#SQUISHING THEM... SOBS AND WEEPS

[ace-and-the-rpg-horrors]

do you often think about how Niko's hair still seems to cling to Crystal after she reluctantly pulls away from the hug. or are you normal

[iamnotdeadyet]

God I loved that yan!playboy you did! If you could, can I please get another one, this one where the reader is fully aware of what he's doing and is just leading them on, until they finally let him back into their life and get back together? I'm a huge sucker for exes getting back together and growing as people, but this one has a lil evil twist ;)

Glad you liked it! I loved writing this sm♥︎♥︎

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

What if's

Pt.2

You knew. You always knew.

Yan!playboy!ex who is oblivious to the fact that you knew about his little break in's.

Yan!playboy!ex who felt like luck was on his side every time you wear less and less clothing while sleeping when i fact, it was all your doing. You knew about his him coming into your dorm at night, knew about how he jerked off right there and then if he even caught a glimpse of your shown skin.

It wasnt his fault his pants got too tight and he had a boner that bordered on painful! And you certainly werent complaining either. The broken whimpers and slick sound of his hand running up and down his swollen cock or even better-of his fingers pumping in and out of his ass.

Yan!playboy!ex who doesnt know youre quite aware of how his body reacts to your praises. Unbeknownst to him, you knew about his raging boner that showed up right after you called him a simple "Good boy" out of habit, or that you knew about how he had to go to the bathroom to relieve some tension off his weeping dick even though he already came in his pants moments before.

Yan!playboy!ex who was sure you didn't know about how he was the one to kill your boyfriend,when in fact, you did. And while it did sadden/detach you from him at first...you forgave him after a while.

Yan! playboy!ex who loved how you came to his dorm more and more often. One thing you didn't know though, is that he had to rub his cock on the spot you were sat on. He needed you and that was as close as he was going to get on direct contact. ....for now

Yan!playboy!ex who actually cries and sobs when you accept him back into your arms.

Yan!playboy!bf who is afraid to touch you at first, feeling the guilt from his previous actions. So you'd probably have to insist quite a bit...but don't worry! He'll do anything to make you stay!

Yan!playboy!bf who can stay for hours on end in between your legs, it's his favourite! The feeling of your thighs squishing him while he makes you cum is just the best! It has him cumming in his pants more often than he'd like to admit. Moans and muffled groans vibrating through your whole body, letting your legs feel like jelly when he's finally finished. And if you stick a vibrator up his ass? None of you is done without passing out, covered in your mixed cum.

Yan!playboy!bf who loves when you touch him. Pinch his nipples? Moaning mess. Fingering him? Sobbing and cumming so much from both his dick and ass. Riding him? Congratulations, you got yourself a bitch in heat.

Yan! playboy!bf who thrusts his dick in between your cum covered thighs, sobbing from overstimulation while pleading for more. And when you finally graze his tip with your thumb, his dick is pulsing, sending ropes of cum on your hand. Nevertheless it stays rock hard.

Yan!playboy!bf who is a broken, whimpering mess if you suck him off. Probably cums so much too! He'll be gripping the sheets, his legs thrashing around as he tries to hold onto sanity.

Yan!playboy!bf who loses it when you kiss him while he is having an orgasm. He's reduced to a messy, trembling, sobbing state, squirming under your body, moaning against your mouth and almost choking from the lack of air, saliva dripping down the corners of his mouth due to the blissful sensation, unable to reciprocate and just lay there with his tongue plunging into your mouth, eyes crossing and dick throbbing around your warm hand.

Yan!playboy!bf who loves you and basically is a worshipping sinner to a god who's name is unwritten in paper but carved in his mind.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Might turn this into a series cuz I like it. MAYBE.

IF YOU LIKE THESE PLEASE FOLLOW, I CAN AND WILL DO MORE ♥︎♥︎

[fushiguho]

You wouldn’t guess it, but more often than not, Sub!Eren loves when you’re mean to him. In fact, he might even prefer it. He’d definitely let you tie him up—bound his wrists together painfully tight, his hands situated behind him while he sits so prettily between your legs, your back to the headboard while his presses to your chest, his long legs spread wide…

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

Long, disheveled strands of chestnut occlude his vision, his pained face contorted in sheer desperation—deprivation. His chest heaves as weak, shuddered breaths drag from his parted lips, your teasing hand working crudely at his heavy, swollen balls—slowly kneading them, rolling them between the pads of your fingers, squeezing just tight enough to force a helpless, guttural whimper from the depths of his chest. Fuck, you’re going to kill him tonight and he’s sure of it.

“Spit on it, ‘Ren.” You demand, kissing his temple sweetly, your free hand creeping up to tautly squish his cheeks, forcing his mouth wider. Not a second thought passes as he pools saliva behind his tongue, soon puckering his lips to messily drool onto the head of his own cock. “Such an obedient puppy for mommy, yes?” A cruel, bewitching smile graces your lips while he nods meekly, whimpering wantonly as his head lolls back slowly to rest on your shoulder.

His cock is so angry with you. It throbs in your hand, begging for something—anything more. The wet, sensitive head weeps in sinful bubbles of precum, obscenely dribbling down your slick fist in rivulets as you pump him languidly. Eren can hardly help the pathetic buck of his hips as he selfishly attempts to get more out of your teasing hand, but you’re quickly reprimanding him with a harsh squeeze down the length of his cock. It’s been nearly an hour of this torturous cycle and he’s completely delirious. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

“Fuuuuck, p-please jus’ lemme cum, mommy... m’so close. Been such a good, p-perfect boy for you,” he pleads fruitlessly, huffing out desperate whines as if to will you, “didn’t touch myself all day like you asked!”

Liar.

Your thumb swipes along the head of his cock, collecting the sinful mixture of arousal and saliva as you hum in feign contemplation, “I don’t believe you, ‘Ren.” He nearly sobs when you quickly pull your hand away, rudely denying him of what he craves the absolute most. Release. “Mommy hates when you lie to her.”

Eren knows you know. How does he expect you not to? Did he truly think you’d just turn a deaf ear to his obnoxious moaning when you came home from work? Were you just supposed to ignore the fact that his cock was practically leaking by the time you entered the room? It’s like he doesn’t even care enough to be discreet anymore, especially when you specifically instructed him not to touch himself until you get back.

Eren’s eyes are brimming with warm tears as he begs for your mercy, fat, briny droplets of utter desperation threatening to spill down his flushed cheeks, staining his pretty face. God, he’s so frustrated and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it this time. You’re being awfully mean, but what does he expect he disobeys to you? This is merely the deserved consequences of his actions—his punishment. The only thing you ask of him is to abide by your one, simple rule: Do not touch yourself while I’m away. Is that so hard?

You’re crudely taunting him as you wrap your hand around his cock like before, pumping his messy shaft at such a gnawing, ponderous pace that it forces a throaty moan from his permanently gaped mouth. “You’ve been such a bad boy lately,” you tut, directing his raptured eyes onto yours with a not-so-gentle tug of his face, “am I just supposed to reward that kind of behavior?”

“But it was hurting me, mommy—my cock, it was so painful earlier… m’sorryyyy,” his voice nearly quivers as he whines, thick brows furrowing while he desperately tugs at his restraints, “I didn’t mean to, okay? Couldn’t fuckin’ help it… just get so hard thinkin’ about you, m’sorry.” And almost, there’s a brief moment of clemency—a fleeting instance of your forbearance, almost.

His lips are pursing together as he pants through his nose, a painful whimper of agony sitting in his chest when you squeeze him again. “Eren, baby, I truly don’t care.” You’re so mean, yet still, the thick, protruding vein that adorns the underside of his cock throbs painfully against the palm of your hand at your abrasive tone. Absolutely ridiculous, you think. “You disobeyed me… again. You’re not sorry.”

"I am, mommy! I swear I am, p-please! I'll do anything... you know I will," his hips are rolling toward your fist, haphazardly meeting your teasing strokes, "f— fuuuck, you can sit on my face like last time if you want... don't even need to breathe, y-you can suffocate me 'n I'll eat you out like a good boy! I swear, mommy... pleaseeee?" His usual timbre voice breaks sweetly as he pleads for reprieve, craning his head to find your stoic gaze, jade eyes glossed over with a painful sheen of tears.

A single, searing droplet falls when you shake your head softly, humming as you decline his alluring offer, but it's when you’re teasingly removing your hand from his cock that turns one, fleeting tear into several and soon, he's practically sobbing, weeping a frustrated stream of pretty little tears, marring his crimson-flushed cheeks in a beautiful, gut wrenching sheen that has arousal pooling between your legs.

As you kiss his tears away, Eren winces, his ever growing frustration apparent and evident. "You don't deserve my pussy, 'Ren," you hum, slipping from behind him to stand to your feet, "not tonight. Mommy doesn't reward bad behavior." You remind as you begin to walk away, nearing the bedroom door.

"No..." he breathes, tugging harshly at his restraints, "no, no, no... p-please don't leave me like this. I'm sorry, okay?" He's completely bare, his poor, neglected cock twitching lewdly as he lies there helplessly, fat, swollen balls painfully full as he sobs, yearning for your touch. "Mommy, no…”

"Oh, my poor baby," You frown, feign concern thick in your tone, "think about what you did." Are the last words you utter before leaving the room, locking the door behind you.

He'll learn.

[romaritimeharbor]

I'LL SEE YOU WHEN I FALL ASLEEP. — The Tokito family's oldest child returns home.

— trigger & content warnings. contains spoilers for the infinity castle arc & takes place around/after the end of the manga, major character death, grief, self-hatred, survivor's guilt, etc.

— pairings & notes. hurt/comfort. kamado tanjiro, kamado nezuko & reader, but the fic is still muichiro-centric. reader is 16 and is gender neutral (they/them pronouns used). reader was a demon slayer. reader is muichiro and yuichiro's older sibling. 3.1k words.

— author's thoughts. suffer, manga readers :) anyways why are there so few platonic fics about mui and yui??? they are literally my sons. please. begging the kny community to write more platonic content about them sobs weeps cries /lh

       Morning sunlight kisses their skin tenderly, caressing their face with its reassuring touch, but it does nothing to soothe the dull ache in their chest.

       In the absence of all else, that dull ache perpetually remains—a constant, ringing reminder of their utter failures as a person. Of their failures as their family's oldest child. When they feel nothing, when all of their tears have run dry and left them with vacant emptiness, that dull ache remains still. When the tears fall endlessly, ever continuing regardless of how many times they try to dry their face, it remains still.

       Inconsolable, that is what they were. Wholly and truly inconsolable.

       'It wasn't your fault,' Tanjiro would insist over and over, because he knows not what other words he can say to them, because he knows what it is like. What else could he possibly say to ease their grief? He hasn't the slightest idea, because really... there is nothing. Nothing to say, nothing to do, other than sit beside them and let the grief come and go as it does—it is a nonlinear thing, grief. Tanjiro knows the process all too well. It will get better and then worse, before repeating the cycle again and again. He knows there is nothing he can do other than hold their hand throughout it all. There is no getting rid of the pain before it heals on its own time, so the words he chooses are 'You will feel okay one day.'

       'They wouldn't want you to linger on it,' Nezuko would say, but she also knew not what to tell them. She, much like her older brother, is not unfamiliar with the guilt they felt for simply being alive. She knows that feeling all too well. She does not recall much from her time as a demon—she has explained that those memories are more like a distant dream, something she cannot quite touch and can only catch brief glimpses of, rather than actual memories she can recall at will. Despite that, she knows it hurt when she discovered herself to be the only one who survived that day. It still hurts. Less, but it does. She knows not what to say to them, but she knows that time heals, so the words she chooses are 'You will feel okay one day.'

       Dew clings to the grass and leaves. The dirt squishes beneath their steps. A thin fog (a mist, they dare think, but the fleeting thought makes their stomach drop, so they do their best to rid their mind of it) has settled just above ground level, and they absently wonder if it rained the night before; it must have. They hadn't noticed.

       It would be borderline impossible to, with the night they had. Being perceptive of and attentive to minute details such as whether or not it had rained a few hours prior was not in the forefront of their dazed mind at the moment.

       (They did not sleep well, thoughts too preoccupied with the memories of what once was, of what could have still been.

       ...But the reality they dreamed of was not theirs, because they failed. They curse the world for plaguing them with such dreams—it was as if they were forced to peek into another universe, where they are happier now, helpless to snap their gaze away until whatever being tormenting them decided they had suffered enough. A punishment, that's what it was. A vile, awful, enraging punishment. Haven't they suffered enough?

       Though, maybe they should at least be happy for them in that alternate universe. At least they're happy somewhere.

       The thought is both comforting and devastating. Maybe if they hadn't been such a useless older sibling, they would be that joyful, too.)

       The trek up the mountain was not nearly long enough; they hardly had any time at all to gather their thoughts, to swallow back the growing lump in their throat, before a vacant home entered their vision. It has been vacant for quite some time now, but the sting of what happened there almost three years ago feels exceptionally fresh, knowing that the twin who survived that event was also long gone now. The slightly chilly breeze stirs around them, swirling a few green and brown leaves that their trees had begun to shed. It welcomes them home, brushing across their skin and causing goosebumps to raise, beckoning them closer.

       Fall will arrive soon.

       ...It has been some time since the nights have become safer to travel through. For the first time in thousands of years, demons were not a concern; the concerns now were more mundane. Animals, other humans, tripping over a tree root hidden by the darkness and getting wounded... yes, it has been quite some time since demons became a threat of the past. A few months, at the very least, but the pain of loss has grown no easier to bear. If anything, it has dug its vicious claws into their aching chest even further, threatening to tear open their ribcage and rip their bruised heart out at any moment.

       It wouldn't be anything they didn't deserve, if that were to happen. It would be better that way.

       ...Tanjiro would tell them off for thinking like that, in the nicest and gentlest words he could manage. Their brothers would, too. Though, they're relatively certain that both of their brothers would use much harsher words. The thought might've made them laugh under another circumstance.

       Even if they wanted everything to end already, they had no choice but to live, despite how much it pained them to do so. Maybe, just maybe, there will come a day in which living no longer feels like a knife to the chest.

       That's something to look forward to. The day when their heart will not stutter when they see this vacant house. The day where they will not think 'It should have been me.'

       Much to their surprise, there was no moss climbing up the headstones situated at the side of the house, and the grass was neatly tamed.

       Someone had been here recently, then.

       Sanemi? Giyuu? Perhaps Kanamori or Kotetsu. All options were equally likely; Sanemi, who they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt understood how they felt. Giyuu, who routinely paid respects to his fellow Hashira that fell in battle. Kanamori and Kotetsu, who may very well have died if not for their youngest brother's intervention back in the Swordsmith Village. They weren't quite sure who had been here (maybe they would ask around later, if for no other reason but to thank that person or those people), but... the gesture sent a wave of fresh tears to their eyes.

       They hesitate, frozen in place. Shaking hands rise to their chest, clasped together in a poor attempt to put an end the trembling, and they briefly consider leaving.

       It would be rude, though. To make the trek all the way up the mountain, to trick their beloved little brothers into thinking they were visiting, just to leave. They were never that cruel. Grief would not become their excuse for ignoring their brothers... or what was left of them, anyway.

       Ginko sits on their shoulder. She has grown quieter than the used to be, and they know the loss has also impacted her. Still, she isn't completely placated, and she grumbles, "Are you just going to stand here like an idiot?"

       "You've got working wings," they retort. "Go first, if you're so impatient."

       She huffs, batting her comedically long eyelashes as she turns her little head away from them petulantly. She does not leave their shoulder. Ginko has never been nice or pleasant—she was only ever nice to Muichiro, really. Everyone else, including them, would shown get her nastier side. Spoiled princess are the words they would use to describe her, personally... but she isn't heartless. She does not dare move forward before they do.

       (They know she isn't heartless. They still sometimes think about how weak and sick she became after the tragedy, and really, they were no better. She had slept by their side for weeks. Whether to keep them or herself company, they did not know, nor did they really care. She was their closest companion for the first few weeks, when they were too tired and absentminded to bother seeking anyone else out.

       What an odd situation to have been in, where their best company was the bratty crow that used to deliver their brother's mission assignments. It feels unreal to think about, but it is the truth.)

       Steeling their resolve, they move forward.

       In front of the four grave markers, they kneel, paying no mind to the wet dirt and cool grass sticking to their clothes. If anything, the cold is welcomed. Their flesh burns hot with the weight of their grief. The cold touch feels forgiving, welcoming. Ginko stretches her wings and delicately glides over to perch on top of her former master's headstone.

       Between the middle two stones sits their blade, sunk deep into the dirt, never to be touched again. Vines have begun ascending the half that still stuck out of the ground. It would be difficult to get it out, they think. Good. There it shall remain, never to be used again, a monument honoring their family and the sacrifices made to protect the world when the world never knew it was in danger in the first place.

       They sit like that in silence for a moment, a chill ascending their spine as the cool morning wind kissed the crown of their head and brushed through their hair.

       A moment passes. Then another.

       And finally, they manage something:

       "Hi," they say, voice coming out unsurprisingly meek and quiet. They're sure that if they tried to speak any louder, any clearer, their voice would crack and break. "Mama, papa, Yuichiro, Muichiro... I'm home. Again." It is at this point that their tone wavers somewhat. Their hands, now situated in their lap, immediately latch onto one another again in an attempt to steady themselves somehow. "Um, Tanjiro and Nezuko are here too. Or they will be. They just wanted to give me space first."

       Muichiro would be excited to see the two, they think. He always got along particularly well with Tanjiro, and Nezuko was the kind of child who had a very kind demeanor about her, so most people grew to like her even when she was a demon.

       They're hardly aware of the stinging in their eyes—it's a feeling they've grown very used to, as if it was their most natural state of being. It may as well have been. It's what they had become accustomed to feeling in the past months; it was either that, or a dreadful emptiness that made their entire body feel weightless, as if they barely existed. 

       It was always too little or too much.

       When would they be able to come here without crying?

       "I'm sorry," they choke out, folding in on themselves. Locks of their hair fall forward, forming a curtain around their face that hides their pitifully broken expression from prying eyes, and their forehead ever so slightly comes into contact with the damp dirt below. "I'm so— I'm so sorry," they weep, "I should have done more. It should— should be me buried, n— not you, not any of you—"

       There is a dagger stuck inches deep in their gut. It feels as if someone has twisted it, now, because as they speak through their cries, they remember that Muichiro was never buried. His body was never recovered. It only makes the hot tears stinging their cheeks pour out with more force.

       Buried in the spot the grave marked were only some of his personal belongings along with things he was known to like.

       There was nothing they could have possibly done to change what happened to their parents; it was just a stroke of terrible luck for the both of them that would not have been changed regardless of what they did differently, but in a hysterical state, there is no room for nuance. Grief blends together, and they can't think clearly enough to verbally distinguish between if they meant 'It should have been me' in reference the twins or for their parents.

       The answer was clear nonetheless. It hung in the air, ever present.

       It should have been them instead of Yuichiro that day.

       It should have been them instead of Muichiro that day.

       Would either of those outcomes have changed anything?

       If it had been them dying in Yuichiro's place, what would have happened that night in the Infinity Castle? Would both twins have died regardless, making their sacrifice utterly meaningless? Would only one have died, leaving the other to exist completely and entirely alone in the world? If they had died in Muichiro's place, would he be the one knelt before their grave, wishing it'd been him instead?

       How selfish of them to wish it had been them instead.

       How selfish of them to want their brothers to hurt like this instead of them.

       ...But they know that isn't what they're trying to imply. No, they would rather suffer this pain a million times over to spare their siblings the pain of having to feel it even once.

       What they wanted was to give even one of the twins a chance to live past twelve or fourteen; both died far too young, meanwhile they lived on. They had turned sixteen recently (or was it a while ago? They were uncertain; the days, weeks, and months had all blended together in a blur of agony). They had no choice but to keep living, to keep aging, when it should be their little brothers instead of them living on and growing up together.

       A soft hand on their shoulder causes their breath to hitch, and they adjust, peering upwards.

       Tanjiro is there now. 

       He's crouching down, fingers softly kneading their shoulder. When he sees that they're looking at them, his half-blind gaze softens, and he smiles.

       It makes their heart ache.

       "It's okay," he whispers, and they are suddenly hyper-aware of the gloss over his eyes. He must have heard them. 'Don't cry for me,' they want to say, but the words don't come out, and they know he would cry for them regardless of if they told him not to. "It's going to be okay one day."

       Ginko glares at him a bit. It's her least favorite rhetoric to hear—'It's okay.' She doesn't say anything, though. because he is not saying it to her, and if it comforts them even the slightest bit... well, she supposes she can tolerate it.

       A stifled whine manages to shove its way past their barely parted lips. They squeeze their eyes shut, hoping to stop the tears.

       It doesn't work, of course, and they can only break out into another sob.

       The boy's gaze is warm, too warm—it looks too much like their father's. 

       Tanjiro, ever the patient and kindly person that he was, sits there with them until their tears run dry. They want to cry more. They want to curl up into a ball and let the Earth take their body so that the pain would finally cease.

       They cannot, however. Their only choice is to sit up and continue forward, one day at a time.

       Straightening their spine, they sit up, turning fully to Tanjiro with tired eyes.

       "Do you feel better?"

       "No."

       He reaches out and squeezes one of their hands, face twisted in empathy. He doesn't seem to care about the dirt that has clung onto their palms. In silence, with only Tanjiro and Ginko at their side (more or less; the crow has yet to move from Muichiro's headstone, but her presence is enough for them), they sit.

       It's a few moments later that they register the sound of dirt squishing under someone's steps, and they turn their head.

       It's Nezuko. In her hands is a small basket.

       "I'm here," she says with a kind smile. She looks like her brother when she smiles like that, they think. Her gaze is just as warm as Tanjiro's is when her eyes land on them. "I brought rice balls and paper."

       ...Rice balls. She brought food.

       Nezuko was always adamant on pestering them about self-care in the first few weeks following Muichiro's death. 'He wouldn't want you to destroy yourself like this,' she had said at one point, a stern glare fixed on her face. 'Your brother being gone now is no excuse to neglect your health. Please eat, [Name], if not for him or for yourself, then for me. For Tanjiro. For everyone living who still loves you and worries about you.'

       Her tender, worried attentiveness almost makes them want to cry again, but they have no tears left to give

       On the rare occasion where they would not listen to her, she would get Sanemi, who would threaten to kick their ass if they didn't get themselves together. The threat of being beat up by the former Wind Hashira was usually enough to convince them, but they doubt that he ever would have actually done it—Shinazugawa Sanemi is many things. He is not a hypocrite when it comes to the matters of being the eldest sibling... not anymore, anyway. He was once, but he is not now. The grief he carries resonates deeply with theirs, and he was not taking particularly good care of himself, either.

       They should probably visit him one of these days. He might be in need of the company, though he would never say that out loud.

       "Paper?" they wonder quietly, hoarsely, head tilting to the side inquisitively. Neither sibling seems to mind the scratchiness of their voice. "

       Tanjiro's face then brightens. "Want to see who can throw a paper airplane the farthest out of the three of us?"

       Oh. Oh.

       "...I'm going to absolutely annihilate you both at that." Something stirs in their chest. For the first time in a while, the dullness fades somewhat, and there's a thrilling edge taking its place. Their eyes shift between the Kamado siblings. "I'm the one who taught Mui how to get so good at it. You don't stand a chance. You do realize that, right?"

       He grins. "We'll see!"

       For the first time in months, they feel something other than void emptiness or overwhelming grief.

       The wind rustles around them again, and they like to think that Muichiro is there, cheering them on from where they cannot see or hear him.

       ...But they do feel him, and that is enough for now.

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[vallanoux]

Valentines with the one and only King of Hell Himself, Lucifer!

warnings: tooth rotting fluff.

"the love letter"

To the one I love (yes you!),

Can I just start off with saying how much I love you? Because I love you so, so very much! You do so, so many things for me that I feel as if I can never say "thank you" enough––or most certainly, I can never say "i love you" enough.

But you know what? I'll take any opportunity I can to show you just how much I love and appreciate you, and guess what?!! Valentines is the perfect way to do that!

I hope you can leave Saturday afternoon till evening open for me because I most certainly have plans for us. Just so you know what to expect (and to prove to you that I'm capable of not going overboard like last year-), here's the schedule, okay?

watch a cute lil' movie at pentagram city's one and only theater

dinner at your favorite place

and whatever comes after...? ;>

Sounds good?

And, just so you know, if I haven't made it clear enough, I love you, (name).

More than anything.

More than you'll ever know.

From your most beloved "short king",

Lucifer "Lulu" Morningstar

PS: I'll pick you up at 15:30!

PSS: I left some outfits in a basket along with the letter so we can match for the day

PSSS: I'm super excited, and I can't wait to see you

PSSSS: Today is our nth year being together

"the cute lil' movie"

Lucifer arrives right on time with a big, cute, dopey smile on his face

He brings you into a tight hug (that probably chokes you, but you let it happen anyway because you love Lucifer just as much)

"Aww, you decided to wear that outfit? Gosh, you look stunning. I knew you'd like that one!"

"Look at how good we match. We look amazing, don't we?"

After almost 10 minutes of Lucifer fussing over you, he finally teleports you both to the movie theater, and obviously, it's a romance

No doubt, you get the best two seats in the theater

When he watches movies, Lucifer loves to hold your hand. It makes him feel calm and happy.

Undoubtedly, Lucifer would always find a way to hold you one way or another.

Lucifer gets super emotionally attached when he watches the movie, and absolutely adores the characters

"They look so cute together? Oh my gosh, just kiss already...!"

"We should definitely try that together, that's such a good idea." (it's not-)

"I feel bad for him... I sympathize! (so and so) is so oblivious, just like a certain someone." He'd tease as he looks at you (and damn, ouch!)

If anything sad happens in the movie, he'd be bawling

He'd cling onto your hand and weep

"Why did that have to happen? That's so cruel! (name), tell me why...!"

"No, they don't deserve that. I think I'll have a word with the director..."

"Lulu, no-"

"-Lulu, yes!"

Watching movies (even if the movies themselves are absolutely terrible) are always wonderful experiences with Lucifer because of his strong reactions

Really, you love him to bits

After the movie finishes, with Lucifer being either a sobbing mess, or a very happy fella, it's now time for dinner

You cup his cheeks and squish them with your thumbs gently, and you place a kiss on his forehead. "Lulu, it's time for dinner, m'kay? Don't get too carried away by your emotions."

"dinner at your favorite place"

Lucifer would reserve the whole restaurant just to have some time with you to talk about anything and everything

If you wanted, you could order every single thing on the menu and Lucifer wouldn't even flinch––nor would his wallet

"Oh, are you hungry? I should've brought some snacks for you to enjoy at the theater."

"Eat as much as you want, dearheart. I wouldn't want you leaving with an empty stomach."

Yes, Lucifer uses dearheart (a more old timey version of sweetheart)

As the two of you eat, you'd talk about anything and everything really

About how your feeling, how the past year has been and future plants (while you tell everything to lucifer, and vice versa, it's just nice to set some future goals or check in on how the other is doing)

Lucifer, if you'd give him the pleasure of being fed, would definitely enjoy it

"For me?" His eyes would sparkle as he takes a bite. "Thank you."

Lucifer would definitely be the type to eat anything you make or give to him and say it tastes super delicious (although it might not fit his tastes sometimes)

When dinner is over, he takes you home.

What happens after is totally your choice ;>

a/n: i do apologize if the headcannons are bad! i don't usually write headcannons.

also if luci seems OOC, i apologize for that too lol. i just can't help but see him as an overly excited, emotional, dorky S/O that's always a ball of excitement (much like charlie)

[copias-fluffy-asscheeks]

Tied As One, Eternally

Papa III x Reader

1000 words | Hurt/Comfort.

''Do you regret ever going out with me?'' He muttered, eyes fixed on the bed he was sitting cross-legged on. You blink at the suddenness of it. You were both getting ready for bed, and just as you were about to settle the question had dropped. You were frozen for a moment, processing before you spoke. ''Papa.. no? Of course not.''

There's a pause. ''You're doing that thing again.'' His voice was still sturdy, but the small hint of a higher pitch told you it was threateningly close to wavering and cracking with suppressed tension.

With a frown on your face you tilted your head trying to get any insight via Terzo’s face, but he had his head angled elsewhere. “I don’t understand?''

''It's whenever you get serious. You.. You always stop calling me by my name. I'm always Papa with you. Never Terzo. But.. I don’t want to be Papa with you. Papa is not me. It...'' He sighed, brows furrowing. ''Do you go out with me.. spend time with me, sleep with me.. just for the thrill of being with Papa?'' 

You felt your heart shatter for him. It hurt. It hurt so much. That was the last thing this was. You loved this man with every fiber of your being. He was your world, your sanity. He was so used to being the object of attraction for people, they wanted him for his body, for being able to tell other church goers they’d slept with the almighty Terzo Emeritus; He let you into his heart, he trusted you with it in your hands, not to squish the fragile thing under your shoe as soon as you’d had enough. You knew he’d struggled with these feelings since before you were together, heartbreak after heartbreak, and it was hard for him to let people in, to let them see the man behind the papal paints. He didn't wait for your answer, now staring dead into your eyes for his next question. 

''Do you love me? Really love me?''

The air was thick, the room quiet for a moment. You looked away, taking a deep breath. The man you loved so much, he was struggling so greatly with the realization that for once, maybe even the first time, someone wanted him, not the quick fuck, not the five seconds of fame. You would have done anything he’d asked right then and there to rid him of the hurt he felt, of the hurt others had caused him. He was vulnerable with you, vulnerability was something he might as well have been afraid of. He was the head of the church, the strong figure that so many followed and aspired to be like, and here he was, sitting on his bed, looking shrunken in and tired, eyes teary and breathing unsteady, ready to break.

You exhale. ''I do. I love you. I love you so much. You're my first thought in the morning and the last one before I fall asleep. You help me through my days, like you’ve helped me through so many other things. If only I could find a way to put into words how much people love you, how much I love you, Terzo. It pains me so much that you feel you are undeserving of love. You’re amazing, you’re so sweet and helpful. I couldn’t name anyone else I’d want to spend all my time with, perhaps even the rest of my life.''

You heard a shuddered inhale, and when you blink your own tears away you saw that Terzo’s were now streaming freely down his paintless face. A sob racked through his chest like the first raindrops that unleashed the upcoming storm; you immediately crawled over the bed to his side and he collapsed into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and clinging onto you like his lifeline. The broken man weeped into your skin, his nails pressing almost painfully where he grabbed onto your back but you didn’t care, he needed to ground himself. You ran one hand through his hair, pressing kisses against his hairline and temple while the other drew random, soothing shapes over his back and shoulders.

After a while his sobs quieted into sniffles and uneven, shaky breaths. His near vice grip on you had loosened to small strokes over the places his hails had dug. You were still muttering soft words to him, humming songs you knew he liked, pressing the gentlest of kisses here and there. You gave him his time, holding him as long as he desired, only pulling back once he himself did. He stared at you, eyes red and lashes still wet, eyebrows still the smallest bit pinched. He looked like a kicked puppy, like he was ready to start whining any moment, his eyes, usually so bright when he laughed. Oh, how you loved his laugh, too. His smile, the sound of his joy, the look of it. Everything about him was perfect in your eyes, Papa or not, and you’d spend as much time as you could trying to convey that to him.

He was still staring at you, pure love in his eyes. He knew he loved you, of course. You’d been together for such a while now, but this was a love he’d not felt before, not for anyone. Unwavering, he looked mesmerized, partly because he felt it, too. He was mesmerized with you, in awe. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with him and there was no doubt he wanted so with you too. 

“So you’ll love me forever?” He asked, looking almost childlike, eyes big and round, still brimmed with tears, but now mixed with happiness.

“forever and ever.” You smiled back, pressing a kiss to his nose before he tilted his head up to place a kiss on your lips, too. Soft, simpel. Full of unspoken meaning, all the words neither of you could ever find to speak.

‘’I love you, Cara mia. So much. Thank you.’’

A/N: guess who's alive idiots (not proof read, sorry for any mistakes!)

Taglist: @sweatandwoe @papasmicstand @lightbluuestars @random-mizu-fan @dearlymrme @thew0man

[pretend-im-not-here-8d]

FEED ME

“Can you put it in my hand?”

He asked, unable to turn his head away from the food sizzling on the pan. His hand was reached out towards her as she stood an arms length beside him, looking at his face that he couldn’t bother to return his gaze to. She looked around, her brain trying to come up with whatever the hell the ‘it’ he needed in his hand was. It didn’t help that his fingers so impatiently twitched.

He was so focused on cooking that he couldn’t even bother to tell her what he needed. So it’s not like he could blame her when he felt something soft but firm press into his palm. The touch felt so unexpected that he turned his once locked head, only to meet her eyes with her chin resting in his palm.

And just like that, he was falling in love all over again. The way her doe eyes just gazed up at him, so innocent and confused. Her brows were raised, like she was asking if this was what he wanted. Her. And, well— it wasn’t before, but it is now.

He couldn’t help but feel his breath get heavier the longer he stared. Then he suddenly could only focus on her. Until the smoke reached his nose. One quick turn, and he was struggling to rush back to his track. Both his hands shuffled back to position as he cursed and turned down the fire.

“Oh, shit! Love, get the sugar, please? The sugar.”

“O-Oh! You could’ve just said that.”

Her voice brightened as he finally clarified what he wanted. She quickly took one step back, snatched the salt from a cabinet, closing it and returned with what he wanted— for the moment.

“Thank you, love.”

The food tasted burnt that day. Even when she’d take a bite and make the effort to throughly chew it and swallow.

“It tastes perfect, as usual, hubby.”

She’s so cute that he was almost convinced. But all he needed to do was sink his teeth in and then wrinkle his face in disgust. He sighs lowly and grabs the plate of burnt food, making sure to scrape the charcoal off her plate before he goes to dump it in the trash. She whined.

“W-Wait! I was still eating it!”

He came back a little breathless with his sigh, reaching for his chair as he scolded her.

“C’mon, don’t lie to me. That thing was burnt into crispy, dry charcoal, love. It isn’t good for your sweet, little tummy, so be good for me and eat the rest of your food, alright?”

She pouted, her lips pressing in a tight line before relenting and bending back down to nom on her food.

__________________

She rolled to her side, facing him after she heard the polite growl of someone’s stomach. She murmured croakily.

“Hubby… You still hungry..? Do you want me to order something?”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m not that hungry.”

Then another polite growl tickled the silence. She scooted closer to him, hugging her soft body into his side. He turned his face towards her and immediately recognized his mistake. Her eyes were round and soft, the light reflecting from the moon glowed in her eyes. What else was there other than her adorable eyes? That pout of concern that tugged his heart. He sighed in resignation and cupped under her jaw again, her cheeks squishing a little.

“God, you’re just so cute, love. I’ll find something to eat, but as long as you promise you won’t complain.”

“Huh..? Why would I complain?”

“Promise?”

She sighed softly but nuzzled into his neck affectionately. “Alright. Promise.”

__________________

Just like she promised. She didn’t complain. Well— she couldn’t. Too busy moaning and sobbing under him. His muscular arms curled under her thighs, locking them wide open as he tongue fucked her pulsating, weeping pussy with the hunger of a starved lion.

The End ♥︎

[rosyrosethorns]

(i wrote somethin. for mah fwiend @candyheartedchy. as an art trade owo)

(i wamted to do a short lil happily ever after sort of thing based on her “spongebob squarepants” s/i coraline no longer having to work for plankton and bein able to secure her relationship w/ spungbob as a result)

୨ ——- ♡ ——- ୧

The way both lovers’ faces lit up as the realization hit them was like a sunrise over the ocean floor… The Chum Bucket was no longer relevant to anyone in Bikini Bottom. And since Coral was not even affiliated with that establishment anymore…

They both wore beaming smiles as they embraced each other; Coral’s long sea-monster neck lowering as she touched the side of her face against Spongebob’s in an affectionate cheek rub. When they pulled away from the hug, they realized they both had tears in their eyes.

“Oh, Neptune,” Coral spoke in a brittle voice, “I didn’t think this day would come so soon…”

The sea sponge held her hands firmly in his own, wringing them a little in excitement as he stared up at her with big wet eyes. “It did,” he squeaked happily in response through the tears. “Like I said it would.”

… Their emotional moment was briefly interrupted by loud sobbing, causing them both to turn towards Patrick with blank expressions. “Patrick?” Spongebob even inquired after moment.

“I don’t know why we’re crying,” the simple-minded starfish confessed in a brittle voice. “I just wanted to be involved!”

As Patrick continued to weep loudly, Coral turned back to her lover with a lowered head and a more sheepish look.

“Though… I guess this also means I’m gonna have to go job hunting now,” she confessed… though, to her surprise, the sea sponge grabbed both sides of her face as he squished her cheeks.

“Job hunting?! Why would you need to go job hunting?!” Spongebob was simultaneously eager and encouraging. “Come to the Krusty Krab!—we can get you a job on the spot!”

“… But… what about Mister Krabs?—He—He might not trust me still…”

“I’ll recommend you!! I’ll vouch for you!! I’ll wring some sense into him to make him believe in you if I have to!!” the passionate sponge replied as the waterworks came back on. “After however long we’ve had a road block in our relationship, I don’t want to ever be kept away from you again!!” He started wailing, the tears streaming from his eyes like a waterfall as he hugged the sea monster tight, one last sentence escaping him between sobs: “I LOVE YOU, CORAL!!”

… These affirmations made Coraline melt as she felt her own tears returning, hugging Spongebob back as she replied with a soft smile and a small voice: “I love you too…”

[auncyen]

today's felt terrible so I impulse wrote anyway

You try to keep your smile up as much as possible even with the Sadness weeping into your back as it clings to your shoulder. It's so wet. You don't know if your shirt will ever dry. Maybe toddling Sadnesses aren't dangerous, but apparently they're pretty good at being annoying!

And that must show in your face somehow, because Siffrin's face starts to fall, and then he's no longer looking up at you but down at the ground, clutching the brim of his hat. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you--I'll let you get back to--"

"No, no, Sif, you're not bothering me! Not at all," you say quickly. "Actually, maybe you could me with... um, I wouldn't say it's bothering me, yet, but it's something I need to figure out. ...You have to promise not to freak out." Because Siffrin is very very fast with his knife and you don't want him trying to stab the Sadness. Partially because it's on you, but even if Siffrin can tear it off...if it's destroyed now, it'll just reform later on, possibly worse, and still no one will know whose it is to help the person.

You've got Siffrin's undivided attention as they look up at you again. "I won't freak out. What is it?"

"Um, just try to think of if this reminds you of anyone?"

"'This'?"

"..." You hold your breath for a moment, wondering if it'd be easier to just turn around and show him than try to explain, before remembering sharp knives and quick reflexes. Yeah, explain first. "It's a Sadness. Not a dangerous one!" you add quickly when Siffrin's eye widens with alarm. "Um, stages...it's not an infant, but it's not really gotten to the juvenile stage yet either. So it's only got a few characteristics, but it was found near the inn you're staying at? So I was wondering if you might recognize anything about it?"

Siffrin narrows their eye. "Where is it?"

"..."

"Isa."

"Promise you won't freak out?" you ask again. That serious look on Sif is actually. It's interesting. It's doing interesting things to your heart. But also making you nervous that maybe you shouldn't have brought this up? Oh crab Sif has the most reason of anyone to react badly to this, you were so worried about hurting his feelings by making him think he was bothering you that you didn't consider. the trauma.

"Isa. Where. is. it."

Before you can decide whether it's worse to answer or not, the Sadness cries out loud, what almost sounds like a sobbing gasp. You don't know if Sadnesses even need air. Siffrin brings one foot forward as they stare at your chest, the right height for where it is on your back, and you quickly back up to the wall. The Sadness squishes a bit between you and the wall; after it squeaks out a cry, you give it a smidge of extra space.

"It's on you?!"

"Haha! Surprise!" you say because wow are nerves great at making you say stupid things. Siffrin's upset, you need to reassure him. "I mean! It just kind of latched on?? It hasn't tried to hurt me though, it'll be some time before it's a danger to anyone! So I wanted to figure out whose it is while it's with me."

"But if it could hurt you--"

"Sif, Sif, I promise, there's time. It doesn't even have its Craft hands yet." You hold your hands up, placating. "So can I show you?"

Siffrin meets your gaze and nods.

"You're not going to freak out?"

"That you're letting a Sadness piggyback on you? Already did."

You laugh sheeplshly at that tone. "The piggyback ride wasn't by choice. This one's a little whirlwind when it's not sobbing. I could probably stun or destroy it by ramming my back against the wall, but, uh, my back would hurt. And I really want to help find whoever's in trouble. So...yeah."

Siffrin looks away as they mumble, "I won't freak out." So they're definitely not happy about this, but that's enough reassurance for you to step toward them and slowly turn around. You can feel the Sadness shifting, undulating really as you do, and when you look over your shoulder, it and Siffrin are engaged in a staredown.

Siffrin doesn't look scared or frightened. He looks repulsed, his lips pulled back in a grimace. ...You guess that's a normal response toward a Sadness, maybe, because even if it's barely a juvenile it could still turn into an adolescent or maybe even an adult later, but you hate that you put that face on him. You should try to get this done quickly. "It likes physical touch, it's fast... is it still favoring the one eye?"

"Yeah," Siffrin says, voice rough on that one word. Then they smile, looking up at you. (It looks almost painful in how forced it is.) "...But who it could be though...I have no idea!"

-

loose idea for Sadness stages, which I ended up just using infant->juvenile->adolescent->adult because numbered stages seemed wrong for Vaugarde ("that is an Odile labeling system, Isa wouldn't even pick it up from her"):

infant: small blobs. Some float some don't. Floating blobby infant sadnesses sometimes weren't recognized as Sadnesses and started the legend of the will o' wisp.

Juvenile: still mostly blob but slightly more grown/defined.

Adolescent: Has Craft hands, will use them. They don't usually attack people though, only lashing out if they feel encroached on.

Adult: fully mature. Will chase down victims.

Since Sadnesses aren't really able to be observed from beginning to end (or at least, any sane and slightly decent person is going to try to help the person with the Sadness before it gets too bad), it's known from anecdotes that an 'infant' Sadness can turn into a juvenile, or an 'adolescent' into an 'adult', etc., but sometimes adult Sadnesses pop up where no Sadness was noticed before, making it uncertain if Sadnesses have to go through all the stages or if some go through them unusually fast.

[hotluncheddie]

gator needs his little boycock sucked so bad…he just screams desperate virgin to me. like all of the girls he’s gotten remotely close with have gotten the ick (rightfully so), and so as each day goes on, he gets a little more antsy. he jerks off all the time, but sometimes he can’t bear to even look at his dick. why? he thinks it’s small (5 1/2 inches is average but he doesn’t know that) and that’s why girls don’t like it. in contrast to the harshness of the rest of him, the squish of his inner thighs perfectly fits with his soft pink balls and weeping tip. when he jerks off, all he can think about is a hot girl on her knees mocking him, smacking his hands away and teasing him for how easy he is. if anyone asked, he would pretend that he imagines “fucking whores doggy style” but in reality, he wants to be the one getting choked out. i am new to your slay community so can i be 🫚?

🫚 anon ur so fucking crazy! you’ve killed me, thank you, bestie this is so slay!

he absolutely screams desperate virgin and embarrassed about it. and add in like the religious trauma and maybe ideas about ‘purity’ that he rules over himself, his daddy issues and need to be good. UGH, so good.

like maybe he tries not to watch porn because he thinks it’s wrong or blasphemous or whatever but that makes him cling to the little things. like the cut of someones sun dress, or the last high school teacher who said he did a good job. playing those little moments over and over until he’s red raw and more needy than when he started.

and that’s how he has no idea he’s an average, normal guy, usual parts. not to mention his hands are big, strong from sports, they so easily engulf his length. and no girls ever gotten close enough for him to put two and two together that it would look a lot bigger in smaller hands. so instead his fantasies never involve someone choking on it, it’s always them pulling off, cooing at him meanly about its size.

he has a fantasy of a girl using the cuffs he keeps in his room on him, clasping his wrists behind his back. her kneeling in front of him and touching his soft inner thighs, tickling light fingers over his balls and edging him untill he’s sobbing.

just the thought makes his spend hours edging himself in his bed. imagining someone using him but never letting him finish. running tentative finger over his throat, squeezing just lightly. dipping the tip of his thumb into his mouth and sucking. he squeezes and pinches at his soft inner thighs, imagining how good it would feel to get a hickey there. he diligently shaves the hairs off himself down there, because it makes the area more sensitive, likes how it feels when his cum splatters over the smooth skin.

[ladylooch]

Hey b, I know it's not the day, but Mack ever went through a really shitty day ? And if she ever did, can davey show up for her in all the ways by being all soft and big.

Can you write a small something for that ? If you can't it's fine.

-👢

By the time Mack gets into the elevator in her building, she is on the verge of tears. Today has not been her day. At all. Everything has been off since she woke up late this morning. She missed half of her monthly meeting with her team. She spilled coffee all over her shirt and had to go buy something new on the fly from Old Navy. Then the assignment she was really hoping to cover in St. Lucia got assigned to fucking Ethan, who wouldn’t stop making snide comments about her lack of dedication since she got dicked down by a professional hockey player. 

“Hm, this sounds like sexual harassment.” Mack had snapped from her cubical. The silence that followed was her first moment of peace in the day. And it didn’t last. 

On her way home from work, she picked up some groceries to make a comforting pasta for dinner. The brown bag she was carrying them in slipped and fell onto the sidewalk. Strangers kept walking around her, grumbling for her to get out of the way while she tried to gather her things in her arms. On her drive back to her neighborhood, David had called. She had rushed off the phone with him, telling him she would call him later. Mack felt awful, but she was in such a sour mood, it seemed like the best choice.

The elevator doors open. Mack inhales heavily as the comfort of home makes more tears build in her eyes. She can barely see as she tries to work everything into one arm to grab her keys. Her grapefruit falls to the floor. Mack could fall to her knees with it and wail. 

“Hi honey.” She hears from in front of her. David comes into view once she blinks her tears down her cheeks. “Oof.” He frowns sympathetically at her. He steps forward, ignoring the grapefruit he was going to pick up for her. His thumbs swipe her tears away. “We having a day?”

“Yeah.” She sobs, putting her forehead on his collar bone. On top of everything else, her period is right around the corner and making her weep on him about something as silly as a fallen grapefruit. David’s strong hands cup her back, holding her while being careful of the groceries. 

“What happened here?” He asks, maneuvering some items out of Mack’s grip.

“My bag broke.” 

“Oh shit. That sucks!” He groans.

“Yeah. It does!” She exclaims back, then exhales heavily. Wow, that felt good to say. “It really fucking sucked.” 

“I bet, baby. Let’s get this shit inside. And order food instead.” 

“I want pasta.” Mack mumbles, following behind him. 

“Woo, carbs!” He cheers. He opens the door for her after she hands her keys to him. Mack follows him in, putting her remaining groceries on the counter, then retreating back to shut the door. When she walks back to the kitchen, David is flipping through her takeout menus. “Which one?” He asks, holding two menus up. Mack points at the black and red one, an authentic restaurant she knows will be here in under an hour, every time. 

“I thought you had a team event tonight?” She says through a yawn.

“I did.” He murmurs as he scans the menu. “I left after you called.” Mack pauses.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But something about the sound of your voice said I should.” Mack walks round the island, weaving her arms around his waist. He tucks her into his side, kissing the top of her head. 

“Thank you.” She tilts her face up to his. David presses his lips softly against hers. He runs his tongue along the seam of her lips, squishing her closer into him as he starts to taste her mouth. His hand goes to her hair, taking out the clip that was holding her brown hair up. It feels incredible to have the tendrils fall down from the tight hold. 

“Do you wanna share something to eat?” He mumbles as she presses her nose into his chest. 

“No. I want my own!” 

“That’s my girl.” He chuckles, rubbing her back. 

David decides on Lasagna while Mack gets a pesto pasta with linguini. They decide they will split tiramisu for dessert. Mack knows it isn’t David’s favorite, but he is willing to eat some with her anyway. After David puts in the order, he wraps Mack up to carry her into her bedroom. He strips her work clothes off, then gets her the comfiest clothes he can find of his that she has stolen over the last few weeks. He messes her hair all up until it’s staticky and clinging to her face like Cousin It. 

“Sexy.” He smirks. Mack flips her hair out of her face then sticks her tongue out at him. David sucks it between his lips. Mack shrieks. “I’m gonna head out to grab our food soon.”

“What?” Mack startles. “I thought we were doing delivery?”

“They’re too busy and stopped delivery for the night.” 

“Oh, we could have picked somewhere else.”

“It’s not a big deal. You want pasta. This place is your favorite. I could use the walk anyway.”

“You realize that to a lot of other people it would be a big deal?” Mack murmurs, catching his hand as he moves to grab her some fluffy socks. 

“Good thing none of them are your man.” He drops another kiss on her lips, then grabs her fluffy, American flag socks he got her as a joke to get more in touch with her American heritage. “You don’t wear these enough. How are we gonna make you more American? If you wear the stars and stripes, your body will absorb the Merica!” Mack giggles as he slips the socks on her feet. He kisses her left ankle as he puts the final sock on. Mack falls onto her back, holding her arms up for him to snuggle into her body. He obliges immediately. 

“I’ve been home with you for ten minutes and it already feels like my bad day didn’t happen.” She whispers to him. Her feet hook together on his butt, hands grabbing at his sweatshirt to keep him close. 

“Good.” He kisses her chest.

“You know what would make it better?” She whispers. 

“If we fucked?”

“Mhm.” Mack agrees, giddy as she giggles. David lifts his head. 

“We got ten minutes before I have to leave.” Mack nods enthusiastically. He chuckles at her eagerness. “Now I gotta undo all my work. Just got you all cozy and warm.” He strokes his nose along her cheek, then sucks a slice of her throat into his mouth. Mack moans, lifting his sweatshirt up his back as he continues to suck along her collar bone. “Just shoulda had some of you for dinner.” He nips her wet skin. Mack moans louder. “Gonna have you cumming in thirty seconds again.”

“Not if you keep talking.” Mack snips back. He laughs loudly.

“She so sassy.”

“You love it.” 

“Yeah, honey… I really do."

[musicaltheatregirlsandsongs]

Musical Theatre Song Contest: Round Two C

Submitter’s propaganda under the cut

All You Wanna Do

Deeper symbolism, catchy pop that reflects characters and gut wrenching lyrics and dance symbolism. As well as in one version she didn’t stop weeping after her head was cut off.

It's catchy and fun but also really sad and just. Very well done. Especially the live version where she sobs at the end

This song was mindblowing the first time I heard it. It lures you in with a catchy beat, then slowly, you start realizing how deeply fucked Katherine's story is and how disturbing the song is. It's amazing.

A really upbeat peppy song that makes you sympathize with the protagonist but simultaneously makes you feel murderous

The way the chorus gradually changes from boasting about how men want to sleep with her to despair that that’s all they want is just so

Your Fault/Last Midnight

(spoilers for itw..) the entirety of the show lies in this song and the following two ones (no one is alone and no more), but these are the ones i love the most. the characters cannot accept their consequences and set into a patter song to throw the entirety of what is happening onto other people when the blame is shared equally. last midnight is a beautiful solo where the ""villain"" of the story gets sick of all this, of how the "heroes" act in ways that are not heroic and says alright then, do it by yourselves if thats what you want. and fucking leaves them. everything is now in their hands alone!!! and theyre both bops and bernadette peters is god on earth

one of the big moral points of the show; none of these characters are good people and they refuse to see that, ironically it’s the witch who directly tells them this whole also failing to see how she’s also flawed as well. also a BANGER on both ends I love women!!! "but it isn’t MY fault I was given THOSE beans you persuaded me to trade away my cow FOR beans and without THOSE beans there’d have been NO stalk to get up to the giants in the FIRST place! WAITAMINUTE maGIC beans for a cow SO old that you hadtotellalietosellit - WHICH YOU TOLD - WERETHeyworthLESS beans were they oVERsold ohandtelluswhopersuadedyoyto steal THAT gold??"

Be honest with yourself: you've tried to sing every single part in Your Fault at once. And Last Midnight, whooooof what a number!

These two is squished together into one song on the soundtrack, and while 'Your Fault' is very fun, I'm nominating this because I randomly break into bits of 'Last Midnight' at the slightest provocation. The witch is the best part of ITW, and this is her at her most witchy-ness.

[spacemagicandlaserswords]

The Clone Wars: Return of the Thoughts

I’m over half way through my first watch through of The Clone Wars (I’m part way through the Onderon rebels arc at the moment) and it has been An Experience. I have really enjoyed watching it, even though so much of the story is just pain and despair. If it isn’t already completely obvious from my reaction posts, I have completely fallen for the clones. New hyperfixation unlocked. I love and adore all of them. This brings about its own problems because for a show called The Clone Wars, there isn’t exactly a great focus on the clones. They’ve basically been sidelined in their own show (Hmmm, I wonder where we’ve seen that done to a clone before?). When we do finally get some decent clone-centric episodes, they are all just pain, misery, angst and despair. Which explains why I’ve been dreading watching so many of the various arcs in TCW.

I’ve found that my anticipation of episodes falls into either 'outright dreading', 'generally looking forward to', 'somewhat interested in', or 'fairly ambivalent about'. Out of the three seasons I have left to watch, the only arc I’m actually looking forward to is the opening arc of season 7, because:

a) Baby Bad Batch b) ECHO c) More clones! More clone interactions and personality and character development and depth and emotions and all the things! d) Jesse and his ARC tits running around being an absolute unit e) Kix! *weeps for his beautiful hair* f) Rex being a BAMF as usual but also being all soft and concerned when he gets one of his Domino Twins back after he thought he’d lost them both. g) We even get a bit of Cody too, before he gets squished by a larty and Wrecker has to lift it off him. h) Non-chip controlled Crosshair! He smiles! He laughs! He’s snarky and sarcastic! We finally get to see the toothpick with a soul before it’s ripped out and trampled into the ground by the Empire. i) I think the season 7 premiere is where Obi-Wan cuts an actual missile in half to save Cody, and if that isn’t the most hyper competent way of conveying your love for your space husband, then I don’t know what is.

On the other side of things, there are a number of arcs that I am dreading and almost don’t want to watch. 

I’m not overly looking forward to the Mandalore arc in season 5, mainly because we have to watch Obi-Wan watch Satine get brutally murdered in front of him by Maul. Along with being utterly cruel and completely devastating, it’s also another wholly unnecessary fridging of a female character. There’s already enough man pain in this series as it is, we don’t need to add to it by killing off one of the few female characters with depth. 

Straight after this is the Jedi temple bombing arc, which I almost don’t want to watch. The way Ahsoka was treated was utterly horrendous and appalling. No wonder she left! What they did to Barriss was just as awful. 

Then it’s straight into the chip conspiracy arc, which is just more pain, misery, suffering and death for the clones. First Tup, then Fives, in what seems to be generally regarded as one of the most devastating deaths of the entire Clone Wars series. I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a lot of sobbing at the end of it. I also cannot wrap my head around the fact that Fox is the one to shoot Fives. I cannot believe that a clone would ever shoot another clone. That a vod would kill another vod. It’s just inconceivable. From what I’ve read, the generally received headcanon seems to be that Palps was controlling Fox via the chip or the Darkside. This makes complete sense, is a believable in-universe reason, and is definitely the headcanon that I’ve accepted. Blasters have a stun setting! Fox is the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. He’s a command class clone and he has a kama so presumably he’s got ARC training as well. There’s no way he’d be that sloppy as to not have his blaster set to stun. I know this is leading up to my inevitable internal conflict between fandom Fox and canon Fox (which is already brewing), but that’s another rant for another day. Either way, I'm absolutely dreading watching this arc.

I’m not really looking forward to watching the Rush Clovis arc in season 6. I touched on this in 2.04 ‘Senate Spy’ and I should imagine that this arc involves more of Anakin being abusive and controlling of Padmé, which both @0bianidalas and @coraex basically confirmed in the comments. For a multitude of personal reasons, I am really not comfortable with watching something like this. That said, I should imagine it will be a clear example of Anakin’s further descent to the Dark side and give a greater understanding to how it happened, which I gather was a key reason for the existence of The Clone Wars series in the first place.

Finally, there’s the Siege of Mandalore arc, which is just pain, misery, death and despair for everyone involved. We have to watch another perspective of the genocide that is Order 66, and by all accounts this one seems to be one of the most heart-wrenching and devastating. All of the clones are forced against their will to turn into brainwashed, controlled, mindless monsters. Jesse is turned into the very opposite of everything that he is, stood for, and believed in. Ahsoka is hunted by the very men she thought were her friends. Rex has to shoot his brothers out of self defense and to protect Ahsoka. All of the 322nd die. Rex cries. The only saving grace to all of this is that Rex is finally free, but at what cost. At what cost.

(Editor Me: My heart is already aching just going through the various gifs from these arcs. I'm going to be an absolute wreck I watch the actual episodes.)

After all of this, I somehow have to power through 4 seasons of Rebels before Ahsoka premiers on August 23. I’m probably going to have to binge watch Rebels and come back to it later for the reaction posts but we’ll see. While I have spoiled myself on Rebels in the same way I did for TCW, I haven’t been looking up what happens in Rebels quite as much as TCW. I’ve forgotten a fair amount of what happens so I think I’m going to try and keep myself as spoiler free as possible for Rebels. Hopefully that way I’ll be able to avoid this ‘dreading watching particular arcs’ problem that I’m encountering with TCW.  

It’s not all doom and gloom though. There are moments in particular episodes that I’m looking forward to.

Hondo turns up again in the younglings arc and I am all for more Hondo. My interest in this arc falls somewhere between ‘somewhat interested’ and ‘fairly ambivalent’ but Hondo is an absolute riot and I love his particular brand of chaos. He was hilarious in the season 5 premiere and stole every scene he was in so I’m very glad to see him appear again.

We finally get to meet Gregor! He seems like a fan favourite and I’ve been looking forward to meeting him. If the droids mission is anything like R2-D2 and the reprogrammed B1 droids in the Citadel arc then this should be fairly amusing too so I’m generally looking forward to this.

In a way, I am looking forward to parts of the Mandalore arc in season 5. Obi-Wan in Mandalorian armour! More sass and snark from Obi-Wan is always enjoyable and at least we get to see him rescue Satine before it all goes horribly wrong. I know I’ve made this point before but I also love it when we get to see just how damn good a Jedi Obi-Wan is. There’s a little bit of this in the season 4 finale when Obi-Wan teams up with Ventress to fight Maul and Savage (after he’s thrown about like a rag doll and we get even more Obi-Wan whump. TCW has been a surprisingly excellent source of Obi-Wan whump.) But you really get to see it in the season 5 premiere. At one stage Obi-Wan is dual wielding lightsabers like an absolute madman while fighting both Maul and Savage at the same time. Sir, your lightsaber form is Soresu, what are you doing?

I’m looking forward to ‘The Lost One’ because we get to see a bit more of Wolffe, Plo and the Wolf Pack and I am always happy when we get to see more of them. Even if it's only for a tiny bit at the start of the episode.

As painful as the Siege of Mandalore arc is going to be, there are also some good moments that I’m looking forward to. Rex and Ahsoka reunite after she left the Order. I’ve really been enjoying watching the gradual evolution of their relationship, from Captain and Commander, to colleagues that respect each other, to friends, and then brother and sister. Or ori’vod and vod’ika, if we’re going with the headcanon of clones knowing Mando’a and creating their own culture out of what they can glean from their Mandalorian origins. Rex is definitely ori’vod. 

Rex is finally promoted to commander so we get a little bit of Commander Rex for a while, and isn’t that just a delicious thought thot. 

Ahsoka essentially gets her own company in the form of the 332nd and they all paint their helmets in a pattern inspired by the markings on her montrals, which is just so damn sweet and adorable.   

Rex and Ahsoka fighting side by side, even if some of it is against chip controlled clones.

From what I can gather, this entire arc is mainly about Rex and Ahsoka, with a showdown with Maul thrown in. They both go through the wringer and there’s going to be everything from hilarious one liners, to heartfelt moments, to the absolute emotional devastation that is Order 66 and all that it wrought upon them.  

Out of the arcs that are left, they’re a mix of ‘somewhat interested’, ‘fairly ambivalent’ and ‘really not sure what to expect’. I’m fairly ambivalent about the rest of the Onderon rebels arc, which ends in another unnecessary fridging of a female character. At least Steela was more sensible and had more nuance. I could see her evolving into a great leader, in a similar vein to Leia. Saw is just another boring arrogant male who turns into a ‘for the greater good’ monster. The consequences of his actions have disastrous effects for the Empire and the rebels, or anyone who even slightly opposes the Empire. He’s not a good person and definitely falls into the ‘an enemy of my enemy is my friend/temporary ally’ camp.  

I’m ‘fairly ambivalent’ to almost disinterested in ‘The Disappeared’ arc. Anything involving Jar Jar Binks is always deeply painful and uncomfortable to watch, a point I’ve made before, so I’m not going to blither on about it again.

The final arc of season 6 just sounds weird and all very ~mystical~ Jedi. Or more Jedi osik as the more cynical of the clones would probably say. 

The Ahsoka arc in the middle of season 7 is one I’m really not sure what to expect from. I’m looking forward to meeting Trace and Rafa and I’m all for more women of colour in Star Wars. It’ll also give more context to the episode ‘Decommissioned’ from The Bad Batch and help understand exactly who they are and why they’re coincidentally looking for the same Separatist tactical droid as the Batch. It’ll also be interesting to see what happens to Ahsoka after she leaves the order and get a sense for what she’s been up to and how she’s managed to survive and cope since. I’m not sure if this arc is in chronological order with the rest of the season. Though the last episode does appear to link into the Siege of Mandalore arc, so maybe it is. The official chronological order lists this arc as happening before the Bad Batch arc and after the season 6 finale arc, so I guess that solves that then.

Aside from The Bad Batch arc, there’s no whole episode or arc that I’m actually looking forward to watching. This seems to be the main structure to TCW, hilarious comedic moments and heartfelt scenes interspersed between a whole lot of emotional devastation and heart wrenching endings. I’m still glad I’m finally watching The Clone Wars but the emotional ride from certain episodes and arcs has been something else. I’m so glad fix-it fics exist, because I’m going to need to read so many after all of this is said and done. 

I know this might seem like I’m complaining but I’m not. I’m simply being open and honest about my experiences watching The Clone Wars. I am enjoying watching it all, even if ‘enjoying’ doesn’t quite feel like the right word with all of the pain and despair and misery that happens. 

I’ve got a lot left to watch and not much time to watch it in but I’m also going to make sure I enjoy it as well. I’ll be sad when it’s finished but I am very happy and glad that I finally started watching The Clone Wars. 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

BBU Community Days

@bbu-on-the-side * {Day 3} Discipline

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CW: References to foot whump, blood, brief noncon reference of like three words.

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Farrah finally can take it no longer.

She collapses to the floor, heaving air into burning lungs, feeling her collar cut tight against the soft skin of her throat.

Knees that had been locked or bent at just the right angle, toes that had held every pound of her weight, the muscles that had quivered and trembled beneath her thighs and in the core of her stomach all felt suddenly, agonizingly liquid. Only her heart still felt strong as it pounded.

The music still played, Swan Lake, but this Odette had no dancing to do.

"My God, Farrah," Her mistress says in disgust. "Just look at what you've done, the mess you've made. Are you asking for even more punishment?"

Farrah's long, thick dark hair has long since come loose from the sleek updo that had only barely held it back. Mascara leaves rivers beneath her eyes and her eyeliner is smeared from her desperate attempts to keep sweat from stinging her blind. Her lipstick is gone, left in kisses to her mistress or worn away by the back of her hand. Her tongue darts out and tastes salt and copper. One of the blows must have broken skin.

She can barely think.

Still, she looks. She has been ordered to look. Farrah notes with some dim sort of surprise, beneath the throb of pain, that her feet must have begun bleeding during the routine.

She had made mistakes in the dance, too many mistakes, and been forced to dance over and over again in punishment until she could no longer stand back up after falling.

There are patches of red littered across the floor. Every time she went on pointe and inched delicately in a line to one side, she had smeared them. They followed her move like a trail, a shadow. A swirling half-circle, stamped little ovals right near each other. Droplets that had been flung in arcs when one leg raised high.

There is a bright red spot on the leg of her mistress's pants.

"Oh, no," She whispers. The perfection of the white dance floor is marred with these stains. The safety of her mistress's home, where she is kept from the dangers that lurk just outside the door, has been broken. Blood is everywhere, and it is all hers.

Her mistress's anger bothers her far less than the promise of more pain that comes with it. She is tired of pain.

Her feet suddenly come to life with a screaming hot wrench and she whimpers, then screams as she flinches and her calves and thighs feel flayed, curling over herself in her leotard and tights.

Now she can feel the damp inside her pointe shoes. Now she can feel the way they squish when her toes reach the edge, like she's been walking in water.

Dancing in blood.

"I... I am so sorry-"

"Are you, Farrah? Truly?" Her mistress snorts. "Does it ever bother you when something hurts me like your mistakes do?"

No, not really.

Not that she'll ever admit it.

Farrah keeps her eyes down, knowing that sometimes her eyes give away that she isn't simpering and weeping at her Mistress's moods like so many others. She even shakes her shoulders a little, as if she were sobbing and hoping to hide it.

Her eyes, beyond the sweat, are dry. She's terrible at crying. She stares down at a stain already going brown. "I'll... I'll clean it-"

"You will." Her mistress snorts. "I'll get you a bucket and brush. You're hopeless, Farrah. But at least you're nice to look at when I'm on you."

She turns away.

"Mistress, w-wait!"

The woman pauses. She seems so, so tall. And Farrah feels terribly small, and it angers her even more. "Yes?"

"I need... I need bandages... please."

"Clean first."

"I'll get blood everywhere as fast as I clean it!"

"Not my problem. Figure it out."

Farrah watches her go - or rather, watches her mistress's legs, shapely in the tight ponte pants she wears.

If she could learn how to cry, her mistress might be kinder.

But she's never quite gotten the hang of it.

Being angry, though... that she can do.

Farrah runs a finger through her own blood, and carefully draws two short lines up and down, a curving one below them, and two sharp angles off the first lines.

An angry face, staring back at her..

Farrah giggles at the sight.

[just-a-carrot]

Hi hi hello hello I am playing Gidget's route on Our Cinderella and I AM DYING????? THEY'RE SO SWEET I'M JUST 😭😭😭 They're so supportive and it's SO COOL seeing them confident and like, living their best life? Idk maybe I've just been playing too much arc 4 OW, but seeing the best case scenario where they are comfortable and happy with their identity and life is so incredibly dear to me? AA I love them so much <3 Anyway Our Cinderella has been the highlight of my break from school and I just wanted to say thanks for making it!! Its so good asdfkgh <3 <3

Sob that's very sweet of you to say!! I'm really glad you liked Gidget's route so much!! 😭💕 Gidget's route to me felt the most down-to-earth (maybe because it's [mostly] less unhinged than the other two LKFDJASDF) and a bit more platonic at least until more near the end, so I was a bit worried maybe people wouldn't like it as much, but I've gotten so many lovely comments about it that it just makes my heart squish so much. I really love how Gidget turned out in general in this game -- like I could finally write Gidget the way my heart wanted to even if it was just for this little on-off thing and it was just so fun to do and I love them so much weep.

I'm really glad you like the game in general and that it could be a little bright spot for you!! Thank you so much for sending in this sweet message, it really made my day 🥺💕

[albatmobile]

I love your writing style! I would love to see hurt/comfort please if possible!!

i combined this with another prompt i received and made this into a part two for it

and even when the sky falls, I'll be there pt. 2

[1] [2] next: [3] [4] || ao3

𓅪 Rated: E | 11.2k includes: roy hurt/comfort, angst, grief, depression, face fucking, creampie, roy makes u come three times what can i say

𓅪 established fem!reader x Jason todd, fem!reader x roy harper (no longer eventual!), eventual fem!reader x Jason todd x roy harper

Once through, Roy’s taken from your grasp as Batman and Robin waste no time in tending to his weeping wound.

It’s all a blur and you can only bring yourself to focus on the setting sun. You realize with an immense wave of sadness that this is the last sun Jason will ever have seen rise.

You don't know why, but you take out your phone to take a picture before forcing yourself to keep it together in front of Batman and the remaining League. The Flash and Wonder Woman linger around still, conversing lowly amongst themselves. You try to hold it together. Really, you do. The last thing you want is to appear weak in front of them, but you can't deny that it's taking everything thing in you not to collapse to the ground.

“Lots of blood loss, but you’ll be stable. Just take it easy.”

“See,” Roy winces, “told you I’d be good as new.”

Batman helps you drag a limping Roy back to the car Jason had driven over and you realize with a humorless laugh that the keys are still with Jason. Well, with whatever pieces remained of him after Apokolips had been destroyed.

Batman notices the issue and wastes no time in busting through the driver’s window with a three good hits of his fists. You watch distractedly as he unlocks it from the inside in order to hot-wire it.

The vigilante gently places Roy in the car before turning and pausing briefly in what you assume is his version of condolence, then rappels off into the night. 

His retreating form disappears into the shadows, leaving you to drive yourself and Roy (in your hot-wired car, by the way) back to the apartment like the world hadn’t been mere seconds away from ending.

Though, you know it's far from over. 

You’d overheard Batman and Wonder Woman mentioning how 31% of Earth’s core has been destroyed in the battle with Apokolips, leaving the Earth in an unstable orbit. You already know that this means either freezing or burning.

Either way, it'll mean over a billion more needless deaths on top of the two billion that have already accumulated.

No, you definitely aren’t in the clear yet.

What the world needs right now is another flashpoint event, or, in other words, a miracle. 

You collapse into Roy’s arms as soon as you cross the threshold of the apartment with an aching gasp. Now that you’re finally safe enough to fully lament your loss, it all spills out in a messy, snot-ridden fashion. Roy doesn’t even seem to mind as he squishes you in an unrelenting grip. 

At this point, he’s the only thing keeping you grounded in your chaotic state of grief.

You’re still cognizant enough to be mindful of his wound as you let everything out, but he still winces slightly with every wail you’ve been shoving down since… Jason.

The redhead scatters fluttering kisses across your forehead like he always goes before you part ways for bed and murmurs sweet-nothings. All the while, sobs endlessly wrack over your body like crashing waves against the shore. 

How does the world go on? How do the seconds continue? How is the apartment just the same as it had been when you’d packed up and left?

How can it all be the same when everything has changed?

“I’m so sorry,” Roy nuzzles your neck, cooing your name as you feel your throat closing in on itself. “I’m so sorry, babe.”

You feel at a loss for breath and become overcome with a panic that not even Roy can help. Jason was the only one who’d ever been able to calm you through your panic attacks and now he's gone.

Dead.

Roy quickly finds that, in the days following Jason’s death, if left to your own devices, all you'll do is sit in your bed covered in a pile of Jason’s clothes. He only allows you the satisfaction of not moving from this spot for three days before he finally intervenes.

He brings dinner to your limp body like he has for the past few days, but this time, he can’t hold it in anymore.

He has a promise to uphold for his best friend, after all.

“Babe, you need to get up.”

You don’t bother to speak. Hell, you're too caught up in your own head to really hear him anyway.

It's been days since you’ve spoken and, even though you’re sure Roy’s tried to speak to you over the past few days, you feel as if you’ve been in complete silence since coming back.

He sighs as he slips off his shoes at the door and makes his way to the edge of Jason’s and your bed. It's his way of silently asking for permission to intrude, but you give no indication you even see him. It’s only as the bed rustles that he notices your eyes widen with what he agonizingly realizes is hope, only to be immediately extinguished at the sight of his orange locks. 

“Just me,” Roy says gently as he pulls you into his arms. “Sorry.”

You ignore his needless apology. “I can’t cry anymore,” you admit, meeting his light green eyes distantly, even though your faces are mere inches apart. “I keep trying… it feels like I want to, but nothing comes out.” 

Your voice is wrecked and weak, leaving Roy to inadvertently wince.

“I’m sorry,” Roy says again.

“How long do people grieve for?” you ask half-heartedly.

You seem distant even though you’re right there in his arms. You can tell he’s just glad you’re talking again.

Roy shrugs not knowing if it’s rhetorical or not but responds anyway as he moves his thumb to rub at your shoulder that’s covered by Jason’s favorite hoodie. 

“However long you need, babe. I’ll be here for you.”

You tilt your head upward to look into Roy’s glistening, verdant eyes that hold as much sorrow as you feel. He's just stronger than you, you realize bitterly. 

“Did we fail him, Roy?” you ask. He sucks in a breath at your unexpected question, but you don’t give him the chance to lie like you know he inevitably will. You rephrase, “Did I fail him?”

You're pathetic compared to Roy. 

Jason would be ashamed of the state of you right now, especially after he expressed his dying wish for you to live on and continue to fight.

“No,” he answers you honestly, voice hushed against the silence of the room. “You couldn’t fail him if you’re still alive. That’s all he could’ve hoped for.” 

“Alive for now, that is,” you huff. You hate to be so pessimistic, but with the next Armageddon looming over the horizon, it's hard not to be.

Hell, not even the dwindled members of the Justice League have any idea what to do about it aside from sending The Flash back into The Speed Force.

“Think you want to eat today?” he asks as he looks around at all the untouched food from the previous days.

You blush as you come to terms with just how badly you’ve been neglecting yourself. “Yeah,” you breathe and drag him down for a tight hug.

He tenses as the contact, especially when you nuzzle into his neck, not realizing how much you’ve been longing for contact until you get it. Roy’s pale, freckled neck is just as thick as Jason’s, if not a bit leaner. His light scent is entirely foreign and absolutely hypnotizing to you. You allow yourself to get lost in it for a bit more until the redhead shifts. 

You think you’ve hurt his wound and draw away immediately with worried eyes until he speaks.

“You’re gonna make me blush,” he quietly laughs around your name and you reluctantly let him go.

You watch as he shifts away before producing a takeout container from your favorite restaurant. 

From here, you eat in silence as Roy half watches you, half zoned-out from beside you. This works just as well for you, seeing as you're in no mood to talk. Your voice is already horrifyingly raspy enough as it is from days of unuse.

When you finish, you stack the empty to-go container on the stale one that's already there. The movement causes Roy to snap back into reality. Sure, he's a lot stronger, but maybe he's just hiding everything a lot better than you are. You dwell on the thought further, thankful for the escape from your usual depressing thoughts as he picks up all the trash in your room.

He leaves to throw it away before returning and saying, “I’m gonna start a bath for you.”

“Is that your polite way of telling me I stink?” you try to joke, but it falls flat at the visible, pitiful mess you’d deteriorated into. 

You already know you're rotting in a deep depression. It's to the point that you don't even bother to look at yourself in the mirror when you do manage to escape the confines of your bed, mainly to pee and drink from the sink. 

It's pathetic, really, how your body punishes you in such off ways, like how it refuses to let you leave the vicinity of your room to do something as simple as getting a glass of water from the filtered refrigerator water you guys splurged on in the kitchen. No, you drink warm tap water and not nearly enough if your resounding headache is anything to go by.

Roy just smiles lightly and disappears off into your shared bathroom, where you hear the water start to run. 

Until moments ago, you had no motivation to eat, let alone bathe. With what little energy you've been able to muster over the past few days, you know that it just isn’t going to happen on your own. You feel like a zombie, just going through the motions of breathing- barely functioning.

Roy comes back and gathers you into his arms, where you go slightly limp in his hold. 

You’ve never felt so drained in your life.

The sight of Roy in the bathroom makes you think back to around a month ago.

You’d been in here showering and Jason had barged in and dumped Roy’s bleeding-out form into the tub with you still in it. You, of course, hadn’t heard them over your cringy shower playlist and screamed bloody murder as the shower curtains were pushed back to reveal a huge, bloody man with a trucker cap as he was promptly dropped to your feet in the tub.

Roy had seen you naked many times, part of the perks of being roommates with friends, you supposed, but you still attempted to cover up your soapy tits anyway, only to have Roy wave you off.

“Nothin’ I haven’t seen before, beautiful," he’d said in lieu of an explanation for his wound.

Boy, did you know it.

Jason handed you a towel with a meaningful, possessive gaze that you missed as you focused more on fiddling with the shower knobs to turn off the spray. 

When you finally turned around to grab the towel from him, Roy was completely stark red. Meanwhile, Jason was crimson with thinly veiled irritation at your naked state.

You shot him an irritated look right back if not for the fact that he was the one who’d brought Roy to the bathroom even after hearing you in here. Was he seriously going to focus more on Roy seeing you naked (when he’d already seen you naked a handful of times over the years), or was he going to focus on the fact that his friend was bleeding out in your tub?

You’d wrapped the towel around you to appease Jason and straddled Roy’s uniform-covered thigh to apply pressure to the gushing gash that ripped across the expanse of his leg while Jason huffed off to search around for the medical supplies. 

“Do you have to move this shit every time you clean?” he grumbled as he searched around the hallway closet.

“Fuck off, asswipe. At least someone cleans around here while you guys play dress up around Gotham,” you spat back, taking your attention off Roy for mere seconds, but it was enough for your towel to fall uselessly around your waist, re-exposing your breasts to a still bright-red Roy whose cheeks matched the fiery hue of his hair.

“Your tits definitely aren’t getting smaller, babe,” Roy commented with a bleary wink. You snorted at his audacity, but Jason wasn’t amused in the slightest.

Your boyfriend walked back in with the med kit and smacked Roy on the shoulder with enough force to shut him up instantly.

“He’s losing too much blood. He’s delirious,” you tried to defend the bleeding man below you.

“Yeah, if that’s what you want to call his pathetic touch-deprived ass,” Jason snorted humorlessly as he got out the thread and needle. “Might want to look away for this part, love.” He tightened your falling towel for you sternly before getting back to work on Roy.

You’re brought back to the present when Roy mumbles to himself while he takes in the current situation.

You’ve been wearing the remnants of battle around the apartment in the days following like a devout Jackie Kennedy and Roy really needs to wash it off. He knows it's possible there are hidden injuries underneath the grime and he doesn't want them to fester for any longer. 

One look down at your rag doll-like form in his arms and Roy knows you probably won’t be able to get yourself into the tub, let alone actually get clean without quite a bit of his help.

“Uh,” he trails off as he deposits you on the floor. You watch as he leans against the wall as he goes over his options before, ultimately, kneeling beside you. “I’m going to undress you now. If that’s alright, that is!” he adds hastily, but you just glance emotionlessly at him out of the slits of your eyes before closing them again. 

You say nothing, wishing he would’ve just let you decompose on the mattress in your pitiful anguish.

“Some verbal consent would make my day, darling.” 

“Yes,” you croak, lifting your arms so Roy can carefully glide Jason’s soiled hoodie up the naked expanse of your body. 

He forces his eyes from your chest to your dull eyes and spouts encouragingly, “That’s good, you’re doing good.” 

He's such a horrible fucking liar. 

How are you doing 'good' when you aren’t even able to complete basic tasks, let alone function on your own? 

Your head pounds at the simple movement and you visibly wince. Roy withdraws his touch immediately, causing Jason’s hoodie to cascade back over your bare breasts easily. 

At this, he gets up and leaves you.

Part of you thinks you’ll be sleeping on the bathroom floor like the contact was too much too soon. The floor isn't too bad, you think to yourself, startling backward when he returns seconds later with a cold glass of water. You're even more surprised when he kneels next to you and brings it to your lips. 

You greedily gulp it until only ice remains. After a few moments, your head feels infinitely better. How many days has it been since you’ve had a decent amount of anything to drink?

You groan in appreciation and rest your head against the wall behind you. You wait another moment before raising your arms again so he can actually remove Jason’s favorite hoodie this time. 

Roy croons your name as he sets aside the dirty fabric to move down your torso and remove your dirty panties. He hesitates slightly as he reaches the waistband for the obvious reasons, along with the fact that he’d watched Jason help you into these same lacy ones after he’d gotten done wiping you up from… 

He shakes his head to dispel the erotic memory in favor of looking over the dirt and blood on your naked body, completely reassessing his original plan to get you into a bath.

“Might need to have you shower first.” 

Will you be able to stand is what he's actually asking.

You confirm his suspicions, “I’ll need to sit.”

“Alright. Guess I could use a rinse too, then,” he says.

With this, Roy wastes no time in peeling off one of Jason’s vintage Harley Davidson shirts and looks away with a blush as he slowly pulls down his sweatpants to reveal his form-fitting boxers. He leaves them on and moves beside you again to start the shower.

You can’t help but eye the naked expanse of his freckled skin lazily as he waits for the water to heat up.

Roy’s leg absentmindedly bounces as he switches between watching the water and sticking his hand underneath the stream to test it. He’s pointedly refusing to make eye contact, but you don’t mind. You don’t really have the energy to maintain it right now as it is. Instead, you focus on connecting the bigger freckles to the smaller ones that were splattered all across the pale expanse of his skin.

Seemingly satisfied with the temperature, Roy carefully lifts your naked body into the tub. He gently deposits you into the basin, where he washes you until the water running down the drain finally runs clear. 

It’s only then that he’s actually able to inspect all the cuts and bruises that still littered the expanse of your skin from the battle. The tiny, scattered cuts are mere reminders of just how easily you’d gotten off, all things considered. 

“One sec,” he says your name and leaves puddles on the floor. On any other day, this would royally tick you off, but you hardly pay it a second glance as you watch Roy search in the hall for the med kit. “God damn, bro. You really do move this shit for no reason.”

Your stomach clenches painfully at his reference to Jason and you hide your face in your shoulder, allowing the warm spray to assault the side of your cheek until it completely numbs it. You can’t bring it upon yourself to change positions even as the spray makes it impossible for you to keep your eyes open. 

When he comes back, he runs his hands lightly up the expanse of your naked, wet body as he analyzes each scratch with a caring intensity you appreciate. 

He stitches only one cut, then cleans the rest of your wounds and covers the spot of stitches with a water-resistant patch so he can continue to clean you. 

You hardly flinch as you feel the burn and tug of his movements that pull against your skin but end up stirring slightly when he sighs and stands up in the tub. You watch, dazed, as he hovers over you to adjust the spray so that it's out of your face.

“Thank you,” you say earnestly.

You can’t help but admire the curves of his ass that are shamelessly accentuated against the wetness of his boxers. Part of you wants to kick yourself for looking at anyone other than Jason, while the other half is just glad for another distraction.

He nods and finally runs a bath.

Roy makes to get out as he does so, but your hand shoots out for his before you can even realize it. You both stare down at the contact, then at each other.

Eventually, your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. You attempt to retract your hand hastily, but Roy doesn't let you.

He squeezes it tenderly as he kneels down on the bathmat beside the tub. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises.

Your stomach warms at his words, but he’s not close enough.

Roy looks at you with an unspoken question that you answer by leaning forward and scooting up in the tub, motioning for him to sit behind you.

You turn back and watch as he sinks down behind you. You snap your attention forward again, however, when his defined bulge clinks down mere inches away from your face.

You clear your throat and school your face before he can notice your raging blush.

He says nothing as his massive body forces you forward even more in the tub for you both to fit. Roy then scoops you into his clothed lap before sitting and extending his legs, effectively trapping you in his muscular embrace.

He grabs your shampoo first, as it seems like the least invasive option and lathers it in his hand before dragging the suds it through your hair. Roy doesn’t just scrub away at the grime but takes the time to scrape his nails gently against your scalp and lavish you with the attention you’d greatly been missing. 

You mewl lowly at his compassionate touch and lean into it, causing him to laugh lightly.

He uses your cup from early sans ice to scoop water from the tub and tilts your head back to pour it along your hairline to rinse away the suds.

You owlishly blink up at him in your new position and his eyes lightly crinkle at your innocent gaze. 

“You enjoying this?”

You are, but he doesn’t need to know that any more than he already does.

You scoff, “Yeah, you got me. I love being too pathetically depressed to care for myself, Roy.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he chastises you lightly before smooshing your conditioner around in your rinsed-out hair. He, at the very least, seems glad to see that some of your sarcasm has returned. “I’ll always be here to take care of you, even when you can’t.”

He finishes untangling your wet hair with gentle precision as the water goes unbearably cold.

When he’s satisfied with the results, he squishes you against yourself and his firm chest as he reaches forward to drain the tub. As the cooled water drains, you find yourself shivering as you wait for it to refill with fresh water. He washes out the remaining conditioner, then grabs your body wash. It’s the last thing he needs to do, but definitely the most uncomfortable.

Roy leans back against the tub and wraps an arm around your waist to draw you back against his chest, reminding you of how he’d saved you on the warship. You tense in his grasp. He removes his arm immediately as if he knows it's the thing causing you distress.

How can he be so understanding of you when he hardly knows you outside of Jason’s world?

“I’m sorry. That was my fault,” he says. 

You shake your head quickly since it's entirely yours. 

It's your problem that you can’t handle a brief touch now, as you're too blatantly affected by a memory of a simple touch from that night.

He lathers the soap up your body as respectfully as he can, but you still hide your head in his neck in embarrassment when his fingers graze across the naked expanse of your skin. 

It's so intimate and you can’t help but blush.

Now, he’s cleaned every inch of you except for…

You tense minutely as his soapy hand comes to brush against the inside of your thigh, silently asking for permission to continue.

You huff and try to bring yourself to do it instead, but your arms feel like detached noodles. Ultimately, they refuse to cooperate, leaving you to slowly spread your thighs apart for him to grant easier access.

Your face winces in embarrassment, still painfully shoved into Roy’s neck as he thoroughly and respectfully cleans your nether regions. He continues to coo the entire time in an attempt to calm your increasing anxiety, but your pressure on his neck never eases.

This definitely isn’t your proudest moment.

“I’ve always liked the smell of this stuff,” Roy says, ignoring your inner turmoil. You can tell he's trying to make you feel as comfortable as possible, but you're too focused on not moaning to take the compliment.  

He brings one of his hands to his nose to sniff at the goopy liquid as if to prove his point before rubbing it between his palms and sudsing you up one last time for good measure. He conveniently leaves out that he used to smell this shit when he jacked off in the shower after Jason’s and your showers. You conveniently don’t tell him that the two of you heard him every time. After all, you're in a vulnerable position with him and clearly not in the right headspace to be talking about something like that right now.

No, not yet.

You come to the realization that he’s kept his mouth shut because he doesn’t want you to feel like he's taking advantage of you. Plus, he isn’t a fucking creep… Well, just the normal amount when it comes to you.

Roy finishes rinsing you down and wraps you in a towel before transferring you back to the bed.

You sigh as you come into contact with the pile of Jason’s clothes you’d dumped straight from one of his wardrobe drawers. No one ever told you that grief makes you a slave to its whims in exchange for the tiniest rush of dopamine as a reward for following through with its odd demands.

Meanwhile, the redhead rifles through the remaining drawers to find you some new underwear and offers you Jason's Harley Davidson shirt Roy’d been wearing. You accept the new shirt gratefully.

Once you’re all set, you curl into your pile and start to space out again, but it’s a bit different this time. You feel more present, no, more human and can definitely admit that even though you're still rotting inside, you feel a lot better after Roy’s intervention.

Roy shifts from foot to foot, not knowing whether he should climb in bed with you and whisper sweet nothings to you or leave you alone again. 

After all, this is all uncharted territory. 

Well, more like a minefield of taboo topics that Roy's been conveniently avoiding with a ten-foot pole for years.

Roy leaves you with a quiet click of the door.

•

The weeks following pass by in a blur, with Roy doubling as your caretaker by making sure you're bathed and fed. Without him, you don’t know what kind of state you’d be in.

Roy’s help gradually helps you recover physically and somewhat mentally. Eventually, you’re finally in the headspace to be able to return the care he’d given you by helping him dress his stab wound. 

It’s around this same time that he starts staying in the room for longer amounts of time with you until he finally starts hanging out in bed with you for the majority of the day. Since the bedroom is always where you are, Roy figures it only makes sense to try and adjust to your new hangout location. This is, of course, opposed to the couch where the three of you used to be found playing games and fucking around.

He understands why you can’t be out in the living room right now, considering the stab of pain he gets each time he passes by the discarded blankets and imprint of Jason’s usual spot. It's a cruel reminder of his absence, but Roy's too selfish in his own grief to want to move anything around just yet.

He’s leaving your room for the night like usual, giving you light kisses across your forehead when you absentmindedly whine and tug him back towards the bed.

“What’s up, babe?” he asks nonchalantly, but he’s already fretting your response. 

You’ve become so close over the few weeks, boarding on intimate. You and Roy bot know that it's only a matter of time before the ball drops.

He’s managed to silence his want for you after all these years, but just barely. He isn’t ready to cross that line with you just yet. No- he can't. If Roy does cross it, he knows he won’t be able to take it back and he doesn’t know if you're truly ready for anything in your grief-stricken state. 

Plus, he still has to protect his own heart.

“You never stay here,” you point out with a tilt of your head. “I’m starting to think it’s a me thing.”

He shakes his head easily to dispel your worry. “Definitely more of a wanting to respect my dead best friend. I’m just trying to preserve the chastity of whatever the fuck our relationship used to be.” Whether it be for his own sanity or yours, he doesn't know.

You pout slightly, not expecting him to be so severe and up-front like that.

It's true that your relationship with Roy has never been completely clear considering how close he and Jason had been, you just kind of slid into that equation. This led to nightly forehead kisses, cuddling on the couch during gaming sessions and, not to mention, him flirting with you any chance he got and you joking back…

“So, me wanting you, wanting this,” you motion between the two of you, “is disrespecting my boyfriend of five years?” 

He’s at a loss for words, both of you knowing that’s not what he’d meant in the slightest.

“What do you want from me?” his voice cracks slightly, forcing you to look down at the yellowing sheets you still refuse to let Roy wash.

“Stay with me.” Your eyes flicker hesitantly to meet his.

He seems to debate for a moment, then leaves anyway.

You slump with a sigh at his retreating form. After a bit of debate, you get up to put on the Harley Davidson shirt of Jason’s that Roy’d been wearing when he’d brought you back to the land of the living all those weeks prior. You slip off your underwear as your stomach clenches uneasily around his blatant rejection.

Have you been reading everything wrong?

You’re bent down, grabbing your underwear with your ass bared to the door, when Roy slips in and nearly face-plants at the sight that greets him.

“Oh, you came back,” you say, trying not to reveal your relief as you throw your underwear into your steadily filling hamper. It takes everything in you to hop onto the bed as nonchalantly as possible. “I usually sleep on this side.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” 

Do you really want him to contaminate your dead boyfriend’s and his best friend’s untouched spot next to you on your shared bed?

Mistaking it as rejection, you offer him an out.

“I’ve told you what I want. Now, it’s your turn to figure out what you’re going to do about it.”

He sucks in a breath as he watches you slip under the covers.

Each time he’s been on the bed, he’s been careful to stick to the foot of the bed or your side, not wanting to encroach on your mourning space. He shoots one last glance at Jason’s preserved, un-made side before sighing and joining you in bed.

Roy can't help but feel like an intruder that's encroaching upon your sacred space with Jason.

This, coupled with the mounting tension that's been accumulating between the two of you since you've known him, is pushing Roy closer and closer to the edge. Roy already knows he's on the precipice of an explosion that he figures will do more harm than any short-lived sexual pleasure from you would be worth.

So, for tonight, he holds you tight and bears the burden of worrying for the both of you as you drift off easily in his embrace.

•

You wake up to the sound of shuffling coming from Jason’s side of the bed, causing your heart to cease. 

It had all been a dream…

Your eyes blink blearily as they focus on the glowing blueish light that illuminated the curves of your duvet-covered silhouette against the wall you're facing. 

You blink, dazed at the sight.

“Jason?” you ask blearily. When you get no response, you flip over and nearly fall off the bed at the provocative image you’re met with. “Oh, shit,” you trail off, mouth agape at the sight of Roy desperately pumping his leaking cock. Meanwhile, his other hand is more preoccupied with holding his phone.

After a few more seconds, you’re finally able to come to in your sleep-hazed state. The exaggerated female moans spouting from his phone’s speakers finally help you piece everything together, with a sharp curse from Roy cementing it.

“I am so sorry,” Roy breathes out quickly as he snaps the waistband back over his swollen member. He taps rapidly at his screen in an attempt to stop whatever porn he's watching, but, as if to curse him, no matter what he does, it continues to play even with his screen turned off.

You bring a hand to cover your mouth in an attempt to stifle your laughter, but he wouldn't seem to notice either way in his mortified state.

Without another word, you silently slip from the bed to give him privacy to… finish and drag yourself to the couch. There, you curl into one of the pillows with a sleepy yawn.

Roy calls your name shortly after you’ve settled onto the cool leather material in the living room. Your eyes slide open sleepily as Roy leans down beside the couch, close to your face.

It might be your hazy mind due to the late hour, but you nearly prepare yourself to kiss him as his face comes closer to yours. His freckled hands trace delicately along your jaw, tickling it slightly in their wake.

“If anyone should be sleeping out here, it’s me.”

“I don’t mind.” You really don’t. 

At the very least, it's forced you to get out of your room for once.

He leans in once more and you lift your head slightly in preparation, but, ultimately, he hesitates. Instead, he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear with a touch that lingers a bit too long for you to miss its meaning. 

He’d asked you what you wanted from him, but what exactly does he want from you?

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable in your own room,” he says your name in a low, gravelly voice. “I’m sorry, let me swap you.”

You don’t protest when he picks you up easily and distributes you back onto the bed, where he gazes down at your bare thighs greedily.

From his earlier run-in with you changing, he can’t tell if you’re completely naked under the shirt he gave you. It's quite possible he missed your panty line, however, considering he'd been more focused on the fatness of your ass than anything else.

All night, Roy couldn't sleep.

He tried to stay still for hours, he tried to keep his improper thoughts at bay, but once you’d turned over and he heard your soft breaths, he knew he couldn’t stave off his problem any longer. He should’ve known you’d be a light sleeper. What he didn’t expect was your soul-crushing call to your dead boyfriend.

“Roy?”

He sees your line of sight at the still-present tent against the thin material of his boxers and shifts it out of view. He then elects to sidle up beside you in lieu of a response.

“Yeah?” he responds carefully.

You hesitate, not sure if you’re actually picking up on signals from him or not. You’ve been out of the dating game so long; //you fear you’ve completely lost your edge.

It’s dark and the room is bathed in the yellowed moonlight that streams in through the curtains Roy had opened earlier. It somehow makes everything feel entirely intimate.

“I wish you would touch me again,” you admit, looking up at him with innocent eyes that he can see clearly in the dim light. Though you both know there's nothing innocent about them when his cock is still so obviously affected in your presence. 

His hard length twitches in response, something you notice with a steady heat growing in your lower abdomen.

“What do you mean, babe?” he feigns nonchalance.

Two can play this game.

You draw his eyes downward as you shift onto your knees and languidly spread them open. All the while, you're careful to keep the oversized shirt he gave you draped in the middle to obstruct your leaking, aroused cunt from view.

“I wish you would touch me again,” you repeat again, tugging at the loose fabric while he takes in the erotic sight of you splayed out on the bed in front of him. “Like how you did in the bath, but more. I need more of you.”

Now, there's no hiding.

His voice is gruff and restrained at your sudden, revealing statement and even more revealing position, “We both know that’s not a good idea.” 

It's everything he’s been avoiding.

He knows deep down that if Jason hadn’t captured your heart the way he had, Roy would’ve tried for your heart with all his might, but, alas, it wasn’t in the cards. He was too good of a friend to ever do anything more than the harmless flirting that you always seemed to take as a joke, anyway.

His stomach clenches at the memory of your past rejection.

“Why not?” you challenge with slight desperation. “He’s dead, Roy. You know that as well as I do. What am I supposed to do? Sit and wait for him to take another dip in the Lazarus pit? It’s not happening. He’s gone for good this time,” you sigh heavily as the weight of your words settles over you. “I still have needs and, obviously, you do, too.”

You don’t know if you're saying it for him or for you, but either way, it spurs action as if Roy. It's as if he's breaking free from some sort of metal chains that had previously barred him from you.

Roy slips onto the bed easily and you gasp at his unexpected, quick movement. You regain your bearings quickly enough to take the upper hand and straddle him. Your bare cunt settles on the lower portion of his ab-ridden stomach, clear of his wound as your lips slowly inch towards his face.

“We shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right,” Roy mutters. He vehemently shakes his head as he presses further into the mattress, away from your advancing grasp. “I can’t take advantage of you in the state you’re in. It wouldn’t be right,” he repeats more to remind himself than anything as he eyes up the sensual curves on your body.

He ardently tries to ignore the slick you’re leaving in your wake on the expanse of his chest, but it's in vain.

The quiet moan he releases is like a lifeline to you.

“Roy,” you capture his face in your hands, but he refuses to make eye contact with you, “if you haven’t realized it yet, the world is still ending and you’re obviously hurting just as much as I am. We’re both in the same shitty headspace here.” Why can’t he understand that? Maybe it's because he hides it so much better than you, you chastise yourself. “You’ve been taking care of me, neglecting yourself. Let me take care of you for once, Roy. Please.” 

It’s a desperate plea that Roy refuses to hear.

You sigh, finally ready to put it all out there, “Jason was right. I do need to let my walls down. You’re a good person, Roy. You’ve put me ahead of yourself without question and it truly means the world to me. Jason would want me to be with someone we both genuinely care about and… I know you care for me.” You begin your crawl up his splayed-out form again, still careful of his healing wound as you close the distance between your faces. “All you’ve done is prove again and again how much you care. I… I didn’t think I could, let alone want to, go on again… Until you, Roy.”

Roy chokes out your name.

“Please,” you whisper in the overwhelming silence of the room, "kiss me like I’m yours.” His fists clench tighter at his side. You lean over his frozen form and tilt his chin up to force his verdant eyes to meet your half-lidded ones. “We both know you want to.”

He chuckles nervously and easily dodges another attempt of yours to catch his lips, “Bit presumptuous, aren’t we?”

He keeps his hands firmly clenched at his sides with gritted teeth. He visibly holds himself back from wrapping them around your thighs to flip you below him where he’d no doubt be unable to stop himself from taking exactly what he’s wanted this entire time.

At the same time, you groan in frustration, wondering why he still won’t give in to you.

Even right before the mission, the way he’d drank in the sight of you getting fucked was like he’d been lost in the desert for months. You’d be blind to miss the way he holds himself back from touching you. Though, it's obvious he's itching to push it further if the unrelenting problem in his pants is any indicator. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you cutting patrols early to try and catch me and Jason fucking.”

He sputters, giving you a chance to place your hands on either side of his head as you straddle the uninjured part of his waist. Roy can easily dislodge you if he wants, you know that, but he remains completely still like he's afraid any slight movement will bring this moment to an end.

You think back to his domestic addition to Jason’s and your equation. Though he was technically Jason's friend first, Roy was always there to back you up during your petty arguments, even when you both knew you were wrong.

Well, except for that one time…

“Baby," you stepped in front of where Jason sat on the couch to press your boobs together in the thin top you were lounging braless in, "are my tits getting smaller?” 

He didn’t even bother to look up as he shooed you out of the way of the screen.

Roy, on the other hand, did look, causing his character to die instantly with Jason’s character following soon after.

Jason huffed and quickly looked just to get you to shut up, "Yes, they are. Now move.”  

You flashed him out of spite as he shooed you away again to restart their match.

"Be serious," you chided as you allowed your shirt to fall back down before smacking your boyfriend on his shoulder. “Fine, Roy-” you continued, intending to reveal your chest again, but he cut you off. 

“Nope, no. Definitely staying out of this one,” he said, but he still looked at your chest one more time, something both you and Jason noticed. 

You smirked with satisfaction at your boyfriend’s jealous scowl. 

Or when Jason would leave the two of you at the apartment while he went on Batman missions that Roy had been barred from. He would let you play whatever dumb shit you wanted on TV and never let you sleep alone. Nearly every time, you would both fall asleep on the couch and wake up with one of you covered in the other’s drool.

Now, you test his reaction as you lean in once again, giddily noting how, this time, he doesn’t move away.

You let out a relieved sigh and bring your lips to ghost over his chapped ones.

You're ready to tease him longer after the shit he’s just put you through, but he doesn’t allow you to. Instead, he lifts his head off the mattress to clash desperately with your soft, pliant lips like he’s been waiting to do this for years. 

Hell, you think back to the concealed glances he always seemed to be sending your way. Maybe he had.

He wraps his muscular arms around you as your teeth accidentally clack together, leaving you to pull back slightly, but he’s already there dragging you back down into a sloppy apology that you easily accept. 

You sputter out a moan as his tongue flicks its way into your mouth to slurp at your own. 

In the heat of the moment, you allow yourself to rid your shirt to the floor. You see and feel Roy tense at the intimate sight of your bare chest and revel when he moans wantonly and bucks up into your bare ass. Your cheeks are perfectly perched against his clothed cock, leaving you in an opportune position to grind down against him.

You feel him spring up with interest and grind down again as if to test the limits of the ever-changing tide between the two of you. Ultimately, he takes it in stride, seemingly overcome by the same dizzying trance he has you in.

He brings his hands to squeeze your ass, then freezes like he’s been shocked. Before you can ask what's happened, he quickly flips you off of him.

 It ends up happening so fast that you furrow your brows in confusion as you’re left to stare up at the ceiling instead of down at Roy’s face.

As soon as you regain your senses, you sit up to find Roy sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. You stay where you are, already wary because of how open you’d just allowed yourself to become with him.

He doesn’t look back at you as he stands and shuts the door behind him before you hear the door to the apartment close and lock.

Your stomach clenches. 

You fucked up.

•

You wake up with a headache from the previous night to the sounds of Roy pattering about the apartment.

You think about getting up. You think about finally leaving the solace you’ve created in your room since it's become yourroom and not yours and Jason’s, but ultimately fall back into lifelessly lying in bed.

You’re wondering if Roy will even bother to come in when you hear a hesitant knock at your door.

“Hey,” it comes out quiet like he’s afraid he might be waking you, so you knock some shit around on your nightstand until he peaks in. You meet his gentle, worn eyes and immediately want to cower, but there’s nowhere to cower to, so you meet his gaze head-on. “I brought you your fave,” he says, wiggling a greasy paper bag in his hand as a peace offering for the shit show of last night. You don’t say anything as he tentatively approaches the bed like you’re some kind of rabid dog on a weak leash. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he says.

“You’re not staying?” You can’t help the pout at the fact that one night had changed everything you’ve come to love over the last few weeks of hell. 

He stops like he thought you'd let him leave without bringing up last night, but you refuse to just let it end like this. 

You and Jason would stay up all night sorting your shit out, but Roy seems to take a more… hands-off approach to dealing with things. You aren’t used to it.

It’s his turn to answer you with silence.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re a coward, Roy Harper.”

You reject the food and turn around petulantly, leaving him to scoff. 

“Stop being a fucking brat,” he insists sharply.

You turn at his tone, begging him to start something with you. Anything to keep him near you.

His verdant eyes flash dangerously and it's then that you know you’re getting under his skin. 

“Make me.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me,” he insists with a low rasp but walks closer to you, anyway. “We’re getting into dangerous territory. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself from doing something we both can’t take back.”

“You say it like kissing me would be the end of the world,” you say with a pointed brow, but he doesn’t even crack a smile and your small one falls soon after.

He says your name dejectedly.

He's right in front of you, you could reach out and touch him, so you do. You draw yourself on your knees and wrap your arms around his neck, but he’s too tall to be face-to-face. You pull him down, closer to you and he allows you to.

“How long will you keep rejecting me when you clearly see how much I want you?” You lean your forehead against his. “How much I need you?” you admit with your voice breaks off a bit at the end and Roy exhales lightly.

Maybe it’s the gentleness of the early morning light that cascades across both of your faces, but he looks at you, really looks at you, then leans in to close the remaining distance.

Have his flood walls actually come down, or will his indecisiveness cast another wedge between you as you put yourself out there for him once again?

It’s a chaste kiss compared to the animalistic qualities of the one last night, but it somehow feels even more right.

He breaks away and checks over your expression, searching for any signs of discomfort, but only finds arousal.

You clasp your hands behind his head and tangle your fingers in his long, strawberry locks to draw him in again. Your lips slit perfectly against his as they move languidly, as if trying to savor every second.

Roy moans breathily and you use it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss with a teasing flick of your tongue against the seam of his lips. 

You sink down on your knees and draw backward onto the bed, dragging him slowly with you until he’s fully covering your body on the mattress.

“Tell me to stop,” it’s a broken plea from a man who’s ready to risk everything he’d been fighting against for so long. “Tell me to leave,” your name is a breath fanning across your face. “That you don’t want this.”

“You already know what I want,” you say, meeting his searching gaze head-on.

“Then tell me one more time, then."

You’ve never seen him like this and it’s only spurring the arousal that already swells from within.

“Roy,” you answer breathlessly, waiting for him to take you already.

“I need to hear it, babe.” His usual nickname for you feels deeper. It stirs something carnal within you, like you belongwith him. That he’s yours and you’re his. “Please,” his voice comes out broken and restrained- it’s all the confirmation you need.

“I’m all yours.”

He sucks in a breath and then, he’s moving. His fingers graze up the insides of your thighs and you part them for him easily as he lazily maps out your folds and clit with his thick fingers in a way that instantly leaves you begging for more.

It's been so long since you’d been ravished so tenderly like this and you already feel close when he slips in the first finger into your tight, wet cunt.

The tension building between the two of you over the past few weeks has been enough foreplay to thoroughly edge you up until this moment. You can’t find it within yourself to wait any longer when his hands are so tenderly caressing you.

His kisses are sweet, slow and deliberate as he tries to figure out what makes you tick.

He shifts from over top of you to spoon you from behind as he adds a second finger that has you withering against the overwhelming pressure pathetically. If Jason were here, he'd curse you for coming so soon, but with Roy’s perfectly timed thrust of his fingers into you and your own hand brushing against your clit, you’re already spasming and arching against Roy's hold on you.

You mewl in your post-haze against his chest, then flip over to face him before dragging him back into a messy kiss. With this new position, you capture his bottom lip in between your teeth and drag your nails delicately down his abdomen, careful of this wound, all the way to the waistband of his jeans. 

You flick at the tip of his tongue and he moans into your mouth. You take it as an opportunity to snuggle further against him and deepen this kiss. 

If he's going to take his time, so are you.

Roy runs his hands against the expanse of your naked body, trailing them steadily along the backs of your thigh, up your ass and all the way up your back to the base of your neck as your tongues languidly meet. 

You’re both taking each other in, testing the waters with every gasp and drawn-out moan.

You make to move down to suck him off, but he quickly draws you back up into a chaste kiss before flipping you over onto the mattress and smacking your ass lightly in the process. 

“I’m not done with you yet, babe.”

You get the idea and you lift yourself onto your knees to spread them as he gets into position to eat you out from behind

It’s almost fucked up how the bed still smells like Jason after all these weeks, but you can’t help but revel in his familiar scent as Roy presses you against the mattress.

You whimper as he kisses down your back and leans back to take your ass into his hands, where he proceeds to jiggle it up and down exaggeratedly. You wiggle into his touch and laugh hazily at his fixation.

“God damn,” he exhales giddily. The redhead smacks your ass one last time before focusing back on another one of his fantasies.

You can’t help but shiver when he runs a finger between your folds and rubs it back and forth lightly, leaving you to arch even deeper when he adds his tongue in the mix as he laps lightly at the slick that's dribbled onto your thighs. He draws tantalizingly close to your lips but stops and kisses at the junction of your thigh and your cunt. From here, he continues up the trail of your arousal to finally spread your cheeks apart and lick at your inner folds using the tip of his tongue.

You let out the most wanton moan into the room as your previous orgasm still lingers in a sensitive and taunting manner.

Roy's wet noises on your cunt fill the room into the already lewd cacophony of your pants and cries of pleasure. He laps and slurps at the sweetness of your come that's now perfectly mixed with his spit while you wither against the mattress.

You go to turn around, but he smacks at your thigh gently. “You don’t understand how long I’ve fantasized about this. Just let me do this for you,” your name is a growl against your clit, causing you to shiver and rut back against his mouth. He laughs lowly, giving you the vibrations you hadn’t known you’d been yearning for but were everything you needed.

Where Jason’s mouth had been intimate and familiar Roy’s is eager and hypnotized by the taste of you. 

It's extremely flattering and, honestly, highly erotic to see how his dazed touches and drunken slurps unreservedly displayed just how much he’s longed for you.

It's absolutely delicious and nearly all too much.

You feel the cool heat of arousal trickle from your stomach to pool heavily against your clit and know it's only a matter of time before you're coming again. You laugh shakily at the thought, something Roy seems to understand, so he pulls out all his tricks to milk another orgasm out of you.

It works.

You’re spasming against his unforgiving grip on your ass cheeks and the mattress that reeks of Jason’s cologne. 

It’s too much.

You see white for a few seconds before returning hazily to see Roy smirking down at your splayed-out form trapped beneath him as he holds himself up on his forearms.

You look like an absolute dream to Roy’s ravenous, verdant eyes.

“I want to see you,” you whine slightly as you come down from your high.  

“Really?” he asks incredulously.

“Are you fucking with me, Roy?” you ask incredulously, lifting yourself from the mattress to languidly flip onto your back to be face-to-face.

His hair tickles against your face and you stop his attempt to wipe your come from his face. He looks down at your hand around his arm, then at your tits and blushes.

“I mean, yeah, we are technically fucking right now.”

“Get serious,” you chastise him before drawing him down to taste yourself on his mouth, with your eyes never leaving his own.

He drags his fingers through the slick you’ve produced before fucking your come back into you.

“When Jason said to take care of you, I don’t think this is exactly what he meant,” he chuckles airily as he stares down at your wrecked form, still twitching from your second release. You shift slightly and he backs off of you worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

He curses himself, thinking he’s ruined the mood by bringing up your dead boyfriend. However, your mind is still right there in the moment.

You glance down to where his cock strains against his jeans. You’ve come twice and Roy still has his fucking pants on. 

“And they say chivalry is dead.” 

It’s meant as a joke, but you’re completely spent on the way he’s taking care of you, so it comes out breathier than you’d meant. 

He chuckles lowly and gets off the bed to take them off before joining you back on the bed by capturing you in a wet kiss. You can practically taste him losing control and drink it in steadily, pushing him further to his limit.

It's pure bliss being trapped between his thick, defined arms. Part of you can’t believe that, if the world weren’t ending, you’d never have known.

You wiggle slightly against the mattress, thinking about how, ever since the bath, you’d been longing to see what lay beneath those tight boxers he always seemed to be wearing. Sure, he’d had his dick out briefly the night before, but it’d happened too fast and you’d been too riddled with sleep to inspect it much beyond ‘yup, that’s a dick.’

He’d already denied your offer for oral earlier and you wondered if he’d reject you again. You slip out from under his grip to languidly crawl to him before he can move from his position. As you advance on him, he slowly rises to sit on his haunches, giving you the perfect position to suck him off in. 

“Can I taste you?”

He gives you an odd look. For a brief second, you wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing until he huffs out a laugh, “Babe, you have no idea how many times I’ve jacked off to you saying that exact shit.”

“Is that a yes?” you ask, raising a wry brow up at him as your face hovers above his twitching, clothed length. Your breath is hot as it fans against the already damp fabric of his boxers and you see him nod repeatedly.

“Please,” he whimpers.

You smirk as you take your time, taking in all of him, looking up at his flushed, freckled form through your eyelashes as you slowly close in on his bulge. You can’t deny being a bit self-conscious about your skills, considering Jason had been your first and only, but you push through it, arching your back as you close the final distance.

You don’t know why you’d been so timid in the first place when the simple action has him moaning like it's the best head of his life. 

You return the moan as a gentle vibration against his hardness, leaving his hips to sputter against your lips in a way that leaves arousal dripping between your thighs. You drag your tongue up and dampen the fabric further before moving to suck on the tip until it’s fully darkened by a combination of your spit and Roy’s precome.  

You keep your eyes on his half-lidded ones as you sit up to take off one of Jason’s shirts. With this, Roy wastes no time in trapping his face between your lofty breasts to motorboat you.

You can’t help but giggle and you feel him grin into your chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

"What?" he asks innocently before doing it again. You nearly lose it at the shit-eating grin he peers up at you with. “Can you blame me?” 

You’re about to retort, but he quickly trickles the tip of his tongue lazily around your nipple, leaving you to wither and moan as you bring your hands around the back of his neck to draw him closer. He mouths over your tit and sucks lightly at your nipple before retreating to the other one and repeating his actions, releasing a hitched breath at the sinful contact. 

You kick off your panties and make to take his off, but he stops you. 

“Are you sure?” His voice is thick with arousal. “I won’t care either way, babe. Scouts honor,” he swears, holding up his left hand while the other falls over his heart. 

“You’re so fucking weird, bro,” you snort and tug down his boxers as far as they’ll go on his thighs. Roy removes them the rest of the way as you come face-to-face with his thick, red-tipped cock. It bobs under your careful inspection and you lightly bite at your bottom lip. “Of fucking course you would have a fire crotch,” you tease. You waste no time in lapping up the underside of his cock, following the heavy vein that curves along it until you're met with the fiery red of his pubic hair, “Mmm.” 

“I aim to please,” he says your name with a lazy wink as he brings your head forward to further bury your head against it. 

You kiss at his base, then retreat to actually take his length into your mouth at a tantalizingly slow pace that he attempts to thwart by bucking into your mouth. You moan and relax your throat to take him all in. You feel his knees shake against the mattress as he keeps your head all the way down on his cock, then twists your hair and wraps it around his fist just like Jason had always done.

You gasp around his length at the familiar motion and let your eyes roll back a bit at the provocative sensation. You hum as you glide back slowly and drag the tip of your tongue in a zig-zag motion along the underside, leaving Roy completely wrecked above you as he looks down at you with palpable lust.

He fucks your face for a few beats. All the while, you arch your back to give him a better view of your ass as he uses the grip on your hair to slowly slide out of your wet mouth before losing himself in you. Soon, he's snapping his hips to push his cock against the back of your throat.

Your nose meets his red happy trail with a bit of strain, but you can’t deny you like the burn of this heavy thickness gliding against your tongue.

You take it all, even when you feel yourself tearing up, allowing a pathetic, warbled moan to escape against his length. You take the brutal pumps into your tight mouth, producing a steady flow of spit that leaks from your mouth down to your chin.

“Just like that, babe. You’re so good to me, so fucking good,” his breath hitches on the last word as he brings your pliant lips to his musky base again. There, he holds your head there as he makes shallow thrusts into your heat. He pulls out with a wet pop and starts muttering to himself as he stares down at his flushed cock. The redhead looks up just in time to see you tilt your head quizzically at him and he laughs at the cuteness of the motion. “Jus’ don’t want to come yet, babe.” His dazed eyes meet yours only to falter down to where you’ve started to rub at your clit. “Oh, that’s not fair,” he says darkly.

“Actually, I think it’s only fair.” You smirk as you bring your fingers to spread yourself open for him to see. 

You take his cock into his hand and begin to pump languidly. Your spit and his precome more than compensate for lube and easily allow you to glide easily up his thick shaft to create the perfect friction. 

You use your available middle finger to tease your folds before rubbing tantalizingly slow at your clit for him to watch and revel at the breathy moans you draw out of him with every stroke. You bite your lip as your finger teases throbbing clit and nearly come, but Roy grabs your hand and pins you to the mattress before you can find your release.

He doesn’t give you much time to recover before he’s dipping his fingers into your wetness and spreading it across the blushing tip of his thick cock. From here, he begins to stroke himself.

You can’t help but mewl pathetically at the sight and spread your legs even wider for him to see you fully exposed just for him.

He positions himself against your opening and suddenly, you’re so fucking glad the world is ending. Birth control is one less thing to worry about when you have mere days to live.

You’re able to feel the true heat of his pulsing cock as it breaches your tight, drenched entrance. His mouth produces the most pathetic moan you’ve ever heard and you smirk up at him.

“So, I wasn’t wrong about you thinking about this then?” It's a vulnerable question, really, and you nearly smack yourself for asking in the heat of sex.

Roy's head falls against his chest. He attempts to adjust against the grip you have around cock as it slowly inches into you, looking up to maintain eye contact with you the entire time. You bite at your lower lip and can’t help as you inadvertently clench down around him at his unwavering attention.

“Of course. I’ve been thinking about this,” he shudders as he bottoms out inside you and drops his forehead to yours, “for as long as I’ve known you.”

His breath fans intimately against your face as you stare up into his half-lidded emerald eyes.

He looks absolutely fucked-out.

"Really?" you ask. You wriggle against him, begging him to move and realize you probably look just as pathetic.

“I’ve always wished you were mine,” he laughs weakly and his eyes crinkle in response. “You’re gorgeous, funny, smart-”

You giggle, cutting him off, “Roy, you’re already fucking me. You don’t have to lay it on so thick.”

He brings a hand to trace along your jawline and closes the distance between your lips in the same deliberate, intimate manner he was thrusting into you with. “And you’ve always had the fattest fucking ass, babe.”

You snort against him and feel as he smiles into another stolen kiss, “That’s more like it.”

He pushes completely into you again, this time with a bit more force. It leaves you mewling breathily as you attempt to force him back into you, but he’s already withdrawing with a steady, shallow barrage against your tight muscle

“Stop trying to make me fucking come, Roy,” you cry out as he fully sheaths himself inside of you and pounds into your g-spot.

You know you’ve completely scratched up his back at his insane fucking abilities, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest as each drag down his back has him growling against your lips in an unforgiving, shameless kiss. You tremble under his knowing touch and think you’re about to come for a third time when he retreats back to adjust the angle but seems unsatisfied with it.

“Never heard that one before,” he chuckles lightly before repositioning himself so more of his weight is on you, but his face is practically pressed against your own. The additional pressure of his body on your lower stomach gives you the edge you need and you know it’s only a matter of time before you’re coming all over his cock.

He uses the new position to draw you into a slow, purposeful kiss as his hips pick up their pace. You breathlessly moan against his lips and feel as he grimaces and his hips stutter as you grind down into his thrusts.

The moans on his phone the night before are nothing in comparison to the loud, wrecked noises he’s drawing out of you now. He groans one final time against your mouth before dragging it down to mouth against the side of your neck. He bites down and you arch up into his muscular chest 

“That’s right, let me hear you,” he grunts your name against your neck, leaving you to beg for release. “Come for me again.”

“I can’t.” It’s too much and you know you’re going to be sore as shit when this is all over, but you can’t bring yourself to come yet. “Look at me, Roy,” you demand.

He gasps in surprise and quickly draws his forehead back against yours.

“You want to see me come?” he asks, sounding incredulous. You bite your lip at his lewdness but nod, anyway, slightly bumping against his head in the process. “Shit, that’s so hot. Fuck-” 

His hips falter as he fucks his come deep inside you and watch as his eyes go slightly out of focus in the process. 

Him coming undone is finally enough to make you go over the edge with heavy-lidded eyes and a moan that your neighbors and anyone in the general vicinity definitely heard.

Roy lowers himself beside you and spoons you from behind and you laugh breathlessly as you feel his hard length pressing against you again.

“I’m so fucked,” your voice breaks slightly as he appreciates your wrecked form.

“Don’t make me state the obvious.” He smiles down at your panting form and begins his trail of hickeys up the expanse of your neck.

You and Roy alternate the rest of the day between fucking and sleeping as you make up for the time you’d already lost and the little time you have left.

A/N: roy has my heart I cant even lie to yall

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