#But it’s not very drip in the battlefield

[formulafanfics13]

Could you do a smut with like CS55, Cl16, LH44, MV1, LN4, OP81 x reader where reader is taking a shower and the guys wanted to do a prank(lando suggested) by steal her towel and clothes from the bathroom and has to walk to them to get the clothes back...

you really shouldn’t have stolen my towel - CS55, Cl16, LH44, MV1, LN4, & OP81 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: What starts as a harmless prank — stealing your towel while you're in the shower — escalates into a full-blown, filthy group sex session with six F1 drivers: Lando, Oscar, Charles, Carlos, Max, and Lewis. Outnumbered and furious, you storm into the room naked, and when they stare, you drop to your knees. What follows is a chaotic, unrelenting gangbang full of oral, double and triple penetration, degradation, overstimulation, and raw worship. When it’s over, you’re wrecked, adored, and already ready for round two.

Warnings: extremely explicit gangbang, group sex, multiple penetrations, unprotected sex, degradation, praise kink, spit-roasting, anal sex, oral sex (receiving and giving), face fucking, throat fucking, creampie, cum play (including on chest and face), overstimulation, slight breathplay (throat grabbing), tears during sex (consensual), switching dynamics (soft and rough), shared partner, post-sex cuddling and aftercare, consensual non-consent themes (light), voyeurism (within the group), mild public exposure setup, intense smut with minimal emotional plot. Very filthy, very consensual, very chaotic.

It starts with a joke. You’re in the shower. Shampoo in your hair, steam fogging the mirror, body wet and relaxed and entirely unaware that six of the world’s most powerful, chaotic men are standing just outside the door whispering, giggling, plotting.

Lando’s idea, obviously. “She left her clothes on the counter,” he whispers, eyes wide with mischief. “And her towel’s hanging on the hook.”

Oscar grins. “You want to steal it?”

“No,” Charles says, already moving. “We’re going to steal it.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “This is childish.”

Lewis laughs. “And yet you’re not stopping it.”

Carlos smirks. “We’ll give them back. Eventually.”

They creep in like teenagers. You don’t hear them over the sound of water hitting tile. Lando snatches the towel. Charles grabs your clothes. Oscar opens the door a little too wide just to peek.

Max pulls him back. “Pervert.”

But they’re all fucking perverts. Every last one of them.

When the bathroom door clicks shut again, they’re gone.

And you’re still under the water. Oblivious. Until you step out. Dripping. Naked. Freezing. And see the empty hook.

“The fuck?” you mutter, wrapping your arms around your chest, still wet, hair clinging to your back. You open the vanity. Nothing. No robe. No backup towel. No clothes. No grace from the universe.

You squint toward the door. You know that kind of chaos. You know who to blame. “Fucking Norris,” you hiss.

You wrap your hand around the doorknob, count to three, and fling it open like you’re storming a battlefield.

You step into the hallway, completely naked, wet, steaming, furious, and the second you do, six heads snap to attention. They’re all there. All of them.

Lando, Oscar, Charles, Carlos, Max, and Lewis, sitting on the couch like the world’s sexiest firing squad. Your towel is draped across Lando’s lap. Your clothes are piled in Charles’ arms. And not one of them looks sorry.

In fact, their jaws drop. And then they stare.

“Wow,” Carlos says under his breath.

“Holy fuck,” Oscar whispers.

Lando chokes on his own spit.

Your voice is low. Dangerous. “You really thought this was funny?”

They nod. Slowly. Simultaneously. You walk forward. Slow. Unapologetic. Your bare feet slap the floor. Your skin glows under the warm lights. You don’t cover yourself. You don’t flinch. You’re outnumbered and unfazed. “I’m still wet,” you say, voice calm, teasing. “And it’s your fault.”

They’re silent. Until Lando blurts, “You’re insane.”

You smile. Slow. Dangerous. Then you drop to your knees.

You start with Lando. Not because you want to, because he deserves it. Cocky little shit with that stupid grin, still holding your towel like a trophy.

You palm his cock through his shorts, watch him squirm, then yank them down and take him into your mouth like you’ve done it a hundred times. You haven’t. But they don’t need to know that.

“Jesus fuck-” he gasps, hand fisting in your hair.

You bob your head, slow and messy, spit dripping down your chin. He whimpers. Pathetic. Already trembling.

Charles watches with wide eyes, lips parted, like he’s in a trance. “She’s really-fuck-”

You reach over with one hand and free Charles’s cock too. Stroke him while Lando’s cock stretches your throat. You’re multitasking now, both men groaning, hips twitching, already overwhelmed.

Then Oscar kneels behind you. “You need help?” he whispers, breath hot against your ear.

You hum around Lando’s cock. That’s enough answer.

Oscar parts your thighs and slides two fingers into your dripping pussy without hesitation. You jerk. Moan around Lando. Arch into the touch. You’re shaking now. Gagging on one cock, fisting another, being fingered from behind, and every one of them is watching.

Carlos is palming himself. Max is deathly silent. Lewis just smirks. “She can handle more,” he says softly. “Can’t you, baby?”

You moan on Lando’s cock. Their restraint snaps. Next thing you know, Charles has pulled you into his lap, chest to chest, and is guiding his cock into your pussy while you face over his shoulder, mouth wide for Lewis.

“You’re such a filthy little slut,” Lewis murmurs, rubbing his cock over your lips. “Look at you. Stuffed already and still begging.”

You nod. Desperate. Starving. He fucks your throat slowly at first, holding your jaw open, watching your eyes water. Charles fucks up into you at the same time, moaning in French, hands gripping your hips like he’s about to break.

Oscar kneels behind you again. Spits on his fingers. Slides one into your ass. You scream around Lewis’s cock. “Fuck, she’s taking all of it,” Oscar mutters.

“Of course she is,” Max says, still watching. “She wants to be used.”

“She wants to be ruined,” Carlos corrects. “Completely.”

They’re not wrong. Charles comes first. Bites your shoulder as he spills inside you. Doesn’t stop moving even after he’s finished, just stays buried deep, cock softening, forehead pressed to your neck.

Lewis pulls out of your throat and strokes himself, finishing all over your tits. You’re a mess. Hair tangled, face dripping, pussy full. But you’re not done.

You look up at Max. “Come here.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Just walks over, grabs your throat, and kisses you. Hard. Deep. Like he wants to own your mouth.

Then he pulls you up, throws you over the coffee table, and slams into your ass in one brutal stroke. You scream.

“You wanted this,” he growls. “Begging for it. Fucking whore.”

You moan. “Yes, yes, I wanted it, I’m yours-”

He fucks you hard. Loud. Unforgiving. Oscar slides under the table and licks your pussy while Max ruins your ass. You’re sobbing now, body overstimulated, tears sliding down your cheeks. They don’t stop. They don’t fucking stop.

“More,” you choke. “Please. I want more.”

Carlos steps up. He fists his cock and presses it to your lips. “Open,” he commands.

You do. He fucks your mouth with slow, heavy thrusts, muttering in Spanish, eyes dark with hunger.

And still, it’s not enough. “Who’s next?” you cry. “Who’s going to fuck me next?”

Lando pulls you off the table and onto the floor.

You’re on your back now. Max kneels behind your head, feeding you his cock again. Lando pushes inside your soaked pussy with a desperate moan. “I can’t-I’m gonna come-”

“Do it inside,” you pant. “Fill me up. Use me.”

He does. You come again, body arching, back bending, Max still fucking your throat.

Oscar replaces Lando. Then Charles again. Then Carlos. They take turns, switching holes, fucking you over and over until you lose track of who’s inside you and who’s watching.

You’re stretched, dripping, ruined. Lewis fucks you last. Slow. Intimate. Holding your face in his hands. “Still with us, sweetheart?” he whispers.

You nod. Barely.

“You’re perfect.” He kisses you as he comes, deep inside you, soft and warm.

You wake up hours later, naked and sticky and lying on a mattress dragged to the middle of the floor. Six men surround you.

Oscar’s asleep with his head on your thigh. Charles is curled beside your arm. Lando’s wrapped around your legs like a koala. Max is sitting nearby, staring at your face like he’s memorising it. Carlos is stroking your hair. Lewis has your hand in his.

You’re sore. Spent. Glowing. And ready to do it again.

[eggman91]

ok I can’t draw for shit but here a doodle Stormtroopers charging out of a gas into no man land had fun, drawling it

[yawnderu]

Colonel!König x Reader

Colonel!König, who knew he wanted to marry you the moment he saw you come back from your first mission, covered head to toe in blood and dirt, yet as beautiful as ever.

Colonel!König, who makes enough money to spoil you with anything you'd ever want, and that's how he managed to win you over.

Colonel!König, who knew just how inappropriate your relationship was, yet all his morals went out the window for you.

Colonel!König, who always looked out for you in the battlefield despite knowing just how capable you are. There's a reason you were recruited for KorTac, anyway.

Colonel!König, who used his experience in the battlefield to teach you new techniques that could save your life when he wasn't on missions with you. He couldn't risk losing you.

Colonel!König, who took advantage of his rank for the first time ever to spend more time with you. Whether it was asking you to assist him with reports or inventory, he'd always have you by his side.

Colonel!König, who was teased about his little crush on you by Horangi, earning him a dirty look through the mask.

Colonel!König, who painfully had to hide his crush on you in fear of rumors going around and damaging your career.

Colonel!König, who allowed you to work hard for your promotion and didn't have anything to do with it, simply to show just how capable you are.

Colonel!König, who took you out for dinner and shopping after your promotion was announced, hiding it under the excuse that it's what a good colonel should for his soldiers.

Colonel!König, who seemed very polite the entire time of your day together despite the turmoil in his head.

Colonel!König, who practiced in the mirror how to start and keep a conversation with you despite communication being one of his strengths.

Colonel!König, who held in his laughter once your confused face looked up at him, not recognizing him without the mask and eyeblack.

Colonel!König, who had the best day of his life with you, buying you anything you even glanced at despite your protests.

Colonel!König, who was brave enough to put his hand on the inside of your thigh when he was driving you back to base.

Colonel!König, who was growing painfully hard when you made his hand cup your crotch.

Colonel!König, who had two of his massive fingers inside your dripping cunt, his cock already out as you jerked him off with expertise, happy that the ride back to base was long and lonely.

Colonel!König, who had to resist the urge to cum when your tongue was swirling circles on the tip of his dick as you jerked him off, bent over in the passengers seat.

Colonel!König, who insisted on taking you to a nice hotel for your first time together, wanting to make a special memory of what he hoped were more to come.

Colonel!König, who ate you out and fingered you for minutes before fucking you, making sure you came at least three times before he finally pulled his dick out, laying it down on your stomach so you could see how deep he was going to be inside you.

Colonel!König, who bit the inside of his cheek to resist the urge to laugh at your horrified face once you looked down at his length.

"That's it, mein Engel." He praised, rubbing the tip of his cock on the entrance of your folds, mixing your own arousal with his own. He looked at you for consent before he started slowly going inside you, stopping whenever he saw your discomfort only to be reassured that he could keep going.

"More..." You moaned out, and he didn't have to be asked twice. He was delicate and careful with you, your much smaller frame making him feel as if he was handling fine china, and in a way, he was. The bare hands that could murder enemy soldiers were now delicately rubbing and pulling on your nipples as he moved inside and out slowly, making sure your cunt would get used to the stretch of his fat cock.

"Such a good girl." He praised, one of his hands going down to gently rub your hardened clit as he started moving faster, your squelching cunt surprisingly taking him like a champ as his heavy balls slapped against your ass.

"Your tight pussy keeps sucking me in... can barely move." He confessed through gritted teeth, his eyes slightly narrowed as he struggled to move faster, fighting off the urge to cum until he dragged another orgasm out of you. His fingers rubbed your clit faster, groaning and panting once he felt your pussy tighten up, back arching as you welcomed your fifth orgasm of the day, yet there was more to come.

"Scheiße... let me cum in you, please, schatz...?" He didn't even know how he resisted the urge to cum for so long, yet as soon as you nodded your head, he started moving faster and faster inside you, basking in the way your tight hole was sucking him in before he pushed himself balls-deep, releasing his load all the way inside your fertile womb as your cunt milked him dry.

[hatethysinner]

papa remmick headcanons pleaseee 🥸🥺

ᴘᴀᴘᴀ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ ʜᴀɴᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

ᴀ/ɴ: these have been floating around in my head since i saw the movie so it'd be an understatement to say just how excited i am to share them! for simplicity's sake i only wrote about one daughter but let's be real remmick would have like 4. i genuinely have so many more ideas than this so if i get a lot of traction i'm def doing like 5 parts. tried to go in a chronological-ish order! if imagining hot fictional characters as fathers is my favorite pasttime does that make me crazy? i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post c:

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: none, enjoy the cutest vampire mass murderer as the most devoted father in the world! i even made the setting and time period very vague because i absolutely refuse to terrorize this adorable family.

part 2!

first and foremost, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ could only be a girl dad. it is physically, spiritually, and cosmically impossible for this man to have sons. don't argue with me, argue with the universe.

from the start, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ was incredibly attentive. if his baby girl so much as shifted lightly in her crib, he was already standing over her before you could even stir.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ insisted on skin-to-skin contact at every opportunity. didn't care if he had to stay still for HOURS. and he would too.

“she’s settlin’ her heart,” he'd whisper, “and mine’s the drum she’s gonna know first.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ took her babbling dead seriously. would fold his arms, listen with furrowed brows, and nod as if absorbing the meaning of life.

talked to her constantly. about everything. you'd catch ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ engaging in full-on conversations with an infant.

“this right here’s nutmeg. we don’t touch that, ‘cause it’s strong. like your mama. now this is thyme. it teaches ya patience.” (he was very proud of that joke)

best believe ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ is singing to her if she won't go to sleep. real songs, not lullabies. low and soft. a little off key. a little too slow. and always with her name in the chorus.

if she trips over air, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ's already crouched beside her like a medic on a battlefield.

“where’s it hurt, baby? show me. papa’s got you.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ let her paint his nails. once. now it’s every saturday. sits there dead serious with one hand outstretched and the other holding a towel so she doesn’t drip.

says “gentle, baby” every time she pets a flower, every time she touches your face, every time she hugs his neck. because that’s how ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ taught her. love is gentle.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ never hid his vampiric features at home. she adores them. pokes at his fangs, tugs at his claws, stares into his eyes with not even a hint of fear. because there's no need to.

if she calls for ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ in the night, even once, he’s at her side with a glass of water, a fresh blanket, and at least four “ya okay, sugar?” before he even sits down.

when she gets sick, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ holds her all night with one hand pressed to her forehead and the other on her back like he can make her feel better just by staying still enough.

do not ever ask ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ to discipline his daughter. ten minutes later, you'll find the two of them on the porch swing sharing a pint of ice cream and laughing like nothing happened.

“i talked to her,” he’d say, mouth full of rocky road (🤭). “we came to an understandin’.” they did not.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ is a constant bragger. constant. mentions her name in every single conversation, so avoid casually talking to him at all costs.

“my baby just got straight a’s. first grade, top of her class. can ya believe that?”

does not play when it comes to styling her hair. to learn, ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ sat on a little wooden stool for an entire afternoon under the careful eye of mama, focused like it was life of death. now he does them every sunday morning, and always ends with three sweet kisses.

“prettiest girl in the world. prettiest head of curls, too.”

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ felt left out of not having a bonnet (literally made this :( face) so he wears one too. unironically loves it.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ always needs a picture of his family. first day of school, new dress, vacation, playing in the yard, doesn't matter. wallet’s full of folded photos and his side of the bedroom’s a shrine. framed memories everywhere. his girls, always.

y'all ain't never met a man who throws down in the kitchen more than ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ does. bakes, grills, fries, sautés, and seasons like nobody's business. he's been alive for over a millennium, so half the meals he makes have long been forgotten by the world. and of course he's teaching his baby girl all his skills.

girl ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ runs the pta like it's the navy. absolutely zero tolerance for slackers. despite his authoritarian, almost hivemindlike (🤭) style, every event and fundraiser ends up being a major success

he's never and will never miss a single recital, play, spelling bee, science fair, honor roll ceremony, or any other event involving his baby. ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ will fight his way to the front row if he has to, and records the whole thing with his favorite video camera. every tape is labeled, dated, and stored with care. if the house is too quiet, he'll be watching reruns.

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ ends every night the same. “ya know who loves ya?” he asks, real low.

and she says, every time, “you do, papa.”

and he answers, “damn right i do.” with his hand over his heart.

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

summary: in which he realizes you were the one for him

warnings: none i think !

wc: 1100

Hoshina wasn't a player. He wasn't one to say yes to everyone who came his way nor was he one to lightly pursue just about anyone who slightly interested him— not to mention he didn’t fall easily to begin with. He was a busy man in a dangerous line of work so having a relationship simply didn’t make sense most of the time.

However, this is not to say he hasn’t had a few relationships here and there. He loved those he dated, he really did. He did not believe in dating for the fun of it nor did he believe in starting a relationship he knew would end at some point, but subconsciously he tried not to get attached. He kept his distance and locked away his heart to keep from getting hurt. Was it unfair? Well yes, but he was scared. Everyone has something that terrifies them greatly, this just so happened to be Hoshina’s.

Yet, recently he could tell that something was different with you. It had only been a few months since you started dating, but he feared the shift in his feelings. He knew what it was— he knew very well, but as soon as he admitted it, it would be over. There’d be no going back for him. He knew he was being rather irrational, he knew that if he sat down and confronted these emotions he’d realize they weren’t that big of a deal, but he couldn’t. He’s never been able to.

However, while fighting this kaiju, it became plain obvious that he was simply in denial. 

It upset him how important you were to him, but more than that it upset him that he knew he was important to you. You had made it so painfully clear that he meant the absolute world to you and that broke him to pieces every single time.

To him it was easy being alone— he just had to make sure his job was complete before he died. If he could ensure everyone’s safety or at least help Mina out, there was nothing more he wished for. Yet while fighting Kaiju no. 10 today, when he saw his life flash before his eyes, his immediate thought was of you. If he died you’d cry. And that alone was going to get him home alive.

He’d rather die than make you cry. Especially not alone.

As he stood up again, he could see his blood dripping from his wounds and immediately it made him chuckle. You’d cry anyways when you see the state he’s in. 

I’ll have to be around to wipe your tears at least, he said to you in his head.

He was incredibly lucky that you didn’t work on the battlefield, his heart simply would not be able to take it. But he did, and for you he’d have to get home safe. Even if no one else cared that much, not even himself, he knew you would.

All of a sudden, it was easy to admit. He was hopelessly in love with you, in a way he didn't know he was capable of. He wished that he would spend the rest of his life with you and he hoped you would spend the rest of yours with him. Perhaps he was just afraid and a little flustered to admit that he was important to someone, especially someone special to him too. He had seen how painful it was for those left behind, a little too often. 

But there was an easy solution to that, he’d just get back to you safe every time. He just won’t make you worry and he’ll be there for you. This was supposed to be a dilemma, something he thought he'd stress over, but in the moment he felt eerily relaxed, definitely not like he was fighting an identified grade kaiju. The rest of the fight was a blur, he couldn't remember much. His head was clear but the fatigue had taken over at that point, but before he knew it, the kaiju laid in front of him still.

He was faintly conscious as they rushed him into an ambulance and patched him up. Once he was properly treated and awake, they had warned him to stay put and take it easy, but all he wanted to do was see you.

As soon as he left his assigned room, he immediately bumped into you. You had been waiting to be let in to see him. You took one look at the way he was patched up and tears welled into your eyes. He could tell you didn't mean to, you didn't want to worry him.

“Please don't cry,” he said softly, wiping your tears away. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of you. “I'm perfectly fine.”

“I'm not crying,” you said with a scowl on your face, but the way your voice cracked was not very convincing. “I'm so glad you're back.”

“Can't live without me?” he teased. He knew you couldn't live without him, but he couldn't either. Yet, now he even hated the thought of you living without him, let alone with someone else, so here he was. And here he always will be.

“Shut up,” you said. “You know I can't.”

He knew, but hearing you say that still made his heart flutter. He reached out with his right hand to grab your left and held it carefully. He leaned in to kiss you, but it was so much sloppier than the careful ones he usually gave you. Forgive him, he was terribly exhausted.

“I can't either,” he said, snuggling his face into your shoulder.

“You can't?” you asked, a little surprised. It broke his heart that he had possibly made you feel such way.

“Not for a second,” he said, still avoiding eye contact. “I'd rather die than wake up without you next to me, actually.”

You wouldn’t reply, so he brought his head back up to look at you.

“Oh, don't cry,” he said and chuckled a little, wiping your tears away as he kissed you again. “I didn't mean to make you cry.”

He hadn't let go of your hand and although he was gentle, he held it firmly. He didn't say anything, but he vowed to himself that he'd put a ring on it someday. He wasn't letting go of you ever.

You were the one for him.

[lenny-link]

Fusions! :D ✨

< part one >

Description of the fusions:

Citrine is the perfect blend of calculated genius and unhinged ambition. With the cold precision of engineer and the fervor of medic, and his many mechanical arms that move with precise accuracy, he is as captivating as he is terrifying

charming yet unsettling, he likes pushing the boundaries of science and logic. Citrine speaks with a smooth, calculated confidence, always one step ahead, never not prepared

Weapon: The Shock Therapy (one of Medic’s melee weapons from TF2 classic) he can shoot little capsules to heal his teammates (just like Crusaders Crossbow/ Rescue Ranger) and give shocks to who ever he punches. whether he id building, healing, or “improving” those around him, one thing is certain: with Citrine in the lab, science is never boring

Sugilite, yes he is entirely inspired by the artist Prince, it started accidentally, whenever i work on his design it will always lean into Prince’s purple rain outfit, so i simply took it xD

he is the embodiment of chaos wrapped in velvet and mixed with stardust. He moves with the grace of a performer, every step a dance, every word is dripping with charm

He speaks in a voice as rich as a glass of wine, but his mind is full of mischief and unpredictable power. he’ll sweep you off your feet with a silver tongued compliment, only to forget about you the next second. He treats war more like an extravagant party where he is both the host and grand finale

Weapons: disco-ball bombs/ smoke bombs. he uses his bombs and when he wants to make a dramatic exit, he’ll toss one of his disco bombs at the ground and a burst of sparkling smoke fills the battlefield, letting him vanish in a cloud of colors and dust

Kunzite is silence, just like a ghost in the night, a presence felt but never seen. moving with grace, he is as precise as he is elusive, striking his blade only when the moment is right. his piercing purple eyes sees every weakness, every flaw, every opportunity, his long cape drifts behind him like smoke, his steps lighter than a whisper

Kunzite does not talk. he can, but prefers not to. A single look from him speaks more than an entire conversation, and his presence alone is enough to make even the most hardened gems uneasy. he is neither cruel nor kind, neither merciful nor sadistic, he is simply exists in the quiet. by the time you realize he’s there, it’s already too late

Weapon: darts + hidden blades. The darts he carries, are launched with the precise accuracy of a huntsman. And when the distance closes, the hidden blades beneath his wrists strike with the speed of an assassin, no hesitation, no excess force, just cold, calculated efficiency

Rainbow Quartz (kind of takes the place of Stevonnie) they are a ball of both energy and strategy, they lay between calculated precision and impulsive enthusiasm. They are loyal, affectionate and very clumsy. They often feel insecure and constantly have the need to prove themselves. but beneath their playful personality lies a sharp mind, constantly adjusting, and planning their next move, even if their feet sometimes move faster than their brain

They follows orders with lots of enthusiasm, sometimes a little too much, leading to moments of clumsiness. they’ll execute a plan flawlessly then right up trip over their own momentum, sending themselves (and sometimes their enemies) tumbling in a chaotic mess. but give them a goal, and they’ll chase it with relentless determination, never backing down until the job is done.

Weapon: the Flying Guillotine, its fast, unpredictable, and devastating in the right hands. just like them, it can be unpredictable, but when it hits, it hits hard

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Virgin! König

Warnings: 18+, Virgin! König, Rough! König, Huge Cock! König, Stomach Bulging, Size Difference, Praise, Unprotected Sex, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

A behemoth pounding a comparatively tiny thing like you was, to the untrained eye, a complete mismatch. Especially when one could so easily spy the bulge in your stomach, the lengths to which your hole was stretched to accommodate his size, and the sheer weight with which his cock pinned you against the mattress. 

But they wouldn’t see the feral gleam in König’s eye, the need to mark you as his plain as day in the pace with which he thrusts, the bulging of his veins along his shaft, and the fervency with which the head of his length sobs, thick globs of pre-cum making his entrance only a scintilla easier as the girth of his cock renders re-entry almost impossible. 

Almost.

You know that telling him to slow down would be pointless now; a plea upon deaf ears. Especially as König all but sees god in his rapidly-approaching orgasm. His pupils are blown wide beneath half-lidded eyes, his lips suffocating as he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to yours. He pants, moaning, groaning, grunting with every exhale. 

He halts, – only for a second – and pulls out before gripping your legs and throwing your knees over his shoulder. He slams back in, hitting a spot deep within you. You can only scream as he resumes his animal pace, slamming into you more times than you can count, reaching a place no other man ever could.

“Doing– s-such a good job, Köni,” you coo between stilted gasps, hands gripping the pillow encasing your head, your crown hitting the headboard. He whimpers at your praise, biting his lip as he looks down at you, gazes upon the battlefield of bruises, bites and welts he’d pressed into your skin. He buries his mouth into the crook of your knee. He bites, suckling, burns the word ‘Mine’ into your skin.

And you can only lay there and take it, every sensibility being thoroughly pounded out of you with each shunt of König’s hips. And to think that this was his first time. Yet, he’s managed to break you down into such a state of fatigued euphoria that you can scarcely believe it. If it hadn’t been for the feverish, feral look in his eye, the sloppy rhythm to which he tries so desperately to abide, and his unwavering need to please you – praising you for taking his cock while almost sobbing amidst the buzz building in his core – you’d have assumed he’d been at this longer far than you have.

It only takes your clenching around him, trying to seize him as his unrelenting pace proves too much for you, that brings this giant to his knees. With your walls bearing down on him, strangling his member between robes of scorching velvet, it takes one final squeeze to wring König for all he’s worth.

He lets go a high-pitched, strangled moan as the knot in his abdomen snaps, a preliminary twitch of his most prominent vein your only warning before he’s flooding you with his semen. He throws his head back, eyes screwing shut as an electric storm sets his very being alight. You can feel his load pumping into you, filling you past full. Some trickles out, viscous and plentiful, in the little space where you and König are joined.

He can’t stop himself from collapsing on top of you as your knees fall from his shoulders. König uses what little remains of his strength to stop himself from crushing you with his gargantuan frame. His head hangs just above your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. You swear you feel his drool dripping onto the pillow, just catching the edge of your marked, burning flesh. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

“Scheiße, (Y/N),” he whispers, his voice thin, his breathing deep.

Whatever reservations he’d had about the temptations of the flesh had been thoroughly eradicated thanks to you. But now, he faced another issue; trying to get a handle on his newfound libido – all without destroying you in the process.

This is going to be a long night.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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[syntheticsymp]

Soap’s period obsession

TW: MDNI, pervert!soap, period sex implied, blood, panty-stealing. (yes, I wrote this because I started my period)

No thoughts, just imagining roommate!reader fresh out of the shower, two days into her period, unable to find the brand new box of pads she had bought in the bathroom. Surely, Johnny wouldn’t have moved them. He rarely cleaned his own dishes, there was no way he’d do a random sweep of the bathroom.

You didn’t want to have to run down the hall to your bedroom in only a towel, but that seemed to be the only option. Cleaning bloodstains out of underwear was a nightmare. It was so much of a hassle that when Johnny offered to clean them last month, you said yes without hesitation. He had sisters, and had a very bloody job, he knew what he was doing, he assured you of it. Though, come to think of it, you never got those panties back.

Holding your breath, you made a run down the hall. Only for Johnny to appear out of nowhere and catch you by the hips.

“Ah, in a hurry, Bonnie?” He teased, not seeming to mind the fact that he literally swept you off you feet

Touches like this were slowly becoming more common. From the times he would pretend to fall asleep during movie night to rest his head in you lap, to a brush on your ass that he swears you were just imagining.

“Yeah,” you answered while squirming in his arms, too embarrassed to admit why you was running. It was just Johnny. You didn’t need to be scared. “Can you let me down, please?”

“Come on, you won’t let your roommate carry you to your room? You’re so uptight,” he said with a shit-eating grin and pinched your cheek.

You pushed his hand away. “I’m really not in the mood for this, put me down- what the hell!”

Johnny had lifted up the towel and swiped his forefinger up your slit. It was sopping wet with blood, coating his skin, the red dripping so brilliantly. Unlike the blood on the battlefield, this was something beautiful, to be cherished. It was every bit as mesmerizing as he knew it would be.

You clamped your thighs together. He didn’t stop you. Instead, his grin turned sinister. Something in his mind snapped at the sight of blood. You could chalk it up to memories of the military, the PTSD, if it weren’t for the way his pants grew too tight.

Spinning on his heels, he made his way to his bedroom, instead of yours. You kicked out your legs, but he had no trouble restraining you. He had held down much rowdier hostages.

“Don’t be like that, Bonnie,” he hummed as he locked his door behind him. The dark room and messy piles of clothes were nothing new. “Let me help you feel better. I’m your roommate, after all.”

He tossed you onto his bed, throwing the messy blankets onto the floor. You scooted back until you couldn’t anymore. “Johnny-“

“Please, let me help you feel better. It’ll be so good. The best you ever had,” he pleaded, his eyes wide and shining in the dim lights as he crawled toward you. Something about the blood had driven his mind. “Please, Bonnie. Just once. Let me help with the cramps. I’ll fuck you any way you want- make you cum as many times as you need. And I’ll make sure to clean up afterward and everything.”

That last part was a lie, but seeing the man beg like that was disheartening. In the position you were in, it was difficult to just say ‘no.’

Slowly, you nodded.

Johnny wasted no time after your confirmation, immediately getting to work.

Oh, how lovely fate was to give him a pretty little roommate like you. The nights he had spent restlessly fisting his cock at the thought of you like this. Of finally getting to have you. And the fact that you were on your period? Even better. He’d get the chance to paint you with both his cum and your blood. He probably won’t even let you leave the house all week. It was simply too delicious to have you beneath him after all this time.

Of course, you had no idea your missing box of pads was shoved under the very bed your dear roommate Johnny laid you down on. If you did, you’d probably try to run away. And he couldn’t have that happen, now could he?

[saintobio]

*๑♡՞ i, spy.

pairings. sylus, fem!reader tags. 1.5k wc, mild angst, suggestive ending, jealousy, petnames as usual (kitten, sweetie, baby doll), alcohol consumption, sylus being annoying lmao, loosely inspired by his immobilized memory

sylus can be very petty when he wants to be.

today’s weather was beyond freezing, and the view of the icy mountains in the arctic region stood tall over the hotel grounds where the hunter’s association team-building event was taking place. you had spent the entire day engaged in activities with your team, enjoying every moment, and your laughter mingling with the cheerful atmosphere. it had been awhile since you last went on a snowboarding trip with the rest of your hunter friends, so this day brought about just the perfect quality time to boost camaraderie amongst your team. 

unbeknownst to you, sylus, who had also chosen to stay at the same hotel, was watching from a distance. his red eyes, usually cold and calculating, were now burning with an intensity fueled by jealousy. you had been spending time with xavier, your interactions light and full of warmth, and sylus could barely contain his frustration as he saw how your colleague brought you hot chocolate and used his palms to warm your cheeks.

“tch.” sylus absently swirled his glass of whiskey, the ice making a faint clink as he observed you from the balcony of his room. “seems like a stray kitten has found a new companion.”

then, as the evening arrived, your group gathered for dinner and you were happily chatting with your team, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind the scenes (aka by a certain tall man with grayish hair and crimson eyes). the rest of your hunter friends eventually headed back to their own rooms after finishing their meals, while a couple others chose to spend more time at the hotel bar. your activity of choice for the night was also the latter, telling xavier that it was okay for him to head back to his room knowing how he had been fighting the drowsiness off for the last hour. 

meanwhile, sylus soon made his entrance at the bar, accompanied by a striking woman whose presence was impossible to ignore. her outfit was dazzling, and she seemed to be following sylus’s every command like a pet.

impossible! you thought, eyes widening in panic as soon as you saw the onychinus leader. if your hunter friends found out that the n109 boss was here, this hotel would turn into a battlefield in a heartbeat.  

yet sylus, completely unfazed, walked over to your area in the bar counter with the woman by his side. his smirk was barely concealed as he approached you. “i didn’t expect to see you here, kitten,” he said, his voice smooth and dripping with subtle menace. “i brought a friend along.”

you looked up, your heart sinking as you took in the sight of sylus’s companion. she was effortlessly glamorous with her sleek blonde hair and exquisite fur jacket, her every movement seemingly calculated to draw attention. however, despite her overflowing gorgeous exterior, sylus’s gaze was fixed on you. and the asshole was watching your reaction with an almost predatory intensity.

“oh, sylus,” you said in an attempt to sound casual. “what a surprise.”

“oh, certainly, kitten. and by the way, this is elara,” sylus introduced, gesturing to the woman beside him. “she’s been kind enough to accompany me this evening.”

elara gave you a warm smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. her partner, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the way her presence unsettled you as he took a seat next to her, deliberately placing her between the two of you. “nice to meet you!” 

“likewise,” you replied, shaking her hand and forcing a smile. 

“care to join us, miss hunter?” sylus said with a smirk, his eyes glinting as he watched you hesitate. his arm was draped casually around elara’s shoulders, and the sight made your stomach churn with a strange mix of envy and frustration. “elara and i are just about to get some drinks.”

“join us, please!” the woman next to him encouraged.

“uh, sure.” pressured by the situation, you gave a subtle nod, only to receive a gleam of satisfaction in sylus’s eyes.

this bastard! you didn’t like how his hand was lingering on her arm in a way that was meant to be seen. each laugh they shared, each touch, seemed designed to push you further into a pit of jealousy. and the way stupid sylus kept glancing at you, gauging your reaction, only made the situation more unbearable. that’s it, you silently snickered in your head, i should call him stupid sylus. 

you forced yourself to focus on your blue raspberry cocktail, trying to ignore sylus’s stupid blabbering while rushing to finish your drink. his actions were a blatant attempt to make you feel inferior, and it was working. it was definitely working. but you couldn’t lose your composure now despite him making sure to lavish attention on elara. every time he touched her back and her waist, you felt a pang of jealousy growing more and more intense by the second. it didn’t help that sylus’s presence was also a constant reminder of the way he could manipulate your emotions, and it was driving you to the edge.

“so,” sylus tapped his fingers on the counter, his voice low and intentionally provocative, “how’s your evening been, miss hunter?”

“fine,” you replied tersely, trying to mask the irritation and hurt simmering beneath the surface.

“just fine?” sylus asked, his smirk widening. “i thought you were enjoying yourself today. seeing you with your colleague was quite… interesting.”

“if you’re referring to xav—” you paused, remembering that xavier had a bounty in his head at the n109 zone and it was best to keep him out of conversations with sylus, so you decided to change the topic, “did you have mephisto report all my activities to you again?” 

him and his equally stupid bird. so annoying. 

“there’s no need for that, sweetie. you stick out like a sore thumb, so you’re not that difficult to spot.” he smiled as he talked, like he was having so much fun at mocking you. oh, he’s deliberately pushing my buttons! his actions were a cruel game meant to make you question your feelings and your place in his life. 

before you could retort, elara suddenly tugged his sleeve, focusing all of his misrouted attention back to her. “honey,” she spoke to him sweetly, “what drink do you recommend i should get next?” 

you rolled your eyes and turned away, the old man playing the piano now a much more interesting sight to look at compared to the two lovey-dovey couple next to you. but really, it was suffocating to be anywhere near sylus, and the only way to stop feeling all of these crazy emotions swirling inside of you was to not be around him. 

and so with that, finally, after what felt like an eternity, you excused yourself. but the walk back to your room was quickly interrupted by the figure of a six foot two man, his towering height preventing you from taking another step without his permission. “where do you think you’re going, kitten?” he asked, noticing the sourness in your expression that you tried so hard to conceal. 

“heading back,” you merely responded, trying to find an escape by pointing towards the opposite direction. “look over there, isn’t that luke and kieran?”

as soon as sylus turned his head, you made a swift beeline for the bar’s exit. you even sighed of relief as you managed to free yourself from his presence, now making your way through the empty halls of the hotel. unfortunately for you, sylus wasn’t one to let something like this go. so before you could even think of hiding and running away, he was already walking next to you—the frown on his face growing more pronounced as he grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the nearby elevator. 

“let go—!” you protested, wiggling your hands from his tight hold. “where ‘re you taking me?”

“my suite,” he muttered, pressing the button to the top most floor. “sleep in my room tonight.” 

you let out a loud, sardonic chuckle. “says who?” 

sylus, crossing his arms, looked at you with thin, furrowed brows. “your only choice is to obey me, kitten.” 

an exasperated sigh escaped your lips. “isn’t elara supposed to be with you?” you questioned, “you should bring her to your room, not me!” 

it was too late. because no matter how much you struggled against his iron grip, you were later pushed inside his presidential suite, the grandiose of his room stupefying you. the smell of red roses and wine was a relaxing aroma that continued to pull you inside. yet, before you can take another step, sylus was already pulling you by the waist, leaning in to crash his lips onto yours. 

at first you tried to push him off, but who were you kidding here? of course, you’d eventually melt into the kiss, allowing him to envelop his lips around yours, its soft and tender movements sending shivers down your spine. each kiss was a loud smooch echoing across the room.

“were you jealous?” he asked in a low voice, biting your lower lip and pulling only slightly away. “i don’t have that kind of relationship with elara. she’s just a staff member of mine that i asked to make you jealous.” 

“okay, and?” you frowned at his handsome face, hating how easily he could get under your skin. literally and figuratively. “the way you were still touching her was…” 

“your jealousy is showing, sweetie.” a smile of mischief crept up on sylus’s lips before he extended a hand to squeeze your ass. “and what about the way your male colleague doted on you all day, hm? had fun being treated like a princess by him?” 

“why do you care?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent despite the ticklish kisses he was trailing along your neck. “it’s none of your business who i talk to.”

“oh, it is my business, baby doll.” sylus’s smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, now unbuttoning his shirt and suggesting a very rough night ahead. “because i care about what i have. and right now, that’s you.”

[vexwerewolf]

In your opinion, what is the most fuckable Lancer frame?

Dusk Wing, windmill slam.

Now some Lanceblrs are probably gonna call me a basic bitch, but let me explain my reasoning here.

Now I'm a monsterfucker. I like fucking monsters. And we can all talk about fantasies and shit but if I'm gonna take a mech's dick - and I am, I'm the bottom in this scenario and I'm planting my flag right now - it needs to be Size 1/2. I'm sorry, but no human body is capacious enough to accept the schlong of a Size 1 mech. I don't care if you've been training on Chance XLs your entire adult life, the GMS Standard-Pattern Size 1 fuckpole is meant for mechs of its own size class only. My pelvic floor would disintegrate upon touching it. It's a non-starter. Size 1/2s only.

Unfortunately, this restriction leaves me with a distressingly small stable of viable mechs, some of which are instant disqualifications.

The Caliban is right out the window, immediately. It's not a machine intended to be an image of man fucking large. It was never meant to thrust across the battlefield erotically to affect a greater orgasm. It is a tool designed to kill human beings very, very quickly. The Caliban is married to the job, and the only ejaculations it produces are 8-gauge buckshot. I'm going to confidently put it down as asexual. Also, the awkward arrangement of its hips would produce deeply inadequate thrusting.

The Kobold is clearly into BDSM, and specifically, waxplay. The Kobold likes to cause you erotic pain by dripping molten fluids all over your naked, trembling body, and don't get me wrong, that's hot - but we're talking like 900 degrees hot. I want my body to burn with forbidden passion, not to actually catch fire because it's covered in superheated chemicals that shouldn't ever touch. Besides, their spiky carapace feels like it would be a problem for some of the positions I want to try.

The Napoleon and I actually dated once and it didn't go very well at all so he's right out.

Now you'd think on first glance that the Atlas is the perfect fuckbuddy - anthroform, roughly the correct height, weight and shape, and possessed of those athletic, muscular arms that can just pin you down while going to town on you. That's all well and good, but he's so painfully boring. All he ever wants to do is fuck missionary, and his idea of aftercare is watching Demon Slayer. I can't. I just can't.

The Goblin wouldn't return my calls. After the third try, it just texted me this:

0S1R1Smaxx1ng: girl fuck off harrison iii just added me to a group chat

Now, that leaves the Dusk Wing, which fortunately for us presents several advantages.

Firstly: hands. Six of them (at bare minimum). You know how hot it is to be pinned to the wall by your wrists, your ankles and STILL get your tits and ass groped? Those hands are dextrous and surprisingly gentle, and when those fingers go in your mouth, you can bite down hard without hurting your jaw or chipping your teeth.

Secondly: comfort. The Dusk Wing is based off of old EVA hardsuit designs, built for ergonomics, so a lot of its non-armored sections are made out of flexible polymer that doesn't chafe against your skin. The armored sections are smooth composite. There's no spurs or spikes, no jagged or protruding elements, and no crush hazards. Heat rejection systems mostly point backwards from the mech, which might be a problem if I wanted to be on top, but we've already established I don't.

Thirdly: memetics. I'm an absolute freak for mind control, and the Dusk Wing can make me feel like I'm being fucked by sixteen of itself at once. It can squeeze my tongue and whisper its name to me and make me feel like me and it are the only things in the entire universe. It can show me myself climaxing over and over and over and over and over and over.

I hope this excessively answers your question.

[flwrkid14]

Love Like a Gothic Novel

Tim doesn’t think of himself as particularly romantic.

Sure, he loves Danny—loves him with the kind of devotion that could make or break empires, loves him with a ferocity that could shake the stars from the sky. But romance? That’s always been something more suited to poetry, to grand gestures in old films, to couples who carve their initials into tree trunks and murmur sonnets beneath the moon.

Romance isn’t for people like him. It's for people like Danny.

Danny, who looks at Tim like he’s the first and only wonder of the universe. Danny, who says beloved with a reverence that makes Tim feel like something sacred, like a prayer answered in full. Danny, who looks at him like he hung the stars in the sky and named each one after the sound of his heartbeat.

Tim never stood a chance.

(Neither did anyone else who has to witness it.)

The first time it happens, they’re fighting a group of goons in an alley, and Tim hears the telltale sound of a gun being cocked behind him. Before he can turn, Danny appears—cloak billowing, eyes glowing like the ghosts in old fairytales.

“How dare you,” Danny says, voice rich and dripping with venom. “You would dare raise a weapon against my heart? Against my soul? Against the very breath that fills my lungs?!”

The gun is on the ground before the goon even realizes he’s dropped it.

Tim barely has time to blink before Danny grabs his wrist, pulling him close like they’re about to waltz. The fight is still going on around them, but Danny lifts Tim’s gloved hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles like they’re in the middle of a ballroom instead of a crime scene.

“You are safe, my love,” Danny murmurs. “Always.”

Tim is mortified.

The rest of the family is delighted.

After that, things spiral.

Danny starts leaving handwritten notes in his cape like love letters sent from the battlefield—ink-stained scraps of paper folded carefully and tucked between his gauntlets, slipped into his utility belt. Sometimes, they’re poetry, verses that read like something stolen from the pages of a forgotten novel. Other times, they’re dramatic declarations of vengeance.

(“My dearest Polaris, I have heard troubling news that someone—someone—has made you sad. Rest assured, I will handle this. I will destroy them. I will salt the earth in your name.”)

Tim never figures out how Danny gets the notes in his suit.

And it’s not like Tim doesn’t return the feelings. His love isn’t something grand or sweeping—it’s in the way he fixes Danny’s gloves when they start to fray, in the way he absentmindedly tangles their fingers together while he’s working. It’s in the late-night coffee runs when Danny’s had a bad day, in the way he memorizes Danny’s favorite food spots just to surprise him later. It's in the way he looks at him like he’s something divine.

Danny notices.

Danny always notices.

And if the family wasn’t already insufferable about it before, they’re unbearable now.

Dick sighs dramatically whenever Danny dips Tim during fights just to kiss him. Cass watches with open delight whenever Danny calls Tim darling in that rich, old-fashioned tone. Jason still won’t stop muttering about how is this our reality? Where does Timbo even find these people?

The only one truly suffering is Damian, who looks like he’s considering self-exile whenever Danny sighs, “Mon amour,” and Tim just… accepts it like it’s normal.

(It is normal. Danny has been like this from day one. Tim is just used to it.)

And when Tim presses a kiss to Danny’s temple after a long night, when he rests a hand over Danny’s heart like he’s grounding himself there, Danny’s expression softens into something unbearably fond.

“My heart,” Danny murmurs. “My shadow, my light, my love—”

“Go to sleep, Danny.”

“…Yes, Polaris.”

(They are ridiculous. It is perfect)

[seonghrtz]

teen!megumi ★ seeing you hurt is one of the things that has terrified megumi since he was a kid !

Megumi has always loved you. Perhaps from the moment Gojo carried him to your house when he was younger. You were the mother figure he never had, the person he knew he could rely on in any situation, the person he didn't have to be mature with all the time. You were always his safe haven.

Megumi may not have known how to express his own feelings or how to verbally express his adoration for you ⸻ he wasn't like Gojo, who was always making declarations of love to you. Sometimes Megumi envied Gojo for the ease with which he could say 'I love you' to you. But it never seemed to matter to you whether Megumi expressed his adoration for you verbally or not, it wasn't necessary as you understood it through his actions. You knew Megumi like the back of your hand and he was eternally grateful for that.

That's why one of Megumi's worst nightmares was losing you.

If he lost you, what would become of him? How would he manage without your care? How would Megumi survive in this world without being able to hide in your arms?

So when Megumi saw your exhausted and bruised body being thrown across the battlefield, he felt his whole body tremble and a sense of despair consume him.

Desperate, Megumi ran towards you, leaving Itadori and Kugisaki to fight the curse. And when he saw you lying on the floor with your eyes closed, bruises all over your exposed skin and bright crimson blood dripping from your forehead and mouth, Megumi's legs went weak and he fell to his knees beside you. With trembling hands Megumi grabbed your shoulders and rocked you, hoping that you would open your eyes and say that everything was fine. But unfortunately this utopian fantasy didn't come true.

Maybe it was all just a dream. A nightmare of that night ⸻ the night you sacrificed yourself to save Megumi when he was still a child. And if it was just a nightmare, Megumi would wake up at any moment and run into your arms. You would hold him with such affection and love that he wouldn't be able to hold back the tears because he knew you were all right.

But Megumi didn't wake up.

And it wasn't a nightmare, it was reality.

Megumi's voice faltered and he held back his tears, you were there, in front of him, injured, on the verge of death, and he could do absolutely nothing, powerless in a critical situation.

"Hey, Fushiguro!" Yuji ran over to where Megumi was standing, "I think I'd better take Kamo-sensei to Shoko-san, Nobara's already called Kiyotaka-san.” The pink-haired boy looked at his friend and felt sad for him. Itadori had heard Megumi's story and how Gojo and Kamo had saved the little boy (and his sister) from the clutches of the Zenin clan. And Itadori also knew how much Megumi admired and loved the woman he called his mother, it was evident in his expression. "Come on, Fushiguro, we'd better go quickly if we don't want to lose her."

Without saying a word Megumi slipped his arms around your back and behind your knees and started to run with you in his arms to where the car was parked, waiting for the sorcerers.

The corridor was dark and cold. Megumi was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, his head down, holding back his tears. He couldn't cry, he had to be strong ⸻ be strong for you. Megumi had to stay positive, Shoko would save you no matter what.

"It's going to be all right." Gojo's voice echoed through the silent corridor. Megumi raised his head and met his sensei's crystal blue orbs. "Y/n is one of the strongest sorceresses there is, she's seen worse.”

"It's my fault." Megumi's voice was deep, "It's my fault that she's in this situation..."

"Don't blame yourself Megumi. It wasn't your fault."

"I should have paid more attention and listened to her instructions."

"Situations like this happen all the time when you're a jujutsu sorcerer, don't blame yourself for something you couldn't do. And Y/n is fine, she'll be fine, I know my wife very well. And I also know that she would hate to see you get hurt on her watch, so don't blame yourself for giving her life to save you." Gojo's hand reached for Megumi's head, ruffling the boy's ebony locks. "You better go to your room, I'll call you when she wakes up."

"I don't want to go."

"Don't be stubborn. Y/n will make me sleep on the sofa if she finds out I've let you sleep in the hallway."

"That's your problem, I'm not going."

"Come on, Megumi! I thought we were past that stage." Gojo sat down beside Fushiguro. "Are you going to get the silent treatment now?" A short laugh escaped Gojo's lips when he noticed Megumi's lack of reaction. "Okay then…”

The next day, Megumi woke up to a conversation next to him. He noticed Gojo and Shoko talking outside the room you were in.

"Finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?" Gojo smiled in the direction of Megumi who got up from the floor and stretched slightly, "She wants to see you."

"Is Mom awake?" He asked hopefully.

"Go ahead, I'll be right back with breakfast." Gojo gave Megumi a light squeeze on the shoulder before leaving with Shoko.

With a little trepidation Megumi slowly opened the bedroom door and saw you lying on the bed in the corner of the room, close to the wall. With light, quiet steps, the boy walked to the edge of the bed and stood, watching you. You were clean, not a drop of blood running down your face, and the bandages on your wounds were clean too. You were well. You were alive.

"Megumi..." You spoke quietly and opened your eyes, startling the boy a little.

"Mom..." his voice was weak, surprised and relieved at the same time.

You raised your hand and brought it close to Megumi's face. The boy, who had expected you to stroke his cheek with your thumb, was surprised when you tugged at his ear.

"Mom!"

"I told you to stay out of danger, Fushiguro Megumi." You said seriously, but then stopped pulling on his ear and hugged him, "Thank you for saving me.”

"You scared me..."

"I'm sorry, my dear." You smiled and released Megumi from your embrace, "I wouldn't let you get hurt, not for a second time."

"I'm not a child, I can take care of myself." A pout formed on Megumi's lips.

"I know, I know." You laughed at the younger man's reaction, "And of course you know how to handle yourself, you're my son, but you'll always be my little boy.”

Without thinking, Megumi hugged you again. Sinking his face into the curve of your neck, he felt a motherly affection that he had never known until he met you, and he let the tears roll down his cheeks.

After all, you were his mother and he was your son.

© seonghrtz, 2023. all rights reserved, please do not copy / steal / translate / modify any of my works !

[starkeysmoon]

TEMPTING FATE

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: years of tension between you and mattheo riddle ignite during a field trip, where sharing a room and one bed leads to fiery encounters and confessions, turning desire into a promise of something more.

warnings: enemies to lovers (very brief), one bed trope, smut including unprotected p in v, light teasing, use of "good girl" like once, sexual tension, fluff, and aftercare at the end. overall, very vanilla!!

words: 1.8k!

the air was thick with anticipation as snape called out the room assignments for the field trip. 

"riddle and y/l/n," he announced, his voice laced with a sneer. 

your stomach sank, disbelief washing over you. of all people—him? how had fate, or snape's twisted sense of humor, led to this?

mattheo riddle. the boy you loathed. your sworn enemy for the past five years. every interaction between you two was a battlefield of sharp words and icy glares. how could snape do this? worse still, why now?

as you dragged your luggage to the assigned room, your heart sank. the room was quaint, lit by flickering firelight from an old-fashioned hearth. one bed.

"guess we'll share then, darling," mattheo drawled from behind, his voice smooth as silk but laced with venom.

you turned to glare at him. "this is going to be the worst night of my life."

his grin was wolfish, his scar twisting under the amber glow. "oh, you have no idea."

he tossed his bag onto the bed and sat down, pulling at the buttons of his shirt.

"you're really going to sleep shirtless?" you asked, unable to keep the disdain from your voice.

he smirked, pausing just before the last button. "what's the matter, love? afraid you won't be able to keep your eyes to yourself?"

"hardly. there's nothing worth looking at," you shot back, crossing your arms.

his grin widened as he shrugged the shirt off, revealing a torso littered with scars. each one was a testament to his wicked parents and the dark past he couldn't escape, their jagged edges contrasting sharply with the smooth, chiseled lines of his muscles.

"nothing worth looking at, huh?" he taunted, his tone dripping with amusement.

you hated the way your breath hitched. hated the way your gaze lingered for just a second too long.

 "i’ve seen better," you muttered, turning away to hide the flush creeping up your neck.

but mattheo wasn’t done. he moved closer, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor. "careful, darling. your words say one thing, but your eyes tell a different story."

you whirled to face him, your anger flaring. "don’t flatter yourself, riddle."

he leaned in, his proximity overwhelming. his voice dropped to a whisper, each word brushing against your skin like a challenge. "prove me wrong."

before you could think, your lips crashed against his. the kiss was electric, a whirlwind of years of pent-up tension, anger, and something else you didn’t want to name. his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, while yours tangled in his hair.

when you broke apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice husky. "you’ve no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that."

"shut up," you murmured, pulling him back in.

and just like that, the hatred dissolved into something far more dangerous. something neither of you were prepared for.

"i need you," you whisper against his mouth, the words spilling out between heated kisses.

his body stills for a heartbeat, his breath hitching as the reality of your actions sinks in. pulling back slightly, his eyes lock onto yours, searching, burning.

"you asked for it," he growls, low and dangerous, before pulling you into his lap with possessive ease.

his lips claim yours again, the kiss deep and all-consuming, a battle for dominance neither of you intend to lose. your pulse races as his hands grip your hips, grounding you against him.

breaking away, you trail your lips down his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, planting kisses along the way. your tongue lingers, painting invisible patterns until you find his sweet spot. when you suck gently, his sharp inhale and the tightening of his grip fuel your boldness.

"mark me," he groans, his voice raw, desperate. "please."

"getting needy now, aren’t we, riddle?" you chuckle, but your lips obey his plea, sucking at his skin until a dark bruise blooms under your touch.

his fingers tangle in your hair, his groans vibrating against your lips. "fuck..." he breathes, his hips bucking involuntarily. pulling back, his eyes are darker now, filled with a primal hunger. "my turn."

you giggle softly, your eyes gleaming with anticipation. "all yours," you purr, surrendering to him completely.

he lays you back, his body hovering over yours. his lips find your neck, tracing a path with tongue and teeth that leaves your skin alight.

your moans spill out, unrestrained. "just like that," you manage, your voice trembling.

his chuckle is dark and low, the vibrations sending a shiver down your spine. "you’re not ready for what’s next," he warns, his hand trailing down to your hip, fingers brushing the edge of your waistband.

your whimper betrays your need, your body arching into his touch. "then show me," you whisper, your voice heavy with challenge.

his grin turns feral, his eyes locking onto yours with laser focus. "oh, i will, sweetheart," he murmurs, his lips capturing yours again, leaving no room for doubt.

you whimper at his promise, your breath hitching. “like i said,” you murmur, your voice trembling with anticipation. “i’m all yours.”

his eyes darken with a primal hunger, a feral grin curling at the corners of his mouth. he captures your lips in a fiery kiss—raw, unyielding, and possessive. his hands roam your body like he’s trying to commit every curve to memory, squeezing and caressing with deliberate intensity.

you kiss him back with equal fervor, your lips parting to let his tongue slide in, the dance between you turning hotter by the second. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, as though you could fuse together.

 “you might just be the death of me, riddle,” you whisper breathlessly.

he growls low in his throat, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before releasing it. 

“and you’ll die happy, won’t you?” his voice is a purr, equal parts promise and tease. 

his hands slide down to your thighs, spreading them apart with effortless dominance. he settles between them, his hips pressing against yours with an agonizingly slow grind. “i’ll make sure of it.”

a whimper escapes you at the contact, your hands trailing up the back of his neck to tangle in his dark curls. they’re softer than you expected, like silk between your fingers. fuck, he feels too good—his weight, his warmth, the sheer size of him against you. you bite your lip, desperate for relief.

he smirks at your neediness, his movements deliberate as he grinds again, slower this time. 

“wrap your legs around me,” he commands, his voice rough and possessive. “good girl.”

you comply without hesitation, wrapping your legs around his waist. “need you,” you whisper, desperation dripping from your voice. “need you right now.”

his lips find your jawline, nipping gently before trailing down your neck. his hands move with purpose, slipping between you to unfasten his pants. he pulls back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, dark and demanding. 

“look at me,” he orders, his voice a low rasp. “look at me while i take you.”

you nod, your eyes never leaving his as he positions his cock along the entrance to your core, as your heart pounds against your chest.

his grin turns predatory, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. with agonizing slowness, he pushes into you, his face contorting in pleasure. 

“fuck,” he hisses, his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. “you’re... so... tight, love.”

a loud moan tears from your lips as he fills you completely. you rock against him slowly, savoring every inch. 

“feels so good,” you murmur, your head falling back as heat coils low in your belly.

his groan is deep, primal, as he meets your movements, his hips snapping in perfect rhythm. his eyes flutter shut briefly, only to reopen and pin you with a heated gaze. 

“yes,” he growls. “just like that. take every inch of me.”

a sly smirk tugs at your lips as you pick up the pace, rocking harder and faster, desperate for release.

he matches your intensity, his breathing turning ragged as sweat beads along his brow.

 “fuck, you’re incredible,” he gasps, his control slipping. his hands tighten on your hips, guiding you. “don’t stop.”

“so are you, love,” you breathe, your moans spilling freely now as the heat within you builds, threatening to consume you.

his grin is wicked, his pace quickening as he leans down to claim your lips in another scorching kiss. his hand trails down, finding your most sensitive spot and teasing it with precision. 

“come for me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “come for me, my love.”

within a few more movements, the tension inside you snaps, and you cry out as waves of release crash over you, your body trembling beneath him.

he feels you shatter around him, and it’s his undoing. with a final deep thrust, he buries himself fully, his body shuddering as he lets go. 

“fuck,” he groans, his voice raw as he presses his forehead to yours, his breathing uneven. “you’re perfect.”

you wrap your arms around him, holding him close as your hearts race in unison.

after a moment, he slowly pulls out, his touch gentle as he disappears into the bathroom.

 “don’t move,” he calls over his shoulder. “i’ll be right back.”

you catch your breath, a soft smile tugging at your lips. when he returns with a damp cloth, he tends to you with surprising tenderness, cleaning you up before tossing the cloth aside and pulling you into his arms.

“you okay?” he asks softly, his fingers brushing your cheek.

“more than okay,” you reply, your smile widening as you place a kiss on his lips.

his gaze softens, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

 “you’re something else, you know that?” he murmurs. “and i don’t just mean in bed.”

you chuckle, raising an eyebrow. “oh? then why’ve you spent the last five years fighting against me, mattheo?”

he sighs, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “can we... start over?” he asks quietly. “forget the past five years? please.”

you tilt your head, a teasing smile on your lips. “i might need a little more convincing than that, love.”

his lips twitch into a rueful smile. “i know,” he admits. 

“i’ve been a stubborn idiot. but... give me a chance? no games, no fights. just us.”

“just us?” you echo, your voice softer now.

he nods, his expression earnest. “let me take you out tomorrow. a real date. no drama, no distractions. just me, trying to win the heart of the woman i’ve loved since i was fifteen.”

a giggle escapes you as you press a kiss to his chest. “i’d love that, mattheo.”

his grin is dazzling, his excitement palpable. “really? i was thinking we could go to that little french place downtown. sneak away from professor snape and the others, while they’re off sight seeing. maybe take a walk by the river after?”

“sounds perfect,” you whisper, feeling your heart swell.

he holds you tightly, kissing the top of your head. “tomorrow can’t come soon enough,” he murmurs. then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he adds, “and for the record, you can kiss me anywhere you please.”

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS Men React to Seeing You in Armor for the First Time

AN: Am I writing the same thing again and again? Yes. Does this please me? Very much.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Ingredients: 75% drama, 25% fluff. 100% cannon divergence

My Fav: Xavier and Zayne's

Xavier:

In a tournament against the knight to whom he had given a favor, he saw you.

His knight in shining armor, from some backwater village.

You defeated his champion in two effortless moves. He watched in fascination as you dismounted your horse and retrieved the handkerchief he had given to Ser Vance of Gor.

Then, catching him in the act of staring, you turned toward him. Pressing a kiss to the handkerchief, you made his heart shudder.

"Favors are to be won, not trodden on," you reasoned with the guards as they dragged you from the arena for stealing the royal favor.

From winning the tournament, to spending a night in prison, to kneeling before him in an oath. Xavier did not know when you became his dark knight.

Not until he realized you had stolen more than just a favor.

Rafayel:

He heard you first, the clash of swords and daggers, the thud of bodies hitting cold, hard ground.

And then he was blinded. After days of darkness, light flooded in, making him recoil into himself.

It had been weeks since you left for the campaign. Weeks since he had been captured from the shallow shores and thrown into the unlit cells that stank of death and fear.

Fighting the stinging pain in his eyes, he looked up, and there you stood. In all your glory. In your kingdom's armor, holding your sword- eyes wide with battle's fury.

He reached for you, though his tail, torn and raw, stung against the floor. They had not allowed him to shift. Still, with a thousand grievances, he reached toward you.

"Rafayel," you whispered, kneeling beside him and pulling him into your arms. "I am here." You murmured as your sword shattered his chains.

Your words made the bond thrum with joy despite the pain in his body.

"I am sorry it took so long," you said, wiping the gash above his brow. "But I’m here."

And that was when he cried. Shedding pearls his captors would have killed to possess.

Never before had waiting been so painful. But in every lifetime, a union with you was worth the suffering.

Zayne:

He had been an apprentice in Astra's halls when he first saw you, the herald to the God of Time itself. You stood proud at your lord’s side.

How you shone brighter than Astra himself was beyond Zayne. How could a mere herald possess such light?

But you were beloved. Rescuing disciples from Astra's wrath, smoothing over mistakes, appeasing Astra's tantrums. You were the calm in his halls.

Yet, you were also his sword, leading sparring sessions with the students of fate.

Zayne learned the way of the bow from you. Steadying his hands, you taught him the exact points to strike while he spoke to you of anatomy and healing.

He had always been a thorn in Astra’s side, a healer who fought to give life where there was none. Perhaps that was why he had been barred from battle.

Forced to tend to the wounded, far from the battlefield, so that his kindness would not extend to the dying on the other side.

On the eve of battle, you handed him your bow. "This is for your defense, and for the people around you." You fixed the quiver around him, the head of the healing halls.

As the herald leading the assault, your presence was a surprise to many, especially next to Zayne, the one who had angered Astra.

"And this," you said, handing him a satchel, "is for anyone who needs help. Friend or foe. We deny no one aid." You smiled.

And then you walked into the battle of time. Your armor burning bright as any star even as you fell.

Sylus (Angel x Demon au):

You were chaos. The bloodthirsty bane of heaven. He found you in the battles of men, the brothels of night, the tears of mothers.

You prowled the fields with plague and ruin dripping from your fingertips. Your crimson eyes burned with madness as you swept through the carnage with a scimitar. Blood clung to you, from your hair to your eyes, flowing like a river.

A terrible sight to many. Damning to him.

He had been sent to capture you, to deliver justice for the humans who prayed for help. He who had once beheld your unmarred form.

And when he pressed his sword to your throat, you had only laughed. A low, broken sound.

"We meet again," you had grinned, guiding his sword to your chest. Wrapping your hand over his. "This time, I shall have you forever."

You steadied the sword and pulled it into your heart.

Your breath ghosted over his ear as you whispered the prophecy of your shared fate. "Let this be a debt we shall settle for eons."

Your curse settled upon him. Dragging him down. Twisting him into a reflection of you in his soul, in his crimson eyes, and last of all, in his heart.

Unleashing upon him the wrath of unending time. Truly making him yours forever. Stealing him from the heavens, you won.

Caleb:

He hadn't seen you in your gear until the end. Not until you stood before him, pointing your gun at his chest.

"Colonel Caleb, you are under arrest for working with EVER. You will be detained until the trial." Your voice was devoid of emotion.

"Drop your weapons and step back."

You turned him around, folding his hands behind his back. The handcuffs snapped shut with cold finality.

"You have the right to remain silent." Your touch did not linger.

Your uniform was not unlike his. But he had never known. Not until now. There, on your lapel, was the badge of intelligence.

All these years, you had both managed to keep the most dangerous of secrets.

Despite himself, he smiled.

It vanished when your knee struck the back of his legs, forcing him to kneel.

Leaning down, you yanked him back by his hair. "Expect no mercy," you snarled before leaving him kneeling on the cold floor, surrounded by your officers.

tags: @mentaltrouble2201

[mywomankatarina]

"𝐀𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐍𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭."

Ambessa x f! reader -𝗔𝗿𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗲

A = Aftercare:

Ambessa isn’t the overly affectionate type, but she takes care of her partners in her own way. Expect her to clean you up, bring you a drink, and let you rest against her if you need it. She won’t smother you, but she’ll make sure you’re comfortable. If you impressed her, she might even stay the night instead of leaving immediately.

B = Body Part:

Her hands—large, strong, and calloused from battle. She knows how to wield them just as well in bed as she does on the battlefield, whether she’s gripping your hips, pinning your wrists, or teasing you with a light, controlled touch.

C = Cum:

Ambessa is a messy lover—she doesn’t hold back. She likes marking her partner, whether it’s with her release or visible bruises. She enjoys watching the way it drips down your body, a sign of her claim.

D = Dirty Talk:

Oh, she lives for this. Ambessa’s voice alone is enough to send shivers down your spine. Expect deep, gravelly whispers in your ear, praise mixed with degradation, and reminders of how good you feel. She enjoys making you beg and will tease you mercilessly just to hear you plead for more.

E = Experience:

Highly experienced. Ambessa has had many lovers in her lifetime, and she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s patient, confident, and in complete control of every encounter. If you’re inexperienced, she’ll take pleasure in teaching you. If you’re experienced, she’ll test your limits and push you further than you’ve ever gone before.

F = Favorite Position:

She prefers positions where she’s in control—standing with you pressed against the wall, bent over a table, or with you straddling her thigh as she watches you work for your pleasure. She also enjoys having you on your stomach so she can pin you down and whisper filth into your ear.

G = Goofy:

Not really. Ambessa doesn’t joke much during sex—she’s intense, focused, and utterly dominant. The closest she gets to humor is a smug, knowing smirk when you completely fall apart under her touch.

H = Hair:

She keeps herself very well-groomed—clean, trimmed, and maintained with military precision. She sees it as part of her discipline, but if you express a preference, she might make adjustments just to tease you.

I = Intimacy:.

Sex with Ambessa is intense, passionate, and demanding, but it isn’t always romantic. She sees sex as a power play, a test of endurance and skill. That said, if she’s truly attached to you, there will be rare moments of surprising tenderness—a lingering touch, a softer kiss, a rare moment of vulnerability.

J = Jack Off:

She doesn’t need to often, but when she does, it’s efficient and calculated. Ambessa prefers to have a partner—she enjoys control and the power dynamic of physical intimacy far too much to rely on her own hand.

K = Kink:

Ambessa is into dominance, power play, and control. She enjoys making her partners submit, whether through force, teasing, or sheer skill. She also has a bit of a size kink—if you’re smaller than her, she’ll relish in overpowering you.

Other kinks include:

Orgasm control – Making you earn your release.

Praise & degradation – She’ll tell you you’re doing well, but she’ll also remind you who’s in charge.

Spanking & biting – She enjoys leaving marks on her partners.

Public teasing – Whispering threats in your ear at a formal event, brushing her hand over your thigh just to watch you squirm.

L = Location:

She prefers a controlled environment, like her private quarters or a secluded space where she can focus entirely on you. That being said, if the opportunity arises, she won’t hesitate to take you against a desk, a wall, or even a battlefield tent.

M = Motivation:

Power, challenge, and submission. Ambessa is turned on by confidence—if you’re bold enough to challenge her, she’ll enjoy breaking you down piece by piece. On the flip side, if you’re naturally submissive, she’ll enjoy training you to respond to her every command.

N = No:

She refuses to be dominated. Ambessa is always in control, and she doesn’t take kindly to attempts at reversing the roles.

O = Oral:

She loves giving—it’s another way for her to exert control. Expect slow, deliberate teasing, holding you down when you try to squirm away, and pulling back right before you finish just to hear you beg.

She enjoys receiving just as much, especially if you’re kneeling before her, looking up at her with pleading eyes.

P = Pace:

Usually rough, controlled, and demanding. Ambessa doesn’t rush—she knows exactly how to push you to the edge and will keep you there until she decides you’re ready to fall.

Q = Quickies:

She enjoys them, but they’re still efficient and calculated. Even if it’s quick, she’ll still make sure she’s the one in control.

R = Risk:

Ambessa is cautious but adventurous. She enjoys the thrill of danger, especially when it comes to power dynamics and control, but she won’t risk compromising her reputation. She prefers secluded but intense encounters rather than reckless public ones.

S = Stamina:

Ridiculous. Ambessa is built like a warrior, and she can go for hours without tiring. She enjoys pushing you past your limits, seeing how much you can take before you’re begging for mercy.

T = Toys:

She doesn’t rely on them, but she appreciates the efficiency of certain tools. If she uses them, it’s to tease, torment, and push you further.

U = Unfair:

Extremely unfair. Ambessa thrives on teasing and control—she’ll bring you to the edge multiple times, whispering how desperate you look, only to deny you until she’s satisfied.

V = Volume:

She’s not loud, but she’s intense—low, guttural groans, dark chuckles, and murmured commands. She likes hearing you, though, and will encourage you to be loud for her.

W = Wild Card:

She loves pinning you against a wall and making you look her in the eyes while she ruins you. Eye contact is non-negotiable.

X = X-Ray:

She’s built like a goddess—muscular, powerful, and imposing. Every inch of her is honed for battle, but she knows how to use her strength for pleasure.

Y = Yearning:

Ambessa doesn’t crave sex in an emotional way, but she enjoys physical intimacy as a means of control and satisfaction. If she has a partner she’s attached to, though, she will find herself wanting them more than she’d like to admit.

Z = Zzz:

She doesn’t stay unless she’s truly interested in you. If she does, she’ll sleep with one arm possessively around you, keeping you exactly where she wants you.

Author's note - Send request guys!!!!

[pomegranatelifethis]

Blood and Bonds

The air in the Wayne Manor was thick with tension, a storm brewing behind the heavy oak doors of the dining room. You sat at the far end of the table, your fork clinking against the porcelain plate, the sound sharp in the silence. Two weeks ago, you’d stormed out of this very room, words like daggers flung between you and the Batfamily. It had started small—a comment from Dick about your reckless patrol habits, a jab from Jason about your inexperience, and Bruce’s ever-present stoicism that felt like judgment. You’d snapped, your sixteen-year-old heart unable to bear the weight of their expectations any longer.

“You don’t trust me!” you’d shouted, voice cracking. “None of you do! I’m not a kid, I’m part of this family too!”

The argument had spiraled, each member of the family adding their own brand of critique or defense. Tim had tried to mediate, but even his calm logic felt patronizing. Damian, ever the blunt one, had scoffed, calling you “emotional” and “unfit for the mission.” That was the final straw. You’d grabbed your jacket and left, slamming the door behind you. For two weeks, you hadn’t spoken to them. Not a word, not a text, not even a glance when you passed them in the halls of the manor. You’d thrown yourself into school, into your own world, trying to prove you didn’t need them.

But today, school had been its own battlefield.

---

The school courtyard was a blur of chaos. You stood in the center, fists clenched, chest heaving, blood dripping from your knuckles and staining your school uniform. The crowd of students parted like a tide, their whispers a dull roar in your ears. On the ground, crumpled and groaning, was Jessica Kline, the girl who’d spent weeks taunting you, pushing you, testing your limits. Today, she’d gone too far.

“You think you’re so special, huh?” Jessica had sneered during lunch, her voice loud enough to draw a crowd. “Living with the Waynes, acting like you’re one of them. They don’t care about you. You’re just their charity case, a pathetic stray they picked up off the street.”

You’d frozen, her words slicing through the fragile armor you’d built over the past two weeks. The anger that had been simmering since your fight with the family boiled over, and before you knew it, your fist had connected with her face. The fight was a blur—shouts, shoves, the crack of bone. Jessica had fought back, but you were trained by the best. You were a Wayne, even if they didn’t see it. By the time the teachers pulled you apart, Jessica was unconscious, blood pooling beneath her head. The paramedics arrived quickly, their faces grim as they loaded her onto a stretcher. Brain hemorrhage, you overheard one of them whisper.

Now, you stood alone, the weight of what you’d done crashing down. Your hands shook, the blood—hers, yours—staining your skin like a brand. Tears burned your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you sank to your knees. You hadn’t meant to go this far. You just wanted her to stop, to take back the words that cut deeper than any blade.

The crowd parted again, and you heard the familiar sound of boots on pavement. Your heart sank. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

---

Bruce Wayne’s shadow loomed over you, his presence commanding even in civilian clothes. Behind him, you could feel the others—Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian—each radiating their own mix of concern, anger, and shock. You kept your eyes on the ground, unable to face them.

“Y/N,” Bruce’s voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it, a crack in his usual composure. “What happened?”

You didn’t answer, your throat tight with sobs. The blood on your hands felt like a confession, a truth you couldn’t hide. You’d gone too far. You’d become the monster Jessica had accused you of being.

Dick knelt beside you, his hand hovering over your shoulder before he gently touched you. “Hey, kiddo, talk to us. We’re here.”

The gentleness in his voice broke you. The tears came harder, your body shaking as you finally looked up. Their faces were a mix of emotions—Dick’s worry, Jason’s barely concealed fury, Tim’s analytical frown, Damian’s scowl. But Bruce… Bruce’s eyes held something you hadn’t seen in weeks: pain.

“She… she said you didn’t care about me,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “She called me a charity case, said I wasn’t one of you. I just… I wanted her to stop.”

Jason cursed under his breath, his fists clenching. “That’s what this was about? Some punk running her mouth?”

“Jason,” Bruce warned, his voice sharp. He turned back to you, his expression softening. “Y/N, why didn’t you tell us you were hurting?”

You laughed bitterly, the sound raw and broken. “Tell you? After everything? You all made it clear I’m not good enough. I didn’t think you’d care.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Dick’s hand tightened on your shoulder, and even Damian’s scowl faltered. Tim stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm. “You’re wrong. We care. We’ve always cared. We just… we screwed up.”

Bruce knelt in front of you, his hands reaching for yours. He didn’t flinch at the blood, didn’t pull away. “You’re part of this family, Y/N. Not because we took you in, but because you belong. We should’ve made that clear. I should’ve made that clear.”

His words hit like a punch, and you sobbed harder, leaning into him. For the first time in weeks, you felt the weight of their presence not as judgment, but as love. Jason crouched beside you, his usual bravado gone. “Kid, you don’t gotta fight the world alone. Next time someone talks smack, you tell me. I’ll handle it.”

“Or at least don’t send them to the ICU,” Damian muttered, though there was no venom in his tone. He hesitated, then added, “You fought well. But you’re an idiot for thinking we don’t want you.”

Dick chuckled softly, ruffling your hair. “What he means is, we’re sorry. And we’re here now. Let’s figure this out together, okay?”

You nodded, the tears still falling but lighter now, less like a storm and more like rain after a drought. Bruce pulled you to your feet, his arm steady around you. “We’ll deal with the school, the hospital, all of it. But first, we’re going home. And we’re talking. No more silence.”

As you walked away, surrounded by the family you’d thought you’d lost, you felt the blood on your hands begin to feel less like a stain and more like a reminder. You were a Wayne, flaws and all. And they were yours, just as much as you were theirs.

---

Back at the manor, the family gathered in the Batcave, the heart of their world. You sat on the edge of the medical bay, Alfred cleaning the cuts on your hands with his usual quiet efficiency. The others lingered nearby, their presence a silent promise. Bruce stood at the computer, already pulling up files on Jessica’s condition and the legal ramifications. Dick and Jason argued over who’d get to train you next, while Tim analyzed the school’s security footage to piece together the fight. Even Damian, perched on a stool, offered a rare nod of approval when you caught his eye.

For the first time in weeks, the cave didn’t feel like a battlefield. It felt like home.

“Next time,” Alfred said, his tone dry but warm, “perhaps try words before fists, Master Y/N.”

You smiled, the first real smile in what felt like forever. “No promises, Alfred. But I’ll try.”

And as the Batfamily filled the cave with their voices, their laughter, their love, you knew you’d never have to fight alone again.