#but they want to get into every body of water

[goatgoesmbe]

141 x f!reader thoughts..

Kyle would be the kind of guy who would help you find your bikini top when he saw you panicking by the beach, not knowing how it slipped off of you in the first place. You were crouching in the water, drowning in shame with your face fully flushed in a darker hue as you tried to cover your breasts with your arms.

He didn't care that you were a stranger. He would always help a damsel in distress every chance he could get.

And then, he would put on the most pitiful look on his face as he told you that he had been looking everywhere but he couldn't find it, would offer you a towel to drape over your body, just so you could have some dignity left as he escorted you back to your bag. Letting you press the swell of your chest against his body as you tried to hide from the leering gaze of the others. Acting like he didn't have said bikini top shoved inside the pocket of his shorts.

While Johnny would be (too) eager to help. He practically sprinted towards you and splashed water everywhere, falling deaf to your squeal, brushing off how you looked afraid at a hunk of a man that was him- running towards you full speed.

But you were desperate, and not in any state to flee. So you asked this stranger for help which he happily agreed to.

He'd found it in record time, and when you were about to thank him, he lifted the bikini top over your head. Grinning as he taunted you, saying that he would only give it back if you let him eat your ass.

You slapped him on reflex, but it gave the opposite effect from the way he chubbed up in his speedo.

And again, you were desperate. So in the end, you agreed to his term.

John would be a gentleman, as he would approach you slowly, asking if you need help with anything. His voice was calm and his whole demeanor was kind, so you nodded and accepted his help.

But then, he wouldn't let you out of his sight. Pulling you close to him when you said you were gonna look the other way to make the search more efficient. "Stay close" he murmured to your ear, one arm around your waist as he pressed your body against his. Bare tits pressing against his torso.

..He just wanted to protect you from perverts who couldn't keep their eyes to yourself, right? just trying to hide you from them with his broad stature. He definitely didn't have any other intention.

Most would think that Simon wouldn't bat an eye. But, fortunately for you, you were pretty enough for him to care.

So he stood up from his spot and approached you directly. Gaze focused on your tits as he ignored anything else around him. Shoving some random kid out of his way.

You were too focused on your search to notice until a dark shadow loomed over you. And you didn't get the time to react before he unceremoniously lifted you up and carried you away like a sack of potatoes after wrapping you in his big towel like a burrito.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

John silently cursed at his stupidity as he watched you disappear into the waves. During the last few days, all of them had realized what they all had been missing and needing. And it was you. While you were around, they could forget about their job, about the horrors plaguing their minds. The way your eyes sparkled when you smiled at them, made them realize that all they wanted, was to keep you close. To be able to look into your eyes forever. Just the night before, John had decided that it was finally time to retire. When he told the others, even though they were younger, they echoed his choice and the very same day they had called Kate and told her what they had decided.

She wasn’t surprised, and John couldn’t help but wonder if she knew about the little secret hidden beneath the surface. If she knew that by sending them there, it would make them realize what life was about. At the same time, he didn’t care. All he and the others could focus on, were you.

He caught Kyle sitting by the window, staring out at the waters, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He noticed how Johnny suddenly was an early riser just so he could head out and meet you halfway on your way to them. Or how Simon walked with a straighter back when he left the house to go and meet you. How the load that usually pressed down upon his shoulders seemed to lift whenever you were around. And how you got him to laugh. It wasn’t loud, or boisterous, but it was a laugh nonetheless. And John adored you even more because of the relief you brought to his team.

So, watching you fleeing brought guilt to his mind. If he had now spooked you away for good, taken you from his men, he would never forgive himself. “Where is our Ariel?” It was Johnny, carrying a tray with sliced fruit, who pulled John from his stupor. As he watched the Sergeant walk up to him, he considered lying. But the genuine joy in Johnny's eyes stopped him. “She ah…she left.” His shoulders dropped, a frown pulling at his brows. “Why?”

Before John answered, he waited for Simon and Kyle to join them. He didn’t want to confess his mistake three times. While recounting the events, he didn’t dare look into his men's eyes, afraid of the disappointment in them. But when he was done and looked up, they were filled with understanding, hope, and resolve. “’s fine cap. She’ll come back, I know it.”

And Johnny was right. You came back. You didn’t even make it back to your home before you turned around and swam in the direction you came from. Not for a single moment, did that tiny voice inside you shut up. It kept nagging, spinning you pictures of your future with these men. What was there to lose anyway? You didn’t have anyone down here, no one who would wonder where you were or would be worried.

So, you turned around, exhausting yourself to get to them as quickly as you could and when you breached the surface, you felt four pairs of eyes on you. Immediately, you found the one you had the strongest bond with and reached out to him. Without hesitation, he came to you and when you wrapped your arms around his neck, lifting yourself partway out of the water, his arms supporting you, and whispered, “Kiss me.”, he didn’t hesitate. How could he? How could he when it had been everything he had been thinking about since he met you?

As his lips slotted against yours, your body melting against his as if you had been made for him, you felt your fin melt away and part as it turned into a pair of legs. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, as you felt the water splash around your toes, the sensation ticklish in a way you had never experienced before.

The splashing of water, as three pairs of feet rushed toward you, pulled you from your bliss, as your lips parted. Before you knew it, the others reached for you, lips finding every part of you, as you giggled in their arms. “You’re our now, love.” You grinned at John, whose arms were wrapped around you at that moment, and nodded. “All yours.”

A/N: Again, inspired by @beloveds-embrace. A little shorter this time and I tried to keep it vague, who kissed and turned you, so you all could pick your favorite! Let me know who you picked! 🥰 Also, I think I have one more part in me, something cute where you learn how to human. And maybe a bit of spice. 😉 (Also, would ya'll be interested in constant tag lists? Like, whenever I post smth Ghost, I'll tag you, etc.?)

@totalapathy @soniiyi @littleindulgences @harmonysonata @dotmistbird @z-wantstowrite @small-mean-dwarf @kthehoeforfictionalmen @limeleag @terrifiedanimegirl @herefor-tojis-tits @armycaratlover @enfppuff @thychuvaluswife @theoreticalfreak @mxtokko @moonstruks @littleindulgences @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @kawaii-michealmyers @starlightkitten19 @glitteryarcadefart @sw33tsnow @stargirl-mo @dravenskye

[yueebby]

date crasher — dick grayson

synopsis. dick grayson swears he’s not in love with you. he just happens to find an unreasonable amount of joy in ruining your dates. purely for entertainment, of course.

contents. fluff, lowkey manipulative dick? he’s weird, theyre both whipped but they’re also both equally dense.

notes. inspired by that one smallville scene.

Despite what everyone says, Dick does not have feelings for you. You’re annoying, bossy, and frankly, rude. Definitely the opposite of his type. Or so he tells himself as he trudges to your apartment, cursing every step like it’s some great inconvenience instead of an excuse to see you.

You open the door with a glare so sharp it could cut glass. “You again?”

“Shower’s broken,” he says like it explains everything.

You blink. “And?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Let me use yours.”

A sharp laugh escapes your mouth. “Oh, sure, yeah. Let me just roll out the red carpet for Gotham’s most dramatic orphan.”

“Would it kill you to be nice to me for once?”

“Probably.” You cross your arms. "You literally live in a penthouse, Grayson. Call a plumber like a normal rich person. Or better yet, go use one of Bruce’s fifty extra bathrooms.”

Dick sighs, already tired. “First of all, Alfred’s out of town, and I’m not about to let Bruce nag me about home maintenance. Second, I’d rather take my chances with you than with Jason. You want me dead? Because he definitely does.”

You hum, considering. “Tempting.”

“Oh, come on, it’s just a shower.”

You squint at him, like you’re searching for the catch. “Fine. But you better not take forever. Some of us actually have social lives.”

Dick steps inside with a smirk. “Right, those thrilling Friday night plans of yours. What is it this time? Reorganizing your bookshelf? Watching true crime documentaries and judging people’s bad decisions?”

You scowl. “For your information, I have a date.”

His smirk falters. Just a little. “Date?”

“Yes, Grayson, some of us are desirable. Now hurry up so I don’t have to explain to him why my apartment smells like a stray I let in out of pity.”

Dick rolls his eyes but heads to the bathroom before you can catch the way his jaw clenches.

The bathroom door shuts behind him, and the moment he turns the water on, Dick sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. Being around you is exhausting and the hot water does little to soothe his irritation. You always have something to say about him. His stupid smirk, his messy hair, his tendency to throw on whatever shirt is closest without looking in a mirror.

Fine. If you’re going to be so obsessed with his hair, he’ll just use all of your expensive shampoo out of spite.

He squeezes way too much into his palm and lathers aggressively, enjoying the petty satisfaction. But as the steam fills the air, the scent of you clings to him. Vanilla. Something floral. Something undeniably you.

His nose scrunches.

It’s nauseating.

…Nauseating, he swears.

But he doesn’t stop sniffing.

Damn it.

Dick groans, pressing his forehead against the cold tile, letting the slowly cooling water run down his body in a weak attempt to regain his composure.

"Get a grip," he mutters under his breath. He’s a trained vigilante, a disciplined fighter raised by one of the greatest strategists in history. He’s faced warlords, assassins, and intergalactic threats without breaking a sweat.

So why does his stubborn mind keep circling back to the fact that his shower isn’t actually broken? That he’s here, in your bathroom, standing under your showerhead, using your shampoo, because he was bored enough to come bother you?

Now he sounds like a complete loser.

The thought barely has time to settle before..

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“GRAYSON, YOU BETTER NOT BE RUBBING ONE OUT IN THERE.”

Dick jerks upright so fast he nearly slips. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been in there forever! I can feel the steam coming through the door!” Your voice carries through, laced with that whine. The one where you drag your words out just enough to send shivers down his spine. He hates it. It’s infuriating. It’s…

“Don’t make me send you my water bill,” you huff.

Dick sighs, turning the water off and grabbing a towel. “I’ve been in here for, like, ten minutes. What’s the rush?”

“My date’s here, genius, and I left my purse in the bathroom.”

Dick pauses, towel in hand. His grip tightens around the fabric as an unexpected weight settles in his stomach. His frown is instinctive, but he masks it with a quip before he can dwell on it.

“Purse?” He tuts, stepping out of the shower. “The guy’s making you pay? Wow.” He whistles lowly. “You have awful taste in men.”

Silence.

Then, barely audible through the door.

"Trust me, I know."

Something about your quietness shifts the atmosphere. The usual fire in your voice dims just enough for him to recognize it. Hesitation, maybe. He doesn’t know why it makes his chest tighten.

An idea strikes him. One that he’d know would definitely rile you up.

With his towel slung low around his hips, he heads for the door.

You sigh in relief when he finally exits the bathroom, but the relief is quickly replaced a glare.

“The hell are you doing?” Your voice is suspicious, but he can hear the shuffle of your footsteps behind him.

Dick smirks. “Relax. I just wanna meet the poor guy who’s stuck with you for the night. Give him a warning and all that.”

“Grayson, don’t you dare—”

But he already has his hand on the doorknob. And the way your eyes widen in actual panic makes a sick part of him swell with amusement.

“Are you crazy?!” You lunge for him, but Dick is faster— or maybe you let him be faster. Either way, it’s too late.

The door swings open.

Your date stands frozen on the other side, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he takes in the sight of Dick Grayson dripping wet, shirtless, towel hanging just low enough to be scandalous.

“…Uh.”

The poor guy looks from Dick to you, eyes flickering down to where your hand is still gripping Dick’s bicep, peeking out from behind him like some kind of guilty party.

The silence stretches.

“Hey,” Dick says easily, leaning against the doorframe like he’s in his own apartment. “You must be the guy.”

Your date blinks rapidly, clearly struggling to compute the situation.

Dick grins, because this is too easy. “So… you treating them right, or should I be worried?”

But Dick isn’t stupid. He knows the guy isn’t right for you. No, he doesn’t know how you take your coffee in the morning, or that you have this annoying habit of leaning on the nearest person, him, of course, when you’re tired. And he definitely doesn’t know how your voice gets all breathless when you two play fight, like you’re trying not to smile even when you’re pretending to be mad.

You shove him. “Grayson, I swear to—”

But the way your date’s expression shifts, how he suddenly looks a little less sure tells Dick everything he needs to know.

And if that knowledge makes his smirk widen? Well.

He’ll chalk it up as a win.

thank you for reading! :3

[always1star]

sick - (lads ver.)

lads men when they're sick x gn!reader

fluff :)

-----------------------------------

Xavier is an absolute warrior when he is sick. He is rarely sick due to his thriving immune system (he probably eats dirt :/) and constant well rested body (always sleeping). Even though he doesn’t necessarily take good care of himself, he also has to keep up good health due to his demanding job. He can’t be fighting sick now, can he? However, when he does get sick, it is rather severe. He will ask you to come over and take care of him. You’re worried sick because he isn’t ever sick, let alone this terribly. You watch him sleep for a long time, feed him, and make sure he’s doing ok. He will ask you to stay with him until he gets better (you can’t say no). 

Zayne is more than capable of taking care of himself when he’s sick. He knows very well how to take care of his physical health and wellbeing, and knows the exact remedy to alleviate any form of sickness that comes to him. Shockingly, he is often sick, even though it is mild. Due to his extremely high stress levels and his evol being evil, he is usually fighting off mild colds or stress headaches. He’s good at hiding them especially because they happen often, and won’t really ask you to do anything for him. May ask you to come hang out though (yet you’ll make him soup and make sure he takes his meds). It’s nice to have time to talk to him while he’s sick too. 

Rafayel is so dramatic when he’s sick. He gets sick as much and as moderately as any other person, however he acts like he’s dying every single time. You will randomly get a call, begging you to come over to take care of his poor self. Of course, you do come over, to find him sprawled on the floor complaining about how miserable he is. You just gave yourself the responsibility of taking care of this man-child until he gets better, because there is no way he’s letting you leave until he is better. You make sure he’s treated like the princess he’s asking to be treated like: tucked in, read a story, kissed goodnight, cuddled (yup, you’re going to be sick tomorrow too), woken up to be fed porridge, given water, talked to, etc etc. He is absolutely pampered by you, and although you seem annoyed, you secretly adore him for it. 

Sylus gives up his usual cocky personality when he’s sick. You find him silently resting in bed, no comments to be heard. It’s very weird to not hear any snarky remarks, but rather his congestion with every breath he takes and the occasional coughing. You find Luke and Kieran already attending to him, and wonder why you’re even there in the first place. Clearly, he doesn’t need your care. However, before you leave, you see him open his eyes and beckon you over. He doesn’t need your care, but he definitely needs your presence. He pulls you into bed with him, holding you especially close. You listen to his labored breathing as he helplessly holds onto you. It was weird to see such a powerful man be so pathetic. You spend the night soothing the poor guy to sleep. You’re definitely going to make fun of him for how needy he is while sick later. 

Caleb always hides when he is sick. Even though he would go out of his way every time to help you recover from any ailment, he would never ask you to do the same. He doesn’t want to burden you with something so trivial, so he tries to fight off flu season all by himself. Unfortunately for him, you’ve known him long enough to know that he’s not really “too tired to hang out right now.” So, you come marching into his home with bags filled to the brim with anything he might need: flu medicine, pain relievers, a cloth (that you’ll wet for his fever), water, tea, juice, porridge, soup, everything. He’s shocked to see you, but boy is he glad. You scold him for being so stubborn, and remind him that you’d always be happy to care for him. You spend time taking care of him, and he’s basking in your amazing presence. Maybe he should be sick more often…

-----------------------------------

finally got to writing lads!! expect to see them more often, haha

"lads ver." up top cuz ill probably write one for jjk too

[samnoahalov]

WHO CARES I'LL DO IT MYSELF!!

0- tbh idk 😅. It's been like.... seven-ish years since I last checked it soooo... next!

1-Currently de 16, be 17 soon (I feel so old alredy)

2-Oh.. well, idk how shoe sizes work for english-speakers(and it varies from contry to contry) so I'll put the number in MY contry :D 29/30.

3- No >:(

4- Nah, I don't like the taste of most of them. Also I'm very happy with juice, water, soda, etc...

5- No.

7- from 25 to 29. Though sometimes people mistake me for 30ish. (I can't blame them tho, I have the spirit of a old lady)

7- Nop.

8- Not really. May change mind one day, but for now, no.

9- Nope and

10- Nope.

11- Every friend is best friend for me. No hierarqy(?? Dunno, you get it)

12- Well I'm not married.

13- I'm aego, but still, none.

14- None. (I mean, if we're talking about anything besides sexual, someone toxis is literally the only type that can turn me off and make me wanna go away)

15- uuuhhhhhh... Megamind? Idk, one of Barbie's??? I DON'T KNOW OKAY I LOVE THEM ALL EQUALLY.

16- Listen to me, give me food(optional) and be kind and my heart is (platonicaly) yours.

17- My late dad.

18- Ugh.. that's hard... when I almost got killed count? I guess. I wouldn't call it "traumatic", but like, I was in a lot of fear so.

19- . . . . Uh.... I'm... sensitive to people's rejection??? Does that count? I mean, I'm also senstive to their affection but-.

20- My body- and I mean it not by gender or anything, neither for beauty stuff, my body just is all wrong and it gives me pain and sometimes I just hate it a lot.

21- uh, I guess my curiosity? I love learning and love to be able to see so much stuff.

22- either related to art, theology or science(biology). Voice actor, veterinarian, neurologist, etc...

23- Older sis(Distant, but not bad.), younger Half-sis(Distant too, but we chat sometimes about silly stuff), youngest half-sis(very close and very good).

24-Dad's dead, but he was a nice dad!, my mother is a narcissist so we don't get along.

25- Be with the person and have a good time. Maybe have something specially funny to remember about it would be nice :)

26- people that don't close the door properly when I ask them to.

27- Pretty and lovable, goofy and silly. Also have very dark eyes that just capture your soul, and a simple yet beautiful smile that signal to you "I Love you, please keep talking I can't barely think when I look at you" or "I hate you so much I wish to kill you but my nugget don't allow me to because we don't want to clean the body later"... so yeah. Also I'm talking about my girlfriend, but like, people are so pretty, wanna put them in a museon ✨

28- a face that scream hipocrisy and lies, filled with the marks of her sucess in drowning her victims in self hate and depression. (That's mommy btw :>)

29- I was sick but didn't want them to feel worried because I'm always so fucked up...

30- Noises&Smells of regular people.

31- "luv u :)"

32- Angry and Sad. (Or derived)

33- Thanks. (With a weird-nice emoji)

34-Hair, clothes, eyes and nails.

(I also like earrings and other acessories :D, they're nice)

35- Hair, some type of beards, clothes, eyes and nails.

36- In a calm place, not cold for at least 3 seasons and that let me see greeeny green of plants.

37- My voice... I think? I mean, I like my voice and all, but sometimes I just get the wrong tone at the wrong time in conversation so-

38- Farmer and Writer 😅 (I also once wished to be a Biologist)

39-Mint with chocolate chips! :)

40- Myself? I don't wish to be anyone other than myself.

41- In a very comfy bed.

42- Rice.

43- sorry, no sexual attraction. But I think the prettiest person I can think of is..........ugh...wait, I CAN do this! Just- uh... gimme some time...... my sister! Is the prettiest I can think of right now 🤔

44- If a cat is raised with another animal it will not see it(or it's especies I don't remember) as "something else" but rather think of it as a cat... I think I may be wrong, I don't remember exacly and neither were I get this from. But I guess it counts!

nosy anons let's go

0: Height

1: Age

2: Shoe size

3: Do you smoke?

4: Do you drink?

5: Do you take drugs?

6: Age you get mistaken for

7: Have tattoos?

8: Want any tattoos?

9: Got any piercings?

10: Want any piercings?

11: Best friend?

12: Relationship status

13: Biggest turn ons

14: Biggest turn offs

15: Favorite movie

16: I’ll love you if…

17: Someone you miss

18: Most traumatic experience

19: A fact about your personality

20: What I hate most about myself

21: What I love most about myself

22: What I want to be when I get older

23: My relationship with my sibling(s)

24: My relationship with my parent(s)

25: My idea of a perfect date

26: My biggest pet peeves

27: A description of the girl/boy I like

28: A description of the person I dislike the most

29: A reason I’ve lied to a friend

30: What I hate the most about work/school

31: What my last text message says

32: What words upset me the most

33: What words make me feel the best about myself

34: What I find attractive in women

35: What I find attractive in men

36: Where I would like to live

37: One of my insecurities

38: My childhood career choice

39: My favorite ice cream flavor

40: Who I wish I could be

41: Where I want to be right now

42: The last thing I ate

43: Sexiest person that comes to my mind immediately

44: A random fact about anything

[lalunanymph]

💭 thinking about . . . . priest!caleb being seduced by succubus!mc

tw. priest!caleb, succubus!mc, wet dreams, heavy religious imagery, inspired by that one fleabag scene (iykyk), guilt, self-flagellation, blasphemy, body worship, mc is possessive over her hot priest

Pure and sure—Caleb, a man cut from the holy cloth, doesn’t entertain the entity in the corner who twirls her hair, licks her lips, trying to get his attention.

“You cannot ignore me for long,” your seductive purr would’ve made a weaker man succumb to your advances.

But, Caleb’s measured control is honed from the strongest blade of repressed self-hatred. He glances at your glistening lips, the silky black dress hugging your figure.

Something sparks in his lower body, but he quickly quenches the desire, focusing on the task at hand.

He picks up a Bible, and holding it over his head, he recites the incantation to banish you away. With every utterance in the ancient text leaving his lips, the bindings drawing you back to Hell grows tighter and you snarl, trying to lunge at him.

Inadvertently, he takes a step back, and he stutters. He falters, and it’s the opening you need.

Your arms wrap around his neck, your lips seeking his with an insatiable hunger. The moment your tongue slips into his mouth, he wakes up with a start.

Father Caleb shivers, sitting up in bed. The lust stirring in his groin is white-hot, his heart palpitating irregularly in his chest. 

Splashing cold water onto his face, the shock does little to stop his thoughts from wondering. Even a cold shower doesn’t help. He cannot get the image of you out of his head; this little minx who stepped into his holy sanctuary and tainted it with all her seductive glory. 

The next day, at mass, as he speaks to the congregation at large, his eyes cannot help but stray to you. 

Despite you looking so innocent—so sweet—in a paisley blue dress and a veil covering your hair, he cannot get the image of his dream out of his thoughts. But, his sharp mind stays on track, and by some miracle, he manages to finish his sermon on the dot. After church, as he wraps up the last of his farewells to the good Christian families around the neighbourhood, he notices a figure kneeling on the frontmost pew, her head bowed and pretty hands clasped together.

Like you two are telepathically connected together, you lift your head and catch his eye.

Quickly signing yourself, you stand and genuflect, before turning around to smile at him. “Apologies, Father. I was just about to leave.”

He maintains a respectful distance from you, and yet, his smile is welcoming and warm.

“No worries, there. You can stay as long as you want. Just make sure to close the door behind you.”

He says nothing else, about to walk away, but your soft voice stops him.

“Father… I know this is sudden, but… I have a confession to make.”

Caleb stops in his tracks. He’s already out of his chasuble, and it’s supposed to be lunch time. But, he swallows down the prick of annoyance and turns to you, smile never faltering.

“Sure. Let’s begin.”

You tell him of these… feelings… you’ve been having for years now. Of needing to be devoured. Taken. Overwhelmed. There are tears in your eyes, the picture of a loathing so deep and shameful, you could never tell your grandma. The sweet old woman would call you a fiend, or worse, ship you off to a nunnery if she found out your true desires. 

As much as Caleb tries to remain impartial, he can’t help the tightening coil in his belly at your words. 

Through the flimsy booth walls, he listens to you prattle on about how you can’t live life like this anymore—feeling so lost and untethered. That you want someone to choose for you, to tell you what to feel, what to wear, how to cheer for a football team—influence you to pick your favorite football team.

That existing as someone with autonomy in this world is hard when all you want is to be directed the way he directs his people—his congregation.

And when you’re done ranting, close to tears, all Caleb can say in this instance is a low, and commanding: 

“Kneel.”

You pause, unsure if you heard him right. “Wh—?”

“I said, kneel.”

Tension, thick and syrupy, coats the narrow space, fogging up the confessional booth with an inexplicable heat. You don’t know what to expect when you follow his command, slipping onto your knees in the middle of the confession booth. Time comes to a standstill, and you’re holding your breath. 

One… two…

“Are you kneeling?” 

You swallow hard. “Yes, Father.”

Silence. And, when you start to wonder if he’s pulling your leg, the confessional curtain is suddenly drawn open. Father Caleb looms over you, tall and formidable. You have never noticed how broad his shoulders are underneath his cassock, and when he kneels before you, his touch is tender on your cheeks, holding you like you’re some precious thing worthy of salvation.

His lips slam into yours, and it feels like a world only for two. This moment is made to break every rule in the book, and when his tongue slides into your mouth, you moan softly, like a penitent dissolving into a sea of sin. 

You’re losing yourself in his touch, and when he stands, he brings you along with him, pushing you against the cool stone walls of the church. The moment lasts for what feels like an eternity—only when he pulls away, a thin strand of saliva connecting to your lower lips, does it strike you what has conspired. It seems that Father Caleb, too, realises his mistake, and he drops his grip from your cheeks, as if the fires of Hell have begun to lick at his hands.

“I must go.”

He doesn’t spare you a second glance, hurrying out of the sanctuary and away, leaving you painfully wanting and needy for him.

The guilt eats away at him till the evening sun sets. Caleb cannot get the memory of your lips out of his mind, and the taste of your breath on his lips. 

God, forgive me… He picks up the flogger in the corner of his room and rips off his shirt, kneeling right at the altar where Saint Anthony stands, his beady eyes joining a cacophony of religious figures staring down at this broken man who is a lost cause. Every rip of the whip on his skin tears another chunk of his self-hatred, soothing the iron fires of his remorse to numb it with the pain. 

Driblets of red dot the floor and he’s breathing hard, mind white with pain. His hand trembles as he prepares for another hit onto his lower back, when he feels a presence behind him. 

“Caleb—stop…” 

Your sweet voice fills his mind like a fine mist. He squeezes his eyes closed and leans forward, gasping for breath.

“God,” he mumbles, “I’m hearing things.” But, someone grazes his shoulder, and for the first time in his life since walking the holy path, Caleb feels pure, unadulterated fear. A feminine touch caresses his bicep, and he tenses, frozen.

It cannot be. “Caleb,” your sweet voice slips through his consciousness, and your lips touch the open laceration on his back. “I’m here.”

A dark thrill shoots up his spine, and he opens his eyes. He feels a rush across his skin, losing control when he spins around to find you astride his bed, no longer looking so innocent but in that same dress from his wet dream last night. He knows what you are, says your name in his mind, and you entertain him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Succubus.”

“True,” you purr, movements slow and languid as you lay on his bed, slipping your hand down to your thighs, sensually tracing the outline of your body under his scrutinising gaze. Caught in your tide, Caleb feels like he’s drowning. But, he cannot surrender.

To give in would be to lose the holy light of his life. He tries to stay grounded, and yet, the sight of you threatens to make him break his composure. 

“You should leave.” 

The tremble in his voice makes your blood-red lips curl into a smile. “Is that really what you want?” 

Hypnotised, he finds his feet leading him right to the bed. As if out of control, he kneels right before your spread thighs, and you can taste his surrender right on the tip of your tongue. 

“Why?” He manages to ask. “Why are you tormenting me?” 

You reach out to play with the silver chain around his neck, tugging him up towards you with it. 

“Why not? Nothing gives me more pleasure than to watch a strong man crumble.”

And, crumble he does. 

He loses himself in your body, your taste, your touch. It’s the first time in a long time he feels a woman’s walls sucking him in, and yet, he inexplicably knows you’re not of this mortal realm. With every touch and caress, you claim a bit of his soul, straying him further and further away from the light. 

Caleb can’t stop himself from pressing kisses along your supple body, fully wrapped in this unforgivable sin. Like a dog, he pants right at your altar, your desire dripping in his mouth like the sweetest manna the skies could never offer. The word and his vows mean nothing, not when he’s pounding into you from above, grunting and groaning your name into the crook of your neck.

When he takes you from behind, he swears you give a new meaning to the word ‘religion’. From the arch of your back to the way your shoulder blades move under his ministrations, he finds himself dry-mouthed with ecstasy. 

Mea culpa… mea maxima culpa…

Under the watchful eyes of the saints and even God himself, he spills inside of you for the third time in the night, his life force seeping straight to your core, sustaining you while leaving him feeling emptier than ever. But, the high humming in his veins puts him on cloud nine. He is a man born anew, baptised by your body and lust.

When he falls asleep next to you, your fingers slowly run through his hair, and you make eye contact with the scowling portrait of Saint Anthony perched on his makeshift altar.

Softly, smugly, you whisper: “I win.”

♡ feedback and reblogs are appreciated

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can't Have One Without the Other 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Summary: your marriage is on the rocks.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sit before your tablet. The screen is blanket as you twirl it around and around. It's easy when you have an assignment. On your own, you have nothing. Every ounce of inspiration is gone. Wrung out by your indifference and exhaustion.

You sigh and put the pen down. You lean your head in your hands and sigh. There's something wrong with you. A lot, actually. It's not just Bucky and whatever's going on there, it's you. Something's missing. Or broken.

You lock the screen and stick the pen to the side. You shut the light off as you leave your office and go down to the kitchen. You open the fridge and take out what you need.

After your workout, you went to that all-organic store. Then you came home and did a deep clean of the fridge, switching out all the junk for the healthier options. It kept you busy enough not to think. That seems to be the problem. Thinking.

You rinse the chickpeas and the lettuce, you cut the chicken into strips to bake. High protein, low cal. It will keep you from snacking but a double chocolate cheesecake would be better. You sigh and push away the craving.

As the chicken cooks, you stand by the oven and absorb its warmth. You zone out as you stare at the wall. You used to cook together. He even taught you how to make the water cake his mom cooked during the hard years. That was fun. It was the closest he got to talking about before.

"Hey, doll," Bucky startles you and your eyes come into focus. "How's my best gal?"

You're jarred by the brightness in his voice. More so by the colourful bunch in his hand. He wiggles the bouquet towards your face.

"Got some of that German beer," he lifts the six pack of short bottles. "The kind you like."

You accept the carnations. You look over the pink, white, and purple petals. You make yourself smile as your insides rot. What were you thinking earlier?

"I'll get a vase," you say then pause. "Thanks, honey."

You shift and pucker your lips. He cranes to kiss you and taps your ass. "That's what I'm talking about," he comments as he parts.

You turn and search for a vase. You take it out and add water and the stems. The stove opens.

"What're we having?" He asks.

"Um, I was making a chicken and chickpea salad but if you want, I can do up some rice with yours."

"Sounds good to me," he says as he shuts the door. "You know my favourite part is dessert."

You set the vase on the corner of the counter and turn it to show the most vibrant flowers. He comes up behind you and his hands settle on your hips. He inhales the scent of your hair.

"You worked out today," he mutters. He can smell the sweat. You changed your clothes but since you cleaned up, you didn't bother showering yet. You assumed he'd be late.

"Just a bit," you shrug and touch his hands.

He reluctantly lets you go as you move around him. You take down two bowls. You feel him watching.

"You know you only think those things about yourself, I don't," he leans on the counter. "I never said you were fat."

You wince, "I know, Bucky. It's not... It's my own problem. I understand."

"Hm, it's our problem, we're married," he comes closer. "You know, you're saying I'm the one not talking. You're not exactly chatty yourself."

"Sorry, I... I'm tired. I went shopping and cleaned and... probably didn't do as much as you," you look down guiltily.

"Doesn't matter. You did lots," he insists as he touches your lower back. "Again, not me saying so, is it?"

"No, guess not. Sorry." You keep your head down.

He reaches to frame your chin, his fingers stretching up your cheek. He turns your head. You meet his eyes as he smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"Don't be, not for that," He squeezes and you whimper. You grab onto his wrist as panic surges in your chest. You turn to him completely. "But you should be sorry."

"Ow, Bucky, ow, what're you--" His metal fingers dig into your cheeks. He's never touched you like this. He was always a bit reticent to do so with his metal hand.

"Divorce." He growls. "Nat fucking told me." He scoffs and pens you against the counter. "It's called fucking loyalty and she's got a lot more than you do."

"What? No, I didn't... Bucky... I haven't--"

"You're not going to. We'll fix this."

You whine and slap his bicep, "you're hurting me--"

"Me hurting you?" He hisses. "You went behind my fucking back."

"No, I didn't-- argh! Get off of me," you smack him again. "Bucky, please."

"After last night, I thought we were back, baby."

"It's... I was confused. I didn't do anything--"

"You lied to me. You faked it, didn't you?"

"What?" You wheeze, head thrumming from the pressure.

"Last night, when you came for me. You were fucking lying." He snarls as his nose touches yours. "Then you went out and fucking humiliated me. Saying you're gonna leave me."

"I didn't say that--"

"I love you. You know I do. You fucking know it," he breathes.

"I know, Bucky, I love you too." You rub his chest, "but you're hurting me."

He bares his teeth and shoves you away. A hot pain sears along your cheekbones. You cradle your face as the sudden warm flow at the gash left from the vibranium plate. You gasp and look at him, shakily pulling your fingers away to see the blood. He sees it too. He heaves visibly.

"Shit," he looks at his hand, "I shoulda got that fixed--"

You press your fingers back to the cut as the iron smell of blood overwhelms you. He comes toward you and you slide along the counter.

"Doll, I didn't mean to do that--"

"Don't--" you put your other hand out. "I... I'll just clean up. Please." You barely hold back the quaver in your voice. "Please, just... take the chicken out before it burns."

You move cautiously past him, too afraid too look directly at him. He doesn't try to follow you. You rush out to the bathroom and shut the door with your foot. You turn and look in the mirror. Ow.

[mommyownsmee]

TW: Degradation & Humiliation, Breeding Kink, CNC, Overstimulation, Choking / Breath Control, Ownership, Possession, Objectification, Crying, Slapping, Hair Pulling,

“I want you on your knees for me.”

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushed deep with heat, but you drop fast. Of course you do. It’s what you’re good at.

You sink to the floor, trembling, thighs already pressed together like you’re trying to hold back the ache. You look up at me through your lashes—so sweet, so obedient, like you want to be ruined.

“Pathetic little thing,” I sneer, stepping in close, the bulge of the strap brushing your cheek. “You’re drooling already. Just the sight of it’s got you soaked, hasn’t it?”

“That’s my good girl.”

I grip your hair and yank your head back, making you gasp. I press the strap against your mouth, dragging it across your lips.

“You gonna suck it like the dumb little fucktoy you are?”

You open for me, lips stretching around the thick silicone, eyes glassy with need. I fuck your mouth slow at first, just enough to tease—then I shove deeper, harder, using your throat like it belongs to me.

“Take it,” I growl, hips snapping. “Fucking take it. I want drool all over you. I want you choking on it.”

I pull out with a wet pop, a string of spit still connecting you to the strap. You’re panting, eyes watering, but you don’t stop looking up at me like you need this.

I haul you up, spin you around, shove you against the nearest surface. You brace yourself on shaking arms, ass up, legs already spread like a good little slut.

“Look at you. Bent over for me, dripping down your thighs, just waiting to be used.”

I yank your panties to the side and ram the strap into you with no warning. You cry out, but you don’t move. You take it.

“Yeah, you like it rough, don’t you? You like being pounded until you can’t walk, until you’re shaking and ruined and fucked out.”

I grab your hips and start fucking you hard—relentless, brutal—letting the sound of skin on skin fill the room. You’re moaning like a whore, babbling nonsense between gasps.

“You’re mine. Just a wet little hole for me to fuck. Nothing more.”

I slap your ass, hard enough to leave a mark, then lean in, voice low in your ear.

“And when I’m done, you’ll be leaking for hours, aching for days—and begging me to do it all over again.”

You’re barely holding yourself up, arms shaking, legs trembling, mouth slack and dripping spit.

“You hear that?” I hiss, snapping my hips forward again. “That wet, messy sound every time I fuck into you? That’s you. That’s your greedy little hole sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

You try to moan, try to answer, but I reach forward, grab a fistful of your hair, and slam you down onto the surface—face against the sheets, ass still high, exactly where I want you.

“No words. You don’t get to talk. You’re not here to speak. You’re here to be bred.”

You sob—pathetic, needy—and grind your hips back against me, trying to take more.

“Fuck, you’re addicted to this,” I growl. “You want me to break you. To fuck you past your limits. To fill that desperate little cunt until it’s raw and used up.”

I thrust harder, faster, merciless. You’re crying now, drooling, eyes rolling back as I keep pounding into you, chasing your orgasm like it’s the only thing left in the world.

“You’ll take everything I give you. Every inch. Every fucking load I put in you.”

I lean over you, press my body against your back, and wrap a hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your moan catch.

“You want it, don’t you? Want me to knock you up. Want to be bred like the useless little hole you are.”

You nod, frantic, choking on a sob.

“Say it.”

“Please,” you gasp. “Please breed me. Use me. Ruin me. Fill me up—stuff me full.”

I grab your hips so hard that they’re bruising with the force.

“You’re gonna take it all,” I growl. “Every fake load. Over and over. I’ll keep you on your back, dripping for me, used and bred and broken.”

You’re coming again, spasming around the strap, crying out like you’re being ripped apart. But I don’t stop.

“Too much?” I taunt, fucking you through it. “No. You don’t get too much. You get what I decide. And I’m not finished.”

I pull out, flip you over, and shove the strap back in—rough, fast, no warning. You scream, nails clawing at the sheets, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

“You’re gonna take every fucking round I give you. I’m gonna fuck you stupid until you can’t even think without permission.”

I press a hand to your lower belly, grinding deep.

“Right there. That’s where I want it. Deep enough to ruin you.”

You’re a wreck now—body limp, face smeared with spit and tears, legs shaking uncontrollably as I keep the strap buried deep inside you. You’re not even moaning anymore, just whimpering, broken sounds leaving your throat as I grind into that same tender spot over and over.

“Look at you,” I sneer, gripping your jaw, forcing your dazed eyes to meet mine. “You’re nothing but a dumb little cumdump now, aren’t you? Just a hole to be used. A pretty little body begging to be filled.”

You try to nod, try to answer, but your lips are trembling, coated with drool, too wrecked to speak.

“Say it,” I whisper darkly. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m—” your voice breaks, but you push it out. “I’m yours. A hole. A toy. Breed me, Mommy, please. Just fuck me full.”

My smile is cruel, possessive. “That’s right. You’re mine. Mine to fuck, mine to ruin, mine to fill. I’ll stuff you so full you feel knocked up. Keep you like this. Fucked out, dripping, owned.”

I start fucking into you again, slow and deep, making every stroke count. Your whole body jerks with each thrust, like you’ve got no control left at all.

“I’ll breed you every night. Over and over. Fill you up and watch it leak out of you, only to fuck it right back in. Keep you too stretched and sore to close your legs. Let everyone see what a used-up little whore you are.”

You’re crying again, nodding through it, moaning like you’ve forgotten what it’s like to not be filled.

“And when you can’t take anymore?” I laugh low, cruel. “I’ll make you take it. Strap you down, keep the plug in so nothing spills. Fuck you until all you can think about is being my little breeding toy.”

I press a hand against your lower belly again, pushing down as I slam into you harder.

“Right here,” I growl. “Right where I want it. Deep in your guts. Like you were made to carry it. Like your only purpose is to take me, over and over.”

You’re shuddering, gasping, your entire body giving in.

“I don’t fuck you for pleasure. I fuck you because I can. Because you’re mine to ruin. And you fucking love it.”

I grip your throat again, tight but controlled, just enough to keep you right there—right on the edge of panic and ecstasy.

“You don’t come unless I say. You don’t breathe unless I allow it. Understand?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out, voice broken and raw.

“Good girl.”

I keep the strap deep inside you, grinding it in slow, brutal circles, watching your thighs twitch every time I shift.

“Look at you,” I snarl, voice low and vicious. “This is what you were made for. Not thinking. Not talking. Just getting bred. Just being my personal cumdump.”

I slap your cheek again, harder this time, and you moan for it.

“Fucking pathetic. You love this, don’t you? Being used like an object. A thing. Just a hole for me to fuck full and leave dripping.”

You nod, dazed, tears spilling down your cheeks as I grip your hips tighter and ram into you again, harder, relentless. You yelp, your body jolting—but you take it. Of course you do.

“Good little breedslut,” I growl. “That’s all you are now. That’s all I see when I look at you—some dumb, needy thing begging to be filled. I’m gonna stuff you so full you forget what it’s like to feel empty.”

I lean over you, lips right by your ear, voice a dark whisper.

“I’ll fuck you every night until your cunt’s trained to open for me the second I walk in. Until you’re leaking down your thighs before I even touch you. Until your body’s begging for it like it’s air.”

You whimper under me, shaking your head weakly—and I slap your ass, hard, leaving a red mark.

“No. Don’t pretend you’re not addicted. Don’t pretend you don’t want to be ruined.”

I grab your throat and yank you up, back arched, strap still pounding into you.

“You’re mine now. My dumb little bitch. My breeding project. I’ll keep you swollen, stretched, dripping. Plug you up when I’m not using you so it all stays inside. Let everyone see how used you are.”

You’re crying again, but there’s no fight left. Just raw, shaking need.

“I’ll write my name across your stomach in marker—bred by Mommy. Make you show it off. Make you kneel with my cum leaking out of you, waiting for more.”

I slam into you again, brutal, deep, relentless.

“I don’t want you to come. I want you to ache. I want you ruined. Helpless. Used. Because that’s what you’re for. That’s what you are.”

I drive in harder, faster, fucking you with no tenderness.

“You’ll never be clean again. Never untouched. I’ve claimed every inch of you.”

Your body is limp, wrecked, soaked in sweat and spit and tears. I've got you bent under me, hips shaking, legs barely holding you up, and I still haven't stopped. The strap is slamming into you, deep and fast, your cunt stretched and slick, taking every thrust like it's all you were made for.

“Gonna fill you up,” I growl, voice ragged, breath hot against your ear. “Gonna fucking pump you full.”

You whimper, clawing at the sheets, head shaking, but your hips push back, desperate and shaking. Your pussy clenches around the strap like it can't get enough.

“You want it, don't you? Want me to stuff your cunt until it's leaking down your thighs. Want to feel me so deep it fucking shows.”

I press a hand hard to your lower belly again, right above where the strap is slamming in.

“Right here,” I hiss. “Gonna fuck it in so deep you get that swollen little cum belly you keep begging for. Gonna stretch you from the inside out.”

You moan shamelessly when I say it, your voice breaking, your cunt clenching hard around the toy. You're so close again. I can feel it in the way your body trembles, the way your moans are slipping into sobs.

“Say it,” | growl, slapping your ass, then dragging my nails down your back. “Say you want it. Say you want Mommy to breed you.”

“Please,” you cry, voice cracked. “Please, fill me-fuck your load into me, Mommy. I wanna feel it, wanna have your baby, I wanna keep it.”

I lose it. My hips slam into yours, fast, brutal, my breath tearing out in ragged gasps.

“You're gonna fucking get it. Every last drop. Gonna stuff your useless little cunt like it's the only thing it's good for. Cum for me, whore.”

And you do-loud, messy, your whole body jerking under me. Your pussy clamps down on the strap, pulsing, milking it like it's real-and in my head, it is. It always is.

And then I follow-grinding deep, burying the strap to the hilt, moaning low and guttural as I press my hips flush to yours.

“Fuck-take it, baby-take all that fucking cum-take Mommy's load like a good little breeder.”

I press hard into your belly, imagining it swelling as I fill you, imagining it spilling out of you, messy and hot and endless.

“Fuck yes. That's it. Stuffed full. Bred. Mine.”

You're shaking beneath me, twitching through aftershocks, body still pulsing around the strap like it doesn't want to let go.

“Keep it in,” I whisper against your neck.

“Don't you dare let it run out. That's my fucking gift to you.”

[4drianaaaa]

can you make a fic of hamzah streaming and he forgets or miss clicks and doesn’t end the live and him and reader start like making out and martin sees the stream has to bang on the door to stop them and the next morning they wake up to edits of reader crawling towards hamzah and shit idk lol

'END STREAM' | Hamzahthefantastic

⚠: slightly suggestive, sfw, fem reader, getting caught wrd count: 974

You and Hamzah had just came back from a busy day. You both decided to share a joint just to relive from whatever may have caused you both insane when suddenly Martin had rang Hamzah up for a last minute fortnite twitch stream. It was now around 11 pm, you were folding up laundry as you waited for the two to finish streaming. You are usually clingy whenever your high so you hoped it wouldn't kick in any sooner.

"Martin!" Hamzah yelled through out the whole apartment as your eyes widened in response. "There's a SQUAD OH GOSH" Martin's voice echoed from one of the rooms of Yours's and Hamzah's house

Mandy had abandoned Martin once again as she was In Spain. Which is why Martin had came over also just cause he wanted to not drive himself alone in his house with just his pets.

"Martin HELP ME!" His audio through the stream cracked as his character In 'Fortnite' collapsed on the floor. "Dude I'm miles away!" Martin responded as Hamzah leaned back on his chair accepting his defeat. "Okay whatever, I think we should wrap it up here." Hamzah sighed looking at the time which he noticed they both had been streaming since 2 hours ago.

11:45 p.m.

"yeah dude your right, anyways chat do you think we should start streaming again?" Martin questioned as the chat was filled with 'YESS' and 'PLEASE'. Hamzah's tired eyes were hidden behind the glare of his glasses and not to mention he may or may not have smoked a joint with you before him getting on stream making him even more tired than ever.

"Okay well Thanks so much guys for watching our very secret stream!" Martin waved through the camera, "Bye!" Martin smiled as Hamzah said so too. Martin had left the call. Hamzah's mind to focused on the time he took off his glasses placing them on the cluttered table. He cracked his knuckles as he noticed the door open to the purring 'Red' "where's your mother Red?" He said picking up the cat as he jumped off his lap, "Whatever asshole" he sighed as you walked through the door of his guest bedroom.

"Hi my love!" he perked up, "I was just about to get you" he said all soapy as you leaned down to kiss his soft lips. "Hi babe, how was your stream since like forever?" you questioned as you picked up around his cluttered desk. Your whole body covering his sight reaching for crushed up water bottles

"Tiring" he said putting his glasses back on. "Hey, what are you doing? I'll clean that up later babe." He said as he grabbed your waist pushing you down on his lap as your legs were thrown over his lap as they hung from the chair as one of his hands wrapped around your waist as the other was gripping on to your thigh. "Your so pretty you know that right?" he hummed as his voice was husky, not to mention his eyes, and his veiny covered hands leaning closer to your heat. "You think?" you responded in a more tired voice as you were seduced in his tiredness.

"I know so y/n" he said before you crashed your lips into his as his head tilted a little as his tongue seeped into your mouth tasting every bit of you. Your hands wrapped around his neck as his lips were soon to travel down your chin every so slowly to your neck, looking for any of your sweet spots. The tension grew as you began to feel hotter than before. You couldn't help but have a little noise come from the back of your throat. His hands began to travel to your shirt, his hand looking to cup your boobs. "so, gorgeous. Y/n." He said in between breaths kissing your lips again. He felt his pants grow the more you moved ever so slightly on top of him.

|

Martin looked back up at the borrowed PC you had let him borrow for the stream as he closed the Discord tab. He couldn't help but notice the fact Hamzah had still been streaming.

His eyes widened because of what he saw.

"Fuck! Hamzah!" He yelled as he noticed there almost being more than 12,000 people still watching the stream.

No Response.

"Dude!" Martin yelled out once again as he shot up from his chair running across the small house shoo 'ing away the cats from following him. He swung the door open from your office as he ran to the room. He panicked opening the door.

"fuck my love, I'm so fucking har-"

"HAMZAH!" Martin yelled as he busted right into the room as you grabbed Hamzah's wrist from being on your stomach pushing them off you. "YOUR STILL STREAMING!" Martin yelled pointing to the computer as You and Hamzah turned to look at the computer noticing the red blinking dot on one of the tabs of his computer.

"Shit!" He cussed as you got up from his lap. You had still not been shown to their fans, your heart dropped to your feet as you realized this was gonna be your first impression of yourself to them. Better yet, there was no possible way of erasing this at all.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, well sorry guys...Thanks' for watching." His mouse was clicked on the 'END STREAM' button as Martin's hand flew over his mouth. "Dude..." Hamzah rubbed his face in embarrassment. "Fuck guys I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to cause that..." you apologized, "No it's not your fault girl, it's Hamzah's!" Martin said speechless, "I just hope they couldn't hear that last sentence.." Hamzah said lowly. As you all three ended up laughing about it.

Now, You were featured in a video of them having a sleepover the next day introducing yourself properly.

-

THANK YOU FOR REQUESESTINGGG <3 super short, hope you enjoy tho 😔

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ i know love . . . m.s

in which . . . matt’s deeply in love with you, and he proves it to you.

warnings . . . fluff, descriptions of making out, dry humping, suggestiveness, pet names.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #9

the city lights flicker outside the windows, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. you’re curled up on the couch, feet tucked under you, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, barely paying attention to your surroundings. you don’t even notice when the front door clicks open, not until warm and familiar arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you back against a solid chest. a shiver runs down your spine at the feel of his body pressing against yours, his breath hot against your neck.

“miss me?” matt’s voice is low, teasing, but you can hear the softness underneath it. you sigh dramatically, leaning your head back slightly to look at him. “maybe a little.” matt laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest, and he moves to sit next to you. his fingers find yours immediately, intertwining with them like they’ve always belonged there. you can feel the calluses on his hand, the warmth of his skin, and it sends a spark straight to your chest.

“how was work?” you ask, trying to keep it light, but your pulse is already quickening from the closeness of his touch. he exhales, a little tired but mostly relieved to be home. “better now.” you can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips. “smooth.”matt grins, that mischievous look lighting up his eyes. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the simple gesture makes your breath catch in your throat. “you know me.”

your gaze flickers down to where his hand still holds yours, you bite your lip, trying to find the words to say. “i missed you a lot, actually.” matt’s eyebrows raise slightly, a curious smile tugging at his lips. “yeah?” you nod, your hand sliding up his arm, the muscles there tight under your touch. “before you, i thought i knew what love was,” you murmur, your voice soft. “but with you… i feel like i understand it now. the way we are, the way you make me feel like i’m everything you need.”

matt leans in a little, his breath warm on your skin. “i get that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “with you, it’s not like anything i’ve ever felt. it’s real, you know? deeper than anything i’ve ever imagined.” you can feel the heat between you rising, a tension building that you can’t ignore anymore. there’s something about the way he looks at you, the way his eyes never leave yours, that makes your heart race.

you move a little, shifting closer to matt. “i used to think love was just the fireworks, the rush. but now i think it’s in the little things. like how you always text me good morning, even when you’re barely awake. or how you know exactly when i need space, and when i need you closer. or how, every night, you pull me in, like you don’t want me to leave.”

his breath hitches as your lips graze his ear, and he pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “i do that?” he asks, his voice raw with a hint of surprise. you nod, a slow, teasing smile pulling at your lips. “every night.” matt looks at you for a long moment, and then his hand slides up to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as he leans in, his lips brushing yours in the lightest of touches. it’s almost like he’s testing the waters, making sure you’re still there, still real.

you breathe him in, the sweetness of his breath mixing with the intoxicating scent of his skin, and without thinking, you pull him closer, pressing your lips against his harder. this time, matt doesn’t hesitate. he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every moment.

the kiss melts into something more urgent, more desperate. matt’s hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of his body against yours, every inch of him radiating warmth. you let out a soft gasp when you feel the press of his chest against yours, the weight of his body making your heart race.

the air swirls around you, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of his lips on yours, the way his hands move over you like they can’t get enough. you can’t get enough. everything you feel, everything you want, is right there in his kiss, in the way he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world.

matt doesn’t disconnect his lips from yours as he pulls you onto his lap oh so effortlessly. his hand tangled into your hair, his free hand holding your hip, encouraging you to grind against his lap. you moaned into his mouth, feeling his hand tighten on your hips. you felt matt’s erection against your clothed cunt and his plaid blue pajama pants. matt began trailing kisses on your cheek and down the side of your neck.

“fuck—so fucking beautiful baby, keep workin’ those hips for me..” matt murmured against your skin, the movements in your hips increasing desperately, you could feel your wetness drenching your panties quickly. your lips crashed against matt’s again, you felt the vibrations of his groans against your lips. the way he ran his hands over your body, the way he kissed you, spoke to you…it all felt like a dream.

you knew love, and it was matt.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[primordial-catfish]

god i love the blue catfish so much. kind of a terrifying superpredator honestly. they like living in muddy water so their eyesight is dogshit, but they've got these huge barbels around their face to feel around, and their whole body is covered in almost two hundred thousand tastebuds to figure out exactly where their prey is, and they've got a special adipose fin to be extra tuned-in to water currents/pressure, and they have super keen senses of hearing at really low AND high frequencies, and they ALSO have a deeply forked tail to decrease drag so they can just cruise around and gulp down literally whatever they want, including other catfish, even in like zero-visibility water where every other animal is basically blind. and they get so fucking stupid huge with this technique that nothing can grab them because they're as big as a person. and if an eagle or something does grab one before it's gotten big enough to be eagle-proof, the catfish has fucking POISON KNIVES on its fins to not only stab things but also envenomate them in the process

catfish catfish catfish catfish catfish catfish catfish

god i love the blue catfish so much. kind of a terrifying superpredator honestly. they like living in muddy water so their eyesight is dogshit, but they've got these huge barbels around their face to feel around, and their whole body is covered in almost two hundred thousand tastebuds to figure out exactly where their prey is, and they've got a special adipose fin to be extra tuned-in to water currents/pressure, and they have super keen senses of hearing at really low AND high frequencies, and they ALSO have a deeply forked tail to decrease drag so they can just cruise around and gulp down literally whatever they want, including other catfish, even in like zero-visibility water where every other animal is basically blind. and they get so fucking stupid huge with this technique that nothing can grab them because they're as big as a person. and if an eagle or something does grab one before it's gotten big enough to be eagle-proof, the catfish has fucking POISON KNIVES on its fins to not only stab things but also envenomate them in the process

you may not like it, but THIS is what peak performance looks like

[itsrensfairygardenn]

guys.. shower sex w art 🤤 and hes like STUPID because he coesnt understand that water makes it dry so he has to go down on u b4 😒 dumb fuck

mdni 18+

i mean… yeah! i see the vision of him being very inexperienced and a bit silly :( you’ve taken his virginity not so long ago, so he is still buzzing with excitement and a good amount of nerves every time you suggest something new. of course, he never ever minds doing whatever you want, even if he has absolutely no idea how to do it right, because god, his brain just turns off every time you touch him… so he just nods without even thinking. nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

but well, he’s a nervous wreck… art has already embarrassed himself too many times. he likes you so much, that even a mere sight of your body makes his ears and pale neck go pink. he’s excited. maybe too excited to make his brain work properly. and you’re loving, so patient with him, letting him do whatever he feels right :( even though he barely even knows how to make you cum :( and can’t last long when you two are getting intimate :( last week he came in his pajama pants when he was sucking your tits for the first time. he was so frustrated and embarrassed, that you spent the entire evening running your fingers through his curls and kissing his flushed cheeks to soothe him. “of course i’m not mad at you, baby” and “let’s try again, okay?” always worked perfectly, because he loves you so very much, and he always trusts you with everything. how can you be mad at him being your silly boyfriend that can’t last too long, because you’re just too damn hot?

so when you made it to the shower without him getting rock hard as soon as you took your shirt off, it was a very good beginning — now you have something to work with! warm splashes of water tickle your skin, and you can see him shiver with this boyish little smile on his lips, when he eyeing your naked form in a soft hue of the warm bathroom light. “you’re so pretty,” he murmurs in your hair, running his fingers over your bare shoulders, the swell of your breasts… oh, of course they make him losing his mind again, you can bet his mouth is already watering from the memory of your hardened nipples on his tongue.

it was only a matter of time until his mouth is all over your neck, kissing your skin so feverishly, as if he was tasting something heavenly, even though he was just licking drops of water off the delicate curve of your neck. you’re facing the misted shower wall, offering art an inviting and incredibly tantalizing view of your ass, so ready for him to take…

and in all honesty, it doesn’t surprise you that art struggles again… his hands are trembling, when he’s trying to steady himself and figure out why he can’t put it in the way he did before :( he immediately blamed himself for it, of course. what, he can’t make you wet anymore? you probably don’t want him now, after this pathetic excuse of sex he’s given you a week ago… no, no, it’s so embarrassing :( at least he’s lucky enough that you can’t see this desperate pout on his face, but you can probably hear his trembling breath even through the soft sound of water hitting the floor.

“fuck, i’m so sorry,” at this point art’s voice is almost shaking. oh god, your poor little baby. you’re turning around to face him again, and your mouth is already opening to tell him that there’s nothing wrong, that it’s normal. but art’s not going to leave you hanging again; looking down, you can see him kneeling on the hard shower floor — oh? is he going to…

your shoulder blades are pressed against the wall, and your head is tipping backwards at the feeling of his tongue on you, gingerly running it down your slit to have a taste, like a first bite of some exotic fruit. his blue eyes dart up, like precious stones framed with his wet eyelashes, and now it’s your turn to shudder, because fuck, he’s born to look at your like that, while his tongue is spreading your sensitive folds; he looks away from you only to glance at the water that rolls down your pubic — he catches these sparkly drops with his tongue, while his fingers carefully spread your lips. he looks like he’s just seen the eighth wonder of the world.

and when his eager tongue finds your clit? you’re practically whimper — which makes art whimper too, because usually he’s the one who turns into a whiny mess from a single touch… oh, maybe he understands what that means. has he found the way to make you cum?

trust me, art doesn’t need to be asked twice — now, when he knows how to make you feel good, he isn’t going to let that moment slip away. now your adorable little blondie is sucking your clit, as if it’s the last time he ever got a chance to get a taste of it. you’re so wet under his tongue, so sweet and beautiful, looking down at him like that. “so good, artie” “just like that… use your fingers too, baby” “yeah, you can make me cum, of course you can…”

and when you cum, really cum on his tongue, on his fingers that were teasing your entrance… art sees the divinity with his own eyes. slurred ‘i love you, i love you, i love you’ vibrate right against your pulsing, sensitive pussy, and his voice is so thin and shaky, as if he might start crying.

you rub his scalp with your manicured fingers, because he’s doing so well; of course you love him too, of course he can do it again later. so what if he came untouched again? “that’s okay, baby, i don’t mind. want to cum again?”

yes. yes. yes — the only right answer

[rotagnus]

general pick-a-pile messages--<3

for those who are lost; you shall find your way.

pile 1.

why do you alternate between the bad and the good? you are duality. the first message i have for you is short and sweet; there is a good middle between the two sides you're stuck on. you see things in a very narrow way, you think that things are entirely one or the other. this is not true. do not cage the world, do not cage yourself. lately you've been calling things out, seeing, watching. you're an observant person. travel may be significant, particularly during stormy weather; be safe. i feel like a lot of you are struggling with decisions in matters of the heart. your gut is telling you one thing, but to preserve your morals, or perhaps to protect someone, you feel like you must choose the other option. i think you should follow your heart--it does not lie. you cannot always be the shield that gets chipped and broken down while the other person cowers behind you. a lot of you have been cutting things away from your life, and now you face an emptiness that leaves you stunned. perhaps some of you have cleaned out your room, and found some things that made you reminisce on the past. do not get lost in it. you are better off now. you may have missed a person recently, wished you could hold them in your heart again, but this would cause turmoil. do not go back. never, ever, especially not now. keep your head up. you must pursue your passions, now, i am hearing. many of you are scared, maybe going off to a new place, where you do not know a lot of things. you aren't good with change, never have been, but now is your chance to grow, to blossom. you are a lotus; blossoming even in the dirtiest of waters. you will be okay. right now, try to worship your material world; not in the way you think, but you must take care of your body, your environment. these things will dictate the way everything else turns out to you.

signs: clownfish. parrots. 'regardless'. dying star. rebirth. foals. nakedness. annotations. snow. staircases. chin.

pile 2.

you and someone else in your life are going through it. you probably know who i'm talking about. you may be feeling drained, empty, lost. truth is, there is somewhere you can go to recover. think of a gas station after a long journey. it is a humble place, by no means a castle, but it still brings some relief to your tired self. right now, think of something that can shelter you; perhaps a hobby, perhaps it is even a cup of tea. what wonders that can bring; sit in front of a window, and have your favorite drink. think. the answers are within. you are a giving person, and now, you will be given to. you bring things into your life by giving them first; you and the universe are holding hands. think about what you want in your life, then put the effort into it. i cannot emphasize this enough--do the work, do the change. a lot of you are terrified of failure, terrified of trying and ending up on the ground. this will not end in tragedy, you must try, we are all like fledglings when we try something for the first time. a lot of you would have a good result if you developed a routine. mirror work, affirmations, yoga, even doing something specific every day at the same time would make you feel a bit better, would let you rest a little bit through this disorder. it is not forever, my love. this, too, shall pass. you will be able to rest, soon. think of a bear; it moves around a lot before it can hibernate. it must look for food in a frenzy. then, it can rest. now i know this may not be ecologically accurate, but i hope for the sake of me, you can understand what i mean. you will develop your looks soon, too. a lot of you have beautiful bare faces and shy away from that. now, i am not one to police what women do with their faces; but for those who are insecure, my specific message is that you are beautiful, much more ethereal than you think. do not worry about it, okay? a lot of you have been in your masculine energy lately. relax. you are safe. let yourself back into your feminine energy, okay? i promise you, you are protected by God/the universe. lean back. it'll get easier, my dearest. i promise.

signs: bats. snakes. typically dark creatures. rainbows. roses. 'for you i am soft'. bugs. babies. innocence. sunsets/sunrises. hearts.

pile 3.

you are so motherly, but not to yourself. it's funny, you view yourself as harsher than you are. maybe you have a tough exterior, and you worry that people see you as too mannish, too brutish, but my message for you is that people see your true self peeking through. do not fear, my sweetest. wow, the world fell out. yes, you are a contradicting person--terrified of vulnerability and softness, yet naive and chaste, viewing your life with an optimistic lens. your heart is pure, so pure, and while you do struggle with opening up, you're entirely willing to do so around the right people. a lot of you struggled with this in the past due to insecurity, or perhaps being in circumstances that created trouble. abusive situations, family troubles, fake friends...you have faced your fair share of pain, my darling. recently you've been thinking very much. i feel like this has been a very good development, as this journey has been able to move forwards with this; soon, your rewards shall come to you. you are brave, but you do not always have to fight. you can drop your hands and fall to the ground, but you will be caught. i was thinking about how funny it'd be if the lovers fell out, and guess what, they did! so yes, i feel like some opportunities are coming to you guys. some of you don't want to be in a relationship at all, and that is okay. i feel like love will come to you in the form that you crave it. and for others, if it is romantic, do not rush this. work on yourself and make sure that you are truly happy with yourself, truly able to open up and bloom. this person will be nurturing, kind, with a heart of gold; the opposite of you but in all the best ways. pisces/water signs may be significant. he is gentle, and he is very willing to care for you. you'll be safe.

signs: foxes. dirty blonde hair. swans. joan of arc. night. trees. missing. light pink. april. 333. action. oceans.

[stareiiez]

You're Mine, Now and Forever

notes: first actually long fic for this fandom, and its giving a slow start. don't worry! it gets better from here. also idk how I feel about this style of writing, it feels off. idk.

warnings: MINORS DNI.

words :3.3k

You don't know how it happened, or how much time passed when the first scream ripped through the air and the first bloody body collided with your frantic driving on the express lane outta town. After all, it was just supposed to be like any other day, with you spending your time at work during a slow hour; organizing and reorganizing dresses for what felt like the nth time that hour just so you looked productive. Pop music filtered slowly through the store's speakers and you hummed to the few lines you knew of Chappel Roan's new hit song. The two customers milling around the clearance section chatted to another one of your coworkers across the store, and your manager was at the cash register, scrolling through logs of ordered clothing items to make sure they were in stock in the store's catalogs.

It was a boring day. A lunch break was the motivation for you to continue mindlessly nitpicking at full clothing racks when the first explosion shook the very building. The music stuttered glitching just to accompany the flickering overhead flourescent lights. Then another explosion follows soon after, a deep heavy boom that sinks into the soles of your shoes and rockets up your spinal cord to shake your back molars. Your mouth wants to open, to ask the obvious ' What the fuck was that?" out loud like every stereotypical blonde that questions the bloody scream they heard in the middle of the night in every 90's horror movie. But the chorus of screams and chaos answers your inner thoughts instead. Screams of fleeing citizens running away from whatever danger caused the very ground to shake, and smoke to plume into clouds upwards.

"Stay back, " your manager barks to you and three other women who cower together in a small huddle. She walks towards the still rattling glass doors of the store. A shared fear decorates your faces as you all watch with bated breath; the two sets of wide doors swing open, and your manager steps out into the chaotic mass of running bodies that swarm past her.

Horror paints her face when she sees the source of the destruction. Her head is tilted backward and jaw slack, her amber eyes the size of marbles, she's rooted to the spot. You're surprised she's not knocked off her small feet with every push and shove she endures. "Oh my god." Your ears strain, eyes focused on the way her mouth moves over each syllable with a slow, shocked pace. You're not blessed with reading lips, but you'd like to think that adrenaline fuels your brain enough to make out the word 'Invincible' before the ground shakes again.

This time, the destruction targets your building particularly. One second you're standing and the next, you're knocked on your ass washed away in a wave of shattered glass and minuscule pieces of asphalt and rubble that spray into your vicinity. The outside world, once muffled by plexiglass, screams with sirens, and people running for their lives berate your ringing eardrums. Your front doors are destroyed and buried under brick-and-mortar rubble. Severed limbs stick out this way and at odd angles from the tight crevices of drywall and insulation. The dust makes your eyes water, and you choke on a scream that squeezes your throat something fierce. You like to think you're not consumed by the panic and the trauma of watching your manager and several others get crushed to death in a matter of seconds because Mark has gone off the deep end.

"Come on!" Your coworker's words bark at you. Suddenly she's at your side, in your shocked haze, she managed to be the functioning one out of the rest of your group. Her hands grab onto your forearm and yank all your dead weight to your feet. "We need to leave! I don't want to die here!" Her free hand holds onto the sobbing customer, the other woman accompanying her is missing. Surely buried under the rubble that caved in one corner of the dress store, maybe she was one of the hands that was reaching out from the concrete bloody mess. The thought makes you want to stop and vomit, your stomach curdles with how much stress and adrenaline swarms through your body in nauseating waves.

You follow her, not like you had a choice, she's pulling your trio towards the back of the store and the emergency exit. Her breaths are ragged and half-sputtering between prayers to some god she believes in that your only exit isn't blocked off either. "Stay here, I need to get the keys in the office." Your coworker says, dropping both of your hands. Her face is an ashy pale gray when she turns to give both you and the other woman a once over, checking to see if you're all in one piece and able-bodied enough to book it once she gets the door open. You must look just like her, the expression of unrestrained fear and cement particles dusting your face. Small streaks of blood trickle down your temples and nose bridge, thanks to the shards of plexiglass that rained over you in the third explosion.

You nod, swallowing down acidic bile that bubbles at the back of your throat. Your eyes linger on her small back when she makes a mad dash to the small back office down the hall. When she disappears from your line of sight, your phone vibrates in your pocket. It makes you jump right out of your ashen grey skin. The woman beside you startles as well, her hand clutching at her heart. "Sorry," you manage to whisper, while your hands scramble to the right back pocket of your jeans to dig out your phone. The now cracked touch screen illuminates too brightly, shining a picture of you and Mark Grayson posed in a goofy pose. Your fingers poised in a 'peace' sign, while the male was peeking out from behind your shoulder with his two pointer fingers raised above either side of your head. Your twin smiles look so carefree in the saved contact picture you have of him.

Your thumb taps on the green answer button, and you raise the phone to your ear. Mark's out-of-breath panting sends chills down your spine in some sickly worrisome way. Your name barks through the speaker of the phone, the continuous screams make it almost hard to hear him. "Mark? Mark, what's going on? " You don't even question why the hell he's calling in the first place, isn't he the supposed one murdering and tearing down the city? Isn't that why the people screaming his superhero name saw him wreak havoc?

"No time! Please tell me you're safe. ." a pause, his ragged inhale makes your heart squeeze in time with your clammy palm gripping the phone tighter to your ear. "Please."

"I'm fine." You copy his pause, brows wrinkle in thought. You know you're lying, you're not fine. You're dazed and confused, shaking in your sleek shoes. Your legs are unsteady and becoming more and more unstable, the comedown from adrenaline is going to be a fickle bitch that'll do you in if whatever happening outside doesn't kill you first. "I'm still at work, I'm waiting for the door to get unlocked as fast as it can be."

Even through the grey background noise on the other side of the line, Mark's sigh crackles through the call. You could picture his shoulders just dropping the tiniest inch in relief, that a loved one of his hadn't been hurt or god forbid, even slaughtered mercilessly in the devastation that had been going on. "You need to get out of here." His voice urges, tensely.

"Mark-"

"I'm serious!" His tone jumps, he's barking. Halfway yelling, and you flinch. The woman at your side reacts by recoiling, both of your nerves bouncing off one another like electrons bouncing off the walls of an atom. "You need to get the fuck out of here, find a car-- any car. Don't even think about hiding, you need to drive as far as you can outta here. You hear me?"

You swallow dryly, fingers squeezing tighter. Blood rushes in your ears, you know you can't argue. There's no way to get information outta him now, not when his words are clipped, whatever is happening outside is far more important and drastic than arguing with his girlfriend who's too stubborn to flee for her life without asking stupid questions. You're smarter than that, and he knows it. He's lost far too many things, and gone through too many traumatizing situations than to waste time and not save the people he loves. Your eyes close briefly, counting to three in your whirling hellscape of a mind. You nod like he can even see you. You can sense it's different now. This isn't some closed-off fight between Nolan and his son that trying to stand up to him and not ' ready the Earth' for the viltrumites to come. This is far more scarier, it's drastic and life-shattering. "What about you? People are screaming Invincible is causing this."

"Don't worry about me." Mark says, his tone more gentle than before, "Just run, I can handle them and if anything happens to me? Just know I love you, okay?"

Your breath hitches. You hate how that sounds; you hate the confession on his lips. It sounds more like a goodbye than him admitting his affection for you like he does every day so casually. It feels heavier on your heart, it rattles your bones, and the tidal wave of curdling bile in your stomach roars into a tsunami. You need to vomit. You need to yell at Mark and tell him to not talk like that. You want to tell him that whatever is happening outside can be handled by the two of you together, even if you don't have any powers. Yet, before you can even voice any of those options over the phone, the call ends with a sharp click. You don't know tears are dotting your waterline till you blink so rapidly that a few salty drops cut trails down your ashy cheeks. Gray water stains the front of your shirt, and your phone lowers from your ear. Your grip is loose on the device.

"Got them!" Your coworker calls out, jogging back to you and the other woman; the jangling keys clenched tight in her fist. You don't know if it adds to the hurt your heart is already holding onto when she doesn't acknowledge the distraught on your face. She's more focused on jamming one of the silver keys in the keyhole and twisting it to the right, the satisfying click and rough opening of the door rings in your muffled ears.

The woman shoves past the two of you without hesitation, making a break for it as fast as her forty-five-year-old bones can carry her. She won't make it far, she barely would last surviving running around the bend of the building before the crowd of citizens tramples her half to death in their need to live another minute longer. Any man for themself is a fickle bitch. Your head turns to your coworker as you follow suit, breaking into a jog. She's already following behind, her pace a lot faster. "Stay safe." You call to her when she breezes past. Her silhouette disappears when she blends into the waves of people, fighting against the current so she can get to some sort of safety before she gets crushed to death herself. Her kindness, her stupid jokes, and her natural leadership are all you're going to have to remember her by; if you live long enough to even see her again.

You run a different path, following the makeshift alleyway that's half crumpled down and now smaller in size, your shoes threaten to trip on jutting-out stone and rebar when you traverse too fast. Your heart thuds faster in your chest, brain running a million miles an hour on how to keep yourself from running further and further away from the manic crowds. Alley water splashes at your ankles, sinks into your shoes, and makes your socks stick to your soles. You cringe inwardly, pumping your legs harder till you too start to run. The small alley breaks out into wide open space, and sunlight and smokey skies greet your frazzled complexion. Crashed cars and abandoned vehicles greet you immediately, some are still smoking and burning. Hot oil and melted rubber don't do anything to quell the queasiness you've been fighting this entire day, but there's no stopping now.

Now, you have to leave. No matter who Invincible knock-off is causing this; they'll be busy fighting off Mark and his team. You run along the cracked sidewalk, eyes sweeping over the conditions of the vehicles.

The lessening of people crying for help is eery, the whole city should be shouting from the tops of their lungs. It's like everyone got wiped out in a matter of seconds, or on a lighter note, they're all hiding and being as quiet as possible so they don't die next. You expected to see clogged highways and people running along the highways seeking freedom, instead, there are only deserted streets and cars tipped over on their sides that you brush past in your search for a ride.

Finally, you spot a buggy. A cute little Volkswagon with dents decorating its doors, and still running. Its engine is the loudest thing in the pin-drop silence, even compared to your sneakers pounding on the pavement. You know it's stupid to take the bait, that some conveniently placed car is here while you were in the middle of your search. You like to think you're better than the dumb female lead of a horror movie, that falls for every trick and ploy the killer lays out for her; but you're desperate. You need to fulfill Mark's wish, that you get the fuck out here and run as far as you can. The leather seat squeaks under your weight when you throw yourself inside the car and shut the door behind you. The car's radio crackles with dead static over its speakers, it sends chills up your spine and only adds to the apocalyptic atmosphere your once-busy city has been subjected to.

You're a walking target. The last survivor of your bug colony that trying to outrun the burning magnifying glass held above your head by some sadistic fucking toddler. The realistic side of things is, that you won't live to see the outskirts of the city before the Invincible knockoff crushes you and your car into smithereens. It'll be quick and painless, but you would hate to be another headstone in a graveyard that your family and Mark would have to visit. That's if they can separate your body from twisted metal and leather. With bated breath, you shift the car from park into drive and slam your foot down onto the gas. Clammy hands clench the wheel when you speed down the streets. You weren't prepped to see the mass destruction that greets you with every twist and turn you made. Bodies littered the streets, some in one piece, others most likely ripped into multiple pieces and scattered over the road and sidewalks. Collapsed buildings and homes make you swerve and splash puddles of oil and blood on the car's exterior. Your tires have run over a body part or more not to crash; the squish of flesh being flattened unnaturally is unmistakable in your ears.

"This is so fucked." You whisper under the roar of your pounding heartbeat. The city limit sign seems to grow closer and closer to you once you hit the wide-open highway. The drive through the rest of the city was thankfully quick, and you still were alive and unharmed. It's a miracle.

Your hope swells and stirs in the pit of your stomach like acid-covered butterflies, you're going to make it. You're going to make it! The delirious bubble of laughter peels from your parched throat, you can't help it. However, that laughter dies just as fast as it came. Just when you were going to pass that beloved city limit sign that seems just in arms reach now, your car hits the dark blue blur that launches itself in front of you. Your foot doesn't react quickly enough to hit the brake, but somehow you're violently stopped. Your chest hits the steering wheel, forehead threatening to follow suit if it wasn't for the seatbelt yanking you back just in time to save you from a concussion.

"Well, and who do we have here?" A male voice speaks out, way too calm for your own disorientated liking. "Hey pretty girl, didn't know if I'd see you again."

Again?!

You blink quickly, as a hand rubs at your bruising chest. In front of you, is . . Invincible. His color scheme is the same, black and blue, but he looks different. His ears stick out, and his hair is hidden away by his suit. His smile which you thought was charming and shy, is replaced with a sick stretched look. He bares all of his white teeth at you like a predator intimidating its prey. In your heart you know this isn't your Mark, it can't be. Not with the way he doesn't move a single centimeter of his body, he doesn't even look like he's breathing. The man is so quiet like he's waiting for you to freak out or scream, yet you disappoint him when you don't do either option. Boring, all you do is stare at him. Jaw slightly slacked, brain whirring a million microseconds a minute. His smile, however, doesn't waver. No, not at all; of course his pretty girl has always been smarter than any bimbo bitch that cried out when he flew through their bodies and ripped them to shreds in his hands.

It's what he loves- - no, it's what he was obsessed over back in his world. It was a shame you didn't last long in his care, and now it's like a higher being is rewarding him for his hard work here in your world to plant you in front of him so suddenly. He's glad the others didn't get to you first, who knows who he would have had to kill off his variants to get to you. He rounds to the side of the car so smoothly, your eyes watching his every step. A hand smacks down on the roof of the car, adding to the multitude of dents to its being. His other hand grips the handle of the driver's side door and pulls it off as easily as peeling off a sticker from its page.

He bends at the waist, his face invading your space far too close to your liking. He can smell the waves of fear and the new spike of adrenaline leaking from every pore of your body. Your natural scent mixed in is an addicting concoction that he never seemed to get enough of, you smell the same. You look just like the one in his home world. He hit the jackpot. You flinch at his movements, leaning far back in your car seat.

"Who are you?" Fuck you sound just like her. Your voice exhales so quietly, warmed breath fanning over the lower part of his face. Delicious.

The Invincible doesn't respond, doesn't even emote as much as that smile you start to grow unnerved of. It's unnatural, just like this entire day. Just like you don't know what the fuck even happened to get you to where you are now, staring in the face of a clone of your beloved Invincible.

[whumpster-fire]

Someone in the notes said:

and he makes sure that his (also grumpy) daughter feels safe loved and self assured

Okay, like... I think he gets marginally better in the 11th and 12th movies (which I'm not rewatching to confirm because "The series actually finally addresses the fact that Cera's mom is dead and that his dad rekindling a relationship with someone she doesn't even know is hard" is pretty much the only thing those two films did well and is very much a B-plot that doesn't actually get enough screen time to justify sitting through the rest of those movies) but Topps doesn't do a very good job of this for at least the entire first half of the series.

Original Film: taught his daughter to be racist. Which to be clear was not working nearly as well as he hoped and the whole reason Cera got separated from her herd is because she snuck off to play with Littlefoot in the middle of the night. She got worse after the whole Sharptooth Attack / giant earthquake separating her from her family thing but, like, Cera started imitating her father's racism more after ending up in a very traumatic situation as a result of disobeying her dad's order to not play with Littlefoot.

Second Movie: Cera makes an incredibly stupid and reckless decision that nearly gets the entire gang killed. Cera, later: "I suppose you all got the same lecture I did? Don't hang around with longnecks, beakfaces and spiketails." (everyone else is shocked because their safety lectures did not involve racism). Just to be clear, the gang tried to cross a lake of quicksand over some stepping stones. This was entirely 100% Cera's idea, nobody else wanted to try it, and her friends putting themselves in danger trying to help her literally saved her life. She would have died before any adult could even get to her. Topps proceeded to try to blame this on her friends being bad influences and is racist about it. Anyway Cera then proposes the group run away from home to prove to the adults that they can take care of themselves, which is also a horrible idea but like. Reading between the lines here Cera is acting out because her idiot father is trying to isolate her from her support system.

Third Movie: this is the one where Topps sings a cool song that some people in the notes mentioned. This moment is somewhat undercut by the fact that this happens while he's trying to bully the rest of the Great Valley into accepting an incredibly stupid water rationing plan and attempting to justify it with the "I'm a parent too and I'm just doing what's best for my child and all our children" card. His plan seems to have been to give every species a set time of day when they were allowed to drink. Nobody else expected him to be stupid enough to include the children who are probably like <1% of the adults' body weight in this, but then it turned out he was that stupid. He then tried to isolate Cera from her friends again, and capped it all off by almost getting himself and Cera killed because he started a pissing contest over not wanting to follow a wildfire evacuation plan because Littlefoot's grandparents came up with it.

Fifth Movie: okay so the Great Valley got hit with a massive locust plague and the entire interspecies herd was forced out of it to look for food. The herd discovers a skeleton of a dinosaur of Ducky's species out in the desert. Topps proceeds to say they can't make any deductions about there being no food in the direction the corpse was traveling from because this species are infamously stupid and the dead one probably got lost. In front of several members of said species. He then instigated such a massive fight that the herds decided to re-split up by species although it's not totally clear if everyone was doing this individually or if it was just the Threehorns. In any case the gang actually runs away this time to avoid being split up with the idea that if they all obviously ran off in the same direction their parents will be forced to search for them in the same direction.

Sixth Movie: Cera is stuck babysitting her much younger niece and nephew (she presumably has an adult sibling that we've never seen) and is sick of it. I do not know what any of the adults involved in this was thinking making the kid who is consistently some random location with her friends instead of hanging out anywhere near her herd and also has run away from home like four times by this point responsible for supervising two gremlin toddlers.

Seventh Movie: Topps is finally right about something: not trusting Petrie's sketchy con artist uncle. Nobody in the friend group except Cera trusts his opinion at all because usually when Topps doesn't trust someone it's because he's racist.

He's not, like, abusive and Cera loves him and is trying to have a good relationship with him, but also his daughter is the one kid in the friend group with a kind of messed up home life, and Topps's role in the adult community of the Great Valley is basically "The worst guy on the HOA board."

Cera's dad in the Land Before Time movies is called Daddy Topps

i need to make sure you all know that

[ashes-of-rozes]

When It Happened to Me

Relationships: Jason Todd x FEM!Reader

Warning(s): torture, scars, medical inaccuracies

“…by! Baby!”

You’re jerked awake, panic and fear instantly filling your veins. Warm, gloved hands cup your face, “Hey, look at me?” Your eyes snap up, meeting a familiar red helmet. “Ja…son?” The word is cracked, throat sore and deprived of water for days. A soft, muffled sound and then his helmet is coming off and you can catch his eyes.

A beautiful blue. Yet darker with fear and worry when they look at you. Gloved hands gently touch your face and you wince. Your body aches. Everywhere. Breathing hurts. Blinking around dry eyes. He immediately removed his hand and you whine, missing his touch. Even if it was painful.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, reaching above you to quickly and efficiently remove your bindings, “I’m getting you out of here.” Less than a minute later, the last knot is undone. Arms weak, feet hanging above the ground— you fall. Jason catches you instantly. You can’t help the pained whine that leaves your throat but you lean in closer to him. Ignoring the pain.

Jason’s here.

You’re okay.

“It’s raining,” he whispers, voice soft. He’s always soft for you. The next thing you know his jacket is draped over you like a blanket it. The leather wet, but the fabric still holding his previous body heat. Your eyes fall heavy again.

He kisses your forehead. Soft. Barely felt. But no less caring than every other one. “Stole the Batmobile,” he mumbles, “You’ll be comfortable in the back. You can heal properly back at the cave.” A soft noise of protest is all you can manage.

You just want him to take you back home. Let your fiancé bathe you, feed you, and then sleep. Who cares about all your injuries? Jason’s all that matters. But you barely managed to say his name without crying out in pain. So no arguing.

Your eyes are heavy and closed. Your soul floating just out of your body as you let the sounds of distant sirens and the soft patter of rain drown you. It feels wonderful.

Your body is in constant pain but it’s dulled under the water from the sky. Each drop hurts. But at the same time, you feel nothing but warm Gotham-polluted water.

A soft click and then Jason’s gently laying you down across the warmed up black leather seats.

Seat warmers, you think distantly, letting yourself be maneuvered. Once you’re secure enough for your finances liking, Jason kisses your bare, injured ankle and gently closes the door. The warmth from the heater, Jason’s jacket and the leather seats lulled you to sleep.

⌑ ⌑ ⌑

When you open your eyes again, bright fluorescent lights are shinning above you.

A groan escaped your lip and you immediately close your eyes again.

“How are you feeling?” That’s Tim’s voice.

“Like I got tortured for a week,” you mumble, slowly sitting up, ignoring the pain. “Welcome to the club,” he mumbles. Slowly, head pointed at the ground, you flutter your eyes open. The light stings but it’s temporary compared to the rest of the pain.

You look around, noticing you’re in the cave’s med-bay. Jason’s passed out at the foot of the bed. Tim’s in the corner of the room, typing away on his laptop. “How long has he been like this,” you ask, voice still rough. Throat still dry. “He hasn’t slept since you were taken,” Tim says, “Passed out pretty much the moment Alfred said you’d be okay. Hasn’t moved in almost a day.”

Guilt slammed into you.

“And you,” you ask, “Why are you here?”

Tim finally stops typing on the laptop, looking up at you.

Sometimes you think all of Bruce’s sons are genetically related. They all get the exact same look when they don’t want to talk about their feelings.

“Bruce is taking up the rest of the cave—“

“Tim,” you interrupt. He stares at you with that same look for minutes. He looks guilty. Embarrassed, almost. Ashamed, definitely. “I should’ve found you sooner,” he says, closing the laptop and running a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry.” “Why are you sorry,” you ask. “If I found you sooner maybe you wouldn’t be— Jason could’ve—“ He paused. “I have one job. To track down what goes missing. And yet …”

You smile. Sad. Painful. It hurts to lift your lips. “Tim, it’s not your fault. You look dead. Please tell me you got more sleep than Jason?” Tim blinks and looks away. “Go,” you scold softly, “Bed.”

“But—“

“Bed, Timothy.”

He sighs and reluctantly stands, heading towards the door.

“Tim?”

He pauses, looking over his shoulder and back at you. “Thank you. For finding me.” Tim returns the smile, soft and tired and walks out.

“He’s actually going to bed.”

You jump, eyes falling in the source of the voice. Jason’s eyes are still closed but there’s a soft, content smile on his lips. “I knew I wanted to marry you for a reason,” he mumbles. He sits up slowly, eyes falling on your bandages, your bruises. His hand finds yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“How ya feeling,” he asks. “I’ve definitely felt better,” you smile reassuringly, “Could go for a glass of water. Or gallon. Or tank. Which ever is easiest.” He laughs and stands, leaning over to kiss your forehead, “I’ll be right back.”

Jason’s lingers a moment longer before slowly exiting the room. Reluctant to let you out of his sight. Even now. Even safe.

He comes back a few moments later with a glass of water and a pitcher. He hands you the water which you take with almost greedy hands. He smiles, running his fingers through your hair as you chug down the cold liquid inside. “Easy, ma,” he whispers, “Alfred said your throat will be sore for a while…”

His hand falls to his side.

“Jay…”

He sighs, slumping back in the seat at the foot of your bed, “I’m sorry.” You frown, setting down the water. “I should’ve,” he swallows and you can see the tears in his eyes, “I should’ve been with you.” He was. The night you were taken, you and him planned to have dinner together but Dick needed help. “There’s no way you could’ve known what was going to happen,” you try to reassure.

“We live in Crime Alley! It’s right there in the name,” he shouts, voice shaking. “Two years, love. And nothing like this has happened—“

“I got comfortable. I let my guard down,” he stands up so fast the chair clatters to the floor, “And you paid the price for it!” He’s spiraling again. He groans, running his fingers through his hair, tears of anger and self-hatred streaming down his face, “This is all my fault. You’re not safe with me! Maybe we should postpone the wedding or—“

You rip out your I.V. and pull off the patches on your chest. The monitor flatlines. Jason’s gaze is on you immediately, panicked. There’s just enough adrenaline in your veins for your legs to not shake when you stand.

“No— lay back down,” he takes a step forward, reaching out for you. “Jason,” he gently take his outstretched hand, “I am marrying you.”

“Ma—“

“Do you love me,” you ask. Jason looks offended, “More than anything.” The tension in your muscles ease a little. “I want to marry you,” you say, “This doesn’t change a thing.” “It should,” he gently squeezes your hand, “You should hate me.”

“I don’t,” you insist, “This wasn’t your fault. Or Tim’s. Or anyone else who is blaming themselves. It was horrible but it was not your fault.” Jason blinks, tears slowing down. He steps closer, wrapping his arms around you, “I’m so lucky to have you in my life.” You return the hug, arms shaky and weak but determined to hold him.

“I love you, future Mrs. Todd,” he mumbles into your neck.

“I love you too.”

⌑ ⌑ ⌑

Epilogue:

Jason’s hands were on you the second you stood in front of him.

His thumb gently brushed across your wrist, where scar tissue circled all around. You smile. Jason loves the scars you gained. Worships them.

“The veil,” you whisper. Jason blinks and shakes his head, smiling. He lets go of your wrists and lifts the veil. He brushes his knuckle across the scar on your neck, smiling.

Tim clears his throat, “Jason. Hands to yourself.” Jason glares at his brother, “She’s my wife—“

“Not until I’m done. Hands to yourself,” Tim smirks, smug. Jason scoffs but complies.

Tim goes through the officiating process.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Jason cups your face with one hand, the other on the small of your back and bends you down, lips crashing against yours.

As your dress falls to the ground that night and Jason is on you instantly. He doesn’t stop till the sun comes up. And only then it’s a break. And then he’s on your again.

Praising you. Loving you. Worshipping you.

Yeah. This was the right choice.

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