#…idk how to tag the uncle thing

[random-twst-things]

Crowley: Perfect! Just the person I was looking for!

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: 😐

Crowley: I acquire some assistance for an accident made in-

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Hey Grimm?

Grimm: What?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: ya know what sounds really good to eat right now?

Grimm: Tuna?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: no, roasted crow

Crowley: ...

Grimm: Roasted crow? Where ya gonna get a crow from?

Mc/Y/N/Yuu: Oh, don't worry, I know where we can find one veeerrryyy near

Mc/Y/N/Yuu, turning to look at Crowley with a smile: Reeaaally close 😀

Crowley: OH! WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT! It would seem the accident was mysteriously cleaned! Isn't that great? I must leave now! BYEEEE!!

Crowley, running away:

[bumpinbonnie]

Rocker!V or Samurai fan V is so funny.

If youre a corpo it’s a carthatic release to your strict and monotonous schedule. You pray nobody you know finds out because even if your band of choice didn’t have a lead singer that bombed arasaka, your coworkers will take any inch of anti corpo sentiment and run a mile with it. and maybe theyd hate you but you can’t help but find some comfort in that. They know this is fucked, someone does. Someone gets it. Someones telling the truth. Someones finally telling the fucking truth.

If youre a nomad, no matter where youve gone or who youve met - with the bakkers or without - with every stereotype and prejudice imaginable about you thrown at you, there’s people out there who GOT it. And one of them got it enough to do something about it. Maybe you were thinking of him when you decided to leave. To go home for the first time. And if you have to leave here too theyll still be there. He’ll always be, you think.

if youre a streetkid youve heard of silverhand. Every gonk with a gun has heard of silverhand. Dreams of doing it better doing it right shoveling the shit right back at those corpo cunts and you do too. But youre different. When youre done running the streets and fighting for your life and killing gangoons and running and fighting and killing and running you go home and curl up and listen. You listen to their rage and their sorrow and his rage and you think finally. Someone who gets it. Someone whos been heard, who made his point and fucking died for it and made people understand which is more than anyone else in this city can fucking say more than you can say. But maybe one day it wont be. Maybe you’ll be remembered with fire and glory and blood too.

No matter who you are you hear them say the same thing. that there’s no other way that all you can do is be angry and die because the world wants you to be angry and die but at least you can fucking party. but you understand what he means. What he’s REALLY saying. That there IS a way. That something CAN be done. You just have to be strong enough to do it. Strong enough to take it. You are. You are.

[tea-cat-arts]

Tbhx omegaverse headcanons part 2: featuring E-Soul arc characters (master list for this au)

Yang Cheng

Starts as a beta, transitions into being an alpha as his trust rank increases

Has a hard time understanding scents due to suffering from prolonged scent deprivation starting at a young age. He basically had no “safe scents” around him at the orphanage, so he never really had the opportunity to learn the nuances of scents. Most smells are kinda just “a lot” to him. His sense of smell dulled naturally as he fully developed into being a beta, and he was able pavlov himself into viewing certain perfumes and incense as “safe smells,” which helped ease some of his anxiety. 

I'm not saying he owns “essence of E-Soul” musk, but-

As a beta, he smelled like petrichor. As an alpha, pine and sage got thrown in there too. His scent tends to have undertones of engine oil when he’s stressed 

Post becoming an alpha, his sense of smell got way stronger and the whole “smells are a lot” thing came back in full force

Bro is still adjusting

Alpha urges are new and he's not sure what's normal or not, so he tries to ignore them all together to avoid overstepping others boundaries. This doesn't really work, and his urges tend to build up and then show all at one. Like, he'll spend weeks pretending that their hero base is just an office space and he's totally cool with anyone entering and then snap, scent mark the whole place, throw his pack inside, and try and attack anyone else who enters. He'll avoid scenting his pack to avoid seeming too possessive and then when they ask him too (read: throw him in the nest and demand he scents them), he does a bit too much and gets them scent drunk. Constantly worried that his pack isn't eating enough and will push give them his food (to which they yell at him for not eating enough)

He's out here agonizing over how he's a “possessive, terrible person” for even considering biting Shang Chao and Xia Qing, and how “it'd be humiliating for them- They're independent omegas and the mark of an alpha (especially one like him) would only weigh them down.” Meanwhile, they both sitting on his lap and presenting their necks.

The territorialism and paranoia issues gets so much worse after the shooting attempt + increased security (meaning more non-pack members in his home). 

He suffers a feral episode after Mr. Rock is exposed. He throws his partners and Pomelo into the nest/ hero base, won't let them leave, and attacks anyone who tries to approach. Xia Qing and Shang Chao take turns distracting him while the other runs to the door to grab whatever groceries they ordered. All the pack members know that Yang Cheng isn't a threat to them, but he's not eating or sleeping and they're worried he's gonna pick a fight with someone and hurt himself. Og E Soul is eventually called in and calms him down

Xia Qing

Omega, but often gets mistaken for a beta because of her weaker scent and her general lack of obvious omega instincts (has a kinda bare bones nest, physical contact is kinda just whatever to her when it comes to most people, understands others scents but is fully capable of just ignoring them, alpha commands don’t really do anything to her)

Her softer scent makes it a bit harder for others to pick up on her emotions, but it's also really good for soothing others anxiety (since it's not overwhelming) 

Stressed enough from the combo of college, raising her brother, and trying to stop Yang Cheng from doing something stupid that she didn’t exactly have to take strong suppressants for her heats to stop

Smells like lavender, peppermint, and sage

While she doesn’t exactly make an effort to hide the fact that she’s an omega, it's not something she actively advertises. She doesn’t exactly fit the “omegas are submissive and agreeable” stereotype, so it's easier for her if people just don’t know she is one (helps her avoid both getting shit for “not being a proper omega” and attention from people who’d use scent intimidation to pressure her into being a proper omega). Honestly, if the trust system transitioned her into being a beta, she wouldn’t even be bothered

Her only potentially obvious omega traits are her mom friend instincts and tendency to throw people she’s close to into her nest (and if it weren’t for her scent being in the nest, even that could get mistaken for alpha territorialism) 

Shang Chao 

Omega with a high enough standing that people want him just for the status symbol. His family, unique effects of his scent, and generally agreeable personality make people see him as an almost perfect omega (the fact that he’s a male omega and therefore, infertile, is a drawback for some and a plus for others)

Smells like pine, peppermint, and honeysuckle 

His scent has a strong and immediate calming effect, and it makes most alphas around him kinda just instinctively want to please him. It’s great for doing business but it makes forming genuine friendships a little difficult. He’s on pleasant terms with most people, but he generally doesn’t know if that's because they genuinely like him or if its just cuz of hormones and status

The downside is that he can’t take any suppressants or it’ll lose it’s full affect

Appreciates Yang Cheng and Xia Qing’s lack of understanding and/or sensitivity to smell since it means he knows they like him for who he is

Because of all the scent marking, he kinda just assumed he, Yang Cheng, and Xia Qing were all dating. Straight up didn’t realize they never actually had a discussion about it until Xia Qing reminds him during Yang Cheng’s post shooting feral episode. 

Speaking of the shooting- he lives in this au cuz he didn't recognize the smell on the other side of the door and kept it closed 

Pomelo

Hasn’t presented yet (too young).

He kinda just smells like his sister’s lavender (and after moving into the hero base, pine and sage get thrown in the mix)

Fucking hates Uncle Rock's smell

Part of the 3-Soul’s family pack. They just kinda register him as their kid. 

OG E Soul

Alpha

Respected as an old school, upstanding alpha back in the day, but the fact that he hasn’t taken a mate (to the public’s knowledge at least) left some people to question if he was actually a beta 

Smells like petrichor, redwood, and engine oil

Uncle Rock getting exposed was the last straw that makes him just quit MG 

He tries to email Yang Cheng just to set up a time to talk things over, but instead of reaching him, Xia Qing responds and asks him to help Yang Cheng get out of his feral episode

He may have basically had to hold Yang Cheng (who was too tired to really put up a good fight) down while Xia Qing and Shang Chao scented Yang Cheng till his brain was back

He also may have had to babysit Pomelo for a couple days while Xia Qing and Shang Chao finished calming Yang Cheng down

Becomes an unofficial pack member and mentor figure. He’s aware of the later part, but not the former part, and he is both confused and delighted that he keeps getting invited to family dinners. 

He and Yang Cheng aren’t a hero team, but they work together sometimes and Yang Cheng will kinda default to E-Soul’s command when they do. The Batman to Yang Cheng’s Nightwing if you will (idk, I don’t read DC comics).

Uncle Rock

Alpha, but disguises himself a beta

Gets exposed in this au but he's rich so he gets away with it. A lot of heroes leave his company afterwards 

I’ll probably elaborate on him later (like, after Dragon Boy and Ghostblade’s arcs if we get more info there)

[mc-tummy-blur]

I’ve been so busy with other stuff but I really want to get back to drawing WHF art so I went and cleaned up a wip. Not sure how I feel with some of the angles but I just needed to get this out of my system

Based off of this clip

Click for better quality

Check my pinned post to see links on how you can help the people in Palestine

[lonelychristiana]

Nyash shaking with Reinhard Heydrich and uncle Mengele.

(I love this song holy shit I'm normal 😭)

[cheriboms]

need i say more 🕴

[averycutesalamander]

NO!! SNAKE BITE BOOTHILL I'LL FOREVER WAIT FOR YOI...... MY BELOVED

Silliness apart I 100% understand. I'll love anything you write. Can you give a taste of what ur writing right now? The 18k draft? I'm curious.....

by the way, do you think boothill would like whiskey? With 2 ice cubes?

-Snake Bite anon

edit: i wrote most of this like right when i got the ask (like two months ago i am SO sorry 💀) and meant to finish it immediately after but uhhh obviously that didnt happen. and in retrospect it is extremely funny how nervous i was to talk about this considering how bad my newest newest draft is. anyway here you go

-

oh god anon the can of worms youve just opened.. 😭 im sort of nervous talking about it but. im too obsessed with it to not finish and post it eventually so i guess i should just rip off the bandaid now.

cw pseudoincest under the cut but HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT

ok so for the record this is NOT MY FAULT. i was talking with (redacted) about how sad it is that one of my favorite writers sees him as an uncle. like, it's a familial thing. and we were joking like "well that wouldnt stop me lmao am i right guys" and it was all in good fun.

and then i started. Thinking About It. and entirely against my will my brain formed a plot. and at first i was just gonna write like a drabble or something to get it out of my system but uh. well.

yeah. so. yeah. so. ok. i know this looks bad but HEAR ME OUT. also spoilers for the first uhhhhh maybe half of the fic ?? two thirds of the fic???

ok so. this initially takes place before the IPC arrival. the reader gets adopted by one of his sisters when she's 5 because she was alone in the desert. she cant talk, and by the time she can, she doesnt remember what happened, so whatever. she meets boothill (who i am presently calling ahiga because i literally could not dodge around the name for that long) when she's 7 and LET ME EMPHASIZE THAT IT IS COMPLETELY PLATONIC AT THAT POINT. 100% PLATONIC. THERE IS NO GROOMING IN THIS FIC. OR UNDERAGE. ZERO. ZIP. ZILCH.

so reader is like.. cripplingly lonely with some major attachment issues. her mama's farm is pretty far from everyone else and there aren't many kids her age in the family, so she doesn't have many connections when she's younger. and she's a quiet kid, so she doesnt get much attention from the rest of her relatives. boothill can kinda see this to some degree, and i think hes sort of acquainted with loneliness (although his is largely self-inflicted at this point) so he kinda goes out of his way to include her in stuff and be nice to her. NOT in a creepy way, just in a regular cool uncle way. he teaches her how to ride horses, gives her sweets when mama isnt looking, that kind of thing. they don't see each other all that often but it's enough that they have a pretty solid, positive relationship.

so when shes like 16 she forms a teeny tiny itty bitty crush on him. just like. a little thing. and shes VERY aware that that's fucked up and she should cut that out immediately, but the thoughts kind of linger. but like.. presumably that'll just.. iron itself out eventually. with time. it's fine.

and almost immediately after that the IPC shows up and shit goes down. she and mama get kicked off their ranch and have to go shelter with nick and graey, and in the next week or so many other relatives follow. boothill ends up dropping off his daughter (who im calling manaba in this fic for the sake of naming consistency) to join the rebellion. reader helps out with the war effort, does supply runs, that kinda thing. when the ipc finally gives the kill order, shes between towns, and since they're targeting population centers, she escapes the direct blasts and shelters in a river to avoid the ensuing wildfires.

not everyone is so lucky, obviously. no one in her family (that she knows of) survives. some shit happens, but she ends up getting picked up by a group of survivors. skipping the details, several years go by. she doesnt really make any new friends, and the loneliness sinks its teeth into her - so she relies on the past to keep her grounded. the memories of her mom feel too painful, but her memories of her uncle feel.. safer. kinder, in a way. and in the back of her head, that tiny crush starts to fester. subconsciously, she starts to feed it, because the loneliness is ripping her apart, and this weird fucked up little fantasy feels like the safest way for her to keep it at bay. it's not a conscious thing, though. she's actively disgusted and disturbed by it every time it crosses her mind. it just kind of.. stews in the background.

she starts sleeping around to sate that loneliness. "There's a void in you that you haven't managed to fill. Something about having someone's hands on you makes the ache a little quieter, a little more manageable, but not by much." it's not born out of love, or any kind of affection - just a feral sort of desperation.

she never really feels like her partners fit her. when she finally realizes that shes chasing people with features that remind her of her dead fucking uncle, she promptly declares herself a freak forever and sentences herself to celibacy until she can figure out whatever the fuck is wrong with her brain.

she ends up leaving the planet, because staying is too painful. im a little foggy on the details here, but tldr she finds a mentor and gets into the tech scene, then the hacking scene, then starts doing what she can do fuck with the ipc wherever possible, etc etc. somehow, experiencing the impossible vastness of the universe, being surrounded by a functionally infinite amount of people, feels more lonely than ever. she's just kind of adrift in the world - sending money back home to help people make end's meet, generally just trying to find a reason to live beyond fear. there's a storm of emotions brewing inside of her - the hatred and the terror and the grief. she does all she can to spite the IPC, but it never feels like enough. it never feels like it does any good.

and then, years after the massacre, she's at a bar meeting with a client, and she sees him, and he sees her. and she's thinking "holy fucking shit that's my dead uncle" and he's thinking "holy fucking shit that's my dead niece" and they reunite and stuff. very heartwarming, very sweet, lots of tears (well. from her at least. he can't partake obviously 💀) and they start catching up over drinks.

and that's when he tells her his mission - that he knows who pulled the trigger, and who was behind the slaughter of their people. and she latches onto that HARD, because now she has a specific target for her emotional turmoil instead of the vague, amorphous concept of "the company." etc etc etc they agree to team up because he could use someone to help with behind-the-scenes stuff. and also because it's really nice to have someone around from home. so they exchange contact info and stuff, yay yay yippee

so they chat more, and they drink more, and reader maaaaaybe kinda sorta drinks a little too much. more than a little, actually. more than enough that her hold on her inner monologue slips and she starts thinking about how pretty he is. and suddenly that dormant little harmless crush that she was subconsciously feeding is swinging back around with a vengeance, because now it's real, and he's here, and he's ALIVE, and god did his lips always look that soft or-

and. well. eventually she uh. she might maybe kinda sorta ask if she can kiss him. and then processes the words that just came out of her mouth and starts CRYING because what the FUCK is wrong with her. and he like.. never addresses it directly. he just calms her down and makes sure she gets back to her hotel room and fucking DIPS.

BUT THE THING IS. THE THING IS. SHE WAKES UP THE NEXT MORNING. AND DOESN'T REMEMBER DOING IT. SO NOW HE KNOWS!! BUT SHE DOESN'T KNOW THAT HE KNOWS!!!! AND THEY HAVE TO ACT NORMAL!!!!!!!!!!!!

so the next bit is kinda loose and im probably gonna tweak some things. but. but. they have to go on a mission together. and.

yeah. im. yeah. they have to go to a bdsm club. together. and im sure you can guess. where im going with that. theres a particular section from the club scene that has been absolutely CONSUMING ME but idk if i should share that yet jawhbdjahwdbjawbajd unless somebody asks nicely ig. but jesus christtttttttttt it makes me feel insane. this whole fic makes me feel insane. the ending makes me want to chew my hands off but we'll get there when we get there. fucking pray for me because im not seeing the gates of heaven with this one

[drenched-in-sunlight]

i like ghostflower (hell I draw fanarts for them) but I’ve decided I like the version of them in my head more and will just stay away from the fandom in general cuz I’ve seen some discussion and they just make me go “what on earth are y’all on” 💀💀💀💀

[lovesoakedd]

i know they hate to hear me coming

[thousand-winters]

Since we know Hunter didn’t know what a hug was until Labyrinth runners, I’m just imagining Eber asking him if he’s ever been hugged by a ratworm and if he’d like to find out and Hunter’s just like “What’s a hug?” Cue a blank stare from Eber and Darius having the door to his room kicked open by Eber as they share what they found out

Eber just fully intending that as teasing, maybe thinking that Hunter is gonna be grossed out like Darius was when they made that offer and then they just get a kid all "???". How can he be confused, Eber thought that was like knowing what magic is, something so common and inherent to every person that it had never been a question if someone would know or not.

Until now.

But of course, where would he have learned? From Belos? Please, even if Eber could imagine him being gentle, it doesn't seem like he's the touchy-feely type, considering how much Hunter craves positive touch. Other scouts? Now that's more likely but if he was kept isolated from them most of the time in such a way they thought he was being favored over them and resented him for it, they would hardly be showing him displays of affection. The Coven Heads? At most they could use that to mock him, like an "awww, do you want a hug?" in the very same way people use "do you wanna cry?" as an attack, and Hunter has learned to take most of the things they hurl at him as insults anyway, he wouldn't pay special attention to that even if he didn't fully get it.

Eber and Darius are just increasingly concerned and panicked about this, because of course, assuming that Belos has never hugged Hunter, does that mean growing up he never had any kind of affection? There's no subtle way to ask that without Hunter shutting them out, not at this stage anyway, but there's also no subtle way to go and ask him if he wants a hug when they would have to explain what it is and then answer some Questions™️ because inevitably they would have to mention it's a form to express affection and Hunter might not feel comfortable with knowing they care that much about him yet.

Or he might. It's anybody's guess with Hunter, truly. Darius is still sort of arguing he's looking out for him because nobody else is and he's not THAT deeply involved, and Eber is approaching him like they would with a wild, frightened animal, so there's not a lot of progress from either side 😭

It's okay though. Once they're all living together in the future, Eber repeats their question and, to Darius' chagrin, Hunter is actually curious and says yes.

[mc-tummy-blur]

And I’ll get you yet

I’ve got to make you mine

Just know I’m not the sinister type

Click for better quality

Check my pinned post to see links on how you can help the people in Palestine

[geraskier]

on the topic of me being a kept pet--roomie and his fiancée were half-jokingly talking about hiring me as a live-in nanny if/when they have kids and money.

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][ex-husband!Roy][missionary][fingering][squirting][don't even asking][oral m! receiving][anal fingering][snowballing][hair pulling][he's a desperate man][look at the the new divider. so demure][breeding][daddy kink?][creampie][msub?][idk she says do it, and he does it][i don't make the rules, i just write them:3]

Roy watches Lian settle into the backseat, her backpack tossed haphazardly in Jason's lap as he rifles through the bag, eagerly searching for snacks that he knows you packed in.

"You ransacking my kid now, Todd?"

Roy questions, muscular arms crossing over his broad chest, the T-shirt he's wearing stretched taut across his muscular torso, vibrant red fabric a contrast to his sunkissed, alabaster flesh. The tattoo on his bicep peeks out, green ink swirled marring his skin.

"When you bring perfectly cut watermelon with no seeds to work, I'll ransack you instead." Jason retorts, opening up the clear Tupperware and setting it down on the centre console, between Lian and himself.

Her inky strands are tied back into pigtails, a fuzzy red jumper to fight the slight chill in the air and a pair of daisy dukes, with those red Mary Jane's you insist on buying her in every colour.

She looks nothing like you. Her mother's eyes and hair, she doesn't even look like Roy.

But she looks like you. The fond expression as she munches on the watermelon you packed in, the snort that leaves her when Jason swallows the one singular pit that you've managed to miss and his expression screws up in distaste.

"Mommy says if you swallow a seed, a tree's gonna grow in your tummy, Uncle Jay." Lian hums, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a wet wipe, wiping the red and sticky juice from her hands and from Jason's long fingers, the action almost innately.

The action makes the men soften, because they can see just how much you've rubbed off on Lian.

Her sweet nature, the quirky things she randomly spouts.

"Then your mommy should have a bunch of trees in her belly." Jason hums, his fingers spread out for Lian to keep cleaning his hands.

Roy's stature stiffens, green eyes widening to land on Jason and he mouths, 'why would you say that?'

"Because of all the fruit she eats!" Jason defends but Roy knows.

He knows.

When Roy steps over the threshold of your house, the familiar scent of vanilla and coffee hits him like a freight train and he swallows, taking a deep breath to welcome the scent he's known as 'home'.

He can hear the dishes clanging slightly in the kitchen, the soft hum of music to tinkling alongside the splashes of soapy water and Roy remains quiet, grabbing one of the dishcloths and beginning to dry the dishes.

His gaze remains lowered, eyes trained on the way his hands dry porcelain plates and handmade clay bowls, green pools occasionally flitting to where your manicured hands remain submerged in steaming water.

And he clears his throat.

"I—...uh... Are these new curtains?"

Roy's voice is quiet, his head lifting only enough for him to look up at the curtains that cover the kitchen window.

Mostly white. White lace with a dark brown ruffled edge that matches with the teddy bears printed onto the main part of the curtain.

"Yeah." You answer with a hum. "Lian picked those out." The corners of you mouth twitch at the memory, and Roy notices.

He always notices.

"You're a good mom." Roy murmurs softly, continuing to dry off and pack the dishes into the designated spots. "Would you... Want another? Like.... One of your own?"

It's a question you don't want to answer. Especially not when Roy's asking.

Emerald eyes watch you pensively as you move around the kitchen, your attention on everywhere except Roy because you can't look at him.

And you shrug your shoulders.

"Yeah, I would." You hum softly.

"But you wouldn't want your kid's dad's to be different guys?" Roy states and without thinking much of it, you nod your head.

"I'll give you a baby." Roy states. "A healthy baby. A real chubby bastard too."

"Roy...." You sigh softly, "I don't think...—"

"Don't think." Roy interjects. "Let Daddy do the thinking."

Muscular fingers dig into the daisy-printed cushions of the sofa, and Roy lets out a low groan, head tipping back as he watches you slobber around his aching cock. Half-lidded eyes, a hand threading through your hair and gripping the strands as he feels the way your throat tightens around him, his flushed tip nodding against your oesophagus.

"Fuck, baby, just like that. Just like that..."

He whines, muscular thighs tensing and straining against the fabric of his jeans, feeling the way your nails drag against the material, and the way your soft, pouty lips wrap around his veiny shaft.

He watches the way your cheeks hollow when you suck him, your hands moving up his broad thighs and settling on his tightly toned abdomen.

Only to find out that it's... Not as tightly toned.

A slight pudginess has your eyes widening, your head lifting until his cock slips from your lips with a wet 'pop!' and you stare up at Roy.

"Did you gain weight?" You question with a surprised squeak, eyes widened with surprise and he swallows, the blood rushing through his ears making it difficult to hear you properly.

And it takes Roy a second or two to realise what you're asking and his ears tint red.

"Uh.... Just a few pounds but, I'm gonna start cutting next week ag— oh shit."

Roy gasps, hands gripping the sofa cushion so hard that his knuckles turn white and all he sees are fucking stars. Speckled against his eyelids as an orgasm crashes over him like a fucking tsunami and he gasps, a shaky breath that turns into a high pitched whine when you don't stop sucking.

The taste of cum fills your mouth and you know better than to swallow it immediately, instead milking him with soft, spittle-covered lips before you rise, standing between his thighs.

Your knee digs into the sofa beside his hip, your lips pressed against his and the taste of his own cum filling his mouth nearly has Roy proposing again.

Shaky hands bracket your hips, and he's forcing your skirt towards your waist, fingers pulling your panties to the side as two digits instantly bully their way into your cunt.

Your nails dig into either side of his face, your brows creasing as you struggle to adjust to the intrusion that's been just... Too long.

"Oh, you're so fucking tight." Roy groans, his face moving to nestle in the curve of your neck, inhaling that scent he's missed.

Misses the way it'd cling to his clothes, to his pillows, to his car seat, to his suit.

"You're not fucking anyone, baby?" Roy questions and you meekly shake your head, your hips bucking when he presses his thumb against your clit, and leaves you to your own devices to roll your hips just the way you like to.

"Awh, poor baby." He coos. "Let me take care of that pretty pussy, okay?"

You don't know how long it's been.

Your nails grabbing at the armrests, a heavy hand entangled in your hair and tugging you everytime you lose that arch for even a second.

Roy's beefy hips snap mercilessly, the lewd sound of your squelchy pussy rings out in the quietness of your home, drool dribbling down your cheek and soaking into the throw pillow beneath your head.

"That's it, baby. Fucking take it."

Roy groans, a muscular hand moving to rest on your hip, an iron grip pulling you back against him and with each movement, his cock jams against your cervix in a mixture of painful and pleasurable sensations, and your eyes water.

Your ass is stinging, the sensation only getting worse with each unforgiving thrust of his carved hips, heavy balls slapping against your clit with each movement and it's overstimulating. You don't know how many orgasms you've gotten but goddamn, you're feeling that coiling knot slowly start to build behind your navel.

"Play with your pussy, baby. Play with it." Roy breathes out, his hand leaving your hip and dragging along your plump thigh, giving you a sharp squeeze before guiding the limb to rest on the back of the sofa.

You're not that flexible.

But before you can even object, he's pummeling into you and your vision is getting hazier with each messy circle you make over your clit.

You're uncoordinated, you're sloppy and each time, you feel that thick globs of saliva trickle down the cleft of your ass and trickling down around your stretched out hole.

It's a burning stretch.

The kind that comes after a good workout and your body's bent in almost uncomfortable positions, and you gasp when you come.

Squirting onto the surface of the couch cushions beneath you, gushing so hard that you push Roy out of you but instead of pushing himself back in, his flushed tip swipes across your folds.

And the stimulation is too much, your body going limp and your hips twitch with every weak gush that trickles down your thighs, pooling at the spot where your knees dig into the sofa.

And Roy hums, hips moving to rest, and he leans over you, pressing a kiss to your back just as he pushes back into you, feeling the way your soaked walls attempt to pull him deeper.

To pull him closer.

And he rolls his hips, pressing a sweet kiss to the curve of your neck.

"I'm gonna come back tonight, and give you that baby, okay?" Roy breathes out softly, arms wrapping around your waist and you meekly nod your head, muttering a lazy 'mkay'.

The sound of Roy leaving, and closing the door behind him has you snapping back to reality and you perk up, lashes fluttering and heavy with unshed tears.

—♱—

"What's with the smile?" Jason questions, although, the twinkle in his emerald pools already say he knows.

A drink in his hand as he reclines against the park bench, eyes flitting between Roy's face and where Lian is playing with some lady's chihuahua.

Roy stares at Lian, watching the way her expression lights up when the dog jumps into her lap, tail wagging excitedly.

"I learnt something about myself." Roy answers softly and Jason lets out a hum, silently urging Roy to keep talking.

And a grin creeps onto Roy's face, million dollar smile gleaming in the sunlight.

"I'm not above a good, old fashioned baby trap."

[bonny-kookoo]

Hey Bonny!! I saw you wanted to play a game, so how does this sound for a drabble? Dragon! Yoongi (or Kookie since I know he's your guy) x Fairy! Reader?? Idk if you've written fairies before, but I know you've done dragons! 💜🤍

I have a dragon kook x fairy reader on my patreon as early access, so I'll make this one yoongi!

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Yoongi

Hidden in the woods

Dragons are rather social creatures- but when a young Dragonblood named Yoongi fails to find a partner while all his friends and family have moved way past those events already, he isolates himself, believing he might just be destined to be a loner. But maybe, he was just impatient.

Tags/Warnings: Dragon hybrid!Yoongi, Fairy!Reader, strangers to ???, reader is described as short oops, SFW

Wordcount: 1.6k (it was supposed to be a Drabble... oops)

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

“You rarely visit these days.”

His mothers words still echo in his mind as he tries to find a new composition on his piano that doesn’t sound like everything he’s already put out. Of course he hasn’t visited- with his brother’s twins constantly around, he’s always reminded of how far ahead everyone around him is, while he’s yet to find his first real love. He’s thirty, for god’s sake- and yet all he has is his house, a stable career as a musician, and a lot on his mind.

All his friends are married. Some have kids, others are busy preparing for the day they’ll have them. He feels out of place.

Yoongi has made peace with the fact that he’ll be the uncle to all of them, the one guy who never really seems to be happy about anything, never has a family of his own. It’s alright.

He sighs, loudly, gripping his hair for a second in frustration. This is stupid- why is he having an artist’s block right now of all times? People are waiting for something new, especially after he’s already taken a break to help his creativity. And yet, it did nothing- except for giving him a little bit more room to breathe and most of all move out of his apartment and into his new house near the woods. It’s nice here- about half an hour away from the bustling neon city he’s used to after years of living there, and also a bit more distance from his family and friends. A newfound excuse for when they ask him once more where he’s been.

The doorbell rings, attracting his attention. He’s not awaiting any guests or packages- who could it be?

Via the camera installed he can see that there’s a person he doesn’t know at the door- you're rather short, but visibly curious, looking around for any signs of life inside his home, and for a short moment, he sees them;

Delicate little slightly translucent wings. Pointy ears, tilted a bit downwards.

A fairy.

As he opens the door, you seem startled for a second or two, taking a step back, before you speak. “Oh, hello!” You greet him. “I was just about to ask- do you have uh.. Jungkook’s number?” You wonder, and he becomes hostile, crossing his arms. “A coworker of mine, Jimin, said you have it. I’m sorry I’m just, you know, showing up here like that-”

The door closes. But despite what he was expecting, you just ring the doorbell again- and again, until he opens.

“Okay, as I was trying to explain before you so rudely interrupted me-” You tease a little, arms now crossed as well as your wings flap around a bit. “-tell him at least that I need his help fixing my washing machine. He broke it and left the crime scene for me to find, and that’s, pardon my language-” You lean in a bit as if you’re about to tell Yoongi something secret, “-pretty crappy behavior.”

Yoongi stares you down for a moment, before he speaks.

“That’s it?” He asks, and you nod. “Why don’t you ask Jimin for Jungkook’s number?” He wonders, not entirely convinced. Jungkook is pretty much a magnet for people no matter what gender, and the worst part about it is that many if not most always try and get to him through Yoongi.

No one’s ever interested in him. Only his friends, or the things he can provide.

“Cause Jimin doesn’t have it either!” You whine, stomping your leg on the ground in agony. “Listen, I don’t know how to fix it and my bathroom smells like a laundromat already, my coffee machine is also broken and my script has been rejected for the third time, I really need some good news. Please?” You ask, and Yoongi contemplates.

“What if I fix it?” He asks, and your eyes begin to sparkle, wings lifting to flutter in excitement. It’s like in this very moment, he can hear the keys of his piano chime, creating a new piece in his mind.

“You can?!” You ask, stepping closer.

“Probably. Where do you even live?” He asks, before you point towards the woods.

“I live in the woods, pretty much. It’s not that far.” You say, and Yoongi sighs, looking back inside his house. It’s not like he’s going to get anything done either way, so who cares? It might take his mind off of things for a moment or two-

So a few hours later, he’s in your house, enjoying some hot coffee from your machine, which he’d fixed as well while he was at it. Well, fixed is a strong word- he pretty much just explained how it properly worked to you. It was working just fine- you just lost the manual and couldn’t figure it out on your own.

“I always thought dragons were scarier.” You say suddenly, opening a pack of cookies to put in the middle of your wooden coffee table. “You’re really nice. Tall, and a bit gloomy looking, but very nice.” You say, sitting down on the couch next to him, legs pulled up towards you.

He’s noticed something glittering all over the small house- like sparkling glitter, but much finer, and barely noticeable. Looking closer to his pants, he notices it there as well- and even after a brush with his hand, it sticks to his fingers now.

“Oh- I’m sorry! It keeps getting everywhere, especially now.. Wait- I have like, a plastic thing-” You hurry, getting up to search for something in a drawer close by your TV. “Ah, there!” You say, giving him the lint-roller. “It’s one designed for fairy dust. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about that..” You say, but for some odd reason, he declines.

“It’s fine.” He denies. “Doesn’t bother me.” he tells you, and again, you look at him like he’s just told you the earth is flat after all.

but it truly doesn’t bother him. It would, technically, if he was anywhere else. But right now, in this moment, he couldn’t be any more indifferent towards the ‘mess’ you leave sticking to his clothes and skin.

As soon as he’s back home, the sight of your sparkling smile is still in his mind, as his feet almost automatically move towards his piano, where he sits down, and presses a record button to play something new. The melody has been stuck on repeat in his head the entire way back home through the thick snow, like his imagination was finally finding color again.

But it’s different from what he usually creates.

This piece is playful almost, intriguing. It’s a little hesitant, like someone holding back a thought itself just to not indulge too much in a fantasy they’re already creating in their mind. Fluttering notes interrupt these parts however, sneaking in with excitement and curiosity, trying their best to convince the player to let themselves go.

And Yoongi does, as he finishes the piece, and leans back in his chair, recording finished before his phone chimes with a message.

“You left your scarf at my place!” Is what you tell him.

“I’ll get it tomorrow.” He texts you back.

“I could make us dinner?” You question.

He contemplates, finger hovering over the virtual keyboard of his phone, before he begins to write his answer. Fluttering touches of his fingers moving with a hint of excitement, fine fairy dust on the skin of his hands shimmering in the setting sun dipping everything in a golden glow.

“I’d love that.”

[beggamoth]

Things That Cannot Be Unsaid

summary | aemond targaryen survives after the battle above the god’s eye thanks to the little trinket you gave him. he’s injured, delirious and talking on high valyrian while high on poppy milk (of course he is). language barrier and all that.

pairing | aemond targaryen x servant!gn!reader

tags | not proofread. very chopped english bc its not my first language (im so sorry)

wordcount | 1k

note | this is my first time posting shit on tumblr it feels like losing virginity. may write gooning material later idk but stay tuned yall

any kind of feedback is highly appreciated!

Believe it or not, Aemond Targaryen survived the battle of God's Eye. Some claimed they saw Vhagar fold a wing - injured or turning too sharply. Some said a sword struck through flesh and scaled both. A half-blind fool from Harenhall swore he saw a Stranger flew among them, laughing. But whatever the truth: Aemond did not fall.

We do not know Whether it was the inexplicable ways of God or a strange byproduct of fate, but when they undressed him at the Red Keep, barely breathing and bloodied, they found a small button embedded just beneath his breastplate, crushed at his side. Charred. Smashed nearly flat. But there.

“A cracked button,” one of the maesters scoffed. “That saved him?”

“No,” whispered the older one, “But someone wanted him to come home.”

It was you who gave him this charm – his little servant, too overqualified to waste your vigorous expanded mind on washing noble smallclothes and scrubbing floors. You were not an accomplished lady who spent her days embroidering her house’s crest on the silk pillows or playing plangent lullabies on a harp. You didn’t know how to arrange flowers so they would be a confession, but you knew how many were needed to hide the smell of the sickroom.

You knew herbs better than some maesters. You were smart, too smart for a person of your station. He was fond of you. And you of him.

The maesters rattled off a list of Aemond's injuries with the glee of old men discussing a banquet menu.

Compound fracture to the right humerus. Deep lacerations across the back and shoulder, from where Vhagar’s saddle-straps had broken and flayed him as he fell halfway from her back. His collarbone was cracked. His right knee — the one he favored for mounting his dragon — had been twisted near sideways in the final descent, and the bone would knit crookedly, no matter how they set it. And that was not counting three broken ribs and punctured lung (a partial collapse). If it wasn’t for the button that stuck in his breastplate and shifted the angle of the blow, he’d be dead, they said.

They sounded rather disappointed he wasn't.

You didn’t speak to the maesters, no. You listened. You noted their doses. You counted how often they replaced bandages. You remembered which one liked to swill wine when no one was looking, and which one had a habit of reusing stitching needles.

Then you began doing it all yourself. Quietly. Competently. Thoroughly.

It was dark in his solar. It smelled of iron, bitter herbs and boiled linen. He wasn’t the first nor the last sick person you’ve ever tended to, but the most difficult one, his angry temper holding intact even when his body was in throes of fever, when his bandages soaked in blood quicker than you’ve managed to change them. Even when it felt like Stranger was sitting at the feet of his bed, waiting.

Even unconscious, even writhing in fevered dreams, he twitched toward you when you stepped nearby. Flinched when others touched him. Whispered names — yours among them, but also his mother’s, his uncle’s, something that sounded suspiciously like “fuck.”

It began subtly — the way fevers often do — but the language turned strange around midnight.

You had just finished redressing the bandages across his side when Aemond stirred again. He always was getting fussy around this hour, murmuring nonsense, catching phrases in his throat like a net catching weeds.

But this time, it wasn’t curses or half-garbled ravings about revenge or his emotionally unavailable mother. This time, his voice was genuinely soft. You nearly dropped the needle.

“Skoriot… issi ao.” His hand twitched, seeking something in the air. (where are you?)

You didn’t take it, but shifted closer, bringing your ear to his lips to hear the scraps of feverish pleas in language you didn’t know and would’ve had no use for anyway.

He went on. “Pāletilla...  dēmalion...  aōhon…  Ñuhon...  Jaes, ao sagon ñuhon…” (crown... throne.... yours… mine. gods, you're mine…)

“Don’t tell me you’ve got another craving for my appliances,” you muttered. “Because if this is like last night and you try to eat the gauze again, I swear to the Seven—”

He coughed.

Then: “ñuha jorrāelagon.” (my dear)

You rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. I’m your ‘jorrāelagon’. Probably means ‘steward’ or ‘person who cleans your bedpan.’ Gods, it wasn’t in my job requirements to know High Valyrian…”

Aemond blinked up at you, pupils dilated. Then smiled — not his usual smirk, not the clipped, cruel thing he flashed at shivering courtiers — but something oddly gentle.

“istin zālagon ziry mirre syt ao...” (I should've burned this all for you)

You tilted her head. “Does that one mean ‘I need another compress’ or ‘go away’? Blink once if you want me to leave.”

He reached up, weak fingers brushing your wrist.

And he whispered, like a prayer: “Jorrāelagon... ñuha ābrazȳrys/valzȳrys.” (dear... my husband/wife)

You stared.

The thing was — you knew what “ñuha” meant. It came up often enough when nobles claimed things. “Mine.” My sword. My claim. My blood. My land.

But the rest?

Your Valyrian was stitched together from old field journals and eavesdropped conversations of the maesters who used high valyrian names for every bone and muscle. All you knew was enough to read labels, identify tinctures, and avoid poisoning anyone accidentally.

Which meant that now — as Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, clutched your wrist and stared up with fever-glossy eyes while muttering what was almost certainly inappropriate levels of affection — you were left entirely in the dark about whatever he meant. But that was probably for good.

You gently pried his fingers off yours. “Right. Sleep. Sleep is good. I’ll bring you water.”

He muttered again as you stood. Something about stars and salt and se olvie gevie (the most beautiful one), which you were now convinced meant "that fucking servant."

You never mentioned it to anyone. For what, exactly?

Because it didn’t mean anything, you told yourself. Fevers made fools of lords and peasants alike.

So let him dream, you decide.

Let him babble.

Let him have his peace and linguistic somersaults, at least for now.

[ninapiro]

I've recently been in the dpxdc fandom, it's awesome af and I just had an idea, a weird prompt.

We usually see Danny is or ends up as part of the batfam: Damian's twin, the new adoptee, something like that.

So how about Danny being Talia's older brother? Ra's favorite and the one who set all the standards that Talia, and later Damian, have to reach?

The original idea was: Danny left the LoA when he was young enough to never get to meet Bruce, so he never knew his sister had a son and thus that he was an uncle, he never knew his nephew was a hero nor that his nephew's father and his family were heroes.

So when an adult Danny, Phantom since 14 and High King of the Infinite Realms since 18 (or whatever age you feel like, I feel like that experience makes him very indifferent to a lot, and his morals are more similar to those of ectoentities than living things), met the JL and more specifically the batfamily, he felt the pits in RH and more slightly in Robin, and knew they were on some level involved with the LoA, so he just asked

"So… How did you get dad to let you use the pits?"

To which the batfam responds with "YOUR DAD!"

Then a second idea, derived from the og, was:

JL and JLD found out that the Ra's al Ghul was trying to summon the King of the Infinite Realms, so they go to stop him but fail to do it in time, then Danny in ghost king form appears.

He sees the scene, sees that his father is the one summoning him, and goes

"Oh hey dad!" as he transforms from his eldritch form to human form "You know you can call me right? I have a phone, no need for all this crap" .

Everyone, even Ra's, is shocked.

Idk sounds funny in my head

Feel free to make a fic out of this and sorry if I sound too formal or if there are mistakes, English is not my first language and I'm learning it

It is also my second time publishing something and I don't know how to use tags