#so hot it burnt my tongue

[larrylimericks]

23Nov23

Lou’s red-carpet mesh could melt butter, But re: Harry’s hair, he went nutter: First said he ain’t seen it Then muttered AI shit … Horse noises, meet Rolling Stone stutter.

[alucardsathomewife]

Sorry for not being on much

Sick :<

[redjaybird]

"I can't feel my tongue.."

[crabonara]

real...world skills? i'm sorry, i've never heard of it.. i get hired for my whimsical personality and comic relief value

[ghoulphile]

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position. 

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.” 

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

[messenger-of-babel]

The Call

Summary: One little call to each of them. One big consequence. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 2.9K

Notes: IM LATE AGAIN. I hope you all know that I do stay up wildly late when this happens cause I want to edit before I submit, even if some of these were pre-written (its 1:30AM RAHH). ANWAYS. Batfamily, I tried to get as many as I could but I haven't collected runs for about half the family cause I am biased towards my boys, but I am trying to be as accurate as possible when I can be and that includes those dynamics! So rest assured I am doing my research and hopefully that'll reflect soon. As usual, enjoy your daily feed and I'll enjoy my nap. Warnings just for general description of violence.

Much Love~! xx

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When Dick got the call, he was in his civilian clothes.

Dick Grayson was suit shopping, needing something for an upcoming gala. He had put it off for so long, since he wore the Nightwing suit more than any other in his closet. He had let it ring out once while he got his measurements taken, but when they called back a second time, his lips dipped into a frown. Excusing himself, he clicked the answer call button, stating his name. He hears the voice of Bruce, but in the stern tone of Batman. He doesn’t think that he's ever left a store as fast as he had that day, feet thudding on the pavement and breath cold in his chest as he hurries to his car. He unlocks it and all but throws himself into the passenger seat, lines on his face hardening. Throwing it quickly into drive he pulls out and heads in the direction of the manor.

He tries to keep himself composed, his emotional training kicking in. His fingers are tense on the steering wheel, passing over the bridge at a speed a cop would most certainly pull him over for. Even though he tries to take a deep breath, there's a burning in his sternum. It builds until it creeps into his neck, making him click his tongue uncomfortably.

The sensation is a rage he hadn't felt in a while, a fire that hadn’t burnt that intensely since he was just a boy grieving his parents’ death. It had flickered when he had heard Bruce had adopted a boy called Jason after him, sputtering to life upon hearing about his death. Yet he had grown, he had risen above it and had become a shelter for his younger, extended family. He was dependable, uncrackable, and upbeat, that was Nightwing. Yet as he drives back with that painful fire in his chest, he felt nothing more than Dick Grayson, the boy stricken with fear at the idea of losing his family.

When Jason got the call, he had been on patrol.

Helm securely on his face, it kept the drizzly night rain of Gotham out of his eyes. It had been a rather quiet night, stopping a few minor robberies and assaults that were common down by Dixon Docks. He was eager to return home, wanting to swing by the manor quickly to take full advantage of the hot water system before heading back to his apartment in Old Gotham for a well-deserved rest. He had just finished interrogating some of Penguins' men, about to call the cave to let whoever was on tonight know that they finally had the location of the new drug den they had been chasing the past month. However, the communication device he had set on his bike was lit, screen full of notifications.

Calls, one after another filled the small holographic display and he pressed the button to call back, leg swinging over the side of the bike as he did so. He had only started the bike but already he screeched to a stop, making sure he heard the words properly. A curse and gruffly shouted questions were his only response and when he got the information he wanted, he cut the call and the bike roared to life. He leant forward as if that was going to help him get to his destination quicker, blood boiling underneath his skin. His chest ached with the urge to sputter out pants, desperate to start the sign of panic racing through his veins. Yet he was stronger than that, keeping his cool like a tightly wound coil, muscles tensed beneath the suit.

His mind buzzes with worry, anxiety gnawing at his ribcage like a feral rat.

Jason doesn't often allow himself to be emotional on the job, despite his tendency for rage.

But rage was different. Rage burned and warmed him up from the inside, was the force that he put behind every punch or kick. It was his kindling, and it served to guide him as well as any star. Of course, Bruce had tempered it somewhat, but he had just guided Jason into turning it into something else, not getting rid of entirely. He used rage to protect the people of the city, the outrage he felt when he saw them get treated badly. He used rage when coming to his family's defence, the sight of hands being laid on people he had come to care for sparking it too. Those were the rages he was used to using, although there was always a third.

The pit.

The rage that bubbled away in the back of his mind, hidden behind a tall wall and shoved into the deepest part of him. That was the rage that crept forth, green and poisonous in his veins and clouding his judgement in a fog of pain and despair and anger. When it would appear, he would often take a moment to himself to pack it back away, contain it once more in the bulletproof casing of his heart. Yet right now, he didn't want to put it back. It made him rev the bike harder, made him feel like he was getting there quicker. The bike kicked up water as he zig zagged through the back streets, his mental map of Gotham rerouting anytime the traffic was longer than five cars deep. He couldn't afford to lost time, to not be fast enough. Not now, not this time, and if he had to use the rage the pit cursed him with, he would.

Tim was at the manor, holed up in his room when he got the call.

It had been a long night the night before, tossing restlessly. Not that he would have told anyone, but the last fight with Bane had left him with a few more bruises than he had let on, cleverly hidden from the keen eyes of Alfred. He wanted to nurse them himself, carry his own weight. In fact, he had been sulking in his room going over the things that had been troubling him, knees pulled to his chest.

Dick was capable and dependable, and the first Robin, the biggest shoes to fill. Jason was tenacious but loved deeply, and he fought for what was right. His methods might be unconventional to the Bat sometimes, but he knew what he wanted to fight for. Steph had flown the nest to become Spoiler, Cass already had such a firm grasp of who she wanted to become now that she was Orphan. Barbara had even been able to turn her life around after being put into her wheelchair, her desire to help leading her to become Oracle when she had to hang up Batgirl. Even Damian, the true son of Bruce Wayne, was so confident, growing at a rate he knew Bruce was quietly proud of.

But then there was Tim, who stayed up on weekends trying to redesign his suit, to carve his own vigilante life, only to look on it and see the traces of his time as Robin printed clearly on it. The role of Robin had outgrown him, but there was the shred of doubt that whispered in his ear that just maybe, he hadn't outgrown it. The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze, and he let it go to voicemail. When it came again, he grabbed his phone with the desire to turn it off, but seeing the emergency signal had him picking up right away.

"Hello?" he called, sitting right up in bed. His eyes widened and he shelved his pity party, running out of his room.

He winds through the halls of the manor until he finds the door he's looking for. Tim's knuckles rap against the wood loudly, repeating until a disgruntled Damian comes to the door, swinging it open violently. "This better be good, Drake." he deadpans, scanning the flustered state of the older boy. Tim just turns his phone screen, showing the emergency call signal before gesturing to the direction of the grandfather clock with his head. "We've got to go." he says curtly, the young boy hot on his heels after he recovers from his shock.

Both of them head to the cave and prepare to depart immediately. Tim slips the suit over his skin like an outgrown shedding, domino mask sliding onto his face. He couldn’t recognise his own face when he caught sight of it in the glass reflection, but a mask and suit would never be enough to hide the panic that clung to him tighter than the Red Robin suit.

When Bruce got the call, he was at Wayne Enterprises.

He was making a rare appearance at the office, knowing that Lucius had something that he wanted to talk to him about. His office felt foreign and sterile, empty and unreal. The glass surfaces everywhere let him glimpse the face of Bruce Wayne, a face that he was beginning to see less and less. It felt uncanny seeing himself without the cowl, and sometimes when he was working, he could swear he saw a reflection of the bat ears in the window beside him. The night had dragged on, and he was only an hour into the meeting with Lucius when the phone in his suit pocket rang.

He and Lucius shared a sceptical look as he turned the phone screen. The call location wasn't displaying as the Batcave, the only place that could contact this phone directly outside of his children, Lucius and Alfred's personal mobile. Yet he knew Red Hood was taking the brunt of patrol tonight, and Bruce was intended to join him after the meeting. Dick was carrying out some errands downtown and everyone else had either stayed home or didn't contact him like this often. The girls preferred to call his phone as Bruce Wayne or spoke through Alfred, so who could it be?

Lucius gives a nod, silent as he sits down. Bruce's face hardens as he presses the speaker button, accepting the call.

"Who is this?" he says, lowering his voice to the gravelly timbre of Batman.

"Da...B-Batman?" comes a broken, shaky voice on the other end. Lucius's eyes widen and flick to Bruce's immediately, mouth parting. Bruce's jaw ticks, eyes widening as well when he hears your voice.

"This is the Batman. How did you get this number?" He asks, having to focus on keeping his voice low, even though the tone of Bruce threatens to creep back in.

"He-he just had it. I don't know. He just told me to speak, I-I'm not even holding the phone I can't see anything; I’m tied, my eyes are-" you begin to ramble, struggling to get through your words before you're cut off.

"Hello, Batsy." calls a voice close to the receiver, and Bruce swore that his heart fell through the floor in that moment. His fingers tighten around the phone the same way that his lungs are constricting in his chest.

"Joker."

The man on the other end cackles, if Bruce could even call him that. "Miss me?" he snickers, Bruce's mind filling with the image of a red stretched grin. "You see, this is more of a... courtesy call. You know Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire?"

Bruce's head snaps up to Lucius, who's rubbing at his face nervously.

He didn't know, did he?

"You see, I didn't make a lot of impact going after the commissioner last time, so I had to think to myself, If I wanted to really shake things up in Gotham, who else is there? Then I thought of it, who better than the playboy of the century?" he laughs, punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers.

"Get to the point." Bruce all but growls.

"Yeah yeah, you always love to rush me, don't you?" The Joker snarks back with fake hurt, before continuing. "Regardless, I have one of his little orphan projects, thinking I might have a bit more success with this one."

He hears a thwack over the phone and a scream, making his nails dig into his palm. He steadies his breathing.

"What have you done?" he asks, low and dangerous.

Another thwack.

"Exactly what I said. But there was a rumour going around that you know Mr. Money, so I thought I'd give you a call, you know, a little gift. If you do know the richest orphan in Gotham, then I want to give you the honour of telling him I've got one of his. Better yet, I want to give you the honour of delivering their body to his doorstep. Maybe that way, you might be able to bond over losing your fake kids."

Bruce feels sick, closing his eyes to try and stop himself from making a mistake right now.

Your life was on the line. He had to play smart.

"Where are you?"

The joker tuts on the other end. "This was a courtesy call, nothing more. I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. Tata for now~"

"Joker-" he starts but then he's cut off, line going dead. Lucius doesn't say anything, his own personal phone pulled out as he calls Alfred, studying the frozen figure of Bruce. It's almost like there's dark tendrils to the shadows on his broad body, deepening the lines on his face.

Bruce doesn't remember too much, but Batman did.

Immediately he had left the room, suit en route to him and arriving within the minute. As soon as the comfort of his cowl touched his skin, Bruce was gone, and it was Batman calling everyone at the same time. It was Dick who picked up first, a couple of rings earlier than Jason before Tim joined, the sound of Damian in the background. Oracle and Spoiler joined together, while the others were still pending. He didn’t have the time to temper his voice as he relayed the situation, immediately getting as many people on recon as possible.

There were shouts and yelling and cursing before all of their lines became inactive, replaced with trackers signalling that their suits were live. When he enters the batmobile he grips the wheel tensely. The lump in his throat doesn't seem to disappear, only growing larger with each second. His mind is filled with pictures of Jason. Pictures of Barbara. The smiling photos of you.

He might never admit it, but he had your photos front and centre in his wallet (something you did in fact know and used to your advantage frequently in 'dad loves me more' battles). He remembers the first day he ever saw you, cold and scared apart from the other kids in the orphanage. He had been investigating a potential human trafficking ring operating out of the centre, but when he saw you, the fatherly pang hit him. The way your eyes stared forward dully as he greeted children as Bruce Wayne, cameras flashing around him. He had enough wealth to buy the children anything they asked for, the other kids excitedly asking for new toys or clothes or art supplies. However, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked you want you wanted, you said only a few words, 'a family'.

And god be damned if Bruce didn't have money enough for that too.

So, he took you in, hid batman from you like he had tried to with everyone else as well. Yet he failed again, but unlike his children in the past, you never asked to join. Never asked for a suit or to stay up or to train in the cave. Never showed any interest in joining your siblings or throwing yourself in front of danger for the sake of the city. When he asked you why you had simply shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

"All I've ever wanted was to be part of a family. I don't need to be a superhero to be loved."

And then you beamed at him with a smile that could have lit up his world and chased the clouds away from Gotham, so pure and genuinely content. That made Bruce feel like he had finally succeeded as a father, and for once Bruce felt like a father. No Batman, no mask and cape. He didn't train with you; he went out with you to the theatre on weekends. You didn't jump from rooftop to rooftop, you liked to come study with him in his office when he had to take care of Wayne affairs. Batman may have been created to save Gotham city, but he was convinced that you were sent to save Bruce Wayne.

Now, he felt that he had failed you as both Bruce and Batman.

"Hold on sweetheart," he whispers to himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment during his exhale. "I'll get you home. I promise."

He pressed the accelerator further, Batmobile display signaling that everyone else was suited up and across the city waiting further instruction. He just hoped, he prayed that when he brought you back, it wouldn't be in a body bag.

[chibinasuu]

Luffy x Reader ― hot drinks; kisses

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― @splicer13vex tags: sfw, pure fluff, established relationship, GN!reader, no use of y/n

It was well past midnight when Luffy woke you up.

He not-so-gently shook you, but had the tact to whisper your name so as not to wake up your sleeping crewmates.

“Wha- Luffy?” You groggily asked, still half-asleep. You immediately jumped up, though, once you remembered that Luffy was supposed to be on night watch today, “Did something happen? Are we under attack?”

“No, everything’s fine.” He grinned, “I want some hot chocolate.”

You groaned and let yourself fall back into bed, “Go wake Sanji.”

“Aw, come on, I like your hot chocolate better!” He paused for a moment, then added quickly, “Don’t tell Sanji that!”

You couldn’t help but smile despite your annoyance at being woken up in the middle of the night. You felt yourself inevitably giving in – there was just something about Luffy that made it impossible for you to say no to him. 

“Alright,” You finally said, kicking off your blanket before quietly tiptoeing out of the room, “Let’s make you some hot chocolate.”

Luffy fist-pumped silently as he followed you to the kitchen.

Once you’ve gathered all of the ingredients, Luffy hopped onto the kitchen counter and watched quietly as you poured some milk into a pot, heating it slowly over medium-low heat. You chopped up a chocolate bar in the meanwhile, occasionally having to slap Luffy’s rubbery hand away as he tried to snatch some to snack on. After tossing the chocolate into the pot, you whisked it slowly, waiting for it to melt and incorporate into the milk. 

Luffy jumped down from the counter and wrapped his arms around you from behind, whispering into your ear, “Is it ready yet?”

“No,” You chuckled, “The chocolate needs to melt completely.”

After a few minutes of you just stirring the liquid, you could feel Luffy getting more and more impatient. His hands had started wandering, running up and down your sides. He nibbled on your ear, and pressed kisses to your shoulder.

“Is it ready yet?” He asked again. 

“Not yet, just a bit more.” You turned your head to give him a kiss on the cheek, “Help me get the mugs ready?”

Luffy kept one arm around you as he stretched the other, reaching into one of the overhead cabinets and bringing out two mugs. 

You prepared Luffy’s portion first, pouring some of the thick chocolate goodness into a mug, before adding some whipped cream and a ton of marshmallows, just the way he liked it. You then filled your own mug, leaving some of the hot chocolate behind in the pot because you knew Luffy would ask for a second serving later.

You watched Luffy as he happily licked off the whipped cream, eyes sparkling once that first sip of the rich chocolate flowed into his mouth. You smiled fondly at his childlike wonder as you brought your mug to your lips, eager to have a taste of the drink too. 

“Ouch!” You jerked the mug away, feeling your tongue and lips burning. You had been so distracted watching Luffy enjoy his drink that you had forgotten to blow on the hot liquid that you had literally just poured from the boiling pot. 

Luffy immediately put down his mug, “You okay?”

“I think I burnt my tongue.” You said, sticking your tongue out in pain. 

Luffy surged toward you to take a closer look. Without warning, he leaned in and captured your tongue in between his lips, sucking on it gently.

Surprised and flustered, you quickly pulled back, feeling heat rush to your cheeks, “Luffy! Wh-what are you doing?”

Luffy merely grinned, “I’m kissing it better, of course!”

His sincerity made you laugh, giving you the courage to shyly lean in again, “Well, my lips are still burning. Do you mind kissing them better too?”

Your Captain wasted no time cupping your face in his hands and pressing his plush lips to yours. Gently at first, soft pecks to soothe your burning lips. He sucked on your bottom lip slowly, before moving on to your upper lip. Your hands went to his hair, grasping the soft strands and pulling him closer as you angled your mouth to deepen the kiss. 

He tasted like chocolate, and marshmallows, and whipped cream. 

“Feeling better now?” He mumbled against your lips in between kisses.

“Hmm, not yet,” You cheekily replied, “More, please.”

Luffy enthusiastically granted your request, capturing your lips again with renewed fervor. You lost yourself in him. No matter how many times you’ve kissed Luffy, it always felt like the first time – heart pounding, skin flushing, butterflies in your stomach. You simply couldn’t get enough. You breathed in deeply through your nose, savoring the smell of his shampoo, the lingering scent of chocolate in the air, and… smoke?

You pulled away, causing Luffy to whine and chase your lips, but you halted him with a hand on his chest. 

You turned toward the stove, and your heart dropped when what you saw confirmed your suspicion. You quickly turned off the fire, which you had apparently forgotten to do amidst the heat of things – your second blunder of the night. The leftover hot chocolate you set aside for Luffy was now a blackened, burned mess at the bottom of the pot. 

“Ugh,” You groaned, slapping Luffy in the chest, “This is your fault for being so damn distracting!”

Luffy apparently found your distress amusing, because he only laughed as he pulled you into a tight embrace, “My bad!”

He gave your cheek a big smooch, “Now, let’s get out of here before Sanji finds out about this.”

Needless to say, Luffy got an earful from the cook the next morning about the ruined pot. He took all the blame in stride and grinned widely as he apologized, never once mentioning your involvement in the incident to the enraged cook.

a/n: i'm back with another cozy holiday fic! still recovering from my nasty cold, but i’m feeling a lot better now!! thanks everyone who sent me well wishes (and sanjis with soups) 🥹🫶🏻

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ main event page || event masterlist ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

[evilgwrl]

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (Ten)

CW: PIV (no protection, use it irl), cream pies, angst, brief description of oral (f receiving), drama time!!!

P.S. this is kinda dooky my bad

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

Everything was white-hot, a strum of fulfilment working through every muscle, scorching blood pumping through your veins, constricting your breath with every knock against your cervix. Teeth indented your neck, crescent moons scarring the flesh with every breath that rang against your throat.

Simon was everywhere.

Whether it was hands gripping at your ass, kneading the flesh between over-worked palms, or his tongue licking at your neck, cleaning the peppered wounds he flourished into your skin, he was there.

Black face paint stained your chest, stygian stains tearing down your breasts with every drop of water, his eyes seizing all colour as his pupils dilated, lapping in the sight of you with every dip of his crusted lashes. He was almost feral, grunting with every deep thrust, enjoying the way you drew him in with every suck of your creamy cunt, every stutter of a breath that whispered against his ear, every splutter of your lungs that filled with water as your mouth held open over the spurting faucet.

His chest was swollen with pride, a sick sense of satisfaction running through him at your expression, your body docile against his grip as your eyes squeezed into crinkled slits. You were utterly fucked on his sheath, his hips pistoling into yours like it was his duty to pleasure you, to bring you to that high he was desperately chasing to feel.

Dark curls brushed against your crotch with every drive of his cock, your tender nipples against his aggravated skin, the skin that was torn from his preposterous labour. His fingers were cruel, toying at your clit with ease as you dug your fingernails into the chisel of his back, coarse muscles reacting to the touch.

You felt fuzzy; your mouth jutted open with a whine as your body succumbed to him, torturous rolls of pressure building in your stomach.

“I’ve missed feeling you around me,” he rasped, his voice splintered with frustration. Frustration that he hadn’t had a proper release since his departure, frustration that he was away from you, frustration that the man was catching feelings faster than he believed he should.

“Missed you,” you mewled, squeezing him coherently with your words, a guttural groan sounding from the man.

Your bodies melted into the water, colliding with each other’s limbs as Simon came inside you, hot spurts of come plugging your cunt with a grunt as he pulled out, a stutter of a breath sounding from you as your legs wobbled onto the ground, muscles spasming in retaliation.

Simon’s fingers were gentle, working the loofah over your relaxed state as your neck cocked. You were so supine around him. Why? Don’t you know what kind of person he is? How many people he’s killed?

“Simon?”

The Lieutenant cleared his throat, staring at you as you pushed his hand away from the same spot he had been rubbing for the last minute.

“Sorry, got lost in thought.”

You offered him a polite smile, pressing a kiss on the corner of his mouth before sudsing the sponge back up, your touch delicate as you ran over his bruises. Simon’s eyes slacked, consumed by nothing as he drifted into thought, enthralled in his work.

Gunpowder skinned his nose, staining his nostrils with the thickness of burnt flesh and stolen lives, the sound of begging and retaliation engorging his brain as he shoved you away, a harsh grunt leaving his lips as he shook off his head, stepping out of the steam.

“Simon? What – are you ok?”

“I have to go, Y/N.”

Autumn had consumed your garden, the green rotting into a moulded brown, a dead stream of leaves scattered like a path to your front door. The air was thick with wet dirt and burnt coffee, a flurry of frogs making a home in one of your unused watering cans. The sky was angrier, often lashing out on the planet in the form of rain and thunder.

Time was going by quicker, the end of September reaching up to you as you crossed an ‘X’ over your calendar. It had been almost 3 weeks since you had spoken to Simon.

You had tried.

It began as chasing him out of the shower in nothing but a towel, your head dripping wet, which turned to you knocking on his door a day later with cookies again, availed by no answer. That turned into you sitting outside the front more in hopes of seeing him.

You didn’t.

You were confused at first, your heart aching slightly at the sudden switch between the man. You had taken it out on your garden, aggravated fists pummelling at the soil like a child throwing a tantrum. It wasn’t long until you summed it down to him not wanting anything serious and left it at that.

You were disappointed, hushing yourself to sleep on your satin pillow as you attempted to listen to any sound of him on the other side. You were also a big girl.

If he was that easy to lose, you never had him in the first place.

The fall air was heavy with familiarity as you piled into the busy parking lot, a swarm of pine trees greeting you, their leaves a vibrant display of orange and yellow, pointed outwards with desperation.

It was a little tradition you had kept for yourself: carving pumpkins.

Everything was crisp. There was an over-ripe stench of cinnamon consuming you from passing cider stalls with the sound of families bustling around with candied apples and hot drinks.

You spotted Tamara in the distance, her boyfriend Max next to her, hugging himself in an attempt for warmth as she tapped him on the shoulder, her hand waving frantically at you.

“Hello!” She cooed, pulling you into a needed hug. She smelt like pumpkin and vanilla, almost gagging you at how much she had drowned herself in perfume. Her hair matched the Autumn air, an earthy red catching your attention as you ran your fingers through the heated curls.

“New hair?” You asked, smiling brightly as you adjusted the scarf around your neck.

“Needed a change,” she said, wrapping her arm into Max’s, who began rambling about how he was going to make the best Jack-o-Lantern.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you; Louis is coming. Is that ok?”

The pit in your stomach coiled for a minute, a remembrance of the last time you saw him in that café with Simon before you nodded.

“Of course!”

Louis stepped out of his car, the bristle of a chill in the air reminding him of where he grew up as he tugged at his cashmere jumper, the blue colour leading him to stand out like a sore thumb until he saw you, a familiar shade adorning you.

His voice was soft as he greeted you, Max and Tamara immediately walking off to pick out their pumpkins.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been well,” you say, gazing at the row of orange surrounding you, children running in between passing couples as you pointed to the fattest vegetables surrounding you.

“I didn’t mean to intrude when you were out with your boyfriend-“

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you correct, taking in how harsh your tone was before placing your hand on his shoulder, “You didn’t intrude on anything. I would – I would love to go out with you.”

It felt wrong to get all dolled up for someone else. Red stained your lips, and your teeth, as you rubbed at them aggressively in the mirror, a black silk dress falling from your skin elegantly. Your eyes were shaded with a fine liner, a smoky hue of brown on your lash line as you spritz your more expensive perfume for the occasion.

Louis was different, fancier, you suppose. His Jaguar skidded against the gravel, an irritated scowl on his face before he watched you peek through the window, an amused look on your face as you opened the front door.

“You look beautiful,” the man said, holding a bouquet of red roses in his hand, tied with a pearl string. You shared dinner over a bottle of Cabernet and ended it with his hand on your thigh, his engine roaring down your cul-de-sac with glee as you kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you for tonight, I enjoyed it.”

It should have ended there. But it didn’t.

It felt wrong to get undressed for someone else. It felt wrong to feel someone else kiss against your pudgy clit and lap at your slick. It felt wrong to buck your hips to meet his, your chest groped with a layer of sweat from another man’s mouth.

Could he hear you? Did he care?

He did.

[slightly-knot-insane]

omfg congrats on your blog! truly deserve it

meanwhile let me get this outta my horny ass

stressed with work, you pray to any god who hears to take your troubles away

demon hears and demon takes

Thank you so much! I hope you'll enjoy my little snippet for you.

[m!demon x gn!reader]

New Acolyte

You've never wanted to be a part of a strict religious cult. You were basically sold into it since your parents were too poor to feed and educate you. And now you spend your best years serving gods you don't even believe in. Even worse, you've been promoted to an acolyte and you run around and serve other members like a slave. You're the youngest and most disobedient - there is always work for such as yourself.

You sigh in front of the altar. Every evening you wipe it with a damp cloth and put three candles on top. Candles are sacred and can only be lit by higher members of the clergy. They pray every morning using these precious candles. They apparently have mystical powers and can fulfil wishes. High priests know what is the best for the clergy and what people need the most so only they can ask for favours from gods.

Your mouth twists into a scowl. What about what you need? These gods don't care that you desire so much more than these dark halls and chanting. This is no life to live!

Checking behind yourself to see if you're truly alone, you light the three sacred candles and kneel, saying your personal prayer. A truly blasphemous one. You are willing to do whatever it takes to escape this life. You don't care which god - if they even exist - does this.

"Just get me out of here!" You hit the floor with your fists, staring into the flames. They flicker once, twice, and a strong gust of wind blows them out.

"I hope you don't mind I'm no god." The voice behind you is deep and husky reminding you of lions purring. "But I can help you with your wish."

You don't dare turn around. Cold sweat covers your brows. You are in danger - something truly sinister is one step behind you. A long red arm emerges in front of you and gently takes you by the chin. "Turn around, young acolyte."

You have to obey. You fall on your soft behind because you tremble too much, but now you can see the creature that visits you. A tall, lean, creature. His eyes are fire and charcoal and his toned body a sinful shade of fresh blood. And he is completely naked.

"You said you would do anything to get out of here." His voice is strange, as if multiple people speak and echo. "I have a request." You are still trembling but you nod your head.

The demon's black and red cock (which you tried oh-so-hard not to stare at) erects as if on command. It is bigger than any human you've seen while sneaking around. So shiny and smooth. "Have you done this before?", he asks you.

You blush. "Only in dreams."

Demon smiles and two rows of extremely sharp teeth make you shiver. "Come here, and let me teach you."

You obediently crawl on the floor and reach the demons legs. His cock smells surprisingly nice, something like burnt caramel. You lick it - unfortunately it doesn't taste like any candy but it's not too bad either. Your inexperienced tongue twirls around the tip and you hesitantly plant kisses along the shaft. Demon strokes your head. "Very good. Now lick your palm and use your hand as well."

You nod again and do as instructed. Your hand moves up and down, jerking off the demon, and your pulse speeds up. It's not only excitement; you feel hot, like you have a fever. Your head and chest are burning. "Good little acolyte." Demon's voice is soft and he is towering you, a happy and terrifying grin on his face.

You are too hot! You have to remove all your clothes or you will melt! Without letting delicious demon cock fall out of your mouth, you remove all your robes and underwear. It barely helps - your skin could ignite any second! But it doesn't matter - this cock, this wonderous organ, exquisite limb - is all you can think about. Making it more wet, making it more hard, pleasuring it faster, more skillfully. Demon moans and his voices echo for a long time. "Acolyte..."

Some ethereal invisible hands touch your hot skin. They fondle your neck, back, nipples, stomach, slide between your thighs. You've never been touched like that. You shake from delight, never for a second letting go of that cock, working on that shaft with all your might. Demon's breath hitches and your mouth gets filled with sweet demon seed. Some of it end up on your naked body and you notice it's red like wine. The invisible hands are gone and you are left without release and soiled, excitement rushing through your veins. You need more.

"Please... Please... Take me... Don't leave me here..."

Demon smiles and touches your cheek with his sharp nail. "You are my acolyte now. I promised you new life. I'm not going anywhere without you."

[peachdues]

road head road head road head —

MDNI.

“I swear to fuck —“

“Keep your eyes on the road.” You admonish as his belt finally gives way under your demanding fingers. Sanemi’s foot inadvertently presses down on the gas as he feels you loop them through his belt loops.

Despite knowing there’s objectively nothing more stupid than letting you work his pants and underwear down his hips just enough to allow his cock to spring free while he’s pushing ninety on the freeway, Sanemi finds he is helpless to stop you. Not when he’s wound this tightly; not when it’s been so fucking long.

The first tickle of your warm breath against his throbbing cock makes him hiss; but the brush of your lips against his head — now almost purple — nearly makes him jerk the steering wheel, threatening to send the car spiraling off the road.

Reality washes over him then, a bucket of cold water dumped right on his head. This is just what he needs; to get you both killed in a crashing blaze of fire and warped metal, all because he can’t control his horny fucking girlfriend or resist her stupidly perfect mouth.

“This is a dumb fuckin’ idea.” He grinds out through his teeth, clenched hard enough to crack. “Just wait another hour til we get to the damn hot — fuck!”

The muscles in Sanemi’s arms ripple, the steering wheel creaking under the force of his grip as your lips part around him, and you take his cock straight down your throat.

How embarrassing it would be for the wreckage of any car crash he gets you into to reveal that he’d had his pants down. Maybe he’ll be lucky and the entire car will burst into flames, burning him badly enough that his sins can’t be revealed. Old piece of shit like this is bound to be liable to explode in the event of a crash. At least, Sanemi hopes that’s the case.

Though, the more your tongue glides along the underside of his shaft while you moan and swallow around him, the less Sanemi finds he can care how any paramedics may find your mangled, burnt bodies.

At least they’ll know he went out on cloud fucking nine.

—-

You try and lift your head up and away, but Sanemi manages to unstick one of his hands from the steering wheel. His palm shoves firmly at the back of your skull, fingers splaying across your hair, as he forces you back down.

He ignores your muffled whine of protest, nearly going cross-eyed at the feeling of your throat spasming around him as you gag.

“Nope,” he grits out through clenched teeth once he recovers. “You’re fuckin’ swallowing every drop. I ain’t showing up to this hotel with fuckin’ cum stains on my pants ‘cuz of you.”

in fairness she deserves it lmao

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

...Well I for one like the Seonghwa mommy agenda

𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙩𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙧 2024: 𝙉𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚

Pairing: Dom!Seonghwa x sub!fem reader

Content Includes: Mommy!hwa (it's been so long right?), comfort sex, food play, oral (fem receiving), sex on a table, slight mention of eating issues, 18+, kissing, possessiveness, protected sex (trying to make condom use sound appealing), clit play, aftercare

Word Count: 2.7K

You've been burnt out and struggling to eat the food Seonghwa has been making you lately and Seonghwa can't have that, he has to get creative.

'You eat your meal and Mommy will eat mine'

The soft glow of the evening filled the room, shadows dancing on the walls as you sat beside the bowl of soup Seonghwa had prepared. His long, dark hair fell softly over his forehead, framing his face as he flashed you a warm smile that made your heart flutter. The smell of the meal filled the air, and you could feel his energy wrapping around you—gentle yet firm, just like him.

He noticed the hesitation in your eyes, the way you glanced at the food, uncertainty flickering in your expression. Seonghwa carefully pulled the chair away so he could kneel in front of you, passing you the bowl of soup with a reassuring glint in his eye 'It’s okay, my precious, little star,' he whispered, kneeling closer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 'You can do this, and I’m right here with you.'

This happened a lot when you were exhausted from life, your appetite would wane and food became a struggle for you- to the point where everything would taste like cardboard or your joyful nature towards food evaporated completely.

It had been weeks since you and Seonghwa had made love as well, from you being too tired and Seonghwa feeling too guilty to express his need for you. His repressed desires edging to the surface as he saw you lick the spoon with your tongue, his cock already hardening and twitching in his pants.

He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to your mouth, his breath warm against your lips. 'How about we make this a little easier?' His voice took on a playful edge, but his eyes were full of sincerity. He reached for the spoon, gently guiding a small bite towards your lips. 'For each bite, I’ll make sure you feel good, too. It’s just you and me, okay?'

You nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude for how understanding he was. He always seemed to know what you needed, even when you didn’t have the words to express it. You took the second bite, and as soon as you did, Seonghwa’s hand slipped down to caress your thigh, fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns. He leaned down, lightly pushing your oversized t-shirt up and around your hips, placing a gentle kiss against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, making your breath catch.

'Good girl,' he murmured, the pride in his voice making you blush. 'You eat all your meal' He spoke as he dragged your hips to the end of the chair, gently but a little impatiently spreading your thighs open so your panties and heat were exposed to him.

'And Mommy will eat mine'

The bowl was small, only about the size of your palm but your motivation to eat the entire thing now had blossomed times infinity, your body was overly sensitive and touch-deprived from the lack of contact and with Seonghwa calling himself 'Mommy', you could feel yourself becoming more wet and aroused from the anticipation of what Seonghwa had planned for you.

As you took another spoonful, Seonghwa’s kisses moved further up your thigh, closer to where you craved his touch the most. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His fingers hastily removed your panties and you felt his lips ghost over your most sensitive spot, making you gasp.

'That’s it, keep going for Mommy,' he encouraged, his voice barely a whisper against you. You tried to focus on the food, but the feeling of his mouth so close made it almost impossible. Seonghwa’s lips pressed a soft kiss to your clit, his tongue darting out to tease you, slow and deliberate.

You took another shaky spoonful, and he rewarded you with a firmer lick, swirling his tongue around your clit in a way that made your back arch off the chair. The pleasure made your breath hitch, your body trembling as you struggled to focus on the task he’d given you. Your shaky laps of the soup, combined with the redness of your cheeks and your nipples peaking through your shirt- it was driving him up the wall with how turned on this moment was making him.

'So sweet for Mommy' Seonghwa whispered, his voice low and warm. He kept his mouth on you, each flick of his tongue a gentle encouragement as he watched you bring another piece of food to your lips. He didn’t rush, taking his time, wanting you to feel every little bit of pleasure as you finished eating.

Your body was so sensitive and your clit was throbbing, your hands beginning to shake as you held the bowl and your thighs trembling, his licks and circles using the tip of his tongue was enough to make your body needy for more- but not enough to give you the orgasm you were desperate to experience.

Your hand gripped the edge of the chair, trying to keep yourself steady as he continued, the sensations building and making your head spin. You could hear the soft, wet sounds of his tongue against you, the way he moaned softly whenever you squirmed in response to his touch.

'Almost there' You moaned out, referring to both the soup and how close you were to finishing on Seonghwa's tongue, looking down at Seonghwa with pleading eyes as Seonghwa's voice against your clit sent shivers down your spine.

'Finish your meal for me precious, and then Mommy will finish you'

He pressed the tip of his tongue against the underside of your clit, staring up at you with a teasing glance as you scraped your almost-last spoon of soup from the bowl, not even blinking once as he watched you shakily bring it to your lips, moaning as he suctioned his plush lips around your clit, accelerating you to the finish line.

When you finally managed the last bite, Seonghwa looked up at you, his dark eyes filled with pride. He kissed the inside of your thigh again, rubbing the outside of your thighs with tender swipes of his hands as he blew hot breath against your cunt, his hair fringing his lashes, framing his eyes that were blown out and hungry for more.

'You did so well, love,' he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “Now, let Mommy take care of you.”

You hastily placed the bowl down as you watched Seonghwa lick his middle finger, spreading your thighs wider as you could feel the relief flow through your body from Seonghwa's next movements.

His middle finger tentatively prodded at your entrance, his free hand reaching to pull the clitoral hood back, exposing the aching bud in all it's glory as he suctioned his mouth over it, revelling in the way you tasted as his finger slid in to curve upward to your g-spot.

The sensation was overwhelming in the most heavenly of ways, feeling the coil of pleasure build up rapidly as your back arched against the chair once more, reaching down to coil your fingers through Seonghwa's hair as his moans further emphasised the experience.

'Mommy!'

You cried out in elation as you finished on Seonghwa's tongue, your cunt spasming and your moans of his name were enough to trigger him into a state of desperation, his hand reaching down to palm his aching cock over his sweatpants.

With a soft chuckle and gleeful smirk Seonghwa pulled away, the teasing glimmer in his eyes replaced by something deeper. The moment hung between you, charged with a gentle but needy anticipation. He stood, taking your hand and guiding you to your feet, the warmth of his touch igniting every nerve in your body.

'Come here,' he murmured, leading you to the dining table. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow, making the room feel intimate, cocooned in the soft scent of the meal and lingering sweetness of your shared moment.

He quickly places the empty food bowl and non-essential items down on the adjacent empty chair, leaving the table bare as he turns you to face him, his hands resting on your waist as he lifts you on the table. His breath mingled with yours, warm and inviting. 'Mommy wants to fuck you right here if you'll let me” he whispered, his voice a sultry promise.

You nod, heart racing as he lifts the shirt over your body, cradling your head as he lays you down on the surface of the table, the coolness contrasting with the heat radiating from your bodies. He stepped between your legs, his long, dark hair falling over his shoulders, brushing against your skin as he leaned down for a kiss. The moment his lips met yours, you felt fireworks behind your closed eyes, a connection that pulsed between you like a living thing.

Seonghwa's hands explored your body, tracing the curves he loved so much, each touch igniting a fire within you. He kissed you deeply, slowly, savouring the taste of you like he had with the food earlier. As his lips moved down to your neck, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone, you could feel the world around you fading away, leaving just the two of you in this beautiful bubble.

'Tell Mommy what you need, precious. Tell Mommy what he wants to hear his precious, little star say' he murmured against your breast, his voice a low whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

You could barely find your voice, but you managed to respond, your breath jolting as his lips latch around your nipple 'I want you ahh! Mommy...I want you to fuck me here...want Mommy's love'

He lifted his head, locking his dark eyes onto yours, a mix of desire and tenderness shining through. 'Then let me give you Mommy's love'.

You shifted your hips downward and spread your legs wider as Seonghwa leaned back up, reaching into his pants pocket to pull out the well-placed condom as he opened the foil with his teeth.

It was in your plan to entice him as he pulls the clear lambskin over his shaft, cupping your breast with one hand and reaching down to draw circles on your clit with the other, gasps leaving you at the sensation.

The dim lighting of the room made Seonghwa look impossibly dreamy with his flushed cheeks, essence-stained lips, blown-out pupils and his skin covered with a sheen of exertion that made him glow under the room aesthetic, the black tank top he was wearing only emphasising his toned arms and delicate collarbones.

'You're going to be so tight around Mommy, I just know it, wanna feel you clench for me'

He groaned out, his voice coarse and deep as he wrapped your legs around his hips, grabbing the edge of the table for support and hovering over you as he placed the tip of his cock at your entrance, kissing you messily, smearing wetness from his tongue around your lips as he did so.

A wave of pleasure washed over you both as he entered you, filling the room with soft gasps and whispers of each other’s names. Seonghwa moved slowly at first, allowing you both to savor the connection, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Every thrust was deliberate, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, whispering sweet affirmations that made you feel cherished, adored.

“Just like that, my precious, little star,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. He leaned back up, staring over you with the most lovesick of gazes, 'You're Mommy's perfect star' He praised in-between kisses 'You're perfect for me'.

You could feel the warmth pooling in your core, the rhythm of your bodies syncing as you moved together. The table creaked softly under you, the world around you disappearing until there was nothing left but the two of you and the shared warmth of your love.

As the pleasure built to a crescendo, you felt yourself tightening around him, a delicious wave of ecstasy crashing over you. Seonghwa didn't want to be called 'Mommy' every time you made love but each time it happened, both of you always finished more quickly.

Maybe it was the elemental surprise of it, it was Seonghwa's decision whether to use it or not, whenever you heard it from his lips- it would entice you to enter into a particular level of obedience and desire for his touch.

Maybe it was the taboo nature of it, the slight unconventionality behind it. Who'd have thought a man so dominant and aggressive would enjoy being called such a feminine and loving term under the sheets? (or on the table in this case).

Maybe it was the idea of your boyfriend, who usually fucked you hard and rough who became so soft and gentle when he's 'Mommy', who always showed his love through his meals, his care, his presence but showed it more so with his hands, tongue and cock when he's in this loving state that made your body burn with pleasure.

'I..Mommy..close..I need' You whined out, your voice cutting off as a particularly deep thrust, your grip tightening around his back and your muscles aching from the exertion.

'I know precious' Seonghwa teasingly trailed his fingers down your side, his voice having a slight mocking tone to it as he pressed his fingers against your clit with a firm pressure.

'Mommy knows you need me to touch your puffy, little clit so you can cum right?'

A trapped groan left his chest as he felt you clench around him, it felt like he had only been inside of you for minutes before he was ready to bust, his thrusts faltering as he tried to achieve his goal.

'I'll always take care of what belongs to Mommy' His voice cracking as he spoke, his voice husky, coarse and deep as his suave persona began to shatter, his raw, untapped feelings shining through.

'Because you belong to me in ways you don't even realise, you're Mommy's precious, little star and no matter what, your heart and soul and this tight cunt of yours will always be mine'.

Seonghwa didn't want you calling him 'Mommy' often because it made him feel vulnerable, made him reveal hidden feelings towards you he didn't even know were inside of him.

Maybe it was how caring the term made him feel, how being called 'Mommy' made him want to protect you from the world, to pull you into his skin and hold you tight in his heart.

Maybe it was how obedient and vulnerable you looked when you called him that, how big and glassy your eyes would become, how you gave yourself to him freely and how trusting you were of him- that it made his soul ache with passion and cock harden with need every time he was on top of you.

'Mommy..I'm cum-' Your voice broke into a whimper as you released all over his cock and fingers, your hands clutching at his arms as you shuddered underneath him.

Seonghwa followed suit shortly after, praising and whispering how proud he was of you, his body shuddering against yours and he released with a whine of your name, both of you surrendering to the moment- enjoying the blissfulness of it.

Afterward, he collapsed over you, breathless and glowing with a contentment that made your heart swell. He pulled you into his arms, nuzzling his against your chest, the two of you tangled together on the table.

'Are you okay, precious?' he asked softly, kissing your skin softly.

You smiled, your heart full. 'More than okay. I’m perfect.'

Seonghwa pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth a soft smile gracing his lips. 'Good. Because I love you, even when times are hard, you need to know I'll always be here'

As you lay there in the fading candlelight, wrapped in each other's warmth, you knew this moment was only the beginning of your journey together, filled with love, understanding, and an unwavering bond that would always guide you to the love of your life, to your home.

To your Mommy and to Mommy's precious, little star.

Taglist: @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell @sugarnspice630 @mykryptonitelight @scuzmunkie @umbralhelwolf @lino-jagiyaa @mrcarrots @craxy-person @staytinyinmybpack @wisejudgedragonhairdo @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @necessiteez @hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @ja3hwa @justaaveragereader

[lovebugism]

Hiiieeeeee may I maybe recommend a fic with Stevie and maybe his ditsy/clumsy gf?

And maybe she tries a new recipe and cooks/bakes something different and gives herself a nasty burn and maybe it’s the first time Steve hears her swear and he’s so concerned over her because she’s clearly hurt and crying but she’s more upset about messing up the dish instead of how badly the burn actually is?

hope u like it angel xoxo — steve patches you up after you burn yourself making breakfast for him (hurt/comfort, established relationship, cw for mentions of minor injuries, 1k)

French toast sizzles on a hot pan. You stand in front of the stove, in nothing but a stolen t-shirt and a modest pair of underwear, and watch it cook with your features pinched in a distant concentration. Your Stevie wanted breakfast — “’s the only thing I want in the whole world,” the boy whined dramatically into his pillow — so you were gonna make him breakfast or die trying.

Steve sits quiet at the kitchen table, sipping steaming coffee from a Count Chocula mug, and hissing every time it burns his tongue. He decides to flip through the Sunday newspaper, mostly ‘cause he feels the honeyed domesticity calls for it. He only finds real interest in the cartoon page.

“Alright. Put ‘em up,” Charlie Brown threatens in the first panel, dressed head to toe in cowboy gear. Snoopy’s in the second one, with both of his black ears sitting straight in the air.

Steve chuckles to himself, a sharp exhale through his nose, and opens his mouth to call you over. “Fuck!” he hears you squeak before he can. It makes him laugh for real this time. “Hey. Watch the language, babe,” the boy teases.

“Sorry…” he hears you murmur in response. With your back still facing him, obscuring any view of the hot stove, he figures you must’ve burnt the first batch of toast. 

It wouldn’t be the most surprising thing, anyway. You’re the clumsiest person he’s ever met (more than Robin, which he didn’t think was even possible). You’re not much of a chef either, bustling around the kitchen with a floundering air of confidence.

“Such a naughty word from such a pretty girl,” Steve jokes in an attempt to make you laugh. He hears his sensitive girl sniffle to herself instead, like you’re crying — or about to. His crooked smile ebbs. “Hey… I was just kidding, babe. You can say whatever the hell you want— I don’t care.”

His chair scrapes the tile when he stands. His socked feet pad against the floor on his way to you. “I swear all the time,” Steve says and embraces you from behind. His scruffy chin bobs on your shoulder. “I mean, you’ve heard me— I basically make up new words.”

He scoffs a faint laugh before pressing a kiss to your temple.

You sniffle again. “I messed up,” you murmur, voice wet with unshed tears.

“What do you mean?”

“The french toast. I put too much egg in the mixture, and now everything’s all sticky— It’s gonna be so gross now.”

You ramble mindlessly and gesture with your hands. Steve catches a glimpse of a red and raging welt on the outside of your thumb. The sight of the fresh burn makes his chest twist.

“Holy shit, babe.”

You meet his concerned gape with a doe-eyed look. “What?”

“Your hand— Let me see.”

He takes your fingers in his gentle, softly calloused ones. You shrug off his palpable worry but let him examine your stinging skin nonetheless. “It’s fine. Doesn’t even hurt,” you lie through your teeth. “I barely even felt it.”

Steve’s peers at you beneath his lashes, bushy brows raised until his forehead wrinkles. “It’s gotta hurt, babe,” he insists in a monotone.

“My bruised pride hurts more.”

He grins before he means to. “Come on, weirdo— let’s get a bandaid on you,” the boy chuckles and turns off the burning stove-eye. You gasp when he tugs you out of the kitchen with a gentle hand around your wrist.

“But breakfast!” you whine in protest.

“I’ll drive us to the diner after, alright? I promise,” Steve assures as he leads you down the hallway. “That way neither of us has to die to put some food on the table.”

“Well, that’s just dramatic.”

He shrugs and flips on the bathroom light. “Maybe a little.”

You sit on the edge of the bathroom counter, per Stevie’s instructions, while he fishes for the first aid kit in the cabinets. He fits just perfectly between your thighs, you notice, as he rubs ointment onto your finger with an impossibly gentle touch. You quickly forget about the raised welt on your thumb — too focused on the pretty boy who holds all his love in his hands.

“There you go. Good as new,” Steve smiles once he’s stuck a plaster flush to your skin. He doesn’t notice the small pout scrunching your pretty face until he’s closed the first aid kit. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’…” you murmur, gaze averted as you pick at the fraying hem of your oversized tee. “I just… I wanted to do something nice for you, but I messed it all up, and you ended up having to do something nice for me…”

Steve scoffs. “You do nice stuff for me all the time.”

Your frown deepens.

“You tidied up the house when I was working late yesterday,” he tells you. “And you did the dishes even though you hate doing the dishes—”

“Everyone hates doing the dishes,” you insist.

“Exactly!”

“Well, you said death would be easier than doing them, so I thought it’d make it easier on you by doing it while I was off…”

“Exactly,” Steve repeats, settling between your legs once more. He smooths a pair of wide palms over the outsides of your thighs and flashes you another pretty smile. “You make everything easier on me. Even when you don’t mean to.”

You peek at him beneath your lashes, gaze glimmering with something short of hope. “Really?” you wonder in a mousy voice.

“Yeah! All the time!” the boy scoffs without thinking. 

He wraps a pair of golden arms around your shoulders and pulls you in for a smothering hug. Your hands curl into his sweatshirt as you bury your face in his neck — inhaling the sweet scent of sleep and leftover cologne lingering there. 

Steve noses at your hair, still a bit wild from your slumber. “Except for when you accidentally burn yourself and act like it’s not a big deal,” he teases with a smile curling at your temple.

Muffled against his neck, you grumble, “It wasn’t.”

[starseungs]

kim seungmin x gn!reader. fluff, humor, apartment neighbors au. 0.7k wc.

note: whipped this up for no reason other than i was feeling like writing something short before i write another entry in my college crush series !! tune in for whose entry is next 👀💌 (this drabble is for you @starlostseungmin have fun)

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

[ 9:01 PM ] A pained groan spills out of your mouth, adding to the uncomfortable thumping you were unfortunately feeling. “You cannot be fucking serious.”

While nine in the evening wasn’t exactly that late into the night, it wasn’t objectively early either. For those who liked to sleep early, they would’ve already gone to bed at least half an hour ago—and even for those who slept late, one would expect that they would be trying to relax by now.

It wasn’t that you particularly kept a strict sleeping schedule where you had to be in dreamland by this hour, but the you right now really wanted for that to happen. Desperately wished for it, even. If sleeping early was the only way to get rid of the horrid migraine you were nursing, then so be it. And on a normal night, that wouldn’t have been a problem for you to achieve.

Except, apparently, this wasn’t any normal night.

Your next-door neighbor’s karaoke session echoed loudly throughout your own apartment, to the point that you’d think you were part of whatever celebration they had going on over there. The booming bass of the speakers rhythmically followed the pounding in your head, accompanied by the carefree voices that seemed to pierce through your eardrums. To put it simply: it was hell on Earth for you right now.

To give your neighbor (and his friends, you assume) some credit, they were actually really good at singing. You could’ve enjoyed their small-scale performance if only you didn’t have a raging headache that made you want to freeze all of them into ice and throw them into the pits of the Antarctic. To make matters even worse, you didn’t even know them.

That was a realization that suddenly came to mind right after you banged irritated knocks on the entrance door next to yours. Too bad for you; you couldn’t even get to contemplate whether this was the right choice to make or not as the door swung open not even five counts later. 

“Uh, hello?” The guy before you starts sheepishly, making you suddenly aware of how the voices inside the room immediately ceased upon your knocks. “Are you my neighbor? Were we too loud? I’m so sorry; we’ll stop the singing now!”

See, you would have loved to sass him for it. To throw your frustration over your less-than-ideal state all out at him. Make him feel bad as much as you can. It was petty, but the little mutters inside your head were tempting you to do it—only for you to catch your tongue before all of it got spat out because, fuck.

You didn’t know you had such a hot neighbor.

His hair was dyed a burnt caramel color, falling down softly until right before it reached his eyes that you couldn’t help but stare at. The baggy white shirt he was wearing perfectly hung around his frame, enhancing the comfortable vibe he was exuding. To add salt to the wound, he looked exactly like your type.

“Are you alright?” His concerned question shook you out of your dazed state. “You just seem a little pale for your complexion.”

Now you were sure that all the gods had abandoned you because all you somehow managed to get out was a simple, “I’m sick.”

If you could only pinch yourself as a punishment for ruining your chance of having a decent interaction with this neighbor of yours that seemingly fell down from heaven, you already would’ve. You only felt way worse when you saw his eyes widen before sputtering out a frantic “Shit, I feel so bad now, uh—” He looks back into his apartment. “Do you want some soup? We have some soup. Leftovers—if you’re fine with that. It’s my birthday today, so we have some other stuff if you want some.”

He was rambling. Oh, that’s so cute. He’s so cute, you’re heating up—are you having a fever?

“Soup would be nice,” you mumbled quietly. At this point, you didn’t know if it was because you were completely lost in whatever sickness you were nursing or if it was just a side effect of being in the presence of the angel in front of you.

The guy nods immediately. “Sure,” he replies, stepping aside in an inviting manner. “You could come in while I heat it up for you. We won’t do anything, don’t worry. Call me Seungmin.”

Seungmin. Even his name sounds lovely. 

It looks like stranger danger doesn’t apply now—you technically know him already. You could almost see your mother’s disapproving eyes, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Especially since you’ll be bringing home her son-in-law soon.

“I’m Y/N.”

MASTERTAG ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @lixxpix @xocandyy @minluvly @moon0fthenight @estellaluna @hanjsquokka

[anakinstwinklebunny]

SUMMARY: you have a weird relationship with your boss..

PAIRING: CEO!anakin x assistant/receptionist!reader

PART ONE

You were late.

Not by much, only seven minutes and forthy-three seconds, to be exact, but late enough for it to matter when your boss was ANAKIN SKYWALKER

You stepped off the elevator, nearly tripping over your heels when you began rushing towards his office. The stupid black coffee you'd grabbed from the lobby machine was sloshing dangerously close to the brim of the cup. Your heartbeat rang in your ears, and it wasn't just from the sprint through the highest building in the city but also from the idea of what was about to happen behind those glassy doors.

"Good morning, Mr.Skywalker" you managed to say right after you pushed open his heavy doors, and in a seconds of your long, fast steps, you extended towards him the cup of coffee like a peace offering.

Anakin, as always, was sitting behind his massive oak desk - once belonging to his grandma, then to his mother, now to him. Although from all three of them, he was the most insufferable.

Those piercing, ocean blue eyes lifted from the stack of papers shattered in obsessive chronology in front of him. He didn't even glance at the coffee you've almost killed yourself for, but he leaned back in his chair, with the leather cracking softly beneath him.

"You're late" he said in the same low, cutting voice you're hearing for eight hours per day

of course he'd say that

"I--the traffic was--"

He raised a hand, silencing you with a look that could've stopped the traffic itself. His gaze flickered to the cup in your hand, and a sharp, humorless smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as if he knew you hadn't get it from the ordinary (yet his favourite) coffee shop

"Is that supposed to be my coffee?"

"Yes, sir" you replied, although you were not sure if you should be so confident about this statement

He finally reached out, taking the hot cup wrapped around your hand with his long, slim fingers. You watched as he brought it to his lips

He grimaced.

"Goddammit, this tastes like burnt tire rubber," he muttered, clicking his tongue as if trying to swallow the remainds of the black liquid that nonethless will haunt him to the end of the day if he won't get a better one

But who's gonna tell him he was the one who chose the coffee machine in this workplace?

His eyes flicked back to you "You thought this was acceptable to give me?"

Heat rushed to your face "I--I didn't have time to stop at the cafe--"

"Do you know what i pay you for?" he interrupted (his possibly favourite thing to do to you) before standing up and rounding the desk until he was standing right on the edge of your comfort zone - if that even existed in his mindset

your breath hitched as you stared at him "To..to assist you?"

"To anticipate me," he corrected in soft yet firm tone, eyes scanning your face in a way that made your stomach twist "To know exactly what I need before i even ask for it" one step from him closer and your nostrich picked up his cologne -- a mix of vanilla and something stronger "Do you think I need this?" he gestured to the offending coffee cup

"No, sir" you managed, eyes moving on the floor

"Look at me"

You swallowed hard, forcing your gaxe back up to meet his - gosh, this was so embarassing. And it was only eight am..

"You're going to make it up to me" voice low and smooth, eyes lightly softened (which was rare for his egotism)

"h-how?" your mind swirled with thoughts of loosing your first ever job at this high company business

A slow smile spread across his face, and for a moment, he looked almost amused, pleased even. "Relax. I'm not going to fire you" his eyes followed the loose strap of hair that escaped from your low bun, and in a matter of seconds, he was already brushing it behind your ear. The touch made you froze, yet it was suprisingly gentle for someone who made such changings the first day he replaced his mother. Yet, maybe because of your delusion, his action also gave you deep confusion. It wasn't the first time he'd done something like that yet each time it felt like the first - but it made you question things..who were you this time? Lovers? Coworkers?

"But you are going to fix this" he continued in this tone that left no place for argument "You're going downstairs, get me a proper black coffee--none of that machine garbage--and you're going to do it under ten minutes. Understood?"

shit.

"yes, sir" you replied out of reflex, quickly turning to leave

"oh, and one more thing" he called after you

you paused, glancing back at him.

His smirk was back, pen between his slim fingers, as he was sitting by his desk "Don't let it happen again, y/n"

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[hazbinwhoree]

Hi!!! Could you do Adam with a spouse/partner that just loves to make food to people? Like they the kind of person to know everyones food prefrences and favorite dishes, just so they can spoil this person(This person being Adam). Like "oh you Has a bad day? I made you'r favorite!"

"you have a meeting? I made just enought brownies to everyone there!"

"princess od hell wants to talk about something? Wait, im gonna made her something to welcome her!"

(Also, science Lute is with Adam for most of her time, she gets spoiled a lot too)

Made With Love

(Name)’s love language was cooking. It had been since she learned how to cook. (Name) would feed everyone and anyone, and knew all of her people’s favorite dishes. (Name) made a lot of food.

Good thing Adam loved to eat.

(Name) adored spoiling Adam. She perfected her BBQ ribs recipe just for him. She mastered it so well, that Adam stopped ordering ribs and would only eat hers. Lute was also spoiled in turn. She liked finer cuts of meat, like filet mignon and ribeye.

(Name) treated Adam and Lute to dinner five days a week, and only didn’t make dinner on the weekend because Adam insisted she needed to chill.

Once, Adam and Lute tried making dinner for (Name) on a weekend. They burnt the food and set off the fire alarm.

(Name) always made sure Adam had food packed for his meetings. The ribs he was eating during his meeting with Charlie were hers.

His colleagues loved (Name) too because whenever she knew Adam had a meeting to attend, she made sure to send him with enough baked goods for everyone.

There was a big meeting today, well, not even a meeting, court, with the princess of Hell. “What do you think she would like?” (Name) fussed, bustling around the kitchen. “Who cares?” Adam said. (Name) rolled her eyes. “I want to make her something.” “Why?” “Why does anyone do anything?”

Adam shut up. “Maybe something spicy,” he finally suggested. “You know, since Hell is hot and all.”

(Name) giggled. “Very smart, babe.”

Adam threw an apple at her. She caught it and threw it back twice as hard, hitting him square in the chest. He let out an “oomph.”

“I’m gonna make her BBQ ribs, since I know damn well you teased her with them being holographic during your first meeting.” “Wh- how’d you know about that?” “I know you.”

“You can’t make her ribs!” Adam whined childishly. “Ribs are my thing!”

“Oh you big baby, I’ll make enough for you too.”

In court, (Name) was one of the last to enter. She approached the princess immediately, who was glaring up at Adam and Lute. “Princess! Welcome to Heaven, I made you and your friend some food.” She proudly presented the tray of ribs. “Best not to have court on an empty stomach.”

The friend looked skeptical, but Charlie was thrilled when she touched the plate and it was a solid, real thing. “Thank you so much!” she exclaimed. “Did you make them yourself?”

“Yeah!” (Name) said. “I love to cook and those are my husband’s favorite.”

“Everyone to their seats,” came Sera’s booming voice.

(Name) waved and flew up to take her spot next to Adam, who kissed her. Charlie’s mouth dropped. A sweetheart like that was married to a man like Adam? Adam noticed the look on her face and stuck his tongue out at her behind (Name)’s back.

When the meeting was over and Charlie and Vaggie had been sent back to Hell, Lute was in a foul mood. So you invited her back with you and Adam for dinner, as you usually did. You made her favorite, ribeye, and made Adam the ribs you promised.

You loved to cook, and Adam and Lute loved you for it.

[eccentricallygothic]

Patience

Pairing: Daddy!Ari Levinson | Brat Baby!You.

Description: Ari decides to actually act upon his literal threats of ‘teaching your ass a lesson’ this time around.

Warning(s): D/s dynamics, ddlg, power imbalance, meanie Daddy!Ari, bratty!you, allusions to spanking, size kink, strength kink, begging, humiliation, rimming, ass fingering, age gap (reader is 20’s and Ari is near 40’s), possessive!Ari, dirty talk, brat taming. Minors do not interact. 

Type: Request (anon), here.

Note: Unedited because it's 5am and I have class around 10am. Forgive me for any errors. Hope you like it <3

.

Your hot and pouty face was buried between your arms that were folded ‘petitely’ over your boyfriend's work table even though you were anything but. “Daddy, please!” You whined and tried to shift in his beastly hold only to fail yet again. “I already said I was sorry and I already got a spankie!” You kicked your foot and complained like you had any power against him. 

Ari's rough fingers only groped your stinging ass cheeks harder as he kept them spread apart for his experienced tongue to keep torturing your quivering pucker. “Nah, today is the day, baby. Buckle up” his words made you whine even louder than before and you puffed out your cheeks, your hips struggling to break free from his tyrannical grip. 

“But I already said I was sorry!” You were a sensitive little thing that was used to being spoiled and treated like you were the reason the sun rose everyday, not getting your way or being rough handled was not something you were particularly accustomed to. Especially not at the hands of the grizzly kneeling behind you. 

“As you have a million times before” Ari simply responded before the sharp tip of his tongue ran around your rim again before he probed the opening that was tightly wrinkled shut. As if the tiny stretches he was causing weren't uncomfortable and humiliating enough, the recent spanks on your ass made it even worse. You had no idea how, but the jerk had even managed to spank your poor little backdoor. He was lucky you loved him. “But today is the day punishment will actually teach you something, you little brat.” 

You huffed and shook your disapproval out through your body. “Daddy, you're being so mean!” Your eyebrows were furrowed but you dared not look behind and at him. You were not allowed to do so, as he had ordered you to look ahead when he had begun. “It's not my fault those little boys look at me! I only have eyes for you!” You heard his snicker of disbelief.

“Yeah, right–” your eyes widened when you felt him heatedly spit on your asshole, clearly further instigated by your words, before one of his fingers began to push against your virgin rim. 

“DADDY!” You panicked but Ari was unbothered. “Oh, no!” Your face burnt hot in humiliation but that didn't stop your pussy from tearing up. 

“Oh, yes” Ari's guttural voice was quiet as he leaned in to lick at one of the many fingerprints he had left on your ass cheeks, the digut he had inserted in you now knuckle deep. His thick beard tickled your sensitive skin where his tongue touched you. “Only have eyes for your old man, huh? Is that why you go bowling with your silly girlfriends in those cute little shorts, hm?” He gave you a good few jabs so you would feel his knuckle butt against your rim. “Tsk, like I don't know about those foolish little boys following you around like dumb little mutts.” Okay, maybe you did like the attention. 

“B- But that's not my fault, Dada! I only want you!” That was true. “You know it!” It was the reason why you liked to rile up Ari like this. Especially during periods when his stupid work took nearly all his time.

Ari began to pull his finger out and your ass humiliatingly squelched. He stopped when only the tip reached your rim. You whimpered as your pucker clenched in discomfort. “Too bad that is not going to stop me from breaking this–”

“Daddyyy!” You whined when his finger began to push into you once more.

“– bratty little ass in like I should have a long time ago” you shuddered when he added some tongue to the finger fucking. “Maybe you will finally learn some fuckin’ patience when you limp all over the place like a sorry little baby slut.”

Oh dear, oh dear.

You had a long evening to go.

And a lot of begging to do. 

.