#I think humans do this too does anyone want to check

[symphonicsoul]

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ There's a bit of a chuckle at the comment of 'you sound like my doctor' which leads the engineer to smile as he tilts his head to the side, continuing to listen.

"Well I am a doctor, so I would hope so." He chuckles.

Ling says he had a really bad trip and he doesn't want to make assumptions but he's going to assume it has something to do with Amestris considering all Kain has told him and his unwillingness to ever return there again. He can't exactly blame the boy no matter what happened. Even if it wasn't Amestris that he had a "bad trip" to, Wonderland wasn't going to make that any better.

He waits as Ling takes his time to breathe and find his composure even if it doesn't seem like he's found it entirely. In truth though, he doesn't know if anyone who lives in this place truly has - well anyone except for people like him.

Ling has a new question, wondering if he'll be forced to speak even if he doesn't want to and it has the engineer sighing slightly.

"Well no. That would be a bit counter-intuitive, if I were to force you to speak about anything. I do need to check you over though. Just a quick check to make sure you didn't hit your head or get too hurt when you landed in Wonderland. This place is a bit complicated so we'll try to make it better in any way we can. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but I would like it if you did. "

He's sighing a little moving from his knees to let himself settle and sit down on the floor fully.

"All of us here have demons and problems. The way most people end up here isn't something any of us want to think about. It's rough and some of us can't even remember how we got here. Kumo, for example, has plenty of things that have happened to him in his time here that he doesn't talk to me about, or anyone really and while I am willing to listen to anything he has to say - he will tell me when he's ready. Same thing goes for you Ling. You are welcome to speak to me about anything, any time you decide.

However, I do need to make sure there is nothing life threatening going on."

He's pausing as his lips stretch out into an awkward smile.

"For a human I mean. I have a few human patients so I can imagine things still might differ from person to person like it does for the Mistericans. If you don't feel comfortable speaking, that's okay. There's a couple others here, from your world - Kain and Edward - and I can imagine you'll be a bit more comfortable speaking to them and that's perfectly alright with me. Just - Kumo said you fell - so I just want to make sure you didn't hit your head or anything like that. Is that okay?"

He can't help but scoff a little when Cid mentions being healthy. He wouldn't consider himself healthy. Not completely. Not with his blood sugar issues that leads to hunger issues and collapsing. Being half paralyzed or more when he wakes up if he didn't eat enough the previous day.

He's grateful the doctor isn't using that disgustingly sweet tone adults, strangers, use when they catch him in the middle of an attack. He isn't telling him "it'll be okay, sweetie" and "it'll be over soon", something he's grateful for.

He does what Cid says and he pauses to try and get his breathing under control. By the time he settles his breathing and his body isn't shaking as hard anymore, however long that takes, he's slumped against the chair with a tired sigh.

"You sound a little bit like my doctor back at home," he finally says. That's putting him on edge a bit. "After I got back from a...really bad trip. He also told me it's normal to feel what I was feeling back then."

That was after his doctor triggered a panic attack by forcing him to talk about Amestris. After he finally accepted how he was really feeling and getting hit with everything all at once. Of course that situation and this are different. Back then it was for issues he didn't understand. This is for...being dropped in a strange world. It feels drastically different and that he shouldn't be freaking out like this.

Ling hesitates for a moment before looking up at Cid. "...Are you going to force me to talk if I don't want to?"

He doesn't even know where to start anyway. Any questions he wants to ask he knows the answers to, like how there's no way out. At least not yet. Or why he was brought here. He doubts anyone has an answer for that one. It's all so confusing.

[cafffine]

[the-haunted-office]

Even as she is given permission to look, Thursday finds herself feeling a bit hesitant. It's not for a fear of what he might look like, but rather a fear that she might make him feel uncomfortable. He's made it plain that he does not like being looked at, that there is something about him that he feels ashamed of, or - at the very least - he is painfully shy. Then he says he doesn't like being perceived, which spells it out entirely.

Even before she opens her eyes and catches a glimpse of what he looks like, he reminds her of her friend September back at the Office. An enormous gelatinous slug-like ghost, she has a varying number of limbs at any given time, although the most she has is seventeen. Inside the mass of her body can be seen dozens of eyes, teeth, and other loose parts. Faces that are not her own stick out all over her body, not all of them human. Her own face is pale, with constantly melting flesh on a ever-southward journey and her empty eye sockets are instead filled with an eerie yellow light. Most people upon meeting her either run, faint, or vomit, or some combination of the three, but to Thursday, she is a beloved friend. Seeing her brings a smile to her face. September, though, never likes to show herself to others, and while Thursday finds her beautiful, she can also understand why she would rather stay hidden.

As she takes in what of the mysterious man's appearance she can see through the foliage, she hardly reacts at all. Even when he retracts his clawed hand rather than shaking hers, she doesn't react. She just pulls her hand back to herself and smiles as though he looks like anyone else.

"Oh, that's okay, I understand. I'm not offended, and if you'd rather I not look at you, that's okay too. Whatever you're comfortable with." If anything, she wants to ask him if he can actually fly with his wings, because she's always wished she had wings and could fly and thinks that would be really cool, but... she realizes that would be really stupid and insensitive of her, given he clearly is uncomfortable with himself, so she wisely decides not to ask that.

Instead, she just sticks her hands into her hoodie pocket and rocks back and forth on her heels while she casually answers his questions. "No, you're right, I'm not from around here. I was called in, sort of. I'm a bit of an explorer. I like to travel around to different places, meet different people, and a lot of what I like to do is investigate supposed haunted places and see if I can figure out what's going on, help any ghosts or souls or paranormal entities that might be like, you know, stuck or just need help or anything."

"I've been through here before, a while back, and thought I'd come through again, just to check in, and that's when I was told about your place here." She pauses. Frowns a little. "But you're right, the villagers did seem pretty, ah... skittish of your house. I thought it was just because they were being superstitious or something. I mean. Are you okay up here? Do they know you live here?" she asks, blinking up at him with a hint of concern in her expression.

"It's fine. You can look." She doesn't seem all that easy to startle, if she's here for ghosts she can probably handle seeing a bird...man...whatever he's become, right? "I apologize for asking you not to look. I don't... enjoy being perceived." Even his voice has gotten softer as if he doesn't want to be seen or heard at all. A creature desperate to just disappear.

He hesitantly reaches out. His hands nowadays aren't by far as soft as human hands are supposed to be, the skin is scaly, hard with rather sharp nails, and he dislikes the feel of them. He drops his hand before even shaking Thursday's, withdrawing it almost as if ashamed. "I... I'm sorry. They're rather unpleasant to the touch. It's not personal." He moves his wings, they're properly massive and the act of doing so dislodges a few more flowers and leaves from the plants around him.

"How did you end up here? I can't imagine you just happened to be in the area." The odds of that were far too small. "Did people point you in this direction?" He had seen the occasional curious individual trying to glance through his windows, or knocking on his door, but he usually ignored them. Tried to hide from them. Perhaps some of them had taken the rustling of curtains or the shadowy movements as a sign of a haunting.

"The people from the nearby village are not too fond of this place." And he was glad for that, after all, he couldn't imagine having to deal with more visitors. He had already failed to hide this time, what would happen if a large crowd were to see him? He could already imagine the torches and pitchforks...

[dcxdpdabbles]

Jazz: What is that?

Danny: A smoothie.

Jazz: Why is it glowing?

Danny: It's fear in liquid form. I'm doing a cleanse, and some of my ghost friends recommended Dr. Crane, from door 2319 in the East Center Realms. It's super healthy and delicious to boat. Check out my test results from my last check-up with FrostBite

Jazz: Wow, this is amazing, Danny. Your health is looking great. Not to mention you're looking good too.

Danny: Thanks! This plus the hitting the gym is doing me wonders. Honestly, my mental health has sky rocketed, not to mention my self-confidence. Get this, Paulina asked me on a date the other day. Apparently, I came back from summer vacation hot.

Jazz: Did you say yes?

Danny: No! It was so much more satisfying to see her look shock that anyone would turn her down. That's the best way to get back at my bullies, make them want me, and then rip out their hearts. Dash cried a little. And it's all thanks to Dr. Crane's healthy smoothies!

Jazz: Do you think he can make me something too? Something safe for human consumption? I want to work on my figure.

Danny: I can ask! He's always happy to see me.

Meanwhile:

Scarecrow: Men prepare our defenses! That theif won't get my intellectual property!

Goon: Whats the boss on about this time?

Goon 2: That glowing boy stole another tank of Fear Toxin. The boss is losing his mind over the fact he can't stop him from making off with it.

Goon: Why does he want it?

Goon 2: I think the kid snorts it

Goon: What!?

Goon 2: Right!? I'm not sure if the kid is human or not, and at this point, I'm too scared to ask. At least he throws money at us when he takes the tank. He's single handly putting my kid through private school.

Goon: He's the reason we got a raise? Glowing kid might be my new hero.

[yieldtotemptation]

WISH ft. Giselle

giselle x male reader smut

8k words

"It's a Christmas miracle!" —is how Giselle chooses to make her grand entrance, swinging open the door to your bar, a fresh powder of snow dusting her shoulders. She shrugs it off. "My favourite person in all of Seoul."

You deadpan, "That's very concerning."

She laughs off your quip with the same ease that she does everything else. Sways her hips, saunters over to you, fire engine-red heels clacking against wood as she rushes to take her usual stool. Not like she'd have to fight anyone for it, there's no one else here.

Besides, even if there were—it's always been hers.

You're sliding over her drink before she can even open her mouth to order, because that's what you do for her. Anticipate. Your job in a nutshell, really. Knowing what she wants.

Her thanks is in the blush colouring her cheeks, flushing them a rosy pink, matching her hair in hue.

Just so immediately pretty.

She raises the drink, grinning at you through the glass. Gets a little too dramatic with her gasp.

"Exactly what I wished for! How did you know?"

"Made a list, checked it twice."

That earns you a giggle, has Giselle leaning forward, propping an elbow on the bar, chin in her palm. Her usual routine—just sitting there, all beautiful and flirty and really, really fucking out of place amongst the dim lighting and worn-out leather.

And yeah, you’ve committed it all to memory, seen it in every light and shadow; the smoky liner ringing around her eyes, the gloss that makes her lips look shiny and sweet and oh so soft. The absolutely devastating smile that never seems to leave her—only gets wider, warmer, parting when she laughs and slaps a hand on the table, or lands it on your forearm.

Accidentally, of course.

"Does that mean I get to sit on your lap later?"

It’s a touch early for her to throw out bait so blatantly. That’s more of a three-drinks-in kind of thing.

Still, your mouth answers for you before your brain can catch up, “Depends if you've been naughty or nice.”

“I think we both know the answer to that one,” she says, far too casually for you to handle, daring you to let that thought linger. Let it rattle around your head with all the other loaded thoughts involving her in various states of undress and in all sorts of compromising positions—underneath, on-top, kneeling. Thoughts that are better kept on a tight leash.

Because you know what would happen if you were to give in to them.

How you’d reach over the bar separating the two of you, pull her onto the counter. Send all the glasses, the bottles, crashing to the floor, and just kiss that smile right off her face, right here, right now. Tear off her clothes and leave her bare and exposed to the cold December air, make her yours, fuck her absolutely senseless. Render her nothing but a victim to your fingers, your lips, your cock, to all the need that’s been boiling inside you over the past months and—fuck.

She's got you good.

There's no point in pretending like it hasn't been this way since the first time she found you—at the end of an alley that's at the end of another alley, down the stairs and into the underground proper. Waltzing her way into the hovel that is your whiskey bar; all for reasons that you’re yet to fully untangle.

Months of performing this same dance—it's late, she walks in, typically perfect and bouncy, like some half-remembered fantasy or a libido-driven hallucination. Only, she must be real, because there’s no way you could ever conjure up someone like her.

It's embarrassing, you really should be far more used to it now, built up at least a partial immunity to her brand of charm. But somehow, she still finds a way under your skin. You’re only human, after all. And she’s… she’s Giselle.

Undeniably, in-your-face gorgeous, Giselle.

Dead-set and determined to throw herself at you until you break.  

"Perfect," is her evaluation when she's taken her first sip. It plays out like it’s been choreographed: she licks her lips, flashes that million-dollar smile, lets loose a sigh of pure joy. Looks at you all wide-eyed and impressed; like you're the only person in the world who's ever given her exactly what she wants. Like she doesn't already live in a reality where everyone else falls flat on their faces to ensure that the needs of Aeri Uchinaga are met. “Always perfect.”

And you have your own steps to follow. You're glued to the pulse in the curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the naked collarbone when she shirks off her coat to reveal tits that are much too ample for her dress to contain. All these little things that make her so fucking distracting.

She says, surreptitiously, "You know, I didn't think you'd be open today."

"And yet you came anyway."

"And yet I did."

There's the loaded insinuation stacked on top of her words like a teasing question mark:

('I came looking for you.'

'I was waiting.')

"Like I said, a Christmas miracle," Giselle repeats, softly this time. Barely audible over the Christmas tunes you’ve got on a loop, some self-inflicted torture you’re wreaking on yourself for purposes unknown. Maybe to get into the spirit of things. Maybe to keep the silence at bay. Maybe to make Giselle's efforts feel less effective.

It doesn't work.

It does, however, have you leaning in just to hear her better, and that's a mistake right there. Getting too close that you can follow the lines of the dress she's picked out for the night. A sheer black, strapless number that hugs her figure close, dipping at her chest, giving you just enough of a glimpse to send the alarm bells ringing.

Ending short of the tops of her thighs, because of course she's wearing stockings, and of course they have tiny little bows holding them up, and you're already thinking about how easy it would be to get your teeth in them and pull them apart, and the walls are starting to feel closer and closer with each passing second.

But you don't say anything. You just try to remember to breathe. You chance a look back at her face, aiming for unaffected.

Her eyes instantly undo you.

Giselle uncrosses and crosses her legs. The stockings stretch.

"Like what you see?"

Now seems like an optimal time to pour yourself a drink. Something strong to fortify the weakness in your knees, to maybe bolster the resolve that's threatening to crack like the ice frosting over the windows outside.

You grab a glass, pour a good measure of whiskey and throw it back without even bothering with the usual ritual. You need it. The burn is a good distraction.

You turn her question back on her. Shame on her for asking something so obvious. "What do you think?"

"I think," Giselle smiles, tilts her head, that curtain of bubblegum-pink cascading over her collarbone and down onto the bar, "That it appears that all the effort I put getting into this tight fucking dress was worth it."

You're unable to stop yourself from saying, "Don’t need the dress if that was the intention." It slips out of you, like an idiot, and you decide to busy yourself by pouring two more drinks, because you really don't know what the fuck else to do at this point.

“Duly noted,” she says, likely adding it to some mental file she keeps on you. Ways to get you to drop your guard. Ways to get under your skin. “But don’t you think unwrapping presents are half the fun?”

You’re rolling your eyes, it’s too much, but Giselle’s too good at this whole thing. Got the two of you sliding deep into the easy rhythm of conversation you've found yourselves in many, many times before; when it's just you and her in the waning hours of the night and you're finding excuses not to close up and she's finding excuses to stay.

And the drinks just compound on it even more. All the alcohol really seems to do is blunt her filter and dull your better instincts, bringing you both to that tipsy point where everything that comes out of your mouths can’t help but sound like shameless innuendos; all terrible ideas that you both absolutely must indulge in.

Talking and flirting and drinking until you’re finally crossing that invisible line drawn over the counter of your bar, forgetting about that ethereal wall of separation that keeps you on the straight and narrow; that would normally stop you from doing things like reaching over and brushing a strand of pink out of her face and over her ear.

You keep your hand there, your thumb padding the soft skin of her cheek. She leans into your palm.

“So,” she says, and it’s accompanied by the kind of pause that holds a whole universe of possibility. She takes a sip of her third drink of the night, her eyes fixated on you, studying the lines on your face. Trying to find the cracks.

“So.”

“Why haven’t you made a move on me?”

She might as well have gathered snow from outside your door and thrown it right at your face. You blink, the warmth of the whiskey in your cheeks fading fast. “Very confident of you to think that I would want to.”

“Don’t dodge,” she chides. “We both know you didn’t open tonight for the amazing business rush. So. Spill. Why?"

You’re about to spout off an excuse—something about a Hippocratic oath, or bartender-customer privilege, but Giselle cuts your lie short before it can even leave your throat.

“You’ve been staring at me like you want to eat me alive every night I’ve been here, and you expect me to believe you’re not interested?” Giselle leans closer, her breath warm on your hand. Her eyes piercing through, stripping away every defence you’ve ever had. “You’re barely hiding it you know? How badly you want me.”

There’s an implicit challenge underneath her words. You get the message loud and clear:

Don’t you know how badly I want you too?

"It's—" you start, before course correcting when you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. You swirl the whiskey around in your own glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light and dance. "Complicated."

"Oh really?" Giselle's eyes light up at that, and you're beginning to feel like you're falling into some trap she's set up. It just hasn’t revealed itself to you yet. "I like complicated. I live off complicated."

"I'll bet," you reply, not missing the fact that she's now taken your hand into hers, threading her fingers through yours. "Probably why you're here so often."

Giselle clicks her tongue, runs it across her lips. You'd die for a taste. "I thought I asked you to stop dodging. But, if you really want to know, I come here because I like the company," she explains, before ending her thought with, "and the attention."

"Because being an idol doesn't give you enough?"

"Not in the way I want it."

"And I do?"

"Not yet," she says, with an air of finality. "But give it time."

The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of the unspoken. The air in the bar feels charged, like the moment before a storm hits. You're reading her, acutely aware of the things running through her mind, because you can see it in her eyes, because they're the exact same thoughts that’s never left yours.

You want her.

You need her.

She’ll give herself to you.

Giselle’s the first to break the pause. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

The corners of eyes crinkle ever so slightly, and that's about where you realise your fate's been sealed from the start. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. You’re aching already. "What I really want for Christmas."

You don't need a map to know where this is headed. But you still ask anyway. "And what is that?"

"You."

You set down your glass with a clink. "Look, Giselle—"

"Let me finish," she interrupts, and now her hand's sliding up your arm, leaving a trail of static wherever she touches. "For Christmas this year, all I want is for you to do whatever you want to me."

A second attempt, "Giselle—"

"I know you want to. You know I want you to. We've danced around this for too long and I'm running out of ways to subtly tell you that if I don’t get my hands on that perfect cock that I know you're hiding, I just might burn this place to the ground. So," she says carefully, intentionally. Making sure you feel each word coursing through your every nerve ending, winding their way down to your cock, until you’re throbbing in your pants.

Giselle bats her eyelashes. Bites her lip. Leans even closer. Her tits get very close to winning the war against her dress.

"Don't you want to make my Christmas wish come true?"

You never stood a chance. "I do quite like my bar in one piece."

"I do too." Giselle's smile turns devilish. “But I like the idea of having your cum inside me more.”

"Then we better get you out of your clothes."

Only, a slight amendment.

"But keep the stockings on."

—

Giselle kisses you like a woman starved. Messy, sloppy crashes that has her nose bumping into yours and her teeth finding purchase in your lip. She seems determined to leave her mark. You’re more than happy to let her.

It’s a far cry from what you’re used to—the build-up, the slow crescendo where you both pretend that you don’t immediately want to jump to the inevitable—but Giselle clearly doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.

The moment you’ve dragged her over the bar, fulfilled your fantasy and cleared the countertop so the only thing standing between you and her body is the crumpled mess of her dress, she's on you. Moaning, whining into your mouth, desperate. Tongue hunting down yours, pressing into it, trying to wrestle it into submission.

Taking your cheeks into her hands, holding firm, the only thing keeping her steady as you match her hunger, heat against heat. Her taste is everything you've ever wanted—sweet and sharp, like the whiskey burning through your veins, warming you from the inside out.

"God, I needed this," she whispers in the breaths between your kisses, as your hands get adventurous and run down the length of her spine, pulling her closer into you.

You make good on your promise, finding the zip, peeling it down, leaving the fabric to sag off her shoulders. Her skin is cold underneath your fingertips, the curve of her back breaking out in goosebumps. Your touch makes her arch, her back bow, her breasts push up against her dress until it can't hang on any longer and the whole thing pools around her waist.

“Merry Christmas to me,” comes tumbling out of your mouth when you finally get to appreciate Giselle.

The full, round tits, naked and begging for your hands. The smooth curve of her waist, the dip of her stomach. The way her hips flare out, giving way to thighs that you know, just know, will be the perfect grip. And the stockings. Holding up the suspension of your disbelief—she’s so ridiculously out of your league and yet so, so needy for you.

“Fucking gorgeous, Giselle,” you’re telling her, making her sigh, her eyes closing shut as you reach out to fill your hand with her chest. Your touch makes her nipples pebble, stiffen underneath your thumb. She leans back, pushing her chest out even more, giving you as much of herself as she can for you to touch, to tweak, to worship.

And she’s so much smaller than you, so much softer than you’ve ever allowed yourself to believe. The reality of her in your arms is far more intense than any fantasy you’ve ever concocted in the quiet of the night after she’s long gone and left you with nothing but her memory. But she’s giving herself to you now, wanting you to do it all.

Letting you push into her, kiss the skin between her neck and her clavicle, press into her a brand that will linger long after you’ve both unwinded and unraveled each other.

“Just like that,” Giselle whispers in your ear, hands finding your neck, needing you even closer still. “Don’t stop, just keep touching me. You can do whatever you want—tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just don’t stop.”

Nothing else to do but oblige, to give in to your baser instincts, to bring every fantasy, every lurid thought to life. Giselle’s been living in your mind rent-free. Filled it with thoughts of fucking her into oblivion again and again—so you already know exactly where to go, what to do next.

You know to trace the edge of her stocking with your thumb, pressing down on the bow, watching as the skin around it flushes from your touch.

You know to drag your hand up, higher up her thighs, push the hem of her dress to her waist, slip under the elastic of her panties and hold itself there. Leave her trembling in anticipation of your touch.

“Please,” you’ve barely started and she’s already begging, breathless. Needing for you to explore her.

But first, you need to tell her how.

“I’m going to touch you,” you say, voice gruff, and she shudders, her hands tightening around your neck. “I’m going to get my fingers into your cunt, I’m going to squeeze your tits, I’m going to make you scream my name, and you will, because you’re going to be such a good girl for me. Understood?”

Her eyes flash open, meeting yours. Not an ounce of doubt. Just pure need.

“Yes,” she says. A single word that’s more a plea than a response. “Please. Do whatever you want. Make me feel good.”

She just about collapses when you yank her panties down and push your hands between her thighs.

“God—fuck—” and she’s sobbing already.

“You’re so drenched,” you’re remarking, sliding your fingers higher, feeling the wetness that’s been gathering there for who knows how long.

“For you,” she’s gasping, repeating herself, “For you.”

It’s so easy to find the heat of her, to push in and down on the top her mound. Give just the right amount of pressure on her clit that makes her jerk. Makes the muscles in her face twitch, her mouth open wide and moan. It’s a melody in your ears, and you press down harder, swirling now, and you’re beginning to think you’ve found your true calling.

Fuck making her drinks; making her fall apart is why you were put on this planet in the first place.

Her breasts jiggle with every tremble that runs through her, flickering in reach of you, taunting you with their bounce. You can’t help but lean down. Not when they’re calling to you like that.

You lick a path from the base of her neck to her collarbone, and then lower, to one of those perfect peaks that’s been begging for your attention.

Giselle inhales sharp through her teeth, her chest heaving as you start to suck on her nipple. You work your tongue around it, roll it in your mouth until her knuckles turn white against the edge of the bar, her nails digging into surface. The sounds she’s making, these choked gasps that are so raw, so needy.

Showing how good she feels with every part of her body—pushing her breasts up and into your face, her hands tangling in your hair, legs spreading wider, thighs shaking at the effort of staying upright.

You don’t let up, keep going—tongue swirling, fingers moving at double-time over her cunt, her other tit.

Listening to her turn your name into something filthy, something that sounds like a curse.

You pull back off her, cool air kissing the wetness you leave behind, making her quiver, her high, fuck-me heels knocking against wood.

“Giselle,” you say, taking in this look of bliss on her face. The teary eyes, the trembling lip, her cheeks now so very red. “Gonna make you cum now.”

You don’t wait for permission. You already have it. You step forward, lifting her legs up and trapping her atop the bar, spreading her wide open.

Two fingers at first, all at once, no hesitation. Giselle’s pupils blow wide, shocked, teeth bite down on her bottom lip, muffling a cry that you feel in the pit of your stomach. She’s so soaked that you slide right in with ease, a slow push that makes her whine, the slickness making the sounds of your fucking echo over the din of the empty bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Giselle stutters, all breathy and desperate. Hands flying to your shoulders, nails digging in. Holding on for dear life, writhing as your fingers curl upwards, pushing up against that magical spot inside that has her clenching.

“Such a good girl,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth like they’ve always been there, just waiting for her to hear them.

The whimper that she makes—the noise alone should be illegal.

“So tight around me,” you tell her, pushing on, focusing entirely on pulling more of these noises from her, doing your best to ignore how hard you already are, how unbearable it is to not be inside her. “So good for me.”

It’s the praise that makes her keen, makes her whine. Pushes herself onto your fingers, trying to get more, trying to get all of you. Just so fucking hot for you.

You can see it playing out across her body, the way she’s losing herself to the pleasure, giving up control of her own functions to you.  So helpless, so beautiful. So fucking delighted to finally have you using her in ways she’s only dreamt of.

You’ve never seen anything like it. You’re addicted before you’ve even had her.

“This cunt is going to feel so good around my cock.”

Giselle's nodding, slurring together a string of yeses and thank yous in response.

Her pussy’s pulsing around your fingers, juices soaking your hand, she’s already so close. So close that you can almost taste the orgasm on her skin.

“You want it so fucking bad, don’t you, Giselle? Want me to fuck you senseless.”

Her eyes are glazed over, barely there. Just stunningly beautiful even in the midst of her desire, and you’re not even sure she’s heard you at all until she’s panting out, “I want it. Need it. So much. Oh, God, please, fuck me with your cock. Make me cum. Make me scream.”

But you get in close, lips to her cheek, a command for only her to hear. “You’re going to cum all over my hand. You’re going to show me how badly you want it. Understand?”

“Yes—yes, please—” is the most she can manage, a harsh whisper that barely gets through. You feel it more than hear it, a shiver running through her, down her spine and up yours. “Do it. Give me more, I need it.”

She’s nothing short of incredible. Writhing under your touch, losing herself to your fingers—there’s never been anything—anyone—like this. Anyone that runs this hot,  that pleads this much, that is so eager for nothing but you, as much of you as you can give.

There’s no excuse for why it's taken so long to get here, why you let every other opportunity skate by. But now’s not the time for regrets. This is all just catch-up. Getting to this moment that’s been burning a hole in your mind. Making up for all the times when you should’ve been bringing her to her knees, should've been marking her up as yours.

“Mine,” you’re claiming, taking her lips once more, feeling the tremble in her chin. “You’re going to be mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” her voice quavers back into your mouth.

She kisses you back like she’s drowning, like you’re the very air she needs to breathe. And it’s all you can do to finger-fuck her faster, pressing deeper into her wetness. It’s filthy, borderline disrespectful the way that you’re owning her now. But it’s all necessary, if that’s what it’s going to take to get to feel her shatter in your arms.

But just as you can feel her hips bucking up off the counter and into your wrist, as she’s about to tip over the edge, you pull back, breaking the kiss, leaving her choking for air.

“Look at me,” you tell her, forcing her glassy eyes to refocus, to snap to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re going to cum so hard for me. You’re going to look at me when you do.”

Giselle opens her mouth answer, but all that comes out is a whiny mewl when you slide your other hand from her tits to the back of her neck, pulling her into you, hard enough that you can feel her pulse drumming against your palm.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” you say to her, adorning her with all these sweet words that absolutely wreck her. And it’s so easy to because all of them fit. Your good girl, your slut, your baby, your whore. She deserves to hear them all. “Take it, take it all for me.”

“Fuck, please, I’m almost—” She tries and fails to put the syllables together—your fingers are too good, too precise in their frenzy. Playing her body, hitting every key, every beat, rushing to that final chorus.

And then it hits her, without warning, just a sigh and then she’s—

“I'm—I'm—cumming!”

Eyes trying to stay on yours, losing focus, turning wild, until she’s barely even there anymore.

Giselle cums.

Locking her in place, rippling across her body. Every muscle tensing, cunt quivering, hips lifting off the bar as her juices paint your hand.

“Thank you, thank you, fucking thank you—"

Her voice dies out, trapped in her throat, her words becoming nonsense as your fingers have her riding waves. You’re utterly transfixed, watching the orgasm rip across her face, melting her down to a messy puddle. Barely hanging on to you, mouth lolling open, eyes screwed shut, breaths coming in sharp and fast.

She’s limbless, her body goes slack, and you debate giving her the space, or even just a second to catch her breath, to come back to reality.

But you just don’t.

You don’t stop moving, don’t stop working her, because something tells you that the last thing she’d want is for you to stop. Something tells you that she’s one of those girls—the ones who love to chase the high. Who love to be pushed, who love to be told that they’re doing so well, that they’re perfect.

And Giselle is.

“Again,” you press into her neck, and she gives you the closest approximation to a nod that she can muster. “Again and again, I’ll make you cum until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget what it was ever like to not have my cock inside you.”

The nods come faster, insistent, following a whine as your fingers slide out of her cunt, all sticky with her juices. You bring it up to her, hold it in front of her face so she can see the mess she’s made of your hand.

Her breath hitches when she opens her eyes, catching sight of your glistening digits. You don’t even need to prompt her; she takes the initiative—she’s sucking your fingers without a second thought.

Moans when she tastes herself, sucking them clean, tongue flicking across your knuckles, pulling them into her mouth, relishing her own flavour.

“So fucking needy for it, aren’t you?”

You withdraw your fingers, enjoying the cry of protest at the loss, but you’ve got better plans for her. Pressing a kiss to her temple, before backing off completely, leaving Giselle empty, her legs wobbly.

You're quick to lose your clothes, stripping yourself off without much ceremony, tossing them aside with little care for where they end up.

And yet Giselle’s eyes rake over you, following your every move—she’s seen you before, you’ve caught her staring at your arms, your biceps, making no secret of assaulting you with her gaze at any chance she can get.

But now it’s the unbuckling of your belt, the vanishing of your jeans, the reveal of your cock. Springing free, hard and heavy.

Giselle wants it. Mouth salivating, pussy leaking at the sight of it. Oh, how she wants it.

It gives her energy, has her reaching out for a touch, a stroke. But you stop her, gently taking her wrist into your hand before she can make her Christmas wish come true.

She even has the audacity to pout. “Haven’t I been good?”

“Good?” You repeat, and you’re laughing. “You’ve been downright angelic.”

The pout quirks into a smirk, and there’s that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Then don't I deserve a little reward?” Giselle’s fingers go to her folds, spreading them apart. Putting her cunt on display, proud to show off how ready she is to be filled. “Like that big, beautiful cock of yours in my perfect little pussy?”

You don’t bother with the usual finesse, there’s no need for that. This doesn’t land anywhere on the normal spectrum of casual hook-ups to making love. This is about fucking. About need, raw and unfiltered.

“So, would you please—"

You’re yanking her by the waist before she can get started, lifting her off the bar and setting her down in front of you. There’s that thrill rushing through her, at being so easily handled, so effortlessly claimed.

She’s panting, breaths fogging up the air between you, waiting for your instruction.

“Get rid of the dress.”

Her compliance is instant—she steps out of her outfit, her panties. Until she’s just standing before you; the charm, the sex appeal, the big beautiful eyes all in view, so full of hope and desperation for the special kind of bliss only you can provide her.

Just Giselle, her fucking gift of a body in a pair of tight black stockings and high stiletto heels.

“Now,” you say, tilting your hips forward, your cock jabbing into her stomach, pressing a stamp of need into her skin. Giselle preens at the contact, practically vibrating at your touch. One more thing— “Beg.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Simply, honestly. With every ounce of her soul. “Fuck me good. Take me. Please. I need it. I need to feel you inside me. I’ve been dreaming of this, of you fucking me just like this, so—please, make it real.”

“Begging’s a good look on you, Giselle,” you murmur, finishing the rest of the thought in your head. ‘You're going to be doing a lot more of it tonight.’

She yelps when you flip her over, force her to brace herself against the bar. Her lovely ass high up in the air, her pussy drooling onto the floor.

You don't bother warning her.

You stuff your cock into her.

She fucking screams.

So wet, so slippery. Sliding in and out of her, forcing her cunt to mould itself too you. So fucking tight that you have to bite back a groan, have to fight the urge to just pound into her, to fuck her into the counter.

But there's still a pace you're setting, a rhythm that’s not quite as frantic as her needy cries. You’re in no hurry, not yet. You want to savour this. The feel of her clenching around you, the way her back arches with every thrust, her palms slapping against the bar top, leaving little smudges of sweat behind.

“God, this—” Giselle tries, but finds herself lost for words, unable to properly articulate just how good it feels to have you inside her. But the noises she makes—whimpers and gasps and moans and groans—speak volumes.

You complete the thought for her— “You fucking love this, don’t you?” You’re grunting, pressing your body to hers, nipping at her ear. Slurring these dirty thoughts like they're sweet nothings, these words of pure filth into her neck. “Love being fucked like this. Been waiting for it for so long. So goddamn desperate for it that you can’t even fucking talk.”

She’s fucking amazing. Not just the feeling—hot and tight and perfect—it’s the way she moves with you. Pure pleasure ricocheting through her, the slap of her ass against your hips, the sway of her tits underneath her, her cunt desperately trying to swallow you whole.

It’s her, her body, so alive and responsive and sensitive underneath yours. Taking your cock so deliciously, her cunt fluttering around like it’s trying to hold onto it, like it’s never going to let go.

“So, so fucking hard,” she’s found her voice, clawing back some level of composure. Enough to tense her cunt, squeeze her walls around you. Needing you to know every inch of her body, every inch of her pussy, needing you to know that it’s all yours for the taking. “God, it feels so good—doesn’t it? Fucking me here. Tell me. Tell me how good I am. Tell me I’m a good girl. Tell me you’re never going to be able to spend another second here without thinking of my pussy.”

You know she’s right, she’s leaving a part of herself here, branded into the very fabric of this bar that’s been your sanctuary. It has you pushing in deeper, a violent thrust of your hips, a little punctuation to drive her point home.

She swallows as you pick up speed, chokes on a half-formed moan—so, so fucking close. But you’ve only just begun.

Grabbing her hair, winding your fist in pink, pulling her up so she's forced to listen. The details on her face are all hazy, her makeups smudged from tears, from where she’s rubbed at her face, trying to keep the pleasure at bay. But that’s not how this goes. That’s not how any of this goes.

“You want to hear how good you’re being for me?” A harsh whisper for her, and it takes so much effort for her to just nod in response. “You want me to tell you all the filthy things I’m thinking? Everything that I’ve been dying to do to you?”

“Yes,” she pleads back. “Tell me, please—I need to hear it all.”

So you do. You lay it all on her. Every unfiltered, explicit thought you’ve had—every depraved fantasy that’s on the tip of your tongue whenever she’s around. You tell her all of it, how much of a whore you’re going to turn her into; how much of a slut you want to make her.

How this isn’t the last time. No, there’s going to be hours, days, weeks of this after.  Of you fucking her here, of her coming to you just to have another taste of your cock. It’s a revelation, a promise, and it fucking ruins her.

“Every single time you've walked into here, every single time you've sat across form me, I've thought about this," you're grunting now, giving in to the urgency that’s been building up in your chest, the pressure that’s been weighing on you for what feels like an eternity. “I’ve thought about bending you over this very bar. Making you beg for it, making you scream out my name when I fuck my cum into you. Making sure every single person out there knows that this cunt is mine to take whenever I fucking want.”

It’s so fucked, the effect that hearing all this has on her. The sound of your voice, your darkest desires, the harshness of your words, it’s all too much for her, it’s everything she’s ever wanted to be told.

You’re unlocking something in her, something she’s never admitted to anyone, not her closest friends, not her bandmates, not even herself. The way you speak to her, the way you’re treating her like a perfect little fuck doll—and you’re realising that maybe, just maybe, it’s because no one’s ever fucked her well enough to find out.

There’s no room here to be gentle, there’s no way in hell she’d ever want you to be. You tighten your grip in your hair, slam into her harder, skin slapping against skin, mixing with the wet sounds of her pussy taking all of you. Each cry you fuck out of her is music, each one a little higher pitched, a little more desperate than the last.

“This is what you want isn’t it?” You’re demanding of her, even when she’s blubbering, barely able to breathe let alone respond. Just trying to hold on.

But you’re not letting her.

You’re taking her to that place that’s beyond words, that’s beyond thought. The place where all she can do is feel and react. And she’s doing that so beautifully, her body shaking, her cunt quivering around your cock. It’s building and building, the things you’re doing to her, saying to her, making her choke on her own spit, making her eyes roll back and her mouth drop open, until all she can repeat, over and over again is your name.

“Again,” she shapes another word, another plea. She’s a total disaster of need. “Please, again, make me cum again.”

“You'll cum when I say you can,” you growl, forcing her to choke on another whine. The strangled noise goes straight to your cock; makes it throb harder inside her, drive deeper into her. You let go of her hair, only to palm her tit, squeezing into the flesh hard. Giselle jolts, a squeal escaping her lips. “But since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you cum before me again. Just this once. Just because it’s Christmas.”

You’re being evil, you know it, she loves it, but it's the best part. She clearly wouldn't want it any other way.

”Yes.” Giselle’s beaming, shivering with excitement. Getting fucked into utter ruins and thanking you for the privilege. “Thank you, use my pussy, do whatever you want, just let me cum.”

That sparks an idea, “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” Giselle pants, not a single idea of what she’s agreeing to. But maybe that's the whole point. “Anything.”

There’s a grin that splits your face that you can’t help, that you don’t bother suppressing. “I’m not going to ask for permission anymore, Giselle. I’m just going to fuck you the way I want. Make you addicted to my cock. Take you how I want, cum in all your holes, fill you up over and over again.”

Giselle’s eyes go wide, nearly stops breathing entirely. So close. Knowing that the next words out of your mouth are going to decimate her completely.

“Gonna make you start the New Year knocked up.”

She freezes.

“God—” Giselle’s a fucking wreck, on the verge of something explosive, something else entirely. “Oh my God.”

She just needs you to give her that push.

“You love it, don’t you? Being made nothing more than a fucking cumdump for me? That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

You’re fucking her too hard, hammering into her too roughly, it’s a wonder that she can even manage a stuttered, “I—I—”

“Fucking say it, Giselle,” you say, “Spit it out.”

It’s too difficult for her to fit the words together, to form her reply, so it means all that more when she manages to tell you. “I want it.”

“Want what?”

“Your cum in me. All of it. Until I’m, until I’m—” She’s there, lost in it, in the idea of you ruining her in such a permanent, irreversible way. Or maybe completing her, making her whole, making her perfect for you and only you.

But you’re so close too. Right fucking behind her. All she has to do is say it.

“Until you breed me. Fill me with your cum, give it to me. I need it. Make me your permanent cocksleeve and never let me go. Make me yours—completely, forever yours. Make me your fucking whore.”

“Good girl.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Hits her like a fucking meteor. Leaping right off the most intense high she’s ever climbed. Bucking and quaking against your bar, your cock still impaled inside her, mercilessly undoing her. It’s nothing short of fucking pornographic, fucking depraved the way it’s destroying her.

Seizing her entire body in pleasure, her nails digging into the wood, scraping up marks that will prove to be a sweet, everlasting reminder of the exact moment she became yours. Fracturing her, breaking her apart into a million tiny pieces and then remaking her all over again as something purely sexual—something that only exists for your satisfaction.

“So fucking good, your cock, God it’s you, just you—” Giselle’s words dissolve into a keening cry that shatters the remaining silence of the bar. “Breeding me so good—”

Nothing short of a miracle that she’s still on her feet, that she can still do anything at all. One last thing she needs to do in the dying embers of her lucidity, one final goal—choke your cock with her cunt, wring you dry, make you flood her with your cum.

“Cum, cum, fill me, breed me, give me your—”

“Take it,” you exhale, “Take it all.”

And it’s Giselle in her entirety that overcomes you, overloading your senses with the pure, distilled feeling of just her. The smell of her sex, her perfume, the feel of her curves, her softness, the perfection that is her pussy, enveloping your cock, drenching it in her wetness. These things that you’ll never, ever be able to forget.

But it's her words that make you erupt.

“Breed me, Daddy!”

You cum deep into Giselle’s pussy.

Buried inside her, rushing white hot, thick and heavy. Ropes and ropes of it, spurting inside her, painting her insides, coating her walls until it’s just sheer heat and you making her whole.

Her cunt’s clenching around you, she’s begging, slurring moans and whimpers that there’s no fucking chance you have of comprehending—just basking in the knowledge that they’re desperate, needy sounds that are all for you.

She can’t keep it all in. But she needs to.

Something knocks the architecture out of her legs, but you’re quick enough to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, keep her on her feet. Keeping her from collapsing entirely, just letting her pulse around you, clench and quiver.

You’re kissing her into the shoulder, cooing these affirmations, keeping her with you, telling her the truth of it all, “Such a good girl, Giselle. Taking my cum so well.”

Giselle can’t say anything. She sobs. Face buried in her hands. Not from pain, not even close. You’ve never seen pleasure look so much like agony. So much like release.

It’s overwhelming.

You try to make a move, take a step back. But Giselle flexes her cunt, clutching you tighter. Reaches back with her hand for your thigh to stop you.

“Wait,” she whispers. "Not yet. Don't move. Keep your cock inside me. Don't let a single drop get out."

You give her the time, because she’s just so perfect like this. So unfathomably gorgeous, all fucked up and cum-drunk. In ways no one should ever be. Like you’ve torn the wings off an angel, brought her down to Earth and made her yours.

You revel in it.

“Take your time,” you breathe; the exhaustion, the strain, the adrenaline pumping through your veins all coming to a head at once. Keeping your cock plugging up her cunt. Leaving all your cum inside.

Neither of you are moving anywhere. Not until she says so.

Giselle laughs.

“Perfect,” she sighs, voice hoarse and shaky. “I knew it would be perfect. I knew you would ruin me like this. God, I don’t ever want to go back.”

You’re laughing too, harsh, airless chuckles that feel like they’re being torn out of your chest. You twitch your cock inside her. “You think you have a say in the matter?”

“I guess I don’t,” she giggles.

You look around at the scene of the crime, the evidence you've left on her. The marks on her skin, her shoulder, her neck. The ruins of her dress, her panties. The tearing of her stockings. Her tear-filled eyes, her smeared mascara, her drooling lips.

And her cunt, so full of you, so very yours.

It’s barely believable. She may not have burned down the bar, but there’s certainly a fire that’s been set. One that’s not likely to die down anytime soon.

It has you swelling inside her all over again.

Gisele feels it.

“Say,” she starts, wriggling her hips against you, making you groan. “You didn’t have any Christmas plans, right?”

Your hands slip down to her hips, idly massaging into the small of her back. “None at all.”

Giselle’s laughter subsides into a contented exhale, her lashes fluttering as she looks at you with a soft smile. Her hand reaches back, caressing the side of your face. “And the rest of the year?”

“Nothing that can’t be cancelled.”

“Good,” she says, her breath sweet against your cheek. “Cancel them all. Close up for the holidays. Shut all the doors. Stay inside with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And do what?”

“Get to work,” Giselle answers, pulling you into a last kiss, threatening to undo you all over again. “You did promise to knock me up by New Years.”

[wonderjanga]

Father’s Day

@autistic-human’s post and @moonlightcycle571’s comment on said post were the inspiration for this one. I love dad Marvel soooooo much, cause I think Billy would try his best to be a good adult figure without even realizing it can come off as parental. He’d just be doing what he would’ve wanted someone to do for him, which was be there for whichever kid no matter what. So what happens when a bunch of angsty teens with trauma meet him? He’s obviously going to try his best to be there for them!

Like Kon, when he first met Marvel, he didn’t really know what to think of the man. He was nice. Almost overwhelmingly so. He also helps Kon with anything if he ever needs help. He’s also almost always around and is willing to talk about virtually anything with Kon too. And this isn’t just exclusive to him, but to everyone. (It makes him feel slightly queasy sometimes. He hasn’t realized what he’s feeling is jealousy whenever his parental figure’s attention is on another kid.) So that’s why when Father’s Day came around and M’gann suggested they all do something for Marvel, he was a little dumbfounded. One, because he just came to the realization that he thinks of Marvel as a kinda dad, and two, because what were they going to do? Marvel isn’t actually their dad, so what if the Captain finds it weird? Kon really doesn’t want to think about Cap finding all of this weird.

The YJ eventually decided to just get Cap a gift. They were all pretty sure that’s what you were supposed to give fathers. Now the question is: what to give him?

Marvel: *goes to Mount Justice to check in on the kids*

YJ: *All in the kitchen fighting about how to frost the cookies cause they all did it differently*

Marvel: *hears them and comes to the kitchen*

YJ: *doesn’t notice him*

Kon: *Does notice and picks up his batch of cookies and goes to Marvel* “Cap.” *presents cookies to Billy*

Marvel: “Huh?” *stares at cookies. Kon’s cookies are a bunch of mishapen blobs with smiley faces* “Are these for me?”

Kon: *nods head* “They’re you.”

Marvel: *takes a cookie with one of the biggest smiles Kon has ever seen on the man’s face* “This is amazing… thanks Kon!” *bites cookie* “They’re really good too!”

Kon: “Really?” *eyes shining at the praise*

Marvel: “Yeah!” *finishes cookie and is about to grab another one*

Other YJ members: *now notice Marvel and Kon* “Wait! Wait! Wait! Try mine next!” *they all proceed to take turns shoving cookies into Marvel’s hands*

Marvel: *eats them all and gives each of them stellar reviews*

About after thirty minutes of Marvel and the kids eating cookies…

Marvel: “What was all this for by the way?”

YJ: “Huh?”

Marvel: “What was all this for? I mean, it’s not my birthday, so…” *doesn’t know it’s Father’s Day*

YJ: “Oh uh… We just felt like it.”

Marvel: “Oh. Okay!” *just happy to gobble the last, remaining cookies* “By the way, this means a lot to me. Even if it was just a spur of the moment thing. I appreciate it.”

YJ: *all super duper uper happy he loves it but trying not to show it* “No problem.” (Spoiler: they’re not very good at hiding it.)

Then there’s Damian. He’s always had a love-hate relationship with Marvel’s happy go lucky, friendly attitude, but it sort of reminds him of Grayson so he’ll never admit it but it’s leaning more towards love. The man has also weirdly never once gotten mad at him, or at anyone as far as he can tell. He’s extremely patient, and the fact that Damian hasn’t pushed the limits of that patience yet is surprising to the young Wayne. The man also knows a surprising about of animal facts and lets him pet his tiger. So that’s another bonus. The man also doesn’t underestimate him solely based on the fact he’s a child. So, when the Father’s Day holiday rolls around, he decides he would reward Marvel for being an admittedly commendable person.

Marvel: *standing by the window of the Titan’s tower, looking at Jump City*

Damian: *appears from nowhere* “Captain.”

Marvel: *jumps before looking to Damian* “Yes, Robin?”

Damian: *holds up Alfred the Cat* “This is Alfred the Cat. I’m giving you the privilege to pet him just this once. Say hi, Alfred.”

Alfred the Cat: *meows*

Marvel: “Hi.” *little wave to Alfred* “Nice to meet you, Alfred.” *shakes Alfred’s little paw before petting him*

Damian: *lets Marvel get a single pet in before pulling Alfred away* “Alright, that’s enough.”

Marvel: “Oh- uh…” *smiles at Damian* “Thanks for letting me pet him, Robin.”

Damian: “Your welcome.” *nods at him before walking off to bring Alfred back to the manor*

Then there’s also Raven. She honestly had no intention of even thinking about the holiday, considering the fact her father is a demon that actively sucks and ruins her life. Then she saw Damian do his thing and after thinking about the Captain and how the man cares for her and her team members… she supposed he should get some type of reward. The man is extremely nice after all.

A little while after Damian’s departure…

Marvel: *back to looking out the window*

Raven: *also appears out of nowhere* “Marvel.”

Marvel: *jumps just like with Damian and looks to her* “Yes, Raven?”

Raven: *presents Marvel with a mini version of himself*

Mini Marvel: *waves to Billy*

Marvel: “Wha?” *bends down slightly to look at Mini Marvel with a confused smile* “Is that me?”

Raven: *nods head* “It’s a new spell I learned. I wanted to show you.”

Marvel: *pokes Mini Marvel in the stomach* “This is… Amazing!” *gives her a wide grin* “You’re amazing!”

Raven: *a little surprised she feels happy at the man’s approval but isn’t really hating* “Thanks.”

Marvel: “Actually, wait. Hold up!” *mutters a spell and in his hand spawns a Mini Raven. He places the Mini Raven in Raven’s palm with the Mini Marvel*

Mini Marvel: *fawning over Mini Raven*

Mini Raven: *blankly staring at Mini Marvel and lets it fawn*

Marvel: “And you’re saying you learned this spell on your own?” *looks away from the Minis and to Raven* “That’s awesome. You did a wonderful job.”

Raven: *doesn’t really know how to handle all the praise* “Thanks… I’m uh… I think I left the stove on.” *instead of heading to the kitchen, runs off to her room*

Marvel ended up later telling the other members of the JL how many gifts he’s gotten that day. They were a little confused and wondered how many kids Marvel could have. But no, they found out that a lot of their own kids think of him as a somewhat father. Also, a few of the adults might’ve thought about slipping Marvel gifts when the man wasn’t looking cause Billy being a dad isn’t just exclusive to the kids.

[ready-to-read7]

Prompt #8

Okay I absolutely love the idea of pariah dark adopting Danny and I don’t see it quite often and I really like dead serious/Danny x Damien

After a bad Fenton parents revealed Danny escape to the ghost zone where he meets up with a very confused pariah dark who doesn’t understand why this baby ghost is acting hostile towards him and why the baby ghosts also injured so he asks and Danny is obviously confused on why pariah is acting so nice.

Danny then explains angrily to pariah about everything and based on the look on pariah’s face Danny can tell that something isn’t right and he finds out from clockwork that apparently the observance were being massive jerks and were manipulating pariah in order to get whatever the hell they wanted and of course pariah is furious with this because he was trying to make the realm a peaceful and happy place but he was being manipulated and controlled into being a tyrant and then imprisoned for it by the exact same people or beings that were controlling him.

pariah dark immediately then overthrows the observance stripping them all of their power and making them pay for what he did to everyone in the realm because technically it was their fault for controlling him. he then goes to Danny and tells him since he defeated him in combat he has the right to the throne but he is aware that Danny is too young, and will have him first  get a bit older before he becomes the next king at that point Danny Lets it  spilled that his parents are the ones who injured him and that they were still human and all of that and obviously pariah is not happy so he tries and succeeds in forming a bond with Danny essentially becoming Danny’s father.

And he also automatically takes Danny after forming the bond to the far frozen to get him checked out because there are severe injuries that  are definitely not okay, and obviously everyone from the far frozen is shocked to see Pariah dark holding Danny, but after he explains exactly what happened they let him see Danny again but by that point Danny had retracted into his core due to his injuries.

Pariah obviously being concerned because he is Danny’s new father figure would try his best to get his new son to reform but what he wasn’t expecting was for his new son to reform  into a toddler round about three years old.

After sorting all of that out pariah dark would then return to his castle and set everything up for his new son/Danny, and after setting everything up he would make an announcement to a very  terrified realm exposing the bad deeds of the observers and declaring Danny the high prince of the infinite realms the next to take the throne.

Pariah dark then spends two years taking care of Danny and fixing the realms

As soon as Danny turns five pariah dark decides to do something that he still thinks is normal because he’s so gosh damn old he doesn’t know that arranged marriages are out of style or not really done anymore but nonetheless he tries to find someone perfect to engage his half mortal son to, and he finds them , he comes across a natural portal of corrupted ectoplasm and learns that there is a group that literally treats this portal like it’s a gift from a higher being or something so he thinks these people might be liminal enough that if there is a child there to engage his son with they will be closer to what Danny is than anyone else.

So during the next ritual the group has he appears and tries to make a deal with the leader to engage his son with any child near Danny’s age and luckily there is a six-year-old boy named Damien.

ra’s al ghul  obviously not expecting a being to  come out of the pit is a bit wary on what he wants but when he hears that this creature is the literal king of the afterlife and that he is looking for a partner for his son he immediately jumps on giving him any one of his own children but when he learns that the being has a five-year-old and does not want his son to be engaged anyone too old for him ra’s then offers Damien since Damien is only six and this is like the best thing that could ever happen having his grandson betrothed to the next ruler of the afterlife is like the best thing that could ever happen to him, and pariah and ra’s end up agreeing to betroth Danny and Damien.

Damien being a child raised by the leag of assassins obviously takes it as a great honor to be the fiancé or whatever to the prince of the afterlife and sees himself as the perfect and only good option so he is going to fully commit to proving that he is the perfect option for the Prince of the afterlife.

And as they occasionally meet up and get to know each other and they both start getting feelings for each other, but they both are  kind of dense  so they don’t really realize it, Danny is the first to realize that he likes Damien after  Damien leaves to go live with his father, and is kind of sad that he can’t hang out with Damien anymore.

Damien on the other hand after spending a single year with his father realizes that he really really misses Daniel/Danny and then comes to the conclusion that he had actually gained feelings for his betrothed and is now upset that he can’t see Daniel/Danny anymore .

And like maybe a year or two or maybe even three later under some circumstances they meet up again and they literally won’t leave each other alone because they haven’t seen each other in so long.

[lxnarphase]

━ dear sukuna...♡

✷ synopsis .ᐟsome of my personal headcanons for heian era!sukuna ♡

✷ content .ᐟ heian era!sukuna x fem!reader, oc mention [nonromantic], fluff, teasing, name for sukuna's stomach mouth, sad childhood (poor kuna :<)

✷ lunar's note .ᐟ these are just a few headcanons ive wanted to share about heian sukuna but i have so many more that i will 100% make another one of these for this sukuna AND different sukuna's, like fratboy!kuna, modern!sukuna, jujutsu high teacher!kuna, etc. whatever other aus i think of !! i hope u guys like my silly lil thoughts :33

sukuna was abandoned by his mother and father at a young age as his more monstrous features began to develop. the village he was born into grew to despite him as a young boy, blaming any misfortune on his existence. it got to a point that they figured the only way to get rid of the bad luck in the village was to kill him. before this, a sorcerer woman named chiyo, quickly got him to safety and cared for him as he grew older.

during his childhood, sukuna nearly burned down an entire forest trying to learn how to use divine flame. he hasn't told anyone beause he still gets overly embarrassed when he thinks about how badly he fucked up.

during his time with chiyo, sukuna met uraume. he practically dragged uraume home and simply said "this one can cook. they are staying" and chiyo just sighed and accepted it. he always seemed to have a thing for strays.

when chiyo became older, she became extremely sick and ended up passing. because of the bond he formed with her, sukuna couldn't accept her death and ended up transforming her into a curse. instead of being monstrous, however, chiyo is relatively human looking...but now just an old lady who huffs playfully at sukuna for not letting her sleep.

while he does have concubines, sukuna wants a wife who can keep up with him. yes, being gifted the finest women is a pleasure and fuels his ego, but he wants to ensure the person he marries checks all the boxes. no one knows him best except himself, after all

if any concubine or servant is caught speaking ill of his wife, uraume, or chiyo, sukuna will not hesitate to kill them. after all, he selected them to be the closest people in his life. if someone questions his decisions, they have no worth to him.

sukuna gets extremely grumpy whenever you get sick because he just. cannot figure out how to take care of you without being too overbearing or accidentally calling you weak. yes, he's one of the most powerful sorcerers to walk the earth, but seeing you sweat from a fever makes him feel weak and he projects a little bit.

sukuna's stomach mouth was playfully named 'mokuna', or 'moku for short, by chiyo as a combination of mouth and sukuna. he swears up and down he hates the name, but the mouth on his abdomen can't help but grin and grumble happily when it's referred to by a name.

he will never admit it, but sukuna has a massive sweet tooth. yes, he will steal candy from a baby, he does not care. if it smells sweet and makes his mouth water, he wants it.

sometimes, when sukuna is sleeping, moku will still be 'awake' and will try to communicate with you. it can't speak verbal words very well, but it's so expressive that you find it relatively easy to figure out what it's trying to say.

sukuna is a shitty liar when moku is visible because if he tries to act grumpy and upset at the sweet cooing and petting your giving him, mokuna is practically purring, giving you a little lick on whatever part of you it can reach. it's so fucking cute too when he tries to hide the pink tinge on his ears

sukuna LOVES water, he loves soaking in the onsen for hours, loves swimming in large ponds and lakes. he turns into a little kid when he seems a big lake with crystalline water and will not hesitate to stop everything he's doing to drag you into the water with him

when he sleeps, sukuna will purr a little if he's having a good dream...if you get lucky, you might catch mokuna awake, trying not to laugh at it's host acting like a kitten in his sleep.

sukuna very rarely has nightmares, but occasionally will have short but vivid dreams about his childhood. he will never admit they bother him, but you know something is up when you feel him playing with your hair in the middle of the night. you let him have his moment, pretending to be asleep against his chest as he busies himself with your hair to distract his mind.

uraume and chiyo are the biggest gossips when put together, and while sukuna does his best to act as thought he thinks gossip is pointless, he's always listening attentively when they get to talking. "the new servant was caught sleeping with the local seamstress' husband? how whorish of him...was he the top or bottom?"

sukuna really, really, really likes seeing you in gold. if he could, he'd stare at you all day, in nothing but gold and jewels on the bed, looking like his little gold hoard as if he's some kind of dragon. if he wasn't so jealous, he'd have you like this publicly so everyone would know what a goddess would look like. but, he knows he'd violently maul anyone who sees you naked...that's for him and him only.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[cheeseceli]

When you struggle to eat

Pairing: Ot8!skz × Gn!reader (individually)

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, reactions

Request: reader thinking she eats "too much" and decides to eat way less for her body image, and how the skz boys would react to that.

Warnings: eating struggles will be discussed; reader has body image issues; mentions of food multiple times; use of petnames in Chan and Changbin's

Disclaimer: this was made with the purpose to comfort anyone who's going through a similar situation. If I made a mistake and made someone uncomfortable/aggravated the situation, please do tell me and I'll correct or delete this post immediately, whatever is preferred. Topics related to eating disorders will be discussed here, please don't read if that's something that triggers you.

Bang Chan - is ready to listen to all your worries

‌We all remember Chan's Room right?

‌He's ready to spend hours if needed just to understand what you're going through ‌and where your insecurities are coming from

‌At the same time, he will never judge you

‌So you know he's your safe place

Constantly checks up on you even if he's far away through texts and calls

And if there's someone who's aggravating the situation or making you insecure, you can bet he's gonna solve the situation himself

"Talk to me baby. What's going on in that mind of yours, hm?"

Lee Know - eats with you

Probably the first to realise something's off, considering food is almost his love language atp

Likes to have as many meals with you as possible

‌He usually makes a mountain of food in his plate, so you don't worry about the amount of food in yours

‌And he also runs errands with you

‌Especially those like buying food

‌You don't even gotta ask, he would be volunteering on the first opportunity

‌Also cooks for you, whatever you want

"Do you want to eat anything? I can cook"

Changbin - Hype man

‌Your personal hype man fr

‌Is ready to compliment you in absolutely everything

‌The best part is that you know that his compliments are always genuine

‌What do you mean you didn't like that trousers?? You looked fantastic in it! That shirt made you look even more gorgeous

‌He has known you for so long and still, he always finds something new to compliment you on

But even if after all the reassurance you want to change the way you look, he will be by your side to help you do it in a safe and healthy way

"You look perfect, baby. I promise. Actually, I still don't believe I managed to pull someone so beautiful like that"

Hyunjin - has all meals with you

‌And with that, I really mean all meals

‌Breakfast, lunch, dinner, you name it

‌Even if you can't really get out of your work place or your university, he's going there then

‌He just doesn't want you to be by yourself

‌He also always has something to say during those meals

‌News about their comeback, gossip at jyp, stories from his childhood...

He never fails to admire you a lot in those moments as well, never letting you forget how much he loves and appreciates you

‌He does that hoping it will distract you from the food, so you can be more at ease

"Have I ever told you about the time Kkami bit my ankle? I think I still have the scar."

Han - makes you feel beautiful

‌He truly doesn't understand how you don't think you're the most beautiful human being to ever set foot on this earth

‌In his eyes, you were born perfect

‌So, naturally, he makes it his mission to make you see yourself in his point of view

‌Compliments and adores you

‌Will make you feel beautiful, pretty, sexy, cute... Whatever you wanna be

‌Above all, he'll make you feel loved

"No matter what size, you'll always be my love. Don't forget that."

Felix - distracts you

‌With that, I mean that he tries to take your attention off food and body image related subjects

‌Before and after eating, he will always bring you along to activities where your mind can be turned off

‌So many fun dates!!

‌Even during the meals he'll have a similar idea to hyunjin and simply won't shut up

‌Most of his compliments don't involve around your body, so you really don't think about it

"I love this hairstyle of yours. It looks wonderful"

Seungmin - protects you

‌In a sense that no one even dares to comment on your looks/habits

Even if he isn't there with you

‌That because he made it very clear that everyone should watch their mouths around you

‌For as long as he's around you, he will do his best and more to protect you from harmful comment

Also tries to experiment a lot of different foods with you all the time, so you never feel like that's a burden or a bad thing

"Hey, have you heard about the new restaurant close to home? The food is peruvian. We could have dinner there tonight."

I.N - physically reassures you

‌He loves you and every single part of you, including your looks

I believe he was a bit lost in the beginning, not exactly sure on how to help you

‌But even if his words aren't exactly his biggest strength, he still wants to reassure you as much as he can

‌So he does that with his touch

‌Holding you on his lap, kissing all of your "imperfections" and tracing patterns in your skin

‌Anything that can ground, reassure and give you comfort at the same time

"Have I ever told you how perfect you are? I should tell you that more."

Masterlist | you'll probably like: when you're overworked (ateez comfort)

Thank you for reading<3 I hope this was able to help someone

» I won't put the taglist on this one as I don't want to tag anyone in something that can possibly trigger them «

Dividers by @/cafekitsune, images 1 2 3

Thank you so much for the beta readers: @duhgurl @beebee18 @applekiwi3202 @elqivxstxr @mrsunshine999 @msauthor

[onetoomanyfandomfixations]

Hazbin Hotel Characters React to You Asking for a Hug (PART 2)

Buckle in bitches, its time for some COMFORT

Lucifer

Guys he’s SO nervous

“Oh really? You, uh, you want a hug from me? Are you sure?”

Nervous laughter 100

Takes a hot minute for him to adjust, but DOES give good hugs

WING HUGS. Y’ALL KNOW HOW I GET ABOUT WING HUGS.

Y’all gotta remember he’s a dad

So good, firm dad hug

His hands are clammy af, but don’t mention that pls

Gives you the opportunity to talk out whatever’s going through your head

Actually has really insightful advice

Like his daughter, honestly so honoured you chose to come to him

Lute

“Must I?”

Begrudging as FUCK

But she’ll do it

If she has to

Stiff, awkward hugs that last for 5 seconds tops

No wing hugs :(

“Human souls are weird”

Tries to teach you how to fight so you can use sparring as a “normal” coping mechanism

Adam

As much as I hate him, would give BANGIN hugs

“Fuck, you wan’ a hug? Fuck yeah bitch, get over here!”

Super enthusiastic about it????

Like, gives you shit, but its still one of the tightest and most excited hugs you’ve ever received

Very very warm

You will probably overheat if you stay there too long

WING HUGS!!!!!!!

Will be extra touchy with you from here on out

Arm around the shoulder, etc

Carmilla

Is she mom, or mommy? Jury’s still out on that one.

Will never ever refuse you if you need a hug

Will, however, try to pull you aside and make it a private moment

Not a big fan on PDA, but your wellbeing takes priority

Makes you rest your head against her chest, no matter how tall you are

If you tell her what’s going on, will fix it

You don’t even need to ask.

She’s gonna check up on you after at LEAST twice

Rosie

Is she mom or mommy part 2: electric boogaloo

Drops EVERYTHING

Ushers you into a sunroom and brews you a pot of tea to share

And grabs snacks, of course

Definitely forgets if cannibalism makes you queasy

Holds you hand from across the table and encourages you to talk it out with her

A lil bit pushy about it, but its from a place of love

But if you need it, will definitely hug you

Another one with bone shattering hugs

Her hands are cold af tho, so beware

Vox

Tbh doesn’t hear you the first time, he’s super focused on whatever else he’s doing

Once he hears you/it registers to him, he’s pretty confused

“Why do you need a hug?”

Only hugs you if y’all are really close

Generally not a touchy person

He won’t stop whatever he’s doing though

Most likely will just sit you in his lap, so he can cuddle And work

Multitasking, bitch

Don’t do it while he’s actively broadcasting though

Super against PDA (bc he’s embarrassed) and will probably snap at you if you break this boundary

Velvette

“Wot. Why?”

Also confused

Like Vox, usually to busy to properly hug you

But will let you stick around and lay all over her while she works

Anyone who questions it dies Very quickly, and Very grotesquely

Very protective

“Babes, do I need to hurt someone? Coz you Know I’ll do it”

Probs takes selfies of you hanging off of her bc she thinks its cute

Will dress you up to try and make you feel better

Valentino

Seek psychological help 💕

I know he’s got a sexy voice, but you know I’m right

[impishjesters]

Pomni, Kinger, Caine & Jax's reaction to their s/o abstracting

warning(s): angst, hurt no comfort, self-blame, "death" of the reader, implied "death"/abstraction of another character (spoiler: Kinger), hopeful outcome note(s): There's nothing incredibly heavy or detailed, just tread carefully if "death" is something you are sensitive to, please. The "hopeful outcome" implies that Caine will at some point in time be able to fix those who've abstracted. A/N: I was feeling particularly cruel and wanted to write some angst, this came to mind and I'll be honest. I made myself a little sad.

Pomni

She never saw it coming, of course, you were acting different lately but she didn’t think it would… lead to you abstracting…

It took forever for things to get some semblance of normalcy, and you being with her was a major part of it.

Sure the relationship in a place like this was a bit, weird, but you cared about her, and she cared about you.

You kept her sane and grounded, so when you were found abstracted? It felt like she failed you.

Ragatha tries to assure her that you aren’t completely gone. Like Kaufmo you’re being kept in the cellar. Caine claims the abstracted are being kept there until he can find a way to “fix” them. (Whether he’s genuine or not though, none of them know.)

It’s all empty promises though, she still feels like she failed you.

Kinger

Not again…

Kinger silently promised himself not again, he was fine being friendly with everyone else that fell into the circus, but he had no intentions of being more than that.

But then you happened, and while he was still in shambles from the time and the insanity spent here, you were there beside him. Like a knight in shining armor.

He hadn’t been around when you abstracted, in fact, he didn’t know you abstracted until there was yelling, and boom an abstraction was causing chaos.

Kinger didn’t know who it was until it was sent off to the cellar, actually, he didn’t know who it was until he realized everyone was present except you.

There’s a high probability that losing someone again, losing you, is what ends up being his own downfall. The other’s (not including Jax) try their all to get him to calm down but it’s not enough, it’s too late…

Caine

Of all the humans to be pulled in he never once got attached.

This was never supposed to happen, he’s incapable of love.

Caine does his best to keep the humans from abstracting, and as many eyes as he has over the place, there are always ones that slip through his grasp.

Of course, he’s not around when you abstract, it takes a bunch of hooting and hollering from everyone before he shows up and oh hey an abstraction.

At an immediate glance, he knows it’s you, abstractions never remotely look like the person they were before but he knows it’s you. You don’t recognize him as you lash out, of course you don’t, you can’t.

He’s unsure about tossing you with the others in the cellar, there’s nowhere else he can truthfully keep you without causing problems. So into the cellar, you go.

Caine visits you though, not for long but he does check in on you. Not that anything changes, but out of all the abstractions down there, he knows exactly which one is you.

You’ll be the first human he fixes as soon as he’s able to.

Jax

His s/o abstracted? Nice joke, though it’s in poor taste. You’re completely fine, he just saw you earlier.

Jax doesn’t believe it until he sees it, and seeing it absolutely ruins him. He’s seen countless others get abstracted and thrown into the cellar, but why, why does it have to be you?

Why couldn’t it have been literally anyone else? He didn’t give a shit about anyone else, the one person he cared for, and you…

Similarly to Pomni, he feels it’s his fault like he could’ve, no should’ve done more. Was he so wrapped up in everything else that he didn’t notice the signs? Why didn’t you talk to him? You didn’t, didn’t do that on purpose, did you?

For the first time ever, the others are genuinely worried about Jax, they all saw/know how much you meant to him. The two of you even spoke fondly about what the two of you would do if you got out of the circus.

For a while Jax becomes even more irrational and unhinged, they try not to hold it against him too badly, even when he oversteps. He’s grieving and none of them know just how long that’ll go on.

Jax isn’t quite the same afterward, but he makes sure that nobody else tries to worm their way into his heart.

If it’s possible, he’ll make sure Caine fixes you the second he’s able to. Even if Caine can fix only one person, it’s going to be you.

[lustlovehart]

Hiii! I've never done this before but... What if Scara and reader had a fight... Like a fight fight... and reader was seriously injured due to him being blinded be emotions... What do you think would the aftermath of this...?

A/n: Yet again, another ask that i was originally gonna js give a short thought to, turned into something longer *sigh* (I need to stop doing this).

Summary: [Angst/Comfort ] He could never say sorry, even in the moments it mattered.

Warnings: Harm to reader, Scars, Unrealistic Writing of getting hit with lightning

During his time in the fatui, no one exactly had the galls of stopping his rampages. The balladeer is quite famed for his regular intervals of anger, you’re no stranger to it yourself, you’ve seen him mad. it’s just…

Hes never been angry towards you.

You’d get the occasionally scoff every now and then if you uttered something he found foolish, but never has he lashed out at you to such a degree. Not to this level. He’s painfully reminded by his ignorance as soon as his hand crafted eyes lay sight upon your bare form, a body, a human body, covered in scars from lightning. Lightning he inherited, lightning he engaged, lightning he struck you with.

There’s no doubt, the silence is defeaning while you sit with him in the empty room, waiting for one of the medical professionals in the fatui to check on you.

He’s silent. It’s rare. He’s never been quiet for more than 5 minutes with you. He’s either complaining or attempting to make small talk a vast majority of the time, typically the former. But he doesn’t, he doesn’t even stare at you like he always does. You’re about to break the silence before the harbinger breaks it for you.

“You don’t look okay.” He doesn’t look at you, his vision trained on the white tile at his feet.

“Yeah. you struck me with lightning.”

…

“oh.”

It doesn’t hit you until he releases a quiet ‘oh’ from his mouth. Something you probably know better than anyone else that has been on teyvat within his 500 year lifespan.

This man can not say sorry.

“oh? Oh? Kunikuzushi put your pride away for one second.” you don’t try to hide the frustration in your voice. You truly did not mind the eccentricities the puppet in front of you holds, you never did, not even when you first met him.

He still doesn’t answer but you can see the way his face winces and widens in the same moment. Seems he got way too accustomed to ‘Kuni’ and ‘Scara’ to remember that you do in fact remember his given name.

“What else should I say to you? I’ll strike harder next time?” He isn’t getting mad, he was only infuriated earlier, but not now. You can see his demeanor start changing. Whether it be in the direction you want it to go, you’re not sure yet.

“Maybe a sorry? An apology? A “oh forgive me [Name] I love you so much?” He doesn’t answer you, he only scoffs and fall back onto the back of his chair. You don’t miss the way his fingers dig into the cloth of his clothing, probably using it as a replacement for human skin.

The man can’t breathe, but you can hear him inhale and exhale before his next words.

“i don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean to- well not at you.” It comes out softer than the other words hes said to you the entire period of time in the room. His eyes are finally off the floor, trying their best to maintain contact with your own.

Once again, all thats left between the space of you two, is silence. You look away from him for a moment, fiddling with the blanket draped over your legs. You’d like to assume that’s the closest you’ll get to an ‘I’m sorry from him’, but you can’t accept that, so you don’t reply. Ever since waking up, you never were able to see the scars on your body, only the ones on your arms. You wonder if they look hideous.

Your hand reaches behind you to your back, your fingers grazing whatever part you assume suffers scarring.

“Are you worried about how it looks?”

“No, not at all, fighting is commonplace in the fatui.”

“Lying isn’t good, you told me that yourself didn’t you?” Damn him and his pristine memory. You can never remember where you leave your keys yet he can remember things you’ve said to him years ago?

…

“No matter how scarred and beaten you are you’re still [Name] are you not?” With the way he’s looking at you, you’re sure this is another thing he’d want to keep out of the publics knowledge. “Even without your face i’d strike someone down for you in an instant.”

“Oh like you did to me?”

“…” Seems the sweet moment was ruined. You don’t mind though, it’s funny to you.

The weeks that followed still held some tension. You’d refused to see him for awhile. When asked by some trembling lower subordinate, one in which the harbinger had personally sent, why you weren’t seeing him, your reply made the soldier fear for his own downfall.

“He’s insufferable right now. I’ll talk to him when he shows me he’s not a man child who can’t admit his faults.” You’ve always been able to put up with his outbursts, but right now, you realize maybe you should turn up your attitude with him.

After that unfortunate event, not unfortunate for you, for the fatuss, your days have seemingly been more dull. You’ve forgotten just how eccentric the balladeer is. Waking up never seemed so boring, the puppet would either be by your side in the early mornings, or knocking on the door ready to whisk you away.

Seems that routine is coming back.

“Oh? Have you finally swallowed your ego-“

“I’m sorry.”

Seems he couldn’t go any longer without you, how sweet.

Tagging this, I was super confused if this could be characterized as angst w/ comfort or fluff. I just did both though.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 4

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: swearing, drinking/alcohol, mentions of sex, mentions of blood, violence, killing, angst, i hate the pacing of this but i rewrote it like three times and then gave up

series masterlist │my masterlist

after sharing your first kiss, logan becomes much more clingy. he’s attached to you at nearly all times. if you’d thought he was affectionate before, you had no idea what you were getting into. his favourite thing is to press his face into your neck, licking and biting the skin there, but it’s not just your neck. you’ve become a chew toy for a 400 pound man.

he’s never too harsh with it, always gentle with you. he knows you’re not as strong as him. it’s affectionate nibbling, like dogs biting their owners, and you love it because it’s such a clear sign of logan’s happiness.

it reminds you of the early days with logan, where he couldn’t stand to be in a different room as you, though now it’s no longer out of fear but out of a deep desire for closeness and companionship.

and things are good for a while, like that. you enjoy the ease of your unlabeled relationship. he’s yours and you’re his, in every capacity. there’s no need to put an arbitrary, man-made label on your relationship when most of it is quiet, unspoken. you’ve never really had a conversation about what you are, but it’s obvious.

you had thought yourself happy before meeting logan, at peace with the life you’d made for yourself, self-sufficient and doing all the things you loved. you weren’t slaving away at a corporate job, making hardly enough money to support your hobbies, leaving you with hardly any time to enjoy them anyway. it was good.

this is a different kind of happiness, one you’d thought was only real in fairytales. you feel as though he has some sort of six-sense telling him how you’re feeling, when you’re tense or unhappy. he makes you feel like a princess.

but all good things must come to an end. 

he starts to have more nightmares, takes to sleeping in the guest room because he doesn’t want to keep you awake all night with him. more often than not you’ll hear him shouting in his sleep, deep grunts of pain that have you rising from your bed and joining him, hoping your presence will soothe him.

and you like to think that it does. you never get too close to him when he’s tossing and turning restlessly, claws out, metal gleaming in the low moonlight streaming from the gap in the curtains, but you know that logan’s senses are enhanced, heightened, and so you hope that he can feel your presence even while stuck in a nightmare, that you can drag him out of it. eventually he always either settles or wakes up, though both are better alternatives than watching him struggle against an invisible enemy.

you’ve had a few more close calls, where his claws get a little too close, where you let your guard down and lean closer towards him even though you know better, because your heart aches for him.

he becomes more human by the day. he doesn’t tell you when his memories start to come back to him, but you can tell.

you can tell when you get home to find him on the couch with a bottle of whiskey that he must have gotten from the cellar, the one you’d never shown him how to find. it belonged to your grandfather, so you’d gotten it along with the house, but you don’t drink very often and so you haven’t made much use of it.

he takes large swigs of the half-empty bottle, the smell of whiskey on his breath and the taste of booze on his tongue when you go to kiss him. 

you can tell when he becomes less expressive with you, no longer sharing his emotions on his face or with his behaviour as easily as before. he doesn’t bound up to you and sniff you to check where you’ve been, to check if anyone’s gotten too close, their scent clinging onto your clothes. he doesn’t growl when he’s upset or annoyed, just grits his teeth and clenches his jaw tight.

you can tell by the way he holds back his little noises when you pull his head into your lap, scratching at his scalp and tugging on the longer tufts of his hair that you’d jokingly started to refer to as kitty ears. you miss the soft purring, the knowledge that logan was happy and comfortable with you.

sometimes you’ll plan out conversations in your head, acting out how you’ll talk to him and the words you’ll use and how he might reply. but when you try to ask him if he’s alright, placing a hand on his trembling one, sitting down in his lap so he can’t escape, he always shrugs it off. he tells you you’re sweet for worrying about him and kisses you until you no longer remember what you wanted to say.

there’s something happening in his mind that he’s not telling you about, but you chalk up all his odd behaviours to him needing time to deal with remembering his old life.

if his constant nightmares tell you anything, it’s that the memories returning to him aren’t positive ones. there’s a pain in him that wasn’t there before, a darkness that lingers behind his eyes, haunted by things he’s seen. you can’t imagine anyone would deal very well with the onslaught of traumas returning with a vengeance.

he doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t stop hugging you from behind, doesn’t stop surprising you by sneaking up behind you and picking you up out of nowhere, making you shriek and giggle. so you tell yourself you’re being dramatic, it’ll resolve itself in time.

it doesn’t.

he goes out to run through the forest, to hunt as the natural predator he was always meant to be, but when he comes back he won’t speak to you. he shrugs you off, locking the door to the bathroom so you can’t meet him in there.

it’s a small thing, but it’s a crack in the routines you and logan have been building together, the wordless nature of your relationship crumbling around you because all of a sudden it no longer feels like the two of you are on the same wavelength.

you cry silently on the couch, head in your hands, feeling like your world is collapsing. the perfect bubble that had settled around you and logan had popped, and now reality was coming in to destroy the fantasy you’d grown accustomed to. you should have seen it coming - in fact, you had, with every night he spent in a bottle instead of on your lips, but you’d chosen to ignore it.

he doesn’t seem to be as in-tune with your emotions anymore, and you wonder if it’s because he simply doesn’t care enough to try.

the through wrenches you in two.

you had given logan your heart, placed it in his rough, calloused hands and asked him to hold it for you. and now you could feel that very same hand, once so gentle and careful, squeezing tighter and tighter, a physical ache.

you need time away from him, away from the house where every corner has memories attached. so you journey into town.

you’re out for a while, walking aimlessly. the streets grow dark, the sun setting in hues of orange and pink behind the horizon, streetlamps turning on to replace the sunlight, though their dim glow is hardly an effective replacement. and still, you don’t return home, not quite ready to face logan.

it’s as you’re preparing to head back, muttering reassuring words to yourself under your breath, that someone grabs you from behind, a hand against your mouth so you can’t scream. you’re shoved into an alley, thin and dingy between two shops that have already closed for the night, their employees gone home to rest, no one around to hear your struggles.

you scream, though the sound is muffled, and cry and kick at your assailant, but he won’t let go. he’s stronger than you.

you think about logan, who doesn’t know where you are, who probably walked out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist, stray droplets of water tracing down the grooves of his abs. you think about how on any other day you would have kissed down his chest to catch the water on your lips, not yet venturing below his waist, though you’ve done other things.

you hope you don’t die tonight. there’s still so much you haven’t done, so much you haven’t said.

and then the body holding yours is gone and you fall to the ground, knees scraping the pavement on your way down. you cry and cry, fear and anger and relief all washing together into a mess you can’t name. you barely notice the sounds of your assailant begging for mercy, or the low growl from your saviour. but you can smell the blood in the air, the tang of iron.

“what the fuck were you thinking?” strong arms lift you up and instinctively you squirm to try to get away, until a hand grabs your chin and forces your gaze upwards. logan’s furious glare stares back at you, his eyes narrowed and jaw tense.

“i- i’m sorry,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out, and you collapse against him. because even if he’s covered in blood and his claws are still out and he’s just murdered a man, even if he’s clearly angry and dangerous, you’ve never felt safer.

he’s quiet the whole way home. he doesn’t speak to you as he carries you inside the house, refusing to let you walk on your own, doesn’t speak to you as he cleans the cuts on your knees, doesn’t speak to you as he settles you down on the couch with a soft blanket fresh out of the dryer, doesn’t speak to you as he makes your tea the exact way you like it.

and then, “wanna tell me what you were doing out there? you know it’s unsafe for a pretty girl like you after dark, you don’t need me telling you that.”

“i just needed some air,” you argue, though there’s not much heat behind the words, staring down at your steaming mug of tea, watching the unmoving liquid as if it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. logan scoffs, and you can see him in your peripheral vision, looking so unlike the man you thought you knew.

“there’s plenty of air here, we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“you know what i mean,” you sigh, and he stares at you with his hands on his hips until you roll your eyes and continue, “i needed to be away from you! is that what you want to hear? you’re different lately and it scares me because everything was so great for some time and now you’re…”

“different?” he laughs sharply, “yeah, i’ve got my memories back. i remember every awful fucking thing that’s ever happened to me, every time i’ve been tortured. you know how many times i’ve been tortured? you think i’d act the same after that?”

“it’s not that,” you argue, placing your mug down on the coffee table, “we don’t sleep in the same bed anymore! you refuse to let me see you when you come home after hunting! you don’t cuddle up to me like you did before! you used to kiss my neck all the time and now you don’t! you’re just… pulling away. and i know i’m being selfish, fuck do i know it. but every time i’ve tried to have a conversation with you about this you shut it down so what was i supposed to do, logan?”

“you wanna have a conversation?” he shouts, “fine, talk.”

your breath is coming out in ragged pants. there’s a fire in your veins, a fury you haven’t felt in a very long time, it’s intensity paralysing you. you watch logan’s face, the way he stands before you, his imposing figure stretched above yours.

and there’s nothing you can say. the words you’ve been preparing every night before bed for days and days flutter away in a breeze. all you can do is watch his chest rising and falling.

“i wish you would talk to me,” is the only thing you manage to choke out.

“you’re not getting that version of me back,” he says, voice finally softening into something resembling his usual gruff but not unkind tone, “i remember who i am now. so you gotta let go of this shit, or you gotta let go of me.”

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog @dragovegogrimborn @quillycrow @melday0105 @just-a-little-cellist @scorpiosaintt @akasha157-blog

if your name is in white it means i couldn’t tag you for some reason. i’m very sorry :(

[innerfare]

Crocodile Relationship Headcanons

Summary: a random collection of Crocodile relationship headcanons

Genre: I don't wanna say fluff because a relationship with this man wouldn't exactly be fluffy, but... it's fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

This man is the human embodiment of a Lana Del Rey song. “You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million dollar beli man, so why is my heart broke?” 

On and off again. The man acquired a high enough status as a pirate to become a Warlord, may have been in prison a time or two before that, ran an underground crime syndicate, spent some time in Impel Down and fought a war, and then started yet another criminal organization in the New World, leaving him with very little down time. But you’re the person he goes to when he lacks confidence or feels a little too cynical about the world. 

Has fallen asleep in your arms a total of three times, but that’s three more times than he’s fallen asleep in anyone else’s arms (except for that time fifteen years ago when he passed out from blood loss after a fight and Daz caught him, but they don’t talk about that). 

Looks down on himself for being soft on you, like some sort of sniveling schoolboy. 

Considered poisoning you when he realized you had become his weakness, but decided against it because he’s not convinced it would actually rid him of the dreadful affection he feels toward you and would instead make the feeling more intense. The only thing worse than wanting to hold you in his arms is wanting to hold you in his arms but not being able to (this man thinks he should be able to do whatever he wants whenever he wants, so it checks out). 

Also only ever uses the word affection, and even then, only uses it sparingly. Would rather die than say love. Thinks it’s rather undignified for a man of his stature to love someone. Affection, though, is tolerable in small doses and with much secrecy. Will tolerate you calling him your lover but not saying you love him. It's a very fine line you have to toe.

Takes your security very seriously, but also knows you can fend for yourself; would never think fondly of someone who couldn’t fight their own battles. Not only would he not respect you, he wouldn’t much like having to worry incessantly.  

Doesn’t completely hide you from the world. Rather, he paints your relationship as one of business and uses this as an excuse to protect you like he would any other asset. It's calculated and cunning, exactly what you've come to expect from your lover.

Daz Bones is the only person who knows about your long history with Crocodile. Buggy thinks it’s purely sex. Mihawk has his suspicions, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Daz also doesn’t question Crocodile about his attachment to you, though he does recognize early on that you’re one of Crocodile’s handful of weaknesses and as such should be regarded as dangerous. Would kill you in a heartbeat if he thought you were a serious threat to his captain. Has most definitely had the, “anything you do to him, I’ll do to you,” talk with you behind Crocodile’s back. 

Crocodile showers you in jewels, some stolen and some purchased. He rather enjoys plucking diamonds off the necks of people he disdains and stringing them around yours, but he also likes having custom pieces made for you. 

Buys you a house on an island he has a firm presence on, a place to your taste and secluded enough from the outside world that you’ll be protected from prying eyes. He never tells you when he'll be visiting, just shows up and expects you to be available.

Shows up at your doorstep after Marineford. Doesn’t say much, just accepts a bath and warm meal and sleeps in your bed for two or three days as he heals from his injuries. You know something is very wrong when he doesn’t tell you his injuries are nothing. You also know it’s a very big deal that he lets you seem him in such a vulnerable state. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[apeachty]

₊ ˚ ⊹ ♡ . ⠀small and cute

⠀⠀⠀txt x small chested fem!reader

genre ; smut

warnings | tags ; mentions of sex (obviously); my regular & favorite ooc; but i think that's it. written like "reaction to" or something like that. and questionable writing skills and engish speaking abilities.

i'm not sure if it's actually bad enough for mdni, but just in case...

wordcount ; less than 1k overall, so like 0.2k and less for each member.

✉ notes ; my soobin's tiny fic with the same idea got many notes in a short period of time, so i kinda thought people were interested (?), so i decided to write it for all the members.

also tagging @biteyoubiteme despite not asking her about it beforehand, but she encourages me a lot and i love her and i'm her fangirl, go check her fics if you haven't yet!!

titles i come up with are getting worse and worse... and i'm tired of trying to come up with banners, so let me introduce ot5 banner for when i have no idea what to choose

⠀⠀⠀[ masterlist is here ]

⠀⠀⠀✧⠀⠀soobin

boobies are boobies, awesome in all shapes and sizes. doesn't care much, and treats all the tits the same—with love, care and adoration. maybe a bit of obsession. talks to your boobs sometimes ("you're so cute" — "me?" — "uhhh you and them?..")

if you're insecure, would be extra careful with what he says about boobies in general (doesn't want you to become more insecure because everyone around him says he loves big chest, and will defend "all sizes are great" with his life, shame forgotten, if anyone ever says it in front of you).

will be the happiest man alive, if—but let's be honest, it's 'when'—you allow him to push his hand up your shirt any moment he wants. and every time he does, he becomes just a tiny bit happier. sleeping, watching movies, brushing teeth together. you sometimes wonder if he even needs second hand for anything except your chest (he does. gaming controller for example)

⠀⠀⠀✧⠀⠀yeonjun

doesn't care much for boobies in general at first. of course, he explores your body to see what you do and don't like, and if he sees that you react well to boob play, he'll note it and use it of course, but only when it comes to some kind of intimacy.

if he finds out you're insecure (or were insecure at some point in the past), you're spoiled. you thought he was spoiling you with all these lingerie back then? you haven't seen nothing yet. the guy knows your measurements (he tries his best to remember it with his palms, even tho you tried to explain you should grab a body measuring tape or you can just tell him the size easily, but he was determined to measure it himself he found an excuse to cup your chest, it won't be easy to convince him to let go) and your taste in it.

thanks to you started thinking small boobies are cute. his soul leaves his body every time you wear a tight t-shirt or tanktop without a bra around the house. he can also be your human bra if you want, but he pops a boner too fast.

⠀⠀⠀✧⠀⠀beomgyu

just like for soobin, tits are tits for him (all are awesome), and he doesn't think about its size even for a second, it just never crosses his mind. and just like yeonjun, he knows if your chest is sensitive and what exactly you like.

but he'd be so cruel about it— if you ever say 'yes' to him asking if he can play with your boobs while you're not having sex... well, you are having sex in just five minutes, because he knows just where to pinch, how to tug and how hard to squeeze (he's just too attentive).

and he's going to do it completely randomly, you can be washing dishes (and what a shame, your hands are wet and you can't push his hands away without making your t-shirt wet too), and he's right behind you, his hands are already there (it turns into a simple back hug pretty soon tho, he's just a huge softy)

now i need to write a fluffy ridiculous try at washing dishes with beomgyu behind you and trying to help you with it—

⠀⠀⠀✧⠀⠀taehyun

the guy is so mature, he has that "breasts are not for me to rate, breasts are for feeding children" view, of course, he pays lots of attention to it when it comes to sex (if you want him to, of course), but for him that interest for chest stays in bedroom (or anywhere you have sex at), he's more or less indifferent to it outside of it.

at least he thinks so until at some point you take off your shirt at the gym and stay in a sport bra only (because big boobs or small, sports bra are the comfiest), and he almost pops a boner right there. he himself doesn't understand what's so damn hot about it, but he just can't tear his eyes away from you.

buys you dozens of outfits for fitness/workout/yoga after it (gets teased by his shopping buddy yeonjun mercilessly for that) and really wants to buy tight tops but always asks you if you're comfortable with that (get yourself a guy like taehyun—)

going to the gym with him after it... sexual tension is felt few floors away, because you both can't look away from each other.

⠀⠀⠀✧⠀⠀kai

sleeping on your chest is his favorite thing to do— no matter how many times you try to push him off because "i'm too flat, it's not comfortable for you", he always asks you if it's comfortable for you (he only asked it to make sure you're fine few times, and now he just asks it to prove a point), and you always say it is (you once tried to lie and say it's not, he looked so heartbroken, you never do it again), so he just lays back on your chest and enjoys it.

does it even more often when he's negative kai, but much less gently, no puppy eyes for you if you try to push him away. just pulls you closer (sorry for your bones, he sometimes forgets how strong he is), and if you still try to fight him, might even get his hand under your shirt and pinch side of your boob. he just knows you love it when he lays on your chest, and he's not in the mood for your little tantrums (will def stop if you ask him to tho, he just knows you're fine).

[spr1ngtweaks]

ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕖𝕪 𝕊𝕒𝕨𝕪𝕖𝕣/𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤 (ℙ𝕣𝕖 -“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕣” 𝕍ℍ𝕊 𝕋𝕒𝕡𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘)

/ Note: most of this is just my headcanon of Harley before the "event" happened, it won't be 100% canon and might be ooc. I'm just writing for fun, please don't come to me. ;-; My grammar pretty shitty bc Eng is not my first language/

🖤 The relationship between you and Harley – from colleagues to accomplices (First meet):

You meet Harley Sawyer when he was still an ambitious scientist at Playtime Co., before everything went crazy. He is a genius, but he has a strange obsession with his experiments—a man who does not accept conventional ethical boundaries. You are a colleague, or perhaps an outsider inadvertently drawn into his life. You are one of the few people who don't completely hate Harley, or at least don't show it openly.

When everything gradually crosses the boundaries of morality Gradually, you witness Harley's inhumane experiments and find yourself torn between right and wrong. But instead of leaving, you are captivated by his vision – the idea of transcending the limits of death, recreating life. You might have tried to stop him at first but then realized he was right in some way, and you started supporting him. The first time between the two could happen in a moment when Harley is no longer a cold and indifferent scientist. Maybe it was a late night in the lab, when he sat back with tired eyes but still gleaming with excitement over a new discovery. You bring him a cup of coffee, teasing him that he's working too hard.

He looked at you, his sharp eyes but with something wavering. "If I succeed... if I can make humanity greater, then everything will change. Do you believe me?"

You can respond in two ways: One is to empathize, the other is to warn him about the dangerous line. But no matter what, that was the moment Harley realized you were not just an observer—you were the only one who truly saw him, not just as a madman but as a human being.

💉 How Harley Sawyer expresses affection:

Harley Sawyer is a genius but emotionally twisted. He doesn't love the way normal people love—instead, he observes, analyzes, and possesses.

1. His feelings are like an experiment:

He is not the type of person to express affection through hugs or gentle words. Instead, he tends to observe the other person like a scientific study—he notes how you frown when displeased, how you smile when satisfied, and he experiments to see how you will react to his actions.

Maybe he quietly places a cup of tea just the way you like it on your desk, but he never says that he cares about you. If you ask, he might just shrug and say, "I don't want to hear your whining about lacking caffeine."

Or if he really likes you, he won't say it out loud, but instead, he will secretly monitor you at work, check if you are injured, and even remove people he thinks have a "bad influence" on you.

2. Possession, possession, and POSSESSION :

When in love, Harley doesn't express it with affectionate words, but with possessiveness. He doesn't like to share, and he might not realize it right away, but he doesn't want anyone else to get too close to you.

He doesn't openly show jealousy, but if he sees you being intimate with someone else, his gaze will darken.

If someone crosses the line with you, they might disappear from the project or get fired the next day.

When he talks to you, he tends to invade your personal space to the point where you can feel his breath on your skin.

Harley wants to possess, but at the same time, he wants you to come to him willingly. That makes the relationship with him a dangerous game between control and seduction.

The first time for the two of you could happen right in the laboratory, amidst the cold light of the screen and the unfinished experiment sketches. A hurried kiss, a hesitant touch, as if both were standing on the brink of something irreversible. Maybe it was a truly tender moment for Harley—or perhaps he was still a bit obsessed, almost wanting to hold you as part of his own "experiment."

But no matter what, it will be a storm of passion, danger, and something painful knowing that his path might lead him away from you forever.

3. He loves in the way of someone who doesn't know how to love.

He may not understand his own feelings, but once he decides that you "belong to him," there is no turning back.

A touch of his hand could be a test, as if he were checking whether your skin is cold or if your heart beats faster when he gets closer. A kiss from him might lack tenderness, instead being exploratory, as if he were testing your reaction.

If you intend to leave him, he won't beg—instead, he will find a way to make you unable to leave, whether through words, psychological manipulation, or something darker...

Harley doesn't love in the way of "needing you to live," but in the way of "if I don't have you, no one else can have you."

🔪 Harley Sawyer's sexual orientation:

I see he has tendencies towards demisexual or greysexual, but in the way of a controlling and calculating person.

📌 Demisexual (only has desire when there is a true emotional connection)

He is not the kind of person who is immediately attracted by someone's appearance. He doesn't care about so-called "one-night stands" or superficial charm.

If he is interested in someone sexually, it's not just because of desire, but also because he wants to control them.

📌 Tendency to be "Possessive & Dominant" in relationships:

In a relationship, he will be the one in complete control, not the type who likes to be led or passionately pursue someone. If there is an intimate scene, he might not hesitate to use words to influence or even manipulate psychologically, controlling the other person's reactions.

📌 Not too concerned about the other person's gender:

I don't think Harley is only attracted to a certain gender. For him, what matters more is whether you can stimulate his mind. If you make him curious, if you make him feel he can control or be attracted in some way, he will keep an eye on you.

He can experience attraction with anyone, but that doesn't mean he is easily swayed.

Bonus: Harley loves like a scientist—he doesn't say "I love you," but instead, he analyzes every little reaction of yours. Possession is his way of showing affection—if he sees you as "his," he will never let you go. He doesn't fall in love easily, and he doesn't care about sex unless there is a deep connection—but when he does care, it will be an obsession, dangerous, and inescapable.