#building my dreams

[archiepelago]

You’re on a path—

Hey wait that’s not a princess.

[senvurii]

oh bedrock bros. i wish you could come home

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #13

"So?" Red Hood asks, arms crossed. "Was I right?"

"Yes," Phantom says, deepening his voice, "this is one of mine."

"One of your what?" Robin growls. Nightwing's hand on his shoulder is the only thing keeping him from invading Phantom's personal space, which, please, continue to do so Mr. Nightwing, Sir.

Phantom would take a deep calming breath if a) he wasn't trying to appear as otherworldly as possible which means no human breathing and b) if that wouldn't so obviously telegraph how uncomfortable he is in the Batcave surrounded by the entire Batfamily.

Next to him Red Hood shifts in slight discomfort. His ties to the spectral realm mean he's picking up on Danny's unease even if he can't fully translate the feeling. Which is good. Danny needs to maintain what little control he has over this situation.

"There's a gh-spirit in my...realm," Phantom says, letting himself drift gently to the other side of Batman's medical table which just coincidentally puts more distance between him and the the rest of the clan staring him down. Black Bat leans forward and he violently suppresses a flinch. "They're known as Nocturne. They wield power over dreams. Their signature is all over this."

And Danny means that literally. Their ecto-signature couldn't be more apparent if they'd written it in sharpie across Batman's suit. This is what Jason—Red Hood, because Danny couldn't have been dealing with a simple civilian case of ecto-contamination, nooo, he's got to have connections to the superheroes Danny has spent the better part of his afterlife avoiding—managed to pick up on, even being the low level entity that he is.

At which point he'd called Phantom in, even though Danny had spent the better part of two weeks trying to intimidate the guy into never contacting him, Ruler of the Spirit Realm (lightning crash!), again, but here is his calling card just in case (thunder and creaking noises!!), but again, you should never use it unless things are very serious, OoOoOoOo~~~

Damn it. It's been like 10 days.

"So how do we fix it, Your, uh, Ghostliness?" Nightwing says, ducking his head in a sort of half-assed supplication when Phantom turns to him. Nightwing glances at Jason for affirmation who shrugs out of the corner of Danny's eye.

"Phantom is fine," Danny says, waving his hand and letting his upper lip curl in an expression of distaste. "Remember, it's like you're Vlad when Dad offers him a glass of eight dollar wine!" Jazz's voice reminds him. Robin growls lowly, likely meaning he's nailing it. He looks away dismissively ("Honestly, it's like you're Vlad, anytime, ever." Sam notes dryly) and thanks god he doesn't have a heart in this form because it would be beating so loud right now.

Beside him, Jason scratches compulsively at the back of his neck. Huh, his anxiety is manifesting physically as an itch. Good to know.

"You can't fix it," Phantom says. "I can."

"At what cost?" Red Robin asks. "Red Hood mentioned you'd want something in return?"

Frick. His other contingency to keep Jason from ever contacting him again. Phantom had lightly hinted his taste du jour was, uh, souls.

Something Red Hood has apparently let slip, because now Robin shakes off Nightwing's hand, puffs out his chest and declares "I will trade myself for my father's safe awakening, Spirit!"

The other members burst into denials which almost covers up Danny floating sharply back and saying "What? No!!!"

Key word: almost.

Danny coughs as they stare at him.

"That is to say, I have no desire for a child," he puts a bit of snarl into it, showing fang. The mood in the room plummets drastically as Nightwing gently grabs Robin by the arm and pulls him back to his side.

"We see," he says. He steps forward more assertively, placing himself in front of the others, all of which are now eying him warily. "Then, is there a gender you prefer?"

It takes a second to click in Danny's head and then he swings his head wildly away from his audience to hide his reaction, nausea and embarrassment turning his face bright green. "Fika Kristo," he mutters in Esperanto as quietly as he possibly can, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He gives himself a moment to settle and game plan before turning back around. "I have no desire for any of you, and it matters not. In this instance, a deal need not be struck. Nocturne is my subject, and they have done this without my permission." Danny blinks, eyes widening. "Not—not! that I would give them permission to do such a thing. In the first place. Ahem."

"Okay...so you'll do this for free?" Jason asks. "Seems like a bad business practice since you also fixed me up for nothing—"

"What he means to say, Your Majesty, Phantom, is thank you!" Signal says in a rush as Nightwing starts, "Wait, Hood, what do you mean—"

"Enough!" Phantom says loudly (nearby bats take off and Jason's itch migrates to his forearms) "I have little time," read: he has a test tomorrow and he's only one-third of the way through the study guide "And I grow tired of this...dilly-dally." Frick! Is that an old-timey word?

"Of course. Thank you again, Phantom." Nightwing says stiffly, eyes still narrowed in Hood's direction.

"Wait, sorry, Phantom, Majesty, I'm Spoiler by the way," the purple-caped vigilante Danny already knew was Spoiler says. "How do we keep this from happening again? To any of us? Is there a way to defeat this Nocturne?"

"Moreover, why Batman?" Red Robin asks. "Why would a spirit from another dimension want him asleep?"

Phantom sighs. "Nocturne was trying to send a message. To me. Through you," he says, nodding at Red Hood. "They...how do I put this. They like attention. Being the spirit of uh, dreaming, they don't receive that attention. And you were in my realms for quite some time. And they wanted...attention."

The lackluster explanation sits for a moment before "They were jealous? Of me?" Red Hood asks skeptically.

"It's more complicated than that. Your...physiology," Danny puts it as delicately as possible, watching regretfully when Red Hood still stiffens at the mention, "Is particular. You gather attention in our realm. And having my attention is...special. But not!" He says to the group at large, a touch panicked, "Romantic!"

Jesus, he's never gonna hear the end of this from the others.

"Anyway, I will ensure it does not happen again."

"By paying them attention," Spoiler says under her breath, wiggling her eyebrows at Black Bat, Red Robin shooting them both a glare. Nightwing ignores them in favor of staring at Red Hood and Phantom. Danny is unsure what Red Hood has disclosed about how he knows Danny, but now he feels confident the answer is close to nothing.

Before Nightwing can ask whatever uncomfortable thing he's about to ask, Phantom disappears. Invisibly, he hovers over Batman's sleeping body and silently apologizes for the intrusion before intangibly slipping into Batman's REM realm and finding the man...oh...

Probably thirty minutes later he reappears to the group, who all perk up at the sight of him. Their eyes bounce from him to Batman; who does not move, to the monitor; which shows no change in his brain activity.

"I'm going to need your help," Danny says to Jason, getting to the point.

"Why? What can I do?"

"It's easier if you come with me," Danny says, grabbing his arm.

"Come with—"

Danny wastes no time in turning them both invisible and flying them into Batman's mind.

"What the—" Red Hood twists and turns, taking in the hallways of the manor. From afar, they can hear the tinkling of a piano. "You, I had your word—"

"This isn't where you think it is," Danny says hurriedly. "We're in your—Batman's dream." He walks quickly down the hallway, towards the music. Jason follows.

"What?"

"The way to break a dream spell is to wake the dreamer. You can't do that externally so you do it internally. Usually you wake the dreamer by turning the dream into the nightmare, scaring them awake."

The hallway stretches on longer than realistic, the dream attempting to divert them. But it can't outrun Danny. His power seeps into the halls, ice creeping along the paneling and freezing the way behind them.

"Batman, however, is hard to scare."

"So you want me to do it."

"What? No." Phantom shoots him a confused look. "Why would I—Ahem, The other way is to convince the dreamer they are dreaming. They break the dream themselves."

"Alright..." Jason says slowly, now keeping pace with him. His breath forms a cloud as he speaks. "And you think I'm the person to do it? I'm not the one he listens to you know, that's more Nightwing's schtick, or hell, anyone other than me."

"This isn't just Batman's dream, Jason," he says. Hood's eyes narrow at his real name, but now the truth is necessary. "This is The Dream. The perfect life. Everything he could ever want."

They're approaching an opening on the right side of the corridor. A bright light emanates from it, alongside the noise of stumbling piano keys and laughter, deep and male and unrecognizable. The Dream.

"Thomas Wayne," Jason breathes. "You want me to convince Bruce it's worth walking away from the center of his universe? It'd be easier if I put a bullet in their chests."

Danny stops abruptly before the doorway, turning to face Jason.

"You know, I fixed you," he says, head cocked. "Those feelings you felt, you shouldn't be feeling them anymore."

"I...I don't."

"Then why do you act like it?" He lets himself drift up, reaching beyond their planes of existence and extending a metaphysical hand to Jason's spirit. It shivers away. "You don't have to hide behind what was."

"I'm not hiding! And I don't have to explain myself to you!" He tries to move forward but Danny puts a hand out and he cannot move past it. He growls in frustration.

"I'm grateful to you, but with or without the Pits I'm fucked up. This is just who I am. This is just what he made me."

"You've never asked why I look like this. But did you know my form is malleable?" Phantom says, letting his legs shift into a tail, letting two eyes become three. "What I believe is what I am."

And then he takes several steps back, putting the doorway between them. "From here on out, the Pits can't tell you how to think or feel. Your decisions are wholly your own. Starting with this one."

Jason stares at the doorway, then Danny.

"I won't make you," Danny says simply. "And if you desire, I will retrieve Nightwing instead."

Jason scratches at his arms, grits his teeth, and stomps through. The light resolves into the sitting room, massive windows letting in sunlight so bright it streaks yellow-white across the room. Bruce sits on the maroon versailles couch next to Cassandra, who sits cross legged, excitedly watching Alfred pour her a cup of tea. To their right, in the open space, Damian barks instructions at Tim on handling a katana. Stephanie and Duke sit on the ground besides the coffee table, homework sheets sprawled across the surface, suffering their way through a calculus problem.

Bruce, smiling softly, looks across the room to where the atrocious playing is coming from. Red Hood follows his gaze.

Sitting at the piano, trying to play while Dick distracts him with a pair of chopsticks, is Jason. He puts a hand on Dick's face and shoves, both of them hitting the wrong keys.

"Get—away—dumbass!"

"No, see, it's a duet! Jay!"

"That's not why it's named—" and Jason Todd-Wayne tips his white-tipped head back and laughs.

[happyheidi]

𝖡𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗒. 𝖯𝗋𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖥𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖺𝟨𝟨

[little-pup-pip]

Build-A-Bear Chococat!!

[retrotrait]

Apartment in San Mychuno (NYC)

[b0tster]

good morning tu-STEAAAAAAAAAMNMMMMMMMMMMMMMM,,,,

[rockdrop]

A mental health animatic I did for school before ft. Kanamafu yaoi

[islayhawkin]

Night out

john price x autistic!f!reader

summary: john takes you out for a drink with his team

A/N: this shows the parts of autism from my own experience. Doesn't mean everybody has the same experience. Husband John is so cute.

Found out that I'm way better at writing angst than fluff haha oops

Fluff

It was a friday evening when john took you out to meet up with his comrades. You were introduced to them before but you never really spoke to them. Mostly because john took measures to keep his private life -you- separated from his work. But he came home today and was going to meet up with them just as friends outside of work so he asked you to come along since he didn't want to leave you alone immediately after he just returned.

So it happened that you were sat next to your husband in the car while he drove you both to the bar they agreed to. When you watched him drive you couldn't help but admire the way he effortlessly switched gears and scanned the street through the front as if he was checking a battlefield. He smiled and rested his hand on your thigh once he met your gaze. "You tell me if they make you uncomfortable alright? They can be quite...well you know how soldiers are." he told you in that gruff voice of his, but he somehow made it sound incredibly soft.

"I will. Thanks." You smiled at him and squeezed his hand gratefully.

"Of course."

"There's a toilet, right?" you asked as your mind was already in the bar.

"Yeah 'course. I'll show you." he reassured.

"Okay good."

He glanced at you a few times during the ride. Clearly observing the slight tension in your body and how you tapped your fingers anxiously on your knee, but he didn't comment on it.

After a few minutes of silent driving, he parked the car on the side of a street, shut the motor off and went out to open the door for you before you were able to pull a jacket on. The sound of your shoes could be heard on the gravel in the otherwise quiet street as well as the slam of the door behind you.

John offered his arm and you settled your hand in the crook of his elbow. His form shielded you from the street as he always insisted to walk on the side closest to the ongoing cars. Usually, you would have felt unsettled to walk in such a quiet part of the city in the dark but with john by your side you felt the safest you could ever be.

A torrent of noise engulfed you the moment you stepped foot into the bar. People talking, music playing in the background, glasses clanging. John guided you through the group of people to a table in the back. Loud laughter on the right. A door swinging shut on the left. The arm of a man pushing you slightly into John's side.

He pulled you close to him and cleared the path as well as he could. Apparently, John's friends were already there. He greeted them as the three men stood up and clapped each other on the back rather roughly it seemed to you. You had to do without his arm as support now so you busied yourself with your hands while swaying from one side to the other. Their mouths moved but you weren't able to make out their words through all the noise.

When John stepped back one of them stretched their hand out for you and you took it as your cue to shake his hand and smile at them politely while another man -the other Johnny you recalled- shook your hand. The hand was big but slimmer than John's and slightly sweaty. You wiped your palm against your clothes to rid the feeling, but the urge to wash them lingered.

Kyle and ghost made their way over to the bar to grab you all drinks while you sat down around the table. John arranged the seating so you would only sit next to him and not squeeze in between the men. He leaned his head down and grabbed your hand softly in his.

"You good?" he muttered in your ear. His eyes scanning your face. "It will get quieter soon."

You nodded and grasped his hand back.

One of his fingers pointed in the direction to the left. "There are the toilets"

You followed his eyesight until you spotted a door in the corner. You nodded and moved your thumb up and down over the back of his hand in a soothing manner.

Soap leaned over the table with a smug look on his face. "...never seen the captain like this..." You looked between John and Soap. John was already sighting exasperated next to you.

"What do you mean?"

Soap laughed. He looked carefree as the laugh took over his whole face. You rarely saw such a laugh on John.

"He's all lovey-dovey with ye. We know him to be a lot differently." Soap grinned.

You glance at john next to you, who rubbed his eyebrows, already embarrassed. But there a was a slight pull in his lips that told you he enjoyed people seeing you with him. It made a feeling of warmth spread through your body at his reaction. He looked almost... proud? Maybe you were just interpreting too much into it.

"Wha- how do you mean?" You leaned back over to soap. Careful to put enough distance between you but still being able to hear him.

"Well ya kno', he's a pretty harsh captain. Always scoldin us, shoutin around the field. Doin things that... are verra different from how he treats ya. All soft and gentle."

"Oh. I guess it would be weird if he was that way on the field too. I don't know him any differently..." you shrug.

"Oh lass we're gonna have a lot of fun." he winked. John already feared what he was talking about.

"Alright I think that's enough gossipin about me now."

Soap just laughed but to john's luck gaz and ghost came back with the drinks in hand and sat down next to soap.

The drinks were handed around the table leaving you empty handed. "Cap said you don't want anything, you sure?" Gaz asked as he noticed it.

You nodded with a smile. "Yeah thanks. I drink from john's." You pointed to the drink in front of john.

Gaz gave a nod. "Well let me know if you change your mind ma'am."

You smiled genuinely this time. Being called ma'am wasn't a usual occurance in your life, but every soldier you met did it. It was respectful. You appreciated that. Especially when john had adressed you with it at the beginning of your relationship.

The men started a easy conversation sometimes asking you questions to involve you. It was difficult to hold a conversation when you could only understand half of what they were saying, but over time the bar began to quieten down which made you feel more at ease.

You took john's glass to drink even though you didn't know what it was. Something non-alcoholic since he was driving but still bitter. Just the way john liked it.

John apperantly saw the grimace you made at the taste. "I can get you a other one if you don't like this one, love"

"It's fine."

John scanned your face. He knew you too well and it wasn't the first time you went out together. There were two possible reasons why you didn't want to drink. Either you thought it too expencive or you were too anxious to get anything down.

"I want you to drink something nice. You don't worry about the price alright? You're my mrs. Price I can afford you a drink." He smiled and lowered his head to get to your eye-level. He always did this. You didn't know if he was aware of it. But somehow he was able to make himself look smaller and less intimidating with his body language.

Your eyes shied away to settle on his lips instead. "Okay." You grinned sheepishly. "You know me too well."

Johns face lighted up triumphically. "I'll get it. Be right back." He pecked your temple before walking over to the bar.

The moment he left the table gaz and johnny started talking to you too.

"You know he's thinkin about you all the time when we're out. Always carrin' that picture with him and worryin'."

"-all he does is worry. Can be bloody annoying, no offence." Ghost piped in.

"...also the first few nights" johnny wistled. "He must miss you much-"

"Johnny don't talk like that to the lady."

Soap looked offended. "She knows that for sure! Not something that's unknown to her probably."

You laugh and raise your brows ammused. "I made my assumptions. Even though john rather always seems to complain about you three"

They laugh and slap eachothers arms before engaging in a animated talk about the topic.

The later it get's the more energy was drained. You had an almost blank look on your face and weren't able to make polite smiles anymore neither engaging in the conversation. John noticed of course. He observed the way you became quieter over the evening and seemed to sink into yourself. Even when he saw you this way so many times before it seemed his heart couldn't take you being unhappy in any way. It made him want scoop you up and bring you home. He hated not being able to shield you from everything. Even the others were shooting their captain confused looks.

"You okay?" John muttered, only for your ears to hear.

You nodded. "Can we go home soon?"

"Of course. You tired?" He brushed a calloused thumb over your cheek.

You nodded in response. "If you wanna stay I can wait a bit. I don't want to cut your evening short."

He smiled reassuringly. "I need to get you home."

Relief flooded through you even though you felt guilty for pulling john back again.

"Alright lads. We'll be going. The missus needs to put this old man to bed." He joked.

Even though it was a joke it meant a lot to you. He took the blame for your departure. It made you blink up at him in disbelief.

The men made some comments and complained about you leaving so soon but goodbyes were given and a moment later john led you out of the bar. His hand resting gently against your back.

Your walk to the car was silent but you could feel his glances on you. It wasn't in a uncomfortable way, it made you feel looked out for.

"Why did you do that? Lie about us leaving."

John looked slightly taken aback by the question as if he didn't think about it before.

"Well I assumed it wouldn't feel nice to you for me to announce that you were the reason we were going home. And It's easier for me to take a few hits from the boys than for you. Honestly didn't think much about it."

He opened the door for you before walking around to the other side himself. Your gaze followed him as he shifted in his seat to get comfortable and clip his seatbelt shut. He met your gaze when he looked up.

There was a small smile hidden beneath his beard. "What?" His voices sounded gruff as if he had smoked too much. Maybe he had.

"You're amazing, you know that?"

His expression softened considerably. "Because I'm putting a seatbelt on?" He teased gently.

You gave him a 'seriously?' look. "I'm serious john. You're the best husband I could ever wish for."

He lowered his head bashfully. His heart skipping a beat. He'll never get used to being called your husband. "I try my best darling. I'm glad you think so."

You leaned over to him and kissed his cheek. The hairs of his beard tickling you. It was a familiar feeling. There was no smile on your face, there didn't need to be, you didn't have to pretend anything with him.

"Thank you."

John grabbed your hand in his bigger one giving it a squeeze. "For what?"

"Being you." Your eyes met his and you were able to hold eye contact for the moment.

John chuckled. "That's not a-"

"For always looking out for me. For accepting me the way I am and always trying to meet my needs even if you want something else. For never getting angry at me and being SO considerate. Like, like you did back there taking the hit for me without even thinking about it. You do stuff like that all the time."

It sounded so genuine coming from you even though your tone sounded flat. Almost like you were stating facts. "And I feel like I'm holding you back a lot. You need to give up so much for me and I need you for so many things it probably can be annoying for you..."

John's brows furrowed instantly. "Darling...it's not- you're not annoying to me. Never. And I'll gladly give up whatever if it means that I get your love." His voice was so gentle, that his friends would probably fall from their chair. A slight shake in his head to contradict your thoughts. He adjusted his position to cup your cheek in his palm.

His mind was spiraling to express his thoughts and make you aware of your importance to him. Did he ever make you feel like you weren't? Where did you get the idea? Had he acted annoyed when he helped you sometime? Maybe that time were he had gotten home from work...

"I never meant to make you feel this way. You need to put up with all my bullshit too and I'm so grateful for you. I-" his voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat.

You were overwhelmed by how you should react. It wasn't the first time you saw him vulnerable, you were used to his nightmares or worries, but it didn't happen frequently either and there wasn't excactly a handbook for 'what to do when your husband feels-' well you weren't entirely sure what emotion he felt at the moment either.

He took a breath. "You just mean a lot to me, love. I want you to be happy."

"But you need to be happy too." you stated quietly.

He smiled. "I am happy. More than happy with you. You're about the best thing that happened to me." A chuckle escaped his lips. "And honestly I quite like that you're a bit dependend on me. Makes me feel needed."

John pulled his head down to lean his head against yours. "You don't need to say anything. I just don't want you to think that you're a burden to me."

"But it is hard on you sometimes is it not?" you whispered. The blue in his eyes was so close that it blurred.

"Yes it is. But I know it's hard for you too being with me sometimes." He adjusted his eyes downwards.

"Yes. We make it work tough."

"That we do love. We make it work." he whispered before closing the small gap and touching your lips with his.

[visceravalentines]

small town, sunday night

Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

a discarded scene from a longer fic. Bo's pretty sure by now you know who you belong to, but he oughta make sure, just in case. on ao3 here if you wanna.

2.4k words. porn with plot if you squint. extremely dubious consent. Stockholm syndrome. forced exhibitionism, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, emotional manipulation. tried out something new where the narration is written more in Bo's voice and i'm interested to see if that works for you or nah so lmk.

The whole family’s gathered in the den on a Sunday night. It ain’t tradition, not really, it’s just that if everyone’s gonna get together it’s gonna be on Sunday. 

Nobody felt like cookin’ and he don’t trust you ‘round the knives yet, so Les picked up some fried chicken from the Kroger and Bo said grace and you behaved yourself like a nice young lady, and now everybody’s sittin’ in front of the television drinkin’ beer and watchin’ football like some kinda all-American family. 

He’s got you sat on his lap in a sundress that belonged to some other bitch before you. It don’t fit you right, barely covers your ass, but that’s fine by him. His brothers keep eyeing you like you’re the skin mag by the cash register. He'll let ‘em look; in fact, he wants them to look. Plus it freaks you out, makes you press yourself against his chest in search of protection and boy, if that don’t make him wanna laugh out loud. He’s all too happy to oblige, wrappin’ you in his arms and whisperin’ sweet sugary bullshit in your ear. You’re servin’ yourself up to him on a silver platter and you don’t even realize it. 

He snags the six-pack off the side table and hands it to you, watches you wrestle a beer from the plastic ring and pop the tab for him without being asked. 

“Good girl,” he says, and kisses your cheek when he takes the can from you. You're bein’ such an angel today that it’s got him nostalgic for that bitch with the bad attitude. He wonders if she's gone for good or if he could dig around in that pretty head of yours and find her. “You want one?” 

You hesitate. He watches you do the math. You know by now you can’t get somethin’ for nothin’, but apparently you think you got plenty to give because you nod quietly. 

“G’on.”  He dangles the six-pack in front of you and lets you pick one for yourself. He watches the way you set your lips on the rim of the can, watches your throat bob as you swallow. Your gaze shifts uncertainly to him and he winks at you. You almost—almost—give him a shaky little smile. 

You adjust yourself in his lap, tug on your dress, try to get comfortable. He rests his chin on your shoulder and waits for you to settle. He likes the smell of his soap on your skin, even if it makes him miss the animal stench of you from before. Bringin’ you home was a good call. You clean up sweet and so far you’ve been learnin’ your lessons real well. Shit, he’s almost proud of you. 

Once you’ve mellowed out, sippin’ on your beer and pretendin’ this is where you wanna be, he slides his hand up your thigh, fingertips twitching at the hem of your skirt. He watches you frown and glance down at his hand and then back up at the TV like you think you can ignore him. He pushes your skirt up an inch or so and bites back a smirk when you shift and squeeze your knees together, shooting an anxious glance in the direction of his brothers. 

“Somethin’ wrong, baby?” he whispers. You answer with your eyes, give him this pleading look that makes him want to tear that dress off you right here, right now. “You’re alright. Watch the game.” 

Reluctantly, you turn back to the TV with this blank expression on your face that tells him he has your full attention. He moves his hand between your legs and gives your waist a hard squeeze when you stiffen. When you glance at him again he treats you to an ice-cold smile. 

This is a test, girl. Better hope you got a shot at passin'.

You’re bare beneath the dress ‘cause what would you need panties for, and he worms his hand between your thighs until his fingers find that soft, warm center of you. You jerk like a mare tryin’ to shake off a fly, but you don’t make a sound. He probes until his middle finger slips like silk into your slit almost up to the second knuckle and Jesus, girl, you’re so wet it makes his mouth water. This is why he never listens to you, because you don’t even know that you’re lying when you do it. 

He eases his finger out of you and back in deeper, watches your lips part but no sound come out. He does it again and your lashes flutter like a doll’s. You’re sittin’ still as a statue for now but he’s gonna break you. Promise. 

“You been so good, baby girl,” he murmurs into the shell of your ear. His thumb prods at your clit and you strangle the life out of a gasp as it tries to sneak into the room. “Wanna make sure you know how much I appreciate you behavin’ yourself.” He rubs that sweet spot in lazy circles and savors the way your back arches slow, so slow, tryin’ so hard to keep it a secret that he’s finger-fucking you ten feet from his family. 

You think they don’t know, huh?  You think they don’t see you’re nothin’ but a slut?  Maybe you oughta think a little less.

You get that look on your face like you’re determined to take back control of yourself but you belong to him, girl, that body is his. When he pushes another finger into your pussy your toes curl on the arm of the chair and this little moan makes it out alive and both his brothers were raised huntin’ so they know what a creature in distress sounds like and all the sudden, you’re the Sunday evening special. 

“Well looky here,” Les says, and wolf whistles. 

Your eyes go wide and you cover your face with your hands and Bo can’t help it, he breaks into a grin. He thought he’d wrung all the shame right outta you by now, but apparently he thought wrong. 

You peer over your fingers at him with tear-filled eyes and this time, you might just be cryin’ for real. You look so betrayed it makes him sick, makes him wish he could take it back just so he can do it to you again. 

“’S alright, baby, they’re just lookin’,” he coos.

“We are most certainly lookin’,” Les agrees, and ordinarily Bo would smack him, but the way your lip quivers makes his dick twitch. 

“Pretend they ain’t even here,” he says low in your ear. “Unless you like that sorta thing. You like bein’ watched, honey?  You some kinda slut?”

He already knows the answer even if you don’t. He can tell by the way that sweet little cunt keeps spasin’ around his fingers like somethin’ dying. And you don’t deny it, just keep beggin’ him to stop with those big doe eyes. He don't gotta work hard to pull your focus back to that ache between your hips. All it takes is a little spit on his thumb, a little less friction on that poor swollen clit, and you’re melting in his hands. 

“I’m just showin’ ‘em, baby,” he whispers. “Just makin’ sure they know you’re mine.” 

He collects your wrists with his free hand and pulls them down to expose your face. You make a sound, some kinda protest, but you don’t fight him off like you used to. That girl’s been buried six feet deep inside you and you’re all that’s markin’ her grave. 

“Hey Vince. Do me a favor?”  Bo tosses his head towards the camera sitting on the coffee table where he left it, a brand-new roll of film ready and waitin’ inside. His twin snatches it up without question and puts his goddamn gift to good use. 

You’re fightin’ it hard, makin’ him work for it, but he knows your body better than you do by now. When you cum, you try to hide it, bitin’ your lip and screwin’ up your face. But you can’t keep that pussy from grippin’ him tight, throbbin’ like your life depends on it. You squeeze his hand. A whine sneaks out of your throat and he catches it in his mouth, swallows it whole, savors it to the last.

You slump against his chest, let your head roll into the hollow of his shoulder because it's got nowhere else to go. You're soakin’ his shirt, soakin’ his hand. You're made of water, girl. Maybe that's why you make him so goddamn thirsty. 

“Well she’s a delight,” Les says, slaps his thighs, stands up. “I'm gonna head home ‘n jerk off unless you gents need anything.”

He has the gall to reach for one of the Polaroids Vince is layin’ out on the coffee table like playing cards and Bo hisses through his teeth. 

“Leave it. I ain't handin’ out souvenirs.”

Les rolls his eyes and slinks off like a stray mutt. Vincent looks for a second like he might make a case for himself, but thinks better of it and rightly so. He hands Bo the stack of photos and creeps back downstairs where he belongs and now it's just you and him and the TV static. 

You're stiff as a board in his arms but you're clingin’ to his shirt with all you got so which is it, woman? He kisses your temple and starts shufflin’ through the pictures. Mama's favorite son ain't immune to the charms of the pornographic and most of them center on the view up your skirt, the curve of your ass, your juice shinin’ on his knuckles. 

But there's one, just one, of your face lookin’ up at him. With these big, round eyes fixed on him and your hands cupped together in front of your chest. You look like you're prayin’, girl. Like you're worshiping him. 

He licks his lips, looks down at you. You’re starin’ straight ahead into space, head on his chest, tits swellin’ against the bodice of that dress as you breathe deep in and out. He can tell you're searchin’ for the way back to that place you used to go, safe and warm without him. 

You can't find it. It ain't there anymore. All you got is what you got.

“Can we go to bed?” 

He’s surprised you’re speakin’ to him. Your voice is low and rough from the tears. You don't look at him until he tucks his finger beneath your chin and tilts your face up. There's somethin’ bright and broken in your eyes like glass. 

“Please.”

He hates givin’ you what you want, doesn't want you gettin’ the wrong idea about who's in control here. He can't be spoilin’ you any more than he already has. But he prizes that look of relief and gratitude you give him when he's generous. That little furrow between your brows that melts away when he's good to you. 

“Sure, baby.”

There it is. You slump against him beneath the force of your relief and fuck you for the way his hands move to hold you without him thinkin’ about it. 

He don't carry you to bed. You're not a goddamn princess no matter what you might think of yourself. But you drop that dress that ain't yours to the floor and crawl naked into his sheets and when he climbs into bed beside you, you inch your way over ‘til you're pressed up against his ribs. 

He can barely hear you breathin’. You're hardly even there. The old you would be rippin’ into his stomach, thrashin’ fit to snap your own spine. This new bitch, though, she’s manageable. Sweet, even. 

Probably you don't mean for him to hear it but something like a sob sneaks out of you and it gives him butterflies. He rolls onto his side and slings his arm around you. 

“Don't cry, now. You're alright.”

You shrink into him, make yourself small and bite-sized. You need him so bad and he knows it, figures you’re startin’ to figure it out too. What would you do without me, huh?

“Was I too mean, baby?” You choke on those tears and he bites his lip. “I'm sorry…you forgive me?”

You whimper, can't commit. It ain't your fault you're stuck tryin’ to make sense of it all, ‘specially with him feelin’ you up like he is. He can't keep a straight face, grinnin’ into the back of your neck. “I just got carried away, showin’ off my girl.” He pushes his hips against your ass. “You are my girl, right?”

A breath shudders through your body. You arch your back, don't even know you're doin’ it. He wraps his hand around your throat like a collar, nice and snug, squeezes just a little to get you back on course. “I asked you a question. You got an answer for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I'm your girl.”

Your voice breaks and whew, he's got blood rushin’ every which way. “Tell me you forgive me.”  

You don’t respond. He tightens his grip just beneath your jaw, brings his lips to your ear. 

“Fuckin’ answer me, huh?  You forgive me?  I gotta hear it, baby doll, or I’ll be up all night.”  

His fingers dig into your flesh. He can feel you shaking like a leaf in the wind with fear or fury or something else he can put to use. He’s grindin’ against that ass, just about ready to flip you facedown and fuck the sense back into you, when you finally give him what he wants. 

He always gets what he wants, baby. Haven’t you figured that out by now?  

“I forgive you,” you rasp, and he loosens his grip and feels your tits press against his arm as you suck in air. 

“Ain’t you sweet,” he says, and he presses a kiss to the side of your head, and when he rolls back an inch or two you scoot right along with him until your back is flush to his chest again, and that’s fuckin’ hilarious, huh?  Just can’t get enough. 

He lays in the dark and feels your breath on his knuckles, feels it hitch, feels it slow, feels it mellow out and go feather-soft, and before he knows it, he’s out like a light. 

You wear him the fuck out, girl. 

[doctorsiren]

Meet the people of Woodward Ranch! To most West Virginians, the place is just a normal animal sanctuary, but to those in the know, it’s a cryptid conservation ranch :)

Wyatt Woodward is the grandson of the man who used to own the ranch (I haven’t figured out that guy yet so…). His grandfather passed and left the ranch to Wyatt in his will, despite Wyatt only having met the man once or twice when he was little. Now he’s tasked with running the place, as well as grappling with the reality that monsters, cryptids, and the supernatural are very very much real

Lucy Lovejoy is a farmhand / wrangler on the ranch. She grew up living there and is miffed that Wyatt was given ownership. She believes she’s entitled to it because she actually knows the place and Wyatt didn’t even believe in the supernatural until he came to the ranch

Dr. Herschel Finch is the ranch’s science boy (that’s probably not the official title) and he does his magic + science stuff to keep the ranch safe as well as be the resident cryptid expert. He’s very chaotic neutral and would probably kill someone…yknow…for science! Nobody really quite knows his history, despite him telling lots of strange backstories about his past.

Denny is a feral little orphan werewolf girl that lives on the ranch and has deemed it her home. She causes trouble for Wyatt because he’s easy to mess with, but she’s also the one (other than the Mothman) who sees him as family the fastest

The Mothman is one of the cryptids who regularly stays at the ranch. He was Wyatt’s grandfather’s favourite, and so Wyatt quickly becomes the new favourite of the Mothman. Just look at him 🥺 he’s so,,,🫶

Bonus:

Cryptoria is Finch’s ex-wife. Nobody on the ranch has actually met her, but Finch’s reasoning for why they got divorced was that “she was evil”. They question why he didn’t take that into account when marrying a literal demon, and also why that was the dealbreaker, seeing as he’s not one to be opposed to some evil from time to time, but he doesn’t elaborate. He does explain, however, that she tried to kill him. Despite that, he also actively laments the relationship, clearly missing his hot demon wife. Cryptoria divorced HIM because she found him annoying. They’re soooo toxic for each other. They’re the kind of exes that simultaneously hate each other but would totally make out again if they had the chance.

[equill]

The Warden

Panel: No escape.

Ok, now just some silly ideas to share (playing around with the au)

Comic 1: Invading dreams

Extra: no thanks.

Comic 2: Unwanted attention

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 3 - Toy Box

[strwbrryfire]

(1, 2, 3 LET'S GO BITCH!) stay here, honey, i don't want to share

delicate — taylor swift

( hey queen here yet againnn y'all know the drill , chat : @drivestraight , eat them alive . this is propaganda !! go read it!! )

[bobnewbie]

a studio for him