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athenalvss · 14 hours ago

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SHE JUST WANTS TO F**K ME ALL THE TIME ▬▬ ( Dick grayson )

tw: sex, nothing too explicit cause I'm afraid of success

summary: Dick loved sex, and thought no one could surpass how high his sex drive is, until he started a relationship with you and you are all the time trying to get him to fuck you.

pairing: dick grayson x fem reader

open request ‐ dick grayson masterlist

"I tried to leave the house but she won't let me out."

"Again? "

The morning had been a bit rough for Dick, he'd woken up to your ass moving painfully on his cock, leaving him ready for their usual morning fuck.

Dick is shirtless, sweaty, his hair a mess, and the sheets still stuck to his back. He shakes his head, chuckling as you try to drag him back toward you by the waistband of his boxers.

Your fingers play with the elastic, and your eyes are begging for one more round. “It’s your fault,” you murmur, leaving wet kisses on his abdomen. “You shouldn’t look like this right after we finish. You tempt me all the time.”

He lets out a hoarse laugh and drops back onto the bed, propped up on his elbows. "You're literally draining me."

"You're more than fit, Nightwing. You can handle another one."

"You think so?" In a second, his expression changes. Dick grabs you by the wrists, twists your body with ridiculous ease, and leaves you beneath him, one knee between your legs and your arms pinned above your head.

"You know normal people only get one round?" he mutters playfully.

He slides his mouth down your neck, to your collarbone. He sucks right where you know he'll leave a mark. His hands release your wrists, but only to run his rough hands all over your naked body, stroking that impatient, dripping pussy of yours.

"That's it," he whispers against your ear. "You're going to make me late again, you know?"

You don't answer. You just moan under his touch, and that brings out a cocky smile from him. He knew the answer. He always does.

His fingers sink into you without warning, moving with a delicious rhythm that forces your back to arch. But he gives you no respite.

"Did you want another round, gorgeous?" he asks, his lips brushing against yours, barely touching you. "Then you're going to earn it."

Before you can say anything, he's already sliding down. He spreads your legs with ease and begins to eat you out with a mixture of hunger and devotion that leaves you breathless. His tongue works as if it has a damn mission. And in part, it does: to leave you so trembling that you can't drag him back down for hours.

Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging unintentionally as your body writhes beneath his mouth.

"Dick... please..."

"Please, what?" he asks in a husky voice, his lips wet, his eyes shining with perversion. "Did you want another one? I'll give it to you. But I'll ruin you first."

▬★

"She wants me at the party, she wants me at the mall"

Dick Grayson always looks impeccable, but there was no better version than Dick Grayson in a tailored black suit, his blue tie, charming smile, and his usual confident posture. He's an expert at moving through high society without losing that mischievous air that distinguishes him. And, as always, he has the attention of every woman in the room.

You just watch him from a distance, drink in hand, dressed in that dress he'd picked out for you once. The one that left him spellbound, so he couldn't take his eyes off your chest. And every movement you made made Dick want to forget about the gala, about Bruce, about all of Gotham.

Since he looked so good in that white shirt that perfectly covered his hard-working body, the one you slept in every night, you should definitely make him wear more suits.

You approached him through the crowd, Dick interrupts his conversation kindly once he sees you closer.

“Can we talk for a second?” you asked, in the sweetest tone you could muster, not letting on any malice you had in mind.

Dick nods immediately, and reflexively follows you without asking any questions.

You lead him down one of the hall's side corridors, to a quiet area, away from the hustle and bustle and prying eyes. The light is soft, golden. The sound of the music barely reaches you. Dick crosses his arms, curious.

“What's up?” he asks with a smile. “Are you bored without me?”

You chuckled softly and shook your head, taking a step closer. Your eyes were brighter than ever, with that mischievous reflex you usually had when you wanted to tell him something in secret. You fiddled with the fabric of your own dress, lowering your gaze slightly, as if you were embarrassed by what you were about to say.

“It’s just… I don’t know if I should say this now,” you whisper, biting your lip.

Dick leans in slightly, intrigued. “Tell me what, swet heart?” He runs his hand gently through your hair, gently tucking a strand behind your ear.

You looked up, looked at him with those good-girl eyes he knew so well. And you let go, softly, sweetly, as if you were saying "I love you" for the first time.

“I want to suck your cock.”

The silence is immediate.

Dick blinks. Once. Twice. The air suddenly feels thick. He stands there, staring at her, processing the sentence. Because it wasn't just what you said. It was how she said it. So cute, so damn sweet.

“You…” he begins, a nervous laugh escaping him. “You can’t say that like that, not here. Not with that voice.”

You tilted your head, pretending not to understand. “What did I do wrong?”

“What did you do wrong?” he repeats, his eyes darting around, as if he were already deciding which wall to use. “Do you know what you do to me when you talk like that?”

You shake your head with completely feigned innocence. “What if I just… walk you to your car? Just a second. Just to… distract you, you look a little overwhelmed,” you say, running a finger along his tie.

Dick closes his eyes for a moment, as if it takes all his willpower not to drag her down that hallway right now. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”

Dick didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took your hand firmly, and without looking back, led you through one of the side doors that led to the building's private parking lot. No one saw them. No one dared to stop him.

The car was just steps away. One of Bruce's. Tinted windows, total luxury… and, above all, privacy.

He opened the back door without a word, and before you could even mock his urgency, he'd helped you in carefully, without wrinkling your dress too much. He closed it behind him and stared at you, still kneeling in the seat, breathing heavily.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he murmured, unable to stop staring at your mouth.

You, with the same innocent sweetness as before, leaned towards him, brought your hands to the knot of his blue tie and slowly loosened it.

“I have a couple of ideas, but we need more space.”

Your fingers moved down his white shirt, unbuttoning the first button, then the second… but Dick was barely breathing. His gaze burned, fixed on you, somewhere between exhaustion and on the verge of collapse.

Slowly, you knelt between the seats, your smile as soft as it was dangerous.

“Is this okay?” you asked in a low voice, unbuckling his belt with a skill only someone who knew him so well could possess.

Dick let out a stifled laugh, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the seat. "Now you're worried about that?"

You looked at him once more, as if seeking confirmation that he really wanted this. He looked back at you, completely lost in you.

And then you did it .

Slowly, as if you were tasting a sweet treat for the first time. Caressing him with your lips, with your tongue, with that tenderness and adoration that only you knew how to turn into torture.

Dick placed one hand against the fogged-up glass of the car, the other on the back of your neck, not pressing you, just holding you, as if he needed to hold on to something real to keep from losing control.

Your every move was measured, precise, delicate, and devastating at the same time. You knew him so well that you knew exactly when to speed up, when to play, when to stop for a second and look down on him, with that angelic face that had already earned its place in heaven...

▬▬★

"She just wants to fuck me all the time"

The sound of gloves hitting, the creaking of mats, and the rhythmic panting of labored breaths filled the space. you were in the middle of a sparring session. you and Dick, face to face on the mat, exchanging measured but intense blows.

He was focused, sweaty, his black T-shirt clinging to his body, his arm muscles flexing with every movement. Every kick, every spin, made him look even more irresistible. There was no way to hide it: you were distracted. Very distracted.

The roll of his hips as he kicked. The way he panted. The deep sound of his voice as he gave orders. Your mind wasn't on the practice. It was on his body above yours.

At one point, he takes a few steps back to give you space. He cranes his neck, wipes the sweat with the back of his forearm, and looks at you.

"Your turn. come on"

His voice snaps you out of your trance, but it's too late. You're horny. Too horny to be honest.

You stand, hiding it as best you can, but as soon as you get close, he notices. Dick always notices. Your dilated pupils. Your breathing. The way you lower your gaze directly to his neck.

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Are you okay?”

"Perfect" you lie.

"Then fight," he smiles, giving you the first soft blow with his glove, as a provocation.

But as soon as you're in front of him, you give in to temptation. Your hand doesn't go to the glove. It goes to the collar of his shirt. You get closer than necessary. Your lips brush his ear. "You're all sweaty... it smells so good..."

Dick lets out a grunt and in a second he has you cornered against the mat wall, his forearm blocking your way. "Are you horny? Here, while we're training? such a needy whore" he whispers, his voice tense and dark.

"It's not my fault you're so fucking sexy when you give orders."

He looks you for a few seconds, assessing. Then he shakes his head, a crooked smile crossing his face."You're impossible."

He quickly spins you around, pressing your body against the wall, his hard crotch already resting against your ass. His hand moves straight down to your crotch inside your leggings, and when he feels how wet you are, he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus Christ… You’re soaked."

Dick already had his hand inside your leggings when you reacted with a sly smile.

"I'm not going to let you win that easily," you whisper to him, just before turning around abruptly.

He didn't expect it.

You hook him with a swift kick to the thigh and take advantage of his slightest distraction to pull on his arm, knocking him off balance. You both fall to the mat with a thud, but you remain on top, with your knees on either side of his hips.

Dick snorts, clearly surprised, and looks at you with a mixture of pride and annoyance. "Are you playing, or do you want to fight for real?"

"this is my foreplay " you say, with a mischievous smile. You lean over him, placing one hand firmly on his chest while the other goes straight to his waist. He doesn't even move. He just watches you, his eyes narrowed.

"Don't even think about it… "

But you don't let him finish. With a swift movement, you push your hips down, positioning yourself right over his erection through his clothes. The moan he lets out isn't from pain. It's pure instinct.

"What are you doing?" he growls, grabbing your hips. "This is a workout, not an invitation to fuck me with my clothes on."

“Then take me down,” you challenge, starting to move slowly, pressing your core against his member with a friction that draws a low sigh from you.

He grits his teeth. His hands tighten around your waist, as if he's struggling between pushing you off him and pushing you closer. "You're a fucking temptation," he says, his voice deep and husky. "A fucking distraction with legs."

"You're too weak," you tease. "Look at you, you can't even concentrate."

He flips you over with a ferocious snarl, trapping you underneath him in the blink of an eye, his body pressing yours into the mats.

But just as he's about to rip your leggings off...

"Richard." Bruce's dry voice comes back through the cave's speaker.

The silence falls. Dick rests his forehead against your collarbone. He says nothing.

"Five minutes until you are dressed and out."

#dc masterlist #dick grayson masterlist #dick grayson smut #imagine dick grayson #nightwing x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x female!reader #smut #dc x reader #nightwing smut

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nekonaps0 · 2 days ago

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I will always be next to you...

✦characters: House warden

✦ gn!reader

✦TW: abandonment issues, hurt comfort

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, he doesn’t understand.

You flinch when he raises his voice. You panic when he’s late. You apologize for things that aren’t your fault, begging him not to “get tired of you.”

Riddle is silent for a long time when it finally clicks.

“…So that’s why you’ve been walking on eggshells,” he murmurs, the realization hitting like a brick.

He takes your hands, carefully like you’re the most fragile thing in his hands.

“I don’t intend to leave you, ever. You don’t need to prove your worth to me. You're… already enough my rose.”

He may not always say the right thing, but after that day, he works hard to keep his schedule in check. He will leaving notes, waiting patiently, and showing up when he says he will.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s reaction is frustration. Not at you, but at the world that made you feel disposable.

“So that’s what this is about,” he mutters when you pull away from him after a small disagreement, your voice trembling as you say, “I just don’t want to be left again.”

He scoffs under his breath. “Tch… You think I’d just toss you aside like that?” He pulls you into a loose, lazy hug, but his grip is firm. Protective.

“I’m not perfect, I far from that, but I’m not a heartless asshole. If you think I’d just go and leave you…” He exhales deeply. “Guess I’ve gotta do a better job showing you otherwise. Because there is no place I rather be than by your side”

He’s not always good with words, but he’ll fight tooth and nail to be your anchor. Even if he grumbles about it, he stays. He would always choose you and stay.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul’s mask cracks the second he realizes.

You’re not clingy. You’re scared.

He remembers all too well what it’s like to be left behind, mocked, ignored, unloved. His voice wavers a bit when he says, “Have you… always felt this way?”

You nod. Quietly.

He takes a trembling breath and gently brushes your hair back.

“Then… we’ll make a new kind of contract. One where I promise I won’t go anywhere. No loopholes. No conditions. Just me… staying. For you. Always there for you.”

He makes sure to check in more after that emotionally, not just with gifts or gestures. He holds your hand longer. Answers every text, even when he’s busy. You’ll never question whether he cares again.

Kalim Al-Asim

“Oh…”

Kalim’s expression drops the moment he hears it. There’s no confusion. No delay. Just pure, immediate empathy.

“You’ve been scared I’ll leave? That I’ll stop loving you?”

You nod, tears welling, and he just pulls you in. No hesitation.

“I would never, ever do that!” he says fiercely, his voice trembling. “You’re stuck with me! I mean it! Even if you pushed me away, I’d still come back! I’m not going anywhere!”

Kalim becomes even more affectionate checking in on you, hugging you constantly, sending little messages saying things like “Just thinking about you!”

He treats your heart so gently so caring because it’s the precious thing to him. And he promises over and over, that you’re not alone.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is quiet when you finally tell him. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t argue. He simply listens, his gaze sharp but not cold.

“…So all this time, you were terrified I’d just… disappear,” he says slowly. “Like you weren’t worth staying for.”

He exhales. It’s not exasperation. It’s heartbreak.

He cups your face with both hands and presses your forehead to his.

“You are not a passing thing in my life,” he whispers. “You are not disposable. I chose you because you shine in ways most people never will. And I will not walk away. You saw the ugliest side of me and you stayed. No matter what I will always there with you no matter what”

He becomes more verbal about his feelings, more transparent because he knows how much the silence hurts you.

And when he says, “I love you,” it’s clear he means forever.

Idia Shroud

Idia panics. Literally.

You confess your abandonment issues during a vulnerable moment, and Idia just freezes.

“H-huh?! Like… wait, like really? You think that I could?— wait, I mean—!”

He stops when he sees the pain in your eyes, and his shoulders fall. “…Crap. I made it worse, didn’t I?”

But then, in a small, shaky voice, he says:

“I know what it’s like�� to feel like you’ll always be alone. I didn’t think anyone would ever stay for me either.”

And slowly, awkwardly, he reaches out. His fingers brush yours.

“I might not be good at this boyfriend stuff… but I’m not leaving. Ever. Not unless you tell me to. And even if you do I don’t think I could”

After that he even makes a digital avatar of you in one of his games, just so you’ll “exist in a place where I can always find you.”

Malleus Draconia

He understands immediately.

When you whisper your fears to him, expecting him to laugh or dismiss them, Malleus just tilts his head.

“You fear being abandoned… and yet you still opened your heart to me.”

There’s something ancient and soft in his voice, like he’s cradling your very soul.

“I know that kind of loneliness. Mine lasted centuries.”

His fingers are cood, but gentle when he takes your hand. “I do not love you lightly. If I have given you my heart, then it is yours completely, and I won’t allow you to return it… it’s all yours. I will not disappear. Even time itself would not keep me from you.”

His hand moves to your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks “I would find you in every universe, every lifetime and I will always choose you, over and over again”

After that, Malleus makes a quiet habit of always appearing when you need him, sometimes even before you realize you do. He stays. He always stays.

..............................................................................................................................

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pimpnchips · 2 days ago

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Forever Ours

Natasha Romanoff x Wife!Reader x Ex!Wanda Maximoff

im backkk

Warnings: angst, fluff, possessive!nat, toxicity, manipulation.

Summary: You have a suspicion that your wife is cheating on you with a familiar person.

You paced the room with frantic energy, hands on your hips, drawing Natasha’s gaze down your body like a predator sizing up its prey.

“Are you kidding me, Natasha?” You chuckled bitterly, shaking your head at your wife.

“I’m not sure what you expect me to say,�� Nat asserted, gripping her cigarette as she watched you pace around your shared bedroom. A cloud of smoke hung in the air as she exhaled from her cigarette.

“I want you to tell me if you’re fucking her.”

Natasha laughed confidently and turned away, choosing not to answer your question.

You grabbed her face, “Look at me, Natalia.”

“No,” she sighed as she looked into your eyes.

“That didn’t fucking sound convincing.” You pushed her face away from you as you walked away.

Last night, you and Natasha resolved your differences, but this morning, you woke up to her cell phone ringing. When you picked it up, you saw the name "Wanda" appearing on the screen. Wanda is both yours and Natasha's ex-girlfriend, who still believes she has control.

And to your ignorance-- she is in control even if you don't know it yet.

“I wish you would stop with this, I would never go back to her and you know that” she spats, throwing her head back dramatically.

“Do I?” You snap back, turning back around towards Natasha.

“Yes!” Her eyes filled with anger as she got up.

“I am a lot of things but I am not fucking stupid!,” she begged, her face was red with hot anger. She didn’t know how else to convince you because she didn’t have a good record.

You looked down and pressed the bridge of your nose. You wanted to believe her but why else would Wanda be texting her phone late at night.

“You have to realize I have a job detka and she’s still one of my coworkers,” She states, walking over to you and stroking your cheek with sympathy.

Natasha never wanted you to feel like she was sneaking behind your back on you but she knows she’s been a dick to you. It didn’t stop her from being frustrated with the way you approached her about the situation.

“I would appreciate if you didn’t raise your voice at me sweetheart”

You stared back at Natasha, anger in your eyes. You wanted to believe her words, but after all those long nights of her not coming home to you and the kids, it was difficult. Forgiving her was in your nature; you loved your wife. Despite your efforts to stand your ground, you always seemed to find your way back to her in one way or another.

“Everyday I regret leaving you and our kids, baby”

She looked up at you with tear-filled eyes, her cheeks faintly flushed with red. Natasha stood up, rubbing her sweaty palms on her legs. “I thought that if I became distant, it would hurt you less if one day I never made it back home,” she explained, tears streaming down her face.

Your wife knelt down by your legs, looking up at you in desperation. "You’re the best part of me, baby. Please don’t leave me." Her eyes darkened with an intensity you had never seen before; her statement felt more like a demand than a plea.

You looked up at the ceiling, doing your best not to shed tears so you wouldn’t seem weak in front of her. Her hands were wrapped tightly around your waist, prompting you to glance down at Natasha. You placed your cold hands on her rosy cheek and said, “I would never leave, Nat. I couldn’t.”

"Even if I tried," you whispered, wiping away a tear that had rolled down your face. Your love for Natasha was unhealthy, but you would rather die alongside her than let her go without knowing how deeply you loved her.

She smiled at you with awe, standing up and grasping your waist as she pulled you into a steamy kiss. You melted when she swiped her tongue on your bottom lip, asking for permission. You moaned as she dragged her tongue in your mouth, “need you.”

Buzz, A sound of a notification going off next to Nat’s side of the bed.

Natasha backed away from your lips, “That might be stark, baby”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “I’ll go see; maybe he’ll appreciate a few words from me,” you said with a smile.

Natasha chuckled as she watched you walk over to pick up her phone. The phone vibrated before you started to pick it up, with the name ‘Wanda’ displayed four times within one minute.

‘1 attachment’

‘I wore it just for you, come around tonight’

‘1 attachment ’

‘Missing you two’

Natasha caught sight of your sudden stillness, her curiosity piqued. “Who is it?” she asked, her brows knitted together in concern. The tension in the air crackled as your body language stirred a mix of nervousness and apprehension within her, making her hesitate at the thought of approaching.

Your jaw clenched as you raised her phone to throw at Natasha, “Ask her.”

The redhead looked up at you with an unreadable expression, a look that only annoyed you further because you couldn’t tell if she felt regret or simply didn’t care that you found out.

She chuckled as the phone hit her face. Bending over to pick it up, she walked towards where you were standing.

Her hands moved to each side of your neck. You attempt to push them away, not wanting to feel her touch on your body.

“Get off,” you growled, disappointed by how quickly you forgave her earlier, but now you’ve found yourself in another situation that’s bound to break you down again.

“You said you’ll never leave me, detka.” She whispered, her lips rubbing against your ear sensually. Her hands rubbing down your ass as she presses her front against you. “Leave us.”

Her warm breath sent shivers down your spine as you looked up at her with a glare. Your face heated with anger as you pulled away from Natasha. Staring at your wife with nothing but disgust.

“I’m not your toy, Natasha” you spat, easing your hands to push her chest away. Forgiving her was easy but now it felt as if she was playing with you. Like an object and not a wife. You wanted more from her and her giving less pained you.

She tilted her head towards the door behind you.

“Aren’t you?” a seductive voice came from behind you. You stopped in your tracks as you turned around. Shock written on your face like a sharpie.

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ragnarockz · 1 day ago

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Sweet Tooth (Sugar Mommy!Agatha x Sugar Baby!Reader)

Synopsis: Agatha takes you out on a date because she loves being with you and spending her money on you (and showing off just how much money she has). Her cravings for you aren't fulfilled during your date which only means, she needs to take a bigger bite of you back at home.

Word Count: 3K

Fandom: Marvel - Agatha All Along

Characters: Agatha Harkness, Reader

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Age gap, Sugar Mommy/Sugar Baby relationship, Mommy kink, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, smut, size kink, swearing, PDA, strap-on sex, money for favors/sex, descriptions of sexual acts

A/N: Commissioned piece for @aubreyplzbemydaddy 🩷

Music Inspo: Mrs. Robinson - Simon & Garfunkel, Royals - Lorde, Gimmie More - Britney Spears, Sweet Spot - Kim Petras, Dirty Cash - PAWSA

Agatha peers at you from behind her designer sunglasses as she sits a little too comfortably in her favorite seat at the café. It's a frequent haunt for the both of you; someplace where you can steal a few hours together. It's usually quiet there; usually just the two of you during the middle of the day as most people are at work and those who aren't, simply can't afford this place anyway.

It's way too overpriced for a café and you're pretty sure it's only open still because of Agatha Harkness. She sits there now, with her right knee over her left and her designer purse is placed in front of her on the table. Her eyes are on you, the back of you, as you stand at the counter and order yours and her usual. The barista relays your order and then the price and you, silently sigh in some relief, not because of the total but because the last time you were here with Agatha, you had to correct the barista on a question they posed.

"Do you and your Mom need anything else or will that be all for today?"

You had to bite your tongue then. No, Agatha was not your Mom. Yes, Agatha was your Mommy.

It made you feel dangerous and excited; all those emotions rolling over inside of you as you simply answered 'no thank you' before turning away from the counter.

You assume this time around, the barista remembered that no, the hot older woman sitting at your preferred table was not your Mother. Not in the way they probably thought she was.

The barista coughs gently now before announcing your total once more as you snap back to the present.

Money.

Right.

You owe the café money for your order. You pat your pockets and know there's nothing in them. You don't need anything in them that isn't your phone and maybe some lip balm.

Agatha has that all covered.

She always does.

And so now, you nod your head in a semi-sorry silent apology towards the barista as you turn your back on them and make your way over to your table. Agatha's eyes are still on you, following you, soaking you all in in the pretty little outfit she picked out for you that morning to wear. You look young but not to the point of undesirability. Young and fresh and naive; someone Agatha can boss around and feel as if she has the upper hand.

Let Mommy take care of it, Baby.

Agatha smirks at you now as she takes off her sunglasses and hangs them onto her shirt. She gives you an amused lopsided grin and knows exactly why you've come right back to her empty handed.

"Umm...I need to pay for our order, so..."

You hear Agatha blow out air through her nose as she lifts her head and smiles tight lipped. She's waiting for you to say the magic words; the one she's conditioned you to say to her whenever you're asking, begging for something from her.

It warms your insides and makes you feel flushed all over.

"Please...Mommy...can I have your credit card to pay?"

She pokes the inside of her mouth with her tongue before she licks her lips and reaches for her purse. Taking it into her lap, she takes her time knowing that you and the barista won't rush her. Not with all the money she throws around here on the daily. She takes out her designer wallet and pulls out one of her various credit cards before handing it over to you.

"Here you go, Baby..."

The plastic feels like it's worth something when you get it between your fingers, holding it tight. You give her a smile as you turn away from her and head back to the counter. Agatha's eyes never leave your body; following every move you make.

All you need to do is make one single tap and your order is paid for. Your face flushes at the thought; how easy all of that was and what lengths you had to go to get there. Sure, you could order whatever you liked and wait as patiently as you could, find a nice seat and you'd still have to ask Agatha to pay for it all with her money.

One. Single. Tap.

You take your order and meet Agatha back at your table; putting down your drinks and food before you hand back her credit card which she tucks back into her wallet, the wallet slipping back into her purse.

"Thank you, Mommy..."

She nods her head at you as she moves her purse away to give the both of you more room. Agatha grabs her coffee cup and leans back into her seat, cool and collected and oozing dominance.

You stare at her in awe and desire; lust filling up every tiny crevice of your body as your hand shakes as you pick up your own coffee cup. She watches you so intently you wonder if she can see right through you, inside of you. You wonder sometimes, if Agatha can read all your dirty little thoughts.

God, you think as you take a sip of your drink, you hope so.

Agatha watches you intently as she slowly sips her coffee; relishing in the expensive brew. She can afford to sit here and take her time with you; study you in all the ways that some people would deem inappropriate in public. She makes it a point to undress you with her eyes; smiling into her drink before she pulls it away from her lips.

"Thank you for the coffee, my Sweet Girl...you always do such a good job remembering my order for me...for Mommy..."

She watches in pleasure as you almost choke on your drink; pulling it away from your mouth and setting it down onto the table. Her eyes catch yours as you look up at her and bite your lip in response. Agatha grins with her teeth as she points her chin up slightly. Her gaze drifts down from your eyes to the low-cut hem of your shirt.

She's eating you alive with only her eyes and her pretty words.

"You're welcome..."

Your voice is a whisper as you slowly lean your upper body forwards towards the table. Your fingers grip the edge of it so you can push forwards a little more; giving Agatha a better view. You hear her suck in her breath and clear her throat, try to gain composure as if she's suddenly just remembering you're both in public and her eye-fucking your chest isn't something readily accepted on doing.

"You're welcome...who?"

Your gaze flutters up to her eyes before it quickly goes back down to burn holes into the lid of your coffee cup. You trace the outline of your tinted lip balm over the plastic.

"You're welcome, Mommy."

"Now, that's a Good Girl."

You pointedly sit up straighter; try to appear more elegant. More poised. More desirable. More ripe for her taking. You reach for your coffee once more but Agatha is quicker with her reflexes. Agatha's hand falls over yours and gives you a reassuring squeeze before you lock eyes and her hand pulls away.

She takes your cup and you watch her with eager, hungry eyes. She brings it up to her own lips and takes a sip and you envision her mouth pressing over your lip balm stains as if she's really pressing her mouth to yours in public.

Your brain drifts away for a second and wonders if she can taste you while she tastes your coffee.

And, will you be able to taste her when she gives you back your cup?

Agatha pulls your drink away and licks her lips in a dramatic showing; the paper bottom of the cup makes a loud sound as she places it back down on the table in front of you.

"So sweet, just like you, Sweet Girl. Exactly like you."

You almost knock over your cup as you clutch it fast and quickly bring it up to your lips. You're dying to taste her; any trace of her. She had been pretty distanced this morning before your café date. Maybe she was saving you all up for later. It wouldn't have been the first time.

She keeps her gaze on you as she watches you finish your drink. Her hand dips into her purse once more and her wallet opens for a final time as she pulls out a hundred dollar bill. She places it gently on the table between the both of you and you know what she's asking you to do without words.

Agatha doesn't need to use her words with you; you've been with her for long enough to know what she expects of you.

You reach for the crisp flat bill and pick it up before turning yourself in your seat to get out of it.

You glance over your shoulder at her and feel the tight pang between your legs at the way she's watching you. It's almost like you're some sort of prize she likes to dangle in front of others; showing you off to make them feel a twinge of jealousy. You wonder if the barista feels that way about the two of you as you hand them over the bill and tell them it's a tip.

You watch their hand shake as they take your money...no, Agatha's money, from your hand. You've lost count of how many times their hand has shaken as they take the tip from you. You can't even remember now how many times Agatha has taken you here to indulge in this little ritual she's set up for you both.

A taste of artificial sweetness for a price before she takes you back to her home and indulges you in something money truly cannot buy.

Agatha Harkness herself.

You're back into to lionesses den as you trail right behind her. Agatha packed up your food and hers from the café for you both to enjoy later. Now, as she leads you without a word into her bedroom, you can tell she's hungry for nothing but you and that sweetness only you can offer. Sugar dissolving her teeth in which, the sugar is you.

"Such a Good Girl for me this afternoon; you looked so perfect sitting there...showing off to Mommy what I love so much..."

She's talking to herself as you drift into her room and make yourself comfortable on her bed. You sit on the edge of it; watch and listen as she opens and closes drawers. You watch and listen to her in silence; eyes as wide as saucers as you try to soak Agatha all in for yourself.

There's something so alluring, so addicting to watch this woman who is definitely old enough to be your mother be so desirable before you. The natural signs of age cover her well. Beautiful and sharp crows feet at the corner of her eyes. That forehead wrinkle you can't help but trace with your fingers when given the chance. Faded stretchmarks on her body from simply aging and changing and a secret you know she keeps from you and everyone else.

You want to paint her like a picture in your mind and keep her there forever; a snapshot to look back upon as she starts to undress in front of you.

Agatha looks over her shoulder at you to make sure you're watching. Of course you are; your focus could be nowhere else when she's in the same room you're in. She breaks into that smile that makes her eyes squint shut and something dangerous lurks behind her eyes.

You've sensed it many times before when Agatha smiles this way; almost as if she's running through every depraved thing to do to you in a matter of seconds.

"Mommy has a new toy for you...I hope you don't mind if we change this up..."

She speaks to you even though she turns her head back forward; paying attention to what she needs to do.

You follow her legs up to the curve of her ass; the way her expensive, deep purple lingerie hugs at every curve and your fingers itch with the need to rip it off of her. The slight muscles in her back ripple as do the muscles of her biceps as she bends her upper body to lift her legs to pull up her harness.

Your blood runs cold then burning hot and you feel a sudden pooling of saliva in your mouth.

The reveal almost takes your breath away but it sure allows you to slip up as a moan escapes your lips. Agatha smiles smugly at you as she puts one hand on her hips and lets the other hand hang freely by her side before she brings it to stroke the long length of her cock between her legs.

It's bigger than any other toy she's ever used for or with you before.

"Get yourself comfortable for Mommy, Sweet Girl..."

Agatha's words drip like honey from her mouth as you do as she says.

Because you always do what she says; always what Mommy asks Baby to do.

You move off of her bed and turn yourself around. Your back is to Agatha now and you know the drill.

You know just how she likes it, likes you.

You lift your shirt up but don't take it off and do the same with your bra until your breasts are hanging and no longer restrained from your bra. You do the same with your bottoms, pulling them down until they hit your ankles and you kick them off and away from yourself. You don't touch your underwear at all. That's for Agatha to determine what she wants to do with them today. You hold your breath and count to three in your mind.

"Oh...look at you...just like a little present for Mommy...such a good girl for me, always..."

She whispers under her breath as you feel her close. Her body heat is radiating and you can feel her; the ghosting of her long hair tickling your back and behind your arms. You feel the tip of her new toy pressing ever so slightly against your folds through your underwear and you wonder just how much you'll be able to take her inside of you.

The thought makes you gasp and then moan which, of course, tips Agatha off.

She grabs your left wrist with her left hand and presses herself into you; the head of her cock pressed hard against your underwear. She's not inside of you, not yet, just teasing dangerously with the promise of what's to come.

"A...Agatha, please..."

"Sorry? Who?"

You swallow hard as you lean down further and push your hips back. You're begging her with your body and the complete hand over of permission to use you how she fits. You clear your throat and turn your head to the side so she can hear you; so you're not muffled against her bed sheets.

"Mommy, please...please fuck me...with...that huge, throbbing cock...please..."

Agatha's grip around your wrist only gets tighter as you buck back and try to take her inside of you. She laughs as her free hand comes up to stroke her nails up and down your back. She watches as you shiver underneath her touch before those nails and those fingers keep moving down to follow the curve of your ass and then farther still.

She flips her palm over so those fingers can swipe at your wet slit. She becomes suddenly frustrated with the fabric that remains between your skin and hers. She pulls it down just until it stays under the curve of your ass. Agatha moans in satisfaction deep in her throat.

"Oh, Sweetheart...you have no idea what you're asking for, do you?"

You never get the chance to ponder this question fully as Agatha breaks any semblance of thought in your brain as she uses her fingers to guide her cock into you. Inch by massive inch.

Your eyes slam shut and your face presses against her bed; stars burning away behind your eyelids as you gasp for breath and feel Agatha stretching you out to an extreme you've never felt before in your life. You whine for her in a way you hope sounds pretty and of course, it works. Another inch you take of her and feel your inner muscles try to clench around her cock.

"...M...more Mommy...please...please more...I want all of you..."

You can barely take how much of her is inside of you now; not even at the point of her rutting into you yet you feel like it's all too much. You choke back a sob as she uses that wrist of yours, still in her grasp, to pull you up a little straighter as she guides herself deeper now.

"Of course, Baby girl, of course...you deserve it all, don't you? Being so good for me, to me...so good for your Mommy...you deserve all of my cock, don't you?"

Her cooing makes you feel feral underneath her and you make the split decision to push your hips back. The sudden sensation that rocks through your core and makes your clit throb is almost enough to make you cry out a sob.

It's Agatha who starts to roll her hips towards you; ever so slightly and just enough. You barely coat over her entire length; far too long for it to ever be covered. But, Agatha muses as she keeps a trained eye on watching your pussy take her in as much as you can, that's the beauty in it all.

Agatha makes you feel like you could take in every single inch of her even though you know, and she knows, it's near impossible. The sheer will, the devotion you have towards her, your Mommy, is good enough.

"Oh, god...Mommy, please...please I'm so close...I'msoclosetocoming...alloveryourcock...please..."

You can feel Agatha smiling above you and you know the words that are about to fall from her lips. They're words she's uttered before; into your ear or against your dripping pussy right before she stuck her tongue up inside of it. Words that would make you feel sick to your stomach but because it's her, because it's Agatha, because it's your Mommy...well...

"You come on Mommy's cock, Sweetheart, and Mommy'll give you..."

She pounds her hips into you, making you falter harder into her bed. You're so close you can taste it on your lips. Your eyes snap shut once again.

"...some spending money so..."

Agatha pulls back and then slams back into you; watches as you spasm around her and your legs start to wobble underneath her, against the side of her bed.

"...you can buy whatever you want and..."

You throw your head back and try to look at Agatha from over your shoulder. You stare at how her lips are turned upwards in a smile as, of course, she's enjoying every second of fucking you this way. You struggle to keep your eyes open as you feel yourself unclench and a wave of release fills you, coats her.

"...make yourself all pretty for Mommy."

Agatha watches in satisfaction as she pulls her hips back and notices the coating, semi-transparent, on her cock. Your body still shakes; going through the motions of your orgasm as it rolls through your body. You want to give her more, so much more but your body has cut you off. Too much stimulation in such a quick time.

Agatha doesn't pull out of you, rarely if ever after your orgasm she does. She loves being inside of you, reminding you of who you really belong to. You muffle a moan but fail; wanting her to hear just how good she's made you feel.

You want your Mommy to know because, you know, that it pleases her just as much as it pleases you.

Always a good girl for Agatha. Always a sweet thing for Mommy.

#Marvel #Agatha All Along #Agatha Harkness #Agatha Harkness x Reader #Agatha Harkness x reader #Agatha x Reader #Agatha x reader #x reader #Writing #Writing prompts #Writing commissions #THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO DO AND WRITE AND BRAINSTORM #I HOPE THIS HITS EVERYTHING YOU'VE WANTED AND MORE #Thank you for letting me write this prompt because WOW YEAH #YEAH YEAH YEAH #Sugar Mommy!Agatha Harkness #Sugar Mommy!Agatha #Sugar baby!Reader

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ellierium · 2 days ago

Text

the fox burrows.

YOU NEVER STOOD A CHANCE. no marks, no truth, no sun. you weren't hers, and she'd never be yours.

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

tags: nsfw mdni. angst, hurt no comfort, smut, strap on sex. implied infidelity. inspired by fleabag.

w/c: 1.6k

a/n: some of y'all wouldn't know angst if it slapped u in ur face! so enjoy this! ⸺ℰ

It’s pathetic.

The way you say it, the way you look at Ellie– it was all so pathetic, so pointless. You open your big mouth, with your too-big heart, your bloody teeth, and your sharp tongue. And yet the words that come out are tender– soft like Ellie’s hair, warm like the blood under your skin.

“I love you.”

Ellie smiles– sad, understanding, patient. Whether or not she reciprocated it was out of the question because Ellie is with someone and it’s not you. It takes everything in you to not tell Ellie to shut up, to just let the words live in the space between them. It takes everything in you to not beg Ellie to let you have this one thing– for once just let you have something, even if it made your heart wilt in your chest.

Ellie is quiet for the first time in a long time.

Then, as the wind dies down, and the stars shine bright, she speaks.

“It’ll pass.”

It’s the biggest lie you’ve ever heard. It makes you laugh– wet, on the verge of a sob, but not quite there. You don't say anything– not when Ellie grabs your hand or kisses your knuckles. Not when she stares and stares and stares. Not even when Ellie moves to get up.

“If I had told you sooner–” You dare to ask, “Would it have mattered?”

Ellie pretends to think, but you both know the answer.

Ellie was dead set on getting back together with Dina– ever since she showed back up to Jackson, ever since Abby and that kid had shown her that she could have her own happy ending, that some things were worth trying for more than once.

You never even had a chance.

—

You are, for all intents and purposes of the word, hopeless.

Probably not a hopeless romantic, just hopeless as a human being. Sometimes, you think that you were never supposed to get a happy ending. That the closest you (or any version of yourself for that matter) would’ve gotten to a happy ending is getting bitten in an alleyway– leaving behind nothing and no one.

You were never sure why. You weren't even sure if you wanted to know.

Ellie was always really pushy during sex– she liked to move you until she had you exactly where she wanted you. You never had an issue with it, actually liked it when Ellie told you what to do or where to be. All you had to do was listen and–

“Be good, baby.”

Sometimes Ellie would ask you if something was okay– if she could do this or do that and you would just stare. You could never think of anything Ellie could do to you that you wouldn’t love– you could never come up with anything you didn’t like. It was sickening, how much you wanted Ellie. You never understood it– why Ellie asked for permission like you weren't splayed out in front of her, thighs spread, cunt dripping between each other.

She’d ask until you gave her a verbal answer, and when you did, Ellie would smile big, warm, and sweet.

“Fuck–” You hissed, Ellie’s strap pumping in and out of you over and over again, making you dizzy. Your nails always threatened to scar her when Ellie was this rough, but you knew better. You knew–

“No marks,” Ellie breathed, pushing her face into your neck, “Fuck, baby–”

It’s difficult not to scratch– difficult not to bite. You had to keep your hands on the mattress and your fingers would twist the sheets because you can’t mark Ellie, can never mark Ellie– no marks, no marks, no biting–

Never any fucking marks.

“Fuck,” Ellie moaned again, her lips against your ear, “So fucking good.”

Ellie always liked to pound into you– never did it slow, at least, not for long. She never really took her time, but neither did you, so you guessed it was a mutual thing. It was always easy to cum with Ellie– she knew what she was doing. She learned quickly exactly what you wanted– needed– and she memorized exactly what to do to make you cum quick.

You were never sure if it was because Ellie cared or if she was just being efficient.

“Ellie,” you whimpered, “Please, just–”

And it just burned you– because you knew that Ellie knew what you wanted. And she made you beg for it anyway.

—

You did a lot of stupid things– like putting plastic tupperware in the oven, leaving your laundry out right before it starts to pour, forgetting to correctly saddle your horse. You could go on.

So, it’s not all that surprising when you did another stupid thing.

You weren't entirely sure what had come over you. You wanted to blame something else– someone else, some outside source that made you read too much into the things Ellie did for you.

Doing stupid things was your best skill– second to your bad luck.

Ellie had checked up on you– again. She liked to do that. She brought you snacks and water and sometimes she’d bring bread if she’d managed to snag extra, but that time she had just brought herself. She’d been tired and unkept, hair in a lazy bun and sweats sporting grass stains, but you thought she looked perfect.

So, when Ellie got close enough, when she’d looked you in the eye for a little too long, you looked at her lips. A momentary lapse. Ellie hadn’t moved away, but you should have given her the benefit of the doubt– she probably didn’t notice that you had even looked. Even so, you were too in love to give her the benefit of the doubt– too hopeful when you should have been hopeless.

You kissed her. It was soft, barely there, and it had made your lips tingle. Ellie didn’t move, so you didn’t either, but then it sucker-punched you that she was probably just your friend.

When you shifted back, Ellie followed you and pressed your lips together, harder than before.

You thought you had maybe overdosed on those pills Tommy had given you– that maybe you were hallucinating or you were in a concerningly realistic dream. It’s when Ellie cupped your check that you realized you weren’t dreaming, so you moved your hand to the back of her neck and pulled her closer. The force of your kisses turned bruising the more time went by, the more Ellie pulled you closer, like she wanted to sit on your lap, which is a little laughable, but you liked it.

You were pleasantly surprised when she shifted on your lap, knees spread, your thigh directly meeting the warmth between her own thighs.

She sighed against your mouth, grinding down against you, your own cunt beginning to drool in your panties.

Ellie was gasping against your lips, your hands gripping her waist with a kind of strength only you could have at this moment with her so close– something akin to a dragon hoarding a pearl, and you hold her between your hands, teeth ready to bare.

It made you dizzy, made you needy, made you run your fingers through Ellie’s hair and pull.

You were pressing kisses to her neck when Ellie rasped out, “No marks.”

You didn’t think anything of it.

You should’ve.

—

You met Ellie immediately after being thrown into Jackson with no family.

You were told that these people– this community– is your new family. That they would take up the space of your parents, your siblings, your friends. You can’t really remember the last time you’d seen them, let alone talked to them. You were out of your depth, and Ellie saw right through you.

It’s easy to find her after meeting her at what you could only describe as orientation. You were told to be up by 8 in the goddamn morning to learn the law of the land– how Jackson worked, how you could help out. Ellie knew where to run off to and she’d hinted at it when you’d rolled your eyes at Maria saying, “We’re a tight knit community who spends lots of time together.” – needless to say you weren’t interested.

You tried your best to be nonchalant when you showed up. Ellie had her back to you as she scribbled in her notebook– marking the pages with words you couldn’t make out and drawings that looked nicer than you cared to admit.

“Welcome,” Ellie drawled, gesturing vaguely next to her, “I figured you’d stop by.”

You stepped forward till you were by her side, and only then did Ellie look up. You watched the way her hair caught the moonlight, and grew embarrassed when too much time passed. You cleared your throat and looked away.

“Loosen up,” she laughed quietly, and your stomach flipped. You did your best, but you weren’t sure it was working. Ellie was already sitting, so you figured you’d join her. You sat criss-cross, fingers pulling at weeds absentmindedly.

“Not from around here, are ya?” Ellie asked, glancing over.

You shook your head with a low chuckle.

“Wow, what would Jackson do without its private-eye?" you mocked, “Not like I’m new here or anything.”

“Nice to meet you, newbie,” Ellie grinned, holding her hand out for a shake, “I’m Ellie.”

“Ditto,” you replied, grasping Ellie’s hand, “Nice tattoo.”

It’s when Ellie looks at you with that stupid smile on her face, lips parting to say her thanks, her fingers at your pulse. It’s then that something embeds itself into your chest cavity, a carving along your ribs one through seven. Eight, nine, and ten feel the vibrations. Eleven and twelve long for the same sentiment.

You never stood a chance.

#took a break cause sometimes the people here piss me off #but its fine #ೃ⁀➷; ellierium writes #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie smut #ellie williams angst

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threegoldfish · 2 days ago

Text

They look at each other, Marc and Harrow, as words are spoken which sink deeply into a wounded heart, have Marc swallow and blink, brows furrowing further, corners of his mouth curled downwards with the emotions he feels - so, so many of them that it hurts, but in a way that makes him yearn for something primal at the very same time.

Steven might be seeking for someone he can trust - someone who will give him answers to all the questions he has, who takes that weight from his shoulders that he carries because of it all; Waking up at strange places does have an effect on him, and Marc knows that everything got even worse now, with Steven having awoken inside a psych ward... just to then wake up a few days later, again, with his face hurting and a nurse handling him like he's some kind of criminal.

He's scared, he needs someone to guide him. Marc could be that someone - should be, perhaps...

And doctor Harrow, his speech sounding so human and very much not clinical at all, calls it love - the fact that Marc did all of this for him, kept him safe from the pain to make him live a happy, mundane life. One that's boring in nature, almost, but filled with all the good things while the bad remained behind, caught by a pair of hands that already bled from everything they have taken ever since that very moment Randall had died.

... Perhaps it is love, in a way, yeah. That.. feels right to him, to call it such; Even though the word is a very powerful one to use, he agrees with the doctor - and Marc swallows again, exhales a long, slow breath.

I think, once he gets to know you, he’ll realize that he’s very lucky to have you around. There’s not a lot of people who would care for someone, like you do. He’ll know that.

A blink, another tear that dares to break free, and Marc wipes it with his fingers - as he's done for a while now - then sniffles, his gaze briefly flicking to the side before resting on the other again. He feels... strangely accepted despite that earier hiccup that had happened there; Harrow certainly has a way of speaking, and it feels encouraging, even, to listen to him explain - mention that he's believing in Steven being able to come to terms with it all. That he won't hate Marc, won't resent him - will understand, at some point, that all Marc ever did was to try and protect him.

"...I took so much from him, though." A soft statement, a nod, dark eyes focusing on the succulent. "He believes this body is his alone to own, believes that he's... he's the one who's been born into it. I think... he'll be hurt, very, once realizing that none of this is true to begin with. He's... so unique, he's so special, he's so very much Steven; I sometimes wished I could just... y'know, give him the body and let him handle it the way he wants to, let him life that wonderful life of his..."

As a matter of fact, Marc did think about it, in the past: Hand the body over, disappear for good, allow Steven to be the original one. ---He didn't do that, obviously, but still...

"I care for him because he cared for me. He... he doesn't know, not at all, but all he did for me - shit, I will never be able to repay him for any of it. He deserves so much better than... than who I am, really. ---You really think he'd---"

A pause, another swallow, and dark eyes rest on Harrow, as before - seeking answers, hopeful perhaps, yet still so sad.

"---He'd realize that I did all of it for him? That he will forgive me for... lying to him? For having him believe in things that weren't real to begin with?"

God, Marc wants it so, so badly - begs for it to be the case, wishes For Steven to accept him, to see him, to have the two of them finally communicate with one another.

Because, yeah, Marc is yearning for that - to be able to talk to Steven, to let the man know that he exists and is very real, and that he... cares, a lot. So, so much, actually.

Arthur was quiet, listening the same way he always did. There was nothing passive in it, nothing distant; he was listening fully, his heart aching softly at the thought. It presented a problem, of course it did; Marc would only be cleared to live on his own when he proved that he would be able to live without Steven. Steven would have to be integrated back into ‘Marc’, alongside the mysterious third - not only would it take time, but Marc would also likely resist it.

It was easy to think that Marc would likely be here for at least a year, if not longer. Likely longer, from how deep all of this was.

Arthur didn’t interrupt. He didn’t lean away, he didn’t make a note. He listened, nodding softly, just to show he was still listening and following along - and once he heard that question, what if he hates me, Arthur leaned forward. Not much, just enough to be a bit closer; enough to truly be with him, to reach without reaching.

“Marc, I don’t think there’s a world where Steven hates you,” he said gently. His real voice, not the usual therapeutic whisper. “I’ve spoken to him. You’ve seen him. The way he worries, the way he blames himself for things before he even knows what’s going on. He’s kind - and he’s scared. He’s looking for someone to trust - and I think it’d be good, if he found that in you.”

Arthur knew better than to think that Steven would be ‘safe’, in a place like this - there were too many people who would be happy to exploit him, both staff and patient.

“You’ve protected him for decades. You made sure he only got the good parts, the warm parts. You took pain so that he didn’t have to. Even if Steven got mad at you for lying, I think he’s smart enough to recognize that that is love.”

It didn’t worry him too much, imagining Steven coming to accept Marc; if anything, it felt more like Steven would struggle with the idea of sharing a body with anyone at all. The acceptance of such a severe illness was a difficult thing - especially for someone who seemed to get anxious or upset over smaller, more manageable things.

“If he’s ever confused or upset, then I’ll be right here to help you both through it,” Arthur informed, gently. “But I think that Steven will be happy to know that he’s sharing a body with you, in the end. I think, once he gets to know you, he’ll realize that he’s very lucky to have you around. There’s not a lot of people who would care for someone, like you do. He’ll know that.”

It was bad, that Marc wanted Steven around - it meant slower healing, more work that would need to be done. But it was good for Steven - he was sharing a body with a man that cared deeply about him. It was far better, for Steven, than being with someone who wanted him gone.

#preemptivejustice #threads & interactions; marc spector #(one of marcs biggest wishes is to be able to talk to steven ;; sighs)#(also harrow is so nice again uwu)

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catlantern · 2 days ago

Text

Kissing Santa Claus

JASON TODD/FEM!READER

SUMMARY: The Santa Claus in question was handsome as ever; he had foregone the fake belly but kept the beard. Why did you suddenly have the urge to cut in line and sit on his lap?

'Tis the season.

If you hear this phrase one more time, you might just blow your stack. Being surrounded by kids at the moment, you kept your cool. The last thing you needed was to be bombarded by disappointed nuns on Christmas Day.

Of course, you wouldn't be nearing the end of your patience if Santa Claus had just shown up at the event.

The Christmas party organized by the Wayne Foundation for the orphaned children of Gotham was supposed to be your present for the city you grew up in. Since you were tasked by Bruce to oversee the event, you had hoped everything would go smoothly, seeing as, in true Bat-vigilante fashion, you prepared contingencies (and contingencies for those contingencies) in case anything went south.

What you didn't account for (really, it should have been the first thing you made a contingency plan for) was the man you hired to dress up as jolly old Saint Nick not showing up. Now, for the past hour and a half, you've been stuck to your phone trying to find someone willing to put on the snow-white beard and red suit. If you still can't find someone in the next five minutes, you'll don the Santa suit yourself, you resolved. You just hope the kids won't be disappointed. The last thing you want is to ruin a lot of children's Christmases by being a subpar Santa.

After getting off the phone with Roy Harper (yes, you were desperate enough to call even your vigilante colleague), you sighed in defeat. With all the actual Santas already booked, there was no one left in the city you could hire. You were debating whether it was worth it to break Waylon Jones out of Arkham Asylum, knowing that the man has always had a soft spot for you and would do anything you ask, when Roy called again.

"Tell me something good, Harper," was your way of greeting. "I'm begging you."

"You do know that sounded like an innuendo, right?" He answered after clearing his throat.

"Yeah, well," you look around to make sure there aren't any nuns nearby. "I'll probably need a way to let out my frustration if I don't find a Santa Claus soon."

"Right."

"Anyway, at this rate, I might as well use the suit myself and hope for the best."

"While I'm sure you'd rock in a Santa suit, don't do that yet," you've never heard Roy sound so excited. "I found someone willing to help you."

Please, not him, you thought.

"I would do it myself if I weren't in another city right now," Roy continued, unaware of your growing despair. "And well, Jaybird is in Gotham."

"No."

Have you been a naughty kid this year? Is that why you're being punished? Or is it simply the universe messing with you by using your ex, Jason Todd, in your time of need?

"No," you repeated. "Anyone but him, Roy."

"Come on, it's been a year since..."

"I said no."

"He's willing."

"Harper."

"And you're out of options."

You choked on this. Of course, it was so in line with Roy's personality to use this opportunity to make you and Jason talk again. With you desperate and Jason being a softie for children in need, you almost believed Roy had done something to the man you originally hired. Wait a damn minute…

He didn't.

"ROY HARPER!"

"Okay, gotta go," Roy says hurriedly. "Jaybird will be there in ten."

Before you could berate the red-haired man any further, the line went dead. If you hadn't been surrounded by nuns and children, you would've been cursing to the high heavens right about now. Leave it to Roy Harper to pull a stunt like this.

The next ten minutes were probably the most anxiety-ridden minutes of your life, and that was saying something. You've faced off against the likes of Scarecrow and Poison Ivy, yet the knowledge that you're about to see your ex-boyfriend again after a year of not seeing or talking with him was more terrifying than fighting the Gotham rogues. Then again, you wouldn't be so worried if the break-up had been amicable.

It wasn't.

You both have said things you can't take back. You've burned that bridge to ashes and built walls around yourselves, allowing the chasm between you to grow ever larger. Regret has since been a permanent fixture whenever you think about Jason Peter Todd.

So, it was really no surprise when, upon seeing Jason at the entrance of the community centre where the event is being held, you couldn't help but blame yourself for losing the most beautiful connection you've ever had.

The first time Jason met you, you were twelve and thirteen respectively. He had just been picked up by Batman after getting caught stealing the tires of the Batmobile, while you were already training to be the next Batgirl. Your family back then were neighbors with the Gordons, and, as though it was fate, you happened to be the biggest Batgirl fan on the planet.

Jason thought you were annoying at first, a know-it-all whose favorite pastime was to criticize his every move. It didn't help that he found your sharp mind intimidating and that he had noticed how extraordinarily pretty you are, even when your face was obscured by a cowl. Okay, maybe he was in denial about his feelings for you (a massive crush at the time), but not anymore.

So, imagine the utter betrayal he felt when you accused him of cheating on you.

It happened a year ago, and Jason, who hadn't seen you in months after traveling in space with the Outlaws, was looking forward to spending time with you again. Only, when he got home, all your things had been cleared out. When he finally tracked you down, you had been staying with Barbara, you turned him away, accused him of being a cheater, and, well, he lost his temper and yelled at you.

Barbara kicked him out after he had reduced you to tears.

You haven't seen each other since.

He knew you had been avoiding him since your break-up and, like the fool he was, allowed you to widen that distance.

He managed to convince himself that it was for the best, that he would have just dragged you down to the farthest depths of hell if he had stayed with you. It took his best friend and youngest brother literally knocking some sense into Jason for him to realize that you were the best thing to ever happen in his life and he was an imbecile for letting you leave. He thought about Damian and how he owed the teenage boy so much for watching your back while on patrol, not that you needed protecting.

So, after much convincing from Roy and Damian (Jason shuddered at the thought of them teaming up) that he wasn't anything like Willis Todd, he allowed himself to be persuaded into helping you out. He suspected the two had done something to the man you originally hired to dress up as Santa Claus, but didn't care enough to check that they hadn't roughed him up. How can he care about anything else when you're now standing a mere few feet away from him.

"Come on," you muttered to him, foregoing any greeting and shattering the nice reunion he thought you two would share. "You have five minutes to change, then it's show time."

"Show time?"

You frowned up at him, mentally cursing his height. "Do you know what kids want from Santa, Jason?"

He noticed there was a certain edge to your tone, as though you'd rather be doing anything else than talking to him. "Uh, presents?"

"Yes, presents," you hissed, crossing your arms over your chest. "And what else do they want?"

"Uh…"

You were scowling now. "They want to sit on Santa's lap and lie through their teeth about how they've been such wonderful kids this year and therefore deserve presents!"

You gestured over to the raised platform in the middle of the room, where a cushioned throne-like chair stood, your eye twitching in anger. "So, if you're not over there in five minutes, I'll have to tell a hundred children that they're not getting gifts this year because Red Hood and friends kidnapped Santa Claus!"

He watched you storm off, an invisible force clenching his heart painfully. You've always had a short temper, he knew that, but not once had you directed your anger like that at him. He was now excruciatingly aware of how much he had messed up with you and wished he had just explained himself properly before, instead of blowing up at you.

As he changed into the Santa suit that a nun had kindly handed to him, he realized then that he had never even told you the truth.

He is an imbecile, indeed.

You stood off to the side, trying your best to keep the scowl off your face as children lined up to tell their wishes to Santa Claus. The Santa Claus in question was handsome as ever; he had foregone the fake belly but kept the beard. Why did you suddenly have the urge to cut in line and sit on his lap?

You cursed yourself for thinking that way about your ex, who looked quite attractive in that Santa suit (red really is his color). The only thing holding you back from acting on your thoughts was the presence of the nuns and children surrounding you and the humiliation you felt for snapping at Jason. Months of pent-up anger and hurt finally caught up to you when you saw Jason; your only wish was that you had handled it better.

Regardless of where you stood with Jason, you were glad he was putting smiles on children's faces. You had never seen him look so proud and satisfied when a child left with the biggest smile on their face. He really looked like he was enjoying himself, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had perhaps already found someone new.

The mere thought of Jason moving on broke your heart. You found yourself slinking away to hide out in the makeshift kitchen, unable to bear looking at the love of your life anymore. Thankfully, none of the staff who assisted you in organizing the event was present, no doubt on their break after feeding all the children.

You didn't know how long you sat there, on the dirty kitchen floor. It could have been hours or mere minutes. The next time you looked up from your feet to check the time on the wall clock, your line of sight was obstructed by Santa Claus.

You sighed in defeat at the sight of Jason Todd, still in his Santa suit but without the white beard. The urge to run away and avoid the conversation you're about to have was strong, but you stayed. Your love for him was even stronger.

"Hey," he spoke first, having always been braver than you. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"It's comfortable," you shrugged. "You should join me."

Despite the skeptical look he sent you, he sat on the floor next to you.

It was quiet for a minute, then the muffled sound of children's laughter filled the air.

"You know I'd never cheat on you, right?" he asked.

"I know," you said solemnly. "I should have trusted you. I just..."

You sigh. "I never told you this, but looking back, I should have. I have always felt inadequate next to you."

It was the truth. Ever since you were both kids, you have always struggled to keep up with Jason. Just like his brother and predecessor, Jason had an innate talent for crime-fighting, while you and Babs had to work harder just to be acknowledged by Batman.

You always were jealous of him. When he died and came back, and you got into a relationship, you thought that it would be the end of your insecurities. But they didn't. Being with Jason only showed you how he could have someone better, and soon, you began to think he must have felt the same, when it was the opposite.

Jason scoffed, surprising you with his next words. "What? You don't think I've never thought the same? Never felt useless when Bruce paired us up when we were kids? Or that you could have found someone better than my pathetic self?"

"You're not pathetic, Jason."

"Then you're not inadequate either."

"Jason…"

"I still love you, alright?" He stopped you before you could say anything else. "And it's okay if you've moved on, I just wanted to let you know–"

You finally gave in to your urge to kiss the man you have fallen in love with, proving yourself to be only human. Your lips against his, you savoured the connection and hoped with all your heart it was not too late to salvage what you had with Jason. If it was, then you wished that the universe would at least give you the chance to start anew, for there was no one else in the world you would ever be with but Jason.

Faintly, you heard a gasp followed by a youthful voice. "Sister, I found Santa! He's kissing the kind lady!"

At that moment, you no longer cared about being caught kissing Santa Claus because nothing else seemed to matter; you had finally found a reason to celebrate the Christmas holidays again.

BONUS:

"Well, looks like Santa was naughty last night," an infuriating voice cackled the morning after your reconciliation with Jason. "And you must have been really extra good this year."

"Get out, Harper," you growled, not bothering to lift your head off your pillow which happened to Jason's naked chest. "Before I decide to deck your balls."

"You better listen to my girlfriend, Roy. Lian will never have a sibling again," chuckled Jason. "Not on her father's side, at least."

The red-haired archer grumbled, not doubting that you would follow through with your threat if he didn't leave in the next ten seconds. "I deserve a thank you, at least."

When he was met with silence, he sighed. "Fine, I'm leaving. By the way, the guy you hired is fine. Damian just paid him money not to show up at the Christmas party. He's in the Bahamas with his girlfriend now, I think."

"OUT, HARPER!"

"Alright, jeez! Merry Christmas, losers!"

#jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #featuring roy harper #roy harper #suggestive #at the end #fluff and angst #kissing Santa Claus #dc fanfic #dc fanon #batgirl!reader #crossposted from ao3 #ao3 crosspost #posting christmas fluff in June is apparently just my thing 😆#red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood #jason todd

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ierofrnkk · 19 hours ago

Text

Touch Me Like Nobody Else Does

Rhett Abbott x f!reader

summary: after sex, Rhett needs a little bit more care than usual (~1.7k)

content: 18+, descriptions of sex in the past tense, afab reader (Rhett says “yes ma’am once”), Rhett is experiencing subspace for the first time, AFTERCARE IS SO IMPORTANT, mild restraints (Rhett has his wrists tied briefly)

a/n: this man has consumed me, so I put him in a situation. thank you to @winniethewife for proof reading and teaching me more about subspace!!

—

It had been an unplanned thing.

You’d been fooling around with Rhett, and before you knew it, his wrists had been tied carefully in front of him with a spare length of rope.

He’d wanted you to—begged. Said he needed it.

You didn’t question it, simply took his hands carefully in your own, and secured his wrists together. If he needs you to take control, clearly there’s a reason for it.

Rhett’s never wanted anything like this before, to be tied up like cattle, but something in him craves it so desperately.

You’re careful with tying the rope around, remaining forever mindful of his sore wrist—always a little worse for wear from the countless bull-riding events he’s participated in.

He was all kinds of sweet when you touched him, blue eyes dark in the low light. His hands had flexed, but never strained against the restraints.

It’d been a rough night—more conflict with his family, and the next rodeo event had been pushed back another week.

Rhett needed someone else to think for him, just for an evening, and that’s exactly what you did for him.

You checked in with him when his eyes had gone glassy, showing a vacancy where there usually was so much.

“You okay?” You’d asked him, stopping what you were doing to check in.

He’d simply nodded, blinked a few times.

“Yes, ma’am,” was his response. Soft and sweet.

For the rest of the time, you’d followed the same pattern, keeping tabs on him as often as you felt was necessary.

He was much softer than usual, more vocal but in a different way.

He whined when he felt your cunt around him, fingers flexing once more as he ached to touch you, to put his hands all over you as you rode him.

You’d even offered to untie him, to grant him that access, but he shook his head fervently when you tried. Decision made.

Okay, this definitely warranted a conversation when all was said and done.

Things didn’t last very long, not with how worked up the two of you were. Not with how needy Rhett had become.

The moment you’d finished, finding satisfaction in each other, you moved to untie him; this time, he didn’t protest. He let you loosen the carefully tied knots, sitting patiently as you did so.

When the rope was untied and discarded off of the side of the bed, you moved to rub his wrists gently, soothing the slightly-irritated skin from the rough material.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, just enough to get his attention as your fingers drag across his wrists.

Rhett glances up at you, eyes still just as soft as they were before. They looked wet, like he’s just on the verge of tears, but he doesn’t look that upset.

“You feelin’ okay?”

He doesn’t really give you an answer, not one that you’d expected, at least.

He nods, the action soft and slow, and a few wires finally connect in your brain.

Oh. Oh.

It was more than obvious, but you’d been so preoccupied with getting in his pants that you hadn’t thought much about the headspace it’d put him in.

Rhett, very clearly, was in subspace, his brain taking a backseat for the time being as he handed the reins over to you.

His lower lip was tucked in his teeth, jaw working as he bit mindlessly at the skin.

Your hand finds a resting place on the side of his neck, thumb brushing his jaw affectionately as he leans minutely into the touch.

“‘M gonna get you cleaned up, that okay?” You ask him, tone nothing but affectionate.

Rhett nods again, giving a soft little hum in the back of his throat to acknowledge the question.

You take a second to get up out of his lap, an action that draws a whine from his throat, but you give him a quick squeeze of the hand to affirm that you’ll be right back.

You move with purpose, grabbing your clothes off of his bedroom floor and padding off to the bathroom. You take a few moments to get yourself cleaned up and to get some kind of clothes on, before you return to Rhett, a warm, damp washcloth in hand.

It doesn’t take you long to get settled beside him in bed, and he’s cleaned up before you know it. The rag is warm against his skin, and you take extra care to be mindful of the bruises on his ribs that have begun to yellow as they’ve healed.

Rhett gets his boxers pulled back on, and you’ve found yourself sitting on your heels in bed next to him, in total caretaker mode.

He’s never been in this headspace before, at least not to your knowledge.

Usually, Rhett’s got a mouth on him, some kind of comment to make, but not now. He’s quiet, chewing on his lower lip as he settles back against the pillows.

You turn slightly in your current position, reaching back to grab your water bottle from the bedside table, opening it up and handing it to him.

“Drink some water, okay?”

He nods, bringing the bottle to his mouth and taking a few sips. When he’s finished, he hands the bottle back to you. He’s still quiet, hands coming to rest in his lap.

It’s definitely a new experience for him—you’re a little more aware of what to do when your partner’s in subspace, though it’s clear that he’s riding this out for the first time.

But he’s not alone. He’s got you right there to support him.

You reach over, taking one of his hands in your own, and he immediately clings to it, fingers brushing across the back of your hand and trailing to your palm.

“What’s on your mind, hm?”

Rhett shifts beside you, blinking a few times as he lets your question settle into his brain.

“Mm, not much,” he murmurs, glancing over at you briefly before his gaze returns to the hands in his lap.

“Feelin’ like I’m asleep, sittin’ here talking to you right now.”

That confirms it. Obviously, you were able to clock right away that he was in that floaty headspace, but it’s good to hear right from the horse’s mouth.

“That’s okay,” you affirm, affection thick in your tone as your thumb strokes the back of his hand, and he seems to visibly settle at the words.

“‘M sorry I’m not takin’ care of you,” he mutters, and the guilt in his voice breaks your heart a little.

“I know I usually do.”

You shake your head right away, bringing your free hand up to cradle his jaw, carefully turning him to face you.

His eyes are soft, taking in your features, your expression. He’s searching for any shred of doubt, any sign that he’s doing something wrong by ending up in such a headspace.

“I don’t want you worrying about this, Rhett. Let me take care of you for once.”

The words seem to finally get through to him, and he softens further under your touch.

“Alright.”

Despite it all, a part of you feels so grateful that he trusts you enough to sink into that soft place, even if he wasn’t fully aware that he’d done it.

You hand him the water bottle once again, and he takes it from you, drinking a bit more before he lets you take the bottle back from him.

It’s clear that he’s sunk deep into that frame of mind, and you can see that he’s struggling with relinquishing control to such a degree.

You shift on the mattress beside him, sitting up with your back to the headboard, and Rhett watches your every move.

“C’mon,” you urge softly, and Rhett seems to understand exactly what you’re asking him to do.

He adjusts a little beside you, lowering himself so that he’s curled up by your side, a strong arm around your waist and his head on your chest.

You can feel the way he melts into you, and he sinks even further when your hand moves into his hair, fingers brushing through in a soft, gentle motion.

You’d never thought that he would need this level of care, but in hindsight, it makes sense. He’s got so much on his plate, between his father and his brother and all the hassle with the rodeo, you can understand why he wouldn’t want to think for a while.

He nuzzles into your side, pressing his ear to your chest to focus on the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

It’s something you’re going to have to keep in mind going forward, being more mindful of his headspace if things get intense, or even if he just needs something a bit more focused.

“You’re too good t’ me,” he murmurs after a few minutes, the sound half muffled by the way his face is buried into your chest.

You watch him as he nuzzles against you, seeing the way his blue eyes shine with tears before he shuts them again, hiding away in your chest.

“Hey, hey,” you murmur softly, putting a gentle hand on the side of his face to get his attention.

Rhett turns to look up at you, sniffling a few times—he’s clearly just feeling a lot of things right now, so you’re not excessively concerned about the fact that he’s crying.

Still, you check in.

“You doin’ okay?”

He nods, sniffling again. His eyes shining, wet with tears when he looks up at you.

“Mhm, ‘m alright,” is the response he gives, his voice a little softer now.

“Just feelin’ a lot.”

You mirror his nod, brushing a hand through his hair once more.

He clings to you a little tighter, hiding away in your chest, and for once, he feels okay with everything.

It feels good to just let go, to turn his brain off for a while and to let you take over.

You keep up the simple action of running your fingers through his hair, and you feel him relax further against you.

It’s not long before his breathing evens out, and he sinks into you, falling asleep curled up against your chest, more comfortable than any bed he’s ever slept on.

You’d never thought that a man like Rhett Abbott would need to be taken care of like this, but it all just makes sense, and you’ve got zero complaints about stepping in to care for him.

At least he’s getting some decent sleep.

—

thank you for reading! as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

tags: @winniethewife @midgardian-witch @faretheeoscar @ingoldthewizard @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @reallyrallyauthor @silvernight-m

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott smut #outer range #lewis pullman #lewis pullman fanfic

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xxmcr05xx · 3 days ago

Text

Mina | Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

Summary: Arthur wants to provide a family.

Warnings/Contains: Smut, overstimulation, no spoilers!, established relationship, canon-divergence, cream pie, breeding, dacryphilia, domestic love <3, size difference, doggystyle, vaginal sex, rough sex, dirty talk, missionary position

WC: 2,041

Originally Posted: 09/07/24 on AO3!

Title Song: Mina - Verdena

18+ MDNI!!!

Divider by @deltamel

Arthur peered over to his wife, who was lovingly staring at a young family.

The man had always felt such panging guilt for never being able to start a family with his wife while they were young. Arthur felt selfish, stringing along F/N with the gang's activities, never seemingly able to stay in one spot for too long. However, a run-in with the Pinkertons and the betrayal of Micah and Dutch had led to Arthur almost dying if it wasn't for F/N saving him at the brink of death.

A year after that event has led the couple from New Austin to a state West of America. The pair had left their old life of crime to start a new life as a wedded farming couple - with quite the successful farm if you ask Arthur.

Arthur snapped back into reality as he thought about his old life and placed a hand on F/N's shoulder. "C'mon, darlin', let's go," Arthur ushered, turning the couple away from the young family as they exited a market.

The younger woman nodded softly at Arthur's movement, leaving the market alongside him.

Their walk home was quiet, Arthur had a lot on his mind still, he wanted to give a domestic family life for F/N but was unsure if it was too late. F/N noticed Arthur's strange quietness and held his arm with her spare hand/

"Hey, are you doing alright, Arthur? You've been awfully quiet this entire walk."

Arthur looked down at his wife, snapping out of his thoughts to answer her question, "Oh, y-yeah I'm okay, dear. I'll um- I'll explain to ya when we get home," he reassured with a smile. F/N squinted her eyes in suspicion, but let Arthur keep his peace as they were five minutes away from their farm.

When the pair finally arrived at their homestead, F/N dropped her bag on the table and went straight to Arthur who seemed quite worried. "Ok, tell me what's going on. You never usually seem this nervous!" F/N demanded, her voice cracking a little, stressed at Arthur's quiet state. Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his slowly greying hair, he grabbed F/N's own hands and rubbed them.

He admired the size difference between them.

"I just feel so... so guilty," Arthur bit his lip sadly, rubbing his rough thumb over F/N's soft hand, "I'm sorry I got you so involved with Dutch and the gang. I wish I wasn't so selfish 'n that I could have given you a family instead of makin' you go on the run."

Arthur paused for a moment, waiting for F/N to say something but she just let him talk, "And I just... fuck... I really just want to provide the family you need."

He waited again, begging silently in his head for F/N to respond.

F/N looked down at Arthur's hands holding hers and then back up to meet Arthur's gaze. She let out a small giggle and brought his hands towards her lips, kissing it softly. "It's okay, Arthur, y'know I'm not all too bothered about domestic life. What got you all sappy like this?" F/N asked with a small giggle.

The older man's face flushed, suddenly feeling embarrassed about his feelings. "I- I was looking at you look at that young family and I- God I sound stupid," Arthur paused before continuing, "I just thought that you might have wanted that..." Arthur's clear tone started to waver as he mumbled towards the end of his sentence.

The smaller woman giggled a little and kissed his hands again, "Oh Arthur... I already knew that being with you might have meant not being able to have children and that shit, and I'm okay with that," F/N had a little idea pop in her head, "although... it's never too late to start a family. You may be thirty-seven but I am twenty-nine, I don't think that it's too late."

F/N stood on her tippy toes to kiss Arthur's nose, "Whaddya say, wanna make me a momma?" F/N asked, her voice quietening down.

The world around Arthur seemed to have disappeared at F/N's request, he felt blood rush to both his face and his cock at her suggestion. "Oh you wouldn't mind that?" Arthur asked back, his voice softening, moving his hands down from F/N's own to her waist.

"Of course not, I mean, you'd make me a very happy gal."

That's all Arthur wanted.

Make F/N happy.

He then complied to her request, without a verbal answer, Arthur rushed his lips onto F/N's own with a desperate need. The smaller woman let out a muffled moan as Arthur grabbed F/N's ass, picking her up and taking her into their shared bedroom. Arthur kept his larger hands on F/N's ass, groping it with need while he placed her down on the bed gently.

Arthur was the first one to move away from the kiss, a string of saliva connected their mouths together. The man above felt breathless as he stared down at his gorgeous wife, face red and panting hard for air. "Fuckin' hell, F/N, you're such a doll," Arthur leaned down to kiss her again.

He moved his hands down her face to the bottom of her shirt, he tugged it softly before peeling it off her. They moved from the kiss so that Arthur could help undress F/N. Arthur could feel his cock twitch each time he heard F/N whimper.

"You really are the most beautiful thing ever," Arthur whispered, he smiled and kissed F/N's collarbone, rubbing F/N's sides slowly with his hands while he straddled her hips.

"Y'think so?" F/N asked softly, letting out small whines at each of Arthur's touches. He nodded softly, his lips moving down to F/N's collarbone, he then started to bite and suck on her more sensitive spots on her skin, which gifted Arthur with her moans.

His lips peppered soft kisses down from her collarbone to her breasts, he sucked a breath air in before moving his hands to her breasts, groped it softly before taking one nipple into his mouth. F/N moaned at the wet and warm sensation, running her hand through his hair as he continued to suck.

Arthur pulled away for a sec, letting out a small moan before starting to talk, "Fuck... can just imagine these filled with milk," Arthur panted softly, moving his hand towards the wet nipple and playing with it with his thumb and index finger. "Gonna make sure you're stuffed with cum by the end of the night, do y'mind that?"

F/N shook her head eagerly.

The bigger man let out a slight chuckle before pinching the nipple, moving his mouth over the second nipple, sucking on it for a bit. Arthur felt so overwhelmed with lust, he moved from her chest towards her mouth again, holding F/N's face with his left hand, his right one moving down towards her skirt. He seemingly ripped it off just for better access towards her wet cunt.

F/N let out another moan, she felt Arthur's rough fingers start to tease her lower entrance as her upper entrance was invaded by Arthur's thick tongue. The overstimulating feelings got to F/N, she didn't know whether to move away from his mouth or his fingers - her movement just ended up with her grinding against his fingers and his mouth.

Arthur was proud.

F/N let out a few small words that were muffled, which Arthur translated to, 'stop teasing,' so he did just that. Two of his thick fingers then entered into her cunt, the filling sensation was satisfying to F/N as she let out a moan into Arthur's mouth. Sloshing noises were head throughout the room, Arthur started to finger F/N roughly, desperately wanting her to cum so that he could easily fuck her brainlessly.

"That feel fuckin' good?" Arthur asked with a growl as he moved away from the kiss, F/N let out a whine and a nod, looking down at Arthur's thick arm move as he fingered her needily. "Gonna prep you so well, F/N. Gonna cum in you so bad..." Arthur started to huff out loud, leaning down so that he was kneeling in front of her legs.

He could feel his mouth water now, the smell and texture of her pussy overwhelming his senses so much. "Need you badly," Arthur moved his fingers out of F/N's pussy which made her cry out in unfairness, but was then met with Arthur's needy mouth.

"Oh FUCK!" F/N cursed out.

Her hands gripped Arthur's hair instantly, holding on for dear life as Arthur's tongue intruded into her cunt, lapping up her cum like a dog. His tongue plus his now fast moving thumb on F/N's clit was too much for F/N to handle, she could feel her body grind against Arthur's face, which neither were complaining about.

"Fuck.... Oh fuck fuck FUCK! Arthur it's too much," F/N whined out, she could feel tears form in her eyes, "can't deal can't do!" F/N started to slur her words when she felt like she was close to cumming. Arthur's free hand rubbed F/N's waist softly, as to signal to her that it was okay for her to cum.

Finally, the overwhelming feelings got to F/N, letting out a loud moan as she finally came.

Arthur felt alarmed for a sec, but moved his face and thumb away quickly from F/N as she finally came. "Shit, F/N... You're so fucking hot," Arthur smirked softly, rubbing her legs with his hands. "I need to cum in you so bad," Arthur mumbled, "I'm just... I'm just gonna put it in, you're okay with that, right hon?" Arthur asked while pulling out his throbbing red cock.

Brainlessly, F/N nodded slowly, not giving a care in the world what Arthur does to her, tears rolling down her cheek. Arthur wiped away the tears and whispered a thank you to her.

He grabbed his cock and rubbed the tip slowly up and down her wet slit, Arthur let out a small moan before finally burying his thick cock into her cunt right down to his base. The man let out a guttural moan at the grippy and wet sensation that was around his cock. "Shit," Arthur cursed out, "gonna cum so much in this pussy... gonna shoot my babies all in you."

Arthur leaned down and gripped the headboard with one hand, using the other to hold F/N's waist as he started to thrust in and out of F/N's cunt. The position that they were in made Arthur's cock his F/N's g-spot each time.

F/N's moans were spilling out like crazy, her tears were spilling out at an equal rate as she gripped onto the pillows tightly.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Arthur cried out, the feeling of her raw cunt was Heavenly to her, "please... oh shit... fuck I need to cum so bad- I'm gonna cum so much in your pussy."

Arthur leaned down, he moved his hands to her face and held it close to him as he sloppily made out with F/N, fucking into her so hard that he could feel her cumming around his cock.

The sensation of her tongue and spit plus her cunt gripping was the final straw for Arthur, he sped up his thrusts as he finally felt himself cum inside of her. The pair moaned out at the feeling, Arthur stopping his thrusts for a second to get down from his high.

He moved out of her cunt slowly, he looked down and felt himself turned on by the scene of his cum dripping out of cunt.

Arthur sighed and moved to lay besides F/N, who had her eyes closed and panting. "So... So good..." F/N whined out, she rolled to her side and held Arthur, who gladly reciprocated the action.

"I love you F/N," Arthur whispered, kissing her forehead before snoozing off to sleep alongside his wife.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #old men are hot #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #smut

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casscainmainly · 14 hours ago

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How much sympathy do you think Cass extends to her younger self?

INTERESTING QUESTION KOL!!! This is actually a question where canon slightly differs from my own preference, but I'll tackle canon first. In modern day, solidified by Batgirl (2024) #5, Cass feels a great deal of sympathy for her younger self:

The hugging + the line before this panel ("maybe I can save") + the "no control of her life" indicates to me that she sympathises with and pities her younger self, understanding that she was forced to kill and it wasn't really her fault. She still sees her younger self as guilty (she frames it as 'saving' her younger self, not accepting her younger self), but she does show such compassion here to young Cass. This follows on from Batgirl (2008) #6, where she lays the blame squarely on David Cain:

In both this and Batgirl #5, Cass highlights her younger self's lack of agency. I think modern Cass does truly feel sorry for her younger self, in a way she didn't before.

I think this is a sweet and natural progression of her character arc, but gosh if I don't love early Cass and the way she looked at her younger self. Because the Shiva fight solved her death wish, but I personally don't think it resolved the resentment she felt towards her younger self. I think it's very interesting that even in Batgirl #5, her younger self isn't really 'her', but someone external - someone she can 'save' like another criminal. To an extent, Cass has never been able to fully reconcile that younger self with who she is now.

In Batgirl (2000) #25, Shiva kills Cass and fulfils her death wish, so current Cass has 'atoned' (or suffered appropriately) for her murder. She realises that death isn't the solution for any murderer, including herself. But young Cass didn't go through that punishment or redemption. When Babs shows Cass her young self in the holo room, Babs says "that's you, isn't it." Cass doesn't reply until young Cass moves, and then she screams "STOP!". Obviously the 'stop' refers to young Cass killing Faizul, but in light of Babs' question, in a way Cass is begging for that young girl not to be her. She wants to stop her younger self, and she wants to stop being her younger self.

Batgirl Secret Files and Origins

I wonder if part of her also resents her younger self's happiness pre-kill. Just personally, while I like her having evolved past these early days and being able to embrace her younger self like in BG '24 #5, I really do prefer the messier feelings. In Cass' mind her younger self is associated with David Cain, with the "perfect killer", with a happiness built on lies - she definitely feels sympathetic, but that sympathy should be (in my opinion) strained by discomfort and a bit of blame.

My ideal amount of Cass sympathy for her younger self is Batgirl Secret Files and Origins. She tells a boy "you did... one bad thing. But you're... not," and when he asks whether she really believes that, she answers, "I try to." She hasn't fully forgiven her younger self, she might never fully forgive her younger self, but she's trying her best to sympathise with her anyway. It's imperfect, painful, effortful sympathy, and that's what makes it so beautiful!

#cassandra cain #ask #this is just my opinion!!! it's not really like this contradicts her modern incarnation. and i know others have other takes #i just think her forgiveness of her younger self is very tied to her feelings about david #to acknowledge her younger self's lack of agency is to name what david did as abuse #which is why more recent stuff and bg 08 has cass being more forgiving of herself. because it's david-negative times #but i miss when david and cass' relationship was trickier and when cass couldn't fully extricate herself (or him) from their shared love #so it was a lot harder to just dismiss her own agency under him #anyway kol i hope this answered your question 😭😭😭 i think about this all the time actually so ty for letting me ramble!

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 3 days ago

Text

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 13

Source for pic

Imperfect 13

Word Count: 4753

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: After Monday's terrible cliffhanger, I thought you guys might need something to cheer you up before the weekend hits. This is not it. It won't cheer you up. I'm so sorry! Also, this is mostly a chapter with Killer's POV only. Would you look at that... I'm adding some extra notes at the end because, spoilers, so make sure to read them after you've read the chapter! Thank you!

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

Killer sees it happen from afar, like the countdown to an impending explosion.

Once Kid sees you across the room, the shadows in his eyes grow. The girl who has been flirting with his friend all night hovers just beside him, smiling from time to time, but already with the look of someone who has struck out, since Kid’s barely paying her any attention.

And then his idiot friend decides to self-destruct.

When Kid wraps one hand around the girl’s waist, Killer instantly reads his intentions. The slow beeps of the countdown to impending doom resound in his head as everything around him flows in slow motion.

The horror on your face, the realisation, the denial, the begging.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

It’s then that Killer moves as fast as he can, avoiding flailing limbs and calls from familiar faces as he pushes through. He has one goal. And it’s you.

Just as Kid’s angling the girl’s face down, Killer places his calloused hand over your eyes, shielding you from what is about to happen. Even though deep down, he knows he wasn’t quick enough to stop your heart from shattering.

“You don’t gotta see this, love,” Killer whispers, his voice cracking, filled with pain and regret. He pulls you gently against his chest, cradling you in his arms as if you’re a wounded bird, carrying you outside to the yard.

He feels you break in his arms.

A small tremble, a shuddering breath, then a sob and a broken wail. When he finally removes his hand from your face, it’s already wet and glistening with tears. You look at Killer as if he holds the answers, even though you don’t voice the question.

Why?

That’s the answer your eyes seek. A question he doesn’t know how to answer. Kid pressed the self-destruct button, and you’re both casualties of it.

You shake your head, blinking away the tears and maybe trying to erase the bitter memory from your mind. Your lips part, and a strangled cry escapes before you press both hands against your mouth, stifling your pain, smothering it.

Your legs give, and you wobble, so Killer reaches out and grabs you again before your knees hit the ground, crushing you against his chest. He can feel every ounce of your agony in each of your shortened breaths. He can sense the grief in every hot tear that dampens his shirt.

You’re not just breaking apart. You’re shattering into irreparable pieces.

“He…” you manage to croak out, before a heart-ripping sob claws out of your throat.

Killer feels his own heart shatter at that sound. His throat tightens, and he finds himself trembling too, a pesky prickling behind his eyes. You look so frail and seem so lost.

“I know.” It even hurts to speak.

You cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you from scattering, broken, on the floor. Your nails dig into his shirt as you claw desperately, trying to hold on to a semblance of sanity.

Killer pulls you closer, tighter, one hand pressing against your nape, another on your upper back. His chin rests at the top of your head as you shake and tremble against him.

God, how he wants to hold you together.

That fucking idiot.

He had it all. And he fucked it up.

“Why…?” you finally ask after your trembling calms down, your voice hoarse from holding back sobs and tears.

Killer takes a beat before pulling back, cupping your cheeks so he can stare into your eyes. They seem less bright, cloaked in shadows and pain, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge how deeply that hurts.

“He’s an idiot, and he thinks it’s the only way to protect you.”

It’s the truth, but it’s the wrong words.

You break apart again, shoulders shaking, hands clasped against your mouth, chest heaving.

Killer pulls you against him once more. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he can hold you together. Maybe like this, you won’t break too much, and he can still fix it. Fix you. Fix Kid. Fix everything.

“I’ll take you home now, okay?”

“No!” you protest, falling away from him. Your eyes widen, and you shake your head again. “No, not home, please… I…” You hug yourself, nails digging into your arms, squeezing, holding, trying to keep yourself from shattering. “I can’t face Shanks right now, please!”

Killer nods. He doesn’t need to know the whole story to make a safe deduction. Shanks has warned you about Kid, and Kid just proved your old man right.

Fucking idiot!

“Mine, then. We’ll take your car, I rode with Kid, is that okay?” You nod, and Killer waits for you to start walking. You don’t. You just stand there, hollow, empty, your hands hugging your arms as if the action alone can keep you from breaking. So he gently holds your hand and leads you to the street, searching for your car without asking you where it is.

His hand engulfs yours, and he feels you tremble. You’re still sobbing softly when he opens the car door, and you sit. There’s no use making conversation as he drives you to his house; he doubts you’d even be able to retain anything he says at this moment.

Kid fucked up real good this time. And by the looks of it, Killer’s not sure how he’s going to make it right. He’s been telling him for years that he needs therapy, he needs an outlet. He needs to feel worthy and guiltless. But Kid is as stubborn as a mule and just as much of an ass.

When you showed up, Killer immediately saw how good you were to his friend. How you made him laugh and be more at ease. He thought you could help him heal. But Kid doesn’t allow himself to heal. He offers no leeway to his own redemption or recovery.

And now, you’re caught in the crossfire.

The ride to his house is made in silence, a maddening, crushing silence. You sob once in a while, silently wiping a stray tear, muscles coiled tight in an effort to hold everything together. Killer tries to offer soothing words at first, but then he notices you’re barely there. Your heart was left in Kid’s hands, and then he tore your mind apart, too. There’s just a hollow shell of the bright, energetic city girl he’s come to know.

Killer parks in one of the slots in front of his apartment. He lives on a quiet street, about five blocks away from Kid’s and the garage. He kills the engine and sighs, letting the quiet of the night settle for a moment before getting out of the car.

When he opens your door, he extends his hand, shaking you softly. “Come on, love. We’re here.” You nod mechanically and let him guide you inside. He doesn’t remark on of how stiff your movements are, or how much your legs are trembling. He just holds you by the waist and gently guides you up the steps and to the second floor.

He opens the door and ushers you in. You’re still shivering, even though the weather outside is warm and the house is at a perfect temperature. Killer frowns and, without a word, goes to his dresser and fishes out one of his favourite blue sweaters. Once he reaches you again, he notices that you’ve taken off your shoes and placed them by the door, where you’ve hung your purse, too.

“Arms up,” he gently instructs, and you obey without a fuss. Eyes glazed over, soul very far away from his home. He helps you dress as if you’re made of glass, with slow, gentle tugs and soft taps. His sweatshirt looks big on your smaller body, and the pang he feels in his heart from seeing you in his clothes is more telling than he wants to admit.

So he doesn’t.

“Want some tea?” You shake your head at his proposition. “Water?” Another shake. Killer mouths a curse and gently takes your hand, leading you down the hall. “Bed, then.”

His room is tidy, much like everything else in his house. He doesn’t like disorder, and the neatness of his apartment helps keep his anxiety at bay. His therapist suggested organizing and cleaning as a way to cope with all his wandering thoughts, back when he first came back from the army.

It stuck. And it helps ground him.

So he pulls back the covers of his neatly made-up bed and helps you inside, fluffing his pillow before you lie down. He tucks you in as if you were a child and threads his fingers through a stray strand of hair. “Sleep, love. I’ll be on the couch if you need—”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence.

You reach for him, fingers closing around his wrist, trembling and tight. “Stay… please!” Your voice comes out broken and lost, and when he makes eye contact, the brightness there is so dim and fragile, he’s scared to even breathe wrong and make it fully go away.

“I… fine. Yes, of course. I’ll stay.”

Killer takes off his boots and climbs in next to you, over the blankets and keeping as much distance from your body as he physically can. You ruin all of his proper thoughts by scooting closer and wrapping your arms around his torso, your face buried in his chest, fingers clinging to him as if he were about to disappear.

Killer’s breath hitches in his throat, his heart threatens to jump right out of his mouth. He lies still, steady as a rock - your rock.

Every tremble from your body is like a small dagger being plunged into his heart. Every near-silent sob you release is a twist of the blade. He lies there, awake, as you hold him so close that your warmth is transferred to him.

He has no idea how this happened, how he got here. How he started loving you.

Maybe it was when you laughed.

Maybe it was when you made Kid laugh.

Maybe it was always meant to happen, like a cruel twist of fate. To dangle happiness and love right in front of his nose, just to remind him that it’s not for him, that it never was, and that it never will be.

Because it doesn’t matter how or when it happened, he will never act on it. No matter how badly Kid fucked things up, you’re still his. And Killer would rather die than betray his brother.

That’s why he’ll lie there awake all night, like a man holding someone else’s future, knowing deep down he has no claim to it but still pretending that he does. Just for one night. One night only.

He’ll hold you, breathe you, love you. Carve you so deeply into his soul he’ll never have to think about it again.

And come morning, he’ll let you go. He’ll help fix whatever Kid broke, with duct tape and strings, with love and patience, and return you to where you belong.

Even if it kills him.

-*-

Nearly two hours later, he’s still awake.

He can’t sleep. Your presence is too overwhelming. You’re deeply asleep, but your body is still showing the signs of internal struggle. Every time you breathe, your chest trembles, a semblance of a sob still trapped between your lips. Your brows are scrunched, and your cheeks are wet and puffy from the tears.

He pulls you closer, watches your face carefully, memorising every trace and line. Close, like he never dared to be. He’s mourning a future that never even had the chance to bloom. You were never meant to be his. But maybe for tonight… he can pretend.

The peacefulness of the night is suddenly stirred by a low rumble in the distance, approaching fast. Killer knows that sound. It’s Kid’s bike.

With a muffled curse, he moves slowly out of the bed, positioning his pillow beneath your head and making sure you’re still asleep before he exits the room and closes the door. He’s already opening the door to his apartment when Kid’s fist rises in the air to bang on it.

He’s pissed drunk. Asshole.

“You fucking, irresponsible moron!” Killer swipes the bike’s keys away from Kid’s hand, pocketing them next. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Or someone else? Jesus fuck!”

Kid groans, his legs wobbling and eyes glassy and unfocused. He leans against the wall and slides down like a rain-soaked letter. Saggy and worn out.

“I fucked up, man…” he slurs, the words too heavy and real. “I fucked up.”

Killer nods defeatedly. At least he knows what he did. “Aye, brother. You fucked up real good this time.”

Kid’s head thumps softly against the wall, and he closes his eyes, regret pulling the corners of his lips into a grimace. “Didn’t even kiss that chick, didn’t want to. I just…” Kid sighs heavily, your name falling from his lips like a curse. “She told me she loved me and I… I needed her to… fuck!”

Killer closes his eyes in sorrow. It’s even worse than he thought, then. You told Kid you loved him, and he used that ammo against you.

“Go home, Kid. Use the walk to sober up, and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Why am I so fucked up, Kill? I can’t be with her, but I don’t want her gone.” Kid buries his face in his hands, an inhuman growl escaping his lips in frustration. “I’m not what she needs!”

“You were always what she needed, idiot! It’s pushing her away that’s destroying everything!” Killer sighs and runs a hand through his face, trying to calm down. His best friend’s drunk. There’s no use in lecturing him right now. Tomorrow he’ll help him see reason. And he’ll lay all his anger on him too, because, fuck! Killer can still feel you falling apart in his arms.

It’s a feeling he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Leaning down, he grips Kid’s biceps and pulls him up with a heavy grunt. Bastard’s heavy as fuck. “Go home. I’ll help you fix it tomorrow.”

Kid nods, throat working away something he wants to say but can’t, as usual. Bottling up all his emotions behind high-as-shit walls.

“Aye, tomorrow,” he slurs again and wobbles, about to turn around. Then his eyes drop, landing on your shoes, neatly placed by the door with your purse close by. He freezes, eyes narrowing and calculating.

When his fiery eyes land on Killer’s, Killer knows he’s got it all wrong. The drunken haze recedes a fraction, replaced by betrayal and rage.

“Ye fuckin’ son of a bitch!” Kid slams the wall with his hand, trying to keep himself steady and to let out some anger. “Ye were just waitin’, weren’t ya? Waitin’ on the sidelines, ready to swoop in and steal her away when I fucked up! Ye knew I was going to fuck up! It was always just a matter of—”

Killer doesn’t think, he just swings.

The punch lands hard on Kid’s jaw. He staggers back two steps, his hand gripping the stairs' railing to keep him steady. The blow wasn’t that strong. What stunned him was that Killer was the one to deliver it.

Killer, the friend who always sees reason; the calm to his storm; the steadiness in the wreck that is Kid’s life.

“Don’t you ever assume that about me again, Kid,” Killer whispers, his voice trembling with fury. “I would never do that to you, or her, for that matter. I respect you too much.” Kid just stares at him in disbelief. “Or at least I did.”

That lands as hard as the punch.

Kid faces the floor with shame in his eyes. He’s breathing hard, the unhealed cut on his lip bleeding again from Killer’s swing. But he doesn’t say anything else. He just nods.

“Go. Home,” Killer deadpans with finality. “Sober up, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Kid nods again, too dazed by the night's events to even speak up. He leaves, and Killer lets out a breath he’d been holding since the confrontation.

Then he closes the door softly, leaning his forehead against the wood and gripping the handle with such force, his knuckles turn white. Behind him, you’re still blissfully asleep, unaware of the storm that raged at his doorstep.

Unaware of the chasm splitting open between two brothers.

Both of whom would bleed and spill blood for you.

-*-

The night air is cold, but he barely feels it.

Not just because of the alcohol, but because he’s numb. ‘I love you, Kid. So much.’ He hears your words on repeat inside his mind, taunting him, making him regret every stupid decision he’s made.

“Run. Run. Run…” The chant of his ghosts is constant, and not even his drunken stupor seems to keep them away now.

He should’ve just accepted the love you were so willing to give. He should’ve held you and kissed you like he yearned to do. Instead, he ran and he broke you.

“Because you’re a fucking coward,” Heat taunts. He’s walking right beside him, dragging his feet.

Yes. He is a coward. You looked at him, full of love and hope, and he didn’t know what to do with it. His darkness is bigger than your light, and if he hadn’t pushed you away, there was always a chance it would swallow you whole and obliterate you.

“I’d say you did a pretty good job at that on your own,” Wire reasons. He’s dragging himself on the floor, somehow keeping pace with Kid’s own drunken, sloppy gait. “Why leave it up to chance when you can destroy things so easily? Why allow it to grow and bloom? You were always going to wreck it, weren’t you?”

Yes, he was. He’s not meant for anything good. He’s not worth loving. So why would he feed your hope, and his, just to crush it eventually?

“Nip it in the bud, right, Captain? Yeah, I get it,” says Bubblegum before popping his chewing gum right by Kid’s ear.

The rage he felt earlier is still simmering low, and he feels the need to hit something. He’s not mad at Killer, not anymore. Now that he’s had time to cool his thoughts, he knows Kill would never do what he accused him of.

Even if he deserved it.

Killer is the better man, anyway. He always was. That punch was justified as hell. He fucking deserved it.

“Yeah, you did!” Quincey mocks.

‘I respect you too much. Or at least I did.’ That’s what stings the most. That’s the shame eating away at his insides, gnawing slowly at his guts. He’s such a fucking idiot.

Finally, he reaches the garage. He climbs up the stairs in the back, the garage keys are on the bike’s keychain, so he’s looking at more time to sober up on the ascent. The effects of the alcohol must be wearing off, because he now feels the sting of Killer’s jab, as well as a dull ache in the hole in his chest.

Time to drink some more, I guess.

The Hellpit is out of the question tonight. Killer was right, he’s too damn drunk to drive. He’s not even concerned about his own safety at this point. But he would never forgive himself if he got someone else killed because of him.

Not again.

So after closing the door, the first thing he does is open one of the cabinets and pull out a bottle of scotch. He ignores Wire’s scowl as his dead friend shakes his head in reproval, and then Kid slumps down on the couch next to a smirking Heat. His eerie grin cut in half by what’s missing from his head.

They’re here to stay, then. Oh, goodie.

‘You were always what she needed, idiot! It’s pushing her away that’s destroying everything!’

Killer’s wise.

But what’s destroying everything is, and will always be, himself.

-*-

The day dawns with the sun half-hidden by low-hanging clouds. A ray of sunshine peeks through the curtains shyly, barely daring to wake you up, possibly sensing the turmoil within. Killer watches you stir from the doorway. He’s been up and about for a while, but didn’t have the heart to wake you.

You blink a few times, adjusting to the room, the light, and possibly to the strange void in your chest. With a jerk, you rise, eyes scanning the room before they land on him, and you calm down with a hard sigh.

“Morning,” Killer says, taking a slow step inside. You yawn and rub your eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. They look swollen and puffy, as do your cheeks.

“Morning…” you whisper back, a dry croak, empty of emotion. Killer’s heart clenches.

“The bathroom is down the hall, there’s coffee whenever you’re ready.” You nod, and he hesitates. You feel about to break apart again, and he represses the urge to hug you and try to hold the few pieces that remain together. “You good?”

You nod stiffly. Just one nod. And then your lips tremble and your eyes blink fast. You’re trying to hide the pain from him.

Goddamnit.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says before turning and leaving you alone to break.

After a few minutes, you emerge from the bathroom. Your eyes are red and puffy, but you’re not crying anymore. With stiff movements, you sit at the table. He cooked pancakes, eggs, and bacon, hoping against all hope that you’ll at least eat a little something.

You eye the plate and grimace, so he pushes the coffee mug your way instead.

“If you don’t want to eat, at least drink something, love. You need to get something in your stomach.”

He sees you struggle with the mug before you take a few sips. There’s even less of you behind your eyes than yesterday. And he doesn’t know what the fuck to do to get that spark back.

“I think I’ll head home, Kill,” you whisper after he finishes breakfast, and you sip half of the coffee in the mug. “Thank you for everything.”

He drove your car yesterday, so you don’t need him to drive you home. But there’s something in the stiffness of your movements, the hallowness behind your eyes that doesn’t sit right with him.

“Let me drive you, okay?”

“But you can’t come back on foot. It’s far and—”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll drive you.”

You sigh, and he realises you’d fight him on this if you weren’t so drained. Instead, you shrug and head towards the door to put on your shoes. You take off his sweater, despite his protests, and hand it to him before shaking your head and going back to his bedroom to pick up the phone you forgot.

Killer twists the soft fabric in his hands, hesitates, and then holds it against his nose, lowering the bandana just a smidge. His throat closes up, and his heart thrums in his chest. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It smells just like you.

He curses loudly this time before putting the bandana back in place and placing the sweater on the back of the couch just before you drag yourself to the door, ready to leave.

The ride home is as silent as it was before. Except for one small difference: no tears, this time. Maybe they all dried up.

Shanks is waiting on the porch, sitting in a rocking chair and staring at the car with a frown on his face. You take a deep, trembling breath before you step out of the car to face him, and Killer follows, not quite sure what his presence can do to calm Shanks, but still not letting you face his disappointment alone.

Except Shanks barely says a word.

You thank Killer again and head inside, stopping near your dad, shoulders hunched in a defensive position, head hung low. But he just rises, places his hand on the back of your neck, and kisses your temple softly.

“Head inside, Bug. Get some rest, okay?”

You stare at him for a few seconds, face hollow, eyes empty, and then nod, disappearing like a shadow.

Killer sighs and locks the car, heading up the steps to leave the key with Shanks. In the distance, the rumble of thunder announces a storm raging just like the one inside the older man. He might not have yelled or expressed how he already knew this was going to happen, but the way his brows are furrowed and his fist clenched tight tells Killer all he needs to know about what’s on his mind: rage, fury, retribution.

“What did he do? Did he hurt her?” Shanks’ question comes out in the form of a snarl, his eyes glinting with barely contained disdain.

Fuck. Killer doesn’t want to rat on his brother. But it’s not like he can keep something like this from your father. You’ll need all the support you can get to cheer up.

“It’s not that simple, he—”

“Did. He. Hurt. Her?” Shanks angles his body towards Killer, and even though the height difference is normally barely noticeable, Shanks looks down on him.

“Yes,” Killer admits, and Shanks groans. “But not physically. He thought he was protecting her… from himself. But ended up pushing her away too hard… too destructively.” Killer sighs while Shanks paces the porch like a caged animal with no outlet. “It’s a mess… he’s a mess.”

“He should be! I warned him, I— Jesus Christ. I told him to stay the hell away from her! I knew this was going to happen,” he snarls again, running a hand through his hair and pulling on the strands.

“I’m going to fix it, I—”

“You?” he interrupts. “Why the hell do you have to fix what he broke?”

Touché.

“I’m going to talk to him, help him, and—”

“No,” Shanks regains his composure with a deep breath. “He doesn’t get to fix this. He did the damage, now he backs the hell off and leaves her alone.”

This time, Killer sees the lightning before the thunder echoes. It’s not raining yet, but soon enough, the warm splatters of rain will be hitting the ground. His throat works over the right words to say, the ones that will calm Shanks down, but especially the ones that don’t sound like betrayal.

“I don’t think that’s for us to decide, Shanks.”

“The hell it isn’t! She’s still my daughter!”

“And she’s my friend. They both are,” he states firmly, his hand reaching out to press the car keys against Shanks’ palm. “But she’s the one who should decide whether or not she forgives him. Not me. Not you. Not Kid.”

Shanks pockets the keys and runs his hand through his hair again, pressing his lips together to hold something back. “Goddamn it,” he exhales. “I can’t have him come crawling back just to build her hopes up and tear her apart again.”

Shanks looks inside, where the shadows seem to have grown now that the day has turned darker.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid again, Shanks. I promise.” This promise is also a vow. To Shanks, but mostly to himself. There’s no way he’ll ever let his thick-skulled friend hurt you like that again.

Shanks scoffs, picking up the mug, ready to go inside. “You’re a good friend, Killer, to both of them. But don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Killer’s hands clench into fists as his gaze falls to the ground. Slowly, gentle patters of rain start pouring from the sky. Warm rain, like the sky itself is mourning the events. “I will keep it.”

Shanks hesitates, hand on the screen door, studying him, maybe even reading things in him Killer doesn’t want anybody to know about. That’s what it looks like, at least. The rain picks up, and Shanks moves his gaze up towards the sky with a heavy sigh.

“You headed to town?” Killer nods. He’s going to check in on Kid, still unsure about what he’s going to find and more determined than ever to fix things. “I’ll take you. I’m heading that way, anyway.”

“Thanks.”

The rain starts to fall steadily while Shanks heads inside for a jacket and his truck keys. At first, it’s just a steady, rhythmic pour, but it’s only a matter of time before it turns into a full raging storm.

Just like everything else around him.

End Notes: I just want to let you all know that even though we just learned about Killer's love for reader, this story will not turn into a love triangle. It was never planned that way, and it won't happen, so rest assured! Now let me know if I crushed some hearts with this, were you expecting this twist? Killer, my love! I'm so sorry, baby!

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Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @dazzlingstarlight23 @bearg-bia @babyboofangirl @praline357 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @traffys-heart @cherileecore @violetmatcha @theloserqueen @mapachito @shamblespirate @ibuch7 @igiulss

#one piece #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid #eustass captain kidd #eustass x reader #kid x reader #kid x you #you x kid #reader x kid #imperfect #the meet cute #modern day world au #reader insert

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uniquethingtastemaker · 1 day ago

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Ok, this is from a Rafayel x Reader. However, the focus in this scene is on Sylus (are we surprised? No, I just like bestie Sylus vibes. The banter is fantastic). I think I do a good job of showcasing that Reader and Sylus are best friends rather than dating. Here it is!

Warning: Cursing

You reload your handgun in Sylus’s car.

“I don’t know why they aren’t aiming for your tires,” you mutter.

The owner chuckles. “Not everyone’s as smart as you, kitten.”

You roll your eyes, pop your head out of the sunroof, and lock onto their wheels. You put several of them out before your phone rings. You drop back down to look at it, but Sylus is already holding it up.

“Painter guy?” he questions.

“Yep,” you confirm.

“Put him on speaker,” the light-haired male requests.

You arch your eyebrow but agree. “Alright.”

You pick up the call, clicking the speaker icon.

“Hey, pearl, what’s up?” you ask.

“I found a cool seashell and I’m also—” he starts before hearing the background noise. “Are you in another Wanderer fight?”

Sylus speaks.

“Nope, car chase,” he corrects.

The line is silent as wind and bullets rush past the car.

Rafayel changes his tone.

A silky smooth voice comes out. “And you are?”

“Sylus, Leader of Onychinus. Nice to finally meet you. Kitten’s been talking about you recently,” he comments.

Your jaw drops as you give your best friend a scandalous look.

“You did that on pur—!”

He puts a hand over your mouth, trying to keep in his laughter.

“I’m trying to help you,” Sylus murmurs, amused.

You shove his big hand away.

“More like sabotaging my plan for a healthy relationship,” you mutter.

The big boss rolls his eyes and smirks, noticing your voice isn’t loud enough for the speaker to pick up.

You deadpan point your gun at him. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he answers, grinning. “I’m sure that’ll get him fired up, sweetie.”

Before you can say anything back, the back windshield shatters. You spin around.

“You distracted me again, (affectionately) fucker,” you accuse, moving to your original position.

“I beg to differ,” Sylus retorts. “I think it was your painter boy.”

“Don’t dump your faults onto someone else. It’s rude and looks bad. If your reputation wasn’t so poor, I would tell it to people,” you reply.

“Damn.” You hear him breathe out.

You focus fire on the black SUV behind you. You vaguely hear the boys talking about something from below you. You can’t hear their voices over everything else. Something wet sprinkles across your arms. You glance up and the moon is blocked by clouds.

You duck back into the vehicle.

“Rafayel, can you check the weather? We’re on Highway 47 going eastbound,” you request. “We’re about to get some rain and I wanna know how much.”

The white-haired male glances at you before saying in a saccharin-sweet voice, “I’ll be careful, sweetie.”

Your face drops, and your gun fires. He laughs, stopping the bullet from hitting him.

“Feisty kitty,” Sylus teases.

Another gunshot to his face.

“I hate you,” you reply.

Your best friend raises an eyebrow, humming. “Last time I heard, you loved me.”

You intentionally raise your voice super loud as you turn to start firing at the enemies.

“You need hearing aids, old man,” you yell.

“Old?” Sylus protests.

You look back and smirk.

“You’re halfway there. You got the white hair. Now you just need wrinkles and you’re all ready to go, grandpa,” you answer.

The side mirror next to you shatters.

“Oh shit, back to work,” you comment.

“You’re going straight into a thunderstorm, [Y/N],” Rafayel informs. “There’s a warning for flash flooding.”

Your finger pauses and you glance at Sylus.

He grins at you. “You know the drill, baby.”

“(Lovingly) Asshole, you almost killed us last time,” you answer.

He points out, “You’re still alive.”

“Pretty sure you skimmed off 10 years of my life. Dr. Zayne said my heart rate was off the charts after that incident,” you claim.

Your best friend gives you a concerned eyebrow.

“Exaggerating,” you clarify, rolling your eyes.

“Better safe than sorry. I know you have a heart condition.”

You hum. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Then, Sylus smirks and nods to the phone.

Your jaw drops, knowing he brought up your medical concerns on purpose. You purse your lips and flip him off. You haven’t told Rafayel about it yet. He grins.

Without warning, the red-eyed man pulls a U-turn. You screech, holding on for dear life. He uses his Evol to flick your phone out of the car. Your eyes widen, as true offense and hurt gleam in your eyes.

Despite the insane speed he’s going at, Sylus softens.

“Trust me. He’ll come looking for you. I want to test him. I wanna see how long it takes him to get here. Can he figure out where we are? I want to make sure he’s good enough for you,” he explains. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

You frown, still slightly upset, but his reasoning makes sense. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, so you let it go. It’s a good idea to gain his approval anyway.

“You have to get me a better one,” you stipulate.

“Obviously,” the tall man replies. “Now, focus up. Let’s knock them out.”

You gain a bit of life back, sitting up in your seat. “More like knocking them out for eternity.”

Sylus smiles, glad you're feeling a little better after his stunt.

(This hasn’t been super edited but it’s good enough lol. I’m sure multiple people will like it lol)

#can you tell I like Sylus?#it just makes so much more sense for the MC to work with him rather than against him #the government doesn’t have any control over N109 #if MC befriends Sylus they can work together to make sure none of the criminal activity leaks into Linkon #compromise pls #it makes it better #I can also see the banter #mc in canon is sassy #it would be perfect #wasted opportunity #but it gives me an opportunity to take it #can’t figure out if I love it or hate it #envious Rafayel #we like seeing that #usually not my vibe but it’s something I came up with #idk if this will make it into anything but I like it and wanted to share #love and deepspace sylus #Sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace #lads #lads rafayel #Rafayel #love and Deepspace Rafayel #rafayel x reader #snippet #fanfic snippet #I love the banter in this #it gives me a break from all the serious stuff I’ve been writing

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benedictive-shaman · 2 days ago

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Canto 3 and Leviathan imply that Christianity exists in the City via mentions of Christmas. It's not just a secular winter holiday in the setting either as they mention it's ties to the birth of Christ.

Canto 8 further implies the existence of Buddhism and Hinduism within the city via the mention of Naraka.

Back in Ruina, Chesed's first story has him mention Kenya in regards to the origin of his coffee.

I'm sure there's probably way more of these types of things that refer things in our world/past but these are the ones that live rent free in my head. The Black Forest is a place irl and in PM too but I chalk that up to coincidence because they wanted to give it a cool name.

So all this rattle around in my brain and makes me think: The world of Project Moon probably takes place in the future of our timeline? So that naturally begs the question of how did the City come about and what happened to/what's going on in the rest of the Earth not immediately around the City? We have answers to none of this but it's fun to think about.

My operating theory with zero evidence is that it's a post apocalypse and the draconian rules put in place by the Head exist to prevent the circumstances that led to the first apocalypse.

#project moon #limbus company #library of ruina #lobotomy corporation

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areyoufuckingcrazy · 1 day ago

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PLEASE Fox, who you have had a crush on for FOREVER, comes to arrest you after you fucking smashed a guy’s face for tying to flirt with your younger sister at the 79s - it’s awkward but you don’t mind being handcuffed by him HAHAHAHAHA

“Kinda into it”

Commander Fox x Reader

The night had started well enough.

You were only at 79’s because your sister had begged you to take her. It was her first “real night out” since finishing her training program, and you’d promised to keep it light. One drink. Maybe some dancing. You’d been protective of her since childhood, and even more so after what the galaxy had become.

So when you saw the man sidle up to her at the bar—drunk, older, smug—you were ready. You gave him a chance. A warning.

But when he touched her?

You broke his nose.

No regrets. Not even a little.

Now you sat on the low stone edge of a planter outside the club, breathing in the polluted Coruscant air as bright red troopers dispersed the gawkers and cleared the scene. You cradled your bruised knuckles in your lap.

The man had been carted off already, groaning and sputtering threats. Your sister was safe. Your pride was intact.

But your dignity?

That took a hit the moment Commander Fox arrived in person.

You knew his voice before you saw him.

“Which one is she?” came that unmistakable low Coruscanti rasp.

One of his men gestured toward you.

Fox turned.

Your stomach flipped.

His full crimson armor caught the lamplight like blood-polished glass, and even with the helmet on, you knew exactly what expression was beneath it: grim, tired, and not in the mood for anyone’s osik.

“Of course it’s you,” he muttered, mostly to himself, as he approached.

You stood slowly, brushing dirt off your hands, trying for a neutral expression. “Commander.”

Fox stopped a step away from you, visor aimed square at your face.

“What did he say to you?”

You tilted your head. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t move. “The man you hit. What did he say to you, or your sister?”

“Does it matter?” you asked coolly. “He put his hands on her.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Fox sighed—long and low.

“I saw the security feed. You warned him. He didn’t listen. You gave him a right hook hard enough to make a riot trooper proud.”

You tried not to smile. “Thank you?”

“That wasn’t a compliment.” He shifted his stance. “You can’t go around punching people. Even sleemos. You know that.”

You glanced around. “Funny how nobody’s arrested half the Senate for worse.”

Fox didn’t laugh. He didn’t even twitch. Just stared at you.

You cleared your throat. “So what happens now?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he unclipped something from his belt with a soft click—a familiar pair of binders, gleaming in the club’s neon haze.

You raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“You assaulted a civilian,” he said flatly. “I can’t look the other way.”

You didn’t move.

Fox stepped closer.

“I’m going to cuff you now,” he said, voice low.

Your heart beat once—hard.

You lifted your hands slowly, watching his face.

“I always thought this would happen under… different circumstances,” you murmured.

Fox blinked, caught mid-motion. “What?”

You smiled faintly. “You. Me. The cuffs. Just not quite so… public.”

The corners of his mouth almost twitched. “Stars save me,” he muttered, stepping forward.

His gloves were warm from body heat and power circuits. You watched his fingers as he locked the cuffs around your wrists with a quiet, professional efficiency.

But his hands lingered.

Just a second longer than they needed to.

Your skin tingled.

“Too tight?” he asked, eyes flicking up to yours.

You met his gaze, unwavering. “Not yet.”

That earned you a sharper breath from him. Nothing more.

Fox stepped back, putting that careful space between you again.

“I have to walk you to the transport. We’ll process you, get a statement, and figure out how much trouble you’re really in.”

You tilted your head. “And how much trouble are we talking?”

Fox turned, voice gruff as he started walking. “Depends how charming you are during questioning.”

“Hmm.” You smirked. “I think you’ve already decided I’m dangerous.”

“No,” he said without looking back. “I’ve known you were dangerous for months.”

⸻

The process was efficient, clinical. No charges were filed—unsurprisingly, the man you’d flattened didn’t want to come face-to-face with you again. Your sister vouched for you, along with three witnesses who confirmed you gave a warning first.

But Fox still made you sit through it all.

He filled out the report himself. Asked all the required questions. Voice even. Hands steady.

You waited until it was just the two of you again—your wrists unbound, the report finalized—to speak.

“So. Is this the part where you say I’m free to go?”

Fox didn’t answer.

He stood with both hands braced on the edge of the desk, his helmet set aside.

His face—sharp, serious, those eternally tired eyes—was more expressive now than it ever was on the field.

“You scared me tonight.”

You blinked. “What?”

“That call came through, and I heard your name. I saw your sister crying, thought something had happened to you. Thought I was going to walk into another scene with blaster fire and chaos and—”

He cut himself off.

Silence.

Then, quietly: “It’s a bad habit, caring what happens to you.”

Your voice was softer now. “Maybe not so bad.”

Fox lifted his head, meeting your gaze fully. “I’m not supposed to get involved. Not like this.”

“And yet you’re here. Arresting me in person. Filing the paperwork yourself.”

He snorted. “You’re lucky I did. Any other Guard captain would’ve thrown you in a holding cell.”

“I still don’t regret it.”

His mouth curved—barely. “I know.”

You stepped closer. Just enough to feel the heat radiating off his armor again.

“I didn’t do it for attention,” you said quietly. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t mind your hands on me.”

Fox looked like he was trying very hard not to react.

Then he straightened and said, “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will drag you in by the collar.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to see you.”

He moved suddenly—one step forward, close enough now that your breath hitched.

“You want to test how serious I am?” he asked, voice low and dangerously calm.

You smiled slowly. “I absolutely do.”

Fox’s eyes darkened—but he stepped back, fists clenched at his sides.

“Not tonight,” he said, voice thick. “You’re going home.”

You sighed. “Spoilsport.”

But even as you turned to leave, you heard him speak again—soft, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud:

“Next time, dinner first. Then the cuffs.”

#clone trooper x reader #clone wars #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars the clone wars #clone x reader #the clone wars headcanons #clone trooper preferences #commander fox #tcw fox #fox x reader #commander fox x reader #Fox tcw #commander Fox tcw

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