#tell me where he is from I need to consume it

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Sometimes I feel like us as the bat family fandom forget how starry eyed people get about Nightwing canonically.

Because with the exception of early era Tim most of the Batkids are like. lol that’s my loser older brother or some variation of yeah…he’s some guy I guess? He helps me with homework?

And Nightwing is the canonically a center of multiversal light.

When Heroes meet Nightwing they do the vigorous handshake and the “it’s an honor to meet you sir, I have heard so much about you oh my god”

There are so many character where they are literally shown giggling and kicking their feet whenever Nightwing talks to them.

Even the people who don’t have the celebrity level worship of him respect the hell out of him and call him as soon as they need help.

From raven to Starfire to Superman to Superboy to all or the flashes there is so much respect and awe given to this one dude.

And it is deserved

But imagine you are Damian Wayne and you’ve been working with what 90% of the people you’ve met (all bats) have been calling an embarrassment to your father’s legacy.

Your mother hates him and your Grandfather doesn’t feel that strongly about him.

The red hood calls him an embarrassment and a coward and he couldn’t even keep Red Robin from running away.

Your father tells him that he never should have been Batman

And you’ve worked with him and you know what you think everyone is full of shit about him and you and him the new Batman and Robin are the best no matter what anyone says.

And fuck it the fact he keeps going in a suit that everyone tells him he’s not good enough for is scratching something in your brain that you’re refusing to acknowledge because why would you feel that way? You are the circus freak have nothing in common (shut up)

And then you meet the justice league and all the extended teams.

And people are falling over themselves to listen to a word out of your brothers, your Batman’s mouth. They wait for a nod or headshake and dictate decades worth of planning on it.

Both Drake and Todd’s hero teams ask him for advice with or without their designated bats presence.

The man of steel asks for child rearing advice and wonder woman cracks a joke about a spar

Newer heroes whisper about him in the halls

He’s literally your favorite hero’s favorite hero

And it’s breaking Damian’s Brain

Because well… he kinda gets slapped around in Gotham. He’s the butt of half the jokes the other Batkids make and Dick just smiles and takes it.

The rogues have a bounty on nightwings ass and he gets leered at by goons, rogues, civilians and anti-hero’s alike and he doesn’t say anything.

He lets oracle crack jokes about a pretty face and having to do everything herself

Let’s Jason run the alley despite the fact that apparently he knows how to take it back

Apparently he’s had 12 people tailing Drake since Paris and despite being the man Ra’s Al Ghul calls detective has yet to notice. (Because you can’t tell me Dick was just magically at the right place to catch Tim falling to his death on coincidence)

And necessary to peace talks because he’s the best they have at deescalation

Like imagine you are a child who was raised to believe power is this obvious, all consuming thing. That the ones who control the board are visibly larger than life figures who fought their way to the top and cling to power by even the thinnest hangnail if they had to.

People who ignore simpler morals or an overall greater goal or good

And then you’re taken in by the man who whispers the correct answers into the larger than life figures ear.

Like I feel like that would have such an impact because Dick didn’t take power from anyone to reach his goals, it’s why his siblings don’t really defer to him unless in crisis.

Dick didn’t take power, no people just looked at him and decided he was the best option to give it to.

Everyone basically looked at this kid and went, yeah you’re the future of all heroism.

And if that dude can’t even get Bruce Wayne’s respect what chance does Damian Wayne have

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Roadside

Summary: On your way back from a long weekend that you got to spent with Joel, his car breaks down. While you both waited for Tommy to get there to help, Joel has some ideas on how to spend the time waiting.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 792

Rating: T

Warnings: roadtrips, falling in love but slowly, car trouble, implied smut, kissing, flirting, feelings, teasing, kinda secret dating, fourteen year age gap

A/N: I'm missing references to three pics I think, but it doesn't get better than this lol (technically I am not here, because I am on a writing break) The moodboard screamed road trip to me, so this is what I did. This is for @iamasaddie 24 hour writing challenge and I hope it does not suck 🙃

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Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

„What are you gonna tell him when he gets here?“ You hummed, looking up at Joel. He gave you a small smile before he stepped closer, his big, strong hands coming down to part your legs for him, stepping between them so he was towering over you, the sun slowly setting on the horizon.

You had almost made it home. 

After a long weekend of having Joel to yourself without the fear of running into someone you both knew (if you left your hotel room at all) that you had spend in a tiny town in close to Dallas, you were on your way back, just an hour out of Austin when his truck made a very sad noise until the engine went out and the car stopped on the side of the road. 

He had tried to get it to work before, with a long groan, he told you he had to call Tommy cause the something something needed a something so he could fix it. He had kept his eyes on you the whole times as he made the call, looking beyond sexy in the shirt you bought him, with his too long getting hair that you had spent all night running your fingers through as he made you cum over and over again until you both passed out. 

You had met Tommy before. You just hadn’t met him as Joel’s girlfriend.

Things between you and Joel had been… slow until they weren’t.

You’ve known each other for almost two years due to you working as an interior designer occasionally with his company. But it was six months ago that you had gotten closer as you worked on a very time consuming project where the client brought you both to the verge of insanity with how often they were changing the plans. 

He had finally asked you out one night and the rest as they say, was history. 

„Guess I’m finally gonna introduce my controversially young girlfriend to him,“ Joel smiled before he kissed you softly. You gasped in mock offence, before tilting your chin up to meet his lips with a smile, your hands running up his broad back until your fingers slipped into his hair on the back of his neck. 

„Not that controversial,“ you grinned and he chuckled before his lips kissed down your neck. 

„Fourteen years is a lot,“ he mumbled against your neck and you sighed, letting your head fall to the side to give him more access. One of his hands slowly drifted up your thighs, his fingers pushing the fabric of your skirt up. 

„Only if you care what other people think. Last time I checked, we’re both very consenting adults,“ you said and he playfully bit into your neck making your shriek. 

„How consenting are we talking about here exactly?“ He asked and you looked up at him as one of his hands slipped between your legs, his fingers brushing over your damp panties. 

You could feel your nipples harden against the fabric of the shirt you had put on this morning and Joel seemed to notice too, his other hand coming up to cup one of your tits, his thumb playing with your nipple.

Looking around you realised that you were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. You couldn’t even remember when you had seen a car drive by the last time. 

„Consenting enough to let you fuck me in the middle of nowhere until your brother gets here,“ you whispered against his ear and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against yours. 

„Atta girl,“ he grinned, before he kissed you again while his hands made quick work of your underwear. 

You could still feel him dripping out of you, your legs a little weak, when you jumped of the back of the truck, Joel taking your hand as the door of the car that had parked behind his opened and a man jumped out, looking between the two of you. 

The sun had set by now, the cold air making you shiver and Joel let go of your hand, to put an arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him, the warmth of his body helping instantly. 

„So this is how I get to find out the mysterious woman that makes my brother grin like a teenager with a crush when he looks at his phone is you?“ Tommy Miller approached with a wide grin. You could practically hear Joel roll his eyes and you smiled at his brother. 

„You got a crush on me, Miller?“ You teased and looked up at him. 

„Brat,“ he sighed, fighting a smile.

„You love it,“ you winked, feeling him pull you closer. 

„Yeah, I really do,“ he hummed before he kissed you softly. 

[postcardsfromheapside]

I need to be salty for a hot second about people who are upset about aspects of Lucanis' romance.

I'll put everything else under the break for spoilers, but in general, I am so disappointed in a large portion of this fanbase who apparently thought "disaster" meant "romantasy," but also it's in keeping with how a lot of people seem unable to put things in context.

One of the complaints I keep seeing run past is that the scene where you commit to a relationship with Lucanis seems pefunctory, or out of the blue, there's nothing really romantic about it, it's too similar to the platonic route, etc, etc, ETC.

I romanced Emmrich, but I've seen other people's versions of romancing Lucanis. I'm just going to kind of word vomit here, and hope I can come up with something cohesive.

As someone who id's with Lucanis for "generational abuse" and "dumpster fire disaster bi" and "using socially acceptable drugs as coping mechanisms in place of addressing your problems" reasons, it's been really fucking annoying watching the almost deliberate misinterpretation of his character even after Mary Kirby dropped several explanations on social media. It's like a large part of the fanbase saw all that and turned into the "yes yes, very sad...anyway!" meme and went right on fetishizing him...then got mad when he didn't turn into the seductive Dom with wings they were hoping for.

You commit to Lucanis after (what I consider) a very intense scene inside his "mind prison." He's struggling so much internally that Spite wrests control of his body from him in front of witnesses and begs Rook to help them. Lucanis would never ask Rook to do so on his own, he's terrible at asking for the help he truly needs. Spite drags Rook into the Fade Ossuary and demands they free Lucanis from his self-imposed prison. And whether you're a friend or would-be lover, Rook slowly talks Lucanis out of a host of self doubts regarding his family and friends. Can he trust himself not to hurt other people, now that he's saddled with this affliction? Has he disappointed the people he cares about most? Do these new people he's coming to care about actually trust and care about him? The rooms are filled with fragmented thoughts that peter out into regrets. You're literally seeing Lucanis' fractured and complicated emotions.

One of them tore a hole straight through me: "You'd have to kill me...And Spite would die."

You'd have to kill him to get rid of the demon. And he'd regret the death of the demon that's protected him and given him strength, through a brutal year of betrayal and torment. I don't know if y'all remember the scenes in the Ossuary of the failed experiments and the corpses you had to pass to get to his jar of blood. It wasn't fun.

When you break out of the mind prison after helping him bond with Spite, it's intimate and momentous, even on a platonic route. You've seen desperate and lonely parts of him he'd never willingly show anyone.

As you're convincing Lucanis that it's okay to leave his mind-prison, you tell him you understand that it's easier to deal with problems like the Ossuary and Zara than healing and living with Spite, potentially hurting people he cares about. But he wants to. It's Rook's job to help him see a path out, a way for him to make the struggle easier so he can begin to heal himself.

I need to stress: you aren't "fixing" him. You're acting as his lighthouse, regardless of whether you're a friend or a lover. Sometimes people need help. He's still going to have to do the work to get there.

As a friend, it was extremely rewarding to come back to the kitchen and see him doing exactly as I'd hoped: moving on with the business of *living*. He made a nice dinner for everyone he's come to care for, and a special dessert for Neve. Cooking is where Lucanis finds creativity, and comfort, and connection with his friends and family. He isn't very good with words, but he will note everything you consume, and try to make you feel loved by expressing it that way.

Which is why I think it's important you don't dismiss the commitment on the romantic route. He remembers YOUR favorite drink and makes YOU a special dessert if you're romancing him. Lucanis isn't going to get poetic. You've already made him feel raw. You've seen the ugly, embarassing parts of him. What is he supposed to say? Usually it takes Spite reaching through his body to actually be direct. Instead, Lucanis reaches for food, his favorite medium, to try and apologize for inadvertently showing you those things, to thank you for helping him despite seeing what he considers the most shameful parts of him. Your commitment is letting him know that you value him, that he has nothing to be ashamed of, that you understand what he's trying to express with his struggling communication skills, which appear to get better as your relationship progresses from there.

It's weird that some of y'all don't feel that this is heartfelt and important, because you'd rather him act out some sensuous fantasy trope. It's also weird that some of you haven't figured out that many scenes in RPG's can be similar on platonic and romantic routes with tweaks to shade context.

(Also just in case this comes up: cooking is not his "love language" - that whole concept was invented by a misogynistic weirdo and we should remove it from our ideas of communication)

Anyway, this guy is my Rook's bestie and I'll go down swinging for him, you should appreciate the fuck out of him and stop acting like his writer didn't craft a perfectly funny little weirdo who is bad at showing people his tender parts and terrible at interpersonal relationships.

[ancientwastedlores]

Don't Be Kind To It (Homelander x Reader)

The overwhelming amount of love Homelander Only Breaks His Favorite Toys got really hit me in the feels. Some of you asked for a part II, and much like Homelander, I aim to please (and love the praise).

[tags: @helreyy @discowizard88 @slasherho]

This one is lightly inspired by Hozier's "It Will Come Back," and we get a glimpse into Homelander's perspective as well.

Hope you enjoy it! <3

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

Don't Be Kind To It

Don't let it in with no intention to keep it Jesus Christ, don't be kind to it

You're a smart cookie. And you know Homelander better than he knows himself. You expect him to stalk you, watch you from rooftops, send you gifts that have an agenda, and force Vought's Crime Analytics department to keep an eye on you.

So, you wait. You listen for the telltale whoosh of air, the crackle of energy that signals his arrival. Every gust of wind sends your heart hammering; every creak of the floorboards makes your blood run cold. You scan the skyline for a flash of red and blue, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

At first, you think he’s just toying with you, letting you stew in paranoia. You brace for him to materialize at the most inconvenient moment, smug and victorious. Yet days turn into weeks, and his absence becomes undeniable. You tell yourself he’s good at what he does—too good—but the truth begins to sink in: it’s not just you. Nobody has seen him.

No staged rescues. No public appearances. Not even a leaked video of him losing his temper. Ashley let slip that his tracking chip went dead 3 days ago. Vought is scrambling to spin the story - a secret overseas mission? A long-deserved vacation?

But the inner circle is panicking. The people who know him best—the ones who know what he’s capable of—are terrified.

Where the fuck is Homelander?

But... another thought creeps in, invasive and unwelcome, like a splinter under your skin.

Isn't he going to fight for me?

The selfishness of it makes you recoil, but it’s there, undeniable and raw. After everything, after all the suffocating control and emotional whiplash, you almost wanted him to stay obsessed with you. To prove that you still mattered to him. To prove that you had power over the most powerful man alive.

The realization is a gut punch. Maybe you’re not as different from him as you thought. Maybe his possessiveness, his need for control, rubbed off on you more than you care to admit. Maybe you’ve become just as twisted as him, longing for attention—even the toxic kind—because it’s better than silence.

And now, silence is all there is.

It wraps around you like a noose, tightening with every passing day. His absence presses on your chest, cutting off your circulation, making it hard to breathe. You tell yourself it’s relief—that this is what you wanted—but the emptiness feels like punishment. You try to convince yourself he’s sulking, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to make you regret leaving him.

But the longer it stretches on, the more it begins to feel permanent.

You could care less what this means for Vought. All the company seems to care about is who will lead the Seven now. Should they try to replace Homelander or lean into the “team-first” narrative Ashley has been pushing? PR scrambles to keep the media from asking too many questions, trotting out The Deep and Black Noir to cover for him.

But the public isn’t buying it.

Those who love him are afraid he is hurt. Those who hate him post conspiracy theories about Homelander going rogue - which feels way more accurate.

Either way, if Homelander doesn’t want to be found, no one can find him.

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

Your days stretch out unfathomably long. You expected to feel free, to savor the clean air and the wide-open spaces of a world without him. Instead, his absence is louder than his presence ever was.

When he was there, he consumed everything: every thought, every moment, every inch of your life. You hated it, resented it, but at least you understood it. His attention, no matter how suffocating, meant you mattered.

But now there’s nothing.

The silence echoes like a scream, reverberating through every corner of your mind. Every sleepless night, every anxious thought loops back to him. Where is he? What is he doing? Is he coming back?

You start to wonder if this is how he wanted it—to leave you drowning in uncertainty, gasping for closure you’ll never get. Maybe this is his ultimate revenge.

Or maybe…

Maybe he’s broken in ways even you can’t fix.

You almost wish for his cruelty, for the familiar push-and-pull of his twisted affection. Because this? This void where he once loomed so large?

It feels like dying.

No. You have to seek him out. You can't quite tell if it's for his sake or yours... you can figure that out later.

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

Monster's Lament

The room is dark, lit only by the faint glow of the moon filtering through cracked blinds. Dust floats in the air, settling over the relics of a forgotten time—old Vought propaganda posters peeling from the walls, a long-dead television covered in grime. It’s quiet here, too quiet, save for the clock that's miraculously still ticking.

Homelander sits slumped in a battered chair, his suit grimy, his cape discarded on the floor in a crumpled heap. His head is in his hands, his golden locks disheveled, the picture of a god brought low.

“You warned her,” a voice says, syrupy sweet.

Homelander doesn’t look up, doesn’t need to—he knows where it’s coming from.

The mirror.

He lifts his gaze reluctantly, and there it is: his own reflection staring back at him, but not quite right. The eyes burn brighter, the teeth are sharper, the smile is crueler. It leans forward as if trying to crawl out of the glass.

"You warned her," it sings again. "But did she listeeeen." "Not now, okay?" Homelander pleads.

The face in the mirror laughs. "Jesus fucking Christ, this is so pathetic. What are you waiting for, for her to come find you? For her to need you?" "She does need me." “Oh, sure. Because you gave her everything. The flying, the fancy dinners, the cape-flipping bullshit. But what did she give you?” It leans closer, its grin widening. “Pity. That’s what. You wanted love, and all you ever got was pity.”

“That’s not true,” Homelander growls, but his voice wavers.

“Isn’t it?” The reflection tilts its head, almost playfully. “She stayed because she felt sorry for you. The broken little boy in the big man’s body. She didn’t love you, not really. She loved the idea of fixing you. And when she couldn’t—”

“Shut up!” Homelander’s voice cracks as he lurches to his feet, his hands trembling.

The reflection’s grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows wider. “What’s the matter, Johnny? Don’t like the truth?”

He stands frozen, a deer in headlights. He never learned to deal with complex emotions, and even after all this time, it wraps around him like a boa constrictor, cutting off his air supply and rooting him to the ground.

And the reflection starts to sing. “Don’t feed me, honey. Don’t be kind to me.”

The lyrics echo around Homelander, twisting like a blade.

"Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul Honey, make this easy Leave it to the land, this is what it knows."

"STOP IT" Homelander cries.

"Don't let me in with no intention to keep me Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me Honey, don't feed me, I will come back"

"You're supposed to be on MY side." Homelander says. "I am. This is what that looks like," It replies.

Homelander's stares ahead, his fists clenched, his jaw tights, his eyes ready to burn holes into the mirror. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.

Homelander closes his eyes, but her face is there, burned into his eyelids. The way she looked at him—like he was more than the sum of his power, more than the monster everyone else saw. He hates her for it. He loves her for it.

“Why did you leave?” he whispers to himself.

The reflection’s smile vanishes. For a moment, it almost looks… pitying.

“Because you allowed it,” it says simply.

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

"She fed you ONCE. And you kept going to her like a stray fucking dog. You took her mercy and her love and you became weak. Nobody wants weakness, Johnny." It leans forward, smiling, canines gleaming, "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Homelander looks at the ground. Shame and desperation wash over him, and he blinks tears back.

"You're going to claim her. And you'll make sure she never, ever leaves again. Right?"

Homelander doesn't look up from the floor.

It gets irritated. "Right?"

Silence.

It rolls its eyes. "Do you want ME to do it?"

Homelander looks up, hope obvious in his bright blue eyes.

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

You don’t intend to start looking for him. It just… happens.

It begins with small, idle habits—clicking on articles about Vought’s latest scandals, scrolling through old news coverage, and watching grainy footage of staged rescues from years past. Your eyes search for him automatically, for that familiar streak of red and blue cutting through the chaos.

Then it escalates.

You start wandering the city at night, tracing the paths he once flew you along. You visit the rooftops where he used to land with a flourish, his cape billowing dramatically in the wind. You linger outside the exclusive restaurants where he once paraded you like a trophy, his smile razor-sharp as he soaked in the envy of the other diners.

But it’s not just the glamorous places.

You walk down seedy alleys and explore dark corners—the forgotten places he claimed as private retreats. The places where he could let his guard down, where the mask of America’s golden boy slipped.

It feels grotesque, this act of seeking him out. Like you’re willingly feeding the monster you swore you’d escape. You hate yourself for it, for the way your heart leaps at the thought of seeing him again, even if it’s just to tell him to his face that you’re done.

But you can’t stop.

You start putting yourself in danger—not consciously, but recklessly enough that it’s obvious even to you. Walking alone through neighborhoods that turn predatory after dark. Taking late-night trains without any plan or destination. Part of you hopes he’ll swoop in, cape flaring, to save you in one of his dramatic displays of power.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, one night, it’s Black Noir who finds you.

The alley is suffocatingly narrow, the air heavy with the mingling stench of rotting garbage and damp asphalt. The dim, flickering streetlight overhead barely illuminates the passage as two men circle you like predators. Their laughter is low and ugly, their shadows long and distorted against the brick walls.

You freeze, your breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob, as one of them lunges toward you. You pray even now that he'll swoop in from somewhere.

And then he’s there.

Black Noir steps from the shadows like death itself. His arrival is so silent, so abrupt, that the men don’t even notice him until it’s too late. A gloved hand clamps down on one man’s shoulder, spinning him around with an almost casual effort. Noir doesn’t waste time. The blow is swift, brutal—a single strike to the man’s temple that sends him crumpling to the ground.

The second man barely has time to react, stumbling backward with a terrified curse. Noir closes the distance in an instant, his movements fluid and precise. A sharp crack echoes through the alley as the man’s arm is wrenched at an unnatural angle. He screams, but Noir silences him with a swift knee to the ribs. He falls, gasping and broken, as Noir turns to you.

The black Kevlar of his suit gleams faintly in the dim light, the contours of his armor making him seem more shadow than man. His helmet hides his face entirely, the opaque visor reflecting your terrified expression back at you. He stands perfectly still, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, his presence both menacing and oddly comforting.

You crumble to the ground, your legs giving out beneath you as adrenaline and fear collide in your veins. Relief washes over you, but it’s tainted by something darker—frustration, disappointment, an aching sense of abandonment.

Noir kneels on the ground to make sure you're okay.

“Why—why isn’t he here?” you sob, your voice breaking. The words spill out of you, raw and unfiltered, as you pound your fists weakly against Noir’s chest.

He doesn’t move.

“Why won’t he come for me?” you cry, your hands trembling against the hard, unyielding surface of his armor. “He’s supposed to be here. He’s always here.”

Noir doesn’t answer. Of course, he doesn’t. He simply stands there, a silent sentinel as your emotions spill over in a torrent of tears and ragged gasps. His helmet tilts ever so slightly, as if he’s observing you, but he offers no comfort, no words of reassurance.

You clutch at him like a drowning person reaching for a lifeline, your fingers curling around the slick fabric of his suit. The tears come harder now, soaking into the Kevlar as you press your face against him.

“I hate him,” you whisper through clenched teeth, though the bitterness in your voice is softened by the despair in your heart. “I hate him for leaving.”

Noir stands up, lifting you with him, and lets you go once he's sure you're standing straight. His silence is maddening. Why isn't he angry that you're being ungrateful? Why isn't he at least talking about Homelander disappearing? ANYTHING?

You finally step back, your hands trembling as you wipe at your tear-streaked face. Your gaze meets Noir’s visor, and for a moment, you imagine you see something there—pity, perhaps, or understanding. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the blank, inscrutable void of his masked expression.

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely, though the words feel hollow. What you really want to say is, Why wasn’t it him?

Noir doesn’t react. He simply steps back, his movements as quiet and calculated as ever, before melting into the shadows.

You’re alone again, the weight of Homelander's absence pressing down on you like a physical force.

But... a thought creeps in. If Black Noir came, then Homelander must know, too. They all have access to the same intel. He knows where you are and what you’re doing, and still—still—he hasn’t come for you.

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GUYS, I think this is going to be a three-parter. Bear with me. The next chapter will be the last. Let me know what you guys think and if you want to be tagged to the third one!

Thank you for all the love 😭😭

[ledesaid]

Nothing is said ▼►☼ #1

Magic, that branch of life that brings problems and joys. Mary has known both, and now she just wants to close her eyes, but she still can't.

Superman is hugging her while her body is consumed by darkness, a fair price for using a forbidden and lethal spell... Mary would be offended if it had been something less. Not just any spell would take down one of the champions of magic.

"Miss Marvel, please, keep your eyes open! You have to fight!"

"No... it can't be helped, this is my punishment for killing my brother..."

"Constantine will be here soon, you have to fight!"

"There is no cure, Superman... It's part of... my sin. But you could do something for me..."

"Please, tell me..."

Mary looks in the direction of the crater left by her spell, the place where the Captain had ceased to exist and where there should be nothing left. Tears clouded her vision... No one would cry for them.

"Billy, that's his name... and mine is Mary... Remember us, Superman. Please remember us even if the world doesn’t... Don’t forget us."

She wanted the Batson siblings to be remembered. No one would do so after that day; they would just be two orphaned children who disappeared in the middle of the battle of Fawcett, never to be found...

Billy and Mary would be ashes together.

"I never do that..."

"We believe you..."

Superman hugged the woman, what was left of her, before she completely turned to dust...

And so, the woman and the girl vanished.

In just minutes, Constantine, Batman, and Wonder Woman arrived. No words were needed... it was already too late. Fawcett was destroyed, and they had lost two friends, along with the pillars of the magical world. Captain Marvel had been compromised by an unknown entity, and his sister had sacrificed everything to stop him.

Diana took Bruce's hand to offer comfort... Everything fell into a respectable silence, mourning for two heroes.

Suddenly, that silence was broken by an unexpected, gentle sound.

The battlefield, was interrupted by a small cry.

"A baby" The sound reached Batman and was unmistakable.

Batman was the first to run toward the crater where there should have been some remnants of the Captain Marvel. Wonder Woman and Superman closely followed.

"I told you, magic is capricious," Jon Constantine felt it first, sensing a spark.

"It's a baby..." Batman lifted him from the dirt.

"By Hera, it's..." Diana cupped the baby's soft cheek.

As Bruce covered the little one with his cape, he looked at him puzzled. He had rosy cheeks, black hair, and, he swore, blue eyes... Eyes like... Him.

-----

Part 2

[crabs-with-sticks]

Trick Q+A on the solavellan ending

Haven't seen this going around much, I'm guessing because it was originally posted when everybody had their veilguard spoiler defenses up. But I did find it interesting.

Trick is answering some questions over on Bluesky and here are the questions and answers decoded from the rot13 cipher. Hopefully this provides more clarity and eases people's anxieties here and we can move forward in a more positive light with discussions: Q: Will where Solas and Inky end up in the Fade be strictly regret-themed or will her joining and their love influence it into something a bit less bleak (hence the specific elven phrasing)? rooting for my girl not to be in fade jail A: She's speaking both romantically and literally. It won't be terrible if they're in there together. Q: In the Solavellan ending, it says that Solas is Lavellan's true love. I know you've said she represents his future, but do you think she's his true love also? A: Yes. We framed it the way we did because the Inquisitor was your character last game, and because some people, we imagined, were doing this to give the Inquisitor the happy ever after she deserved, not Solas. Q: Did solas just Fade-mail it to her and it appeared? A: Inky and Morrigan have their ways. Q: Could you please tell us, if it is possible, why it was only Mythal's words that allowed Solas to stop this train of endless regrets from rolling into the abyss? I'm sorry, but it seemed too easy to me after so many centuries. Perhaps I don't understand the core of their relationship. A: That's what he needed to hear. Not because he loved Mythal more, but because she was the reason everything went wrong. She, the past, tells him to let go of all the mistakes of the past. And then the Inquisitor he wanted to be with is there to show him a better future. Q: Does Solas love Lavellan as much as he loves Mythal? I know Mythal is kinda all things to him- leader, oldest friend, maybe lover, and that's hard to overcome. On the other hand, his love for Lavellan seems less all-consuming, but purer. Anyway, love to hear your thoughts! A: Mythal is his past, where he made terrible mistakes. A romanced Lavellan is a bright future he doesn't think he deserves until he fixes all of those past mistakes. Q: When Solas tells Lavellan that the place he is going is terrible, where exactly sre they going? Back to the regret prison or somewhere else? A: The implication is that he's going back to the prison, and now that he'll be working to try to heal the blight while he's there.

Source (its to a reddit thread not the actual original quotes, and I'm going to trust that they did their due diligence because I don't have the energy to do it myself lol)

[the-au-thor]

ʙᴀʙʏꜱɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴜɴ | ᴘᴛ.1 | ᴇ.ᴍ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary: Eddie's all: “Relax, Feywild, I’ve got this,” like he didn’t just try to party his career into a tabloid headline. You're all: “Munson, I’m one tantrum away from quitting, don’t test me.”

And of course, he’s insufferably charming about it.

Warning: click here

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fey!Fem!Reader

[¹] [²][³][⁴][⁵][⁶][⁷][⁸][⁹][¹⁰][¹¹][¹²][¹³][¹⁴]

It wasn’t fun. Not at all, you told yourself as you parked your car two blocks away from the famous club where Eddie was supposedly hanging out. Two blocks might not seem like much, but in a city like LA, walking two steps downtown at this hour was risky—especially for a girl. You slammed the door of your Chevy shut, irritation bubbling inside you, and started walking toward the address Robert had given you over the phone ten minutes ago. He’d interrupted your movie, the one you’d been watching in your ridiculously expensive bed that you’d proudly bought with your first paycheck. A bed that, apparently, some cosmic force had decided you wouldn’t get to enjoy.

The club looked exclusive—you had to admit that much. There was still a long line of people waiting to get in. Near the VIP area, two girls were practically begging the bouncer to let them through, even though they clearly hadn’t paid. You marched straight up to them, interrupting their tense back-and-forth.

You cleared your throat, gaining the attention of the two girls, who now glared at you for breaking into their negotiation. You raised your ID.

“I need to get inside. I’m looking for someone,” you said, trying to sound authoritative.

The bouncer frowned. The girls, meanwhile, rolled their eyes, clearly amused. To them, your excuse must’ve sounded even flimsier than theirs.

The bouncer chuckled dryly. “Yeah, sure. And I’m supposed to let you drink for free too?” He motioned toward the line with a jerk of his thumb. “Get in line, sweetheart, and stop wasting my time.”

You glanced toward the VIP section, spotting an open door cordoned off with a velvet rope. Inside, a platform loomed over the main floor. A small crowd was gathered there, laughing, dancing, and drinking. And right in the middle of it all, lounging on an expensive-looking chaise, was Eddie Munson—head thrown back, laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Munson!” you yelled, but, of course, your voice was drowned out by the music, the shouting, and Eddie’s likely alcohol-induced stupor. You tried again, louder this time, but nothing. The girls giggled mockingly, probably enjoying your little spectacle. You weren’t about to let that slide. Putting two fingers to your lips, you let out a piercing whistle that somehow managed to cut through the chaos.

Eddie’s head shot up. His bleary eyes scanned the room until they landed on you. For a second, he looked like he didn’t recognize you. Then, a wide grin spread across his face, and he stood up, wobbling a little as he made his way down the platform. You couldn’t tell if it was the speed of his movement, the ridiculous black platforms he was wearing, or the sheer amount of alcohol he’d consumed, but he looked like he was about to topple over at any second.

When he finally reached you by the door, you could feel the palpable shock from the girls next to you. Eddie threw an arm around your shoulders, his breath reeking of booze as he greeted you with a sloppy smile.

“Feywild,” he slurred, leaning in way too close because, of course, Eddie Munson didn’t believe in personal space. “You came.”

Shrugging his arm off, you tried to shield him with your smaller frame, hoping to avoid giving the paparazzi—who were already gathering—any more ammunition.

“Eddie,” you sighed, trying to maintain composure, “what the hell are you doing here?”

He gave you a once-over, frowning at your outfit. “Weird look for a party,” he muttered, then gestured dramatically at himself—his boa of feathers and all. “But who am I to judge, right?”

“It’s because I wasn’t planning on coming to a club tonight,” you snapped, gesturing at your burgundy corduroy pants and your faded Corroded Coffin tour hoodie. “I was in bed.”

“But it’s party night! What should I'd be doing? Sleeping?” he said, clearly bewildered.

Eddie always responded with a blend of childishness, mockery, sarcasm, and irony. Such was the case when Wayne sent him a ring in an old but well-preserved box. You had panicked, for what else would a rock star want with such a ring if not to make an impulsive decision and marry someone you had become infatuated with the night before? Of course, you had to ask him the purpose of the ring. 'What else, Fey? To marry you, of course,' he had replied, making you roll your eyes and bite your lip. You never asked again, especially after seeing the modest ring hanging from one of the chains around his neck.

“You just finished the first leg of the tour, Munson. It’s a freaking Tuesday night, and you’ve got an interview with Letterman in two days. I thought you’d be home, passed out on your giant orthopedic mattress with a muscle relaxer.”

“Aww, Fey, don’t be like that—”

“My name isn’t Fey,” you interrupted, seething. You’d never figured out what the nickname meant, but the way Eddie said it always made it sound like a joke at your expense. Tugging at your ponytail, you glared at him. “Drink some water. We’re leaving.”

“Nope,” he said, grinning like a child and stumbling a step back.

You turned to the bouncer. “I’m going in to get him,” you announced with such determination that the guy didn’t even try to stop you.

“Munson!” you called after Eddie as you followed him inside.

“You’re in, Feywild! Relax! Drinks are on me!” he shouted over his shoulder, already halfway up the stairs to the VIP section.

“I want to go home, Munson!” you yelled, stopping at the base of the stairs.

Eddie turned, his expression falling. “Then go home,” he said flatly.

You shook your head. “I’m not leaving you here. Robert called me in a panic. This place is crawling with photographers. You don’t need this kind of attention, not now, when you and the band are on top.”

“I can take care of myself,” Eddie said, his voice low and defiant.

You knew he could. He’d handled false murder accusations and even survived...whatever the hell had happened in Hawkins. But this wasn’t Hawkins, and Eddie wasn’t just some small-town outcast anymore. This was Los Angeles. Eddie Munson was a rockstar now, one headline away from chaos. And you? You were the one who’d lose your job if things spiraled.

Taking a deep breath, you softened your tone. “Robert doesn’t think so.”

Eddie frowned from the platform, taking a long look at you. “Robert can shove it. I don’t need a damn babysitter.” Then, before you could say anything else, he grabbed a shot of tequila from a nearby table and knocked it back.

You saw him grab a small glass of tequila from a table, and you swallowed hard. You were in trouble; Eddie was a handful when he was partying, and tonight, the guys weren’t around to help. Usually, Big Rock would help hold him down and get him to the car. He and Gareth (recently, anyway) were the ones who caused the most trouble, acting like a couple of toddlers.

It was your job to keep them in check.

"Alright, I’ll go get my car and leave," you finally announced, feeling a knot form in your stomach. You were going to lose your job. You’d lose it, and then you’d have to go back home with your tail between your legs.

For some reason, that caught Eddie’s attention. He turned to look at you, his expression suddenly serious.

“Your car? Robert didn’t send my driver with you?” he asked, sounding like all the alcohol he’d drunk had magically drained out of his system.

“No, I drove here from home. I told you that,” you replied, watching his gaze drift off, like he was thinking about something. He threw back another shot, nodded, and then started walking down the stairs toward you.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, leaving you standing there completely dumbfounded.

You watched as he asked the host for his jacket. The man happily handed it over, and you followed Eddie, asking the host for one of his security guards to escort both of you to your car.

“I don’t need covering; cover her,” Eddie instructed one of the guards when he tried to shield him from the photographers getting too close.

You walked in silence to your car, unlocking the passenger seat for Eddie before quickly moving around to your side to get in. The guard kept the photographers at bay long enough for you to thank him and close the door.

Eddie was fiddling with the radio as you buckled your seatbelt and started the engine.

“You need to get a new car. This one’s not safe,” he said, frowning as he stopped on a rock station.

Your Chevy was a used '70s model. You knew it was old, and you knew it didn’t look great. But it ran, it was clean, and, thankfully, the leather seats were still intact. That was more than you could ask for.

“Not all of us can swap cars like we swap underwear,” you shot back.

Eddie frowned at you, but it didn’t surprise you. He always got cranky when you dragged him away from a party. It was like taking a toy from a spoiled kid who had a room full of them.

“I pay you well.”

You sighed. You were not about to have that conversation with him—not now, not ever, and especially not when he reeked of mezcal, cologne, and bad decisions.

“I’m taking you home, Munson. Do you have your keys, or do I need to stop by my place for the spares?” you asked, watching him pull the keys out of the pocket of his long jacket.

“I need to stop by Robert’s first.”

Your shoulders tensed as you backed the car out of the parking lot.

“Bad idea, Mun. It’s three in the morning,” you said, worried.

“If he was awake to get you out of bed, he’ll be awake for me, Feywild. Trust me.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re gonna get me fired, Munson,” you muttered, taking a turn toward Robert’s place in Bel Air.

“I’d never let that happen, my dear Fey. You couldn’t live without me, and I couldn’t have that on my conscience,” he said, batting his eyelashes mockingly. You just scoffed and kept your eyes on the road.

“Stop calling me Fey.”

“I’ll stop when you start calling me by my name like everyone else. Or maybe not... I like Feywild,” he said with a smug, self-satisfied grin.

The next 20 minutes were filled with Eddie tapping his ring-clad fingers on the dashboard, drumming along to whatever was playing on the radio. He did this all the time; it was like his brain never got tired of following a rhythm. He’d even record his concerts and listen to them during drives, making notes. That was probably the most serious you’d ever seen him. Most of the time, he drove you crazy, but you had to admit: he was talented and a perfectionist.

When you pulled up to Robert’s house in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods, Eddie reached over and honked your horn. The sudden noise made the neighborhood dogs start howling. You smacked his hand away from the wheel, glaring at him.

“God, Munson, this is a residential area! People have normal jobs. Can you try to be a little considerate?”

Eddie laughed.

He laughed and didn’t even apologize.

You saw the lights in Robert’s mansion flick on, and a few minutes later, the man himself came out, dressed in silk pajamas and slippers that probably cost as much as your rent. Not that you cared to know. He stomped toward the car, scowling. You reached over and slowly turned the radio volume down.

“What the hell?” Robert directed his anger at you, placing his hands on the car door as Eddie rolled down the window. “It was simple—I asked you to pick him up from the club and make sure he got home safely, not bring him here and wake up the whole neighborhood.”

You frowned. You hated when he talked to you like that. Sure, he was good at what he did, but you worked just as hard. You didn’t ask for gold stars or pats on the back—just a little respect.

Eddie immediately turned in his seat to face him as soon as Robert finished his rant.

“I told her to bring me here, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to her like that,” Eddie cut in firmly. “She’s under contract with me to help manage my schedule, handle personal errands, and assist with other matters. You, on the other hand, hired overpriced security guards to ‘protect me,’” he reminded him pointedly. “So, care to explain why the hell you sent my assistant, alone, in her own car, to pick me up in the middle of Sunset Boulevard with zero protection?”

You pressed your lips together, feeling an overwhelming urge to run and hide. Especially since Robert, suddenly tense, stopped looking at you and began stammering.

“Fey is on a 24-hour-a-week contract, and—”

“Don’t call her Fey,” Eddie snapped, cutting him off sharply. Robert flinched slightly, and you could feel the anger radiating from Eddie, now directed entirely at him. “Listen, Robert, next time, you’re sending her with two of those ridiculously expensive guards you hired and in a damn safe vehicle. Got it?” He didn’t wait for his manager to respond, only nodded as though the matter was settled. “Oh, and you’re going to give her a raise.”

Robert’s frown deepened, and you swore your heart skipped a beat. A strange warmth spread through your stomach, and for just a moment, you felt something you’d never expected Eddie Munson, of all people, to make you feel: protected.

“That’s… we already pay her well—”

“Look at her, Robert,” Eddie interrupted again, his voice sharp. “You dragged her out of her house to pick me up when I was fine. You don’t pay her enough—because it’s my damn money, Robert, and I can do whatever the hell I want with it. Understood? Yes?”

Without waiting for a reply, Eddie rudely began rolling the window up. Just before it closed completely, he shot out a quick, “Say hi to Barbara for me.”

Then he cranked up the radio and turned to you.

“Drive, Feywild. Take me home, please.”

You let out a long sigh, still not entirely sure what had just happened. Your grip on the steering wheel tightened for a moment before you pressed the gas and got the car moving.

“Home it is.”

[insidekatmind]

Secret love~Pope Heyward

It was a humid afternoon on the beach, the air heavy with the salty scent of the sea and the sun baking the dunes. Sitting on the shiny hood of your SUV, you watched the Pogues playing frisbee farther ahead, JJ’s laughter echoing through the air. But your eyes were fixed on him: Pope Heyward. Despite the differences, despite the fact that you were a Kook and he was a Pogue, something about him had always drawn you in. His intelligence, his calm but determined spirit. And now, after months of secret meetings, the bond between you two had grown into something deeper than you’d ever imagined.

---

“Pope, we have to be careful,” you’d whispered the night before, while the two of you hid in the old warehouse behind the Twinkie. There, far from prying eyes of friends and family, you had found a little refuge.

“Careful about what?” he had replied, his hands clutching yours. “That someone will find out we’re happy? That I, a Pogue, dared to love a Kook?”

His eyes were filled with emotion, a mix of frustration and yearning for freedom. But you knew how risky it was. Being discovered would mean scandal for you and perhaps worse for him.

“It’s not that simple,” you’d said, taking a shaky breath. “You don’t understand how my world works. Appearances are everything. And you… we… we can’t be found out, Pope.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” he’d said, with an intensity that made you hold your breath. “But you know what? I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of acting like it doesn’t mean anything when you’re next to me. I can’t keep hiding as if I’m the one doing something wrong. This is love, not a crime.”

---

The next day, while the other Pogues enjoyed the sun, Pope approached your car quietly. You only noticed him when he knocked lightly on the window.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice serious.

You knew it wasn’t the right place, but something in his eyes made you nod. You moved to the passenger seat, letting him climb in.

“Are you crazy? What happens if someone sees you here?” you hissed, but he didn’t seem worried at all.

“I don’t care anymore,” he said with disarming sincerity. “I don’t care if JJ or Kie or your family finds out about us. I don’t want our relationship to be a secret. Why should we be ashamed of something so beautiful?”

“Because the world isn’t that simple, Pope,” you replied, your voice trembling. “You live in a world where you’re free to be who you want. I… I’m a prisoner to other people’s expectations.”

“You’re not a prisoner to anything,” he shot back, taking your hand. “You decide who you want to be. And if you can’t break free from these chains, then tell me, is this even worth it? Is it worth hiding, lying, when we could just be happy together, out in the open?”

You felt breathless because a part of you knew he was right. But another part of you was still terrified. That fear kept you awake at night, and now it was keeping you tethered to your world of appearances. You didn’t answer right away. You looked out the window, toward the ocean, as the internal struggle consumed you.

“Pope…” you started, but he interrupted you.

“You’re everything I want,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “But I can’t keep living like I’m stealing something that doesn’t belong to me. Tell me what you really want. Tell me this isn’t just a dream, and I’ll fight anyone for us.”

---

You turned toward the beach, watching the waves crash against the shore. The weight of his words pressed heavily on your heart. You knew Pope was right. You knew that hiding wasn’t fair, that what you felt for each other deserved to be lived in the open. But there was a part of you, the part raised among the rules and expectations of the Kooks, that still resisted.

Yet, at that moment, as you watched him walk away, something inside you changed. You couldn’t let him go. You couldn’t let your love for him be suffocated by fear. You shot to your feet, stepping out of the car and running toward him.

“Pope!” you called out, your voice trembling but resolute. He stopped, turning back with a surprised, almost disbelieving expression. When you reached him, you halted a step away, your breathing uneven.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion. “You’re right. There’s no point in hiding. There’s no point in being afraid. I love you, Pope. And I’m ready to fight for us.”

He stayed silent for a moment, as if trying to process whether you were really saying those words. Then, an incredible smile spread across his face, and his eyes lit up with a happiness you’d never seen before.

“Do you really mean that?” he asked, a trace of hope in his voice.

You didn’t answer with words. You stepped closer and kissed him, oblivious to the world around you. It was a kiss full of emotion, of liberation, as if in that moment, you’d found the courage you’d been missing. You felt his hands wrap around you, his warmth enveloping you. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the Kooks, not the Pogues, not the rules. Just the two of you.

When you pulled away, Pope looked at you with eyes full of emotion. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he said softly, brushing your cheek. “I don’t care what anyone else says. As long as I have you, I can face anything.”

You laughed, a spontaneous and light sound, realizing how silly it had been to be afraid for so long. “Then we’ll face it all together,” you replied. “I’m done hiding.”

As you walked back to the beach, hand in hand, the Pogues looked up at you, clearly surprised. JJ let out a theatrical whistle, and Kie’s eyes widened, but no one said anything. You knew there would be difficult moments ahead, but in that instant, with Pope by your side, you felt invincible.

The choice had been made, and for the first time, you felt truly alive.

[rose24207]

Omg your fic 'Unseen tears' gave me an lando fic idea, where lando is being distant and staying out late and reader thinks he's cheating with all the secret phone calls as well but he's not cheating it's just a new enemy that's been close to then and he's trying to take care of it.

Is there someone else?

Summary: When Lando grows distant and secretive, leading you to suspect infidelity, you uncover his dangerous efforts to protect you from a rival threatening his place in the criminal underworld.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, mention of cheating

A/N: Thank you so much for the request!! I hope you like it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The glow of the clock on the bedside table read 2:37 AM. The spot beside you in bed was still cold.

Again.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you turned over, staring at the empty space.

It wasn’t the first night Lando hadn’t come home on time. In the past two weeks, his excuses grew more vague, his explanations shorter.

“Work,” he’d said the last time.

Always work.

But the shadows in his green eyes told a story he wasn’t ready to share.

And then there were the phone calls. The ones he took in hushed tones, walking out of the room whenever his phone buzzed. You'd heard snippets—names you didn’t recognize, low threats you barely caught.

The doubt clawed at your chest. Was there someone else?

It seemed like the only logical explanation. He’d grown distant, withdrawn. The kisses were quick, the touches less tender. Your mind filled in the gaps with every worst-case scenario imaginable.

The next morning, you confronted him.

“Lando, we need to talk.”

He looked up from his cup of coffee, his sharp jaw tightening. “About what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” you said, setting your mug down harder than you intended. “You’ve been distant. You’re gone all the time, and I never know where you are. Then there are the phone calls—”

“I told you, it’s work.”

“That’s not enough anymore!” you snapped, your voice breaking. “You’re hiding something from me, and I—”

Lando’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, running a hand through his curls. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice low, strained.

You scoffed. “Then tell me what it is, because from where I’m standing, it looks like—”

“Don’t,” he warned, his tone icy. “Don’t say it.”

Your heart clenched at the frustration in his voice, but you pushed forward. “If it’s not another woman, Lando, then what the hell is it?”

He didn’t answer.

He just stared at you, his jaw tight, before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

“I’ll be back later,” he muttered, slamming it shut behind him.

The spiral of doubt consumed you the rest of the day. You tried to distract yourself—cleaning, running errands, anything to keep your mind busy—but the weight of uncertainty hung over you like a storm cloud.

When the sun dipped below the horizon and Lando still hadn’t returned, you made a decision.

You were going to follow him.

It wasn’t hard to track him down. Lando wasn’t exactly subtle with his comings and goings, and you’d memorized the way his car sounded as it pulled out of the driveway.

You waited a few minutes after he left that night before slipping into your own car and trailing him.

He drove into the city, past the busy nightlife districts, to a darker, quieter part of town. Your pulse quickened as you watched him park outside an unmarked building.

He glanced around before slipping inside.

You waited a few moments before following, heart pounding.

Inside, the air was thick with tension. Dim lighting cast long shadows across the room, and the smell of smoke lingered in the air.

You hid behind a pillar, peeking around just in time to see Lando standing at a table, surrounded by men in suits.

He looked calm, collected, but there was an edge to his posture—a tension you recognized.

“You think you can just move in on my territory?” Lando said, his voice cold and sharp, carrying easily across the room.

One of the men chuckled darkly. “Your territory? You’re losing your grip, Norris. Everyone knows it.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, and you saw his hand subtly shift to the inside of his jacket. Your breath hitched.

“I’ll say this once,” Lando said, his tone deadly. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my people. And stay the hell away from her.”

Her. Your stomach dropped.

The man smirked. “Oh, you mean your pretty little girlfriend? What’s her name again—”

Before he could finish, Lando’s fist connected with his jaw. The room erupted into chaos.

You didn’t remember how you got home. Your mind was spinning with everything you’d seen and heard.

When Lando finally walked through the door, hours later, his shirt was rumpled, his knuckles bruised.

“You followed me,” he said, his voice low, his eyes dark as they met yours.

You didn’t deny it. “What the hell was that, Lando?”

He sighed, running a hand through his curls. “It’s complicated.”

“No,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You don’t get to brush me off anymore. I need to know what’s going on. I deserve to know.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching yours.

Then, finally, he sighed.

“I didn’t want to drag you into this,” he said quietly. “I’ve been trying to keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“From them,” he said, his voice heavy. “That man you saw tonight? He’s been causing problems. He’s dangerous. And he’s been threatening you.”

Your breath caught. “Me?”

Lando nodded, his jaw tightening. “That’s why I’ve been distant. Why I’ve been staying out late. I’ve been trying to handle it—keep him away from you.”

The weight of his words sank in, and suddenly, everything made sense. The late nights, the secret phone calls, the tension in his shoulders—it wasn’t because of another woman.

It was because he was trying to protect you.

You stepped closer, reaching for his hand. “Lando…”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want you to worry. I thought if I could handle it on my own, you wouldn’t have to know.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed his hand. “I’m always going to worry about you. But we’re in this together, okay? You don’t have to do it alone.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

Thank you for reading!

[letmeoutofthebasementt]

Hyunjin Jealousy

SKZ Jealousy series pt. 4: (when they're in a serious relationship do they get jealous at all? What makes them jealous if they get jealous? How do they act in a relationship? What's their response/behavior when jealous? How do they handle it?)

He’s jealous. EXTREMELY jealous. He is jealousy. Jealousy is him. Him and jealousy are like Bonnie and Clyde but more destructive and even CLOSER.

First off, this man is sensitive. He’s sensitive and he’s very emotionally mature since he’s been so in-tune with them all his life until he’s not. Until all of a sudden he’s having an existential crisis because his partner touched Chan’s arm so naturally the only sensible response is to end Chan’s entire bloodline. I’m exaggerating but you get the picture.

He gets very irrational when jealous. His jealousy stems from insecurity, pride, and being easily overwhelmed. He doesn’t like being jealous so he acts like he’s not. He puts up this facade of “Oh, you want my partner? Try and take them.” But inwardly he’s having an entire panic attack.

He’s also just very territorial and possessive on top of that which strokes the flames.

When he’s jealous he’s emotional. When he’s feeling territorial he gets jealous. When he’s feeling possessive he gets jealous. When he’s emotional he’s angry. When he gets angry he shows that D1 crashout I know for a fact is in there somewhere.

(Me and my bsf have decided Han is the Baby Kia to his Kendrick. If you get it you get it.)

He gets DEEPLY jealous. I’m talking this impacts his SOUL. When he gets jealous.

Oddly enough, when he gets jealous everything clears. He’s never patient. He’s not a patient person. But his jealousy is very patient. His territorial and possessiveness are all Aries. All mars. Fiery and loud and bright and quick to flare up but quick to go out.

But his jealousy? It’s an entirely different story. His jealousy is all Pisces and water and even has some Scorpio influences due to a few of his placements. His jealousy is quiet and all consuming.

He’s smart with his jealousy. Manipulative even.

Like oh, he sees his partner having a little too much fun with another guy. Laughing too much at their jokes and touching their arm a little too long during conversation.

So naturally, he comes up and doesn’t make it obvious he cares. If anything, it’s the opposite. He acts like everything’s fine and he’s confident and he doesn’t care. But he says little things.

Like “Oh, I didn’t know you were into charity now. Giving out free laughs for those who can’t work for them.” Or some BS like that in his S/O’s ear and they’re just like “😃😄😃”.

He’s very passive aggressive with the other person. He latches onto each insecurity he can sense and batters them in the nicest way possible.

Then he slowly gets worse and worse. Like; “You’re so brave for never succumbing to beauty standards. Like, you never got those braces you need so much. Or shaved your unibrow.”

He doesn’t act bothered. But he is bothered. Very bothered. He just smiles and laughs as if nothings wrong and he’s confident and normal and calm. But inside he’s a mess.

I think he’s particularly graceful when jealous. All ethereal and princely in a way that makes the other person feel like a worthless bum in comparison. And he knows it.

He tells himself that.

He tells himself he’s perfect and the best, and he’s obviously better than this person so really they’re not a threat. But he’s threatened. Because he’s insecure. Because he’s so scared of losing his partner to someone else. And that’s where all his jealousy stems back to.

His possessiveness and territorial ness are his nature. There’s no real root because they just are. His jealousy is a defense mechanism and a result of other things.

He gives them chances though. Opportunities to try to sway his partner. To prove he’s better even though he’s not sure himself and the entire time he’s on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Jealousy exhausts him. He doesn’t like it. But he’s helpless to stop it. Hell, it actively makes him feel helpless. Jealousy makes him sad, borderline depressed even. And after he’s in that situation he probably cries a lot.

A lot.

He hates being put in situations like those.

He also gets horny. This isn’t even just me saying stuff the cards and the stars have spoken he gets so fucking horny. Jealous sex is a thing. Honestly, with Hyunjin there’s sex for everything at this point the little shit but that’s not the point we’re not getting into that today.

He has a lot of self-pity during and after getting jealous. He’ll blame his partner regardless of if it’s their fault. And he will DURING the…Devil’s tango too. Is it still slut shaming if it comes out as sexy degradation? Yes. And he’s a D1 slut shamer when he’s jealous.

Definitely a conspiracy theorist when jealous.

And more sex with these cards. Trying to keep this PG-13 at least but Hyunjin’s a little special. Still love him though.

He also has a weird jealousy fantasy I’m not gonna think about the implications of let alone get into.

Definitely anxious attachment style.

The type to send a “Damn what position y’all in?” Text if you leave him on delivered for too long except he genuinely means it.

He thinks it’s intuition. It’s just anxiety.

Also sucks up to his S/O after getting jealous.

He gets jealous over everything. No one thing in particular, but just… Everything. He gets jealous quick and like I’ve said he gets aggressively jealous.

Jealousy definitely starts a lot of arguments. He says cruel things, gets cruel things said back.

Also did I mention he’s a D1 crashout? I know FOR A FACT if he catches his partner cheating or even getting like fondled he is CRASHING. OUT.

But that’s for another day

May the force be with you if you have the misfortune of being the cause of a crashout.

[lannistertwinz]

You can easily find similar moments where Cersei underestimates other potential "candidates". For most of the first three books, Cersei sees Sansa as naive and easy to manipulate, which likely explains her initial reluctance to break the betrothal to Joffrey. Something that is further supported by the fact that the draft chapters of A Feast for Crows don’t even include Maggy's prophecy, making it hard to believe Cersei viewed Sansa as a real threat during that time.

And if we're talking about getting hit with something over the head, Daenerys is right there:

"One last thing, Your Grace," said Aurane Waters, in an apologetic tone. "I hesitate to take up the council's time with trifles, but there has been some queer talk heard along the docks of late. Sailors from the east. They speak of dragons . . ." ". . . and manticores, no doubt, and bearded snarks?" Cersei chuckled.  "Come back to me when you hear talk of dwarfs, my lord." 

- Cersei IV, A Feast For Crows

He gave her an apologetic smile and told her of a puppet show that had recently become popular amongst the city’s smallfolk; a puppet show wherein the kingdom of the beasts was ruled by a pride of haughty lions. “The puppet lions grow greedy and arrogant as this treasonous tale proceeds, until they begin to devour their own subjects. When the noble stag makes objection, the lions devour him as well, and roar that it is their right as the mightiest of beasts.” “And is that the end of it?” Cersei asked, amused. Looked at in the right light, it could be seen as a salutary lesson. “No, Your Grace. At the end a dragon hatches from an egg and devours all of the lions.”

- Cersei V, A Feast For Crows

Many people want the YMBQ to be Brienne because of themes of “inner beauty,” and we all recognize that the one thing Brienne could realistically take from Cersei is Jaime. But what does anchoring this part of Cersei's story around Jaime truly achieve? Not only does this perpetuate the outdated Madonna-whore trope, where women are framed as virtuous or corrupt through a dispute over a man, but it also feels redundant. Jaime and Cersei are already separated, he has effectively left her, and there are still two books to go.

Daenerys' arc, on the other hand, has been increasingly “in conversation” with the major themes of Cersei's storyline for the past two books. In particular, Cersei’s driving frustration: her inability to independently claim power for herself (something that is very prevalent in her treatment of Tommen). While Cersei remains trapped in a system where her authority is tied to the men in her life, Daenerys breaks free of such constraints, rising as a queen in her own right. And she achieved this by being a genuinely caring leader, prioritizing the well-being of her people, rather than being egocentric and consumed by a desperate need for self-validation like Cersei. And that is simply the more compelling story to tell.

Let’s leave these “humiliation through romantic rejection” endings — that you hardly ever see be given to male villains or antiheroes — in the past, and give female characters narratives with a little more substance.

anyway i do understand the gripes with “taking everything that you hold dear” with brienne or whatever and how does that encompass her children & power as clearly there’s more to what cers holds dear than jaime (and even what he represents and the tool he functions as) but the “more beautiful” part of the prophecy being literal is so fucking stupid to me fr like lmao not the women hotness scaling being taken at face value like it just works thematically better that it is about internal beauty and the ugly woman with the astonishing beautiful eyes and soul is the candidate

[sunnydayaoe]

hi :3 for the rqs thingy, not sure if youd be up for drawing a princezam with sacred heart? if not a birdy grian with manuscript would be awesome i love your wings

The guy !!! wahooo !!! I took wholesale from your design, but I think I might have misinterpreted some stuff hee hoo. forgot halfway hee hee

[bluberimufim]

IT'S TIME!!! IT'S FINALLY TIME FOR THE RANT ABOUT 19TH-CENTURY PORTUGUESE URBANISM!!!! (@kingkendrick7 mentioned they were interested a While ago and who am I to withhold information about my Interests)

I'll be focusing exclusively on the city of Porto in northern Portugal because it's what I studied in my Anthropology class. And also: disclaimer! I'm translating all the names of the things from Portuguese so if it sounds weird, yeah, that's why.

The Industrial Revolution in Portugal created a very weird relationship between work and personal life due to the way the cities were planned. Basically, the people who worked the factories, and even the owners, lived extremely close to their place of work - and I mean they were pretty much neighbours. The factories were also built in the city centre itself. This is much more similar to the work-life relationship of rural areas than any model existing in normal cities.

There was, at this time, a strange impasse when it came to building housing. Porto specifically is known for having extremely thin and deep plots of land in the oldest parts of the city - I'm talking 5 by 100m (approx. 16 by 328ft). No house is gonna be that deep, so there's always about 80 to 70m of backyard.

Workers were paid extremely low wages. Like, so low they couldn't afford housing anywhere. So the factory owners would ✨selflessly✨ give up their backyards and build housing for their workers.

Can we just take a moment to think about how absurd this is? Like. Imagine taking pity on your employees for being poor. My brother in Christ, WHO DO YOU THINK IS MAKING THEM POOR?

Anyway, this new type of housing is called an Island. Its name comes from the fact that it's an "island" of low-income housing in a semi-rich neighbourhood.

Basically, an Island is a long exterior corridor with tiny houses on one or two sides and communal bathrooms at the end. Here's a picture:

The way this worked is that the owners of the big, street-front house would open a passage on the ground floor that could be fully closed wuth a gate. This kept the Islands invisible and, thus, out of the city hall's jurisdiction, since they can only legislate on what is visible from street level.

Here's an irl picture of an Island today:

Btw they tried solving this problem bt building houses from scratch but they realuzed that workers' wages were so low that just adding plumbing would make a house unaffordable. Yeah...

Porto currently stands as the European city with the most recent outbreak of the Bubonic Plague, in 1899. This is because Islands had such poor hygenic conditions that it re-kindled the Black Plague epidemic. Just so you can kinda picture what level of "horrible" this whole thing is.

Here's a quote by David Moreira da Silva about the Islands that I translated from French:

"Housing, essential organ of the city, offers us in Porto obe of the most miserable and tragic displays and one of the grave causes that greatly contribute to the huge mortality that is constant. We say, justly, that Porto as a city is the vastest cemetery in Europe."

(Parallel to this there was also the "Sleep Business", which consisted of renting places to sleep. The main two were sub-renting, in which you rented a place to sleep and paid by the hour, and the Rope, in which you rented a piece of rope to lean on while sleeping. Thought it might be interesting to add.)

I'm not mentioning as we go because it'd be exhausting, but backlash was VERY strong every step of the way. Doctors were warning against living conditions in the Islands and city hall was trying to pass laws banning these types of buildings by extending their jurisdiction deeper into the city's plots of land. But they were unsuccessful.

They tried to propose a rehabilitation of the Islands in the early 20th century but their inhabitants basically responded with "Please tear our houses down and make us new ones somewhere else. The Islands are unsalvageable".

The whole factory work-life thing ended with the fascist dictatorship, which reorganized the city centre, but there's still plenty of people living in Islands today.

To this day, the Islands stand as a warning of what rampant capitalism does to people when left unchecked. But that doesn't stop tone-deaf bourgeois pricks from romanticizing them.

This has been a rant. I hope you enjoyed it <3

[firefly-fez]

look i’m not saying morgana was justified, okay. i’m not saying i condone murder, okay. i’m just saying she was 100% valid in everything she ever said or did and i would have made exactly all of the same choices myself. okay?

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.

Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.

Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”

That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.

“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.

I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”

I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”

“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”

“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”

So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.

They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,

“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”

“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.

“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”

I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.

“This is a dream,” he informed me.

“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”

“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”

“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”

“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”

“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”

“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”

“You’re job...”

“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”

And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.

First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”

And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.

Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*

[lemonlover1110]

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑

Sukuna

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Your husband was an heir, and you have to fulfill the order.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), spitting, slight use of tummy mouth, double penetration, tit sucking (and biting), breeding kink, degrading, sukuna is... sukuna but fluffier to his wife

*he's been on my mind lately and I'm going insane

10k Event Masterlist

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“I want an heir.” Sukuna brings up one fateful night as you walk over to lay down beside him. It’s not a request, it’s an order that you must fulfill, just like everything that involves Sukuna. Strangely enough, Sukuna has been the one that’s been delaying having a child since you’ve been nearly begging him to have a baby with him for the past year. It seems he’s finally given in to the idea though.

“What was that, Suku?” You ask, stopping in your tracks because he’s caught you off guard. He stands up from where he lays, towering over you. You look up at him, waiting for him to repeat himself but you should know better than anyone that your husband doesn’t like to repeat himself. But this time he does,

“It’s about time you give me an heir.” Which makes a smile spread across your face because it’s what you’ve been wanting. Sukuna has been the one that has been refusing to have a child so you don’t understand why he words it like that– But either way, you’re happy and ready to fulfill his every need. Before you can even agree to his order, his bottom hands are undoing your robe to get you undressed while his mouth goes down to your lips.

Sukuna has grown accustomed to kissing you, and handling your body more gently since you’ve asked him to. Compared to the beginning, he treats you like a petal. You like to think it’s his way of expressing his love for you since he’s not very vocal about it, and you know he doesn’t particularly enjoy kissing. His tongue meets yours while his hands try to undo the robe without tearing the fabric into pieces since he knows it’s one of your favorites.

He bites down on your lip causing a cry to leave your throat while he gives up on properly taking off your robe. You hear as the fabric rips, and maybe another time you would be upset about it but you’re too consumed by him to care. He’ll just get you another one. His two lower hands roam down your bare body. One hand gropes your breasts, his rough fingers pinching your nipples. He gets to your cunt, lightly slapping it before he runs two fingers through your cunt.

He pulls away from the kiss, letting your soft moans into the air when he begins to play with your clit. Sex for him has always been a selfish act but ever since his first night with you, he’s found pleasure in pleasing you. The sound of your moans in the air while he toys with you is the sweetest melody. He found it dumb at first, but now there are nights where he’s simply buried between your thighs with the purpose of making you come as much as he can. 

Sukuna picks you up and puts you down on the bed. Taking a moment to appreciate how beautiful his wife looks when she’s under him. Fuck, you’re so fucking small compared to him. It’s nothing new, really, all the people that Sukuna has been with are miniscule compared to him. But he just loves the way that you look under him since he’s never seen a more beautiful human being. He’d never tell that to you though.

Sukune begins to tease your entrance, threatening to push a finger into your cunt but he doesn’t. He runs his fingers through your folds, while his thumb plays with your clit. He lowers his head, his tongue circling your nipple before his mouth wraps around it and he begins to suck.

“Can you put a finger in, Suku? Please…” You ask him, your needy cunt in need of his fingers inside of you. He bites down on your nipple, causing a cry to leave your lips before he unlatches and lifts his head up. 

“I hate beggars.” Sukuna reminds you, and you’re about to apologize but he shoves three fingers into your mouth, gagging you with them before you can even get a word out. He really knows you better than anyone. “My woman doesn’t apologize to anyone either. Not even her own husband.”

Sukuna finally pushes two fingers inside your pussy, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers are just so fucking big, and they reach every right spot. Sukuna feels you moan around his fingers before he takes them out of your mouth. He curves the fingers inside your cunt so they hit against your sweet spot. One hand goes to your breasts, and he begins to play with your nipples. 

“It feels so good, Suku.” You moan, your back arching as pleasure consumes you. Sukuna’s multiple hands are… Everything.

He takes his fingers out of your cunt, moving the wet digits down to your asshole. He spits down on your cunt and spreads his saliva down. He presses his fingers against your asshole as he lowers his head. He kisses from your lower abdomen to your pussy, where his tongue then runs through your folds and then up to your clit. His tongue begins to flick your clit while he pushes two fingers into your asshole, making you moan loudly.

“Fuck– Fuck!” You yell, as Sukuna also pushes two fingers into your cunt again. It’s like music to Sukuna’s ears. It’s too much for you, two fingers in your ass, two in your pussy, and his tongue on your clit. Both holes squeeze around his fingers as his tongue lays flat on your clit.

“Sukuna! Shit, it’s so fucking good.” You bite down your lip, trying to not bring too much attention to yourself. Unluckily for you, as soon as Sukuna knows that you’re making yourself quiet, he stops. He lifts his head up and takes his fingers out of your pussy and asshole, leaving your holes to clench around nothing.

“I want my woman to be loud. Don’t be a fucking bitch, do you hear me?” Sukuna kneels, towering over you again and you nod in response. You use your forearm to hold yourself up and look at him. He undoes his robe, and you lick your lips as you watch your husband get completely naked. Your thighs come together as your eyes fall on his two thick cocks, feeling excitement consume you. Sukuna smirks, watching you prompt yourself up to get his cocks in your mouth. He stops you, his hand going on your chin. “You’re a cute little bitch… You’ll be okay. You can handle them both, right?”

“Yes, lord.” You nod in response, and Sukuna treats you as if you were a doll– More gently than he would treat an actual doll but he moves you as if you were one. He forces you to hold your legs to your chest, and the large tongue on his mouth licks your pussy, and moves down to your asshole. He’ll be sweet with you, especially since you brought back the name that you hadn’t used since your marriage.

The tongue teases the entrance of your asshole but Sukuna stops before anything else happens. He lays his cocks down on your lower abdomen, and you deeply inhale. You wonder how it’ll fit inside of you, but it always fits so you shouldn’t worry.

Sukuna doesn’t bother teasing the cock that goes in your pussy, immediately pushing it in which causes a loud moan to leave your lips. He doesn’t waste time in putting the second cock in your ass, and once you’re stuffed with him, he begins to move. He’s gentler with his thrusts this time, which you certainly appreciate since he didn’t give you time to adjust. 

He’s grown impatient with the idea of you giving him an heir, he can’t waste anymore time. And fuck, he just needs to feel you wrapped around his cocks. You don’t seem to be struggling either way, quite the opposite, you moan in pleasure with his every movement.

“I’m going to fill your womb up with my seed, and you’re going to give me what I deserve.” Sukuna says through gritted teeth to not let out another sound that hints at how good you’re making him feel. Sukuna will never say anything that could hint at him being happy with someone else– The most you’ve ever gotten from him was a marriage… order. Sukuna didn’t propose marriage, he simply told you that you two would be getting married. But you know that the face that he’s making and the way he talks, he’s feeling good. 

“I’ll give you what you want, lord.” You respond as his cocks hits every right spot, filling you with so much pleasure. His thrusts pick up speed, and your eyes begin to roll to the back of your head. Sukuna’s hand begins to play with your clit, and you begin to squeeze around him even more, causing him to hiss. Fuck, he can’t wait to see you big and round with his child. Sukuna can’t wait for his seed to bless your womb and all the changes that it’ll bring to your body. He can’t wait to steal some of the milk that’s meant for his child.

“Going to fill you up with my child.” Sukuna groans as you squeeze around his cocks. It’s too much for you, especially after he’s worked you up. You’re loudly moaning his name, just like he wants you to. He wants the servants to hear how he pleases his woman. It’s all too much for you since he’s filling up both of your holes and toying with your clit.

You shut your eyes, and see white as you squirt all over him, causing a chuckle to leave his throat. He lightly slaps your clit as you make a mess all over him. Sukuna can’t help but praise you for it, which is definitely something rare, “That’s my good wife.”

Sukuna bites his tongue, loving how tight and warm your holes feel. But you won’t get a noise out of him. His hand goes to your throat, however, it just rests there while his thumb presses against your lips, “The only woman worthy of carrying my child.”

Sukuna gets rougher with his thrusts as his release approaches. The thought of you carrying his baby makes him go insane. He’ll make sure it happens soon, he’ll fuck you every night until there’s confirmation that you’re expecting his successor. 

He mutters your name before he fills you up with his cum. He doesn’t dare to pull out until both of your holes are completely filled with his seed. When Sukuna pulls out, he lays down beside you. He brings you into his embrace while you take deep breaths.

Sukuna kisses the top of your head, one of his hands running up and down your back. Maybe Sukuna hasn’t exactly been fond of kissing before, but it’s definitely his favorite thing to do with you now.