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a-little-ray-of-fantasy · 4 months

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An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)

Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".

(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)

He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.

Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.

"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"

Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.

To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.

So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.

But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.

He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.

Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.

Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.

They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.

And it's all him.

Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.

This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.

But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.

He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.

Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.

And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.

Speaking of love, let's talk about that!

No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.

And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!

Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?

Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.

He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.

He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.

The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!

He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.

His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".

And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!

He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).

And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?

And of course, as the Bible itself says:

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

(John 15:13)

And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.

#Vivziepop #Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel Spoilers #Hazbin Spoilers #Sir Pentious #Fave Character #Comfort Character #Personal Rambles #What a wonderful lovable character he turned out to be 🥲#Character Analysis

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brainrotdotorg · 5 months

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imagine a dashboard for alligators. what do you think that would look like

2 notes

🍏gatoridae Follow

Controversial opinion. If you're doing nothing but eating meat, what are you even doing. Remember to include bugs, fruits, and legumes into your diet in order to help aid digestion of the meat that you get from snakes, fish, and mammals.

Just because we have the reputation for eating lots of meat, that doesn't mean we have to stick to it.

🥒biting-you-biting-you Follow

counterpoint: fuit yucky

🪵blog-from-a-bog Follow

wdym reputation of eating meat. i float lik ea log thats what im known for

4,904 notes

🌿swamp-ass Follow

asked dad if i could go and steal some Floridian guy's lunch and he said "we have prey at home" girl we have been doing shit ALL DAY i am an awesome 600 pounds and I need some meat left on me to deathroll with. let me get a quick snack that i don't need to kill mmmmmmm burgers I want people food soooooo badddd....... i know they shouldn't feed it to me but I have such a lovely smile oh please oh please give me your burger.........

182 notes

🥗aliali-seeyoulater Follow

mom says it was cold the season she laid me so i have to be a girl. because girls are always born from eggs laid during cold seasons.

cope and seethe mother first of all, second of all, the reason i am transgender is because you kept me too fucking snuggly warm in the nest.

#i guess if you wanted a daughter you should have. idk. made a shittier nest? #thats not really my fault man

81,337 notes

⛰fuckyeahhugesnout Follow

You'll never guess how I just learned that we have the honor of being the "loudest reptiles in the world"

🫑teethem Follow

Yeah yeah, the 90 decibel mating bellow, we've all heard it.

🤢ch0mper Follow

we've all heard the what

135,633 notes

🩲gaytorrr Follow

this guy asked if i wanted to see his gator hole and i said fuck yes. why this boy take me into a 65 foot long hole in the mud at the bottom of the lake

6,421 notes

🏞daily-clawsitivity

✨Remember to take it easy sometimes!✨We thrive in slow-moving waters!✨Even though we can run fast, we get tired fast too-- it's okay to let yourself take breaks!✨Let yourself relax, that's how we made it this far as a species.

mud-rocks-deactivated20140706

Yeah, imagine telling your prehistoric great great great great great great great great great great grandpa or something to calm down and relax when he should be doing nothing but deathrolls. the longevity of the species should be your only goal. It's irresponsible to encourage your fucking species to fall behind even more than it already has? Have some pride, you're not a crocodile.

scalesssss-deactivated20150310

jesus christ calm down

alidile-crocogator-deactvated20140709

Okay, this post has a lot of misconceptions in it. There aren't as many differences between crocodiles and alligators than you think. It's really harmful to think that we have nothing in common with each other. So what if they're carnivores and we're closer to omnivores, or their snouts are more U shaped while ours are V shaped. We're both badass miracles of nature that have no reason to be pit against one another all the time.

Don't listen to guys like this. It's just hateful and small-minded.

stop-jawlock-androll-deactivated20140911

crocs are like. like them shoes that float right

wetlandia898 Follow

i wish i was a crocodile because i could have a virgin birth and i wanted to see what it would be like to eat an immaculate conception.

bigchallengesrealblog-deactivated20190412

welcome to the no notes gator/croc discourse post.

🦖l8rg8tr-z Follow

omg this is the post.... i can't believe i would see this naturally on my dash

🎍taildraggers Follow

Uh are we just going to ignore the virgin birth reply orrrrrrrrr

🐊gator-heritage-posts

gator heritage post

0 notes

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Follow

hgwiow h

hsfhjs

howw ws i nbevyrboy tyopingssaog oo vd wi hhrth rh thrre cl alawas ?>>

🌴a-l-g-t-r Follow

lmao this idiot never learned how to use their tail to type

#/j lol yeah its kind of hard at first #actually i'd say cut your losses and forget how to type bring the laptop back to the dumpster its not worth it

39 notes

🐍bellowbellowmygoodfellow Follow

am i fucking stupid. i just learned theres another species of alligator other than just me and the guys in my swamp. and i said "oh wow I didn't know that! which one of the two are we haha" and my buddy just stared at me like I was a fucking idiot. how am i supposed to know if no one ever tells me this . WHICH AM I

🍖meet-eat3r Follow

there are only 70-80 mature chinese gators in existence while there are 750,00-1 million mature american gators . do the math.

🐍bellowbellowmygoodfellow Follow

i could have just hatched you don't know me.

20,570 notes

🍀gatortears Follow

a group of queer gators in church call that a congregaytion

#reblogging this one bc none of you appreciate me

1 notes

👞makemeintoshoesdaddy Follow

I'm seeing the no notes gator/croc post circulate again and ha ha yes it's very funny, but we are NOT starting gator/croc discourse in 2024. lets leave that shit in the past. i know that's not what the post really ended up being about but i am soooooo sick of it.

🌾clawstothewalls Follow

okay, so the one with a fetish for getting turned into handbags is gonna talk down to us now.

👞 makemeintoshoesdaddy Follow

Not to be a pedant but its Shoes Actually. It even says so in the name. Shoes.

2,663 notes

#this post was all an excuse to tell you alligator fun facts #i fucking got you dude. i got you

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divine-donna · 2 months

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all you need is more radaway

save a horse. ride a cowboy. ;)

anyways i really loved the tv show and i love the game. and ghouls are just chef's kiss. or maybe that's because i love monsters. sad that i finished it so quickly. :(

perhaps i can put what i learned in my western class to good use lol

character: cooper howard aka. the ghoul

it's never easy surviving the wasteland. you don't know how you managed to survive for this long. perhaps because you seemed to have been blessed with incredible luck.

and building up endurance, of course.

you felt little to no side effects from the radiation of the food you were eating. which just meant you had a lot of radaway and rad-x stocked up.

to make ends meet, though, you had to start hunting. scavenging and scrapping by wasn't enough. you needed the extra caps.

thus your rivalry with another bounty hunter was born.

"well, well. aren't you far from home, sweetheart?"

you were used to comments about your outfit. a vault suit. yes, you came from one. you had been exiled after your father was revealed to be managing the experiment behind it. the child pays for the sins of the father always.

"you're not the first and you won't be the last." you pull the head off the body as clean as possible.

"now i don't know if you should do that."

"and why not?"

a bullet flies past you and burrows itself into the ground. you finally look up. a cowboy hat. the face of a ghoul. his gun pointing right at you.

but you weren't afraid.

"because he's my target." he pulls out a piece of paper. "and he's mine."

"seems unfair if i did all the work. and you just collect his head and the prize." you pull out the same piece of paper. yours is a little more worn out though. and covered in dried blood.

"that's the way of the wasteland sweetheart."

"if you believe so."

your hands were fast. two bullets lodged into his right left and when he looks up, you're gone.

of course, you learned from the best: western holotapes. you really liked them when you were growing up. claimed to want to be a lone hero.

in some ways, you were. the wasteland was just a new version of the wild west, wasn't it?

"spaghetti? like...the pasta?"

more like spaghetti western. he knew that, of course. but no one in the wasteland knew what a spaghetti western was. they were remnants of a past long gone and one only accessible by holotapes in the vaults.

"that's their name." the person says. "why? you have business with them?"

"perhaps." the ghoul was looking to return a favor.

"don't even try. they're far more formidable than you think."

"we'll see about that."

your rivalry was an exchange of bullets, more often than not. thankfully, you always stocked up on bloodbags and could make a stimpack from your heavy (but useful) travel chemistry kit. you were smart like that.

surprisingly, it became something to look forward. mostly because the ghoul preferred if he tried killing you, so he managed to get you out of a tough situation by killing the other people trying to kill you.

and you returned the favor. there was something satisfying about lodging a bullet into him again.

unfortunately, this left you two stuck on a job once. captured by raiders. you had been knocked out with a drug. and he had collapsed from...something.

"fuck." you mutter, pulling at the ropes binding you. your luck had run out for the day it seems, because your arms were tied to the ghoul's around this godforsaken pole. the metal was also uncomfortably rubbing up against your skin.

"you got a knife or anything sharp?" he looks over at you. it's rare to see him without his cowboy hat. his head was rather smooth.

you chuckle a little.

"something funny?" the ghoul asks.

"nothing. you're just...shaped like an egg."

"very funny."

"let me guess. your answer is no?"

"i don't have a knife up my sleeve, sadly. think they took it."

"shame." the ghoul shimmies something out of his own sleeve. he flicks the blade out and begins sawing at the rope. "watch your fingers."

you keep your fingers tucked in. eventually, the rope on your wrists comes undone and one arm soon after. the rest comes off and you rub your skin. "fuck these guys. always hated raiders."

"well, we both got sold out. we need to find that thing now. or else we'll be dead by sunrise." he tugs on the door of the jail cell and clicks his tongue.

"i don't have sharp objects. but i do have these." you pull out the bobby pin taped on the inside of your sleeve, alongside a mini screwdriver.

the lock wasn't very complicated, so you picked it with ease.

as you both are grabbing your equipment, you hear footsteps up above. light ones and heavier ones. and the sound of a muffled, altered, robotic voice.

the brotherhood of steel was worse than raiders, honestly.

"you go left, i go right. how does that sound?"

"i don't usually like taking orders from my rivals." he reloads his gun. "but for you? sure."

the event left the both of you soaked in the blood of your enemies. on the other hand, you guys left with plenty of loot and an idea of where your target was: dead. at the bottom of a lake.

it was a journey to get there, wherein you learned the details of each other's lives. you didn't think he was paying much attention to your sentences. after all, you came from a vault.

and yet, you saw a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

he seemed less keen on sharing details about his life, aside from his former name. cooper howard.

undeniably, as a fan of westerns, you recognized his names. from the holotapes.

"they had those?" cooper shakes his head, taking sips of water. "no way."

"yes way! it's where i learned to shoot."

"from watching my movies?"

"yes!"

"that is...a pleasant surprise." cooper leans back.

"that also makes you over 200 years old."

"that it does. something wrong with that?"

"no. the wasteland changes people." you maintain your attention to your suit, sewing a tear up. "just...you're looking for something, aren't you? everyone's always looking for something up here."

"are you looking for something?" his voice hardens and he sits up straight.

"i was. and then i found it. and i stopped." you tie the thread to seal the stitch and then tear the thread with your teeth. "i hope you find what you're looking for though."

"well, that's awfully kind of you, sweetheart."

"i have a name, you know."

"what is it?"

"(y/n)."

getting personal in the wasteland was something cooper wasn't adamant about. but the circumstances seems to call for it.

"guess we're even now."

the body of water was daunting. it was murky and dark. you pursed your lips and dumped your bag. "well. guess we have no choice."

cooper looks over at you then quickly turns around when he sees what you're doing: taking off your suit and going down to your underwear. "what are you doing?"

"i'm going to go get that head. that's how we get paid, right? easy three thousand caps. 15 hundred split evenly." you stretch.

"i think you might die."

"i'll be fine. i've done it before." Aquaperson perk.

"i can also swim, you know."

"i'll be fine cooper." you pop a rad-x pill just in case. "be back in a bit."

you dive like a swan, making minimal splash into the water. your form disappears beneath the darkness.

you're gone beneath the water for over an hour. cooper's heart was beating against his rib cage. you should be out by now. it should not be that hard. did something get you? things lurked beneath the murky waters always.

"fuck!"

he drops his equipment and begins stripping down, until he is just in his pants. he would need to dive after you. if you were dead, then so be it. it was fun while it lasted.

suddenly, you emerge. you take in the oxygen of the surface and hold the head up high. "got 'em." you swim over to the shore and walk out of the water.

there was something about how...wet you were that got him feeling hot and bothered.

"something happen down there?"

"couple of mirelurks. no big deal. which reminds me." you set the head on the ground and go back into the water. within minutes, you're pulling out the bodies of the mirelurks you had killed. "dinner."

while cutting the mirelurks open, you observe the way he walks around you. his muscles bulging a little as he cuts a mirelurk open and takes the meat. he was kind of...attractive?

"were you going to come after me?" he stops cutting hearing your question. "in the water, i mean."

"so what if i did?" cooper averts his eyes.

"that's sweet of you. i didn't know you had a soft spot for me."

"i don't."

"sure." you can tell he was lying through his teeth.

dinner was a nice, cozy meal. it was delicious. a nice surprise considering the nature of the wasteland.

cooper notices the way you're looking at him. and he looks at you the same way.

though how does this work exactly?

"do you want to..." you try to find a decent way to say this. fuck is a good term. but it felt a little vulgar in the moment.

cooper already knows what you're asking. "absolutely. if you can handle it." he smirks.

it's so cute when he smirks.

you glance over at your bag, looking at your stash of radaway. you had plenty. plus your stash of rad-x too.

"i absolutely can."

#def not my best work #fallout #fallout tv series #fallout prime #the ghoul #cooper howard #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #x reader #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader

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dmercer91 · 5 months

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can we get a part 2 of luke liking jacks best friend??? maybe where they end up together 🤭

got the girl, lh43

in which luke's behaviour finally clicks and you mess with him until he can admit his feelings out loud (2.0k)

soft, almost needy/naive luke is becoming my favourite cause i love me a boy that's deeply reliant on his snuggles despite being tall and man shaped. a little unproofread and a little silly in the middle, for flavour

when you woke up, you found yourself tucked under lukes arm, your face now a little hidden into his neck so that he could be far up enough on the bed that his legs didn't teeter the edge.

he was sound asleep, a little less of a morning person than you despite his hectic schedule during most of the year.

the summer was his time to sleep until ludicrous hours, and you took note throughout the years that he always took advantage.

he was always the last one of the brothers to hobble downstairs for breakfast, sleep frequently prominent in his eyes and his hair a tangled mess of his curls that were drying out due to the lake water and lack of caring for.

so you let him rest, carefully untangling yourself from his grasp and heading to wash your face, and brush your teeth. it would be a while before quinn was up, usually the most responsible brother who knew that if he got up early enough he could poach some of your breakfast and have a little while of peace in the gym or front yard.

you cleaned up some of the water bottles that had been left in the living room from the night prior, folding the throw blankets and fixing up the pillows before starting to cook your breakfast, deciding on a simple one for today; eggs, toast and some fruit.

what you didn't expect was to hear the creak of the stairs within a few seconds of you frying your eggs, your eyebrows furrowing as you examined the microwave for the time.

a little early for quinn, but you figured it was him anyways. "quinny?" you said, your voice travelling far enough to make it to the stairs but not to make its way upstairs and wake anyone.

when he didn't answer, you turned your head and saw that it was luke, rubbing exhaust from his eyes and sleepily making his way over to you.

you smiled, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into him, and sharp whine echoing into your ear as he saw that you were cooking breakfast.

"it's so early.. come back to bed w' me," he pleaded, tugging you away from the oven and pawing at the knobs of the stove, trying to turn it off.

you giggled, adjusting his arms on you and turning back to your pan, shaking your head.

"i'm making my breakfast, lukey. i can make you some, hm?" he shook his head, tucking his face into your neck as if the natural morning light was too harsh on his eyes.

his arms unravelled from your waist, hands planting on your hips and soothing up and down, pulling your shirt up on your waist a little with each passing.

you bit your lip, his actions from now and last night finally coming together in your brain.

snuggling up with you, staring at you instead of watching a movie he picked out, agreeing to spend the night with you, calling you baby by accident. you weren't sure how you hadn't picked up on it before.

everything was confirmed for you when the stairs croaked once again, now under the feet of the eldest hughes brother. when he saw you, luke still trying to pry your attention away from anything that wasn't him, his face lit with an amused smile.

he knew

you started to ponder on if jack knew, or even trevor and alex. if everyone was painfully aware of luke's eyes always being trained on you and decided to keep it from you.

you blinked back into reality, turning off the stove and plating your eggs. "lu?" you mumbled, offhandedly like you had a question you'd been meaning to ask him for some time, even though it only just come to you.

he hummed, hopeful eyes peeking up at you and his hands coming to a halt. "how about you go get ready and ill make you some breakfast, n' we can have it out on the boat," you murmured, cupping his head in your hand and playing with his curls.

you were gonna see how long it took until he broke, admitted how he'd been feeling.

you watched as his eyes dilated, scanning down to your lips with a deer in headlights-esque look of infatuation. he licked his lips, eyes darting back up to yours as soon as he caught his own staring.

he then nodded, blinking away the evident look of euphoria on his face at the feeling of your hands in his hair.

"oh," he murmured, still nodding along to your question. it was like he was under a spell. "okay," he finished, your hand retreating from his curls and pressing to his chest.

"i'll meet you out there, alright? gotta change once i'm done making your food," you instructed, earning one last nod of confirmation before he finally tore his body away from yours and lugged himself back upstairs and towards his own room.

"don't tell me you're gonna do this until he tells you himself," quinn's voice came from behind you once luke's bedroom door was shut and he couldn't hear the conversation.

"what's the fun in telling him i know? and plus, you can't tell me you didn't love watching that," you gestured to where luke had been standing, calling back to the blindingly obvious pining that the older brother had watched from the stairs.

he nodded a little, smile cracking at his lips as he took the plate of food you had already made for yourself.

you glared at him, mixing together another couple eggs into your bowl now that yours were gone.

"what! they would've been cold by the time you got to the boat anyways," he defended, shovelling a fork full of eggs into his mouth and sitting down at the island.

"y/n?" he asked, swallowing his bite.

you hummed, looking back at him as you poured the eggs into the pan. "you won't just lead him on, will you? like, you feel the same," he asked quietly, eyes avoiding yours after a quick second of eye contact.

your lips pulled back into a smile at his attempt at nonchalant protectiveness over his youngest brother, and you shook your head. "silly question. remember the girl who's face i shoved into a pile of snow? when we were kids?" you recalled, and quinn chuckled.

"yeah. i guess he's kinda always been yours," he stated, much more comfortable now that he knew two of his favourite people would soon stop dancing around each others requited feelings.

when the stairs could be heard again, you were expecting luke, but instead you saw your best friend, gloomy as he stared at you.

"you watched top gun without me, and you had our movie night with my little brother," he pouted, going up to you and ruffling your hair, tugging you into a side hug.

"even?" he asked, looking down at you hopefully.

"you threw me into the pool while i was wearing white. and zegras was there. even," you stuck your hand out, watching as he bashfully took it up to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

"not my brightest impulse decision, i have to admit," he sighed, reaching over your head for a plate and stealing the toast that had come out of the toaster, then some eggs.

you gave him the same glare you'd sent quinn, earning a similarly mischievous grin.

"why'd you make so much if s' not for me?" he wiggled his eyebrows, eyeing luke's bedroom door.

you rolled your eyes, a response you seemed to have needed to resort to one too many times this morning. for future reference, you'd keep in mind that one brother at a time for this hour of the morning was more than enough.

"her and lukey have a breakfast boat date," quinn teased, the two of them looking at each other with excited looks, both with hints of relief that something finally stirred between you and luke.

"at long last was getting a little long, munchkin. good for you," he kissed your forehead, sitting next to quinn at the counter.

"you're both just.. so insufferable" you grumbled, now having to finish off the carton of eggs you'd been using since two plate fulls had been stolen from you.

you popped more toast into the toaster, frowning at the empty plate of strawberries you’d cut up and grabbing the container of unsliced ones to make up some more.

switching focus back to the eggs, you scrambled them up and shook the pan around, ensuring a more even cook.

then, thing one and thing two came jogging downstairs in a full fledged conversation at the top of their lungs

“no, no. i totally kicked your a- ooh, fruit,“ he went to grab a piece of strawberry, earning a slap on the hand.

you spun around, spatula drawn like a sword at his face

“zegras, if you touch my food, this spatula is going down your throat.” his eyes went wide for a second, index finger pointing to your utensil and slowly lowering it down

“i liked you better yesterday,” he grinned, winking and grabbing an apple from the fridge, tossing one to alex. “touchy, this morning.” he grumbled under his breath as you glared at jack

“come on, man. you’re gonna get my top gun privileges revoked. again,” jack got up to put his plate away, shoving trevor’s shoulder on the way by.

“i like that that’s what you’re worried about, that’s really cool of you, j.” you rolled your eyes once more, finally greeting alex with a ruffle of his hair.

then finally, after the string of hockey boys coming down to steal your breakfast, each adorned with bottomless pits for stomachs- luke made his way back to the kitchen. he was now in a hoodie and swim shorts, his hair wet from his shower.

“could you finish up plating everything, lu? your brothers stole our original plates so i’m running a little behind,” you smiled sarcastically as the two eldest waved to you

luke chuckled, nodding and taking your place in front of the stove.

while you changed, he finished cutting up the fruit, he put whatever spreads you’d taken out on the toast, and he split the eggs.

when he was done, he turned to see his brothers, along with trevor, alex and cole- who came down as you went back up, staring at him.

he turned his shoulders inward, suddenly a little too self aware.

“.. what?” quinn grinned, cole coming to pat him on the back as he made his own meal.

“look who finally got the girl,” trevor teased, alex wiggling his eyebrows after taking a bite of his apple.

he furrowed his eyebrows, looking at jack who nodded in confirmation.

“i got the girl?” he asked softly, arms falling to his sides, slightly limp in his state of shock.

“yeah, you did.” you smiled from the entrance to the kitchen, coming up and massaging his shoulder a little.

“you are no fun,” you pointed at quinn, who raised his hands in defence.

“what? why?” luke asked, looking down at you with his head tilted adorably.

“i was gonna mess with you just a little longer. wanted you to admit it,” you grinned, hand on his abs

he smiled a little, pecking your lips.

you tugged at him, grabbing your plate and nodding to his.

“c’mon, now.” you pulled him towards to patio door.

the boys whistled after the two of you and you giggled, looking back to see jack with a proud, almost bashful smile. his favourite people, this’d mean a lot to him even if he never said it.

to save face, the last thing you heard from him on your way out of the back was ‘wear protection!’

you shook your head with a smile, turning to luke now that you couldn’t be seen.

“my lukey,” you murmured, cupping his face and kissing him softly, still more intense now that there wasn’t an audience.

he nodded into your kiss, returning the favour with a hint of desperation.

“my girl,”

#e’s fics #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #new jersey devils #hughes brothers

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ectologia · 6 months

Text

♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝐼𝒩 𝒜 𝑅𝒰𝒯 ؛ 𝓀𝑒𝒾𝑔𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝒶𝓂𝒾

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ dubcon ﾉ noncon ﾉ forced breeding ﾉ forced pregnancy ﾉ clit spanking ﾉ creampie ﾉ misogyny ﾉ rut ﾉ baby trapping ﾉ feral keigo ﾉ piss ﾉ marking ﾉ profanity

Keigo’s bigger, softer around the edges but still with that slight cut of pristine muscle lining his torso and limbs. His wings thicken, puffy with a fat down blanketing them with gentle red bristles.

Sweaty too. He doesn’t want to wear any clothes. Granted, he says that all the time. But now it’s not just a want, it’s a need. A priority. He doesn’t feel fit to carry out his primitive desires when he’s being held back and restrained by all that stupid cotton and leather. He needs to be free, needs to let his manhood breathe. Otherwise how could he possibly carry out his responsibility as a daddy? That’s right, he couldn’t.

You leave him to his ludicrous antics of digging out nests in your bed. Making a fine art of curling every blanket, quilt and pillow in the house into a cushty barricaded circle atop your mattress, slapping at the cuddly pile of fabric with an almost crazed look, claiming that your “eggs” are going to be so warm and safe there. Or otherwise scenting you, rubbing his damp neck and hair all over your body, starting off with a gentle kiss to your temple, before sliding down your torso to rub his palms against that little pouch of flesh he knows he’s going to put his babies in, eventually.

Keigo doesn’t like the fact that you still insist on walking around the house fully clothed. He doesn’t, so why do you need to? You’re his mate, his wife, his other half. He knows it’s time to procreate, so why don’t you?

He follows you around the house on another one of your cleaning sprees. His nose wrinkles at the acrid scent of chemicals and lemon in the air, scratching at his throat and burning his sensitive nostrils as you continue to wipe the surfaces and spray away the scent of masculine sweat he worked so hard on drowning the house in. Do you really want another male entering his territory?

There’s only the slightest ring of yellow encircling his otherwise blown pupils. He tunes out after the first 10 seconds of your ranting and scolding. Something about how nobody’s going to “steal you away” if he doesn’t piss on the front door. Yeah, we’ll see about that, he scoffs to nobody but himself, plucking a bent feather from his rugged cape of crimson to flick and mould it back to shape, flicking at the fibrous hairs.

“Keigo, are you even listening to me?” You clap your hands in his face, attempting to garner his attention. “Hello?”

He doesn’t like that one bit, the flailed movements seeming all to similar to an opposing threat, a predator. He blinks away the carnal instinct to rip your arms out of their sockets and puncture your skull with his teeth. “Yes.”

“Well, it doesn’t fucking look like it. Can you repeat any of what I just said?”

“Stop pissing outside.”

“And what else?”

“And on the door.”

Glowing ember’s narrow as you huff, massaging your temples as you begin to pace, stomping about the kitchen with a cloth and spray bottle in hand.

He shudders at the sharp hiss of the pump, spitting at the granite counter and washing away his mark.

“Baby..” He draws closer, wings twitching at the irritating squeak of polished marble. Two large hands, both streaked with thick prominent veins clasp your waist in an attempt to bring your rear closer towards his erect, naked member.

“No, Keigo. Not right now, I’m busy.”

An elbow jabs at his ribs as you continue to scrub away at the surface, leaning over the edge with the pudgy mound of your pussy swaying against his cock and balls with a tantalising momentum.

Before you know it, the bottle is yanked out of your hand and chucked against the wall. The towel clutched between your fingers meets the same fate, ripped in two by a set of talons and left in shreds on the floor.

“Keigo!” You shriek, already pushing against him as he grips you by the neck. “Get off! What’s wrong with you!”

It’s a rhetorical question, and one he has no interest in answering anyway. Too busy with pulling the silk of your pyjama pants down to your toes, along with those stupidly skinny pieces of sheer string you seem to think pass as underwear. He can already see globs of slick bubbling along the apex of your pussy hole. He grins at the sight, running a bent knuckle through the valley of your puffy folds. At least your body knows what it was made for.

“Keigo, stop!” There’s a hint of panic in your voice, squirming as he squeezes the delicate tendons holding your spine in place. Holding you by the scruff as though you were a bad puppy.

He sighs, flecks of spit flying from his mouth in his crazed revolution. His wings extend behind him as he clutches his throbbing shaft in his palm, swirling and bathing the velvety tip in your cunny juice. “I’m sorry, chickadee. But this is just how it is in the real word.” There’s a solemn silence, a heavy seriousness to the air as though he wasn’t rubbing his pulsating slit against your clit, collecting its oozing wetness for an easier turn of events. “You gotta’ take what you want. Gotta’ just fuck it out. Otherwise, we’d go extinct.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “Wouldn’t we, honey bun?”

“Ngh — !” The edge of the counter jabs at your hip bones, rolling on delicate skin that’s sure to be bruised after the ordeal. Your waist bucks as he smacks his swollen tip against your nervous bud.

“Mmh, this is what you wanted.” He repeats the motion, flicking his wrist faster and faster until his spanking becomes rhythmic, slapping the sluggish weight of his member up and down on your pussy. It’s a strategic move on his part, torturing your poor sensitive clitty so you’ll be all that more grateful when he moves on to the main course. “Oh yeah? You like that?” He coos as your back hunches, unsure as to whether you’re trying to curl into the pleasure or away from the pain.

After collecting a sufficient amount of lubrication, he does the same, practically clambering onto the counter with your spine arched in his hands as though he were some type of feral beast or savage hound, hung and ready to fuck and breed his bitch. He squats over your quaking form, shoving you along the smooth surface until his drooling dick nestles itself neatly between the cleft of your asscheeks, bobbing against your scared twat with his tensed ball-sack swinging closely behind.

It’s a wildly contorted position, but one Keigo insists on nonetheless.

“Agh, I’ve been waiting for this.” He grunts. “I’ve been waiting so fuckin’ long, and you just wouldn’t let me fuckin’ have it.” Pulling and tugging on your swollen labia, he separate your sticky little slit until all that’s left to shield you is the tense ring of muscle defending your hole. “Well, that’s fine by me chickadee.” He slips inside with a breathy chuckle, giggling and chortling to himself even as you yelp in pain. “I’ll just do it myself.”

It’s fast paced with an ill rhythm. There’s no love or care to be felt in his thrusts, just cruel harsh punishment, a means to an end until Keigo gets to pump his babies into your precious womb, fill you with his chicks so you can finally be a family. A proper family.

“Agh, and we can do Christmas, and Halloween, and go to the beach.” The thought is almost arousing to him, motivating him into humping your rear faster. “Won’t that be fun, little bird?”

He can be sure you’re crying, or at least close to it. He pays your silent tears no mind, blaming it on the excitement of your new life taking will.

“Kei, please! I told you, I’m not ready!” You arch your neck to plead with him.

His smile falters, twisting into something much more sinister and lecherous. He clamps a palm over the back of your skull and turns you back to the wall, facing your pitiful expression away from him. “You don’t need to be ready. I’ll do everything for you.” A calm hiss meets yours ear. “All you need to do, is lay back and take it.”

He digs into your stomach, smashing your insides to pieces as you lay paralysed beneath him. Cold marble presses against your forehead, cooling your fever as Keigo claps into you from above, a heavy set of hung balls knocking against you.

“Keigo!” You chant his name, broken as you wail out a string of pained moans.

“Yeah, that’s what I wanna hear.” Keigo practically howls. “Let’s be animals baby!”

The domes of his knees crash down either side of you, evidence of his newly contorted position as he ruts into your cunt, foaming at the mouth where his teeth grind. “Yes, yes, yes. Fuck yes. Oh, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fuckin’ cum. Gonna’ breed this pretty muff full ‘a seed.”

“Keigo, no!”

Funny you seem to think you’re still in charge. After this, you’re never gonna be empty again. He’s gonna stuff you one kid after another and as many as it takes until you become his cute little housewife. The kind that only cooks and cleans and looks after his babies while he’s out working and providing. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together sweet pea.

Keigo belts with laughter as you scream, thrashing and jerking beneath him as he spurts, spraying his seed deep inside your belly and then some. He slips out halfway, looking down to admire the ring of white sewing your gummy crevice together. “Mmh, now that’s what I’m talking about..”

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yeyinde · 5 days

Note

Brain went brrrrrrrr

Price and the new 141 member getting into an argument. Price is all like if you don't behave ill take you over my knee girl.

She's all like I fucking dare you or you'll have to catch me first or even you don't have the balls.

🫠🫠

i’ve always wanted someone who was super by the book to clash with John “i routinely tell my superiors i’m going to maim/murder/hang them” Price. this gave me the perfect opportunity to do so.

noncon spanking. abuse of authority. power imbalance. size kink. mean, dom!Price. forced submission.

You have this way of getting under his skin.

An impossible itch. No matter how many times he picks and prods at his flesh, you worm beneath the dermis, burrowing deep. Sitting pretty against his goddamn bones. Festering.

Incurable.

He turns to vice to stem the irritation. Cigars. Whiskey. His hand shoved down his trousers like he's a fuckin' boy and not a man on the wrong side of forty.

Thinking of you—of breaking that smart mouth of yours on his cock.

It's the way you saunter around with your head held high, balancing golden eggs on your crown, that irks him something awful. The patronising drawl when you huffily remind him that what he's doing is breaking seven, no, ten, different laws, Price. You can't just do whatever you want, there are rules—

And that's the crux of it.

A difference of ideas. Experience. You still see the world in shades of black and white. Good and bad. Unwilling to acknowledge that the line between is saturated and blurred. A putrid muck that traps all. Bogish.

He knew it was a mistake when they sent him your file, asked if he needed the additional help. Hostage negotiator. He's heard of you. By the fucking book. You recite passages like it's gospel, turning printed words into a knife. A terrible fit for a team that works in the pivotal no man's land you claim doesn't exist.

Yet—

He takes you on. Brings you in. Buries his anger at your fucking gall deep in his chest where it rots. Grows. Swallows down the rage, apoplectic fury, when you undermine him at every opportunity, citing laws and regulations like it's a fucking prayer.

A calamitous decision, he knows. Terrible. But—

Despite it all, you're good at what you do. Brilliant. A budding rose germinating in fecund soil. You'll grow into something wild, won't you? Something untamed.

Under his hands, you'll bloom the prettiest. He knows this deep in his bones. But—

“You're breaking the rules, Captain—”

—pedantic little thing, aren't you?

Obediently following the wrong master.

It irks him. He's been known to step on the toes of his superior officers for less, caustic words hissing foul from between his teeth.

But unlike them, you're worth something. Even as the moral antithesis to his utilitarian dogma, he sees your potential. How you can shape this world dangling on a brittle thread if you lay down your senseless principles and follow him. Listen to him.

But of course, you don't.

And he supposes he ought to have known better. It's dripping gasoline over an open flame. The sequence of events is easily premeditated, seen, when you refuse to listen to what he says (“it's against the law, Price!”), walking away from him, his team, the mission, and take matters into your own, morally righteous hands. Bringing his underhanded methods to the desk of your superior officer, demanding he be investigated for crimes. The result is a loose warning from someone in a suit several sizes too big for them, and your fury when he pulls you back, has you assigned to another mission with the 141, with himself. Preens at your glower when you march back into his office, into his hands.

In the fallout, he has no one to blame but himself, really. Anyone could have seen this coming. But the thing about shirking his morality in favour of a better outcome—above all else—is that he doesn't have to.

And so, he doesn't.

No. He blames you.

(How perfect for him, then, that there's no one on base except you and him.)

“If you think I'm not going to report you again if you do something illegal, Price, you're wrong.”

He scoffs, shaking his head at your fucking audacity.

"Better watch that mouth of yours, Sergeant, or you won't like what happens next."

His palm itches when you look up, offering him a slow, feline blink. Leonine eyes creasing at the corners.

"And what is that, sir? I'm just doing my job—" it's whispered breathlessly, all faux professionalism even as jest leaks down your brow. They pinch, then. Drawing together in a mockery of confusion. "Isn't that what you wanted me to do?"

"What is that, mm?" He mocks, arms folding over his chest. He has to breathe through his nose for a moment. Gather himself together before he does something reckless, something like—

It's the defiant little jut of your chin that does him in. That unravels this fraying knot of control until threads slip through his fingers. Falling too fast for him to clench down on them.

He's threatened his superiors for far less. His kin, teammates. You have no one to blame but yourself for this, really. No one at all when he pulls his hand from where it's tucked under his armpit, curling rough, worn fingers around your wrist. Pulls you close, wrenching you into his chest until your nose bumps the buckle of his vest.

"'m'gonna take you over my fuckin' knee, is what's going to happen."

Your swallow is a gunshot. “You—you wouldn't dare—”

He leans in close, closer still. Breath scorching over your cheek. Preening when you bare your little teeth at him. “Wanna bet on that, Sergeant?”

It's easier than he would have expected to wrangle you over his knee, pinning you down with an arm across your lower back. The height of his chair keeps your front bent, belly pressed against his thigh. Ass seated perfectly in his lap. Precious gem.

He hums low in his throat, teeth sinking into the butt of his cigar as he locks you tight against him. Grabbing your wrist, twisting it up behind your back. Holding steady. A warning.

The dangerous twinge in your bone stills you.

One wrong move and he'd snap it in half.

This has you taking a different approach, legs falling limp over the armrest. Head dropping over the other side. Malleable in his grasp—however artificial it is.

“Price—” you breathe, winded. Panic on a spindle. “What are you—what do you think you're doing—?”

He hums, mouth tense around the cigar. Words muffled, slurred. “What I should have done a long time ago.”

“What—hey!”

Your words pepper off into a choked scream when his other hand falls to the hem of your pants, grabbing the fabric in his fist. The shock fades into indignation. Anger. He tastes it in the air as your hips squirm, legs kicking at nothing. Furious little growls spilling from your lips as you thrash, unconcerned by the ache in your bone.

“Better keep still, love,” he taunts, mouth curling over his teeth as he twists his hand high, higher, up the small of your back until your fingers brush the skin between your shoulder blades. Any more and he'll break it—

“I'm going to fucking—!” It ends on a whine. A whimper. The pain makes you shiver. “Fuck, fuck—stop, stop, ow, stop—!”

“Not a fan of a little pain then, mm?”

Your breath is ragged. Paints the air in a fine mist of defeat. He has you. The only option out of this is breaking your bone, a threshold no one is willing to cross.

Price purses his lips back around the cigar, inhaling once, thrice, before he slips his fingers out of the hem of your trousers, reaching up to take hold of the cigar. It's all so matter-of-fact. So nonchalant when he places it in the ashtray. When he brings his heavy, warm hand back to your ass, curling his fingers beneath the fabric. Pulling. Tugging.

They come off easier than he'd expected. A harsh tug, and the cleft of your ass is revealed. Plush skin curving enticingly as he rips them down to mid-thigh—panties and all.

The shock fades back into indignation. You hiss something foul under your breath that makes him huff out a chuckle.

“Not really in the position for that, are you, love?”

“Shut up—”

He likes the way you sound like this. Feral. Furious. There's ash in your throat. It blots soot around each word, giving them weight. Gone is the woman who barged into his office, sniffing like you smelled something foul. Backing him into a corner. Sputtering in his face about rules. Regulation.

Now you're bare-assed, panting, in his lap. Small little fawn in the maw of a bear. But oh, do you fight back—

Teeth bared, indignation bleeding into embarrassment, blotting pink in the whites of your eyes.

The sight is hewn into his hindbrain.

“Look at you,” he purrs, petting your cheeks. “Been beggin’ to be bent over my knee since you got here, haven't you?”

“Begging? Don't be—ahh!”

He brings his hand down with a small huff, eyes glued to your flesh. Watching it shake under his hand. The width of one swallowing up an entire cheek. So big is he that you're nearly made infinitesimal in his clutch. The thought makes him groan.

You squirm more in shock than discomfort. Head craning over your shoulder, eyes misting over with tears. Glaring at him.

“What the fuck, Price!”

He strokes your skin, feeling the heat of your flesh bleed through his palm. Resilient little thing, aren't you? He huffs again, blood buzzing. Electric. There's a kindling fire in his guts. Embers sparking, catching.

He can't deny how badly he's been wanting to have you like this. Craving your tears, your agony, your submission.

“Count,” he barks out, rough. Abrasive. “You're getting ten. Count ‘em for me, and if you miss one, I'm adding two more.”

“You're crazy, you're—!”

His hand comes down again. The impact shakes the fat of your ass. The strike makes you yowl, thrashing to get away. You don't get very far, still trapped in his hold. The threat of a broken bone keeps you from lashing out too wildly, and all you can really do is sit in his lap, and take it—

The notion has him groaning low in his throat. Something wicked spooling in his veins. Wanting. The sight of you heaving, bare-assed, and begging for mercy unleashes something inside of him. Something primal. Starving.

Price takes a breath to steady himself, head buzzing. Heart pounding. It feels like the euphoria of nicotine—all bliss, sedation. Ease.

Cathartic.

“I said count,” he rasps, words cinder in his chest. Smoke. Dragged up from that burning pyre in his belly. Nocuous, hungry. “That's an order, Sergeant.”

His hand is scorching against your skin. Thoughts turning over themselves as you hiccup in his lap. So pretty, he thinks, eyes flitting over to you. Taking in the sight of your shock, your denial. It tastes like fine wine on his tongue. Heady.

“Here comes one—”

“One?”

“I told you, didn't I?” His nail rakes across your skin, cruel. Mean. Something preens when you gasp. Your pain perfuming the air. “M’addin’ two more if you don't count. Thought your speciality was listenin’?”

You scowl, twisting back to level him with an awful sneer. “Oh, fuck you—!”

His hand comes down again, harder this time. Vicious. The scream is tangled in your throat, gagged. He feels pleasure—dark and ugly—bloom in his chest, dripping, liquid, down the length of his spine. The twist of agony on your face is beatific.

“Not gonna count?” He taunts, pinching your inflamed flesh between his thumb and forefinger. “We're gonna be here all day at this rate, love.”

He leans down, broad chest curling over the small of your back, hand cupped possessively over your cheeks. “But maybe you want that, mm? Maybe all this, mhm, insubordination has just been for show. You wanted this. Wanted to be taken over my knee—”

“You're wrong. I haven't—” it tapers off into a squeak when he pinches your flesh again.

Price pulls back, breathes shallowly through his nose.

“You and that smart fuckin' mouth. Told you it was gonna get you in trouble—”

He doesn't wait. His hand rears, and comes down with a loud smack that echoes in the sparse office he has you trapped inside. Your howl races alongside it, curling up the walls. Beautiful in all its agony.

“Christ—” it's a dagger to his resolve. You sound so fucking good howling like this. Oscillating between feral anger and pain, hissing vitriol between clenched teeth. Choking on sobs.

The first few are experimental. Testing the waters. Feeling. You're combative during it all. Fighting. Screaming. Each strike is uncounted, echoed only with a plea for help. One he knows won't come—

The only person on base is his Lieutenant. Ghost knows better than to barge in on his affairs.

“No one's comin’, love,” he grunts, sweat beading along his hairline, dripping down his temple. The room heats along with the blood in his veins, stifling and oppressive. He reinforces each hit with more strength, increasing the tempo until you're screaming on his lap, begging for mercy, mercy, please, please, Price stop, stop—

Your skin raises with each new strike. Swelling. Becoming inflamed. The perfect imprint of his handprint sits on each cheek, edges intumescent. The globes shake, shuddering deliciously under each hit.

He gets to eleven before you break. Tears streaming down your face, voice a threadbare whisper. Hoarse from screaming.

His hand rains down, slaps your left cheek so hard it stings his hand. Burns. You whimper. Mewling. Squirming on his lap, and then—

“O–one—”

He grunts, feels himself thicken in his trousers. “Good girl.”

You shudder, body breaking out in goosebumps. “Price—”

“Ah, ah, love. You're not allowed to speak unless you're counting.”

He hits you again, cock throbbing when you tense up, sniffling. Grinding out a soft two between trembling lips.

You don't break the way he wants you to. There's a glare on your face despite the tears, the sniffles. A defiance that burns over the bridge of your nose.

But that's fine. He has eight more strikes to ruin you, doesn't he?

He sets to it with a low moan, your pelvis pressing taut to his tumid cock, the friction raging in his guts.

But that, he finds, isn't really the point. No. The pleasure, the arousal, is secondary to the way you fall to pieces at his hand. Flesh stinging his palm with each loud smack that rings out sharply in the room. Uneven breaths. Shuddering little ah-ah-ahs that tumble out through clenched teeth.

It's addictive, this. Therapeutic.

There's static in his head. White noise. It renders everything else mute. Moot. Molasses drips down, thick and entrenching, congealing over every churning thought in the back of his head. There's a sense of peace, ease, he hasn't felt in years. In decades.

He feels his belly knot each time your ass jiggles, skin bulging up from the trauma of being hit so harshly. Chafed under his palm. Welts forming in the shape of his hand. A tattoo you'll have for weeks when he's through with you. Aching each time you try to sit. And fuck—

You'll think of him. Of this. Being taken over his goddamn knee like the bad fucking girl you are. Broken in over his lap. Helpless. Submissive.

The whimpers fade, replaced with shallow hiccups. Your throat is torn. Raw, ruined, by your screams, yowls. Each rasping whine sends jolts of pleasure down his spine. Liquid want molten in his marrow.

“S–seven, nngh—”

The moan slips out—scorched, bleached—and drills deep into his loins.

He peels his gaze away from your blistered skin, glancing at your face, but you duck from his view. Hide. Dropping your head over the armrest. Evading him.

It's new, this. This meekness.

You were so combative, so feral before. His gaze rakes down the expanse of your spine, over the curve of your cheeks, before settling, hot and heavy, at the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. You squirm in his lap, thighs sliding together. Rubbing. It's no different from before when he'd spank you, but—

He catches it.

It glints in the soft light when you move, and he feels something dark, ruinous, curl in the tar-stained fibrils of his chest. Congealing in the crevasses. Hardening.

Price flicks his tongue out, swiping over his lower lip. The bristles of his beard graze the soft flesh, prickling across it. His throat is suddenly dry. Parched.

His hand comes down again, notably softer than the other hits he subjected you to. Almost—

Tender.

This isn't meant to hurt. Not this one.

He strokes his finger over your skin, cock throbbing with the rasping gasp that spills—a twisted amalgamation of pain, skin still smarting, burning to the touch, and—

His lashes flutter. Nostrils flaring.

Your slick, wet, between your inner thighs.

He slides his hand down, down, until your ass cheek is cupped in the bracket of his thumb and forefinger. Nestled tight. A perfect fit. The sight of your skin—soft, so soft—against his bearish, hirsute paw is sickeningly addictive. He grunts, pressing his thumb into the crease between your cheek and thigh.

“P–Price—”

And then he pulls, moaning deep in his chest as he peels the fat of your ass away, unveiling your cunt to his rapacious gaze. Fuck—

“What’s this?” He taunts, breathless. Pinched. You squirm, trying to press your thighs together. Hiding your pussy from his scorching stare. He doesn't let you. “Gettin’ off on me spankin’ your arse?”

“N–no, I'm—”

He pushes his thumb up, sliding it over your skin. Gathers your slick on the tip. “Don't lie to me, mm. You're fuckin' soaked.”

The air is punched from his lungs. Spills out in a wretched grunt. In the vacuum, something grows. Knots. Festering inside his chest. Animalistic. Primal. There's an itch in the back of his head.

He lets go of your arm, knows you won't run. Won't try to escape. No.

You're a good girl, aren't you? One who does what they're told. Follows orders. It tangles in the soporific slurry of his head, pitching a bivouac of need when you bring your arm down, curling it through the gap of the armrest, holding tight.

Bracing yourself.

His hum breaks in his throat. He drags his hand away from your cunt, reaching for the snuffed cigar idling in the ashtray. There's a fever in his veins. It makes his hand tremble. Shake. He needs the blunted drag of nicotine to quench this heady anticipation blooming in his guts. A brumous storm gyring inside him, an incipient maelstrom of want thickening. Intensifying. Threatening to spill over.

He needs something to steady himself before he tears into you like a beast—

You cock your head over your shoulder, staring at him with eyes drenched in midnight ink. There's a flicker across your tear-stained expression. Something coy. Feline. Leonine.

There's nothing said. Nothing needs to be. He finds what he's looking for in the fracture of your mien, and scoffs under his breath at your sheer gall. Little fuckin' minx.

Tobacco proves to be a paltry facsimile when he draws in a bursting mouthful. The restive glow of it dulled under the adrenaline coursing through his veins, heady. Syrupy. A roaring deluge of anticipation broiling in the balmy air, crackling around him like a storm cresting over the horizon. Ozone saturates in the thickening atmosphere.

Something will break. Shatter.

He tenses, waiting for the first stormcloud to breach, and drops his hand back to your tender ass. Stroking over the raised welts just to make you gasp. Your hips flex under the shocks of pain riveting down your spine, undulating in his lap. Pitched perfectly over his cock.

His breath shudders through a needlepoint. The friction is electric.

In petty retaliation—and just to see you squirm—he trails his knuckles over your heated skin, luxuriating in the way you shiver. Head falling back down over the armrest, beautifully alluring in your vulpine submission. His fingers dip between the cleft of your cheeks, feeling the slickness sticking to your soft, sensitive skin. Soaked between your thighs. Wretched girl.

His index and middle finger slide over your slit, parting your folds. He feels the small pulses of your drenched hole against his flesh when he slides over it with the press of his fingers. Eager little thing.

He hums under his breath at the sight of his hand seated across your hand, fingers shoved between the globes of your smarting ass. Soft and tender to worn and gnarled. The cropping of dark hair over his knuckles, his hand, against your bare skin is obscene. The picture of sin with your stricken flesh and his thick veins. The contrast curdled in the back of his head, morphing into something ugly and wanting.

Idly, he thinks of making you bounce your sore ass on his lap later, your pussy swallowing up his fat cock. Taking it all the way to the root. Over and over again. Breaking you on it until you're begging for mercy, until this little attitude of yours is crushed between his teeth.

Slick gathers against the rough pads of his fingers, drenching them. The hair on his knuckles is matted down, wet with your arousal. Naughty girl. He'll make you pay for that.

And for the puddle seeping into his trousers.

You mewl when he slips, sliding over your clit. The noise spilling molten over your lips, bludgeoning into his loins.

He drags in another mouthful of smoke. Lets it rot between his teeth as he drops the cigar into the ashtray once more, attention riveting to the slip-slide of your slick thighs rubbing together for friction against your aching clit. Cunt pulsing needily against his hand.

You haven't learned a damn thing at all, have you?

Smoke funnels out of his nostrils when he growls. “Spoiled, aren't you? Need to be taught a lesson in respect.”

“I, ah, am respectful, Captain—”

He sucks in a breath between clenched teeth. This lippiness of yours grates on his nerves. He wants you begging for mercy, limp in his hold. Pretty doll. Waiting obediently for him to put you back together again. Soft and submissive at his heel.

“Got three more to go, love.” You shiver when he strokes over your ass. Petting gently with wet, tacky fingers. “If you're a good girl and take it for me, I'll play with your pretty cunt, mm. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

Price brings his hand down, grunting when you moan out his name. Sharp and needy. Your plaintive posturing is a spark inside a tinderbox.

“E–eight.”

The next one is harder, sharper. The force twinges his joints. Rattles through his bone.

It's unexpected, and the pain makes you yowl, body drawing tight like a bow. There's no pleasure when it's like that. No friction against your cunt. It's just—

“Price—!” You yelp, shrill and distressed. The lead up to this has been child's play. A soft hand to tender a nervous mare.

His old man taught him to never strike with the whip first but to wean them slowly.

He waits, humming mockingly to your pettering whimpers as you heave, tremulous, into the air. Shuddering in his grasp at the aftershocks of agony rippling through your body.

Waits. Waits. And—

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, cooing low and condescending when you gasp, craning your neck to level him with an imploring, pleading stare as you stammer out a frenetic nine in a breathless rush. Tears soak your lashline, clumping them together when you blink through another deluge pooling against the rim. Your lip wobbles. The stream breaks, spilling over. Fresh tears run down your wet, sticky cheeks.

There's real panic in the whites of your eyes now. That haughty, pedant gleam buried under pyretic desperation. Gone is the coy twist to your lips. The wily little bloom of amusement in your gaze.

Aw, poor thing. But—

Too late. “You didn't count. You know what that means, love.”

That knot in his chest unfurls, and leaks acid into his lungs. This want is corrosive. A poison. The sob breaks through your chest. The first thunderclap. He relishes in it. Leans back in his chair to bask in the potency of your unmaking.

“Good girl,” he husks out, burning lungs spewing black smoke into the air. “Just ten more now, love. Know you can take it for me, can't you?”

Pretty thing. He'll have that haughty attitude snuffed out before the end of the night. Have you begging for his touch, his cock, him, before the sun draws across the horizon.

Your ruination at his hand. The thought strokes along the kindling smouldering inside of his chest. Burning away at the pyre he's been building since the day he met you. When you looked up at him, pretty in your scorn, and disobeyed his command. Undermined him. So righteous in your fury. A burgeoning flame he wanted nothing more than to snuff out under his heel, and now—

Wide, wet eyes plead with him. “Please, Price. Please, please. I'll be good—I promise I'll be good, sir—”

—ash in the palm of his hand.

He strokes over your searing flesh, humming softly under his breath. “I know you will, pretty girl—” basks in the hiccup of relief you let out, lets it glue in his ears, echoing over and over again. So sweet.

He lets your relief live for a moment. Take its first breath of air through aching lungs—

“But I told you, didn't I? That I'd take you over my knee.” Price pats his hand over your cheek, shushing you when you startle, squirming on his lap.

“Now. Be a good girl and count for me, mm?”

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader

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zepskies · 24 days

Text

Down to the Crust

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve set out on a very specific mission for Dean. The problem is, you now have ulterior motives for your (formerly) pure love of baking.

Request: Since reading your imagine, "Dean Gives You an Impossible Choice," I have not been able to shake it, one point specifically. I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader is learning to bake pies for Dean. She's best friends with the boys, but she and Dean have undisclosed feelings for each other…

AN: You guys know I love baking shenanigans lol. This one is set at a particular time during season 14…

Song Inspo: “Joy” by Blackstreet

Word Count: 2.6K

Tags/Warnings: Flangst, hurt/comfort, hint of spice~

No, no, no, no, NO!

You did your best to scoop out the salt you’d just poured into the flour.

You can’t really be this dumb, you berated yourself. How could you confuse one white powdery thing for another? Salt vs. sugar—it wasn’t that hard!

You shook your head in simmering frustration. You decided to just dump the whole contents of the bowl, salty flour and all, into the garbage. You’d have to start again…for the third time now.

Frankly, this was getting ridiculous. You could make cookies, brownies, even cupcakes (with homemade buttercream).

How hard could a pie really be?

Maybe it was the telltale tremble of nerves in your hands.

Maybe it was because you had an ulterior motive for doing this, besides your formerly pure love of baking.

Maybe because this promised dessert was for one pie-loving glutton who was set to come upstairs from the garage any minute. Or at least, whenever Dean’s stomach finally called him back to the kitchen.

Though recently, he hadn’t been all that hungry. He’d denied your friendly offer of a snack earlier (since when did he turn down taquitos?), and he’d barely touched the pizza you guys had for dinner yesterday. (One slice? The man could eat half a pizza in one sitting. To your knowledge, there wasn’t a pie he didn’t like.)

Dean hid it well, but he wasn’t on his game. You knew why, of course, but…

You sighed and measured out the last of your flour for a fresh try. If you messed this one up, you’d literally have to wash your hands of this mission. And yes, it had become mission fucking impossible, as far as you were concerned.

Once the flour was safely mixed with a cup of sugar, you cut up some chilled butter to create the pastry dough. You followed the instructions in the recipe even more carefully this time, from your open laptop on the kitchen counter. The keyboard was dusted with flour at this point, along with your hands and arms. You even felt it under your nails and in your hair, but you didn’t care.

You were going to make this damn pie if it killed you.

You’d even bought real cherries, not the canned filling. It meant more work for you in removing all the pits inside them, but this was worth the extra labor.

However, as it just occurred to you, you’d left them simmering with some sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a pan, around the time of your second attempt at pastry dough.

“No!” you gasped, hastening to open the lid and checking the saucepan.

Oh, thank God, you thought, seeing that the cherry filling wasn’t bubbling over. It actually looked like the proper thickened consistency and smelled delicious. You just needed to do some more stirring.

An hour or so later, you had successfully shaped the dough, chilled and poured in the filling, and covered it with the (embarrassingly uneven) lattice work on top.

“Whatever. The man still believes in the Five-Second Rule. He’ll eat this,” you muttered as you slid the pie in. You even remembered to do an egg wash on top. You admired it for a moment in its raw pastry form, then closed the lid to the oven with a nod of satisfaction.

You wore a wide smile, feeling accomplished, until you turned around and saw the disaster you’d made of the kitchen. Flour was dusted across the counters, a pile of dishes in the sink, cherry remnants in the pan and dripping across the stove, and so much more. You winced at the sight.

“What the hell is this?” came a gruff voice.

Your gaze drew to the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Dean was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a bewildered expression on his face.

The man had a thing about people in “his kitchen.” You got ready to placate him with your hands raised as you took a step towards him, but then you gasped.

“Shit!” you yelped, slipping in some egg that had dropped on the floor. Your hand accidentally banged the oven on the way down, but your head also hit the corner of the wall.

You ended up sprawled on your side across the dirty floor, dazed and winded. Dean hurried to your side with one of those frowns that always made you want to smooth the wrinkle between his brows.

He braced your shoulder, almost but not quite touching your hip with his free hand.

“Damn. You okay? This ain’t a slip n’ slide,” he said.

Your lips twitched at a smile, but you sighed. “I’m okay.”

“You hit your head?” he asked, beginning to help you up slowly.

“A little,” you admitted. “Nothing the old bag of frozen carrots in the freezer won’t cure.”

Dean grimaced, but after he made sure you were settled on your feet, he checked the back of your head. You tried not to blush (and revel) at the feeling of his fingers slipping into your hair, even if he was trying to feel for a knot back there.

He was close enough that you could almost feel his body heat through the black shirt he wore, for once without the outer layer of plaid. He smelled like grease and sweat; likely he’d been working on Baby.

Were you weird for kind of liking that smell?

“Well, I don’t feel any goose eggs, so you’re probably fine,” he remarked.

“Thanks, House. Is that your final prognosis?” you asked, beginning to smirk.

Dean’s gaze met yours in amusement.

“Tell you what,” he said, “If you get a headache, I give you full permission to take one of the fun little pills I’ve got in my dresser.”

You laughed. “If it’s not Vicodin, I don’t want it.”

House M.D. was one of those shows you and Dean liked to watch together, along with Game of Thrones, and even Smallville, on occasion.

Dean smiled slightly. But even that was a small feat, and something you hadn’t seen from him in weeks. Not a real smile, anyway. Before today, nothing you’d tried had been working to brighten his mood.

Not pizza Fridays. Not letting him listen to the same damn Zeppelin album without complaint for that eight-hour ride on the last hunt. Not trying to gouge his level of broodiness and offering to hang out, to be a listening ear if he needed it.

He still hadn’t taken you up on the last one. While that hurt, you also understood it. You understood how Dean dealt with things he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about, even to his own brother.

Dean now looked down on you knowingly, gesturing at the rest of the kitchen.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing in here?” he asked.

You crossed your arms and raised your chin, a smile playing on your lips.

“What, can’t handle somebody else in your kitchen? What’re you, Gordon Ramsey?” you teased.

Dean’s brows kicked up, his lips twitching.

“You’ve made a mess of my kitchen any number of times, but I ain’t ever smelled sweet, sweet cherry coming out of that oven,” he said. “You’re finally making me pie?”

You had to laugh. Inside, you were pleased that he now looked excited, his green eyes dancing. You clapped your hands over his arms.

“Yes, I’m making you your damn pie. Only took me fifteen tries, but it’s happening,” you said. You turned to check on it, but the second you opened the oven, black smoke billowed out.

Your eyes widened in horror and your mouth fell open on reflex, but harsh coughs tore from your throat as you waved your hand against the smoke. Dean quickly handed you the oven mitts, and you shoved them on before taking out the steaming dessert.

The entire top crust was scorched black. Cherry filling oozed out, and not in a good way. You slammed the oven shut with your hip, and you had to toss the pan onto the counter for how hot it was.

Inside that pan was a dreadful excuse for a pie.

Dean had an arm crossed under his elbow, while a hand came up to cover his mouth as he took in the state of it. He then looked over at you.

He saw the shock, settling into pursed lips and tight shoulders. You turned in slow movements.

You saw that the oven had been switched to “Broil” on the highest setting. You’d probably messed that up when you fell and hit the dial with your hand. But Christ, was that a powerful oven.

Those old white guys really didn't mess around when they built this damn bunker, you thought sourly.

Dean took another look at the steaming pie and grimaced, despite his amusement.

“Well, she won’t be entering any beauty pageants, that’s for sure,” he teased.

His playful smirk fell, however, the moment you turned around. He saw the way you were biting your lip, and the tears brimming in your eyes.

He softened, and he went to you.

“Aww, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he chuckled, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “‘S probably better than I could do.”

You rested your head against his chest and sniffled. You blinked to try to stem off your tears.

“It’s not about the damn pie! I mean, not really. It’s just…” you trailed.

You quieted, realizing you were about to say things you’d rather not.

Dean noticed though. Because of course he did.

“Then what’s it about?” he asked.

You avoided his gaze at first, though he was too perceptive not to notice. He jostled you a little against his side.

“Huh? You wanna answer me?” he asked. His lips curved at the way you were fighting a smile yourself. Your tears won out though.

You turned under his arm and leaned up on your toes, so you could hug him. Your arms twined around his neck and you held him tight.

To say it surprised Dean would be an understatement, his eyes widening a fraction. He still held you back, almost on reflex.

“I couldn’t do anything else,” you said, through tears. “Not for you, or Sam…or for Mary.”

Dean’s confusion descended into grim understanding. A weight fell deep in his gut, clenching painfully the way it always did, when he thought about his mom.

The fact that Jack didn’t have his soul didn’t make a difference, no matter what Sam said. Not in Dean’s mind, anyway.

Jack had killed their mom.

She was gone, had been taken from them. And that second loss had torn a new chasm in Dean’s heart, deeper than the last one. He held you a bit tighter without realizing it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing his back. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to…to do something for you.”

Slowly, Dean pulled away a little. His hands moved to your waist as he looked down on you with a heaviness in his eyes. For a moment, he just took in the contours of your face, your eyes shining with tears that clung to your lashes. You were looking up at him like all you wanted to do was fix it. And fix him.

Well, you had to know that was a lost fucking cause. But it just didn’t stop you from staying here with him and Sam, living with them, hunting with them, being one of the last friends they had, after all these years.

It didn’t stop Dean from loving you for it, either.

He let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but raise a hand to get some of the flour off your cheek. He smoothed the back of his hand against your skin, along your jaw, and finally brushed his thumb across your lower lip, where you had worried it with your teeth.

“You’re too damn much, you know that?” he murmured.

You were blushing hot at his touch, but you frowned at his words. Until you noticed the fond glint in his eyes…and for the first time, something more. Something he was finally allowing you to see.

When he bent down and claimed your lips, your thoughts stuttered to a halt. You gripped the front of his shirt instinctively. He framed your face with his hands; they were calloused and smelled like motor oil, but you didn’t give a shit. Not one iota. Because it meant something, and your heart swelled with a warmer, brighter feeling.

You gripped his shirt tighter and leaned up to meet his second kiss. His hand moved to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You grabbed onto his shoulders and let him invade your mouth with his warm tongue slipping against yours. You moaned, the sound echoing between you both and shooting right to his dick.

His brows furrowing, Dean’s fingers slipped into your hair again, but this time, to tangle in the strands. He walked you back until your ass hit the counter, where he grabbed hold of your thighs and hefted you on top of it, regardless of whatever stains covered its surface.

He moved in between your jean-clad thighs and encouraged you wordlessly to wrap them around his hips. You didn’t need much encouragement.

“Dean,” you whispered, between heated kisses, hands wandering down your body, exploring soft curves and warmth over clothing.

“Hmm?” he said, into your mouth. It was distracting, but you found the strength to slow things down, gently taking his face into your hands.

You both caught your breath for a moment. It allowed Dean to see the thread of uncertainty in your gaze, even though you caressed his stubble-covered cheeks.

“I just…do you…is this…” you tried, but your brain seemed to be on a short fuse. You blamed his sinful lips entirely.

Said lips drew into a smirk. Dean’s hands moved up your thighs and held your waist less gripping, more comforting (and claiming).

“I really do, and damn straight it is,” he said, slightly teasing. He did lean back in to press a gentler kiss to your lips.

“Trust me,” he said, as he became more serious. “If you want more from this…”

At that, your uncertainty melted into warmth. You released his face, holding onto his shoulders instead.

“Yeah, Dean,” you nodded. “More than anything, yes.”

He read your sincerity, and it warmed him too. Again, he gave into the urge to brush his thumb against your blushing cheek.

“I uh…I had a feeling it was always gonna be you,” he said.

You raised a brow at that, even though your smile threatened to unravel him further.

“Oh, yeah? How long?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think.

“Since that first batch of oatmeal cream pies,” he said, with a cheeky grin. “Pretty sure I was marked from there on out.”

And not just because he’d been imagining what you’d be like to taste, ever since.

You giggled, though you gestured with your eyes at the charred pan next to you on the counter.

“Guess I should try again on that pie. Wonder what that’ll get me,” you hedged, letting your thumb graze his neck. Dean smirked.

“All right, sure. Remind me to pick up a new fire extinguisher,” he said.

You guffawed and hit his shoulder, but he just laughed and pulled you in for another kiss.

It was sweet enough on its own.

AN: I know, I know. I'm a sap. 😂 Let me know what you thought of this pie-filled episode! 🥧 💕

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495 notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 2 months

Note

First of all your writing is amazing 🤩🤩!!!

You give so much life to your writings.

So I've been seeing a lot of snippets that have Danny claiming Dani as his child and also somehow carrying the cores to her clone siblings. And I was wondering how you would depict that. Maybe with a Dan maybe not. He could be living with Vlad or maybe he had to flee Amity and gets found on the streets by one of the bats if he's in Gotham or Alfred is the one who brings home the stray. Maybe he's Bruce's kid maybe not. He doesn't even need to be in Gotham. Maybe it lines up with Lian and he somehow saves her (I forget what happens to her).

Danny had only been in the new dimension for about thirty minutes when a terrorist attacked. He had originally traveled there with them since Clockwork promised if he relocated in a timeline so far away from Dan. He would allow Dani- de-age to five though her mental state stayed the same- and the cluster of her clone siblings' cores to live.

Clockwork claimed that Dani and the clones were destined to be corrupted, causing more devastation and death than Dan. They would expand their mercenaries' attack across dimensions and timelines, wiping out millions and millions, and so the clock ghost had enlisted Danny to destroy them.

He had gone under the condition that they would leave Dani alone, but when Danny saw the clones' cores, something in him had not been able to kill them off. Seven of them rested in a nest-like ectoplasm cave, and even though they were locked within their cores, Danny could hear their little heartbeats.

Could sense the being within, resting like a child in a mother's stomach.

It sounded a lot like an ultrasound, but he quickly found out only he could hear them, for Tucker, Sam, Jazz, and Dani had only seen glowing egg-shaped targets. He had thrown himself over them, begging them to not harm the children.

Danny didn't know where the connection came from, but there was no denying that there was one. He had bonded with the cores, and he wanted nothing more than to care for and nurture the children that were forming within.

Clockwork's deal hung heavily over his head, but after speaking to his friends and family, he decided to move far away for the children. He would be a single father to Dani and her seven siblings, worlds away from everything he knew and loved.

It is Difficult, but other parents have left their home countries to try and give their kids a better future before. He could do it, too.

Danny would even share his natural ectoplasm with the cores to help them grow like a ghost incubator. Yes, it would weaken him, but no more than any other person who was pregnant, and he would not have to deal with mood swings or food cravings!

He bid his family fair well, taking with him funds from Sam and Vlad, and had hopped over. Dani held his hand, and his core children were safely tucked into his backpack in warm towels. They had five suitcases with them, taking their essentials - such as government documents Clockwork swore would be what that world used, clothes, food, and the few techs they could carry- and had stepped through the spinning portal.

He had stopped between the two worlds, turning back only once to wave goodbye and ignore the tears rolling down his face.

His mother had called out, "Don't look back, sweetie. If you do, you'll never be able to see your children in front of you!"

Danny had turned and not looked back again. He and Dani were dropped in what looked like a large city. The first thing he wanted to do for them was find shelter, so he wiped away his tears, helped a sobbing Dani clean her face, and then marched them away, hoping to find an apparent complex with a vacant room that would be open.

They had just been passing by a sweet of houses when the bombs went off. Dani screamed, throwing herself against Dani's leg as houses started to crumble around them.

For one heart-stopping moment, he imagined the cores shattered like eggs, shimmering against the red of Dano's squished body. Danny had dropped their bags, gathering Dani in his arms and flying to the closest shelter.

He invaded a house, pressing his daughter and her siblings against his chest as more and more bombs went around the city. With a cry, he threw the strongest shield he could muster around them, encasing his ectoplasm in ice, but still, the blasts rocked the house and tore apart the building. Trust Clockwork to throw them into a war zone!

"Danny!" Dani screamed as large bits of the ceiling fell onto the shield. It caused cracks on his shield, and the ghost boy gritted his teeth to strengthen them. He had just feed a lot of his power to the core not even twenty minutes ago. He's basically tapped out. "Danny, I think there is someone in the house!"

I don't care, Danny thinks ruthlessly. You and your siblings come first.

"Danny! I think it's a kid!"

Danny's tunnel vision of keeping his kids safe suddenly shatters as he registers the screaming. It's high pitch and frightened, someone young. It's coming from upstairs, just slightly above the rocking and booms of the city.

"Danny! I can't go ghost; you need to help them!"

But his kids-

"Danny, please!" Dani screams, looking up at him with her tiny five-year-old face and the burning protective core in her eyes.

He can't say no to that. With a flick of his wrists, Danny freezes the inside of the shield, encasing it a second time until only a small hole is left. He throws the backpack carrying his other children into his eldest's arms with a command: "Protect your brothers and sisters!"

He had to force himself and reach deep within to grab hold of what little Ectoplasim he had left, but twin rings of lights formed around him, shifting him from human to ghost. He could tell that the transformation wouldn't last. His limit is likely fifty seconds, but that's all the time he needs.

He flies through the hole, going intangible to the rumble and blaze, flying through the crumbling building until he spots a little girl humbled up and crying as the ground breaks underneath her. It feels as if everything slows down as she starts to fall, descending into the flames that burst around her- a bomb had been flung to the house, and it detonated upon impact- and Danny knew that if she hit the ground, she would die.

Danny knew what he had to do.

He would be cutting his transformation time, but it was a sacrifice well made. Phantom pushed everything he had into flying as fast as he could, reaching her just before her feet hit the flames. He curled his arms around her, pressing her to his chest and encasing her small body as best he could with his ice like a hastily made baby carrier. Then, he flung himself backward towards the first floor, where his children were waiting.

His vision started going blurry, and his flying was uneven. Intangibility failed him as rocks and fire slammed into his back. The little girl he rescued was protected from most hits, but he still curved around her, ensuring that if anything went to her, it would need to go through Danny.

They slammed into the shield, his ice retreating long enough for them to phase before the entire building collapsed. Danny hit the ground hard on his side, absorbing most of the impact as best he could for the girl, who was covered in inguires.

"Danny!"

Dani's horrified scream was the last thing he heard when the world faded to black.

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

No. No. No. No. no

Roy ran as fast as he could through the destroyed city, racing towards where his safe house and his daughter once stood. When the reports of Prometheus first arrived, he had known that Star City was among the target places, but when they showed him the map of the areas, his heart fell through his body.

He hadn't stayed for the briefing, had ignored the outraged cries of the heroes, and he knows he just hurt his chances of being in Justice League, but none of that mattered.

Lian needed him!

He heard Dick and Jason not far behind him, likely noticing the same thing on the map, but he could barely think as he leaped over destroyed buildings and rescue crews. He almost had no idea where he was; nothing looked the same, and dust and devastation were everywhere.

Only when he spotted a lump of crumbling wood and rocks he realize this was supposed to be his street. The broken building before him was his house, and it had been wiped from the face of the earth.

"Lian!" The scream that was ripped from him was inhuman, grief-stricken even as he crumbled to his knees, trying to push the wood out of the way to reach his daughter. "Lian! Daddy's coming. Danny's here! Hold on!"

He threw everything out of his way, desperately clawing at the heavier bits, but even as he spoke, his sight was blurry from his tears. Dick and Jason quickly helped him, letting pieces and moving stones with steady but sadness clouded their faces.

He's seen those particular expressions on the Bats before. It was during their search and recovery missions.

They were looking for a corpse.

No. no. no. no. no Please not my little girl

"What is that?!" Jason called out, pointing to a large caved-in roof with a faint green glow. Roy looked up, half numb from everything, to watch Dick and Jason push the roofing off with a grunt of effort.

A dome of glowing ice appeared, and he could make out the three figures inside it. The ice cracked, shattering as Roy stumbled towards it, eyes unfocused.

Then his gaze sharpened when his daughter's tear-covered face turned to him. She held out her hands with a sob, " Daddy!"

"Lian!"

He raced towards her, stumbling over a few steps, but he had his daughter in his arms, warm and safe and, most importantly, alive.

"Daddy, the alien saved me!" Lian said, "He's hurt!"

Roy can bring himself to leave his head from his daughter's hair, but he hears Dick take control, racing over to the alien that was crumbling on the ground.

"Stay away!" a young voice said- which- was the alien a child? He peaked one of his eyes up, only glazing at the sight of a body and a little girl hunched over them in a defensive posture.

"Hey, we mean you no harm. We just want to check on your friend there," Dick tells it.

"He isn't my friend, He' s my dad!"

"That's great. Does he need medical attention?" Jason said, stepping closer only to back away as the girl bared her sharp teeth. "We just want to help."

"You promise you won't hurt him?"

"We promised. He saved someone really important to us."

"You won't hurt my siblings either?"

"If we find them, we won't-

"They're right here with Dad. They just aren't born yet." The girl cuts him off, patting her father's back and the little bag.

Shit. The alien was pregnant? And he risked not only his own health but his unborn children for Lian? Roy doesn't care which side this alien is on, how they got to Earth, or what they planned to do.

He would protect them with their lives.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Cluster of Cores Au #Danny is Dani's Dad #Also he will have seven other kids on the way #Like snake eggs #dimension travel #Danny is nineteen #He saved Lian by accident #Now the arrows love him #Part 1

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bigification · 2 months

Text

Step Daddy

"You really need to get over your stepdad man." My friend tells me, concerned.

"Look, I'll try this one last thing and if it doesn't work then I'll give it up." I respond. "Did you bring the sunglasses?"

"Yes, but just remember he's like 25 years older than you. He's probably not going to be into you, even after this." He says as he hands me a pair of old pilot shades.

I told him I could let it go, but I can't. I'm just putting all my eggs into this basket, the sunglasses. Apparently they're supposed to transform someone who wears them mentally and physically to match my type. He already is my type, but I guess I wouldn't mind him bulking up a bit and growing some hair. It would be sexy if he got more charming, but he's already charming as it is. I guess there's only one way to find out.

I wait on the living room couch watching tv. He always gets home from work at the same time, so I know he'll be here any minute. I sit and stare at my reflection in the glasses. Am I really ready to change this man's life so drastically. My friend said no one else would take notice of the change, so it'll be like nothing happened. As I'm thinking over it, I hear the roar of his engine from the driveway. I try to calm down, but I can feel my body vibrate from the nerves. The door flies open.

"Hey buddy, hows it goin?" He asks me with his hot southern accent.

"Not bad. By the way, I found these sunglasses lying around, and assumed they were yours." I try to play it cool as I lie to his face.

"Oh, thanks. But these aren't mine." He responds.

"Well you might as well keep em, they don't fit me anyway." I try to convince him to take them without seeming too pushy.

"Well alright, thanks kid." He swipes the glasses and throws them on.

That was easier than I thought. As soon as he put them on, he stopped moving. His jaw slacked as if there was not a thought running through his mind. It started slow, his button up started to look a little bit tighter. His once flat chest started to push against his shirt and the shape of a belly started to show. Then it started to speed up. His chest started to pulse, growing in size with each one. They grew until the button on his collar popped off, then another button popped, then another and another. His juicy pecs flopped down after being released from his shirt. His stomach was next. His midsection widened and his stomach grew into a respectable beer belly, straining against his shirt. It wasn't long before more buttons began to pop, until his shirt was completely open. His arms also looked like they doubled in size, filling out his sleeves with thick muscles.

Next his legs start to look like they're gonna burst out of his dress pants. I can hear the rips ripple through his pants as his thighs grow inside of them. His ass fills out all the space in his pants and proceeds to rip open his fly and snap his belt in half. I can tell his underwear is barely staying in one piece as a large bulge formed in between his legs.

Finally his face begins to change. His once skinny face fills out with fat, giving him a rounder look. I can see that hair is falling out of his hat until he is left completely bald under there. Though in return his clean shaven face grows a bushy beard. But the hair doesn't stop there. It continues down his chest and to his belly, and presumably the rest of his body. He finally regains control of his body. He sighs as he stretched out his arms and cracks his knuckles before looking right at me.

"Come here, son." He says in a deep buttery voice.

A shock travels through my spine as I think he might know what I've done to him.

"What'd I say boy!" He raises his voice.

I jump a bit before I walk closer to him. I realize how imposing he is up close. He must have gotten taller because he seems well over six feet tall now, and at least 250 pounds.

"Daddy had a stressful day, why don't you help him release some tension." He says as he pushes me to my knees.

I blush, this is everything I wanted from this, it just happened so much faster than I thought.

"Don't be shy, boy. This will be our little secret." He says as he pulls his underwear down.

#male tf #masculine #fat tf #hairy #reality change #muscle tf #male transformation

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iammattswife · 3 months

Text

20 year olds playing with kids toys (Matt’s daughter joins)

DadMatt DadMatt DadMatt !!!

I haven't written in so fucking long please excuse how terrible this is.

Also I named the daughter Kiara cus I like the name and wanna name my kid that, was literally so close to naming his wife after me.

“This is the Fairy-Corn Princess Surprise, I didn’t think we needed this. This was one of the last things we grabbed but Matt thought we needed it because it has over 35 princess surprises inside” Nick states as he puts the egg-shaped toy down on the counter, prepared to start opening up their first toy.

“Well, I also thought Kiara would like it- she’s been obsessed with fairies recently, figured why not get it for the video then give it to her”

As they’re opening the egg, commenting on the unicorn inside Matt notices something on the instructions paper, excitedly, he gasps. “You can wear the wings!” he exclaims

“Okay hold on this is important- How do you get the wings off!?”

“This is about to get real. Hold on I’m getting Kiara”

“Sweetheart!” Matt can be heard in the background of the camera, calling out for his daughter as he’s walking towards the living room where his 3-year-old daughter is sitting on the carpet having a tea party with her mom, Ella (her soft, adorable, stuffed bear) and Ivy (the family’s cat).

“Hey cutie I have something for you” Kiara jolted up, excitedly, her dad always had the best gifts. She jumped up into his arms, him catching her with ease, used to her liking to be held. She had her legs wrapped around his waist and her face in his neck as he softly rubbed her back with his right hand, holding her up with his left.

He turned around going back to the kitchen but before getting in front of the camera he softly asked, “Are you okay with being in the video baby?” she nodded, excited for what her dad had for her. “You sure? I need words, princess, if you don’t want to be in it, I can show you after we’re done. There’s no pressure I want you to be comfortable”

“I’m sure daddy” she nodded her head to him. “I’m always comfortable with you” she added, making his heart melt and his smile widen, his eyes gleaming with content. “I’m glad baby, want nothing more but for you to be happy and comfortable” he says, kissing her head as he walks towards the counter where his brothers are waiting for him.

Usually, Matt and his brothers would film their Wednesday video earlier in the morning so Kiara would be in preschool at the time. However, she recently fell victim to the flu which resulted in her parents keeping her home for a few days. It was now getting later in the night and Kiara had gotten out of the bathtub a few hours ago, While she was getting dressed in her favourite pyjama set- long sleeve pink top with “princess” written on it with a cute sparkly crown and pants with the same design on the right leg, she had made both her mama and dada promise to have a sleepover in her room that night- as she always does when she’s sick.

Matt was not going to break that promise. So, although it was late, and an hour past the girls' bedtime, they let her stay awake until they finished filming.

“Hey pretty girl” Chris says to Kiara looking at her in Matt’s arms as he sits back down next to him, putting Kiara on his lap. “FAIRY WINGS!” Kiara exclaims, her eyes widening as she looks on the counter quickly snatching them as if a robber was going to come for them.

“Jesus Christ girl no one’s stealing them from you” Nick states as Matt laughs at his daughter’s excitement and possessiveness over the wings.

“You want me to put them on you?”

“Yes! Please I want to be a princess fairy” She quickly replies, dragging out the words. “Alright come on”

Matt grabs her from her hips and sets her up on the counter, her fuzzy socks keeping her warm from the cold. She turns around facing her dad ready for him to put the wings on her, so she could be a real princess fairy, with real fairy wings.

“Arms up” Matt tells her as he sees his wife leaning on the entry to the kitchen, watching her favourite people in amusement.

Kiara quickly puts her arms up causing her shirt to slide up with her- “you’re getting taller baby we need to get you big girl pyjamas” Matt says as he puts her shirt back down knowing the weirdos that are on the internet.

He’s careful with his words, most people would say “bigger” but he did not want his daughter to overthink his wording, even if she was only an innocent 3-year-old unaware of society’s criticism on “bigger” people.

“No I like these want to wear em’ foever’ and ever” she replies, absolutely shocked by the idea of getting rid of her super special perfect princess pyjamas

“We could get you similar ones baby just a size up since you’re growing up- you’ve had those for over a year baby you’re getting older” Matt says as he ties the string of the fairy wings around his daughter's chest, already planning the new pyjamas he’s going to get her.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to tie behind her, isn’t it?”

“Nick it’s wings dude”

“Yeah dude”

They all chuckle at Kiara’s agreement with her uncle Chris.

Matt ties a bow with the strings. “Is that good? Not too tight right?” He asks not wanting the pressure tied around her to hurt his baby girl.

Kiara grabs the stuffed unicorn from the counter hugging it tightly around her chest as she jumps back onto her dad's lap. “Wait Kia here” her mama says handing her the tiara and wand, going to stand behind Matt with her arms on his shoulders “Thankyou mommy, now I’m a true princess fairy” she gleams happily.

“Wait who did we get?” Matt says looking over the paper that came with the toy as he leans back into his wife while another arm is wrapped around his daughter, making sure she doesn’t fall off his lap.

“That’s Ruby”

“That’s clearly Ruby, Matt”

“Is it Ruby?” he says as he looks at the unicorn in his daughter's grip.

“Oh then they want you to collect them all so it’s a scam”

“There’s more? I want them all! Can I have more please?” Kiara asks hopefully giving her dad those eyes that he can never say no to. “I don’t think we can get them all sweetheart, there's too many but we can get another one next time we go to Target” Matt’s wife replies before he manages to, knowing he would’ve said yes and bought her thousands of dollars’ worth of these toys if she didn’t step in.

As the boys look over the next toy Kiara plays around with Ivy in the kitchen, getting bored from the lack of princess toys and wings. She can still hear her dad and uncles talking and looking over toys, when another toy comes up and her dad says, “Oh you got to turn her on” they all erupt in laughter.

She looks up, confused about what’s so funny about turning on a toy so you can play with it. “I meant like on the bottom dude, the actual power button- you guys are sick” Matt says as the laughter calms down, Kiara, confused, asks her dad “What other way would you turn her on?”

“Oh sweetie I think your dad knows plenty of ways to turn a woman on especially your mum” Chris gets slapped in the back of his head. “Don’t say that Chris” Matt says in shock, not wanting to explain to his daughter what they’re talking about. “Why?” Kiara asks, still confused.

“See Kiara when two people love each other very much” Chris starts only to be stopped by Matt once again. “Like my mommy and daddy?” she questions, Chris is unable to answer as Matt’s hands are over his mouth, blocking out his words.

“Exactly like your mommy and daddy”

“Nick!” Matt exclaims in shock.

“I’m confused” Kiara states looking at them annoyed.

“Don’t worry about it baby, Uncle Chris and Uncle Nick are being stupid as usual, ignore them” Matt replies hoping she’ll let it go.

“Do you turn mommy on?” She wonders trying to get to the bottom of this. Loud laughter erupts from the girls’ uncles. “Uhm- well you know when me and mommy kiss?” Matt says to her, trying to get around it without having to lie or keep something from his daughter, after all, it’s a normal thing. As she nods, he continues “Well- It has to do with that, okay? It’s only done when two people are in love and married” Matt is obviously aware that two people do not have to be in love or married to kiss or "turn eachother on" but he didnt want his baby knowing that.

“Oh okay” Kiara replies, pleased with the answer of knowing more about love.

She’s always loved love, especially when it has to do with her parents, she loves knowing they are in love, she loves watching them kiss, laugh and hold each other. She believes she got lucky to have parents so in love.

“Pretend this is my second kid, okay? You guys are uncles again and Kiara has a sibling” Matt says as he starts feeding the toy lamb its bottle.

He starts having déjà vu of when Kiara still drank out of the bottle, he misses those times but is so happy to see her grow up.

He starts to picture himself feeding their second kid, knowing the “pretend” would soon be real as the married couple found out the night before that they’re 6 weeks pregnant and expecting their second. He was so excited and couldn’t wait to start telling people he was going to have another baby, especially couldn’t wait to tell Kiara she was getting a baby sister- or brother, but he secretly wished it would be another girl.

As Matt is playing around with the Barbie doll he and his brothers opened he feels a tug on his pant leg, he looks down and sees his daughter who previously left to go potty back in the kitchen, he notices she has taken off her tiara and tried to tie her hair up, she always had issues with turning the hair tie, but she’s trying hard to learn to do her hair and he’s proud of that. “Yeah baby?” He asked her as he looked down at her as his brothers continued to play with the doll.

“Can you put my hair up please” she mumbles, getting tired.

“Yeah, baby of course” He lifts her, setting her down on his lap

“What do you want sweetie? Ponytail?” He asks her as he starts gently leading her curly hair back and grabbing it all together, untying some strands that got stuck on her fairy wings.

“Can you do a braid please”

“Yep” He replies, gently stroking his hand over her head as he kisses the back of her head, starting to separate the hair pieces for the braid.

He can notice she’s getting tired, it’s well past her bedtime now but what worries him is when he hears a sniffle “Are you okay sweetheart?” he asks in worry that she’s crying as he finishes up the braid. She wipes her nose with her long sleeve “Yeah daddy, just have to blow my nose” Matt sighs in relief, knowing she’s not upset just sick.

He grabs a hair tie from his wrist where he always keeps extras in case she or his wife needs one.

He ties the end of her hair, makeing sure to keep the braid secure.

He grabs a small packet of tissues that he stored in his pants in case she needed to blow, knowing how annoying a runny nose could be, he opens one up for her and holds it in front of her nose as she blows on it, he scrunches it up and puts it away on the counter to throw away later.

Matt continues with the video keeping Kiara snuggled up on his lap as she too starts to play with the Barbie dolls.

Kiara is now softly held in her mom’s arms as she walks back into the kitchen, “Hey you guys almost done? She doesn’t want to sleep without you there Matt”

He looks up, eyes gleaming as he sees his two favourite girls walk in the room “Yeah we’re practically done just have to do the outro” Nick replies as Matt leans closer to his girls, pretending to knock on both of their heads with the toy hammer, making both of them giggle.

“Daddy is like Bob the builder with the belt” Kiara states, laughing at her dad.

“Oh yeah?” Matt replies, starting to tickle her which causes her to laugh and her mom to giggle at them.

Matt grabs her out of her mama's arms and tightly hugs her close to him, grabbing his wife’s hand and pulling her into the hug as well.

“Family hug” he exclaims giggly, as he kisses his daughter's head, then his wife, and pretends to kiss his wife's belly knowing he can’t do that without striking suspicion.

“Also, just in case you guys are wondering we’re not throwing all of this away, my mom’s going to donate it to some little kids she knows” Nick tells the camera.

“Kids in need” Matt adds.

“Except unicorn and wings” Kiara chimes in.

They all laugh at her eagerness for the unicorn and its wings, “Except for the unicorn and its wings, Kiara wants to keep them” Nick adds to his previous statement.

“I want to keep everything, but I can share” The girl adds.

“So kids will have fun with these toys” Nick starts to continue talking directly to the camera but Kiara interrupts.

“Can we give the kids my old toys too? And the ones I don’t play with? I think some of them would like my toys”

“I think some kids will love your toys sweetie” Her mom adds, proud of her daughter for wanting to donate,

“Yeah Kia that’s great”

“That’s so sweet of you Kiara I’m sure they’ll appreciate it”

Matt gleams brightly at his daughter “I’m glad you want to donate Kiara that’s really good” He says proudly

“You’re so sweet and kind” he kisses her cheek.

“Sweetest girl in the world” her mama continues, kissing her other cheek.

Matt leans closer to his wife, pressing a kiss on her lips.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah baby?"

"Did that turn mommy on?" She asks referring to their previous conversation.

Lond laughter erupts from all of the boys.

"What!?" Matt's wife exclaims confused as they all continue laughing

“Okay, we’ll see you guys next Friday!”

“Bye!” Kiara says as she continues to drag out the word, waving goodbye to the camera.

Comments:

Fan1: OMG KIARA!!! MISSED SEEING HER IN VIDEOS

Fan2: came for the triplets, stayed for kiara

Fan3: MATTS SUCH A GOOD DAD?? AND HE KNOWS HOW TO BRAID???

Fan4: the way he holds her and is so gentle with her 😭😭😭 wish i had a dad

Fan5: the facr that he made sure zhe was okay being on camera is so so cute and adorable and hot and sexy

^iammattswife: so real for that comment

Fan6: Need more kiara content please

Fan7: THE TURNING HER ON JOKES LMAOSOO

Fan8: Kiara is so sweet u can tell shes being raised right

Tags: @cindylcuwho @keerahsturn

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo oneshots #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets smut #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick s

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msjaeger · 1 year

Text

Whipped Like A Motherfu- (Older!Damian Wayne x Reader)

Description: The boys never thought it was possible for their youngest brother to have a soft spot for a woman. Or a soft spot in general. So how will they react when they witness their brother being lovey-dovey first-hand?

This was requested by @beatriceshadowmarvel2 so enjoy!!!

The only warning I got for this is that it has explicit language.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian could be hot-headed. And very irritable. Also not to mention annoying at times. Overall he was a complete dick to almost everyone around him. Keyword: Almost. There was one person he would never and could never show any harsh emotions towards. The love of his life, the one he'd die for, the one he'd kill for. You.

The two of you had met during an attempted robbery. But not in the way one would probably assume. It was Damian who was getting robbed, not you. For obvious reasons, Damian could handle himself in these situations. But also for obvious reasons, Damian is the one who usually initiates the attack. It's been a while since he's been jumped out of nowhere. So he was a bit rusty on his reflexes.

You, on the other, had grown up on the rough side of Gotham so you had gotten a headstart on having your reflexes in tip-top shape. At the time of the incident, you had a fresh can of mace. You were walking past when you noticed the man get struck on the back of the head and were taken aback by surprise. On instinct, you reached into your purse and whipped out the black can. Then the rest was history.

That was approximately two years, six months, five weeks, and twenty-two days ago. It was that long ago since Damian realized that he could never love and long someone as much as he did you. But somehow, after all this time, you're finally meeting the infamous Wayne. His family.

And he was not excited.

"Of course, I'm not going to be excited, sweetheart. You didn't have to live with them for eight years of your life and for another two, having to meet up with them for every fucking holiday to exist." Damian scowled as you flipped his eggs onto a plate. He had just entered the kitchen and sat down at the bar of your shared apartment.

You turned around, one hand on your hip and the other lying his plate in front of him.

"C'mon Dami. They can't be that bad if you didn't run away." You offered, running your hands through your boyfriend's messy hair. He picked up his black coffee and muttered:

"Trust me. I tried."

You sighed and kissed his cheek, his freshly shaved jaw still having shaving cream in random areas of his face. "Did your father ever teach you how to shave?" You chuckled, wiping a smidge of cream off his face. You walked out of the kitchen and stood next to him, silently urging him to eat.

He grumbled something Arabic before grabbing your hips and pulling you down to his level. He started rubbing his cheek against yours, which usually you would be fine with. If shaving cream still wasn't on Damian's face.

"Damian! I was finally ready to go and now my makeup is ruined! I think you got some on my sweater, too!" You whined as he let out a laugh. He pulled away and stared into your eyes, his hands on both sides of your face. His green eyes kept observing each little feature you had on your face. The confused posture on your lips. The twitch of your nose as words came out of your mouth but he could only focus on your face.

"You don't need makeup, my love. You don't need anything to change how you look. You're already the most beautiful thing to bless this Earth." Damian said mindlessly, staring into your eyes.

You chuckled, confused about what made Damian come to those words or thoughts. "I'm not too sure what you mean by that, Dami. But I love you as well.". You stood up to your full height and tried removing the shaving cream from your sweater. "But not as much as I love looking presentable for your family so they don't think I'm a South Side junkie." You announced while walking back to your bedroom.

After your little situation was fixed, the two of you left the penthouse and started your thirty-minute journey to Wayne Manor. The drive gave you time to publicise your concerns.

"Dami, what if they think I'm not good enough for you? Or what if they think I'm using you for money? It doesn't help that I'm from the poorest side of Gotham and possibly the entire fucking country. Should I swear in front of them? I know they're all guys and probably swear worse than me but they-" Your rambling was cut off when your boyfriend kissed you right on the lips.

"Damian! You're driving, from the last time I checked. That's how people crash and die from a cell stroke or something." You reprimanded. Damian only chuckled and removed his hand from the wheel of his favorite Corvette.

"One: This is the car that was partnered with Wayne Enterprises to create the first self-driving sports car. It was in Hands-Off mode, sweetheart. Two: You can't die from a cell stroke because there is no such thing. Three: They'll love you I promise. Because if they don't, I can guarantee they will die a slow and pai-".

"That's enough, love. I'll stick to them not liking me." You compromised, knowing it was the best option as you were aware of Damian's threats becoming a reality.

"That's the thing, Y/n. There shouldn't be a reason for them not to like you. You're beautiful, both book and street smart, and the kindest person to ever walk this Earth." Damian was about to continue his rant about how much you were worth when he noticed he was already parked outside the place he too wasn't sure how to feel about.

A part of him wanted to walk in and reminisce on the memories of his youth. The other part of him wanted to drive his car into the side of the house (without you in it, of course), put it in self-destruct mode, and blow the house into pieces.

"I'm gonna fucking kill myself." Damian groaned as he put the car in park. You glanced at him as his face contorted into one of horror as he stared at the now wide-open door.

Four grown men walked out of the door, a prideful aura radiating off them. Damian's eye twitched as he swung the car door open and flicked them off before they even got the chance to utter a word to him. He made his way to your side of the car and opened the door for you.

He reached his hand out to you and helped you out of the car. You readjusted your skirt and reassess your outfit choice.

'Does this make me look like a hooker?' You wondered to yourself as the group approached your boyfriend and yourself.

"Wow. Little demon managed to find a girl that will put up with his attitude. And he... opened the door for her?" The one who you knew was Dick Grayson and your boyfriend's oldest brother. Only because he was on the best terms with Damian that he actually talked about him. But not in the brotherly way people would consider.

"Fucking Grayson. He's always showing off."

"Dick? Just assume the name comes with the job"

"I will not talk to him. Just because he's my brother and helped me out when I was younger doesn't mean I forgot he threw up all over me when he got shitfaced the last time I saw him."

"Guys, don't tell me the spawn of Satan himself actually learned manners and pulled a good-looking chick. I think I'm gonna cry." The one next to Dick wiped fake tears from his eyes. Damian's scowl deepened.

"Here's an idea, Jason. Go fuck yourself." Damian retorted. The new speaker, Jason, rolled his eyes and chuckled. He was the first to approach you formally and stuck his hand out.

"Hey, I'm Jason, Damian's older, hotter, and smarter brother so if he fucks up, you know where to find me," Jason smirked while you shook his hand.

"I'm Y/n. I would gladly take your offer if I didn't know Damian would never fuck up." You replied back, silently wincing at your use of vulgar language.

But instead of sneering at you or commenting your foul language was 'unladylike', Jason howled in laughter and shrugged.

"Offer still stands. Your accent. You grow up on South Side?" He asked, crossing his arms after you dropped his hand. You nervously glanced at Damian, who nodded in affirmation.

"Yep. Born and raised. How'd you figure it out? I'm usually pretty good at hiding it. That and I don't go around at night, begging for a cigarette and three cents in change."

"I'm from there too. At least before Buck-for-Fuck here adopted me. Grew up on Crack row or whatever it's called by the rich." Jason shifted his gaze to his brother. "You got a good one, Demon. You already know how we turn out." He gestured to himself with up and down hand motions.

"It's a good thing she got out before you, then."

"Fuck you, man."

Jason whimpered in fake pain before being shoved out of the way by Dick and the other brother. Dick introduced himself to you in a very formal way, starting it off by kissing your hands.

Damian did not take it well. He pushed Dick's cheek away from your knuckles. "At least ask her first. Don't you have any self-dignity?" Dick frowned but backed off nonetheless. "My bad, little man. I-", the first thing you've picked up from this family is they don't seem to let each other finish as you watched Dick get shoved by his father, who was clearly embarrassed.

You didn't need an introduction from Bruce motherfucking Wayne. 1. He owns the biggest technology company in the world. 2: It's Bruce Wayne. He's probably the one person on the planet who doesn't need to introduce himself. And he knew that too.

But he introduced himself anyways.

"Hello, Y/n. I'm Damian's father, Bruce. I've heard a lot of things about you." Bruce held his hand out as you shook it respectfully. You glanced at Damian, who scoffed at his father.

"All good things I hope, Mr Wayne." Bruce grimaced when you spoke. "Please call me Bruce, dear. Mr Wayne makes me feel as if I was alive when the Civil War was still being considered." Jason snickered before saying, "You probably were. You'd think with the amount of money you earn, you could afford getting rid of those crow's feet." Damian rolled his eyes at his family's antics before pointing at the last brother that wasn't introduced.

"The emo one who hasn't said a word is Tim. He's a bit odd and stays in his room jacking off or playing with Father's computers." Damian wrapped an arm around you as he explained his brother's habits. Tim's face became stoic as Damian shrugged.

"I hope all your stocks drop completely," Tim grumbled, brushing the hair out of his eyes. Damian's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to send a comeback towards his brother before Bruce chuckled nervously.

"Why don't we all go inside and catch up? Also so we don't embarrass ourselves even more in front of Y/n." The boys seemed to all agree and Damian and yourself followed the rest of the family inside.

After settling down inside the manor's living room, Bruce poured you a cup of tea and sat down in between Jason and Dick, Tim sat on the floor, and Damian and yourself sat on the couch.

"So Y/n. Tell us more about yourself. You didn't seem to have any time to do to certain people in the family. You said you were from South Side, right?" Jason clapped his hands and hollered. Bruce gave him a nasty side-eye while Dick slapped his chest.

"I think the more important question is... how the fuck someone like Damian ended up with a sweet little angel like yourself," Tim spoke while drinking something that obviously wasn't tea. Your boyfriend's frown deepened.

"I wouldn't call her a little angel, Timmy. We met because she maced a guy trying to rob me." Jason jumped out of his seat and started a handshake that was created for South Siders to identify each other with. Surprisingly, you still remember the whole thing.

"That's what I'm fucking talking about! You make everyone who still lives in Shitville proud!" Damian pushed Jason back into his seat before pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Please refrain from tainting her with your filthy hands." Damian had little spurts where he would switch from casually talking to someone to as if he was talking to the president. Of course, Jason had a knack for making fun of it.

"My dearest apologies, my lord. May I offer my condolences for my idiotic acts?" Jason bowed from his seat.

"Okay, we can try this again. Please don't fucking touch her with your nasty ass hands that we all know you 'forget' to wash. The next time any one of you touches her without her permission, I'll be sure the Lazarus pit can't bring you back to life." Damian snapped. It suddenly became quiet despite the conversation being between two people.

Although it was only two sentences, it was enough to leave the family of undercover heroes speechless. Not about the fact that the youngest member snapped at them. No, they've gotten used to that.

It's the fact he snapped at them over a girl, let alone anyone else in general.

Jason's jaw was slacked and his eyes were wide in surprise. Tim had lost all his secret stash of alcohol as he not only spit out the liquor in his mouth but his water bottle dropped onto the shiny floors. Dick's face was stoic as he processed the fact that his baby brother could actually care about someone as much as he cared about himself. Maybe more.

Bruce's expression was possibly the hardest not to laugh at. His eyes were wide, an eyebrow was arched, and overall just looked weirded out.

Damian groaned in irritation and his fingers twitched in annoyance. He tapped your thigh a few times and stood up with your hand in his. "We're gonna head to my room and sleep off the bullshit from today. Don't bother us." Damian dragged you along like a lost puppy up one of the many staircases throughout the mansion and disappeared behind the thick walls of the hall. Not before hearing:

"Use protection, please! We don't need any more demon spawns running around when we have Damian and Jason!" "Fuck you, Bruce!"

Bonus:

You laid on Damian's bare chest, his pecs acting like a pillow for your head. Your legs intertwined with his and your hands were in the pockets of his black sweatpants.

You were fast asleep, the warmth from his upper body acting as a sedative for comfort. But Damian wasn't asleep. He couldn't fall asleep. Not while admiring the beautiful soul on his chest.

He ran his calloused fingers through your hair, dismissing the tangles in your hair by prying his fingers apart at the ends of each strand. He knew you'd be pissed about the sudden frizziness when you woke up but he didn't care. Not when he'd at least hear your voice.

"Words cannot describe how much I love you, Y/n. You saved me more than the day we met with your can of mace. You changed me and I will always be grateful for your love and affection towards someone like me." He whispered into your ear. He kept whispering poetic words into your sleeping ears. He suddenly stopped when he heard a creak from the corner of the room.

His vision sharpened to see into the darkness of his old room and immediately reached over to his nightstand and switched his lamp on. It illuminated the room just enough to see his family in the corner of his room, recording the scene in front of them.

Damian wrapped his arms around your waist and gave the nastiest glare possible towards the boys. Tim was about to say something, maybe lighten up the approaching argument but Damian brought a finger up to his pursed lips.

"If you wake her up, I will play tic-tac-toe on your throats with my katana." He blankly threatened.

Dick realized there wasn't any bluffing behind his brother's threat, as he had doubted threats from Damian before and that's how he ended up with thumbtacks in his ass and tried to escape the impending doom.

Jason, on the other hand, wanted to see the world burn and tripped his older brother, causing him to trip and eat shit. A thud echoed throughout the room, causing you to stir in your sleep.

"Dami? What was that?" A dagger was whipped out of the nightstand and held by Damian in a way with the intent to throw it at an unsuspecting victim. "Nothing, sweetheart. Just go back to sleep, okay beautiful?" You drifted back to sleep as if under a spell, your hands now on his defined chest.

There was a brief moment of silence that gave Damian time to admire the love of his life. That was until Jason decided to open his mouth.

"Dude, you're whipped like a motherfu-"

A knife flew across the room and landed right next to Jason's head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is the first thing I've written in almost a year so lmk if it's ass or gas. BUT KEEP SENDING IN REQUESTS I LOVE HEARING OTHER PEOPLE'S IDEAS!!!

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #dick grayson #dc x reader #older!damian wayne x reader #damian fluff #protective damian wayne #im gonna bomb myself

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starryeyedjanai · 4 months

Text

@steddieholidaydrabbles valentine's day prompt | read on ao3 tags: established relationship, fluff

“Wait, how is it possible that you’ve never had a Valentine’s Day date?” Eddie asks. “You literally dated Nancy for almost a year.”

Steve shrugs. “She was sick that week. I had something planned, but had to cancel. I brought her soup and stayed with her for a little while, but it wasn't really the date I had hoped for, you know?”

In the nine months he and Steve have been dating, Steve has gotten better about asking for what he wants, but he still gets weird about some things though. So Eddie knows he’s bringing this up a couple weeks before Valentine’s Day for a reason—that even though he can’t really say it, he wants to have Valentine’s Day plans with Eddie.

So Eddie starts planning.

His plan starts with breakfast in bed because he doesn't want to take away from whatever Steve’s got planned for dinner — he knows Steve will probably plan something romantic for that.

His suspicions about that are proven right when Steve not so casually asks at the beginning of the week if he has “dinner plans on Saturday” as if Eddie won’t remember that’s the 14th. He plays along and says he doesn't have any plans yet, watching as Steve tries to hide his small smile behind his hand. He’s so fucking cute.

On Valentine’s Day, Eddie wakes up earlier than he has since he graduated high school and makes his way over to Steve's with his supplies.

He lets himself into the house with the key Steve had given him a few months ago and gets to work quietly making breakfast.

He mixes the waffle mix before he puts a pot of coffee on, fiddling with the coffee machine that he’s only used a few times because Steve tends to wake up before him and already have it brewed.

He hums quietly to himself as he cooks the bacon and eggs, the waffles cooking away in the waffle iron.

When the food is done, he grabs the tray he brought with him and arranges flower petals around the plate. He turns to grab a coffee mug and nearly has a heart attack at the sight of Steve leaning against the archway leading into the kitchen.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asks, watching as Steve starts to walk forward towards him.

“A few minutes. I woke up and heard something and figured you must be down here,” Steve says, coming to a stop right in front of Eddie. He’s smiling softly and his eyes are fond and happy and Eddie gets lost in them for a moment before he remembers—

“Wait, no, go back to bed! This is supposed to be breakfast in bed!”

Steve brings a hand up to push Eddie's hair out of his face and cup his neck. He says, “Breakfast in bed is a really sweet idea, but I don't think I could handle the crumbs,” and Eddie groans.

He forgot how much of a stickler Steve is for not having food in his room. “I wanted to be romantic!” he whines, sticking his bottom lip out. Steve swoops in and kisses it softly.

“It was very romantic to wake up to the smell of coffee and come down here to see you singing and cooking me breakfast,” he says, thumb stroking over Eddie's cheek.

Eddie leans into the touch and says, “Go sit at the table and I’ll bring it to you. At least let me have that.”

Steve smiles wider and says, “Okay, love.”

Eddie pours them both a cup of coffee, adding sugar and cream to Steve's, repeating what he’s seen him do countless mornings, before he finishes plating the food.

He grabs the tray and his own plate and brings them to the dining room, setting the tray in front of Steve.

He’s about to go sit in the chair next to him when Steve pulls him into his lap.

Eddie laughs and turns in his lap so he’s sitting sideways and not blocking the food.

“You shaped the eggs like hearts,” Steve says, looking up at Eddie.

Eddie sets his plate down on the table and kisses Steve, soft and slow.

“I think this is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me,” Steve says when he pulls back. His eyes are shining a little.

“You deserve romantic things,” Eddie says, kissing Steve's temple. “You deserve all the romantic things, in fact. I have a whole day of romantic things planned just for you.”

“The whole day?” Steve asks, surprised.

“What, did you think I’d feed you breakfast and then just leave you alone the rest of the day?” Eddie asks with a playful scoff. “We’re gonna eat breakfast and then we’re gonna watch the cheesy romantic comedy I rented. Then we’re gonna go to Lover’s Lake and have a picnic in the back of my van. Then we’ll come back here and I’ll let you have your way with me before you whisk me off to whatever dinner plans you made.”

Steve has the nerve to look caught out at that last bit. “You knew?” he asks, mouth pulled into a cringing smile.

“I know you, darling,” Eddie says, grinning at him. “You’re a romantic.”

“This is going to be the best Valentine’s Day ever, spending the entire day doing what you planned,” Steve says, nuzzling his nose against Eddie’s jaw. “But I hope you know I’m gonna woo you tonight. Sweep you off your feet.”

“Oh, are you now? How do you plan on doing that?” Eddie asks.

“It’s a surprise,” Steve says, voice teasing. He picks up his fork to start eating.

Eddie hums. “No thoughts about the having your way with me part of my plan?”

“Oh I have thoughts. Many, many thoughts,” Steve says, leaning up and pressing a kiss to Eddie's jaw. “I’ll try not to wear you out before dinner.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m holding you to that, big boy.”

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #steddieholidaydrabbles #janai.doc

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cherryredstars · 6 months

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Miguel/Reader request:Recently Miguel is experiencing a lot of pain,stress,his serum was losing effectiveness and his spider were more stronger to the point he transformed into a monster,a man spider:a 15 feet tall creature,full of fur,six clawed arms,hindlegs,spikes,fangs,many eyes and pinchers.One night Miguel was really struggling so y/n decides to “help” (there’s consent from both even if Miguel is a bit scared about it since he’s afraid of hurting her and he transforms while doing it)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Blood, Penetrative Sex, Internal Vaginal Ripping, Sedation, Mating, Mentions of Breeding, Mentions of Reader Developing a Spider Egg Sac, Spiders… Miguel Turning into a Big Spider and Having Monster Sex with You????

Summary: A not so itsy bitsy spider…

A/N: This was requested all the way in October… I am so sorry. And I am so sorry for the warnings.

Word Count: 1.1K (Unedited)

It had to be a miscalculation of something.

Maybe the wrong measurements, a switch in chemicals, perhaps some lab equipment in need of replacing. He refuses, absolutely refuses, to believe it is because his body has begun to form a tolerance of the neon chemical. That instead of sedating him, it’s making him stronger. It has been stressing him the fuck out. Everything has been stressing him out. Rapture, the multiverse, Miles Morales, Peter B. Parker. There is only so much a single man can take.

And you know that. The woman of his dreams and the miracle cure to all his problems. You, you, you. You were so sweet to him, leading him to the bedroom the moment he returned from HQ. Your small hand grasped his as you collapsed on the bed and pulled him on top of you.

“Let me take care of you, Miggy”, you had whispered into his ear. “Let me help you get rid of all that stress.”

How could he say no to that? How could he ever say no to you?

And it was fine. It was going good. His mind was empty and all he could think about was the way you squirmed under him. How good you were at taking his deep thrusts. How easily you were giving him the sweetest mewls. He was hyper focused on the way you moaned into his neck and your fingers tangled into his hair for dear life. Your skin was soft and warm and pliable under him, denting under his fingers and sure to leave bruises in the morning. Your hot cunt clenched and fluttered around his cock, making him moan out.

And then he felt it: a sharp prickling running down his spine. It burned red hot, shooting pain along all of his nerve endings. It felt like his skin was splitting open and expanding, like something was trying to crawl out of him. And it was. He let out a roar of pain, his thrusts slowing. Hair started to pierce through his skin, sprouting from his neck and down his back. The hair on his arms, legs, and chest expanded and thickened. His joints and muscles popped and rolled as they began to take a new shape and stretch. His skin began to give away to an ugly black that grew larger and swelled. His mouth has split open as his fangs elongated and pinchers began to sprout from his face. His eyes began to sting, his vision doubling, then tripling, and quadrupling. His eyes looked around frantically, watching as his field of vision dented and widened, now painted in a reddish tint. It started to grow more distant as his body began to lift, his back arching as it hit the ceiling.

Arms, legs, began to sprout from his ribs, sharp and spiky as they punctured the mattress around you. The hands on your body began to grow claws that punctured your skin, making you cry out as the smell of copper filled the air. His cock was the last to change, swelling and thickening. The sounds of your panicked screams echoed in his heightened senses, the smell of blood growing strong as his abnormal cock split you open from the inside in a way that was impossible. Your walls tore in an effort to accommodate him, and you tried to pry yourself off of him as the pain grew stronger. It only served for his morphed claws to dig deeper into your skin and you sobbed heavily. The sounds of your desperate pleas for help and terrified screams echoed in Miguel’s head. He tried to comfort you, apologize, but his words were only inhuman gargles.

An instinctive surge coursed through his body, his cock throbbing in a need to mate you. The need to have your stomach swell with spider eggs and create the perfect egg sac. He can’t do that if you’re trying to escape and if you’re in pain.

He leans his face closer to you, making you sob harder and turn away. It provided the perfect access to your neck. His fangs grazed the skin, before he sunk them in. You let out a muffled scream, your body quickly began to sag as the sedative chemical began to fill your bloodstream and make you sleep. Your eyes began to flutter, your mind trying to fight the drowsiness and failing. In a few seconds, your body completely relaxed onto the bed with your eyes closed and erratic breathing turning soft.

When the sedation wears off, when he turns back, he will cuddle up to you. When you wake up and look around frantically in fear, he will pretend to wake up and reassure you it was only a dream. A horrible nightmare sprung from your wild imagination. But for now, he ruts into you, his bulbous tip smashing against your cervix and jolting your body upwards on the bed. His movements are frantic and slightly disoriented as he tries to maneuver in his new form. Your walls are impossibly tight around him, glued to his length and almost refusing to let him go. It brought him closer to the edge, and with a few sharp thrusts he began to spill into you.

It surged out of you, overflowing from the edges of your hole in a creamy light pink as it mixed with your blood. When the blood washed out, it began to run a pure white. It soaked into the sheets and began to form a puddle. Then, Miguel’s body began to shift again. All the new additions receded back into his frame until he collapsed on top of your body. He was breathing heavily, his body readjusting to his human form. He groaned softly when he pulled out of you, and a panic welled in his chest.

He needs to fix this before you wake up.

He frantically got off of you, moving your unconscious body higher up on the bed so he can remove the sheets. He scours the closet you keep the linens in, picking out the one most similar to the old sheets. He doesn’t have time to go out and buy a new mattress, instead ripping up the cum and blood stained sheets and stuffing the fabric in the holes as a temporary solution and then covering it up with the new sheets. He cleans you up, amazed when the puncture wounds on your body have disappeared, only leaving the crusted trails of blood and discoloration. He can only hope your vaginal walls have repaired themselves and you only have an uncomfortable stretch between your legs.

When everything looks normal, he tucks you in and crawls in beside you. He holds you tightly to his chest, breathing in your scent and squeezing his eyes shut.

It was only a dream, he begins to practice in his head. Just a dream.

This felt like a fever dream to write. I can not explain to you the way I was laughing and ripping at my hair in bizarre astonishment as I typed this shit out LMAO.

Like ‘Internal Vaginal Ripping’ and ‘Mentions of Reader Developing a Spider Egg Sac’??? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

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