#fleshed out verse here I come!!;;

[tvrningout-a]

i'm creating a whole frikkin fantasy world with a conflict and everything, lord help me

[milf-harrington]

did you guys know im writing a book? cause it is...not even close to finished <3

[literallygwenstacy]

“Dad are you really this afraid of me?!”

PS: I edit this a lot so be sure to come back occasionally!

There were a LOT of lines in Across the Spider-Verse that stuck out to me, but this specific one hit me right in the feels.

First of all the way Gwen says it, her tone, the pain and emotion in her voice, her expression, EVERYTHING leading up to this one simple question is heartbreaking. Especially when you consider why she’s even asking this in the first place.

I want to point out that right after Gwen took her mask off, the background colors change from dark red to much less threatening colors, much softer if I might add. This basically signifies George’s POV.

Gwen had just revealed her identity as Spider-Woman to her dad, who’s now in complete shock. He believes Spider-Woman is a murderer and the one responsible for Peter’s death, so now that his own daughter comes out and tells him that she is in fact Spider-Woman, he jumps to the conclusion that “Spider-Woman is a murderer who killed Peter so that must mean that’s all true about my daughter.” instead of “Ah, my daughter is sweet so there’s no way those things about Spider-Woman are true!”. Now when I first watched this scene, I was like “Huh?”, because Gwen could’ve said ANYTHING else to her dad. She could’ve been like “Why are you doing this?!”, or she could’ve gotten angry at him. Gwen is WAY stronger than George, if he decided to shoot her, she would have been able to easily dodge that bullet. She could seriously hurt George if she wanted to and she knows it, but when George started reading Gwen her Miranda Rights, Gwen wasn’t angry, she was heartbroken, and you can see the change in her expression.

At first, she looks upset, fearful, and worried. Then, she looks hopeful. Hopeful that her dad will hear what she has to say, hopeful that her dad will understand her and trust her when she tells him that she isn’t a murderer, but he doesn’t. THATS when Gwen’s expression shifts from hopefulness to disbelief and heartbreak. “You’re in this to help people right? Well so am I”, Gwen was trying to convince her dad that she was on his side, that she didn’t kill Peter, that she isn’t what he thinks she is, but George doesn’t listen. Gwen thought that by telling her dad “You’re all I have left”, that that’d make him listen, but it didn’t.

You can hear the utter shock and disbelief in Gwen’s voice when her dad actually starts reading her rights, and you can hear how scared and distraught George is too, but there’s a hint of remorse in his voice. He sounds like he doesn’t want to do this. He sounds like he’s in pain, and well- he is. He’s arresting his own daughter. George thought that he was doing the right thing by hunting down Spider-Woman, he thought it was for the greater good, but now? He realizes he was just hurting Gwen.

Just put yourself in Gwen’s position for a second. She just revealed her biggest secret to her dad, and the reason she hid it from him for so long was because she was terrified of the thought that he would attempt to arrest her, and he DOES. He chooses to be a ‘good’ cop over being a dad. Imagine your own father, your own flesh and blood, and the person who gave you life, is absolutely terrified of you to the point where he almost aims a gun at you out of pure fear. But George doesn’t see his own child, he sees a monster. The same monster that murdered his daughter’s best friend. He quite literally can’t see his daughter in front of him, he just sees Spider-Woman.

“How long have you been lying to me?” Is the only question George asks Gwen throughout this entire scene. He asked this as a father, not as a cop. He was absolutely distraught and the only thoughts going through his mind were “No, this can’t be true…” and “How could my girl, my sweet girl…” (Actual line from the script btw). Another line that sort of stood out to me was “Can you just not be a cop for a second and be my dad here?”, Gwen didn’t feel like she was speaking to her dad, she felt like she was facing down a cop. George has been treating Gwen like a criminal this whole interaction. “Do you really think I’m a murderer?” Gwen asked this because could not BELIEVE that her dad actually thought that of her. The whole reason Gwen removed her mask in the first place was out of fear that her dad would actually shoot her, he already fired a warning shot, so why wouldn’t he just go ahead and pull the trigger?

Something I noticed earlier is how Gwen’s spider senses went off when her dad approached her. Spider senses ONLY go off when there’s a threat nearby, so this pretty much means Gwen saw her dad as a threat to her life :(

Also taking note of the fact that Gwen is his daughter, sixteen years old- and like 5’4, yet George is STILL powerless against her. His only option is to get her to surrender. Gwen and George kinda switched places throughout this scene. At first, Gwen is terrified of George, and then by the end it’s the other way around.

Gwen tries her hardest to plead with George, she kept her arms up in a defenseless position the whole time to show her dad that she won’t hurt him, but he can’t even look at her. This is something I took note of when watching ATSV; While George is reading Gwen her Miranda Rights, he can’t bring himself to look at her. He just stares at the ground, with a disappointed expression on his face. A face of pain. There’s a clear difference when George first says “You have the right to remain silent”, and the second time he says it. It’s like he doesn’t want to do it.

Now, I do hate George and I think he did a LOT wrong in this movie, but just look at his face for a second. Does that look like the the face of a man who is happy with what he’s doing? No. That’s a face of regret and guilt. He isn’t doing this because he wants to, he’s doing this because he’s afraid. Afraid of what exactly? Well, that brings us to my next point.

So obviously Gwen is in shock right now, her own father is trying to arrest her because he believes she murdered her childhood friend. Not only is Gwen shocked but she’s also confused. She’s probably thinking “Why is he doing this?”, and she came to the conclusion that her dad was doing this out of fear. Fear of HER.

This is a major reason as to why Gwen didn’t reveal her identity to her dad for so long. She knew he wouldn’t accept her, she knew he’d be scared of her, and she was right. George isn’t doing this just because he wants to be a good cop, he’s standing in front of the ‘dangerous menace’ who killed Peter, and that dangerous menace is Gwen, his daughter. George’s immediate reaction is to arrest Gwen because like I said earlier- He can only see Spider-Woman.

Now onto what this whole analysis is about, the line Gwen utters next… Along with “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done”, and “I can’t lose one more friend”, this line BROKE me. Gwen assumed that George was doing this out of fear, which is the main reason she asked him this. She was so frustrated by the thought of her own father doing something like this to her. She hated being misunderstood to the point of being seen as a monster by the one person she considers a role model to follow, the ONE person she has left. You can hear the pain in Gwen’s voice as well as her dad’s.

You can actually hear a slight change in George’s tone after Gwen says that line. Because SHE’S RIGHT. He IS afraid of her. That’s the whole reason as to why he’s doing this. He doesn’t even respond to her, his voice slightly breaks and you can definitely tell this is really hard for him. Hearing his own daughter straight up ask him if he’s really afraid of her probably felt like a punch in the gut, that’s a question neither of them thought they’d ever have to face.

George fears Gwen because she allegedly ‘killed’ Peter, but it’s also because of her abilities. George has seen what Spider-Woman is capable of. He’s seen what she can do. That’s the reason he backed away and raised his gun at Gwen when she took a step closer to him and yelled “DAD STOP!”, he was scared of her.

Gwen was heartbroken. She was trying her HARDEST to plead with her dad just for him to try and arrest her, aim a gun at her, and yell “DONT COME ANY CLOSER!” at her when she tried to approach him. You can literally hear the fear in his voice. Honestly I’m surprised Gwen didn’t snap after this, let alone forgive George at all. Imagine living with the mentality that your own dad didn’t hesitate to point a gun at you while yelling at you to not come any closer, poor Gwen.

I’ve always wondered what would’ve happened if Miguel and Jess hadn’t intervened. George actually had the intention of shooting Gwen, so if Miguel didn’t trap him in that box thing, George might’ve actually gone through with it, and that’s sickening to think about. The fact that he was even WILLING to aim a gun at Gwen is enough to fuck her up.

A difference between Miles and Gwen is that Miles knows he didn’t kill Uncle Aaron. Gwen on the other hand originally thought she didn’t kill Peter but the more her dad blamed Spider-Woman for it, the more she actually started to believe that she was responsible for his death. When Gwen told George “I didn’t murder Peter”, she was obviously trying to convince her dad that Peter’s death wasn’t her fault, but I think she was also trying to convince herself.

I don’t blame Gwen for wanting to join the Spider Society after all of this. I mean come on, her dad is terrified of her and thinks she’s a murderer, and she believes if she joins the Spider Society, she’ll finally find people who accept and understand her. No wonder she left Earth 65.

This entire scene was so heartbreaking dude I wanna cry time I watch it ☹️ The watercolors in the background as well as the voice acting from both Gwen and her dad were amazing and SO emotional, along with their expressions and the soundtrack- Ahh I could talk about this movie forever 😭 But anyways, thanks for reading my little analysis and FUCK GEORGE STACY ALL MY HOMIES HATE GEORGE STACY!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️💥💥💥💥💥🙅🏼‍♀️🙅🏼‍♀️🙅🏼‍♀️

[ma1dita]

to catch a thief

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.7k

summary: (post-TLT, sea of monsters compliant/spoilers) The one where duty calls at Camp Half-Blood. Again. Your reunion with Luke is nothing you both could have ever expected. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: we’re so back trouble!verse ;) sorry for the post birthday hiatus on this, hope you like it! crack banter but err... she got a lil angsty

(posted 3/22/24, semi-edited)

—

When you wake up to the gentle rolling of the sea, it feels like a comforting embrace in a distant dream. Tangled within pristine white sheets, you could smell the salt through the small opening in the bay window–though this was a far cry from a fairytale conjured by your mind.

This was your reality. 

You wouldn’t call it a nightmare per se, but the circumstances were definitely less than preferred. 

This is not the CSS Birmingham. No, that went up in flames. Retracing your steps to what led you to this—cushy cruise line of a prison, you reckon it’s been a few days now since you’ve become a stowaway, or a hostage. You haven’t quite decided yet. 

Gods, this is what you get for passing up on that summer research internship. 

Dropping off Percy, Annabeth, and Tyson at camp was supposed to be a fun walk down memory lane—until meeting with your dad, finding out Thalia’s tree had been poisoned, watching Chiron get fired, and essentially getting kicked out by the troll of a man who originally got sent to the Fields of Punishment for marketing the taste of human flesh made you remember that nothing at camp is the way it used to be.

Not like before, when you and Luke used to run it.

Your dad told you to go home and wait till you were needed. Home. Driving away from it this time around was harder than you thought it would be. You’d never been the patient type, and to drop everything just because a god told you to?

Hilarious, really.

But almost a week later, after rejoining your friends on an undead ship that you let the kids commandeer, your vital mistake was thinking that Clarisse’s quest would be a breeze. Rookie move, since the last one you were on left you almost as scarred as Luke was. Even thinking of him now, you run your thumb over the rough patch of skin on your palm. 

At the very least you hoped Tyson was okay. The last memory you have of the young Cyclops was watching him from your place on the ladder as he stopped the engines from overheating. Maybe it was the ex-head counselor in you, or your increased threshold to pain, but there was no way in hell you were leaving that kid behind.

The sound of voices from outside your door gets louder now, your throat feeling like you’ve been swallowing wads of cotton and a persistent ringing in your ear that hurts just as bad as when you watch Chris Rodriguez walk in with a plate of food. The last one he slid through the door bumps against his boot, still uneaten and he sighs. 

“So what, you’re on a hunger strike now? I forgot how difficult you could be.”

You bark out a laugh. Thankfully it’s loud enough that it almost conceals the rumble of your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you mumble, “Wish it could be an idiot strike. I forgot how much of a bitch you are when it comes to your brother, Rodriguez. How long are you going to keep me here? It’s been days.”

Your former friend rolls his eyes at your dramatics like he doesn’t hold the key to your freedom.

“Three since you woke up, actually. Come on, you’ve gotta eat, or I’ll get my ass kicked,” he grumbles. You raise an eyebrow at that, walking towards the window to dodge the uncomfortable tension that fills the room. He plucks an apple slice off your plate.

“He couldn’t splurge on a balcony view? Monsters aside, it’s not like you’ve reached full occupancy.”

“There are more mortals here than you think. To be honest, he was worried you would find a way to overthrow us,” the tanned boy admits, placing the tray on the dresser. It was always a wonder to him how you and Luke were more alike than you think, even now—even when Luke hasn’t come to see you. Talking to you reminded him that you’re both pains in his ass, and Chris was still unsure of who to be more wary of, but he’s been in charge of watching you for the most part.

“Well tell your stupid captain he has no right to be worried about me. I’d much rather try to jump if given the opportunity.”

There’s no response, so you turn to face Chris who’s eating a croissant with a bashful grin.

“Seriously dude?”

“Listen, I’m hoping if I think of the right words to say, he’ll come in and deal with you himself. Opposite sides of a war and you’re still both giving me a headache. Just like old times,” he chuckles, flakes of pastry dotting across his chest plate. Your mouth quirks into a bitter smile. Old times, when Luke would shove you if he couldn’t think of a reply fast enough. When you’d punch him to get your point across if he wasn’t listening. How a kiss could end any waging war between the both of you.

You swallow, turning slowly to watch your reflection in the glass of the windowpane.

Why hasn't he come to see you? The first day, you remember spending out on the sea—treading water with no land in sight, calling out to your friends until your voice went hoarse, but you didn’t cry. You know better than to show weakness now, even when no one’s around. Chris tells you over a gulp of orange juice that you washed up next to the Princess Andromeda on the second day like it was fate. Though fate was never truly that kind to anyone; it felt like it was laughing in your face. Knocked out cold for two days after, and ignoring all of Chris’s attempts to keep you alive in the days that followed, you’ve been in this room ever since. You barely notice Chris’s departure. 

Entering the ensuite bathroom, you splash your face and sip on water from the tap before stopping at the doorway. A shadow flits at the seam near your feet, someone standing just out of sight when you peer through the peephole.

But you know Luke’s there. Sons of Hermes have almost undetectable footsteps, however, Luke walking in and out of your life for as long as he has—there’s no inconceivable way to not know him. Perhaps you couldn’t hear the sound of his feet, but there’s a way the wind shifts your hair, your heart slowing in ease at his presence, and the scent of him reminiscent of skin kissed with the peel of an orange. The skin you used to kiss and greet and know like your own.

The shadow fades just as your hand reaches out towards it, leaving like he always does. Always out of reach.

Even as the Princess Andromeda continues to set sail upon the calm waters of the Atlantic Coast, you look out to the unending horizon and still feel like you’re drowning.

—

“Status report, soldier?”

Chris rolls his eyes, popping the last piece of apple into his mouth as he strolls into the command deck. The both of you had a flair for the dramatic—it serves as his reminder of why you two worked so well. Luke is sitting in his captain’s seat, watching the waves crash against the hull as the sun begins to set on the skyline.

“She’s angry. Anyone would be if they were locked up like that.”

“Well, yeah, but tell me something I don’t know. Something useful, Rodriguez,” Luke says, flicking his pocket knife closed. It’s still sticky with the juice of the fruit, catching onto his finger. He hisses, but then the sound of loud footsteps boom down the corridor, along with the sound of maniacal laughter as the door slams open. The two sons of Hermes look at each other curiously, knowing it all too well.

“You know, the next time you send a 9-year-old to stand guard, remember to not make it the one we used to throw into the lake,” you drawl, sauntering into the bridge and looking around until your eyes land on your ex, “and also remember that you taught me how to pick locks.”

Ethan Nakamura heaves behind you, hands on his knees before he stands to attention and salutes his captain.

“Sir, I was just following orders… and I’m not 9 anymore!” he snaps, glaring at you. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation makes it easier to get through. You thought being surrounded by the undead on the CSS Birmingham was scary enough, but standing in a room with ghosts from your past was somehow worse. Honestly, you learned a lot more by being in that room than if you were to jump ship like you wanted to.

“I taught you how to tie your shoes, Ethan. You’re always gonna be a little kid to me,” you scoff, brushing him aside and walking towards Luke, “your new digs are fancy, by the way. I could tell by all the teenage soldiers chasing me through the tourists.”

He stands up and meets you head to head, as the both of you inspect each other closely. 

It’s been a long year without you.

You look thinner. You’ve lost the softness in your cheeks and your eyes are tired. He wonders what you chose to major in, who your roommates are, if you still think of him with a smile on your face. You’re still beautiful.

“You know me, I like to travel in style,” Luke says offhandedly, a half smile on his face. For someone leading a war against the gods, he’s calm in your presence.

“Back when I knew you, we traveled in a tin can that we also called a car.”

His clothes are nicer than anything you’ve ever seen him in. He looks really fucking good, for someone on the run. It’s almost frustrating to see how brawny he’s gotten, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms. You suppose he has nothing to do now but practice and spar (that or he’s definitely flexing for you). Pulling at the drawstring of the joggers you wear, you realize his initials are embroidered on the pocket. Pretentious fuck. Did he change you once you got on board?

Chris and Ethan suddenly get the feeling that they’re interrupting something—a reunion in a blockbuster romantic movie they’ve seen the mortals play out on the ship deck’s projector on Friday nights. The two of you stand there arguing like a married couple despite the fact you are no longer lovers and the bickering continues even when more of Kronos’ army files in. You laugh again at the sight of children walking in—some strangers, others you’ve sung to sleep in cabin 11, all still children, even back from the time before when laughter didn’t have to have a reason, light and airy in the summer sun.

“You’re sick, you know that? Did you just plan to let me rot in that room until it was all over? You didn’t even talk to m—”

“Classic, you’re more mad that I didn’t talk to you over the fact that you’re a prisoner,” he seethes, but you don’t stand down—not now or ever.

“Prisoner? I walked out and none of your Boy Scouts could do anything about it!”

His face is turning red now, jaw tightening at the angst but deep down he misses this—the banter, the thin line between hate and love you both tread on. You may be a damsel. But you were not in distress.

To further prove your point, you swing an arm toward one of the boys in black (their uniforms were annoyingly corny), and they all take a step back toward the wall. Your eyebrows furrow, “What type of prison has guards terrified of the prisoner?”

He shrugs, “It was only time before you came and found me. I even gave you a bay window.”

That was not the right thing to say.

“I’ll fucking kill yo—”

“Sir? So do we try and detain her, or….” one of the demigods you don’t know interjects, and Chris Rodriguez sucks at his teeth before he responds. 

“Alright. We’ve seen enough of the show. Everyone file out and let Castellan reunite with his girlfriend.”

“GIRLFRIEND?”

“Girlfriend…”

The both of you look at each other, one in anger, the other in sheepishness now that you’re alone. It's even funnier that neither of you deny it.

“You left me there in that room, and by the sight of things around here you prefer being in the company of monsters than being with me, so by the gods, what do you want, Castellan?”

You fall into the captain’s chair exasperatedly, watching him watch you.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he says simply. “You can stay here with me, or you can go.”

“A choice? You captured me to tell me I have a choice,” you spit, as if that was the stupidest thing he could say. “You didn’t give me a choice when you left me.”

“It was a matter of the circumstances. And I didn't capture you—are you mad that I betrayed everyone or not, because I can’t really read you right now, Trouble…”

Your eye twitches and your hands are in fists across your lap. Another wrong thing to say.

“Keeping me here until I get the nerve to talk to you is not a choice, asshole. Do you think you could just hide me away until the bad part’s over? To save me until everything's good enough for you?” Your eyes catch onto the droplets of blood that fall onto the hardwood flooring near your feet. His hand is bleeding, and like it’s nothing of the sort you reach out for it.

Luke thinks that if he lets you your hand will still perfectly fit in his, so after a moment, he pulls his hand away out of your reach. Pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket (also embroidered with his initials—note to self, never let a son of Hermes have money), you stand to wrap it around his hand to stop the bleeding. You pretend not to notice his heartbeat increase through the throbbing of the cloth.

“Don’t let my actions make you believe that what we had wasn’t good, Trouble.”

“Stop calling me that. Why are they all scared of me? Why won’t you let me touch you?” you whisper, putting pressure on his finger until the blood clots. It doesn’t even hurt, to tell you the truth. Not touching you when you’re right here in front of him is a pain he can’t find the words to describe. But what he’ll never understand is that he’s right. You two were good together. You’d have him through the bad too, if only he let you.

“Because you might think you can fix me.” Or worse, you might change his mind. You don't have to say you love him for him to know it. A part of him wishes he didn’t have to do all of this to prove to you he feels the same. 

“Would you have left with me?” he mutters. A wistful look cuts through your anger and he knows he’s finally said something right. His pocket knife is on the control board and your hands drop to your side again when you realize that he may have forgotten to tell his battalion of who you are to him, but he still remembers how you like your apples cut. The silence is loud, even with the twinge that comes with the pain in your eardrum as you sway a little on your feet. Your body still knows it can relax with him, knees buckling with a false sense of security despite your willpower.

“I would've made it so that there was no other option for you but to want to stay.”

A soldier bursts through the door and apologizes for the intrusion, but the both of you have found out all you need to know. The moment is over and Percy Jackson has been captured by the army in his efforts of trying to save the day. There’s a look shared between the two of you that wonders if this will become a trend.

—

Licking your lips as your… Luke guides you out onto the main deck with your hands behind your back, you can taste the salt in your air. It’s almost as evident as the surprise in your friends’ faces when they see you alive. This time, they don’t question your allegiance but in the chaos that ensues, for a moment, you do.

For a moment, you wonder what would change if you decided to stay with him. Would the sky fall under your feet? Would the gods kneel like Luke said they would? Looking at him in your periphery, you realize it’s not what the both of you want, even if it’s the easier way out—to be together despite it all.

The two of you against the world instead of the world against the both of you.

But he won't even touch you—he’s holding you over the sleeves of your shirt, too scared of what you’ve become in his absence. You suppose you’re scared of what he’s become too. 

The realization hits that you could defect from your friends, family, and home. You could undo everything that you and your friends have worked towards. But nothing he can say will change the fact that he didn’t choose you.

Luke was right, then.

You did have a choice, one that he still forces you to make as you nod at Percy to flip his last drachma into the open water, opening a direct line of communication to your father to catch the thief—of both lightning and the beat of your heart, in the act.

You realize that if the gods were the least bit grateful that you’ve kept their kids alive for the past half-decade, perhaps fate would be on your side and Luke would still be yours. But life has a funny way of working itself out when Luke admits to the open air of another crime to tack onto his list.

“Kronos was right. I should’ve killed you, Percy.”

The son of Poseidon goads Luke into another duel and you survey your surroundings for a way out. Annabeth burns holes into the side of your head and it gets you thinking, moving faster than you have in days as you walk towards her and Grover. At the raise of your hand, the demigods holding onto the pair drop to the deck, incapacitated with illusions of madness they will never comprehend. The more of them that surround you drop like flies as Luke’s eyes flicker between you and the boy he has at swordpoint.

You’ve gotten stronger in his absence—you never needed to touch him to use your powers after all. Just waiting for the right moment to strike, attacking when Luke finally let his guard down for you. He cracks his neck, knowing you’ve made your choice, so he makes his. 

“Get them.” 

The monster scrambles across the deck but it approaches you first, clawing at the wood and barely missing your feet as you scream for help, defenseless without a sword and you hear Luke yell your name in alarm before a punching glove-tipped arrow sends it hurtling overboard.

Your eyes lock with his again as you disembark with the Party Ponies, you with your crew as he corrals the mess you made of his. It has to be the salt air that makes your eyes seem a little misty.

Your fates have always been tied. 

You protect your home, and he does what he can to protect you. Luke looks over your form like he’s checking if you’re okay, even from a distance— and it makes you wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Someone leaving, and the both of you apart. 

It’s weird to be the one leaving this time, but it isn't as easy as Luke makes it seem each time he does it.

You avert your eyes once you see him put his hand in his pocket, him finding what you snuck in on the way to the deck. Luke pulls out a leather bracelet with a black camp bead, the one he missed in the year he’s been gone. He rolls the bead between his fingers, the thing you last touched before leaving him, an emblem of his archnemesis and the summer that changed everything—the consequences of his actions ripping you away from him. When he slides it on his wrist, it lightly clinks against the hilt of his sword, the lone clay bead a force of its own against Backbiter's reverberating power. He feels nostalgia for what could have been crawling through him—though Luke supposes he’s always been too vulnerable when it comes to you.

Is this what you’ve been feeling every time he walks away? 

It starts to rain after you leave. Luke watches his crew take cover from the downpour, running in all different directions to hide away from the storm that ravages the Princess Andromeda. 

But he stands still, looking up at the sky and hating it for how openly it’s able to cry. Luke is far away from home again—from you and it makes him wonder how much longer he’ll have to be away from you when being with you is what he truly wants.

The mission continues and the ship keeps pushing forward even as the rain washes over him, soaking through his armor and straight to the bone. Raindrops pelt through every crevice, though this onslaught is much kinder, more gentle, even when it’s angry. He closes his eyes and lets it touch his skin. 

For a moment, it feels like you. 

—

A hand penetrates the tide searching for yours, gripping onto your unconscious one. He’s spent hours ripping holes through time to try to find you, an advantage given to him in a dream by the Titan. The agreement, what keeps him from not running back to you is that you live—and as Luke pulls you out of the ocean waterlogged and turning blue, he wonders if it’s all a farce. 

Losing you isn’t worth the wrath of the gods if you’re lifeless in his arms like this. 

He shouts your name, pumping your chest with his fists and breathing life back into your lips until you cough out saltwater, head lolling against his knee. Luke’s fingers stroke your hair, touching you for the first time in a year. As life slowly brings the color back into your cheeks he silently thanks Hestia for keeping your flame alight. His soldiers call out to him from the deck, and he steels his resolve as he rows the lifeboat back to the ship. Still, Luke has to uphold his side of the agreement. 

He wonders if you’d stay. Even if he knows the answer, Luke wonders if you would ever change it for him.

—

And they tell me you are evil and I answer: Yes, I know. –Patricia Smith

 ½ luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[arcielee]

sinful

Summary: Lucifer shows you what Adam is lacking. Paring: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: 18+, Reader AFAB, sexual discomfort hinted, sexual inexperience, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, cunnilingus from the leader of all demons, and also Bible verses being used to create sexual tension?? Author's Note: Well, I have fallen headfirst into the Hellaverse and needed to get this smut out of my system. Bible verses being used are 1 Corinthians 9-10 & Galatians 5:17. This was inspired by the artwork created by cluffy_25 from IG & TikTok. Maybe now I can finally get some sleep. I hope you enjoy! 😭

On that fateful day of your creation, there was a palpable shift in paradise from the jealousy that was sown into the earth. 

Lucifer was first in the shadows, just another specter amongst the watchful wonderment as the rib pulled from Adam was crafted, flesh intricately woven; the sight of you was a holy splendor, surpassing every and any expectation imagined. When it was proclaimed that your image was the likeness of Yahweh, he had scoffed, ignoring the chorus of angels recoiling; the truth–which he spoke out loud–was that your beauty was a novel artistry all its own. 

He continued that nothing, that no one, could even compare to you. 

It did not help that the praises above echoed this sentiment and further seeded a growing resentment, its envious tendrils wrapping and rotting Eden from within. With it, your novelty was peeled away, but Lucifer remained enraptured with your ethereal grace, with your careful consideration you showed to all living things as you learned your surroundings. 

He also saw the covetous gaze cast from the angels and how they poorly masked it with a cold reserve that was met with your every interaction. 

Lucifer saw how it began to chip away at the kindness you gave freely. He burned when he saw the hurt that touched your lovely features, he fumed at the sound of your disheartened sigh of acceptance that this was all you could expect from this life given. 

Your isolation called to his loneliness, and with Lucifer, you found a kindred spirit. You were grateful with how he returned your genuineness, even finding a sense of comfort, of validation, at the tip of his brazen tongue that did not fear consequence. With him, you found your thoughts could be shared, the ones you carefully clutched to your chest, and would not be met with any judgment–your shy whispers on your divine purpose that came knitted with your existence and the gilded cage that it created. 

Though he seemed an empathetic creature, always kind to you, you were also aware of the stories and his lore. You caught a glimpse one day when you let slip the chore required of you to lay with Adam, a duty you tried to complete quickly and quietly when he demanded. 

The air around you thickened, and you saw the demon that thrummed beneath the surface: the flash of red in his eyes, the heat from the flame on his furrowed brow. Something powerful, something dire that came and went with your heartbeat. 

This was an intimate subject that Lucifer always precariously balanced on the precipice of, always alluring to something unknown by you. He hinted at the shrine you possessed, giving you just a taste of something sinful, of something more that was within your reach. He spoke of pleasure that could be found, but when you mentioned this to Adam, he only sneered. 

For man did not come from woman, but woman from man; neither was man created for woman, but woman for man.

“But do you ever wish for more?”

It was another day in the garden. Adam had been swept away by the angels who remained in awe of the First Man, but this never bothered you. You welcomed the reprieve, slipping away to return to the natural arbor by the river weaving through the oasis. 

Here the branches curled overhead, light streaking through and the leaves blanketing the ground. Your legs were stretched to feel the sun that fell through, allowing Lucifer to lay his head on your plush thighs. His eyes were watching you, waiting for your response to his question. 

Your lips pursed. “I already have all that I could ever need.” You were careful with your words, your fingers moving to comb through his golden hair.

He hummed with your touch. “I did not say need,” his eyes were still trained to you, an upwards curl to his lips. “I asked if you wished for something more, for something else.” 

“What else could I possibly want?” Your brow quirked. It was part question, part curiosity. The fallen angel seemed to speak in riddles. 

His eyes glittered. “Free will.” 

“But I have free will.”

“Free will allows you choices all your own,” he argued, still smiling. “Would you have chosen Adam if you had not been given to him?”

Lucifer grinned as he watched his words catch in your throat. It was another intrusive thought he always seemed to uncover, pulling to the surface. Your blood stained the apples of your cheeks and your tongue wet your lips. 

“Adam,” you began, pulling your hands away and placing them at your sides, “was created in the likeness of God.” This was the repeated mantra sung from the heavens, words you spoke now without any conviction. “To not choose him would be to not choose the one true…” 

But it faded to obscurity once you became aware of his close proximity; he pulled himself upright before facing you, leaning in with his intensive gaze. “Adam is not God, but only a man.” His voice was low, fanning against your cheeks, and your skin flushed hotly with his words.

This was not the first time he reminded you that Adam was just a man, merely created from the dust of the earth. You never defended whenever Lucifer spoke of Adam’s failures, his certainty that Adam did not give this pleasure you deserved.

It was a topic that piqued your interest, but you felt too bashful to continue it before. But now…

“Free will should allow you the option to choose for more,” his honeyed tone continued. “Should you not experience all that this life has to offer?” 

For a moment, you could only hear the orchestra life created, the rustle of the leaves with the soft breeze and the water that flowed. You had always thought Lucifer was handsome. There was something captivating about him, and right now, you were entranced with the new emotion that now played in the amber glow of his eyes.

Like what, you dared to whisper, eyes wide. 

Lust of the flesh, he replied with an elegant arc to his brow, with an impish curl to his lips.

You felt your skin prickling, something that flitted along the seams of your being before returning to coil in your abdomen. It was something that pulled you to the precarious ledge he seemed perpetually perched on. 

And you kissed him. 

It was gentle and it was quick, though your heart bruised against your ribs with your bold action. You felt the embarrassment flood your features, but when you tried to pull away, his hand caught the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your nape. His mouth captured yours with vigor and your mind splintered from the softness of his lips, from the warmth of his mouth; a sensation that screamed throughout you, craving for more.

Flesh lusts against the spirit…these are contrary, the one to the other.

He stopped the moment you tensed, pulling back and allowing you a breath. Your lips were swollen and flushed, your eyes glassy as they came to focus on the Prince of Darkness. “This does not have to go further unless you wish it to,” his voice soft with his emphasis.

The choice presented like a thick haze that swirled around you, drawing you towards him again. This pleasure promised trilled your veins, and your hands moved to grasp and pull him closer for another clumsy kiss. 

Your body sang from his touch as his fingers skimmed over to grab into your hips, his warmth alighting your every nerve. His mouth moved to your jaw, to the curve of your neck and lower, nipping at your collarbone. You giggled, squirming against him, and his hold moved to cradle your lower back, a guiding press backwards until you were laying on the grass. 

“Trust me,” he whispered against your skin, his hot mouth trailing lower. 

Lucifer nestled between your thighs, his hands never leaving your body so you were aptly aware of his next movements. His head turned to press a kiss on the inside of your knee, following along with licks and nips of his teeth and tongue, plumes of color following his wake. It was a slow pacing, creeping towards your core, feeling how your blood simmered beneath, your body blossoming with his methodical ministrations. 

Your legs widened, welcoming him and his intimate touch. His fingers pressed a v-shape to spread your folds, his exhaling tickling against your cunt, swollen and glossy with your arousal. He moved closer, a tentative touch of his tongue, and you melted against his mouth. He groaned with your taste, briny and begging for more; his hands curled under your thighs, canting your hips to meet with his lips. 

It was a sensation that seared through your veins, a bolt straightening your spine. You gasped again, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair to ground yourself as his forked tongue moved with precision and with purpose. 

He was mindful of your every sound, your bated breath and your sweet sighs, the mewling noises that spilled like nectar from your lips. He pulled you towards a plateau of pleasure that resonated throughout your core, rattling your bones beneath. 

You felt him swell against you, burning between, and your thighs clenched around him. Your chin pressed down to see him, truly for the first time: his horns curling up from his blond hair, the blood-red glow of his eyes pooling onto your skin. 

Your mouth fell open, shock and pleasure twisting from your lungs. 

Lucifer lifted his head, meeting with your teary gaze, his sharp smile gleaming from your slick. “You may grab onto them, if you need to.” His voice was low, husky. 

Your hands trembled to touch and their smooth texture was warm against your palms. You reverberated with his low chuckle as he dipped his head back to the apex of your thighs, his vitality unleashed. He feasted on your essence, and your hands gripped the base of his horns as his forked tongue carved into your sensitive flesh, a pulsing pleasure that poured hotly in your core. You cried out with the prod at your entrance, and he pressed a quick kiss to soothe as his finger curled within you. 

“You are doing so well for me,” he crooned as his finger searched, brushing against a spot that brightened your vision, curling your toes. He hummed again, and you felt his satisfaction curling on his lips. “Can you take another one for me?”

Your back arched with his touch; the tandem of his tongue and fingers thrilled you, the pulsing pleasure coiling so tight it was as if your heart was beating outside your body. It unfurled, a blinding light, a sobbed release, this euphoria wrenching the air from your lungs and your muscles contracting around his digits; and Lucifer continued his come hither motion to your completion. 

You were eventually brought back to your body, feeling a gentle breeze against the sheen of sweat, the grounding weight pressing to the inside of your thigh. You blinked, seeing Lucifer with his head resting against you, his fingers drawing lazy designs on your skin. His wicked grin was splayed, watching through hooded eyes at the slow rise and fall of your chest as you regained your breath. 

You blushed furiously, feeling the dull throb between your thighs, the last remnants of your pleasure he craftily pulled from you. But there was also an ache, a contrast of emotions playing in the haze of your mind: the purpose you were given and this newfound pleasure had. 

These are contrary, the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would wish.

The blood drained as you pushed to your elbows, a prickling fear that followed the curve of your spine. You stammered, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. “W-what did you say?” 

Lucifer tilted his head, his brow furrowed, confused. “I only said that you were beautiful,” and he pushed up, moving to kiss you, softly, sweetly. “You are beautiful just like this.”

You allowed his kiss to comfort you, rekindling the fire he had found within you, with the sweet taste of your sin on his lips. 

arcie's masterlist

[deadsetobsessions]

Listen, I know it’s not my usual thing, but I just re-read Dark Matter by mysterycyclone (iconic, so good, incredible, I’ve reread this at least ten times) and this newer work, Help Me, I Don’t Feel Like Myself Anymore by Astra_Nova_Kat (it’s off to a really good and fleshed out, very long start- it’s like 20k for the first chapter omg).

I just. Love?? Them??? They’re both, urg, so good. The writing style, the way the story moves, the natural progression of plot and their usage of tropes are so well done that rarely does it feel awkward. Amazing. Anyways, they inspired me to put my two cents into the proverbial offering hat and while this might not ever be a realized fanfic, here it is? This will have multiple parts.

Uh, I’m basing Peter’s personality off of the really tired millennial energy Tobey Maguire gives, the awkward but well meaning disaster vibes of Andrew Garfield, and the sassy acrobatic chaos gremlin of Tom Holland. All kind of mushed together with the hyper competence and maturity of both the PS4 spidey and pretty much most spider people. He’s 22, or something but that doesn’t really matter?? Background doesn’t really matter because I’m basically making my own spider-verse. Spider… past? Eh. New Peter!

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2]

——

Spider-Man swung through the skyscrapers of his city, enjoying the winds and sounds of New York as he kept a sharp eye out for crime.

He remembered doing this without any of the fancy tech his suit had now, when he was dressed in less protective clothing. God, 100% cotton while crime fighting? The spandex was better but god ugly.

His spider-sense blared. Spider-man quickly shot a web to the top of the building, going towards the danger instead of away from it.

He goes in feet first, years of knocking common thugs to legitimate gods to the ground making short work of the people on the roof top. He flips out of the way, dodging a blast of crackling green energy.

“Heyyyy, common robbers! What’s up with shiny lasers, huh? Breaking and entering not doing enough for ya?”

Spider-Man dodges a couple more shots, flipping again to knee a guy in the face, gently. The man goes down in one shot.

“Stay still, you motherfucker!”

“Does that actually work for you guys?? Like I’m down to get killed but, man, I’m not gonna stay still to get downed by some two bit thugs?” Spider-Man kept his words light and mocking, webbing up a laser gun and yanking it out of the woman’s hands. He punches her in the face and knocks her out, using the laser gun like a mildly bulky baton.

“Eat shit, Spider-bitch!”

“Ouch! Oh no, my feelings! You’ve hurt them!” Spider-Man shoots a web at the lady who’d shouted and yanked, before smacking her straight down to the concrete of the rooftop. His hearing picked up two people coming up the stairway and Spider-Man tossed two web bombs, the metal mechanism attached itself to the wall, waiting for their unknowing victims.

Spider-Man ducked and weaved, downing goons as they piled on him while shooting bullets, lasers, and just charging at him with a bat or a crowbar. After eight years of pretty much this exact thing, Spider-Man had gotten the science of breaking up goon dog piles without hurting them too much to an exact measurement. He quipped at them until they got annoyed, which made them sloppy. Spider-Man sighed as another guy came at him with a crow bar and a gun that he was pretty sure was still stuck on safety. He crouched, kicking out their legs and dodging a swipe of a bat where his ribs would have been and webbed the guy to the floor. Yeah, he’ll wrap this up and end patrol. Maybe he still had Mac n’ Cheese at home, or he could stop by Angelo’s for a sub?

Huh. His options for dinner was limited.

“Take this!”

Even without the forewarning of his spidey-sense, Spider-Man would have ducked out of the way regardless.

“Shouting your sneak attacks isn’t actually all that sneaky, you know!” Spider-Man kept his voice cheery and mocking.

“Get him!”

God, why were there so many people trying to break into an insurance company? This definitely doesn’t smell like a regular B&E. With the shit he’s seen in New York, if it smells like a plot, acts like a plot, then it’s probably a villain with a tragic backstory with big, annoying plans.

Great.

Oh, speak of the devil!

“Spider-Man.” His senses blared.

He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, not without risking the life of the goon he was currently fighting, so Spider-Man took the blast the punched the breath out of his lungs. The wide eyes of the goon made up for some of the pain.

“Ugh!” Spider-Man slammed into an HVAC, denting the metal. His suit, made special polymer blend from Wakanda that he saved for months to get, absorbed some of the shock. Shit, he hoped it didn’t tear. It would be a bitch and a half to dip into the back up stock he had in his hammer space.

The goons left standing quickly rushed him and held him down to face the new boss.

“You’ve been getting on my nerves, Spider.”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man coughed out, letting the two goons think they could hold him down on his knees as he recovered his breath. “I have that effect on people.”

“But you could be an asset, if you’d join me?”

“Uh, I don’t join or sign things without knowing what I’m joining or signing, my guy. My lawyer said so.”

The villain paused, helmeted head cocking to the side.

“You have a lawyer?”

“Yeah. Kind of? He does pro-bono work for the helpless cases. You know, like, a well meaning, crime fighting vigilante?”

“…Does he do cases against insurance companies?”

“Oh man, you too? Dude, this place sucks,” Spider-Man sighed.

“You’ve had trouble too? Then you must see why I’m doing this!”

This was a bit weird, but if there’s anything that brings people together, it’d be corrupt insurance companies. He’s almost tempted to let them break in, just to be extra petty.

“Nah, my neighbor? Sweet old lady. They’re screwing her out of her entire place. I totally get it, man. Hey, if you need a referral, you can tell my lawyer that Spider sent you. He’s real good.”

“How good?” The goons release him and Spider-Man stood up, stretching his limbs.

“Like, Dare Devil good.”

“You know Matt Murdock??”

“Sure do.”

“He… he’ll take on our cases?”

“Dang, all of you?”

“Yes. We can pool enough money to pay him for one or two.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’ll take you guys on for free. But it wouldn’t hurt if you all went to meet him, just so he can decide which one of you has a higher chance to win in court?”

“We will. Uh.” The villain paused sheepishly. Well, not a villain, more like an unfortunately angry and poor decision making citizen. “Sorry about… you know, the blast.”

“It’s cool. I mean,” Spider-Man gestured to the rooftop, the bodies of unconscious people kind of laying around where he knocked them down. “You guys might wanna check on them, yeah? I’ll let you go for now, but if you commit a B&E again, I’ll leave you webbed up for GCPD to find.”

“Got it. Sorry.”

Feeling good about himself, and plotting corporate espionage, Spider-Man went to help pry some people from his webs.

And of course, because Parker Luck kicks in only when Spider-Man felt like life was looking up for himself, Spider-Man’s senses blared once more as he knelt down to pull at some webbing.

“Oh, shit!” He heard, right before a cold blast of something slammed right into his head, knocking him out.

And Spider-Man

F

E

L

L.

——

Larry looked at the the empty space where Spider-Man, the guy who took a hit from his boss’ blaster so he wouldn’t get hurt, used to be.

He twisted.

“Boss, what the fuck?!”

“Shit! That was accident!” Boss pulled herself up from the concrete, where she just ate dirt.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Larry! That was the experimental warped mode! Crap!” His boss scrambled with the controls, desperately trying to see if the magic gun her magician friend had handed her years ago had a reverse button. It didn’t.

“Why would you bring a test weapon into the field?!”

“I gave you all of my other ones!” She threw up her hands. “Fuck, I feel so bad.”

Larry paled. “Dude, Dare Devil’s gonna kill us.”

“He doesn’t kill!” His boss hesitated. “I think.”

Larry pointed to the empty space. “Yeah? He might start with us. Spidey was a cool guy and you just disappeared him!”

“I know!”

Larry buried his head into his hands and tried not to hate himself for the entire situation.

——

Spider-man woke up, laid flat on the grimy ground of an alleyway.

“Ugh. Just my luck.” He kept his eyes closed for just a beat longer to allow himself time before having to pull his shit together. Why was his voice high? And a bit squeaky? He pulled himself together.

“Okay.” He whispered to himself, before sitting up and taking stock of the situation.

First thing that hit him was that it stunk to high heavens. Gagging, Spider-Man looked to the right and- yeah, that’ll do it. He stood up on wobbly legs to try to move away from the overflowing dumpster.

That’s when the second, more important and decidedly more troublesome, observation hit him.

He’s short. Shorter. And his suit was hanging off of him.

He could tell he still had his normal by now physiology, with the speeding heartbeat and the feeling of super strength. But he’s shorter. With a mounting sense of equal parts dread and resignation, he pulled at the hidden seam by his nape, relying on his both his enhanced senses and spidey-sense to tell if anyone was nearby or looking at him. He pulled the Spider-Man suit off, blankly folding it neatly as he stared dumbly at his hands. They’re small too. Shit. He stumbled to a nearby mud puddle and stared down, seeing his younger face in the contaminated water. Double shit.

He’s starting to loose his composure. He’d gone through a lot of bizarre things over the last eight years. But getting accidentally Detective Conan’ed by a person he just helped was a new low.

The black under layer of his suit, a slash proof and fire resistant polymer Peter had designed himself in MIT’s lab, was in a similar state.

With one hand, Peter Parker numbly rolled up his sleeves and pant hems. Great. Okay. Now what?

Ah. Shoes. He did not want to walk around in his too-big Spider-Man boots. He looked around. Well, there’s the laces of what looked to be like a pair of dumpster shoes. “Yeah, no.”

Shit. Does he still have access to his hammer space?

Peter reached into his pocket, and tried to reach for a pair of normal sneakers. His shoulder slumped as he produced a pair. Fuck yes. He still has access! And shoes! They’re ones he took off of a power line for a well off kid who didn’t want it anymore. He was going to donate them to F. E. A. S. T. but he’s thanking the stars he procrastinated a bit on swinging by the center. He put them on. They’re a bit big, but it’s better than the giant-in-comparison ones he normally wears. You know, as an adult.

He hesitated with his mask. He should at least figure out where he is. He hoped it was still in the states. His mask blinked, the HUD in his lenses informing him that it was trying to find a connection. “That’s weird.” He paused, grimacing at the sound of his voice. But it is weird, because he had his mask automatically connected to the world wide satellites Tony Stark had sent circling the globe for citizens without internet access as a back up option. So either he was somewhere even the Stark Satellites couldn’t reach or…

Peter swallowed, his mask pinging as it found a connection to piggy back on. He clicked his tongue twice to activate the voice controls.

“Connect to the local maps. Where am I?”

His masked followed the order. [Gotham. New Jersey.]

Peter stared at the words, gut churning.

Good news, he was still in the States. Bad news? He’s shrunk, in a totally different state, and possibly in a different world because he’s not connected to the Stark Satellites he knew operated in New Jersey.

Peter Parker tilted his head back and allowed himself one verbal, panic level six and up, curse word.

“Fuck.”

He took off his mask and leaned against a slightly cleaner part of the wall before hyperventilating.

——

Half an hour later, Peter smacked himself on the cheeks and pulled himself together.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he hissed to himself. “Have a mental breakdown somewhere warm, you dumbass.”

Peter Parker was a champion, world class expert at compartmentalization.

He slipped his mask back on, and pulled up his “So You’re Stuck in an Alternate Universe” list he had made with Ned so many years ago when they were high school kids and going through comic books to make contingencies because Peter was a little idiot vigilante hero.

“I didn’t think I’d actually ever need this kind of thing.” Peter muttered. He slipped his black back up gloves on to connect to his mask’s display in order to type.

“Okay,” he glanced at the side by side screens in his lenses. “Money.”

Five things.

1) The emergency cash he’d stashed on him thankfull matched the pictures of cash he’d found on this world’s internet. Yay!

2) He had $1000 tucked away. Not yay. Not if this might be a long term stay before he got back to his own dimension. Not if he wanted a place to sleep.

3) Luckily, thanks to his earlier search of where the hell he was, Peter figured out that due to the high crime rates- “Dang, that’s worse than New York on New Year’s Eve,” he had marveled- Gotham was dirt cheap and that that meant 1k dollars could actually last him a while and he could afford a room for a month on $250. A whole ass apartment for $550. Peter seriously considered staying in this universe just for the rent prices. So what if there’s rampant crimes? He’d deal with it if the rent was that cheap.

4) Problem? He’s fucking tiny. Who would rent to a person that looked like child? Not anyone upstanding, that’s for sure. He’s more likely to get mugged. Counterpoint: he’s in a city where apparently shady people are all around. Also? He doesn’t have an identity.

5) If the fact that he couldn’t connect to the Stark Satellites didn’t convince him he was either in another universe or an alternate dimension, the visual graphics of the websites he visited would. It was like looking at Windows in the early way before Stark Co. bought them out and improved the design. Nauseating.

Okay, so, money’s not too urgent of an issue. Next on Ned’s list: Places of Interest.

Namely, libraries, homeless shelters, crime hotspots, and the like.

Peter snorted when he came across an opinions article talking about how Park Row became Crime Alley. And then he frowned, because that story was not painting this place to be even remotely nice. Then again, considering the crime rates and the various Rogues this place seemed to have in spades, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Peter marks the place in his new mental map of Gotham as a potential area he could either disappear to or get a new identity at. He then marked the libraries, Gotham City Public Library and its many branches all funded by generous donations from a Bruce Wayne, the Martha Wayne foundations’ shelters and charities, two supermarkets near the library, and a coffee shop he thought looked warm and cozy from the shitty pictures they have uploaded online. He needed coffee, dammit, and he needed it hours ago. Alas, he probably wouldn’t get to go to one until he secured his finances.

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have practice being poor.

3) Which brings him up to Ned’s next, surprisingly reasonable for a teenager hoped up on a mountain load of sugar, point. Level of Tech.

Peter hid next to the dumpster, melding in with the shadows, as he continued his research.

Tech here was… well, he probably wouldn’t have to worry. The thought of not having a Starkphone, even his older model, was painful considering the new versions of these WaynePhones were really… behind. Peter doesn’t remember the last time he had buttons on his phone or let alone a touch screen that didn’t use facial tracking and biometrics or even have a holographic display mode.

“Ugh. Okay. Not the end of the world, Parker.” Peter muttered.

Now… People of Interest.

This was underlined three times with Ned’s red pens, with extensive subcategories.

Subcategory A? Villains, because “what if they put out a warning for a known villain and you get your butt kicked because you didn’t know about them, Peter? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

He had replied, half focused on the list and the other on savoring the Millennium Falcon Lego set May had saved up for months to get him for his birthday, “I feel like if I was getting my butt kicked by a villain, I’d probably have better things to worry about than my utter humiliation, Ned.”

“True that,” Ned had snicked and jotted it down anyways.

And… well, Gotham had a lot of villains. The Joker (ew, that’s a crusty man in crustier face paint. This guy could learn so much from the cool mimes busking in Central Park. Like, how to do face paint. Or how not to be a massive murderous jerk. There’s Clayface, Two-Face, a bald guy in “Metropolis” (a name Peter couldn’t help but snort at because a city named city? That’s like na’an bread being bread bread. Or chai tea being tea tea) named Lex Luthor, and Scarecrow. He tabbed all of them and marked them for further perusal at a later date. From experience, he knew villains with a prominent M.O. and themes usually did more damage. Case in point: Rhino, and the million dollars of property damage the guy did everytime he escaped the Raft. Peter was seriously considering petitioning for the Raft to be placed further out just so he could have more warning the next time some assholes decided to free the prisoners and helped them escape.

He narrowed his eyes at the screen, his mask’s lenses following the movement. He’ll have to pick up a gas mask. Apparently bio-weapons are just a regular thing here and he really didn’t want to get dosed with this “fear toxin.” It’d be dangerous for everyone involved. Maybe if he gets his hands on a sample, he could build up tolerance and see how his immune system and metabolic rates affected the normal progression of the toxin. Ah, off topic. He’s gotta focus.

Subcategory B: Local celebrities.

“Why would I need to know local celebrities?” He’d asked.

“If someone came up to you and asked “Who’s Tony Stark?”, wouldn’t you clock that as super weird? You gotta blend in, Peter. Plus, you gotta keep up with the pop culture, dude. It’s important.”

“You just want alternate universe memes,” Peter grinned.

“That too. If you ever go to an alternate universe and come back, you’d better bring me a truckload of memes or I’ll never forgive you.”

Yeah. So. Wayne? Super important. Like Tony Stark levels of important. He found threads about them and the local vigilantes and their charity works. Peter’s brain instantly catalogued the info, all but memorizing the deluge of pictures he found of Bruce Wayne and his kids. Maybe the man had an adoption problem? Conspiracy threads and memes popped up alongside his research. He tabbed one on secret societies, because as Spiderman, he had fought a disturbing amount of secret societies that, on hindsight, had been theorized about on threads he’s read on his free time. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, a conspiracy theorist could be right. Peter’s not about to dismiss that. He also saved like thirty different memes to send to Ned when he got back. If he got back.

Peter smacked that thought away. He’ll get back to his city or die trying.

Subcategory C, underlined and starred: Other Superheroes and Vigilantes.

Yeah, Peter’s excited about this one too. After Matt stopped being Dare Devil (but did he actually ever stop?) and Wade dipping in and out of NY, Peter’s gotten lonely as Spider-Man. He missed training with them. Of course, the fantastic four were still operating, but he doesn’t actually interact with them or the Avengers at all. Miles hasn’t been cleared (by his mom) to go out as Spiderman with near as many hours as Peter cleared a night. Peter stood behind that because he remembered how horrible it was to work as Spiderman and try to balance school on top of it. Also, he was terrified of Mrs. Morales and would never endanger her son more than he already does. He did wave to Black Widow from a rooftop once, spider to spider, and that was pretty much the coolest moment of his life.

So. Uh. The amount of vigilantes and heroes in this world? Amazing. In Gotham? There’s like, a whole team of them.

Batman, Nightwing (who, Username: Draken Draken had theorized, was the first iteration of Batman’s sidekick Robin), Red Hood, Black Canary, Huntress, Red Robin, Spoiler, the “day vigilante” Signal, the current Robin, and whispers of a “Black Bat.”

And their unfortunate “No Meta” rule with the singular exception of Signal. Peter figured their term of Meta was essentially the same thing as his world’s mutants. He’s not sure which term he liked more. Eh, he’ll worry about that later.

And there’s a Justice League! Which, to Peter, is just a bigger Avengers. There’s aliens on this world too. Superman. Martian Manhunter.

Peter grinned from his place crouched next to the dumpster. Yeah, this is awesome. He quickly memorized everything he could find, cross referencing posts and picking out the nuggets of truth or at least popular truth from the posts he viewed. Like, Red Hood operated in Crime Alley and was a crime boss with morals. Cool.

He’ll go down the spiral later. He mentally thanked Ned who was the best guy in the chair a teenage vigilante could ask for. He should really text his friend when he got back.

For now, he’ll head to the library and see if he could use their computers. He might need a card though… Peter quickly pulled up the search engine and found an Internet cafe. Ah, 24 hour internet cafes, the savior of his college days. There first, and then library, Peter decided. He memorized the instructions and pulled his mask off, tucking it away in the hammer space.

He walked out the alley and turned left, only to double take at his reflection in a shop window that was partially boarded up. Holy shit, he’s a baby. He’s like. 10!

Oh my god.

Peter twitched, tearing himself away from the window before the shop owner decided he was less curious and more potential mugger before promptly remembering that he looked less of a threat than ever. Mixed feelings.

Peter hurried his way to the internet cafe, paying the guy at the front a little extra so he’d ignore the obvious minor without a guardian thing Peter hasn’t gotten used to. Ugh. That was going to be annoying. He only paid for two hours and pulled up as many listings for a room as possible. By the end of it, he came out with $1 worth of fliers printed out and having funneled some billionaire’s offshore accounts into a new bank account he’d made by hacking into the bank servers. Does he feel bad about stealing? Yeah. But Peter’s a vigilante. He’s done worse than nabbing a monthly sum of a couple of hundreds from Lex Luthor’s off shore accounts. He’s not gonna get caught, and considering the guy’s rants on meta humans, Peter’s not feeling particularly guilty about it. He’ll do something good later to make up for it. Once he gets his footholds and can prepare his way back, he’ll even return to the rest of the money. Probably.

Peter left the cafe with his sheaf of flyers, stopping by an informational stand with free tourist maps and plucked one quickly from its plastic holder. He’ll pick something up from the food vendors on his way to the apartments. Peter began walking, taking in the sights of the gargoyles and-

“Nope!” He caught the wrist of a pickpocket. It’s a kid and he immediately felt bad.

“Lemme go. I ain’t done nothing to ya, ya Yorker tourist.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged. “Don’t get caught the next time?”

The kid gaped at him. “Shi’, you must be really good at it. I’ve never been caught before.”

Peter wisely refrained from telling the kid it was due to his spidey-sense. He let go of the kid’s wrist and let a bit more of his accent out. “Why’d you need money anyways?”

“Food, duh.”

“Dude, I’m starving. Tell you what. You show me the best sub shop nearby and I’ll pay for your food. Deal?”

The kid stared at him, wide eyed. “You’re fuckin’ nuts. Why’re you being nice?”

“I’m hungry? Do we have a deal, kid?”

“… Fuck it. Fine. And don’t call me kid, shrimp. You’re like what, eight?”

Oh. Yeah. Peter’s a kid now. He shrugged.

“I’m older than you. I’m twelve.”

Peter blinked, frowning at how thin the kid’s wrists were.

“I’m Peter!”

“… Frank.”

He let Frank lead the way. Stranger danger doesn’t apply to him, he’s a grown ass man. In the body of a ten year old him, but still. A couple of minutes, four sandwiches and a load of chips later, Frank was watching wide eyed as he demolished three four dollar subs.

“Holy shit. Where are you packing that away? You’re a stick!”

Peter took a big bite of the sandwich as an answer. Frank looked down at his meal.

“Uh. Hey.”

Peter made a muffled noise of question, mouth stuffed full of steak and cheese.

“Sorry about. Uh. Trynna nick from ya.”

Peter chewed faster.

Frank continued, looking like he hated himself. “I wouldn’t… normally steal from shrimps like you but I was desperate and… really hungry, so. My bad.”

Peter finished chewing. “All good, dude. Eat your sandwich.”

Peter had the sudden urge to adopt Frank. Unlike Wayne, he’s not a billionaire, so he smacked that urge down. He could use a friend though. Now… how to be friends with a literal child!

“If you feel that bad about it, you could… be my friend?”

Peter took in the wide eyed gaze from the twelve year old in front of him. Abort! Abort! That was too direct!

“You’re fucking weird. But… okay.”

“That was easy.”

Frank scowled, kicking Peter’s shin.

“Ow!”

“Whatever, shrimp.”

Peter scowled. On his baby face, it came out as a pout.

Do not start beef with a twelve year old, Peter. You’re a grown ass adult.

“Hey, you know I’m new here, right?”

“Duh.” Frank took a bite of his food.

“Can you tell me which one of these are legit?” Peter handed Frank the flyers. He took them, an odd look passing his face.

“You’re looking for a place?”

“Yeah? Why?”

Frank stared at him. Looked back down. He instantly got rid of four listings out of the ten. “These are too close to the Alley. They’re probably traffickers.”

Peter hummed in agreement. Frank paused.

“You’re just gonna trust me on that?”

“Yeah? I can tell when people are lying.” Well, his spidey sense could, when he cared enough about the subject.

“What the fuck.” Frank shoved the rest the papers at him and guiltily munched on his food. “Are Yorkers all just like you?”

“Dunno? Probably not.”

“… Whatever. The rest of the places should work. They probably won’t ask questions.” Frank flapped a hand at Peter’s new situation. Yeah, the shortness was getting to him too.

Peter nodded. Obviously, they were the more expensive places, but considering the new found resources he’d… acquired during his time at the cafe, it doesn’t really matter.

“Cool! Wanna go see it with me?”

Frank immediately took on a suspicious glare. “Why?”

“I dunno? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought since you know your way around…”

“Ugh. Fine. But if there’s anything shady, I’m fucking dipping out.”

“Okay!” Peter grinned for the first time the couple of hours he’d been trapped in this new world.

——

They’d found an apartment with a landlord that got a weird, sad face when she was talking to them about the apartment. After like, an hour of walking around and Peter’s spidey sense screaming at him not to even go near the places Frank had left in the pile of maybe’s.

“We walked all the way here. Ya not even gonna go in?”

“The vibes are off. It’s a no.”

And because Peter’s a genius idiot with no self preservation, he’d marked the places to investigate later.

Frank had blinked at him, mildly offended and nonplussed. After a while of spluttering, he just gave up. Eventually, they got here.

“I don’t normally rent to kids,” the landlord lady said. Peter immediately liked her. “But I’ll make an exception if you’ve got the cash.”

“I’d like to see the unit first, please” Peter said. He’s not stupid, and Gotham’s renting scene is both easier and harder than New York.

They toured it. Peter? He’d seen worse. He’d lived worse. Also, it had two bedroom and was $620. Yeah, Peter was really considering just staying here full time and commuting to his New York when he wanted to be a vigilante.

“I’ll take it, ma’am.” The landlord and Frank both snorted, sharing a Gothamite look.

“It’s Georgie, to you, brat. You just need the first month’s rent, since I’ll wave the deposit for you shrimps. Utilities included. Your friend stayin’?”

“No-” Frank had started.

“Yep!” Peter beamed, interrupting his new friend.

“What?” Frank turned, gaping again at this weird little kid who had enough money to rent a place and then invited a whole ass street kid he just met to live with him. “Are you stupid?! What if I rob you? Huh? I don’t need charity!”

Peter slowly looked around the empty unit.

“Uh.”

“No, that’s not the point!” Frank pointed a finger at Peter. “That’s how you get yourself killed!”

“But that’s why you should stay! I don’t know my way around Gotham so…”

Peter looked up at Frank, using his shortness for maximum devastation. “Please?”

Georgie leaned back on the heels of her feet, silently laughing. It’s not every day she sees a Gothamite street kid get out stubborned by an outsider, but she knows better than anyone that Gotham is weak to genuine kindness. And this Peter kid, the one that reminds her so much of her own? He’s practically filled with it.

“Yeah, kid,” she said to Frank, snickering. “Look at him. He’s gonna get mugged two steps into the Alley. Or anywhere.”

Frank flailed, but eventually, Peter handed over the money to an amused Georgie who gave them two keys in return and a move in gift of a pot pie.

“I gotta. Uh. Go get my stuff.” Frank had mumbled, dazed at whatever the hell just happened.

“Okay! I’ll see if I can go get furniture!”

“And lift them with your shrimpy arm? You wish.”

“I can use a cart.”

And really, he could, because Gotham had a lot of abandoned carts laying around. Like a concerning amount.

“Can you even reach the handle?”

“I’m not that short!”

Frank snorted, Georgie’s own chuckles following a beat after. Peter scowled at them.

“Be right back,” Frank promised, holding the key like it was treasure. He had been homeless for two and a half years now, so in his eyes, that key was as good as gold. He had somewhere warm to stay. Trying to pickpocket Peter was the best mistake he’s ever made in his short life. But he didn’t want to take advantage of that, well, no, he did want to, but he doesn’t want to take the genuine kindness for granted so he’ll see if there’s any street furniture he could haul back on his way.

“Okay!”

Georgie watched him go and turned to Peter.

“If you need stuff, there’s a thrift store and a grocery store that way.” She gave him the directions.

——

As soon as Frank and Georgie left, Peter immediately left his new place (and holy shit, he really didn’t expect things to be this easy. In New York, he had to spend at least a week checking out places because he had to figure out whether the problem that cause subtle twinges with his spider sense was worth living with. Here? It’s too obvious.) to buy supplies. He had $400. Until his new card came in, at least. He’d put his new address into that bank account addressed to a “Anthony Benjamin” before ordering a “replacement card.”

Peter ran to the thrift store, hurrying before the last traces of the sun dipped below the smog of Gotham. A frankly absurd amount of blankets, towels, pillows, clothes, packaged boxers, socks and shoes around his size went into the cart. To his chagrin, Peter couldn’t actually see much over the cart. Why the hell was he such a short ten year old? He blasted through the store, also guesstimating Frank’s sizes. He tossed in curtains, a used set of glow in the dark stars, and a lamp.

He also grabbed mismatched mugs, bowls, a bundle of cutlery, and a dented microwave he casually pretended to struggle getting onto the bottom part of the cart. It’s like lifting grapes for him, but he looks like a ten year old so…

He, guiltily, bought a mildly fancy camera in a set, with two separate lenses, even if one was cracked.

Not bad, for $150 total. Peter is going to definitely seriously consider commuting to New York. They didn’t even care when he walked out with the cart! Well, that might be because of the cashier who gave him a pitying glance.

He stopped by a general store on the way back, parking his cart in a rapidly shadowy alleyway. He swung by the new section of the store that reminded him of a Dollar Tree and got cleaning supplies, toiletries, and two pans and a pot. He grabbed some canned food and a couple of frozen meals in the back. Seasonings, ramen, general pantry staples went in. A role of paper towel. Nice. Venom would have loved this store. With half of his budget blown for essentials, Peter quickly cut his spending off and

He quickly gathered his stuff and went back to the apartment, using his strength a bit to lift the full cart up the stairs at the front doors and into the elevator. It creaked like the first time they used it to go see the apartment, but it worked. Peter set everything up in the living room, pillow and blanket wise, and put everything in its proper place. The lamp was put up, giving more light than the old bulb in the ceiling light.

All Peter wanted to do was pass out, but since his dumbass took in a child, he couldn’t sleep until this place was relatively fit for a kid to live in. He also wanted to wait for

So, that’s what he did. Taking a sponge and the cleaning supplies he’d picked up earlier, Peter tackled the living room, scrubbing away at old stains and spraying mildew. He marked trouble spots- like that splinter worthy piece of floor next to the doorway leading to the hall between the bedrooms. Then the kitchen. By the time Frank cautiously peeked his head in from the front door, Peter had already finished scrubbing the over.

“Hey.”

Peter turned, grime on his face but grinning. “Hey!” I bought some stuff!”

Frank snorted at his face before glancing around the living room, eyeing the cart parked neatly on the side.

“So you did. Didn’t get mugged, did ya?”

“Rude. No, of course not.”

Frank gave him a… frankly… unimpressed look and dumped his bag next to the pile of blankets and pillows Peter had piled onto the floor. Sue hi’, they didn’t have beds yet.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” Frank said neutrally before dragging in…

“A coffee table!” Peter bounced towards Frank, hugging him before lugging in the heavy wooden table in. “You’re the best! Where’d you find it?!”

The tension, anxiety about Peter’s reaction, in Frank’s shoulders relaxed and the kid grinned. “Alley. Some asshole just left it there for anyone to hit with their car so I took it.”

“Nice! We can eat on this!”

——

When they were getting ready for bed, Peter insisting on showers for both of them, Frank had reared up at the clothes Peter bought for him. Peter pretended like he didn’t see anything and shove a whole tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush at him.

“Ew. Do I have to?” Frank asked, wrinkling his nose but taking the items anyways.

“Yeah.” Peter said seriously. Frank gave a moment to wonder why he was taking orders from an eight year old before shrugging. He could brush his teeth in exchange for a roof over his head, food, and clothes. It’s not even a fair trade, for Peter, anyways. Frank was enough of an alley rat to take advantage of that.

——

When Frank passed out, Peter couldn’t sleep. He’s exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep.

So he took his new camera and climbed the fire escape to the roof top.

An hour later, he met his first vigilante.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m gonna need you to back away from the edge.”

“Woah!” Peter startled, jolting slightly off of the ledge he was balanced on. He twisted around to see Red Robin, hand outstretched and panicked look in his eyes.

“Dude. Warn a guy!” Peter said, even though his spider sense warned him of an approaching person that was actively watching him.

Red Robin held his hands up. “My bad. Would you- uh, not be on that ledge?”

“Yeah, sure. My bad, bro.” Peter obligingly stood up and stepped away from the ledge. Red Robin relaxed then did a double take. Peter frowned. Is there something on his face?

“What are you doing up here, kiddo? It’s late.”

Peter decided to scope out the vigilante. “Couldn’t sleep,” he held up his camera. “I’m taking pictures.”

“Oh. That’s cool! Can I see?” Red Robin approached warily, but relaxed when Peter didn’t spook and try to take a shortcut to ground floor.

“Sure! It’s a new, well, not new but new to me, camera so I haven’t had all that time to mess with the specs but the pictures turned out pretty good-”

“Oh, woah. This one’s great. That composition? Amazing. You caught the light perfectly,” Red Robin complimented. Peter brightened, knowing a photography fan when he hears one.

“Photography buddy!” He cheered.

They talked for an hour after that, but Red Robin quickly sent him to bed once he remembered the time.

“Ah, shi- crap. It’s like 2AM. You’ve gotta go to bed.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry if I interrupted your patrol, Mr. Red Robin!”

“No problem, kid.” Peter slipped back down the fire escape, not caring if the vigilante saw where he lived.

——

Up on the rooftop, Red Robin pressed a hand to his comm.

“Red Robin to Nightwing.”

“What’s up, Red?”

“Do you have a kid you don’t know about?” Tim said, bluntly.

“… What?”

“Oracle, can you share my cowl footage?”

“Copy. Oh, that kid…”

“Looks exactly like Wing?” Tim said, peering down at the empty fire escape. “Yeah. Talked like him too.”

“Oh my god, he’s adorable.” Oracle said. Tim agreed. That curly hair? Baby face? Adorable. A bean. “Did you get DNA?”

“Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something.”

“Do not break into his place and nab a hair,” Nightwing reprimanded, but his voice sounded distracted.

“Holy shit, you guys nerded out about camera placement and lighting for an hour?” Hood piped up.

“Get some rest, Red Robin. You’ve been working too hard,” Batman grunted through the comms. Awkward… but he’s been getting better at communicating his worry for his kids.

“Sure thing, B. Heading back to the main cave. Red Robin out.

——

Peter: lay low and get home

Also Peter: talks to a vigilante

None of them think Peter’s Nightwing’s yet. Peter will know before them… eventually. Once this world’s version of him gives up his memories to be absorbed by AU Peter.

[latenightdaydreams]

König x First Meeting (fem)

MDNI🔞

I'm sorry for not posting as often as I usually do! There has been a lot of things going on in my personal life, but I promise to be back on my normal schedule soon! ILY all and thank you so much for everyone's patience and grace🩷 I hope you all have a great day/night!!

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, fluff, sexual thoughts

1.4k word count.

📻

.

.

Over the last three years, you’ve always just been a soft voice on the other side of König’s radio. What was first professional talk only quickly turned into deep conversations and flirting. Every mission he can rely on you to always be there. You’ve been able to help him out of terrible situations, causing the bond to grow stronger. It helps that your voice is so feminine and soothing to him.

Even though you both have never met face to face, he’s developed deep feelings for you. Other than your first name, he knows nothing about you. Are you married? Do you like men? That doesn’t really matter; men like König aren’t built for relationships, so he’s never sought you out. Why ruin something good?

König has just returned from a successful mission, his team put together a small party at the local bar for him. He sat at the bar with Horangi as everyone else spread out across the bar. In the middle of the story Horangi was telling him, he hears your voice. His eyes widen as he looks around trying to find you. Then you speak again.

The light coming in from the windows behind you formed a halo of golden rays around your body, framing your stunning shape. It’s as if König was looking at an angel, a dream come true. He places a hand on Horangi’s shoulder as to excuse himself as his feet guide him to you.

“Y/n? Is that really you?” König asks as his eyes travel all over your body as he stops a few feet from you.

“König!” You respond in such a happy tone, your lips curving into the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. He is a massive man; in height and in muscle mass. While you can’t see his face, you can see his beautiful pale eyes.

“Y- you’re here. In the flesh.”

He is trying his best to be respectful, but finding it hard to take his eyes away from your body. To see you, the body, the face, to match your voice; he feels as if this just confirms that he’s in love with you. This is exactly what he was worried would happen if you two ever met.

“It’s nice to finally meet you face to face.” His eyes meet yours once more as he holds his hand out for you to shake.

The sweet familiar giggle leaves your lips as you brush past his hand and wrap your arms around him for a hug. “There’s no need to be so formal.” You tease, causing his cheeks to turn red underneath his mask.

König wraps his arms around you, returning the hug. You’re so much smaller than him that your head barely reaches his chest. He leans down slightly and takes a deep breath. You smell like a breezy spring day. Everything about you screams home to him, he came picture himself coming home every day and burying his head between your breasts and letting the stress of the day melt off.

When the hug ends, he can still feel his body tingle where you touched him. His icy blue eyes are stuck on you, trying to study every little part of you that he can. He notices your eyes travel over his body as well, giving him an ego boost.

“Congratulations on your work.” You say grabbing his gloved hand.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Süße.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he squeezes your hand slightly. There are so many words fighting to be said, but he doesn’t know where to begin. “Would you like to sit together and chat?”

“I would.”

Horangi turns in his seat to see König walking hand in hand with you. He raises his eyebrow and shrugs, getting up to join the crowd of people to give you both some time alone. You sit, sliding into one side of the booth and König ops to sit beside you verses across from you. He can’t take his eyes off of you or stop touching you. Three years of only knowing your voice. Three years of joking, flirting, and life saving advice.

“You’re a lot taller than I thought you’d be.” You say softly as you gaze down at his hand caressing your upper thigh through the fabric of your jeans. The sexual tension between the both of you is insane.

König chuckles at your comment while nodding his head. “I am. I’m a big man, kleine Taube.” Your thighs are so deliciously thick, he can only imagine what they would feel like underneath the fabric of your pants. His eyes drop to your cleavage before traveling back up to your eyes. “It’s crazy to finally put a face to the voice.”

“Hopefully a cute face.” You smirk and chuckle.

“A beautiful face. You’re so beautiful and small.” His face heats up at his words as his mind begins to wander about what it would be like to have you completely to himself.

“Well, thank you König. I can’t see your face but I imagine it’s just as attractive as your voice.”

He leans back in the booth and laughs, shaking his head in disagreement. “I have scars, Taube. Graying hair.” His eyes travel from your eyes to your soft pillowy kissable lips then back up.

“Maybe I’m into that.” You smirk.

It’s just like speaking to you have the radio, you’re just as flirty and confident in person and that’s very attractive to König. His hand on your thigh squeezes twice before he shifts his body to face you more. The hand moves from your thigh so he can remove his gloves, showing off his pale large hands. His fingers dance across your small palm before linking fingers with you. You place your free hand on his arms, caressing his muscular bicep. His pants grow tight on him as he feels his cock begin to harden.

Before anything else can be said, Horangi brings over two shots for the both of you. He has a sly smirk on his face as he passes one to you and then to König. “Celebration shot!” Horangi gleefully shouts.

You reach for yours and then look at König and wait for him to grab his. He does and watches you closely waiting to see what you will do. When you bring the small glass up to your lips and drink the harsh liquor with no reaction his cock twitches. What he wouldn’t give to see your lips wrap around him instead.

König looks at you and lifts up his mask, exposing his lips to you. You can see a scar coming from his cheek down past his lip to his chin. He takes the shot quickly, but before he can drop his mask you lean up and kiss him. Your lips fall on his cheek, but the corners of your lips touch and it drives him mad.

He looks down at you for a moment, not reacting while he attempts to gather his thoughts so he doesn’t just bend you over this table and fuck you in front of the whole bar. One of his hands comes up and caresses the side of your face as he leans in to kiss you again. His lips are soft and delicate at first. Slowly his lips move against yours in a more possessive and passionate heat.

Your lips feel just as soft as clouds, you smell and taste so sweet. His hand slips down your body, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. The kiss intensifies as he feels your lip’s part. He wastes no time; the tip of his tongue runs across your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth.

A small hum rumbles from his chest as he moves his hand up and down your back, moving to your side to explore your curves. You feel so perfect in his hands. You taste so good on his tongue. There is no one else. You are the one.

König pulls back from the kiss; his eyes look down into yours. All he wants to do is ravish your body and get to know every inch of you, but he knows he should take you out first. You’re more than just a hookup, he can build a future with you. He thinks for a moment, letting his eyes trail down your body once more before speaking. “Would you like to go on a date?”

“I would love to.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“I’m free all day, Süße. You can take as much of it as you want.” You could take the air from his lungs and he’d die a happy man.

“I want it all.”

König smirks at your response. His hand lingers on your upper thigh once more, letting his fingers rest on your inner thigh. “You can have it all. Anything for my Taube.”

[rwrbficrecs]

The Monarch Haven by @redlightsandicedtea (book-verse)

@na-dineee: I found this fic through @lieselsart's wonderful illustration. Alex isn't the First Son, but his parents are high-ranking politicians. Due to serious mental health issues, he lives secluded in Texas, where he runs a mental health refuge for teens— the Monarch Haven. Secluded, until a real prince seeks refuge there. Alex isn't thrilled but still wants to help. What follows is 76k words of slow burn and domesticity! It's beautifully angsty, with a gradual and moving development. A total comfort read !!

Whiteout by HarmonyWhitlock (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Snowboarder Alex and skier Henry almost collide on the slopes, followed by a heated exchange of words. At the end of the day though, they meet at the bar and, well... This story is part of a series which is all about the CMQ-influenced trope 'In every universe'. I got all giddy with every beautiful story I read: So carefully composed and very well crafted, the emotions and attraction swept me away. Hopefully many more to come !!

I Want Candy by @vanillahigh00 (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Alex as a dad and Henry's house being his daughter's first stop on her quest for Halloween candy are the ingredients to this very sweet fic!

Tiempo de Vals by @14carrotghoul (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Authentic Hispanic details (that are always one of my favorite things about this author's writing), a high school AU, and firstprince dancing- what's not to love?

Workin' On My Fitness by bananamilks (book-verse)

@na-dineee: After gushing to Pez about how hot fitness trainer Alex on Instagram is, he is actually indignant when Pez gives him a gift certificate for a training package to reach his (decidedly not) fitness goal: to be able to lift hot men onto countertops. As always, these two have the hots for each other. And the story around it is really sweet, two seconds angsty, also funny, and just delightful.

If U Seek Amy by @14carrotghoul (book-verse)

@dot524: Such a cute and meaningful 5+1 centering on Amy Chen and how she views the different members of the First Family. Love an outsider PoV and the sweet moments in this one.

Adrift by @milowren29 (book-verse)

@read-and-write-: An addicting pacific rim AU. I don't even go here and I fully enjoyed it, packed with action, life-threatening monsters and alex-and-henry typical obliviousness and refusal to talk about their feelings which is y'know, canon. Everyone needs to give an opportunity to this one.

In Plain Sight You Hid by @nontoxic-writes (movie-verse)

@dot524: Ever reflect deeply on why everyone hates Miguel? This story fleshes out what he did to Alex and expands on what happened during that hookup and what it had to do with Henry. This is also a study of Alex’s relationship with Henry and what made it special. An insightful and angsty (and sexy) addition to the movie canon.

the beagle, the ghost, and the wardrobe by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@suseagull04: I was immediately intrigued by this fic title's Chronicles of Narnia inspiration, and the fic itself didn't disappoint! Ghost Alex, star-crossed lovers- what more could you ask for?

Jump in with your heart first by @dumbpeachjuice (book-verse)

@suseagull04: This is a blind date that, despite a hiccup or two along the way, will make you believe in soulmates!

Foxden Park by @myheartalivewrites (book-verse)

@dot524: Really enjoyed the slow burn of this one as the story unfolded. So many fun scenes - horse riding, canoeing, sneaky rendezvous in the library. An addicting, enjoyable read!

check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️

[ladyquietus]

watching Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse and knowing Hobie Brown has gotten me feral. Could not stop thinking about being that man’s lover and oh the things he could do. Jesus.

Getting Real

Hobie Brown x Fem y/n: Smut Read

© ladyquietus

AN: a bit older y/n from another dimension, some smut, fluff, cussing, nicknames, semi age gap, the works.

W: I apologize if I’ve made any mistakes, English is not my first language.

Minors, ageless blogs do NOT interact.

>> Long read ahead

“Oh, I bet you think your honey taste like sugar. But honey, sugar don’t taste that bitter~ Baby, you ain’t sweet. Look at what you did to me~…” y/n sings to the lyrics, tapping her foot on the floor. The music blaring from her headphones, getting distracted from doing homework infront of her.

She adjusted the frames of her glasses, licking her lips and continued humming to the tone. Failing to notice the flashes of bright, sharp lights beaming through the bedroom window behind her.

It was heavily pouring outside, the shut window slowly rutted opened. Slim fingers appeared on the frame, pulling a bit more force Til the figure could come through the window.

The masked vigilante made his way inside, patting off droplets of rain. He took off his mask, letting his full blown hair pop up.

He smirked at the sight of y/n, sitting infront of her desk, Clueless about this presence. The music she was listening and the loudness of the rain made y/n unaware of Hobie approaching her.

Hobie posed finger gun on his right hand, pressing the tips of his fingers on y/n’s upper back.

“Hands where I came see em’ lil’ lady” he jokes, feeling her tensed.

Y/n quickly pulled off her headphones and spun around, looking at a chuckling Hobie in disbelief.

“You ass,” she glared at him, pushing him off.

“You’re gonna get robbed easily love, I won’t be around you for that.” He holds his hands up in defense.

“Luckily, we’ve got another Spider-Man here huh, what’re you doing here anyways?” She questions, crossing her legs on the office chair she was sitting.

Hobie plopped down on her bed, wincing a bit when he noticed a small stain of blood on his shirt on the left side where his ribs lie.

“Shit.” He cussed, pulling off his leathered spiked jacket.

“What’s wrong?” Y/n stood up concerned, slowly made her way towards him and sat beside him.

“Just a graze, don’t worry. Must’ve gotten caught a crossfire between these crime families back home, what nasty lil’ shits.”

“And you didn’t feel that until now? You must’ve been in a load of adrenaline, It must be wearing off.” y/n sighs, kneeling down beside the bed and pulled out a storage box. She took out a first aid kit and sat back again beside Hobie.

“You’re cute when you’re concerned doll, it’s like you’re forgetting I have massive pain tolerance.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, feeling her worry for him a bit made his heart swell.

He always kept his heart up on his sleeve, meeting y/n months ago somehow changed that despite they’re still friends. He also knew that she was older than him, two years older in fact and it must’ve set her back.

They met when he and Gwen came to her dimension, looking for their villain of the week that somehow skipped across dimensions and landed on hers. She was a med student, walked in a parking lot alone at a convenience store. Not knowing she was being followed a creep whom Hobie took action on.

The rest was history.

“Putting your schooling in good use aye?” He jokes again, taking off his shirt after seeing her getting crossed.

Thou shall not poke a pissed off y/n.

“Glad you find this funny, what would happen if you got hit somewhere serious huh Hobie?” She clicked her tongue, throughly disinfecting his flesh wound.

“Relax, you’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”

Hobie’s relentless teasing didn’t lighten the situation, it just made y/n worry more whenever he’s not around. She would never really know the next time he’ll come back.

He felt it, she was always the worrywart. Somehow he could read what was going on through her pretty little head.

“I’ll always come back to you, my love. So please stop worrying, I’m here with you right now and I promise you I’d want to go through everything for you.” His voice softens, his gaze never leaving hers.

He leaned just a bit closer, caught a whiff of her lavender shampoo and declared that it was his favorite scent.

“Hobs…” she quietly says, feeling the tension between them. Her eyes meeting his, couldn’t help but noticed he kept glancing on her lips.

“Mhm, yes mamas?” He couldn’t help but inch a bit closer, grazing his lip on hers.

Just a lil bit of tease.

The slight cold of his steel lip ring had made y/n’s skin crawl with goosebumps. His rough, firm hand radiated a lot of warmth on hers. Yet his thumb caressing the top of hers made something stir up inside her.

The new nickname he gave her wasn’t helping, she felt a bit guilty she wanted to hear it more from his lips.

He was waiting for her, he didn’t want to freak her out if he was too forward. But he was too damn excited, he’s been wanting to kiss her for a while now.

It was eating him up inside.

y/n closed the distance, letting her lips connected to his but it was only quick and subtle. She was nervous as hell, the last time she kissed someone was her ex-boyfriend a year ago.

“Babe that’s not enough, not enough at all.” His voice was heavy with need, in need of her.

Hobie raised his left hand, enclosing his slender fingers on her jawline. Grasping it softly and pulled her closer, wrapping his other hand around her waist to pull her on top of him.

Y/n squeaked In surprised, Instinctively holding on to his broad shoulders.

“Hobs-”

His lips immediately crashing to hers, he loved how soft it felt and the taste of earl grey tea still lingered on her tongue.

y/n moaned on his mouth, it was music to his ears and he wanted to listen to it more.

The kiss was sloppy, y/n was struggling to keep up. Her nails dug into his skin, making him grow excited beneath her. She surely felt it and subconsciously started to grind on it through his leathered pants.

“Mm mas, You’re making it hard to stop,” he says in between kisses.

She grew too fond of it, she didn’t care if her lips had start to swell or bruised. It was addicting to make out with Hobie Brown.

“Mmm,” were the only sounds she left out. Taking the lip ring between her teeth and pulled slowly.

Hobie’s grip on her waist and thighs got tighter when she did it, almost made him cum on that spot. He swore this woman was gonna be the death of him if she keeps it up.

y/n’s hands started to trail, from his shoulders to his chest. Feeling every detail of him, how warm he was despite the nonchalance he always gives off to most people.

She reached right above his pants, Hobie was sensitive to what she has touched.

y/n dragged a finger over the tent, her wetness grew at the feeling of how hard he was of her.

They both finally pulled away, heavy breathing. Hobie leaned against the headboard, still not loosening his vice on her as if she were to disappear any moment.

Looking at her all disheveled and swollen lips, her eyes kept screaming at him to just take her then and there.

“Love, I’d want you to shoot me in the head if I ever say no to you but have you even done it before? I wouldn’t want to rush you to something you’re not comfortable with.” He reassures in a soft voice despite his lustful gaze.

y/n couldn’t care less anymore, she had too much pent up frustration. She was still a virgin, the only farthest thing she had done with her ex was giving and receiving oral sex.

“Hobs, if you won’t fuck the living daylights out of me- I will be putting a lock on that window the minute you leave.” she huffs, palming his hardness.

“Damn mamas alright, I’ll take that as a yes.” He chuckles, both of his hands crawling their way to her ass. A bit frustrated that she was still covered in shorts and a baggy shirt, it may look cute on her but Hobie preferred much that she wore close to nothing at all.

“Gonna need these off first,” he mumbles, burying his face on her neck, leaving lazy kisses and soft bites.

“Couldn’t agree more,” she replied, closing her eyes and biting her lip to moan out loud.

Hobie ripped out her shorts, tugging the cloths away and was surprised to feel her wearing a thong.

“Jesus, love.” He smiles against her neck, immediately groping her cheeks and slapping the right.

He pulled on her thong, making her wet slit grind against the thin fabric.

“Fuck, Hobs…”

“You’ve been wearing this kind of panties around me all this time?” Another slap on her right cheek.

“Mmm sometimes,” y/n started to enjoy this too much.

Another slap before his firm fingers started to spread her cheeks apart, groping and gripping them all around.

Without warning, Hobie pushed her over on her back. Making them switch sides. He was on top, wouldn’t even stop smiling at her.

“Do you know how many times I keep thinking about you being underneath me?” He caresses her cheek, placing a peck.

He lowered himself more, placing more and more small yet sweet kisses. Raising the disruptive shirt to her chest til her breasts were on full view to his pleasure.

Hobie already loves them, they were perfect to him. They weren’t too small nor too big, mouth started to salivate at the size of her areolas.

Letting one arm to support himself, he cupped one of her breast and kneed on the erected bud. Licking her lips for another neediness.

“Something tells me it’s gonna be more than once,” y/n managed to whimper out, Hobie taking the whole bud in his mouth.

His hand caresses it’s way to her swollen pussy lips, eating the thin line of cloth. He could feel how needy and wet she was for him, and God she was soaked.

She squirmed, bucking her hips for more of his fingers. Meanwhile, Hobie’s mouth was occupied- switching between one tit to another.

His fingers itched to plunge deep inside her ache, he pulled the thong to the side and started rubbing her clit.

“Hobs… fuck, that feels good,” she mewed, kept on squirming.

Hobie hummed in pleasure, feeling her wither from his touch made him smirk.

Y/n’s body jerked when she felt a sharp and pleasurable pain when Hobie softly hit one of her nipples.

“Hobie!” He chuckles, licking the aching nub soothingly.

“If you’ll let me mas, I need to taste you. Need to fill my hunger for you right now.” He left her chest, licking and biting his way down to her abdomen. Leaving so much marks, he’s gotten too proud and wanted to mark her more.

She couldn’t say anything but whimpers. She nodded her head in response, but this only wanted Hobie to tease her more.

Without warning, both of his fingers plunged inside her. Feeling the walls tightening around him, it was so warm- he started imagining how amazing it must feel if it were his cock.

“Use your big girl words, love.” He curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made y/n grip her hands all over his body.

“Hobs- eat me out please,”

Hobie didn’t waste any time, he’d gotten too needy- placing his lips on her sex. It reeked of desperation.

Both his left hand and mouth enjoyed giving y/n too much pleasure, His right gripping on her inner thigh to keep her open for him. Y/n still kept on squirming, her legs begging to close in on his head.

It was too much.

She bit her bottom lip too hard, she swore she was already seeing stars as Hobie kept on abusing her pussy with the combo. She couldn’t help but let her moans out, a few cusses and whimpers of “Hobs” kept escaping from her mouth.

She felt this wave, this urge for release.

“Wait Hobs- Hobie! I’m gonna pee- stop,” she started to pull away, gripping on the sheets as if it were to help her.

Hobie didn’t say anything but looked at her, meeting her eyes but didn’t stop. He went faster, flicking his tongue all over her wet sex and fucking it with his fingers.

“Hobi- Hobie,” she couldn’t escape, Hobie kept on pulling her back. The more she struggled- the closer the release.

“Hobie” her toes curled, letting the wave overcome her.

It came in spurs, she started squirting all over his mouth and face. Hobie immediately started lapping her up, trying to drink every little drop.

That’s a first, even my ex wasn’t able to do that with me. Her chest was heaving, thighs still trembling from the aftermath.

“If I knew you tasted this good, I would’ve done this sooner.” He smiles, giving her pussy one last kiss before kissing her lips a few times.

“Mmm- sorry, I made a mess on your face,” she breathes out, pussy still sensitive as Hobie’s huge girth was pressing against it.

Hobie unzipped his pants, quickly taking it off and freed his aching cock from his boxers.

“You’re gonna have to make another mess, mas. Whole lot more,” grinding the tip at her wetness, giving special attention to her swollen clit.

“Hobie… I just came,” she glanced nervously at his size, it was a good guess of 6-7 inches with a bit of a wide veiny girth.

“Better then, I’ll take care of you darling. Don’t worry, you’ll be wanting it more soon,” Hobie slowly pressed on his hips, the tip slowly making its way inside her folds.

As he leisurely pressed it inside, she could feel him stretching her out. Her walls adjusting to his size, but surprisingly she only felt a scale of 5/10 pain.

“You okay, my love?” Hobie asks, each of his hands holding her hands down. Kissing her cheek and neck to reassure her.

“Mhm, just keep going. Is it even fully in yet?” She groaned.

“Not even close, but fuck I’m only half way through- the tip’s kissing your cervix already.” He laughs a bit, then groaned at she kept gripping around him.

The pain started to retreat, and all she could feel how full she was of him, and he was right- she could feel his hard tip pressing on the entrance of her cervix.

“Hobie, move. Please.” She begged, looking at his pained expression.

“Mmm, love. You’re still adjusting,” Hobie groaned, hearing her say those words almost made him pound into her to oblivion.

“Please Hobs, start fucking me. I won’t say it again.” She says sternly, something inside her grew excited. Her nervousness soon started to diminish and was replaced with yearning.

He looked down on her, wringing her wrists together above her head and slinging his web- bounding them together.

“As you wish.”

He placed one of his hands under her ass, pulling her up a bit and started to pull his length out before plunging it back in her.

Y/n’s bound hands immediately placed themselves at the back of his neck. It was a slow pounding but she was hitting it too deep, the tip pounding her cervix at every thrust.

The squelching noise that both of their sexes made overwhelmed their senses, their animalistic groans filled the room. Both couldn’t care less if their neighbors could hear them fucking away.

Their sweats began to mix, everything what they’re doing made them intertwine with one another. Y/n’s wetness was already covering Hobie’s cock, pummeling her has gotten easier and more of his length disappeared in her.

“Shit, mas, Your pussy’s swallowing me. I can’t stop.” Hobie gritted his teeth, being inside her made him addicted.

She felt that familiar urge again, but it was stronger. Hobie’s merciless pummeling edged her closer.

“Hobs,” she whimpered.

“I know, I know love. Cum all over me, make a mess.” He connected his lips to hers, muffling her loud moans as she let herself succumbed to his commands. Her whole body bucked and quiver against his.

Hobie hissed, sensed he was nearing to his end. But he wanted to finish feeling all of her crumbling first, then pulled out. Just barely, spurs of his hot cum landed on her stomach.

It took them a moment, giving them both time to come back to the real world.

Hobie plopped himself on top of her, she didn’t mind the weight. It was rather comforting, feeling him against her.

Hobie placed himself beside her on the bed, pulling her in- not caring they were both buck naked. Ripping off the web on her knotted hands.

She snuggled closer to him, knowing there was no turning back after what they’ve done.

“I know I’ve said I don’t believe in labels and consistency but, I’d prefer to make an exception for you, my love. Only you. I want this to be real for us,” Hobie broke the silence, playing with the strands of her hair and caressing her back.

“You better keep your word, Hobs. I have liked you for quite some time now.” Y/n started to trace her fingers on his chest, savoring each moment they have.

“I think we’ve gone way past using “like” love, doesn’t really match the way you’ve been needing me earlier.” He teases, groping an ass cheek.

[inkonparchment]

re6!Leon x agent!Reader drabble.

decompressing after missions is not as easy as it seems.

mentions of ptsd, implied age gap, slightly graphic scenery but nothing we aren't used to in the RE-verse.

Your fingers flex by your side. Fingers splaying out against your thighs as though in search. In search for the feel of cool metal against your skin. Your hand feels empty, too light, the weight isn't correct. And then you clench your hand, rounding up your fingers in a fist.

Breathe. Breathe.

Maybe you should have stayed home instead of coming to the office party. You couldn't even remember what the celebration was for. But what good would it have done you by staying home? Staring at the walls, watching the paint peel, letting the harsh blue glare of your TV bathe you.

Breathe. Breathe.

You bring your glass to your lips, taking a small slip, rolling the liquid around in your mouth to coat it with bubbles. What was it your therapist had said? Find other ways to ground yourself. The tonic water did help put your mind off your hand. No alcohol for you though, no. So afraid that if you ventured once to seek comfort at the bottom of the bottle, you wouldn't be able to stop.

You squint against the harsh lights. Are they harsh or do they just seem like that to you? You can't tell the difference right now. The music is nice, low and soft, the sight of your coworkers intermingling keeping your eyes busy. But you can't help it, can't help your eyes darting across the room.

Locate the exit. Any hostiles? How many active shooters? Anyone with their skin peeling off, eyes popping out of their skull with their hands outstretched, mouths upturned in a snarl, the scent of rotting flesh-

Breathe. Bubbles. Breathe.

You take a step back, melting more in the background. Best not to attract attention right now, you don't think you have the energy to muster up a social conversation. You exhale a deep breath, looking down at your shoes, slight pain starting to creep in your toes from standing around in your heels too long.

You don't notice someone slide next to you.

"You're standing so far back, people might mistake you as part of the decor."

You freeze, recognising the voice. The soft, gentle low cadence that you're sure you'd be able to recognise anywhere. You lift your chin and the gnawing voices in your head cease.

The lights cast a shadow on his blond hair, almost creating a halo, blue eyes hiding under his bangs that are gentle in their way of looking at you. His warmth, the scent of his cologne drifting around him wherever he goes. And suddenly you feel awake, brought back to the ground with a sudden yank to your chain.

"Agent Kennedy!" You sound surprised and that amuses him.

"And here I thought we were finally going to be on first name basis."

You look away, put at an ease by his teasing tone. A running joke now between the two of you. Passing each other in the hallways, he would greet you by your name and you would greet him with an 'Agent Kennedy'. You don't know what it is but you can't seem to find it in yourself to call him 'Leon'.

He watches you carefully, a little shake of his head to move the bang from his eyes. "When did you get back?"

You shift the glass to your other hand, "Yesterday."

When he doesn't respond, you look up at him again to see a small smile on his face, a question dancing in his eyes. So blue. You could almost drown in them.

"What?"

"Can't believe you came to this party right after an assignment." He shrugs his shoulders. "I would've headed out to Hawaii instead."

A chuckle escapes from your lips, "Well we can't all do what you do, Agent Kennedy."

He's grown his stubble out a bit more, you notice. Eyebags lighter, more colour in his cheeks, like he isn't carrying around an unsurmountable exhaustion.

You want to know how he does it. How he's so much at ease right now. How much he's able to handle the shitload well that he's not standing in the middle of an office party of one of the most secure departments in the country, mere moments away from a breakdown.

Your eyes get a bit hazy, not wanting your state to be put on such a display, especially not around Agent Kennedy. You can feel a slow spiral beginning to grip you but it almost immediately stops.

Warmth blossoms against your skin and  the sound of your name falling on your ears brings you back to reality. He's standing more closer now, a reassuring hand pressed on your wrist where neither your dress shirt nor the coat of your pant suit covers your skin.

His face is full of understanding as though he knows, knows exactly what's been running your mind like he's been there himself. A soft squeeze. "You know where to find me."

And with a final smile, he let's go, walking away from you. You watch until he disappears into the crowd, leaving the ghost of his burning handprint against your skin.

The lights feel softer now.

[cutielando]

out of line | r.c.

synopsis: in which you stand up to Ward and Rafe can't be prouder

my masterlist

Ever since you could remember, Ward had always been hard on Rafe. It might have been because he was his only son, it might be because he wanted him to mature early on, or it might be just because he hated his son.

At least that's what Rafe had come to believe.

Nothing he did ever seemed to be right. His father would always find faults in every single thing Rafe did, crushing the boy's morale every single time.

"I don't know how to please him anymore" he would always say when he came to you, all sad and unmotivated to even live.

You hated seeing your boyfriend like that. You hated the way Ward acted towards his son. You hated the fact that he always made Rafe feel bad about your relationship, always filling his head with thoughts that he didn't deserve you, that he should do you a favor and let you go because you would be better off without you.

It made your blood boil.

As you were laying on the couch in Rafe's home, his body laying on top of yours and your arms wrapped around his body, you were hoping to God that his father would not ruin your night.

"Rafe?" hearing Ward's voice made the both of you tense.

Rafe got up from laying on you and sat upright on the couch just as Ward walked in.

Eyeing you, you could see him clench his jaw and swallow harshly.

"Yes, dad?" Rafe said, clearing his throat and looking up at his father.

"What are you doing?" he asked, looking between the both of you.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, and you knew that Rafe was desperately weighing his answers to make sure he wouldn't say the wrong thing.

That is precisely why you decided to be the one doing the talking tonight, hopeful to finally give the older man a piece of your mind.

"We were watching a movie before you interrupted us" hearing you speak made Rafe's heart start beating rapidly.

He wiped his head around to look at you with wide eyes, but you kept eye contact with the older Cameron man.

"Excuse me?" his voice was dangerously low, but you weren't afraid of him and had no intention of backing down.

"You heard me. Do you want something with Rafe or not?" you asked, now standing up and stopping while face-to-face with him.

"You better watch your mouth, young lady" his threats fell on deaf ears, you were done cowering in fear of him.

Your family was the second richest one on the whole island, so you were also entitled to speak your mind seeing as you weren't a poor little Pogue afraid to speak in front of a Kook.

"That's funny, coming from the guy whose ego is so big he has to belittle his own son to feel better about himself" that struck a nerve.

Ward took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. His fists were pulsing, his veins were enlarged, he was on the verge of exploding.

But he knew better than that, he knew better than to make an enemy of your father. While Ward must think he's got the dangerous associates on the island, your father was by far more versed than him in that department. 

Your family might not have been the richest, but it was for sure the most dangerous one. And Ward knew that.

"How dare you?" 

"How dare I? How dare you look at your son, your own flesh and blood, and belittle him like he's a stranger to you? How can you stand there and insult him, make him feel worthless after how much he does to impress you, to satisfy you? And nothing ever seems enough. How dare you fill his head with lies about our relationship when you and I both know I am the only person who loves him and takes care of him. I am the only one who wants the best for him, not even you as his father? What the fuck is wrong with you?" you felt so good getting everything off of your chest.

Rafe was still speechless, still sitting behind you on the couch.

He was grateful for every word you had said, having conveyed everything he had been feeling but was too afraid to tell his father.

"You are way out of line here, bitch" he spit with venom in his voice.

Your eyes darkened and you stepped even closer to him, being almost face to face with him.

"Call me a bitch again and see what happens. We don't want to repeat what happened at Midsummers, now, do we? Or did you forget what my daddy did?" your voice now being dangerously low, knowing you had struck another nerve.

Ward visibly tensed, having remembered that your father had almost killed him in a fight when he insulted you at Midsummers while being intoxicated.

He cleared his throat and nodded, taking one last look at Rafe before turning around and leaving the house.

"Thank you" Rafe's small voice said as you next back next to him on the couch, unpausing the movie you had been watching.

"Never thank me for that. I want you to feel safe, and I was just telling the truth. You know my father has your back, he loves you and he would do anything for you" you told Rafe, who nodded.

Your father and him have had a very close and special relationship ever since you started dating almost 3 years prior. 

Due to the fact that you were an only child and your father had always wanted a son too, he treated Rafe like he was his own. He knew about his situation with Ward and always made sure he was being taken care of.

You sometimes thought your father liked your boyfriend more than you.

"I know, but still. Thank you for everything, you don't know how much I love you, baby" he leaned his body back on top of you, savoring your warmth and delicate touch.

"I love you too, so much"

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[yeyinde]

thank you for tagging me @ivymarquis ! i debated between this, the regency fic (fleshed out), or one of the other Price fics i'm working on (home from college for the summer and seducing hot older neighbour Price whomst you had a crush on since sixteen (aka daddy issues, the playbook), DomPrice, etc), but i think the Soap fic will probably be finished before all of those. so, here is the baby trap piece with Soap.

nothing smutty but this def captures their odd, imbalanced dynamic perfectly, i think:

“And you have no cellphone? No satellite phone?”

“Ye can check it—” he makes a flippant motion toward the glove box in front of you. “Deader than ever.”

You hesitate only briefly. Long enough to level him with a searching look that yields no results (every expression hidden behind a thick, unruly forest of overgrown hair jutting out to his Adam's apple) before you reach for the compartment, gingerly pulling it open, and—

Sometimes, things get overlooked by their surroundings. Swallowed in the vacuum. Blending seamlessly into the muddle, the commotion. Or hidden. Can you spot the mountain lion in this tumble of rock and bush?

This isn't like that. 

It sits on top of a manila folder. Sleek black and cold silver. You're not terribly well-versed in guns—the extent of your knowledge stemming mostly from formulaic crime shows aired late at night; CSI, NCIS, Criminal Minds—but you recognise this one instantly. Some sort of handgun. Police issued, you think. It's bigger than you'd expected. Looks heavier, too. 

Your heart stutters. The air galloping out of your lungs in a stammering rush. 

He makes a noise, soft and nonchalant, as if keeping handguns in the glove box of his old, burnt umbre truck is perfectly normal. 

“Fer protection,” he mumbles. You catch the jerk of his chin in your periphery. “Forgot I had it in here. Been usin’ the rifle for huntin’ mostly. Or the shotgun.”

Three guns. You swallow. “Why—” your voice comes out in a brittle whisper. You clear your throat. Pretend it helps, that you don't feel as vulnerable as you sound right now. “Why, um, why do you need three?”

“Not fae around ‘ere, are ye?” He echoes your words from earlier with a wry twist of his mouth, eyes slanting in the sunlight. “Tha’,” he takes his hand off your thigh to jab his finger at the handgun. “Is fer wolverines.” His index finger falls, his thumb juts out. He jerks it over his shoulder. “Tha’ is fer huntin’. The shotgun back home is fer bears.” 

You try to move out of the way when his hand falls back to your thigh, but the pain radiating up your leg immobilizes you. There's not much you can do in this situation but endure.

Military. Wounded in action. Three guns. Touchy. 

You're not sure what to think. It would be easier if you couldn't. 

“What do you hunt?” You ask instead, glancing out the window to the barren landscape rolling out around you. There doesn't seem to be much in the jagged hills, towering mountains. 

“Gettin’ hungry? Donnae worry, doe. Go’ tha’ pesky hare I was tryin’ tae shoot on the ledge fer dinner tonight.” 

It's not much of a comfort. The idea of being injured—by accident, he claims—to such an extent over a rabbit makes you feel a little sick. 

“That's it?” 

“I can make a mean steak outta anythin’. Stews fer tougher meat. Fish, too—whitefish, arctic grayling, and lake trout. Learned how tae make a nasty fishfry from the locals in Nahanni Butte. Bannock, too. Got berries ‘round ma cabin. Caribou, Moose. Taste better in tacos or burgers. Mountain goat, Dall’s sheep. Been eatin’ better ‘ere than ah did at home.” 

“And you're—just allowed to hunt them?” The website advised of a permit through some special outfit needed to hunt when you requested your pass into the park. Said that only aboriginals were allowed to do so. “You're not—”

“Aye,” he cuts you off with a small nod. “No huntin’ in the park. But. We're not in the park anymore.”

“Where are we?” You ask again, firmer this time. 

“I told ye. Nearly home.”

“And where is home?” 

The way he sucks his teeth makes you recoil slightly. Wet. Irritated. As if he's tired of this conversation already. 

“Close.”

You don't let his flat tone deter you. “Are we—are we still in the Northwest Territories?”

“Thereabouts.” 

It's not an answer. It doesn't reassure you in the slightest. 

You open your mouth to say so, words curling on your tongue when he jerks his chin toward the handgun, brow furrowed. 

“Thought ye wanted tae check on the satellite phone.”

His tone is severe. A growl curdling the ends, pitching it down, down. Displeasure, irritation, blooms in the gnarled petals of witch hazel when he narrows them into slits. 

[star-suh]

Santa Tell Fuck Me 🎅🎄

Kang Yeosang x Male Reader

cw: verse dom-ish yeosang, verse reader, daddy kink, unprotected sex, breeding, sex toys, ass stuffing, rimjob, blowjob.

an: sorry for the corny dialogue lmao. also happy holidays everyone !!♡

—

december 24th in the morning, yn was preparing everything for ‘santa's arrival’; "incredible how you, a grown ass man, still believe in those things" wooyoung laughed out loud mocking the other. "idiot in this family they have always done this, i have no fucking idea why they do it knowing that santa doesn't exist... however i think it's kinda cute” he said while accomodating the socks and some letters.

“why don't you ask santa for a good cock, then? we can't end this year without a good fucking” wooyoung added. yn looked at him dumbfounded but decided to follow up the joke by writing 'dear santa, i want a good fuck tonight'.

yn spent the whole day outside the house with wooyoung, visiting friends and family. finally, midnight arrived and yn went home, amazed at what he found there in his living room.

there he was, santa in flesh and bones, but he was different from the santa that everyone knew, this santa wore a sleeveless vest showing off his strong oiled arms “i heard someone here was looking for a big, hard candy cane” he says grabbing his big bulge “where's that ho ho hoe?”.

“no fucking way, you're real?” yn rubs his eyes thinking maybe he's imagining it "damn you're sexier than people think", santa can almost see the drool coming out of his mouth, “what are you waiting for? come here and give this cane some good licks”, santa discarded his pants showing the jockstrap he was wearing. yn quickly knelt in front of him and moved the jockstrap to the side taking his cock out "so big" yn's tongue lick over everything from the balls to the tip, savoring every inch of that juicy cock.

“get on top of me” santa hurried the other, taking off his pants in the process, while yn continued sucking cock, santa adjusted his ass so that it was in front of his mouth and began to suck it.

when it was already wet, santa took out a dildo from his gift bag, which was decorated with the patterns of a candy cane, and inserted it completely into the other's hole, making him moan loudly "shit, very deep..."

the holidays man continued abusing that tight hole, inserting and removing the dildo quickly with no mercy "damn you're going very fast daddy", and just when he heard that santa accelerated his movements and yn noticed how the cock swelled a little more in his hands "so a daddy fetish huh–hngh..!"; "shut the fuck up and keep sucking if you want me to give you your gift, christmas slut!!”.

“now let me give you your gift" santa takes yn down from his lap to slap his hard cock against the palm of his hand and spits on the tip "what are you waiting for bitch, sit on it" and yn obeyed, slowly sliding on santa's thick meat.

yn pushed himself hard on it; “damn boy, you acting so desperate as if this was the last dick you've ever take in your life” santa growled feeling the pleasure of being squeezed by a tight warm hole, “it's not the last one, but it's not every day you get to ride santa.

After what felt like hours, santa locked his strong arms around yn tightly and with a few last strong thrusts all his seed was shooted inside the boy, some of it dripped down santa's shaft “fuck that's a whole year of cum inside you boy, and you were able to keep it inside like the good slut you are. i think you deserve another gift” as he finishes saying that, santa spreaded his ass cheeks showing his pink hole to yn, making his mouth water “fuck really?” questioned yn, still not believing what is happening. “uh-huh” santa nodded “i think tonight i won't ride my sleigh… i'll ride you instead..”

santa was tight as fuck, it was so tight that yn came seconds later after the first thrust “don't stop until you unload all that sperm inside your balls on me, you hear me bitch boy?” yn nodded and kept fucking him. yn used some of the cum in his ass as a lube.

santa's ass hole was so wet and agape after many loads dripping down his legs and when yn thrusted some of it splashed on his torso and santa's back. they were a hot mess of cum and sweat.

santa resumed on fuckin yn but this time he introduced a long strip of anal beads decorated as christmas’ three balls “it feels so weird… i feel so full..” yn cried feeling the overstimulation hitting him “shh just enjoy it’ santa pressed his index finger on the other's lips while introducing his cock inch by inch.

in the next hour santa didn't kept fucking yn, despite the other's pleas, he didn't stopped until he fills him with his sperm again. he came inside again, pulling out his cock seconds later after riding his high. then without warning, in one swoop, the christmas man took out half of the anal beads from the poor boy's ass "motherfucking santa that hurts", santa just laughed "sorry boy i got carried away.. but now it's your job to get the rest of them out of you. push as hard as you can".

yn pushed and pushed, one by one each bead came out of his ass, dripping with semen, "damn it seems like it was snowing inside you" santa joked, tapping yn's ass to make him push faster "there are only a few left”, santa said.

the last one came out, the long strip of beads fell to the floor over a pool of semen "the best gift i have ever received in my life" yn whispered feeling satisfied, falling asleep on the floor right after.

the next morning he woke up and, feeling no pain, he thought that everything from the previous night was a dream until he saw a letter on his nightstand. "if you're wondering why you're not in pain, it's because i took care of it. i'll see you next year on christmas" there was also a cute drawing of a face winking, at which yn just smiled. he kept the letter in a secret place in his room and left to meet wooyoung to have breakfast.

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

Dating Both Boys (NSFW Alphabet)

A = Aftercare: The boys are very aware they both leave your whole body soiled and brain fucked so stupid that it's only fair to run you a nice warm bubble bath, help wash away their cum and soothe your sore overworked limbs. Sometimes you put the pussy on em so good that Satoru falls into a dreamlesss slumber soon as he nuts, snorin in your ear with his softening length still lodged deep inside you. But Suguru ain't the one. Holds his nose till he gasps dramatically, ice blue eyes shootin open. "Wake up idiot. Go get the bath ready for her."

B = Body Part (fave): "Mouth!" Suguru's cheeks heat when his answer spills from his lips before you can get the question out. "Sorry. Just really love kissin you." "Aw, how sweet Sugu!" "And.. Seein your plump lips all glossed up, slidin up and down my dick.. Shit really does somethin to me.." "Sugu! Tsk. Can tell Toru's been a bad influence on you." Now Satoru comes up with a different response everytime, filthy ass gropin wherever he can reach each time you bring the topic up to get a direct answer. "Baby, how can I choose? You're so fuckin perfect. There's no part of you that can't make me nut till I drop." You shake your head at the horny fuck. "Maybe I should ask your dick instead since you only think with him, fuckin THOT." "Touchè, baby. Touchè.."

C = Cum: Since your white haired sorcerer is nothin short of an absolute terrorizing menace, he finds satisfaction in blanketing your face with his cum whenever you allow it. Will really jerk his cock off all in your grill and cum a second time if he doesn't deem the first load big enough. "Hmm.. Think that's enough. Can barely open your eyes now, pretty mama. Let's go show Sugu!" For Suguru it's a tie between stuffin your throat or cunt. Loves when you stick your tongue out to show him the mess before swallowin your reward. Sometimes he's nice enough to let you decide. "Tell me ma, should I feed this mouth up here? Or do your pretty brown lips below wanna taste this nut?"

D = Dirty Secret: You stumble upon the skeleton in their closet one bright sunny afternoon comin home from class. You'd stayed later to have a word with Yaga, declining the boys offer to wait up. You're just not expectin to catch a savage Satoru brutally mounting Suguru doggystyle inna way that makes you 100% sure this ain't the first time. You stare wide eyed through the cracked bedroom door, hand clamped over your mouth, thighs pressing together as your pussy flutters to the sight. Both men on the bed facin you, gruntin and growlin like hungry predators. Satoru feels your presence but pretends otherwise. Disgusting filth drippin from his lips as he speeds the pace, smackin Suguru's flesh and yankin on his dark locks so hard that he cries out like a whore. You watch intently, stunned but so fuckin turned on. Sure they've touched each other in front of you, handjobs and such, but it had always seemed like they only engaged cause it turned you into a supersoaker. You ain't never seen no orgasmic shit like this. Gotta slide your fingers into your panties for some well needed relief, mentally smackin yourself when a small moan slips out. "Well, well, well.. Looks like we got an audience Sugu." Satoru finally acknowledges you, not bothering to slow his hips as he tugs Suguru from the pillows by his tangled hair. His dark eyes meet yours, tinted cheeks flushin an even brighter red as shame fills his core. It was an interesting fuckin evening for sure.

E = Experience: Satoru of course was a man whore before he convinced you to give him a shot. You assume he'll be quite versed in the art of all things sexual and for the most part, he is. Skilled and so quick to get excited when he sees how good you're feelin. But sometimes you need to readjust his fingers or hips to the correct angle, remind him not to rush cause none of you aren't goin anywhere. "There, Toruuu.. Right there but not so fast. Got all night- right Sugu?" As far as your other boyfriend was concerned, you hit the fuckin jackpot cause he was a virgin when you guys started dating. It really is a holy experience to be able to corrupt thee Suguru Geto. Though you feel bad when Satoru teases him on you bein the only pussy he's ever gotten. "Shut up Toru. Or I'll tie you up, not let you cum while you watch me drain Sugu's fat balls." Satoru smacks his lips and the back of Suguru's head in irritation. "See woman? You be choosin.."

F = Favorite Position: Satoru's breath catches in his throat, a glowing brightness fraying the edges of his vision the first time he gets you on all fours, baring witness to that almost back breakin arch. You're a godess to him, especially in this position- perfect round ass jiggling widly, smackin his pelvis in thundering claps. Sticky strings of your shared arousal connecting you both every time he pulls his hips back. Don't get him started on your reactions. Your feral as shit in this position. "Fuck, could you be any louder? Hm? No really baby, can you? Let's test it out." Suguru doesn't agree with Satoru on much but your ass is definitely just as hypnotizing to him. Though he prefers you in reverse cowgirl, smackin both hands down your dimpled cheeks till they burn more than your strained thighs. Even spreads them, smilin when you get all shy and flabbergasted as he stares longingly at your winking holes. Doesn't ever forget to make sure a mirrors nearby so he doesn't miss your tits matchin the rythym of your voluptuous hips. "Good God, y/nnn.. Killin me baby- oh fuck! Bouta cum!" "Nooo, only b-been a few minutes Suguuu!"

G = Goofy: The three of you've been together so long, bond so deeply rooted, they absolutely feel free to be carelessly humorous with you. Even in vulnerable moments. Satoru especially, lovin to put his mean dom twist on it. Mocks your strangled pleas and breathless cries of his name as he grins and wreaks havoc on your clit. Suguru is more reserved when he's inside you. Mostly waits for you to initiate; usually a dirty joke bout how big he is. He offers a huffed chuckle and a quick quip as he takes you apart piece by piece. "All the better to fuck you with my dear."

H = Hair: The carpet absolutely matches the drapes on these gorgeous hunk of men. Does it really surprise a soul that Suguru keeps his shit as neat as the hair on his head? Both men trim, though Satoru may forget and need a reminder. Bonus: Your fresh out the bath, towel wrapped round your curvy body snugly, sittin on the edge of the tub. Your lookin for an escape route as Suguru stands by the sink pleading with you. "Please y/n? All you gotta do is lay back and spread for us." "Ew. Why Sugu? So freakin gross!" You whine back. "No it's not. Perfectly normal thing for couples to do. Right, Toru?" You both look to a chill Satoru leaned against the bathroom doorway. "Course it is. But even if it weren't, that wouldn't stop us sweetheart. You should know that by now." "But I always shave myself down there. Why do you want to?" "Cause it'll bring us closer baby, you'll see." You look at Satoru again but he shrugs, giftin you a dazzling smile. "Fine." You grumble. "Great! Toru go get the bowl of water and razor in the kitchen, you know where." "On it!" He whizzes from the room as you instantly realize this was prearranged. "Fuckin freaky plotters!"

I = I Love You: Even though Satoru's shallow ass confessed during sex, he meant it with all his heart. But neither you or Suguru had said it yet and rejection was an experience he wasn't fond of. Regardless, it slips one day when he's got you missionary. Fingers linked as he sensually makes love to you, nut just over the horizon. You're so needy, beggin him to tell you how good you're makin him feel; to tell you how much he needs you. "Oh fuck yes you're a good girl. No one can take me better baby. Mmm.. Please don't ever take my pussy away.. Ahhh- so good sweetheart! Love it so much. Looove this pussy.. Shiiit cummin, y/n! Love you so much, babygirl!" With Suguru it comes when you offer the perfect solution to the issue of the curses he swallows tastin like shit onna stick, although it takes a considerable amout of your cursed energy and temporarily weakens you severely. "Can't believe you did this for me. Thank you, princess. So so fuckin much. I appre- no y/n. I love you. Love you forever and a day, babe."

J = Jerking Off: It's all Suguru knew at one point so now that he's sampled sex with you, he's grown a serious disliking to makin himself cum. But he doesn't like to impose on you. You're a busy woman, as well as you put in a lot of time and energy into keepin both your men happy in any way you can. So when he gets an inkling that you need a break, he'll head to the bathroom to handle business. Makes sure to bring his cell, full of sexy pics and vids of his lovers. Satoru is a bit more selfish. Realistically, the man probably only jerks off alone 7-8 times a year. Makes sure that either of his partners lend a helping hand whenever he gets too pent up. Other than that if his hands on his dick it's aim or tease.

K = Kink: Suguru's into a lil role play, spit kink, edging, a smidge of voyeurism and a whole lotta breeding. Might actually die of embarrasment if you ever found out about the latter. Told Satoru they'd battle to the death if he ever snitched. Wants 10 babies that look just like his lovers. You're both so beautiful, can you blame him? And Satoru has too many kinks to count, we'd be here all day tryin to list em all. But some of his faves include light BDSM, Daddy kink sprinkled with some puppy play, and of course some somno. He wasn't sure how to introduce the last one into the fold though. How was he ever supposed to tell his princess, or even Suguru for that matter, that he drools daily fantasizing about slidin into your unconscious body. Wants to see if he can fuck that perfect pussy to an orgasm while you sleep, needs you to lay there all warm and pliant, oblivious to him usin you like a pocket pussy.

L = Location: Satoru is a connoisseur of public relations. Literally any fuckin where. The amount of joy he finds from you pullin out all the stops in effort to hold in your pitchy moans is fuckin sickening. From him feastin on your pulsing clit in the car in the movie theater parking lot to fingerin you in a booth at your fave restaurant. It's all the more worse when he taunts you with his soft pink mouth, kissin up and down your neck tenderly as you try to hide the way your eyes cross behind your menu. But Suguru beats Satoru in depravity this time. It's a whole new level of sick how much he delighted in fuckin you in your childhood bed when you take them to meet your parents. You thank God they ran to the store to grab a few items to for dinner. Satoru begrudgingly plays watch-out by the front door as Suguru fucked you so hard he splintered the headboard against the wall. He's been absolutely infatuated with doin it again since.

M = Motivation: It doesn't take much to get the boys ready for some action. You poke fun at them constantly bout how easy it is to make their dicks rise to the occasion. But they take it on the chin easily cause they know its 100% true. They'll never not be able to get hard for you at the drop of a dime, even after a couple rounds. Run your fingers through Suguru's black mane, nails scratching his scalp how he likes and now he's sittin in front of you, avoiding eye contact as he tries to hide the tent in his pants. "Not my fault Sugar- you know what that does to me!" It's even less work for Satoru, only havin to give him your signature bedroom eyes. He's immediately hard, trippin over his pants and underwear while he tries to take them off as he chases you to the bedroom. "Better come back- y/n! Bring my pussy back here, now!"

N = No: There just isn't many ways for you to gross your men out or turn them off. With that being said shit play and piss play isn't in the cards for you three. Like thanks, but no thanks! Well.. except that one time you told Satoru to stop as he bounced you on his dick, moaning out that you had to pee. He refused. Chalked it up to you gettin ready to squirt, like you were known to do from time to time. But Mr. Know It All was wrong and got wet the fuck up. His only response was to slam you down by your shoulders and creampie you with a loud pitiful whine. To this day he argues that you squirted. "Nice try. But not likely, sir." "Well.. Either way I'm fuckin." "You really are a fuckin freak, Toru."

O = Oral: Neither are stingy in the department. Both your boy's eyes light up like kids in a candy store when they get to eat you out. In part to satiate their own needs but also because of how much they know you enjoy it. Suguru waits with bated breath to hear yours catch when he holds your gaze and slowly sinks to his knees in front of you. Cums untouched the way you shudder as he nurses your nub, thick thighs squeezin his ears tight as hell. And Satoru's equally obsessed with the taste of you. The times you allow him to tie you up though.. It's a roll if the dice if he's gonna overstim you or not. Usin his mouth is his fave way to overwhelm you, big hands tuggin you back onto his swollen lips when you attempt to run from his talented tongue.

P = Pace: It's just depends on the mood. Chiiile.. Both of em are waaay too versatile to stick with a singular speed. One of the reasons why your guys sex life's so great is because of how spontaneous they are- in every way. Satoru especially, peepin your reactions; waitin till your nice and relaxed, gradually stroking in before pullin out, angling just right and fuckin in quicker than speedy gonzales. Drools how your fat jiggles from his sudden jarring thrusts. "Aww. Poor lil cry baby.. What's that, honey? Faster? Heh. Anything for you baby." Similarly Suguru will tease you too. Or just plain out ask you what your in the mood for. "So how you wanna doin this thang, mama? Want me to play nice or not? ... Oh yeah? Better cancel your plans then girl. Finna tear it up.."

Q = Quickie: Suguru's much better at em than Satoru. Makes sure you not to wrinkle your clothes if there's not enough time to strip you. And always asks where you want him to cum so it's not an inconvenience. "Ahhh fuck.. It's comin honey- where you want it? ... Inside? Ohhh thank fuck, here it is sweet girl. Take that shit.." But Satoru loves to ravish you so he turns his nose up at quickies. That's not to say his pussy whipped ass isn't gonna fuck but he always rolls his eyes and huffs in exasperation when you tell him to hurry up or becareful of your hair. "Fuckin hell, woman.. Would you shush up and lemme do my job while you do yours? Just sit pretty and take this dick like a good girl."

R = Risk: Satoru's always game to experiment when it comes to doin shit to you. A bit more reserved concerning you wantin to do somethin he considers to be 'psychotic'. "Oh come on Toru. Don't be a scaredy cat!" He stiffens, chiseled chest pokin out as he lays up all spread out on the bed with you in between his legs. "It's just a finger! You know you've done a lot worse to Sugu." Satoru sputters at you, arms crossin across his chest indignantly. "Whatever. I'm not saying no, I said go slow." "Ok, ok.. yeesh.. Big baby." You say the latter under your breath with a smirk. "Heard that shit, woman!" Now Suguru's just as cautious. And that's probably a good thing since you guys tend to test each others limitations. "Y/n, you can't be serious! You realize you're just gonna give the egomaniacal bastard another power trip, right?" He fumes at a silent grinning Satoru. "Please baby, it's for me. Forget he's even there. Focus on me, handsome." You advise him sweetly, gently pushin him to his knees. Finally givin Satoru the opportunity to force his dick between Suguru's dark blush lips. He does as you say, holding your adoring gaze, large palms settling on Satoru's narrow hips. "Thats it, just like that Sugu. Doin so well, don't even need any help." Satoru pants and groans, holdin the sides of Suguru's head as he eases in and out of his warm wet mouth, mentally noting the lack of a gag reflex. "Fuuuuck, she ain't lyin babe. You're a fuckin natural."

S = Stamina: You can get your men to cum multiple times during a session, both bein able to shoot about 3-4 nuts before the overstimulation is damn near crippling. Though on the norm, since you already have two big strong men to take care of, they let you off the hook with an orgasm each. Can't blame a girl for being good at doin the do! But to set the record straight, they can fuck way longer than you can take. You usually max out your stamina by the end of round 2. But neither ever mind. They just scoop you up and carry your fatigued frame to the shared bathroom. "My poor tired woman. Had to use the safe word.. Did so good for us though, mama. That right, Toru?" A nude half hard Satoru trails behind, feelin a smidge of guilt at your half conscience state. "Fuck yeah. You did 'mazin tonight, sweetheart. Don't worry, we'll take care of you now. ... And Sugu.. Maybe later.. You can finish takin care of me?" His tone pathetically hopeful. "For cryin out loud, horndog. Can we just get her cleaned up first? ... Then we'll, uh... We'll see what happens." The giddy bounce Satoru does in obvious anticipation as he runs your bath, lengthy cock now drippin and at full mass again, makes Suguru blush like a virgin.

T = Toys: Ofcourse y'all add a few toys to the mix every now and again. You prefer air pulsing vibrators instead of the extra intense devices that can be numbing. The boys love using em as foreplay, otherwise they're mainly for when you're alone. Satoru has a good size chest of shit- whips, nipple clamps, ball gags and even an unassembled sex swing. There's a bunch more and you haven't tried em all yet but can't wait. But you like to play and feign disinterest when he brings up his nasty lil box. They know better though. Suguru's not entirely experienced when it comes to this area but even he notices how much wetter you get when they use toys. And it's no problem when Satoru has to teach him how to use some of em on you cause he's a real quick learner. There's just somethin real naughty bout seein you cuffed to the spreader bar, sight never fails to get him impatient as hell. "Move Toru, needa fuck her first tonight." He breathes, rudely bumpin Satoru to the side with his shoulder. "Ok, ok. Geez, Sugu. Don't gott be a dick bout it. And try not to cum too quick this time." He chuckles at the blatant eagerness, but Suguru's not amused. "Quiet. Or I'll put you in the spreader and fuck you next." He's just talkin shit, already sinkin into your heat and forgetting bout Satoru's incessant taunting. So preoccupied with you that he misses the way Satoru's dick twitches as he gulps audibly, imagining Suguru's empty threat in his filthy mind.

U = Uncut: Satoru's circumcised with a lengthy cock. You often wonder if it's as long as his lanky body, how far it reaches inside, easily able to jam your poor gspot repeatedly if need be. He's got your throat trained real good without even tryin cause of how thick it is. But it just doesn't compare to the depth this man reaches inside you. He's got more veins than Suguru too. Your fave protrudes and twists round his base, beggin to be licked when he's fully hard. But Suguru's uncut, almost as extended as Satoru, though has a more girth to him. Takes him no time for his cock to rage red when he's been stiff for too long. Also spills alot more precum than Satoru. Loves when you pull the skin back and suck softly, effectively siphoning the clear fluid from his slit till he's nuttin a big fat load down your throat.

V = Volume: To this day you don't know why Suguru sometimes tries to bite his lips or fist to muffle the beautiful noises that slip out. His deep gruff grunts are so quiet, opting to tell you in words how good he feels or when he's bout to cum. It's something you work on, constantly reminding him there's no shame in voicing how good he feels. But when you put the pussy on him too good or he's too pent up, which is pretty often, he's less self conscious. Huffin and puffin against your moist mouth, lewd phrases tumbling from him nonstop. You're not even sure he knows what he's saying half the time. You're eventually inhaling his loud piteous moans into your mouth as he loses his mind in your lil puss. And of course we all know Satoru's a screamer. He never shuts the fuck anyway, so why would he do so in the bedroom? It's starts of with booming cries into your ear that eventually end up with wails of how good you feel echoing round the room. He's not doing it on purpose, but as soon as his mouth opens when he's in-between your thighs, you and your neighbors are definitely bout to hear an earful.

W = Wild Card: (Fucking to Music) It's something you initiated but Satoru was definitely wit it. Boys got more rythym in his hips than you and it should be fuckin illegal. You give him a list of your favorite love makin songs and he brings back a playlist, adding a few nasty songs of his own that got no business bein played anywhere but Functions. He's loves gettin you in missionary, rollin his hips into yours seductively as he matches the slow beat. An aroused sob rips from your chest out your mouth when he lessens the pace, singing the words quietly at your ear as he cages you to the bed. This is when Suguru's voyeurism kicks in, skin heatin up as lays in bed next to you guys; watchin your love making turn to frenzied fucking as the song changes, taking notes on how Satoru's tempo never strays from the flow of the music. Can't wait to show you what he can do next.

X = X-ray: Satoru likes to be ready for the pussy at drop of a dime so you're used to him goin commando most days but you are so not a fan.. Even when you tease him, tossin him a clean pair of Suguru's boxers and tellin him he's onna coochie restriction if he dont start wearin some damn drawers round here. "Fuck is that?" You scoff and put your hands on your shapely hips. "Means you aint gettin no pussy till you start wearin underwear, you lil hoe." He clutches his heart, feigning chest pains as you roll your eyes at his dramatics. "Don't play with me like that sweetheart. Guess you win.." You really don't though. The next time you yank down his bottoms, eyes wide before grippin your belly in hysterics at the fact that he's wearing a pair of your lacy panties. "Satoru!" You manage through your giggle fit but he only professes his innocence."What? I'm just doin what you told me to! Do I get the pussy now?" Suguru watches the reoccurring debacle in amusement, glad he has no issue with wearin his trusted snug black boxer briefs. You always make sure to give him extra big smooch when they're bout to leave the house, opting to ruffle Satoru's soft white hair instead as you try not grin at his pout. "What? Not my fault Sugu's a good boy that doesn't walk round in public slangin his dick print everywhere." Satoru huffs his disdain for Suguru's 'ass kissin', declaring him a teachers pet.

Y = Yearning: Between your two sex crazed men, their libido is very very high. It's to be expected since your guys attraction and chemistry has been on point since before you officially started dating. It really is like were made for one another. But if they're not specifically careful, they'll easily wear you out. It's unavoidable, you just turn them on too fuckin much. Suguru will even try to slake his desires by jerking off over your tired frame after they've fucked you into exhaustion. "Shit! 'S not enough, forgive me baby. Just need a lil more. Won't fuck you anymore, dont worry! Just need to feel you, my one and only girl." Rubs his cock all over your sweaty body cause his hand just doesn't compare to any part of your soft flawless mocha frame. Cums as he trace his dick across your stretch marks, moaning how pretty and perfect you are. "F-fuuuck.. So sorry, honey. Ahshit! Gonna let you rest, almost done. Just lemme- ohhh fuck, 'm cummin!" Satoru can't contain himself either, difference bein he doesn't even attempt to. Sometimes Suguru has to leave when he's still fuckin you, reminds Satoru that you might need a break soon on his way out but all he gets is a noncommitted hum. You try nudging at his abdomen, keening as he speeds his thrusts but Satoru only covers your mouth. Smile sinister as you scratch at his hand and push at his chest with wide eyes, muffled cries for Suguru goin unheard as your savior walks out the front door oblivious to your torture. Satoru fucks you even faster, fallin in love with your tight lil puss all over again. "Whose gonna save you now, y/n?"

Z = Zzz: Like previously mentioned, Satoru gets so drunk on your pussy it's written in the stars that he's driftin off soon as he nuts for the last time. Doesn't wanna squish his princess so will quickly turn you on your side or back, big dick still tucked deep inside as he drags you against his large warm body. "One sec.. Honey.. So tired, gonna.. get up inna.." Zzz. Suguru usually has to rectify the situation, pullin you from a whining Satoru or just plain smackin him. Loses all his patience if it's his turn to fuck. SLAP! "Ow! The fuck, Sugu?! What was that for?" He blinks rapidly, the nerve to actually be disoriented when he wasn't even supposed to be asleep! "Cause your in the way of my pussy, idiot. Don't pretend you ain't tackle me to the floor when it was your turn." Suguru replies, movin to smack him again. Now he of course he's just as tired as Satoru when he finishes. But only falls asleep right after if you decline aftercare. Snuggles up to the closest warm body and drifts into a peaceful slumber after a quick replay of the night's events in his weary mind.

[zan0tix]

Pleaseeee tell me more about that homescryption au

A little something between you and me and everyone else who happens to look at this post. Im working on a lineup for the four scrybes :D

Roxys design is subject to change and you guys have already seen D1rk. Jane and Jake are in progress!!! (Also D1rk and Harley are the names for dirk and jake but weve been struggling to come up with appropriately fantasical/magical names for Jane and Roxy that align with magnificus and grimora😞 Harley feels old-manish enough that it fits in well… im sure well get there but if anybody has ideas feel free to comment ✌️)

But yes i can tell you more!!! ILL PUT IT ALL UNDER THE CUT THIS POST IS GOING TO BE LONG o7

Working with cyrus repliiku to flesh it out x3 he was the one who got me into the game and im CRAZY NOW!!!!

The four alpha scrybes methods of inscribing cards are that Harley uses his magic blunderbuss and the things he shoots become cards, Roxys cards are the fantasical characters she creates in her stories, Jane will be a detective of death, uncovering how cards die and writing up a casefile in her detective agency about them (might give her a magic magnifying glass. Well see), and D1rk were trying to figure out something with Sburbs captcha card + ghost captcha system like how Po3’s cards are printed from real robots

The students/the scrybes underlings are going to be other homestuck characters or splinters!

D1rks will be the robots (aradiabot, arquius (wanted him to me more unique than just brobot + hal so he gets to be a robot) and jadebot.

Harleys will be jake-ish splinters rather than new characters. Thered be the Adventurer (prospector), the Hunter (trapper/trader), the Sailor (angler), the Ectobiologist (mycologists), and the Actor (woodcarver) and his campaigns would be more Action packed like jakes action movies type stuff hehe

Janes will be the dead trolls, nepeta, equius and feferi. Not much to say besides them being dead lol 😭

And roxys were still figuring out but nerm. Viceroy/Casey, Rose (maybe goobert but they are actually nice and kind to her) and Eridan….(lonely wizard he was banished to the shadow realm for being annoying 😁👍)

Luke Carter is going to be Calliope and Satan in the greater scheme of the daniel mullins-verse will be Caliborn/Lord English because i think itd be very funny for him to just. Be making video games and thats his evil plot. LOL and Sado would be Gamzee. (Will not expand to pony island or the hex this is just clearing up the ending of inscryption)

Kaycee would probably be Aranea but like just some normal girl. Not all that sure abt the OLD_DATA tho ??? Maybe just all the wrong doings Lord English has committed and influenced culminated into the files or the code that brought him into the universe I DUNNO.

Retconning the drawing i did when i first scribbled this AU, i believe when harley turns the other scrybes into preexisting cards d1rk would become a seagull (kingfisher replacement) roxy would become a jaguar (wolf replacement) and jane would become a jackalope (pronghorn replacement) 😁

And the way harley would be defeated would be using his blunderbuss on him with a special bullet instead of film. Po3’s decapitation fulfilled the Dirk prophecy too LOL

I think that of the gameplay/card gimmicks themselves would work basically the same but i might try and come up with more creative homestucky twists on them

Im planning on finishing the designs and making sprites and more mockup screenshots :3

I might write up or draw a comprehensive ref sheet for this au someday but for now heres what weve jotted down 👍

[spiderism]

Miguel’s conducting a census on the spider-verse when he lands himself on 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇-𝟐𝟏𝟑𝟕 – has no prior information since this is his initial visit, but on first glance recognizes that this is Nueva York; that usually means that the local superhero is Miguel O’Hara, or at least another variant of him. Only he finds out that here, it’s actually someone named Web-Shot, a souped-up version of his own late wife.

"Cariño." It was easier to say before – when everything was right, when his entire world hadn't collapsed in on itself. Now, the word feels strange. His brain reacts as if no time's passed at all; it takes effort for his mouth to form around each of the vowels and the consonants, though – like a rusted cog forced into service after being made stiff from years of disuse. 

And while you may walk and talk like her, you’re not. He tells himself not to be fooled by the way your face lights up when you see him, by the way your laughter fills the space between the two of you, and by the way you still tell jokes at his expense. 

But then you take the few steps necessary to close the distance to get to him, wrap your arms around his frame like he’s just come home after a long day of being out. It’s all too familiar – your body folding into his, how well the pieces fit together, the softness that he remembers so well; it’s every single inch of his wife that had been catalogued and filed away in the back of his mind for safekeeping – dust-ridden archives that he’d never thought he’d dig up again. You’re a memory in the flesh. 

“Web-Shot, because—”

“You shoot webs. That’s cute,” he says in a dry tone. 

“Alright, then. Let’s hear yours. You got something better?”

“Spider-man. It’s simple. Clean. Rolls off the tongue.”

“Wow, original. Was ‘Daddy Long Legs’ already taken?”

“Oh, you’ve got jokes. I see your sense of humor is consistent.”

“It’s why you fell for me, isn’t it?”

“Among other things,” he murmurs. “Pain in my ass—”

He asks where your Miguel is, needs to know if the two of you are together, but finds out that he died three months ago – fell from a clocktower during a bad fight he wasn’t supposed to be at, snapped his neck clean in half from the tension when you tried to catch him with your webbing and he ricocheted back up from the concrete like a damn bungee cord. The ring was in his pocket; he was supposed to propose that night before everything went to shit. So your time ended with him fast, early. Before you even really got to start your lives together. 

And this other Miguel, the one who shows up in your universe alive (sure) and well (debatable), gives you some insight to his world. His wife was a romantic – an idealist, a dreamer. He’s always been pragmatic – a man of science, an engineer, doing everything within his realm of possibility to make her visions come true. It’s been a long time since he talked about his history and his family: how he proposed, where they had the wedding, his daughter – the way everything was good and perfect until it wasn’t. 

After spending the night with you on the Empire State Building, he realizes how much you’re like his wife. It hits him hard, brings up too many emotions to the surface that he’d been tamping down all these years.

Nothing about any of this is fair. And it’s sad, heartbreaking. Especially—

“I didn’t get to grow old with you.”

“We could’ve had a lifetime together and it still wouldn’t have been enough. You get that, right?”

You convince him to stay. Try to, at least. He can be your Miguel, and it would all be so easy. He can take his retired wedding ring off the chain around his neck and slip it on where it belongs. 

But it’s not possible. He tells you that much – what can happen, the repercussions that ripple out and affect the multiverse web. Because he’s already attempted that – wouldn’t have given up without trying to get you back.

A part of him wants you to say it one last time. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Instead, he gets:

“Every version of me loves every version of you. And even though I haven’t gotten to see it for myself, I know that there’s no universe where that isn’t true.”

Before he leaves, you ask if he thinks there’s any chance the two of you are allowed to be happy, allowed to live normal lives in all of the places he’s seen. 

He tells you that he has: breakfast on the balcony, slow Sunday mornings, and weekend fútbol tourneys with your daughter. This story ends on a good note, but he doesn’t mention that it only exists inside his head.