#Pressed Number Plates

[orbitganymede]

18+, MDNI

having a one night stand with simon and thinking you’d never see him again, he was a good lay, giving you orgasm after orgasm and speaking absolute filth into your ear when he was deep inside your cunt. you’d say maybe the best you’ve ever had, but that didn’t stop you from leaving early in the morning from his sparsely decorated flat, a note left on his side table that simply said you’d had a good night and you hoped he did too, you even added a cute little smiley to the end. then you’d gone on with your day, with your life.

until, about 2 weeks after, there was a knock at your door, it’s late, already having put on your pjs and started searching your pantry for something to make for dinner. and when you open the door, your surprise is palpable, there simon stood, long, strong legs covered in cargo pants, pretty brown eyes locked on you, a black surgical mask covering the lower part of his face, hiding the long scar that you remember feeling rub against your thigh. he holds a bag of takeout and then proceeds to shoulder his way in, leaving a small kiss on your cheek through the mask before making his way to your couch.

you want to ask how he found your place, how he knew you were home, and why the hell he’s here. you actually do ask the third one, which he answers with a simple, gruff “dinner”. you nod slowly, finding your way to the other end of the couch, but are met with a huff and a large hand pulling you closer to him, making sure your leg is pressed right up against his. he plates your food, then starts eating his own, makes small comments about the taste and asks questions about your day. the night seems almost normal, like something you’ve done before with him, disregarding the fact that you’d only been around each other for 2 hours tops and almost all of that time was spent by you trying to do something other than moan his name.

when you’re done you expect him to leave, to go on with his night, or maybe you to wake up from a dream. instead he makes his way to your bedroom, sits down on the bed and tells you how he can’t stop thinking about your lips around his cock. and yeah, you fold.

that’s how you end up learning that his stamina is insane, especially for an older guy, and he likes to see your face, makes sure to face you towards a mirror in full nelson or holds you in mating press with his pink (scarred) lips against yours. maybe you also learn that his phone lock screen is a color scarily similar to your irises and you see a file with your full name (one you hadn’t given him) front and center when he rolls over to unlock his phone, he says something about how he needs to send a message to ‘his team’ about dinner this weekend to meet his new bird, you wonder what kind of sports team he’s on, gotta be rugby with a build like his, but your thoughts don’t stray too far before he’s ready to go again, something about three being his lucky number, that this time it will take.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Recount Your Kids, Batman

[A loose continuation to this post]

Talia doesn't visit the Wayne manor. At least not regularly nor officially. All the batkids and Batman know she comes sometimes, just to check up on Damian and maybe bother Bruce from time to time, but this is the first time she has ever shown up to a dinner.

And, as they all take their seats, she gives Damian a long curios glance. Then, she looks to Bruce.

"Is that everyone?" She asks, easy and lighthearted. One might think she is simply not acquainted with the number of Wayne children or that she is teasing Bruce on the sheer amount of them. But Damian is looking down to his plate, and Tim knows for sure Talia keeps up with Wayne's head count, and Dick is fairly certain Talia would never tease Bruce, at least not so subtly.

It could have been some sort of a hint at Jason. If he was not here, that is. But he is, for once, so this is really all the family at one table.

"Yes?" Dick tries, looking around the table just to make sure. Steph and Babs are not here today, but that's definitely not what Talia could have meant. Bruce also looks just a little confused, which is a nice change of pace since he looked guarded and on edge from the very moment Talia showed up.

The woman hums, her eyes studying Damian. The youngest bat keeps his gaze down on his empty plate. No one really understands what's going on, but they all feel like there's something important and heavy hanging in the air.

Then, Talia stands up and turns to Alfred, "We will be dining later. It has come to my attention that kids are a lot more secretive than I thought," she explains cryptically and smiles at Bruce, "Beloved, will you come with me to the training grounds? I have something to show you."

Bruce doesn't move for a long moment, and Talia's smile becomes almost gentle, "It's about your son."

At least that makes the man move.

When they get down to the Cave - since Talia insisted this was not a matter that could be resolved in the manor's training room - it's not only her, Bruce, and the little bat there, of course. The whole family was way too intrigued, and some were even alarmed.

The most alarming part, though, was the fact that Damian had been uncharacteristically quiet on their way down. Yet, when Dick looked to Cass, she just shook her head slightly. The boy was not worried. To Cass, he looked almost resigned, if a bit displeased.

"Your sword, Damian," Talia commands, and the boy presses his lips into a thin line.

"This is not necessary, Mother."

"It is," the woman looks amused, but there's an underlying layer of concern to her tone.

"...Yes, Mother," Damian nods his head on what feels like surrender and takes his katana. Not the training one, the real blade. Bruce makes a soft, alarmed grunt, but Talia waves him off.

"Not to worry, Beloved. I will not harm our brethren."

She doesn't take a stance, nor does she pick out a weapon, simply lunges for Damian as soon as they are both on the mats. Two daggers seem to appear in her hands out of nothing, and, contrary to her words, her aim is towards Damian's neck. The boy blocks, jumps away, and blocks another attack.

Tim steps closer, "You can't just-"

"Step away, Drake," It's the first time Damian has spoken to them since they've sat down for dinner. His voice is tense, but not derisive. If anything, it sounds a bit tired.

Talia lunges for him again, faster, meaner. Metal clings against metal.

"You understand this can not keep going, my child," she tells the boy, startlingly gentle on the contrary to her definitely dangerous strikes.

Damian doesn't answer.

The rest of Batfam are forced to simply watch the encounter: Damian is mostly on defense as Talia goes for him, harder and harder with every hit. Until, without any warning, the woman strikes for Damian's arm, making him drop his katana, and-

A few things happen at once.

Talia lunges for Damian's throat. Bruce jumps onto the mats so fast that he almost trips. Tim yelps.

But Talia's blade doesn't strike.

A figure of another child, eerily similar to Damian and wearing the League of Assassins uniform, is standing in front of the littlest bat, two crystal clear blades in his hands, blocking the dagger.

Bruce halts midstep. The rest of the family holds their breath.

But Talia simply smiles and drops her daggers, backing away and looking at the boy between her and Damian with a fond gaze.

"Danyal," she greets, and the boy huffs, lowering his weapons. He doesn't drop them - they simply dissipate in the air, turning into tiny snowflakes.

"Mother," he greets back begrudgingly, and his voice is the exact replica of Damian's. A clone? No, because Damian reacts to him nothing like he had to the clones, simply clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes.

"You could have simply asked, Mother," he comments, taking a step forward and stading near the other boy. Danyal. When standing side by side, they look nearly identical - same facial features, same posture, same hair, even if Damian's is a little more tame.

But Danyal's eyes are just a few hues off. Still green but lighter than Damian's.

"I assumed if you have spent years living here and never bothered to mention your brother, I would need a little more than asking, my love," Talia doesn't laugh, but it sounds like she wants to. Both boys roll their eyes, perfectly in sync.

Hold the fuck up, brother?

"Huh. I thought you died," Jason mentions offhandedly, and the whole family whips their heads to him. Yet, before any of them speak, it's Danyal who answers.

"I mean, I did? Kinda?" He waves his hand in the air and shrugs, and he acts so unlike Damian while also simultaneously having his face, that it makes Tim shiver a little.

"You-" Bruce starts, seeming to finally find his voice, but the boy cuts him off.

"I'm not actually yours," he snorts at Bruce's facial expression, "Yeah, I know I look like I am. Blame the ghost sewers, Chronos, and my stupid ass for making decisions while not being fully awake."

There is so much to unpack in that sentence that no one has the barest of ideas on where to start.

Damian curves his lips down in a sneer.

"The longer you stay there staring, the colder the dinner will be when we return," he reminds them, and Danyal suddenly perks up.

"Dinner? Can I join? It's been ages since I've had anything home cooked," he smiles, like there's some kind of an inside joke in that sentence. Damian rolls his eyes.

"The food doesn't come alive in this household, Danyal."

"Bummer," the boy looks a bit disappointed, but not too much. "And it's Danny, for the thousandth time."

Talia picks up her daggers, hiding them somewhere in her clothes in an unnoticeable motion. Then, she gives Bruce a small, if a bit sly, smile.

"You can not call it 'family dinner' if not all your family is there."

[alexthetrashyracoon]

Simon wants to marry you.

This fact was as clear as rain on his mind. You were the love of his life, he was ready to settle down with you and grow old.

So Simon prepared everything for that special day, it was your fourth year anniversary and Simon wants to ask you the biggest question someone could ask and he hoped, maybe even prayed despite not believing in any higher deity, that you would say 'yes' to his proposal.

He has planned out the whole day, from the moment you woke to the moment you would close your eyes for the night again, everything was supposed to be perfect.

Simon brings you breakfast in bed, watching your smile brighten when you see the freshly pressed orange juice and the fresh buns, still warm from the bakery. "Happy Anniversary." He whispers before slipping back into bed behind you, pulling you between his legs and stealing some of the freshly cut Mango from your plate.

When breakfast is over, you two made a mess out of each other while trying to feed each other, he scoops you up and carries you into the bathroom, telling you to get ready and that he has a lot of plans for today which causes you to become perceptive. Immediately starting to question him about his plans, but he's still a trained soldier, he withstands your flow of questions.

Another plan of Simon for today was bringing you to a fair, the same one you two met four years ago.

Here he wanted to ask you to marry him, on top of the Ferris wheel where you two had been stuck together four years ago due to a technical issue with the electronic.

But after spending a few hours walking the fair ground, having to walk back to his car once to bring Lord Otto from Otterson, the plush Otter he won you at one of the stupid and usually very rigged fair games, to safety and out of the way. You make it to the Ferris wheel and Simon's face fell.

"Out of order..." He breathes and runs a hand through his short blonde hair, staring up at the still standing wheel and the dangling cable cars.

"Damn." You curse softly next to him and scratch your neck. "Well, maybe we can ride it another day, mhm?"

"Yeah, maybe. Well, we can't change anything now." He chuckles and squeezes the velvety box in his back pocket. Keeping it safe until you two would reach the next destination.

The small restaurant by the corner where you two lived was filled with loud voice, happy laughter, children running around, not that Simon minded, he knew you were a very outgoing person and enjoyed the social interactions from such evenings.

Simon had reserved a table a few weeks ago and the waiter brings you and him over, Simon shushing the poor man who just wants to help you sit.

He is your boyfriend, bloody hell, he can do something so simple as helping you get seated.

"I know it is our anniversary, Simon," You chuckle as you put down the glass of wine Simon has ordered for you and him, "But something feels different. I just don't know what. Special..."

"Four years is just a long time, love. Maybe your brain finally catches up with... wha-?" Simon wants to be cheesy with you before asking you the question of all questions when suddenly his feet feel wet and he looks down, seeing water come from the kitchen.

His second attempt of asking for your hand has been sabotaged by a broken water pipe.

Simon curses internally as he carries you back outside, not wanting to get your feet wet and cause you catching some flu.

Well, there is only the romantic walk through the nearby park which is empty around this time of the night, so you two can walk around the pond and watch the fireflies and swans before he can go down on one knee and finally ask.

But before he even get you through the sturdy iron gates that allowed entrance to the park, his phone rang, Prices' number on the screen and everything in Simon screams to ignore his Captain for the sake of your relationship and your future.

He apologizes and takes the call, listening to Price explaining that they've got information about a certain Russian Terrorist planning an attack and that they had to meet within the next hour.

"It's fine." You reassure him when he brings you back to your shared apartment, squeezing his hand with a gentle smile on your lips. "I had a lot of fun today with at my side. And saving the world is much more important. We can celebrate another time, Si."

"You're too forgiving." Simon replies and presses his chapped lips against your forehead. "But it's not fine. I had the whole day planned out. And the universe seems against me at all, bloody hell. All I wanted to do tonight was asking you to marry me. And everything I've tried blew. The Ferris Wheel, the restaurant, even the walk..."

You cut him off before he can talk himself into a frenzy by wrapping your arms around his neck, having to stand on your tiptoes and planting your lips on his.

"Yes." You grin when you pull back. "Yes, I will marry you, Simon Riley. I will marry you."

Maybe he should have simply asked you this morning during breakfast, might have saved him from getting another grey hair on his head. But sometimes the simple answer is hidden behind the complicated ideas.

[p3achfilm]

yummy. eren j. 3k.

cw✿ hockeyplayer! eren, black reader, fingering, creaming, dirty talk, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, cervix kissing, praise, pet names, daddy kink, size difference, overstimulation, creampie. or in which he fucks you in his jersey. mdni

a/n ✿ been missing my baby eren . . . so i wrote this, enjoy!

for as long as you could remember you'd always been a sucker for pretty men. you didn't mind a man with a bit of hair, but, there was something so enticing, so core-thrilling about a man who was girl-pretty. yes, girl-pretty. a man with delicate, smooth, almost feminine features. and that's exactly what he was.

from the way his chestnut colored hair was always pulled into a messy ponytail, to his masculine yet soft face that you often found yourself gazing at, he was mesmerizing. it’s a constant struggle not eye-fucking him every chance you get; he was just too sexy. everything about eren jaeger pulled you in. his warm olive skin, the way he moved almost predatory, with the grace of a panther and the confidence of someone who knew exactly how fine they were. his scent, his laugh, his voice, every part of his being.

it's also hard not to throb as his hands are resting lightly on your hips, fingers occasionally brushing against your skin, sending electric shivers up your spine. the sight of his toned abs and sharp v-line disappearing into the waistband of his checkered pajama pants is almost too much to bear.

“breakfast smells amazing baby.“ his voice is deep, guttural and breathy, god, you love his morning voice. a smile decorates your face as you drape your arms around his neck, spatula still grasped between your fingers. “thanks baby.”

it amazes him how you always look so perfect. your round, sparkling eyes gaze up at him lovingly, and your face, bare of makeup, is a vision of natural beauty. the way you tease your bottom lip with your teeth only adding to the allure, making his heart race.

his cock twitches eagerly at the sight of you. it doesn't help that you're wearing his hockey jersey, the number thirteen plastered against the front as it hangs loosely off your left shoulder. the fabric barely covers your ass, and he can't help but feel a surge of desire.

his calloused hands find their way to your bottom, kneading the flesh with a stark contrast to your soft skin. the roughness of his touch against your smoothness sends a chill up your back, intensifying the moment. the jersey, with its familiar scent and feel, only makes the connection between you two more intimate, more electrifying. he marvels at how effortlessly you’re able to get him riled up.

"down boy!"

fingertips pressing into his chest and pushing him away gently. he pouts, jutting his pink bottom lip out in an exaggerated manner. it's almost comical to see the six-foot-four ice hockey player, who usually looks intimidating as fuck with his inked skin and muscular frame, pouting like a child. his broad shoulders slump slightly, and he gives you those puppy-dog eyes, making it hard not to laugh at the contrast between his tough exterior and his playful, almost boyish demeanor.

"you're such a tease,"

eren grumbles, adjusting his raging boner before fixing himself a cup of coffee. his stomach grumbles as he watches you cook, the delicious aromas wafting through the kitchen. you're an amazing cook, often filling his belly with dishes he can't even pronounce, let alone replicate. the sight of you effortlessly moving around the kitchen, whipping up culinary masterpieces, never fails to mesmerize him. you always make extras for his team members, and they love it. love it a little too much if you asked eren, always nagging him, asking when you're going to cook for them again. even going as far as asking to come over just to enjoy one of your home-cooked dinners.

“you’re a big boy, i think you’ll live ren.”

eren can't help but stare hungrily as you reach up to grab plates, your bare ass peeking out from the shirt. mmm, he inwardly groans at the sight. such a fucking tease. “m’ thank you pretty.” eren presses a light kiss on your cheek as you set an arrangement of cut up fruits in front of him. he always eats a bowl of fruit in the morning, claiming it wakes his tastebuds up.

‘welcome’ is all you manage out, knowing he's probably starving. you thought you could eat, but eren? that man could actually eat a horse. you didn’t mind feeding him, cooking and baking had always been a hobby for you. you loved the way his face lit up when he tasted your food and sweet treats, always moaning and savoring it, ‘you’ve done it again’ is what he’d say each time.

“so, how was practice babe? you got home late, i tried to stay up but i was tired.” you gently scoop the eggs from the skillet and place them neatly beside the cheese grits. eren rolls his arm, left shoulder still aching from the numerous swings he’d done yesterday.

you already knew his answer before he spoke; you could see the tiredness in his eyes. the way his usually relaxed muscles were tense this morning. his job was demanding, you knew that. being a professional ice hockey player was not for the weak—all the injuries, all the hours dedicated to practice—but he always seemed to carry the weight of it on his shoulders without a single complaint. that was something you loved about him, his perseverance. you admired how he pushed through the pain, the exhaustion, and the relentless schedule, all while maintaining his focus and determination. his dedication was unwavering, and even on the toughest days, he never let it break his spirit.

eren swirls his now warm coffee in his mug in disdain. "tough. coach has been breathing down our backs. but it's paying off. we're really starting to come together as a team." his mouth waters as you set the steaming plate in front of him, his stomach growling in anticipation.

“i’m glad, ren, you work so hard,” you say, smiling as you run your hands through his soft silky strands, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. he closes his eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of your touch and the comforting gesture. the aroma of the food fills the air, and you can see the tension in his shoulders begin to melt away.

he groans in delight as he stuffs a handful of eggs in his mouth, "i don't know how you do it," he says, shaking his head in amazement. "everything you make is just . . . perfecto.”

you laugh softly, setting the pitcher of orange juice in the middle of the kitchen island, “you're just saying that because you're hungry," you tease, nudging him playfully.

eren scoffs,pulling you down onto his lap before you can sit across from him. "no, i mean it," he insists, wrapping his arms around your waist. "you're incredible. and not just in the kitchen."

you smile like a teenage girl as his words, leaning into his embrace. "well, you're not so bad yourself jaeger," you reply, kissing the tip of his nose.

he laughs, the sound vibrating through your body. "i guess i have my moments," he admits, nuzzling your neck. "but seriously, i don't know what i'd do without you."

"you'd survive," you say softly, resting your head against his. "but . . . i'm glad you don't have to."

he tightens his hold on you, his voice dropping to a whisper. "me too."

as quickly as you placed the plate in front of eren you were retrieving it, he always inhaled his food and you wondered if he’d actually even ever tasted it.

“final thoughts? comments?” you raise your eyebrows at him, collecting his empty plate then yours. eren pats his stomach, the usually toned area now bloated. “ten outta ten. compliments to the chef, i think she deserves a big kiss.” he watches you place the dishes in the washer, closing the door with your foot. his eyes follow your every move, a playful grin spreading across his face as he anticipates the reward he's mentioned. you can see the satisfaction in his eyes, a rare moment of relaxation after the grueling practice sessions. as you walk back towards him, he reaches out, pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. “seriously, it was delicious,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“thanks ren,”

a wave of pain in his shoulders makes him grimace, you hate the wear and tear hockey does to his body. but it’s his career, and you could never bring yourself to ask him to step away.

“how can i help?” worry etches your face, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“mm, i’ve got a couple of things in mind . . .” he murmurs, face buried in the crook of your neck, hands kneading your thighs.

“e-eren,” you gulp back a moan, feeling your core throb at his touch.

you don’t resist as eren gently takes your wrist and leads you into the bedroom.

“look at you, soaking my jersey,” he coos huskily behind you, one hand gripping your thigh, forcing your legs open, the other hand slipping in and out of your squelching pussy. a soft moan escapes your lips, back arching against his chest. his breath is hot against your ear, each ragged sound from him sending shivers down your spine. the intensity of his touch makes your body quiver, and you can feel the heat building between your legs.

“m’ sorry r-ren, j-just f-feels s-so good!”

a broken hiccup escapes your lips, head resting in the curve of his neck. fingers desperately grasping the sheets, knuckles turning white from the sensation of eren fingering you.

“it’s okay baby, you like when i’m diggin’ in you like this?” his filthy words overwhelm your senses. the sheets twist and crumpling beneath your grip as you cling to them, trying to anchor yourself amidst the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“y-yes,” weak cries fumbling from your lips.

shlick, shlick, shlick.

“hear how she’s talking to me?”

eren grins, fingers sliding out of you, a trail of sticky fluid following. you whine at the sudden emptiness, flinching as eren’s hand smacks against your throbbing core. his relentless hits against you have you sobbing, “ren please n-no more!”

another slap.

then, another.

each strike leaves a burning sensation, making your body tense. the room is filled with the sound of your pleading cries and the sharp, rhythmic slaps, as eren spanks your pussy.

“must be a masochist, look how you’re throbbing.” he sucks his teeth, laughing. warmness envelops your face at his words, he’s right. you’re even wetter than you were before, he holds his hand. showcasing the way he has to wiggle his digits to break them apart from your juices. you turn away, embarrassed.

“don’t piss me off, look.” he hisses, fingers digging into your face, forcing you to look at his soaked hand. the sight of his glistening fingers, coated with your arousal, makes your cheeks burn even hotter. his grip tightens, and you can feel the roughness of his skin against your delicate face.

your thighs tremble uncontrollably as his slender fingers find their way back to your pussy, middle and ring tracing your soppy folds teasingly, thumb lazily abusing your throbbing clit in slow looping motions. an array of colorful dots spot your vision as his fingers delve deeper, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you.

“oh fuckkk,” you grunt, eyes rolling back in your head. the sensation of his fingers massaging your slick walls and flicking your swollen bud has your stomach in a knot, every nerve in your body tingling.his other hand snakes under his jersey, pulling, tugging, twisting your sore nipples. his legs are hooked around yours, holding your squirming body in place. he knows you’re a runner, and the way he holds you says don’t even try.

“you’re so wet for me,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear, voice dripping with satisfaction.

“please, don’t stop,” you gasp, body arching instinctively towards him, craving more of the intoxicating pleasure.

“i won’t,” he murmurs, his fingers maintaining their relentless rhythm. “i want to see you fall apart.”

the combination of his words and the expert movements of his fingers drives you closer to the edge, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the sense builds to a fever pitch. “i’m so close,” you manage to say, voice trembling with anticipation.

“mmm, you wanna cum on my fingers kitten? ” his voice is thick with cockiness, thumb pressing harder against your clit. god, he loves the way you’re falling apart in his hands. those soft groans are enough to make his cock twitch in excitement as he feels you up with his fingers.

“yes, yes, yes, i wanna c-cum, please, ren!” you exclaim, your voice filled with urgency and desperation. he watches closely, avidly, as your brows knit together and your eyes close, body responding to the overwhelming sensations. his gaze is intense, absorbing every detail of your expression and the way your body moves.

tears spill from your eyes, and eren quickly kisses them away. “no crying, princess. take it like a big girl,” he whispers. you wanna scream, but you just nod slowly, body trembling. the sound of your pussy gets louder and more intense as eren picks up speed, the slick, rhythmic noises filling the room. his movements are unrelenting, each prod sending waves of pleasure through you. you can feel his fingers brushing across your cervix, the line between pain and pleasure blurring. the intensity is almost too much, but you hold on.

eren’s name becomes a chant on your lips, each syllable a testament to the pleasure he's orchestrating within you. you can only sit in a puddle of your juices as he dominates your body and mind. the way his thumb glides across your pulsating clit and his fingers are deep inside you has you clenching. one more flick and your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave.

“c-c-cumming!” you weep. eren doesn’t care, he’s still strumming your sensitive clit, his arm clamping down tight as you fight against his hold. “mhm, so pretty when you’re cumming,” he mewls, edging you through your climax.

your body shakes uncontrollably, every muscle tensing and releasing in waves. you can barely catch your breath as eren continues his relentless pace, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. the pleasure is almost too much, but you don't want it to stop.

“fuck,” you’re a whimpering mess.

eren's hand moves to grip your hip, holding you steady as he pushes you further into bliss. “look at you, so perfect, taking it all,” he whispers, his voice thick with lust. you can only moan in response, your mind too clouded with pleasure to form coherent words. his thumb circles your clit with precision, each movement leg shaking as the last.

as your climax begins to subside, eren slows his movements, but he doesn't stop. he keeps you on the edge, prolonging your pleasure, making sure you feel every second of it. "that's my girl," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "so beautiful when you cum for me."

“so tired,” you huff out in exhaustion, slumping completely in his hold. sweat licks at your body greedily, hair sticking to your face. eren finds the sight exhilarating.

“i know, baby, but i wanna fuck your pretty little ass in my jersey.” he presses a kiss on your temple.

you’re way too tired to fight him as he turns you on your side, a thigh in his hands. your stomach clenches as he pulls down his pants just above his knees. you gulp at the view, tip flushed pink glistening with precum, veins running along the thick masterpiece.

“ugh,” the feel of you has him groaning immediately, you’re so tight and warm around him. the stretch of him inside you hurts, and you find yourself gripping a pillow for comfort.

eren’s hands are firm as they hold your thigh, positioning you just right. he starts slow, letting you adjust to the intrusion.

“so perfect,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. each push forward is deliberate, making you feel every inch of him. your body responds despite the exhaustion, hips meeting his thrusts with a mind of their own.

the room fills with the sounds of your labored breaths and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. eren’s grip tightens, fingers digging into your thigh as he picks up the pace. “you’re doing so good, taking me so well,” he praises, his words a balm to your overwhelmed senses. the pain starts to melt into pleasure, a slow burn that builds with each thrust.

your clutch on the pillow tightens, knuckles white as you try to anchor yourself. eren’s free hand snakes to your front, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. the dual sensation has you arching, a moan escaping your lips. “eren . . .” you gasp, the sensitivity from your last orgasm still lingering.

his eyes flicker down to where you’re connected, watching with a smile as your pussy coats him in cream. this makes him groan, he’s been fucking you for less than minute and you’re already glazing him.

“f-faster! p-please f-fuck my pussy faster!” you croak out, pleasure racking your brain.

eren obeys, hand retracting from your clit. he braces his knees against the bed, your thigh on his shoulder as he rolls his hips into you faster. you’re a sweaty, whimpering mess underneath him. you look so damn sexy, eyes screwed shut, mouth agape, eyebrows scrunched together as your body juts forward with each thrust. your hair is now a frizzy raven mess, coils falling around your shoulders.

“such a slut,” he clenches his jaw, “greedy ass pussy lips don’t wanna let my cock go.” his pace quickens, hips snapping against you with a brutal rhythm.

each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, making you cry out. he watches you intently, mesmerized by the way your breasts bounce with each movement, the way your nails dig into the sheets trying to find some semblance of control.

“you take me so well,” he growls, voice laced with lust. “look at you, falling apart on my cock. you love this, don’t you?”

your body responds instinctively, tightening around him, drawing him deeper. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he mutters, his own breaths coming out ragged. the room is filled with lewd wet sounds as he continues prodding into you.

your bubble butt ripples every time he thrusts into you, and it's such a hot sight. he can't get enough of it, watching the way your body moves with each powerful stroke. he wants to fill you up so bad, the thought of his cum leaking out of you drives him wild. your soft whines are like music to his ears, spurring him on even more. each thrust is more intense than the last, he loves seeing the way your body responds to him.

the way you moan and arch your back just makes him want to go harder and deeper, completely losing himself in the moment. his hands grip your hips, pulling you even closer as he buries himself inside you, feeling the incredible tightness and warmth. every movement, every sound you make, fuels his desire, pushing him to give you everything he's got.

“s’close! daddy.” you whine.

he can tell by the way you’re clamping down onto him, almost painfully.

"all yours, baby, take what you need," he groans, his legs buckling underneath him as you begin coming undone. you're gripping him so fucking tightly, he can't take it.

he's so pussy drunk.

"cummin’ again! ooo, fuck!" you sob out, trying to pull away from him, but he holds you in place.

"be a good girl and stay still, almost finished," he slurs, encased in your pussy. the warmth, the wetness your convulsing walls—it's all got him starstruck. he watches you with a dazed expression, completely mesmerized by the sight of you losing control. the intensity of the moment overwhelms him. his mind is clouded with desire, and he can't help but fuck deeper, savoring the way you react to every movement.

“i’m gna’ bust,” eren shakily whines, followed by a string of curses as he fills up your pussy. even when you’re leaking with his salty nut he doesn’t pull out, pushing his cum in you until he feels your hilt. “o-ow!” you shudder at the feeling, finally relaxing when he slides out. he watches happily as your pulsating pussy pushes out his cum, head between your legs as he holds your thighs open.

“what a warmup, practice is gonna rock today.”

@cinnn4mon all rights reserved, don’t steal, modify nor post outside of tumblr or i’ll find you🫧

[gotta-winwin]

12:34pm

🌷part of the 24hrs with seventeen series ! request a specific time + activity/scenario to experience it with seventeen yourself !

requests are now closed for this event! thank you to everyone who requested.

S.Coups takes pride in always being on time, as he rushes to pack his things. His phone is clutched precariously between his fingers as he types out a message, asking you to wait for him by the company lobby. 

S.Coups throws his things haphazardly in Joshua’s general direction, yelling out a quick goodbye without looking back. The members only smile fondly at the scene in front of them, knowing lunchtime was a special time for their leader.

S.Coups boards the elevator and pushes the lobby button with more force than necessary, fingers tapping against his thigh as he watches the floor numbers descend. He finds it amazing how the mere thought of you waiting for him can render him as impatient and nervous as his teenage self.

S.Coups sheds his leader identity and steps into Seungcheol the moment your arms wrap around his waist. 

He practically melts into your hold, smoothing down your hair as he listens to you jabber about updates from the morning. It’s only been a few hours since he left your shared bed, pressing a light kiss on your forehead as he got up to get ready. The nearby staff members hide smiles as they work, already used to the lovesick seventeen leader and his bride-to-be. Seungcheol all but latches onto you as he walks you both out, nodding along as you tell him about the cafe you found online. 

Seungcheol knows you prefer sitting on the outside instead of in the booth, so it’s second nature when he pulls the chair open for you to sit. Sliding into the booth, he watches fondly as you situate yourself until you’re comfortable, handing both your jacket and your bag over to him. 

Seungcheol pesters you to order more. He’s pointing at everything appetizing on the menu (which is basically everything) urging you to order it so you guys can share. He firmly states that he doesn’t mind taking the leftovers back to work, knowing the boys would happily finish whatever you guys couldn’t. 

Seungcheol has learned to pace himself as he eats, unconsciously matching your pace as the two of you converse, knowing how much you hate being the only one still eating. He pretends not to notice each time your fork makes its way into his plate, swiping bits of his food as discreetly as possible. He finds it endearing how you still sneak your stealing habits when he so openly shares his meals. 

Seungcheol also pretends not to notice the staring fans outside the cafe window. Although he usually books your meals in advance and requests it be made private, he cannot control what goes on outside. He’s cool with it as long as you are, giving fans a polite smile as you exit the cafe. They’ve long since learned to give some distance, ever since Seungcheol lightly scolded fans online for hounding you.

Seungcheol, who whips out his card like you guys didn’t just order the whole store. He doesn’t bother looking at the receipt, flashing you a warm smile as he offers you your jacket, chiding you about how cold it was and how you weren’t wearing enough. Your purse finds its home on his arm as you both walk out, rejuvenated and ready to get back to work.

Seungcheol, who walks extra, extra slowly on the way back to the company. He’s mentally trying to savour each second, taking extra care in each of his footsteps as he listens to you speak. He pauses at every storefront, every pretty flower, every passing dog, trying to delay the inevitable end of your lunch date. 

Seungcheol, who suffocates you in a hug by the company elevator, murmuring into your hair how fucking lucky he is to have you and how thankful he is that you came all this way to grab lunch with him. 

Seungcheol, who gives you the deadliest puppy eyes that make you marvel at how this man is almost 30 years old. He somehow ushers you into the elevator with him, despite promising to say goodbye at the lobby. He whines something about wanting more time, asking the dreaded question: do you hate me? He shoots you a teasing smile as he opens the door to their practice room, gently pushing you in.

Seungcheol, who watches from the side as his found family welcomes the love of his life in. He’s got a sappy smile on his face as he watches you interact with them all, giggling with Seokmin and trading stories with Joshua. It’s in those moments does he finally allow himself to just feel. To let the happiness of the moment sink deep into his bones, knowing it would keep him going throughout his most difficult times. 

Seungcheol, whose self control wanes, ending up leaving practice early to drive you both home. All it really takes is a knowing nudge from Jeonghan, who understands the love sickness and sheer want in his eyes, telling him silently that it’s okay to go home. 

Seungcheol, who sheepishly tells you the next morning that you guys might have to put a pause on your lunch dates. Their manager enforced a ban for any visits during comeback hours - a rule that was so obviously created due to Seungcheol, leaving him sulky and at the mercy of his bandmates.

[saekkas]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

summary: in which someone flirts with them, but they're only looking at you.

includes: isagi, nagi, reo, yukimiya, rin, sae, kunigami, kaiser, karasu, bachira, aiku.

notes: this one's shorter than the one before but still, go wild my loves <3

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐆𝐔𝐘 who values you very much. is the type to be very secure in the relationship; doesn't like any unnecessary drama and is definitely ready to move onto the next stage. wouldn't really care about the other person but will not tolerate having his boundaries crossed. especially when it's clear that he's yours and yours only.

isagi, yukimiya, bachira, nagi.

his eyes are on his phone, feet tapping against the tiles of the cafe. it's a hole in the wall that he's used to frequenting with you, so much that the staff know your orders by heart. the line is short, seats mostly empty, as the rush hour has passed. the rain is pouring against the window beside him, and he taps his finger on the table to their rhythm.

tilting his head, his eyes find you in the middle of the line. you're focused on the menu, your bottom lip between your teeth as you scan the list of food and beverages. it makes him smile, chuckling under his breath because he knows you'll end up getting what you usually do. he gets onto his feet, wallet in hand, when you're finally set to order.

"hi. good morning, how are you?" your sweet voice tickles his ear as he approaches, his heart warm and sated as you go through your usual routine.

"hey." he presses a kiss to your head, wrapping a hand around your waist. his lips trail down, stopping at your cheek, a smile pressed against the skin as he hears you giggle. "what's taking so long?"

the cashier smiles, amused at the sight. "mornin' i'm great. how about you two lovebirds?"

"we're good," he answers for you both, an easy-going expression on his face. he looks down, scrunching his nose at you while you giggle at his answer. "just waiting for this angel to finish ordering."

"we'll have matcha latte, caramel macchiato, and a blueberry cheesecake please. the usual." he tilts his head, looking for your confirmation. he smiles proudly, chest puffing when you nod your head.

"i'll pay," you say as you show your card to the cashier, smiling at her. he chuckles, letting you take the bill this time. "how much will it be?"

the drinks are out in a second, the green and brown a contrast against each other. there are two pairs of utensils on the plate, and he thanks the staff for their work, taking the tray into his hand. "i'll take these to our table first, okay?" he looks over his shoulder, a gentle look in his eye as he processes just how... domestic this all feels.

"yeah, i'll be there in a minute. i need to go to the bathroom." you smile at the cashier one last time, tucking your purse into your bag. you glare playfully, poking your tongue at him. "don't you dare finish the cheesecake before i'm back."

he pokes his tongue back, a laugh breaking loose from his chest. "no promises."

he sits back down, placing the food on the table as he goes back to drumming his fingers. the rain doesn't look as if it'll be stopping any time soon, wind combining with water to shower the earth clean. he looks at his watch, mentally thinking about making dinner later with you. a smile grows at the thought.

there's a shadow in the corner of his eye that he assumes is you. he smiles, ready to lean over and press a kiss, only to stop when his eyes meet a stranger instead. "sorry." he backs away, a furrow in his eyebrow as he looks around, searching for you. "you've got the wrong table."

"no. it's okay. i've definitely got the right table." the stranger lays it thick with a high-pitched tone, and fluttering eyelashes. "hi, handsome. here's my number."

he watches as she slips a piece of paper onto the table, confusion blending into annoyance when she leans over to take his hand. "look," he says with a frown, pushing his hands into his pockets. he's very obviously looking in the direction you went off in. "you've got the wrong table and i'm already with someone."

"ah but i don't see this someone?" the smile on her face is pushing at his limits. his jaw ticks when she moves to sit beside him. "c'mon, handsome. give me a chance."

the bathroom door by the end opens with a creak, and his head snaps at the sound. before she has time to reach over once again, he's quick to swerve away to your side. you're already eyeing the girl at your table with curiosity, your head tilted in question. "hey, who's that? one of your frien-"

he doesn't let you finish. he's quick to reach for your waist, tugging you into a kiss with a hand cupping your cheek. all negative feelings drain from his limbs, turning him into a puddle of love as you thread your fingers into his hair.

"as much as i love your kisses," you say with a gasp of breath as you look up into his eyes, finding love looking back at you through the orbs. "that was a bit sudden. did something happen?"

"not at all." he shakes his head, nuzzling into your nose. his hands are on the side of your neck, lovingly stroking the skin. "not now that you're here."

you look back at your table, seeing it empty, and the girl from before nowhere in sight.

"shall we enjoy our drinks?" he pushes you with the hand he has on your waist. he sits down first before pulling you to sit right beside him, your hands intertwined under the table. "can't wait to eat dinner with you later."

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓. he won't say no to playful flirting since it feeds his ego but will only respond if you're somewhere near or in his field of vision. he won't give the other person any of his attention if you aren't. will think it's funny that they're trying their best but will either shoot them down in a way that crushes their pride or brush them off as if they don't exist.

reo, aiku, karasu, kaiser.

the bass is thrumming against his skull, a tune that doesn't fit the mall's calm and serene energy. he's sitting on one of those plush sofas in a clothing store outlet, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he waits for you to finish changing. he feels the warning glare the manager's sending, and he snorts as if trying to go into the dressing room with you is a crime. he would be so much more satisfied with you between four cramped walls than in the wide space where people are obviously gawking at him.

"excuse me." someone calls his name timidly, and he cocks his head towards them, wanting to see where this goes. they send him a smile, one that's too teethy and falsely sweet but hey he can't fault them for not flashing his favorite smile; they aren't you after all.

"yes?" his reply is short and blunt, but he sighs when the girl flinches away. you've always said that his resting face looked too mean. he chuckles at the thought.

shaking himself out of his daydream, he shows his best smile. he leans back, arm stretched out against the back of the couch as he adjusts his pose, manspreading. a peacock, you'd once muse when he first did it in front of you. he watches with thinly veiled boredom in his eyes, a juxtaposition to the sickeningly sweet smile on his lips. "can i help you with something?"

the girl flushes, biting her lip and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. being coy, he realizes with an amused scoff.

"sorry to bother you. it's just- you looked so bored. i thought i could entertain you."

his eyebrow quirks at the word entertain, tilting his head in mock curiosity. "and how would you do that, hm?" he takes her in, taking in her choice of clothing and hairstyle. cute he'd give that much to her. nothing like you, though. she couldn't compare.

he realizes belatedly that the once over was seen differently than what he meant for it to come across. amusement flickers in his eyes when she flushes a bright red, fidgeting on her spot. "you do this often?" he tilts his head, eyes half-lidded, trying to gauge her reaction. "flirting with random strangers in the mall of a hobby, eh?"

"just the handsome ones," she says with a giggle. he watches as she points a finger to the row of clothes, her interest clear as day. "how about we look around? buy some clothes or jewelry so we match."

he chuckles, shaking his head at the thought. he can't wait to tell you about this. right on cue, the door to your dressing room opens, and you step out. his breath gets stuck in his throat, his eyes widening, and a grin making its way to his lips.

the black dress you have on is nothing short of stunning. it tapers off to your knees, the material hugging your curves. he sends you an eager look, one which you giggle at. you turn, showing him the back of the dress, keeping eye contact as you do. his mouth falls and thoughts short circuit as his eyes rake down your bare back, stopping just before your bum.

oh the things he'll do to you in that dress. no wonder the manager was so adamant on not letting him join in on the fun.

"nah," he says distractedly at the girl still waiting for his response. he sends you a wink and a flirty smile, mouthing one moment, before turning back to her. "see that gorgeous specimen right there? yeah i'm hers."

"she and i, we match." his eyes are filled with mischief as he tugs his shirt down, showing off the collection of marks you left on him last night. the skin around his collarbone is red, purple, and bruised. littered with love bites. a symbol of your love he thinks smugly. "see?"

there's pride blooming in his chest, a smug smile forming on his face the moment her eyes widen and the color drains from her face. "i'm not interested in anyone who's not her. so scram." he's quick to wave her away, skipping over to tug you back into the fitting room, this time with him in it.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐂𝐄, the type to literally not care at all. will not give them time of day and will appear hostile if necessary. but he'll mostly just look at them, expressionless with dead eyes.

sae, rin, kunigami

there are so many options to choose from, he frowns, glaring at the row of refrigerators stacked next to each other as if they've done something wrong. the supermarket is relatively busy, customers ranging from middle schoolers to elderly. he's in the drink section, passing one fridge to another, looking for your favorite drink from outside the glass, his frowning reflection looking back at him.

you're somewhere in the dairy section, picking out pints of ice cream, and who knows what else. he checks his phone, checking for any new messages from you. i'll head over soon, after i find the popcorn, it reads along with multiple hearts and photos of you smiling beside the ice cream. he shakes his head, tapping a finger against the screen to save the photos.

he pockets his phone, ready to move on to the next isle when he bumps into someone. he huffs, his eyes looking at the girl that's staring right back at him.

"really?" she says with a flirty giggle after she gets a clear look at his face. he remains stoic, hands in his pocket, even as she nudges him on the shoulder as if a longtime friend. "you're handsome but if you don't say sorry when you bump into someone, they'll lose interest. but maybe that's your charm."

he moves to slight past her, not at all caring about her presence, but before he knows it, she's stuck a hand into his back pocket, sending a kiss playfully before bounding over somewhere he doesn't give a damn about. the frown on his lips deepens, but before he has the chance to look into his pocket, you pop up right beside him.

"hey, i can't find the drinks but i've got everything else." he hears you say as you show him your basket full of things, smiling up at him. there are all kinds of things in the basket, ranging from chocolate, popcorn, ice cream, sausages, and many more. tonight is monthly movie night and he tries to shake off the weird encounter from his mind, not wanting to dampen the mood.

he smiles back, leaning down to take the basket from you. the hoodie you have on is his, and it dwarves you. the hem reaches your knees, and he can't see your hands which makes him chuckle all the while more. you told him that you were cold, he knows it's just another excuse to wear his hoodie.

"let's go home." he ruffles a hand through your hair, affection getting the best of him, before taking your hand with his other.

he drops the basket on the self-checkout counter, and helps you scan all the necessary items. he eyes the chupa-chups by the counter and grabs two, strawberry and cola, scanning both and handing them for you to choose. he chuckles when you brighten, choosing the strawberry for yourself.

"i'll take the bags." he takes both bags into his left hand, the other placing itself on your back. he leads you out, shaking his head in amusement when he feels you slip your hand into his back pocket.

"hey what's this?" the tone of your voice has him frowning. "i didn't know you smoke. it's bad for you, ya know?"

looking down at the cigarette in your hand, he eyes the scribble of numbers surrounding the stick. ah that's what she slipped in, he sighs. taking the cigarette from you, he's quick to throw it to the ground, crushing it with his foot.

"i don't," he chuckles at the look of disbelief on your face. leaning in, he plucks the candy from your mouth, pressing a kiss and pushing his tongue in. you taste sweet from the candy he notes, you smell like ice cream too. he's quick to pull back, chuckling when he realizes just how flustered you've become.

"i prefer sweets," he says with a smug smile before popping the candy into his own mouth.

[shotmrmiller]

need simon to be retired and living in the middle of nowhere with a car-fixing hobby, and you're pulling into his 'shop' because you were road-tripping across the country and now some funky noises are happening underneath the hood.

you tentatively walk towards the open garage, only to spot him under some run-down vehicle that has more rust than sun-faded paint, deflated tires, and a license plate that's also got rust gnawing at the edges, the numbers on it barely discernable.

you rap your knuckles gently on the weathered car, and the wheels of the creeper he's on squeak in protest under him as he rolls out to look at you, filthy gloves smearing the dust on his brow instead of wiping it away.

"err, hi. uh, i was pointed this way by some lovely folk that work in that diner down the way, and they said that you could take a look at my car."

he rises smoothly, even though his joints pop as he does, dark eyes squinting against the sun. he towers over you with broad shoulders and thick arms. a tough-as-teak country man.

you start when he speaks, deep voice echoing off of dusty walls. "they said tha', did they?" he lifts the hem of his grease-stained wife beater to wipe at the beads of sweat on his forehead, and your gaze involuntarily wanders to the thick trail of coarse, dark hair under his navel.

"what's wrong with it?"

if you knew that, you wouldn't be here, blatantly ogling him in some decrepit workshop located in a sleepy corner of the countryside. "i don't know. it's making some scary popping noises and figured that it needed to be looked at, asap."

your grimace is involuntary when he extends an oil-streaked gloved hand. you really hope he's not expecting you to-

"keys."

right. you wordlessly hand them over and walk a few steps behind him as he heads toward the front of your car. "did ya get it looked at before your trip?"

you want to snap at him, that obviously you did. you may not be some car wizard, however, you can do the bare minimum for it but he's your only hope for getting the hell out of here, so you press your tongue against the back of your teeth for a moment before answering.

"yes. i did prepare for it. got new tires, an oil change, and anything else it may have needed."

he hums at your answer, a low sound in the back of his throat, and curls his fingers under the hood and begins to feel for the release. your mind is in the gutter as your eyes linger on his sun-kissed skin, watching the tendons on his inked forearm ripple with each movement.

your mind is snapped back to reality when he mutters, "i hope ya don't think i'm doin' this for free."

"wouldn't dream of it. you don't seem the charitable type."

the latch yields under his fingertips, and the hood springs open. "i'd say i'm pretty charitable, considerin' i'm even helpin' ya with this."

your eyebrows furrow, corners of your lips pulling downward. "what, were you closed or something?"

he gives you a small smirk while his hand searches for the prop rod inside the engine bay. "do i look like a business, sweetheart?"

embarrassment burns your cheeks, and your mouth gapes unprettily as you turn around to truly take in the place. past the grease-smeared floors, there's rust blooming on the only workbench in the garage, a single red toolbox resting on the ground. there's a car jack tossed in a corner, a vibrant blue cooler by the door, and a few firearms on pegboard shelves. it looks like a simple garage. a personal one.

"oh my god," you stammer, "i'm so sorry, i just- the townsfolk, they led me to believe that you're a mechanic." how bloody mortifying.

he ducks his head under the hood, bending at the waist to lean over the engine, eyes swiftly scanning the machinery. "it's a hobby. i fix my own vehicles... and now yours, i reckon."

eventually, he turns the car on and listens to the engine roar to life before it begins to pop, standing over the open hood with thinned lips and furrowed brows.

he tells you that he can fix it, it'll just take a bit for the part to get here, obviously, so he recommends staying at a rented cabin in town for a few days— maybe even a week— and he'll give you a ride over.

he gets you there in no time, unsurprising because he drove the motorcycle far too fast— illegal, really. he helps you off the bike, your clammy hand in his much bigger, roughened one.

you rip off his helmet, pushing it into his barrel chest. "please never drive me around that fast again." he gives you a couple of pats to the shoulder, chuckling under his breath.

"unless you're plannin' on walkin' to get your car back, i can't promise tha'."

grrrreat.

(the issue was the serpentine belt, it was slightly frayed but the man kept you around for 2.5 weeks under the excuse of something taking too long, or the car being under worse condition. maybe he charges you a kidney for fixing it, and since you can't obviously pay that ridiculous amt of money, he tells you to go on a date with him. gross. or maybe he's a sane man and he just sends you on your way in 2 days time. idk. installs a gps in your car? keepin' tabs on ya cuz he plans on passing by wherever you live by complete coincidence.)

[goldfades]

baby shower! | JOE BURROW⁹ [003]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | your baby shower gets a little overwhelming for you and joe.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | pregnancy mentions/descriptions, doting mothers, arguments, slight hurt to comfort, joe standing up for you like the man he is, a sweet little heart to heart at the end there.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐍, but the second you stepped into Maisie’s meticulously decorated living room, you knew it was going to be anything but relaxing.

“Where’s the punch? Who put the finger sandwiches there? They’ll block the dessert table’s aesthetic!” Maisie’s voice rang out like a battle cry, cutting through the soft hum of conversation and the tinkling notes of an instrumental playlist she’d personally curated. She zipped by in a blur of pastel pink and blue, her hands clutching a checklist that looked more intimidating than your OB-GYN’s appointment schedule.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the nausea that had plagued you all morning still simmering low in your stomach. The room, while beautifully decorated with clouds of balloons and a sprawling “Oh Baby!” banner, felt uncomfortably warm.

“Sit down, sweetheart!” your mom chirped, swooping in like a hawk in a lavender sweater set. She wrapped an arm around your shoulder and guided you toward the plush loveseat near the fireplace. “You shouldn’t be on your feet too much, especially not with that glow,” she said, her tone sweet but with the underlying force of someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I’m fine, Mom,” you assured her weakly, but it was pointless. Robin, Joe’s mom, appeared out of nowhere with a plate of fruit skewers and a cup of sparkling water.

“You need to stay hydrated,” Robin said with the kind of motherly authority that left no room for argument. “And these are good for the baby—full of vitamins.”

You offered her a tight-lipped smile, though the thought of eating anything right now made your stomach churn.

“Robin, don’t hover too much,” your mom chided playfully, though she was already fluffing a throw pillow and tucking it behind your lower back. “She’s got to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable,” you lied, shifting awkwardly in your seat.

The truth was, you were anything but comfortable. Your dress—a flowy, neutral-colored number Maisie had practically forced on you—clung in all the wrong places. Your lower back ached from the extra weight you were carrying, and the wave of nausea that had become your constant companion wasn’t helped by the sugary smell wafting from the dessert table.

Maisie stormed back into view, muttering something about the confetti placement being “all wrong.” She paused just long enough to point a manicured finger at you.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you need a fan? A bucket? A full-on evacuation plan?” she asked, her tone frantic but laced with genuine concern.

You forced a laugh. “I’m fine, Maisie. Promise.”

Maisie narrowed her eyes at you like she didn’t quite believe it, but before she could press further, someone called her name from the kitchen. With a dramatic sigh, she marched off, her checklist clutched to her chest like a lifeline.

“I don’t think she’s slept in a week,” you murmured to your mom, who chuckled softly.

“She’s excited,” Robin said, sitting down beside you. “We all are. This baby is going to be so loved.” Her expression softened, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of Joe in her—the same quiet intensity in her eyes, the same way her smile felt like a reassurance.

The thought of Joe brought a small pang of guilt. He’d been hesitant about the whole baby shower thing, mumbling something about how it was more of a “girl thing.” You’d convinced him to make a brief appearance later for the gift opening, but he’d spent the morning at the gym, promising to show up “cleaned up and ready to charm.”

A sudden wave of queasiness hit you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one noticed, but of course, both moms were on you in an instant.

“Are you okay?” Robin asked, leaning forward.

“You look pale,” your mom added, her hand flying to your forehead.

“I’m just—ugh.” You rubbed at your temple, willing the sensation to pass. “I think it’s just the heat in here. Or the smell of those sandwiches. Or maybe the fact that I’m growing a whole human.”

Robin smiled knowingly. “It’s overwhelming, isn’t it? The shower, the attention… It can be a lot.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered, sinking further into the loveseat.

Your mom glanced toward the kitchen, where Maisie was now rearranging cupcakes with the intensity of a bomb squad technician. “Should we get you some fresh air?” she suggested.

You shook your head. “No, I’ll be okay. I think I just need a minute.”

Robin squeezed your hand. “Take all the time you need, honey. The important thing is that you and the baby are okay.”

The baby. The words still sent a jolt through you every time someone said them, a mix of excitement and terror that hadn’t quite settled. Across the yard, Maisie was now directing a small army of family members and friends, her voice rising above the chatter. “No, the games go over there! Do you want to ruin the flow of the whole party?!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite your discomfort. “She’s really taking this seriously,” you said, nodding in Maisie’s direction.

Robin followed your gaze and let out a soft laugh. “She’s been texting me about this shower for weeks. I think she might have more anxiety about it than you do about the baby.”

Your mom leaned in conspiratorially. “She’s been calling me every other night. Last week, she spent twenty minutes debating the merits of a candy bar diaper game versus baby bingo.”

“God bless her,” you said, shaking your head with a small laugh. “She’s going to need a vacation after this.”

Just then, Maisie appeared at your side, clipboard clutched tightly to her chest. “Okay, so the photo booth is almost ready, but the props guy still hasn’t shown up, and I don’t think the centerpiece on the gift table is centered—”

“Maisie,” Robin interrupted gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Take a breath. Everything looks beautiful.”

Maisie’s eyes darted around the yard, clearly skeptical. “You think so? Because the balloons over by the cake table are kind of deflating, and I—”

“Maisie,” you said, cutting her off with a soft smile. “It’s perfect. Really. You’ve done an amazing job.”

She hesitated, then exhaled deeply, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Okay,” she said, though she still looked unconvinced. “But if you need anything—literally anything—you call me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said with a mock salute, earning a small laugh from her before she disappeared again.

The laughter was short-lived, though, as another sharp pang of nausea rolled through you. You set the water glass down, pressing a hand to your stomach and trying to breathe through it.

Robin noticed immediately. “Do you want to lie down?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though the edges of your voice wavered.

Your mom frowned. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. You need to rest.”

“Really, I’m—”

“Stubborn as ever,” Robin finished for you with a knowing look. “Joe’s going to lose it if he finds out you’ve been feeling like this all day.”

You shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position, and sighed. This was going to be a long day.

┈┈┈

The presents were stacked like a small mountain beside the chair they’d designated as your throne for the day. Wrapped in pastel pinks, yellows, and greens, each box and bag felt like a tiny piece of your future waiting to be unveiled. Joe stood beside you, his tall frame just brushing the edge of the canopy Maisie had insisted on. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, a small furrow etched into his brow as his eyes flicked over the gathered crowd.

You could tell he was overstimulated. The constant buzz of chatter, the occasional bursts of laughter, the sharp crinkle of wrapping paper—it was all pressing in on him, but he stayed rooted to your side. Every now and then, his hand would brush against your shoulder, a silent reassurance for both of you that you weren’t in this alone.

“Alright!” Maisie clapped her hands together, clipboard abandoned for once as she orchestrated the gift-opening session. “Let’s see what this baby is getting spoiled with!”

The first gift was handed to you by Robin, who looked as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. The pink and white polka-dotted bag was adorned with delicate tissue paper, which you pulled away to reveal an impossibly tiny pink onesie. Across the front, in glittering gold letters, it read: Daddy’s Girl.

The room collectively cooed, but you caught the way Joe’s lips twitched into a barely-there smile. He wasn’t a big fan of being the center of attention, but even he couldn’t deny how adorable the onesie was.

Robin leaned in, beaming. “I saw it and couldn’t resist. Something told me it was just perfect.”

“Thanks, Robin,” you said warmly, holding it up for everyone to see before setting it aside.

The next gift was from one of Joe’s teammates, and as you pulled apart the wrapping, you found a set of miniature footballs—one of them signed by Joe himself. A wave of laughter swept through the crowd, and Joe shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting just a little more.

“Thought the kid should start practicing early,” the teammate said with a grin.

The gifts kept coming, each one a mix of sweet, practical, and downright extravagant. There were blankets so soft they felt like clouds, a high-tech baby monitor that you didn’t even know existed, and enough stuffed animals to populate a small zoo.

One of your aunts presented a ruffled pink dress with matching booties, holding it up dramatically for everyone to admire. “She’s going to be the belle of the ball,” she declared.

Maisie, standing off to the side with a skeptical expression, muttered, “Or he’s going to look like a very fashionable dude.”

You tried to stifle a laugh as you moved to the next box, this one from your mom. The neatly wrapped package revealed a handmade quilt, each patch lovingly stitched with little images—stars, moons, teddy bears, and tiny footballs.

“Mom,” you said, your voice catching slightly. “This is beautiful.”

She smiled, her eyes glistening. “Every baby deserves a little piece of love to keep them warm.”

Joe reached out then, brushing his fingers over one of the patches. “It’s really nice, Mrs.—uh, Mom,” he said, the slip into the familial title earning a few approving murmurs from the crowd.

The pile dwindled down to the last few gifts, including one from Maisie, who handed over a bag that was conspicuously neutral compared to the sea of pink surrounding it. You opened it to find a set of gender-neutral onesies in shades of gray and white, each one emblazoned with cheeky slogans like Mom’s Favorite and Future MVP.

“Finally,” Maisie said with a mock sigh. “Someone acknowledges that this baby might not actually be a girl.”

Joe let out a small chuckle at that, his first real laugh of the day. You glanced up at him, grateful for the way he stayed close even though the chaos was clearly wearing on him.

The last gift was from one of your mom’s friends—a pale pink rocking horse, complete with a little saddle and reins. The room erupted into a collective “aww,” but you couldn’t help but notice the way Joe’s jaw tightened just slightly.

It wasn’t a big reaction, but you knew him well enough to catch it. He was overwhelmed, overstimulated, and probably thinking too hard about everything that was happening and what it all meant. You reached out, brushing your fingers against his hand, and he looked down at you, his expression softening instantly.

┈┈┈

The room was still a hum of chatter and laughter long after the gifts had been opened, everyone lingering in clusters to admire the pile of baby treasures and speculate about the baby’s future. At first, it was endearing—watching the people you cared about get so invested in the new life you were bringing into the world.

But as the conversations grew louder and the attention lingered, a familiar unease began to creep in.

Robin held up the tiny pink dress your aunt had gifted, spinning it in her hands as though she were imagining a little girl already toddling around in it. “She’s going to be the most darling thing this side of Cincinnati,” she declared, her voice carrying over the murmur of voices.

“Or,” your mom interjected, “maybe he’ll be the most handsome boy in town.” She shot Robin a teasing smile, but there was a sharpness to the exchange.

“You really think it’s a boy?” Robin asked, eyebrows arched.

“Mother’s intuition,” your mom replied with a confident nod.

“Don’t you think the pink onesie says otherwise?” one of Joe’s aunts chimed in, holding it up like it was a smoking gun.

Maisie, seated on the arm of a chair nearby, caught your eye with a subtle shake of her head, as if to say Don’t engage. You appreciated her silent support, but the voices around you were getting harder to tune out.

“I’m telling you, it’s a girl,” Robin insisted, crossing her arms like she was laying down a bet.

“And I’m telling you,” your mom countered, “it’s a boy. We’ll see who’s right when the baby gets here.”

Other voices joined in, speculating wildly about who the baby might take after, what their personality would be, whether they’d follow in Joe’s footsteps or carve out their own path. The noise was starting to press against your temples, the endless back-and-forth making the air in the room feel too thick.

Joe, still standing beside you, had gone silent. His hands were back in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the floor, and you could tell he was holding himself together for your sake.

“Alright, alright,” one of his teammates piped up with a grin. “How about a little wager? Fifty bucks says it’s a girl.”

“Make it a hundred,” someone else called out, and the laughter that followed was the final straw.

The knot in your chest tightened, and your hands clenched in your lap. You felt tears prick the corners of your eyes—not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm. The room felt too bright, the voices too loud, and the well-meaning opinions too much.

Before you could say anything, Joe’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Enough,” he said, his tone sharp but steady. The room fell silent instantly, all eyes turning to him.

Joe looked up, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with frustration. “This isn’t a betting pool. It’s not a game. Can everyone just… be considerate for once? She’s already dealing with enough without you all making it worse.”

The weight of his words lingered in the room, and the silence that followed was heavy but blessedly calm. Your mom looked sheepish, Robin muttered something about “just having fun,” and even the most boisterous of Joe’s teammates had the decency to look a little ashamed.

You glanced up at Joe, your heart swelling at the way he’d stepped in for you, even when you knew he was barely holding it together himself.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the quiet rustle of the room.

He looked down at you then, his expression softening as he saw the gratitude in your eyes. He gave you a small nod, one of his hands brushing against your shoulder again as if to remind you he was there.

The moment was brief, but it was enough to ground you. Even in the midst of all the chaos, Joe had a way of making you feel like everything would be okay.

The house finally quieted as the last of your guests shuffled out the door, their voices trailing into the evening air. Inside, Maisie and Ja'Marr were clinking dishes together in the kitchen, tackling the mountain of cleanup like the MVPs they were. You’d tried to protest earlier, but Maisie had waved you off with a glare sharp enough to make you sit back down.

Now, you stood on the back porch, the cool night breeze brushing against your face. The chaos of the day felt distant here—muted, softened by the hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves. You leaned against the railing, one hand resting absentmindedly on your growing belly, and let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding for hours.

Joe was a quiet presence next to you, leaning on the railing with his forearms, his broad shoulders slightly slumped. He’d changed into a soft hoodie and sweats after the last guest left, his game-day persona stripped away, leaving only the guy you knew best—the one who rarely said much but whose silences spoke volumes.

“Hell of a day,” he muttered after a moment, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the last streaks of sunlight bled into the dark.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

He glanced over, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. “You okay?”

The question was simple, but the way he asked it—soft, almost hesitant—made your chest tighten. You hesitated, trying to figure out how to sum up the whirlwind of emotions.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice quiet. “Just… a lot. The attention, the opinions, the arguing. It gets overwhelming, you know?”

Joe nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Yeah, I get it.”

You tilted your head to look at him, studying his profile in the fading light. There was a tension in his jaw, a lingering weariness in his eyes, and you realized he was still carrying the weight of the day too.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For stepping in earlier. I know you’re not big on… all of this, but it meant a lot.”

He shrugged one shoulder, but the way his lips pressed into a thin line told you he was more affected than he let on. “It’s my job to take care of you. Both of you.” His voice was low, steady, but there was a hint of something raw beneath it—an edge of vulnerability he rarely let show.

Your hand drifted to his arm, fingers curling gently around his sleeve. “You already do, more than you know.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the quiet stretching out between you like a warm blanket. The air smelled faintly of grass and the lingering sweetness of cake from inside, and you let yourself sink into the stillness.

“You ever think about how different life’s gonna be?” Joe asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Different how?”

He straightened, leaning back against the railing as he turned to face you. “I mean… everything. A baby changes everything. There’s no going back to how it was before. And as much as I’m ready to be a dad…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes it just… hits me, you know? Like, are we really ready for this?”

The honesty in his words tugged at something deep inside you. “I think it’s okay not to feel ready all the time,” you said, your voice gentle. “I don’t think anyone ever really is. But we’ve got each other, Joe. That’s enough.”

His eyes met yours then, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours before curling around it, his touch warm and grounding.

“You’re gonna be an amazing mom,” he said quietly.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard against the wave of emotion. “And you’re going to be the best dad.”

Joe chuckled, a soft, self-deprecating sound. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll try. Guess that’s all we can do, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, your fingers lacing with his.

The night deepened around you, the stars beginning to poke through the inky sky, and you stayed there together, leaning on each other in the quiet. Inside, you could hear Maisie bossing Ja’Marr around as they finished up the cleanup, her voice a familiar, grounding presence.

For now, this moment was yours—just the two of you, standing at the edge of a new chapter, not knowing what lay ahead but knowing you’d face it together.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[ellecdc]

Um I’m just thinking about pregnant!reader giving one of the hockey boys or poly!marauders a little hockey jersey to tell them she’s pregnant 😭🥹

OMG SHUT UP this was so cute (thank you for the prompt!)

hockey player!Sirius Black x fem!reader who has a surprise for him [690 words]

CW: afab!reader, pregnancy, pregnancy announcement

Now, you may not believe him, but Sirius swears to all the hockey gods that he tried his best to control the expression that took over his face.

The two of you had gotten home from Sirius’ birthday dinner - which one of the team ‘dads’ (who not coincidentally billeted Sirius when he first joined the team) insisted on throwing, regardless of the fact that the team was already together for his actual birthday four days ago while they were on the road - and you hardly had your jacket off before you were telling him to go sit down in the living room so you could bring his present to him.

He wasn’t proud of the fact that he found himself a little disappointed you didn’t walk back into the living room stark naked, or perhaps wearing a sexy little number. But no matter; your eyes were bright and crinkled in the corner, your smile was shy yet excited and hopeful, and you were wearing his team hoodie that came down to nearly your knees, and he thought you had never looked more beautiful.

“Happy birthday, Siri.” You offered quietly as you handed him a square, thin package - the box appeared to be the same shape as one you’d purchase a pie in, but it was incredibly light.

He smiled at you before unwrapping the paper and ribbon from the box and lifting the lid from it.

Sirius recognized the colours instantly, of course he did. They were Lion’s colours; Gryffindor red and gold with black detailing.

What confused him, though, is that the garment folded before him seemed to be one of his own jerseys.

A tiny version of his jersey; the home jersey, deep red with yellow lettering which read BLACK above his number 12, clearly outlined and defined by black piping.

But if you noticed the confusion on Sirius’ face, you didn’t show it.

“This is…cute, babe.” Sirius offered cautiously, letting out a nervous laugh as he pinched the shoulders of the tiny jersey between his thumb and finger and held it up in front of him - it really was no bigger than a dinner plate.

But no sooner had the jersey fully unfurled did Sirius hear something clunk back down into the box.

“Was there something inside it?” He asked aloud as he pulled the jersey aside, and Sirius froze. “Is-”

Sitting in a bed of decorative tissue was a plastic stick with a sealed cap on the end, and a pink plus sign on the other.

And underneath it was images from a sonogram.

“Baby?” Sirius whispered, and when he could finally manage to tear his gaze away from the clues sitting in his lap, he saw you standing with your hands over your mouth and your eyes swimming with tears.

“Baby? Is this- are you…are we pregnant?”

You released a breath you’d apparently been holding that sounded very close to a sob as you nodded emphatically.

“Baby!” Sirius cheered, all but tossing your gift aside as he stood from the couch and made for you - enveloping you in a near bone crushing hug that took you right off your feet.

“What? How? How long? When did you find out? Oh my god.” He rapid fired in between pressing kisses to various parts of your face.

“I took the test just before you left for your two week road trip, but it was confirmed by the doctor three days ago.” You explained as you laughed through your tears - happy tears.

“Oh my god.” Sirius repeated as he put you back down on your feet, though he allowed no distance between you two as he rested his forehead against yours and smoothed his hands up and down your back. “Oh my god, oh my god. I can’t believe this. We’re gonna have a baby?”

You let out a wet chuckle and pressed a kiss to his lips that saw him chasing yours for two more. “We’re going to have a baby.” You confirmed.

Sirius shook his head in awe, kissing the dampness from your eyelashes before tucking your head under his chin.

“We’re going to have a baby.” He repeated.

“Happy birthday, Sirius.”

Best. Birthday. Ever.

[ba9go]

50 rounds of uppercuts (pt. 1)

gymbro!bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

part 2 💥 part 3 (coming soon!)

you’re at your usual gym doing your reps of hip thrusts when you notice number 2 pro-hero bakugou katsuki glaring at you in the mirror, mid-shoulder press.

“what?” you frowned. “is my form that shitty?”

“nah, your form’s fine,” he grunted. you can’t help the way your gaze drifts to his deltoids as he drops his dumbbells to the ground and walks over to the rack of weight plates. wow, he looks really good in that tank top. “just don’t know why you’re thrustin’ that puny weight.”

“excuse me?” you look over at him, offended. you were doing your best over here! your ass was in pain!

bakugou ignores you and you watch in horror as he plucks TWO 50-POUND PLATES from the rack and SLAPS THEM ON EITHER SIDE OF THE BARBELL RESTING OVER YOUR LAP.

“you got this,” bakugou says, and you think he’s making fun of you but he looks you dead in the eye and gives you a thumbs-up.

“this is like, 250 pounds.”

“yeah,” bakugou raises a brow at you, then shrugs. “you got this.”

ok but if a random guy did this to me in the gym irl i’d be so pressed LMAO bkg gets a pass tho 😋

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s @deimosjay @iguanahykhv @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @busdriver-move-that-ass

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero!

Pt 6: Wet Cat

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 (You're here) - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10

Hey guys! So there may be some confronting scenes from this chapter onwards! (suicide mentions, panic attacks, abusive actions, etc) I will notify you at the start of the chapters if there is any from here on!

You feel sick.

Extremely sick.

The day you decided to have off left you thinking things over. Your mother basically lost her job, your father had shown aggressive behaviours in front of the two Waynes – not that they would care much but it was humiliating to think about – and on top of that the Waynes have proven that they will stoop so low!

All because you tried to keep your civilian identity a secret.

Telling your mother went as good as could be expected. She yelled, she walked around frantically, she smashed a plate and then she left.

Knowing her it would be your job to find a new job she can have. So, you open your laptop and start browsing. The laptop is old and barely works but it makes do. You scroll through the many websites for job searching.

You send the possible jobs to your mother before deciding that that was enough and closing your laptop. You open up your phone and browse through Instagram. As your scrolling a message notification pops up from an unknown number and you feel your head hurt – You’re sure this will be something stupid that will get you into trouble.

Pressing on the notification you read through the message.

"Hello,

I am Richard “Dick” Grayson. I am messaging you on behalf of Bruce Wayne as he doesn't want you contact taking up space."

You quirk a brow. You aren't an idiot, there's no links or anything pertaining to scam material and judging by how the message is written you doubt it's a prank.

You respond. It's the polite thing to do and you need some good karma.

"Hi! Is there something he needed?"

You cringe slightly at the exclamation mark, you only included it so he wouldn't think too poorly of you - though looking back on it you doubt it'll change much. He doesn't respond, surprise surprise, you sigh in frustration and turn off your phone.

Looking at the clock on the wall you see it's only ten in the morning. You couldn't be bothered to wait until night to rest so you make your way to your bed and fall into a nice sleep.

Meanwhile Dick was weirded out and confused, why did you seem so happy and excited in the message? Sure it wasn't much but punctuation changes everything!

He had only messaged because he wanted to harass you into blocking him so that you could get into trouble for not knowing what was going on - with the only way of knowing being through him.

But now, now he feels... Off. It's not like he feels bad but he doesn't feel right either.

He scoffs and turns off the phone, honestly he doesn't know how to respond to begin with. He leaves his room at the manor and walks down to the kitchen and passed Damian who was entertaining himself with Titus.

Dick grabs some water and leans against the counter in thought. If he was going to harass you he needed to be witty with it to the point of insanity otherwise you wouldn't get annoyed enough.

Opening up his phone once more he drafts up another message.

"He wants you to head down to the cafe in downtown Gotham."

He pauses, there's a couple cafes he's visited with his girlfriends before, despite the fact it was in a shady area.

"He said to go to The Wayne Memorial Cafe"

Dick waits for a response or even for the read sign to pop up but nothing happens. He furrows his brows, it's ten in the morning, what could you be doing that is more important than speaking to one of the members of the most influential family in Gotham? No, America!

Sleeping. That was what you were doing. You were enjoying it too.

That was of course until you were rudely awoken by your phone ringing with an unknown contact. You drowsily glance at it and answer the phone.

"Hello...?"

God. Your voice sounded like shit. You bitterly scowl at your voice.

"Finally. It's rude to ignore people's messages!" Dick chastises. You scrunch your nose in disgust and hang up immediately. You know you said you would try and be in his good graces but frankly you don't have the will power right now.

You quickly add his contact so you'd be less surprised and you turned off your notifications. You glance at his messages and raise a brow, why would Bruce want to meet up with you?

You sigh before sitting up and stretching slightly. You doubt Bruce would accept you not going.

You dress in something comfortable before grabbing your keys and your phone. You would bring your earbuds but you needed to stay vigilante if you were heading downtown.

The bus ride to the train station was crowded and the train was worse. This better be worth it.

You walk down to the cafe. The Wayne Memorial Cafe was made for Martha and Thomas Wayne, obviously, and is one of the nicest places in Gotham. Bruce funds it so it can stay open, clean and cozy.

You personally don't mind it, it's a nice small part of Gotham that seems untouched, out of place in downtown.

Approaching the cafe you notice some things off. There was no one around or inside the cafe and the lights were off. You couldn't see any movement so there couldn't be anyone inside either... The door was cracked open slightly letting out the air conditioning.

Opening the door to the cafe you were greeted with a bucket of ice cold water dumped on your head, the, luckily plastic and not metal, bucket hitting your head on the way down.

It feels like stones just fell in your stomach as the cold water drenches everything. Your clothes, your hair, your socks, your phone.

You look down, sensing someone nearby. You hear snickering and feel even sicker.

Of course it was a joke, Dick had thought it would be funny to do this.

You feel frustrated. You want to scream, punch, anything. But, instead, you feel tears flooding your eyes and the warm water contrasting with the cold water falling down your cheeks.

There's a lump in your throat and suddenly you're back in elementary school, kids surrounding you as your pinned to your locker and your water bottle is dumped on you. You had provided wrong answers to those kids on purpose and now you were paying the price.

They laughed, pointed fingers then left you damp and humiliated in a crowded hallway. You couldn't even be spared the jokes made afterwards because everyone saw. Everyone knew.

The jokes weren't horrible, just cruel.

You sniffle, you choke back a sob as you're brought back to the present. You furrow your brows angrily and you're sure your face looks ugly as you lift your head to glare at Dick Grayson who had stopped laughing and was now surprised.

You scoff, no words would come out. You're not sure you even wanted to speak to begin with. What would have even said to someone so influential? Nothing that wouldn't of gotten you in deeper shit.

To your amazing luck a clap of thunder rings through the tense, choking air and rain starts to pour down.

The sky was fine before, why now did it decide to rain? Why did life constantly fuck you over? You were so done!

You turn and walk off. Looking up at the crying clouds your scowl lifts slightly, at least now you aren't the only person who will be drenched and you can brush it off easily.

Dick was confused. It was funny at first. You looked like a wet cat, you looked stupid - it matched your opinions on Aranea.

But, then you were silent. That threw him off. Silence isn't something he particularly likes when he does something like that.

He saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, it was almost impossible to see though due to how soaked you were. He notices how the tears drop onto your now ruined phone - one that he doubts you can replace due to your financial status.

Still, you're just standing there, silent. It was unnerving. He couldn't see your eyes but he could tell that you were probably in your own head - memories maybe? Either way the silence was making him feel bad.

He expected yelling, screaming, punching or something! Something that could get you into more trouble. But this. This was just painful to watch. Guilt is the first word that comes to mind. He feels guilty.

He watches you lift your head, he's prepared for you to yell. You don't. You... Glare? That's not fair. Now he feels like a bad guy. He feels like the rich douche bullying the broke weakling.

He watches as you flinch slightly at the rain starting. You don't seem to notice your own actions. He grimaces as he watches you leave, he was supposed to be the hero in this scenario but looking back he doesn't even know how he could have been seen as a hero at all.

You are just a civilian, you just have opinions that differ. He knows more than anyone that people don't have to love what everyone else loves. He also knows that you took your hatred to a maximum - but never targeted Aranea directly.

He glances at his phone, he filmed the whole thing and had planned to send it to the group chat but now it just feels wrong to do.

The others know of his plan though and are awaiting the video. Surely, they'll also realize how south this all went and back off from (Reader)... Right?

Right.

So, with that thought in mind he sends the video to the lively GC and shuts off his phone. He has to make it up to you, otherwise his guilty conscience won't settle and calm down.

[whensecretsrise]

The monster adoption fair was like nothing you could imagine. It was massive. Feeling as though it stretched on forever. Creatures ranged from mundane to outlandish. Rows upon rows of were-creatures- be it wolves or cats, naga or foxes or great feathered birds and more- all nestled safely within their kennels. A sign directed the way to where the centaurs, minotaurs, and satyrs were kept. You barely gave it a glance before turning down the next row. Tanks held merfolk and sirens, some muzzled for safety, and a number of amphibian and reptilian creatures. One tank in particular seemed impossibly large. The water in it so dark you weren't sure what could be inside. That was until a great suckered tentacle brushed along the glass.

Your heart kicked against your chest at the sight of it. Half primal fear, but the other half. Well, there wasn't any use dwelling on it. There was no way you could imagine what caring for something that large would take.

You wander deeper, giddiness welling inside you. The background checks you had to pass, the rounds and rounds of interviews you had to go through to prove that you would be a responsible owner. All of that and more was worth it to be allowed entry into the fair.

There was a temperature change in the next room you entered. Everything was warm enough that you were already starting to sweat before taking even a dozen steps inside. Demons, incubi, succubi, and plenty more beyond that all stared out at you through their glassed enclosures. The glass was thick enough that you couldn't hear their words, but the way they moved, so languid and sensual, had a blush rising to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat. The temperature slowly lowered as you approached the far end of the room. The creatures in those enclosures were more insectoid. Joints that seemed to bend the wrong way, appendages stranger than any you'd seen before. You couldn't help but pause to watch their twitching movements and how they traversed the structures in their enclosures. Beyond those lay more familiar creatures. Giant bees. Wasps with their wings beating so fast you were sure you could hear their buzz. Moths that had left a fine coat of powder from their wings on the glass. After a moment of awe you move on.

The temperature in the next room was considerably lower. A much welcomed respite from the heat. More tanks and enclosures filled this room. Your heart began to speed for you had made it to the room you had come for. Slimes of all sizes and colors pressed against their glass. There were plenty of humanoid slimes with big, soft eyes and coy smiles, but that wasn't what you wanted. You brushed past the larger tanks with barely more than a second glance. A smaller companion was what you were seeking. Something that wouldn't take up too much space, but was easy to cuddle with if you wanted.

You carefully inspected a number of tanks. Some of the slimes gave off a faint glow while others shimmered under the lights. There were even some that seemed to change from one color to another as they moved. Each one had a small description plate in front of it detailing habits, temperament, enrichment suggestions, and more besides. The wiggling masses within regarded you with varying levels of interest.

One, however, immediately perked up when you approached it. It was a beautiful pearl white that sparkled with golds and pinks. It swarmed against its glass, pressing itself as close to you as it could manage. Tentatively you placed a gentle hand against the glass. Doing so wasn't allowed, but you couldn't help the way it was drawn to you. A trickle of warmth passed through the glass and a wave of calm washed over you. This was it. The one you would take home had claimed you for its own.

You quickly scribbled down your guest number on the provided card, and took a copy of the creature's location card. The slime remind pressed against the glass as if watching you work. It was only when you began to walk away did it shrink back down to the bottom of its container.

It took a while to locate a staff member among the vast network of rooms and the other visitors of the fair.

"I would like to adopt this creature please," you said as you handed over the slime's identification card.

The worker scanned the card before giving you a sympathetic look. "Are you sure about this? This particular slime has been bounced back to us at least three times. It's very temperamental."

You recall the wave of calm you had felt when you were only separated from it by the glass beneath your hand. "I'm certain."

"Have you ever had a slime before?"

"No," you admitted, "I've never had the money to adopt one. I've been saving for years though, and I'm certain this is the slime I want."

"You might want to start with an easier one first. You being brand new to this and all. I can almost guarantee that this one will still be around if you decide to go looking later."

You shake your head. "I appreciate the advice, but I'm set on this one," you say firmly.

"Suit yourself," the worker shrugs. "Not like the poor thing isn't used to coming back here."

"I'm going to take great care of it. I've got my apartment set up and everything."

"Alrighty then. You can go ahead and head up front to pay. I'll have your slime brought up by the time you finish." The identification card is handed back to you.

As promised, there was a small, travel sized tank waiting for you after you'd paid and gone through the mandatory speech on slime care. You already knew most of it after years of research, but it did remind you of a few things you seemed to have forgotten.

You carried your new creature out to your car and buckled the tank safely in the front seat.

"Alright little slime, it's me and you now. I'm going to make sure you have a good new life. I'm not going to give up on you like the others." You pat the top of the tank and feel a vibration and a soft noise from the other side of the glass, almost as if the creature was purring.

Back home you carried the case over to the tank you had prepared for it and sat it inside. Only then did you open the travel container so that the slime had a chance to safely explore and get used to its new surroundings. You secured the tank lid and went off to put away the pamphlets that the adoption fair had given you.

When you returned the slime had moved into the big tank. It pressed itself against the glass as though it could sense you.

"Hey there, it looks like you're getting used to your new place. I hope that it’s big enough for you. It'll be a while before I can afford something bigger, but even then I'm not sure it would fit."

The slime vibrated again.

You smile and open the tank to remove the travel container. The slime oozed off of the glass and to the bottom of its tank. You stick your hand back down, fingers brushing affectionately against it. Another purr came from it. This time, the first time you've actually touched it, had it suckling at your fingers. Calmness washed over you again. Your fingertips began to tingle.

"Hey now, what are you doing?" You pull away with a laugh.

The slime follows you up, but releases you once your hand is nearly out of its tank. It sinks back down into a puddle and crawls to a corner as if sulking.

With another laugh you reach both hands down toward it. "Alright, if you're going to be mad about it, I guess I can let you out for a bit. We'll both have a chance to properly meet each other."

It surged upward into your hands. It oozed over the edges of your hands, but retained its overall shape. You carried it over to the couch.

The creature puddled into your lap. Bare seconds had passed before it was sending tendrils out to explore you. It wrapped itself up your arms. Retreated and slid along your neck. It caressed your lips and coated your stomach.

No residue was left in its wake. You had expected needing a full shower after taking it out of its tank, but perhaps not. Calmness had stolen through you, stronger now that the two of you were touching. The soft, lapping movements over your skin lulled you. Before you knew it you were stretching out across the couch, mind hazy with calm. Time passed and your eyes dropped closed. Your slime exploring you had faded into the back of your consciousness.

When it slipped beneath your clothes you barely noticed. Not even when it explored lower, seeking out the warmth between your thighs. By then your body was pliant and wanting. A wanting that stole over you on paws so soft that you couldn't remember not that want. Something secret, just for you. The slime drizzled like honey into your center. So slow and fluid you didn’t register the feeling. No, you existed in a state of such hazy serenity that it was only when the slime began to purr that you clicked back to reality.

The purr sent a jolt through you. A vibration that had your hands clenching into fists on pure instinct. Now you could properly feel the ebb and glide of it within you. Your hazed mind began to clear with your racing heart. Heat bloomed in your cheeks. Seemingly of their own accord, your hips began to rock. The slime began to spread. It filled you in ways it hadn’t before. A moan escapes your mouth. You arch your back, trying desperately to grind on thin air.

The slime moves inside you as if thrusting. Hitting you deep and slow. Even through your first orgasm it doesn't stop. It sent another wave of haze inducing calm washing over you. Keeping you right on the edge. Making sure you felt every millimeter of it. A tendril of slime draws out of you. It spreads to cover your center. The feeling of it sucking at you pulls another orgasm from your pliant body.

It wrings orgasm after orgasm out of you. The state of bliss and arousal is never disrupted for long. It ebbs and flows from orgasm to orgasm until, finally, the slime pulls away. It climbs up your sweat slicked skin to nestle against your chest, purring contentedly.

"Little slime," you whisper, "you and I are going to get along very well."

HAVE YOUR AGE LISTED OR CATCH A BLOCK

[neonovember]

So I currently have food poisoning and I can’t help but it think how mad Carmy would be if a restaurant gave his gf/wife food poisoning

Also Carmy come take care of me and make me soup plz 🙇‍♀️😫

Plus he would give the best snuggles 😭

firstly, sending lots of love and recovery, i've never actually had fp lmao so a lot of time on webmd will be spent. get ur fluids in! secondly, carmen might have to go underground for setting the restaurant on fire. we love him for it

summary: You were hungry and had just finished work and you didn't think about inspecting the goddamn Michelin star restaurant, maybe you should have.

warnings; cursing, food poisoning, richie (he's a warning), hipsters, talks of future arsony, possessive carmen, cracked fic ngl,

divider by @firefly-graphics

i'm slipping back into the unsafe territory of wanting fictional characters. (and i don't care)

You could roll your eyes in annoyance if you weren't hunched over the ceramic bowl of the toilet heaving out the contents of your stomach while Carmen held you hair back.

The one time, the one goddamn time you decide to try a new place without Carmen's input, without his meticulous standards and in depth research behind every night out.

It wasn't like you hadn't tried to vet the new braised beef spot that opened up on west Avenue. In fact, you had heard all but stellar reviews from friends and family, meeting you with suprise hearing that Carmen hadn't taken you. You decided to bring home a small plate, their signature braised meat with plums, red onions and atrichocke hearts.

You had meant to share it with Carmen, and you were going to, but a botched catering order had him staying back another hour than what had been planned. And well..you say you tried to save some for Carmen, but despite its bacteria laced beef and vomit inducing sides it was pretty fuckin' good.

Was this God's wrath coming down upon you? Punishing you for your gluttony? Food poisoning did feel awfully close to perpetual hellfire.

The TV was blaring some indescriptive show, the kind with dramatic introductions and soap opera worthy screams. It helped fill the space of absence when Carmen worked long nights, and you felt quite comfortable wrapped up in a blanket with a full stomach and a warm sofa.

Your phone had pinged with the sound of Carmen's text, letting you know he was on the way when it started. At first you had written it off as mere indigestion, probably from shoveling the cursed meal into your mouth too quickly.

Then, around the time the show's main character had found out her boyfriend got her mother pregnant, the nausea set in. Swirling aches that felt like a whirlpool in your stomach had taken over, sloshing and swirling and never leaving. You couldn't mistake it, as you tried to swallow past a dry throat and the creeping sweats of a headache inducing fever began to ravage your body.

You hated sitting in discomfort, it wasn't as though you were afraid of vomiting no, you just could not bare to feel the way your stomach skipped and jumped with every wave of nausea that took over.

You thought of making yourself sick, but shook your head when the alarming disapproval of Carmen's voice loomed over.

"It's just gonna make it worse, you gotta sit with it till it passes"

Fuck him and his medical knowledge. What did he know?

You had ripped off the blanket that had once felt comforting, peeling of layers of clothing that stuck to your body like a second skin. You just felt hot, so hot, is anyone else feeling this heat? You try to move from the couch to reach your phone, but the sudden movement has nausea bubbling up your throat.

You fall to the ground in a heap, hand clasped around your mouth to stop the possibility of projectile vomiting on the rug you had just bought and shoot your hand up to reach for your phone.

You press Carmen's number, begging him to answer you in genuine crisis rather than when you were drunk with friends and missed him. You feel the urge to heave and crawl quickly to the bathroom, phone clasped in hand and suddenly desperately needed his medical knowledge.

Carmen phone rings from the behind the stack of documents in the office, and he hastily wipes his hands across his apron before trying to reach it before it rings out.

Guilt fills his stomach at the thought of you, he was meant to be home hours ago. The catering order needed a few extra hands to help, and once Carmen began he got lost in it, and now you had spent nearly the entire night alone.

"Fuck- Hey baby, I know I said I was comin' but I had to finish a couple things-" Carmen quickly responds as he swipes the call button.

The groan of pain that responds has Carmen freezing in the middle of the kitchen.

"Baby? What-, are you okay?" Carmen replies quickly, his voice going short as his mind turns every possible scenario that had you whining in pain over the receiver.

"Please come quickly, Carmen I think I might-" You gulp and make a retching sound "I think I got sick from that place I was telling you about" You plead out, breathing heavily into the speaker.

The guilt that had filled Carmen seems to morph into an anger that rushes up his chest as he shakes his head.

"The new place? The one with the fuckin' smoke meat? They did this?"

"Mhm" You mumble "I should've just listened to you" You groan out in sadness.

"Fucking idiots. How the fuck did they even? Okay, okay honey just gimme a second yeah?"

How did he let this happen? Carmen has half the mind to stop at the restaurant that more of a Instagram attraction that a respected place of business. You were so eager and excited t try it, Carmen had his own thoughts but would glue his mouth shut if it meant making you happy.

He'll make sure they get shut down, or at least black listed from Chicago as long as he's concerned. His hands shake with the eager want for the fight, to smash someones jaw for resorting you to a heap of tears and sick. He would, he knows he will, but at this moment he needed to take care of your first.

He mumbles out a rushed reply, phone between his shoulder and ear as he slips out of his work shoes and into his sneakers. He thinks for a moment to grab his things but immediately shut that thought out when he hears you groaning into the phone.

"Just stay on the phone okay? I'm coming now, I need to get you some things alright?"

You let out what you hope is a reply, hunched over the toilet.

Carmen rushes to the store fridge, grabbing containers of soup Tina had prepared for family as the Chicago winter was getting close.

"You alright kid?" Richie mumbles, walking into the kitchen entry way, scratching his stomach as he watched Carmen's erratic movements around the store.

"Fuckin-, she's sick. And I'm here chopping up tomatoes for fucking Guy while she was in pain for god knows how long-"

"Woah, Bugs sick? We talking COVID or.."

"I'm such a fucking idiot. No it's not COVID Rich, Jesus Christ. Some rookie new spot trying something outside of their abilities gave her food poisoning. Fuckin' hipsters"

"Oh that's bad. You know when I got food poisoning the one time I took Tiff to this romantic getaway. Had me projectile vomiting in the AirBnb bathroom. Couldn't even get a deposit back, had to pay some dumb ass cleaning fee-"

Carmen wipes a hand across his face shaking his head. He was already pent up, he might throw a pan at Richie if he doesn't stop talking.

"Richie, I don't have time for this, I need to get her some Sprite or"

Richie shuffles across to the cupboard near the back of the house, grabbing bottles of Gatorade and a pack of saltine crackers.

"How do you even have this stuff lying around"

"You're the one with the inhuman alcohol tolerance Carmy, someone of us actually have hangovers you freak" Richie retorts

"Yeah yeah, thanks. Fuck- I gotta" Carmen replies, to which Richie nods.

"Go. I'll wrap up anything here" Richie replies, understanding in his voice. You took precedence over pretty much everything in Carmen's life.

"And Carm?"

"Yeah?" Carmen calls out, slipping on his jacket as he turns to Richie

"Tell me when we're going to sort out those bearded wearing flannel ass wipes"

Carmen shakes his head with a smile, before nodding and pushing past the kitchen doors. The traffic lights better be green green fuckin' green tonight.

You were stripped to a singlet and sleeping shorts as you knelt over the toilet, blinking back exhausted tears at the state of you.

You suppose you have no one else to blame but yourself, but the indignation righteousness burns almost as bright as the acid reflux crawling up your throat.

You hear the faint opening and loud clang of the apartment door opening and closing and you sigh in relief as you hear the familiar footfalls of Carmen down the hall.

It had felt damn near torturous suffering without him, and as he calls out to you following the trail of loose clothing he spots your figure in the bathroom sprawled.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry" Carmen says

And it was as if your body needed to finally feel safe in Carmen's presence before you felt the nausea spill out of you and splash offensively into the toilet.

You feel Carmen crouch above you, dragging your hair that had gone loose from it's wrapped up do away from your face. Gently rubbing your back, his large hands softly dipping up and down your spine.

"That's it, 'atta girl. Let it all out" Carmen coo's softly

You purged the insides of your stomach into the toilet bowl, retching loudly with every heave as Carmen comforted you. After what seemed like hours, and the nausea had subsided Carmen carefully wrapped his arms up under your armpits picking you up of the floor.

"Slowly, yeah? You damn near emptied out you're entire water content" Carmen murmurs, flushing the toilet and helping you walk to the basin and wash out the taste of bile from your mouth.

"I probably look insane" You cry out, blinking back exhaustion from your eyes as Carmen shakes his head furiously.

"Never, my pretty girl. Need you to go easy okay? Gonna take you to bed and let you sleep through it. Can't have you collapsing on me" Carmen murmurs, wiping at the edge of your mouth, patting the sweat that stuck to your forehead.

You let Carmen carefully maneuver your body, one arm under your legs and the other supporting your back walking to the bedroom. Your wring dry and can barely keep your eyes open as Carmen placed you on the cool sheets you immediately moan at.

You hear the faint rustle of movement as Carmen brings in a paper bag. The clunk of bottles placed on the bedside table as you sing praise for the very short bit of relief you have before the next bout of nausea rolls in.

Carmen pads to the adjacent bathroom, the door opened so you can see the stream of light that illuminates him. Hes running a cloth under water, squeezing the excess and looking up to check on you every so often.

He looked so...domestic, like he hadn't come back from working at one of the most decorated restaurants in Chicago. Stripped of his shirt so he stood bare chested, golden curls pushed behind his ears, sweatpants hung low on his hips and the furrow of his eyebrows in concentration and worry.

Your eyes flutter shut as you thank the midnight sky for bringing him to you, for keeping him for you, this one good thing that was yours.

The skies answer by the sound of his voice listing off all the things you will not be doing in this stage of recovery. Sitting on the edge of the bed as he places the cool rag against your forehead, lips between teeth as he feels your temperature under his skin.

"Just bone broth, Gatorade and bread sticks for you, doll. And no, before you even think it, its not the garlic ones." Carmen tsks.

You were thinking it. He knew you too well, but when he kisses your eyelids and measures out careful tips of the Gatorade bottle, you don't mind it.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Matters of Fact

CW: Mentions of death, mentions of mind-altering drug use, manipulation.

The Arkham Knight knows what he is, until he doesn't ~1.2k words

The Arkham Knight is a bad person. He knows this. Knows it even as he slips under the covers of your bed. Knows it when he leaves grime and dirt tracked across your windowsill and the floor of your room.

The Arkham Knight is cruel. He knows this when he leaves after you ask him to stay. Knows this when he disappears for days on end to plan his revenge, to train his men.

Knows it when he makes you cry and beg for someone he isn't.

The Arkham Knight is twisted. He knows this when he kills the man who gave you his number. He knows it when he holds you close and consoles you, tells you that guy wasn't worth dating anyway.

Knows it when he tells you that you don't need anyone but him.

The Arkham Knight is obsessed. He knows this because he dreams of the way your lips feel against his skin, the way your fingers thread through his hair, the way your pulse flutters against his hand.

He knows this because he can't seem to leave you alone, even if it would be better for you, and for him.

The Arkham Knight is a liar. He knows this when he tells you Bruce is going to keep him from seeing you. That his enemies will hunt you down, hurt you to get to him. That it's safer, to be tucked away in his base with him.

The Arkham Knight is mean. He knows this when you yell at him over his men stopping you from leaving his base. He knows it when he yells right back, when he grins wickedly as you snap at him in return.

Knows it when you don't shy away as he stalks towards you, tugging off his helmet and grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into a bruising kiss.

Knows it when you slam your fist against the plates of his armor before kissing him right back.

The Arkham Knight is sick, knows it when he slips a fine powder into your drink the night he takes over Gotham. It's nothing that'll hurt you, at least, that's what he tells himself.

The drug only makes you happy, relaxed, more compliant when he drags you from safe house to safe house without explanation.

The Arkham Knight is a mess. He knows this because he's not exactly the Arkham Knight anymore. His symbol torn from his chest, his helmet no longer blue but a bloody red. He knows this because he's crying.

He knows this because he's on his knees in front of you, and you look like you don't if you're going to hit him or hug him.

He knows he deserves to be hit. But he so desperately wants you to hug him. You don't do either. You kiss him. His heart is in his throat. He thinks maybe there's a chance for him.

He's not sure what that chance is. Maybe it's to be good. To be better. To really be with you.

But then you say goodbye. Then you break his heart. Then you leave.

He knows he deserves it for what he's done.

Red Hood knows he isn't good. He's not completely bad, but he's definitely not good. He knows this because people flinch when he saves them. He knows this because there's a trail of bodies in his wake.

But he also knows every single one of them deserved it. He thinks maybe that does make him evil.

Red Hood aches for you. He knows this because he finds himself following the familiar path to your apartment before catching himself.

He knows this because he still dreams of you curled at his side, your mouth pressing kisses to his jaw, your fingers tracing the lines of his back.

Red Hood is a shell of a man. He knows this because he goes back to his dirty, disrepaired apartment, and all he sees is gray.

He knows this because his days and nights are robotic, driven only by the mission. The hole that the death of Batman left in Gotham.

Red Hood is weak. He knows this because he opened the door when you came to his apartment. He knows this because he let you sleep on his bed while he stayed on the couch, unable to rest knowing you're so close but so far from him.

Red Hood is in love with you. He knows this because he'd do anything you asked, and everything you won't.

He knows this because when you break down in the morning over breakfast, when you finally tell him why you came to him, he tugs you to his chest and lets you cry.

Red Hood has no mercy. He knows this because he takes his time killing the man who frightened you. He knows this because he doesn't react to the begging, the screams, the terror in his eyes.

He only feels a sick sense of satisfaction, knowing you won't have to be scared of that disgusting creep ever again.

Jason Todd is dumbfounded by you. You keep showing up at his apartment door. He keeps letting you in, as if he could ever turn you away. You keep making him meals, filling his fridge, adding your things to his apartment.

There's throw pillows and blankets on his couch with your favorite colors. Your favorite movie is paused on the TV. You sleep in his bed more often than not, even if he never joins you.

Jason Todd has no idea how to treat you. He's only even made mistakes with you, only ever done things that should terrify you and drive you away.

But you keep coming back, even after the body of the man who hurt you was found by the police.

Jason Todd wants to be good, at least for you. So he tries. He knows he isn't great at words, but he tries to soften his voice. He knows his touch is rough, so he tries to be still and gentle when you lean into his side.

He knows he's scary looking, so he tries to be smaller when you're around. He knows what he does is dangerous, so he sets up even better security in his apartment, and with permission, yours.

He knows there's something wrong with him, so he reminds you not to hang around him so much.

He doesn't know why you don't listen. Doesn't know why you kiss his cheek, why you start to lead him from the couch to sleep next to you in his bed.

He doesn't know why you sleep curled at his side, on his chest, a leg thrown over his thigh. He knows a lot of things, knows a lot about you.

But does he understand why you kiss his scars and nuzzle his shoulder?

No. Absolutely not. But he doesn't think he needs to. Not when you tell him you'd like to sell your apartment. Not when he gets to help you move the last of your things to his your shared bedroom.

Not when he knows he loves you. Not when you say you love him. Not when he knows it's true.

[fictionalmenxyn]

🝊𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐫🝊

Pairing: cop!rafe x reader

Warnings: language and suggestive

🝊🝊🝊

You were on your way home, yes, you may have been going a few numbers over the limit. It was a 55 and you were going 60, not too bad. But you saw the famous red and blue lights flash along with the ‘woop woop’ of the sirens.

You mentally smacked yourself, also rolling your eyes at the slight fact the cop was being over dramatic. You indicated and pulled over.

You roll down your window, reaching over into the glove box grabbing your license and registration. You put them in your lap as you waited for the officer to walk over.

You see the figure, through the side mirror walking over. You double check over the things in your lap. The officer spoke “hey sweetheart”

You head whipped to the side to look out the window. Seeing Rafe “Rafe?! The fuck are you doing pulling me over??” He grinned. His thumbs tucked into his tactical vest “someone was goin’ over the limit, baby.” You roll your eyes “you do the exact same and you’re a cop” he chuckled “I know, I just saw your plate and wanted to see you, while I’m on shift.” You nodded “touché… so officer? Any big things happen today??”

He leans down so he can talk to you better “hmm not much, few speeding, one dui… you know, the usual…” you nod. “And do officers take a kiss as an apology for going over five above the limit?” He smirked “hmm for now, yeah, officer Cameron would take that as a temporary apology…” you rolled your eyes. You lean out of the window and give him a peck. “Not good enough, sweet girl.” “What?!” “You heard…” “babe…” Rafe grinned “not babe, its officer, right now”

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. “Alright, officer…” you give him and another kiss. This time a proper and longer one. He pulled away “thank you” he stood straight again. He glanced to the road then to you. His thumbs still tucked into the armpit of the tactical vest. “You’re lucky you’re cute, I’m lettin’ ya off this time, no ticket for you pretty girl…” you look up at him. “Bullshit, you just don’t wanna do the paperwork.” You grin as he chuckles and shake his head “I like your logic, babe…” you smile “thank you…”

“That doesn’t mean you’re getting away with it when I get home…” “gonna need to teach you a lesson on how you shouldn’t sass the officer…I saw the eye rolls, can’t hide it from me, sweetheart” you blush slightly. “You can’t hide that blushin’ either…”

A voice over the radio speaks, Rafe looks back to you. Quickly leaning down and pressing two quick kisses to your soft lips. “Gotta go, see you later, I love you” you smiled “I love you too, go get those bad guys.” You smirk as he playfully rolled his eyes.

As he walks away, he calls out “don’t forget I’m not done with you, baby!” You chuckle as you start your car up again.

You watch as he drives off, sirens and lights beaming. He speeds off, going to god knows what incident. You smile, you loved seeing him all geared up and in uniform. It did things to you, especially when he wore it while getting you ready for some fun. Or when he lets you wear his training clothes. Like his ‘OBX PD’ training tee. Or the sweatpants, he liked you lost in the shorts though.

You couldn’t wait for him to get home to you. If it wasn’t illegal to actually speed. You’d do it more just for him to pull you over. The half-assed stern look he’d give you for going over just a little bit. Or when the one time you did a quick break at an empty junction. You only did a quick stop at the ‘stop’ sign because no one was there. So you didn’t think you needed to stop and wait a few seconds. He taught you a good lesson on that one…

You were already in bed, wearing only his PD tee when he got home. Dropping his bags to the floor and taking off his heavy tactical vest. Kicking his boots off as he crawled into bed and on top of you.

He kissed you like he hasn’t seen you in weeks. Your tongues clashing. He moves down your jaw and marks up your neck. Then he moves up your neck and to your ear. He whispers “I still haven’t taught you a lesson about speeding have I?” You gasp as his knee goes between your legs. He smirked “words” “no, officer…” he smirked “you look so good in my tee baby..” he smashes his lips against yours.

And the night was only just beginning…

🝊🝊🝊

[luveline]

𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you get upset when eddie's friends think you're clingy. he sets you straight with some unbridled affection. requested here. fem!reader, 2.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The diner is bustling with life and smells alike, people in their summer jackets eager to sit down and dig into a plate of greasy, fatty meats. You're just as excited, your fingers curled into Eddie's sleeve and following his lead as he weaves through a gaggle of kids playing between the bar and the booths. 

"Sorry, sir," a young girl says to him, springing out of his path. 

"That's okay," he says, leaning back to squint at you curiously, "Do I look like a sir?" he asks you.

Pale faced, dark-haired, the remnants of last night's eyeliner clinging to his bottom lashes, you can't say you'd look at Eddie and think, Sir. Pretty boy extraordinaire with a rather inviting smile, absolutely. 

"I think so, sir," you say. 

Eddie laughs at you, pressing a hand behind your shoulders to move you along. His friend Gareth waves from a booth tucked in a corner under a white sconce. Jamison sits to his left, and Margaret to his right. You feel a little skip in your pulse at the sight —they intimidate you, and you want desperately for them to like you, only you never know what to say. 

"Hey," Eddie says as you approach the booth. He pushes you gently to encourage you into the seat first. "How's it going? Did we order?" 

"We were waiting for you. They said we have to go up to the bar when we're ready."

"We're late, I get it. Where's Jeff?" 

"He went to the bathroom, like, ten minutes ago," Jamison says with a sigh, climbing to his feet. "I'll go see if he's alright." 

"He's fine. Maggie, are you coming to order?" Gareth says, getting up with him. 

"Yes, finally!" she says. 

The relative chaos of your arrival has you hesitating in your seat. Margaret left her purse and her jacket on the table, and Jamison his keys. 

"You okay to stay here while I order?" Eddie asks. 

You'd much prefer Eddie order for you, but you don't want to be sitting here by yourself if Jamison and Jeff come back before him. You won't know what to say. It won't be their fault. You'll make things awkward for everyone. 

You stand up again, shedding your jacket as you do. No one's gonna steal anyone's stuff, the bar is too close. "I'll come with you."

Eddie slots your fingers together easily, grinning, "Lucky me." 

His friends order first and return to the booth soon after. You and Eddie get cut by a cranky looking old lady but neither of you say anything, nowhere to be and no reason to mind. He tells you about the guitar he's been repairing at work and you listen adoringly, in love with the shape of his lips and how he says every word. He's a great storyteller. 

A new friend appears once you've ordered. 

"Hey, Eddie!" one of the waiters says, appearing from the kitchen with a tray of drinks and fries in hand. "Man, I've been trying to get a hold of you all week. The string on my daughter's guitar flew off, nearly blinded her in the process, would you be able to fix that for me? I'll pay you for your time." 

Eddie waves it off. "It'll only take five minutes, you can drop by whenever I'm home. Why do they keep splitting like that, is she messing with the pegs?" 

"She definitely is. Can I get your number? Macey washed my pants without emptying the pockets."

There's a mad scramble for a pen. You have one in your jacket because Eddie's always looking for one, but your jacket is back in the booth. You promise to make a hasty return and set off for it, glad to see Jeff's alright, standing at the table likely waiting for you and Eddie to get back rather than move your things. You like Jeff most out of everyone. With the whole group collected you know he won't drag you into conversation. 

"She's a bit… much," Gareth's saying.

"How can she be a bit much? She doesn't say a lot," Maggie says. 

You frown. You're the only other she. 

"Not like that, just– the touching and stuff. She's always grabbing onto him like a toddler. I don't think I could stand it." 

"You don't have to stand it," Jeff says. "She's Eddie's girl." 

"Clearly." 

"Gareth, when was the last time you got laid?" Maggie asks, flicking a hair tie at him, to his annoyance. "You're being bitter. They fucking love each other, man, it's nice." 

"It is a little tiny bit too much sometimes," Jamison says.

You wince. You know it's a matter of seconds before one of them turns to see you standing there. Is it worse to turn around or to approach? 

You walk up to the table just as Gareth says, "Yes! Thank you man, she's too–" 

He cuts off when he sees you with a cough.

"Who?" you ask, full well knowing it's you. Honestly, you're shy but you still get mad, you kind of want him to own up and say it while you're there, and at the same time you're hoping against hope they'll lie. 

Thankfully, they pretend it was about someone else. 

"Nobody," Maggie says. 

"Some girl at the library," Jamison says. 

You lean past Jeff with as sunny an apology as you can manage to grab the pen from your jacket. "Eddie," you say by way of explanation, holding the pen up with a shrug. 

You walk away quicker than you should. It's obvious you've overheard. There's a thump and a, "Nice fucking job, loser." 

Eddie's deep in conversation as you offer the pen. He takes it without stopping, but he makes sure he kisses your cheek. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom, okay?" you say. 

"I'll be right there, sweetheart." 

To get to the bathroom you have to walk past the booth again. With the hurt feeling pounding between your ears and what you suspect might be all eyes on you, you make for one of the two doors. The summer sun and the dry Hawkins heat hits you immediately, a second layering of smothering to wrap around the first. You walk around a rainbow chalk hopscotch and into the shade of the smoking shelter, hands at your collar, breathing hard. 

Don't cry, you think firmly. Don't cry. They'll know if you do and that's twice as embarrassing as walking out. Imagine how embarrassed Eddie will feel if you cause a scene.  

You sit on the little perch in the shelter and stare at the floor. There's nowhere to look that isn't stingingly bright, the sun in the white-blue sky glaring down on you and the sidewalk bleached a blinding ivory. You close your eyes against it. Your shoulders hunch in protectively. Your hands find their way to your face. 

Like a toddler, Gareth said. You press your fingertips into your eyes, fighting against the ache. Is that true? Are you childish in how much you rely on Eddie? You take his hand and his arm, you catch onto his clothes when you're worried, you step behind him when you're overwhelmed. 

"Shit," you whisper. 

The breeze washing over you does little to cool you down. You must sit there for a handful of minutes, worried and nauseous. 

"Hey," Eddie says gently. You flinch despite his best efforts not to startle you. 

He looks tall outlined by the sun. 

"You okay?" he asks. 

"I just wanted some fresh air," you say. 

He raises his brows slightly. "That why Gareth just apologised to me?" 

You wince as he sits down. All of you wants to sag into his side, but a small voice tells you not to. You stay ramrod straight, hands pressed flat and clammy to your knees. 

Eddie gives your elbow a rub. His thumb digs into soft skin and the harder suggestion of cartilage and bone before sliding up. He uses touch often to convey silent reassurement. This seems to say, I don't know what happened, but I'm here. 

"I'm fine. We can go back inside," you say, attempting to fool him. 

"There's no rush." His voice tips to a low, rough register. He's keyed in to your upset, no doubt about it. "It's a nice day, babe." 

He gives you a minute. The small feathering of clouds skirts one edge of the horizon to the other, the shadow of the diner stretching tall as the sun lazes down. You push the worst of your feelings from your mind. It's easy to do with such an unshakeable support at your side, his fingers curling down to your forearm, vying for a hand to hold. 

"I heard your friends talking about me. It wasn't all nice," you confess. 

"Assholes." 

You glance at his face. He has a crease between his brows. 

"Well, mostly Gareth. He said that I… act like a kid. A toddler, that I'm too much, at least for him to stand. And don't get me wrong, Eds, I'm not thrilled that they were talking about me, but I guess I…" You take a short breath and look away from him. "I hate that it's true." 

"You can be mad when people talk shit. I'm mad," he says. "He said you're like a toddler?" He shuffles closer to you on the bench. "Babe, it's not true, okay? You're not too much. Fuck, we're here to hang out and they can't wait ten minutes to run their mouths–" 

"It wasn't like that, it was just Gareth." Gareth's always been the selfish friend. 

"He doesn't get a pass for saying something shitty 'cos he's always shitty. I brought you here," —you peek at him, recognising upset in his tone even when it's the barest inkling— "knowing you didn't really want to come because you get so nervous," —he sounds pained for you— "I fucking told him to leave you alone. I said we wouldn't come around if he didn't stop being a mood killer." 

You worry at your bottom lip. "Maybe that's kind of his point, Eds. You have to look out for me. You had to ask someone to be nice to me 'cos I can't handle it–" 

"You don't have to handle it. The people around you should be nice to you. This isn't high school, you don't have to put up with it, and I told him that." Eddie grabs your arm with the hand that isn't tangled in yours and turns you to face him. "I'm sorry," he says, almost a murmur, "I didn't invite you today to have you humiliated." 

You're feeling a little mortified by the passion of his feelings. He's mad at the wrong person, isn't he? "Why are you sorry? I'm the one who clings to you." 

"I want you to." Eddie holds your eyes, brown and big and imploring you to listen, the starts of his brows sewing together. "I'm sorry because it's not fair. And because Gareth was a dick to you. And for getting mad." He smiles at you ruefully. "I'm being a dick, too." 

"In what world?" 

Eddie leans in slowly, giving you enough time to close your eyes as his nose bumps into yours, encouraging your head up to allow for a kiss. He kisses twice, a third time, pulling away to rub your bottom lip. 

"Are you really upset?" he asks softly. 

You know whatever answer you give him is one he's okay with. 

"I feel so embarrassed," you say. "They knew that I overheard them. Now I feel like I'll be constantly worried about how much I'm touching you." 

"Well, that's their problem. That doesn't say shit about you," Eddie says, wrinkling his nose. 

"I'm really not too much?" you ask. He can likely hear how desperate you are for a kind answer, your throat burning with the effort it takes to stave off tears. 

"You've never been too much. I'm the too-much one. You wouldn't even hold my hand when we first started dating, you remember that? We'd go to the movies and you'd get so flustered when I bought your ticket." Eddie's arms wrap around your waist, the breeze ruffling his sweet curls and sending gusts of his smell your way. You're a goner, dropping your face into his shoulder. "Do you remember that?" he asks again, his face slipping down to yours as he hugs you close. "The first time we went to the Hawk together, I went first, and I don't know why you thought you'd have to buy your own ticket but you got all quiet when I got yours, too. I loved that. You know what I loved even more than that?" 

You smile, knowing he's going to say something lovely. "What?" you ask. 

"I loved how proud you were to sit down with me. You wouldn't hold my hand but you'd put your cheek on my shoulder just like this." 

Eddie rubs the tip of his nose against your temple. "I love how much you want to be near me," he says. "It's not childish, is it? If being closer to me makes you feel better, there's nothing wrong with that. Gareth's just jealous 'cos he isn't getting laid." 

"That's what Maggie said." You laugh. 

"Maggie's a good one. She makes Gareth bearable, kind of." 

You feel the stretch of his back under your hands. Your head is pounding from the sudden rush of big emotions, your tongue dry and throat aching, but you don't have a lick of urgency to get up and go back in. 

"He's such a dick," you whisper. 

Eddie laughs, patting your back. "Such a fucking dick." 

"I can't help being a loser and wanting to hug you so much," you say. You're joking now, but it's true all the same. 

"I tempt the untemptable," he says agreeably.

You laugh and lift up a bit to hug him harder, your face pressing into his neck. 

"You're not a loser," he says more seriously. "You know that, right? What Gareth said, it's not okay, but there's no accounting for idiocy." Eddie sits back on the bench, taking your forearms into his hands for some more soft massaging. "He can think whatever he likes, I'm not the government, but he was wrong, and also it's rude and, again, super shitty of him to do that here. So with your blessing I'm gonna punch him in the face." 

"Nooooo," you murmur. 

"Very soft no. Taking it for a yes."

"Eddie, you can't hit Gareth."

"He should watch his mouth, then." 

You reach up for a second hug. You love that he prioritised how you felt, as well as how eager he is to stick up for you —how mad he is on your behalf. 

"He's trying to take this away from me," Eddie says, leaning back under your weight, arms crossing behind your spine. He looks up at you like you've stolen his breath, lips parted and teeth peeking out with his smile. 

"Do you really want to punch him?" you ask. You sound very fond.

"I hate that he made you feel bad about yourself. And he irritates me." 

"But…" 

Eddie hums like he's thinking for a moment. "No, I definitely still want to hit him." 

You tuck a curl away from his cheek tenderly. "Thanks for wanting to defend my honour, Eds," you say.

"I'm on your side through everything." He looks ridiculously pretty saying such a ridiculously lovely thing. "That's how we work, right? You're on my side too?" 

Your face flushes with heat. "Of course I am, baby." 

"Good. Unrelated to our previous conversation, how much money do you have, roughly? In case I need financial aid in the coming days." He drops his voice to a whisper, "How much even is bail lately?" 

You cup his cheek. "We can't afford it," you whisper back. 

"Typical." 

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