Sex with Jason has to be the most beautiful thing ever.
He’s so careful yet so harsh at the same time. Thrusting hard into you as he presses soft kisses to wherever his mouth can reach. AGHHH KILL ME.
His tip kissing your cervix with every thrust. Whimpering as he gets close to coming. Bros pull out game better be strong or you should probably be on birth control or using a condom because we just KNOW this man does not have enough self control to pull out while he’s coming. Plus why would you ever do that to him? He’s been so nice this whole time you’re fucking, he didn’t even give his full potential.
Maybe just let the poor baby moan and whimper as he comes deep in your cunt. Press a kiss to his neck as he cleans you up, because aftercare is always a must.
Come back Jason Todd, your twenty-eight children miss you 😢
Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.
Character: Frank Castle
Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.
Part of the Trailer Park AU
Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️
"First ya break the thing, then you leave it outside." Your grandma accuses as she tosses a crochet hook at you.
"Huh? Oh no. I... I'm sorry." You grab the hook off your table and stand. You go to hand it back to her and she turns away. You put it on the kitchen counter instead.
You step into your shoes but don't go out the door. What if Frank is out there? Well, he has every right to be.
You go out and find the chair gone. You stop short at the sight of a new one. With extendable legs and a cupholder attached to the side. Well... You can't go back to Grandma without a chair.
You fold it up. It's lighter than the old one. You heave it up the steps and inside.
"Um, grandma." You say.
She raises her brows and slowly looks up. She scowls.
"What's that?"
"Er, Fr--"
"Did ya ask him if he got shrapnel in his brain or something? It'd explain a lot." She snorts. "Man'd need something missing to be so dumb about you."
"Please, don't..."
"What are you good for, huh? No job, no sense. Nothing. Bringing home cherries when you know I hate them." She sneers. "Playing with goddamn garbage all day."
She stands and tosses her crochet on the other side of the sofa. She stomps over to your table and snatches the box from beneath. She sweeps the flower you're working on into it and marches to the door. You follow her as the table teeter and tips.
She hurls the box out the front door and the contents scatter over the lawn. She turns and shoves you, slamming the door behind her. "Outta my way. And don't you dare bring that trash back in my house. I'm tired of looking at it. Almost as tired as looking at you."
You retreat, stung and teary-eyed. She waddles back to the sofa and snatches up her hooks. She coughs.
"You gonna look at me or make some more coffee? I swear to God, girl, that daddy of yours had no brain to spare, did he?"
You turn and hide in the kitchen. You empty the filter and put a new one in. You sniffle as you measure out the grounds. She hates you so much and you can't even blame her for it. Just yourself. You deserve it. You're everything she says.
💜
You don't go outside for three days. You don't even try to sleep. You just live in a haze of self-pity and chores. You tidy, you cook, you swelter in the roil of your grandmother's resent.
She complains about the chair, just like everything else. Then she complains about her stitches being crooked. And the old fan being dusty. You clean it but then she rants about the mess you made. You sweep it up and she shakes her head.
You sit in the corner at the empty table. It's wobbly now. You just stare at the wall.
You should do something. Not just try. You could get a job if you weren't so pathetic. You went to interviews and they never really panned out. You never got a call or anything.
You could go help Wendy with her kids again but they're almost teens now. You see them running around most days. Doesn't seem like they need a baby sitter any more.
"What is your damn problem? Huh? Sulking like a beat dog? You fed, you got a roof over your head, and you're too old to be this lazy--"
"Please, stop. I'm sorry." You murmur.
"Stop what? Ya need to wake up, girl. Specially you goin' around with some old man who probably got half a brain. You talkin' advantage of a vet." She scoffs.
"No, I wouldn't--"
"Oh you wouldn't? Cause you being squeezing me dry for years, girly."
"Just-just-- just stop!" You throw your hands up and stand. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm me. And I'm sorry... I'm alive."
You hurl yourself across the room and race out of the trailer. You nearly fall off the next step as you sprint off into the evening. The world around you blurs as you run without looking or thinking. You stop when you smell pond water.
You sit on the soggy old bench beside the muddy pond. Toads hop along a fallen branch and bugs skim the surface. Your foot throbs and you lift it up to rest on your knee. One of the twisted pieces from your creations sticks out of your heel.
You wiggle it and grunt. You pull it out with a cry and examine it. You throw it into the water and sob.
You drop your head and hold it. You don't belong anywhere. No one wants you, not even your own family. All you want is one friend, person, who doesn't hate you.
"Sugar?" A twig snaps behind you. "Hey, sugar." Frank's voice grits through the soft breeze. "Whatcha running around in the dark for?"
"Just leave me alone." You whimper.
"Now, honey..."
"No. I'm not good. I'm useless." You snivel. "And you shouldn't waste your time."
He's quiet. He grunts. "Where'd you get that from?"
"It's true--"
"Nah, it ain't." He growls. "You been hidin' from me for three days. I know it. I should be wonderin' if you think that about me--"
"No. No. You're so nice and....I'm not." You rub your eyes. "I'm sorry I took so much. I never wanted to... Be selfish."
"Nuh uh," he brushes his knuckles down your arm. "I know that ain't you talking."
You sniffle and shrug. You let your foot down and shrink further into yourself.
"Your foot's all messed up and your out here walking in the dirt." He clucks.
"Frank. Please."
"But you're hurtin' worse inside." He comes closer. "And I know who done it. The old lady."
"She's not wrong."
"No, she is. That ain't right. You know that, don't you? You're her family and she's got you all like this? Nah, family's all you got, you know? Losin' em... Now who would throw em away for nothin'?”
“It’s not… not your… problem…” you mutter.
“Well, sugar, that’s where you’re wrong, cause anyone hurts you, that’s exactly my problem.” He snarls. “So let me go take care of that.”
He turns and you gasp. You stand and follow after him, catching his wrist. He stops and turns back to you.
“And don’t think…” he drawls and bends abruptly, scooping you up. “I’ll be letting you hurt yourself.” He stands straight, holding you easily in his arms. “You can’t be walking around on that foot.”
This was thought of because I just watched *The Devil Wears Prada 2* and because of Madonna’s song Vogue, lolz.
Anyway, I’m just thinking about, like, what if we have really fearlessly independent reader who helps design or even create different outfits, or even runs their own line of fashion.
Readers colors are also the most amazing thing ever. Different pinks and purples. Teal, turquoise, blues, greens, but makes them look fabulous on almost everyone.
Diversity for the body types too. Not just your normal, stick thin model with fair skin, but they’re all diverse enough that they don’t look so similar.
And reader would **never ever** be caught dead in a pair of sweats and a hoodie outside of the comfort of their luxury house.
And how reader came to meet one of the batboys is an even better story.
I’ve always loved the idea of reader buying one of the batboys (specifically Bruce and Dick) something with their hard earned money. Something that took them so damn long to save up for and they’re just so shocked that reader would spend so much on them while they have a pile of cash sitting in the bank.
I can just imagine a JL!reader who is very flirty towards Batman, aka the hunky Dark Knight. Think, Hal Jordan but possibly a little more tame, if that makes any sense?
See, they’re in the middle of a debrief, Batman is being all stoic and sitting in a dark corner, face unchanging, and JL!reader is just smirking at him from across the table. All smug, maybe throwing a wink in there every so often.
Maybe Bruce makes the bad decision of sitting next to JL!reader, and they just every so often touch his thigh or his shoulder. By accident, hitting their knee against his, and Bruce just takes it.
Over the comms while all the JL is on a mission, they’re just flirting with him. Telling Bruce that his form looks strong, he’s got some girth to him, etc… But Bruce doesn’t even seem to have a reaction to it.
How just and see how the Justice League finds out that their mini Hal Jordan and Dark Knight are married and have eight kids. What a scare.
I can just imagine Dick Grayson being so giggly during sex.
Imagine, he is balls deep in you. You’re gasping, moaning, trying to breathe because of how deep he is. Your legs bent in positions they’re not supposed to be in. And then Dick starts giggling to himself, not so silently.
You know he’s not laughing at you, obviously. He’s too man enough to do that. No no. That child for a man- who is balls deep in you, might I add again! Has thought himself a little joke.
Now, eventually he’ll get a grip and start moving again, after he let you breathe and catch your breath.
And of course, since he’s so nice and as an apology for sitting inside you for so long and now moving, hell cum so, so deep inside you. Whispering softly to you, groaning as he feels you tighten around him.
