#FOR REASONS THAT ARE ESTABLISHED UNDER THE CUT.

[dalishious]

I’d like some of your thoughts on that Lucanis and Illario scene! I was confused why Lucanis is so dismissive of Illario. While I know he was groomed by Caterina to be her heir so he’s no doubt in that mindset that he’s more skilled than Illario, Lucanis and Illario trained together under her and Illario is a skilled assassin. Why does Lucanis think otherwise? And outright say so to Illario?

Okay! I will do my best to keep this coherent but no promises because the Dellamortes truly make me insane...

The thing you gotta remember about Lucanis is, as evidenced from both The Wigmaker Job and the DATV quest where you enter his head, he is the type of guy who is very good at bottling up any emotions that are too complex to easily deal with. That is especially the case when it comes to his family. He'd rather try to organize them into simpler boxes, and the thing is... the thing is... the box he's got for Illario is (to steal Illario's own words) "Dellamorte the lesser."

Lucanis can do know wrong. Illario can only ever do wrong. That is the dynamic Caterina has set up for them, by making it so clear-cut that Lucanis is the favoured heir. It's so ingrained that Lucanis, who doesn't even want to be the heir to the House, still feels he is the superior. Illario is meant to follow, not lead. And I honestly and truly do not think that Lucanis sees pointing this as being mean-spirited, but rather it is just the way things are. He's afraid that Illario breaking out of this pattern that's been established since boyhood will get him killed. And Lucanis loves Illario dearly! He - to his knowledge at the time of this scene - just lost Caterina, the only other blood-relation he had left, and believes that there is someone targeting his family. Of course he has every reason to think Illario is in danger. But instead of simply saying "he my cousin, my brother, I worry for your wellbeing," he's gotta keep that pattern going because it's the only way he knows how to keep Illario from getting killed. It's the only way he knows how to treat Illario.

Like idk man if I was Illario I would have crashed so much sooner.

[caffinated-squid]

Jerry Stokes and the consequences of inaction in The Eltingville Club

Time to talk a lot about the last character in the crew, Jerry Stokes. A couple of quick things before getting into some lukewarm observations, this is not me trying to morally grandstand about a character actually being bad, this is The Eltingville Club, all of your faves are problematic. This is just about how his role feeds into the environment, and because I am not satisfied with only going over a list of bad things Jerry has done in the comics and want to go into why he is like this. I have seen a handful of people already go into his toxic behavior, so this is my attempt to contribute. To summarize, Jerry is both the support and doormat of the group. Even though all the characters rip on each other for their interests, Jerry is usually the main target. He is also the character that attempts to break up a lot of the arguments/feuds that the characters have. However, Jerry never actually fixes the problems present in the group, the most he does is postpone the terrible actions, but still goes along with whatever happens. I call Jerry the support of the group, but only by a slim margin. Like Pete, he has the tendency to enable the clubs behavior, but in his case, it’s by his lack of action rather than exacerbating the conflict.

Jerry’s main concern in the club is avoiding conflict. If he prevents the club from arguing, he won’t lose his friends. But because of that, it leads to a refusal to challenge any of the groups bad ideas. The Eltingville club has cultivated an environment where they all need to have the same opinion, and anyone who doesn’t is wrong or stupid and not a real fan. So the most that Jerry can do is just meekly suggest that something is a bad idea, but because he is also the doormat of the group, and isn’t really going to stop them, his protests can easily be ignored by the rest of the club.

Jerry ends up becoming both a bystander as well as an enabler, which has the tendency to get looked over because characters like Bill, Josh, and Pete are more blatantly toxic and destructive, so Jerry’s behavior usually goes under the radar in comparison to the rest of the clubs.

**The main reason the club will actually listen to Pete when he tells them to cut it out is because he backs up his threats, he will follow though if they don’t listen to him.

Jerry’s tendency to postpone conflict also comes with the result of refusing to call out any of his friends for their terrible behavior. He has almost never defended Josh even though the entire group bullies him for being fat is because it’s been normalized. From how bad arguments tend to get and how no one in the club takes Josh’s concerns seriously, he probably just writes it off as playful jabbing rather than bullying. Even with something like Bill making the Greedo-318 account to tell Josh to kill himself and telling Jerry to keep his secret, Jerry’s main concern is not wanting to lose his friends. He wants Bill to like him, because if Bill still likes him, the club can still exist. Jerry already has a lot of anxiety about the club breaking up, so revealing this would do nothing but add more conflict.

From what I can tell, the characters live in the suburbs. Eltingville is a tiny town with not much to do. None of them have a drivers license so they can’t go anywhere by car, days are monotonous, and the only place that holds any of their interest is a shitty comic book shop. I mention this because in this environment there is the need for community, even if that community is terrible, because it’s better than being alone. It is established that the club takes up a majority of all of the characters time, so outside of this group, there isn't really anywhere else for Jerry to go to.

Even if Jerry was able to make new friends, I have the feeling that the rest of the Eltingville Club would probably try to sabotage any attempt, considering that they spread rumors about him going around telling people that he fucked Agnes Zawatsky to reel him back into the club.

Misery loves company, and even if Jerry is the main punching bag of the group that the characters put most of the blame on, he can't leave, because they are The Eltingville Club, and its always them against the world.

[librarylexicon]

hi! i'm one of those insane people who got into dc via seeing tumblr posts and going "huh these tropes seem like they are tailor made to get me obsessed" but was too intimidated by the volume of comics, and instead read the wikipedia pages of like 20 characters and dove right into fanfiction after. but i've been finding myself getting more and more frustrated with fanfics that are of the "i ignore canon entirely" variety and more and more curious about aspects of canon that are only brushed upon in fanfic. i kinda want to get into the comics but the amount is just. overwhelming. i don't really know where to start, both in regards to the timeline and where to actually find the comics to read. can i ask you for recommendations? if you don't have the time or inclination, no pressure, just delete this ask XD. thank you!

Hi! I'm glad you asked! I've had this ask sitting in my box for a little while because I've been working on redoing a Batfamily comics reading guide I made for my sister back in 2019 to get her into reading comics (it worked). Here is the reading guide, which is currently complete up to the No Man's Land section:

There's a lot of info in the guide to get you started (especially regarding your second point of where to actually find the comics to read), so I'll just address your first point (the timeline) here under the cut by providing an extended summary of events. There are spoilers ahead, but it's a useful read if you're the kind of person who likes to see the big picture before delving in. Warning: it's long!

The Timeline

(Most of the comics mentioned below have been bolded in the reading guide, so should be easy to find and read.)

Batman and Batfamily comics are old. Batman and Robin have both been around for over 80 years. Does this mean you need to read every comic since 1940? Absolutely not! For comic book reasons, there have been several mainstream continuities throughout the years, one after the other, but the best place to start is directly after the universe-rebooting event called Crisis on Infinite Earths in 1986, which established a new continuity known as Post-Crisis. Don't try to read that comic, just trust that it happened. You don't have to read every single one of the comics listed here, especially if you already know some context from fandom (like who's who), but these are the ones most important to the Batfamily mythos.

Origin and early years

Start your Batman reading journey with Batman: Year One, which documents the origin and first year of Batman, establishes his working relationship with Jim Gordon and introduces Selina Kyle (Catwoman). There are many stories capturing Batman's earliest years, the best of which are Batman: The Man Who Laughs (where he meets the Joker for the first time), Batman: The Long Halloween and its sequel Batman: Dark Victory.

Dick as Robin

Dick Grayson, a young acrobat, is introduced in Batman: Dark Victory when Haly's Circus comes to Gotham and his parents fall to their deaths before his (and Bruce's) eyes during their trapeze act, and he comes into his own as the first Robin in the superb one-shot Batman Chronicles: The Gauntlet. You should also read Batman: Ego for an excellent dissection of both Bruce and Batman. Other high quality Dick!Robin stories that flesh out this period and establish Bruce and Dick's relationship are Robin: Year One, Batman: Grimm (Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #149-153) and Year One: Batman/Scarecrow. Also a good read around this time are the three Halloween stories by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale (who created The Long Halloween and Dark Victory) collected in Batman: Haunted Knight. Lastly, a natural companion to Robin: Year One is Batgirl: Year One, starring Barbara Gordon, Jim's daughter-slash-adopted-niece.

Jason as Robin

Bit of a timeskip here. By now, Dick's been Robin for six years or so (sources vary), and Jason Todd is introduced in Batman (1940) #408-409 and faces Two-Face in #410-411. There are some fun Jason stories in Detective Comics (1937) #569-574. To see what Dick's up to at this time, read Nightwing: Year One, and also check out Batman #416 for an alternate story of how Dick and Jason meet.

A new Gotham vigilante, Huntress (Helena Bertinelli) is introduced right around here in Huntress: Year One, and Barbara Gordon (who by now has retired from being Batgirl) is shot by the Joker and left paralysed from the waist down in Batman: The Killing Joke. A good Jason!Robin story that slots in here is Batman: The Cult, before the tension between Bruce and Jason is raised in Batman #425-426. Finally, Jason's life and short-lived career as Robin are permanently ended by the Joker in Batman: A Death in the Family.

Aftermath

Bruce is straight up not having a good time right now. He's mourning his kid, the Joker is still at large, he's sans both a Robin and a Batgirl, and he's accused of treason in the character study comic Batman: Blind Justice (Detective Comics #598-600). Sometime later, Dick Grayson (who is sort of estranged from Bruce and has been hanging out with his Titans friends for years) returns to Gotham in the fantastic Batman: Year Three (Batman #436-439), which retells Dick's origin (with some contradictions to other stories listed here, because that's just the nature of comics) and deals with Dick's parents' killer, Tony Zucco, possibly getting parole. Look out for a cute cameo in this one, but don't worry if you miss it – it'll come up again.

Noticing Batman's increased brutality in the wake of Robin's death, a precocious thirteen-year-old named Tim Drake bursts into the narrative when he hunts down Dick at Haly's Circus in the seminal Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying. Batman: Dark Knight, Dark City (Batman #452-454) is a good solo Batman story from around this period, and Batman: Rite of Passage (Detective Comics #618-621) and Batman: Identity Crisis (Batman #455-457) are defining stories for Tim's pre-Robin period as he explores who he is and who he wants to be. (Specifically, Tim's mother is killed and his father is left paralysed.)

Tim as Robin

(Note: Tim is Robin up until Damian is, but I've split Tim's Robin tenure into multiple sections so that it's easier to follow.)

Now that Tim has officially taken up the mantle, Bruce sends him to train in Paris, where he makes enemies of his own and chooses the bo staff for his weapon in the 1991 Robin miniseries. Around this time, Barbara Gordon reinvents herself as Oracle in Oracle: Year One (The Batman Chronicles #5). Tim debuts as Robin with Batman in Gotham in Batman #465, works cases with Bruce in stories like Batman: Shadow Box (Batman #467-469), and even tackles the Joker when Batman is out of town in Robin II: The Joker's Wild.

Other good stories from this period are Batman: Electric City (Detective Comics #644-646), a character study of Tim's relationship with his dad in Batman #480, and a Batfamily teamup and Nightwing cameo in Batman: The Last Arkham (Batman: Shadow of the Bat #1-4). Stephanie Brown dubs herself the Spoiler to spoil the plans of her father, third-rate villain Cluemaster, in Detective Comics #647-649, and Huntress returns with her unorthodox methods in Detective Comics #652-653.

Next up, the sprawling epic that is the Knightfall Saga. Jean-Paul Valley, a graduate student with a family legacy causing him to be beholden to a lifetime of conditioning known as "the System", debuts in Batman: Sword of Azrael. Batman, who has been overworking himself due to increasing pressures from all sides, finds himself increasingly worn out in the stories collected in Batman: Prelude to Knightfall. (Around this time, Robin also forges an unlikely friendship with Huntress in Robin III: Cry of the Huntress.)

In Batman: Knightfall, a huge Arkham Asylum breakout pushes Batman to his limits, and when he finally returns home, mentally and physically depleted, he finds a new enemy waiting to destroy him. It's not pretty. While Bruce recovers, he appoints Jean-Paul Valley to be Batman to Tim's Robin in Batman: Knightquest. Unfortunately, with the System still active, Tim finds himself increasingly sidelined and Jim Gordon breaks ties with this new, inappropriately ruthless Batman. A lot of things happen, but Bruce eventually returns (and so does Nightwing, yay!) in Batman: KnightsEnd.

Right after KnightsEnd but before the next story, there's a DC-wide event called Zero Hour, in which the universe is destroyed and remade. From a Doylist perspective, this is an opportunity for DC to smooth out some oddities with their Post-Crisis timeline and eliminate any plot elements they were dissatisfied with. Among other things, the murderer of Bruce's parents, who had previously been established as a random mugger named Joe Chill, is retconned to be unconfirmed (naturally, this changed later). You don't have to read the main Zero Hour comic, which is a five-issue limited series numbered in reverse order, but there are interesting crossover issues in the various Batfamily comics that are ongoing at this time, including Tim!Robin solving a case with Dick!Robin in Robin (1993) #10. The main reason I mention Zero Hour is because it explains why there are key differences between early Post-Crisis comics like most of Jason's run and post-Zero Hour comics like Nightwing: Year One. The answer is retconning, and it'll come up again and again. Such is the nature of trying to maintain longevity and internal consistency for comics that never end.

Okay, back to the main events! In what is my favourite comic of all time, Bruce rights wrongs by asking Dick to temporarily be Batman instead of Jean-Paul (yay!), and Dick and Tim grow close as Batman and Robin and as honorary brothers before Dick and Bruce finally see eye to eye in Batman: Prodigal. When Bruce is ready to be Batman again, he dons a new, darker suit (which is very close to the suit in the Tim Burton movies that were popular at the time) in Batman: Troika. Alfred, who voluntarily left Bruce's employ in Knightquest, is persuaded to return to Gotham by his best friend, none other than Dick Grayson, in Nightwing: Alfred's Return. Later, Dick does some soul-searching of his own (and gains a new costume!) in the 1995 Nightwing miniseries, and three concurrent stories in Batman: Shadow of the Bat #46-47, Batman #527-528 and Detective Comics #693-694 lay the groundwork for the dramatic next stage of Gotham history.

No Man's Land

What's up next for Gotham? It's a plague! Dubbed the Apocalypse Virus and otherwise known as the Clench, this plague ravages Gotham in the Batfamily crossover Batman: Contagion, which is followed by a resurgence in Batman: Legacy. It's dramatic, it's whumpy, it's mesmerising and it's pretty great.

By this point, you'll be familiar with the regular cast of characters and can read more of their solo comics at your leisure. There's Batman for Bruce and Detective Comics and Batman: Shadow of the Bat for higher chances of him teaming up with others. Tim's solo comic, Robin (1993), has been going since Knightfall, and Dick's excellent long-running comic Nightwing (1996) begins here. Read Robin for Tim's teenage adventures (skateboarding, making friends in school), family ups and downs (his dad is mercurial, but at least he has a cool stepmother, Dana) and love life (he starts dating Steph) and read Nightwing for Dick striking out on his own in the neighbouring city of Blüdhaven, where he eventually joins the police academy to fight crime from a different angle. (There's also the Azrael comic, which may appeal if you find yourself liking Jean-Paul Valley, but as I haven't read much of it, I make no promises about its quality.)

Continuing the notable Batfamily crossover events, Nightwing has a dalliance with Huntress in Nightwing/Huntress, and a massive earthquake devastates Gotham in Batman: Cataclysm. The consequences of this spin into Batman: Aftershock, Batman: Road to No Man's Land and the sprawling, ambitious epic that is Batman: No Man's Land, in which Gotham is declared no longer part of the United States. Within this year of danger, chaos and political limbo, we are introduced to a silent young woman, daughter of the assassin David Cain. With Barbara's blessing, she comes to live at Oracle's base (the Clock Tower) and becomes the second Batgirl. (Also during this period, Steph gives birth to a baby from a former boyfriend, and Tim – in disguise – gets himself stuck in No Man's Land to help her. It's complicated.)

New Gotham

This, along with the previous section, is one of my favourite periods in Batfamily comics. Many of the solo comics just mentioned are at their peak in terms of storytelling, characterisation and plot development, and several more excellent series begin here, including the family-focused Batman: Gotham Knights and the first ever perpetual Batgirl series for the new Batgirl, who would come to be known as Cassandra Cain. Both series are well worth reading!

Batman: Evolution (Detective Comics #742-750) touches on the fallout of the No Man's Land and rebuilding "New Gotham", and Bruce unwillingly gains a personal bodyguard named Sasha Bordeaux in Batman: A Walk in the Park (Detective Comics #751-752), which of course complicates his nocturnal activities as Batman. Soon after, Jim Gordon is shot in Batman: Offcer Down, and (unrelatedly) Dick and Barbara, who have been having off-the-chart levels of UST for years, finally call their flirting what it is: dating. Also at this time, Bruce has been rekindling his relationship with his pre-No Man's Land girlfriend, Vesper Fairchild.

In Joker: Last Laugh, the Joker decides to go out with a bang in when he finds out he's apparently suffering from terminal brain cancer. The theme of family is explored in Batman: Gotham Knights, with Bruce offering to adopt Dick (at long last) in Batman: Matatoa (Batman: Gotham Knights #16-17). And then a secret threatens to tear the Batfamily apart when Bruce is accused of murdering Vesper Fairchild in Bruce Wayne: Murderer?, eventually prompting him to drop the Bruce Wayne identity completely (this made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move) and become Batman full-time as he goes on the run in Bruce Wayne: Fugitive. Eventually the murder is solved and the murderer is accounted for, and these two stories are probably my favourite Batfamily crossovers ever. They're so juicy and get to the heart of everything I love about each member!

The excellent Bruce & Dick comic Batman/Nightwing: Bloodborne fits somewhere around here, as well as Jeph Loeb and Jim Lee's beautifully drawn and critically acclaimed Batman: Hush, which touches on Bruce's on-again, off-again relationship with Selina Kyle. Around this time in the Nightwing comic, Dick's life has been on a downward spiral for months because of a multitude of factors, including losing his girlfriend, his day job, his circus family, his apartment building and more. This is also where the villains Blockbuster and Tarantula are prominent.

Over in Robin, Tim's father discovers that Tim is Robin and demands that Tim give up the mantle, which he reluctantly does. This results in Bruce offering the job to Steph, driving a wedge between her and Tim. Her tenure as Robin is short-lived for several reasons, and all this leads into the mega-crossover Batman: War Games, in which a massive gang war breaks out in Gotham and Tim's sort-of girlfriend, Darla Aquista, is killed. By the time the dust settles, Steph is (believed) dead, Dick temporarily gives up his Nightwing mantle to work for the mafia (yup), Barbara and Jim leave Gotham and Tim's father is murdered in the DC-wide crossover Identity Crisis, resulting in Tim and Cassandra relocating to Blüdhaven, effectively sealing the breakup of the Batfamily. War Games is followed up by Batman: War Crimes, which is included here for timeline reasons and not much else.

Batman's pretty much all alone in Gotham again, right? Time for somebody else to return. Someone who's been haunting the narrative all these years. Yup, in the wake of the gang war, when rival mob bosses are vying to wrest control of the city, a new crime lord emerges in Batman: Under the Hood: the Red Hood, who turns out to be Jason Todd, back from the dead, and no longer a boy in a yellow cape but instead a ruthless, hypocritical murderer with a chip on his shoulder and no qualms about stabbing Batman's allies. (For more about Jason between his death and return to Gotham, read Red Hood: Lost Days.)

Lastly, there's a DC-wide event called Infinite Crisis, which shakes up the whole DC Universe and leads to Batman, Nightwing and Robin taking a trip around the world for a whole year. (Infinite Crisis also kills off Tim's best friend, Conner Kent/Superboy. Tim's really going through it at this time, poor guy.) Oh, and Blüdhaven is razed by a bomb during Infinite Crisis as well. Yup.

One Year Later

(Disclaimer: it's been a while since I read this period and this one beyond it.) After a year away from Gotham, Batman, Nightwing and Robin return, and Bruce adopts Tim (at long last) in Batman: Face the Face. I'm sure this happy-ish period is going to last, right? Well, the very next story is Batman and Son, in which Bruce learns he has a young son named Damian, who is the child of Talia, daughter of Ra's al Ghul (Batman's currently dead, formerly immortal nemesis of League of Assassins fame). Damian and Tim instantly don't hit it off – rather, Tim is friendly until the bratty and hostile Damian reveals himself to be a murderer and attempts to kill Tim. Of course, Bruce doesn't take kindly to this, and Damian eventually goes back to live with his mother.

Also, during the year the others were away, Cassandra was brainwashed and became evil because of Deathstroke and DC Editorial (this made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move). Later, Bruce adopts her in the otherwise mediocre 2008 Batgirl miniseries. There's a lot of complicated stuff around this time, such as Steph being retconned as Alive All Along and returning to Gotham in Robin: Violent Tendencies (Robin #170-175, Robin/Spoiler Special), Dick relocating to New York and having a mediocre run in Nightwing, Tim having a new black and red Robin suit to honour Superboy's death, Tim struggling mentally and trying to clone Conner(!) and revive Steph, his dad and Conner, Ra's al Ghul coming back from the dead (again) and trying to use a younger body (Damian or Tim) to stabilise his form in Batman: The Resurrection of Ra's al Ghul, and Bruce tackling the criminal organisation known as the Black Glove in Grant Morrison's Batman R.I.P.

DC-wide events once again have consequences (hooray) in Final Crisis, in which Batman dies. Is he dead for good? Well, this is comic book land, so probably not, but in the meantime, the public can't know that either Batman or Bruce Wayne have died. Hush masquerades as Bruce Wayne (long story) and the Robins battle it out for the mantle in Batman: Battle for the Cowl. Despite Tim's pleas, Dick refuses to become Batman, resulting in an imposter Batman who shoots to kill taking centre stage. This impostor turns out to be Jason, who fights first Tim, then Dick, the latter of whom defeats him. Against Bruce's wishes in his will, Dick becomes the new Batman, and Damian becomes Robin at his side.

Damian as Robin

This new status quo, also known as Batman: Reborn, marks the start of several new series, including Red Robin and Batgirl (2009). Red Robin stars Tim as a deeply unreliable narrator in his new title of Red Robin in his grief-fuelled efforts to gather evidence that Bruce is not dead, while Batgirl follows Stephanie Brown as she becomes the third Batgirl under Oracle's tutelage, the pair of them working out of the Batcave.

Dick, Damian and Alfred have relocated to the penthouse in Wayne Tower and operate out of the underground bunker. Dick and Damian's rocky partnership develops into an unlikely yet compelling and heartfelt bond in Batman and Robin (2009) as they tackle a plethora of villains, including Professor Pyg and Red Hood (again). And where is Cassandra Cain? Sidelined again! She gave up Batgirl for Steph, on Bruce's request, and now goes by Black Bat, though we don't see much of her for Editorial Reasons (sigh).

This being comics, Bruce doesn't stay dead for long, and with both Tim and Dick (separately) discovering evidence that Bruce is not dead, just lost in time (yup), they work together to bring him back alive. I don't pretend to remember all the intricacies of how this works, but you can read about Bruce's journey in Batman: Time and the Batman (Batman #700-703), Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne and Bruce Wayne: The Road Home. It's long and complex and honestly reading Grant Morrison's writing tends to do my head in.

There are a handful more stories after Bruce's return, including some hugs and heartfelt reunions (yes, really!) and the excellent Batman: The Black Mirror story starring Dick as Batman, but even though this is a really cool new status quo with a bunch of interesting implications going forward, the universe doesn't really stabilise, because we're up to 2011 by now, and the world gets hit by another DC-wide crossover called Flashpoint. Except, this is the biggest one since Crisis on Infinite Earths that I mentioned way back at the beginning, and so everything gets rebooted. EVERYTHING.

Batman and Detective Comics and other long-running comics are cancelled and their number restarted from #1, and many series are cancelled and just never reinstated. This new universe, known as the New 52, sets a new status quo that worked in some aspects but not so much in others. Many changes from the universe we just came from are just jumps that happen without explanation, such as Dick's return to being Nightwing (except now he's red instead of blue), Jason being an anti-hero with a bat on his chest instead of a villain, everyone being younger and closer in age, Steph and Cass being minimised and essentially replaced, and many more frustrating retcons that are confusing and/or illogical. But hey, at least the new Batman and Robin comic (starring Bruce and Damian) and Scott Snyder's Batman run (introducing the Court of Owls) are good! Note: the New 52 was soft rebooted in 2016 to become the current continuity, known at its inception as DC Rebirth, which reintroduced many Post-Crisis elements to mainstream canon.

Duke Thomas? He wasn't introduced until the New 52. Harper and Cullen Row? New 52. Tim being bisexual and dating Bernard? Rebirth, though Bernard was inspired by a very minor character of the same name from Tim's long-running Robin comic. Forever Evil, Spyral and the Grayson comic? New 52. Kate Kane (Batwoman)? She appeared during Batman: Reborn, but she wasn't established as Bruce's cousin until the New 52. Many such cases.

And so, right before Flashpoint is where the Post-Crisis on Infinite Earths continuity ends after twenty-five years, with Bruce as Batman and running a worldwide initiative called Batman Incorporated in Batman Incorporated (2010), Dick as Batman in Gotham, Damian as Robin, Tim as Red Robin, Steph as Batgirl, Cassandra as Black Bat, Barbara as Oracle and Jason as Red Hood (and full villain, not reformed in any way, shape or form). In this continuity, Bruce adopted (in order) Jason, Dick, Tim and Cassandra, and of course Damian is his biological son. It's my favourite continuity, and I hope you enjoy it too.

...And I apologise belatedly for the wall of text.

[ejeffers1239]

This is your monthly reminder that trans girl periods are probably definitely real.

"ow ow ow ow ow"

- Erika

Serious discussion of/essay on trans woman periods under the cut:

While transgender women experiencing period symptoms is not something that has been scientifically researched with any rigor as far as I'm aware, enough trans women report the phenomena that it can reasonably be assumed real. The interesting thing is there are competing theories as to the mechanism behind trans women periods, which are as follows:

1. An empathetic or otherwise psychosomatic response, as in a trans woman has periods because she knows other women do. I don't like this, but we'll get back to that

2. Confirmation bias of unrelated symptoms, usually gastrointestinal, calling anything that happens in the general area a period.

3. Hormonal cycle from taking estrogen makes the body attempt a period, even without a uterus, accounting for cramping, mood changes, and changes to breast texture.

I don't think 1 or 2 are especially good explanations on their own, and taken in a vacuum sort of reinforce a conclusion and stereotype that transgender women are faking it (1) or eat nothing but junk food (2). However, these two definitely aren't unprecedented as factors, as long as you accept that there is a hormonal component (3).

Considering two of the most common phenomena reported with periods generally, we can get a broader picture. First is the phenomena of women syncing their cycles; this itself sports conflicting research and is mostly anecdotally observed, just like trans women periods. Nonetheless it could provide a point towards the empathetic response theory that would be more than making it up, rather, whatever about an estrogen-dominant body that (allegedly) causes sync is also applicable to transgender women. Second, consider the phenomena of period cravings. This phenomena is much more established than sync, it's commonly accepted that women on their periods tend to crave foods high in carbs, sugar, and salt. In other words, junk food. In that light the "trans women have had diets and call it a period" claim is not entirely dismissible, but is actually flipped in the ordering. It's entirely likely that trans women having their period regardless end up eating junk food, and cast doubt on to the validity of their own periods as a result.

As for my own personal anecdotes, I experience a cycle that is at least somewhat consistent. I don't notice symptoms every month, but many months, and they usually follow the same "structure" so to speak:

First, for about half a day, I get really horny. I believe this would technically be pre-period or a hormonal analogue to ovulation, nonetheless, I take the opportunity to have some fun, as pretty much nothing compares to how good it feels during this time.

Next, I have the junk food cravings, granted, I'm someone who eats taco bell weekly so, this doesn't represent an especially large change of diet for me, it's there though and if I'm cooking I might end up making something like mashed potatoes.

Finally, for around three days after that, I get really bloated and have some "typical" period symptoms: pain in my abdomen, the bloating itself, sore breasts, and even period shits. This is where I am while writing this post and we'll, to reiterate, "ow ow ow ow ow."

To me, this is far to specific of a sequence of events to be fake, even if it's not strictly monthly, and trans women have factors like missing estrogen doses or the presence/lack of progesterone that could influence that timing away from perfectly routine. Ultimately I'm another anecdote in a sea of anecdotes but, I choose to believe trans girl periods are real and biologically based, and I hope I've made a compelling argument supporting that here. This blog is made possible by boredom and mania mutuals like you, thank you!

[itsalwaysdark]

had a dream ehere the entire population of the earth was being tortured by the devil and he was like um teehee game ^_^ if at leastt half of you survive the next year ill leave u alone ^_^ and we were like . Fine but you have to give us 24 hours warning before you do anything. and he wa like okie. but this was insanely stressful for me bc i was trying to keep my family safe when my mom cant walk very fast and like. little man. yk. very stressful. idk how it concluded i woke up

[tonycries]

Girl, I Do This Often

Synopsis. How does he cope with a séx ban? He doesn’t.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, rough séx, unprotected, stuff with pantíes, gaggíng, bréeding, Nanami is a bit mean, overstím, finger suckíng, really desperate boys, light smackíng (Nanami), bondagé + víbrators (Geto), swearing.

Word count. 5.2k

A/N. Guess what, ya girl just turned 19 yippeeeee.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 4 days

On the first day, Toji’s more amused than anything.

A sex ban? With him? Ridiculous, he predicted a full 24 hours before you come crawling back, just begging to be split-apart on his cock. And he tells you so, too - a little over five times as he kisses your pouty lips, muttering a smug, “You’ll be eating your words soon enough, doll.”

By the third day, he’s beginning to think that okay, maybe you were serious about the ban after all. How cute - real cute. 

He’s left to do nothing but complain pathetically on the phone to a very reluctant Shiu. Who doesn’t have much to say other than cut off Toji’s ramblings about “not having your pretty pussy all day” to groan, “Shut the fuck up and beg for her forgiveness. I’m hanging up.”

Toji can only scoff at the thought. Beg for forgiveness? Him? Toji Fushiguro never begs, he never-

That was until the fourth day. 

With you - bent over the kitchen counter in his t-shirt - and nothing but his t-shirt.

“Please, pretty.” Toji drags his lips down your neck, just loving the way your traitorous hips are grinding back into his. “Said m’sorry, right? Don’t ya miss this?”

And you can only look behind your shoulder at the big arms around your waist, muscled thighs pressed up against yours. Angling your head just right to catch the way his hands snake down to your squirming hips to help you draw slow little circles against the rock-hard erection straining against his pants.

So close. So big.

Big enough that you’re almost thinking of throwing this sec ban out of the window altogether - almost.

But that little smirk of Toji’s is infuriating enough that you’re gasping out a breathless little, “I-I’m still mad at you, y’know? You never let me-” The words die in your throat as Toji pulls his pants down just enough for his aching cock to spring free. So angry and painfully hard, leaking hot precum all over your thighs. 

“No no no- hah. Keep talking.” he grits out, breath hot against your ear. Hips pushing and pulling. “Please- keep talking.”

And fuck you didn’t know what was harder - trying to find your voice, or ripping your eyes away from Toji’s cock long enough that you could. 

“B-because you-” you choke out, watching the way he takes his massive cock in his hands. Staring to pump so slow - so lazy - no rhythm or reason other than getting off so filthily to the sound of your voice. “You never let me take-” He wraps your smaller hands around his dick, so hot and heavy in your palms. “-charge.”

“F-fuck-” Toji lets out a low hiss, head thrown back as you thumb teasingly under his sensitive slit, trying to fuck something delicious out. “Yer killin’ me doll. Killing me.” Whether from your words or from the way you’re sliding him so lewdly between your puffy folds, you didn’t know. 

And Toji didn’t either. Hell, he doesn’t even seem to be breathing as he shifts his toned hips so familiarly. Head filled with only you and your heavenly cunt and you. 

“Toji-” you mewl. “Need you so bad.”

If he was any lesser man, Toji would’ve just bullied himself into your dripping cunt already, fucked you into the counter until there was nothing about any sex ban in your pretty lil’ mind. Instead, he’s panting out an absolutely wrecked, “Please. Then take all the charge you want, pretty.”  Fat head lining up with your sloppy hole. “Next time.”

And oh has it really been that long?

Because Toji’s just barely pushing into your plushy walls, and he already feels like he could cum right then and there. The stretch too sinful. Your walls too tight. So cute how you’re already mumbling his name so deliriously. 

“Awww,” he coos, watching awe-struck at the way you flatten your hands on the counter, fucking yourself back into him in short, shallow little grinds. “The s-sex ban was for ah- nothing, huh?”

You’re pulling him impossibly closer by the hair, catching his lips in such a searing kiss. Drinking in Toji’s guttural grunt as you bite down on his lower lip, “Are ya gonna sh-shut up n’ fuck me or do I need ngh- another sex ban?”

“No, ma’am.” he grins, kissing back so mockingly soft. And you know he’s making fun of you with the way he’s twitching so wildly inside your pussy. Veins dragging against all the right spots as he reels his hips back, back, back - only to slam his cock fully inside. “Guess you’re the one mm- in charge right now, huh?”

Over and over again. Fucking you exactly the way he’s wanted these past four days - and then some. 

Hitting your cervix - but it feels like your fucking lungs. Heavy balls smacking against your ass, so hard that he’s sure it’ll leave some obscene marks for him to point out next time. One hand around your throat, the other keeping your slutty, trembling hips in place while you’re torn between running away and bucking back for more more more-

“Right here.”

It’s all you can do to whirl your head around, eyes glassy and unfocused, whining a broken, “Wh-what?” 

“Right…” Trailing down, featherlight, right where he knew he was wrecking your insides. “Here. S’where I belong.” Pressing hard. “N’ m’gonna make sure you don’t forget it.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 1 week

A week. One week of being patient with your silly idea to “spice things up”. One week of pretending like he wasn’t excusing himself during important meetings to have his cock in his hands - thinking of nothing but you and that sinful little dress you had on today.

One week was all it took for Nanami to have a bad day at work. And you could tell when he did. 

By the way that front door slammed, unfamiliarly harsh footsteps sounding against the hardwood floors. And all it takes is one look at you laid out so prettily on the couch and Nanami’s mouth drops into a soft oh! 

One hand immediately loosening his tie, the other snaking down to his belt. Ashen, tense, - and you have half the mind to wonder whether he’s even breathing. 

Not even looking at you as he mutters a low, “Panties off. Spread those legs.”

That was a few hours ago. 

Before you knew it, your husband had you splayed out like such a slut for him on the couch - too starved to even think about making it to the bed. Legs on his sculpted shoulders, panties in tatters on the floor because you were taking too fucking long. Cock so angry and sensitive as he bullies into your snug cunt, stuffing you full of his cum.

Again. And again and again like he wanted to fuck any and every thought of that stupid sex ban out of your delirious mind. 

“K-Kento- what-” he pulls you into a bruising kiss. Just a sloppy clash of teeth and spit and hands everywhere. “You’re ngh- different.”

At this, Nanami has the audacity to laugh - laugh. Hips snapping impossibly deeper, “Yeah? N’ who’s fault is hah- that? Who’s fault is it th-that we ended hngh- up like-” Pushing your knees all the way up to your tits, groaning at the mess of cum and slick pooling beneath you. “-this?”

Cock just ramming into you, prominent veins nudging against your gummy walls so agonizingly. The couch creaking in protest as he uses your pretty lil’ cunt exactly the way he’s been fantasizing this past week.

And when all you can do is let out delirious little moans in response, Nanami raises his hand up, up, up. Coming down on your ass, hard. 

Smack!

“Didn’t you know we’d end up here?”

Oh the words hit you harder than that large palm-print stinging your ass. Tight pussy clenching and trying to milk the fucking soul out of him as you sob, “I- I didn’t-” Smack! You’re jolting at the impact, hips bucking wildly as you gasp, “-I did! Wanted this so bad, Kento. I did I did-”

And yeah, Nanami knew that. He knew you’d pulled this little “sex ban” stunt to make him break - to have him fuck you like the slut you are. But hearing the words from your pretty mouth had his balls squeezing so painfully. 

“Knew it.” he manages to grit out. “Knew you were such a slut, my love.” Words strained with each harsh thrust, “N’ as my slut, y-you can ngh- take one more, right?” You keen at how soft his tone was, like he was whispering sweet little nothings to you instead of promises to absolutely break you. Fingers trailing down to draw lewd patterns on your throbbing clit, “Right?”

And as if to prove you could, he’s squeezing his swollen cock harder into your plushy walls. Faster. Unforgiving. Fat, leaking tip hitting all those sweet spots he’s mapped out, in time with his abuse on your clit.

“Didn’t hah- have to lock myself in my office for nothing, right?” Pulling your trembling hips flush against his toned ones, “Have to get by with j-just a pretty picture this week for nothing?” Hips out of control now. Bruising. Almost painful with the stretch and the sheer pressure of being so full. “S’all for this, right?”

Smack! 

“Oh God, Kento- Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

“Yeah? Feels good?” he nips at your lower lip, “Good enough to fuck- take another one?”

You were sure if he came once more then it might just be the death of you.

You’re not even lucid enough to realize what reaction you’re giving him - all you know is that it isn’t good enough for Nanami. 

Because he lets out a tut, hand dancing across your stomach to where he knew he was absolutely making a mess of you inside. 

“Fine.” And something about the way he says it makes your heart stop, already knowing that it didn’t bode well for you or your poor cunt. “Guess I hafta ngh- help you.” Sure enough, Nanami wastes no time before pushing down on your abdomen. 

The both of you watch - awe-struck and speechless - as your overfilled pussy gushes all around him. 

And shit neither of you can even begin to think of what a bitch it’ll be to clean out this couch later on. Too caught up in the way you’re soaking Nanami’s merciless cock in that sinful mix of cum and slick. Thick, and hot, drooling down the side of your puffy folds. 

“See? Enough space, no?”

You raise your eyes, teary and hazy with lust, up to meet Nanami’s darkened ones and oh-

You weren’t going to make it out alive. 

Especially not when he leans down, whispering so raggedly in your ear, “Now I get to give ya another week’s worth more, right?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 9 days

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-

You didn’t know how it ended up this way. How that stupid bet about who’d be the needier one made Geto the one with the sex ban. 

How he had you tied across from him so prettily on the bed, a bullet vibrator stuffed up your dripping cunt, unable to do anything but whine and watch as he spreads his bare, muscled thighs.

Tip flushed your favorite shade of pink, matching those panties wrapped around his throbbing cock. So angry and leaking all over his fist as one hand slides up, up, up. The other, fiddling with that tiny metal remote. 

“You’re drooling, gorgeous. So desperate, huh?”

You know you aren’t - but you can’t help the way your face burns at your boyfriend’s low chuckle. Thighs squeezing together at the heavenly sight before you. “N-no fair, Sugu.” you whine. “I want to-”

Intensity setting 2.

But whatever words get stuck in your throat as Geto draws harsh, quick little circles on the intensity setting, smirking at the way you’re so wrecked already. 

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-

“I-I want to-” he mocks your pathetic little whines, acting for all the life of him that they didn’t make his dick twitch so wildly in his hands. “My poor baby. S’not nice, right?” And if you were embarrassed before then it was absolutely nothing in comparison to when Geto knits his brows in mock concern, eyes locked on yours. Hand still moving down his cock, “But isn’t this what you wanted? With the sex ban? Isn’t this-” Hips bucking up to show off how sloppily he’s fucking his fist - and your panties along with it, “-what you were asking for?”

“No.” you’re tugging at the ties at your wrist, “I wanted…”

Intensity setting 3. 

But oh it’s like Geto was well and fully intent on leaving you speechless - and succeeding at it too. 

Because he immediately brings up your panties - flimsy and just so soaked - up to his face, breathing in so filthily. And as if he couldn’t help himself - as if he didn’t want to help himself - the remote falls out of Geto’s hand, “accidentally” locked on the highest setting, first wrapping around his cock to make a mess of himself. 

“F-fuck-” he cracks one eye open, balls squeezing so painfully at the way you were almost in tears trying to get some semblance of friction. “Heh, looks like I’m winning the bet.”

You scoff, but it comes out so pathetically like a whine. “You’re a cheater, I’d have w-won this bet otherwise.”

Ah, how Geto loved your smart mouth - though, he probably loved it even more when you’re fucked dumb. But, right now, bet at the forefront of his mind, the next best thing he could do is shove those sinful panties into your mouth. 

Hand flying up and down his cock faster and faster as you choke like such a slut on it. Greedily eyeing the way your lip wobbles, big fat tears welling up in your eyes, cunt all glistening and quivering as Geto blindly reaches behind to grab ahold of that remote again. 

Intensity setting 4. 

“And you’re too cute.” he drops his head, breath ghosting your lips. “So if you ask me nicely I might just-” Thumb playing around with the intensity, pressing down, hard. As if it would translate to your needy cunt, “-give you my cock, gorgeous.”

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-

It’s all you can do to keen as his fingers get faster on the remote, other hand getting so sloppy on his painfully hard cock. Matching that sinful little ah! ah! ah! leaving your swollen lips. Sinful - and stubborn, still refusing to say those words that you knew Geto wanted to hear so badly. 

“Awww, still not giving up?” At your delirious little headshake, “Then how about this?” 

Intensity setting 5. 

And shit it makes you arch off the bed entirely. It makes you let out a strangled yelp of, “Oh- fuck. Fuck fuck fuck Sugu, m’gonna-” It makes you cum.

“Tha’s it.” Geto can’t help but let go of his aching cock to draw rough, messy little circles on your clit. Grinning at the way you’re so pretty when you cum untouched - all for him. Over and over and- He reaches over to catch your lips with his, tongue dancing with yours, around your soaked panties. 

So filthy and dizzying that he almost forgets about that bet - almost. Because you’re murmuring something so incoherent into his lips. 

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt-

God, doesn’t matter who wins next time - he needs to fucking do this again.

“What’s that?” he leans in tauntingly, pulling the fabric out of your mouth, finger still running circles around the intensity. Absolutely addicted to the way you’re twitching and whining at the aftershocks of your orgasm, “M’sorry, gorgeous, this vibrator is too loud. Speak up f’me, hm?”

“P-please fuck me, Sugu.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 21 hours

If Choso had it his way, then you’d both still be at home and he’d be balls-deep inside your sloppy pussy - fucking you over and over into the mattress until the neighbours file another noise complaint. 

But, alas, Jin Itadori was sure to hire a hitman - or worse, Sukuna - on him if he missed another family dinner. Which is how it ended up with you, sat so prettily across the table from him, watching through his long lashes at the way that red dress hugged you so sinfully. 

So right, in a way that made Choso almost jealous. So irresistibly, in a way that had Sukuna looking over a few too many times and-

Choso’s chair almost hits the floor with how fast he stands.

Fuck it.

“Sh-shit, Choso I-” 

“Keep ah- that dress up, baby. Unless ya wanna get it d-dirty.” he’s panting into your open mouth,  tongue so hotly toying with yours as he gives you another harsh thrust. “Though, I don’t ngh- mind.”

And he was telling the truth, too. Choso was in no way gentle with the way he had you sat on the bathroom counter, flimsy dress bunched up at your hips. Strong arms spreading your legs so shamefully while he bullied his cock into you with reckless abandon.

Over and over and-

“Cho!” you yelp, as he hits that one spot so expertly. Flashing you a fucked-out grin as how you’re scrambling to cover your mouth. “Th-they’ll hear.”

“So?”

And it’s all you can do to stop your jaw from falling slack once more - both in disbelief and at the way he’s fucking you so mean. So desperately like he hasn’t in months - years, even. Just unfocused, sloppy movements to milk his cock on your snug cunt.

“I don’t mind hah- that either.” Hand dipping underneath your soaked panties - just lazily pulled to the side - to roll your swollen clit between two fingers. “W-what I do mind is my oh- fuck girl holdin’ out on me and wearing that fucking dress on the s-same day.”

Oh you knew you were pushing the limits of your sex ban by wearing his favorite dress, that it would drive him absolutely wild. You just didn’t know it would be this easy.

“But you promised.” you’re letting out such broken little whines, muffled through your fingers, ones that go straight to Choso’s achingly hard cock. “You hngh- promised we wouldn’t at your family’s…”

The only response you get is Choso rolling his hips deeper into yours, so bruising in a way you knew would make you feel so guilty even when all the marks are covered up. Leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck in time with the way he alternates between hitting your poor, abused cervix and that one spot. 

Gasping out a ragged, “I know- I know I know fuck- Hah- I know.” Words strained - like he was losing a bit of his sanity with each thrust. And needed you to be the same. “But shit, baby. Do you know how p-pretty you look right now? Hngh- how fuckable?”

“Y-you’re so fuckin’ dirty.” you mewl, as if you were any better. As if your gummy walls weren’t sucking the fuckin soul out of Choso right now. “Should’ve made the ngh- sex ban even long-”

He bites down at the soft crook of your neck, growling out a little, “Don’t even joke about that.” 

And if Choso expected a response, then he didn’t act that way. 

Hips just erratic against yours, fingers even worse. Not even moving in circles anymore, just messy, sloppy patterns to-

No. 

You gasp at the realization, the deft movements of Choso’s fingers, and it just makes you all the more fucked-out underneath him. Scrambling to grab at the counter - Choso’s hair - his shoulders - just anything and everything to stop yourself from alerting the entire household to what you two were up to. Letting him fuck you like his favorite sextoy, fingers so so messy and spelling out a relentless little C-H-O-S-O-C-H-O-S-

And then you’re cumming and cumming so hard that it almost hurts. Stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your eyes. Choso’s massive cock fucking any and every thought of the dinner just downstairs out of your mind. 

“F-fuck fuck fuck- ngh- we’re never coming back here for dinner again.”

And it’s all you can do to drag your nails down his broad back, leaving deep red marks that make his balls squeeze so painfully. 

It makes him throw his head back, gasping out your name so loud. It makes him pull your hips so bruisingly against his. 

It makes him cum, spilling thick, hot ropes of cum into your pussy. So messy with the way it’s too much to bear, dribbling down your swollen folds, forming a lewd little pool below you. And Choso doesn’t give a fuck - doesn’t care if he leaves marks that everyone will see. Or if that slutty dress of yours has a suspicious little damp patch as he swiftly pulls out to snap your panties back in place. 

Whispering lowly against your lips, “K-keep it in till we leave, hm?”

“Cho-”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“The fuck? You brats fall in or something?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 2 days

The great Ryomen Sukuna has always been terrifying - but never before has he been this ruthless. So utterly savage. Destroying every single curse he comes across in the blink of an eye - friend or foe, big or small. 

Why? All because he hasn’t been able to fuck your pretty lil’ cunt in two days. Which, in his opinion, are two days too long. All because of some stupid little experiment about wanting to see how long it would take to see the king of curses crack.

And when those trembling curses heard about this ah- sex ban through the grapevine, well, they wrote it off as another baseless rumor. Ha, Ryomen Sukuna cracking? Never. 

“Please…brat.” he bites down on your earlobe, further pushing up your expensive robes - ones he’d bought just to get on your good side - to sink his cock deeper inside your heavenly cunt. “There I said it. Now jus’ a bit more-”

And maybe you’re a mastermind - maybe you’re an idiot. Because you’re digging your heels into the mattress, pushing off ever-so-slightly from his aching hard cock. So thick and angry as it slips out of your sloppy hole. 

You bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently up at a pissed off Sukuna, “I didn’t like your tone.” Crossing your legs to cover that view he was so fixated on, “Either you beg n’ start all over again or-”

“Fine.” he grits out the word, like it physically hurt to. Though, nothing for what falls from his lips next, “Please.”

“Louder.”

“Please.”

There you had it. And you can’t help but smirk, “Well, I liked that one-”

Nothing more is said - in Sukuna’s eyes, nothing more has to be said. Because he’s got his favorite lil’ human all needy and spread so shamefully in front of him, what more could he want? Sukuna grabs your ankles, pulling you to him like a ragdoll. Wasting no time before he’s splitting you apart on his rock-hard cock.

“Ya don’t hah- know how many curses I killed these past two days.” he kisses your ankles so softly. “How many I wanted to kill.”

And God, if you didn’t know any better you’d say it’s like he wanted to kill you with the way Sukuna barely even gives you time to adjust. Stuffing you full of his cock, so hot and thumping against your gummy walls in a maddening little bump! bump! bump! 

Letting out a strangled moan of, “There you go.” Brows scrunching together, looking wrecked already as he rocks his hips into yours - fast. Hard. hands coming up underneath your ass to arch you deeper into him, “Squeezin’ me so- tight. Heh, almost ”

“Oh hngh- ‘Kuna!” you moan, eyes snapping down to the way your cunt was taking him up so good. Puffy folds bulging around his massive cock, looking like they were sucking the fucking soul out of Sukuna as his massive cock disappears in and out in and out in and- “S’too- much-”

“Shut up.” he drops his head, one hand so bruising all over your body - groping your ass, your tits, playing with your throbbing clit. “Ya wanted hah- me to talk, right? And I say-” The other, squeezing your cheeks together into a pathetic lil’ pout, “Open up.”

It’s so embarrassing the way you can’t do anything but let your mouth fall open so sluttily, tongue lolling out just in time to catch the stream of saliva as Sukuna spits once. Twice. 

So filthy with the way he lets it splatter against the corner of your mouth - on purpose. 

“Wanted the king to beg, huh?” Each word is punctuated by such a harsh thrust, twitching balls stinging against your ass. “Well you got it. H-how does it feel, huh?”

And you couldn’t speak up even if you wanted to. Sukuna’s hand too tight around your face, cock too merciless. Slamming his hips down faster and faster as he runs his mouth, like he was taking revenge for the last two days. Again. And again. And again and again-

Grinning at your delirious little gurgles, “Heh, what? Can’t talk?” 

And as if to prove his point, Sukuna loops two big arms around your waist, falling back on his knees with you sat like such a slut on his cock. Fingers lacing above your head to sink you impossibly deeper and deeper-

“Oh my god- K-” Your breath hitches as he fucks up into you so easily. Feeling more and more like some plaything with each ripple of his muscles underneath your legs. So hard you were sure it would leave marks - both confirming and condemning those rumors you knew have been flying around. His balls on your ass, thighs underneath yours, nails dragging lightly down your skin. 

Resting on your waist, holding your quivering hips still as he grunts, “Now shut up. M’gonna get my fill of the last two days.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 4 hours

To the great Gojo Satoru, this droning, 4-hour meeting with the elders was a nightmare. To you, it was exactly where you wanted him

It wasn’t often that the strongest was tense - jittery, even, like he was about to jump out of his seat at any given moment. But, really, it was almost impossible not to, considering that stern talking-to you’d given him about “no sneaking out during meetings.” Especially when you’re sat across from him looking so beautifully unbothered.

Your smile too pretty, your uniform unbuttoned just enough that it gave him such a heavenly view when you bent over just so.  

Oh, how Gojo wishes he could just-

And that was when he felt it. 

That slow, slight touch up his inner thigh - so fleeting and light that he almost thinks he’s imagining it. But, no, Gojo could never mistake any touch from you. 

It sends his entire skin burning to catch your eye ever-so-briefly from across the table. A tiny smirk gracing those pretty lips as your heel inches up, up, up-

“Gojo, do you have anything to comment on the recent increase in curse sightings?”

He stifles a groan underneath one palm, the other snaking under the table just in time to catch your ankle before you can carefully slip away. “I think…” he manages to grit out, heady gaze flitting over to yours, “-that is a question my lovely wife and I must discuss first.”

Oh? 

And then, your back is hitting a plush mattress before you know it - long before the realization hits you that this bastard just fucking teleported the two of you to your bedroom. 

“T-Toru-” you sputter out, whatever reprimand getting stuck in your throat at how desperate Gojo was acting. Your uniform buttons hitting the floor as he rips open your shirt, hands bunching up your skirt, only having enough patience to just pull aside your soaked panties, rolling your pretty clit between two fingers. Needy. “The meeting-”

“The meeting isn’t here now, right?” 

Words so hoarse it takes you a moment to recognize it as your husband’s. You were only beginning to wonder just what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into when Gojo tugs down his pants just enough that his rock-hard cock springs free.

And oh then it makes sense. Because Gojo was so hard that it looked painful - so so red, and angry. Soaked in enough precum that it made a damp little patch on his trousers, heavy balls twitching at the mere sound of your voice.

“D-didn’t I say no sneaking out this time, Toru?” You buck into his touch, despite your words, eyes locked on the way Gojo stops toying with your clit to pool your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips.

“You did.” Raising his long, glossy fingers to those pretty pink lips, “But this is teleporting, not sneaking out, sweetheart.”

Gojo’s like a man possessed as he pops your slick-covered fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sinful taste. 

Gasping out a wet, “Fuck the ban. Can’t go without ya. Can’t-” One hand sliding his fat tip between your swollen folds, up and down up and down - spreading them apart, just barely dipping into your sloppy entrance. “-can’t live without this pretty cunt.”

And then it’s like something snaps - Gojo’s patience, his sanity, the last of his restraint as he sinks his throbbing cock into your plushy walls. 

Pushing past that first, tight ring of muscle, and at the first feeling of your gummy walls milking his cock, he pants out a strained, “Fuck- oh fuck fuck fuck, yer the stuff of dreams, my girl. This cunt- ngh-” Pushing your legs further apart, fingers back on your clit “-would’ve fucked this cunt right in ah- front of those old toads. But, you’re lucky I’m a jealous man.”

“Oh- oh my god, s’too- too- big!”

God, you needed to spread your legs more - as if they weren’t being folded apart so easily by a delirious Gojo - maybe breathe, try to relax because Gojo was so big. And so unforgiving. 

Feeling like he was pushing all the way into your lungs as he thrusts in quick, shallow little thrusts to bully himself inside your snug cunt. Jagged - like he was fighting with some absolutely, depraved, feral part of himself. 

You can feel the way your hips are torn between pushing away and grinding back down for more more more- And Gojo can, too.

“No-” he hisses. Brows scrunching in frustration, hips becoming more and more sloppy - frenzied. “No no no no no- hold on, sweetheart. Need this, need this so bad.”

Going faster. 

Deeper. 

You sob, ankles locking around his slutty waist. “B-but Toru-” You make a feeble last attempt at regaining your sanity. Your entire body jolting as Gojo presses so hard on your clit. “-we should ngh- hurry up. W-we’ll be late to the meeting-”

But does it really matter? Gojo doesn’t think so, not when he finally bottoms out in one, rough thrust. Groaning as his sensitive balls smack your ass.

Your cunt so slutty and tight - sucking him up so good despite your cute lil’ pleas about something stupid like “responsibilities”. 

So he really can’t help the way he wastes no time before reeling his hips back - all the way till his weeping tip is just kissing your sloppy hole. Before fucking into you completely - rough. Unrestrained. The same way he imagined taking you on that meeting room table. Over and over and-

“Not yet.” he grins against your lips, “We’re not done discussing the recent increase in curse sightings.”

A/N. Gojo’s came out toooo long I don’t even like this man fr (loud incorrect buzzer).

Plagiarism not authorized.

[wriokitty]

i adore you (can’t you see you’re meant for me?) — ft. sylus

sylus likes to sleep late in the mornings, and you like to admire him. the two are just a series of steps that bring you to where you are now: on top of him

❤︎ word count: 4.7k words — it’s literally all pure filth with no plot idk what to say atp

❤︎ before you read: female reader ; established relationship ; sleepy sylus ; banter and teasing ; reader rides his abs (do not look at me) ; praise kink (it goes both ways tbh) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; reader has an obsession with his veins (it is her not me okay?) ; sylus wraps his hand around her throat (but no choking) ; body worship + one clit kiss ; nipple play ; morning sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; do not be fooled it is all pretty soft i promise

❤︎ comments: i am new to this game and i haven’t gotten too far go easy on me for this one :( i dedicate this to all my sylus loving nonnies in my inbox thanks for helping me figure out this game LOL. and kass. ily kass

Sylus sleeps more when the sun is out than when it’s not. You don’t mind it so much—not when the view is what it is.

(He’s pretty, and so is the sun. The two combined make for an even prettier picture. You think, if you weigh your options, there are certainly worse things out there than sitting beside your sleeping boyfriend and waiting for him to wake up.)

It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself, though. His hair is too tempting not to brush away from his face. And while your hand is right there, it’s a little impossible not to cup his cheek for a moment. And, well, if you’re already touching him, you might as well let your hand slide down to his chest and rub circles against the skin. He leans into your touch subconsciously anyway—it’s not hurting him. It’s helping.

(You like telling yourself plenty of things to justify your hand and his skin having an early morning rendezvous.)

“Bored, sweetie?” His voice is always deeper when laced with sleep than it usually tends to be. You stiffen, moving to pull your hand away, an apology already prepared on your lips for waking him when he catches your wrist, eyes still closed. “I didn’t say to stop, did I?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff, letting him guide your hand back to his bare chest. It rises and falls slowly, so warm and firm under your palm that it’s a little dizzying.

“Am I?” He cracks an eye open, “I was just enjoying a little tenderness. I wonder why I can’t ever seem to receive something so sweet when I’m awake.”

“Precisely this reason,” you say flatly. He raises a smug brow. Just to humor him, you add, “Your ego can’t handle it when you’re awake.”

“What, that you find me too irresistible not to touch?”

“Sylus, go back to sleep,” you grumble, shuffling away from him with a face that feels unbearably hot under his half-lidded gaze. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

“I don’t know,” he all but purrs. In a swift motion—swift enough that you let out a shrill squeal—his hand tugs at your arm and pulls you close enough that he can hoist your body to sit on his lower belly. “We get along pretty well when we’re wide awake, don’t you think?”

His hand hikes up your (well, technically his) shirt and rests on your hip, nothing but the thin fabric of your panties separating you from him as you’re seated on top of him. You shiver lightly when his thumb caresses your hip bone, a satisfied hum pulling from his throat at the feeling of goosebumps rising against your skin. 

“Sylus,” you breathe, squirming over him—but you can’t say much else because you cut yourself off with a soft gasp when you hear the distinct sound of something tearing. 

Fabric. 

More specifically, your fabric. Your underwear—which was a rather nice pair too, you think woefully—is torn into two pieces, one held in Sylus’s hand like some form of victory, while the other falls against his belly with nothing holding it together around your hips. 

You blink. He gives you a large Cheshire grin.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he says, not so apologetically, “They were just in the way.”

“I liked those!” You hiss, glaring at him, “They were nice!”

“What, you don’t think I can buy you more? I could buy them faster than I could rip them, I’m sure.”

You have your doubts about that last part—but it’s still persuasive enough that you’re no longer as mad as you were just a moment ago. But you’re still petulant, pouting as you huff, “You ruin everything.”

“Mmh,” he hums, closing his eyes, voice still a low drawl from sleep as he says, “Are you sure? Because I can feel you dripping already, sweetheart.”

Shame floods your system quickly, but lust is faster. Stronger, too, perhaps—because you don’t have it in you to be ashamed for too long before you grow impatient. With a deeper pout, you press your hands against his chest, leaning lower until your mouth hovers over his. 

“Can you blame me?” You breathe against his lips. “Just look at you.”

He stiffens. Just barely, of course. Just enough that you can hardly even detect it, but you do. You do because you know him. And you know that when Sylus teases, it’s really just to deflect from his need to shift the attention to yours—like he doesn’t want you just as bad. Like he’s not just as hard as you are wet in his boxers. Like he doesn’t need to feel you just as badly as you need to feel him. 

But he likes to keep the upper hand. It starts with two hands on your hips, firmly squeezing them before slowly rocking them against his abs. Your bare cunt (courtesy of him destroying a perfectly good pair of panties) glides along the ridges and indents of his muscle. Very well-defined ridges and indents of muscle, too. You tense, letting out a shaky gasp as your clit rubs against his hard-planed physique. 

“If you like it so much, why stop at just a look?” He chuckles, “You’re more than welcome to feel, too, sweetheart.”

He’s so sickeningly proud of himself, you can’t help but think bitterly as soon as your hips start grinding against him of their own accord. He’s so pleased and amused and deeply content with the sight of you falling apart over him. His eyes are hungry, and they don’t stray away from you for a single second. They don’t miss a single twist in your expression, nor do they have the decency not to stare shamelessly at the image of where your pussy meets his midsection, where your slick pools and coats his skin and makes it glisten as you make a mess on him. 

He hums, large hands leaving your waist buried in their frames as they guide you at a slow, steady pace. “Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grins—and oh, he’s aggravatingly happy as he laughs breathlessly, “You look like you’re about to fall apart. Don’t worry, I’m right here. You can’t fall far.”

You would say something smart if you could. Maybe even reach back and palm over his crotch that’s rudely tight against his boxers. But you can’t. Not when your clit rubs against his warm, heated skin and leaves jolts along your spine. All you can manage is a pathetic, “S-Sylus, please—”

“Oh? Please what? Please more?” He coos.

Something of a dull ache builds into this deep, throbbing need to feel your walls hug around something. To constrict around and latch onto something warm and big and full—something like him. Something like the way he fucks you into the mattress and makes you feel like he’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat. 

That’s what you want—but of course, you’re naive if you think that’s what he’ll give. For now, at least. For now, he’ll tease, and tease, and tease until he can watch you crumble just the way he wants to witness. And you’re close to that, too—you know it, and so does he. He can tell by the way your wetness drips onto him in a messy pool, making your cunt drag against him easier, smoother. He can tell because he can all but feel the quiver of your walls clenching around nothing, empty and desperate for some sort of building friction. And he can especially tell because of your face—that devastating look on your face when you’re so close to the edge you can just practically cling to it with the tips of your fingers as it dangles teasingly in front of you. 

“More,” you plead, “Want you. Want to feel you.”

“Oh, but you’re almost there,” he says in faux sympathy, soothing you with a sleepy, smug little grin. “Surely, you can take it just like this, can’t you? You’re better than that—I know you are.”

His words take you to the edge. You plummet off of it, in fact, practically collapsing against his chest as he holds you upright with a firm, strong grip and guides you through your orgasm. You gush around nothing, making a wet, sticky mess on his skin as you cum against him, grinding your clit as much as you can along every indent along his hard, built muscle. 

“Sylus,” you whimper, “oh—f-fuck.” Your body quivers for a few more moments before you slump against him, burying your nose into his neck. “You’re despicable,” you bite the skin lightly.

He laughs. It’s low from the sleep that’s still clinging to his voice but boyish enough that your heart skips a beat. “Am I? You seemed to enjoy it.”

You shuffle to curl into him more, but your leg brushes against the bulge in his underwear—a small, barely-there sound pulls from his throat. Something caught between a gasp and a moan that makes you pause before you grin against the crook of his neck.

“Guess I should pay you back, hm?” 

He watches, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded as you pull away and kiss from his collarbone to his pecs. A rise of goosebumps litters his skin, too—just like they did on your skin earlier. You silently revel in that victory, making your way lower, lower, lower. But it’s painfully, obnoxiously, ridiculously slow. 

“Don’t be a tease, sweetie,” he hisses, grunting as you kiss down his torso, the well-defined muscle of his abs flexing under every touch of your lips. 

“Who, me?” You blink, batting your lashes sweetly, “Oh, I’d never, baby.”

Your lips graze over the skin that’s still marked with your essence as you kiss and suck along his torso, a trail of marks left in your wake and declaring him yours. You can taste yourself from just a few moments ago—the moments when you rocked your hips into him and fell apart, when he held you through it with a sleepy smirk. The image of his smug face makes you glance up at him with a flustered look, and almost as if he already knows, his gaze is on you. Waiting. Smug here in person just as much as he was in your memories.

“What a naughty thing,” he drawls, teasing glint in his eyes. “Did you get a taste of yourself? I’m sure now you have an idea of why I find it so…addictive, don’t you?”

He’s filthy. Cocky, too. And more often than not, he’s absurdly prepared with smart comments. Just to even the playing field a little, you decide he could use a little relentless teasing of his own. 

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two just as addictive,” you smile innocently—and just like that, you lean in to kiss against a pale, blue line across his porcelain skin, pulling away to admire the veins that mark his body. Something in you aches for him all over again—something that you don’t like to admit happens from just the sight of something like his veins. But you pay careful attention to them anyway, leaning down and pressing soft, feather-like kisses against his lower belly, feeling him stiffen tightly underneath you as his breath gets labored and slightly erratic.

He’s impatient. You glance down at him, cock hard and strained against his boxers, the beginnings of a wet patch dampening the skin from pre cum dribbling from his tip. You almost feel bad. 

Almost. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of your games?” He grits, involuntarily twitching his hips to chase some friction. 

“I could ask you the same question,” you snort. 

“Yet, it seems I’m always the one spoiling you,” he retorts. 

There’s some bit of merit to that, you suppose. So you give in, humming as you kiss along his v-line, one finger looping under his waistband while giving a small tug downwards. He lifts his hips instantly, letting you pull off the offensive piece of clothing that separates him from your touch. 

It’s flushed, his cock. Swollen, flushed with a pretty rosy shade at the tip, and glistening with leaking pre cum. You lean and give the thick vein along the underside a series of kisses tracing upwards before pressing a delicate one to his tip. He groans, and his cock twitches at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed as he bites his lip. 

“Pretty,” you observe, smiling softly at the sight of him. 

He scoffs, lips almost a pout as they curl into a frown. “Then do something about it,” he insists. 

You think you’ve sufficiently teased him enough, so you do—you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, as your tongue and the wet heat of your mouth envelop him and make him tense for a moment before his body goes slack. A deep, throaty groan rings through the room, the sound making something do a flip in your lower belly. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, breathing heavily. “You…you’re so good at this.”

The praise does something to you that you’re not proud of. Some flash of an ache deep in your core that you don’t want to focus on, so you pay closer attention to him instead. Your tongue swirls over his tip as your head bobs up, tracing down that pretty vein of his as you take him down your throat once more. What you can’t fit in your mouth—because there is enough of him that you can’t fit in your mouth—you pump with your fist, wrapped around the base of his shaft. 

Sylus has a lot of veins. You admire them long enough to know them all by heart. The ones along his hands that you love to trace when you hold them in yours. The ones along his arm that you love to eye when he’s working out. The ones along his abdomen that you trace every once in a while with the tip of your finger when you have him to yourself in private. And the long, pretty one along this inner thigh—the one you see only when you’re like this: between his spread-out legs with your mouth around his cock. 

Your free hand moves to lay over this thigh, gently rubbing into the skin as if to anchor him as he throws his head back and groans. Your eyes are trained on him, staring up at the twists of pleasure in his expression and the crinkles in his eyes as he closes them tightly and moans. But you don’t have to look at your hand to know your thumb is tracing along that vein. You know it better than you know yourself, you think—his body is so easy to memorize. So easy to get to know and keep ingrained in your brain forever. 

His thigh flexes under your touch, and you hum around him, the vibrations around his length making his breath hitch as he curses under his breath. 

You pull away with nothing but a string of saliva connecting you to him, his eyes glancing down at you sharply for the interruption. But you smile, equal parts soft and equal parts smug. Gently, you press a wet kiss to his thigh, right over the same pale blue line you traced just moments ago, as you murmur, “You’re so pretty. You know that?”

“I’m flattered,” he says tightly, warily staring down at you with hungry, desperate eyes. “I’m sure you can save the flattery for later, though, can’t you?”

“But what if you think I’m just using you for your body?” You gasp dramatically, “Can’t have that, you know. I have to appreciate you more.”

“Teasing can easily be reciprocated, you know, sweetheart,” he grits, “Or have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m aware. I’ll take my chances.” Your lips trail up his thigh until it reaches the base of his cock. You press another kiss against it, murmuring a quiet, “I love you.”

His cock twitches—it’s like it responds to every soft word of affection and every littlest bit of praise. For all the denying and for all the impatience, too, Sylus loves the attention. Thrives under it, even—it does something to his ego that you know you probably shouldn’t help stroke, but you can’t help it. 

You press one more kiss to his swollen tip before murmuring, “Mine,” and then you take him down your throat once more—faster this time. Your head bobs up and down his length, lips wrapped around him as you swallow every now and then. 

His hand flies to his hair, tugging at the soft, silvery strands as he groans deeply, hips pushing up to meet your pace and thrust deeper into your mouth. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, “Just like that, sweetheart—shit.”

He spills down your throat not too long after. Warm, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth with every twitch of his cock, filling you enough that some spills from the corner of your mouth, dripping along your face and collecting at your chin. You swallow what you can, working him through his orgasm, listening to the sweet, lust-hazed sounds he makes as pleasure burns through every nerve of his body. 

He slumps back when he’s finished, panting with an arm over his eyes while you wipe your chin and swallow before climbing up his body and slumping on top of him. He wraps an arm around your waist instantly, humming lowly as his large, warm hand rubs into your lower back. 

“Had your fun?” He raises a brow. 

You grin cheekily, kissing his jaw as you murmur, “I think you had more fun than me, but what do I know?”

He chuckles. It’s low, and the sound vibrates through his chest so that you can feel it under you. There’s a small bead of sweat along his temple, and his face is flushed a soft shade of scarlet that you admire—it brings out the deep crimson of his eyes even more from here. 

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper. 

“How many times will you remind me of that?” He asks, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your face up, and inspecting you carefully. “You’re making me feel bad. I haven’t reminded you how stunning you are nearly enough times.”

“You could always start now,” you wink, “It’s never too late.” He laughs again. Deep, genuine, soft. Sylus is a lot of things. You think your favorite is in love. 

“Do I really have to remind you?” He whispers, voice husky as he slowly shifts your body to lay under his, flipping you over as he hovers over you. “You don’t already know how beautiful you are—how you drive me insane?”

“A reminder wouldn’t hurt,” you blink innocently. “What if you’re secretly getting tired of me?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous at that. You only meant it as a joke, of course—he loves deeply. So deeply, you don’t think you’d escape him even if you wanted to. (Not that you do, of course. You’re quite happy knowing your place is beside him.) You know he’s never tired of you—quite the opposite, in fact. 

But you like teasing him. Getting under his skin enough that his hand moves to your throat and wraps around it firmly—not quite tight enough to block your air flow, but enough to serve as a light warning. 

“You think I would get tired of you?” He challenges. Offended. In disbelief. “Tired of this?”

Just like that, the familiar sound of fabric tearing rings through your ears again. It’s a sound you seem to be getting more and more used to the longer you date Sylus. And yet, every time, it pulls the same sound of disbelief from your throat as you gasp at his audacity. But before you can speak, before you can scold him for ripping your (his) favorite shirt straight off of your body, his hands curve around your tits, molding against them perfectly as if they were made to cup them. His thumbs roll over your nipples, humming in approval as you whine softly at the feeling. 

“Sylus,” you pant. (Regretfully, you think that’s the only collection of syllables you can manage anymore on this fine morning.) “W-wait—”

“Wait?” He pretends to gasp in shock, “But we’re just getting started. I was just about to show you all my favorite parts of you—they never get old. Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leans down, latching his lips around one pebbled nipple, sucking and nipping lightly at it as his thumb rolls over and pinches the other one. Your back arches into his touch, a soft moan spilling from your lips as he grins against your chest. 

“Here’s a favorite, for starters,” he murmurs. “And here—” he kisses along your belly and makes his way to your hip bone, biting lightly at the flesh and making your breath hitch, “—this is certainly a memorable place too, isn’t it? Can’t keep my hands off of it.”

Finally, his hands slowly pull your legs apart, exposing the wet, dripping mess that is your cunt, folds puffy and waiting for him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your clit, smiling at the small whimper you let out from the sensitive touch before he says through a low, breathy whisper, “This, however…this has to be my favorite part of all.”

“Okay,” you whine, pulling at his arms with a plea, “I get it, okay? I need it, please.”

“Well then,” he huffs out a soft laugh, “Who am I to deny?”

He’s level with you before you can blink—mouth on yours with a heavy, heated kiss that sends your brain into a fogged state as you kiss back. All you can register is soft flesh, pressure against your mouth, the taste of his tongue on yours, and hot and heavy breath seeping into your lungs while he inhales yours. It’s slow, the way he kisses you—but still undeniably needy. He chases after your mouth as soon as you pull away to breathe, a soft gasp pushing past his throat at the loss of contact. As if it might kill him. As if he might die without your breath down his throat, keeping him alive. 

“Do you want it, sweetheart?” He breathes erratically, “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“I want it,” you practically beg, “I want you.”

He’s hard again—stiff between his legs and throbbing at your words enough that his cock does a little jerk on its own, like it’s responding to you itself. He drags it along your entrance, rolling slow circles against your folds and coating his tip in your slick, earning a sharp inhale from you as he groans at the teasing friction against the head of his cock.

“I always want you,” he breathes. 

He pushes past your folds as he speaks the words against your mouth, letting you swallow up the low moan he lets out as your walls wrap around him little by little. It’s painstakingly slow. Inch after inch after inch until the blunt head of his length presses deep into you, nudging against a soft, sensitive spot in your walls that makes your whole body react with a quiver. He curves into you perfectly, thick and deep and so, so full. 

“Ready?” He smiles tenderly, gripping the fat of your thighs and hooking them around his waist, leaning to kiss one of your knees as you melt into the mattress and nod. 

“Please,” you whine, “Need it—need you.”

There’s a sharp thrust of his hips at that—he pulls out until he’s almost completely left your warm cunt before slamming back in past your folds, pressing mercilessly against your sensitive spot. It’s partly because he has your body memorized but mainly because his body is practically made to mold into you. It’s like he fits you perfectly, curves into the shape of your body like the shape of his was hand-made to pair with yours. 

When Sylus fucks you is when you see past his exterior the most. When his eyes hold the most emotion, staring at you like he can’t believe you’re his. When his hands shake for once because he doesn’t know if he deserves the weight of you in his hold. When his breath is the most labored and uncontrolled because you steal every breath from his lungs, and selflessly, he gives up air for you. When sweat coats his skin and makes his hair cling to his forehead because when he loves you is when his body is most responsive, most affected. 

When Sylus fucks you is when you love yourself most. Because how could you not when he pays such close attention to you? Thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles just the way he knows drives you crazy, watching your face closely for every reaction? How could you not when close is not nearly close enough, when he presses his chest against yours and buries his face into your neck to all but melt under your skin? It makes you feel desirable. Beautiful. Lovable. 

So easy to want.

So easy to lose control to.

So easy to need. 

“You feel that, don’t you?” He mumbles, panting harshly as he grunts when you squeeze around him at the sound of his labored voice. “Feel me? How badly I need you? How crazy you drive me? Feel how hard I am for you? Don’t tell me you think I’d ever get tired of that.”

“I know,” you whine, “I know, I know, baby—I promise.”

You let out a small squeal when he angles your leg higher, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pressing harshly where you need him most with his tip in a dizzyingly punishing pace and a harshly rough deepness that makes your vision blur. Almost go blank, even.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands.

“I love you!”

“Tell me you need me,” he adds, so selfish and needy for your approval. To know you’re nothing without him like he’s nothing without you. 

“N-need…fuck, I need you,” you stumble over your words as your orgasm comes closer and closer, creeping up on you enough that you can’t catch your breath fast enough to keep up with him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” This time, it comes out as almost a plea.

“Yours,” you sob, body on the precipice of breaking all over again, “Yours, yours, yours.”

You cum as soon as you say it. Harder than maybe ever—it’s like being reminded that you’re his makes your body react tenfold. You fall apart with a shrill cry of his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a bruising kiss as your nails press indents into his skin. 

He groans in pleasure at the slight pain, melting against your lips, an open-mouthed, wet kiss working him up to his own orgasm. His first one was a slow build-up—but this one happens quickly, coming out of nowhere and hitting him full force, his hips stuttering for a moment and losing rhythm as he sloppily thrusts into you. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

Your voice rings in his ears, aiding him through his pleasure as he fucks his thick, sticky release deep into your folds, sharp thrusts that match the harsh twitching of his cock. 

“Ngh,” he grunts, “Sh-shit, sweetheart.”

Finally, when you’re both done, breaths frenzied and harsh as you try to make up for the lost air in your lungs, he slumps over your body and hides his face into the crook of your neck, practically purring as your shaky hand buries into his sweaty locks and strokes the soft, silvery strands. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing eventually shifting from heavy to slowed as you finally catch it, the quivering of your body dissipating, too. Your fingers journey their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, lightly making a feather-soft trail along his bare back as he shivers from the touch.

“Don’t fall asleep after I showed you a good time,” you pout, “It’s rude.”

“You were the one that woke me for a good time,” he mumbles, amused. “That’s equally as rude.”

“I did not,” you huff, “You were the one who escalated it. I just wanted a peaceful morning.”

“I don’t know,” he grins against your skin, pressing a chaste, warm peck where it's closest to his lips, “I’m feeling pretty at peace, wouldn’t you agree?”

so uh..........basically i got the card where u measured him for clothes and i saw a vein in his abs and lost my mind. so. here is the product of that. i REFUSE to be told this is not a completely totally normal reaction. thank you!

[rensukepie]

𐚁๋࣭⭑ “you say it’s big, but you take it.” ┈─★ n. s

contains : virginity loss, big d!ck nagi :3, size difference, slight tummy bulge, praise, he’s talking you through it A LOTTT, nagi teaches reader how to give a blowjob ^___^!, pussay eating, established relationship, nagi jerking off to you ^3^, pull out, this one’s a little longer than my other works!!, aftercare, dumbification(?), kinda possessive nagi if you squint

you’re scared of losing your virginity, you really are. that is, until you ask nagi to take it from you.

character is aged up!

mdni!!!!! (minors do NOT interact)

a/n : ty @kittenish0 for requesting some nagi smut! happy new years to you as well! i’ve wanted to write him for a while now :3

nsfw under the cut

he was surprised to find out you were a virgin early on in the relationship.

“how could someone so pretty like her be a virgin?” he thought to himself frequently. you were so, so pretty to him.

you were glad that he wasn’t pushing you to have sex like the other people before. he’s so gentle, so patient with you. you wonder how someone like him can handle someone like you—behavior wise.

every time you two kiss, you always have to pull away before it gets too heated. you’re scared of having sex, you really, really are, but you’ve always considered nagi to be the one to take your virginity away from you.

“m’sorry sei…. not ready yet…” you say, face buried into his shoulder along with your arms hung around them.

“it’s okay baby… when you’re ready, you’re ready, right? doesn’t have to be immediately…” he reassures, kissing your cheek.

…. ┈─★ 𐚁๋࣭

it got him so, so fucking hard when you told him that you’re a virgin. the thoughts rushing to his head on how he can teach you how to take his dick, the pretty sounds you’d make, the possible bulge his cock can (will) show in your stomach, everything is rushing to his head.

so after that little restaurant date between the two of you, he goes back home to his apartment and jerks his cock off to every single thought about you, pretending his fist is your pretty, wet cunt taking all of him.

“fffuck— baby… gonna make me cum.. so tight…”

…. ┈─★ 𐚁๋࣭

it’s been a couple of months since the two of you got together. you’ve done so many things together and your friends and his friends combined both think you two are cute together.

you figured it was about time to have sex at this point, so you decide to make your move tonight, but how? you’ve never done something like this before, nor ever felt this way for someone ever.

“you ready for our movie night date? :x”

“mhm! coming over right now sei!”

“can’t wait to see you angel, really missed you”

for some reason, that text he sent made your face so red and flushed! anticipation, maybe?

…. ┈─★ 𐚁๋࣭

you’re currently on his bed, blanket on both of your laps, head on his shoulder as you two watch the movie you both agreed on.

“sei… can i tell you something?”

“hm? go ahead.” he says, reaching for the remote to pause the movie.

“i wanna try it…. want you to be my first time sei…i’ve been thinking about it all week…” you say while grabbing his arm, face flushed in a shade of red.

“are you sure, baby? this is so sudden… don’t wanna hurt you or anything..”

“im sure sei… think m’ready…” you say in that sweet, sweet tone you always have, the one that he hears every time you speak to him.

…┈─★ 𐚁๋࣭

“gonna take it slow for you, ‘kay?” he whispers in your ear, his body hovering over yours on the bed with his knee in between your thigh before kissing your soft, pretty lips, your arms over his shoulders with his hands at your waist.

“s—seishiro…. mm…” you whimper into the kiss as he brushes his knee slightly against your clothed cunt.

“hm? feels good?” he teases, breaking the kiss to start kissing all over your neck and down.

you love the way his lips feel on your body. the way he asks you if it feels good—it’s all too much! and he knows that it’s too much for you with the way your already whimpering on the fact that he’s getting closer to your pretty pussy.

“you’re so pretty… can kiss your body forever, angel.” he murmurs, placing kisses on your inner thighs before he places a kiss right on your cunt that’s still clothed in a pair of lacy panties. “fuck—these are so cute on you, baby…”

he plays with your sensitive bud with his fingers through the wet—soiled fabric, but not for long before he’s asking to take off your panties.

“gonna take these off of you now, that okay with you, pretty?”

“mhm… go ahead sei… please…” you plead desperately to the point where it’s almost embarrassing.

“mm— that’s a good girl..” he says as he takes off your panties slowly, kissing your pussy once more before licking the slit with his skilled tongue along with sucking your sensitive bud. “does it feel good, hm?”

“seishiro—! mmf… fffuckk—!” you moan at the new feeling, gripping at his soft white hair. if you knew it felt so good, you would’ve told him to do this sooner!

you swear that he’s humming into your cunt on purpose to make you squirm around him! he’s moaning saying how good you taste and fuck— it’s having an effect on you. you can feel that your about to cum despite the fact that you don’t even know how it feels to do so.

“s—sei… i think m’gonna cum soon… haah…—“

“yeah? you feel it, angel? cum for me… you’re doing so well.”

you swear that you could see literal stars as your orgasm washed over you. little whimpers of “m’cumming sei… mmf…!” coming out of your mouth.

“mm.. thats it, sweet girl… feel good?”

…┈─★ 𐚁๋࣭

“gonna teach you how to suck my dick now, yeah?” he whispers, kissing your neck before he takes off his sweatpants and boxers, his rock hard cock on display for you.

he knows that his cock isn’t the average size. it’s thick with pre all over his pink tip and it has a little prominent vein and holy shit—it’s making you so wet!

“seishiro… it’s s’big… don’t think i can take all of it…” you say, looking at it with big, curious eyes.

“s’okay baby… don’t need to take all of it..” he says, thumb rubbing your face.

…┈─★ 𐚁๋࣭

“focus on the tip… ‘s sensitive there…” he says, your lips and tongue on his tip tasting his pre. “ahh—shit…! you’re doing so well, angel. so good f’me…” he moans, his hand on your head. “you think you can take a bit more of me, hm? just a little more down?”

“m—mhm… i wanna try it… want to make you feel good too, sei..”

fuck.

it takes everything in him to not plow his big cock into your insides and completely ruin you. but of course, he holds back, it is your first time after all. he doesn’t wanna ruin his pretty girl juuust yet!

“mmf… you’re such a sweet girl, so perfect..” he smiles, thumb rubbing your face once more.

…┈─★ 𐚁๋࣭

“spit on your palm f’me… that way, you can move your fist up and down for the part that you can’t take, ‘kay?”

you spit onto your palm, globs of it falling down. you begin to suck him once more, taking more of his cock into your mouth this time.

he doesn’t expect you to take all of him into his mouth, especially since it’s your first time, but again, it really, really takes everything inside of him to not grip your hair and bob your head up and down on his cock.

you’re doing a lot more then he expected from a virgin. you’ve taken a good amount of him inside of your mouth, using your spit covered fist to jerk off the rest of his cock that couldn’t fit in your mouth.

“fuck—are you sure you’re a virgin, baby? you’re so good at this…haah—such a fast learner, aren’t you?” whimpers coming out of his mouth, the familiar feeling of cumming soon rushing over his body.

“gonna cum soon, angel… ohh shitt—… take it baby, take all of my cum in your mouth… that’s it…”

…┈─★ 𐚁๋࣭

“tell me when you’re ready, okay? gonna take it nice and slow f’you, sweet girl.” he responds, looking at you from underneath, his cock in his hand.

“m—mhm… think m’ready now… you got me so wet sei…”

“she’s so cute when she gets like this…” he thinks, moving his cock back and forth on your folds and slapping his cock onto your clit, teasing you so that he can hear your pretty, soft moans.

“mmf—! stop teasing me seishiro… please…” you pout for a little bit, finally feeling his cock stretch you out for the first time. it burns, but the feeling begins to turn into pleasure.

“fuck, you feel so good, baby…” he murmurs into your neck, thrusting his big cock inside of you slowly. “you alright? does it feel good, hm? want your first time to be perfect..”

“ahh..! s—sei! you’re too big—haah… can feel your cock in my stomach…” you whimper, pulling his hand to the bulge in your stomach that shows each time he thrusts deep inside. “feels sooo good, baby… love your cock so much… mmf—!”

“yeah? you like it, huh? only my cock can make you like this, sweet girl…” he knows you’ve gone dumb on his cock already! only babbling words out of your mouth from what you can hear from your knowledge.

“m—mhm you’re the only one seishiro….gonna cum again soon…” you start rubbing your clit with your fingers, your cunt squeezing itself on his cock as you get closer to the edge.

“mm!— m’cumming again sei…! gonna cum… ahh—!”

right before he’s about to cum, he pulls his cock out of your warm cunt, jerking it off infront of you as his cum goes right onto your stomach.

…┈─★ 𐚁๋࣭

he gets you a fresh pair of his clean clothes after your shower together, leaving a kiss on your cheek when he sees you on the bed.

“you okay, love?” he asks with a gentle tone, water droplets falling from his hair since you both had just gotten out of the shower.

“mhm… it felt really good, sei… thank you… wanna do it again soon…” you giggle softly, holding him tighter into your hug.

“don’t thank me, baby… wanted your first time to be as perfect as possible.” he says, kissing you once more before you both drift off to sleep.

[bamsara]

COTL / TROD AU Reference Sheets and OC refs that I made a few months ago and have been using but forgot to post. The cloaks on Narinder and Lamb, and heights and clothing of the bishops are semi-outdated, but the OC height sheet is accurate.

+ Joon, Grekimar, and Jayen refs. There's character lore and relationship info for them under the cut, I'll get to the rest of them eventually:

Character lore, mainly for artfight purposes but putting it here too. Some of this character lore is already established in fic or on here, but may contain spoilers for Trod later on.

😺Joon (They/Them):

Born and raised in the Lamb's flock with little outside wordly experience, the Yellow Cat aka 'Joon' is the best farmer in the flock with an upbeat attitude and a easy-going, casual outlook on life. They're a hard worker and a harder napper, which lands them in a particular situation when a accidental nap inside a barn leads to them witnessing the Leader drag in a bloody, confused, volatile worm The Lamb shakily says was rescued from Darkwood, before reluctantly leaving them to the yellow cat's care. Which is fine, because if the leader says it's fine, then it's fine. Totally.

With their accidental involvement, Joon is assigned to be Leshy's 'caretaker', or really just a supervisor to make sure the worm doesn't do anything terrible and to report to the Lamb if he does anything weird, all without ever being truly told of the worm's true nature.

🐷Grekimar (He/Him):

Originally a heretic in Anura, Grekimar is a 'relatively' new cultist to the Lamb's Flock ('New' being a few years, but still not as long as other flock members.) Although the pig used to conduct violence and sacrifices in the God of Famine's name, he was welcomed to the Flock as a new member after he began to question the strength of the rule of dead god and was exiled. His arrival was met with scrutiny but was eventually welcomed as he's a hard worker, and surprisingly (due to his gruff demeanor), cares for his new home and it's peaceful rules over his prior home, including it's inhabitants.

When a three eyed cat arrives and threatens the saftey of his fellow flock, Grekimar becomes a dissenter and questions the Leader's decision, joining alliance with The Lamb's highest disciple, Tyren, to scheme and kill the cat in order to protect the flock.

🐻Jayen (He/Him):

A kindhearted and rather soft-spoken soul, Jayen is 'gentle giant' archtype character. Brought to the cult as a cub, Jayen is an anxious 'left-over' type, with no particular skills or qualities that are seemingly 'useful' to the flock or it's Leader, and he is very self-consious about this. Switching inbetween jobs and struggling to find his place among the cult's growing number, Jayen is decayed and killed by a furious Narinder in an attempt to pull him off of The Lamb when the cat's dramatic initial arrival happened. He is later revived, now traumatized and with a heightened fear of death.

Although his murderer walks free, the same cat had revived him as well, so Jayen holds no ill will and would rather simply leave it all behind and not think about it all. However, he is roped into a scheme to kill Narinder by Tyren and Grekimar, with the former using the bear's fears of death to pressure him into helping.

Tyren's, Grekimar's, and Jayen's relationships:

-While Tyren is a loyal disciple and Grekimar a regular dissenter, both found common ground in wanting to Kill Narinder, though their reasonings differ. Tyren wants to kill Narinder being an obstacle to the Lamb, while Grekimar wants to rid of him for concerns to protect the cult. While they can put aside their differences to achieve their goal, Tyren's methods will make Grekimar reconsider his alliance with the dog.

-Tyren pressures Jayen into working with him and Grekimar under the guise that if they do not kill Narinder, then the cat will eventually kill him again. If that tactic does not work, Tyren will subtly imply that he will use his status in the cult to undermine Jayen, and possibly exile him for being 'useless.'

-Grekimar thinks Jayen a coward, and while he'll pressure the bear to do as he is told, the pig is conflicted about getting the bear involved.

[xinganhao]

🍨 svt spoiling their partner.

★ prompt: how ot13 spoils their partner? 🥹🥹🥹 i am just a girl give me treats c/o @shinwonderful

ⓘ established relationship, pet names, fluff. headcanons under the cut. special thanks to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping! ♡

🍨 read more?

seungcheol 𖹭 planning dates. he will refuse to let you lift a finger for your day out. everything will be meticulously laid out, finetuned to be something that you'll enjoy. his goal is to lessen the mental load of decision-making and planning; he wants you to be able to focus solely on enjoying the surprise, and he'll break his back to make sure that happens.

jeonghan 𖹭 'parallel play'. even if the two of you might not be interested in the same things, that's okay. he's happiest to spend quality time with you at home, where the two of you are free to do your own thing within eachother's presence. just being in your vicinity already makes him content, and so he plans everything around the two of you getting to explore and share your respective hobbies.

shua 𖹭 acts of service. need help with your taxes? need someone to fill up your tank? he's already on it. he'll say that these are all 'little things', call it the bare minimum, when it's apparent that he makes it a conscious effort to make your day-to-day easier. his brand of spoiling you comes in the form of quietly doing things that will improve your quality of life.

junhui 𖹭 buying clothes you'll like. he can't help it, really. when he sees an article of clothing that he thinks suits your style? when he finds a local brand that shares your advoacy? he's already pulling out his wallet. he likes the idea of dressing you up. nothing makes him happier than knowing you're wearing an outfit that he entirely picked out for you.

soonyoung 𖹭 daily reasons why he loves you. people always joke that he has a bit of a motormouth, so why shouldn't he use it on talking about you, you, you? he's big on words of affirmation, on making sure you never doubt how he feels for you. he'll point out the little and big things that make him adore you, and it's never the same reason twice.

wonwoo 𖹭 indulging your interests. he may not always understand these trends— blind boxes, must-have fashion pieces, et cetera— but he'll never make you feel bad about it. if there's anything that you want, he's already doing everything within his power to get it. his greatest joy is seeing your face light up once he's gotten you your 'priority' item; it's why he keeps doing it in the first place.

jihoon 𖹭 trying new things for you. there's a long list of things that jihoon never thought he'd do, but then he started dating you. time and time again, he willingly goes out of his comfort zone to accompany you on the little adventures and experiences that you ask to go on. he does these things scared, does them anxious, does them begrudgingly,— does them all for you.

seokmin 𖹭 meals he thinks you'll like. he's the type to have dozens of tabs open for homemade recipes dot com. he knows he's an amateur at this, but he's undeterred in trying. whether it's a trending pastry on tiktok or the comfort meal that your mother makes you, he's determined to learn it so you're always eating well.

mingyu 𖹭 getting-to-know card games. he gives as good as he takes, which means mingyu's way is to listen and remember. a night where the two of you can just have deep conversations with no interruptions is his ideal evening. he will know he succeeded if the two of you end up talking until the sun rises, feeling like the hours haven't passed at all.

minghao 𖹭 postcards from tour stops. he loves art and he loves you. his postcards are pocket-sized reminders of those facts, always packaged with a few choice words that are sweet and sincere. his trinkets are very "i-got-you-this-because-it-reminded-me-of-you" in nature, and you know each one was purchased with you at the front of mind.

seungkwan 𖹭 getting you your favorites. he figures he should put his industry connections to use somehow. he's always amused by how happy you get over a rare photocard, signed album, or concert tickets, and so he keeps it up. buying dozens of albums, contacting other labels, bearing the arduous ticketing. your excitement at the end of it makes it all worth it.

vernon 𖹭 producing songs. he hadn't really pegged himself as the making-music-for-the-sake-of-it type until he met you. now, he revels in getting to send you a track that's for your ears only. all the lyrics just seems to flow naturally when it's you inspiring him, and so he sends you works-in-progress with reminders that you're the only intended audience.

chan 𖹭 at-home massages. he's all too familiar with the aches of an ailing body, so he knows exactly how and where to work on you. he always does what he calls 'the works'— a good bath, scented candles, essential oils. he lets you take your time, and he takes his time with you in helping you unwind.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[ochibrochi]

spontaneous magic manifestation was NOT mentioned in the parenting handbook 😬

I know this isn’t how magic in dc works, but the fact that Damian’s ancestry includes some pretty powerful magic users is… INTERESTING 🤔? Drabble under the cut!

I wanna preface that I'M NOT SAYIN' that Damian should/does have magic powers, but there’s still so much unexplored potential with Damian's character, and the thought that he has a dormant adeptness in magic is somewhat compelling to me. Most importantly it would FREAK! BRUCE! OUT!!!!! What is this, magic puberty 😭??

By DC laws, anyone has the ability to learn magic, but it is also possible to be an innate ability. The Al Ghuls are no strangers to the occult-- Ra's has had increasingly been portrayed as a magic user, and the recent establishment of his mother being a sorceress/witch?? Even Talia dabbled in a bit of magic, I think. There is a catch that their power is suggested to be due to Lazarus exposure, but for arguments sake let's say the Al Ghul lineage is inherently proficient in magic (and Lazarus exposure simply enhances it).

I can't recall "magic" being a part of Damian's training/upbringing (I'm still slowly catching-up on Damian comics so apologies if I miss any canon examples of magic use). Not sure why Talia wouldn't want her little "heir to an ancient assassin empire baby" to learn magic, but it would at least give reason to Damian not knowing about his magic potential, or lack of interest in it.

Through the power of pseudo storytelling, what if Damian's encounter with Mother Soul could have triggered a manifestation of magic that was once dormant; like a pressure cooker waiting to explode with energy when it hasn't been given a safe outlet.

I've yet to read a satisfying arc where Damian truly gets to contemplate his Al Ghul roots outside of "dad is good guy, mum is bad guy". Damian's initial character growth stems from him running away from, and renouncing his association with the League (i.e. "I'm nothing like you, mother and grandfather!").

The most recent thing I've read was Robin (2021), and whilst Damian is much more cordial with his mother, there's still an emotional distance and sense of distrust/resentment (for good reason, even if the context was some cartoonishly evil writing). But there is a silver-lining that they still appear to be fond of each other, in a melancholy kind of way.

Realizing he's "genetically" primed for magic would be especially confronting to Damian. There's no denying his Al Ghul blood, forcing him to confront a facet of himself he can no longer ignore or reject. A family that he likely has to approach for help/guidance.

Damian is put in a position of acknowledging this power could be used for good, to be stronger, to fight crime, balancing it with the implication that what he possesses could be rooted in dark magic (Lazarus enchantment).

If he decides to embrace it, would that be too much of an endorsement of the Al Ghul's dark occultism? Can he separate the two ideas? What if he can't control it? What if he accidentally hurts someone? What if has the ability to save someone where his other skills fall short?

Ideally, I'd love for this hypothetical story to lead into Damian exploring his Al Ghul heritage more intimately, historically, and spiritually (à la RSoB: Year of Redemption adventures). Another little coming-of-age self discovery journey.

I have my own little personal thoughts on what Damian decides to do with his magic powers, but I'd like to leave that open to interpretation... By the end of it I hope that he will at least find some forgiveness over resentment, and a balance between accepting that side of his family a little easier. It is finally a sense of inner peace :)

Any thoughts? Did I get any characterisation wrong? Let's talk over on my DC blog @arkhamochi! I'm currently trying to read all Damian-centric comics until I catch up with the current run. I'm hungry for discussion and analysis!!!!!!

[chleem]

Work from home

Oneshot: bf drew x gf yn

Summary: staying focused is impossible with drew’s ‘subtle’ distractions, especially when he’s determined to get your attention. 

Genre: established relationship, smut, fluff, light read

Warnings: cursing, sex (pussy eating), lowkey needy drew,

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Will you-“

You turn around, slapping the pen out of Drew’s hand. “Cut it out?”

Drew looks at you with his signature blank stare, as if his own annoyance is justified. 

The two of you haven’t seen each other in weeks, due to you and Drew’s busy schedules. His new movie’s coming out, and you have a very urgent report to write for your boss.

Now that you’re finally under the same roof as him, you can’t help but get annoyed at every distraction he causes. 

He came into the home office not even ten minutes, and he’s occupied himself by playing with the things on your desk. Flipping through your binders, messing with the AC, etc. You just deprived him of his last fidget toy. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, unapologetically. 

You roll your eyes, turning back to your laptop. You continue typing, ignoring the gloomy presence behind you. If he wasn’t so distracting, this report can be done in...an hour. 

Not even thirty seconds later; “hey, um, I need your help,” you hear him talking behind you, a weight put on the armrest to your right. 

You ignore it; knowing Drew just wanted to distract you. 

“Y/n?” His fingers drum against your armrest now, tapping impatiently, trying to get your attention. 

Once again, you stay focused, typing away at your report. 

“Babe.” 

You don’t miss the firm, almost commanding tone hinted in his nickname for you. 

“Yes?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, with your fingers still typing away. You watch as his eyes glance over at your fingers, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. 

“Stop that-“ his hand hover over yours before gently pressing them flat against the keyboard, halting your typing. Your raise an eyebrow at Drew, waiting for him to explain. “Stop with this whole- work thing.”

You pull your fingers out, crossing your arms as you laid back on your chair. He ignited a flare inside of you that you didn’t know, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

Drew gently bites down on his lips, scratching the back of his head. His eyes plead to you, the blue in them sparkling, for some reason. “Spend time with me. I’m bored, and we’re home together.”

The softness in his tone catches you off guard, but you quickly mask it, staring back at your laptop screen. “I’m working, Drew,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“You’re always working…” you hear him murmur, as your hands go back to the keyboard again. You brush his hands away, straightening your posture. 

The typing of your keyboard is the only thing filling the silence of the room, Drew’s presence close beside you. 

Drew’s a big guy, so subtle movements by him was all noticeable in the corner of your eye. He kneels beside you, his hand pulling your chair back. “Hey-“

You begin to protest, but he does the most unexpected thing. 

He brings himself between your legs, and he hugs your lower stomach. 

Woah. The warmth of him floods through you, making it hard to think straight. His arms fully wrap around your waist, nuzzling his face between your thighs.

He doesn’t move; just hugging your waist, kneeling on the ground. 

You clear your throat, flustered at the close proximity of him. “Drew?”

His blue eyes peek up at you, a sly glint in them. “Yeah?” His voice is soft, but you hear the teasing edge in it. What sends you over is the closeness of his face near your core; the damn thin material of your shorts. 

“What are you doing?” Was your voice always this hitched?

“Just hugging you,” Drew mumbles, his fingers rubbing soft circles around the bare skin that your crop-top showed. He sees the skepticism lingering on your features, and sends a small smirk along the way. “Can’t I?”

…This motherfucker. He’s trying to distract you! 

Fine. Two could play this game. 

With a deliberate shift, you ease back into your chair. “Of course you can,” you reply, “But if you’re done with the hugging, I’ve got work to do.”

Drew watches you for a beat, eyes flicking over your face. You feel him nuzzle his face back between your thighs, but you stay focused—typing, clicking, pretending to give him no more attention than his little distractions deserve.

His hand slips under your top, fingers coming in contact with your breasts. 

At the same time, he starts to plant kisses on your inner thigh, dangerously close to the hem of your underwear. 

Fuck. You needed to stop him, because if he goes any further, no work will be done. Except for the lustful one that’s building in your stomach. 

Two could play this game? No; you yield in seconds because of how Drew plays. 

You run your hands through his scalp, feeling the soft strands of hair beneath your touch. A knowing smirk growing on his lips as he glances up at you. “This isn’t a hug,” you manage to say, thumb rubbing the corner of his eye. 

He leans into your touch, “I’know.”

“Then stop it,” you say, the words feeling hollow, because you don’t want him to stop. Not really. 

“When you’re focused, nothing else really matters, right?” 

Drew fucking Starkey. 

He delivers a quick kiss to your wrist, before nuzzling his face back to where it was. You watch as his hands spreads your thighs further apart, fingers tugging on the waistband of your shorts. 

Shit. It’s working already. 

“No-“

“C’mon,” he teases, staring up at you with the familiar look of mischief. “Won’t even know I’m down here.”

You give him a knowing grin, “really need to get this done, Drew.”

“Hmm,” he pats your back, “ignore me like before, babe.”

“Y’know that’s impossible,” you mumble, hips rising just like he told you to.

His eyes stare into yours lustfully, fingers pulling down your shorts and underwear until they’re to your knees. “Just a taste…then I’ll leave you alone.”

He’s never going to leave you alone. 

He averts his attention to the now throbbing pussy of yours, fingers digging into the skin of your thighs. “Hey, look,” a grin appears on his lips, “you don’t want me to leave.”

You throw your head back against the chair, partly embarrassed at his mention of the wetness that has pooled since he ‘hugged’ you. Teasing prick. 

His soft chuckle echos through the room, before you feel the warmth of his tongue against your folds. 

You gasp out of pleasure and surprise; he wastes no time in eating you, fully making out with your folds. “Fuck,” you curse, running your hands through his scalp. 

He grunts against you, one hand raising your leg over his shoulder, to get him deeper between you. His other hand reaches under your top, and he starts kneading your breasts. 

“Drew…” you shamelessly moan out his name, melting under his touch; he knew how to pleasure you, to make you feel good. Hearing your moans, Drew picks up the pace, his licks getting sloppier, losing any sense of rhythm. 

A slow curve of your spine, you let the sensation roll through you. His hand around your breasts play with your hardened nipples, rubbing and tugging on them. The grip your thigh silently demands you stay still as he eats you out. 

The sounds of his wet tongue against you fills the room, along with moans and grunts of pleasure. 

You feel your orgasm building, begging to released. “Shit,” you manage to say, the air being knocked out of you. “I’m, close.”

“Mhm,” he hums, hot breath hitting your clit. “Cum in my mouth, baby.”

His words along with the playing of your nipples do it; the knot in your stomach undone. He slows down on his tongue, licking it up and swallowing. Fuck. 

For a moment, the two of you take seconds just stare into each other’s eyes, heavy breaths mixing together. 

Then, the moment is over, because Drew lets go of your leg, breasts, the whole warmth of him disappearing. 

You stare at him confused as he stands up again, wondering if something shifted. 

You also don’t miss the evident boner in his pants. 

He cocks his head to the side, “back to work, huh?” The mocking in his voice stings in your head, as he walks off, out your office. 

Motherfucker. You sit there, still reeling from the orgasm. You don’t even want - can’t to do work anymore. Now? You just want Drew. Specifically what’s growing in his pants. 

Maybe this report can wait a bit longer? …you hate how badly you want him right now, how he got you right where he wants you to be. 

“Drew!” You yell after him, getting up and tugging your underwear and shorts to the floor. 

You walk out your home office, to the shared bedroom, and see Drew getting ready to hop in bed. 

He looks you up and down, eyes lingering longer at your naked lower half. Your eyes find them glued to his boner too, “maybe I can have a five minute break.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and before you can even think, you’re jumping into his arms. His strong hands catches you effortlessly, pulling you closer as you wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, the heat of his body enveloping you.

His arms tighten around you, holding you steady as you lean in, lips finding his. You kiss him, with eagerness, lust, everything. He kisses you back with the same energy, lying you down on the bed. 

He hovers over you, his weight just enough to make your heart race, your hands already reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

But Drew pulls away, his blue eyes locking with yours, a playful edge in them. “This could take longer than five,” he says, his voice low, teasing, and full of promise.

“Hmm,” you mindlessly hum, the idea of work slipping away. 

He was right; it ended up being not one, but three rounds tangled up in sheets, and the report long forgotten. 

It was also a lesson to yourself; to stop procrastinating, and never work with Drew around. 

-------------------------------

word count: 1.7k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: hoped you enjoyed this! got this idea from watching that scene from Through my Window (iykyk). and ik, its a very sloppy writing so ignore any mistakes T_T also, isnt this pic of him just delicious? ugh, to be his gf...anyways, hope you liked this!

other

[briseroyawritingsblog]

𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒔!𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

• +18 minors do not interact. smut without plot, Outdoors sex, fluff, kissing, size kink, established relationship, little thigh humping, pet names etc.

𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 / 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

divider by @anitalenia 🤍

“C’on sweetheart.. m’gonna be late” your back gently rubbed against the tree bark as you captured your husbands lips in a soft kiss. You moaned on his lips possibly making him harder than he already was “Don’t care..” you pouted opening his vest and a coat revealing his veiny arms. “Don’t make me bend you over here princess” he bit your jaw playfully wrapping his arms around you coaxing you against his chest. “Want you Lo..” you whined rubbing your thighs together. “Whatcha want?” His soft eyes darkened nostrils flaring smelling your arousal. Pushing your legs apart with his knee so you ended up rubbing your sweet little cunt on his thigh. It wasn’t enough friction you wanted him right inside of you.

“Been so long.. want- want you” you babbled stupidly, inhaling his manly scent getting so worked up. Your nipples pebbled under your dress making him moisten his lips “Yeah? Very long.. I’m workin over here sneakin away to have a little time with ya..” he smiled circling your clit with his thumb making you gasp for breath. “Mmmm!” You blushed eagerly opening his belt and his jeans. “Fuck—you makin a mess kitten” he sighed full of need for your sweet pussy. “One of the reasons I married you little one.. you’re a such a slut for your husband” he picked you up in his arms backing you up against the wide tree, you clung to his shoulders hiding your face in his neck cock drunk and you weren’t even filled by him yet. Jeans and boxers falling to his ankles— he found your little cunt blindly with your panties aside pushing right in you. Nodding rapidly “so needy for you”

You gasped and trembled by the sheer size of your husband no matter how many times you’ve taken him. “Daddy..” you mewled. His hand lied flat on the tree the other arm held you right under your thighs. His hips started on slower pace but the moment he heard his men cutting down more trees, and the chainsaws in the distance he buried his face against your tits groaning at the smell and feel of you. “Fuck fuck fuck..” grunting possessively gripping you in his hold picking up the speed sliding in and out of you pounding you quicker. You cried out against his neck placing your hands on his butt to pull him even closer wrapping your legs around his waist “I can’t.. can’t.. last” you shut your eyes tipping your head back against the tree your body jolting upwards rapidly as your husband started to pound your little cunt silly. Your wetness allowing him an easy slide but god your moans could be heard by his entire work crew you didn’t care. “Daddy! Daddy!” You babbled again as broken whimpers and mewls fell out of your lips, Logan was feral watching your gorgeous tits nearly jumping out of your dress in his face slapping his heavy balls against your ass by delivering you quick strokes filling you out repeatedly. Belly tight with warmth which turned to heat and it pooled in your pussy clenching around his veiny cock. “Ughhhh” you groaned grabbing his thick mane with one of your hands and Logan moaned on your lips kissing you brushing his tongue over yours. You both chased your orgasms and soon you made a mess on his cock, your cunt was then filled with his cream to the fullest moments later. “Fuck fuck fuckkk” he whimpered out hiding his sweaty face against your neck.

After calming down for few moments you spend time kissing, his kisses were made of everything woman needed in her life and you clung to him keeping him warm inside of you. “Can’t stay princess.. I’m on the job” he chuckled and you pouted again pretending like he just haven’t rearranged your brain in your skull. “Already? M’gonna miss you husband..” you kissed his forehead. “Me too bub” he sighed not wanting to part away from you but he had to get back to work. Saying goodbye to him was always hard but you were all happy because in the evening you’d repeat this all in your bed.

After all… Logan was an insatiable lover.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

 

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark, unrelenting reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

[monamipencil]

───── “imperfections?”

               ⋆˚｡ or, in which svt appreciates your beauty.

pairings; hyung line x reader, established relationship. | a/n; this was so lovely to write. pls be kind to yourself and life is too short to worry about shallow things. love yourself, just a bit more today <3 | [check out maknae line ! ]

⋆ SEUNGCHEOL ⏤ hip dips; cheol is someone who does not care for so-called flaws. if anything, he only loves them more. would do a double-take when you say that you hate your hip dips. he rests his hands on your hips, holding you like you'd break and he looks at you softly. “see? they're molded for my hands.” he presses his lips to your forehead and stills for a moment. “you're so beautiful. don't ever doubt it.” he takes you to greek museums, pointing out that even aphrodite has hip dips. “my beautiful aphrodite,” he kisses your hips, worshipping your body.

⋆ JEONGHAN ⏤ scars, birthmarks; he has curious hands, always discovering your body and memorising the map of your skin. his fingers outline any birthmark littered on your skin, and he kisses them. same for scars and stitches. he grazes his nimble fingers along them while asking for the backstory. he listens intently, still brushing his fingers over them. if you got it in a funny way, he chuckles and shakes his head. but if not, he locks his fingers with yours, comforting you silently. jeonghan kisses your scars and birthmarks like a silent prayer against your skin and you won't ever feel inadequate.

⋆ JOSHUA ⏤ stretch marks; he never understood the hate around stretch marks anyway. soft fingers trace the lines scattered on your belly, shoulders, hips and elsewhere. it's a habit he has developed, to slip his hands under the waistband of your pants and feel the lines under his fingerprints. it's calming and it grounds him to earth, a wordless reassurance that he's ok and that you are there. a frown decorates his face as you complain about them. but he cuts you off, telling you how much he loves your marks, and he's not saying it because he has to, but because he genuinely feels that way. because he loves you for you.

⋆ JUN ⏤ smile; more than anything else he loves to make you smile and laugh. and if you try to hide your smile, he'll remove your hands and kiss your lips. if you try to tone down your laughter or laugh in a different way, he'll tickle you. jun loves you in the most authentic form. he frowns when you tell that you've never liked your smile or laughter. how could anyone hate a smile? that too, yours? he'll never understand that. he shakes his head, telling you that you look beautiful always. he loves it when you smile into kisses, to taste your happiness on his tongue, to feel your smile, to be the reason behind your laughter. his love heals your inner child.

⋆ SOONYOUNG ⏤ nose; soonyoung is filled with so much love that it pours out through his finger tips. and he can't help but boop your nose all the time. if you do something he finds adorable, he'd crush you into a hug before showing cute aggression all over your face. he pinches your nose, cradling your face and kisses the tip. but he's overcome with so much love that he doesn't really know how to contain it. he rubs his nose against yours and there's something so intimate about it to him. he will cry if you tell that you don't like your nose. and he's very passionate about proving that it is beautiful. no days pass by without his compliments and kisses.

⋆ WONWOO ⏤ acne; he has eyes for the little details. he notices any small changes too. if you get acne before your periods, he'll notice it and remind you. and it's kind of cute to him, little spots that grow on your face and when they're tinted a bit red or brown. kisses your skin, feeling the texture with his lips. and if he gets any pimples too, he'll introduce it to your pimples. he's goofy like that. stares at you like you're the night sky, connecting your acne like constellations with his fingertips and feeling like he touched the sky with his bare hands. he doesn't allow you to be insecure ever, always appreciating you no matter what. life is too short to care about small pimples anyway.

⋆ JIHOON ⏤ dark circles; whether it's by lack of sleep or genetics, he loves them. eyes are the window to the soul, and sometimes those emotions can seep out, staining the skin around your eyes. or maybe, it's a gift passed down by your ancestors. he's worried that you are not getting enough sleep but if it's normal, he finds them attractive. he caresses it under his thumb, kissing your eyes. he doesn't get why you want to hide them. why would you want to hide your moon-kissed eyes? they're beautiful, you're beautiful and you're his muse. it makes you look serene, your smoky eyes brings a calmness that only the moon could do. he writes about your eyes often, a secret serenade.

tags;

@seungkwanschicken @aaa-sia @dokyeomkyeom @bangantokchy @jespecially

@asyre @armycarat2612 @bewoyewo @gyuguys

(send an ask to be added on the taglist!)

[rafesangelita]

What I need more then anything is bambi!reader and rafe making out, and that having been all they have done, but she decides to push it a bit knowing he is trying to take it slow with her so she takes him of his shorts and gives him a handjob, but ofc a bit shy and insecure about it.

warnings: established relationship, bambi!reader is shy until she isn’t >:), handjob, slight fluff, poor rafe loses his mind at your method of getting your hand wet

“fuck.” rafe pulled away from you, a pained expression on his face as he palmed himself through his shorts. your lips were swollen and glossy with his spit, your own thighs rubbing together as rafe cursed under his breath. “m’sorry, i just need a second so this could go away.” he laughed uncomfortably, the sight of his erection making your mouth water.

rafe had been very adamant on you two waiting to have sex, his reason being that he just wanted to take his time in appreciating the early stages of your relationship. however, you found it harder and harder to ignore the way he made you feel, especially during times like these when he was trying to hide his hard-on from you.

you bit your lip nervously, scooting closer to your boyfriend before pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot on his neck. “can i?” rafe’s eyes shot open, his gaze moving to your hand. “what?” he hissed when your fingertips met his clothed cock. “i want to make you feel good..” you whispered, applying more pressure on his length.

“you really don’t have to do that, baby-” rafe’s words were cut off when you pecked his lips. “i want to.” you dropped to your knees, rafe welcoming you between his thighs. “teach me how you like it?” rafe shuddered, giving you a slow nod. watching you take him out of his shorts with that nervous yet excited expression was rafe’s new favorite thing.

you couldn’t help but let out a small gasp once he was free of any restraints, his cock springing up in the air. “what do i do?” rafe wished he could take a picture of this moment. you on your knees, with his cock in your face and those doe eyes just beaming up at him. “get your hand wet first.” you swallowed thickly, gathering the wetness between your thighs with a moan.

rafe’s eyes widened. “did you just-” your heart started beating in your ears, afraid that you did something wrong. “what?” rafe blinked, his tongue running across his bottom lip as he stared at you. “holy fuck. i thought you would lick your hand or something but you just put it in your underwear.” he took your now glistening palm and wrapped it around his base.

“are you that wet right now?” his lewd words made your skin flush, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you nodded. you watched his head roll to the side, his hand gliding yours up and down his length. “i swear your hands have magic, mine have never felt this good.” both of you laughed, rafe taking a moment to lean down and kiss you.

“you’ll keep doing it just like this, baby.” he let go of your hand, letting you do it by yourself. you kept up the same pace, your boyfriend jolting every now and then when your fingers grazed the tip. testing it out again to see his reaction, you jumped when rafe groaned. “do that again.” he glanced at you, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head when you did so.

“ah, shit.” his hips bucked. “is this okay?” you squeaked out, rafe nodding frantically. tugging at rafe’s shirt, you wanted nothing more than to see his muscles constricting underneath your touch. without a word, rafe slipped off his t-shirt in one swift movement. “fuck, i’m close.” you moved faster, getting closer to him as the sound of your slick palm echoed in his room.

“y/n-” his hand came down to hold onto your wrist, his orgasm ripping straight through him. as if it was your instinct to open your mouth when he shot his load, rafe watched with hooded eyes as he painted your face. “jeezzz,” rafe sighed, “i didn’t know you were this fucking nasty.” he brought you up by your chin, taking you in a heated kiss despite the mess.

“let me return the favor?”