#ahs drabble

[seumyo]

Idia never thought he’d be the type to have a muse. Inspiration wasn’t something he sought—it either struck at odd hours between gaming marathons or never came at all. You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite.

You were effortlessly poetic, weaving words together like they were spun from moonlight and ink. You had a way of finding beauty in things he never noticed about himself, piecing together metaphors and prose that made him sound like something out of a fairytale.

A writer who’s ultimate weapon is a pen and paper.

You write like a poet who can never run out of words.

Effortlessly so.

The first time you showed him one of your poems, he had expected it to be about something grand and abstract—love, nature, time. Instead, it was about him.

It wasn’t grandiose or overly sentimental. It was simple. Soft. A quiet sort of admiration captured in careful lines—how his hair burned like foxfire in the dark, how his voice curled around words like an autumn breeze, how the glow of his screen reflected in his yellow eyes like constellations trapped in glass.

He had read it once, then twice, then a third time, his heart hammering so hard he thought it might short-circuit his entire nervous system.

God, it’s like reading a declaration of love from years ago.

“I-I… um… wow…” he had stammered, his fingers twitching at his sleeves. “You… wrote this?”

You simply laughed.

“Of course I did. Who else would I write about?”

He didn’t know how to answer that.

So instead, he drew.

A few days after your conversation, that is.

Idia had always been good at art—sketching was second nature to him, a quiet hobby he indulged in when he needed to clear his head. But now, every idle doodle, every sketch in the margins of his notebooks, was of you.

The tilt of your head when you peered into his screen. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him. The delicate curve of your fingers as you held your pen, lost in thought.

He didn’t show you at first. It felt too raw, too personal. Like, if you saw it, you’d know just how much space you had carved into his thoughts, how easily you had settled into his world without even trying.

Maybe that was the point.

To show you how much you meant to him.

But then, one evening, as you sat together in his room—you’re lost in your writing, your boyfriend sketching absentmindedly—you caught a glimpse of his notebook and gasped.

“Is that me?”

Idia tensed, his fingers twitching as if to slam the book shut. But you had already leaned over, your gaze locked onto the pages, your eyes wide as you traced the lines of your own face on the paper.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

“This is amazing.”

He hunched his shoulders, his hair flickering between shades of pink and blue. “It’s not a big deal…”

“It is to me.”

Your fingers brushed against his, and Idia felt the warmth of your touch settle deep in his chest.

“You write about me,” he muttered, his voice quiet.

“I guess… this is how I write about you.”

You smiled, nodding. “Then I guess we’re even.”

His heart pounded, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

“Y-Yeah… even…”

But you weren’t done looking. You turned the pages slowly, taking in every sketch. Some were detailed, inked carefully with soft shading that made your features stand out, while others were simple pencil sketches, quick and loose. Some had little notes scribbled in the margins—things like Her smile was really pretty today or I think she’d like this outfit—and the further you flipped, the harder it became for Idia to breathe.

“You’ve been drawing me this whole time?” you asked.

Idia swallowed hard, feeling like his soul was about to eject from his body. “I-I mean… you’re… I like drawing you.”

You hummed, shaking your head. “No one’s ever drawn me before,” you admitted. “And definitely not like this. It’s like a commissioned self-portrait.”

He ducked his head against his desk. It’s all too much for him, and yet, he yearns for more.

“Well… no one’s ever written about me before either.”

You reached for your notebook and flipped to a page filled with fresh ink. “I wrote something new,” you told him. “Do you want to hear it?”

Idia hesitated, but he nodded.

You took a breath, then began reading.

Your voice was steady and soft, weaving words like magic.

You spoke of constellations hidden in the depths of golden eyes, of firelight that flickered and burned but never consumed. Of hands that danced over sketchbooks, creating entire worlds with nothing but ink and quiet devotion. Of a boy who lived in shadows and blue-tinted neon, who never realized he shone just as brightly as the screens he spent hid behind on.

By the time you finished, Idia was gripping his sketchbook so tightly his knuckles were almost turning white.

“…T-That’s—” His voice cracked, his throat dry. “That’s… about me?”

“Of course, Idia.”

His mind was racing, his chest aching with something he didn’t know how to name. He didn’t understand how you saw this side of him—a version of him that is raw—in ways he had never expected. And for once, instead of wanting to hide, he wanted to let you see more.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for his pencil and turned to a fresh page. “C-Can I draw you again?”

Your smile grew, and you leaned into his side, your fingers resting over his. “Only if you let me write about you again.”

Idia let out a shaky breath, his heart pounding.

“Deal.”

But somehow, he knew he would never stop drawing you. Even if time catches up to him and he could no longer hold a pencil. There will always be a way for him to draw his muse.

Just as he knew you would never stop writing about him.

Two halves of the same story—lines and words, ink and paper, art and poetry intertwined.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[evvyyypeters-fics]

“One just isn’t enough”

Kit Walker x f!reader

Warnings! Smut, Porn w/ zero plot, rough sex, (HEAVY) breeding k!nk, overstimulation, 100% not proofread, short drabble/ imagine

This idea popped in my head and I needed to write it immediately. Yes, I am working on the other fics. Here’s a snack in the meantime.

Knawing on my prison bars rn I need him so bad

I can barely keep my mouth closed from the intense heaving pants leaving my lips, harmonized with effortless moans.

Kit’s hips slam harshley into me, skin slapping shamelessly as he pins me deep into the mattress as hard as he can in some sort of primal way. My legs hooked over his shoulders as his hands grip the bed at the sides of my face. Folding me and squishing me down into the bed.

I can feel the blown look of my gaze watching his, his expression clouded with this carnal lust, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Fuck, I’mgonna ge’ you so pregnant, suga’” He groans loudly, the words spilling from his lips as he ruts into me desperately, his tip ruthlessly slamming into that spongespot that makes my whole body shiver. His pelvis brushing against my swollen clit.

“You’re gonna look so pre’tty.” He babbles on, his brows furrowing. He moans shamelessly, his cock pulsating as he gets closer.

“Kit—!” I whine desperately, the words stumblibg past my lips wantonly.

“I know, suga’. I know.” He coos, swiping a comforting hand on the side of my face for a moment before steadying back into the mattress as he picke up again.

I can feel my second orgasm coming, and before I can get out a single whine, my thighs practically vibrate, exploding with come. Kit feels the intense vibrating, my moan choking out after as my face furrows and I dig the back of my head into the mattress, gritting my teeth.

The sight sends him into overdrive and he presses himself further flush against me, nipping at my ear after raising my gaze and slamming his hips as deep as he could go, bullying my cervix. A string of sweet moans and whimpers fall from his lips.

“Gon’na make you a pretty baby, jus’ for you mama,” He groans for a final time in my ear, his sexy boston accent thick. My mind is completely blank, overstimulated to the moon and back. To my relief, he had already begun to falter before completely botting out and going still. Pumping his seed thick and deep, he pants, still holding me down for a few more moments.

I couldn’t tell if he did it to baste me like a turkey or if he was truly tired. Maybe both. But I didn’t care, I just hoped it would be more than enough to have another kid with him, and the tender kiss he placed on my nose after—showering me in affection—made up for the brutal fucking that was sure to leave me swollen for the next few days. More the next 9 like months.

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch

[fear-is-truth]

Hello Bestie! Thinkin thots bout pussydrunk Tate loving it when you pull his hair and try to stop him from eating you out, but he’s having too good of a time fucking you with his tongue to stop. He’s also jumping the mattress, and he’s really close to getting off on your desperate little whimpers!

content warning ; MDNI 18+

munch tate. he’s got that dazed, blissed-out look—eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide, moaning into you like he’s the one being taken apart. when you try to push him away, fingers tangling in his curls, he just whines, gripping your thighs tighter and pulling you even closer. he’s grinding down against the mattress, rutting helplessly, desperate for any kind of friction. and your little gasps? the way you whimper his name, all breathless and needy? that’s what pushes him over the edge. he’s so far gone, so drunk off the taste of you, he’s barely even aware when he cums, but the way you tremble against his mouth? yeah, that’s his favourite part.

[niteskysx]

ghostface nac x reader

Warnings: psychological manipulation, stalking, established relationship ig?

(I wrote this in between appointments over the course of several months… haven't even properly edited this thing, idk how to feel about it. lmk 😭 also, it's not smutty at all, just a collection of drabbles filled with tension, I guess? sjdkejd)

The sound of your frantic breathing filled the quiet of your darkened living room. You pressed yourself against the wall, heart pounding as you clutched a lamp, your last line of defense.

Somewhere in the shadows, you could hear his boots against the floorboards. Slow. Deliberate. He was in no hurry. “I know you’re here,” his voice called out, low and taunting. “Come on out, sweetheart. We both know how this ends.” Tears blurred your vision as you pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to muffle your cries. You’d seen his face—or at least his mask—at the scene of the crime. You’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and now he was here to silence you for good. A floorboard creaked nearby. You tried to bolt as fast as possible- “Ah, there she is!” he called out, his tone almost playful as he pursued you.

You ran blindly, crashing into furniture and stumbling in the dark until you reached the hallway. Just as you turned to glance behind you, his hand shot out, gripping your arm. You screamed, wrenching yourself free and stumbling backward, only to trip over a rug and fall to the floor.

You scrambled back against the wall, your knees tucked to your chest as he approached, his knife glinting in the faint light.

The sounds of your sobs filled the room, each breath a desperate gasp as you pressed yourself further into the wall.

The knife was still in his hand, but his posture had changed—no longer looming over you with the intent to kill, but kneeling down to your level, something softer in his eyes, though it remained guarded.

"Please," you gasped between sobs, your hands clutching the fabric of your shirt. "I don’t want to die. Please.”

But something shifted in him. His grip on the knife loosened, and he took a slow step back. For a moment, he simply stared at you, your tears streaking your cheeks, your body trembling like a frightened, frigid ittle thing...

Without a word, he reached up and removed the mask.

Your breath hitched.

He was too handsome to be a killer. His hair was a messy brown. His skin glowed faintly in the dim light, and his eyes—dark, intense—scanned your face with an expression you couldn’t read. He smelled of cologne and sweat, a mixture of danger and something oddly intoxicating.

He crouched down to your level, his hand lowering the knife to the ground, leaving it forgotten on the floor. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice soft now, almost tender. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, confused and terrified. What was happening?

His eyes stayed fixed on you, his movements slow and deliberate as he leaned closer. You flinched, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he reached out, one hand softly grazing your cheek, wiping away a tear as he whispered, "Hey... it’s okay... it’s okay."

Your lips quivered as you tried to speak, but no sound came out.

“Shh,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your jawline, making you shiver. “It’s okay.”  You froze, unsure of what to do. His other hand’s thumb, almost without thinking, traced upon your top and bottom lip.

You didn’t move, your mind spinning as his face inched closer to yours. His breath ghosted over your lips, and you instinctively turned your head slightly, but his hand on your cheek kept you in place. He didn’t want to hurt you, not like this– not anymore. But why? 

“Hey,” he murmured again, his voice so soft now it almost broke you. “Look at me.”

Against your better judgment, you did.

 

“See?” he whispered, his lips barely a breath away from yours. “It’s okay… it’s okay.” He kept repeating it, over and over, like a mantra, as his thumb traced your lips more insistently, his touch growing more desperate and intimate.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, confused, and fearful. Your voice trembled as you managed to force the words out.

"Wha—what are you doing?" your breath hitched, the confusion still heavy in your voice.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes drifted down to your lips once again, and his hand slowly slid from your cheek to your jaw, fingers gently cupping your face.

Then, without warning, he leaned in closer, his lips brushed against yours in a hesitant, slow motion. You froze, your breath catching in your throat as his lips pressed more firmly against yours. He kissed you deeper then, a rush of heat flooding his chest as his tongue slipped past your lips. You gasped, a sharp sound escaping as you instinctively tensed at the sensation. The kiss, rough and hungry, was a sharp contrast to the gentleness he had shown moments before. He could feel your surprise to the kiss; the way your body stiffened, but he didn’t stop— his hands began moving to your neck, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with an intensity that startled even him.

The warmth of your breath mingled with his… The feel of your heartbeat against his chest as you let out a soft, surprised gasp before the kiss consumed you. The frantic beating of your heart mirrored his own, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away, not when he was so consumed by the moment.

And in that brief moment, everything else- your fear, the trembling… the knife that was once in his hand—seemed to vanish entirely.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

It had been days since he first broke into your apartment. Weeks, actually. Ever since that night, he had been showing up uninvited—always late, always in his usual Ghostface attire. Sometimes just to watch a movie, raid your kitchen, or talk. Other times… to do other things. 

The guilt was suffocating, growing heavier with each passing day. This had gone on for too long now. You had to tell someone. That the Ghostface killer—the masked murderer terrorizing the city—was your secret late-night rendezvous. And worse? You didn’t even know his real name!

So, you made a decision. If you couldn’t stop him, if you couldn’t stop yourself, then you could at least try to make sense of it all. Therapy was supposed to help with that, right? Surely, someone would understand.

You clutched your bag tightly as you entered the waiting room, nerves already frayed. This was supposed to be your safe space, the one place where you could untangle the chaos in your mind—especially after him.

But then, as if the universe itself was mocking you, he walked out of the office.

“Thanks, Dr. Goldman. I’ve never felt better!” he said, flashing an exaggerated grin, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Your heart plummeted. No. No, this couldn’t be happening.

There he was, standing in the doorway, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his maroon leather jacket. When his gaze met yours, his smirk spread like wildfire.

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” he drawled, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

You froze, your entire body going cold.

“What… what are you doing here?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“Oh, just taking care of my mental health,” he said smoothly, mock sincerity lacing his tone. “Isn’t that what they say? Therapy is good for the soul.”

Dr. Goldman glanced between the two of you, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Do you two know each other?”

Nick didn’t hesitate. “Of course,” he said with an easy smirk. “We’ve got history, don’t we?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. We don’t.”

His grin widened. “Don’t be shy,” he teased, stepping closer. His voice dipped into something quieter, something meant just for you. “Tell him how close we’ve gotten.”

Your face burned, anger rising in your chest, but somehow, you couldn’t look away from his gaze.

Dr. Goldman cleared his throat. “Well, [Y/N], I’m ready whenever you are.” He stepped away awkwardly, sensing the tension. “I’ll be in my office.”

As soon as Dr. Goldman disappeared, Ghostface—or Nick, as you’d overheard him introduce himself—took a step closer to you, that cocky grin not leaving his face.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmured, his tone casual, but his eyes—sharp, knowing—betrayed him. “But then again… I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. After everything, I’d need a therapist too.”

You swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry. “W-what are you doing here? Are you following me?”

He feigned a look of offense before grinning wider. “What, you think I don’t have issues to work out? Come on, sweetheart, even psychos have feelings.” He leaned in slightly, the scent of his cologne—spice and danger—filling your senses. “But don’t worry. I’m cured now.”

Jaw clenched, you turned sharply, making your way toward the office—until you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist.

Gently. Not enough to hurt, but just enough to stop you.

Then, before you could pull away, he leaned in close, breath warm against your ear. His voice was nothing more than a whisper.

“Go ahead,” he murmured. “Tell him all about me.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

But you forced yourself to keep moving, stepping into the office with your entire body trembling.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

You're curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, the soft hum of the TV filling the empty space around you. Your hair is pulled up in a messy bun, a few strands falling loose against your face. The house feels too quiet without your parents here—eerily still, like it's waiting for something. Every small creak of the walls settling makes your stomach tighten, every shadow in the dim light of the screen seems darker, deeper.

You try to shake the feeling, telling yourself it’s just your imagination. But then—

You hear a sound of the back door clicking shut.

Your entire body goes rigid. The kitchen.

Your breath catches in your throat as you strain to listen. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. The unmistakable rustle of someone moving through your house.

Not again...

“Nice place,” his familiar, cocky voice called out from the kitchen.

Your stomach twists. No. No, no, no. How did he get in?

You shove the blanket off, your heartbeat a frantic hammering in your ears as you rush toward the kitchen. 

There he was, rummaging through the cabinets like he owned the place. His leather jacket hung loosely on his broad shoulders, and his fluffy hair was slightly disheveled. He radiated a casual arrogance that both terrified and infuriated you.

“What are you doing here?” you demand, your voice sharp, desperate to keep steady.

He doesn’t even look at you, instead pulling out a box of cereal, inspecting it like he’s making himself at home. “What does it look like? I’m hungry.”

He was getting under your skin. “You can’t just—just be here. You need to leave!”

Finally, he turns to face you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Relax, princess. Your parents are out of town, aren’t they? Won’t be back for…what, a week?”

Your breath hitches. “H-how do you know that?”

He shrugged, plucking a banana from the fruit bowl and peeling it. “I know a lot of things.”

“Get out,” you say, forcing even more steel into your voice, but it still shakes.

He takes a slow bite of the banana, leaning casually against the counter. Then, with an easy shrug, he says it—like a dare, like he already knows you won’t.

“Make me.”

You grit your teeth in anger and try to grab the stack of mail he had started flipping through, but he easily holds it out of your reach.

“Oh, no, no,” he says, pulling the envelopes further away. “Say please first.”

Your brows furrow. “What?”

His smirk widens as he leans closer, voice dipping into something low and teasing. “Say… please. Come on, you can do it. Please.”

She hesitated, blinking at him in disbelief.

“Come on,” he coaxed, holding the mail just out of reach. “It’s not that hard. ‘Please, mister terrifying murderer who broke into my house, stop opening my mail.’”

Your face burns as you mutter, “Please.”

“What was that?” He cups a hand to his ear, leaning in mockingly.

“Please!” you say louder, your voice shaking with anger and humiliation.

“Ah, there you go!” He hands you the mail, but not before brushing his fingers against yours just long enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Now,” he says, tone shifting from playful to something sharper, more curious. “What is it about you?”

Your pulse quickens. “What are you talking about?”

He sets the banana down and turns toward you fully, “You. What’s so special about you?”

You step back, bumping into the counter as he stalks closer.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, tilting his head like he’s studying you. “I don’t let people go. Ever. So what is it? What, you got some deep, tragic childhood trauma? Mommy didn’t love you? Daddy wasn’t around? There’s got to be something, right?”

You swallow hard, shaking your head. “What? N-no. Th-there’s nothing—”

“Or,” he interrupts, leaning in so your faces are inches apart, “is it just because I’m a guy? Because, yeah, I’ve got my moments, but this?” He gestures between you. “This isn’t me. I don’t do this. I don’t let people go. So what the hell is it? Hmm?”

His eyes flick down to your lips briefly before he steps back with a frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. “God, you’re such a headache.”

And just like that, he turns back to the cabinets, rifling through them like nothing had happened.

tags aka my lovelies: @lalavenderangel @violetidk @nicholaschavezslut69 @blackynsupremacy @motherismotheringggg @hoffmansgirl @greengoblinswifey @emluvsuxo @iamsebastiansstan @thekhloediary @blog-o-meter

[v44lentine]

(READ THIS FIRST: its my contents warning)

I yearn to write about the most out of pocket shit, giving dick grayson that sloppy top with no hair tie while he weaves his thick callused fingers between your hair, holding back bits of your hair while rubbing circles into your scalp as you take in his length, bobbing up and down

or letting jason todd use you like a sex toy, parting your bottoms and spreading your legs while you mindlessly chat with your friends; his length filling you deliciously as you pretend as thought nothing was amiss, holding back moans and trying not to cum before he does (bcs you know. Actually you dont. And neither do i)

OR EVEN, YA KNOW EVEN. I RAISE YOU:

both at once, because why make you choose when both is an option. Dick's length and girth entering you slowly, your cunt searing in pain and pleasure from simply him entering but you cant cry or move forward because, of course, Jason's in your mouth, his hands forcing your head to stay still as tears pour from your face while he fucks your throat hard(double treatment? Whiplash🫵)

BUT I CANT I DONT KNOW WHY I CANT FULLY FLEDGE TO AN ACTUAL ONESHOT I WRITE ONE THOUSAND PLUS WORDS AND ALL THAT HAPPENS IS DICK FEELS UP MY TITS WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME :( how do smut writers do this??

[ticifics]

the nanny

Kit Walker x f!reader

Summary: "Hi. You came for the ad?" His voice was raspy, slightly surprised. He ran a hand through his hair, as if realizing too late that it was disheveled. You nodded, not fully trusting your voice. "Yes—I… I saw the ad and... I’m interested in the job." Kit took a step back and opened the door wider. "Come in. We can talk better."

Warnings: no use of y/n, dad!kit, nanny!reader, fluffy, no briarcliff

A/N: It's been so, sooo long since I wrote about the kit, so I decided to do something cute, the poor man deserves some happiness (just look at that face, he's basically husband material)

The paper between your fingers was crumpled at the edges from being held so many times. You read the ad once more, as if the words would suddenly change:

Looking for someone to care for two children and help with the house. Immediate work. Interested parties, please come to the address below.

Simple, direct, and with a certain implicit desperation. It was your best chance. You had been in town for just a few days and needed a job, a roof over your head, some stability.

The house was small, modest, but cozy. The front lawn was a bit overgrown, and a tipped-over tricycle near the porch indicated it was indeed a home with children. You took a deep breath before knocking on the door, your heart racing.

The steps on the other side were quick, and when the door opened, you found yourself facing him.

Kit Walker.

The name was in the ad, but you didn’t expect him to be... like this. Brown, messy hair, eyes the same color, deep and somewhat tired, as if carrying more than a man his age should. He looked a few years older than you, yet young enough to be the father of two small children.

"Hi. You came for the ad?" His voice was raspy, slightly surprised. He ran a hand through his hair, as if realizing too late that it was disheveled.

You nodded, not fully trusting your voice.

"Yes—I… I saw the ad and... I’m interested in the job."

Kit took a step back and opened the door wider. "Come in. We can talk better."

You entered, smelling the warmth of wood and coffee, mixed with the unmistakable scent of a house with children: crayons, cookies, and a faint trace of baby cologne.

The living room was simple, with old furniture but well cared for. There were toys scattered here and there, a small blanket thrown over the couch, and some kids' drawings pinned to the wall.

"Well, I don’t want to make this formal or anything," Kit scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable. "To be honest, I need someone as soon as possible. I work all day, and I can’t keep up with everything on my own. The idea is for you to be with the kids, help with the house... those kinds of things."

You nodded. "I can do that."

Kit studied your face for a moment, as if looking for something beyond your answer.

"Do you have experience with children?"

"Not professionally..." You hesitated. "But I’ve taken care of my cousins when they were little. I like kids."

Kit nodded slowly, as if considering your answer, but his gaze was still sharp, evaluating you in a way that made your heart race. He seemed like someone who wanted to trust, needed to trust, but didn’t give that trust easily.

"It’s a full-time job," He crossed his arms, the thin fabric of his shirt stretching slightly across his broad shoulders. "You’d need to be here all day, sometimes at night, depending on my schedule. I work a lot."

You nodded, trying to seem as confident as possible. "That wouldn’t be a problem."

"Good. Because they need stability," Kit rubbed his chin, briefly looking away. "It’s already been hard enough for them."

There was something heavy behind those words, something he didn’t say, but that lingered in the air between you. You wondered what exactly had happened, but didn’t dare to ask.

Kit cleared his throat, refocusing on the conversation. "Can you cook?"

The question came without warning, and you blinked, a little surprised. "Yes. Quite well, actually."

A shadow of relief passed over his face. "Great. I get by, but..." He made a vague gesture, as if already used to eating poorly. "It’d be nice if they could have real food, you know? Not just sandwiches and instant noodles."

You smiled faintly. "I can take care of that."

Kit opened his mouth to say something, but then hesitated, shifting his weight. You noticed how tense he seemed, as if about to ask a question he didn’t know whether he should.

"Can I ask you something?" He narrowed his eyes, curious. "Are you married?"

The question caught you so off guard that it took an extra second to respond. "What? No! No, I’m not married."

Kit relaxed almost imperceptibly, and you couldn’t tell if it was because the answer relieved him or if he just didn’t want to get into trouble. "Sorry. I just... don’t want to hire someone with a jealous husband showing up at my door afterward."

You let out a short laugh, more out of nervousness than anything. "You don’t need to worry about that. No jealous husbands. No husbands, period."

Kit gave a half-smile, but quickly looked away, and it was at that moment that a fleeting thought crossed your mind.

It was sad that a man like him didn’t have a wife.

The thought came as a reflex, and you quickly pushed it away, as if you’d done something wrong. It wasn’t your business. But still... he seemed like someone who deserved it. Someone who loved deeply, who would do anything for those he cared about. A man like him shouldn’t be alone.

Before you could get lost in that thought, a sound echoed through the hallway—small footsteps, followed by excited laughter. Kit didn’t even need to turn around to know what was coming, and the smile that appeared on his lips was so immediate and genuine that something warm spread in your chest.

"DAAAAD!"

Two children appeared in the room, running without hesitation toward Kit. He bent down instantly, opening his arms to receive them. The first to arrive was a boy with light hair and bright brown eyes, who threw himself into his father’s arms with the force of a rocket. Right behind him, a little girl with dark skin and soft curls stopped beside them, eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Kit laughed, running his hands through the boy’s hair before turning to his daughter. "Hey, hey, calm down. You don’t even know her yet."

The two turned to look at you, and you felt as if you were being assessed.

"Who is she?" The little girl asked, her voice small but firm.

"She came for the ad," Kit explained, adjusting Thomas in his lap. "She might take care of you guys while I work."

"Can she tell stories?" Thomas tilted his head, his eyes shining with expectation.

"I can," you answered, smiling.

"Better than Dada?"

Kit scoffed, indignant. "Hey! I’m great at it!"

Thomas looked at his sister, clearly waiting for her opinion. Julia crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at you before asking, "Can you make pancakes?"

You laughed, crouching down a little to be on her level. "With chocolate chips and strawberry syrup."

Her expression shifted slightly, as if considering your answer. Then she looked at Kit and then back at you, still evaluating.

Kit watched the interaction with a playful gleam in his eyes, as if enjoying seeing how you handled the two.

Finally, Julia nodded, crossing her arms. "I think you can stay."

Thomas agreed with an enthusiastic nod, and Kit let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

"Looks like you passed the test."

[ahqkas]

♯ GOD KNOWS I TRIED ; kit walker

PAIRING! kit walker x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! kit is a true gentleman at heart, and he does what kind men do : he protects the ones he cares about ( based on this req.!! )

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! angst, fluff if you squint hard enough, mature / suggestive themes, briarcliff asylum warnings, sister jude and her punishments + lmk of more if found

NOTES! my man my man my man . all the credits to the devider bellow belong to @/v6que !!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE RAIN FELL IN RELENTLESS CASCADE, DRUMMING AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF BRIARCLIFF ASYLUM. The night was clothed in darkness and the only source of provided light was the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the gothic architecture of the asylum. The heavy rain had changed the surrounding landscape into a dark blur. The expansive green lawn, overgrown and wild, seemed like it came out of a horror story with its ghostly flashes, revealing the twisted forms of ancient trees and the labyrinthine tangle of bushes. The wrought iron gates, their ornate designs now almost swallowed by the storm, groaned softly as they were tossed around by the wind. 

Inside, the atmosphere was equally grim. The asylum's corridors, long and narrow, were bathed in a dim, flickering light from the aging fluorescent fixtures that barely pierced the gloom. Each flash of lightning revealed glimpses of the asylum's interior: the scattered, old furniture, the barred windows, and the heavy, locked doors. The harsh light highlighted the grim details of the inside — rusting fixtures, peeling paint, and the long shadows cast by the iron bars on the windows. 

The nuns had decided to host one of the famous movie nights. It was a tradition they upheld during every stormy night in an attempt to calm down the residents who would become agitated by the loudness that came with the storm. 

The main common room had been transformed for the occasion. The dim, oppressive lighting was softened by the warm, flickering glow of a makeshift projector setup, casting a gentle, almost nostalgic light across the room. The walls, lined with faded, institutional artwork and peeling paint, were obscured by heavy, tattered curtains that had been drawn over the windows to shield the patients' wandering eyes from the storm's fury outside. The dusty curtains hung in uneven folds. The nuns had also arranged a selection of worn, overstuffed chairs and mismatched couches in a semi-circle around the small projector that sat on a makeshift table. The screen was a large, slightly yellowed sheet stretched taut across a wooden frame and its surface bore the scars of countless previous showings. 

You sat on one of the overstuffed couches positioned in the back row of the common room, your figure partially hidden by the shadows cast by the dim light of the projector. The couch you occupied was a faded, floral-patterned relic, its cushions soft and sagging from years of use. The upholstery, once vibrant, had long since dulled to a muted palette, its once-bright colors now blended into the overall gloom of the room. Everything was dull here in Briarcliff. Your posture was relaxed because of the warmth the man beside you provided. 

Kit Walker, a kind man once you got to know him, was the sanest person in the whole building besides yourself and you were glad to form an alliance with him. Although, there were feelings nestled deep inside you, ones you didn't have to say out loud for him to see and feel. That man had a strong jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a chiseled, almost heroic appearance and that alone gave your knees the right amount of shake to fall for him. You found out he had a natural ability to really listen and offer comfort and he carried himself with a quiet dignity, not seeking validation or praise but simply remaining true to himself despite the circumstances. 

Kit Walker was the man of your dreams.

The screen was currently displaying an old, black-and-white film, its grainy images flickering in sync with the erratic flashes of lightning outside but you couldn't force yourself to pay any amount of attention to the supposed entertainment. The film's dramatic scenes, with their exaggerated gestures and artificial emotions, seemed almost absurd compared to the thoughts that were dedicated to the man sitting next to you. 

And the same could be said about Kit. The way the occasional light from the projector cast soft highlights across your features, emphasizing the curve of your cheek and the depth of your eyes, made you seem almost ethereal and Kit was losing it. None of the workers could force him to sit on the moldy couch and torture himself with boredom when you sat quietly beside him, distracting him with just simply being there. 

He noticed your subtle, distracted glances toward the screen, but your eyes lingered more on him than on the film.  Kit could feel the way your eyes followed the play of light and shadow across his face, how you seemed to be drawn to the warmth he provided rather than the outdated drama on the screen. He found himself smiling softly to himself at your distraction with a knowing look in his eyes. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you. 

Leaning slightly closer to your body, Kit's voice was low and warm as it hit the side of your face, barely above a whisper to avoid breaking the fragile atmosphere that had settled around the two of you. "You know," he began and a hint of playful amusement appeared in his tone, "we don't really have to stay here if we're not into the movie." 

"What do you mean?" you asked in the same tone as him, your voice a gentle murmur that barely competed with the distant hum of the projector. When you exhaled, the warm air hit Kit's face. 

Kit's honey-brown irises shimmered in the darkness, and he subtly nodded toward the exit of the dimly lit room, where the storm outside was barely audible against the noise of the film. "I was thinking . . . maybe we could sneak away, find a quieter spot where we can actually do whatever we want. What do you think?"

The suggestion was simple, yet it carried the promise of a more intimate and personal escape from the boredom of the asylum's common room. The thought of stepping away from the dreary atmosphere was an enticing one. Yet, the fear of feeling Sister Jude's sick pleasure held you back. Sister Jude, with her sharp eyes and ever sharper tongue, seemed to delight in catching the patients of the asylum in any moment of weakness or rebellion. Her authority was absolute, an iron hand that loomed over every corner of Briarcliff, and the idea of stepping out of line — even for a brief moment — carried a weighty sense of risk. You could already imagine the way Sister Jude's eyes would narrow in satisfaction, her lips curling into that smug, almost sadistic smile she reserved for moments when she exerted her control. 

You still remember what she did to Grace. What she did to Lana. 

And yet, the allure of escaping with Kit, even just for a little while, was difficult to resist. 

"I don't know, Kit," you whispered in a trembling voice as you voiced your worries to him. "What if we get caught? You know how Sister Jude is. She'd make an example out of us, and I — I don't think I could handle that. I don't want to give her the satisfaction."

He could see the fear in your eyes, the way it held you back, and it only made him more determined to protect you. "[Name]," he said gently, his voice low and reassuring, "nothing's going to happen. I promise you that. We'll be careful, okay? And even if something does happen, even if Sister Jude catches us, I'll take the blame. She won't lay a finger on you."

"Kit..." you began but he cut you off with a slight squeeze of your hand. You didn't question when he took hold of your palm. 

"Trust me, [Name]," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles repeatedly. "I won't let her touch you. I'll take the heat if it comes to that. But right now, let's just get out of here, even if it's just for a little while. We deserve that much, don't we?" 

There was a warmth in his voice, a quiet strength meant to reassure you in ways nothing else at Briarcliff ever could. Kit was right — both of you did deserve this. And you could use the sweet release from the asylum's cruel grasp. 

You took a deep breath, nodding slightly as you made up your mind. "Okay," you whispered into the darkness. Kit could feel the touch of your words against his lips. "Okay, let's go." 

His hand was firm and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. Every movement of his was carefully done, as if even the slightest noise could shatter the fragile veil of secrecy he had cast over the both of you. The dim light of the common room flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the floor, but you moved with purpose, slipping quietly through the rows of seats, avoiding the eyes of the staff and the other patients who were too engrossed in the film to notice your departure. Sister Jude should hire more responsible staff. 

Once you reached the doorway, Kit paused, glancing back to ensure no one was watching before gently guiding you with a strong hand against your lower back into the darkened corridor beyond. The heavy wooden door closed behind you with a soft creak, and the two of you were finally alone, the distant sound of the movie a only faint hum behind. You moved quickly through the long, lonely corridors of Briarcliff Asylum, footsteps barely audible on the cold, tiled floors. The rain continued its assault on the windows with no sight of stopping. Kit led the way, his grip on your hand never faltering. 

As the both of you rounded a corner, the sound of distant voices reached your ears — staff members making their rounds. Kit's fingers tightened his hold on yours, pulling you closer as you pressed yourself against the wall, breaths held in unison. The voices grew louder for a moment, then faded as the staff continued down another corridor, oblivious to the two figures hidden in the shadows. Relief washed over you along with the vivid pictures of Sister Jude's punishment. You needed to find a place to hide, somewhere quiet where you could steal a few moments of peace away from the watchful eyes.

Finally, you reached the heavy metal doors of the kitchen, pushed open just enough to allow a sliver of light to escape into the dark corridor. Kit glanced around to ensure you were alone before gently pulling the door open wider, gesturing for you to slip inside first. He followed right after you. 

The kitchen was quiet, dimly lit by a single overhead light that cast a soft glow across the industrial steel countertops and rows of neatly organized utensils. The scent of cleaning supplies mingled with the faint aroma of fresh bread that had long since been cleared away. 

And before either of you could think or second-guess, you were drawn together like magnets. Kit leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with urgency. The kiss deepened quickly though, passion flaring between the two of you like a wildfire as everything else faded away — the asylum, the storm, the fear. All that mattered was this moment, this connection. His hands found their way to the small of your back for the second time this evening, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own. You responded in kind, slender fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if afraid that letting go would mean losing this fleeting moment of intimacy. 

The heat of the kiss spread through you both when Kit's strong hands slid down to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The feel of your body against his was intoxicating, and he moved with purpose, carrying you to the nearest counter. With a fast and urgent motion, he set you down on the cool steel surface, hands brushing aside utensils and making space for you, painting his hands with flour in the process.

Your heart raced as Kit's hands roamed your body, exploring with both desire and respect. His touch was precise as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch of your skin to remember for the rest of his days. He kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the taste of your lips as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, then slowly up to your back, pulling you closer to his body and hiking your knees up even more, leaving white fingertips in their path.

You responded in kind, hands tracing the sculpted lines of his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. There was something so raw, so real about the way he touched you — as if this was the first time in a long time he had felt truly alive. Your fingers danced across his skin, exploring the planes of his body with the same amount of desire. Kit's hands slid up your sides and under the hem of your gown, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin just above your underwear, creating a shiver that traveled down your spine. You arched into his touch, breath hitching as you felt the tension coil tighter within you. 

"Kit . . . I—" you couldn't finish your sentence, the words lost in a breathless moan as his hands wandered lower, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. 

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. The intensity in his gaze was undeniable, a mixture of raw desire and something deeper, something that made your heart pound even harder. That look — told you how much he wanted you, how much he needed this, how much he needed you — made you tighten your legs around his waist. "I've got you," he whispered, his voice rough. It was a look that made your heart race and your body ache for more. 

The door swung open with a suddenness that shattered the intimate bubble you had created, the sound echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the kitchen. Kit froze, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively as you both turned toward the intrusion. The harsh overhead light of the corridor spilled into the room, illuminating the figures standing in the doorway.

A tall, stern-looking man in the uniform of the asylum staff stood there, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Kit and you. His presence was imposing, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light from the hallway, but it was the figure behind him that sent a jolt of fear through your chest.

Sister Jude.

She stood in the doorway like a dark omen, her presence dominating the small, dimly lit kitchen. The air around her seemed to chill, as if the very atmosphere cooled from her disapproving gaze. She didn't need to raise her voice to command attention; her mere presence demanded it. The rosary beads hanging from her waist clicked softly as she took a measured step forward, the sound eerie in the tense silence of the room.

The staff member followed the head of this asylum, his eyes flicking between Kit and you, the disdain in his expression unmistakable. "Found them, Sister Jude," he said with a cruel satisfaction. "Just like you suspected."

Kit quickly released you and his hands dropped from your hips to tug at your gown. The least he could do was to save your modesty as much as he could. The man stepped back, positioning himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from the inevitable wrath of Sister Jude. Your heart pounded in your chest, the warmth of the moment disappearing into the cold reality of the situation just like Kit's hands. 

Sister Jude's icy gaze shifted from the staff member to Kit, and then to you, her brown irises narrowing further. "Well, well," she began loudly, her voice echoing in the silent room, cutting through the tension easily. "I always knew you had a penchant for trouble, Mr. Walker, but this . . . This is a new low, even for you." She took a step closer to you, her heels clicking ominously against the tiled floor. "And you, Miss [Last name] . . . I expected better." 

The weight of her words pressed down like a leaden shroud, suffocating any remaining trace of the warmth and connection that had filled the room just moments before. It was as if the very walls of Briarcliff had closed in around you both, trapping you in.

Kit stood his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to protect you from the storm that was about to break. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. His hands, which had just moments ago been tenderly caressing your skin, now curled into fists at his sides. But beneath that facade, there was also a flicker of fear — not for himself, but for what you might endure at the hands of Sister Jude if his plans failed. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height, and locked eyes with the cold woman before him. "It was my idea," Kit declared, his voice firm and unwavering despite the tension that crackled in the air like a live wire. "Leave her out of this." His words were a shield, a desperate attempt to keep his promise, to protect you from the consequences that he feared would be far worse for you than for him.

Sister Jude's eyes flickered with something that you couldn't quite place — an emotion that lingered somewhere between suspicion and a twisted, almost predatory satisfaction. Her thin lips curled into a faint, humorless smile, and the cold glint in her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were savoring the moment. She took another slow step forward and her gaze shifted from Kit to you, who stood just behind him, face paler than usual.

"Oh, I have no doubt it was, Mr. Walker," each word was enunciated with deliberate precision, as though she were savoring the power she held over the two of you. "But both of you will be held accountable for this . . . indiscretion."

"I'm the one who's responsible," Kit's voice cut through the oppressive silence with a determined edge. "It was my idea, and I should be the one held accountable. Leave [Name] out of this."

Sister Jude's expression flickered with a moment of surprise, but it quickly settled back into its usual look. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Kit's words, her mind no doubt calculating how best to respond to his unexpected act of bravery. "Very well," she said, her tone clipped and devoid of sympathy. "If you insist on taking the blame, then you will be the one to bear the consequences." The woman turned her attention to the staff member who had followed her into the kitchen. "Go to my office. Fetch the cane. The one I reserve for my favorite patients."

The staff member's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't hesitate. He gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, disappearing through the door with a purposeful stride. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as he made his way to retrieve the instrument of punishment.

Sister Jude's gaze returned to Kit and Dahlia, her expression unrelenting. "You've chosen to make this difficult for yourself, Mr. Walker," she said, her voice dripping with a cold satisfaction. "And while I commend your misguided sense of honor, it changes nothing about the punishment that awaits you. And you, miss [Last name], shall watch what happens once stupidity takes over the mind."

Your heart ached at the sight of Kit standing his ground, his body tense with the weight of his decision. You wanted to protest, to beg Sister Jude to reconsider, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sheer weight of the situation. Instead, you reached out, your hand trembling as you grasped Kit's arm, trying to offer some measure of comfort and support.

Kit looked down at you, his eyes softening just for a moment before he turned his attention back to Sister Jude. "Whatever you're planning, I can take it."

"Your bravery is noted. But bravery will not protect you from the consequences of your actions."

The staff member returned, carrying the cane with a deliberate and solemn expression. The cane was an old-fashioned implement, its polished wood gleaming menacingly under the kitchen's harsh lights. It was a feared symbol of discipline, one that had seen many hands and many uses over the years, and its presence in the room only heightened the sense of dread.

Sister Jude took the cane from the staff member, her fingers tracing its surface with a possessive, almost reverent touch. "This is the cane I reserve for my most . . . memorable patients," she said, her voice low and chilling. "It is reserved for those who require a lesson in obedience. You will stay and watch. This is part of your lesson as well — understanding the consequences of defiance."

Kit's pants were pulled down by the staff member, exposing his bare bottom to the cold air of the kitchen. The sight of his exposed skin, vulnerable and waiting, was a sharp contrast to the determined set of his jaw. He braced himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckles white as he gripped the surface for support.

The cane was held firmly in her hand, and Sister Jude raised it with a practiced ease, preparing to deliver the first stroke. The sharp whoosh of the cane slicing through the air was followed by a resounding crack as it made contact with Kit's bare skin. The sound was a brutal reminder of the severity of the punishment, and Kit's body tensed, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as the sting of the cane seared into his flesh. The printed redness flared bright against the pale tone of his skin. 

Your eyes filled with tears as you watched, heart breaking at the sight of Kit's suffering. The sight of his reddened skin, the way his body flinched with each stroke, was almost too much to bear. Every crack of the cane seemed to echo through your own chest and you felt like throwing up. 

The punishment was relentless, each crack of the cane drawing a sharp gasp or low moan from Kit, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead, and he tried to maintain his composure, though the strain of the punishment was evident in the tension of his muscles and the way his body shook with each hit. His only concession to the agony was the occasional clenching of his jaw and the muffled sounds that escaped him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sister Jude stepped back, her breath even and controlled. The cane was lowered, and she regarded Kit with a look of detached satisfaction, as if the punishment had been a necessary chore rather than an act of cruelty.

Kit's body slumped slightly, his breathing ragged and labored as he tried to regain his composure. His bottom was marked with the angry red welts of the punishment, the skin raw and tender from the relentless strokes of the cane. Your eyes were filled with anguish as you looked at him, the man who had taken the blame upon himself to protect you.

Sister Jude's gaze then turned to you, her expression one of stern disapproval, before she and the staff member exited the kitchen. "You've seen what happens when rules are broken. Let this be a lesson to you." 

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you rushed to Kit's side. Your movements were frantic, driven by a desperate need to offer him some measure of comfort and relief from the suffering he had endured. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you approached him, hands trembling more than ever as you reached out to touch him. "Kit, I'm so sorry."

Kit turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something softer, a flicker of gratitude for your concern. He took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to straighten up, though his body protested with each movement. "Don't," he said softly, his hand reaching out to drape over your shoulders for support. "It's not your fault. I chose this. And I would do it again."

[alicenotalice]

Tango spent hours in the redstone guts of Hungry Hermits, battling bugs, reaching peak frustration—only for Gem to log on and join him, followed shortly by Etho. There was teasing, there was trolling; and then the visitors insisted on a playtest despite the bugs

And as Tango watched them scramble and panic and laugh; as the bugs appeared in full force but failed to stop the fun; as Gem screamed for Etho to let her out of the fridge already; as the two players found their rhythm and beat the second day—the old Dungeonmaster’s grin returned to Tango’s face

He’d made a good game

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Brother's Bestfriend

Roy Harper x Reader

wc: 2.2 K summary: Best friend of your brother really likes you, and you finally cave in warnings: selling drugs, smoking weed, (overprotective brother) a/n: divider (@xurengu0), have him in my mind lately, so here you go. there are way too little fics about him. enjoy!

Ever since Roy saw you fighting with Jason, he knew he needed a special way to win you over. Back then, he didn‘t know you were his sister. Even now, he is still trying to figure out on how to flirt or let alone get close to you. Jason made it clear that he will break every bone in his body if Roy even thinks about you.

He didn‘t see you very often, but when he did, he couldn‘t help but stare anytime you were near. It was as if you were hypnotising to him, in a good way. The only thing that creeps him out a little is how similar you behave to Jason. It‘s like two people have almost the same personality.

You are just a bit more bearable and nice to him and others.

All in all, he was down bad for you. From the very first time he heard and saw you bickering with Jason, that boy was smitten. It wasn‘t even on purpose, something about you made his brain chemistry change. So, he definitely wasn‘t expeting you to catch him selling dope to stranger in a random party.

From all the failed attempts of flirting and winning you over, this just added another nail to the grave. From getting beaten up from Jason for crushing on you, this was not a good time to see you again. Even for you, it took a moment to process what‘s fully happening. But now it is a bad time to pretend you don‘t know each other and approach him before he could get away with this.

»No, no, no, wait— I want to talk about this,« you stop him mid-fleeing-attempt, grabbing onto his arm, »what are you even selling? Weed or worse?«

Roy is actually surprised with how… calm you sound. He expected much worse, probably even getting to face Jason if you decided to give him a call. But no, you sound rather concerned and he has the strong urge to reassure you.

»Not ‚worse‘, just some coke. I also have joints, but only for me.«

He blurts out with a shrug, flashing a casual smile at you. That doesn‘t ease you up however, just makes you glad he seems to be honest.

»Yeah, that‘s… a bit less worse than I expected.«

With a small sigh, you let go of his arm and fish your phone out.

»Wa- wait a second, you‘re not gonna call him, right? I didn‘t even use, I was just selling! I can give you my joint if you want.«

That last statement made you pause, glancing down at his hands that are already rummaging through his pockets. You slowly put your phone away, crossing your arms in an attempt to not come off as too curious.

»You would?« He nods quickly at your question, already having a joint in his hand and tries his best to give you his sweetest puppy eyes. You purse your lips, taking a glance around before you nod towards the exit.

Getting high wasn‘t new to you, but it sure was for Roy seeing it in first hand. He never thought you were a little experimental, but it makes sense now. He lit your joint with his lighter, letting you have the first few drags before you share with him. The rush comes slow but steady, making sure you don‘t smoke too much or do anything wrong while smoking. Time flies by fast when you‘re being high and talking to someone decent for once, sitting by the porch of the house party. You only realise how late it is once you get a call from your brother, picking it up just to hear Jason going straight on lecturing you. Right, his patrol ended and you aren‘t in the apartment you are both sharing for now. With an exhausted sigh and some last words, you make your way back home. Roy insists on walking you home, which you politely accept. The walk back was a little funny, leaning against him for support while he is no better. But once at the front door of the apartment complex, you both seem to have sobered up a little because of the walk.

»So, Jason‘s waiting, huh? Don‘t snitch on me.«

»Oh, trust me, he doesn‘t even know I smoke weed occasionally.«

The irony, a previous crime and drug lord won‘t allow his younger sibling to consume any form of drugs or alcohol. But you both know there‘s a deeper reason to that. The overdose of your mother was bad enough to traumatise both of you equally. Maybe Jason still holds onto that, but you don‘t see any point on missing out on any fun because of that.

Still, it‘s better Jason doesn‘t know any of this. Let alone the fact you go to some less than harmless house parties. Of course, he is smart and knows the few parties you go to are at least a little illegal, but as long as he doesn‘t see you actively use drugs, he doesn‘t bother.

Walking into the dark apartment, you were greeted with Jason in his full Red Hood armors still on, the white slits of his helmet glowing in the dark. You jump up slightly in surprise, scowling at him after.

»Standing there like a murderer won‘t help you, you know?«

He simply shrugs, taking you in intently. But you are skilled in keeping suspicion off of you. With a casual demeanor, you take your shoes off and hang your jacket up.

»How was the party? Met anyone?«

You simply shake your head at his question in response, walking past him to the kitchen.

»No, just the usual people.« A bag of chips sits atop the counter, but you find something way better. Sandwich maker.

Without another word, you make yourself a sandwich with all the ingredients that sound about good right now.

»Right. And you walked home by yourself? This late?«

He presses further, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen and watches you prepare the two sandwiches. With a quick glance to the clock, he notes it is about four AM. He tilts his head.

»Oh, no. A friend got me here.« You answer back just as casually as before and close the sandwich maker, waiting for it to cook. He watches you, his expression unreadable from under his helmet.

»Right. What friend? Was it Jess?« You perk up at his guess, turning your attention to him.

»You remembered the name of my friend? Wow, you deserve the best brother award of the year.«

You tease instead, keeping watch over your sandwich maker again. Once the small light turns green, you open it up and almost salivate at the smell of fresh sandwiches and carefully take them out.

»I‘m going to sleep anyway,« walking towards, you put the second sandwich into his hand, »good night.«

With that, you disappear into your room, glad he didn‘t seem to be overly suspicious of something and just hope he won‘t figure out anything.

Jason looks down at the sandwich in his hand, his expression softening under his helmet. Finally, he takes it off and eats it, retreating back into his room.

↣

Since that one bonding session over a joint you had with Roy happened, you became closer friends. Sharing a small secret together from Jason was both exciting and funny. In some way, at least.

Getting back home at the same ungodly hours as Jason became more frequent. He stopped questioning it at some point, but deep down, he is still slightly worried. Still, he won‘t push you to tell him about it, considering you actually look happier for once.

Over at some random park, Roy finally had the courage to ask you out. The moment couldn‘t be any more chaotic, to be honest. While feeding some ducks at the small lake, it first seemed like a peaceful moment between the two of you. Roy was busy feeding bread crumbs to the little animals, before he speaks up in a more softer tone than usual. Once he got his question across, asking you out to hang out at his place for a movie marathon and confessing his feelings somewhat, the ducks decided to ruin it.

One of them was impatient, biting into his hand to get the last breadcrump, which made him yelp and fall back into the grass. The duck followed suit, jumping onto his chest to just scream at him. The whole scene of Roy getting attacked by a duck was funny, almost forgetting what he was asking you before that.

But you help him get the duck off of him and gently back into the water. The animal wanted to run at him again, but you held it back as best as you could and convinced that eager thing to return to the rest of the ducks.

A small huff comes from Roy and he sits up, a bit red in his face as he waits for you final answer. Well, the answer was obvious with how you smiled at him.

Finally, at his cramped apartment, it was cosy and comfortable on his couch. Being together under a soft blanket was the best thing you‘ve probably done together with him and he couldn‘t be more happy. Some old horror movies were playing on the TV, making this somehow even more cosy for you two.

The casual date turned into a cuddle session the later it got, ending up in his bed, again cuddled up together. It was actually way more comfy than you thought it would be. His strong and big arms around you felt so squishy and perfect, you couldn‘t help yourself but bite into them. It confused him a lot at first, but eventually just accepted it and let you be, knowing he wouldn‘t let that make him scare him off. It was endearing either way.

Falling asleep was even better. You didn‘t think you would sleep so well in one night, waking up well-rested for once. He felt the same, if not better. He finally found a decent and sweet soul, ignoring the fact that you are related to Jason Todd. All that mattered is that you are sweet and caring to him and he is trying to reciprocate all of that in double amount.

Making breakfast together was fun and relaxing, having missed some kind of domestic feeling in his old apartment. He let you wear one of his shirts and shorts, melting every time his eyes met your form, sitting by the table and eating the pancakes peacefully. He can‘t help but steal a few small kisses onto the top of your hair and your shoulder, really wherever he can reach. It felt blissfully normal with you. Being so casual and affectionate together was like second nature to the both of you.

Until his bell rang, making him answer the door. However, his heart sinks dramatically as soon as he sees who it is in front of him.

»Did you see my sister? She didn‘t come home last night.«

Oblivious, you stay seated at the small table and sip on your coffee, not thinking much of it all.

Roy on the other hand, doesn‘t know what to say. Should he confess and then pay with his death, or should he just close the door? No, both options would make him end up six feet under.

»I, uh...«

He sighs out instead and rubs the back of his neck, trying to sound as casual as possible. It‘s not working, judging by the twitch of Jason‘s eye. Without another word, he steps in and gets past Roy easily, walking to the kitchen since it‘s the closest room to the entrance.

He halts once he sees you, calmly eating some breakfast. You look like you just woke up, a little dishevelled and sleepy. Your clothes slightly crinkled— wait…

»Is that Roy‘s shirt?«

You purse your lips and try to approach him jokingly, but Roy arrives behind Jason, red in his face.

»Uh, yeah, what a coincidence, huh?«

The red head tries to joke, but it falls on deaf ears. Without wasting any time, Jason turns around and glares even harder at him. He probably got the wrong idea of this, taking it as your sign to cool the tension in the room.

»Hey, look, I was just hanging out. And we‘re dating now, so… just calm down, yeah?«

Jason tenses even more at your words, his theories now proven right.

»Don‘t tell me you two fucked—«

»No!«

You and Roy both exclaim at him, huffing out afterwards.

»I knew something was up with you two...« Jason sighs out instead of getting even more furious but keeps his eyes on Roy. It‘s a silent warning that he can and will rip his head off if something goes wrong between the two of you.

But luckily he isn‘t mad at you, one of the perks of being his little sister.

»Just get home in the evening.« He grumbles eventually before leaving the apartment, leaving you two embarrassed messes alone. Either way, you know he‘ll start lecturing you once you get back home in the evening, but that‘s not your problem for now.

a/n: made this because there are so little Roy x Reader fics around.... made me sad, so here you go. hope you enjoyed it!

←MASTERLIST

[taintandviolent]

(since you asked for these) I wish you’d write a fic where… You’re Jimmy’s girl and have been for a while and you make a big deal of loving every part of him and making him feel good. Not like those ladies at the Tupperware parties who use him for his hands. But you got curious and just once wanted to be treated like a “customer” and receive the lobster boy treatment. No kissing or touching, just lifting your dress and making your eyes roll. You’re kind of ashamed to ask and maybe he teases you about it a little. Or something. I dunno

"What, baby? You know you can ask me anything." His lips peppered sweet, tender kisses along your collarbone, sending chills down your spine.

Humming into his skin, you returned the favour, kissing along the perimeter of his hairline and around his ear. You were nervous, apprehrension wrapped its sticky tendrils around your guts and made you stammer over your words.

"I'm just... I'm curious, Jimmy."

"Curious about what?"

"What all the girls get... y'know, at those parties you go to."

You had qualmed your jealousy enough to let Jimmy do it, knowing that he made good money doing it. Besides, he always came home to you and kissed you until your lips hurt. They didn't get that.

"Aw, honey - what you get is better, trust me."

"I know... but I just wanna' know. I wanna' know what it feels like."

Since you'd started dating Jimmy, you always paid attention to every part of him. You never wanted him to feel like a one trick pony, like a simple parlour trick, so sexually, you were always attentive to him and his needs. His entire body had to have been explored by your hands and your lips ten times over. Naturally, since he wasn't used to the treatment, Jimmy was always like putty in your hands, desperate to make you feel good in every way he knew how.

Jimmy looked at you for a moment, his inky eyes sweeping over your face. He'd known you were always a little hurt by the parties, but he never expected you to ask something like this.

"You wanna' know, huh? You want the Lobster Special?" He asked, his tone almost teasing.

You nodded, bashfully.

"Alright," he said, straightening up away from you. "You got it."

You still sat on the bed, looking unsure.

"So... what do we do?"

"Well, honey," he said, in a tone that felt more professional and less syrupy than it usually did. It was still alluring, but it lacked the romance that he usually used with you. Your heart thudded a little at the thought; he reserved that special tone for you and you alone.

"Go ahead and lean back for me. Lift that pretty lil' dress up."

You obeyed, leaning back against the small sofa that moments ago, you two had been canoodling on. With a small intake of breath, you reached for the hem of your dress and slowly pulled it over your thighs. You bit your lip.

"Now what?"

He grinned and your stomach tightened. It was no wonder that he was so popular at these parties; the way he charmed these girls was lethal. Kneeling down on the floor, he slotted himself between your open thighs. "You just relax, sweetheart, and let me do what I do best."

As his fingers neared your entrance, carefully pulling your panties to the side, you let out a gasp. His large, long fingers explored your cunt like he'd never been down there before and you let out a small, breathy gasp.

"Relax, honey..." he murmured.

You leaned your head back against the wall, exhaling hard. Even though you'd known him in every way possible, tasted him in every sense of the word, you were nervous. You felt like a virgin, shy and unsure.

Jimmy's fingers prodded your slick opening and carefully slid inside. Your cunt clenched, pulling him further in. Your body reacted positively, shuddering against his touch. Your hands dug into the cushions on either side, a long, drawn out whimper falling from your lips.

Abruptly, you reached for his bicep, and Jimmy softly shrugged it off. Your brows furrowed. Why?

"I appreciate that you wanna' touch me, but you gotta' keep your hands to yourself, alright?"

"I..."

And then you remembered. You'd asked for the Lobster Special. You'd wanted to know what the girls experienced, not what you experienced. Your whole body burned, yearning to touch him and pull him closer, to kiss him, to taste him. But you couldn't. That wasn't allowed.

"That's it, just ease into it. I'm here to make you feel good."

Your hips rocked against his fingers as he pumped in and out of your slick hole. His digits curled inside you, hitting a sensitive spot that made your whole body quiver in a euphoric daze, shivering and trying to force more contact.

The hot coil in your lower abdomen wound tighter, twisting around itself and putting an intense pressure on your core. You bit your lip hard, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Feel good?"

You nodded shakily.

"Good," he said, grinning brightly at you. Despite the fact that he was knuckles-deep inside of you, he was still casually doing it, performing a routine task for him. He'd seen one, he'd seen 'em all... at least, that's how it felt. He wasn't being reactive, he wasn't sweating.

At least, that's how it looked to you. Internally, Jimmy was fighting against his own urges. Every time he touched you, he wanted to touch every bit of you, to flick his tongue along your sweet, slickened folds and make you cry his name out loud enough that they could hear you in the main tent. He wanted to fuck you, make your whole body tremble with multiple orgasms.

"Oh god," you whispered. "Oh god."

"Yeah, that's it." He nodded, encouraging you.

The coil snapped. You didn't think it would, but it did. Jimmy felt the first throbbing contraction of your cunt and smiled brightly. Mission accomplished.

"So, about payment..."

"Oh, hush up!"

[dippindaz]

Quiet Mornings and Unspoken Dreams

Kit Walker x Reader | Minors DNI

Warnings: Mentions of wanting and making kids, P in V, oral F receiving, AFAB reader, non-canon AU, very tiny in-direct mentions of the Asylum

The world was quieter now.

It had taken months—years, maybe—for the ringing in your ears to fade, for the cold halls of Briarcliff to stop echoing in your nightmares. But here, in this little cabin tucked deep into Massachusetts woods, the only sound was the birds outside and the creak of old floorboards under socked feet.

Kit was making coffee.

You leaned against the kitchen doorframe, wearing one of his flannel shirts—too big, warm, and familiar—and watched him hum low under his breath as he poured hot water into the French press.

"You always hum when you’re happy," you said quietly, smiling.

Kit looked over his shoulder at you and grinned. That boyish, lopsided smile of his had survived everything. "You saying I’m happy, sweetheart?"

"I’m saying you should keep humming." You crossed the floor to him, arms slipping around his waist from behind. He smelled like soap and firewood. "It’s nice."

He turned to kiss your forehead, leaving a hand resting gently on the small of your back.

You both still had bad nights. Some days were heavier than others. But in the soft moments—like this—everything felt easy.

You watched him silently as he fixed two mugs, putting cream in yours exactly how you liked it. You wanted to tell him. Say it out loud. Ask the question that had been sitting on your tongue for weeks now.

Instead, you said, “You think we’ll get deer in the garden again this year?”

Kit laughed. “If you keep planting carrots like you did last spring, yeah. You spoiling the wildlife.”

There was a beat of silence. You watched his eyes flick to the window, something thoughtful behind them.

“I was thinkin’…” he started, then trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

You perked up, sensing his nerves. “Thinking what?”

He looked at you like he might chicken out, so you stepped closer again, resting your head against his chest.

Kit’s heart was beating a little faster than normal.

“I was thinkin’ this place is real good for kids,” he finally said, voice quiet. “Big yard. Safe. You and me, we could… raise ‘em right. Not like what we had.”

Your breath caught, not because it was a surprise, but because you’d been thinking the same thing for weeks now. Maybe longer.

“…Yeah,” you whispered. “I think they’d be real happy here.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, as if making sure you meant it. When he saw you smiling, really smiling, he kissed you slow and sweet like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Guess I should fix that loose step on the porch, huh?” he murmured against your lips.

You laughed, giddy with the weight lifted between you both. “Yeah. Safety first, Mr. Walker.”

The coffee sat forgotten on the counter.

Kit was still holding you, his hands settling on your hips like they belonged there—which, truthfully, they did. It was one of the many quiet things you’d come to learn in this new life: how well your body fit into his, how often his touch felt like home.

You reached up and toyed with the collar of his shirt, that familiar flannel material soft under your fingertips. “You really mean it?” you asked, a little breathless now, not from nerves—but from the way his eyes had darkened just slightly. “About the kids.”

His voice was low and sure. “I do. I want that—with you.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your heart trip over itself. Kit wasn’t just playing house. He meant it. Every word. Every glance. Every little touch that lingered longer than necessary.

You leaned up to kiss him again—this time slower, more lingering. The kind of kiss that said more than words could. His hands slid up your sides, pulling you just a little closer until your bodies were flush.

When you broke the kiss, you didn’t go far. Your noses brushed. Your forehead rested against his.

“So…” you murmured, voice teasing, “should we start trying?”

Kit blinked, then grinned. A flush crept into his cheeks, but he didn’t look away. “You serious?”

You nodded, heart pounding. “If you are.”

He didn’t answer with words.

Instead, he scooped you up in one smooth motion, making you yelp and laugh as he carried you down the hall toward the bedroom—though he paused long enough to kick the door closed behind him with his heel.

Sunlight streamed in through the thin curtains, casting golden light over the rumpled sheets you’d left just hours ago. He laid you down with such care, like you were something precious—then crawled over you, kissing a path from your jaw to your collarbone.

His hands slid under the hem of his shirt you were wearing, and his voice was rough at your ear. “Been wantin’ to have you all morning.”

You smiled against his mouth, already breathless. “Then don’t let me stop you.”

Kit's lips moved down to your neck, his breath fanning over your skin as he pressed slow kisses along the curve of your throat. His hands—calloused but gentle brushed lightly along your ribs, then down again, mapping you out like he’d never get tired of relearning every inch.

“You always this distracting first thing in the morning?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and thick with affection—and something deeper now.

You smiled, letting your fingers curl into the soft hair at the back of his neck. “Only when I’m trying to seduce my husband.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest, before kissing you again—deeper this time. Slower. Like he had all the time in the world. And he did, really. This moment was yours, with no cold floors or fluorescent lights waiting beyond the door. Just the rustle of trees outside and the soft creak of the bed beneath you.

Kit's hands were steady as they snagged the hem of your shirt—his shirt—pushing the soft flannel up your body inch by inch. You lifted your arms to help him, and he peeled it away with slow reverence, letting it fall to the floor behind him.

He just looked at you for a moment, his eyes sweeping over your bare chest like he was memorizing every detail. His breath hitched—just enough to betray how much he was holding himself back.

“Jesus,” he whispered, breathing like it surprised him, like he hadn't seen you before. "You're so beautiful."

You reached out to him, fingertips brushing along his waist, dragging his shirt up and over his head in return. His skin was warm, the lines of his shoulders solid and comforting. You ran your palms up his chest, slow, savoring the way his muscles flexed under your touch.

Then he kissed you again, deeper this time, a little more eager—like all the patience in the world was starting to unravel between his ribs.

You barely noticed when he started undoing the button on your pants, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He slipped your pants down over your hips, pressing kisses to your skin as he went—over your stomach, your hipbones, your thighs—until he peeled them all the way off you and to the floor they went.

Kit looked up at you, his hands gently holding your thighs as he pushed them apart,. He leaned in to press a kiss over your belly, then just above the band of your underwear.

He hooked his thumbs there, eyes still on yours, and slowly slid the last barrier down. The cool air hit your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of his mouth—first more kisses, then the gentle drag of his tongue, slow and searching.

Your hands curled into fists against the sheets you as he dipped between your thighs with aching tenderness. His tongue moved in languid circles, teasing and tasting, taking his time like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

The way he looked up at you—eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide—made your stomach flip. He loved this. Loved you. Every sound you made, every shiver, every soft gasp—it only pushed him further.

“Kit,” you whispered, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging just a little when he hit that perfect spot. Your legs trembled, and he growled low against you, the vibration sending sparks down your spine.

He didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down—flicking his tongue, sucking gently, adding just enough pressure with his fingers to make that familiar knot on your stomach tighten.

You whined and whimpered, your thighs trembling against either side of his head. He knew you were close, Kit knew your body like no one else. And that was exactly why he pulled away, just before your sweet release.

Kit settled over you, his body warm and solid, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he braced himself on his elbows, his face just above yours. You reached up to cradle his jaw, brushing your thumb over the stubble there, marveling at the way his expression shifted—soft, almost reverent.

“I love you,” you whispered.

His gaze locked with yours, something deep and molten sparking behind it. “And I love you,” he said, and you could feel it in every word—how much he meant it. How much he meant you.

He reached down between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, dragging the tip slowly through your slick folds. The first push of him inside was slow, steady—he was careful, like he always was, letting you adjust, watching every flicker of your face.

You gasped, your hands clutching his shoulders, legs curling up around his waist as he sank deeper.

“You okay?” he asked, breathless.

“God—yes,” you whispered, overwhelmed already. “Please don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

Kit began to move, slow at first—rolling his hips into yours in smooth, deep thrusts that sent sparks blooming behind your eyes. You could feel every inch of him, the stretch, the warmth, the way he filled you so perfectly it bordered on too much.

Each time he pressed forward, he angled his hips just right, dragging against that spot inside you that made your back arch off the mattress. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your mouth finding his again and again—messy, hungry kisses that didn’t care about breath or precision, only closeness.

He groaned softly into your mouth, picking up his pace, the rhythm growing more urgent. His name left your lips in gasps, in moans, in broken syllables that only made him lose himself more.

You could feel it building—tight and fast and impossible to ignore. Your body clenched around him, trembling, your breath catching as heat coiled low in your stomach.

“I’m close,” you gasped, nails digging into his back.

“Me too,” he growled, hips stuttering for just a second.

Pleasure surged through you in a wave, crashing and pulling you under all at once. Your body locked around him, shivering and pulsing as you cried out his name, vision going white at the edges. Kit followed just moments after with a low, guttural moan, burying himself deep inside you as he came—his whole body shuddering, sweat-slicked and overwhelmed.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then he collapsed onto his side, pulling you with him, his arms wrapping tightly around your body. You pressed your face into his chest, your heartbeat slowly syncing to his.

Kit kissed the top of your head, voice a quiet rasp. “Just incase it didn’t work,” he murmured, smiling into your hair, “I say we keep trying. Maybe… all day.”

You laughed, spent and warm and so in love it almost hurt. “Deal.”

[evvyyypeters-fics]

Good Grades and Fucked Brains

Apologies for cringe title, idk what to name these half the time and most of them are puns 🏃🏻‍♀️

Cooper Day x f!reader

Warnings! Pure filth, porn w/ no plot, handjobs, short drabble, Cooper and Reader are strictly 18, not fully proofread

This is mainly for @alittleobsessedbitch (and my Cooper Day obsession

(I think about this scene a lot. Too much actually. This is my brainrot. Cooper day make out.)

“S-Shit…y/n..” Whispering, he stutters. His voice faltering to the feeling of your mouth latched onto his neck, fingers tangled through his fluffy brown hair.

His nape was sensitive, you knew. Especially having been mainly a virgin before you, high school sweethearts that practically did everything together. Now you were both seniors, graduation only a few weeks away, you had decided to study for your final tests. But as usual, you ended up in Cooper’s lap, sitting in his swivel chair in front of his desk. Latching onto his skin like a leech and feeling his pulse through your soft, plump lips, drinking in the scent emitting from him like an intoxicating drug that made your mind swirl, the feeling spinning down and nestling in your core, causing the muscles to clench and ache. Drool collecting in your panties.

Luckily, you weren’t alone in the sentiment. Cooper wasn’t very vocal, on par with him being a quiet, emo stoner kid, but he did let out shuddering breaths or soft whimpers occasionally that rang in your ears like the sound of an angel. It was pure bliss, and it only made you want to eat him more.

It wasn’t long before Cooper's aching hard-on, pressing through his jeans and rutting against your thigh, turned into your hand wrapped tightly around his leaking cock, jerking him off feverishly until he saw stars.

His eyes always became clouded, and his head tilted back, sinking into the chair as your hand stroked him with precision. Teasing each vein and crook of his cock as it twitched in your hand, heavy and desperate. Cooper could typically go on for a while, but today he was too worked up, and it had been a while since he last had time to release any hormonal tension.

So it didn’t take long today for you to coax thick ropes of cum to spurt from the pink plush tip, his thighs shaking as his hips jutted forward in a staccato pattern, his toes curling tightly in his socks as the warm release covered your hand and doused his already sticky tip.

His mouth was only slightly agape as his head flopped down to meet your hungry gaze, his chest visibly labored under his emo band t-shirt.

Your heart swelled at the sight of his pretty face, pathetic and fucked out from a simple, single hand job.

“Cutie.” You murmur, smiling before pecking his dick with a soft kiss which caused his whole body to silently jolt, tensing and jerking forward in the chair. Which caused you to giggle, the sound making him crack a small smile on the corner of his swollen lips. Eyes still a daze. You were nowhere close to finished with the boy, not after the look he was giving you.

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch @n0tonlin3 @bellalove69420

[fear-is-truth]

Heyo Bestie I’m back and I’ve got thots!

I think cuddling with Tate and cockwarming him the whole time would make him so happy especially if he got to just plant his face in your tits! Bonus points if he eventually starts sucking your nipples and bunny humps into you until he cums and then stays put because he’s just so safe and warmmmmmmmm

mature content ; MDNI 18+

oh, he’d be in absolute heaven. tucked up against you, face buried in your chest, arms wrapped so tightly around your waist like he’s scared you’ll slip away. he’s warm—well, as warm as he can be, given what he is—but his need for you is so tangible, so desperate, that it makes up for it.

he lets out these little, content sighs, nuzzling into the softest parts of you, his breath warm against your skin. he mumbles sometimes, nothing coherent, just little whimpers of your name, soft “mmh”s and “feels good”s under his breath. but after a while, you feel it. the shift of his hips, the way his cock twitches inside you. and then the first slow, needy grind.

“didn’t mean to,” he whispers, but his voice is slurred with sleep, and he’s already doing it again. slow, almost hesitant, like he doesn’t want to break the moment. but then his lips part against your skin, warm and wet, tongue flicking out as he starts sucking at your nipple, like it soothes him.

and when you shiver, when your fingers thread through his messy curls, he makes this soft, broken sound—half-need, half-relief. “feels so good,” he breathes, rutting against you now, barely-there bunny thrusts, nothing deep, nothing desperate. just need. slow, sweet, lazy.

it doesn’t take long. he tenses against you, mouth still latched onto your nipple as his hips stutter, his breath catching in his throat. and then he melts, exhaling shakily as he slumps against you, pressing even closer.

“‘m stayin’,” he murmurs, drowsy, satisfied. like you’d ever make him leave.

[after-the-end-times]

Steve who starts pulling away from Eddie after he says he's moving away. He wants to spend as much time as possible with Eddie to soak everything up, but he also wants to protect his heart.

Eddie who realizes what Steve's doing when Steve sits down on the couch next to him leaving a whole 5" of very respectable, super normal amount of personal space between them

Eddie looking down and then up at him with wide, shining eyes, 'Why are you sitting so far away?' 🥺

Then his face hardens and he grasps Steve's thigh, pulling him flush against his side, 'nope, you're not pulling away from me that easily, Stevie' 😈

[marchsfreakshow]

Reading This And That {Kyle Spencer x Reader}

Drabble :3

You're reading a small novella before bed, and Kyle cuddles up to you, wanting to use the book as a tool for reading.

General Frankenkyle being adorable nonsense since he deserves some respect in this household<3

Your Perspective.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

The dreary night loomed through the windows as my book was lit by a small, warm white light by my side. A simple little book I could read in an evening or so. It was a Christmas themed one I'll admit, but I was still happy reading it. The Christmas part of it was barely mentioned, so it didn't feel totally wrong reading it a few months before December 25th. I was distracted by it, so I didn't hear Kyle come in until he laid ontop of me. "Hi angel, what's wrong?"

"Arg.. Argument. Madison."

"Who did she argue with..?"

"Nan." You looked annoyed at the open door, and closed it quickly, so neither Nan or Madison came in. Kyle turned around, and moved under the duvet before running his finger over a paragraph, trying to read it. "Clara... clearly, clearly can't tell..." He stopped himself, unable to continue. As I held the book, I clapped and kisses his cheek.

"Well done Kyle. Wanna try and continue? I can read the rest if you don't want to." I asked, patting his head a bit.

Quickly, Kyle nodded, putting his finger back on where he stopped. "She's, she's making Charlie...un.. uncomfort.."

"Uncomfortable." I whispered slowly, taking it one syllable at a time.

"un.. comfort..able."

"that's it."

Kyle grinned and carried on reading the paragraph to his liking. It just melted me, but I felt proud of him. He was still learning to speak full sentences, and small books worked like that. "Want to read this book in its whole?"

"Can ask.. Cordelia.."

"To get a whole book for you? Okay...Well remember this book okay?" I closed the book, putting the bookmark on the page we just read. "This Winter."

"pictures." Kyle mentioned, opening it up again, and flipping through to find he different illustrations. He stared at every single one, admiring how the author drew them. Every picture of the family, sharing a Christmas that wasn't perfect. Almost like ours. Kyle didn't mind though, I let him look at the pictures as I slowly started to fall asleep. "Love...love you. Sleep."

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

[steddieas-shegoes]

Drabble idea for the ask thing: Steve works at a tattoo shop and Eddie works at a flower shop, they both get odd looks when they tell people about their job. Bonus: Eddie gets a tattoo of a flower from Steve and that's how they meet.

This is like if you took call me sunshine, send me to space and made it cuter with a flower shop and made Steve the tattoo artist instead. I'm just gonna write the bonus scene because that's a lot to keep 500 words or less and we all know how I go on 😂 Don't @ me over the super sappy ending, someone with spoons please write another 50k of this.

🌷🌼🌻🌷🌼🌻🌷🌼🌻

"You want a wildflower bouquet in the space of your full sleeve?" Steve stared at the fully tattooed man over his glasses, brows raised in disbelief. "I'm not one to judge tattoo choices but you seem to know what you're doing and I'm a bit confused as to how that fits with...anything else on your arm."

Steve had definitely done some wild tattoos. He was actively part of so many bad decisions made by people who would live to regret getting their girlfriend's name on their neck or the face of their best friend on their thigh.

But this one was different in that this guy had clearly meticulously planned out every tattoo on his body, and that was a lot of tattoos, and now he wanted to add...wildflowers. In between skulls and guitars and some metal band logo. Right.

"Yeah and if it's a problem, I can go somewhere else, man. I just heard a lot of good things about you and my flower shop is two doors down, so-"

"Wait. You're Eddie? You're the guy who owns the flower shop." Steve perked up, face relaxing more into a smile.

"The one and only. You been by?" Eddie didn't remember actually seeing Steve before.

He'd been shocked to walk in and see a barely tattooed Steve sitting behind the counter. Assuming he was the secretary, he'd said he was here for an appointment with the guy in charge, and Steve smiled and explained who he was.

"I haven't. But someone brought me a bouquet you made when I first opened and it was beautiful. Managed to keep it alive and thriving for almost two weeks, which is a record for me, and then someone said it was because of the way you take care of them before they're sold and the minerals you use in the water and I'm turning into Robin. Jesus."

Eddie was endeared.

Steve was looking down at his tablet in front of him, a barely visible sketch on it.

"Is that what you've come up with?" Eddie asked as he leaned over the counter to get a closer look.

They could talk about his love of the bouquet Eddie made later.

"Yeah, but. Now that I'm looking at you...I'm not sure it's right," Steve sighed, closing the app and looking back up at Eddie. "I can redesign at no charge and set up another consultation."

"Can I see?"

"Sure."

Steve pulled his tablet out and opened the picture back up.

It was beautiful, actually resembled a bouquet Eddie had done not long ago for his friend Jonathan.

"It's perfect. Can it be done in one long sitting or do we need to break it up?" Eddie smiled at Steve, pulling up the calendar on his phone to make an appointment.

"Uh. Well." Steve cleared his throat. "I guess you could probably handle the pain so all in one is fine with me? It's probably gonna be six hours with breaks every hour. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Eddie looked at the tablet again, tilting his head as he thought back to when he'd made this bouquet.

"Do you know Jonathan Byers?" Eddie asked, not looking away from the picture.

His eyes focused on the coneflower that he'd only been able to use in one bouquet before his part time employee found out they were allergic.

"Yeah...why?"

"He got you that bouquet, right?"

Steve nodded.

Eddie didn't really believe in fate or destiny or whatever type of miracle people tended to wish for. He also didn't believe in soulmates or the perfect partner.

But wildflowers grow anywhere, and sometimes love can too.