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eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove · 11 months ago

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Hey, i read the “Bat-boys finding out your pregnant” and may i ask for more? It was sooo cute that i need more of it 😭💕

The Batboys fathers HCs

A/N: this request is long overdue that I’m sure the requester doesn’t even remember it, but I’ve arrived at last. I hope this is what they wanted. The Absolute Power run has restored my love for Nightwing and comics. ❣️

Dick Grayson is a fun dad. At first, Dick suffocated beneath the weight of fatherly duties. He wanted to be better than Bruce. Dick loved him, but he could admit that his boyhood wasn’t a salubrious environment for the young mind. No child should have to carry the weight of Bruce’s mission. Thus, Dick’s mission became ensuring yours and the baby’s lives were secure, safe, and joyous.

Pale beams of sunlight kissed your cheeks good morning. The aroma of maple syrup wafted throughout the house, tickling your nostrils as you carried yourself down the stair steps, footfall by footfall. There Dick stood at the stove, scooting the black spatula beneath a golden pancake and flipping it into the air, causing your baby to burst out into a fit of giggles before the pancake hit the skillet with a sizzle. He was proud of himself for making his baby laugh.

“Well, well, look at mama.” A grin crept across his lips as he spotted you creeping closer, supernovas bursting in his electric blue irises.” You were snoring in a pool of drool when I awoke, so I grabbed the baby and started breakfast.” Vibrant seas of pacifiers, rattles, and toy pianos adorned the house.

Dick attempted to rush the developmental process. Not out of callousness, but sheer excitement to have a child. He had already stocked the baby in dolls, trucks, pacifiers, fruit snacks, apple juice (watered down, of course). He even installed a nightlight that short circuited the house at first, but Bruce helped him fix it. Reading is good for the baby right? Dick is on it. He’s already ordered the best and most classic tales; Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Alice in Wonderland, Dr. Seuss, Little Red Riding Hood.

Dick Grayson has read multiple novels on fatherhood, motherhood, child development, postpartum depression. He hates surprises, and babies are the breeding ground of surprises. He will pack the go-bag full of onesies, pacifiers, diapers, wipes, toys because he doesn’t want you to be in public and not have the materials.

“Give me a few days to install the new changing table. You’ll love it.” Crimson blush adorned his tanned cheeks, a proud grin dawning on his lips, showcasing his pearlescent teeth.” It broke when I weight checked it, thank god. Damian, albeit reluctantly, is coming out here tomorrow to translate the instructions.”

Jason Todd is the protective, paranoid father because he’d placed a bullet in the worst humanity had to offer, witnessed otherworldly horrors done to the little guys, the folks who lack billions of dollars to hole up on secluded islands and cabins. He can’t eradicate all the scum, can’t caulk the fractures villains seem to keep slipping through—and that terrifies him.

Jason never imagined a life worth living to be possible. He’d thought himself a sentient zombie, an unlucky boy yanked from the eternal peace of a cold, soundless grave and forced to enact vengeance on behalf of the common folk who lack the means to undertake the mission themselves. He never considered Red Hood to be a hero; merely a restless phantom with nothing else to bide his time until the sweet release of the afterlife deigned to shatter his manacles to the mortal world. That was until he’d fallen over the sun, offering endless devotion to his goddess, and you’d rewarded his offering with a daughter, a lovely girl. He’d abduct the moon and wrap it in a silken bow if only you’d give him permission.

“Catch, papa,” your daughter had called out, retrieving the little football and sprinting toward him, tiny feet carrying her over the damp and verdant grass of y’all’s backyard. Jason never brought the both of you to parks—an excess of people to watch, different personalities and behaviors; a myriad of possibilities for tragedy. Too much room for error in a vast, leafy expanse.

“You’ve gotta bring it to me first,” Jason called back, outstretching his muscular arms, awaiting her arrival. He was paranoid and distrustful of the world, not a killjoy. Y’all’s daughter’s bedroom was littered with vivid nail polishes, fluffy scarves, glittering tiaras, and Monster High dolls. Your daughter had always adored Frankie Stein and Frankenstein because they reminded her of Jason and herself, the dolls and humans both sharing pale white streaks of hair. He hadn’t known whether to laugh or weep upon hearing those words from her lips, innocent and completely unaware of the accuracies spanning far past hair color.

“Jason, I love you, but we are not cooping ourselves up in the house this summer.” The words were firm and unyielding—but lacking any true bite.

“ I’ve given you grace. I let a lot slide because I understand your background. But we’re just not doing it this summer. Its too hot to not go to waterparks and enjoy ourselves because of possibilities.” A damn good point rested upon your tongue, and he knew it.

“Fine.” He relented with a jocosely petulant huff.” But we take a gun with us.”

Tim Drake is an ambitious father. It’s been said before, but I don’t believe he’s as active as the fandom would believe. Though, his absence isn’t born of malice or indifference, but ambition, a thirst for a legacy. He wants to be a man his significant other and child can be proud of, a father worth bragging about. There’s also a large chamber seated within his mind that knows not how to be a father, for his parents were cold, choosing to throw dollars at his gripes and needs rather than be present.

One of his greatest fears is disappointing the both of you, like he was disappointed by his own parents, so disappointed he couldn’t even despise them. Tragically, the mission to avoid history’s repetition had placed him before a mirror, his parents gazing back at him, a smug smirk curled on their lips because they know that he’ll be on their end of the glass within a few decades.

Can he be blamed? Tim wants the absolute best for his family. The best grades, the best schools, the best scores, the best scholarships. He’s not naïve enough like Dick to believe hard work and persevere can lift a nobody anywhere. There are no bootstraps to be pulled taut. It’s an illusion, a sauce wealthy people spoon over their meals to disguise the taste of nepotism and privilege. Manipulations the rich regurgitate to excuse themselves from having to acknowledge the unfair, biased system they’ve upheld.

The door to his limousine slammed closed, his child seated beside but, but farther than ever. What could be said? Jerking forward, the limousine rolled into drive, coasting beneath autumn streaked clouds, as though her father had gifted her the sky from a florist. Bruce hadn’t prepared Tim for the teenaged terror years. He couldn’t help but wonder if he himself had been this capricious and fickle as a teen, or if he were merely that bad of a father.

“Do. . . do you want a Milkshake? From that one place by the house, like we used to when you were young.” Tim couldn’t help but raise a hopeful raven shaded brow. He could smell the stench of sweat, an anxious perspiration, cleaving to your school uniform. It must’ve been a test day.” I’ll clear the rest of my schedule for us. . . if you want, of course.” He extended an olive branch, granting her the choice to engage and accept, or set the course for the rest her teenage years.

Damian Wayne does not want children. He doesn’t know how far his taint would bleed, and all he can envision are the ways he could disgrace the mind of a child. His village was rotten and evil. Bad fruits bear worse seeds.

Damian’s devotion was love, the purest kind he knew, a primal desire to protect and cherish that of which he adored. You forged suns in his heart, set the butterflies in his belly aflutter. Beneath a weeping of sheet of violet sky, the both of you had sworn to love the other until Earth imploded—and when it did, he would find you in another universe.

He doesn’t hate children. In fact, he would be a decent babysitter for Dick and Jason, and whenever Tim deigned to grace the BatCave with his presence. But, Damian is staunch in his childfree attitude, and you respect it. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure you wanted kids. No, you and Damian battled crime, traveled the world and experienced culture, learned histories outside of the filth pumped into his mind by the Al Ghuls. Bruce was saddened by Damian’s decision against children, but he ultimately respected it—and him.

Damian knew he was poisoned and rotten and always would be, no matter what emblem was sewn over his breast. He was content with the life the both of you had, and knowing Dick, many more children are to come, so he’d never get lonely.” Beloved, what do you make of Italy? Not the tourist parts where the history is washed, but the ripe lands.”

Bruce Wayne is a weary father. He knew the birth of his youngest child was redemption, his last chance at preserving the Wayne name since Damian had sworn off children. But Bruce was aged, hardened, jaded, weary. He had scars to last a lifetime, some worn on his heart, though majority were worn on his skin.

The Wayne brownstone was eerily silent since Alfred’s death. Bruce’s son sat around the oaken table, coloring a picture of Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, and Alfred. Bruce’s heavy lids fell over exhausted, dim blue irises, his brain flitting back to the memories of Alfred, gathered at the stove and learning a recipe. I am. . . old, Master Bruce. My time on this earth is not infinite. You must learn more than the ways of fists, the words echoed in his mind. Reminding him that old age wasn’t even the murderer of Alfred Pennyworth.

He fetched an inhale before pulling himself off of the couch, and padding over toward his son at the dinner table.” What’s that? Oh, a pretty picture. A real artistic talent, like Damian.” Bruce was unsure of his fathering more often than not. He knew how it appeared to his son’s school counselors and the principal—old, washed up playboy Bruce Wayne saddled with another young son. That was far from the case, but the masses will believe anything when they’re given nothing.

Bruce fetched a pot and skillet from the creaking cabinets of the brownstone, far from the elegance and cleanliness of the manor. Alfred would’ve been mortified to see the mess, he almost chuckled, but withheld it. Lest his son raise a question, for the explanation would be too complicated and long-winded for his young mind.” So, what do you see for dinner tonight? What makes that belly growl like a lion? Mac and Cheese? Lasagna? Hamburger Helper?”

Bruce knew exactly what his son would choose. Asking was merely a courtesy. Bruce knew him, raised the boy from the minute he was weaned. He knew what his son would do before his son knew what he himself would do. The Batman wasn’t a slacker, wasn’t lazy.

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bambisnc · 2 months ago

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𝒦𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝖬𝖤 𝖲𝖮𝖥𝖳𝖫𝖸 ⚜ like you want me euthanized

୨ৎ ─── 西村力; as the rival prince you sneak out to meet at night

ft. royalty au % angst + oneshot + 1.4k && w. implied yearning mentions of being a pawn reader is lwk a tsundere / ki is a menace swearing ˖ ✧

[ 陰 ♡ ] : so sao paulo by the weeknd happened heh. also how do u work the queueing / scheduling thing askinf for a friend. also also someone make me a layout i cannawt w/ ts pmo icl

🔗. 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝙁𝗶𝗟𝗘 ᰈ̠ 𝗡𝘼𝗩𝗶𝗚𝘼𝗧𝗘 ✮ 𝗖𝙇𝗶𝗖𝗞

you weren't supposed to be here.

tomorrow was the day that would see envoys from a neighboring kingdom, kwangya, being greeted into your own land.

your parents had been more than clear with their instructions on how you were to behave in front of them, how you were to dress, how you were to carry yourself.

how you were to speak, smile, stand and so on.

with the dawn of the new day, you would be promised wholly to its second prince in return for their monetary and political support.

being a pawn in the game of nobility was something you had long become accustomed to. the inclination to speak up against a decision imposed on you had simply died down after one too many punishments.

and yet.

yet, as the grandfather clock in the piano room—right next to the tall window which had been your way out—chimes once, it is reiterated to you just how late it is for a "harmless" nightly stroll.

you try not to think about the man who’d been the one to incite this unnatural behavior which was so out of the carefully docile persona you put out.

all it had taken was one teasing remark. “you’re too much of a little puppet, hm? it’s almost cute.”

nishimura riki spoke too much for his own good.

“i worry about you sometimes,” he'd said.

bullshit. you hate him and he hates you and that’s how the world works.

“you? sneak out? no offense, doll, but i’d sooner believe the moon’d fall from the sky.”

you had let slip your careful smile in favor of glaring at him. you were not just a puppet.

(except you were. you knew this and you knew he wasn’t a stranger to the fact either.)

but a white hot flash of wanting to prove yourself—you recall not being able to fathom why, at that moment, why would you even care about his opinion?—forced a firm, “i’ll do it.” out of your lips before you could even take a moment to think about it.

the brief startle on his features was almost worth it.

that is, of course, until it was buried behind the infuriating smirk that was so nishimura riki that it made you recoil a little.

he’d spent the whole evening afterwards and the few of the following days calling you out on how you were just bluffing and, really, he’d love to see you actually pull something like that.

it had seemed odd for a moment. to consider a simple rendezvous to be of such high stakes.

but the underlying implications of the act soon caught up.

unknowing is bliss just as much as it is a necessity to be aware, after all.

the innocence of the act to prove that you were in control, would be lost completely should a stray palace worker chance upon your meeting.

because when you’re a member of a royal family, then it is on you to uphold the honor, the dignity and the duty that comes along with the title.

if only as a mere facade.

it barely even registers that you’ve reached your destination due to being too caught up with your own jumbled thoughts.

something obstructs your line of sight. a hand, not close enough to touch but close enough that you can feel it’s warmth on your cooler skin.

you’d panic, normally, but a soft brush against your ear and the low voice immediately following is enough to let you know exactly who it is behind you.

“well, well. color me surprised.”

ni-ki’s presence is overbearing.

as much as you hate to admit it, he is everything and more required of a prince. the calm nonchalance and unspoken dominance is only one of the things that you despise about him (and begrudgingly also find yourself in awe of.)

“and here i was so sure you wouldn’t show. thought you’d leave me out here in the cold all alone.”

you lift your hand to swat his off of where it rests and turn to look at ni-ki, retort all ready. but the very little space that is present between both your figures is something you hadn't accounted for.

it takes a minute for you to get over your apprehension disgust.

you simply settle for an eye roll.

“hm? cat got your tongue?" there’s that smirk again. you wonder if he does it on purpose. if his aim to provoke you is so great that he’d risk all to achieve it. “don’t leave me hanging, now.”

“no. it’s merely too cold.” a feebler, more tame response than what you’d usually hurl towards him. maybe the lowered temperature (or the lack of sleep) is making you soft.

he hums in agreement. ni-ki’s movements are fluid, easy, practiced when he takes off his own warm coat and drapes the garment over your shoulders, tugging you imperceptibly closer in the process.

“not really dressed for midnight excursions, are we?”

“it is well past midnight.” but you suppose he’s right. your flimsy excuse for nightclothes are hardly appropriate.

he laughs at that and the rich sound rings clearly through the garden.

you hate it. he should know better—should know to be quieter, unless he wants for everyone in a 2 mile radius to be drawn to the place. “do you always have to have the last word?”

“…” sheer pettiness makes you fall silent.

a beat of awkward silence.

your attention can’t help but be drawn to the clean, cedar-like scent which seems to have rather quickly overtaken your senses. the only way you can describe it is to be purely and totally nishimura riki.

you hate it. hate that you find yourself finding comfort in it, hate that he’s so close to you.

you hate that you want him closer.

“c’mon doll. gonna leave me hanging now?”

it takes you another minute to speak up again.

“what do you want.” and you do everything in your power to ignore the bite lacking in your words.

if ni-ki notices, he doesn’t comment on it. his expression however, falters at your response, if only briefly.

“a thank you for the coat would be appreciated.” his voice is still soft. as if in a conscious effort to match your own.

you scoff instinctively. it gives you something to do, something that isn’t hyper focusing on how you’re leaning into the pseudo embrace of his warmth. “you … why did you call me out here?.”

there’s barely any space between your chests—ni-ki’s hands still fiddling with one of the buttons on the oversized garment covering your figure—yet his sharp gaze never strays one bit.

“maybe i wanted to see if you’d actually do it,” he says finally. “sneak out. meet me.”

“i didn’t do it for you.” but you did. you’d rather die than have to admit it to him, though.

he shifts suddenly then, face dropping to be level with yours, “no? then who, doll?”

you open your mouth before realizing you have to pause to think.

“hey,” he pipes up again, effectively shutting up any defense you could come up with, “you’re shivering. ‘s it still too cold?”

you realize with a start that you’d really like to shut him up. with a kiss, maybe. or a slap, if you’re feeling nice.

“no just. just tell me why you called me here.” you say instead.

a silent beckoning. you simultaneously hope and dread his answer for apprehension that it will be exactly what you want to hear.

“i just wanted to see you. one last time.”

last time?

“what’s that mean? don’t tell me you’re finally running away. got too tired of being a pain in the ass for me?”

he laughs again and this time you hate him for stalling. it’s too late, he’s too close and you’re ... way too confused.

“i won’t ever get tired of that. of you.” his words drip with the signature effortlessness you’ve come to associate him with, and yet.. something’s different. “i meant i wanted to see you while you can still spare time for little ol’ me.”

spare time? doesn’t he know of the countless nights you’ve spent so far thinking about things you so desperately want to say; waiting with bated breath for a chance to verbalize them. despite knowing in your heart that there’s hardly a possibility that you’ll get to. of course you could spare time for him—

oh.

one last time. he meant to spare him one last chance to see you before you’re promised to someone else.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatabelle @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @eunwonji @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

#ㅤㅤ[ 📋 ⋆ 𐙚 ]#niki x reader #riki nishimura #riki x reader #nishimura riki #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #nishimura riki x reader #riki nishimura x reader #enhypen niki #kpop imagines #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #divider by kodaswrld

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deseretgear · 2 months ago

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OKY big Gaslight District Misc post

based on various stuff I was finding while rewatching the pilot and talking with friends:

Mud in the freezer! The flies are interesting; are they rotlings or something else? they are wrapped up here with tags on them like bodies in the morgue. there is also one that gets served another fly's head in the butcher shop. They seem to be used as food and decoration and drink.

It says Bug Lite Frothy and has a little fly on it :)

There's also a fly used as a candlestick on Breadhead's piano

I can't quite make out what is on the bottles in the back but one of them looks like "bittersweet organ relish" (thanks to my friend Jackie for that one)

Other people probably noticed this but the Virtue we see in Ken's inferno flashback is definitely Temperence; he has the same mask and the nubs on his shoulder.

Also I don't have a screenshot of it, but when he pulls Ken's toenail a thin needle like portion comes off with a long thread of blood or such behind it. I wonder if Temperence was experimenting or doing surgery of sort on Ken or the other prisoners? It does look like Ken was actually a prisoner; but how did he escape? Does this have something to do with how he got Mel?

Mel had a little naughty sexy magazine with ladies on it :3 and in a blink-and-you'll miss it moment it looks like she's also holding hands with "Romeo" and it looks like they might be having a romantic moment! So this looks like she is a bisexual queen. We love to see it! Also peep that cute pic in the background with Mel and Ken and Breadhead! Looks like they have some kind of catch in a net.

The photos in the back are easier to see in this screenshot. The one in the middle looks like Mel besides the whale's eye.

This is fun; when Diligence is scanning the truck bed it says "Investigation in progress" and when the guard interrupts him it says "Nuisance Detected"

Also the little scan screen has angle symbols on the border!

My friends and I were trying to figure out for a while what Temperence is holding, and we think it's Mel's egg! It looks like it has some tubing out of it, implying its some kind of construct. It has a glowy portion in the middle, and also it's position mirror's Mel's in this shot.

But what do you think it is?

This one is hard to show in a screenshot so there's a timestamp to it here (Idk how to gif) When the camera zooms out in the security room after ken attacks Temperence, we see all three characters of the smiling dead except for Mud (who is watching them) on the screens

Mel is climbing the stairs to the right, Ken is in the middle, and Breadhead's arm can be seen flapping up and down on the right side! It looks like he is flapping his hands like wings as he's being carried by the angels :) Yay

This tapestry in the Lab seems to depict what looks like the old angel mother and something under her wing holding an egg with Rotlings in front. I wonder if the figure holding the egg (it kind of is fused with her sillouette here but it looks like a kneeling figure) is meant to be a Virtue or something else? perhaps whatever's in the metal egg above Temperence?

Close up of the Quick-Rising yeast Breadhead snorts and the paper that is briefly flashed on screen in his head! It looks like some kind of solomonic or occult instructions or paper? We can see what is clearly a bunch of semen squiggles on the left side, one of which rises up to show a little breadhead baby (aw)

There's four symbols of what looks like the moon, the whale, a rotling, and and egg. Some other arcane symbols I don't know the meaning of, and in the center of that...octogram, some kind of rock?

Also on the right side (still glowing in this image) is a spoon!

I feel this is instructions on how to create breadhead; maybe a homonculous of sorts? the paper in the head also makes me think of the Golem in Jewish legend, who is brought to life with a paper with the name of god inscribed on it inserted into its head/mouth.

Close ups of the drawings Mel did of her dad during the slide show haha. I love em

Ok the Title sort of blocks it but in the back right of this scene we can see the Whale's Head butcher shop won a "Best Meal" award:

Best Meal Voted District's Top Choice (Not that there are many choices)

a few more random stuff from the butcher shop; there's a tag saying To Kenny From Xenora (who is that? an old friend or flame?) and during the bar fight, the big photo of the smiling dead gets splattered with blood that covers Jack, symbolizing how he's been excised from the family.

When Ken eats Temperence, we can see it has some kind of mechanical spine and legs attatched, but Ken eats only the brain part. Also the brain has a little black hand marking/tattoo on it, and we see green light explode from Ken's belly after he eats it. This seems to imply the Virtues are, like the Rotlings, bound to their bodies and may originally be humans, just humans uploaded into robot bodies. I say "human" the way the rotlings are also originally "humanity" that's been twisted, not that they are humans like Mel is.

There are better close ups but in this image of the black egg prophecy we can see what clearly seem to be nukes in the center, and waves rising all around as the Rotlings pray. This seems to be along with the Whale's Belly (I'm sorry I keep forgetting what the butchershop is called) a biblical reference. Noah and Jonah specifically. This definitely seems to indicate some kind of natural but also manmade destruction of the world, and may also indicate what the Mother Angel meant when she talked about Mel raining Fire Down on those who rot.

Looks like the truck is transporting the body parts of saints. What for? are they for the virtues, that thing in the metal egg? is this for reconstructing a human?

MORE diligence scans; the one where he chokes Ken has warnings about structural damage and its other arm not being detected. The one that goes down to Mud's crotch says "package not detected" seeming to indicate Mud doesn't have a penis. We stan a transmasc king o7

And that about wraps it up! mostly misc thoughts. The big thing standing out to me Right Now is: Who is and isn't a Rotling? are the Flies rotlings? are the Virtues basically just rotlings in robot bodies who see themselves as superior?

Are the angels made by the virtues, or did they make the virtues?

How was breadhead made? He does seem to be constructed.

What exactly went down between Ken and Temperence?

Excited to see more and happy to see everyone's thoughts

#The Gaslight District #the gaslight district spoilers #the gaslight district lore #gaslight district #ken the butcher #meloncholy gaslight district #breadhead gaslight district #the virtues gaslight district

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anna-scribbles · 2 months ago

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thirteen update 🏚️👻📚🖼️

chapter 8: may

summary:

Time came choppy, with jagged edges. Sometimes Adrien would open his eyes and he’d be at his piano, hands dead on the keys. Sometimes he’d be in front of a camera, bright lights whiting out his vision. Sometimes he’d be at the dining table, alone, a plate of untouched food in front of him. Usually he was alone. Sometimes Nathalie was there.

excerpt:

Nothing was real after that.

Sometimes Nathalie was there.

She skirted around his periphery like a silent, efficient sort of shadow. An instruction here, a reminder there. She didn’t touch him anymore, not after that day that the world ended. No one did.

Nathalie was the one who handed Adrien stacks of sleek black clothes to change into during those weeks following the end of the world. She poised him at her right hand while she conducted the press releases and interviews and fielded all the questions directed his way. She triple-checked his hair, lint-rolled his suit jackets, and posed him for the cameras. Nathalie kept him perfect. Just like Maman would’ve wanted.

Sometimes Adrien looked at Nathalie’s face and it was all smoothed over, sealed tight. Sometimes Adrien looked at Nathalie’s face and she was already looking away. He wondered sometimes whether she was hiding something from him. But it was a dull, hollow sort of wondering. He knew. He wasn’t stupid enough anymore to think that anyone in this house actually told him anything.

It didn’t matter anyway. Nothing did.

Once, Adrien opened his eyes to find that he was at the table with breakfast in front of him, and Nathalie was talking.

“Your father,” she was saying, and Adrien’s heart jolted. His ears perked up. The world sharpened into focus. He hadn’t seen Father since…

Since.

Nathalie continued. “…is displeased with your most recent photoshoot. I’d like to…speak with you about it.”

The world dimmed. Behind his eyes, something broke.

Adrien laid his head down on the table.

Nothing.

Mattered.

Nothing.

Mattered.

Nothing—

Nathalie’s voice cut like a knife through the dark.

read on ao3

#thirteen #my art #miraculous ladybug #ml #ml fic #adrien agreste #nathalie sancouer #miraculous #YAAY. IT'S MAY. CAN ANYONE BELIEVE IT #nathalie enthusiasts this one's for you.

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thewritergx · 6 months ago

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Lake Tahoe: Rafe Cameron x Thornton F!Reader

Summary: Rafe spends Christmas with the Thornton's on their yearly trip to Lake Tahoe when his feelings for the shy girl become too much to handle. I was supposed to post this like two weeks ago, but I got extremely busy, so happy late Christmas. I hope ya'll like this because it was a total bitch to write.

Warnings: Drinking, Mention of lost loved one (Rafe’s papa), Smut Containing: Soft!Rafe x F!Reader, Topper's little sister, Kissing, Begging (by both parties but mostly Rafe), Dry Humping, Oral (F!Receiving), Unprotected P in V, Cumming in your mouth.

Word Count: 5K

EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to like and repost. Click here if you’d like more stories from me. Text divider from @cafekitsune.

The bar is dimly lit, a warm glow from stripes of red and green Christmas lights cast shadows across the low-set tables. Conversations from couples and friends echo off the wall, blending into a quiet hum under soft piano music. Snow falls outside, covering the building in a thick pristine powder. It grows heavier, white flakes swirling in a biting wind. The ground is coated in a thick layer of pale white, covering any signs of the road or sidewalk. The wind howls a fierce and chilling gust that vibrates the bar's windows.

It wasn’t like you hated snow, but the cold never set well on your skin. You were used to sixty-degree winters with the occasional rain, a heavy contrast to the twenty-degrees and constant snow of Lake Tahoe. Your family has been visiting Nevada for the past three years. Slay rides, hot coffee, and campfires always made the trip fun, but it was growing old, and less exciting with each repeated year. Rafe joining the family breathed new life into the trip, an excitement dancing on your skin as his shoulders brushed against you on the seven-hour plane ride. You had hoped you were hiding it well, the lingering feeling of need that crept up anytime Rafe was around.

You spot Rafe from across the bar, his tall frame clad in a thick sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms to expose his tan skin. The soft material clings to his chest, a gold chain dangling from his neck. Rafe’s eyes lock onto you, watching the way you ease across the bar and settle on the stool next to him. His eyes rake over you, taking in every detail from your boots to the way your hair falls down your back. He takes a pondering sip of his bourbon, the golden liquid settling on his lips as he swallows. His dark green eyes meet yours in silence, your cheeks and nose rosey from the cold.

“You want a drink?” Rafe blows a quiet huff of air, an intense broodiness clinging to him like a second skin. He glances over at you, a cocky half smile formed at the corner of his mouth, his voice low and smooth under the music.

“What are you drinking?” You ask, turning your body to him.

Rafe smirks at the question, a hint of amusement you rarely see. “You’re not going to like it��. His eyes flicker over you. A low gruff as he chuckles hits your ears, another rarity.

“Let me try it.” You furrow your eyebrows, examining the ice that clings against the glass.

Rafe studies your face for a moment, that cocky smile creeping up again before he pushes his glass towards you. “Sure, but don't say I didn't warn you”, he replies, watching as you wrap your mouth around the rim of the glass, lips landing right where he previously was.

Your face turns sour, lips puckering as you swallow the cold drink. “What is that?” You laugh, whipping your lips with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

Rafe grins, his green eyes dancing with amusement. “It's just an old fashioned. Nothing crazy,” he chuckles. “Told you, you wouldn't like it.” Rafe gestures to the bartender, signaling them over with a wave of his hand. Even away from the Outer Banks, he has people at his beck and call.

“Can I get a vodka cran? Put it on my tab” He instructs the bartender, waiting as the man dressed in all black brings back a glass. “Here, you look like the type.”

“Hey, what does that mean?” You laugh, placing your hand on his warm chest. You would never tell Rafe, but Vodka had always been your go-to.

Rafe studies you again, peering down as a spark of green glimmers against the Christmas lights. His gaze falls down his body, landing on the way your hand lingers against him. “Nothing. I can tell you prefer it sweet, not too strong.” He clears his throat, his tone a playful mockery as he leans closer into you.

You shudder at his words, a slight shiver running through you as you grab the glass from his hands, fingers ghosting over his.

“Cold?” He asks, his expression soft.

“I’m freezing. I wish my parents would pick somewhere warmer for vacations”, you mumble, taking another quick sip.

“Here. Take my jacket.” You watch as Rafe grabs his jacket, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as he places it around you. He drapes it over your shoulders, hands brushing the fabric up and down to create a warm friction on your skin.

You nodded your head, a quiet “thank you” scarcely audible over the music as you pressed your legs firmly together.

“Have you seen Topper?” You glance around the room, looking for any sign of your brother. He was supposed to be here having dinner with you and the rest of the family. It was just like him to run off, quickly leaving you and Rafe behind as he partied with some random girl. Your voice is less than thrilled, a dash of annoyance in your tone.

“I saw him leave a while around”, Rafe smiled, “had some blonde chick with him”. Topper had been a good friend, but Rafe was lying if he said he considered him a real, true friend. If Rafe was being completely honest, he only accepted the invitation to your family's vacation to spend more time with you, the girl he was reluctantly pinning over for the last year and a half.

Growing up, Rafe was constantly by Topper's side. When someone asked, he would say they were best friends or that he was like a brother to him. But in the back of his mind, Rafe knew. He knew the only thing still tying him to Topper was you. You were always lingering close by, a constant presence in his peripheral vision. Rafe didn't know when it happened but he stopped hanging out with your brother to spend time with him and switched to getting quick off-hand glances of you. You would be laid up by the pool, a tiny bikini clinging to your tanned skin, or sitting in your living room with a book, your legs spread out over the polyester. Everything about you pulled him in, a yearning he had kept quiet for far, far too long. You were a constant tease, always lurking in the background of his life. Just close enough to make you impossible to ignore but always out of his reach.

Now, he was stuck here with you, your hands lingering on him like a warm blanket. He was never a big fan of Christmas, especially not now that his father was dead and the rest of his family was refusing to speak to him. He hated to admit it, but the only choice he had for this Christmas was to third-wheel on your trip. He felt out of place, like a burden to everyone around him, even if Topper had guaranteed that he was welcome to accompany the family.

Rafe glimpses at the windows, watching the heavy snow fall silently. “Is it always like this?” Rafe stands motionless next to you, taking a big swig of his whiskey to cover the slight concern in his voice.

“No,” You laugh, watching the way his shoulders tense. “A storm is coming through. It’ll pass”.

“I don’t like it”, Rafe mumbles, his grip on the glass becoming strained. “Maybe we should get going. The hotel is just a block down. I’ll walk with you.”

“Okay,” You mutter, swallowing the remainder of your vodka. “You want your jacket back?”

“I’ll manage”. Rafe places a firm hand on your waist, his jacket loosely hanging as you stand from the stool. His grip is protective, a warm presence against the chilling air. “Besides, you look like you need it more than me. You’re shaking”.

He slips his hand in yours, fingers encasing yours as he leads you past the crowd and towards the exit door. Electricity surges through you, a hot blush covering your cheeks.

Rafe’s motions are fluid, the muscles in his back tensing under his sweater and he guides you into the cold night air. The frozen ground crunches under your feet, echoing in the silence between you. Rafe groans, the cold air hitting his face with an unexpected violence. He keeps his grip tight in your hands, a reassuring warmth in the freezing temperature.

Rafe leads you through the front door of the hotel. The lobby is a quiet ghost town, only a couple of the hotel staff linger behind the front desk. The air between you is still, almost like a storm is not raging just outside the thick walls. Rafe’s fingers finally loosen in yours, his eyes trailing over you as he gently brushes a bit of snow from your cheeks.

“I’ve got a fireplace in my room.” His fingers dance across your soft skin, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he loiters against your cheek, tracing along your jawline. “You can come warm up”. His eyes lock on yours, watching the way you shudder against his touch.

“Oh, u-um…o-okay,” you whisper, your eyes meeting Rafe’s as he towers over, his body close enough to fill yours with warmth.

The elevator ride is quiet, your breath hitching as Rafe presses the button to the fifth floor. He leads you towards the room, his strides are quick and calculated against the carpeted hallway. He stops at room 514, pulling out a key card, and quickly unlocking the bedroom door. Rafe gestures you inside the spacious room, an elegant and comfortable room dominated by a large fireplace. Soft carpet blankets the floor, a queen bed in the center.

“You look very pretty, by the way”, Rafe clears his throat, standing awkwardly in the doorframe, his hands stiff by his side.

“You think I’m pretty?” You mumble, a shy nervousness causing your eyes to fall to the floor.

Rafe shuffles, taking a step towards you. In a single passing second his body is pressed against you, his hand resting on your chin to force your eyes on his.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he smiles, tracing the plump skin of your lips with the pad of his thumb. It’s a gentle motion, one that forces a red-hot blush on your cheeks. You search for anywhere to look, darting your eyes between Rafe and the doorway.

“Getting shy on me, princess?” Rafe smiles, the hand on your lips traveling down to your jawline, tracing every inch of the velvety skin. You nod your head in a deafening silence, unable to stop the involuntary trembling of your body.

In all the years of knowing Rafe, he had never been this close. He never even made a pass at you. You figured he must not be into you, the way he used to frown at you from across the room at parties.

“It’s okay, I knew you would be. My shy, little girl”. His hands fell to the zipper of the jacket he had placed around you, slowly pulling the cold metal down until it clicked loose. His hand brushed against your shoulder, fingers hooking the thick material until it was falling down your waist onto the floor.

“Rafey,” you finally speak, your breath low and fatigued. You force yourself to look at him, studying the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. His eyes dart between yours, hands falling to the small of your back to pull you fully into him, your arms resting around his neck.

“Can I kiss you, princess?” Rafe’s voice is barely a whisper, almost inaudible in the white noise of the snow crashing down outside.

You try to respond, begging yourself to say that simple three-letter word, but your voice is stuck deep in the back of your throat. Instead, you give him an exasperated whine, your eyes pleading for his touch.

Rafe almost laughs, watching you squirm into him, your legs pressing tightly together. As much as he wanted to laugh, and release some of the thick tension built up, nothing was funny. He wished it was humorous, watching you try to fight off the desperation your body was echoing, but it was serious, deadly in the way your little moan sent an intoxicating jolt straight to his cock.

His eyes darted between yours, studying the way your eyelashes peered up at him. He bowed his head, bending his shoulder as leaned into you. Rafe’s small breaths ghosted over your lips, the grip on your back turning to iron. Every muscle in him tenses, his forearms flexing against your body.

Rafe groans, finally meeting your lips in the kiss he has spent years daydreaming of. It’s deep and insistent, his tongue gliding past your lips to explore the warmth of your mouth. He pulls you impossibly closer, molding your molding into his until you are practically one. A raw intensity ripples through him, burning just beneath the surface of his skin as his tongue dances along yours, prompting a low moan from your throat to echo into him. It vibrates through him, his body stiff and hard as his hands roam over you. Every curve, every soft dip is met with a possessive touch, his fingers tracing red hot patterns over the fabric of your clothes. His movements are slow, calculated even under the intoxication of your lips. His hands make a home on your sides, cold fingers gently slipping under the hem of the warm fabric of your sweater. Fire burns through him, the sensation of your smooth skin sending bolts of electricity straight to his cock. Rafe’s hands continue on a dangerous trail upwards, calloused fingers caressing your stomach and ribs.

Rafe’s lips leave yours, both gasping for air as he trails down your cheek, kissing a sloppy path down your jawline to your neck. You whisper his name, all shaky and out of breath as his teeth scrape at the skin, sucking a crimson mark easily seen by others. You should stop him, but your mind is in a daze. Whatever neurons in charge of firing were clearly asleep, your only thought focused on the way his hands travel up your shirt. His fingers trace the outlines of lace, feather-light and reverent as he lingers against the hem of your bra. He takes his time, eyes locked on yours as he teases the material, his fingers tracing the intricate pattern of the fabric before he cups your breast in one hand, his palm warm and firm against your flesh.

Your hands fall to Rafe’s chest, the gentle rising and falling of each breath expanding his muscles under your touch. He shivers at the contact, squeezing the subtle fat of your breast.

Rafe stands motionless for a moment, his only action the gentle caressing of his hands running up and down your sides. His eyes roam your face in thought, wondering just how far you’ll let him take this. His hands grip your hips tighter, his thumbs stroking the bare skin between your shirt and pants, as he gazes down at you with a look of conflicted desire.

“Can I-Will you let me…Fuck, you got me all messed up, princess.” His voice is shaky, the usual roughness betrayed by a yearning need of desire. He clears his throat, swallowing hard as his eyes flutter closed. For a moment he just breathes, holding you against him in a stoic mystery of private thoughts. “I want you…I-If you let me. I p-promise I'll make you feel fucking good. I’ll be gentle. J-just please, please let me inside you. God, I need you so bad, baby.” The words come spilling out of him, like a rush of freedom granted after a thousand years of silence. You swear he’s staring into your soul and you can’t help but wrap your lips around his again, this time a hungry desperate action, leaving a layer of his saliva around your mouth.

That’s all Rafe needs. The confirmation that you want him, that you need almost as much as he does. Rafe grabs at your thighs, a sickening desperation as he hoists you up to wrap your legs around his waist. His hands grip under your ass, squeezing at the fat concealed by a pair of denim jeans. His tongue dances in your throat, his steps messy and uncalculated as he searches for the bed.

The kiss grows more heated and desperate as his hands grip onto your ass, squeezing and kneading at the flesh there before he drops you on the bed, his hips pushing against yours in an anguished attempt for any kind of friction. His body traps you, your back pressed into the warm soft mattress and his muscular frame.

Rafe breaks the kiss, leaving your chest heaving as he gazes down at you with pleading lust-dark eyes. “C-can I take t-this off?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse as he tugs gently at the hem of your shirt. “Please, please let me see you.”

Never would you have expected Rafe to be so tender, the way he begged for just a hint of you almost making you cum right there. “Oh god, yes. Please Rafey, I-I need you,” you whine, your back arching off the bed and into his chest.

Rafe's eyes darken with desire at your words, his control snapping at the way you cried out for him.

“I know, baby. I got you”, he groans, his hands gripping your shirt tightly and quickly pulling it over your head. He tosses the fabric to the floor, his eyes roving over your exposed skin with a longing admiration. "So fucking pretty," he murmurs, his hands running up your sides and caressing your flesh.

Rafe's gaze drops to your bra, his eyes fixed on the lace that covers your breasts. He stares at the thin material, reaching out to caress one of the straps with a shaky hand, his eyes still locked on the way your tits bounce free. Rafe's hands are quick, his fingers falling to your back and unhooking the bra with trembling motions. He drags it down your arms, his eyes ghosting over your bare chest. He swears for a moment he dies, brought back to life by the way your hard nipples sit erect in the air, the subtle pink bud breathing new life into him.

"Fuck," he mutters, his hands immediately coming up to touch your skin. His fingers trace over your flesh, kneading fists full of fat before attaching your nipples between his fingers. Little moans flow out of you, your hips bucking into his relentlessly.

“So soft”. His voice is hardly above a whisper as he peppers wet kisses down your collarbone landing on the bone that separates your breast. He licks a long strip between the two mounds, slipping a nipple between his teeth and sucking. He bobs his head a bit, the swollen bud becoming impossibly harder as his warm tongue teases you.

“Rafey”, you whine, the unfamiliar gentleness of his touch relaxing your body. Your hands fall on his hair, the dirty blonde locks almost too short for you to grasp. He loves the way your hips writhe into him, just as pathetic and needy as him. He gasps at the feeling, his hard cock pressing against you. Even through layers of jeans, you feel him, hard and tight. Rafe growls around your nipple and presses himself against you until you're a grinding mess of moans and whimpers.

“Are you trying to make yourself cum like that, princess?” This time, he lets out a chuckle watching your failing attempt to get off on him. He hovers over you, snapping his hips against yours as your head falls onto his shoulder. “Let me help you,” he smirks, shuffling above you. He stands at the foot of the bed, fumbling at the button of your jeans. His fingers are shaking, his breath hitching as they tug at the fabric, quickly pulling the annoyance down your legs. You're left in a pair of thin panties, the light blue fabric becoming more of a dark grey as your arousal soaks the material, an obvious mark of how undone Rafe has already left you.

He towers over you, green eyes a shade darker than normal as he spreads your legs. A newfound confidence washes over him, and he’s pulling his sweater off in a swift motion. His tan muscles hit the cold air, his eyes roaming over the way your pussy lips are outlined, in clear view even though the panties hugging at your sides. He almost loses right there, watching you all sprawled out and begging for him.

Rafe undoes his jeans, his movements quick and urgent as he tries to get them off, throwing them off the bed with a light ‘thud’. You can’t help but stare, mouth watering at the way his boxers press against him, a large bulge pulling at the fabric.

Rafe’s motions are smooth as he positions himself on the bed, his back against the bed frame, pillows keeping him at a ninety-degree angle. You grasp your waist, pulling each leg by his thighs so you're straddling him. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he pushes you back in forth on his clothed cock. Even through his boxers, he can feel your slick wetness, his fingers digging into your sides as you buck into him.

“That’s it. Fuck, grind my cock baby.” That’s all he has to say before you’re throwing your head back, bouncing your tits in his face as you practically ride him. Sharp gasps escape you, the smooth skin of your thighs pressed against his as your hips stir in a string of circular motions, massaging your clit with his hard cock.

Fuck,” he growls between gritted teeth, his jaw clenched as his eyes flutter close. “You…you gotta slow down baby”. He knew he wouldn’t make much longer for his cum to spill out of him, not with you crying above him and using him like some kind of sex toy. Rafe dragged a finger to your panties, quickly rubbing soft motions with his thumb, circling your clit with gentle strokes.

It’s enough to push you just over the edge of no return, your legs already shaking as your stomach tightens. “Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, your hand grabbing at Rafe’s shoulders.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me baby?” He growls, pulling your hips harder against him and rubbing his thumb faster.

You nod your head, crashing your lips against his as your orgasm hits you like lightning, a single bolt sending shots of painful ecstasy to every nerve.

Rafe wraps his arms around you, still gasping for air as he flips you into your back, his body weight crashing down on you.

His hands dig into the hem of your panties, his eyes fixed on the fabric as if he’s completely entranced, not a care in the world other than what’s concealed underneath. "I need to taste you," he mutters, his voice gravelly with need. "Can I taste you?"

His words sent an uninvited shiver through you, your cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. You fight not to turn away, a gasp leaving your lips as he spreads your legs.

Rafe was no stranger to your shyness, always turning away when he looked too long or brushed against you. His eyes roamed over you, fingers lightly brushing your thighs. “Don't get all shy on me now,” he smirked, your adorable blush sending shockwaves to his cock. “Please, please let me do this,” he begged, lightly pulling at your panties again.

“I…O-okay,” you whined, watching your panties fall down your legs and Rafe sinks to his knees. He snaked his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he smothered your skin in soft kisses. His hand made smooth up and down motions against you, his breath hot against your core as he spread your legs, hooking your ankles around his neck.

Rafe lost it, the sight of your swollen pussy in his face. You were so fucking perfect, arousal leaking out of your dark pink hole and onto the blanket under you. He ghosted his lips over your clit, mankind small quick motions with his tongue as his fingers spread your labia apart. Your clit was so pretty, swollen, and hard against him as he sucked his lips around it.

“Fuck, ohmygod” Your words came out in one syllable, euphoria dripping from your throat as Rafe lapped at your pussy, soaking you in his salvia. His spit ran down your legs, mixing with your arousal in a warm concoction of need.

“Taste like heaven, princess. Fucking heaven” he groaned against you, vibrating your clit between his teeth. Rafe could do this hours, days even he thinks. Swirling his tongue through your folds and cleaning the mess you made against him just moments ago. The way you're moaning his name, your hips bucking into his mouth as you dig your hands in his hair, it’s too much for him to take.

“Oh, Rafe!” You pray the walls of the hotel are insulated enough to drown out your cries, your brother just on the other side. Your head falls back, spine arching in the air as you tremble around him.

Rafe needs more, needs to feel you stretching around him hopelessly as he drills into you. But he can’t rush, wanting even more in this moment for you to cum in his mouth, let him swallow every drop of wetness that falls onto his tongue.

“That’s a good girl. I knew you would like it,” he groans, sucking at your clit with vengeance. “Don’t I always take care of you?” He asks, recalling moments when he drove you home from parties or picked you up after school. He was always there, just a phone call away from rescuing you if you ever needed it.

“Ah! God, Rafe. Please, I-I’m gonna…” you were cut off by your own gasps, a second orgasm coursing through your veins.

“Good fucking girl,” Rafe growled, quickly standing to his feet and tugging his boxers down. He knows he should probably open you up with his fingers, help stretch your walls a bit before he pounds into you, but he feels like he’s got seconds to last before he’s nutting in his underwear like a bitch.

“Fuck, I need you baby. Please, can I put it in?” He whines, a sound so foreign to you, that you almost can’t recognize it’s him. Rafe tried so hard to wait for you to tell yes, but he’s already rubbing the tips of sick against your pussy, your slick wetness painting the underside of his.

Rafe grabs at your legs, pulling you farther back until your ankles hang on his shoulders. “Fuck baby, need to hear you say it. Tell me I can take you. Tell me this pussy is all for me”

The tip of cock pressed into you lightly, dangerously close to dipping inside you. Rafe can feel your walls clenching, the warmth of you on his cock destroying all the strength he has.

“Please, Rafey. It’s yours. Please, please, please,” falls from your lips, your fingers digging into the blankets as Rafe shivers his cock inside. One swift motion and you are seeing stars, the pit in your stomach filling with rapture.

Rafe swears you were made for him, taking his cock until his balls are pressed against your ass. He tries to be gentle, pulling out so tormentingly slow. He finds a steady, rhythmic pace as he slams back into you, your legs shaking like you just ran a 5K.

“Fuck, ain’t gonna last long with you squeezing me like that,” Rafe groans, pounding into you with an unforeseen violence even he didn’t know how to stop.

“I need you to cum baby, please. Cum around my cock, need it so bad.” He practically cries, biting at his hand as he watches the way your tits bounce with every thrust.

“Close,” is all the strength you have to say, your eyes clenched tight as Rafe slams into your cervix. He brings his hand to your clit, rubbing soft circles that make your mouth snap open.

“Fuck!” You scream, bucking your hips as much as movements would allow. In a second you're following his instructions. Your walls are like velvet, hugging his cock so tight he’s afraid he might not be able to stop. He growls at the thought, wishing he could flood you full of his hot thick seed.

“Shit,” he whispered through gritted teeth, pulling his cock out faster than he ever would have hoped. “Open that pottery mouth baby, fuck” Rafe grabs your hair, gently pulling you so sit just under his cock, your tongue pressed against his tip as he strokes every bit of his cum into you.

“Fucking swallow it,” he demands, pumping harder as he shoves his head passed your teeth, hitting the back of your throat as ropes of his juices fill you. Salty and bitter, but a welcomed taste you always dreamed of.

“Good girl” he whispers, watching you scope the drops running down your chin into your mouth, sucking your finger as you swallow.

“You okay,” he asks, a hint of nervousness overshadowed by breathless huffs.

“Great,” you laugh, pulling him next to you on the bed. You run your hands down his chest, the veins in his arms lightly sprinkled with sweat.

“You know I’ve always liked you more than your brother,” Rafe chuckles, running his fingers through your hair.

“Yeah, me too” you smile, sprinkling his shoulder in light kisses.

“I meant what I said at you being mine. I don’t ever want to be away from you.” Rafe pulls the blankets over your body, holding you tight as the storm outside continues to brew, the hollowing audible again.

“I meant it when I said I was yours.” You close your eyes, Rafe's strong arms warming your body.

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