#impossible to work with like! what are you doing.

[cripplecharacters]

How to Support People with Facial Differences - the Face Equality Week 2024 Special

[large text: How to Support People with Facial Differences - the Face Equality Week 2024 Special]

Today is the 13th of May, which means that the Face Equality Week has just started. This year's theme is “My Face is a Masterpiece” which is probably my favorite sentence ever said about having a facial difference. Huge fan, should be used way more often in my opinion.

Because of this occasion, I would like to share some thoughts about Face Equality that I think are rather entry-level, i.e. you don't need to know much to execute these, but you can still support us.

Stop the stare.

I know it's fun to stare - or so I guess, at least - but maybe you shouldn't. Next time you see someone who has a scar or who's face does not move the same way as yours, just mind your business. We can tell when you're “discreetly” looking.

Don't call us deformed. 

Knowing how the people you're trying to support actually call themselves should be an absolute first step, but most people still fail here. Most of us don't appreciate being called “deformed”. I certainly don't. Say “facial difference”, or “disfigurement” if you must. It's 2024. Leave “deformed” to medical reports from the 70s.

No more “What happened?!”s.

If you aren't a doctor, there's a high-to-100% chance that it's none of your business. It's cool that you're curious - keep it to yourself.

Stop insinuating that we are ugly.

“Support people who are ugly!” isn't very supportive. I would say, not in the slightest. Say “people who don't fit the current beauty standards” if that's what you mean. 

Or, to go with this year's theme, “people whose faces are masterpieces” : )

Use critical thinking online.

Is the reaction photo actually funny, or is it just a person with a craniofacial condition? Is the meme actually a meme, or is it just making fun of a person with a facial disfigurement? Is body-shaming suddenly hilarious to you when the person shamed has strabismus? 

If the entire punchline is “lol they have a disability xd”, it's ableism. Plain and simple.

To go with the point above - your joke is probably not funny.

We get it! You can't help telling us how "you're going to hell for laughing" (which yeah, probably) and how we remind you of the ugliest character you have ever seen. I guarantee you that we heard it, and that you are behaving like an edgy middle schooler who hasn't "found out" yet. It's boring and annoying. Also ableist, but you're aware of that already if you're saying that you're going to hell.

Stop with the goddamn trigger warnings. 

We aren't “body horror”, we aren't “gore”, we aren't something that you need to advise your viewers to use their discretion over. Every “graphic footage: child with neurofibromatosis” and “#tw burn scar” is a sign of ableism and disfiguremisia. People with facial differences deserve to be seen. Ableds can survive seeing a person without a nose.

Do a basic reading on what disfiguremisia is.

New word! And a pretty damn important one. It's a brand of ableism that intersects with more or less everything, and it means discrimination and hatred of people with facial differences/disfigurements. The bullying, harassment, endless name-calling, and microaggressions are all results of disfiguremisia. The ways in which everything is harder for us isn't some unchangeable rule of how the world works, it's just an extremely prevalent type of discrimination.

Understand that we are people.

I know, revolutionary - and yet impossible for so many people to get. We can be a visual representation of evil when it's necessary, we can be a feel-good inspirational story on a morning talk-show, but not much else, it seems. In reality, we are complex, we have our own lives, we can be happy and sad and have the same exact joys and worries that you have.

Hey, artists - facial differences don't make you evil.

Title stolen from a great essay by Lise Deguire (link). When's the last time you saw a positive character with a facial difference that wasn't inspiration porn? I mean a character that's not edgy, full of angst, a murderer, or a villain. Based on what you see in the media, you'd think that having a scar renders you evil on the spot, but in reality it just makes you loathe how artists apparently think you are like. It's boring, it's overdone, it's ableism. Stop doing this, and start noticing when it's being done. Point it out if your friend is writing their new villain to be an evil burn survivor. This kind of portrayal needed to stop ages ago, but tomorrow will be a great time as well.

Before you reply with “I've never seen this” - Darth Vader, Lion King’s Scar (subtle name, great thing to teach kids!), Freddy Krueger, Voldemort, we could be here forever. You're just not paying attention.

Pay attention to where we are not included.

As discussed, there are some places where you see us all the time. But where do you not see us?

Advertisements (unless it's for a scar-removal cream, of course). Fashion shows. Magazine covers. Romance movies where we are the main character.

We deserve to see ourselves in what's around us in the same way able-bodied people do. Trying to make it seem like we don't exist - that's deliberate. 

Interact with our art.

We draw, write, sing, act in movies, we do everything! Support us in the most tangible way - leave us a nice comment, read our books, listen to our songs. Watch movies where actual people with facial differences star, not pseudoinspirational stories about how “being disfigured is ok” where they shove an able-bodied actor into a full face prosthetic just to not have an actor with a disfigurement on set.

Include us.

As this year's Face Equality Week calls for, include us. In art, in movies, in books, in your life. Show us as positive people who are valuable, who are a part of your community - I guarantee that we are in every one that's out there. The world is hostile and unwelcoming to people with facial differences - be the change, wherever you are!

I know that it is different from the usual posts I make, but I hope it was somewhat educational. I just like to use every occasion that I can to force Face Equality into people's heads. To make this at least a bit about writing to keep the blog's theme, I will say that if you want to write about us, you need to care about us in real life as well. Otherwise, it's shallow and pointless.

Below the readmore are some links/resources that you can click to educate yourself further. A lot of them lead to Face Equality International because they have just about everything you should know. If you want to be a better ally to people with facial differences, I heavily recommend them!

#MyFaceIsAMasterpiece

mod Sasza

https://faceequalityinternational.org/2023/04/why-i-will-not-hide/

https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/blog/disability-is-diversity/202111/hidden-community-the-movement-face-equality

https://faceequalityinternational.org/2022/05/facial-differences-in-the-media/

https://faceequalityinternational.org/2023/04/advertising-excludes-women-with-faces-like-mine/

https://www.phoenix-society.org/resources/burn-community-bookshelf

https://faceequalityinternational.org/about-fei/international-face-equality-week/

https://faceequalityinternational.org/2023/04/hidden-from-view-women-with-facial-differences-in-the-media/

https://www.phoenix-society.org/resources/i-dont-see-your-scars

whoa thanks for actually clicking the readmore!!

[feluka]

"How many of you like have you ever been to Jerusalem? Raise your hand if you have ever been to Jerusalem. We have 60 students here, and we have one... two, probably three... That's that's very few of you! I've never been to Jerusalem. We're Palestinians; we live in Gaza; we can't go to Jerusalem because of the Israeli occupation.

But we love Jerusalem, right? [A chorus of students saying "yes".] We love Jerusalem because of what it means to us. We've never been there, but believe me, when you go there you will feel that you've been there hundreds of times. Because you read about Jerusalem in literature, in stories. Of course it doesn't mean that that's it, that we should take the Jerusalem that's in the stories and that's it, no.

But in literature, Jerusalem comes back to us. It's true that there is suffering; there is pain; there is occupation, and that's why Tamim Al-Barghouti, as a young Palestinian poet, I think is doing a great service to the Palestinian cause and the Palestinian struggle.

When you listen to him reciting his poem from Al-Quds, or other poems, he takes you to Jerusalem. You live in Jerusalem. He takes you back to it. You liberate it for just a little bit of time.

And if there is hope; if you can imagine a free Palestine, a free Jerusalem, probably you will work towards that, and the same thing applies to occupied Palestine. We've never been to other parts of Palestine because of the Israeli occupation, but we've been told so many times by our parents and our grandparents, especially our mothers, they've been telling us stories about Palestine in the past, the good old days, when Palestine was all beautiful, unoccupied, unraped.

Therefore, I say in in this case how our homeland turns into a story. In reality, we can't have it; we don't have it, but it can turn into poems, into literature, into stories, so our homeland turns into a story. We love our homeland because of the story. We love our homeland because of the story, and we love the story because it's about our homeland, and this connection is significant.

Israel wants to sever this relationship, for example between Palestinians and the land; Palestinians and Jerusalem, and other places and cities, and literature attaches us back - connects us strongly to Palestine, so in my thinking, this is a very significant thing that literature contributes to. Creating realities; making the impossible sound possible.

In real life, again because we are here in Palestine and Gaza, I'll be giving you examples from Palestinian and Arab literature so we can compare and make things clearer. We all know Fadwa Tuqan, the Palestinian poet - and please do not introduce her as Ibrahim Tuqan's sister, let's talk about her as Fadwa Tuqan and then somewhere else mention that, "by the way, Ibrahim Tuqan was her brother". Let's not throw her under the shadow of a man, even if it's her brother, who was a great poet, we can't deny that.

So this is Fadwa Tuqan, a Palestinian poet, 40 years ago or 50 years ago, writing poetry... Of course, we always fall into this trap of saying "she was arrested for just writing poetry!" We do this, even us believers in literature, "Why would Israel arrest somebody or put somebody under house arrest if she only wrote a poem?!"

So we contradict ourselves sometimes. We believe in the power of literature, changing life as a means of resistance, a means of fighting back and in the end we say, "She just wrote a poem!" We shouldn't be saying that.

Moshe Daya, an Israeli general, said that the poems of Fadwa Tuqan were like facing 20 enemy fighters. Wow.

She didn't throw stones; she didn't shoot at the invading Israeli military jeeps. She just wrote poetry. And I'm falling for that again, I'm saying "she just wrote poetry".

So this is what how Israel's dealing with Palestinian poets, and the same thing happened to Palestinian poet Dareen Tatour. She wrote poetry celebrating Palestinian struggle; encouraging Palestinians to resist, not to give up, to fight back. She was put under house arrest. She was sent to prison for years.

And therefore I end here with a very significant point. Don't forget that Palestine was first and foremost occupied in Zionist literature and Zionist poetry.

Palestine was presented as these things, I'll be mentioning some of them, but there's a contradiction here, there's a paradox always. "Palestine is a land without a people to our people without a land", "Palestine flows with milk and honey", "there's no one there, so let's go". We'll see how later on, how many even Jewish people were disappointed when they came to Palestine. Number one, there was no milk and honey, because "flowing with milk and honey" sounds like you're just going to be groping around, and milk and honey will be thrown at you - and there were people! There have always been people in Palestine.

The fact that Israel worked hard to ethnically cleanse Palestine, to kick Palestinians out, first and foremost in literature - yes, in politics and everything - shows how significant poetry is.

To sum up, Palestine was occupied metaphorically in the poem long before it was physically and militarily occupied in your life, so let's do the same. Let's fight back; let's restore Palestine in in our writings; in our poetry; in our stories."

-Professor Refaat Alareer explaining to his students the power of poetry as a means of resistance, and why the occupation targets poets, during one of his lectures at IUG.

[evilminji]

You knooooowwww... >.>

The only difference, technically, between a school in the Zone? And on Earth? Is the American government won't recognize your Zone diploma...

Not accredited. But like..... I'm JUST SAYING? If you didn't try to pass your school off as some Big Ivy League type? Pulled the "oh yeah, you'd never have heard of it, it's local." And the COMPUTERS say it's legit?

How many people will dig deeper?

If you legitimately have the knowledge, you legitimately have the knowledge. Not YOUR fault you left out the whole "extra-dimensional" part. It makes folk nervous! And nervous folks get stabby.

So like? If you were ALREADY planning to "Move" as you euphemistically put it? Talked it over with your VERY concerned folks and friends? Who do NOT like the look of the steady but concerning rise of Anti-Ghost Powers That Be? Who finally put their foot down and reminded you that you are a TEENAGER and it's NOT your responsibility to fix the world?

Well...

Fuck those guys, I guess. You'll miss the old house, but Team "Taking our ball and going literally anywhere else" makes some good points. Why ARE you putting up with this?

And honestly, you've never SEEN your dad have so much fun. Him and the Reality Realtor just sorta... Vibe. Himbo to Himbo communications. Smatters of advanced physics. Fudge. It's great.

They move the portal. Collapse the old one in a way that makes it impossible to recover or recreate. You... kinda don't want to ask. They had that "mad scientist glint" in their eyes.

And while everyone's checking out brochures to different realities? You? Head off to the nearest College. It's the Zone, so technically you could go to any of endless billions. But you'd like your education some time this century.

Cue! Danny Fenton! Entering?

Academia's wet dream. A sprawling CITY of a college. Where the classes are on EVERYTHING and the price is FREE. People have Obsessions okay?? They NEED to teach. Debate and discuss! Study! Right papers and read them! It's been going on a while! And what happens when you find a subject that's NOT covered?

YOU COVER IT!

It's like if New York was a College. Good fucking luck find the dorms. Sleep on the floor like the rest of us, you casual.

Danny was Not Prepared ™.

He loves it though.

Classes on aeronautics next making the perfect sandwich, shoved next to historical basketry, stacked above alien slam poetry. But only on Tuesdays! Ever shifting. Breaking his Fenton Born Adhd in to a fine PASTE to be smeared upon bread. Happy mental stimulation chemicals go Brrrrrrrr

If it wasn't wildly inappropriate, he would LICK IT to claim it as his then wrap around it and gaurd like a territorial cat. He thought he HATED school! Turns out he just hated high-school. College though? College, or at least ZONE College, is fuckin AWESOME.

He's sit in SO MANY random classes just cause.

Picked up and dropped them at a whim. When they no longer sparked joy. He's been a flighty bitch and for once? No one CARES. No one says "you HAVE to commit and stick with this FOREVER once you choose this" and? It just? It's so FREEING! He's learned so MUCH!

He's probably gonna come back!

Which? Is how a deeply, DEEPLY weird aerospace engineer from supposedly bumfuck NOWHERE, end up working at Wayne Industries. He's.... a lil crazy behind the eyes. Ha ha... CONCERNING ™!

Dude sleeps on the lab floor. Has weirdly spotty knowledge. Can be an unprecedented genius one second and not know who the current president is the next. Doesn't know what DAY it is. Forgets to eat. Tried to make a fusion reactor out of the break room toaster before Sandra from accounting distracted him with pictures of her cat.

It's like he wanders through life blissfully unaware that he is both terrifying and about three seconds from killing them all. Then FUCKING TRIPS because he forgot to tie his shoelaces again.

Who hired this man?

WHY!?

I mean, we KNOW why. Probably to put him on a watch list. But? He's like a terrifying murder puppy! Built like a tank! That's stoned out of its mind half the time. And have you HEARD his college stories? That CAN'T be legal. Was this guy raised in a cult!? Aaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!????

@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter

[llamagoddessofficial]

Le gasp..

Mafia Bad Sanses’ HCs

Mafia Bad Sanses’ HCs?

Horror likes bashing in heads. He likes that his job means he gets paid to bash in a lot of heads. He doesn't really care that he's considered one of Nightmare's top enforcers, that even the hardest criminals tremble in fear at the mention of his name, that he's called things like the beast and the monster... he just likes that he gets to take out all his worst frustrations on whichever face Nightmare points him to. As a nice bonus, the money he makes means his brother and surviving friends live in safety and comfort.

... But he also likes pretty things. Pretty, soft things, that make him feel fuzzy and warm. You're all three. You find out pretty quick that his frightening face hides a softspoken, sensitive creature, who keeps appearing at your door with flowers (when did you give him your address?) and homemade food. It's bizarre, how such a violent man can equally be so gentle, getting flustered just from you looking at him too long. He wants to do to you what he does with everyone he cares about - use his money to make it so that you never have to worry about anything in life again.

Probably for the best that you let him. He famously doesn't have great control over his temper.

Dust doesn't appear too happy about working for Nightmare. It's clear to anyone watching that Nightmare has something over him; whatever it is, it must be pretty bad, because Dust never questions Nightmare's orders - no matter how terrible or violent. He does exactly what's asked of him, no more, no less. And it's obvious why Nightmare might want to force someone like Dust to work for him... there's no job this silent demon can't do.

Dust, with you, is a different man. He almost becomes his old self again. When you're alone together, he actually smiles. He desperately wants to keep you away from the world he's become trapped in, and he'll probably spend the first few weeks of knowing you trying as hard as he can to separate you from him and the other skeletons. But... he's in love. He can't help it. He's always drawn back to you again, no matter how many times he tells himself he has to let go.

You're his escape. You make him forget the things he's done, and the things he has to keep doing. He's addicted to that feeling.

Killer is Nightmare's right hand. The moniker 'Nightmare's dog' is often used, mostly in an attempt to offend him, but it just makes him laugh. Much like Horror, he very much enjoys his job... he enjoys the power, indulging in his violent desires and getting paid for it. Killer is just about the closest thing Nightmare has to someone he trusts; Killer is privy to many of their 'family's deepest secrets, partly because of his position, but also partly because Nightmare knows Killer genuinely has absolutely zero interest in these massively important secrets. Killer just wants to stab things.

For some reason he seems intent that you trust him. It's really hard to tell what he wants, behind that smile... you're cautious with him, given his clear loyalty to Nightmare. But maybe that loyalty isn't as unshakeable as it seems. It starts with little things... casually lying through his teeth and fully taking the blame for something you did. Conveniently 'forgetting' to mention you around Nightmare. Failing a mission you expressed horror at. Lying about the nature of your personal information, pretending (in front of the guys) that he doesn't know stuff he very much knows.

It's impossible to tell what he wants. But it seems like, whatever it is, he wants it more than all the power he's got now.

Nightmare will obviously want to learn the identity of the person who's somehow managed to completely disarm his three most valuable and violent soldiers. Despite all of them doing their damnedest to keep you out of Nightmare's crosshairs, you can't be hidden forever.

Nightmare is supposed to have everything - there's no luxury he can't afford. But he's always had this... void inside him. It's the very void that pushes him to keep expanding his territory, to keep killing and taking, maybe if he has just that little bit more he'll feel complete. Maybe if he just has that one last shiny thing, he'll be happy. But it's never been enough.

Then he finally meets you. And something clicks.

Dust, Killer and Horror tried so hard to keep you away from Nightmare, because they were terrified of what would happen to you if Nightmare decided he didn't like you. Instead, something much, much worse happened.

Nightmare likes you.

[bucks-babe]

Let Me Be of Service

Pairing: Husband!Bucky x Pregnant!Wife!reader

Summary: With your growing belly, it gets a lot harder to take care of yourself. Luckily, your husband is always willing to lend a helping hand

Warnings: Fluff, a little smut, reader is heavily preggo, established relationship, Bucky is down bad, Bucky shaves his girl’s cooch and boot, crack fic, embarrassing stories about each other, implied smut at the end, banter, Bucky calls reader Petal and she calls him Duckie

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: A little something something to hold you guys over while I’m working on part 2 of Change My Ways For You. Thank you to @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however, any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

You hear the clashing of pans in the kitchen followed by your husband’s curse. It brings a smile to your lips, knowing that he is trying to make you breakfast in bed, even though he is probably the worst cook you have ever met. When you first started dating, he made the joke that he was the only person that could start a fire with water. 

You didn’t believe him until he actually did start a fire while boiling water at his first and only attempt to make pasta for the two of you to eat. You still have no idea how he managed to do that, but ever since then it’s either you cook, he ‘helps’ you in the kitchen, which is you giving him the easiest thing to do and hope that he doesn’t blow you up, or you order out.

But ever since you got pregnant, doing everyday tasks has gotten harder. You get out of breath from just standing up. Don’t even start with trying to pick something up off the floor. If it hits the ground, it’s going to stay there until Bucky picks it up if you can’t grip it with your toes. Cooking has become a near impossible task for you. Who knew that carrying a super soldier baby would be so hard? 

Your belly was larger than the average woman’s stomach for how far along you are. It wasn’t just that your belly was big though. It caused so much back pain that it was easier to just lay on your side all day, and your feet ached and pulsed from the shortest walk. 

You felt like a bad wife, not able to help take care of the house, or yourself for that matter. But Bucky was a saint, he doted on you every second of the day. He took his leave of absence as soon as you started grunting while moving around. Bucky loved every minute of it though, albeit he hated seeing you in pain, but every change to your body was incredible to him. He was obsessed with how round you were, how full your breasts are, and the cute little pout that is always on your lips.

So you appreciated Bucky for trying to make you something to eat; although you knew it was going to be disgusting, possibly inedible, you would take it with a smile on your face because he tried and that was something you were grateful for.

You decided to get out of bed, not to take over making breakfast in the fear of burning down your house, of course not, but to watch your man in action. When you shifted, however, it became painfully obvious that you were overdue for a shave. The prickly hairs on your pussy were uncomfortable, making putting your legs together almost painful.

You have no idea when the last time you shaved was. All you knew was that it was when you could still see your feet, and that was a loooonnng time ago. Bucky didn’t seem to mind your body hair. He would still eat you out until you had to roll over from the weight of your belly making it hard to breathe. He never once complained about your public hair and you honestly forgot that you hadn’t shaved in so long, until this moment.

Throwing on Bucky’s henley, grateful that he was so fucking beefy so you could still fit into his shirt, although tight around the belly, and wobbled out to the kitchen. Bucky heard you, your feet heavy on the wood floors. “Petal, you’re going to love this! I made you grilled cheese and guess what?” He spins around, bright smile on his face, a grilled cheese plated in his hands. 

“I have officially made something edible without us having to evacuate the house, AND it’s only slightly burnt.” The early morning sun casts a soft glow on his naked chest. He looked like a Greek god, corded muscles topped with a bit of softness, the result of your cooking and less time with the Avengers. 

“Good job, Duckie. Good thing too because I’m starving. Bug isn’t going to stop kicking my bladder until she gets something to eat.” Crow’s feet bloom around Bucky’s eyes. He falls in love with you harder every day, seeing you carry his baby into the world, keeping her safe in your belly.

Bucky sets the singular grilled cheese at your spot on the table, pulling out the chair for you to sit, strong hands grabbing your waist, making sure you don’t strain yourself too hard. He spins around and gets you a cup of your favorite morning drink and places it in front of you, quickly sitting down opposite you, eagerly waiting for you to take a bite.

“Duckie, aren’t you going to have one, too?” His sweet Petal was too good to him.

“Well, Petal, only one turned out.” He gives you a sheepish smile and you can only giggle at him.

“Do you want half of mine then? I don’t mind sharing.” You were starving your ass off, but you wanted to reward Bucky with something for being so good to you.

He vehemently shakes his head. “Uh, uh, Petal, you and Bug need to eat. I can find something else. Now hurry up and tell me if I meet up to your standards.”

Before you take a bite you reach over the table to grab his right hand, running your fingers over the wedding band there. He couldn’t wear it on his left hand, but you wanted everyone to know that he was yours. “You always exceed my standards, Duck.”

Bucky blushes and gestures for you to have a taste. Your eyes widen as the cheesy snack hits your tongue. “Oh my god, this is actually good!” Bucky leans back in his chair and does a small victory dance, proud of himself for feeding his wife.

His celebration is cut short when he sees you shift in your seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Petal, what’s wrong? Is Bug kicking?” Bucky is by your side in seconds cupping your belly, only to find that Bug isn’t causing a raucous.

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” You look down, away from his prying eyes.

“We have been together for 8 years, Petal. I stood watch while you took a shit on the side of the highway, it can’t be that bad.”

You whip your head around. “Duckie! We don’t talk about that. I told you not to bring that up again. It was one time!” Bucky only laughs and turns his head away.

“Petal, we both know that it was twice and we had to stop by Mcdonalds so you could wash yourself after you wiped with poison ivy.” Bucky was barely containing his laughter, while you were dying of embarrassment. “You know, that was the moment I knew I was going to marry you?”

You scoffed. “When we were stuck on the highway while I popped a squat? That cannot be when you knew you were going to marry me. That is not what you said at the wedding.” 

“Didn’t think that you would appreciate that story being told to all of our friends and family. But your secret is safe with me.”

“Since we are bringing up the past, remember the time you were training with Sam and he hit you in the balls and you pissed yourself. You called me to bring you a new pair of underwear and I made sure no one knew.” You turned your chin up.

“C’mon, Petal, it wasn’t even that much. It was just a dot. And it wasn’t my fault I had a full bladder. Don’t make me bring what happened last week when you-”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, grabbing him by the back of his head and pulling him close to you. “Don’t. You. Dare. We never mention that again, we forget it ever happened, yeah?”

Bucky moans at your dominance, it never failed to get his cock hard. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, but you have to tell me what’s got you wobbling in your seat. And I know it’s not because my cooking turned you on.”

You took a deep breath before looking into his eyes. “Promise you won’t laugh?” 

“I can’t promise that, Petal, but I won’t judge you.” Of course, Bucky and you always laughed at each other. Never when it was something serious. But you were able to joke around when the other did something embarrassing, but he would never joke about it if you were uncomfortable.

“My pussy hurts.” You squint your eyes, the grumpiest look on your face, and cross your arms.

“Petal, that’s all you had to say. I’m an expert on taking care of my sweet girl. If I lick her bud would that make it better?” You feel your cunt pulse at his words, but the scratching is too annoying to let you get turned on.

“No, Duckie! I mean my fucking hair is too long and it’s poking me and it fucking hurts and I can’t reach to shave because of this huge belly, and it makes me feel like a sasquatch and I just want to feel pretty.” You almost burst into tears, not knowing that you had so many emotions bubbling under the surface, but then again you were pregnant and couldn’t control them.

“Oh, Petal, you are the most gorgeous woman on this planet, shaven or not. And you don’t need to worry about doing anything for yourself, you hear me? If you wanted me to, I would wipe your ass for you.” You sucked your teeth and slapped his chest.

“I’m being serious!”

“And so am I.” 

Without another word, Bucky picks you up like you weigh nothing and heads to your bedroom and sets you down on the soft covers. “Duckie, what are you doing?” He still doesn’t say anything as he walks into the bathroom to get a towel and your conditioner and sets them on the bed. He leaves the room only to come back a minute later with a bowl of water and his razor. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Oh, Petal, deathly.” He flicks the towel out and lays it on the edge of the bed and sets you there, your feet planted on either side of you and you’re forced to lay back with your belly.

You don’t see what he is up to, but you feel his hot breath fan across your folds and he groans. “Petal, is this making you wet? Your husband between your legs about to service you?” He chuckles as the twitch of your clit. “Fuck, prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Makes my cock so fucking hard, could cum in my pants just from eating her.”

“Duckie, don’t lie. I know it doesn’t look pretty. Probably could fucking braid it.” You fight the urge to close your legs. You haven’t had sex in almost three weeks, mainly because your body is so exhausted all the time and you know you wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.

“Petal, when have I ever lied to you? You think I would lie straight to my pretty girl’s face? How could I lie right in front of Heaven?” He leans in closer and you hear the deep inhale he takes. “And about that braid comment, I learned how to braid hair in Wakanda so that isn’t a problem for me.”

He gets a giggle out of you. “I can’t fucking believe you. You’re such a dork.” Rather than hear his chuckle, you feel it, his mouth pressed against your cunt, lapping your juices. “Fuck, oh shit, don’t stop.”

“Mmh, so fucking good. Don’t even need to eat breakfast when I have this meal on a fucking platter.” He dives back in, arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place. With his hands occupied with your thighs, you were able to grind against his mouth, urging him to focus on your clit. Bucky was in his own world, the hairs pressing against his face not deterring him in the slightest.

His groan is deep and sends shockwaves up your spine, unable to stop the jerk of your hips. All at once, Bucky lets go of your thighs and turns away to sneeze. With great difficulty, you sit up and stare at him, perplexed. “Duckie, you better not fucking tell me that my pubes make you sneeze or so help me.”

Bucky falls onto his back, clutching his stomach as his laughter rings out in the room. The obvious tent is his pants still there. “I’m sorry, Petal, just tickled my nose is all.” His entire face is red, each word coming out in a wheeze. 

“Duckie, it’s not funny.” Even at your protests, you feel yourself unable to control your laughter. 

“If it’s not funny, then why are you laughing, Petal?” Bucky is finally able to control himself enough to sit up and rest his head on your thigh.

“Because you were laughing. Don’t you dare try and eat me out right now.” You push his forehead away, much to his dismay. “Are you going to shave me or not?” Your pout has him pressing his lips together to stop the giggle from leaving his lips.

“Of course, my hedge.”

“DUCKIE!”

“I’m only joking.” 

You lay back and prop your feet up again, jolting slightly as Bucky runs his hands, dipped in water, over your folds and mound. While slightly more prepared for the conditioner, it still feels foreign to have his hands touching you like this.

“Fuck, Petal, just one more taste.”

“Duckie.”

“Fine.”

He starts with your lips, using one hand to hold them tight, taking extra care not to knick your sensitive skin. “Hey, Duckie?” The only view you have is of the ceiling so you don’t see the absolute concentration on Bucky’s face, tongue poking out, and eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, Petal?”

“Do you think it’s normal that I’m getting turned on by this?” Bucky loved that you were comfortable enough in your relationship to casually talk about random things, knowing that he wouldn’t judge you for them, most of the time he was on the same page as you anyway.

“Probably not, but if it makes you feel any better, I’m solid as a rock right now.” You giggle at his casual tone, almost as if he was asking you how your day was. “Don’t move, I’m performing a delicate operation here.” It only makes you giggle more and Bucky has to pull away, leaning over to the side so you could see his face.

“Okay, I guess I’ll just lay here then.” It was Bucky’s turn to suck his teeth in but doesn’t say anything else.

“Hey, Duckie?” Bucky sighs and begrudgingly answers. “Is that my slick running down my ass or water? I need to know how embarrassed I should be.”

“I could give it a taste and answer you.”

“Ew, no. I probably have little bits of hair everywhere.”

With each stroke of the razor you feel yourself relax more and more. The constant presence of his hands soothing you. Bucky taps your leg to signal that you’re done and picks you up, bending you over the bed. “Duckie, we are not having sex right now.”

“Petal, you know that I am very thorough in everything that I do, and I still have your perfect ass to shave” You groan and bury your face into the covers.

“C’mon, Duck, this is worse than before. I feel so exposed.” Bucky rubs his hand down your spine, his other hand reaching under you to support your belly.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, and I’m going to make my girl feel pretty.” He lands a light slap to your right asscheek and grinds his hips against your cunt once before pulling away.

He works just the same, using one hand to spread you open while carefully removing all your hair. When he’s done he pulls back, one hand cupping each cheek. You huff when he jiggles your ass to his heart’s content, letting him have his reward for taking care of you.

“Duckie! Did you just bite my fucking ass?” 

“Couldn’t help it, Petal, so fucking sexy.” 

You contemplate if you should kick him or kiss him. Your decision is cut short when he rolls you over again, now looking at your face. “Petal, we still have two legs to do and they both lead to my favorite petals.”

Fuck, you were in for it.

[sincerelybubbles]

pairing: spencer reid x reader

word count: 603

warnings: angst :(

it wasn't meant to be this way.

when you and spencer started dating, the honeymoon phase dripped into day-to-day life and activities, an easy transition that left you comfortable, happy, and (as you're now noticing) incredibly vulnerable.

"you can't act like my job, my life and hobbies and interests, are less important than what you do," you say, voice wet with tears.

spencer, frustrated, drags his hands through his hair, making it stand up straight, "my job objectively is!" he counters, loud, annoyed.

"sure, i'll give you that. whatever, that's not the point and you know it."

"i don't! i don't know the point because you don't have one. you just don't want to end the argument and not be right. you're impossible."

"this! this is the point," you say, gesturing between the two of you. you're both upset: you're on the verge of tears, he's disheveled from pacing and messing with his hair.

and still, you love him. you sort of hate that you do - he's being a dick, he can't see how he's hurting you, and he won't make any effort to see your side of the argument. but you love him, so much that your belly hurts with it.

"you don't listen when i come to you with things that are bothering me," you say, reaching forward to grab his arm as if the physical contact might make your point come across better. you can see in his face that he's gearing up to say something else and interrupt him before he can say anything. "all i said was that i didn't feel like you prioritized me and my life and you're the one who made it into work and hobbies.

"i can't sit here and constantly feel inferior. i know your job is important, i know you're saving lives. i don't say anything when i don't see you for weeks at a time, i don't say anything when you have to leave the second the phone rings, and i certainly haven't ever said anything to indicate that i think I'm somehow more important than all of that.

"all i'm asking is that you don't make me sit here and wonder why you're suddenly not making the effort you've had no problem making for the past 3 years and i'm begging you to stop making me feel like i'm crazy when i come to you with this shit!"

"maybe you feel crazy because you're acting crazy, blowing something up into nothing," spencer says, shaking his head at you. he tugs his arm away, taking a step back. "i'm done with this. i can't, i'm too busy to deal with you right now."

"deal with me?" you ask, anger flashing hot in your chest and racing away any tears that might have been ready to fall. "i'm not an item to check off of your to-do list, spencer."

"i can't do this right now," he sighs, turning away and pushing his hands through his hair one last time. he hesitates, back to you and head hung low, before adjusting his watch and walking away.

stunned, you listen as your front door opens and then clicks shut. you wait for him to come back, transform into your sweet boyfriend who would do anything to make sure you're happy. the doting man who spent his time memorizing everything about you so every date would be perfect, who always made time for you despite his job, who made you feel heard and important.

but you stand there, alone, for several minutes without any sign of him. mind racing, you fight the urge to cry.

damn wtf i made myself sad. sorry! hope u enjoyed :)

[simplybakugou]

omg I saw you post about wanting dad!Bakugo ideas and tbh I have so many but I don't wanna be greedy or overwhelming so here's one <3 Dad!Bakugo when you get caught sneaking out. He assumes the worst- thinking you were out drinking, partying, something like that (y/n would be like.. 14-16 or somethin, yknow?) But in reality you were just sneaking out to go to the 24/7 ramen place down the street with your secret partner who you haven't told your dad about bc they're the same gender as you <3 It's a lot, I completely understand if ya aren't interested in writing it <33 I just think it would be a really cute and emotional but also amusing and heartfelt idea that I would love to read but can't find the motivation to write </3 Love your work!!!!

⋆ PAIRING: dad!bakugou x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; teeniest tiniest bit of angst; fluff; talks of being closeted ⋆ WORD COUNT: 3492

A/N: not me writing two works in 2024 back to back?! crazy omg. also i decided to make y/n bakugou’s s/o and not his child as that’s what i’m most comfortable writing about. hope that’s okay! also please feel free to send as many dad!bakugou ideas you want cause i’ve been wanting to write as many as i can. sorry if the ending is awkward i had some trouble finishing it :( tysm for requesting and i hope you enjoy :)

© simplybakugou — all rights reserved. DO NOT REPOST/REUPLOAD, TRANSLATE, OR EDIT ANY OF MY CONTENT ON HERE OR ANY PLATFORM

“Fuck,” Bakugou cursed to himself, setting the knife down and grabbing a paper towel to tend to the small cut he had just accidentally put onto his index finger. Your home was filled with a savory aroma as Bakugou’s cooked dinner as he did every night.

“Are you alright, Katsuki?” You asked from the dining room, averting your eyes from your laptop and peering into the kitchen to check on your husband. 

“I’m fine. It’s just a small cut,” Bakugou called out, grabbing and applying a band-aid from the cabinet and onto his finger. Afterwards he went back to the task at hand. “Where’s Suki?” 

“She’s upstairs, I think she’s showering. Apparently they were working on training their quirks in U.A. and she said she felt disgusting,” you responded, reverting your attention back to the work you had left on your laptop. 

“So they’re already training their quirks? I need to train with her more then.” Bakugou turned the stove off as he moved tonight’s dinner to a singular dish. He went over to the dining table where you were seated to set the table.

You furrowed your brows at him. “Katsuki, she trains enough at U.A., not to mention you train with her after she comes back from school too. You’ll overwork her if you do even more than that.”

“She needs the training. She has to get stronger if she wants to get better.” Bakugou spoke to you while walking back and forth from the kitchen to the dining table as he placed all of his dishes down for his family to share. “She’s gonna get her provisional license soon and I don’t want her to fail like I fucking did.”

“I understand, but you’re being too hard on yourself and on her,” you said, shaking your head at your husband who has a tendency to overwork himself. 

“If she’s gonna be the best, she has to be better than me. And I’m gonna make sure she’s a hundred times better than I ever was in U.A.,” Bakugou stated adamantly as he sat himself across from you.

You sighed, closing your laptop and setting it aside so you could eat. “You’re impossible, you know that?” 

Bakugou smirked as he was about to let out a snarky comment until Suki walked downstairs, a towel in hand as she was still drying her ash blonde. 

You smiled at the sight of your daughter. “Suki! You’re just in time for dinner.”

Suki stopped as she took in her parents at the dining table and the giant spread of food Bakugou had prepared. “Oh, I thought I told you guys I wasn’t that hungry today…”

Bakugou whipped his head around to look at his daughter. “No you fucking didn’t.”

“Whoops,” Suki said, laughing cautiously as she rubbed the nape of her neck with her hand. “I’m kinda tired from all the training today so I think I’m just going to head to bed.”

You frowned. “Are you sure? Maybe eat just a little, sweetie.”

Suki shook her head. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll be fine.” She turned to her father. “And I’m sorry, Dad. I know you worked hard to make all of this.”

Bakugou sighed. “It’s fine. Pay me back with training right after you get back from school tomorrow.”

Suki winced but nodded reluctantly for her father’s sake. “Alright.” She turned around and made her way upstairs as she called out, “I’m going to bed. Good night!”

“Good night, sweetie!” You called back out to her. You averted your attention to the delicious spread in front of you, once again thankful for having a husband who could cook so well and alleviate you from the burden of having to do so. 

“That shitty kid needs to eat more,” Bakugou grumbled, shoving his homemade meal into his mouth in the process. “She’s not gonna get stronger if she doesn’t eat well.”

“I agree with you there. At least with the eating more part.” You took a sip of water. “I hope she’s doing okay. You don’t think she’s overwhelmed at school and she’s just not telling us, right?”

“She’s fine, you’re worrying too fucking much, Y/N.” He glanced back at the stairs before eating again despite his statement. He didn’t want to say it aloud as he knew you would start freaking out but he was also concerned. Bakugou always wanted what’s best for his daughter who was inspired by her pro hero father to become a pro hero herself. When Suki expressed her interest in becoming a pro, Bakugou had to physically hold himself back in a way to not overwhelm her with how excited he was with the news. And you could see it yourself. You saw the way Bakugou perked up and seemed more enthusiastic, in his own way of course, every time Suki asked for training advice or told Bakugou about her day at school. You loved and admired their bond and how much closer they were getting the more she developed her quirk and skills. 

You leaned back, patting your full stomach. “That was delicious, Katsu.” You stood up with your empty plate in one hand and patted his head with your other. Bakugou glared at you as he stood and cleared the table. 

You went over to the sink to wash the dishes, intent on putting your share of the housework as Bakugou cooked only to be lightly pushed out of the way as Bakugou began to wash the dishes. 

“Katsuki!” You exclaimed. “You always do this. I’m supposed to be the one who cleans up when you cook.”

You attempted to push him back but unsurprisingly he didn’t budge as he ignored you and continued to clean. “Oh, shut it. Just go finish your paperwork over there.”

“Fine,” you huffed as you sat back down at the dining table. Instead of finishing your paperwork you sat begrudgingly in your seat with your laptop in your lap as you waited for Bakugou so the two of you could go to bed together. 

Thankfully with Bakugou being Bakugou, he was finished in no time and the two of you went upstairs to get some sleep. 

As you were situating yourself in bed, Bakugou stood in front of Suki’s room. He knocked on her door and the absence of a response prompted Bakugou to open the door slowly. He poked his head in and saw Suki fast asleep with her lights still on. He smiled softly at the sight of his sleeping daughter and even though he knew he was tough on her, he knew she was working hard to prove to him how she will become an incredible hero.

“Katsuki, are you coming?” You called from your room.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugou responded as he turned Suki’s light off and closed her door. 

The alarm blaring from her phone jolted Suki awake. She quickly turned it off, hoping it didn’t wake her parents in the same manner as it did her. The time on her phone read 3:30 AM as Suki slipped out of bed. She quickly changed out of her pajamas and into sweatpants and a sweater and tiptoed out of her room. 

Suki glanced over at yours and Bakugou’s bedroom door, thankful as it was closed shut. Sometimes Bakugou would sleep with the door cracked open slightly as he was convinced he would be able to hear anybody sneaking in if anyone attempted to rob your home or attack his family. You would call him crazy and usually waited for him to fall asleep before closing the door all the way in which Suki was ecstatic that you did so that day as well. 

Suki made her way down to the front door and took her keys and her jacket and left her home. She grabbed her bicycle that was propped on the side of the house and began making her way down the road. She shivered as the cold winter air hit her face as she rode her bike, her eyes watering as they searched for one particular person.

Suki smiled once she spotted who she was meeting at 3:30 AM on a school night.

“Took you long enough!” Yui, Suki’s girlfriend, called out from her respective bike. 

Suki grinned at her girlfriend and stopped her bike beside her. “Are you sure this place is open 24/7?”

Yui nodded. “They just opened up. Did your old man catch you?”

Suki shook her head. “I even skipped dinner and I’m starving now.”

Suki knew she wasn’t supposed to be out so late but she couldn’t help it; she missed her girlfriend. In addition, during the day she was busy at U.A. and afterwards she would train with her father. In the evening she’d have to keep up with her studies and her homework, making it almost impossible to spend time with her partner. Not to mention, Suki still hadn’t come out to you or Bakugou.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust either of you but there was a small, miniscule feeling Suki had in the back of her mind that made her fear your reactions to having a girlfriend. Thankfully, unlike Yui’s parents, you and Bakugou never mentioned or questioned if Suki had a boyfriend, but she knew Bakugou especially would disapprove of anything that would divert her attention from her training and studies.

“Come on, let’s go!” Yui exclaimed and the two girls continued down the road to the ramen shop.

Bakugou woke up feeling immobilized. In an attempt to go to the bathroom, Bakugou tried to get up but couldn’t do so as you were literally holding him down in your sleep. Your arm was wrapped around his torso, your leg over his thighs, and your cheek was pressed against his chest. In moments like these he blamed you for making him feel sore in the morning. 

“Y/N,” Bakugou said softly as he quite literally peeled you off of his body. He was successful and he laughed once he heard you groaning in your sleep as you turned the other way.

Bakugou went to the bathroom and just as he was on his way back to his room to fall back asleep right beside you, he noticed Suki’s door was ever so slightly left open. He knew she always criticized him for leaving his door open so he knew something was up immediately.

Bakugou went over to Suki’s door, knocking once again just as he did before going to sleep earlier and again there was no response. He pushed the door open, furrowing his brows at the sight of what was supposed to be Suki’s body under her covers but Bakugou was too clever to fall for something so simple. He walked closer to her bed and pulled back the covers, not surprised to see two pillows that were formed to imitate her body.

“She fucking snuck out,” Bakugou muttered angrily to himself. He threw the blanket back onto the bed and went back to his bedroom where you were sleeping. He shook you awake. “Y/N, wake up.”

You woke up frighteningly, sitting upright. “What? What’s wrong?” You asked confused and tired. 

“Suki’s not here.”

“What?!” You exclaimed, immediately jumping out of bed and running to Suki’s room to check. You turned back to Bakugou. “Do you think she was abducted? Or kidnapped? Oh no, do you think one of those villains you fought came back for revenge?! Our poor baby–”

“Y/N, calm down,” Bakugou said, placing his hands on your shoulders. “She’s not kidnapped. That little shit snuck out.”

“What? There’s no way Suki would sneak out, Katsuki.”

“She put her pillows under the covers to make it look like she was sleeping.”

“But… why would she do that?” You questioned. This was completely unlike Suki, which made you ponder even more about her motive. Usually if she wanted to go anywhere or do anything, she would ask you or Bakugou for permission in which, most of the time, you both would say yes. 

“Who fucking knows. She’s probably out drinking or partying. She’s fifteen for fucks sake.”

“I don’t know, Katsu, I don’t think she’s the type to do something like that. The only possibility that makes sense is…” You thought about it some more until it finally hit you. “Maybe she’s seeing a boy!”

“A what?” 

“Come on, it’s the only thing that makes sense. I don’t think she’s the type to go out drinking.”

“I’d rather her go to a party than be alone with a boy this fucking late.” Bakugou clenched his fists at the thought. “I’m gonna go find her.”

“Wait!” Bakugou ignored you as he continued downstairs, grabbing his coat and throwing his shoes on. “Don’t go out and use your quirk.”

“Why the fuck not? It’s the fastest way to get to her.”

You sighed hopelessly at your husband. “It’s 4 AM, Katsu, your explosions will wake up the whole neighborhood. Just take the car.”

“I hate that fucking piece of shit,” Bakugou grumbled. “Fine.”

“And take this, too.” You tossed his phone that you had quickly grabbed, which he caught with ease. “Call me when you find her.”

Bakugou felt himself getting more and more impatient as he drove in circles around his neighborhood. He knew Suki couldn’t have gone far as he noticed her bike was missing. He checked her friends’ houses that he was aware of for any signs of partying and checked every convenience store nearby as he knew Suki loved them. Bakugou cursed at his daughter internally as she had also turned off her location on her phone. The last place left to check was the new ramen shop that had just opened and you had begged Bakugou to try out with you once he had some time off from work.

Bakugou recognized Suki’s bike parked right in front along with another bike right next to hers. To his knowledge you were right; Suki was here to meet a boy.

Bakugou felt himself getting angrier. How could Suki sneak out for a stupid boy? Doesn’t she know training has to be her top priority? Boys are a distraction and wouldn’t do her any good. He felt justified in these thoughts as he didn’t start dating until after he graduated which was when he met you.

Nevertheless, Bakugou parked and exited the car. He was planning on busting the door down to the restaurant, scold Suki, and murder whatever stupid boy had stolen his only daughter’s heart.

And Bakugou fully planned to do so until he stopped in his tracks at the sight he caught through the window. Suki was laughing, leaning on the person next to her. It was a girl. Initially Bakugou assumed it was a new friend that Suki had made until this new “friend” kissed his daughter on the cheek.

At that moment Bakugou understood fully what was going on. He was still upset that Suki felt like she had to sneak around to spend time with her girlfriend and he still thought having a partner could be a distraction but Bakugou knew he shouldn’t be physically upset as he initially intended to. 

So Bakugou waited, his arms across his chest as he leaned against his car and waited for Suki to come out from the restaurant.

When she was getting up to leave with her girlfriend by her side, Suki couldn’t remember the last time she enjoyed herself as much as she did in that ramen shop. She felt so comfortable in her skin and wished she could spend time with Yui more so that she didn’t have to sneak out like she did that night.

“I had a lot of fun today,” Yui said as the girls thanked the shop owners and made their way to the exit.

“Me too. Maybe next time we can go on a date during the day and not 5 AM,” Suki joked and Yui agreed.

“Mhm. But do you feel comfortable telling your parents?”

Suki sighed. “I want to tell them soon. It’s just so scary.”

“I get it, believe me.” Yui pushed the door open and they both walked towards their bikes. “Text me whenever you’re free again.”

Suki nodded and gave her girlfriend a small peck. “Come on, I’ll drop you off.”

“Suki, I live literally right next door. If anything I should be dropping you off,” Yui said with a laugh. “Are you okay getting home?”

Suki nodded confidently. “Absolutely. I’m in U.A. for a reason, you know.”

The girls continued and finished their goodbyes and Suki watched Yui take her bike on a very short ride to her house. She waved to Yui once more before turning around to head back home in the opposite direction. And that was when she finally saw him.

There Bakugou was, still leaned against his car down the road with stern crimson eyes watching his daughter. Suki’s eyes widened at the sight and immediately wanted the ground to swallow her whole. “Dad?!”

“About damn time you noticed me,” Bakugou grumbled, loud enough for Suki to hear as she cautiously walked towards Bakugou.

“What’re you doing here? How’d you find me?” Suki’s bike fell on its side as she loosened her grip out of shock.

“I just wanted to check on you when I woke up and saw you weren’t in bed. Do you know how fucking terrifying that is?” Bakugou asked angrily. Suki winced at her father’s tone, looking down and away from the intensity of his gaze. 

Bakugou sighed, calming himself down. After seeing how happy Suki and her girlfriend were together, he felt his initial anger diminish. “Why didn’t you just tell Mom and me you wanted to hang out with your girlfriend?” 

Suki felt overwhelmed with mixed emotions. She felt exposed but also guilty for not being open with her parents. “I-I don’t know. It was hard keeping this from you.”

Bakugou watched Suki closely and briefly. He could see her body shaking in what he assumed to be fear. He had caught her in an intimate moment with her significant other, someone that she felt that she had to hide from her parents. And it broke Bakugou’s heart thinking about how difficult it must have been carrying a secret so big and integral to who she was as a person.

Bakugou took a few steps forward, closing the gap between him and his daughter and he embraced her. Suki, whose eyes were still fixated on the ground, was taken aback at this sudden act. Her father, one who rarely showed any physical affection, was hugging her so tightly. “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like having to keep this secret.”

Suki’s vision blurred as tears began to well in her eyes. She buried her face in Bakugou’s chest and she returned the embrace. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you guys,” Suki blurted out in between her sobs.

Bakugou patted her ash blonde hair down with his hand, still holding her as tight as he possibly could. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry for making you feel like you can’t be open with me. I know I can be shitty and tough on you but I’ve always wanted what’s best for you.”

Suki sniffled as she pulled away, rubbing her eyes and ridding her cheeks from the tears that had stained them. “It’s not that I felt like I couldn’t open up to you or Mom. I knew deep down that you guys would accept me regardless if I were gay or straight but I kept psyching myself out.”

Bakugou smiled softly, patting her back. “Suki, there’s nothing on this fucking Earth you could ever do to make me or your mother disappointed in you. Even if you decided to not be a hero anymore, I wouldn’t give a shit. All I want is for you to put your all into whatever it is you do and not to half ass anything.”

Suki smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, Dad.” Bakugou knelt down and grabbed Suki’s bike, wheeling it over to his car as he put it in the trunk. 

“So am I off the hook for sneaking out?” Suki asked, hoping to hear the answer she wanted to hear as she walked over to the passenger side of the vehicle.

“Fuck no. You’re still in trouble,” Bakugou stated simply in which Suki sighed, not surprised at the answer. “Now you don’t have to sneak out to see your girlfriend, at least.” The two entered the car and Bakugou turned the vehicle on as he turned it around to head back home. 

“Can I invite Yui over for dinner sometime?” Suki asked, looking at her father expectantly.

“Yeah. You gotta explain to your Mom what happened. She’s at home thinking you got kidnapped.” The two laughed as they made their way back home to you.

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[prone-to-fleeting-obsessions]

Dating Aventurine hc's

At first he hates the realization he's actually falling for someone

It eats away at him every second, this reminder that he's not, and likely never will be, in a great position to just have a normal life...

He's a pawn, always has been, so why would he put someone else through that?

Especially you...

But God if it isn't impossible not to love, to keep his fluttering heart from hoping, yearning for just your warm touch

Just the sight of you is enough, he decides to himself, as if that makes any difference in the end

It's obvious he dotes on you, his teasing remarks and genuine smiles are impossible to miss...

He follows you around in his free time, happily inserting him with a smug little grin, as if it's completely normal to have a IPC executive tailing you constantly

You're entertaining, or that's his excuse

He has to keep you safe, it's not like he trusts any of these other idiots to do it, and getting to watch you huff at him paying for everything is only a bonus

In that stage he enjoys being subtly possessive

You're not his, sure, but seeing you in his hat and sunglasses, or maybe with one of his cute little calling card chips fastened into a necklace, constantly on you...

His arm around your shoulder is enough to denture most people immediately, definitely not looking to get into a scuff with the "loose cannon of a gambler" he's generally seen as

When you're finally together he's not keen on taking his hands off you

Whether it's a light arms around your waist, just securing his spot by your side with an occasional squeeze, or his hand grabbing desperately at your hair as he focuses on pressing a kiss to every inch of your face with steadfast resolve

His favorite thing is just resting his chin on your shoulder, his pretty eyes staring up at yours endlessly

It's the perfect position, of course, arms around you with easy access to your neck, and it usually ends with your face hot to the touch by his intimate little kisses pressed so lovingly to your skin

He does have an appearance to maintain, so self care days where he paints your nails, washes your hair in a joint shower or bath, and drags you out to buy expensive clothes are must

Money is meant to be gambled or spent, it's not for hoarding, and that's abundant obvious by how he throws it around

It's another form of possession, really, seeing you decked out in what he's bought you, it gives him a sense of pride

It's hard for him not to project his childhood fears onto you, too

Like if he notices you're not eating, not drinking enough, brushing off a small injuries

He's seen plenty of people die to all those, and fighting down those blaring alarm bells can be difficult at the best of times

You'll often find a glass of water and small snack with a cute little note when you wake up, if he can't be there himself to make sure your needs are met, and he's expecting a text as soon as you're up to confirm you're fine

Anytime without contact for too long will consume him, gnawing at his insides, eating him slowly until he sees you again

He hates it, it's such a painful disadvantage in his line of work, but god if he can't help it...

He's very quick to scoop you up and pepper kisses to your pulse points immediately after, nuzzling against the physical feeling of your heartbeat and your warmth

He also can't help shaking off the mindset that he's merely a chip, to be used when  useful and discarded after

He knows that's not the case with you, knows it... But it's impossible to not feel a bolt of pure fear when you're unhappy with him, as if his worth is tied to his ability to be perfect for you

Pet names are obviously a must, and you might start to joke he doesn't actually know your real name with how rarely he uses it

You're his "darling love", his "perfect match", and, of course, his "adorable sweetheart"

He'll pout a bit if you don't reciprocate the absurd level of endearments on your end too

He probably won't even respond to "Aventurine" after a while, pretending not to hear you with an unmistakable smile, until you properly address him

He's left wondering how he's ever lived without you, and if he ever could again

[sleepyangelkami]

daryl dixon eating you out like a starved caveman?

SWEET AS HONEY d.dixon

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.4K

DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - daryl finally gets his mouth right where he wants it and he'll tolerate nothing but obedience.

 ☆ WARNINGS - smut, porn without plot, pussy eating, cum eating, fingering, overstimulation, dom!daryl, sub!reader, praise kink, dacryphilia, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

some would define heaven as a makeshift world on top of the clouds, perhaps religion was involved, the very god of their world standing in front of them.

daryl dixon would describe heaven as his head between your thighs, your sickly sweet wetness dripping down your cunt and coating his lips.

you'd lost count, by now, how many rounds it'd been.

once daryl had you laid against your back, head between your thighs, it was over for you. you could squirm all you wanted but you wouldn't be done until daryl said you were done. even if you were quivering against him, tears glossing over your eyes.

"stop fuckin' squirming." gruff voice against your swelling cunt as his lips moved, working wonders against you.

he'd undressed you down so you were merely clad in a baby pink bra, your panties long removed and your pretty white socks against your feet. "daryl!" your voice was bleak though it was but a scream. "c-can't!" back arching against the mattress beneath you.

his face slowly rose from your aching pussy, fingers plunging in and out of you mercilessly. "can't take what, huh?" you tried to focus on his words though your eyes were rolling, the feeling of his fingers becoming too much. "can't take my mouth, that it, sweetheart?"

you nodded dumbly, truthfully with no idea of what he was speaking about. all you knew was that all the pleasure was going straight to your cunt.

the man let out the smallest of chuckles, his head finding it's way between your legs once more. your cheeks were flushed pink, the feeling of his tongue grazing across your clit. everything was so messy, filthy even. your juiced slid right onto his fingers, creating a type of white circle as his tongue lapped you up.

this was his favourite place to be.

when his face was between your legs, tasting your tangy juices that slipped onto his tongue, fucking you dumb with his fingers. well, he couldn't quite move his mind to anything else.

the pretty moans that left your strained lungs, face all pink and flushed, embarrassed of the pornographic sounds that you couldn't keep contained.

though, daryl liked you loud.

it was like music to his ears. he was a downright animal unable to be contained. he quickly pulled his fingers out of you earning a long whine from your lips. it was quickly replaced with another moan as his hands moved to push your thighs backwards, shoving his face into your pussy.

you practically squealed.

the high pitched noise caused his lips to perk, gentle chuckle falling from his lips sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

his two palms were set on your thighs, pushing them back as far as he could while his tongue lapped up your juices, coating your pussy in his wet saliva.

you whined and moaned, your hips moving against his face as he lapped and licked at your cunt. "so good." he mumbled, returning his face against you. "s' sweet."

sweet as honey.

a familiar tension built up in your stomach, whining as tears coated your eyes in pleasure. "'mmnnh― daryl!"

"good girl." he mumbled, doing his best to keep his mouth against you. it deemed near impossible, he just loved running his mouth when he got you like this. "let go f'me."

you barely registered his words, thighs shaking and pulling away from him. his large palms kept you grounded, holding you in the position you were in, lips suckling against your clit and lapping you up.

finally, the tension in your stomach broke.

you let out a string of moans, trying your hardest to keep them quiet. that was impossible as his tongue kept moving against you, letting you ride out your high in his mouth, juices falling onto his tongue.

his mouth moved, practically making out with your cunt as he took in every single bit you had to offer, wetness coating his chin and his lips. he didn't care for any mess that you'd make, knowing he'd clean it up with his tongue, had you asked.

your chest rose and fell as his mouth moved away from your cunt, eyes looking down at you.

you'd gone so many rounds, eyes low and heavy, red even. you were tired, that was for sure. your swollen pussy feeling almost cold without his mouth against you.

you watched as he lifted a hand to wipe his mouth, softly gazing down at you.

no words were spoken, all you could feel were his fingers gently tracing up your body, finding your clit. "can you do another?" the whisper more of a command.

you shook your head, tears instantly filling your desperate eyes. "c-can't, daryl― 's too―" cutting yourself off with a moan as his fingers slipped into your sopping hole.

"gonna be a good girl 'n take another?" rephrasing the question, knowing you'd rephrase your answer. "c'mon, sweetheart, know you can take another one. 's a good girl."

you could take another one. perhaps you'd only whined and mouthed about it because you longed to hear that sweet gentle voice, coaxing you into it as his fingers slipped into you.

even so, you found yourself clenching around his fingers as soon as they entered your little hole. your pussy was red raw, swollen. it was sopping, shaking even. "d-daryl." voice quivering as tears coated your eyes.

daryl brought his free hand up, quickly wiping away the little tears staining your pretty pink cheeks. "'s a good girl, you can take it." his lips found your neck, gentle kisses pressing against your skin as his fingers slowly pumped into you. "you gon' take it."

it was as if a band inside of him had broke.

daryl mercilessly pumped his fingers in an out of you, scissoring them against your gummy walls and allowing you to squirm in on yourself, moans louder than ever.

your eyes kept rolling, fluttering shut and opening again. your hands pawed at his arms and shoulders, trying to keep yourself grounded on anything you could.

his scent.

his touch.

his everything.

he filled you so completely, having you reeling at the feeling of his fingers inside of you.

he did it often, never did it feel the same.

you screamed in pleasure, chanting his name like a prayer and struggling to breathe.

his fingers didn't stop the momentum, rapidly fucking you silly as you tried your hardest to keep yourself in the moment, mind reeling. the wetness of his tongue from before along with the juices from your many orgasms had squelching noises bouncing off the walls. "hear that, baby?" his voice high pitched, cooing at you. "hear how good 'm makin' you feel?"

you nodded dumbly once more, not a notion of the words leaving his mouth. your cheeks flushed at the realisation of the sounds, the wet squelching from your aching pussy. you were embarrassed, shy as you tried your best to keep the heat from your cheeks.

"'s.. 's so good." the mumbles that left your lips were that of nervousness, eyes looking to find the same electric blues you'd longed to see so much.

his face was covered by little hair, gazing down at you as though you were a doll, one for his pleasure.

"yeah?" questioning you as if you could speak. "daryl makin' you feel good, huh?"

a nod from you as your eyes fluttered shut, whining and whimpering at the feeling of his fingers, the palm of his hand slapping against your clit with every pump, having all the stimulation you could ever need.

his tattooed hand grasped your chin between two fingers, shoving it his way and causing your eyes to open, still heavy. "eyes on me, baby." a whisper of his voice. "wanna watch you cum."

his words did it for you.

the band snapped again, yet another orgasm falling over you again. your eyes rolled back, hands pawing at the man who steadied you, watching your whole body shake. he liked taking notice, noting exactly how your body twitched and moved.

"good girl, that's it, s' good." mumbling the sweet praises as you fell apart in his hands for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "yeah, baby, that's it." your whimpers filling his ears.

every time different, every time ending the same.

main masterlist/daryl's masterlist

[stxrslut]

What would the boys do if you told them you were needy but you two have never done it yet?💗

I love this idea sm but I literally could not come up with one for each of the boys I’m sorryyy! but here’s a lil johnbee x innocent!reader blurb for you cause it fits them so perfect :(

you’ve been thinking about it all day. the throbbing between your legs is making it impossible not to. you’ve never had sex before, you’ve never even gotten yourself off before, and you didn’t think you’d want to for a long time.

so you’re astounded to find yourself padding through the hallway towards your boyfriends bedroom, to ask for sex. or maybe not sex, just relief of some sort, because you’re desperate.

you slip through the door and approach him at his desk, crawling into his lap. “hi.” you murmur, burying your head into the crook of his neck. he sits back slightly, putting his work down and brimming one hand up to rub your back. “hey,” he kisses your temple “you okay?” he questions, clearly sensing something.

“no.” you shuffle nervously, not quite believing what you’re about to ask for “I need something…” he looks down, concerned. “yeah? what wrong?”

you look down, giving one last reproachful glance before you say it, “I think I… I think I’m horny.” you nearly cringe at the bluntness of your own sentence.

your boyfriends eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “you are?” his hand comes down to your hip as you begin to speak again, doubt already setting in “I don’t know… maybe…” you huff “I’m probably not… just ignore me actually I’m being stupid.”

you move to get off of his lap but he holds you back “hey— you’re not bein’ stupid. why don’t you tell me what you’re feeling and we’ll go from there.” his tone is understanding, he knows how shy you are when it comes to talking about this kind of thing, he can’t even imagine how daunting it must be for you to think about actually engaging in it.

once he’s coaxes you back into him, you talk. “I guess it’s just been bugging me all day. I just kind of feel like I need— I don’t know… pressure… down there.” you look up, waiting for his answer, he nods, still stroking your back gently, “does it help when you squeeze your legs together?” he asks, though he can already guess the answer by the fact that his suggestion makes you unconsciously perform the action.

“yeah it does.” you nod. he begins pulling you closer to him and you panic ever so slightly “I don’t want to— have sex… not proper sex, not yet.” you rush out your words and he chuckles, “don’t worry, we’re not havin’ proper sex just yet. but here’s what’s you’re gonna do okay, can you sit right here for me?”

he pulls you down to straddle him, your legs spreading so that you’re sitting with your pussy basically moulded around the shape of his cock. “what am I gonna do john b?” you ask, already subconsciously grinding down on him.

“you’re gonna hump on me, you okay with that?” he speaks, already beginning to guide your hips. “I don’t know how…” you flush, and he chuckles yet again. “don’t have to know how. I’m gonna teach you, aren’t I?”

[romanticintheory]

HI I JUST READ YOUR "SIMON BETRAY YOU" AND YOU KNOW WHATTTT IT HURTS SOO GOOD OMG THANKS FOR MAKING THATT SJWISHWBSHSJSBWJSBWBS

...

and.. maybe can you write for a part two? pleaseee🥺

HIII TYSM IM SO GLAD YOU ENJOYED!!! here's a pt 2! i am very sick at the moment, though, so this might be a bunch of gibberish (i sincerely apologize if so). hope you like it <3

simon riley betrays you pt. 2

simon "ghost" riley x reader || pt. 1 || masterlist

☆ ☆ ☆

-miraculously, they let you go.

-you half expected someone to drag you out of the car with the barrel of a gun pressed against your temple with the intent to fire, but no. after a few excruciatingly long hours alone with your arms and legs bound, someone new came to cut your ties and let you loose.

-maybe they were just bad at their job, you thought. after all, why would they let you, essentially a witness, go free without any repercussions?

-a few years pass. you try to move on, but its impossible when your entire world was shattered in one night.

-you never heard back from your father since then, but that wasn't the thing that hurt the most. you couldn't go a single day without thinking about the sting of betrayal. any happy moment you had was spent comparing the time you felt that same feeling with him, before anything in the world was wrong to you.

-what's worse, there was something telling you that you shouldn't tell anyone about it even if you wanted to. a voice in your head kept telling you that maybe, maybe they're keeping you on a leash. maybe someone was watching you at this very moment ready to take you out the moment you spilled your experiences.

-in a way, your fears are confirmed when you meet simon again miles away from the last place you lived. you had moved for this exact reason; you never wanted to see his face for as long as you lived.

-it happens when you're walking alone in the street. you moved to this area specifically because you heard it was quieter and, more importantly, safer. but how much of that could you escape, really?

-your attacker approaches you as you're making your walk home from work, a kind of confidence on his face that makes the common individual want to roll their eyes.

-"what's a sweet thing like you doing out alone at night, huh?" he asks, his footsteps staggered like he's had one too many drinks.

-you give him the usual speel of, "oh, my friends are waiting for me... yeah, i've got a boyfriend. haha, i'm okay, no need to accompany me, thanks."

-your soft attempts at rejection only seem to agitate him, because next thing you know he's stepping toward you and putting a hand on your arm with a bone-crushing grip.

-"c'mon jus' let me-"

-his voice is cut off by the sound of a loud thud and the stranger's yelp of pain. it takes you a second, but you realize the defense on your behalf came from beside you.

-oh, thank god.

-you and your now injured attacker now adjust your gazes to sit on the silent newcomer. just like that, your settled sense of dread has come back and increased tenfold.

-there he was, with that stupid mask over his face and his hands curled into fists for preparation of what he was going to do next if the man didn't scurry off.

-"you'll leave," he says darkly under subtle pants, as if he ran before coming to your rescue. "if you know what's good for you."

-the stranger wastes no time in running off into the night, leaving you with your worst nightmare.

-for a while, you both stare at each other like you can't believe the other is real. it takes everything in you not to cry or beg him for answers. no, after everything you worked for, you're not going to throw away everything you built in the past few years to recover from him just to throw it all away now... right?

-"why are you here?" you ask coldly. "come to finish the job?"

-although your eyes were icy and your questions came with a rigid tone, there was genuine fear in your question. what if the soldier that untied you wasn't supposed to? what if you were supposed to be dead all those years ago?

-"no. never."

-even though he knows the reason why, his heart still hurts at the thought of you believing he'd just up and kill you like that.

-"really? that's rich," you scoff, except you're terrible at hiding the tremble in your breath and the tremors traveling through your body.

-spotting your growing fear, he scrambles for something, anything, to make you fear him less.

-"i was worried, that's all. after that night," he pauses, eventually deciding to skip the details of what he did to your father. "i didn't know where you went. thought i could just get over it, but i guess i just knew i needed to check in on you just in case."

-you resist the urge to roll you eyes. "right. you're back again to 'check in on me'? to come back and meddle in my life again?" you're struggling to keep your tears back as they form in your eyes. "you've already taken so much. how selfish can you be?"

-he stares at you for a moment before slipping his hand into his pocket and taking out a gold watch that belonged to your dad.

-"i'm sorry about your father, but you have to understand that he-"

-"not that, simon. it was never that," you push his hand away and the offer that came with it. his eyes became confused. "i mean you. it's always been you. you just come into my life telling me you love me, that you want to be with me so much and then just take that all away? and you never even bothered to tell me it was a lie, just let me get tied up by some stranger to be left alone and scared!"

-there's a new look in simon's eyes at your words, but it's hard to decipher them from behind the mask.

-"it wasn't a lie," he says slowly, lowering the hand with the watch in it back to his side.

-"oh, please." the trembling has not died down in the slightest. "i bet you're still mad that worker of yours took pity on me and let me leave before you could do anything about it. like i said, back to finish the job."

-your eyes are now trained on the ground. there was a conflicted feeling in your body at the moment. on one hand, this was the man that let you get tied up and left in a car while he "handled" your father. on the other, this was the man you loved. the one who was kind to your ever desire, who always understood you in ways you never knew possible.

-"i told them to let you go," he finally manages.

-"what?"

"i..." he hesitates. "i told my captain that if i was going to give them your father's location, they were to let you go no questions asked when the whole ordeal was over with." and it was true. he hated even imagining poor you, being interrogated by his colleagues in an isolated, barren room. you had been through enough.

-and even if you had been a part of your father's scheme, there was a part of simon that loved you too much to care (though he'd never admit it to himself).

-it was a good thing price trusted his judgment. he didn't know what he would've done had he said no.

-the tears are now streaming down your face and you can do nothing to stop it. it all felt like so much. you were so, so confused. if he did love you, why did you feel this way? how much of this could you trust?

-cautiously, he goes to wipe the tears away from your face, murmuring a quiet, "hate it when you cry." for a second, it was a familiar feeling. you felt like you were back in your shared flat with simon while having a breakdown over life's struggles. in moments like those, you never would have expectated that life's struggles could take the form of simon himself.

-you can't help but lean into his touch. maybe you were insane for allowing him to touch you like this, but you wanted nothing more than to let him into your life again. the resolve you worked so hard to build was crumbling away the longer you spent with him.

-"the reason it took so long for me to find you..." he's holding your face in his hands, now. "for so long, i thought i ought to leave you alone. i know i should. i wasn't lying about when i said i was worried if you were still alive, but," he swallows the lump in his throat before continuing. "i also miss you. 'nd i know, 's incredibly selfish of me after everything i've done to you, but i can't help it."

-one of his hands leaves your face to slide the mask and balaclava off his face. there he was again, his aged brown eyes and soft jawline, the sides of his face littered with small scars you still remember to this day.

-"i'll make it up to you," he whispers. "anything you ask, i'll answer. about my past, your father, anything. you ask me to get you something, i'll have it for you wrapped all nice 'nd pretty. hell, i'll get on my knees and pray to you if you order me to, love."

-it was like your nightmare turned into a fantasy, having him here begging for your forgiveness.

-"anything you want, i want to give to you. jus' let me be a little selfish, too."

-you bite your lip as you think it over. you know the correct answer would be a clear, hard no, but you can't bring yourself to do it. not after all those nights wishing he was encasing you in his arms again, whispering all the things he adored about you as you drifted off into sleep.

-as much as you shouldn't be believing him, you do.

-"...anything?" you ask hesitantly, and it takes everything in simon not to pull you in close and never let go.

-again. no, he needs to be sure he won't scare you off again.

-"anything," he promises, fingertips tracing the edge of your jawline.

-"okay," you agree, the tears finally having stopped flowing. happiness does not even begin to describe what simon was feeling. "for starters, you can walk me home."

-with the watch long forgotten and broken on the edge of the sidewalk, he holds your face for a bit longer before letting go. eventually, he offers his arm to you and you take it.

-there's a part of him that mourns the years lost that he could've had with you. maybe, if he came to you sooner, he wouldn't have to be so careful about being around you, now. but, no, these were the consequences of his actions.

-at the very least, you were still giving him a second chance, and he was intent on not fucking it up this time.

[undercoverpena]

13. hello yellow

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter thirteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 4.3k (she became a biggie) chapter warnings: reference to anxious!reader. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this is the one you've been waiting for... .

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

It grows on your tongue on a cooler morning—the birds having only just begun chirping, the sun really only just rising. But he's there, truck parked outside as he brings you coffee, for no other reason than just because.

It's almost hard not to say the three words.

They thicken in your throat when you surprise him at work, having already spoken to Harry, asking if you can steal him for an extra half an hour. His face brightens, practically illuminating when he sees you at the register. It continues to do so when you take him back to the place where the two of you had lunch, his face beaming.

You’re not sure how the words don’t escape there and then.

There are a bunch of moments saying them could have been right. It would be so easy to let them slip out, but then he'll say something that makes you laugh, or his phone will go off and the conversation shifts, and you wait a little longer.

But you don’t just want right, you want perfect.

Just like him.

You know how we love Harold?

Yes?

He might have recommended me to a friend of his for some paintwork.

This sounds like a good thing, yet it feels very bad for me.

The only date the man can do is the day I said we’d go to the beach.

If this isn’t you asking me to come and help you be your a-paint-tice I’m going to be really let down.

You want to come paint a man’s house with me?

I want to do anything with you, Butterscotch.

It vibrates from two rooms away—buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.

Your feet rush for you, socks almost making you a health hazard as you round the corner from your bedroom to the hallway. A laugh trying to escape from giddiness as your palms press into your off-white walls, before using it for leverage to continue.

Moving, almost running, not looking where you’re going, only realising at the last second when your foot collides with it.

Pain.

It pulses and makes tears spring to your eyes instantly. The hurt is more than radiating, it erodes, grows and pounds.

Fucking toolbox.

Hand grasping it as you half-hobble to the little side table where your phone almost topples off.

Butterscotch <3

A caller ID that usually brings an immediate smile to your face, and still, even as you clutch your foot in your hand and drag your finger across the screen, it somehow still does.

“Hey, I’m almost there—did you want lunch in or out?”

Stuffing a wince down your throat, you blink back fresh tears as your thumb presses down on a particular spot. “I need to show you something but maybe out?”

“You okay?” No, you want to hiss—wanting to add extra O’s and everything. “You sound off?”

Swallowing bitterness, you try to smile as you lower your foot—putting some weight on it as you suddenly become warm, and uncomfortable.

“Rainy?”

“Butterscotch, I bet you’re one street—you’re literally pulling up.”

You swear you hear him grin. Almost being able to tell even from the way he puts his vehicle in park that his smile is growing into his cheeks and cascading over his eyes. It makes your own appear, somehow rising to the surface and kicking its feet furiously to appear.

By the time you’d end the call, quickly check your foot inside your sock and put it back in place, your eyes catch his coming through your front door. Letting in amber streams of sunlight that paint across the hardwood in warm, honeyed hues. Bringing in warmth, a calmness, the pain suddenly non-existent when you see him slide out the key from the keyhole—the one you’d told him to keep, the one you’d give him, told him to use.

The sight pulls at something inside of you, making it easier to smile, to beam as he closes it behind him and walks himself up to you—mouth pressing to yours. The taste of coffee and mint flooding your mouth, your fingers full of his curls as his hand presses to your lower spine—bodies flush, his keys clanging in the air.

“You know I think you’re beautiful,” he whispers, teeth teasing your bottom lip before releasing it with a pop. “But, baby, what are you wearing?”

His hand slides down the plastic, water-proof full-body overalls you have on. It rustles, making your skin even warmer when he takes another long look at you, and laughs.

Not a giggle.

Not a quiet, hidden and disguised laugh. A full-on roar of laughter.

“I got it for next week,” you exclaim, heat rising up your neck. “You told me I’d need to wear something that would cover me—wanted to make sure it was okay.”

“Baby, I meant not your romper—'cause you’ll get paint on your legs. I didn't mean a… hazmat suit?”

Folding your arms, you take a step back, face scrunching in a wince you’re not sure he notices as you roll your eyes before turning on your heels to change. “I’m new to this.”

“I know, I know,” he says, trying to stifle his laugh, hand reaching out. “Baby, wait, I’m sorry. Okay? You just don’t need—fuck, Rainy. I can see your ass through this.”

“No, you cannot.”

“I fucking can.”

Letting him pull you into his arms, you shake your head, stupidly unable to stop yourself from grinning, before his lips brush over yours. Your nails digging into the t-shirt on his waist, mouth parting as he eases you back, a grimace hidden against his tongue as his knee nudges between your plastic-covered thighs.

“Frankie,” you whisper, it leaving your tongue like a whine.

He only hums in response, it vibrating against you, fingers tightening in his curls as his knee rises that bit more, friction so readily there, easily able to rock your hips if you so want to. Until it rustles, furrows, a noise so unsexy you feel him slowly grin against your mouth.

“Can’t believe you just wore underwear under this,” he teases, dropping his knee.

Your breath finds your lungs with more ease as you roll your lower lip between your teeth, admiring him, unable to stop ogling the man who is very much all yours after the position he just had you in.

“I should change before we go out for lunch,” you mumble. “Before I flash everyone.”

Moving away from him before he can stop you, you let out a groan as your bad foot flattens, unable to hide the misstep. Hearing him call your name, you're quick to wave him off. Digging your nails into your palm as you take (what feels like a thousand) steps until you’re unzipping the ridiculous plastic, all-in-one, and begin yanking drawers and doors open until you’re standing in something more appropriate for lunch.

Half-closing your bedroom door behind you, you don’t need to call for him, you know where he’ll be. Finding him exactly where you expected, tape measure in hand—right in front of one of the office windows.

“Thought you could do that in your head.”

Snorting, shooting you a look over his shoulder, he grins. “Wanna make sure I’m exact.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

Leaning against the frame, not obviously showing you’re taking the weight from your now pulsing foot, you try to smile. Listening as he begins telling you about getting something for your windows, instead of thinking how you should ice it, get him to wrap it, maybe ask him—politely—if he’d put his fucking toolbox away between visits before you actually break something.

Somehow, you hear enough to follow what he’s saying, about how blinds would help, that they’d give you more daylight while also shielding you if you wish to work in the dark—they’d be more flexible, modern. He could help you fit them.

And it dawns on you, that while you've had it in your head about curtains, this is a thing you should have thought of yourself.

A thing which feels so obvious now he’s said it that it irks you that you haven’t. Because blinds would be better. Digging a hole in you, making you feel silly, stupid, and foolish—

The realisation makes you pinch your forearm and take a deep breath. You re-centre yourself, thinking about the one image that inspired all of this, imagining it with blinds instead of what had remained fixed in your head, hung and stuck.

The problem with desiring something inspirational is that it isn’t always tailored to the person who desires it. To you, who will be using the room. Yet, Frankie has thought of you—like the considerate, beautiful man that he is.

“From your face, you don’t want blinds?” he asks.

Your mouth opens, before closing. Putting some weight down as your eye narrows in pain—it floods through you as you try not to frown. “It’s not that—I just thought curtains. Thought I preferred the way curtains look, is all.”

Frankie shrugs, staring out of the window, before glancing back. “Curtains it is then.”

“But, blinds do make sense.”

And you can see it, the way he chews his tongue—the way he swallows words he wishes to say. It flares something within. Rolling his head on his shoulders, and scratching the back of his head, he smiles.

“But you want curtains.”

“I did.”

“Then have curtains.”

He’s being nice—that’s what you remind yourself. He’s being kind and thoughtful. He’s taking what you’re saying and giving you exactly that.

Yet it feels… bad.

It makes you all of a sudden not want it—anger bubbling, trying to grow wider in your stomach. Instead, wanting him to tell you that you should have blinds, for all the reasons he’s listed, because it makes sense. They’re practical, and easy; it’ll block the sun out if it’s a bright day. They’ll even look modern; following the theme of the room.

And the fact he isn’t reminding you of that makes you mad. So much you feel it clawing up your throat, all ash and brimstone; flames and bonfire.

But you’re not mad at him. You’re mad at yourself for not looking. You’re not mad at him, just his toolbox. You’re not mad at him. You’re mad—

It repeating. Swirling. Shifting around the imaginary plug hole in your head as you wait for it to fall through and douse whatever it is that is brewing inside of you.

“I didn’t think of it like you did, so let’s have blinds.”

“It’s okay, it’s really—”

“But, they make sense, Frankie. You just said so.”

Jaw tightening, he hides his annoyance with a smile. “But, baby, you don’t want blinds, so let me just measure for—”

Standing straight, unable to hide the miniature sob from pain, you follow it with: “Stop being nice to me.”

He blinks. Both at your tone and the words that snap through the air as your palm pushes against your forehead, hoping to quiet it, the simmering anger that bubbles and thickens like soup.

“Rainy—”

“You don’t… I’m not broken, Frankie. Sometimes we can just… disagree. You can tell me I’m wrong.”

“I know that.”

He says it so quickly, all with a colder edge to his words. Ice threatening to wrap around them, freeze, as they go to land, pellet. Bruise against you.

Tilting your head, you stare at him—knowing you should stop. Remove your finger from the metaphorical scab. “Do you? Because ever since the other month you’ve been… extra nice.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“It is when I’m furious with you,” you snap, it’s out now, you think.

Chest tight, things unfurling and uncoiling, flames ripping through you as though all the emergency doors have flung open and allowed it to breathe through every part of you.

“When I’m mad that I tripped over your toolbox again because you didn’t put it away. Because you likely did something nice for me and forgot. But now I’ve really hurt my foot—”

“—Baby, why didn’t you—”

But you ignore him. Not even waving him off, just continuing, “—and that I can’t decide if I want curtains or blinds and yet you make a very good argument for blinds that I hadn’t considered and you always do that—have amazing ideas, great insight, plus, you seemingly know me better than I know me, which is so lovely, but I'm mad at myself for not thinking of it. But, you, you didn't do that, because you understand me.”

“Is this a bad thing?”

No, you think as your mouth jams shut. Staring. Blinking. Because of course, it isn’t. It’s just that it’s never been something you’ve had, never experienced, never thought could possibly be given to you.

A thing that you both love, so much, but also feel is going to be ripped from you at any moment. Better not to have it, than lose it. No skill to prepare for this level of care, so used to having to make decisions and choices and have no one offer to help.

But he’s not going.

He’s standing, hands at his sides, line between his brows. Confusion trying to crawl over him and lather his features, but he seems to be fighting it, stopping it. His eyes somehow remain soft even as your mouth hands open, more words set to spit and fire—

“I need. I need a moment.”

And you don’t wait for the okay or the sight of his face falling.

Just moving, hurrying. Feet trying to carry you through to the kitchen as your palms use the wall as a crutch to do so, finding a counter to rest on, to lean on, to breathe against as thick, uncontrollable tears begin to paint your cheeks. Whether from the pain or the fact you’d snapped. Unable to hold them back from rumbling out when your forehead presses against cool wood as you take breaths in and out, in and out.

Doing so until the pain dries on your cheeks and you’re merely resting, taking the moment you said you needed before you hear him clear his throat. Before he asks if he can come closer and if he can look at your foot, two things you quickly nod for—wanting to take it back, apologise, even explain. Instead, you let him aid you up onto the counter, slide the sock from your foot assess it and turn it, finger brushing over your skin as light as a feather as he asks does it hurt here, or what about here?

It makes your heart flutter.

Makes it even harder not to blurt three words at him, when really he deserves a chorus of them for what in the hell just happened. So, you lead with:

“I’ve decided that I don’t like fighting with you.”

Snorting, he picks up the sock from the floor, easing it slowly back over your toes. “It’s not my favourite thing we do together either.”

Smirking, you stare down at him. Watching him. “I don’t want you to think I’m fragile. That’s all.

“That you can’t challenge me just because of what happened the other month. Because it’ll happen again. But I can still make choices, you can still tell me I’m wrong—sometimes, I need you to tell me I’m wrong, because if you agree with me all the time, you won’t push me to be better. I’ll just stay stagnant, and choose curtains when I really think I’ll regret it and want blinds.”

Standing, he places his hands on either side of your thighs on the counter, letting out a heavy exhale as he looks at you, as he stares from eye to eye, before whispering your name. The one which sounds so kind in his mouth, that sounds like it matters—that it holds importance and weight, even if you prefer Rainy.

“I don’t think you’re fragile,” he whispers as you slide your hand over his, watching his eyes soften, heal. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I did.”

Half-smiling, you nod. Eyes searching his, waiting to see if the lie appears when he blinks, whether it spreads out like paint touching water and if it makes his truthful eyes murky. But it never comes. Instead, his hand cups your cheek, in a way that centres you and makes you only want to look at him.

Exhaling, he smiles. “I just don't want to make you choose something you don't want. That's all, baby.”

Eyeing him chewing words, weighing up whether it’s worth it to speak them or let them slide back into the crevice they slithered from. Because it’s painful, maybe far too much truth for him, can see it in the way it makes lines appear across his face, as though it’s fracturing him to remember.

“I wasn’t really mad at you.”

Slowly, a grin breaks out. “Yes, you was.”

“Okay, a little bit, but it wasn’t your fault. So, I’m sorry. But I am mad at your toolbox, it really hurt.”

“I’ll be sure to tell it.”

Narrowing your eyes, you slowly part your legs, tugging on him to move between them, wrapping them around his waist as he shyly smiles. “Been thinking.”

“About how you now want curtains again?”

Pinching him, hearing him hiss, you smirk. “Too soon, Morales. No. I’ve been thinking that the cupboard closest to the office door.” He hums in response, it vibrating against your collarbone as he kisses it. “Think that’s where your toolbox should live.”

You feel him grin against your skin, blow warm air in an exhale against it. “You making room for my tools now.”

Lifting his chin, nose bumping against the tip of his, you mirror his smile. “I want to make room for all of you, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Pressing a peck to his lips, you wipe your thumb over it. “Yeah.”

Babe, what is the attire for a kid's soccer match?

Comfort. It’s a lot of standing at the sidelines and hopeful cheering.

So knee-high socks and tight shorts are a no?

Fuck. That’s a fucking image.

Help me, because what I’ve Googled isn’t helping me.

I have a spare shirt you can wear.

Does it have Morales on the back?

It actually does.

Frankie, did you make adult versions of your son’s soccer team kit?

Does it make me lame if I say yes?

No, it makes me want to ask you if you can grab me fifteen minutes earlier so my mouth can show you how not-lame that is.

You'll be pleased to know I've sent the email and I am no longer working with 'prickly-puta', as you so lovingly called him.

I'm really proud of you. You okay?

I'd be better if I could celebrate with you, but I can wait.

How would you want to celebrate?

You sure you want to know?

Always, baby.

Well, I was thinking about showing you my power tools.

Maybe even using them? Letting you see what I do with them. It's very different from what you do with yours.

You there, I can see the typing bubble keep popping up.

Give me ten and I can video chat.

Oh no, you don't get an advanced preview. Might let you listen though.

Fuck me.

That's what I'd be saying if you were here right now.

You don't mind that painting ruined the beach because the rain is unrelenting.

The grey of the day filters through the bare windows, spreading itself as far as it can as Frankie prepares the second room of the three the two of you were set to do.

You don’t mind the sound of rain; you never have. You find it peaceful how it cascades down from the drains and runs in marathons down the glass. Right now, the sound trickles in through the open window, while the room is suffused with the scent of fresh paint from the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of the third pot of coffee Frankie’s been brewing.

Even if he doesn't admit it, you swear he's only making as many so he can take a moment to kiss you. To run his hands over your waist and slide them over your romper-covered ass—

“Have I told you how good your ass looks in this?”

Sipping your coffee, tasting each note of it, you reply, “Twice, actually.”

“Not enough then.”

Between acting like teenagers in a stranger’s home (including him leaving a large handprint firmly on your denim-covered ass), the paint goes on in thick strokes. You cut in, trying to match the rhythm of the song playing out on the radio—a game only you are playing to distract yourself—because the sight of Frankie using the roller is ruining you.

Unable to stop staring at the way his arms flex with each motion; how his shirt stretches out across his back to the point you're not sure how the threads haven't ripped.

“Want to see the colour for this room?”

It’s a serene shade of yellow, reminiscent of a summer’s day. It'll brighten the room, glide nicely over the old, smothering secrets and old stories, offering something new. Fitting, you think from the drive over when Frankie told you the situation.

“It's perfect.”

“Isn't it?”

Arm around his waist, fingers stroking up and down his side. “Did you pick it, Morales?”

Shyness breaks out then, smile lopsided, eyes averting before whispering, “Maybe.”

You made a note to tell him later what an eye for colour he has.

Dipping the tip of the brush in the paint tray, you swipe it against the corner where two walls meet, finding his eyes on you again.

“Stop marvelling at my paintwork and focus on your own, Morales.”

“S’not your paint skills I’m staring at.”

Smirking, you look over your shoulder at him, nose scrunching. “Who knew watching me paint was your kink.”

You like the sound of his laugh mingling with the yellow on the walls. It makes you smile wider, a thing you find yourself doing each time you refill your paint tray as torture him with your terrible singing.

The only other noise is the rain, the clink of a paint can and the rustle of plastic drop cloths as the transformation happens before your very eyes. It’s not even dried, and it already looks far better than the cigarette-stained walls and palm-covered handprints you hadn’t wanted to guess why they were there, yet had done all the same.

“Maybe he’s measuring how tall he is with his hands.”

Frankie snorts. “What if he wipes his dirty hands on the wall? Finishes his food, wipes. Gets something on his finger, wipes. Has a sticky hand—well.”

You’re about to tell him not to finish that thought, when the radio plays the beginning notes of something that steals your attention.

It hooks in the corner of your lips and drags it up your cheeks as the familiar melody of an old favourite drifts from the speakers, wrapping the space in a cosy embrace—both taking you back and rooting you here in a new memory.

You try not to, but you can’t help the movement in your hips. The way you begin whispering—hushed voice mingling with the music, filling the room with a gentle, attempted harmony as your pitch gets higher, and higher.

Then, you're swaying to the rhythm, lost in it, catching a glimpse of Frankie out of the corner of your eye as he leans against the doorway, arms folded across his chest, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

There's something in his eyes, you can see it. A tender look, one that makes your heart skip a beat.

But you close your eyes, and let the music carry you away, your voice rising and falling with the lyrics as they spill from your lips effortlessly. Opening your eyes at the bridge, finding him still watching, in awe, gaze unwavering.

And there's a softness there in his expression that you've never seen before, a quiet intensity that takes your breath away. It's as if the world has faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this sunshine-filled room, back-lit by a horrid stormy day.

Yet, it feels perfect.

More so as you begin to sing to him, unable to stop staring as he takes a step closer, eyes never leaving yours. His fingers slide under yours, taking the tray and brush from your hands, placing it aside as his smile widens, eyes crinkling at the corners, looking at you as if you're the most precious thing in the world.

“What?”

He reaches out, gently brushing his knuckles on your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice soft and steady.

For a moment, the room seems to stand still.

A flicker of something sparks inside you. Those same words have been so close to your tongue for days now that you almost need to pinch yourself to see if you've really heard them.

But, you know you heard it. The declaration hanging in the air, weighty and profound, making the actual music fade into the background, you swear time itself pauses, allowing the enormity of his words to sink in.

Frankie slides his arm around your waist, still smiling, tugging you closer—a thing your body gives with all but ease. And he repeats it. Those three words.

This time, your heart skips a beat. Emotions swirl within you like a tempestuous sea. One that calms under the stroke of his thumb as your fingers wrapping around his wrist, drawing a soft shape there.

“I love you too, Morales.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, a grin breaking out like the sun on the walls. “I’ve been in love with you for a while.”

Then you hear it, the velvety, smooth sound of him saying good, as he kisses you to the last notes and chorus of an old, but new favourite song.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[strwbmei]

thoughts on lowk pathetic sub robin? feel like she would b really cute

Anon, I'm gonna be honest.

I KNEW she'd be a pathetic sub as soon as I first saw her. The type to obey your orders no matter how contradicting and impossible they may seem. You could sexually torture her for hours on end and she'd thank you for it. Robin just loves having your attention on her, but she'd gladly work for it too. She knows that good girls have to earn their keep, and what is she if not that? You could do anything to her, and you wouldn't hear a single complaint from that cute little mouth of hers. Even if you make Robin do the most perverted things for your own pleasure, she'll follow them no questions asked.

Which is why I see her as more of a cute, pathetic service bottom. Robin will do all the work—all you have to do is sit back, relax, and say a few words and she's cumming already. She'll lick and kiss every inch of you until she can map out your body with her lips alone. She'll caress your body with a force as light as a feather. She'll make herself cum by grinding on the soles of your boots, if that's what you want her to do. Hell, Robin would probably be able to squirt just from giving you head alone.

She'd let you do anything with her body because she just trusts you that much!! No matter how weird something you do to her feels at first, Robin always ends up liking it. Sometimes, you can't help but want to break that trust... And it wouldn't take much effort to do so. She's so easy to corrupt that you almost feel bad, but it wouldn't be this effortless unless she was a pervert from the beginning. In your hands, Robin would go from an innocent idol loved by all to a girl moaning like a slut on your bed. Like clay made for you to mold and shape. She'd start wearing vibrators in public, maybe even during her shows. If Robin is feeling especially horny, she'll put on a show of herself masturbating with a dildo you picked out for her and moaning your name. At this point she's probably corrupted beyond repair, but you don't mind taking responsibility for your actions.

[senawashere]

We're on this together... (Chapter II)

Bradley Bradshaw × fem!wife!reader

Summary: Is it harder for you? Or for Bradley?

Warnings: infertility,mentions of miscarrige,mentions of hospital,mentions of getting pregnant,mentiones of ivf. Mostly angst.

'We are on this journey together and we will never separate. I love you."

January 3, 2023.

Everyone,mostly you, could see how much Bradley loved childrens. Babies, toddlers, teenagers, it didn't matter, he loved them.

Ever since you married, you had admired how he treated them, how he made them laugh, how they played, and how his eyes lit up at the high-pitched squeals they made when he threw them in the air. He would catch them again. And again.

He... was born just for this.

That's why you were trying so hard to give him what he wanted more than anything in the world; a baby,a kid of yours.

He searches hundreds of websites for you on ways to increase your chances of getting pregnant, checks your ovulation time, changes your diet... he does the impossible and you both still can't succeed.

You couldn't make your husband happy. He hated this sentence.

And the worst part is, he's not the only one waiting for you to have his child, everyone is doing it, all of your friends are having their second or third kids and you were still... not pregnant.

One day, you were criticized among your friends for not having a flat stomach. They said something as a joke that you might be pregnant, but it wasn't like that.

Just because you dont have a flat belly doesn't mean you're pregnant, right?

Your tears feel familiar on your skin now and when you were sure Bradley is gone you were crying all over the house, you couldn't let him see you like this, it's not fair when he gave you everything and you couldn't give him something so simple.

It's that simple. Right?

You don't want help, you can do it on your own, you know he can or so he thinks, he keeps busy every day trying not to think about it, but it's inevitable, you can't do that when it's something he wants so badly.

You were doing your usual work on laptop, trying to get rid of the thoughts in your head, even if only a little, you were scrolling through your e-mail box while slow jazz was playing in the background, writing down what you needed to write and dealing with the files you needed to handle.

"A young man fell into the base today! We walked around the hard deck and drank soda's. He was with for a while we had a lot of fun, but I think he misses his aunt y/n. I love you baby.💞"

The text came up with a picture of your husband with Jake's son, three of them smiling and Bradley holding some soda cans in his left arm and the right one is holding the boy's shoulder. It was beautiful and made your heart ache, a small smile appeared on your face,the voices and pain in your head seemed to be over, at least for a mimute, and you replied to the message, "I love you two!! Say hello to Jake for me.💓💓"

You stared at the picture for a few seconds, forgetting about the task in front of you.

The smile on Bradley's face was genuine, and he was holding the little boy with incredible familiarity, as if he already knew how to hold a child even though it wasn't his own.

Your phone hit the wooden table with a loud thud and you brought your hands up to your face, feeling tears of frustration falling from your eyes.

No, you were not jealous of them, in fact, you were very happy that they were pregnant with the third one, but why couldn't you?

This was unfair.

While God gave people the chance to have so many children, why couldn't you even have one?

And the saddest problem was,you.

Bradley was perfectly healthy, he could get a different woman pregnant, but he couldn't get you.

The house was quiet, unlike your head, thousands of things were going on every second.

You left your spot and went upstairs to take another pregnancy test with some hope.

It came out negative. Like always.

January 18, 2023.

You throw the four pregnancy tests you took ten minutes ago into the trash can and you hear Bradley sigh as he sits on the bed, hiding his face with his hands. You sit next to him.

“We just have to try harder.” He said, lifting his head to look at you and placing his hand comfortably on your knee.

“What does 'trying harder' mean?” you asked,with a hint of you wobble voice from the emotions. "We do this every day, especially when I'm ovulating, when I..."

"Baby, calm down." Bradley tells you and he just snorts in annoyance.

"Maybe...we could go to another doctor?" He gets down on one knee as if he's proposing, but you stand up and look at him as if he had three heads.

"Why should I go to the doctor? There is nothing wrong with me, we will have this baby, I know. Sooner or later." you exclaimed.

He stood up and took your hands in his, stroking your wrists.

"Of course we will, I have no doubt about that. But—it's better to know more, you know?"

"We're going to have this baby, Bradley. I am going to."

Uh oh-

I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS CHAPTER BEING SO SHORT😭😭😭 and bad news it is progressively gets more sad.. And there is going to be timeline-

I'm tagging people who might be interested and some mutuals:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsigns-haze @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @lyn-js @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @hardballoonlove @topguncortez @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbaddie @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @themusingofagothicsoul @els-marvelvsp @promisingyounglady @the-romanian-is-bae @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @iefitzgerald-blog @charcole-grey @waterriseslew @desert-fern @promisingyounglady and if you are not comfortable please tell me!!

[brucewaynehater101]

Hear me out for something. So we agree that Tim definitely took a bunch of Ras ninjas when he blew up the place right? And they're *super* loyal to him and also very, very competent.

What if when Tim brings Bruce back from the Time Stream, once Bruce is healed up, he insists on taking over WE from Tim. Not because Tim is bad at it, but because he doesn't want to sit around doing nothing while he physically heals and isn't allowed to be Batman.

So Tim decides to use the money he made to revive Drake Industries. He'll need a bunch of very loyal workers who know how math works to fill out upper management to make sure there isn't any corruption and wouldn't you know it. He has a couple hundred of exactly what he needs stolen from ras who are getting antsy about not having anything to do.

It only takes a year, maybe two at the most, for Drake Industries to raise to rivaling Wayne Enterprises and Lex Corp like it used to before Tim's parents died. There are rumors though, that it's impossible to rise beyond a certain point in the company as all those positions are filled already and if a new one opens, it's given to someone that no one has ever heard of before (more defectors from Ras). All the people on the board are weirdly young (is that Olympic Gold Winner Cissie King Jones???) And one of them just had a big scandal go public about being Lex Luthor's illegitimate son that he kicked out for being gay?? This is not at all what happened with Kon, and Lex has been trying to calm the rumor mill around it but the gossip collums have taken this and ran with it.

You would think that with a board of directors so young and a company so new that's so big, corporate espionage on them would be *easy* but that's to the fact that every single member of upper management would die for Tim, none of it happens. His company is massive and air tight. People who try to bribe his workers into selling secrets often end up in strange accidents. After all, you can take the person out of the Ninja Death Cult, but you can't take the Ninja Death Cult out of the person.

Yes! There is a series not quite like this, but dear to me. "Where Bats and Birds Roost" by Mouse_in_this_house has BAMF Tim Drake with ex-LoA agent spy network that he hides via the Neon Knights initiative.

However, I love that your AU had Tim make it from the corpse of his parents' company. Instead of using Bruce's resources, Tim used the ones that only belong to him. I also like his rehabilitation plans for all the defectors and their loyalty to him because of it.

Tim should go around snatching up people from his enemies because he has better benefits, way less chance of the job killing its employees, and charisma. Maybe Bruce gets a little annoyed cause WE employees also prefer to work at Drake Industries (probably not, but it would be funny).

Also, YJ working for DI? Brilliant ^^

This type of chaos and the BAMF Tim are spices I need more of. Let Tim use his whacky ability to befriend his enemies for his benefit!

[exhaslo]

I KNOW IM LATE FOR EASTER BUT WHAT IF Y/N DRESSED AS A LITTLE BUNNY W/ THOSE BUNNY SUITS TEASING MIGUEL WHILE HE'S WORKING THEN CATCHING Y/N OFF BY FUCKING HER SENSELESS?? (You should include "Want a carrot" and just include Miguel simply making y/n give him a BJ >_<) ITS ONLY IF U WANT TO BTW YOU DONT NEED TO IF YOU DONT WANT TOO :(

AND I'M TOTALLY LATE IN RESPONDING LOLOLOLOLOLOL

Warning: MINORS DNI, SMUT, oral (m-receiving), role play, teasing, dirty talk, rough sex, breeding kink

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

"Alright, the Spider-Society should be pretty quiet today, so no one should notice me sneak in. You'll take care of the cameras, right Lyla?"

There you were, standing nervously in front of a mirror while speaking to the AI. Today was Easter and you had wanted to surprise Miguel while he was working. Give him a little stress free day while having some fun.

"Yep, just say the word when you're there and I shall get those doors open for you. Not a single soul will know you're there!" Lyla said with a chirp.

That gave you some relief. You were Miguel's girlfriend for two years now. You knew about his secret life and happily supported him any way you could. And right now, Miguel needed a break! He had been hold up in either Alchemax or the Spider Society for about three days now.

What better than to give him a little treat on Easter?

You took deep breathes as you fixed your tight bunny suit. The tail so cute and fluffy and the ears were being held in your coat pocket. It was difficult to make your way to Miguel's secret second life without anyone questioning your trench coat.

Once Lyla gave you the all clear, you rushed into the building. Normally, the Spider Society was impossible to enter for normal people. Miguel didn't want anyone accidently stumbling in. Which was why you had to rely on Lyla.

Chuckling nervously as you followed Lyla's directions, you were starting to feel the heat rise to your face.

This idea sounded so good in your head.

Placing the bunny ears on, you couldn't help but admire the structure of the building. Everything was so different and unique. Made for a Spider. Resisting a chuckle, you hurried to Miguel's office. The place really was empty.

"Alright, best of luck," Lyla said with a grin before disappearing.

You took a deep breathe before entering that dark lair. Dropping your trench coat, you proudly showed off your sexy bunny suit. A nervous smile against your lips as you saw Miguel on his platform, grunting and complaining about why it was lowering.

"Aye! Lyla!" Miguel hissed. You just smiled,

"Sounds like someone needs help from a little bunny~" You cooed. Miguel jolted slightly before turning to face you,

"(Y/N)? What are-What are you wearing?!"

"Happy Easter, Miggy. Care to feed this bunny a carrot for the long trip?" You asked, your hands stroking down his chest.

Miguel scoffed softly, capturing your lips in a kiss. He licked your lower lip, grunting softly as you started to stroke his dick through his suit.

"Amor (love), you could have gotten caught,"

"I had help,"

You got on your knees, kissing and licking Miguel's crotch. Your glossy eyes glancing up at him, waiting for him to cave and get rid of his suit. With another grunt, you got your wish and began to swirl your tongue against the length of his shaft.

Miguel groaned and grunted to every lick and stroke you gave him. Happy to see this reaction, you placed your lips against his tip and began to suck. His hands resting against your head, guiding you against his harden cock.

"What a bad bunny," Miguel hummed, "Sneaking into this place just for a quick fuck?"

"MhO mphm a (Who said anything about quick?)" You said to say.

"Shit,"

Miguel gripped your hair, fastening your pace. He moaned and whined against his cock, causing Miguel to lean forward. You knew that the vibrations of you talking against his dick sent shivers down his spine.

Which was why you liked to do it.

With another whine, you felt his dick hit the back of your throat. Your rolled your eyes back as heat pooled down to your cunt. Miguel grunted as he thrusted once more into the back of your mouth, cumming. With a hard swallow, you pulled away, panting softly,

"Someone...needed that..." You said with a soft chuckle.

"Says the one seducing me," Miguel lifted you up with ease, kissing you firmly, "Does my little bunny want this carrot anywhere else?"

Before you could say anything, Miguel's fingers were already over your soaked sex. You shuddered and whined as his fingers easily made a bigger mess of your suit that it already was. With a smirk, Miguel used his talon to rip the cloth over your pussy.

"M-Miguel! I spent a lot on this suit!" You pouted. Miguel silenced you with another kiss,

"Then I'll buy another. Can't keep my horny bunny waiting too long."

"Mphm~!"

You flung your head back as Miguel laid you against his desk, sliding his cock inside your folds. With ease, Miguel made himself at home with his dick kissing your cervix. Your gummy walls tightening around him so perfectly.

"Does my little horny bunny enjoy this?" Miguel pressed his hips against yours, causing you to moan and squirm, "You know what they say about that, right?"

You shuddered in response, holding onto Miguel as he slowly thrusted inside of you. Your whines not bothering him as he continued to torment you. His slow pace making you wetter as you tried to move your own hips to fasten the pace.

"Guess my bunny really wants a baby,"

"Mhm~ Ah~ M-Migueeeeeeel~" You whimpered.

Miguel leaned down to kiss you once more before he finally picked up his pace. His hands against your hips as his thrusts began rapid and rough. Your body shivering as you felt jolts run up your spine. Your cunt convulsing against Miguel's cock as you cam around him.

"Feel that? My bunny can't wait to be filled by me," Miguel whispered in your ear.

Your moans were getting louder as Miguel abused your cunt. Your head spinning as you focused on his dick. Miguel chuckled as he kissed you before slapping himself once more, giving you the first of many loads of his cum.

"Is this a tail I feel?" Miguel chuckled as he turned you on your stomach. His eyes sparkling at the sight, "How tempting. How long has my horny bunny been planning this?"

"Hn~!" You gripped onto the edge of his desk as Miguel entered your filled pussy again, "J-Just...ah~ ah~"

"Can't hear you," Miguel started his rough pace again, enjoying the sloppy sounds of your juices against his cock, "Want my babies that bad, little bunny?"

"Yesh~ Yesh~" You cried out, feeling your core burning once more.

"Then can my bunny keep up with me?"

You gasped as Miguel pinched your clit, causing you to come undone by him. Your body trembling in pleasure as his cock kept thrusting inside of you. Miguel lifted your ass up slightly, hitting you deeper than before.

"Good girl,"

---------

"Hm? Is my horny bunny finally waking up?" Miguel asked with a soft chuckle.

You groaned softly, feeling sore and groggy. Fluttering your eyes open, you noticed that you were back at Miguel's home. With a deep inhale, you nuzzled your head against his chest, wanting to sleep for a bit longer.

"Awe, can't have that. It's still Easter, and as far as I know...my cute little dirty bunny hasn't had her fill yet."

"Miggy...." You whined, looking into his lustful eyes, "You need to destress more often."

"I am," Miguel chuckled as he pinned you against the bed, "Now, let's keep making that baby."

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HOPE YOU ENOJYED!!!!

Hopefully the next holiday request I update in time, hahaaaaa