#richard fic

[charlotlie]

bitches be like “this is the best piece of literature i have ever read” and it’s either a book that took them six weeks to finish or a fanfic they read at 3 AM

[pacificwaternymph]

Did you guys know that Duke's tag on Ao3 only has 7,000 fics? Because I didn't.

[amarachno]

Every time Bruce pisses one of his kids off, they dramatically proclaim something along the lines of, “I hate you! Im going to stay with mom!!!” and then run off.

The first time it happens, Bruce nearly pisses himself because he takes it as some sort of suicidal ideation thing. He tries to go after whichever kid started this, probably Dick, but is unable to find them for whatever reason. He decides to look as Batman. Bruce absolutely sick with worry.

Selina Kyle put his kid in a catsuit.

As time goes on, more of his kids pull this little stunt and Bruce is a little less concerned. Every so often Catwoman is seen with her sidekick ‘Stray’ but every time Stray is makes an appearance they have a wildly different gender, height, and body type. It always the same costume design but in different sizes

Even Cass participated once! Bruce just sighed deeply and looked vaguely regretful. The only one who hadnt made an appearance as Stray had been Damian. Bruce really couldnt imagine Damian running off to be Stray. The kid still had his birth mother so there was no reason to.. become… stray…

Damian shows up as Stray. Instead of his sibling’s preferred stolen objects as a trophy? Selina let him keep a cat. The worst part? The cat’s name is Selina.

Jason as stray

[axstoria]

Kissing Dick Grayson after a late-night patrol, his hands planted on your face as yours pause their tending to his wounds. He's still in uniform, mask and all, yet the top half has been peeled away to reveal a nasty gash on his side that Bruce would lecture him for had he still been in his Robin days.

Kissing Dick Grayson in front of his family for the first time. Damian is glaring daggers, while Cass and Steph are giggling like school girls, and Tim simply marks down the relationship in his mental notebook.

Kissing Dick Grayson to calm him down after he took down a trafficking ring in Blüdhaven. He's angry and hates the world, yet he feels as though he holds it all in his hands as he caresses your cheeks.

Kissing Dick Grayson after a nightmare to soothe his pains. His hands are twisted in your shirt and he's shaking, but it's okay because you're there.

Kissing Dick Grayson until the both of you are sick and grinning like idiots, happy to be together after days of being apart because of a mission.

Kissing Dick Grayson just because.

Kissing Dick Grayson because you love him.

Kissing Dick Grayson.

[god-of-fandoms]

rewatched NPMD

do you think richie and ruth’s souls moved on after their deaths? or are they still there, in the town they lived and died in, watching over their best friend as he grows up and moves on?

rough sketch sorry abt that. i kind of think it looks better like this than if i had tried to clean it up, though

have a lovely day!

-lee :)

[yandere-writer-momo]

1/2 10k follower special. I just wanted to treat all of you to a taste of what I may or may not continue.

Yandere Batman Shorts: Torn Between Two

Yandere Jason Todd x Fem Reader x Yandere Dick Grayson

TW: light yandere

Jason’s fingers ghosted over the scarred flesh of his face as a low sigh escaped his lips. Why wasn’t (your name) here today? She always swung by at five in the afternoon with a freshly made meal. Right before the sun began to blink its tired eyes and settle in the horizon for the night.

Yet it was now dusk. The pink and orange hues have long faded into violet blankets of color in the sky and the crickets began to create their serenades in the smoggy Gotham air.

Jason knew he often pushed her away, he just wished to keep her safe was all… he didn’t live a very safe or stable life. He was constantly in a deadly dance with danger. He never knew if she’d be swept up in the arms of his enemies and swallowed whole…

Yet his prickly mannerisms didn’t equate to him not caring for her. Jason did care! He just had never been taught how to show it. He’s never felt love all his life, how could he return the warm feelings she made bloom in his chest like the first flowers of spring?

Jason kept watch throughout the night, just in case she’d appear. He didn’t want to miss (your name) for the world…

He would give her two days. If she didn’t come before then, then he’d pursue her.

.

.

.

Dick felt his heart break as (your name) softly cried in his chest. His arms wrapped firmly around her as his fingers ran shapeless, yet soothing, patterns on her back.

“Shh. It’s okay…” He whispered in her ear as she shed a few more tears. Dick had no idea who this man was, but he wanted to beat the snot out of him.

Dick has had a crush on her for years and yet she began to crush on some delinquent? When he was right there?! It wasn’t fair!

(Your name) had been there for him through every failed romantic endeavor he ever had. She always picked him up and wiped away his tears with her thumbs. And somewhere along the way, he fell utterly, and hopelessly in love with her.

She was a perfect woman in his eyes. She was patient, kind, and filled with as much warmth as the first ray of sun in spring. Yet some random man in Gotham was making her cry like this? Unbelievable! How could anyone make her cry and live with themselves?! If he was the man who held her heart, he would cherish her and love her like the princess she was.

“I’m sorry, Dick. I didn’t mean to get your shirt all wet.” Dick didn’t care about the shirt, he would preserve it after this in his collection. He cared more about why she was crying and he wanted to know who made her cry.

“Don’t apologize for this. It barely fits me anyways.” He flexed his bicep which made (your name) explode in a fit of giggles. A big grin spread on his face from her reaction. There she was, there was his happy girl.

(Your name) covered her mouth to try to stop the giggles from their escape as he made his pecs dance for her. “Stop that, you’re so goofy.”

“But you’re smiling, aren’t you? You’re so much prettier when you smile.”

(Your name) rested her head on Dick’s chest as his heart thrummed like a snare drum. Her cheeks rosy from the small fit of laughter he had drawn out from her.

If only the desires of the heart were as simple as breathing… otherwise she would have yearned for a fairytale prince like Dick.

Yet she couldn’t help but be drawn like a moth to a flame to Jason’s story instead.

Jason’s jet black hair with the white streak in the front reminded her of a tuxedo cat at times. Yet he had the prickly mannerisms of a cantankerous stray… a true alley cat.

Jason Todd was a man with physical and mental scars that dug deep into his very soul, he had trauma (your name) could never hope to understand. He had a painful existence, and yet she wished to be a soothing balm to his constant torment.

(Your name) knew he was terrified of vulnerability. Yet she couldn’t help but desire to be the one to get him to open up. To take that violent stray into her warm arms and pepper his head with kisses.

Yet she needed to be patient… she needed to let him come to her this time. And she would give him that space. The final nudge to get him to enter solace for the first time in decades.

(Your name) smiled up at Dick who kissed the crown of her head. He was always so sweet… like a Labrador retriever.

While Jason was apprehensive yet forlorn, Dick was friendly and affectionate. (Your name) had no doubt that Dick would violently wag his tail if he had one. He was such a loving man… she often felt like an awful person whenever he’d comfort all her frustrations away.

“Thank you, Dick. I feel better.” She smiled warmly at her best friend.

(Your name) wasn’t aware that these two men were brothers nor did she know of the frayed and fragile bond they had.

Both Jason and Dick would now stop at nothing to have her to themselves. She was torn between the two in a dangerous game of tug-o-war.

[contrarianwitt]

i just don’t get how people can think bluesey is boring in trc… like are were we reading the same books???

i love love love pynch, but theres something so special and electric about blue and gansey in the series. the angst, the yearning, the feeling of ganseys death and blues curse looming over them.

they have such iconic banter, “i wish you could be kissed jane”, THE ENTIRE GODDAMN TOGA SCENE, him wrapping her in his coat, “she makes me quiet”

adam and ronan always get more credit because they have more build-up, but the fact that blue and gansey aren’t slow-burn makes them so interesting because that they want each other so bad and know it, but its just their fate that’s stopping them. every single scene had me on the edge of my seat!!

like you can’t have the raven cycle without bluesey they really are the couple!!

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

YUCK!- D. GRAYSON

pairing: richboy! dick grayson x girly! innocent!fem! reader

word count: 3.8k

part two here!

summary: dick grayson was not a relationship man. he was brooding, cold and much prefered a one night stand- but when you caught his eye at a club, everything changes. so long mr. brooding, and hello head over heels dick!

warnings: sexual thoughts/ implications but nothing happens this chapter, pet names, size kink implied, drinking mentioned, swearing, dick really just turns into a lover boy who is obsessed and possesive with reader hehe

"yuck, now you got me blushin'/ cheeks so red when the blood starts rushing/ yuck, that boy's so mushy, sending me flowers, i'm just tryna get lucky/ yuck, lookin' at me all sucky/ yuck, quit acting like a puppy/ fuck, going all lovey-dovey on me"- yuck, charli xcx

Dick Grayson had his eyes on you.

He watched for hours, simply waiting. He had always been quiet, elegant and sly.

Like a black cat in the night, he slithered his way across a room- seeming to work it without saying a word.

Where the others wore bright reds and soft hues of blue, he wore black. A stark contrast from anyone in the room- he was expected to stick out like a sore thumb. But somehow, he fit right in.

Mingling with others around him, his friends and the bartender when he needed another beer- reading lips over the loud thud of the heavy bass in the club. The bright lights flashed across the room, illuminating pockets and spreads of people from all over Gotham, coated in their daddy’s money- the pink and blue hues catching the glimmer of their diamonds.

But none of them shined as bright as you.

There you were- the spotlight of his eye from where you danced in front of him. You were oblivious, of course- a drink in your hand as you closed your eyes and leaned your head against what he presumed was one of your friends as you swayed your hips to the music.

He couldn't look away.

The way you moved was entrancing.

Not a diamond or emerald on your body, and yet- you seemed to be worth more than anyone at this posh, frat-boys, daddy’s money club.

Was it because you seemed different? Maybe.

Dick Grayson had his fair share of flings and one night stands in his time- but you made him want to try a new approach. Something more than just buying you a drink and taking you home.

And he wasn't sure if that pleased something in him- or terrified him.

There you were, in your sexy little skirt, something resembling go-go boots giving you spunk in your step, with each twirl and spin you did. He bit his lip, body becoming tense all over as he allowed the dirty, sinful thoughts of what he wanted to do to cloud his mind, like the haze that hung over the crowd.

That skirt alone had sent him reeling, clinging onto his self control he had suddenly seemed to lose as he thought of how sweet you’d taste under it.

How soft your thighs would be when he placed sloppy kisses across them,tugging your panties to the side before diving in fully- how sweet you’d taste.

And the little noises you’d make as he savoured you- an extra little whine and squeal as he’d tug on your precious little clit… Fuck.

He closed his eyes, fully tuned out of the conversation Tim was currently trying to have with him and the rest of the group, gripping his beer tight enough the glass started to crack.

He wondered if you’d be shy in bed, or a challenge. Either way- he was eager to find out.

He could always coax the shy ones, or tame the feisty ones. None of them would compare to you, though. He could feel it.

“... Dude. Dick. Are you with us?” a voice called, Tims eyebrows raised in concern, zoning in on his face that seemed tense. “Yeah, yeah man fuck sorry. Just got distracted.”

His eyes followed Dicks gaze- where you stood, mouthing the words to some Charli XCX song with your friends, giggling like schoolgirls.

A little whistle left his lips as he found Dicks line of attack, a smirk on his face. “You did good man. All is forgiven.”

Dick snarled as he patted his back, making the rest of the guys chuckle. “Don’t test me Drake. Seriously.”

Tim threw up his hands in mock defense, that same smirk plastered across his face. He always tried to get under Dicks skin. And Dick hated when it worked.

He was a possessive man- not so materialistic wise (though he did have a pretty penny), but when it came to you? It was as if the world had suddenly stopped spinning on its axis. He didn't even know your name.

He was fucking whipped.

“You gonna go talk to her with your rich boy charm, or are you gonna keep staring like some fuckin creep?”

“I’m trying to engage in a conversation, so I’d rather observe. Thanks though.” Dick mumbled, nursing his drink.

He hadn't studied you enough yet from the sidelines. He didn't need any surprises.

“If by conversation you mean staying silent like always while you act all vigilant like- you’re doing great.” one of the guys joked, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes.

“Seriously man, if you don't go for her- I might.”

The stare he sent Tims way was enough to silence him mid sentence, pursing his lips before taking a swig of his own drink. “Jesus man I’m kidding. But go get your girl. She's getting away.”

His eyes snapped back to where you stood, but all there was was a flurry of motion. You slipped through the crowd, smiling softly to everyone you passed by, so innocent and sweet it made him dizzy with want.

Without a word, he chugged the rest of his drink, slinking after you like a minx. “And don't just follow her like some stalker dude!” a voice behind him called, that he so conveniently ignored.

Cracking his knuckles, he glared at a frat boy who eyed you up and down after you passed him, fighting back an audible growl at the man. He had to calm himself the fuck down. It's not like you were his, not yet anyways- and he truly had no business being all up in your business.

But those nagging thoughts were dialed down in his brain as he watched you slip out of the club's doors, past the bouncers and line up outside- as if he turned down a volume knob.

He had to follow you. It wasn't safe alone at night, not for you, anyways.

When he had you under his wing, he’d never let this happen again.

Why the fuck werent your friends leaving with you? Were they really your friends?

He had to have this talk with you later on. It wasn't cool they were just letting you leave at- he checked his watch, just after midnight on a Friday night.

Baring the constant Gotham chill, he kept his distance (and failed), blending in with the night. He wanted to scream at you, look! See how easy this is for me? Just to sneak up on you like this, practically breathing in the smell of your perfume?

But he kept his mouth shut, frightening anyone who looked in your direction.

To everyone else, he appeared like some deranged bodyguard. To you- well you were truly oblivious. Humming a tune he had heard early at the club, you skipped along the sidewalk, creating a vomit trail of rainbows, sparkles and kitties wherever your boots touched.

It was like the clouds had parted just for you, moonlight shining down on your hair. It made something flutter in his stomach.

Butterflies? No, it couldn't be. Butterflies had never taken flight in his stomach, only bats. Cold, dark bats that churned with anxiety.

But a weight seemed to be lifted as he watched over you, protecting you from perceived threats. This just made sense to him. To be watching over you like this.

It felt right.

He stopped, watching as you opened the door that housed a cozy, dimmed cocktail bar. The smell of vanilla and soft cashmere enveloped his senses, disappearing as fast as it came when the glass door fell shut.

He stood, waiting.

After a minute, he decided. He needed another drink, it seemed.

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

You had walked to the first place you could think of. Tommy’s, on 56th and 8th. It was perfect, a five minute walk from the club you were desperately trying to escape.

The thudding music and sardine of bodies was fun- until it wasn't. You had quickly grown tired of the buzz, your head pumping as hard as the base from the drinks and people.

You much preferred the quiet hum of people that chatted at their tables in the bar, soft jazz music playing from the speakers.

You were out of place in your outfit- but you couldn't care less. You needed quiet, and alone time.

You waved cheerfully at the bartender on shift- Carter. You knew him from the few times you had stopped by, and he was always so sweet.

Your friends all told you he was flirting and you were just oblivious to it- but you disagreed. He was just being sweet, probably because you tipped him well- with what little money you had. Tonight was no different than any other, he dropped everything he was doing to come over to you with a smile plastered on his face as you slid up on the barstool, letting your feet dangle.

“Hi Carter.”

“Hi, you. Regular?” You nodded, watching as he got to work, grabbing the vodka and orange triple sec. You let your gaze wander over to the mirror behind him, resting your head in your hand as you noted your smeared lipgloss and the raindrops that had soaked through your white sleeves.

You were distracted though from nitpicking your appearance too much- as you eyes darted over to the hunk of a man who lingered in the shadows behind you.

The bar was dimmed already, candlelights flickering on each table illuminating an eerie glow- and the soft spotlights under the bar didn’t add much. But he stood out, somehow to you.

His hard, dark eyes were staring at you, as if he were trying to figure you out.

Your gaze met his in the reflection, and his instantly softened, a playful little smile just barely hinting on his face. You felt your cheeks heat and you quickly averted your gaze, before meeting his again.

Now he wore a full smirk. As if you fell right into his trap. Yet, he just watched as you got your cosmo, sipping on it slowly.

The drink was sweet, just as you liked it, and you savoured the taste of citrus on your tongue as you watched Carter tend to the bar, watching his hands quickly fly around all over the place, a hand on a bottle before it was wrapped around a glass, passing it over the counter to anyone who’d come over with a card to swipe.

It was mesmerising, really. But not as mesmerizing as the mystery man's cold, hard demeanour that seemed to linger throughout the room- his attentions directed at you.

It made you squirm, and left a weird, tingly feeling in the pit of your core. You shifted, thighs rubbing together as you finished the last sip of your drink, a soft clink sounding as you slammed it down on the bartop.

Just as you were about to pull out your card from your purse, a low, gruff voice emerged from beside you, a large arm extended with a shiny black amex card glittering in his hand.

The mystery man.

“Just add it under my card. Thanks.” He told Carter, barely sparing him a glance before all his attention was focused on you again.

Carter could hardly sputter a word out before he was shooed- the man fully turned to face you, his large, broad shoulders practically shielding you from anything else but him.

“Wouldn't want a pretty lil thing like you paying, now would we?”

You just stared at him with wide eyes, mouth practically gaping open.

He was beautiful. Even more so up close. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating. You wanted to bury your face into his cashmere sweater and bite his biceps like some teething child.

Woah, okay. Drunk you talking. Pump the breaks.

“Well thank you sir, but I promise you don’t have to do that. I can pay for myself.”

He just laughed.

“Sir? Dont treat me like I’m some old man, bunny. I’m only a few years older than you- if that.”

You looked away, tongue tied and flustered with the way he was staring at you. “I’m so sorry, I was just trying to be polite and jus-”

“Hey, hey I’m just teasing. It’s really cute.”

You giggled as he sat down in the stool beside you, making it look play sized. “So you decided to come over cause we were playing eye tag?”

“Something like that.”

You snorted, toying with the rim of your empty glass. “And here I thought you were coming over to compliment my hair.”

His eyes glimmered with amusement, clearly enjoying your drunken jests.

“I think your hair is lovely.”

“Do you think I’m lovely?”

His eyes darkened with lust, and you watched as he reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on the skin.

“I think you are divine.”

You giggled. “Are you going to try and kiss me sometime tonight?”

“If you’ll let me.” You pursed your lips together swinging your feet as you thought. You did really wanna kiss him. But you didnt even know his name.

“I’m Dick. Dick Grayson.”

Nevermind, that clears that up.

“Y/N.” You darted your lips, mouth suddenly feeling dry. Hot. Did you want this man to come back with you to your apartment? Yeah, actually- you did.

He seemed nice. You didnt realize you had blurted that outloud until he broke the silence with a loud laugh, practically shaking in his seat.

“You dont just invite a man back to your place because he seems nice, bunny. What if I was dangerous?”

Your eyes widdened. “Are you dangerous?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You don't seem dangerous. You seem nice. And you smell good. And you paid for my drink, which you did not have to do. So I like you.”

You brought your hands together, jumping up from the stool with a start, wobbling slightly. “Well! I suppose we ought to go explore.” Carter raised his eyebrow, slowly and silently sliding Dicks card back over the counter.

“Carter, it was lovely to see you- as always. My concondalences.” you blew him a kiss, swinging your purse over your shoulder. He contored his face in confusion.

“Condolences? For what?”

“No idea. I guess for being you, and having your life. Goodnight!”

And with that, you left the door swinging on your way out, an extremely stunned looking Carter staring at you from behind the glass pane.

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

“So, you just get ice cream? No matter the weather?” Dick asked you, taking a lick of his mint chip ice cream you had nagged him to buy, as the two of you made your way back to your apartment.

You looked like a married couple.

It was cold, dark and late, and he had slipped his jacket over your shoulders. It felt like a dress.

But no matter the weather, you got ice cream. There was no need for an occasion. Ice cream should be an everyday occasion, actually.

“The weather doesn't control anything, silly. Same with holidays. Why can’t we celebrate Halloween on a random Tuesday? Makes no sense to me.” You shrugged, licking your cone, ice cream dripping down on your fingers.

You felt Dicks eyes on you as you laughed, smearing soft serve on the tip of your nose. You were nearing your place, and you insisted you wanted Dick to come up with you.

Though you were extremely drunk, you knew he would take care of you. You just had a feeling you couldn't quite shake.

“Have I told you how handsome you are?” you asked, steadying yourself as you clung to his arm, as he guided you up the steps to your building.

You had given him your address, per his request- so he could actually get you home safely instead of just wandering around random streets trying to remember.

“You’ve told me many times tonight. It’s very sweet of you to say, bunny.”

“Kay. Just wanted to make sure you knew.”

He couldn't help but laugh, watching as you tried to search for your keys with one hand. He reached in his pocket, the jangling of your pink keychains capturing your attention immediately.

“How did you get those?”

“You gave them to me, remember?”

You shook your head.

“Oh bunny. What are we gonna do with you?” he tsked, clucking his lips as he took the last bite of his ice cream before unlocking the door, following you up the stairs to your place.

Honestly, he was beyond blessed you had captured his eye tonight- because he didn't even want to think about how you'd get home. You were too trustworthy, too sweet and kind to anyone who “seemed nice”.

He was pretty sure if he told Tim you said he “seemed nice” he would have a laughing fit so hard he’d die from asphyxiation. But here was now, to protect you, and to keep you safe from your own nativity.

He’d teach you how you should behave. With him, only trusting him. Other people would just take advantage of you.

“We’re here!” you smiled, taking the last bite of your ice cream cone, chewing happily as the waffle cone seemed to melt in your mouth.

“You should be a doorman, handling my keys and stuff. Do they do that?”

“No idea. But I don't think you should be giving anyone your keys but me. Got it?”

You nodded, leaning against the doorframe as he (once again) unlocked your door, leading you inside your own apartment.

“Thanks for taking care of me Dickie. I really, really appreciate it.” you slurred, stumbling in as he found the lightswitch, flickering the lights on.

He smiled to himself as he looked around, your apartment being so very you- and so against him. It was soft and light, gentle shades of pink and white, with bows and frills galore. Little trinkets were scattered around, with magnets on the fridge.

It looked- lived in.

He felt like he was home, and he had been in here for less than five minutes. Or maybe that was just you- amplified times a million. Everything smelt like you, reminded him of your bubbly personality- it was impossible not to marvel.

You plopped yourself on the couch, somehow toppling over the back so your legs were sprawled like a newborn fawns in the air.

He tried so hard not to look as your skirt rose up, giving him the perfect view of your dainty little panties that made him hard as a fucking rock.

He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath before approaching you, towering over the side of the couch as his fingers found the zippers to your boots.

”Let's get these off now, okay pretty girl?”

“Mhgm” was all you could mutter out as he began to slowly work them off your feet, setting them down on the floor neatly, so they wouldn't be a tripping hazard in the morning.

“You wanna get to bed silly?”

“Mghm. I’m sleeping here- can’t move. Too weak.” you murmured, hand flung over your eyes, hiding from the light. He chuckled.

“Too weak eh? Such a lil thing, aren't cha?” he taunted, wasting no time to get you into his arms, carrying you like a princess to the room he presumed was your bedroom.

You barely let out a protest, quickly nuzzling into his chest as he took careful steps, trying not to rock you.

“Can just pick you up so easily. You’re such a pretty girl.” he smiled, planting a kiss to your head, before setting you down on the bed.

“Can you stay?” you asked, reaching out to grasp his hand, curling it around his finger. He nodded.

“Of course, bunny. Let me just get you some water, okay?”

You nodded, mumbling incoherent phrases as he made his way over the scattered clothes (and thongs) on your bedroom floor, back out to the kitchen.

What would Tim make of all of this shit? He thought to himself as he grabbed a glass, filling it with cold water from the fridge.

He wouldn't believe him, if Dick told him. Here he was, caring for you like you were his girlfriend, and to be honest, in Dicks mind- you already were his.

You were so different, he just couldnt explain it. So no, he didnt want just a quick drunk fuck to get off- he wanted to care for you, to make sure you were tucked in bed safely.

His heart had gone soft, it seemed- he chuckled to himself as he made a quick trip to the bathroom, opening cupboards above the sink to fish for some advil.

You’d definitely need this.

“I’m back, bunny. See? I'm not leaving.” he smiled softly as you stirred, rubbing your eyes. He set the glass and meds down on your nightstand, brushing your exposed shoulder softly.

“I brought some meds okay? Let's take them now, so it's not as bad in the morning.”

You nodded, but made no movement to get up and take them yourself. Your brain was fuzzy and the room seemed to spin.

Sensing this, he slowly guided you to sit up, hand cradling your back as he placed the pills in your mouth, tilting your head back slowly to get you to swallow with water.

“Atta girl, there we go. Did you swallow?” he asked, and you stuck out your tongue, showing the pills were gone.

The action alone sent his thoughts completely in the other direction, and he cursed himself for it. He’d have to relieve himself before bed tonight, in your bathroom.

Oh well.

“Good girl. Let's get some sleep now, okay?”

“Okay. Gnight Dickie.” you smiled softly to yourself as you slumped back onto the bed, passed out in seconds. He sighed as he stood back up to his full height, watching your hands grip the sheets as you dozed.

Sleeping in those clothes couldn't be comfortable, but he didn't want to remove anything without you being conscious, or giving full consent. So for now, he’d leave them.

He was sure he’d hear all about it the next morning, how you couldn't sleep in outdoor clothes on the bed- or whatever shit girls always said- but it was worth keeping his distance, and hearing the bickering.

His phone buzzed- Tims contact flashing across his screen.

Tim: Well? You get lucky?

He smirked to himself.

Dick: Something like that. I’m taking the couch tonight.

He threw his phone somewhere in the cushions as he grabbed a blanket, stripping down to his boxers.

He had one last trip before bed, and his cock seemed to be reminding him like a snoozed alarm every two minutes. When he finally managed to slip to the bathroom and seek his much needed relief- all he could do was stare at himself in the mirror, his hands gripping the sink.

Dick Grayson had gone soft.

And the worst part? He fucking loved it.

[ebodebo]

—thinking about jason todd being a smug bastard... MDNI

Wayne Manor was swarmed with people. 

Once again, your parents had insisted on attending one of Bruce's charity galas, dragging you along.

You couldn't help but feel like an outsider in this world of opulence and pretense.

It was fun to dress up with thousand-dollar dresses and jewels, but, Christ, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the sound of clinking glasses, making it stuffy even in the corner of the room where you stood.

They were nothing more than a group of pretentious assholes parading around and gloating about their wealth.

The very sight of them filled you with a profound sense of disdain for the whole event, a feeling that seemed to grow with each passing moment. 

You just thanked God Bruce always provided good booze.

"Cute dress," a deep voice sounded next to you.

You know immediately who it is.

"Was gonna wear red, but I didn't want you to get all jealous, Jason," you jest, your tone oozing with sarcasm.

"Is that right?" He smirked, handing you a glass of champagne. 

"Yeah. So I settled for blue," you shrugged, grasping the champagne.

"I think red suits you better," he hummed, sipping the alcohol. 

"I bet you do, Toddy," you chirp, eyes leering over the glass as you sip.

"You think you're so funny," he mutters, referring to the silly nickname you call him to his dismay. 

"I think I'm pretty hilarious," you smile, clearly amused with yourself.

"I can tell," he jibbed, taking another swig of the alcohol, eye peering over the rim to lock with yours.

You open your mouth to speak but are interrupted by a refined, high-pitched tone dripping with an air of superiority calling out for Jason in the dimly lit, crowded room. 

"Jay," a blonde girl quipped, making no effort to greet you, only batting her lashes at him. "I wasn't expecting you to be here."

"Well, you know..." He trails off before mustering a fake smile. "Duty calls."

She lets out a horrendous giggle that has you laughing at the sheer absurdity before her eyes lock on you.

"And...you are?" Her tone is almost revolted, adding to the tension in the air. 

Just take the high road, you think to yourself. 

"I'm a friend," you plaster a ricus smile.

She purses her lips, her eyes betraying a mix of jealousy and curiosity as they dart between you and Jason.

You'll play nice tonight, sure. 

"Don't worry. I have a date of my own," you lightly smile, internally cringing, torn between maintaining your composure and the urge to flee.

"You do?" Jason asks with utter perplexity.

No.

"Yeah," you breathe out.

His eyes squint, you gulp.

"Well...where's the lucky guy?" Blondie poses, her arms crossing over her chest, her condescension palpable in her tone. 

Your eyes quickly scan the room before you hear a familiar voice walking behind you.

"There you are!" You beam, turning around, reaching for poor Dick's wrist, and pulling him next to you. 

"Dick?" She questions, her curiosity piqued.

"Dick?" Jason questions, his tone dripping with disgust.

"Not happy to see me?" Dick teases as you casually thread your arm through his.

You don't miss the way Jason's whole body tenses. 

"How...charming," Blondie quips hesitantly before she threads her arm through Jason's.

Jason doesn't miss how your whole body tenses, issuing a smug smirk at your bewilderment. 

Oh? He wanted to play dirty.

Well, two can play that game. 

"Isn't he just a charmer?" You chirp, your tone laced with unnoticed faulty admiration. "Dick's just so sweet. He just...swept me off my feet," you say, fighting back a cringe, but the sight of Blondie's scowl and Jason's stiff posture makes it all worth it. 

Dick shifts his eyes down to yours; you give him a quick wink, and he nods lightly, pulling you closer to his side.

He would do just about anything to get under Jason's skin. 

"She flatters me," Dick beams. "She's the real charmer."

You smile brightly, your eyes moving between Blondie's perplexed eyes and Jason's narrowed ones.

"Didn't think you two talked," Jason grumbled, his tone simultaneously skeptical and sour, his eyes never leaving Dick's face. 

"Yeah, I can't believe we haven't talked sooner." You smiled, your gaze shifting from Dick's bright eyes to Jason, noticing his knuckles turning white around his champagne glass. 

Got him.

"I can't believe I let you keep her to yourself, Jason. She's a great conversationalist," Dick chimes with a slight smirk at Jason's irritation.

Oh. Dick is having way too much fun. 

"I'm aware," Jason continently says, taking a sip of his alcohol. 

"Even better baker—what is it you made me the other day?" Dick questions, turning slightly to face you. 

Your eyes widen in surprise at his improvisation skills, your brain slightly scrambling before you find the words. 

Hell, if the whole superhero thing didn't work out, he could make a killing as an actor.

"Brownies," you spout after a moment.

"You made this idiot brownies?" Jasom suspires, clearly vexed. 

"I did," you smile, inwardly enjoying his apparent displeasure. 

Jason moves to speak but is quickly interrupted by Blondie.

"I'll have to have some shortbread cookies made for you, Jason," she says, smugness oozing as she pulls him closer to her side. 

Right like he would ever eat—

"I love shortbread," Jason says with a wide grin.

"You hate shortbread. You've always hated shortbread," you sputter out without much forethought. 

"Maybe I like them now," Jason shrugs, a sly smirk growing.

Your eyes narrow slightly before they widen a little in remembrance. "Oh, Dick," you tug on his arm to catch his attention. "I almost forgot you left your jacket at my apartment the other day," you prompt.

"Why was he at your apartment?" Jason instantly says, eyes staring daggers into Dick's.

"Just hanging out," Dick answers plainly, his lips quipping only slightly.

"Well, you two sure seem...close," Bondie quips, sipping champagne. 

"Yeah," Jason mutters through gritted teeth. "They do."

As you sip, your eyes leer over Jason's face over your glass of champagne.

His jaw is slightly clenched, and his eyes are narrowed.

Jason Todd, jealous?

What a sight.

"Speaking of apartments," Blondie breaks the silence, turning her head towards Jason. "Daddy just bought me a new one in SoHo. You should stop by," she says before she follows with a wink.

"Oh?" Jason hums lowly, clearly still a little irritated.

You let out a low scoff. "SoHo's kind of a detour, no?"

"It's not too far from here," Blondie says, somewhat defensively. "Plus, I wouldn't mind a long car ride with you," she brings her manicured finger up to run seductively across the pocket of Jason's tailored suit.

You tasted a slight coppery taste, only then realizing you had bit down so hard on your cheek you had drawn blood.

"If you two wanted to head out now, we wouldn't blame you," Dick remarks.

You whip your head around to face his, mouth agape in surprise.

"Would give us a chance to leave, too," Dick finishes, sending a wink your way.

"Together?" Jason poses, tilting his head to the side. 

"Of course," Dick says cooly. 

As you look back at Jason, a tiny flicker of amusement glints in your eyes. 

You can see the gears in his brain turning.

"That's a great idea, Dick," Blondie chimes. "Let's get a head start."

You breathed a shallow breath before swallowing hard, looking Jason straight in the eye.

"Jason," you murmur, voice almost pleading.

"Yeah," he simply says, barreling his way over to you and grabbing your forearm.

"Where are you two going?" Dick asks, a shit-eating grin growing on his face.

"Move, Dick," you say with much more venom than intended.

"Move it, Grayson," Jason spits simultaneously, pushing past his brother.

His arm is tight around your forearm, guiding you out of the room. 

Dick throws his arms up in defeat. "What the hell did I do?"

"Where are they going?" Blondie asks, noticeably irked. 

Dick turns to look at her, pursing his lips slightly, and sighs. 

"Just—do you wanna dance?" He begrudgingly extends his hand.

Blondie perks up almost immediately, grasping his hand and pulling him toward the dance floor.

"She's so gonna owe me," Dick mutters, referring to you, as he is being dragged to the dance floor.

Meanwhile, Jason had led you down a hallway into a nearby broom closet and locked the door behind him. 

"You know, my parents don't think you're a good influence," you say casually as Jason's lips graze your neck. 

"Is that so?" He murmurs against your skin while your fingers thread through his slicked-back hair, holding him in place.

You toy with your bottom lip between your teeth, nodding along. 

The feeling of his hot mouth on such a sensitive area feels tantalizing. 

"They think you're a very bad boy, Jason," you tease before whining as his hand wanders to fondle your ass over your dress. 

You feel him laugh against your skin as his hand skims up your back to grasp for your zipper, pulling it down. 

"What do they think I'm gonna do?" He asks, slipping the front of your dress down as you reach for his tie, pulling him to your lips.

"Make me a bad girl," you murmur against his skin. 

His lips quip in amusement before he pulls back and quickly slips his tie off. "You already are a bad girl, Baby."

You let out a small laugh as you reach out to pull his suit jacket off, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his white collared shirt underneath, before bringing your hand to rest over your heart dramatically. "Me? No. Never!"

He lets out a low laugh that has your stomach in knots as he slips off the collared shirt. 

"Don't think I didn't notice that little game you were playing," he mutters, slipping your dress down to the pool around your ankles.

"You're a little shit starter."

"I was simply evening my odds," you simply say, stepping over your dress and using your foot to push it to the side as Jason unzips his slacks. 

You tilt your head. "She your little girlfriend or something?"

He tilts his head up, mouth opening in amusement. "Come on. You take me for a cheater?" He simply asks, slipping his slacks off. 

"I take you for a lot of things," you begin, pulling him closer by his wrist to press your lips to his. "But a cheater isn't one of them."

He tips his head in appreciation before hungrily engulfing your lips with his. 

"Don't tell me your parents think Dickie would be better for you?" He murmurs in between breaths. 

Your fingers entangled in his hair yet again, pulling him impossibly closer. "Actually, yeah," you suspire. "Or Roy."

He pulls back slightly. "Harper?" Disgust is apparent in his tone.

"Hell, he's worse than me."

You let out a breathy laugh before it contorts to a breathy moan as Jason's pointer and middle fingers skim over your clothed cunt. 

"Besides, neither of them could tame this greedy pussy," he rumbles, fingers delicately moving, pressing up against your clit. "No one could."

You let out a whimper as his fingers move his ease in and out of you, your underwear adding another layer of stimulation. 

"Well, no one....except me," he dips his head to hover over your ear, lips barely brushing the skin. "Yeah?"

You don't respond.

You were too focused on his fingers moving in you and his warm breath fanning your ear. 

"Say it, Baby," he coos as his pointer and middle fingers tweak your clit. 

"Say I'm the only one who can tame this greedy pussy."

You grip his shoulders tight, shamelessly rocking yourself against his fingers to gain more friction.

Your breathy moans shoot directly into his ear as he quickens his movements. 

"Say it," he commands, low and gravelly. "Or I won't make you come."

"Okay—shit," you stutter, trying so hard to get the words out in between pants. "You're the only—one," you begin through gritted teeth. "Who can, can—tame this," his movements pick up at your cooperation. "Greedy pussy," you whine out, grinding your body down on his fingers. 

"What a good girl you are," he praises before, to your dismay, he pulls his fingers out entirely. Your eyes widen in anger, mouth contorting to reprimand him before he moves to slip his slacks and boxers off entirely, revealing his painfully hard erection.

"I'm gonna make you come, Baby. Don't worry," he assures, voice breathy. "But you're gonna come around me."

You release a shallow breath at his words.

Sure, your orgasm had dissipated when he pulled his fingers out, but, fuck, was it back now. 

He leans his head down to press a deep kiss to your lips before his hands move to grip the back of your thighs, easing you up and pushing you against a side wall. 

Your legs instinctually wrap around his waist as his fingers slip into your panties, pulling them to the side to make room for his cock. 

His eyes flick to yours, raising slightly—you sure?

You give him a quick nod before he slips himself into your slit, which was already so slick—ready for him. 

His head goes back at the contact, gripping your hips tighter to keep you in place.

You rock your hips, muttering a curse as he moves against your aching clit. 

"Was he really your date?" Jason props unexpectantly, moving his hands down to grip your ass as he plows into you much deeper. 

"Wha—Dick?" You exasperate, unsure of why his brother was now a topic. 

"Well, yeah," he breathes. "Unless you have some—some other date I don't know about," he pants through labored breaths. 

"I—why are we talking about this when you're inside me?" Your voice is already hoarse as you scramble to grip his neck tighter.

"Fuck. I like that," he groans before returning to the topic. "Just—tell me. Please," he pleads.

"No, Jason." You're surprised you found enough breath to speak. "I don't even talk to him like that," you say honestly.

A slight grin grows on his lips at the admission as his pace quickens.

"And Blondie?" You spit out.

"Blondie?" A cheeky smirk grows on his lips at the nickname before his face turns serious. "Hardly know her."

You give him a slight nod, clearly satisfied with his answer.

He leans his head down to lay in the crook of your neck, groaning and curling into your skin as he drills into you.

"Shit," you curse, starting to feel the build-up of tension in your lower stomach.

"I know, Baby. I know," He croaks into your neck. "Me too."

It only takes him a couple more thrusts for him to groan and spew curses, and you whine and moan as you both simultaneously come. 

After you both recuperate, he eases himself out of you, hissing, as he places you down gently, even helping you slip your dress back up and zipping it up, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder blade in the process.

He slips his boxers and slacks back on as you grab his collared shirt and slip it on him, delicately clasping each button. 

You snicker when you ease the zipper to his slacks up as he groans at your touch. 

"You are a bad girl," he jests, slipping his jacket and tie back on.

You let out a breathy laugh as his hands find your waist, pulling you toward him. He presses a sweet kiss to your temple. 

"Also," he begins his voice a low murmur against your skin. "I hate shortbread."  

You smile and rise onto your tiptoes, hovering near his ear. "I know," you whisper before pulling back, your eyes locked onto his.  

"I've always known."

a/n: lmaoo poor dick

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[kamaluhkhan]

HER CANINE TEETH IN THE SIDE OF MY NECK

pairing: werewolf!vi x vampire slayer!reader word count: 11.1 k summary: she's a monster, and you're essentially a monster hunter. it shouldn't work, but it does. (or — you and vi decide to escape the narrative together) warnings: ooh various mentions of fighting + blood + injuries ranging from mild to life-threatening; reader and vi both smoke + consume alcohol; rough sex (fingering [vi receiving], oral [reader receiving], tribbing, biting, spitting ++ aftercare); 18+ ! vibes are basically buffy the vampire slayer with chaotic lesbians loving each other so much it consumes them both a/n: i think i've been watching too much buffy and fantasizing about werewolf!vi for like,, too long,, and this unholy mess is the result. this has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for a WHILE but tonight is the wolf moon so it felt right to post now, i really hope y'all enjoy 🖤 i'll include credit for each subtitle in the tags too <33

♪: "bullet with butterfly wings" by the smashing pumpkins; "dig me out" by sleater-kinney; "taste my despair" by lesbian bed death; "i wanna be your dog" by joan jett; "fantastic" by king princess

i. sorry about the blood in your mouth

vi wakes up with a terrible motherfucking headache, which isn’t anything new. 

she doesn’t know where she is — that isn’t particularly something new, either — but what is new is the tongue slobbering all over her face. when she opens her eyes, vi sees a 50-pound black dog standing over her.

“whoa!” vi sits up abruptly, but the dog only gets more excited and jumps up on the couch, caging her in.

“sorry. she usually isn’t so enthusiastic about company.”

the voice is coming from the other side of the room, where you’re sitting on the edge of the mattress closest to the window. there’s a cigarette in your hand, and each time you exhale, you point your chin accordingly so the smoke travels outside. a crisp breeze trickles in. 

“morning, killer.”

vi swallows the heart that has jumped into her throat, takes a deep breath to steady her breathing. fuck, she literally just moved here and might already need to leave. she tries to remember if something bad happened last night. 

it wasn’t the full moon, was it? no, that shouldn’t be for another few weeks. but then why are you calling her a —

“killer?” she asks, swallowing the lump in her throat.

she stares at you, eyes trailing your injured jawline as she waits for you to respond. you do look vaguely, achingly familiar. whatever happened last night, you were probably part of it. 

“well, you’ve got a killer right hook,” you quip. you snuff out your cigarette and twist around to fully face vi. “and i’m pretty sure you killed my reputation as a pit fighting champion. i was undefeated before you.” 

fresh blood emerges from your split lip as you speak, and you’re quick to swipe it away with your tongue. 

oh. right. 

your tank top is torn at the bottom, just cropped enough that vi can see the imprint of her fist on your lower ribs. she now remembers the feeling of yours on the side of her face, and has a bloody, crusted eyebrow, painfully tender cheekbone, and the outline of your ring seared onto her skin forever to prove it. 

what kind of pitfighter wears pure silver?

vi takes note of her surroundings to get a better sense of who she’s up against: the place is small, dingy, but has a good amount of light. you’ve got a broken mirror, old books stacked in the corner, and an open cupboard filled with clothing and various weapons, mostly daggers and some wooden stakes. an intricate glass cross dangles from the centre of the window, filtering through multicolored light. there are a bunch of dried plants next to a mortar and pestle on the sill below — nightshade, juniper, wolfsbane. on the tiny kitchen counter is a silver vase filled with more wilted flowers. 

even from far away, vi can hear your heartbeat — strong, steady — as you shuffle around and gather some things. she inhales your scent. she remembers that she was slightly taken aback, in the pit when she had you pinned to the mat, that under the musk of sweat and metallic tang of blood, vi sensed something else, something delicate and floral. 

your whole apartment smells overwhelmingly of dried roses and decaying fruit, too, sweet and earthy.

“did you bring me here for round two?”

“no.” you let out a short, breathy laugh. “i brought you here so that some creep wouldn’t take advantage of you. you were pretty out of it.”  

“so you’re — what an enforcer?”

“no fucking way,” you declare, and vi can practically feel rage coursing through you, your heart pumping with reignited vigor. “like an enforcer would care enough to actually help the undercity,” you grumble. 

you shake your head and sit down at the edge of the couch, shooing your dog away so you can drop first aid supplies in her place. she settles on the floor at your feet. 

you offer vi a somewhat bruised apple. when she hesitates, you push it into her hand.

“this isn’t a fairytale,” you say, hands busy soaking a cloth in some alcohol. “i’m not trying to poison you,” you add as if reading her mind.  

“there…there are some good enforcers, though,” vi tries, trained to have such platitudes at the ready.  

you roll your eyes. “if there are, i haven’t met them.” 

vi’s not sure she believes what she had said, either. she feels her side ache, a phantom bruise from when caitlyn slammed her rifle into the very injury she had once helped heal. 

what started as you’re not like the rest of those animals. you’re one of the good ones. became you’re all the same. it’s their blood in your veins. as soon as things went downhill. 

vi bites her lip to prevent herself from wincing, and it isn’t because you’ve pressed an alcohol-soaked cloth to the cut on her nose. her sharp nails break through the skin of the apple, digging into its soft flesh until juice is running down her wrist.

“eat,” you insist, but you’re focused on removing as much dirt and dried blood from her face as you can, brows furrowed in concentration. “you ruined my reputation, so you better keep up your strength if you wanna keep yours.”

“so, you’re helping the enemy,” vi, still wary of you, wonders.

your frown softens. you place a bandage on the bridge of her nose before saying: 

“you’re not my enemy.” 

maybe it was the sincerity of your words, or the unconditional care you’re showing her, or the fact that it’s been so long since someone has touched vi so tenderly, but she decides in that moment to trust you, whoever you are. 

she takes a bite of the apple, the sweetness invading her mouth, as you lean over to search for something else in the first aid kit, mumbling to yourself about how the wound is deeper than you thought. 

“you should really be more careful,” you chide. “are you a topsider?”

vi scoffs through a mouthful of fruit. “i’m from the lanes.” 

“yeah, well this neighborhood is a different level of bad,” you tell her.

“i can hold my own — ouch.”

you start stitching up the cut on her eyebrow, one hand keeping her head steady. her cheek pulses against you as she chews, your skin calming and cool. 

“when you’re sober, maybe.”

“you didn’t have to help me,” vi grunts. “most people would’ve gone about their business.”

“i was going about my business. i was out on patrol; vampires never sleep, you know.” 

you say it so casually, almost too casually, that vi wonders if she misheard you.

“vampires?”

you raise an eyebrow at vi. “there’s a high concentration of them around here, near the hellmouth. a lot of monsters, actually —”

vi hopes you don’t notice how she shudders at the word monsters.

“ — some of whom can and will eat you alive if they get the chance,” you deadpan. “that’s kinda what i’m here for.”

“so….what are you, exactly?”

you don’t say anything for a few seconds, your expression unreadable while you finish vi’s stitches, but your heart thumps so forcefully against your ribcage, vi almost thinks she’s seconds away from hearing the bones there crack. you start gnawing at your bottom lip, let the blood gather until it starts to trickle down towards your chin. vi swipes it away with her thumb, which she then wipes against her bandaged palm. 

you inhale slowly, then exhale. your heart rate eases; still a bit higher than most people’s, but to what seems to be normal for you. 

“the correct term is slayer,” you finally say, watching vi carefully for her reaction. 

vi isn’t quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound good for someone like her. she’s wondering if she should make a run for it when you drop your voice an octave or two and add: 

“the chosen one standing against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness.” you clear your throat. “if you were wondering.” you break out into a cheeky grin, teeth sparkling in the late morning sun.

“you’re joking?”

“most days, i wish i was. that’s the official tagline, actually.” your smile shrinks into a sigh. “i’m the slayer. i won’t bore you with all the details, but me saving you last night? that’s kinda just what i do. my destiny, so to speak.”

“do you normally take the people you save home?”

you blink away, wipe your hands half-heartedly on the white tank top you’re wearing, smearing vi’s mess of crimson and grime.

“no,” you admit. 

vi narrows her eyes at you, shifts her body so there’s at least more space between you before she figures out what the hell to do. it’s possible that you’re lying but —

vi puffs out her chest. “why are you being so nice to me?” 

you already have her blood on your body, and vice versa, and not just because you’d been fighting each other. it’s not quite trust, but it feels like something close. something you’re willing to share without even knowing much about the other. 

an unspoken question: do you know what i really am? 

because if you did, vi’s sure you wouldn’t be so….friendly towards her. so gentle.

“honestly?” you gesture towards the dog who’s busy nuzzling into vi’s leg. “fangs kinda hates everyone but she seems to like you.”

her jaw drops. “you decided to be my guardian angel because your dog likes me?”

“i already had a good feeling about you before.” you shrug. “i took it as a good omen, i guess.” 

“i’m not sure you should,” vi advises. 

you’re looking out for her, so she should look out for you. it’s better, for everyone, that vi be left alone. 

she’s been good, had to learn how to be, in order to survive; that doesn’t mean she’s innocent. 

on the bad days, she can’t control her anger. on the worst days, she can’t contain her hunger.

“okay, well, maybe i’ve got a thing for strays,” you reach your hand down, run it through fangs’ thick black fur. your lips curl upwards as you look at vi, all bright-eyed and beautiful, sunlight itself emanating from your smile. 

something sparks in her chest that she thought would never light again. something that, like her, could be dangerous if it’s not controlled. 

vi decides it’s probably about time that she left, though it's difficult to tear herself from your warmth.

“so, will i see you in the pit again?” she still can’t help but ask as you accompany her to the door.

“probably, yeah.” you lean against the doorframe, and vi is about to turn the knob when you add: “but, that pub you passed outside of? the bronze? maybe we can, uh, get a drink there, afterwards sometime.”

your heart skips a beat or two as you anxiously wait for vi to say something. her entire body heats up when she realizes what’s going on.

you were….asking her out. 

the good thing is that then there’s no way you actually know what vi is because, well, would this even be allowed in your line of work?

“you promise you’re not just playing the long game? gaining my trust and then stabbing me in the back?”

you give her a playful but sincere smile and make a small ‘x’ on the left side of your upper chest. “cross my heart.”

“guess i’ll will call you my guardian angel,” she muses, her chest glowing. “i’m vi, by the way.” 

you grin, then formally introduce yourself. you reach out your hand. vi holds it, delicately, even though your grip is firm.

“one more thing, though — keep the whole me being the slayer thing under wraps? it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“why’d you tell me, then?” vi wonders, raising an eyebrow. 

you tilt your head, examining her. “like i said — i had a good feeling about you. slayers are meant to have good instincts, so i decided to trust mine.” 

vi takes a deep breath, removes her hand from yours, and glances at you once more with a small smile. she promises not to tell a soul. 

(she, of all people, knows that there are far worse secrets to keep.)  

“thank you,” vi adds. “for saving me.”

she hears fangs scratching at the door from inside the apartment after she’s gone, along with the deep rumble of your voice telling fangs not to worry, our new friend will visit again soon, like you’re so sure vi will be back. 

with the way you already have her sharp edges softening, her heart fluttering in her chest, vi probably will be. 

except —

vi’s not quite human, hasn’t been since she started bleeding between her legs at 13, since her mother told her that this was a blessing passed down to eldest daughters in their family, no matter how many people will try to convince her it’s a curse. 

it would be a few months later that her mother would be killed because of said blessing. 

really, it’s more nightmare. 

because vi knows what it’s like to pick ripped flesh from between her teeth, to have the metallic sweetness of blood linger on her tongue and throat-tearing screams ringing in her ears. 

meanwhile, you — with your good instincts, strong fists and stronger heart  —

it’s your destiny to end those nightmares. 

you’re the thing that monsters like her are supposed to have nightmares about.

ii. you’re an angel / i’m a dog

there’s an intimacy to knowing how someone fights. 

vi fights with bared teeth and burning rage, knuckles cracking against bone, elbows bruising skin without any remorse. her own wounds are half-hazardly hidden behind layers of gauze, her chest wrapped tightly to keep her heart from bleeding out. she doesn’t bother to clean the dirt underneath her nails, to wipe the blood from her upper lip after an opponent breaks her nose, to wash her face clean before smearing on more dark paint until all she sees in the mirror is a shadow of her former self. 

you, on the other hand: you’re precise and quick in how you defeat your opponents, maybe even a bit bored. vi figures that when you fight monsters for a living, it must be fairly dull, knocking out some guy with a single, well placed uppercut, even if he is twice your size. your bandages are always fresh, and you always make vi a little dizzy when she catches a whiff of rose. you walk past her with a playful grin, easily replaced by the glint of your razor-sharp canines as you defeat another opponent in the arena. she listens as your heartbeat barely increases a beat, despite the inevitable adrenaline of battle. 

you might not be as feral as her, but vi thinks you’re just as dangerous. she likes it, admires that your violence is always calculated rather than all-consuming. 

she does wonder if you’d ever let anything consume you, curious to know what’s hiding under your armor.

so, a few days after she first woke up in your apartment, vi builds up the courage to suggest: 

"whoever wins the most fights tonight picks up the tab for the bar." 

your face brightens the dim, dirty sidelines of the pit as you’re both waiting for your turn, when you answer:

"you're on, killer." 

later that night, both of your bodies are aching as vi tries to examine your injuries once you’re both done for the day, away from the roar of the crowd. 

"guess i'll be picking up the tab," you smile, your lip splitting open even more, just like the morning after her knuckles first kissed your skin. 

(she wants to kiss this wound closed, too, press her lips to your bloody ones, if you’d be willing to give her a taste.)

"i'll still take care of it, angel,” vi soothes. she rummages around the tiny locker room, a single light bulb flickering above you. finally, she finds a small first aid kit — poorly stocked, but good enough for now. “lemme take care of you first."

you must understand what vi’s implying, because your heart starts racing faster. 

it’s a routine that becomes vi’s guiding light — the two of you patching each other up after a rough day (and, regardless of the fact that you’re both strong, it’s always a rough day). you share a drink at the bronze, and then you’re off slaying vampires or whatever other nightmares will keep you awake and fighting every night. 

then, it’s another full moon, and the routine changes. 

she’s able to prevent herself from turning even in the worst of circumstances, but she doesn’t want to risk any accidents, knowing that you’re out there on the prowl. vi is confident that you’d never hurt, let alone kill her, but that’s counting on you being able to recognize her. 

vi locks herself in the basement of the bronze. spike, the bartender, let her crash in a storage closet, temporarily, no questions asked and a promise to keep it a secret.

she emerges from her isolation after three days, eyes stinging from the harsh morning sun. her first instinct is to head underground, search for you. she makes one stop beforehand, drops something off in the locker room before she’s ushered into the arena without any more preamble. 

the show must go on, and you’re already center stage. 

the lanky woman you must’ve just knocked unconscious is being dragged away. you spit out what looks like a combination of blood and saliva, and crack your neck before resuming a fighting stance, feet squared, bruised knuckles at the ready. 

you falter when you see that it’s vi who’s your next opponent. vi picks up the increased pace of your heart, the muscle worrying against your chest.  

you’ve had this conversation, though — about what would happen if you were ever up against each other again in the ring — and you both agreed: once the bell rings, the fight starts, because you both need the money to survive. 

nothing personal. winner buys two rounds of drinks at the bronze. three, if there were some nasty hits involved.

you hadn’t needed to worry about any of that until now.

the bell rings, and vi waits for you to make the first move, like you tend to do.

but, you don’t.

the first time you were up against each other, vi dodged your attack and delivered a jab hard enough to make you bleed. you had looked at her with wide eyes, fingers touching your bottom lip and becoming stained with red as the crowd roared. you adjusted your posture with a newfound interest, and a glimmer of what vi can only describe as hunger.

this time, you drop your stance like you’ve already lost the fight. you ignore the shouts and groans from the crowd as you walk away.

….

vi finds you in the locker room — and you’re not alone. 

“there a problem here?” vi asks, glaring at the guy you seem to be arguing with. 

“it’s fine,” you answer coolly. still, vi sits on the bench nearest to the door, waits for you like a patient dog. 

“fine?” the guy barks a laugh. he’s wearing topside clothes. an enforcer, no less. “you made me look like a fool.”

you scoff. “i doubt that’s hard to do.”

the guy suddenly reaches forward and snatches your arm. vi feels rage surge through her when his nails indent your skin. you must sense it, because your eyes lock with hers in a silent command not to do anything, not just yet.

“i don’t think you understand, bitch,” he seethes, face a pissed off shade of red. “i’m out more money than you’ll ever see in your entire pathetic life.” 

“i’m sure you’ll manage.”

vi follows your gaze as it drops to his belt. he’s got his badge, a standard issue pistol, and a pouch full of gold coins. 

“clearly i bet on the wrong fucking dog.” 

you force a smile. “better luck next time, officer.” 

you finally rip your arm out of his grip, push him away abruptly, effectively manoeuvring him to stumble between where you’re standing, and vi’s waiting. you gesture towards vi with a smirk, a taunting dare for this enforcer to challenge two of the undercity’s best fighters. 

vi gets up just as he’s walking out, grumbling an incoherent string of swears. she not-so-subtly knocks into his shoulder and hip, her nimble fingers still quick.

“guess we can get dinner with our drinks, now,” she quips with a toothy grin. vi tosses you the pouch, but you don’t seem too thrilled, even as you catch it effortlessly. 

“you can’t just disappear like that, vi.” your voice sharp, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“i didn’t mean to,” vi lies, walking over to open your shared locker. she pulls out a bouquet of roses, the same deep red as dried blood. 

vi pouts, gives you her best puppy dog eyes. “i’m sorry, angel.” 

the only reaction she gages from you is a quickening heartbeat at the nickname, your face still hard to crack marble. 

“this is serious, vi.” 

“i know! but —”

“do you know what’s out there? i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful,” you rush, walking over to her and talking with your hands. “i looked everywhere for you, and….and you just left without saying anything. i thought…i thought you’d been killed —”

your blood roars in vi’s ears, your pulse close to out of control, and vi doesn’t know what else to do except bring you into her arms in an attempt to calm you down.

“i’m okay, angel. i’m here. i’m right here,” vi mumbles against your shoulder, inhaling sweat and roses.

your heart starts beating steady against her own as you exhale.

“i was safe, i promise. i was in the supply close at the bronze.”

“are you kidding?” you guffaw, unravelling yourself from vi’s body. “that basement is a hellhole.”

vi shrugs. “it does the trick.”

you chuckle dryly, shaking your head.

“well, i guess now that i lost one of my best sponsors, fangs and i might have to move in there with you,” you deadpan.

you reach around vi to pull a jacket from the locker, slipping on worn leather that vi realizes is hers. you take the flowers from her with a small thank you, and vi adjusts the collar of her jacket on you, her warm fingers subtly grazing your pulsepoint. vi can’t help the possessiveness that sparks in her abdomen: you, wearing her clothes; you, heart beating rapidly for her. 

“well…what if….i moved in with you?” deep down, she knows it’s not an ideal situation, but vi reasons: “we can pool our money together for rent. besides, what’s another stray in your home?” 

you bite your bottom lip as you mull over the offer.

“well, you did buy me flowers, ask me out to dinner….seems like the logical next step.”

“so….” 

vi wiggles her eyebrows at you, and you finally crack a smile. 

it was only been three days apart and vi already felt deprived of the sunlight of your smile. 

“okay, killer. as long as you don’t make a habit of disappearing on me.”

….

on paper, there might be reasons why you and vi, together, shouldn’t work, but the simple truth is that you do.

you still spend your afternoons engulfed in the darkness of the underground arena, patch each other up at the end of the day, share drinks at the bronze before parting ways.

now, in the mornings, you spend a few hours training together, moving furniture around so there’s enough space to spar. you try not to get distracted by how hot her skin is every time it brushes against yours, how solid her thigh is between your legs when she’s adjusting your stance, how a shattered moan emerges from her lips as you pin her to the floor after showing her a new technique to catch an opponent off-guard.

the nights are your favourite, though. like fangs, vi is able to fall asleep anywhere in the apartment, and is usually passed out by the time you’re off the clock from slayer duty. after the first few nights, you insist that vi sleep on the bed, and she begrudgingly agrees. now, you get home just before dawn, bone-tired, to find her belly up, drooling and snoring on top of the dilapidated mattress. the moonlight illuminates all the curves and shadows of her sculpted body, her skin shimmering with sweat because her body runs warm, even on the coldest nights. you can see the trail of pink hair disappear beneath her black underwear, while her dyed-black hair is a tangled mess you’re tempted to tug at, curious to see if she’d moan again for you. vi sleeps shirtless, nipples winking at you like two fallen stars with those titanium rods pierced through. 

gods, you try not to drool when you slip under the covers and fall asleep dreaming of her, all the places you would sink your teeth into, all the places you wish she would do the same. 

(meanwhile, vi tries to ignore the sound of your whimpers, the quick tempo of your heartbeat, and the overwhelming musk of desire between your legs as you sleep next to her, because she’s so sure that you would never dream of her.)

these fantasies of vi, all her warmth, all her chaos, gnaw at you from the inside out. it’s an overwhelming sense of hunger, but with vi, you also feel something else, something gentler and more fragile building between you.

it’s really the little things. 

like, vi brings you fresh roses every week, and even though you keep telling her to save her winnings for better things, she tells you that pretty girls like you are worth it, angel. they should teach you that in slayer school. 

she winks, makes you flustered, then has the audacity to blush when you leave her the ripest apples because you know that she likes them a bit sweeter. 

sometimes you open the window as you share a cigarette, exhaling smoke into the starlit twilight as you exchange stories about your pasts, about the people you’ve loved and lost. she’s the first person you confide in about how weighed down you feel by the responsibility of being the slayer, a burden that’s cost you many loved ones, and the uncertainty of whether what you’re destined to do is truly what is good for the world. she tells you about her time in prison, the lonely nights lamenting the death of her father and brothers, but keeping her strength because she hoped to one day make it back to a sister she just ended up losing, anyways. 

other times, the two of you play a game. you imagine that you’re elsewhere, that there are no such things as monsters, no reason to have to battle and bruise yourselves just to survive. instead, you have a life and a family and a home together, filled with luxurious parties, decadent dinner tables, and endless sunny days. 

you comfort her and she comforts you through the dark, morbid world you both have been fighting against, alone, for so long.

it works. it works really well. 

except — you’ve been the slayer long enough to know that nothing this good will last. it's nauseating — dangerous, even — this desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut, twisting and taunting you with what can never be.

you’re just waiting for the next nightmare to reveal itself.

….

vi’s hair has started to fade back to pink, so she asks you to re-dye it.

it’s easy to forget that she sits in a rickety chair in your decrepit but well-loved apartment because all she can think about is your body behind hers, solid and steady. your cool fingers work the dye through her hair, your nails scrape against her scalp, and you’re humming as fangs snores peacefully at her feet. she’s died and gone to heaven, pure bliss glowing in her chest and releasing through her throat as a deep rumble. 

she closes her eyes and indulges in a little daydreaming:

just you and your sunburst smile and your soft, rose-petal skin.

there’s a firm knock that rustles vi out of her reverie, and you tell her to go rinse out her hair while you answer it.

she can hear you talking with someone through the rush of hot water. she tries not to eavesdrop, but…it’s difficult, especially once she hears:

“it’ll be fine. silver bullets usually do the trick,” you say, without much enthusiasm. vi bites back her hurt, keeps rinsing her hair, waiting for the water to run clear instead of sludge gray. 

you’re not talking about her. 

“i’m not sure you understand the severity of the situation,” a voice with a thick british accent replies. “i’ve been on the council for fifty years — five times longer than you’ve been the slayer — and i’ve never seen something quite this vicious.”

“my guess is you don’t get out in the field much,” you quip. 

whoever you’re talking to clearly is not amused, ignoring your backhanded comment and instead offering the details of what has been witnessed in the past few days. it’s so gruesome and gory that vi herself is shivering as she turns off the shower, towels off, and gets dressed. 

when vi opens the door, she almost trips over fangs, who’d fallen asleep just outside. she gets up immediately as vi steps out, her tail wagging. the owner of the stern voice — a man wearing a very pristine looking tweed suit — is handing you a crossbow, a bunch of silver-tipped arrows already splayed on the table. you notice vi first as your grip on the weapon tightens, and the man’s gaze follows.

“you know there’s a rule about slayers keeping….pets,” the man says, turning his nose up at vi and fangs from where they’re still standing at the doorway of the bathroom. 

you glance back at the pair, jaw clenched, and then focus back on your unwanted guest. 

“mr. travers, thank you for the heads up, but i believe it’s time for you to leave,” you clip, dropping the crossbow on the table. 

“actually, i believe that we have much more to discuss, namely how you’ve allowed this mutt into your home —”

“get the fuck out of our apartment,” you practically growl. you walk towards him menacingly until his back is millimeters away from the door. “you of all people know what i can do.”

“you will be punished for this…this transgression,” travers warns, but there’s an unmistakable tremble in his voice. 

you laugh in a way vi can barely recognize, sharp and bitter. 

“fine. i’m no stranger to dealing with the council’s bullshit.” you open the door, flash an exaggerated, sickly sweet smile. “have a nice day.”

“i hope this animal is worth it,” travers huffs. 

“she’s worth it,” you reply without hesitation before you slam the door on his ass, so hard that the walls shake, the vase in the kitchen toppling over and cracking on the counter. 

vi’s seen you fight in the pit — hell, she’s been on the receiving end of some of your wicked moves — but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen you this angry. 

your chest is heaving as you pace back and forth. 

“so that sounds….bad,” vi remarks, heading over to the kitchen counter to gather the broken shards of pottery.

you freeze. “how much did you hear?” 

vi just shrugs. “just that there’s something bad out there —”

“don’t worry about it,” you say with a forced smile. you walk over and push some damp hair away from vi’s eyes. “let’s take fangs for a walk before we leave, yeah? while it’s still light out.” 

there are whispers throughout the next few days leading up to the full moon. the crowd at the arena starts to thin, most topsiders too scared to journey underground with rumors of a bloodthirsty monster on the loose. 

you’re not sleeping anymore, still fighting during the day to a half-empty arena, out on patrol at night, your rosy scent fading from the bedsheets with each passing night. even if you get home before dawn, you spend your time scouring through books and scribbling into your notebook, mumbling to yourself theories about where and how you can stop this thing. vi tries to get you to take a break, or at least eat instead of burning through shimmer-laced cigarettes to keep yourself awake.

the best vi can do is convince you to sit down on the couch with her and share a snack. you settle for doing some research, flip through yellowed pages as you take a bite of an apple, juice dripping down your chin. 

vi reaches her finger out, puts it in her mouth to suck off the juice, moaning around the salty-sweet taste of your skin. you let out a pleased hum, turning your attention back to your research, but angling your body to invite her closer. vi nuzzles into your side, puts her head on your lap, twitches in pleasure as you reach down to scratch behind her ear. 

she looks up at you, and you finally give her a real smile — the first ray of sun after a pitch dark night.

a slice of paradise vi was certain she’d never find.

….

the night of the full moon is when all hell breaks loose. 

vi tries — she begs you not to go out there, sensing that tonight, of all nights, it will be at its strongest. but you, too headstrong and too righteous for your own good, just won’t listen. 

“this thing has killed eleven people in less than a week. i don’t care what phase of the moon it is — i’m ending this, tonight.” 

“why does it have to be you? that thing is stronger than anything you’ve ever fought!” 

“which is why i’ve been preparing,” you snap.

“can’t you – can’t you just call the fucking council, or something, tell them to deal with it?” 

fangs is right there with vi, scrambling and whining as you’re meticulously arming yourself with as many weapons you can carry.

you scoff, notching a few silver blades to your belt. “it’s not their responsibility, it’s mine. where the fuck — i can’t go out only in this tank top, it’s fucking freezing — ”

vi swallows the lump in her throat.

“you’re gonna die if you go out there alone.”

“yeah, well, i’ve accepted my fate a long time ago,” you say stoically. 

you’re fairly well supplied at this point; if vi was the monster you were hunting, she’d be running scared from a glance alone. you’re only half paying attention to vi’s pleas, and sigh in relief when you find what you’d been looking for. 

“please, angel, don’t —”

“i was literally born for this, violet. if i don’t go out and stop this thing from killing more people, then my life is worth nothing.” 

“you make me happy!” she shouts desperately, forcing you to pause as you slip on her jacket. “that’s worth something, isn’t it?”

a tense silence follows. 

you freeze for a few moments, avoiding vi’s gaze. then, you walk over to the cabinet, grabbing something so quickly vi can’t pinpoint what it is and stuffing it in your back pocket. you clench and unclench your left fist, a tick of yours that vi recognizes from the arena. 

you’re planning your next move. 

in a daze, you pick up the crossbow, but you hesitate once more —

“fuck,” you exhale before letting the weapon clatter to the ground and rushing over to crash your lips against vi’s. 

you’re kissing and kissing, teeth and tongue and a pleasure so guilty, vi’s sure she’ll be damned for all eternity. vi’s lungs are burning when she pulls away first.

“wait. you should know that i’m —”

“i still have to go,” you interrupt, voice determined and sharp, cutting right through to vi’s heart.

there’s a fear curling up her throat as you watch her, your eyes the darkest she’s ever seen them. 

“then let me – i mean, i can help —”

you kiss her again. you taste so heavenly, better than she ever dreamed of, that vi doesn’t even care that it’s probably just to shut her up. 

she almost doesn’t notice that you’ve cornered her between the kitchen counter and the front door, until she hears a distinct click, feels something heavy and burning against her wrists. 

you pull away first this time, eyes glazed over as you back away to make space between you and what you’ve done:

vi, handcuffed to the exposed heating pipe. the cuffs are stronger than any vi has ever been bound by. must be made of real silver. the metal sears into her skin, down to the bone, as she struggles against them, screaming to the point of howling, watching as you pick up the crossbow and a handful of silver tipped arrows as a final hail mary.

“no!” she cries. the pipe you’d cuffed her to rattles, but it doesn’t give. “please, please don’t —”

“i’m…i’m really sorry,” you mumble, quickly wiping away a tear. vi flinches when you try to touch her cheek; she bares her teeth at you like a rabid beast, but you don’t give her the courtesy of a reaction.  

“why are you doing this?” she growls.

“because….you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

you take a deep breath. you look at fangs, affectionately pat her head as she bows her head and whines, tail between her legs. “bring her the key once it’s morning,” you instruct. your eyes slide over to vi’s, for what she fears might be the last time. “take care of each other.”

with that, you’re out the door.

vi isn’t sure how much time passes. her wrists sting, her muscles ache, but still, she keeps going. she doesn’t care how, but she’s not letting you die tonight. 

a sliver of moonlight shines through the window. something claws at her ribcage. 

you’re not dying tonight. 

and vi’s been hungry for too long.

iii. all my devotion turns violent

the streets are empty, deserted due to fear and damp from the cold evening rain.

you search through the shadows, around every corner, play with one of your daggers just to pass the time, the blade weaving between your expert fingers.

all you can really think about, though, is vi, and how scared she was to lose you, and how terribly you must have hurt her — 

fuck. 

you accidentally sliced through your palm, your blood emerging as thick, black tar in the darkness. you sigh and kneel down in the alleyway, dropping your heaviest weapon so you can use your uninjured hand to wrap the other. 

something pounces on you before you can stop the bleeding. the crossbow — the weapon that was supposed to deliver a fatal blow — is now out of reach. 

you jab one of your silver blades into the creature’s side; he howls, but you manage to kick him away long enough to get to your feet, get a better sense of what you’re fighting. you’ve never seen anything like it before: a hulking mass roughly five times your size, wolf-like features, and chemical machinery woven throughout his body, a neon green liquid pumping through glass tubes. 

the beast growls at you, lunges forward once again; you jump out of his path, roll away so run, fast, and grab the crossbow. you quickly notch a silver tipped arrow, aim at his heart; you hold your breath and fire without hesitation. then another, and another, just to be safe.  

your stomach turns as you watch the creature remove the arrows as if they were nothing but splinters. he lets out a roar that shakes the earth. you’ve made him angrier.

you drop the crossbow, deciding instead to propel yourself off the wall, leap onto the beast’s shoulders and stab the glass tubes with all the force you can muster. green liquid gushes out, and the beast howls in pain, but doesn’t give up. with sharp claws, he throws you to the ground, and you shriek as he tears through the skin of your ribs. 

you’re very suddenly dizzy, bleeding out on the cobblestones, yet continue to struggle with whatever strength still courses through your veins. the beast looms over you, foaming at the mouth, and your vision is getting fuzzier by the second.

that’s when you see a flash of dark fur, almost fuschia in the moonlight, jump in front of you, knock the beast out of the way, tumble to the side. you glance at the creature that saved you — a wolf with a fierce set of teeth and beautiful powder blue eyes — before you fall unconscious. 

iv. stitch me up (touch me inside and out)

vi barely registers that the temperature in the apartment is dropping.

she doesn’t regret how she had to rip the heating pipe from the wall — there are nasty burns, still untreated, stinging her wrists where the silver cuffs had restrained her. 

she doesn’t regret transforming from human to something wild, unrestrained, in order to save you from something much worse. 

she’s still burning off adrenaline, her nervous system on high alert. it’s been a while, and she’d forgotten how exhilarating it can be.

it all happened so fast. there was something oddly familiar about the beast; he seemed to recognize vi, too. that’s the only explanation — for all the ruthless, bloody stories she’d heard, why else would he have let vi take you away and just disappear into the night without so much as a growl? 

vi doesn’t have the energy to answer such questions. all she cares about is you. she can’t get over the overwhelming scent of your blood, already spilling out onto the street when she showed up. she almost lost control, blinded by rage and a desire to kill the beast — but you were there, on the brink of death, and she just wanted you to be safe, wanted to bring you home.

she just hopes she wasn’t too late. 

vi hyper-focuses on your labored, disjointed breaths from where she tucked you in. she tried her best to stop the bleeding and dress your wounds with combinations of herbs and flowers she frantically read about in one of your books, desperate to keep you alive. 

you’ve lost blood. a lot of blood. 

vi wants nothing more than to curl up on the bed next to you, but after you saw her last night, once you realize that she’s no different than the savage beast you were so determined to kill, she’s not sure you’d want her near you. 

she’ll just stay long enough to know that you’ll wake up, and then she’ll be out of your life forever. 

dawn breaks. the sun shines through cracked, frost covered windows, and your eyes remain shut.

your heart’s still pumping blood, which is a good sign, but otherwise….

day bleeds into night, and you’re still out cold. vi manages to drip some water between your parted lips, and watches with relief as your throat reacts accordingly. you let out a gentle sigh, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly. 

“please wake up,” vi whispers. 

fangs jumps onto the bed and whimpers, nudging her nose against your arm so that she’s snuggled underneath. vi drapes a blanket over the pair of you.

another sleepless night passes.

at first light, vi changes your bandages. she struggles a bit, given her injured wrists, but she’s pleased to find you healing from what might have been a fatal injury to most humans. she tries to feed fangs, but the dog refuses. 

fair enough — vi can’t bring herself to eat, either. 

instead, to pass the time, vi glues together shards from the broken vase and places it back on the kitchen counter. there are no more fresh roses; vi decides she’ll bring you some as a parting gift once you’ve woken up. 

you’re shivering by the time darkness starts to creep in. vi piles as many blankets as she can on you and fangs, but it’s not enough. vi accepts what she had been reluctant to do: she slips into bed next to you, uses her body to keep you warm, arms wrapped around you protectively.

vi doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up late the next afternoon, to cold rumpled sheets and an even colder empty apartment. 

you must have a knack for perfect timing, because just as vi’s about to start spiralling, the front door swings open and it’s you — cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, holding a brown paper bag with one arm while your other hand grasps the key. fangs rushes through the door, too, tail wagging as she zooms around the apartment, bounces on the furniture and lets out excited little yaps.

“morning, killer.” you smile like you hadn’t been knocking on death’s door since a few nights before. “i would have waited, but you were pretty knocked out and fangs had a ton of energy to burn. clearly she still does,” you chuckle, sending a warm, fuzzy feeling through vi’s body. “i got us some food, too, and i’ll contact the landlord to fix our — whoa!”

the bag drops to your feet as vi pounces on you, engulfing your body in her arms and squeezing tightly. your heartbeat is as strong as ever, steadies her own frantic pulse. 

“s-sorry.” she pulls away and takes a step back. “i shouldn’t have —”

you just shake your head and press a finger to her lips to quiet her.

“i’m sorry,” you say. “i shouldn’t have — i shouldn’t have treated you like that; shouldn’t have used who you are as a weapon against you. you saved me, vi.” you take a shuddery breath. you place a gentle hand on her cheek. “thank you.”

it takes vi a minute to process what you’ve said. 

you thanked her for saving you. 

you apologized for using who she is as a weapon. 

what did you mean by that? 

unless —

i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful.

she’s worth it. 

you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. 

“you….knew,” vi realizes, and even as she says it, she can’t quite believe it. “how….how long?”

“from the first time i landed a punch on your handsome face.” smiling softly, you run your thumb over the faded burn on her cheek, the one mirroring her tattoo, the one left by your silver ring. 

“are you serious?”

“well, fine, i didn’t know what you were, not exactly, until later. i just had a pretty good feeling that you weren’t human; you had a pulse, so you couldn’t be a vampire, which meant —” 

“you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you?”

you shrug. “you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you.” while vi continues to stare at you in disbelief, you bend down to pick up the fallen items. vi crouches down with you.

“that’s different,” she reasons, handing you a soft red apple, your cold fingers brushing over her warm skin momentarily. 

“i don’t think so. not all monsters are evil and not all humans are good. i saved you from a human that night, remember?” 

“b-but you’re you and i-i’m me.” vi scrambles to find the right words. she’s still shocked at how calm you are. is it really as simple as you make it seem? “you weren’t….scared that i’d hurt you, because that’s who i am?”

you get up and place the bag of groceries in the kitchen, lean against the counter as you stare back at vi. instead of answering, you challenge her once again:

“were you scared that i’d hurt you?”

vi blinks at you. “never.”

“there’s your answer,” you declare, giving her that razor-sharp grin you flash whenever you win a fight.

fangs has calmed down, and she’s asleep on the living room couch, her snores the only sound between you as vi processes everything that’s been said. 

she feels like her entire world has flipped upside down.

this whole time…..

it went terribly when she last told someone the truth, at least anyone outside her family, and even they would sometimes walk on eggshells around her, like they were worried she might snap. 

but you….you’ve sparred and you’ve bickered and you never even flinched once. 

you welcomed her into your home, into your life. 

you kissed her. 

this whole time.

“i was scared you wouldn’t love me, if you knew,” vi admits, a whisper so soft that she’s almost sure that you didn’t hear. 

except you falter then, your confident posture melting at her confession. your lips part in a soft exhale. 

“well, it’s like you said; i knew this whole time, and i still….” you swallow the rest of your sentence, but you’re looking at vi with so much adoration that it’s overwhelming. “i still want you.”

her brain short circuits, and all vi can think to do is kiss you.

it starts sweet, your lips rose-petal soft. her lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure. you run your fingers through vi’s hair, swallow her moans. she’s dizzy with anticipation, imagining how you might do the same when she’s between your legs later. you kiss the scar on her upper lip, gently like you’re hoping to heal the permanent wound. then, your tongue laves over the cut on vi’s bottom lip, soothes her, pushes into her mouth again so you’re both tasting copper. 

but then, you bite down, and a desire buried deep within vi is unleashed: the desire to cut herself open for you so you can love each and every part of her. even deeper down, vi hopes that you’d want the same.

vi brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into her mouth even more. she lodges her thigh between your legs and shoves her tongue into your mouth when you gasp. one of your hands slips underneath her shirt to trace the contours of her abdomen, meticulously outlining each one.

“it’s been days since you’ve eaten, hasn’t it?” you mumble against her lips, pulling away slightly. your brows pinch together in worry, because you already know her body too well, can tell that each muscle is more defined, each edge a bit sharper. “you must be starving, baby. let’s eat something before —”

vi whines when you start to pull away even more.

“we can do that after.” she offers you her best puppy dog eyes as she pleads: “i’m hungry for something else now. i want you.”

to prove her point, vi guides your hand to her belt. your fingers dance along the metal and she eagerly awaits your response.

“fine,” you decide. “but whoever has the most orgasms makes dinner.” 

“you’re on, angel.”

her breath hitches when your hand moves down the waistband of her pants; you play with her tangle of curls, tease the tip of your fingers into her wetness. she purrs against you. 

“wait —” you pause your actions. vi whimpers when you remove your glistening fingers; you take off the silver ring on your pointer finger, grinning guiltily as you toss it on the counter behind you. “that would have been bad,” is all you say before inserting two fingers into her already slick pussy.

“ugh, ah — fuck, just like that, angel,” she moans, twitching as you ram your fingers into her. 

you hum, stuff another finger into her heat, stretching her so deliciously that her legs start to tremble. 

“such a good girl for me. aren’t you, violet?” you coo and start sucking the skin behind her ear. “you gonna make a mess, right here in our kitchen?” 

and that does it — vi’s walls tighten around you, her wetness soaks through her clothes; she’s almost sure that it drips down onto the floor. vi whines as you remove your fingers, feeling empty. you shove your syrupy fingers into her mouth instead, her tongue greedily lapping up her own cum. a string of spit follows as you rip away your fingers and press your mouth against vi’s kiss-swollen, cum-covered lips. you feel something smouldering in the pit of your stomach at her whimpers; you’re nowhere near satisfied, but her eyes, all wide and dark and desperate, are pleading at you to let her indulge in her hunger, as well.  

“what else do you want?”

vi paws at your breasts from above your shirt.

“i want to fuck you,” she declares, and you nod eagerly, your body bursting into flames. 

she gestures at you to wrap your legs around her hips, and she carries you to the bed as you kiss more fiercely, teeth clacking and tongues fighting to explore every crevice of her mouth. you tear each other’s clothes off; but the cold air doesn’t faze you in the slightess, because you have vi, hot and passionate, above you, keeping you going.

your teeth gnaw on her bottom lip as vi messily thrusts against you, your cunts sliding against each other; sticky, languid bliss. 

vi takes her time. she wants to savor every part of this, of you — the sting of your nails scratching down her tattooed back, no doubt leaving red marks in their wake; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet roses, combined with the thick musk of your desire, dripping against hers so deliciously; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging her to go faster, harder. 

she nudges her nose against the crook of your neck, salivates at how your vein pulses for her like a tantalizing butterfly. her teeth graze your pulsepoint, but she’s trembling with the amount of self control it takes not to add any more pressure.

���v-vi,” you breathe her name like a prayer. “baby.”

a guttural moan bubbles from the back of her throat in response.

you gently run your fingers through her hair, coax her to look you in the eye, the gesture a sharp contrast to the harsh squelching of your cunts against each other, melding together with each determined thrust. 

“you – ah,” you gasp as vi rolls her hips into yours with even more vigor. “you can bite me, if you want.” 

vi licks her lips, swallows the hunger burning in her throat because you must be too fucked out if you’re willing to let vi fully indulge in this craving. 

“but then you would —”

“lycanthropy is only transmitted when you’re in wolf form,” you explain through labored breaths. “so if you bite me now….and gods, i’m begging you to…..nothing’s gonna change.” 

“i have never been more thankful for your slayer training,” she growls. “you really want that, huh? for me to mark you up really good, show everyone that you’re mine?”

“o-only if i can do the same,” you manage a smirk. “or are you all bark and no bite?” you tease, buck your hips upwards. vi is willing to die for your knife-like smile alone, so of course. she’d let you eat her whole, if that’s what you really wanted. 

vi finally sinks her teeth into you, rolling her eyes back at how absolutely luscious you taste. like a good girl — your good girl — she follows your orders and bites. she bites down your neck, across your shoulders and collarbones, relishing in the imprints left in her wake.

vi knows now that she calls you angel for a reason. it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the pillow as your orgasm crashes through you. vi follows a few seconds later until you’re covered in her — she drenched the curls of your bush, her cum dripping down on your own wet pussy as she watches from above. vi can’t help it; she bends down, and you jolt slightly when her cold nipple piercing brushes against your clit. she does it again a few more times just to appreciate how you whine, rut your pussy against her perky breast, begging for more. 

but, vi’s on the hunt for something else — she splits your folds with her sharp tongue, sucks any and all of your shared essence. she lets it slosh around in her mouth before hovering over you once more, silently ordering you to part your wet lips; when you comply, so obedient, vi spits into your wanton mouth, thick and velvety. 

“swallow,” she orders, voice rough with lust. you do so quite eagerly.

and just like that, you’re back to grinding on each other, leaving a delectable mess along the skin of each other’s thighs. the tension in vi’s abdomen snaps when you wrap your lips around her nipple, suckling at your own wetness until drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth. 

after feeling her gush against you, a feral impulse rips through you. you release her nipple with a distinct pop, the cold metal still burning on your tongue as you yank vi’s hair, exposing her tender skin, glittering with sweat in the dark golden light as the sun starts to set. you pull her close, bite around the tattoo on the side of her neck, hard. vi howls in pleasure as you taste salt and iron and her, reaching your peak. 

vi waits patiently as you come down from your high, chest heaving, your neck still engraved with the outline of her teeth while yours are stained red. you crash your lips onto hers, chaotic and insatiable, kissing her like she’s your last meal. in turn, she licks into your mouth, tongue tracing your canines to savor what you’ve consumed of hers. 

“you sure you’re not a vampire? that would be quite the scandal,” vi jokes later when you’re sitting in her lap, taking time to clean each other up. vi’s only wearing a shirt, but you’ve doubled up on clothes, the apartment growing colder as night approaches. 

you already tended to the burns on her wrists (and apologized profusely for causing them; you also scolded her a bit for not tending to herself sooner). now you use disinfectant to wipe down her neck, where you broke skin; you quickly place a bandage that soothes the sting and vi presses a grateful kiss to your sternum.

you hum around the unlit cigarette in your mouth, which you had rolled beforehand with dried rose petals. with your hands unoccupied, you reach for your lighter. vi tilts her chin to gaze up at you; you’re backlit by the evening twilight, a silver halo around you as flowery smoke billows from your mouth.

“i’m sure they won’t be thrilled to know that a slayer’s fallen in love with a werewolf, either,” you muse, beaming at her. 

vi clicks her tongue. “sounds like we’re breaking some bylaws.”

“oh, she’s worth it; i’d do anything for my charming, sexy, handsome werewolf.”

you lean forward and exhale smoke into vi’s parted mouth, lips brushing against each other as you share the same breath. you sit back once your lungs are burning and admire the view. 

vi — normally all rough edges and dark shadows — blushing a delicate pink as you praise her.

“she’s got a killer right hook, too,” you continue. you offer vi the cigarette and she nods; you hold it, place it between her lips as she takes a drag. “a body so hot that it’s honestly unfair. she’s a fighter, which i love, and some people might think she’s just a scary dog, but i think she’s beautiful and brave and a total softie —”

“okay, okay,” vi coughs, the tips of her ears red. she takes the cigarette from you and stubs it out on the makeshift ashtray by the windowsill. vi rolls over so she’s on top of you, cupping your face in her hands. she pecks across your cheeks until you’re giggling; you try to turn the tables, and the two of you just end up wrestling in a tangle of sheets and laughter and tender kisses.

eventually, you both calm down. 

“you hungry?”

“not really. you?”

vi shakes her head. “we’ll make breakfast together in the morning?” 

“sounds heavenly.”

it’s dark outside, but the stars are out and the waning moon shines bright. vi positions herself behind you, her body curving into yours, chin notched over your shoulder and arm secure on your waist.

fangs must feel left out, because she shuffles under the covers for warmth before immediately falling back asleep, her fur tickling at your feet.

your thumb rubs against the gauze on vi’s wrist. you can’t help but feel regret, heavy like lead in your stomach.

“baby, i’m fine,” vi assures, already knowing what you’re thinking.

“i….i just hate that i did this to you,” you mumble, bringing her wrist up so you can kiss it. 

“you were trying to protect me. it’s what we do, yeah? protect each other?”

when you hum in agreement, vi guides you to turn around so you’re facing each other. on instinct, she parts your legs with her thigh. your sweatshirt has ridden up, so vi starts to rub circles onto your exposed hip bone, her touch soft as velvet.

“next time you go out there, i’m coming with you.”

your breath hitches as you trace the tattoos licking up her arm. “vi….”

“this isn’t up for debate,” vi declares. she reaches her hand up to caress your cheek, thumb delicately rubbing the shadows under your eye. “you almost died. whatever almost killed you is still out there. you’re strong — gods, you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met — but you don’t have to face any of this alone. not anymore.”

you let out a surprised laugh. 

“what?” she murmurs shyly, her eyes the soft, pale blue of moonlight, star-like freckles dazzling her sculpted cheeks. 

“no, it’s just….anyone who’s known that i’m the slayer either calls me delusional, runs scared, or expects me to do it all by myself. hell — that’s how it was written, how it was destined to be."

vi nudges her nose against yours. her breath tickles your lips, heats up your entire being with a warmth so divine, you wonder if you actually have died and gone to heaven. 

you’re both alive, though, a bit bruised and wounded. the world is dark and cold, but here’s this beautiful, strong girl with a beautiful, strong heart who holds you close, parts her full lips — like two rose petals, kiss-bitten and crimson — and vows:

“fuck destiny. it’s you and me now, angel.”

v. my heart is black and beats for you

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

it’s a quiet night. you spent most of it lamenting how you got your ass kicked earlier and fantasizing about the woman who did it, when you see a shadow of a person passed out at the corner of the street, and another trying to steal from them. 

someone has to stand against the forces of darkness and evil, and the universe somehow determined that would be you — a fate you’ve had to accept through bruised ribs and broken hearts and bloody prophecies, but one you’ve had to accept nonetheless. 

if that goes beyond vampires and demons, so be it. 

after you’ve managed to send the creep on the run, you recognize the person you saved:

it’s her. 

she looked more intimidating in the pit, honestly — all harsh and dark, furrowed brows and vicious snarls. 

it takes you kneeling in front of her to be able to really see it through the black face paint. you take a little pride in the bruise that blossoms on her cheek and the cut through her eyebrow, thinking that at least you got a few shots in before she took you out with a killer right hook. 

your jaw still aches and you still taste copper thanks to her, but without the roars from the crowd or the pressure of hefty prize money that you need to survive, you can see her more clearly. she’s bleeding through her bandages; she’s shivering because, gods, it’s freezing this time of year and all she’s wearing underneath a flimsy leather jacket is scrap fabric that would not be counted as a shirt; and she looks like she hasn’t eaten in days despite reeking of alcohol. 

that’s when you see a burn on her cheekbone, too, just about where your silver ring would have collided with her skin. you hold your breath, lean in closer to her chest and listen closely to check — the thumping of a strong, steady heartbeat; the gentle rush of blood flowing through her veins. 

so, not a vampire. maybe a human with a silver allergy, but what’s more likely is that she’s….something else. 

“hey.” you whisper. when she doesn’t respond, you cup her face in one hand and tap her bruised cheek with your thumb. her skin is warm; if she were a human, you’d think she had a fever. “wake up.”

you resist the urge to jerk away when she softly takes your hand in hers, the gesture a sharp contrast to her knuckles bloodied from earlier.

“five more minutes, cupcake,” she whines, her voice echoing down the empty alley.

“look, it’s late and freezing. we should really go before —”

“please. just stay with me. i promise i’ll be good.”

your chest aches at her sincere tone. did you sound the same, when you made a similar promise before to the people you’ve loved after they found out who — what — you are? did you also look so broken, so bruised when they left? 

you know the council wouldn’t approve of what you’re about to do. 

but you also know well enough from years of studying and training and fighting as the slayer that their judgement should not be taken as scripture.

in other words: fuck the council. 

(plus — you need a friend, or just….someone. it’s lonely, being the chosen one. and this girl, in front of you — when you fought, her body reacting to yours so fluidly, you had somehow never felt more understood.)

you manage to get her to her feet. 

she mumbles something incomprehensible into your neck, her breath hot against your skin. you let her lean into your body after a weak attempt at holding herself up. it’s not much trouble for you, though. it’s a cold night, anyways; her body, solid and warm, is almost comforting against yours.

you trust your instincts and carry her home. 

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

i love how different percabeth is from different male lead narrated american middle school romances from the romantic point of view. usually, the male lead has a crush on the cold and kind of mean female protagonist cause she's pretty and not like the other girls.....she's pretty and not like the other girls....thats it oops. but annabeth and percy. annabeth fell first. even though she's cold and sassy too, she believed in percy. she saw the good in him and loved him for it. then percy fell. he didnt have to worry about whether annabeth would like a loser like him. yeah, he doubted why annabeth liked him once in a while, but it was a never a question of 'does she?' its healthy. and thats what makes rick riordan one of the best middle school authors ever thank you bye

[dark-dragon-8]

Can someone please recommend fics where Dick talks about Jason as his "Baby brother" and people always think he's a kid or something, but then they meet him and just blue screen, because this is a 6'0 dude, decked out in guns as though he's a Christmas tree and they're his ornaments, (bonus points if he threatens to shoot anyone making a move on Dick), and built like a fridge standing next to the superhero version of a flexible sunshine.

Please, I'm begging you, I need these fics for my 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭.

Also, on that note, if anyone has any fics where Bruce talks about all his kids as his "Babies" and then introduces them to the JL and pretty much the same thing happens, only Bruce adds the whole "I birthed them all" thing (whether it's as a joke or he's actually a cryptid, I don't care).

Please 🙏

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Irreversible.

Gif credits

Pairing: Professor Reed Richards x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 430 Summary: You get fucked against the blackboard by your hottest professor. Tags/Warning: implied legal but unspecified age gap, reader is a menace, cheating (Mr Richards is married), POV second person, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v, a dash of oral sex and nipples play, slurs, panties ripping, swearing, a reference to physics. (Look, I had terrible grades in physics in high school, I tried lol), it obviously has no connection to the plot of the film, in this one Reed Richards is a professor with a chair at Harvard and chalk is definitely more “poetic” than markers. I’m not a Marvel fan, I’m just trying to have some pwp, please don't come @ me 💀 A/N: We've all seen the pics and teasers and gifs, right? This is totally self indulgent, I wrote it because I couldn't get the image of him writing on the board out of my head. No proofreading, no beta, English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. Thanks to anyone who will read this!

Masterlist

You loved the way you broke him. Lured him into your web to do exactly what you wanted.

You loved it.

The way he yanked at your bra, exposing your boobs, the way his hands were still chalky and leaving white marks all over you, his scruffy beard pinching your skin, his voice vibrating over your tits as he swirled his tongue over your nipples.

“You wanted this huh?” “Yes.” you cried.

You wanted exactly that when you pretended you didn't understand anything about physics.

Your skirt rolled up over your hips, his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping incessantly between your folds, up to your clit.

He stood up, his forearms muscularly sticking out of the rolled-up sleeves, wrapping around your waist, pushing you against the blackboard.

He stopped to undo his pants and kick them off.

Back on you, he squeezed your ass, coming down on your thigh, pulling up your leg to get a better grip.

"You know I'm married" "Yes" you whined, looking at him honeyed. "And you still flirted like a bitch in heat" he angrily muttered.

Of course you did. You did it every day since you started his class, battling your eyelashes, biting your lower lip, asking for tutoring about everything like you were admitted at Harvard by a fortuitous twist of fate, wearing the sluttiest tops and skirts you owned, marveling at the grey in his hair, telling him it suited him so well, while he tried to explain physics to you maintaining a professional tone.

"You couldn't wait to drag me into this mess, could you?" he snarled on your neck, sucking on your pulse point.

He clutched your panties in his fist and teared them like paper tissues.

"I want you so bad" you purred, burying your fingers in his curls at the base of his neck, encircling his waist with your leg, rocking your naked pussy against his still-clothed cock.

"Fuck me, Mr Richards"

He pulled down his boxers just enough to free his cock, and entered you with one thrust.

"Fuck" he cursed "you're soaked, you hungry slut."

You didn't respond; your pussy clutched tightly on his cock, you moaned as he began to thrust deeper and deeper into you, in a frantic rhythm, making your whole body and the blackboard just on the wall behind you vibrate. Small drops of sweat beaded his forehead, his hair now completely disheveled under the work of your hands, the fabric of his pristine white shirt crumpled as it repeatedly banged against your hard nipples.

You came right there, whimpering and quivering in an empty university classroom where every day he lectured you.

Your lust for him was irreversible, as in the second law of thermodynamics that you had pretended not to understand that day.

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @probablyreadinsmut @joelmillerisapunk @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed

If you want to be added or removed just let me know, thanks for reading!

[starboye]

Kinktober Day 20

starring: johnny storm x male reader x reed richards

request: Sue Storm and The Thing are in an undercover mission which leaves Human Torch (Chris Evans), reader and Mr Fantastic (John Krasinski) alone in the same building. Johnny and reader use their free time to fuck, waking Reed from his sleep who is both frustrated and horny from reader's moans, he gets to the scene and finds Johnny fucking reader while holding him standing, this makes Reed turn feral and joins them to make a really dirty night

warnings: smut, cusring, oral sex, face fucking, unprotected sex, creampie, threesome, cheating!reed richards

with the whole building being empty it would be such a shame to not seize the opportunity for johnny to fuck you after not being able to for weeks due to the overwhelming amount of work.

johnny having you stood up as he fucked you deeply, he was spewing all kinds of shit in your ear "your ass feels so fuckin' good, i wanna give you all my cum so bad, i wish you could get pregnant" sometimes he was dumb but he was hot so it evens out.

but to the dismay of reed who was trying to get some sleep, but with being awoken by your slutty moans reaching down the hall, his cock hardening in his pants and after not being able to get off or have sex with sue in forever he was definitely complementing fucking you too.

but after hearing the way you moaned and praised the way johnny was fucking you he lifted out of his bed and walked to johnnys room, opening the door to see your ass getting plowed by johnny while standing up, but that didn't stop johnny.

meanwhile you were freaking out trying to stop him "you just gonna stand there or are you gonna get to fucking" johnny calmly said as he angled you towards a horny and sexually pent up reed, and what else could he do with a fine man like yourself right in front of him and an aching cock in between his legs, fuck you dumb.

he gives you a sloppy kiss before moving your head down to his crotch. bringing his cock out of his joggers to then slip into your mouth, his hands tightly holding your throat to fuck your throat like a sex toy.

"fuck it feels so good" he whimpers out, falling apart at the mere feeling of your tight mouth walls taking his whole length "i know right, got him all stretched out myself" johnny brags making your roll your eyes at his cockiness.

you mouth felt way better than that of sues, every night reed tried to have sex with sue she would deny him so after a few night of that you get a pent up man who needs to get of right then and right there and luckily you were the one to help him.

his thrusts into your mouth become deeper and harder as he closes in on his climax "shit can i cum down his throat" reed asks, wanting to make sure it's okay with you "don't worry y/n loves getting his holes used and cummed in, right baby" johnny asks to which your reply with a gargled 'mhm'.

reed gives a couple more thrusts into your mouth before filling you with his cum, johnny following close behind with his load spurting into your hole, filling you from both ends, lucky you, "thank you for that" reed says pulling out and putting his joggers back on.

"where do you think you're goin' you still got another hole to fill" you say panting and pulling your ass to the side and letting johnnys load drip down your leg, pulling reed back in, the fucking went on all night before sue and thing got back, you all acted like you just chilled the whole day but it was pretty obvious with that new limp you had.

taglist:@mailmango@spermeboy@ghostking4m@gayaristocrat@addictedtomalepits@staarb0y@crispysoup318@its-ares@gargoylesworld09@kadenvatsune@fuckshft@wompwomp-1mh3re

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Hiii I’m obsessed with your blog! Can you do one where Jason thinks that the reader is cheating on him with dick but it turns out dick is just teaching her self defense hehe

Don't tell Jason

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 1.1 K summary: Jason thinks you're cheating, almost becomes a murder again, finds out you are just learning self-defense with Dick warnings: some violence, some insults a/n: THANKYOU FOR LIKING MY BLOG!!!!11!!1! this request is so funny actually, i really like it. hope you enjoy it! (divider @saradika)

It's the second time since last week that you're coming home exhausted and slightly disheveled from some hangout. He knows you've been hanging out with his older brother, and he trusts you both a lot, but this is getting strange. Muscle ache and soreness by your thighs and arms? Just what did you both do to be this worn out? Jason actually doesn't want to think about it, but he is pretty concerned that something is happening behind his back.

It doesn't make it better that you just pretend nothing is happening and seem to be yourself as usual. Is he really that better than him? No, you would never cheat on him. You promised to never leave him and all that after all. But he also can't ask you directly and accuse you of something like cheating. Jason's already dreading the truth and the way you'll look at him once he mentions it.

Laying in bed beside you, he massages your thighs gently with his warm hands, apparently sore after hanging out with Dick. Just what is this dickhead doing with you? The second time in a row as well. A sick feeling spreads in his gut as he thinks more about it, eventually nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck to calm down while continuing his soothing motions across your thighs.

The evening ends up with you both falling asleep as usual, however Jason has made up a rough plan. He needs to find out the truth. He could technically just ask you directly and stop overthinking, see if his suspicions are true or not. But no, he doesn't want to come off as desperate or stupid in front of you. It took him a lot of time to open up and be vulnerable with you in the first place, then having introduced you to his family once he was forced to. About a year after you started dating, you met his family in a rather chaotic dinner. But you didn't seem to mind, actually seemed to enjoy his big family and could make easy friends with all of them. Hell, even Damian doesn't seem to mind you.

Once you told Jason you'll be heading out with Dick again, he made sure you didn't notice him following you getting to the manor. He was surprised as you walked in with your own key, not having realised you had a key to the manor in the first place. Shrugging it off, he follows inside, well... rather breaks in, so you won't notice him being right behind you.

He stays in the hallway and watches you walk further into the house, cocking his head to the side once you go into the elevator that's usually used to get to the Batcave. Whatever this is, he is having even more thoughts and doubts, getting an even worse feeling about it all. Have you been hiding a secret identitiy from him and are teaming up with Dick? Why didn't you tell him when you know about his own vigilante-family-circus. He needs to know more. He needs to find out.

He follows right after once the elevator doors open again, getting spooked by Alfred.

»Master Jason. What's the occasion?«

The butler looks as neutral as always, but he can see the hint of a smile in his expression. Are they all teaming up against him? »Oh, Alfred... nothing, just, uh... just a small visit. Yeah... I'll be right back.«

Jason quickly steps into the elevator and presses the button to the Batcave, feeling a bit victorious that he could escape this poor distraction attempt. Now it's time to finally find out what this is all about. His fists clench and unclench, trying to keep his cool and not throw up from all this overthinking and possible situations.

The doors open and he basically storms out as quick as a bullet, halting once he hears heavy panting and small praises. He could never mistake your voice for someone else's and his heart sinks into the floor as he listens more to it. This is bad. Really, really bad.

Jason follows from where the sounds come from, being a little confused on why you're both in the Batcave. Sure, it's probably thrilling to possibly get caught, but... seriously, the Batcave? He didn't know you were into that kind of stuff.

He finally figures out where all the panting is coming from, arriving at the training area. He peeks from the corner, feeling his heart almost explode in his chest. But what he sees is entirely different from what he thought.

Dick is standing in front of you with his hands extended for you, both of your knuckles being bandaged up. You are throwing punches at his hands, focusing on your form and stance, while he gives you some feedback and occasional praises. It seems that you are both concentrated and focused, not noticing him at all and just continuing with... what even are you doing? It doesn't really look like a sparring session. But it also doesn't look like anything he imagined you two would be doing.

Eventually, he steps up and clears his throat loud enough to get both of your attention and stop for now. You light up once you see him, smiling and immediately start talking.

»Jason! Look, we've been training together, I asked him if he could teach me self-defense and he's been teaching me since last week. I'm pretty good at it, I can throw punches, kicks and get out of several pins or locks. He said I'm a natural.«

You decide to ignore his scowl and deathly glare towards Dick as you explain and walk up to him. Jason glances to you and can't help but soften up as he sees your smile, also stepping up to you and wrapping his arm possessively around you.

»You couldn't have asked me?« He questions and keeps his sharp eyes on Dick, who winces lightly at the sight of his brother tearing him apart with his gaze. He takes the sign however and takes a few steps away, leaving you some privacy.

»You are so busy with other stuff, I didn't want to bother you any more than necessary. I was planning on asking you, but Dick is also a great teacher.« You answer him as you lean into his side, stretching your arms, looking up at him.

»Oh, I'm sure.« He grits out and finally tears his eyes away from his brother, looking back to you with a softer expression. Seems like he was indeed overthinking and thinking lowly of you. There's no way you would cheat on some prick like Dick. You notice he still seems to be more on edge, tilting your head at him.

»What did you think we were doing?« You narrow your eyes at him, making him gulp down and start to feel even more stupid.

»Nothing!« Jason manages to answer you quickly, earning a scoff and slap against his chest in return.

a/n: RIP Dick Grayson, you'll be missed. Cause of Death: Missunderstanding from Jason. Hope you enjoyed it!

←MASTERLIST

[sweetfictionalworld]

Sweet Home

Pairing: Rick Flag SR x Female Reader

Summary: Rick comes home after a long mission and makes up for lost times.

Warnings: Nsfw, Smut.

"Fuck, I've missed you so much," Rick growled against your neck as he nipped on your exposed skin and grabbed a handful of your ass. You moaned and grabbed the back of his head, tilting your neck to give him more access. Rick had been on you the second he entered the apartment, his gaze feral as he saw you in your black negligée.

"I've missed you too," you replied through jagged breaths, giggled when he lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his hips. Teasingly, you bucked your clothed pussy against the large bulge beneath his cargo pants.

"You little tease," Rick grumbled and dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass, giving you a firm slap before dropping you down on the bed. You smirked up at him as he pulled his long sleeved t-shirt over his head. You bit down on your lip as your gaze traveled down his muscular chest and prominent abs. You'd never get used to how freaking good looking this man was. You stood up on your knees, pulling your negligée up over your head and dropping it to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your tiny tanga briefs. Rick smirked and started unbuttoning his pants.

The rest of your clothes were quickly discarded, both of you eager to feel the warmness of each other's bodies after being apart for months. Rick smirked at you as he pushed your legs apart, his soft beard tickling your inner thighs as he opened you up, licking along your inner lips. That first touch of his tongue sent sparks throughout your body and you moaned, your body jerking at the contact. Rick explored your pussy, running his tongue up and down, slowly and deliberately, leaving out the most sensitive parts.

Arousal kept building up in your core, your pussy clenching with need to be filled and satisfied. But Rick was going to take his sweet time tasting you.

Rick sucked your inner folds between his lips, tugging at them, teasing you slowly while working his way towards your clit. You grabbed his head, burying your fingers in his white hair begging him for more. But just when he was almost at your clit, he worked his way back again and you let out a desperate whine.

"Fuck, Rick, please...," you mewled, bucking your hips against him as his tongue swirled around the entrance of your pussy.

"You want to come?" he asked in a teasing tone and smirked up at you.

Glaring down, you met his amused gaze and bit your lip as you nodded, your pussy clenching as that handsome face of his smiled up at you. Rick chuckled and lowered his head, sucking your clit into his mouth and massaging it with his lips, rolling it gently, teasingly.

"Oh, yes!" you gasped and bucked your hips against him. Rick grabbed your waist and held you down as your squirming became more urgent. You puffed in frustration but knew he was too strong for you to do anything about it.

He circled the entrance in small, swirling motions, licking the juices leaking from it. Then, without warning, he pushed his tongue in as deeply as possible. You moaned, a combination of relief and anticipation of the coming pleasure. The low moans escaping from your throat spurred him on. He pulled away and licked his way up to your clit, closing his lips over it. You could feel his tongue swirl around in slow circles, with an occasional flick that caused your body to jerk at every time. It was becoming too much, every touch overwhelming your senses.

"Please, I can't take any more...," you whined with tears in your eyes. Rick's only response was to begin sucking your clit to push you over the edge. Your body tensed and your moans became louder, pleasure washing over you as you came against his mouth. Your orgasm was slowly subsiding when you felt Rick spreading you open and pushing two fingers inside you.

Rick looked up at you and met your lustful gaze as he turned his fingers upward with the thick pads towards your belly. Soon he found your g-spot and started to put pressure against it in circular motions, a smirk spreading on his lips as that spongy flesh began to swell.

"Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!!!" you cried out as you came again, your pussy clenching around his fingers buried deep inside your pussy. You barely had time recover before Rick pushed inside you, all of his thick cock filling you up completely.

"Oh, fuck!" you gasped and grabbed his arms as his cock made your body quiver.

Rick groaned and pushed your legs up to your chest, his eyes feral as he started pounding into you at a ruthless pace that took you to your third orgasm within seconds. Rick continued to fuck you through your climax, his grunts filling the air, growing more erratic with each thrust.

"Fuck, I love how damn tight your pussy is," Rick mumbled as your squishy walls tightened around him. He clenched his jaw as he came, his gaze never leaving yours as he filled your womb with his seed. Leaning down, he caught your lips with his, kissing you softly as his cock continued to twitch inside you. You sighed contently against his lips and ran your fingers up his broad back.

"I love you, y/n," Rick whispered as he broke away from the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours.

"I love you too," you whispered back and looked deep into his eyes with a satisfied smile on your lips.