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fleuraimer · 10 months

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hi girlies :)). i've got another breeding blurby to share, thank ms. bubbles @harrysonlylover.

wc: 1.6k

cw: talk of menstrual and ovulation cycle, smut, minors dni, 17+, breeding kink, and more. not proofread.

Some people might say that the extent of his knowledge and control over Y/N’s life is not healthy. They might even suggest that his possessive behavior is a red flag, too. The constant messaging, always knowing her location, who she’s with, when she’s with them, why, how…

They didn’t tend to think of it that way. Love comes in all forms and theirs is… different.

Y/N likes being controlled. She wants him to know everything about her. She fucking craves the comfort of being taken care of for the price of absolutely nothing.

Well, maybe a few things.

Her obedience, for one, was expected (required). Her honesty, and loyalty. Her submission, too (although, sometimes, he liked to submit to her).

They’d found a simple way of living on some inherit, basic principles.

One, Y/N loved to be taken care of.

Two, he loved to take care of her.

So that was that. He was controlling, and she reveled in the power imbalance, and they didn’t care if others didn’t understand it, or like it, or even respect it. It was theirs, and it was enough.

It was fucking perfect.

One of the many ways he kept a tight leash on Y/N’s life was by tracking her menstrual cycle. He liked being ahead of the game—warm bath with waterlily scented suds ready for when she arrived home after her courses, her favorite sweet treats scattered across the kitchen island, Gilmore Girls queued up on his laptop, candles lit and heating pad at attention. Keeping track of her period meant knowing other things, intuitively, too. Like knowing that her cramps were worst on the first few days ( they were horrendous the last days too, though), that she’s more cuddly and soft than irritable or grumpy, that if she was too— no, severely stressed, overworking herself mentally, emotionally, and physically, she’d more likely than not work herself into a dreadful tizzy and end up intensifying (or even sometimes missing) her cycle.

Like now.

The poor thing, she was curled up in a frail little ball by end of the night every day this past week, deadlines looming over her head like a dark, rainy cloud as midterms approach. And, stubborn angel girl she is, she doesn’t bleat and moan about it to him. She doesn’t weep into his chest about how difficult this time is the way he encourages her to. She holds her chin high until the sun falls from the sky, her perseverance going with it, the stars and moon left to keep her and her misery company. And him, of course.

So, before the height of her period—when the red devil actually rears her ugly little head instead of inspiring trepidation of the inevitable with sore tits, an achy spine, and mental anguish—he thinks he’ll treat her a bit. And perhaps himself, as well (what? periods meant ovulating, and ovulating meant a lot of things).

———

Y/N’s head is quiet for the first time in days, and it’s all because of him.

As if anyone else could do what he does for her.

“Pretty girl,” he whispers in the place he’s nuzzled into her neck, littered with love bites and bruises. His cock is stuffed in her drippy pussy, stretching her deliciously over his thick, lengthy girth; his strong, beefy arms trapping her body to his like a vice.

Cowgirl usually makes Y/N’s thighs sore, but he’d taken the liberty of doing all the work tonight. He was in no mood for teasing, nor mocking or degrading. She wasn’t his whore tonight, just his girl. His soft, gorgeous, sensitive girl that deserved a sweet fucking after all the tears she’d choked down this week.

She needed a good cry.

“My little pillow princess, yeah?” He mumbles, peaking up at her sluggish form. She’s slumped into him, head lain on his shoulder uselessly, hands gripping the tight Henley he’d neglected to rid himself of in the rush of their lustrous dance. She manages a nod, however, lazy and slow, but, somehow, still urgent. Frantic. In the glow of her eye, he can see, she adores that idea. “Yeah,” He nods, gripping the soft curve of her jaw to move her head with him, “My girl.”

She whimpers, but doesn’t speak. Too exhausted, too sedated. His cum is addicting, and if it were a drug, she’d inject it right into her veins (up her cunt).

Her arms wind around his neck, fingers spreading through the curly, sweaty tendrils of hair at the nape. Her nails tickle him, in the best way, only adding to the allure of her being. Of her mere presence.

Her hips swivel, rocking against his to create a mind-numbing sensation that has them both mewling. His cock stretches her out and fills her up completely, felt in the deepness of her tummy. Her lashes flutter when she feels him twitch inside of her, a sign that he’s close (she’d realize that she’s much closer if she had the brain capacity to think of anything other than him).

The thought—of his cum filling her to the point of spilling around their joined parts, a filthy mess between their legs—makes her dizzy. Eager. She’d been good, so good, this week, hadn’t she?

Fed herself, cleaned herself, went to class on time, even though school made her unpleasantly weak in the knees. She studied every day for at least three hours at the library, before trudging home with bleary eyes and a foggy head, only to do more studying.

She deserved a treat, right? A reward for staying in line, for not being bratty or whiny when he was busy and all she wanted was for her brain to shut off.

Now, with the opportunity before her (to go totally brain-dead, that is), she refuses to not seize the moment.

“Come,” she says suddenly, catching him mildly off guard.

Oh? She wanted to order him around?

“Please.”

Oh. Guess not.

“Please, please, come, Sir, I want it, so fucking bad,” she whines, mouthing at the chain sitting delicately across his neck. It’s nearly out of place; something so frail and pretty looks almost comical gracing his large, stocky figure. Perhaps that’s how those judgy people saw them, out of place.

She didn’t care though, she thought it looked nice on him. He made it look nice. Made it better, just like he makes everything better.

“Wan’ me t’a stuff you up, Babydoll?” he grunts, thankful that she’d somehow picked up on his primitive, feral need. Or maybe she just wanted it just as bad. “Fill you with my come and make you m’messy girl?”

“Yes, please,” she cries faintly, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, hiding her face in his neck as the tears finally start to flow.

How precious.

“Okay,” he sighs, his hands trailing from her hips to the plush, full of her ass. “I’ll fill y’up, Sugar.” He lifts her up, letting his cock slip from her fluttering hole to the tip— less than the tip. He smears himself onto her clit, making her jolt, and spanks her in reprimand. “Stay still for Daddy,” he scolds softly. “Lemme do my job.”

She cries pitifully when her thrusts back inside, hard. And he doesn’t lighten up. Not in the slightest. He pounds his cock into her small pussy, chasing his orgasm, trying to claim hers, bullying his way through her tight snatch to find them.

“Play with your pouty clit, Doll,” he offers. “Wan’ y’to come with me; cream my fat cock, Baby.”

Y/N does not need to be told twice.

One hand drops from the back of his head to toy with her swollen button, and it takes three weak twirls of her delicate fingers to get her there. He’s not far behind, nuzzling into her neck once more, mirroring her own position on top of him, groaning out profanities as his orgasm washes over him, from his head to the tips of his toes. He continues to drill his cock into her until his legs give out, trembling beneath her own.

They pant heavily, in unison, into each others necks as they start to come down.

He feels good, accomplished. He can feel that satisfaction rolling off of his girl in waves—felt it throughout their soft session—and it was more than enough to keep him happy. His orgasm was just a much appreciated bonus.

And Y/N… she feels great. Cunt clenching over his half-hard cock, full of him, literally, in every way she could be. Thoughts silenced and replaced with rose hued daydreams, floaty, fuzzy sensations that tingle through her entire body and make her slightly sluggish, slow. She feels fucking amazing.

“Hope it takes…” she admits softly, absently. The phrase slips off of her tongue without thought (we’ve established that their are none left in that subby head of hers), and her tone suggests she’s not expecting a reaction.

He gives her one, anyway.

“Say that again,” he demands, grip on her ass tightening, his voice grumbly, deep, shooting a shiver up her spine.

“Huh?”

“Tell Daddy what the fuck you just said, Babydoll.”

Her eyes round out even more, if possible, lips parted, gazing owlishly. Stupidly.

“Said, ‘I hope it takes,’ Daddy,” She whimpers quietly, squeezing around his, once again, stiff prick.

“Shit,” he hisses, eyes fluttering.

It’s like she wanted to stay locked on his cock all night.

…Oh well.

So be it.

“It’ll take, Sugar,” he says after a few moments of tense silence, shifting her up gently, manhandling her with a softness that makes her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. He presses a chaste kiss to her mouth, sweet. Contradictory.

“Daddy’ll make it take.”

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thevoidstaredback · 4 months

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How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Waking up to a clean apartment was not what Dick was expecting at all. It was a nice surprise, for sure, but it begged the question as to how long he was asleep for. His phone said that it was the same day, only two hours later, but that state of the apartment suggested it had been at least a day!

He poked his head into the room he'd given Danny to stay in. The kid had ignored the bed almost completely, it seemed, and curled up in the corner furthest from the door with the blanket and his bag. He closed the door softly as he left the room. He hated that Danny didn't feel safe enough to sleep on the bed, but he understood the need to have his back to a corner.

Dick took one look at the shopping list on the counter before opening his fridge. Immediately, he closed it again. The rancid stench of spoiled milk and other foodstuffs seeped into the open room, making Dick rush to open the windows. He added candles and Febreeze to the shopping list. With his pay, he should have more than enough to get everything written down, as well as some things for Danny.

Would Danny want to go to school? Or would he want to take online courses? What grade would he even be in? There was nothing about any of that in the cover story the kid had made up. Did he just not think about it, or had he deemed it unimportant? Either way, Dick would bring it up with him in a little bit. For now, shopping. The kid had done a hell of a job with cleaning up, so it was only natural that Dick would pull his weight in his own apartment.

Making sure to leave a note, Dick locked the door behind himself as he headed down, mentally adding fridge magnets to the shopping list, too.

***

Stepping back into the apartment was like walking into someone else's home. The place looked no different than when he'd left earlier, but it was only just now settling that he now had someone to take care of. Dick was no longer alone in this apartment. He had someone to look out for, someone who was looking out for him.

And how pathetic was that? A child was having to take care of him. He's an adult! He should be able to take care of himself! But, here he is, hopeless. He hadn't even bothered to get off his ass and go shopping or clean up a little bit until a kid knocked on his door and spelled everything out for him in blue glitter pen.

Dick set down the six bags he was carrying on the counter. He completely emptied out the fridge and freezer, throwing it all away. It all had to go. The smell would linger for a little bit, but it wouldn't ever get that bad again, especially now that the stuff causing it was all gone. He quickly put everything away before picking up his phone.

He hadn't called the Manor in a while. Not since- not since Jason died...

He shook his head, scolding himself for letting irrational fear and anger get in the way of contacting the only family he had left, and called Wayne Manor.

After exactly two and a half rings, the line picked up. "Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking."

"Hey, Alfie," Dick knew he sounded pathetic.

There was..something on the other end that Dick couldn't quite pick up before Alfred spoke, formalities dropped and a smile in his voice. "Master Dick, how good to hear from you. It has been a while."

He leaned against the counter, sagging a bit. "Yeah, it has been. I'm sorry, Alfred, I just-"

"No need to apologize, Master Dick, I completely understand."

Did he? Maybe. "That's- Thank you, Alfred, really, but I didn't really call to apologize."

"Oh?" There was another sound in the background, a little closer to the phone, but not close or loud enough to be clearly picked up. "What seems to be the issue, then?"

"I, um," God, how was he going to explain this? "A kid showed up at my door, um, and offered to help me out? I-I couldn't say no to him, Alfe, but- I don't! I-I don't know how to take care of a kid!" The floodgates seemed to open with that as he sank to the floor, his back against the wall. "I can barely take care of myself, let alone a whole other person! But I can't put him back on the streets, Alfred, I just can't. And the things he's been telling me- He's not had an okay life, Alfred. I don't- I don't know what to do."

It was quiet for a moment before Alfred let out a small breath. "You, too?"

"Huh?"

THe question was ignored. "Take a deep breath for me, Master Dick." He did. "Good. This child, how old is he?"

"I don't know, about fourteen?"

A click of his tongue. "Taking care of a child is going to look different for everyone, especially if they've never had to care for anyone but themselves before. From what I understand, he has come to you for safety. He has nowhere else to go, yes?"

"Well, yeah, other than the streets, but I'm not sending him back out there-!"

"I'm not telling you to. If he came to you, he will leave of his own accord. It is your job to make sure he knows he can stay and that he is safe with you."

"I know that, but-"

"Do you have food in your house?"

"I- What? Yeah, I just got back from shopping."

"Good. Is your house clean?"

"Yeah, he, um, the kid cleaned up the place while I was asleep."

"Alright. Does he have a place to sleep?"

"Yeah, I gave him my spare room. What does this-?"

"Then the only thing left for you to do is to make sure he knows he's allowed to be comfortable there. Make sure he knows that it is a safe space for him and that he can stay as long as he likes. From the sounds of it, he intends to take care of you just as you intend to take care of him. Find a middle ground, set up some house rules, go at a pace that works for the both of you. You two will grow into a routine that fits for you in time. And it will take time. Bonds do not grow overnight, especially ones that are meant to last. It will be hard, but that is what makes it worth it."

Dick was quiet for a minute. Alfred let him gather his thoughts, not hanging up and simply waiting. Finally, "Thanks, Alfred."

"You are most welcome, Master Dick." The old man was smiling again. "Oh, aster Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"When you two are more comfortable, please come by the Manor."

Dick smiled, too. "I will. And I'll try to call more often."

"That's all I ask. Have a good day, Master Dick.

"Thanks, Alfred, you, too."

Part 5 Part 7

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