#my writing
lotusatoru · 1 day
the men of jjk's favorite kinds of sex
cw: rough sex, hatefucking, fluffy nanami, dirty talk, size difference kink, unprotected sex, creampies, oral f receiving, period sex, asshole!toji, breeding kink, 18+
kento nanami sees his time away from you as a blessing in disguise when he knows reunion sex is waiting for him when he gets home.
more often than not, he's draped all over you before you even realize he's home, nosing your ear as you cook at the stove or pulling you into his lap to squeeze you to death in his embrace. he missed you—god, he missed you, and he has every intention of showing you just how fiercely he did.
"baby," he'll murmur as he kisses your face, "missed you so much."
and you can't even get a word out, ask him how he's been, how his time away was, cuz he's already nuzzling into you and mouthing his way down your chest, over your stomach—you know where this is going. he'll have you spread out and begging before he even gets the chance to catch you up on what you missed.
he looks bleary and drunk when he finally pushes into you, cock twitching, jaw slack, hips stuttering—yup, he just came inside you from that single pulse of your cunt when he sheathed himself inside your wet heat. what? he really missed you.
toji fushiguro's favorite kind of sex is any time you relent and let him in you raw <3
he can be an asshole (established!) about it, about how he'll pull out, y'think I can afford another kid, baby? and is staunchly against condoms (but he'll wear them if you insist), so he's constantly bothering you about going without.
you rarely do—you know it's unsafe, because every time you do, he's got you spread out and so drunk on his cock bullying your walls that you only dig your nails into his back as he starts to grunt into your throat about how good it feels, how good you are and that he can't last like this.
"fuck, baby—can't pull out of this pussy, shit," he groans, balls sticky as they kiss your ass. he's not slowing down—instead, he's set a brutal pace as he careens toward climaxing. "'m gonna breed this pussy, baby. gonna fill you up—you want that, don't you?"
of course you don't say no—you never say no when he's balls deep inside you, thick head rearranging your insides, making you dizzy. your mouth hangs agape, whimpers broken and defeated as you squeeze around him.
his apologies are empty after, of course, because by now, you know the drill.
he's a gentleman, though—promises to pay for your morning after pill, then sinks back inside you to do it again :>
suguru geto would be nothing without morning sex. the warm intimacy of it—how the sun lights up your skin and illuminates your bed hair, wrapping you in a halo. he'll only initiate on the mornings you both have free—it's the one thing he just won't rush. it's always quiet and wordless, soft laughter and dark, peering eyes and your lips brushing in passing.
he's not the most vulnerable man, so it's like catching sight of magic when he's drowsily blinking awake, fingers combing lazily through his tangles.
when he awakens, he'll start to nudge his hips against your thigh and his nose into your neck, pulling you into his cozy side, waiting for you to reciprocate.
the pace is sleepy and serene—he'll spend forever between your legs, waking up your senses, kissing your wetness and soothing the ache with his tongue, and when you finally drag him up, the sheets spilling from him as he leans over you, his dick is leaking and hard, tip sticky from the way he was grinding into the duvet. constant murmurs of how much he loves you—it's all you hear against your ear as his languid thrusts push into you, length buried deep inside you.
usually has a tight grip on his life, on his surroundings and environment, but he'll let go here, in the hazy mornings, with you.
don't worry about pissing satoru gojo off, he loves the challenge of hatefucking you into submission (or vice versa) :33
giving him the silent treatment after a little spat? leaving him on delivered and ignoring the little stickers he sends you because you two argued the other night? perfect! now he gets to start a really explosive fight that ends with you on your stomach, his thighs caging your hips as he pounds you in prone.
he gets filthy and acts like such an ass when he has you like this—eating your words and whimpering pathetically into the mattress. you can just hear the smug grin on his lips when he breathes into your ear, tongue peeking out to tease the shell.
"you can't still be mad, baby, right? how can you stand being mad at me? 'm always so good to you, aren't I?" he just laughs when you clench around his stupidly big cock as his stupidly big hands cover your own. "see? knew you weren't mad. listen to how happy she is to see me. she missed me."
she being your pussy—the one backstabbing you right now, squelching and weeping wet, tacky arousal as his shaft fills you. she did miss him—but does he have to be so smarmy about it? it's unfair, too, because no matter what you do, he wins.
like when you make him beg and plead for your forgiveness, his knees between your spread legs, blue puppy eyes glassy as his cock drools all over the floor </3 such a poor boy, the things you do to him when he wants to make your life difficult, like opening your thighs without letting him have a taste of you.
"let me taste you, please," he'll beg; a tall, strong archetype rendered helpless (loser is the word for what he becomes when you tease him :3) "I'll be good, promise, baby, please—"
it's torture for him, but he loves it—loves being the brat who got put in his place, the mighty, powerful one who got beaten down a peg or ten c: even if it means there's a puddle on the ground because he's been an asshole and isn't allowed to touch himself while he eats you out (he lives for these punishments) (this is why you just can't win).
call choso kamo your little vampire 'cause he loves period sex—a lot lot.
when he was first learning the ropes of decent society and humanity with you when it came to sex, he stared at you like a sad, lost pup when you told him period sex was taboo, that most men don't find it very pleasant, and besides, lots of women are too uncomfortable to even think about it when they're menstruating. it's endearing, how crestfallen he looks, because your blood smells like a dream, mouthwatering and delicate.
emphasis on learning the ropes. he still is—it's hard for him to assimilate, which means, most importantly, ignoring his base urges. be patient, he's really trying, and he couldn't help himself the morning he woke up to stained sheets and your bloody center, undisturbed and oozing.
his feelings were confusing—is his dick supposed to tingle at the sight of this? does that happen to humans? he knows they like being licked and kissed there—knows he likes it and you do, too. is it so different when you're bleeding, then?
yes, for you, but not for him—so when you wake up all slick and head full of fuzz, a warm, sloppy mouth urgently lapping at your clit, you nearly faint at the sight of choso's dripping chin and blown pupils.
"choso!" you squeak, trying to snap your legs shut, but his palms have you anchored in his death grip, his lids and lashes low as he drags his tongue right up your slit. "that's my—"
he grumbles against your folds like a little monster when you weakly jerk again—the sight is borderline ridiculous. you aren't sure if you should drown in the feeling of being completely debauched, or laugh at his glazed stare.
but—it feels good. really, really good, and he's making noises and humping your blankets like he never has before, and—
you're not scared of a little blood, are you?
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drabbles-mc · 2 days
Lucky For You
Tyler Owens x F!Reader
Warnings: 18+, fluff, mentions of hospitals/injuries, no use of "y/n"
Word Count: 1.4k
A/N: earlier tonight i lied to myself and said i wouldn't work on any new oneshots until i finished a wip. but I've been marinating on this idea since last week and i just had to write it down. just a short cute little fluffy somethin'! my first twisters fic. hope you enjoy!
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You were shaking your head as you walked back over to the side of the picnic table that Tyler was sitting at. You had a beer bottle in one hand, the other resting on Tyler’s shoulder as you stepped in so you could plop back down beside him at the table.
“I’m still trying to figure out what you guys told Lily to say,” you gestured to Lily then Kate with the bottom of your beer bottle before taking a quick sip, “to get Kate to cave so quickly.” You gave Lily a playful smile. “What’d you say to convince her? Hm? ‘Cause lord knows it wasn’t either of these two,” you said as you nodded to Tyler first, then Boone.
Both men looked at you with dramatic looks of offense. “What?” Tyler asked, grin starting to curl his lips as he spoke. “You don’t think we were charming or convincing enough on our own?”
You rolled your eyes as he draped his arm around you. “No, I don’t.”
It got another wave of laughter. Tyler took the momentary distraction as an opportunity to lean in and kiss your temple. “Seemed to work just fine on you.” He reached across and stole your beer bottle from you, taking a sip before allowing you to snatch it back. “And you said yes to a way more dangerous proposition.”
You shook your head even though you were smiling, even though you could feel your cheeks warming. It was no great secret, or even breaking news at this point after the last few years you’d spent married to the ridiculous man sitting on the picnic table bench next to you. Sometimes, though, you couldn’t help the cheesy grin that crossed your face when you became a little more aware than usual of the wedding band on your hand.
“That’s different,” you said, not that it mattered, not that it helped your case at all as Tyler continued to nettle you good-naturedly.
“How’d you two meet, anyway?” Kate asked.
It was a fair question. You didn’t chase with the rest of them, never had. You’d met and fallen in love with Tyler before he decided to make a career out of it. The journey wasn’t always a smooth or easy one, but you never doubted him, or your relationship, not even for a second. Even in the hard times. A lot can happen over the course of six years, but you still clearly remembered when you first met him.
Tyler had started watching you the second he realized where Kate’s question was going. He watched the little twitches and shifts of your hands and facial expressions as you went rapid-fire back down memory lane. When you ended up with a little smirk on your face, he knew that you were all too happy to tell the story.
You took another drink from your beer bottle before just handing it back to Tyler, rather than trying to make him steal it again. “When I met Tyler, I’d say about, oh, seventy percent? Yeah, seventy. About seventy percent of his face was covered in bruises and bumps. Fractured cheekbone, split lip.” You turned and looked at him even though you were talking to Kate. “He was lookin’ real cute.”
She laughed, but you could see the mild confusion in her eyes as she looked back and forth between the two of you. “You find him after a rough chase, or…?”
You smiled and shook your head. “We met back before he was the infamous Tornado Wrangler.” Leaning forward, you braced your arms flat on the picnic table, Tyler’s hand sliding from your shoulder down to the center of your back, his palm warming you through your tank top. “They brought him to the hospital that I work at after he got stomped out by a bull at the rodeo.” You felt his fingers drumming against your back and your smile stretched a little wider. “I wasn’t even supposed to be checkin’ in on anyone in the wing he was in, but the nurse who was supposed to help discharge him had to leave.”
Tyler had a cocky little smirk on his face. “Lucky for you though.”
You gave him a look that didn’t pack nearly as much of a punch as it should of since you were grinning. “Yeah, real lucky for me that Jay’s kid got in a fight at school so he had to leave and he left you to me.”
Tyler laughed. “He was cute but I gotta say, I think you’re a little cuter.”
You gave him a playful shove, which he responded to by looping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer again. You shook his head at him before looking back at Kate. “Anyway, as I was saying. I go into his room to talk through some of the paperwork with him, and with one eye practically swollen shut still this man right here is tryin’ to get my number.”
“Actually, if I remember right—”
“You were concussed into next Tuesday—I doubt you remember much of anything right.”
“If I remember,” he repeated with a laugh, “I was actually tellin’ you that you should just jot my number down from my patient forms so you could call me sometime.”
You looked at Kate with a feigned nonplussed look. “Told me somethin’ about making a ‘house call’. Real bold for a man who was about half an inch away from some serious brain damage.”
“Probably what gave him the confidence to ask in the first place,” Lily piped up with a laugh.
Everyone was laughing, and listening. Kate might’ve been the only one in present company who hadn’t heard the story before, but it wasn’t as though it was something that the two of you were constantly rehashing all the time. The two of you usually kept the retellings amusing enough anyway, allowing the rest of the crew to throw in their two cents even though they hadn’t been there when it all started. After all, Tyler might’ve been the one you met first, and under some pretty dire conditions, but you’d been around to help out the rest of the team plenty of times since then. Whether you were making sure they were all alright after a rough chase, or meeting up with them in the towns that had been blown through to see who you could help even if you weren’t off the clock. You might not have chased with the rest of them, but you were still part of the team.
“How long did it take for him to wear you down, then?” Kate asked.
 The shit-eating grin on Tyler’s face grew tenfold. He lightly bumped his shoulder against yours. “Go ahead. Tell her.”
You dropped your forehead so that it rested on top of your forearms for a moment before looking up and at Kate again. “I gave him my number after I pushed him to the lobby in his wheel chair.”
“Doctor’s orders, by the way,” he interjected with a shake of his head. “I didn’t need it.”
You rolled your eyes but kept going. “He was pretty persistent the whole way down, so I told him if he still remembered my name and number by the time his fractures all healed up, I’d meet him for a cup of coffee or somethin’.”
“Cup of coffee ended up bein’ a split six-pack and a failed bonfire at her cousin’s place, by the way,” he added on with a chuckle.
“Yeah, and your lip still wasn’t fully healed.”
He smirked. “Didn’t stop you though.” You lightly swatted his chest with the back of your hand but you didn’t say anything to refute his statement. “So really, what I’m hearin’, is that you shouldn’t be havin’ any doubts about our charms.”
“Sayin’ yes to a date is nothing like—”
“You also said yes to marryin’ him,” Lily added on, always happy to stir the pot just a little. “Y’know, with the ring that he almost lost in a chase.”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “If I left it at home I was sure she’d find it!”
“Yeah,” Lily laughed as she argued, “and if the chase went wrong somebody on the other end of the county would find it. Then what?”
Tyler laughed and shrugged. “Corner store sells Ring Pops.”
You had no shot at tamping down your smile. “Prob’ly still would’ve said yes, too.”
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(divider by @saradika 💞)
Twisters Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added to any of my taglists): @garbinge
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adhd-coyote · 2 days
“General Kenobi, you claim an assassin killed the Chancellor?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, neither I nor Commander Fox saw them, as they used a flash bomb to disorient us and fled too quickly for us to follow.”
“And where, exactly, did they flee? No one reported seeing anyone leave this office.”
“Why, they fled through the broken window, of course.”
“What broken window?”
“That one.” Kenobi points. The previously intact window shatters, as if hit by a very strong invisible force. Neither Kenobi nor the Marshal Commander so much as twitch.
“Are you alright, sir?” Commander Fox asks, all concern. “You must be very tired, if you didn’t notice the clearly broken window. You should go rest. It’s okay, General Kenobi and I can take it from here.”
“Yes,” Kenobi agrees, prim and proper. He raises a hand, fingers slightly curled, and his voice takes on a different note. “Go home and take a nice, long nap. This will all be handled by the time you wake.”
“I will go home and take a nice, long nap. This will all be handled by the time I wake.”
“Very good. Have a nice evening.”
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doomsdaybby · 2 days
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to end up with you. steve harrington x fem!reader. (2.6k words) just realising that I don't think I EVER posted this????!!! from wayyyyyyy back in the depths of google docs.
summary: waking up tangled in bed with steve was a new situation you never, ever, thought you’d find yourself in. cw: new relationship/honeymoon phase, inexperienced!reader, a lil bit smutty towards the end
You could safely say that your favourite thing about your newfound relationship with Steve Harrington, was waking up next to him in the morning. 
As cliché and vomit-inducing as it sounds, there was no better feeling in the world. Nothing. Even though you had to admit - freshman year you would beat the absolute shit out of present you if they could gaze into the future, curled shamelessly up in bed with Steve ‘The King’ Harrington. 
Of course there were the drives; Steve tapping away at the steering wheel and failing to keep his eyes on the road as you sang your heart out to his array of cassettes - from Abba, to Queen, to Duran Duran - he marvelled the way your eyes sparkled and how you would peer at him through thick lashes with unequivocal adoration. 
Kisses under the stars on the hood of his BMW, picnic blankets in the blooming spring, and countless movie nights where you would steal his popcorn and he would pretend to be annoyed about it. 
All of it seemed so minuscule compared to his soft breath fanning the nape of your neck, plush parted lips nestling at your collar bone, wild strands of hair tickling the tip of your nose. 
You fell head over heels for Steve rather quickly, absolutely done for the first time you walked into Scoops Ahoy only to be greeted by him wearing that downright ridiculous sailor uniform. The uniform that hugged every single pretty little place just right. 
He had been idly leaning over the counter, head propped lazily in one hand as he stared at the other spinning an ice-cream scoop on its head. “Pretty girl, 12 o’clock” you heard your friend Robin hiss at him from the window behind, and the boy would have surely leapt across the expanse of the counter if he straightened up any quicker. 
A clear of the throat and he plastered on that signature smirk you only had the pleasure to be on the receiving end of once before. The sophomore year spring ball to be exact; your mothers sapphire blue dress clinging to your waist in every way you hated, ruched sleeves drooping over your shoulders, neckline cut scandalously low down for a high school dance. 
Maybe it was because that dress gave away everything you didn’t want, having eyes that never paid attention to you before superglued to your figure, that Steve Harrington actually noticed you for the first time. 
Not a word was said, not once did he try to strike up a conversation or woo you with an overused pick up line that the whole of Hawkins had heard before, but the smirk across the dance floor was enough, and your heart fizzled and sparked like fireworks on the fourth of July.
You despised it then, but the look he shot your way appeared softer this time around. Maybe it was the ridiculous uniform that made him present like a little lost puppy, or how you noticed his eyes swimming with the ‘I definitely know who you are but I'm not going to address it’ look. 
“Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavour with me? I’ll be your captain. I’m Steve Harrington”, words as sweet as caramelized sugar. He flipped the scoop in his hand only to fumble when it hit his fingertips at the wrong angle, the offensive clang of metal on metal made your nose scrunch. 
But little did he know, Steve had you pinned. Completely enamored in every way you wish you never would be, pinched by the collar between his fingers. 
“I know who you are” you snickered through your fingers, not wanting to embarrass the poor boy anymore as he just dive-bombed his attempt to be suave. His cheeks stippled the lightest dusting of pink, growing disgruntled when Robin didn’t hold back on the overboard cackles and chastising. 
Your first kiss happened exactly one month after that, parked up outside your house after a late showing of ‘Back to the Future’, third date pocketed and he had only done so much as kiss your cheek. You liked who Steve Harrington blossomed into, you liked him a lot. 
The realisation came that even during those high school years, where someone like Steve would never give you the time of day, he had always been a sappy lovesick little puppy. The years of babysitting and near enough mothering had stripped the cool guy illusion, and thank every higher power that they did. 
Because Steve Harrington had only ever wanted to be loved, and you were grateful to be the one he welcomed with open arms. 
You would always remember that first morning waking up to him, fearing that you may never be able to wake up alone again. If your parents knew you were at Steve’s rather than Robin’s like you’d told them, they would have moved states before letting you see him again. As sleeping over at a new boyfriend's house could only mean one thing, right? 
But even three months in, Steve never once touched you unless you made it clear it was okay. He never pressured, or reprimanded. Neither did he break up with you as you had expected, having the knowledge burnt into your brain that he certainly got around. 
But you weren’t just a new conquest or a summer love affair. His heart had never beat quite as fast as it did when he was with you, and he made every effort to show you just how much you meant to him. 
The affection trickled in at first, keeping you at arms length whilst you were still figuring each other out. But soon the outpouring of love came in tidal waves, and you quickly realised that Steve’s love language was absolutely physical touch. 
Whether it be a safety net of a hand at the small of your back, fingers delicately intertwined with yours, a gentle hand roaming through your hair, or a pinky finger rooted through your belt loops - he was always there. 
Right on queue, Steve shifted in his sleep beside you, pressing his face further into the crook of your neck and gripping you at the ribs just that little bit tighter. You placed a small kiss to the crown of his head, and he smiled, a lazy grin painting his charming features. 
“Morning handsome,” you mumbled into his mess of hair, and Steve speckled that small sliver of collarbone with what felt like a million tiny pecks. He hummed against your warm skin, pulling the arm back that was fastened underneath your ribcage so he could snake it beneath your t-shirt. 
His touch travelled over the soft plush of your belly, fingertips barely tracing your skin, settling right at the base of the valley of your bare breasts. You bit the inside of your lip, he was always so conscious of boundaries. 
“You can touch them if you want,” you said quickly, before you had a chance to take it back, the back of your neck burning with embarrassment at the mere suggestion. But Steve laughed delightfully into your skin, the vibrations of his throat tickling and he lifted his head up to meet your eyes then.
That dummy beamed up at you like he’d just won the lottery. “Really?” a quick flick of his gaze to your lips, and you felt your chest ignite like a bonfire. 
He always held the lit match in his hand, delicately enclosed in his fingers, your heart permanently doused in gasoline and begging words escaping your lips for him to set it alight. 
An enthusiastic nod was more than a perfect green light, settling back down into the crook of your neck. So with permission, Steve floated his hand up to the swell of your breast, careful and methodical, tracing around the shape and eventually enclosing his palm over you.
Bare teeth amidst a cheerful grin brushed along your skin, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how giddy he was getting over your tits. 
“Jesus, Harrington. Haven’t even said good morning to me and you’re already feeling me up?” you wanted to make light of it all, despite the growing rate of your heartbeat the more Steve pushed and pulled amiably, plus the blatant erection that was now pressing urgently into your leg. 
“Good morning” a gravelly mutter cloaked beneath a poorly hidden chuckle, wild bed-head mane sweeping along your chin when he angled his head up again, this time to place attentive kisses just beneath your jaw. 
Of course he had touched you like this before, but the sexual contact you had didn’t branch out further than copping a feel and a bit of dry humping. And the poor boy was in absolute bits, pitiful and whimpery however always able to understand the word no. 
Having had a small amount of sexual experience - Steve’s encounters a trilogy of novels compared to your half sheet of paper - you had been put off because neither of your previous partners had been particularly good. To say the least. So you were cautious, a slow burn, not really clued up on the appeal. 
But hell, did that boy make you want it. Want him. A broad hand spread along your inner thigh whilst he was driving, absentmindedly massaging the skin there, setting your cheeks aflame and kindling an ache that burned in the pit of your stomach. A suckle at the sweet spot right under your ear, blood vessels burst deep purple and rouge, sweet nothings and scandalous fantasies whispered in your ear, with a tone akin to hot dripping honey, as his fingertips played with the band of your panties. 
But it would always end the same. “Only when you’re ready” he would hush, words fuelled with indisputable devotion, a torch lit ready and patiently waiting. And you loved him evermore for it. Which is why on this particular morning, you thought it was about time to put that loveable touch starved idiot out of his misery. 
So you slid your fingers into the untamed mess of his hair, the golden glow of the sun creeping through the bedroom window illuminating every glittering strand. His shoulders grew limp, rotating palm circling lazily as your nails travelled further down, grazing the top of his taut back between broad shoulders. 
He groaned your name into your heating skin, placing a stippling kiss right on that jutting artery that beat furiously. Spurred on by his clear enjoyment, you spread your fingers down until they couldn’t travel any further, stopping halfway along his ribcage and back up again. 
Though you were already pressed impossibly close, Steve leaned further into you, rutting his hip against you either accidentally or on purpose, you weren’t too sure. And the groan that caught in the back of his throat was enough to engulf you in a raging wildfire. 
“Steve,” his name came out more as a warning, pitched and a little desperate, though he definitely took it as an opportunity to do it again now that he had gauged your response. And the bastard smiled into you when your chest heaved that little harder. 
“Yeah, baby?” a breathy near goddamn whimper and he knew exactly what he was doing. Paired with his thumb pad grazing over your stiffened nipple, he had you tumbling to the edge. 
You couldn’t even think about preparing yourself for what he had you in for when he finally lifted his head from your chest - glossy pink parted lips, shining honeysuckle eyes and the rosiest of fucking cheeks stippled with a galaxy of freckles. Pretty pretty boy. 
“You think so?” a hint of a grin pricking at the corner of his plush lips, and you breathed out a shaky exhale of a laugh in response - partly because you had said that out loud, and partly because he wouldn’t stop rolling your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. 
And you’re nodding, finally framing his beautiful face in your hands and pulling him up. It was anything but chaste, noses sliding together and hot breath mingling before you finally sealed his lips to yours. 
His kisses symbolised Steve; sweet, loving, fiery and nothing but enthusiastic. His hand slips from beneath your shirt, and he’s pulling you down into him and onto your side so you’re facing one another. He kisses you fervently, swallowing a sigh from his open mouth when your hands wove through his hair. 
“You’re so beautiful” he admitted whilst eventually coming up for air, ragged and coarse, juxtaposed by the dotting of simple pecks at the outer curves of your lips with your head held in his hands. God, how your heart swelled. 
“So are you” you replied, breathless and wholeheartedly lovestruck, and his thumbs traced along the highs of your cheekbones. Steve Harrington smiled bigger than you had ever seen, one that had the apples of his cheeks bobbing and eyes crinkling delicately at the corners. You really meant it, especially when the morning light cast him in a heavenly glow. 
Then he was leaning over you, pushing you on your back again and propped up on his elbow as his other hand glided along your blazing cheek, hooking at the hinge of your jaw and planting you there. His weight bore down torso to torso, noses crushing, mouths wide and eager and searching. 
Steve dragged your face forwards as if you were his life support, teeth colliding and you had never felt so desperate in all your life. He pulled you this way and that, large hands clambering along the expanse of your back to scoop you up into his tight embrace. 
Then he was back to his favourite spot - kiss bruised lips discovering every dip and curve of your hot neck, urgent and intense, and all you could do was tug on those goddamn untamed locks and unsuccessfully bite back every whimper that threatened to break free. 
“You know…” he mumbled at your throat, a promise of a love bite hidden behind a slow ghosting of teeth, “I’ve had so many wet dreams about you like this, in my bed…” the vibration of his lazy morning voice cascaded shock waves right down to your centre. 
“And I wake up such a goddamn mess, thinking about these pretty shaking thighs wrapped around me…” 
Without warning, Steve knocked your knees apart so he could slide across and into the space, looming over you now like a black raincloud promising a thunderstorm, hot breath never once leaving the shell of your ear. 
His touch trailed down to roll soft circles into your inner thighs, and all you could do was cling to him as if your life depended on it, not sure what to do with yourself or even where to look. 
“You got a dirty fucking mouth, Harrington” the words catching in your throat when your earlobe caught between his teeth, a gentle tug and nursing of the tip of his tongue when you sucked in a breath. 
“I can’t help it with you” dipping down his pretty head to suckle at that sweet spot right under the hinge of your jaw, just where he knew you liked. 
“I can say a lot more if you want?”. His hands were playing with the waistband of your panties and you felt like you could scream. Then his hands shifted, pulling back on the elastic and snapping it against your heated skin. 
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grinned, shining pearly whites both a blessing and a curse. A whispered huff of his name and clench of your thighs was a good enough answer for him. How could he ignore the angelic noises leaving your lips just from his fingers alone? 
He had barely even done anything yet. 
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thevoidstaredback · 3 days
Barry knew something was wrong when he woke up that morning, but he couldn't place what. There was nothing wrong in the house, nor with his family. His team were as normal as they could be, and none of his rogues had gotten out, nor was anyone causing any trouble in Central City. Then, just as he'd gotten off work at the police station, an emergency meeting for the Justice League was called. Ugh, David's gonna be pissed that he has to call out!
The Watchtower, when he got there, was a mess. Heroes were obviously panicking, and there must be magic users on board because there were things flying every which way. The meeting room, however, was somehow worse.
"What the hell is going on?" The Flash demanded after ducking behind a chair.
"Constantine and Deadman are on a warpath!" Aquaman helpfully supplied from where he was hidden behind his own chair.
"I gathered that much," Flash shouted over the noise of a chair being shattered against the wall behind him.
Aquaman scowled at him. "The hell do you want me to say? I don't know what's got them so upset!
The door opened again, announcing Batman's presence. He cleared his throat and the room instantly fell silent. Things kept flying around, but they were much more lax than they had been. Cautiously, the gathered heroes emerged from their makeshift hiding places to sit in their chairs.
"What's this about, Constantine?" the Dark Knight asked once everyone was seated.
Instead of the Brit, the ghost beside him was the one to answer. "You idiots-" he growled, "-have really fucked up this time!" he shouted.
Flash idly noticed that only the heroes operating in America were present. Huh. He had a dream just like this last night!
"Slow down," Wonder Woman tried to placate, "What's going on?"
Now it was Constantine's turn to talk. "The US Government are more aware of magic then any of us-" He clearly meant the JLD. "-are comfortable with. The fact that they somehow hid it until now is baffling."
Since when is the US Gov. aware of anything? Flash quietly wondered.
Deadman, visible to everyone and slightly calmer than before, said, "It's been brought to my attention that your government as been targeting my people." He held up his hand and raised his voice to stop anyone from interrupting him before they could. "They've taken a child."
This time, both the ghost and the occultist allowed the noise to overtake the room. Superman was the one to put a stop to it by directly asking the two, "What do you mean they've taken a child?"
Zatanna, fashionably late, entered the room and clicked on the projector like this entrance had been practiced. If Flash didn't know any better, he would've thought she had practiced it. As the screen lit up, she took place beside her two teammates. "Phantom is a small time hero in a nowhere town in Illinois - at least, it usually sticks to Illinois - called Amity Park. We've been keeping tabs on the place, though Deadman here is the only one to have ever had repeated contact."
On the projector screen was the picture of a child near or in his mid-teens. He wore a black HAZMAT suit with white accents, white knee high boots, and white elbow gloves. His hair was white and his eyes the colour of cartoon radioactivity. He was snarling in the photo, obviously having been taken during a fight, if the ready stance was anything to go by.
When Zatanna moved to the next slide, it was an overshot of a place that was somewhere between being a town and a city. It was big enough that not everyone could possibly hope to know everyone, but small enough that everyone knew someone who knew someone. Based on the experience of several heroes, as well as several different statistics, it didn't look like the kind of place that would have a lot of police needed crime, let alone a dedicated hero.
"Several World Ending events were started and stopped here." Constantine continued, "Remember six months ago, when natural disasters erupted all over the planet? We tracked the epicenter to here. Same as four months ago when three quarters of the planet's population took an impromptu nap."
The slide was changed to show an empty field. "Two months ago," Deadman picked up, "The entire town and everyone in it disappeared off the face of this planet." Again, he waited out the uproar from the Justice League, continuing as though uninterrupted after they'd quieted down. "Three days later, it all reappeared," The picture was replaced by another overshot of the town, but there was a green tint to it. "A week later, I was called back to my home in the I̷͈̋̿̀̚n̶͙̙̲͇̤̪̅͋͘f̶̟̰̬̤̀̉̕i̵͕̫͖͔̟͝n̸̮͙̋̎̆̈́̂̈i̷̬̫̤̱̱̒͌͌t̷͉̪̐̂̿͝è̴̙̊ ̴̪̠͍̞͆̌̀R̵̻͙̺̯͌e̸̫͉̖̙̖͐͆͊͠ȧ̵̭̻̩̙͇̔͜l̴͔̝͒m̸͖̦̟̠̭̥̄̇͆̀s̶̢͉̳̪̦̹̑͠. That is where I offically met young Phantom."
"Why is it green?" Aquaman wondered.
"Were you keeping tabs on the place before or after this all happened?" Batman asked over him.
"Before," Zatanna answered, "An interdimensional rift opened up in the town eleven months and five days ago. A second one opened up in the same town ten months and two days ago."
"Why didn't we know about it?" Flash asked, nothing else joining the pure curiosity in his voice. "This kinda seems like something all of use should've been told about."
The magician shook her head. "Because this is our area of expertise, not yours. None of you could've done anything except make things worse if you knew."
The speedster nodded, accepting the answer easily. He didn't like working with magic. He didn't understand it, and it took way too long to actually start believing in the stuff, but he knew there was no way he'd be useful in situations that relied on magic. Best leave that to the professionals.
"I went to the town to scope things out and met Phantom," Constantine said, the slide changing to show another picture of the young hero. He was hiding in an alley, staring at his hands with something akin to fear in his eyes. "He let me take a look at the rift, explained a few things to me, and then we set up a means of contact, though he only ever talks to Deadman."
"Wait," Robin spoke up from where he was beside Batman, "I know that place!" Batman didn't show any reaction other than turning to look at his protege. Robin, for his part, glided smoothly past the look from his mentor. "Me and the rest of my team passed through there about three months ago. We met the town hero, but it wasn't Phantom."
"What do you mean?" Wonder Woman asked.
"The town's hero is called Red Huntress. She's helped out the Young Justice a few times in the past few months with some supernatural issues. She deals mostly with ghosts, though."
Deadman bristled, obviously not liking something that the boy had said.
"Oh?" Superman asked, "What did she tell you guys?"
"That Phantom's one of her rogues." Robin said, "Apparently, he causes a lot of property damage and doesn't stick around to help with relief efforts. She told us that he also kidnapped the mayor, and has attacked the local high school too many times to count."
"That's a load of shit," Constantine muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, "Phantom has only ever worked to protect his town. Red Huntress didn't show up until two months after he started his work!"
"We wait to act until we have more information," Batman, the paranoid bastard, ordered, "As soon as we know exactly who we can trust and what we're going into, we'll stick to recon."
Deadman slammed his hands on the table. "You're government took a child! This is not the time for recon! This is time to act!"
"Recon." Batman stood. "Robin, I want a report from you about your team's interactions with Red Huntress, as well as a report from herself. Constantine and Zatanna, I want a full report on everything you know about Amity Park and whatever's going on there. Dismissed." Then, he walked out of the room, Robin trailing closely after him.
"Um, Bat?" Fash stood, stopping Batman and Robin in the doorway, they both turned to face him, "Maybe we should hear them out? This sounds serious."
Batman stared at Flash for a moment longer before walking back into the room. He gestured for the three present members of the Justice League Dark to continue.
Deadman had a small look of relief flash over his face. "Your government's been sending ghost hunters to Amity Park for the better part of a year now. They were dead set on catching Phantom, and now they have. We don't know-" He cut himself off. After a few seconds, he disappeared completely. Constantine's and Zatanna's phones both went off. Nearly an entire minute after Deadman disappeared, the alarms in the Watchtower went off.
"Fuck," Flash swore.
Part 2 Part 4
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acowardinmordor · 3 days
I kinda want a fic where Eddie is straight. Strong Ally, totally safe, but the guy is straight. There's a few months after they successfully take down Vecna that he and Robin and Steve are all besties, living in each others' pockets. During that time, he makes a lot of jokes that Steve is going to make a great housewife someday, makes some comments that aren't quite jokes that he wishes Steve was a girl, and has some very much suppressed thoughts that the only thing stopping them is that Eddie isn't attracted to men.
Near the end of the summer, before Steve is going to follow Robin to Sarah Lawrence, Steve comes out as bi to the whole group, and Eddie, for the first time, unashamedly thinks, damn, if only I wasn't straight. Steve even gets brave a few days before they leave and broaches the topic of Steve having a crush on Eddie. Keeps saying that he's not going to hit on Eddie, but wanted to take the chance, just in case Eddie had ever thought about it.
"Sorry, Steve, I only date girls."
And the awkwardness isn't the only reason the three drift apart, but it doesn't help. They send letters and post cards between Chicago and New York, and try to call at least once a month, but they're all broke, and long distance is expensive. Two years out, and Eddie knows something weird is happening with Steve and Robin, but they don't want to talk about it. They still talk, they're still friends, they'd still die for each other, but there is something they're hiding from him. Three and a half years out, and the bureaucrats finally got their act together. 'Thanks for not telling anybody' checks get sent to everyone in the know. Very large checks.
Robin graduates, and she and Stevie have a comfortable cushion. They don't have to take horrible minimum wage jobs anymore, and some expensive things they've been saving up to do for a while can finally happen.
This is where the fic in my head actually starts.
Eddie hears all about Los Angeles from Robin, but she tells him that Stevie isn't feeling great after the trip, and that Eddie will get a letter soon.
Its four months later, almost exactly four years since the three last saw each other in person when they finally meet again. Robin got a job in Chicago, and Eddie is still there, now a full artist in a tattoo parlor, playing gigs for fun with random friends. Stevie, of course, follows Robin, and Eddie tries hard not to stay upset with the guy for the weirdness and the sometimes silence, and the very obvious distance that Steve put between them recently.
Then they see each other. Meeting up at what has to be the queerest bar in the city, and it takes Eddie way, way too long to put together what's waiting at a booth along the wall. He's an ally, he's heard all the terms and types and nodded along in supportive silence because he doesn't get it, but he's trying.
But there's Robin, sitting on the outside, with a brunette beside her, possibly the most beautiful woman Eddie has ever seen, strong, tall, long wavy chestnut hair, and a spattering of very distinct moles. The little bit of a smile she has when Eddie first comes over melts into something small and scared as Eddie stares in shock. It's Stevie, it has to be, and Robin's exclusive use of what was once only a nickname suddenly makes more sense. He knows he needs to make sure he's using the right name, pronouns, whatever she wants. He's friend of a friend with a couple trans people, and again, he doesn't get it, but he listened, and he cannot fuck this up, because it's Stevie and this must be what they were hiding, but the inside of his brain sounds like an endless loop of mic feedback for a solid sixty seconds.
Sixty seconds is an insanely long time.
Before his brain turns over and he can smile and reach the table, Stevie has shrunk into the corner, and Robin looks ready to launch herself at Eddie's throat in her soulmate's defense.
A whole list of intrusive thoughts hit Eddie all at once while his mouth runs on autopilot, asking the right questions, smiling encouragingly, introducing himself to, yes, Stevie Harrington, and dragging the mood to a happy place by sheer force of will. Stevie starts to uncurl, smiles a little brighter, sits up straight, laughs properly at Eddie's dumb stories about terrible tattoos, and leans closer as the night goes on.
He fixes the weirdness he started in his shock, because there is no way in hell he's not going to keep two of his best friends now that they live in the same city again.
But his head is stuck spiraling around a snarl of horrible, selfish, invasive thoughts. The worst of which: Stevie is now Stevie because Eddie told her that he only liked girls. And he knows thats stupid and isn't why Stevie made this choice, and he hates himself for thinking it, but the thought is still there. That Eddie wanted so badly that she's now Stevie. Another, only slightly less horrible thought, is that the immediate fairytale ending he imagined on first sight - might be ruined because Eddie is still straight, and he's just not sure about, you know, the details.
Eddie did a great job that first night, and they're back to hanging out all the time as soon as the last boxes are unpacked. It is not Stevie's fault that seeing her in a sports bra for the once confirmed that the payouts, the LA trip, and her new shirt size were related. It's not her fault that Eddie can't stop thinking about how hot she is.
It's absolutely not her fault that Eddie starts getting weird around her. He's trying, okay? He's trying so hard. But its weird for him. He likes her. That part he's certain of. Loves her, almost definitely. He thinks she's gorgeous, high confidence on that part too. He has a crush, but he knows, deeper than the rest, that Stevie isn't confident in herself yet. She acts it most of the time, but its under the surface, a thread of fear that she's not girl enough to count.
And Eddie has a crush. And Eddie can't tell her. Because Eddie won't put them in a situation where Stevie's pants come off, and Eddie suddenly can't see her as the woman she is. It would hurt Stevie so bad, and Eddie would never forgive himself.
It's not like he can ask her just how much surgery she got in LA so he can prepare. And honestly, he's not sure it would matter one way or the other. He's terrified that whatever her choice, Eddie will fuck up his reaction. The risk is unsolvable. Robin calls him out on his crush two months later, and since the other choice is even worse, Eddie lies, and says she's wrong. No crush. Nope. Not even a tiny one.
Eddie tries to will himself into becoming bisexual for an entire month, going so far as making out with a very feminine twink at a club - he thought he'd ease his way into this - but he's still decidedly straight. Rubbing against the twink's remarkably small dick wasn't repulsive, but it didn't do anything for him either. Sure, he learns there's all kinds of pleasurable things to try that he didn't know about, but he's still not into anyone but girls.
(I don't know if this is the right resolution bc Ive spun Eddie pretty tight here, but this is getting so long. )
Robin's girlfriend has a party at a gay bar for her birthday. Obviously, Eddie and Stevie are invited, and obviously, just like every other day on this earth, Stevie looks incredible. She has a sparkly dress and tall boots and glitter on her collarbones and Eddie wants to lick her. His lovelorn staring only gets worse as the night goes on. Stevie is dancing, and Eddie is drinking at the bar with a collection of purses and carabiners of keys slung around and clipped to him. It's obvious enough that a gay couple - Nick and Chris - starts teasing him about it, telling him to man up and ask the pretty girl to dance already.
Eddie is too drunk for this, and he for sure has a guilt trip later for it, but he just starts talking. All of his fears and all of his love, and how he can't ever say anything because he's tried, and he's straight anyway, and he loves Stevie too much to hurt her like that. It's an entire miracle that Eddie broke down in front of a decent pair of human beings, and not some assholes. They sweep him off to a quieter corner outside, help him calm down as he smokes, and feed him some fries.
Eddie is still wearing purses like bandoliers, is snotty and red eyed, is on his third cigarette and fourth whiskey, and resisting the need to runaway forever when the older of the couple calls over someone named Angel. A woman who, if Eddie was not hopelessly in love with Stevie, would be the source of an immediate new crush. She's older than he is, thin through the waist, thick thighs, bottle blonde hair in a ponytail, and has a few inches on Eddie with her heels. The primal part of his brain wants to climb her like a tree.
'Hi Chris. Oh, honey, you having a rough night?" Angel has a few words with Chris, then grins like the cat who caught the canary.
'You're gonna be my good karma for the month, cutie. You are attracted to me, no don't try, thats a cute blush but I can still see it behind your hair, you are. You're straight, right? Yeah, that's why you think I'm hot. Hey, Chris? Do you think I'm hot?"
"Not at all, babe. You know I only go for men."
Angel turns back to Eddie and leans close to explain. 'Chris is a bit of a man whore. Loooooves dick. Don't worry, he says it all the time. Favorite thing in the world, and I've heard he's great at sucking dick. Tragically, I never get to find out, because I'm not a guy.' She pushes the word a little. Then she steps even closer so she's pressed against his side.
Arousal sweeps through him because in love with Stevie or not, Angel is hot as hell. 'Wanna go fool around in the bathroom?' she whispers
Eddie is definitely tempted, already nodding, but doesn't get to speak. Angel rolls her hips. He feels -- A new bolt of arousal shoots down his spine. 'this change your mind at all?' Her voice drops two octaves, and Eddie's brain breaks.
Because, as it turns out, no. No, it does not change his mind. He's half hard, he still wants to climb her, and he's not entirely sure how to get her off, but he takes direction well.
'Aww, figure yourself out, already, honey? Or do you want to test run this a bit more before you go for it?' Angel is back to her real voice, a high alto. She has one hand on his chest, and Eddie can hear Nick laughing nearby. 'I won't lie, I know I won't get to keep you, but you look like we could have a real fun time as I teach you. Happy to get you trained up for her'
Eddie shakes his head, an insane mix of bubbly and numb.
'Ohhh, so you're gonna go get your girl?' She's teasing him.
Eddie nods, already moving, vaguely aware of more laughter and jokes about karma and saving lost lambs, but too fixated to listen. He's still carrying all the purses. He's not entirely sure where Stevie is in the bar. He has absolutely no idea what he's going to say when he finds her. Still not sure how to worship her properly. Extremely interested in following directions on the topic.
Eddie is still straight, but luckily, the girl of his dreams is dancing inside, and the rest of the details don't matter in the face of the possibility of finally asking her out.
When he finally chases her down at a high top with a cosmo, she laughs at how he looks, but he's never, ever seen her smile like she does when she agrees to a date with him.
This is sort of about a friend as they worked through realizing they weren't attracted to their wife after she transitioned, but that was sad, and this needed to not be. I guess I'm just thinking about the non-fanfic nature of life. Where it takes a guy a long while to figure himself out, because good intentions are separate from shifting how you think. Basically wanted Eddie in a situation where he has to reconcile the difference between gender and anatomy, and rewrite his own definitions of what he is and isn't attracted to. Robin had to go through a similar thing as she became attracted to Steve but only in the abstract. They're too platonic for gender to stop their bond
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dilfpassing · 19 hours
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All of the title cards for each chapter of the fanfiction that I wrote about Wyll. The story is as long as a novel and took me 5 months to write.
It had been seven years since his father had seen him. Wyll had grown so much since then, his silhouette taller, his shoulders broader, his stance more sure — and now, his head was heavy with horns. Counsellor Florrick’s words still rang in his ears — “By the Maimed God, what’s become of you?” 
(Plus two bonus illustrations)
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sleeplessdreamer14 · 3 days
𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊
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fandom: my hero academia
relationship: tenya iida x reader
summary: you left your jacket in iida’s room.
contains: mutual pining, unresolved romantic tension, fluff, opposites attract, thrifted clothes, like two lines of dialogue
a/n: @thecutestgrotto divider credit goes to
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Study sessions hadn’t always been a thing between you and Iida, not until after moving into the dorms. You just lived too far apart to meet up every week like you did now, every Friday to be exact.
Iida had offered to tutor you earlier in the school year, but you always turned him down, wanting to at least try and figure things out on your own. But after you began to live in the same building, you finally accepted his offer and worked out a schedule for the two of you to meet up in the afternoon and go over any material either of you had trouble with.
Eventually, those study sessions began to evolve into hang outs with studying sprinkled in, switching between his room and yours every week. Despite you two having very different tastes in room decor, it look little time for you to grow comfortable in each other’s environments. You quickly learned his organization system and he gradually learned to just leave your clutter be… mostly.
This week’s study meeting was held in Iida’s dorm room, and when you had first walked through the door, you were sporting your iconic letterman jacket which you had gotten from a thrift shop not too long ago. It had become routine for you and your mom to stop by the thrift store when you would spend her days off work together.
Anyway, it wasn’t until about an hour after you had left to start turning in for the night that Iida realized you had left your jacket behind, in a small bundle on the floor near the foot of his bed. He was surprised that it took him this long to notice, considering he had actually watched you walk- or more rush out the door after you realized how late it had gotten. You had taken it off in the middle of studying since the fabric retained heat and you were getting a little warmer than you would have preferred, so he supposed that you must have been so eager to go shower and get to sleep at a somewhat decent hour that you simply forgot.
Iida’s initial idea to stop by your dorm room to give it back to you, but it was already pretty late and he knew that you tended to lock your door at night. Though he supposed he could simply text you, but you were probably already asleep, or at least drifting off, so he didn’t want to disturb you. It had been a long week and you needed the rest.
So he decided that he would simply return it to you tomorrow morning when he saw you again. And it definitely wasn’t because over the past few weeks, the more time that Tenya spent with you, the more it felt as though your study sessions ended too early and he just wanted to hold onto the piece of you for as long as he could. Of course not.
And that’s why he was lying on his back in the dark, holding the piece of clothing to his chest while staring up and the ceiling with nothing but the low hum of the air conditioner and muffled outside noises to fill the silence.
If he were being honest, Iida loved this jacket. Because despite it being previously owned, it was so uniquely yours. He could still remember the day you returned to the dorms with a skip in your step as you showed off your new duds, talking about how lucky you were to find it right at the front of the shop and have it fit you just right. Coincidentally, it even had the first letter of your surname on the front. There were a lot of things that Tenya had grown to appreciate thanks to you.
Like your piercings. While Tenya previously found them impractical and even a bit unprofessional, he eventually grew to like how they looked on you, especially after you had invited him to go with you to get your most recent one.
And the rings you wore every day, two on your left and one on your right. Honestly, he kind of just liked your hands. Iida had briefly held your hand a couple times before, to help you stand up or when one of you was leading the other somewhere. He wished he could do that more.
Turning over on his side, Iida closed his eyes and lightly tightened his hold on your jacket as his heart drummed in his ears.
No. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, don’t you dare do it.
But he did. Tenya brought the jacket closer to his face and inhaled slowly. Yep, there it was; your natural scent with hints of your shampoo around the back of the collar. It was nice, comforting. Sometimes when he went to bed after your study sessions, he could find faint traces of your smell on his pillow or covers of you had been resting there while working.
Tenya wished he could have more than this. More of you, and for longer. But if this was all he could have, then he could be content with that.
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The following morning, Iida folded up your jacket before going to return it to you. While part of him felt a little disappointed at first about having to give it back to you, that feeling was overpowered by the smile on your face when he did. You slipped your jacket on and tucked your hands into the pockets, thanking Iida.
“Don’t worry, it’s no trouble at all.” he replied, hoping that the blush in his face wasn’t too obvious. It really did look perfect on you.
As you went your separate ways, you gently rubbed your arms and took a deep breath in, your face flushing a subtle pink as you picked up faint traces of Tenya’s scent. Looking back over your shoulder in his direction, you chuckled softly as you stared at him as he engaged in conversation with some of your other classmates, blissfully unaware of that fact that-
“You totally left it in his room on purpose, didn’t you?” Mina whispered as she approached you, a Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she quirked an eyebrow at you. You said nothing, only rolling your eyes and lightly shoving her by the shoulder, earning a giggle. You knew that she could see the answer in your face.
Maybe you did, but he didn’t need to know that.
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dicephalicdoll · 2 days
Crimson & Clover - Aaron Hotchner
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Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!
Summary: After laying in bed with cramps all day, Aaron offers to help ease them in a way you’ve never tried before.
Word Count: 1.3k
A/N: my cramps are so bad right now and i just really wanted some fluffy hotch smut so i decided to write it myself lol, enjoy! <3
TW: period sex, fingering, mentions of blood, cramps, etc, afab + fem reader, pet names (sweetheart, honey), slight aftercare at the end
Rating: R, 18+
After a full day laid up in bed, you were starting to believe your body was your worst enemy. Every cramp and ache of your tired muscles pulled you further into an emotional fog, wishing the plush bedding surrounding you would just swallow you whole. You were a mess in every way, not to mention needy beyond words. You knew you were lucky to have such an understanding partner, willing to do anything to make you feel better.
“I’m back, honey.”
You pulled the covers off of your face, watching Aaron set a freshly brewed cup of tea on your nightstand before climbing into bed beside you. He sat with his back against the headboard and helped you sit up, leaning your head against his shoulder.
You reached for the mug, his large hand wrapping around it before bringing it to your lips. You placed your hands on top of his, tilting the cup slowly and taking small sips, warmth spreading through your chest with every gulp.
“Feel any better?” He asked after you took your last sip, now a little less light-headed, but cramps going strong as ever.
“A little, I just wanna lay down again.”
You tried to smile to reassure him you were okay, but he could see the way your brow furrowed ever so slightly from the pain you were in. As much as he loved taking care of you, he hated that he couldn’t take your pain away.
“I’m sorry sweetheart, is there anything else I can do?”
“Hold me, please?”
“I think I can do that.” He smiled down, sliding down under the covers with you. You rolled onto your side to face him, allowing his strong arms to snake around your waist as he pulled you partially on top of him. You laid your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as you tried to relax, his thigh settling between your legs. His fingers got to work rubbing small circular motions against your lower back, releasing some long-building tension from your sore muscles.
You relaxed into his touch, feeling the first bit of relief you’d had all day, an involuntary moan slipping from your lips.
“Does that feel good?” He mused, slightly increasing his pressure. You hummed a yes, nodding against his chest. Your neediness was starting to take over, the feeling of his skin against yours, how his stubble brushed against your cheek when you looked up at him, the smell of his cologne, it was all too much, the heat growing in your core almost unbearable.
You couldn’t help yourself as you slowly started to roll your hips, pressing your core down against his muscular thigh, craving every bit of stimulation you could possibly get without making a mess. His free hand found your chin, lifting it to look up at him.
“Do you want me to help?” He laughed, a gentle smile spread across his face. The way the outer corners of his eyes crinkled almost made you forget what you were doing, always so taken by how handsome he is.
“I don’t want to make a mess.” You frowned, trying to bury your face against his shirt.
“Look at me.” He redirected your gaze to his, his tone becoming more serious.
“I can put a towel down, besides, do you really think I’m afraid of a little blood?”
He had a good point, Aaron had seen more than his fair share of blood on the job, but this still felt different to you for some reason you weren’t sure of. He could see the continued hesitation in your eyes, and he didn’t want to say he knew what was best for you, but he absolutely did not want you denying yourself pleasure, and more importantly pain relief, just because you were afraid of getting a little messy.
“How about we start out slow, if you don’t like it we can stop, I promise.” He gave you that look that always made you melt, abusing his big brown eyes privileges to convince you. You nodded in agreement, rolling off of him so he could go grab a towel. When he returned, you lifted your hips so he could lay the towel out beneath you, helping remove your period underwear.
You felt exposed, more so than ever before due to your heightened sensitivity. You were almost shivering as you waited for him to get back into bed with you, the anticipation adding to your nerves.
“Are you ready?” He asked, pulling you flush against his side. You nodded, and the tap of his fingers on your inner thigh had you spreading your legs wider, adrenaline kicking in.
The moment he touched your clit, very ounce of hesitation within you melted away, leaving only moans and whimpers in its wake. Why you had never thought of this before, you didn’t know, but you were happy to understand it now. His fingers gently studied your folds, tracing intricate peaks and valleys until he had the topography memorized, determined to make every centimeter of your pussy feel loved and cared for.
It was deliciously torturous, your heightened sensitivity making each stroke incredibly pleasurable, but not quite enough to give you the relief you truly craved. You began to squirm, twisting the upper half of your body to bury your face in his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt in your palms. You whimpered almost pathetically, trying to rut up into his hand in desperate need of more contact.
He shifted against you, causing you to shift away just slightly, momentarily making you worry that you were accidentally hurting him.
“M’Sorry” You mumbled, letting go of his shirt.
“It’s alright sweetheart, hold onto me as tight as you need.” He soothed, his free hand smoothing your hair away from your face. He had actually been adjusting to gain a better angle, gently pushing his middle and ring fingers into your entrance, pumping slowly in and out of your wet heat. You gasped at the intrusion, the intensity taking a moment to get used to until you were crying out in pleasure, completely uninhibited.
He increased the pressure of his movements, fingertips rubbing the soft spot inside of you as the heel of his palm rubbed firmly against your clit, bringing you incredibly close to the release you’d been craving.
“Go on honey, let go.” His permission was all you needed, your lips chanting his name as you pulsed around him, your milky white cum mixing with the deep crimson dripping down onto the towel.
Your whole body felt like jello, too weak to move but more relaxed than you’d been all week.
“Thank you.” You whispered, too fucked out to speak any louder for the time being.
“I’ll do that and more whenever you need me to, all you need to do is ask.”
You nodded in understanding, eyes fluttering shut momentarily from exhaustion. The next thing you knew he was gently nudging you awake, and you realized you must’ve dozed off. As much as he wanted to let you sleep, he was not the type to ever skip aftercare, and this was no different.
“I’m going to clean you up, okay?” He asked, gently parting your legs further to properly wipe your cunt clean with the warm washcloth he’s brought back. You hummed, enjoying the tenderness of the moment, feeling well and truly loved.
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blindmagdalena · 10 hours
All of a Sudden, There You Are
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3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.
As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.
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Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.
He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.
Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.
It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.
"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.
That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.
He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”
"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.
That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.
He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.
Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.
Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.
"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.
"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.
He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."
You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.
He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.
You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.
"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.
"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual. 
The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.
The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.
Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.
When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most. 
He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room. 
“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue. 
You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.
He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”
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Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.
You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical. 
“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.
“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head? 
Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.
“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words.  “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”
love me back.
Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more. 
“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.
He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.
God, how he wants to feel every part of you. 
You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.
Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.
“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.
He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.
“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.
Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.
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cressidagrey · 2 days
Unafraid - The Unexpected Series
“If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.”
What if… Azriel actually takes Rhys at his word? And does exactly what his High Lord ordered? With unexpected consequences.
This is Azriel following his High Lord's order to the fucking letter (well, kinda.)
Mention of Sex Work, Mention of Faerie Genocide, Sex Work, Bathing
This was a thought experiment that kinda started to grow a life on its own.
(super pretty divider by @saradika-graphics)
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Azriel was having a bad day. 
In a string of bad days. A string of horrible days. 
He knew that he wasn’t in the right headspace for this. He knew that he had no business to be here. 
And still, he was. 
It was the only place where even a monster like him could get something that resembled love, after all. 
It wasn’t like anybody else wanted him. Wasn’t like anybody else was interested in him in any other way than…It wasn’t like he deserved better than this. 
This was all he deserved and he should just accept it. Accept it and move on and figure out that whenever he had any sort of physical wants…this was where he should go. 
“If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.”
So there he was. Walking down the street to this pleasure hall and…every step was trudging. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it. Why… Why he didn’t just go home…go to the House of Wind and try to sleep once more…why he didn’t just…
Because he didn’t want to lay down in his empty bed, alone, and close his eyes, and be alone and…
He wished for somebody to touch him like…like he mattered. Like his feelings mattered. Like his feelings were something other than simply an inconvenience for the Court. 
He was just supposed to flip the switch and turn them off, right? Elain had chosen Lucien so Azriel should just get over her. He should just move on. And be done. 
And he couldn’t. He couldn’t. 
He wished he could, but he couldn’t. 
And so there he was. 
He poured a handful of gold coins on the desk in the front…enough for a whole night. Even if he just stayed an hour, he thought that one of the long-suffering females deserved it for putting up with him. 
For letting him put his ruined hands anywhere near her and pretend that she wanted this. 
Why was he even doing this again? 
Azriel didn’t even know himself anymore. 
Still, he followed behind the voluptuous proprietress, a red-headed High Fae named Marge, into the courtyard, filled with all the females that worked there. “Are you searching for anything in particular or…?” she trailed off, asking Azriel as she mustered him. 
Searching for his will to live. Though that was probably not the answer she was looking for. 
And no, there was no particular sexual act that he wanted, that he was in the mood for. Absolutely nothing that…immediately struck his fancy. 
Nothing that…He didn’t even really want sex. 
He wanted…
“Any female that’s not afraid of me,” he forced out, his voice like gravel. Companionship. Understanding. Something as close to willing as he could get. 
Marge’s dark eyes widened as she took in that particular request. He half expected her to laugh him out of her establishment. If she did, he couldn’t even fault her for that. The coin was worth a try. 
And then, to the wordless shock of him…“I’ll take him,” came a quiet voice. His head swivelled around, just as a soft, small hand claimed his. 
Blonde, blue-eyed. Beautiful. Gorgeous in fact. Full lips pulled into a bright smile. 
“Would you like to come with me, Sweetheart?” she cooed and he managed a shaky nod. 
She didn’t even seem to notice the scars that covered his hands. She didn’t seem to care. Everybody noticed. Everybody cared. 
But she just…didn’t. 
And her smell…it was clear of fear. Utterly unafraid. 
Roses. Nothing else. 
“You aren’t afraid,” he choked out as he followed behind her, up the stairs, to a room, that was clearly hers. Soft and cream coloured with heavy drapes and she closed the door behind them with a soft snick. 
“Should I be?” she asked him lightly. “You have given me no reason to be afraid of you.”
No. He just existed. Existed with scarred hands and ferocious wings and the shadows that he had sent away for the night and still lurked around…he scared everybody.
“You have done nothing to me that would make me fear you,” she told him calmly, walking over to a commode, filling a glass with the amber liquid from a bottle on top of it and then bringing it to him. 
“You may call me Blossom,” she told him. Smart. Not that it was her name…but that he may call her that. “What is your name?”
“Azriel,” he answered. For some cauldron-forsaken reason, he gave her his real name, just as she pushed the glass in his hand and him down onto the edge of her bed so that she could straddle him. 
He let her do with him as she wished. 
Something about Blossom…something about her made her putty in her hands. Whatever she wanted from him he would probably do it…let himself sink into the pleasure of just this…just the smell of roses and her eyes gently watching him…just this. 
“Now, there is a secret you should know about me,” Blossom told him, her voice sweet and soft. He just stared at her, as she shrugged out of the silky dressing gown she wore, leaving her utterly bare to his gaze. 
There was no piece of her that wasn’t beautiful. From the upturned tip of her nose to the full swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the lush fullness of her hips…
And then suddenly between one blink and the next…she changed.
Not her body. That stayed the same. 
An iridescent pair of pink wings sprouted from her back and stretched wide…her hair stopped being ordinarily blonde and turned blush pink…and her ocean blue eyes turned into a colour that he could spend hours describing and still fail horribly. 
She had been beautiful before. With that glamour. 
But without it…without it…she was breathtaking. So beautiful that she put him on his knees. He could just stare at her, drink her in, his mouth slightly open. 
“I have wings just like you,” she told him, a smile on her face and he swallowed. 
There was only one type of faerie that had wings like that…A very rare type. 
“You’re…a Floresco Faerie?” he asked her, his voice hoarse. 
Hunted to near extinction by the Spring Court centuries ago. 
And one had seemingly escaped to Velaris. 
Her full lips pulled into a smile. 
“Guilty as charged,” Blossom answered, lifting his hand that still kept a loose hold of that amber liquid to her lips and took a drink before she lifted it to his own lips. 
He took a sip, his eyes still fixed on these beautiful, fluttering wings. So rare. So beautiful. 
“Now, Azriel. Why don’t you tell me what you would like tonight and I’ll…” she trailed off as she saw his expression, mustering him for a moment. He would spend the rest of his life wondering what exactly she saw in his eyes that made her take the glass from him, put it on her bedside table and then suggest: “How about a bath?”
Somehow that was the best suggestion he had heard in decades. 
Her bathtub was right there, connected to her bedroom, a massive thing that was pure indulgence. Of course, it was. They were in a pleasure hall after all…
She stripped him out of his clothing slowly and then led him into that massive bathtub…the water blood hot and smelled like roses, with plenty of bubbles to go around.
He had never bothered with bubble baths before.
Clearly an oversight. 
Just as it was an oversight to have her small, soft hands all over him as she spread soap over his skin. 
She didn’t ask, didn’t give him an opportunity to turn her down. Blossom touched him gently with no hesitation. Not even thinking twice about it.
He could have wept with gratitude. Her scent never turned into fear. It stayed the soft scent of roses clinging to every inch of her. Not once did she hesitate to touch his skin, or his scars, or the dark illyrian markings over his arms and chest. 
Every muscle of his body grew lax in response, until he was a puddle underneath her touch, just watching her. 
Watching this beautiful female and her soft smile. 
Blossom washed his hair, fingernails gently scrubbing her scalp and he could have started purring.
Something inside him relaxed. He wasn’t even sure what. But just the feeling of another warm body next to him…of her touch to his body, without hesitation, without fear, without anything…simple touch…
He couldn’t even remember the last time he had that. 
Maybe Azriel should have expected it, but still, the moment her hand snaked down his stomach, lower, it took him by surprise. 
He caught her hand in his, hand shooting out to wrap around one fragile wrist like a snake. 
At least now, her scent should sour into fear. She just held still. 
“You don’t want me to touch you?” she asked him, one eyebrow raised. 
He really didn’t. Not like this. Not…
“Not like this,” he admitted weakly and her eyes widened. 
“Would you like to touch me?” she asked him, cocking her head to the side and he let go of her wrist. When she arched her back just like that, she made the best of every single one of her assets. 
And she was beautiful. But Azriel didn’t want that. Not truly. 
“No,” he said quietly. “Not like this.”  
He just wanted…
Something inside Blossom’s expression seemed to shift to understanding. She didn’t ask, she didn’t push…didn’t try to touch him like that anymore. Instead, her hands shifted to slow languid strokes…gently and…nearly reverently along his chest and arms. 
“Would you like a kiss instead?” She asked him softly, soft lips dusting over the shell of his ear. 
He hesitated. 
That was seemingly all the agreement she needed. Little butterfly kisses were pressed all over his face, against his temple and forehead and the tip of his nose and Azriel trembled underneath her at this. 
Kiss after Kiss, her sweet breath and the plush softness of her lips…they pressed to his skin without hesitation, without fear. Like he wasn’t a monster to fear. Like he was just a male in need of comfort. 
 It was more than he had ever thought he would be able to get that night. Or ever. 
Comfort that he didn’t think he deserved and still clung to like a drowning male, because this was all he could have…This was all he was allowed to have. 
He lost track of how long she did that…until the water turned cold and both their skin had shrivelled up…until she got him out of that water. 
The spell she had seemingly cast over him broke. 
This was all he was willing to take from her. All Azriel deserved. 
So he got redressed and Blossom watched him, infinite softness in her gaze. 
“You know…not a lot of males would pay the amount you do, just for this,” she told him carefully, as he had the doorknob in his hands. 
“Not a lot of females are willing to take me on,” he countered quietly, before he opened the door and disappeared through it. Forever. It would be nothing but a stolen interlude. 
Or would it? 
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heartswithinreach · 5 hours
Sitting on LaDS lap
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Physical contact is nothing new for you two. You trust Xavier with your life on the battlefield and when you're fighting the evening commute.
The train is packed on your way home after fighting Wanderers all day but Xavier doesn't notice until he sits down and realizes the person sitting next to him isn't his partner.
But before he can give up his seat for you, you're sitting across his lap and resting your head on his shoulder. He watches you settle, amused and flustered by your boldness to do something like this in public.
"I don't think this is allowed for safety." He says gently, not wanting to wake you. "But if you're that tired..."
Xavier holds you close, making sure you don't fall off his lap from the movement of the train, and peacefully dozes with you until you're home.
“You’re supposed to be my bodyguard — why aren’t I sitting on your lap?”
Rafayel pouts mostly for show and so he doesn’t come across as too eager. He’s barely holding back from squeezing you in a tight hug, he didn’t expect you to be so soft.
But he also didn’t expect what he said would make you self conscious. Rafayel quickly pulls you back down when you try to get off of him, wrapping his arms around your middle, making sure you stay put.
“Relax, cutie. I was just joking. You can stay for as long as you want.”
But he will expect you to return the favor whenever he wants in the future. Especially if it’s at an event and he wants to rub your relationship in other peoples’ faces.
His reaction depends on where you are and what the situation is.
If you sit on his lap while waiting to be seated at a restaurant, he’ll be unimpressed by the PDA but allow it so you’re both not sore from standing.
In the privacy of his or your apartment, you’re welcome to do whatever you like.
Every time you come near him in the early evening while he’s reading a book, he secretly hopes you’ll curl up on his lap. Your warmth is just the balm he needs after his shift at the hospital.
Zayne always worries about his evol in the back of his mind. What if his body temperature is too low and being so close is unpleasant for you? The only thing that’ll stop him from fretting and relax is if you play with his hair.
Your ass hasn’t touched an actual chair in this man’s presence since you made your relationship official.
The first time you tried, he stopped reading his intel to ask, “What are you doing all the way over there, sweetie?” and patted his thigh. It couldn’t have been more obvious what he wanted.
Won’t stand for any “I’m too heavy” nonsense. He’s genuinely offended when you say that. Have you seen his physique? He waits until you’ve decided to give it a shot and then he's manhandling you onto his lap.
Pavlov dogs you into this routine until one day you just sit on his lap, completely unprompted, and he gives you the most infuriating, self-satisfied grin when you realize what you’ve done.
He’s won this small victory and he won’t let you forget it.
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lotusatoru · 1 day
cw: exhibitionism, edging, teasing, my little loser gojo, 18+
gojo wants you to watch him. whether he's drying himself off in your steamy bathroom, the shifting muscles of his back and perfect dimples above his ass dripping with water as you watch through the mirror, or splayed out with his weeping cock on his belly, drooling in excitement at the weight of your gaze on his body. it doesn't matter as long as you're there, drinking him in, telling him how good he looks.
he needs your attention like he needs air, so brush his hair from his face while he rambles about his day over dinner and let him make a show out of stripping before he steps into a bubble bath you're both about to share—it's nice, the way his eyes twinkle when he's knows you're looking.
it was easy to pick up on his exhibitionist tendencies from the start: he doesn't put on clothes when he goes out into the kitchen to make breakfast (hazardous), stared straight into your eyes as he licked his melting ice cream cone on your first date (who does that?), and spent every summer night on your porch curled into you naked save for some silly little blanket.
it doesn't matter what he's doing, as long as you're there.
just lay next to him on the bed while he masturbates—prop your head up on your knuckles and let your eyes wander down his chest, watch it tint lovely pink shades like his cheeks, rising and falling the more you stare. he always teases himself with you around; he'll circle a finger over his dripping red tip and squeeze his balls because it gets him so close, then turn to you as he comes down from the brink.
he knows it's a sight to behold and that turns him on even more. he knows it's indulgent, erotic and personal and so captivating. the desperate mewls and thrusts of his hips, how you'll lock eyes when he finally starts to rub his cock and take care of himself.
he's sacred—been told so since birth. everything he does, all the little quirks and aspects of him—his fuzzy happy trail, the way he teases, his urges, they're all holy.
sometimes, he'll lean into your chest while his hand strokes his length, fingers a slippery mess as you murmur teases and praises into his hair. all you have to do is play with his hair and tell him he's so sweet, so pretty, and he's molten in your hands.
his favorite thing is stretching during the sleepy, quiet mornings after a sweaty, sticky night of tasting and exploring each other.
it's routine at this point—the sheets fall from his hips, and he stands up and elongates his limbs, grinning down at you, at how you track the tension of his taut stomach and muscular thighs. his morning-wood jumps under the care of your glance—it makes him feel like he's the only thing that matters.
more than anything, gojo loves being known intimately. he thrives off of being wanted and needed, the feeling of being taken and loved and desired in special, secret ways—it makes his dick and heart swell.
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automeris-io-moth · 2 days
Short #5
"Shush, you're okay," Villain soothed, a warm hand running through Hero's hair, mask long ago discarded on the floor, filthy with blood and dirt. 
Hero disagreed, grunting as a half-thought response, still navigating on the frontier of consciousness. Trying, and failing, to slap the other’s hand away. 
“They did quite a number on you, no one would believe they’re supposed to be your friends.” Villain whispered the last part, a hand reaching for Hero’s belt, taking their weapons out, and throwing them to the side. Hero’s hand could only twitch “One can only wonder what would have happened to you if I hadn’t asked for you unharmed.” 
Carefully, Villain brushed a single tear going down Hero’s cheek. They hadn’t noticed they shed it. 
“There’s no need to cry, with me you’re safe.” 
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txrii · 14 hours
But Daddy I Love Him - Tyler Owens
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Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader
based on the song but daddy i love him by taylor swift
word count: 2,131
warnings: mentions of storm/tornado, like one swear word, also not edited at all lol
summary: Tyler Owens has a reputation around town for being reckless. People call him wild for going into storms the way he does. They think Y/N is just as, if not crazier, for falling for someone like him. Her father is no different than them, fearing his daughter may one day be hurt or even killed by Tyler's wild excursions. That is, until he has a change of heart when he does just the opposite.
a/n: it's been such a long time since i've wrote, especially x reader. over three years! shoutout to @bright-molina for letting me spout off fic ideas until i finally decided to actually sit down and write one. also, my knowledge of tornadoes is very very slim, so i’m not sure how accurate my portrayal is. i hope you all enjoy!
The adrenaline was coursing through her veins. The chase had gone well, and Tyler and his crew had been able to pull off their latest wild stunt with ease. As Y/N looked over to the driver’s seat of the truck, Tyler still had a huge smile plastered on his face. She could tell he felt the adrenaline as well. He always did, no matter how many chases he had gone on. 
Y/N wished they could stay like this forever. But, as they turned into the downtown square of her hometown, she knew what awaited them. Eyes turned immediately to the truck as it made its way down the road. Tyler had a reputation in this town. Everyone knew what he did for a living, and they thought he was crazy for it. When they found out Y/N had fallen for him, they thought she was even crazier. 
As they pulled into the long driveway of the farmhouse Y/N called home, a man was seated in a chair on the porch reading a book. Y/N sighed as she looked down at her fingers intertwined with Tyler’s. She knew what was to come when she got out of the truck. She knew her father didn’t like Tyler, and he made sure to make it clear. When the truck reached the end of the driveway, Tyler got out and headed to the passenger door. He opened it and Y/N hopped out, fingers once again intertwined with his. She smiled as she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He bent down to plant one on the top of her head, whispering, “See you later, sweetheart.” Y/N dropped Tyler’s hand as she made her way to the porch. Tyler glanced over at Y/N’s father who was still sitting on the porch, tipping his hat in his direction as he moved to get back in his truck. Y/N’s father gave no response other than pursed lips. 
Tyler pulled away as Y/N made it to the top of the steps. “Hey, daddy,” Y/N said with a smile as she faced her father. He let out a sigh, setting his book on the porch table, “When are you going to let that boy go, huh?” Y/N pursed her lips. She sat down in the empty chair next to him, feeling defeated, “I really wish you’d give him a chance, daddy. It’s been almost a year. He’s not as bad as the town makes him out to be, really. If you just got to know him -” 
She was cut off by her father’s sharp reply, “I know all I need to know about him, Y/N. Come to your senses and see what’s really going on. He’s crazy with all these stunts.” Y/N smiled slightly. Everyone said the same thing. She tried again to get through to her father, “I know he’s crazy, but he’s the one I want. I just wish you’d just have one conversation with him, then you’d see he really isn’t that bad.” Her father was not having this. He stood up angrily, “Y/N, you’re going to get hurt, or worse. One of these days you’re going to go out on one of these chases,” he emphasized “chases” with air quotes, “and you’re not going to come home. I wish you could see just how dangerous this really is.” Y/N stood up to face him once again. The adrenaline from the chase was still running hot through her veins. Tears began to form in her eyes as she yelled, “Daddy, I love him! I wish you could see that!” As the tears began to fall, she made her way into the house and to her room, putting her father’s pleas behind her.
Tyler had a reputation around the town before the two had even met. Everyone knew of the infamous “Tornado Wrangler” and the crew that followed him around. Being from an area where storms were common, they made multiple appearances in local bars and motels to celebrate chases and rest up after them. That was how the two met. Y/N bumped into him - quite literally - as she was leaving a restaurant next door to a bar he and the crew were just entering. He invited her along for a drink, and the rest was history. When someone found out they were together, the news spread around the town like wildfire. No one could believe it. Y/N Y/L/N was a quiet, introverted local girl; Tyler Owens was chaos, he was revelry. The two were polar opposites, and according to this small town, that should never work. Whenever that red, overly-modified truck rolled into town there were whispers and stares, and they were only amplified when Y/N began appearing in the passenger seat. But the whispers couldn’t be heard over the loving stares and the screeching tires of the truck.
The news of the storm scheduled to hit in a town about an hour away was plastered over every news station. They said it was supposed to be one of the biggest the town had seen in a decade. This just piqued the interest of Tyler and the crew. And, of course, Y/N wanted to tag along. She darted through the house, getting a small pack of supplies ready for the chase. It didn’t take long for her father to catch on to what she was doing. He stood in front of her in an attempt to block her from packing any more, “Y/N Y/L/N, don’t tell me you’re seriously thinking of going out there.” Y/N huffed as she slipped through an opening between the man and the wall. “Daddy, I’ll be fine. You may not realize it, but Tyler wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He wouldn’t get us into anything he knew he couldn’t get us out of.” Her father turned to face her once again, crossing his arms. “Y/N, I just want what’s best for you. I’m tired of hearing about this boy and his stunts…” The girl tuned him out as she could hear the familiar purr of the engine pulling up the drive. She grinned and hoisted the bag she was packing up onto her shoulder, headed down the stairs. Her father. of course, followed her, voice becoming more frantic. 
Y/N swung open the door, and there he was, the man she loved, standing at the bottom of the porch steps. He grinned back at her, once again tipping his hat at her father. “I’ll take good care of her, sir,” Tyler said, hoping to ease the man’s mind. It, of course, did not. He once again tried to plead with his daughter, but began directing his anger toward Tyler when he realized she still wasn’t listening. Tyler gave a subtle sigh, pursing his lips, as he extended his hand toward Y/N, who followed him to the truck. When the two were settled in, Tyler turned to Y/N, “You ready, baby?” Y/N gave a grin, “Floor it, Ty.” And then they were off.
The news channels got one thing wrong, the storm was much worse than they had expected. The crew were only a couple miles outside the town they landed in when they realized it. They turned right around, they had to make sure they got everyone they could to safety. They split up when they got back, in order to cover as much ground as possible. Tyler would not let Y/N out of her sight; he promised her father he’d keep her safe, and he knew her father would never forgive him if anything happened to her. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.
Tyler and Y/N had gotten everyone they could to safety, now it was time for them to get there themselves. They ran towards one of the shelters they had ushered people into. The closer they got, the more the wind picked up. Objects began to fly left and right. Tyler did everything he could to block them from Y/N, earning himself a few cuts and bruises. Finally, they made it to the shelter. Tyler helped Y/N in then climbed in himself, shutting and securing the doors behind him. Y/N was shaking as she lowered herself to the floor and took cover. Sure, she had been in storms herself, but nothing to this extent. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would somehow make time go faster. Tyler, who had just taken cover next to her, reached out to try and give her some sort of comfort. He pulled her close, trying to give her more protection with his own body. They listened to the roaring sound, like a train was passing right above them.After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the sound quieted down. It was over, they were safe. Tyler gave Y/N’s shoulder a squeeze, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “You can open your eyes now, sweetheart. It’s done, it’s gone,” he whispered in her ear. Someone had already opened the shelter and light streamed in. Only a few buildings still stood, the rest diminished to a mass of rubble. Y/N and Tyler shared a glance before finding the rest of the crew and getting to work helping however they could.
Tyler and Y/N drove home nearly in silence. Y/N was still extremely shaken up, and Tyler knew that. He would try to make conversation here and there, but he knew Y/N was probably not in the headspace to make jokes. Halfway through the drive, Y/N spoke over the soft country music playing in the truck, “What are we going to tell my dad, Ty? You heard what he was saying before we left. There’s no way I’m going to change his mind about you now.” Y/N had tried to call her dad numerous times, but was unable to pick up any service. Tyler sighed, reaching his hand out for her to grab, “I’m sure he’ll understand, sweetheart.” As Y/N laced her fingers with his, he lifted their hands up to place a kiss on the back of hers. 
Y/N’s father had never once been happy to hear the roar of the engine of that truck pulling into his driveway. But today, he knew that only meant one thing, his baby girl was okay. He burst through the door just as Tyler had made his way to the passenger door to let Y/N out. The man ran down the porch, almost stumbling and falling, and wrapped his daughter in the biggest hug he had ever given her. There were tears forming in his eyes as he exclaimed how happy he was that Y/N had come back safe. She laughed a little bit as he let go, “Hi, daddy.” Tyler was standing off to the side, wanting to give the two some space, but also preparing for what the man might say to him. He was well aware Y/N’s father did not care for him much. Tyler saw Y/N gesture his way, and her father’s eyes found him, gesturing for him to come over. Tyler approached, ready for whatever may come from the man. To his surprise, however, the man reached a hand out for him to shake. Tyler shakes his hand, relieved. He’s once again caught off guard, however, as Y/N’s father wraps him in a hug almost as big as the one he gave his daughter. He kept muttering thank yous as Tyler stood there, shocked and stiff as a board. Y/N giggled at the sight. But, hey, at least her father finally properly met Tyler.
A few weeks later, after Y/N had almost shaken off everything that had happened, she took Tyler and her father out to lunch. The sun was warm and beautiful, not a storm in sight. Turns out, just as she had thought, her father loved him as soon as he got to know him. The townsfolk looked at the three sitting on the restaurant patio, dumbfounded. Y/N looked at them and giggled, adjusting the strap of her dress that had started to fall slightly, “Oh my God, they should see their faces!” Tyler and her father joined her in laughing, and Tyler reached for her hand. The two laced their fingers together. Tyler gave a glance at their audience and then back to Y/N, “Fuck ‘em. You’re my lady, and that’s all we need.” He placed another kiss onto the top of her hand. 
Y/N smiled back at him, “Me and my wild boy.”
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foone · 9 hours
I visited the world where Gerard Way was visiting family in Minneapolis on 9/11 so he kept his Cartoon Network job instead of becoming a musician.
It's pretty similar to ours. He didn't go into cartoons as you might expect, but he is way more famous in the comic book world.
As for butterfly effects, MCR doesn't exist, so Twilight doesn't exist, which means 50 Shades of Grey doesn't exist. I couldn't find any references to Stephenie Meyer or E. L. James, so either they didn't go into writing or they didn't use those same pen names.
Robert Pattinson was in Harry P*tter and then mainly independent stuff from then on out.
Kristen Stewart is somehow a bigger star than in this world? She was in Red Revenge, 2012 Soviet film about WW3 happening in the 60s and then in the 80s the survivors come over to the US to find out of anything survives of the cowardly US leadership that started the war. (yes, they shoot Reagan. He's out of his mind and it's shot like Old Yeller). She's been in a lot of USSR films since then, as this greatly raised her profile.
Taylor Lautner seems to have become a writer instead of an actor. He wrote one of the later seasons of Firefly, after it went all season-long-arcs. He technically cameo'd in season 6 but it was just as a guy who ran a casino station. He had like three lines, two of which were "get off my station!" and "guards!"
I didn't see any real differences in the music world. Sometimes you take out a band or form a super-group with interdimensional exploration, and it changes the whole field. Like if you take out Nirvana the 90s look very different, or if you help the Back Road Boys form then the 2010s are all about the retro-country revival. Anyway: MCR, as good a band as they are, don't appear to be one of those "linchpin" bands that affect the whole musical landscape.
BTW, the weirdest one of those? Michael Fucking Jackson. He's a super influential musician, inspired so many others, the king of pop, right? NOPE! If his music career is skipped, then it only affects his siblings and the one hit wonder "Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell.
Strange, right? There's more downstream time effects on the music industry from taking out David Hasselhoff!
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