#he would NOT have made the choice to do that and their clothes wouldn’t fit Gabriel

[woundlingus]

Where does Gabriel get these clothes?? He turns up without them, just the case with the swords and his coat. Those are the ONLY things in his hands, and yet, here he is, brand new outfit…

Did Sam and Dean go BUY THAT for him??? Did they go stick Narfi in a trash compactor and then swing by target?? Did Sam have to beg Dean to pull over so he could buy him a lil leather jacket??? I mean he looks delightful good pick but WHY

[running-with-kn1ves]

Satin Pillows To Cry On

CW: coercion with money, age gap(7 yrs), transactional marriage, obsessive/yandere behavior

gn! reader

﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀

You’ve got nothing else, no one else to rely on. 

‘You’re something he bought to keep from growing old.” 

Your clothes are worth small countries. Your cars stacked in 3-level garages. Diamonds, emeralds, pearls hanging from your wrists and ears, satchels made of endangered animal skins, different shoes for each day of the year. 

Your boyfriend of three years spat at your feet when you told him what you were doing. 

“His money can’t love you, not like I can.”

The wedding was only two months away when you broke up with him, told him you couldn’t live in his broke-down apartment anymore, that you couldn’t live with debt trailing wherever you went. You went so far as to make him hate you, to tell him that you never wanted to see him again, that you never loved him, that he better not bother showing up to the wedding. You didn’t want him there, you never wanted to see him again. 

“You’re lying to me; he’s making you say these things, he’s using you against me! You’ve known him what-- two seconds, and you’re going to marry this man?! He’s nearly a decade older than you!” 

Seven years of an age gap or not, he was still a thousand times more independent, wealthy, and a safer choice than your boyfriend. You weren’t some fresh college student new to the world, you had graduated over two years ago, still finding no luck in getting a stable income-- forget about whether or not it was in the field of your degree. 

You left in a single day, fitting all of your scavanged belongings into one of your fiance’s awaiting cars. You left anything worth of value with your ex-boyfriend, knowing he’d find more use out of it than you would. You would even leave the rest of your things there if he could find use for them, but you knew they’d just be one more painful reminder of your betrayal. 

He did as you said, not showing up to your wedding, staying clear, never appearing in your line of sight since the day you left. It made it easier…. For both of you that way. 

And now you were happy-- well, maybe not happy, maybe not even content, but you were… safe. You had everything you needed: a working car, a stable job that you felt productive in, a clean and comforting house to come home to, a spouse. Sure, maybe you didn’t get your new job yourself, or your house or your car-- but did that really matter, in this economy? Who wouldn’t trade their life and their independence for this kind of wealth?

And your husband… he wasn’t all bad. He might have only wanted you for the sake of having you at first, like a new jewel or the latest technological invention. But he was doting and caring in his own way. Maybe just a tiny bit too invested in you, in your schedule and who you talked to. A little too hateful towards your ex-boyfriend, the one who had you before he could. But everyone had character flaws, and on good days you could distract him from his grumpy mood and stress and obsessive behaviors by being the loving and oh so perfect spouse you had trained yourself to be ever since he asked to marry you. 

“Colder than all that gold…” You repeated in your mind, the words your family whispered to each other at your wedding reception only a few feet away from you. 

That was over six months now, though… the honeymoon phase never existed, you rarely saw your husband except for his midnight appearances back from the office, and whenever he would whisk you away for a weekend vacation to savor the time he had with you. For someone more sophisticated, much wealthier, and dare you say handsomer than the average man-- you were surprised to find he didn’t have a line of divorces behind him. 

No; he said, he had been “waiting for you.” whether  you or he knew it, he understood right from the moment of meeting you that you were the one he’d have for the rest of his life, even if it killed him. That severity… scared you. But in a sick sense, it made you feel relieved. Forever? This could be yours, forever? Your family would never have to struggle again, you would never have to worry where your next meal came from?

“I cleared your schedule until tuesday; we’re going to the isles. A mini vacation, you might call it. Get your things.”

He was cold, that was for sure. But, was he any worse than your ex-boyfriend, especially when he was offering you an expensive experience on top of that?

“All right..” You acquiesced. 

And now, you lied sunken into the bed feeling his loving, hot breath on your navel. Going so sweetly slow, so oddly and uncharacteristingly lingering with his touches as he gazes into your eyes. You didn’t like this; didn’t like that when he was cherishing you, making love to you, holding you so intimately, he was appearing… like a husband should. Where did he get the nerve to ignore you everyday, to have hardly any time for you, only to come back and beg for your love when it was convenient for him? 

But you keep your mouth shut, like you should, if you want to keep eating breakfast in bed, keep wearing silk robes while watching the view of the ocean outside your window.

“So beautiful…you’re like a work of art, the kind no amount of money can buy.” 

That was funny, hilarious even. Enough so to make you cry. 

A familiar face passes by the slightly ajar door to distract you, likely one of the housekeepers leaving for the night. But you swear the man’s figure reminds you of someone from your past, someone you loved and left for good. 

Your husband brings back your attention by placing a gentle kiss to your temple, blindly undoing the clasp of the necklace he bought you.

“I’m so lucky… so lucky to have been the one to catch you, forever. No one could’ve done it, not without what I have.”

He wanted you to kiss and caress back, but sometimes lying still was just enough. It was enough for him to witness you, basking in the glow of everything you wore from him, lying in the Egyptian cotton sheets he paid extra for, your body molded to the diet his personal chefs cooked. 

Even as he pushed a knee between your legs, traveling from your navel to your stomach with open-mouthed sucks and kisses in the rawest form of affection, you couldn’t help but turn your face deep into the pillow. So soft, the soft purple shielding your eyes from his tender gaze.

You might’ve given up love, given up everything familiar and those who you’ve cared for-- but at least you had satin pillows to cry on, and the finest jewelry to wipe your tears with. 

[maybankcore]

rafe cameron — nsfw alphabet ༝༚༝༚

context : the alphabet.. but each letter has a new rafe cameron nsfw/sfw concept. this is also bunny!reader x rafe.

tws : smut, nsfw, rafe x sweet/bunny reader, cream pie, voyeurism, brief degrading, brief daddy kink. fingering, porn/nudes, tying reader up, oral sex, a ton of nsfw headcanons.

A: aftercare • you would tend to get sleep almost immediately after you come, and the first thing rafe does is take you to the bathroom and let you pee so u don’t get a UTI, n he’ll probably wait outside and keep asking “u done baby?” ‘till you clean up. and obviously, after the oh so harddd task of peeing, he’ll carry you back to bed. rafe somehow doesn’t get tired after sex, but seeing you already get lazy eyed, he has no choice but to lay down with his little bun and cuddle up with her.

B: boobs. literally boobs. • rafe loves your tits, and he loves grabbing them even more. he’ll randomly come up behind you when you’re doing your makeup, hair, etc. and just grab ur boobs. he loves the way they fit perfectly in his big palm, and how flustered you get too. “rafe! stop— i’m doing my makeup!!” you’d say, as you wave his hands away, feigning annoyance. “relax baby, their just too tempting.” rafe snickered, smirking. rafe just can’t get enough of them, especially when your wearing the thin, baby pink, lacy top from victoria’s secret.

C: cum • okay, rafe knows that he has to use a condom, blah blah blah. but on those days where he just needs a good, raw, fuck.. trust me, he’d cum inside you, making sure every inch of his hot cum fills you up to the brim. and rest assured, you’d hate and love it at the same time.

D: dirty talk • he’d soooo dirty talk you in public, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, knowing how wet your sweet pussy gets just by the sound of his voice. he’d sometimes say the most vile things about what he’d to you when you both get home.

“do you really think i’m not noticing your blowjob eyes as i’m golfing, huh? y’know.. i’d love seeing those eyes of yours when i’m fucking you endlessly. making you cum so hard. oh god, baby, i can hear those pretty moans of yours already. hmm?” he’d huskily whisper, inches by the shell of your ear. and then, he’d walk off as if nothing happened. leaving you anticipated for the entire day, squeezing your thighs and drinking an excessive amount of water to help with the heat building in your cheeks.

E: experience • rafe deffo has experience with sex. but i wouldn’t call him the biggest man-whore, since he met you in s2 of obx, i’d say he had 4 bodies by then. 2 of them being random hookups and the other 2 being girls from a short term relationship w/ him. i also hc that bunny!reader would have a few bodies, but would act like she’s a virgin just for rafe, similar to how maddie perez did it.

F: fingering • mmm, rafe is a master at fingering. he knows how to get your pussy wet and make it even wetter when he’s touching you. he’d start off with just a few strokes on your clothed pussy, building up tension that you so desperately want to release. n then when you’d get all needy he’d slide your panties down and spread your thighs.

you’d position yourself on his lap, head on his shoulder, looking at him with your big bambi eyes, pleading. and he’d slowly circle your clit in circular motions, taking pleasure in the way your hips jerked and lips parted with heavy breaths. and then he’d sink two fingers in, slowly at first, and then going faster. the cold touch of his golden rings slipping between your lips made you moan. loud. and in amidst of all this, he’d be doing some random thing on his laptop, but secretly taking a voice memo of your sweet moans. to obviously jerk off to later, you really think he’d pleasure you and restrict himself from doing it later on?

G: g-spot • imagine no guy has actually found your g-spot before, they’d just fuck you and you’d get that tiny ounce of pleasure that made you cum, but when rafe first fingered you, curling up his fingers to hit that sweet spot that only you yourself could find, you UNRAVELED. i’m sure he was shocked at how loud you moaned. he had thought you’d never gotten fingered before. but when you told him that no guy had actually fingered you that good, he was both pleased and shook. “what d’you mean no one’s found your g-spot? isn’t that like— the main thing in sex??” but to be honest.. him being the only guy that found your g-spot really boosted his confidence lol.

H: hair • rafe absolutely loves your hair, playing with it, braiding it, seeing how it drapes over your shoulders elegantly. he had never met someone who takes care of their hair like their life depends on it. you’d have serums, hair masks, good hair days and bad hair days, and rafe was all here for it.

(this is for my curly hair readers btw). sometimes when your hair wasn’t cooperating you’d get annoyed and bang your hairbrush against your head, clearly disheveling your hair, and rafe would come over and brush it for you. putting in your gel, mousse and even diffusing it.

rafe also is weirdly obsessed with how your hair smells, he’d bury his shoulder into it, or randomly smell it throughout the day, and once he’d even gotten wheeze to smell your hair.. “her hair smells so good right? i don’t even know how, it just smells fuckin’ amazing.” he’d proudly state, and you not being sure if wether that’s creepy or cute.

I: initials (tattooed) • right on his chest, beneath his heart, are the two letters of your name, more so, your initials. Y/N.Y/L/N written in a bold, italic font. and right next to it is your favorite animal, a bunny. you were struck when he had actually gotten a whole ass bunny tatted next to your initial!!

J: jerking off in ur absence • whenever rafe has trips, or if you’ve been away for some time, rafe deffo jerks off to pictures you sent to him. you’d send a teasing mirror pic of you getting dressed, your hand covering your nipples. and then you’d send a soapy tit pic of you in the shower. but lastly, a day before you come back, you’d send the hottest picture of you in rafes favorite pink lingerie set, playing with yourself and moaning rafes name. leaving him needy and desperate until he lands..

K: kinks • omg the amount of kinks u and rafe would share imagine him fucking you for the first time and slowly starts roughing you up, only to see you cooperate and urge him to do more. the smirk on his facee😩.

L: location (where you fuck) • personally, public sex is a huge turn in for rafe, but being the little slut you are, it’s an even bigger turn-on for you. obviously you’d fuck in his bed or yours, and sometimes i’m the couch or kitchen counter. rafe would also take you on the druthers boat and make you ride his lap, stopping when a boat comes buy, your sweaty face and messed up outfit being evident.

M: marks • rafe would leave hickeys everywhere. stomach, thighs, neck, collarbone, shoulders, tits, even inches away from your pussy. you’d leave bite marks on rafe, scratches illuminating his back, and lipstick stains all over his collar and cheek.

N: nudes • he just has a hidden album filled with your nudes. wether its videos of you both fucking, teasing pictures you’d send him of your bikini try ons, or you fingering your self. he’d also have voice memos of your moans saved. p.s, rafe would so ask you to talk about something random for a minute on voice memos and jerk off to your voice.

O: only fans acc • a little similar to the one on top ^. but imagine making an only fans account where ur only follower/subscriber is rafe. and trust, he will act like a whole ass fan. he’ll comment on your videos; “omg ur so hot can i request food play” with a +400$ message next to it. youd livestream and he’d be your only viewer, talking you through playing with yourself. and when i mean he’s a fan, i mean this man would literally pay you 1000$ per month as per his ‘subscription’..

P: plushies • whilst fucking you hard, rafe would grab your favorite plushy and tell you to hold it. he found it so fucking hot seeing you cling onto the soft toy, bringing it to your mouth to bite onto to hold back your loud moans.

Q: quickies • yall would deffo have quick fucks in between parties, hangouts, dinners, etc. sometimes if your ovulating you’d practically beg on your knees for a quickie with rafe. “rafeyy, please. if you don’t do anything i’ll go to the bathroom n’deal with it myself!” you whine, nudging his arm to get up from his seat at an event. and obviously, he gives in. every. single. time.

R: riding his thigh • when your extremely horny, and need an immediate relief youd prop yourself on rafes thigh and start grinding. this would be your only option as he’d dismiss your attempts to make him fuck you, so he’d tap his thigh and say “if your really that horny jus’ ride my thigh. cmon, you wanted to come, right?”. you’d get so wet, making a mess on his sweatpants.

S: sucking his dick • messy blowjobs>>. sucking him off after a hard day, at a party when he’s high and needy, or right after you went to his family dinner. you’d look so perfect with your big, glossy eyes staring up at him. head bobbing as you perfectly swirl the pad of your tongue against the base of his cock. him groaning and praising your amazing head-giving skills.

T: tying you up • hands above your head, a belt knotted against both your wrists, restraining you from pushing rafe away whilst he fucks you mindlessly. rafe would be destroying you, pounding in and out as you take the pleasure like a good girl. you are his little bun, after all.

U: unfair • teasing you when your sat on his lap, waiting for him to finish off his work, whilst he slowly and lightly circles your clit. “daddy, i really need you.” you’d moan in his ear. “i know baby, i know. daddies gotta finish this off first, ‘kay?” and so you waited, only for him to go into the shower, not even letting you in.

V: voyeurism • sliding your panties off and stuffing it in his pocket is his favorite thing to do when he’s off golfing whilst your sitting in your garden chair, feeling the coldness of the air blowing against your sticky cunt. not being able to fix the unbearable tension in your pulsing clit, and having to wait till you get home.

W: what/how big is he • a whopping 7.3 inches. a tad bit specific ik, but the way he’d ruin you.. and what’s funny is the fact that rafe knows he’s big!! and he knows that you can take it too.

X: ion know what to put for this one.. so i’m gonna put a random hc of rafe.. • has a weird food play kink?.. i just feel like he’d take ice cream and lick it off your tits, or spread chocolate syrup all over your nipples and stomach and lick it off too. (obviously nothing down there, don’t wanna get a yeast infection).

Y: ‘your too big!’ • lining himself up against you, seeing his big cock already needy of slamming into you, made you worry. your eyes slightly widened at his size, how the fuck is he gonna fit?. “rafey, i don’t think it’s gonna fit.. your too big.” you mustered out, wanting but at the same time not wanting him. “shhh bun, ts’ gunna fit, i’ll go realll slow? okay baby?” he stated, making you ease up and unclench your pussy, allowing full entrance. he slowly slid inside you, already owning a long moan and scatters of whimpers escaping your mouth. he went in further, and you took him in fully. “good girl, i told you it’d fit.”

Z: also have no idea, so another random hc one again! • loves seeing you spit out his cum after sucking him off. just seeing his cum drop down your chin turns him on sm and makes him hard asf.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

[klemen-tine]

Glass Bones and Paper Skin

Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader

More Platonic Bruce x Reader than Batfam, but they are mentioned and will have a bigger role in the future.

Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect

Just a reminder for everyone, your bodies are perfect and beautiful! Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise.

Part 2

Part 3

Blinding lights and hundreds of eyes are enough to thwart people from the runway. It makes people stumble, trip, or even run from it. Their mind focuses on if they mess up, the world will see. Their managers, agencies, everyone will forever refer to it when they ask them to walk for them again. 

They focus on their walk, the way the clothing either hugs or drapes off their bodies, how the shoes don’t fit, the way their hair is styled, and how the makeup can burn. They try not to focus on how their stomachs ache, how the heels cut into the thin skin on their feet, and that everyone in this room that is dressed and prepped, are equally or more or less beautiful than them. 

Y/N L/N seemed to be the topic of conversation at all of these events. A newer runway model who has been eating it up. From their first runway debut to this one, they have always left people in awe and dropping to their knees for more. It is hard to believe that they are only 18. Y/N has been a photoshoot model since 15, but on their birthday when they turned 18, they finally agreed to their agency’s desire to make them take on the runway. 

It was the best choice for their career. Y/N’s manager was the daughter of their mother’s manager, back when she was alive and used to do modeling. Her manager threw her own daughter at Y/N, and stated that they were the best people to work with because they know Y/N. Whether Y/N was cursed or not –they have yet to figure that out– has nearly the same exact features as their mother and the same ‘air.’ One that demanded everyone to pay attention to them, and is a natural for posing and had a natural strut. 

They’ve been right, and Y/N doesn’t know if it is because of them that they all made it this far. They knew what looked best on Y/N and what wouldn’t work. They knew which designers would adore them and which designers wouldn’t fit. 

Those who know Y/N though understand that the ‘air’ was only on the runways and photoshoots. Y/N is actually a very demure person, while not a wallflower, they were someone who could blend in the crowd. 

Alfred once told them that every country should be grateful to not have Y/N working against them, because Y/N can just disappear. 

“Y/N, are you ready?” They smiled at their fellow models, slipping into the person of Y/N L/N, child of M/N L/N and Bruce Wayne, and nodding, “Of course. When am I not?” 

Cheryl whistled, a fellow model that has been Y/N’s mentor in some way, walking around Y/N and smiling, “Designers sure know how to dress you up. I think almost every runway walk has had your hips on display” Y/N chuckled at her, “It’s because of these hips dips. You can probably drink soup out of them.” 

“If it was ice cream I’d be down, but not soup.” Jon was another model who has been in the scene for a long time. He was a handsome man with a diamond face. 

“Models get ready.” A shuffling of feet and high heels clip clopping sounded in the backstage, and Y/N took their place in front of everyone. They will be the one opening the show today, an honor that the 18-year-old took gratefully. 

Opening a show was a big deal, setting the tone for the show in general and also the tempo. Y/N took a deep breath, and at the cue, their mind went blank as they began walking. Their eyes focused on the end camera, and the walk on beat to the music. Once at the end, they looked directly into the camera and struck a pose. Highlighting the slit hips and underboob design, showing off the almost sheer fabric that had the slightest hint of shimmer in them. A statement piece. 

Turning around they walked back to where they emerged from, making sure they kept their face in control for the last camera. However, a sight at the corner of their eye momentarily broke them out of their blank space. Five familiar people that should not be here. Sitting in the front row, wearing nice tuxedos, and almost making Y/N stumble. 

Almost. Controlling their features, Y/N returned their focus to the camera and disappeared in the entrance they emerged from. Smiling at all the 'congratulations’ ‘you looked great,’ ‘you look beautiful,’ they went back to their manager, Maya, and whispered, “I need you to confirm five people in the front row on the left side. They are four chairs down from the camera.”

Maya nodded, scurrying away and without a doubt checking it out. Y/N could feel the curiosity and dread build in their stomach. If they are who Y/N thinks they are, then the after party is going to be interesting. 

“What’s wrong?” Jon wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, bringing Y/N out their thoughts, “Nothing really. Just thought I saw some familiar faces.” Jon made a weird face, but dropped the issue when another model, Logan, strolled on over. 

“Did you see them?” 

“See who?” 

“The Wayne family! They are in the front row!” Y/N closed their eyes in misery and a headache began forming. They saw Maya running back, her face pale and a large frown on her face. Jon glanced at Y/N, taking in the annoyed expression and scrunched nose, “Hmm, no I didn’t. I was too focused on looking at the camera, Logan.” She rolled her eyes, “Oh, it was only a second.”

Jon and Y/N gave each other a dry look, remembering the last time Logan had said that and somehow the camera managed to snap a photo when she was oggling at someone. Y/N shook their head, “I momentarily saw them, but I didn’t think it was them. Do you think I can get the oldest son’s number?” 

‘You’re not his type.’  Y/N thought but didn’t say, shrugging and smiling in amusement, “Logan, what would your girlfriend say?” The model stuck her tongue, “She’d ask to join.” Before Logan could say anything else, Cheryl waltzed over, “Stop being inappropriate, there’s a kid present.” 

“Hey!” 

“Sorry, if you can’t drink yet you can’t have this conversation.” Y/N made a face, “That’s the stupidest sense of logic I have ever heard.” Everyone laughed at them, clapping Y/N’s shoulders and helping each other fix their wardrobes. Some stylists came over to fix their makeup and hair just in case. Everyone was getting ready for the last walkthrough, and honestly, Y/N was dreading it. 

As the front runner of it all, Y/N’s face will be seen by the now confirmed Wayne family and Y/N isn’t confident in themselves enough to not make a face. 

The show will be closing soon and then there is the afterparty that all models are expected to attend. It's a networking place, where other designers, brand ambassadors, and just people who are rich enough to get a ticket can talk to the models and try and recruit them. Its a place and time to mingle for those who have an open schedule and unfortunately, Y/N has an open fucking schedule. 

This was their last show in Paris, and then they have one destination and then it will be done. Runway season will be officially over and then it will be smaller gigs and back to the every now and then runway. 

“Models get ready!” Y/N took a deep breath and fixed their face, eyes forward and chin up. 

‘I’ll call Alfred when I get home.’ 

+++

‘I want to go home.’ Y/N nursed the drink in the flute, filled with sparkling cider instead of champagne. They stood off to the side, changed out of the clothes they wore on the runway, and instead in a deep-v top and leather pants. Still dressed to impress, but at the moment they just wanted to curl up and go away. Y/N’s hotel room has a bathtub in it and Y/N really wants to just sit down in hot water and relax. 

Y/N was constantly scanning the crowd, moving further against the wall whenever they saw black hair and blue eyes. 

Maya said one more hour, then it will be acceptable to leave. She was doing all  the talking and networking for Y/N, trusting that when it came to meet the designers Y/N will charm them enough to want to have them keep coming back. Sighing once more, Y/N took a longer sip and wished to be home. 

Something moved the hair near their ear, and Y/N almost threw their glass at whoever it was until they caught sight of blue eyes and black hair, staring at and analyzing them. 

“Tim…” 

“Hello, Y/N.” Y/N gave a practiced and polite smile, “Odd to see you here.” Tim shrugged, “Seeing that the designer is friends with Bruce, and told us of your show and that you will be leading the walk, of course we had to come.” Y/N nodded, “In Paris?” 

“Where else? You’re next one is in New York right?” Y/N gave a polite chuckle, “Since when did you pay attention to fashion week?” Tim took a sip of champagne, “Since my younger sibling decided to run off and become a model.” 

Y/N took a sip of the sparkling cider, not missing the way Tim was eyeing them with interest and curiosity. They smiled against the rim of the flute, “ ‘Run off’ huh. I don’t think those are the words I would use. I never hid it and I didn’t pack my bags in the middle of the night and sneak through a window.” Y/N set the empty flute down, still smiling politely at Tim who was still watching them, “I simply walked out the front door and no one stopped me.” 

“Y/N–” 

“Y/N! There you are!” A tall woman, hair dyed a shade-off from white gray and wearing the crispest red suit, strolled over. Y/N gave a larger smile, opening their arms and welcoming the hug, “Ms. Gabbana, you look lovely as always.” The woman laughed, “That’s the botox. Anyways, you looked so amazing opening the show!” 

Tim was quickly forgotten as Francesca Gabbana, an Italian high-end fashion designer and luxury brand owner, chatted away with Y/N. Her presence called forth other designers and models and soon enough, Y/N was entrapped in a small group talking about the next runway show next week. 

They talked about the dreaded flight to New York, and where they will be staying. It will be Francesca’s show next week, along with some other high end designers. Francesca seemed particularly excited for Y/N’s, and when Y/N first saw the design, they had to hold back the shivers.

“Right, Y/N you’re from Gotham aren’t you? Will you be visiting your family?” With the attention all on Y/N, they smiled tightly and shrugged, “We’ll see. They are always so busy so I think it's best if I don-” 

“I hope Y/N visits, it’s been a while since we last saw each other.” A large hand clapped Y/N’s shoulder, and from the facial expression everyone was making, Y/N knows who it was. Peeking up through their lashes, Y/N could see Bruce’s smile on his still handsome face. 

Cheryl was the first to recover, her eyes narrowing slightly, “How… how do you know each other?” Y/N glanced at Bruce, who right now is Brucie, and before he could say anything Bruce gasped, “Y/N, you haven’t said anything?” The young adult shrugged, “It never came up. Bruce Wayne is my father.”

The room erupted, and Y/N actually wanted to go die in a hole. What proceeded afterwards was the most intense questioning for the next two hours. 

++++

“Bruce, why are you here?” Y/N asked over dinner. He tossed the crouton around in his salad, waiting for his father’s response. They have never had a 1 on 1 meal together. It was alway family meals, and even then Y/N rarely showed up for those. There was no need too. They never noticed when Y/N was there or not. 

The Billionaire playboy shrugged, “Is it wrong to see my child open a highly sought after show?” Y/N chuckled, “No, but you have never shown any interest in this before.” Y/N never hid his modeling gigs. Often using the family weight room to keep in shape and also turned one of the unused offices into a strut practice room when Y/N lived in the manor. Hours and the amount of money spent to ensure their skin was perfect and their hair was nice, and that they looked beautiful. 

Y/N never hid their modeling job, even as a teen, and yet the only one who seemed to notice was Alfred. 

“You never said anything.” 

“I didn’t think I had too.” Y/N can recall trying to show Bruce, Dick, Jason, anyone that would bother to look, a photo of them making it onto Vogue. Not the cover, not yet, but as a newer model within the prestigious magazine. They made it at 16. 16, and only modeling for a year! Francessca had them in a piece that was first page worthy, and it fit Y/N like it was meant for them. 

Alfred was the only person to look at the magazine Y/N held open with their trembling hands, and ruffle their hair and congratulate them. 

“You didn’t even tell Alfred where you are living.” No, because Y/N doesn’t want Alfred showing up unexpectedly and seeing the almost empty fridge. The thought of the older man’s disappointed look and inquisitive questions would have Y/N breaking down crying. 

“Hmmm, I’m always moving around so I didn’t want him showing up when I am not there.” Bruce nodded, taking a bite of his lobster, and watching Y/N take a small bite of the salad. Y/N swallowed with great difficulty, “Bruce-” 

“Since when does a child call their parents by their first name?” Y/N sucked their teeth, “The only one who calls you ‘father’ is Damian.” 

“You used to.” Y/N shrugged, “You never seemed comfortable with me calling you that.” Bruce rarely answered when Y/N called him ‘dad’ or ‘father,’ and yet he alway responded when someone else called for him.  Y/N would watch from afar as Bruce came running to them in need, but when Y/N needed help they had to figure it out on their own. 

At some point Y/N stopped calling for Bruce entirely, running and calling only to Alfred.

Y/N is not mad about it. They never were. Dull E/C eyes accepted it and pushed forward, watching the explosive fights, the angry words, and the silent apologies. Alfred’s words affirming that they all loved each other, despite everything saying otherwise. Y/N watched, and continued to watch as they focused on themselves when Y/N began making a name for themself. 

They’re not mad. Y/N never was. Hurt? Maybe, but not mad. That is just their hand in life. Besides, it made the modeling career easier. No need to worry about missing any events, Y/N wouldn’t be invited even if they had lived there. Holidays weren’t huge, nor were birthdays. The only one Y/N sent a card to was Alfred. 

It made traveling easier. There was no such thing as homesickness. It made taking more gigs easier, more destructive behavior easier to handle. 

“Y/N,” Bruce called to him and Y/N paused while eating. Raising an eyebrow in question as Bruce set down his own eating utensils. Ocean blue met E/C, and Y/N tried to place the emotion in those blue eyes. 

“For what it is worth, I… I am sorry about the neglect you have faced within our home.” Y/N’s mind stopped functioning and they stared at Bruce in shock. The man either ignoring him or not realizing that Y/N was staring at him continued. 

“You… you didn’t deserve that, especially when you were grieving and that fact that I could not see that shows my fail–” 

“Wait wait wait!” Y/N held their hands up, cutting off Bruce, “What are you talking about?” Bruce stared at Y/N with questions in his eyes, and blinked in shock when he saw the genuine confusion in his child’s eyes. Y/N looked floored, “Bruce… I-I… what?”

Bruce knows he’s not a good parent. He is intimately aware of his failings and shortcomings, and how some of them haunt him. They claw into his skin, his mind, and chest as a reminder of all the times he has failed his children. He and Dick barely started talking, Jason and him are slowly mending that bridge, and Tim and Damian seem to hate each other and Bruce doesn’t know what to do about that. It seems the only children he hasn’t officially fucked over are those that aren’t even his. 

Then there’s Y/N. A child of his genetic makeup, just like Damian, only Y/N’s mother was a model Bruce had treated as a hookup whenever she was on the east coast. Y/N was 13 when they came into Bruce’s care, older than Damian and a few years younger than Tim. Their mother was caught in a drug-use scandal, one that cost her her career and then her life. Her choice left behind a traumatized child, walking in on the body as she decomposed in their bathroom. They had been forced to pack up their bags and move across the country to live with a parent that they only heard about once or twice. 

Bruce somewhat knew of Y/N. He knew that Y/N’s mother had been pregnant, but when he asked if she wanted child support, the woman huffed and said ‘no thank you.’ Her income was enough, as a high in demand supermodel, and she didn’t need Bruce’s ‘pity’ money. 

So, he never sought after her and she never phoned him. 

Until CPS called and told him of the news and the now homeless 13-year-old child he was now in charge of. 

Y/N and him never really connected, and Bruce wonders if some of that is his own fault. He was always too busy with Batman, then his drama with Dick, and Jason’s whole dying thing, the persona of Brucie Wayne, then there was Tim, then Jason coming back from the dead thing, then Barbara’s whole Joker incident, then Damian…. 

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t too busy, he just never made time for Y/N. Which, the other never seemed to complain about. If they did complain to Alfred, the butler never said anything, and neither did their brothers. Y/N was just a ghost living in the manor that showed up for meals because it was expected, and then… left. 

Now he sits here, across from his child who doesn’t seem to understand the wrong done to them by not only Bruce, but the rest of the family. 

“Where did this come from?” Bruce doesn’t have the heart to tell them that it was because of Alfred that Bruce and the family finally realized what was wrong. The tour of Y/N’s old room, still kept clean due to Alfred’s insistence, but instead of clothes on the ground and signs of life within the room, it had photos of Y/N's past modeling gigs. Hundreds of photos, some framed, some not, as they covered the walls. Magazines that had Y/N on the front cover, magazine pages that had Y/N taking up the entire page.

The tour of the room-turned-practice room. Full of mirrors, and a 4 inch wide ply board used to practice walking. The shoes that were hidden in the closet, some too big and some too small. Blood staining the heel area of most of them as the image of Y/N practicing until and through the blisters filled all their heads. 

The meal regime, still written hastily down on the post it notes, and the exercise routine that didn’t match the calorie intake. The broken mirrors in Y/N’s closets and the clothes that now looked like they would be too big on the present-day Y/N that is sitting in front of Bruce.

The written blogs, printed and folded in one of their drawers, relating them back to their mother. Accusing them of the same thing they accused M/N. Highlighting Y/N’s faults, Y/N’s mistakes, Y/N’s features, and Y/N’s heritage. 

‘Child of drug-abuser model M/N L/N, Y/N L/N using the same drug?’ A 15-year-old Y/N posed in a way to show their figure was the picture that was used. 

‘Child of famous model M/N L/N able to hold up to the heat?’ Another photo of a 16-year-old Y/N looking exhausted as they walked out of a building. Eyes red and bags under their eyes. 

‘Beauty genes skipped a generation.’ Y/N is 17 in that photo. 

‘Y/N M/N will never be as beautiful as M/N L/N without extensive work.’  Y/N is 15 again in this photo. They had kept every critique, every mean and poorly written article about them, and kept them. Some of them were tweets, printed instagram photos, and magazines. 

Bruce could see the drastic changes in Y/N throughout the photos. The strict lifestyle changes affected their appearance and made them look even more like M/N. The Y/N in front of him, still beautiful, but Bruce knows the thoughts behind the perfect skin and perfect hair. 

It would seem that one of the things Y/N inherited from Bruce would be the internalizing of every little bad thing to happen, and deny that it has affected them while they wore the scar of it on their sleeves. 

“Bruce, you didn’t neglect me. I had food, clothes, a manor… where did you get all of that from?” 

“Emotional neglect is still neglect.” Y/N still looked confused, setting their fork down and controlling their expression as they processed that. Okay, so yeah maybe Bruce wasn’t an attentive father, but the man never hit Y/N. He never said anything about Y/N that Y/N would have to go to therapy for. Besides, Bruce’s lack of attention paved the way for Y/N to do this! 

Y/N’s lips formed a serene smile, “Bruce, I’m not mad that you didn’t pay attention to me. You were busy with your company, you are legally a dad of five kids, not everyone is going to get the same attention.” They took a sip of the water, hoping the conversation would end there. 

“It wasn’t that I was busy, I just never made time Y/N… and for that I am sorry.” Y/N hates this. Absolutely hates this. All of their excuses for Bruce are being shot down by Bruce himself and it was leaving Y/N feeling a little raw. Wounds they didn’t even know about now being rubbed with salt. 

Y/N stuck their tongue in their cheek and looked around, before smiling once more, “Bruce, I am literally giving you a way out for your guilt, which I still don’t understand why you’re feeling guilty, so why aren’t you taking it? 

“What are you hoping to do?” Bruce stared into E/C eyes and he could see the irritation in them. He set his fork and knife down, and leaned forward, “Is it wrong to try and mend broken bridges?” 

“The bridge was never broken in the first place.” 

“You’re right, and that’s because there was never a bridge in the first place.” Y/N cocked their head to the side, watching with an intense expression. Those E/C eyes flickering around, taking in the restaurant and narrowing their eyes, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, but did you rent out the entire restaurant?” 

“I did. So we can talk freely.” 

“The other ‘customers’ are Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian.” Bruce nodded, “Family dinner.” Y/N’s smile held no amusement, “You know, if you were anybody else I would be thinking this is a way for you to slide back in my life in hopes you could get some of my paycheck. But what is a model’s paycheck to Bruce Wayne’s?” Bruce chuckled, “You are making quite a bit. I’m happy you're conscious of your position now.” 

Y/N sipped the water, “How do you know how much I’m making?” Bruce only smiled and continued eating. He watched his child contemplate asking the question again, but then decided to drop it. 

‘Smart.’ Y/N continued to watch him, no longer touching the food and seeming unwilling to even look at the dessert menu. 

“You’ll visit when you’re back in the states, right?” It didn’t feel like a question. In fact, it felt more like a demand poised as a question to keep intentions hidden. Y/N gulped, “I’ll try.” 

“You should, Alfred misses you. Besides, Manhattan, New York isn’t too far from Gotham.” It was such an innocent sentence. One spoken with a smile on his lips and kind sky blue eyes. An innocent sentence, except Y/N has never once told them where they live. 

“A beautiful place, I can see why you wouldn’t want to leave. With windows like those and that giant skylight, it is truly a wonderful place befitting a top model such as yourself.” Y/N’s mouth went dry, and they could feel the sweat on the back of their neck as they continued to stare at Bruce. Their instincts implore them to go along with this. 

Urging them to carry on the conversation as they felt the gazes of four others on their back. They gave a wobbly smile, “Ye-yes. I really love it, I am super lucky that I managed to have enough saved up, and that I make enough to own a beautiful home such as that.” Bruce nodded, “As an apology for all the missed birthdays and Christmases, I decided to help out a bit.”

“...Excuse me?” Bruce ignored them, and instead looked at their plate that was still untouched from when Y/N had put down the utensils. He took a bite, “Do you not like your food? I can get something else made for you.” 

“N-no, I’m-I’m just full.” Bruce’s eyes narrowed before making a show of shrugging it off, “If you insist. Do know Alfred will want to feed you when you visit.” Y/N’s smile was becoming hard to maintain, “It was a pleasure to have dinner with you, Bruce, but I have to go. Long flight tomorrow and I need to be ready for next week.” Y/N fished out their credit card, but Bruce stuck his hand out, “Don’t worry about it, dinner has been paid for.” 

Y/N didn’t fight, only nodding and smiling pleasantly, “I suppose I will see you next week?” Bruce stood up, and brought Y/N into a tense hug. Feeling the bone and sinewy muscles in his rough hands. Y/N’s top is open back, exposing the shoulder blades and some of Y/N’s spine. Each one a small knob against skin, looking like the Rocky Mountains. 

“Safe flight, Y/N. See you at the shows next week.” Y/N gave a tight smile and quickly left. The four other pairs of eyes never left their back, and when finally in the safety of the streets, Y/N pulled out their phone and checked their Mortgage app. 

‘Successfully Paid!’ In bright green letters, bolded as if it were a game. 

It’s been paid off. Y/N now owed nothing on that house, and while that might have been freeing, it meant someone could now have access to their mortgage account. An alert sounded on their phone, and when Y/N saw that it was their bank account, notifying them of a deposit Y/N felt the breath leave their lungs. 

A large sum, one that had Y/N blinking at the amount of 0’s, was just deposited to their checking account. Right under their bill for walking on that runway. 

‘Shopping money, for when you visit.’ - Dick 

They have access to their bank account. Y/N’s family, because while Bruce was a solitary kind of guy he never was one to withhold information from his former Robins, now had access to their account. They could see what they were spending money on. 

They know where Y/N lives. From the sounds of it, Bruce was even in the penthouse. Y/N covered their mouth and tried to stifle a sob, the feeling of an invasion of their privacy weighing heavy in their chest. 

++++

Y/N stared at the article of clothing with anxiety. When Francesca had first shown them the clothing, it had only caused slight discomfort. Now, now that Y/N knows that their family is here, and watching, the clothing had felt like it was a metal ball. Francesca stood next to them, admiring Y/N’s hair and makeup, and how it all looked with clothing item. 

“I knew this would look great on you. As a Gothamite, this must feel great right? To be wearing the symbol of your City’s greatest vigilante.” Y/N swallowed down the bile, “He’s typically seen as the boogeyman, but yes. I suppose it does feel odd wearing the symbol.” 

The piece of clothing was quite scandalous, a bat symbol made out of gold rest across their chest, attached to a black silk fabric and lace. It hugged their body, bringing out the hip dips and long legs, as well as exposing their toned stomach. 

“Why didn’t you say anything about you being Bruce Wayne’s kid?” Francesca asked, and Y/N could only shrug, “Just… it just never came up.” Y/N loves that Francesca drops that. There are tons of models who have family issues. Y/N’s are minor. 

Not worthy of anything. 

“Y/N, for what it is worth, I do think you are a one in a century model. No one has taken to the runway quite like you have. I think if you had started the runway earlier you would already be a supermodel.” Y/N smiled at Francesca’s kind words, and they wondered just how they got so lucky to have befriended her. 

“Thank you.” 

“Models get ready!” Y/N took to the back of the line, being offered to close the show just after they had opened one. Another prestigious offer that Y/N gratefully took. Sighing heavily, they watched as the line grew shorter and the sound of cameras flashing and grew louder. 

Taking a deep breath, they steeled their breathing and controlled their expressions. Blocking out the world in the way they do best, strutting. The intensity of the flashes increased, and Y/N made a show of keeping their face neutral. 

Just how Batman does. 

They made a point to not look at the people in the front row. When they made it back behind the entry way, there was no time to catch their breath. They were ushered back into line for the final walk out, and Y/N wonders if they can all see how pale Y/N is. Can they see the sweat on their brow or the fact that their E/C eyes are terrified? 

“You did great Y/N!” 

“Looking beautiful Y/N.” 

“C’mon Y/N, after this its a party!” 

No, no they can’t see it because they are all focused on what Y/N wants them to be focused on. Y/N has spent countless hours into ensuring they loook beautiful without makeup, and ethereal in it, no one will care about their inner thoughts and turmoils. 

Y/N strutted to the music one last time, focusing on the flashing light and hoping that the photos they captured showed exactly what Y/N wants them to see. Once they were in the back, the models stripping and changing into comfortable clothes and all of them getting ready for the afterparty, Y/N stayed seated. The pads of their fingers running against the cold metal that was in the shape of a bat across their chest as their makeup artist and hairstylist undid all of their work. 

Francesca smiled, “You were great Y/N, I knew you would be the right person to pull this off.” 

“Thank you, what inspired this piece if you don’t mind me asking.” Francesca smiled, “Oh, I got a call actually. It was just a call to run the idea by me, but I loved it so much that I accepted it.” Y/N furrowed their brow, “A call?” They began to strip out of the clothing, but Francesca’s startled look made them pause. 

“...What?” 

“You’re not going to keep it on?” Y/N gave a confused look, “We don’t keep clothes, Francesca.” The stylist smiled, “Well, no. But Y/N, that was a commission for you.” Y/N stared at Francesca with a new found fear, and their mouth going dry as they processed it all. 

“Who… who did you say the call was from?” Francesca beamed, “Your father, who by the way I am offended you didn’t say anything about, Bruce Wayne.” Large hands clapped their shoulder, and Y/N would have shouted if it weren’t for the familiar smell of cologne. 

Turning around, they met Bruce’s blue eyes, and the blue eyes of their siblings. All of them dressed to the nines and eyeing the clothes. 

“Truly a wonderful piece, Ms. Gabbana. I could not thank you enough.” 

“Of course! Thank you for the idea!” Y/N felt their breath quicked when Dick’s hands gripped their wrist, and gently tugged them in his direction, “C’mon Y/N, you’ll be late to dinner. Alfred is making your favorite.” 

“At least let them change, Dick.” 

“Todd is right, a drive in that would be difficult. Not to mention that  it is snowing outside.” 

“Y/N, we have some clothes for you. They should be more comfortable then the clothes you came in.” Y/N couldn’t even say anything as they were dragged away, Bruce keeping Francesca busy while their brothers pushed them into a changing room. Dick smiling gently as he passed the bag of Y/N’s clothes, taken from their penthouse, into Y/N’s trembling arms. 

“Bruce paid for that outfit, so try not to ruin it, okay? We’ll be waiting out here for you.” Dick booped their nose, and left Y/N alone in the changing room taht only had a curtain for a door. With trembling hands, they searched the bag for their phone. They have to call someone. Cheryl will help them. So would Jon. Maybe even Maya! Y/N just needs to call– 

“Y/N, we have your phone out here, so don’t panic.” Y/N bit their lip to stop themself from sobbing. One thing. They just want one thing to go right today. 

A knock sounded on the wood that was hoolding the curtain, “Y/N, do you need help?” 

“N-no! No, I’m just try-trying to be gentle with the piece.” Bruce hummed, “Well, try and hurry. Alfred is excited to see you and is expecting us for dinner in three hours.” Y/N gulped, carefully stripping and putting on the sweats and hoodie. Clothes that still smell like their laundry detergent and shoes Y/N knows were in their closet. 

‘Dear God.’ They whimpered as they slipped on the comfortable pair of shoes, and bagged the shoes from teh show, and carefully picked up the article of clothing. The gold bat symbol shining mockingly at them. 

The curtain pulled open, and like a horror photo, the light from behind them casted and eerie shadow. Bruce’s face hidden in teh darkness as he reached his hand out for Y/N, knowing full well his child cannot run. 

“C’mon Y/N, time to go home.”

______________________________________________________________

A Part 2 will definitely happen! Kinda has to, to be honest.

[imsilay]

FRIABLE

“easily broken into pieces”

cw: toxic ex!König (not so ex lmao), smut :>, noncon. (idk lmk if i missed something)

summary: König doesn’t believe in breaking up.

(cr on pic)

You were relaxed, totally carefree in your home. Couch full of blankets and pillows, so warm and cozy. Just how you liked it. A sitcom playing in the TV as a background noise when you heard a noise, a loud, very loud thud from your kitchen. The thud made you feel like a hand's nails digging into your heart, squeezing it in its palm. Heavy footsteps followed the thud. You quickly grabbed your phone and pulled the covers up to your head, so the intruder wouldn't notice you immediately. Hopefully, not until you managed to call the police. The trembling of your hands made it harder to type your password correctly. Your fingers stumbling to find the correct numbers to click, and the constant noise of footsteps was making it harder. When you couldn’t manage to type the password - swearing yourself under your breath for setting such a ridiculous code- the footsteps inched closer and closer. You tried to calm your breathing, squeezing the blankets in your fist in an attempt to calm down, hoping the intruder wouldn’t notice you and leave after getting whatever they want.

“What are you doing there, Maus?” you heard him chuckle lightly and bend his knees to be at the same level as your lying form. And you froze, hoping you heard him wrong. It could be him, right? Yeah, you broke up with him long ago and he hadn’t reacted to you ever since. You must have heard wrong. “Did you think you became invisible by covering yourself like that, hm?” he cooed, his voice dripping with honey. Making you wish it was just a robber with a voice similar to him. But once a hand grabbed the covers and pulled them off, you had to face the truth. König was here. Still looking down at you with that icy blue eyes and endless love in them. His eyes moved down from your eyes to your lips, then down to your cleavage. And then down to your thighs, exposed from your shorts. As if he was deciding his path to follow. Then he tilted his head to the side and looked back into your eyes. They were wide open and staring at him, trying to understand his intentions. “I liked the choice in clothes but I would love it if you weren’t wearing anything.” he joked and chuckled again as his hand came to cup your face and pull you up to sit straight before him.

“What are you doing here?” a scowl started to form on your face. You were sure that you made it obvious that you didn’t want him anymore when you broke up with him three whole months ago. And you were certain he understood it because he never called you since. So why’d he break into your house now? “And did you broke my fucking door?” now, you were scowling and your hand had raised to grab his and yank it away from your face. However, he was quick to move before you, managing to place himself away from your reach, before standing up fully before you. His hands left your face for a moment before sitting next to you and wrapping his arms around your smaller form. “It was the only way in, you didn’t think I would fit into the window, ja?” his voice full of amusement as it showed that he couldn’t care less about being your ex. You placed your hands on his forearms in a pathetic attempt to push him off, but it only made him tighten his grip and pull your body onto his lap. “Don’t be like that.” he huffed like a kid who couldn’t get candy, “I missed Meine Königin so much. Didn’t you miss me?” he mumbled, his head nuzzled into your neck. You stopped squirming to get out of his grasp as he pressed his nose into your neck through his mask.

You were speechless about how casual he was about the whole thing. “We broke up.” you felt that you needed to remind him since he acted like you never did. “Hmm?” he mumbled softly, his thumbs caressing the skin of your upper back and waist. and his arms cradling your body so tightly that there was barely a centimetre between your bodies. “I said, we broke up!” you proclaimed, trying to push him, “So stop hugging me!” you yelled as your hands were squeezed between the both your bodies, preventing you from moving even an inch. “Let go of me!” you yelled at him, irritated with his strength. “I missed your scent.” he mumbled completely ignoring you cries to be free, “You always smell so good.” One of his hands let go of you only to take off his mask and reveal his face to you. Then it found its place on your back. You wanted to scream at him, to curse and spit on his face. And you did. But he only smiled, pressing his lips on yours to shut you up. He thought the way you yelled at him was cute. His tongue explored your mouth like a King came back to celebrate his victory in his land after a successful battle. His lips sucked yours as if he was drinking water first time after three month.

He groaned into your mouth when you bit his bottom lip to stop him from kissing you so hungrily but it made the blood in his system rush southwards. He buckled his hips upwards to meet yours and when his crotch pressed against yours he let out another groan. Being away from you made him more sensitive than he is, that was why you felt him grow harder under your hips as he kissed you breathless and grabbed a fistful of your hair desperately. When he was out of breath he let go of your lips just to press his lips onto your neck and breath in your scent. “You son of a…” you started to curse at him but your voice cut off with a gasp when he bit the soft skin on your neck. He immediately licked and pressed a soft kiss on ther irritated skin but you knew it would leave a bruise. “Let me have you, Meine Königin.” he purred, his voice was sweet like honey, like a child asking for a hug. But he was not a child and you weren’t the one to oblige his wishes. Well not anymore. “No.” you said firmly. His hands squeezed your sides like he couldn’t bear the thought of not having you. Being inside your tight cunt, having your sweaty body agains his, kissing you as he felt you got close and clench around him was like breathing for him.

He needed you for living. “Meine Königin.” he breathed as he looked into your eyes with with tears welling eyes. “Don’t you love me? You know i’m the best for you. No one can love you the way i do. Can’t you feel how i need you, hm?” he moved his hips up to press his huge bulge on your crotch, earning a little whimper from you when he brushed against your most sensitive spot. His eyes lit up at the sound of your cute whimper but he hide it immediately after noticing the scowl on your face. “I didn’t forgive you for what you did.” you spat at him and got angrier when you remembered what he did. “Are you still talking about that guy?” he growled and pressed you against him firmly like anyone can steal you from his arms in any moment. “He was hitting on you. I did what i should do.” his tone giving away how ‘regretful’ he was by his actions. “You shoot his legs, both of them, before my eyes!” you shouted at him completely speechless by the way he acted. “We’re over it now. It’s nothing you should think about anymore. And where were we?” he mumbled then a smile tugged on his lips before adding, “Oh, i was about to take these off.” he threw your shirt and bra off before you could register what was happening and buried his head between your soft mounds. You put your hands on his shoulders to push him away but he captured one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked gently, knowing how sensitive they were. You moaned softly before squeezing the shoulders of his tight black shirt as he rolled his tongue around your nipple.

Your mind got foggy for a second when he gently nibbled and hungrily sucked one of them whilst pinching and rolling the other. “K-König stop-“ you moaned and grabbed his hair desperately, but not to pull him away. Instead you pulled him closer as your body rose up from the way it had you feel like. You didn’t knew why but any intimate touch felt way more intense with him. By the time you wanted to slap him across the face, you also wanted to grab his hair and pressed his face into your pussy. You could feel the slickness on your panties when he switched up to the other nipple and sweetly tortured it the same. “Every inch of you is so delicious.” he mumbled with a dizzy tone as he let go of your breasts and licked a line from your neck to your ear. “It makes me want to eat you whole.” he whispered, his tone was thick with lust and desperation. “If i could be inside your sweet cunt all the time,” he trailed off to press his massive bulge into your clad pussy. “i would never want to leave this pretty pussy.” he purred and eventually his thick fingers brushed over your waist to stop on your waistband. “Now i will ask you for the last time, Meine Königin. Can i take you?” then he added with a sensual kiss on the back of your ear, like the sweet boy he is, “Bitte?” the situation got you dizzy with the want, you could feel the wetness ruining your panties, the need for him to fuck you into the makeshift nest on your couch. You still haven’t forgiven him but you decided to delay it when he pressed you right onto his crotch by your hips.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :* and i love to reply all of them :>

i need him so bad _(´ཀ`」 ∠)_

[sserrafeim]

I’m going to hold your hand when I say this:

Feyre isn’t a bad artist. She doesn’t draw stick figures. She’s not a bad warrior either. The inner circle is her family, they wouldn’t be mad at her for painting the walls of a magic cabin that can clean itself. She’s not a breeding mule for having a child, neither is she too young for one, given that having a child was her choice and something she discussed with her partner beforehand. She didn’t lie and wasn’t manipulated when she recognised a male character’s abuse for what it was, no matter how much you want to justify his actions.

Nesta isn’t a bad dancer. It’s mentioned, and later shown, how she can enchant people with a mere dance. She’s not a bitch for dealing with her trauma in a way that you don’t like or you don’t think is “fit for a woman.”

Elain isn’t bad at baking. She isn’t stupid and a coward for choosing to live a simple life without violence, something she detests. She still needs time to accept her turning into fae, having a mate, and let go of the last.

Morrigan isn’t a whore for wearing revealing clothes. She isn’t a stupid manipulative bitch for not reciprocating a man’s feelings towards her or for not feeling safe and comfortable around a man that hurt her, no matter how attractive both men might be. You can’t blame her for not feeling ready to reveal her romantic and sexual preferences to her chosen family when she’s spent years being abused and ridiculed by her blood relatives.

Amren isn’t a bitch for being born a creature of terrifying power that doesn’t feel a single emotion and has no real free will, created only to follow her father’s orders. She can’t be blamed for not reacting to most things the way people would do when emotions are a new thing to her after living thousands of years without them.

Gwyn didn’t fake her rape. She has no intention of infiltrating a group of people for nefarious purposes or luring a man away from another woman. She spent years in a sanctuary trying to regain her identity and bodily autonomy after being brutally assaulted and witnessing the decapitation of her sister, the only family she had left. Her decision to take her life back in her hands wasn’t made with an ulterior motive. You can’t blame her for a man’s actions and feelings (ACOSF bonus chapter) because it “threatens your ship.”

Emerie spent her whole life being afraid of her father, thinking he would kill her. She suffered him after he beat her mother to death and had to endure everyone praising him for being a “good man” when not even her wings were spared from his cruelty. She then had to suffer the threats and humiliation of other male relatives, and not, after her father’s death, because she ran a shop by her own.

The Valkyries isn’t a stupid plot about women training as warriors and surface-level feminism. It’s about women reclaiming their lives after horrible things were done to them and gaining the power to prevent it from happening again to them or other unprotected women. Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie winning the Blood Rite wasn’t “unrealistic.” They trained for that and they trained even before knowing they were going to compete. It wasn’t a senseless victory for the sake of plot.

The obsession this fandom has with diminishing female characters, friendships, and traumatic experiences of said characters for the sake of uplifting the male ones in the series is wrong on so many levels and it has to stop. It’s not “critically thinking” or “valid criticism”, it’s misogyny. Deep-rooted misogyny. It’s ironic in a way, reading a book series that is all about women healing, discovering themselves and finding true love and friendship, only to shit on its female characters.

[lupinsversion]

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧 - 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬

• summary: reader forces remus to do a couples costume for a halloween party.

• a/n: okay but remus as beast boy??? also, almost forgot to post today whoops. but starting on nov first, i’m going to slow my posting down due to holidays approaching and i have a trip i need to plan for.

• contains: remus lupin x fem reader, established relationship, fluff, couple costumes, modern au so the costumes will make sense lol

• word count: 1.1k

masterlist || requests

October, the best month of the year for parties in the Gryffindor common room with Halloween right around the corner. Originally this party idea came straight from Sirius and James, and must to Remus’ dislike, she was forcing him into a couples costume.

Now, she tried to keep it simple… at least on his part. Beast Boy and Raven. He wouldn’t need much, just a pair of Sirius’ black jeans that barely fit him, James’ black hoodie with a purple t-shirt thrown over it. But the worst part was trying to get his face painted an olive green color, and spray his hair with some temporary color.

That leads them to now. She already did her makeup and placed the short purple wig perfectly on her head. She wasn’t fully dressed yet, just wearing her fishnet stockings with some random articles of clothing over it until she was ready to put on the rest of her costume. She held Remus’ chin as he sat, brushing some of the color evenly over his face.

Remus sat there, clearly unhappy with the whole situation. He felt absolutely ridiculous and was sure that he looked so dumb with green paint all over his face. James and Sirius were standing nearby, giggling and commenting on how ridiculous he looked, and Remus wasn’t having it. He sighed heavily and shut his eyes as she held his chin. "Did you have to choose Beast Boy?" He whined, slightly grumpy.

“I thought it was fitting.” She teased, a small hint of a smile on her face. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”

"It could have been a lot better too." He continued to whine and complain. His green face was a clear example of how disgruntled he felt, though he was secretly glad to be matched with Raven. The choice could have indeed been worse, but it was still far from his favorite option.

“Oh, shush… and stop moving, I’m almost done.” She grumbled as she continued to spread the green color onto his cheeks.

He grudgingly complied, ceasing his fidgeting and letting her work. He knew that no amount of whining or complaining would be able to change her mind, and he wasn’t really going to protest against her. His eyes scanned her fishnet stockings, admiring the outfit she had chosen.

“Stop being so grumpy, you’re not the only green haired man tonight… look at James.” She commented as Lily was currently spraying James’ messy trenches a brighter shade of green for their matching costumes of Cosmo and Wanda.

He couldn’t help but let out an amused chuckle at the sight of James, looking all goofy with bright green hair. "Alright, I suppose it could be worse.” He admitted, finally complying and allowing her to continue painting his face.

“Or you could’ve been Sirius and be barnacle man.” She mused.

Remus grimaced at the thought, shuddering slightly. "Alright, alright, I concede. Beast Boy isn't so bad after all. I'll stop being grumpy, I promise." He chuckled lightly, finally giving in to the whole costume theme.

“Thank you.” She cooed before pecking his lips quickly once she finished.

He smiled softly as she pecked his lips, feeling his annoyance melt away at her light touch. Though he wasn't entirely on board with the costume idea, the simple peck made him realize he just wanted to have a fun night with her and the rest of their friends.

“I’m going to go get dressed, and I swear for the life of me… do not, and I mean do not, mess your look up.”

He rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed. "I wasn't going to." He replied with a hint of feigned indignation. "I'll be right here when you get back, just go and get ready." He waved his hand in the air, shooing her away.

She walked towards the bathroom, but not going in without a look that screamed ‘I’m watching you.’

He couldn't help but chuckle at her disapproving look, knowing she was keeping an eye on him. Once she disappeared into the bathroom, Remus shook his head with a small smile. He took one look at himself in the mirror and made a face, still somewhat unsatisfied with his appearance.

“Hey, Prongs, do you think I look stupid?” Remus asked, suddenly concerned about his costume. James looked up from his own green-colored hair and let out a small chuckle. “You look okay, Moony. Just embrace your inner beast.” He responded jokingly, teasingly patting Remus on the head.

James’ cheeky grin did little to alleviate Remus’ concern about his appearance.

But Sirius, ever the prankster, couldn’t resist joining in on the fun. He approached Remus playfully and looked him up and down, pretending to scrutinize his appearance very seriously, with a hint of mocking amusement evident.

“You look like a frog, Moony. A green, frogish beast with no fashion sense,” Sirius declared dramatically, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Remus glared at Sirius before retorting, "Very funny, Padfoot. Thank you for your valuable input."

"Well, you did ask." Sirius grinned wickedly, pretending to be quite pleased with himself.

James, not wanting to be left out of the fun, chimed in with a grin. "I think you look like a broccoli." He teased, unable to resist adding to the banter.

She exited the bathroom then fully dressed, her look complete with a black bodysuit over her fishnet stockings with a belt loosely around her waist, topped with a velvet feeling cape.

Remus' gaze fixed on her, and his breath hitched in his chest as he took in her costume. The black bodysuit and fishnet leggings showed off her curves, and the cape gave her an air of mystery. He swallowed thickly, his eyes wide with appreciation for her stunning look.

The playful banter between the boys ceased as they all turned to look at her, their words momentarily suspended in surprise and admiration. James cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Wow.” He murmured, his gaze fixed on her.

Sirius let out a low whistle, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. "I don't know whether to be impressed or jealous." He chimed in, his usual playfulness laced with genuine intrigue.

Remus couldn't take his eyes off her, still in slight awe of how she managed to look so stunning and mysterious simultaneously. Though the initial skepticism about the costume idea had dissolved, he couldn't deny that she was truly rocking the whole Raven look.

"You look...incredible." He finally found his voice, breaking the silence that had enveloped the group. He felt his lips curving into a smile, unable to tear his eyes away from her.

Sirius, unable to resist a bit of comic relief, suddenly chimed in. With a playful grin, he tapped his knee-length socks and adjusted his eye mask. "Alright, Raven, you might be the mysterious, broody one tonight, but can we talk about how ridiculous I look?" He joked, his tone laced with faux indignity.

Everyone laughed as she gave a sympathetic pat to the side of Sirius’ head.

© lupinsversion 2024

[bluebellhairpin]

Katsuki Bakugou X Secretary!Reader

Summary: Working as the secretary to the famous designer Katsuki Bakugou hasn't been easy - however you find out you have it easier than most. Soon after that, you find out why.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. Power Dynamic (VERY inappropriate boss/employee relationship). Swearing. Smidge of making-out. Bakugou probably gives off manipulative yandere vibes. Reader; wears a skirt, is called 'baby', otherwise is g/n (unless I've missed something T-T).

Listening to: 'Donatella' by Lady Gaga - "I wanna dress you up in silk taffeta, tailor these clothes to fit your guilt, what's your size?"

Masterlist || Ko-Fi || Art inspired by the fic

The Bakugou brand was known all over the world. From Gucci to Balenciaga, Bakugou was a name everyone in the fashion industry respected - and when it came to the man behind it all, it was also a name to be feared. 

Katsuki Bakugou, with his grown wealth, fame, and the power that went with them, was practically a god on earth. 

You were the one lucky (or pitied) person chosen to work closely with him. A secretarial assistant job to none other than the man himself was a job so many people would die for. It was also a job many before you had almost died while enduring. No one had lasted longer than a year. It barely took a week for you to figure out why. 

Katsuki wasn’t just a diva, or a bitch (although he certainly was those things too) - he was the devil in Christopher Goodyear Welt’s. 

By three months working under the blond tyrant, you had decided your life could be worse. You weren’t sure why all his previous assistants weren’t able to handle it - not until you walked into work this morning. 

Katsuki was already in his office - a situation you hadn’t come across yet since he had a strict nine-to-five schedule he adored - and was practically roaring at someone down the receiver of his landline. He had a temper on him, sure - he was as famous for it as he was for his designs - but you’d yet to see him quite this angry before. 

“You wouldn’t know corduroy if you spent your nine months in the womb with it!” you heard as you set your bag aside and hooked your coat up. “Get me Eijirou you shitty prick!” 

You settled at your desk, eying his shadow through the frosted glass as he paced back and forth as you powered on your computer. Your eyes flickered down to the phone on your desk - if you picked it up you’d be able to hear the person on the other end - however if Katsuki caught you eavesdropping more than you already where (not that you had much of a choice right now) you would be in a whole new world of trouble. 

“Put me on hold, I dare you.” Was the final thing Katsuki said before slamming the phone back down. It became eerily quiet. You barely dared to breathe. 

Hearing his footfalls softly stalk across the carpet of his office, you tucked your head down and opened a random email to look busy. 

“Where the fuck have you been all morning?” Your eyes rose to meet his vermilion ones. He had on that black button down that made his shoulders seem extra wide. For a moment words failed you - but you kicked your brain into gear quickly. 

“Sir, it’s only eight thirty?” 

“I’ve needed you here since six.” he said, leaning forward with a hand sprawled across your desk, looming over you in a way you had become quite accustomed to, and sending a dizzying waft of his cologne in your direction. 

“I was very unaware of that,” you said, almost apologizing, but then thinking otherwise. You had been learning quickly the things Katsuki liked people saying, and the things he liked less so. “What can I do now?” 

“Absolutely fucking nothing. You’re useless now.” he leant back, waving you off and sighing. “I need a coffee.” he said, turning on his heel back into the office. 

“Useless my ass - who else gets you coffee?” you mumbled, quickly clicking through the email so you didn’t forget to later. Katsuki could be an absolute bitch, but at least he hadn’t yelled at you specifically - yet. 

The little kitchenette across from your desk made coffee runs very easy - the only issue was that it still took a while. No instant or pod coffee’s for the great Katsuki. 

Ten minutes later and you were pushing the door to Katsuki’s office open with one hand full of cayenne pepper infused coffee, and the other holding the latest Vogue magazine that had just been dropped at your desk. 

You wordlessly placed the coffee on a coaster, and the magazine went from the table into his hands before you could even put it on the table. He likewise silently started flicking through the pages - but you had things to talk about. 

“What was the issue this morning?” You asked, straight to the point. He didn’t look up at you when he answered, instead stayed focused on the pages as he fingered through them. 

“Some extra who can’t get his head out of the twentieth century.” He said, taking a large mouthful of his drink. If he liked it he’d say nothing - often the only time he gave his opinion on things was when he didn’t like something. “He won’t call back.” 

“They always do.” You said, standing firm until you had the answers you sought - coming back to ask the same thing twice was such a hassle for the both of you. “I’d appreciate knowing what to say when he does.” 

“I don’t care,” he said, flicking the magazine down in exasperation to look up at you with a heatless scowl. “If it’s Eijirou you can patch him through, everyone else is a complete waste of time.” 

Your eyebrows raised in something akin to surrender as your hands smoothed down the fabric of your skirt. 

“Don’t forget your meeting with the seamstresses after lunch.” You said, then left to return to answering your emails and phone calls.

You always took your lunches with Hanta - a seamster two floors below Katsuki’s office. You found him extremely chill after having to deal with your whirlwind of a boss. He was like your lifeline - better yet, he could keep secrets like it was nobody’s business. 

“I walked in this morning and I swear the glass for the whole floor was rattling.” you said, looking down into your cup of canteen-supplied orange juice. “If I wasn’t so sure he wasn’t going to hurt me I’d probably quit.” 

“You know I’m like ninety percent sure you’re his favorite.” Hanta said. Your eyes shot up to his, but he wasn’t looking at you.

“I doubt that would be hard,” you said slowly, “His past secretaries sounded super incompetent for a job this fast-paced.” 

“No, not just a secretary, but a person. I think your his favorite person in the whole world.” he said, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. “He can scream at me, hell he’s thrown punches at Kirishima, and he’s Kirishima - you though? He acts like you’re porcelain.” 

You felt your face scrunch up into a frown, and a huge smile cracked over Hanta’s face. “I can see why he likes you - you look just as scary as him when you make that face.” 

“Hanta Sero, you take that back!” You said, voice almost too shrill besides the hum of the lunchtime cafeteria rush. 

“I will do no such thing,” he said, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his arms and legs in a slow, cat-like manner. “I think it’s hilarious. Needed something new to tease you over anyway.” 

“I am simply going to ignore you then.” you said. You felt your face scrunch even more, before you took a deep breath to relax. “You don’t deserve my attention right now anyway.” 

Hanta huffed a laugh, leaning forward on his elbows. “I think we both know who really wants your attention, and I’m not going to be the person to fight him for it.”

Katsuki’s afternoon meeting had gone smoothly - you thought that it must mean some catastrophic hurricane was due later that afternoon. Or maybe you’d get hit by a car on the way home. Either way, the pleasant meeting meant Katsuki was either in a really good mood - or a really bad one. 

On his way back into his office, he threw an order to call Eijirou at you over his shoulder, before throwing the doors open and entering his office. 

“It’s important.” he said, and that was where the conversation ended. When you dialed the number only to be met with the receptionist - not even patched through to Eijirou’s assistant Denki - you practically rolled your eyes. 

“I’ve got Marcel!” Silence was the stern reply. You’d spoken to him a few times - not the nicest guy in the world, so in your opinion Katsuki’s hatred of the man was valid/ You didn’t want to speak with him either, so you hung up. 

Then there was a call of your name. 

“Come here!” You sighed, but obeyed and walked around your desk and into Katsuki’s office. You were met with a sight that wasn’t foreign to you - but it made your heart stutter all the same. He was leant back in his chair, a large drawing pad against his folded knee, and a pencil pressed into his cheek. He was watching you closely as you walked in, red eyes partially covered by a set of half-rimmed reading glasses. 

Your boss was mean, but his looks could make the devil cry. 

“I am… Promoting you.” he said. You felt your mouth fall open in shock. 

“I - Sir, I don’t -”

“Katsuki.” he said, voice now as hard as his stare. “No more ‘Sir’. You call me by my name. Understand?” 

“Okay…” you said, voice breathless as joy swirled in your chest (finally, your hard work and patience had paid off!), “Katsuki.” 

At the sound of you saying his name, he declined further back in his seat, and smiled - wide and showing off both canines. 

“That’s much better,” he said, as if he’d been waiting for the change of title formalities, “Now sit down, we have a lot to talk about.” 

You went to sit at the chair in front of his desk but he shook his head, almost jumping to his feet like he’d had hot coffee spilled on his lap. His suddenness had you freezing. 

“No no, not there,” he said, waving the chair away with disgust, “Over there.” He pointed over to the chaise as if it was the most obvious place in the room to sit, then sat back in his own chair again. 

Turning, you took a tentative seat on the sofa, and looked across at him expectantly with your tongue between your teeth. His pencil had found a new home on the open page of his sketchbook, and you quickly realized he was going to be multitasking this impromptu meeting. However he was making little to no effort at starting this ‘talk’ he seemed so urgent to begin only moments ago. 

“So is there anything else to this promotion besides being able to call you ‘Katsuki’, or is that it?” you asked. His eyes flicked up at you, pencil stopped, and the side of his mouth quirked up, before his expressions changed completely to one of disapproval again. 

“There’s more.” he said. You could see how tempted he was to not say more, if only to push your patience and see just how far it went. “You probably should know about it, considering just how personal things are going to get around here.” 

You felt your heart beat pick up as he stood to stalk around the desk. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re going to need to find a new you, let's start with that.” he said, and pushed your shoulder back with the eraser end of the pencil. You fell back against the couch, and the pencil moved to guide one arm across the back of the chair - then crossed one leg over the other - then moved your other hand on top of your knee. Before you knew it you had been moved to pose like a sketching doll. 

Katsuki gave you a once over, looking very pleased with himself (or how easy you were to manipulate), then walked back over to his desk. The pencil started again. 

“You want a new secretary?” You finally heard yourself ask, voice coming out far too weak for your liking. 

“More like you need an assistant.” he said, attention clearly divided between whatever he was designing, and your conversation, “Your schedule is going to be a lot busier as of now.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked again. His head shook.

“If you ask that question again I’m going to have this conversation with you some other time.” 

“You do know how badly you’re explaining this ‘promotion’, right?” you asked, voice coming out a little harsher than you knew was appropriate. But being proper can be damned, you wanted answers. 

He just looked at you for a long moment with a knowing, albeit smug, smile. The sketchpad was dumped on his desk, pencil and glasses dropped on top. 

“I’ve been hit with a new wave of ideas.” he said, “They’re amazing. New. Iconic. These designs fly off magazine racks and clothing store hangers like nothing else before. I couldn’t tell where the inspiration came from, not until I thought of when it all started, and the only thing notable about that was you starting to work for me.” 

As he explained he stood slowly, came to stand before you again, now with the side of his leg pressed to your knees. Katsuki’s hand rose, and the backs of his fingers trailed across your cheek in a manner that was almost too soft, and too shy, to be an action coming from the harsh man before you. 

“I need you with me, everywhere, from now on.” he said, voice low, softer than you’d ever heard it before. “I need you with me, and I don’t know how else to make sure of it besides making it your job.” 

“Everywhere?” 

“Of course, what use is an artist without their muse?” You had to admit, that forked tongue of his was making your knees weaker by the second. Was he truly saying you inspired  him? 

“You couldn’t have just asked?” 

“I don’t need to ask,” his hand came down to grip your chin, thumb momentarily pressing on your bottom lip, “I get what I want.” Where his voice was getting stronger by the second, yours was sounding even weaker.

“Maybe I don’t want to.” 

“You don’t want to?” Katsuki asked, hand slightly releasing pressure on your chin - as if shocked at the thought of someone willing, and unafraid in telling him no. “Everyone wants to. Don’t you?” 

“No,” you said quietly, completely letting your heart take over, no matter what could happen after. “I do want to.” His face broke out into that same wolfish grin as before - his hand snuck around to the hair at the base of your neck and found a firm home there. 

“Then why not get paid for it while you do.” he said, an air of finality about the matter, and then leant down to capture your mouth in a searing, hard kiss. Hard enough that you could almost feel his teeth and jawbone trying to meld into yours - searing enough that you could feel heat swelling in your stomach and knees at how fierce and needy it all was. It took your breath away completely. 

After a few long moments - long enough to have your eyes fluttering closed and your lungs burning - he pulled away. 

Katsuki didn’t even look at you as he walked away, acting as if what he just did was a casual kiss on the cheek - while you were left feeling flushed on the sofa. Only once he sat down again with his sketchpad and glasses on did he look up at you. He licked his lips, as if making sure to taste whatever of you was left. His smile this time was very smug indeed. 

“See baby, now you look perfect.” he said, then went back to drawing. 

“What?” you asked, still breathless with your nails digging into the fabric of your seat. 

“The lighting in here is foul, absolutely horrendous.” He said, “You needed a glow about you. Now you’re all flustered. it's perfect. With you finally in front of me, these designs are going to be breathtaking - just imagining them on you -” he looked up at you, quite suddenly stopping his train of thought, before wordlessly returning to his sketch. 

From the way your heart felt like it was going to beat right up and out your throat you guessed he accidentally said too much. Had been too sentimental. Maybe Hanta was right - perhaps you were his favorite person. 

You took a deep breath and stood to leave - only to be stopped. 

“Where are you going?” Katsuki asked, voice almost a bark. “I need you here - you can’t leave now that I have you right where I need you!” 

“I need water.” you replied, awkwardly pointing towards the kitchenette with wide eyes as if you were a child caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. He shuffled in his seat, huffing. 

“Be quick,” he said. You could swear you saw the skin of his cheeks flush a tinge of pink as you turned away. He liked efficiency, and it was something you were pretty good at, but you hadn’t moved quite that fast before.

When you had agreed to your ‘not-so-little’ promotion, you were sent home with a whole new list of Terms and Conditions and - the more alarming of the two - an NDA. 

With your lips still tingling from your apparent kiss from Katsuki, and your knees still weak, you weren’t able to do much more than graze your eyes over bits and pieces before deciding it was all okay. You should’ve taken the time to read it all. 

You should always read the fine print when making deals with the devil. 

The next day, almost as soon as you stepped into the building, you were met with Katsuki’s not-quite-other assistant, Mina, and whisked away to the seamstress floor. There you met Hanta, who himself had been up for the most part of the night - slaving over the newest design Katsuki procured as of just yesterday. 

When you were told to get into a change room and strip - the carcass of a new dress in your hands - you were just shy of shocked. 

“What - why?” 

“Like I know how the mind of Bakugou works.” Hanta said, waving his hand around tiredly, trying to push you to close the curtain. “You know normally I have models in for this sort of thing - I mean you definitely fit the bill. The measurements, the dress is practically made for you. But it’s weird to me too that he got his secretary to do this job instead.” 

“I’ve never done this before.” You whispered, clutching the covered mock-up to your chest.  

“You’ll be fine,” Hanta replied, just as quiet, with his hand ready to close the curtain on you, “I’ve seen it on a mannequin - it’ll look fantastic on you. Just be confident.”

You tried your best to be confident - as pretty as the dress was, even unfinished with an unfinished hem and seams half-done - but it was leaving you feeling more exposed than you were used to. 

The small changing cubicle had a mirror on one side - what for you weren’t sure. You’d seen plenty of models walk out of them only to have most of it adjusted with pins and cut off with scissors - often by Katsuki himself. You supposed it didn’t matter how bad it looked - you’d get manhandled until it looked the way it was supposed to. 

With your hands smoothing the fabric on your hips - a nervous habit you showed too often - you took a turn in front of the mirror. It did look nice, even if it was only ivory muslin. 

“ - Taking so fucking long!” Quite suddenly Katsuki’s voice could be heard - and even more suddenly you felt a great need to curl up somewhere and hide. He’s going to see you like this. He’s going to hate it. You are not prepared for this. 

Your heart felt like it was going to beat right out your chest and leave a little blood trail all across the floor. 

A hand curled around one side of the curtain divider and pulled it back. You let out a small startled yelp, bringing up your hands to cover your chest as if someone had dropped glass over a marble floor.

It was him. 

“Oh shut up, no one else can see you.” Katsuki said, rolling his eyes before they laid on you in a hard stare up and down. He was right, besides the half-open curtain, you couldn’t see anyone through his broad chest and shoulders - not to mention the cheshire grin that was taking up half his face. “But I wouldn’t blame them for wanting a peek, give me a turn.” 

You stood gobsmacked - where you seriously still processing what was going on? - and watched as his hip cocked to one side and his hands landed on his hips below the huge coat over his shoulders. 

“You are starting a habit of forcing me to do things for you myself.” He said, taking hold of your hips and turning you slowly. His hands were warm as  they moved you around in a small circle, leaving almost a burning trail behind over your hips, lower back and stomach. “I’ll let you know that’s not why I decided to fuckin’ like you.” he said. 

His voice was soft, almost completely without its usual rough baritone. It shocked you, and as you looked over at him he wasn’t meeting your eyes - instead focusing on how a seam at your hip wasn’t seeming to sit how he wanted it to. 

“What?” you asked quietly, aware there were probably others outside - Hanta even - and you supposed both yourself and Katsuki didn’t really want to let other people know exactly what you were talking about. Especially since it definitely sounded more personal than Katsuki ever had been. 

“You did things for yourself. I liked that.” he said. Then, as if you didn’t just share what was most likely the most intimate moment of Katsuki’s adult life, he pushed the curtain back fully and grabbed you by the hand - exposing you fully to the handful of seamstresses waiting. 

With a few barked orders, a flurry of people were at your sides, making adjustments. The neckline loosened, waist was made tighter, the blade of a scissor made another slit up your legs on the opposite side to the one existing. Your hands almost rose to clutch at the fabric at your chest in case it all fell away. Katsuki's hands rose to knock yours away. 

“Don’t get in the way,” he mumbled, standing back. The others backed off too, apparently all taking a moment to look at what remained of the dress. “What do you think?” he asked, looking you right in the eyes. Your mouth parted, as if to answer, but the look in his eyes said he wasn’t even talking to you. 

“One of your best.” Hanta said, barely needed to look up from where he was taking final notes to read his long-time associate. “Probably will be once it’s done. Beautiful.” 

“You mean fucking divine.” 

“You’re joking.” you said, carelessly holding the new dress in one hand as you stood angrily looking down at Katsuki. 

“Does it look like I’m joking?” he asked, looking at you over the rims of his glasses. 

He’d brought you back up to his office after the fitting downstairs, only to demand you change into another dress. The reason this time was completely unknown, and he was refusing to elaborate yet - worse, there was nowhere to change up here. 

You’d have to strip and change here (with him in the room), or out behind your desk (right in front of the elevator anyone could use). 

“I can’t believe…” you said, scoffing, now slightly gobsmacked along with your anger. “I’m not doing that.” 

“If you think it bothers me, you’re mistaken.” He said, standing slowly and leaning over his desk. “Get changed. If you’re so protective of your modesty you can run along into the kitchen, see if I care. Just whatever you do, do it quickly. You’re making me wait long enough as it is.” Then he reached across and squished your cheeks between his fingers, pulling you closer so you leant over the desk too. 

“If you really thought I was the kind of man to mix pleasure and professionalism then I’ve got news for you.” he said, wobbling your chin back and forth in his hold. “The only time you have to worry about that is if I invite you home, okay baby?” 

While half of you was wanting to continue to defy Katsuki, you knew you were treading a fine line. 

Letting out a huff, you pulled away, turned on your heel and held the dress out in front of you. It honestly wasn’t much more than a silk slip, but you’d had enough of an interest in fashion over your time to know this was very tame compared to many other dresses. Even compared to the one you wore not even an hour earlier. 

Grinding you jaw in thought for a moment, you thought ‘fuck it’. Katsuki said so already but you knew someone getting almost naked in his office wouldn’t bother him - why should you let it bother you too? 

The dress was thrown onto the chaise, and you pulled off your shirt as you slipped out of your heels. Your skirt shimmed off, and the dress came on. Despite refusing to look behind you to see what Katsuki was doing, you couldn’t help how your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. 

At least your underwear was matching, thank god. 

You were about to do up the zipper when he made it clear he had indeed been watching you. 

“No, take that thing off.” Your head whipped over your shoulder. 

“Excuse me?” If looks could strike someone dead, a lightning bolt would’ve shot right through that window into Katsuki’s back. “I am not getting changed again.” 

“No you bitch, I mean the bra. Take it off, it’s making the dress look daggy.” The way he said it made your face heat up. Duh. 

“You could’ve said that before I put this much on, you’d think you’d have known that before now.” You grumbled, shoving the sleeves down again to unclasp your bra and toss it aside. Turning around again as you did up the zipper, you looked at Katsuki again, and the red of his eyes seemed darker than ever. You wondered if you’d said something wrong. Then his lip quirked up a bit. 

“There’s my favorite secretary.” he said, and imminently tilted his head down to start sketching.

[kurishiri]

alfons v.s. ring . . . ring schwartz epilogue 💍

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: suggestive undertones.

Kate: If it’s come to this... then let’s do it! I mean, pretending to do naughty things!

Ring: Y-yeah, I do know that’s our only choice here, but... there’s no way I could do it.

R: Um, those kinds of things... I’ve never actually done them before!

R: But... s-since you’re really cute... I’m sure you have plenty of experience and whatnot...!

Kate: W-what do you mean, ‘plenty,’ there’s no way I have that much experience! Anyway, forget about that, we need to do something about this...

K: Ring, you go shake and push on the bed to make it creak!

K: And I’ll listen in on the other room and make sounds to match!

Ring: ...That seems more doable.

Ring went atop the bed and started to jump on it.

The bed did start creaking, to be sure, but it also was making some jarring noises that made me think the bed was really about to break down.

Kate: Could you be a bit more gentle though, Ring? It’s too much...!

Ring: Oh, umm, then... how about this!?

He briskly stepped off the bed before he put both hands on the bed and started to push down.

By doing so, he could create a good creaking sound that didn’t go too far.

Woman’s voice: The bed from the room next door has started creaking.

Man’s voice: In that case, they’re probably just a pair of lovebirds. Guess we were worrying ourselves over nothing.

Woman’s voice: ...That said, don’t you think it’s strange that there’s not a peep from the other side?

(Oh, that’s right! I have to make noise too.)

Kate: Ah, ahh... ahhn...

Ring: H-hey, um. I can’t say I’ve heard others doing you-know-what before, so I may be wrong, but...

R: When women do, you know, the deed, do they really sound this monotone...?

Kate: I mean, we’re not actually doing it, so that makes it harder...

Woman’s voice: The panting from the room next door sounds a bit strange, wouldn’t you say?

Man’s voice: It sounds real flat...

(First Ring, and now the two in the next room over are doubting me too...! At times like these, then...!)

Kate: I-I’m really, really sorry! I’ve been told by a lot of partners that my panting sounds suuuper flat!

At this point, I decided to play into the role of ‘a woman whose pants sound flat’ as I raised my voice.

Ring: N-no matter how you are, I won’t mind at aaalll!

While continuing to push down on the bed, Ring returned a fitting line in response.

...Very monotonously, may I add, for the both of us.

Woman’s voice: ...Huh, I guess they really are just one odd couple.

Man’s voice: I mean, seeing as they’re using a room of a strange manor like this, that would be a given, probably.

Kate: Oh, thank goodness, it seems they’ve bought the act...! Let’s keep this up then!

Ring: Alright... but, sorry, I’m a bit hot, so I’ll take my jacket off.

Seeing as the bed is hard, having to push down hard enough to make sounds continuously must have taken a considerable amount of stamina.

With that, Ring casually took off his top layer and put it aside.

(...)

Maybe because of the way his clothes fit his body so well, his well-trained muscles were brought to the surface.

The sweat that came from shaking the bed moved traced the back of his neck, making him quite sexy.

Ring: ...Kate? Is there something wrong?

Kate: N-no, not at all! It’s nothing——

Taken aback at having become more conscious of Ring, my legs buckled suddenly,

and, preparing for the impact, I closed my eyes then and there.

Kate: ...!

(Hm? Wait, it doesn’t hurt...?)

Ring: Are you okay?

When I slowly opened my eyes, there Ring was, nearby, as he asked with a touch of worry in his voice.

(So Ring is the one who saved me and stopped the fall...)

Our bodies were touching, and I could feel his body was a bit warmer than mine, and he gave off a pleasant, earthy scent.

(Even though he’s holding me in his arms, he seems completely unperturbed... his appearance hardly betrays the fact he must be training regularly.)

(...Wait, what in the world are you looking at, Kate!?)

Kate: T-thank you for saving me. I’ll let go now.

Ring: ...Wait.

Kate: Huh...

When his earnest voice stopped me stiff, Ring’s hand gently slid to my cheek.

(W-what the...!?)

Ring: Your face is all red. Did you hit it somewhere?

(Oh... so he was worried for me.)

Kate: N-no, I didn’t. I’m fine.

Ring: But...

Kate: It’s just... we’re so close together that I’m a bit nervous... is all...

Ring showed no sign of pulling away himself, so I opted to give him an honest answer then. And when I did, Ring also turned red, as though it had moved over from me to him.

Ring: I-I see... then, umm, I’m glad if you’re okay.

R: Sorry for keeping you like that. ...And should we continue then? What we were doing before, I mean.

After that, we continued our act of panting and shaking the bed until we exited the room.

Ring looked exhausted as we exited the room, and there was Alfons, waiting out in the hallway.

Alfons: Thank you for your hard work. Now then, were you able to listen in for what we needed?

Kate: Yes, all of it and everything...

Alfons: My word, is that a hoarse voice I hear? And not only that...

A: I see Ring has stripped his outer layer off and is positively sweaty as well.

A: Would it be safe to assume... you two have gone aaall the way, by any chance?

Ring & Kate: “No!” “Absolutely not!”

Fin.

will vs darius jude vs nica alfons vs ring

← prev fin

END NOTES: this story was so silly and makes me smile whenever i read it, haha. ring seems to be the most popular of the vogel trio, seeing he has gotten a dark mafia design, and it’s not hard to see why. his charm is in his innocence, and it’s like a breath of fresh air in this game, and i hope i could capture it too.

i’m overall curious about all the vogel members and feel this story event is a strong debut for all three. thank you for reading, and hope you enjoyed! i’d love to hear your thoughts as well ♡

full masterlist 🪞💍

[billythesimp]

Uhmmm... Billy and Lycaon with a Therian!reader who always nonchalantly (trying to be) fixes their hair/clothes!! I honestly think that's something cute and intimate between Therians and it's low-key a confession from reader

I cackled at the thought of a Thiren grooming and fixing up Billy. My man would both love and hate it.

Neat and Tidy

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎…

I will apologize in advance if Von's part is longer then Billy's. After all, they are just headcanons but also I figured that Billy wouldn't know how to respond to such a thing as he's an android while Von himself is a thiren.

Also it is thiren or therian? I can never tell and I've seen both.

Billy / Lycaon x Thiren-gn!reader

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡…⋙

tw: none

✦ With Billy, he only gets mildly annoyed when they are combing back his hair and closing up his jacket at times because of the ‘wind’. Though he does like that they are thinking about his appearance from time to time. He is a pretty good looking mech, he takes pride in his looks from time to time so if he found out his hair was unkempt and a bit messy, he would want someone to tell him for sure. But they were starting to become overbearing in his eyes that he would pout and whine whenever they would start tending to him in public.

✦ He jumps at their touch everytime, muttering quietly that they don’t always have to be babying him from time to time and that it’s a choice, but they don’t listen at times and don’t stop until he is presting and clean. Eventually he just brushed it off as a quirk of theirs despite the fact that no one else in their team got this similar treatment. It’s not until Nekomata told him something rather odd that made him rethink everything he’d known about them. At first he didn’t understand, what did she mean by how he was so lucky that he had someone who cared so much about him to groom him often?

✦ She thought he was joking at first, but it clicked that he was just dumb and really hadn’t noticed, so she held back on telling him so he would ask them himself. He can’t help but wonder what Neko meant by that, cue the therian mentioned before coming over and tsking at Billy before scolding him about his jackets collar and keeping his cuffs even. The more they go on, he can’t help but put two and two together and start to overheat from how cute they were being all this time.

✦ Since Lycaon was a thiren himself, he knows the mannerisms of his fellow kind. They vary depending on the species but they all fit under some umbrella of shared habits. That being said, he always gets a little flustered when they come up to him and mention that his red tissue is uneven in his pocket, reaching out to fixed it along with any little thing they can get their hands on. While he could have done it himself, a small part of him loves the thought of being doted on, and so lets them do as they please before thanking them. 

✦ They do this often, helping him fix himself up before making appearances or after a job well done, having rough housed a little leaving him a little messy. And Von isn’t one to own another being, so he returns the favor by smoothing out their skirts and shirts, finding an excuse to fix their cuffs to linger his hands over theirs. The way they grow flushed and thank him which only leaves him with a hint of excitement. If he could, he would take them into his office to properly groom them but he thinks that that would be too far. Move at your pace, he thinks, though if they offer to help fluff up his tail he wouldn’t refuse. 

✦ Of course, it isn’t unusual for either of them to fix up the other girls when needed. They are often thought of as the parent figures of Victorian Housekeeping, so seeing them get along well with their little preening sessions and cute moments of fixing each other's clothing. It leaves little to the imagination as Corwin and Ellen have at least spoken about when they would come out and announce that they’re dating. And while Lycaon spends more time with them and hears about this, he can’t deny his urge to ask them out and properly court them. But he wants to hear it from them first.

[diejager]

I love you step father könig Ang dbf horangi series! Honestly I feel like my room would be such a turn off for them both (I just can’t imagine that a dirty room with an undertale poster and anime figures staring at them would be fun). In the scenario where the reader has a dirty uncomfortable room would they just A) take them out or try and help them reorganize, or B) just take them out of their room/house?

If it scenario A moms just like “how nice that my husband and his best friend are helping my child like this, what amazing bonding experiences :)! It’s also nice that they’re helping them get rid of some of those things.”

Cw: controlling behaviour,STEPCEST, DUB-CON/NON-CON, DARKFIC, smut, double penetration, threesome, rough sex, plug, coercion, tell me if I missed any.

I’m more inclined to pick choice A, where they would take out everything and reorganise your room. They might be retired, but habits that moulded them into who they’ve become are hard to forget, it would impossible for them to die out. Clean and minimal rooms kept them up and ready, it made it easier to live when their lives were so hectic and always in motion. König’s personal belonging showed it, he rarely had any trinkets that weren’t necessary, his office bare of personal touches and his side of the room was barren, holding but his clothes, gear and work utilities. It stood out more clearly with Horangi - your stepdad’s coworker turned best friend - who lived alone, the walls untouched and the rooms decorated in a utilitarian manner. He kept what was necessary and threw away anything that didn’t directly influenced him.

So it wouldn’t be a surprise that they’d make you clean your messy room, unnecessarily hung posters, small figurines that they deemed a waste, clothes strewn around on your chair, bed and basket, and other small and big things that took too much space in your room. It could be clean if you put in the work, it wouldn’t be so crowded that it stank to them. That’s why your stepfather and his friend were holding you by the neck and telling you to clean up and make more space for the two of them to fit comfortably in your bedroom.

“Look at this mess, Schatzi,” he tone was disapproving, seemingly disappointed in your personalised mess of a room with your cherished characters and excitable posters, “I can hardly walk around without hitting something.”

“We have a lot of work to do, 애인.” [Sweetheart]

They make you throw away everything you collected over the years, forcing you to put the in a box to put away in the basement’s storage and clean your room in their image. Despite your tears and sobs, they’re unyielding, glaring down at you as if you were a misbehaving child and speak to you in a tone that broke down your dignity. Once everything’s packed away, your room has never been this bare, walls clean, your desk arranged and bed made, it was a picture-perfect sight of a minimalist room that your stepfather could be proud of. It tore you apart to put away your collection and the many gifts you had received, small trinkets that you held close to your heart, but they were uncaring to your pleas.

They shush your weeping, rewarding you with their cocks, choking down your tears with a good fucking that would take your mind off unnecessary affairs. Horangi ploughed into you, holding you by the hip to stop you from keeling over, arms and legs trembling from the force he out in his thrusts. You’re pushed into König with every thrust, throat closing around his girth when König bucked his hips, driving further down and chuckling cruelly when you gagged loudly, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. They ravage you in your recently cleaned room before moving to the hall until you find yourself in the kitchen table, thrown over the flat wood and choking on Horangi, drooling down your chin while you wet your stepdad’s navel and his musky hair with your slick and cum, gummy walls tight and warm around him cock.

They make sure to bathe you and clean up their mess before your mom’s home, wiping away all the evidence and slotting a plug in your swollen cunt, preventing the mix of slick and cum to leak from your hole. You’re exhausted and dozing off in your bed, sleeping off your sore muscle and chaotic mind, only waking up once you’re called for dinner by Horangi. When you’re stiffly seated next to your neighbour, your mom congratulated you for cleaning your chaotic room and gushed about her husband and his friend helping you to make things quicker and easier.

“That’s sweet of you, thank you,” you sighed tiredly, eyes closed in exasperation at the times she spoke to you about reorganising your room and taking out things that you didn’t use. “We’ve spoke about it for years now, but she’s always been too stubborn to clean up. Did you thank them, sweetheart?”

Yo blinked lazily, lips parting to say your peace, wanting to throw a few choice words at her for acting this way, but König beat you to it.

“Ja, she was very grateful.”

Despite his words and smile, there was a hidden darkness in his eyes, a hungry and calculatrice gleam kept a secret from your mother, but clear to you and Horangi’s equally sick grin.

“I’m glad.”

She was none the wiser, smile so bright for her tiresome day at work, simply overjoyed that her husband was putting in the effort to actually know and help you.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @spidersthere @velvetsoulweaver @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

[husbandograveyard]

this is part of my drabble collection: The answer is love - Masterlist

Characters: Megumi x GN reader Prompt: "is that my shirt you're wearing?" [a/n]: I am such a sucker for stealing clothes prompts, and 90% of the fits the characters in JJK wear look so comfy with their oversized shirts and baggy pants. 10/10 would steal.

“is… that my shirt you’re wearing?” Megumi looked at you with a confused look in his eyes, but not as confused or shocked as the way Yuuji and Nobara were looking at you, eyes wide, mouths agape. Not for long though as their confusion made way for knowing smirks in no time, followed by your teacher, who was laughing loudly. “Way to finally admit you’re dating!” 

You averted your gaze from Gojo-sensei, feeling a little embarrassed as you shrugged at Megumi. You were in fact wearing his black oversized T-shirt that you had sneakily taken from his room after the movie night you had yesterday. It was comfortable, it was soft and it smelled like him. You were feeling so good in it, and you hadn’t thought twice about wearing it to class today, figuring that a black oversized T-shirt wasn’t a dead giveaway as to who it belonged. 

Until the owner of course spoke up, not only betraying the origins of the garment but also admitting that you had access to it, even though you had both excused yourself from doing something with the group yesterday. You had been trying to keep you dating hidden for a bit, not wanting the others to tease or judge, but now that your teacher had said it out loud, the figurative sparkles around his face adding flair to his words, you had no choice but to admit your flustered demeanor was because he was right. 

“Yeah… I thought you wouldn’t miss it.” 

Megumi was quiet for a second, thinking it over, realizing that he really shouldn’t have spoken up if he had wanted to keep your relationship quiet. Maybe there was something in him that was ready to announce it? Not in this way, that much was sure. But it had happened, and now the best he could do was roll with it. He ignored the remarks coming from your classmates, giving you a quick kiss before sitting down in his usual spot. 

“Looks good on you.”

[chillhi]

no footprints

The concept I had in mind here was how Null perceives himself. I gave him different clothes and hairstyles, hinting at a whole set of features but he doesn’t care for it. His feet are somewhat visible but no prints are made, he’s not walking anywhere either just some white void, not that it matters, the void is familiar anyways

rambling existentialism mention

I love ethereal sort of drawings with null, he gives a lot of room to explore challenging existentialism from his overall role in the game being able to leave but never doing so to his design where he only resembles a person but everything important isn’t visible.

I thought about him leaving, how he didn’t really get to leave on his own terms and his whole purpose for being in the game, didn’t even conclude in him saying goodbye to the player it was the developer. He never had a choice, sure he was in the spotlight but it didn’t matter, he was deemed worthless once the developer didn’t want him around no more. Horrifying everything he worked for was up to someone finding his entire existence entertaining all just a silly little game.

He didn’t want to take part in the game but he became the focal point when people dug around, him being there gave him a motive and just one location to do one thing, what now in the real world? I feel like the events of the game altered him to a degree where he internalized how little power he has over everything going around him. He’s now invisible to whoever came across him once he got out here he’s everyone but no one at once because he never makes an impact for anyone to discern who he is, the same as trying to remember a forgetful face, an amalgamation of features that didn’t matter enough to remember.

I like thinking about the possibility of living as anyone, not in the sense of him having the ability to morph his features but the concept of I can’t nor want to choose what he really looks like but because of the concept of endless mish mash of countless people that could mix up and end up being him, I want to choose being unable to find a fit whole design for him over my wanting of what he could look like. Anyways, just thought it was a cool idea how he acts as an entity that haunts the game but now that he’s out he’s a ghost, more entity than a person, ends up embracing what he was in the game since he’s done it for quite a long time

Wouldn’t it be interesting how he can actually be someone out there and no one would know? How he’d want to keep it that way. Instead of showing up in other games or media he becomes a person. I’d argue that’s one of the worst things he can end up being but there’s a sliver of beauty in thinking about figuring it out and living the way you want to whatever he does I sure do wish him luck, not the only guy living that way after all. Aimlessly living.

Just wanna say how out there it is to try and draw someone I can’t care to remember but still wishing for whoever I do come up with that could resemble someone to find their footing in the world. Not possible it could be null but it’s entertaining to think so

[r-f-m-writes]

A Lark In a Hollow Chapter One

Really, she doesn't have a choice.

Lark barely remembers the huge shadow of a man sitting beside her in the dead heat of Mrs. Poppy's office at the children's home. He is silent, stoic, and completely terrifying.

Christopher Hollow.

Muscled.

Six foot five.

Storm blue eyes.

Dog tags outlined under the straining stretch of his black tee-shirt.

"Lark," Mrs. Poppy says, gently, "you're happy with this arrangement? You want to go with your Godfather?"

There's no money left for her to live off until she finds a job - if she finds a job.

Her Dad is dead.

Lark doesn't have a choice.

Lark Douglas didn’t know who Christopher Hollow was when Mrs. Poppy brought his name up to her on a hot Saturday afternoon in her office. The additional details that he had served with her Dad in Afghanistan and was her appointed legal guardian and Godfather did nothing to help jog Lark’s memory.

      In fact, it was a full week after Mrs. Poppy informed Lark of Christopher Hollow’s existence that the girl finally managed to scrounge up a single, short, fuzzy memory of the man.

         She was home.

         The door to their flat was open, the old ceiling fan had been turning in slow circles over her head. It did nothing to fight against the mid July heat that was so stifling and muggy it made her skin stick to the linoleum floors. She had sat on the couch playing with Labrador, her stuffed toy dog, when Mom walked in with someone.

        Lark was five, she thinks, and she hadn’t paid attention to anything that was being said, or looked at who had stepped the room after her mother. She only glanced up from where she was making her stuffed dog do backflips off the worn-down couch cushions when big, black boots stepped into her vision off the edge of the sofa.

       The man who stood in front of her was tall, wearing camo pants and a fitted grey tee-shirt. His face was hard to remember, but Lark thought he had sandy brown hair and the start of a thick brown beard. He had crouched down, setting aside a battered black duffle bag, looking at her like he expected something.

     Lark had only stared at him.

      Mom’s voice had a strain in it when she spoke.

     “Say hi to Chris, baby. He’s come all the way from the airport just to see you.”

     The man spoke before Lark had the chance. He had a deep, rough rumbly voice.

     “Don’t worry her about it, Lori. Been two years. I’d be surprised if Pet remembered me at all.”

      Pet.

      That was the only memory Lark had of Christopher.

      She wasn’t even sure it was real and not just something she had made up in the recesses of her mind as an unconscious effort to help herself fill in the gaps and feel less uncertain.

     She had lots of memories like that.

      Memories no one else could verify. Memories she wasn’t sure happened, but couldn’t shake as being real.

      This was what led Lark to where she stood at the top of the worn flight of wooden stairs.  Seventeen years old, dressed in clothes that didn’t belong to her, feeling entirely unsure of what the future would hold.

      Seventeen, and only three weeks and four days shy of her eighteenth birthday.

     It was ridiculous.

     Stupid, even.

     Why couldn’t she just wait it out at the girl’s home?

     Why was Mrs. Poppy was obligated, by law, to reach out to relatives Lark had never even heard of and negotiate with them down the phone, asking and then, after the eighth rejection, pleading with each of them to come and pick her up?

      “Just a month - no, no, you wouldn’t have to commit to adoption, Mrs. Tanner - not at all. I am only reaching out because Lark is your niece, and I am sure you want the best for her -”

     The list thinned, name by name. Lark saw them each time Mrs. Poppy opened the manilla envelope with her initials on it, glancing over the struck off phone numbers and feeling nothing.

    The rejections didn’t surprise her.

    She knew from lived experience how reluctant people were to help a stranger.

     It took less than half a week for them to reach the last one.

     His name.

     Christopher Hollow.

     He was who Lark was waiting for as she hung onto the banister, her dark eyes fixed on the panes of frosted glass in the door, anticipating seeing a shadow blot across the panels when he stepped onto the porch and rang the buzzer.

     Floorboards creaked.

     Lark moved too late when Mrs. Poppy stepped out of her office that stood at the side of the stairs. The stacked blonde beehive of her hair bobbing into the girl’s view as Lark tried to scurry back out of her sight.

    Too little, too late.

    The kind wrinkles around Mrs. Poppy’s eyes doubled and deepened as the sound made her look upward and spot Lark.

     “Lark, there you are! I was just about to come and find you, dear. Nip down into my office for a moment, I’ve got some things I want to discuss with you before Mr. Hollow arrives.”

    The old stairs squeaked loudly as the girl walked sheepishly down the grossly worn-out blue carpet runner, rounding the curved banister at the bottom to follow Mrs. Poppy into her office.

    It was sun warm inside, light spilling over the faded hardwood floor and shiny varnish of the big, brown desk, highlighting the dozens of ring-marks stained into its top by mugs of coffee past. Mrs. Poppy rounded the desk, having to skirt sideways between the edge of it and the rows of heavy metal file drawers that flanked the room on all sides.

   Taking her perch in a black wheely chair, the woman gestured for Lark to sit in one of the two big, green, retro velvet sofas that faced her desk.

      Sinking down into her seat, Lark folded her hands in her lap and looked at the woman, waiting to be spoken to. She had been thoroughly taught from a young age that she was to be seen and not heard. There had also been plenty of occasions when Lark wasn’t to be seen or heard. Those were moments when her half empty pink, princess wardrobe came in handy.

        Mrs. Poppy placed a pair of up-swept cat eye spectacles on the tip of her tall, gently crooked nose, and took out a notepad. It was one of dozens she had, this particular piece of stationary sported Lark’s name on its front, written in black pen and then broadly underlined in purple marker.

       “Miss Douglas today is a big one for you. How are you feeling, hon? Excited? Nervous?”

        The soft slip of her southern accent calmed Lark some as she fought against the urge to fidget, keeping her fingers still in her lap.

        “Excited, Ma’am. Dad didn’t like to travel much, so seeing the Appalachians sounds like a real adventure.”

        Lark stuck a quick smile onto the end of her lie. She had rehearsed it in her head a hundred times since she was told the good news a week before.

        Christopher Hollow wanted her.

        He was driving the whole way down the coast from his home in the Appalachian Mountains to come and collect her. Lark couldn’t even comprehend where the Appalachian Mountains stood, just that they were stupendously far away.

        Mrs. Poppy grinned at Lark, genuine and radiant, as she wrote something in fast scratching cursive over and empty line of the notepad.

       “Always such an optimist, Lark. I’m sure Mr. Hollow will be delighted by you.”

        Lark’s left thumb twitched. When she smiled, it felt tight in the corners, “I certainly hope so, Ma’am.”

        And she truly did. Lark knew the way men behaved when they weren’t delighted by her.

~R.F.M~

         A fist gripped long, brown hair tightly enough to tear dozens of strands out of Lark’s scalp as she was dragged down the hallway by her head, the girl’s frame stooped almost to the floor as she clawed at the hands restraining her.

       “Fucking little bitch coming to steal from me? Think you’re slick, huh?”

         In honesty, Lark did.

        She had stolen from the man before on countless occasions, rummaging through the contents of his worn leather wallet, fishing out loose coins and dollar notes that wouldn’t be missed. Before, he was always too out of his mind to realize, so Lark had gotten greedy.

        Twenty dollars was a lot of money to people like them. She was foolish for thinking she could snatch it away without his notice.

       Lark didn’t know his name, or his age, or anything about him other than the fact he bought pot on Thursday afternoons and left the door to his apartment wide open with 90’s music playing full volume while he sat out on his balcony in a beat-up pink recliner, back to the living room, smoking.

         By all accounts, the man wasn’t very smart. But he was still a man, a man much stronger than Lark.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

First Of Many

Bud Cooper x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 30: Cunnilingus 

Summary: Bud forgot a file at work, you take a trip to bring it to him.

A/N: This was meant to be for kinktober 2023 (I'm so sorry). This is so badly not beta read, I cannot stress. I am cutting this one so fine timewise.

Warnings: reader works with Bud, kissing, oral, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1713

You race down the pavement, rain soaking into your skin. You’re practically a drowned rat at this point, sodden and cold. 

You have the case file wrapped tightly to your chest, under your coat and thankfully in a metal carry case - safe from the rain. 

Bud had forgotten it when he’d left, you knew he’d need it for Monday morning and probably wouldn’t even notice he hadn’t picked it up over the weekend. Not that the offices would be open even if he did. 

So, with your boss’s permission, you’d looked up Bud’s home address and made your way. It hadn’t been raining when you got on the bus, but when you got off the storm clouds had been looming. 

Finally, you reach his house. His car is parked in the drive, which is a small mercy. At least you know he’s in. 

You duck under the shelter of his porch and ring the bell.

He's surprised when he opens the door to you, but he smiles. And it's utterly disarming. 

“Hi, erm, I, so, you left…” All the practised sentences you'd gone over in your mind on the way here fall out of your head the instant you need them. “Here.” You hold out the metal case file and quickly realise he has no idea what's inside. “I…” 

“Come in, come in, my god, you're soaked.” He ushers you inside, giving you a sympathetic look. 

“I don't want to be any trouble-”

“No trouble at all.” He closes the door and turns to you. It's upsetting how good he looks out of his work clothes, part of you hoped that his allure was just from the pressed suit and ties he wore. But it seemed you were down bad. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, and to your obvious distress?” He smiles as he talks and you get lost in the expression for a moment. 

“Distress?” 

“You racing through a storm?” 

“Oh… you forgot, erm, the Brandle File.” you hold up the box again, your hands shaking slightly from the cold. Rain water drips from your clothing onto his clean carpet and you wince. “I asked Mr Johnson, he gave me permission to drop it by, I know it's not professional, I don't mean to barge into your home and-”

“Hey, hey,” He looks at you warmly as he takes the box from you and puts it on the floor. His fingers brush yours and he hisses, “You're freezing!”

“I'm sorry.”

He tuts. “Don't be sorry, you'll catch your death.” He gives you an apologetic look, “all this because I haven't got my head screwed on right.” 

“N-”

“I'm not taking any excuses from you for my behaviour.” He grins. “Now I'm being a terrible host.”

He ushers you upstairs and to the bathroom, handing you a laundry basket  towel and dressing down. “Take a hot shower and bring your clothes down in the basket, I'll get them washed and dried for you.” 

“Mr Cooper-”

“Bud.”

“Bud, I-”

“I'm not taking no for an answer sweet pea.” He smiles and leaves the room. 

You sigh and stare at the full basket in your hands. It's not really like you have much of a choice.

“Use my soap if you want to!” He calls out halfway down the stairs.

The shower is wonderful, warm and soothing, and when you're done you ring out your work clothes as best you can before you put them in the basket. 

The towel dressing gown is massive, it could easily fit 4 Bud's inside standing side to side, and still have room for more. It's soft and warm, and there are a pair of warm socks rolled up inside it. You put those on as well. 

You hang your towel up on the side, and panically try to make sure you've put everything back in the exact place it was before you head downstairs.

It's only when your foot is on the first step that your anxiety bubbles up, nearly paralysing you. You're naked under the dressing gown. In his house. You double check the tie around your waist, making sure everything is secure. 

He’s in the kitchen, bent down checking something in the oven so you have a first seat view of his ass. 

God was teasing you.

“Erm, I,” 

Bud spins around, still all smiles, he’s got an apron on over his house clothes that has ‘kiss the cook’ printed on it in fancy lettering. “I’ll take those, get them washed and dried for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to.” You hate how timidly your voice comes out.

He waves a dismissive hand at you before he takes the basket. “It’s the least I can do, would you like to stay for dinner? There’s more than enough, I’ll drive you home after.” He pauses, “Not that I’m insisting on you staying, you’re more than welcome to keep the dressing gown and I’ll take you home right now.” 

“No, I,” you smile a little bashfully. “Are you sure I’m not imposing?” 

He shakes his head happily and busies himself by sitting you down in the living room with a hot drink before he goes to the laundry room. You have to practically beg him to make Bud stop from hunting down the spare portable heater for you. 

You have a sneaky look around the room while he’s gone, just out of interest. There are a few photos, friends and family, a couple of small knick knacks. 

You smile at him when he comes back in the room, “You have a lovely house.”

“Ah,” he shakes his head, “It’s not very homely. Needs some care.” He taps the door frame affectionately. 

“Well, I think it’s lovely.” He puffs his chest out a little. “Thank you.” He takes a few steps closer to you, “Oh that’s Frank, he’s an old friend.” He points to the photo you were looking at. “Fishing trip last year.”

“You like fishing?” 

“Hate it,” he chuckles, “Frank loves it, I think you can see by my face there, I’m not a fan.” 

You giggle. 

“I mean, I like the beer, and the talking and the peace and quiet, but it was fucking freezing there even though it was the middle of May. I nearly lost toes to frostbite.” He pauses, admiring your smiling face. “Thank you for bringing the file, you’re too sweet.”

“Oh,” you shrug. “It’s nothing.”

“I don’t think so, I don’t know anyone else that would do that for their boss, let alone for someone that isn’t your boss.” 

You shift a little, biting your lip, trying not to let your embarrassment bubble up and overwhelm you completely. “Well…” 

“I think…” Bud smiles, lightly touching your cheek and titling your head up so that you meet his gaze. “You might have a soft spot for me?” 

You freeze, unable to look away from his soft eyes. 

“I know I’ve got one for you.” He breathes, leaning a fraction closer. “Do you think I could try a little something, just to make it up to you? Repay you for the favour?” 

“I…” You swallow. “It was no problem…”

“Please?” He smiles sweetly, you didn’t notice him take a step nearer, but you moan softly when he presses his lips to yours and groans. 

It barely takes a moment before he’s licking into your mouth and walking you backwards to the sofa. 

He presses you down gently before he climbs on top of you, kissing you senseless. It’s like he’s everywhere, all at once, stroking and sighing as you lean closer and wrap your arms around him. 

His fingers trail down, then up your legs, lightly pushing the dressing gown higher. He breaks the kiss, breathing hard. “Can I?” He asks softly, once more looking at you with those heartbreaker eyes. 

You nod, not trusting your voice. Part of you is so sure you shouldn’t be doing this, but the other doesn’t give a single fuck. 

He grins happily, scooting down and pushing your clothing higher, and up to your hips. Anxiety begins to swirl and settle, but Bud groans, his eyes rolling back for a second. 

“Fuck me, if this isn’t the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.” He licks his bottom lip before he dips down, his warm hands pulling your right thigh onto his shoulder. 

You gasp as his mouth touches you and grab at the cushions as he places a soft, light kiss to your clit before he flicks out his tongue. 

“Taste so good too.” He mutters, lightheaded. Something about the taste of his own soap mixed with your skin is driving him crazy. He laps again, a long slow lick through your folds that he savours while he pushes at his hardening cock with the heel of his hand. 

The little whimper that escapes your throat makes him feral, makes him want to push and push until all he is pulling from you is those sounds. 

He moans happily, watching you with lidding, hazy eyes as he licks, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue after every swipe. 

“Fuck,” you squirm, breathing hard and trying to get closer to the sweet warmth of his mouth. He grins, pressing closer to you and kneading the back of your thighs with his hands pushing you up and nearer, letting you rock and ride exactly how you want to. 

“Bud, please,” your toes curl, pleasure shivering along your limbs, mixing with the pent up anxiety to hurtle you towards your peak. 

He moans against you, the vibrations running up your nerves. Your legs part to shake, moving without your control as the sensation builds and builds and builds. You throw your head back, your spine arching as pleasure explodes out and along your skin, bathing you in its soft glow. 

You come hard against his mouth, rocking and pulsing as he continues to lap and lick, whining ever so slightly when your cum finally hits his tongue. He slows his movements only stopping when your muscles relax.

“Fuck,” he wipes his mouth greedily, already craving your slick on his tongue again. “You know what, I don’t think I quite made it up to you enough.” He grins cheekily, “I think two or three more should do it.” 

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[solbaby7]

Look What You Made Me Do

pairing: rhysand x reader

warnings: blood, violence, angst, swearing, some typos

summary: The High Lord leaves you no choice but to abandon all innocence in order to buy him just five more minutes.

—

“I’ll be right back.”

“Rhysand—“

Warm palms cup your cheeks, lips pressing against your forehead before he’s tilting your head up to him. “Five minutes, I’ll be right back.” His hand slips behind his back, producing a knife with a hilt carved so intricately you couldn’t stop staring at it.

He’s gone before you can answer, the weight of the metal in your grasp and something like fear tightens in your stomach as his towering frame disappeared beneath the cave.

This was a horrible idea; you should’ve fought it harder but Rhysand always had such a sway with you—always finding some way to ease all the worry until you didn’t know what you were upset about in the first place. But he knew how you felt about this—about killing. You’d thrown up your breakfast the first time he’d brought you hunting; a hobby he claimed didn’t have much time for anymore.

You didn’t kill a single thing and when Rhysand did, you cried.

Something snaps behind you, body freezing in place as all of your senses went into overdrive; every smell, every sound and shift in the air had the hairs on the back of your neck rising. You swallow thickly when you hear it once more mentally counting down the seconds until the High Lord’s five minutes were up and you could get out of here.

Another snap to the left, two more on the right and a final one behind you that was creeping in so slow you nearly didn’t pick up on it.

Rhys?

There’s no answer in the bond, no soft touches or that teasing voice; just silence.

Your fingers clench tightly around the knife, knuckles going pale under the strain as the creatures emerge from their hiding. Large wolves with jaws coated in dried blood, their bodies were brawny, thick muscles grown from miles and miles of running and careful hunting of prey much bigger than themselves, let alone you.

The thought of you stuck between those sharp teeth sent goosebumps up your spine, breath slow and choppy.

Rhysand. We need to get out of here.

You strain your ears for an answer, tugging and tugging when the timer runs out and the creatures still circling you, inching forward and it’s then you see more hiding in the trees; their low growls echoing throughout the area and anxiety swells from deep within.

“Please don’t make me do this,” You mumble past chapped lips like a mantra as your fingers twist the knife in your grasp, adjusting your grip and steadying your stance as you took them in. It wasn’t like all those times hunting with Rhysand had gone to waste; you’d watched intently as he showed you how to bait an animal with food, to fight and kill.

Sure, maybe then you’d actually had bait—a few spare chickens that wouldn’t be missed and this time you were the bait but the concept wasn’t too far off.

There's a moment of clarity, where the air went still and you could hear every shift of the branches that hung from the large trees above. The wild beating of your heart never falters, the consistent thumping becoming the only anchor to force yourself to relax—to assess the situation and fucking breathe.

But, you'd already ran out of time.

They attack in sync, three of them darting out for you at rapid speeds, teeth snapping so hard spit flew free and stuck to the fabric of your cloak. You silently thank Rhysand for insisting on such clothing; warm, fur lined long sleeves and socks so thick you could barely fit your feet in the boots he'd slid on over your pants. Stringy leather straps curl tight around your thighs, over the high points of your arms and it connected somewhere in the back—you hadn't been paying much attention to anything other than the teasing trail of Rhysand's fingers on your bare skin.

You hold onto that.

The soft moments that you'd always prayed would never come to an end but the worst crosses your mind when your knife slices through solid muscle, spraying blood so thick that the smell alone had you fighting back the urge to spill your guts.

They don’t stop and neither do you, arms burning with exertion but you’re too fearful to stop. Sharp claws swipe for your flesh and while most attempts don’t take, you’re vaguely aware of a persistent throb on your back but adrenaline dulls any real pain. Animal limbs hit the ground in chunks, your swings don’t discriminate; claiming heads and thick paws with claws longer than your fingers.

Bile raises in to your throat when the last body falls. The air smells of blood; metallic and harsh as it seeped into the fabric of your clothes. Your hands shake and genuine anger breaks free when Rhysand finally exits the cave, charming smile on his face. “See, I told you I’d be quick.”

“Quick?” Your voice is eerily calm and the High Lord goes still when he sees you, all the blood—all the bodies and their pieces scattered about in tufts of fur and crimson red. “You said five minutes. Where the hell were you?”

He doesn’t speak, too awed by the carnage, all of the red staining your face and hands and clothes. You don’t seem injured, give or take a wince when you threw the intricately made weapon to the ground. Anger radiated from your form as you begin the gather the scattered pieces, grunts and frustrated comments spew from your lips and you make your pile. “What happened?”

“They came out of the trees,” Your hands wipe against your clothes, trying to clean yourself but there’s no pure cloth, nothing not stained in blood and you cringe at the evidence of the lives you took; creature or not. “—I waited. I waited and called for you. I didn’t want to do it but,” Rhysand’s shoulders stiffen at the shake in your voice, the tremble of your hands as your tried to strike a match. “What the hell was so important that you don’t even respond to me when I call for you?”

“You called for me?”

“I was screaming across the bond so loud I thought I was actually yelling out loud.” A humorless laugh and the match finally takes, a harsh crackle before you toss it in the massive heap of limbs until the air smells less like fresh pine and more like the beginning of the end of your innocence—though you should’ve known most of that had dried out when being mated to the High Lord of the Night Court.

You supposed, maybe this was your life now.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this taken aback, so awestruck by the abilities you had but always kept away; eyes welling up with tears when he’d even tasked you with just skinning instead of the actual hunt. “You were paying attention.”

You’re brows furrow at the breathless words, fingers clenching into fists at your sides and you don’t shy away from the growing warmth that crackled before you; thick plumes of dark smoke leading a trail through the clouds. “That makes one of us.”