wrapped around your throat, fingers pressed to your beating pulse. Night after night, his hand stays there, unmoving, unrelenting. If you try to move, his grip only grows tighter, a reminder to stay in place. To stay next to him where he can feel the blood pulsing through your veins.

He knows you try to be understanding, try to close your eyes and slip into sleep. But you can't. It feels like a threat, a promise that you can't go anywhere, even if you wanted to. And maybe it is.

He needs to feel the beat of your life against his skin. He needs to know that this is real, and not another twisted vision his mind conjured in the asylum. It's not an escape. It's not just a fantasy he's imagining to pretend he's not trapped with the clown.

He'd never admit it, never tell you that you're the reason he still has anything left of his sanity. That he'd pretend he was somewhere safe, with you, every night the torment got too much. Somewhere he wasn't beaten and abandoned and cold.

So, he needs this. Needs you. Needs the soft and the warm and the steady you always bring. Even if you try to shift out of his grip, even if you try to guide his hand to hold somewhere else. Nothing else makes him feel here, in this moment. His fingers have to rest around your throat.

The Arkham Knight would never hurt you, never try to limit your air or make you choke. But he can't stop himself from squeezing, sometimes. Your pulse just feels stronger against his skin when he does. He can get closer to the steady pumping in your veins, feel the way your heart rate accelerates. He feels alive. You feel alive.

It's best when you finally fall asleep, when your breathing slows and you melt into his touch, any apprehension or uncertainty gone. He exists for moments like these. When your soul is completely under his hand, when he can stroke the pads of his fingers over your pulse and just know.

It's the only thing that keeps the nightmares away now. You. Your life. He'd bury himself into your chest if he could, anything to get closer to the pounding against your ribs. He wraps himself around you at night, face buried in the junction where your shoulder meets your neck, resting over your heart, or hidden in your hair. He tangles your legs with his or hikes your thigh over his hip. Whatever gets you closest.

But one thing always stays the same, his hand finds a way to settle on your throat. Nothing feels more right than when his arm snakes past your chest so he can hold your neck and pull you to him. He'd keep you like this forever if he could.

You'll understand, eventually, even if you don't know now, you're the only peace he has left.

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A Gilded Cage

You don't know who the Arkham Knight is. You don't know why he kidnapped you from your apartment and locked you away in some penthouse far too fancy for someone with no sway in Gotham.

None of it makes sense. You wouldn't even know his name if you didn't overhear the men dropping off food and necessitates for you talk about him.

They never get too close to you, which eases some of the panic in your throat, but they've only ever spoken to you once. One of the men had dropped a notepad on the marble counter and grumbled something about writing down whatever you need before leaving you to yourself. Being so alone in a gilded cage almost makes you wish they'd say more.

It's not like you haven't tried escaping, but you're on the top floor of some building you only recognized as being in the Diamond District because you can see the glowing symbol of Wayne Tower in the distance. The one time you did try to break down the door, you found out there are in fact guards stationed outside your prison.

You've never been hurt. Never gone hungry or cold. There's a television and more books than you'll ever have time to read. (You try to ignore how many of them are your favorites. It has to be a coincidence.) The kitchen is always stocked and the apartment is always cleaned. (You haven't quite figured out when that happens.) Anything you've ever asked for is delivered and sitting on the glass table when you wake up.

You had only asked for diamonds and pearls once. Curiosity and frustration had gotten the better of you, and when sets of shiny jewels greeted you in the morning, you wanted to faint.

They sit stuffed in a drawer now, and your hands shake when you check to see if they're still there. They sit alongside a note written in messy script, the one asking if you'd prefer a dress or a suit to match the choker made of sapphires. Or perhaps something to match the headpiece encrusted with rubies?

You're starting to think being alone for so long is making you crazy. You wake up sometimes at night, shifting against the soft sheets and feathered pillows and your heart neatly stops at the glowing eyes in the doorway.

Fear stops your voice from coming out and by the time you've worked up the courage to hit the lamp, whatever it was is gone. He's gone. The first time, you told yourself it was a nightmare. The second, a trick of the light. But the third, when you woke to the rough texture of gloves tracing the curve of your jaw, that was real.

You had frozen. Eyes shut tight and heart racing. The touch was gentle, almost non-existent, and if the near silent, rhythmic breathing hadn't reached your ears, you would have believed it to be a dream.

You don't know how long you stayed like that, your kidnappers' fingers brushing your face while you pretended to sleep. The feeling disappears eventually, and you fall back asleep. You lie to yourself when morning comes, that it was something you imagined.

You've lost count of the days, the weeks, it's been like this. You're not even sure what to call the situation. You're not a pet. You're not a hostage. A prisoner? Yes. But prisoners are never treated so lavishly without a reason.

Curiosity gets the better of you. How could it not when 'why' always haunts your thoughts? You pretend to be asleep. Night after night, you wait for him to come again. But it's like he knows. He's aware that you're waiting.

So, you write on the pristine notepad. You ask to be let go.

There's nothing on the glass table when you wake up, but the notepad is empty of words. The day seems to pass in a haze.

By the time night comes again, you're livid. You'd throw things at the glass enclosing the balcony if it wasn't something you tried already.

You stalk your way out of the bedroom, intent on making coffee and staying up until you can finally face the person who's trapped you here.

Your bravado disappears at the sight of the figure standing in the middle of the room.

The glowing lights of the city illuminates his silhouette. The military style gear, the eerily familiar glowing eyes, the guns holstered at his thighs. All your words and curses and questions stick to your tongue.

"You can't go home," a modulated voice tells you.

"Why?" You breathe out, eyes darting over his figure. You're not scared. You can't explain it, but as frightening as he should be, as terrifying as this situation should be, he doesn't feel unsafe.

He doesn't answer, doesn't move. If it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, you'd think he wasn't human. Silence falls for a longer than you know what to do with, "This your home," he says, voice even and factual.

"This isn't a home," your protest, anger flaring, "this is a prison cell!"

He steps towards you, menacing and threatening as he hisses, "This is nothing like a cell. You know nothing. You're safe here. Provided for. I've given you everything you could need."

"I'm alone here!" You snap out, despite your better judgment.

"I'll get you a pet," he says firmly.

"I don't have anyone to talk to," You respond harshly.

"I'll send someone to keep you company," he responds easily, like placating a child. But you don't miss his hands clenching and unclenching.

"I want to go outside," You answer, and you hate how your voice pitches into a whine, a plea, "I want fresh air."

He pauses, studying you, "I'll figure something out."

"Why are you doing this?" You finally ask, tears pricking your eyes. You don't want to cry, don't want to show him any weakness, but you're so tired and he's the first person you've talked to in ages. "I'm not anyone special. You don't gain anything by keeping me here. Please. Please, I wanna go home."

He tenses, then steps towards you steadily. You flinch when he stops just in front of you, turning and ducking your head. He takes your chin in his hand and guides your face back up, carefully wiping the tears that drip down your cheeks.

"You are special. More than you could know," he says quietly, like it's a secret. He says your name softly, like it's important, "You're going to stay here."

"I don't want to," You choke out between tears. He just doesn't acknowledge it, just keeps soaking up your cries with the pads of his glove.

You stay like that until your tears dry up and your body feels shaky. He exhales softly and tilts his head down, resting his helmet against your forehead. You would be eye to eye, you realize, if not for the mask.

"You're going to stay here," he repeats gently.

"Why?" You ask, voice weak.

He pulls back, his hand hesitating against your face before reaching for his helmet. He removes it with a practiced motion, and your whole world freezes.

Your breath catches in your lungs and your heart screams JasonJasonJason.

He doesn't try to explain. You don't have the words to ask. "You're going to stay here," he tells you again, voice low and careful.

"But-" You start, eyes darting over his face, the 'J' branded into his cheek.

He says your name, demanding and firm, "You're staying."

You swallow the rest of your words, and he nods in approval, "I'll get you what you asked for, okay?"

The helmet is back on before you even finished your bewildered nod, gaze locked on him. "Good," he murmurs, voice unrecognizable behind the mask. He's moving away, walking towards the door, leaving you.

You grab his arm, panicked, "Wait–"

He pulls your hand from his arm gently, "I'll come back."

"You haven't explained anything–" You try again, desperate and confused.

"You don't need to understand anything. You just need to stay here, tell me what you want, and let me take care of everything else, alright?" The Arkham Knight– Jason tells you.

You nod weakly, letting your hand drop back to your side.

"Good. Get some sleep," his voice sounds empty through the modulator.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" You ask, voice breaking.

He wavers by the door, "I come back everyday," he admits eventually and sees himself out the door of your prison.

You all but stumble to the plush couch and collapse as the door locks behind him. Jason is alive. Jason kidnapped you. Jason's held you in this luxury apartment for weeks. Jason left you jewels worth more than your entire savings account. Jason is alive. Jason visits you every night. Jason is alive.

Jason is alive. But you're still trapped. Still stuck in a cage with no explanation why and no matter how pretty it is, he's still locked you in here. But it's Jason. Jason wouldn't hurt you. He has to have a good reason.

The thought haunts you until you drift off, drawn to sleep by the soft velvet against your skin. You miss it, when the door cracks open again, and a down blanket is drawn over your body. You don't even twitch, when scarred hands start to trace a familiar path over your face.

[plorable]

I’d love to film porn with someone someday . But it has to look really old and scary and bad quality and it has to be too problematic to be posted on any normal websites and it has to make everyone who watches it feel really gross and bad abt jerking off to it. You have to yell at me and slap me while I’m already sobbing and bleeding at your feet. It has to just look irredeemably cruel and stomach turning. Or it’s not fun. And the location has to look really good too. Like somewhere nondescript and dirty like there’s no possible way I could be there on purpose. And it has to seem like I don’t know what I’m doing or what’s happening or what’s going to happen

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Apologetic CNC but flipping the script. Instead of "I'm sorry, I need this" it's "I know you need this, it's okay."

"Therrrre you go, tell me how much you hate it and how disgusting I am." "Go ahead and cry for me, let's get it all out." Holding you still and making you take it while we get those emotions out.

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“fuck, i can’t believe you’re letting me do this” while it is obviously not letting you do anything

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I wish I had a button I could press that would make me feel good WAIT Clitoris