#Skylight Dinner | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ratatouillewastakendammit · 5 months

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Could you possibly do head canons or a fanfic of Ghostface! Keigo(Hawks) x reader?

You have free creative control to what would happen and stuff like that (I just think the idea would be interesting) but you don’t have to do it if your not comfortable.

(Also I love your work)

Thank you so much!! (I"M BACK BITCHES FR THIS TIME! Also this is my very late Kinktober contribution because college is kicking my ass rn)

He would wait until a day you knew he wouldn’t be home.

“Kei, I promise, it’s alright."

Your boyfriend whined into the receiver. “Yeah, but we had plans tonight."

“And sitting in front of the tv with a bowl of candy and some Jordan Peele movies tomorrow night will be just as lovely.” You reply. “Besides, you gotta protect us from all the toilet-papering teens terrorizing the city tonight.”

“Hardy-har. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Love you.”

“I love you back.”

Preferably at a time when your other emotions were likely to overwhelm any idea of his plans.

Setting the phone down, you allowed your body to slouch into a sigh, one final act of disappointment that you didn’t want your boyfriend to see.

While one could argue that you were technically used to his fluctuating schedule, it still didn’t make it any less disheartening when he was called in last minute on holidays. Of course, you didn’t let him know that.

Then he'd play with you just a bit, letting your sense of anxiety spike just the slightest by leaving the overhead skylight ajar.

Had he really left it open?

“Dumbass,” you muttered with a grin, quickly standing up to grab a ladder.

A chill rattled through your spine as you climbed, fall wind blowing through your hair and poking goosebumps in your skin as you pulled the window closed, making sure to lock it before wandering into the kitchen for an after-dinner snack.

A bowl of cereal was always an easy solution, especially when it was accompanied by a spooky flick and a comfortable bar seat at the counter.

Your phone would ring at exactly midnight, a voice he knew you'd find familiar, yet still unable to place, would answer.

Unknown Number.

"Hello?"

"Hey there," the voice was masculine and deep, like the sound had been covered with a sheet of gravel before being released.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"Oh, come on, don't you recognize me?"

"Uh, no. I think you might have the wrong number."

"No, I don't." Silence followed for a few moments, just enough for a touch of unease to stir in your gut. "What's your favorite scary movie?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You gotta have a favorite. I know you like them."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because you're watching one right now."

He also knew how well you liked horror films, how easily you would recognize the reference and think of the surprise call as a prank. Then he'd make sure to get your heart beating once more.

"I also know your boyfriend left the window open on his way out. That's dangerous, dontcha think? Leaving a pretty thing like you all alone with the door locked?"

"What do you want?" Fear shook your vocal cords, the question coming out in a ridiculously less forceful manner than you would've liked.

"You."

Being the over-protective boyfriend he was, you had been taught how to react to a situation like this beforehand. That just meant he had to move quickly, sliding a hand over your mouth to smother a scream and prying the phone from your fingers before you could even think of calling for help.

"Calm down, sweetheart." The masked figure tossed the voice changer away, black fabric tickling the rim of your ear. "I've got ya."

Keigo was thoughtful. He'd give you a moment of realization, and another to stop struggling, before forcefully turning you around and lifting you on top of the counter, one hand encasing both of your wrists and the other toying with the end of your sleep-shorts.

Eyes widening in shook, you took in the white mask in front of you. Lifeless black eyes and a horrifyingly exaggerated mouth, one that left the expression into one of pure terror for eternity. The dark fabric surrounding it just exaggerated that pristine look, one of perfectly untouched cartilage.

Still, despite its velvety presence, you recognized the hands poking out from the robe. Bronze skin kissed by years in the sun, interrupted by the lines of scars that you had spent countless nights running your fingers over.

The hands were warm, just as they always were, as they slid over your thighs, forcing them open before sliding underneath the bottom hem of your pajamas.

He would watch you try not to moan as he brushed his thumb over your clit, caressing gentle circles over it before pushing a finger inside. The soft whimper he earned made his cock jump.

"That's right, gorgeous." The masked figure slid another digit in, undoubtedly smirking as he felt you clench around him.

"I wanna hear you scream."

#bnha #bnha imagines #hawks x reader #mha smut #mha #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #kinktober 2023 #ghostface #hawks bnha #hawks smut #bnha hawks #mha x reader #bhna smut

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fiction-quotes · 8 months

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M. Todgers's Commercial Boarding House was a house of that sort which is likely to be dark at any time; but that morning it was especially dark. There was an odd smell in the passage, as if the concentrated essence of all the dinners that had been cooked in the kitchen since the house was built, lingered at the top of the kitchen stairs to that hour, and, like the Black Friar in Don Juan, 'wouldn't be driven away.' In particular, there was a sensation of cabbage; as if all the greens that had ever been boiled there, were evergreens, and flourished in immortal strength. The parlour was wainscoted, and communicated to strangers a magnetic and instinctive consciousness of rats and mice. The staircase was very gloomy and very broad, with balustrades so thick and heavy that they would have served for a bridge. In a sombre corner on the first landing, stood a gruff old giant of a clock, with a preposterous coronet of three brass balls on his head; whom few had ever seen – none ever looked in the face – and who seemed to continue his heavy tick for no other reason than to warn heedless people from running into him accidentally. It had not been papered or painted, hadn't Todgers's, within the memory of man. It was very black, begrimed, and mouldy. And, at the top of the staircase, was an old, disjoined, rickety, ill-favoured skylight, patched and mended in all kinds of ways, which looked distrustfully down at everything that passed below, and covered Todgers's up as if it were a sort of human cucumber-frame, and only people of a peculiar growth were reared there.

— Martin Chuzzlewit (Charles Dickens)

#book quotes #charles dickens #martin chuzzlewit #britain #england #london #architecture #lodging #boarding houses #kitchens #cooking #senses #smell #vermin #rodents #rats #dirtiness

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random-imagines-blog · 8 months

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Imagine being a thief in Atlantis, and letting Arthur Curry catch you so you can steal a kiss.

“Arthur,” You say with a smile as you’re leaned up against the display case for a treasure that you had recently stolen. Well, stolen is an intense word. Taken it so that it could be returned to the people that it really belongs to, is the better word for it.

The handsome superhero had strolled inside, his eyes settling on me before you even spoke. You knew that he was coming - as slow as he was. The stolen item was already stashed off of your person and you’d been waiting around, counting ticks from the clock, and checking twitter on your phone.

“... Thief,” He says, since he doesn’t know your name, doesn’t know your identity. You’re not prolific enough to have one like Selina Kyle does. “What have you taken now?”

“Does it look like I can fit much in this suit?” You ask, doing a little spin for him. “Maybe I’m just here to learn a little culture.”

“I don’t find that very likely,” Arthur said with a chuckle. “You’re usually gone by the time one of us gets here, what’s the deal today? Feeling lonely?”

“Something like that,” You said. “I thought I’d come to steal something else today...” You walk in closer to him, knowing that he could grab you at any time, use his strength to turn you into the authorities. You’re close enough to where no matter how fast you were, you wouldn’t be able to get away from his reach. Keeping it risky.

“I don’t keep my wallet on me when I’m working, sorry,” Arthur said, surprising you with a broad smile. Oh, he had my sense of humor. I liked that.

“I was thinking something a little less tangible...” You said, your lips pouting. Your mask only hid three quarters of your face to protect your identity, but your mouth was very much exposed. Arthur was about to ask what you were thinking when you decided to steal it just then and there. It’s not really thieving if its just given to you, and charity is not your expertise. What you stole was a kiss from his plump lips. And he didn’t seem to mind. He was surprised but then he returned it, walking you up against the wall so that you had no place to escape from, your tongues in a frenzy. No, you don’t think he minded at all.

However, it did kind of sound like the police minded, since you could hear their sirens. You ended the kiss with a pop, and lightly patted his cheek. “That’s my cue. Let’s do this again sometime. Maybe you can buy dinner first,” You grinned, rolled between his legs before he could comprehend what was happening and was out of there. Once you was back onto the rooftop, you looked through the skylight to see him staring up at me with a grumpy expression. You blew him a kiss, and then set on your way home, hiding in the shadows. Oh, what a man. He doesn’t seem the type to kiss and tell so you should be in the clear.

Requested by: Anonymous

#Arthur Curry #Arthur Curry x reader #Arthur Curry imagines #Aquaman #Aquaman imagines #DC #DC imagines #Aquaman x reader #imagines #request #arthurc

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lurkinglurkerwholurks · 5 months

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Satisfaction

Summary:

Selina had not been a little girl who dreamed of white dresses. The marriage of Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne, from Selina's POV. For @audreycritter and @frownyalfred

Selina had not been a little girl who dreamed of white dresses. She had not filled her idle musings with bouquets of flowers and tiny cakes. Her interest in diamonds had always been professional, not personal, waxing and waning in sync with whatever artificial value the De Beers were enforcing in the moment. A wedding had never been on her list of goals, a marriage even less so. She had craved luxury, security, independence, autonomy. Nothing she had seen as a child, watching forgotten in a corner, nor as an adult, peering through the windows of strangers, had indicated that marriage could be anything more than a gilded cage at best, an end to all she guarded fiercely at worst.

And yet here she was.

Selina had been determined to be present and fully engaged in the consequences of her decision. She had made this choice, herself, fully and of her own free will, and yet the muscle memory of her soul twitched, threatening flight at the first suggestion of a trap. If she detached herself, she risked reacting instinctively, spirit engaging in the gaps where the will faltered. So she had cataloged each moment, each sensation, carefully, a discreet notation in her mental dossier, a bespoke placard hung alongside the framed piece—the feel of her dress being zipped into place, velvet and lace pressed to skin; the clouded smell of the roses in the bower over her head, their blossoms full and heavy; the whirr of insects beneath the stringed quartet that beckoned her down the aisle.

It still felt like a dream. Selina felt herself doubled, reverberant in mind and body. She was present, present, present, and yet outside herself, forever echoing outward with a ringing ripple of awe. She smiled at all the right moments, true and real, and noted the faces that reflected their joy back from the seats on the lawn. She marveled at herself from afar. She spoke her vows, repeating solemn phrases of partnership, devotion, binding loyalty, and meant them even as her insides quivered. She heard them as if from someone else’s lips.

She was getting married.

She was married.

Selina Renée Kyle, the Wayne silent but wrapped around her heart like silk, a band on her left hand and a kiss pressed to her lips. Married.

Bruce, as always, was her bolt, her fixed point as she swung through space. He had taken her hand in his at the altar and kept it through the ceremony, the vows, the walk back down the aisle, and the final round of photos that followed, letting go only briefly to sign the license. The prolonged touch might have felt restrictive, but instead it felt like the final check on her lines before rappelling through a skylight, that superstitious tug and the feedback of an anchor point that would not fail. He held her aloft.

Their rehearsal dinner had been small, intimate, restricted to the cherished few that knew who was truly getting married the following evening. Bruce, to Selina’s surprise, had chafed against the wedding pageantry his status demanded and had made a bid for the ceremony to mirror the dinner, held before no more than a handful of witnesses.

“You and me,” he had said, words breathed into the side of her neck. “The kids. Alfred. That’s all we need.”

Selina knew better.

Read the full fic on AO3

#batfic #my fic #fanfic #batcat #selina kyle #bruce wayne #batfam #my first and probably only ship fic #(tbh I don't have a DC fic but I do have Opinions on allowing Bruce Wayne to love and be loved dagnabit)

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arobinwithoutbatman · 6 months

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My muse was unexpectedly kidnapped, and was never able to be found. A year later, your muse comes across an old abandoned building, and finds my muse tied up, wounded, and barely alive. What is your muse's reaction?

@dramatisperscnae

Tim missed Gotham. His Dad Jack. Call him Jack. That monster isn't his Dad anymore had sort of... snapped a while back how long has it been now? Time isn't real anymore and pulled Tim out of school, sold their town house in Bristol and just. Left. He was fairly sure they left the State but he wasn't sure where they ended up. Tim wasn't allowed to know. He spent the entire ride asleep against his will. His room had a skylight so he could see the sky and get vitamin D from the sun but it didn't open and Tim couldn't reach it. He had a couple of windows too but they were high up on the wall, too high for him to reach and only showed him sky and the very tops of what could either be trees or hills. He definitely wasn't in a city, he could say that much.

His door was locked, as always. Dad Jack kept the key somewhere; upstairs in the main house probably or on his person. Tim was pretty sure he'd been up there? For meeting the neighbours and other guests? Maybe? It was hard to say. He was in a constant haze of drowsiness these days, it slowed his mind down in a way he despised because it meant he couldn't form a plan of escape, couldn't keep track of what he was seeing or even what day it was. The only method of time keeping he had was the passing sunlight and Dad Jack! He's not Dad anymore! The more I call him Dad, the closer I am to giving in entirely! stopping by with his food. His empty dinner tray was on his desk.

His room wasn't empty, far from it. Plenty of room to move around and stretch, build legos on his carpeted floor, a big comfy bed, a big fancy desk for studying and doing his online classes. Heavily monitored of course. If he even started typing anything that wasn't approved, Jack would knock him out. Sleeping gas usually. Mostly to avoid drugging him more than he already was. Tim had tried figuring out which of his various medications was responsible; he didn't wasn't allowed to leave his prison room so took various vitamins and other things to make sure he was getting the nutrients he needed. Which wasn't enough because Tim had long since lost the muscle tone of being Robin. Which sucked because he'd been pretty proud of that.

Tim shifted on his bed, the oranges and pinks he could see through his skylight told him it was sunset. May as well get comfy. He didn't exactly have anything else to do. He rolled onto his side, the cuff and long chain around his ankle didn't bother him anymore. It was long enough to allow him to comfortably move around in his sleep and walk freely around his room. Couldn't quite reach his door though.

Hazy ice blue eyes blinked slowly as he took in the figure before him.

"Oh. This hallucination again. Or lucid dream? I can't tell the difference anymore. I'd say your name out loud but I'm pretty sure my Dad is listening and I don't feel like losing more time as punishment for not agreeing with him. Not so soon after last time." He yawned. "What are we talking about tonight?"

#dramatisperscnae #ic #Tim Drake The Boy #v: nebulous future #thread: lost little robin fly away home #f: acrobat #tw: drugging #tw: kidnapping #tw: imprisonment #((i am so sorry for what dick is about to see))

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worrywrite · 1 year

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I'm still trying to wrap my mind around Men at Arms.

It's a fantastic book, but it is also so different from Guards! Guards! in tone. And maybe that's where the key is. It's not that the villain of the story is perhaps one of the most proficient killers in all of Discworld (all two and a half of them... D'Eath, Cruces, and The Gonne) and their goal is to actually kill. It's not even that the crimes that the watch are investigating are murder, because even though paid assassinations are legal death and murder are part of the setting. Death is literally a character here, though much more briefly than G!G!. Frankly, I don't even think it's because of the racial allegories.

The tone in Men at Arms is different because the first one to die is a clown. Because Pratchett literally killed the joke (the entire thing and all of its subsets). There's nothing funny about a clown funeral, the dogs are the biggest allegory for racial issues, a gun really is evil, Cuddy literally draws the short straw. It's all literal. Everything is extremely literal. For once, Ankh Morpork isn't a joke. For once, the city feels like a city. And it's the book where Carrot, the most literal character there is, becomes a man (literally and in every sense) and takes his mantle of leadership.

Everything in Men at Arms is literal. Because the villain killed the joke to death and it was the shining moment for Carrot to step up.

There's also an extensive running bit that even the silly construction of the silly, courtesy of Bloody Stupid Johnson, is actually stupid. Within the narrative itself, the book is calling itself out. It is saying that this absurd veneer that we have found ourselves on is just that. This city was built on itself, on its own bones, on the the bones of empires--fueled with the blood of many. The architecture beneath Johnson's flawed works, the aqueducts and sewer systems below the city, are vast and strong and powerful--maybe even beautiful. But they're dangerous. The past is incredibly dangerous. Even Carrot, whose potential is very much rooted in the past of the city, is dangerous. His victory is not one I expected in the moment it came. The line about how you must hope that whoever is looking at you from the other end of their weapon is an evil man... Was harsh and true and honestly a little frightening for a story which also contains a scene where a sentient rock man chucks a dwarf through the skylight of Schrodinger's pork warehouse to save both of their lives.

Perhaps this puts the rest of the book in context as well. Especially the things that made me cringe when I read them. Like everything about Coalface, Angua being included in the story because she was a woman and every book needs at least one (preferably one that can leap over a building or deadlift a draft horse), the high school clique-ificarion of all the guilds, Vimes talkin to the nobles after dinner and almost letting himself believe he could be like that (even though he ends up laying into them with some excellent biting sarcasm), Vetinari not being in control and not realizing it. It's all very real, but real like a real serial killer in real life and not a crime drama. Maybe even real like a normal guy in a costume with their mask off.

Maybe not.

It's not a perfect book (which bites, because G!G! was nearly there), but it remains a very intentional book. I feel like less people have read it than G!G!, and I can see why. It's messier, it's not as funny, there's a lot more allegory and it's a lot more blunt.

But it's still extremely topical (sadly). I retain my opinion that it may be one of the most important books I've ever read. And I'm beginning to understand, finally, why.

#gnu terry pratchett #Discworld #terry pratchett #city watch #guards guards #men at arms #literary analysis #short essay i guess

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ereardon · 1 year

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That Summer || Part Four [Bradley Bradshaw x Reader]

A Bradley Bradshaw AU

Summary: One night during the summer you turned eighteen, you woke up to a surprise. Your father, a retired Navy Admiral, had posted bail for the son of a former colleague who was now orphaned and had gotten himself mixed up with the law. Instead of letting him get lost in the judicial system, your father signed himself up as Bradley Bradshaw’s guardian to prevent him from going to juvie. You were explicitly told to stay away from the boy in the attic room. But as the summer went on, you and Bradley struck up an unlikely friendship that turned into a forbidden relationship. Bradley tipped your world upside down, challenging everything you had once thought you knew. How could the two of you think it would end any differently than it did when your father called the cops the night he found the two of you in bed together?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, angst, smut

Wordcount: 3.6K

Series masterlist here; Part Three here; Part Five here

You craved Bradley.

You craved his lips on yours, his hot skin pressed against you.

He had stopped it that night in the ocean, under the glowing moon.

“I can’t afford to play games here, Birdy,” he whispered, his hands still warm on your waist as he held you cradled against him in the chest-deep water.

You shook your head. “It’s not a game, Bradley,” you murmured. “You’re not a game to me. You’re not some prize that I’m chasing. All I know is that I want you.”

And then his lips were back on yours, his hands flat against your back beneath the water, your fingers tugging his hair, your moans filling his mouth until the two of you broke apart, panting.

You slid your legs from where they were wrapped around his waist, coming to standing. “We should go inside,” you whispered. “I don’t want to get caught.”

The air was thick, cloying, with heat as the two of you trudged out of the water, walking quietly around the side of the house, up the wooden stairs, slipping through the side door. You held your breath as the two of you climbed two flights of stairs to the third floor, lingering outside of your room.

You nudged the door open. “Do you want to come in?” you whispered.

Bradley stood in the doorway, looking around. He had never been in your room before. It was light and spacious, with skylights that let the milky moonlight pour in and a king canopy bed against one wall draped luxuriously with gauzy white fabric.

He shook his head. Your heart dropped in your chest.

“I should shower,” he said, motioning toward the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“OK.”

He smiled, turning to go, and you reached out, circling his wrist with your fingertips. “Bradley?” He looked at you. “Meet me here tomorrow,” you whispered. “My room. Midnight.”

He leaned forward, pressing his lips softly to yours, and you could no longer remember a time when Bradley wasn’t part of your existence. “See you tomorrow, Birdy.”

***

You were anxious. After dinner you excused yourself, going upstairs, taking a long shower, shaving your legs, picking out a tiny pajama set: a pale pink cami with matching boyshorts, forgoing a bra. You brushed your hair and left it down.

And then you waited.

And waited. And waited. And waited. Time was a bitch. She knew that she had something you wanted. No, not wanted — needed. And she was slowing down, just to keep you from that one thing.

Finally, your door creaked open. You looked up eagerly from where you lay on top of the covers. Bradley poked his head inside and you waved him in. He shut the door softly, walking into the center of the room tentatively. He looked forward, out the big bay windows that looked out over the ocean.

“Hi,” you whispered softly.

He turned, a smile on his face. “Hi.”

You patted the bed and he made his way over, sitting down softly. You sat up, crossing your legs, looking at him. He looked uncomfortable. Panic rose in your throat, along with regret. Maybe he was late because he didn’t want what had happened the night before to happen again.

Maybe he had only kissed you back because you were technically his host family for the summer. Maybe he didn’t want you at all.

“Bradley?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you, um, I mean, have you ever dated anyone before?”

He blushed. There was something so endearing about watching him blush, his round cheeks perfectly pink. “Not really,” he said softly.

You leaned forward until your knee was touching his thigh. “Really? No one?”

He smiled shyly. “I’ve been with girls,” he said. “I just have never had a girlfriend.”

You brushed one hand against his thigh. “So last night.”

He turned to you. “I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said quietly. “But we have to be careful, Y/N. I know this might not seem like a big deal to you, but it’s a really big deal to me.” Bradley’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “I can’t fuck this up, Birdy. This is my only shot.”

You reached up, cupping his chin in your hand, turning his eyes up toward yours. “I know this is serious,” you whispered. “I want to help you. I’ll do anything I can. I am not going to let you get lost in the shuffle.”

Bradley’s warm brown eyes never left yours as he shifted to face you, your hand running from his jaw down to his neck until the two of you were sitting face-to-face and you leaned in, pressing your lips back to his, letting his hands grab your waist, fingers burning on the open slice of skin between your tank top and your shorts. Your tongue slipped between Bradley’s teeth, padding him gently. Every second, every breath, every touch made you feel like you were on fire, burning from the inside out.

His hands slid up the back of your tank top, skimming bare skin, forcing goosebumps to rise on your legs and arms as your tongue swirled in his mouth.

As you were lifting your hips, about to climb onto his lap, Bradley pulled away, his fingers still in your shirt, bunching it up so it ended just under your breasts. “Wait,” he whispered hoarsely. “We should take this slow.”

“Why?” You wanted him everywhere, anywhere, all at once.

“I like you,” Bradley said softly. “I just, I don’t want to ruin this.”

You wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t ruin things. That there was no way you could get sick of him. He was already intoxicating.

Maybe that’s what he was concerned about. That the two of you would burn out so quick, a fireworks show at the end of a wedding, that he would be left to rot after.

You nodded. “OK,” you whispered. “We can take it slow.”

Bradley scooted onto the bed so the two of you were laying side by side. You easily nestled into his side, head in the crook between his arm and chest, your fingers splayed out on the cotton of his shirt, one leg slung over his. His hand softly stroked your side, pulling you in tighter. You whimpered softly as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Stop that,” he muttered.

You looked up innocently. “Stop what?”

He looked down at you with a small grin. “Moaning like that.”

You giggled. “Seriously?”

Bradley nodded. He was dead serious. You couldn’t help but sneak a peek at his pajama shorts, and sure enough, he was right.

You turned your gaze back up at him. He was pink with embarrassment. Your fingers brushed back his hair from his eyes softly. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours softly. “I want you, Birdy. I mean it when I say that.”

“I’m already yours,” you whispered.

It was true. You belonged to Bradley. There would never be a moment in your life, after that night, where you didn’t belong to him.

Even after it all went up in flames.

***

“Ms. Sullivan.”

You stepped out onto the dance floor. There were five middle aged women wearing various levels of frowns staring back at you from behind a tablecloth-draped table that sat on the edge of the wooden floor. You gave them the best fake smile you could muster.

“Please tell us about your plans for once summer is complete.”

You sucked in a breath. The dress your mother had chosen for the interview portion of the debutant program was constrictive. A tight bodice. A puffy skirt, a pair of new strappy heels that had apparently ordered a hit on your pinky toe because it was getting murdered the longer you stood upright. “I will be attending Stanford in the fall.”

“And what is your intended major?”

“Biochemistry.”

A round of nods. “And your plans for after graduation?”

“Medical school.”

Ten eyes stared back at you. “And what discipline are you interested in?”

“Obstetrics,” you replied. “Fetal surgery.”

The frowns deepened. “And why surgery? Why medicine?”

You knew what they wanted to hear. You also knew why they were asking. It may have been 2023, but this deep in Texas, a not-so-small collection of society still expected women to be wives. Mothers. Socialites. You had grown up knowing that when the time came, you could go one of two ways.

You could go out, go to school, get a job. Maybe find a man, build a home, get married, have babies.

Or you could do what your mother did. Find a man. Spend your life serving him, implicitly and explicitly. Raise a family. Join a club, join five of them. Join a board of trustees. Make a living out of telling people how long their grass could be before they cut it. Organize cocktail parties.

“Ms. Sullivan?” The woman in the purple blouse at the end squinted at you. Suddenly, despite the air conditioning and the sleeveless dress, you felt sweat prickle your underarms.

You nodded. “I want to save people,” you said softly. “I want to save babies so they can grow up and become people. So they get the chance to.”

The row of heads bobbed in agreement. You smiled. You had passed.

As you exited the room, your fingers were already on the back of your dress, yanking the ties apart, letting air back into your lungs.

You stepped outside into the glaring sun. Let the heat start to melt your makeup off, make your hair frizz, forcing sweat to pool at your chest.

You let it. It felt like punishment.

***

Bradley had been staying at a friend’s house until the parents got in a fight and decided on a divorce, forcing his friend to move between houses and pushing Bradley out.

“I’m fucking sorry man,” Landon said, shaking his head. “I really am.”

“It’s alright,” Bradley replied, shrugging. “Couldn’t last forever, right?”

“So, uh, where are you gonna go?”

“Texas.”

Landon squinted. “Texas? Why the fuck would you go to Texas?”

Bradley pulled out his wallet, gently easing out a wrinkled photograph, unfolding it and holding it out. “Before she died, my mom gave me this. Said if I’m really in trouble, go find them. That they would help me.”

“Who are they?” Landon examined the picture. He recognized Carole and Goose instantly. Even baby Bradley was pretty obvious. But the other couple and the second baby were a mystery.

“Friends of my parents,” he said. “From Top Gun.”

Landon frowned. “But they’re in Texas?”

Bradley nodded. “Guess they moved a few years ago.”

“Why them?” he asked.

Bradley took the photo back, folding it up and carefully replacing it in his wallet. “I guess he dated my mom a long time ago. He’s technically my godfather.”

***

“Be my date,” you whispered softly.

Bradley’s fingers were dancing along your side, slipping softly under the band of your sleep shorts, causing your breath to catch in your throat. “What?” he asked.

You rolled over so the two of you were face-to-face. “Be my date to the debutante ball.”

“Birdy,” he murmured. “That’s never gonna happen.”

“Why not?” You pushed yourself up onto one elbow. “I need an escort. Be my escort.”

“Baby, you know why not,” he replied softly. “I’m not part of this world. I’m just some guy who lives in your house and eats your food. I’m not escort material. I’ll never be the kind of guy your parents approve of.”

You ran your fingers down his cheek. “I don’t want to go with anyone but you.”

“I’ll be here when you get back,” he promised. “How does that sound?”

You shook your head. “Not great. So you’re OK with some other guy holding me here.” You moved his hand until it was on your waist. “Dancing with me? Pressing himself against me?”

Bradley growled softly. “Birdy,” he whispered. “Don’t make me jealous.”

“I’m just trying to explain why I want you there.”

“Baby,” he said softly. “If you want me there, I’ll be there. But it’s not up to me. And I don’t think it’s up to you, either.”

“I’ll figure it out,” you replied. “Leave it with me.”

Bradley smiled at you softly. You ran your hand down his chest before your fingers met the top of his boxers. He sucked in a breath as you looked up at him.

“Brad?” you asked softly. “Can I touch you?”

He nodded anxiously.

You took a deep breath, sliding your hand over the front of his boxers, palming him gently. He cock twitched, hardening under your touch, and you let out a contented sigh. God, he was massive. Your fingers rubbed over his length beneath his boxers before you reached up, pulling down the waistband. Bradley shifted so you were able to pull his boxers off entirely, his hard cock already dripping with precum.

You sat up, cross legged, as Bradley sat with his back against the headboard and a mountain of fluffy white pillows. Slowly, you reached out, running your fingers over his length. Bradley let out a small whine, tipping his head back with his eyes closed as your hand closed around his shaft, thumb dragging the silken precum from his tip around the head of his cock as you wrapped your fingers around him tightly, sliding your fist from the base to the tip of his cock as he groaned beneath you.

His cock was hard, almost pulsating, and you took your time dragging your fingers over his length. After a moment, you leaned forward, dribbling a pool of spit onto his tip, spreading it down over his cock with one quick movement. “Shit!” he groaned, unintentionally thrusting his hips up, seeking more friction.

You kissed his cheek softly, still moving your hand along his cock. “I have you,” you whispered. “Gonna make you feel good.”

The moonlight dripped through the skylights. You watched Bradley’s face. He was beautiful. You wanted him, all of him. You had never felt that kind of lust or need for someone before.

You could feel him getting close. His cock was hard and hot in your hand and you rotated your wrist slightly in a small twisting pattern, causing Bradley to jerk his hips.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I’m close.”

You shifted near him as Bradley’s free hand moved from where it had been sitting hot on your thigh to your breast, squeezing you over the thin cotton fabric. You moaned at the unexpected contact, and that alone drove Bradley overboard, a gasp leaving his mouth as you felt his hot cum spill over your fist, onto his stomach and all over your hand, a breathy moan on his lips as you worked him through the waves of the orgasm, his fingers gripping your breast tightly.

Bradley’s eyes found yours. “Jesus,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, I just–”

You shook your head, letting him go softly, leaning forward and kissing his lips. “I loved it.”

“Seriously?”

You nodded, unfurling your legs, standing up. “Let me get a towel.” A second later, you returned with a warm wet cloth, handing it to Bradley who cleaned himself up before pulling his boxers back on and leaning back with a sigh. You dropped the cloth back in the bathroom, settling back into Bradley’s side.

He tugged you into his arms, his lips on yours before trailing down your neck, his hands hot on your back as he held you close. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured.

“I wanted to.” Your fingers pressed against his neck, one of his thighs slotted between yours as you laid partly on top of him. You could feel how wet you were, the heat emanating from between your legs and when Bradley shifted slightly you groaned into his throat. “Fuck,” you whispered.

He pulled back with a grin. “God, you’re sensitive, aren’t you?”

You whined slightly as Bradley let his palm skim over your breast before his fingers touched the bare skin of your stomach, crawling up beneath your tank top until he had your entire breast in his large hand. Two fingers pinched your nipple softly and you let your head lull back in a moan. Bradley flipped you over until you were beneath him, his hand massaging your breast, hard, as you shook beneath him.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yes.”

He leaned down, attaching his lips to your neck as his hand left your breast, heading south, smoothing over your hip down to your thigh. Bradley reached around, squeezing your ass, and you moaned into his mouth, shifting your hips higher, searching for friction.

“Please,” you whined, desperate for him.

Bradley laughed a throaty chuckle against your forehead, kissing you softly as his fingers tracing over your hip bone before his palm pressed, hard, against the triangle between your thighs, his fingers dipping down between your legs, sliding between the slit, still on top of your tiny shorts.

You moaned as he pressed his fingers deeper into your slit, the fabric now entirely soaked through by your excitement.

“You like that?” he whispered, his breath hot on your skin. You couldn’t help but nod wordlessly as he lifted his hand. Just as you went to argue at the loss of contact, he slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, his thick fingers stroking your soaking folds for the first time and you burrowed your face into his neck to muffle the sobs.

You rocked against his palm as he slid one finger in your drenched cunt, the feeling of being filled by him unlike anything you had ever experienced.

“God, you feel so good,” Bradley murmured as he sank another finger inside of you, thrusting up gently, curling at the top. You gripped his shirt with a tight fist, your chest heaving as a coil started to build in your abdomen as Bradley’s palm rubbed against your swollen clit.

Bradley shifted his hand so his large thumb came in contact with your sensitive clit and you felt yourself tightening around his fingers. He groaned under his breath as you started to shake, a loud, whining moan leaving your mouth as you came all over his fingers.

He slowly pulled his fingers out from inside of you and you were almost embarrassed to look at him. Bradley sat up, brushing his clean hand over your cheek, tipping your face toward his. “Birdy?”

You looked up at him, face pink with exertion.

“That was amazing,” he murmured. “Did you, did you like it?”

You sat up, tossing your arms around his neck. “It was perfect. You’re perfect.”

Later, once both of you had cleaned up, you laid back in your bed, sliding down below the comforter. Bradley stood next to the bed, the moonlight illuminating him from behind, like an angel. “I should go,” he whispered. It was almost four o’clock in the morning.

“Stay,” you begged. The bed felt empty without him.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours softly. A whisper. “I can’t get caught, remember?” he asked. You nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning, OK”

“Goodnight, Bradley,” you murmured.

Bradley walked to the door, turning back with a smile. “Goodnight, Birdy.”

You listened to him leave, the soft seal of the door as it closed, his footsteps that grew fainter as he made his way up the tower stairs. As you leaned back, you closed your eyes.

Seventy one days. That’s all you had left.

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turbotaxevasion · 12 days

Text

400 Word DC Drabble

Nightwing and Robin respond to an SOS for a college party turned hostage situation. Turns out, they didn't even need to show up.

Inspired by this post from @thebirdsandthebats ! Thank you for the idea, I hope I did it justice :)

Nightwing stood over the skylight, looking down at the situation below. There had been a normal college party going on that Tim had told him about, but things quickly went sour. A low-rank villain – some new guy Nightwing couldn’t bother remembering the name of – had attacked the party, taking most of the kids inside hostage. There weren’t many of them left. Most had escaped when the villain first attacked. Those who hadn’t were backed into a corner, huddled together as the D-lister hemmed and hawed about … something. Nightwing couldn’t really make out the words.

Robin stood next to him with his arms crossed. He frowned down at the new villain, sneering as he waved a gun around.

“He really does not have awareness, does he?”

Nightwing knew the question was rhetorical, a dig at the guy in the mask. Still, he said, “Apparently not. Shall we?”

Before they could break through the skylight, shattering the glass and making a grand entrance, one of the students broke away from the pack. Something about him seemed familiar. The villain had his back turned, so he didn’t see the guy pick up a folding chair. He also didn’t see the blonde guy take a full swing at the back of his head. The blonde guy clocked the villain over the head with the chair. A loud clang followed by the dull thump of a body hitting the floor resonated through the warehouse. Nightwing could see a noticeable dent in the chair’s frame. It was partially bent.

‘Damn,’ he thought. ‘That kid’s got a lot of anger.’

Then the student turned, and suddenly everything made sense. He was familiar because he had seen him before. He was the same guy that Tim had brought over for dinner, the same guy that Tim gushed about constantly, the same guy that collected every vigilante in Gotham to go beat up a cult of monsters and their masters just to get Robin back. The same kid – Bernard – that figured out Robin’s identity and loved him just as much as he had before the revelation. Nightwing was well aware, especially given the unhinged glint in his eyes, that Bernard had a lot of pent up anger and was angry enough to use it when the situation called for it… And sometimes when it didn’t.

‘Yeah,’ Nightwing thought. ‘We didn’t need to come. He had it under control.’

Robin stood next to him with his arms crossed. He frowned down at the new villain, sneering as he waved a gun around.

“He really does not have awareness, does he?”

Nightwing knew the question was rhetorical, a dig at the guy in the mask. Still, he said, “Apparently not. Shall we?”

‘Damn,’ he thought. ‘That kid’s got a lot of anger.’

‘Yeah,’ Nightwing thought. ‘We didn’t need to come. He had it under control.’

#i loved this idea sm that i had to write it #5 minute writing sprint #writing sprints #fanfic writing #writing #comics #dc comics #batfam #bernard dowd #dick grayson #damian wayne #nightwing #robin #dcu #dc batman #dc

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bella-goths-wife · 2 years

Text

Slashers with S/O who is slow

Micheal Myers

He loves you, he adores you, but you drive him crazy

Your very academically accomplished with your college grades always coming back shining

But you lack the ability think things through properly

That’s coming from the Michael Myers

You would annoy him with certain things like when the shampoo label said “increases volume” and you complained that you couldn’t hear shampoo so it was a stupid thing to put on the label

Michael physically face palmed at that

He doesn’t want to make you feel stupid but he grew up in an asylum and even he knows what it means

Overall he will roll his eyes at your slow mind but he doesn’t mean to be rude when he does it to you

Bo Sinclair

“Hey Bo what does fin-at-tit mean?”

“What?”

“Fin-at-tit?”

“(Y/n) that says finite”

He loves your slow mindedness

He can tease you about it all the time now

But If your genuinely frustrated with something he’ll try to calmly explain it

Key word-try

It will kinda feel like when your dad tries to help you with homework in your worst subject

The tears of frustration, the passive aggressive sighs, the trying not to yell but still yelling tone, everything

Overall just don’t go to him for help with something if he’s in a bad mood because he’ll make you stay at the table until you figure it out

Vincent Sinclair

He finds you absolutely adorable

In the most frustrating way

He loves you to the moon and back but sometimes even you can get on his nerves

He’ll 100% defend you from Bo’s mean comments but sometimes your obvious questions are too much for him

He will be a bit unknowing of what to do so when your getting on his nerves with your questions he hands you a brush, a ribbon and take his hair out of his low pony tail for you to braid in a last effort to distract you

“Vincent look at the moon”

He just nods, not having the heart to tell you that was a tortilla that Bo but on the skylight to provoke you

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas is one of the few slashers who will indulge in you slow minded behaviour

He’ll answer your questions to the best of his ability but sometimes there just impossible to answer

If you start to annoy him he’ll just calm himself down and continues to indulge you

He will defend you from his family and won’t let them insult your intelligence because he knows your smart your just not the best at communicating it with him

“Thomas do we get chocolate milk from brown cows?”

He just sighs and shakes his head

Good thing he loves you

Asa Emory

Red hot fury

Your stupid questions would make this man physically hurt

Even if your academically talented, he will always see you as lower on an intellectual scale

So he will treat you like a child

You should have seen his face when he found out you didn’t know how to tie laces

“Your gonna sit in here until you can tie these laces on these shoes ten times or no dinner”

He’s super strict with you because of your slowness

I do think he wouldn’t mask his annoyance at your questions so I think it would make you less comfortable to ask him

He does like that he can manipulate you more now though

Tiffany valentine

She would treat you like a child

Not particularly in a bad way, more in a loving way

It can feel a bit condescending at times because of how she uses pet names to sweeten the deal up

“Hey that star moved!”

“Of course it did sweet face”

She would never make you feel dumb for asking questions though

She wants to make you comfortable with talking to her

Baby firefly

She’d vibe with it honestly

You would be like dumb and dumber

“Have you ever thought about what a dog would say if it could talk”

“Wow…probably woof”

You both share one brain cell

It drives the firefly residence crazy because of how much you two do stupid things together

It also makes baby extremely hyper because now she has someone to share her nonsense thoughts with

Otis driftwood

This man has zero filters

He never minces his words, even for you

So when you ask stupid questions like

“Do I tell my mom that I’m adopted?”

He simply responds

“What the fuck? Are you dumb?”

He’s not trying to be mean he just doesn’t understand you

When your questions are too much for him, he just kisses you and distracts you with sex

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dairy-farmer · 1 month

Note

That ask about public incest being normalized has gotten me thinking: an AU where the pecking order is instinctually determined via sex. Who can mount who.

Try as he might, Tim just can’t seem to move up the ranks.

Bruce fucks him almost clinically. Mostly to reaffirm his place at the top, to remind Tim that he’s in charge when he thinks Tim is getting out of line, picking unnecessary fights with his brothers, or not obeying their “reasonable” orders. (He’s above you in rank, Timothy. If you don’t want to have to listen to him, then maybe you should mount him.) He’s thorough and deliberate, but almost impersonal about it in a way. It’s his duty as the head of the family.

Dick fucks Tim slowly and lovingly, though firmly, to remind Tim that he’s part of the family, that he belongs to them. He takes Tim whenever he catches Tim hiding an injury or not taking care of himself. To keep Tim from withdrawing. A reminder and an order. Often times it’s fun and playful, which Tim enjoys most.

Jason mounts him roughly and often. Whenever he needs to let off steam. To keep the Replacement in his place, not that he ever gives Tim time to forget it. Whenever Jason even imagines that Tim is challenging him, or thinks he’s mouthing off. If he even catches sight of Tim on his really bad days. If he’s annoyed at Bruce. He makes Tim kneel under the table at his feet every time he comes to family dinner. When he’s frustrated with a case. If he’s just plain bored. And without fail, every time Bruce takes Jason, Jason makes a beeline to Tim and bends him over and mounts him hard and fast. Sometimes he toys with Tim, letting him think he might actually win, but it always ends the same way. Tim thinks he might spend as much time under Jason as he does talking to him.

Damian takes him fast and quick, almost as aggressively as Jason. He ambushed Tim the first few times, pinning and mounting him before Tim even realized he was there. He really shot up in size during puberty, and now that he’s outgrown Tim, he’s difficult to pin in return. Damian also takes his frustration out on Tim, and likes to remind Tim of his status. Growing up in the League left him with certain expectations.

Tim has never tried challenging Cass, but luckily she doesn’t take him often, preferring to watch. Sometimes she’ll ride his face when she needs control in her life, but at least that’s a nice change from getting fucked by his brothers.

It even extends to costumes, though not as much as it’s dangerous to get too distracted.

Batman will only ever fuck his throat and has him swallow it all down (to not leave DNA evidence). He mostly leaves Red alone unless he catches him doing something stupidly risky or disobeying his orders.

Nightwing is much the same, preferring to take him in the cave where he can stretch Red out on the mats or have fun on the ropes course. Nightwing prefers keeping it light and fun when he’s in costume, and mainly leaves Red alone in the field.

Robin follows in both his mentors’ footsteps. He will not allow himself to become distracted in the field by the likes of Drake. (Only at home)

Hood, though, is a bit closer to his civilian identity than the others. He’ll hunt him down on patrol if he really wants him. He’ll happily bend him over a skylight on slow nights. If he catches Red close enough to his territory, he’s been known to actually drag him in and fuck him where his people can see. Tim says it undermines Red Robin, but Jason insists it helps keep crime down; his people seeing him mount a Bat. (Tim has run the numbers. Jason is right. Jason has no idea that’s true-he just said it so Bruce would stop bitching about him distracting Red).

(Spoiler sometimes ambushes him on slow nights too.)

Tim (and Red Robin) has never really been able to rise in the ranks. Once, Tim was seconds away from taking Damian, but Jason came by and pulled Tim off and mounted him then and there, while Damian then took his mouth. Jason thought it was funny, laughing while Damian gloated as they used Tim. Dick, with his soft spot for Damian, also helped him sometimes, especially at first. Letting Damian pin Tim right after Dick was finished with him without giving him a chance to get up, and giving Damian a thorough demonstration on how to get Tim down.

It’s not fair. Dick and Jason have both fucked each other, and he’s even caught Dick letting Damian take him on occasion (how else is he going to learn, baby bird? He needs to have more experience than just you!), but nobody ever goes easy on him. Anytime he gets close to winning someone else seems to come by and step in and then he’s suddenly under both at once.

The rest of them have a slightly more fluid pecking order, but Tim is just so fun to fuck (and fuck with). They have an unspoken agreement to step in if it ever seems like he might actually win. Everyone feels more secure knowing they will never be at the bottom, knowing that at least one person in their life has to listen to them. They all know Tim’s proper place and they will keep him there.

yessss!!!!!!!!!yesssss!! this is so good!!!! an established pecking order that is maintained and determined by who is mounted and poor tim being at the very bottom of that order because of sabotage from his family that never lets him rise up because they all find a comfort in knowing that THEY will never be at the bottom and that THEY all at least have some power and control in their lives because they know that at least, at any time of day, they can fuck tim to remind themselves of the control they have even with a control freak like bruce for a father.

i LOVE that bruce would be the most clinical about it. he does it more as procedure, making sure to work in a weekly mounting with tim no matter how busy he is because bruce has learned his lesson about allowing people in the family to go too long without being mounted. if only he'd been as diligent with jason and dick as he had with tim then maybe things wouldn't have turned out the way they did with them. so when bruce has tim and sees tim beginning to try and stretch his wings out and test his limits as robin- well bruce makes sure to mount him. sure, tim was a little young but maybe if bruce had started mounting dick and jason when they were younger they would still be alive or talking to him. for the longest time tim was the only family member around and whenever things got slightly unstable or bruce was scrambling for control because his personal life and professional life was out of whack he'd mount tim. being robin initially had been made harder because of that because it seemed like bruce's struggle with reining in violence also translated to him roughly mounting tim. eventually he calmed down. he got less...mean about mounting tim and pretty soon it tapered off to only weakly or occasional mountings from him.

with dick too. as nice as he became with tim and was gentle when mounting him, he still also had his phase of waking tim up from a deep slumber to press into him and whisper about how its okay and tim could go back to sleep, dick just needed to do this. those times almost always coincided with bruce and dick having another fight which involved bruce storming off to patrol early and returning when dick had already left. unluckily for tim though it would mean bruce mounting him and shoving his cock into tim's tender hole and grunting at the thick spurt of dick's cum that would get pushed out.

jason hardly waiting for the family the open their arms in welcome before he was mounting tim. often he and tim would get into arguments that would end with jason grunting and fucking tim harshly into the floor, stairs, or roof of wherever their spat was all while tim just huffed, irritated, and swearing he'd get jason the next time.

damian is arguably tim's hardest pill to swallow because he was cheating!!! he was getting help from dick and jason who would gang up on tim and hold him open, allowing for damian to press his baby cock all the way inside and hastily mount tim. it would barely be longer than a minute or two because damian was young and he came fast but tim would still be stuck with the indignity and shame of having damian's cum drip down his inner thigh. but then damian gets a growth spurt, grows bigger and now he doesn't need jason or dick's help to mount tim. once he realizes he can mount tim whenever he wants to, he makes it his mission to try and mount tim as often as he can....though that might just be damian working off sexual frustration brought on by puberty by using tim.

tim!!!! just being placed at the bottom of the pecking order by his brothers who would greatly prefer to not be in his place and because they love the ease of being able to fuck him and knowing he will always be there ready to take a cock.

#asks #answered asks #anonymous

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