#words just can't do him justice

[illiana-mystery]

🥹🥹🥹

[beeholyshit]

I'M GONNA START CRYING I'M SO ILL RN

[ccaptain]

night terrors 👀

THANK U FOR SENDING *PREPARES TO HIT U WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER FULL OF FEELS* -- @dvouring

kaeya's worst nightmares are when he dreams about killing crepus.

you know how his fear that it was actually his fault was cemented with time? what kaeya fails to see is that, even if he came to his rescue before ursa the drake was going to maim him, what could he have done realistically?? he was young, and most importantly visionless. ever if he rushed here in time, the best he could have done against ursa was to throw his sword at it. like throwing a fucking toothpick at godzilla. it was 100% going to be a bloodbath with many casualties among the knights. including kaeya himself. it's a mix of survivors guilt tinged with the fact that everything else seems to point the blame at him not arriving sooner, and he adamantly refuses to accept the reality that what happened wasn't his fault.

in fact, this translates into a very brief dream where crepus smiles at him, calls him 'son' with all the affection in the world and hugs him. ''it wasn't your fault,'' his adoptive dad tells him, holding him close.

kaeya relaxes in the hold until it starts feeling too warm. it's a warmth that he doesn't deserve, too familiar, too comfortable, and suddendly that hug seems like a straightjacket threatening to crush him. the whole place is on fire, and his lungs are painfully tight-

that's when he drives his sword right between his adoptive father's ribs. sometimes it's the stomach, sometimes he goes straight for the throat. it doesn't matter where it strikes, it's lethal. he slowly takes some steps back and lets crepus body slump to the floor, crimson blood pooling under him catching fire.

he's crying, stomach churning, but all he can manage to say is an almost spiteful ''it is, now.''

[adreamfromnevermore]

AU Where the Justice League forms as usual except for one slight difference where Bruce just so happens to have been the one superheroing for the longest. (Excluding Diana, who got up to it in World War 1 and then mostly didn't while she learned about Man's World)

Bruce helps form the Justice League, ignoring all of the comments as they come to the sudden realization that Gotham's baby cryptid story is actually a man in a very intimidating armored suit who can and will break your arm if you cause problems for him. They are unaware that this is not the first team he's led, and actually he's used to teams full of mostly teenagers who also happen to be his children. This should be easier, this team is primarily adults.

He realizes rapidly that he doesn't understand these people.

His kids take bonding activities to mean learning a dozen different ways to break someones leg. That doesn't fly with these people. And that is most of Bruce's ideas, hell when he was a kid Alfred took every opportunity to get him out of his room and mostly that was with the agreement that Alfred would teach him how to defend himself. He's come by it honestly.

This team is not easier. They have more drama than when his house was actually full of kids. It's insane. He doesn't know what to do with it, usually he just sent the kids to their rooms or grounded them from patrol. That doesn't work here.

He comes to a strange crossroads. That falls apart when he forgets who he's working with and snaps at Hal with a full room of heroes that the next person to throw a punch or an insult without a reason too will be sparring with him.

A long standing rule in the batcave that worked two fold to prevent infighting between the kids and too ensure that they were well and truly trained.

It works wonders. No one says a word out of line for the rest of the debrief. Bruce becomes the unofficial mediator of the league over Clark because anytime he walked in on a fight it suddenly became 10 times more civil out of sheer terror of what he'd do to them in a sparring match.

Eventually they actually meet his kids. Well, one kid.

Half way through a mission (one of the rare ones in Gotham) the Bat comes to a complete stop at the edge of an alley. Every single league member on the team comes to a stop behind him. Slowly from the shadows of the alley a man in a red helmet stalks out to greet them.

"You don't call, you don't write"

"Red Hood."

"Don't Red Hood me! We've been worried sick!"

"I was at the cave last night."

"You didn't answer my texts B. You always answer my texts."

Somehow it ends with big and scary following them through the rest of the mission with a running commentary of how much Bats has let him down in his failure to respond in a timely manner to a text send less than an hour before he ran into them in the alley. It only ends when Red Robin shows up.

And even then it only ends because Hood can't keep himself from throwing a punch and Bruce has to snap at him that if he throws another one they're sparring when they get home.

And by god is Jason giving up the chance to punch his brothers.

[charliextea]

sanders sides soulmate au where all the sides have known each other since they were kids or something. It's a soulmate au. Visible soul marks. Everyone's are in different spots. Janus' is easily hidden. He lies for literally 10 years to the others and says he's one of the 10% of people with no soul mark so that he doesn't have to date them. As a teen/young adult, he'd been afraid of being held down by a relationship and thought soulmates were a consent issue, but when he gets to his late-twenties he realizes that he kind of wishes he had what the others have and finally tells them he has a soulmate and reveals that it's.... (whoever. whatever makes you happy.)

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb) | x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

tagging @starkeysprincess bc she saw it first <3

[chstart]

it's the way phoenix isn't as good a person as he might've once liked to believe he was & how, even though he's become better for the people that've become staples of stability in his life, he also has dropped the pretense that he's good enough a person to be above doing things not strictly considered the right thing. it's the way he's self-reflected & come to terms with the fact that yeah there's actually very few proper good people in the world & man, he's just not one of them. he's a decent person, nice, usually, even. he'll be polite to all the right people & try to prove the innocence of innocents & fight against injustice in the courtroom & all that, because he is a decent person. but he's not a good person, at the least not in his own mind, not anymore.

[lilacgaby]

title: save me.

pairing: childhoodfriend!katsuki x reader

katsuki has always saved you, his princess.

the first time you asked katsuki to save you was in kindergarten.

you'd fell and scraped your knees after some other little boy shoved you to the ground, upset that you had taken the swings from him earlier. you were in tears as you begged, "save me kacchan!" as his eyes widened and a feeling he couldn't describe overtook him, he scared off the other boy, happily taking the praise from you as you looked at him stargazed, in awe of his strength.

from that day on he swore to protect you, in all the games you'd play, he'd be the knight, you'd be the pretty princess in the tower, and his gang of friends would be monsters, trying to attack you.

he'd superglued your hands together at recess once too, just to keep you with him. he smiled as he said, "now we'll be together forever!" the reprimanding the two of you faced because he did so was worth it in his opinion, as the message stuck throughout the years.

it manifested in his protective nature over you never ceasing even as you two aged. in middle school the guy who'd been rude to you to the point of tears in biology came to you the next day, shakily begging you to forgive him. guys wouldn't look your way, terrified to even upset you. when you confronted katsuki about it? he'd deny it, say you must've done something yourself.

katsuki felt you were the only one who was his equal, the only one he wanted by his side on his journey to become number one.

that's why he was glad to be with you in u-a, why he 'let' you apply without the public humiliation he'd inflicted on izuku.

since you two were together constantly due to the dorms, you'd do everything together. you'd study together, train, sit next to eachother in class, eat lunch together. you'd even developed a habit of napping in his bed, waking up with horrible 'bedhair', not knowing it was because he'd play with it when you were fast asleep.

and as you two graduated, becoming pro-heroes, getting married. opening an agency together, plans for children on the way.

plans that were all thrown out as quickly as they were conceived.

the last time you asked katsuki to save you was when you were bleeding out in the destroyed streets of the city. debris and destruction surrounding you as you struggled to even mutter the phrase. "..s-save.. me." you could barely see him, let alone see the heartbreak and despair in his reaction.

everything hurt, your body could barely process why. maybe it was the fact you were being impaled on a blade of steel, brought forth by the villain who'd caused this madness in the first place.

"you're.. you're gonna be okay." he said, equally for yourself and him. trying to convince himself this was all a nightmare, one he'd hope he'd wake up from soon.

but as he looked over at you, processing the fatal wound in your stomach. he knew he couldn't be selfish and lie to you a second longer.

his words came out cracked as he confessed, 'i.. i don't-- i can't help you.'

how dare you? how dare you try comforting him in your last moments, reaching out to coddle his face with the hand that wasn't mangled, softly smiling and ignoring the blood cascading down your mouth as you dedicated your last words just to him. "i love you.. you've always- been my knight, katsuki."

he felt your hand drop, but he rushed to pick it up. he had never felt so hopeless in his life, he always swore to protect you.. and yet? he failed. he was a broken man as he was escorted away from your corpse, only your ring to serve as a permanent reminder of what he lost.

he was a broken man as he tried and miserably continued life without you, seeing you in everything, yet never feeling you again.

the only form of solace he would ever get was to find that villain, and to pummel him into the ground. and he did so, feeling so gratified in the moment, as if he'd served justice in your honor.

but all the blood he'd shed would be worthless,

for nothing could bring back his pretty princess in her tower.

alt ending!

[asilentsongbird]

Neuvillette pines for you.

Furina learns to avoid him simply so she doesn't have to hear about whatever thing you've done lately that Neuvillette is obsessed with.

The ache is so deep in his soul it almost hurts.

The rain comes in a downpour sometimes. To match the wetness on his cheeks. Though sometimes he can't tell if it's the rain or his tears on his face.

You find him like this one evening. An umbrella tucked under your arm as you find the Chief Justice on the shore, head bowed and completely soaked.

"Monsieur Neuvillette?" you ask softly, coming up behind him. Your umbrella is just big enough to protect him from the rain. "Are you alright?"

He turns to you with shock on his face, tears still running down his face. A thousand thoughts race through his head, everything from did you see him crying to why in the world are you out in the rain?

A soft, gentle hand touches his cheek. It takes him a moment to realize it's your hand, the softest thing he's felt. Instinctively, he wants to lean into the touch. So he does.

"Are you crying?" your voice is soft, concerned, without the barest hint of judgement he so easily passes on to the players of his court.

The umbrella is shoved into the crook of his arm, and another hand reaches up to join the other. You cup both of his cheeks, though he has to bend slightly to allow you to do so, which he does so easily.

"There," you murmur, brushing your thumbs under his eyes. Your smile is so soft, even softer than your touch. "You have beautiful eyes, Monsieur Neuvillette. I hate to see you so sad."

The rain stops suddenly, as though someone has turned off a switch in the sky itself. His cheeks are dry and the sky is clear, and before he can say a word, you're looking up at it instead of him, still smiling.

"The rain stopped." You sound so happy about it, he almost feels bad for making it rain. You press the umbrella further against his hand.

Your touch feels warm. Inviting, and soft. Everything about you feels soft to him.

"Keep it for next time, okay? I'd hate to stumble upon you wandering through the rain again. You could catch a cold!"

He clears his throat softly, trying to figure out words. He's pretty sure words didn't exist before you started talking to him, and now he's floundering over them like a child.

"Allow me to walk you home," he finally manages, as though he didn't stumble over words for the first time in his life.

You smile, and link your arm through his own when he offers it. The sky above you two hasn't been this clear and blue in ages.

Perhaps, after he finishes walking you home, he can figure out how to finally ask you to dinner.

But who knows, really. After all, if he cries again, will you touch him as softly as before?

There's only one way to find out.

[shotmrmiller]

simon isn't a man you take home. he's for the literal streets. dresses like he's homeless because all that matters is that his throwing knives and handguns are pristine. the only reason his home is spotless is because he doesn't live in it, it's all for show. his pantry has only salt and mouse traps, his fridge a long expired bottle of ketchup and something that if anyone ate, they'd gain superpowers.

he's got a crazy look in his eye, and who can blame him after all that shit he's been through? gut-wrenching betrayal, unimaginable torture, then buried alive shoulder to shoulder with his ol rotting buddy, ol decaying pal? he joined the military a butcher's apprentice, and now he's an echo of what simon riley used to be, a fading silhouette that wanders the corridors in base. a ghost.

he has to play music whenever he's not at work just to keep the screaming voices in his head at bay, and it has to be loud enough to drown out the incessant high-pitched ringing in his ears. a cacophony of noise that wears his thin string of patience into in-existence.

he's a killer, he's a man who's donned his skull mask for so long that he's forgotten the face underneath.

you don't bring a man like him home. and when you eventually did, even your parents had agreed.

he looks one clown short of a circus.

he hovers over you like a ghost. (ha)

possessive, obsessive, paranoid.

he'll kill you if you try to leave him.

simon heard everything, not like they had tried to keep their voice down. it hadn't really mattered to him, empty words pelting knotted flesh only a sharpened knife could cut through. but you hadn't taken any of it.

his little hero, coming to his defense. it'd been the first time- in a long time- that his icy cold, tiny heart skipped a beat.

simon's always been his own savior. he saved himself from the shit life he had with his family by joining the army. he'd clawed his way out of his own grave, freshly turned soil stuck under his fingernails for weeks. he'd gone after the head of roba, in the name of vengeance. even now, he's a part of the justice league, the task force 141.

unsung heroes.

and here you were, standing in your parent's kitchen, all bared teeth and scalding temper- over him.

simon's so aroused that when he rises from where he's seated, he sways on his feet. there's no stopping him from briskly walking over to you and hoisting you up and over his shoulder, heading for the door.

there's no stopping him from throwing you into the backseat, and climbing in after.

you weakly try to stop him with stammered words, just wanting to know what the fuck he's doing but when simon starts to impatiently undo the button of your jeans, his confined manhood pushing up underneath you, it clicks.

you don't want him to stop when the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your slippery clit with expertise, thick fingers curling inside your swollen cunt.

you definitely don't want him to stop when his cock slides through your slick folds, his hand wrapped around his thick base. his tip pushes inside, mild discomfort already flaring. gravity then does the work, slowly sinking you onto him until his thighs are flush against your arse. the sweet, decadent burn of him splitting you in half sparking your nerve endings alight, from the waist to your knees.

you beg him not to stop when he fucks you in earnest; desire, sticky and wet, dampening the coarse trimmed hair of his cock. the air inside the truck muggy, heavy and thick with sex. he places his hand under your navel, right when he knows he is, and grunts when he gently presses down. the noises coming from you and your sodden pussy are obscene, lewd, downright vulgar and he wonders if you'd let him record it- to replace the banal music he usually listens to.

your breath hitches beautifully, and simon makes sure to watch how you let go of his shoulder to weave that hand downward to take yourself over the edge.

"impatient little pet, can't even wait f'me to get ya there, eh?" the low chuckle he lets out is cut short at the feeling of your slick walls fluttering around him, making him groan. he keeps his sharp gaze on you when your body tenses, back arching as you jerk fast, little circles over your pearl. he plants his feet and begins to thrust upward, your weight nothing to his strength and-

how beautiful you look in the pleasure he brings you.

it's cliche, truly, that he comes when you do, but he couldn't care less in this instance. your cunt squeezes him like a silken fist, a tight vice that milks his cock almost painfully so. his grip around your waist is bruising, but it only adds to the sensation- the delightful bite of pain prolonging your pleasure.

the base of his spine tingles from his climax, and his breathing is ragged. alive. your hands skim the wide breadth of his chest, as if brushing off the dirt he'd once been buried under.

his little hero.

you took him home, so now he takes you to his.

(...don't look in the kitchen, pet.)

[nariism]

neuvillette is aware that he shouldn’t have let you get so close. but he did, and now he’s lamenting the fact that your hands are grasping at his soft horns — his fucking horns, of all places — and he might like it.

uptight and strait-laced, you’ve never known the chief justice to be someone so easily flustered. yet here he is with heat crawling up his neck, so warm that you can feel it against your palms as they ghost over his skin.

you can’t help but laugh at his current situation.

he was vehemently against you coming anywhere near his hair at first, grumbling about how his horns were on the sensitive side and he would rather not have to go into work feeling uncomfortably aware of their presence on his head.

however, you were hard to deny with that little smile on your face and such soft hands grabbing at his arms, tugging him closer. a sweet voice chanting, "please, honey? pretty please?"

neuvillette has never been good at denying you what you want.

it’s how he ends up sitting at your shared vanity. you comb through his long hair, watching him with amusement in the mirror as he huffs and jolts with every brush of your fingers against his horns.

the fact that he was letting you get anywhere near them was surely a testament to his trust in you. he was completely vulnerable here, at your mercy.

“sorry,” you mumble disingenuously, clearly enjoying seeing your usually serious husband falling apart with a simple action. you quickly tie off the end of his hair with a bow and he sighs in relief, thinking that the torment is over.

it's far from over.

he draws a sharp breath when you lean forward and press two gentle kisses on him; one on either side of his head just beside his horns.

neuvillette glowers at you in the reflection, disapproval written all over his face. "stop that," he scolds.

you do, but only because you're worried he might melt into a puddle before your very eyes if you continue.

it becomes a daily routine after that, with him sitting patiently in front of the mirror while you brush and tie off his hair. and you always end it the same way: two kisses, a soft "have a good day at work," murmured against him, and a mischievous little smile that makes him sigh.

he responds everyday with the same two words. "stop that," with a narrow-eyed glare.

the day you do stop, he's confused and irritated.

not only because you have the audacity to throw a wrench into routine again, which you know he hates, but also because he can't figure out why he misses your lips so much.

"what are you doing? i am going to be late."

"hm?" you peer up lazily from your spot on the bed, still half asleep.

"you have to do my hair."

"i thought you didn't want me to, so i slept in today."

your husband is eerily silent for a moment as he mulls over your words. then, he carefully perches himself on the edge of the bed, back turned to you expectantly and still wordless.

no, he would never admit he likes it just a little bit — the vulnerability, the trust, the feeling of your hands threading through his hair, the intimacy of it. hell no.

but neuvillette doesn't have to say a lot of things for you to understand; not when the way his skin heats up says it all; not when you're the first person to touch his horns in centuries; not when he’s saying stop that with such an affectionate glimmer in his eyes.

you give him four kisses that morning, two on either side.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[solelifauna]

So this NOT to imply the writing is bad

But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser

Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?

Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used

Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael

(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)

Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.

Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.

Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.

Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.

He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.

Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.

Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.

He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.

Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.

"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.

It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.

For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”

The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.

Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.

With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.

You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.

Finally, one of your spells strikes true.

The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.

You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.

But the celebration is short-lived.

Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.

“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”

With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.

You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.

The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.

You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.

Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.

Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.

“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.

You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.

You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”

His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”

You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”

“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”

You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.

The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.

“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”

“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.

“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”

Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.

“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”

Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.

You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.

“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?

Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.

Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”

You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.

Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.

The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.

You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.

“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.

You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.

“We’re not done here.”

And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.

Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.

“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.

He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”

His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”

His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?

“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”

Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”

“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.

“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”

He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.

You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”

Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”

Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.

“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”

Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.

For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.

-

As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.

Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.

What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?

Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.

How did you get so far away?

He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.

Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.

But the moment is fleeting.

He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.

“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.

Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.

"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”

Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.

"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"

Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"

"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”

That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.

"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."

"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"

A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.

"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”

Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”

“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.

Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.

Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”

With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.

Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.

He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.

Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.

[ellecdc]

teehee potions partners turned friends to lovers! James and reader. She has a massive crush on him and finally built up the courage to confess! On the other hand, James is all 😀🧍🏻? because he thought they’ve been dating for the past 3 weeks after their trip to hogsmeade <3

-⭐️

sooooo cute, thanks for the prompt!!

James Potter x fem!reader who can't be friends with him anymore [1.6k words]

CW: miscommunication trope? sort of?, fluff, written for a fem!reader but no gender is defined other than one mention of 'darling girl'

It felt beyond tortuous at this point. It felt inhumane to even have to be within the same vicinity as James Potter.

You’d always found him quite distracting; the kind of attractive that demanded your attention whether you wanted to give it or not. Between that and his penchant for drawing attention to himself, it was difficult to do anything but notice him.

Thankfully for you, you’d always found your attraction to the Gryffindor to be wholly physical and visual in nature; sure, he was nice to look at, but you had no interest in talking to the loud, brash, boisterous, mischievous Gryffindor who was nothing but trouble if his infamous pranks and many detentions were anything to go by.

And then Professor Sprout paired the two of you together for your year end project.

And then you were forced to spend every class sharing a potting bench with him plus the various library meetings you had to set up in order to finish the written portion of the assignment.

And then, possibly worst of all, the two of you had taken a trip to Hogsmeade to pick up some seeds and gardening equipment which turned into an impromptu shopping trip through Tomes & Scrolls, Honeydukes, Zonkos, and ended with a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks.

And you loved it, which you hated.

You hated it because you’d come to learn over the latter part of the term that James Potter was boisterous, but in a rather charismatic way. 

You learned that James Potter was mischievous, but in a painfully clever way. 

James Potter played an awful lot of pranks on Hogwarts students and staff, but the majority of them (save the ones against a few particular Slytherin students) were lighthearted in nature. 

And though James Potter was, perhaps, loud and brash when surrounded by his friends and quidditch team mates, he was somehow overwhelmingly soft and relaxed around you. 

For you, James always came across as rather…simple in the corridors of the castle and at mealtimes; you only knew him as the loud jokester who bantered with anyone and everyone within earshot. But you learned quite quickly that he was a very high-performing student and barely had to put in any effort to pass with flying colours.

Which, unfortunately, left him a lot of time to talk with you.

You learned that he was fiercely loyal and protective of his own; he loved no one more than he loved his friends who were more like family to him at this point. He had a strong sense of justice, and you learned that many of his more…aggressive pranks on the Slytherin’s turned out to be his own version of vigilante justice for some slur or hateful action they’d been stupid enough to say or do in front of the Marauders.

You also learned that he was just lovely; he always pulled your chair out for you if he got to your table before you, he showed up to the library one evening late for your scheduled study session and before you had any time to scold him for it, he presented a plate of food that he had procured from the Great Hall for you two to share with an apology on his lips for being late, ‘it’s important to keep your blood sugars up; we need that beautiful brain of yours, angel’ he’d told you, and it took you perhaps the rest of the study session to get your cheeks to cool and heart rate to return to normal.

And that was probably the worst part - the nicknames; the endearments that fell so naturally from his lips as if they were simply carved out of the English language just for you, as if there was no other possible way he could refer to you other than as his ‘angel’, ‘sweetness’, or ‘darling girl’. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, you just couldn’t; you found yourself feeling completely insecure about your … friendship? Relationship? … with him that when you so much as even heard him talk to another student, you were filled with a heavy jealousy that left you feeling nothing but shame because you had no right to be jealous over someone you had no claim over.

So, you had decided, today was the day.

Today was the day you were going to come clean, the day you were going to admit your feelings to James so that you could rid yourself of this heavy burden; this crush.

He’ll either turn you down and you can get on with life, or….

Well…

You had not really thought that far ahead.

And it didn’t look like you would have any time to as he walked through the door and flashed you a beaming smile that saw both dimples make an appearance.

Oh gods…there was no way that someone so lovely, so beautiful, so effervescent could ever reciprocate feelings for the likes of you.

Of course not!

There was only one way this was going to go, and it was going to end in your spirit being crushed.

“Hey, angel!” He greeted with a smacking kiss to your cheek. “I’m glad to see you! What did you want to talk about?” He asked as he sat beside you on the bench and angeled his entire body towards you; like you were the only thing worth directing his attention at.

Oh, you were going to miss that.

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.” You blurted rather suddenly.

James looked as though you’d just slapped him; his head actually rearing back as he blinked at you.

“I- what?” He asked breathlessly. 

“I…I just don’t think we can be friends anymore.” You murmured quieter this time, no longer able to make eye contact with him and turning your gaze towards the woodgrain of the table you were sitting at. 

“And why not, exactly?” He asked; voice level and controlled in a way you’d not heard the likes of before. 

“Because I…I don’t want to be your friend, James.” 

“You don’t want to be my friend?” He deadpanned in return.

“I…I rather wish we were more.” You admitted. “I find that I’ve, uhm, well I…I seem to have feelings for you and…I can’t just be friends with you anymore.”

You decided to stop your rather embarrassing and nonsensical ramble and stole a glance at James in your periphery to see he was leaning on his elbow and had his hand covering his mouth as he stared at you.

His eyes were crinkled in the corners and shining with mirth and you realised then that he was laughing at you.

“Are you-”

“No!”

“You are!”

“No, angel, I’m-”

“You’re laughing at me!” You all but screeched in the library of all places and made to stand, only for James’ hands to shoot out and catch you at your wrists, exposing his beaming smile and the fact that his shoulders were absolutely shaking with laughter.

“Sh, wait, don’t go-”

“James Potter, don’t shush me!” You whisper-shouted as you tried to wrench your wrists from his grasp, only to have him laugh harder and pull you back down into your seat with little effort on his part.

“Hey, listen! Listen to me.” He begged between laughs. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m just laughing because- hey!” He paused as you managed to free one of your hands and whacked him in the very muscular arm for it. “I’m laughing because I was under the impression that we already were dating.”

You stared at him in shock as he let out a few more chuckles; holding your gaze with his warm brown ones as he rubbed circles on your wrists with his thumbs.

“What?” You finally asked dumbly.

“I was very much under the impression that our Hogsmeade trip was our first date, sweetheart.” He explained.

“But, why?”

“I told you I had a lovely time and asked if we could do it again?” 

“I thought you meant, as like…study partners!” You offered defensively. 

“Do study partners often kiss your cheek in greeting?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I just thought you were very affectionate!”

He nodded his head back-and-forth as if saying ‘fair enough’ before moving his gaze back to you and offering you a salacious smirk. 

“Then, for the purpose of being completely candid, I absolutely did not do any of the aforementioned things, nor what I’m about to do, in a platonic manner, okay?”

His eyes flit to your lips and back up as he leaned closer to you. “Okay..”

“Yeah?” He whispered, his nose mere centimetres from your own as he searched your eyes for any hesitation. 

“Yeah.” You agreed with a nod, moving your eyes to his lips just before he closed the distance between you.

His lips were warm and purposeful against yours, feeling as though they’d been longing to do exactly this from the moment the two of you shared words.

He took a long, deep breath in as if he was desperate to get more of you - to memorise how you tasted, how you smelt, and how you felt as he brought his hands up to rest on either side of your jaw - while you felt all of the tension, worry, and air leave your lungs with a whoosh of relief. 

‘Finally’ your body seemed to be saying.

James broke apart from you before pressing his forehead against yours and brushing his thumbs against your cheeks. 

“Finally.” He agreed with your internal dialogue. “Was that clear enough for you, angel?”

“Yeah, Jamie.” You offered with a breathless chuckle. “Finally.” You repeated.

Finally.

[osachiyo]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — fem!reader, cunnilingus, teasing, degradation, mean!veritas, pussy slapping, prone bone, unprotected sex, he puts u in a headlock etc • my first time writing for this man ! i hope i did him justice :3 happy reading and i hope you enjoy !! minors dni & NOT PROOFREAD

VERITAS'S eyes raked over your entire frame, his mouth working wonders on your cunt, while you practically gushed on his tongue — "did i tell you to stop?" he raised an eyebrow, flicking your clit with his tongue as if to punctuate his words.

"n-no but—" "but?" his tone was harsh, causing you to flinch from the venom in his voice. "but it's hard to focus w-while you're shoving your tongue down my pussy, duh."

veritas only chuckled, pulling his mouth away from your aching cunt — strings of your arousal and his saliva connecting his pink lips to your pussy. "wha—" smack!

a harsh slap landed on your clit, making you yelp and jolt at the sting. "you're talking just fine, but you can't read a simple paragraph from the book? are you a brat or just simply stupid?" he hissed, pretty eyes narrowing down to slits — lips pressed into a frown.

"i —" you cried out when another smack landed on your cunt, thighs desperately trying to close but his hands easily pried them apart. "you think you're so cheeky, hm? running that smart mouth to get on my nerves on purpose? whatever do i do with you..." he sighed, running the knuckles of his fingers over your puffy folds as if to soothe it from the stinging burn.

a desperate whine left your lips when veritas parted your folds, licking a long stripe up before circling his tongue on your clit, big hands pinching and feeling up the soft skin of your thighs. "keep reading."

"…a-and gibraltar as a girl where i was a flower of — nggh —!" your head rolled back with a breathless moan when he started tongue-fucking you, while his thumb drew figure eights on your puffy clit. "go on," you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, his attention solely on you. the way you quiver so adorably while moaning his name — struggling so hard to let out coherent sentences.. it made his cock twitch and strain painfully against his pants.

"please," you begged, the tears in your glossy eyes finally threatening to spill and fuck — it shouldn't have made him harder than he already was. "i - i can't anymore, veritas," you hiccuped, the man's heart fluttering at the way his name rolled off your tongue so beautifully.

"..fine," strong arms flipped you over with ease — making you drop the book with a surprised yelp, now positioned on your tummy. you tried to look back but a hand pushed your head down, warm breath hitting the shell of your ear,

"— but brace yourself, because im not gonna go easy, slut."

that was all he said before pushing himself into your warm, welcoming walls — pelvis resting on your ass. "f-fuck, still so tight," veritas groaned, his free hand foundling the fat of your ass before landing a swift smack on it, making your clench even more around him. "ve - veritas —" you gasped when he wrapped an arm around your throat, effectively putting you in a headlock as his thrusts finally found their rhythm — rough and calculated.

it wasn't long before you could feel yourself getting lost in the hazy fog of pleasure — eyes threatening to roll back as his cock hits that one rough patch inside of you with strong but calculated thrusts, along with the mean, degrading words he whispered into your ear — you came embarrassingly fast.

"y-yes yes yes — ! right there oh god —!" you couldn't help but bite down on his forearm as you made a mess on his cock, some of your slick running down his shaft to his balls — even soaking his thighs in the process.

"god, such a messy fucking girl, aren't you?" he spat — thrusts becoming more powerful and his voice becoming higher in pitch — indicating that he too, was close to his release.

and it didn't take long for him to cum — hips pressing against your ass, while spurts of his seed coated your gooey walls, his face buried in your neck as he gives you everything he had to offer.

he slowly lifted his head after a few minutes of inhaling your intoxicating scent, voice raspy and deep —

"you still have to read the book, you do know that right?"

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

A Day in Life

Synopsis: A day in your life while working as the Justice League's assistant. Also, they are all yanderes for you and it's Valentine's Day.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader

Tw: 18+ just because of a mention of Superman misusing his X-Ray vision and the mention of hooking up, aside from that, this is pretty SFW; Flash and Green Lantern are a little delusional; Hal Jordan is pushy; Batman is probably a little out of character (and I’m ashamed to keep it that way) bc I can't see him giving anyone flowers as Batman, just as Bruce Wayne; Mentions of them all secretly stalking you; This League members are Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash (Barry Allen), Green Lantern (Hal Jordan; John Stewart is mentioned), Aquaman and Martian Manhunter; I wrote too little about Martian Manhunter, Aquaman here because I don't know much about them; Wish I had more ideas for Wonder Woman’s interaction here too cause I love her; My crush on Hal is very obvious; Reader doesn't struggle much against them but they're also pretty tame; The physics in flying and running at super speed might be wrong but this is comic book science so it's wrong either way; English is not my first language.

Word count: 1,6k

Requested? No.

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

The zeta tube flashes and the AI voice announces the arrival of Flash. Your heart goes fast.

— Hey, (Y/N)! — In a flash, he's in front of you. — Happy Valentine's Day! — You tear your eyes off of your schedule on your tablet and see him holding a rose towards you.

— Oh, hey, Flash… — You reply a little tense. — Thank you… You didn't need to. — You hesitantly take the rose from him and whilst your attention is on staring at the flower and holding back a grimace, you miss the glint in his blue eyes. His blush is covered by his mask. His mind seeks for something to say before you decide to break the momentary silence. — You're really sweet, it's great to have a friend like you! — You make sure to exclain, the tone a notch higher, trying to make your point come across. Flash’s face falls.

— Uh- I- Actually- — His speech gets cut off by the zeta announcing Superman. Before you can have a heart attack, the boy scout also zooms in front of you, this time your hair blows back with the wind. He must've come flying.

— (Y/N)’s heart is pounding, what are you doing, Flash? — Superman alternates between looking at your face worriedly, then your chest, then glaring at the speedster by his side.

— What? Nothing! — Flash looks wide-eyed at Superman. Then his mind clicks and he looks at you again. — Wait, what? Your heart is pounding? Is it… Is it because of me?! — You see the dazed look on his face coming to the surface again. Oh boy.

You casually make the effort to take a breath you didn't know you were holding and make your heart go down. You hate when Super uses his X-Ray vision on you. You can never be sure when he is doing it, but why else would he analytically stare specifically at your body when he is worried about you? Also, that time when you commented with Sarah from the kitchen’s crew that you forgot to do your laundry and went to the Watchtower without underwear. Seconds later, Superman appeared in the doorway, looking startled and flustered, ears red. Although he pretended to have just arrived at the tower and you and your friend chose to ignore your embarrassment that your boss with superhearing might have chose that exact moment to focus his hearing on only the places around him, including your too intimate conversation, you still caught him red handed sneaking glances specifically at your hips, and he hurriedly exited the room after that. At the time, you had just recently started the job as the Justice League’s assistant. After that you were a lot more aware.

After a while you realized you had a reason to be.

Superman was glaring at the rose in your hand and Flash was daydreaming while looking at your face when the zeta flashed again and you snapped out of it fast enough that by the time you started talking, your mind didn't pay attention to who had just arrived.

— Hm, no. It's just you fast people are always catching me off guard. — Flash deflates and- Is he pouting? Bro. Superman lights up and looks at you again.

— Oh, sorry, (N/N), we always forget about that. — The alien chuckles while rubbing the back of his head.

— Superman. Flash. — You and Flash jump, but Superman, not surprisingly, doesn't react and just follows you three and looks behind the two heros in front of you to the one with the gruff voice that just arrived.

Flash groans and Superman just rolls his eyes, you can see that while trying to peak past the men’s towering frames blocking you. You don't have to guess much though, because they make space for the newcomer and you suppress a tired sigh at seeing Batman making his way to you with a gigantic arrangement of flowers that covers his entire torso, arms and head, only his bat-ears, legs and cape being visible.

— (Y/N). Those are for you. — Color me shocked. Before you can try to start thinking about how you are gonna take this absurdity anywhere, vengeance speaks. — I'm gonna leave it at your desk.

— Hmhmm. Thank you, Batman. — You refused to watch his retreating form and let any member of your yandere harem think you actually have an interest in any of them and look down at your tablet again. The action makes you remember the rose you're still holding and you hurriedly walk away from the two nutcases stuck glaring at the third and go to his side. — Actually, take this with you. — You stick the rose amongst the rest of the flowers and before any of them can say anything else, you get out of the room.

You take a deep breath. Since the League’s weird obsession started seemingly around a year ago, you had a whole crisis over it. The pay was good, and it increased even more when they took this insane liking to you, so it's not like you could just quit like it was nothing. Besides, it's the Justice League, you could run from the fucking planet and they would still find you. It's easier to adapt.

You go on with your routine for a few minutes until you bump into a neon green brick wall. Scratch that, it's just Green Lantern’s chest.

— Hey, cutie, I was looking for you. — Your eyes widen when the space cop suddenly holds you by the shoulders, pushes you against a wall, then lets you go just to keep his two muscular arms on each side of you, trapping you and keeping you close to his frame. Ugh, the Lantern with brown hair has always been the more touchy one. You miss the one with dark skin and common sense.

— Need me for something? — You hold a groan with the limitless possibilities of how he could use that sentence to be crude, but you just wanted to get rid of him. He smirks.

— I was wondering if you were free today and would like to go on a date with me later… — He knew you were free. You knew he knew you were free. Every time you have a date (and you never told them) the League seems to get more on edge and suddenly your workload increases. Tsk, you hate them. Unfortunately, you love nice things even more.

You raise an eyebrow.

— I don't even know your name. — You point out, maybe that would make him give up, but he just shrugged.

— I could tell you, trust is a fundamental part in any relationship.

— Is a date a relationship? Also I don't think Batman would like that. — Any of that. He cocks his head to the side and his beautiful hair moves down.

— Cutie, you don't have to worry about Spooky. And I don't want to just hook up with you, you know that. Now just stop playing hard to get and-

A golden light catches your attention, it could be a miracle, but it's just Wonder Woman's lasso wrapping around the lantern's neck and pulling him away from you. Unfortunately, she tied a it in a way that the action wouldn't strangle him or break his neck.

— Ugh, men really have no boundaries. — The amazon rolls her lasso back and takes a step towards you, keeping said man sulking behind her while analyzing you. — Forgive my friend, (Y/N). He grew up in a barn. — The stunning demigoddess smiles at you.

Ugh, if she wasn't just as crazy as the rest of them you would happily swoon over her.

— Right. Well, I have to go. — You turn your back to them and take fast but casual steps away from them and the empty hallway. It never fails to scare the shit out of you and give you goosebumps whenever one of them catches you alone in one of those, and the competition between them for your heart somehow makes you confident enough that if there are at least two of them, no harm will come to you.

You clear your throat. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. The martian should’ve arrived by now and you don't doubt he reads your mind 24/7 when he’s close enough.

You’re about to turn a corridor when you spot Aquaman poking his head in a room, looking for something, it's probably you, only his body is visible and he can't see you.

You hold a groan and run as quietly as possible away from him without him noticing, remembering the time he ranted to you about seahorses being the most romantic fish species, with monogamous mate bonds for lifetime, and all the times he promised to show you Atlantis one day and make you rule his people by his side.

A few minutes later when you look at the clock, you know by that time they're all already in their meeting and not wandering around, desperate for a crumb of your attention. To confirm that, you open the camera’s feed that not many had access to and idly check their presence in the meeting room. Your stomach churns seeing your figure in one of their monitors, the others displaying normal missions info. Of course they would follow you around through the cameras, because that's just as important as discussing wars and crisis in Earth countries and other planets.

You passively shut the screen when you finally get to your office, in which you avoid staying until you absolutely have to, or the coast is clear enough to, otherwise it's the most obvious place for them to force an interaction with you.

You look up and your shoulders drop in defeat at the sign of too many flowers, gifts and letters from each member of the League.

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@wandalfnation

[glitter-hound]

saw this post and now i can't stop thinking about how will never talks casually around hannibal despite us knowing he is fully capable of doing so.

that scene with molly on the phone demonstrates this so well- will is fully capable of chatting and joking around and not talking through indirect gestures nearing the realm of poetry, but he never does that with hannibal.

with hannibal he speaks like a poet. not to say he's rambunctious around everyone else, of course he's a quiet and blunt person. but as their connection continues on, will seems to pick up hannibal's artsy, aesthetic, scholarly way of speaking. mirroring the one person who makes him feel safe.

it seems like anything other than poetry doesn't feel adequate for them, the way they make each other feel isn't done justice by anything casual. it'd be like calling the sistine chapel "cool". when they speak to each other, all the words that leave their mouths are always completely intentional. they treat conversation like a flirty game of chess.

i love hannibal because its a love story told through the lens of violence and murder and pain and torture, but its all about something as soft and sweet as two people not knowing how to speak to each other.

i think that's a large part of why their love feels so warm despite everything. it's earnest, it's juvenile, and it's beauty is most often manifested through carefully thought out words, and the occasional indirect confession of how much they matter to the other. they don't need touch, they just want to make poetry out of one another ˊᵕˋ