Clark who’s too eager to be together with you in any shape or form that he tried to not let it affect him that you always pull away from him whenever you feel vulnerable. How you use your body and not your words to express how you feel.
Clark who’s obedient and willing to let you use him however you want, so that you can fuck the stress out of your system and feel boneless in his warm embrace as you delude yourself for just one more night that you can actually be loved the way you’ve always wanted.
Clark who chants your name like it’s the answer to every problem of his life as you ride him stupid. His hands roam everywhere, mapping out each scar, each freckle on your smooth skin as he eventually grips your hips to guide you over the edge.
Clark who feels like he’s right where he’s meant to be, with you in his arms and with the soft scent of your vanilla perfume lingering in the sheet.
Clark who feels jealousy poison him from inside as he sees another man flirt with you at the bar, get touchy with you. Clark who sees red when that stranger lays his hands on you, like you’ve always belonged to him. Clark who quickly takes you in bathroom, his teeth nipping at your neck until you’re covered in red marks that scream of his possessiveness.
Clark who is determined to make you his; you’ve always belonged with him, and it’s about time he makes you realise that too..
jason todd who comes back from the lazarus pit ‘all wrong’. a bit twisted…a bit more obsessive.
tw: stalking, 'coming back wrong' as a trope, obsessive/yandere jason todd, slight sadistic behavior, jealousy, toxicity, corruption kink, voyeurism, hints at somnophilia, nsfw (18+) content, dubcon content. read at your own risk.
MDNI. 18+ only or I will kick your shins in.
He keeps stalking you ‘accidentally’ while patrolling as Red Hood - in his previous life, he had been obsessed with you, his first friend and first love. He just wants to make sure that you’re doing okay.
You seem okay, for the most part. College and work occupy most of the time, and Jason seethes as you smile amongst the students that surround you and how your laugh sounds as pretty as windchimes when your friends distract you during a boring lecture. And how determined you are as you navigate the toils of being an intern at an esteemed company for extra credits and pay.
So this is it, huh? This is all he was to you, now that he's gone. Just a forgotten memory, while you move on with your life and do whatever the fuck you want.
Anger runs like hot lava in his veins as Jason feels jealous of how easy you have it. How he wishes you could feel what he feels, how you could've gone through what he had gone through because of Joker, because of Batman...
Maybe if you were just as damaged as him, he would not resist the selfish urge to take you all for himself...
But once you’re back in the safe confines of your shitty one-bedroom apartment, you grieve every loss you have encountered - starting with his. Crying yourself senselessly to sleep every night as you pray to god to ease your pain…praying for him to have mercy and let you have Jason back in your life.
He hadn’t anticipated that his death affected you all that much, except he was wrong. He felt guilt for underestimating how much he really meant to you - and a sense of relief over the prospect that he mattered enough for someone to mourn him.
He wishes he could hold you in his arms while you cry, leaving soft kisses on your forehead and playing with your soft hair as he murmurs soft affirmations that he’s here now. he’ll never leave you now.
But he now makes the streets of Gotham bleed red, and he has twice as many enemies now - all looking for Red Hood’s Achilles’ heel, the very thing that would make him kneel over and surrender.
Everything he has ever desired has been lost. And he’d be damned to lose you too.
So he contents himself with walking you to and fro from work, maybe occasionally accompanying you to the bar your friends hang out at - silently seething at the irrelevant men who try to make a pass at you. You bask in the glow of the yellow bar lights, shying away from any attempts at courting as you nurse your drink. Jason coos at the lovely sight, almost wishing he could praise you for being such a pretty girl, so good for him. Only for him.
With the buzz of alcohol keeping you warm against the cold night, you stumble your way back home and Jason follows you. You are quick to get out of the black mini dress that hugs your curves. Jason can feel his face flush; it feels wrong to spy on you in such inebriated state - when you have no idea who is looking in as you undress yourself and climb into your bed in nothing but the red pair of panties that make your ass look amazing.
But Jason had died, and so has his morals all those years ago. He has killed, maimed and lied to keep the streets of Gotham clean. He has very few qualms about stalking you or spying on you as long as it keeps you - poor, naive you safe from the cruelty of Gotham. The fact that you have decided to give him a show tonight is reward for his unending protection, he thinks.
Just this once, he will let himself have it.
You are quick to rub yourself through the soaked fabric and Jason groans at the wet spot that he can barely see through the moonlit window. Slowly, you slide your panties to the side and your fingers make quick work of your throbbing clit - and Jason is helpless enough to rub his half-hard dick through the fabric of his tactical pants, tempted to join you as he imagines how you'd touch him if he were there.
You are so hasty, and he mentally chastises you for rushing so fast. If he was in the room and not outside on your balcony, Jason would take his sweet time with you. He would kiss up your thighs and slowly part your legs to make space for him. He would gently kiss you between your legs as his fingers curl inside you to find that one spot that makes you cry and pull on his hair harshly - and he would keep at it until your back arches and you finally slump down on the bed - all putty and warmth under him.
And then he hears you moan his name out. Oh, you nasty girl...
You always knew how to drive him crazy.
As you rush through your quick release, and slump into your bed in slumber. Jason makes quick work of the latch and climbs into your room, careful not to make a noise. He looks at you with brimming eyes, as he softly pulls some wild strands away from your face. You look angelic, so peaceful as you sleep under the sublime light of the full moon tonight.
Jason barely resists the urge to reward you for being so good for him - thinking about how you'd react if you woke up to him eating you out, or maybe you'd wake up to the stretch of his cock opening you up slowly as he thrusts into you and finally attains the release he has denied himself earlier. Maybe you'd wake up and fight him off, despite your smaller frame...or maybe you'd moan for him, sing like the pretty bird you are and egg him on to claim you all for himself. Forever.
And then his pager beeps.
He curses under his breath, making sure that the noise did not wake you up from your drunk stupor. He kisses you goodbye as he whispers to you, 'Until next time, princess'.
And if you were awake right now, you'd have believed him.
And then he silently leaves your apartment, swearing that he'd make good on his promise some other day.
Thinking about soulmate au with SuperBat - them finding a third soulmate after they’ve finally settled into some sort of normalcy with the kids, their jobs, the JL - only for it to go astray when you walk into their lives, so human, so frail…
marriage of convenience with sgt. kyle gaz garrick and him trying to navigate being a soldier as well as your husband...the awkwardness...the soft domesticity...the yearning....the understanding...the gentleness...mhm
thinking about retired, dilf!soapghost and the young neighbour reader who occassionally babysits their kid(s) and dogs when they go out - for work, for date nights, emergencies, etc.
only for them to try staying at home as much as possible as they try their best to woo you - smitten with your kind nature and how you dote on their child(ren) and dogs, always gracing them with honeyed words and gentle touch, which makes them all the more eager to get you in their bed (and in their life).
You wake up and look outside the window, seeing the dawn rise on you as you estimate that you only have an hour until the sun shines through the beige curtains of your room. An hour before you have to get up and leave for work.
You yawn audibly, and then you turn to face your boyfriend, Simon. He’s sound asleep, which is a first, especially since he’s usually up and running - years of serving in the military ingrained in him a sense of strong discipline, something that even soft domesticity cannot break him out of. He was always up by four o’ clock(maybe out of habit, maybe because he couldn’t sleep as well as he wanted, maybe because he had a nightmare he wouldn’t burden you with) and he stayed in bed for ten minutes or more, until muscle memory forced him to leave the soft bed and take a cold shower to get himself awake. Then he’d eat a protein bar from the pack you had ordered for him the week before he was supposed to come home, and then he’d put on his running shoes (all clean and nice due to you) and he’d go for a morning run with his face covered with a black surgical mask instead of his usual balaclava or skull mask.
He’d come back around six o’ clock, all sweaty and heaving as he sits down on the rickety armchair in the living room as he catches his breath. He’d look at the clock and notice the time, slowly making his way to the kitchen to brew two cups on Earl Grey tea and he carefully pours it into the mugs with cute puppies scribbled on them (you got them for a steal from a flea market, and all he could do when he saw your shopping bags was huff in amusement with eyes twinkling as he aids you into arranging the small trinkets, utensils and potted plants around the house). He’d take out your favorite cookies to serve along with the hot beverage, plating it up on the tray like you usually did and he’d enter your room again, softly running his scarred hand through your soft hair as he’d gently ask you to wake up and share some tea with him before the day begins.
This small window of time, where you and Simon do nothing, speak nothing but let the tea and the love you have for each other warm you up was the highlight of the day for the both of you.
Then he’d send you off to work while he busies himself with all the overdue handiwork needed around the home you share with him. Fixing creaky doors, mowing the lawn, putting nails in the wall so you can hang up more paintings, hooks - anything that would make this place more homely than he ever remembers it to be. On days you didn’t have work, you would stick around him - half a dozen steps away from him as he went around the house and worked to fill in the hours before lunchtime. Sometimes you’d make him lemonade to drink in the scorching heat, and other times you’d rope him in to watch a movie with you, only to end up sleeping on his shoulder as he gently shuts off the television and whisks you off to the bedroom, holding you in his arms and letting himself have the much-needed rest his brain refuses to let him have at night.
If he wakes up before it’s evening, he’d gently urge you to grab some lunch, maybe an early dinner before curling up beside you while you read your book as you gently muss up his badly cut hair, promising to him that you’d help him fix the uneven cut he’s had to give himself while he was deployed. He hums contently, letting himself feel like he deserves this as he dozes off in the night. Like he deserves you.
Today he does none of it.
It is rare for Simon to sleep through the night uninterrupted, and even rarer for you to wake up before him. So you soak up this moment, hoping that the memory that follows it will do you justice as you try to remember the few times you got to admire your other half the way he usually gets to do with you. You count his soft eyelashes, your eyes squint as you look at his hair as the sunlight shines upon his head like a halo. Terrifying as he may be with his persona as Ghost, you were certain that this is another sign that Simon, your Simon, was nothing short of angelic. You sigh as you look at his crooked nose, broken by a very violent bar fight he had engaged into when he was young and brash and thirsting for senseless violence and blood. (He won the fight, despite his inexperience. He had told you so with a dry chuckle, and you tried not to let your amusement show through as you shook your head in disappointment)
You look at the scar that runs from his temple down to near his left earlobe, white and thin like lightning as if Zeus had struck this behemoth of a man for being mortal and still putting all the heroes of past eons to shame. You look at his lips - pink, dry, thin and scarred, and you almost let your fingertips touch them as you memorize this rare visage of your lover. But you know Simon’s tired (oh so tired), and you’d rather give up on the opportunity to admire him than interrupt him when he’s finally asleep after fighting fruitlessly to finally rest for the past three weeks.
However, your attempts at being quiet fail you anyway.
Suddenly, as if he can almost sense your awake state, his eyelids flutter and his breath picks up as he blinks awake. Brown pupils meet yours as he intently stares at you with sleep-laden eyes, his blonde eyelashes flickering whenever he tries to blink off the fatigue plaguing his weary bones. You smile at him kindly, letting your hand gently rest on his face as your fingers curl up into the blonde tufts of hair on his head. He leans into your touch, softly kissing the inside of your wrist as your fingers trail over his head, around his face.
“Good morning, Simon”, you greet him softly, and his breath hitches slightly as he looks at the love you carry in your eyes for him. At the love that drips from every word you say to him.
“Would you like me to make you some tea?”
Note - I felt like writing some domestic fluff with our beloved Lieutenant right after watching Barbie, so here we are. Hope you enjoy.
