#but damn this was so much worse than i was expecting

[dubina-dawkins]

MISSING HIM

Dean Winchester x Reader

~400 words

>Sam went to college. And Dean is not happy with it.

A/N: short ig but im getting used to writing again so yeah. divider made by @bernardsbendystraws

WARNINGS: hurt/comfort,pretty fluffy,g/n reader,not really much of dialogues and more of descriptions

Whether you were in Nebraska, Wyoming, Minnesota on the case - when the deed was done, the monster killed and the victims rescued, you went straight to South Dakota, to one particular address, every damn time. Bobby's house was cozy in its own way, considering it was the closest thing to a father you'd ever had in your life.

But what you didn't expect was the eldest son of one of the other hunters throwing his arms around you. Dean looked grief-stricken, grieving and unhappy, yet he didn't say a word, only squeezed your shoulders harder when you asked him for an explanation. Obviously, he wasn't even "in resource" to say a few words. All that came out of him, in a low, shaky whisper, was "Sam" and something like "ran away".

And after a dozen minutes- or maybe two dozen- he was already lying in your arms, snuggled deep into the curve of your neck, as if this place had been designed just for that, for his nose to inhale the scent of car fragrance mixed with sweat, and Dean could have sworn it was intoxicating in a way.

And if another man had discovered that his brother had irrevocably run away from home for some college, he would have cried, but Dean wasn't that other man. So no sobs, no wet lashes, but his breathing was like he was being strangled, grasping for life and the last vestiges of his control with his fists clenched tightly on your back. Men don't cry, dad used to say. And Dean believed his father more than he believed himself. He believed anyone more than he believed himself, unless that someone was a supernatural creature. And obviously, he trusted you as much as he trusted John.

Seeing Dean so exhausted, so weak, so unhappy, made me question the last vestiges of this universe's adequacy. As much as you didn't understand Sam-he was still your friend, after all-Dean looked so bad, he probably wished he could forget that weakness that very evening.

And yet your fingers ran through the short curls, scratching his scalp.

"Mmhn, baby...what did I ever do to deserve you?" His voice was a faint whimper, almost unintelligible, muffled by the skin of your neck, where the sound sent pleasant vibrations through it.

You just chuckle. You were both worth it, no one was better or worse. That's what you wanted to say, but again, you didn't say anything.

His hands traced the outline of your arms, squeezing them in his palms, not hard, not even caressing. Dean mumbled something unintelligible, already completely numbed by your touch. But even now, the image of his brother was floating around in his head, worrying the hell out of him

But he had you. Seemed like that was enough.

[doublejango]

I am already seeing virtue signaling posts from people saying "I don't care what you believe or how you voted..."

That's great. I care. I care a lot. The outcome of this election effects me, but so much more than me. I care. It matters. And if it really doesn't matter to you? Good for you. If you are privileged enough, safe enough, and entitled enough to truly not care about how the election will impact other people... I can't even imagine what that must be like. Nice, I guess?

I spent most of last night and this morning crying.

I'm done with tears now, and have moved on to rage.

And you know what? I promise not to let it burn out. Because smiles and positivity may work for many of us, and I'm not going to lose mine either, I promise not to lose my queer joy--they can rip it from my cold dead hands, not to get too damn dramatic here--but I'm also not in the mood to start forgiving and smiling and welcoming Nazis into the bar.

So. I will hold onto anger. I've been tolerant and accepting long enough in life... and have learned something important about what causes the worst harm.

I have been gay bashed before. Violently. Blood. Broken bones. Lost teeth. And you know what the worst part of the recovery of all of that was, the part that did the most psychological and emotional damage? It wasn't the actual bashing itself. It wasn't even the memory of exactly what it felt like to have something swung full force into my face with extremely violent intent. It was the denial from my "friends" and family afterwards. The people who wanted to deny that it was a hate crime. The people who wanted me to shrug it off and not be upset about it. The people who loved to say oh well it wasn't that bad. You know what helped? Letting myself feel fury. Letting myself name the attack as hate. "It wasn't that bad," though, they said, asif it was their judgment to make--endless hours of dental procedures, pain, wounds that never fully healed, the trauma, the lost work, the new experience of vomiting blood with broken jaws and knocked out teeth. Because it wasn't that bad. And there was so much self-reproach, because I could have avoided it. I wasn't the intended target. He was swinging for a lesbian with me. When the attacker burst out of hiding he was swinging for the side of her head, her temple. I jumped in between them. Didn't think. It was an impulse. Protect the people you care about. So I took it to the face. And I grabbed him. I threw him, and fell doing it. I remember being on my knees in the mud. Seeing my teeth in the mud. Seeing my blood just. Everywhere. And knowing I needed to push back to my feet immediately because it might not be over.

We were lucky. It was over. He hadn't expected anyone to fight back. He ran.

But the people who claimed to love me didn't want to deal with the idea that it was a hate crime. They wanted it to be random and meaningless. That made their world a little safer, I guess. And their denial made my world colder. And my recovery lonelier. Harder. They put me down for "bringing it on myself." As if it would have been more virtuous to let this woman take that attack to her temple, as if I would have been more valid for standing by and watching it happen.

There are so many more stories I can tell you, but the lesson is almost invariably the same: the ugliest hurt is often the one caused by the people who just turn away when you identify what happened to you. The hurts that cut the deepest and last the longest often come from the people we thought we could trust, because they want you to just get over it, don't talk about it, admit it could have been worse, don't call it That.

The betrayal from people who are supposed to have your back? That deepens wounds, deepens trauma.

I won't be that person. I won't tell you to smile and turn the other cheek when someone shows you they hate you. Do whatever you need to do to survive--physically, emotionally, psychologically. Just don't give up, and don't let the cowards force you into feeling shame for not giving up and letting the world break you.

Never be ashamed to refuse to break.

Never let someone shame you for choosing strength. For drawing your line in the sand.

I wanted the "exciting" times of my life to be behind me. But they're not--so be it. I'm not going to tone myself down to be safer. I don't care about my own safety anymore. Any self-preservation drive broke a long time ago when it comes to homophobia. I promise to always be ready to fight. To be a queer menace to "polite" society. I promise to be out and loud and gay, to be a shield however I can for those who can't be out, who can't fight back, who can't even speak up because it wouldn't be safe for them to do so. They are valid, too. And I love them. And I will have their fucking backs. I promise to, in my real off-the-internet life, be someone who will always jump in and speak up if I see queer people being harassed or shamed--especially if they're young. I am older. I will fight for my baby gays. I will love them.

And I will never, never put anyone down for refusing to welcome Nazis into the bar. We don't look the other way and quietly tolerate them. Not here.

I may not be around much for the next few days. I need to handle my own shit. My own fury. My own grief. Because right now, there is so much grief.

But I won't be going anywhere.

I will fight to stay.

Whatever it takes.

I'm not giving up.

If I end up on my knees in the mud again, staring at my own blood and teeth, metaphorically or in fucking reality, so be it. I will get back up. And I will keep getting back up. I won't let go of the anger. The spite. And I definitely won't let go of my love for every queer person, the ones I know and the ones I don't, because that love is what will give me strength to get through this. Whatever comes next.

I may not have much sense of self-preservation. But goddamn, I will fight for you.

[autistichalsin]

"What is it like to be so uncaring? I wish I could spend a day being as unempathetic as them. (Unspoken: What's the point of having empathy anymore?")

This is a sentiment that I've seen so many others express, and myself have kinda had to work through too, in the past 24 hours.

And it's a damn good question, isn't it? The people who care for no one but themselves- and worse, who actively want to hurt others not like them- won. They got everything they wanted. Meanwhile, good, kind people lost, and are now being mocked. "Triggered, liberals?"

So what's the point, then? Why should we care anymore?

It's one of those questions where you really have to be your own guide with that. We live in a world that punishes kindness and tries its best to beat it out of people, and sometimes it's tiring to do so.

But I answered that question myself and maybe my answer will help some of you.

In a world like ours, kindness is an act of defiance. Becoming cruel/callous/selfish feeds in to the reality they peddled to steal American democracy for good. By being kind, you remind them that not everyone is like them. And believe me, under their taunting, under their cries of "own the libs", this unsettles them. Kindness is an act of resistance. Love is an act of resistance. You are telling them that they will never change who you fundamentally are, they won't take away the things that make you better than them. And there is nothing evil people hate more than reminders that not everyone is evil!!! Do you remember that scene from The Dark Knight where the Joker had a group of prisoners and ordinary citizens on two ferries with bombs to blow up the other's ship, expecting them to hit the button- but no one did, because they wouldn't take the others' lives? And how utterly baffled he was? Your continued compassion enrages fascists.

You are gaining so much more from remaining kind and empathetic than you can understand. Yes, the ones who lack it won and will get to abuse people, but they lack human connection, and most of theirs are shallow. Alpha male types don't enjoy close friendships; Matt Walsh himself said he never had a friend say he loved him, Tucker Carlson's mom hated him so much that she left him $1 in her will, and Donald Trump's wives only ever married him for his power and status. The few connections they have lack depth and care and genuineness. Sure, they have families, sometimes, who love/care for them. But it is a very different kind of love because it is conditional. That's the only kind of love they know. "Be like me, espouse my values, and then I will love you." They disown their queer children, they fear their wives being independent or their husbands being 'soft.' The instant they become "wrong" in some way, they'll be discarded. You, in seeking relationships with people who genuinely love you for you- and offering that in turn- are never going to know that terror.

You deserve to be loved. You deserve to get to continue to feel the full range of human emotion, which does and should include compassion and empathy and love. You don't deserve to have to give that up just to survive this dystopian hellscape. You deserve better and if this country has failed too much to give you better, you should still at least hold on to what scraps of better you can find.

Things are about to get worse in nearly every aspect; financially, socially, geopolitically, I could go on. Staying your authentic self- loving and compassionate- is one of the only ways you are going to be able to survive what's coming, because you'll need support, and so will those around you.

Not going to numb to what's happening is the literal only way we can fix this. And I'm going to be blunt here, no fix is coming in our lifetimes. We're going to try and salvage something in the future we aren't ever going to see here. But that makes retaining your fundamental kindness even more important, because when there's nothing in it for you, the only way to keep going is to retain a love of humanity, no matter what flaws it has, because otherwise you'll get discouraged and give up. We won't get out of this, even in a few generations, without radical acts of altruism for people who are going to live here after us. They deserve your help even if they're not here yet. They NEED you.

Don't let this change who you are. Who you are is good. Who you are is perfect. You're a normal person in an utterly insane world, and this insane world won't become sane again without people like you.

[starlightsuffered]

Needy Boy Tries No Nut November (part 1)

Info - needy boy, no sex challenge, argument, teasing, attempted cock warming

“You,” I scoffed.

“Yes me,” he said stoically.

“The boy who came in me fives times on October thirty first is going to attempt No Nut November,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Me and my friends made a deal, I plan to stick with it,” he nodded.

“Do your friends know you?”

“I would hope my friends don’t know how often I enjoy cumming inside you,” he snapped. I could tell he was already regretting his decision.

“You didn’t happen to think to ask me if I was okay with going a month without sex?” I asked.

“You can still get off,” he shrugged.

“You won’t last,” I chuckled. “No way no how.”

“Yes I will!”

“No you won’t Timothée, you’ll be doing the walk of shame to your boys within the week, if not sooner,” I smirked.

“You’re so mean,” he pouted.

“Yeah, am I mean pretty boy?” I asked, running a hand down my body and lifting my skirt slightly to show off my lacy panties. He whimpered. I swung my leg over him and straddled his lap. I began to kiss him heatedly. He responded eagerly.

He was moaning into my mouth and I let him remove my shirt. He massaged my breasts overtop of my bra. I felt him grow hard underneath me and smirked, I knew it was time to pull back.

“Why, why, why d’you stop,” his words were slurred with lust.

“No Nut November Timothée,” I reminded him.

“Fuuuuuuuck!” He snapped.

Throughout the day I did little things I knew drove him crazy. I would put my boobs or ass in his face while getting something. I giggled a lot. I bit my lip. I was touchy with him. I even had a two fake phone conversations, one to talk about how I had to masturbate now because of Timothée’s decision, because he hated me masturbating. The second was about how much I loved his cock and cum and how big he was. Neither was too terribly odd me for, I was an open person so both phone calls were plausible.

Finally, night came and we slipped into bed. I snuggled back against Timothée and as I expected, he was incredibly hard. I reached back, pretending to need a blanket but I grabbed his full balls instead.

“Ohhh,” he moaned.

“Sorry, I mean to get the blanket,” I said and got it to add a layer of warmth. I nestled down, pretending I was trying to get comfortable, but really it was just so I could rub my ass on him. I heard a whine and smirked.

“Sorry baby and I bothering you?” I asked.

“C-could you face me?” He asked. I did as he asked and fluttered my eyelashes.

“Fuck, this is even worse,” he muttered to himself.

“Something the matter?” I asked innocently.

“Can I put my cock in you?” He asked.

“No Nut-“

“I won’t be cumming, just some comfort, quiting cold Turkey is hard,” he pouted.

“Sure Timmy, just don’t cum,” I reminded him. I hadn’t worn underwear out of habit. He nestled his cock inside me.

“Mmmmm, feels good, tight,” he said. I closed my eyes, and sighed happily. But then, thrust.

“Timothée,” I wanted.

“Just one thrust won’t hurt,” he said, but I caught him tugging on his heavy balls, trying to get some relief.

“Okay,” I said. Then he did it again.

“Timmy,” I giggled.

“Just, just, three more,” he begged, and thrusted three more times, his cock absolutely quivering inside me with need.

“Ohhhh, ho, ho, my baaaaaalls,” he wailed.

“Don’t worry baby, only twenty nine more days,” I said with mock comfort.

“Twenty nine,” he squeaked and then he was over me and fucking me harder than he ever had.

“Baby, your promise,” I reminded.

“M’not gonna cum, just need to feel good,” he whined. He was so fast and needy.

“So good, fucking love this cunt!” He gasped as he fucked into me wildly.

“Oh Timmy, you’re so hard, your big heavy balls are slapping me baby,” I heaved.

“Yeah they are, you love it when I fuck you don’t you?” He asked.

“I do, I love it!” I cried. “And I love your cum, wish you could fill me up.”

“Oh I wanna, need to empty my balls. Damn baby, did you do something different, you feel like heaven,” he whimpered.

“No Timmy just me,” I said, blushing at his compliment.

“Fucking love just you,” he said.

“Baby, you’re going crazy,” I said, watching his hips drilling into me wildly.

“Je pense que je pourrais mourir si je ne peux pas remplir cette chatte de sperme ! Putain de merde, putain j'en ai besoin, j'ai besoin de verser mon sperme en toi !"

I recognized some words that he normally said.

“You said you weren’t gonna cum baby,” I reminded him.

“Not gonna, just saying what I wish,” he choked out.

“I’m gonna stop,” he said and slowed down, but as he did he started going deeper, moving to an angle that felt particularly good.

“Timothée!” I cried sharply as his slow thrust hit me in a sweet spot. I came, arching and seeing stars as I whimpered his name.

“I’m not gonna, not gonna, oh fuck I’m going to! No, I’m-“ he cut himself off by unleashing a fountain of cum inside me.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whined as he filled me. Ten ropes of cum shot inside me as he panted. I moaned as I enjoyed the full feeling.

“You failed within twenty four hours,” I gloated.

“Oh shut up, I have my reasons,” he snapped.

“And they are?” I asked.

“One, I didn’t want to do it anyone, two, my friends don’t have access to your pussy, because they’d fail too, and three this is dumb,” he ended on a whine.

“Well to be fair I thought it was dumb too,” I said, gathering him in my arms.

“Good,” he said kissing my forehead. “Let’s go again, gotta make up for the day.”

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet t @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker

[ixcaliber]

trying to finish as much as i can off playstation plus before letting my subscription end and one of those things was the bioshock infinite burial at sea dlc and oh my fucking god what an absolutely atrotrious experience. incredibly somehow worse than bioshock infinite (a game i hold no affection for) and may be one of the worst video game experiences i've ever had.

[codacheetah]

I keep thinking of how I want to taxonomize Siffrin and Loop bc it feels significant to me that Loop and Siffrin both have inherently diverged from the same Traveler Mold they came from. But because I am like a 7 year old I keep sagely nodding to myself going "ah yes... just like mega mewtwo"

[emdotcom]

My brain is so full of Bees about Post-Shift 2.

It's a fan game that was delayed for 4 years -- by the time it released, fnaf fangames as a whole were not as popular as they had been, & most people in the scene had forgotten about Post-Shift 1, so not a lot of people heard about it/played it.

Worse still is the people who did talk about the game. Pretty unanimously, the consensus was this: this game is the craziest, most insane fnaf fangame. It's overly difficult with mechanics that have no rhyme or reason to them & tutorials that are wordy, unhelpful, & sometimes actively mislead the player, meaning you need to comb through a lot of text only to be misinformed. It's not as infamous as some other fangames, but it definitely was talked about very poorly.

In general, I think most of these criticisms were blown up out of proportion, but I can't really disagree with most people's problems -- it is difficult & wordy, & rather hard to understand. I think, however, that the game is still 1. Really fun, 2. Not a bad game at all, &, most importantly, 3. Is a free fucking game that was clearly a passion project. Most damn fangames never get off the fucking ground when made in groups because the creators will never make a red cent off the thing -- this game was made by one dude for 4 years & delivered to people for free. It didn't ask anything of you except to accept it as a difficult game & to not go in with wild expectations. The dev just wanted to make a game that was rough, but he also wanted to make a game that felt unique & was fun. & It is fun, too, is the damn thing.

[dredshirtroberts]

feeling a lot more stable about everything, i decided to forego keeping a bandaid on because my fucking skin cannot take the adhesives for that long omg itches so bad around them

I have a plan in place to replace the bandaids should i require not needing to see my elbow again about it, but i also wanted to see for myself how bad it was.

BOY HOWDY do I bruise purty. That shit is dark where it's not already going greenyellow. looks like I put a sharpie in a chokehold and barely managed to wrangle it into submission like damn.

[dreamcast-official]

ugh.

[white-cat-of-doom]

Oof, that theatre review for Peterborough from Marisa sure is something.

[arolesbianism]

A couple more eternal gales refs that I’ve managed to finish up the past week, goodbye staliens I will miss you so as I move on to the human kids

[moondirti]

MDNI. dubcon. objectification. degradation. humiliation. guys being gross. female reader. fingering. cunnilingus. pussy slapping. brief aftercare. an absurd amount of filth for something so short.

price helping you get over your fear of humiliation by inviting the guys over and prying your pussy open for them, half-slouched on his lap with your legs held up in the air :( they’re so mean about it, too. cooing condescending compliments, curling their nasty hands around your jaw to keep your head in place as they pet your most vulnerable places, like you’re the winning pup at a dog show and not a whole human—entitled to any boundary you set, regardless of how your husband feels.

they pay no heed to your protests, though. actually, the men avoid addressing you at all. rather, all their personal, invasive questions are directed to price, who answers them with his own self-satisfied grin.

‘keeps clenchin’ around nothing, desperate thing. hole this willing deserves to be gaped. how often d'you stuff her?’ depends on if she's been good.

‘fookin’ drooched, cap. does she taste as guid as she looks?’ mm, better. smells like nectar too. take a whiff, son. don’ wash my beard afterward on the occasion, jus to keep her under my nose.

‘think i can thaw a winter’s worth of ice with this cunt alone. heat’s practically radiating off ‘er. pathetic slut.’ y’should see how much worse it gets after a good beating, lieutenant. swells up, and damn well sears my palm.

and of course they take it upon themselves to test the validity of his answers. kyle works four fingers into you, then his thumb, stretching you open for his probing, angling your hips up to the light so that your insides are illuminated for his curious eye. if price didn’t have his rough hands anchored to the underside of your knees, you would have kicked his prized sergeant off.

embarrassment washes your neck in warmth, lashes droopy with fat tears. all your husband does to comfort you is place a scratchy kiss to your shoulder, soft hushes tickling your skin.

then, soap intercedes to shove his nose to your mons. he doesn’t just take a whiff — rather, he sucks in the sweet-sour tang your slick provides, testing it in both scent and taste. his hot tongue laves over where kyle’s fingers had been, incisors nibbling at the ripe bud of your clit. mortifying pleasure sinks low, sloshing in your belly’s bed. though you did not expect him to be, he isn’t modest about it. soap presses completely into your pussy, muzzle lacquered with wetness that rivals yours.

your whimpers devolve into moans. loud, a little unhinged. you’ve always played at dressing them up around price, worried that he’d turn away if your face screwed too tight, or your pleasure made itself known beyond what directly serves him. it’s exactly the habit that got you into this mess; and as you lose yourself to the scene, you can feel his delight blossoming against your back.

ghost scares you the most. he lets you have your orgasm, towering behind the man between your legs, but does not let him revel in it, yanking him back by his mohawk at the first twitch of your toes. in the fervour, you have hard time remembering what you should expect. especially when he doesn’t get to it immediately, wiping the gloss off your plush cunt. his callouses rash you, gritty, abrading the soft surface of your skin. it is only when you wince do his eyes crinkle in a manner cruel enough to evoke what’s to come.

but it’s too late to prime yourself. his hand flies back, coming back twice as fast to strike dead centre between your legs. it hurts. hurts so much more than it ever has before, your body unused to unrestrained strength. you scream, throat mangling around the rough cut of it, fighting wildly against price until you manage to escape his hold. immediately, instead of running away, you twist backwards, burying your face into his neck, calming yourself by taking deep breaths of his cologne. something heady — leather, tobacco, sandalwood — bridges the synapses in your brain, numbs the pain, if only a little.

“shhh, little one. you’re alright. it’s okay. doing so good for us.” he soothes, rubbing your sweaty back. the world narrows to just you and him, his men reduced to mere afterthoughts. to be dealt with later — though you doubt the conversation will be anywhere near reprimanding, more likely to end with a bottle of scotch split between four, approving slaps to the captain’s back, than it ever will in your defence.

“n-ne- never a-ga…”

“come, now. let’s not be brash, mm. i promised them a pump each. ‘n’ what kind of host would i be if i didn’t make good on that?”

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 7: Firsts

Kyle bought you lunch before your set time. To make sure you ate, he said. He still asked about five times if you felt like you ate enough or needed water even after sitting across from you while you downed a to-go container of pad se ew and your fourth ounce bottle.

You just laugh and point to a piece on your knee. “Babes I got this with nothing but a trenta iced coffee and two hours of sleep in my system. I’m fine, I promise.”

John made a baffled noise at that. Kyle looked like he was going to throw up. That look remained as he went through the process of setting up in John’s studio room. Kyle is meticulous about it. Each step done with care. You feel a bit silly sitting around and twiddling your thumbs.

“Just breathe. It’s fine.” John murmurs in a low rumble that somehow has you relaxing more than the indented party.

“It’s almost more scary doing someone I know.” Kyle huffs.

You laugh. “Can’t be worse than the blown out piece of shit on my left arm. C’mon, I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve got this.”

John nods, sitting on the other side of you.

“Besides, even if it sucks I’ll still be honored to be your first real apprentice tattoo.” You pipe up.

Kyle chuckles, low and unsure. Part of you wants to give him an out, to say he doesn’t have to, but you can see the set of his jaw even as his eyes flick between his supplies and the stencil in his hand nervously. He’s determined as much as he is scared. There’s no getting him out of that headspace until he’s done.

You chose something easy. One of Kyle’s more dainty, simple flash designs for the back of your thigh, just below the curve of your ass. A little bow with minimal shading. Something he’s practiced a thousand times and an easy enough starting point. Plus, you already mentioned having him do a matching one on the other side when he’s ready for it. Easy practice.

“C’mon, at least get the stencil on before you have a panic attack.” You try to keep your voice light, turning your back to him.

Kyle sighs. You hear his stool roll forward as he scoots in close to place it. John shuffles around to stand over him. A nasty part of your brain complains about exposing your cellulite to these two fit men but you push that deep down into nothing. A second, more embarrassing part wonders if you should have chose a more appropriate spot… that maybe you shouldn’t be standing in front of your boss and coworker in teeny-tiny biker shorts that barely cover you. You shove that down right next to the other mean thoughts.

You pointedly ignore the heat that shoots up your spine as Kyle’s hands feel out the shape of your thigh to get it centered - keeping your eyes forward as he slowly presses the paper against you. You could swear a thumb traces the curve of your cheek as he smoothes it but that’s probably just wishful thinking.

“Good job, kid.” John claps a hand on Kyle’s shoulder as soon as the paper is pulled away. You turn around in the mirror to check it, expecting to probably have to move it, but from what you can tell it really is perfect.

“Damn, dude, on your first try!” You grin, clapping happily.

Kyle nods stiffly, but you see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. You unceremoniously clamber onto the table, moving around so your back doesn’t hurt from laying flat for the next few hours with your arms folded under your head.

“Hey.” You whisper while John steps away to grab something. “Get through this without freaking out and I’ll give you a reward.”

“A reward?” He tilts his head, smile turning from an nervous curl of his lip to a boyish grin.

You jokingly bat your lashes. “I’ll give you a kiss.”

Kyle chuckles. “With tongue?”

You gawk, face hot. “Mr. Garrick! Where’d my knight in shining armor go?”

“Just tryin’ t’ figure out exactly what I’m workin’ toward.”

You hum, pretending to mull it over. “We’ll see. Depends on how well you do.”

Kyle levels a look at you, something heated as his lip catches between his teeth. It’s only there for a moment, gone as soon as he turns to his tools. Replaced by a laser focus.

“Alright.” John settles back into his seat on your other side. “Let’s do one line and then see how we all feel.”

Kyle nods. You shuffle a little to make you’re you’re as comfortable as possible for the next however long. You know it’s going to be a while even if it isn’t a simple design. He’s new and precise with means slow.

The familiar whirr of the gun starts up. You shut your eyes, waiting, hoping that you aren’t projecting any more tension into the room than Kyle is. The needle stings when it finally touches you, but not as badly as you braced for. His touch is light.

He pulls the gun away and let’s put a giant sigh. “How y’feel, luv?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m all good. You?” You tilt your chin a bit to meet his eye.

“Better now that it’s started.”

“Good.” John nods, chest bumping your leg as he leans forward to look. “Looks good. Keep on.”

The room is nearly silent as he works. You turned down the music before coming back so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed - at least that was your reasoning. You’d get overwhelmed. Kyle is more levelheaded than you are, though.

“Thassit.” John smiles - or at least that’s how it sounds in his voice. “Her skin takes ink so well, yeah?”

Fuck, that totally should not do it for you. Gravelly voiced British bastard. You keep your eyes locked onto the flash on the far wall as you attempt to cool down.

Kyle just hums, seemingly unable to talk as he concentrates. He probably is with how dialed in he looks. You take a break before he gets to shading, stretching and getting some water. It takes a while, but not as long as you assumed. You start to get that ache in your skin partway through the shading - that feeling when your nerves are so tired from firing off pain receptors they just all sort of start burning dully.

However long later Kyle pulls away. “I… think it’s done?”

“You think?” John challenges.

Kyle sighs before speaking with more finality. “It’s done.”

There’s a few beats where John assess and you hold your breath. He points to a couple spots where Kyle’s hand slipped a bit or he applied too much pressure, but when you check it out in the mirror yourself you don’t see that all. Perfectionists.

You can’t help but squeal and jump, clapping happily and barely standing still while Kyle puts the saniderm on. You’re just to happy! Not only did Kyle get his first tattoo done but now you have brand new (free) cute ink to show off. Kyle looks tired, though, so you try not over overwhelm him while he cleans up. Concentrating like that with anxiety must have really taken it out of him.

You sort of forget about your promise of a reward for the next week. Too busy focusing on taking care of your new tattoo. The only downside to the placement is sitting in your office chair itches - especially once you take the saniderm off. You’ve mostly taken to standing while working and wearing shorts and skirts to let it breathe. It’s worth it, though. You’ll have to ask Kyle how soon he wants to do the other one. Without being pushy, of course.

You quietly hum to yourself as you get the cash drawers ready to lock away in the backroom safe. Triple checking the bags and making sure tips are divided correctly, etc.

“Hey, lovie.” Kyle saddles up behind you suddenly, hands on your hips.

You jump. “Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. A hand slips down your hip, palm tracing the hem of your tennis skirt to lightly rest over the little bow. “How’s she healin’?”

“It’s, uh, it-“ You stutter, eyes wide and skin hot. If it were Johnny, you’d laugh and swat him away - maybe let his hand wander to your ass first - but Kyle doesn’t do this. Not that you don’t like it - the problem lies in that you’re liking it too much. If the patter of your heart is anything to go by. “It’s good. Not itching yet or anything.”

Kyle hums. “Good.”

“Th-that all?”

“Think you forgot somethin’.” He turns you around, hands firmly planted on the softness of your waist. When you just give him a bewildered look he continues. “I was promised a reward, I think.”

“O-oh?” Your face burns, eyes wide. Is he serious? Part of you wants to say no - to push him away. You’re coworkers, after all. Until your eyes meet his, so big and warm and his lips forming a perfect pout. “John….?”

Kyle chuckles ans crosses his chest. “John won’t care. Cross my heart.”

He gives you a moment to mull it over. You don’t think he’s making fun of or bating you - Kyle wouldn’t do that. There’s no way he’s interested either. That’s one delusion you can firmly plant in the ’purely imaginary’ category.

Whatever. What do you have to lose from a little back room make out?

Your lips meets his. Fuck, they’re soft. He steals your breath - greedy and gentile. It’s been so long since you’ve been kissed, much less kissed well. One of the hands on your waist moves to your low back as Kyle leans into you. Your hands grapple onto his shoulders to steady you. He takes advantage of your gasp at being tilted back to swipe is tongue between your lips.

You mould together, breaths heavy and tongues dancing. A needy, pathetic little part of you wishes the hand that drifted from your waist to your hip would hook under your thigh. That Kyle would tilt you all the way back onto the desk and throw your leg over his shoulder, eagerly pushing up your skirt-

An ‘I love you’ dances on the tip of your tongue and you reel back harshly, hand flat on his chest to separate you.

“Alright?” He murmurs, eyes half lidded and dark.

You swallow roughly and nod, breathing hard. “I, uh, I need to finish the safe.”

Something passes across his face briefly as your eyes flick between his. Whatever it was, it’s replaced by his usual easy smile as he returns to standing at his full height, the hands on your waist steady you before disappearing. Your stomach drops as they go.

“See you tomorrow.” Kyle murmurs, pressing one last little peck on your cheek before striding away, leaving you alone in the back room with a hot face and whirlwind thoughts.

Fuck.

A/N: brought to you by the time a tattoo artist told me my skin takes ink well in the most haunting bedroom voice I’ve ever heard😵‍💫 killed me right then and there

[carmenberzattosgf]

okay but imagine carmy’s first time without the condom☝️😊 how he’d ask you if you’re sure so many times beforehand and when he’s finally inside he has to hold you still because damn! that feels almost too good! and it’s even worse if it’s the first time he cums inside too -💫

Carmy has you stripped naked within ten minutes of knocking your apartment door. You fall back on the mattress and watch as he quickly takes off his shirt and pants.

He crawls over top of you next, meeting your lips for a series of hot, messy kisses. He’s still wearing his boxers, so you take it upon yourself to push down his waistband so he can kick them off. He groans into your mouth when you grip his cock and lightly stroke him, spreading precum down his length.

“Need you to fuck me, Carm. Please—don’t wanna be teased. Just need you.” Carmy usually insists on eating you out first, but you want him inside of you.

“Y-yeah—I’ll take care of you.” He pauses for a moment, realization hitting him. “Shit! I don’t have a condom.”

“I wasn’t expecting you, or I would have bought some,” you giggle. He showed up tonight completely unannounced. He kissed you with hunger when you opened the door, making it clear what he needed from you.

“Sorry, I uh—just had to see you. Couldn’t stop thinking about you all day at work—shit—“ his voice falters as you stroke his dick again. More precum forms at his tip. “I can eat you out?” He offers.

“Want you, Carmy. I’m on birth control, it’ll be fine.”

You feel his cock pulse in your hand from your words.

“Are you—are you saying—“

“Please, Carm. I want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck—are you sure? Shit, I can run down the block to the corner store if you want me to.”

By hooking a leg around his waist, you press Carmy in closer to you, lining him up with your entrance.

“M‘positive. Want you to fuck me. Please,” you beg. Carmy doesn’t take much convincing, though. He sinks into you slowly. A broken gasp leaves his mouth as the head of his cock slips into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ve never—never done this without a condom—holy fuck, baby.”

“S’good, Carmen. Filling me up so, so good—shit,” you whine as he completely bottoms out inside of you. He’s pulsing inside of you, and panting into your ear. You can’t help but move you hips to feel his cock nudge against your walls.

“Fuck. Stop. Stop moving,” he says through clenched teeth, gripping your hips to keep you still. “Just—just give me a second.”

You know better than to press your luck, so you run your fingers through his hair as he rests his forehead on your shoulder.

“Shit—so—so wet—fuck,” he murmurs. “Didn’t know it could feel like this. M’not going to last long. God—“

“Carmen—please move. Please—“ you beg. “Don’t care if you don’t last—want you to fill me up.”

“Holy shit, baby.” You watch Carmy’s eyes go dark. He was planning on pulling out and cumming on your stomach, but now that option is off the table. You want him to pump you full of his cum, and that thought alone makes his cock twitch.

Once he starts fucking into you, Carmy’s pace is relentless. He’s holding onto you for dear life, arms wrapped around your frame. He’s not hiding his face in your neck, though. He’s resting his forehead on yours so he can watch your face as you take his cock. Whenever he’s not kissing you, he has his bottom lip inbetween his teeth to contain the sounds of his moaning.

“So tight—so fucking warm, baby. Perfect for me. God, you’re perfect.”

“Carmy, Carmy—I can’t—m’gonna—“

“Soak my cock. Let me feel it,” he commands. He moves one of his hands to circle your clit with his thumb, and that sends you over the edge. Carmy’s pace grows sloppy and erratic. His forehead moves to rest on your shoulder, so he can look down and watch his cock thrust in and out of you.

The pulsing of your cunt around him with zero separation pulls a broken groan out of his lips, but he’s still trying to hang on for you. His hips fuck into you roughly, pounding into you hard and deep.

“Carm—cum in me. Fill me up—wanna feel you spill out of me—“ you cry. He lets himself go at your words, biting into your shoulder as his hips press as far into you as possible. You feel him throb inside of you, filling you up with cum.

You both lay in bed for who knows how long to catch your breath. Carmy’s still inside of you, keeping you plugged up with his load. He’s the first one to break the silence.

“Baby, I don’t think I can go back to using a condom again after that— I’ll pay for you to get an IUD, or an implant, or whatever you want.”

“Deal.”

[depresssant]

Shades Of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

so reader is very flawed ppl. i’m trying to make this as gn as possible for pls bear with me. asks and requests r open. reblogs are also much appreciated. now that i’ve gotten my e-begging out of the way, enjoy this pathetic excuse of a story

warnings : child abuse, past sexual abuse, yandere, etc

you want to die.

you always do.

staring at the wanna be thug pointing a gun at you, you sigh and roll your eyes in exasperation. perhaps pissing him off will the best way to get him to curl a finger around the trigger. or judging by his temperament, you won't have to do much.

"you? i should give my money to you?"

"who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?" the thug screams at you angrily. his grip gets tighter and clammier. he's not experienced with this. he's probably ganged up with a bunch of thugs to pull shit like this. it wouldn't take much to disarm him. "give me the fucking money before i blow your head off!"

"to a junkie like you?" you are a junkie, too, so you're not too sure about making fun of him for that. "i don't give money to hobos."

that is wrong, too. but you want to piss him off.

"that's it, you stupid bitch!" the thug's stances becomes defensive. his hateful glare is pointed at you while he musters the courage to actually press the trigger. he doesn't look like he'll do it. you've seen countless like him roaming the streets, holding you at gunpoint. he probably won't do it. then again, this is gotham. you don't expect much. either he'll shoot you dead, forcibly take your stuff, flee the scene out of fear, or be dismantled by one of the city's vigilantes. perhaps he'd shoo—

"stop right there!"

damn it.

you think too soon.

a young robin is quick to have the wanna be thug tied up and beat down. you would've questioned why a kid who seemingly looked twelve can do such a thing, but you've learned to not question most things in your life. you merely sigh in disappoint and pick up your dropped backpack before beginning the journey to hell.

"excuse me? wait! where are you headed?"

gosh, his boy-ish voice grates your nerves. makes you clench your teeth. your gaze narrows, but you know better than to react. reaction gains a reaction—one that will never be in your favor. it'll lead to a fight—one that will never be in your favor. you'll end up broken, bleeding, and bruised. now that isn't something in your favor. now you're thinking of favor too much. forcing a smile, you turn around to face the pre-teen vigilante. "yes?"

"are you alright?" he asks with practiced concern. he doesn't actually care. it's probably just protocol.

"a-okay!" the words are hollow. they lack depth. like you. "thank you for your help. i don't know what would've happened to me if you weren't there."

you do know. you wish you wouldn't.

"you're welcome," robin replies with polished words like he's not exactly convinced. "would you like for me to walk you? the city hasn't been safe for some time now."

"when is it ever safe? but that's okay. i live just around the corner, so i think i'll be fine."

"are you sure—"

"completely."

please. why won't he just leave you alone? there goes your plan spoiled by him again. every time you've been in an attempted robbing, he's been there to destroy your chances of getting shot. of escaping. he always does this. this is a repeated cycle between the two of you. he's a flying bird until you shoot him down. your name clearly wants to escape from his lips, but robin nods his head in understanding.

"this seems to happen to you all the time. my wish is for you to be safe."

"this is gotham." the grip on the straps on your backpack tighten. "everyone's gotta go through this. anyways, i gotta go, you know. thanks for savin' me."

"of course."

you don't spare him a single glance. the sky is wrapped up in black clouds heavy with the burden of rain. icy cold wind sings a melancholy tune through the stiff air. the door to your apartment looks like the gates of hell. it's all futile. no matter how many sighs you sigh, how many wishes you wish, and how many curses you curse, you'll still land up in the same fate. without escape.

that is the summary of your life.

taking a few seconds to prepare yourself for the incoming session, you open the door to be met with radio silence. silence is never good. half the time, it means something is brewing for you, and they're taking their sweet time to scare you into thinking nothing will happen. sometimes. not all the time. the other time, it just means he need to rise from his pile of misery first.

the hand of your mother's boyfriend is instantly wrapped around your neck before you can even register why the hell the apartment looks like a tornado hit it. he squeezes so tightly you feel like blood is gushing out of your ears with how loudly they ring. white spots dot along your blurry sight as you struggle to breathe. you can hear a frantic voice telling him to let you go, but you're pushed up more against the wall. this is the norm. doesn't mean it hurts any less. he'll let you go, give you some time to regain your breath, and then rain down bullets upon you.

that's exactly what happens.

your hand goes straight to your neck as your raspy and shaky coughs wreck your chest. he squeezes hard enough for it to hurt but it not show. and then the kicks and punches come. with how much your chest and ribs are struck, you're a bit surprised at how you haven't broken a bone yet. your potential step-father screams at you, but you can barely hear it over the repetition of words in your head. he grabs your bloody face and shout something incoherent before letting you go to kick you.

leaving you in your own pile of misery.

it's normal. yes, it's completely normal. you're used to this. it'll get better. it always does. but you've got the crushing idea it never will.

gotham heights high school—the school you're forced to attend.

the class division is insane to look at, because it's there even from a short and near prospective. how the richest kids got put in a school with the poorest—you'll never know. the only thing you do know is that every one of these kids are pieces of shit. even the ones that pretend to be nice.

tim drake—or shall you say tim wayne—is no different.

even as he helps up the girl who just got roughly pushed to the floor, causing all her textbooks to scatter, you can only eye him with disdain. if he really cares, then he would've beat the shit out of those athletes. but he doesn't. they're all the same—privileged and all. sympathy shouldn't be given to them. not to drake or the wealthy yet somehow bullied girl.

"but y'know what i heard?" your friend drags your attention back to him. zarian leans against a locker lazily, but excitement practically buzzes off of him. "the bruce wayne is coming to our track meet today!"

your other friend, jaylene, rolls her eyes as she applies her eyeliner using the mirror hanging up on the inside door of her locker. she speaks exactly what you're thinking. "only because his beloved son is gonna be there."

"well, still. think about the connections we can make! all the famous people that'll be there."

"keep dreaming. asshat. i put all my money on the attention being on rich the kid. i don't even know why he joined track. varsity, at that, too. there has to be some sort of bribery going on."

an incoming argument is clearly brewing up, so you take in a deep breath to say something, but a new voice beats you to it.

"excuse me?"

you and your two friends turn to face the guy standing in front of you. charismatic, intelligent,  and optimistic—he's an enigma that shines on everyone. tim drake. his black, messy yet somehow in place hair does no justice for his good looks. he's the complete package. rich, good looking, tall, and empathetic. the mere sight of him annoys you.

zarian is the first to speak up. he quirks a brow and offers tim a grin. "what's up, man?"

"you're leaning against my locker." tim rubs the back of his neck. he smiles awkwardly in the presence of the three of you, and it takes your friend a beat to understand what he's saying before moving away.

"oh yeah. my fault," he says as he moved to stand next to you.

the school's very own bruce wayne only shakes his head and tells him it's okay while opening his locker and grabbing a few things. people flock around, waiting for him to be done with whatever the hell he's doing, so they can be back to his side like leeches sucking on blood. he surely can't be this dumb, no? these people don't want to be his friend...

well, it's not as if it's your problem. you wish it is. you and your friends turn to make way to first period, but drake clearly has other plans. he sandwiches himself between you and zarian with a grin of his own plastered on an unblemished face. one carefree of any worry or pain. "so," tim begins. "first track meet of the year, huh? aren't you guys nervous?"

jaylene merely hums in amusement and shrugs. "it gets better. when you've spent four years in track—in front of all those judging people—it wears off. hopefully, you'll get used to it soon."

that is jab, though, rich the kid doesn't seem to catch on. he laughs casually, but even you can sense the anxiety like it was radioactive. ""i hope so. i've sprinted so much i feel like i'll get shin splits again."

you zone out while he has a conversation with your friends. as if drake has ever had experience with track. it took you all of freshman year to just prove that you can actually be a part of the track team, and here tim drake is, parading around about getting on varsity without a single grain of hard work. he's a naturally talented person. good at everything. that's what makes you hate him so much. people like him get everything handed to them just because they're good at it first hand and leave behind people that actually work for it. you want to tell him to buzz off—that he can't talk about how much he's practiced and how nervous he is, but you keep your mouth shut. that is, until he directly addresses you.

tim's eyes narrow at you with comedic suspicion. "you know, you look like someone i know. a lot. the resemblance is crazy."

"eight billion people out there. you never know." your tone is flat, stoic, lacking any bit of emotion.

"gosh, you even sound like him! that's really terrifying."

"well, whoever, it is, i hope i never meet him," you murmur.

your two friends leave for their classes soon, and you and drake find your seats at the back of high school economics. exhaustingly so, you sit together in one of the many desk pairs, and drake uses this opportunity to annoy you any chance he gets. you give off the vibe that you don't want to talk to him. he doesn't get the hint. you don't tell him, though. maybe that's the problems. his shit-eating grin ticks you off when you look in his direction. "what?"

"let's be friends!"

"no."

"what? come on! don't be so cold!" he whines like a petulant child being told no.

"no."

"too bad! you're my friend now."

"tim," you sigh. it's wrong to scream. it's bad to scream. screaming leads to fights. fights lead to you laying in a pool of your own blood. laying in blood leads to missing practice. missing practice leads to less skill. less skill leads to less of a chance of getting the hell out of here. just smile. forgive and forget. know your persona. know who you are. kind. happy. funny. "fine." so you smile with gritted teeth. you smile like you played a cruel joke on him. "we can be friends... i guess."

his face brightens at your fake words like he is just given the the world.

tim drake wiggles his eyebrows playfully and nudges you with his elbow. "you know, i've been trying to get you to say that since school started?"

"really now?"

"really. i'm glad we're going to be friends. oh! should we go out to eat with zarian and jaylene after the meet?"

... there's a chance your mom's boyfriend will get pissed off. he'll probably beat the shit out of you since the track meet would have happened, and you wouldn't need to have an unblemished body for meets. he'd scream, yell, and punch... like his life depended on it... fuck it.

"yeah," you reply shortly after with a firm nod of your head. "we can go to this diner near the theater. i'm sure you'll love the food."

this doesn't mean you hate him any less. he's still rich scum⏤how you're poor scum. he's stuck up, pretentious, and sickeningly sweet. exactly what you hate. you just hope you can have a good time after the track meet. the mischievous glint in his eyes told you otherwise.

"and this is my dad, bruce wayne."

what the hell are you doing?

the sun is setting along the horizon, the air is getting cooler again, and you want to sink into the floor. the plan was to head straight to the diner after this, but rich the kid somehow roped you into meeting his dad?

nausea pools in your stomach from both hunger and the feeling of thousands of eyes staring at you. cameras are flashing at gotham's billionaire as he smiles and firmly shakes your hand. confidence drips off of him disgustingly. his high-tailored suit radiates wealth and money. his stoic demeanor gives off an aura of mystery. you want to lay on a railroad track with an incoming train speeding along the way.

"it's nice to meet you. tim has ranted about his track teammates quite a lot."

there's an eleven year old standing next to him. his eyes are on you like that of an owl's but you neither glance at him or bother to acknowledge him. you just want to eat some food before meeting your doom at that apartment for not placing first like your mom's boyfriend wanted you to. like a goat getting stuffed before slaughter. it always leads down to that. no matter how many times you try to wish it was different. no matter how many times you imagine it to be different. no matter how many times you try to make it different.

"nice to meet you too." you shake his hand as well with a polite smile on your face. polite. calm. gentle. proper. "and yeah, he seems very eager to be on the team."

"of course, of course. well, it is getting late. why don't you come over for dinner some time?"

"maybe tonight?" tim suddenly adds in. at your hesitant expression, he groans in exasperation. "who do you think we are? blood-sucking bats? come on, we can go to the diner some other time!"

you have just met him... you've just accepted being his friend... you aren't the most social person. you've never had much friends, but even you can understand that dinner with the family doesn't happen until the friend and person have come close in a long period of time. jaylene and zarian have other matters to tend to, so it's going to be just you and tim at a diner. not⏤

ding!

your phone's notification's alarm chimes, and when you check who has sent you a message, you feel like getting on the ground to pray to whatever deity for letting you have a moment of peace.

mom: ⏤he's heavily drunk. don't come home.

a part of you is hit with a strong current full of guilt. this is your mother. you're supposed to be there for her through thick and thin. you're supposed to protect her and be her wall of defense against monsters like him. family look out for each other. you have to take care of her... but she doesn't take care of you. this makes you a terrible person. you know that. she'll probably get beaten to an inch of her life and hide her heavy bruises under makeup that was terribly done in a rush. and then, she'll throw whatever object is in sight at you in a fury of anger.

telling you she made too many sacrifices for you. telling you that you're ruined her life. telling you that she should've aborted you like your father had told her to. telling you exactly what you believe yourself. a curse that should've never been born... she'll be beaten within an inch of her life. but you have already lost yours.

after pretending to text her and sliding your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants, you nod with a sigh of joking resignation. "sure. i asked my mom, and she said it's okay."

"wonderful." mr. wayne nods and gestures to the limo you can see in the parking lot. a bit of overkill, perhaps.

honestly, you're still surprised that gotham's billionaire is inviting you to dinner. this man is the topic of magazines, and you're about to take a ride in his limo. how the hell have you ended up in a situation like this? fate is still fucking with you, isn't it?

you find yourself seated next to tim while mr. wayne and his youngest son, damian, sit on the seats to your right. they're talking about something, but once again, you find yourself half listening and zoning out, staring at nothing until mr. wayne's questions pulls you back to reality.

"so how has school been faring for you?" mr. wayne asks in a cool and collected tone.

you laugh lightly and smile as politely as ever. "pretty good. i hope to leave gotham after graduation to study somewhere else."

"who would want to stay in gotham?" tim rolled his eyes, rolling the first place medal between his fingers. "by the way, remember when i said you looked like someone i know? i was talking about my dad?"

your brows rise in both exasperation and annoyance at his claims. now he's just plain, out right trying to make fun of you in front of a billionaire. your shoulders tense, ready to refute his claims, but mr. wayne surprisingly chuckles and rubs his chin while taking a good look at your face. "well, i can see it, but there's eight billion people out there in the world. i'm bound to look like someone. though, i didn't expect for it to be someone as talented as [name] here."

you force a quiet laugh along at the sound of his tone. foreboding. you know tones like this. like he's hiding something that they all know except for you. it means you've made a mistake in even giving in to tim drake's constant begging. why the hell was he so eager to have you become his friend? why is he so eager to maintain a friendship with you? why the hell has mr. wayne invited you to dinner when he's rumored to be mysterious, secretive, and a literal brick wall that nobody can get past?

"you've achieved so much for a child your age." mr. wayne sets his gaze dead on you. "your father must be so proud."

and his eyes glimmer with that same shine you saw in tim's.

ewwww

this was not proofread so forgive me and uh, i will be turning this into a series

um also making a tag list if anyone wants to be a part of it

[starkeyisthelastname]

okay y’all, we are jumping into this. pornstar!rafe makes a big decision. ⭐️ (thank you to my bae @oceandriveab for her request and being so patient! 💖 )

He had quite literally fucked you to sleep after storming off set all because he couldn’t get his dick up because he had you on his mind. He knew the decision he had to make and that was one he never thought he would ever do and that quit filming professionally. Even if he hadn’t opened up to you much at all, and he was terrified of confessing his feelings to someone he only had ever fucked, he couldn’t continue on with this career because his addiction was now you.

You should have known better than to answer the door because as you woke up the next morning with a sore body, an empty bed and no sign or explanation from Rafe. You should have expected this and him telling you he couldn’t work anymore because he couldn’t get you off his mind was a bunch of bullshit. He told you from the start he loved pussy too much to ever quit, and you should have stopped falling for him right there. You may been acting on high emotions, but you picked up your phone and began texting him.

Rafe’s phone had been on silent when he had met with his agent and manager. He flat out told them that he was done and they laughed, an amused look on both of their faces. The ‘pussy slayer’ was retiring at 30? There was no way. Everyone knew how much he loved pussy, I mean.. what else was he gonna do? Even if he hadn’t told you much about him, or knew much about you, he knew what he felt for you was enough for him to find a new purpose in life. He knew he said he needed to take baby steps because this was all new to him, but he was tired of the jealousy he constantly felt, the way he couldn’t get you off his fucking mind. He had to show you how he felt and then would let everything fall into place after, it could have been a reckless decision but he didn’t care.

‘I don’t expect a relationship with you, but when you come to my house and tell me that I’m yours just to dip off without any explanation is bullshit Rafe. I can’t do these games with you anymore. You wanna focus on work so bad. Fine. So will I.’

You had blocked him after you sent it, whether it was right or wrong. You didn’t want to, in fact it hurt you to think about Rafe not being in your life. What hurt worse though was how this man had ruined you to the point he never left your mind, that every time he shot a scene with someone else you were filled with nothing but jealousy, and that you couldn’t continue on knowing he would constantly feed you this shit so that he could get a nut in a few times a week. Your insecurities were becoming overshadowed by fear, because you had no idea what Rafe had just done.

You had a feeling you knew who it was by the heavy knocks on your door. You didn’t want to answer and you wanted to tell him to go away. Your own body betrayed you as you began walking over to the door to answer it. He better have a damn good reason on why he was here after his little Houdini act he pulled.

“You wanna block me now?” Rafe asked, stepping through the door without another thought.

You shrugged, arms crossed over your chest as you challenged him. “Why does it matter Rafe? I should have never got my feelings involved with someone who only cares about fucking on camera and getting money from it.” You told him, avoiding his gaze. Maybe it was your own fault because he didn’t know exactly how you felt, but he certainly didn’t make it easy for you. When he whispered sweet shit in your ear it made you feel like you could tell him that you were falling for him. It would then reel back to you being afraid of rejection because he would disappear, or talk about how he loved his career too much to ever quit.

“Do you even know what I was doing? I was firing my agent and my manager because I told them I was done fucking doing porn.” He said, causing your eyes to meet his.

You didn’t believe him. There was no way the man who was obsessed with sex and couldn’t even give you a real reason on why he became a pornstar in the first place had really quit. You laughed, did he really think you were that dumb? “You are lying. You’ve hit an all time low if you think that you can tell me something like that just to fuck me again.” You said with a scoff.

Rafe did a lot of punk shit to try and hide his feelings from you, but this wasn’t something he would joke about. He laughed, shaking his head. “You think I’m lying? I fuckin quit because I love you!” He said, blurting it out before he stopped himself. It was like once he said it, he couldn’t stop the rest from flowing as he continued on. “You don’t understand how hard this is for me! This career is the only thing I have had that has made me feel worth something because I fucked everything else up in my life. This is what made me feel invincible and that I could be somebody. I don’t have anyone else because everyone pushed me away due to my choices. Then I meet you and I don’t even fucking know you, but I feel this insane connection that absolutely terrifies me. It scares me the way I feel about you, and that I really should be taking baby steps. I.. I just can’t though. I don’t want to fuck this up like I did everything else, but… I am fucking in love with you and fucking random girls on camera just to get money isn’t worth losing you over.” He told you.

This was the first time Rafe had ever truly been honest with you and you could read it all over his face. You swallowed the lump in your throat as he stepped closer, taking you by the hands as he pulled you closer. “Let me show you.” He whispered in the softest voice you had ever heard him use. You didn’t know what he meant by that, but there was no way you were turning him away.

No matter how much you loved the brutal sex the two of you shared and we’re sure there was more of that to come, this was an entirely new feeling you both were experiencing. He was being gentle with you for the first time, pouring every ounce of confusing emotions and feelings he had into you. He had you in a deep missionary position, his toned hips grinding into yours as he buried his head in your neck. “You are so goddamn beautiful.” He whispered in a breathy groan.

His cock somehow felt 10 times bigger when he went slow and it was throwing you off at how good this fucking felt. Tears streamed down your face much like the first time he had ever fucked you, but for an entirely different reason. You overwhelmed by love, clinging onto him life a lifeline as you were afraid to let him go. He had ruined you for any other man and right now you were perfectly fine with that. “Rafe… you feel so fucking good..” You whimpered, your eyes rolling back at a little as his tip kept brushing over your g-spot.

Rafe groaned into your smooth skin, his lips traveling across your collarbone and across your jaw line until he met your eyes. He knew he must have really been in love with you because he had never made love and didn’t know he was capable of such a thing. He knew his nasty side was inevitable but he really was determined to show you that he was serious about this.

“Yeah baby, say my fuckin name. That’s yours to say. All yours… my sweet angel.” His words firm but genuine as his lips ghosted over yours. The way you made him feel was better than any drug or any career, and he knew no matter how scary this was for him, you were his girl without a doubt.

The tears flowed even more as he said that, your eyes falling into his ocean ones as his cock explored every inch of you. Your lower tummy fluttered and head spun as you felt an insane orgasm approaching. “Rafe… you’re gonna make me cum. Please don’t stop.. please.” You nearly begged him, manicured nails digging into the skin of his back.

Rafe had always prided himself for being able to go many rounds before cumming. He was so overwhelmed with love, that he knew he was wasn’t going to last long. “I’m not baby, I fuckin got you. Yeah? Cum all over my cock.” He whispered against your lips before pulling you in for a deep kiss.

You couldn’t help but sob at his words, trying your best to focus on the kiss as your orgasm started to take over. You screamed his name, not caring who heard, as this moment was way too important. You shuddered against him, wrapping your legs around his waist to trap him in as his thrusts started to get sloppy. He didn’t know what you had done to him, but he found himself going back to whisper in your ear as he started slowly coming undone. “I’m gonna fuckin fill you up baby, this is all for you..” He breathed out, voice rugged as his nuts tightened and eyes rolled back at your cunt still squeezing him in.

Rafe’s groans were sweet music to your ears as his seed warmed your insides, this time followed by a gentle raspy voice whispering against your skin. “I love you..” He told you, the butterflies hitting your belly and your face breaking out into a beautiful smile.

“I love you.” You whispered back.

Rafe hadn’t said that to someone or heard it back since before he had lost his family. This was the first girl he had ever felt this way about and while the two of you may have been jumping into something that was unclear and had a lot of questions that needed to be answered, he knew this was all worth it.