#NEURONS STARTED UP AGAIN

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

You could possibly consider having Duke show up to the animal shelter fundraiser event after getting invited by Gwen like Dick was, and he just like, makes a little cameo without possibly disrupting the established plot line too much? (idk how the plot is rn, but maybe that would sate your need for Duke to show up soon? lmao)

(go drink a little bit of water, too, to help with that sunburn you mentioned a few posts down lol) :>

I dont know why the idea of a cameo soft launch never occured to me- BUT may not happen that soon, we shall see

Also FINNEEEEE- But that requires me to stop binge watching NightWatch New Orleans and actually go downstairs which ✨ew✨

[toxooz]

time for the monthly drawing of Ponti with his tits out

[dykedvonte]

I think i dislike the idea gen 3 synths have any noticeable mechanic parts besides the component (and probs brain tissue) due to the horror of it all existential or not.

It's almost canon that not many wastelanders know about the synth component and if they do they don't know how to get it out without killing the individual making synth hunts risky. They too think when they kill a synth they will see gears and coolant and wires and something distinctly telling them that this thing is not like them.

So imagine a group so excited cause they caught a synth, they caught a synth and plan to execute it. The synth is begging for it's life either denying that it is a synth or promising to never bother them again if they just let it go. But they don't and they line up and they fire and they are expecting grease and oil and the distinct sound of metal piercing metal but they get none of that.

They get blood and guts and lots of it. Lots more than they expected from something they didn't expect to have it.

At first, they think it's a trick of the light or lack thereof. That the liquid pouring out of the multiple new wounds they created isn't what they think. That the metallic smell is just from whatever scrap it was made of. So they poke around it more and it's sickening. There are bones and tendons. Blood and meat and it's so real but they know it was a synth.

He admitted it when they stormed into his home, the house he had welcomed them any plenty of times in they days leading up. When he was dragged through the town that he helped build and put before a kangaroo court. Even when he was begging to keep his life. To keep on living just as he was, as they were.

"But he was a synth, he..." And they realized they stopped calling him it and they realize that they didn't just kill something but someone.

There would be something in the air. They knew but did they really know? He said it but wouldn't you admit to whatever you're accused of when cornered and scared and just wanting it to stop? He was a synth but what does that mean now? Did it matter that much to do this to someone they once called a friend? Now that his insides were forced out and the only inhuman thing they found was how it happened.

But that's how it goes and they clean up even though their consciousness is anything but. They look at each other and they know they stopped another one of them from being taken and becoming like him. They know they are staring at another human and that's all that matters...

Or that's what they keep telling themselves.

[speedlimit15]

i swear i get better at drawing during my breaks in between actively practicing. like i just have to let my subconscious do it for me and come back with entirely fresh eyes and re-figure it out in a new way and remembering old stuff as i go idk it’s neat

[mamamouches]

IT'S HERE LESGOOOO

SCARA/WANDERER PERFUME GET WOO

iT SMELLS SO LOVELY???? the scents linger for quite a while and neither of them are too strong smelling so thats v cool! 🥳

LITERALLY LIKE. Both of them smelled so,, nostalgic/familiar to me?? 🥺 Scara smells so handsome idk how to describe it but..!! it's that scent that makes you feel safe and warm??? imagine Scara being tender, holding you in his arms during a stormy night w/ the fireplace crackling in the bg that kinda vibe 🫶

Wanderer on the other hand is lighter version thats refreshing & has a certain sweetness(?) to him its adorable!!! 😭😭 Like the cool feeling you get when you lay down w him in the grass, the morning dew still fresh on its blades as the sun has yet to rise from the clouds,, 🩵 or like how say, the song The Cure sounds so ethereal, light and cold?? yeah that

SO YEAH 🫶🫶 I'm so happy AAAAA 😭😭💖💞💗💕

[lokittystuckinatree]

I’ve had Clara for like 3 seconds and already know her tragic fate and doomed love story with the Doctor will break my last heartstring in half like a soggy cracker

[marinecorvid]

on the endless list of things to do: work out scifi android/cyborg “nonexistent” govt agent who goes rogue and finds her way home to the desert beyond the broad strokes of it

[milksnake-tea]

━━ scritchy scratchy .

❀ ˎˊ- prompt: about their less human traits and what it's like to pet them ❀ ˎˊ- characters: jiaoqiu, dan feng, sunday ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: none ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: this is so self indulgent GOODBYE 🙈🙈🙈 i just want to. pet them. majorly inspired by the neuron activation i had when i saw jiaoqiu's tail. also this is my therapy/break writing bc LORD THIS ONESHOT IS SAPPING MY BRAINCELLS. long hcs incoming. like really long. except for like dan feng maybe. im sorry i got carried away LMAO yapping is my specialty. also uhm. ignore the title. i literally could not come up with anything else if theres one thing im bad at. its titles ❀ ˎˊ- taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja, @xphantasmagoriax, @rainswept, @lucensei, @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @iceunhie (bc jiaoqiu is here)

Jiaoqiu's ears aren't that particularly sensitive, to be honest. He doesn't mind allowing close friends or family to touch them, and, truth be told, he finds your fascination with them amusing.

The fur on his ears is relatively short, with the real fluff being on the inside rather than on the outside. That isn't to say that you should reach for those tuffs of fluffier fur; it's rather uncomfortable and you'll be heading towards a fan to the face and a temporary revoking of ear privileges. It isn't much of a loss though, because despite the shorter fur, Jiaoqiu's ears are still soft and pleasant to touch.

Now, you didn't know this until you came by it by accident, but Jiaoqiu has a ticklish(?) spot at the base of his ears that instantly placates him, as embarrassing as it is. If you reach your fingers and scratch at where there's a little more firmness at the base, Jiaoqiu's silver tongue is suddenly quiet and he can't stop himself from keening into the touch. If you look closely enough, you'll see his fingers or his shoes tapping, speeding up the longer you scratch. It's one of his biggest weaknesses, no doubt, which is why he'll get whiny if you scratch it for too long in public, lightly smacking your hand away with a flush on his cheeks as he scrapes together what's left of his dignity. His pout is just adorable though, with slightly puffed cheeks behind that fan of his and an agitated tail, but for his sake, it's best if you keep it in private.

Because in private, Jiaoqiu is the exact opposite. Once doors are closed and prying eyes are no more, he's all too eager to get your hands on him. Of course, Jiaoqiu wouldn't be Jiaoqiu if he didn't beat around the bush and try to nudge you into petting him in his own way.

He starts after dinner, when you're lounging in the living room or cuddling in bed, unwinding just before you go to rest. His hand will start to creep to hold yours as he leans against you, before wordlessly lifting it and bringing it to his ears. At the same time, his tail will drape over both of your laps. Not a word is spoken during this, because his pride can't take it, but you know him well enough to follow suit.

Once your hands are looped around his head and at that sweet spot at the base of his ears, Jiaoqiu practically melts into you. Maybe once or twice a brief murmur of content may slip past his lips, but other than that, he's pretty much set for the night. A few minutes will pass, and you'll look back to him again, only to realize that your beloved healer has already fallen asleep, a smile on his lips.

Also, one last thing because I didn't know where to put it. But Jiaoqiu's tail is warm - incredibly warm, and he'll let you snuggle and cuddle it during the colder months of the Yaoqing. It honestly feels like you're hugging a cloud with just how fluffy it is. Like the base of his ears, it's a no-go for in public, but once you're in the comfort of your home, feel free to hug and ruffle it as much as you like. Just be careful if it wagging suddenly and smacking your hand in the process. And don't mess it up too much, because then you're going to be the one who has to brush it out (you don't mind though, and honestly neither does Jiaoqiu).

Being Dan Feng's significant other can mean a lot of things, but there's one aspect that for sure comes with the package - that being, he drags you around via his tail a lot. That thing will wrap around you like a vine, tugging you to his side in crowded areas and even when in places where he doesn't need to keep you close, his tail will still be resting around your waist or arm, protective and honestly kind of possessive.

Coupled with the fact that he can apparently desummon and summon his tail at will, this makes his choice to cling onto you - no matter how subtle it may be - intentional. His friends from the High Cloud Quintet have definitely pointed this out numerous time, but each time he waves them off with a huff and a "my personal life is none of your business". He says, as he does it in public.

Dan Feng's tail is cold - unnaturally so. It's smooth and actually kind of squishy, and it feels like river water. This is especially useful in the hotter months, where it serves as a welcomed escape from the heat. Knowing this, Dan Feng takes advantage of the temperatures by using it as an excuse to cling onto you even more. Whenever he gets questioned about it, he just shrugs and says that he's saving you from a potential heatstroke.

Now, neither Dan Feng's tail nor his horns are sensitive. They're just like any part of his body - in fact, Dan Feng's horns are less receptive to touch; he can barely feel that you're touching them, and he describes it akin to static - kind of tingly, a little ticklish, but overall ignorable.

He does like it when you play with the small tuff at the end of his tail though, a pleased hum escaping him whenever you toy with it and his tail squeezes you a little tighter. Sometimes, when he feels a little needy or lonely and wants cuddles, he'll tickle your face with this tuff of fur(? even he doesn't know what it is, honestly) before wrapping it around your arm and dragging you to wherever he needs you.

Dan Feng personally doesn't really understand what your fascination is with his horns, but it's certainly not unwelcome. If anything, he welcomes it a little too much, smugness tugging at his lips every time you ask to touch them. Sometime he'll hold it over your head, dangling it like a treat, but in the end he'll give in, because he loves the smiles on your face when allowed to indulge in what is, in his eyes, a silly thing (he would never allow anyone else to touch him so brazenly, so know this and be grateful, knowing that this is a privilege allotted to just you).

If Sunday trusts you enough to let you touch his wings, congratulations. Be honored. Because this man has trust issue after trust issue and has so many walls that Qlipoth would be jealous.

Halovians in general don't let many touch their wings, as that right is reserved to family for the primary set of wings, and to lovers for the secondary set at their nape. The reason for this is simple - Halovian wings are delicate, frail, and sensitive; one wrong move and they could be crushed without remorse. You have to treat them like glass, because they basically are glass - beautiful, yet frail.

Coupled with the fact that their secondary pair of wings is so close to their face, it's a rather intimate act to touch them. Sunday himself, inexperienced in the ways of intimacy, had to close his eyes when you first pet them, unable to handle such close proximity (this man has kissed you before).

Sunday's secondary pair of wings are particularly well-taken of, since they're, as said before, right next to his face and seen a lot due to his public image. Now, it's a common headcanon of mine that Sunday expresses himself a lot via his wings, with them fluttering when he's happy, flaring up when he's threatened, and puffing up when he's startled. I personally think that most of the time, his wings are relatively stagnant since he has that persona he has to keep up all the time, but at the same time, he's usually unprepared for those times he does feel genuine joy that his wings just start fluttering without him noticing.

This is how you found out he liked you, by the way. His wings wouldn't stop fluttering around you until you pointed them out, and instead of giving you a straight answer he just changed the subject, to which you had to ask Robin (she was ecstatic that Sunday actually had finally made a friend outside of work and found someone he liked enough to this point).

Now, let's actually talk about petting the wings themselves. Again, they're very sensitive, which is why they are a private thing only. If you did it in public, Sunday would not be happy and would probably ignore you for a day. So hold it in. I know it's hard. You can do it.

Don't worry though, because the rewards are definitely worth it. Once Sunday has given you the go-ahead to touch his wings, you're met with a very rare sight - which is Sunday with his guard completely down. His eyes are always closed when you tend to his wings, as if he's asleep. The only indicators you have that he isn't is the flush of his cheeks, the occasional breath of laughter when you rub against certain spots, and the rumbling in his chest that comes after a few minutes of petting. Yes. Sunday purrs. Birds can purr, and so can Sunday. Look it up, it's adorable.

You're not allowed to touch his halo, purely because it's almost painful to do so - although the correct term would be overstimulating. Sunday's halo is crucial to how he perceives the world around him, and such it's always receiving signals and sending them to his brain. Touching it is akin to poking his eyes, and while it usually isn't too bad, it's jarring and disorienting enough where it's a no-no.

The same can't be said for his primary set of wings - that being the larger, darker set that lies under his coat. He doesn't use nor stretch these nearly as much as his secondary set, which is why they're also more frail. You'll have to help him stretch them out from time to time, and just the wingspan enough is impressive. Sometimes, on the once-in-a-blue-moon chance that he has them out, he'll use them as your shield, covering you from the sunlight or the rain when you go outside.

There's a spot at the base of his primary wings, just in-between where the two sprout from his back, that is particularly sensitive. When you were in the middle of helping him to stretch his wings, your fingers had accidentally brushed against it, which had yanked a very uncharacteristic yelp from him. He still gets embarrassed when you mention it, but he's now grown used to the feeling of your hand against his back. Now, the most you'll get out of him is a shuddered sigh, and a faint shivering of his wings, which tells you all you need to know.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[pucksandpower]

Hands On

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: celebrations after Lando’s first win get a bit hands on after he notices your obsession with a certain body part

Warnings: 18+ content

Based on this request

The pounding bass rumbles through the Miami club as Lando pulls you close, his arm snaked around your waist. The dim lights cast his face in chiseled shadows as he lets out a whoop of joy.

“We did it!” He yells over the music, eyes bright with elation. “My first bloody win!”

You beam up at him, heart swelling with pride. “I knew you could do it.” Standing on your tiptoes, you plant a lingering kiss on his lips, tasting the tang of celebratory champagne.

Lando grins against your mouth before reluctantly pulling back. “Let’s get a drink to toast, yeah?”

Nodding vigorously, you allow him to lead you through the crowd to the bar. Lando orders some lurid cocktails that probably cost more than an average person’s weekly grocery budget. You don’t care — tonight is for indulging.

As he hands you a glass, his calloused fingers brush yours, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. You quickly look away, hoping he didn’t notice. But of course he did.

“Alright there, love?” Lando asks with an amused quirk of his brow.

You force a laugh. “Just, uh … got a chill, that’s all.”

“Mmhmm.” He gives you a look that says he’s not buying it, but allows the subject to drop for now.

The two of you migrate to a plush VIP area, sinking into the soft leather couches. Lando slings an arm around your shoulders and you snuggle into his side, basking in his warmth and earthy scent.

God, you’re so proud of him.

“To us,” Lando murmurs, clinking his glass against yours. “And many more race wins to come.”

“I’ll drink to that.” You take a sip of the violently purple concoction. It tastes like alcoholic cough syrup but you don’t care.

As the alcohol works its magic, you feel yourself relaxing further into Lando’s embrace. Your eyes trace the strong line of his jaw, the delicious smattering of faint freckles, those gloriously long lashes ...

Your gaze catches on his free hand resting on the arm of the couch. You find yourself fixating on those slender fingers, the calluses from years of clutching the steering wheel ...

“Y/N?”

You start, blinking rapidly as Lando’s voice pulls you from your trance. “Huh? Sorry, what?”

“You’re staring again.” His lips quirk in that devilishly handsome half-smile.

Flushing hotly, you look anywhere but at him. Or more specifically, his hands. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you absolutely are.” Lando chuckles, low and teasing. “Go on then, what’s so fascinating?”

You squirm uncomfortably, feeling your face heat up even more. How to put this delicately ...

Apparently catching onto your distraction, Lando sits up straighter, settling his drink on the table with a muffled thunk. “Actually, don’t bother answering that. I think I know.”

Before you can protest, he reaches out to gently grasp your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb strokes your flushed cheek as those clever eyes bore into yours, equal parts amused and intense.

“It’s my hands, isn’t it?” Lando murmurs, voice dropping to a low rumble that has your heart tripping in your chest. “You can’t stop staring at my hands.”

You open your mouth to deny it, but Lando’s penetrating stare has you frozen, the words sticking in your throat. Slowly, you give a tiny nod.

Lando hums in acknowledgement, the pad of his thumb still caressing your skin in a maddeningly distracting way. “They are rather nice hands, to be fair. Years of keeping a firm grip, you know?” He winks at you roguishly.

You make a small, strangled sound in the back of your throat. Goddamn him and his innuendos.

“Would you ...” Lando pauses for dramatic effect, gaze dropping to your parted lips briefly. “Like a closer look?”

Every rational neuron in your brain screams at you to say no, this is too far, you’re in public, oh god. But your desire-muddled mind doesn’t seem to be receiving those signals. Instead, you give another mute nod, feeling yourself leaning the slightest bit closer.

“Yeah?” Lando’s voice is barely more than a gravelly rumble now. “You want my hands on you, don’t you?”

You make a tiny whimpering sound of assent, mouth suddenly bone dry. Your eyes drop of their own accord to those wicked fingers, still cupping your jaw so tenderly.

Lando lets out a quiet chuckle, deliciously sinful. “How bad do you want it, baby?”

Squeezing your thighs together self-consciously, you manage a strangled, “S-So bad ...”

“Good girl.” The praise has you melting into a puddle right there on the couch.

Then, in one torturously slow movement, Lando lowers his hand from your face … trails his knuckles down the column of your neck … over the swell of your chest … all the way to the hem of your skimpy dress. He hooks a finger under the silky material, drawing it up your bare thigh with agonizing leisure.

You inhale a sharp breath at the sensation of his rough skin on your flushed flesh. Your eyelids flutter shut, every nerve ending thrumming with exquisite tension.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes snap back open at Lando’s commanding tone. He gazes back, brows raised in silent challenge. You force yourself to hold his searing gaze as his hand maps lazy circles on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Good girl,” he praises again, the words liquid sin. “Nice and relaxed for me.”

Despite the burning awareness of being in a public place, you feel yourself subconsciously parting your thighs ever-so-slightly, allowing those talented fingers higher access. Heat pools between your legs, your rapid pulse thrumming double-time.

“God, you’re so wet for me already,” Lando husks in approval. “I fucking love how worked up my hands get you.”

As those dexterous digits tease feather-light strokes over your quickly dampening underwear, you have to bite down hard on your bottom lip to stifle a whimper of shameless need. Every touch from him sets your body alight with feverish want.

“Shhh, inside voice, darling,” he chides quietly, humor dancing in those multicolored eyes. “Don’t want to cause a scene, do we?”

You rapidly shake your head, wholeheartedly agreeing. The last thing you need is for someone to wander over here and catch you being debauched by your boyfriend in a public place.

The thought should probably mortify you more than it does.

Lando gives you a crooked grin, like he can read your deliciously filthy thoughts. “Good girl,” he praises again, rewarding you with another teasing caress between your legs.

You suck in a shuddering breath, spine arching ever-so-slightly as Lando’s sinful fingers work their magic through the damp fabric. He knows every spot that drives you crazy, rubbing and stroking with perfect pressure until your inner muscles quiver with delirious need.

“You’re dripping for me, love,” he murmurs in a thick rumble. “Been thinking about my hands on you all night, haven’t you?”

No use denying it anymore — not with the embarrassingly loud squelches coming from between your shamelessly parted thighs. You give another frantic nod.

Lando makes a tutting sound. “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes,” you force out in a ragged whisper. Already, your breaths are coming faster, the molten coil in your core winding tighter and tighter with every deft stroke. “God, Lando, please ...”

“Since you asked so nicely ...” With those words, he slips one long finger under the sodden lace, finally making direct skin-to-skin contact with your aching heat.

You choke back a moan as he delves into your dripping folds, crooking his finger to find that spot that makes you see stars. Alternating between tight circles and firm strokes, Lando works that magic digit at an agonizingly slow pace. Your hips lift shamelessly into his touch, desperate for more friction.

“So greedy,” he chides with a dark chuckle. But he acquiesces, slipping in a second finger to join the first.

You have to clamp your lips shut to muffle the broken keen that tries to escape. The stretch and burn as he scissors you open is pure bliss. Your inner walls flutter greedily around the delicious intrusion.

“Like that, baby?” Lando’s hot breath ghosts your cheek as he leans in close. “You feel so fucking good stretched around my fingers.”

You nod frantically, nails digging into the buttery leather as he starts pumping those wicked digits in a steady rhythm. Each slick thrust has your whole body tensing and the knot in your core winding ever tighter.

“You take me so well,” he praises in a hoarse rasp. “Always so tight and perfect around my cock too. Can’t wait to be buried in that sweet little pussy later.”

A broken whine escapes you at the filthy promise. Your thighs are trembling now, pleasure spiking through your veins with every curl and drag of those talented fingers. You’re quickly spiraling higher, that euphoric edge looming tantalizingly close ...

Lando’s free hand drifts up to toy with the strap of your dress, tugging it down to bare one straining nipple to the heated air of the club. He leans in to lave his tongue over the tender peak and you practically convulse in his lap. Too much, too good, you’re going to combust-

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your damp skin. “Let go.”

The low, commanding growl is your undoing. With a strangled cry, you shatter apart on his fingers, back arching as the pleasure crashes over you in relentless waves. It whites out your vision, every nerve ending set alight in blinding ecstasy.

You come back to reality cradled in Lando’s arms, his lips brushing reverent kisses over your damp hairline. As the pulses gradually subside, you slump bonelessly against his chest, thoroughly spent.

“That’s my good girl,” Lando murmurs, rich voice laced with smug satisfaction. He slowly retracts his drenched fingers with one final curl that has your body giving a languid shudder.

A blissed-out hum is all the response you can muster right now. Your eyelids are heavy, head swimming in that delicious post-orgasmic haze. Lando chuckles softly, tightening his embrace as he drops another kiss to your brow.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me yet, yeah? The night’s still young, love. Got plenty more celebrations planned for you ...”

***

The door to the lavish hotel suite bursts open with a bang as Lando practically shoves you through the entrance. You stumble slightly on your high heels, drunk on anticipation and champagne fumes. Before you can regain your balance, his strong hands are on you, spinning you around to pin your back against the nearest wall.

“Been wanting to get my hands on you all night,” Lando growls against the sensitive skin just below your ear.

You shiver at the rumbling timbre of his voice, already growing hazy with rekindled desire. “Y-You already did at the club ...”

He rewards your cheek with a teasing graze of teeth. “And you were such a good girl, taking my fingers so nicely in front of everyone.” His hips grind against yours, allowing you to feel every rigid inch of his arousal. “But now I want more. Need to be inside you properly.”

A broken whimper escapes your parted lips as Lando’s hands roam greedily over your body. You arch shamelessly into his possessive grip, craving his burning touch everywhere at once.

“Arms up,” he commands in a gravelly murmur.

You immediately comply, and he wastes no time in dragging your skimpy dress up over your head, leaving you in just a flimsy scrap of lace. His heated gaze rakes over every newly exposed inch of bare skin with undisguised hunger.

“God, look at you ...” Lando exhales a harsh curse through gritted teeth. “I swear you get more gorgeous every bloody day.”

Face flushing beneath his scorching appraisal, you resist the urge to cover yourself with your arms. You know he prefers an unobstructed view.

“Turn around,” he orders in a voice that brokers no argument. “Hands on the wall.”

You spin obediently, biting back a needy whimper as your breasts brush the cool surface. The room suddenly feels several degrees warmer from the blazing anticipation alone.

There’s a pause where you can practically sense Lando’s eyes devouring the lines and curves of your body. You fight the urge to squirm beneath his piercing scrutiny. Then his callused hands are on your hips, squeezing with delicious possessiveness as he steps in to blanket your back with his solid heat.

“Already so wet for me,” Lando observes in a rough purr, dragging your lace underwear aside to reveal your slick folds. “Seem to recall you liking a taste of your own medicine at the club, hmm?”

The tip of his index finger glides through your arousal in one torturously slow pass, gathering the evidence of your desire onto his skin. Before you can so much as draw a shaky breath, he brings that glistening digit to hover just in front of your parted lips.

“Open up, love.”

You moan softly in anticipation, obeying without hesitation. The instant his finger slides into your mouth, your eyes flutter shut in wanton bliss. Your tongue swirls around the thick digit, hungrily lapping up every last trace of your own tangy essence.

“That’s it, nice and sloppy,” Lando praises in a low, heated rumble. “Show me how much you love the way you taste on my fingers.”

Spurred on by his heated words, you begin sucking in earnest, hollowing your cheeks with shameless enthusiasm. The slick sounds of your efforts fill the air, the wet noises doing absolutely nothing to quell the rising tide of arousal between your legs.

Behind you, Lando exhales a harsh curse. “Fuck … so bloody good at that. Should’ve known you’d look perfect with my fingers in your greedy little mouth.”

A fresh gush of arousal floods your center at his filthy words of approval. You can’t help the desperate whine that vibrates around his digit as you increase your pace, desperate to drive him as crazy as he’s driving you.

“Alright, enough teasing now.” There’s the sound of a zipper rasping, then suddenly Lando’s other hand is shoving yours away from the wall and around to grasp his newly freed erection.

You moan again, shocked but overwhelmingly aroused by his boldness. He pumps his length slow and purposeful, engulfing your smaller hand with his larger one to set a languid but firm pace.

“Good girl, that’s it ...” he rasps out harshly. “Wanna feel how hard you’ve got me, baby? Aching to be inside your perfect cunt ...”

At his filthy words, your core pulses with a fresh rush of molten want. You can feel the fat head of his shaft nudging demandingly against the crease of your thigh, leaving smears of pearly fluid on your heated skin.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, Lando spins you back around to face him. His eyes are blazing with dark, predatory hunger as he swiftly sheds the rest of your flimsy underwear. Then he’s hauling you up by the backs of your thighs, pinning you against the wall with his hips nestled firmly against your aching core.

“Tell me what you want,” he rumbles in a tone of deliciously wicked authority. The thick head of his erection drags through your slick folds in one maddening tease after another.

You whine high in your throat, scrabbling at his broad shoulders for purchase. “P-Please, Lando! Need you inside me ...”

“Need me to what?” He tilts his hips in a slow, torturous grind, spreading your arousal in a slick glaze. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Fuckmefuckmefuckme ...” The desperate mantra spills shamelessly from your lips as you try to pull him closer.

Lando rewards your begging with a wolfish grin. “As you wish.”

And with one slick thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, stretching and filling you in the most exquisite way. Twin groans echo through the suite — his a guttural growl, yours a high-pitched mewl of relief.

There’s an endless moment where you both simply still, savoring the friction of being so intimately joined. Lando’s forehead drops to your shoulder, the pair of you panting harshly against one another’s sweat-slicked skin.

Then he starts to move.

It starts with a slow roll of his hips, languid but purposeful strokes that drag his length through every last velvet inch before pulling nearly all the way out. You clutch desperately at the carved muscles of his back as he sets a relentless pace, each powerful thrust punching the air from your lungs.

“So tight ...” he grits out in a gravelly burr. “Taking me so deep, god, you feel incredible...”

You can only whimper helplessly in response, overwhelmed by the feeling. Every nerve is alight with shuddering bliss.

Soon Lando’s lazy rhythm devolves into harsh, pounding strokes, the harsh clap of flesh on flesh echoing like thunder. The solid wall at your back provides delicious traction as your boyfriend jackhammers up into your fluttering heat with rapidly mounting frenzy.

“Yes … yesyesyes!” The breathless affirmations tear from your lips in sync with each punishing slap of his hips.

“Can hear how much you love this, getting pounded against the wall like a desperate little thing,” Lando rumbles with dark approval. “Am I hitting all those perfect spots, baby? Making that greedy cunt squeeze me so damn tight?”

“So close, so close!” You chant in a high, thready whine. Your release is rapidly building, that glorious crest just out of reach.

As if sensing your desperation, Lando shifts his grip so one hand can snake between your bodies. His clever fingers instantly find the swollen bundle of nerves at your apex and start working tight, purposeful circles with just the right amount of pressure.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god ...” The frantic mantra punches from your lungs in time with his feral thrusts. You can feel yourself teetering right at that blissful precipice, every nerve pulled tourniquet-tight with impending release.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Lando coaxes in a rough growl. “Let go for me. Wanna feel you come all over my cock ...”

His filthy words are your undoing. With a sobbing cry, your vision whites out in a supernova of shattering ecstasy. Pleasure rockets through your veins in pulsing waves, every muscle locked in the most beautiful torment. Vaguely, you feel Lando snarling curses against the fevered skin of your neck as your convulsing walls grip him in scorching velvet vice.

When your senses finally begin drifting back to you, Lando is peppering your sweat-dampened face with gentle kisses. He brushes the mussed hair from your brow tenderly, eyes brimming with naked adoration.

“So perfect for me,” he murmurs in hushed reverence. “Every bloody time. Fuck, I love watching you fall apart.”

You manage a weak, boneless smile at the affectionate praise, still riding the afterglow. You feel deliciously hollowed out, pleasantly achy in all the right places. Like every muscle has turned to warm honey.

After another moment, Lando carefully lowers your trembling legs until your wobbly knees find purchase on the plush carpeting. He frames your face with those gloriously rough hands, calluses catching on the flush of your cheeks.

“That good for you, love?” He asks with a hint of gentle teasing.

“Mhmm ...” You nod drowsily, leaning into his solid palm. “S’always good with you.”

Lando’s answering smile is bright enough to power every chandelier in the lavish suite.

***

“Baby, where are you? I’m home!”

Lando’s voice rings out as the door to your shared flat opens with a muffled snick. You pause your lounging on the couch, book falling forgotten to your lap as he steps inside, hauling a discreet black bag.

“In here!” You call out with a smile, already tingling with curiosity.

He appears in the doorway, flashing you that signature crooked grin that always has your insides melting. “There’s my gorgeous girl. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

You sit up a little straighter, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

Rather than answer, Lando moves to the couch and deposits the bag between you two with a heavy thunk. Your brows shoot up quizzically.

“Well someone’s being mysterious,” you tease, giving the matte exterior an experimental prod. “What’s in this, Mister Norris?”

“Why don’t you open it and find out?” There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he gestures towards the zipper pull.

Fighting a grin, you obligingly grasp the metal tab and pull, allowing the discreet covering to gape open. The first thing you register is a tangle of padded straps and buckles in sleek black leather. Then your eyes catch on the protruding shape nestled securely in the center … and you promptly choke on your own tongue.

It’s a hand. Or rather, a perfectly molded silicone model of one — every crease and callus captured in lifelike detail down to each delicate whorling fingerprint.

A whimper catches in your throat as realization slams into you with dizzying force. This hand … this hand with those long, talented fingers you’ve fantasized about more times than you can count … this hand is modeled after Lando’s.

“Oh my god ...” The words slip out in a strangled exhale. “Lando, is this ...”

His expression is carefully neutral, but the fiery glint in his eyes gives away his smug satisfaction. “You’re always going on about how much you love my hands. Figured you deserve to have the full experience whenever you want it, love.”

“I ...” Words temporarily fail you as you lift the shockingly realistic appendage free of its padded enclosure. The weight and articulation is uncanny, from the subtle flare of knuckles to the blunt tips of each digit. It’s almost unsettling how realistic it is.

You glance up to find Lando observing you with dark, hooded interest. His tongue darts out to wet his lips in a reflexive tell of arousal.

“What do you think?” He asks in a low, rough murmur. “Want to take it for a test drive?”

Heat lances straight to your core at the blatant suggestion. You reflexively squeeze the silicone digits in your grip, reveling in the slinky give and firm resistance. Already you can vividly imagine those fingers pumping into your dripping heat, stretching and stroking with that same delicious friction you’ve come to crave ...

“Y/N?” Lando’s voice pulls you from your lust-hazed daze. His eyes are blazing now, pupils blown wide. “Need you to use your words, sweetheart ...”

You make a small, needy sound as your thighs instinctively shift in subtle search of friction. “Yes … yes, I want to try it. Please ...”

That’s all the encouragement he seems to need. In the span of a heartbeat, Lando is divesting you of your thin cotton shorts and guiding your legs apart to settle between them on the couch. The hand rests heavy and solid in his palm as he holds it aloft, allowing you an unobstructed view.

You bite your lip against a whimper, already flushing with a heady cocktail of arousal and shameless anticipation. Lando’s lashes dip to half-mast as he brings the sculpted digits to his lips and lays a reverent kiss to each knuckle.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he rumbles in that low, raspy tone that never fails to have you melting. And then, with agonizing leisure, he trails the smooth pads down your chest … over the soft swell of your stomach … through the damp thatch of curls at your apex ...

A gasp punches from your lungs at the first glancing stroke against your folds. This may be an inanimate object, but its perfected shape coupled with Lando’s practiced touch feels so exquisitely familiar. Like the real thing is finally breaching that aching place inside you ...

“Bloody hell, you’re already dripping,” Lando observes in a rough growl. The flexed digits slide through your arousal in one slick pass, gathering your essence onto the sleek silicone. “Is this what you were thinking about, love? Having my fingers buried knuckle-deep in that greedy little cunt?”

You can only whimper and nod frantically as he draws tantalizingly close again. That unhurried brush of solid firmness against your most sensitive flesh already has your inner muscles fluttering desperately.

“Tell me what you want,” Lando rumbles in a tone of smoldering command. Those clever fingers circle your aching entrance, spreading your slick arousal in a torturous tease.

“T-The hand,” you stammer out in a pitchy whine. “Lando, please ... I need it i-inside me ...”

A wolfish grin curves his lips as he rewards your obedience with a searing kiss. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are blazing with liquid smoke.

“As you wish.”

Then Lando is tipping the toy at just the right angle to catch on your swollen entrance. With one smooth, purposeful thrust, he sheaths every last inch to the knuckle root inside your clenching heat.

The fullness is glorious, that solid silicone bulk stretching you wide in the most delicious way. Every delicate ridge and contour drags against your velvet walls with maddening friction with the slightest movement.

“Fuck ...” Lando practically snarls the curse through gritted teeth as he begins pumping the toy in a slow, purposeful rhythm. “So goddamn hot seeing you grip it like this, baby … squeezing so perfectly tight.”

You can only whimper helplessly in response, overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation. With each careful stroke, Lando angles the silicone fingers to create a firm nudge against that spongy cluster of nerves. Jolts of electricity hoot up your spine until you’re shuddering and whimpering.

“There you are ...” Lando’s voice is a rumbling growl of smug satisfaction as he locates that magic spot. “Squirming like a desperate little thing on my hand.”

To punctuate his words, he rotates his wrist with a purposeful flex of hard knuckles against your tender front wall. The exquisite pressure has your hips jerking upward in a helpless spasm, eyes flying open to lock gazes with your wickedly grinning boyfriend.

“Like that, do you?” He husks, lips brushing your cheek. “Never seen you make noises like this before. So hungry for my fingers buried deep...”

As if to emphasize the slick sounds already filling the air, Lando picks up the tempo of his thrusts in rapid, punishing strokes. The squelches are more erotic than anything you’ve ever heard as he rails you open on that delightfully thick silicone.

“Oh god, oh g-god ...” The desperate mantra spills shamelessly from your lips as white sparks begin bursting across your vision.

“Let it happen, baby,” he coaxes. “Need to see those gorgeous walls fluttering when you come ...”

With a startled cry, your spine bows off the cushions as your long-awaited climax finally detonates. Searing pleasure lances through every nerve ending in tsunami waves. You’re vaguely aware of choking out Lando’s name over and over in a breathless keen, your inner muscles flexing uselessly around the thick silicone toy.

When you finally drift back down, it’s to the feeling of damp hair being brushed from your brow. You blink blearily to find Lando gazing down at you with naked awe and unguarded adoration.

“You’re a vision like this,” he murmurs reverently. The hand-shaped toy is finally, carefully extracted with a slick sucking sound that has you flushing. “So beautifully ruined all because of my hand ...”

In a tender gesture, Lando cradles the back of your skull and brings the glistening silicone digits to your parted lips. The clean, musky tang of your own arousal coats every contour.

“Clean it up, love,” he commands. “Know how much you love the taste ...”

You moan faintly at the filthy demand, feeling a fresh slick of heat pooling between your legs. But there’s no way you can deny him this or yourself the heady intimacy of such an act. So with hooded lashes, you obediently part your lips and take those thick fingers onto your awaiting tongue.

Lando’s low groan of approval vibrates through your very bones as you seal your lips in a tight ‘O’ and suck with wanton fervor. The harsh breaths punching from his lungs spur you on, swirling your tongue over every crease and imprint hungrily.

“So fuckiny gorgeous,” he grits out in a tone of strained reverence. “You have no idea the effect you have on me, do you?”

As if to emphasize his words, Lando shifts position — and you suddenly become aware of the painfully rigid line of his erection pressing against your hip. With a needy whine, you instinctively grind up against that hot, insistent length through the thin barrier of his athletic shorts.

Your boyfriend’s lashes flutter as he bites back a growl. “Easy there, minx. You’re going to get me inside you soon enough.” He nips sharply at the bolt of your jaw, silicone fingers still working your slack mouth in shallow thrusts. “But first I want to watch you come apart on the real thing one more time ...”

A full-bodied shudder races through you at the dark promise underlining his words. With a pitchy sound of submission, you allow your heavy eyelids to slip shut and your jaw to unhinge obediently around the thoroughly used toy.

Every expert curl and flick of those clever digits is centered on the singular goal of dismantling you again. You’re powerless to resist, simply allowing the heady l sensations to crest higher and higher. Lando’s hoarse rumbles of encouragement cradle you, pushing you higher until you finally shatter into sublime oblivion once more.

And fuck, you love it when Lando’s hands on.

[claytonia]

Pearly everlasting (transplant), few flowered shooting star (nursery) and fine-leaved lomatium (from seed!!!) all sprouting ! Lets effing go.

[dexaroth]

auuugh im so tired of not managing to accomplish anything in like thelast 3 years i just cant start a project anymore and nothing gets doneeee

[wanologic]

Danny wakes up. It feels different now that he’s older. Now that he’s both more and less than he was. He starts mornings out floaty, his edges indistinct, bleeding into his surroundings. He’s hyper-aware of the tentative strings connecting him to life, the blood pumping sluggishly through his veins, the breath expanding the lungs within his chest. 

He yawns. A stretch.

His brain feels like an old computer booting up, each process coming online in a slow, methodical order. Neurons firing, electric pulses traveling up and down the webbed network of sinew tangled through his skeleton. He feels the pressure of atmosphere on his skin, the floor under his feet.

It’s weird. Not uncomfortable, just strange. It’s been years, but it’s never been easy to come to terms with the new awareness of his physicality, the control he could exert over its expression and shape. What once was instinctual, settled, now flows through his fingers like water, rising and falling with the rhythm of his chest. He would say that he’s just tired, that he’s never been a morning person, but the simmer of dawn and the infinite thrumming energy beneath his skin beg to differ.

He makes his way to the bathroom. He might have walked, but probably not, he can’t be sure. It doesn’t matter. There are only friends here. He’s safe. Home.

The routine of the morning is grounding. Always the same. Jazz says it should help. That it can all become instinctual again, through enough repetition. Danny isn’t so sure.

He takes his time putting together his outfit, picking accessories and being mindful of the way it all fits against him. His body might be a projection, something just to the left of real, but clothes are normal, socks, rings, a watch. He can feel normal like this. 

Another stretch. 

He wants to scream.

He makes his way down to the shared living space. He’s grateful that he’s not crammed into a tiny apartment with strangers, that he’s allowed both the time and space to be what he is. Sam’s parents may not be the most accommodating, but this is worth every glare and snide, underhanded comment he’s had to put up with for the better part of the past decade.

He knows what comes next, but his stomach rolls in his gut. He should have something solid, go through the remaining motions of self-care, even if it’s a bowl of cereal and a piece of fruit. 

He grimaces and grabs a less-than-pleasant nutritional shake from the fridge. They’re supposed to be back up, an addition-to rather than in-replacement-of, but it’s early and he can’t bring himself to care. He finds himself on the roof, with the chilled bite of the morning and the chalky pseudo-chocolate flavor of his breakfast on his tongue.

He longs to shed this husk, to leave the weight of his flesh behind and see what the sunrise looks like from ten thousand feet. But it’s a Tuesday and he has an 8am. He wants equally to be the college student he is, to sit with his peers and bring numbers to their algorithmic conclusions—to describe the world around him in a way that makes sense, in a way that’s objectively true. One day he might even be able to describe what happened to him in a neat little equation. 

He breathes in and out, feeling heavy in his body. This is nice too, he supposes. He shuts his eyes and feels the brunt of the morning sun peek over the neighboring apartment complex. When he hears his friends shuffling about in their own morning fugue states, he sinks back inside. 

Tucker just about jumps out of his skin when he turns around, eyes half closed, to see Danny dressed and ready, silent, and much too close behind him.

Laughter peels through the house as Danny is chased through the halls and somehow he feels human.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

I need to be high off my ass while deadpool fucks me. That’s it. that’s the post. Wade wilson the man that you are. Hurfgghdhhhh. yeah. weed makes me horny so definitely that…… Deadpool….. save me………….. headlock….. his arms…. ehhshhhshhhhh

deadpool headlock on drugs inspired by my last dick appointment coming right up!!

warning: intox (weed), choking, oral, daddy kink, humiliation, transphobic slurs

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy

suggested listening: Gorillaz - Superfast Jellyfish (trying something new w/ poolposting!! i love the deadpool soundtrack and the vibes the music creates for each scene so im trying to emulate that. also discovered recently that this is a perfect song to smoke and get your pussy ate to 😌)

“What was that? Didn’t quite catch that, sugarcunt. Speak up for me, will ya?”

“F-Feels so… feels so fucking gooooood…”

“Mm, but does it? If you’re still speaking in complete sentences, then my work’s not done. Go ahead and take another hit. Or two. Y’know what? Just finish the bowl. I’ll pack you another if you’re still too smart for my liking.”

Wade punctuated his order with a sharp smack to your cunt, sloppy with his spit and your need. His mask was pulled up just over his mouth so he could service you.

This motherfucker was trying to kill you. Or at the very least, give you some form of brain damage. Every consecutive orgasm reduced your cognitive functioning. To his credit, though, it sounded like a generous offer when he first proposed it.

“You need to relax, honey-boo. How’s about you smoke up while I go down, if you catch my drift?"

He was lying on his stomach, his chin resting in his hands, his legs in the air kicking back and forth, watching as you took rapid fire bong hits. You tried your best to burn through the bowl as quickly as you could, and you got about three solid clouds out before you started coughing. Hard.

“That’s it. You got it,” Wade cooed, stroking your inner thigh, “Just cough out all those neurons for me, good boy. Daddypool’s stupid little boy, I’m so proud of you!” He used your coughing fit as an opportunity to sneak two fingers inside you, and gawked at how you hard you clenched them. “Ooh, yeah, you got some good grip strength in you, cupcake. Squeezing those fingers like a hug from a church-going grandma. 'Am I gonna see you next week at the bake sale, honey?' Oh, yes, you will, Miss Nancy!"

What? What in the actual fuck is he yapping about? Was that supposed to be a joke? You had no mental bandwidth left to even speak, let alone dissect Wade's meandering, confusing, drawn-out metaphors for your pussy. "Wh… Wha-a-a?"

"Oh, that’s sounding much dumber, baby! Good boy!" He said cheerily, sliding his fingers out and wiping them on his suit. "Seems like you’re just about ready for Daddy."

--

"Oh my god, look at you! You look so cute pinned down like this! Aw, you can’t move, can you, dummy? Nowhere for you to go, huh? Except back onto Daddy’s cock where you belong."

Wade had you on your back, your ankles on his shoulders, his hands gripping your thighs as he pounded into you, over and over, deeper and deeper. So deep, in fact, it was as if he was shoving your womb up into your throat. Choking on that and a mouthful of drool, you cried out for him, pawing at his arms just to feel him close to you.

“Daddy—Da-! Daddy, Daddyyy-y-y~!”

Wade could see the desperation on your face, that yearning for closeness, and dangled it over your head. “Aw, poor baby, you need a hug? But you’re already hugging me so tight, with that—f-fucking wet honey-pot cunt you’ve got there—ah! Fuck! Ah… shit, I got’cha, come here.”

Wade withdrew his hips, leaving you gaping and empty without his cock stretching you out. He leaned down to wrap his arms tightly around you, though before you could hug him back, he flipped you onto your stomach. He pressed a firm hand onto your back to keep you lying prone on the mattress. With you trapped beneath him once again, he pushed back in.

“Ooooh, that’s it, babyboy, that’s the ticket.”

You sobbed into the pillows, keeping your sounds timid and muffled, and your dignity somewhat intact. But Wade wouldn’t let you off that easy. He hooked his arms around your neck and yanked you up into him. The pressure on your windpipe turned your moans into weak gasps and sputters. The lack of oxygen set your nerves alight, burning with hypersensitivity. And to make matters worse, he wouldn’t stop growling filth right into your ear.

“God, I can feel my balls smacking your tiny little tranny dick like this… Can feel you twitching… So fuck—so fucking wet… Mmmm, I’m gonna shoot the biggest fuckin’ load into you... Not… not yet though… No, I’m not done with you, yet, slutter-butter. I can just… mmm, edge myself inside you… keep you nice and full… All. Fucking. Night.”

[umemiyan]

𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙀𝙈 / 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙐𝙈. — 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝖨

𝘕𝘌𝘟𝘛 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 ･ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ･ 𝘛𝘈𝘎𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ sfw, but minors dni (potential for nsfw continuations) / jjk manga spoilers / this is my version of "came back wrong" gojo inspired by recent events, but it turned out somewhat softer than i expected / what happens when satoru is brought back and suddenly finds himself deeply attached to you of all people?

yandere!gojo / he's also slightly higher-needs disabled coded… idk i tried to approach it as best as i could. it's an unfamiliar thing for reader and they're trying to process it / i very well may try to continue this because it is rotting my brain!! / 1.7k words

“Satoru… you need to eat.”

A full bowl of soup sits on the table before him untouched, his hands resting unoccupied in his lap and eyes trained on your figure as you circle around to stand near him. That piercing blue gaze is ridden with innocence, lips parted like those of a quizzical child, but they turn upwards into a pleased grin when you take a seat in the chair next to him.

You’d prepared a rather simple dish, something you figured might be easy for him to consume and digest given his… peculiar state, but Satoru apparently had yet to pay any interest to it. He instead sat obediently in his chair just as you had commanded several minutes ago, unable to initiate the task of feeding himself, for he was much more intrigued from afar by your every move as you tidied the kitchen. It was as though he couldn’t find the drive to function unless you were within an overwhelmingly short distance of him.

Satoru’s heart thumps now that you’re close, a burst of satisfaction rushing through his brain. Dopey yet stimulating chemicals. You are Pavlov’s ringing bell. 

He is reminiscent of a child picked up from school by their beloved parent, or a puppy being reunited with its owner after a day at the vet, overcome with joy and unable to properly contain it. He leans forward and presses his lips to your neck as though that is the appropriate response to his elation, the crossed wires in his brain telling him that this is the sort of affection that will please you and is therefore the sort of affection he most desperately wants to give.

His condition was difficult to understand, and you wouldn’t call yourself properly equipped to deal with it, but there was simply no other option but to try; Gojo wouldn’t let anyone else try, the horrible rattling in his skull consuming him when deprived of your presence for too long. Yuuta had described the look in his eyes as “frenzied and lost.” You were told that the infirmary still needed repairs.

Once he returned to this world, Satoru had been stripped down to his essence, bare bones, a creature of instinct, reduced to something quite simple yet difficult for the average person to understand. But you had to understand, or try at the very least. This was the new burden placed upon your shoulders; it was either soothe this new version of Satoru Gojo for the sake of the world, or find a way to send him back into the icy arms of death. You were often caught between which option sounded worse.

However, when met with the sweetest and most earnest of his smiles, your bones were frosted with guilt, and you regretted ever entertaining the idea of letting him go again.

You stumble over getting him to perform necessary tasks and be further than 5 feet away from you at any given time, because it seems that, upon his revival, Satoru equates you and only you with everything of importance in his life. It’s more than a little unnerving given the fact that you’d never so much as even kissed prior to the loss of him, and now his neurons only fire off every happy memory he’s ever had of you, every positive thing he’s ever felt, no matter how stifled. You are his entire world now, and he can’t even verbalize it, but as each day passes following his awakening, you’re starting to gather that much on your own. You can’t be frustrated for long, however, because his cheerfulness is contagious, his enthusiasm making you feel loved even if it is somewhat smothering.

Is this selfish of you? 

The man's lips travel slowly across your skin, pacified by your presence, your taste, and ignoring the grumble in his stomach. How does one differentiate the types of hunger? You don’t attempt to fight him off, but rather exhale a defeated sigh in response. It hasn’t been long since you’ve been tasked with this responsibility, but it feels as though you’re frequently fighting a losing battle and failing him all the same. It’s so peculiar, so very unnatural… but still, you have to try.

“Satoru, please…” you beg, voice light in his ear and a hand settling at his nape. His nerve endings come alive every time his name leaves your lips. The bell. “Just one bite? For me?”

That seems to do the trick, as you’ve gathered. Satoru pulls himself back, hyper-aware of the tone in your voice and suddenly willing to comply. He’s more than eager to accept the spoon into his mouth when you offer it, placing your fingers beneath his chin and carefully bringing the soup up to his lips. He swallows it with ease, the task literally more palatable now that you’ve reminded him of how badly you would like him to complete it. Anything for you.

“There,” you say, satisfied and offering a faint, exhausted smile. He grins widely in response and hums, no longer capable of words of his own, but his simple noise expresses his glee with efficacy. Satoru decides to punctuate it by pressing the tip of his nose to yours for good measure.

It feels wrong to enjoy these subtle moments of intimacy with someone who doesn’t appear to be in his right mind, but who are you to say whether he is or not? There’s still an agency he possesses, a heart full of emotions, and a mind teeming with thoughts that you wish you could be privy to. He might be different now, but part of you wants to say with certainty that the old Satoru is still here with you somehow—you can sense it. He chuckles at particular images that flash across the TV and still gets a kick out of teasing you to some degree. To diminish that seems like a disservice to him.

You’re unable to deprive him of the happiness your closeness provides nonetheless; in fact, it’s obviously rather dangerous for you to even try and do so. Satoru’s conscious recollections are filled primarily with you, but his body is still more or less the same as it always was—the vessel of his clan’s power, the strongest sorcerer on earth. You’re not sure to what extent he remembers how to control these abilities, but part of you doesn’t wish to find out. For now, you care for him, placate him, re-learn him. Nothing is certain about the situation other than the fact that he apparently needs you now more than ever.

Your eyes soften at the warmth he exudes, and you wonder if he really remembers who you even are—or were—to him. It’s not worth pondering over for now, however. He needs to eat.

“Another?” you ask, testing to see how willing he is to fulfill your wishes. Satoru often easily complies once you’ve expressed satisfaction in him doing so, but all of this is still so new and experimental; you never know when he might decide to switch gears.

However, still smiling, he nods, and you bring another spoonful of soup up to his lips for him to swallow. It pleases you to see him finally getting something into his stomach, and he can sense it, taking it upon himself to further your agenda and simultaneously realizing just how gratifying it is to fill his belly.

“Good,” you say, and he feels rewarded. He is crowned by your praise. Exalted. You take him to the greatest heights with the simplest of words.

You place the spoon back in the bowl and Satoru takes it in his grasp, feeding himself without quarrel while you observe. Most of his motor skills appear to be intact as far as you’ve seen despite the cognitive and behavioral changes, and if someone were to look upon him from afar, you’re fairly certain they would never know the difference. But you’re still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together little by little, deciphering each bit of information and also determining just how deep his severe attachment to you really goes.

Why did it end up being you? Why do you suddenly seem to be the only thing that makes sense to him in this entire universe?

You can’t answer that, he can’t answer that, it’s just the way it is. Satoru doesn’t need to know why you nearly consume his every thought, he just knows that you make him happy, and that’s truly all that counts in his version of the world. He’ll chase it on instinct until death decides to take him again; he’ll tear down anything that stands in his or your way, for you alone are all that he thinks he has left to cling to. Never matter the others that show concern for him—they’re nice enough, earning a small smile or even the privilege to touch before he shakes them off and seeks you out again. It’s nothing personal. It’s simply pathological.

Leaning an elbow on the table, you turn the possibilities over in your mind as you silently watch him eat. A life has been restored, but yours has been turned upside down, and you have to figure out just exactly what you’re going to do about it. You suppose that taking baby steps ought to be the best way to make progress, but how do you make space for someone like this out of the blue? You’ll have to give it your best shot.

Satoru finishes drinking down the remaining broth of his soup, and you pose a question. “Would you like to go for a walk with me today?”

He sits the bowl down and looks over at you, eyes assessing your features and mind processing what you’ve asked. He hasn’t been out much in the days following his return, but you don’t see any reason to keep him cooped up inside if he happens to respond well to a casual outing with you. Taking him for a stroll outside seems like a decent way to test the waters.

Satoru smiles and nods, recalling memories of how your hair looked when touched by the wind. He’d be glad to accompany you outside if it meant he could see you glow in the sun, radiant and warm. The center of his universe.

“I think it’ll be nice,” you remark with a grin, an ounce or two of weight being lifted from your shoulders at the positive shift in outlook. Baby steps.

Reaching out to take your hand, Satoru squeezes it in his own to convey his agreement. It’s as if he’s trying to say, “everything is nice when I’m with you.”

[justasmut26]

My dangerous man

(MDNI)

The most dangerous man you have ever dated...was currently trying to get your attention from your book.

You looked up from your page, surprised that he had come home early from patrol, his suit torn and raggedy.

Small cuts appeared on his body, but you knew not to worry over those; it was the big wounds that he tried to hide from you that made you panic.

"You're back early! Did...something happen?" you ask, a strange, dazed look on his face as he stepped on through the window.

He didn't answer, chucking his helmet in the corner of your room, stepping closer with an intense look on his face, his eyes gazing into you as if you were the only thing in the world.

And then you saw the hunger in his gaze, as he took in your pajamas (cotton shorts and one of his long t-shirts that you'd stolen from him), his gaze lingering on your legs for too long.

"H-how did the mission go? Who was it that you were after again?" you asked, trying to break the tension.

"Poison Ivy." Jason expressed, and for a moment, your heart stopped.

You now had a hunch on why he was acting the way he was, wanting to test the theory but also a bit skittish on his behavior.

You remember a conversation of long ago that you had with Jason, how Poison Ivy had gotten even more annoying ever since she had developed aphrodisiac spores. She'd use it sparingly, but when she did, Jason admitted to you that it took him hours of jerking off before it was out of his system.

And this is the first time it had happened since you two started dating.

"Jason." you say, holding up your hands out to him in case he got too close. "I-I know what happened to you, and I can leave if you want to-"

He had you cornered then, putting his hands on either side of you as he leaned into you, trapping you against the wall.

"Why would I want you to leave? Especially when you look so good", he inhaled then, "And smell so good?"

At this point, you're trembling a little, and he's gotten so close, you can smell the leather and the faint smell of rain coming off of him.

This was new territory for you, mostly because out of the three brothers, Jason had managed to find self-control, treating you with respect, and always careful when he made love to you.

But now, he looked at you as if he was starved, and his muscles flexed, as if he was trying to keep himself under control, and not scare you away.

And in a way, it was hot. Jason who was level-headed. and always looked at you with adoration and love was now looking at you like as if he had a million things he wanted to do to you.

So maybe this gives you the confidence to push his buttons a little. You reach out and trace the side of his jaw, his eyes closing as he shudders. As he does so, all you can think about is how long Jason had to jerk himself off to get the aphrodisiac spores from his system, and you're wondering if it'll take that long for him to get better if he uses you instead.

"Y/N," he struggles out, keeping his body locked as his eyes stay closed. "If this is too much, tell me and I'll leave."

"Where will you go, this is your apartment?"

"To the Manor or something." he says, leaning over so his nose is now grazing your shoulder.

"Does...does it hurt?" you ask instead, and he shakes his head.

"The spores effect the excitatory neurotransmitters* to shoot off more excitement to the neurons which causes arousal to happen." he breathes, and for some reason, you find that very hot.

Just how brainy he is, and the way he's struggling to keep himself in check.

"Wow, you said a lot of words." you tease, brushing your lips against his jaw.

He lets out a sound, and it's one you've never heard of before.

You made Jason Peter Todd whimper.

That unlocks something in you, because all of a sudden, you're helping him take off his suit, tracing his chest with your hands as your lips kiss his neck, and he's so caught off guard that he's frozen at first before he starts helping you help him get undressed.

When you're reaching for his pants, Jason snaps out of it then, pulling you up and plopping you down on the bed. Your shorts are gone, underwear flying next, and you're both surprised and impressed how quick he works.

"I need you to be ready." he murmurs, as he leans down, spreading your thighs open, and his tongue grazing your clit.

It's not something you're expecting, and a soft gasp of surprise escapes you, but Jason tightens his hold on your thighs his mouth going to work as he licks and sucks your pussy, his fingers going in and out of you.

In no time, he has you moaning, and laying back on the bed as your hips arch up to him but his hold is so firm, you couldn't really move even if you wanted to, your legs resting over his shoulders.

When you orgasm, it's so intense, your body arches off the bed, but he doesn't stop there, licking you clean, and then pulling off your shirt and pushing your bra to the side as his fingers rub your peaked nipples, making the stimulation build up again.

"W-wait-" you try to stutter out, so sensitive from your first orgasm.

But Jason doesn't hear, going back to town, this time rubbing and touching your breasts, and licking and sucking on your clit making you cum again.

You're lying there then, feeling dazed from the first two orgasms he's given you, when he stands up, dropping his pants, and you see his erection basically getting ready to burst free from his boxers.

"Let me know if it's too rough." he says, and you nod, as he fists his cock a little, a soft groan escaping him.

He puts a condom on, and then with slowed urgency, goes through your cunt, shuddering a bit as he feels you adjust.

And then...he begins to thrust.

Slow, because he's appreciating the view, rubbing and pinching your breasts and nipples, and when that's not enough for him, leaning down and his mouth suckling on your nipples, making you let out a moan.

That's when Jason breaks, starting to increase in thrusting, holding your hips in place as he keeps going, making you buck and moan, and groan, your hands trying to reach for him and hold on to him, but he's not having it, pinning your wrists down as he goes the same pace but rougher, biting the top of your breast causing you to moan even louder.

"Come on baby, give me a little more, just a little more." he whispers, as he grunts, and continues on thrusting into you, the pleasure building up as you finally break when his fingers rub your clit oh so slowly.

This time, your vision is a bit spotty, and you're trying to catch your breath when you realize that Jason has only pulled out long enough to change his condom, and change your position, making you lay on your stomach.

"Jay, I-" you start to say, but he's already in you, doing it doggy style, as he guides your hips with his large hands, slamming down on him, his cock going deeper in you than before.

You don't even bother hiding the noises, feeling him lean over as he cups your breasts, rubbing and touch, and pinching your nipples.

You finally cum when he spanks your ass, him following suit after, and you wonder how long it'll be before the spores have left his system.

2 hours. It took two hours of pleasuring, of sexing, of so much damn orgasm after orgasm before Jason finally tapped out, leaving you ruined. He threw away the used condoms, careful to clean you as he tried not to fall asleep instantly from the euphoria he had of having sex with you.

Meanwhile, you lie there limp, trying to gather your bearings because he did indeed fuck the shit out of you. He wipes you off, and down, pulling you close as he cuddles you, kissing your face gently.

"H...holy shit..." you rasp, voice overused from crying out his name.

"I'm sorry." Jason says, and you wave off his apology, too exhausted to really say anything.

You both lie together as sleep takes over.

[irisintheafterglow]

hello! i hope you had/are having a great day hehe i love your writing!! i don't really have anything specific in mind for this request but i have just been spacing out thinking about fluffy moments with satoru and then randomly biting his shoulder (affectionately)- just... chomp on his bicep. chomp chomp chomp

HELP THIS IS SO FUNNY anon you're a genius

"don't even think about it," he mutters without taking his eyes away from the tv screen.

"what?"

"you're thinking about it, so i'm telling you not to do it."

"not to do what?" you shift lower onto the couch and deeper into his side, pressing your cheek against his chest. he's warm, always warm, but you still lay the blanket more evenly across the both of you. your repositioning throws him off the trail temporarily, but you knew how easy it would be to enact your plan. it was right there, after all. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"you think i don't see you eyeing my bicep?"

"i'm doing nothing of the sort," you argue, hoping he doesn't feel the way your face heats through his shirt. he scoffs, not believing you for a second, and you poke his side with your pointer finger. "you're making up lies about me." he shrugs, his fingers tracing mindless swirls on your arm.

"i'm just saying that i've noticed a pattern over the past few weeks."

"what kind of pattern?"

"the kind where you bite my bicep at any given moment," he says matter-of-factly, glancing at you from the corner of a bright blue eye. "don't think i haven't noticed."

it was true, of course, that you'd started affectionately sinking your teeth into the meat of his arm whenever you had the chance. you were getting ready for bed, the first time, when he came into the room to show you that one of his tee shirts had shrunk in the dryer. sure, the tighter fit was doing wonders for his abs, but what had you blinking yourself back into reality was how the fabric hugged his arms. you were practically drooling and, since then, you fell into the habit of gently biting instead of kissing him.

today would be no different, it seemed, even though he was fully aware that you were plotting to bite. his infinity was off like it usually was when you two were together, which made it a little too easy to just turn your head and open your mouth. it's exactly what you did, pretending to adjust your position again and then-

chomp.

"are you kidding me?" he barely even flinches and instead chuckles under his breath. "even when you knew that i knew?"

"it made it more enticing," you reason innocently, moving to do it again when you feel the tiniest amount of pressure on the lobe of your ear. you freeze, every neuron in your brain suddenly keenly aware of satoru's teeth barely biting down on your ear. it's electric and any thoughts of chomping his bicep again leave your brain. he hums lowly in amusement right on your skin and you can feel your body short-circuit.

"what, cat got your teeth?"

"i'm the one who's supposed to bite, not the other way around."

"what if i turned the tables a little, then?" his lips press on the skin behind your ear. "give you a taste of your own medicine?"

"don't even think about it," you murmur, settling back against his chest and plotting to chomp his pec next.

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