#and it's hard to shake that once it's ingrained

[loving-jack-kelly]

time loop fic where davey is trapped in a time loop and the only way to break it is to confess his feelings to jack directly and unambiguously but the fic is from jack's perspective so it's a perfectly normal day except davey is acting really weird and then gives the most confusing love confession ever because he doesn't know it'll break the loop so he's under the impression that this will all reset anyway

[daddyricsdoll]

Could you please write something with “Fuck, I’ll make it fit.” For Oscar ? And can it be smut?

1k ✭ Celebration 

📜⋆.ೃ🕯️࿔*: 🕰 ˚⊹

“Such a fucking good girl.” Oscar stands up from between my thighs, keeping my feeble body pinned to the wall. His pupils blown out and my arousal coating his lips. “So good I think you can take my cock.” Oscar’s hands now doing the work of his pants, before he stops and looks at me. “Can you take my cock?”

“Y-yes.” I stutter out, heart pounding in my ears and pussy throbbing. He smiles to himself before finally sliding his pants off. Revealing his large cock, from girth and length. And to think that just an hour ago we were strangers. 

It was no lie that he was big, but I’m also tight, bringing me to awe at how Oscar will force himself inside of me– because from the short time of knowing him, I’ve learnt that this isn’t a battle he’ll lose. 

Using his foot to spread my feet apart even wider, Oscar lifts one of my legs up to linger beside his hip. Teasing my folds with his tip that already drips with a bead of precum. Tantalising my clit and making each second feel like hours. 

My eyes hooded as I tried my best to look up at Oscar, a sheen of sweat coating his light skin and hair fallen to cover his forehead. He pushes against my stubborn entrance, his groan intoxicating. Pushing again, and forcing my hips closer to his. 

“Fuck, I’ll make it fit.” Obliging himself to it. Making short vigorous thrusts, Oscar manages to slowly get his dick deeper inside of me. A sharp searing pain between my legs, being coated with rapture and turning the pain into ecstasy. I held onto his broad shoulders for stability. 

My legs shaking once Oscar finally fits his whole shaft in me. 

“It’s so hard to not just cum in you right now.” He groans, head coming to rest in the hollow of my neck to bite my skin. Pulling out and then thrusting back in. Replacing his mouth with his hand to choke me. Oscar's other arm grabbing the bottom half of my body, ravenous to reach spots no one ever has before. 

He holds dominance over my whole body. The brunette’s lips are so alluring that I try to close the gap between us. But his hand against my throat, denying me of any action I try to make on my own. 

Any normal day there would be a fight for control, but with Oscar I’d let him ruin me and then come back to do it again. Cock already stretching me out, turning everything surreal, stars appearing in my eyesight. Every part of me on fire and Oscar just pours more gasoline. Making me helpless.

My desire for him grows even as he forces each breath out of my lungs. Every detail of his dick being ingrained into my memory as he rams in and out. Hot tears crawling down my face. 

“Being such a good dumb slut for me. Gonna let me cum deep inside of your tight cunt.”

Words became foreign to me, so I hummed in response, being interrupted by a moan that involuntarily left my swollen lips. “That’s it.” Oscar grunts, hands gripping my ass and throat tighter. 

Skin colliding becomes the loudest noise in the room, overpowering our pornographic moans and whines. 

“ ‘m gonna cum Osc.” Squeezing against his throbbing dick and wailing when Oscar starts attacking my neck with his mouth, other hand playing with my breasts. 

“Release, my slut.” The name would usually bring disgust to me, but Oscar saying it has a different effect. Being the last thing to tip me off. Finally letting go and coming. Still on a high as Oscar reaches his climax. Shooting his cum deep inside of me, and covering my walls in him. 

“Fuck, you feel too good to pull out of.”

“Then don’t.”

[dyaz-stories]

a house, not a home || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings & tags: canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, hyun-su needs a hug, unresolved tension, mentions of blood

a/n: okay so, for context, this takes place during season 2. reader and hyun-su know each other from high school and reader runs into hyun-su after the events of the first three episodes. reader also doesn't know that he is a monster/neohuman though if people are interested i could definitely write that 👀 I hope you'll like it! Please let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write more, and consider reblogging!

next part

The hardest thing to get used to, after what others called the Monsterization Outbreak but you labelled, more simply, the Apocalypse, was the silence. You were the type of person to always have music playing, back when you were a high schooler studying hard to get into your college of choice. Now, music was wasted electricity and, worse, could be a death sentence if anyone — anything — heard it play, or if it dulled your senses and got you killed.

At the beginning, there had been lots of sounds. Screams. Cars colliding. Stores’ alarms, blaring when the looters broke in. Sobs. In your house, for a while, there had been your father, humming quietly as he worked.

Then he’d gotten a nosebleed, left the house, and never returned.

Now it was just you, and you’d learned not to make a sound. So when there’s a knock on your door, it echoes through the rooms and rattles you to your core. For a second, you clench your trusty baseball bat. You took hours and cut your fingers planting nails into it, but it’s worth it, if only for the feeling of confidence it gives you. Truth is, you rarely had to use it. Your strategy relies on avoiding confrontation at all costs.

You release it when you realize that there are very few people who can come knocking at your door.

After all, monsters don’t knock.

You rush to the door without letting go of the bat. Your habits are ingrained in you well enough that you still check the peephole — and when you do, your heart somersaults in your chest.

You keep the hinges well-oiled and the door doesn’t make a sound when you open it.

“Come in,” you whisper, not daring to break the silence with actual words.

Cha Hyun-Su stares at you, looks like he hesitates. He always does, looks like he wants to give you a chance to slam the door back in his face. He’s covered in blood now — ‘not mine’, you know he’d say if you asked —, clutching his wrist, lips chapped, eyes hollow.

“Come on,” you say again, and this time he does, walking by you without a word. Then he goes still once more, there in your entrance, while you close the door behind him. He always does that, until you give him explicit permission.

“Are you okay?” you ask when you turn around, hands reaching for his arms, his torso, trying to check on him, though you cannot see whether or not he is hurt.

“I’m fine,” he replies with that deep voice of his, catching your wrists before you can feel for yourself. “It’s not my blood.”

It never is.

“But are you hurt?” you press, still.

He frowns, and confusion sparks in his eyes.

“I told you. I’m fine.”

You shake your head.

“No, I mean— Does it hurt? Does anything hurt?”

Hyun-Su’s lips part. He closes his eyes. His body sways towards yours, and you freeze. You feel his breath against your cheek, and his grip on your wrist becomes lighter— a caress, at most. You just stay there, not wanting to scare him away, but not wanting to leave him to himself either. You feel a pull towards him, the urge to wrap your arms around him, and you resist it, knowing that he’d flee.

Finally, he snaps out of it, lets go of you, takes a step back.

“I’m fine,” he repeats for a third time.

You don’t push it.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

Clean water isn’t easy to come by these days. Fortunately for you, you have a complex system designed to retain rain water as well as morning dew, put in place by your father, when he was still around. It’s rained recently, and with the help of solar panels you’d stolen with him what feels like a lifetime ago, you’ll be able to have hot water. Showers, you haven’t mastered — though you’re sure your dad would have figured it out by now — but you can at least offer him a warm bath.

Hyun-Su’s eyes are on you, wide and focused.

They’re ever so slightly warmer than they were when he came in.

“I would like that.”

Hyun-Su comes out of the bathroom some thirty minutes later, clean and looking more like himself. He’s wearing clothes he’d left there on one of his other visits, which you’d washed by hand among some of your stuff.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice firmer than it had been earlier.

“It’s not a problem,” you reply, and you have to stop yourself from grimacing at how fake your nonchalance sounds to your ears.

If he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Have you been okay here?” he asks instead.

You bite the inside of your cheek. The answer is complicated. You’ve been safe, physically that is. You have barely caught sight of a monster since he’s last been here — nine days ago. You can’t say you’re bored, either. There’s always things to do, to fix, to figure out around here.

What you are, is alone.

And, though you don’t want to admit it, lonely.

It might be the kind of answer he’s looking for, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. It’s not even that you don’t want him to know.

It’s that you’re scared that if you did, if you asked him to stay or to take you with him, he would still leave you behind.

“I make do,” you reply, which at least isn’t a lie. “I keep myself busy.”

It’s your turn to freeze when Hyun-Su leans forward, trying to meet your eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

A smile escapes you at his cautious tone as he repeats your words at you. You look up, and there he is, inches away from your face, checking on you in the very same way you’d checked on him when he’d arrived — now that he’s had the time and space to collect himself. For half a second, the corner of his lips lifts clumsily to form a smile in response to yours, and then it’s gone, as he, too, realizes how close he is.

You see him sucking in a breath, then swallowing, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Your heart beats so loud in your ears, you can’t even hear the silence anymore.

“I’m not hurt,” you say, and it is true for now, at least.

Hyun-Su nods without moving away. There’s an intensity in his eyes that you’re not used to, a spark, a craving.

His eyes drop to your lips.

Your whole body is tingling with anticipation, yet you don’t move, no matter how badly you want to close the gap between you. You can’t rush him. You’d never forgive yourself, if he didn’t come back.

He leans forward, just by an inch, then closer again, so close and—

He turns his head at the last moment, late enough that his cheek brushes against yours, before he pulls himself back.

That hurts. It makes your heart ache more than you’ve let yourself hurt in forever.

“Sorry,” Hyun-Su mumbles, stumbling back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing for trying to kiss you, or for not doing it.

“I’ve brought you food,” he says in a rush, picking up his backpack by the entrance door.

You watch him as he does, and you can’t help but note the many wounds on his body. Most of them are half-closed, and you know that they’ll be gone by the next time he comes back, but that new ones will have had the time to open and heal halfway.

He hands you his offering of food, without meeting your eyes this time, and you take it from him. Your fingers brush against him, and he moves his hand away like you’ve just burned him.

“It’s late,” you say, your voice quiet even to your own ears, even now that you’re so accustomed to the lack of noise. You don’t want him to go, not just yet. “You should sleep here.”

But, just like you expected, Hyun-Su shakes his head and closes his backpack with shaky hands.

“I need to go,” he says. Then, when you don’t answer — can he tell you’re fighting back tears? —, he adds “I’ll come back. I promise.”

You nod. It’s your turn to avoid his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting,” you say.

You open the door for him, and you force yourself to look at him as he steps back outside, into the unknown, into the danger, and away from you.

He looks back, right before disappearing in the night.

“Stay safe,” you say, though you know he won’t.

“You too,” he says, knowing you will.

And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with the silence again.

next part

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Home for the First Time

It was early when there was a knock at the door of Wayne Manor, Bruce was still in his nightgown because even though it was nearly noon he’d been out late. He stayed back while Alfred opened the door, curious to see who it was and hoping he hadn’t forgotten he was supposed to meet with press or something today. But no, it was two children, nearly identical besides the fact one had blue eyes and the other green.

“Hello,” The blue eyed one greeted with a bright, charming smile, he had one arm out slightly, subtly shielding the green eyed boy who was hanging back a little, a serious look on his face and a stubborn set to his jaw. “My name is Danyal Al Ghul and this is my brother Damien. Perhaps Bruce remembers an ill advised dalliance with our mother Talia roughly 11 years ago? We are the result, and she says it’s time we meet our father and learn what we can from him.”

“Of course we’ll submit to a DNA test to prove our lineage,” The green eyes one, Damien, put in. Danial didn’t look at the boy as he nodded along.

Behind Alfred Bruce choked on his coffee and started to cough. Alfred was unflappable as always and simply nodded once. “I see, why don’t you two come through into the sitting room? The paternity test shouldn’t take long using our equipment, we’ll just need a bit of your hair,” Alfred said as he stood back and usured the kids in. Bruce deciding now would be a good time to disappear and compose himself before he had to meet these unexpected children.

---------------

Danyal was nervous and excited as they sat in the drawing room, cradling mugs of tea neither of them had drunk. Damien was probably suspicious of an attempted poisoning, but Danyal was just nervous! Not that he showed it, his hands didn’t shake and an impassive little smile stayed on his face as he observed every inch of the room. That was the difference between him and Dami really, Damien had been raised the heir to the Demon Head, Danny to the Bat and Wayne industries. They had gone through the same physical training of course but they had different behaviours ingrained in them.

Damien had been taught to repress all emotion and not show it at all where as Danny had been taught how to mimic them. Hide his true emotion and show the appropriate ones. A ‘press smile’ as they say, to charm and manipulate and give just the right half answers that truly gave nothing away. He excelled in science and technology which would be perfect for running Wayne Enterprises, so it mattered less that his reading skills flagged behind Dami’s a bit, or that he had been the weaker combatant.

Had been, until he had been struck by lightening and then revived by Lazarus. It had been a disappointment, but thankfully not something he could have been faulted for, an act of god to punish their grandfather for his avoidance of death and because even the gods feared who they would become. He remembered the strike, the unimaginable pain of it, and the aftermath as he lay on the ground, his heart stuttering and thumping to hard, then not, then fluttering, then not, then nothing as he had passed out.

He did not remember being dropped in the pit, but he did remember waking up within it. It burned through his veins, seeping in to the hand that had been struck holding his weapon, racing up along the fractals of energy, collecting the currents that still had him twitching uncontrollably and curling together into a hard ball in his chest. A wash of cold spread over him from his new centre, soothing the burn of the acrid, acidic pit. It made drifting there… comfortable.

He knew it shouldn’t have been, he had seen multiple people break the surface, gasping and screaming and clawing their way to shore, but it wasn’t for him. Then again Ra’s bathed in the pool, so maybe this was alright? It made him wonder about the people who never surfaced again, did they choose to stay because this was how it felt to them too? Drifting listlessly in comfortable… What? What was this feeling. Danny had turned and dove deeper into the pit, seeking answers as he always did, even when it wasn’t wise.

He didn’t know how long he swam before he could see the edges, the pool narrowing closer and closer till he could barely make it through, and then he found an exit. It was small, a porthole into a void of stars and doors. It was unlike anything he’d seen and he realised immediately it was calling to him, that was why he had dove. It wanted him to enter, it called it was where he belonged, it terrified him. When something far to large drifted by his little vantage point he fled back towards the surface, the life he knew, and the broken family he still loved.

He was a bit surprised to find that Damien and mother were still there but grandfather had already left. That was fair really, Danny didn’t know how long he had been down there, but his brother and mother are still there. It seemed Damien was being allowed a rare moment of weakness, on his knees by the edge of the pond, staring blankly into the water with their mother crouching next to him, rubbing his back though Damien’s eyes were still dry. They were… grieving him.

He burst through the surface of the glowing pool, gasping for air he scrambled up onto the bank, coughing up the disgusting liquid clogging his lungs. His ears were ringing and his sight narrowing to a green blur, completely unaware of what was going on around him until two hands, one the size of his own, and one larger land on his body. The smaller set held back his hair while larger rubbed his back, slowly sound returned and he heard his mother’s soft cooing and Damien’s panicked breath.

He gasped for breath and looked up at the two of them, the green retreating from his vision as he blinked rapidly. “Damien? Mother?” He had gasped seeing the relief overtake both of their faces that Lazarus hadn’t stolen his mind.

It hadn’t, in fact he was just as sharp as ever and had found that since then no one could detect him when he wanted to remain unseen, no door could stop him or keep him out. He was what any assassin dreamed to be, but it had also come with new awareness since he had been overhearing things no one would usually let him hear. He had heard the conversations Grandfather had with mother going back and forth about which of them should go to their father, since it was always meant to be Danyal but now with his new abilities he was clearly chosen by Lazarus so maybe he should be the true heir.

Danny known Grandfather was manipulative for as long as he could remember, not like Damien, who still had faith in the league and their grandfather. Damien was smart, and talented, he was suspicious enough for both of their physical safety, but he had a much harder time realizing when they were being manipulated, or when they were being used. That was alright, Danny could make up for this weakness as Damien had done for his unwillingness to kill. It had taken him a while of carefully planted seeds in both Grandfather’s ear and Mother’s to bring them around to the idea of both of them going to father.

Danyal didn’t know if father would be any better, but he would probably be easier to escape from then the league and maybe with some distance he would gain the courage to point out to Damien how it was wrong.

That was how life found them both sitting on their fathers couch, Danny’s tea long since having grown cold. He surfaced from his thoughts, seeing his eyes shimmering unnatural green in the reflection within the cup, as it usually did when he thought about his death.

He blinked it away in time to look up and see Bruce entering the room, he put his smile back on and stood, Damien following suit and looking sullen. They had agreed Danny would take the lead, but Damien still didn’t like it. “You must be Bruce, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Danyal said offering his hand to shake. Bruce blinked looking a little startled and shook his hand, Danny did his bast to give a good, firm handshake, hopefully his hands were too cold. “Mother always speaks highly of you, and even Grandfather admits there’s much we can learn from you,” He said, stepping back to let Damien shake Bruce’s hand as well.

“And anyone who can impress grandfather must be half a god,” Danny joked causing Damien to hiss and elbow his side as he usually did when he though Danny was speaking out of turn. Danny made a little oof sound and then gave Bruce a conspiratorial look, pleased to see he had made the stoic man crack a smile.

“It’s good to meet both of you as well, I’m sorry I didn’t know about either of you until today. The paternity test confirmed that you are my sons, Alfred is already setting up rooms for you next to each other in the family wing. In the mean time how would you feel about meeting a couple of your siblings? I believe Tim, Cass, and Stephanie are home at the moment? You’ve had a long trip, if you’d rather wait till tomorrow then I understand.”

“We’d love to meet them,” Danyal said, a little louder then usual to cover his brothers scoff. Damien scowled at Danyal who scowled back just as fiercely and tried to step on Damien’s foot, he knew the other boy would move out of the way before he could but it would make his point not to be disrespectful! It was clearer then clear that their father didn’t care much for blood given how much he loved all his adoptive children no matter what Grandfather thought. If Bruce wanted a biological heir he could have easily have gotten one, their blood might give them a slight advantage but they would have to prove their merits. But of course Damien believed everything Grandfather said still.

Damien dodged and then kicked back, Danyal rolling his eyes and dodging as well. Before a full fight could break out they both heard Bruce chuckle at them, Danyal gave the man a sheepish smile and while Damien blushed and looked down at the floor sulkily. “Alright, well then follow me. I’ll call Dick as well, I’m sure that when he finds out he has two new brothers to meet he’ll come running, I’m sure he’ll be here for dinner as well.”

“We’ve heard a lot about him too,” Danyal said with an impassive smile, they had to know about those who might be their competition after all. Danyal knew a bit more then Damien but they both knew what they needed to, like strengths and weaknesses. Danyal wondered if he was going to have to come to their adopted siblings defences, he fully expected Damien would try to assassinate them, whether or not it was actually wise to do so.

“Alright, then lets go see Tim first, he’s playing video games in his room. Steph and Cass are in the studio together,” Bruce said as he ushered Danny and Damien out of the sitting room and up a set of back stairs into the family wing of the manner. Danny and Damien following, having a silent argument of signs and dodgable blows about how exactly they should be handling this. What finally ended the argument was Danny flashing fang, his eyes glowing green and baring his teeth at Damien. Both to remind Damien of his true strength and to show how important this was to him, which made Damien relent for now he wasn’t sure.

Either way they had sorted it out by the time Bruce opened the door. “Tim, how do you feel about two new brothers?” Bruce said almost sheepishly and Tim groaned, pausing his game and spinning around in his chair.

“Damn Bruce where did you find these two?” He asked giving his adopted father a tired glare.

“On his doorstep,” Danny said promptly.

“We’re his biological sons,” Damien said at almost the same time, then glared at Danny who shrugged, both were true.

“Damn really?” Tim asked as he finally got up, examining both of them.

“We already did the paternity test,” Damien said with what Danny would call an unwarranted amount of pride.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Danyal. You can call me Danny if you want,” Danny said, stepping forward and offering Tim a handshake and his best smile. Tim blinked and shook his hand. “I’ve never played a video game, they didn’t allow such frivolities in the compound. They look like fun though, perhaps you could teach me?”

“Uh sure, sounds fun. What about you? You want to learn other little bro?” Tim asked looking to Damien.

“Why would I want to learn a skill with no practical use,” Damien scoffed. “My name is Damien, and I do not approve of nicknames,” He said, giving Danny a haughty look as he shook Tim’s hand. Danny just rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say little D,” Tim scoffed. Damien gave an indignant squawk and before he could go for a weapon Danny grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

“Okay that’s enough of that,” Bruce said, grabbing a knife Danny had missed Damien drawing and twisting it out of Damien’s grip as Danny got his brother in a headlock.

“Sorry about him, the League of Shadows doesn’t care much for social graces, I barely escaped being just as feral as him,” Danny joked before letting out an oof as Damien elbowed him in the side and escaped his hold.

“Eh it’s not the first time a brother has tried to kill me. I can look after myself,” Tim said, which was clearly a warning to Damien judging by the look. Danny knew that Tim could, but also knew he was still underestimating them, and he hoped that wouldn’t bite him before he figured it out. “Let me know if you change your mind, I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do with tech and media, I’ll be happy to be your guide.”

“Tt,” Damien scoffed and stomped out of the room.

“Well I’m looking forward to learning about all of that, I think it’ll be fun! Ignore him, he’ll come around. Just, uhh, watch him, That won’t be the last time he tries to stab you. If anything it’s a bonding activity for him,” Danny joked as lightly as he could before hurrying after his twin, Bruce on his heels.

Part 2: here

[morganwrites12672]

Normal?

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: She had known Sam growing up. The two had both dreamed of a normal life. Sam had gotten out, she hadn't. One day, she decides to visit him at Stanford.

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: PG-14

A/N: I hope you enjoy this! My requests are open.

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

Her life was like a movie.

Not one of the good ones, no. Her life wasn't like a romcom. Her life was like a goddamn horror movie.

After her mother's rather brutal murder committed by a Werewolf, her father had lost his mind. The man had been on a bloody war path to kill anything Supernatural he could get his hands on. She had been dragged down the horrible path with him. Having been only five whenever her mother was killed, her memories of the woman were spotty. Almost everything she remembered from her childhood was shitty.

Cheap motel rooms, killing ghosts, lying to everyone she met, and nightmares. That was it. She didn't have a life that was considered enjoyable. She hunted monsters. She saved people. That was her job. She wasn't the girl who would get the happy ending. No, she was the girl who got to experience most people's nightmares every day of her life. Sure, it sucked. But, it had some not so sucky parts.

One of those parts was every second she spent with Sam Winchester.

She had first met the boy whenever she was twelve. Sam had been thirteen at the time. He had been clumsy with legs far too long and lanky for him to control. He has tripped three times on the walk to the cabin. Her father has bought the stupid cabin shortly after she had turned nine. It was a good place to store extra hunting supplies. It didn't get used much. Her father couldn't sit still for long.

The two had been walking through the woods together. Listening to John and her father talk had grown tiring. And Dean was no better. He was pissed off about something, she hadn't bothered asking Sam what. She was content to let the older Winchester brother sulk while she showed Sam her favorite places in the woods.

As they walked back, she remembered how he suddenly stopped. She had been curious and turned around to see why. His words had come as a surprise.

"Do you ever want to be normal?" He had asked her. She would have thought it was a joke if not for the serious expression on his face.

"I don't think we get to choose," She had replied. She knew they didn't. Both of their fathers had forced this life upon them.

The conversation had ended there. Sam had been more quiet than usual once they were back inside the cabin.

She woke up with a surprising smile. It wasn't often she dreamt of something so pleasant. More often than not her dreams were plagued by literal monsters. Or, people she hadn't been able to save. The later option sent a chill down her spine to think about. Those faces would haunt her forevermore.

It was one of the rare nights she had actually slept. She was used to catching a few hours here and there. No time for sleep whenever she had monsters to kill and people to save. It wasn't like her father had ever let her sleep in whenever she had been a child. Old habits die hard.

As she slid out of bed, her smile widened. She was only a few hours away from Stanford.

In a few measly hours, she would get to see him again. It has been months since her last visit. It wasn't often that she had any downtime. Hunting kept her busy. She had began hunting on her own shortly after she had turned nineteen. Working with her father had been too much for her to handle. She still hadn't been able to shake her father's voice from her head anytime she took even a night off though. His words seemed to be ingrained in her brain.

'If you stop working, people die. I didn't raise you to be a goddamn slacker.'

She didn't waste anymore time. She quickly showered before throwing everything else together. She was in her car, driving towards Stanford within half an hour. The anticipation of seeing Sam had her all jittery. She felt absolutely ridiculous. Almost like some school girl with a stupid highschool crush.

The drive seemed to have taken ages (only three and a half hours). As she finally parked her car in front of the address Sam lived at, she practically flew out of her car. She had wanted to leave immediately after she finished her hunt, but she had been too exhausted. Once she had finished it she had practically passed out. Vampires were tiring to deal with.

She took the stairs two at a time before knocking on the door.

Sam opened the door and greeted her with a smile. She threw her arms around him immediately. It had been months since she had had the time to visit him. She had also been thousands of miles away. Her lifestyle made anything inconvenient. It was worth it though. This time it hadn't been hard. Only a few hours out of her way. Not like last time.

"God, I've missed you."

Sam pulled away from the hug, smiling at her words. They were good friends. Both of them harbored small crushes (not very small anymore). Yet, neither would admit it. They both liked things how they were.

Sure, she wished she could kiss him right now. But she didn't. Their friendship was too perfect to ruin. Neither one of them would ever risk it for something more.

"I'm sorry it's been so long, I haven't been anywhere near California in a while," She explained. She had tried though, several times. But, she would always get drawn away. Always. It pissed her off. She wanted to drop by and check on him more than she did. She knew Dean had part of that covered though. Even if he refused to tell Sam about his visits.

Sam couldn't believe she had made it. For weeks, she's told him she would visit soon. He knew how the hunting lifestyle went. It could have been months before she had enough time to visit him. His heart fluttered at the thought. She was willing to go out of her way just to see him.

"Don't apologize. I know how busy you stay," He said. He didn't even want to think about what she had been doing. Hunting was a dangerous business. He hated that it was the business she was still in. He cared for her, even if he knew they were just friends. He couldn't help but wish for something more.

After she had spoken, Sam invited her in. The two made small talk for a while. Catching up on everything. She asked him about his classes and how he was enjoying college. He asked her about the hunts she had been on. The two exchanged information about those topics for a while. Until, a question Sam asked caught her off guard.

"You don't seem happy hunting anymore," He blurted, and it was true. Whenever she was younger it had been easier to pretend. Now, it got difficult. She got to watch other people her age be normal. It stung. "You don't have to keep doing that. . ."

His words were more true than she was willing to admit. She stayed silent for a minute, considering her reply. She hadn't spoken to her father in months. She didn't even have to tell him that she was quitting. She could still hunt on occasion, only cases close to wherever she chose to live though.

"I. . . I don't know what I would do."

"Anything you want," Sam replied. "Go to college, get a job, have a life. You. . . You could even stay with me for a while at first," he offered.

She considered his words. As she was thinking, her gaze fell to his lips for a brief second. She instantly looked away as a light blush stained her cheeks. Could she stay with him? Could she be normal for once?

As she looked back to answer him, she noticed how close they were. If she took a step forward, she'd be close enough to kiss him. Alarm bells were ringing in her head as she took the step. Living with Sam and keeping her feelings a secret would be impossible.

Sam seemed to notice what she was trying to do. Before she could move any closer, he was all over her. His arms around her waist, his lips mere inches from hers. He gazed down at her. And, she realized something. From the look in his eyes, her feelings were definitely reciprocated.

"Is this okay?" He murmured against her lips.

She threaded her fingers through his shaggy hair, "More than okay."

His lips met hers. The kiss was passionate and messy. Neither one of them had the patience to start slow. Already Sam was deepening the kiss. A soft moan left her lips at the sudden action. She pulled on his hair slightly as he continued kissing her.

"Does this mean you'll stay?" He asked, his hands slipping her shirt over her head. He took in the sight of her wearing a bra in front of him. It took every piece of self control in him not to rip off the rest of her clothes this second.

"I'll stay," She replied, kissing him again. Their lips moved in tandem together as Sam unclasped her bra. In a few more seconds Sams shirt had also been discarded. His hands fondled her bare breasts as she tugged on his hair.

She knew that there would be a lot of obstacles. It wasn't easy to quit being a hunter. It had been her life for so long. But, she would figure it out with Sam.

This was just the beginning of their future together.

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

A/N: Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a comment and reblog!

[glassrowboat]

🎲 I am always one for enabling

4. A kiss atop the head.

One Kiss, Blue Fish. Furina.

Word count: 900+

One kiss for her, one kiss for the little gold colored statuette. A habit now so ingrained into your routine as keys pressed into your palm on your way out the door that it was simply instinct to lean down for both of them. Even after the first layer of golden plating started to wear down and revealed a greenish hue beneath.

Oxidation. Something you have had the chance to grow familiar with as the old statues of dogs in the park tucked away between the building of the capital, all beared proof of their noses being scratched and petted. The sight of it alone had you shaking your head, a smile always fighting to turn your lips up ever so slightly.

This habit had all started from a single joke. One comment, that's all it took after Furina had brought home the mini version of her (err- or the Hydro Archon that she was) that now turned to being part of your daily life.

Your fingers had been gliding over the reward as you heard her debating over what to do with it after coming home. Her gloved fingers clutched onto it in a way that failed to hide how they shook just from the sight of the thing alone.

To place it proud and center on the mantle, she pondered. Maybe even bury it away in the guestroom that you only ever used once. Long forgotten after Furina had grown accustomed to sharing a bed with you. Or, simply, toss it out like it was trash?

To that, a startled and over dramatized gasp left you. Hand to your chest to truly sell that bit of how hurt you were at such an appalling suggestion. “You would dare toss the image of my lover in the garbage?”

So, after your ploy of pretending it mattered more to you that it truly did and a spat that was more playful than anything, you placed the mini Furina on the mantle. Tall and proud. Placing a kiss to its little head, you had turned back to her, a cheeky smile on your lips.

A habit set in stone from there on.

One a certain someone clearly wasn't a fan of as her cheeks were puffed out, and a pout graced her features just like that day.

“If you're just going to give out two kisses, you might as well give the second one to me too.” She insisted, head turned away from you as she held up her nose.

It spoke levels about how comfortable she was with you. Willing to give attitude and sass she would normally be afraid anyone else would look at and think of the Hydro Archon she once represented. But there was no need for that here. Not with you.

“That so?”

Taking a strand of hair, that same one that stuck up in the air no matter how much she tried to tame it in the mornings, you twirled it around your finger. The shades of blue and white were almost hypnotizing to watch even when her head bounced up and down to nod.

“Yes! It only makes sense you would give me, your lover, your affection instead of that thing.”

“Now, now, my little mermaid.” You teased as her gaze fell on the golden trophy, eyes surely puncturing the cheap plating covering it. “I can give you two kisses from here on out if you really want.”

Her small little giggle filled the air, seeming appeased with this outcome. For now.

“And I'll give the little replica two on the way out, too.”

She called your name, a high-pitched whine that accompanied her tugging ever so slightly on your sleeve. The way she always said that truly did capture your attention, more so than anyone else who's ever used it before as you bent down to her height.

Eye to eye as you asked “yes?”

“If that's what you're so intent on doing, then you'll have to give me three.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” Wrapping your arms around her waist, the frills of her outfit tickled your arms as she moved in a little closer. The shuffle of her heels heard on the hardwood floor as Furina moved into your hold. “But of course, three kisses.”

If it makes her happy, then it's more than worth it.

“Then take this from the top."

Furina grabbed your keys off the mantle, pulling them away from the statuette you placed them next to when she had first called for your attention. Rattling in her hand as she placed them in yours.

“All the way from the top? Next thing you know, there will be a clapperboard telling me when I can and can't start helping you bathe.”

“T-that’s not important right now.”

Before she could pull away, to hide her blushing cheeks behind a false attitude and layers of hair she hoped would block her face away, you pressed your lips to her hairline. The perfume Neuvillette gifted her after her departure from the Palais Mermonia, only welcoming your touch even more.

Drawing your in closer as you muttered “one kiss, two kiss, three kiss,” with every peck to her forehead. Only a small part of you is resisting the urge to continue teasing her and say ‘red fish, blue fish’ to finish your little poem.

Alas, that can wait another day.

Just like how tomorrow you plan to give three kisses to the statuette just to see Furina pitch another fit.

[cyupie]

✦ unsaid, unheard

neito monoma x gn!reader

angst to sort of comfort

word count: 2k

second person pov + purposeful all lowercase + not proof read and written late at night

✦ summary

neito monoma lets himself live in denial about his feelings towards you; it's only until you two actually drift apart that he realizes what he's lost.

you & neito had been friends for longer than you can remember; always aspiring to make it to u.a. together and become the top heroes. you remember the face he made when you both made it in, how he spun you around and treated both of you to some macarons right after. it was the best day of both of your lives.

he was always thoughtful, even if he never really confided in you — you were best friends, though, you always knew how he felt even if he didn’t say it out loud. neito knew you better than you knew yourself and vice versa. his favorite boba place & order, how he scrunches his nose up when he’s focused, and the way his eyes crinkle when he’s really really happy are forever ingrained in your memory.

you don’t know how to tell him you think you’ve fallen in love with him. you don’t think you ever will once you see how he starts to look at itsuka kendo during your second year. it’s a gradual thing — ditching your usual meetups to go see her, taking her to the new mini store that he refused to check out with you last week, the way he smiles at her — it makes your heart ache when you can’t remember the last time he smiled like that with you.

you love neito monoma.

neito monoma loves itsuka kendo.

so, you don’t tell him. you swear that you aren’t going to ruin it for neito and itsuka because they look so happy when they’re together. people grow apart all the time; this is no different from any other friendship. you barely think about him (he’s the only thing on your mind at night) and maybe you’re even doing better off without him (your heart hurts when you see him with her).

it’s been two months since you last spoke when he finally confronts you. you were walking out of class when he drags you to the side with a stern look on his face; neito looks conflicted. he’s not worried, he reassures (you’re the only thing on his mind when everything is quiet and he doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that he still thinks of you instead of itsuka when something good happens).

“i just want to know why you’re avoiding me.” he lies.

“i’m not avoiding you.” you lie back.

both of you see right through each other. neither of you comment on it.

neito thinks he wants to cry, or scream, or shake you — he doesn’t do any of that. he just sighs. “fine,” the blonde huffs as he turns away from you. “i don’t care anyways.” neito hopes you’ll say something about his blatant lie. you stay quiet.

he doesn’t see you for the next few days, he knows you’re avoiding him. neito knows you better than he’ll ever admit. the way you looked at him when he first said he thinks he has a crush on itsuka drove him insane; he tries not to think about it anymore. there’s no point.

when he’s with her, he thinks it’s love — he wants her near him all the time and he likes when she pays attention to him and he wants to do all the things he did with you but with her now. neito ignores the pit in his chest when he realizes how long it’s been since you two have hung out.

neito monoma loves itsuka kendo.

neito monoma doesn’t care about you.

it’s fine. him and itsuka have even gotten together now, this is the happiest he’s ever been. neito swears it on his life that she makes him happier than anyone else can. he sees itsuka’s confusion when he accidentally orders your usual at the boba shop instead of hers; your tastes are so different that it’s hard to believe he could mix them up.

when he offers itsuka his own drink and takes the one you usually get instead, he thinks of you the whole time he’s drinking it. have you been to this place since you two stopped talking? neito stomps the thought away as quickly as it comes.

you seem ok, he thinks (he sees the bags under your eyes). you have new friends who’ll probably treat you better than he ever did growing up (why does it hurt to think that?). neito stops and realizes how much he misses you when he hears your favorite song come on the radio — he remembers listening to you scream along to it anytime you heard it.

he finds you after school, talking to some kid from class 1a (why them? why not him? was he not enough for you anymore?) and he thinks he’s going to cry. neito smirks, instead, and leans against the wall before laughing, “so this is where you’ve been? going behind our class’ back to hang out with these hero wannabes?”

he doesn’t know why he says that.

“oh,” is all you say at first and he wants to apologize over and over again until you stop looking at him like that. why do you look at him like you don’t care anymore? why can’t you look at him like you did before you both came to u.a. — before itsuka? “did you need something?”

neito pauses. no, he didn’t; why was he here?

“just wondering where our little y/n went; haven’t seen them in a hot minute.” he remarked, trying to look as nonchalant as he could. neito internally grimaced at his choice of words.

“you see me in class everyday.” you point out.

“and then you disappear to who knows where.”

“i don’t see a problem.”

“i do.”

“why?”

i don’t know, his thoughts answer. why does he have an issue with it? you two have been drifting apart for a while. it was inevitable, friendships don’t last forever (neito’s heart aches when he thinks of never talking to you again).

“because you’re hanging out with those 1a losers instead of us,” he settles with, ignoring the way his subconscious corrects it to instead of me.

“they’re my friends.” you argue, seemingly defensive over them.

“and i’m not?”

“are you?” your question makes you both share a look. your friend has long gone, unsure of how to deal with this seemingly personal argument between you two. you find the words repeating in your own head. it doesn’t feel like you’re still friends.

so why do you still feel that pit in your chest when you look at him and remember how much you love how pretty his eyes are, or how that one strand of hair never stays where neito wants it to and he has to fix it constantly throughout the day.

you find yourself hoping he says yes.

he walks away, instead.

it hurts more than you’d ever admit; neito doesn’t want you to see how much it hurts that he can’t even call you his friend anymore. neito doesn’t want to admit that it’s his fault, either.

he goes to itsuka for comfort — she’s always been good at that. she strokes his hair softly and is so much softer with him than she’s ever been; why does it make the ache in his heart feel worse? why does he look up at her and expect — hope — to see your face instead?

neito can’t shake the thoughts away this time.

whenever he walks into class, he looks for you first; whenever he’s practicing, he wonders who you’ve been partnered with; whenever he gets a sliver of free time, he thinks what’s y/n doing? it drives him insane. it isn’t until he breaks down to itsuka about it that her response makes him realize anything.

“i think we should break up, neito.” she says calmly. neito thinks his whole world is ending around him.

“what? why?” he finds himself asking. he thought they were doing good, he wanted to talk and communicate; she’s always told him how important it is to communicate. why is this her reaction?

she gives him a pitying look — suddenly, he’s not so upset. irritated would be a better word.

“don’t tell me you don’t see it.”

“see what? why are you being so cryptic?”

“neito, you poor, poor soul.” itsuka sighs and neito finds himself wishing you were there more than he ever has before. you wouldn’t have been so vague with him about whatever this is, you’d have been straight to the point.

and then it clicks.

it clicks how badly he messed up. suddenly, itsuka’s unclear words and her (well-meaning) laughter at his wide eyes makes so much sense. suddenly, he wishes he could take this whole year back. it feels like all the walls he worked so hard to build up are crumbling around him as his feelings jumble and he doesn’t know how to feel anymore.

neito monoma doesn’t know who he loves.

it’s a few weeks later, and the school year has flown by. valentine’s day is coming around the corner and you find yourself wondering how neito is. he loved cheesy things, the stereotypical and the type of things that only happened in stories or tv shows — you wondered how he was going to cope with itsuka having broken up with him so close to valentine’s.

and then there’s a knock on your door at 1am on valentine’s day morning. you shuffle around, not knowing who it is. you don’t really care; your hair is a mess and you’re in your pajamas and just about ready to scold the hell out of whoever’s—

neito.

he has a giant bouquet of your favorite flowers (or at least, the ones that remind him of you the most) and a bag filled with gifts. he’s looking at you expectantly and his face is flushed and you’re not sure what to say or how to feel or why he’s even here in the first place. you two just stare at each other for a minute.

“hi.” neito greets. he looks like he immediately wanted to say anything else and shrink back into a corner never to be seen again after he realizes how awkward this whole thing is.

“hi.” you say back. you’re no better than he is.

he holds out the bouquet of flowers and neito’s holding back a million words in his head as you take them. “i got you stuff,” he blurts out as he gestures to the bag in his hand.

“i can see,” and he looks like he’s just about ready to give up on this whole endeavor. you pause. you’re staring again. neito stares back.

you sigh, opening the door further and gesturing for the other to come in. he doesn’t hesitate as he steps in and moves to the side for you to awkwardly shuffle around him and shut the door. neito sets the bag on the ground and you put the bouquet on its side on your desk.

all you can do is wonder what you’re going to do with them as he starts taking out the gifts.

it’s your favorite snacks and a plushie of your favorite animal — he’s sure it hasn’t changed — and a gift card to that damn boba place. he’s looking at you and waiting for a response and you just stare. neito thinks he’s done something horribly, horribly wrong when you start crying.

“hey, wait- i’m sorry. why are you..” his voice trails off as he looks at you. he never knew how to comfort people, no matter how eloquent he was with his insults and endless rants about 1a. and you’re staring up at him with tear-filled eyes and he feels his heart break for the thousandth time.

all you can manage is, “i thought you hated me.”

and he pauses. he looks at you and you look at him and more gently than you think he’s ever done anything before he brings you into a hug and you’re safe. neito doesn’t say a word; he doesn’t need to. he doesn’t like to be vulnerable, he’s never liked being vulnerable.

but you’re here in his arms and he knows you understand that better than anyone. you’ve always understood. he’s so stupid for having never noticed it — you — before.

neito monoma loves you.

© cyupie   do not plagiarize, translate, feed to ai, or repost my works to any other websites

[starrystevie]

it’s after everything is said and done, after max wakes up with cloudy eyes and eddie is no longer a wanted man and will feels like he’s alone in his skin again, that steve starts the headcount. he brushes it off as an old habit from his basketball days. says that as the captain, he had to do counts at their away games to make sure everyone got back on the bus, so it's become ingrained in him. everyone knows that the real reason is more complicated than that with monsters and darkness, but no one dares open that can of worms.

there’s a grand total of 12 of them: the six big kids and the six not so little anymore kids. he starts in height order because it's easier that way, goes from shortest to tallest and always counts himself last because he tends to forget about himself if he was in the fray of it.

but then eddie leaves. the government comes in with their less than generous hush money and hands it over to him seemingly out of the blue, but it's just what he needs to get the hell out of dodge. out of a town that still spits venom at him as he walks down the street because a cleared name doesn't mean a cleared verdict in the eyes of the public. he packs up with wayne and they move without telling any of the party where they're going because they want a fresh start without the ties of murder and split ceilings following them.

the count goes down to 11. steve skips from jonathan to argyle without a certain curly head in between them and tries to ignore the way his heart pulls painfully at the fact that whatever eddie was to him, whatever he was starting to be for eddie, is over just as fast as it barely started.

it's an eerily cold april evening when the count goes down to 10. the bonfire in steve's backyard has dwindled down to smokey embers as they pack up for the night with sticky marshmallow fingers and sugar highs that leave them laughing loudly. steve watches as everyone makes their way up to the house, all 10 of them-

steve recounts. gets to 10 and pokes himself hard in the chest to make sure he doesn't forget himself as the last and his lungs feel painfully too tight once he realizes that there's a different curly head missing from his count.

"henderson," he whispers, his head whipping around to find dustin in the moonlight. he looks from the tree line up to the road and feels his heart pick up to twice the beats it should be. "where did... henderson?!"

everyone stops. steve can feel them all looking at him, but all he can see is decay floating through the air and bats circling overhead and vines crawling over his feet and he hears the screams echoing in his head that have plagued him since he pulled eddie out from that haunted place.

"dustin!" steve's throat is raw as he screams, his lungs burning as he runs around the expanse of his backyard, and he tries so fucking hard not to panic but his count was 11 when the started and he'll be damned if it won't end with 11.

there's a commotion in the house that he writes off as the rest of the group trying to figure out why steve's running around but when he listens closely, it sounds happy. he can hear cheers and he has to force himself not to get angry because how could they be happy that dustin is missing but then it's-

"-eddie?"

the two curly heads that have messed with his count are standing in steve's doorway with matching grins. eddie's hand is laying flat on dustin's head, shaking him around the tiniest bit before detaching and pulling steve into a hug. it feels like something unfurling in steve's too tight chest as he melts into the smell, the comfort, the warmth that is eddie, his own shaking arms snaking around his waist to ground himself.

"am i too late to join the party?" eddie whispers next to steve's ear and it makes a choked off laugh escape him. "sorry for scaring you, stevie, dustin was just the first one to open the door. didn't mean to mess up your count."

there are questions that need to be asked like how dustin managed to sneak inside to get the door without steve noticing and how he even heard the knocking in the first place and what eddie is doing back in hawkins and if he can up his count to a dozen for good again, but those questions can wait.

he presses his head to eddie's collarbone, takes in a deep breath to steady himself, and smiles when he counts to 12 in his head.

[daisynik7]

hello !! can i make a smutty reiner request of married life and reiners a dad ? can be angsty if you want . you’re a genius when it comes to writing . i’ll love anything you write down (i always do)!!

Pairing: husband!Reiner x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

cw: established relationship, smut – PIV sex (missionary), cunnilingus, fingering, breeding kink, Reiner is a daddy!, fluff, very light angst (reader feels self-conscious after giving birth), talk about weight gain/loss (not much)

Author’s Note: Sweet nonnie, you are too kind. Thank you for the request and I hope you like this! Short, sweet, and of course, smutty. Enjoy! Divider by @/cafekitsune.

“She said dada! She said dada!” Reiner cheers at the kitchen table, spoonful of mushy carrots in his hand, feeding your daughter in her highchair. 

You stand beside them, smiling. “Can you make her do it again?”

“Kara, can you say dada? Dada?” She blinks at him, giggling, tiny hand reaching for the spoon. He gives it to her, chuckling. “I guess she got stage fright once mommy showed up.” He turns to you, giving you a cocky smirk. 

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“Yup. You’re putting too much pressure on her. You gotta let it come out naturally, y’know?”

You sit next to him, resting your head on his shoulder, sighing. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You okay?” he asks, concerned.

You nod silently, eyes closed. He sets his hand on your knee, squeezing lightly. “Hey, seriously, what’s wrong?”

Fingers intwined in his, you answer, “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Uh-oh. That’s definitely a lie,” he teases.

You nudge him in the ribs playfully. “Shut up.”

“Seriously, sweetie. What is it? Tell me.”

After a deep breath, you confess, “I’ve just been feeling a little self-conscious lately.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. It’s been over a year now and I still haven’t lost any of the baby weight. It seems like with all my friends, they were able to shed it after a year. But it’s been hard for me. I don’t know.”

He doesn’t respond right away, thinking carefully about what he wants to say. Eventually, he comments, “I know you won’t believe me, but you’re more beautiful now than ever before.”

You laugh. “You have to say that. You’re my husband.”

“But have I ever lied to you?”

It doesn’t take you long to answer because he actually never has. “No, you haven’t.”

He nuzzles his head against yours. “Listen to me: Every single day we’re together, I fall deeper in love with you. In fact, every single minute, every second, you’re on my mind. And all I can think about is how lucky I am to be with you. And the fact that she,” he points to Kara, “came out of you shows that you are the most beautiful. Honestly, our baby is the prettiest, therefore, you are also the prettiest. It’s basic science.”

Your heart swells in your chest, tears filling your eyes. With a smooch on the cheek, you tell him, “You’re so corny, you know that?”

He faces you to give you a kiss. “And…?”

“I love you. So much.”

“That’s my girl,” he coos. He presses his lips to your forehead. “You dazzle me constantly. I truly mean that.”

~~~

Later that night, with Kara sleeping peacefully in her crib, Reiner proves to you how beautiful you are. 

The both of you are naked in bed, your legs spread wide for him with his head between, sucking at your throbbing clit. He’s always been good at this, but tonight, he gives it to you like never before, desperate to show you how much he desires you. He laps at your wet cunt, collecting your slick to smear it over your bud. He shakes his head, spreading his tongue wide on you to lick every sensitive inch. And he doesn’t stop when you whine that it’s, “too much,” or “too sensitive,” because he’ll be damned if he lets his gorgeous wife feel insecure ever again. He wants it ingrained in you how much he cherishes you, body, soul, every fiber of your being. 

He slides his fingers into your pussy, slipping in easily from your orgasms. Curling at the tips, he hits your G-spot, sucking on your clit, smirking as you twitch from the stimulation. 

“Fuck! Baby! I –”              

“It’s okay, honey,” he muffles, mouth still latched to you. “You can come again. Don’t be shy. Give it to me.”

Your body buzzes with ecstasy, radiating all the way down to your toes. He finally removes himself from you, lightly tapping on your swollen bud with slippery fingers. “You’re beautiful. I love seeing you like this.”

“Rei,” you whimper, twisting your legs around him, eager for his cock.

“Not yet, sweetie. Let me worship you a little while longer.” He leans down, kissing your stomach, tracing your stretch marks with his tongue. You watch him, running your fingers through his hair. “I love every single thing about you,” he whispers, trailing up to your breast, suckling at your nipple. “Every part of this gorgeous body.”

He explores your curves and peaks, the crook of your neck, the inside of your mouth, until he guides himself inside you, pumping his cock into your pussy. You wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him tightly, wanting to melt into him. He continues to kiss you sloppily, dribbling his spit into your mouth. “Fuck, sweetie,” he moans, his thrusts increasing in pace. “I’m so close.”

“Fill me up, Rei. Please.”

“You want me to fuck another baby in you? Want me to make this cute belly round again, huh? Fuck, I can’t wait. I can’t wait, honey. You’re so beautiful, fuck.” He spills inside you, cock spurting his load into your womb. He watches as he slowly pulls out, enjoying the sight of your throbbing pussy gushing with his cum. 

As big spoon, he cuddles you, sliding his arm over your waist, kissing the back of your neck, dewy with perspiration. “I love you, beautiful. I hope you don’t get tired of me saying that.”

You squeeze his hand in yours, smiling. “Never.” 

[2demondogs]

Hey there, I loved your touch starved Arthur headcanons, may I request the same prompt for Kieran Duffy?

Thank you! Admittedly never got into Kieran so I hope you like my characterization :) Drew a lot from my own experience so this is probably autism coded.

Kieran assumes at first, and still, that you're playing some kind of long-con. He still has the street-urchin distrust from his youth fully intact and constantly re-affirmed by the men around him. You may gotten past his final barriers to letting you in, but it's a no-man's land between that and actual belief.

He's distrusting, but he wants it. He really would like to believe you're sweet on him, he would. It takes weeks to prove to him, mostly, that you aren't going to whip out a knife.

Once you work past that, it takes months for a hypersensitive Kieran to unlink your touch from hurt. It's usually a trauma reaction that makes him recoil in pain. Still, he's dumbly hopeful, and you've worked hard to make yourself safe. He grins and bares the discomfort silently to not drive you away.

By the time you've made yourself a safe space, he's smitten enough to want to fight the ingrained aversion. You can still see the flicker of fear on his face if your hands near his vitalities, throat or groin; the paths you take around triggering that soften him further. Kieran won't outright realize it, but he'll internalize the respect and care.

Anything gentle will break him in half. If his eyes sting around you, he's going to start bawling. And they will sting if your fingers comb through his hair; your nails scratch lightly over the veins in his hands and arms, idly or just while studying his features (he can barely breathe); if you make yourself known before you hug him from behind, just to not scare him. He struggles every time to choke down that you're touching him to make him feel something nice, or even harder to believe: for no reason at all, for a whim.

Once, you took the time to mend Kieran's clothes because his own hands shake too much anymore. When you run your hand over the freshly patched spot at the side seam, it feels warm and sturdy on his side, doesn't feel like it scrapes - he, for once, initiates an interaction, kissing at your knuckles as if kissing a ring.

[turtlecleric]

Tmnt 2003 content 🍽👉👈👀?

I don't take requests buuuuut

Hey what if 03!Leo was much older when he went through his struggles in Season 4?

-

When you hear the sharp knocks on your window, you waste no time letting him in. 

As he crawls through, you take in the twist of his mouth. The furrow of his brow. He looks more and more angry every time he visits, and you wonder if maybe this time he'll actually want to talk about what's bothering him instead of-

“Clothes off. Now.”

Or not. 

He was sweet in the beginning. All charm and smiles, feather light touches and constant check-ins. Making sure you were okay with this, making sure you were comfortable. Now… well, you wouldn't call him mean… but you certainly wouldn't call him sweet. 

“On your knees.”

You obey perfectly. This is something that's become ingrained in you, something that was present even before he… changed. It's something you're proud of. Something he's proud of. Or… something he used to be proud of, at least. 

“Open.”

You aren't stupid. You can put things together. There was a stretch of time, a long while when you didn't see him. Then, when he finally returned to your fire escape once again, there was a new, nasty scar that he pointedly refused to acknowledge and a glaring difference in the way he carried himself. An ever-present frustration that now lived and breathed and only grew within him over time, something that bordered on hatred but was never spoken of. Still, you heard it. You felt it.

Before, you had to actively encourage him to be rougher. Practically beg him to so much as spank you. He didn't want to hurt you, he'd say. No, he would never call you that, he'd insist. Even when you specifically asked, even when you reminded him, over and over, that you liked it, he'd hesitate. He’d hold back, go easy, take it slow, and even then he'd apologize profusely right after he did- anything remotely painful. It had been a little exasperating, but… it was sweet, too.

No longer. 

There are tears in your eyes. Your jaw aches. Your knees are bruised from the floor, and he doesn't slow down even when you gag. But you can't complain - this is what you'd asked him for, isn't it? What you'd wanted? It is. 

And it isn't. 

Either way, you obey. You're good, you're so good for him. He used to tell you as much, but now there are only the noises of pleasure you've become accustomed to. You curl your fingers into the thick muscles on his thighs, keeping your eyes locked on his like you know he likes. Before, he might've run his fingers lovingly through your hair. Now, both hands push you further onto his cock. Unrelenting and firm.

“On the bed. Hands and knees.”

He likes to be in control. Lots of guys do, sure, but his control used to look… different, that's all. He used to say things differently. Softer. Kinder. He used to settle between your legs like someone kneeling at an altar. He used to sink inside of you like he was coming home. Now he… well. If you're being honest with yourself, you know he's using you to get out some of what's eating him alive. It's not enough, though. Even you can see that. 

You focus on his hands. They grip your hips hard enough to bruise. Slap your ass and thighs until you shake. Tangle in your hair, wrap around your throat, push and pull and put you into the positions he wants. His fingers, rough and strong, deft and quick, rip two orgasms out of you before he comes with a growl. 

After, you lie there. Watching him move about your apartment. Methodically cleaning himself and you, silent as the moon and just as mysterious. You think of the person he is (used to be?) and what you see now, and you… miss him. He's right here, but you miss him. 

He finishes quickly, barely glancing your way as he mutters quiet, meaningless pleasantries to wrap up the night. He used to linger. Lie with you beneath the sheets and press kisses into your hair and whisper pretty words through smiling lips. 

“Leo.”

“What?”

That gruff response has you steeling your resolve. He's not even looking at you. 

“Whatever happened… I know you don't want to talk about it-” You see every line of his body tense, sharp eyes cutting to yours in the semi-darkness. “-but if you did. I'm here for you. For… more than just sex. You know that right? That you can talk to me?”

He's still for a long, long moment. Watching you. Then he nods stiffly, and turns away. 

“Yeah. I know.”

He leaves. He leaves, but you feel less alone now than when he was here.

“I miss you,” you mumble into your pillow. 

Outside, hidden in shadow, Leo sighs. “Me too.”

-

tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @thejudiciousneurotic @khayalli @justalotoffanfiction @thelaundrybitch @mxalmighty @shakeyourtrees @silverwatergalaxy

[whumpsoda]

We Search For Stolen Personhood - Blue Walls

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, past abuse, conditioned whumpees

——————

Prince had awoken, same time as always, the routine mechanically ingrained in his brain. Now, lying in the old, twin sized mattress of the bunk bed the people had provided, he dared not shut his eyes, dared not to blink, dared not stop staring, fighting against the overcoming call of slumber that still had its hold on him.

The walls were blue.

He blinked, once, then twice, then three times.

Not white, not painstakingly, achingly white, but blue. A grayish sort of the color - or maybe that was a trick caused by the dim light of the room, he couldn’t tell - but definitely not white.

He sipped in a long, filling breath, hands laid over his chest and feeling along with the movement. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to dance around, to jump and sing and cheer. To rub his whole body across it, to smoosh his entire face against it, because maybe it wasn’t real at all, maybe it was false. Prince didn’t want to be dreaming.

Ever so carefully he picked up a hand, watching with innocent fascination as it neared the wall. Then, he hesitated, pulling back and lingering in the air before the two could meet.

What if it crumbled beneath his fingers in an instant? Disappeared the moment he made contact? What if they were simply a trick of his mind, fake and never to be true?

But the woman was real. He’d heard her speak, heard her converse with Mutt. The stuffed animal she’d brought for him, a bright, vibrantly pink teddy bear, sat over his belly, fur tickling him along the rise and fall of his breathing. The toy was real, she was real, and so was the wall.

They had to be.

Carefully, jaw working, he forced himself to press one finger to the wall. No crumbling, no disappearance, no reality warping magic that he could have thought up. Then another, then another, then the rest. The touch was slightly cool, bumps of plaster scratching gently to his skin as he grazed his hand over it in big circles. 

The blue wall was real.

And he was out. 

A short gasp slipped through his lips, realization finally dawning, jumping along with the beat of his heart. The contorting churn and quease of his belly was evident, an anxious feeling overflowing, spilling and seeping into each and every crevice.

He wanted to be happy, he really did… but was that not enough? What was with the sore in his chest, coiling around, suffocating his lungs and making it hard to breathe? 

Hm? You want some outside time as a treat for being so good? Is that what I think I’m hearing, ‘719?

N- no! Ms., um, Handler Reeves, sir, please, no, no outside, please.

Really? Are you sure? I could’ve sworn you loved the outside… always asking about it, always dreaming about it, all that ugly fucking crying…

Please, Handler Reeves, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, no outside, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be so good just no outside, outside is bad and scary an’ and horr- horrible an’ no outside, please-

That’s what I thought, ‘719.

Prince swallowed, hard, shaking his head of thoughts as the pulse of his heart picked up pace.

No outside for you, Princey, you know that. Don’t tell me you forgot your training? Forgot all those things they taught you back at the facility… do I really need to send you back?

No, sir, no, of course not. I- I remember.

Good, good. They did wonders for you, did you know that?

Oh, he knew.

Prince slowly shuffled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding the mistake of nudging Mutt from his much needed sleep, who was collapsed in a heap on the floor. He must’ve been horribly exhausted to allow himself sleep, Prince couldn’t recall how many nights he’d stayed up to ensure his safety. Prince then stood, walking around to the drape covered window beside the bed. 

A window, just like his sir’s, but at the same time not at all. He gently drew the drapes aside, letting the early, faint, cloud concealed light filter over his face. Six o’clock, he guessed, familiar with the look of that time considering he’d woken up then for as long as he’d been with his sir. Except, the new view of a plain, dew dripping, cream colored fence took him off guard, being so used to the look of his sir’s neighbors’ front yards.

He swallowed, sucking in the flesh of the inside of his cheeks and softly gnawing on it, clutching the drapes tight. 

He was out, he was out, he was out. 

And he still hadn’t been hurt. So when was it coming?

If he looked close enough, focused his eyes in just the right spot, Prince could make out his own reflection in the window. Hair oily and undone, frizzy too, no more maids to get him prepared for his master before he even woke.

There was a cut, small but there, scratched over his upper lip, gradually scabbing over. He licked his tongue over it, feeling for the ridges and bumps and ugliness.

I can hurt you, Princey, any way I want, but I never leave any marks, do I?

Isn’t that just generous of me?

Who would want to ruin a gorgeous face like yours?

His gazed dropped, just a smidge, to find there was no lock on the window. He stared, just for a pause in time, debating. Would he? Would he not? Would sir allow it?

Breathing quickening, hand trembling and gradually pressing the latch, he shoved it over to one side, leaving half open. He looked back, as if his sir would jump in at any moment and catch him, yell, and anger, and hurt him-

The foggy, morning air blossomed over his face, a slight chill that worked to wake him further. Letting his eyes flutter to a close he sucked it in greedily, a large breath that filled his lungs with cold.

He smiled, still trained and never meeting the eyes, but a smile nonetheless.

Maybe one day he would be able to smile for real.

Soon enough, as the nerves overwhelmed him and grasped upon his brain Prince carefully and quietly shut the barrier once again, room filling up with silence.

Flopping back in bed, Prince would wait for his sir to wake, just as he always did, except he wasn’t in his sir’s bed or inside the white walls, and there were no maids who dressed him up, and no sir beside him.

With his sir unaccounted, he failed to realize what exactly he was waiting for. He waited, anyway.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[newtonsheffield]

What’s going through Mary’s head on her way to the hospital?

Honestly Mary’s having a real time of it.

She’s just been told her child’s been shot at, and she’s seen footage of Kate screaming for the man in her arms as he tumbled to the ground. She’s watched her daughter be dragged to safety and she doesn’t know for sure if Kate’s even really alright despite initial reports that she’s uninjured.

There’s also the fact that this is final confirmation that Kate and Anthony are in some kind of a relationship. There’s a beard trimmer and a toothbrush in Kate’s bathroom when she goes in there to get some things for Kate, and Anthony’s clothes are strewn about her wardrobe. There’s signs that her child is living a whole life that she thought she couldn’t share with her. Mary’s devastated for that alone. Kate didn’t think she could tell her parents this and that’s a failing, in Mary’s eyes. She and Tharman have disappointed Kate in this way she feels.

But this isn’t about Mary now. Kate’s been through an incredibly traumatic experience and this is about what she needs. She does find a moment to call her husband while she disappears on the premise of getting food for everyone though. And that’s a hard conversation.

“She’s fine.” Mary said, her hands finally shaking, letting herself fall apart just a little. “She had some stitches once she knew it looked like Anthony would pull through.”

“How is he?” Tharman asked wearily, “Is he going to survive this?”

“Thankfully, yes.” Mary paused before she said the next thing she knew she had to. “Ronald was with them as well. She… told him she didn’t… care if she got shot as well.”

Stunned silence rang through the phone before her husband spoke. “Jesus Christ. What are we supposed to do?”

Mary took a deep breath, “Thank the man who saved our daughter’s life by being supportive. She didn’t think she could tell us this, Tharman. That’s on us. I went to her rooms today, I saw how ingrained he is and she didn’t tell us.”

“We have a great relationship. We do, it’s open it’s-”

“Well, obviously not as open as we thought. And we don’t get to make this about us so you are going to come back here with me tomorrow. You’re going to look him in the eye and say thank you and not grumble.”

“I never grumble.”

“You grumble a lot.”

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Hiiii :) okay so this kinda deviates from your prompt list but doesn’t Yano?

Wandanat x r where r has been in a bad relationship and her period was always something that caused her to get in trouble, r would fear Wanda and nat seeing her on her period, but it’s now painfully obvious bc she’s leaked on her suit. One of them mention it and that caused r to have a panic attack and get so caught in her own mind she reacts instinctively to protect themselves but the girls are there to comfort and love their gf

~ a writer you follow 🕯️

Period Panic

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 1.4K

Summary: After hiding her period from her girlfriends due to past relationships, what happens when you leak on your suit during a mission?

TW: mentions of past abuse, panic attacks, period / blood, canon typical violence, non sexual nudity, past trauma, flinching, crying

A/n I love this idea. I hope I did it justice. I am happy to explore any requests that aren’t on my prompts list as long as they follow my do’s and don’ts so I’m happy to write it. It was quite fun to write :) Also would you like to be 🕯anon? (So I can know when its you) Im very excited to get a request from a writer a follow (I only ever really follow my favourite writers so it means a lot)

Standing in your bathroom you quelled the anxiety rising in your chest. Sure, Wanda and Natasha had always been amazing. They were by far the best girlfriends you could ever ask for.

But that didn’t stop the fear you felt at the idea of them finding out. Past relationships had ingrained fears in you that were hard to shake. As a child your period was simply a fact of life. Something you would deal with and move on. However, after your last long-term relationship you began to fear it. Your partner had made snide remarks, insults and mean comments whenever you expressed anything to do with that time of the month.

At first you simply had brushed it off. However, as time went on, they had only seemed to become more aggressive in their actions. Eventually, by the time it ended you were afraid of that time of the month. The unbothered feelings you had towards your period were gone, replaced with a deep-rooted fear of inadequacy and disgust for yourself.

A knock broke you from your thoughts and you sucked in a sharp breath.

“Detka?” It was Natasha, most likely back from training and wanting a shower.

“Y-yes?” You cursed yourself for the waver in your voice, knowing as a trained spy she wouldn’t miss it.

“Are you ok my sweet?” She asked.

“Yes, I’m fine, I'll be out in a minute.” You called slipping on that mask easily.

“Ok love.” Nat said and you sighed softly in relief. Maybe she hadn’t realised

Quickly you went to your hidden stash of period supplies. You didn’t want Wanda or Natasha to ever know when your period was so everything you needed was kept hidden. Pulling the pad from where it was tucked inside the centre of a spare toilet roll in a small cupboard you stuck it in your underwear as quietly as possible. Shoving the wrapper in your pocket to dispose of later you washed your hands and exited the bathroom. Making sure you had left no blood or evidence before leaving.

As you entered the bedroom you caught a glimpse of Wanda pulling off her shirt as Natasha smiled at you and took your place in the bathroom for a shower.

“How are you this morning my lovebug?” Wanda asked and you smiled.

“Im good. Are you ready for the mission?” You asked and Wanda sighed.

“I wish we could just stay here and cuddle.” She said and you nodded.

“Me too.”

“We better get changed into our suits the jet leaves soon.” Nat said leaving the bathroom in record time. She had a towel around her as she grabbed her suit and retreated back to the bathroom to change. Wanda nodded and grabbed her own suit, slipping it on in the corner of the bedroom. Once Nat left the bathroom you took her place and changed. Wanda shot Nat a confused look, normally you had to issues getting changed in the same room as them. Nat shrugged and decided to keep a close eye on you for the mission.

In the bathroom you looked at the pads wings that were visible on the outside of your undies with disgust. Shaking you head you pulled on your suit. It was rather tight but snug. The light grey colour was a risk, but you had no alternative. You simply prayed the pad would be enough and left the bathroom.

Wanda was sat on the bed watching Nat slip all her weapons into her suit before they stood and the three of you left to head to the jet. Tony, Steve and Bucky were waiting as the three of you got on board.

“Geez i almost thought i got stood up.” Tony said and shoved Nat toward the cockpit. “Do your thing Romanoff.” He grinned and Nat glared at him.

“Stark.” She said warningly. Tony put his hands up in a surrender and she suppressed a smirk. Although she was quite soft behind closed doors with you and Wanda, she had a reputation to uphold in the compound. Nat settled herself in the pilot seat and the jet rumbled to life.

The mission itself was rather simple. Tony and Steve had cleared the west wing of the base while Natasha, Wanda and you had done the east. After taking out a handful of agents and grabbing the hard drive of intel that shield needed, Nat holstered her gun and her and Wanda walked behind you as you made you way back to the jet. Wanda’s eyes fell on your ass as you walked. Widening slightly at the red patch between your legs.

You had never been one to make a big deal of your period with them, but Wanda didn’t think you appreciate it if the boys saw. Wanda nudged Natasha whose eyes were scanning the trees as you walked to the jet which was in the woods near the base. Natasha followed Wanda’s eyes and nodded in agreement. The two girls stopped their movement and as you realised, they were no longer following you, you turned around swiftly.

“What’s wrong?” You asked in high alert now scanning the trees for a threat.

“Honey.” Nat said with a soft tone.

“Sweetheart here take this my love.” Wanda said handing you a jacket.

“W-why?” You asked starting to worry.

“Love your periods escaping a little.” Wanda said trying to make you laugh so you didn’t feel bad. At the look you had on your face Wanda began to get worried.

Your eyes widened and your breathing picked up. Wandas hand still held out the jacket, but you made no move to reach for it. Nat studied you every move as your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides. Fingers trembling slightly. Your breathing was now short as ragged as you struggled to get the air into your lungs. Your chest felt tight, and your heart began to race in your ears. Tears dripped down your cheeks and for a moment the two girls froze, unsure of what was happening.

Before they could react, you began to apologise profusely. Seemingly afraid of what they would do. Nat carefully took a step towards you, but you flinched back before your legs gave out and you curled up on the floor. Nat soon became aware of how exposed you were and simply shoved down her feelings. Gently she picked you up in her arms, unbothered as her suit was black and didn’t show blood stains. Wanda went ahead on high alert to protect the both of you. You sobbed and buried your face in Nat’s chest.

“It's ok love, we aren’t mad.” Nat said rubbing her hand up and down your back. She whispered words of reassurance and began to exaggerate her breathing as she realised how pale you were begging to look.

“Breathe with me my love. In deep for four. One…two…three… four. And hold…. Two … three … four. And out… two … three…four. You're doing so good for me lovebug.” She said coaching you through the panic attack. Once back on the jet Nat took you to one of the small rooms and sat on the floor with you still tucked into her.

Wanda sat next to Nat and rubbed your back as you continued to cry into Natasha’s neck. The two girls began to get a hold on your breathing. Still talking softly and reassuring you. Wanda had told Steve to pilot the jet as he was just as qualified as Natasha just not as smooth. Soon you found your head in Nat’s lap curled into her stomach as your legs rested in Wanda’s lap. Wanda drew shapes on your thigh as your breathing went back to normal. You pulled a hand to your eyes and began scrubbing at it harshly to get rid of the tears. Nat took your wrist in her hand and pulled it away from your face gently.

“None of that now love.” She said and pressed kisses to your knuckles. You felt a warm feeling in your chest at how they cared for you. Tentatively you asked.

“You're not m-mad?” You said and Nat frowned.

“Never my sweet.” Wanda said and Nat looked at you.

“Sweetheart we will never, ever be mad at you for the things your body does. We love you just the way you are. Period or no period.” Nat said pressing a kiss to your forehead. You buried your face in her stomach again.

“Thank you.” You mumbled into her skin and Wanda chuckled.

“Anytime sweetness.” She cooed.

MASTERLIST

[kaeyx]

Y!beastzai who, after he’s stolen you away, understands you need some time to acclimate. This is a big change - he’s sure it’s quite the surprise and well, he knows he can be a little frightening. Don’t you worry - he’s here to help you every step of the way, training you to accept his presence, his touch a bit at a time, just like he would a scared new pet - because that’s what you are, really. Once you’ve learned to let him hold you without shaking, he likes to tie your hands behind you when he gets home (with soft restraints - he just doesn’t want you fretting about what to do with them) and sit you on his lap, facing him. He makes quick work undoing the buttons of the shirt - his shirt - he has you wearing, but doesn’t push it all the way off. He just needs you accessible, not exposed, and he knows you’re more comfortable this way, and really he doesn’t want to make you more uncomfortable than he has to - you know that, right? And then he runs his hands over you, gentle, exploratory - tracing your face, teasing your nipples, squeezing your hips. He praises you the whole time if you sit quietly and let him. You’re doing so well for him, really. It’s okay if you need to hide your face in his neck; he knows you’re shy. And for a while, it’s just sleeping in his arms and this, every night when he comes home from the office. Until you learn to greet him at the door with the shirt unbuttoned, with the cuffs in your hand. With the shirt off and a shy request that he leaves your hands free so you can touch his hair. Until you tip your head back for him when he leans into press a kiss to your collar bone. Until you don’t hide when his touch makes you shiver for the right reasons. Until one day you can’t help but grind subtly against him as he trails lithe fingers up your sides. He coos praise in your ear, but he knows that really, he’s the one being rewarded right now for his patience. Good things come to those who wait, after all, and what a good little thing you’ve become.

Hi hello yes I have been losing my mind over this ask for the past day. Holy fuck if I walked face first into a wall rn I'd hit my dick before I hit my nose. Oh my god.

Beastzai who thinks of you as an actual pet, something he can train and condition with punishments and rewards. Coaxing you into his lap every day and getting you a bit more naked, a bit more comfortable, until you're pressed right up against him, straddling him, completely exposed. He likes to tie your hands behind your back or loop them around his neck and tie them there, because he knows you might have to think too hard about where to put them and that would just stress you out, so he helps you. He always puts you in the same kind of shirt so you don't have to worry your pretty little head about anything except sitting there and letting him do whatever he wants.

He feels so lucky and happy when you finally nod off like this, guiding your head down to his shoulder while he reassures you that everything is going to be okay, that you're safe with him. This is everything he could dream of, staying up extra late until you got too tired is definitely paying off. He rubs your sides and back gently, running his fingers over your entire body, he wants to be able to map out every inch of it. He keeps cooing at you even while you sleep, and he carries you to bed with him without bothering to untie you. You get used to waking up confused, half restrained and held tight against his chest, in places you don't remember falling asleep in. Beastzai relishes in your sleepy little groan as you try to make sense of your surroundings, right before it melts into placid nothingness when he strokes your back and tells you not to worry, in the same soothing voice he'd use for a scared pet. Sometimes he even ties you up a little more, just to ingrain in your mind that you have to depend on him.

When you trot up to him of your own volition for your daily lap time, he almost loses his cool. He knows his plan is working, but this undeniable proof of how far you've come makes him dizzy with lust. As soon as he's sure you're asleep in his lap he's rubbing himself through his clothes, biting his lips to hold back any noises that might wake you up. Your body limp and warm on top of him, so trusting, so defenceless and dependant on him, pushes him over the edge in minutes. He just wishes it was your hands around his cock, your eyes looking into his while he strokes your cheek and encourages you.

You shiver at his careful touches a lot more now, and for all the right reasons. He's memorised your body in its entirety, he knows what makes you weak in the knees and every evening when he comes home and touches you you melt a little more. By the time you finally manage to drift off you're shivering, dripping wet, almost hoping he'd finally do something about it and take advantage of you. But Beastzai doesn't want you to be embarrassed, he carefully avoids any particularly sensitive spots even as your cunt drools all over his thigh. You can see the tent in his pants, you know he's turned on, but he refuses to put his hands on you like that and it drives you insane, day after day. Eventually you have to get off, grinding against his bulge or humping his thigh as you watch his face light up with predatory glee. His voice is sweet and condescending as he grips your hips and helps your movements, asking you if you're really so desperate that you couldn't contain yourself. Reassuring you that it's okay, he doesn't mind that you're such a slut, he'll take care of you and do all the things that are too hard for your little pet brain.

[gilverrwrites]

Bath Time

Black Mask/Reader AN: Someone requests aftercare with Roman, but tumblr seems to have misplaces the ask, and I can't recall exactly what you wanted. So if that was you, I'm sorry if this isnt quite what you wanted, and I hope you enjoy it regardless.

≈900 words CWs: Mentions of sex, mentions of slapping/spanking, swearing, nudity, bathing, dom/sub dynamic, sub-drop, petnames: doll, baby. GN!Reader.

18+ MINORS DNI

The sight before you is somewhat comical, and often aids in reliving some of your sub-drop tensions. A large freestanding marble bathtub, filled to the brim with hot water, sweet eucalyptus and lavender-scented bubbles threaten to spill over the edge, and smack dab in the centre of it all, the dark and sinister mask of Roman Sionis pokes out, like a shark fin in a jacuzzi.

Something about seeing one of Gotham’s elite underworld bosses, relaxing amongst a sea of bubbles tickles you, not that it was uncommon, in fact, it was near routine, and usually never failed to fill you with mirth. He sits back, making space for you, and you catch a welcome glimpse of his tanned upper body. His chest is adorned with a delightful smattering of salt and pepper chest hair, disturbed only by a handful of scars. You’d spent nights in this very bathtub tracing every scar with your fingertips, asking for every associated story. A bullet wound in his right shoulder from a ‘disagreement’ with Red Hood, a surgery scar over his pacemaker, a knife wound from his father, and so on. It’s all so familiar, yet for some reason everything feels so far away, like you’re not really there, just looking in on an old memory.

“Are you just gonna watch me all night?” His gravelly voice breaks through your trance. The sound of splashing backs his question as he reaches one hand out from beneath the water, offering it to you. “Or are you going to join me so we can get you cleaned up?”

“I’m coming, Romy.” You reply, pushing off the tile and taking his hand as you climb into the tub. The combination of dead sea salts and hot water on your skin stings, especially in the places where Roman had gotten a little slap-happy. But that’s okay, later once you’re both dried off, Roman will relish in massaging cocoa butter on those very parts. He loves the soft feel of your body under his in more ways than one, loves the little mewls of repose that slip through your lips, and he especially loves the way your skin gleams under the butter’s moisture, loves the way the light catches as your ass jiggles when he gives it a playful tap to signify a job well done.

He doesn't like the way you’d been stood alone, naked, silent and staring at him with the most vacant expression until he’d prompted you to join him.  

“There’s my best doll.” He hums against your shoulder, gently positioning you close to him. “I was beginning to think I really fucked you dumb this time.”

It’s a joke, a cheesy one at that, one he’d made many times before, but tonight you can’t bring yourself to laugh. It strikes a nerve you didn’t know was sensitive.

Before you can respond his hands are on your face, guiding you to look up at him with a gentleness he only uses in these moments, intimate and personal. You peer up at him, looking past the hardness of his mask, focusing as best you can on his obstructed eye. His lids are low, and his steely irises appear to tremble as they dart around your face, examining your expression in the same way you’re doing to him, only you're not sure what you're searching for.

“Are you still with me?” He asks and you respond instantly, the answer ingrained in you. “Always.”

“Not what I meant. You’re shaking, are you okay?” He re-words his question, and the notice that your body is quivering, even within the torrid water has you more aware of yourself than you have been since Roman had led you to the bedroom hours earlier.  

“I just don’t feel like myself.” You admit, acknowledging the abnormal melancholy and malaise.

He presses the false lips of his mask to your forehead in a show of comfort. There’s nothing soft about it, the way ridged wood presses near painfully against your skin, but it is reassuring; made tender by the intention behind it.

“Tell me what you need.” It’s not a question, nor an instruction. Roman always promised that as long as you’re good to him, all of your needs would be met, this is an extension of that.

“Can you just stay with me?” You ask, “All night.”

“Of course.” He repeats the false motion of kissing you once more, this time to your soft spot where your shoulder meets your chest.

“No calls, no emails, no business?” It feels like such a demanding request, perhaps it’s because of your sub-crashing, or perhaps because Roman is so often glued to his work that it feels like an extension of himself, so you speak it quietly. As the words leave your mouth, you realise whats really going on, what your body is craving. Unwarrented insecuritiess that can't be prevented, but can be ebbed with the ressurance of your dom.

“What’s the use in making money if I don’t got you to spoil with it?” You laugh this time, and Roman soaks it up, your ease fuelling his own until he laughs too, the shaking of his chest making the water ripple. When you come back down from your shared amusement Roman reaches for the nearest bottle of body lotion, he cracks the lid, and the familiar smell of almonds and jasmine fills your nose. He squeezes a generous amount into the palm of his hand and begins to lather it against your back, his strong fingers working against the knots and kinks in your muscles, easing the stiffness in your body and soothing your mind. “Anything for you, baby, whatever you want.”