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ramen-rambles · 5 years

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HC: Getting Stoned with Kaminari

Pairing: Kaminari Denki x Reader

Warnings: 18+, tw: drugs, weed/marijuana, high sex

Word Count: 1.0K

Summary: Pretty self-explanatory, just some headcanons about getting high with our favorite discount pikachu. NSFW under the cut! (wait, isn’t this whole thing nsfw, technically?)

A/N: This was entirely based on the thirst post that I sent to Lyssa on anon like a long ass mf time ago. I told her I’d get around to writing it someday and has been sitting in my drafts since so LOL. Great, now I wanna get stoned :( and don’t mind me, I’ll just be putting in some of my music recs here too haha whoops~ also, can you tell that I am indeed, a crackhead

Taglist: @burnedbyshoto

♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜

SFW

Probably one of the biggest stoners at UA, along with Sero and Shinsou

Also one of those people who skips class to go to the “bathroom” and take a hit from his Juul or wax pen

Not surprisingly, Kaminari was the one who first introduced you to the idea of smoking weed

You were a bit hesitant at first but you were honestly really excited because you’ve always wanted to know what it felt like and now that the opportunity came up, why not take it?

The first time you two got high, you guys smoked out of a bong, decorated with stickers, of course

Prefers smoking sativa-dominant hybrids (like Blue Dream), but doesn’t mind a good indica

Doesn’t really take much for him to get high, he’s a lightweight — which is surprising, considering how much he smokes

Although, he likes eating edibles since the trip lasts way longer, but hey, you can never go wrong with a good ol’ bong rip

Had to literally teach you how to do it because you seriously had no clue. Burning the cherry? Clearing the chamber? Why did you have to cover the carb? Wasn’t that a nutrient??

He found it really cute, actually

“Step aside, babe. Let me show you how it’s done”

You literally took one huge rip and well, shit.

You didn’t really expect to get hit that hard but once you recovered from your coughing fit, it was overall, a very pleasant feeling

He asks the dumbest questions, even more so than usual

You two get helllllla munchies

He has an entire ass playlist on Spotify of good tunes to vibe to while you guys trip balls in his dorm room (ex. The Less I Know The Better, Ode to Viceroy, Cuz You’re My Girl, I Like U, etc.)

Tries to show you cool tricks, like the french inhale or the dragon, but ends up making a fool of himself and you two almost choke from laughing too much

Denki becomes a lot touchier too; his all-time favorite position is when he rests his head in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair, eyes closed as you both of you began feeling more and more relaxed

NSFW

Teaches you how to shotgun smoke which somehow turns into a very heated makeout session

Kaminari becomes super horny

Like he is 1000% a horny stoner

But honestly? You ain’t complaining

He starts by placing his hands on your thighs, slowly trailing up higher and higher to your breasts. Kneading and caressing your soft mounds, pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt

You somehow end up on top of him while straddling his waist, slowly grinding your heat against his growing erection

He nuzzles his face against your neck, kissing and giving kitten licks along your jawline. Your hands rubbing up and down his arms, trying to contain your breathy moans

You take this as an opportunity to grab the bong and take another hit, grabbing the lighter and dragging the smoke out of the chamber before roughly pulling Kaminari by the hair, aiming for his lips and exhaling the smoke into his mouth

“I’m a fast learner, aren’t I, baby?” You say through teasing pants

This makes him go absolutely fucking feral

At this point, you literally can’t keep your hands off each other

Kaminari’s hands finding their way down under the hem of your shorts, rubbing your clit and spreading your slick across his fingers before slipping one of his digits inside your throbbing pussy

You return the favor by pushing him down on the bed, positioning your cunt over his face as you place your mouth over his hard cock, essentially doing the 69 position

Once you’ve both grown impatient from all the teasing, the moment he slides himself inside you is just so overwhelming

The way he fits around your tight wall and the clench of your cunt around his length almost proves to be too much as the drugs only elevated both of your senses, making every move that much more pleasurable

His thrusts are sloppy — as one would expect, considering how fucking high he was

You meet him with a wet and messy kiss as you both can no longer hold on, soon reaching your ends

You two cum at the same time, you crying out his name like a chant as he came inside you with a loud groan; continuing to buck into you slowly as you try to come down from your post-orgasm highs

Once you both clean up, you guys take a few more hits, ash the bowl, and call it a night

He places soft kisses along your face and forehead, tracing your shoulders, the nape of your neck, just anywhere he could reach

You two end up cuddling all night, getting comfortable on the bed, your head cushioned in between his shoulder blades, just riding out your trips, asking each other stupid questions; before you guys eventually doze off, sleeping well into the next day

♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・

Would you guys like to see anymore HCs for any other of the boys? Send in some requests~ ✌︎('ω')✌︎ Thanks for reading!

#tw: drugs #tw: weed #bnha #boku no academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha smut #bnha imagines #kaminari denki #kaminari headcanons #kaminari denki x reader #kaminari x reader #denki x reader #mha imagines #bnha fanfiction #headcanons #bnha headcanons #bnha x reader #mha kaminari

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canmom · 4 years

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wow there’s so much guro that’s just... kinfa disappointingly boring lmao. cw this is quite nsfw introspective analysis of a very niche fetish thing so like. no pictures but, you know. take care.

idk my intro to this fetish was p indirect, like a certain episode of aeon flux that left a very strong impression, or like, mangas i read as a teen like junji ito’s stuff or the extremely nihilistic gantz (wonder if that would hold up on a reread... doubtful). for a long while i was in denial and would never tell anyone about the content of those fantasies but idk, something has finally shifted there (possibly too far to the other side).

i have a vague theory about the desired vibe and what makes it work but it’s still kinda half-baked. i think it’s like, emotionally you need something there: the standbys are a degree of irony or contradiction, (e.g. the person is enjoying getting disembowelled or dismembered and we’re invited to share in that, or looking serene as their head turns into a kind of anatomical spiral), perhaps framing the scene as something very intimate, or at least like just you take the effort to build up some emotional intensity so it’s not just generic hentai personality activates ahegao mode. which requires putting the effort to like, impart them actual subjectivity through whatever means you see as appropriate! you lose that entirely if the implied pov is a vague masculine figure doing the violence, like if the message is ‘imagine fucking up this girl like meat’ it’s like, eh. this isn’t actually what i’m looking for, i want to take the girl’s pov!

the aeon flux episode that i remembered most, of everything in that show, does a lot of things: we have this very off-kilter situation where a woman is trying to escape from a country across a dangerous militarised border (she can see the other side from ehr window), and damages her spine. the surgery is performed by trevor, the dictator, and framed as a sex thing which can be seen across the border. when she’s not trying to escape, or using her broken spine to wriggle halfway through the border wall to kiss her partner, the woman works at a factory making an unidentifiable gadget. on her final attempt, she finally makes it halfway across the border gate, only to have the machines she was creating pop out, sever her legs, and then immediately sew up the wound so like her legs are on one side and the rest of her is on the other. the whole episode’s project is to develop a certain, extremely powerful vibe; without the buildup, the final scene on its own wouldn’t be nearly so affecting. it’s technically all sfw, but that episode really helped install something in younger!bryn... i’d never seen anything like that.

one thing i used to fantasise about a lot was like... gadgets where someone would have to like stick their arm in a hole to press a button or something and that would achieve a desired end but also cause a guillotine blade to come down and cut it off (which may be the end in itself!). i guess a key part of it was that this was always deliberate (the same goes for cyborg surgery). a little while ago, [a certain person :p] linked me this picture where like a girl was in a contraption with various blades poised to cut her limbs off/expose her guts/etc. but she had to like, press buttons to activate them (and, predictably, did), and she couldn’t have picked a better picture to convince me to just admit ok yes i like this stuff lmao. for a while i thought of this as like, oh, i’m a coward, even in safe fantasy land i can’t just admit i’m into guro without carefully constructing a constrained segment that is sanitised and very clearly labelled as consensual, but actually a quick survey of what reddit (lol) thinks is good guro convinces me that no, it’s much narrower than just ‘ppl get bits cut off’.

another component that seems to be good for me is like, a certain sort of unphysicalness/fascination with anatomical detail. that is, cuts are extremely perfect and clean and show a cross-section of the body. this is a big part of what makes kago’s work so effective, like it’s spirals and stuff but they’re informed by actual anatomical structures. i think it’s like... poking at the fascination with all this mysterious matter inside us... the elegant structures that we never see when we’re alive. i was very fascinated with the process of GRS, the way bits of flesh can be like cut apart and pulled through each other and sewn back up. (even if i have complicated feelings about the result.)

still need to poke at the contours of this one but hey, i can draw now, so i’ll make stuff that I like and idk, maybe other people will be into it too. if that’s not your thing then like, valid lol, i won’t just be drawing this stuff but it’s been pretty fun to like... let that out and discover that actually it’s not evil and my friends might even enjoy the stuff i make >///<

#let's see if i still want this to be up in the morning

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

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Asahi Azumane x GN!Reader in: …Pants on Fire

Reader Requests || Immy’s 200 Follower Event 🎊 🎉 🎊

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | f!reader version | m!reader version ||

|| event tag | hq tag | m.lists | main blog ||

↠ Requested By: @screamin-abt-haikyuu ((for my 200 Follower Event)) ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: V. much Not SFW ((MINORS BE GONE *Suga side chops you into the sun*)) ↠ Chronology: Post time skip. ↠ CWs/TWs: There’s nothing too kinky to be found here, but still be sure to peep the note below the cut. ↠ Also no betas—we die like grammatically incorrect men here. ↠ Total WC: 3.3k~

“Be my safety blanket?” Though the words seem innocent enough the way his hand squeezes at your hip says otherwise…

↠ In which you and your lover find a way to keep the bad dreams at bay.

That title thooooo—la-mao~

Boy howdy, it’s been a hot minute since I wrote some straight up smut and it shows lol. But anyways! Gotta thank my girl for feeding into my Asahi thirst lol. I’ve been working on another smutty piece for the better part of two months now, but for whatever reason I can’t get it to work. This, however, didn’t fight me too hard once I got back into the swing of things.

Though this can technically be read as a standalone, if you want some (arguably) funny fluff plot to go with your p*rn then check out the prequel here.

💦 Tags: Reader has ambiguous anatomy | Reader uses they/them pronouns | Use of pet names (that ‘pretty baby’ kind of beat) | OP has a praise kink and she’s gonna make it everyone else’s problem thing too | ((look me in the eye and tell me that this man wouldn’t be into both giving and receiving vast amounts of praise tho—I dare you)) | Low-key soft pleasure dom!Asahi vibes if ya squint | ((ya don’t gotta squint too hard lmao)) | Oral/fingering (Reader receiving) | Penetrative sex (Reader receiving, missionary) | Unprotected sex b/c this is a fic ((irl remember to wrap it up before you tap it up, lads)) | Asahi Azumane has a Big Dick™ I know, he showed me | Asahi Azumane is also a tease | And Reader just wants to get piped down | Asahi’s a sex babbler, and I’ve got proof (it’s this fic, this is the proof) | In this house we believe in switch!Asahi Azumane supremacy

“Be my safety blanket?”

Though the words seem innocent enough the way his hand squeezes at your hip says otherwise.

Ever the gentleman, Asahi gauges your interest through hooded eyes, only allowing his touch to become more purposeful when you nod your consent. His lips quirk up into a dreamy little smile that doesn’t abate even when he pulls you up into a kiss. His tongue flicks against your own, teasingly drawing it into his mouth so that he can claim it, and the suckling pulls that follow go straight to your core.

You moan hotly against his lips as you deepen the kiss, your hands clinching at his shirt as you pull him more fully against you; the loose material is soft underneath your fingertips, but soft is not what you need right now. No, what you need is to feel more of him—all of him, really—against all of you. He’s just as desperate for your touch, it seems, as all it takes to get him out of the offending item is a singular, purposeful tug. Your shirt follows suit and then he’s laying you down, boxing you in, and slanting his lips against yours once again.

He kisses you until you’re reduced to a writhing mess, until your lungs are burning with a lack of air that barely even registers. How can you be expected to worry about something as trivial as breathing when you’re so drunk on his touch? Fortunately for you, your man has a bit more common sense about him. He breaks away with a hard pant, pupils blown wide and kiss-swollen lips parted and glistening in a way that just demands that they be taken again. When you try to reach for him, however, he pulls back with an expression that’s more smirk than grin.

“As-a-hi~” your whining cadence stretches out the syllables into something long and needy, “please.”

It takes embarrassingly little effort on his part to get you to this level of desperate, and were it not abundantly clear that he wants you just as bad you probably would’ve dissolved into a puddle of hot (and horny) shame long ago.

But he does want you—“Always want you, sweetheart, always. Love you so fucking much…”

He slurs endearments down the length of your neck with hot, eager lips, tongue flicking at the space between your clavicles while his fingers feather over your nipples. He teases their peaks to hardness before leaning down to capture one between his teeth. Pinches and tugs, stinging nips and soothing licks—he plays your body like a finely tuned instrument, working you over in every way he knows will get you calling out his name.

“Love the way you say it,” he tells you as he kisses his way down your stomach, kicking the sheets out of the way as he goes, “love the way you cry out so pretty for me. Gonna make you do more of that…”

You can’t tell if his words are a promise or a threat, but you can’t bring yourself to care either way, not when he’s hooking his fingers into the band of your underwear and pulling it down and away.

You’re already so sloppy for him and Asahi groans at the sight, his hands faltering in their task before going into overdrive. He tugs your underwear the rest of the way down your legs before tossing it carelessly over his shoulder, and the impatience of the display makes your body throb for him. You can feel yourself clenching around the air with your need, but before you can even think of whining again he’s on you.

He laps up the proof of your arousal with a groan and the sound hits you hard, reverberating through you like a shockwave, and you bite off a curse as you surge upwards. Asahi grounds you easily with one of his large hands; his touch is gentle but insistent where it presses in against your lower stomach in a clear command for you to stay still. Once he’s sure that you won’t be moving around too much he grabs your thighs and flings them over his shoulders. The broad width of them easily keeps you spread for him as he traces over the length of you with a molten tongue. From winking hole to the pleasure center that lies above, he follows the circuit a few times before finally focusing in on the spot that he knows will bring you the most pleasure.

The trust he’d shown earlier soon proves to be misplaced when your hips unwittingly buck again and you nearly smother him with your sex.

“Just can’t help yourself, huh?” he chuckles as he takes your hips in either of his (big, so goddamn big) hands and holds you still.

“Feels too good, baby, ‘M sorry…”

He shushes away your apologies, pressing a kiss against your core just to watch you twitch for him. “I know, pretty baby, I know. It’s okay, you take what you need,” he coos before diving back in.

Warm, you think hazily as his tongue flicks against you in little kitten licks. So, so warm ‘n’ perfect—fuck!

Your mind blanks out for a minute when you feel his lips pursing around your weak spot in a suckling pull. When you finally reboot your hands are in Asahi’s hair and you’re fucking his face hard. He allows you to guide his movements, moaning out his pleasure as you basically use his mouth like your own personal toy. Were you a bit more aware you might be embarrassed by the needy display, but with your mind lost to the sex fog the only thing you can really focus on is the more-more-more that your body is demanding of you both.

While your fingers are busy digging into his scalp, his concern themselves with filling you up. Between your pre and way he’s drooling all over you there’s more than enough fluids dripping down for him to prep you with. He starts with one finger, groaning at the way the tight ring of muscle seems to suck him in by itself; he adds more digits as your body demands it, fucking you in earnest once he’s stretched you out good. It feels amazing—and how could it not when he’s working you open with those ridiculously long fingers?—but it’s still not nearly enough.

Even with how well his fingers fill you up his cock is so much longer, thicker. It reaches places and caresses spots that literally nothing and no one else can and you need it. Now.

“Want you, Asa, want you so bad,” you tell him between pants with an intonation that makes your intentions obvious—or so you thought.

When he doesn’t immediately reply you peek down at him only to find that he’s already looking up at you. His eyes are crinkled in that way that tells you he’s smiling—or, well, he would be if his mouth wasn’t still latched on to your sex. Your pouting at him only worsens the situation, unfortunately, as he has the audacity to pull away from you and laugh.

Nobody would ever expect Asahi Azumane—the Patron Saint of Mild Manners and king of all things compromise—to be such a goddamn tease, but if there’s one thing that you’ve learned over the course of your relationship it’s that there is so much more to him than what meets the eye.

Your efforts to get his head back between your legs (unsurprisingly) prove to be in vain, a thing that is equal parts annoying and arousing. He’s just so damn strong, it really isn’t fair—in fact nothing about this man is fair. Looks, personality, smarts… He really is the whole damn package, and you find yourself daily in awe over the fact that he’s totally and completely yours.

Asahi’s expression softens then, his eyes syruping with a gooey affection that leaves you wondering if he can read your thoughts. Or maybe he doesn’t need to. After all, you’re just as love struck and you know that it shows.

When you urge him towards you this time he allows it, and the kiss that you share is a sweet and tender thing that leaves you both sighing into it. Even when it ends your man lingers, his nose brushing along yours as you both smile at each other like the lovesick fools that you are. You’re so caught up in this gentler part of the intimacy that you nearly forget what led you here in the first place—well until you feel his fingers circling your entrance again. The jolt of pleasure that comes with the unexpected contact leaves you squeaking and Asahi chuckling darkly. He slides back down your body then and takes up his previous position.

He kisses the side of one knee, then the other before leaning down to press a kiss just below your navel; all the while he keeps those big, pretty eyes trained on yours and dammit if that’s not doing things to you. His touch is also doing things to you, albeit it the absolute bear minimum. He continues to watch you with a gaze that is equal parts smoldering and playful as feather-light fingers graze against the areas that he knows are overly sensitive to his touch. All the while he rests his head against one of your thighs in a display that is far too casual all things considered. The Cheshire grin that he sports all the while tells you that he’s enjoying the feeling of your jerking and trembling against him far too much for you liking.

“Fu-fuckin’ tease.” The accusation would hold more weight, you’re sure, if your voice wasn’t so breathless.

Asahi doesn’t deny anything, only pressing a kiss to the opposite thigh and chucking some more. After a several long moments more of this agonizing treatment his touches become firmer and more purposeful as he works at winding you up again. He murmurs out bits of praise all the while, telling you how cute you look when your body is begging for his cock. It doesn’t take long for the rest of you to insist as well, but–

“What are the rules, pretty baby? Come on,” he urges when you don’t immediately answer, “tell me.”

“No cock ‘til I cum,” you huff out after a beat.

He rewards your (reluctant) compliance with another kiss to your thigh. “That’s right. Now be good for me and cum on my tongue so I can fuck you right.”

Asahi dives right back in then, with one hand working you open again while his mouth puts in work. The sounds he makes—fuck, if they’re not the very embodiment of carnality. With moans and slurps and sighs he make it abundantly clear that he’s loving every second of this and you’re much the same.

This obscene chorus reaches its crescendo as he drags your body to its peak before you’re slammed over the cliff of your orgasm by a perfectly timed suck. You fall headlong into the bliss, a choked cry of his name devolving into a drawn out whine as you ride the wave of pleasure. Your man guides you through it all with tapered movements and sweet words as he looks on with awestruck eyes.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous. My beautiful, perfect love,” he sighs as he gently disentangles your fingers from his locks. You don’t even know when you grabbed him up again and honestly you’re too wound up to care.

Warm, calloused hands massage your hips, only stopping when you reach for him. He eagerly accepts the kiss you offer, drinking in your little whimpers as he moves to position himself over you. “You came so good for me, baby, you always do. Wanna do it for me again, hmm? Wanna make a mess while I fuck you with this fat cock?”

“Yes, please.”

He smiles at you then and after giving you one more kiss rises. Your protests are met with a burst of laughter as he tells you that there isn’t much he can do with his boxers in the way. The reminder leaves you laughing too; in all your needy want you’d actually forgotten that he was still wearing the things. The oversight is corrected in short order and, after grabbing the lube from the nightstand’s drawer, he’s right back where you want him.

He pours a portion of the liquid into his palm to warm it before coating his fingers generously, with the excess being slicked over his cock. The first two digits slip in with ease and the third isn’t far behind. He pumps his fingers slow and deep, reveling in the way you sigh and bear down on him. To some the prep may seem unnecessary, but Asahi always insists. He’s well aware of his size and never wants to risk hurting you, the darling man–

Well, not unless you beg real pretty for him, that is.

But that isn’t what either of you are going for tonight. In this moment he simply wants to make love to you, to be so close that neither of you can tell ends from beginnings. And when he finally, finally sinks into your warmth—with chests pressed flushed and fingers tangled and lips colliding—it’s as close a thing to reaching singularity as two corporeal beings can manage.

Tender hands keep you close in a display that’s well at odds with the way he fucks into you. It’s not the speed that makes his strokes punishing, but the depth; he pulls out nearly to his tip only to sheathe himself completely in a move that could almost be called vicious if it wasn’t so obvious that you’re enjoying the treatment. His hips roll and grind with a practiced ease that pulls the prettiest sounds from your throat, especially when he digs his thick head into that place that leaves you seeing stars. But even with as cute as he thinks you sound, you’ll always be convinced that Asahi sounds just as good if not better.

He’s always been a vocal thing in bed, something that he found wholly embarrassing before you had assured him that you were very much okay with it. Grunts and groans, sighs and moans, babbles and whines—it’s entirely impossible for him to keep quiet–

“How could I ever when you’re so damn good, baby? You look good, feel good, taste good, sound good… You’re… You’re so perfect, to me and for me…”

Even now—with you sweaty, mussed, and thoroughly fucked out—he tells you how beautiful you look in between pants, thanks the gods for bringing the pair of you together even as he tempts their wrath.

“Goddammit. I can’t get over—ahhh~, you wanting me just as much as I-I want you. Yo- Fuck! You feel so good, baby, you’re so good, love you so much…”

He’s completely gone at this point, no longer fully aware of what it is he’s saying but meaning every word of it nonetheless. His lexicon steadily winnows itself down until all there is left is your name and “I love you”, the refrain falling from his lips with all the reverence of a prayer.

With the end so close in sight he bears down on you more fully, his bulky body all but flattening you against the mattress at your back as he drops his head down to nestle into the curve between your shoulder and neck. His tongue follows its length, savoring the salty tang of your sweat before his teeth nip at the thin skin that sits just behind your jaw. The slight sting leaves you hissing out and clinching at his cock even tighter which in turn sees him burrowing more deeply into you with a groan that almost sounds pained.

“‘M close sweetheart,” the words are breathed directly against your ear, making you shiver, “so fuckin’ close, and you are too—can feel you, mmm, clamping down on me good. Gonna fill you up, pretty baby, but I need you to cum for me first.”

You’re not sure which flusters you more—the praise or the promise. Either way your core tenses at the words, the coil in your belly growing tighter and tighter as your hips work against one another. Asahi arches away from you just enough to rub at your most sensitive area; his strokes are hard and fast, matching up with the frantic way he pounds into you, and you damn near scream at the added pleasure it brings.

It’s all so much—too much—but it’s so, so good, and you’re so, so close…

It only takes a few more pumps before you’re shattering beneath him. Pleasure like lightning skitters along your nerves to set you alight from scalp to sole, with your body arching and bucking as much as the one above it will allow for. Your nails dig into the muscles of his back nearly hard enough to break skin and the sting of it coupled with your pulsing walls is the thing that sees your man meeting his own end. Asahi can’t seem to stop the canting of his hips any more than he can control the deep, haggard sounds that claw their way up from his chest and out of his throat. He fucks you both through your orgasms, hissing all the while as the beginning of over-stimulation starts to set in.

When his body finally stills he nearly collapses on you, but he catches himself on shaky arms at the last second. With his back bowed, eyes pinched shut, and lips trembling he almost looks like a supplicant hovering over you, and maybe he is—hell, you both are. You never fail to reduce one another to thralls when you’re together like this; just needy, mindless beings whose only real concern is your shared pleasure.

You both suck in a sharp breath when he finally pulls out. Ignoring the feeling of your combined juices oozing out of you in a thick stream, you cuddle up to the body that has finally flopped down beside you. Asahi gives you a blissed out little smile before tipping his head towards you for a kiss. Even now you can still taste hints of yourself on his tongue and it leaves you greedily sucking at the slick muscle. He hums at the feeling before breaking away with a sound that’s caught somewhere between a whine and a pant.

“____, baby, you can’t– Fuck. If you do things like that you’re gonna get me going again, and I don’t think either of us have the energy for that.”

The roll of your chuckle is a dark and dangerous thing. “Mmm, speak for yourself, sweetheart.”

You rise then, smirking as you swing a leg over him so that you’re straddling his waist. Asahi blanches a bit at the sight because he knows that look and everything that comes with it far too well. His stuttering reply of “B-baby” is cut short by another kiss that leaves him whimpering into your mouth.

“Shh-shhh, sweet boy—let me take care of you.”

He flushes deeply at your words, his eyes dropping down and away in a display of embarrassment that just won’t do.

Your hands move to cradle his head then as you force him to meet your stare. So cute, you think as you watch the way his eyelids flutter when your thumbs stroke over the rosy apples of his cheeks. Aloud, “You were so good to me, so it’s only fair, yeah?”

“Yuh-yeah,” he begins, a thick swallow punctuating the statement, “guess so.”

“Good. I’m so glad we agree…”

As you kiss your way across planes of lightly tanned skin and beautifully sculpted muscle—reveling in the sighs and trembling twitches that your ministrations induce—you both know that tonight is destined to be a long one in the best of ways.

© notepadsandtealeaves, 2021 || Please do not repost, translate, or otherwise alter or distribute my works without my express permission. And for the love of god keep it away from Youtube and TikTok lol…

#((Immy's 200 Follower Event))#((Immy does fan fiction: The Volleybaes))#asahi x reader #asahi x gender neutral reader #asahi x gn!reader #asahi x you #asahi x y/n #asahi imagine #haikyuu asahi #haikyuu x reader #((💦 posts))#asahi smut #haikyuu smut #((this post has been edited for quality control))

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

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Asahi Azumane x M!Reader in: …Pants on Fire

Reader Requests || Immy’s 200 Follower Event 🎊 🎉 🎊

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | f!reader version | gn!reader version ||

|| event tag | hq tag | m.lists | main blog ||

↠ Requested By: @screamin-abt-haikyuu ((for my 200 Follower Event)) ↠ Reader Gender: Male ↠ Content Type: V. much Not SFW ((MINORS BE GONE *Suga side chops you into the sun*)) ↠ Chronology: Post time skip. ↠ CWs/TWs: There’s nothing too kinky to be found here, but still be sure to peep the note below the cut. ↠ Also no betas—we die like grammatically incorrect men here. ↠ Total WC: ~3.5k

“Be my safety blanket?” Though the words seem innocent enough the way his hand squeezes at your hip says otherwise…

↠ In which you and your lover find a way to keep the bad dreams at bay.

That title thooooo—la-mao~

Though this can technically be read as a standalone, if you want some (arguably) funny fluff plot to go with your p*rn then check out the prequel here.

💦 Tags: Reader has male anatomy | Reader uses he/him pronouns | Use of pet names (pretty boy, pretty baby, that kind of beat) | OP has a praise kink and she’s gonna make it everyone else’s problem thing too | ((look me in the eye and tell me that this man wouldn’t be into both giving and receiving vast amounts of praise tho—I dare you)) | Low-key soft pleasure dom!Asahi vibes if ya squint | ((ya don’t gotta squint too hard lmao)) | Oral/fingering (Reader receiving) | Penetrative sex (Reader receiving, missionary) | Unprotected sex b/c this is a fic ((irl remember to wrap it up before you tap it up, lads)) | Asahi Azumane has a Big Dick™ I know, he showed me | Asahi Azumane is also a tease | And Reader just wants to get piped down | Asahi’s a sex babbler, and I’ve got proof (it’s this fic, this is the proof) | In this house we believe in switch!Asahi Azumane supremacy

“Be my safety blanket?”

Though the words seem innocent enough the way his hand squeezes at your hip says otherwise.

“As-a-hi~” your whining cadence stretches out the syllables into something long and needy, “please.”

But he does want you—“Always want you, sweetheart, always. Love you so fucking much…”

You’re already so sloppy for him and he wastes no time in palming your cock, watching with rapt attention as another pearl of liquid arousal beads at its head before spilling down and over you and his fingers both. Asahi groans at the sight, his hand tightening in what you’re pretty sure is an involuntary squeeze, before he starts to pump at you in earnest. As he moves, his tongue snakes out to lap at the pre that coats the backside of his hand; a moan rumbles up from somewhere deep in his chest at the taste while his eyes damn near roll into the back of his head, and the desperation in the display makes your body throb for him. You can feel your hips canting, but just as you’re about to tell him to put his mouth to work he’s on you.

He spreads your legs wide, licking up from your winking hole to your sac. He laves over your balls with a molten tongue before sucking one into the wet warmth of his mouth; all the while his hand works you over with firm, sure strokes. He moves over to the other side once he feels as if he’s given the first enough attention, tending to it with just as much care before pulling away all together. He murmurs something about not wanting you to finish just yet, but the way his lips wrap around your cockhead in nearly the same breath seems extremely counterproductive to that.

It only takes him a few bobs to take you down to the base, and the feeling of his throat opening up around you hits hard. His moans reverberate through you like a shockwave and you bite off a curse as you surge upwards. Despite your gagging him on your dick, Asahi grounds you easily with one of his large hands; his touch is gentle but insistent where it presses in against your lower stomach in a clear command for you to stay still. His trust in you proves to be misplaced, however, when your hips unwittingly buck again.

“Just can’t help yourself, huh?” he chuckles as he takes your hips in either of his (big, so goddamn big) hands and holds you down.

“Feels too good, baby, ‘M sorry…”

He shushes away your apologies, pressing a kiss against your cock just to watch it twitch for him. “I know, pretty boy, I know. I’m gonna give you what you need, promise,” he coos before diving back in.

Warm, you think hazily as he flicks at the head with little kitten licks. So, so warm ‘n’ perfect—fuck!

Your mind blanks out for a minute when you feel his mouth sinking over the whole of your length again. When you finally reboot your hands are in Asahi’s hair and you’re fucking his face hard. He allows you to guide his movements, moaning out his pleasure as you basically use his mouth like your own personal toy. Were you a bit more aware you might be embarrassed by the needy display, but with your mind lost to the sex fog the only thing you can really focus on is the more-more-more that your body is demanding of you both.

While your fingers are busy digging into his scalp, his concern themselves with filling you up. Between your pre and way he’s drooling all over your cock there’s more than enough fluids dripping down for him to prep you with. He starts with one finger, groaning at the way the tight ring of muscle seems to suck him in by itself; he adds more digits as your body demands it, fucking you in earnest once he’s stretched you out good. It feels amazing—and how could it not when he’s working you open with those ridiculously long fingers?—but it’s still not nearly enough.

Even with how well his fingers fill you up his cock is so much longer, thicker. It reaches places and caresses spots that literally nothing and no one else can and you need it. Now.

“Want you, Asa, want you so bad,” you tell him between pants with an intonation that makes your intentions obvious—or so you thought.

When he doesn’t immediately reply you peek down at him only to find that he’s already looking up at you. His eyes are crinkled in that way that tells you he’s smiling—or, well, he would be if his mouth wasn’t still latched on to your cock. Your pouting at him only worsens the situation, unfortunately, as he has the audacity to pull away from you and laugh.

When you urge him towards you this time he allows it, and the kiss that you share is a sweet and tender thing that leaves you both sighing into it. Even when it ends your man lingers, his nose brushing along yours as you both smile at each other like the lovesick fools that you are. You’re so caught up in this gentler part of the intimacy that you nearly forget what led you here in the first place—well until you feel his fingers wrapping around your length and squeezing. The exquisitely sharp pleasure that comes with the unexpected contact leaves you squeaking and Asahi chuckling darkly. He slides back down your body then and takes up his previous position.

He kisses his way down your cock before sliding the flat of his tongue back up to the tip; all the while he keeps those big, pretty eyes trained on yours and dammit if that’s not doing things to you. His touch is also doing things to you, albeit it the absolute bear minimum. Instead of taking you back in his mouth like you initially thought he would, he allows your cockhead to rest against his parted lips instead in a display that is far too casual considering the fact that you’re leaking all over him. His breaths come in purposefully steady streams that break warm and moist against your already heated skin to leave you straining against his hold. All the while he watches you with a gaze that is equal parts smoldering and playful, the Cheshire grin that he sports telling you that he’s enjoying the feeling of your jerking and trembling far too much for you liking.

“Fu-fuckin’ tease.” The accusation would hold more weight, you’re sure, if your voice wasn’t so breathless.

Asahi doesn’t deny anything, only pressing a kiss to your overly sensitive cock and chucking some more when it damn near takes his eye out with an especially hard twitch. Thankfully he decides to take pity on you before things become too uncomfortable. A calloused hand replaces the soft plush of his lips as he pumps you in that way he knows you like. He murmurs out bits of praise all the while, telling you how cute you look when your body is begging for his cock. It doesn’t take long for the rest of you to insist as well, but–

“What are the rules, pretty boy? Come on,” he urges when you don’t immediately answer, “tell me.”

“No cock ‘til I cum,” you huff out after a beat.

He rewards your (reluctant) compliance with a sucking kiss against your sac. “That’s right. Now be a good boy and cum on my tongue so I can fuck you right.”

Asahi dives right back in then, with one hand working you open again while he essentially tries to suck your soul out through your cock. The sounds he makes—fuck, if they’re not the very embodiment of carnality. With moans and slurps and sighs he make it abundantly clear that he’s loving every second of this and you’re much the same.

This obscene chorus reaches its crescendo as he drags your body to its peak before you’re slammed over the cliff of your orgasm with a squeeze of your sac. You fall headlong into the bliss, a choked cry of his name devolving into a drawn out whine as you ride the wave of pleasure. Your man guides you through it all with tapered movements and sweet words as he looks on with awestruck eyes.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous. My beautiful, perfect boy,” he sighs as he gently disentangles your fingers from his locks. You don’t even know when you grabbed him up again and honestly you’re too wound up to care.

“Yes, please.”

Well, not unless you beg real pretty for him, that is.

“How could I ever when you’re so damn good, baby? You look good, feel good, taste good, sound good… You’re… You’re so perfect, to me and for me…”

“Goddammit. I can’t get over—ahhh~, you wanting me just as much as I-I want you. Yo- Fuck! You feel so good, baby, you’re so good, love you so much…”

You’re not sure which flusters you more—the praise or the promise. Either way your core tenses at the words, the coil in your belly growing tighter and tighter as your hips work against one another. Asahi arches away from you just enough to take your neglected cock in hand; his strokes are hard and fast, matching up with the frantic way he pounds into your ass, and you damn near scream at the added pleasure it brings.

It’s all so much—too much—but it’s so, so good, and you’re so, so close…

“____, baby, you can’t– Fuck. If you do things like that you’re gonna get me going again, and I don’t think either of us have the energy for that.”

The roll of your chuckle is a dark and dangerous thing. “Mmm, speak for yourself, sweetheart.”

“Shh-shhh, sweet boy—let me take care of you.”

He flushes deeply at your words, his eyes dropping down and away in a display of embarrassment that just won’t do.

“Yuh-yeah,” he begins, a thick swallow punctuating the statement, “guess so.”

“Good. I’m so glad we agree…”

#((Immy's 200 Follower Event))#((Immy does fan fiction: The Volleybaes))#asahi x reader #asahi x male reader #asahi x m!reader #asahi x you #asahi x y/n #asahi imagine #haikyuu asahi #haikyuu x reader #((💦 posts))#asahi smut #haikyuu smut #((this post has been edited for quality control))

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

Text

Dick Grayson x GN!Reader in: A Compromise with Indigo Eyes

12 Days of Batmas || Day 7—Decorating Your Home

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

↞ previous: they never stood a chance || baking cookies

|| ao3 version | 12 days m.list | batboys tag | main blog ||

|| dames day 7 | jay day 7 | tim day 7 ||

“Richard John, we are not leaving our Christmas decorations up year ‘round.”

“But it’d save us so much time! Plus think of the potential for Halloween—instant Nightmare Before Christmas vibes.”

“…You’re making points, but also no.”

But think of the possibilities tho!

↠ Requested By: No one, technically ((but given the fact that I’ve been working on this series since last year I’m sure you’re all ready for me to wrap this ish up lmao)) ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: SFW fluff ((but my blog’s 18+ so if minors want to consume my sfw stuff while still respecting my wishes of them staying out of this space, they can head over to my AO3)) ↠ CWs/TWs: Brief talk of theoretical children; the section is portioned off if you want to avoid it. Just skip over the ‼ and the corresponding bullet points. ↠ Betas? Nah, we don’t do that here. ↠ Total WC: ~1.5k

Annnd, we’re back in business. Will we fare better this time around? I honestly cannot say, but I’m hopeful!

Anyways…

In this installment I mostly focus on decorating for Christmas since that’s the holiday I personally celebrate. But if you go in for something different these boys have totally got you, one hundred percent 💖

Headcanon || WC: ~1.1k

🌟 Dick’s a huge fan of winter in general, not least of all because of the holidays.

🌟 As I stated before, Christmas is his favorite holiday of all time, but if that’s not your bag he’s really down for whatever. He just wants to spend this time with you and the rest of his loved ones.

If you celebrate something other than Christmas he’s gonna want to know all about it. Will definitely insist on sitting down and having you tell him all about your holiday of choice and any customs and personal traditions that come along with it. He’ll be so stoked to implement them into your personal celebrations.

If you don’t celebrate anything at all he’ll want to know why. Not in a judge-y, or prying way, he’s just genuinely curious! Given how much he loves just about every holiday, he can’t imagine not celebrating anything at all. Still he’ll respect your decision on matters, as always.

🌟 Regardless of what you do or don’t celebrate, it’s gonna be hard to pull him away from Christmas completely as it’s the holiday he personally grew up celebrating—not that you should want to, I’d think.

Compromise is the word of the day, kiddos, and he certainly has no problems with combining holidays/customs.

It may result in things looking a bit odd to outsiders, but it’ll be your normal, and honestly he really loves it?

Seeing your lives/cultures/backgrounds intertwined in a way that’s specific to you as a couple/family just leaves his heart feeling so damn full that he may legit burst this time, lol…

Now if you don’t celebrate at all, things will get a bit tricky because this is his favorite holiday. He’s gonna want to decorate at least a little, and you’re gonna be subjected to his terribly hummed renditions of various holiday classics (or mans can’t hold a note, sorry, lmfao), but he won’t go any further than that if it makes you uncomfortable.

But if even that much bothers you expect to have a long talk about things. He can’t stand the thought of his baby hurting in any capacity, and clearly there’s trauma there. He’s gonna want to get to the root of that thing one way or another, so if you don’t feel comfortable talking to him about it he’s gonna insist that you talk to someone—be it another loved one or a professional.

He’s not trying to be pushy, but Dick is v. much a fixer. He understands that nothing heals overnight, but so long as you’re working towards that end he’ll be happy.

🌟 Anyways!

🌟 Decorating is always a given with this man.

Tbh he probably started trying to decorate things right after Thanksgiving lmao.

Will legit do it at the start of the month, if you’re down. Yes, your house will totally be that one spot that goes from “Spooky Scary Skeletons” to “Jingle Bell Rock” in less than 24 hours, just like a gd supermarket lol.

He’s so the one to have a Christmas tree in damn near every room if you let him. He realizes how excessive this is, but… Look. He just really loves the aesthetic, okay?

And he’s got all these ideas for themes, and ornaments were on sale so really he’s saving you money by buying them now, and since you have them you might as well use them, yeah? Otherwise you’re wasting money and that’s never a good thing, esp. during the holiday season!

🌟 He’s… not exactly indecisive about themes, but rather he’s super enthusiastic about them.

If you do let him place multiple Christmas trees throughout your home he’s more than likely gonna want them each to have their own vibe.

Themed rooms? Themed rooms.

You’ll have A Charlie Brown Christmas type beat in the foyer (complete with that sad lil struggle tree lol), a more classic aesthetic in the living room, a ‘Silver Bells’ theme for the dining room, etc.

If you force him to pick, however, he’s definitely gonna go with something a bit more modern. Definitely likes his trends, so whatever’s hot that holiday season will probably be what he’ll go for (unless he’s feeling nostalgic in which case he’ll go with something a bit more traditional).

🌟 The general vibe is kinda lit, ngl.

He’s armed with several Spotify playlists (only one of which is holiday themed) and he’s not afraid to use them lol.

It’s probably gonna take you a few days to get through with everything because you’ll spend more time dancing/cuddling/making-out than you will actually decorating.

What? It’s not his fault you look so damn good with stray bits of tinsel and faux snow stuck to you. (He’s a hands-y mf, but we been knew.)

🌟 He doesn’t really have a go-to aesthetic as he finds something to love in just about any theme. This can lead to a rather hodgepodge result unless you step in and make him settle on something.

Tho it should also be said that he’s a sucker for homemade decorations. Quality doesn’t matter to him at all. You made it so it’s automatically ✨~wonderful~✨

‼ And omg—if y’all have kids. Bruh.

Look me in the eye and tell me that he won’t dedicate a whole ass tree to just the ornaments your kids make, I dare you.

Makes such a huge deal out of it too. World’s best hype-dad, he’ll gas the kids all the way up when they come home wielding a crudely cut out generic holiday bell. He’ll hold it up Lion King style and sing out a litany of praises, totally not caring that he’s getting glitter all over his hands (and the rest of the house, god help you all lmao).

He’ll call you over so that you can see what your amazingly talented baby has made before scooping the kid up so that they can place their creation on the tree.

Uggghhhh. Having a family with this nerd would be so fucking adorable, I cannot…

((and so the soft simpin’ continues lmfao))

🌟 In a similar vein, if you have family heirlooms that you want to put up, please do!

He’s gonna ask you all about them and what they mean to you, both personally and as they relate to your customs if applicable.

🌟 Overall decorating with Dick is really fun, if a bit… low-key chaotic. Honestly he lives for stuff like this. Making your space just that little bit more shared and homey? *chef’s kiss*

A Compromise with Indigo Eyes || WC: ~400

“So in conclusion, having a Christmas tree in every room will increase my happiness and productivity levels by at least tenfold. Now that I have reached the end of my presentation I will be taking questions. Yes, you, the lovely creature down front—you look as if you have a question.”

You have several questions, in fact, and nearly all of them are some variation of why, with a few when’s and how’s sprinkled in for flavor.

You look from Dick to the gaudily decorated slide that’s currently displayed on your TV’s screen, and back again with an expression that leaves him snickering. You’re able to hold your composure for all of two seconds before you too give over to your mirth.

“Yes! I got you to smiling, so that’s half the battle won.”

Well, he’s not wrong, but still—“Babe, that is… a lot. I know you love decorating, but the cleanup–”

“If you’d ju–”

“Richard John, we are not leaving our Christmas decorations up year ‘round.”

“But it’d save us so much time! Plus think of the potential for Halloween—instant Nightmare Before Christmas vibes.”

“…You’re making points, but also no.”

He gives you The Look then—the one that sees his pretty eyes fluttering and his full lips pulling off into a sad, near quivering little moue—but years of being on the receiving end of that potent pout has allowed you to build up an immunity. Sort of. You won’t be giving in to the whole of his ridiculous requests (dope though the Nightmare bit may be), but the trees…

He knows he’s going to get his way when you open your arms to him with a sigh, though it’d be foolish of him to think there won’t be a negotiation phase. Even so he’s all smiles when he comes to flop on top of you to talk terms. It takes longer than you’d like to convince him that having a tree in the kitchen area would be redundant given your home’s open concept layout, and the better part of an hour after that to nail down a theme, but the warmth that blooms in your chest as you go back and forth on color palettes—the same one that syrups through the indigo eyes that stare back at you—makes it all worth it.

🌟 Day 8: Movie Nights with the (Bat)Boys™, Pt. 1 || Watching Holiday Specials

Movie nights are an all-day event with him, ngl.

Mans will legit take off of work and beg out of his nightly duties as well if that’s what it takes to get your schedules to sync up.

Some people might say that he’s doing the most, but those people would be wrong and should really mind their own business, tbh.

Taglist ((open to 18+ users only)): @catching-fire-in-the-wind ((it won’t let me tag you for some reason!! sorry :/))

#((Immy does fan fiction: the Batboys))#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x gender neutral reader #dick grayson x gn!reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson hc #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson scenario

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

Text

Tim Drake x GN!Reader in: Maybe (Love, Once Lost)

Reader Requests || Immy’s 200 Follower Event 🎊 🎉 🎊

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | event tag | batboys tag | m.lists | main blog ||

↠ Prompt: “Shit, I didn’t mean to say that.”

It hurts, watching something you love so much die, especially when you feel like you have everything needed to save it–

Everything, but the want.

In reaching the end of things you and Tim find that the only way to move forwards is to go back to the start…

↠ Requested By: Anonymous ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: A SFW gut punch. Technically H/C, tho maybe not in the form you expect. It’s kinda like a Sour Patch Kid made up of angst and love lol. ((but my blog’s 18+ so if minors what to consume my sfw stuff while still respecting my wishes of staying out of this space they can head over to my ao3)) ↠ CWs: Potential breakups (ending is kinda open so that you can choose your own fate lol). Also Tim-typical self-destructive tendencies, and tbh Reader’s not faring much better. This relationship has not been healthy/happy for a long while now and it shows. See the tags before the story for a more comprehensive list. ↠ Beta? Nah, we don’t know her. Are you sure she works here?? ((tho I should probably employ her services sooner or later for the sake of my readers lmao)) ↠ Total WC: 3.6k~

Sorry for the wait, nonnie. I had a hard time coming up with a solid storyline at first because while I really like to read H/C, when it comes to writing it I blank apparently?? Idk, maybe it’s just because I haven’t written for any of the Bats in a cool minute, but whatever.

Anyways!

Did I go in too hard with the ‘H’ part of H/C? Yeah, probably, but the prompt did say, and I quote, “the more hurt, the better. I want to CRY” lmao. I know that this may not be exactly what you were looking for, my dear requester, but I hope that you can enjoy it regardless…

↠ A itty-bitty playlist for added hurt a general vibe || x | x | x ||

Tags: Reader’s gender is ambiguous | Reader uses they/them pronouns | Good relationship gone toxic | Unreliable narrator (Reader’s hands aren’t completely clean in all of this, y’all) | ((this is what happens when two people with savior complexes try to protect one another instead of functioning as a team)) | ((Tim’s trying to protect Reader from the darker parts of himself/his lifestyle)) | ((and Reader’s trying to protect him from his own self-destructive tendencies)) | Tim doesn’t know how to process/cope | Reader’s been holding shit down by themselves for too long | Reader cries | Tim cries | OP cries | We all cry | Potential breakup | Open ended

There’s nothing particularly notable about the day your life falls apart at its already threadbare seams.

It’s a Tuesday, arguably the most mundane of all days. You’ve accepted your fate of contending with another week of drudgery and have mostly eased into it with that sullen concession that comes with age. The weather’s just as mild as a thing, being exactly what you would expect of a day that’s caught somewhere between the changing of the seasons. No one is overly rude to you—well, by Gotham standards, that is—and you’re able to go through the motions of your scheduled events without any problems.

Maybe the lack of conflict outside of your home should’ve been the first indicator that something was bound to go terribly wrong within it.

In contrast to the day, there’s so much to say about the man that owns your heart.

Timothy Jackson Drake isn’t exactly what you’d call a conventional human, let alone a traditional partner. Still, he is a brilliant, kind, loving and above all else dedicated man. Despite how much he has to do in a day, he always gives everyone and everything his all, seemingly uncaring about any potential detriments to himself. That this sees you piecing together what little you can when the weight of his responsibilities inevitably leaves him shattered and scattered in the wind is… not ideal for either of you.

It’s a self-appointed task that you’ve been seeing to since your teenage years, when he had decided that just watching from the sidelines while his hero self-destructed was no longer an option.

Tim’s always been too smart for his own good, and back at the start of things far too eager. Skipping town to track down a vigilante all in hopes of saving another vigilante from himself was the exact type of foolishness that you’d come to expect from him even then. What was worse is that aside from the obvious madness of it all, his plan was actually well thought out and annoying solid. In the end he had put his distinct combination of dazzling wit, animal instincts, and near-reckless obstinacy up against that of the Big Bat’s and actually won—saving both him and Nightwing from whatever bit of madness Two-Face had been given to at the time.

Once he was allowed to, he had thrown himself into the role of Robin full tilt, with things only intensifying after the incident that left him all but orphaned. To his credit he never allowed the anger to consume him like so many others would have, though you would argue that his chosen alternative is just as destructive. He pours all of himself into every case that he works, taking his victories in stride, but locking away his failures in the deepest reaches of his soul to rot and fester. The resulting poison is a thing that you’ve been steadily drawing out of his system in the time since, and if you’re completely honest you’re getting tired.

Tired of the late nights spent patching him up while he works on yet another case file. Tired of watching as he willingly allows this life to eat away at him, bit by bit. Tired of the way your concerns are always either met with dismissal or anger—his constant reminders of how you were all too aware of what the deal was well before you decided to shift your relationship over from friends to lovers grating against already flayed nerves.

In loving him you’ve had to shoulder a burden that you never asked for, and while there is little you won’t give to keep him by your side forever, what happens when there’s nothing left for the altar? You’ve been chipping away at yourself for over a decade now and it shows. Your façade has long since started to crack from sorrow’s repeated dashing against its walls, the veneer of your smile rubbed thin from years of stretching it well beyond your happiness.

Maybe this is why when he literally limps into your shared home nearly a full hour before the clock strikes midnight—body bruised and conscious battered—you cannot bring yourself to do more than stare blankly at his hunched form.

Under normal circumstances you’d be overjoyed to have him home so early, but these are not normal circumstance because there is no such thing, not when you love a Bat. Their masks have a way of twisting everything on its head, making fists of open hands, adversaries out of lovers, charlatans out of honest men. When you view so much of your world through a domino existence becomes a masquerade that doesn’t end even when the disguises are cast away at the bell’s toll.

As usual Tim doesn’t ask for help and you don’t offer, with both of you opting instead to fall into the routine that has been your go-to for far too long now. He keeps his lips pursed tightly as he undresses, the only voluntary outward showing of pain that he’ll allow himself, and though his civilian clothes aren’t nearly so complicated, they seem to be giving him far more trouble than his hero costume ever has. Of course you know that this is due to whatever injuries he’s hiding underneath it all, but the more cynical part of your brain wonders if it’s because he’s been spending more time in a cape than he has in a flannel and jeans these days.

Though your heart aches at the sight of him all banged up it’s an old and distant hurt, like the feeling of digging your thumb into a several day old bruise. You push away the pain in the same way that he pushes away your helping hands—neither of you want nor need the added strain that the burden of care would bring.

Your touch is impersonal once it’s finally allowed. You assess the rush job (clearly done by his own hands as none of the others would ever be so sloppy) before treating and rebind his wounds with a clinical precision. Your words are just as clipped as your movements, with you only deigning to speak when the situation demands it.

You don’t ask about how he came to be in such a sorry state, or whatever it is that he’s working on, or even just how his day outside of the suit and mask went because you know there’s no point. He never tells you anything anymore. Unsurprising as you’re barely sharing a space these days, let alone conversation.

It’s a far cry from the usual banter and jokes that the pair of you used to keep up—the words and laughter all traded in between kisses as you lay wrapped up in each other’s arms—but that was before things devolved into whatever… this is.

If Tim notices the change, and you’re sure that he does, he clearly doesn’t think that it’s worth speaking on. Instead he nods his thanks at your assistance before mumbling something about needing to look into a few things before bed—“But there’s no reason for you to wait up.”

“Yeah. Guess not.”

It’s a cold exchange that damn near leaves you shivering as you part ways yet again.

No matter how many layers you pile on or how deeply you burrow under the blankets the frost that has crusted itself over your heart continues to linger, chilling you from the inside out. Even without the feeling of his icy indifference settling itself into your bones, your body has never been up to the task of warming such a large bed all on its own, and yet it has been forced to try more often than not these past few months.

With the sheets tucked in snug around you, you curl into yourself as tightly as you can bear—head facing away from the space your partner will occupy shortly if he’s feeling kind towards himself. You know he hasn’t been sleeping well, not that he ever does, mind, but even by his standards things have been bad. You try to figure out when the last time you actually fell asleep with anything other than your thoughts to keep you company was only to give up once you realize it’s been over two weeks.

Maybe this is my breaking point, you think, throat tight and eyes stinging. Maybe there’s no coming back from this…

The waxing moon’s glow turns your tears into lines of pale silver where they stream silently over your face. You let them pool and flow as they may because wiping them away would take more energy than what you have to give. This is what loving Timothy Jackson Drake has reduced you to—a husk that cannot care for its self in even this small way because it has given its all to a man that’s too hollow himself to match those efforts.

Though your cheeks are still damp, your breathing has mostly evened out by the time Tim finally slides into bed. He’s silent aside from the occasional grunt that his restless shifting elects. The mattress is soft enough (as well it should be, given how much money he spent to have it custom made to fit his rather… particular needs), but his recent patrols have been especially unkind. The pale expanse of his skin is mottled with the odd laceration as well as nearly a dozen bruises in various stages of healing, with the newest (and largest) one vaguely resembling a boot’s grooved sole where it sits across the breadth of his chest. Clearly there’s a story there, but aside from assuring you that nothing was broken he hadn’t spoken on it further. Typical.

You’re not sure if he finds a position that agrees with him or if he writes off comfort as an illusion and gives up on it altogether, but either way after a few long moments he finally settles down. The quiet that follows is damn near suffocating in its oppression, but neither of you dare to breech it for fear of what will undoubtedly be said. For all that your relationship now lacks there’s something between the pair of you that wasn’t there before, and it has been steadily gaining its strength over these past few months from where it’s made its home just behind your teeth.

It’s the selfsame thing that won’t let you meet each other’s eyes across the dinner table anymore, the one that turns I love you’s into rote platitudes at best. It has taken away the warmth from smiles that were once shared so liberally, dulled the passion behind your touch, sapped light and life both from your eyes. It’s an ugly thing to behold, all bleeding edges and sharp angles meant to sever the last of the strings that bind you to one another–

And tonight, it seems, it will have its due.

Maybe this is why Tim slides over into your space to hold you close—because he can feel it too.

The rending, the end.

You know that you certainly can, and have been for much longer than you’re willing to admit to yourself even now. It hurts, watching something you love so much die, especially when you feel like you have everything needed to save it–

Everything, but the want.

And yet as you lay wrapped up in the arms of the man that you were once so sure would be your Ever After, you almost convince yourself that there might just be a reason to hope—but then you start to remember.

You remember how long it’s been since last you were together like this. You remember the echoing chasm that he helped to carve so deep into you that not even the full breadth of your combined anger and sorrow could fill it; the days spent barely tolerating the other’s presence and the lonely nights that left your lashes caked in salt; the words that, when actually acknowledged, felt as if they would’ve been better left unsaid.

The memories continue to stack up-up-up, one on top of the other, until the wall of your offense is so high that you cannot see a way over or around it. The only recourse that you have left is to turn your back on it all, retrace your steps, and hope that you’ll actually find some semblance of the person you once were waiting for you at the end of the path.

And so, with fingers laced tight and water in your voice, you resign yourself to fate’s draw as you utter the only words left to say–

“I… I think that it’s over, Tim.”

Though spoken at a whisper the sentence resounds through the room with all the force of a gunshot.

Tim’s grip on you tightens then, a shuddery breath pushing its way past his lips to tickle along your scalp. The feeling of warm, fat drops follows soon after, and though their source should be obvious it still takes you a long second to realize that he’s crying.

Even with all of the heartache he’s caused you, and the tears that you yourself are once again shedding, knowing that you’ve hurt him so badly breaks you. A pain that you’ve never experienced before lances through you, forcing you to speak before your mind can fully catch up to your mouth.

“Sh-shit, I… I didn’t m-mean to say that,” you stutter out between gulping sobs.

Gentle fingers massage your nape as he shushes you with a surprisingly steady voice. “Yes you did, and that’s okay.”

The absolute calm and conviction that laces the statement snaps your heart cleanly in two, and your mind’s quick to follow. On the one hand you want to snatch every word spoken tonight from the air and shove them back down your throats into the confines of your chests, but at the same time you feel something akin to relief for finally giving voice to a truth that you’ve both been denying for far too long now. You’re not sure which part of this dichotomy leaves you quaking in his arms, but Tim’s quick to soothe you either way, and you hate it.

This is all you’ve ever wanted from him—just him and his time, his touch, his care. You never wanted to monopolize any of it, but dammit, you should’ve had a right to it all the same. And you did, once upon a time before life turned your gazes to jade. He’s been so distant for so long, but now he decides to lower his walls and let you back in? Here, at the end of things? It feels like an especially cruel joke.

You want to make demands of him, to insist that he explain himself, to ask how he could stand idly by and watch as your love worked its way through its death throes, but your attempts to speak yield little more than ragged, hiccuping groans that originate somewhere deep in your gut. You give up on trying nearly as soon as you start and instead allow yourself to mourn the death of a future that will never be while Tim continues to hold you tight.

The harder you cry, the more fully he wraps himself around you. A leg slots itself between your own while the other goes over your hip to pull you in closer to him; all the while one arm slides just beneath your shoulder blades to further secure your middle against his while its opposite’s hand cradles your head against his chest. From here you can just make out his heartbeat over you combined shuddering breaths and you find yourself latching on to the sound. Even amidst all of the turmoil and strife its beat is as steady as ever—a touchpoint, a buoy for your fatigued mind to tether itself to before the tempest of your emotions drag you under completely.

Eventually you’re lulled into a state adjacent to calm, though your body tenses up almost immediately when Tim starts to speak. He can feel it, of course, but aside from a brief spot of hesitation he forages on regardless.

“____, baby, I… I wish there was something I could say or do to make things right, but I know that’s not how this works.” He swallows thickly then, the hand that had been around your back coming up to tilt your face to level. The room’s limited light turns his irises’ hue into something ghastly—like diamonds stained a rare and icy blue—and though it makes it just that much harder to meet his gaze he doesn’t allow you to look away. As he regards you, you get the distinct feeling that he’s trying to commit this moment, and you, to memory.

Just as you start to wilt under the intensity of his stare liberation is granted in the form of an extended blink. The fingers that have yet to release your chin slide upwards to cradle your cheek, their calluses dragging against the skin there in a familiar rasp that leaves you on the brink of tears once more. Tim’s eyes glass up as well in an effect that highlights the silver striations that flair out from his pupils like a starburst; he’s quick to blink against the tears, willing them away with a deep, steeling breath before continuing on.

“I hope that you know that even with us staring down the end of, well, us, that I still love you. I’ll always love you—so, so much—and if there’s a chance that we can make it through to the other side of all this then I’ll damn well fight for it, but… I’m willing to let it all go”—he huffs out a sound that’s caught somewhere between a sob and a sigh—“to let you go, if that’s what you want.”

You breathe out his name then, though what is to follow you cannot say. Your brain is swirling with dozens upon dozens of retorts, but before you can even begin to decide on one he cuts you off with a sharp shake of his head.

“No, I… I need to say this, ____. I’ve been too quiet for too long, and that’s half—no, nearly the whole of the problem. Please, just… I know I’ve already been plenty selfish, but just let me say this, please.”

Your acquiescence comes in the form of a nod that leaves Tim mumbling out his thanks from where he presses his lips against your forehead.

“I know that I haven’t really been showing it lately,” he starts once he reluctantly pulls away, “but I hate seeing you hurt and I certainly don’t like being the reason for it. I don’t even– I can’t even tell you why I’ve been acting this way. It just feels like everything’s been piling on top of me lately, and I didn’t know how to get out from under it so I just kinda shutdown, hard. And I didn’t want to burden you with it because you already do so much for me, and I just kept thinking what type of partner– hell, what type of man would I be if I forced even more of my shit onto you?”

The sound that rumbles up out of his chest at that is far too bitter a thing to be considered a true laugh. “But in trying to keep you from becoming, fuckin’, I don’t know—collateral damage, I guess?—I fucked things up even worse than if I would’ve just let you in.

“God. The only real surprise here is that you’ve put up with this for as long as you have. That just goes to show how much you love me—not that I didn’t already know, but… Fuck, babe. I wish I could say that I don’t know how we got here, but that’d be a goddamn lie. But the thing that I honestly have no idea about is how the hell we get back, or if we even should.”

“…Tim, I–”

He cuts you off with another kiss, this one to your still parted lips. There’s no expectations behind the ministration, but the tenderness there wraps itself around your heart and squeezes all the same.

Eyes pinched shut, he braces his forehead against yours as he caresses your cheek again. “No-no, shhh. I know I said I’ll follow your lead on this, and I will, but… No matter what it is that you choose, can you just– Give me tonight, baby, please.”

What had felt like a looming inevitability at the start of things is less certain now that some of the biggest of your issues have been stretched out and deconstructed. Still, your footing is just as unsure as ever. Nothing makes sense anymore and you’re too tired—mentally, emotionally, and physically—to try and unpack it all. What’s worse is that Tim doesn’t make things easier on you, if inadvertently so.

The adoration that tints his gaze is at once familiar and not. It’s been far too long since he last looked at you like this, since he’s actually seen you in any real capacity. The sight nudges at the embers of love that have long since ashed over within you, the desperation that pulses out of him in time with his heart’s beating stoking the glowing coals into something tempting enough to draw you in. And like a moth that cannot resist the light despite having already felt its burn, you willingly abandon sense and surrender yourself to the corona.

And as you lay there, holding and being held by the only man your heart has ever known, you can’t help but to wonder if maybe this is just as much of a beginning as it is an ending.

|| BTS, Author’s Note Type Deal

Tim’s p. disillusioned in this one, to the point of having gone almost completely emotionally numb.

Given his penchant for compartmentalization it’s not a stretch to think that he’d shut his s/o down and out in such a manner, imo. It’s partly for what he thinks is there sake (it’s that savior complex I mentioned before—the whole damn family has it), and partly because he’s personally having problems with coping. What’s more, he won’t even actively realize that he’s doing it at first.

If his s/o’s aware of his vigilante work it’ll be even worse as he feels like they should already know the deal and be ready to cope accordingly. He’ll also feel some type of way because ‘umm, I’m trying to protect you here and it feels like you’re not acknowledging the sacrifices I’m making for your sake.’ Ofc that’s not the case, they just want to help bear the burden as a partner would/should, but he’s so tangled up inside at that point that everything looks and feels like an attack.

None of it is right or fair or logical, but it’s not exactly like he’s in a good headspace at this point so he cannot be expected to act as such.

Still, he does love them so once it become apparent to him that things have gone downhill he’ll try to fix them—the only problem with that being the fact that he won’t become fully aware of the gravity of the situation until things are right at or past the point of no return.

But this is looking at things from Tim’s side. At the other end is (in this particular case) an s/o that was taking on things that they really shouldn’t have—at least not in the way that they were. They were propping both Tim and their relationship up to an unhealthy degree; this was due in part to their own savior complex, and partly out of being blinded by love. You’ll be surprised what love can potentially make you write off and wave away despite your knowing that it won’t end well; it doesn’t help that once you make one concession that it gets so much easier to do it again and again.

Had they both sat down and talked things out sooner they wouldn’t have crashed into their breaking point. It would not have been an easy conversation to have given how stubborn Tim can be about these things, but one that would have had to happen nonetheless if the relationship was to have any true longevity, yanno?

But I’ve rambled on enough, let me stop lol…

#((Immy's 200 Follower Event))#((Immy does fan fiction: the Batboys))#lol that hurted #tim drake x reader #tim drake x gn!reader #tim drake x gender neutral reader #Tim Drake x Y/n #tim drake x you #tim drake imagine

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notepadsandtealeaves · 4 years

Text

Jason Todd x GN!Reader in: Be My Present to Help Me Forget My Past

12 Days of Batmas || Day 1—Playing in the Snow

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | 12 days m.list | batboys tag | main blog ||

|| dames day 1 | dick day 1 | tim day 1 ||

“Alright doll,” he starts around a yawn, “you’ve got my attention. What do you want?”

“I want you to get up, get dressed, and come play with me–”

“If you wanna play, honey, we can do that right here—no clothes needed.”

You roll your eyes despite knowing it will go unseen. “In the snow, Jason. I want to play in the snow.”

Your words are a bouy, your very presence a beacon that guides him back into calmer waters…

🌟 Though they can stand alone, the fics for this particular day are all loosely connected, starting with Dick’s and ending with Tim’s.

↠ Requested By: Not a soul lol ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: SFW H/C that goes fluffy at the end ((but my blog’s 18+ if minors want to consume my sfw stuff while still respecting my wishes of them staying out of this space, they can head over to my AO3)) ↠ CWs: Some PTSD vibes on Jay’s part, as well as a described panic attack. See note before the fic for more info. ((there’s also some implied intimacy as well, so… yeah lol.)) ↠ Betas? Nah, we don’t do that here. ↠ Total WC: 2.8k~

|| Be My Present to Help Me Forget My Past

CW for panic attacks. It’s described in detail, so if that’s something that bothers you, either heed the partition (look for the ‼’s) or skip this installment altogether.

Likewise there’s a CW for Jay’s PTSD. In this case it’s mostly surrounding his childhood traumas, and how they’re still affecting him even now. I don’t go super into detail, but there’s enough there to warrant a head’s up, I think.

Right, so I wanted this to be super fluffy and cute, but like… I can’t just ignore his past trauma, ya know? Prior to being taken in by Bruce, Jason had a hard life and lived on the streets for a time. Winter is brutal when you’re homeless, so I can’t imagine that his connection to the season is a completely pleasant one. Things are—well not exactly resolved, but more or less temporarily worked through with lots of love by the story’s end. So yeah, if you’re looking for pure fluff, then head over to the other boys’ fics and save yourself a bit of heartache, but if you’re down for some H/C then read on!

((And again, if these themes don’t sit well with you for any reason please don’t read! Nothing, especially a fic, is worth your peace of mind…))

“Babe! Baaaabe… Babe. Jason Peter Todd—I know you can hear me so get yo ass up.”

When all you get by way of reply is a groan that sounds suspiciously like a string of profanities you know that more extreme measures are called for. There are several routes you can take now ranging from cutesy to downright annoying, and after a few seconds of internal debating you decide on something that falls somewhere in the middle. You move to lie on top of him, covering up as much of his tall frame as you can with your own, and giggling all the while.

For his part Jay sighs as much as your added weight allows before laughing a bit himself. He wraps his arms around your middle while you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. The tight space leaves your own breaths pushing back against your face with every exhale and you have to adjust your position so that you don’t accidentally smother yourself. If circumstances were different you would be more than content to lie like this with him for the rest of the day, but the mounds of icy powder that lay just beyond your apartment’s walls beckon like a siren song.

In the wee hours of the morning Gotham had received its first proper snow of the season and you couldn’t be happier. Up until now the sky has only yielded wintery mixes composed primarily of freezing rain with the occasional drift that was only considered snow in the most technical sense. The sleek white dusting that has since covered the city in its crystalline fluff is the only thing that makes the hellish cold of an east coast winter worth braving.

“Alright doll,” he starts around a yawn, “you’ve got my attention. What do you want?”

“I want you to get up, get dressed, and come play with me–”

“If you wanna play, honey, we can do that right here—no clothes needed.”

You roll your eyes despite knowing it will go unseen. “In the snow, Jason. I want to play in the snow.”

“OoOoo. Kinky. I likes, I likes.”

“Oh my god!” You slap at his chest even as you huff out a laugh. “You’re such a perv!”

He shrugs, unrepentant and denying nothing. “But you knew that already. Just like I already knew about the snow. Patrol,” he reminds you when you let out an indignant squawk.

You vaguely remember him mumbling something about ‘bullshit weather’ when he slid into bed this morning, but given that he was clearly unscathed your brain hadn’t deemed his complaints important enough to register anything beyond that.

“Well if you know you should already be hyped! I mean, I get that chasing after baddies in the stuff isn’t fun, but– Jason stop snoring, I know you’re still awake.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to be,” he informs you, the words leaving him in a half groan. “Besides—snow sucks ass. It’s cold, wet, and just all around terrible. There is literally nothing to like about that shit.”

You sputter indignantly for a second, earning a cackle of laughter for your troubles. The glare you shoot him is playful and your smirk devious as you say, “Oh, so you want a Top Ten then?”

“Oh god. ____, baby, no–”

“Number one!” you all but shout as you jut your arm up and away, your index finger raised to start off the countdown.

Though you feel him tensing up around your third point it isn’t until the fifth that your words trail off lamely in confusion to his reaction.

‼ He’s steadily grown tenser as you’ve been speaking, his every muscle seizing until he’s as hard and unyielding as a slab of granite underneath you, and his disposition is just as chilly. His arms have fallen away from you, and you can just hear the sound of blunt nails scraping across the fabric of your comforter in time with his clinching fists.

Worry sets in fully now, and a quick peek at his face does little to elevate the feeling. There’s no pinching of brows or irritated pursing of lips to be found, only a deceptively neutral expression and eyes turned inwards—a chilling combination. You know this face, have seen it before during late nights or on long drives. It is one of contemplation, of remembrance of things that would be best left forgotten if not for the risk of repeating history.

Jason never talks about his past willingly, and you’ve never been one to push or pry. You’ve always figured that when he’s ready to share he’ll share, but in moments like these, when he’s gone into himself and is burrowing further still with every passing moment… ‼

Well, sometimes he needs to be saved from his own mind.

Not in some big, drastic, life altering way—he’ll never take kindly to anyone trying to change him, be it for the better or not—but with a lifeline. A buoy. Something to help him keep his head above the suffocating thoughts that seek to drown him in things long passed. You offer this to him with the carding of gentle fingers through his hair and a soft kiss to his jaw. It takes the better part of several minutes, but you do feel his body start to relax. Eventually he takes a few measured breaths—in through the nose, out through the mouth like you showed him—before purposefully pushing the last bits of tension from his muscles. The entire process takes nearly ten minutes, but by the end of it all he’s wrapped you up in his arms once again.

His hands trace down the length of your spine, one after the other, only to follow the same path upwards; the movements are tight, controlled, and of far more comfort to him than they are to you. He needs to feel you under his fingers—alive and well, warm and safe. You’re his anchor in this moment, the only thing keeping him from drifting back off into whatever inner storm he just braved. You don’t try to speak as not knowing exactly what garnered such a reaction means it’ll be better to just wait him out. So instead you continue to rub at his scalp while humming a no-name tune under your breath. You have no idea how long the two of you stay like this, and between the lulling motions of his hands and the almost unnatural warmth that he radiates you soon find yourself dozing off. Just before you can succumb fully to the induced slumber, however, he speaks.

“Winters aren’t the same when you’re a street kid,” he starts, voice barely loud enough to hear. “When you look at snow you see something fun, something to play in, and that’s good. That’s normal. But when I look at it all I can see is just one more thing between me and survival. Winter was already hellish, but snow added a whole new layer to the fuckery and I just…” He shakes his head then, jaw working under clenching teeth.

“Jay…”

“I’m sorry babe, I’m not tryin’ to be fuckin’, I dunno, whiny or anything, but–” He pauses again, huffs out an annoyed sounding breath, then continues. “All I’m tryin’ to say is that I don’t have the best memories associated with the stuff. Even before all that shit I didn’t.”

You don’t expect him to elaborate on that last bit. If his time as a street kid is a sore spot then his childhood prior to it is an open, weeping wound. Like a doctor of a century long since passed, you’ve been helping him slowly drain it, but there’s so much poison in the pain there that it will be a long while yet before it can ever begin to fully heal. Though the earliest bits of his childhood trauma are related to this, it’s only tangentially so, so you move past it without comment.

“What about after all that?” you ask instead. “You spent several years with Bruce and the rest—you must have at least a few good memories, yeah?”

“Ehhh…”

You give him a skeptical look. “Oh come on. I’ve heard the story about you bouncing a pinecone-spiked snowball off of the back of Dick’s head when he was showing off for Babs—he’s the one that told me, actually. You’re really trying to tell me you didn’t enjoy that?”

A reluctant chuckle escapes him at the memory, and the sound soon morphs into a full blown laugh as the scene replays itself in full in his mind.

Apparently Dick had been trying to impress Miss Gordon that day with some acrobatic feat or another and had earned a snowball to the dome for his troubles. This ended with the older boy on his ass and the other two laughing hysterically. From there things only devolved in the best of ways, with all three of them tossing snowballs at one another—all regulation, per Alfred’s demands—until they were left panting and sweating despite the temperature. It wasn’t until the sun had started to set that they were called in to warm up with steaming mugs and fuzzy blankets–

“–and on top of that,” he continues on, “Alfie had laid out fresh pajamas for us to change into. ‘You’ll catch your death in those sodden clothes, Master Jason. Do hurry up and change, the lot of you, so that we can start the film.’” It never ceases to amaze you how spot on his imitation of the Englishman is, not least of all because the refined cadence is almost the direct opposite of the thick Bowery accent that he usually sports.

“Of course being the asshole of a little brother that I was–”

“I like how you used the past tense there, that’s cute.”

He snorts at that before pointedly continuing, “–I wedged myself between Dick and Babs, but with karma bein’ the bitch that it is they decided to hold me down and forcibly cuddle me until the end of the movie—and It’s a Wonderful Life is not a short film, doll.” Though his words are a lament, voice and expression both tell a different story; the memory is clearly a treasured one, though you know he’ll never willingly admit to that aloud.

“Oh god. Did I ever tell you about that time Tim’s short ass walked into a snow drift and it just fuckin’ took him? Like he was there one minute and the next—nothing. All we heard was a scream and then he was gone. And then there was that time Bruce couldn’t stop falling down the stairs outside the Manor. Dude’s supposed to have all that bat-agility, but a little ice almost ended his whole damn career…”

The pair of you go back and forth for a long while, sharing stories and laughter until your eyes are leaking and your tummies are sore. At some point during the exchange you’d been forced to roll off of him, though Jason hadn’t let you get far; you end up beside him, tucked under his arm with your own slung over his chest. Your words have run low by now, with the last story having tapered off into laughter a while ago. Jay is once again lost in his thoughts, though these, you’re happy to note, seem to be far more pleasant than those he’d hosted before. Several long moments pass in a comfortable silence, with him running gentle fingers over your arm, and you just enjoying the feeling of being held by your love. When he looks over at you some odd minutes later there’s enough love and contentment in his gaze to leave your breath catching.

“I guess it wasn’t all bad after all,” he admits after a moment.

You nod at that. “It’s always easier to dwell on the shitty memories, I guess; makes it harder to remember the good times.”

“Very true.”

“So you wanna make some more? Memories, I mean—good ones—with me?”

His replying smile is a slow, lazy thing that knocks years off of his face leaving behind the boy that had once upon a time donned tights and a cape. “Of course, doll, always—but first…” His lips set themselves into a grin fit to rival that of the Grinch at his most devious before descending on yours.

He holds you close then, kissing you slow and deep enough to steal the air from your lungs, though he’s quick to replace it with the sighs and moans he breathes into your kiss. Your protests are half-hearted at best, with Jay’s reminder that “The snow’ll keep” being all the rebuttal needed to see you yielding.

“The fuck is that sound?”

You hadn’t noticed the noise before, but now that you’re more awake it’s all that you can focus on. It takes a minute for your sleep-addled brain to zero in on the source, though once you do–

“It’s your phone,” you half sigh, half groan as you burrow more fully into your man’s warmth.

His pleads for you to “Make it stop, please” rumble through his chest to reverberate through your body. The feeling has the exact opposite effect, as it only makes you want to fall deeper into slumber.

“No you.”

“You.”

“Yooooou…”

“Jason, I can barely feel my legs and your phone’s on the other side of the room. Both of these things are a direct result of your actions. If you think–”

“Alright, alright, damn. I’ll get it myself…” Chuckling a bit under his breath, he untangles himself from your embrace before slinking over to the still vibrating phone. As he scrolls through the texts he stretches out across the length of the foot of the bed.

“Ay, you still wanted to play in the snow?” he asks a few moments later.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. Aside from some lingering grogginess he doesn’t seem nearly as opposed to the idea as he had been before. “…Mayhaps… Why?”

His reply comes in the form of him sliding his phone up the bed towards you. You pick up the tiny device, eyes quickly scanning over the open text thread.

Dickhead: ♫♪♩Do you wanna build a snowman~♫♪♩

Quality bonding time @ the manor!!! ☃️️❄️👏☕🍬

We haven’t hung out as a group in forever so pls come 👉👈 🥺🥺🥺

🙏🙏🙏 😤💖💖😤

There’s a bit of back and forth between the eldest child and his little brothers, though you find yourself ignoring it in favor of critiquing Dick’s emoji usage. It’s about on par with that of a teenaged girl, but somehow he makes it endearing—to you at least. Jay is not at all amused by his brother’s texting etiquette.

“The emoji to word ratio in these texts is a little concerning,” you admit, laughing a bit.

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“A big part of why he keeps it up is because he knows how much you hate it.”

“I know. It’s like trying to read hieroglyphics, and it’s annoying as shit. If I didn’t have you and Cass and Steph to translate I wouldn’t know what he’s trying to say ninety percent of the time. Dumbass’ not gonna be happy until I pop him one, I swear. And Tim’s no fucking better. When the Brat’s the most tolerable one of the bunch you know you’ve fucked up… Annoying assholes, the whole damn lot of ‘em.”

“Right. So you’re down to go, yeah?”

“…Yeah…”

Giggling a bit you type up a reply before relocking the phone and hopping out of bed.

We’ll be there!! 💙💙💙

Dickhead: !!!!

Jaybird! This is the first time you sent me an emoji that wasn’t some sort of profanity or an insult 😭

I’m so happy!

So proud!!

So touched!!! 💕💕💕

I’m gonna call you now so pick up, kay??

The flurry of text-tones leaves your man groaning and you quickly pulling together the makings of an outfit. You know you won’t be able to escape the apartment completely, but you should be able to make it into the bathroom before he realizes what you sent–

“Why’s this asshole still blowing up my phone…? Now he’s calling. Fuck you callin’ me fo–? Excuse me? I sent what?”

–or not.

“Welp, gotta blast!”

Ignoring the way Jay growls out your name you dart into the next room, choking on your own laughs all the while. You can almost swear that you hear your boyfriend laughing as well, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be locking the door behind you.

“Goddammit babe, why would you–?! No, no. The hell I did! That was ____! If you try to hug me, on god I will end you, Dickbreath…”

Up Next:

🌟 Day 2: It’s Always the Little Things… || Cuddling by the Fire

“I told you doll, I don’t want you worryin’ about that shit. I got dinner and anything else you need—I got you.”

Somehow he always knows what you need…

© notepadsandtealeaves, 2020 || Please do not repost, translate, or otherwise alter or distribute my works without my express permission. And for the love of god keep it away from Youtube and TikTok lol…

#Jason Todd x Reader #Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader #Jason Todd x You #Jason Todd Imagine #give jaybird all the love in the world--All 👏 Of 👏 It 👏#((Immy does fan fiction: the Batboys))

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notepadsandtealeaves · 3 years

Text

Dick Grayson x GN!Reader in: The Franken-Bat Rises

12 Days of Batmas || Day 5—Ugly Sweaters

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

↞ previous: let’s wrap this up || wrapping presents

|| ao3 version | 12 days m.list | batboys tag | main blog ||

|| dames day 5 | jay day 5 | tim day 5 ||

“Uh, Richard? What, uhh, what is that?”

“A sweater,” he says—no announces. He’s clearly proud of something, though for the life of you, you cannot figure out what.

“You sure about that?”

If you listen closely you can almost hear Bruce wondering where he went wrong.

🌟 Once again these are all v. loosely connected. I guess it technically starts with Dick, but honestly you can read them in any order.

🌟 Really the only thing that connects them is the fact that it’s Dick’s turn to pick the theme of their annual Christmas Eve party and he went with ‘ugly holiday sweaters’. They’re having a competition and the winner gets to pick which movie’s they’ll be binge watching that night, so naturally they’re going all in lol.

↠ Requested By: Not a soul lol ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: SFW fluff ((but my blog’s 18+ if minors want to consume my sfw stuff while still respecting my wishes of them staying out of this space, they can head over to my AO3)) ↠ CWs: There’s some implied intimacy in the ficlet. Nothing too racy, but you definitely can tell where things are heading lol… ↠ Betas? Nah, we don’t do that here. ↠ Total WC: 1.6k~

Headcanon || WC: ~500

🌟 I’ll give you three guesses as to which brother thought DIY-ing ugly sweaters was a good idea.

🌟 Of course it was Richard John Grayson, because who the hell else would it be? Lol…

🌟 He’s always had a weakness for shit like this.

I picture him as being the kid that always went ten thousand steps beyond every time he had to do any class projects and this is just more of the same, really.

🌟 Christmas is already his favorite holiday, if only for the aesthetics.

Snow makes everything look better and Gotham is no exception. Add to that all the lights and colorful decorations and general good vibes/holiday cheer (and the mandatory family time) and *chef’s kiss*

But as lovely as classic holiday glamour is, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t love a good ugly sweater. The gaudier the better.

We’re talking pom-poms, tinsel, puff paint, glitter, the works.

🌟 Of course you could always go out and buy something premade, but where’s the fun in that? And if there’s a competition—and given the state of this family there will most certainly be a competition—how can entering something that you got off of a rack be fair?

🌟 So yeah, you’re pretty much stuck making a sweater. Suck it up, buttercup lol.

If you’re resistant to the idea at first it doesn’t really matter as this charming mf knows just what it takes to bring you around.

Doesn’t matter if it’s honeyed words, kisses, or straight out bribery with actual cash money—he’s not above any of it lol.

((Though I would hope it would never come to such an extreme point; he’s a sweetie that never hesitates to give you the best of everything, so the least you can do is indulge him in this, I think.))

🌟 Your living room looks like a Michaels threw up in it by the time he’s got everything laid out.

He loads up on (almost lmao) everything, even stuff that he knows has no business on a sweater.

Dude really doesn’t see the problem with putting legit glass ornaments on a fucking sweater, Richard, bby, no—not everyone’s as freakishly coordinated as your family ;n;

There’s also more glitter involved than what you’ll probably be okay with, but it’s fine. You’ll just be shimmery for the rest of your lives, it’s fine lol.

🌟 Once you get into it, it’ll actually be really fun! Plus you’ll be getting all the smooches and cuddles you can handle for the duration, so there’s also that. It’ll be a grand ol’ time–

🌟 –well that is until you realize that the sweater that he’s opted to use for his creation is actually one of your favorites to see on him and there’s no way to replace it as he bought it several years ago when vacationing in Milan and “–goddammit Grayson, why would you do this terrible thing???!”

🌟 Good thing he’s so fucking cute, yeah?

The Franken-Bat Rises || WC: 1.1k~

“So what’s on the agenda for to-” You stop short as you try to make sense of the monstrosity that your man is so proudly brandishing. “Uh, Richard? What, uhh, what is that?”

“A sweater,” he says—no announces. He’s clearly proud of something, though for the life of you, you cannot figure out what.

“You sure about that?”

He laughs, long and loud, as he finally drops his arms allowing you to see him fully. His ridiculously handsome face is made all the more so by the light flush that his mirth has brought about, and there’s a warm glow to be found in the sapphire of his eyes as he regards you with a crooked grin. You return the sentiment as you reluctantly drop your gaze back to the jumper. Unlike the man that holds it the thing is ugly. Like offensively so. Said offense multiplies tenfold when you realize that it’s actually one of your favorite sweaters to see him in. The forest green material hugs his muscled frame just so, leaving very little to the imagination, not to mention the fact that it’s soft as hell…

For him to have destroyed its glorious silhouette with pompoms, miniature gift boxes, and is that a legitimate glass bulb ornament? This… this is a crime. One against humanity and any and all exalted entities out there in the universe—one of the highest order.

“Hideous, isn’t it?” he says as he shakes the thing for emphasis.

“It’s like you read my mind.”

“More like your expression, sweets.”

You share a laugh at that before uttering a very emphatic “Why?”

“Well you know how we all like to get together on Christmas Eve?” he starts, grin wide.

“Yeah…”

“And you know how there’s a different theme every year?”

“Oh god…”

“I’ll give you three guesses as to whose turn it was to pick this year.”

The sound you make in reply is caught somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “So an ugly sweater party then? I bet Dames is thrilled.”

“He’s already sent a grip of texts to the group chat, and several to me personally, promising bodily harm if anyone outside of the family ever sees the pics.”

“I second that motion.”

He snorts at that, though he’s quick to agree when he sees the look you’re giving him. “Anyways!” he continues on, “I got the stuff all set up in the front room, so whenever you’re ready we can get started on yours.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to, but you still find yourself asking, “My what?”

“You’re sweater, of course! You cute, silly little goose!”

“Dick…”

This is not how you planned on spending your rare shared day off. You just wanted to cuddle up with him and block out the rest of the world and any semblance of responsibility for the next twenty-four hours. It was the perfect plan, but you can see it slipping further and further away the longer he talks.

“Aww, come on babe, don’t be like that! It’ll be fun,” he promises as he tucks you in under his arm. “I got all types of decorations and snacks and a hot glue gun for that extra bootleg, homemade look.”

He tries to turn you towards the hall as he speaks, but you resist him with planted feet. Ignoring the potent puppy-dog eyes he’s shamelessly tossing your way, you give him a quick rundown on why his little plan won’t work, at least not today. “Okay, firstly hot glue guns should not be lumped in with the ‘fun’ stuff—those things are scary and hurt-y, not fun. Secondly, decorations and snacks are all well and good, but we’re still missing the main ingredient.”

“Which is?”

“A sweater, Richard. I don’t have any I’m willing to sacrifice to the cause and it’s snowing too hard to go out get one.” Thank fuck, you silently amend.

Dick considers your words as he rubs over the stubble he’s been growing out these past few days. Well ‘stubble’ is both too grand of a word and not; part struggle beard, part heavy five o’clock shadow, you’ve never seen facial hair grow in so uneven before. He swears it’ll be more presentable in a week’s time, but for now he—and by proxy you—are stuck dealing with this mildly terrible transition phase.

“Ooo! Idea!” The latter word is punctuated with a loud clap that leaves you flinching from its suddenness. His apology comes in the form a quick peck to your temple before he continues on. “Yes, an idea has been had. Okay, so you know what’s cute? You.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, babe.”

“Ah, but you didn’t let me finish. You’re cute, yes, but you know what never fails to enhance said cuteness? Oversized clothes.”

Oh. Oh no. You know exactly where he’s going with this.

You can tell the exact moment the dawning crests on your face because his smile goes unbearably smug. The expression would be better suited to any of his brother’s faces, though to be fair you don’t really mind it on his so long as it’s not leaving you at a deficit like it is now.

For his part Dick moves past you to dig around in the back of the closet until he pulls out the cursed item. The result of an ‘all sales final’ online purchase, the sweater he produces with a flourishing flick of his wrists is comically large—so large in fact that it can fit you, him, Steph, and Cass in it somewhat comfortably so long as you don’t all try to use the neckhole at once.

…Look. Sleep deprivation makes people do weird things, and you’ve all agreed to never speak of the incident again—not because anything weird or terrible happened, but because it’s funnier that way, especially since Bruce desperately wants to know what the fuck he walked in on that night but he’s too disturbed to ask. None of you volunteer any information, though you do occasionally toss one another a look when he’s around before cackling because you know, and more importantly he knows, though not to the extent that he wishes.

The more sinister part of your mind gets to working then, thinking about finally getting Bruce to maybe possibly crack by showing up in an artfully jankified version of the dreaded sweater. Your thoughts must be showing on your face again, because your man sidles up to you with a devious smile.

“If I told you we could widen the neck enough for both of us to use it and go full on Franken-Bat, would that sweeten the deal?”

“Oh, most assuredly.”

“Then shall we?”

He smirks as you accept the arm that is extended to you without any further protests. Did he play you? Mayhaps, but it’s all whatever. Your quiet-chill-time can wait, for now you’ve got a Bat to break.

Up Next:

🌟 Day 6: They Never Stood a Chance || Baking Cookies

“Richard my love, why are you this way?”

He shrugs at that, laughing a bit. “Poor impulse control, probably. A better question is why do you love me for it?”

Look. It was his cheat day, okay?

#((Immy does fan fiction: the Batboys))#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x gn!reader #dick grayson x gender neutral reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson hc #dick grayson headcanon #for the record--#--you also cut two arm holes in the front so that you can move about with a bit more freedom #unsurprisingly the pair of you spill /a lot/ of things that night lol #also idk why but i find the idea of torturing bruce in small and super bizarre ways hilarious #does that make me a terrible person? shiiiit prolly #tbh i’m not all that happy with this one but i’m also tired of trying to make it better so…#hopefully it wasn’t too terrible :/

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