#the feel of the boots and fabric

[sksninja]

TODAY. I WILL REMEMBER TO SHARE PICTURES OF MY BADDASS FIERCE DEITY STATUE TODAY.

*very* important butt bonus shots below the readmore

[rendevok]

Act I ~ The Prince

A tapestry for Let No One Sleep by @azalawa-scroggs on ao3

[selkie-tea-tin]

people saying the live action httyd looks good are actually blowing my mind like did we even watch the same trailer

[alangdorf]

Yearly costume roundup!! Sora cosplay year 5 (actually done this time!) + demonstration of last-minute Adeleine costume for my husband (I lent him my sweatshirt and made the beret) + potential Touhou cosplay plans for myself and @just-my-narratives and my husband + coping with not having the resources for making a new full cosplay this year by spending the day planning out a Magolor

[cultivating-wildflowers]

ren fest begins this week!

[arctic-hands]

rip in peace calvin klein plain white all cotton mens t-shirts I got as a gift like 8 years ago that are super comfy and just the right thickness and are only just now starting to become threadbare and stained but I am not paying thirty-five dollars for 3 new plain white tees that were probably also made in the same factory as the 6 pack of hanes cotton plain white tees I bought by overseas laborers for slave wages

[lucalicatteart]

A character reference sheet sort of thing for the main character of the Poll Adventures, drawn more in my usual style (taking a picture of messy pencil sketches then coloring it digitally lol) rather than the cutesy ms paint style of the daily poll images .. there he is.. the adventure boy..

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Sitting with bleach in my hair!!

[robinsnest2111]

hmm, if I forego the corset and underlayers for now and just focus on the outer layer of the Meyrin cosplay, I could get it done for an event in October... 🤔

[cowgiri]

content warnings: maintenance man!toji, stuck in dryer trope, public sex, dubcon, creampie, slight breeding, unprotected sex, oral (f!recieving)

this wasn't how your sunday was supposed to go. you'd just wanted your favorite dress—the one that always disappeared into the dryer's depths. one overextended reach, one slippery sock on wet tile, and suddenly you were folded like origami into the machine.

somehow, your hips got wedged at the perfect (or rather, horrific) angle, leaving you folded in half, ass in the air, legs dangling out but unable to get enough leverage to pull yourself free. you flailed, face burning as your shirt rode up, the cold metal pressing against your bare stomach.

three attempts to wriggle free only wedged you tighter. the position left your crop top rucked up to your ribs, your shorts riding up dangerously high.

at least you were able to wriggle one hand out to grab your phone from your pocket. the number for maintenance has never looked so tempting. because you knew exactly who would answer.

the door creaked open exactly seventeen minutes later.

"maintenance."

that voice. like gravel and honey. your stomach swooped. silence. long, agonizing silence.

then, a low whistle. "ain't this a sight."

“well,” toji said. you could hear the amusement in his tone. “this a new kink? or just bad luck?”

“it’s… not what it looks like,” you stammered.

"now this," toji mused, boots scuffing against concrete as he approached, "is a first."

"it's not—i didn't—"

"uh huh." a calloused finger traced your exposed hipbone. "dryer eat your clothes, sweetheart? or just hungry for something else?"

he smelled stupidly good for a guy who supposedly spent his days fixing garbage disposals. his palm landed warm and heavy on your ass. you jolted, the metal vibrating with your movement.

"easy," he chuckled, fingers slipping beneath elastic. "wouldn't want you getting... stuck-er."

the tear of fabric was obscenely loud. cool air hit bare skin as your shorts gave way.

"toji—"

“fuck,” he muttered.

“already dripping for me?” his voice was dark. “is that why you called? wanted me to find you like this?”

"maybe," you quickly replied, your body still tense.

“relax, sweetheart,” he murmured. his fingers tightened on you and you shivered. “gonna get you out.”

except, he didn’t.

“i’ve always wondered,” he muttered, his voice dropping into a low growl as he roughly gripped the flesh of your ass, “how that pretty little cunt would look, all used and stretched.”

“please,” you gasped, his fingers fondling your puffy pearl. “just get me out.”

“i will,” he mused. “but maybe i want a taste first. is that okay, sweetheart?”

his fingers were still working your clit, sending sparks up your spine. “just a taste. i’ll stop if you don’t like it. i’m sure you’ll like it though.”

his free hand smacked your ass, hard. you gasped, but the sound was swallowed up by the clatter of his belt being undone.

“should i?” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “no, i shouldn’t.”

the metal rattled as he gripped your hips, tugging you back even further, and his mouth pressed to you. you let out a strangled sob as sucked on your swollen clit. it was too much, too intense.

he hummed, the sound vibrating through you, and pulled away, licking his lips.

“fucking delicious,” he purred.

“look at you,” he said. “all spread open. so fucking perfect.”

“please,” you moaned. “it’s not… i didn’t—”

you felt the head of his cock press against you and tensed.

“relax,” he murmured, “i’ll take care of you.” he delivered a sharp slap to your ass and you whimpered. he was hot and heavy, pushing you further into the cold steel.

your breath hitched as he slid into you, your body clenching down.

"fuck." he bit through his teeth. "tighter than i dreamed."

you panted, overwhelmed by the stretch. “wait—”

“just a little more,” he said, pulling back to press in even further. “just… fuck, you feel perfect.”

he was big, too big. you gasped as he bottomed out, the dryer rattling violently as he pulled all the way out and slammed back in.

“so good,” he grunted. “just knew you’d be so good.”

you could only hold on as he pounded into you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. your body jolted with every thrust, the metal rattling and creaking ominously. but he didn't slow, just kept fucking into you with powerful, relentless thrusts.

“gonna cum,” he warned, one hand sliding around to find your clit. you were too overwhelmed to do anything but take it as he rubbed tight, fast circles. “gonna fill you up—”

you came with a cry, clenching down around him as he slammed deep one final time, his cock pulsing inside you as let out a low groan.

the only sound was your panting and the hum of the machine. you felt his cock slip from you, followed by a sense of emptiness. his hands gripped on your hips sightly, before pulling you out, your legs like jello against the hard concrete floor.

“there,” he said smugly. “all fixed.”

"receipt's in the office," he said as he delivered a final pat to your dripping cunt. "be sure to... rate my service and leave a good tip, sweetheart."

note: i love me a good toji crack fic, the way i giggled so hard while writing this. it was supposed to be really short but i got carried away >.<

[spurbleu]

neighbor!simon x reader. longer read. follow up.

your neighbor is a homebody. sort of.

he’s either never home or always home. you aren’t sure what he does, but whatever it is leaves his flat vacant for months at a time, not so much as a mouse breath breaching the thin popcorn walls that separate your rooms.

and when he is in the complex, you’d never know it. a shut in, the only give away is the muffled news channel that burrows through your moldings, or smithed footfall at ungodly hours.

the first time you caught him moving in while off to work. big bloke- and when you waved to him he stared, before lumbering into his complex. given, he was holding a large cardboard box, so you weren’t expecting him to return the greeting. but a hello would’ve been nice.

it was 4 months until you got a good look at him.

you were awake at a time you shouldn’t have been for a reason you had long forgotten. you do remember thinking you might as well do your laundry.

when you went down to the mat, there he was.

tracker fed shoulders taking up half the space, and on an inhale they took two thirds. clothes looked as though they had been dyed in pen ink and left to dry in hail. mud boots, thick legs, and the silhouette of a cauliflower ear against the fabric of his balaclava.

he glared at you like you weren’t supposed to be there. an anomaly, disturbed his routine. steel face, stone eyes, swear you’d seen the same look in your history books on the shields of greek soldiers.

it all scared you shitless, so you turned on your heel and didn’t go back until the morning. you make it a point to hustle past his door after that.

but you tend to take more than you can handle. swaddling your groceries as you wobble up the stairs, just barely there before your foot catches on the last step. produce among some of the other fragile items scattered across the tiles, and you curse under your breath.

you wouldn’t characterize yourself as a klutz, but it scrambling to collect your groceries feet from your door isn’t helping your case. the paper bags struggle against your grip, and it feels like you’re just biding your time until they all rip apart.

“you need help.”

its said more like an observation than it is a question. you turn slowly, and a goliath stands 6 feet and something over you. he sports a medical mask and a ballcap, which reveals new features- sun bleached skin that peels from the bridge of his nose to between his brows, which are thick and blonde. the left is cut in half by scar tissue and spite. if you squint you see freckles.

the night he scared you, you remembered his eyes as pitch. crow feather. under your bed.

you now see they’re the deepest shade of brown.

“i- no its fine i..” your arms do a dance with the bags, trying to keep them steady.

he grabs them both from you, and suddenly they still. its like handing squealing pigs to a farmer. built for holding them. it makes you feel weird that you like it.

“unlock the door.”

you do as you’re told and find your keys in your back pocket. fumble at the lock before opening the door and standing to the side to let him in. he nods.

sets your groceries down before gently tipping the brim of his cap. he doesn’t say anything before leaving.

and this started the strangest routine.

every week you’d get groceries, he’d be there.

the first time he was on the second flight of stairs. when you questioned how he knew you’d been shopping, he rolled his shoulders and scoffed.

“your huffin n puffin gave you away.”

he was there for four more trips. each time, you had gotten more words out of him. found out he had the driest sense of humor and a plethora of knock-knock jokes that you painfully laughed at.

he even kept up with the occasional flirt.

“yknow, you could start charging for your manual labor.”

“you rich?” he returned.

you laughed. “far from it. but this is a service, and you haven’t started making demands so…”

he stopped and stared at your back before you turned around. “so what?”

“i have to assume you just like me.”

he rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his cheek twitched under his eyes. although it was hidden by the mask, you had made him smile.

“don’t get your hopes up.”

all of it was enough for you to get comfortable. and then he wasn’t there.

the absence was strange enough to make your pace stutter when you reached the second floor, but you recovered and trekked to your room.

not without glancing at his door, though.

he must be back at work. surely he isn’t…well. he couldn’t have moved out without telling you. you aren’t close but maybe you are?

you thought so hard about it for so long that you placed your ear to the wall separating your flats.

after a few moments, you heard nothing. not even a mouse breath.

you felt foolish for being so relieved. and you kept feeling foolish for hoping he’d be there with every errand, and disappointed when he wasn’t.

it was 4 more groceries trips before you saw him again.

waiting at the entrance of the complex, crossed arms and black attire stood out like a sore thumb in the winter blight that bit at your nose with snow and temperatures below freezing. you picked up the pace.

when you got to the cement steps, you sorely regretted your decision to jog. not because it winded you, or it amplified the struggle you had with your bags, but because of the smug smile you could see crinkling the bastards cheeks under his mask.

“you missed me.”

you handed him a bag. “i missed your arms. carry that.”

you could hear the grin from behind you.

“whatever you say, sweet’eart.”

[stardustquills]

thinking about drunk husband!nanami and how handsy and needy he’d get with you- i’m not well. 18+ mdni.

cw; p in v (unprotected), creampie, mentions of alcohol, use of "sir"

wc; 1.7k

-

you’d be sending satoru an angry text later.

your husband was never a drinker. the man could hold his liquor, but it often went past that line of playfully tipsy and into drunk whenever he went out with satoru.

normally, you wouldn’t mind. you adored your husband. he’s always been a toucher, always needing to have some form of contact with you. maybe it’s a simple hand on your thigh, or twirling a strand of hair around his finger, or ever just standing close to you, shoulder to shoulder - he just needed to be with you. and when he gets drunk, that need is intensified tenfold.

you loved it when he got like this. your big, strong, doting husband reduced into a lovesick puddle when he’s drunk and around you. like a puppy needing attention.

except it’s 1am, he just got home, and he has an important event he needs to attend-

“that’s a problem for future kento,” he muttered into your neck, hands gripping helplessly at your sleep shirt. “you smell so good. ‘ve missed you,”

“ken-“

he tugged on your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer. his hands started to roam, now at the small of your back, pulling you still into him. “honey,” he whispered against the skin of your neck, his lips brushing against it. still at the front door, he hasn’t even taken his shoes off yet.

“mmh,” you hummed, tilting your head back to let him have more access.

he took the opportunity to start kissing you, soft, simple pecks, up your neck to your ears. “my wife,” he breathed, hot breath smelling like whiskey and gin. “my beautiful, sweet, amazing wife,”

“ken,” you giggled as he moved to kiss your cheek. his hands moved up to cup your face, and yours instantly came to rest on top of his. one of his thumbs brushed against your bottom lip, his eyes staring into your own.

he leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead, and then one on your lips. it was sweet, he poured all of his love for you into it.

you looked down, “you haven’t taken your shoes off yet,”

he whined like a child in response. begrudgingly, he let his hands fall from your body as he leaned down to untie the laces of his boots, slipping out of them, before standing up again an immediately placing his hands your waist.

he stepped towards your bedroom, matching bedroom eyes to go with it. he pouted ever so slightly, looking down at his wife.

and god you’d let him do whatever he wanted. kento was a fucking good-looking man - there’s never any denying it. but right now, his his hair all sweaty and sticking to his forehead, his face flushed a dusty pink, lips parted and eyes begging, how could you ever say no to that?

“wan’ show my wife how much i love her,” he practically purred, pulling on your shirt again to pull you towards him. you stumbled towards your husband, you hands falling into his broad chest.

you could feel his abs under the thin material of his button up. normally, he was so proper, ironed shirt fully done up with a tie around his neck. but now, he looked and smelled of sex - the top three buttons of his shirt undone, wrinkled fabric, tie hanging loosely around his neck. you grabbed his tie and tugged on it, bringing his face towards yours.

“you have that thing tomorrow,” you tried to stand your ground, “you’ll be hungover, too.”

“don’t care,”

“you will tomorrow.”

“yeah, tomorrow. not right now.”

he pulled you into your shared bedroom, easily throwing you onto the bed and crawling towards you. “right now,” he started, licking his lips as he leaned in close, “i want my wife,” his hands came up to your shirt again, grabbing fistfuls at the hem. he pulled the shirt up and over your head, discarding it on the floor before he leaned into you, lips attaching to yours.

“wanna show her how good i can make her feel,” his lips trailed down your neck, then collarbone, “gonna show her how much i love her,” his hand came up to squeeze a tit, his eyes flicking to yours as he placed a kiss on your hardened nipple, “how much i missed her,” he continued his trail downward, hand slipping onto your waist as he kissed your stomach, light and feathery.

before you knew it, you shorts and underwear was discarded onto the floor. your legs were thrown over his shoulders and you hand buried itself into his golden locks.

k-e-n-t-o, he spelt his name with his tongue in your clit, flicking and suckling on the poor bud. your back arched off the pillows, your thighs threatening to squeeze shut around his head.

“h-ahh, kentooo,” you dragged, lolling your head to the side as your eyes screwed shut.

his hands were on your thighs, forcing them to stay open, flat against the bed. “so, so sweet,” his voice was muffled by your cunt. sticky, sweet wetness coating his face. “absolutely delicious, mrs. nanami.”

n-a-n-a-m-i, his tongue spelt your shared last name, something that drove him mad. of course you recognized when he spelt something with that tongue of his.

“kento you filthy man-“

“but you love it.”

your giggles turned into moans once more when he interested a finger. long and thick, he pumped it in and out of you before adding a second and curling it against that spongy spot in your walls.

“nngh,” you couldn’t speak coherently anymore. your hand fisted the pillow behind your head, the other one still grabbing his hair, dragging his face into your cunt. his mouth attached to your clit, sucking like his life depended on it as his fingers curled and uncurled inside you.

married life treated you good.

“k-ken, gonna come!” you mewled, and he bucked his hips into the mattress.

his groan was muffled, but you heard it nonetheless. “gonna come, pretty girl?” his words slurred, he was still drunk. “i can feel it.”

your walls clenched around his fingers. you legs were shaking, toes curled and back arched as your breathed through your mouth. an endless string of noises and babbles left you, voice high pitched and airy.

and then he stopped. stopped sucking your clit and pulled his fingers out of you with a stupid grin on his face. “not yet, m’love,” he rushed to unbuckle his belt, getting out of his slacks.

you didn’t even have time to complain. he leaned down, hungrily kissing you, shoving his tongue into your mouth. you could taste yourself on him. sweet, just like he said.

he pulled back and stopped the kiss and quickly as it started. one hand went to his cock, idly pumping it as he looked down at you. “so pretty f’me,” he cooed, his free hand now flipping you over.

face in the pillows and ass in the air, kento’s hand traced a line from your neck to your waist.

smack! his hand landed a spank against your bum, immediately massaging the area and cooing. “so perfect, mrs. nanami. my beautiful wife.”

he dragged the mushroom head of his cock through your folds, gathering up the mixture of your slick and his spit.

“ken, ken please,” you attempted to push you ass back, wanting him in you already.

“greedy slut,” he spat, laughing at your futile attempt. another smack before he continued to drag hiimself between your folds. “i guess i can’t refuse my wife, can i? gotta give her what she wants,” he lined himself up with your entrance. “gotta make her happy,” and he pushed himself in, hard and fast, hitting your cervix already.

“oh!” you shriek was dampened by the pillow.

he didn’t give you a moment to adjust like he usually did. he started going right at it, hips snapping against yours like his life depended on it. “that’s it, take- hah, take it like a good girl. nngh, like the whore you are,”

your tried to push yourself onto your elbows, wanting to peak behind you to take a look, but Kento quickly put a stop to that. he reached forward, shoving your face back into the pillow as his hips continued their assault.

“mm-hmm, ken,”

another smack!

“sir!”

kento bit his lip as he watched your hips move back, matching his rhythm, a grin spreading across his face. his hands moved to grab them, pulling you back onto him, helping you move.

“that’s it, there you go,”

his sweet talking made your head spin.

“taking me so well, little slut.”

your walls fluttered around his dick. squeezing and clenching, a thick white ring forming at the bass of his shaft. balls smacking against your clit with each thrust, he made your see stars.

you snaked a dainty hand down between your legs, middle finger desperately rubbing circles against your swollen clit.

“wanna come, m’love?” he asked so sweetly, watching your hand work. he grabbed a fist full your hair and pulled you up, your back against his broad chest. “gonna come around my cock?”

“a-aah, ken, nngh!” you couldn’t even form a full sentence with how well he was ramming into you. this new position let him go even further in you, his entire length disappearing into you.

you leaned your head back onto his shoulder, tits bouncing as he helped you up and down.

“what’d the matter sweetheart? is this too much for you?” he cooed into your ear, his delicate tone a stark contrast from the way he abused your cunt.

you were almost tempted to nod, but he laughed instead. “you can take it.” his hand replaced yours on your clit, his other one on your hips, helping you up and down.

“you’re close,” he commented, voice breathless. “i- hahh, i can feel it. you squeezing so good ‘round me.”

one, two three more thrusts and you were coming. you body shook and spasmed, a cry of your husband’s name leaving your lips.

four, five, six more thrusts and he was spilling into you. he came with a pretty moan of your name, all breathy and high pitched. white, hot seed filled your cunt, into your womb as he stilled, collapsing forward onto to the bed as you were trapped under him.

he didn’t let go of you, didn’t pull out as he placed a kiss onto your shoulder.

“ken-“

“ah ah,” he thrusted.

“sir,” you panted, whimpers and whines still leaving you. “you need to rest,”

kento groaned, his hand rubbing a singular, lazy circle on your clit.

“kento, ‘m sensitive!”

“that was only the beginning, sweetheart.”

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤEVERY INCH IN THAT SUITㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : He Looks Good In His Thight Suit, So Why Not Just Fuck Him?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ WARNINGS : NSFW, MINORS DNI, Daddy kink, breeding kink, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex, a lil bit gun play, blow job, choking, spitting, slapping, riding, power play.

☆⁠ NOTES : Damian is an adult. And yes we have an adult version of Damian who is still Robin and wear a Robin suit. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

The cave’s damp air clings to your skin as you stumble in, heels clicking against the stone floor, your breath hitching at the sight of him. Bruce stands there, the suit clinging to every muscle like it was poured over him. The cowl’s still on, those white slits glaring at you, and fuck, it’s doing things to you—your thighs clench just looking at him. He’s fresh off patrol, chest heaving, a thin sheen of sweat making the black Kevlar gleam under the dim lights. Gotham’s knight, your goddamn ruin.

“You shouldn’t be down here, sweetheart,” he growls, voice low and modulated through the mask, but you hear the edge—raw, hungry, barely restrained. He steps forward, boots thudding heavy, and you’re already wet, practically dripping down your thighs because fuck, it’s Bruce, and he’s looking at you like prey.

“Don’t care,” you breathe, bold and stupid, stepping closer ‘til you’re in his shadow. “Needed to see you, Daddy.”

That word—Daddy—hits him like a punch. His head tilts, cowl shifting slightly, and you swear you hear a sharp intake of breath under that mask. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, little girl,” he rasps, gloved hand flexing at his side, and you grin, all teeth and heat, because you want him.

“Then punish me,” you whisper, reaching out to drag your fingers down the bat emblem, feeling the hard planes of his chest. “Show me what happens when I’m bad.”

He snaps. One second you’re standing, the next he’s got you slammed against the Batcomputer console, the cold metal biting into your ass as he looms over you, massive and unyielding. “You wanna be a brat for Daddy?” he snarls, ripping your skirt up with one brutal yank, exposing your soaked panties. “Gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

You whimper, and he’s already tearing the lace off—gloved fingers rough, calloused through the fabric, shoving between your legs. “Fuckin’ drenched,” he mutters, sliding two fingers into your cunt without warning, stretching you open while you arch and gasp. “This all for me? Huh? My needy little slut, soakin’ herself for me?”

“Yes—Daddy—just for you,” you moan, hips bucking into his hand, and he growls, pumping harder, curling those thick digits ‘til your vision blurs. The suit’s rubbing against your thighs, coarse and unforgiving, and it’s filthy—he’s filthy—still stinking of smoke and adrenaline, fucking you with his gloves on.

He pulls his fingers out, slick and glistening, and smears your mess across your lips before shoving them into your mouth. “Taste yourself,” he orders, and you suck, desperate, gagging around the leather while he watches, those white slits narrowing. “Good girl. Daddy’s gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t walk, ‘til you’re full of me.”

You whine, and he’s unbuckling the lower half of the suit—just enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, dripping pre-cum like he’s been hard for hours.

He grabs your throat with one gloved hand, squeezing just enough to make you dizzy, and lines himself up, the fat head of his cock nudging your entrance. “Beg for it,” he demands, voice a gravelly snarl, and you’re too far gone to care how pathetic you sound.

“Please, Daddy, fuck me—breed me—fill me up, I need it,” you plead, voice breaking, and that’s all it takes. He thrusts in hard, splitting you open, the stretch burning as he bottoms out in one brutal stroke. You scream, nails clawing at the suit, and he doesn’t wait—starts pounding you, relentless, the console rattling with every slam.

“Fuckin’ take it,” he grunts, hips snapping, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the cave. “Gonna stuff this tight little cunt—make you mine, princess.” The glove on your throat tightens, cutting your air just enough to make your head spin, and you’re sobbing, legs shaking as he fucks you raw—Bruce's cock wrecking you, the suit chafing your inner thighs red.

He leans down, cowl brushing your cheek, and the modulator makes him sound obscene. “You want Daddy’s cum? Want me to breed you ‘til you’re dripping, ‘til you’re swollen with it?” he growls, and you nod, frantic, clenching around him like you’re trying to milk him dry.

“Yes—fuck, yes, Daddy, fill me up, please,” you gasp, and he shifts, hoisting your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half under him. The angle’s insane—his cock hits so deep you feel it in your guts, and you’re screaming, cumming so hard your whole body locks up, gushing around him while he keeps going, fucking you through it ‘til you’re a trembling, overstimulated mess.

“That’s it, cum on Daddy’s cock,” he snarls, pace turning feral, and you feel him swell, twitching inside you. “Gonna pump you full—gonna make you my little breeding bitch.” He slams in one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and cums with a guttural roar—hot, thick spurts flooding your cunt, spilling out around his dick as he keeps thrusting, forcing it deeper, marking you inside.

You’re a wreck—pussy throbbing, leaking his cum down your thighs, the suit’s rough edges still digging into your skin—and he doesn’t stop. He pulls out just to flip you over, bending you across the console face-down, ass up, and shoves back in, fucking his cum into you like he’s trying to make damn sure it sticks. “Not done,” he growls, gloved hands bruising your hips. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t think, ‘til all you know is my cock.”

You’re whimpering, incoherent—“Too much, Daddy, fuck”—but he doesn’t care, keeps railing you ‘til your knees buckle, ‘til you’re drooling on the keyboard, another orgasm ripping through you so hard you black out for a second. He’s relentless, a machine, the suit creaking with every thrust, and when he cums again, it’s a flood—dripping down your legs, pooling on the floor, a nasty, freaky mess that only Bruce could leave behind.

Finally, he slows, breathing ragged through the modulator, and pulls you back against his chest—the suit cold and hard, his cock still twitching inside you. “Such a good girl for Daddy,” he murmurs, softer now, gloved hand stroking your hair as you tremble, fucked-out and full. He doesn’t take the cowl off, just tilts your chin up to kiss you—lips rough against yours, tasting of sweat and sin.

“Mine,” he growls, possessive, and you feel it—his cum leaking out, the ache settling in, the way he’s claimed you. You’re his, alright—Daddy’s little breeding toy, fucked stupid in the heart of his cave.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

The Blüdhaven night’s alive with neon and grime, and you’re perched on a rooftop, waiting for him—Nightwing, the city’s golden boy turned reckless tease. You’ve been playing this game too long: flirting over comms, brushing hands during stakeouts, until he finally snapped last week and fucked you senseless in an alley. Now, he’s late, and you’re antsy—legs dangling over the edge, heartbeat ticking up—when you hear that familiar whistle, cocky and bright.

“Miss me, babe?” he calls, flipping down from a higher ledge, landing in a crouch that shows off every damn line of that skin-tight Nightwing suit. The black and blue clings to him like a second skin, outlining his broad shoulders, tight ass, and the bulge you’ve been dreaming about all day. He straightens, grinning—those white lenses glinting in the dark—and saunters over, all swagger and mischief. “Caught you waiting. That’s cute.”

“Caught you staring,” you fire back, smirking, and he laughs—bright, infectious—before he’s on you, fast as a blur. One gloved hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up, and he kisses you like he’s been dying for it—hot, messy, a little sloppy with how eager he is. His tongue’s in your mouth instantly, tasting you, teasing, and you can feel him grinning against your lips. “Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to nip your bottom lip, eyes twinkling behind the mask.

Dick’s playful, needy, and oh-so-fucking horny. He spins you around, pressing you chest-first against a rusted billboard frame, and you feel the hard planes of his suit grind against your ass. “Been thinking about this all patrol,” he groans, hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips as he rocks into you. “You in my head, driving me nuts—gonna make you pay for it, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t waste time—fingers deft and quick, peeling your pants down just enough to bare you to the night air. The suit’s rough against your skin, textured where it brushes your thighs, and you hear him fumble with the hidden zipper at his crotch, freeing that gorgeous cock—long, thick, already leaking for you. “Look at you, all ready for me,” he teases, smacking your ass lightly, playfully, before dragging the tip through your slick folds. “So fucking wet—bet you’ve been thinking about me pounding you, huh?”

“Shut up and do it,” you snap, half-laughing, half-desperate, and he chuckles—low and dirty—before sinking in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch stretch you open. “Oh, fuck, yes,” he moans, head tipping back, suit creaking as he bottoms out, balls snug against you. He doesn’t go brutal like Bruce—he’s all rhythm, hips rolling smooth and deep, fucking you with a grin you can hear. “That’s my girl—taking me so good.”

He’s a talker—won’t shut up even as he picks up the pace, slamming into you now, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with the city’s hum. “Goddamn, this pussy’s perfect—gonna dream about this later,” he pants, one hand slipping around to rub your clit with those clever fingers, the gloves slick and cool against your heat. You moan—loud, shameless—and he laughs again, delighted. “Yeah, let me hear you, babe—scream for Nightwing.”

He’s relentless but fun—grabbing your hair to pull you back just enough to kiss your neck, sucking bruises there while he fucks you harder, the suit’s edges scraping your skin in the best way. “Wanna flip you over—see that pretty face when you cum,” he says, and before you can blink, he’s spinning you, lifting you like you weigh nothing—acrobat strength on full display. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, pinning you against the billboard, and thrusts back in, grinning like a kid who stole the candy jar.

“Fuck—Dick—” you gasp, and he winks—those lenses flashing—driving deeper, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. “That’s it, say my name—gonna make you lose it,” he promises, voice husky now, less playful, more feral. His fingers circle your clit faster, and you’re done—cumming hard, clenching around him, crying out as your whole body shakes. He groans, watching you fall apart, “So fucking hot—love it when you squeeze me like that.”

He’s close—hips stuttering, grip tightening—and he pulls you flush against him, suit rubbing your tits raw as he chases it. “Where do you want me, huh? Tell me quick,” he pants, and you smirk, breathless—“On me, all over me.” That’s his cue—he pulls out, stroking himself fast, and cums with a loud, “Fuck, yes—” painting your stomach, your thighs, even catching your chin with hot, thick ropes. He’s grinning, chest heaving, swiping a finger through it and popping it in his mouth like a goddamn tease. “Tastes better with you.”

You’re a mess—panting, covered in him—and he’s still got that cheeky spark, tugging you close, kissing you soft now, all lazy and satisfied. “Round two back at my place?” he murmurs, tucking himself back into the suit, adjusting the escrima sticks on his back like he didn’t just fuck you stupid. “Got a bed with your name on it—and maybe some handcuffs.”

“Lead the way, Grayson,” you say, and he scoops you up—half-carrying, half-dragging—already plotting the next way he’ll wreck you.

— JASON TODD ⋆

The safehouse reeks of gunpowder and copper when Jason kicks the door open, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards. He’s a fucking mess—blood streaked across his Red Hood helmet, leather jacket torn at the shoulder, crimson dripping down his gloves from a night of cracking skulls. The guns strapped to his thighs clink with every step, and he’s still riding that adrenaline high, chest heaving, muscles coiled tight. He wasn’t expecting you here—not tonight—but there you are, sprawled on his shitty mattress, fingers buried deep in your own cunt, moaning his name like a prayer.

“Fuck me,” he rasps, voice distorted through the modulator, low and guttural as he freezes in the doorway. His helmet tilts, taking in the sight—your legs spread wide, pussy glistening, eyes half-lidded with lust. You don’t even flinch, just keep fucking yourself, smirking like you knew he’d walk in like this. “Couldn’t wait, huh, you needy little slut?” he growls, kicking the door shut with a bang, already shrugging off the jacket but leaving the holsters on—guns and all.

“Jason—” you whimper, fingers slowing, and he’s on you in a flash, still bloody, still armored, grabbing your wrist and yanking your hand away. “Oh no, you don’t get to stop now,” he snarls, smearing your slick over his glove as he shoves your thighs apart wider, the cold metal of his gauntlets biting your skin. “You wanted me, you’re fuckin’ getting me.” His free hand rips at his belt, pulling his cock out—thick, hard, tip already leaking—and you barely get a breath before he’s hauling you up by your hair, forcing you onto your knees.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he orders, voice rough as gravel, and when you do—lips parting, tongue out—he doesn’t wait. He grabs one of his guns from the holster, still warm from the fight, and presses the barrel to your temple, cold steel kissing your skin. “You like this, don’t you? My dirty fuckin’ girl,” he taunts, smearing blood from his glove across your cheek as he shoves his cock past your lips, deep and brutal, hitting the back of your throat ‘til you gag.

He’s feral—nothing gentle, nothing soft—just pure, unfiltered Jason. His hips snap forward, fucking your face like it’s a goddamn mission, the wet choke of your throat filling the room as he grips your hair tighter, pulling ‘til your scalp stings. “That’s it—take it, choke on me,” he groans, modulator crackling with his ragged breaths, the helmet’s red glow casting shadows over your tear-streaked face. The gun stays steady, a fucked-up promise—he won’t pull the trigger, but the threat’s got your cunt dripping, thighs clenching as he uses you.

“Fuck, you’re a sight—drooling all over my dick,” he mutters, yanking you off with a wet pop, strings of spit hanging between your lips and his cock. He doesn’t give you time to recover—just drags you up by the hair, spinning you around, and shoves you face-first into the mattress. “Ass up, now,” he barks, smacking your thigh hard enough to leave a welt, and you scramble to obey, pussy throbbing, aching for him.

He doesn’t bother stripping—keeps the helmet on, the leather creaking, blood still tacky on his hands as he lines up, slamming into you with one vicious thrust. You scream, the stretch burning, and he laughs—dark, filthy—grabbing the gun again and pressing it to your lower back. “Move, baby—fuck yourself on me,” he growls, but he’s already pounding, hips slamming so hard the bed shakes, his cock splitting you open, hitting deep and relentless.

“Jason—fuck—too much—” you gasp, but he just pulls your hair ‘til your back arches, forcing you to take more, the gun sliding up your spine, cold and dangerous. “Too much? Nah, you can take it—you were begging for it with your fingers in that slutty little cunt,” he snarls, voice dripping with lust and menace. Blood smears on your skin where he grips you, and the helmet’s modulator makes every grunt sound inhuman, primal—fucking you like an animal fresh from the hunt.

He leans over, chest plate digging into your back, and bites your shoulder through the suit—teeth scraping, bruising. “Gonna mark you up—let everyone know who owns this pussy,” he rasps, thrusting harder, the gun now tracing your jawline as he reaches around, shoving two bloody fingers into your mouth. “Suck ‘em clean, c’mon,” he demands, and you do—tasting iron and him, moaning around them while he fucks you into the mattress.

You’re close—too close—clenching tight around him, and he feels it, growling, “Cum for me, you filthy bitch—let me feel it.” The gun presses harder, his pace turning sloppy, brutal, and when you shatter—screaming, gushing all over his cock—he doesn’t slow down, just keeps railing you, chasing his own end. “Fuck—gonna fill you up,” he grunts, yanking your head back one last time as he cums, hot and thick, spilling deep inside you ‘til it’s leaking out around him.

He pulls out, panting, helmet still on, and smacks your ass one more time for good measure, leaving a bloody handprint. “Stay there—look at that mess,” he says, voice low and smug, watching his cum drip down your thighs. He drags the gun barrel through it, smearing it over your skin, then leans close—modulator crackling—“Next time, I’m fucking you with this loaded.”

You’re wrecked, trembling, and he’s already holstering the gun, adjusting his jacket like he didn’t just destroy you. “Clean up, princess,” he tosses over his shoulder, but the way he lingers by the door says he’s not done—not by a long shot. Red Hood doesn’t play nice, and you’re his favorite fucking toy.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

The Wayne Manor study is a damn fortress—dark wood, flickering lamplight, and Damian hunched over a desk littered with maps and case files, looking like he’s about to murder someone. He’s in that stupidly hot Robin tunic—green and red clinging to his lean frame, mask off, black hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times. You’ve been pacing behind him for twenty minutes, thighs rubbing together, pussy throbbing, because he promised he’d fuck you hours ago and now he’s buried in work like some self-righteous little bitch.

“Damian,” you snap, voice dripping with heat, leaning over his shoulder so your tits brush his back. “Put the damn papers down and fuck me already.” He doesn’t even flinch—just keeps scribbling, muttering something about “Gotham’s safety” like you give a shit. “Beloved, I’m occupied,” he says, all clipped and cold, that posh accent making your blood boil hotter. Occupied? Oh, fuck that.

You grab his chair, spin it around so fast he drops his pen, and he’s glaring up at you—emerald eyes sharp, jaw tight, all that bratty defiance he’s so damn good at. “I said I’m busy,” he growls, but his hands twitch, like he’s fighting not to grab you, and you clock it—he’s hard under those tights, bulge straining like a liar’s promise. “Busy being a little bitch,” you spit back, and before he can snap, you slap him—hard—right across that pretty face. His head jerks, cheek blooming red, and his eyes widen, stunned, then darken with something feral.

“You—” he starts, but you don’t let him finish. You climb onto his lap, straddling him, yanking his head back by his hair ‘til he’s forced to look at you. “Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, grinding down on that thick, trapped cock, feeling it twitch under you. “You don’t get to play martyr while I’m soaking wet and dying for it.” He groans—low, broken—and you smirk, spitting right into his open mouth. He chokes, swallowing it, and you see it: the moment he cracks, pride crumbling, lust taking over.

“Fuck, you’re disgusting,” he rasps, but his hands are on your hips now, gripping tight, and you know you’ve got him. “Yeah, and you love it,” you taunt, ripping your shirt off, letting your tits spill out, nipples hard and begging. His eyes lock on them, hungry, and you slap him again—lighter this time, playful, but it still stings. “Eyes up here, asshole,” you say, spitting again—this time on his cheek, watching it drip down as he shudders, cock jumping against you.

You don’t bother with his tunic—just shove the tights down enough to free that gorgeous dick—long, veiny, leaking precum like he’s been aching as bad as you. “Gonna ride you ‘til you cry,” you promise, lining him up, and he snarls—“Try it, harlot”—but it’s all bravado, because when you sink down, taking him in one brutal drop, he moans like a fucking virgin, head tipping back, throat bared. “Oh—fuck—” he gasps, and you laugh, nasty and loud, starting to bounce.

You ride him hard—hips slamming down, pussy clenching tight around him, wet and messy, soaking his lap. The chair creaks, threatening to collapse, and you don’t care—let it break, let the whole damn manor hear. “Look at you,” you pant, grabbing his jaw, forcing him to meet your gaze. “All that big talk, and you’re just my little fucktoy now.” He growls, but it’s weak, hips bucking up to meet you, desperate, and you spit into his mouth again—harder this time. “Swallow it,” you order, and he does, choking, eyes glassy with need.

Your pace is relentless—grinding, bouncing, thighs burning as you fuck him stupid. His hands claw at your ass, your tits, everywhere, and you slap them away, pinning his wrists above his head. “No touching,” you snarl, and he whines—actually whines—struggling but loving it, cock pulsing inside you. “Please—fuck—beloved—” he begs, voice cracking, and you grin, feral, leaning down to bite his lip ‘til it bleeds, licking it clean while you ride him faster.

“Thought you were too busy,” you mock, spitting on his chest now, rubbing it into the Robin emblem with your fingers. “Too good for this pussy—guess you’re not, huh?” He’s a mess—sweat-slick, bloody-lipped, moaning your name like a prayer—and you feel him throb, close, so you slow down, dragging it out ‘til he’s thrashing under you. “No—no, don’t stop—” he pleads, and you slap him again, sharp and loud. “You don’t tell me what to do,” you growl, picking up speed, riding him so hard the desk rattles.

“Gonna cum for me, Dami?” you purr, clenching tight, and he nods, frantic—“Yes—fuck, yes—” You feel it building, that tight, hot coil in your gut, and you spit one last time—right on his tongue—as you slam down, cumming hard, screaming his name as your pussy milks him dry. He breaks—crying out, hips jerking, spilling deep inside you, hot and thick, shuddering through it ‘til he’s whimpering, wrecked.

You don’t stop—keep riding, slow and mean, overstimulating him ‘til he’s squirming, gasping, “Too much—fuck—” but you just laugh, grinding ‘til he’s twitching, cum leaking out around his cock, staining his tights. “Should’ve fucked me sooner,” you say, climbing off, leaving him slumped, panting, a sweaty, bloody mess in that chair—work forgotten, pride gone, just your perfect, ruined boy.

“Next time,” you warn, wiping your spit-slick hand on his tunic, “don’t make me wait.” He looks up, dazed, lips swollen, and mumbles, “Never again,” voice hoarse, and you know he means it.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[bloodisyours]

Toji who you’ve ended up chasing around like a lost puppy! You met him once on a mission through Shui and he was just so charismatic, so attractive, so heat-inducing. You watched in awe while he fought and did things like second nature. You fawned over him, hovering besides him to ask for all the details!

“Toji that was so cool— how did you even do that?”

“Toji, stop doing everything for me!” With a cute little pout.

Toji who couldn’t deny how cute you were. He’s got a soft spot for younger, naive girls that admire him like some prophet. It feeds his ego and his eyes never failed him when staring at a pretty girl. He gave into all your questions and comments, keeping a stoic smirk on his lips at all times. He was even showing off a bit more than usual, keeping you hooked.

“Pretty thing, how old are ya’?” He asked, cleaning blood off his sword.

“Just a bit younger..” He almost gasped hearing your age, a dark chuckle following after. Your lip was stuck between your set of teeth nervously.

Toji who can tell you got a tiny crush on him since you started working together. The way your clothes would become more revealing by the day, miniskirts, platform boots, cleavage tops, everything and anything impractical for fighting. You’d try to squeeze your tits together and show them off for him. He’d do all the work for you on missions, you’d show off your pretty body to him. Mutualism, if you will.

“Think you can fight in this shit, girl?” He teased, hands tugging on the flimsy fabric just to get a hold on you.

“Uhhh, can try!” Your voice was just so cute to him.

Toji that noticed how attracted you were to his mannerisms, to his gun, to him. It had formed into more than a crush, lust have overtaken you every damn time you saw him. So, what other choice did he have but to invite you over?

“I dunno how to use a gun, Toji! You should totally teach me!” You said, ass slightly on his knee as he was manspreading.

“Yeah? Think you can handle it?” He kept eye contact, seeing the way you’d rub your thighs together.

Toji that had you in all kinds of positions. He was much older, much more experienced. You were fucked dumb, eyes to the back of your head as his thick cock rammed into all your spots. He was so rough with his thrusts. He’d hold onto your thighs when in missionary and pull on your hair when your face is down and ass is up.

“Feel me in here, babygirl?” He said, pressing his large hand down on the bulge showing through your tummy.

You were so dumbed out, no thoughts in your pretty head. “Unghhh— Toji! S-so big!”

Toji who just couldn’t help imagining you big and swollen with his kids. How far he’d have to corrupt you so you’d let him stuff you with his babies. He’d have you on top of him, thrusting his hips into your while you used his abs to keep yourself stable. Then he’d hold your hips and cum deep inside without a warning, smearing your insides with his hot ropes of cum.

“Shiiiit,” He almost felt guilty when he dumped his load in you, keeping you still to make sure it stayed in.

Toji who didn’t know you wanted to have his babies so bad, keep him with you forever and ever. You were taken by surprise when you felt yourself being filled to the brim, but it let you gush all over his dick.

“Dirty girl, wanna be a mommy?” You just moaned, collapsing on his chest.

“Y-yea, pretty please?” You said in a soft voice.

[aroace-ferid-bathory]

This cosplay gonna b So Good when it's done . the government pays me to be autistic and BOY THIS IS AUTISM

[sadlazzle]

suddenly devastated i never had a frankie doll tht came with watzit bc i jst had the genius idea to add pink watzit to the design