#◜ · › ❪ ❛ threads: holding out for a hero ❜ ❫ ‹ · ◞ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alive-gh0st · 11 hours ago

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˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

.….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ.. .

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⛨ summary: you’re not obsessed with him. you’re not. but the world clearly is. strange articles. sneaky algorithms. and a voice in your head that won’t shut up. meanwhile, invincible’s got his own problem: he can’t find the girl who called him out like a scrub tech on a bad day.

⛨ contains: sfw. nurse carla’s mischief. media-induced annoyance. early emotional foreshadowing. reader in denial. mark being haunted by words and mystery. parallel narration. bonus scene chaos.

⛨ warnings: mild language. internet stalking (light). stubbornness. minor delusion. no real threats—just a very determined destiny.

⛨ wc: 2146

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: fun fact—i lost half of this chapter mid-edit because my wifi decided to flatline like a soap opera character. dramatic gasp, hospital monitor beep, the whole deal. one second i’m tweaking a paragraph, the next i’m staring at the void where 800 words used to be. i almost fought my router. bare-fisted. anyway, here it is—risen from the ashes, caffeinated, and slightly more unhinged than originally planned. enjoy my suffering.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The universe has a sick sense of humor.

You know this. You’ve always known this.

You work twelve-hour shifts surrounded by people coughing on your scrubs and trying to die inconveniently. You’ve stitched up knife wounds caused by things described as “accidents,” told grown men they’re not, in fact, dying from a sore throat, and once had to remove a Lego from a place no Lego should ever be.

But lately, it feels personal.

There’s been a shift. A pattern. A very specific, very annoying theme threading itself through your life like the world’s most persistent pop-up ad.

It’s not love. It’s not fate.

It’s him.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You tap your phone’s screen with more passive aggression than necessary, holding it to your ear even though you know your (only) friend won’t pick up.

Beep.

“Okay, listen—I’m not spiraling. I’m not.”

(Pause. Sip. Another pause.)

“But if one more news article, thirst edit, or random merch featuring that man—shows up in my general vicinity, I will commit a felony. Probably a creative one.”

(Beat.)

“And no—before you say it—it’s not a crush. I don’t have time for crushes. I have sleep deprivation and a spine held together by caffeine.”

(Silence.)

“He’s not even that hot.”

You hang up.

Regret it. Immediately.

And that’s when it hits you—

You’re not obsessed with him.

You’re not.

You’ve been into people before—celebrities, coworkers, a random guy who pronounced your name right on the first try—but this isn’t that. You’re not delusional. You’re tired. You have a full-time job, a chaotic sleep schedule, and at least two stress migraines scheduled for the week.

You’re not obsessed.

The entire world, on the other hand, clearly is.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

It starts with a newspaper.

A real one. Paper and ink and everything. You’re halfway through your first sip of coffee (not bad, not cursed) when you spot it, splayed open on the front counter like it tripped and fell into your line of sight.

’Invincible saves subway commuters in mid-derailment battle.’

There’s a photo. Midair. Bloodied knuckles. Hero pose. That obnoxious blue-yellow suit.

You blink at it once. Twice. The espresso tastes more bitter somehow.

“…Carla,” you call out, slowly.

A soft shuffle from the break room. “Mhm?”

You tilt your head toward the paper. “Is that yours?”

“Nope,” she chirps, far too quickly.

You squint.

Carla reappears moments later with a tea mug that says ’I am the storm’ in passive-aggressive font and absolutely does not make eye contact as she walks past you.

She hums.

The kind of hum that implies dark intentions.

You stare at the paper like it personally insulted your scrubs.

That’s strike one.

Strike two comes via TikTok. Or… Instagram Reels. Or whatever godforsaken app the algorithm has you trapped in.

You’re lying on your couch on your one night off, a warm takeout container on your lap, the lights dimmed just enough to make it feel like self-care. You open your phone to zone out. Maybe scroll through food mukbangs. A few raccoon videos. Rewatch that one clip from ’The Bear’ for the emotional damage.

Instead, the second video to pop up is a slow-motion fan edit of Invincible. Set to a remix of a 2000s ballad.

You stare at your phone in silence as the hero who bloodied his way through your afternoon is now being thirsted after by teenagers in the comments.

You swipe up fast enough to sprain something.

Then another pops up.

And another.

And—oh, good god. This one’s tagged #invincibae.

You throw your phone facedown on your stomach like it’s contagious.

You’re not angry. You’re not even annoyed.

You’re just trying to have one singular crumb of peace in this godless world, and the masked himbo you verbally body-checked in the middle of a disaster won’t stop invading your downtime.

You eventually find a rerun of ’House MD’ and watch a patient nearly die from licking envelopes, which feels more comforting than it should.

You’re not obsessed.

(But maybe you do glare at a passing bus with his face on the side. Just a little.)

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

By the end of the week, it gets worse.

You’re at the pharmacy grabbing gauze, extra gloves, and the least offensive granola bar in existence when you see the merch.

Merch.

A corner display stacked with shirts and water bottles and pins. There’s a plushie. A plushie. Of him.

You pause, granola bar halfway to your basket.

A kid next to you picks up the Invincible water bottle and turns to his mom. “Do you think he drinks from this too?”

You visibly clench your jaw.

At that exact moment, your phone dings.

You pull it out with the practiced grace of someone who lives and dies by their calendar app—only to find a suggested article on your lock screen.

’Why Invincible Might Be the Most Relatable Hero Yet!’

You could scream.

Instead, you mutter, “I patched up his concussion while inhaling drywall dust. He was seeing double and still arguing with me.”

The cashier stares at you.

You move on.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The final straw?

A patient brings him up.

Middle of a wound check, nothing dramatic. A few stitches, topical numbing, your hands moving on autopilot. You’re explaining aftercare, bandage changes, when the patient—maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen—smiles at you and says:

“You kinda remind me of Invincible, y’know? Like, you’re calm under pressure and.. kind of badass.”

You blink.

Smile politely. “Cool.”

Inside, your soul shrivels.

You are not him.

You don’t throw punches. You don’t fly. You don’t have a theme song or fan cams or merchandise.

You have an overtime shift on Sunday and a stress knot in your shoulder that’s starting to feel like a second spine.

But the universe doesn’t care.

You’re not obsessed.

You just can’t escape.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Mark doesn’t remember your face.

Not clearly, anyway.

The smoke had blurred the details, painted you in silhouettes and urgency. You weren’t the loudest voice in the chaos—just the sharpest. Crisp, cutting, sure of yourself in a way that made his head spin more than the actual concussion.

But your voice?

He remembers that like it’s stitched into the inside of his skull.

Low. Stern. Half-sarcastic and half-soothing. It sounded like someone who didn’t have time for bullshit, which—given the circumstances—made sense.

He was bleeding from the ribs. The city was literally burning.

Still, the memory echoes:

“Don’t say fine.”

“You’re favoring your left.”

“You shouldn’t be flying.”

Mark exhales hard, slumping deeper into the worn couch. The TV’s on but silent. Some old action movie flickers in the corner of his vision. It’s supposed to be background noise.

But nothing is loud enough to drown you out.

He doesn’t know your name.

Doesn’t know what you do, where you’re from, if you even survived the aftermath unscathed.

All he knows is that you made him feel—briefly, dangerously—human.

Not a symbol. Not a name in headlines. Just a guy who was bleeding too much and doing too little.

And he can’t stop hearing you.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

“You’re zoning out again,” Debbie says from the kitchen.

Mark flinches, barely registering the sound of the fridge opening.

“Sorry. Just tired.”

Debbie hums skeptically and tosses him a cold can of soda. “You’ve said that every day this week.”

“I am tired.”

“You’re also muttering to yourself like a haunted Victorian widow. Anything I should know?”

Mark cracks the can open with unnecessary force.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares ahead like the wall is going to give him divine guidance.

“I met someone,” he says finally.

Debbie doesn’t react. Just leans against the counter, raising a perfectly arched brow. “Okay. And?”

“She yelled at me.”

Still silence.

“And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

There it is.

Debbie snorts into her cup. “That’s it? That’s what’s got you acting like a sad poet?”

He shifts. “It’s not just that. She—she saw right through me. In like, five seconds. Called out every injury I hadn’t processed yet. Told me I wasn’t fine before I could even lie about it.”

“And this was… romantic?”

“No!” Mark frowns. “I don’t even know what it was. I don’t know anything about her. I couldn’t even see her face.”

“Okay, now it’s giving Victorian ghost story.”

“She saved a kid.”

Debbie blinks.

“In the middle of it all. Ran straight into debris and smoke. People tried to stop her and she looked at me like I was the liability.”

He doesn’t mention the way your hands shook but never stopped moving. Or the way you lied—beautifully, horribly—just to keep that child alive a few seconds longer.

He doesn’t mention how it made something in his chest ache.

“She sounds amazing,” Debbie says, more gently now.

“She was,” he mutters. “And now she’s just… gone.”

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The thing is, Mark’s not usually like this.

He gets hit, he gets up. He saves people, and he moves on. Faces blur. Names fade. It’s how he copes.

But this? This isn’t fading.

It’s getting worse.

He’ll be flying over the city and see a flash of hair that looks vaguely like yours—and he’ll nearly crash into a billboard turning to check. His neck has started clicking. He’s going to need chiropractic help and therapy.

He doesn’t even know you, but he’s half-convinced he’ll know when he sees you again.

He’s waiting for it.

And that thought alone is ridiculous.

Because he doesn’t wait. Not for danger. Not for hope. Not for anyone.

Except now, apparently, for you.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

More than once, he’s hovered outside hospitals and urgent care clinics on patrol. Just a few seconds. Just in case.

He makes excuses for it, of course.

• You never know when you might be needed.

• Some med centers don’t have enough security.

• Maybe he’s being responsible.

But then he hears a nurse’s laugh and it isn’t yours.

And he flies off like a coward.

Not even a few minutes later there’s a robbery in Midtown.

Small-time. Two guys. One has a crowbar. The other trips over his shoelace trying to run.

Mark’s on it in sixty seconds flat.

It’s easy—should be, anyway—but his timing’s off. He lands too hard, shoulder twinges wrong. The guy gets one good swing in before Mark sends him flying (not too far).

It’s done in under a minute.

And still—he’s breathless. Not from the fight, but from the feeling.

The missing.

The what if you’d seen that and thought I was sloppy kind of missing.

He doesn’t say anything as he lifts the guy’s dropped phone and hands it off to the store clerk. They thank him. He nods.

Flies away.

He doesn’t go far.

Just lands on some apartment roof, crouches by the ledge, and lets his hands tangle in his hair for a minute.

The city stretches below him, loud and alive.

But all he wants to find is a blur in the chaos that isn’t there.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Later that night, he lies in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like it might offer closure.

It doesn’t.

It’s just drywall and shadows and everything you saw through.

His notebook lies half-open next to him—not forgotten, just untouched, like a question he doesn’t know how to answer yet.

It’s not a journal—he doesn’t do feelings that way—but sometimes, when his head’s too loud and his hands need something to do, he sketches. Nothing fancy. Just lines. Shapes. Impressions.

Tonight, it’s you.

Or, what he remembers of you. Which isn’t much.

Your face is a blur. Hair? A vague impression. Maybe dark. Maybe not. But your hands—he remembers those. Quick, steady, smudged with ash. Your posture. How you stood slightly in front of the child like a shield, chin up, like fear was something for other people.

He’s drawn the same half-profile six times now. None of them are right.

He sighs, drags a hand through his hair, and flips the page over.

Maybe he’s not trying to get it right.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to forget.

He closes his eyes.

But the voice stays with him.

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌Clinic break room. You. Tired.

You sneeze—violently.

Again.

You rub your nose with the heel of your palm, the tip of it already reddish from overuse, and a dramatic groan leaves your throat as you sink into the unforgiving plastic chair.

“This is some kind of karmic punishment,” you mutter to no one in particular. “Like, I must’ve offended a witch. Or touched something cursed.”

“Maybe you’re getting sick,” offers a random nurse from across the room.

You glare at her. “I’m immune to sickness.”

Then of course, Carla appears behind you, perfectly timed as always.

“Maybe someone’s thinking about you,” she says, casual as rain, not even glancing your way before walking off.

You blink. Deadpan.

Then sneeze again.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

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nightmaretist · 1 year ago

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TIMING: Mid April PARTIES: Mercy & Inge LOCATION: Dance Macabre SUMMARY: Inge finds Mercy in the club bathroom, where the vampire is hiding from the loud noise and flashing lights. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

Going to Dance Macabre had lost some of its charm now that Inge couldn’t get down on the dance floor as she was used to. She tended to get into the club with an air of confidence, ready to dance to the goth music that usually ruled the speakers and make it through a sleepless night. But there was no fun to be found in dancing now and so she found herself evading the club or, if she visited, sitting in a booth, sulking.

Most days, she didn’t even make her way there by car and foot — she just manifested in a bathroom stall, locked it and waited a moment before exiting. Today she chose that way, preferring her commute through the astral. She’d been back at school teaching and her body hurt from the standing, but she didn’t want another day at home.

So she swung open the door of the bathroom, finding it empty save for one person. A woman – no surprise there – and as would be Inge’s luck, she was upset. For a moment she stood there in the doorway of the bathroom stall, wondering if she could get away with astral projecting somewhere else but eventually deciding against it. “Hey,” she said, walking up to the sinks and mirrors. She opened a faucet, let cold water run over her hands despite her not having used the toilet. “Everything okay?” She wondered if this was a human, hoped it wasn’t. “Something happen out there?”

—

Mercy was tired of being confined to Caleb’s house. It was where she lingered most days, unless she were at The Sugar Pot working in the shadows learning about how the 21st century seemed to work. And even then, those days could be quite frustrating. Nothing about Wicked’s Rest was as she had remembered, except the occasional stroll through nature where somehow man had decided to leave things untouched. Those were her favorite places. And they had reminded her briefly of the life she had once lived.

But tonight, while Caleb was out doing his own thing, Mercy had found herself venturing out into the darkness and down sidewalks and streets until she had come to a place known as Dance Macabre. For whatever reason, it had given her an odd sensation. It had felt right and where she belonged. Even the name seemed to remind her of the works of one of the greatest playwrights of her time…William Shakespeare.

As she moved forward, drawn in, she smiled as a man who was much larger than her small 5’2” stature allowed her to pass into the haze of living and undead alike. It wasn’t what she had expected at all. And in fact, it was so loud that it hurt her ears. Music thumped and the smoke and haze with strobing lights left her feeling disoriented. She had immediately regretted coming into the loud nightclub. But Mercy couldn’t seem to find her way out, and instead, she stumbled towards the bar, where a tall blonde woman had asked if she was okay, before the vampire made a break for what seemed to be a dark hall that was mute with anything flashing.

Coming to a doorway, she desperately looked for the handle and out of frustration pushed on it, which sent her careening forward and into a smaller room that wreaked of an all too familiar stink that lingered in the fields of Salem many, many years ago. But Mercy didn’t care. It seemed like a safer place to be - with muffled sounds and steady white candlelight overhead, and without thinking any harder, she found a dark and safe space to crawl up under, until she heard a voice speak to her.

Peering out from under the sink, Mercy looked up to see a woman standing there, “Nay, tis much too loud and all consuming. I hath made quite the mistake in coming here. But I know not of how to leave.” The 17th century vampire realized her words were once again aging her, but in this moment, the fear and anxiety she felt was much too great to worry about what someone thought.

—

The bathroom was often a place for things like this, wasn’t it? For drunk girls to deliver compliments as if they were soliloquies and wipe a strand of hair from your face. To hold someone’s hand, tell another that the man she was after was hardly worth her time, to exchange tampons and lipgloss. Inge still carried tampons with her for this reason, even if she didn’t need them any more.

And those things she was good at, but this? A woman crouching under a sink, looking absolutely overwhelmed with her surroundings. As if this was the first time she’d been a club. Distantly she remembered what it had been like, to venture into the city and go into a place like this for the first time. She’d gone to parties back in town, but they’d been held in sheds and living rooms, sometimes in the town cafe — and the attendants had all been familiar figures. Former babysitters, classmates, colleagues of her parents, the veterinarian and friends of her husband.

Going out in Amsterdam had been dizzying. Everything had been dizzying after she had been transformed, of course, but she had felt like this. That was so long ago now — Inge frequented clubs aplenty these days, found their noise and sounds comforting.

She dried off her hands, looked down at the other woman. She spoke like she was stuck in a different era which might have made plenty raise their eyebrows. But Inge was an undead woman in an undead nightclub, so it wasn’t entirely out there. She gave a look of sympathy, something she extended primarily because she hoped the other was undead like her.

“Alright,” she said, crouching down a little. “Why don’t you get out from under there, huh?” She extended a hand. “I know this place like the back of my hand, so I can show you the way out.” Inge hadn’t planned on doing something like this tonight, but she found that life never seemed to go as planned as of late. “What’s your name? Did anyone bother you?”

—

The new world had really been something. Over the course of nearly four hundred years, Mercy had laid deep underground in a pine box that held dirt and decay leaving her with one struggle…keep her mind intact. There had been a lifetime’s worth of worry to dwell on for centuries having no answers and never having contact with anyone but bugs crawling over her slowly rotting form. In and out of her mouth on occasion. Over her eyes, in and out of her ears. Nibbling on her clothing and flesh. And at first, she would scream trying to shake off the creatures that scared her so, but as time passed, she had given in…allowed them to linger on her form considering it was as close to human touch and companionship as she could get. The millions of tiny legs and bodies over the years crawled around looking for food or a place to reside, all while she began to focus more on mental tasks and memories. Until finally, one day, there was just silence from giving up, except for the occasional hard thump, rumble, or rattle that shook the ground around her.

But now, here she was surrounded by too much noise. Too many people. Too much stimulation struggling to accept all of it and understand what it meant and why people were so different.

Leaning back slightly as she watched the other woman kneel down, Mercy was cautious. And as soon as she noticed her hand, she hesitated, before giving in and taking it. Managing to pull herself out and up, the petite woman straightened up in her posture, “Thankee. My name is Mercy, and what shall I call thee?” She looked with sad blue eyes in her direction, “Nay. No one hath bothered me.” It probably seemed absurd to someone such as the woman standing in front of Mercy, but here they both were having this strange interaction.

—

There was some kind of nurturing instinct within her still. Inge didn’t enjoy it when this instinct gave her responsibility, but that didn’t mean it didn’t prop up from time to time. She wasn’t wholly uncaring, after all — she cared for her fellow undead, in most cases, and even as a professor she didn’t mind being a bit of a guide. And so it made sense to extend a hand and be glad when it was taken, looking at the shaking woman with a hint of concern.

She continued to speak in that ancient way and it reminded her of Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet, with all the flashing lights behind the door but the Shakespearean speech falling off her lips. Something about it was theatrical, but it was also not wholly strange in a world where people could live to be a thousand years old and not age a day. Inge moved a pluck of the other’s blonde hair behind her ear.

“I’m Inge,” she said. “And I am glad no one has bothered you.” She had a small inner debate on how to broach the subject of the other’s potential immortality. She let it go for now. It could be discussed outside. “Alright. We’re just going to get out of here now, okay?” She took her hand again. “Get some fresh air. I’ll guide the way.” She gave a small smile, used her free hand to open the bathroom door and welcome the sounds of the club, heavy bass pumping through her ears. She pushed past people with ease, as she was practiced in the art of moving through large masses and reached for the doors once she’d gotten there, letting go of Mercy’s hand as they got outside. “Better?”

—

Mercy, though apprehensive about leaving the safety of the bathroom, no matter how dingy it was, had felt something familiar and warm with the woman that stood in front of her. Her words were soft and kind. There were no harsh stares, just someone who spoke gently, compared to the other people who had milled about earlier in the bathroom not even noticing Mercy tucked away in her hiding space, “Tis a pleasure to meet thee, even under such circumstance. I am Mercy.” A small, subtle smile appeared across her face cutting through the sadness that lingered in her blue eyes.

At the request to leave, Mercy inhaled deeply and released a small sigh as she nodded in approval of the plan. And with a grip much tighter than before, she latched onto Inge and followed the other woman through the overwhelming loudness of the music and modern people to finally reach the outside of the club.

With the coolness of the night air hitting her face, she let out another sigh, but this time it was one of full relief. Mercy was free and safe. The music thumping inside the building was still somewhat intimidating and the people wandering around outside Dance Macabre made her somewhat nervous, but she was free from the modern prison of a cacophony of sounds and peculiar people, “Much better, aye. Thankee from freeing me from such a prison. How dost one stand such chaos?” She looked to Inge with genuine concern.

—

Mercy’s hand was cold in her own, which was to say, she was the same temperature. Inge knew some people were just coldblooded but this was a meeting place of the undead. She would take the leap, she decided, once they were outside. For now her goal was clear: she was to take this confused and lost woman outside, to lead her to a place where lights didn’t flash and music didn’t pump.

She laughed softly at the question Mercy asked once they were outside. She had been like this once, she kept telling herself. Overwhelmed and wide eyed. Wondering why people enjoyed places so crowded, so filled with the stench of alcohol and cigarettes. Back then people had smoked inside. Back then she had smoked inside. “You learn to like it, if you want. It’s nice to enjoy the music together. To find people …” She smiled. “To have fun.”

She started to walk from the sound of the pulsing music, though, looking at Mercy to see if she was following. “So … and correct me if I’m wrong,” Inge said. It was dark out. She could disappear if this was a mistake. “But are you of the unaging kind? You seem much older than you look. And that is a compliment.”

—

Mercy looked back as people stumbled out of the club laughing. It was nice to see people enjoying themselves. To see happiness, when she had come from a stricter time. One of morals and standards you did not question out of fear of what could happen. People liked to talk, and Mercy hated being the subject of their talk, but it seemed that people in this day and age were more wrapped up in their own needs, then that of those around them. Of course, the vampire had only been present in this new, modern world for the briefest of moments, so she hadn’t discovered tabloid magazines and online trolls.

“Fun? I do not recall such a word.” It was true. The word hadn’t come around until the early 1700s when Mercy was already buried deep underground. And like the people leaving Dance Macabre, laughing and smiling was something she hadn’t done in quite a while. In fact, the only genuine smile she could remember recently was something Caleb had said. The moving people in the wall often made her laugh, but it was somewhat hollow and only because it got her mind off of things, “I hope to find enjoyment in life once more, when the shock of these modern times has dulled.”

Noticing Inge move forward, Mercy followed, “Aye. I hath not aged. At least as far as one can tell without being able to see one’s own reflection. I was born in 1657 and lived in Salem town, up until I was accused of being a witch. From there I fled to Wicked’s Rest, but fate hath determined an early grave after being accused of being a demon, in which I was laid to rest in a pine box where I hath been for nearly 400 years.” She looked towards the ground remembering what both Caleb and Alistair had warned against, but Inge had saved her, and she felt she had owed the woman an explanation.

—

There was a chance that this woman was some kind of cosplayer, a goth who committed to the bit very hard, but Inge doubted it. Mercy had seemed genuinely upset by the noise and chaos in the club and hadn’t seemed to be performing for any kind of audience. Besides, Inge had met people who were old before — vampires and mares who’d ran around the world for multiple centuries and weren’t able to shake the antiquity from their way of speaking. This seemed more like that.

“Maybe you’ll have to look somewhere else besides clubs, then. They aren’t for everyone.” She gave a little hint of a smile, glad that the other was walking with her. And then Mercy offered a kind of honesty that was dangerous in these parts — even though she had been the one with the forward questioning in the first place. She was nearly half a century old, it was hard to imagine such a life – especially such a life spent in a pine box.

She could not be a mare, then. If Inge had been buried alive for so long, she would have perished after a while due to starvation. Her mind flashed to Ariadne, locked in a van. It flashed to Italy, where she’d hungered while trapped. “That’s horrible,” she said, “Fate …” She tsk-ed, halted and looked at Mercy. “There is no such thing as fate. Just ignorant and cruel humans. I’m sorry that happened to you.” She shook her head. “I’m undead too, for what it’s worth. A mare.” She looked over the other. She hoped this wasn’t a lie. She wondered if it was — but she knew how cruel hunters could be. She could still flee away if this woman was a hunter who knew how to play her cards. “And I am of the opinion our kind should stick together, hm? Watch each other’s backs. Maybe teach you a thing or two about this twenty first century.”

— Mercy was starting to relax and find comfort in Inge’s company. She had spoken harshly, but from the last days of the vampire’s time with the living, before being shoved in a box, there was some truth held in Inge’s words. However, Caleb had been kind. Even Alistair. The paths she had crossed so far held kindness, but the more she thought about it, including learning what Inge was – not that Mercy knew what a mare was, she was coming to find that everyone who had been kind had been far from being a mere human, “I suppose you speak truth in the regard of humans.” It was still an odd notion knowing she wasn’t technically a part of the living human world anymore.

“Preytell, Inge, but what is a mare?” Mercy looked to her new friend as they walked slowly down the sidewalk. There was still so much to learn in this world. More about vampires, such as herself, and the other creatures that seemed to roam the modern streets of Wicked’s Rest. But she wanted to learn. She wanted to know. If this was to be her new life, she had to know.

“I propose a deal. I shall teach thee of life in the 1600s, if thee shall be so kind as to teach me of life in the 2000s.” With a more confident smile, now that she was away from the booming nightlife of Wicked’s Rest, Mercy locked arms with her new friend. If there were more people like the Inges, Calebs, and Alistairs of the world, she had hoped she would cross paths with them sooner or later, because at least life in modern times wouldn’t be so lonely or so hard.

#holding out for a hero.#threads.#mercy.

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divinelght · 1 year ago

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tag dump.

OOC TAGS. i've got a lot on my mind. ⸻ ( ooc. ) do it all for love. ⸻ ( promo. ) keep the sun in your heart. ⸻ ( answered. ) the gold and the rust. ⸻ ( dash games. ) to live for the hope of it all. ⸻ ( memes & prompts. ) after this i'm never gonna be the same. ⸻ ( threads. ) AURORA TAGS. always an angel / never a god. ⸻ ( mirror. ) a light that never goes out. ⸻ ( study. ) sun: keeper of flame. ⸻ ( aesthetics. ) walk always in the light. ⸻ ( lathander. ) every good intention. ⸻ ( musings. ) let me put my lips to something. ⸻ ( desires. ) VERSE TAGS. a hero's journey. ⸻ ( act i. ) i have seen what the darkness does. ⸻ ( act ii. ) these roads are changing me. ⸻ ( act iii. ) now the darkness got a hold on me. ⸻ ( corrupt. ) DYNAMIC TAGS. where you go i'm going. ⸻ ( daemon. ) here is my hand. ⸻ ( astarion. ) your needs / my needs ⸻ ( sidxreus. )

#i've got a lot on my mind. ⸻ ( ooc. )#do it all for love. ⸻ ( promo. )#keep the sun in your heart. ⸻ ( answered. )#the gold and the rust. ⸻ ( dash games. )#to live for the hope of it all. ⸻ ( memes & prompts. )#after this i'm never gonna be the same. ⸻ ( threads. )#always an angel / never a god. ⸻ ( mirror. )#a light that never goes out. ⸻ ( study. )#sun: keeper of flame. ⸻ ( aesthetics. )#walk always in the light. ⸻ ( lathander. )#every good intention. ⸻ ( musings. )#a hero's journey. ⸻ ( act i. )#i have seen what the darkness does. ⸻ ( act ii. )#these roads are changing me. ⸻ ( act iii. )#now the darkness got a hold on me. ⸻ ( corrupt. )#where you go i'm going. ⸻ ( daemon. )#here is my hand. ⸻ ( astarion. )#let me put my lips to something. ⸻ ( desires. )#your needs / my needs ⸻ ( sidxreus. )

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crushmeeren · 9 months ago

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omg but imagine secretly giving the mha boys aphrodisiac chocolate and seeing how they react..

No but you’re RIGHT…. ( ੭ ˙ᗜ˙ )੭

𝛏 Master List Link 𝛏

Katsuki would stare at you with narrowed eyes when you hold your hand out and offer the piece of chocolate to him, your gaze wide and innocent until he pops the candy in his mouth.

Katsuki would be in a meeting not too long after, jaw clenched and teeth creaking when his uniform pants get too fucking snug for no reason. His cheeks will flush bubblegum pink, biting the head off of some hero he can’t remember the name of when asked what’s wrong.

Why the fuck can he only picture you face down and ass up in the air?

Why does he have to sink his nails into his thighs to hang onto his last thread of self control and restrain himself from palming his stiff cock when he thinks of your pussy split open for him?

Why the hell is sweat running down his temples and along his jaw like a goddamn river??

He doesn’t know.

What he is certain of, is his plan to tackle you to the bed as soon as he gets home. To cum the second he slides his achy cock inside your tight pussy, and then to fuck you until neither of you can stand to climax one more time.

Eijirou would happily accept the chocolate, humming in delight once he begins chewing.

Eijirou would then be relaxing with you on the couch, using every ounce of willpower to concentrate on the movie you’re watching together. His cheeks would turn as scarlet as his hair and he’d try to hide his face with the loose strands when you glance at him.

He’d squeak out that’s he’s fine when you ask if he’s feeling feverish. He’ll clumsily cover his cock with large hands, knees knocking into one another when he tries to close his legs.

Eijirou would whimper in your ear “fuck, I’m sorry baby, I need your pussy. I can’t stop myself,” as he gives in to the heat churning in his belly and bends you over the armrest of your couch to fuck you like a dog.

You’ll babble and gasp it’s okay, crying out his name when he makes you orgasm for what feels like the hundredth time — only for his dick to remain hot and full after he’s already cum inside you so much that you’re sure you’re going to get pregnant.

Shouto would take a bit more convincing. He doesn’t ordinarily eat chocolate, but he’s willing to try it if you’re the one presenting it to him.

Shouto would be leisurely walking alongside you in the grocery store, occasionally making noises of agreement as you tell him about your day.

Shouto would suddenly freeze mid stride, becoming rigid in the middle of the aisle. He’ll blink owlish eyes at you several times when you turn back to question what he’s doing.

You’ll snap your fingers to get his attention when he starts to stare at the swell of your tits for way too long instead of listening to you, cheeks filling out with a blush when he meets your gaze.

The next thing you know, your half full grocery cart is abandoned in the aisle and you’re yanked by the wrist back to your car in the parking lot.

Shouto would mutter breathlessly “sorry baby, I can’t seem to control myself,” when he gets your pants off, leaving the material to dangle from one ankle before tugging you down to straddle his lap in the backseat.

He’ll unbutton his pants and shove them down far enough to free himself, not bothering with your panties and sliding them to the side as he sits you down on his cock and let’s out a low moan.

Shouto will match your every move, thrusting upwards harshly each time you sit down. He won’t give a single fuck if someone walks past the car, he just knows he needs your pussy to keep swallowing his cock until the insatiable burn in his lower belly subsides.

It takes…awhile.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #todoroki shouto x reader #bakugou katsuki #todoroki smut #shouto smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #todoroki shouto #kirishima ejirou #kirishima eijirou x reader #todoroki shoto smut #mha x reader #mha smut #bakugou katsuki smut #kirishima eijirou smut

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nanaslutt · 1 month ago

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always the hero

ʚ pairing: nanami kento x reader

ʚ cont: fem reader, oral (nanami!r), deep throating, established relationship, kinda sub nanami??

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Once the door clicks shut, the silence that falls is deafening. Nanami is backed up against the door, with you standing too close to him, but neither of you move, neither of you breathes. Ever since the argument earlier, things have been tense. That tension that radiates between you is now filling up the room and making breathing nearly impossible. Unbearable.

After a few moments pass, Nanami clears his throat and steals your eyes to his, but before his parted lips can make words, you raise a finger to them and shake your head, all in silence. His brows furrow, but you don't feel like talking. Not right now. Not like this.

Dragging your finger down his nape, he lifts his chin as you trace down his chest, staying for a second longer on the warm skin that peaks out from his unbuttoned collar. Your touches are painfully slow and torturous, meant to drag this out until he's clenching his fists and breathing ragged.

You stop at his belt line and pull his tucked shirt up, dragging it out of the confines from where it's tucked into his pants. Through it, Nanami is quiet, but his breath hitches when you pull the shirt free. Lifting the fabric, you toy a single finger between his belt and lower abdomen.

Nanami lifts a hand and grips your wrist--not to tell you to stop, but his eyes are full of questions, unspoken thoughts, and... Lust. He's exactly where you want him. "What are you doing?" His deep whispered voice seems to echo off the walls of your shared home.

Holding eye contact, you pull your finger out and use both hands to undo his belt, his hand still cautiously on your wrist. "I thought I told you not to speak right now?" You said, the clinking of metal filling up the space around you. His breath hitches when you bump into the proof of his arousal while undoing his belt, and his throat bobs as he looks down at your hands that make slow, precise work of him.

"We should talk." He says, his grip on your wrist turning firm.

Earlier, Nanami put himself in danger to eliminate a curse--something you had told him before not to do. The last time he did it, you weren't with him, so your fright wasn't as potent, but seeing how close he got to...

Seeing it so close made you feel helpless. It was a feeling you never wanted to replicate again.

"I don't want to talk." You said, slowly dropping to your knees while looking up at him through your lashes.

Nanami pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and fights back a groan at the sight, warring with himself internally. You look so beautiful, but he knows you're still upset with him.

You run your hand up his thighs and stop at the top before sliding your fingers into the band of his boxers and sliding them down inch by inch. His breath seems to stop completely as you rid him of his clothes, slowly barring him and giving him no choice but to repent in the way you want him to. By letting you take him.

"Sweetheart..." He whispers through a groan when his cock bounces free of its confines, wet at the tip and so hard he's fucking twitching.

"Kento." You chastise. What about not talking doesn't he understand?

His hand threads into your hair gently, and his eyes look so tortured and pained. You love it. "I don't deserve this." He says so softly, almost insecurely. And you nod. "No, you don't"

"Then why-"

Your hand wraps around his impossibly stiff cock, and he cuts himself off, inhaling sharply through his teeth while the back of his head knocks into the door. Such a simple touch and Nanami Kento is debased to his most basic animalistic urges. You rub the head of his cock, massaging your thumb into that sensitive spot on the underside of his head, and are rewarded with his abs clenching and a drop of precum.

"Speak again, and I'll stop." With those parting words, you suck him between your lips and he fucking melts.

Kento grunts, his free hand slamming into the wall behind him in a balled fist when you effortlessly slide him to the back of your throat. This isn't about his pleasure, much as it seems. You aren't going to take it easy or spare his pride, this is to torture him, to make him feel as helpless as he did you.

His hand in your hair tightens, but he makes no move to thrust into your mouth or shove you onto his cock. His body jerks and his back arches when you take him too deep, but he catches himself before he thrusts into your warm mouth as much as he wants to.

A long grunt that turns into a groan is torn free from his throat when you start bobbing your head up and down at a merciless pace, using a hand to stroke the rest of his length that doesn't fit in your mouth, while you slide your other hand up his shirt to caress his abdomen and feel what you do to him.

His abs flex under your touch and your ministrations. His breathing is ragged and ruined, and sounds that would usually be hidden back from your ears, are being forced free. He's not hiding a thing. You didn't even know he could be this loud while receiving head even after being together for a year. The sounds are mostly pants and grunts, but they're sounds all the same, and they're making you feel insane.

Pre-cum floods your tongue when you swallow around him and time your thrusts with your hand, determined to jerk his soul out of his cock when he cums. And he feels fucking close. He keeps twitching inside your mouth, his abs are flexing his body is bowing, and his breaths are turning choppy and debauched.

"Sweetheart... A-ah." You know you said you would stop if he spoke again, but when he sounded so fucking good, it was hard to want to stop. "I'm going to cum, stop." The last word is grunted with a surprising amount of restraint and control, but you continue regardless as if you didn't hear it.

This time, his hips do jerk, and the precum that floods your mouth makes it feel like he's already cum. "My love, you need to-" You look up in time to watch his mouth fall open and his eyes roll back in his head before he bites down on his teeth and groans through them. "You need to stop or I'm going to cum."

Always so considerate, even when he's getting blown an inch from his life. Popping off from his cock only long enough to talk, you rake your nails down his abdomen and jerk him off as quickly as you were sucking him, not wanting him to lose that buildup. "Cum in my mouth."

He looks like he wants to retort, but it dies on his tongue when you take him back into your mouth and double your efforts, massaging your tongue on that one spot that makes him see fucking stars.

It only takes a second before his grunts turn to pants and his pitch raises in volume. You hold eye contact with him while he watches you take him to the near base, then he explodes, and you taste the specific taste of him on your tongue.

His face screws into pleasure and his body goes rigid as his balls empty into your mouth. It's a fucking pleasure seeing him come undone. His cheeks and ears are flushed, even in the dark they look like bright red tomatoes, and his throat that bobs as he struggles to do so much as swallow is beautiful.

When you pull his cock free, he twitches and his hand balls in your hair before he's dropping to his knees and slamminghis mouth to yours, tasting himself on your tongue. He grunts and groans into the kiss, licking inside like he's greedy to share some of the burden. And you love it.

He parts your lips and cradles your face in his hands, wiping away the saliva on your cheeks and lips. "I don't deserve you, but please let me return the favor." He whispers, a misbehaving hand sliding down your body to rub you over your panties.

Your eyes roll back, and his lips part in awe as he decides between watching you as he rubs your clit, or watching your face screw into pleasure. "Please, my love." He begs in that sinfully deep voice.

He's so damn polite.

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godblooded · 2 years ago

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" whatever you're thinking about asking ? the answer is no. I don't even have to look up to know it's coming. "

“but consider the answer being yes.”

the hellcat’s grinning with a mouthful of fangs, wintergreen eyes reflecting, a rainbow glint — tapetum, she can see in the dark.

“consider, even, the answer being enthusiastically yes.”

#gwenbiote #ic. trish walker.#memes. trish walker.#v: trish walker: because i always wanted to be a hero & everyone would love me. (main)#opposite. gwen stacy. gwenbiote.#[answers this 90000 years later and holds out a Coca Cola in offering and goodwill: hello I love you. and feel free to riff ANYWHERE with #this is you choose to make it a thread friend. I’m always down to improv.]

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writeriguess · 25 days ago

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Hi Neema!

May I please request Katsuki x Reader, where they'd broken up a few years before because he was so into his work that he accidentally made her feel like she was holding him back, and at the reunion he apologizes and asks her if she's willing to try again? (And of course the answer is yes!) Fluff, maybe hurt/comfort, possibly car smut?

Never Really Over

The reunion wasn’t your idea. If it had been, you wouldn’t be here.

You’d spent the last few years carefully avoiding the places and people that would bring up memories of him. Not because you hated him—not even close—but because it had taken you so damn long to stop hurting every time you thought of Katsuki Bakugou.

But here you were.

The bar was buzzing with familiar voices, old classmates from UA greeting each other with excitement, some already three drinks in and laughing too loudly. You nursed your drink at the edge of the crowd, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might ask too many questions.

And then, you felt it.

That crackle in the air, like the moment before a storm.

You turned before you could stop yourself. And there he was.

Katsuki Bakugou, in the flesh.

He looked… good. Too good. He always had, but the years had refined him, softening some of the sharp edges just enough to make them even more dangerous. His hero uniform was gone, replaced by dark jeans and a fitted black button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing the corded muscle of his forearms.

And his eyes. The moment they landed on you, they widened—just slightly, but enough. A flicker of something raw passed through them before he masked it.

You forced yourself to look away, pretending to be engrossed in the condensation on your glass.

But it didn’t matter. His footsteps were already headed in your direction.

“Hey.”

The voice sent a shiver down your spine. Deep, familiar, threaded with hesitation—something you never thought you’d hear from him.

You took a steadying breath before looking up. “Hey.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. You could hear the chatter of your old classmates, the clink of glasses, the hum of music in the background. But all of it faded because Katsuki was here, standing right in front of you, and you had no idea what to say to him.

He was the one who broke it.

“You look good,” he said, eyes scanning you like he was memorizing every detail.

You gave a small smile. “You too.”

A dry chuckle. “Yeah, right.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You been doin’ okay?”

You hesitated. That was a complicated question. “Yeah,” you settled on. “I mean, it took a while, but I’ve been good.”

Katsuki exhaled, looking away for a moment. “Yeah. Same.” His voice was gruff, like the words were hard to admit.

Silence again. It wasn’t awkward, exactly—just heavy.

You sighed, deciding to rip the band-aid off. “Katsuki, why are you here?”

His gaze snapped back to you, and for the first time, you saw it—guilt.

“I needed to see you,” he said, voice quieter now.

You swallowed. “Why?”

He exhaled, jaw tightening. “Because I was an idiot. And I owe you an apology.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. “An apology?”

His hands clenched at his sides before he forced them to relax. “Yeah. For… everything.”

You let out a soft breath, staring into your drink. “Katsuki, that was years ago.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “Too fuckin’ long, actually. But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it every goddamn day.”

Your chest tightened. “What exactly do you regret?”

His crimson eyes flickered with something pained. “Pushing you away. Making you think you weren’t important to me.” He took a deep breath. “You were the most important thing in my life, and I was too fuckin’ blind to see it.”

Your breath caught.

Katsuki clenched his jaw. “I thought I was doin’ the right thing. Thought I had to put everything into being a hero so I could be good enough. And you—” He broke off, exhaling sharply. “You were always so damn supportive, and instead of appreciating that, I just made you feel like you were in the way.”

He looked at you then, eyes raw and open in a way you’d never seen before.

“I was wrong.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“I never shoulda let you go,” he admitted, voice rough. “I should’ve fought for us. Should’ve fucking seen you instead of drownin’ myself in work like an idiot.” His hands clenched again. “And I know I can’t change what happened, but I just—” He broke off, exhaling sharply. “I just needed you to know that. That it wasn’t you. It was me.”

Your fingers curled around your glass. “Katsuki…”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “I still—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just wanted to say it. To finally tell you how sorry I am.”

You stared at him, feeling everything all at once—the heartbreak, the longing, the years of missing him. The late nights where you wondered if he ever thought about you the way you thought about him.

And now, here he was, telling you everything you had once needed to hear.

You inhaled sharply, gripping your glass. “You still what?”

Katsuki’s gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, he just looked at you. Then, quietly—almost too quiet for him—he admitted,

“I still love you.”

Your breath caught.

He let out a rough exhale. “And I know I don’t deserve shit from you. But if—” He hesitated, eyes flickering with uncertainty. “If there’s any part of you that still feels the same, I—” His jaw tightened. “I wanna try again. If you’ll have me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You should’ve been angry. Should’ve told him he was too late, that you’d moved on, that you didn’t need him anymore.

But the truth was, you’d never stopped loving him either.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “You mean that?”

He exhaled sharply. “More than anything.”

You bit your lip, searching his face. He was serious.

Your fingers tightened around your glass. “If we do this… I need to know it’ll be different.”

Katsuki nodded without hesitation. “I will make it different. I swear it.”

You inhaled, your heart screaming at you to just say yes.

And then you did.

“Okay.”

His eyes widened. “Wait—seriously?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yes, dumbass. Seriously.”

For the first time that night, Katsuki actually looked stunned.

Then, without thinking, he grabbed you—one arm wrapping around your waist, the other cupping your face as he kissed you hard.

You gasped against his mouth, but it only took a second before you melted into him, gripping his shirt as he kissed you like he was making up for lost time.

When he finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, breathless.

“I won’t fuck this up again,” he murmured.

You smiled, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You better not.”

He smirked. “Guess I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life provin’ it to you, huh?”

Your heart swelled. “Guess so.”

And as he kissed you again, you knew—this time, you weren’t letting go.

***

The reunion was long over by the time you and Katsuki stumbled out into the parking lot. The cool night air kissed your flushed skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his body beside you. Your hand was clasped tightly in his, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his thumb traced soft, nervous circles against your knuckles—an almost boyish fidget you’d never seen from him before.

He glanced at you, crimson eyes flicking down to your lips. The hunger in his gaze made your stomach flip, and your body responded instinctively, leaning closer.

“Gonna keep lookin’ at me like that all night?” he rumbled, voice low and dangerous.

You smirked, emboldened by the rush of adrenaline. “Depends. You gonna do something about it?”

A growl escaped him, a predatory grin spreading across his face. “Get your ass in the car.”

He dragged you to his sleek black car—an obnoxiously expensive model you recognized from countless magazine covers. The Hero Dynamight’s flashy ride. The moment the doors unlocked, Katsuki shoved the driver’s seat back, giving himself enough space before pulling you in.

The second the door clicked shut, his hands were on you. Rough, calloused palms skimmed up your thighs, dragging your dress higher as he crashed his mouth against yours. The kiss was all heat and desperation—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, a groan rumbling from his chest when you bit his bottom lip.

“Fuck,” he grunted, dragging you closer until you straddled him, knees pressing into the soft leather of his seat.

His hands roamed possessively—one gripping your hip, the other trailing up your spine before tangling in your hair. He tugged just hard enough to force your head back, exposing the length of your throat. Hot lips brushed against your pulse point, nipping and licking, and you couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out.

“Katsuki—”

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice a growl against your skin.

“Katsuki,” you repeated, breath hitching.

His mouth latched onto the curve of your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark—a signature of sorts. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the firm lines of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Missed this,” he muttered against your skin, palms squeezing your hips. “Missed you.”

The admission sent a jolt through you. “Me too,” you breathed.

Katsuki’s eyes burned as he reached for the buttons of your dress, nimble fingers making quick work of them. The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling around your waist and exposing the lacy bra you’d picked out on a whim. His gaze lingered, hunger darkening his eyes as he traced the curve of your breasts.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he rasped, large hands cupping you through the lace. His thumbs brushed over the peaks of your nipples, teasing until they hardened beneath his touch.

Heat pooled low in your belly, and you rolled your hips against him, dragging a ragged groan from his throat. You could already feel him hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans.

“Impatient?” you teased, breathless.

He smirked, fingers sliding beneath your bra to flick your nipple. “You’re talkin’ a lot of shit for someone already so wet for me.”

You bit back a whimper as his hand drifted lower, slipping beneath the hem of your dress. Rough fingers pressed against your clothed core, feeling the dampness already seeping through.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawled, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Heat flushed your face as he pressed two fingers against your slit, rubbing slow circles that had your thighs trembling. He pushed your panties aside, a satisfied grunt rumbling from him when he felt how slick you were.

“Shit,” he muttered, eyes blazing. “Didn’t even fuckin’ touch you yet.”

Your head fell back as he slipped a finger inside, curling it just right. A soft moan slipped past your lips, and he took advantage, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“More,” you gasped, hips rocking against his hand.

He complied, slipping in another finger, pumping them slowly before picking up the pace. The lewd sound of your arousal filled the car, mixing with your soft moans and his rough growls.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he grunted, pulling his fingers free. The slick sheen coating them had his eyes flashing dangerously. He brought them to his mouth, tongue dragging over them as he hummed appreciatively. “Still taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

A whine escaped you, and Katsuki’s lips curled into a cocky grin. “Impatient little thing.”

Your hands found his belt, fumbling in your haste to unbuckle it. Katsuki’s lips found your jaw, trailing heated kisses down your throat as he reached to help, shoving his jeans and boxers down enough to free his length.

You bit your lip as you looked down. He was as intimidating as you remembered—thick and heavy, tip already flushed.

“See somethin’ you like?” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, but your hands wrapped around him anyway, earning a low, guttural curse. He was hot and hard beneath your touch, and you stroked him slowly, relishing the way his eyes narrowed.

“Quit teasin’,” he growled.

“I thought you liked a challenge?” you taunted.

He shot you a glare that melted into hunger as you lined yourself up, pushing your panties aside and sinking down onto him. The stretch was intense, a burn that quickly melted into pleasure as you took him inch by inch.

Katsuki’s head fell back against the headrest, a strangled groan escaping him. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in as he fought for control.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted. “Tight as ever.”

You gasped as he thrust up, filling you to the hilt. The angle had sparks dancing behind your eyelids.

“Katsuki—!”

He smirked, teeth catching his bottom lip. “C’mon, move. You can take it.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You rocked your hips, setting a rhythm that quickly turned desperate. Katsuki met your movements with bruising thrusts, fingers digging into your hips to keep you steady.

“Always so damn good,” he praised, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

Your head fell back, a broken moan spilling out as he angled just right, brushing against that sweet spot.

“There,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “Right there—”

Katsuki’s smirk widened, pace turning relentless. “Yeah? Like that?”

“Yes—fuck—Katsuki!”

His grip tightened as he thrust harder, determined to unravel you. Heat coiled tighter, and your breath caught as the wave crashed over you—pleasure stealing your breath, leaving you trembling around him.

Katsuki cursed, hips stuttering before he buried himself deep, groaning your name as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, you were both still, breaths mingling as you leaned against his chest, bodies sticky and tangled. Katsuki’s fingers brushed soothing circles along your spine.

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled against his skin. “Missed you too.”

He smirked. “We’re not done, y’know.”

You blinked. “What?”

The wicked grin spreading across his face sent a shiver down your spine. “Said I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?”

Heat pooled low in your belly again as he bucked his hips. “Hope you’re ready for a long night.”

You bit your lip, grinning. “Bring it on, Dynamight.”

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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lady-lauren · 7 months ago

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❥ ENJI TODOROKI X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 1.7k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: stuckage (aka you get stuck and fucked), major dub-con, some ass play, spitting (on your ass), degradation, creampie, Enji is dirty and mean and he's really not sorry for it

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

The sink of spandex between your thighs reminds him of why you are such a vexation. Fabric stretches across the mound of your cunt as you struggle, a perfect contour of what lies just out of reach.

“Finally found something you can’t escape, hm?”

Enji hears your scoff echo across the panes of the air duct, elbows pinging the metal as you try to shift your weight.

You won’t slip away. Not this time.

“Pull me out,” your hips arch and shake with your demand.

The hero claws inside his chest, your plea reaching his sensibilities. But the curve of your thick, open legs strokes a more sinister flame in the pit of his stomach.

“Where’s the fun in that? I’ve chased you for long enough.” He deserves a reward.

For a cat burglar, he expected you to be more clever. Yet here you are, stuck at the waist in the old factory’s ventilation, in a hole your thighs were never going to breach no matter how much you struggled.

Now he gets to be the judge and jury of your punishment.

“Almost like you wanted to be caught,” he muses to himself as he finally gives in to the itch to sink his fingers into the fat of your ass.

Your gasp sounds like the hiss of air down the duct, shrill and quick. You’re not a naive villain—you know what’s coming.

Blunt nails scrape against your costume, black threads splitting with just a fraction of the force he can give.

Your skin spreads into view like a ripe fruit being peeled. Sweet flesh is already dripping as he snaps away the spandex over your cunt, a thrill sparking in his cock at the sight of your pussy lips opening as you wiggle yourself in his hold.

“Oh you fucking pervert! Let me go!”

He could. He should. He won’t.

Intentions are made clear when his massive hand cups your cunt, thumb rubbing over your asshole as he grips your body, shoving you tighter into your trap.

You grunt and groan, shoulders thumping against metal. You seem to be testing your flexibility in a guise to rub yourself back against the palm of his hand. Your wetness smears against his skin, labia spreading against callouses.

He presses his hand until he finds the swell of your clit. A muffled moan makes him rub hard, hard enough to have a muscle in your thigh clenching and shaking.

Grinning, he spits a string of saliva to drip down onto your ass, moving his thumb just enough to catch the lubrication and smother it against your puckered hole. He dips his thick digit into your ass and delights at how you buck back against him.

“You’re a better whore than a thief.”

There’s no denial, just short moans against metal at each thrust of his thumb into your ass. He twists the digit in your tight cavern, moving his fingers away from your cunt so he can watch your pussy clench in anticipation of more.

You’re a prettier sight than he imagined, already messy, body begging for his touch. He’s had many frustrated nights fisting his dick to dreams of catching you.

Enji toys with you just long enough to get his cock fully hard and aching.

You whine as he pulls away, hips pushing back like you’re searching for him, desperate and needy.

He keeps quiet as he unbuckles his suit, wrapping his cock in his hand and pumping, squeezing his fingers around the base of his cockhead.

Taking advantage of you shouldn’t turn him on so much, yet his balls feel heavy as he watches you panic, unable to see the world behind you.

Your head clinks against the air duct, your trapped hands slapping against the bottom.

“En…Endeavor? Please. Please don’t leave me like this.”

He hates that he won’t be able to see the look in your eyes when he fucks you, but it’s too much of a risk to let you free. You’ll slip away like every time before.

You purr with comfort when he grips your ass, pulling at the fat until your pussy is spread to hungry, flaming eyes.

He bursts your relief by prodding his cock into your wetness. Your cunt clenches at the feel of him and he can practically smell your fear.

“I’m not going anywhere, little whore.”

It takes a few purposeful thrusts to get his thick cock to push inside you, your cunt stretching and burning at his intrusion. He doesn’t care to hurt you, mean hands wrapping around your thighs and using your weight to pull your pussy down his cock.

He doesn’t want you ready, he wants to feel your struggle, feel the tightness of your pussy as he punishes you.

Whimpering as he finally gets his length inside you, you grind back against him. He can’t tell if you’re trying to push him out or pull him in.

It doesn’t matter what you want; what matters is what you can give him.

Your pussy starts to gush as he begins his pace—quick, deep, balls slapping against your clit.

Enji’s fascinated by the sight of your wet flesh dragging along his length, sucking so securely it’s like you’re afraid he’s going to leave again.

“I’ve got you,” he sneers in some twisted sense of heroism.

Your reply moan is bubbly, as if you’ve resigned yourself to take whatever you can get.

He pulls your hips up, squishing your body to the top of the air duct as he gets into the heat of his stride. He’s blinded by the pleasure of your warm, went cunt, lost to the primal urge to take, to use.

It’s too easy to abuse you. So small, so exposed. You’re putty in his hands as he spreads you apart even wider, shreds of fabric shuddering against the bounce of your ass.

You sound like an animal trapped in the wall, yelping and cooing all the same as his fat cockhead bullies into your depths.

“You like being a cocksleeve,” he grunts, “your cunt’s so fucking wet.”

Cream is building at his base, smearing into red curls. Your stomach flutters at his words and he realizes he can feel himself in your core.

He could break you if he isn’t careful.

Yet he doesn’t slow down, barely breaking a sweat as he pushes harder, faster, jaw clenching as he chases his high.

He drops one of your thighs, pulling the other higher around his waist as he pounds a fist into the brick wall. The new leverage has your body slipping farther down the chute, trapping you more snugly.

“P-please,” you pant, nails scraping against the metal prison, “I c-can’t take it…”

“Don’t fucking care. You’re cunt’s mine.”

Your ass ripples as his muscular thighs slap against yours, slick dripping into the rips of your costume.

“Such a stupid little girl. This is what happens when you, ah, run from me.”

He can’t hear any response over the wet slap of skin against skin, the slurp of your greedy cunt.

Putting his hips flush to yours, he grinds into your cunt, so deep he knows it hurts.

His hand scrapes up your thigh, big fingers searching for your clit. When his index finger swirls against your swollen bud, you scream, the sound reverberating like a confession in your trap.

Enji presses his forehead to the wall, eyes closing as he feels hot pleasure starting to build in his balls, twitching in his cock.

“Go on,” he pinches your clit between his fat fingers, “cum, cum little whore.”

Your body starts to shake as you whimper, thighs quivering as you lose control. He rubs two fingers against your clit as he pushes harder into you, motions getting sloppy.

Enji grunts, “I said cum, fucking cum.”

He slams into you so roughly that he hears the air duct creak from his pressure. He puts his focus into filling you, stretching you, letting you feel his cockhead spear against the abused, gummy spots inside your cunt.

Your orgasm is rough, sputtering, slick gushing against where he invades the tight suck of your pussy. You thrash against his hold and whine like a bitch in heat, rolls and smashes of pleasure fissuring down every nerve, making your legs kick.

Against every lingering heroic instinct, Endeavor lets himself fill your guts with his cum.

He feels like a volcanic eruption, spewing flames from his skin and molten cum from his balls. You keep him sucked tight as he unloads, cum spilling from the tight squeeze and down your thighs.

His chest heaves with deep breaths, blue eyes opening to stare down at the havoc he’s wrecked.

Your poor body is limp, lodged around his impaling cock. Sweat, cum, and slick drip down your thighs, his fingerprints bruised into your skin. Your costume has come apart even more, peeling down your legs like he’s ripped you apart.

He wonders for a moment if you’ve suffocated; if he’s fucked you to death.

After a few moments, you stir, one weak hand knocking against the air duct.

“For the love of god…” you choke.

Heating the metal just enough to make it malleable, he bends the air duct away from your sweaty, shaking body. Then he tugs you without care, letting you fall onto the floor before his feet.

“Suck me clean.”

A dumb girl would’ve run on shaky, messy legs. But like the smart girl you are, you get on your knees and pop his heavy cock between your lips.

He smirks at the mess of makeup on your face as you look up at him, tongue flat as you lick his cum from underneath his shaft.

Enji grips the hair on the back of your head, shoving your face down to his balls for you to suck the mess you’ve made.

“Not gonna run again, are you?”

“I might,” your moan vibrates against oversensitive skin, “if it means I get your cock again.”

#kinktober #endeavor smut #endeavor x reader #tw.stuckage #tw.dubcon #bnha x reader #enji todoroki smut #mha x reader #enji todoroki x reader #bnha smut #enji todoroki #endeavor #bnha fanfiction #dripping banner by @/adorenedwithlight

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lostwysteria · 11 hours ago

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(Part 11. Yesterday was rough. In more ways than one. My main manager on duty was in a snit all day and we were slammed. Today might be worse. your comments and asks really kill me, tho. And enable me terribly. (And give me ideas.) Your tags are amazing as well. Omg)

Masterlist

Nice felt absolute bliss as he held his long time love and his new love at the same time. He had fallen so fast for Lin Ling. As fast as he had for Wreck. He never knew he could hold so much love in his heart. It was almost painful.

He would tear down Hero Tower itself if he couldn't keep the two in his arms with him.

…

“At least you brought home food.” Moon griped before stuffing her face with pasta. Nice was, well, nice enough to let her finish the spaghetti they brought with them from the night before. If he was lucky it was the last bit of his Ling’s cooking she would be having for a looooong while.

“Do me a favor and try your teleportation now. Test out if my plan worked.” Nice demanded.

Moon did so eagerly as all three men watched from the couch.

It worked. Moon opened a portal to a beach.

“!!!!” She screamed wordlessly.

“Congrats!” Ling clapped joyfully. Nice pumped a fist in celebration. Wreck just gave her a thumbs up.

“Oh. Let me help you pack. Where are you going first?. Do we have sunscreen for you? Bug spray? Let's find you some plane tickets. I’d feel better if you took things slow for your first trip.” Homemaker fretted. He’d been knocked fully into hero mode. One of his charges was leaving the nest. He’d gained the mental thread to her over the week as well. The thought that she was leaving was making him anxious. “You have to visit at least every season!” He told her seriously. Four months was the longest he could be separated from a permanent charge before their linking thread broke.

“I will! I’ll bring souvenirs!” She agreed happily.

Moon’s tablet beeped. She checked it. She then squealed. “I am still contracted with Treeman, but I can be a Wandering Hero. I still have a job! Oh. This is the best!”

…

Kira @cantstopwontstop

Nice bringing his men home.

*A pic of Nice landing in front of Hero Tower with Homemaker in his arms and Wreck on his back*

…

“Hey. Take care of them, yeah?” Moon half asked as Nice watched her pack.

“Isn't that a given, you gremlin?”

“Yeah. As much as I despise you, I’ll also kind of miss you, you Ken Doll.”

“Shut up. Me too.” He huffed.

“No you won't. You’ll be too busy trying to make babies with your new wife and your husband.” She teased.

Nice stiffened. His face turned tomato red and a trickle of blood came out of his nose. Moon stared.

“Oh my god. Go away you perverted freak.” She choked out in a strangled whisper screech.

He flew to the bathroom at mach speed.

Moon stared at her hands again and thought of the power she had as a Trusted fanfic author. “Omg.” She muttered, hysterical.

…

Moon left that night. Nice was down in the offices arguing with Miss. J over maybe setting up a ‘redemption arc’ for Wreck. Nice was obviously sick of shit and was now standing up for what he wanted. And he wanted Wreck to be by his side along with Homemaker.

Ling was puttering around, placing little knick knacks on the new shelves he finished putting together and watering the new house plants. He was determined to make the place more cozy in a way that didn't set off Nice’s OCD. Wreck was at the piano playing a rambling melody.

It was very domestic and peaceful. Once he was done with his task Ling set down and started crocheting. He was making a light blue blanket. It was a domestic task that settled the buzzing need to do something under his skin. That was the drawback to his abilities. That overwhelming need to do domestic tasks and to care for others.

It had only gotten stronger. He had hit rank 320. 180 ranks in a week. He was buzzing with new power. His abilities were much stronger now. As was the need. It would take a bit to get used to.

“Thank you.” Wreck said as the melody shifted to a nice slow jazz.

“For what?” Ling asked as he added a colored row marker to the end of the blanket. It was a habit, really. He knew exactly what row he was on.

“For being there for him when I couldn't. He’s so much happier already. There's life in his eyes again.”

“You don't have to thank me for that.” He told Wreck softly.

“Yeah. I do.”

#tbhx #to be hero x #homemaker lin ling #hero lin ling #lin ling #nice tbhx #moon tbhx #wreck tbhx #tbhx wrice

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prettyboykatsuki-moved · 2 months ago

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trick of the light | n. monoma

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader, reader is intended to be curvy, hate-sex, hooking up, blood (you bite his lip and it bleeds and u keep kissing fdkjsds), fingering, unprotected sex, post-timeskip monoma, reader and monoma are pro-heros, 18+

✮ wc ; 2.8k (dude sdkfjd)

✮ a/n ; fic for @antique-remains SORRY FOR HOW LONG ITS TAKEN. but i like this version much better dsjksjdk and i hope u like it too.

also . lord i want to fuck this guy

“Crazy bastard,”

Monoma laughs, his teeth tugging at your lower lip, blue eyes lidded low. He’s more sober than you are, yet he seems intoxicated. “And you’re still taking me to bed, huh? Aren’t you something?”

You land against the door of your apartment with a thump, pulling your mouth back in some silent protest—lips pulled into a thin line. You both know you’re not protesting at all. You wouldn’t last long even if you tried. He swipes at your mouth with the tip of his tongue and you open for him easy but unnerved, frustrated. He’s always been good at getting under your skin, knowing exactly what makes you tick.

It’s not like he’s always right. It’s Monoma. That insufferable jackass who can’t shut up to save his life, always making assumptions. So unbearable that even Kirishima thinks it. So annoying you spent half of your highschool career getting into with him on the training grounds, trying your best not to strangle him and get your license revoked. He always picked fights with you specifically, even over the rest of your class as you got older

You’ve always hated him. He shaped up a little before graduation, but now he’s—

You feel teeth again. Monoma makes a low sound in the back of his throat that goes right to your core. Your pussy is throbbing and it’s so annoying it makes you want to cover your face. He’s thrilled when he speaks. “Pay attention, hm? I know you Class 1-A kids are all brawn and no brains but,”

You go to protest but Monoma is quicker. Sharper. Stronger than you remember him being given the way he uses his hands to pin you into place underneath him

You give in easily when he leans into kiss you again. One nip of his lips is all it takes for you to open your mouth back up. Your head feels heavy, arms around his shoulders as his hands hold onto you tight. His hand cups the nape of your neck and brings you forward to him. He kisses you shallowly first, drawing it out as he pulls away. When you chase his mouth, you can feel him smile against your lips. Proof that you want him, you think. It frustrates you. Both how good he is at kissing you and how easily he’s working you up.

But he’s so good at this, whatever it is. Good at kissing you. Good at knowing where to put his hands and how exactly to feel you up. He slips his tongue into your mouth, forcing your own own open. You gasp as you fist at the back of his shirt from surprise. You sink under the weight of it. He nips into your mouth with intent, his eyes lidded. Not quite closed even as he kisses you in a way that makes your stomach churn.

It’s something in his demeanor that’s making you want to slink back—direct conflict with whatever desire is burning you through you so quickly. You thread your fingers through his hair and pull. Monoma groans into your mouth, the hand on the back of your neck growing even tighter.

“You’re being quite feisty,” Monoma says. His voice is pitched high with familiar amusement. “Any reason? Or are you hoping for me to have my way with you? That’s my guess at least,”

You open your mouth to say something but Monoma leans into you again. Actslike he’s going to kiss you - his nose brushing yours. “Don’t worry. There’s a lot I wanna do with you, see?”

Your curiosity gets the better of you. “…Like what,”

“Aren’t you here to find out?”

“Shut up and tell me already,”

Monoma clicks his teeth. His lips press against your jaw, teeth pressing into the skin below - tender under the dulled ends of his incisors. There’s a touch of irritation to it. “All grown up and you still don’t have manners,”

Words of protest die in your mouth as he trails down further, all the way down to your throat where he bites down. His mouth closes over your pulse, your spine arching up into his grasp as you slump against the wall. Something washes over you, your mind clouding. He laughs a little into your skin as his hands find the hem of your shirt - skirting past your waistband.

Your chest rises and falls in anticipation for what comes next. He keeps you on the threads of his last words as his hand slips down further. His fingers are slender, long enough to reach easily. You were staring at them earlier at the bar. Part of you wonders if he noticed your staring.

His middle finger slides over the the seam of your panties, just over your clit. You hiss as he presses against it. He laughs again, and he sounds a little bit like scumbag in the way he has his whole life. Instead of resenting him for it, it makes you moan. You feel your pussy get wet at the callous touch to his voice. “We have all evening, but I don’t really want to wait to fuck you. I’ve waited long enough.”

Your hands finds purchase in his arms. His laughter only becomes brighter the way you tremble at his teasing. He’s hardly doing anything of note, but your body is so keyed up it makes you feel dizzy. “I’ve been wanting to feel you like this for so long,” He says, voice almost hysterical. “So, I won’t take it for granted. You want to know right? But I fear trying talk to you during this is pointless a task as they come,”

He slides your panties over just slight before his fingers slide through your arousal. You’re so wet it’s so soaking, sliding down the pudge of your inner thighs. You wince hearing the slick sound of his fingers sliding through your folds. “Hah! How are you so wet?”

You moan as you feel his middle finger push further, deeper until it comes into your cunt. Your pussy opens up easily as proof of your arousal. He’s mean. In one go, you feel his middle finger down to knuckle - curling up immediately until they find your sweet spot. His name comes out of your mouth in a squeal.

“Fuck, fuck—slowly, dammit,”

His fingers are so much longer then yours. Reach much deeper. You try to squirm away from him but there’s nowhere for you to run away to.

“You were talking so tough on the ride back,” Monoma muses. He fucks his finger in and out of you. The soft shlick shlick shlick sound feels so loud in your empty apartment. “Is this all you can handle?”

“Shut up,” You hiss. Monoma grins against your throat. Another finger slides in alongside the first, this one slower. There’s tension to the way your pussy stretched but barely enough to make it hard. When his second fingers reach all the way down to the base - he scissors them inside of you. You moan, suppressing the sound by keeping your lips shut.

Monoma uses his other hand to cup your face, thumb pressing your lip and forcing your mouth open. His tone is light but the look in his eyes is harsh. Serious, almost. “None of that, hm?”

Your glare at him weakly. He rubs against your sweet spot on purpose, palms grinding against your clit until your eyes roll back. He laughs again as you whimper, unable to suppress it. “Much better. Should I make you cum just like this, do you think? It seems like it’d make you more docile,”

You frown at him, biting at his thumb. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The words have less bite then they should, given the way your voice breaks. “If you want me to be docile then hurry up and fuck it out of me,”

Monoma pauses, eyes going wide as he inhales a sharp breath. He crashes his lips into yours, almost violently - more teeth than tongue. You bite hard at his lips, enough for him to bleed. Even as blood smears, iron in between kisses, it doesn’t deter either of you.

His eyes have a crazy look to them when you pull away. Foreheads touching as he pulls his hand away from your skirt and forces them into your mouth. You make a noise of protest as you taste yourself, the length of his fingers making you gag. He asses you closely, laughter on the tip of his tongue. “It’d be cuter if you were honest and just begged me to fuck you but your attitude is what I like about you,”

“You’re so annoying,” You say muffled. Monoma pulls away his spit covered fingers.

“Let’s pretend I believe you,”

You roll your eyes as Monoma steps back to undress. Your eyes travel down the length of his body. You’re both still clothed for the most part, but you can see his figure well enough. His dick is straining against the slacks he’s wearing. Your hands come up to his waistband on automatic, unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper.

His cock is…bigger than you thought it’d be. You can tell even through his boxers as he slacks slide down. Your hand cups his length. Monoma hisses above you. His usual arrogance melted, face red as he covers it with one hand. Your eyes widen as your heart does a little flip.

“I can undress myself,” He hisses.

There’s… no way you thought of this fucker as cute just now.

You feel like you’re entranced. You squeeze the outline of his cock experimentally, feeling him twitch. He wants you just as bad as you want him.

“You’re so hard,” You murmur. “You’re—“

Your thoughts are buzzing. It’s weird. The shift in the air. The sudden tension that’s no longer just lust. Your heartbeat is loud but you almost feel calm. Hooking your finger in the waist band of his boxers, you tug them down until his cock is revealed.

Even in the darkness of your apartment, you can see it clear enough. The tip, red and flushed. Long with a nice curve, slender and tight. A laundry list of dirty thoughts crosses your mind.

Your eyes meet. A mistake maybe. The look on his face is so different than the Monoma in your head. Anticipatory. Wanting. Just a little desperate. You feel like you’re hallucinating it but you don’t think you are. There’s something suddenly sweet about him. He shudders as you wrap your hand around it, suddenly avoiding your eyes. He puts his hand on your wrist as if to stop you.

“I’ve—there’s a condom in my—“

“Just fuck me,” You reply. “Shut up and do it,”

Monoma shudders over you, teeth clenched. Trying to keep up the facade but failing. He hisses.

“Fine. Just. Turn around,”

You oblige and press yourself up against the door, ass facing him. You expect for him to undress you but he doesn’t. His hands squeeze your hips, merely flipping your skirt up as he presses his cock against the curve of your ass. Your breath catches.

Wordlessly, he slicks himself up with spit and sticky fingers before sliding through your folds. Your eyes roll back as your pussy stretches around his cock to accommodate him. It goes in so easy it makes you gasp. The lower half of your waist goes weak, the only thing keeping you upright being him. Where he has you sheathed on his cock and how tightly he’s gripping onto you. He moans over you. It’s loud. Deeper than you expect. Makes you clench down on him so tight your breathless.

“You feel—” His head drops onto your shoulder. “Shit that’s so good.”

It’s the first time you hear him curse. The first time he’s ever praised you. Fuck. You whine his name out loud, and he groans against your shoulder again.

He pulls out before slamming right back into you, your knees nearly making you drop. You cry out as Monoma fucks you. He sets the pace more brutally then you thought he had in him. It’s hard and fast, has his teeth sinking into your shoulder blade over your sweater. Your skin is burning hot, almost feverishly as you feel it. The sensation of emptiness before being filled over and over like a drug to your brain. Your limbs weak as your mind drowns in such sudden, unexpected pleasure. Monoma fucks you thoroughly, a hand around your waist with his fingers toying at your clit— determined to make you cum right on his cock. It’s the quietest you’ve ever heard him be. Always running his mouth, you didn’t think he had it in him to fuck you like this. Wouldn’t have imagined it in a thousand years.

It feels too good too fast. Overwhelmingly. Your stomach tenses, orgasm making your hands curl into fists as you lean against the door. You can barely make out a coherent sentence to tell him you’re getting close.In the end you only manage one word.

“C-cumming,”

Your orgasm crashes into you. It feels like you’re on fire, electricity sparking through your nerves. It’s the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life with any partner and by yourself. Your pussy clamps down hard on his cock as your thighs shake.

Monoma follows you soon after, pulling out to cum against your pussy instead of in it. You quiet the small part of you thats disappointed as you feel thick, warm cum against your skin. He leans against you as the both of you stand, panting.

Your voice is hoarse. You still feel so horny.

“What? Is that it?” You goad, secretly hoping it’s not.

He laughs. Not in the usual way. It’s softer. Still amused but not so annoying. It’s the orgasm talking. You feel your skin grow even hotter. “Don’t underestimate me. We have all night,”

EPILOGUE:

You wake up the next morning sore.

Sore but… clean. And warm.

There’s a nice scent coming from somewhere in your house. You sit up in bed still naked, covered in hickeys and bruises. You pull the sheets over your chest as you rub the sleep from your eyes, trying to remember when exactly you slept. You don’t remember showering but the lack of stickiness makes it seem like you did.

Which means that Monoma must’ve wiped you down before bed. The thought makes your face hot. So he’s considerate to sex partners. A pleasant surprise. You reach for your phone on your bedside to find it charging there.

Another surprise.

Okay. So he’s really considerate. Whatever.

Before you get to wonder where he is, Monoma comes back to your room. He’s shirtless, wearing his boxers from last night and holding a mug of something. He blinks.

“So you’re up. I came in to wake you. It’s noon by the way,”

Your eyes go wide. “Noon? I have patrols,”

He snorts. “No you don’t. You’re welcome.”

“…You called in for me?”

He looks at you before rolling his eyes. “Well aren’t you clever?” He says sarcastically. He walks in and places the mug on your bedside table. “I just called into your agency and said you weren’t feeling well. I gave them my hero ID so it wasn’t hard. Drink your tea before it gonna get cold,”

“It’s for me?”

“Well I didn’t bring it here to drink in front of you,”

You feel incredibly conflicted, so much so you can’t even tell him to fuck off. This… this is not the way you remember him. Not at all. You frown, looking down at your lap.

“Stop being so nice. It’s weirding me out.”

He laughs again. “I was always nice, just not to your class and by extension not to you,”

“You were not nice last night,”

“Is that a complaint?”

You stay quiet.

“Thought so,”

There’s a beat of silence. Monoma sighs a little, turning to leave. And, for some ungodly reason, you grab hold of his hand. He pauses and looks back at you. You frown, your voice uncertain.

“Have you… had anything to eat?”

Monoma pauses. “Not yet.”

“Then…”

“Are you inviting me on a date?”

You look up at him, expecting to see his usual expression. And sure, he does look like an arrogant jackass like normal but he’s… smiling too. In a sincere way. You’re seriously losing your mind. There’s no way this guy is…

“If I was?”

“Beat me to the punch,” Monoma says, half-way shrugging. He leans down again to get eye-level with you. Nose to nose. You pull away, very conscious of having half-woken up.

He kisses the corner of your mouth instead of directly, smug like always. Instead of it being deeply annoying, though - you find your heart beating fast. He stands and stretches after, observing you with a hand on his hip.

“It’d be good if you thought about how other people felt for a change. But well, you 1-A kids were all self absorbed like that. You were always so hung up on hating me, you didn’t consider why I picked fights with you over everyone else,”

You pause. “What does that—“

Monoma stands and turns around without answering. “I’m borrowing your shower,”

Damn him.

“Asshole! Answer my question first!”

#monoma x reader #monoma smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #writing tag

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too-much-tma-stuff · 1 year ago

Text

This idea sort of burst out of me like Alien so it's unedited. There will probably be more.

In short, Cas picks up on the fact that Danny is pregnant at a Wayne Gala and have the right idea but the wrong context.

Masterpost

------

Danny was barely holding it together and really he had been for a long time. It had sort of been fun and games at first when he became a hero. Sure his accident had hurt like hell but he'd sort of repressed that and for real? Lunch Lady? Box Ghost? Even Skulker was sort of a joke and he hasn't actually felt threatened. Sneaking around behind his parents backs and sneaking out with his friends had been fun. It had all felt like a game at first, and then somewhere in there things had gotten very real.

He'd known he couldn't count on his family to protect him but they couldn't even see Vlad was a threat. And he felt like he had lost the last of his innocence when he saw the clone Vlad had made of him melt. He hasn't been in time, he had panicked and he had only managed to save a couple by taking them into his own body to shield their still forming cores. Ellie and... should Danny name the other one or would he name himself when he was ready?

He kept touching his stomach over where he could feel the little balls of his mirror children hovering just below his own core. He was so tired all the time as they relied on his energy, he was eating more then ever and he knew his family was worried. He didn't think he could hide this and he couldn't predict when they would emerge. What if they did in front of his parents? They definitely wouldn't react well. And Vlad kept trying to use this against Danny. Promising to look after him and the babies if he was really insisting on carrying them, as if Danny could rip those tiny 'lives' out of himself now.

And no matter how many times he tried to tell his parents that Vlad was bad news, that he creeped Danny out and made him feel unsafe they wouldn't listen! Dad didn't even hear him and mom made sympathetic noises and then told him to bear with it for Jack's sake because he didn't have many friends.

So of course when Vlad had asked if 'Daniel' could accompany him to a gala in Gotham his father had agreed! Even his mother had agreed when Vlad promised it would be educational and safe! And here Danny was, hanging on by a fucking thread in a suit that felt uncomfortably tight around his middle, having just escaped being paraded around as Vlad heir like a particularly expensive watch. He was behind the snack table having piled a plate as high as he could and scarfing it down before Vlad could find him again and scold him for being rude. He hadn't noticed yet that a family of dark haired socialites kept giving him worried looks. A young woman with dark eyes signing frantically to a man with blue eyes and a dimpled frown.

It was the man who slid up carefully next to Danny trying not to startle since he seemed to have genuine food aggression.

"Yeesh kid you seem like you're starving! All those fancy Hors d'oeuvres are fun but not very cooling and I feel like I'd be a poor host if I didn't offer you something more filling! If you'll come me to the kitchen I'm sure our family butler would be happy to whip something up for you?" The man said with an inviting some that did nothing to sooth the way Danny's hackles raised instinctively.

He was about to say no on reflex when he spotted Vlad heading towards them with an expression like a thunder cloud. Danny's back went ridged and the other man followed his gaze with a frown. "You know what ya that sounds great let's go now!" Danny said dropping his half full plate on a nearby tray and dragged the stranger away with him as Vlad shouted after him.

"Daniel come back this instant! Unhand mister Wayne! Daniel this is unacceptable!"

'Mr. Wayne' took over leading them and spirited Danny through a back door as a bubbly blonde intercepted Vlad and a small woman slid in behind them like a shadow.

"So, Danial I assume?" The man asked, amusement crinkling around his eyes as Danny grimaced.

"Mr. Wayne I assume?" Danny returned, unaware of the way one arm was protectively wrapped around his stomach, but the girl noticed. It was Dicks turn to grimace.

"Okay ya, I go by Dick. What about you?"

"Danny," he said not reacting to the name, he'd heard far stranger. "And what about you?" He asked Cas, startling Dick a little because she was doing her 'shadow thing' and not many people would have noticed her.

"That's Cas, she has a hard time talking sometimes," Dick explained as Cas materialized and gave Danny a reassuring smile and wave.

The teen harrumphed but he did follow them down to the kitchen where Alfred was drinking a cup of tea, staying well clear of the foolishness upstairs. "Ah, hello young masters," Alfred he said, glancing between the three with a raised brow. Though the two who knew him could see the way his expression softened when Danny shrunk in on himself. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey Alfred do we have any leftovers from dinner or something filling we can whip up fast? Danny here is too hungry for just the fancy font for upstairs." Dick asked cheerfully.

Alfred raised his eyebrows again and looked at Cas who was standing behind Danny. Glancing at Danny to make sure he wasn't looking she grimaced then touched her stomach and mimed holding an infant.

Alfred's expression turned stormy for just a moment then smoothed. "Of course we do, Why don't you make our guest comfortable and I'll see what I can do. Do you have any allergies young man?" Alfred asked and Danny shook his head mutely.

"You're the best Alfie!" Dick said, hovering a hand over Danny's shoulder rather then actually touching him as he leas him towards the comfortable breakfast nook.

The boy seemed tight lipped and gaunt, his eyes flicking around them as if he expected a threat to pop up at any time. Dick slipped into the booth across from him. Trying to think of the best way to ask this kid how... why, and who hurt him.

Cas has stayed in the kitchen, but not for long. She came to them with a tray of mugs moments later and slipped into the booth next to Danny. Gently she took his hands and pressed the warm mug unto them. He blinked and focused of it, as if on autopilot he lifted it to his lips, Cas keeping a hand on his elbow to steady him as he drank.

The warm comforting drink, and hand on his arm, presence by his side as Cas slid imperceptibly closet and closer till she was pressed against Danny's shoulder, felt like they were taking him apart from the inside. Thawing out the cold numbness he shielded himself behind. Half way through his tea he glanced up, at the worried blue eyes so like Jazz, so worried and warm.

He put down the mug suddenly as a sob shook his body. Cas wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, cooing comforting wordless little sounds as she let him bury his face into her chest and just sob heaving, exhausting outbursts of repressed emotion.

"Are the babies okay?" She asked and he froze, his breath catching in his throat. She clicked her tongue and rocked him gently. "Okay, okay, not in trouble," she promised.

"They- I don't know, they were so weak, I’m trying, but I don't know if I can keep them alive." Danny sobbed lifting his hands to cover his face.

"The stress can't be helping," Dick pointed out, climbing across the table like it was nothing to sit next to them and rub Danny's back. Danny gave a little hiccupping hysterical laugh. "Do you have support, or like, do you know your options?" He asked awkwardly.

"I'm not getting rid of my babies! I don't care if the man who made them is an obsessive creep who drugged me! I love them they're MINE!" The feral protectiveness seemed to startle Dick even as Cas continued to make soothing sounds.

"Your choice, only yours," she promised. "Have help?"

Danny sniffled and shook his head. "Safe?" Another shake of the head.

"The man who... did this?" Dick asked as delicately as he could. Another hysterical laugh.

"I've tried! I've tried to tell my parents he's a creep, he's dangerous but they don't listen! My dad thinks he hung the fucking stars, mom says he's harmless. They don't believe me! I-I can't tell them about the babies. They'd make me get rid of them or worse! I can't." Danny sobbed and Cas soothed.

"Okay, okay, you don't have to." She promised. "You stay with us, you and babies safe, never have to see him again."

"Ya right. Wait, your serious? What" Danny asked, pulling back and looking at her with wide bloodshot eyes.

"She's very serious young master," Alfred said as he approached making Danny jump. there was a hard set to the old man's jaw and steal in his eyes that left no room for questions as he set a plate of eggs, sausage, and fruit in front of Danny. "Master Bruce has a foster license and is a mandatory reporter. I'm sure once he hears even a fraction of this he will insist you stay. I will prepare a room for you. Am I to assume the man who's shouting demanding your return upstairs is the source of this distress?"

Danny swallowed and nodded, Alfred nodded back and paused to rest a gloved hand gently on Danny's hair before walking away briskly.

"Eat," Cas said, nudging him gently to let go of her. "As much as you want. Still hungry? We raid Tim's secret cereal stash."

"Gasp! You know where it is? You've been holding out on me?!" Dick demanded with exaggerated betrayal and as the two started to banter Danny ate. He was glad of the distraction, of not having the attention on him as he devoured the healthy, and nutritious meal the butler had made for him. It had been a while since he'd had a good home cooked meal, it made his core feel warm and he could feel the two little echoes as his hummed.

The babies were happy too, he didn't believe these people could keep him safe from Vlad really, but this was nice. Maybe he would let them try, get a few more good meals, a respite, and maybe... maybe his parents would finally notice that something was wrong and actually stand up for him?

That was probably wishful thinking but he could hope right? there was no harm in that.

Part 2

#fanfiction #danny phantom #dc x dp #angst #misunderstanding #the bats think Danny is normal pregnant not incubating cores #Vlad is a creep #stalker Vlad #vlad plasmius #dick grayson #cassandra cain #feedback and comments welcome #for some reason it won't let me add a title #I wouldn't really know what to call it anyway

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luv-lock · 3 months ago

Text

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

“ Safe Home: Night of the Young Heroes ”

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 5

Summary: He was your safe place. The only one who always keep you safe. And you were his. His home. His love. His first. He promised to always protect you... But did he?

Warning: Teenagers in love, sexual tension and intimate situations.

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

She ran her fingers through his damp, golden hair, combing it gently as she worked the dye into the strands. Jason sat between her legs, his back resting against her as she applied the color with slow, deliberate care. His head tilted slightly into her touch, eyes closed, shoulders relaxed. It was the only time he ever really let his guard down—when it was just the two of them, in the dim glow of her shitty bathroom, the smell of hair dye thick in the air.

She had never seen him like this before. The real Jason. Not the copy. Not the replacement. Just him.

And God, he was beautiful.

“Wow,” she murmured, voice soft as she ran her nails lightly across his scalp. “You’re so pretty, Jaybird.”

Jason huffed out a laugh, but there was something guarded in it. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it. It’ll be black again in an hour.”

She hummed, tilting her head as she studied him. His sharp cheekbones, his full lips, the way the light made his green eyes almost glow. He looked just like—

"Y’know," she started, a teasing lilt in her voice, "you look just like Dick like this."

Jason stiffened, shoulders tensing beneath her hands. She felt it immediately, the way his fingers curled into fists against his thighs, the way his jaw clenched.

"But you already knew that, huh?" she continued, tone saccharine, like she was talking about something innocent. "It’s why you do this, right? Why Bruce makes you do this. Gotta keep his little Robin looking just like the last one."

Jason swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He didn’t answer.

But she didn’t stop. “It’s weird, y’know? You’re like... his twin. Just with blonde hair.”

He flinched, barely, but enough that she noticed. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t start,” he muttered, his voice low, like a warning.

She leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "But you're not him," she whispered. "You never will be. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?"

His breath hitched, and she saw it—the crack in his armor, the flash of raw, unfiltered hurt in his expression before he forced it down, burying it deep.

“Bruce never wanted you, Jaybird. Not really. He only took you in because you were a replacement. A distraction, so he wouldn’t have to face the fact that he lost Dick.”

His chest tightened, his heart hammering beneath his ribs.

She reached around, fingers finding his, prying his clenched fists open. His palms were warm, calloused from too many fights, too many hours spent swinging between rooftops.

"It’s okay," she murmured, pressing his hand against her chest, right over her heart. "You don’t have to be him, Jaybird. You never did."

Jason exhaled shakily, eyes fixed on where their hands met.

"He doesn’t want me," he finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

She hated the way he sounded. Like he had always known it. Like it wasn’t even a question anymore.

"He doesn’t see me," Jason continued, voice raw. "He sees a fucking shadow. A mold to fill. A—"

"A copy," she finished for him, nodding.

Jason's fingers curled around hers, gripping tight, like he was holding on for dear life.

"Yeah," he whispered.

She moved her hand, threading their fingers together, grounding him. "Then fuck him," she said simply. "You don’t need him to see you. I do. I see you, Jason."

His head snapped up, green eyes locking onto hers, searching for a lie. He wouldn’t find one.

Jason’s breath shuddered, his heart pulsing harder. It was like she was saying the things he didn’t even know he needed to hear.

He swallowed hard, then let out a shaky exhale, his hand coming up to rest on hers. He pulled her closer, his forehead pressing gently against hers.

“Yeah?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, strained with something raw he didn’t know how to name.

“Yeah,” she replied, a slow, dark smile spreading across her face. “I’ll always love you, Jaybird. Even if he never could.”

She pressed her lips against his, soft but insistent, as if to pour all the poison in his mind, to drink all the doubts that Bruce had planted in him. As her hands slid around his neck, pulling him in deeper, Jason let himself sink into her warmth, into her twisted comfort.

For once, he didn’t feel like he had to be anyone else. He was just Jason. And that was enough. Enough for her.

But even as he kissed her, his thoughts lingered. She really does see me, doesn't she?

And in the back of his mind, a voice whispered, Maybe... she’s the one who’s always seen me.

The hair dye was forgotten. The world outside of that room was forgotten. There was only her, and Jason’s reflection in the mirror—blonde hair and all.

His breath left him in a shuddering exhale, and for the first time that night, Jason let himself lean into her, let himself be held.

And when she rinsed the dye from his hair an hour later, watching as the last traces of blonde washed down the drain, she couldn’t help but wonder—

How much of Jason had already disappeared down there with it?

The ropes around her wrists were tight. Not too tight, though. Amateurs.

She sighed, legs crossed, perched on a rickety chair in the middle of some dusty-ass warehouse while a bunch of greasy-looking criminals argued over what to do with her.

“Maybe we call the Bat,” one of them grunted, pacing.

“Nah,” another said, shaking his head. “The Bat’s a pain in the ass. We should—”

“Boring,” she muttered under her breath, tilting her head back.

“What?” one of them snapped, turning to glare at her.

She rolled her eyes. “I said boooring,” she repeated, drawing out the word. “You guys suck at this.”

One of the goons—probably the leader, considering how he had the most scars and the least amount of brain cells—stepped forward, scowling. “The hell you say?”

She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “Look, I’ve been kidnapped before, alright? Plenty of times. And this?” She gestured vaguely at her tied-up state. “Weak. No drama, no creativity. You didn’t even monologue. What kind of low-tier villainy is this?”

Scarface turned red, jaw tightening. “Listen, you little bi—”

A loud crash cut him off as the warehouse skylight shattered, glass raining down. A figure dropped from above, landing right in the middle of them, cape billowing, boots hitting the ground with a solid thud.

And there he was.

Jason. Her hero for the evening.

He straightened, rolling his shoulders, cracking his knuckles as he surveyed the room with that signature cocky smirk. “Evenin’, gentlemen.” He tilted his head toward her. “And lady.”

She sighed dramatically. “Finally.”

“Miss me, princess?” he asked, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. "Hope they weren’t too annoying."

"Oh, they were."

"Figures." Jason rolled his shoulders. "Alright, boys. You know the drill. We can do this the easy way, or—"

The leader pulled a gun.

Jason sighed dramatically. "Oh, thank God. I was hoping for the hard way."

Then he moved.

And it was beautiful.

Jason fought like he lived for this—like every punch, every kick was part of some perfectly executed symphony of violence. He ducked under a swing, spun behind another guy, kicked out a knee, and grinned as someone screamed.

He ducked under a swing, slammed his elbow into someone’s gut, spun, kicked another in the jaw. He was so dramatic with it, flipping over one guy’s head, twisting mid-air, landing in a crouch before sweeping someone’s legs out from under them.

She just sat there, watching. “Show-off,” she muttered.

Jason, currently mid-punch, glanced at her and winked.

She rolled her eyes. Dumbass.

"You guys are making this too easy!" Jason taunted, dodging a knife and slamming his escrima stick into someone’s ribs. "C’mon! At least try to make me sweat!"

The last guy standing made a run for it. Jason sighed, pulled a batarang from his belt, and chucked it without even looking. It nailed the guy right in the back of the head.

"Night, night," Jason quipped as the guy face-planted.

Then he turned to her, hands on his hips. "Now, let’s get you outta there, princess."

She huffed. "Took you long enough."

Jason grinned, stepping behind her to untie the ropes. "C’mon, doll. You love it when I save you."

"I could’ve handled it myself."

"Mmmhmm. Sure you could’ve."

He knelt in front of her, his hands working quickly to untie the ropes, his fingers brushing against her skin with a shocking tenderness.

“Thanks for the save...” she whisper, the teasing in her voice light, but underneath, there was a spark of something else—a warmth that she couldn’t ignore.

Then, before she could react, he lunged forward, grabbed the back of her chair, and tipped it back.

She gasped as the world tilted—but before she could hit the ground, Jason caught her, spinning her up into his arms like something straight out of a damn movie.

She landed against his chest, his arm strong around her waist, his other hand tipping her chin up.

Jason smirked, “Anything for you, sweetheart.” He gave her a playful wink, “You sure you didn’t miss me?” he asked, his voice playful but with a hint of something deeper.

“I was starting to think you forgot about me,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, even as she leaned into him.

“Oh, I could never forget about you.” His voice softened for a second, just a flicker of something real before the cocky grin was back, wide and dangerous. “Now, let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

He spun her into his arms suddenly, lifting her with ease as if she weighed nothing. She gasped, a little taken aback by the suddenness of it, but he just flashed her that grin again, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“You’re not gonna drop me, are you?” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself.

“Me? Drop you?” Jason raised an eyebrow as if the idea was preposterous. “Sweetheart, I’m not that cruel.” He held her effortlessly, twirling her around once, then pulling her close again, his lips brushing her cheek as he whispered, “Besides, I’d never let anything happen to you. You’re too damn precious.”

Her heart skipped. Just for a second.

She blinked. “Oh my God, you’re such a dork.”

His hand was on her chin, gently lifting her face so that she was looking into his eyes.

“I’ve got you now,” he murmured, the cocky bravado slipping away for just a moment, replaced by something softer. “You’re safe.”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment settle in her chest. She nodded slowly. “I know, Jaybird. I know.”

He just laughed. “You know,” he said with a wink, his voice flirtatious and teasing, “I think I deserve a reward for my heroic efforts.”

Before she could reply, he leaned in and kissed her—deep, passionate, and all-consuming. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them. Her heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears, as she melted into the kiss, forgetting for a moment about the danger, the fear, and the chaos. There was only him. Always him.

"Are you two done?"

Jason groaned against her lips. “Jesus, old man, can I have a moment?”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, but there was something else in his gaze—a flicker of something that resembled fond exasperation. “If you’re going to play games, at least get out of here before more criminals show up.”

Jason chuckled, shifting her so she was resting against him more comfortably. “Oh, we’re going, old man. But I’m not done with her just yet.”

Bruce’s glare intensified.

She snickered. Jason huffed, dropping his forehead against hers. “This is why we don’t invite him.”

Bruce’s glare could’ve melted steel, but Jason was already striding toward the exit, she was still in his arms. "We’ll be fine, Bruce. Don’t worry. I’ve got her."

As they walked out into the night, Jason's smirk never wavered. He was the hero. He was her hero. And as long as they were together, that was all that mattered.

Bruce could deal with the rest.

The classroom was silent, save for the scratching of pens on paper and the soft hum of the fluorescent lights. She was seated in the middle of the room, trying to focus on the question on the board, but her mind was racing in a completely different direction.

Why was he doing this to her?

Jason was sitting at his desk, one seat over, a few rows behind her. At least, that’s what she thought—until she felt the subtle graze of fingers against the side of her leg.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She glanced under the desk, catching just a glimpse of Jason’s hand disappearing under the table, inching closer to her thigh. His eyes were half-lidded, the kind of lazy gaze he always wore when he was enjoying himself, a teasing smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

No, he’s not…

She flinched when his fingers brushed against her skin, just above the hem of her skirt. It was gentle at first—just a light caress, like he was testing the waters. But she knew him. Jason never did anything by accident.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She shifted in her seat, but it only seemed to encourage him. His fingers snuck higher, brushing just under the fabric of her skirt, feeling the warmth of her skin.

Her breath hitched. She tried to focus on the board, on the lesson, on the goddamn question about trigonometry that she could barely wrap her head around. But Jason’s touch was too distracting.

“Focus babe,” he murmured low enough that only she could hear. His voice was thick with amusement, like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

She barely registered the next question on the board, trying not to shift too much in her seat. She had to stay calm. She had to.

But then—pinch.

Her eyes widened as Jason gave her a small, almost playful pinch on the inside of her thigh. It wasn’t hard, but it made her jump, her face flushing with heat.

She shot him a glare, but Jason just grinned, chin resting lazily in his palm, elbow propped on the desk as if he was in no rush. His eyes were heavy-lidded, watching her struggle with a look that said he was enjoying every second of it.

She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the way his touch was driving her crazy. She couldn’t let him win. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

But Jason? He wasn’t giving up so easily.

His hand shifted again, slipping underneath the hem of her skirt—just enough to feel the bare skin of her thigh again. His fingers traced a slow path, just grazing her, pushing her to the edge of what she could stand.

She swallowed hard, gripping the edge of her desk to steady herself. Keep it together.

“Stop it,” she whispered through gritted teeth, her voice tight, trying not to let anyone notice how red her face was.

Jason leaned back slightly, shifting so that his gaze locked onto hers. There was something about the way he looked at her—half-lidded eyes, smirk pulling at his lips, his hand still lingering dangerously close to her skin. He was in control, and he knew it.

“I’m not doing anything,” he teased, his voice low, barely above a whisper. He looked at her like he could read every thought in her head. “Just keeping you company, babe.”

She clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the edge of her desk. This was fine. She was fine.

But then his fingers dipped slightly lower, and she sucked in a breath, her body tensing. It was almost impossible to stay still. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire, her heartbeat thudding in her chest, and all she wanted to do was turn around and snap at him. But they were in class. In front of everyone.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to concentrate, trying to block out the growing heat in her chest and the way her body was betraying her every time his fingers brushed against her.

"Alright, Y/N," the teacher’s voice snapped her back into reality. "Could you please answer the question on the board?"

She blinked, caught off guard, and immediately felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. The classroom had gone dead quiet, and she realized, with rising panic, that she was the center of attention. Jason was still here, still touching her, and now she had to speak.

Her throat felt dry, and her palms started to sweat. She opened her mouth, her voice shaky at first. “Uh… uh, yeah. The answer is… um…”

Jason’s hand slid higher, his fingers pressing against her inner thigh with a soft, teasing motion.

“Calm down, baby,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. His voice was low, soothing in a way that only made her blush even harder. He knew what he was doing.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, tried to steady herself enough to speak, but she couldn’t seem to find her words. Her mind was swirling, her body burning.

Jason was grinning, his head now resting lazily on his hand, leaning back with his usual attitude, watching her with those half-lidded eyes like this was just some game to him. But to her?

It was torture.

The teacher’s voice cut through the haze of her thoughts. "Are you alright, Y/N?"

She blinked, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks as she nodded quickly, unable to look away from the board. “Y-Yes. The answer is… 42.”

Her heart was racing, but she tried to sound confident, pushing the heat in her face away as best she could.

“Correct,” the teacher nodded, and she quickly sat down, her hands trembling in her lap. She could feel Jason’s eyes on her the entire time.

As soon as the teacher moved on to another student, Jason leaned forward, his chair scraping against the floor as he moved in closer. She barely had time to react before he cupped her cheek in his hand, tilting her face toward him with a grin on his lips.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down her spine. “You held it together better than I thought.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned her face away, hiding the fact that her face was still burning hot. Jason’s hand remained on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin in that tender, almost possessive way that made her feel dizzy.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. But the moment the words left her lips, Jason pulled back, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“You’re so cute.” His voice was teasing, playful, and yet there was that underlying note of admiration, like he couldn’t get enough of her.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class, and the classroom filled with the noise of students packing up and getting ready to leave. Jason stood up, flashing a grin as he stretched. “Come on, princess. Let’s get out of here before you completely lose it.”

She awoke gasping for breath, her sheets tangled around her as if the fabric itself was trying to hold her down. Her heart pounded in her chest, her body trembling from the remnants of the fear that clung to her skin like a cold sweat. Her throat burned, constricting as if the very air had turned to stone.

Her breath came quick and shallow, heart pounding, and before she knew it, she was slipping out of bed, her feet landing on the cold floor. She knew what she had to do.

Jason.

She padded quietly down the hallway, careful not to wake anyone, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for his door. She knew he’d be up—he always was, especially at this hour. It was the perfect time for him to retreat into his own world, just like she was trying to do.

She pushed the door open, and there he was.

Jason.

The faint glow of his cigarette lit up the room, the smoke curling up lazily toward the ceiling in soft tendrils. Jason sat on his bed, his back against the wall, his eyes half-lidded as he took a long drag, the orange tip of the cigarette glowing brighter in the darkness. The faint smell of tobacco filled the air, an oddly comforting presence that seemed to settle her nerves, even though she hated the smell.

Alfred, of course, would never approve of this, but it was well past midnight. The house was quiet, and the night belonged to them—if only for a few hours.

Jason didn’t say anything at first. He just glanced up at her, those familiar, piercing eyes meeting hers. He knew. He always knew.

Without a word, he opened his arms, an invitation she didn’t have to think twice about.

She crossed the room slowly, her heart still racing from the remnants of the nightmare, and sat down on his lap. The warmth of his body, the smell of his cigarette, and the comfort of his presence instantly made her feel a little less fragile.

Jason exhaled the smoke in a slow, measured cloud, watching her as she buried her face in his chest. Her breath was shaky, her body still tense with the lingering fear.

"Bad one?" he asked softly, his fingers running through her hair, gentle and slow.

“Yeah...” she whispered, her fingers clutching at his shirt. “I hate it. I just…” She trailed off, unable to find the words. She hated how weak she felt after one of those nightmares. How vulnerable, how exposed. But with him, it was different. She didn’t have to explain anything. He already knew.

The tears she tried to hold back finally broke free, one by one, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. She couldn’t explain it—not the pain, not the fear, not the memories. But Jason didn’t need her to. He just held her, tight and steady, his body radiating warmth, as though he was trying to shield her from everything.

Minutes passed in silence, only the soft sound of his cigarette burning in the background, and her soft sobs. His fingers never stopped stroking her hair, never stopped offering comfort in his silent, steady way.

After a while, she wiped her eyes, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “Can I try it?”

Jason raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a teasing smile. “What?”

She pointed to the cigarette. “I want to smoke too.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and rich with amusement. “No way, princess. You’re not getting hooked on this shit.” His hand slid up her back, fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her gently against his chest once more. “Not while I’m still around.”

She pouted, her lower lip jutting out as she tried to push against him. “Why not? It looks fun.”

Jason shook his head, his fingers tracing circles along her spine, sending shivers down her body. “You don’t need this,” he said, voice soft but firm. “You have me.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but it wasn’t in the playful way she usually would. It was a quiet, sulking gesture, her chest still tight from the lingering effects of the nightmare.

Jason’s smirk faded into something softer, something more genuine, as he cupped her face with one hand, tilting her chin upward to meet his gaze. His thumb gently brushed over her lower lip, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice low, thick with something she couldn’t quite place. He leaned in just enough for her to feel the heat of his breath on her skin before he softly pressed his thumb against her lips.

“Open up,” he whispered, his thumb moving slowly, gently, coaxing her lips to part. And when they did, his thumb slid inside, the warm pressure of it sending a shiver through her body. His thumb moved in slow circles against her tongue, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes, her body responding to the intimate gesture. She didn’t know what to do with the sensation—the way his thumb was pushing deeper into her mouth, the way she could taste the lingering trace of smoke on his skin, mixing with the taste of his cologne and the heat between them.

Her heart raced, but she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t.

Jason leaned in, his breath mingling with hers, the air thick and heady. And just when she thought she might lose herself in the moment, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes—eyes that were now dark with something deeper than just affection.

“Breathe it in, baby,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. Then he kissed her.

It started slow. A gentle brushing of lips, a tentative touch, but it didn’t stay that way for long. The moment their lips met, something inside both of them snapped, and it was as if the floodgates had opened. Her hands roamed up to his chest, pushing his shirt up as the kiss deepened, and Jason’s hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, his body pressing against hers with a desperation that made her dizzy.

The kiss became hungry. Heated. With every movement, the tension between them built, thick and electrifying. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, matching the frantic pace of her own. His hands were everywhere, moving over her skin, pulling her tighter against him.

The world outside the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the heat between them. The pressure. The need.

She gasped into the kiss when his hands slid lower, his fingertips teasing the hem of her shirt. And then she felt it—the brief, fleeting moment of something she couldn’t control. She wanted him. All of him. Right now.

But Jason didn’t rush. He never did.

His hands explored, teasing, as if savoring every inch of her skin. She couldn’t stop herself from reacting, from leaning into him, from pulling at him, wanting more. She was lost in the moment, her senses overwhelmed by the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his body was pressing against hers.

Jason pulled away, breathing hard, his eyes wild, his lips swollen from the kiss. “You okay?” His voice was rough, more intense than usual. He was waiting for her answer, his fingers brushing her hair back from her face.

She nodded, heart still pounding in her chest. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

Jason gave her a soft smile, his thumb grazing her cheek. “Good. You’re always gonna be fine with me.”

And then, the kiss grew more intense, more heated, and it was impossible to stop. His lips left hers only for a moment, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, “I’ll never hurt you.”

A tremor ran through her as his words sank in. His hands were moving beneath her shirt now, fingertips grazing over her skin, making her shiver at the touch.

“I’m not like him,” Jason continued, his voice rough, desperate. “I swear on my life, I’ll never hurt you. You’ll be safe with me. Always.”

She could hear the truth in his words, feel the sincerity in the way he held her, the way he touched her. Her heart ached, her emotions spiraling out of control. She wanted him, needed him in a way she couldn’t explain, but it was more than just physical. It was the comfort, the protection, the promise that she wasn’t alone.

“I’d kill myself before I ever hurt you,” he whispered, his words a dark vow that made her heart stop.

The intensity of it all hit her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. The warmth of his body, the heat of the kiss, the honesty in his voice—it all collided inside her, breaking down the walls she’d built up for so long.

She kissed him back, her hands trembling as she pulled him closer, her body pressed tightly against his. Every inch of her skin was on fire, every nerve singing with the need to be closer, to be consumed by him.

And as the kiss deepened, the world outside of them disappeared. There was only Jason, only the promise he had made, the promise to protect her, to keep her safe. She clung to him, her fingers tangling in his hair, and for once, she felt like she could breathe again.

But it wasn’t just about the kiss. It was about everything—the broken parts of her past, the weight of the nightmares, the fear of being lost. With Jason, she didn’t feel lost anymore.

She pulled away from the kiss just for a moment, breathless, her eyes locked with his. “Promise me,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “promise me you won’t leave me. Promise me I’m safe with you.”

Jason’s hand moved to her face, wiping away a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen. His gaze softened, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. “I promise,” he whispered back. “You’ll never have to be scared again.”

And in that moment, she believed him. She believed him in a way she never thought possible, and with him by her side, she knew she could face whatever came next.

For now, that was enough.

MASTERLIST

Next ☆ Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 6.

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the-modern-typewriter · 3 months ago

Note

Can you please write something where the villain has to take care of the hero’s wounds. Thanks! I absolutely love your writing!

"Don't bloody touch me."

"Your wounds will get infected without the right care."

"Then get one of your lackeys to do it," the hero snapped. "But you - you -" Their throat tightened. Maybe because there were no words to describe the villain, the thing that had once been their friend. Maybe because there were too many words, and they all crowded the hero's windpipe, making it difficult to breathe.

The villain considered them, head tilting, still clutching the first aid kit in their hands.

The hero let out a breath between gritted teeth, tugging at the chains holding their wrists useless above their head.

The villain gave an unreadable sort of hum, then stepped forward with the first aid kit anyway. They knelt. It felt like getting kicked in the jugular.

"If you headbutt me," the villain said, "you'll just get even more restrained. You won't like it. It will set off your claustrophobia."

"Then don't touch me. Don't - why - don't act as if you give a crap."

"Of course I do." The villain took a pair of scissors out first, cutting away the hero's trousers so that they couldn't get at the ruined skin on their leg. Their hands were terribly gentle as they cleaned the cut. "I mean, I also need you alive. But. You know."

"If you gave a crap about me you wouldn't do this. Any of this."

"Ah, love. You're mistaking care with being my first priority," the villain said. "You are, as ever and always, my third."

The hero scoffed, bitterly. Stupid tears threatened to well in their eyes and they jerked their head away, glad, at least, for the sting of disinfectant as an excuse.

They knew the exact list without asking.

The villain's grand plans. Their power.

The villain's life.

The hero's life.

As ever. As bloody always.

The villain glanced up, unerringly finding the hurt.

"I say mistaken," the villain kept their voice light, their hands busy. "It's closer to you thinking it doesn't count, right? If you're not everything?"

The hero's jaw clenched. The tears rolled down, as they knew the tears would, if the villain insisted on touching them with those familiar hands. They were so different, and yet they smelled the same up close, same body wash and shampoo or whatever as they'd always had. Amber. Their touch was the same, precise and dangerous and oh so careful. The hero would know it anywhere. Because, well...

You were everything to me.

It was the fundamental, rotting, entirely infected truth of their relationship.

"What would that team of yours think if they knew you only do what you do to - what? Spite your ex? Get them back?" the villain asked. They moved from disinfectant to the needle and thread.

"You killed people! You need to be stopped. It's not - it's never enough for you! All the power and it's never going to be enough for you, is it? You're a monster."

"And you still want me." The villain smiled at them, blandly. "Worst thing that ever happened to you. That I ever did to you. Is love a thing one does to another, like violence, do you think?"

"You disgust me."

"Mm. Would you like to bite down on something before I give you stitches? Or do you want to take this as an opportunity to work on biting your tongue?"

"I'm not going to stop."

"Of course not. That would require moving on."

The hero snarled, feeling feral, feeling animal. Feeling like they hated that the villain had reduced them to that. All blood, and exposed nerves and bones sticking out where they shouldn't be.

The thread went in and out, in and out.

"Pressure on the wound," the villain said, softly. Then they shoved their hands down hard enough to make the hero whimper, make them writhe. The villain watched. They held on a beat longer than needed, capturing a pained gasp with a press of lips. A nip of teeth. It couldn't really be called a kiss. "You think I'd ever, ever, let my lackeys put their hands on you? You're mine."

Then it was gone, and the hands were gone, and the villain deftly did their bandages as the hero slumped. Clammy with cold sweat.

"And I will always give you the right care you need." The villain straightened, they loomed, looking down at the hero. "Get some rest. It's good to see you again."

They left with the hero still swearing at their back.

#it's not the fluff you were looking for #hero x villain #villain x hero #writing #my writing #story snippet #writing snippet #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #villain #hero

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pukefactory · 2 months ago

Text

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ THE WOLF JUMPED OVER THE MOON ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

⏾⋆ Summary: Caregiver Shadow Milk Cookie X Little Reader Headcannons

⏾⋆ Character(s): Shadow Milk Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

⏾⋆ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

⏾⋆ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

⏾⋆ Image Credits: @virtualjpg & @sisterlucifergraphics

✶ Shadow Milk Cookie thrives on attention, and what better way to entertain than by putting on a private show just for you? With a flick of his staff, reality bends, colors swirl, and you find yourself seated in the front row of an ever-changing wonderland. Every puppet, every illusion, every carefully orchestrated trick is designed to draw out your giggles and make you clap your tiny hands in delight. And when you shy away behind your stuffed animal during a “frightening” act? He gasps in mock offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Oh, my dear, you wound me! Would I ever allow harm to befall my littlest audience member?”

✶ The shadows may twist and leer, but under his watchful eye, they will never touch you. If you whimper in your sleep, caught in the grip of a nightmare, Shadow Milk Cookie is there in an instant. His presence is cool yet reassuring, his voice a hypnotic lull as he plucks the bad dream from your mind. With an elegant flourish, he molds it into a harmless wisp, then crushes it effortlessly in his palm. Just like that, your nightmare is nothing more than a forgotten agony.

✶ Feeding time is nothing short of a theatrical production, a grand spectacle where he plays both the cunning villain and the reluctant hero. “Oh, what’s this? A spoonful of magic, stolen from the forbidden lands? But alas! It can only be consumed by the smallest of royals!” He gasps dramatically, watching as you take a bite, before clapping his hands together. “Ah, magnificent! A spell well-cast, a potion well-taken!”

✶ Unlike others who offer warm embraces, Shadow Milk Cookie’s affection is like the whisper of the night—cool, weightless, yet entirely enveloping. When you curl up in his lap, he idly trails his fingers through your hair, humming a tune from a time long forgotten. His coattails wrap around you like something alive, weaving into a shadowy cocoon. His illusions dance gently across the walls, their soft blue glow soothing and mesmerizing, lulling you into a deep state of relaxation.

✶ Toys? Oh, sweetheart, why settle for mere trinkets when he can conjure an entire carnival at will? With a snap of his fingers, shadowy beasts prance, carousels spin, and puppet shows unfold at your command. And when exhaustion inevitably claims you, when you collapse onto the floor, breathless and drenched in sweat from an evening of boundless excitement, he merely chuckles. “Tired already, little wolf? How very fragile you are,” he teases, though there’s an undeniable fondness in his voice.

✶ His voice is silk, spun with secrets and silver-tongued tales. When bedtime arrives, he weaves stories of ancient Cookies and forgotten lands, threading truth and illusion together until they are indistinguishable. You listen with wide eyes, clinging to his sleeve as he smirks knowingly. “Ah, but is it real? Or is it merely a shadow of what once was?” he muses, watching as curiosity sparks in your mind. When sleep finally takes hold, your dreams are strange, surreal, and entirely entertaining.

✶ Tantrums? Oh, how amusing. He watches with an amused tilt of his head as you stomp your feet, clench your fists, and grit your teeth in frustration. But the moment your anger dissolves into tears, the act is over. In an instant, he is by your side, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. “Oh, my poor little wolf, has the world been so cruel to you?” He wipes away your tears with a flick of his fingers, turning them into harmless, shimmering sparks that float away. Holding you close, he lets his presence soothe your frayed emotions, allowing calm to settle over you once more.

✶ When the world feels too big, too loud, too overwhelming, Shadow Milk Cookie knows exactly how to shift your focus. A snap of his fingers, and the shadows spring to life, performing elegant, intricate dances just for you. With a grand flourish, he places his hat atop your head and bows deeply. “Ah, but now you are the Master of the Show! Tell me, dear little one, what spectacle shall we conjure next?”

✶ Though he mocks, deceives, and delights in chaos, there is one truth he will never twist: you are his, and that is final. Anyone foolish enough to attempt to take you from him soon finds themselves ensnared in a nightmare of his making—a web of illusions so perplexing, so dizzying, so mercilessly disorienting that they forget what they were doing entirely. He won’t even let them think again. If that is too cruel, well, they should have known better than to cross him. When he returns to you, his expression is soft, his smile serene, though there is an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. He says nothing, but you know something has transpired, even if he refuses to tell you what.

✶ For all his grand performances, for every illusion spun from shadow and light, there is only one audience that truly matters. When you clap your tiny hands at his tricks, when your laughter rings out in delight, when you reach for him with unguarded trust—when you snuggle the little blue wolf plush that bears a striking resemblance to him—he feels something he cannot name. Something old. Something warm. He chuckles, lifting you high into the air before pressing a fleeting kiss to your forehead. “Ah, little wolf, your applause is truly music to my ears!”

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