Jason was pounding merciless into you after making you cum two times already. "Jay! slow down" your poor cunt was sore and you were about to cry from the mixed feelings.
"one more? please baby, just one more I just need to feel you cum around me one more time" he was pleading, his hand reaching at your clit as he slapped it softly. "ngh- fuck, you gonna cum?" you nodded frenetically as your walls get tighter, milking every drop of his cum, but guess what, Jason didn't stop.
he started thrusting again, you couldn't understand how can this man continue to fuck you after cumming so many times. and any time you go at it again he cums faster. his short nails digged into the soft of your hips, your back hurting but trying your best to arch it, you could literally feel him in your stomach.
Jason's hand pressed hard on the bulge on your tummy, your pussy tightening around him. "w-wait, Jay, pull out!" you whined, he gave you two thrusts more and pulled out as you squirted all over him !!
Jason had you sitting on his lap, he was with a black t shirt and his sweatpants, his cock painfully hard against your ass, you were in your (his) big shirt, your panties tossed on the other side of the room from previous play.
he pulled down the hem of the shirt to free your tits, sucking one as his fingers kept fucking your poor cunt.
you were shaking, but that didn't stop him, he wanted you to be ruined on top of him. "Jay- ngh- Jay I wanna..." his mouth left your tit with a loud pop and he went faster. "you wanna cum baby?" he softly bited your shoulder and held you tighter, feeling your walls clenching around his two fingers, seeing your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. "Jay, ah! kiss".
Jason sticked his tounge inside of your mouth and gave you the most pornographic kiss ever, making you moan on the middle of it just to squirt all over his hand and pants.
you both stayed with your eyes wide open, Jason pated his cock as he pressed it even harder against you. "fuck I could've cum in the spot after seeing that" !!
short | smut | size difference | big olâ beefy boy
jason todd bulks so easily.
he doesnât even have to be super strict about it, like his body listens to him without much restriction. his muscles fill out and his stomach gets just a little pudgier.
you can tell when it makes him insecure, when his shirts that were already straining against his huge muscles start to barely fit over the extra pounds he gains. you try and convince him that itâs nothing to be ashamed of, that you know heâs just maintaining his physique. he tries to shrug it off, tell you that youâre being nice. still you kiss him extra, wrap your arms around him when you can and work around his diet with him so you can both eat together. he loved you for it.
but when heâs doing his meal prep on saturday morning, shirt nowhere to be found and his back muscles working in tandem with his huge biceps, you fight the urge to tackle him to the floor. you can smell the coffee heâs brewing you and normally that would wake you up entirely. though right now, all you want is to drag him back to bed. you stand there in the doorway, watching him move, admiring the layer of sexy pudge he put on for the winter months.
the way his thighs were bigger than ever and you gawked at them, imagining him over you. you knew heâd been hitting legs harder, training his glutes with hip thrusts and kickbacks that he upped the weights weekly. you were practically drooling at how his pants fit his perfect ass and tilting your head at it like something you wanted a bite out of.
without even turning, the heat of your intense gaze was enough to burn his back, he calls your name.
âyou gonna stand there and stare all day babe?â
like a magnet, you pad over to him, drawn by his enormous stature. smaller arms wrapping around his huge frame like a ribbon around a gift. god, he was so hot.
warmer, bigger, and softer.
so when he fucked, it was way more intense.
as if every part of him had grown, he laid his weight just over you, not crushing but enough that you could feel the difference. his heavy palms pushing your legs over your shoulders, pressing down like he belonged there. his lips trailing over the shell of your ear, praising you for taking him like this. for letting him in so deep. grabbing at your thighs and just pushing them higher and higher. he always loved a mean mating press when he was bulking. and fuck, so did you, mewling when he buried himself to the hilt. scratching at his back when he folded you just right. crying out his name with every movement he made because it was just so damn good.
the first time, he looked at you wide eyed, pulled back a little just to make sure he wasnât hurting you. repeatedly asking, âis that painful?â and âiâm so sorry sweets, we can stop.â
to which you immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, his stomach slightly poking out and hugging your chest. looking up at him with tears in your eyes, but definitely not because you wanted him to stop, âno! itâs good, itâs reallyâŚreally good,â biting your bottom lip.
he still looked at you sideways and decided to let you on top, thinking giving you a little more control might be nice. then you straddled him, holding onto his big beefy shoulders, and struggling to take him all inside without his help. you let out sharp involuntary whines. bouncing and squeezing him tightly within your slick walls. he cups your ass and keeps you still.
âbaby, are you sure youâre okay?â he asks again, ever the sweet man he was.
you nod again, leaning down in exhaustion and slight humiliation for being unable to handle him on your own.
breathing his name out softly, âitâs perfect, youâre perfect. i just need your help.â
he knows it too, nodding and helping you back onto the mattress. taking his time at first, slowly easing you into it. then when he finally gets you under him again and he realizes that you really couldnât fit him all on your own, he smiles. he doesnât just give you that same charming and cheeky smile, but he gives you one reminiscent of the devil that finally gets you to give in to temptation. when he finally sees how much you like him like this, heâs entirely feral.
âfucking love this donât you?â he groans out, heavy and tender in his thrusts, âyouâre so sexy, fuck, iâll bulk all the time if you like it this much,â
lips attaching to your jaw, kissing and sucking harder than he usually does. one hand kneading your breasts like damn stress balls and you canât help it, moaning out like a pornstar.
he laughs at your neediness, âfeel good sweetheart? feels good when iâm riiight,â dragging his palm up your stomach and touching the spot he repeatedly hits over and over, âhere.â
then heâll manhandle you onto your stomach, pulling you up by your hips and have you arch just right for him. he used the opportunity to slip back inside with ease and drive himself back home. his groans are even more animalistic, panting harder and gripping tight in a way that you knew would leave bruises. but you didnât care. you couldnât care less if anything and all he wanted was to make you feel good, repeating what he notices you like.
when he pulls you up so your back is to his chest, you mewl his name and wrap his arm around your neck. he understands it immediately, keeping you in a headlock and fucking into you deeper. watching your face contort into blissful pleasure and moaning with you because all it did was drive him wilder.
itâs too much and not enough at the same time. you have nothing to say, no words to express how he was making you feel. all you could do was claw at his forearms and push back into him, chanting his name like prayer, over and over.
he hisses dirty words just by your ear, leaving open mouthed kisses along the side of your face, âgonna fuck you so dumb, you know that? imma ruin you pretty baby.â
summary; you were never in competition with your stepsister â but she made you the enemy anyway. after years of petty cruelty and deep cuts that went ignored by the adults in your life, it all comes to a head when you find out sheâs been sleeping with your boyfriend behind your back. broken, humiliated, and done being the bigger person, you decide to take the one thing she values more than anyone: her father.
wc; ~19k
a/n; donât remember making this?? this is so poorly done. i think itâs a good concept just poorly executed by me. just had to get out of notes. anyways, enjoy.
warnings; age gap (20s/late 40s), step-siblings rivalry, infidelity, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, slow burn plot, rough sex, degradation, slut shaming, choking, spitting in mouth, dirty talk, crybaby!reader, fingering, oral sex, cowgirl, doggystyle, hand over mouth, cheating, secret relationship, older!Jason. á´šá´°á´şá´ľ! ᴚᴾᴺᴟᴿˢ á´°á´ź á´şá´źáľ á´ľá´şáľá´ąá´żá´Źáśáľ! ʸᴟᾠᴴᴏ⹽ᴹ á´Žá´ąá´ąá´ş áľá´Źá´żá´şá´ąá´°!
you never liked that house.
not because it was small. not because it was loud. not even because your daddy married a woman who couldnât cook for shit and brought a demon into your life with a smile on her face and a fresh coat of lip gloss. you just never liked how fake everything felt inside it. like every conversation was a performance. every family dinner, a photo op. and every hallway, a trap waiting to close in on you.
the walls in that house were thin, and so was the line between civility and venom.
you were twelve when it started. when they made you sit beside her on the stairs while they took pictures of you two pretending to be sisters, wearing matching sundresses from target. your smile didnât reach your eyes and hers didnât even bother trying. five years older than you, and already brimming with that bitter, nasty kind of pride girls like her wore like perfume.
taylor.
the first day you met her, she rolled her eyes before you even sat down. you remember that. remember how her voice always had this sharpness to it, like she was chewing gum made of glass. she told you you walked funny, dressed funny, talked too soft. she acted like your daddy was a pest and your presence was an infestation. you didnât know why. you were just the new kid in the house, trying to make peace. she was seventeen. damn near grown, mean as hell, and already decided you was her competition before you even finished growing.
but you werenât in a competition. never had been. not with her. not once.
you tried not to hate her.
you didnât respond when she mocked your hair or pretended to gag at your lunch. you didnât react when she called your room âthe maidâs closetâ in front of guests. you just learned to keep to yourself. youâd pull back when she came too close. kept your music low, your eyes down, your tone careful. your dad used to say âsheâs just adjusting, sweetheart. yâall gonâ be tight when you get older.â her mom would laugh it off. âthatâs how girls are.â
nah.
that ainât how you were. and it damn sure ainât how sisters shouldâve been.
she stole your little diary when you were fourteen and read it out loud during a sleepover. laughed at your crush. said your handwriting looked like a five-year-oldâs. slapped her knee like it was the funniest thing in the world when you ran off crying. her mama told her to apologize. she never did. just rolled her eyes, said âgod, itâs not that serious.â
but it was. because it never stopped. every boyfriend you had, every moment of peace, every inch of attention â taylor found a way to take it from you.
the worst part? nobody ever checked her for it.
you were twenty when it happened. when it all fell apart.
you and iven had just hit your two-year mark. he was soft-spoken, a little awkward, but always sweet to you. not the most conventionally attractive â didnât have the smoothest skin or the best job â but he made you laugh. he was the first one who looked at you like you mattered. told you you were brilliant. said he was lucky to have you. and after everything youâd gone through in that damn house, that meant something.
you met him through a mutual at a party. he offered to walk you home, made sure you got water before bed. you liked that he never pushed too hard. never made you feel like you had to perform just to be loved. and in the beginning, he showed up for you like nobody else ever had.
heâd hold your hand in public. called you just to hear your voice. texted good morning every single day without fail. he didnât have much, but he gave what he could. and you? you gave him everything.
you overlooked the insecurity. the lack of ambition. the clinginess. you gave him grace. even when your friends told you he was punching up â that you were way too fine for someone like him. that heâd lucked out. you didnât listen. you just poured into him, loved him deeper. because you thought love was supposed to be selfless. loyal. even if it meant you got the short end sometimes.
but loyalty didnât mean shit to iven.
and love? he didnât even know the meaning of the word.
two weeks ago, you were at his place like usual. legs in his lap, taking selfies on his phone while he sat gaming, zoned out in his headset. you were scrolling, bored, flipping through old photos when a banner slid down from the top of the screen.
taylor; you up?
you blinked.
taylor was a common name, you told yourself. could be anybody. curiosity made you click. you shouldnât have. god knows you wish you hadnât. but you did.
and what you sawâ
she was sending him nudes. full-body. mirror pics. ass shots in your favorite lingerie â the one that went missing last month. laughing about how heâd said she tasted better than you. talking about how he came quick when they fucked in his car. he was complimenting her. calling her baby. saying âi canât stop thinking about it.â
the dates didnât lie.
this had been going on for two months.
you didnât scream. you didnât cry right away either. you just stood up, slow and quiet, and handed him his phone.
âiâm leaving.â
he looked up, confused. âwhat?â
âi saw the messages.â
his face went pale. he started stammering, reaching out to you, trying to explain â but you were already out the door.
you didnât answer his calls. didnât read his texts. didnât sleep for two days.
you laid there in your bed, stomach twisted, eyes raw from the tears. couldnât even be mad at just him, because taylor had done it again. again. and this time, it wasnât petty. it wasnât childhood shit. it wasnât about clothes or social media likes.
this time, she fucked the one person you thought was safe.
and thatâs when something in you broke.
you didnât wanna cry anymore. didnât wanna forgive or be the bigger person or turn the other cheek. you wanted her to hurt. to feel it. deep. somewhere she couldnât cover up or pretend didnât exist.
you wanted blood.
the opportunity came faster than you expected.
your daddy and her mom were headed out â ten-day cruise for their anniversary. jamaica, saint lucia, all that. they offered to let yâall stay at the house while they were gone, but taylor suggested her dadâs instead. more space. better wifi. pool in the back.
you hesitated at first. not âcause of him â you hadnât seen her dad in years. but because of her. sharing a house with that bitch after what she did? you didnât think you had it in you.
but then you remembered something.
jason todd.
her daddy.
and thatâs when the idea bloomed.
you always knew she was a daddyâs girl. always on him, always running her mouth about how fine he was. she looked at that man like he hung the stars in the sky. was always up under him, always talking about how nobody could ever compare. she damn near worshipped him.
so what better way to get back at her than by taking the one man she looked up to more than anybody?
you didnât plan it at first. you really didnât.
but when you saw him again â tall, broad, lean muscle under a fitted tee, silver at his temples, that tired but sharp look in his eyes like he could read you without trying â it was like fate dropped it in your lap.
he was 48, maybe 49. clean-cut. quiet. deep voice. walked like heâd done time in the military, spoke like he hated wasting words. and he looked at you.
not often. not for long. but enough.
the second day you were there, you came into the kitchen in just your shorts and a bra, claiming you thought nobody was home. he was leaning over the counter, fixing coffee, and you caught him glancing down.
just once.
but it was enough.
he scolded you for it. told you to cover up. said this wasnât how grown women carried themselves in somebody elseâs house.
you apologized. said it wouldnât happen again.
then did it again.
the next night, you wore a tiny tank with no bra. the night after, you just wore panties and a tee, âlooking for a charger.â you made sure to always look half-innocent, half-oblivious. always said sorry. always played it sweet.
and it worked.
slowly.
he started saying less. looking longer. always quiet, always firm, but never uninterested.
becky, his wife, noticed too. the few times she was home, sheâd shoot you looks. pull you aside. tell you your clothes were inappropriate. said âthis ainât college, baby girl. put some damn pants on.â
youâd act embarrassed. lie through your teeth.
âi just came from the shower.â
âthese are pjâs, becky. i wasnât tryna show off.â
âmy bad, i didnât think anyone was up.â
and every time, she bought it.
jason, though? he stopped commenting. stopped pushing back. heâd just clench his jaw, look away. sometimes he left the room altogether.
but you could feel it. the tension.
and thatâs when you knew â it was gonna happen.
you just had to pick the right moment.
the house was quiet that night.
becky was working late, picked up a double shift at the hospital. taylor was upstairs with the shower running. jason was on the couch, watching some old crime flick with the lights low and a beer in hand.
you came out your room in a shirt that barely touched your thighs, no bra, panties soft and snug. you moved slow, sweet. padded barefoot to the living room, rubbing your arms like you were cold.
âcan i watch with you?â
he looked up. eyes swept your figure, then flicked to the screen again. didnât say a word about your outfit. just nodded toward the other side of the couch.
you sat.
the movie was boring, so you talked instead. leaned in close, whispered little things. asked him questions â about his job, his life, his past. you laughed at his jokes. touched his arm when you smiled. looked up at him like he was the most interesting man in the world.
and he cracked.
bit by bit.
you felt it in the way he started looking at your mouth when you spoke. the way he shifted under the blanket, muscles tensing when you stretched.
when the moment was right, you slid closer. into his lap. looked him in the eye and said what had been on your mind for weeks.
âi want you.â
he froze. stared like he wasnât sure he heard you right.
âyouâre too young,â he said. âand iâm married.â
you didnât back down.
you told him heâd been looking. that you noticed. that he was hard under you right now, so donât pretend he didnât want it too.
then you kissed him.
he hesitated.
but he kissed you back.
only for a second.
then the water upstairs turned off and you bolted, breath caught in your throat, heart pounding. left him there with his head in his hands, confused and silent.
and that was just the beginning.
you couldnât sleep.
every time you shut your eyes, it was him you saw. the look in his eyes after you kissed him. the way he gripped your hips like he was gonna toss you off his lap but didnât. the way his mouth lingered when he pulled back, lips slick, chest heaving, like he was trying to catch his breath and his composure.
you knew what you were doing. you had been playing this whole thing like a game of chess. slow, sweet, calculated. pawns moved, pieces in position. but you werenât expecting that. not the way he kissed you back. not the way his hand lingered on your thigh like he wanted to leave fingerprints.
you knew you had him.
but it wasnât enough.
not yet.
so you waited.
you watched the time crawl past midnight, digits glowing from your phone screen. listened for the shift of footsteps upstairs, the soft creak of old pipes. you heard her door click shut. you heard the low hum of a tv turn off. you heard his floorboard creak around 12:47am.
you waited.
you waited âtil the house got still. no running water. no footsteps. no flicker of light under the door.
then you moved.
quiet. barefoot. no bra. nothing but panties and that thin little tee that clung to your body like skin. it was cold in the hallway. air thick with night and sin. your thighs trembled with every step, not from nerves â from want. from the slick already gathering between your legs just from thinking about him.
his door wasnât locked.
you opened it slow.
he was turned to the side, one arm under the pillow, chest rising and falling heavy. and right there next to him, curled under the blanket, was his wife.
becky.
dead asleep.
your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to warn you. but you ignored it. all you saw was him. shirtless. hair messy. back muscles peeking out from the sheet, all that lean, hard weight sitting under the dim glow of the moon through the curtains.
you stepped in. soft. steady. walked to his side of the bed and crouched down low.
you touched his shoulder.
âjason.â
he stirred. blinked blearily. looked down at you like he thought he was dreaming.
you didnât say anything. just mouthed please as you climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips, your bare pussy pressed right against the bulge under his boxers. you could feel it. heavy. hard. waiting.
he shook his head. whispered, âno, you need to go. you gottaââ but his voice died when you rolled your hips once. slow. just enough to make him exhale through his teeth.
he sat up, grabbing your waist, pushing you back just an inch. his eyes darted to becky, then back to you. âyou tryna get me killed?â
you smiled. slow. sinful.
âi told you iâd be quiet.â
his jaw clenched. hand still on your hip. you leaned in. lips to his ear.
âyou been wantinâ me.â
he didnât answer.
âand i want you so bad it hurt.â
he swallowed. his breath came hot and fast against your neck.
âyou know this wrong,â he murmured.
âdonât care.â
âyou should.â
you looked him dead in the eye.
âbut i donât.â
that was it.
his mouth was on you like a man starved. his hands gripped your thighs tight, dragging you down over his lap, pressing your heat right against the length of him. his lips moved rough and messy â neck, jaw, shoulder, mouth â like he was trying to make up for all the time he spent pretending he didnât want this.
you moaned before you could stop it. not loud. just a soft, broken fuck whispered against his lips.
his hand flew up. clapped over your mouth.
âshut that shit up,â he breathed. âyou want her to wake up?â
you shook your head fast, biting your lip through his palm. he was still hard under you, twitching now. you rocked against him again, and this time his eyes rolled back.
âyou know what you doinâ, huh?â he whispered. âcominâ in here lookinâ like that. sittinâ on daddyâs dick.â
you whimpered. couldnât help it. hips grinding, slow and wet.
âlook at you,â he rasped. âcryinâ already. you a mess, baby. you came in here ready to be ruined.â
you nodded, tears already glossing your lashes.
he licked his thumb and pressed it to your clit through your panties, rubbing soft and slow. you shuddered. he laughed under his breath.
âso fuckinâ needy. what happened to beinâ quiet?â
you clutched at his shoulders, mouthing please please please like you were praying.
he moved your panties aside with two fingers, found your slit already soaked, and just stared for a second. like he couldnât believe what he was about to do. then he dipped one finger in. slow. shallow.
your mouth fell open against his chest. you bit into the meat of his pec, anything to stay silent.
âyeah,â he murmured. âthatâs it. you gonâ take it like a big girl, huh?â
you nodded, trembling.
he added another finger. stretched you wider. moved slow and deep, fingers curling to hit that soft little spot inside that made you twitch.
âso damn tight,â he whispered. âpussy grippinâ me like she donât wanna let go.â
you rocked against his hand, wet sounds filling the dark room. you were a mess. leaking all over his fingers. eyes rolling. mouth open. every part of you screaming yes even as your lips stayed sealed.
then he pulled his fingers out. sucked them clean.
âlay down.â
you did. right on his side of the bed, body trembling, thighs open.
he crawled between your legs, pulled your panties down your thighs slow, like he was unwrapping a gift. then dipped his head.
his tongue was warm, rough. he licked one long stripe up your slit, then circled your clit slow.
you slapped a hand over your mouth and cried.
silent. wrecked. back arching.
he kept going. licking slow, teasing. every few seconds heâd look up, eyes dark.
âdonât run.â
you didnât. couldnât. you were frozen under his mouth, coming undone in waves. when you came, it hit hard â your thighs shook, your hands flew to his hair, and you cried into his pillow like your heart was breaking.
he pulled back and kissed your inner thigh.
âyou good?â
you nodded. barely.
he grinned. then spit in your mouth.
you swallowed before he could tell you to.
âgood girl,â he murmured. âyou gonâ take this dick like a good little slut now?â
you didnât answer. just opened your legs wider.
he stripped his boxers off. thick. heavy. curved just enough to press right against your wall and stay there. he lined up. pushed in slow.
you clawed at his back. threw your head back. damn near sobbed.
âquiet,â he whispered. âyou said youâd be quiet, remember?â
you nodded fast, eyes wide, tears slipping free.
he bottomed out with one hard thrust and didnât move.
âfeel that?â
you nodded again.
he pulled back. slammed in again. over and over. back shots in the bed, your hands gripping the sheets, his palm over your mouth when you got too loud.
âthis what you wanted?â he whispered. âgettinâ fucked next to my wife? lettinâ me split you open while she dreaminâ about god knows what?â
you sobbed into the mattress. took every stroke.
âyou know you ainât never gonâ be right after this, huh? pussy gonâ stay dumb for daddy.â
he pulled your head back by your hair, kissed your throat, bit your shoulder.
âgonâ cry? go âhead. be a crybaby. i like âem soft.â
you whimpered under him, tears soaking his pillow.
he slapped your ass. rough. made you jolt.
âtold you you was a slut. ainât even tryna deny it.â
he pulled out. flipped you over. pushed back in deep, hitting your cervix with every stroke.
you covered your mouth again, shoulders shaking.
âyou love it,â he breathed. âlook how you creaminâ on me. fuckinâ hellââ
he spit in your mouth again. choked you while he kissed you. made you feel small. made you feel owned.
and when you came, he didnât stop.
he fucked you through it. made you cry again. turned you into a mess of moans and whimpers, eyes glassy, mind blank.
when he came, he groaned deep in your ear, spilling inside you.
then pulled out. slow. breathless.
you laid there. shaking. wrecked. ruined.
and he looked at you like he didnât know whether to kiss you again or throw you out.
you smiled.
ânow we even.â
morning didnât come gentle.
it came sharp, like a blade dragged slow across your spine.
you woke up tangled in your sheets, head pounding dull, body sore in that deep, quiet way that didnât come from sleep. your thighs ached. your mouth felt dry. and between your legs there was that heavy, used tenderness that made your stomach flip the second you shifted.
you stared at the ceiling for a long minute, blinking, breathing, letting the reality settle back into place.
last night was real.
his hands. his mouth. the way he looked at you when it was over, like heâd crossed a line he couldnât erase and didnât know whether to burn the bridge or stand on it. you remembered slipping out of his room afterward, pulling your panties back on with shaking fingers, padding down the hall like a ghost. remembered crawling into your own bed and staring at the dark, heart beating so loud you swore itâd wake the house.
you hadnât dreamed it.
you pressed your thighs together, winced softly, then laughed under your breath. quiet. breathy. almost disbelieving.
âdamn,â you murmured to yourself. âi really did that.â
you dragged yourself out of bed, threw on a hoodie and some shorts, tied your hair back sloppy. when you opened your door, the smell hit you first.
you went downstairs slow, cautious, like the floor might give you away. becky was in the kitchen, humming to herself, hair wrapped up, apron on like it was any other damn morning. sunlight spilled in through the windows, warm and golden, lighting her up in a way that made your chest tighten.
she smiled when she saw you.
âmorning, baby,â she said, bright. âyou sleep okay?â
you swallowed.
âyeah,â you said, voice smooth even though your nerves were screaming. âslept real good.â
she laughed. âgood. yâall kids be stayinâ up too late. sit, eat. food finna get cold.â
you sat at the counter, hands folded in your lap, heart thudding. she slid a plate in front of you, loaded. eggs fluffy. bacon crisp. toast buttered just right.
she watched you take the first bite like she was proud of herself.
âjason still knocked out,â she added casually, flipping another pancake. âthat man sleep like the dead when he tired.â
your fork paused midair.
âyeah?â you said lightly.
âmm-hm. he ainât moved. taylor still sleep too. must be nice beinâ young.â
you forced a smile, nodded, took another bite. it tasted good. too good. your stomach twisted anyway.
becky fixed two more plates. one for taylor. one for him. she moved around the kitchen easy, content, like nothing in the world was wrong. like her marriage wasnât cracked wide open under the weight of last night.
when she finished plating his food, she turned to you.
âcan you take this up to him, baby?â she asked. âi gotta step out back and flip the laundry. holler if he want coffee.â
your heart skipped.
âyeah,â you said. âi got it.â
you took the plate. warm. heavy. every step up the stairs felt louder than the last. your pulse climbed into your throat.
his door was cracked.
you nudged it open with your foot and stepped inside.
he was on his back this time, one arm flung over his head, hair a mess, mouth slightly open. shirtless. relaxed. like he didnât spend the night committing a sin he couldnât undo.
you stood there for a second, just looking at him.
then you set the plate down and leaned over, tapping his shoulder.
âjason.â
he stirred. frowned. blinked.
then his eyes focused on you.
and everything changed.
his gaze sharpened instantly. mouth curved into something low and knowing. he hummed, deep in his chest, and reached out, pulling you down toward him without a word.
his lips pressed to yours. slow. unhurried. a good morning that carried weight.
you kissed him back, soft, sweet, like this was normal. like it didnât threaten to blow the whole house apart.
he pulled back just enough to look at you.
âyou good?â he murmured.
you nodded.
âyeah. iâm good.â
his hand slid down, popped your ass once. playful. familiar. dangerous.
âso,â he said, voice rough with sleep. âwhat we doinâ now?â
you smiled, leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth. dragged your lips along his jaw.
âwe can be whatever,â you said quietly. âi just wanna be closer to you.â
his jaw tightened. his hand flexed on your hip.
âthat so?â
you nodded, kissed him again. softer this time. then straightened up before either of you could forget where you were.
as you turned to leave, he smacked your ass again, harder.
âbring me coffee,â he said, low.
you laughed under your breath and slipped out.
downstairs, becky was waiting at the counter.
not smiling.
not moving.
just staring.
her eyes tracked you as you walked in. slow. sharp. knowing.
she didnât raise her voice.
didnât curse.
didnât even look angry.
she just said it.
plain.
steady.
âi know you fucked my husband.â
will be updating this like.. when i get up from my nap. but.. let me know how you guys feel about this trash of a fic i swear. i love commentary, feedback, and more :)
âŚKISSING DICK GRAYSON, JASON TODD, AND TIM DRAKE
SYNOPSIS : They all kiss you differently. They all love you differently. But each kiss tells the same story: that none of them can bear the idea of letting you go.
A/N : woahhhh ooooooh caught in a bad romance
INTERACTIONS AND REBLOGS ENCOURAGED!
DICK GRAYSON
Dick kisses you like he wonât survive the night.
Not just once, not just when the world quiets or the moment is right. He kisses you constantly and frantically. Like each touch of his lips might be the last. He'll kiss you anywhere he has access to, pecks trail along your temple in the morning, down your jaw when youâre barely paying attention, soft and compulsive like a man trying to memorize your body with his mouth. The slope of your cheek, the corner of your smile, the hollow of your throatâhe maps them all, again and again, like heâs terrified theyâll vanish if he stops.
And when youâre alone? Itâs a storm. His hands cradle your face, your hips, your shoulders, anything to keep you near. His lips devour yours in long, breath-stealing presses, frantic and full-bodied, until your lungs beg for air and your head swims with the weight of him. His kisses arenât just affection. Theyâre insistent. Donât forget me. Thereâs nothing polite about the way he holds your face between his palms, tilts your chin up, and presses his mouth against yours until you forget what silence tastes like. He kisses you so thoroughly it leaves your lungs aching.
He pours himself into you like a man trying to earn penance, trying to carve out meaning in a world thatâs taken far too much from him. Every day with you is a second chance he doesnât feel he deserves. Youâll never question if he loves you. He wonât let you. Because Dick kisses like a man condemned. Like someone who believes love is borrowed time. And even if tomorrow never comes, heâll die knowing you were loved so fiercely it echoed through every inch of his soul.
JASON TODD
Jason kisses like someone whoâs still learning how. Like someone whoâs spent a lifetime surviving, not loving. His past is all sharp edges and quick exits, hook-ups that blurred together, all hands and heat and no real names. There was never time for softness.Â
But with you, itâs different.
With you, he slows down. His touch loses that twitchy, wired tension. His hands find your face like theyâre afraid to shatter something. He kisses you like heâs terrified to mess it up, like the act itself is sacred. Lips barely brushing at first, just a whisper of contact, testing the quiet between you. Then firmer, fuller, but still measured. Still careful. Like youâre the first real thing heâs ever had to hold.
Because you donât flinch when you see the decay in him. You donât run when the quiet parts of his life rise up to swallow a room. And in return, he gives you every ounce of gentleness he didnât know he had. Sometimes his fingers tremble on your cheekbone. Sometimes his breath stutters as he leans in. And when he kisses you, itâs not just affection, itâs awe. A broken man trying to press every apology heâs never said into the space between your lips.
When youâre half-asleep on the couch, curled into the corner with a blanket pulled high, heâll kneel in front of you like a sinner praying for forgiveness, and brush a kiss across your temple so lightly it barely counts. Like heâs afraid that loving you too loudly might wake you from whatever spell is keeping you tethered to him. Because deep down, Jason doesnât trust that youâll stay. That anyone could. So he kisses like itâs both a promise and a plea: donât leave me. Iâm trying. I swear Iâm trying.
He still gets it wrong, sometimes. Still catches himself holding you too tightly when the dreams get bad or when the city claws at him. But the moment your hands reach up, anchoring him, he eases back.
Because with you, heâs something human again.
TIM DRAKE
Tim kisses you like a question heâs desperate to answer.
He kisses you with a sharp, deliberate kind of hunger, like every press of his lips is a calculated test, every sigh you let out is a result to be studied and archived. The quiet ache of someone whoâs been starved of touch for so long, heâs half-convinced heâs dreaming every time your skin meets his, so he makes a point to memorise every touch. His hands ghost along your sides, searching for data, cataloguing every tremble in your breath, every twitch of your fingers, every heartbeat pressed against his ribs.
He starts slow. A brush of his lips just beneath your jaw, a soft nip to the hollow of your neck, not to hurt, but to watch what it does to you. And when you gasp, or flinch, or sigh his name? He hums low, pleased. Eyes sharp with something darker than love. Something curious. As if your reactions are proof of something only he understands.
You're his favourite study. His most personal obsession.
He kisses you like youâre someoneâsomething only he can understand, and every time you melt under him, it only feeds the quiet madness he carries. You belong to him, he knows it with certainty. And when your lips part for him without resistance, when you tilt your head just so, giving him more, trusting him more, thatâs when he gets possessive.
Hands fisting in your clothes. Lips dragging over yours in a slow, searing pull. He whispers between kisses, not sweet nothings, but confessions edged with warning.
Sometimes heâll pull away only to stare at you, breath shallow, like he canât believe youâre real. And when you smile, his whole expression crumples, like it physically wounds him to be loved back. His lips find yours again, trembling with restraint, and he holds you too tightly for too long.
Because to Tim Drake, love isnât just an emotion, itâs an equation. And you are the only variable thatâs ever mattered.
I canât sleep so here are some hot things I think Jason does
- Jason often walks around the house shirtless and has a terribly attractive habit of flexing in front of every mirror in the house. Oh and whenever he's near you, it's more like a show than just plain old flexing really. His little act is almost always followed up with a "holy shit babe, feel my bicep." It leaves you flustered every damn time
- He also has a tendency to engulf you in these tight bear hugs where his arms cover your body and you can feel his pecs pressed against your face. You never can resist the urge to nuzzle your face against his chest
- Jason's body is huge, he's built like a fucking tank and he knows exactly how to use this to his advantage. He corners and pushes you against the wall with such ease, you don't even see it coming half the time. He towers over you and it's crazy just how bad you want to kiss him in those moments
- He gets all up in your face when heâs teasing you or when heâs in a super playful mood. He even grabs your jaw to make you look at him when he knows youâre tying to tune him out. Jasonâs such a pain in the ass, but heâs pretty so he gets a pass
- Heâs such a chronic man spreader (but like in places that allow it⌠heâs respectful on public transport and keeps to himself, which actually makes him even more sexy in my books). and if youâre at home, he leaves enough room so you can get situated on his lap
- Jason loves to read to you. Heâll have you pressed up against his chest, with one hand stroking your hair and the other holding his book. His voice gets all low and husky and his accent tends to creep out too. Above all, his voice is gentle, soothing and just so comfortingly satisfying
Bruce Wayne kisses like you're the last thread of sanity holding him to this world. He'll cradle your face in his hands, lips making long, languidly slow movements over your own. By the end of it, you're pushed against some kind of furniture and panting, while he's already leaving to pull on his cowl. It hurts to see him go, yet you know that he'll be home again to kiss you senseless until the world makes sense.
Richard Grayson kisses like he'll be dead tomorrow. Little pecks along your cheek, forehead, neckâanywhere he can get those plush lips on. He'll kiss you until you're both breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed. He'll love you until the day he dies, and he makes sure that you know that. Every day, he spends like it's his last, and every day, he makes sure to give you so many kisses, you're drowning in his love.
Jason Todd kisses like he doesn't know how. Sure, he's had a few hookups, especially during his early days as Red Hood, but he's never kissed a person like you. He loves you, it's as simple as that. With others, he is rough and fast, not knowing how to slow down and just enjoy the presence of the person beneath him. With you, all he can do is be gentle, because you're the only person who has stayed and loved him as the broken man he is.
Tim Drake kisses you like he's trying to study you. He'll nip at your neck and jaw just to see how you react, just to grin to himself as he observes the way you melt into him when his lips meet yours. He'll let his hands wander to see what makes you relax, what makes your lips stutter against his. He enjoys every interaction like you are his subject and he is the scientist. He needs to know everything. Knowledge calls for him in his blood, and you, his love, are the doorway to it.
AgedUp!Damian Wayne kisses expensively. He starts at your jaw, making soft motions towards your lips until he finally claims them with his own. His wide hands hold you in place by the waist and his dark hair tickles your skin. He'll take his time, loving on you the way you deserve. He knows just how to kiss you like he knows just how to kill a man. He kisses soft and slow, because why would he have to rush? He has his beloved in his arms, whispering his name against his lips; what more could he want?
plot! jason is busy minding his own businesses, you're not even sure what he's doing, but whatever that is, it's taking a lot of time and you're bored. so you decide to simply ask him "wanna make out?" and you can bet your ass he wants to.
f!reader, implied relationship
a/n: thank you so much for the request sweetie!! i loved writing this because arhh it's so jason
Jason had his boots kicked up on the coffee table, leaning forward with a half-broken gun in his hands, the pieces scattered across a ragged old cloth he used for cleaning. His brow was furrowed, lips pulled into that sharp scowl he got when something wasnât cooperating. The TV was on, some rerun of a crime drama playing in the background, but he wasnât really paying attention.
His focus was all on the weapon and the meticulous work of putting it back together.
You were sprawled across the couch on the other side, legs draped over the armrest, a book open but forgotten in your lap. The apartment smelled faintly like gun oil, leather, and the lingering warmth of coffee from earlier.
Jason was muttering something under his breath, probably cursing at the jammed slide. His hands moved with practiced precision, long fingers glinting with oil and metal.
And for a while, you just watched him.
The way his jaw flexed when he concentrated.
The muscles in his forearms pulling and shifting under his shirt.
That slight crease between his brows like the whole world annoyed him but he was stubborn enough to take it apart piece by piece.
Then, maybe because you were bored. Maybe because you liked messing with him. Or maybe because you just couldnât help yourself, you tilted your head, chewed on your bottom lip, and asked casually, like it was nothing:
âDo you wanna make out?â
Jason froze.
Literally froze, like a video buffering in the middle of a fight scene.
His hands stopped mid motion, the half assembled piece of the gun hovering between his fingers. Slowly, his eyes flicked up to you, sharp blue narrowed at first like he thought he misheard.
ââŚWhat?â His voice was low, gravel-edged, caught somewhere between suspicion and disbelief.
You blinked innocently. âI saidâdo you wanna make out?â
The corner of your mouth tugged upward, watching him sputter.
For a long moment, he just stared. Like his brain was rebooting.
His jaw worked silently, like he wanted to come up with some snarky retort, but nothing was firing. Jason Todd, the guy who always had a comeback, always had a jab, was speechless.
He set the gun down a little too fast, the metal clinking against the table. He wiped his hands on the rag, as if suddenly remembering they were dirty. His eyes darted from your face to your mouth and back again, and then he barked out a laugh, half disbelieving, half hungry.
âYou canât justâsay shit like that when Iâmââ He gestured at the gun parts like they were some sacred duty. âJesus, sweetheart. You tryna give me a heart attack?â
You arched a brow. âSo⌠is that a no?â
Jason groaned, running a hand through his dark hair, messing it up further. He leaned back in his chair like he needed space, but the flush on his neck gave him away.
âHell no, thatâs not a no.â His smirk finally cracked through, sharp and wolfish. âThatâs the biggest damn yes youâre ever gonna get from me.â
You pretended to consider it, tapping your chin. âYou donât sound very convincing.â
That was it.
Jason was out of his chair before you could blink, crossing the small gap in two long strides. He braced his hands on either side of you on the couch, caging you in. His grin was dangerous now, mischief sparking in his eyes.
âNot convincing, huh?â he murmured, leaning down, voice dropping an octave. âSay that again after Iââ
But he didnât even finish the sentence. His mouth was already on yours.
It wasnât tentative. It was Jason, so it was all heat and demand and a little reckless, like heâd been waiting for you to say that forever. His hands slid from the couch cushion to your waist, pulling you closer like he couldnât stand any space between you.
You laughed against his mouth, the sound muffled, and he growled in response, kissing you harder.
When you tugged lightly at the back of his shirt, he groaned like youâd just won a war you didnât know you were fighting.
Pulling back just slightly, his lips hovering over yours, he muttered, breathless: âYou're evil. You know that, right?â
âEvil?â you teased, brushing your nose against his. âFor asking if you wanted to make out?â
âFor distracting me with that mouth when I was trying to be responsibleâ he shot back, though his smirk betrayed how little he cared about the gun parts on the table anymore.
âGuess you werenât that responsibleâ you whispered.
Jason chuckled darkly, thumb brushing your jaw as his eyes softened, still sharp, but with something warmer underneath. âSweetheart⌠with you around? I donât stand a damn chance.â
And then he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. Like he was making it very, very clear: the answer would always be yes.
Jason Todd is the type of boyfriend whoâll play it off with a smirk when Roy or Dick text him asking if heâs down to grab a drink. Heâll shoot back something like, âSorry, canât. The boss doesnât let me out tonight,â dropping the blame on you like youâre the overbearing girlfriend who keeps him chained up at home. But the truth? The truth is that no one is actually holding him back. Itâs always his choice.
Because what he really wants is exactly this: his head tucked into the curve of your neck, your nails dragging lazy lines down his back through his shirt, the faint scratch grounding him in a way a drink never could. He wants to hear the sound of your voice filling the room, not music or rowdy laughter or the clink of glasses. He wants your rambles, about the coworker who pissed you off, the bizarre dream you had last night, all the movies you (somehow) managed to watch this week. Half the time you think youâre just venting, oversharing nonsense, but to him itâs better than anything on a jukebox.
Every now and then, you remind him that he doesnât have to stay. You tell him you donât mind if he wants to get a few beers with the guys, that you trust him more than enough to know he wouldnât do anything to betray you. And you mean it. Youâve never been the type to keep him on a leash. But Jason just shakes his head, presses a kiss against your skin, and mutters something low like, âYeah, but this is better.â
jason todd masterlist | i did this thinking about book nerd!jason todd and cinephile!reader
When patrolling together, Red Robin and Robin get cornered by the Joker.
They arenât too worried at first considering heâs seemingly only got a dozen men and others are on patrol, but then they see what the men are holding.
Joker had made a new Joker venom and they are seemingly the test subjects.
Damian is instantly ready to fight, but Tim is running the odds through his mind and itâs not good. They have a good chance of getting out, they are trained after all, but not without one or both of them getting the venom and who knows how long it will take to make a cure of a new concoction.
Tim canât let that happen.
Jason, Barbara, himselfâŚ
Damian will not be added to the list of people of people tormented by this mad man.
With coms being out of reach as the two went into a private channel so they wouldnât get in trouble for bickering, and their every move being watched, Tim had few choices.
Tim swallows and pushes Damian behind him, standing tall with his chin up even as his hands start to shake.
Damian starts to protest but Tim is speaking first, âLet him go and you can-⌠can have JJ back.â
The way Joker starts to grin even wider, slow and painful, is the most unnerving sight Tim has seen in a long time.
Joker laughs loud and starts clapping.
âOh joy, oh joy! This is more fun than I thought! Always so good at surprises, JJ!â
His laughing doesnât stop as Tim shakily turns to his little brother, whoâs almost eighteen but still little even as he grows taller than him, and holds onto his shoulders.
âRobin, I need you to listen to me. You have to let me go with them or youâll get hurt, okay? You have to promise me you wonât follow us because I canât let you get hurt like me and-â
One of the goons takes the chance to knock Robin out and lets him slump into Timâs arms.
Just as he begins to panic about them hurting Damian or bringing them with him, Joker comes up behind him and wraps an arm move his shoulders, âDonât worry about him, JJ! Little Robin number⌠whatever, will be just fine! Batsy will find him and take him back to his nest, while weâŚâ - Joker leans in so he can whisper in his ear - âhave a little family catch up!â
Tim nods, not finding it in himself to smile or play along yet, but keeping up his end of his offer.
It takes one day of shocks after his forced make over for him to settle back into the role he learnt the first time. Last time it took two and half a weeks for him to give in and learn his part properly, and then a few more days before he was rescued, but this time it feels almost natural as he puts on a big grin and starts a familiar giggle.
He thinks of Damian, who may have been turned into Joker Junior Junior or some other absurd name, and tells himself itâs worth it to protect him from any more trauma.
Tim is kept for a month, playing house with a mad man who makes rants about JJâs mother leaving him for a woman and being tortured every time he doesnât laugh quick enough or seems just a little distant.
When heâs found he doesnât realise. Heâs just sitting there at a dinner table with straps on the chair keeping him down. Heâs laughing loudly, knows if he stops heâll be hit or shocked or forced to drink some kind of toxic chemical until he pukes up blood. He canât stop, because Papa will be mad and heâs scary when heâs mad and mama isnât there anymore.
When he process the change of scenery he finds himself in a hospital bed in the cave.
JJ and Tim are so blurred into the same person that when he sees Damian he has no idea who he is at first. He almost expects someone younger, the little boy who first showed up, because thatâs the little boy he gave himself up for.
But when Damian stared back at him and starts to tear up Tim finds himself remembering who he wants to be.
He pulls his little brother into his arms, jostling Alfred the Cat, and sobs into his hairline while ignoring the green in his periphery and praying he doesnât start to laugh.
After some long contemplation, I've decided I'll be returning to CAI. Mostly due to the fact that I can't really use Janitor at the moment. So, I'll be adding all my Janitor bots onto CAI. Here's a compiled list of all the new bots I've recently added today!
Yandere Capitano (Genshin Impact)
Yandere!Slashers
Yandere!Super family (DC)
Yandere!Mob!Bat family (DC)
Yandere!Fez & Ash (Euphoria)
Yandere!Prowler (Across The Spiderverse)
Yandere!Homelander (The Boys)
Yandere!Loid Forger (Spyxfamily)
For those interested, I accept bot requests both through my yandere server and suggestion box that you can find by clicking the link!
Hop hop đ strutting around Jay's apartment in nothing but panties and his leather jacket that's still warm from his body đ hop hop
-doe đž
JASON TODD shirtless and in gray sweatpants and a thin silver chain around his neck, manspreading in his seat as he annotates on some blueprints. The Bat left quite an impression on him, including his knack for being thorough. The cap of his sharpie sits between his teeth, the soft squeaking of the marker scribbling on parchment filling the room. Even though you got laid this morning, you should be good, but instead youâre especially needy. Heâd gotten back a little bit ago from picking up those blueprints, and the leather bike jacket he wore on his motorcycle ride had been thrown on the bed haphazardly. Crawling out in just your undies, you were chilly, so you put the jacket on. It sat on your shoulders like a curtain. Heavy, and huge, and stiff. Still warm from his body heat, it provided enough protection to pad out to see him.
It takes him a second to notice you, and when he does, that famous grin stretches onto his lips. Hopelessly attractive with defined dimples and smile lines that could kill, crookedly smiling at you with that cap in between his pearly white teeth. âWhatâre you doinâ over there, baby? Câmere.â He snips the cap from his mouth between his fingers like a cigarette, and you obediently come to his beckoning hand and inviting lap. You sit on his thigh, and the rigid material of the jacket stands up on its own. He snickers at you. âWhose jacket is that, babycakes?â
Timidly, you concede, âMy JayâsâŚâ
It amuses him further, giving you a soft look with a flash of his raised brows. âYeah? Sâyour Jayâs?â he mimics your melodic response in a twinge of a mocking tone out of endearment. âItâs, uh, little big for you, huh? Your Jay a big guy?â He wasnât gonna let this go, and you fidget with your hands, looking up at him with those glossy doe-eyes. While he talks, a single finger moves aside the leather to get a peek at your bare chest.
âHuge.â you tell him with stars in your eyes, gesturing size with your hands, and it makes him laugh again, particularly inclined to adore you with a kiss on your cheek.
Jason Todd claims he is not a romantic man. He always says it with a soft laugh. âI donât know how you ended up with me, honey, Iâm the least romantic man on the planet.â But when he holds you in his arms as if you were the most fragile thing in the world, you think otherwise. When he makes you sit on your shared bed with so much tenderness and your eyelids close from fatigue, you think that maybe you will marry this man. âDonât fall asleep yet, princess, hold on a little longer,â he says softly, kneeling down beside you to remove your heels and place them by the bed.
He gets up quickly going to the bathroom and bringing your makeup wipes. âLook this way, prettyâ he says, observing your sleepy expression. He takes out a wipe and holds your cheek with one hand, wiping your face with the other. âMmhâ you reply, yawning softly and unconsciously closing your eyes. âNo, no, no, love, just a few more moments, okay?â he asks you in a tone that drips honey. Maybe you shouldnât have drank so much or maybe you shouldnât have stayed until the end of the party at Wayne Manor.
He laughs softly as he finishes removing your makeup. Jason releases your face and automatically your torso falls sideways on the bed with your eyes closed. Jason quickly gets up to bring your pajamas, he places them on the bed and gently lifts your torso, speaking to you in a tender tone âHoney, I have to put your pajamas onâ he says, to which you gently shake your head. âJust take off my dress, pleaseâ you mumble opening your tired eyes slightly.
Jason nods gently and unbuttons your elegant dress, taking it off at the top. When he turns around to place it on the floor, you have already crawled into your place on the bed, clad only in your panties and bra. Jason laughs softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaving a kiss on your cheek. âGoodnight, babyâ he says softly, and you're sure Jason Todd is the most romantic man in the world before sleeping with his hand gently tracing your face.
Nominations for the DC Dark Week Awards - Interpersonal Dynamics category!Â
Voting will open March 15th until March 30th. This is a good opportunity to indulge in some dark reading and enjoy these fantastic fic recommendations before voting opens!Â
Hereâs your choices for the DC Dark Awards - Interpersonal Dynamics categoryâŚ
Most Agonizing Gaslighting Award:Â
props by sirensevenÂ
Borrowed Toys by scandalsavageÂ
Die a Hero by ForeverWhelmedÂ
Blurry by MissNayaÂ
Eating Away at What is Good by withthekeyiskingÂ
The Nature of Tradition by IrishgrlnextdoorÂ
Building a Secret by MaurianasRavenholdtÂ
in the family by sirensevenÂ
The Way You Make Me Want to Live Instead of Die by daemoninwhiteÂ
Blank White Spaces by EveryDarkCornerÂ
All Youâve Ever Known by kuro49Â
Ornithology by quickmanifyoulovemeÂ
Earth 27 by AnonymousÂ
Love Can Double As A Weapon by greyheartÂ
Full Programming by sirensevenÂ
Gayngst Award:
Qamar by secondsongbirdÂ
Vendetta by WalorÂ
Itâs definitely all your fault by MFLuderÂ
Kryptonite Collar by Red Starlight by GementÂ
Pale Reflections by scandalsavage Â
Making It Up by SkalidraÂ
Broken Things by LuthienLuinweÂ
Through a Mirror, Darkly by MissNayaÂ
Red Is Also A Color by MorimaitarÂ
the way iâm drinking you down by BlackBat09Â
In Dreams by kleine_asterÂ
Limits by FudgyokraÂ
lover boys on a pin prick cushion by kuro49Â
Strange That in my Remoteness I by MelAncrathÂ
Letâs make it personal. by TalravenÂ
The âOnly in Fictionâ Award:Â
Anything is Better Than Nothing by BeeWitchingNights (beewitch)Â
Buffer by sirensevenÂ
Want - Take - Have by daemoninwhiteÂ
An Active Imagination by withthekeyiskingÂ
Love Potion No. 69 by scandalsavageÂ
Good Boy by IrishgrlnextdoorÂ
Diplomatic immunity by BearlyWritingÂ
Smile for the Camera by scandalsavageÂ
Collared by WeirdAlterEgoÂ
Tip Me by Kei_LSÂ
Caught by AssassinateMeÂ
Framed by meaninglessblahÂ
Minimum Wage by Kei_LSÂ
i will be your father figure (put your tiny hand in mine) by xavierurbanÂ
The Big Bad Wolf by scandalsavage Â
The remaining categories are still open and accepting nominations via the Form.Â
View the DC Dark Week Tumblr | Twitter | AO3 CollectionÂ
time skip!Iwaizumi Hajime x afab!reader | 18+ content | 1,137 words | established relationship, kinda rough sex, kind of hand fetish i guess, very mild choking. Iwaizumi finally understands your obsession with his hands.
Iwaizumi Hajime never had the largest frame in his social circle and he was well aware of that. Yeah, he was muscular with broad shoulders and it wasnât like he was short either, but there was always someone taller or broader than him. What he did have though, was the largest and prettiest hands that youâd ever seen; something that youâd never neglected to remind him. Truth be told, the âbigâ part was the thing youâd told him most often, but he knew you found the pretty as well.
He never really understood your obsession with his hands though. They were just hands after all. Of course, without them he wouldnât be able to play volleyball, something he very much loved doing. So yes of course he liked them too. But it was clear to him that it was for very different reasons that you liked them. And to a very different extend. Youâd always make sure to tend to his hands after a game. You played with his fingers when the two of you were hanging out, relaxing. He even noticed you taking pictures once or twice, when heâd held your hand in his.
He didnât really understand it. At least not until the two of you started getting more intimate. Thatâs when he suddenly started seeing his own hands in a different light.
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yesterday you said tomorrow. @beautifulstrnger - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
