dickgraysonisnothereforthis

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

You: men who yearn are men who earn.

Jason: *literally been yearning for you for more time than he’d like to admit* and when the fuck does that happen? Asking for a friend.

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is there gonna be a part 3 to “I know you want me on your team”? Please tell me there’s gonna be a part 3 😭

Yes yes! I’ve actually started it, it’s in my drafts. I’ve just gotta finish some other projects first, and then I’ll get back to it~~~

(folks in my head there’s a part 3 and a part 4…we’ll see what comes to light…)

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AHHH OH MY GOSH I ALSO LOVE YOUR HASON VAMPIRE SERIES AND A BEW ULDATE ON THAT WOULD BE SO STELLAR AS WELL (but no pressure)

ALSO HOW ARE ALL OF YOUR FICS SO GOOD YOU ARE ACTUALLY SO CREATIVE

Ok final ask of this kind sorry I let it sit

But thank you!!!! I am running on spite and hyper fixation and I hope it shows in all of my work——

jason x vampire!reader will also be updated! I have some stuff in the works, just have to finish some other projects and then I’ll get around to it

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

younger siblings am i right

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AAAH I ALSO LOVE YOUR DICK GRAYSON PR SERIES SO AMAZINGLY MUCH HOLY SHIT HOW ARE YOU SUCH A GOOD WRITER WHAT DO YOU PUT IN YOUR FICSSSSS???!!!!! PLEASE PLEASE UPDATE THAT ONE TOO (but no pressure) SORRY FOR ALL THE ASKS BUT YOUR AMAZING WRITING IS SENDING ME DOWN A RABBIT HOLE OF YOUR WONDERFUL BLOG AAARGH I JUST KNOW IM NOT GOING TO GET ANY SLEEP TONIGHT

Thank you!! Don’t worry about all the asks, I’m so happy to get them!!

Unfortunately the PR series is finished (even though it ends on a sour note oops). I wrote it so long ago, and I’ve grown and changed a lot as a writer since then. The teeth who wrote that PR series is no more.

But if you have a new Nightwing request I can give it a shot!

I’m so glad you’re having fun on the blog!!! That’s why we’re here babyyy

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AHHH I LOVE YOUR LIBERAL ARTS SERIES SO MUCHHHH!!!! I CANT WANIT TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!!! AND YOU’RE SUCH A GOOD WRITER I JUST AAAARGH!!!! I WISH I COULD GOVE YIU A MILLION LIKES AND LIKE IDK DRINK YOUR FICS FOR BREAKFAST!!! PLEASE PLEASE UPDATE IT!!!! (But no pressure)

Thank you!! 💕💕 dude I’m obsessed with “I’d drink your fics for breakfast” a) thank you b) that’s genius

didn’t realize this was the liberal arts will be updated! I’m not sure when, I’m currently 2/3 of the way through a 15k Sukuna x reader fic that has me by the throat. Gotta get some Sukuna bs out of my system.

But when I finish I want to get back to some other projects, including the liberal arts. I have a solid outline! I have a plan!

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

I do enjoy your writing when I remember to open tumblr.

Really makes this annoying midterm paper easy to write with the little breaks I give myself to read your writing.

Thank you so much!! I’m glad you’re having fun, god knows I am ❤️❤️

And I’m sorry you’re stuck in midterm hell our thoughts are with you 🫡🫡🫡

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

MMA Fighter Sukuna!!

(Also a shading study of @/kcokaine!!)

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Bruce truly hates magic with every pump and beat of his heart.

What kinda curse is Slang, anyway?

“This is the best day of my life.”

“Bro really thought he ate with that.” Bruce physically feels a full body shiver, charged with nausea and cringe. “This is level 10 cringe. Can’t have shit in Gotham.”

Dick is his earth bound angel, but he laughs like a demon at him, holding onto Jason for support, pledging his eternal loyalty to Zatana and her pettiness.

—

“Hey, old bat, hook me up with an adrenaline shot.”

What he wants to say is Jay, do not try and fight with 6 bullets in your stomach.

What comes out instead, through Bruce’s grit teeth and intense, fierce glaring, “Not you trying to go back to your corpse era. See how I only took 2 shots? Very demure. Very mindful.”

Jason passes out from blood loss, but mostly laughter.

—

“Chat, is this real?”

Stephanie barely bites back a full belly cackle. “I think he just asked us if we copied.”

“I wish I was Jason, 15.”

—

“This is not a slay environment. Killing is flop behavior.” He keeps his eyes shut and buries his face in his hands. Trying to convince Damian not to stab someone doesn’t seem to work.

Damian gives him a pat like he’s a pitiful cat. “I’ll only stab the non lethal areas.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

I keep coming back to this fic!! Absolutely obsessed with how you’ve portrayed heian era Sukuna, I feel like he’s so tricky to pin down because he is juuust interested enough not to kill reader flat out. But not a bit more. This fic fucking nails that.

And I love how much of a dick he is about it here. “Keep up/put more effort into your performance” oh my gooood. "He’d let you earn the right to touch him back" someone hit this little man over the head with some modesty i stg. but of course that's the point.

Seventh-eighths cruel, one-eighth nice enough for you to come back (not that you have a choice). Incredible

That's How You Serve Your King

Yuji's Form! Ryomen Sukuna x Fem! Reader

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 1.2k words

⋆.ᝰ.ᐟ Summary:

hey sukuna gooners!

this one’s dark, twisted and all consuming. this is my personal vignette of what sukuna might be like as a lover: possessive, cruel, and controlling in the most unholy ways. expect violence, pain, and praise wrapped in the kind of devotion that hurts.

please read at your own risk. if any of this sounds uncomfortable, feel free to scroll.

⋆.ᝰ.ᐟ Warnings:

Read At Your Own Risk!, MDNI 18+, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Dom! Sukuna, Sub! Reader, Mention of Blood, Mention of Violence, Slight Physical Violence, Possessive Behavior, Riding, Degradation, Praise, Restraint

Sukuna wasn’t affectionate.

He didn’t cradle. He didn’t kiss you like he missed you. He didn’t call you “mine” with tenderness. No, when Sukuna claimed you, it was with blood and a splash of violence like owning you meant conquering you.

You weren’t a lover. You were his favorite possession.

His pet. His plaything. His prize.

He fucked you when he wanted, how he wanted, with no need for rhythm or care.

If you were lucky? He’d let you earn the right to touch him back.

Most days, your hands weren’t even allowed to graze his skin, not without permission.

And on nights like this, when you were needy, soaked through with desperation, begging for more?

He didn’t give in. He gave opportunity.

“Get on my lap,” he said. “You want it? Then work for it.”

That’s how you found yourself here: naked, shaking, and straddling the King of Curses like a trembling little sacrifice. Your wrists pinned behind your back, his nails tight around your throat.

He hadn’t moved once.

This was all you.

You’re already on him.

Naked and gasping, straddling his lap as if the throne was built for this, for you. For your knees digging into cursed stone. For your body trembling from effort. For the sound of skin against skin echoing through his domain like prayer.

But your hands are useless.

Pinned at the small of your back by one of his massive palms, wrist to wrist in a grip that burns, held there like he’s daring you to collapse. His other hand stays at your throat, a constant reminder of who owns the rhythm, the pace, the air in your lungs.

You’re riding him, trying to, at least. Every thrust of your hips takes everything you’ve got. No leverage. No balance. Just you, shaking, sweating, barely able to breathe.

He watches with that apathetic smirk, head tilted, jaw resting lazily on his knuckles like a king watching a peasant put on a show.

“That’s the best you got?”

His voice is low, rough. A rasp soaked in mockery. “Tch. Put more effort into your performance.”

Your thighs burn. Your breath comes out in short gasps against his mouth. But you keep going.

Because you know what it sounds like when you get it right.

You know what it means when that grin fades, when the muscle in his jaw ticks and that low, guttural sound tears from his chest without warning.

And when you finally draw it out of him, he huffs a sharp breath, head falling back slightly. For a second, just one, he moans.

You feel it. Victory. Brief and trembling.

But he doesn’t let it last.

His claws dig harder into your wrists. The hand on your throat tightens just enough to make your vision flicker.

“You’re struggling,” he mutters darkly. “Keep. Up.”

Your knees ache, grinding against the jagged edges of his stone throne. They’ve long gone numb shaking under the weight of your own body and the burden of pleasing his. Sweat clings to every curve. The sharp scent of blood trails down from your throat, where his claws pierce just enough to make it drip.

And still, you move.

Because he hasn't.

Because he won't.

Sukuna lounges like a god. Spine slouched against his throne, thighs spread like he owns the plane you breathe on. And he does.

The only parts of him that move are his hands.

One is coiled tight around your throat, possessive, controlling, daring you to fall apart.

The other has your wrists pinned behind your back in a single, punishing grip, like he’s holding a leash made of bone and will.

He doesn’t thrust. Doesn’t move.

“You wanted this,” he drawls, voice soaked in malice and amusement. “Then show me.”

Your body burns. Wrists numb. Knees raw. Every roll of your hips is another plea for approval, another crawl toward satisfaction he refuses to hand you.

And still you move.

Dragging yourself through hell, for him.

Because maybe that’s where you belong.

His gaze sharpens when your movements start to slow, hips faltering with fatigue.

“That’s the best you got?” he murmurs, almost bored. “I hate repeating myself. I said keep up.”

You swallow a cry, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you push down on him again, harder. Deeper. Your body protests, slick and sore, but your pride screams louder.

“Don't disappoint me,” he adds, and you swear you feel him twitch inside you when you do exactly that.

Your eyes sting. Knees slipping. Muscles giving out. You’re falling apart right there in his lap and he just watches with a grin that grows sharper every time you struggle and still keep moving.

“Sukuna…” you choke out, voice trembling. “Please..”

He grips your jaw hard, dragging your face up to meet his.

“You don’t demand me,” he hisses, voice low and deadly. “You serve me.”

He still hasn’t moved. Hasn’t thrust once. Hasn’t even leaned forward.

And yet you’re unraveling.

You’re the one doing the work, the one offering everything, tearing yourself open in the middle of his domain just to feel the subtle shift of his breath when you finally draw a quiet, involuntary moan from his lips.

That sound? It's everything.

You earned that.

“Good girl,” he mutters finally, watching you ride with trembling thighs.

Your thighs are burning. Vision blurry. You're close, so close and the cruel arch of his brow says he knows it. He feels it in the way your walls clench around him. The way your hips stutter, desperate to keep rhythm even as your body begs to give out.

And when the first broken sound slips from your throat, a soft, helpless whimper, he laughs.

Low. Dark. Cruel.

“Finally,” he huffs, lips curling into a twisted grin. “There it is. Cry for me.”

You're already there. Body trembling violently, lips parted, tears catching on your lashes. Every whimper is an admission: you’re his, you’re his, you’re his.

“You look pathetic,” he says with that deadly calm. “But fuck, you're doing exceptional.”

You come undone with a strangled moan, no hands to brace yourself, no softness to fall into. Just him, his cock buried deep, his claws tight on your throat, his voice cutting through the haze like a command from hell.

“That’s it,” he growls, watching your back arch, your shoulders strain, your entire body tremble from the effort.

“Come for me. Make a mess.”

And gods, you do.

Your climax hits like a curse, violent and overwhelming. With your wrists still trapped behind your back, there's nothing to brace against, nothing to cling to.

You shatter around him, body jolting, moans caught in your throat, your slick soaking his lap. You try to move through it, hips rolling weakly, chasing every drop of release you can find. But your strength is gone.

You're gasping. Whimpering still.

And he's laughing again, quiet, almost pleased.

“Was that all?” It was barely a whisper, but it felt like a verdict.

And then his hand shifted.

Clawed fingers slid from your throat to your cheek, cupping it with surprising ease. His thumb brushed just beneath your eye, smearing tears and sweat and blood without a word.

He leaned in so close, you held your breath. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

A beat.

Maybe two.

Then, finally..

He let go.

Your body collapsed forward into his chest, spent and broken and utterly his.

And he let you stay there.

Just this once.

“That’s how you serve your king.”

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

←batman and robin

bruce wayne and jason todd hanging out (on a rainy day)→

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making a collection

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The reactions to The Batman part 2 announcements are always so funny on twt

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The Bat family stuff I was talking about :D. Really wanted to do one of these 'Robins and their birds' thing for quite a while now, but never got around to it!

By the way: If one catches your eye, you can grab a print on my INPRNT! In some cases it's set $5 less than a bust-commission, plus there's an extra 20% off for the spring sale I'm currently running! You can find the code here! :3