#but Dick solves cases for fun too!

[galaxymagitech]

I just saw someone on Reddit say that Tim Drake should be the next Batman.

No.

No.

Evil Gun Batman

No.

Tim would never, he’s terrified of becoming Batman.

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 2 ▷ || play next song?

summary : Your inbox has turned into a horny battlefield—six familiar usernames, six neck-down thirst traps, all hard and very, very eager.

No faces. Just bodies. Dicks. Bold lighting choices. Questionable bedsheets.

You sit cross-legged in your underwear like you’re judging Olympic figure skating, except everyone’s naked and begging to be picked.

Time to start scoring.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men, sukuna being sukuna, reader being willfully ignorant for her own sanity.

A/N : time to make your first choice for the first week by voting in the poll at the end, i'll be doing this all in descending order based on who was the most voted to the least - so vote well >:) goodluck reader ! (i wonder who the mystery man could POSSIBLY be)

You sat back for a few hours, letting it really settle in for yourself and your viewers. You had hundreds of messages and you hadn’t even finished scrolling through the first wave of submissions when the familiar usernames started sliding into your inbox—like wolves answering the call. And it was obvious, immediately, which messages you were actually going to open.

These weren’t just horny randos with messy lighting and desperate angles.

These were your regulars.

The six you already knew by username. The six who tipped with the intensity of men bidding for real estate inside your body. And now they were showing themselves to you. You hoped to whatever deity was listening that these guys were hot with huge cocks. What? It was fun to be a little superficial sometimes. First up:

EmoWithaBoner.

His message was soft-spoken, despite the picture attached being the exact opposite of that, just like always. No emojis. No bravado.

“Didn’t know how to pose,” it read. “But I thought about how you’d look on top of me, and it kind of just happened.”

It was soft, unfiltered, and a little shaky. The photo was reflected from his mirror and showed him stretched out across gray sheets, pale skin dusted with faint freckles. He looked like he went to the gym often with how built he was. Narrow hips. His cock sat flushed against his stomach, long and lean—at least seven inches, maybe more—and wait.. was that? You looked closer towards the image, inspecting it like you were trying to solve a case. Yep. It was pierced at the frenulum with a delicate curved barbell. A glint of silver. Great heavens. Saved.

TempleOfSin.

His body was art. Broad chest, warm tan skin like satin, sculpted muscle that looked carved. His torso was tapered, lean and strong, with a small trail of black hair leading down to a thick, curved cock—seven inches minimum, hand loosely resting at the base like he was showing it off without trying too hard. He was neatly trimmed. It looked like there was a bunch of robes beside him haphazardly taken off for the photo. “Consider this a formal offering,” the message read. “You could worship every inch of me truly, my loyal little follower.” Odd as always, but hot. Saved. You could hear your prayers being answered, two down and so far all was good - in fact, perfect. You were surprised these were the guys paying you, and for a second or two you felt like you should be paying them for the photos.

SixEyesOnly’s submission hit next—and of course, it came with a $500 tip before you even clicked on the message. The sight that hit your eyes made you choke a little on your own spit. 

Of course he sent multiple angles—three, actually. You picked your favorite: a half-reclined shot on luxurious navy bedding, torso lit with just the right amount of golden light. He was toned, lean muscle over abnormally long limbs, subtle abs. A soft trail of white hair led down to a perfectly girthy cock, mid-stroke—maybe just under eight inches, thick enough to stretch you open. His other hand was holding a handwritten sign: “Good enough for you?” “Oh, SixEyesOnly, absolutely.” You spoke to yourself whilst your eyes remained glued to your laptop screen. Saved. Then—unsurprisingly unhinged—daddyissuez.

“i jerked off right before i took this and got hard again just thinking about fucking you.”

And the photo… Jesus. The photo was taken in low lighting, like a scene from a noir porno. He was sitting wide-legged on a leather couch that looked like it needed replacing, legs thick and powerful, thighs dusted with black hair. His chest was solid, scars faintly visible across his abs and ribs. You closed your eyes for a second and tilted your head up to your ceiling in a silent ‘thank you’ before looking back down at the image. His cock was huge, just like the rest of him. Probably just shy of nine inches, you couldn’t keep your eyes off it. Balls heavy. Tip already glossy with precum. One hand gripped the base. The other rested lazily on his thigh like he was used to being admired. With a cock like that you couldn’t blame him. Saved. OfficeAfterHours was, predictably, meticulous. His message read like an email you’d get from someone managing your retirement plan, if that person also wanted to bend you over a desk.

“Apologies for the delay. Here’s my formal submission. Discretion guaranteed. Let me know if you'd like a second angle.”

Shot in high-resolution against crisp black sheets, his body was a symphony of intention. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, abs that looked like they’d been sculpted from marble. Not huge, but built like someone who took care of himself for discipline, not vanity. A thin trail of blonde hair led down to a cock that was gorgeous—perfect shape, thick but not excessive, probably seven inches on the dot, with veins that begged for attention. Trimmed. Clean. You could almost imagine his voice saying something like, “Breathe through it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.” A weird sound came out of your mouth in excitement from your own fantasy. Saved.

You were already overstimulated and halfway folded into your sheets when the final message hit.

KingOfRot.

You hovered over it for a second like it might bite. Which was ironic, considering he probably would. He was always the most feral in chat—filthy, relentless, tipping like his wallet had a death wish.

You clicked.

Instant regret. Instant need.

The photo looked like it had been taken during a crime.

Bathroom mirror. Harsh yellow light. Shirt pushed up to his collarbones, muscles tensed like he’d been fucking someone just before he snapped the photo. Chest broad. Arms thick. Veins roped down to his forearms. Stomach lined with clean muscle. Ink everywhere—heavy black bands around his biceps, tattoos sharp and ceremonial-looking across his chest and stomach like a ritual.

And then his cock.

You actually flinched at the offensive monster staring right back at you through the screen. Long. Thick. Too thick. Heavy. Veins running down the shaft like it had a pulse, flushed red like it had been hard for too long. The kind of cock you’d have to apologize to your body after taking. You didn’t even want to hazard a guess at the size.

He wasn’t even touching it. It was just there holding its own weight up like a pole rather than a piece of actual flesh. 

But what got you, what really made your stomach drop, was the tattoos.

They were familiar.

You’d seen them before.

There was a guy on campus—tall, smug, terrifyingly hot in the way that sent your libido into a frenzy—who had tattoos just like that. You’d seen him walking out of the athletics building once, sweatpants slung low and his shirt mysteriously missing, laughing like he knew every secret in the world. He had loudly shouted “What!?” at you when you had stared for a little longer than needed. Embarrassingly seared into your memory for that exact reason.

You squinted.

“Nope,” you muttered. “No. Not connecting the dots. That’s above my pay grade.” Surely it couldn’t be the same guy, right? The tattoos were probably, like, one of those trends that everyone was getting. That's what you were telling yourself at least.

You were about to save the photo when you finally looked at the caption.

“Pick me. I’ll fuck you so hard your ancestors will feel it. You’ll be a fucking shrine by the time I’m done.” Was that a death threat? Probably. Should you block him? Probably. “Ancestors. Okaaaaay.” You nodded your head slowly as if he was across from you saying it with a gun pointing at you. 

And then you saved it. Of course you did. Then flopped onto your back, one arm flung over your face, trying to mentally prepare for the chaos you had just invited into your life. All at the right price of course. “Thank you to whoever is listening for blessing me with viewers that are hotter than the guys I have wilfully hooked up with for free.” You spoke to your ceiling, a common theme nowadays. Seven men. Seven bodies. Seven chances to let your subscribers watch you get absolutely wrecked on camera.

Your legs were trembling from what you decided was mostly horniness.. and a little bit of fear for your own pussy by the time you shut your laptop fully. Friday couldn't come soon enough.

Now, the real question was - who would you choose first?

taglist : @syubseokie @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @gorouenjoyer @linaaeatsfamilies @lov3-ly @des-todoroki @aiicpansion @lazylunarlover @kentoslvr @cherry-berry-21 @cure-alexandrite @yourname-exee @pinkyogoart @sillymortalblob @kyvyes @xxxieli @swoozleee @augustineyukimura @uniquecutie-puff @ayepitita @luna-v-roiya @kill-your-darling274 @babiestarrcandy @b3bybunny @midnightwriter21 @miizuzu

[dontbesoweirdkira]

I was wondering if you can do Yandere dick and Tim with a Childe reader who seems to favor Tim over Dick.

Just imagine Tim finding this little Kid following him like a little duckling and thinking that he is soooo cool!

No matter how much Dick makes the kid like him Tim is always his favorite!!

(It will be funny if Batsis who doesn't like Dick at all is also around. He will be losing his mind!!)

A/N:Oh my gosh yes! Lowkey Batsis and Tim being co-sibling-parents lolll. Honestly Tim and Batsis duo is so iconic. I need to do more. I love them. look at him...he's such a good brother.

Here's the thing, Dick is the honorary dad of the family. Like he's changed diapers, taught how to tie shoes, walked his siblings to school and gone to graduations... All the siblings go to him with their problems before Bruce.

Now new baby alert,,,,Dick is in full papa mode and is ready to do the same with batchild and is so hurt when the kid screams in his arms. Like anytime he's near or picks the child up like this kid is in distress. O my gosh I feel so bad. Poor Dick.

Dick is seriously trying so hard to make batchild love him but nothing he does works. Dick could have cocomelon on full blast and wearing a Barney costume and this kid will be trying to get away.

Eventually like Jason has to be like..."dude, please just let someone else take care of em'. They need more time to adjust to you."

It's because of his blue eyes isn't it? Dick unintentionally has the Miley Cyrus blue eyed stare and the kid cannot take it. lol

All jokes aside it's really not that bad but it's clear that Dick isn't their favorite. There's definitely cute moments where Dick is sitting down with batchild in his arms and they are munching on some snacks. Or Dick is singing to them or doing a fun trick with them in the air. But ultimately the kid seems to gravitate to other siblings instead.

Dick doesn't really know how to function though. I mean we've seen just how insane he is with batsis. Only problem is he cannot be as forceful with the child in fear of scaring them.

I think the batchild and Tim situation won't get to him until he sees batsis, Tim and batchild all together.

The whole Tim obsession is out of the blue. Like Tim is almost always in his room or in a dark corner somewhere doing research. He decides to come out one evening as he had a bit of time after solving some cases...

I like to think Tim is a super geek who probably wears cartoon pajama pants or silly slippers and it caught the kid's attention so he's waddling towards him.

Tim is kind of like...what is happening? What do I do with this young human? He's kind of awkward with the kid at first but the kid is just loving himmm. Tim will try to explain the character that it is on his clothes to the kid, and they will try cutely mimicking him and Tim's heart just melts.

"Oh uhh...this is Link from..well Zelda.."

"lwink...frwum zweldwa..?'

The kid is dead set on sitting with him during dinner too. Like they climb into his lap and starting eating off of his plate. It's perfectly okay because Tim doesn't eat much at all so he didn't mind the kid messing the plate up.

He stays out in the living room a little longer than usual that night to play with the kid a little, it's super sweet.

I like to think Tim and batsis are rather close siblings so there are times where Tim will be coupe up in this room and batsis will come in with batchild and pull him away from his work. Batchild loves playing pretend with the two, specifically knights and dragons and hospital. It's nice seeing Tim a bit out of his element and having fun.

Sometimes batkid will just fall asleep in Tim's arms as he's working late. Speaking of, Tim takes to the kids like they're his little apprentice. Oftentimes you'll find them together with tons of case files out and the kid is grabbing items or pinning things on the board for Tim. Seriously that child's reading level went from first grade to 10th in the span of a few months lmaooo

But there's often times where batsis and Tim are with them. Quickly they become the kid's favorite siblings and they want them to do everything. Like when the kid is hurt, they'll cry for either. If the kid need to get ready for school, they want either to help. If it's movie night, the kid is squished in-between the two. You guys basically broke the honorary parents and it's so adorbs.

But this is where I said Dick is not having it. I feel like Dick was never threatened by Tim until now. Like sure Dick knew that Batsis and Tim were kind of close in a way and he was okay with batkid taking a liking to him...but all three of you being your own little squad is killing him.

He hates being excluded and not being needed so he's like ripping his hair out. He'll try inviting himself into the group and like the kid is just ignoring him...

Dick will try to open a juice box for the kid and now the kid doesn't even want it anymore like....bruh I wants Timmy to open it for me :(

Honestly I am not even sure really how Dick copes...Like I just feel like he doesn't explode because like I said he doesn't wanna scare the kiddo but idkkkk

[holylulusworld]

Emergency

Summary: All you wanted to do was sexting.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: sexting, wrong number trope, implied smut, horny reader

Hello, hot piece of ass. Whatcha doing? Wanna meet up?

You giggle while chatting with one of the guys you found on the newest dating app you downloaded.

He lives near your location and is a hot dude. You can hardly wait to finally meet up with him. If the pictures he sent to you aren’t fake, he’s got a big dick too.

I want to suck your dick so bad. Hey, are you online? I see the green dot. Don’t tell me you’re jerking off instead of licking my pussy.

You harrumph because your favorite sexting partner doesn’t answer tonight. He’s online, and you can see, he read all of your messages.

Dude, answer me. Last time you weren’t so shy. You better not have a girlfriend.

You can see he’s writing, but then he’s suddenly offline. No message. No reply. No sexy pictures for lonely nights. Maybe he’s a fake account too.

“Come on, asshat. Show me some skin,” you grumble under your breath. Glancing at the app, you sigh. You wait for a moment, asking yourself if you should chat someone else up.

You decide against it and roll off your bed to get your favorite toy out of your duffle bag. If he doesn’t want to meet up or help you out, you’ll take care of yourself tonight.

Placing the toy on the bed, you sigh. Being horny and single sucks. Not only because no one wants to eat your pussy.

Ready to solve the problems in your panties with one of your toys, you glance at your phone.

Hottie is back online. Strike. You bet he’ll answer this time. Maybe he had to get in the mood. On the other hand, aren’t guys always in the mood? At least the ones looking for fun on the app.

Do you want to play? Come on, don’t you want to see more of me? I promise to give you a better angle this time.

He’s still not answering. You sigh and decide to use the bigger guns.

This is an emergency!!!

He’s writing again; this time, you receive a message.

What’s the emergency? He asks.

You hear a commotion in the motel room next to yours. It seems Dean got lucky tonight, and you envy him.

HORNY!!!!

You can hear the door of Dean’s room slam shut. Only seconds later, Dean hammers against your door.

You roll your eyes. Of all the times he wants to scrounge snacks, he chose tonight.

“Sweetheart?” He knocks again. “Open the door!”

“For fuck’s sake, Winchester,” you get out of the bed to unlock the door. “What?” You glare at him and huff. “This is not the best moment to ask for snacks!”

“I only want one snack,” he smirks that irresistible smirk. His tongue darts out to wet his plush lips as his eyes drop to your crotch. “You said it’s an emergency. So, here I am.”

“What?” You splutter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You texted me, Y/N,” he argues. “You wrote that you’ve got an emergency and that you’re horny.”

Your eyes widen. This is a serious case of sexting with the wrong person.

Well, what’s done is done.

“If you’re already here,” you fist his flannel to drag him inside your room. “You can take care of my emergency.”

[asteiioss]

The One With The Proposal

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!OC

Warnings: smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), slight BDSM (use of cuffs), delayed orgasm, P in V sex, unprotected sex (people pls be safe), creampie, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Well... Okay. There's a few things you need to know about this piece of work you're about to read. This is actually a part of my series that I'm writing on Wattpad. I will put the link below in case you want to read the whole thing. It's not finished, I'm still writing it. This chapter, however, can be a standalone and can be viewed as a one-shot, so I decided to post it here, too. I wish you an enjoyable reading. Oh, and this is not read through, so if you find some mistakes, pretend that you didn't.

Wattpad acc link: here

Spencer Reid. A man known for several things. His knowledge. A brilliant man, whom the FBI owes many thanks. Uncountable cases that he helped solve that would probably stay unsolved without him. His blabbering. He had a whole paragraph ready to shout out on anything you say. The sky? Fun fact... The book you're looking at? Fun fact, the author actually... A specific person who's dead or alive or never surfaced for something they did? Fun fact about them...

You will never see him wear anything outside of professional clothes. Comfortable professional clothes. Sweaters, cardigans. He sometimes reminds me of older women who wrap themselves in their cardigans. You will never hear him swear. Not in public, anyway. The most he said once was goddamn it. The entire team was left in shock. Penelope was even scared of him that day.

He will stutter in conversations and situations that make him even slightly uncomfortable. He has a germ thing. He never shakes hands or hugs with random people. He makes contact with his friends, me, and some close people like his mother, Diane.

Now put all that into an image and try to picture that man. A shy, uncomfortable, boyish man. Stuck reading books when he has free time. No, no. He cancels plans to stay indoors and read books. Even re-read them.

That same man proposed to me half an hour ago. It was small, intimate, and sentimental. We walked by the restaurant where we confessed we loved each other. He let my hand go and I took a few steps ahead. When I turned back, he was down on one knee and held a small box in his hands.

I said yes.

I said yes more than once.

He was the sweetest man. He was mine. I loved to be loved by him. Delicate, heartwarming, caring and sweet. The man I just described above.

That same man was driving us home at the moment, his dick hard, bulging in his pants, one hand or the wheel, the other deep in my cunt while curving his knuckles at a new angle as he fucked me.

Every person has two sides.

And boy, oh boy, did I love his other side.

Everything anyone knew about Spencer, they would say he would be a sweet, whiney, submissive man during intimacy. I beg to differ.

His fingers twirling inside me, I huff as I refuse to moan just yet. I hated the way he could make me fold so, so easily. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. My mouth is open and I can't hold in pleads from him. His fingers are long. I love his fingers. But his cock is bigger.

He pulls into our parking space and he removes his hand from under my dress. He walks out and comes around to open my door. I begin to come out when he stops me, picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder. I yelp, feeling almost powerless. He slams the door and locks the car and continues to carry me up almost three flights of stairs. The apartment door flies open before we go in. He closes it with his leg and heads directly to our bedroom.

I can't help but blush. I felt like a tiny girl. How disgusting that the tiny girl imagined all the things he would do to her in a few moments. He slides me down and steps back to look at me. His eyes scan me, from the smallest hair on the top of my head all the way down to my toes. There's a devilish desire in his eyes, his mouth parted ever so slightly. His eyes come back to mine and he, almost growling, says, "I kneeled for you, now go ahead and kneel for me."

Tingles run down my entire body. I don't hesitate to obligate his request. Not a request. He demanded. And I wasn't going to defy this. I wasn't going to defy him. Not breaking eye contact, I slide down on my knees, perfectly aligned with his belt. I look ahead, seeing him painfully hard in his pants. I slide my hands up his legs and start undoing his pants. Every clank makes me tingle between my legs.

There was a specific time when a powerful, strong and independent woman only wants, no, only needs to be told what to do. I raised myself from nothing. No one helped me. I could only thank myself for everything I have accomplished in my life. I would listen to no man. No man had the power over me. No man could take nothing from me. Except him. He had all of me wrapped around his little finger.

And I didn't mind.

Being submissive to someone means so much more then people think. It means trust. It means love. Truth be told, not every submissive person tends to be like that in everyday life. Don't get me wrong, I know what comes to mind when you think of someone like that. Porn taught us so wrongly. And this? This was so much more intimate then just porn. This was desire, lust, and pure neediness.

After undoing his belt, I pulled down his pants, tugging his underwear to, removing them to. I would skip everything just to feel him. Being released from his clothes was hitting him sweetly as he took a sharp breath when my eyes fell to his dick.

I look up, almost lustful, maybe waiting for him to tell me to touch him, maybe even to beg me, a whole 180 to what I just described myself as. His eyes were dark and watching me from a high. He simply smirked, almost reading my mind and what was going through it.

"Go on," he half whispered, voice deep just like the darkness around us, "be the slut the outside world has no idea you are."

And that was all it took. My hand takes his base before I stick out my tongue and slide it up his entire length. There was a lot of length. He inhales, pushing a groan down his throat at the first touch I plant on him.

This was going to be a long night.

The kiss I leave at his tip as I start stroking him with my hand sends his head falling back. The motion pushes his curls off of his forehead. I loved when his hair fell on his face. It made him look messy. It made him look more flustered. And the image of him like that made me throb between my legs.

After enough slow-play, I stick out my tongue and take him in my mouth, slowly, reaching as far as I could before I feel him touch my throat. He feels he reached far and he groans. The funny thing is I had taken only half of him. He looks down again, his hairs flying back to his face. His fingers twist around in my hair and tug slightly, almost like he was checking the grip he had on my head.

But I soon found out it wasn't the grip why I thought he wanted it. He held my head in place as he started to rock back and forth. He was using me. Using my mouth to be precise. And he started fucking it. At first it was slow, almost shallow thrusts, reaching where he first did. But as time passed, he became more fierce. He started going deeper, hitting the back of my throat with more force making me gag. My eyes started to water as I had no control over anything. His hand held my head in place as he now almost pounded into my mouth.

As he continued, I could feel him twitch on the top of my mouth. And so did I. I felt my panties dampen with every second that passed. I was horny because my boyfriend, my fiancé, was fucking my throat like it was just something for him to use.

Muffled moans and occasional groans escaped his mouth. He was about to finish. I could easily tell by the increased speed of his thrusts and their force. Finally, he pushed himself almost the whole way, deep into my throat and let himself release there. I gagged pretty hard, trying to keep him down and not throw out his cum.

He pulled himself out and let go of his grip on my hair. His hand slid from behind to my chin and he lifted my face up. He was taking deep and long breaths, his chest falling and rising every time. His eyes scanned me, a fucked mouth, watery eyes and bright red cheeks. Must have been quite a sight.

"Swallow, baby." he said and left his mouth slightly opened, watching as the small bulb went down my throat and he smiled in satisfaction. "Good girl. Your turn."

He bent down and picked me up to carry me to the bed. Back facing the mattress, he climbed on top and roughly kissed me. I loved when he did that. After what I just did, he didn't hesitate to kiss me. He didn't get disgusted to do so. His fingers hooked around the hem of my dress and he pulled it off in one quick motion. I was left in my bra and panties that were already soaking wet. Every time he saw me like that, dressed but not dressed, I'd get shy.

I never liked my body. And yet he worshipped it.

"God, you're so gorgeous." he hovered over me, his eyes trailing over every inch of my body. I shivered from his words that sounded like a prayer. It was half whispers. Like he was afraid that if someone heard what he had, it would be stolen from him.

His lips come down and start kissing my neck, my weak spot. Just the warmth of his kiss makes me moan, eager for more as I buck my hips up towards him. I feel that I caress his cock against my thigh, and as soon as he feels it, he pushes my hips down with his hands.

"Needy, are we?" he chuckles against my skin as he now slowly moves lower and leaves a trail of kisses at my collarbone.

"I hate when you do this." I whine, my fingers roaming through his hair.

"You hate when I kiss you?" he says between kisses, one on my shoulder, one at the base of my neck, one directly in between my breasts.

"No, I-" my words get interrupted when I moan. I feel him smile when he hears me. "I hate when you make me wait. You tease. Every time." I take a deep breath in between every sentence to take in his kisses. As much as I did hate the delay of the actual sex, I loved feeling him everywhere. I didn't know what I wanted more.

He continues kissing, his lips reaching my stomach and he stops. I look down to see him slightly smirking as he is settled just between my legs. I feel shivers. He lets go of my hips and slowly pulls down my panties, sliding his fingers down along my legs in the process. He is continuing to tease me with every touch he leaves on my body.

When I finally think that he is going to stick his tongue at my cunt, I am yet again met with disappointment. He comes over me and trails his hands, slowly, around my back as he keeps looking me in the eyes to catch every whiney face I make as I plead him to fuck me already using no words. But he knows. Oh, he knows that's what I'm asking of him.

He unhooks my bra and I am completely naked. His shirt comes off as he makes us even. Again, I hope that he will now go down. It doesn't have to be his mouth, I'll be happy if he would just stick his fucking fingers into my pussy and rummage through it. But, no. He bends down and kisses my breasts, moving from one to the other. Kissing it, sucking on the nipples, squeezing them with his hands.

If he was kissing and/or sucking the right he would be squeezing the left. There was no space left for me to catch a breath. Then, he bit down on one, just enough to make me squeal. He chuckled with my tit in his mouth. I had enough. I gripped his hair and pulled him up to my face.

"What do you fucking want from me?" I say with a whiney voice. I sounded desperate. I hated it. I loved it, too.

His face had a drunk smile across it. He was enjoying this. My torture was satisfaction for him. Fucking great. "I want you to beg." he said through a whisper. His head was tilted back as I was pulling his hair.

I hated to beg him. Especially to do what I wanted. I knew he knows what I want, but he loves when he makes me break and I have nothing left but to fucking beg him to do the most unholy things to me.

I roll my eyes. "No." I simply say.

He smirks and bucks his hips so his dick slides over my dripping cunt. My entire body arches and he smiles again. "Beg, my love. Use that mouth for something else then a place for me to dump my cum."

That mother fucker. "You assh-" he bucks his hips again and breaks me mid-sentence. I growl at him.

"I don't think that's how begging works. C'mon. Beg me to fuck you. I know you want to."

It was weird hearing him swear. Not just swear, but use vulgar words in general. I used them everyday. It was like saying 'hi' to someone. But Spencer? Noup.

I gave up. I close my eyes and just make peace with my fate. "Please, Spencer."

He bends down and kisses my lips. "You have to be specific, my love. What do you want from me?"

I'm boiling at this point. Do I have a choice? If I want to be fucked, not really. "I want you to fuck me, please me, make me cum. I'm fucking tired of being teased." I practically cry out the last part.

He smirks and I let go of my grip on his hair. He doesn't move, he is still looking me directly in the eyes as he slides one hand down and caresses my inner thigh. He goes over my cunt with his entire hand and I loudly gasp. He watches, enjoys the reactions he gets as he touches me. He brings his hand up and licks his two fingers and then slides them down again.

Baby, you don't need no more moisture, I'm wet enough.

His hand finally connects to my core and he starts making circles around my clit. My body erupts. I no longer have control over my reactions. My eyebrows furrow, my mouth is wide open and it's letting out moans, whines, sounds I didn't even know I could make. And he simply watches. From time to time he would bend down and kiss my neck, maybe even bite down on it, making me buck my entire body up.

"God, you're so fucking wet." he says and starts rubbing up and down my entrance. "You're so pretty. My pretty girl."

I'm melting. Melting into his sinister hands that are touching me in the most horrid ways. And I wouldn't stop him even in a million fucking years.

He slides the fingers in, gently, slowly, caringly. I let out a loud moan, slapping my mouth after I do. Just as I did, his other hand takes my wrist and pulls it off. Holding it, he collects my other hand and pins both of them above my head. "Why would you do that?" he asks. But I don't answer, it's a rhetorical question. "You sound so beautiful when you moan for me. You sound so pretty."

His knuckles are now buried deep inside my pussy and he starts to pump them in and out. When he slides them back in, his thumb hits my clit and he curls his fingers inside just enough to hit that little spot. Every movement he made was followed by that wet sound. I just knew his fingers were drowning in my arousal, and I just knew he was so eager to put his cock inside there too.

He kisses my jaw, my neck, my cheeks. He is enjoying this. Pleasuring someone you truly love is pleasure to you as well. His other hand in on my thigh, pulling it away so he has better access and can slide in deeper then he usually could. In between my own sounds, I can hear him groan whenever I jerk my hips upward and slightly stoke him against my leg.

I want more. Now, I'm just desperate because I don't want to finish now. I want to cum over his cock while he is buried all the way inside. I want him to see that little blub in my stomach appear and disappear as he fucks me.

Like on cue, as if he heard me, he pulls his hand away and climbs the bed again. Pushing my legs fully apart, he aligns himself at my entrance. He pushes, but purposefully jerks himself up so he slides against my clit. I see him place himself on my abdomen as if he is looking how far he goes when he's inside.

"Look at how deep I can bury myself in you, love." he admires and glides his fingers over my skin. He pulls back and leans over to the drawer next to our bed. For a moment he rummages through it. "Shit."

I look over, trying to figure out what was going on. "What is it?"

He pauses and looks at me. "We don't have any condoms."

Well shit.

But I put on my big girl face. "And?"

He looks slightly surprised by my reaction. "No protection?"

I shrug. "What's the worst that can happen?" I smirk, moving myself lower on the bed and connecting myself with him. He really was hard.

He says nothing and just enters. He pushes in with quite a bit of force. I let out a quiet scream at his motion. I still needed time to adjust to his length. But he didn't care. He was already in full force, starting to pick up the pace of his thrusts. His hands go down and wrap around my hips and he uses them to pull me on himself as he continues to pound me.

The room is filled with my whines and moans, the sounds of our hips connecting and slamming against each other, and his groans. I love when he groans. I know he feels good. I make him feel good.

"You're so tight. It's so warm inside." he says through rough groans.

His fingers are diving inside the skin of my hips. I feel pain as he squeezes them. I push the feeling away, I even don't have to. The feeling of his dick hitting my deepest point is strong enough to push it away almost instantly.

The repetitive slamming into me lures my finish to approach. It's forming in my gut and I feel it slowly coming as he continues fucking me mercilessly, rough and fast thrusts.

"I'm gonna cum- Oh, God, Spence." I saw, although I'm not sure how I managed to.

Just as I said that, I felt my climax get at its highest point, and I was about to finish-

He pulls out.

What the fuck?!

"Wha- what are you doing?" I stutter, the high still in the air but it's fading away.

He looks down and has a wicked smile on his face. His cheeks are deep red and his hair is damp from his sweat. "I'm not done with you. Turn around."

I'm mad. Furious. I want to defy him so badly, I want to say 'no', maybe even flip him off. But I want to finish. I was just about to. So I do as I'm told. I prompt myself up and turn around and stand on all fours on the bed. Might I add that this is my favorite position.

I expect him to align himself again and continue to thrust like he did, but he gets off the bed and walks over to the corner of the room. The corner where he keeps his bag for work. I hear a clank before he walks back behind me. He places his hand on my upper back and slightly pushes, indicating for me to lower myself even more. My face and chest lay on the mattress. My ass is now the only thing in the air.

This position gives him more access. I am ready for it to hurt before I can adjust myself to his length again at this angle. Yet again, I don't get what I'm expecting. He takes my wrist and places it behind my back, then the other and connects it with my other one. I hear that clank again. He takes one of my wrists again and puts the metal around it.

It's his fucking cuffs.

He puts his cuffs on and thugs on the chain between them to pull my arms back. He pulls so much that I have to lift myself slightly off the bed. I tremble. Out of excitement. Our of slight fear. Out of horniness, simply.

I feel him bend down and kiss my back. He knows I love that. It feels very intimate to me. He kisses down my spine and then slaps my ass. I yelp, not just by the sudden contact, but also because he slapped it pretty hardly. Not enough to leave a bruise, but it will definitely go red in a few seconds.

"You ready?"

There are certain points in our sex life when he asks, or even simply warns to hold on tight to anything. Since I was obviously restrained, he's asking. That is enough to know this was going to be really good.

"Yeah." I whisper, my face buried back into our bed.

"You know I love you, right?" he whispers again and pushes his tip into my cunt.

My breath trembles since I was still sensitive from the high I missed a few minutes ago. "I know."

"Good. Because for the next few minutes it might not look like I do."

He didn't give me time to respond. He slammed himself inside, making me scream out. This was enough for the neighbors to hear. He started thrusting. I still wasn't adjusted to this position, and his cock was hitting from a new angle that allowed much better access. I felt pain. But, God, was it good. My eyes started watering from the pain as I couldn't take it. I prayed that my pussy would stretch just slightly so I could take him a bit easier.

After a short while, I did. The slight pain was still there. It couldn't really go away from the force he was driving himself in. And then it happened. He slapped my ass again. It was a strong slap. His hand was big enough to cover my entire cheek. I yelp at the sudden pain.

As he continues to thrust, I feel him occasionally twitch. That can mean only one thing. He is about to cum again. Just when I realize that, he speeds up. He pulls on the cuffs and makes me get up from the bed. He's pulling hard enough to hold me in the air.

He hits again, going back to squeeze after. I feel the slight burn of his slaps. Another one connects to my skin and with it I feel that high again. I don't want it to escape again, so I bend slightly so he feels me letting him slide even deeper.

Spencer quickly realizes what I'm trying to tell him, but there's not much left before I feel him hammer himself once, then again, just as I feel my climax release. I scream out, and I feel him empty himself inside.

It takes him a few seconds to calm down before he lets me fall down on the bed again. I'm a fucking mess. He takes off the cuffs and places my hands on my sides before he bends down and removes my hair from the back of my neck and kisses in that spot.

"My perfect girl." he cooed. "You're so fucking special."

I breathe deeply. "Well..." I begin as he lays down next to me. "That was fun." I feel his cum drip down out of my cunt.

He chortles. "That's one way to put it."

I was about to marry this man. I loved every inch of him. Every version there was of him. There was nothing that could take that away from me.

[all-pacas]

chase may not be dumb but he can still be a dumbass. it's a venn diagram

ways chase is smart:

solves the most cases outside of house, is the Rightful Heir to diagnostics

has somehow gotten certified in two different specialties, one of which - surgery - is notoriously difficult and intensive. is further stated to be The Best surgeon in the hospital, making him the best at two different fields

very good at reading people; has been shown to read cameron and house like books and be very adept at getting under foreman's skin to troll him (requiring, you know, the ability to tell what would do that).

in fact, was specifically (as said in the jerk) hired by house for this ability, and house himself is no slacker in the art of perception. so for that to be chase's Special Skill is telling.

worked for house longer than anyone, and it is very established that house does not tolerate idiots and will fire you.

reads nonfiction history books for fun (after hours). i mean, i do that too, it's not a mark of genius, but it does mean he has some Intellectual Curiosity etc.

ways chase is a fucking dumbass:

routinely forgets the names of his hookups

something about his spaghetti sauce stain shirts and terrible vests

have you seen him bowl

thinks women are attracted to his personality, not his looks

finds it plausible that a patient was abducted by aliens

got jealous of a 10 year old boy one time

failed to dom a patient

licks strippers

doesn't carry an epi despite having a super major allergy to a relatively common thing

was given the chance to hire someone and used it as a dating service

basically the poster child for thinking with his dick tbh. put a girl in his vicinity and he forgets everything he knows

password is password

[vinelark]

do you have comic recs for someone who wants to get into tim and timkon? I read superman comics but your fic made me wanna know more about this character who makes me want to eat metal with how weird and scary he is (affectionate)

hello! and welcome to the “weird scary little guy who makes you want to eat metal” (or perhaps put him in a salad spinner) club

tim has many, many comics, so for the purposes of this i’ll go with some big arcs/series and then some random personal favs

a lonely place of dying (1989): aka tim’s intro, in which 13 y/o tim engages in his favorite pastime (stalking dick grayson), tries to be a family therapist, and somehow ends up in a cape and pointy boots at the end of it.

robin (1993): so much content spanning so many batman plotlines; this is just issue after issue of tim being the most 90s kid to ever 90s kid (and then 00s kid to ever 00s kid). also much of it is written by chuck dixon, who is good at being so homophobic that the characters loop right back around to being queer.

young justice (1998): for both tim and kon (and bart and cassie and the whole yj crew)! also featuring tim and kon both wearing gloves that are way too big for them. no idea what's going on there but it's kind of like when puppies have giant paws they haven't grown into yet.

red robin (2009): THE tim comic to me, partially because marcus to draws most of it (issue 6 on i believe) and the way he draws tim here is peak tim to me, and partially because tim is just balls to the wall bonkers in fucking yonkers the whole series. this spans his brucequest and damian becoming robin (and damian in this is so!! and dick is so!!) while tim takes his shaky next steps. he’s in his messy bitch era but also stuck at 17(?) so that just means he’s randomly making out with sort-of-adversaries on rooftops and thinking longingly of kon and getting fake engaged(??) to a girl he can barely ask on a first date. (it has scant few but still some good timkon moments here and there.) (and speaking of marcus to: this and this.)

a lonely place of living (detective comics) (2017): an arc in which everyone thought tim was dead but surprise! he was just stuck in a pocket dimension prison and now he has to come back and stop gun batman (again). feat. tim being wildly competent from page one. kon is, iirc, currently erased from the timeline but never fear, tim still manages to find a way to think about him.

random/short comics:

WF3: superboy & robin (1996): tim & kon solve a case together in a two-parter that is, as described by a reviewer on its league of comic geeks entry, "…a pretty fun meet cute, I mean team-up…" (basically: see above re: chuck dixon.)

knight terrors: robin (2023): a two-parter in which tim and jason are trapped in a sentient nightmare together. if you like those vibes definitely check out this fic.

nightwing (1996) #25: tim being an annoying little brother is something that can be so personal—

[malfiora]

Been There

"Leave me alone, you insufferable idiot," Damian huffs. He stomps off towards the elevator, and though he knows it's impossible, Tim swears the door slams shut.

He sighs. "All I said was he needed to be more careful," he grumbles to no one in particular. "He's lucky that scaffolding held his weight."

Jason, of all people, is the first to break the silence. "Can't trust the construction companies on the east side," he says with a nod.

"Exactly." Tim glances at the elevator, and Damian's heated face appears in his mind's eye again. "I don't get it. I don't get him." For months now, he and Damian had been on solid ground. Sure, they still bicker, but it's more fun, like sparring but with words. And with Damian's company came a confidante, and a partner to run theories by, and a pair of eyes to watch his back in the field. Things were going well, so why had Damian reacted that way to his concern?

Jason's snickering cut through his thoughts. "Even Dick wasn't this oblivious," he says between laughs. (What does Dick have to do with this?) "C'mon, Timmy, I thought you were a detective."

Tim rolls his eyes. "I am. There are no clues here. No patterns, nothing." It isn't like Tim doesn't have theories. Damian's random behavior must be due to puberty hormones or something.

"Uh huh, sure. Tell me, has the kid ever acted like that before? I mean, after the trying-to-kill-you era." Jason crosses his arms and leans against a stalagmite with a smirk. (Maybe it'll break under his weight. One can only hope.)

Still, he thinks about it. "He got all flustered that time I ruffled his hair." Tim shrugs, heat crawling up his neck. "I don't know why I did it, I just saw Dick doing it a bunch and I thought the kid liked physical touch. I was sure wrong."

"Hmm. What else?"

Why was Jason asking this? "Um, that time he kicked me in the shin after I got him that blade care kit he wanted for his birthday." Tim rolls his eyes. "I guess gift giving isn't his thing either," he adds dryly.

"Sure. Anything else?"

"Well, he also looked like he was gonna cry when I told him I was impressed when he solved that Falcone case. Words of affirmation is out, too."

Jason sighs. "You're focused on the wrong pattern, genius." And that's all he says before pushing off the rock. He heads to the elevator with a grumbled, "I can't believe I might have better luck with the brat."

Leaving Tim alone with his thoughts. Well, alone amongst the backdrop of the rest of the clan doing whatever it is they do. Except Damian, because he had fled as soon as possible without even bothering to change out of his Robin suit. Tim sits on the stool next to him and frets over what just happened.

Maybe he had offended the kid. He hadn't meant to sound condescending, had carefully modulated his tone to sound casual so Damian wouldn't think he was lecturing. He trusts Damian's judgment to know better than that now, had only wanted to provide additional information to help him adjust his decisions in the future. That usually works, would normally have earned him a curt nod and a hushed, "Noted, Drake."

Maybe he had overestimated their closeness. The role of concerned big brother hadn't been exactly natural for him, but it settled on him with time. As long as he doesn't come off as coddling Damian, the kid usually appreciates having someone to watch his back, someone to tease and have inside jokes with. Maybe Tim had read too much into the "Timothy"s and the sketch Damian drew for him one morning and the promise to name one of Alfred's kittens after him (especially considering the girl is spayed).

Maybe he –

Oh God. Tim's eyes widened. Maybe he truly is an insufferable idiot. The clues, the pattern, they were all right there. (And Dick had pieced this together way faster than he could, according to Jason.)

Tim runs a hand over his face as Damian's actions take on a new light. The blushes. The sputtering. The eyes widening before quickly looking away. The desperate attempts to put distance between them as quickly as possible. All in response to Tim showing even a hint of affection or concern. The truth is so absurdly simple that he laughs. It leaks through his fingers as he tries to hold it in.

Damian has a crush.

[imthenextrobin]

got a bit too angsty last post, so here’s a fun one to make it up!

a few years ago, when Damian was brand new to the manor and stressed out at everything.

Nobody knew how to help him calm down, and while Tim and Steph kept their distance, with the occasional annoying older sibling acts, Cass and Dick worried for Damian.

So, Cass left the manor around 3:16 PM and came back a few minutes later, a bag of chocolates in hand.

Dick, not wanting to know where she got them in such a short time, quickly appreciated her idea as he could see Damian tilt his head in curiosity.

(And if he could hear a little kid crying to his dad that a shadow stole his candy, he would just make a mental note to drop off more in the kids bedroom)

As such, Damian initially refused the chocolate, but later grew accustomed to it. As time went on, Damian ate chocolate exclusively from a well known vegan brand, which didn’t usually appeal others.

Which is why Damian was so confused on who would steal his chocolates??? Like??? Nobody even likes them??? This had to be a crime against him.

However, when he asked around, nobody had a clue to who stole it. Everyone denies stealing the chocolate, (obviously) but weirdly, not a single person had an idea of who it could’ve been

Dick asked if Jason was at the manor, because if so it probably would have been him, but when interrogated, Jason refused and said he had dropped by, but hadn’t stayed for long and didn’t even know he had chocolates. “And.” he added, “I hate those damn things. Can’t even call the chocolates.”

Damian then went to Tim, who simply stated that he was working on an annoying case. He had gotten frustrated and went to bed a few hours before the chocolates had been eaten. (Damian didn’t bother to point out he had found the chocolates eaten at 5 in the afternoon)

After asking Cass, Steph, and Duke all together; they reasoned that maybe he had eaten them in his sleep????? Which Damian doubted was even possible in the first place, leading him to be suspicious, however the three had alibis as they had all spent the day hangout out with their friends. “Our teenage friends, you know, going outside instead of staying indoors all day?”

Annoyed, Damian went back to his father, who could only offer to help him solve the ‘case’ really quickly before heading to a meeting.

The duo sat in the couch together a few hours later, both equally stumped as not a single clue had popped up. One by one, all members of the bat family step into the investigation, until everyone is in one of the living rooms, arguing with one another about who stole the damn cookies, friendships are broken, new ties are made, promises are destroyed.

Bruce has to break up a fistfight between Tim and Jason.

Damian rubs his hands against his head as he tries to soothe his headache. Whatever, at least it would last only today.

(and if years later, when Damian is a teen and grown up, the topic is brought up again by Dick and everyone starts fighting about it, Damian would just rub his forehead again)

[ruoshik0]

Tim is a dragon. P2

See above for p1

Tim, as a proud representative of the dragon race, does on the regular.

Normal caffiene doesn’t work on him. He has to keep pouring in energy drinks after energy drinks after coffee after tea after magic caffiene to wake himself up. As you can probably guess, this would freak out the family if they knew.

Cold cases are fun! Coupled with morbid fascination of murder itself, and the fun quest of finding the whodunnit, Tim’s stack of solved cold cases are nearly triple that of Bruce. Dragon brain power had a lot to do with it. (Bruce is jealous and Tim finds that a funny bonus. Arrogance would be the death of him but who says he cant have fun?)

Toying with businessmen and women alike. Backhanded compliments and playing the victim are his favourite past-time during galas. Building connections gets boring after a while

Morals mean nothing to him. Following batman around, tim learned humans put a lot of weight on killings and such. It helped with bringing batman back to himself but tim never really saw any point in saving villains and the like. (‘C’mon Dick! Let em die! It’s karma! It’s not murder if we didn’t do anything to save them!’ Tim thought as he calmly and regally explained that that clone was basically him with his mindset)

In a family of detectives, Tim barely even tried to hide nature. Having the ability to turn invisible at any point in time with his magic, Tim plays a game with the Bats that only he knows they are playing. Which is; Find out what is wrong with Tim! Featuring! Tim himself!

Dragons are beautiful. It’s no wonder girls were so willing to change themselves to fit his type. While Tim does like that he is pulling, he could do without all the forced kisses, he’s not really the romantic type most of the time.

Superboy and Impulse never died. What do you mean they died? They didn’t.

Everyone else still died though.

Sometimes, dragons like to hibernate. Sometimes, Tim’s family and friends get worried because he has now reached hour 23 of uninterupted sleep. They think Tim has some kind of illness when he doesn’t wake up no matter how hard they try.

No one can hack through Tim’s firewalls. No one but Tim himself. And master hackers who has a Sorcerer or Sorceress Supreme on speed dial. (His dragon magic is a very good asset in his technology ventures)

His appearance as a dragon is very very VERY majestic. Sometimes, he likes to scare wizards and witches in the Wizard world with his sudden appearance. (Dragon appearances are rare, almost all records are only about Tim too)

He likes to tweet. Most of his tweets are just him making fun of the Waynes. (He is a hater at heart. He will always be.)

[arkangelo-7]

Okay, but Bruce Wayne plays chess. And you can pry this hc out of my cold dead hands.

Remember that Bruce Wayne is the tactical genius behind the Justice League’s success. Strategical maneuvering is his thing. And on top of that, he’s excellent at reading people. (He didn’t earn the title of the World’s Greatest Detective just because he’s pretty—he earned it because he’s so fucking good at figuring out how people think).

Chess is the hellchild of both tactical strategy and extreme observation. Any chess master worth his rooks utilizes both of these disciplines—because chess, at its heart, is a game about using complicated moves to outsmart another person.

So naturally Bruce fucking loves it.

It’s, like, the only board game he’ll actually play. Yes, he’ll sit through a round of Bananagrams with Steph or Scrabble with Jason or (one time) Bop It with Dick, but he mostly does that for the kids and doesn’t put much of his brainpower into it. But chess? Bruce won’t half-ass it. He will eviscerate you.

No. Mercy.

Because other than the Riddler’s occasional break outs from Arkham, chess is the closest thing to a brain teaser that Bruce can feasible get. (His brain works way too fast for those ones you can find online and solving murder cases a little too depressing to be any fun, even if they’re particularly hard to crack.) For him, chess is fun in a way a lot of games just aren’t.

He’s forced all the Batkids to learn it. It’s like unofficial hazing in Wayne Manor—once you know chess, you’re basically a part of the family. But most of the kids don’t like it all that much; Dick can’t sit through it, Jason got too frustrated, Damian was taught by Ra’s and now hates chess by extension, and Steph, Duke, and Cass don’t see the point if they know they’ll never actually be able to beat Bruce.

So they all hate it—except for Barbra and Tim.

Barbra is the only one to have beaten Bruce while he was at the top of his game. Her mind moves like a computer and she counter-attached his strategy before Bruce could even compute what was happening. Now they play every other Wednesday.

Tim got his ass handed to him the first few times he played Bruce, but took that as a challenge. He ended up going on an entire side-quest with Young Justice to uncover some hidden chess manual just so he could have a leg up on Bruce—but Bruce is still just a little bit better. Now, whenever they play, the matches last up to 20+ hours and neither of them will say a word the entire time.

So, yeah. Bruce plays chess.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

as the literary analysis guy a literary analysis question for you (not really): in your opinion what are the most important traits and skills for any given riddles guy to have? aside from being green, annoying and bisexual

generally I like when he skews "unconcerned about human life but not aggressively homicidal," which I will acknowledge is a difficult needle to thread and is often an unfortunate case of "I know it when I see it. the best I can do is that I'm generally pretty fine with the Riddler dumping Batman in a trap that will 100% kill him if he can't brain his way out of it, and using civilians as bait or leaving them to be collateral damage is fine (think shit like the Riddler causing city-wide blackouts, which certainly kills people but is pretty secondary to his goal, which is Make Batman Solve My Stupid Blackout Puzzle), but I didn't like the kill happy Gotham (2014-2019) Riddler at all and I wasn't crazy about what Paul Dano was getting up to in The Batman (2022).

which I think is also because there was, like, political and ideological motivation behind it? for me, a really ideal Riddler is one who's too deeply self-interested to really give a shit about much outside of him and Batman and anyone who's like immediately in his bubble irritating him; his motives are pretty directly tied to attention seeking and pettiness and spite. like he's not checked out exactly, and I think he can be a lot closer to earth than some other rogues, but ooooh babey something in his worldview is just skewed a liiiiiiittle bit wrong, his priorities are OFF. I've talked before about how I think it's very fun when he's demonstrably smart and competent and very capable of more conventional, legal success, but he repeatedly shoots himself in the dick and gives it all up because he's too obsessed with doing riddles to Batman to prove that he's the smartest little freak in the world. and he's just... borderline incapable of seeing things from anyone else's perspective, I think it's a combination of being somewhat unable but also unwilling.

also man sorry to say it but I do love when his family just fucking hated him, RIP Edward Nygma. in his defense I do Not like when he's written going full incel, I do not think he is good at talking to women but I also don't think it needs to be a whole personality trait. I like when Echo and Query are around, I think he needs gal pals who are cooler than him :)

[holylulusworld]

Very tight places - Kinktober 3

Summary: You're stuck with a soulless Sam again.

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x fem!Reader

Square 8 filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Amnesia

Square 6 filled for @samwinchesterbingo: Dirty Talk

Warnings: soulless!Sam being his asshole self, cheating (kinda), smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mentions of anal sex, creampie, claustrophilia, blasphemie

Rating: Explicit

Kink: Claustrophilia

Words:

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

Catch up here: Cramped (1) & Tight places (2)

Six months later you are still hunting with Dean and Sam. You didn’t want to leave the elder Winchester alone with his soulless brother. 

Who are you trying to kid? The ugly and embarrassing truth is, that you can’t stay away from Sam for too long.

He’s intoxicating. You’re high on him, and the way he fucks you. If you had an ounce of dignity left, you’d tell the bastard to fuck off. But you are too far gone to care.

Most nights, you let him do unspeakable things to you. Dean stumbled in on you and his brother, calling you sick more than once. He wrinkles his nose anytime Sam gropes you in front of his brother.

Sam has no filter. In any way. When it comes to sex, he doesn’t care if you are in the middle of a case, at a hospital, or buying groceries. Sam wants you, and he gets you.

Anytime. Anywhere.

“Sam, what are we doing here, dressed in the cheapest costumes we could find,” you grumble as Sam decides you must play nun and priest to solve your latest case. 

Dean is out and about to find Death. Not to die this time, but to convince Death himself to help him get Sam’s soul back. 

Sam is not amused. He wants to stay like this. New and improved. Deadly, focused, and with a sexual appetite making even Dean blush.

“I look ridiculous. They will not believe I’m a nun.” Glancing around the almost empty church you sigh. At least there are not many people around to witness your poor performance.

“Why?” Sam resists the urge to grope your ass. Seeing you in your nun costume got him rock-hard. If not for the case he wants to solve, he’d have you bent over the altar already. “We look just the same as the priest I knocked out to get his clothes.”

“You did what?” you stop in your tracks to gape at Sam. “Please tell me you didn’t knock a priest out, Samuel Winchester. I don’t want to go to hell only because you have no impulse control.”

Sam smirks darkly. “You are so cute when mad,” he dips his head to whisper, “not so cute while you writhe on my fat cock. You’re a whore, not a saint. I know how you like it. Dirty and rough.”

“Sam, can you for once not think about your dick?” You growl. “We still need to find the monster killing the people at the church. Sadly, the only witness still suffers from amnesia.”

“That’s where you come in,” Sam purrs. “I didn’t want you to wear this iconic tunic only for fun. You are the one taking Sister Margaret’s place. You’ll fit in just fine.”

“I don’t want to play the next victim for the monster. Which by the way, you still didn’t identify, Sam. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent the last night at the bar with that blonde,” you snap at the hunter. You don’t give a shit if your blow your cover. Sam won’t get away with treating you like a random bitch he can fuck and leave afterward.

“Y/N, be honest with me,” he chuckles at your angry expression, “are you jealous because you are in love with me?“

“You wish,” you walk away, too angry to be around Sam today. Are you jealous? Of course, you are. Sam and you spent the last months together. Most of the time in the sheets. But last night, he told you to leave and didn’t return until early in the morning.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” Sam mocks you. “I know you love me. You draw hearts and imagine walking down the aisle while I wait for you to give you the ring.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you turn back around to snap at Sam. “I can’t wait for Dean to get your soul back. The moment you have it back, I’m gone. Don’t believe I stuck around for you and your limp dick. I did it for Dean because he’s a good man. Always was.”

“You want my brother?” His features darken, and you can see the change in Sam’s eyes. You take a step back. You know the look in his eyes. It’s the same one you see when he’s about to attack a monster. “Well, too bad. He can’t have you.”

“He can have me if he wants me.” It’s your turn to pay Sam back for all the times you asked yourself if he’s with some other girl. “Just like you had that pretty little thing last night.”

Sam snorts. “She was boring and wanted to go on a date first.” He casually says. As if this excuses his behavior, and how he treated you last night. “Come. I show you something nice.”

“Sam, I’m not in the mood for one of your games. Let’s just solve this case and we can go our separate ways. I stuck around far longer than I intended to.” You huff as Sam once again, ignores your protests. He grabs you by your arm and drags you toward the confession booth.

“Sam! What are you doing?” 

“Shush now, I saw someone,” he pushes you inside the booth and closes the door behind him. You gulp. You’re stuck in a tight place with Sam again. “Do you have your gun?”

“What kind of question is that Winchester? I’m not an idiot!”

“Good. Stay in here and wait for me,” he turns around to look at you. Something flashes in his eyes before he turns around to leave the booth. Not without telling you to lock it, though…

You’re gnawing at your nails. Sam left you at the confession booth half an hour ago, and now you don’t know if you left the booth to help him or not. 

You press your ear to the door, listening to your breathing. There is not a sound, and you wonder if Sam messed with you and just left the church.

“Open the door,” Sam knocks at the door, “now.”

“Fuck, Winchester,” you curse, but unlock the door to drag Sam inside. He closes it behind him once again and releases an annoyed huff as you check him for injuries. 

“You can't wait to put your hands on me again, huh?” Sam turns around to look you up and down. “You know,” he licks his lips. His large hands shoot toward your face to cradle it for a moment, “I think you should confess your sins to me, my dear.”

“I said I’m not in the mood for one of your games,” you pout and cross your arms over your chest. “Why did you leave me in here, all alone? Did you find the monster?”

“I fucked the nuns and gave them a good spanking,” Sam deadpans. “What do you think I did? I kept you safe. The monster wasn’t here. We will find them, though.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“And you are still my whore. My brother can’t have you,” he moves his hand to your throat. “Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish I would,” he chuckles as you claw at the hand holding your throat in a tight grip. “OR maybe I should remind you of your worth. Turn around, lift your tunic, sister. I want to see your cunt.”

“No.”

“Do it or I swear I’ll drag you out of here and fuck you on the altar like I wanted to,” he warns. You know Sam is not joking. If you don’t do as he says, he’ll drag you out and have his way with you on the altar.

He drops his hand from your throat, smirking as you slowly turn around. You shove the black tunic up your body to reveal your ass to him. 

“I hate you so much.”

“No panties,” Sam moves his hand between your legs to find you dripping for him. “you’re such a whore for me. I can’t believe I found someone like you.”

You should knee his balls and just leave him there. Instead, you press your hands against the wooden wall and brace yourself for Sam’s massive cock. He’s not a fan of foreplay when he’s like that. 

“My whore.” He runs his large hand over your back, down to your ass. “Look at you, ready to have my cock. I think I’ll go for your ass today.”

You suck in a breath. It’s always a struggle to take him up your ass. Especially when he’s impatient. 

“Here?”

“Aw, my little cockslut loves having me up her ass, huh?” His pants drop to the ground before you can even choke out a moan. Sam is on you in a blink. One hand moves between your legs to slap your pussy. “Answer me!”

“YES!”

“Louder!”

“I love your cock up my ass,” he slaps your pussylips again, and again until your tender flesh throbs and you soak his hand. “I want to feel it all the time.”

“Beg me,” he slings his arm around your throat. “Y/N, I’m not asking,” Sam growls in your ear. “I want to hear you beg.”

“Please give me your cock, Father Winchester,” he bends your body to his will and rams himself inside of your leaking cunt.

“Fuck,” Sam is not gentle. All he gives you is his free hand between your legs to toy with your clit. He snaps his hips into your ass, making you cry out with every deep thrust. “I love it when cry a little.”

“Ass-hole,” you press your hands hard against the wooden wall. “I hate you so much.”

Sam doesn’t care about your words, or that you soak his cock only a few thrusts later. He batters your cunt, hoping to force another orgasm out of you to make you see that only he can fulfill your desires.

“You make the sweetest noises when I fuck you,” he nips at your earlobe, teeth sinking in your flesh to tug at it. You moan and push back onto him. Sam knows exactly which buttons he must push to get what he wants. “I’m going to fill this cunt up again.”

You hiss his name when your body sizes up. You tremble in his arms and close your eyes as your orgasm washes over you. When he fucks you like this, from behind you can pretend it’s the real Sam, not the broken version of the hunter.

“You’re such a good slut for me, Y/N. I’ll never let you go,” his words a more threat than a promise. His hips begin to stutter. “Open that pussy for me, take my cum…”

You don’t know how you made it out of the church without getting caught. Sam’s cum ran down your thighs as he dragged you out of the place you stained with your sins.

Back at the motel, you try to make him talk to you. Sam sits across you, just staring at you.

“Sam, we still need to find the monster.” You sigh as he ignores you. “SAM! The monster.”

“It was a hoax,” he shrugs and drops his eyes to your legs. “I wanted to fuck you at a church in a confession booth.”

“There is no monster?” Your jaw drops. “You drove to the middle of nowhere, and forced me to wear a nun costume only for sex.”

“Roleplay, kitten. It’s essential to keep my dick hard.” He watches you squirm on the bed. “Be good and spread your legs. Let me see your tainted cunt.”

“Sam…can you just not be so crass all the time?” 

“I said,” he gets up from his seat to stand in front of your bed, “spread your legs and show me your well-fucked and cum stained cunt.”

“Fine,” you fall back onto the bed and spread your legs. “Satisfied.”

“Hmm…I don’t know,” he unbuckles his belt with one hand and shoves his pants down his legs. “I think you need more cum in your pussy…”

“Please tell me you got him out,” Dean looks at Death. 

“I got his soul, and we should hurry but,” Death looks Dean straight in the eyes, “I must warn you. This soul got ripped apart, and there is not much left of the brother you knew…

Part 4

[thisweekinfandomhistory]

Time for a truly nerdy ask:

What fandoms do you think Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes would be involved in? Both pre-war and in modern times?

Ooh, this is a fun question!

Well, we know from the comics and the enthusiasm over the Stark Expo that Bucky really liked science fiction and pulp novels, so I think pre-war, he probably liked Buck Rogers a lot (and probably got a kick out of the name!). I can see Steve liking detective serials on the radio because of the necessity of solving clues or "strategizing" how to solve the cases -- maybe something like Dick Tracy or The Shadow?

In modern times, I feel like Bucky is a Star Trek guy over being a Star Wars guy, although I can't really explain why. Just vibes, and maybe the idea of a hopeful future still appeals to him. The idea that humanity could still be saved despite everything feels like the kind of Bucky I like reading and writing. :(

Steve was an artist, and I know A LOT of people headcanon him being a huge Disney animation fan, and I agree that I think Steve would be fascinated by the hand-drawn Disney movies as an artist, but I think Steve would probably be more drawn to something like Studio Ghibli because afaik, it's still hand-drawn and I think the different art style from how he was trained would interest him. I also think those movies are kind of sweet but melancholy, and that's very Steve. I feel like Steve would be that guy who talks to all the people at the comic book store, too, to find out about who's doing exciting art that month!

Thank you for the fun question. ^_^

[thiswasinevitableid]

Pavlovian (Solving)

My third square for @theterrorbingo was: bell.

This fill is NSFW. Also, I know this is not technically what a Pavlovian response technically is but I couldn't resist the title.

Sol was expecting a seedy part of town. The spot John parks the car is across from a bar called Hemingways, an old-school looking movie theater, and a bookstore with a swirly, pink font. The building his boyfriend is now looking up at, lips set in a line, has the kind of restaurant that uses Edison bulbs for lighting on the ground floor, and no windows on the top. 

“Sure you wanna do this? We can always just get dinner, call it a night.”

“Yes, Solomon. I’m sure.” His voice is bordering on prissy, a sign that he’s more confident than Sol assumed. 

“Didn’t mean anything by it.” Sol kisses his cheek, “but seems to me if you wanna punish me for being a pain we’re in a good spot for it.”

His boyfriend blushes, “Wait until we’re inside. Please.”

Sol follows him up the back stairs, excited. John’s never been rough with him, in spite of how much he enjoys Sol fucking him into the bed with all the force of a felon who just spent forty years alone. And isn’t that the whole point of these places? To try something new?

When they step inside, they follow a warmly lit hallway to a woman in a shimmery, red dress who’s waiting at a wooden podium. 

“Hi!” She waves, giving them a quick once-over. The instructions said formal clothing was required, so Sol crammed into his one good suit while John is sporting the one that reminds Sol of military dress. 

They must pass her approval, because she continues, “First time here?”

“Yes.” John nods. 

“Okay, so I’m going to give you a run down of the rules really quick…”

He and John listen carefully as she outlines how to behave in the space. Sol appreciates some of the specifics, but a lot of it seems like it should go without saying; don’t put your hands on anyone without their say-so, back off if someone isn’t interested, don’t stand there staring with your dick in your hands like a creep…

“I’ll need your phones. We take guest privacy incredibly seriously.”

They hand them over and the woman opens a locker behind the desk and sets them in it, then passes the key to John with a cheery, “Have fun!”

He takes John’s hand and they step into a space with colored mood lighting and some inoffensive club mix playing over the speakers. The first chunk of the space isn’t that different from a normal bar, neon blue lights shining through bottles on the wall while a goth chick pours drinks and chats with people who are…more normal looking than Sol was expecting. Older, too, a lot of them. 

The rest of the club is where things get interesting. There are leather couches and chairs dotted around all kinds of sex furniture. Some of it, like the kneeling benches or the wooden X’s, he understands. But there are a few that are so abstract he gives up working out what they are until he sees them in action. 

“Should we look for a spot?” John glances up at him, nervous under those dark lashes. 

“Yeah, love, let's take a spin.” He sets a protective hand on John’s lower back. That’s why he’s here, isn’t it? To loom in case anyone gets any ideas, to be a mast to cling to if John starts drifting. 

“I want this as a final…fuck you.” John only half-looks at the computer screen, face bright pink, “to them. To all of it.”

Surprised as he is, Sol swells with pride; not even a year ago, his boyfriend could barely fuck with the lights on, drowning in all the bullshit about sex his upbringing dunked his head into. Now he wants to go to a sex club to prove he doesn’t buy into any of it anymore. 

Sol whistles, “Count me in. Lots we could get up to in there, huh?”

“We might not even get up to anything. I mostly just want to go. Maybe make-out a little if we want.” John smiles at him, “so don’t get your hopes too high, soldier.”

Sol is trying. Fuck is he trying. But there are people with their hands under shirts or down pants, the sounds of leather hitting skin, the smell of sweat and body wash and perfume all mixed together in a way that should be gross but instead just makes him feel alive.

John must notice. He’s a prude in everyone else's eyes, but Sol knows him, knows that ever since they fell half-drunk into bed together that first time, John’s had a sex drive Sol used to think only existed in porn. 

They haven’t found a spot that feels right, so they stop at the bar which, tonight, is booze-free only. John buys them mocktails (Sol’d roll his eyes except Heather swears by the things; pain meds from surgery and booze don’t mix).

As they’re searching for a place to sit and drink, they notice an empty couch next to a man in a leather arm chair. The man looks up, notices them, and smiles. 

“You’re welcome to sit.”

They do and the man, who introduces himself as Harry, sets the book (poems, it looks like) across his lap as he shifts to regard them. 

“Is it your first time here?”

“Yes. Just taking it all in.” John smiles. 

“Well, welcome! It’s really a wonderful spot. Fascinating to be in” Harry is so eager, almost innocently so, as he chats with them. Between the nerdy waistcoat and fluffy hair, Sol’s starting to suspect the guy might just be some professor here doing research.

“I don’t attend myself, but I’m told the karaoke night is-” Harry stops, grinning, “there you are.”

Standing at the edge of the couch is the biggest man Sol’s ever seen. He’s shirtless, showing chest hair darker than the salt and pepper thing he has going on up top. He’s also in black briefs that show a shape that’d make a less secure man jealous. But Sol’s never had any complaints. 

“Sorry, doc, bit of a back-up at the bar. They had that blackberry one you like though.”

“Wonderful.” Harry takes the glass, “Henry, this is Sol and John. Gentlemen, this is my boyfriend, Henry.”

Henry gives a friendly wave, stepping forward. Sol moves to stand, feeling John do the same; this is the only seat, and Henry probably wants to be next to his boyfriend. 

Instead, Henry sets his drink next to Harry's, then kneels at his feet. 

“There we are, such a good boy. Fetching for me and coming right back.” Harry leans down and kisses Henry's shaggy mess of hair. 

Something squirms in Sol's chest, unfamiliar and sharp. 

Henry sighs happily, then rests his cheek on his master’s knee. There’s a thick, black collar lined with lush grey fur around his neck. Sol swallows, imagining the same, soft grey on his skin. Or maybe plain leather, he’s always liked how it feels. 

“Would you like your blindfold?” Harry murmurs. 

“Yes, please. Sir.” 

Harry glances their way, looking for what Sol can’t say. Then he smiles like a host at a party, “If you have questions, I’m happy to answer them.” He pats his chest, “damn, did I leave it at home?”

“My coat, sir.” Henry murmurs, eyes shut and lips in a fond curve. 

“Ah! Yes” The man rifles through the dark coat slung over the chair, producing a silky, purple blindfold and carefully guiding it down his partner's head. Henry’s hands stay put in his lap, even when the fabric catches and Harry has to adjust. Stays still and pliant, there only for Harry to tend to.

The squirming mass in his chest presses at his ribs, “Thought the whole thing was you made the sub do it for you.” Sol says without thinking, then clears his throat when Harry looks up, “I mean, that’s what he is yeah?”

“I suppose.” Harry resumes petting grey-black hair, “it’s more that he’s a handsome beast and I’m his master. A lucky one, I might add.” He seems to scratch Henry’s scalp, making the larger man moan softly and cuddle closer. 

“I see…” John’s been silent the last few moments, and now sounds intrigued. 

“Earplugs too, darling? No? Very well.” Harry returns his attention to them, “honestly, I’ve heard people call each other all sorts of things in here, and act out all manner of things, too. Human creativity knows no bounds, truly.” 

“Is that why you come here?” John leans forward.

Harry laughs, “It’s a secondary reason, but I can’t deny curiosity has always been at play. It was actually Henry’s idea; he told me he liked the thought of being on display with his senses dulled, but only if he knew I was here keeping him safe and comfortable.”

“Was the collar your idea?” The feeling is pressing all through Sol’s chest now. 

“It was. Though it was enthusiastically received.” He rubs the O-ring, Henry responding to the subtle touch by nuzzling his knee. 

Sol turns to look at John, close to falling to his knees himself. He’d like that, right? He said he likes Sol no matter what.

But Sol has to be what John needs, that has to come first. And that’s a guard dog, not a lap dog. 

It takes a sec to realize that John is looking at him as well, doe-eyed as ever but contemplative as he turns his attention back to Harry. 

“How did you do it?”

“Hm? Oh, well, I read more or less everything I could find on dominant/submissive dynamics, then Henry and I talked about it-”

“No I, um” John clears his throat, and when he speaks again it’s the voice he uses giving orders at work, “how did you train your beast so well?”

Harry nods, “Of course. Well, it helps to find one that already has the disposition for such things” his hand slides down from Henry’s head to the base of his neck, stroking it as he speaks, “docile enough to want to be tamed, strong enough to handle discipline when necessary.” Henry whines and Harry chuckles, “even if he does fuss about it now and then.”

“I see.” John leans in, as if studying Henry, and Sol wants to howl that he could take anything John gave him and come crawling back for more. 

“Then it’s simply a matter of training. Giving them a cue so they know when to obey, establishing your rules, that sort of thing. I find a firm yet gentle hand works wonders, but that’s personal preference. Some may need more severe correction if they’re prone to rowdy behavior.” Then he almost giggles, as if he’s amused by his own speech, and cups Henry’s chin to bend forward and kiss him, “and lots of kisses. Those are a must.”

“Thank you, that was very educational.” John shifts back to his normal way of talking, “we should make another pass through, make sure we didn’t miss anything we wanted to try, right Sol?”

Anything he wanted to try? Can he not tell Sol’s half-hard in these fucking slacks just from imagining what John would do if he got rowdy?

“Course, love. Thanks so much, Harry. You too Henry.”

“You’re welcome” Harry replies as the man on his knees gives a smile and friendly thumbs-up, “and if you decide to come back another time, I hope we get to chat again!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sol’s going to lose his fucking mind. 

After they took a second look at the club, John said he’d like to go home, if that was alright by Sol. 

And it was, of course it was, but now he’s pulling off his dress shoes at the front door while John wanders into the kitchen, feeling more and more like he’s going to go to all fours. 

“I wasn’t interested in him, you know.”

Sol turns to where his boyfriend is standing straight-backed in the kitchen doorway. He can’t work out what the fuck is going on, so he settles on waiting with what he worries is a vacant look. 

“Henry. You’re jealous of him.”

Fuck.

“Not really. Don’t worry baby, knew you weren’t after him.”

“Sol, please don’t lie to me. Your mouth has been doing that thing all night, the one where you’re worried someone is about to overstep.”

His affection at John knowing him so well is stomped down by embarrassment. 

“S’nothing.” He shrugs and dips his head, but John simply steps forward, clearly not ready to drop the whole thing. 

“What’s going on?” A hand settles in his hair; John has soft hands. Sol used to tease him about that. 

“I…” he swallows, “I am jealous. But it’s not what you think. I want…what they were doing….John, would you ever do that for me?”

He hazards a look up and finds John blushing like he did after their first kiss.

“If you want to. It did seem fun. And when I asked Harry about taming people I thought how nice you’d look in a collar…”

“Wait what?” Sol looks him dead in the eye, “why didn’t you say so when we were there? They probably had stuff we could use.”

“I was worried! First that you’d think it was weird, then that you were jealous and wanted to leave, then back to you’d think it was weird-” 

He takes his boyfriend by the shoulders, “John. Johnny boy. Light of my fuckin’ life. You know all you gotta do is snap your fingers and I’d do anything for you. Weird or not. And in this case, all night all I could think about was how much I wanna be your dog.”

John’s blushing hard enough Sol’s amazed it’s not lighting up the room as he whispers, “Really?”

“Just like The Stooges say, love.” 

John chuckles, “In that case, wait right here. Actually, no, go wait in the bedroom. Shirt off, please.”

“Promising start.” Sol kisses him and does as he’s told, perching on the bed with his hands on his knees. 

His boyfriend reappears with a confusing armload of items, including-

“Is that a fuckin’ dinner bell?”

“Yes. It’s been in one of the kitchen cabinets since I moved in. Belonged to a great-grandmother on my fathers side.” John shoots him a wry look, “and Harry did say to give you a cue.”

“Can ring my bell anytime.” Sol grins as John walks the few feet across the carpet to kiss him. 

“So you’ve said. Pants off, please.”

Sol stands, yanking them down and kicking them off. But before he can sit back down, John levels him with a look. 

“No dogs on the bed.”

The cocktail of surprise and horniness in his gut freezes him in place. 

“Good boy.” John says, voice clipped as he continues, “any time you hear this” he rings the bell once, “it means you’re to do as you’re told. No matter what comes after. Do you understand?”

“Guh.”

An amused glint enters John’s eyes even as he keeps his lips in a firm line, “I need a clear answer, Solomon.”

“Yes, jesus fucking christ, yes”

“Good.” The bell dings, “on your knees.”

Sol’s seen sacks of cement land softer than he does now. 

“Good boy.” John pats his head, smiling more noticeably now, the kind he gets when he’s surprised at his own enjoyment of something. 

“John-” Another ring stops his half-formed thought. 

“Beasts, even very good ones, only speak if spoken to.”

Sol groans, his cock already pressing against his boxer briefs. And here he thought he was being all smooth wearing the extra-tight ones so John would get a nice surprise when they came off. Now he’s going to fucking split a seam or sprain his dick just from his boyfriend talking to him like some mindless mutt. 

John returns to the pile he made on the dresser, grabs something loose and red from it, then sits on the bed. A flick of the wrist and another ding.

“Turn to face me.”

Sol does, knees digging into the grey carpet beneath him. He’s rewarded by John cupping his left cheek and murmuring, “perfect.”

He sighs, pressing his skin against the palm, and lets his eyes close as John gently scritches his beard. 

“I don’t have a collar for you. An oversight on my part. I should have bought one the first time I brought you home.”

“Fuck.” He whimpers. 

“Language, Solomon.” A ding “what do you say?”

“Sorry?”

“Exactly.” 

He can’t help himself.

“No “sir”?”

“For now.” He firmly grips Sol’s chin, “but do not test my authority. You might be my prized pos-, hmm, no, beast is better.” He regains his slipping, haughty bearing, “You might be my prized beast, but I expect you to do as you’re told. Understood?”

Sol looks at the bell, waiting.

“Oh, right” ding “understood?”

“Yes.” He’s heard people describe floating during BDSM, but that can’t be why he feels above himself now. It’s not supposed to happen this quick, just from touching. John must be magic or something. 

“Now, close your eyes.”  John waits for him to comply before adding, “I don’t have a collar, but I have something that fits the bill.”

A smooth, slightly cool sensation loops around his neck. Ribbon, feels like the kind you get on a Christmas present. What is he fiddling with at the front?

“There we are. Have a look.” 

Sol opens his eyes to find his reflection in a shaving mirror. The splash of red circling his throat is tied in a neat bow.

He wants to make a crack about how this is how he’ll wait for John come Christmas morning, but it won’t come. All he can do is touch the ribbon, looking up past the mirror’s edge at John. 

“Do you like it?”

He nods, inches closer as John sets the mirror aside. He wants to press his face into John’s stomach, mouth at his crotch, kiss his palms. He’s inside himself and outside all at once and experiencing the desire to please his boyfriend from both of them. 

“No.” John stops him with a single word. 

He whines in his throat, dipping his head to nose at his fly, looking up in what he hopes is a compelling way. 

“I know, you want to get right to it. You’re always so eager to please, and I appreciate it. I really do. But that has a cost sometimes. Remember my birthday? You chipped a tooth.”

Sol smiles and shrugs to signal that he doesn’t regret this in the slightest; banging his jaw on the side of the bedframe had been worth it to not waste anymore time getting his hands on John. 

“You’d do it again in a heartbeat” John tuts, “but as your…master” he glances at Sol, who nearly throws out his neck from how fast he nods, “it’s my job to take care of you.”

He whines again, resting his face in John’s lap and hugging his legs. 

“So before we do anything, I want you calm. Relaxed. Not in danger of injury because you’re too quick to try and rut on something like you’re in heat.”

Sol wonders what, exactly, the man who’s strung higher than a telephone wire thinks will be calming. Then comes the familiar prick of a brush in his hair. 

“This will start us off nicely.” John draws the brush up, stopping when he hits a tangle. Carefully, he gathers the locks in his fingers to coax the knot free. 

Those sisters of his must have put him through brushing-braiding bootcamp or something. 

“There we go, relax for me.” The brush grazes pleasantly down the back of his neck, then starts a new stroke in his hair, “my wonderful–Good god Solomon, what are you doing, how are there so many knots?”

John continues muttering and clucking as Sol lets himself melt more and more against him. Sol’s cock is steadily aching, not helped by the almost detached fondness of John’s voice, or–once the knots are gone–his free hand glides over the muscles of his upper back or teases at his arms. 

He might sit here for hours, if John lets him. Maybe he already has. Time, like the rest of reality, feels miles away. It’s just him floating here, anchored to John’s voice, John’s touch. 

He risks a kiss to his boyfriends clothed knee. All that earns him is a laugh. 

“I see why Harry likes this so much. It’s a privilege to see someone like this. Touch them like they’re yours.”

“M’always yours.” 

That gets him a gentle wrap on the knuckles from the brush, “only when spoken to.”

“Sorry.” He kisses the other knee, then nestles back into place. 

John continues in silence for a few more minutes, then murmurs, “Is this what you wanted?”

ding

“Mmmhm. Wanted to be good for you. To be..to know you’d…” the words are sticking again, his chest and throat pushing them down. 

“To know I’d?” John prompts.

“C-care for me. I want to do right be you, keep you safe, be everything you need, but sometimes it’s like if, if you” he clings more tightly to John’s legs, “if you had a dog, right, who chased off every wolf and kept the sheep safe and never begged at the table, you wouldn’t take that for granted, or maybe you might, but you shouldn’t, and you’d take care of it too because that’s what it means to belong to someone and, and fuck-” tears drip down his cheeks and he wipes them away in frustration, “sorry I don’t, I didn’t know this’d make me feel like this-”

“Oh, Sol” John heaves him up into his lap, Sol managing enough control over himself to straddle him, “Sol, sweetheart, here, we can stop.”

“But I like it” he whimpers, hanging his head. 

“I know. We’ll stop the order’s part, I mean. Because I’d never stop taking care of you. You’re my handsome, faithful beast, but you’re also Sol, my boyfriend, who makes me feel less like I’m going to get smited by a fucking bolt from the blue.”

“John-”

“If, if what you wanted was a bedazzled collar that says “good boy” I’d make you one.” He holds Sol’s face in his hands, “you’re not the only one in this relationship who’d do anything for his boyfriend.” 

Sol kisses him as hard as he dares, feeling perfectly at home as John drapes his arms over him. When he breaks away, panting, John kisses his cheek. 

“Tell me what you need.”

Ability to speak more or less shot to hell, he takes John’s palm and rests it on his crotch. 

An indulgent laugh, “go right ahead. I’ve got you. My good boy.”

He grinds as fast as his balance allows, forehead resting on John’s shoulder as his boyfriend tells him how good he is, how brave, how loyal, how much he loves him. 

Sol cums with a shout, soaking the front of his boxers but unable to give a shit about the damp, the still too tight fabric, too busy kissing and nuzzling John’s neck with increasingly frantic please that he really hopes actually are words and not whimpers  as his boyfriend lays back and finally, finally, lets him fumble open his fly.

He doesn’t even make it to blowing him. John cums from the few, hurried strokes it takes for him to get down there, making a right mess of Sol’s mouth and chin in the process. 

They’re still in their tangle of sweat and half-off clothes when Sol manages to pant out, “Who the fuck taught you about bedazzling.”

John laughs, “George. Though it’s Graham who got the most into it.”

“Least they’ll be able to see his backpack from space when he’s hiking Rainier.” Sol crawls awkwardly up to collapse his face onto John’s chest, “you haven’t cum that fast in ages.”

“Let’s just say we both learned new things about ourselves tonight. But let’s wait to do it again until we get you a collar. I want to see you in one.”

“Works for me.” Sol yawns, “but keep the bell. It’s hot. Fits your whole uptight thing.”

John whacks him playfully on the arm, but doesn’t contradict him. 

“Love you.” Sol whispers. 

“I love you too.” John kisses the top of his head, and Sol lets his eyes close again, knowing John’s got him.

[blog-moved-lol]

Dick Grayson Canon Lore Stuff:

(TW for Batman stuff, like spoilers and mention of injury/death) Hello, I know very little about the canon Batfamily because I can't exactly just read all of the comics (there's way too many, and they're very expensive T-T) so instead I spent like an hour reading the entire Fandom . com entry on Dick Grayson, and this is pretty much my timeline of important events that I got from that (I'm typing this in hopes that it'll help me remember it).

Dick Grayson Canon Lore Stuff:

•From a very young age Dick Grayson was trained as an acrobat, hence his job as a performer in his family's circus act.

•When he was eight years old, he overheard a well known crime boss threaten the circus performers if he wasn't paid by the circus owner. The owner didn't pay him, and that night Dick witnessed his parents high wire snap, leading to both of their deaths. (He felt responsible for not warning them)

•He was put into a juvenile service system, because social services in Gotham were full. In this system he was often beat up by the others, which led to him eventually being put into a Catholic orphanage instead.

•Bruce Wayne adopted him, but Dick didn't want to replace his deceased dad with a 'stuck up' billionaire, plus he felt like Bruce didn't give him enough attention (Probably because Bruce was still dealing with the trauma of his own parents death and didn't like getting attached to people in case he lost them as well), so he snuck out in hopes of solving his parents murder himself.

•He met Batman, also investigating the murder, which led to him finding out that Batman and Bruce Wayne are the same person.

•They find the crime boss, but he 'dies of a heart attack' before he can be arrested.

•Since Bruce saw so much of himself in Dick, he asked the boy if he wanted to become his sidekick and Dick decided to name himself 'Robin' after what his mother used to call him.

•He was trained for six long, hard months before he was allowed to do any real missions, and he had to go through one full night eluding Batman without help before he was allowed to officially become Robin.

•For the first year or so Dick had a lot of fun with his job, and treated it as a fun adventure he and Bruce participated in together.

•That was until he had a fight with Two-Face, in which Batman and the DA were both stuck in nooses. Dick cut the rope around the DA with a Batarang, but Two-Face had crafted a double trap and this made the floor fall out so the DA landed in a pit of water in which he drowned. This was Dick's first time witnessing an on-the-job death which would serve to haunt him for years to come, plus he got himself a beating from Two-Face (Okay but like, wouldn't he have been like 9 or 10 max Jeezums- 😭🖐).

•Bruce temporarily 'fired' Dick, not wanting to see him get hurt any more.

•Dick served as Robin for a while longer, still working with Bruce and also forming his own Titans team.

•When Dick was 17 he got shot in his shoulder by the Joker, which prompted Bruce to officially fire him out of fear for his safety. Dick decided that he didn't need Batman anymore, plus he had some issues with the way Bruce did things, so he moved from Gotham to New York to be more involved with the Titans, and he dropped out of highschool.

•Bruce didn't really like this, and told Dick that if he was no longer going to work with him he would have to retire the Robin title. Dick left Wayne Manor afterwards, and handed over leadership of the Titans to Wondergirl.

•Unsure of himself and what he should do now, yet not wanting to give up crime fighting now that it was such a big part of his life, he went to find Superman. For a brief while Dick stayed with Superman, and Superman told him of a Krypton hero who had been known as Nightwing. Because of this time with Clark, Dick decided to finally become his own hero free of Batman. He named himself Nightwing after the Krypton hero, and made himself a costume based off of something his father once wore back in the circus.

•Now as Nightwing he helped lead the Titans, though his relationship with Starfire was worsening over time.

•Jason's death was a bit of a turning point in his character. Even though originally he hadn't seemed to like Jason (mainly because Jason acted as his replacement, and because of his not so great relationship with Bruce) Dick seemed to grow into a kinder/gentler person after the event.

•A while after this, Dick discovered that the mob boss who had killed his parents was not actually dead but was in a coma instead. Dick went looking for him, but witnessed him being gunned down before he had a chance to do anything for himself. Bruce claimed that he was worried that Dick would seek revenge for his parents death if he knew the truth, so he told the young boy that the mod boss was dead instead. Dick was obviously upset because of this, and his relationship with Bruce stayed strained.

•While he was still serving with the Titans, Tim Drake sought him out and asked him to return to being Robin (Because after Jason's death Bruce was going crazy without a Robin by his side), but Dick refused because of his bad relationship with Bruce and his enjoyment for his current job. He did help Tim become Robin, though.

•A lot of bad things happened with the Titans, people passed, people left, people changed, but Dick fought to stay the heart and center of the team through it all.

•Despite their strained relationship, Dick tried to impulsively marry Starfire, but the ceremony was interrupted, which eventually led to Starfire leaving and returning to her home planet.

•Bruce was brutally injured by Bane, but because his relationship with Dick was so bad and he didn't want to 'force' his son to return, he temporarily gave the Batman title to the not-so-stable Jean Paul Valley, with Tim there to help him out. Jean proved too unstable, however, and Dick returned to Gotham to help Tim deal with him. Dick decided to step away from the Titans to focus on Gotham, and the still healing Bruce asked him to be Batman until he was alright again which Dick agreed to.

•During his time acting as Batman, Dick built a great brotherly relationship with Tim. In addition, Bruce admitted that he hadn't originally asked Dick to act as Batman for him because he didn't want to force him to come back, and the two finally began to fix their relationship.

•Dick pretends to be a villain working under Deathstroke for a while, until Deathstroke betrays him and kills at least 100,000 people with a bomb. Dick tries to find and help any survivors, but is unable to because of the radiation which weighs heavily on his mind. He also proposes to Barbara Gordon around this time.

•Dick recovers and Bruce asks him to join him and his current Robin in rediscovering his roots. Dick is hesitant, but Barbara insists that he helps, and suspends their engagement for the time being.

•Dick returns to the Titan's tower, because there's someone there pretending to be him. Turns out it's the revived Jason Todd!

•While on a case, he gets buried alive by a mysterious voice that tells him he's 'supposed to be dead'. He has a hard time finding work because he's in a cast, and is having some trouble due to his injuries.

•By this point his relationship with both Bruce and Tim have improved dramatically, and he's close with both of them.

•The Titans decide to reform their group.

•Okay I'm gonna try and put this as simply as possible… Bruce was targeted by a group called 'Black Glove', supposedly going insane and running away. Dick doesn't want Tim to have to deal with everything himself, so he returns. He gets kidnapped and drugged by the International Club of Villains and is scheduled for a lobotomy, but gets out of it because Bruce's 'insanity' was made up to expose the Black Glove. Batman fights with Doctor Hurt on a helicopter, but the helicopter explodes. Batman is fine and works with the Justice League, but then is seemingly killed in his confrontation with Darkseid. In his will, Bruce begs Dick not to become Batman. Because of his refusal to become Batman, someone else takes up the job instead, calling himself Batman but using lethal methods that Bruce would never allow. This 'Batman' is actually Jason Todd, who shoots Damian and almost kills Tim with a Batarang. Dick and Jason fight and Dick shoves Jason off of a speeding train, seemingly killing him though Jason says they'll 'Meet again soon'. Dick finally decides to become the official Batman, but refuses to make Tim his Robin because according to him, he sees Tim as his equal and not his sidekick. He instead makes Damian his new Robin, which of course pisses off Tim. Tim, believing Bruce to be alive, takes up Jason's old Red Robin mantle and goes searching for Bruce. Dick moves base because the Batcave reminds him too much of Bruce, and struggles because Damian is constantly reminding and taunting him over the fact that he will never truly be able to replace his father. When he next fights Jason, Jason remarks that if the Lazarus pit could revive him, it could revive Bruce too as he's being arrested.

There's quite a bit of stuff that happens in between here, most notably the death of a young boy called Baby D which influences Dick's future character, but since I've been typing for hours:

Thinking about what Jason said, Dick takes Bruce's body from his grave and takes him to the Lazarus Pit. While it does reanimate the corpse, the revived 'Bruce' is angry and violent. This is because it was never Bruce at all, it was actually a clone of him. This gives Dick, Damian, and Alfred a similar hope to Tim, that Bruce is actually still alive. Tim brings evidence that Bruce is actually lost in time, and after a bit of digging and more evidence finding, they manage to bring Bruce back.

•Dick finally becomes Nightwing again, now with red on his costume which reflects his darker and more grim outlook on life and humanity after his time as Batman.

•Nightwing gets stabbed on a mission.

•He also, on a different mission, momentarily dies but they manage to start his heart again.

•Dick puts down his Nightwing title for a while and becomes a secret agent for Bruce, but the wiki has no info on this.

•Dick goes back to being Nightwing, finally returning to his original black and blue suit instead of the black and red one. He reforms the titans, but after working with them for a bit, but ends up moving back to Blüdhaven soon after.

•Someone is sent to assassinate Dick, and he gets shot in the head. He manages to survive, though he has amnesia and for a brief while becomes 'Ric Grayson' until he gets his memories back. When Ric tries to restore his memories he is kidnapped by the Joker who brainwashes him into believing that he was the Joker's sidekick, though he's eventually rescued and gets his memories back. After this event, he officially rejoins the Batman Family as Nightwing.

•There's no info after this.

Extra fact: While not mentioned in the fandom wiki, Dick Grayson was r[😬]ed by a female villain named Tarantula. (As in yes, he has a nice ass, but he would canonically be very uncomfortable with how some parts of the fandom oversexualize him.)