#don't get me wrong I still want fix it fics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

murdrdocs · 2 months

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venus fly

description. the pollen that sprayed in LUKE CASTELLAN's face earlier this morning has some really weird effects. not that he's complaining.

a continuation of this drabble

includes. sex pollen SUGGESTIVE CONTENT 18+, accidental drugging, loser!luke, best friend!reader, demeter!reader, implied oral (f and m receiving), slightly perv!luke, aftercare almost nonexistent

wc: 4.5k+

a/n: the long awaited sex pollen fic. title from venus fly by grimes. no explicit smut ahead. artwork credit unknown.

Your shirt is fitting you really well.

Your lips are moving, you’re saying something to Luke, he assumes it’s likely at least a little bit important, but he can only focus on how well your shirt is fitting.

Tight enough over your bust—Luke figures you’re wearing a sports bra for capture the flag today since he sees no bra lines, but the bra creates a nice shape for your tits, so he doesn’t need the lines to entertain him.

“Did you get a new shirt?”

You stop whatever you were saying to look down at your chest. You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you fix Luke with a look of disappointment.

“Wha–? It’s an older one. All of my others were dirty.” Your bosom is covered, but Luke is still staring. It’s like he cannot peel his eyes away. Though, he hasn’t tried. At least, not until you scold him.

“Will you stop ogling me while I’m trying to talk to you?”

His reply is earnest. “Wait, shit, yeah. ‘m sorry I don't know what's going on…”

You stare at him, your eyebrows furrowed and your lips parted. Luke can’t help but fix his eyes there next. You’re wearing chapstick, or maybe lip gloss. Something that’s spreaded over your lips and creates a nice sheen that makes him want to lick it off like icing on a treat.

“It’s okay …” Your words aren’t that convincing but you drop your arms and start speaking again. This time, Luke takes in at least a dozen words.

Really, he should have known what was wrong with him. The same way he should have known that eventually, his insistent nosiness would come back to bite him in the rear.

You’d always warned him of such, telling him that “it’s charming until it’s not”, when you would boot him out of the greenhouse. (Truthfully, Luke had codependency issues but if he never really admitted it to himself, then he wouldn’t have to admit it to you, either.)

You were spending more time in the greenhouse lately. Which has never been a problem for Luke. But your newest project, something completely unknown to Luke as it was apparently a Demeter kid only project, was taking away his time with you. You could barely spare a half hour to go by the lake. You traded chores with one of your siblings for more time in the greenhouse, leaving Luke to work with someone not nearly as entertaining as you.

The only time he got to really see you was early in the morning and late at night. And if he was losing his time to something else—or, gods forbid, someone else—he wanted to know what it was.

So right when you were leaving the greenhouse early that morning, Luke snuck in after you. He searched around, trying to find evidence of you anywhere, and when he did find it, he found his demise there, too.

Sitting next to your favorite pen was a potted plant. It resembled a venus fly trap, but immensely bigger. There were a cluster of them, some with large flowers growing out of the opened mouths. Luke stupidly had the urge to provoke the plant, driven by the desire to see them in action.

He took your favorite pen, and gently stuck it inside of the mouth.

When a puff of yellow smoke hit him square in the face, he hadn’t thought much of it.

When he stumbled out of the greenhouse with a fog in his head and dizziness, he thought it to be a single side effect.

When he started to feel warmer than usual, he thought it to be an effect of the insistent summer heat.

It’s not until he’s waking up on the ground that he really begins to worry.

His eyes open and he is immediately greeted with the sun attempting to blind him. He squints and raises a hand over his face, shielding both the sun and whoever stands over him.

When they speak, he doesn’t need his eyes to tell who he is joined by.

“Jesus, Castellan, if you didn’t scare the shit outta me just now I would be bragging about beating you.”

Luke groans and rolls onto his side. He’s still wearing his battle armor over his clothes and he suddenly feels uncomfortable, like everything has been made wrong or maybe like he has outgrown them. His camp shirt is too tight against his body, pressing the sweat back into his skin and not allowing for any breathing room. His shorts feel awkward in the crotch, as do his briefs. And his shoes are suffocating his feet.

There is nothing he wants more in this moment than to peel the armor and clothes off of his body and run down to the water. But he doesn’t know if the game has ended yet, nor does he know how long he has been out.

There are many unanswered questions he has, but the first one he starts with is, “Why are you here?”

He hears you scoff and knows you have rolled your eyes.

“We were sparring and you just passed out. I wasn’t just going to leave you here.”

He finally looks at you. His eyesight has readjusted to the light from the star above, so it stings just a bit less when he peers one eye open.

You add on, “I didn’t know if you had spontaneously died or something! And now that I know you’re fine…” You bend down and grab your helmet, situating it back on your head and standing at attention over Luke.

He needs to stand. The last thing he remembers is fighting you and he's never lost a fight to you. In his mind, he hasn’t surrendered, and you haven’t defeated him, so he needs to stand.

He tries to, he really does, but his knees get weak and as soon as he’s up, his head spins and he’s right back down.

You swear just before your knees are hitting the earth and you’re kneeling beside him.

Luke can feel you pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, he can hear you asking him a few questions, he can see your wide eyes staring into his heavy ones, but he can’t respond. He can’t do anything but worry about the bile rising in his throat, or focus on the shining water just behind you.

He doesn’t realize that he has begun moving until the bottom of his pants feel heavy with the weight of water.

When he’s in to his thighs, he collapses and lets the ripples wash over his body.

You don’t follow him until after him for a few moments, and when you do, you stand still at the shoreline. You let Luke soak the heat and sweat off of his skin as best as the circumstances allow, and you only speak to him once he’s standing right in front of you in soaked clothes and wet armor.

“What’d you take?”

At first, he’s not playing dumb. It just takes a moment for your words to plant in his mind. Then he plays dumb.

“Take? I don’t know what you mean.”

You don’t entertain his ditziness and instead begin making your case.

“You’re clearly on something, Luke. You’re sweating even though it’s as cool as it usually is. Your pupils are wide and your eyes go from restless to barely open. You keep fidgeting and every few minutes you twitch. And you’re standing here, talking to me, instead of helping the red team secure another win.”

Luke hadn’t noticed most of his symptoms. It’s not like he can notice anything other than the thoughts in his mind, especially when they give him images of your tits bouncing in his face and audible hallucinations of what you would sound like moaning his name.

He decides then and there that capture the flag doesn’t matter. Not when he has what he wants, the true glory, right in front of him.

He heard you, he processed your words, but the sight of your lips distracts him once more and prevents him from instantly responding. He stares instead, watching your mouth through lazy blinks.

He doesn’t even consider responding until you tut.

“If you don’t want to tell me, then that’s fine. I’ll go get Maria L to take care of you then.”

Luke's eyes widen. Maria L is an excellent healer but she also has a pestering crush on Luke, one that encourages her to touch Luke with grazes that border on harassment and lack any professionalism.

“No! Not her.” Luke would feel bad about his reaction to the girls name if he didn’t have such a one track mind.

Your eyebrows raise to tell him to continue. He does so begrudgingly.

He picks at his fingernails and his cuticles until dead skin peels back to reveal blood. But the sting on his thumb doesn’t compare to the dull pain residing in his groin.

He knows that admitting the truth to you would open the possibility of criticism. His current … illness aside, you would never let him live down the day his nosiness actually reaped consequences. He briefly considers accepting defeat, walking away with his tail tucked between his legs, and taking control of the growing boner on his own.

He might be generally inexperienced in these situations, but even he knows that his own fist wouldn’t compare to even the slightest bit of attention from you.

He opens his mouth. “I went in the greenhouse.”

Your eyes widen as if Luke had confessed to committing a cardinal sin, and it’s then that Luke begins to really worry about himself.

“Did you …?” You don’t even have to finish your sentence before he nods. “Luke! You fucking-“

Not really in the mood for your chastising, Luke holds one hand up. He is able to silence you for only a second before you’re slapping his hand away. You’re yelling at him, both for trying to rudely shut you up, and for doing the one thing you told him not to do.

He sits and listens, waiting not-so-patiently for you to tire yourself out. He thought that point would come sooner than it does, but he’s sure that at least two minutes have passed and you’re showing no signs of stopping.

He rolls his eyes, he furrows his eyebrows, and he tries to discreetly adjust the boner in his cargos, but according to you, Luke has never been discreet a day in his life. He has never believed in your so-called ability to see right through him until your eyes pointedly drift to his crotch with his hand still attached to it.

Your insistent rambling ends unfinished. You blink, you don’t say anything. And then:

“Oh.”

At this point, he doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. You fill the silence for him.

“Oh, Luke. I told you not to go in there because …”

His eyebrows lift. “Because what?”

You take a breath. “The plant, the Venus Fly, the pollen is an aphrodisiac.”

Luke knows what an aphrodisiac is, he isn’t dumb, but he still asks for clarification. And when you explain, he asks you to dumb it down. Even then, he blinks at you. Because you were right. His nosiness caused this.

He’s considering pitying himself whenever you suggest the one proposed solution, the only solution the Demeter and Apollo kids have been workshopping together ever since acquiring the plant from another kid's quest.

And when your solution comes, Luke determines that there is no way he could pity himself whenever he is in the position he’s been dreaming of for literal years.

He might not have envisioned this particular scenario, as his fantasies usually entailed the two of you alone in a bed not at Camp Half-Blood. But something about this makes him enjoy it more. Out in nature, in the open with many possibilities of being caught surrounding you both. His lips on yours, his lips surrounding yours, as he kisses you messily.

There is something perverse about the idea of getting to fuck you out in the open, gods willing. He didn’t think it was something he would be into, but it’s all he can think about when he’s rutting against you.

He breathes you in. “I’ve …” he takes a moment, rubbing his stiff cock against your crotch once more. He groans as he speaks. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long.”

You hum, your hands fisting the part of the back of Luke’s shirt that isn’t covered by his armor.

“Luke,” you start and your voice is already full of hesitance. Luke isn’t sure he wants to hear what you have to say, but he knows it would be wrong not to. He busies himself with kissing your neck and under your jaw.

“It’s the pollen talking,” you tell him. “You’re not yourself. You’re basica-“ He bites down onto where he can feel your pulse thrumming under your skin. You gasp, loud and broken, before continuing. “You’re basically drugged.”

Somewhere deep down Luke knows that there’s logic in your statement, there usually is logic in your statements, besides during those times where you would say whatever came to your mind in the late hours of the night. But he doesn’t care, logic be damned.

He knows that he’s felt this way—or at least in the range of this way—for a while now. The pollen has just given him the confidence to act on his desires.

While the pollen has given him confidence, it hasn’t given him experience.

He sloppily kisses along your neck and jaw, not necessarily knowing what he’s doing but he knows he’s expected to suck at one point, so he does. He just wants to please.

You don’t react much to his lips on your skin, so he lifts a hand and slides it under your shirt and armor. The chest piece doesn’t allow for much maneuvering and Luke frowns against your skin before he separates completely to pull the armor off himself.

He knows the clasps on the metal as well as he knows clasps on his favorite pair of pants. Yet his hands fumble. Excitement and the effects of the pollen, he reasons. But his face becomes warm from something other than the two, something he would rather not fully acknowledge. Especially not when he’s about to get his dick wet in the warmth of the one person he’s wanted since he was old enough to actually understand sex.

You ask Luke if he wants your help with your usual teasing tone, but Luke doesn’t take kindly to it. As soon as he has the chest piece off, he has your shirt following it, and then his lips are back on yours.

If even possible, this kiss is heavier. Firmer. Meaner.

He still doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he calls onto the one other time he’d made out with someone. He remembers how he had been instructed to use his tongue and lick into his partner's mouth (a boy from the Ares cabin who stopped coming to camp a year ago). He had been kind to Luke when he didn’t know what he was doing, but now Luke feels like he needs to prove himself. He wants to prove himself. He wants to impress you.

What results is a clash of teeth and tongue. It’s messy, sloppy, and slobbery.

Luke likes it that way.

You pull away first.

Not much has been done, but you look a mess. Your lips are coated in saliva, probably yours and Luke’s, and pride floods his chest. You look flushed, too, and Luke sincerely hopes he’ll be able to amplify the emotion on your face soon thereafter.

“Slow down. Luke.” Your words are soft, gentle, and kind. Just like you. Just like your hands that card through his still-wet hair.

He winces, and not from the way your fingers snag on a cluster of curls. Wrongly assuming the cause of his sound, you apologize and smooth the patch of hair down. Your hands instead slide down Luke’s shoulders and he tries not to frown at the change.

“Sorry,” he admits. He gnaws on his bottom lip, already missing the feeling of yours, and finds himself continuing. “I haven’t really made out with anyone since …”

You nod, lips pulling up in the corners. “Theo?” Luke nods. “I know. We tell each other everything, remember?”

Not everything.

No one else is privy to the dreams Luke has about you. He has never told you, or anyone else, about all of the times he would fist his cock and chant your name in the showers late at night. In fact, when you would ask what took him so long, he would make up a lie about taking advantage of the hot water and solitude. While it was only a white lie, it was a lie nonetheless.

The innocent and naive look on your face as you accepted his lie by omission only made Luke’s cock harder.

You’re staring up at him now with a look different enough, but his reaction is the same. Your eyes hold interest, intrigue, a little bit of mischief, perhaps. You look sure of yourself, like you’ve done this and in this capacity multiple times before. But Luke knows about your experience, nearly the exact same as his save for a few details he wishes to erase.

When you had dished on your sexual history, Luke felt jealousy stirring deep in his stomach. He had been with other people, a guy and a girl, but that was in hopes of getting his mind off of you. Meanwhile, you had been with other people out of personal interest and not self-deluded necessity.

Either way, your experience is almost the same as Luke’s, and knowing so makes it easier for him to take the lead.

He kisses you again but he tries to go slower. Everything in him screams for him to speed up, to take you how he pleased, but he breathes and pushes the thoughts aside.

Taking it slow pays off when you work the armor off of Luke’s torso (without much difficulty at all), and then slide your hands under his orange shirt to rest your palms against his abs. The feeling of your skin against his is striking, even though the touch isn’t much at all. Pathetically, Luke is affected by the meaning more than the physicality.

“What do you feel now?” You ask him after pulling away from his lips.

Luke’s immediate reflex is to say “horny”.

You roll your eyes and absentmindedly scratch your nails against his abs. When he keens, he figures he’s hornier than even he thought.

“I mean other than that. Your skin is warm so I’m assuming you’re still nearing a fever, at least. Are you lightheaded? Nauseous? Anything?”

Luke feels like he’s been slapped in the face. You were asking about his symptoms like a healer. Like an Apollo kid. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were only touching him to gauge his temperature. Were you only doing this—kissing him—to keep his fever warded off? Did you even want this?

Rationally, he knows that you would do anything to help him. You’re his best friend, after all. But he wants you to want this, otherwise it would mean nothing. Otherwise, he wouldn’t even begin to hold a torch to your previous partners. He would be the one you laid with out of moral obligation and not interest.

He hadn’t been feeling nauseous before, but his throat starts to construct as if preparing to trigger his gag reflex.

He hasn’t responded and you’re looking at him inquisitively.

“Nauseous,” he starts. “Hot. Horny. Are you only doing this to keep me from dying?” The question messily tumbles out without him noticing.

You run your tongue over your teeth. “Yes. But there’s also personal benefits involved.”

Usually, Luke could decipher your maze-like answers. But he’s so hot and worked up and lacking an immense amount of patience.

“So you want to fuck me?”

Luke doesn’t continue his work until you respond.

“Yes, Luke. I want to fuck you.”

He has your shirt over your head in less than a minute. The button on your shorts is undone 30 seconds after that. He has completely forgotten about your plea to go slower, but even if he did remember he wouldn’t be able to comply.

He needs to feel you. All of you. Or else he might collapse then and there.

His hands run over your shoulders and torso gratefully, only appearing as the opposite whenever he runs into your bra (a sports bra, as he had assumed). As soon as he has the straps pulled down, he latches his lips onto the newly revealed skin.

Distantly, Luke thinks he would have liked to have been able to lay you back. He wants to see you laid out before him while you’re completely at his mercy. Luckily, he has learned to adapt. He has been dealt unfavorable cards in his life, and turned them into something worthy. He plans to do the same here and now.

As he sinks to his knees, he pulls your shorts down with him. You don’t have to be told to step out of them, but as soon as you do, you’re looking down at Luke with your eyebrows raised.

“Are you sure? I haven’t showered since yesterday and I’m really sweaty.”

Luke doesn’t pay any mind to your words. As you’re speaking, he already has his fingers forced under the elastic fabric of your panties.

“I’m sure.”

He pulls the fabric down.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

He pulls your leg over his shoulder, bringing your cunt straight to his face.

He has never gotten this far with someone before, he has never even seen examples of what to do in this position. He could back out. He could set your leg back down and only get his dick wet. But you smell so good, and you’re practically glistening in the sun, and you’re staring down at him expectantly so Luke slowly leans forward, sticks his tongue out, and gets to work.

‎

By the time Luke feels even a bit satiated, the sun has started to descend to its destination below the horizon, creating a soft blue hue over the sky.

You’re panting under him, your back and arms painted with dirt, just a bit smudged on your cheek and a few flecks of it strewn throughout your hair. Your stomach rises and falls with your breaths, drawing Luke’s attention to the fresh cum laying there. There’s some dried cum on your back, and just the smallest smudge at the corner of your lips. Luke doesn’t think much before he licks his thumb and wipes away the white crust from your mouth.

He sits back on his haunches and sighs with his head tilted to the sky. His hands rest on his thighs with an exorbitant amount of self control, as he desperately wishes to wrap his fingers around his semi-erect cock and jerk himself to another orgasm.

He thinks that most of the pollen has left his system by now, and at this point the desire he feels is natural. It’s the same desire he has felt for you for a while now, only amplified by the memory of what the real thing was like with you. It’s addicting. Luke truly cannot get enough, even though he has been out here with you for hours. Somewhere along the way, one of the teams won capture the flag. Luke wasn’t sure which one, but the triumphant yells in the distance alerted him of a victory. Somewhere between his third orgasm and your fourth, the conch for lunch blew off into the distance, but Luke had absolutely no concern for satisfying his physical hunger. He was too focused on the sight in front of him.

When he brings his vision back down, you’re sitting with your legs pulled in your chest and your arms wrapped around your calves.

“We should clean up and go have dinner,” you tell him, your voice weak and hoarse.

Fear strikes Luke still. You’re avoiding his eyes, staring down at the dirt, and speaking in a soft voice.

He shuffles closer to you, reaches out to touch you, and then he reconsiders. You take a deep breath, and Luke rests his hand on your elbow.

“Okay. Are you okay? I know that was a lot.”

You look at him and Luke feels a bit better, because while your eyes are a bit distant, you don’t look upset.

“I’ll be okay. ‘m just tired. But what about you, are you fine?”

There is still that nagging in the back of his head, telling him to take you one more time, but his logical part knows that you wouldn’t be able to handle it. He knows that you’ve had enough. Which means he, too, has had enough.

“I’m good.” He leans forward and presses a kiss into your hairline. He stands, pulls his boxers onto his lower half, and offers you his hand. “C’mon.”

You let Luke help you redress and hold his hand as he leads you back to camp the back way. You two come out of the forest right by the showers, where Luke tells you to wait while he does his best to sneakily run back to the cabins. He grabs himself a change of clothes, then sneaks into the Demeter cabin where he does the same for you.

He knows that he has just seen all of your intimate parts for hours on end, but holding your panties in his hand makes his ears redden. Blood threatens to rush down to his crotch but he fills his head with the most undesirable images until he reaches you.

Two showers are started, you and Luke stand back to back, and Luke enters his shower.

When the bathroom is covered in steam and you’ve both used the remnants of the hot water, you and Luke redress and reach the dining pavilion just in time for dinner.

He falls into the routine of a caring counselor easily. He answers insistent questions about his previous whereabouts with a passing “I was sick” that earns just enough sympathy and stops the questions all together. A few times he looks across the way to see you already looking at him. Instead of dropping his eyes or teasing you with the slyest middle finger he could muster, he smiles at you just slyly enough to not raise suspicion.

When offerings have been given, and Luke feels full in multiple ways, he finds you at the bonfire and sits with his leg flushed to yours.

He had just begun to think that all of the pollen was out until you rested your hand on his knee and he felt a jump in his stomach.

Goddamn it.

#lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #celeste writes pjo #loser!luke

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maplleaf · 2 months

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《 Spark 》

[Boothill (HSR) x GN! Reader]

Boothill is a leaked char, but no story spoilers. Just his general vibes from the leaked pics I saw.

Very short too lol, I'm trying to get my motivation back for the dr ratio fic

"Ouch, can't ya' be a bit gentle, Spark?"

Your brows furrowed at the remark and nickname. The sound of mechanical parts malfunctioning is heard clearly, all due to the work of your hands.

"For the last time, I'm not a fucking mechanic. You just keep on insisting I fix you up," you scoffed, but still trying your best to somehow fix his arm. "And what does Spark even mean?! I told you I don't know any of your slang."

Boothill laughed, "why don't you ask your family fellas?"

The half cyborg could see the shudder that went down your spine as you attempted to fix his robotic arm. "They'd kill me. Even touching you would make me lose my upcoming projects."

"Ya' wound me, Spark..." Boothill remarked, feigning a wound on his heart, despite him placing his hand on his right chest.

The sentiment made your roll your eyes, going back to the task at hand.

Both of you remained in a blissful silence after, your whole focus on Boothill's arm, not even realizing the pair of grey eyes staring at you under the shadow of his hat.

A small chuckle escaped his lips, 'a sight better than any dreams,' he thought. Shamelessly staring at you, leaning back against the chair and enjoying his view.

Your focused face brought him glee. The way your lips pout as another error came up in your attempt to fix his arm, the brief moment where he could see stars in your eyes, only to be shrouded in dissapointment once more as another failure struck.

He relished in your... everything. The way you agreed to help him despite knowing barely anything about his robotic parts made his heart melt, knowing that you just want to help him.

Just looking at you made him giddy inside, the thought that you're touching his arm can motivate him to fight the entire Bloodhound Family on his own.

He didn't care if he got roughed up in the fight, any losses he might've gotten in any fight is a win if it means he'll be seeing this.

Before he knew it, you noticed his gaze fixed on you. "Your sharp-ass teeth isn't making the staring comforting..."

Hearing that made the latter laugh again, taking off his hat and using it to cover his mouth, but his vision still locked onto you. "This' better, Darlin'?"

The sudden nickname made you stop in your track, Boothill's frustrating smirk hidden behind the hat. With a scoff, you grabbed his hat, throwing it right at his face before standing up from the chair.

"Fix this arm by yourself. I'm heading back to the Golden Hour," you spat out, dropping the tools on the table, walking over to the glowing blue 'pond' that became the entrance to the dreamscape.

"What? A nickname ruffled ya' up?" Boothill teased, seeing you lay down and close your eyes. His words were met with a middle finger coming from you, right before you drifted off to the dreamscape. The furrowed and irritated face turned into a peaceful slumber.

Seeing you asleep, Boothill sighed, wearing the hat back on his head. Mechanical sounds could be heard from his arm, and a few moments later; he stretched the robotic arm, as if nothing was wrong in the first place.

He walked over to you, making sure you were truly sleep.

The cold mettalic hand went to your face, moving away the strands of hair on your face.

He smiled, his sharp teeth showing faintly beneath the smile. "Good dreams, Spark," he murmured softly.

"... one day I'll tell you what it means."

--------------------------------------------

Spark – A lover, a beau.

#boothill #boothill hsr #honkai starrail #hsr #penacony #boothill x male reader #boothill x gn reader #boothill x reader #hsr x gn reader #save a horse ride a cowboy

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steddielations · 8 months

Text

Dom Steve Fic Recs

Strange as Angels (soft dom steve) by @munsonkitten

Eddie hasn't been able to get himself off in months, and now he's high, sweaty, and horny, thinking about the very man sitting in his room in nothing but a wife beater and a pair of tiny athletic shorts, and he thinks he might die. Steve notices. Of course, Steve fucking notices, what, with all the squirming Eddie's doing. Steve offers to help get Eddie off. As friends do. (As long as those friends are completely in love with each other.)

Like The Hero Who Never Ran (dom awakening series) by callmejude

While Steve and Dustin are searching for survivors, they're surprised to find Eddie alive, hiding out in Rick's cabin. Steve takes up the task of caring for him while staying in his trailer.

Genius Loci (dom bottom, magic steve) by @sayesayes

It’s 1986, and Steve falls in love with a boy who is leaving. It’s 1990, and Eddie comes back home. The fic where Steve is a selectively mute, homesteading, truck-driving witch with head injuries and also somehow it's canonverse.

(Don't) cream your pants (soft dom steve awakening series) by @corrodedbisexual

“Don’t know how to cream your pants, huh?” Steve asks, unable to conceal a smirk. He hears a quiet whine as Eddie seems to try and make himself disappear inside the couch. “Want me to show you how?”

Gilded (dom steve, blindfolds, ice play) by @cheshiredogao3

Steve and Eddie are looking forward to a weekend all to themselves, but it doesn’t go as planned.

Trouble Looks Good On You (wip, spanking, kink discovery) by me indelicate

It happens like a fever dream. The first time Steve gives Eddie a swift smack on the ass, it’s obviously just an old jock habit that’s stuck with him. It wasn’t meant to have Eddie’s knees going weak, or turn his blood hot under his skin, or give him a brand in the shape of Steve Harrington’s hand, or— Nope, because Eddie’s not even into that. But then, it happens again. Or, Steve keeps accidentally awakening Eddie’s new kinks.

You Make Me Feel Like I Am Whole Again (wip, dom top and dom bottom steve) by @munsonkitten

Eddie has never felt like his body belongs to him. It gets worse after he's nearly mauled to death, left with scars and healing wounds, a lopsided chest, and more trauma stacked on top of everything already wrong with him. Steve Harrington finds out Eddie's trans by accident after the bats, and Eddie finds out Steve's surprisingly okay with it. More than okay with it.

Bite Through These Wires (soft dom steve's strap game series 🤭) by @steves-strapcollection

“Wouldn’t you be Ken, though?” Steve had hoped Eddie would ask a question like that and he had to refrain from punching the air and ruining his punchline. “I come with all the coolest accessories, so clearly I’m still Barbie,” Steve retorted, his voice going just a bit deeper as he leaned closer to Eddie.

Relax (Lay it Back) (soft dom yoga instructor steve) by @wynnyfryd

Five times yoga instructor Steve teaches Eddie how to chill the fuck out, and the one time he learns his lesson.

Melt Me On Your Tongue (soft dom, bathing) by me indelicate

“This okay?” “Yeah it’s— shit, it’s more than okay, Steve.” “… you’re crying, Eds.” Eddie can’t hold back a choked off noise then, somewhere between an overwhelmed laugh and a sob. “No one’s ever done this to me before.” He doesn’t know if he means no one’s ever given him a bath, or braided his hair, or just any of the things Steve does for him, really. Eddie's never had a Steve before.

Kiss Me (Beneath the Milky Twilight) (pleasure dom steve, virgin eddie) by @gorgeousgreymatter-x

Eddie has never been kissed. Steve apparently would very much like to volunteer to fix this.

Getting Lost in the Dark is My Favorite Part (wip, masochist virgin eddie, kink discovery) by queerontilmorning

After his near-death experience, Eddie decides it's time to get rid of his pesky virginity and heads to a gay bar. It leads to some... realizations... for both him and Steve.

You're a Sweet Shot of Kerosene (When I Threw it Back, it Poisoned Me) (wip, mob boss steve) by @gorgeousgreymatter-x

Whatever fucked up shit Eddie’s father had inadvertently roped him into simply by being what he was — a shit-stain excuse for a sperm donor who preferred sticking a needle in his arm to taking care of his family — well, Eddie’s pretty sure it’s about to be him that pays that price. And maybe Eddie’s delirious, because by the time it’s apparently his turn and they’re dragging him down some hallway (and yeah, it’s not like Eddie’s not trying to put up a fight, but it feels almost performative at this point considering he’s pretty much hogtied here), the only real thought he has when they deposit him on yet another cold, wet tile floor is this: Uncle Wayne is gonna be so pissed at me if I get shot in the head tonight.

closer to you (soft dom steve) by @natesfwl

“C’mon baby, where's my little rockstar?” Steve spanks him, groans when he feels Eddie tense up around him from the impact, “Perform for me.” “You let me penetrate you” Eddie stutters out the line as he lifts himself up with his knees. “There you go,” Steve whispers, watching as Eddie fights to keep his eyes locked onto Steve’s when he sinks back down. or the really self-indulgent fic of steddie fucking to the song closer by NIN.

Destroy The Silence (drummer steve) by @artaxlivs

Steve becomes the drummer for Corroded Coffin and Eddie can't handle his thirst

Trouble and Temptation (series wip, businessman dilf steve) by @heartharps

“Come on, Harrington. I’d lay you badly but I’d lay you gladly.” When Steve looked up, he was glaring, as stern and serious as ever. “Eddie, let me remind you that as far as I'm concerned, nothing has ever happened between us other than of a professional nature.”

Sting, and Other Brainworms (series with switching) by @riality-check

“Do you need to go down, baby?” Eddie gets like this, sometimes. Stuck between overwhelmed and incredibly bored. Steve watches until he remembers that they have a way to fix this. Eddie calls it a hard reset. Steve calls it fucking him until he can’t see straight.

Edification (sadist steve) by aristal

“Alright Munson.” She bares her teeth and grins like a wolf. “Tell the class: what’s your biggest sexual fantasy?” A slow smile creeps into his features, and his dark eyes flash. “Oh, you’re asking the good questions, Wheeler.” He takes another long pull of his joint, dragging the moment out for dramatic effect. Steve doesn’t care. He wants to know the answer. He needs to know. Eventually, Eddie blows out the smoke, eyes a little hazy as he grins at the ceiling. “I’ve always liked the idea of being slapped around and choked in someone’s car.”

In My Boxers, Half Stoned (dom bottom Steve) by eddywow

"You can," Eddie said, almost sounding like he was nodding along to his words. The image was too pure for Steve. "You could say anything you want to me and I'd- I think I'd be into it. Because I saw your pics and like, I know your face isn't in them but- but I really like them. Is it okay that I liked them?"

Insatiable (public, skirts, cages) by @cheshiredogao3

When their club ritual is rudely interrupted, Steve and Eddie make a point of proving their bond—rather publicly.

Done Deal (series with switching) by @morningberriesao3

Steve Harrington doesn't have any money with him, so he offers to pay Eddie Munson some other way.

Lovebite (sub vampire eddie) by hellcore

It shouldn’t feel so good, being tasted.

* The next few don't have the tag but in my opinion they have dom Steve vibes and I want to include them here (:

Cyclical (wip, time loop fic, rimming, switching, lots of smut with plot) by @cuips-not-cute

steve keeps finding himself back in the boathouse where everything started, wrapped up in the arms of a boy who can’t stop dying. he's desperate to rewrite the timeline, trying everything he can think of to fix it. including falling in love.

Dirty Words by @morningberriesao3

Steve gives Eddie a lesson on dirty talk, but things start to get carried away.

Memorize My Number, That's Why I Got A Phone (phone sex) by queerontilmorning

while on tour with Corroded Coffin, Eddie makes an important phone call to Steve.

My Right Hand Man (spanking, kink discovery) by @entanglednow

In which movie night takes an unexpected turn, and it's surprisingly easy to just let it happen.

Shot Right Through (pierced eddie) by @entanglednow

Steve overhears a conversation between Eddie and Robin, and then spends a few weeks trying to think of anything else.

Pleased To Meet You (demon steve) by midnightdrive

Eddie accidentally summons a demon who is bound to fulfill his every wish. He, somehow, gets more than he had bargained for.

#for the baddies that get it #i'm sure i missed some great ones please feel free to add on <3 #steddie #steddie fic rec #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #dom steve harrington #sub eddie munson

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regicidal-optimism · 2 months

Note

You've been reblogging more stuff about female characters getting ignored by fandoms recently and I would be really curious to hear your full views on the topic.

The thing is that... look. I get it. Many fandoms do not have very many women in their canon, many of those women are treated pretty poorly by the canon or aren't given as much depth as their male peers, and if you're at all picky the pickings are kind of slim (I would love to be a fan of c!Niki, if I were able to watch six-hour vods, which I am not). It is not wrong that most works with large fandoms are really, really sexist, and the problem is not just in the fanbase!

But come the fuck on. It is not an accident that the DSMP and the MCU and BNHA, all of which are vast-majority male and the female characters are treated terribly, are megafandoms, and Revolutionary Girl Utena is eligible for yuletide. It is not wrong that if you want to see more female-character-focused fanwork you should go to Sailor Moon and not The Untamed, but it is also kind of missing the point to say that and not look at the difference in size between those fandoms. People can say "it's because the male characters are so often more interesting and have more meaningful interactions," and like, sometimes that's even true, I will be the first to tell you that quackbur has more to it than tinarose, but please compare the Clint/Coulson tag to the Utena/Anthy tag and look me in the eye and tell me that's the only thing driving the trend. With a straight face.

And even more there's a thing where— so, I was a mod in the @ao3topshipsbracket bracket. And femslash ships, once they were in the bracket, did really well. Like, absurdly well, like 80% of the f/f ships entered got to the top 16, and the last one was against blackbonnet which was never gonna lose in round 1. You might notice something about that number, though, which is that there were only five of them entered total, because people love to vote for femslash but they absolutely will not write it. And they won't say anything about it either! I was watching the activity feed the entire tournament, and I can tell you, for all of the "let's go lesbians" that populated our notes, nobody would say anything that was actually about the specific characters who made up their ship. I learned a lot about Naruto fandom, modding that bracket; I still know nothing about CW Supergirl, because the only thing anyone would say about it is "it has women in it". Because women are interchangeable. Because women are avatars of Being A Good Feminist. Because clicking a button is easy, and actually thinking about any specific woman and her traits and her internality is hard.

The thing is that guilt over misogyny does not actually fix misogyny. It gets you a lot of people who vote for women in polls, and who say "he's like a woman to me" about their male faves but notably don't have any canonically female characters they talk about, and who say that the only thing they care about in a fic is if it has women in it but will not ever actually say anything about any specific woman, and who never shut up about yuri but apparently yuri is everything and anything except women who have feelings about one another.

I'm tired! I'm very tired. I want people to actually give a shit about specific women and their specific traits, which do not begin and end with "woman". And, also, to stop treating women exclusively as the wingmen, advice-givers, mom figures, and accessories of men.

#grace dot text #ask #fandom misogyny #discourse cw #creative reading

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matrixbearer2024 · 3 months

Text

Get Off My Screen!

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: I'm doing this cuz someone wanted to see my shitposty idea hahaha, I hope it's not too OOC but oh well- I hope someone could write a proper fic with this since I don't trust my writing much HAHAHAHA

A/N: I'll also be doing this from the reader's POV for now. Just message me or request if you wanna see Vox's POV since it might be too long if I include his thingy in this post XD

College life is fun, do doubt about that; from the parties to the friends you make- it truly was unforgettable.

Even if you did study a lot, wanting to get high marks- you had time to indulge every once in a while and goof off with friends.

It made you a star student on paper- but nearly bordering troublesome with your chaotic behavior.

You were lucky to never have been caught with their shenanigans.

But of course your friends just had to push it.

A new ghost hunting hype trend surfaced online and they were convinced that they had to get into it.

You said it was a bad idea, getting into stuff you didn't know.

Your friends brushed you off and all piled into the attic of your parents' home.

Of course, your parents were more than happy to explain some things before leaving your group to their devices.

They've been messing with the... "paranormal" for most of their lives.

You just chose not to believe it.

It wasn't like there was proof aside from heresay anyways.

Your friends proceed to mess with the ouija board they found, among other probably possessed things.

You found it all way too creepy to be honest.

Especially that old CRT TV that was just sitting in the corner.

It was an old thing you remembered using, but it always glitched and stuttered when you were a kid.

Even if there wasn't actually anything wrong with it according to the technicians that tried to fix it over the years.

Your friends started screaming before you could really reminisce.

"WHO'S MOVING IT?!"

"I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING-"

"IT'S MOVINNGGGGGGG-"

The fact the ouija board was actually reacting slightly freaked you out.

You managed to calm your friends from bombarding the thing with questions before asking what actually mattered.

"What's your name?"

V... O... X...

That didn't sound like a demon name you were even vaguely familiar with, at least off the top of your head.

Then of course that creepy TV from your childhood turned on by itself.

Your friends were screaming bloody murder at this point.

You didn't even realize the fuss until you saw the darn thing was unplugged.

You freaked out too, bolting down the attic stairs with your friends quickly in tow.

It was smooth sailing afterwards, your parents assuring you that nothing would happen.

Your friends stayed for dinner until they had to go.

You were about to retire for the night as well until you realized you couldn't find your phone.

Everywhere you looked, it wasn't there.

That left one place.

The attic.

By the time you gathered the courage to return, everything seemed just fine.

The TV was finally turned off, how and why- you didn't bother enough to know.

So you picked up your phone off the floor and just headed to your room.

Only to practically get jumpscared when you opened your phone.

WHO PUT A FRIGGIN WEIRD GLITCHY SMILEY ON YOUR WALLPAPER?!

Annoyed, you switched it back before plugging it into the charger.

Come morning, you had a bone to pick with your lot of friends.

Because not only was your phone stuck with the wallpaper problem, soon were all your devices.

You tried everything, restarting your stuff, running an antivirus, even getting it professionally checked.

Nothing.

And the problem continued to persist.

Now at your wits' end, you figured whatever entity was messing with your gadgets could at least converse with you through said gadgets.

So you opened a blank notepad on your laptop, nearly glaring at the screen while waiting for something to happen.

Five minutes passed and nothing happened.

"OH YOU CRAPPY PIECE OF TECH JUST DO SOMETHING!"

Even more waiting and still nothing.

Eventually you just decided to type something up on the notepad in impatience.

"I know you're in there. Stop messing with me."

And to your surprise, something finally replied.

"Oh I know, you're just fun to mess with doll."

What. The. Fuck.

And that was how you met him.

Vox, the tech overlord demon, months ago.

When he infected your phone, then consequently the rest of your electronics too.

Since then he's been an annoying thorn in your side.

Well... or even a welcome distraction.

Maaaaybe even an odd Omegle Buddy?

Who even still does those?

Either way, you never had to use spellcheck again whenever doing your work.

Nor did you consult Google as often either.

As rude and annoying as he was, Vox was quite helpful when it came to paperwork.

Not that you didn't know much about him, on some days you would both just chat using the notepad.

He hated some radio guy named "Alastor"?

You would laugh if you weren't so tired.

Depending on Vox's mood, he was either tolerable or a downright prick.

Fighting over control of the cursor was also pretty common occurrence.

Vox practically living in your gadgets forced you to learn at least basic software care and programming.

The guy also ended up sorting your files!

You'd be more thankful if he wasn't so bitchy about your file arrangement anyway.

It wasn't that bad.

You want to call him your virtual friend- but he's more like an annoying virus that throws hissy fits from time to time.

Even if said hissy fits were either excessive amounts of lag or mostly obstructive visual glitches and pop ups.

The little shit was also constantly messing with you during class.

Not that he cared enough even if you told him you were, he'd still be messing with your notes or even your files every now and then.

You stopped trying to change wallpapers after you realized he kept switching them back to his grinning face.

Let's not even mention his multitude of custom emojis stuck in your device.

How that got there, you didn't care enough to figure out.

What a weirdo.

Though him constantly interacting with your software gave you an idea.

You saw your friend fawning over a thing called a "desktop pet" just a little ago in class.

They chose to get a virtual slime.

It piqued your interest after you saw it was interactive too.

And knowing that Vox liked to mess with your operating systems a lot, you decided to try and get one to see what he'd do.

You got the basic one, just a random anime "chibi" or so it was labeled on the website.

It walked around and did some emotes before a notepad opened up with a message.

"What the fuck is that."

"My new desktop companion, do you like it?"

You didn't get a reply so you just left to grab a snack.

You weren't even surprised with what you came back to.

Vox was already using the cursor to bully the desktop pet you downloaded.

Either throwing it around or just repeatedly spam clicking it so it fell over.

The sonova bitch-

You kind of expected it, just leaving Vox to do his thing while you went to take a nap.

Only, you didn't realize you would be coming back to a new custom desktop pet and an open note.

"You're welcome~"

If that was what Vox looked like, you couldn't deny it was cute.

Or at least the small desktop pet made it seem so.

It was a striking design for sure-

Did he have a monitor for a head??

Oh that explains the face on your screen wallpapers.

You didn't realize until too late that Vox could interact with you using the desktop pet either.

Sometimes the things he did were cute with it, like the emotes that were installed on the thing.

Or he was just a little shit closing your windows or dragging them off screen before you could notice and stop him.

He was an annoying bastard-

But you kept him around anyways.

A/N: I really had fun writing this thing, it hasn't gone romantic since I didn't know if I wanted it to go that route so this is more of a friendly thing? Either way I might write Vox's POV sooner or later this was a really fun idea HAHAHAHA

A/N: Vox's POV is here!! :3

#vox x reader #vox x you #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox #x reader #Get Off My Screen Series

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luveline · 10 months

Note

Ok this sentence from your hotch fic "You're so busy, I could never," you say, shaking your head.

got me thinking what about a lil story about a non bau gf being very upset but trying to hide it from hotch bc he’s busy and she doesn’t want to add to his plate

hope this is ok!! —hotch assures you he's never too busy to listen if you've been upset by something, 1k♡

You're doing the dishes when it starts to come back. It's weird that the nature of the things that hurt us is their ability to come back, to metastasise while we're unaware; you think you're doing a good job at moving forward and the claws of it sink into your back, your chest. One talon at a time.

You ignore it, focusing instead on Aaron behind you at the dinner table. The sound of papers fluttering across each other as he turns a page, the click and drag of his pen as he writes. You can picture his cursive, and the frown he wears as he works.

You're dying to tell him about what's hurting you, but beyond feeling small in the eye of the storm that is his job, he's been busy, evidenced by paper work at home and a yawning gap of communication. This is the first time you've seen him all week. You dread filling the time (wasting it, even) with something that doesn't concern him. It barely concerned you, someone else's unresolved issues turned to a bad mood and all the fallout on your shoulders.

"Is something wrong?" Aaron asks.

He's like a shark for emotions, your tiny sniffle a drop of blood in the water. You wipe your nose with a soapy hand and shrug casually.

"Nothing's wrong. Are you nearly done? Maybe we can watch a movie."

Aaron stands up. You stiffen at the sound, but relax when his hand squeezes your shoulder. He braces his hands on the countertop and leans forward, looking at you. You meet his eyes. Usually so serious, softened slightly by worry.

"You stancing up on me?" you tease.

He doesn't buy into your jokes. You clear your throat, wondering what you might be able to change the subject to. You've been thinking about asking him if he wants to get a pet fish with you, an aquarium—

"You're upset by something," he says. "I think it's best if you tell me."

"You think?"

"Please, honey."

You set the last dish on the drying rack and dry your hands slowly, buying time. Aaron indulges your behaviour though he undoubtedly knows what you're doing.

"You're really busy, Aaron, I don't want to put more water in your levy."

You've barely stopped talking when he begins. "If this is about my being busy, put it out of your mind. You know better than anyone that things have to wait sometimes, regretfully, when I'm working, but I'm here now." He fixes you with a fond smile.

"Exactly, you're here, so let's not waste time on silly stuff that's bothering me."

Aaron bears his weight on his hip against the countertop, taking your water-warmed hands into his, tacky skin sticking as he rubs your knuckles. Easing your forward with a gentle pull, one of his hands runs up your arm until his fingertips are nudging under your sleeve. An encapsulating hold, it says, I'm right here. Not too busy. Nothing too silly.

And still, he says aloud, "Time talking about how you feel isn't wasted, even if you're upset by something small."

You frown then, nose aching, eyes burning, because it doesn't feel small at all. "Are you sure you're not too busy?" you ask weakly, a high pitch attempt to salvage it and keep hiding how upset you are, but a simultaneous giving-in.

"No," he says softly, all empathy as you descend into tears, "of course I'm not too busy."

He hugs you close right there in the kitchen. Words won't come out and your shoulders shake under his hands with every attempt to explain it to him, not just that something bad happened to you, but that it's been really heavy to carry alone, and that weight being taken from you —by him, and so easily— is a moving relief.

He pulls it out of you, an explanation made of fits and starts, and he gets mad on your behalf, but he pushes it aside to talk you through it. When you can cry without nearly choking yourself on breathlessness, he sways you minutely from side to side.

"I knew something was upsetting you," he says, still so gently, "but I didn't know it was this bad. I need you to let me know. I'm sorry, honey, but I need you to tell me when it's bad like this if I miss it."

You shudder in a breath. "It's not that bad."

You both know it's a lie. Aaron pulls you in for another good hug, hand at the small of your back rubbing a dedicated circle. Your shirt bunches up and he takes a handful of your naked skin, thumb tracking around, his cheek pressed to the top of your head. "It's okay," he murmurs. "Take a deep breath. I will always be here for you, you know that?"

It's odd to hear him strung like that. You take a deep breath like he asked you to, arms clasped behind his, your face too hot in his neck.

"Even if I'm busy, I'm here at the end of the day. I promise. If I'm sitting at the table with you, that means I'm waiting for you." He cracks a small smile, his hand at the nape of your neck encouraging your head back. The other hand, dedicated to the patch of skin just above your coccyx, rubs upward. It releases a little of the tension building in your spine. "I love you, honey, I'm busy, but never too busy to hear what's wrong. Never."

"You'll make me cry worse," you whine, letting him tip your head further back again, hand at your cheek now giving a soft squeeze. You blow a warm breath out at his thumb.

Aaron kisses you lightly, lips only half-touching.

He pulls away. "Let me make you something to drink, hm?"

Thus begins a night of adoring pampering and over the top doting. You pretend it's too much, but it's really, really perfect.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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sunflowersteves · 11 months

Text

i'm not cute || m.o.

pairing || miguel o'hara x fem!reader

summary || Miguel always loved when you played with his hair.

author's notes || this is my first miguel fic and im v excited!! there will be much more to come <3 also, my spanish is v v v limited and i tried following what ppl were saying in the miguel tag but please let me know if I need to fix anything!!

warnings || none, fluff, it's tooth-rotting

“Did you just braid my hair?”

You paused—froze even. Your hands stilled in between his luscious, soft hair, and it took every ounce inside of you to not continue to feel through each strand of his.

“Uh, no?” It was bashful.

You inwardly winced at the extremely unconvincing tone of your voice. You couldn’t see, but his lips curled into the smallest of smiles. His spidey-DNA, as you liked to call it, sensed the heat that radiated off of your body.

After an unsuccessful mission, Miguel came home in a state of ire. His eyebrows were furrowed, anger rolling off of his body in waves as his chest heaved up and down. But as soon as your hand placed itself across the plains of his chest and soothed the fabric of his suit, everything started to dissipate.

The anger, the grief, the guilt—everything.

You gently pulled his wrist, and he blindly followed you into the living room of your makeshift apartment he built in Nueva York. You sat right above him on the couch, brush in your hand as you stroked through each strand of hair. His frame practically barrelled over you, despite him sitting on the ground with his back to the legs of the couch.

In return, he wanted to desperately turn around and press light kisses into your skin, but he refrained. He knew that all you wanted to do was comfort his tense muscles.

“That didn’t sound very convincing.”

You bite your lip, sheepishly, as you ignored his comment and started to braid another part of his hair. You very carefully twisted the fluffy soft hair between one another and grinned at the What he didn’t have to know wouldn’t hurt him, right? Well, apparently, you were wrong because once you tugged on his hair, yet again, and he practically jumps.

“¡Ay!” He yelps and turns his head to look at you, “¿Qué mierda haces?”

Your eyes widened, “Miggy! Oh—I’m so sorry!” You go to reach for his head again in an attempt to soothe the pain that you caused, but he caught your wrist.

If you weren’t too concerned about tugging on his hair, you would have noticed the slight change in his lips that turned into a sly smirk. “Cariño,” He warned. His voice was gravelly and rough—the sound sending shivers down your spine. “¿Qué voy a hacer contigo?”

In one motion, he’s hovering over you. “Hmm?”

Your mouth opens in surprise—the spark in your heartbeat not going unnoticed by the man before you. “I–I just, Miguel—” You were starting to get nervous under his gaze—just like you always do.

Pure adoration flashed between his ruby eyes, and his finger gently rubbed against the side of your cheek. It was so gentle and affectionate that it almost created tears against your waterline. He loved when you got nervous and playful—it always struck against his chest and seized him whole. He wanted to see the effect that he had on you in every waking moment, it seemed.

He smiled. “You’re cute.”

You gasped, attempting to turn the tables around and flip him over. “I am not cute!” Alas, you were unsuccessful.

He laughed. It was hearty and pretty against your ears. “You’re right. You’re the cutest.”

You grumbled under your breath, and it took every ounce of control not to kiss the puffing of your cheeks. “Whatever, you’re the cutest. Not me.”

Miguel smiled—teeth showing and entirely genuine as he took in your playful expression and fingers that twisted the short hair against the base of his neck.

“I’ll eventually make you admit it, mi alma. Don't you worry."

¿Qué mierda haces? - What the fuck are you doing?

Cariño - Honey

¿Qué voy a hacer contigo? - What am i going to do with you?

Mi alma - my soul

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fluff #spiderman across the spiderverse #no spoilers

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freelancearsonist · 2 months

Text

I Was Fixed On Your Hand of Gold

➔ Lucien Flores x afab!Reader - 1k

➔ When Lucien gets bored, his hands start to wander. OR Lucien uses his fingers for good evil underneath the table at dinner with your friends.

➔ Rated MA for exhibitionism kink, fingering (r receiving), pet names (baby), references to smoking/nicotine use, no use of y/n, reader has female anatomy but no pronouns used. [please let me know if i missed any :)]

➔ i don't know anything about this man other than that he looks scummy and i'm in love with him. thank you to the dieter bravo brainrot club discord server for feeding my madness and to @shakespeareanwannabe for proofreading this incoherent horny babble <3 title is from 'would that i' by hozier wow what a surprise another cece fic named after a hozier song

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

It’s growled so low in your ear that you could almost believe it’s imagined. But with the way his fingers are dancing against your burning skin, tracing little circles along the length of your thigh, there’s nothing but intention in his voice–regardless of how raspy and deep it is.

Eager fingers push your skirt out of the way, impatient yet calculated. He moves slowly and with deliberation, careful not to show anything above the tablecloth.

“Don’t ignore your friends, baby,” he murmurs low into your ear so only you can hear.

It reminds you of where you are, and why this can’t happen right now. There’s five other people gathered around the table, all smiles and camaraderie and little sips of cheap wine. It’s been a good evening, really. But they’re your friends, not Lucien’s. He won them over within five minutes of meeting them and he’s been bored ever since. And when Lucien gets bored, his hands start to wander.

It’s wrong and you should really stop him. You should push his hand away before his nomadic fingers can climb any further up your thigh than they already have. But he finds the wet spot that’s pooling against your panties, and there’s no denying how much you want it.

It takes every ounce of your restraint not to moan when he finds your clit. It’s like his fingers gravitate to it, like there’s some kind of magnetic pull–even through the barrier of your panties, the cocky bastard doesn’t struggle at all.

He doesn’t even blink. His thick, practiced fingers swirl against the seat of your panties with ease and he doesn’t react even remotely when his fingers immediately come away soaked.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, watching him chuckle at the story your best friend is telling across the table and all the while pretending that his greedy, heavy fingers aren’t pushing your panties aside to swipe through the gathering slick.

Your knee jolts before you can control it and knocks against his thigh, thankfully not causing any noticeable disturbance to the rest of the table’s occupants. But the look he gives you is enough warning–head tipped down, dark eyes impossibly darker, jaw set. He looks dangerous, and it makes your traitorous cunt soak his fingers even further. He’ll only tell you once: if you can’t sit still, you’ll be going home aching and unsatisfied.

You need to come so bad in this moment that you feel like you might cry–so, despite feeling rather like a scolded child under his gaze–you lock every muscle in your body to the best of your ability and let the horrible, delicious onslaught continue.

You swallow thickly when you feel the first real press of his finger. It swirls from your clit down to your entrance, and that’s all the warning you get before he slowly, torturously presses it into your cunt.

He lets it rest, just for a moment, knuckle deep–he knows that even this single finger is a slight stretch. After a moment or two to adjust, he withdraws completely and you have to fight back the whine that builds in your throat. But before you can betray your impatience he’s back, overwhelmingly so, two fingers pressed deep and curled in the exact way that he knows will make you shatter. It’s cruel to do this to you right now, to find that most sensitive spot when you can’t moan or even shudder in reaction to the delicious onslaught of pleasure.

His fingers are relentless–there’s a skilled craft to the way his arm stays completely motionless while his middle and ring fingers flutter and scissor against your g-spot.

Your thighs shake from the sensation the closer he brings you to release. As much as you try to ignore it–to focus on the current story about something that happened in a grocery store parking lot last Thursday–he’s bringing you to the brink so fucking fast that there’s no denying it. There’s no hope for composure, especially once his calloused thumb joins in to swirl tight, rapid circles over your clit.

Above the table, you make eye contact with one of your closest friends and laugh breathlessly at the meaningless story they tell. They never even suspect that below the table, you’re squeezing and fluttering around Lucien’s hand as the most intense orgasm of your life sweeps through you.

It takes a solid few moments for you to be able to breathe normally again. And Lucien, the smug bastard, just leans back in his chair and spreads his leg comfortably, free hand resting behind his head in the most casual manner possible like he didn’t just make you come all over his fingers. And then, when he’s sure no one is looking, he brings his right hand up to his lips and sucks his fingers deep into his mouth–looking directly into your eyes as he does so. He licks every drop of your cum from his digits so carelessly in front of your friends that it nearly makes you come again.

You think he’s had his fill. Your head stops swirling and he laughs along with your friends and you think he’s done. You’re wrong.

He takes your hand in his and laces your fingers together, guiding you ever-so-slowly to palm him through his loose sweatpants. His cock is straining, hard and insistent, against the thick cotton fabric–it makes you squirm in your own seat a little bit.

He’s impossibly casual about your touch as he wiggles a half-spent pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket.

“Go ahead, baby,” he mutters right into your ear. “Take care of your fuckin’ mess.”

And who are you to decline after he so generously took care of you?

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores smut #lucien flores fanfiction #lucien flores one shot #the uninvited #cece writes

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thefreakandthehair · 4 months

Text

(don't bother) calling me when you're sober | rating: m | wc: 1.5k

content warnings: future fic, parental alcoholism ("falling off the wagon"), past parental neglect, minor character death (i've committed wayne crimes i'm so sorry but it's not shown, just mentioned), emotional hurt/comfort, ends on a happy, hopeful note despite the tags

“My dad called.”

Eddie walks into the room, pinched eyebrows and flared nostrils lit up by the multicolored Christmas lights they string on the tree every year, one hand balled into a fist. The reaction wouldn’t surprise Steve so much if this happened years ago, when Al Munson was still living in the bottom of a bottle of Jack, but now?

It’s been eighteen years since he’d gotten sober, nineteen years since his last stint at Hawkins County, and fifteen years since making a genuine attempt to right the wrongs of Eddie’s childhood and build a relationship with his son.

Fifteen years after Eddie let him in, let him try, let him earn Eddie’s trust.

Fifteen years is a long time and to see Eddie so vitriolic in the doorway of their apartment’s living room— hands shaking, body shaking— Steve knows something must’ve gone wrong.

“What happened?” Steve asks, standing from the couch and meeting Eddie where he stands, holding the hand not curled tightly around itself.

“He’s drunk. He called, and he was drunk.”

Steve’s chest pulls tight, his heart racing. What does someone say to that? What can someone say to assuage that kind of deep anger, pain, and betrayal? His thoughts are scattered as they try to make sense of what Eddie just said, and he’s even more grateful now that Ronnie wanted a sleepover with Aunt Robin tonight.

“Eddie, fuck. I’m so— ” Before he can finish his thought, Eddie leans back against the doorframe, ripping his hand out of Steve’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, tugging.

“How could he? How fucking could he?!” Eddie bellows, eyes squeezed shut. “He knew! He knew that if he ever did this again, I’d be done. For good. For forever. And he did it anyways! After eighteen fucking years!”

His eyes fly open and Steve stands still and nods him on. There are just no words to fix this, and trying for the sake of filling the silence has never served him well.

“He did it anyway! Two days before fucking Christmas, a week before the anniversary of—” He chokes and cuts himself off.

He knows what Eddie was going to say. A week before the anniversary of Wayne’s death. It’s been on his mind, too, of course. On his mind and in their conversations over breakfast with eccentric mugs of coffee, over the tangled lights that Wayne could always figure out. The year hasn’t been the kindest to them, particularly Eddie, and Steve wants to protect Eddie as much as he can from whatever he can.

But he can’t shield him from this. Al Munson skips to the top of his shitlist.

“That son of a bitch!” Eddie rams his fist sideways against the door jam, leaving a sharp, red mark along his pinky. “He promised, and I believed him. Why the fuck did I believe him, Steve?”

Steve takes a step closer and grabs both of Eddie’s hands, carefully soothing the angry mark. “It’s been almost twenty years, babe. Trusting him with so much time invested makes sense. Hell, I did, too.”

“I’m— I’m in my 30s, hurt and angry about the same shit I was hurt and angry about as a fucking kid. All the nights I slept in the backseat of the car because he blew his money at the bar, all the car accidents and court appearances and jail time, all the mornings I missed school because he didn’t know what fucking day it was,” Eddie rants, stopping to take a breath before picking back up, Steve’s own heart cracking and raging the more he speaks.

“And every time he’d get sober, he’d always promise. He’d promise it would be the last time, and it never was. Not once could he choose his fucking son and I didn’t understand it then, but now that we have Ronnie, I understand it even less. If I was sick enough to walk away from her, I’d walk my happy ass to the nearest fucking rehab. I get that it’s a disease, I get it, I get it, I get it. But I can’t— I can’t do it again. Not this time. Eighteen years just down the fucking drain because of his company’s holiday party? How can I ever believe him again? Or trust him again?”

Eddie’s voice grows raspier, breath shallow and quick, eyes watery. “Every time this happened when I was a kid, I always had Wayne. He’s the only person who really got it, y’know? The only one who lived it with me and now, I don’t even have him. My dad’s drunk, slurring his way through who fucking knows what on the phone, and no one else can fully understand the magnitude of what that feels like for me.”

He squeezes his eyes shut again and drops forward toward Steve, forehead on his shoulder and arms loosely hung around Steve’s waist. Steve still doesn’t have words that bandage this up, but he knows how to show his husband love in other ways. Ways that, over the years, have become a language all their own. Steve pulls him in tight, one hand near his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. Fingers slide carefully beneath the hem of Eddie’s tee-shirt and rub little, repetitive circles into the small of Eddie’s back while he cards his other hand through Eddie’s hair, scratching his scalp and holding him to his chest to feel the rhythm of Steve’s own heartbeat until his breath returns to a steady pace.

It’s only then that Steve speaks.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed. It’s fucked up, and if you want to me like, hit him with my car, you know I’m game.” Steve feels Eddie laugh— just a few puffs of air through his nose but it’s a laugh all the same. “But I’m here, and we’re gonna figure it out, okay? Whatever you decide to do, we’ll do it together.”

Eddie nods and lets himself be led to the couch, Steve tucking Eddie into his side and pulling the afghan up over them.

“I never want to be what Al was to me to our daughter,” Eddie whispers, not looking away from the tree.

“Well, you’re ahead of the game, because she’s already older than you were when he started hitting the bottle hard. And I know there’s the genetic piece to it that everyone talks about, but nurture counts for a lot of who we become, too. Shit, I owe Joyce Byers a huge thank you for being more of a parent to me than my own were because she’s probably the reason I didn’t turn out like Dick Harrington. Ronnie’s never going to have an Al Munson in her life, because you weren’t raised by Al Munson. That’s not whose legacy you’re passing down. You’re passing down love, not pain.” Steve presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s temple and feels his whole body sag into him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Eddie’s voice is quiet now, a far cry from his earlier venomous edge.

Silence nestles onto the couch with them, a comfortable addition, as they watch the basketball game Steve had on before Eddie told him about the phone call. Watch is a loose description, actually. They're more just looking at a moving, flashing screen.

“My hand really hurts, by the way,” Eddie announces, holding up the hand he’d used to punch the doorjam. “That was fucking dumb.”

“Maybe a little bit, but I get it,” Steve untucks a hand from beneath the blanket and outstretches his palm. “Lemme see?”

Eddie plops his hand into Steve’s and Steve takes a look, mentally working down the check list he’s memorized from his decade plus of EMT work. No obvious breaks, nothing looks crooked, Eddie’s able to move each finger and flex his hand without severe pain.

“If anything, it’s just gonna be bruised tomorrow. But I’ll fix it,” Steve grins and lifts Eddie’s fist to his lips, carefully kissing each knuckle and paying a little extra attention to the pinky that delivered most of the blow.

“I’m so in love with you, Steve.” Eddie rests his temple on Steve’s shoulder. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Steve agrees, chest fluttering despite the circumstances. “And I’m in love with you, too. You know that, right?”

Eddie snuggles in and wraps Steve up, full koala, as though he’s trying to get as close as possible without actually cracking Steve open and climbing inside of him.

“Definitely.”

The next morning, Aunt Robin brings Ronnie home and together, they decorate the gingerbread cookies that only vaguely look like people but are good enough to pass for a seven year old. Halfway through, Eddie’s cell phone rings and the caller I.D. reads Al. Steve watches, worried that Eddie’s going to answer in the middle of their decorating. That he’ll forget Ronnie’s having the time of her life, and that in his righteous indignation, Eddie will leave the table to go fight and argue.

There’s so much to be said, and Steve wouldn’t blame him, but he breathes a sigh of relief when Eddie simply declines the call and sets about pouring more edible glitter onto his design with a smile down at their daughter.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs #(whispers): yeah so my mom fell off the wagon after 18 years at her fucking work party and this is basically just what my day was #our relationship has always been strained but since she got sober there was at least some contact?#anyways #replace wayne with my grandparents and this is just all projection baybee 😙✌️#super not cool with it BUT that's why there are some content warnings here you don't see from me very often 💕

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sanguineterrain · 6 months

Text

the teeth you know | dick grayson

Summary: The war between the humans and the vampires has lasted for a year now. When you fled Gotham, you thought that would be the last time you'd see the Vampire King and the love of your life, Dick Grayson. You were wrong.

Pairing: vampire king!Dick Grayson x fem!reader. based on the dc vs vampires comics

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings/tags: smut!!! 18+ only. oral fem receiving, manipulation, romantic dick, me retconning whatever smarmy little bastard they wrote in dc vs vampires bc that is NOT my dick. dick is literally so gone for you, vampire king or not. themes of death, war, vampires killing humans. if i missed any warnings lmk!

happy almost halloween! follow your dreams and fuck that superhero turned vampire. it'll definitely fix them this time.

the divider

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

Tonight, you dream.

You don't usually have good dreams. Not since this whole war began. Your dreams are filled with red. Always red, always terrifying.

Except when he's in them.

The first few times it happened, you yelled at him for intruding on your subconscious. For warping your emotions and making you miss him. He'd laughed at that.

You should look at yourself a little harder before blaming me. I just appear. You do all the dirty work of missing me, my love.

You're in Gotham in tonight's dream. The old Gotham, of course. Before any bastard undead creatures could suck the life out of your city. Before Dick Grayson haunted your dreams.

You're on a rooftop ledge, legs dangling. You stare at the harbor. The city's wet from the rain and alive. So alive. You start to cry.

"Oh, honey," he says, and you cry harder because he sounds exactly like the Dick you knew.

He keeps his distance, sitting a few feet away. You refuse to look at him, because this is exactly how he gets you to miss him. Dick makes a soft noise when you scrub at your face.

"Have you been eating enough?" he asks, and he almost sounds tender. But you know better. "I'll track down a produce shipment, tell my men to intercept the boat for you."

"Fuck you," you say. "I don't take food out of people's mouths."

Dick edges closer. He feels big in your dreams, looming over you.

"You wouldn't take food out of anyone's mouth. There's no longer a faction on the planet that requires all that food."

Because the vampires have all but wiped humans out. You snarl.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" you snap. "I know you're cruel, but the least you could do is let me dream in peace."

"Have I been cruel to you? I don't mean to be, sweetheart. I visit to check on you."

"Bullshit, Dick." Saying his name makes you shake. "You visit to manipulate me. I'm not going to give up my location, I'm not going to turn against my team, and I'm definitely never going to be your queen."

Dick is next to you on the roof ledge, now. He leans in and you stiffen at his eyes. You still aren't used to the absence of blue.

"Of course not. I wouldn't make you do anything you don't want to," he says, hand slipping across your jaw. You immediately slap him away. He makes a displeased sound.

"Why don't you find someone else to manipulate? I'm sure you've got countless minions who'd leap at the chance to be with you for eternity."

"I don't want anyone else," he murmurs. "I've thought of nothing but you since we parted. I wish you hadn't run, my love. Things would be better if we were together, you’d see.”

"Hah. You used to be so much better at compartmentalizing, Grayson. Guess vampires aren't so good at controlling their own desires."

He laughs, tosses his head back. His fangs glint. Dick's smile is deceiving; underneath the charm, there's unimaginable power. Vampirism has treated him well: he's always filled out, lean with muscle, carrying an easy strength everywhere he goes.

You, on the other hand, suffer from poor nutrition. You didn't sleep well before this mess; now, it's nearly impossible.

(Except when Dick visits, you feel rested the next morning. You'd never admit such a thing to anybody, but it's the truth.)

"Oh, sweetheart, but why would I bother controlling my desires now? There's no one stopping me from having what I want."

You stew in silence, turning away from him. Dick sighs.

"What do you want, hm? Tell me. I'll give you anything."

"I want you to free every human you're holding captive," you say. "And I want you and your people to stop this war."

"Such a golden heart," Dick says. "That's what I love about you. Always so good."

"You used to be good too," you shoot back bitterly.

"No, I used to be obedient. There's a difference. I used to be Bruce's little, golden cow."

“He treated you well.”

“When I fell in line,” he says.

You fall quiet again. Dick scoots closer. You scoot away.

"You know I've already let a few of the humans go. For you, honey. As a sign of goodwill. I'm not totally heartless, you know."

You roll your eyes.

"Right. Well, us cattle don't find it merciful when we're sent out on our own to die, so you'll have to excuse me if I don't thank Your Highness on my knees."

"You are not cattle," Dick says fiercely. "Don't talk about yourself that way."

"My life is no less human and no more important than theirs," you say, temper flaring. "So, yes, I am."

"That's—"

You fall off the roof before he can say any more. Your stomach swoops similarly to how it would if you were awake. But then the stars bleed into the skyline, and there's a flash of golden light.

And now you're in a bedroom. It's not one you recognize, richly decorated with golden accents and silk sheets and curtains. You'd almost mistake it for a room at Wayne Manor.

"Now this is much better, don't you think? You're wearing my favorite color."

You look down and see that your pajamas have been swapped for a long, blood red, chiffon nightgown. It hugs every curve and dip of your body, the sleeves and collar trimmed in soft fur. The neckline is somewhat modest, but the fabric is totally see-through past your thighs.

It's something a queen would wear.

"Beautiful," Dick murmurs, voice rough. "Fuck, honey. This is the sort of thing you should wear all the time."

"Change me back," you demand. "I am not a doll for you to dress up, Dick."

"No, of course you're not. This is just a taste of how you'd live if you were with me, my love."

"I will never live with you. I'd rather die."

Dick hums, then draws closer. You back up until your legs hit the edge of the bed. He prowls further, eyes sharp like he's hunting prey. Your pulse quickens and you have to remind yourself that this is just a dream.

"What happened to us?" he asks softly. "I know that, at one point, you loved me."

"Yeah, that was before you turned into a monster. I loved a man."

"I'm no more monster than any of the men you've known," Dick says.

You scoff. "God, where'd you get that one? Jason?"

Dick smiles, and it almost looks human. "No, that was a Grayson original. And it's true. Man has never been good. You don't like me because now I drink a little blood?"

"I don't like you because you used to be good, and now you're not."

He hums. "I'm not all bad, my love. I can be subdued, tamed. You want me to be tame? I can be good for you. I can give you anything your heart desires. Our wants are the same.”

Dick eases you backwards onto the bed. You shouldn’t let him. Shouldn’t like the cold press of undead flesh against your heat. Shouldn’t like how he holds you, how convincing he sounds. You know your wants aren’t the same, that Dick is playing you, and you’re being easy.

But… but it's not like you'll ever see him for real again. No one will know.

And God, it's been so long since anyone touched you. You pined for this, what seems like forever ago. Dick Grayson wanting you had felt impossible, until it wasn't… but by then, he'd become the very thing you'd sworn to hate.

"This–” You swallow. “This isn’t right.”

But your legs part for him to kneel between.

"Tell me to stop and I will. I serve you first."

Dick hovers over you, hands planted on either side of your head. You're getting wet. You ache in more ways than one.

"This is cruel," you whine.

"I don’t mean to be cruel,” he says gently. “Do you want me to stop, my love? My beautiful queen, who hasn’t been touched in so long. You’ve needed me, haven’t you?”

“Not–not your queen,” you say, panting, but you let him in, let him settle above you.

“If you say so, my love," he says, nuzzling your neck. You tense even though he can't actually bite you.

His fingers thread with yours. The position is unbearably intimate. You’d forgotten how romantic Dick was. How loving. Briefly, you wonder if he kept that through the shift.

It’s impossible, you insist as he kisses your jaw.

"You're a dream in red," he purrs. "I might prefer it to you in blue, but it's a close call."

"Your ego is ridiculous," you say, and Dick unlinks one hand to pet the apex of your thighs with two fingers. You're still clothed, and you're still dreaming, but the heat and pressure and slick feel so real.

"The sounds you're making certainly don’t keep my ego in check," Dick says with a proud grin, fangs on display.

Then he rips your underwear off, ducks between your legs, and licks you until you cry.

You arch off the bed, and even in the dream, his strength is easy, one hand keeping you pressed to the bed. Dick pushes one of your legs up to get a deeper angle, moaning into your cunt. Your leg goes up easily even though in real life, it would pinch. You’re not as flexible as he is.

"Dickie," you cry, tears slipping down your cheeks because it's so good, it feels real, you wish this was real, wish you had him back.

He nips your thighs, groans into your sex. Dick ruts the mattress, the first loss of control he's shown. It makes you wetter, knowing that he's so gone for you. It's sick to like such a thing, but you never stopped loving him, not really. You can't seem to reckon the man from the monster.

You come hard on his tongue, and he keeps licking until you push him away.

"You haven't been touched in ages, I bet," he says, lips shiny with your arousal. His eyes are a brighter red. His chest heaves. He looks hungrier than before he started.

"Been a bit busy,” you say when your brain comes back online. “End of humanity and all that."

His eyes go soft. You hate that he can still make that look.

"Why are you so stubborn? Why won't you let me take care of you? You belong at my side."

You scowl. "I don't belong anywhere, Dick. Certainly nowhere near you."

His eyes glitter and he grabs you by your hips and kisses you. You let him, because you're absolutely pathetic and because you haven't been touched in ages.

Dick laughs against your mouth and peppers kisses on your throat before pulling away.

"I'll send your team food. They won't even know it's me," he says, half-lidded. "My beloved queen. You'll never starve. I didn't know it was so bad."

"I am not your queen and I don't need your charity. In fact, you know what? I'm waking up. Right now."

Dick smiles, and kisses your hand. Then he gets off of the bed, and fixes his collar. He must be aching in his slacks, dream or not, but he straightens up like he has all the time in the world to fuck you. Like he knows you’ll be back.

"Of course, my love. Whatever you want. Till next time."

The dream fades from a golden bedroom to your dark, tiny hole of a room you've camped in for a few months.

You turn your head and look at the clock. It's still late.

Your thighs ache. Your mouth tingles where he kissed you.

You swore to never pledge yourself to the Vampire King. But you never made any such promises about Dick Grayson.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female reader #vampire dick grayson #vampire richard grayson #dc vs vampires #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing fanfiction #batman fanfiction

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norrisleclercf1 · 6 months

Note

hii babes can we please please get a super angsty mafia fic for max!!! I am obsessed with your writing!! something about the reader being hurt or even close to dying I’ll leave it up on you!! just wanna say you are a wonderful writer!!! also an update on mafia mick would just be ahh!! hope you are doing good bb

A/n: Mafia Max and it's angst, you're spoiling me

He knew something was wrong. It was one of those waking up and feeling off, but nothing was wrong. Max couldn't place his finger on it. His morning started off how it always did.

You still asleep, him kissing you and then heading out for his daily run and workout. Coming back to you outside in the garden waiting for him. It was then the soft sex you'd have in the privacy of sun room and then going on with his business.

Max got the text of you going out to shop in the afternoon, smiling at your text. But still, the feeling that something was wrong, wasn't going away and he doesn't know how to get rid of it. Sitting in the meeting he tries his best to ignore the growing pressure in his chest.

Max growls when the doors to meeting room slam open and the frantic face of his assistant pops in. "Mr. Verstappen," She whispers, Max tenses seeing the way she was trying to hold herself together. "What?" The feeling from earlier grows, so much so it takes over Max.

"It's," She swallows shaking her head. "It's Mrs. Verstappen," She whispers, the tears finally rolling down her face. Max recognized the feeling now, the aura he's been around all day. He's felt it before, right before tragedy or even worse, death. This, this feeling was utter doom.

---------------------

"A car ran right into hers. 2 of the guards have passed, she," The doctor takes a deep breathe. Max holds up his hand, not wanting to hear the words. Words that have been spoken to him before. "Don't, I won't have you say them." He whispers, large hands wrapping around your delicate ones.

Hands that were always warm and dancing in his hair, now limp and covered with wires and needles. "Mr. Verstappen, you need to prepare yourself." The doctor steps out of the room, Max refuses to look away from you.

"Maxy?" Looking up, his bloodshot eyes meet the eyes of a head of dark curls, and tan skin. "Was it on purpose?" Max whispers, Daniel hangs his head. "Yeah, they aimed for her side. It was on purpose."

Max sniffs loudly, wiping his eyes as he stands up. Leaning down he kisses your cheek, none of your warmth greeting him, only cold. "Stay with her?" "Of course," Max fixes his suit, and adjusts his gun. "Don't leave me, not yet. At least let me finish some business yeah?" He jokes, but it falls to deaf ears.

"I love you,"

He didn't know that, that would be the last time he could say those words to you.

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mischieveousmayhem · 9 days

Note

hiiii!!🩷 how are you?

I saw that you would like some requests in the #batmom so I have a fic idea

The idea is about each one of the batboys says to Batmom "your not my real mother" like angst/fluff and how would the bat mom react to it and handle it

Not my mother.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Batmom

Genre: Angst to fluff

Warnings: None (?), idk english that well 💀

Synopsis: He loves you , or maybe not?

—

"Jason, this is crazy. How do you have all F's 3 weeks into the semester?"

A disappointed Batmom stood in front of 13(?) year old Jason Todd. She had a frown drawn on her face. Jason looked down, sad that he is disappointing you and angry at himself.

"Do you not do your homework when I tell you to?" She asks a little more assertive while reading all the negative comments the teachers had left.

"I don't know." He responded quietly.

"How do you NOT know?" She was getting heated and it was clear in her tone. "All I want for you is to do your best and you don't even listen to me."

"I do listen to you." He speaks louder, aggressiveness in his tone.

"Jason Peter Todd, do not get an attitude with me because you have consequences to your actions. Now what is going on with you sleeping in class and not paying attention?" Your hands were now on your hips.

"Why do you even care?" You using his middle name made him mad.

"I am trying my best to make sure my son is set up to do good in life." Your hands now on your hips, "Until these grades are fixed, you are to not go on patrol because that is probably the root of these issues."

Jason was at this point angry. You were scolding him like a little kid, on top of that what's Batman without his Robin.

You we're about to walk away but then,

"YOU'RE NOT MY REAL MOTHER, YOU PHONY, I CAN DO WHAT I WANT."

You stopped dead in your tracks. How do you respond to that? You just want what's best for your sweetest Jason.

You turned back to face him, his face was red probably from anger. You were pale, trying to process what your son had said.

"You know what..." You trailed off, "I'll just let your father handle this." You sat down the paper before walking off leaving Jason alone.

Which after he picks up the paper and looks at it.

Oh dear. What has he done?

It's obvious you were actually just caring for him. He was processing everything himself. He just got so angry, angry because he was sad that you were disappointed.

—

In your bedroom shared with your loving husband, you cried endlessly.

Have you failed as a mother? You just want your son to do his best. You didn't understand why he would say that. Maybe you just came off in the wrong way and it triggered him to go off on you.

Just as you were lost in your thoughts Bruce walked in.

"I was looking—" He stopped when he saw you crying and rushed to your side.

Dearest Bruce Wayne only had a soft spot for his wife and kids.

His arm wrapped around you tightly as your cried into his shoulder.

"What happened?" He asks.

"Well Jason brought home bad g—" You stopped for a minute to gasp in between sobs, "Home bad grades and then I was scolding him but I didn't mean to come off wrong and I told him not patrol and then he said.."

"He said what?"

"He said I'm not his real mom!" You exclaimed then cried harder. "I know it's true but I love him so much and it still hurts."

"Y/N, darling." He grabs your chin with his fingers so you're looking his eyes. "You know he probably didn't mean it. He is probably still adjusting to us too. It still won't slide though, I'll talk to him, ok?"

You nod as he pecks your cheek.

—

You were knocked out cold. You probably fell asleep while crying. But your awaken when you feel a smaller body climb in the bed next to you in the bed.

You wanted to smile but you were still half asleep and upset. You roll over to face the figure.

"Hey Y/N." The voice spoke.

"Hi Jay." You responded softly, the tone of sadness in your voice even though you tried to cover it up. However, Jason Todd knew that his mother was upset and he frowned.

You two faced each other while laying there in silence. This lasted for about two minutes before he broke the silence.

"I'm sorry I said what I did."

"I know. It's ok."

"Then why are you do sad?" He questioned.

"Words hurt sometimes Jay and I know you didn't mean it but it still felt like a dagger to my heart."

He frowned even more. He hurt you. The woman who is his mother figure and cares so much for him.

"But I will always forgive you my little one. I'm sorry for being a bad mother." You apologized.

"You're not a bad mother, you're a perfect mother. I'm just a kid who didn't understand you were doing your job until after." He said.

"Jay, I just want you to do good, and always follow your dreams."

"I will mom, I promise." When he said mom you smiled.

He scooted closer to you and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

This was a mothers love, that is what made you his mom.

"I love you mom."

"I love you most, Jason."

#fanfic #bruce wayne #batmom #bruce wayne x reader #damian wayne x batmom #dc comics #bruce x reader #jason todd x batmom #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason peter todd #dcu #dc universe #dick grayson x batmom #tim drake x batmom #bruce wayne x batmom

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blindaysblogforturtles · 8 months

Text

Everyone's doin it, why shouldn't I? I've got things to say! And unfortunately, Cass cant just draw as if she is a camera looking at them the whole time. So, we still get space for fic!

Hope you like it. It's like, the first time in months I finish a wip. And in record time! You did this, Cass. Thank you so much.

@somerandomdudelmao

It was happening. The red eared slider started small, and grew, and grew, and Donatello tightened his grip on the mug containing what was essentialy his brother's soul. He could allow him to go in, now. Just a little push.

But. What if something went wrong? What if Leo got lost in the way? What if he faded? He was stronger now, but still so fragile.

Raph smiled.

"Trust him, Donnie. He's got this." Raph avoided mentioning Mikey's concerns about the process, things he said only for the sake of confiding into someone else. It wouldn't do any good to make Donnie more anxious.

Donatello sighed and took his hand off the mug, using his ninpo to gently nudge Leo's into his new body. It rebelled, the little flame attached to his field. Scared. I don't want to be alone again, it said. Please. Donnie smiled. You won't. Trust me. He answered back. And after a few seconds of hesitation, the flame complied.

With the source in it, the body grows into the Leo he remembered. Or. Almost. He was healthy, because of course he was, he wasn't about to make a new body just for it to be shitty- but somehow smaller... thinner. Maybe he did something wrong- maybe, maybe Leo's soul didn't have enough energy to become himself-

But then he saw how Casey's eyes stared adoringly at the pod. Casey, who also had more scars and less pounds than he remembered. Donnie hadn't noticed much through his cameras- better yet, he had, but seeing it in person...

Suddently the alarm went off, signalling it was time to take his Lime-o-nardo Pie out of the oven. God, that was awful. Leo would absolutely love it.

With a gentleness only a biological body could muster, Raph lifted Nardo from his pod onto his arms, with a gaze so soft and proud Donnie thought he was about to cry.

They all hovered with warm smiles ready to welcome the leader in blue, barely containing the excitement in being all together again.

Except.

Nothing happened. Casey frowned and before Donnie could say or do anything, gently placed his fingers on his sensei's neck. He gasped.

"What? What happened?!" Raph asked barely below the yelling tone.

"His heartbeat." Casey replied in a whisper. "It's slow. Too slow." He looked at Donnie. "There's something wrong."

Raph quickly set Leo down after a quick nod from Donatello, who put on his goggles and started scanning to find whatever was his brother's ailment. A tense silence followed soon after.

"What... what is the problem?" Asked Casey. He was trembling into Raph's reassuring arms, never once looking away from his sensei. Donnie frowned.

"The good news is, nothing is physically wrong." He answered. "The bad news is, nothing's physically wrong."

There was a pregnant pause.

By Donnie's orders, Raph moved Leo to the place supposed to serve as his bedroom. Donnie tried every possible test he knew, from reflexes to blood test, to little slaps on his face, to begging. Leo's heartbeat was weak and frail. Like his ninpo had been.

This was all his fault. He should've given him more time, should've waited for Mikey to be healed enough to help, should've, should...

He punched Leo's chest, starling Raphael and Casey. They looked flabbergasted as he started doing compressions.

"I'm not letting you go, Nardo. Do you hear me? I'M NOT LETTING YOU GO!" He screamed. Death was not going to take him. He wouldn't let it happen.

So he kept on going, pressing. Forcing Leo's body to intake more air. Up, down, up, down.

Up, down.

But nothing changed in the five minutes it took for him to stop and realize he had been crying. Shit, he was crying in front of Casey. Fuck that, his brother was dying. No. No, no, he wasn't. Donnie could fix it, he could fix anything! There had to be another solution, something to keep him here, something Donnie could do. It didn't matter what, be it joke, scream, reveal his worst secrets, summon a demon with some dark ritual-

-wait. The memory ritual.

"That's it!" He yelled, and barked instructions around. Casey got started with Raph's assistance no questions asked. It was going to work. It had to.

Because he had no idea what to do if it didn't.

With the glowing lights and a final nod of confirmation, they started the ritual.

° ° °

Casey tightened his grip on Leonardo's unresponsive hand. He needed him back. He was 16, he still needed his best friend, his mentor, his sensei.

He felt tears prickle in his eyes. This was all so unfair. Everything was. Why did he have to be strong? Why did he have to see the apocalypse happen? Twice? Why did he have to watch his family die? He was watching him die for the second- the third time!

He had felt so alone here, with strangers wearing the faces of his family. Strangers he loved so dearly but couldn't show or tell. Only, now they could be together again. It was just Leo, now.

"You can't do this to me, sensei. You can't." He breathed. Because he promised to be there to see Casey grow up. He promised to train him until he didn't need him anymore.

But he still did. Now, more than ever. Still needed him as his best friend, as his mentor, teacher, his sensei.

His dad.

"I miss you, dad."

° ° °

It was cold. And surprisingly humid for a mind belonging to someone so heavily associated with fire. His feet touched the watery ground and he looked around.

There wasn't... anything here. Nothing useful, no sign of Leonardo's soul.

He started wandering, ocasionally calling for his brother.

"Leo? Nardo, are you here?" He walked around but saw nothing.

That is, until he looked down. Instead of a reflection, there he was. His twin. Mirrorring his actions and expressions like when they were tots.

"Leo! Leo, can you hear me?" He kneeled and touched the water. It was cool and shallow, but there was a force keeping him from getting in... or getting Leo out. He took notice of Leo mirrorring his expressions and punched the invisible wall. Nothing.

It was as if Leo didn't want to come with him.

"You aren't making things easy, Nardo."

The reflection- Leo just kept mimicking him. Donnie hissed. They had come too far for them to accept being only 3 now. He punched the water wall. They should never be less than 4. He needed. Punch. To get. Punch. His twin.

"Come on, come on, come on, come on!" Punch.

OUT!

The wall broke and without sparing a single second Donatello's hand searched and grabbed the collar of Leonardo's cape.

"Come here, you dumbass!" He pulled and finally - finally! - Leonardo in all his glowing and translucid and barely solid form came out of the water.

His eyes were angry and his face seemed hostile. If it was a mirror for Donnie's own features he didn't know, and it did NOT matter.

"You are coming with me and this is not up for discussion!"

He just snatched him completely from the water, glaring at its lifeless blue glow, barely registering the look of bewilderment and recognition that came across Leo's face.

"FUCK YOU, Death! I'm taking him!"

With his twin - his prize, his other half, his hope - in his arms, Donnie took impulse to leave that place. They were safe, it was going to be okay.

Leo's soul once again rebelled, reaching his armless nub towards the water. Home, his twin senses told him. Leo thought this was home.

"No, you idiot. I am taking you home."

Their eyes met. From the lifeless blue, the soul gripped his arm back and he tightened his hold. He knew that look. Hope. A ninja's greatest weapon, as cheesy as it sounds.

"Trust me, Nardo."

And with no need of words, he heard an answer.

"I do, Tello."

"I'll see you on the other side."

° ° °

Again, I hope you like it. I'm happy with the end result.

#rottmnt #tmnt #cass apocalyptic series #somerandomdudelmao #cas fanfic #cas fan tag #rottmnt fanfic #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

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