Therapist: Oh, You Definitely Have Daddy Issues

nct; the lost tapes

Scream!AU

‘Movies don’t make psychos, movies make psychos more creative’ - billy loomis, 1996.

25.10.19           only 15 days left - ghostface

Sukuna Ryomen and Soraya Montenegro have the same Villain Energy, so here are some redraws of my favourites memes! 😆 

…Do You Want Some Toast?

Fluff

Kento Nanami x gn!reader

When Nanami wakes up and doesn’t feel you by his side, he’s determined to figure out what happened to you.

Warnings: unsettling imagery (blood mention)

Kento Nanami is a peaceful man.

He doesn’t like to fight, he’s never quick to anger. He gets frustrated that his sighs of resignation and irritation often fall on deaf ears, though he’s never all that worked up about anything anyway. He’s a rational thinker and never gets too lost in his imagination before figuring out an answer to a problem.

Usually, that is.

He turned over in bed, in that state between asleep and awake where nothing matters except cuddling with the one you love and falling back into restfulness. That was exactly his plan, his arm reaching over to the spot where you lay faithfully each night, eager to cozy up into your blonde boyfriend’s gentle grasp.

The bed was cold…

Why was the bed cold?

Nanami opened his eyes, his vision adjusting to the dark that encompassed him. He tentatively patted next to him, double checking that you really weren’t there and that he hadn’t just missed your sleeping form in his tiredness. He lied stiffly for a few minutes, listening for sounds of you finally walking back to bed but they never came. His mouth was turned into a frown as he looked at his bedside clock: 3:32 AM. This behavior wasn’t like you. If you had gotten up for a bathroom break or glass of water, you would’ve been back by now. Did you fall? Were you hurt?

As Nanami peeled back the covers, ready to begin searching your shared residence to find you, he stopped abruptly. He heard a loud slam from a room toward the front of the apartment.

Had a burglar, or worse, a curse found its way inside?

Kento wasted no time getting out of bed, opening his wooden nightstand drawer as quietly as possible, grabbing his trademark knife and glasses. As he creeped down the hallway, his mind wouldn’t stop wandering, picturing various grisly situations you might’ve been in like you were in some sort of messed up horror movie. At times, your guys’ lives were like a horror movie, battling terrifying incarnations of cursed energy. Nanami knew it would be easy enough to take down any sorcerer if they weren’t expecting an attack in the middle of the night in their home.

Well, maybe not Gojo, but Nanami really didn’t want to think about that man so early in the morning, if ever.

Nanami took a deep breath and took in his surroundings. He listened for your cries, smelled the air for blood, willed his eyes to scan for shadowy movements.

There was nothing.

And then there was something.

His ears perked up at a strange noise coming from the kitchen. He registered some sort of rhythmic scratching, though he couldn’t fathom what it could possibly be. A curse trying to get in the window? A curse that had already killed you and was now using your fingernails and blood to paint a picture?

There was only one way to find out.

Nanami’s knuckles were ghostly white as he gripped his weapon and walked slowly with one hand trailing the wall next to him, praying his glasses would shield his eyes from the light that was about to flood the kitchen.

“Don’t move!” he yelled out, finding the light switch easily and turning it on to stun his opponent. Thankfully his glasses did help, allowing him to see what type of intruder he was dealing with.

Actually, he didn’t need the light at all—your scream of “Stop right there!” was answer enough.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” he asked earnestly, abandoning his glasses and knife on the countertop when he saw you weren’t dead, barely moving in a pool of your own blood, or whatever other terrible scenario he had thought happened.

Though you hadn’t answered him, Nanami spied you putting down your own knife, apparently ready to strike at whoever was sneaking up on you in the dark. He looked around the kitchen and saw various items sprawled about: butter, a plate, a loaf of bread, and a toaster.

Kento Nanami had never felt dumber.

“…Do you want some toast?” you gestured, offering him a sheepish smile, your cheeks filled with the toast you had just taken a huge bite of. Nanami sighed, running an exasperated hand through his hair.

“You were in here making a snack this entire time? I thought you… I thought someone had come in, or a curse. If you had gotten hurt, I don’t know what I…”

Nanami was a loss for words, visibly in distress, and you felt awful.

“Oh Kento,” you said, rushing over to give him a hug, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to stress you out so bad. I was trying to be quiet so I didn’t wake you up but I accidentally dropped the toaster and then I made the toast too crispy so then buttering it was really loud and then-”

“Don’t apologize,” he cut you off, his brown eyes finding comfort in your own, “I should’ve checked to see if it was you first. My imagination got the best of me tonight and for that, I apologize to you.”

“You have no reason to be sorry either,” you told him, smoothing your hands over his pajama top, “I’m lucky to have such a caring, fearless boyfriend like you. You were more than ready to take down whoever was in here.” You let out a small laugh as your palms rested on his broad chest. “Even though I was about to be on the chopping block, I thought you looked really hot in your attack mode.”

Nanami felt his cheeks warm as a blush made itself evident. He cleared his throat, your flirting flustering him and his sleepy, muddled brain.

“Finish your toast, darling, then come back to bed, okay?”

You stifled a chuckle with another bite of your mid-night meal, giving him the thumbs up.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, kissing some crumbs off the corner of your mouth before scooping up his belongings and heading back into the bedroom, ready to cuddle up with the love of his life and put his overactive thoughts to rest.

That night, as he held you close, Nanami dreamt of taking you to the finest bakeries around the world.

when reading smut and y/n says “daddy”

Can I request a hal x reader x kyle smut os? If so, I would like the plot to be about them all hating each other and having angry sex.

HATE FUCK !

hal jordan x fem!reader x kyle rayner

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. . . porn with plot. smut. daddy kink with Hal, dirty talk, degradation. fingering, p in v, anal sex, choking, manhandling?

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. . . as I said in my other posts, English is not my first language. I have tried to make corrections with the translator, but as you all know, it is prone to making mistakes, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if anything sounds weird.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. . . MY MEN 😭 I could do thousands of one-shots of Hal and Kyle and never get tired of it. Hope you like it <3

One of life's misfortunes is being put in situations that can be incredibly uncomfortable, but sharing a team with two people you hate? That's definitely something you wouldn't wish on anyone.

Since you joined the Green Lanterns, there have always been two people who have tried to make your rise within the corps a little more difficult. Two people who, to your unfortunate luck, were assigned by the Guardians to be your superiors, since you were too new to take on a mission on your own.

Hal Jordan and Kyle Rayner: Annoying, cocky, and more experienced than you. Enough to make you take a back seat on every mission.

They were on an unknown planet, possibly light years away from Oa. When they were in a seedy bar, surrounded by alien life, you wondered if it was right to be a part of it. Was it even worth putting up with them?

— Is this our sector? — you asked as you followed them in flight.

You had the misfortune to be distracted by an alien with disproportionate physical qualities and advanced until you collided with Hal's back.

— Be careful. As long as you're in our custody, what happens to you and your sweet ass is up to us. So keep your mouth shut and fly carefully. — He growled at you.

— It was just a question.

— And if you can't follow a simple order, maybe you should reconsider being part of the team. — Kyle said, turning to you.

Of the two, Hal was usually the more hostile. Kyle just nodded, but sometimes he had the luxury of reprimanding you for nonsense, like now. It was strange, actually, that neither of them would be critical of another rookie, but with you, they would even criticize the way you had to fly or the structures you formed with your ring. You swore that not even Kilowog had been so strict before.

Still, it seemed that the hatred Kyle and Hal had for you also held for each other. For a moment, you thought they were great allies, but it was difficult for them to agree on anything regarding the mission. Unfortunately for you, even if they decided on an ideal plan, you couldn't and shouldn't have a say in it, so if they didn't agree, you didn't care. It seems that it's only when they're on to you that things really pay off.

Frankly, hating them and being hated by them didn't change how easy it was for you to fall into their hands. You always felt inferior to them, both in the company and in bed. Where you find yourself right now: in Kyle's apartment, soiling the sheets.

You were pressed against the mattress. At the same time you were biting the pillow while he was busy pleasuring you with his fingers. He wasn't gentle at all, not even touching you, but that didn't change the fact that it felt good.

The texture of his fingers slid contemptuously over your wet pussy. You were aware of your own pleasure as your accelerated breathing and small moans were the only things echoing in the room.

He was watching you as he always did. There was no hint of affection or love in his eyes, only carnal lust. He didn't like you at all; he just liked the idea of fucking you and leaving you, as he always did.

Hal Jordan was the same, or maybe worse.

— You should have told me that this invitation included a private show.

You quickly pulled yourself out of your state of utter pleasure as you were startled by the presence of Hal watching from the doorway.

He was wearing that aviator jacket you would never admit how much you liked. His brown hair was disheveled, and maybe the effect of lust made you think the wrong things about his choice of jeans.

What was he doing here?

— Did you miss me that much, honey? — he asked. — I had to come urgently just to show Kyle how to treat you.

In an instant, he was standing in front of you. You looked into his deep brown eyes as one of his large and masculine hands wrapped around your neck without choking you.

You always found him handsome. It never mattered to you that he was quite a bit older than you. He was possibly a decade ahead of you, unlike Kyle, who was barely a year or two. As much as it bothered you, being in bed with him made you feel like you had to nod and give in to everything he asked you to do, just because you wanted to.

With Kyle, on the other hand, you used to be a brat: a capricious brat who only wants to please herself and needs to be disciplined to make you behave.

Maybe that's why Hal's hands kept squeezing your neck and Kyle's kept rubbing your pussy.

— Look at me. Only me. Don't think about him. — He told you and began to apply a light pressure that began to suffocate you.

Immediately, Kyle abruptly pulled Hal's hands away from you, trying to get your attention back on him.

— Who is fucking your wet, messy pussy with his hand right now, need I remind you?

You paused to catch your breath, just as you used it as an excuse not to answer the man's question. Since it didn't matter how much they noted that it was only a sexual thing, they would still compete in everything that had to do with you.

Immediately you felt knuckles pressing against your clit. If Kyle had been guarding your hole before, Hal was now caressing your sensitive spot that desperately needed attention.

Your senses begin to sharpen. You begin to fall deeper into the surface of the bed. You feel your vision and thoughts blur with pleasure. The heat beats hard against you, sucking the oxygen out of you.

— Eyes on Daddy. — Hal asked. — I want you to look into my eyes when you cum on my fingers.

— If she cums on your fingers, it's thanks to me. — growled the other.

— We'll see. — He smirked at you without stopping his movements.

You were still. You only moaned because the sensations were so overwhelming that you couldn't even remember the names of the men who were stimulating you. You tried not to look at them and just lay there with your eyes on the ceiling. Soon you came on both fingers, leaving a complete mess on the mattress.

— Enough for you? — Kyle asked, approaching you with the intention of wiping away your tears. — I hope not, we're not done yet. Or what, you think Hal would come all this way just to touch this used pussy?

— Relax, she knows what I want, don't you? — he asked. In return, he put his knee between your legs with the intention of being able to open them again.

— Yes, Daddy.

— “Yes, Daddy?” Is it with him that you decide to be good and obedient? — the younger man asked as he reached into the drawer and pulled out lubricant and several condoms.

He positioned himself behind you, in a position from which he could perfectly observe your ass. Without consulting you, he extended a finger smeared with lubricant over your anal hole. You knew what was going to happen and you couldn't help but feel scared; you had never gone so far as to dare to do it from behind.

— I shouldn't, but I'll try to be gentle with you just this once. You're acting like a complete brat.

Then you looked for a second at Hal, who was pulling you by your hips until you were on his naked lap. You quickly felt his huge erection thrusting into your pussy, which was not yet fully penetrated.

— You know how I like it. — He told you while one of his hands slid over the skin of your breasts. — Tell me how much you love me. With sincerity.

You looked at him and responded as honestly as your conscience would allow:

— I can't stand you. I've hated you since the day I joined the Corporation. You have done everything in your power to make every day of my life more difficult. I despise both of you.

They both smiled self-sufficiently as they accomplished the task of inserting themselves into you from one side at a time.

— Good girl. — He complimented you.

— Always saying what we want to hear.

EVANESCENT MASTERLIST

itachi x reader x kisame

In which Itachi is barely alive, Kisame is barely polite, and you’re barely a medic. Featuring the bloody stain on your favorite armchair and the tension that comes with being outnumbered in your own home.

Canon divergent. Not a love triangle. Eventual smut. Warnings will be added to each chapter, minors dni. Status: active.

© SAINTROCKLEE / SAINTROCKLEE 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY OR PLAGIARIZE MY CONTENT AND POST ON THIS WEBSITE OR DIFFERENT PLATFORMS.

chapter 001: trust [07.03.22] chapter 002: karma [08.25.22]

aMO ESTA DINÁMICA

Robin and King can be like, shared trauma buddies, then go on archaeological/historical adventures around the world together :)

Don't Go Disappearing On Me Again

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason's lost too much to lose you, too. (We stan healthy communication in this house)

Word count: 2.3k

Ow.

You've never worked Friday nights before at the restaurant, and you never want to again. And you'd thought Saturday mornings were bad.

But one of your favorite coworkers had called you in a panic early this morning, begging you to take her shift, because her lab group's department at GCU was going out to bowling and it would be a great networking opportunity. You were the last person she called, but everyone else before you had declined because they were either scheduled or determined to avoid the shitshow.

And because you were weak, you gave in and said you would cover her Friday night shift as long as she covered your Friday morning shift.

So you two swapped shifts, and you went into your library internship in the morning instead of the evening. It wasn't a particularly hard job, but end-of-week returns had you dashing all over the three floors, so your feet already hurt before you walked into the restaurant.

Right before coming in, you'd texted Jason that you'd gotten held up, and it was a good thing you did, because you haven't had a single break to look at your phone the whole shift. He likely wasn't even awake yet—last night's patrol had been tough on the both of you, him because he came home half beaten to death, and you because you'd had a heart attack waking up in the middle of the night to your bloody boyfriend passing out on top of you in bed. But you usually got home around six from the library, and it was looking like you wouldn't be back until ten at the earliest, so you wanted to let him know. It was going on hour seven after starting at two p.m., when the restaurant switched from its brunch to dinner menu. Personally, you think two p.m. is obscenely early to eat dinner, but apparently rich people loved eating at weird hours, because you had had nonstop tables the entire night.

But the good thing is that the restaurant closes at nine, so you’re almost there. After your last three tables eat and leave, all you have to do is clean your section, close your checks, and clock out.

In the kitchen, you lean against the fridge, rubbing your hips and knees. You’re a little too young to feel so creaky after seven hours on your feet. After all, Jason works all night, doing athletic feats you could never dream of.

You can't really complain, though. You'd gotten lucky with your tables; they'd all tipped well. Maybe you could even add a little bit to your savings account instead of shoving every paycheck right at your student loans, which just keep growing, no matter how much you pay.

“Oh, no,” says Charlotte, one of the other veteran servers at the restaurant. She’s staring at the camera feed display, which is tuned to a livestream of the restaurant’s entranceway. “Don’t you dare seat me now, Ashley, I swear to God.”

“What time is it?” your head jerks up. “We’re about to close, right? Is someone looking for a table?”

“Yeah,” she says, pointing to the screen. “The hottest man in the world just walked in our front door.”

You just hum, not bothering to look in favor of pulling out your phone. You know for a fact that the hottest man in the world is actually at home in your bed right now. “The kitchen’s stopped receiving tickets. No way Ashley seats someone right now.” The screen doesn't light up when you click the power button. Well, shit. It's dead.

“I can’t tell what he’s saying.” Charlotte squints at the screen. “He’s, like, huge. Does Ashley look a little scared to you?”

You’re out of the kitchen without even looking at the screen. You speedmarch right past your tables, ignoring one man’s halfhearted attempts to flag you down for more ketchup. A righteous fire is boiling in your gut. You’ve been here long enough that the managers won’t fire you for telling off any customers that harass the younger workers that are more scared to stand up for yourself.

Your mouth is already open, ready to spew forth the beginning of your tirade, when you recognize the man in front of Ashley at the host stand.

Dressed in gray sweats and a dark T-shirt, slouching slightly, he looks even worse than when you kissed his forehead goodbye that morning. The bruise on Jason's his face has properly colored now, purple and blue along his jawline. His hair looks a little flat, like he's been wearing his helmet, which is strange.

Jason's eyes snap onto you the second you appear, and you falter at the intensity there. Something has happened, but you're not sure what.

"Hey," you say, a little hesitant. "What's up?"

Ashley exhales with relief. "So you do know him."

"Yeah," you say without breaking eye contact with Jason, who's staring at you with the same expression you think a wolf would wear when stalking a hare. "He's my boyfriend."

You expect Jason to tell you that someone was in an accident. Someone's in the hospital. Something terrible happened to your apartment while you were gone.

He says none of those things. Instead, Jason says, "I didn't know you picked up a Friday shift."

Ashley's face goes blank.

"I told you I would be home late."

“No,” he corrects. “You texted me that you were being held up.”

“Yeah, at work.”

“And then you disappeared.” Jason’s jaw clenched. “Did you know that a bank was held up this afternoon? Your bank?”

“Oh, shit,” your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “My phone died, I don’t know when. You couldn’t check my location and see I was here?”

He just shakes his head, stiff and wordless.

“Hey, Y/N.” It’s your manager approaching the host stand now, customer service smile on and eyes taking in Jason’s appearance. “What’s going on up here?”

“Hey, Steve,” you say. “Sorry, this is my boyfriend Jason—Jay, this is my manager, Steve—”

Jason gets the hint and smiles close-lipped, reaching to shake Steve’s hand.

“My phone died so he came to see if I needed a ride home.”

“As soon as your tables leave and your section’s clean, you’re good to go. Oh, and you have to roll silverware.”

“It’ll be at least another hour,” you say apologetically to Jason.

“Okay.” His eyes keep boring into you like he’s trying to send you a telepathic message. He’s mad, you get it, but it makes you a little mad, too. You’re a grown adult. Yeah, the miscommunication was your fault, and it’s fine for him to be worried, but he looks close to Red Hood levels of anger, which is totally unwarranted for this situation. “Is it cool if I wait at the bar for you, then?”

“Of course!” Steve answers for you. "Our bartender, Lacy, will be happy to serve you while you wait." He checks his watch. "Until last call, that is."

"He didn't scare you, did he?" you ask Ashley as soon as Steve leaves. You smile at Jason, trying to tease him, but his expression doesn't twitch. "He looks mean, but I promise he's a big ol' softie."

Jason just grunts, but on his way to the bar, he doesn't forget to drop a kiss to your forehead. It warms you from the inside out.

As soon as he's gone, Ashley blurts out, "What happened to his face?"

"Motorcycle accident," you fib. "Oh, my table's calling me."

You rush over to take care of the poor man's ketchup—he's been waiting almost five whole minutes—and check out another party. The back of your neck prickles as you do. Every time you glance at the bar, Jason's green eyes are locked on your every move. It flusters you so much that when your table leaves, they say thanks, and you respond with, "Good morning!"

"What?"

"Thanks, you too!"

You run back to the kitchen, and everyone immediately starts interrogating you about your 'huge hunky boyfriend' (Charlotte's words, not yours).

By some miracle, all your tables clear out by closing time, and you’re out by 9:20. There are still a couple people at the bar, but Jason’s up immediately to walk out with you, leaving his water glass on the counter.

He doesn’t say anything, though you can feel his eyes on you whenever you aren’t looking. You won’t fight in public, so you follow his lead and stay quiet.

He drove your car to pick you up, and even though he’s obviously mad, he holds the passenger door open for you before getting into the driver’s seat.

The drive home is silent. He parks in the spot for your shared apartment, then immediately, quietly, asks, “Why’d you pick up a shift without telling me?”

"It was super last-minute," you say. He's still facing forward, so you do the same, eyeing his profile out of the corner of your eyes. "Like, it happened this morning. I thought you were sleeping, so I didn't want to blow up your phone with texts. I thought you'd just check my location and see where I was when you woke up."

Jason's hand clenches on the center console. "I woke up and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry—"

"And the bank, and your wording, and your phone was off—"

"I know," you say, putting your hand over his fist. He unclenches immediately to lace his fingers with yours. "I'll make sure I tell you next time."

Jason takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. In a rush, he finally turns to face you and says, "I don't mean to be controlling."

You blink. "I don't think you're being controlling."

"You don't?" Jason frowns. "Then why were you so mad when I walked into your work?"

"Mad? I'm not mad—you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, what are you talking about?"

"You've been glaring this whole time! And you didn't say a word this entire car ride."

"Because I thought you were angry. I wanted to give you space."

"Okay, wait, wait, wait." You hold up a hand. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad at me?"

"No," he says earnestly. "I was worried and scared, but you're an adult. You don't have to ask for permission if you want to pick up a shift at work." He makes a face like the thought disgusts him.

"Okay," you say. "Okay, well if you're not mad at me, I'm not mad at you, either."

"Then why did you look so pissed when I walked in?"

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. "Well, we have cameras that show us up front while we're in the kitchen, right? One of my coworkers was watching and said 'the hottest man in the world' walked in and I didn't look because I thought the hottest guy in the world was still asleep in my bed—"

Jason covers his face with his hands. You can't stop your smile now, and you pull them away so you can look at said handsome face. "And I didn't even look because I'm such a loyal, awesome partner—"

"You are pretty awesome," he agrees, trying to sound serious, but he's grinning like an idiot, too. His cheeks are flushed pink.

"I know I am. But then Charlotte said that the hostess, Ashley, looked a little intimidated by him, so I walked out to see if she needed help."

"Aw," Jason says. He lowers his chin to look at you from underneath his lashes, pretty as a picture. "Were you going to give me a stern talking-to?"

"I can still give you one," you offer.

"Maybe later."

He's still grinning, and you're still grinning, so the both of you are grinning at each other like idiots in the car.

You want to kiss him, and he's your boyfriend. You're allowed to do that whenever the two of you want, so you take Jason by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

Jason sighs against you, and it's like all the tension in his body melts away. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, the other on the back of your head.

You break away to murmur, "Are you patrolling tonight?" He's still so beaten up.

"No," he whispers, voice low and gravelly in a way that has butterflies whipping around like a tornado in your stomach.

"Good. Wanna go up and be the hottest patient in the world while I look at your wounds?"

"Only if you're the hottest nurse in the world."

"Oh, but then who will be the hottest chef in the world who makes dinner?"

"The hot chef is on vacation right now," Jason joked. "But I can be a really hot food-orderer. What takeout are you in the mood for?"

"You're the injured one. What do you want?"

"I want whatever you want."

You narrow your eyes in a glare. "Well, I want whatever you want."

"You gotta make a decision," he says, already on his phone. "You're the hottest decision-maker in the world, I'm the hottest food-orderer."

"Chinese?"

"You got it."

Right before he dials the number, you grab him and kiss him again. When you pull back, he chases after your lips. It's so tempting that you give him another firm peck before you pat his chest once.

Jason blinks twice, looking dazed. "What was that for?"

You shrug. "I just wanted to kiss the hottest man in the world."

"Oh, my God." He groans and covers his face again, but you can see his red ears. "You're never gonna let that go?"

"Mmm." You pretend to consider it. "No."

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101