#should i be scared. should i bite it back.

[mariasont]

hiii! could you write aaron x bau! reader where they have a child that’s like 2 or around that age - so still very little but one day they came back from a case and yn was so unwell and turns out that she’s pregnant again but they weren’t planning and work’s been so busy and she’s a bit scared how aaron’s going to react🥺 thanks!!!! 🫶🏻

Two Heartbeats Later - A.H

summary: you weren’t planning for another baby, but life doesn’t wait for timing to be perfect and hotch shows you that sometimes the best things are the ones you don’t see coming pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader tags: pregnant reader, unplanned pregnancy, soft!hotch, domesticity, flangst, happy ending, established relationship, a little post pregnancy stress wc: 2.3k

You barely made it past the front door when your body gave up the charade. Like it had been so wired together with caffeine and pure fucking spite, like every muscle had been clenched so tight for so long that the moment your brain registered home, everything unspooled at once. 

You go-bag slid from your shoulder, the strap half biting for half a second before it was gone. You think you heard it hit the floor. Think you heard the keys, still clenched in your uncooperative fingers, rattle against the table. Shoes still on. Jacket too. But taking it off required effort, and you'd run out of that hours ago. The couch was there, and then so were you. Face-first, half-breathing, half-existing.

The sigh that pushed from your chest felt endless, like it had been lodged inside you for days. Weeks maybe. Years.

The house was quiet. Unnaturally so. 

No padding feet, no sticky hands pulling at your sleeve, no stubborn, sleepy voices demanding one more story before bed. Jessica had taken Jack and your two-year-old, Bella, insisting that you and Aaron need real sleep after back-to-back cases.

You should have been relieved. It should have felt like a luxury. Should have.

Aaron's voice reached you from somewhere behind. "Well, aren't you dramatic."

You exhaled, too drained to even roll your eyes, barely mustering the energy to glance at him over the arm of the couch. He was by the door, still half in shadow, arms loose at his sides and watching you with that look on his face that he got sometimes—the one that said you were both completely insane and completely adored, all in equal measure.

You made a noise. Not words, not quite a groan either, the sound barely making it past the cushions.

"That bad?"

You lifted a limp arm and let it flop back onto the couch.

"I see." A pause. "Should I be concerned?"

"Probably."

The fridge door hissed as it opened, then shut. The tap turned on, ran for a few seconds, then clicked off. A glass placed, not set, not dropped, just placed, onto the counter. Then, the soft shuffle of socked feet across the floor. The indication he was near by the couch dipping under his weight.

And then there was his hand, finding your leg, fingers pushing into the space between your ankle and the couch. One shoe. Then the next. Like he'd done this a thousand times before. Which he had. Because you were beyond lucky. Fortunate. Blessed. All the vocab words that could be synonymous with you being undeserving. His palm dawdled, thumb dragging absently over the thin stretch of skin just above your heel. 

Your heart did something stupid and weak in your chest.

"You're a very doting husband," you murmured, aiming for teasing but landing somewhere softer, somewhere warmer.

Aaron chuckled, shifting beside you until he was comfortable, his arm draping over the couch as he turned toward you. "Yeah, I don't get many complaints."

You peeked up at him through tired, half-lidded eyes. "I could complain."

"But you won't." His palm flattened against your hip before slipping away. Gone too soon on purpose, you were sure. "You like being spoiled too much."

You let out a small, drowsy hum. "Maybe."

His hand moved to your back, dragging up the ridges of your spine and smoothing over the knots you'd stopped noticing until now. And it was unfair, really, because he then found that space at the base of your neck, and you were done for. 

You should have let yourself be submerged in it. Into him. Into this. You wanted to. Needed to. 

But your brain was perpetually doing loops, swinging from thought to thought, refusing to land. Because as much as you wanted to focus on your very handsome, very intuitive husband, on the way he just knew what you needed before you even had to ask, on his touch, on jus the undeniable, singular himness of him (which, okay, maybe wasn't a real world, but you were too tired to litigate that)—all you could hear was JJ's voice.

"God I remember that level of wiped. I felt the same way before I found out about Michael."

It had been a throwaway comment, made with a laugh as you'd all packed up to head home. It was the kind of thing that should have rolled right off your back. And it had, at first. You'd scoffed, waved it off and blamed it on the jet lag and the late nights and the way your body never quite figured out how to recalibrate between cases.

But now, laying on the couch, staring at at the cushions like they held divine answers, every part of you felt off. Tender in a way you didn't like, in a way that felt far too familiar. 

And you couldn't ignore it. Well, you could. Probably. Maybe. Except no you couldn't because JJ was unfortunately, irritatingly, horrifyingly right.

Aaron repositioned beside you. "You're quiet."

"I'm tired." As if that could be the end of it. Like if you said it just right, it could turn into an irrefutable fact.

"No kidding." A pause. Then softer, nudging. "Try again."

You turn onto your side, eyes catching his before you brain can screech abort mission, bad idea, too much eye contact, danger. And in that same instant you were even surer of your discernment.

Because this isn't suspicion or paranoia or stress or an overactive imagination.

This is real.

The strange dragging in your limbs, the hot-cold whiplash that makes you constantly second-guess your own damn thermostat, the nausea you wrote off as too many takeout meals and too little sleep.

Your body had known for weeks.

It felt like someone had upended a bucket of ice water down your back. Or no, actually, more like a door slamming shut on every single ounce of stability you had spent years clawing toward. 

Because there was no room for this. No room in the schedule, not in the fridge (which, let's be honest, was already one yogurt cup away from disaster), and certainly not in the tenuous, barely-functioning balancing act that was your life.

Jack's school projects, his late-night study sessions, his growing independence that you want to encourage, needed to encourage, but what if you're pushing too hard? What if you're not pushing enough? Bella's refusal to eat anything that isn't shaped like a star, her impossible stubbornness, her need for you that takes up every ounce of energy you have left. 

And work. Gods, work. The late nights, the cases that leave bruises on you emotionally and physically, the constant demand to give more, be more, solve more.

You barely made it though last time. How are you supposed to do it again?

Before you can spiral any further, before your brain can really sink its teeth into the oh my gods, you're fucked of it all, you're moving, no, being moved, with absolutely no input on your part, being hauled into Aaron's lap.

"Do I need to bribe you out of whatever's happening in that head of yours?" he muses, shifting so his hands can slip beneath your shirt, palm warm against too-cold ribs. "Or do I just have to annoy you until you snap out of it?"

You blink at him, heavy-lidded, and he smiles, unfairly amused. "Because I can talk about legal precedents and federal jurisdiction until you pass out from boredom."

You groan dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder like you're already picturing it.

"Not the legal precedents," you mumble, voice muffled by his shirt. "Anything but that."

"That's what I thought."

You peek up at him, pouting. "I'll take bribery, please."

He smirks and inclines his head like he's mulling it over. "What's my price?"

You angle your head, shifting just enough that he’ll get the hint, because obviously he’s not dense, and obviously you don’t have to spell it out.

Aaron's chuckle is warm and affectionate, and his smirk slips into something more partial. "Well, lucky me."

His lips graze yours like he has nowhere else to be, like the rest of your world isn't hanging on by a thread. And gods, for just one selfish second, you let yourself chase it, into that fleeting illusion that everything is fine.

But then he pulls away, and it's gone. The illusion crumbles, slipping through your fingers like sand.

Because he's too good. Too selfless. Too willing to bear everything like it won't eventually crush him. And now here you are, about to pile more onto his already impossible load. Another thing for him to carry, to shoulder, to make space for when there's already so little left. You don't know if you can stand it, don't know if you can watch the depletion deepen in his eyes and be the reason for it.

Aaron catches it in seconds, because of course he does, because nothing ever gets past him, because you could probably breathe funny and he'd be asking what's wrong. His teasing vanishes immediately, replaced by something gentler, and something infinitely worse. 

His hand is on your face before you can neutral your expression, his thumb at the corner of your mouth, like he's trying to press the emotion back in, to stop it from spilling over.

"You're breaking my heart, sweetheart," he murmurs, fixing his head to meet your gaze. "Tell me how to fix it."

Your hands lift, like the movement might shake the words loose, might make sense of everything in your head, but they fall just as fast, fingers tangling into the material of his shirt.

“It’s just—I don’t know, I should’ve seen it coming, right? But I didn’t, and now it’s like—” You squeeze your eyes shut, breath shaking. “Aaron, I’m so sorry. I don’t even know how it happened, I don’t know what to think, I don’t—”

"Hey, honey," Aaron interrupted, his thumbs sweeping careful paths down your tear-stricken cheeks. His brow dips. "Slow down for me, okay? I need you to breathe."

You try, you really do, but your chest feels like it's wrapped in steel bands, too tight to expand properly, and your thoughts are useless, spinning too fast, overlapping, crashing into each other.

"You're talking in circles, baby. Help me understand."

A sound claws its way out of your throat, half a sob, half hysteria.

Aaron just watches, expectantly, like he's waiting for the moment it all clicks into place. For you to say it. For you to crack wide open.

"Aaron, I'm—God, I'm pregnant."

For a long, stretched-out second, he doesn't move.

His eyes flicker between yours, scanning, searching, reading every inch of your expression before, instinctively, unconsciously, they drop downward. To your stomach.

His hands follow, hesitantly, like they already knew, like something deep in him had felt it before his mind could catch up. But he doesn't touch you, not yet. His fingers just hover, inches from your shirt, like he's afraid to break something delicate. Like he needs to believe in it first.

"You're—?" It's not even a word, just a shape in his mouth, just air barely pushed into sound.

You nod, and oh, something gives way, splinters inside you, breaks open just like he was wanting and suddenly, you can't stop talking.

"I know," you whisper, voice breaking, hands swiping furiously at damp cheeks. "I know."

Your shoulders tremble, fresh tears slipping past your lashes, and damn it, you can't stop them, can't stop any of it.

"I'm so sorry, please don't be upset, I don't know how this happened, I didn't mean for it to happen, I—,"

"Hey." You freeze instantly. "Stop."

He pauses for a second as if trying to figure out the right thing to say. "Why are you apologizing?"

You open your mouth, already scrambling for some kind of justification, some kind of explanation, but he's faster.

"Pretty sure we were both there when this happened," he says, voice so deadpan, you almost didn't hear the amusement as his mouth flicked upward. "Fairly certain it was a mutual effort."

You let out a choked, watery laugh. "But we weren't expecting this. We didn't plan for this, and the timing is awful, and work is insane, and Bella—,"

"—will be fine."

"Jack—,"

"—will love it."

"And what about us?"

Aaron's hand moves again, actually pressing to your stomach now. And then he smiles, this tiny, crooked, almost smug little thing that makes your stomach flip in a completely different way, like he's remembering something good, something soft, something dangerously sentimental.

"Did I ever tell you," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to drop this, "that you weren't even supposed to be on my team?"

Your brows furrow instantly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he says finally, "you were supposed to be off in some White Collar division. Probably catching investment bankers committing tax fraud."

"Then how did I end up here?"

Aaron snorts—actually snorts. "A clerical error."

"Are you serious?"

"Like I said, Strauss meant to assign you to the White Collar division." His thumb strokes along your jaw, like he’s trying to soften the absurdity of what he’s about to say. "But someone messed up the paperwork. By the time she noticed, you'd already started your first week."

A sharp, incredulous breath escapes you. "So I got on the team by accident."

"Not entirely," he murmurs. "Strauss asked if I wanted her to fix it. Move you where you were actually supposed to go."

"And?"

His hands find their way into your hair before you can process the movement—fingertips brushing against your scalp, smoothing strands away, tucking them behind your ears, like he needs to see you.

"And I almost told her yes." And he says it in a way that makes you think maybe he still can't believe it.

"Not because of your skills," he continues. "But because I knew—I knew that if I spent any more time with you, I was going to fall in love with you."

"And I didn't want that," he admits. "Because I wasn't sure if I was ready for something that permanent."

He'd never told you this. Not in words. Maybe in glances, in pauses, in the way he always found you first, in a crowd, in a crime scene. But never like this. Never out loud. Your brain stutters, short-circuits, tries to process it, but it's like pouring water into a cup that's already full, it spills over, sloshes everywhere, and makes a mess of things.

You almost laugh except there's this awful, aching tightness in your throat, and you think if you let the sound out, it might not be a laugh at all. 

"So what changed?"

He lets out a breath, a small, almost reluctant smile playing at his lips. "You told me to relax."

"Excuse me?"

“You were new. Three weeks in. I was this close to telling Strauss yes. Had the email typed out, my finger hovering over send. And that whole week, I had been—” he pauses, smirks faintly, “—a pain in the ass. And you just—” another shake of his head, “—you knocked, walked in, took one look at me, and said, Hotch, you need to relax.”

A long, drawn-out pause.

"And then you walked out."

You let out an unguarded laugh. "No, I didn't."

"You did. And I remember thinking—who the hell does she think she is?" Then, without hesitation, he pulls you flush against him, like that thought alone is hilarious in retrospect. "And then, two seconds later, thinking—God, I hope she never stops. And you never did."

"And thank God for that." His forehead presses to yours. "Because now, you're my beautiful wife. The mother of my children. You know, I spent so much of my life thinking I needed a plan but turns out the best things happen when you don't."

And then he kisses you and damn it, he tastes like that coffee, the stupidly expensive, unnecessarily strong stuff he insists on smuggling onto the jet, the kind that is so obnoxiously him it makes your head spin.

Dark roast, sharp on his tongue and now on yours, transferring straight into you like somehow he's the one who's addicting. And maybe he is. Because when he pulls back, there's another smirk at his mouth, but his hand stays at the nape of your neck, like he's already considering doing it again. And Jesus, you hope he does.

"You know," he muses, far too casual for a man about to be slapped. "if we really think about it, this might actually be your fault."

Your jaw drops. "Come again?"

He tilts his head, all easy amusement, all knowing. "You were the one who insisted on that very thorough stress relief session a few weeks ago."

Your face flames. "Aaron!"

“Oh, don’t act innocent,” he hums, tilting his head like he’s thinking, like he’s remembering in excruciating detail. “I was there. I distinctly recall the moment you climbed into my lap and said—”

"Stop talking."

"—Aaron, I need to—"

Your hand clamps over his mouth, but his laughter is instant, vibrating against your palm, his eyes crinkling at the corners, full of mischief and love and the kind of thing that turns your brain to static.

"You’re the worst," you mutter.

Aaron just smirks, prying your hand away, pressing a kiss to your lips like a punctuation mark. "Says the one who keeps letting me knock her up."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[kashverse]

Hi ! What about babykuna's first fight at school or on the playground ? How would it happen? How would her parents react to the comments of the teacher or the parent of the child that babykuna fought against?

By the way I love your writing ❤️

Coming back on your page is part of my routine, now ❤️

babytoru was first introduced in this post, if you missed it out :P

the playground is truly a battleground of politics, alliances, and power struggles. the young rulers of the sandbox empire have their territories marked—some reign over the swings, some control the seesaws, but the slide? the slide is where real power is decided.  on this fateful day, all was running smoothly. the queue was in order. kids were waiting their turn, deals were being made—who gets the best spot in the sandpit, who gets pushed on the swings, and of course, who gets the ultimate first slide down. but then—disaster struck.

enter babytoru.

babytoru, the undisputed princess of the gojo household, struts up to the slide like a celebrity at the met gala. she is wearing a custom LV dress with designer shoes that probably cost more than someone’s mortgage, and she is here to take what is hers. babytoru, with all the grace and arrogance of a true queen, points at the slide. "i wanna go first."

everyone in the queue freezes. it is a declaration of war.

the kids exchange nervous glances. no one dares oppose babytoru—not because they’re scared of her, but because they know—somehow, she always gets what she wants. so naturally, the line parts like the red sea. babytoru hops onto the slide, smug as ever. but what she doesn’t realize is that in her moment of unwarranted self-glorification, she has landed in the worst possible place.

babykuna’s spot.

now, babykuna is not one for dramatics. but she is also not one to be disrespected. and right now, she is disrespected. babykuna’s chubby little arms cross over her chest. her lips purse. her four-year-old glare is burning with the fury of a thousand betrayed souls. babytoru, completely unbothered, smirks at her. "you can push me now."

the playground goes silent. the kids hold their breath. babykuna does not hesitate.

she shoves babytoru.

it is not a graceful shove.

babytoru goes tumbling.

she hits the slide at maximum velocity, flipping over like an olympic gymnast who wasn’t ready for their routine. and then—

SPLAT!

she lands face-first into the sandpit. the horrified screams of the playground fill the air. babytoru is motionless. for a moment, the world stands still. and then—

she wails.

"MY DRESS!"

babykuna immediately starts crying too. "you stole my spot!"

now there are two very loud, very distressed toddlers crying at top volume. the playground is in chaos. some kids have fled the scene. others are watching, fascinated. the sandpit kids do not care because they are deep in their own battles. meanwhile, the fathers arrive. 

gojo, upon seeing his daughter crying in designer fashion disaster, immediately crouches beside her, trying very hard not to laugh. “oh my baby—oh my god, you should’ve seen how you fell—wait, no, i mean, are you okay?” babytoru sniffles dramatically, lifting a sand-covered hand. "my dress is ruined."

gojo bites his lip to stop a grin. “it’s just a little sand, princess. we can—pffft—wash it off.” babytoru glares, lower lip wobbling as she lifts her sand-covered dress.

"this is LOO-WISS… VUHH… VUHEE… VU-TON!"

gojo loses it.

“pffft—yeah, okay, we’ll get your ‘loo-wiss vuhee vu-ton’ dry-cleaned, princess.”

"DADDY!"

meanwhile, sukuna is having a different kind of breakdown. his daughter, his sweet babykuna, is standing there, red-faced, tears streaming, looking both guilty and furious at the same time.

"you okay, kid?"

babykuna, between deep sobs, hiccups, "she—she STOLE MY SPOT!"

sukuna, massaging his temples, exhales, "yeah, yeah, kid, i saw. and you, uh… handled it."

he takes out a tylenol. he dry swallows it. "you’re gonna apologize," sukuna sighs. babykuna stomps her tiny foot. "she should apologize!"

babytoru, still wiping sand off her precious LV dress, gasps. 

"you PUSHED ME!"

"YOU TOOK MY SPOT!"

"YOU TRIED TO MURDER ME!"

"IT WAS A SHOVE!"

"MY DRESS!"

"MY SPOT!"

gojo bursts out laughing. sukuna rubs his face in pure exhaustion. this is going to be a long day.

[littleslaywrites]

back to school | aaron hotchner x reader

nsfw, mdni 

based on this request

summary: your return to grad school plants a fantasy in hotch’s mind.

word count: 2k

cw: smut, f!reader, age gap, soft dom!hotch, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), biting, brief fingering (f!receiving)

You had been working as a nanny for the Hotchners going on three years now. After you completed undergrad, you felt unsure about the path you wanted to take, and ended up working for Aaron. It started out professional, but he became harder to resist as time went on. You’d started dating six months later. Aaron was always a gentleman, scared to ask you out at first, especially considering your age gap. But his profiling skills came in handy, quickly figuring out that your crushes were mutual. 

Your relationship had grown over the past two and a half years. You loved your job, and you loved your boys. Aaron loved you in return, thankful he'd found someone so amazing for his family. At this point, you were part of the household, always around for movie nights and soccer games.

“What do you think of me going to grad school?” you blurted out one night. The two of you were snuggled up on the couch, a movie playing on a low volume, so as to not wake up Jack. 

“I think you should do what you feel would be best for you.”

You groaned at his answer. It was so him, wanting you to make your own decision as if you hadn’t been trying to figure it out before you asked him.

“But what do you think,” you probe. “I mean, I’d be way busier, probably too busy to be around for Jack, and I’d probably go somewhere in D.C. but it’d still be a commute which means I’d see you less–”

“Honey,” he stops your rambling, “you can’t be a nanny forever. If you want to go back to school, I’ll completely support you.” 

His words cause you to let out a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?” 

“I’ll work around your schedule. We have relatives around for when you’re busy. I don’t want you to worry about me this much, you know.”

Of course you knew, but you still worried about him. It was an exchange you two had. You both worried about each other secretly. 

Aaron always knew you’d go back to school. He was happy for you, excited that you’d finally found something you wanted to pursue in a career. Insisting on helping you through the whole process, he proofread your essay, looked over the questionnaire, and helped you debate between programs. 

Even though he would never admit it, he might have had an ulterior motive. At the mention of going back to school, he couldn’t help but picture you in the stereotypical outfit, short skirts and ties. The thought made him blush, imagining you with your head in a book and your mind consumed with your studies. 

So, when you called him asking for outfit advice before your first day, he tried to lead you in the direction of his fantasy. You settled on a button down and a skirt with a sweater over it. When you sent him a mirror selfie, he felt a rush of blood go to his cock, observing the socks that went all the way up to your knees. It’d be a long day of waiting for your classes to be over.

On your way home, you call him again, starting to tell him about all your classes. He stops you, suggesting that you come over and tell him everything in person. You obviously agree, wanting to see him at every chance you could get, especially if it meant he’d come home from the office at a normal time. 

When you enter the house, you can smell something cooking in the oven. Jack is sitting at the counter as Aaron washes dishes. 

“It smells good in here,” you say as you set your keys down by the door. 

“Jack thought you’d want pizza after your first day of school.”

“He thought right.” You take a seat at the counter, watching Aaron set plates on the table. 

You share stories of your day over dinner, comparing professors and describing all the topics covered. It was mostly syllabus discussion in your classes today, so there wasn’t much to say, but the boys were interested in all the small details. 

After the meal, you washed the dishes while Aaron put Jack to bed. You hung your sweater over the back of a chair and undid the first few buttons of your shirt. Flopping on the couch, you didn’t notice Aaron staring as you lounged. You assumed he'd join you soon, finding some show that'd serve as background noise while you leaned on his shoulder and he did remaining paperwork. You were only pulled from your thoughts when he leaned down and whispered in your ear:

“Come to bed.”

You knew what he meant, as it was far too early to actually sleep. Following behind him, you close the door to the bedroom once you’re inside. You put your weight against it, leaning so you can rub your thighs together, already wet from the sight of him removing his tie in front of you. 

“It’s a nice outfit,” he says, eyes roaming your body.

You smile, knowing the unspoken words behind the message. “My boyfriend was very helpful in choosing it.”

Returning your smile, he presses you against the door with a kiss. You close your eyes, letting his lips wash away anything in your mind other than him. His hands plant on either side of your head, supporting him as he leans against the door. He kisses you until you run out of breath, breaking apart to gasp for air. 

“You’re such a tease,” Aaron lets out between gasps, “walking around in that short skirt.”

Reaching down, he touches you lightly over your panties. Only offering a whimper in response, your hips move slightly, wanting more than he’s giving you. 

“I bet all the boys were looking at those pretty legs,” he whispers, giving your earlobe a nip. “But only I can have you.” 

His touch has you needy for him, rockin into the finger that’s rubbing you through the soaked fabric. “Only you, Aaron.”

Your words make him groan. He slides your underwear down your legs, but doesn’t replace his hand.

“On the bed,” he commands. Needing more of him, you follow his orders. When he has you like this, you can’t help but do everything he says. 

“Hands and knees.”

Crawling on the bed, you arch your back, wanting to give him the best view possible. The sigh he lets out is a sign you succeeded, and you wiggle your ass around to signal your need. 

“Patience, pretty girl,” he coos. He leaves you waiting as he undresses completely. You wish you could see him, but you don’t want to disobey him. 

Finally, his hands return to your body, flipping your skirt up to feel your ass. His touch is reverent, needing to explore every inch of your soft skin. The brushes of his fingers alternate between slow and fast, the variation giving you goosebumps. The warmth of his large hands provides a stark contrast to the cold room, and you feel yourself leaning into his palms as they run across your lower half. Unzipping it, he peels the skirt away from you. 

Suddenly, he flips you around. The sight of him above you makes your pussy flutter. The lust in his eyes is overwhelming. He leans over you to unbutton your shirt. He goes slowly, savoring every inch of skin that’s slowly revealed, pressing kisses from your chest to your low stomach. 

Peeling away your shirt, he places one more kiss on your collarbone before moving down to your legs. He runs his hands along your thighs, grabbing at the plush skin. He lays down in between your legs, holding them open as he dives into your pussy.

Just like his earlier touches, the way he eats you out is almost like worship. Aaron is always like this in bed, adoration evident in every gaze and whisper. Usually, he has a rhythm, but tonight, his mouth is sloppy. He’s moving from your clit to your cunt rapidly, needing to have his mouth all over you. He only moves away briefly to nuzzle your clit in that way he knows you love. 

He pokes his tongue into your hole, and you move your hand down to his hair. The slight tug has him moaning, the vibrations adding to your pleasure. His tongue traces around your folds, following a pattern only he knows. When he licks a stripe up to your swollen clit, you buck your hips into his face. He doesn’t stop you, letting you rub against his mouth as he suckles where you’re the most sensitive. Your grip on his hair has him humping the sheet below him. If he had less control, he’d cum at the sight of you writhing against him. 

One brush of his teeth against your bud has you teetering on the edge. Recognizing the whimpers that you mindlessly let out, he fills you with two of his fingers. The curl of them against your walls is enough to send you into your orgasm. Aaron doesn’t let up, thrusting his fingers as your juices cover his face. He only pulls away when you yelp from the overstimulation. 

Pulling back, he places a kiss on your knee, just above the top of your socks. You think he’s going to take them off, but instead he moves up, removing your bra. 

Wrapping a hand around your thigh, he brings it up so it’s pressed in between your bodies. He strokes himself a few times, taking in the image of you in your knee-high socks below him. 

You let out a broken sob as he sinks into you. You’re still recovering from the orgasm from his mouth, so every ridge of his cock is perceptible. Any other day, he’d pause due to your sensitivity, but he’s too desperate to feel you. 

Bottoming out, his tip grazes your cervix. He pauses, taking in the feeling of your warm walls around him. He doesn't even realize it when he starts to rock against you.

Coming to his senses, he pulls all the way out, watching the way you pulsate, wanting to grab him as tight as possible. Pushing back in, you cry out, feeling the twitch of his cock inside you. 

He falls into a rhythm, one hand supporting himself while the other plays with your tit. He runs his thumb along the nipple, occasionally pinching when he wants to get a squeal out of you. 

Closing his eyes, he loses himself in the feeling of you sucking him deeper. Your body responds to every thrust, clenching while your moans punctuate his movements. 

You move your leg to wrap around him, needing him as close as possible. You hold him tight against your body, slowing down his thrusts. His cock drags against your g-spot, and you can feel the shape of his tip against your plush cunt. 

Aaron’s breaths grow ragged and his rhythm becomes sloppy. Unable to hold back any longer, he bites down on your shoulder as he fills you up. The sensation sends you into your own release, grabbing him into a tight hug. He lets himself fall against you, holding you close and resting his forehead against yours. When you start to whine, he places a kiss on your forehead and pulls out.

When he lays on his back, you wrap yourself around him, cuddling despite your warmth. You had learned that you have to pull him as close as possible to keep him from escaping to find a washcloth and a glass of water. You appreciate him taking care of you, but want to keep him in his relaxed state for just a little longer. 

“I think I should wear that outfit more often,” you say softly.

“Please do.” 

You giggle at him, resting a hand against his chest. If this is how Aaron responds to you going back to school, you might never graduate. 

[damnfeelings09]

Animals AU - Shadow's version

A.N: I like Shadow's soft side, I guess this AU is not as dark romance as I imagined it but can you blame me? He's just sooooo cute. RED for stalker, GREEN for you. Careful who you talk to, they might not be exactly who you think they are.

White fluffy fur and red eyes flooded your dreams, running away from someone you couldn't recognize. The heaviness in your legs did not allow you to run, your steps slower and slower, and that hand coming from the sun my salvation moving farther and farther away while you were consumed by darkness. You awoke with a start looking everywhere for Shadow but you were alone in your cold, dark room. Fear creeping down your back as the door opened to reveal a figure, tall, broad, dark, slowly aprooching you, as the night lamp started to outline Shadow's figure, you relaxed and let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding.

“What you doing awake?” He asked caressing your face

“I... nightmares.” his expression softened. “Don't wanna be alone, I'm scared”

“Told you there's no need to be afraid of the dark if you're with me,” he said laughing lightly. settling in to sleep holding you tight as if his life depended on it and it did.

“Want me to tell you a bedtime story?” You nod, caressing his chest once more. “'kay, this one's about a princess with big beautiful eyes and long silky hair and a... knight a dark one but not the kind you'll like. She danced to the music only she heard, as if no one else was there. Their paths crossed for a brief moment, a wrong turn caused her to end up in the knight's arms and he... well let's just say he got the drink he wanted but not in the form he needed. The princess looked at him with her eyes so big and those beautiful red cheeks as she ran her hands over his body trying to clean him up. So scared and embarrassed, like a little bunny at the mercy of a predator. She excused herself and ran to her carriage. It was a second, maybe less, but it was enough to capture the knight's raw, hard, black heart and took it with her.”

Shadow's story sounded awfully familiar, memories from years ago, hit you. You remembered it. It was in your freshman year? While jamming a song on your earphones, pretending the music was taking you somewhere else, as per usual, swaying your hips to the beat of Dance Macabre, and an unexpected turn that should have ended with you face down on the floor, instead you found yourself in someone's arms. What happened next was like a blur in your memory, you remembered the embarrassment and the thousand apologies you had given to the stranger, you remembered running to the subway and hiding inside trying not to look out the window. “It was you...” you muttered without being able to turn to look at him. “Is that why you call me that?”.

“I was screwed since the first time I layed my eyes on you bunny. I couldn't get that sweet scent out of my mind. I was yours from day one. You have no idea how long I've waited to do this.” He lowers his head, eyes locked on yours asking for permission, he kisses you. Slow, soft, as if he feared you could break at any second. He deepens the kiss, tastes your lower lip biting it hot, steady, a soft moan scapes from your lips but Shadow won't let it go any further, not in the state you're in. He's already waited so long that a few more days for you to regain your sanity is no problem, besides, he doesn't want you to regret it in the morning.

Shadow wants, wishes that when he fucks you it's conscious, because you want it and not just to erase a bad memory.

Morning came, sunlight sneaking through the curtain, fluffy hair tingling your face. You try to get up to close the window but a strong arm holds you around your waist pulling you back to the bed. Shadow lies beside you nuzzling into your hair, his legs locking yours so you wont run away. You take a moment to admire him, his nose shiny, his jet black fur soft white fur dots near he’s muzzle as if they were freckeles, tiny eyelashes adorn his eyes. You move your hand, stroking his face it's soft and the smell of fresh lavender envelops your senses. He looks so relaxed, peaceful, tender, as if he is another Shadow. Slowly you move closer and gently deposit a kiss on his lips. He opens his eyes, this time there is no fire behind them, just a mix of orange and reddish, like sunset you think. The shadow of a smile peeks out of his expression.

“Morning,” you say, still caressing his face. Shadow seeks the touch of your hand emitting a soft prrrrrrr, drawing you closer to him, the curves of your body fit perfectly with the hardness of his, the warmth between you is enough to make you tremble.

Who knew he would be the one to take care of you?

[biteyoubiteme]

raspberry stains teaser

vampire!sunghoon x fem!reader

❦︎ synopsis: left alone on the streets of your small village you are offered the opportunity to trade your life for only a small price to pay. You are given to vampire prince sunghoon who has not had a taste for blood for almost a lifetime. Not because he does not feel hunger but because he has not found the one that temps him. ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings: vampires, blood, blood drinking, angst, dark themes, reader held against her will, biting, smut, more to be added/subject to change/full warnings to be posted with fic

estimated word count: ~15k I could be lying I don't know how to estimate word counts so we will actually see how far off I am or just right when it’s posted lol

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ release date: feb 15th

an: hiiii this is my first enha fic and I don't think I will be taking requests for them at this time this is just me dipping my toes in so :p this is just a teaser and I wanted to know if you guys would want to be tagged for this seeing as I don't usually post for them so just let me know :)) [m.list]

⸝⸝⸝

To be a gift was to be a blessing. Young girls and boys picked up off the streets of dying villages, rampant with sickness and filth. The heavily coated royal servants cased the roads, their scent fragrant and foreign. Even if they were not turned they still had that enticing pull to them, lined with the beckoning aura of the vampires just by association. Or maybe it was because no one in your village had seen such decadence, that slow prowl, ruby red gems dripping from chains slung around their bodies showing you who's kingdom they belonged to. 

You had only heard stories of the vampires sending to find feeders outside of their kingdoms. Not stolen, kidnapped, or captured. Persuaded by the idea of a full belly that none born to this kind of poverty had ever experienced since falling away from their mothers. It's why when the servant leaned down next to your half-stiff body, trembling from the cold wind, you let him. Let him breathe in the scent of you, eyes closing as you send a prayer for some kind of savior from this cold hell you had been born into. Fingers numb as you held them, knowing that as tight as you had gripped it should have hurt, knees pulled to your chest, the half moth eaten blanket wrapped around you the only relic you had from once living between four walls and not against one. 

“Have you ever been fed from before?” It was that single question that made you blink back to reality, looking at the pale face inspecting you. He was a vampire, you could tell from the faint ring of red around his iris’ but it didn't scare you as you had been told it should have. Even if you would be taken away, anywhere would be better than the cobble street digging into you, staining your clothes. It wasn't a bed as you had tried to convince yourself every night as you faded to sleep. If they locked you in a cellar you're sure even if it's cold it would at least keep you dry from the snow, blocked from the wind. 

“Never,” the word sealed your fate like a fresh wax stamp.

taglist 🏷: want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! I do not write for enha this is my first time and I don't know how much ill be writing for them in the future this is for the taglist for this fic only!

[nickistuffs]

Fan to Partner

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference

Summary: Please don't think I'm weird Harry

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: None. Fluff 💗

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

…

There was something Y/N had never told Harry—not before they were even a ‘thing,’ and not since.

She had been a fan of him for years.

Not just in the casual, “I listen to all of your music” kind of way, but in the “I’ve been following you since you were posting update videos from the X Factor house” kind of way. The type of fan who had watched every 1D concert video followed his solo career religiously, and—if she was being completely honest—had a poster of him on her wall that she hid out of sheer embarrassment.

And now, here he was, lounging on her couch, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow on his face, illuminating the high points of his cheekbones, the soft curls falling into his eyes as he flipped a page in his book.

He looked so… pretty.

Fuck.

How did I even pull him?

Lost in thought, Y/N didn’t realize she had been staring until Harry smirked, catching her gaze out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, you,” he said, breaking her daydream.

She blinked rapidly, heat creeping up her cheeks. “Hey,” she responded, offering a shy smile.

Harry tilted his head, observing her with that knowing look. “You wanna talk? I can see the cogs in your mind turning.”

Y/N hesitated, nervously tapping her fingers against the kitchen counter. “I will… if you promise not to laugh at me.”

Harry put his book down, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Don’t worry, we listen, and we don’t judge.”

She giggled at the ‘brain rot’ reference,(he was secretly watching her doom scroll through Instagram reels) the tension easing just a little.

“Come here, sit with me,” he said, patting the spot beside him on the couch.

Dragging herself over, she sank onto the couch next to him, hugging one of her plushies for comfort. Silence stretched between them for a moment, Harry waiting patiently for her to gather her thoughts.

“I’m a big fan of yours, Harry,” she finally blurted out, gripping the plush a little tighter. “Like… X Factor days fan. Watching your 1D concerts kind of fan. Then following your solo career kind of fan. For God’s sake, I have a poster of you on my wall that I hide because I’m embarrassed.”

As she rambled on, Harry let out a chuckle.

"Do you want me to sign your poster?" teasing her further.

Y/N immediately froze, her face crashing into her plush as she let out a muffled shriek. “You promised! AAAHHH!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Harry said through laughter. “But you have to admit, you sound a little ridiculous.” He nudged her playfully. “It’s sweet. At least now I know you actually care about what I do.”

She groaned dramatically into the plush before peeking up at him. “Yeah, but… there’s something else.”

The playful atmosphere shifted slightly, the air between them growing a little heavier.

Y/N took a deep breath. “While we’re in the spirit of honesty… I was actually terrified to meet you at first.”

Harry frowned slightly, leaning closer. “What? Why?”

“When you gave me my journal at Felice, I was scared I had done something wrong,” she admitted. “You’re… well, you. A person who probably doesn’t want to be bothered, and I’m just this weird person who—”

“You’re rambling again, love.”

She exhaled sharply, biting her lip.

“Listen to me,” Harry said, his voice softer now. “You are perfect. This—everything you’re saying—is exactly why I wanted to be in a relationship with you. Because you are you. Even the weird parts. Especially the weird parts.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch so gentle it sent shivers down her spine.

“And I’m happy you’re not that scared of me anymore,” he added with a smile. “I want us to open up to each other. No holding back.

Her throat tightened with emotion. “I’ve never felt like this before,” she whispered, before wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

Harry held her just as tightly, pressing his face into her shoulder. “Thank you, Y/N,” he murmured. “For even giving me a chance.”

And in that moment, any lingering fears she had melted away. Because Harry wasn’t just the person she had admired from afar for years. He was here, with her, choosing her just as much as she was choosing him.

Y/N pulled back, looking into Harry's eyes, searching for something deeper, something more that he hadn’t said yet. There was a hint of vulnerability in his gaze, something he hadn't shared before, and she could sense he was about to say something important.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice soft with concern. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting downward, almost as though he was wrestling with something heavy. He rubbed the back of his neck in that familiar way, looking vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen him before.

"I don’t let a lot of people in, Y/N," he admitted quietly. "Not really. It’s hard to know who genuinely wants to be here and who just likes the idea of me." His words lingered in the air, heavy with truth.

Y/N’s heart tightened, the weight of his confession pressing down on her. She instinctively moved closer, her fingers lightly grazing his hand.

"But with you," he continued, looking up, his gaze steady now, "I never had to wonder. You’ve been real with me from the start, and that means more than I can ever explain."

She swallowed hard, her chest swelling with emotion. “You don’t have to explain, Harry,” she murmured, her eyes soft with understanding. “I’ve always wanted to know you—not the person the world sees, but the real you. And I’m here for that, always.”

A tender smile spread across his face, and he gently cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over her skin. “You’re incredible,” he whispered

But Y/N could sense the hesitation still lingering in him. The weight of his words had shifted, like he was preparing to share more of the truth that had been weighing on his heart. He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing.

“There’s something else,” Harry said softly. “Being with me... it won’t be easy. This life, this world—it’s hard to navigate. I’m not an easy person to be with, not with all the attention and everything that comes with it.”

Y/N felt a pang of nervousness, but she also felt an overwhelming sense of determination. She nodded, her gaze unwavering as she met his.

“I know, Harry,” she said gently. “I’ve known from the start. But I’m not afraid of that. We’ll figure it out, together. If there’s anything I’ve learned from romcoms, it’s that we can handle anything as long as we’re on the same team.”

Harry exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding, visibly relieved. “You’re right,” he said, his voice tinged with gratitude. “You chose one hell of a person to be your first boyfriend, huh?”

Y/N laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I did, but I’m glad I’m here. We’re in this together, Harry. Whatever comes with it, we’ll make it work. I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon.”

Harry pulled her into a tight hug, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “Thank you,” he whispered into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

Y/N’s arms tightened around him, holding onto him like she never wanted to let go. At that moment, the fears and doubts seemed to fade into the background. They both knew there would be challenges ahead, but they were ready to face them together, as partners.

And as Harry pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, Y/N realized that sometimes the hardest things—the most difficult relationships—are the ones worth fighting for.

Together, they’d find their way through whatever came next. And with each passing day, they’d become stronger, not just as individuals, but as a team.

…

As Harry pulled back from their hug, a light chuckle escaped Y/N. She couldn’t help but tease him, feeling a bit of mischief bubbling up inside her.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm, “you definitely got lucky. I mean, you are my first boyfriend.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh, am I?”

Y/N grinned and leaned back on the couch, resting her chin on her hand as she looked at him with a teasing smile. “Mm-hmm. You’re the first person I’ve ever been with who makes me feel… this way.”

Harry's eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re playing with me, aren’t you?”

She shrugged dramatically. “Maybe,” she said, her voice low and full of humour. “But hey, I’m just saying, you’re the first in a lot of things, Harry. First boyfriend. First to see me be this... ridiculous.” She giggled softly at herself, the mood light and easy.

Harry’s lips quirked up into a grin. “Oh, I see. I’m the first in everything, huh?”

Y/N leaned in, her smile widening, her eyes glinting with playful affection. “Well, yeah. You’re the first to get to be this close to me, the first to make me feel this comfortable, the first to get me to actually open up like this…” She paused, teasingly looking him up and down, then locking her gaze with his. “And I’m definitely hoping you’ll be the first... in other things too.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching at her boldness. She could see him trying to suppress a grin, but she could tell he was flustered, his cheeks turning a soft pink.

“Bloody hell, Y/N,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smirk. “You really know how to turn the tables on me.”

Y/N leaned back, her eyes sparkling with mischievous delight. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. “Well, I guess I’ll have to be prepared for whatever else you throw my way, then.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said knowingly raising her eyebrows. “You’re the first to handle me, after all.”

And with that, Harry couldn’t help but smile, the warmth between them growing. As playful as the moment was, there was an undeniable sense of affection and trust that only made their bond stronger.

Together, they’d find their way through whatever came next. And with each passing day, they’d become stronger, not just as individuals, but as a team.

"But can you actually sign my poster?" She shyly asked him as Harry laughed at her adorable request.

…

I actually love them. <3

[kxtsukixoxo]

pro!hero dynamight is known for his explosive nature, fans second guessing if they should really approach the hothead. is it really surprising when you aren’t scared of him?

𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 ᥫ᭡ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩 ᥫ᭡ 𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧

“aaand, we’re live!”

the cameraman shouted while katsuki leaned back against the couch, the reporter sat with her legs crossed, a bunch of keycards held, considerately inbetween her slim fingers. she gave katsuki the look every reporter gave him, she was about to tear this man apart til he erupted, the blonde recognised the look on her face, ‘she’s about to turn me into fucking chopped liver’ and he couldn’t do anything about it, all he could do was sit and look pretty, answer whatever was asked timidly. for the sake of Dynamight’s public image right? 

“we all know you for your extraordinary work on the field, but we’re unable to slip through the cracks of your personal life” katsuki forced a chuckle as she continued, “fans have gone wild, trying to uncover information from back to your early days as a UA student, and follow your seamless journey to becoming a pro hero” 

‘(y/n)’s probably watching the interview rn’ 

“dynamight? hello?” katsuki snapped out from his daze and looked at the reporter, confused 

“right-“ 

“as i was saying, fans have submitted questions they’d like you to answer” the reporter smiled carefully, as she peered through her glasses, looking at katsuki’s fuzzled expression. the tweets were displayed across the board behind them, as well as they were printed, a copy for katsuki, and a copy for the reporter. 

‘so that’s what she was holding..’ 

“let’s read them, shall we?” 

katsuki took a deep breath as he let out a chuckle, “the first question is…..” the reporter paused for dramatic effect as katsuki’s patient ran thinner than rippling water. “your schooling days back in UA? did you enjoy them?” 

katsuki let out a deep breath “sure i did…it had its ups and downs, but that comes with every situation in life” reflecting on the relationship between kenji and you, and keeping that in consideration. “good things came out of it, and so did bad things” sure you dated an asshole, but you got kenji out of it. “the good makes it worth it” he let out a breathy exhale, as a smile sneaked up on his lips. the report chuckled as she watched katsuki reminisce on the nostalgia that came with UA. supposedly. not you, right?

after fifteen minutes of diving through tweets, katsuki answered patiently, biting onto the skin inside of his cheek. and there it was…the question that made him hiccup and his skin turn cold. 

“so Dynamight…the question everyone’s been waiting for..” the reporter looked at him over her glasses as she tapped her chin. 

“would you ever date a fan?” whispering it with suspense, as katsuki thought about his answer 

‘fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck’ 

“you’re thinking really hard about this one” the reporter chuckled, as katsuki fought with himself 

“i mean, sure” katsuki started and paused immediately. “being a pro doesn’t make me superior, we’re all human at the end of the day, we eat off the same plate” katsuki shrugged as he leaned back, once again. 

“well there you have it, it’s time to wrap up!” the reporter cheerfully announced “and to all the Dynamight fans out there….take this as your sign!” katsuki thought about a million ways to kill the reporter while he had her infront of him. 

he didn’t want anybody to chase after him, he wanted you. 

katsuki was 99.5% sure you watched the interview, the second he reached his door, he pulled out his phone, punching in your number. 

“hey..” 

“hi!! you were amazing out there!” you squealed as kenji babbled, reaching for the phone “kenji wants to say something too, hold on” 

katsuki chuckled as he leaned against the counter, using his elbows for support, the phone being supported between his head and shoulder. 

“hey there little man, what’d ya wanna say?”

kenji continued to babble in broken english, katsuki couldn’t make out whatever he said. but he didn’t tell him that, instead he slipped commentary as kenji spoke to him. 

katsuki checked his watch, realising how late it is “it’s past ya bedtime big guy” 

you chuckled as you took the phone away from kenji, “we’ll talk to tomorrow then kats, thanks for calling” your voice soft and subtle, obviously tired and strained. katsuki wondered what you were doing up so late, were you waiting for him? 

“night sweets” 

“night kats” 

katsuki smiled to himself as he placed his phone onto the counter, walking towards the ceiling-to-floor glass windows, he spectated the skyline, hoping you were looking out the window too at the same moment. 

‘the moons beautiful, i hope you take some time to look at it’ 

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 -

@rinkomei @qyuin @kalulakunundrum @amayaaaxx @lotusstarr @mona345 @aryuunachigiri @emmaafinchh @haruesme  @nottherealslimshady @taxavoider @gomu-gomu-gojo @your-mum3000 @slutlight2ndver @citruki @d4rlinxs @bangersplusmash @adherethecomingofage @ipoopedmypants47 @kenmacantakemeaway @ilovemushroomss @african-american-tacos 

[little-glitter-kitten]

I Think The Apple's Rotten Right To The Core Pt 4

Prologue: As your brother, Caleb always took great pride in the fact that he was always the first to notice the little things when it came to you. When you were hurt, when you were sick, when you were lying or keeping a secret. What will Caleb do when he notices just how much his precious little adopted sister has grown? Can he fight the filthy, rotten feelings threatening to ruin all he holds dear?

(Caleb x Reader, no use of 'Y/N, AFAB reader, size difference.)

TW: Pseudo-incest, dub-con, somnophilia, semi-public sex, possessive Caleb, Obsessed Caleb, Yandere Caleb.

YOUR POV:

Blearily, you opened your heavy eye lids, the sound of rain smashing against the roof, waking you from your slumber.

"Shhhh..." You could feel Calebs' hot breath in your ear as you stirred. "It's okay, I'm here."

You felt yourself being rocked gently, like a boat on the waves, Calebs' hand on your hip swaying your body to and fro. Relaxing into the motions, you were prepared to drift off to sleep again when you noticed it. That hard appendage rubbing between the lace covered cheeks of your ass.

You gasp, realising what is happening, when a rumble of thunder shakes the windows. Before you could let out the whimper that was about to spill out of your mouth, Calebs hand that hand been under your head shoots out and covers your mouth.

"If your scared, bite my hand, just like you used to do in storms." He whispers before grunting on a particularly rough thrust against your ass. You slowly open your mouth as his thumb makes it way between your lips and teeth. Gently, you bite down and whimper, screwing your eyes shut against the flash of lightning.

"Don't be frightened, it's almost over." He pants in your ear.

You can't tell if he is referring to the storm or him using your body, but either way, you lay there, letting him use you but your mind is racing a thousand miles a minute.

It wasn't like you were inexperienced, you'd had sex before, albeit only with one man but that was neither here nor there when it was your brother currently grinding himself against your ass.

"Fuck!" You heard him mutter, his hand no longer rocking your body against him. "I need more, just a little more."

Slowly, you take your teeth off his thumb and whisper quietly. "Wha..." You gulp. "What do you need?"

"Your thighs." He whispers in your ear. "Help your Gēge this one time and I swear, I'll never ask again."

Your mind was at war, you didn't know how you felt about this. Part of you wanted it to be over, but a sick, small twisted part of you was enjoying knowing you had driven such an fine, upstanding man to such depraved madness. Either way, you didn't want him to leave you alone, especially not with the storm outside.

Deciding if this was what he needed to stay by your side, you parted your legs slightly in silent invitation.

"Thank you Mèimei." He chuckled slightly in your ear. You heard the zip of his jeans and slight rustle of clothing before feeling his now bare cock slot itself between your thighs, rubbing up against the gusset of your panties. "You always take care of me so well."

His hand closed your thighs around his cock as he slowly began thrusting in and out of the soft flesh between your thighs. As the head of his cock rubbed back and forth over your clit, your mouth sought out his thumb again. Your teeth biting gently into his flesh as you swallowed a moan.

You felt sick for enjoying this but why did it have to feel so good?

Caleb obviously felt no remorse about his actions, so why should you?

You whimpered as his tongue traced the shell of your ear and his cock rubbed up against that sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again. Feeling guilty about getting off on having your brothers cock between your legs, you subconsciously tightened your thigh and squirmed away.

"Don't fight it, be a good girl for your Gēge." He panted in your ear, his thrusts beginning to become somewhat erratic, making the bed squeak slightly from his movements. "That's it, take it sweetheart, you can't run from me."

Soon you felt him stiffen and pull his cock from between your legs with a harsh grunt. You could hear the wet sound of his hand working over his cock before a whispered "fuck" filled the air.

Turning your head to look at his form before you, you saw him laying on his back, a pool of cum on his belly glowing in the moonlight. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you.

"I could feel your wetness." He told you eith a small smile. "Let me take care of you."

You know you shouldn't, but the throbbing need between your legs had won out. Rolling over to face him, you went to open your mouth to agree when you were heard the cough from the bedroom down the hall.

Grandma...

Our Grandma...

It was like ice water had been dumped on you. You jumped out of your bed and made your way into the shared bathroom, locking the door behind you as you sat on the ground, panting.

You shook your head. You had been ready to let your brother bring you to orgasm. What was wrong with you.

You wanted to cry but the ache between your legs was too much to ignore.

"Shit, shit, shit." You mutter as you give in and slide your fingers under the waistband of your panties, rubbing your clit in fast little circles. It didn't take much before the muscles in your legs tightened and your head fell back, as you released a silent moan.

Your panties were soaked through with a mix of Calebs pre-cum and your arousal. You had to change them.

Pulling yourself off the bathroom floor, you unlocked the door and went back into your room to find it empty. Sighing you flopped back on the bed and realised, you wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Early the next morning, you carefully made your way downstairs, mindful of the other two people sleeping in the house. You began quietly going about making some toast that you desperately needed to sooth your stomach.

You had been up for most of the night, your fingers buried deep inside you as you remembered the feel of Calebs cock between your legs. Shame and guilt swirled in your mind so much that you didn't hear the two sets of footsteps coming down the stairs and making their way into the kitchen.

"Good morning." Your Grandma said, taking you by such surprise that when you spun to face the voice, you knocked off a photograph from its place on the cabinet.

"Sorry." You gasped leaning down to picked up the frame.

"It's okay, dear." Your Grandma said, taking it from your hands to inspect. "It's not broken."

Looking down, you saw a photo of you and Caleb at the park. You sat on his lap on the swingset as he soared the two of you through the sky.

"You always did love the swings." You felt Calebs' breath stir the hair on the top of your head as he leant over you to see the photo.

"I still do." You gave a slight chuckle, trying your best to play it calm.

"You should see it now. They've really done it up." Grandma tells the two of you.

Caleb turns to you and offers a small smile. "Sound like a plan, pipsqueak? We can go to the park, just like old times."

You feel yourself relax and smile back. "Yeah, I'd like that."

[charmedslayer]

6x09 - Smashed (Transcript)

As Spike turns her around she punches him with her other hand. He pulls back and backhands her. Buffy falls to the ground.

Spike looks surprised, puts his hand tentatively to his head with the beginning of a smile. Looks at Buffy, who is still getting to her feet and has her back to him.

SPIKE: Ahh, ahh, ohh! (grabs his head)

Buffy gets up, backhands Spike and he goes down. He gets up to a kneeling position with his back to Buffy and stays there, looking at the ground. She speaks to his back.

BUFFY: You're a thing. An evil, disgusting, thing.

She walks past him and away.

Spike lifts his head to watch her go. Slowly an evil grin spreads across his face.

[...]

Open on the street, downtown, night. People walking around, talking, etc. Spike walks out from an alley, looks around, grins.

Pan across the street. Lots of people going about their business.

SPIKE: (to himself) Look at all the goodies.

He continues looking around, pauses as he spots something.

Closer shot of a young blonde woman standing on the corner, looking at her watch, looking around, hugging herself as if she's cold. She turns and starts to walk away.

Spike moves to follow her.

Cut to an alley. The young woman walks along, still hugging herself, looking nervous. Suddenly Spike steps out in front of her. She screams.

SPIKE: That's right, you should scream.

She tries to get away but he moves to intercept her. She looks scared.

SPIKE: Creature of the night here, yeah? (indicating himself) Some people forget that.

He advances on the woman. She backs away, shaking her head fearfully, backs up against a wall.

WOMAN: Please.

SPIKE: She thinks I'm housebroken. She forgot who she's dealing with.

WOMAN: Anything you want, please-

SPIKE: Just 'cause she's confused about where she fits in, I'm supposed to be too? 'Cause I'm not. (pacing back and forth) I know what I am. I'm dangerous. I'm evil.

WOMAN: (scared) I-I'm sure you're not evil.

SPIKE: Yes, I am. I am a killer. (moves closer to her) That's what I do. I kill. And, yeah, maybe it's been a long time, but … it's not like you forget how.

He gets up very close to the woman, who is panting fearfully.

SPIKE: You just … do it. (nervously) And now I can, again, all right? So here goes.

He morphs into vamp face. The woman screams.

SPIKE: This might hurt a little.

He bends over to bite her, then flings himself back, yelling in pain, crashes into a Dumpster. The woman runs off.

Spike crouches there clutching the Dumpster, panting.

SPIKE: What the hell is going on?

I don't have the biggest BTVS reach but I have been thinking about this

[shocked-collar]

Got any advice for writing Ren?

OOOOOOO yeah i got a lil bit!

Ren is one of those more difficult characters to keep a grasp on due to his spontaneous yet grounded personality. Ren is also special because he has MULTIPLE different interpretations. BTD1, BTD2, TPOF, and YKMET, though we don't know much about that one yet. I find by remembering my little 'character rules' he's easy to play in any of the aforementioned settings.

Also, ALL OF THIS should be taken with a grain of salt as I'm only a fanfic writer/roleplayer online and don't know how Gato herself would write the character.

First rule I follow is to remember that Ren is desperate. The moment he's determined to do something, he becomes desperate to finish it. The moment he's decided he wants something, he becomes desperate to get it. The moment he falls in love with something, he becomes desperate to keep it. This really only applies to things he REALLY cares about. He has to REALLY care about it.

Second rule is to remember that Ren never got to manage his emotions. He's emotional. He's quick to anger, to sadness, to happiness. He works like a sword made of markers; One movement too hard and he'll fall apart.

Third rule is to remember that Ren is starving for things to go his way. He's manipulative. This isn't always intentional, he just hates hearing the word 'no' and despises any kind of pushback. It's been coded into his nature to snake under peoples better judgement to get what he wants after being denied for so long. Even before Strade he was pushed down and silenced, so now it's almost triggering to be on the sidelines.

Forth rule to remember is that Ren is obsessive. His friends are HIS friends. His shows are HIS shows. His food is HIS food. You are not allowed to challenge these ideas without him getting irked. If you talk about another friend you have, he'd be delighted to meet them! But if you talk about them too much, he'd begin to resent them. How good can they really be, right? Not better than him. He's a GOOD friend...

Fifth rule for Ren. He is very proud. He's proud of himself on a subconscious level! He's proud of his cooking, his abilities, his media knowledge, his hair/fur, and especially of his species. Which rolls into the final rule!!!

Rule six, arguably the most important one (in terms of playing post-Strade Ren)... Ren is a fox beast-kin. He is not human. He works differently on a fundamental level than humans do, the largest concern being his diet. He fits in, he makes friends, he engages in society, but in the sort of way that farmers engage with their cattle. He can eat and consume any part of you he needs to. He reads you as delicious. His language and tendencies will be different than a normal persons, like his habit of nesting instead of sleeping in a bed, or even marking territory. He WILL be argumentative, and quite frankly hurt, if any of his animalistic-behaviors are mocked or frowned upon. He is not human, and he wants you to know that.

There are differences in personality when it comes to WHICH Ren you're playing. BTD1 is very reserved because he has to be. He's quiet, obedient, and bites his temper a lot, but do remember he still has one. Despite the daily-terror, Ren finds it hard to hate or love Strade, as he's constantly dished with praise, pets, love, cuts, bruises, and violation, in some sick healthy diet of intimacy.

BTD2 Ren is overly-confident and proud of himself. He feels like a hidden super-villain! He feels like... Strade. A normal guy doing normal things in the normal world, but look out, he's ACTUALLY a big scary-spooky man you should be afraid of! But not so much you don't love him! When in reality he's... ahead of himself and in his own head. He struggles to come to terms with what's happened to him. He's both so happy Strade is gone and also feels not helping him was the worst decision of his life.

TPOF Ren, or Fox, is back to being reserved- but in the way that you should be scared. He's under no ones thumb in this timeframe and still keeps the same temper he's always had. He carries himself with a menacing poise because he knows his emotions are expensive, like the rest of him. The slightest furrow of his brow can indicate a world of consequences for whoever it was aimed at. Despite his appearance, his obsessive nature fails him, keeping him stuck in a mental cycle of correcting and forgetting the past, two contradicting items that slowly tear him apart. He is disgusted by his past and pleased that he has gotten so far away from it, yet can't shake his quiet adoration of German accents.

I hope this??? Helped???? Somehow??? I'm sorry for the yapping novel and also if it's messy, I hardly read it back cause I have a lil bit of a headache

[pastlivesxpastlie]

Get Below Me vol 1💘

Simp!RoommateVessel x Virgin!Fem!Reader

Fluffy fluffy fluffy expo- some mentions of male masturbation - Vessel’s a bit of a weirdo - shy!reader - Both are obsessed with other and weird about it - Vessel wants to be your first - pacing is weird but hey 🍍

Volume 2 (the smut chapter) will be out this weekend. Happy Valentine’s Day!

taglist: @lifemod17 @glitterghost @inv3ga @adenobabe @jeriiicho @milk--bones @myaudiocommentary @horsebiologist @intake-of-breath @fruitsandcheese @0hg00dgirl @goosepond69 @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @lynzeequitlollygagging @thatxxjiyong-ssi @cloudy-soul @daddysaidbringthethunder @evisnotok @cheomain @chaosandchaos @sage-m-sepia @dreamer-lost-in-wonderland

The minute Vessel sat down on the loveseat, nothing mattered. Your roommate dominated your attention. The show you were binging? Stupid. The rabbit hole you were falling down on your phone to occupy you while you were watching tv? Irrelevant. Your eyes were on him. You didn’t care if he walked around without a shirt on. Guys could do that. And you’ve survived seeing him in tighter sweats, surely. Just breathe.

You realize you’re biting your lip when he gets your attention.

“Are you alright?”

That’s when you also realize you’re eye fucking him while he plays on his Switch Lite. He’s making zero effort to be hot and yet…no. Save that thought for later.

“I…just got…” think think think “…really hungry! Be right be back. heh!”

You scurry into the kitchen, trying not to clamp your thighs together for relief as you “look for snacks.” You’re taking some deep square breaths to calm down when…

“Looking for snacks in the dark?” Vessel asks flatly after switching on the kitchen light. He’s leaning in the doorway, taking up more space than normal. His arm is resting against the top of the frame. Blocking you in. “Bit difficult that.”

You gulp and shake your head. “I uhm…using the light on my phone.”

“Your phone’s on the sofa.”

Fuck. He isn’t even looking at you like a predator. Hes looking at you like…Like he’s confused. Because he is. You did this often—scurrying away when there was no real conversation happening. Did you not like him? Certainly you did. There was no denying the mutual attraction but something kept you away. Maybe you were scared of silence. But what you should have been scared of was the thing that scared Vessel: how badly he needed you. No man of his age should “simp.” He’s a successful, intelligent, well-off guy. Finally he has to ask, calling out to you as you walk back into the living room.

“Why don’t you bring guys here? I genuinely wouldn’t mind if you did,” he says knowing full well he’d cry himself to sleep if you brought home some man and had to see the very same “some man” leave in the morning. He sits back on the chair across from you and waits to hear what you have to say, even though you look mortified.

“I…I don’t really date.”

Oh. This is a surprise. “Do you not…are you….”

“Hah it’s…no I’d like to. I just…I’m a late bloomer is all. Virgin…”

Vessel shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “No worries. That’s not a bad thing necessarily. But…are you..I don’t know. Lonely? You’re so gorgeous and…”

“You think I’m gorgeous?” Your cheeks warm up.

He blushes and looks down. “Yes.” Vessel shrugs with a shy smile. “I…I doubt you even think…remotely similar to m—“

“No Ves, you…you’re… I think you’re so ha—.” You don’t even finish your sentence. He should know. He has to know. “Anyways. I’m at the point in my life where I want my first time to be with someone I’m sure about. A lot of my baggage is from just…giving ‘it’ up and by ‘it,’ I mean ‘me.’” You sigh heavily and look away. “Not trying to be prude about these things. I’m just scared. Scared of choosing the wrong person and ruining that part of my life. The uncertainty kills me.”

Vessel leans his elbows on his knees and looks at you lovingly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Honestly it’s admirable but…you can’t live in fear. Easier said than done but…”

There’s a knowing look between you two. It’s a delicate, tender moment. “Ves…”

“Hmm?”

“Why don’t you bring girls over?”

Silence. He chews at his lip and sighs. “Hey…listen…” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to avoid that question by asking you something that makes me feel just as awkward.” You don’t protest. Instead you shift a little and nod. “What if we, like, you and me…would you go out with me sometime? Maybe? Like for…fun?”

“Wow Ves, for fun? You know how to treat a girl,” you snicker.

He rolls his eyes and groans, rubbing his face hard with his wide hands. “Don’t be daft, honestly.” He shakes his weary head and bites his lip, taking in your pretty face. “Just put me out of my misery and reject me already. Can I take you out sometime?”

Yeah, ok. “Reject him.” You couldn’t if you tried. You two took things slow. Almost painfully slow, but this was important to both of you. Very much so to Vessel, but he didn’t want to show it too much. He wanted to be brave for you. A perfect boyfriend, if you’d allow him that. It was all going to plan.

From the moment you inquired about the room for rent, he was drawn to you. But again, he couldn’t show that. How creepy would that look? A tall and imposing but otherwise gentle (on the outside) guy insisting that a pretty, single girl like you share his townhouse might raise eyebrows. He was cool. Aloof, but not apathetic. He wanted you in his house on your terms. That’s all. And as he hoped, you were falling for him. He was already there. Just biding his time until you caught up. Until then, it was night after night imagining how nice it would be to strike. To make the first move and just show you how shamelessly…how gleefully obsessed with you he is. Vessel spent so many nights fucking his own fist, staring at his closed bedroom door just willing you to catch him. But you were a good girl. You’d never barge in unannounced unless there was an emergency. So good. The best girl, in his estimation. Why couldn’t you barge in? Why couldn’t you be just a little more of the vixen Vessel knows is hiding underneath your surface.

It was Valentine’s Day. A five whole weeks since Vessel asked you out. That also meant five weeks of…tooth rotting happiness. You were beside yourself. You still had absolutely no idea how long he wanted this. Wanted you. And in his mind, the less you knew was better. He just wanted you to let it happen and accept that you were his. He was yours. And he wanted this night to be special.

[respectthepetty]

The Heart Killers' Colors? - Ep. 11

I saved over 100 images for episode eleven of The Heart Killers’ so writing “I’m in my feels” in an understatement, and this episode beginning with this beautiful shot of the boys at descending heights, Style being the highest in pink, and the lovers reuniting at the center really emphasize this is a love story.

Style's shirt even says "love" and I need the GMMTV wardrobe department to get a raise!

However, I’m still pissed that the boys did not kill this man!

Liliana, I thought you raised them better!

But now that Black Brooder Fadel and Red Rascal Bison have found love, they are done killing (even if they should still take the shot).

And Style, the biggest lover of them all, makes perfect sense because I, too, would be acting a whole damn fool for this beautiful man and begging him to give up the hitman life since Style knows it doesn’t actually make Fadel happy.

So even though I’m already thinking about how good Joong and Dunk are going to look in Dare You To Death since this will be their aesthetic, I’m also very pissed that this white man is about to break up the these partners (in crime) since he doesn’t understand this Black Brooder and Red Rascal are in a LOVE STORY (with two possible Blue Boys, but I'm not here for those lies)!

Thankfully, Style’s dad understands what genre his son is in because even if I’m not sure about Style’s color, we all know he is deeply in love with his Black Brooder (who is wearing the hell out of that tank *bites bottom lip*), so it’s time he puts a ring on it, and makes Style Mr. Hitman’s Husband.

Even Kant understands this! I don’t think he even knows his color, but he knows he is in love with a quick-tempered and aggressive Red Rascal, so an exhibit about a volcano killing everyone is the perfect place to propose a proposal to him.

It’s also the perfect place to have these adorable inflatable suits with red (and blue . . . Kant, what is your color, bro!) on them.

But we all know the only reason for the suits was so the show could introduce this line into the mix. Kant and Bison have said the freakiest stuff in this show, and I appreciate First and Khaotung getting an opportunity to be play characters who are weird about each other.

Fadel can’t allow that though. He must out-weird everyone. But first, let me enjoy this scene.

Okay, now for my emo kid to show just how “weirdly romantic” he is.

I know Black Brooder Fadel is super duper emo (Paramore’s “The Only Exception” plays in the distance), but Style is just so in love with him that their perfect emo love story is healing my heart. Style is Death Cab for Cutie’s “I’ll Follow You into the Dark” (Love of mine, someday you will die, but I'll be close behind. I'll follow you into the dark) and I love that Style continues to prove that Fadel’s darkness does not scare him, but is the reason he loves him.

I LOVE THEM!

And now they are going back to the support group to share their fears leading to Style basically proposing. That’s my boy! He doesn’t need to wait for Fadel. He can propose!

And seal it with a kiss. They are my OTP!

Fadel is giving Style is heart pin, and that is a reversal proposal. He is giving him his heart. I feel the tingle of a tear of a forming in my right eye!

And now a romantic dinner after cooking together! This is “peaches and plum, motherfucker.” This is “In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.” This is “we deserved this domestic happiness, but even if we don’t have it, I’ll still love you in every version of us” and I’M UNWELL ABOUT IT!

Of course Kant is looking like an angel surrendering his tools, so Bison can claim him with a tattoo.

They are beautiful, and this calming blue light is physically hurting my feelings because now my left eye is tingling with a tear.

Fam, I’m going to be honest, I’m not doing too hot. I don’t give two effs about the colors right now. This hurts way more than I expected.

AND NOW KANT IS CRYING! Don’t have First cry because then my bitchass starts crying. Don't look at me!

FUCK!

FUCK!

Jojo, don't you hurt me like this. This is not HIStory 3: Trapped.

FREE MY BOYS!

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. grey!Wally Clark. cheating. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - D

D is for Wally's dirty, depraved, debaucherous mouth. The things that spill out of him when you and he are alone together; when he's two knuckles deep and has you mewling in pleasure, begging him to fuck you like an animal as he deliberately ignores you.

"Not yet, baby," He takes your nipple between his teeth, flicking the tip of his tongue against it, "I wanna play with you first."

He should make this quick, but it's been three days since he's tasted you and he's jonesing for a fix. Janet's downstairs with Claire and Chloe, talking cheer routines and new uniforms. They don't know Wally climbed the trellis into Janet's room, fell through the window, and snuck across the hall. As far as anyone knows, you're alone, a virgin saint surrounded by homework while you watch Gilmore Girls for the fortieth time.

"God, baby, you're so wet for me. Did you miss me? Did you miss the way my cock fills you up?" Wally whispers dark and husky in your ear, a second finger joining the first, tips nudging your sweet spot. He moans when you bear down, back arching, pretty lips parted on a blissed sigh. "Fuuuuck~, that's it, baby girl, show me how good I make you feel. Show me how much you like it when I play with you."

The way your body responds to his touch drives him wild. Your legs spread wider, your hips rolling as you fuck his fingers, your nails digging into his skin, and Jesus, he's never seen anything as beautiful as you. Flushed, wanton, made just for him.

"You're a needy little thing, aren't you baby..." Wally growls low in your ear, words hot and breathless, his other hand cupping and caressing your tit, "So soft and perfect for me, fuck." He removes his fingers and the frustrated keen you release makes him throb in his too-tight jeans. In a move that impresses even himself, he strips out of his remaining layers and positions himself between your legs, grinds his hard cock against your pussy as he grabs your hand, laces his fingers through yours, and pins it above your head.

His other hand trails down your side to your thigh, hikes it up so your leg is wrapped around him. Wally's words are a promise and a threat, "I'm gonna have you baby... I'm going to make you mine..." And you whimper so sweetly, a heavenly chord that drives Wally insane as the heat between you and him builds to an inferno. "My beautiful girl," He pants, thrusting into you before you're ready, his eyes rolling back as your hot, velvety pussy surrounds him.

There's nothing in the world he needs more than this. More than you. The thought should scare him—he's getting too attached—but he's too consumed by lust and sensation to care. How you chant and mew his name, how you cling to him as he fucks you. Slow at first, taking his time, and then faster, harder, sharper, more desperate. He bites and licks and sucks your throat, wants so badly to leave his mark, but he can't. Won't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. (Maybe in round two or three or tomorrow morning.)

"You like that, baby?" He pants, heat coiling in his belly. "You like how my cock feels inside you?" A kiss, a bite, his tongue licking into your mouth as you keen and meet his thrusts. You're so tight around him, he's going to lose his mind.

When he comes, it's with your name on his tongue, in his head, in his fucking soul, though he refuses to acknowledge it. He doesn't comment when you burrow into his side, warm and soft in the afterglow, your breath on his skin like serenity. He strokes your hair, closes his eyes; inhales, and smiles proudly at the musk of you and him and sex all over you.

"My pretty baby doll," He murmurs against your lips when he claims them in a deep, hungry kiss moments later. "My perfect girl," which makes you blush, sex drunk and pliant in his arms, "I wanna feel you ride my face, baby, do you want that?" He coaxes, rolling over you, hands everywhere, lips everywhere, gaze heavy-lidded and dark.

"Janet's gonna come up any minute," You warn him and he chuckles.

"Like I give a fuck," A teasing stroke of his fingers through your folds, soaked, slick, messy from his come and yours. He doesn't tell you he locked the door. Doesn't tell you Janet thinks Wally's at Braden's house anyway and won't suspect a thing. Doesn't point out how he turned up the volume on your TV to muffle the sounds he pulls out of you.

Five minutes after he convinces you, you're humping against his mouth as he tongue-fucks you to a blackout release.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

[galaxymagitech]

❤️✏️ for the writing ask game??

Thank you for the ask!!!!! I'm gonna stick this in two posts, because I have many, many WIPs.

For ❤️"what are your favorite scenes from your WIPs?" Here are three of my favorite scene fragments. It was difficult to restrict myself to three, so I focused on the scenes least likely to make it onto AO3.

fool me twice (which may never see the light of day...) (Warning for Referenced Child Abuse)

“Tim, I—I don’t—”

Tim’s heart sinks right down into his stomach. He can feel it there, bouncing against the fleshy walls and failing its desperate mission to keep a steady beat. The acid’s eating away at the smooth muscle, burrowing into his heart and filtering into his blood vessels. Tim is burning. “You’re right,” he says, pulling his lips into an empty smile like he’s on Joker venom. Tim clasps his hands together and lowers his head. “It’s not—it’s not a big deal, I shouldn’t have bothered you about this. I know you’re very busy.”

Suddenly, the air is knocked out of his lungs as he’s pulled into a hug. Tim is hyperaware of Dick’s warm arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly like Dick’s afraid Tim will disappear. “No,” Dick says. “No, I—I’m so glad you told me about this, okay? You did the right thing. I just—” He steps back, holding Tim by the shoulders. Tim can see the tears pooling in Dick’s eyes, the way his expression keeps shaking like his face isn’t sure which one to display. “Tim, he already crossed that line.”

“Okay,” Tim whispers, and his heart returns to his chest but it can’t seem to beat right because everything just seems so quiet. Like the world is dulled, blunted. “Should I talk to him?”

Dick bites his lip. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to go there right now.”

And Tim steps back, letting Dick’s hands fall off his shoulders. “This isn’t about safety,” Tim clarifies. “I’m fine, I’m barely hurt, I’m not even hurt at all.”

“Okay,” Dick says, raising his hands placatingly, patronizingly.

Tim takes another step back. “Don’t treat me like a child,” he warns. “I came to you for advice, not because I was in danger, or, or scared or something!”

“Okay,” Dick says again.

This time, Tim takes a step forward. “I’m Robin, I’ve been Robin for a year. I’m not one of your victims!”

“Okay,” Dick says, in that same infuriating tone and something just bursts inside of Tim.

Tim takes another step forward, clenches his fists, and screams right into Dick’s face.

“STOP SAYING THAT WORD!”

There’s the moment where Tim can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage and the sting of tears in his eyes and the strain in his clenched fists and the breath hot on his face and—

And then there’s the moment where panic shoots through him and Tim stumbles back, hands moving to a defensive position and his mind completely blank except for fear.

And then there’s the moment where the surroundings kick in and he realizes he’s standing across from Dick and the man’s hands aren’t anywhere near raised and—

Tim locks eyes with Dick.

“I’m sorry,” Dick whispers. “I’m so sorry, Tim.”

Tim looks down to his side. “It’s not your fault.”

Dick swallows. “I’ll talk to him.”

“I don’t think you can get him to—to not do that again. I already talked to him about it.”

“That’s not what I’m going to say to him,” Dick says. “He’s shown he can’t be trusted. I’ll tell him that you’re quitting and that you’re staying with me now. And if he doesn’t like it, I’ll just call the Justice League and he’ll have to take it up with them.”

“Batman needs a Robin.”

“Robin needs to be safe.”

From Better Than Batman

“Do you know how many assassinations the League does in a week?” Tim asks, voice almost conversational. Jason knows better, though. Because the glint in Tim’s eyes from the Tower has returned, and he almost, almost looks like the boy in the Batman suit who attacked with the ruthlessness of Lady Shiva. “On average, it’s 23.42. I had access to everything, and I did nothing.”

And that—Jason laughs aloud with glee. “That’s just too perfect.” He never would’ve thought Tim had it in him. And he has the guts to call Jason a psychopath. “Does Brucie know?”

Instead of answering Jason’s question, Tim steps forward and poses a question of his own. “Are you better than Batman?”

Jason meets his eyes. It’s strange, he realizes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tim without a mask. Not conscious, anyway. “Yeah,” he says.

Tim smirks. “That’s what you’re always saying. Well, here it is. Do what Batman never could. Compromise. You’re better than Batman?” He leans in close, inches away. “Prove it.”

Of course. Of course that’s what it comes down to. Because no matter what unhinged creature Red Robin could be, he’s still a Robin. Still Batman’s protegee ‘til the bitter end. And here he is, trying to convince Jason to abandon his morals and cower in fear of his former mentor.

In a sudden movement, Jason throws himself forward. The chains go taught, forcing the cuffs roughly against Jason’s wrists, but Tim’s flinch is worth it. Jason lets himself laugh, laugh like he did in the Tower, like he did when dragging Tim’s pulseless body through the caves.

Tim’s eyes flicker down to the folder that lies strewn on the floor, then back up to Jason. “Think about it,” he says, and then turns tail and leaves.

Good riddance.

it beckons me to stay (Warning for Referenced Character Death)

Damian could phrase it like a proof—he’d written plenty of those, before he dropped out of high school at sixteen (just like Timothy did, the first time Father died). All of his nightmares feature his family. In all of his nightmares, his family die. All of his dreams are nightmares. When Damian sleeps, he dreams. Therefore, Damian watches his family die every time he sleeps.

Tonight, it is Todd. Damian grabs Brown’s hand and runs. He runs and he runs and he runs, but he always ends up in the same location. Take it, Brown says. There’s a gun in his hand.  

This isn’t real, Damian tries to say, but his mouth won’t move. 

Help me, Todd screams, fingers wrapped around Gordon’s throat.

Help me, Gordon screams, as she tumbles to the ground, still.

Help me, Brown screams, scrambling away from Damian.

Help me, Damian screams, but the sound doesn’t come out. His finger twitches on the trigger.

When he wakes up, Todd is still dead.

Damian hadn’t had a choice, he tells himself. Todd was under the influence of a potent toxin with no antidote. He had already killed Gordon. He would have killed Brown. He hadn’t had a choice.

Brown had promised to take the secret to the grave, and she had.It’s only Damian who knows, now, that he killed his brother.

[4urvalidation]

A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter Eight

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

A/N: Not to be dramatic, but - it's happening. The slow burn is burning. Finally.

++ I know I don't say this often, but comments, likes, reblogs and any kind of feedback in general is greatly welcomed. I love hearing what people think of my work. So if you could spare a second or two to share your thoughts, it would really make me happy. And as always hope you enjoy. ✨

TW: Underage drinking, mentions of getting drugged as well as drugs/alcohol in general, smoking, very strongly implied sexual content, characters once again being horny and doing stuff because of it... (if something's missing lmk)

She feels bad. 

No. 

She feels horrible; evil. Her insides tear apart at the idea of stringing JJ along and yet - that’s exactly what she’s doing. What she has been doing for the past couple of weeks and she should stop, but stopping means fully indulging in the ever growing crush she has somehow developed on Rafe fucking Cameron. 

Ever since their little rendezvous - his smile, his eyes, his hands, his forearms is all Leni could think about. She wears his sweatshirt in bed and in the darkest hours of the night, her mind weaves all kinds of wicked fantasies. With her eyes closed shut, she imagines his lips gently gliding down the length of her neck, chest collar bones. Biting and licking and savouring every inch of her needy body. Giving everything she shamelessly begs for.  

In the morning her wild, unabashed thoughts quickly replace themselves with scalding hot shame. Leni gives her flustered reflection a stern look, but it’s pointless. Once night falls and she finds herself all alone in bed, she will do the same things over and over and over again. 

On Friday, JJ is five minutes early. With a smile on his face, he watches her descend down the stairs of the Summerwinds Hotel and… she likes him. Maybe not as much as she likes Rafe, but at least there’s something to like about JJ. 

In his beat up truck, they make small talk. He’s cleaned up nice - a suit courtesy of Pope and a haircut by Cleo and he’s still the same old JJ that offered her a can of warm beer all those weeks ago, but something’s changed. He has changed. Leni notices it in the way he talks to her now; how his gaze lingers when their eyes meet and how he’s no longer afraid to touch her properly. 

The back of his calloused hand gently brushes against her arm as he explains the way he maneuvered a gigantic wave earlier that morning. When he notices she has no intentions of pulling away, JJ allows himself to linger before finally taking Leni’s hand into his own. His palm is slightly sweaty and rough - the same as she remembers it from the first time they touched.

Leni turns to look at him: his clear ocean blue eyes, his slightly crooked but blinding smile; the chubbiness of his cheeks and the way he always looks tired despite getting more than 10 hours of sleep. She wishes she could kiss him. Right here, right now as he’s speeding down the not so open road. 

And she almost did. 

Last night by the fire while the rest were busying themselves by looking at John B’s dad’s ancient old treasure maps, JJ scooted closer to Leni and put his arm around her bare shoulders. In her ear he confessed how bored all of this made him feel; how having her here makes everything so much better and how she is the real treasure - not the piece of junk his friend was oh-so desperate to find. 

Leni laughed, a big throaty sound muffled by unintelligible shouting. It had been a while since a boy had put his face this close to hers and a part of her was scared she might’ve forgotten how to kiss properly. She felt JJ’s beer soaked breath on her lips and it was gross and so not romantic, but his words dripped honey and she liked him and Kie -

Kie interrupted them. 

Kie in her gorgeous blue bikini and her sun bleached hair and perfect smile towered over the two of them like some sort of anti kissing police. The second JJ noticed her presence he practically catapulted himself back on his feet. Away from Leni, their would-be kiss and the words he whispered in her ear. 

“I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose.” Was Sarah’s response when Leni recounted what happened and maybe she’s right; after all Sarah knows Kie a lot better than she ever will and yet, a part of Leni can’t help but feel like she might’ve done it on purpose. 

The conversation she and Cleo had that day at The Wreck; the subtle glances JJ  throws in Kie’s way whenever they’re on opposite sides of a room, their subtle touches, secret smiles, inside jokes and unspoken words… 

No. 

Leni will simply not allow herself to stoop this low. 

They’re best friends! 

JJ and Kie are best friends and it’s totally normal for best friends to be overly protective of one another. 

Hell! - she too is guilty of such a thing! But then again, when has she ever drawn circles on Otto’s back or gazed at him dreamily or bitten his shoulder or-

Maybe that’s just how they functioned. 

Or maybe Kie has a big fat secret crush on JJ. 

Just like the one Leni has on Rafe. 

No! 

She said; she promised there will be absolutely no more thinking about Rafe! She’s wasted enough time wearing his sweatshirt and checking her phone for his text! A line must be drawn and Leni decides that today is the day everything stops. 

Tomorrow once she’s awake and very well rested, she will text him to take back his sweatshirt and put an end to this exhausting case of limerence he has opened against her! 

Yes. 

That is a perfectly good idea and totally not an excuse to see him!

“Oh.My.God!” Is the first thing that comes out of Polly’s mouth the moment she spots Leni and JJ, “You absolute hottie, you! Your dress-”

“You like?” Grinning, Leni does a little spin. 

“Like? Do I like? Are you fucking kidding me!? I am ob-sessed! I want like thirty of these! Tess… Tess!” Polly calls out to the crowd and there  Tess is - gorgeous in a sunset colored dress, her enviable curls gently cascading down her shoulders. “Don’t you just want thirty of these?” 

Their gazes meet and the smile on her friend’s face disappears almost immediately. “Pogues or trashy dresses?” Tess’ stare is razor sharp. Her voice icey. 

“Hey, Tess… I thought this was a classy party.” Leni tries to keep things light, airy. She even throws a throaty laugh for the sake of it, but none is being thrown back at her. At least not from the person she desires it the most from. 

“It was, until you dragged your little dog along.” 

“Girls-” Polly whines, “Can we just get along please? I worked really hard to make this night special!”

“I’m not sure Leni is aware of it, though.” 

“What the fuck is your problem?” The words barely make it through Leni’s gritted teeth. JJ’s gentle grip holding her back. 

“I’m sure if you think hard enough, you’ll figure it out.” She wants to wipe Tess’ smile with the back of her hand, but doesn’t. There’s no point; she’ll only be doing herself a disservice, not to mention making things even more awkward than they already are. So instead, she just stands there - her fingers interlaced with JJ’s - as she watches Tess and Polly disappear into the crowd. 

“We can leave.” He says in her ear. His warm breath tickles and she wants to. Oh how badly she wants to storm out of this place like the wildest of hurricanes; take off her shoes and run barefoot in the dirty wet sand while the rest of her friends drink themselves stupid by yet another lazy bonfire. “Okay,” She smiles, but doesn’t move an inch. She’s spent far too much money on the dress and far too long on making sure every part of herself tonight looks absolutely perfect. There is no way in hell Leni’s leaving this party until she gets her comeuppance. Plus, there is no fucking way she’s letting Tess win this one. Especially not after what she said about her date. “But, first - you owe me a  dance.”

Of course.

Of fucking course.

She’s shaking.

Seething.

The prickling in her fingertips grows to the point her hands are practically vibrating but that’s not the worst. The worst comes with the realization that maybe this was a bad idea. Her. JJ. Her and JJ. Her and JJ at Midsummers. Her in this dress. The guy with the awkward grin walking towards her…

“Looks like you need a drink.” He says, passing her one of the two glasses in his hands. “I’m Ford. Borstein.”

“Leni.”

“I know. You’re Polly’s friend. I’ve seen you in a couple of her stories.” 

“Oh, I’m sure.” 

“You like vodka?”

“Not really.”

“You’re gonna like this one. It’s pink.” His pupils are completely blown out. So much so she can see her reflection in them. Ford’s awkward grin widens. “Try it.” 

Leni looks at the drink in her hand. 

It’s pink alright. 

Pink and very unappetizing. 

She turns her gaze to Ford again, but doesn’t look at him. All she can see is the back of a very attractive buzzed head moving through the crowd and far, far away from her. The grip around her glass tightens. So do her chest and thighs. 

“Maybe later.” Leni hears herself say, before pushing past Ford and plunging straight into the hoard of drunken teenagers. Blindly, she walks the steps she not so long ago watched Rafe take and it’s like he’s put some fucking spell on her or something. 

Those dark ocean blue eyes and that infuriatingly cocky smile… ah the things she would give to see them up close again…  

With Ford’s stupid pink drink still tightly gripped between her prickling fingers, Leni mindlessly roams the insides of The Island Club. She can barely hear the music and chatter from up here, but then again she doesn’t really know where up here is exactly. She’s never been this deep or far inside the building and if she were to turn around and rejoin the party, Leni’s not quite sure she’ll be able to find her way back. 

But she does find her way to him. 

Rafe. 

He stands there, all alone in a dark empty lounge room; his handsome face gently illuminated by the soft light of his burning cigarette. The rest of his silhouette bathed in blue moonlight. From behind the crack of the slightly opened door she watches the way his hand moves back and forth from his lips and for the first time in her life Leni finds herself being jealous of a cigarette. 

A cigarette! 

“Hey.” The sudden sound of his voice - quiet, yet rumbling - startles her and as if beckoned, she pushes her way inside; her gaze sheepishly colliding with his in an instant. “How long were you planning on standing there?”

“Depends… How long were you going to pretend not to see me?” 

The corners of his lips perk into that familiar cocky smile that makes her weak in the knees and she watches him watching her slowly glide closer and closer until they are merely feet apart. His eyes don’t stop though. They slide all over Leni’s body - carefully drinking in her curves, the exposed bits of skin - all while taking an enervatingly long drag of his cigarette. 

“I’m seeing you now.” He says, blowing smoke behind his shoulder. His gaze never leaves her. 

“Are you flirting with me?” She smiles. The cigarette finds its way back to his lips again. 

“Do you want me to?” 

“Answer the question Rafe.” 

He smirks, ready to take yet another devastatingly long drag, but Leni steals the cigarette straight out of his mouth. “What if I am?” His stare is now fixed on her lips; specifically on the way they curl around the butt and inhale.  

Smiling, she blows the smoke straight into his face. “That’s not an answer.” 

“You’ve been drinking.” 

“And that is a very lazy way to change the topic.” 

Rafe chuckles, “You’ve been though, haven’t you?” 

“Is it that obvious?” 

“Considering how you’re having one right now… yeah.” He steals back his cigarette. “What is that anyways? It smells foul.” 

“Foul?” 

“Like shit.” 

Leni giggles. “It’s…” She looks at the glass in her hand. “Actually I have no idea. Some guy just gave it to me. Said it was pink vodka or something.” 

“Some guy?” 

Nodding, she takes the cigarette. 

Their fingers brush. 

“Ford Borstein?”

“Maybe.” 

“Yeah, you’re not drinking that.” Without another word, Rafe grabs the glass straight out of her hand and throws it out of the window. “You didn’t drink it did you?” 

“No.” 

“Not even a sip?”

“No! It smelled foul.” 

“Good girl.” 

The cigarette is in his hand again. 

Leni swallows. 

Ignores the pooling want growing between her thighs. 

“He roofies people. Well - girls, mostly. Especially if they’re pretty.”

“Pretty? Like me?” 

The corners of his lips perk up. “Yes, Elena. Like you.” 

Rafe stubs out the cigarette on the window pane. 

She steps closer, “Bum me another smoke?” 

He pulls a pack of Marlboro lights from his back pocket, “Drinkin’, smokin’… some’d say I’m rubbing off on you.” 

“Thought you didn’t drink anymore?”

He fishes out a cigarette. 

She reaches for it. 

Rafe tsks. “I don’t.” His fingers brush her mouth when he places the butt between her lips, making Leni shiver. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want one.” 

She swallows.

Takes a drag. 

“Do you want a smoke?” 

Their eyes meet. 

“Yeah, I could smoke.” 

“Well, go on. Light up. Keep me company.” 

“I would, but… I like it better when I’m sharing it with you.” 

Rafe’s face is practically inches away from her own. So close she can almost feel his warm, sexy breath tickling the tip of her nose. He takes the cigarette right out of her mouth and this time when his fingers brush her cherry coated lips, Leni knows he’s done it on purpose. 

The air between them is charged; heavy. Thick. 

Leni can feel her heartbeat rise with each passing second; the thin material of her thong getting wetter and wetter every time he passes her the cigarette. His pupils are so dilated, they’re making Rafe look like he’s got two black holes instead of eyes and they’re pulling her in; drawing her closer and closer until her body is practically flush with his own. 

Just as he takes one last drag of their shared cigarette, Leni glances over at the small watch around her wrist. 

“It’s midnight.” She says, grinning slightly. 

“And if you don’t leave now your date will turn into a pumpkin?” 

She rolls her eyes, “No! It’s my birthday.” 

Rafe’s face softens. He’s smiling. “Your birthday?” She nods. “I didn’t know.” 

“You know now.”

“Happy birthday then.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Should’ve told me sooner.”

“Why?” 

“I would’ve gotten you something.” 

“Something?”

“A present.”

“Rafe…”

“Oh come on, what’s a birthday without a present?” 

“I dunno - still a birthday?” 

“Not to me.” Blowing one last smoke, Rafe stubs out the cigarette. 

“Okay.” Leni sighs, “What do you have in mind, then?”

“To give you?”

“Yes.” 

He steps closer. His warm breath hovering above her nose, lips, chin… “Something your date never will.” 

Leni swallows. “And what is that?” 

“An orgasm.” 

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

[giggly-squiggily]

Hello Hello again! Just saw that we could send up to five requests, so could I ask for 🧡 Miss You: “Don’t cry- give me a smile!” With Lee! Obanai and Ler! Rengoku? (Younger years if possible but if you don’t want to because of manga spoilers that’s totally fine ❤️ I don’t remember if you’ve made it all the way through) Remember to stay hydrated!

Ooo, this one's different! I've never given their younger years much thought, but I love a different approach to the sillies! :D This one is more on the light side of tickles, but I hope you like it all the same, friend! :D (No worries, I've read the entire thing! Granted, as I write this I'm not entirely sure if I understood the prompt? Sorry if it's inaccurate- it was still fun to write though!)

Miss You: "Don't cry- give me a smile!"

“You’re awfully quiet!” Rengoku’s loud cheery voice scared the tiny man so badly he nearly fell out of the tree he lingered in. “There’s nothing wrong with that, but I do think you should use your voice more!”

“...Just go away, Flame Hashira.” The new recruit murmured, hopping down and starting to walk away. He didn’t want to be around anyone.

“No can do!” Rengoku caught up with ease, unfazed at his curt rejection. “And my name is Kyojuro! Kyojuro Rengoku! What’s yours?”

“The master already told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it! That’s how friendships are born!” This guy- the newbie glared daggers at him as he turned to face him, ready to bite his head off.

“I don’t need you or anyone else as a ‘friend’. Go bug someone else-” A poke to his belly made him jump. “What the hell was that?”

“You look like you’re about to cry.” When did he get a lump in his throat? “Can’t have that, can we? Come on- give me a smile!”

“What are you-ack! Cut it ohohout!” The pokes persisted, making the tiny man squirm and back up. His feet tangled, sending him falling to the ground with the persistent blonde. “Thihihihs is ahahahannohohohoying!”

“Is it really? You’re a Hashira now.” Rengoku kept poking gently, making the smaller man squirm and twitch. “You clearly have the skill to get away from me, yet you’re still here.” He stopped poking him, watching his face as he gasped for air. “Surely that means you don’t hate it, yeah?”

Damn him- perceptive son of a- “It means nothing.”

“I really will leave you alone if you want me to.” Rengoku assured, making him pause. “Just say the word, and I’ll go. However, I think you and I both know that’s not what you want.”

The small man didn’t speak, glaring harshly at the blonde for a moment longer. Then he looked away, tugging at his sleeves. “Iguro.”

“Hm?”

“Iguro Obanai. That’s my name. Call me whatever works for you.” He stood up and walked off then, trying not to smile at Rengoku's pleasant yell.

“Sounds good! Welcome to the team, Obanai!”

Send Me a Prompt and I'll Write A Dabble For It!