With Those Tree Lookin Ass Arms He Would Knock Some One Out. But My God Would He Love It

he’s so snuggly omg

ow my hearteu.

Relax | Dick Grayson Teaser

“I want to help you relax, Dick. Will you let me help you?”

“God yes. Please.”

Warnings! NSFW 17+, penetrative sex, pet names, hints of choking, blowjobs, dirty talk, teasing.

I am way to scared to post the full story so we’ll see how well this lil snippet does… holy hell i haven’t written smut in a long time.

He took a sip of the Martini, looking Y/n in the eye. He felt it hurn his throat burn just a little as she watched him from behind her glass. “Taste good?” she asked, taking a step toward him. He hummed and nodded his head, taking another sip. “Tell me about your day.” She smiled, urging him to sit down. As he did so, she placed her hands firmly on his broad shoulders. “Shhhh Relax doll.” she whispered in his left ear.

“Well I uh, I did a bit of combat training with the kids and then sorted out some paperwork- ah.. fuck.” he practically moaned as Y/n pressed her thumbs between his shoulder blades. “You like that?” she whispered softly, rubbing his shoulders and back. “Fuck yess.” he groaned as she straightened out a particularly tight knot in Dick’s back. “Keep talking for me.” she said quietly.

“I- mmh- made myself some coffee before i got up here and then i hopped in the- ah- shower.” by now he was a mumbling mess, leaning his head back against her chest. She sat him back running her hands up and down his waist, her nails lightly scratching the skin.. “I want to help you relax, Dick. Will you let me help you?” she half moaned in his ear, placing a soft kiss on his neck and then his shoulder. She moved to his lap gracefully, rolling her hips a little. “God yes. Please.”

rip angela carter for she too would have loved saltburn

rip mary shelly you would've loved saltburn

tummy hurts so bad rn

may you have a very tummy less hurty 2024

Angel’s Blog Rules Minors DNI: as tempting as it may be (believe me ive been there) i am not comfortable with minors or ageless blogs interacting with my nsfw content. of course interact with any and all sfw/ non smut related stuff. But please for the love of christ don’t interact with age inappropriate content if you are under 18. I dont tolerate racism, homophobia, transphobia or any forms of discrimination (we are respectful in this circus okay?) any and all hate speech will be reported and you will be blocked.

i mainly write fem!reader (mainly because i am a female.. with female anatomy and also because a lot of what i say and write is hella self indulgent) if you have an issue with this… shame bout that rlly. (im not saying i wont write male!/Non fem! readers, just saying if its not requested it’s probably x fem!reader.

requests are open so feel free to request stuff (i have zero thoughts in my head so requests are encouraged) however please keep in mind that i am one person and am in now way obligated to respond to every request tho i will do my best!!

do’s: degradation/praise, bondage, teeth/oral fixations, daddy/mommy kink, age gaps , corruption, virginity, obsessive love, manipulation, intoxication, dubcon, cnc, dominance, pet play, dumbification, , breeding, Monster fucking, anal, predator/prey kink, somno, hybrids, infidelity, size difference, breath play, temperature play, weapon kinks (guns, knives ect.)

pretty sure that’s it but if its not listed just ask *\(^o^)/*

dont’s incest, underage characters, scat, heavy gore (a little gore is fine)

pretty sure that’s it but again if its not listed just ask!!

　》other stuffs: this blog is entirely for fun because i love to write and talk about silly little guys. please remain respectful and nice coz i am a human being. but most importantly be kind to yourself too!!

　　☆reblogs are heavily encouraged as well as nice messages/ comments i will try my best to respond but im a little slow sometimes.

Please don’t be reposting my work… its rude.

i fear i am a deadbeat dad and my account is the child…

anyone can be a girlboss but it takes a real woman to be a deadbeat dad

Light On

summary: when you reach out to joaquin waving the white flag, you realize how broken he's been.

pairing: touch starved!joaquin torres x ex!f!reader

contents: exes to lovers, food and alcohol mention, angst, canon typical trauma/trauma responses, get back together fic, kissing

wc: 1,988

an: i combined my idea for touched starved!joaquin with this request about yearning. sorry it took so long anon and i hope you like it <3

danny ramirez characters masterlist

He’s late to the housewarming. Not by much, but enough that he has to squeeze through a half-shut gate and slip past a crowd already buzzing with drinks and music. His shoulders still feel tight from the last mission—three cities, too many close calls, and not enough sleep. He almost didn’t come.

But when he saw your name at the top of the invite sent only to him, group chat, no passive-aggressive message he could say no to you. 

It read simple and gave him a glimmer of hope:

I hope you can come. it’s not a trap. peace offering. 

He doesn’t deserve the invite or your kindness, not after how he’d withdrawn so abruptly 8 months ago. He thought ending things before he could truly disappoint you or worse— scare you with one of his missions was the right thing to do. But now he can’t convince himself that this invite isn’t some sort of chance to at least make things right. Better.

Inside, the lights are warm, soft, glowing off glasses and muted green walls. There’s someone laughing in the kitchen, someone singing too loud on the patio. He catches a glimpse of you through the open door—perched on the porch bench, the setting sun’s rays on your cheeks, telling a story with your hands. 

Joaquin’s heart stutters.

 Just the sight of you makes him feel like it’s been an eternity. He hadn’t forgotten how beautiful you are but clearly he had let the weight of it slip away to protect himself. 

You look up, like you feel him before you even see him. And when your eyes meet, something in his chest aches. That’s all it takes for everything he’s been trying to outrun to come flooding back. 

How safe and understood he felt when the two of you did nothing but lay under the clouds. How warm his heart got at the sound of your laughter. How easy it was until he got into his head about being right for you. 

You smile at him. 

It’s not the same smile as before, but it’s not cold either. Cautious and familiar, but no less warm. Because you’re happy to see Joaquin, but now in the face of him you’re afraid everything you’ve worked for will come crumbling down. 

“Hey,” you say softly, walking inside from the deck toward him with a drink in hand. Your voice is light but not performative as you try to play it cool. “Llegaste.”

He nods. “Yeah. I couldn’t—yeah.”

You don’t hesitate. You step right up to him and wrap up your arms around his middle. It’s causal, natural and despite your past, you don’t even think about the possible impacts. 

The simplicity of it all hits him like a wave.

He stiffens for just a second, like he wasn’t expecting it. Like he’s forgotten what it feels like to be touched gently, without purpose or urgency. Or violence. Then his arms come up slowly, almost uncertainly, and he lets himself hold you—just enough so that it’s not awkward. Not enough for everything he wants.

One of your hands slides up his back once, rubbing tenderly. It’s a tiny gesture but he swears he could cry.

“Estas bien?” you ask, pulling back just enough to look at him.

He nods again, softer this time. “Ahora sí.”

You try not to show that his words affect you, simply giving him the best smile you can before untangling yourself from him. Gesturing for him to follow you, you make your way into the kitchen fishing out a beer and handing it to him. “Here.”

He takes it, fingers brushing yours, and his grip tightens on the bottle like it’s an anchor. “Thanks.”

Later, after a few brief hellos and introductions, you sit beside each other on the porch. He’s barely touched his beer but neither of you have noticed. 

There’s easy conversation on your part, starting with how you found the house and decided it was the one you wanted. You tell him about the chaos in the kitchen earlier tonight, a spilled pitcher of sangria. About the neighbor who brought way too many folding chairs.

He barely says anything, he simply listens. Listens like he’s afraid he’ll miss something if he blinks, like he’ll wake up from a dream. 

He watches the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. The way your knee bounces when you’re excited. The way you don’t flinch being this close to him, how you lean closer. You aren’t afraid to touch him, a nudge of shoulders here, a brush of his knee there when you say something funny.

 It seems like it comes easy to you and god, has he  missed this.

“I miss this,” he says quietly, gaze fixed on the beer bottle in his hands. Then, after a breath: “I miss… you.”

There’s several beats of silence. He doesn’t have the heart to look up at you, to see the surprise on your face.

You look at him, cheeks warm, stomach twisting with anticipation. You hadn’t expected him to say something like that when he was the one that ended things the way he did. 

When you speak again your voice is quiet but firm. “Not here.”

Even then, you touch his knee—just a brush of your fingers—but it feels like a jolt. He follows you without thinking.

You lead him down the back steps, past string lights and potted herbs, to the edge of the backyard. There’s a small pond there, still and starting to glow under the emerging moon. 

You’re a ways away from everyone else. It feels like you're a world away, a veil falling between you and Joaquin and the world. Everything else is muffled, distorted. It’s just the two of you. 

You turn to face him, your eyes guarded. “I miss you too,” you say. “I never stopped wanting this. You were the one that…”

His chest tightens, but before he can reach for you, you add—gentle, but unwavering:

“But, I’m not doing that again. I’m not getting close just to watch you disappear when things get hard. If you want me—really want me—then you have to stay. You have to try.”

He swallows hard, the words sitting heavy between you.

You can see, nearly hear the gears turning in his head. There’s conflict, something soft and something so scared in his eyes as he lets your words sink in. You step forward then, and when your arms wrap around his shoulders, he goes completely still. There’s a breath he doesn’t take. A flicker of disbelief in his eyes. Like your touch might vanish if he moves too fast.

This time you notice.

“Què te pasa? Hmm, baby bird?” You ask tenderly and it breaks something open in him. 

Slowly, shakily, he lets go of the tension. He leans in—into you—and his arms finally wrap around your waist. His hold isn’t tight, but you can feel the starved urgency in his fingertips. 

His face presses into your shoulder, and the sound he makes is quiet, but wrecked. A broken exhale like it’s the first breath he’s taken in weeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I thought I was doing right by you. Letting you go. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You hold him tighter, and his grip flinches like he’s not used to being held back.

“I know,” you say softly, your hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. He shudders under your touch and your heart squeezes again. “I know, baby,” you assure him gently.

You brush your lips against his temple, and he tenses just slightly at the contact—like it overwhelms him. His breath hitches, grip tightening around your hips like he’s afraid to let go now that he’s here in your arms.

“Next time,” you murmur, fingers sliding further into his hair, “you just talk to me.”

He nods into you, arms wrapping so tight around you, holding on like this might all slip away.

You stay like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other, warm and quiet. Until the party noise fades into background hum and there’s only moonlight and the hush of the pond.

Eventually, you both sit in the grass, your shoulders brushing. He finally starts to talk to you, to tell you everything he’s endured. Why he pulled away and what plagues him now; months apart and they’re still the same thing.  

He talked about the missions. The pressure. The exhaustion.

About how he didn’t know the full effect of what it was doing to him until he stepped back into your orbit and felt seen again.

Your fingers drift over his hand as he speaks. When he falters, you gently trace one of the faint scars on his knuckles. He goes completely still at the contact—like even that touch is more kindness than he’s used to.

“You have to take better care of yourself,” you say with a half-smile, nudging him gently. “Or I’m calling Sam.”

That finally earns a real laugh—small, tired, but real.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” you tease. “I’d guilt him into dragging your ass back here for a proper nap and a shower.”

He nudges your knee with his, smiling. You both fall quiet; it’s comfortable.The pond glows beside them. The world slows down.

And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel like he’s on borrowed time.

He just feels… held. Seen and understood. Like he’s home, in a way that matters.

—

Later that night, after most of the guests have left and the house is dim and quiet, he helps you carry in the empty bottles and leftover snacks. The porch lights hum low behind them, and the kitchen smells faintly like lime and basil and whatever candle someone brought as a gift.

You’re both barefoot now, toes brushing the tile. He hands you the last bowl and leans against the counter like he doesn’t want to leave.

You sense it immediately, glancing over at him. “You okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just… don’t want this to end.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. You step closer, fingers brushing his wrist, and this time he leans into the touch like he needs it to breathe.

“So don’t let it,” you murmur. “Don’t push me away again.”

He swallows. “Would it be too fast if I said I want to see you tomorrow?”

You smile deepens. “Are you asking me on a date, Lieutenant?”

Joaquin grins, soft and sheepish. He finally looks like himself. “Yeah, I am.”

“Well then,” you say, stepping in and tilting your chin up, “you better kiss me goodnight properly.”

You don’t give him time to overthink it. You press your lips to his—soft and warm, lingering just enough to make his breath catch. He kisses you back like he’s still afraid he’ll mess this up, but you thread your fingers through his and holds him close.

When you pull back, he exhales shakily.

You tap your fingers lightly against his chest. “Pick me up at seven. And wear something that says ‘I’ve stopped being emotionally unavailable.’”

He throws his head back with laughter, then groans like that’s going to be a real task. “That narrows my wardrobe down to, like, one shirt.”

Gripping his shirt playfully, you pull him a little closer. “Then wear it.”

Somewhere between getting home and putting his phone on the charger, Joaquin sees the text from Sam. Seems you had followed up on your threat to tell Sam about tonight. 

Sam: I heard you finally stopped being stupid.

Joaquin stares at it for a second before the typing bubble pops up again.

Sam:Bout damn time. You owe me twenty bucks. And a six-pack.

He shakes his head, smiling down at the screen. His reply is simple:

Worth it.

And when he turns off the light and sinks into bed, his heart is full.

let me know if you'd like to be on sfw joaquin torres taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @zolassalgorhythm, @peacefangirl, @blackwomanchronicles

girl dinner? nah

girl dessert? hell no

baby thats a girl FEAST!!

did somebody say girl dinner and girl dessert! also look at their hands🫠

i’ve never been so jealous of some food in my DAMN LIFE

quick question..,

where are the blue exorcist girlies at??? like fr where are yall hiding??