#dc rasp

[lacunalunatic]

Here is a randomly flavored assortment of doodles ✨✨🌸💐 (ignore the horrors- this is the warning)

Ayy

[countdhracula]

Making stupid memes part: 947392631

[thoughtfulzombienerd]

this is not what i asked for :(

[librababe99]

In the Shadows of Gotham

cw: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, smut, Bruce Wayne x Girlfriend!Reader, fingering, p in v,  oral (f! receiving), overstimulation, body worship word count: 3.1K Summary: Bruce Wayne, the man who lives in the shadows of Gotham, the protector and savior of the city, has only one true weakness—you. After a long night of crime-fighting, Bruce returns home to indulge in your presence.

A/N: This is my first time writing for Bruce and I've had a few ideas swirling around for some time...I was ready to get something out! Happy reading <3

(Main masterlist) | (DC Masterlist) | (Marvel Masterlist)

The weight of Gotham’s night clung to the man you loved. Shadows danced through the large windows of Wayne Manor, wrapping their cold tendrils around the walls of the lavish bedroom where you lay waiting. The clock on the bedside table ticked past 3 AM, a constant reminder that Bruce was still out there, somewhere in the darkness, risking his life for the city that never slept.

You had grown used to the late nights, the endless hours of waiting, but tonight felt different. There was a heaviness in the air, thick with anticipation. You had caught glimpses of it over the last few days—how the tension seemed to coil around Bruce’s muscles like a bowstring, how his eyes darkened with an unspoken need whenever they settled on you. You could feel it building, the way you felt the storm brewing over Gotham before it broke the sky open.

The low, familiar sound of the Batmobile’s engine pulling into the hidden cave beneath the manor jolted you out of your thoughts. Bruce was home.

The idea made your heart race with a blend of excitement and nervousness. He had been so distant lately, his focus entirely on Gotham’s latest wave of crime. But tonight, as you lay in bed, waiting for him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.

The door creaked open, and there he was, standing tall in the shadows of the room. Bruce Wayne. The man, the myth, the enigma wrapped in darkness. He shed the Bat like an old skin, letting it fall away as he stepped toward you. His broad shoulders were still encased in the black of his suit, but his cowl was off, revealing the intense blue of his eyes that locked onto you.

"You're awake," he said, his voice low and rough from the night's exertions.

"I couldn't sleep." Your voice was soft, inviting.

Bruce stood at the edge of the bed, towering over you. His gaze roamed over your form, lingering on the way your body was partially hidden beneath the sheets, but exposed enough to draw his attention. You felt the burn of his eyes on you like a physical touch, and heat bloomed in your core.

"You should rest," he murmured, though his voice was threaded with something darker, something deeper.

"I was waiting for you," you replied, sitting up slightly, the sheet slipping further down your chest, revealing the curve of your breasts.

His eyes darkened further, and a low growl of approval rumbled in his chest. "You shouldn't have to wait."

"But I want to," you whispered, your voice a breathy invitation. "I always wait for you, Bruce."

His control snapped like a taut wire. In a heartbeat, he was crawling onto the bed, moving with a predator's grace. He loomed over you, one hand coming up to cradle your face with surprising gentleness, while the other slid beneath the sheets, brushing over the softness of your skin.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he rasped, his lips inches from yours. "How hard it is to come back here night after night and not just...devour you."

"Then don't hold back," you breathed, leaning into his touch. "I want you, Bruce. All of you."

His lips crashed against yours in a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. It was desperate, needy, filled with all the pent-up emotion he'd kept locked away behind the mask he wore for Gotham. His tongue slid against yours, and you moaned into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his thick, dark hair.

The hand that had been caressing your face moved down to grip your hip, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, and it sent a wave of heat pooling between your legs.

But Bruce didn’t move to undress you right away. Instead, he pulled back, staring down at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"I need to touch you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "All of you. I need to remind myself that you're here. That you're real."

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he slowly peeled the sheet away from your body, exposing your naked form to his hungry gaze. His eyes roamed over every inch of you, as if he was memorizing the way you looked, committing it to memory in case he never got another chance.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

You flushed under his praise, your body trembling with anticipation as he lowered himself down beside you. His large hands, rough from years of fighting, slid over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He started at your collarbone, his fingers tracing the delicate line of your neck before dipping lower to cup your breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you gasped, arching into his touch.

He took his time, worshipping every inch of you with his hands, his mouth following the path his fingers had blazed. He kissed the hollow of your throat, the curve of your breast, the soft swell of your stomach. Each touch, each kiss, was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the taste of you, the feel of your skin beneath his lips.

You were lost in the sensation, your body humming with pleasure. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

“Bruce,” you whimpered, your hands fisting in the sheets as his mouth trailed lower, kissing along the inside of your thighs. “Please...”

He groaned against your skin, his breath hot as he kissed his way closer to where you needed him most. “Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me take my time with you.”

You whimpered again, your body aching with need, but you knew better than to rush him. Bruce was a man who controlled every aspect of his life with iron discipline, and that control extended to the bedroom. He liked to draw things out, to savor the slow build of pleasure until you were trembling on the edge of release.

And that’s exactly what he did.

His mouth finally found your core, and you cried out as he dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, teasing you with featherlight touches. He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body as he tasted you. His tongue circled your clit, drawing tight, controlled patterns that had you gasping for air.

Your hands flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands tightly as he continued to torment you with his mouth. He licked and sucked, his tongue never stopping its relentless assault on your clit. You could feel the orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure winding in your belly.

“Bruce,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his face. “I’m so close...please...”

He groaned again, his grip on your thighs tightening as he increased the pressure of his tongue, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel the heat building, could feel yourself teetering on the brink of release.

And then he stopped.

You cried out in frustration as he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal. “Bruce, please...I need...”

“I know what you need,” he growled, crawling back up your body. His eyes were dark with lust, his pupils blown wide as he hovered over you. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could protest, he was kissing you again, his mouth hot and insistent against yours. You could taste yourself on his lips, the salty sweetness of your arousal mixed with the raw, masculine flavor of him. It was intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough.

His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your slick entrance and slipping inside you. You moaned into his mouth, your body arching off the bed as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

“Bruce,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his back. “Please...I need...”

“You’ll get what you need,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “But first, I want to feel you come around my fingers. I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you clenched around his fingers as the coil of pleasure in your belly tightened once more. He added a third finger, stretching you in a way that was just on the edge of too much, but it felt so good that you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

His thumb brushed over your clit, and that was all it took to send you tumbling over the edge. Your body seized, and you cried out as the orgasm crashed through you, your walls clenching around his fingers in waves of pleasure.

Bruce groaned, watching you with a look of pure, unadulterated lust as you fell apart beneath him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “That’s my girl.”

You were still trembling from the aftershocks when he pulled his fingers out of you, his lips crashing against yours once more. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the tang of your release mixing with the roughness of his kiss.

Bruce pulled back, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his eyes darker than the Gotham night. His hands were still on your trembling thighs, holding you open for him, and the way he gazed at you was as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. There was something primal in his expression, a need so deep it made your pulse race all over again.

"You're stunning when you come," he said in a low, gravelly voice, the sound vibrating deep in your chest. His fingers trailed up your thigh, teasingly grazing your oversensitive folds, and you whimpered at the sensation. You were still throbbing from your first orgasm, and even the slightest touch made you shiver with both pleasure and overstimulation.

But Bruce had other plans for you tonight. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not finished with you yet, sweetheart.”

A thrill shot through you at his words. You could feel the weight of his desire pressing against your thigh, hard and insistent, but instead of giving in to his own need, Bruce seemed intent on worshiping you, on drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could. You had seen him like this before—focused, deliberate, a man on a mission. Only now, his mission was you.

You bit your lip as he kissed down your neck again, his lips and tongue tracing the path of your earlier shudders. He was slow, methodical, savoring the way your body responded to him. Your skin was hypersensitive after your release, and every kiss, every brush of his rough hands, sent sparks of sensation through you.

“Bruce…,” you breathed, unsure whether you were begging for more or asking for mercy.

His lips curled into a smirk against your skin. “Too much?” he asked softly, though there was a teasing note in his voice. His hand slid back between your legs, his fingers lightly tracing your swollen, soaked folds. "Or maybe... not enough?"

The ache between your thighs reignited at his touch, and you moaned softly, your body arching toward him. You were caught between the lingering sensitivity of your first climax and the overwhelming desire for more. The pleasure had barely faded, and already, you felt it building again. Bruce's fingers dipped inside you once more, stroking you with a maddening slowness that made you squirm beneath him.

"I want to feel you come again," he said, his voice rough with need. "I want to see how many times I can make you fall apart for me tonight."

His words, dark and delicious, sent a new wave of heat pooling in your belly. You could feel the tension returning, the slow, insistent pulse of pleasure building as Bruce continued to work his fingers inside you, his thumb brushing over your clit in rhythmic circles. You clenched around him, your body already betraying you, already chasing the high of release again.

He was relentless, patient, his fingers curling against that sweet spot deep inside you, his thumb rubbing circles around your oversensitive clit. You could barely think, barely breathe as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to overwhelm you. You had never been so close to overstimulation before, and it was both too much and not enough all at once.

“Bruce—please, I—I can’t…” You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“You can,” he growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You will.”

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster inside you, and the coil of pleasure in your belly tightened so quickly you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat. You were trembling, shaking with the intensity of it, your entire body on the verge of shattering under his touch.

Then, without warning, the orgasm hit you again, harder than before. Your vision blurred, your entire body arching off the bed as the pleasure exploded through you, wave after wave crashing over you. You cried out his name, your voice hoarse with the force of your release, and Bruce groaned in response, watching you fall apart beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Let go, sweetheart.”

Your body trembled with the aftershocks, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Bruce’s fingers slipped out of you, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, at the loss of his touch. But he wasn’t finished.

He kissed you again, his lips soft but insistent, and you melted into him, still shaking from the force of your second orgasm. His body pressed against yours, his hardness unmistakable as he settled between your legs. You could feel the heat of him, the weight of him, and it sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck. “But I need more. I need to be inside you.”

You moaned softly, your body still thrumming with overstimulation, but the thought of him filling you, of him finally giving in to his own desire, made the ache between your thighs flare with renewed intensity.

"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "I want you, Bruce. I need you."

He groaned at your words, his resolve crumbling as he reached down to line himself up with your entrance. He was thick, hard, and the moment the tip of him pressed against your slick heat, you gasped, your body arching toward him in anticipation.

Slowly, agonizingly, Bruce pushed inside you, stretching you in a way that had your toes curling in pleasure. You moaned softly, your hands gripping his biceps as he filled you completely, inch by inch. It was almost too much after everything he had already put you through, but the pleasure far outweighed the pain.

“God, you feel so good,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck as he finally bottomed out inside you. “So fucking tight. So perfect.”

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to the feel of him, but you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled with restraint. He was holding himself back for you, trying not to overwhelm you too soon, but you didn’t want restraint anymore.

"Bruce," you whimpered, rolling your hips against him, urging him to move. "Please…"

That single word broke him.

With a deep, primal groan, Bruce began to thrust into you, slow at first but with a growing intensity that had you gasping for air. Every stroke sent a shock of pleasure through you, your oversensitive body responding to him in ways you hadn’t thought possible. Each time he bottomed out, the head of his cock pressed against that sweet spot inside you, and the pleasure radiated outward, overwhelming you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, your back arching off the bed as you moaned his name over and over again. He was relentless, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force, each thrust driving you higher and higher toward that precipice you had already tumbled over twice tonight.

"Look at me," Bruce growled, his hand gripping your jaw, tilting your head so that your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, filled with heat and adoration, and the sight of him above you, so consumed by his need for you, made your heart race. "I want to see you come for me again."

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The tight coil of pleasure in your belly unraveled, and your orgasm hit you like a freight train. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him, milking him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

Bruce groaned, his hips stuttering as your release triggered his own. With a deep, guttural moan, he buried himself inside you, his body trembling as he spilled into you. His thrusts slowed, becoming more erratic as he rode out his orgasm, until finally, he collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, slick with sweat and sated.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the sound of your ragged breaths mingling together. Bruce’s weight was comforting on top of you, grounding you as your mind slowly returned to your body. He didn’t pull out right away, staying inside you, still hard enough to keep you full as he kissed your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with something softer, something tender.

You smiled up at him, your hand sliding up to cup his face. "So are you."

Bruce let out a soft chuckle, his lips brushing against yours in a lazy, languid kiss. “I think I might’ve broken you,” he teased, his thumb tracing the curve of your swollen lips.

“You did,” you admitted with a breathless laugh. “In the best possible way.”

He rolled over onto his back, taking you with him so that you were lying on his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and you let out a contented sigh as you snuggled into the warmth of his body.

“I could stay like this forever,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest, just above his heart.

Bruce smiled softly, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. “So could I.”

For a while, the two of you simply lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten. There was no crime, no shadows. There was only the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of your shared pleasure, basking in the warmth of your love.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Writing Prompt #8

The day Bruce Wayne knocks on her apartment door Sam knows it's going to be a doozy.

"Mr. Wayne, I really do hope no one saw you," she says, ushering him in. "And for the record, a text ahead of time would be appreciated."

"I parked the car a few streets away," Bruce says, sticking a finger in his heel to peel his polished leather shoes off. Sam raises an eyebrow. "It's a sedan, not a Lamborghini."

"You own a sedan?"

"Taught Dick to drive in it...after he crashed the Lamborghini."

Sam snorts despite herself. The charm Bruce Wayne exhibits would usually rub her the wrong way, too reminiscent of wealthy men that feel comfortable placing a hand on the small of your back at a crowded gala, but Bruce is honest enough about his playacting that she has come to find its insincerity comforting. She's actually sought him out more than once, leading to several annoying headlines that can't seem to decide if she's aiming to date him or one of his eligible sons. None of whom are eligible by the way, as they are a) taken, b) legally dead, c) practically a minor, and d) an actual minor.

Sam's generational wealth is peanuts compared to Wayne Industries, so naturally her parents have been thrilled and rooting for option c.

"I also didn't want Danny to see I'd texted you. Or force you to lie to him."

Sam doesn't quite tense, but it's a near thing. She does slide to the other side of her kitchen island, under the context of finishing prepping her feta fried eggs, laid on a bed of smashed avocado and warm tortilla. She pulls a bottle of crunchy garlic oil out of the fridge and drizzles hot red crisps across the runny yolk. She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, not so much as offering him a glass of water.

"You realize, Mr. Wayne, I have no intention of lying to Danny now?"

Bruce sits at the stool on the opposite side of the island. "I understand. And if you want to ask Danny to return home before we continue, I'd understand that as well. I didn't mean to discomfit you--"

"Please do not lie to me now, Mr. Wayne," Sam says, rolling her eyes. "By your own admission you showed up at noon without warning knowing my superhero boyfriend wouldn't be present. If I am discomfited, all the more likely you get your information, right?" Golden yolk runs down her fingers, and she sacrifices it to the napkin rather than lick up her arm in front of her boss, with no small amount of resentment. The yolk is the best part.

"Get to it then," she demands.

Bruce straightens in his stool, chin raising and firming in a jawline she most often sees under a cowl. His eyes attempt to pin her in place, but Sam has stared the Master of Time in the face and demand he reschedule so she is built. different. She takes another bite of egg taco.

"I was not aiming for you to feel threatened, and moreover, I doubt you could be."

Except a smart person should always feel threatened by a threat, no matter their capability of handling one. It keeps them alive.

"Can you tell me how I'm not like all the other girls after lunch? You'll spoil my appetite."

Bruce clears his throat. "I'll get to the point--"

"Thank you."

"--Danny has been exhibiting paranormal behaviors beyond his baseline. We welcome all biologies; human, alien, and paranormal alike, but I have observed actions unlike what he had previously established as his, for lack of a better word, 'normal'

"I want to make sure he is not experiencing any unwelcome outside influence. Or, if this is merely a facet of his evolution, I'd like to know if this is something we or his family should be monitoring."

Sam has been an eco-consultant with Wayne Industries and unofficially, the Batfamily, for half a year now and this is the most she's ever heard the man speak in one sitting.

"Wow," she says. "How long have you been rehearsing that one?"

"A while." Bruce grunts, voice finally taking that final drop into Batman's gravelly rasp. "I see you're not surprised by any of this."

"No, not really," Sam says. She pours him a tall glass of lemon water from the pitcher, freshly sliced that morning, and he takes a polite sip.

"So what can you tell me?"

"Probably a lot. And Danny would probably prefer that I do, knowing him, the big baby," Sam sighs. "Listen Mr. Wayne, I can appreciate that you came here from a place of caution rather than intrusion. And if Danny was undergoing something negative or from an 'unwelcome outside influence' that would be the right call, and I, albeit begrudgingly, encourage you to do so in the future."

"But he's not."

"He's not," Sam confirms. "And in fact, I think he could really use someone to talk to about it. Outside of his family."

"I see..." Bruce says, shifting.

"If you want to tag team this one with one of the higher EQ players, such as Superman, I give you permission." Sam does not think she's imagining that slight sag of relief.

"Thank you," Bruce says, sliding off the stool. "I don't suppose you have material we could consult...?"

"Actually yes, I happen to have a pamphlet right here. 'So your ghostly body is changing, and how.'"

"You're being more sarcastic than usual."

"You interrupted my lunch, Mr. Wayne."

[chaoswarfare]

dp x dc prompt #68

Danny’s ice core is very good for enjoying extremely cold temperatures without having to drag around a coat. It even helps cool him down in ghost form, and even in human form when there’s enough ambient ectoplasm.

The problem is that his human form has grown to completely rely on it to keep cool, so when there’s not enough ecto to use and his core has to choose between continuing keeping him semi-alive or continuing cooling him down? That’s when the problems start.

It really was just his luck that he chose to visit Metropolis and one of the more destructive rogues started tearing things apart while he was walking to the college he was scouting. And he really should have expected it when something exploded and suddenly the whole city seemed to be burning.

Clark took too long to get there. It wasn’t as much of a self deprecating thought as a fact. By the time he actually took down the criminal that started all this, three blocks were completely engulfed in flames.

His own heart stuttered when he heard a rapidly fluttering heart that kept stopping and starting erratically in the blaze, but he recovered quickly and swooped down to try and save whoever was unfortunate enough to get caught up in the destruction(he ignored how it seemed like it was already too late, and how he hadn’t seen anyone pull through with a heartbeat like that before.) and landed in the rubble that toppled into the street.

The teenager(oh god, it was a teenager, no older than Connor-) reached out and tangled a hand in his cape as soon as he was lifted off the ground. He kept trying to tug him down so Clark could hear him, and when he finally obliged, the kid took a deep breath and rasped:

“Put me in the freezer.”

…What??

[sungbeam]

𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

artist!kevin moon x senator's daughter!reader

after a long night, you find yourself on the front doorstep of a man who's heart you still held tightly in your grasp.

4.0k words, exes 2 lovers?, bittersweet angst with a happy ending, kissing, swearing, mentions of arranged marriages and controlling parents, mentions of social class, it takes place in washington dc bc i had a specific place in mind lol but i've also only went to dc once(???)

a/n: dug this up and dusted off the cobwebs — originally inspired (partly) by youngk's cover of moon river <3 (im sorry i always give you angst kevin...)

It was late when you knocked on his door. It was so late, in fact, that the fog had begun to roll over the Potomac and dampen the cobblestones beneath your shoes. You would have taken off the death traps your mother called fashion, but you'd seen your friends on the rowing team get foot diseases before. The streetlights here glowed from their perches in golden yellow flames, not amber like they did in some parts of the district.

You hadn't really expected him to answer. You knew he was almost guaranteed to be awake, but there were always exceptions. You knew he would recognize you, too, but if he would open the door for you… it didn't matter that he was the kindest person you'd ever met, there were always exceptions.

His expression sat carefully blank when you faced him, a war brewing in his beautiful eyes of a long past you shared. He swallowed, scanning your form.

"I'm sorry," you managed to say. You suddenly felt stupid. Why were you here? Why had you run all the way across the river to his place in Georgetown? Why him? Out of all the people, you chose the one person who's heart you let fall to the ground and shatter. It was a miracle he even opened the door. "I—I didn't know who else to go to."

The bobby pins in your hair stabbed your head and intensified the headache building in your scalp. It had been a long night; you weren't sure if you were even of sound mind and thought right now.

Kevin Moon considered you for a moment, his eyes and posture softening at the lines. "Come in," he murmured as he stepped aside in the doorway, "it's late."

You swallowed as you took slow steps into his townhouse and he closed the front door behind you. Everything was as you had last seen it—pictures of him and his family, his friends; his artwork hung on the entryway walls; stair leading up to the upper floors, and hallway traveling back toward the parlor and kitchen. You could extract the memories that you had of this place, but that would keep you up the rest of the night. It would be a dangerous endeavor, you thought, as if coming to Kevin in the first place wasn't already.

"Here." He held out one toned arm for you to grasp. "So you can take off your shoes."

You gave a barely-there nod. "Oh, uhm, thank you," you said, locking your hand against his forearm as you swiftly discarded the stilettos from your feet. When your aching feet met flat ground, a weight fell from your shoulders, and you lined up the pair against the wall neatly by his shoe rack.

He began trekking up the stairs, beckoning you to follow. "You can have the guestroom," he sighed, carding a hand through his hair. It stuck up in the back, you noticed whilst following him up, which meant he had probably been tossing and turning for awhile.

Everything smelled the same, felt the same.

A different weight fell upon your chest, suffocating. Was it a mistake to come here? It was all coming back to you.

And he was opening the only other bedroom door besides his on the floor, leaving the door open for you to follow. He fluffed the pillows and pulled a blanket out from the closet shelf. This room used to be for guests, not for you, but that change was your fault.

"I'll grab you something to change into," he said in the silence with one hand cupped behind the back of his neck. He didn't look at you this time. "You still know where everything is?"

"Yeah," you rasped. You cleared your throat and held your clutch in front of yourself like a pitiful shield. "Thanks, Kevin. I… I promise I'll be out of your hair by the morning."

A beat passed. You felt his eyes on you and met them.

"Just—" his arm fell to his side and tucked into the pocket of his sweats, "—take your time, Yn. Good night."

You watched him leave. "Good night."

The house was quiet again after you finished washing up in the bathroom and retreated into the guest room. Kevin could hear the door close even from the third floor in his attic studio, his feet pressed against the cool wood, eyes staring out at the half-filled canvas on the easel. He'd been stuck for awhile, having not yet decided what he wanted to do with the rest of it. This indecisiveness came with the artist's block, unfortunately.

He didn't like to admit that one of the few ways to get him out were the dozens of canvases shoved against the far corner. There was a drop cloth draped over them so he wouldn't get distracted, but… most nights he couldn't resist.

There was always something soulful about the way he painted your eyes. It had always been that, and your smile, that he intentionally captured first whenever he painted your portrait. It was a greedy, selfish attempt to keep some part of you for himself because he knew that it was and could never be like that in the real world. He knew that fact all too well.

The vision of you on his porch tonight… he'd almost believed he was dreaming.

Kevin released a frustrated huff from his mouth, rubbing his hands down his face, then up through his hair. His brushes remained untouched, canvas on the easel left undone.

He stood from his stool and quietly made his way back down to the second floor.

He could've sent you away, he thought. He could've, but did he want to?—

"Oh. Hi."

His eyes shot up at the sound of your voice, meek and soft. You stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom with his T-shirt and sweatpants hanging from your frame like it was two years ago. He lost his breath for a second; he didn't think you were still awake. "Did I wake you?" He asked, clutching the banister.

"No," you said while leaning against the door jamb. "I was… I wasn't sleeping."

That made the both of you.

"You still have bandaids in the medicine cabinet?" You asked him.

He nodded, stepping down fully onto the second floor. "Yeah. How many did you need?" He shoved the intrusive thoughts away from the forefront of his mind and replaced them with the idea of bandages. He padded over into the bathroom, turning the light on to rifle through the medicine cabinet.

Never mind that you knew where they were and that you were capable of getting them yourself—he already lost when he let you into his house.

You slipped in behind him. "Just a couple small ones is okay—for my feet."

Oh, right. He'd nearly forgotten you must have traveled all the way from across the river to get here in those god awful shoes. Not only that, but no doubt spent an entire night in them at some stuck-up, rich-prick gala—

Not now, he hushed. Most of the time, it was never your choice to even go to those functions.

He withdrew the box of Band-Aids he kept, all beat up from years of figuring out where they belonged. There was a mishmash of sizes, but most of the medium-sized ones were all gone, leaving only the extreme sizes on the spectrum. He picked out a few of the small ones for you, staring at the tile on the floor while you sat on the lid of the toilet to cover your blisters and bruises.

“I know that my showing up here unannounced was really unfair to you,” you suddenly said. He raised his head a little. You were grabbing your heel now, gently massaging your foot. “Especially at this time of night. I—” You paused, “I just—I’m sorry.”

If he didn't think about it too much, he could pretend this apology was only about you showing up unannounced, out of the blue, at an ungodly hour, and not about every other elephant in the room.

“It's okay, I understand,” he murmured. He felt his body move to settle on the edge of the bathtub across from you to take your foot from your hand to rub soothing circles into your aching bones.

You connected gazes again and he saw the flicker of gratitude in them, and something else he didn't want to see. Hope was so cruel sometimes. “You don't have to do this.”

“I know. I want to.”

It felt like college all over again, just you and him. Those four years had been some of the best years of his life—but they were filled with naïve bliss. The long, humid summer days and nights along the river; the golden light filtering through his windows as you read and he painted; the picnics on the Georgetown University lawns; the echo of your laughter against cobblestone walls and streets.

They were engraved into his memory, even with the rose-tinted lenses off.

He would call it a fever dream, but he knew you were solid and real when he held you. Your smile was real, your love was palpable. He could hear your humming in his kitchen in the evenings and feel the ghost of your arms around him in the mornings.

When you were called away by your family to fulfill filial obligations, you would always return home to him. Not them, him.

In this moment, he knew exactly what he was doing, even if he chose to pretend he didn't. Like this wouldn't lead to his heart getting broken again when all that was left of you in the morning was your perfume on his clothes and bandaid wrappers in the trash.

“So what was tonight about?” He piped up, daring another glance at you.

You shook your head. “You don't have to—”

“Only if you're comfortable.” Sometimes it helped for you to talk about it, and sometimes it didn't. He wanted to help, nonetheless. He still cared about you, after all.

You wrestled down a swallow. “It was some dumb charity that wasn't even about the charity,” you rasped, returning your bare feet to the floor when he was done rubbing the hurt away. You had to look away, and he resisted the urge to turn your chin back to him. “And something about—something about marriage.”

His heart fell to the bathroom tiles. “What?”

Marriage?

“It—it’s nothing—”

“Nothing,” he repeated, speechless.

“Not nothing,” you amended, tripping over your words. You shouldn't have mentioned it. Why would you mention it? Out of everyone, you and to say it to him. “My parents mentioned something about it, but it's just one of those things where they're urging me to start looking. I don't know. It's not arranged or anything.”

He said exactly what both of you were thinking, “Yet.”

You looked at him then. He saw the way silver lined your eyes, the hurt threatening to spill over just like what pounded against the floodgates of his heart. Yet.

If you waited any longer, who knew what your parents would do to secure a political alliance? You were a Senator's daughter, your family's jewel and pawn piece. You were born to be someone Kevin couldn't be with and god-fucking-damn did that hurt like a bitch.

They were giving you time to make your own, careful choice. It was an illusion of free will that made him seethe and ache for you.

“It's gonna be fine,” you said with little to no strength behind the words. “I'll be fine.”

Kevin stared at you. You and he had shared plenty of arguments about this exact topic before and it all ended in the same place. He didn't know what to say this time to make you say or think or do differently.

What could he possibly say to make you stay? To make you rethink your entire life and career, to make you turn your back on your own family?

“I'm sorry I said anything about this.” You sighed. “I don't know why I said anything about this.”

He swallowed. “I asked in the first place; it's okay.” His hands yearned to touch your skin, to swaddle you in his arms and rock you into assurance. He missed when he could reach over and warm your knee with his palm to silently tell you he was here and listening.

“We should try to sleep. I've taken so much of your time already. I'm sor—”

“Yn, love, stop saying you're sorry.” You didn't ask for any of this and you kept acting like you did, like it was your fault. He couldn't fault you for anything if he tried.

It looked like you were about to say something to him. He could practically taste the words that sat on your tongue.

Tell me I'm not suffering alone. Tell me that you still love me, even after all this time.

Instead, you nodded while rubbing your eye. “Okay,” you exhaled. “Thanks for the bandaids and your time.”

When you stood, so did he. He pressed a warm palm to the small of your back to lead you out of the bathroom, his other hand hitting the light switch.

He reluctantly drew his hand away from you to step towards his own bedroom.

He heard you stop, his head pathetically raising to meet you as you turned around.

“Kevin, I…” There it was again.

Oh, he wanted so badly for you to say it. But it was late and neither of you were in the right state of mind.

“Sleep on it,” he whispered. He couldn't handle any of those words exchanged now if you were going to regret it later. “Please.”

You inclined your head, lips pressing together. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he said back, for the second time tonight, and for as many opportunities as he was granted. As long as he didn't have to say goodbye instead.

Sleep refused to take you and you tossed and turned for what felt like hours. Two long hours of torture, and you gave up, throwing the sheets off your body to step over to the window. The street below was dark with only a small halo of golden light from a street lamp to provide some reprieve from the darkness. You'd always seen this back street from Kevin's bedroom, never this one. It was so odd seeing it from a different point of view.

You closed your eyes with a sigh and rested your forehead against the cool glass. What were you doing here? Why were you troubling a man who you'd already troubled before? Your being here had to be bad for the both of you, but why did your being here feel right instead? You could separate comfort from rightness anymore, couldn't find where the line was in the sand because maybe you had danced all over it before to muddle it up.

Maybe you didn't want to define it—you just wanted it to be him.

You would never forget this moment, standing with your eyes closed against a cold window pane, that you came to an understanding. You had little to no sleep in your system, but your heart hurt as much as your feet, and while there were plenty of ways to soothe sore feet, there weren't as many to heal a broken heart.

Maybe a glass of water would refresh you enough to fall asleep. It would be terrible of you to wake him up, especially when you'd bothered him this much. He had already done so much for you.

But you'd seen him just hours ago, and you'd seen the tenderness in his gaze, felt the tenderness in his touch.

The way he'd asked for you to “sleep on it” had been loaded with something. Hope was so cruel sometimes.

Your chest tightened and you pulled away from the window. You stepped over to the door to quietly open it and slip out. There was no light coming out from beneath Kevin's bedroom door, and you tiptoed across the landing to make your way downstairs.

When you'd successfully retrieved a glass of water, you climbed back up the stairs, only to freeze at the sight of Kevin stepping up onto the ones leading up to the attic. Your heart galloped at the sight of him.

“I hope I didn't wake you up,” you whispered this time, gesturing to the cup of water in your hand. “I just needed some water.”

He nodded. “Don't worry about it. Can't sleep still?” He asked.

You shook your head. Not even if you tried.

He seemed to understand, and with a sweep of his hand through his hair, he beckoned you up to the third floor with him.

You hadn't been up to the attic for as long as you had been away from Kevin. It was his studio space, somewhere he could let his creativity run wild. There were canvases pressed and stacked up against the slanted roof, paint cans and boxes of brushes off to the side, and the chaise lounge you always draped yourself over when the sun filtered in just right. It was the perfect spot to curl up with a good book, and you could feel its cushioned back imprinted against yours even now.

The memories all flooded back in one, big tidal wave and your hand tightened around your cup.

“Are you working on anything?” You asked quietly, lingering at the stair landing to sip your water. You feared you weren't allowed to venture further, as if you needed permission to wander now.

He glanced back at you from his easel stool, forehead creasing between his brows when he saw you still standing there. “Yn, you can sit,” he said, nodding to the chaise lounge. “Not really,” he confessed. “I just… I've been in a block, I guess.”

You crept over to the lounge chair and seated yourself on the edge, stiff and with your legs crossed one over the other. You leaned your forearms onto your knees, looking in the direction of Kevin, his body half blocked by the wooden easel. “Ah, I see,” you murmured. “Have you had trouble sleeping lately?”

His eyes flickered to yours. “It's… on and off. You?”

“Same.” Your mind went to what you thought about in the guest bedroom earlier. Would it be out of left field to spring it up on him? You didn't even know if he felt the same way anymore, but… but you had to try, didn't you?

Why did you come to him? Out of all the people and places in this city, your feet carried you here.

“I—” Both of you said at once, eyes clashing when you realized the other's voice was speaking.

“You first,” he said.

You shook your head. “No, please. I—I think you should go first.”

He seemed to hesitate, but relented. There was so much emotion in the way he looked at you then; the wideness of his eyes gave it all away. “Why are you here, Yn? Why are you really here?”

It was like he could read your mind. You knocked back the rest of your water and placed the empty cup on the floor a little ways from your feet so you didn't knock it over. “I,” you began, “I don't… at least, I don't consciously know.”

He pursed his lips together. “Do better than that. I know you can.”

You knew he was right; you could do better. You knew the truth, but it was a matter of how much courage you had to face it. “Kevin, I—I should've never let you go that easy, and I should've never let my judgment be swayed by my parents as it had. I'm so sorry for hurting you; you never deserved it. You never deserved any of it.

“I think,” you said, one hand grabbing your other shoulder, “after all this time, I still know who I want, and it's never been anyone but you. That's why—that’s why I'm here.” You wished you could shrink into yourself with his gaze pinned to you like it was. “And this is all so unfair to you—I know. I know it is, and I am so, so sorry.”

You would bear your entirety to him in hopes that he believed you and saw your sincerity. Because while your parents had raised you to be their perfect daughter, they missed the part when you fell hopelessly in love with your best friend from college. It tore you apart that day they forced you to part ways with him—you knew it did just the same to him, too.

Kevin was quiet for a moment with a pensive expression on his face burning into his floorboards. He suddenly stood and made his way over to you, your body shifting to make room for him on the chaise. The pair of you sat side by side with your shoulders and legs pressed against each other, sharing the other's warmth.

“I don't blame you if you're bitter,” you said. “I would be, too. And you can kick me out if that makes you feel better, because I…”

“Don't say it's because you deserve it.”

You tilted your gaze over to him.

He shook his head. “You don't deserve it. You hurt me, yes, but I know why you did it and I can't blame you for it, no matter how hard I try.” He turned his gaze up to the ceiling for a moment. “Sometimes I wish I had been born in a different position so neither of us would have to hurt so much.”

Your chest ached.

“It's not your fault,” you said. “Kevin, it was never your fault.”

His smile curled into something somber as his hand reached over to thumb your cheek. “I know it's not. And it's not yours either.”

For a moment, his hand lingered, and you let it.

“Don't marry someone else,” he said so quietly you thought you'd imagined it. But there was that tenderness in his eyes then, loving and imploring, and you knew you hadn't just kidded yourself.

His hand went to cup the side of your face. “I can't—” he swallowed, “I can't stomach that thought. I love you too much to see you unhappy.” His words were slurring together, voice watery, as he attempted to cover it up by pressing his lips to your hairline.

“I love you so much it hurts,” you told him in earnest. “Of course I'd run back here to you. It's always been you.” No amount of parental control could change that. They could never choose who you fell in love with when your heart was yours to give.

Kevin shifted to press his lips against yours, soft and cautious, giving you the space to back out. You reciprocated though, hands coming up to cup his face. And as you kissed, a sense of comfort settled over you, something akin to contentment, like knowing this was where you were meant to be. All the worries and heartache melted away for one split second of bliss that you found in a man whom you loved too much to let go.

His nose gently bumped against yours, his thumb caressing your cheekbone affectionately. “I love you. You can break my heart when you leave in the morning, but let me have this at least.”

“You can have this, and you can have me,” you said, nodding against him. You were going to fight this time; you would fight until you bled because you would be damned if you let him go so easily a second time. “You've always had me.”

a/n: i have to be up early tmr as usual... but i hope u didn't get bored by all the wordiness sjfbdkdn

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @justalildumpling @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @outrologist @vernonburger @maessseongs @ericlvr @mars101 @kflixnet

[thecreaturecodex]

Slugspawn

Image © Paizo Publishing

[Sponsored by @coldbloodassassin, who asked for the slugspawn from Carrion Crown: Wake of the Watcher to be converted from a hazard to a full monster. It is a little weird in the adventure as published, and this art, which is from WotW, makes it look as if it was intended to be an independent creature originally. WotW has a very large Bestiary section (this is the PF1e module that introduced a ton of Cthulhu Mythos monsters), so it's entirely possible that this was its own stat block at one point in development before being changed for the finished product to save word count. Lucky for me, I don't have a word count.]

Slugspawn CR 5 CE Aberration This creature appears to be a greenish-black slug the size of a human arm. On its underside, it has a lamprey-like maw with layers of rasping teeth

Slugspawn are the juvenile stage of the moits of Shub-Nugganoth, grotesque creatures that use humanoids are hosts to create eruptions of parasitic plague. A slugspawn is barely sapient, existing only to lurk in a dark corner somewhere and wait for a passerby to infest. Slugspawn are slow but patient, and can eat insects, mold and other detritus if these are available, and survive for up to a year on reserves of fat if they are not. They require the thoughts of a host, preferably a humanoid, in order to molt and reach maturity and intelligence.

Slugspawn attack from hiding, attempting to ambush a victim and burrow inside of it without the victim noticing more than a faint twinge of pain. Although cold damage or surgical intervention can pull a slugspawn from its host, this must be done quickly before the aberration wraps around the host’s brain stem. There, it feeds on the thought energy of its host, but also provides blanket protection from mind-influencing effects. The infestation initially seems relatively benign, and the infested may go about their lives as normal until the moit suddenly and violently transforms into a spawning canker. This is universally fatal to the host, and the host’s corpse becomes little more than a puppet and layer of protection for a tentacled horror.

Slugspawn CR 5 XP 1,600 CN Tiny aberration Init +7; Senses darkvision 60 ft., tremorsens 30 ft., Perception +5

Defense AC 20, touch 20, flat-footed 12 (+2 size, +7 Dex, +1 dodge) hp 51 (6d8+24) Fort +6, Ref +10, Will +4 Immune mind-influencing effects; Vulnerable cold, remove disease

Offense Speed 10 ft., climb 10 ft. Melee bite +13 (1d2+2 plus infestation) Space 2 ½ ft.; Reach 0 ft.

Statistics Str 14, Dex 25, Con 16, Int 3, Wis 8, Cha 9 Base Atk +4; CMB +9; CMD 21 (cannot be tripped) Feats Dodge, Mobility, Weapon Finesse Skills Climb +10, Perception +5, Stealth +21 Languages Aklo (cannot speak) SQ camouflage

Ecology Environment any land Organization solitary, clot (2-6) or infestation (7-12) Treasure none

Special Abilities Camouflage (Su) If a slugspawn is seen, a DC 20 Knowledge (dungeoneering) or DC 25 Knowledge (nature) check is required to tell that it is not a harmless, albeit oversized, slug. Infestation (Ex) A creature bitten by a slugspawn must succeed a DC 16 Reflex save, or the slugspawn burrows through the skin and begins to infest the creature. Any amount of damage reduction is enough to resist the initial infestation. The save DC is Constitution based. On the first round of infestation, dealing cold damage to the victim can eject the slugspawn and save the host—but only if the victim takes 10 or more points within 1 round of being infested. Cutting the slugspawn out also works, but the longer it remains in a host, the more damage this method does. Cutting it out requires a slashing weapon and a DC 25 Heal check, and deals 1d6 points of damage per round that the host has been infested. If the Heal check is successful, the slugspawn is removed. After 3 rounds, though, the slugspawn has reached the host’s brain and cannot be surgically removed without killing the host. Remove disease kills any slugspawn in a host. A slugspawn ejected through cold damage or a Heal check is stunned for 1 round after being ejected. A creature host to a slugspawn is immune to mind-influencing effects. 2d6 days after the initial infestation, a humanoid or native outsider host metamorphoses into a spawning canker, and cannot be returned to life with any means other than a true resurrection, miracle or wish spell. Hosts of other creature types have variable gestation periods, and may never metamorphose at all, subject to GM discretion. Vulnerable to Remove Disease (Su) If a slugspawn is targeted with a remove disease spell or similar effect, it must succeed a Fortitude save against the save DC of the spell or die instantly. If they succeed, the slugspawn still takes 1d4 points of damage per caster level.

[chiwhorei]

˗ˏˋ 𝔘𝔫𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔡 ˎˊ˗

I’m sad and want to cuddle with Halstarion and I want to soothe Astarion’s nightmares. Elves sleep in this one okay just leave me alone. Also this doesn’t have any smut but I am strictly an 18+ blog and also a DC writer so MDNI. ૮ ꒰ྀི . .   ꒱ྀིა

Astarion x Tav/reader x Halsin poly dream, hurt-comfort, the love that he deserves, no smut but still MDNI.

𓈒 ﹒ ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ ࣭

Astarion wakes up from a nightmare that he doesn’t remember all that much of, other than the too familiar smell of iron and the burning of control wrapping around his neck from the years of leash training. His anxiety is cold and eager to welcome him in, but just as quickly as it comes the warm embrace of his lovers grounds him once again.

He isn’t under lock and key, he isn’t under Cazador’s thumb waiting to be squashed like a bug. He’s here, nestled in the middle of a lovers embrace that is so much more familiar than he ever thought he deserved.

“Are you okay, my heart?” He feels Halsin’s words as they rumble from the druids chest, the rasp in his tone from sleep settles against Astarion’s back.

Halsin presses his lips against the sweat-curled hair at Astarion’s temple, broad arms engulfing both bodies in front of him to tug ever-closer into the warmth he’s never short of.

“J-just a bad dream, sorry.”

You stir, fingers moving up Astarion’s chest to find purchase around his neck. Your hands are soft and gentle, soothing over his icy skin, unclasping the collar he swears is still there.

“You’re safe, my love. You’re here with us. No one is going to hurt you.”

Your words melt against Astarion where they are spoken into his sternum. You kiss those promises into him with a small peck to keep them in place.

Astarion relaxes the rigid muscles in his shoulders, breath calming from the rattling he woke himself up with. The two hearts beating on either side of his body are enough to feel like his own is stirring, pumping hot blood through dormant veins.

The feeling of love and the feeling of a heartbeat are so alien to him after two centuries, but so abundant these days. Astarion goes lax in between the warm embrace of his lovers once again. He believes you, the both of you.

He’s safe now. He’s here with you.

[aprocessionofthoughts]

To lose control

ai-less whumptober 2023 day 6- mind control fandom- Danny Phantom x DC TW- loss of control summary- Danny's been working part time for the JLD when they come across and artifact he'd hoped to never see again.

ao3 ai-less whumptober masterlist Part 1 of ITR

Danny had been a consultant for the Justice League and part time member to the JLD for over a year now.

They both thought he was just a human with a connection to the occult. He planned to keep it that way. He didn’t really want to get back into hero-ing. He had had enough of that and was quite happy that most of his rogues were now his friends. And any ghost that wasn’t friendly was often taken care of by his parents who had greatly changed their views after he had told them his secret.

With his luck, he should have known that all his work at keeping Phantom a secret from the heroes would eventually go down the drain.

********

Danny paced by the side of the warehouse waiting for the League to finish taking down the summoners. He was merely here to help with the cleanup and to help determine which artifacts were dangerous and to collect any tomes for the JLD to review later.

Danny thought that Constantine could handle that on his own, but apparently since he was still ‘new’ the League had thought it necessary to send him so he could get more experience.

Finally, his comm dings and he makes his way to the door.

Constantine is inside along with the Bats, Danny really only recognizes Batman and the current Robin, the rest look familiar but he can’t remember any names. 

Though that one with the red helmet sure feels familiar. Almost as if…

He’s cut off from that train of thought when he senses pick up another familiar energy reading. One that makes him freeze in place, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?”

Danny stumbles back. Holy Ancients! That’s Batman. How had he gotten so close without Danny noticing? Oh right, he was distracted by the energy he had hoped to never feel again, already he could feel memories trying to pull him into a panic.

Danny ignores the Bat who’s looming over him in favor of looking around the room. There was obviously a fight and Danny can see a summoning circle in the center of the open space with knocked over candles around the edge and piles of scattered herbs. The scent was making his nose prickle.

Danny ignored it as well as the Bat who seemed to be getting broodeir. Where was… There. He zeroed in on one of the cultists. A cultist who was wearing a necklace with a red gem. A very familiar red gem. 

Danny lets out a small gasp and Batman follows his gaze, his own eyes narrowing. 

“What is it?” 

Constantine is turning to them too, as are the other Bats.

“What’s wrong, mate?”

Danny can see the other Bats tensing,

Danny opens his mouth to tell them about the dangerous artifact, no need to tell them about said artifact’s abilities, when the cultist looks up and meets Danny’s eyes. Then he grins his eyes glowing faintly as the shard of crystal also glows.

“Look what we have here.” comes the raspy voice. “And here I’d been upset when our ritual was ruined.”

“What’s he talking about?” says the bat with a blue bird shape across his chest. Robin is starting to approach the cultist. 

“His necklace—”

“Stop.” says the man and Danny’s jaw clamps shut. He can feel the Red starting to haze his vision and he fights against it.

“Mind.. control..” he rasps, his body twitching as it fights to throw off the gem’s effects.

Robin has nearly reached the cultist. 

“Stop him.”

Between one blink and the next Danny finds himself having flung Robin away. Everyone is ready to fight now and the Red is still fighting to take over his vision.

“Run!” he manages. He doesn't want to fight them. Not if they don’t have the proper equipment. They don’t know what he is, what he can do. He doesn’t want to hurt anybody, except maybe the cultist.

“Strange, that you have a ghost working for you. Though I’ve never seen one look so human before.” Danny hears the cultist say, but he can’t move. He feels like a passenger in his own body. He can see everyone giving each other uncertain looks. They haven’t moved yet, but they will soon if they don’t think Danny’s a threat.

The bats have started to move towards him when the cultist says, “Attack.��

Danny feels the Red wash over him as he fires an ecto-beam at the nearest bat. At the last second, Danny’s able to redirect it to miss.

At least everyone’s on higher alert now.

But his body keeps trying to attack everyone and even though he’s fighting it, Danny knows it will only be so long before he succumbs to the Red. 

As he’s grappling with Batman he manages to grunt through gritted teeth, “Find– Manson–” 

Then the cultist shrieks, “Get over here!” and Danny finds himself putting up a shield between the cultist and the hero wearing black and blue. “Get me out of here.” the cultist growls.

Danny turns to grab him, making them both invisible and intangible as the Red drowns him.

He can only hope that they’ll find his friends before he does anything too terrible.

Then, there is only Red.

[5-7-9]

There’s a level of irony here about how a daughter of a cop who she dearly loved and believed in, being symbolized against cops

in fact, even in the comic her campaign manager is a former police detective. Furthering just how connected she was/is.

I know they offhandedly make sure we knew Babs changed her mind about vigilantism+police after Batman’s and Gordon’s death, but so did Harvey in every recreation of his Two face backstory ever.

Babs barely even confronts the criminal system in her works unless it was supporting her father who is commissioner or generic vigilante business. In fact, she even got a law degree so she is technically a lawyer, just like Harvey. She even went one step further into law, and wanted to become a congress woman!!! 👏 Would love to bring that back., if it’s possible to combine it with her librarian aspect.

They even point out how they both have disabilities!!! Which i wish dc comics canon actually tried exploring how Twotwo is literally physically disabled and should technically not be capable of talking or eating normally so easily (and i don’t just mean the rasp, he’s literally missing a cheek!!!)(he is also practically blind in one eye).

Babs showing interests in her dad’s detective duties, Twotwo showing interests in his old friend Gordon’s daughter’s life, Harvey and Babs’ father working together against the mafia, how in the world has no writer thought they should have an interesting dynamic at all is a wonder. It is legit not fair they were pitted against each other, when in fact they have a lot in common and tied together.

[xgrtd-swggr-of-a-blk-teen]

A DC au where things make more sense to me

Bruce Wayne was only 8 years old when a common thug killed his mother and father. He was too young to understand why they wouldn't just wake up, the little dress pants that he wore to the theatre now damp with blood as he pushed, poked, and prodded his parents' heavy bodies. His voice grows more and more worried as time passes, for he can see the color draining from their skin ever so slowly, revealing veins that have begun to transition from blue to purple. His soft whine becoming a full screaming sob.

It's only after roughly half an hour of continuous wailing that lights appear in the surrounding houses and apartments. Disgruntled residents telling him to shut up, and more empathetic people checking on him from their windows. It was only one man that came out to see the horrors the boy had witnessed. Not too soon after, Gotham Police Department arrives with a young junior detective and his senior partner.

A grizzled Harvey Bullock, with sunken eyes from years of sleep deprivation and a rasp in his voice from the combination of chain smoking and hard liquor, orders James Gordon to quell the cries of the boy. Jim looks uneasy with his orders. He's never been good with kids, but he watches intently as the boy heaves deep breaths and chokes on the spit and snot pouring from his face.

A gentle hand touches the young Wayne's shoulder, clasping it as if to offer reassurance.

"My name is Jim. Can you tell me your name?" Jim is careful not to mess up the scene as he gingerly crouches behind the boy.

"B-b-br-bruce." The boy stutters, trying to collect himself. A Wayne must be strong. That's what dad always said.

"Bruce? I'm sorry we had to meet like this," says Jim as he tries to ask empathetically, "Bruce, do you think we can talk more? I have friends that can watch them for you. Why don't you take a break?"

The boy then looks behind him to find the gap-toothed sympathetic smile of a lightskin black man with freckles and ginger hair under the soft yellowed glow of street lamps. And in the night air are the screeches of bats as they hunt for insects...

. . .

10-year-old Clark Kent awoke from his sleep in a sweat. He could have sworn he had heard the sound of a gunshot as if were right beside him. His ears were ringing. He stumbled out of the motel bed, shambled to the bathroom, and promptly lost his dinner.

As he was cleaning up the sink which he vomited into, he went to twist the knob to rinse it out. It must have gotten looser since they were using it earlier. Before it stuck a little and, while not hard to turn, did require a little more effort.

As Clark removes his hand from the knob, he sees why it was so much easier to turn. He looks intently at the cracks in the plastic knob and when he went to tap it, it crumbled into hard, clear shards.

Clark laid back down thinking he must be in some fever-induced dream, but he had a hard time going back to bed. Not only did he feel as if he was moving faster than his mind was moving as he walked back to the bed, but as he laid there with eyes shut tight, it was as if he could see through his own eyelids.

Clark continued to lay down, now just staring through his eyelids at the ceiling above him. He decided to quiet his mind by thinking of home. He couldn't wait to get back home. He missed the farm. He missed the trees. He even missed his chores. He was ready to harvest the corn they had grown for the summer and play with the cows in the barn. He didn't like the thick air of Metropolis; it smelled of car exhaust and sewage. Though he honestly couldn't tell if that was the fault of Metropolis or the city of Gotham across the Delaware Bay. But the constant noise of cars and yelling, protests against STAR labs and sirens zooming down the streets, that was definitely Metropolis. The flash of cameras blinding him whenever Mama and Pop took him to look at the city. Eager journalists and paparazzi alike looking to get the scoop on anything and everything. Where there should be tall trees and bustling forests, there were instead skyscrapers and just behemoth concrete and metal structures. No, he wanted no part of it, he just wanted to be back on the Kent farm in Gallatin.

Eventually, Clark dozes off thinking about home and his friends there. He dreams of his best friend Alex and the lab in his garage. He dreams of his dad landing his STAR labs contract so they can go back home and start working again. He dreams of home but is seeing a man and a woman and can’t make out their faces, but their bodies don’t resemble Mama and Pop… It's while he dreams these things that his body begins to hover a little over a foot in the air.

A true sight for his mother and father to see when they go to wake him up for a city tour at 9am. Perhaps it's time to have the talk with Clark...

...

"ARES! GIVE ME YOUR COURAGE! ATHENA! YOUR WISDOM! KRATOS! BLESS ME WITH STRENGTH! HERMES! LET ME POSSESS YOUR SPEED! ZEUS! FUCK YOU!" A mighty high-pitched battle cry from young warrior Diana of Themiscyra. "YOUR LIGHTNING MAY HAVE LIT THE FIRES OF MY KILN BUT YOU HOLD NO POWER OVER ME!"

"Watch your words, Diana. We revere the gods. They allow us to live and bless us with what we need to live." Queen Hippolyta scolds her daughter. "Zeus heard my cries to mother a child and gave me you. I thank him daily."

"My queen, I respect you and the other gods. But I do not recognize Zeus as the King of Gods as that would make him my king. And I serve no man."

Her mother can do nothing but chuckle as lightning crackles across the sky. My daughter molded of clay and born by lightning. I think he sees your power and knows the threat you pose to him. I will protect you from him. Train you to be the best Amazon to have walked the Earth.

"Are you done praying child?" Hippolyta dawns her helmet and grabs her spear; shifting her feet to prepare for what comes next. Her stance is strong, she looks nigh unmovable. A necessary skill against her current opponent.

"Not yet, mater." Diana grins at her mother slyly. Without breaking eye contact, Diana retrieves her shield from the boulder she lodged it in during the last spar and unsheathed the sword on her belt. "ASCLEPIUS! KEEP MY MOTHER HEALTHY! PAEON! PATCH UP WHAT YOU MUST AFTER!" I will dethrone Zeus and protect those I love from tyrants like him.

Lightning strikes the fighting pit, leaving glass shards scattered across the arena. Fuck you Zeus, Hippolyta says in her mind and the spar continues...

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Eyes and Ears

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: An AU where Barbara finds Jason instead of Bruce.

Chapters: 21/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Sheila Haywood, Original Character(s)

Relationship(s): Jason Todd/Original Character(s), Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Older SIbling Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd-centric, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Jason Todd is NOT Robin, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Has a Crush, Adopted Siblings

Chapter Twenty-One: Number Four

Jason couldn't sleep that night, but Jim stayed up with him. Barbara didn't return to the hospital until early that morning. She told Jim that she'd stay with Jason. Once Jim was gone, Barbara pinched Jason's cheek. "I'm sorry, Barb," Jason mumbled as he teared up.

"Hey, shhh... I'm not mad at you," Barbara whispered as she hugged him, "You should get some sleep."

Jason nodded as he held onto her. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. Barbara sat by his side for most of the day while Jason slept. He woke up late in the afternoon, and Barbara smiled at him. "Feeling better?" she asked. Jason nodded. "How was your dance, other than the fear toxin tear gas situation?"

Jason looked at her, "I danced with someone, and it was my first ever slow dance. I could definitely say that it was a night to remember."

"Your first masquerade ball, your first school dance, your first slow dance, and it all ends with a trip to the emergency room," Barbara messed up his hair, "Oh, I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you would want to look—."

"Where'd you go?" Jason asked.

"To Bruce's. We had to figure out what was wrong... I think we sort of did. It is a lot like a fear toxin," Barbara whispered.

"Then why am I going home today? Also, does it always feel like that when you get gassed?" Jason asked. Barbara shook her head.

"Jason, you really can't remember anything?" Barbara asked. Jason took a deep breath and pushed his palms to his forehead as if he were trying to knead out a memory.

"I can't, Barbara... I'm sorry, but I'm trying," Jason whispered apologetically.

"It's okay. You're okay. That's all that matters. I remember when the paramedics brought you in. You were shut down completely. The doctors couldn't figure out how to lower your heart rate," Barbara whispered, "It took almost an hour to get you to speak. When you did, you said that you wanted out of the toybox."

Jason's heart rate went back up, and he closed his eyes to try and stave off the panic. "Jason?" Barbara asked, and he shook his head.

"No, it's just something from when I was little... And before you ask, no, I don't want to talk about that right now," Jason replied. Barbara nodded, and the sympathetic look in her eye agitated him. "Stop it. Stop feeling bad for me. I'm fine."

"Jason, this isn't pity. I'm concerned for you," she confessed, "Fear has a way of making you feel isolated and powerless. Fear gives you the illusion that you can't do anything... And that's just not the case, Jason. You can do anything... I'll let you get dressed." She kissed the top of his head and left him alone with his thoughts.

Jason got dressed and put on his socks and shoes before stepping forward. Everything went dark temporarily, and he grabbed onto the nearest thing he could until his vision came back. When he stepped out, Jim was there at the desk checking him out of the hospital. Barbara was waiting for him. "Jason—."

"I'm claustrophobic," Jason explained to her shortly, "I'll explain later. I promise."

Barbara messed up his hair, and he met eyes with A.J. and Reese. "Wanna go talk to your friends?" Barbara asked. Jason didn't break eye contact with the two brothers.

"Barb, I've got so much to tell you about," Jason whispered. A.J. greeted him while Reese spoke to someone on the phone. "Hi, A.J. You guys okay?" Jason laughed nervously.

"Yeah, we're more bummed about school getting canceled," A.J. rasped. Reese followed A.J. and said hi.

"Number Four is in the car," Reese whispered, "And she is not happy."

"Number Four is what we call our stepmom," A.J. clarified, "All you need to know is that she'll last all of two years and that she's probably younger than your sister." A.J.'s shoulders dropped as he and Reese said their goodbyes and left.

Jason relaxed his shoulders, and Barbara came back over. "Come on, I'll let you ride on my back to the car," Barbara whispered. Jason smiled and accepted her invitation.

"Be careful. We just checked Jason out of the hospital. I don't want to have to check him back in," Jim warned. Once they got to the car, Jason got in the back seat, and Jim offered to take them out to eat. They all went out for tacos, and after they ate, Jim dropped Jason and Barbara off and went home.

It wasn't until after Jim left that Jason felt another wave of anxiety wash over him. "Jason, can we—?"

"I feel like I—. I—. God, I wish I would have kissed Reese when I wasn't myself," Jason blurted out. Barbara's jaw dropped. She swallowed his words and pushed a hand through her hair.

"I'm sorry, can you clarify the part about you not being yourself?" she asked.

"It was a masquerade ball, so I thought I'd pretend to be someone else, and I knew it was Reese when we were dancing-. I don't really care if anyone knows I like boys. I don't care who knows, and I wish I could've said something... But I was so shocked that it was him, and I honestly have no idea how to kiss anyone... I've never done it before," Jason explained, "And before you ask, I have no idea. I didn't know I had a crush on him until last night."

A smile spread across Barbara's face. "Jason, text him what you just said to me because that was very sweet... Now, if you don't think you can talk about the other stuff with me tonight, that's fine—."

"My birth father used to put me in a toybox when I was little. Well, not really a toybox. It was a storage bin, and it felt a lot like a coffin would feel. If I panicked, he would just make me stay in there longer... I learned to just shut down... So, yeah," Jason took a deep breath, "I'm claustrophobic. It's not as bad as it was when I was a kid, but I can imagine being trapped in a room while being gassed is not going to make that any better." Jason pushed a hand through his hair.

Barbara chewed her nails as she tried to find something comforting to say to him. "Kids are braver than adults," Barbara whispered. Jason plopped down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "Jason—."

"I was doing great, Barbara. You saw it, right? You saw how good I was doing," Jason looked over at her before looking back up at the ceiling.

"You're still doing great. Jason, it's not like you're—."

"I was busy when I was in school, now the school's shut down until further notice... All I've got right now are my thoughts, and all my thoughts suck right now," Jason complained as he tried to take a deep breath. Barbara moved the coffee table and crouched down in front of him.

"Hey, Jason... You're going to be okay. It is not gonna fall apart because you have a week to relax—."

"It could fall apart," Jason interrupted her. She took his hand and squeezed it.

"I won't let it. I won't let anything fall apart for you. I promise," she reassured him, "Now what's gonna happen is you're gonna relax your shoulders and you're gonna give me a hug." He obeyed.

[thezombieprostitute]

Sparks Fly - Epilogue

Summary: After working as an engineer for Wilford & Gilliam Trust for several years you find evidence of seedy dealings and burned books. After turning in the evidence you find yourself in danger and seek help. You're taken into the protection of a mob family where you run into your high school best friend, Mace.

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: Puns, Smut, Workplace stress

Part 6

Series Masterlist

The next couple of weeks are a complete blur. You and Mace end up moving into an apartment close to the free clinic where you’ll be working. It’s more of a drive for him but he insists it’s worth it for the days he can’t drive you to or from work. You don’t mind the extra time together and it is a lot safer considering the intel on Franco the Elder’s latest work for Wilford & Gilliam. Mace doesn’t tell you much other than “it’s bad” and you’re pretty sure you don’t want to know more.

Work at the free clinic is just as stressful as your last job but in different ways. Plus, it’s a lot more rewarding. A lot of the equipment needs serious upgrades and you find yourself helping with the grant requests by providing specs for what they need. Every penny at this place has to be accounted for and you’re having to adjust to a lack of near unlimited budgeting. You’re gonna have to talk to Mace, maybe Teach, about getting more funding from the Family for this place. It’s clearly needed in the community. 

You’re so focused on working on an ultrasound machine you don’t notice Mace is there until he taps your shoulder. You jump, surprised and he’s quick to apologize. “It’s time to clock out,” he comments. You stand up and stretch, not realizing how long you’d been hunkered over this machine. Mace caresses your cheek and you lean into his touch. 

“You gonna be okay, DC?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you assure him. “There’s just been so much changing so quickly. I was never as good at adapting as you. But I’ll find my rhythm again.”

“So long as you tell me what I can do to help you,” he soothes. 

“Of course, AC. And thank you. I know we haven’t been able to spend much time together lately but once I find my routine it’ll be better.”

“Just promise me you’re not stressing about it,” Mace pulls you closer. “The past month has been a lot, especially for you. Please don’t feel like you have to rush into a routine. Anytime you need a break, you ask, okay?”

“I promise,” you confirm as you kiss him. “How about some food and rest?”

“It’s my turn to cook, right?”

“Yes! And I’m really looking forward to tasting what you’ve got to offer,” you give him a suggestive wink, making him blush.

“Oh shit, DC,” Mace rasps as you ride him. “Feels so good.” His hands are fondling your breasts and he brings you in for a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean into his lips. You keep rolling your hips, helping his dick reach all the right places. 

“I needed this so bad, AC,” you whisper before kissing down his jaw line. You need to make sure he knows you appreciate everything he’s done, still doing, for you. Even small things like letting you take control in the bedroom, giving you something you have total say over in your life. “Squeeze my ass,” you moan, kissing appreciatively when he moves his hands where you want them. 

“Feels so good,” he groans. “Taste so good. Smell so good.” You grin and increase your pace, making him squeeze you harder. “Gonna come soon if you don’t stop.”

You move one of your hands to your clit, playing with it how you like. “Go ahead, AC. I’m almost there.” Mace starts fucking up into you and you gasp at the change in pace, but don’t stop your hips. He sucks on one of your nipples and you’re finally able to let go with a small yell, letting out a moan as you feel him coming inside you. 

He holds you as you both catch your breath, gently rubbing your back. You whisper “thank you” several times between gentle kisses. You chuckle and he gives you a curious look.

“My life has been so chaotic these past couple of months,” you tell him. “You’ve been the one steady, reliable thing. For an Alternating Current, you’re pretty grounding.” He blushes and chuckles with you. 

“I’m sure once you get you back to your Direct Current I’ll be back to my ways. Just with a rectifier to keep me focused while I rectify the mistake I made in high school.”

“You’re so damn sexy when you talk engineering,” you coo. 

He smiles at the sincerity in your eyes. “There’s more where that came from,” he promises. “You’re my amplidyne, keeping me on task.” He moves you so you’re on your back and he starts kissing you. 

You laugh, “just never refer to sex as a diode bridge, please.”

“No promises,” he smirks. 

Part 6

Series Masterlist

Tagging:

@alicedopey

@chibijusstuff

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@jamneuromain

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@rebekahdawkins

@texmexdarling

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (27/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2708

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Together in bed, Aemond & Aria exchange new vows and old secrets.

Warnings: Adult content, minors DNI

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

Pillow Talk

Aemond, as he came down from his release, moved to bring his mouth to Arianwyn’s still-wet folds, but she kept her arms tight around his shoulders, holding him level with her eyes.

“Just lay with me for a while,” she murmured, still breathless from her own climax.

He could not deny her, not after she spent their entire coupling singing his praises and listing his virtues. He didn’t think he would ever recover from hearing her voice, rasping with pleasure, telling him he was perfect.

So, he dropped to the mattress beside her, laying on his side to face her, and began twisting one of her wonderful silver curls in his fingers.

They laid like that for many long minutes, until Aemond had finished arranging her hair around her head in a gleaming white halo. For a moment, she stared up at him happily, cradling his cheek as he admired his handiwork. But then a shadow passed over her eyes.

“You lied to me,” she whispered, gently circling his sapphire eye with her finger. “In your letters. You did not tell me how bad it was.”

He dropped his smile and leaned into her touch, laying his hand around her waist. “As did you. You did not tell me that he threatened you, and all of Runestone.”

Arianwyn withdrew her hand, glancing down at his bare chest and frowning. “If I had, you would have taken Vhagar to Dragonstone and killed them all. I did not want a civil war on my hands.”

“And if I had told you how miserable I was,” Aemond spat, anger rising in his voice, “you would have gotten yourself killed trying to escape, and I would have slaughtered them all the same.”

A fire burned in his eye, that seemed to set even the sapphire ablaze.

He meant every word.

Arianwyn found herself speechless, and almost afraid.

He had made threats before, when they were children. To cut off her husband’s head and feed it to Emrys if he was ever cruel to her. It had provided her comfort on a night she was consumed by sadness. But then, she had thought it a joke.

This was not a joke.

Aemond now rode the largest dragon in the world, and was as fearsome a warrior as the realm had ever seen. If he truly wished it, he could reduce Dragonstone, and all those who lived there, to a crumbling pile of ash.

The Queen had been right – Aemond had changed.

It was only at that moment that Arianwyn saw it.

The kind and gentle boy she grew up with was still there, she had seen that well. When he ran to her in the training yard. When he took her back to her old rooms – which he had kept perfect intact. When he asked her to read to him, and almost kissed her. And on their wedding night, when he had kissed her, and confessed his love.

But there lay a new fury in Aemond. A thirst for vengeance. A darkness.

That was the “One-Eyed Prince.”

The man who had so effortlessly and decisively bested a knight of the Kingsguard. The man who had followed her out of the Throne Room after Vaemond’s murder and sworn to reduce the world to ash to keep her safe. The man who had taunted his bastard nephews, threatening the peace between the Greens and the Blacks. The man who had raised his sword to Daemon’s neck to defend his wife.

Despite the seed of fear in her chest, Arianwyn loved him, too.

She leaned back into him, pressing a soft kiss to his scowling lips. “Then it is good that we lied.”

“Mmm,” he growled as he kissed her back, dominant and possessive.

Arianwyn waited until the tension in his muscles had faded before pulling away. “But we must now promise to always tell each other the truth from this moment on, agreed?”

The corner of his good eye twitched, as if surprised that she would even ask. “You are my wife, Aria.”

“And you are my husband,” she said, clutching his jaw. “I love you, and I trust you. But I need to hear you say it. Please.”

She did not know why she needed to hear it so badly. It could be that she was just desperate to ensure he never again had to suffer alone. Maybe she just needed certainty that no matter what happened, she had someone she could rely upon for the truth. Or perhaps, she simply wanted a leash on the beast, to prevent him from ever releasing that darkness upon the world.

Whatever the reason, relief washed over her like a great wave when Aemond at last replied.

“I swear by the Father than I shall never lie to you,” he said, voice reverent but strained, “but that I shall only ever tell you the truth. Should I ever betray this oath, may I be condemned to the deepest of the seven hells.”

With a smile on her face, Arianwyn swore the same.

“Now that I have sworn to you, again,” Aemond said with a mischievous grin as he lifted himself on his arms to hover over his wife. “Are there any truths in particular you would like me to tell?”

Every trace of trepidation he had about her strange request disappeared when she bit her lip as she thought. His stomach tightened, and with that one tiny movement, she had him growing hard. It was torture to wait for her to speak, and not simply bury himself within her once more.

“How did you know?” she asked, tracing her fingers teasingly down his chest until she took hold of him, quickly stroking him to full hardness.

“Know what?” he groaned as he began to thrust into her hand.

“How to make me feel so good?” she kissed him as he moaned. “I don’t imagine most girls enjoy their wedding night as much as I did.”

Aemond froze, and immediately reached down to remove her hand. All pleasure was gone from his face, and his cock began to soften.

Arianwyn looked up to him, distraught. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to say anything wrong.”

He leaned back to sit on his knees, and Arianwyn sat with him, though she kept her distance. It was quite obvious that he did not want to be touched.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, though he did not sound entirely sincere. “It’s just… not a fond memory.”

When he only sat there in silence, refusing to meet her gaze, she edged toward him. “Aemond, you’re worrying me.”

He looked at her then, and there was indeed fear in his eye. But also, shyness and shame. It only worried Arianwyn further.

“You really don’t know? Aegon never told you?” he asked incredulously.

She scoffed. “Well, I obviously have no idea what you’re talking about, so no.”

Aemond blinked and turned away from her, taking several deep breaths to steady himself. “Aegon took me to the Street of Silk on my thirteenth nameday.”

“Oh.”

It made sense. While young Ladies were expected to remain intact for their husbands, it was encouraged that young Lords – and Princes – enjoy all that Westeros had to offer. Both before and after they were wed. Aegon lived by this belief, so it was entirely like him to try and rope his younger brother into it as well.

But Arianwyn had thought Aemond to be… she didn’t quite know the word for it, but different. He was always so sweet and thoughtful, the idea of him spending his nights in a pleasure house seemed entirely wrong.

The mental image of him with his head between the legs of some faceless woman as she gave him precise instructions to bring her pleasure had Arianwyn’s stomach churning. “So, the whores taught you – ”

“No!” he practically shouted, reaching out a hand as if to grab her arm. But he did not touch her, maintaining the barrier that he had put up. “And there was only ever the one… whore.”

Arianwyn just stared at him, unsure what to do or say. He had always been soothed by just her presence, sometimes her touch. But now, it seemed as though he could not stand to even look at her.

“Nothing actually happened, really. I couldn’t…” he rolled his eyes, and gestured to his limp member in lieu of actually saying it out loud. “She – the whore – tried to… provoke me. She didn’t want to face Aegon’s anger should she ‘fail.’ But none of it worked. Still, she just kept going. I finally just pretended to cum so she would leave.”

From what she had seen and felt when he came with her, she could not believe that any experienced whore would not be able to tell when a man was pretending. But by the relief of Aemond’s face as he told the tale, it had done the trick.

“Then I just sat in the parlor and waited. I watched the other whores and their clients,” he let out a dark laugh as he fumbled with the sheets. “I actually wanted to try and enjoy it. I thought there was something wrong with me. But still, nothing.”

“The whore apparently gave Aegon quite a detailed report. He started mocking me about how ‘long’ I took,” he sneered, pulling his fists apart so fast that the sheet he held tore.

Arianwyn did remember several taunts of that nature, though she hadn’t understood their meaning at the time. Looking at the ripped sheet he still clung to, she leaned forward again, and this time, Aemond let her take his hand.

“I only got him to shut up by playing along. Whenever he asked me to return to the brothel with him, I made some excuse. But he would only accept it if I made him promise to tell me every detail.” He ground his teeth, “And he did.”

In the silence that fell, Arianwyn traced the Rune of peace on the back of his hand. He watched her finger move, and felt his heart lighten when she looked to smile up at him.

“So, it was a whore that taught you. The famous whore, Prince Aegon,” she laughed.

Thankfully, Aemond laughed with her, though not as heartily as she would have hoped.

“I suppose you could say that,” he sighed, pulling her on to his lap. “Though some of my more successful methods have simply been my trying everything in my power to get you to squeal.”

She laid a single, kiss at the apex of his jaw. “So, you had never… done anything before last night?”

“Well, not with anyone else, no,” he answered, returning her kiss and thanking all the gods when he began to grow hard again.

But she leaned back, her face painted with confusion. “What do you mean?”

Gods, she was so deliciously innocent. Aemond reached between them to begin stroking her clit as he whispered in her ear. “I never desired any woman, not for a long time. Not until, one day, when I was thinking of you. Your beautiful eyes, your gorgeous hair, and your sweet lips.”

He punctuated his words with a biting kiss, before guiding her hand to his length. “I touched myself, like this, until I came. All the while, imagining what it would be like to kiss you.”

She shuddered in his grasp as he slipped two fingers inside her, wasting no time in brushing against that wonderfully soft spot within her. Her hand slowed, but he made up for it by rolling his hips frantically.

“You are the only woman I have ever wanted, Aria,” he purred. “The only woman who could ever bring me to this.”

He captured her lips once more as he pulled his fingers from within her and laid her on her back. Though she whined at the loss of the sensation, and again when he pulled himself out of her grasp, her protests quickly quieted when he began to push against her entrance.

“You are who I choose,” he groaned as he coated himself in her slick to prepare himself. “You are who I love.”

Just when he was about to sink into her, she laid a hand on his chest, stopping him. “Wait.”

“Aria,” he groaned. It took all his restraint to hold his hips back.

But she tipped his chin towards her, forcing him to look at the sly twinkle in her eyes. “Is there anything you’ve learned that you have not shown me yet?”

How could someone be so innocent, yet so wicked?

Aemond could only growl as he flipped her onto her stomach and seized her hips, pulling her up to rest on her hands and knees atop the bed. Then, with a single rough thrust, buried himself to the hilt.

The heavenly feeling of her would always take his breath away. As he knelt on the bed, holding her to him with her ass pressed against his hips, he was so overcome that he had to still himself to keep from cumming then and there.

Arianwyn’s mouth fell open in delightful surprise. Her initial disappointment at being denied the view of his beautiful face faded quickly when she felt him filling her fuller and deeper than he had before. The sensation of being stretched was overwhelming.

At last confident that he could restrain himself, he began to thrust, gradually building speed. He pounded into her so intensely that her arms buckled, and he had to reach forward to raise her back up.

She was already so close, dancing on the precipice of release, expecting each thrust to be the one to pull her over, but never quite reaching its height. Desperate, she pulled his hand from her him and guided it to her clit, hoping the additional stimulation would bring relief.

But though Aemond valiantly tormented the swollen bud, she remained still hovering over her edge.

“I love you so much, Aria,” Aemond panted as he pounded into her faster and faster. “I want to give you everything – gold, jewels, a library larger than the Citadel itself.”

She smiled at his words, so wide that her cheeks burned. “I will give you whatever you want, Aemond. Just ask it of me.”

He fell forward, pressing his forehead against the back of her neck and yelling wordlessly as he emptied himself deep within her. When his cock finally stopped twitching, he whispered into her ear, “I want you to bear my children.”

Arianwyn whined as she felt him slow, and her own release slipped further and further away. Thankfully Aemond came down from his high quickly. Though he remained inside her, not wanting any of his seed to escape, he continued working her clit.

But still, nothing. The pressure building within her began to turn to pain, and she nearly cried. “Aemond!”

To see her like this made his chest tighten with guilt. What had he done wrong?

“Tell me what you need Aria,” he asked anxiously.

With one hand still propping her up, she reached back for him with the other. “I need to see you.”

His hand stilled when he realized what she meant. For so long, he had thought his face could only elicit horror and disgust in others.

But not Arianwyn. Never her.

Ever so carefully, as to not pull himself from her, Aemond lifted her from the bed and turned her back around to face him. As soon as she was settled on his lap, she gripped the sides of his face and nodded.

He began moving his hand again, rubbing circles around her clit hard and fast.

That was all she needed. To look into his eye and see him smile. Her walls fluttered around him as she finally came, clinging so tightly to his shoulders that she left angry red marks when she finally tumbled back on the bed.

He fell next to her, eye already closed as he drifted closer and closer to sleep.

Looking on his peaceful face, Arianwyn sheepishly bit her lip. “Aemond, there’s something I need to tell you, if we’re being truthful.”

“What is it, my love?” He asked sleepily.

“About the children…”

Next Chapter

[lowkeyerror]

I think I’m gonna need some more Selina Kyle IMMEDIATELY PLEASE

Maybe a cute Drabble on how you guys met like meet cute but obviously in a way that makes sense with Selina. Like she thinks you just want to be with her for one night and leave but turns out your in it for the long haul and want to actually be in a relationship. And just a lot of cute fluffy interactions and all the pet names 🥰

Every Night

Word count: 651

Notes: pure fluff, lil drabble, not my gif

DC Masterlist

The first time you laid eyes on Selina, you felt as though cupid had shot an arrow directly into your chest. You were at a club, your friends invited you for a night out and refused to let you decline the invitation.

It was sheer luck that the woman had been already looking at you. Nerves hit you hard when she approached you.

The first thing she said was," This doesn't really look like your scene, sweetheart."

" It's not."

" Then how about me and you go somewhere else," she suggested.

Y/n tilts her head as she thinks. Something Selina found extremely adorable.

" I don't know if it's smart for me to go anywhere in Gotham with a hot stranger that I've just met in a club."

Selina chuckles," Pretty and smart, well isn't that a dangerous combo. I'm Selina and I promise I'm as trustworthy as I am attractive."

For some reason, your gut was telling you to leave with this woman. Your senses were fighting hard, but your heart was too curious. So you left with her that night, and it was the best decision you had ever made.

Selina showed you finer things in life, things that you were certain only Gotham elitists had access to. She also showed you the beauty hidden in the slums of the town. That was the duality of Selina.

She was charming and flirtatious. It was impossible for the night to end up anywhere except with you under her.

Part of her expected you to be gone in the morning. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised to find you curled up in her arms, snoring lightly.

She took the time to really get a good look at your features. Selina had an eye for valuable things, and in that moment she was fairly certain that you were the most valuable thing she ever laid her eyes on.

" I'd say something snarky about a staring problem, but I like it when you look at me," your voice had a twinge of morning rasp to it.

" Well, you managed to surprise me. You know, I usually wake up to an empty bed." Selina lightly traced patterns on your arm.

" I find that hard to believe." Your eyes tried to lock on hers, but she's focused on the patterns she's making.

" You'd be surprised."

You took her hand in yours," I'd stay here until you asked me to leave."

Selina let a genuine laugh tumble out of her lips," I was that good, huh?"

Your face heated up at the insinuation," I- you were, but you're a lot more than just good in bed. I find myself wanting to know everything about you."

" Oh really," her eyes finally snapped up to yours, and you find yourself melting.

" Really… Let me make you breakfast?"

It was an innocent question that once again caught Selina off guard.

" Are you going to burn down my kitchen?"

You chuckled gently," No, I'm actually pretty good in the kitchen. I can make anything you want."

" Is there a catch to this?"

You thought for a moment," The catch is that you have to go on a date with me."

Selina kissed the tip of your nose," That all, sweetheart?"

"That's all I want."

Selina pretended to think about it, but her mind was made up the second you asked her. Instead of answering your question directly, she responded with her breakfast order," Ham and cheese omelet, don't short me on the bell peppers or green onions, Y/n."

You pecked her lips before rolling out of the bed," Yes, chef."

Selina sighed blissfully as you left the room. She really liked you, and that was rare for her. She wanted you to know everything about her, even her alter ego. Catwoman would spoil you with all of your heart's desires, she wouldn't be able to help herself.

Anything for her girl.