#tumblr prompt

[twola]

Two words: messy blowjob.

Teehee, let’s go. 

Also, s/o to @revolversandlace, who mentioned writing a possible 1k+ scene literally describing a blowjob, so obviously, I had to give it a try myself. 😉

Convalescence

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Feelings are realized as you nurse Arthur back to health after his run-in with the O’Driscolls. Actions, however, are a bit limited during his convalescence.

Everything hurts. From the searing pain in his shoulder to the overall ache of his muscles, this definitely ranks as one of the most painful experiences of his life.

Regards sent to Colm O’Driscoll, of course.

He opens his eyes and a shadowed figure slowly comes into focus, a small, feminine frame seated on a stool next to his cot.

It’s you, but your normally tressed hair hangs limply in a ponytail, your eyes bloodshot and puffy, and it was obvious that you’ve been crying as his vision clears up.

“Wh- why are you cryin’ there, sweetheart?” He hoarsely whispers, voice rough from disuse.

You rub at your eyes, but it is mostly in vain as you can’t stem the flow of tears tracking down your cheeks. “When y-you fell off your horse when you came back, I-I thought you were d-dyin’.”  

Your voice cracks on the last word.

Arthur frowns, “Sweet girl, I ain’t worth them tears. Save ‘em for a good man.”

“You - you’re such a fool,” You grit out, teeth clenching, “You - you are a good man. The best of them, Arthur Morgan.”

“C’mon now, darlin’. Stop your lyin’.”

“I’m not lying.” You move to sit on the side of the cot, hovering over him, “Why can’t you see what a good man you are? Why are you so blind to it?”

He remains silent. Silly girl. You haven’t seen what he can do - what he does - to other men. The blood on his hands. You’d be far less likely to be praising him, far less likely to be…

…leaning in closer to him.

A pang sears through Arthur’s chest, sharp as a whip, when he realizes you aren’t pulling away from him.

“You’re by far the best man I’ve ever known.”

“Reckon you haven’t known many men then, little miss.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, and in that moment, you lean completely over him and press your lips against his, a move he’s not completely surprised by.

His good arm, unburdened with the wound on his shoulder, winds around your shoulders as you press against his chest gently, still hovering so as not to put too much weight on him.

Arthur allows it all, from the first timid press of your lips on his to the far less timid pressing of your tongue, demanding entry into his mouth. He groans in response as he lets you in, and a mewl works its way up your throat.

It's only then, with you hovering inches above his chest, lips, and tongue working against his own, that he realizes that this is quickly turning into a predicament. Of course, it is, considering the view he’s gotten down the front of your blouse.

Someone, god, hopefully not you, stripped him of his bloody union suit, which probably did need to be burned, but failed to re-dress him. He was nude as the day he was born underneath the blankets, and it became increasingly clear as he felt his blood rushing toward his groin. 

Of all the times to act like a damn teenage boy-

He cannot help the groan that wells up in him as you shift, the curve of your waist at the flare of your hip pressing against his own - pressing against his hardening member.

He internally curses when you slowly pull away. 

But your eyes are lust-blown, a red blush settling on your cheeks. 

“Darl-”

“Let me take care of you.” You say, slowly sitting up and reaching for the edge of the blanket with your small, thin fingers. 

He wants to tell you to stop, that you don’t have to do this, that you don’t have to do anything, that he’s been smitten with you since you rode in half-starved and doe-eyed on the back of Davey’s horse all those months ago. 

But silent he remains as you slowly draw the blanket down his body. Your nose crinkles as your lips turn downwards as inch by inch of his chest is revealed to you - bruises and lash marks and signs of the torture he received at Colm’s hand.

“Oh, Arthur.” You sigh sadly, eyes watering over again.

“ ‘m gonna be fine, sweetheart. Just a little uglier than usual.” He tries to lighten the mood with self-depreciation, but the deepening of your frown tells him that’s not working. You blink the tears collecting away and continue to pull the blanket downward, revealing his navel and the trail of dark, wiry hair leading downwards.

He sucks in a breath as the collecting fabric brushes against his ramrod-hard cock.

Finally, finally, your hand slowly pulls the blanket over his hips, first over the curls at the bottom of his pelvis, to expose his cock, leaking from the tip and laying heavily over his thigh. 

You look back at him, and he’s wide-eyed, biting his lower lip, looking down at you hovering over his hips. You can see his chest expanding with his breathing, speeding up as he stares at you. 

You lean down and Arthur’s good arm swings over his head to block his vision, because if he sees this, he’s sure to make embarrassing noises loud enough for the whole damn camp to hear.

He feels your small hand wrap around his cock, and he bites his lip not to make a sound as you gently pull it upright.

But he is not able to stifle the noise he makes when his cock is enveloped in something wet and warm - his arm flies upward and he cranes his head to watch you take him into your mouth. An embarrassingly needy whine escapes his mouth, but that’s better than the shout he wants to let out as you suck gently at the head, your tongue pressing against the weeping slit of his cock.

“Jesus Christ.”

You let go of the head of his cock with a pop, and he bucks up slightly, as if to follow your warmth as you look up at him.

“You alright? Need me to stop?” You ask, one hand still wrapped around his length.

“Oh, darlin’, please, please don’t ask me that.” His forearm slides across his eyes again as his other hand.

“So you want me to keep goin’?”

“Jesus fuck, of course.” He replies incredulously, flabbergasted that you could doubt this felt amazing.

You smile for a moment before turning back to his length, enveloping him once again in the velvet warmth of your mouth. His head hits the pillow as he loudly sucks in a breath.

You slowly, deliberately, work your way down his length, bobbing up and down, sucking on his skin gently as you take more and more of him into your mouth.

It feels like years you’re doing this, inch by inch of velvety skin warmed by your wet cavern. 

Finally, you gag slightly as your nose touches the chestnut curls at the base of his cock, saliva dripping down from your lips and slowly running down toward his heavy, full testicles, and he has to actively clench the sides of the cot to stop himself from bucking upward. 

“Oh, oh god, woman.” He mutters as you slide back up, fingers once again grasping the base of his length as you suck in a breath, looking up at him with a hint of a smile, your lips and chin shimmering with your spittle. His cock shines against the oil lamp’s yellowed light, absolutely dripping wet from your mouth.

You lean back down again, but instead of taking his length into your mouth, you run your tongue down its side, all the way down where you nuzzle against the globes at the base of his cock, gently sucking one into your mouth. He whines, whines, this gunslinger, this outlaw, this hardened mountain of muscle beneath you. All being torn apart as you suckle on him.

After several moments, you pull back, and he’s panting, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat developing over his clavicles, and the bandages wrapped tightly across his pectorals and shoulder.

Your thumb presses gently on the underside of his cock, and he closes his eyes and lets out a low, long moan. You smile, rubbing at his hip affectionately.

“Christ alive, woman, you’re killin’ me.”

“Ain’t done yet, Arthur.”

And with that, you resume, leaning down and retaking him, sucking harder than you have before, leaving him squirming beneath you. 

You suck, and bob, you squeeze his balls and rub at his thighs. Lord almighty, he must have died at Colm’s hand - this had to be heaven.

The burning in his gut reaches a fever pitch, and he knows he’s not long to last.

He tries to sit up, but can’t with his shoulder bound, and finds that he just has to make enough noise to tell you to get off of him.

“Darl- darlin’, I’m gonna come- you- you need to move-”

His sentence goes unfinished as you look up at him, mouth full of his cock, and slowly, deliberately, slide all the way down, saliva dribbling out of your mouth again as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat.

Arthur’s eyes go as wide as saucers, and he audibly swallows before his head hits the pillow once again. You slide up and down, sucking, tongue working around his length, the gentle suction of your mouth causing him to whimper.

He grunts, hands clenched around the wooden sides of the cot, hips moving despite his attempts not to. He is completely at your mercy - each lick and suck of his cock sends him further down that road of unabashed pleasure.

“Sweet- oh god, oh - fuck - I’m -” Arthur cannot finish his sentence before he trails off into a groan, his hips bucking up as you press down, and he shoots his spend down your throat, you pull back, gagging slightly, and as you sit up, Arthur can barely believe his eyes as he watches a dribble of his white, milky spend drip from the corner of your mouth. Christ, it makes him want to come again.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, clearing your throat, and pull the blanket up to Arthur’s chest once again, where he just looks at you, stupefied.

You cock an eyebrow at him as you slide up the side of the cot, sitting next to his chest. “You alright? That wasn-” You frown, “God, I hope that wasn’t bad.”

Arthur’s good hand grabs the collar of your shirt and yanks you down, where he presses his mouth to yours desperately, not caring at all that he can taste the bitter tang of himself on your tongue. You draw away after a moment, and Arthur tucks a strand of your hair that escaped its braid behind your ear.

“Woman, you’re the only one takin’ care of me from now on.”

[runninriot]

Small Treasures To Keep

inspired by the prompt 'Love is not in the big things but in the small ones' by @sidekick-hero written for @steddielovemonth day 9

wc: 1.472 | rated: G | cw: none | tags: Musician Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington has a crush, just sweet boys being sweet, friends to lovers

   “There were like, at least 200 people there! And they were actually enjoying our show! Can you believe that? It was amazing, Steve! They listened to us play, and banged their heads, and they cheered after every song. Some of them even asked if we had any merch with us and obviously we didn’t but we gave out autographs and- Oh! I almost forgot! I got you something! I’ll be right back.” Eddie nearly topples off the couch in excitement.

Steve watches him with a smile on his face, equally amused and charmed by Eddie’s dorky behaviour, and bites back a laugh when Eddie almost stumbles over his own feet as he hurries towards his bedroom.

Eddie is a menace. So strange and irritating at times but in such an endearing way it’s impossible not to like him.

Steve’s been listening to him talk non-stop since he arrived at his trailer about ten minutes ago. Talking himself breathless while recounting the events of Corroded Coffin’s first real gig, as Eddie calls it.

Steve can’t blame Eddie for being so over the moon, so overjoyed and proud. So thrilled to have gotten the chance to play as substitute opener for some Indiana metal band last night.

It must’ve been a blast, by the sounds of what Eddie’s been telling him. And Steve really is happy for him but somewhere deep down he’s still a little sad. Because he was supposed to be there for the show, to watch his friend perform in a venue four times the size of The Hideout, in front of an actual crowd. But Steve had been caught up at work because Keith called in sick last minute, leaving Steve in charge of the closing shift at Family Video which meant he couldn't make it out in time for the gig.

That really sucked.

Steve had been looking forward to the concert ever since Eddie asked him if he wanted to come see them play. When he told him it would mean a lot if he did. That he’d appreciate to have his emotional support there because he’d been so nervous about the whole thing.

It made Steve feel special, in a way. Like he’s important to Eddie, important enough for Eddie to want him there. For wanting Steve to witness the most exciting moment in the band’s history since Gareth’s mom had finally relented and let them use the garage for their rehearsals.

Steve had wanted to be there.

So, not being able to go was utterly frustrating. Not only because he really would’ve loved to watch Eddie play his guitar on a real stage but also because he kind of felt like he let Eddie down.

It was a miracle he even got a hold on him over the phone to tell him the unfortunate news. Eddie was just about to leave and make his way to the venue when Steve called him. (He would've already been out of the house had he not spilled a drink on his shirt and needed to change.)

Steve was gutted when he heard Eddie let out a heavy sigh, felt a pang in his heart at the defeat in Eddie’s voice when he told him that it was okay.

He felt horrible, like a bad friend. Unreliable and disappointing.

But then Eddie told him he understood and not to worry his pretty head about it. Said he wasn't angry, just sad because he wouldn’t be able to look out for Steve in the crowd when his nerves got the better of him.

    “Promise you’ll think of me?” Eddie had asked and the promise spilled easily over Steve’s lips because-

Well. When is he not thinking about Eddie?

The guy with the unruly mane and chocolate brown eyes. The guy with the cheeky smile and a passion for teasing words. Whose small flirty gestures get Steve’s blood boiling and make his heart jump.

He’s on Steve’s mind constantly because he’s a constant in his life now. A good friend, a kind soul. Annoying, and loud, and wonderful to be around.

Eddie is-

    “Ah, fuck!”

The clattering sound of something takes Steve out of his thoughts and he can’t help but chuckle when he turns towards the noise and his eyes fall on Eddie, helplessly fumbling with the chain hanging from his belt loops that got stuck on the door handle.

When he's finally managed to free himself, he speed walks over to Steve with a big grin on his face. Eddie comes to a stop right in front of him, expectantly looking down at Steve as he triumphantly holds up a crinkled piece of paper, waiting for him to take it.

   “What is that?” Steve asks, confused and unable to identify what he’s now holding in his hands.

Upon closer look he realises it’s a flyer, or it had been one before someone decided to tear it in half. Steve can barely make out some dates and half of the name of a venue, thinks it might be one for the show last night.

   “Look at the back,” Eddie says and his smile widens even more.

When Steve turns it around, he sees the Corroded Coffin logo scribbled on the backside of the paper. Beneath the band’s name, he immediately recognizes Eddie’s squiggly handwriting, thinks he can make out the names of the other band member’s too.

Steve looks back up at Eddie, returning the smile as he realises what this is.

   “You got me an autograph? That’s so cool! Thanks, Eds!”

   “Not just any autograph. It’s the first. When people came asking for autographs we panicked a bit because no one had ever wanted us to sign anything. So we practiced. What you have there is the first piece of paper Corroded Coffin have ever signed. Gareth wanted to throw it away but I saved it because I wanted you to have it. Y’know, uh, because you couldn’t come to the show and I, uhm, I still wanted to share the experience with you.”

Eddie’s face turns bright red and he seems nervous all of a sudden.

And Steve just... stares. Lets his eyes drift between Eddie and the small treasure he’s holding in his hands.

It might just be a piece of paper, some might even call it trash. But to Steve this is something precious. Something he’ll hold onto forever because Eddie gave it to him. Eddie thought about him when he should’ve been buzzing with ecstasy over their successful gig.

   “That’s-“ Steve doesn’t know what to say.

So instead of talking he stands up and pulls Eddie into a tight embrace, feels his heart beating like crazy when Eddie returns it with his own arms wrapped around Steve.

   “I love it,” Steve says, keeps other words hidden inside.

They tentatively let go of each other, still staying close, still standing toe to toe.

   “Maybe it’ll be worth some money if me and the guys make it big one day.”

It already is Steve’s most valuable possession.

   “When, not if,” Steve says matter-of-factly, holding the paper close to his heart.

   “You really think so?” Eddie asks, voice hushed like it’s a secret wish that might come true if he doesn't jinx it.

   “Mhm.” Steve nods. “But I would never sell this autograph. I’ll frame it and keep it forever.”

   “You will?” Eddie asks, a little disbelieving but also...

    Hopeful?

And for a moment they just stand there, looking at each other wide-eyed and red-cheeked, both flustered and shy. Smiling.

   “Forever,” Steve says honestly, more meaning to the word than he’s ready to admit.

-

A few months later Steve finally gets to see Eddie and his band play on a real stage, in front of an actual crowd. He’s there in the front row, cheering for Eddie, buzzing with joy and pride.

And when their eyes meet in the middle of a song Steve doesn’t yet know is about him, he decides he’s going to tell Eddie that he loves him.

-

And when years later a reporter asks Corroded Coffin’s manager – who’s known to have been close friends with the guys forever (there are even unconfirmed speculations about him and the lead singer being lovers) – at which point in life he knew they had made it, Steve smiles and says “When I held their first autograph in my hands”.

The reporter laughs and the other band members roll their eyes fondly at the cheesy response. But Eddie looks at him and returns the smile, unnoticable for anyone other than Steve. And in that moment it means more to him than the gold ring he's secretly wearing on a chain around his neck. It means more than success and what they've accomplished in life.

It's a small thing, a hidden 'I love you'.

Another small treasure to keep.

[yeetus-feetus]

WIP Wednesday

Tumblr prompt: Tim is the first to find out the Red Hood’s identity and from then on sticks to Jason during patrol like glue (much to Jason’s chagrin, dammit, it would feel wrong to beat up Robin when he’s that starry eyed…) Cue: panic from the rest of the batfamily who still think Hood is a 40-something year old crime lord and now assume they’re dating.

@ghost-bxrd

Jason sighs, looking up at the sky dramatically. “Robin, I know you’re following me”, he calls out into the darkness, and there’s shuffling behind him.

He turns around to see Robin step out of the shadows, letting his cape fall apart and reveal bright red and green spandex and kevlar. “I wish the outside of my cape was black, I was running around like a sparkling traffic light”, he pouts under the helmet.

“Mm, maybe you should’ve taken some initiative. I designed my Robin suit all by myself, you took whatever B gave you”, Tim replies teasingly.

Jason chuckles. “Mmm, and maybe you should try humbling yourself every once and a while”. He removes his helmet and quirks an eyebrow from under his domino mask. “Hard to believe Batman never noticed you following him, I noticed you 10 yards back.”

Tim grins, holding his camera up and Jason sticks his tongue out as he takes a photo. “That’s funny, Hood, considering I started following you 50 yards ago. I got bored and started wondering how long it would take you to notice me if I started being less careful.” he explains, looking down at the screen to check the quality of the photo he just took.

“Oh, that right huh?” Jason asks sarcastically, not really believing him.

Tim’s grin widens mischievously and he waves the camera in front of his face. “Want proof, big guy?” he asks.

Jason laughs and snatches the small device, clicking through the recently taken photos. After a moment he groans defeatedly. “Yeah okay, I should've known you’d do something like that you little weirdo. so, how’d I hold up to your little test?”

Tim shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it a test, more of a game to entertain myself really”. But Jason raises his eyebrows up at him, making him sigh. “Yeah okay, you lost the game or failed or whatever. But you did fare better than Big Blue, so there’s that.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason smirks, still clicking through photos.

“Yup”, Tim says, popping the ‘p’. And hoists himself up onto the brick parapet, back facing the city as his feet dangle about an inch off the concrete roof. He tilts his head at Jason when he doesn’t move from where he’s standing, low glow of the open camera screen illuminating his face.

“These are actually really good”, Jason finally says, looking up at him. “Like really clear and in focus. It’s impressive”. He walks over and hands the camera back, leaning against the brick.

“Thanks”, Tim smiles. “I’ve always been really into photography, y'know? It’s like capturing a moment in time and immortalising it, so it will exist forever, even when I'm gone. I really like that aspect of it”.

Jason hums in response. “Never took you as someone sentimental”, he comments.

Tim is quiet, but it’s obvious he’s thinking. And then he hums back. “I didn’t realise I was either”.

This time Jason is the one observing, watching Tim rub his thumb over the side of his camera, and wonders if Tim felt the same way about his photos from before he died, if he looked at the the same way he’s looking at these photos now… if he kept jason alive in still frames while he was gone.

Then he decides he’s making it too deep and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as Tim turns his head towards him and scrunches up his nose. “Gross, dude.”

“What?” Jason asks, mildly offended.

“I hate the smell of cigarettes”, Tim states. “I don’t care if you smoke them just, not around me, please”, he says, nose still scrunched as he shimmies away, keeping his hands braced on the brick so he doesn’t fall backwards.

Normally, Jason would roll his eyes and take a deep inhale, maybe blow the smoke back out into the other person's face just to spite them. But Tim isn’t telling him not to smoke, he’s asking him not to smoke around him. And, maybe Tim’s scrunched up nose is kinda cute.

So he snubs the cigarette out and puts it back in its box to save for later. “Fine, but I’m getting something to eat then”, Jason complains.

“Cool, I know a really good burrito place not far from here”, Tim smiles, and then he’s throwing himself backwards off the roof, laughing loudly when Jason rushes up to look over the edge.

“You little fucker!” Jason shouts out as he watches Robin shoot his grappling line and swing from a lower roof across the way. “Oh, I’m gonna get that little shit!”, he grumbles to himself, taking a breath to calm the sudden spike of worried adrenaline Tim caused before chasing after him.

Tim pays for their burritos and a tub of Mexican rice before Jason even has the chance to get out his wallet, and they end up eating them on a roof together a block away.

“Ohh yeah, this is good stuff”, Jason moans around a mouthful, and Tim giggles around his plastic spoon. “Okay, you’re forgiven for scaring the shit out of me earlier”, he mumbles, taking another bite of his burrito.

Tim sits the rice aside to take a picture of Jason with food on his face, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. Then another photo of Jason sticking the finger up at him. “Lol thats gold, I might make that my laptop’s screensaver”, Tim laughs.

“The laptop you keep all your creepy stalker folders on?” Jason asks, mouth still half-full, leaning over to try and get a look at the camera screen. “oh my god I look so stupid, please don’t!” he laughs.

“Oh gross Jason!” Tim squeals, brushing little bits of burrito off his suit. “Stop talking with your mouth full, you’re getting food everywhere!” but Jason only laughs harder, and ends up choking.

Tim rubs his back as he chokes and sputters over the edge of the roof, and laughs at his expense. “Here, have some of my water.”

Jason ends up chugging all of Tim’s water, so Tim steals his Soda in retaliation. It ends up as a game of rooftop tag until they’re both out of breath and decide to head to their separate ways to get some rest.

And that becomes a frequent occurrence on quiet nights after that. Sometimes even working together on a few cases. It’s honestly quite a lot of fun for both of them, a nice change of pace from the usual doom and gloom of Gotham’s streets.

⧫

Tim is tinkering away with some sort of gadget in the Batcave one afternoon when Alfred stops by with some snacks on a silver platter. “Everything alright with you young sir?” he asks politely.

“Yeah Alf, everything's great actually”, Tim replies cheerfully. But Alfred loiters by him for a few moments too long, making Tim lift his head to look at him questioningly. “What’s up?”

Alfred frowns. “Nothing, Master Timothy. Just, do know that you can come to talk to me about anything if you need, absolutely anything”. He pats Tim on the shoulder in some kind of gesture of comfort before leaving Tim confused at his desk.

What was that about?

But Tim is even more confused later on patrol with Batman. Which was already odd actually, usually they don’t patrol together unless they’re working on a case together, or on a mission, or just something important– there’s nothing important happening tonight. B just told him that they were patrolling Midtown and to get in the batmobile.

And so there they were, driving around in dead silence.

“So… Tim, how’ve you been lately?” B asks, voice gruff and tone awkward.

That makes Tim turn around in his seat to face the older man with his whole body, confusion and worry on his face. “I’m good… why the sudden interest?” he asks cautiously. “Is there something up that I should be worried about?”

Bruce grunts and spares a glance at him before looking back at the road. “I was just asking.” and then, after a few beats of quiet: “You’ve been spending an awful amount of time around the Narrows and Crime Alley”, he states. Oh. That’s Jason’s territory.

Oh.

“Are you worried about Red Hood or something?” Tim asks. Well, this is… complicated.

Bruce grunts again. “Or something.” he turns the car around a sharp corner and Tim braces himself against the seat at the sudden change of route.

He thinks whatever that conversation is over, but a few moments later Batman speaks up again. “Just stay away from him. He’s bad news Robin.” Tim turns to give him a look. “I’m serious. No more patrolling Uptown”.

“What!?” Tim asks. “Are you banning me or something??”

“Yes.” And Tim knows his word is final. Batman’s word is law after all.

He huffs and sits back in his seat, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Fine, he won’t patrol in Uptown. He’ll just have to figure out a way to convince Jason to meet with him in Midtown somehow. No, that won’t work. Red Hood won’t leave his turf unattended to.

Buut. there is a loophole here that he can take advantage of…

[bittersweetstargazer]

okay yeah so I made this off of that one post by @frownyalfred about Clark not understanding that human can sense like danger bc he obviously. isn't. so anyways. there's two of them and they're both short– the 1st one is 600 words and the 2nd one is 400 words because I have other things to do with my life currently and I would probably add more to them and maybe I will in the future but this is the best it's gonna get for now (unbetaed as usual)

Untitled by bittersweetstargazer:

1.

Clark stood next to Bruce as Jon and Damian scurried over to the next house in the neighborhood. He chuckled as Jon tripped and almost fell, catching himself only by using his powers of flight. Damian had grabbed him by the back of his costume like scuffing a cat.

"They look so . . . happy." Clark commented, bumping his, shoulder against Bruce's. Bruce snorted, pointing at his own son.

"Damian looks like he's about to stab Jon. I'd hardly describe that as happy."

"Fortunately, he doesn't have his kryptonite sword."

"Oh, I wouldn't trust that. It looks like his sword is covered in lead. To cover what? The world can only dream."

Clark tensed, trying to look through the (supposedly fake) sword Damian brought as part of his costume, jaw dropping when he couldn't.

"You mean he—!"

"No." Bruce snorted. "He made it out of plastic but covered it in a thin layer of lead to mess with Jon."

"Why is your son making empty threats to mine?"

"Did you really expect anything else from him?"

"Like father, like son, I suppose." They both turned to each other and glared.

"Anyway," Clark huffed, "I think it would be nice if we could just have a nice, calm night of no crime-fighting together, right?"

"And with our children."

"Together. And our children, yes."

Bruce shrugged. "Sure."

Clark's left eye twitched. "Right."

They walked off to go join their children just as Damian started scolding at Jon for messing up their innocent act.

"Imbecile!" Damian hissed. "You said the wrong thing! Did you see how many pieces of candy we got? Five! Do you remember how many we got last year? Seven!"

"I'm sorry! My suit was pinching me and I couldn't focus!"

"It doesn't matter about how uncomfortable you are, you must stick to the script!"

"But I—!"

"Boys." Clark cut in. "You already have plenty of candy. And Damian, you're rich. You can buy more candy anytime."

"It's not about the stupid candy!" Damian scoffs. "Half of these aren't vegan-friendly anyways. It's about how much candy we can exploit from these suckers."

"Damian." Bruce raised an eyebrow and his son fell silent. "Although, I must say, your current strategy is quite succe—"

Bruce tensed, falling silent. It didn't escape Clark's notice when Damian also tensed as well. Hm. His earlier statement didn't seem to extend to just murderous tendencies.

"Bruce?"

Bruce shushed him. "Something's not right."

"Not right?" Clark and Jon shared a look. "Everything seems fine. How do you know? Get a report from O in your earpiece?"

Bruce shook his head, eyes looking around sharply. "Someone's watching us."

Before Clark could even begin to think of a response to that, Bruce jumped forward right as a gunshot rang out, covering Damian.

Jon screamed as Bruce grunted, a blossom of red blooming from his right bicep. Damian scowled, pulling out a sword from a hidden sheath on his body. Jon went white.

"You had that on you the entire time??" He whimpered, backing towards Clark. "Relax, dimwit. It's not made of Kryptonite."

Bruce pulled off his shirt, craning his head to inspect his wound. He hissed as the fabric brushed against the broken skin, spreading the blood further across his arm.

"We should get out of here before our mystery sniper takes another shot. We're easy pickings out here in the open."

He pressed his shirt against his arm, attempting to stifle the blood flow. Clark picked him up and tried not to brush against his gunshot wound as Bruce struggled to get back down.

"My arm is injured, not my legs."

"I still don't want to risk any side effects you might get from blood loss. I know you have a high pain tolerance but transportation would be much easier this way. Also, the faster we can get you to Alfred, the better."

Bruce sighed as he settled back into Clark's arms, lip curling as he was lifted into the air. He heard Damian start to curse in another language as Jon attempted to lift him as well.

"Language." Bruce muttered, head sliding down to meet Clark's chest. Clark simply chuckled and flew down the familiar path to Wayne Manor.

2.

Bruce grit his teeth as Clark landed on his balcony, the familiar feeling of his neck hairs rising washing over him once more. He tried to focus back on his book, but he found it difficult with his body desperately trying to warn him about a nearby threat, which happened to not be a threat at all.

"Hey B!" Clark greeted, his smile unnaturally bright, like the sun on the earth, like warmth on a cold day. It made him shiver.

"Hello, Clark." Bruce replied simply. It was always hard to grit out more than a few words in his presence, as he constantly felt like he should turn tail and run. It was one of the reasons why he chooses to communicate with grunts rather than speaking.

Clark walked inside, plopping himself on Bruce's bed. "Busy today? There's a game tonight and Gotham is playing against Metropolis. I got some tickets, if you'd like to come? I've already asked Lois, but she's too busy following her newest Lex scoop."

"Which is?"

"She's convinced that Luthor's been ordering sex toys filled with Kryptonite as a way to avoid detection. After he was caught last press conference, he tried to play it off as a new product they were planning on branching out to, but everyone knows that—"

"That Luthor's bald head is probably the last thing you'd want to get off to? Yeah, I figured."

"Yeah. Anyways, I'm pretty sure that one she finds what she's looking for she's gonna get one for me as a 'souvenir'. God, I hope she doesn't. That would be awkward to explain."

"Mhm." Bruce hummed, placing his book face-down on the table, unable to even continue the farce of reading it.

"So, about that game? I'll pay for everything if I have to." Clark waved the tickets in front of him, trying to tempt Bruce into accepting.

"Clark, you are aware that I'm a billionaire."

"Yeah, I know." Clark huffed. "Can't I just do something nice for my friend every once in a while?"

Bruce shook his head fondly, reaching over to grab his ticket from Clark's hand, trying to ignore the spike of fear he felt while getting closer.

"B, you good?" Clark frowned at him. "I heard your heart skip a beat or two."

"Fine." Bruce waved him off. "Let's talk about the game. I can't let you sit there thinking your team is going to win while I know very well the Knights are."

"Hey!"

[0nelittlebirdtoldme]

Speak your mind

Inspired by @perfectflowerdestiny's prompt and the Princess Mononoke scene <3

[loserdiaz]

"if you love me, you don't love me in a way i understand" pretty please?<3

my hand slipped and this ended up being a little longer than i hoped.

buck/eddie | 1k words | getting together

Buck is not dumb. He's not stupid. He's not oblivious.

Against popular belief, Buck knows that what Eddie and he have is not just friendship— he knows the way Eddie looks at him is not platonic.

He knows what Eddie's feelings are.

Buck knows they both have been dancing around this for a long time, too scared to make the first move, take the first step.

And he thinks he knows why Eddie hasn't done or said anything yet— he thinks he might, at least.

And Buck, well, he knows why himself hasn't done anything.

He doesn't understand what Eddie sees in him. He doesn't understand the way Eddie loves him.

Buck thinks relationships and love are meant to be fast paced; a wildfire that grows and burns until there's nothing but ashes. That’s what he’s had all his life. The rush. The adrenaline. The fire that burns him from inside out and consumes him until he can't breathe. The fast paced emotions and desires that burn hot and then burn out like what he does everyday at work. Something that’s meant to be short-lived with a flash of ecstasy. Something that gives him a thrill but then leaves him alone, feeling empty and hollow and used.

Buck is not used to the kind of love Eddie seems to give him sl freely, so naturally— as if Buck deserved it.

He doesn't.

Buck is hard to love— he's too loud sometimes, he can't shut the fuck up. He's selfish and annoying and—

People leave.

People always leave him.

So Buck is not used to that soft, tender kind of love that Eddie offers without even thinking about it. He's not used to being trusted so fully with the most precious of things (like Eddie's heart), he's not used to knowing looks and fond smiles that are reserved only for him. He's not used to the domesticity of hanging in the kitchen, cooking a meal for his family and laughing at stupid inside jokes while Chris does his homework and roasts them at the same time.

He's not used to late night talks with beers in their hands and longing in their eyes.

Buck doesn't think he'll ever fully get used to any of that— to something so precious and amazing.

He can barely believe he gets to have it on the best of days.

So asking for more? Reaching out and taking more?

That's just unimaginable.

But then it's one of those nights.

Christopher is asleep and they're in the kitchen. Buck has a cold beer in his hand, the droplets of condensation sliding down the bottle and into the back of his hand.

And Eddie is looking at him, just a few steps away and leaning against the kitchen counter. The light above them casts a golden orange glow that softens his features and Buck thinks he could look at him forever and never get tired.

He thinks Eddie is the most beautiful sight his eyes have ever seen (and he's seen a lot, alright. He's been through Peru and Argentina and Brazil, Chicago and San Francisco. He's been to Montana and he even briefly made a stop in Colorado. Yet— None of the most beautiful of spots in those places could ever compare to Eddie. To what Eddie makes him feel.)

Eddie is looking at him and Buck's heart clenches in his chest, because he knows he doesn't deserve that look.

He's hard to love on the best of days, a mess and someone not enough to stay for on the worst.

Somehow, Eddie doesn't seem to care about that. He loves Buck anyway.

And Buck doesn't, can't, won't—

He doesn't want Eddie to get caught up in the fire that is his life. He doesn't want Eddie to burn until he's nothing but ashes in Buck's hands.

But Eddie keeps looking at him and then he's stepping closer and closer until Buck can see every freckle in his nose and that beauty mark under his eye. He can see the honey gold sprinkles on Eddie's eyes, surrounded by the warmest of browns.

And he can see when those eyes flutter down to Buck's lips, his gaze feeling heavy and intense on them.

“It's getting late. I should—” Buck starts, trailing off when Eddie takes Buck's beer and leaves him on the counter before stepping closer until he's pinning Buck against the counter.

It digs uncomfortably against his lower back and his eyes go wide.

“Eddie,” Buck says, his breath catching on the word.

"Tell me I'm not reading this wrong, Buck." Eddie pleads. "Tell me— Tell me I'm not the only one feeling this." He whispers and his voice is low, quiet, but so full of hope and love and patience.

Buck doesn't deserve that.

"I'm— I don't—" He stutters and he can't help it when his eyes dart down to where Eddie is licking his lips.

So tempting. So inviting.

"Eddie, I'm scared."

Eddie's eyes are wide and open, vulnerable, as he searches for something in Buck's face. It reminds him of the look he gave him after the tsunami, or when he reveleaved that Buck was part of the will.

This time, he must find what he's looking for because he doesn't say anything else. Eddie just leans in, slowly, slow enough that Buck can still stop him if he wants to.

And he should, before they both get burned. Before Buck ruins them.

He doesn't.

From the first touch, it’s like kissing Buck is what Eddie was put on this planet to do. It's soft and exploring, it makes this fuzzy sirupy feeling pool inside his stomach.

And it's— warm, tender. A slow kind of fire spreading through his veins. Not burning or turning everything to ashes, but igniting a spark that Buck thought long gone.

Buck still doesn't get it. But he thinks he might not need to.

He has time to figure it out anyway.

He thinks he might have forever, by the way Eddie's kissing him so delicately but yet hungry like he wants to devour him.

Buck is alright with that.

[hrwinter]

I love your pinned ficlet because Lena is typically such a hyper-focused workaholic it really sells how catastrophically horny she must be to daydream at such length while at work. Hope Kara helps release her from her horny prison!

'artificial intelligence' is the only subject any reporter has asked her about for the better part of the last twelve months. generative AI, to be specific. it's tiresome. luthorcorp has been using AI, or applied statistics as lena would rather refer to it, for the last decade. incredibly expensive to develop in house and rife with issues ranging from proprietary data misuse to perpetuating biases to data hallucination to ethical misconduct, it's never been an easy subject to broach. and it's never been a hotter topic. it's a bit of a minefield for her to speak on, especially on how luthorcorp uses it, and she's loathe to engage publicly on the topic if she doesn't have to.

nonetheless. she's bored. she's passively watching morgan edge have a histrionic episode in one of their shared board meetings. she's idly working on her tech pad, stencil moving bits of data around as she plays with a chat bot she's been training for the last week. it's a chat bot specifically trained on transcripts of supergirl's interviews. hundreds of them. it's a chat bot that actually mimics supergirl. pretends to be her.

no reason why, really. just a bit of fun in her downtime.

maybe she'd been musing about what all she could get supergirl to say to her. maybe she'd wondered how supergirl might react in specific instances. specific to lena instances.

morgan shouts the word 'FUCK' across the conference bridge, and lena continues to try different text inputs.

lena: Supergirl, if I were to wear a deep cut dress, would you prefer that over a pant suit?

Supergirl.AI: Oh, golly, Ms. Luthor. That's hard to say.

typical. so deflecting.

lena: What color do you think I look best in?

Supergirl.AI: Uh, hm, let me think. Red?

ever bashful.

"Lena, don't you have something to say on this flagrant misapplication of our budget dollars?" Edge rings across her virtual meeting. "This is not what I signed on for."

"I'm sorry, Edge, you're cutting out, can you repeat that?"

edge turns a lovely shade of carmine. speaking of.

lena: If I were to take you on a date, what kind of restaurant would you like to go to?

Supergirl.AI: Of course, I would love potstickers!

wait a minute.

oh. oh.

fuck.

[medusapelagia]

Harringrove Kinktober - day 11 Toys/ ABO Dynamics [NSFW]

written for @harringrovekinktober

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove WT: omegaverse, Omega Steve Harrington, Alpha Billy Hargrove, sex toys, knotting WC: 2163

Being an alpha is not always easy.

In particular when the omega you are in love with is ignoring you no matter how hard you try.

And Billy is not the kind of Alpha that will ever be seen begging an omega.

But Steve smell so fucking incredible.

Apple and cinnamon.

What else could an alpha ask for?

Steve is not the average omega.

He is athletic, well-built, and strong.

He is protective and fierce, and he has never exposed his neck in submission to anyone, not even to Nancy, and Billy is literally dying to know how he tastes.

But he will not beg.

Not Billy.

Another alpha, maybe.

But not him.

“What are you staring at, Hargrove?” the omega asks annoyedly while he is waiting for the kids.

“Nothing. I’m waiting for Max.”

“I can drive her home too.”

“No. I’ll drive her.” My father will kill me and you if I don’t drive her home like every fucking other day goes unsaid while Billy drags some smoke from a cigarette.

“What? Don’t you trust an omega driving? I can assure you that I drive so much better than you.”

That’s probably true, Billy loves speed and drives too fast but that’s not why he doesn’t want Steve to drive Max home.

Finally, the shitbird arrives and he growls something to her while getting in the car.

Max is pissed, as always, but Billy is not going to listen to her rambling, he never does.

In the rear mirror, he can still see Steve’s car, he will take the first turn to the right and go to the Sinclairs and then the Hendersons.

“You two could be friends, you know that right?” Max asks him.

“Who?” Billy asks, turning toward her.

“You and Steve.”

Billy snorts “He is an omega.”

“He is not like the other omegas.”

Billy chuckles “Oh, and please, tell me, how are the other omegas?”

“Silly.” she replies.

Billy glares at her but she is not wrong, the other omegas are all female omegas that have in front of them a future as housewives and mothers, but Steve is different. He still has the instinct to protect his pack but he is a fighter. 

“You are going to be a terrible alpha.” Billy says to Max, looking at the street in front of them.

It’s not true. 

She is going to be a good alpha, she is not fucked up like him and Billy will do what he can to let the thing stay like that.

***

“Code red. I repeat! Code red!”

Billy grunts. It’s seven o’clock in the morning on a fucking Saturday! Neil is out fishing with some colleagues and Billy should be able to rest, but no! Max's stupid friends are screaming in the silly walkie-talkie.

“That’s Max. What’s the code red?” she asks.

“It’s Steve. Over.”

Billy’s attention turns toward the walkie-talkie.

“What does it mean?”

The annoying voice of Dustin Henderson comes through the walkie-talkie “Max, you have to say over, otherwise, how am I supposed to know that you have finished talking?”

“What’s up with the babysitter?” Billy asks with a glass of water in his hand and wearing only his boxer.

“Billy! Put something on!” Max complains throwing him a pillow but he quickly grabs the walkie.

“What’s up with Harrington?” he asks again.

“Billy? That’s a private conversation and…”

“Tell me what the fuck is going on. Now. It’s Upside Down shit?” he asks. Last time he barely survived and he still has the scars from his encounter with the Mind Flayer.

“No… I don’t think so… but… it’s private.”

“Henderson.” he growls.

“Fuck, tell him that you think that Steve has got his heat and finish this stupid conversation!” Mike intervenes and Billy’s grip on the walkie tightens.

“What?”

“He wasn’t feeling well yesterday, he was too hot and he told me that he thought he was getting the flu but I think he was going into heat and he is not answering.” Dustin explains.

Billy shrugs “So? He is an omega. Give him a couple of days and he will be ok.”

There is a moment of silence and then Dustin adds “You don’t know about Steve, right?”

“What is there to know?”

“His heats are… intense. He might need help. Usually, Robin is with him during his heat but she is out of town with the band and if he really got into heat… he is alone.”

Billy sighs “So what? Are you going to get into the nest of an omega in heat? It doesn’t seem really clever, does it?”

“But someone has to check on him! And if we don’t do it no one else will.”

The stupid shrimp is not wrong. Steve’s parents are never home and if his heat is so intense as they say someone should check on him. But Billy is a fucking alpha. He shouldn’t go. It’s a stupid idea.

Stupid and dangerous.

“I’ll go.” he replies, then gives the walkie back to Max.

“Are you serious?! He is an omega and you are an alpha and if…”

“I can control my instincts.”

“Can you?” she asks, pointing at the hole that Billy made punching his own door a few days ago.

He shrugs, then he goes into his room and gets ready.

***

The house is eerily silent but he can smell the scent of omega in heat from the door, and to have a scent so strong there is something that is not right.

Billy knows that Steve’s scent is strong, but this is too strong even for an omega in heat. There is only one reason for all of this and Billy can’t believe that he never suspected that.

There is no point in knocking on the door so he looks around the house until he finds an open window and gets into Steve’s house. Steve’s room is empty, everything is on the floor, like someone had rushed there, taken a few important things, and gone hiding somewhere else.

Billy starts to smell the air and follows the scent toward the basement.

“Steve?” he calls, but the only answer he gets is a whimper.

Fuck.

"I'm getting in. Is that all right?” he asks, but the door is closed.

Billy kicks the door open and he sees Steve in the corner of the room, his eyes shining in the semi darkness growling at the stranger who has got into his sanctuary.

“Steve. It’s me. Billy.”

Steve growls again.

Feral.

Fuck.

Steve jumps at him, sending him to the floor.

He is so fucking beautiful.

Strong and sexy.

Steve grits his teeth a few inches from his neck. Billy knows that an omega bite is not permanent but it would be a bitch to explain to Neil in any case.

“Steve.”

“Alpha.”

“Yeah. I’m an alpha.”

Steve nuzzles at him “My alpha.”

Billy stares at him while the scent of aroused omega is filling his lungs “Your alpha.” he confirms.

He shouldn’t. Steve is not coherent, but neither is Billy.

That was a fucking terrible idea. Max was right.

Shit.

Max.

He should call her.

But Steve is above him, his cocklette hard and his hole dripping slick that, Billy is sure, tastes like ambrosia.

“Steve. Tell me what you need.”

“Hurt.” Steve replies, and Billy sees the discharged toys around the room and the red scratch on Steve’s legs. It seems that the omega wasn’t able to satisfy his natural instinct.

“I’m going to take care of you.” Billy promises.

“Knot.”

“Do you want my knot?” he asks, still pinned to the ground under Steve.

The omega opens Billy’s jeans, freeing his erection.

“Knot.” he repeats and Billy couldn’t deny him even if he wanted to because Steve is almost impaling himself on Billy’s dick.

“Slowly, baby…” 

But Steve is not listening. He starts to ride Billy as if he was one of his toys and Billy lets him get what he needs, doing his best to keep still.

Steve keeps rocking on his dick until Billy’s knot forms and the alpha knows that he has never got a knot so big and so hard.

The omega moans, finally satisfied now that the knot ties them together and he keeps moving, feeling the knot pushing his inside.

For a moment Steve seems to come back to himself “Billy?” he asks confusedly, but it’s just a moment of lucidity and then he keeps riding him into oblivion.

Billy takes Steve’s cocklette into his hand and starts to jerk him off until Steve spurts on his chest.

It’s not much, probably the omega came already more than once and he definitely needs water to keep hydrated, but Billy will take care of all of that later, when Steve will rest for a little bit, for the moment he grips his hips and keeps thrusting inside him brushing against Steve’s prostate while Steve’s slick pour down his dick.

“Can you give me another, pretty boy?” he asks, and Steve moans but comes another time, and finally Billy comes inside him filling him with alpha’s cum that will ease the pain that Steve is feeling.

“Alpha…” he calls again, before collapsing on him.

“That’s good… you did so good, baby.” Billy praises him, caressing his back while they are still connected, waiting for Billy’s knot to go down.

Steve’s skin is sweaty and sticky. How long has he been in this state, Billy wonders while he cuddles him.

When finally his knot goes down he gets up, helps Steve to the couch, and goes into the kitchen to get some water.

The omega whimpers in the absence of the alpha but Billy knows that he needs to drink and to eat something, so he comes back with some crackers and two bottles of water.

He helps Steve sip some water and then drinks some himself. It’s going to be a long couple of days. Thank god Neil will sleep at the lake with his coworkers, but he will have to get back for Sunday dinner and he really hopes that Steve’s heat will be over by that time.

***

Billy fucks Steve into the couch, filling him as much as he can, but after the third time he knots Steve, the omega is still whimpering and he has no more energy to fuck him.

He looks around and takes one of the discharged toys.

Billy has never used a toy before and he is not sure how to use it on the omega who is too weak to do more than mewl pitifully and try to jerk his hips.

He doesn’t even snarl anymore.

“I know, I know. You need something to fill you, don’t you?” Billy says getting the big purple knot.

Steve seems ready to complain, so Billy stops him “I know you prefer my knot but I need a little bit of rest. You don’t want your Alpha to strain himself, do you?”

Steve shakes his head and Billy smiles getting closer “I’m going to help you feel so nice and full.” 

Luckily Steve’s body is still full of Billy’s come so he just pushes the fake knot inside him, getting it inside to the knot and then pulling it enough to stretch Steve’s hole but not enough to tear him.

“Does it feel good?” he asks while moving the toy.

“Alpha…” Steve whispers, trying to tell him something but he is too tired so he just lies there taking what Billy is giving him until he comes another time and finally falls asleep.

Billy has never taken care of an omega in heat before but he studied a thing or two in sexual education and he knows that Steve would probably sleep a few hours, so he cleans him with a wet cloth even in his most private parts, and then pushes a little plug inside his hole to keep the cum inside, hoping that is will lessen the pain as they say in the books, then he goes to Steve’s room and takes Steve’s walkie.

“The babysitter is ok. I think he will be back on duty on Monday.” Billy says to no one in particular, but obviously, it is Max who answers.

“Was he…”

“Yes.”

“And did you…”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

Billy leaves the walkie on the bed and goes back to Steve who is still soundly asleep.

When he will wake up he will fuck him at least another couple of times before Steve’s heat will finally end and he really hopes that once he will be more lucid he will not be furious with Billy, but for the moment he sits on the couch with Steve’s head in his lap and keeps caressing his hair like the good mate he is.

[nikki-pondtheauthor]

Chapters: 1/11 Fandom: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types, DCU Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Batfamily Members & Danny Fenton Characters: Danny Fenton, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Wayne Enterprises Employees Additional Tags: Humor, Attempt at Humor, Eldritch Danny Fenton, Bruce Wayne's Adoption Radar is Going Off, Danny is annoyed, he just wants to work, Based on a Tumblr Post, no beta we die like jason todd, The Big Bang Theory (TV) References, Everyone kind of wants to adopt Danny Summary:

Danny decided to intern at Wayne Enterprise. He's always so helpful, and polite, and gets the job done. He gets REALLY confused when his co-workers start acting weird: they would either pull him into another room; or make him do some outlandish task so far away, or a group of people suddenly surround him. It’s as if they are trying to hide him from someone. 

Meanwhile, there is an unspoken agreement amongst the employees: Rule #4: DO NOT LET ANY WAYNES SEE HIM. Otherwise, they are going to lose their most helpful intern (and hopefully a permanent employee) because of those damn Wayne’s adopting addictions. 

Though of course, it wasn’t long until they messed up Rule #4.

.

Prompt Filled: Eldritch Intern Danny (Jaykitten679's Phantom's Precious Prompts)

[bi-buckrights]

54. touching cheek to cheek, if you so please <3

Hello my dear 💕 you sent this over 2 months ago now... but I am finally back to writing!! Thanks for helping me find my writing beans with this prompt, hope you enjoy this little one shot ✨

Hope Again | 1.6k

Eddie holds his breath as he reaches his hand out, his skin buzzing with anticipation. Buck smiles back at him softly, the glint in his eyes doing nothing the tamp the hope that has set Eddie’s heart flying. Buck is a vision under the fairy lights strung over the dance floor, his bow tie hanging loose around his neck and the top button of his tux undone. His cheeks are flushed from dancing, and a few stray curls have escaped his gel to fall over his forehead. Eddie feels short of breath. Then, Buck’s slides his hand into Eddie’s, and all the anxiety simmering beneath his skin dissipates, flushed away by the warmth flooding his veins. They stand like that for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes as the world goes on around them, hand in hand. Eddie tugs Buck’s hand gently and Buck follows easily, as if he would blindly follow Eddie anywhere. And maybe he would. Just like when they’re out on a call, Eddie can trust that he can look over his shoulder and find Buck following him into the blazing fire. But they’re not heading into a burning building, they’re walking out onto the dance floor at Maddie and Chimney’s wedding. Somehow it feels just as important.

Read the rest on ao3

[twola]

I always hate like “requesting” something because it feels like a forceful “write this for me now!” kind of thing, but a I’ve always had this smutty idea in my head where Arthur is getting a little weaker from the TB, but is also pinning after some cute girl in camp. Some wooing occurs and things start getting steamy~ but it’s her first time or she’s not super experienced. I feel like HH!Arthur would try to be the gentleman to show her a sweet, gentle time, but wouldn’t have the stamina for missionary, so his partner would pick up where he leaves off by riding him like the work horse he is. I just thin the scenario would be perfect for like sexy words of encouragement (def NOT thinking of his mare voice lines *wink wink wink*) plus Arthur getting taken care of too instead of just doing the caring. I have like 0 writing skills tho lol so if you ever found yourself in need of smutty I soo I would feel HONORED for you to bring my nasty Arthur thoughts to life

Ooh, TB whumpy smut… I’m sensing a pattern here. My poor boah, how I love to torture him…

This was a good one! Still working on a few more. I love and thrive on feedback so drop me a line if you liked it.

Regret Me Not

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Regrets seem to take up much of his headspace these days... But for one regret of his, Arthur takes action with a little bit of urging on your part.

Arthur wheezes, covering his mouth with the back of his palm, the wet, hacking noise that scrapes out of his throat as he sits on the boulder south of Beaver Hollow, out of earshot of the camp. 

Not that he needed people’s stares. He looks terrible enough that he gets looks of pity from the women, avoided by the men - and Dutch? Well, he is living in another reality.

Another cough rips through him, as he feels as if he were drowning within his own body. A small hand lands on his back. He looks up, rubbing his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

You stand over his shoulder, rubbing gently, concern alight in your eyes. You look down and dig into the pockets of your skirts.

“Here.” You say with a small smile, handing him a bottle of tonic.

He coughs again, butchering his thanks, as he takes the bottle from your hands, uncorking it quickly and downing the foul-tasting liquid quickly.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, hand still resting on his shoulder, slowly, gently rubbing circles into his upper back.

Arthur wants to lean wholly into your touch. He wants to wrap himself into you and let you card your fingers through his hair. He wants to rest. He wants to sleep.

He wants, he wants - but alas. None of that was possible.

“Like hell.” He grits out hoarsely, tossing the empty bottle to the dirt at his feet.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” You say softly. Your other hand moves to his back as well, rubbing at his other shoulder.

“ ‘S alright.” He murmurs, not wanting to let on how good your hands feel on him.

A silence settles in, and you rub at his shoulders for a few moments more before drawing your hands away from him.

“Well… I just wanted to check on you. See how you’re doin’. I’ll see you later, Arthur.” You say, and he can hear the crunch of gravel under your boot as you turn on your heel. You begin to walk up the path back toward camp, as he turns and follows you with his gaze over his shoulder.

Arthur wants. In the embracing of his mortality, the facade of propriety and the painstakingly built walls around his heart crumble in the face of his own death.

He has watched you for months. Yearned for months, wanted and needed your attention, always too self-conscious to reach out and touch.

Sister Calderon’s words echo in his ears with each step you take away from him.

“Take a chance that love exists.”

“D-do you wanna get outta here?”

His voice is hoarse, almost weak sounding. Nothing of the man that he used to be.

You stop, turning around, a small smile creeping across your face. “God, get outta this hell hole? Absolutely. Anywhere is better than these hills.”

His heart hopes.

“I gotta go grab some mail from Van Horn. Ain't much better though…”

“It ain’t here, Mister Morgan. Let’s go.”

—

Van Horn is just as decrepit as the last time he was here. Falling apart and full of the dregs of society, left behind by the churning wheel of progress. He mirthfully counts himself as one of them, he supposes.

He tucks the letters he retrieved into his satchel, moseying slowly toward the back of the dock, where you stand with your elbows on the railing, gazing at the river’s lazy waters. Northward, toward the mountains and the river’s origins.

“Y’ready there, ma’am?”

You look back at him but don’t move. “Already? Ugh. Camp’s just so…”

Arthur sidles up next to you, placing his own elbows on the railing, grunting in agreement. You didn’t need to go any further, he knew where you were going with your comment.

The camp was… well, a gloom has settled upon it. Dutch acting irrational, angry. The loss of Hosea and Lenny. Running from Pinkertons.

And his own impending demise, of course.

“What’re you gonna do after?” Arthur asks quietly and notices the stuttering breath you take as your shoulders drop a little.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t have much else than this.”

Arthur hangs his head, taking in a deep breath. A breath that seems to barely fill his ailing lungs, and he coughs slightly under the rim of his hat.

“Y’got a good head on you. You’ll do fine.” He grits out, voice hoarse.

You remain silent, your eyes set on the water of the slow-flowing river. A boat chugs southbound, heading toward Saint Denis.

“I don’t know how I’ll fare being alone.” You softly murmur.

He sighs. “I’m sure you can stay with Abigail or Missus Adler. Or Charles. You got people to watch out for you.”

“But not you.”

A pang, a sharp pain shoots through his chest, above and beyond the near-constant constriction of his lungs.

“No. Not me.”

You look up at him, a sheen of wetness over your eyes. It pains him as he looks back.

A tear rolls down your face and it’s everything he is not to lean over and cup your face in his hands and wipe your tears away.

“Sweetheart, you deserve-”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me what I deserve, Arthur Morgan.” You spit out, tears openly running down your cheeks.

Arthur sighs, looking back down at the water. It is murky, muddy, dirty right under the dock. Just like this damn town.

You push yourself into his surprised embrace, clutching at his shirt, and it takes him a moment to realize that this wasn’t a dream, and he winds his arms around you, pulling you against him.

“I wish you would stop hiding from me.” You whisper as he holds you to his chest, your cheek pressed against his breastbone, probably hearing the crackling failure of his lungs with each breath he takes.

He doesn’t know how to answer that. For years now, it’s been easier for him to keep that urn with the remains of his heart buried from all.

“I’m here… I’m here now.” He murmurs, resting his chin atop your head.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you, Arthur. Waitin’ and wishing for you to ask me to be yours.” You bury yourself in his embrace.

Fuck.

Arthur’s resolve cracks like a piece of porcelain.

“I’m just a fool. A fool for making you wait.”

You shudder against him, digging your fingers into his shirt, and your breath stutters as you try to stifle a sob. Pulling away, you look up at him, his bloodshot, sunken eyes, still the blue-green pools you would drown in.

You lean up on your toes, arms winding around his neck, but he turns his face away as you draw closer. 

“No. I ain’t gettin’ you sick too.”

You frown, glassy-eyed, about to draw your arms from him before he leans down and presses his lips to your cheek, again and again, moving up toward your ear.

“But…. I’ll give you whatever else it is you want.” He rumbles, arms wound tight around you, his body arcing over yours.

You shiver in his embrace, pulling your head back ever so slightly to look him in the eye.

“I want whatever you’re willing to give me.” You whisper, hands moving up and clutching at his collar.

He leans his forehead against yours. “If you want a dying, washed-up gunsling-”

You interrupt, pressing up on your toes and kissing his cheek, “I want you, Arthur Morgan. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

So long.

So long.

Goddamnit. He’s been looking at you, yearning for you, for months. Before Blackwater and ferries and being chased by Pinkertons. Before Dutch became erratic, before all of these complications. When he was chasing tumbleweeds across the wild and open west.

He gives a shuddering sigh, and draws you closer, pulling you to him and placing his lips on the long line of your neck. You whimper as he pulls a bit of your pale skin between his teeth, suckling on it, hoping to leave a mark.

You throw your arms completely around his shoulders and begin to pant in his ear. Whimpers turn to whines as one of his large hands moves down from your waist to clench roughly at your rear, drawing you against his pelvis and his rapidly hardening cock.

“A-Arthur - please -” You moan, rubbing yourself against him, and he regretfully draws his mouth away from your skin, pink-tinged and wet from his attentions.

As much as he’d love to turn you around, throw up your skirts, and press himself into you for the sake of time, he knows you deserve more than that.

“Lemme get a room.” He pants, letting go of you, moving to adjust himself in his trousers. “Go on upstairs.”

You pull at the collar of your blouse to hide the evidence of your indiscretion and quietly nod, moving past him and slowly climbing the rickety stairs to the second story of the decrepit building. 

He quickly pays for a room, and grabs the key from the clerk with a dismissive grunt, hurrying his way up the stairs to find you leaning against the second-story railing, waiting for him. 

Arthur jams the key into the door’s lock, pushing it open, and lumbering into the room, where he immediately sheds the repeater strapped to his back and places it on the worn table next to the door. His gunbelt follows as you step inside, closing and locking the door behind you. 

He places his hat atop the pile of guns on the table, looking back at you.

“Still want to do-”

You cut him off by closing the distance between you and throwing your arms around his waist.

He pulls you toward the bed, and places his hands on your waist, holding you still, as he sits on the bed, the worn frame creaking under his weight. He doesn’t spare it a second thought, eyes trained on you, and he gently pulls you to sit in his lap.

You cup his cheek gently, thumb tracing along his beard that he’s kept longer to hide the gauntness of his cheeks. His large hand lands on your thigh, squeezing it as he presses his face into the hollow of your neck.

You gasp as you feel his tongue on your skin, clutching at his shirt as you tilt your head back.

You shiver again as his hand creeps up under your skirt, finger gently rubbing against the seam of your bloomers, which dampens quickly under his ministrations.

“It's been a while,” He grunts out, unable to stop his hips from bucking up against your legs with you seated in his lap, the long line of him chasing your warmth.

“M-me too. Ain’t since-” you mewl into his ear as his fingers push your bloomers to the side and brush against the damp skin of your core, “some stable boy when I was sixteen- ahh - we - we didn’t know what we was doin’.” You gasp out as his pointer finger, thick and strong, dips inside your entrance, sheathing to the knuckle within your cunt.

He slides another finger inside you, groaning against your hair when he realizes how tight you are, clutching desperately at his digits, imagining how good you would feel surrounding his cock.

“I’ll be good to you,” He grits out, crooking his fingers within you.

“Oh-” You gasp, “I know, I know you will, Arthur.”

Arthur pulls you from his lap and lays you on the bed next to him, and immediately starts to shed his clothing, tossing it into piles on the floor as you join him, skirts and shirts thrown from the bed, a union suit and chemise - your bloomers land on the floor and he quickly climbs atop you, spreading your legs and fitting his hips in the cradle of yours.

In this old, dirty bed in this old, dirty room, he swears he has never seen something so beautiful as you sprawled out beneath him, the rise and fall of your breathing, the blush crawling down your cheeks to your neck, spreading out across your chest, to your pink nipples, pebbling as they are exposed to the cool air.

He leans down, balancing himself on his forearms, finding that spot on your neck again and nibbling at it, while one of his hands works its way to the space between you, grasping his hard cock and stroking it as he presses the swollen head against your core.

You mewl as he presses in, the head of his cock entering you, his hand moving from its base to frame your head again.

“God, you’re perfect.” He groans as he starts to press himself inside, inch by inch disappearing into your wet warmth, your panting high and fast in his ear as he suckles on your neck once again.

He thrusts, gently, and his hips press against yours as he’s buried himself to the hilt in your cunt. You mewl out a high whine, nails digging into his shoulder.

Arthur presses himself up slightly, looking down upon you. His fingers begin playing with the curling hairs at your temple, waiting for you to open your eyes, a sign that you’re used to his length and girth within you.

And when you do, he’s stricken. Your eyes flutter open and you inhale a breath with a sweet sigh. God, for once in his damn life, he’s doing something right.

Your arms wind around his neck as you press your lips to his cheek, he knows that you want to taste him, to mold your lips together and moan into each other’s mouths - he wants that too, but it’s a step too far. He’s already half afraid of spreading his sickness to you.

Arthur thrusts, gently still, but faster and harder than he had been, you squeal in delight, which spurs him into finding a rhythm, his body moving over yours.

He grunts, panting as he moves his hips, fucking into you and pressing you down into this old, uncomfortable mattress. He swears he’ll bring you to some nice hotel in Saint Denis and make love to you on a plush expensive mattress-

A constriction in his chest stops him mid-thrust.

He pants, wheezing, his hips slowing as he struggles to catch his breath. Christ, what a sorry excuse for a man he is - can’t even please a woman in the state he’s in.

You gently push on his shoulder, and he has the stamina, at least, to raise himself up and look upon you, cheeks blazing in shame.

“Here, maybe I should get on top?” You ask, your hand cupping his cheek while the other gently lays upon his chest.

He groans at the thought, his traitorous cock twitching as he’s buried in your cunt, causing you to gasp out. 

“Alrigh’,” Arthur grunts, and steadies his knees while he pulls his hands to you: one beneath your lower back, one below your shoulder blades. In a jumble of limbs and skin, he rolls over, somehow keeping himself sheathed in you until you’re splayed atop him, your small hips spread out over his.

He has to admit, this was a good idea you had, even before you think to move, what a sight he’s given. His cock fully enveloped in your hips, the dark thatch of hair between your thighs mixing with the curls at his base. Up, up the curves of your waist, he trails his hands, gently skimming your sweat-slicked skin. Your breasts, small yet perky, he’s enraptured by the way your nipples pebble as he rubs his thumbs over them, the sweet sigh that leaves your lips as your head falls back.

God almighty, you’re the sweetest thing alive.

Your hands find purchase on his chest, fingers pulsing, as you roll your hips once over him. His breath stutters, eyes widening as inches of him leave you, only to gently return moments later.

“G-good?” You ask, a self-conscious fear in your eyes.

His hands clamp on your waist and help to guide your movement.

“So good, you’re so good.” He rasps, the end of his lips curling up into a smile.

You smile back, rolling your hips again, taking him and out, following the pathway to your own pleasure and dragging him along for the ride. 

Your murmuring devolves into gasping moans as you continue to gyrate above him, squeezing your eyes shut, your fingers spread wide over his pectorals.

“That’s it. You’re alright, girl.” He urges, one hand moving from your hip to where you’re joined, his thumb parting your folds just above where he’s speared into you.

You moan aloud, giving no qualm to volume as he circles and presses against that little nub of pleasure.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re almost there.” He whispers as his hips jut upward into yours, he can see the far-off look in your eyes, the way your lips hang open, the shortness of your breath, and the slightly painful way your fingers are clenching into his chest. He can tell, your pulsing, squeezing, sweet little cunt is so close.

You ride him fast, like a horse at a gallop, and that blooming lava in his gut churns in a way that he knows he’s not far behind.

“A-Ar…” You stutter as your eyes close tightly.

“That’s it, that’s it, Darlin’.” He urges, his other hand tight on your hips, aiding your movement.

“Agh, oh god - Arthur.” You moan out, bottoming out completely as you throw your head back. He groans aloud as he feels your muscles constrict around his shaft, the sweet clutch of your cunt.

He thrusts his hips upward again and is rewarded with the sweetest mewl from your mouth, he cannot help but to whimper as he feels warm, wet slick start to seep from where you’re joined, his swollen and heavy balls covered in them.

You recover, gasping as your hands move to his chest, your hips grinding down on him slowly.

“I wanna-” you pant, catching your breath, “I wanna make you come.”

Arthur groans in response, hips bucking upward as his hands fly to your hips again, clenching them hard.

“Ain’t gonna- augh- ain’t gonna be hard to give you that.” He stutters out, knowing that the pull in his gut is getting stronger with each sweet movement you make.

“You’re so good -” You mewl, rolling your hips over him as he grunts, hands sure on your waist, fingers pulsing as his eyes flutter closed, his mouth hanging open as he approaches that precipice.

“You feel just like I’ve always dreamed.” You sigh, and all he can respond with is a thrust upward of his hips, to give you more, to give you himself, all that’s left of him.

He’s there, he’s there. His eyes shoot wide and he grunts, hands hard over your hips. “Get- you gotta, move.”

But you lean forward, not stopping the gentle roll of your body over his, and kiss his forehead.

“Come inside me.” You breathe, hands steady over his beating heart, “Give me all of you.”

Of all the stupid, childish things… but the resolve of a dying man, it is far less strong than before - weakening much like his ailing lungs.

“Please.” 

He does, he does.

He grunts needily as he pumps his release into you. Staying sheathed in your warmth, not jerking himself into cold air.

Arthur sits up immediately, burying his head into the side of your neck, and suckles gently at the skin there as your fingers start to play with the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck.

He regrets, it’s all he has left, that again, he wasted his time, glancing shyly at you across the fire for all those months. All he can do is offer you a few fleeting moments of pleasure. He regrets, it’s all he has left, that he cannot taste your lips and the sweetness he knows lies beyond them.

“Darlin’-” he trails off into your skin, trying to compose himself.

I’m sorry- I’m sorry this is all that’s left of me - sorry I can’t give you nothin’ but -

You place your lips on his forehead gently before pulling back. You cup his cheeks in your hands and nod your head.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”

[writing-desk-rae]

Dialogue Prompt

Person A: What can I say, I'm your archnemesis.

Person B: Honey, I wish you were my biggest problem.

[kiiwizzle]

Meet Cute Scenarios

Person A and Person B get their coffee orders mixed up and proceed to complain about how terrible each other's drink is.

Person A gets stood up on a date, Person B pretends to be their date to save them from embarrassment.

Person A is allergic to flowers but always stops by the flower shop to get a glimpse of the cute florist.

An overly enthusiastic witness asserts themself as the sidekick of a detective.

Two students having to share the last copy of a reference book at the library.

Person A heard the sound of a bell when Person B passed them, but it was just their keychain.

Person A and Person B mistake each other for their blind date.

[fyreflys]

Hey friends! I posted this little drabble I wrote for this Tumblr Request (<- original/unedited version) to my AO3 a month ago & totally forgot to mention it until now (wow I’m so good at self promotion /sarc). I edited it & added a few more details. I’ve kind of really fallen in love with it, & I think you guys probably will too! Go ahead and give it a read if you’d like <3

Birdbath

Everlark • 2.9k words • Teen • No Archive Warnings

Peeta finally comes home to 12 after the war to find Katniss a mess. Somehow, they end up taking a bath, and Peeta becomes a little more hopeful about their future.

[loserdiaz]

16. someone's pulling a gun and you're jumping in the middle of it

If it sparks joy ☺️❤️

so i was in an angsty mood, hope you like it <3

They weren't at a call, they weren't supposed to face danger that day.

It's all Buck can think about as he stares down the barrel of a gun.

It's their day off and Buck had plans, alright? This was supposed to be the perfect day.

The perfect first date.

The restaurant is really fancy, with the most expensive wine that Buck has ever seen and all the tables looked like straight out of a historical movie or some shit like that. The menu is full of weird names, half of which Buck can't even pronounce.

But it's his first date with Eddie and he wants it to be just perfect. A night neither of them would ever forget.

He wants to show Eddie he made the right choice when he gave Buck a chance.

There's classic music playing in the background, the sound of piano and violins floating through the air and making Buck relax in his seat.

And then— there's a loud crash, one of the windows at the front of the restaurant breaking and pieces of glass flying everywhere.

For a second, Buck doesn't know what's going on. For a second he's just confused.

And then—

"Nobody move! I said nobody fucking move! A man in a mask is carrying a gun. His movements are erratic and fast, almost maniac.

Buck's heart clenches inside his heart.

Eddie makes a sound and then he's standing up. Because of course he is, Buck thinks— remembers the way Eddie didn't even flinch that time they were taken hostages by the prison guy.

"Eddie." He mutters, as low as he can as to not catch any unwanted attention.

It doesn't work.

"I said nobody fucking move!" The man yells and Buck— Buck watches as the gun is pointed towards Eddie.

The sense of deja vu pooling in his stomach is sickening and he wants to throw up.

No.

Not again.

Buck moves before he can think twice about it, jumping over the table and placing his body in front of Eddie's, like some kind of human armor.

There's a loud gunshot, but the choked desperate sound that Eddie makes on the back of his throat might be even louder.

Buck feels himself falling to the ground and then Eddie's face is above his.

"Evan! What did you do? What have you—" Eddie is frantic, his hands shaking and hovering above Buck's body.

He frowns.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Buck asks.

Was Eddie shot?

Please God, not again. Buck can't go through that again.

"W-what?" Eddie laughs, but it's sharp and bitter and there's not a trace of humor in it. It's hysterical if anything. "No, I wasn't shot. You got in the way of the bullet, you idiot." He choked out and he's— He's crying.

Eddie never cries.

The last time Eddie cried he was broken and on the floor, hugging a baseball bat.

That was two years ago.

"E-eddie?"

And oh.

Oh

Eddie presses down on his abdomen and Buck feels it.

"Shh, it's okay, baby. Just— Don't talk. Don't— Hold on for me." Eddie says, his voice trembling and his tears falling down his cheeks and into Buck's face.

Buck mouths something with trembling lips but no sound comes out— just a garbled noise.

Buck can taste the blood. His own blood.

Well, that's not good.

There's a lot of background noise, screams and orders being yelled but none of that matters.

If Buck dies right there, he'll do it as he stares at Eddie.

"Hold on for me, baby. Please. Please." Eddie is begging above him and Buck wants to listen to him.

But he's so tired.

A weak hand comes up and reaches for Eddie, his thumb caressing that beauty mark under his eye that Buck loves so much.

He leaves a trace of blood in its wake and that's—

He tainted Eddie.

Buck wants to apologize but he can't speak. He can't breathe.

"You have to stay awake, baby, okay?" Eddie is saying above him. "You have to hold on for me. So then you can take me on another first date— no offense but this one really fucking sucked." Eddie lets out a wet chuckle. "So we won't count this one. We'll go on another one and that one will be our first, alright? And then you'll have to take me on a second one. And a third one." Eddie says and Buck thinks that sounds like a good plan.

He likes the way Eddie thinks.

"Stay awake, Buck! Don't close your eyes." Eddie pats his cheeks a couple times and Buck's eyes flutter but he fights against uncociousness.

"W-what else?" He asks weakly, his words slurring and dragging and he's not sure if Eddie understood any of that.

But of course he did.

"W-what else?" Eddie's voice breaks but he has this small smile etched ln his face, fond and quiet and just a little sad at the edges. "Well, we'll have to let the team know about us... eventually. They all will be happy, of course. Hen will order a cake and they'll throw a ridiculous party but it'll be fun." Eddie's hand keep pressing against Buck's wound but he can barely feel it.

It doesn't really hurt.

That's really bad, isn't it?

"And then you'll move in. In a couple of months." Eddie keeps talking. "Is it too soon to talk about that? I don't think it is. We've known each other for years and this— this was inevitable, right? At least for me." Eddie's lower lip trembles. "Since the moment you shook my hand in the back of an ambulance and promised to have my back? It was a fone deal for me. I knew I would love you. I knew you would ruin me for anyone else."

Buck smiles, or at least he tries to. He's not sure if he pulls it off.

"Ditto." He rasps out, low and weak but he thinks Eddie hears it anyway by the way his eyes soften.

And then the darkness wins and Buck closes his eyes.

-

He wakes up in the back of an ambulance with his hand in between Eddie's. There's paramedics working around him but Buck doesn't care.

He keeps his eyes on Eddie.

His hair is a mess and his brown warm eyes are puffy and red around the edges. His clothes are stained red with blood and there's a trace of it on his cheek.

He looks—

Awful, Buck thinks. Eddie's skin is pale and ashen and the fluorescent lights of the ambulance aren't doing him any favors either.

And yet— it's the most beautiful thing that Buck has ever seen.

"Hey." He chokes out, the oxygen mask resting uncomfortably against his face and making forming words a little difficult.

Eddie grins, relieved and so soft, tender and adoring. "Hey."