Just Fanfiction @all-the-lovely-rb - Tumblr Blog

After Hours.

Character: John Stewart (Lanterns)

Summary: As you’re finishing up your chores for the night at your bar, a close friend from the nearby Green Lanterns Corps pays a visit following a rough day at work.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI!), cursing, drinking, smoking, buildup, slapping, some angst, slight mention of death, cumshot

Dividers By: @uzmacchiato

A/N I: Came to mind as I am still finishing the first part of the series for him. I wouldn’t classify this as a drabble since it’s more than a 100 words. A little rusty. Hope you enjoy this little treat and Gunn Man, you’re going to hell for that sex scene by the way.

THIS IS MY WORK, SO PLEASE DO NOT STEAL IT.

konalis

─── ✷ BEFORE DAWN. valarr targaryen

synopsis . valarr became king, knowing he was not as good as his grandfather nor as steadfast as his father. Still, he tried to be a good husband, as he had sworn before the gods. words. ~5.6k

contents. +18 (MDNI) ⋆ wife! reader ⋆ canon divergence ⋆ grief/mourning ⋆ pregnancy ⋆ emotional hurt/comfort ⋆ established marriage ⋆ gentle sex ⋆ masterlist ⋆ akotsk taglist⠀ಣ notes. I have a bit of an addiction to giving my boy happy endings. 😭

stankypiz

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ TWO SIDES OF THE SAME MAN ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Jason Todd x Reader

You fell in love with Jason.

You fell in love with Red Hood.

You just didn't realize they were the same person.

Word count: 4378

♡ secret identities · slow burn · angst · hurt/comfort · romance ♡

You didn't mean to fall in love with the Red Hood.

It crept up on you slowly, like the cold seeping through the cracks of your shitty apartment windows during a Gotham winter. You didn't notice it happening until it was already too late, until your heart was already racing every time you heard the sharp rap of knuckles on your fire escape, until your hands already knew the geography of his wounds before you even looked at them.

He was terrifying. That was the first thing you noticed that first night, when he crashed through your bathroom window, blood pouring from a bullet wound in his shoulder and a snarl on his lips. The white-out lenses of his helmet were inhuman, unreadable, like staring into a shark’s eyes. The red bat symbol on his chest mocked everything it was supposed to represent. This was not a hero. This was something darker, something dangerous.

But then he'd spoken.

"Don't scream," he'd rasped, his voice distorted by the modulator but still somehow recognizably human. "I'm not going to hurt you. I need... I need help."

And you, against every instinct of self-preservation, had helped him.

That should have been the end of it. A one-time thing. A moment of madness that you could chalk up to shock and adrenaline and the general insanity of living in Gotham.

But he kept coming back.

And somehow, impossibly, you started to look forward to it.

It wasn't just the excitement, though that was certainly part of it. There was something addictive about being the one person the Red Hood trusted with his vulnerability. You'd seen him at his weakest, bleeding, broken, barely conscious, and he'd never once raised a hand against you or raised his voice at you, even when you did a bad job at patching him up. He was gentle with you in a way that seemed to surprise even himself, his gloved fingers careful as they brushed against your skin.

He asked you questions. About your day, your job, your childhood. He remembered the things you told him. He brought you coffee sometimes, a peace offering for the blood he inevitably spilled on your floor. He made you laugh with dry, sarcastic observations about the absurdity of Gotham's criminal underworld.

And he touched your face. Every time he left. A single, deliberate gesture that left you breathless and confused and aching for more.

You knew it was wrong. You knew he was dangerous, that he'd killed people, that he was probably going to get you killed just by association. But when he looked at you through that helmet, you felt seen in a way you never had before.

You were falling in love with a ghost, and you didn't know how to stop.

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Then there was Jason.

It was raining. Of course it was raining. This was Gotham, and the city seemed to have a personal vendetta against anyone trying to have a halfway decent day.

You'd ducked into a cramped little used bookstore in the East End, one of those places that smelled of old paper, dust, and the faint ghost of someone's pipe tobacco from three decades ago. The owner, an ancient woman named Gertrude who seemed to communicate through grunts and pointed fingers, barely glanced up from her crossword puzzle as the bell above the door chimed.

You were there for a specific book. Slaughterhouse-Five. You'd been meaning to read it for years, and something about the relentless misery of Gotham's autumn had put you in the mood for Vonnegut's particular brand of fatalistic humor.

You found the V section easily enough, your fingers trailing along the cracked spines until you located it. But as you reached for the book, a voice spoke from behind you.

"You'd probably like Brave New World better."

You startled, spinning around to find yourself face-to-face with a man who looked like he'd stepped out of a particularly moody noir film. He was tall, very tall, with shoulders that seemed to fill the narrow aisle between the bookshelves. His black hair was damp from the rain, with a striking white streak at the front falling across his forehead. He had a jawline that could cut glass, a nose that had clearly been broken at least once, and eyes the color of a calm pine forest on a foggy day.

He was holding a stack of books that would have made your arms ache just looking at them. Dostoevsky. Austen. A worn copy of The Art of War. A collection of Emily Dickinson's poetry. The contrast was so absurd it was endearing.

"I'm sorry?" you managed, your brain still catching up to the fact that a very attractive stranger was giving you unsolicited literary advice.

He shifted his weight, looking almost embarrassed. "I just mean… Slaughterhouse-Five is good. It's great, actually. But it's also… bleak. Deterministic. So it goes, and all that." He gestured vaguely with one hand, nearly dropping his books in the process. "Brand New Day has more hope in it and actually lets the characters push back against the idea that they are trapped by what happened to them."

You blinked at him. This was not the kind of conversation you expected to have in a dusty bookstore on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.

"That's… a very passionate defense of a book I've never read," you said slowly.

A flush crept up his neck. He looked down at his stack of books as if they might offer him an escape route. "Sorry. I get carried away. It's a problem."

"No, it's… refreshing." You found yourself smiling, despite the rain soaking through your shoes and the general misery of the day. "Most people in this city barely look up from their phones long enough to notice the world is ending around them. It's nice to meet someone who actually has their own opinions about things."

He looked back up at you, and for a moment, something flickered in those green eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or wariness. Like he wasn't used to people being kind to him.

"I'm Jason," he said finally, shifting his books to free up a hand.

You told him your name, shaking his hand. His grip was warm and calloused, his fingers rough against your palm. He held on for just a beat longer than necessary, as if he was testing the reality of the moment.

"Nice to meet you, Jason," you said.

And just like that, it began.

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After that first meeting, you kept running into him. Or rather, he kept finding you.

The first time was at a coffee shop three days later. You were hunched over your laptop, trying to meet a deadline, when a shadow fell over your table.

"This seat taken?"

You looked up to find Jason standing there, holding two cups of coffee. He looked slightly less disheveled than he had in the bookstore; his hair was dry, at least, but there was still something rough around the edges about him. A faint bruise on his jaw that you didn't remember from before. Dark circles under his eyes that suggested sleep was a luxury he rarely indulged in.

"Jason?" You couldn't hide your surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting coffee," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "This place has the best cold brew in the East End." He paused, then added, almost shyly, "I saw you through the window. Thought I'd say hi."

You gestured to the empty chair across from you. "Hi."

He sat down, sliding one of the cups towards you. "I didn't know what you liked, so I got you a latte. If you hate it, I'll drink it."

"It's perfect," you said, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. "Thank you."

That was the beginning of a pattern. Jason would show up at the coffee shop when you were there. He'd bring you books he thought you'd like, annotated with his messy handwriting in the margins. He'd walk you home after dark, his presence a solid, reassuring wall between you and the dangers of the city.

He never talked much about himself. You knew he had a complicated family. You knew he'd grown up in the Narrows, one of Gotham's roughest neighborhoods. You knew he'd been through something terrible, something he hinted at but never fully explained, that had left him with nightmares and a tendency to check for exits in every room he entered.

But you also knew he made you laugh. That he argued with you about movies with the same passion he brought to literary debates. That he remembered small details about your life you would briefly mention like your favorite author, your hatred of cinnamon, the name of your childhood pet, with a startling precision.

And you knew that when he looked at you, sometimes, there was something in his eyes that made your heart stutter in your chest. Something tender and desperate and achingly vulnerable, but he was still a mystery.

But Jason was different; Jason was real in a way that Red Hood never was.

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The guilt was the worst part.

It gnawed at you constantly, a relentless voice in the back of your mind that whispered accusations every time you were with one of them.

You're lying to Jason, it would say when the Hood was in your apartment, bleeding on your floor. You're hiding this from him. You're betraying his trust.

You're lying to the Hood, it would say when Jason held your hand on a walk through the park. You're keeping secrets from him. You're not the person he thinks you are.

You were torn in half, stretched between two men who couldn't have been more different and yet somehow both felt like home. You loved Jason's softness, his humor, the way he made you feel safe. But you craved the Hood's intensity, the danger, the way he made you feel alive.

You hated yourself for it.

You started having nightmares. Terrible dreams where Jason would find out about the Hood and look at you with betrayal in his green eyes. Where the Hood would remove his helmet and reveal a face you didn't recognize, a monster wearing human skin. Where both would turn away from you, leaving you alone in the dark.

You woke up crying more nights than not.

Something had to give. You knew that. The tension was building, a pressure in your chest that threatened to burst at any moment. You couldn't keep living like this, torn between two halves of a whole you didn't understand.

But you didn't know how to let either of them go.

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There were times when you almost figured it out. Like the time Jason quoted a line from The Count of Monte Cristo, a book you'd mentioned to the Hood the night before while you were stitching up a small stab wound. You'd frowned, something telling you at the back of your mind, but then Jason had smiled, and the thought had slipped away. Or the time the Hood had touched your face, and you'd caught a whiff of something familiar underneath the smell of cordite and blood. Coffee. And a faint hint of caramel. The same coffee Jason always brought you. And a scent of mint gum, the one Jason would always chew. Your heart had stopped in your chest. For a brief, wild moment, you'd let yourself consider it. Could it be? Jason Todd could be the Red Hood. But no. It was impossible. Jason was gentle, kind, soft. The Hood was violence incarnate, a killer with a heart of ice. They couldn't be the same person. Could they? You pushed the thought away, buried it deep, refused to let it take root. Because if you let yourself believe it, if you let yourself hope, and you were wrong, the disappointment would destroy you. And if you were right... you didn't know what that would mean. For any of you.

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The night it all fell apart started like any other. Jason was out of town. A "family emergency," he'd said, his voice strained over the phone. You'd told him to take care of himself, to call if he needed anything, and he'd promised to be back soon. You missed him. That was the truth. The apartment felt empty without his presence, without the sound of his laugh and the warmth of his body next to yours on the couch. So when the knock came on your fire escape, you felt a terrible, shameful relief. The Hood was here. At least you wouldn't be alone. But something was wrong from the moment he stepped through the window. He was moving wrong. His usual predatory grace was gone, replaced by a halting, jerky gait that spoke of pain and guilt. He collapsed into the armchair, his armchair, the one you'd designated as his without ever saying so, with a muffled groan that made your chest ache. "Are you hurt?" you asked, reaching for your first aid kit. "Not... not in the way you think," he rasped. "Let me see."

He didn't answer. Just sat there, his chest heaving, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly you could see the leather of his gloves straining. "Hood," you said, your voice sharper now. "Let me help you." "It's not... it's not that kind of wound, beautiful." "Then what kind is it?" He was silent for a long moment. The only thing he was doing was looking up at you as you stood across from him. The only sound was the distant wail of a siren and the harsh rasp of his breathing. Then, slowly, he reached up and began to unclasp his helmet. The hiss of the pressurized seal was the loudest sound you'd ever heard. It seemed to echo in the silence of your apartment, a sound that would be burned into your memory forever. The helmet came off with a soft click, and the man underneath Your world stopped. You forgot how to breathe. Forgot how to think. Forgot everything except the face staring back at you. Black hair, damp with sweat, the white streak plastered to his forehead. A strong jaw, stubbled with days of stubble that looked like he just forgot to shave. A nose that had been broken more than once, the crooked bridge you'd traced with your finger so many times. Eyes the color of a pine forest on a foggy day, wide with exhaustion and fear and something that looked terrifyingly like hope. Jason. Your Jason. The man who'd recommended Brand New Day in a dusty bookstore. The man who'd walked you home through the dangerous streets and made you feel safe. The man who'd burned your eggs and quoted poetry and held your hand like you were something precious. Something he could take care of. The man who'd bled on your floor, night after night, and left you with a ghost's touch on your cheek.

It was him. It was always him. The realization hit you like a physical slap, stealing the air from your lungs. You stumbled backward, your hip slamming into the coffee table, but you didn't feel the pain. You didn't feel anything except the overwhelming, crushing weight of the truth. He said your name in a quiet pleading whisper, and his voice, not the Hood's modulated growl, was cracked and broken. "Please. Say something." He reaches out for you You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. What could you possibly say? What words could encompass the enormity of this moment? You're the Hood. You're the man I've been stitching up for months. You're the man I've been falling in love with, both of you, both versions, and they were the same all along. You lied to me. You let me tear myself apart, and you said nothing. The anger came first. Hot and sharp and blinding, cutting through the shock like a blade. "You Asshole," you breathed. He flinched. Flinched, as if you'd struck him. “ I can explain—” he said, your name in a pleading manner. "Explain?" The word came out as a yell, raw and unhinged. "Explain what, Jason? Explain how you've been living a double life? Explain how you've been sneaking into my apartment at all hours, bleeding on my floor, letting me patch you up, and then sitting across from me at coffee shops pretending to be normal?" You were shaking. Your whole body was trembling with the force of your rage; your hands balled into fists at your sides. "Do you have any idea what you've done to me?" you demanded. "Do you have any idea what it's been like, thinking I was in love with two different people? And hating myself for it? Feeling like a monster because I couldn't choose between the man who made me feel safe and the vigilante who made me feel alive?" He opened his mouth to speak, but you weren't done. "I've been tearing myself apart for months, Jason. Months of guilt and confusion and self-loathing. Months of nightmares where I lose both of you. Months of wondering what the hell is wrong with me that I can't just pick one and be happy." Tears were streaming down your face now, hot and angry. "And the whole time, it was you. Both. You let me suffer, and you said nothing!" you yelled at him. "I know," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I know, and I'm sorry." "Sorry doesn't fix this!" you shouted. "Sorry doesn't undo all the nights I cried myself to sleep because I thought I was a horrible person for loving two men at once! Sorry doesn't erase the fact that you've been lying to me since the day we met!" "I was trying to protect you." The words hit you like a slap. You stared at him, dumbfounded. "Protect me?" you repeated. "Protect me from what, Jason? From the truth? From you?" "Yes!" He surged to his feet; his face contorted with anguish. "From all of it! From the Hood, from the killing, from the enemies I've made, from the target that's been on my back since ive come back!" He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, his hands shaking at his sides. "Do you think I wanted this?" he demanded. "Do you think I enjoyed lying to you? Watching you struggle, knowing I could end your pain with a single sentence, but being too much of a coward to do it?" "Why didn't you?" you shot back. "If you knew how much I was suffering, why didn't you just tell me?" "Because I was terrified!" The words exploded out of him, raw and desperate. "Because I knew, I knew that the moment you found out the truth, you'd look at me differently. You'd see the monster instead of the man. You'd realize that Jason Todd is just a mask the Red Hood wears to pretend he's human." He laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "And I was right, wasn't I? Look at your face. You can barely stand to look at me."

"That's not—"

"Don't." He held up a hand, cutting you off. "Don't lie to me. I've been lied to enough for one lifetime." He looked away, his jaw tight, and for the first time you saw the weight he'd been carrying. The exhaustion. The loneliness. The desperate, aching need to be seen as something other than a weapon. "I fell in love with you," he said quietly. "As Jason. The first time we met, in that bookstore, when you looked at me like I was just a person... I knew I was done for." He turned back to you, and the pain in his eyes was almost unbearable. "And then, that night, when I stumbled through your window as the Hood, bleeding out and half-dead... you saved me. You didn't know who I was, didn't know what I'd done, and you still helped me. You treated me like I was worth saving." His voice cracked. "And I fell in love with you all over again. As the Hood. As the monster." He took a step toward you, his movements slow and careful, like he was approaching a scared animal. "You were never in love with two people. You were in love with me. Just me. All the broken, contradictory pieces of me, that I am giving you.” You stared at him, your chest heaving, tears still streaming down your face. The anger was still there, burning hot in your veins, but underneath it was something else. Something softer. Something that felt terrifyingly like hope. "You're an idiot," you whispered. He blinked. "What?" "You're an idiot, Jason Todd." You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, smearing tears and snot across your face. "You think I fell in love with a monster? You think I spent months stitching you up and making you coffee and listening to your stupid jokes because I was afraid of you?" You stepped closer, closing the distance between you until you were inches apart. "I fell in love with the ghost," you said, your voice shaking. "And I fell in love with the man. And they were both you. They were always you."

You reached up, your fingers trembling, and touched his face. The stubble on his jaw. The crooked bridge of his nose. The lines of exhaustion around his eyes. "Does that sound like someone who can't stand to look at you?" you asked softly. He stared at you, his storm-grey eyes wide and disbelieving, and whispered your name. "I'm still mad at you," you said, your voice breaking. "I'm so mad, Jason. You let me suffer. You let me think I was crazy. You should have told me." "I know." "But I understand why you didn't." You swallowed hard. "And I... I don't want to lose you. Version of you. I want all of it. The good and the bad. The man and the crime-fighting lord." A tear slipped down his cheek. Then another. His face crumpled, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe. "I'm sorry," he choked out, burying his face in your hair. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I should have trusted you. I should have told you sooner." "It's okay," you whispered, clinging to him. "It's okay.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. "You still want me?" he asked, and the vulnerability in his voice broke your heart. "Even knowing everything? Even knowing what I've done?" You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "I love you, Jason Todd," you said firmly. "All of you. The bookstore coffee guy and the crime lord. The man who burns my eggs and the masked man who bleeds on my floor. I love every piece of you." He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he kissed you. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. It was desperate and hungry and full of all the things he couldn't say. His hands fisted in your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he was afraid, you'd disappear if he let go. You kissed him back with equal fervor, pouring months of confusion and longing and frustrated love into the press of your lips against his. The taste of salt from his tears mixed with the copper tang of blood from a split lip, and it was messy and imperfect and perfect. When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. "I love you too," he whispered. "I love you so much it scares me." "Good," you said, a watery smile tugging at your lips. "You should be scared. " He laughed, a real, genuine laugh that lit up his whole face, and you felt something loosen in your chest. Something that had been wound tight for months, waiting for this moment. You laughed too, and then you were both laughing, clinging to each other in the middle of your tiny apartment, surrounded by first aid kits and the shattered remains of a secret that had nearly destroyed you both. ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Later, much later, after the tears had dried and the explanations had been given and the apologies had been made, you lay tangled together on your couch. His armor was gone, discarded in a pile by the door, and he was wearing a pair of spare sweatpants he had left one night and a t-shirt that was yours that was too small for his broad shoulders. He looked softer like this. Human. Vulnerable. "You're staring," he said, not opening his eyes. "I'm processing," you replied. "Give me a minute." He cracked one eye open, a small smile playing on his lips. "Processing what?" "The fact that my boyfriend is the most feared crime lord in Gotham." You paused. "And that he has terrible taste in books." He snorted. "My taste in books is impeccable. You're just mad because I was right about Brand New Day.” You were quiet for a moment, just looking at him. At the face you'd learned to love twice over, in two different lives. "What happens now?" you asked finally. He sighed, his thumb rubbing slow circles on the back of your hand. "Now, we figure it out. Together. No more secrets, no more lies. Just... us." "That sounds nice," you said softly. "It does," he agreed. "Terrifying, but nice." You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. "I can work with terrifying." He grinned, pulling you closer. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere." And for the first time in months, you believed it.

jxerv

pretty boy | g.h

Pairings: Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: riding your whiny man.

WARNINGS: MDNI, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, riding, whiny gwayne, sub!gwayne, dom!reader, slight dirty talking, porn no plot, lmk if I missed something

A/n: nothing just a short dirty thing because I miss him already

masterlist | wc: 1k

“FUCK, YOU’RE doing so good, my love." Gwayne's voice was a ragged breath, pushing against his lips to come out.

You moaned loudly, resting your hands on the soft skin of his muscular thighs. Your nails gripped hard, drawing red lines on it that made him cry out. You hips shuddered, you could feel his hard length throbbing inside you. Your walls clenched around him, as whiny breaths came out of his glistening lips at every roll of your hips. Leaning down, you captured him in a passionate kiss, pressing your breasts on his sweaty chest. "Do you like it? Do you like being inside me?" You whispered heatedly against his mouth before starting to ride him with more intensity, finding a steady pace.

"Gods yes, I love being inside you." Gwayne groaned, his large hands gripping the fat of your backside as he guided your movements. He thrusted up to meet each roll of your hips with a desperate whine, burying himself deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt. It was so warm he could barely open his pretty eyes to watch you, so warm he didn't want to ever let go. "So— so perfect and warm around me."

His blue eyes shined with glistening tears, roaming all over your body in hunger, from your bouncing breasts to where you were joined. The area was wet, covered in your shared essences. He leaned up, chasing one of your nipples between his teeth, sucking and nibbling gently while one hand slid around to grope your ass. Gwayne panted against your skin, his mouth greedy on your soft skin. The bed creaked beneath you as your passion intensified, sweat-slicked bodies moving together in a dance of pleasure.

You cried out, feeling his pulsing cock grinding against your insides at every roll of your body, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your inner muscles fluttered and clenched around him, drawing him in even deeper like a vice. "Look how pretty you are under me." you keened, rolling your hips faster and harder. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room along with your wanton moans. Your nails raked down Gwayne's chest as you rode him with wild abandon, chasing his mouth once again. Leaning down, you crashed your lips against his in a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth, muffling his loud moans. "My pretty boy."

He returned the fierce kiss with equal fervor, his tongue dancing and twining with yours as he swallowed your words. Your scent enveloped him in a lavender haze, make his head spinning and his heart racing. Gwayne's belly was filled with the most lively and sweet butterflies, tickling and dancing against his insides. His fingers dug into the supple flesh of your rear, kneading and squeezing as he helped guide your increasingly frantic movements. "Mmph... oh fuck..." Gwayne broke the kiss to gasp out a cry, his face flushed red and eyes glazed over with lust. He arched his back against you, pushing his hips up to meet your downward thrusts, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat. "I need to cum. Please, please, please make me cum!" One hand released its grip on your ass to slide up your spine, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. He looked at you with a frown, tears finally sliding from his pretty blue eyes.

You felt his desperation, his urgency, his need for release. It spurred you on, making you move faster and harder. Your hand pressed against his chest, pushing him to the mattress, hips slamming down onto him with enough force to rock the bed. "Do you want to cum?" you chuckled, your voice husky with desire.

"Yes! Gods yes, I want to cum so badly!" Gwayne nearly sobbed, his body trembling beneath you as you rode him mercilessly. Sweat dripped down his temples, matting his reddish hair to his forehead. His cock throbbed almost painfully inside you, the base already starting to swell as his orgasm approached. "Please, my love, I'm so close. Don't stop, don't ever stop!"

He wrapped one of his hands around your waist to pull you impossibly closer, while the other flew to your breasts, cupping and massaging the soft mounds roughly, thumbs and forefingers pinching and tugging at your hardened nipples. Gwayne threw his head back against the pillow, exposing the column of his throat to your hungry eyes as he let out a guttural moan.

"Then cum for me, Gwayne. Let go and fill me." you commanded, your voice sweet honey into his ears. You could feel his member pulsing inside you, stretching you deliciously. Your own peak was fast approaching, your walls beginning to quiver and clench around his thick shaft. You leaned down, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing his cries of ecstasy as you continued to grind against him relentlessly.

With a strangled cry, Gwayne came undone. His hips bucked erratically as he spilled himself deep inside you, his hot seed painting your inner walls white. "Fuck!" He screamed into your neck, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if afraid you might disappear. His cock jerked and pulsed with each wave of his intense climax, prolonging both of your pleasure. Gwayne's entire body shook and trembled through the aftershocks, spurred by the sheer intensity of his release. Tears streamed freely down his face, overwhelmed by emotion and physical bliss. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

You held him close, your own walls fluttering and milking him for every last drop. As the waves of pleasure began to subside, you peppered his face with soft kisses: his cheeks, his nose, his tear-stained eyes. "I've got you." you murmured soothingly, stroking his hair. "You've done so well, my love." Slowly and carefully, you rolled off him and gathered him into your arms, letting him rest his head on your chest. Your fingers traced idle patterns on his sweat-dampened skin as his spent still leaked from your dripping cunt.

frostbitemuttrefrozen

originally a request, re-upload, og ask

Yandere! Revolver Ocelot Hcs (MGS3)

Warnings: Yandere trope, gender neutral darling, stalking, theft, kidnapping, murder, tracking, sadism, torture, spoilers for mgs3

daemyrastories

all the sun in oldtown

pairing: ser gwayne hightower x wife!reader

word count: 3,4k~4k

genre: fluff, domestic softness, married idiots in love

warnings: none really — one (1) mention of the coming war, some mild kissing, gwayne being insufferable about his hair

summary: a morning in the gardens beneath OldTown, a basket of peaches, and a knight who has never once in his life won an argument with his wife.

(set a year or so before the dance. everyone is alive. everyone is happy. we do not speak of what comes next.)

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦

cosmictheo

THE ART OF FLUSTERING A KNIGHT | gwayne hightower

— summary: no matter how many years of marriage pass, gwayne hightower remains completely defenseless against his lady wife's flirtations and teasing. — pairing: gwayne hightower x wife!reader — word count: ~2k — content: suggestive language, implied marital intimacy, established relationship/married couple, domestic fluff, lots of flirting & teasing, theyre so in love with each other, pda, gwayne blushes a lot, pregnancy, family dinners with daeron & ormund. just a little something to help me cope with the mess that was the finale...

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

After all these time of marital bliss, Gwayne Hightower should have gotten used to his lady wife by now. Really, he should.

With so many years of marriage, one would think he wouldn't get flustered anymore when you smiled at him a certain way. That he'd know how to respond to your sweet words of praise by now. That he could cope with you leaning in close, adjusting the collar of his tunic, and whispering little sweet things in his ear, without getting tongue-tied and as nervous as a cornered rabbit.

But no.

You still make him blush.

wichitavic

well met, sweet prince

summary: After a long journey from King's Landing, Gwayne returns to Oldtown, bringing along little Prince Daeron and his dragon egg. Reunited with his bride, Gwayne shares a tender, romantic moment in the nursery as you rock the baby to sleep with a lullaby.

notes: This can also be read as a sequel to my previous work here. Gwayne arrives to Oldtown with baby Daeron, and his lady wife, you, welcome them. Pure Hightower fluff. There will be a part three with a different theme, 3.1k words, no warnings. see the part 3 here and 4 here characters: Gwayne Hightower, Ormund Hightower, Daeron Targaryen pairing: Gwayne Hightower x You

amorieile

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE! ⸝⸝ oneshot

SUMMARY. . . Peter has always been good at noticing things. Unfortunately, that now includes your habits, your routines, your secrets, and far too much of your life. The more he learns about you, the harder it becomes to convince himself he's still one of the good guys.

pairing: peter parker/spiderman x reader

content warnings: obsessive idiot peter parker, morally gray peter parker, stalking, surveillance, hacking, digital privacy invasion, peter parker knows way too much, unhealthy attachment, questionable coping mechanisms, trust issues, relationship tension, codependency if we're being honest, emotional angst, psychological thriller undertones, loneliness, pining, secret identity drama, poor life choices, love as a horror genre but not rlly, relationship paranoia, possessiveness, post brand new day, guys bear with me it's going somewhere good i promise </3. not betaread. lmk if i missed anything!!

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

— amazing support banners used are from @moonstoneandmoonlight !

w/c: 8.8k

a/n: peter parker support group starts here!! unfortunately, I'm not offering support.

I made him worse :p

Peter first noticed you because you dropped a pen.

Not in any interesting way. Not in slow motion, not with a dramatic little gasp, not the kind of thing anyone wrote poems about unless they were trying too hard. It slipped out from between your fingers halfway through Professor Menken’s lecture on genetic ethics, hit the edge of your desk, bounced once against the leg of the chair in front of you, and rolled beneath Peter’s sneaker.

He looked down at it because he heard it before anyone else did.

foxburdened

Hear my vision. Cannibal au Venom where he kidnaps hitchhiker reader and they develop Stockholm syndrome from him.

Kidnapping and cannibalism?? Two of my favs together? I hear your vision.

Plus, how could you not develop Stockholm on Venom?

Part Two Here

TW: Cannibalism, Death, Gore, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior. Pairings: Venom Snake X GN!Reader Word Count: 2.3k

Ended up being sweet in a creepy way. Enjoy.

Another abysmally dark night in this rural town. You had to admit, just outside of it, there was a forest that had been a beautiful place to camp. There had to be more stars in the night sky than there were back home, the air smelled cleaner, and the woods were teeming with wildlife. The locals were surprisingly welcoming, too. There were a few stares, as would be usual in a place that didn't even have a single stoplight, but overall the reception was kind. You had been running low on supplies, and came back in just to pick up some stuff before returning to your camping site. Just a couple more days. You promised your friends you would be back on the road and text them when you got signal back, just to at least let them know of your safe return.

"Oh, you're back," the clerk at the desk had recognized you. "Couldn't stay away, huh?"

"Guess not. Just here to grab a few things before heading back out."

He punched down the cost of everything into the register. "Are you here all by yourself?"

"Nah, I'm meeting up with a few close friends tonight." A safe lie.

"Oh, good, good."

You handed him the cash before he slid his hand on yours. "Well, if you do get lonely.."

You snatched your hand back before he could finish. "Oh, nope, I, uh, should get going, have a good night." You grabbed your things before even getting the change back and rushed out the door.

No sooner had the doors closed behind you did they open again, revealing a different man following behind you. His footfalls fell close behind and stopped when you whipped around to stare at him. He was a frightening man to behold. Long scars dressed his face, a bit of black metal protruded from one side of his forehead, and he sported a leather black eye patch. It felt surreal that you both occupied the same world, he didn't seem real.

He must have immediately registered your fear, backing up a bit like you were a deer he didn't want to scare off. "Hey. Don't mind him, he doesn't talk to people much."

A held breath slowly escaped from you. "Right. Thanks, it's fine." You had already began walking towards your car as he mirrored your pace, getting up next to you.

A heavy hand rested on your shoulder, and you both exchanged another glance at each other. "Be safe out here. Not everyone has the best intentions." Before you could respond, he already started walking back to his own beat up car, leaving you with a tight knot in your abdomen. When you got back to your car and locked the doors, all your muscles relaxed and you let out a shaky exhale. What the hell just happened?

The engine groaned to life, headlights were turned on, and a kitschy pop song started playing on the radio. It actually greatly helped offset the weird mood, so it was kept on when pulling into the main road back to your campsite. You tapped on beat with the song, turning it up a bit to alleviate the lingering restless anxiety in the air. The promise of sleep felt like light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe you would start to head back in the morning instead of a couple days. Get a good rest, pack everything up, and start the journey back home and to your own bed.

Ugh, sleeping in an actual bed...

The lights on the dash began to flash as your power steering locked the wheel. You pulled over as much as you could on the small road and turned the car off. You waited a beat before trying the ignition again, and the engine sputtered a few times before pitifully dying. You smacked your head a few times on the steering wheel. It was about 20 minutes out to the campsite, and the majority of the walking would be in pitch black darkness in dense woods. Even with a flashlight, the walk there would be incredibly dangerous, and who would ever find you if something happened?

You grabbed the emergency flashlight in the passenger glove box and hopped out of the car. You hadn't made it but 5 minutes away from the rest stop you were just at, if you retraced your steps back, there may be some motel back in town. You suppose that was the plan. Sleeping in the car when someone could spot you and break in was a terrifying thought. At least you were conscious and could potentially protect yourself with the knife and flashlight on you.

You grabbed the backpack resting in the back seat, locked the door, and set off on the the way you came from.

Your trek lasted a few minutes before you saw another pair of headlights driving out to the direction of your broken down car. Maybe they could give you a ride back to the store? Or know of some place you could sleep for the night? You waved out to them desperately, moving the flashlight back and forth to grab their attention. Thankfully, they pulled up beside you and cranked the window down.

"Didn't expect to see you on the road." It was the man from before.

"Oh, uh.. Yeah, my car broke down. I don't suppose you could give me a ride to a motel or something...?"

"I'll see what I can do." His head nodded towards his side, signalling for you to get into the passenger seat.

You walked to the other side of his car, pushed yourself up and shut the door behind you. There was an immediate click of the door locking as soon as it latched. The same knot from when you first met settled back in you.

He continued to drive forward as an uneasy silence fell between the both of you. Side-eyeing him had you realize just how imposing of a man he was. His bad eye was at your side, so at least you could stare at him without his notice. As you continued to look, you noticed something. Was he.. smiling? Had he been smiling this whole time?

"Sorry to ask, but.. Isn't the town behind us? I thought we were going to a motel."

"There isn't a motel. I never said there was one."

Your throat became dry and your fingers fell onto the door handle next to you. An experimental tug on the door next to you told you that the child safety lock was on. "Where are we going?" Your heart fell into your stomach, accompanying that knot.

"I'm looking out for you. There's dangerous people out here." The squeeze of his hand on the leather of the steering wheel punctuated his words. He pulled off onto a dirt path, off the main road. "How many of your friends were you meeting up with?" Had he been eavesdropping on your conversation in the store?

"F-four. Four of them. They'll know I'm gone."

"Know you're gone, huh?" Shortly after, a small cabin appeared in front of you both, smoke softly pouring up from the chimney. He turned the car off, letting you both sit in the silence for a few beats, then canted his head towards you. "Lots of people go missing out here. I wonder if they would ever find you?"

With that, he opened the door and made his way in front of the car towards you. You felt for the knife in your pocket and held onto it, and as soon as he unlocked the side of the door and opened it, you unsheathed it and brandished it at him. No sooner had the knife hit the night air did he grab your wrist, twisting it in such a way that made it well-known he was used to brawling and subduing others. The knife clattered onto the ground next to you both as he yanked you by your arm out of the car, twisting it behind your back in a painful grasp that could break it if he pressed further. His torso was flush against your back, keeping your arm in place by his hand.

He bent down, breath ghosting your shoulder and ear. "I know, I get it. I'm not mad at you, you're just scared, anyone would be." He spoke so softly against you, "I'm here now, you're safe. Be good for me."

He pressed you onward towards the entrance of the home, still bending your arm on your back. You were forced up against the door while he unlocked it with his other hand. "Keep your eyes closed until I say you can open them. Can you do that for me?" You nodded and closed your eyes immediately.

"Good."

The creaking of the door cut through the night. As you both entered the home, two things accosted you: A warmth that greatly contrasted the cold wilderness behind you, and a pungent, cloying smell that you could almost taste.

He continued to push you forward, and the smell became stronger. The metallic, rusty smell landed on your tongue. You tried your best to hold your breath as the smell made your eyes start to water. He was still behind you, there would be no way he would notice if you opened an eye, right?

You peeked one eye open to see a kitchen around you. There were bits of meat cut up on an old countertop. The smell must just be from some skinned hunt he was preparing. Your eyes scanned the other side of the kitchen, head staying straight forward so as not to put him off to your peeking, then it landed onto something hooked up from the ceiling with a stained, metal bucket underneath it. Your brain short-circuited trying to figure out what it could be before recognizing the shape as a partially skinned headless torso. You couldn't help it. You jolted away from him, letting out a primal gasp, fighting against the restraint he still had on you.

He sighed, as if he were dealing with an unruly child. You moved forward a few paces before your held arm brought you back, and he spun you around, picked you up and hastily walked up a pair of stairs towards a different room. His room.

Your screams echoed through the entire cabin, fighting against his body to no avail. His muscles felt like rock, and his grip on you was iron-clad. "Let go of me! Please, please just let go of me! I won't tell anyone, I promise." How used to screaming was this man that he wasn't at all phased by your distress?

"Told you not to open your eyes." He threw your body on his bed like a rag doll. As you pushed yourself in a sitting position, you heard a distinctive metal click. Your leg was cuffed to his bed, connecting you to it with a chain maybe a few feet long.

He smiled again as another wistful sigh left his mouth, admiring the cuff around your ankle. "I came into town because I'm low on meat. Food in the woods is too gamey, people have a very distinct pork taste that's hard to find." His eye pierced yours as he looked up, still kneeling down from when he trapped you. "Saw you a few days ago. I was hoping you would come back to town before leaving. It feels like a waste to butcher you, been lonely all my years out here."

Finally, he stood up, towering over you completely. "I found something else. Got 'em in the basement. We can finish what's left in the kitchen and then I can make you something really fresh after. How's that sound?" He bent down and held your chin while fat tears rolled down your cheeks.

"Please, I'll do anything, just-" His thumb then caressed your lips almost reverently while he shushed you.

"I know. I'll take care of you now. You have nothing to worry about. I'll make us supper."

---

Hours turned into days. Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.

He never once forced himself on you after all this time. The most asked were chaste kisses. He washed you, groomed you, got you new clothes from town, kept you fed and warm. He would bring new books, or play cards with you whenever you asked. Oftentimes you both would listen to the radio.

Once in a while, you would hear screams from his victims. The ripping, tearing, and then silence. There were times he would be covered in blood and viscera of others, and yet still look at you with such warmth it burned your heart. You could hear the cracking of the bones in the kitchen, and when you were brought down to eat, he would always ask if you were okay.

It had been 9 months. You think. it was hard to keep track and you only had the moving seasons to go off by. You were both laying in bed, and you could tell he was starting to drift off. Tears began to fall on your pillow, as they did often, and he instantly stirred when he heard the distinct noise of sniffling. He turned over to you immediately, thumbing away any of the tears that still were on your skin.

"Still not used to being here? I promise, you will get used to me. I will never harm you."

You felt a strange stabbing in your heart when you came to the realization why you were crying. How could you feel guilty about this of all things?

"I'm sorry I pulled a knife on you that night. I don't know what I was thinking." Then the tears began falling and sobs broke through you. None of this made any sense. What was happening?

The softest sigh emanated from the man next to you as he brought you in his embrace. He held onto you just tight enough and rubbed your back slowly. "It's not your fault, none of this is your fault."

How could this be the safest you've ever felt in your life?

laeyliaa

DARK FIC RECS ─ .✦·········───

─── rin’s personal favorites

an archive of fics that i’ve loved ❤︎⁠ i have no words to describe on how immensely grateful i am to these amazing writers here on tumblr. i hope you all the best in life <33

── .✦ HUNTERXHUNTER

guessing game - a/b/o setting and its about illumi?! ughh i love this sm esp how mc correctly guessed that illumi used her shirt as a pillowcase lol AND the line “this is all the space that we need between us”?! im obsessed! (@hypnoswrites)

soulmate au - chrollo soulmate au?!? im sat. another lovely fic by hypno! there’s a lot more amazing fics on their blog so please go to it and show your support ^^ (@hypnoswrites)

sintaera

The way that you write angst just absolutely scratches my brain just right. I would love to read your version of Baelor being caught being unfaithful and having to yearn for reader back. Any other detail is up to you. We just see him as this moral compass and I think seeing him caught not being perfect would be sooooo satisfying to read. Especially if reader ran to Lyonnel, Maekar or bloodraven for comfort. 🙈

𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘 | 𝐁𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍.

In the four years of your marriage to Prince Baelor Targaryen, you have never once questioned his devotion to you—a fool's hope, you'd come to realise when you stumble upon him in a passionate moment with another woman, you do not yell, you do not scream. You have known that this marriage was not one born from love, but rather duty, and in the act itself, this unfaithful act sends you into the arms of another.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; infidelity, cheating, age gap (reader is in her late twenties, baelor in his early forties), sexual content, possessive behaviour, jealous behaviour, so much yearning, guilt, use of blood magic, brief maekar x reader, but no cheating on the reader's part, oral (male receiving and female), breeding kink, plot with porn.

In the four years of your marriage to Prince Baelor Targaryen, the Red Keep had become a cage of silk and duty. You were still young enough that the court whispered about the years between you and your husband, who had passed forty with the quiet dignity of a man who had already buried more than most.

obsessivefanfictionauthor

The Woman in Red—Baelor Targaryen

Summary: Posing for a portrait as a favour to a friend years ago is the kind of thing that slips one's mind. But it doesn't slip Baelor Targaryen's mind when he is the one who purchases the painting at a posthumous auction celebrating your late friend. He becomes obsessed with finding you, the Woman in Red and when he does...he won't let you go.

Pairing: Modern!Yandere!Baelor x fem!reader

TW: 18+ MDNI, NSFW; Dead Dove: do not eat—manipulation, threatening, power imbalances, dub-con. Sex scene includes: fingering, masturbation, p-in-v, praise kink and dom-sub elements. Baelor's obsessed. Reader is manipulated back. Ending is sad.

Credit & A/N: GIF by @ohmylul; golden heart divider by @diviniyae; requested by anon: here | I have no idea if this is good or not, I'm surviving on limited sleep and low social battery so I hope it's good and deliciously dark.

redwinelewis

A GENEROUS OFFER | G. HIGHTOWER

type one shot (no part 2 requests please!)

pairing gwayne hightower x female reader (team black)

summary you were sent by rhaenyra to negotiate the release of a former master of coin who is living in tumbleton. you had expected ormund hightower to come, not his cousin.

content 18+. smut. enemies to lovers hehe. one bed. hate sex. dirty talk. fingering. slight degradation. slight yearning in the end idk. reader is from flea bottom.

a/n english is not my first language

masterlist | read on ao3

king's landing had always been a city of hunger.

you had known that long before you ever sat at rhaenyra targaryen's council table. you had grown up among its narrow streets, where people learned to count every copper before they learned to dream. you knew what starving looked like. you knew the hollow cheeks of children begging near the gates, the mothers pretending they had already eaten, the old men too proud to admit they could no longer afford bread.

but this was different.

froggibus

— Breaking and Entering

Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Wally West

Summary: he accidentally comes home in full superhero garb and now he has to think of a clever way to explain himself without revealing his identity

Word Count: abt 500/part

Content/CW -> gn! reader, mild injury (wally's), mention of voltron (tim's), mostly silly, technically they commit a Crime

froggi yaps -> was on a roll writing this, this idea was so silly and fun >.< thank you to the nonnie who sent it in

honey-snail

FaceTime! featuring Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Sum: Just some fluffy FaceTime moments with the batboys. Warnings: Mild swearing in Jason's, fem! reader. mdni.

𑣲. Dick Grayson ᯓᡣ𐭩

"Are you on top of a building?" You ask, leaning closer to the screen as if that will somehow help you see past Dick's face and the glowing stretch of Blüdhaven behind him. He looks unfairly good for someone halfway through patrol - black hair windblown across his forehead and the domino mask hiding those blue eyes.

"Yeah, so, like - hold on." He flips the camera around and immediately starts walking, boots scraping lightly over concrete while the screen swings between buildings.

"You live there," he says, pointing down toward one apartment tower, and then turns toward another. "And there's my place. Wait - " The camera flips back to him, his masked eyes narrowing slightly as he thinks. "Have I seriously never taken you up here before?"

"Must've been one of your other girlfriends," you tease, sinking deeper into your chair as you tug the sleeves of his sweatshirt farther over your hands.

osarina

THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF VALARR TARGARYEN

FEATURING: valarr targaryen x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Valarr swears that he is a good man. It is just… difficult to remain good when his lovely wife is constantly being whisked away by his cousins, and the lords and ladies of the court are endlessly testing the boundaries of his self control.

WARNINGS: fem!reader. Reader is Qartheen. Jealous!Valarr. Mentions of Westeros-typical xenophobia. Possessive!Valarr. Husband!Valarr. Valarr is hopelessly in love with reader. Fluff? I think. I never know how to label these LOL. Valarr tries very hard to be a good man but he is still a Targaryen, and a Targaryen in love spells disaster.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: LOLLLL this fried me to write because it's essentially just the inverse of the other fic I did where reader was jealous. Now it's Valarr's turn, and he kNOWS he should be happy that you're settling in but my god does his eye twitch sometimes when reader is everywhere but at his side. I'm probably going to do a mini-drabble series of Valarr dealing with jealousy just because I love the idea of perfect prince Valarr being viciously jealous but having to mask it LOL, comments and reblogs always appreciated!

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