#comments/reblogs appreciated

[fateisfiction]

Okay, ok, I write little original fiction/no character mentioned, reader-insert blurbs too. I swear I saw a prompt on my dash that inspired this yesterday, but now I can't find it. If I do, I'll link it (or if you know what I'm talking about, please drop a link for me).

Angsty with a bit of fluff. You broke up 6 months ago but he keeps finding reasons to drop by.

~2100 words

You broke up six months ago, but every week, like clockwork, he stops by your apartment on date night. First it was his phone charger. He spent at least an hour going through your bedroom trying to find it, but in the end, he came up empty handed.

He apologized and offered to order takeout for bothering you. When it arrives, you're both sitting on the couch engrossed in whatever was on TV. You don't even look at him when he hands you your usual, chopsticks already in the container for you to eat and settles back down on the far side of the couch.

When he's done, he leans in to give you a kiss on the forehead before heading for the door and letting himself out. You don't think anything of it at first. Just old habits.

Then he comes back the following week looking for his watch. He needs it for some work event. Normally he would have asked you to be his date, but you broke up. He's a little heartbroken when you don't even ask who he's going with. He's going alone, of course, but he expected you to at least ask.

Another week passes and he's at your door again. This time he brought you dinner from your favorite restaurant. "Habits," he insists. You really don't mind. He watches you sit down on the couch to eat, all wrapped up in a blanket. Now that he thinks about it, it's kind of cold in here, isn't it? He checks the thermostat and it's definitely colder than it should be.

"Heat broken or something?"

"Yeah. Called the landlord yesterday and he hasn't fixed it yet."

"I'll stop by tomorrow morning with my tools."

As promised, there he is, bright and early with a bag of tools over his shoulder and a couple of hot coffees and pastries from the cafe on the corner that you used to beg him to take you to. He takes a look and a few hours later, your heat's back on. Only he forgot to grab the hoodie he left you with the night before to keep you warm.

This time you have to reach out to him. He just fixed your heat, didn't he? You're standing in front of his apartment door, deciding whether to knock or just leave his hoodie and head home. Before you decide, he opens the door. His shock quickly turns into a smile and he invites you in, even though he's clearly heading out. He tells you to make yourself at home, taking off his jacket and making you a cup of tea.

"Heat still works?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Let me know if it happens again. You still have my number, right?"

He teases you, leading you over to the couch where the two of you have spent many nights entwined in one another's warm embrace. Talking about your plans for the future; dreams a little house of your own someday, publishing your first book, and then your second, getting a dog or a couple of cats. The memories come flowing back and you can't do this. It hurts too much. He's not entirely surprised when you run for the door, just a little sad. He cancels his plans and ends up staying in that night, holding his hoodie, the hoodie that now smells like you.

He figures you need a little time after that, so he doesn't stop by the following week. Instead he sends you a text to check outside your door, and you find a little box of cupcakes. You look for him, but he's nowhere to be found. You almost miss his weekly visits, but then you remember you broke up. It's over. That this isn't normal for him. This only started after you broke up with him. You start stewing, left alone with your thoughts. Do you really miss him? Or do you just like how he's treating you now?

The next week when he stops by for a forgotten baseball glove, he catches you on your way out the door. He has to stop himself from staring. Where are you going? A date? You look nice, all dolled up in that little black dress and kitten heels he couldn't wait to get you out of that time you wore it to your friend's engagement party. You leave him there without a second glance, telling him to lock up when he's done getting whatever it is.

When you return a few hours later, more than a little tipsy, with a guy from the bar, he's waiting there for you. The guy's hands are all over you, inching your dress up as the two of you barely manage to make it in the door. The guy you took home is confused, slurring out a “Who the fuck is he?”

“Her boyfriend.”

“Shit, dollface. Thought you said you were single.”

“I am. He’s my ex.”

You give your ex a pointed look, eager to get back to what you were doing. He’s having none of it though. He kicks the guy out helping you get undressed, showered and ready for bed.

“Damn it, babe. You should know better than to take trash like that home with you.”

“I'm not your ‘babe’ anymore,” you mumble, beginning to doze off.

He spends the night. You wake up the next morning in his arms, both fully clothed with a small bit of drool on his chest where you were resting. It doesn't dawn on you until a few minutes later that this isn't the man you took home, but instead your ex and you promptly wake him up and kick him out.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm going.”

He’s at your door once again the following week looking for something yet again, this time carrying an oversized duffel.

“What's that for?”

“Camping.”

He's still hurt from you rushing him out the week before. You didn't even let him make breakfast.

“With who?”

He pauses. Are you jealous?

“Friends.”

You watch him this time. For having broken up with him a couple of months ago now, he sure did seem to leave a lot of stuff behind. He asks you to check the closet by the door while he sneakily scatters a few more reasons to come back around your room.

The next week when he comes by, you’ve already ordered pizza. Interrupted from the movie just starting, you joke that he probably should have just kept his key since he spends so much time here. There's a bit of a bite in your words, because he knows you don't mean it.

He takes his place on the couch, chatting with you through the movie as the two of you eat.

By the time the credits roll, you're asleep, curled up beside him. He contemplates carrying you to your bedroom, but decides against it. It didn't go over well the last time he spent the night, and he knew that if he sets for in your room, he’s not going to be able to leave. He misses waking up beside you, and his insomnia has been acting up lately. Sleeping next to you was the only cure he ever found for it.

You open your eyes as the door clicks shut and you realize that maybe you do miss him.

The next week, you expect him again, but he doesn't show. You have half a mind to text him to see where he is, and you have to remind yourself that he's not your boyfriend anymore. Scrolling through social media to keep your mind off of him, you see a mutual friend posting pics of a night out and you see your ex there with him.

Your ex is in the background, drink in hand and that flirty smile on his face that convinced you to go home with him that first night. Three photos later, you find that same smile directed at a girl and you have to put your phone down. This was not how you saw tonight going. Cold takeout on the table, you end up throwing out his usual order. You can't believe you were actually considering giving him another chance.

He pops by the next morning with coffee and pastries and you don't even answer the door.

“Go away.”

“Was just bringing you coffee. What's wrong, hun? That time of the month?”

You could kill him. Stomping away to your bedroom, you slam the door behind you. He knows he fucked up. Forehead pressed to the door of your apartment in resignation, he leaves the coffee for you and sends a text in apology.

Coffee’s outside. Let me know if you need anything else.

God he was infuriating sometimes.

There's flowers and chocolates on your doorstep the next day. He didn't even knock. Just a text.

Got u smthn.

The next week he brings you dinner again. A new place you had told your friend you wanted to try. You couldn't be sure she didn't tell him, but he did get your order right at least. And he brought wine.

This time he asks if you want him to stay and you reluctantly let him in the door. He picks the movie while you grab glasses and silverware.

By the time you finish, the movie is still going strong, not even halfway through. You're well into your second bottle of wine and he's joking around. He always gets a little touchy when he's tipsy.

You stop him when his hand rests a little too comfortably on your thigh.

“Did you take her home?”

He has no clue what you're talking about.

“Last week. The girl at the bar giving you ‘fuck me’ eyes.”

He visibly pales. Of course he didn't take her home. He spent most of the night trying to turn her down. But how did you know?

“What, were you there or something?”

He chuckles uncomfortably, trying to pass it off as a joke. Wrong choice. You're clearly upset.

“What, so when I bring someone home it's a problem, but it's totally fine when you do? For fucks sake, we broke up.”

“Woah, there. What are you-”

“I brought a guy home and you were here waiting to scare him off when I got home!”

You're yelling. He’s trying to calm you down but you're not having any of it. You're on some rant about having needs of your own, and he’s such a hypocrite, and maybe he should just and he stops you with a kiss.

“Of course I didn't bring anyone home. I spent half the night turning her down and the other half wrangling our drunk friends. Just ask, I was the designated driver.”

“But you were drinking in the photos!”

“Virgin daiquiri. You're the one who made me try them, remember?”

You're far from calm, but at least you're not kicking him out. And now he knows why you were so upset the week before.

“You should go.”

And he does, but not before making sure everything is okay between the two of you.

The pattern continues, week after week. He stops by with an excuse, takeout is ordered, movie is watched, he leaves. It’s been six months and you feel, for the first time in your entire relationship, that you’re actually dating. The only problem is that this is your ex.

Ever since the incident where you tried bringing someone home from the bar and he waited to scare him off make sure you got home safe, you haven’t been tempted to seek out a companion for the evening. And ever since you called him a hypocrite, he’s started enforcing his own little policy of only going out with friends if you’re going to be there. Maybe there were a few murmurings within your friend group about how neither of you were ever going to move on if things continued. Maybe neither of you really cared.

And all that led to tonight.

Dinner still in the bag, cold on the counter. You under him. Chests heaving.

He sits up, pulling you forward to fall into his chest, holding you close as you catch your breath.

“So.” You draw out the word, letting it hang in the room before finishing your thought. “What was it this time?”

His brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”

“Your excuse. Every week it’s something new. What did you forget this time?”

You feel more than see the soft smile spreading across his face. He leans back into the couch, arms holding you a little closer to him. “You.”

[acid-ixx]

ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the near fourteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fourteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fourteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

[justcuriouspolls]

(i have a feeling this poll will get way more views than some of my other ones so I am once again asking you to fill out https://forms.gle/66bRngwjD2fzWX7p6 if you know anything about the character)

[scarland-artbook]

🌸 The Art of Scarland is here!

60+ artists gathered together to conceptualize Scarland as a real theme park. The result is 181 pages full of care and detail, to show appreciation for Scar's passion project. Enjoy!

🔽 Dоwnlоad Link

▶ Do you want this to be a real physical thing in your hands right now? Please let us know by answering our Printing Interest Check form

[rusticfurnace]

some soap content because hes my little goober. my babym the light of my life. >:3

[foolishlovers]

Where a Canvas Blooms by foolishlovers

It’s an Arrangement. Aziraphale knows this. He knows a lot of things, and others he doesn’t, but the most important things, he knows. He knows that the cheeky redhead in his arms smiles and purrs when he runs his fingers through his hair, knows that Crowley’s hands are rough from working outside, knows the softness of his heart. Aziraphale doesn’t know he’s in love with Crowley until he does. But it’s just an Arrangement. Is it? Part 1 of The Cuddle Arrangement

word count: 3.8k rating: T relevant tags: Human AU, Trans Aziraphale, Trans Crowley, Touch-Starved Aziraphale, Touch-Starved Crowley, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Comfort, Pining art by the wonderful @omens-for-ophelia

[1-900-venusluvs]

Dreaming about how Miguel talks us thru our orgasm 🙊🫶

His hips keep thrusting harshly into your pussy as you whimpers are going muted from the pillow your head is stuffed in. His grabs your hips and pushes them back onto his cock. His head flies back at the pleasure of your tight pussy hugging him.

“..please let me cum baby..I-i love you miggy” you whimper out with your head still stuffed in the pillow wanting to have an orgasm. Now Miguel wasn’t mean oh no, he’ll let you cum after all because you’re his girl.

“I know..I know baby..can you hold it in for a bit longer? I know you can amor..” he spoke out still grunting in between words. His big hands hug your waist as he so isn’t gently thrusting into you.

“Alright can you cum for me now? You earned it..”he moans out as he rubs your clit, hoping that you’ll cum right away. You cum and instantly feel a wave of tiredness hit you like a truck and your body limps to the bed. Miguel takes out his leaking cock and lays next to you with his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest.

“And I love you more sweetheart..you know that” he says kissing your cheek. He takes note on how your sleeping and kisses your cheek yet again

“dios mío, your the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Here’s to my taglist💍: @lazyjellyfish300 @monstera02 @muchosbesitos @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @yournextbimbogf @blahblahblahblueslol @kerwin290710 @tojishugetiddies

And if you’d like to be on the taglist just dm me🫶!

MINORS DNI PLEASE 🙏

[webdollzz]

BATTERED 'N' BRUISED

WARNINGS: blood kink!! dom!hobie x f!reader. mirror sex, penetrative sex, accidental creampie, fingering, hair pulling, forced eye contact, manhandling, swears (obviously), semi public sex, darcyphila, multiple orgasms. r described as easily bruised

AUTHORS NOTE: those warnings...this also came to me in a dream. unhinged dream.

Hobie had taken you to your first punk rock concert with him, as it was his turn to plan a date, and this was his idea of a date. you didn't complain, though. it made him happy. you tried to match the vibe as best as you could, putting on messily good black makeup, short denim skirt, torn fishnets, big clompy boots — the works.

you tried your best to fit in with the crowd, and you certainly did in hobie's eyes. he had you pressed against the barricade with him behind you, protecting you from the hits and shoves from the crowd, his back and sides taking them instead so you could enjoy the concert with him. you looked over to your left as you heard particularly louder screaming, seeing a mosh pit beginning to form. you lean back against hobie's chest, tugging him down by one of his necklaces so his ear was level to your mouth. it was the only way he'd hear you between the loud singing and music.

"the fuck is that?!" you asked, gesturing to the violent circle within the crowd. he glanced over, smirking as he leaned down into your ear.

"mosh pi', luv. basically everybody hittin' everybody." he shrugged, his hands running up and down your sides, looking at the way you stared at it. "wha'? you wanna go in?" you nod, and he snorts. "a'ight — c'mere." he said, gripping your waist with a grin, pulling you through the crowd. he knew he probably shouldn't get you in a mosh pit when it's your first concert, and because you already bruise like a peach. but how could he deny his girl? he couldn't.

so he hauled you with him, talking loudly in your ear. "so, rule one. someone falls, ya' help 'em up. two, palms, not actual fists. no throwin' punches —" He continued to walk you through the unspoken rules of proper mosh etiquette, and you tried to listen, but it was hard. but he said this one a little louder, the most important one, as he put it.

"numba' six – don't move a single inch from me. wors' place ta' lose ya' would be a mosh." he said, gently kissing your lips before yanking you into the pit with him. one, two — three songs later, the pit finally dissipated. and what happened half way through song two? you got lost in the pit. the concert was still going, so he couldn't exactly call for you. it was only half way done, so he couldn't call for you for a while. he was worried sick – there was easily over a thousand people at this venue. easy. he wouldn't find you in the floods of people, he'd just have to wait until you both met back up at your car outside.

his train of thought was interrupted by much older rocker – 40s – tapping on his shoulder. "this yours?" He yelled over the music with a laugh, presenting a very bloody you. you were grinning like a mad woman, your nose profusely bleeding and dripping down your mouth, chin, neck, chest — pretty much your entire front was covered. and you didn't give a single fuck. his brows furrowed with concern, a pit forming in his stomach.

"fuckin' 'ell – yeah! thanks, mate." the guy wandered off with a grin and a nod, giving him a small thumbs up.

"doll, are you alr–" "that was the best fucking thing ever!" you interrupted him with a yell, and he got more confused. you enjoyed it? your nose was pouring with blood! admittedly, seeing your torn, low cut shirt and blood covered cleavage stirred something in him, but he pushed it aside.

"wha'?!" he had to make sure he heard that right. you briefly spat out some blood by your feet, smiling back up at him. "I had fun!" you exclaimed, your nose still dripping. it must've been a pretty brutal hit. "so, you're a'ight?.." he asked cautiously, gently poking your nose to make sure it wasn't broken or anything, the bleeding was really bad. "yeah! I'm fine!" he grabbed your inner elbow gently, dragging you towards the bathrooms at the back. once he made sure you were okay, his skinny jeans began to get a whole lot tighter. you frowned, stumbling along with him.

"why are we leavin'?" you asked as he pulled you into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind you two. he shrugged, pinning you between him and the sink.

"cus' m'hard as fuck righ' now." your eyes widened as his head dipped down to nip and kiss at the sides of your neck that isn't covered in blood. so, he got turned on by blood now? that's new.

"hob.." you gasped as he sucked a hickey onto the side of your neck, his hand sliding up your inner thigh to rub it gently, before his forefinger went to draw lazy circles on your clit through your panties.

"hmm?" he hummed quietly, kicking your legs apart so he can stand between them easier. your breath hitches quietly, your hips pushing down against his finger for more.

"more...please." he grabbed your fishnets and tore them at your pussy with ease, making you jolt slightly. you opened your mouth to complain about it but it dribbled back down your throat when he pushed your panties to the side to rub at your clit again, just with no barriers. you huffed out a moan, your head tipping back. he slid his finger to your entrance, teasing it for a short moment before he slipped it into you, curling it to your sweet spot. you moaned, unaware of how much he was staring a your blood covered neck until his head dipped forward.

his tongue licked up the length of your neck, to your chin and mouth. he gripped your hair with his free hand, tugging your head back up to face him.

you whimpered softly, but your eyes widened when you saw him smiling at you with his mouth covered in your blood.

"hob, what'r you do-" you were cut short when his lips smashed against yours, pulling your hair roughly as his fingers sped up. the metallic taste of your blood on his tongue as he kissed you with a lip bruising fervour, disgustingly brought you closer to the edge. and fast.

it smeared your blood all over your lips, the now occasional drip of blood from your nose making it messy. you were whimpering into the kiss, rolling your hips against his hand as he added another finger. the iron taste of your blood in your mouth, his thumb pressing against your throbbing clit and the two fingers curling into your sweet spot had you crying out.

he left the kiss, trailing from your cheek cheek your jaw, to your neck where he stayed. he kissed where the blood was — some dried, some not. he didn't care, it was all fucking with his head. your hand gripped his bicep as your let out a moan that was higher in pitch than the band. he stopped kissing your neck, and you could feel the way he smirked against your stained skin at the volume of your moans.

"gooood girl.. " he praised lowly in your ear, the sound of his rough voice making you whimper. his fingers didn't stop, working you through and past your orgasm, overstimulation painfully sweet. you tried to grab his wrist, but he swatted you away and shook his head as he began kissing your neck again.

"nah, chill out. we ain' done, love." he hissed, and you choked back cries as you pushed at his arm. "ple-please.." you whispered, and he sighed quietly, understanding your limit. he removed his fingers slowly and you sunk into him gratefully, silently thanking him. he slowly began wrapping an arm around your waist, and you assumed it was to support you, but what actually happened was he flipped you round to face the mirror, your hip bone pressing into the clean cut curve of the countertop.

you yelped as his hand went into your hair, gently wrapping it around his hand and craning your head back. the look in his eyes showed something you've barely seen a glimpse of — he rarely got rough with you. he leaned into your ear, hand still in your hair and the other on the middle of your back to force an arch.

"you a'ight?" He asked you quietly, nudging the side of your head with his nose as his low eyes stayed on yours through the reflection. you nodded best you could, making him tug your hair.

"words." "yes, m'okay." you whispered, and he nodded softly, his hand on your back rubbing small circles for comfort. his nose nudged your cheek before he kissed your temple softly.

"good, we ain' done." he mumbled, kicking your legs apart and pushing your back down so your tummy touched the cold, marble sink top. he grabbed your panties and the hem of your fishnets and practically ripped them off your body. you always underestimated his strength.

"those were my nice pair.." You mumbled softly with a frown, as if that was the biggest thing right now. he rolled his eyes, undoing his belt with one hand as the other stayed firmly in your hair.

"ll'steal ya another. now shut i'." he kissed your shoulder, still peering at you. his belt clattered against the floor, and he unbuttoned his jeans to shimmy them down just enough to pull out his dick.

"deep breath, c'mon." he shook your head a little with his hand in your hair, and you took in a little breath before he pushed in, making you splutter out that breath with a whimper. you never adjusted to the size and girth of him, it's like he was made to hurt you.

"should'a done a deep breath." he shrugged, burying himself to the hilt as you gripped the sink. his hand left your hair to slip to your hip, lifting you towards him a little, which makes you now uncomfortaby on your tippy toes. he began a slow pace, which made you take a deep breath — finally — and dip your head forward. he huffed softly, looking down at where you connect, seeing how quickly you covered his cock in your slick, making it easy for him to speed up.

your jaw fell slack, your arms sliding up the sink to try and stabilise yourself as you moaned with each thrust. he smiled to himself, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing harshly, making you huff at him.

"perv." you mumbled, and he just laughed at you, purposefully tilting his hips to adjust his thrusts towards your sweet spot, making you cry out as your eyes closed. his arm went over your stomach and up to your shoulders, forcing you to his chest.

"look." he whispered gruffly against your hair, his eyes glued onto your face. you fluttered your eyes open, seeing him staring at you and you mewled, the eye contact making you feel nervous and try to hide your face in his neck — as if he isn't 7inches deep right now. his hand grabbed where your jaw meets your neck, snapping it back to the mirror.

"fuckin' look. y'r a mess." He laughed, his other hand going from your hip to your clit, drawing quick figure eights which quickly made tears meet your waterline before they ran down your cheeks.

"n-no, I'm not." you tried to defend yourself, but your eyes went from him to your own form. jaw slack, eyes having difficulty staying open, legs shaking. you were a mess. he just hummed quietly, looking back down at where he is pounding into you, seeing the way you stretch to accommodate him and yet still struggle.

you cried out, clawing at his arm that was holding your jaw to the mirror, tears rolling down your cheeks. his fingers sped up on your clit to match the pace of his brutal thrusts, making your eyes roll back with a loud whine.

he looked back up at you, and his breath hitched. black make up smudged and smeared, running down your face from your waterworks, jaw slack, eyes rolled back and the remaining of the blood stuck to your skin.

he couldn't help it, he knew better. but that didn't stop him from filling you to the brim, the sight of you destroyed and a mess making him milk himself dry. you gasped at the feeling of him cumming inside you, the warmth triggering your own orgasm as you cried loudly.

he groaned breathily, slowing his thrusts. he pulled his hand from you, instead wrapping them both around your waist to keep you steady as he gently lowered you to the flats of your feet.

"did you actually just —" you breathed, staring at him in the mirror. he just shrugged, smiling like a cocky bastard at you.

"rule breaker, innit."

© WEBDOLLZZ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

[neteyamssyulang]

♱ Wild Encounters ♱

♱ Easter special ♱

♱ Pairing: Adult Neteyam x Fem human reader ♱

♱ Summary: While on a late night walk in the woods, you immediately regret your decision.

♱ Warnings: Dom Neteyam, Sub reader, Neteyam in rut, Dub-con?, P in V, Size difference, Creampie.

♱ Translation(s): Tawtute -> Sky person, Tìyawn -> Love.

♱ Word count: 653 ♱

♱ A/N: Happy Easter my darlings!

♱ Tagging: @teyamshuman @ikeyniofthetayrangi @itchaboi-itchyboy @aria-tempest @anemonelovesfiction @loaksulluyswife @kia-wolfie @tallulah477 @kariz-stark

When you decided to go for a late night walk through the forest, this is not what you had in mind.

The air was temperate, the breeze was cool, the bioluminescent moss lighting your way though the endless forest. It felt good to be out here, so perfect and free.

Tonight felt different though, like someone was watching you from the shadows. Whenever you turned around however, there was nobody around. It was like pandora was playing a prank on you, making you feel crazy and on edge.

Glances over your shoulder now and then would ease that nervousness inside of you a bit but it would never fully go away. A twig snapping behind you made you turn around instantly, only to be met with, him.

You've heard stories about the omaticaya prince from humans that went back and fourth from the village, yet none compared to what is infront of you right now.

His eyes, normally described yellow like honey were green, with slits for pupils. His skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and a noticeable tent was in his tewng.

"Such a pretty little tawtute" he purred, stepping closer towards you. Instinctively, you took a step back making him growl.

In an instant, you found yourself laying flat on your back with the huge na'vi hovering above you. He was so large compared to you, having to bend his back a bit to bury his head into the crook of your neck.

"Please, don't do this.." you begged him, unfortunately your pleas fell on deaf ears as he ripped off your shorts, along with your panties and shirt.

"You do not tell me what to do, little girl" he hissed, moving his loincloth to the side. His cock slapped against his stomach, beads of pre-cum already oozing from the tip.

Holy mother he was huge, that would never fit inside you. No way, no how. "That thing will ne- ahh! oh shit!" Your cut off as he immediately rammed his cock inside your tight pussy.

"Fuck.. so tight..so good" he moaned, with no preparation the stretch felt unbearable to you. It was like he was tearing you in half, literally.

Tears streamed down your face as you dug your nails into the palm of your hand, leaving small crescent marks. Without warning, Neteyam pulled out only to slam back inside. A noticeable buldge could be seen from your stomach where his cock was buried.

Neteyam hovered above you, his large frame making you feel even smaller compared to him. His arms caged you in as he started rutting into you like a rabbit in heat.

The forest was filled with the sound of his hips slapping against yours, along with the lewd sounds he kept pulling from your lips. You've never felt so full in your life, not even the toys you had could make you feel this way.

"That's it" Neteyam purred, coiling his tail around your ankle. He leaned down, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

You whined, clawing at his shoulders as you felt your climax approaching. Neteyam groaned, picking up his pace "Is the little human gonna cum for me? Hm?"

Leaning back up, he gazed down at your flushed face. You nodded frantically, desperately wanting to cum already. Neteyam smirked,"Cum, be a good little slut and cum.on.this.cock!" With each word he delivered a hard thrust, his tip kissing your cervix.

A choked out sob left your lips as you came hard, squirting onto his lower abdomen and thighs. Neteyam hissed feeling your walls squeezing around him tightly, with one last thrust he buried himself to the hilt inside, painting your gummy walls white.

Panting heavily, you gazed up at him, his green eyes slowly turning back to the warm honey ones you heard so much about.

"Your mine now, pretty human" he murmured.

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #138

Damian decided he wanted to be a veterinarian in his spare time so after high school he applied to Gotham University and moved into the dorms. Alfred and his Father highly encouraged it something about getting that college dorm experience and they were pushing him to make a friend or two. He also didn’t know what to expect from his roommate Nightingale, something was off about him and Damian was determined to find out what that is.

Danny just wanted to get his engineering degree. Unfortunately his new roommate seemed curious about him. After he ran away from home he decided he’d try to make it on his own. He didn’t even try to tell his parents about Phantom, their prejudice about ghosts wasn’t going away soon and the sooner he got away the safer he’d be. He had to think about the infinite realms now and keeping their king, well himself, safe was the best option at the moment. If only the Observants could stop appearing in unexpected places to beg him to return to the realms.

[pleaktale]

"Thought ol' Jamesy 'ere found us a mermaid..."

IT'S DONE! *Everyone cheers.*

Yes, I know I forgot about his chains and necklaces but I was too far gone in the rendering to add it, sorry my lovelies... 🥺 I'll make sure to add in the next ones! 🤭

Anyway, this is BDAS! Hobie, made by @the-kr8tor

(PLEASE CHECK IT OUT IT'S SOOO GOOD!!) Extra version bellow the mark!

Just him being the most handsome men to ever exist.

That's it! See you soon!

[linkbetweenlinksau]

The Mark - part 1

Part 2|| part 3||

[entwnii]

satoru hated meetings with the elders, that was a fact. they’d always ask too many questions or try to comment on each decision he made, especially since he married you, a non-sorcerer, which had been seen as ‘the crime’ of the decade. what’s more, the subway on his way back to your shared house was late that night, which led to the white-haired man being even more irritated. all he wanted to do was to get home to you. quickly. satoru finally opened the front door of his house, around 12:26 am, a sigh of relief escaping him. he immediatly kicked his shoes off, throwing his leather jacket somewhere on the floor as he made his way to the kitchen, where the lights were on. “baby, ’m home—” he spoke up before stopping himself midway through his sentence, absolutely dumbstruck at the sight in front of him. the radio was on, just like always, playing some piero piccioni, who he knew was one of your favorite jazz composer. a bottle of red wine placed open on your kitchen counter, a wine glass filled midway of the same red wine. and then there was you. . . you were happily humming to the music while making some matcha and white chocolate cookies. those were satoru’s favorites, the same ones his mother used to bake for him when he was younger. on top of it all, you stood topeless, only wearing your pj pants. you were definitely wine-drunk. immediately, a wide grin appeared on satoru’s lips. he stumbled towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist, hidding his face into the crook of your neck and pressing kisses on your soft skin, making you laugh. being married is dope.

[luminlunii]

can we please get Clown Rocky and Clown Ivy juggling

I adjusted their clown outfits :D

You can find the original designs here and a silly drawing I did of them throwing pies at Mordecai

Whoever reblogged it saying Rocky looks like he just got out the club, just know I see you. I find that hilarious as hell lmao

Ko-fi | Patreon

[foolishlovers]

Tales of Turning Pages (E, 73k, complete)

Every Tuesday, aspiring romance novelist Anthony J. Crowley pays a visit to his local library and the charming angel working there. Every Tuesday, Aziraphale Fell finds himself more and more intrigued by the curious stranger who turns his orderly life as a small-town librarian upside down.

[1-900-venusluvs]

You cannot tell me that man would eat pussy like it’s his first meal in years. He would slowly kiss up your thighs til he reaches to your inner thigh. When he does he kisses it before giving it a hickey just to fuck with you a bit.

“you have the body of a goddess, i swear darling.”

He says as he grips your thighs with his veiny hands, he definitely knows how to make a woman cum for sure. He licks your slit before actually eating you out. Whenever your legs close From stimulation, he spreads them back open with a smile, his thick cock has harden at the sight of your face scrunching and your eyes rolling back.

“Don’t you wanna cum amor? So let me show you.” He spoke again in a stern like tone, he shoves his fingers inside you before sucking on your clit. His tongue flicks on your bud as he goes faster. You feel a wave of ecstasy come over you as you’re gripping his brown curls. You cannot believe a Greek god like Miguel O’Hara himself is making you cum. You feel a feeling in your stomach indicating you’re gonna cum. You shut your thighs around his head and moan loudly. Your fluids get on his chin and mouth as he licks it up swiftly without you knowing a damn thing. You put your head back onto the soft pillows before hearing him get up. You make a comment about his abilities.

“Can’t believe one of the most cockiest gods made me cum.” you say with a faint chuckle. He licks his fingers before a grin plastering on his face. It wasn’t just a grin, it was that grin. His upper lip goes up and his sharp fangs poke out ever so slightly. Fuck he was hot. Your mind was clouded with thoughts of this god infront of you.

“I am the god of pleasure so, have to own up to my name.” He says before winking at you playfully.

Like the saying goes, you fell first but he fell harder ཐི♡ཋྀ.

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