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mune-writes · 6 months ago

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TW: Mentions of dub con/non consensual intimacy or coercion. (From his past lovers, not reader) (A/N this is my favorite thing I've ever writtenreader

TW: NSFW content.

2.5k word count

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Okay, this could be a bit of a hot take, but I am a firm believer in soft Jason Todd during sex.

Especially at the beginning of a relationship. He died young and his only sexual experiences were with Talia, who groomed him, Essence, who he believed betrayed him for the longest time and maybe Artemis, (Idk if that's canon? Can someone confirm or deny?) who was probably pretty rough given her arrogant, abrasive, and violent personality.

So, when he dates you, he's more than just hesitant. He's pretty much terrified. But he's used to hiding his feelings because they make him feel vulnerable and weak, which he hates. When you start tearing down his walls, he starts to panic. He likes spending time with you, thinking about you, kissing you. Especially that last part.

But it never goes very far because he always pulls away when things get more heated. Like, you in his lap, him nearly fully hard before quickly picking you up by your hips and moving you to the other side of the couch before standing up, clearing his throat and leaving.

It takes over two months before he feels comfortable enough to even tell you the reason he doesn't want to be intimate and the only reason he did is because you started to feel like he wasn't attracted to you or you had something wrong.

He rushed to reassure you that wasn't the case and finally told you the —partial— truth. He had scars he didn't want you seeing, he had bad prior experiences, he felt like he was being used almost every time he slept with someone and couldn't stand that feeling because it made him physically ill.

It took several weeks after that to slowly adapt to that realization and discuss how to make that feeling go away. Taking things slow, making it last, keeping it gentle, seemed to be the best way. And it was somehow perfect and tortuous all at once. He let you ride his thigh, at first. That was the first time he'd ever allowed any form of intimacy between you too. Partially because you looked desperate and he felt bad and partially because he genuinely wanted to see what you looked like while doing that.

Not to mention, he was still too afraid to be the one doing anything. So, it was best if he just helped.

His grip was firm, his eyes glued to you. You whispered more praise in those few minutes than he had heard from anyone in months all together, maybe even the year. He felt good. He was helping you. You appreciated it. You appreciated him. He was attractive. You were thanking him for giving this to you. Practically begging for his help.

And it made his heart clench, not to mention his teeth. There were other forms of physical intimacy after that, still only to you, because he didn't want to risk showing his scars or get that nausea in his stomach again during sex. You'd allow him pretty much anything and everything, if it meant he was more comfortable with you and your body. Sliding his hand under your shirt while you slept over (quite literally just falling asleep after eating dinner together) brushing his knuckles against your breasts, hesitant to touch them, but finding comfort in it all at once.

You assured him three different times—before he did it, when his hand was just barely under your shirt, and when his fingers first tugged at your nipples. It's when he's finally a bit more comfortable, pressing his lips to your shoulder blade that you hum and roll over. Your hair finds his hair, stroking it and he presses his lips to your neck, almost on instinct. You let him kiss lower and lower, gently guiding his head towards your breasts, all while repeating more and more praise, reminding him he's under no obligation to do anything, ever, if he doesn't feel comfortable.

But he does. With you, he does.

It leads to him kissing and sucking at your chest until he loses track of time and you're painfully wet. That was plenty, you promised. He doesn't need to do anymore than that. But he does, because he doesn't want to take his hands off your soft skin. So you gently drag his hand down, keeping the other firmly on his shoulder while you stare into his eyes, as his fingers slide through your slick. A sharp inhale makes him hold his breath. The other women he'd been with only ever wanted the most physical part of sex, never to do something like this. You were so soft and warm, assuring him he was doing fine while guiding his hand until you eventually couldn't keep looking at him and had to close your eyes. He liked that. A lot.

The way your hand moved, letting him do what he wanted while you gripped the sheets. He listened so well, trying to make you happy or just keep making those sounds—his name falling from your lips. If you wanted his fingers to move faster, they would. If you said deeper, they were. If you said to curl them, they'd curl. You were so... captivating, he had found. Usually, he was too in his head, so focused on how long until it was over that he never even considered being able to enjoy it.

But he wasn't rushing with you. He didn't want you to stop saying his name. When you finally came down from the high he'd brought you, your first words were a question, asking if he was alright. When he nodded, you started telling him how perfect he was, how good that felt. He liked that almost as much as your moans.

Yet, you felt guilty, never taking care of him. He never asked. In fact he repeatedly denied the offer until you chose to stop asking rather than upset him.

Until one day, when you were on the couch, leaning against him as he read, your hand perched on his thigh. He didn't know if it was the fact that you were wearing such a low cut tank top or how you'd been absent mindedly rubbing circles around his sweatpants while reading over his shoulder, but he was worked up. It took twice as long to finish a page with your motion making his mind go to places it shouldn't.

He was worried, about you rejecting his desires, or something like that. Something mocking or doing something that was uncomfortable. People had done that before, eliciting physical reactions he didn't want to feel. But he wanted to try, to feel you on him the way he'd felt you.

His hands grabbed yours and when you looked up in confusion, he just gently and silently slid your hand a bit further on his leg, towards his erection. He'd absolutely taken care of himself, and often, because it was a quick stress relief that left him tired before bed. But lately, the more he did it, the more his mind wandered to you and that, for some reason, made him finish a lot harder than usual.

Your hand brushed against it and you asked if he was sure before pressing a kiss to the side of his shoulder and sinking down to the carpet below, on your knees in between his legs. Running your hands up and down his thighs in a soothing sort of gesture both calmed him and felt like torture all at once. But it only lasted a little bit, while you promised him he was in control, because that's what he needed to hear.

That he could say no at any time if he was even the slightest bit uncomfortable. When you slid his boxers down, his heart jumped in panic. Of course you noticed the scars on his thighs instantly. But ignored them, because he still hardly ever showed them aside for occasionally wearing short sleeves. You were silent and he was scared but all you'd said at last, was that he was pretty.

"Pretty."

That word had never been used to describe him. Not before his death and certainly not after. Even the feeling of your gentle kiss on his skin and your thumb swiping over the top had him gripping the pillows, still stressed. Your hand took his, squeezing it when your lips finally enveloped him, his length disappearing into your mouth. His breaths were shaky, his hold on your hand getting painfully tight.

He felt like he was in pure bliss, his mouth falling open to pant as his head fell back against the couch practically begging you to keep going. The feeling of your hums had done him in. And his moans, loud and tough, getting whiny towards the end as the euphoria wore off assured you he was fine. He slid his boxers and sweats up quickly, his cheeks red, from the act not embarrassment (he'd say and lie) but you just laid your head on his knee, staring at him, asking how he was.

Good was an understatement. Great, too. Incredible. Amazing. None of those compliments came out. He couldn't speak, just looked back up at the ceiling as his breathing came back under control.

All you'd done in response was tell him he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to, climbing back into the couch and wrapping your arms around his midsection, resting your head against him. You stayed like that—silent. The only question you dared to ask was if he'd want that again and his response was a kiss.

He realized after that, how truly deeply he loved you.

A feeling he was so unused to, he couldn't pinpoint it for the longest time. You felt safe. Maybe that's what made him want to finally seal the deal with you. Or maybe it was the way his body physically ached in a way that no amount of help from his own hand or your mouth could fix.

Something about it was missing.

He wanted the lights off. You had accepted that, but told him you'd really rather see him. He caved almost instantly, because as afraid he was of you seeing him, he wanted to see you too bad to care enough. You were undressed first, naturally. He'd seen that before, in bed while touching you, or just as you changed it got in the shower. He wasn't any less smitten, still obsessed with every inch of exposed skin. It took a few deep breaths and reassuring words before he was willing to unbutton his shirt.

In fact, he couldn't. He'd asked you to do it.

That felt oddly more intimate to him. Your fingers moved slowly, undoing them one by one, a bit more of his chest exposed with each button undone. You had seen a lot of his scars, after he got more comfortable wearing shorts or shirts that showed his arms. He still never revealed his chest and when you did, he looked away, his teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek to keep from tears brimming in his eyes as he heard the small gasp leave your lips.

He almost jumped when you touched one, your fingertips feeling light as a feather. Tears kept pricking but he refused to let them fall. He was being vulnerable but he couldn't allow himself to be that weak. Your other hand found his cheek, pulling his face to look at your face, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip as you pursed your own, tightly to keep from any strangled sounds escaping.

Your voice was equally as emotional when you eventually spoke, telling him in a shaky voice that he was still pretty. Those words or perhaps how your voice cracked when you said them, broke him. A tear slipped down his cheek and you were quick to brush it away with your thumb and kissed his cheek softly, confessing that you loved him.

He couldn't stand it anymore.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your neck letting himself breathe for what felt like the first time all over again. A real breath. One without any heaviness attached to it because you'd stolen all the stones from his walls one by one. You repeated it, so he knew it wasn't a mistake or accident and he started peppering short kisses to your neck, all the way to your lips, which he kissed deeply, his bare chest pressed entirely around your own.

Your arms were around his neck, in his hair, pulling him closer and his hands started to wander, desperately craving to have you without any barriers anymore. He stared at you, or at least tried to, when he felt your velvety walls surround him, clenching tightly when his hips were finally flushed with yours. His jaw was locked tightly until you started running your hand up and down his spine, telling him he could take a moment, if he needed it.

He did.

Not because he was nervous, since for once, he wasn't, but because he wanted to stare at you in this state and revel in your feeling for a moment more. He did, until it became painful for both of you and every thrust he made was slow and deep, staring into each other's eyes, taking full breaths in at the same time for several moments until his pace was quick, along with your breathing.

Your praise never stopped, even when it wasn't fully coherent and ended in a moan or whine. His own praise for you wasn't lacking either, telling you how perfect you felt, how badly he wanted you, how much he appreciated you waiting on him because he really was enjoying it, probably more than he'd enjoyed anything in his entire life.

When you're both a mess, panting and quiet from the feelings that washed over you both, his body goes limp, laying on top of you. Your hands rub his shoulders reassuringly, although slowly and his hands hold either side of your head, fingers threaded into your hair as he pressed his forehead against yours, feeling your breath on him. It was silent, until he eventually lifted his head to admire you, your stray hairs sticking to your face, your puffy lips, your blown pupils.

He said it back, at that moment.

He loved you too and couldn't stand letting you think anything else for a single moment more.

You didn't respond, but your lips curled into a grin and a heavy sigh left your chest, your hands moving from his shoulders to cup his face and lean up to kiss him.

He rolled you over, causing a slight squeal from you, letting you lay on him so he wasn't crushing you any longer. You rested your head against his chest, silently tracing his scars as he messed with your hair, the moonlight streaming in through the window.

His voice eventually broke the comfortable silence when he whispered to you, asking you to "Say it again."

You didn't hesitate to tell him you'd "Say it as many times as he wanted to hear it."

With his lips twitching, the slight wit he always possessed came back, questioning what you'd do if he "Wanted to hear it forever."

Like before, your response was immediate when you replied, telling him you'd "Say it forever, then."

#im sobbing #my heart is so full of love for this man #he deserves nothing but unconditional love #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you

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mune-writes · 6 months ago

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slim pickins

good graces | bed chem | busy woman

they were never yours - so what if you find someone who could be?

pairings: toxic!Satosugu x roommate!reader, rebound!Sukuna x f!reader

content: MDNI, angst and smut, roommate AU, heavy yearning and pining, satosugu are dicks not gonna lie, reader isn't taking it though, extremely messy relationship dynamics, emotional hurt, reader standing up for herself, semi-public car sex, protected piv sex

a/n: this was very much inspired by beat your heart to death by the immensely incredibly talented @specialgradefckr !! divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !!

You'd seen the ending from the beginning.

They might've sucked you in, but you never fought back. Just stood still and let the quicksand take you until you landed here, sharing the middle bedroom in what some (yourself, included) would consider an unconventional living arrangement. Unstable would probably work too.

You were fucking Satoru, who was probably fucking Suguru, who was also fucking you.

If you didn't move out soon, the single thread holding the tightrope you were barely balancing on was going to snap, and you didn't think any of you would be able to pick up the pieces of whatever was left - as roommates, friends, lovers, or just strangers.

It'd been over from the first day you moved in. Really, the moment you'd met.

Satoru had been all smiles, so eager it was almost ridiculous how funny and charming you found him, his hand sliding over yours and squeezing like he'd known you forever instead of five minutes. He tutored you in your second to last year of college, forged a flirty friendship of sorts, waiting until you were clearly choking on your huge crush on him to introduce you to Suguru. You'd never been able to tell if he was his friend or boyfriend, but it didn't really matter, did it? Because even now, after the past four years, all the time you'd spent trying to carve yourself a place in their lives and living with them, it never made a difference.

There was them, and then there was you.

Their shared laughter and secret smiles, the tender touches and the way their eyes landed on each other from across the room - the subtle looks they exchanged like they were the only people who actually understood each other, you'd have to be stupid to miss any of it. Which, you guessed they thought you were considering the fact they both always waited until the other one was busy or had plans to bend you over the counter or pull your panties off on top of the washing machine and fuck you like you were the roommate they wanted.

"Suguru's gonna be home soon," You tried to warn him, but everything came out muffled, breathless, your face pressed against the soft mattress in Satoru's room, his hips smacking loudly against your ass. He hadn't even waited for you to finish brushing your teeth this morning to burst into the bathroom to whisk you away, throwing you on his bed and splaying you out like he'd been waiting all week for this.

And yeah, you did feel stupid for the faint flicker of hope that maybe he wanted this half as much as you did.

"Can't hear you," He teased, a lazy drawl to his voice, but you could hear the hint of a whine to it, the part of him that was close to climaxing he couldn't hide. His fingers digging into your hip to hold your ass in the air for him, his tip grinding against your womb like he was trying to fill it up too.

Would you let him?

You wanted to say no, that sure, while you might be idiotic enough to play their game of tug-of-war and let them fuck you dumb in the ensuing push-and-pull, you still wouldn't let either of them do that, even if you were on birth control. But they both had a way of convincing you to go along with whatever they wanted, coaxing you into the palm of their hands with pretty promises. A dog on a leash who only needed a few treats to obey their command.

"T-Toru," You whined, clawing at his sheets while his nails cut in your hips, grasping at the last straws of your sanity while you tried to crane your head up enough to look at his phone that had slid out from under his pillow. A message from Suguru was on-screen when you fumbled to check it, sent almost twenty minutes ago saying he was on his way back. "He's-"

His other hand pressed down on the back of your neck right as he bottomed back out in you, your warning turned into another pathetic whimper of his name instead, gasping for air you couldn't seem to keep in your lungs.

As if on cue, you both heard the creak of the front door opening, the warm rumble of Suguru's voice calling from the entryway and Satoru was pulling out, tucking his throbbing erection back into his underwear and poorly hiding it in his sweatpants before yanking your panties back up over your thighs and fixing your flimsy excuse of a nightdress before you flipped over. Your legs were still trembling and the sore bundle of nerves between them was aching from the first orgasm he pulled from you, damp spots of slick and saliva making your panties stick uncomfortably to your skin.

"Meet you in the bathroom in fifteen to finish?" Satoru gave you a crooked grin, swiping a thumb under your eye to wipe away where your mascara had smeared.

"Sure," You nodded, knowing he wouldn't hold up his end of the offer anyway.

It all played out before. Where you'd both greet Suguru, who'd throw you a little smirk, a dark sort of glint in his eyes like he knew, like he'd always known, but he'd never say a word. Just smile at Satoru and ask how your morning was, before the two of them would eventually disappear back into one of their rooms or crash on the couch, an arm slung around the other's shoulder while they invited you to join.

But it mostly just felt like a courtesy invite.

That's what everything felt like with them. An afterthought, a distraction, just something to fill the empty space when the person they actually wanted was gone, someone who they weren't sure what to do with once their missing half returned.

A replaceable part.

Some nights when you declined going out with them, or tried to hole yourself up in your room, they'd invite another girl over, the sound of her laughter always cutting through the walls first before her moans mixing with theirs, the creak of the bedframe squeaking under their weight of the groan of the couch springs. The last one was the thousandth cut, unable to drown out the panting and slam of the headboard hitting the shared wall no matter how loud you turned up the music in your earbuds.

The one time you left, they'd actually had the audacity to complain about being worried about where you'd gone, baiting you with questions about if something was wrong when this whole affair? Relationship? Fucked-up friendship? Well, them or this, whatever it was, that's what was wrong.

If they had no problem sharing - why not you?

Why was it never you?

You guessed you'd just have to live with not knowing and they could just live without you.

They'd have no trouble filling your vacancy in a couple weeks once your new lease started, a small one-bedroom you found on the other side of the city, something closer to your job at least. You didn't pay rent here, Satoru refused to let you considering he owned the three-bedroom apartment you all lived in. It would be shitty to start, you know, actually paying bills and buying groceries, but the cost of your sanity was too fucking high to hand over in order to keep living with them.

You just uh, hadn't exactly told them that yet.

A little voice in the back of your mind wondered if it'd all be over when you did. The friendship, the yearning, the hunger for something unattainable that had been gnawing away at all your muscle and bones and organs until you just felt hollow, a shell of whoever you used to be living in the shadows.

So you settled for hanging in the background, following Satoru quietly out of his room and into the hall, rubbing the back of your neck when he was practically five steps ahead of you to bound into the kitchen, falling so naturally into conversation with Suguru he seemed to have forgotten you were even behind him. Both of them were putting up the groceries, protein bars and eggs and Satoru's favorite brand of chocolate bars, laughing at a joke you weren't privy to.

Neither of them noticed when you slipped back out into the hall, finding a shrinking sanctuary in your bedroom, crawling back under the sheets to sleep until the afternoon, so you wouldn't have to think about either of them for a few hours.

Or the rest of the day, apparently, when you woke up later than you intended and found a note one of them must've crept in your room to leave on the nightstand, Suguru's neat handwriting letting you know they were going to visit an old friend from high school and wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

You couldn't decide if you were relieved or disappointed, the strange fluttering in your stomach as you crumpled the note and tossed it in the trash refusing to go away even after a shower. It was beyond irritating. The hold they had over you even when they were probably hours away. Like the whole world (including yours) just had to revolve around them. The last little piece of your shriveled up heart turning to dust, whatever had kept you tethered to them dissolving with it.

All you wanted was something for yourself for once.

And simply going out for a few drinks to find that something somehow landed you here.

"What's your name again?" You giggled, a little drunk and distinctly dizzy with desire for someone new for the first time in God knows how long, sturdy hands on your waist as you straddled him in the backseat of his car in the parking lot of some sleazy nightclub, hickies probably littering your neck by now.

"Fucked stupid already?" He tch-ed, grunting as his hips rolled up, driving his cock deeper until you really couldn't remember his name. Or yours. Or your stupid roommates you were trying so hard to get away from.

"Oh, f-fuck," You stammered, blinking hard, passing headlights casting shadows on all the sharp features of his face, your fingers tangled in his surprisingly fluffy pink hair. His eyes narrowed, making a clicking sound with his tongue as he studied your face again.

"Sukuna," He finally spat out, taking out his annoyance in repeating himself on the sore bud of your clit, moving one hand to massage rough circles on it as he thrusted up hard.

His mouth returned to your throat, teeth scraping at the skin, no soft or tender kisses, no sweet whispers to cast the illusion this was anything other than what it was. A sloppy hookup, a one-night-stand if you ever actually made it back to his place.

It was refreshing.

The first breeze on one of those summer days where the oppressive heat of the sun felt inescapable, cool on your skin and rustling your hair and reminding you that nothing was forever, even if it felt like it.

You grinded back down on him, tugging on his hair and moaning freely, hoping no one would bother looking too close to the way the windows had started to fog, the slight bounce of the vehicle from the way his hands aggressively guided you up-and-down his thick shaft.

It wasn't awkward, but you didn't know quite what to do with your hands or exactly what to say when you'd only been having sex with the same two people for years. Would it be weird for you to kiss him? Would he like it if you murmured praises between each bruising thrust?

"Stop thinkin' so much," He gruffly mumbled, his mouth smashing against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, drowning you out with the next wave of pleasure.

He was warm. You were warm. A fuzzy feeling settling in your chest, while he stoked a different heat between your thighs, the taste of bourbon on his lips as they seared yours.

Filled to the brim with lust instead of unrequited love for once, split open with it actually, with how fast and hard his hips were thrusting up while his hands held you down. Probably making a huge mess in his backseat but he didn't seem to notice the damp skin slick on his own when his tongue was busy being shoved down your throat, his cock practically bumping into your cervix and aiming to angle deeper, deeper, deeper.

"T-there, oh, oh-" Your own filthy moan cut you off, and you were pretty positive you had just lost your ability to form words at all considering it felt like he'd lodged himself in your lungs, straining for every breath you gasped for. You buried your face in his neck, feeling the heat radiating off his skin as you started leaving hot, hungry little sucks across the muscles and tendons and the sharp edge of his collarbone, staining his skin the same way he'd done to yours.

"God," He murmured, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes, teetering right there next to you on the edge. One hand slipped from your hip so two thick fingers could toy with your clit.

Even that was rough, all messy circles and rolling the swollen bud back-and-forth, but the pressure alone was enough to push you over. You bit down on his shoulder to muffle the cry of his name he ripped out of you, splotches of white dancing across your eyes even when they fluttered shut. He kept fucking up into you through your orgasm, pinching at your clit to get you to stop your teeth from sinking into his skin but then he groaned, the reverberations of it settling in your core as his hips bucked up hard one last time and you could tell he was finishing in the condom.

His forehead falling forward, nose bumping against your neck when he suddenly bit you back, sharp canines pressed against your collarbone, your stomach doing somersaults at the new sensation.

"F-fuck," You gasped, moaning as his teeth sank deeper into your skin, marking it with his mouth as he grunted again, squirming against his tight hold when he didn't move a muscle.

Maybe it was the buzz of the alcohol or the fact that his cock throbbing inside you was making your brain feel incredibly fuzzy, but all you could think about was wanting more.

"You have another condom?" You muttered against his skin, whining when he readjusted and he lightly pinched at your oversensitive clit again with a chuckle.

"Greedy brat," He murmured, trailing a few rough kisses up your neck.

"Is that a no?" You teased, barely breathing when one of those massive hands of his tethered itself in your hair and tilted your head back to lick a clean stripe along the spot he'd just bitten.

"You think you can handle another round?"

Silence greeted them when Suguru turned the key in the lock and Satoru shoved his way inside first. They left Shoko's early, neither particularly wanting to stay the night when you were waiting at home. The lights were off, curtains drawn, no hum of a tv or phone playing somewhere to fill the empty air.

"Got your favorite, sweetheart," Satoru playfully called out, tossing a plastic bag stuffed full of to-go boxes onto the kitchen counter after flicking on the light switch, Suguru's ears straining to make out any small sound of you while he shut and locked the door back.

The quiet wasn't new, but it felt louder somehow over the past few months. You'd been keeping to yourself more, still laughing and smiling when you were around them, but it all felt dimmed, almost. Rehearsed.

Reciting your lines and practicing your expressions.

Satoru didn't see it.

But Suguru couldn't stop noticing all the little changes. What looked a lot like distance you were trying to wedge between yourself and them.

"She's probably in her room," He frowned, narrowing his eyes at his roommate, the bag crinkling as he started pulling out the boxes.

"Guess so," Satoru nodded, peeking inside one to confirm it was yours before leading the way down the hall. "Think she's asleep?"

"It's midnight," Suguru shrugged, but something uneasy had settled in his stomach. You were probably just passed out already in bed. Why wouldn't you be?

Satoru didn't knock. He steamrolled his way in just to freeze in the doorway, his lips twisting down in a distinct frown when there wasn't a you to be found.

Makeup scattered on the floor in front of your mirror, a few short dresses thrown over your bed like you couldn't decide what to wear.

You were out. The thought crossed his mind before he could stop it, the slim possibility you could be in someone else's bed by now.

"I'm calling her," Satoru mumbled. He dropped your food on your nightstand, plopping down on your bed as he dug his phone out of his pocket.

Suguru knew you weren't going to answer.

Your phone was probably off or on do not disturb, deliberately set so you didn't have to hear from them. The sense of something being wrong had hung in the air all day, like a rotten stench he wouldn't be able to find even if he tore apart every piece of furniture and cleaned every corner.

It wasn't until he got sent to voicemail the third time that Satoru paused, grinding his molars as he looked around your room again.

"She'll call back," He finally said, not making any moves to stand.

Honestly? Suguru wasn't so sure.

Satoru clung to the comfort of what he knew, but Suguru could feel the change in every smile, the way you watched him through tired eyes most days, sitting at the end of the couch or slipping away like you thought you went unnoticed.

It didn't used to be like this.

You used to laugh with them, wiggle your way in-between them on the couch, planning movie nights and cooking together, blushing every time one of them offered a wink or casually flirted with you.

Your attention was intoxicating. And your roommates were greedy.

Other girls they could share. They'd be gone the next morning. But when it came to you?

Everything was different.

Suguru slept with you first. Waited until Satoru left on some business trips six months after you moved in with them to treat you to dinner and by the time you both made it into the taxi back home, his hands were in your hair and his tongue in your mouth before you made it through the threshold. Tearing off both your clothes before he made it back to his bedroom, his shirt in the kitchen and your dress in the living room and your bra in the hallway. How successfully he'd managed to snag your attention under Satoru's nose only heightened the hunger while he watched you climb on top of him, your mouth trailing hungry kisses down his body until your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

You were his to hold and ruin. To love too, just in his own way.

It wasn't like him and Satoru, sure, but that didn't mean it was worth less. He knew Satoru would agree, too. Because you belonged to him as much as you belonged to Suguru.

So what if it went unsaid?

You had to feel it. Did they not take care of you? Could you not tell in every careful caress or longing look?

You were theirs.

They'd been getting pettier about it, fine, putting on a show to get a rise out of you, waiting for you to do something. Stake some claim on them or ask them to stop. Suguru never wanted to make you cry, but the thought of you tear-streaked and chewing on your lip, confessing he was all you wanted had been playing in the back of his mind from the moment he met you and subsequently decided to steal you from Satoru.

They were both sick, along with the stupid game they dragged you into playing too, competing for you like you were a trophy to be won, but even if the rules were unfair, he couldn't help but think you found every ounce as intoxicating as they did.

It all revolved around you, after all.

You were the referee, the audience, the scorekeeper, the prize at the end of the finish line.

If you wanted both of them, or even just one, they'd make it work. They might strangle or sleep with each other somewhere along the way, but still, they'd figure it out for you. He hated sharing what was his. But he could learn if he had too.

What happened if you didn't want either of them anymore?

"Here."

Something cold was pressed against your forehead, and you were blinking through bleary eyes at the strange surroundings. Bed, tv, dresser, none of them yours, but clearly uh, someone's room. You tried to sit up just, your thighs and hips sore and aching as you reached for whatever was currently trying to give you a brain freeze.

It was some energy drink you were pretty sure they only sold at shady gas stations (probably pending recalls too) electric coloring and exclamation marks on the label. You glanced up, the memories of last night filtering through, albeit a little blurry, as you cracked open the tab and took a sip.

Drunk you had good taste.

In men that was. Sober you thought whatever the fuck you were drinking was terrible.

What's-his-name (Steven?) was hot in that smoldering sorta way, all rough and jagged, the kind of jaw line and frown that insisted he might bite if you looked too long, which only made you want to stare even harder.

"What time is it?" You yawned, stretching as you took another needed sip of caffeine, hoping it'd give you the energy to face the rest of the day and your roommates whenever they returned this afternoon.

"It's almost noon," He grumbled, serious eyes narrowing at you while you shuffled out of his bed still-naked, having to scrounge up your dress and underwear from where it'd been scattered across the room last night.

"Shit," You gritted your teeth, tugging and pulling on your clothing until it was in place, shoving your purse's contents back inside from where they spilled out on his floor. They probably wouldn't be home yet, right?

"Need a ride?"

You'd already rode him - he could return the favor.

Him walking you up to your door instead of just dropping you off was a (not entirely unwelcome) surprise though. Leaning against the wall while you rummaged through your stuff for your keys, his sharp gaze slicing through all of the mess and straight to you.

By the time you fished your key out, his face was just set in hard lines, holding his hand out with an open palm. You just blinked, wondering if the hangover made your brain stop working too.

"Let me see your phone," He gruffly muttered, and even while you frowned back at him, you still complied, unlocking it and passing it over so he could type something.

"What?" You peeked over to see him sending a text to what you guessed was his own number. "Didn't think you're the kind of guy that comes back for seconds."

"Shut up," He grunted, glancing down the hall as he shoved your phone back towards you. You glanced down, making note of the name he added himself as. Sukuna.

"Make me," You mocked, the cheap caffeine or maybe the cologne clinging to his skin making your heart race a little when his hand skimmed over your hip.

"Call me sometime and I will," He threatened. Or maybe it was a promise. Something stuck in between, like he didn't even know.

"I'll think about it," You grinned, turning the key in the lock, pausing as you eyed him one more time.

He was really hot.

And after so long of soaking up being second choice, being someone's first, even if it was only for sex, was nice. Soothed the burn on your skin, filled the hole in your heart even though you knew it was just a patch job, a temporary fix.

You liked the way he checked you out, how openly his eyes trailed over you, the fire behind them. Liked feeling liked.

So when his hand grabbed your waist and his mouth pressed against yours, you let him. It was the first time you received a goodbye kiss with tongue involved, but you were not complaining.

Your hand awkwardly dropping from the door, key still in the lock as his palm pressed flat against your back to pull you in, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip like he didn't have his fill of biting and sucking last night, as if your throat wasn't still bearing the proof of that. A little moan you hadn't meant to make escaped when the hand on your waist slipped low enough to cup your ass and squeezed.

The door opened while his hand was underneath your wrinkled dress, his tongue in your mouth, head tilted back to accommodate him. You just didn't notice until you heard the grunt, the awkward clearing of someone's throat that made you snap out of it, twisting to see Satoru standing there.

His pretty crystalline blue eyes frozen in surprise, his own lips parted like the protest on his tongue just wouldn't come out. Suguru was a few steps behind him, arms folded across his chest, dark stare narrowed to glare at your company.

You expected embarrassment.

But really, a flare of smug satisfaction stoked up in your chest, and you trailed a slow finger up the muscled arm, not pulling away even after the kiss was broken.

"Sorry," You hummed a soft apology, fluttering your lashes as you smiled at him. "My roommates are just a little protective."

"Roommates, huh?" He chuckled, and you could see it in the curl of his lips that he was amused more than anything else.

"Don't worry, they're more interested in each other than me," You shrugged, making a point to not even look over at them.

He laughed.

And god, it felt so fucking good.

Why hadn't you done this months ago?

"I'll call you later," You winked, reluctantly pulling away with a wave, and he smirked, throwing a smug look over at Satoru while you slipped past him. Glancing back to watch the not-subtle way he sized him up, the look in his eyes that dared him to do something before he turned down the hall to leave.

The door slammed shut once you were inside.

You didn't think he even meant to shut it so hard.

But you didn't say anything, brushing past Suguru and ignoring both of them while you headed for your room. Sukuna's assessment was accurate. Neither of them would do anything. Not while the other was there.

When you slammed your bedroom door behind you, it was on purpose. Flipped the lock even though you knew it wouldn't actually hold up if either really wanted in, but wasn't that the point? They couldn't admit that they wanted in, wanted you, if it meant admitting it to each other.

Because once they said it out loud, they couldn't take it back. You weren't fun if you weren't something they could hide. A toy that they'd broken trying to take turns playing with.

At some point, the friendship that had once been there faded, dissolved until all that was left was this stupid tryst. Had it ever even existed? Or was it just a means to this end?

If you weren't warming their beds, a secret kept between their sheets, you had no purpose, no other reason to occupy their time or take up space in their life.

Your point only felt proven when the silence seemed to seep into every crevice the rest of the afternoon, barely stepping foot outside of your room outside of bathroom breaks and grabbing food from the kitchen, empty spaces where memories and laughter used to be.

The first knock came after the sun started to dip below the horizon outside your window, curtains drawn back to let the fading daylight in, scrolling through your phone on your bed, wondering if you'd regret answering.

"Open up? Please?" Satoru called out from the other side, the door creaking as he rested his weight against it, the doorknob twisting when he tried it again.

You sighed getting up, tossing your phone back down on your bed and frowning when you unlocked the door to yank it open, Satoru stumbling inside, his body nearly toppling you over before you pushed him off.

"Yeah?" You blinked, stepping back, putting enough space between you that his stare felt a little less suffocating, pretending the pout on his lips didn't send a sharp pang to your heart.

He wasn't sad he was losing you. He was just jealous you were moving on.

Satoru tried not to show it, wearing another mask like you wouldn't be able to tell what he was feeling when he stepped forward and shut the door behind him.

"Sweetheart," He sighed, talking slow and soft while he reached out to touch you. You took another step back before he could. "I'm sorry about yesterday."

"For what?" You shrugged. It wasn't like it was the only time he'd forgotten about you. He just wasn't going to get the opportunity to do it again.

His cool exterior faltered, a flicker of nervousness in his stare at the roles being reversed.

"We didn't get to finish," He hesitated over the words, and you glanced over to the wall you shared with Suguru's bedroom.

"It's fine," You shrugged again.

You'd finished plenty without him later.

"It's not," Satoru murmured, and a few weeks ago, you might've melted at the tender way he was starting at you, the adoration you'd always hoped was there glittering in his bright eyes. But it all felt plastic now.

You could water it and hope it'd grow, but it'd never breathe or change or wilt because it was never real to begin with.

"Gojo," You quietly cut him off before he could say anything else, and he flinched at your use of his last name. "I said it's fine."

You walked around him to slip out of your room, keeping your eyes forward on your way to the kitchen, opening the door to the pantry and rummaging through the shelves for a snack. Acting like you didn't see Suguru sitting at the counter, or feel his eyes on your back when your other roommate followed you.

"You have fun last night?" Suguru broke the silence, his polite question pierced by something you couldn't even place coming from him.

"Yeah," You nodded, not turning around. "You guys?"

"Not really."

"Yep."

They both started talking at the same time, but you were a little more inclined to believe Suguru's plain answer, how dry his no was.

"You really going to go out with that guy again?" He asked, his voice low, and you wondered which one of you was going to scoff first.

"Why not?" You hummed, glancing over your shoulder at them.

Suguru was watching you, his jaw set in a hard line, but he didn't let anything else show past his furrowed brows, but Satoru was silently seething in the stool next to him, elbows on the counter as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"When's the last time you even had a boyfriend?" He tried to tease, but it came out bitter.

Whose fault was it that the last one had been before you met them?

"Maybe I just hadn't found the right person yet."

taglist: @nylve @sukuxna0 @aldebrana @ginginha @hon3yjaxx @shibataimu @tsukuhoe @iluchuuya @imm0rtalbutterfly @sukunasballstickler01 @moncher-ire @atiny-99 @sleepykittyenergy @uhnosav @bxnfire @unbaed-you @leaario @evilari111 @good-mourning0 @curlsnchxos @vamqyx @migueloharacumslut @diduzzula @rikiswifeyyy @violetpurplez

#SO GOOD #need a part 2 fr #i love strong independent reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #getou suguru x reader #sukuna x reader

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mune-writes · 7 months ago

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“I want to bring him peace”

Lmao, I want my pussy to drive him insane. I want him to experience possessive, violent urges at my existence that consume his every waking thought.

#dick grayson x reader smut

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mune-writes · 7 months ago

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thee usual art dump

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mune-writes · 7 months ago

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ok so is this why he wasn’t under my tree

came back from my drawing hiatus to draw jason oiled n wrapped up

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mune-writes · 7 months ago

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I miss my man

4 times you sit on silco’s lap & the 1 time he pulled you onto his lap

Warnings. Sexual positions. No specific reader gender/genitalia. Impregnation kink (sorry yall its bad again). Not toxic girl dad!Silco. Pet name

You and Silco danced around the empty bar, twirling and singing and chasing and slipping out of each other’s fingers. For the past hour the pair of you had been letting the loud music from the jukebox reverberate through your bones as you moved fluidly around the room.

Silco’s silky black hair was pulled back into a tiny bun at the back of his head. Sweat beaded at his hairline. The little droplets grew fat and ran down his cheek bones and disappeared down the sharp edge of his jaw as he chased your laughing body.

“Crazy,” he mused to himself as the song ended and you finally let him twirl you in by the hand. Silco dipped you, watching your smile widen. He held you there as you examined him through your striking eyelashes. He leaned down slowly, sensually and let his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips. You were caught in his trap, lips parted as your eyes locked on his lips.

Further, slower, he leaned down until you could feel his gasps of air on your lips. He parted his lips and tilted his head closing the gap between you-

Silco stood up and twirled you again. The sexy smirk on his lips made you forgive him just a little for being the incredible tease he is. “Bastard,” you cursed him with a wicked smile.

“A thirsty bastard,” he corrected smartly. Taking you by the hand, Silco led you to the bar and gestured dramatically to an empty bar stool.

He poured your favorite and slid it to you before making his own drink. Silco rounded the corner and brought the stool next to you closer to yours. He had just put his glass bck on the counter before you slid into to lap, facing him.

“Sly thing,” Silco chided, hands settling on your ass.

“You love it,” you replied. You pulled the hair tie out of Silco’s hair and watched it settle around his features perfectly. “Pretty boy.”

Silco practically purred at your words. He brought a hand up to cup your cheek and placed the other at the back of your neck. “I do love it- love you.”

“I love you too,” Silco repeated, sealing his words with a kiss.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Silco muttered, voice raspy with- was it. . . lust? “You know I can’t work with you watching me like that.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

“Don’t be coy.”

Silco didn’t look up as you rose from your spot from the couch. You heard his breathing turn shakier as you approached. Chuckling, you pulled the back of his chair until you could grasp Silco by the collar.

He spluttered- an endearingly pathetic noise you’d like to earn from him again- as you tore him from the endless plans, letters, and work sitting on his desk as he prepared for the future of Zaun. Silco didn’t actuallytry to stop you, though, despite his unintelligible grumbling.

You pushed him onto the newly acquired couch. His back hit the cushions and his raven-black hair spread around his head like a halo. Smiled as you committed the imagine of him so off-guard to memory. “You’ve been working so diligently,” you purr, raising on knee to rest between Silco’s hip and the sofa back. “And so hard. . .” You placed your other knee on the sofa and so lightly started grinding on Silco’s boner. “I think you deserve a break.”

Silco was the one watching you through his lashes now. “Is that right?” His heaving chest showed his anticipation despite his usual calm voice.

“Oh yeah,” you reply with a dangerous smile.

It was a late night- the crowd at the bar had been rowdy and took a while to herd all the drunkards out, leaving you an exasperated mess. Not to mention the fact that you were dealing with an astounding amount of Enforcers after Jinx had gone and stolen a couple expensive looking watches and necklaces for some reason unknown to you. All in all, you were beat.

After tossing a wad of cash to the other bartender, you bid him goodnight and headed up the stairs.

“I was wondering when you’d be up to see me,” Silco greeted you from his desk. “Come here, my dear.”

He watches your movements with those sharp eyes of his. You perched yourself on the edge of his desk and let Silco rest his head against your chest. You ran your nails through his hair the way you knew he liked. “We should go get ready for bed,” you murmured, feeling his arms wrap lightly around your waist.

Silco heaved a sigh. “I have work to do.”

It was your turn to sigh as you pushed off the desk. Silco looked up, brow arching, at you. His confusion waned as you straddled him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You felt the man under you shudder as he exhaled, stress slowly easing out of his body as you pressed soft kisses to the oh so fragile skin behind his ear. “You can do your work tomorrow after you get some sleep.”

Clearly your tender embrace had weakened Silco’s resolve because all he did in response to your statment was pull you impossibly closer to him. “I suppose you’re right,” Silco finally muttered into your shoulder.

Jinx and Silco were currently in disagreement over who would do Jinx’s hair, when they would be doing it, and the hairstyle Jinx wanted. For an eight year old, the little blue haired girl knew what she wanted. And it was that Sevika stayed as far as humanly possible away from the eight year old.

So that was why Silco had convinced you to go to barber near Benzo’s old shop. Something about ‘not being anle to contain such rage and emotion in such tiny body’ alone.

Truth be told, you weren’t well educated in children handling. Working with Silco and the traitor for most of your life gave you practically no time to interact with people under sixteen. Jinx had taken a liking to you- probably because you were one of the people she saw the most because of your relationship to her adoptive father. (On the certificate, you were also listed as a guardian.) So being able to style the girl’s hair as she liked would be a good skill to add to your already wide-ranging knowledge.

The two of you paid as much attention to the barber as possible. Jinx had selected a simple three strand braid that you got the hang of off the bat. Silco? Not so much, but the effort was there!

When you paid and left, Jinx was so happy with her hair and so convincing that she was given permission to play with the barber’s twin son and daughter. Silco had pressed a handful of coin into Jinx’s hand and told her to be home in two hours.

“You’re going soft,” you mused, jutting your hip into Silco as the two of you left. “It’s endearing.”

Silco recoiled. “I am not. Inconceivable.”

When you scoffed, Silco turned to you with his eyes narrowed. “Something to say, trouble?”

“Nah,” you drawled. “It’s… It’s nice to see this side of you again.”

Your lover wrapped an arm around your waist and led the two of you back home. “I haven’t felt more content in a long time,” he finally admits. Emotion made his voice gravely.

“Yeah.” You continued to walk, falling into silence.

“I like watching you with her.”

Silco’s glinting eyes are already locked on your gaze when you look up. “Yeah?” You ask, suggesting smile beginning to pull up at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah. It makes me wish I could. . . fuck one into you,” he mutters.

Your eyebrows are higher than your hairline when he speaks. “Sil, you- you know I can’t-“

The dark lust in Silco’s eyes lighten. “That doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you like you could carry my children,” he tells you, an edge of an emotion you can’t quite put a finger on.

Silco pushes open the door to The Last Drop and flicks on one of the light switches. He turns to see you sitting on the table of a booth, watching him with an expression so vacant Silco wonders if this conversation is what finally sends you running. “Talk to me.”

Continuing to say nothing, you pat the table next to you. Silco pulls himself up beside you and examines your face carefully. He is apprehensive as you slide into his lap wordlessly and wrap your legs around his waist. You trace the calloused pad of your thumb from the very bottom of Silco’s scar surrounding his eyes. It’s when you near the tip-top of the marred flesh does Silco grasp your wrist.

“Speak to me, my dear,” Silco repeats. “What are you thinking? What do you want me to do?”

Silco lets your wrist go without much resistance. You tangle your fingers through his short hair. “I want,” you begin slowly, hearing his breathing cease entirely. “You to fuck me like you could knock me up.”

It takes Silco several seconds to compute your statement before leaning in to fucking devour your lips.

The bar was booming tonight.

Round after round, table after table, drink after drink. In informal terms: you were fucking slammed and the crowd wasn’t thinning out.

It’d been this busy for at least the past three hours and the pain in your feet and legs had been so God awful that you couldn’t wven feel them anymore. And the poor bartenders could barely open their mouths without someone spitting out orders or tossing coins or just pestering them.

You sighed. Nights like these made you really question your love of the damn building.

An hour later, you could see a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel. With an end to the night in your near future, you found yourself walking a little faster: a little more eager to get the people more drunk and gone.

It was another whole hour before you were almost finished with the cleaning. All you had left to do was wipe down the counter and tables, put the chairs up on the table, and mop.

Silco finally slunk down the stairs to see you and the last, most desperate bartender mopping up. He slid into a booth and rested his head on his palm as he watched you.

When the two of you were officially done cleaning, Silco fished out a bag of coins from one of his pockets. “Here, kid,” he said before tossing the pouch at the awed bartender.

“I- Thank you sir,” the girl said gratefully, eyes flickering between you and Silco. You smiled at her tiredly.

“Good night, Mimi,” you told her.

Silco watched Mimi smile brightly at you- the significantly kinder of the couple- and nod excitedly. “Good night, y/n! Thank you again sir, and good night!”

You came to a stop in front of Silco and tugged your apron off. “How are you?”

Silco heaved a sigh. He reached out to you and turned you away from him. Then Silco pulled you down onto his lap. He comically scooched back until his back was against the wall and his and your legs tangled on the rest of the booth. “Better.”

As Silco wrapped his hands around your waist, you felt your back decompress as you leaned against the love of your life. Your eyes fluttered shut, heavy with sleep. “I love sitting on your lap,” you confess.

Silco hums, amused.

“Best seat in the whole damn house,” you say, yawning.

Before Silco realizes it, you’re asleep. He doesn’t want to get up because theres a chance you’ll wake up, but Silco also wants to get his love to bed.

He just rests his head on your shoulder and lets himself have this moment.

#x reader #silco #silco x reader

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mune-writes · 8 months ago

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shut up y’all im not ok

#I finished arcane

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mune-writes · 8 months ago

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I'm not made for this. I'm made to live in a cabin in a forest with the love of my life for the rest of my days and occasionally eat the men who get lost in the woods like a creature that appears in local legends

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mune-writes · 8 months ago

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⭒ㅤׂ Do You Think We'll Be In Love Forever? ㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!DC Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 ♡ ｡゜

𓆩☾𓆪 Nightwing - Dick Grayson | بالشب - دیک گریسون

He's mesmerized by the sight of you between his arms. Definite little doll smiling up at him through tear-soaked eyes. He floods your essence with saccharine kisses, sweet vows, and anguished 'I love yous' all paying testimony to his sugar-laced obsession. He's desperate to taste your sweetness on his tongue, lick through your flesh like a lollipop, and unravel your bones with his teeth.

He had been so young once, chasing virtue and strength into every dark alleyway, following bats and hope into vicious nights. Back then, he hadn't understood his mentor's desperation for paper-thin kisses and phony love. But now feeling the push of your body beneath his fingertips makes him understand how satisfying real love can be. To observe you in the sun's gentle rays. To feel your body curled next to his on cold nights. He plays hero under the moon's watchful gaze only to return home to you upon daybreak.

❀࿔ Red Hood - Jason Todd | نقاب قرمز - جیسون تاد

He glides your fingers across his scars, shuddering under the weight of your touch. Stardust cauterizes ancient wounds, licking away the rotten grime. Jason clenches his teeth, there's something so intimidating about the softness of your touch. It stings worse than any crowbar or bullet wound, intruding, harrowing. It's almost like you're plucking the constellations of his past from under his skin, trying to rearrange the stars into something cathartic.

He can't help the hapless way his nails scratch across your bones, the gurgling laugh that escapes his throat. You're Elizabeth Lavenza and Ophelia trying to mend a broken boy, with your wry smile and terrified eyes. Jason traces his lips across yours, his kiss is ravenous, frantic. Faux-hero desperate for an inkling of love, of bliss, of softness.

´ཀ` Arkham Knight - Jason Todd | سلحشور آرکام - جیسون تاد

He likes to think he's shed his human skin long ago. Left it to die in that burning warehouse with his old mask and youth. But when he hears your laughter, that haunting echo reverberates off the edifice walls. He can't help but think maybe, just maybe a trace of humanity still lingers beneath his armor. Your smile glares at him in every carmine puddle he treks through. He dreams it's your blood marring his gauntlets, syrupy sweet as he licks them clean. Daydreams about your ethereal face painted in reds and purples by his iron-clad hands.

His kisses are razor blades cutting through your lips, forcing his love down your throat, and watching as you choke on the rust and ache. He's trying to merge two bodies into one void, to engulf you. Mirror his scars upon your flesh with dull knives and jagged fingernails. He kisses you again, you swear you're going to drown in his sea of red. Maybe that's all the love he has left. He

｡♦｡ Red Robin - Tim Drake | رابین قرمز- تیم دریک

He plays hero in the night, little bird chasing villains and evil by moonlight. When he blinks it's you he sees lying on the couch watching TV. He's starting to think you're his favorite show, afterall your window is about the size of a flat-screen TV and he's always too eager to peak through for the next screening. Episode 84, you're hugging your favorite teddy bear, lost in euphoria as your knuckles turn white around the controller. Tim watches heart in his throat as you claw out the boss's eyes. Sanctimonious champion vying to save the holy princess.

Tim bites his fingers, addresses each tooth mark to you. He pens his love letters upon his own skin, sealing them in red when he finally punctures through. Maybe life is just a video game, an endless kaleidoscope of cutscenes. And he's just a besotted hero dying to kiss the precious princess who doesn't even know he exists.

ꨄ︎ Robin - Damian Wayne| سینه‌سرخ - دامیان وین

His heritage pounds between his bones. The deja vu of an ancestral lifetime runs rapid through his veins as he chases you across the rooftops. His father, his mother, his brothers, always chasing, running after things they know they'll never reach. Your blades clash against his and Damian can't help but wonder if this is the closest he'll ever get to kissing you.

You leave him with paper cuts that feel like venom, like saying 'I love you' while chewing on his bones. He ponders, does his father have the same scars, if Damian pulled away Bruce's skin what would he find? Kittycat claws and dragon bites engraved in the nth-wielded ivory. He feels legacy clawing at his throat as he pictures your fingers between his teeth. Tears blooming in your eyes as he uses diamonds and ceremonial knives to engrave his name upon your flesh. Dotting the I with a heart and entwining each letter. God, he's so tired of being lonely...

🦇 Batman - Bruce Wayne | بتمن - بروس وین

He can't help but pick you apart, chip away at the bones and flesh until he reaches your essence. Dissecting your heart with his tongue and savoring the ichor between his teeth. He's the world's greatest detective and yet he can't unravel his own ardor. This mania, this addiction festering within his crux gnawing at his sanity until every thought is consumed by the cadence of your voice and the stars scintillating in your big doe eyes. This desperate need burning inside of him are you really divinity? Will you bleed glod, if he tears you apart with his teeth?

You're so ethereal squirming beneath, kicking and screaming vying desperately for freedom. He's fought this love for far too long, tried to preserve you in the light. Cover your eyes and ears and make you forget about the monsters that roam in the dark. But he can't not anymore, maybe he never could. Maybe the only way he knows how to love is by trickling his darkness like nectar between your lips and watching as it paints you in his shades.

ᯓ★ Superman - Clark Kent | سوپرمن - کلارک کنت

His kisses melt into your skin sweet like molten sugar drizzled on jasmine rice. Like lava smothering roses, leaving a trail of fragranced ashes. Clark smiles and he notices how you cover your eyes. Like you're staring directly into the sun. Like you're scared of being burnt. Clark can't help but bury his head in the crock of your neck, inhaling your ather. Molten roses and floral ashes he likes the amalgamate of your scents. Like how his presence lingers upon you.

You hold you like a doll, like the little straw dolls his mother used to make. It's easy to be gentle, coddling when everything is so fragile compared to you. He kisses down your neck, your jaw, nuzzling his nose into your soft skin trying to earn a giggle a gold star. Trying to wipe the fear from your eyes. He kisses you again, mumbling cloying words between your lips wishing he could just push his love between your fragile bones.

˚✶˚ Superboy - Conner Kent | سوپربوی - کانر کنت

He's fighting back the urge to peel your heart from between your ribs. To trail kisses across it and marr his lips with your ether. He wonders if your heart beats as frantically as his. He wonders if your ribs rattle when he enters a room.

He wants to push little superboy earings into your ears, to lay upon you the piercings he could never have. It'll be his way of telling the world you belong to him, that you belong to Superboy. And yet he settles for draping his leather jacket across your shoulders when senses a shiver run up your spine. He settles for the friendly hugs and airy hello-kisses. He wants to say he's he loves you. he can't. It's all so annoying, tasting the dead words on his tongue.

𓂃✮ Superman - Jon Kent | سوپرمن - جان کنت

He's scaping his nails along the Hershey's kisses re-aligning the red blue and gold wrapping. It'll be obvious, right? If he leaves them in your locker you'll understand the colored metaphor you'll answer the question he can never ask. You'll know it's him, everyone always does, for the byproduct of the world's greatest hero, he's terrible at keeping his identity a secret.

He blames it on the legacy flooding his lungs. On the promises that beat in his blood. He's born to be a hero, to play the role of savior, but aren't heroes promised love too? Aren't they meant to save the girl from burning skyscrapers and crumbling sidewalks, to fly above the skyline and kiss her in tune with the setting sun? He's so desperate for the sweet fairytale ending, so desperate to kiss the girl who always knows just what to say. He leaves the chocolate in your locker before making a dent in the metal door.

˚｡⋆🪙⋆ ˚｡ Two Face - Harvey Dent | دو چهره - هاروی دنت

He can taste your pain on his tongue, swallow the barbed wire, and relish in the familiar sting of hope, expectation, responsibility. Maybe that's why he can't stop himself from chasing after you. Burning the world demanding you stop him, desperate for a silver of your deficit attention. God, you're so ethereal with his gun aimed at your head, his pretty little girl with big starry eyes laced with dread as they follow the cascade of his coin. 'I know' he wants to scream 'I know what it feels like' but the words never quite spill out that way. And Harv only laughs at his foolish attempts to play hero once more. Sanctimonious bastard, the words reverberate in his skull.

You may claim to be a hero but Two-face knows you'll fall, plunder to the ground like all the rest, that's what happens when you reach for the sky, deem yourself Icarus, and let the flames of glory engulf you until there's nothing left. 'You can't save them' Harv screams only for Harvey to hear. They want to get closer, to slip the coin between your lips and make you taste defeat, maybe then you'll understand why he's so keen on fighting you out of your crusade. Maybe then you'll take their hand willingly, letting them sprinkle kisses across your knuckles like dying stars.

˙⋆☠︎︎⋆˙ Black Mask - Roman Sionis | نقاب سیاه - رومن سیونیس

He wants to cut out your big heart and sink his teeth into it, engrave himself in every vein, and chew on the heartstrings. HIM he needs to be the only one in that plushie heart of yours. The only one with the right to be graced by your ethereal smile. He wants to awaken to your soft nimble fingers tracing hearts and stars across his chest. Pretty pink lips weaving feathery kisses across the scar of his pacemaker. Giggles tickling his neck as you bid him 'good morning' in that all too cheery voice of yours.

Roman almost moans as he hears his name spill from your mouth, each letter cradled carefully between your lips he can't help but want to push his thumb inside your mouth, to feel your purity and shock. There's so much he wants to call you so much he wants to whisper in your ear as he watches your cheeks glow red. To hold you in his lap and trail his fingers across your legs, to dress you in pretty dresses and short skirts and skin-tight tops. To taste the fear and dread on your tongue palpable like the blood he draws with every kiss.

༄✩༄ Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane | مترسک - جاناتان کرین

He likes the stars in your eyes, the mini constellations spelling out your greatest fears. The tears blooming in the corners of your dopey eyes have his lips twitching. You're so gorgeous like this, curled up on the floor trying to make sense of such an eerie world. Jonathan doesn't anoint himself a fool, he knows it's chimeric to think that you'd love him without the toxin, without the heavy drugs he's spilled into your veins. That's why he keeps you like this, scared and depressed. Always in need of him.

What's your greatest fear? He wonders when you tuck your head between your knees and sob all so quietly as to not disturb him. Is it him you see in your grandest nightmares? Is it the mask jumping at you from within the darkness, or is it Professor Crane abandoning you in such a macabre world? Mask on mask off it makes no difference. He just hopes he's the star of every nightmare, as long as you fear him as much as he fears losing you.

｡??｡ Riddler- Edward Nygma| ریدل - ادوارد نیگما

It's frivolous to think he will not solve this riddle. That he will no unearth this plague you have bestowed upon him. This fixation, this obsession, he needs to understand you, to peel away your skin and glimpse at your inner clock workings. To undo your screws one by one and find out what exists between that haunting laugh and those knowing vicious eyes. To rip apart your wires, and feed upon your mind. To understand, he needs to understand you.

He got close once when he had your neck under his shoe, but the evil lith of your laughter rings across the room and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't unnerved. He doesn't know what question to ask first. 'what have you done to me'? 'why do you think you're better than me?', 'Why don't you love me?' Instead, the silence shatters with your voice, proud melody rivaling his own, your eyes lock on him and he can't suppress his shutter. "Well Eddie, riddle me this. What can kill any man, but isn't even alive itself?"

⁺♡⁺ Deathstroke - Slade Wilson | مرگ سکته - اسلید ویلسون

You're like a shooting star, dancing across the night as you stalk his latest kill. Little asssasin, you know your stuff but he finds your thirst for ineage and morality both exhausting and honorable. Most people grow up and spit out their morals with blood and broken teeth. Let the world's cruel realities claw and gnaw at their skin until it's hardened enough to survive. He's yet to see you extend such a courtesy to the world, makes him think that pulling the trigger on you would be some sort of mercy. Bullet through the heart leaving your body coated in his essence and one final kiss pressed onto your paling lips.

He dosen't notice the inkling of you rattling around in his brain until he realizes that this is the eighth him he's seen you smile at the end of his barrel. Pretty little girl chasing after morals and sand, hoping to escape the endless night by spilling just a little more guilty blood. You look like some sort of ethereal doll, immortal in your innocence and vicious in your virtues. He can respect that, truly but Slade isn't naive enough to think you have what it takes to survive. Maybe that's why he wants all so badly to feed you his victim's hearts and eyes and livers, to push them past your pretty lips, staining them the deepest red. Watching your delicate throat constrict as you swallow everything he gives you. Reveling in the sensation of your greedy little tongue swirling around his fingers licking up the access gore. Can almost picture your smile and stupid little head tilt as you thank him for the 'candygrams'.

⭑.ᐟ Respawn | احیا

Respawn drowns in his love. Pulling apart his heart to lay at your feet. It's all he's ever known, broken boy built to harvest spare parts. But you don't look at him like that, you don't even look at him like an assassin. No, you smile fondly as you nuzzle his neck with your nose. You look at him the way his father used to, like he's actually worth something more. He's never quite kissed you, he's not even sure he knows how. Instead, he holds you close to his chest making sure you hear the dull patter of his jagged heart.

He's born from greatness, left to rot in the dark. He refuses to play pawn, anymore. So maybe that's why, when he finally kisses you -with all the grace of a schoolboy's first kiss- it's so desperate and erratic, clumsily licking your lips and nicking his tongue along your teeth trying to think what his father would do. His fingers dig into your arms, preassing prayers into your flesh, screaming 'Don't leave me, you're all I have left'.

⭑☽ Ghost-Maker - Minhkhoa "Khoa" Khan | روح ساز - مینه خوا "خوا" خان

There's nostalgia in your essence, in your presence, something he can never wash away. He's grown addicted to the erratic reverbate of your pulse between his teeth. Kissing the bites he leaves marring your perfect body.

Why can't you just love him, let him haunt your every thought, and erode those pesky creeds, until he is the only thing you'll ever need? Khoa hates to admit it but he sees something in you, something so reflective of the little boy laying in the sand of the gobi desert, shooting phantom bullets and mocking stars. You scream every time he kisses you, recoil your tongue, and cry at the bitterness sweeping in. But Khao loves the challenge, the fight, loves forcing you into submission, even as your knife digs between his ribs. He's only ever content when your pith floods his mouth and your melodic voice rings through his ears. His precious little princess tucked away between his arms forever.

☾⋆ Phantom-one | روح یک

he never shows you his face. He blames it on his upbringing too used to old rules that he can never escape their clutches not even for you. His kisses are always clouds dancing across your skin, so light and airy they may as well be the wind. But tries to leave traces of himself with every kiss. Desperate pleas for you to look at him, to touch him, to love him back. All so he knows he's alive, still real enough to love.

He's always trapped between the land of the living and the realm of the deceased. Always so gentle with the love he's stolen, so careful to not break his lover, as his mentor did to him. He laces his fingers through your hair, sucks gently on the length of your neck, all while pushing 'I love yous' into your soul, marking you as his forever.

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