#it is not illegal to hold to the old ways

[steddiecameraroll]

“Happy two year anniversary on your crush, dingus.” Robin tosses a peanut at Steve’s head.

“Shut uuuup,” he groans into his arms after an embarrassing interaction with the one and only Eddie Munson only 7 min earlier.

“What did you get yourself? What’s the two year anniversary anyway? Paper? Wood?”

“Why do you torture me?” He softly hits his forehead against the top of the countertop near the candy rack.

“Because you deserve it.”

“He keeps getting hotter,” Steve whines.

“So you keep saying.” She crosses her arms and leans against the counter at Steve’s side.

“Did you see? Did you see that tattoo on his- under his- oh my god.” Steve waves his hand under his armpit. “That should be illegal. Why does he think wearing a tank top with that much skin showing is-is appropriate? If he shows up at my house in fucking cut off jean shorts again, I’m going to lose it.”

“Oh yeah?” Like she hasn’t heard this before. “You mean like how you said you were going to throw ice at him, if he showed up in those wranglers to help with your car? Or when you said you were going to bite him, if he wore that stretched out loose-necked band shirt? Maybe this time you should kiss him. Spice it up a little.”

“Shut up, those jeans are diabolical. No one ever said that cowboys had great asses.”

“Um, actually I think they did? Why are chaps assless?”

Steve stands up and thinks about that for a minute. “Oh, shit.”

“You gonna finally say something to him?” She’s thisclose to shoving their faces together.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to ruin anything.” Steve says with a sigh.

Meanwhile…

“Idiot, idiot, idiot.” Eddie bashes his head into a pillow.

“It couldn’t have been that bad.” Jeff rolls his eyes.

“It was horrendously bad. He stared at me like I don’t know, like I grew a second head or something.”

“When are you going to just talk to him about it? Dude, it’s been two years. Two years of listening to you pine over Harrington. If you don’t tell him, I will figure out a way to tell him myself.”

“Et tu Brute?” Eddie grabs the collar of his shirt in mock horror.

“If you don’t tell him, I can promise you Dustin is mere moments away from piecing it together. The way you look at Steve when he picks the kids up? Dude, it’s over.”

“Oh god, don’t remind me. I know I’m on borrowed time!” He digs his fingers into his hair.

“Aren’t you going over there this weekend?” Jeff crushes his empty soda can and tosses it easily into his nearby trash can.

“Yessss, ugh the first pool party of the summer. I gotta find those stupid shorts.”

“You own shorts?”

“They were an old pair of Wayne’s jeans I cut into shorts. They’re a little loose around the waist so they don’t dig into me.” Eddie falls back onto Jeff’s mattress with a sigh. “Last year I could’ve sworn I saw Steve checking me out in them.”

“Dude? Fucking tell him.” Jeff groans.

Steve rushes to the front door after hearing Eddie’s signature knock. When he pulls it open he’s unprepared for what’s standing on the other side.

“Hey, man.” Eddie smiles wide while holding up a six pack.

“Sh-shorts…,” Steve murmurs.

“Huh? Oh, I know my legs are whiter than white.”

“Come in,” Steve tries to even his voice.

“I’ll put these in the fridge.”

Steve walks behind Eddie as the man heads into the kitchen. Steve’s trying not to ogle. Honestly. He’s trying to keep his eyes off Eddie’s ass, objectifying him like he’s a piece of meat, but it’s hard when he keeps shimmying his hips to the music playing in the living room.

After Eddie slides the beer into the fridge he grabs one of the cold ones Steve loaded up earlier and kicks the door shut with his hip.

“Everyone else outside?”

“Yeah, I knew you were on your way so I was finishing up in here and listening for the van.” Steve grabs a bag of chips, rips it open, and pours into a big plastic bowl.

“Hey, did you know we’ve been friends for two years now?” Eddie bumps Steve’s hip with his own.

“Oh yeah?” Steve definitely knew that.

“Happy anniversary,” Eddie grins.

“Heh, that’s what Robin said.”

“She- Robin said happy anniversary?”

Shit

Steve opens his mouth trying to come up with something but shuts it again when it all sounds stupid in his head.

“Yeah, uh, she said something like we’ve been friends for two years.”

Eddie shifts and leans on the counter to face Steve. “You and her? You’ve been friends longer than that.”

“No, no, you and me. You and me have been friends for two years.”

Eddie furrows his brows while chewing on his bottom lip. Steve keeps his eyes pointed forward as he continues to situate snacks. They stand in silence for a beat and Steve feels like he should say something.

Eddie beats him to it. “Tell me something. Do I look ridiculous in these shorts?”

Steve feels his stomach drop because there’s no way he’s getting out of this unscathed.

“They were my uncle’s and I cut them up. Do you think I should cut them shorter, maybe?” Eddie turns around and looks over his shoulder at Steve.

Steve’s eyes flick to Eddie’s denim hugged butt before clearing his throat and looking away again. “I don’t know. They look fine like that.”

“Sure, but,” Eddie turns around and takes a hold of the hem of Steve’s shorts between his thumb and index finger. “Your’s are so much shorter than mine.”

Steve can feel Eddie’s knuckle brushing against his thigh.

“I may not have thighs like yours, Stevie.” Eddie leans into Steve’s space while continuing to hold the hem. “But do you think I could pull them off?”

Steve’s brain is malfunctioning because does he mean pull Steve’s shorts off? “My shorts?”

“Hmm,” Eddie grins and then looks over Steve’s shoulder like he’s making sure no one is watching. “I’m gonna do something that I’m praying you’re into. If not, please don’t punch my face.”

“What-?” Steve’s question gets cut off when Eddie places a quick kiss to Steve’s mouth.

It’s so quick Steve’s brain didn’t even realize it was happening until Eddie was already standing back in place. He stands in shock, lifts his fingertips to touch his lips, and gawks at the doe-eyed man before him.

“Was that ok?” Eddie’s leaning away.

Steve’s nodding before he speaks. “Yeah, mhmm.”

“Can I do it longer this time?”

Steve can’t speak but he nods without hesitation. Eddie makes a quiet noise before moving in and kissing Steve.

And it feels….

“I knew it!”

Steve pulls back and the two men turn to see Robin standing smugly.

“I knew it! Two fucking years.” She shakes her head before waving her hand at them and moving to the fridge. “Oh don’t stop on my account.”

#the spend the entire afternoon sneaking away and making out #Dustin ran in on them in Steve’s dad’s den but they broke a part before Dustin could see #Steve pretended to be showing off the crown molding #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiecameraroll posts #my writing

[ettelenethelien]

Comparative Studies, or Twice on the Verge of Falling  

The Rimôn fresco of Elwing is considered to be one of the greatest artworks of the Late Classical Era. Found in the courtyard of the old Helcaril Villa (itself a marvellous example of architectural trends during the reign of Tar-Elendil), it occupies a relatively modestly-sized, but excellently exposed niche across from the entrance. Aside from the considerable fame the artist had later gathered, it remains remarkable both for its vividness of emotional expression, contrasting to the usual art style of the era, and for the number and fame of its copies.  

The best known of these is the one gracing the lesser courtyard of the villa Surë-or-Falmar. Indeed, the glory of the two is so closely interwined that it seems impossible to ascertain which had contributed to the fame of the other more. And yet the effect of the copy wildly differs from that of the original artwork.

The Rimôn Fresco depicts the figure of the young Elwing standing on the cliff with her back to the churning waters below. She is poised halfway toward the drop, as if on the verge of throwing herself in, one hand clasping the Silmaril at her neck. Wind whips at her torn dress and loose hair. A rarity among artworks confronting the subject, it depicts neither the enemy she is facing, nor the the transformation into bird itself. The figure stands alone - and seems strikingly young. Beholders oft remark that it is hard to believe she is meant to depict a wife and a mother.  

The wild and violent atmosphere of the fresco, even though, as with most Classical works, it depicts no blood, and despite the aforementioned lack of actual fighting shown, made its artistic quality fall under scrutiny in its day. From diaries, journals and letters of the period we can, however, see that it proved intriguing enough that people would come visit the Helcaril Villa only to see it in person - and that it won over many of those who were originally critical. Thus it is difficult to ascertain whether the changed nature of the Surë-or-Falmar villa Fresco was intentional on the part of the copyist, or the sign of an inexperienced hand.  

The name of the copy's painter has unfortunately escaped history. The style is typical to the reign of Tar-Meneldur, though an exemplary of its genre rather than a dull attempt at imitating fashion. The colour combinations are soft, slightly more so than in the Rimôn Fresco, the lines clean, and the light hazy. The figure depicted is in the exact same position as that in the original artwork.  

Viewers of both frescoes predominantly agree, however, that despite the technical skill the painter has exhibited, the Surë-or-Falmar Fresco lacks something of Rimôn's Elwing. The posture is just a little less dynamic; the cliff's edge (perhaps unconsciously or accidentally) removed slightly father from Elwing's feet, making her situation seem something less desparate. The wind's effects hardly seem those of a real gale, and more an aesthetic choice. One of the most interesting judgements has been pronounced by Herunimon of Eldalondë in a letter to his cousin, Rilendur, son of Verahil, dated 24th Nárië, 901: "The S.o.F. figure seems less the Lady Elwing fenced in by foes and making a tragic choice, but more the heroine of one of those new romances, unsure whether to flee the scene after a man has confessed his love to her, or to accept his proposal - or, I hardly know, perhaps such heroines lead more exciting lives than I would guess (...) - but anyhow, the fresco seems more like a coloured plate in a rich novel, than a mural depcting a tale of the Elder Days. All in all, there is not one element which does not fit. But taken together, the effect is incongruous." (Collected Letters, volume II, as accessed from the Royal Library in Romenna)  

(from the Romenna Journal of Artistic and Literary Studies)  

***

Editor's note: Remembering the considerable public outcry after the publication of Songs of the Elder Days: Lyrics, History and Analysis, the University of Romenna along with its subsidiary organisations seek to make it understood that the views of authors, as regards the addition or not of Lord and Lady before the names of Lord Eärendil and Lady Elwing, do not necessarily represent its own. Were the University to be flippant, it might also seek to ask why proper respect being accorded to the Lord and Lady seems to be held in greater importance than that it be accorded to the Valar, but the University understands that this would bring on public outcry against it from people on both sides of the moro-political divide, so it shall keep its silence.

#A.k.a. adventures in drawing - when your sketch has more life in it than the clean copy. #I imagine this to belong to the later #but not yet Akallabêth-adjacent era of Númenor. #The era of exploration and friendly interchange is slowly giving way to imperialism #the divides are beginning to become semi-entrenched in society #and the fear of mortality is there -- #but it has not begun to consume every waking thought of the people suffering it #it is not illegal to hold to the old ways #and elves are still admired by many. #Surë-or-Falmar should translate to “Wind-over-Waves” #though I cannot be sure I did it correctly. #Rimôn is a name invented by me #supposed to sound at least a bit Adunaic; the other names are meant to be Quenya. #my post #Númenor #Elwing #tolkien #Silmarillion #silm #in universe texts #peoples of arda #in universe documents #in-universe meta #in-universe academia #fictional academia

[whoachillbro]

Aaahhhhh I made a mistake

#of looking at old tumblr tags and stalking #idk why I ended up on this long stalk #I don’t think about the friendship much and I’m very much at peace with how it is now #but I do think about what could have been and the possibilities #but I think I just can’t forget the way that I felt #I really felt so betrayed by it #and I think it’s a bit of a disservice to myself if I let them into my life again #I have never thought about reaching out until today #bc of this illegal information I’ve obtained LOL not illegal but feels illegal #but maybe just sad that they’re sad #and all the good memories we had #and all the good ones we could have had! #but sometimes we grow out of friendships and become different people #and maybe I just am a spiteful or unforgiving person #but really I don’t think I can truly forget 2022 #I’m not sure if it’s good for me to keep holding that #not like holding it in a sense that I can’t let go but just to remind myself that I can’t let myself give in #how easy it was for them to let me go #I’m thinking about that quote: everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks #I left claw marks #just feeling introspective since I’ve seen that #it’s ok I’ll get over it I really don’t think much about it now #me #rambles

[radiance1]

An offshoot of this post because why not.

So, Danny who wears sunglasses to hide his eyes from the GIW and Constantine who is very sure he's a ghost pretending to be human and vows to keep an eye on him.

The way the League meets Danny isn't all that grand. One moment there was Constantine, the next there was a boy lifting up and walking out of his coat while holding a pack of cigarettes.

"These are bad for you and will kill you." Theboy says while lighting himself one, Constantine doesn't even make a move to stop him as he tries it, only to immediately hack up a lung and Constantine takes that moment to pick his pack out of the boy's hand, lights himself one, and smoothly does what the boy failed to do while flipping him off.

The boy flipped him off in the midst of coughing.

Batman breaks the silence when the kid finally stood up properly, asking who he was and why he was here.

"Name's Danny, this guy." He points at Constantine. "Is my illegal guardian and I'm here becquse apparently you needed an expert in pacifying ghosts?"

"There are so many better ways you could have worded that." Constantine groaned and Danny smirked. "What? It's the truth though, I am your expert."

"You know bloody well what I'm talking about."

"Gotta be more specific, old man."

"Least I lived past 14."

"You wound me." The boy says, hand on his chest and wiping away invisible tears while Constantine rolled his eyes.

"Ahem." Batman narrowed his eyes.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #no ghost king or prince Danny #he's just a guy #good parents Jack and Maddie #in the background

[gallusrostromegalus]

Basically. I got screwed.

I am very sorry for how relatively quiet this blog has been but I've been dealing with a very unpleasant situation the last few months, and now I need help.

Essentially, I tried to help someone out, and she took advantage of me, and I have no way to recoup my losses.

Earlier this year, I moved into a new house. Before we sold the old house, a Now-Former friend ran into some trouble and was about to become homeless with pets and a small child. Not wanting them to be on the street, we offered to hold off selling the old house so she could stay there for a little while, if she could pay the cost of the mortgage on that house (because I could afford one mortgage but not two) while we helped her find somewhere more permanent.

I was not making money from this- since I was still paying the utilities and property taxes, I was actually losing money, but willing to soak that in order to help her save up and get her on her feet.

Instead, she:

Never Paid a Dime towards covering the mortgage costs like she agreed ($12,000 for the nine months she was there)

Trashed the house ($500 dump fees for the trash alone)

Let her pets piss and shit all over the house ($1,500 bio hazard cleanup, $4000 to replace the carpet and other damaged flooring)

Caused an electrical issue in the garage ($900 to repair)

Broke the washer, dryer and refrigerator ($2500 to replace)

Broke the fence ($1000 to repair)

When I told her I could no longer financially support her and that I needed to sell the old house, she illegally squatted there for a solid three months and I had to hire a lawyer and actually take her to court to get her to leave ($2,500)

The resulting stress has been, as you can imagine, stressful.

So stressful, in fact, that it aggravated a the medical conditions my husband had and made him extremely sick. He had to go to the hospital and take time off work to recover. Now the health insurance is trying to weasel out of paying his short-term disability claim.

So net, this woman has managed to cost me around $25,000 and that's not taking into account the missed paychecks and medical expenses. I do not have $25,000, and until at least $13,000 of that is spent to repair the damage she did, I legally cannot sell the house to even begin to recoup my losses.

Theoretically, I could sue this woman, but she doesn't have any money and it would be me paying even more money I don't have to get... Nothing. So I'm asking for help to cover the costs of getting the old house ready to sell, my husband's medical expenses, and other expenses incurred by this debacle:

If you can help out in any way-share, donate spare change, anything- I'd be extremely grateful.

Thank you.

#signal Boost #fundraiser #original post edited for clarity

[multifandomfanatic02]

"Stuck in a Trap."

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 : deer!Alastor x human!Reader

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 : reader finds herself wandering the woods alone and falls upon a wounded stag stuck in a bear trap.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨 : deer Alastor, human reader, marked, soulmate trope in a way

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 : 1.3k

It was a cool night in spring. Nice enough to take a walk outside. You had decided to chose a descent into the woods behind your house. It wasn't dangerous or anything, had a nice gravel path. A few miles into it became an attraction to some tourists. Those who were into the whole haunting thing.

The most you heard were some silly ghost stories. What nonsense, you thought. Some believed there was a portal straight to Hell sitting in the thicket somewhere. Some believed there have victims from past murders buried in there. You weren't exactly into paranormal shit, you've lived and roamed these woods for years now.

No, the closest you have seen were the crazy amounts of dead deer lying on the floor. Hunters perhaps? Maybe mountain lions? Nah. The state of the deer made you feel bad, queezy more like. The poaching of the animals was upsetting to say the least. Whenever you went on these walks, you made sure to break whatever traps you could find. More often than not, all being bear traps. It was illegal in this area after all. Nobody really enforces the law around here considering how scared everyone was with this place.

You had been walking for what felt like a few hours. Your cue being the red and pink sky to head home. Oh but it just feels so right to be there. It wasn't until you heard a loud animal like cry that you stopped in your tracks. You bet it was a deer caught in a trap. What were you thinking following a scary sound like this. This kinda thing should only happen in scary movies.

After a few minutes of wandering around for the source of the sound, the creature in question comes in to view. It was a stag. What a divine animal this was. It was a lot larger than most deer, the biggest set of antlers you had seen. And it's color was dazzling. It was as if it reflected the crimson sky above it. There was no way that it was it's natural color.

Inching closer to it, the reason of it's cry came to your attention. A hoof was caught in a bear trap like you originally thought. Blood dripped from it's ankle, in attempt to soothe it, he licked it. Blood staining around it's mouth. Looks like he'd been there for quite some time.

Bending down to the ground, you hold up your hands hoping the creature would realize you were going to try and release it. All he did was bellow in hopes to scare you away. But you just stared in amazement. Your hand just inches away from the trap, the stag notices and understands your actions. Staying still for a few seconds.

His hoof finally free, you put the bloodied old bear trap in your bag. The beautiful creature bows his head slightly, one of his front hooves folding beneath him, obviously showing a little gratitude. You bent down to meet his gaze, returning the unusual human-like gesture. You didn't really think about it too hard.

Your hand reached out to him, in hopes he'll accept your advances. The stags ears laid back against his head as he pressed his forehead into yours. He backed away slightly, giving the entirety of your forearm a well deserved lick before bounding back into the thicket of the woods.

What a strange interaction. Something you surely won't ever forget whether you liked it or not. Upon looking down, you notice a green glow surrounding the area the creature marked. Looked like it was making out a subtle A-like symbol. Well time to proceed home and wash off.

A few years had gone by and the mark still remained on your arm. After many specialist appointments and surgeries, the doctors were just as stumped as you were. It wasn't a tattoo of any kind, no ink was found in the skin. It wasn't skin cancer. And crazy as it is, after several biopsies the mark simply grew over the scar tissue. It was a complete mystery as to what that mark was. And if you told everyone where you truly got it, they would all think you were nuts.

If that wasn't enough, you often felt prying eyes around your secluded house. The paranormal stories were beginning to sound sane after all the experiences you had. There have been many nights where the stereo would turn on by itself or static would just be heard. Or nights when a dark yet comforting shadow would loom over you as you slept. You eventually became accustomed to these intrusions. Most would have moved out by now.

Whatever was here was like a dark guardian angel. You weren't thinking about the holy ones whom would just, look after you, wish you the best of luck and bring you to heaven when you died. No. This one was different. The type to personally interfere with human affairs to keep you safe. The idea wasn't too off-putting considering you had done been in two severe car accidents and a tornado; somehow leaving all situations unscathed.

More often than not, you would have dreams about the stag you had found in the woods all those years ago. Talking about how you belonged to him. How you live under his protection. He had a name too but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. His voice was really unique and drew you in like a magnet. The dreams you've received were so surreal. Like you've known him all your life.

If this was paranormal, you were going to do some digging. The term typically refers to the dead, right? The town library should have records of your property and the folks who lived there before you.

It thankfully didn't take much to get the information you were looking for. There were several newspaper articles from the 1930's that included details of a man named Alastor. Alastor.. that was the name you heard in your dream. It explained the mark on your arm.

He was a local serial killer who targeted those who were for the most part ill intentioned. Especially toward women. He was found dead in the woods behind your house, burying one of his victims. Mistakened for an animal. Which is why to this day hunting is illegal in those set of woods.

More newspaper articles opened up about his profession. Despite the mans.. er.. hobbies, he was quite the talent as a radio host back in the 20's. Youtube even had some of the old audio recordings. Your heart soared upon hearing his voice. This was him. The stag you saved, the shadows watching over you, and the voice that whispered to you in your dreams.

What didn't make sense was.. why was he a stag of all things? Why did it feel real? Well, as it turns out, the power of the human soul varies in the afterlife. Some could just interact with inanimate objects while others can only muster a sound whether it be naturally or through something called a spirit box. Then, what was Alastor?

Ultimately, you had fallen in love with Alastor. Over the course of your life, you had gotten to know him from your sweet dreams. He often thanked you for your kindness. Never had he met someone that put his faith back into humanity. Who would show such a lowly animal mercy and generosity? And the day that you arrive in Hell, he'll be there to catch you and say.

"The name is Alastor, the radio demon. A pleasure to be finally meeting you properly. Welcome home, ma chère."

a/n: i would just like to say that none of the pictures are mine, creds to the amazing artists 🎨

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin #alastor hazbin #the radio demon #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fandom #alastor imagine #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #hazbin x you #alastor x you #alastor fluff #alastor #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel au #deer alastor #human alastor

[i-cant-sing]

Mmmhhh thinking about Yandere Batfam reacting to a reader who runs a very popular blog where she absolutely bashes Batman and Robins- and the batfam takes your criticism very seriously. Maybe not at first, but then Damian (the easiest to tick) got pissed off when you wrote how "he's just a kid in a cheap Halloween costume" and when Damian gets pissed off, he whines. He whines and whines and whines until Dick and Bruce finally listen to him and do something about it. That's when they find out about the extensive threads about them, criticising meticulously each and every action of theirs, how they're causing more financial harm to Gotham and allowing themselves to be idolised and causing more people to comit crimes just so that they could have their 5 seconds of fame with Batman. And ofc theirs a whole page about the Batsignal.

I mean, Damian and Tim have already found out who runs the page (though they had a little bit of a hard time sniffing u out. You were good at covering your tracks). While Damian and Tim are busy going to "have a talk with you", Bruce is at home reading your entire blog about Batfam and realising how some of your points.... kinda makes sense. So, he buys the app where you write your blogs, then has Damian bring you over to the Wayne offices, where he explains he just wanted to meet the person running the blog that generates the most readers on the app. You, just a 23 year old student who's blogging as a side hustle.

You're obviously stunned because why are you meeting Bruce Wayne and also confused because again, why are you here exactly??? Bruce just says that he likes your insights and would like to know more, and he's happy to pay you by the hour you spend talking to him and also on the blog.

He's very much determined to make Batman and Robins be good in your mind, and not that he cares much about what people think about him, it doesn't hurt to have good PR for heroes, lest people should try revolting against Justice league and only end up hurting themselves. There's only so much he could do to calm his metahuman friends.

You're again- CONFUSED, but you like money. The only thing you tell him is that you get to write whatever you want, complete creative control and that you can write about anyone you wish. Ofc, it doesn't register to Bruce that you could possibly write against his family- against his name.

So in the beginning, things are going great. Reader continues making calculated judgements and comments about Batfam and how they could possibly improve themselves, the batfam takes note and tries to do most of the things. Then you'd write something that could almost be seen as praise for "changing their old ways" and they all feel a little bit proud. They don't realise it but some members of the batfam (like damian and Dick) start craving your approval of their actions.

Perhaps something happens, maybe you don't find it fun to write about the bats anymore, so you shift your mind towards a new topic-

The Wayne's.

You research a bit, finding it a little odd at Bruve Wayne's generosity to be adopting random ass kids, a super duper clean record, no scandals or anything- it just- it doesn't feel right. No one's that clean. They have to be hiding something.

So when u can't find anything against them, you let your imagination go wild and start making conspiracy theories, kinda feel like reader goes in her gossip girl era to stir things up so that someone would come forward with something- anything.

Bruce's eyes almost bulge out as he reads the blog's headline-

"The secrets of Gotham's favourite billionaire playboy!"

Shit- did you figure out he's batman?

Nope. In fact, you covered everything but that. From theories about him adopting troubled kids for PR, to the Wayne family actually being a chauvinist cult, to conspiracies about his ties with the Rothschild, his philanthropic donations being a front for illegal activity, the Wayne Manor holding lavish nsfw parties, and even a classic "they drink virgin maiden blood!"

Bruce stood in your apartment, eyes narrowing at your sleeping form on the couch.

"Bruce? What- how did you get in?" You don't remember unlocking your door.

"What is the meaning of this?" He pulled up your article on his phone.

"Huh?" You took a closer look, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Oh. Yeah, I wrote that."

"Why?"

You shrugged. "I was bored."

"What?" Bruce could feel himself getting angry. How could you be so nonchalant about the lies you wrote?

"You know this isn't true." "I do." "Then why did you write it?" "I told you, I was bored. Besides, you told me I could write about anyone." You get up with a sigh. "I don't get why you're so worried about this. Barely anyone reads this stuff."

Bruce's brows went up. "There's a 1000 plus views on this already!"

"What?" your eyes twinkled. "A thousand already? Its not even been 24 hours since I posted. Wow, people really do enjoy conspiracy-" you shut up when you saw his glare. "Right, sorry."

"Take it down, now." Bruce orders, brow twitching when you just walk past him and into the kitchen, pouring yourself some coffee. "Why?" you asks after taking a sip.

He glares at you. "Because it isnt true-"

"Then give me something that is."

Bruce stared at you. Is this... is this your way of wanting an interview?

You sighed. "Look, just let me interview you family, I promise to only write the truth and only the truth. No conspiracies, I swear."

"Or I could just fire you. Better yet, have you sued for defamation."

You nodded. "You could, but honestly that would only bring more attention to the articles and more conspiracies would arise. Besides, you and I both know you cant stop me from writing even if I'm in jail."

Bruce watched you walk upto him, holding your phone in your hand. "Come on, just one week- one week at your place, I'll even let you read the article before I post it. If you dont like it, I'll delete it."

I mean... it did sound like a pretty good bargain. Besides, at his home, youd be in a more supervised space.

So here you are, standing in the lobby of the Wayne manor as a posh butler leads you to Bruce's office. Of course Alfred will be a part of your articles. He's too fancy to not be.

And so over the course of a week, you dont really find anything particularly intriguing about the family, even after you interviewed each member. You're mentally groaning at the thought of writing yet another boring article... that is until you accidentally discover the batcave (ok not accidentally, u hid a recorder in Bruce's office and u heard the man discussing about it with Dick)

Anyways, it didnt take long for you to discover the cave, and it took you even less for you to write a scandalous article.

"RICH MAN COSPLAYS AND PRACTICES HIS JUJUTSU SKILLS ON THE MENTALLY ILL! SEE PICTURES OF WHERE HE ROLEPLAYS IN MASKS!"

Unfortunately, before you hit "post", your phone is snatched and you're knocked out.

When you come to, Bruce is sitting in front of you looking beyond pissed while you're tied up in your seat.

"We had a deal, Y/n." Bruce gritted out.

"So? Deal was off the moment I found out you were Batman." You shrugged.

"We had a deal-"

"You really expect me to just pretend like I'm blind after I found out who you really are? Do you think anyone would just give up on a scoop this big?" You tilt your head at him.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you. "Scoop? Thats what this is to you?"

You nodded. "Sure, you're a hero who fights crime and brings "peace" to Gotham, but who knows for sure? After all, thats how you want the world to see you." You lean as far as your restraints allow you. "I dont trust you, Bruce. Not one bit. There's just- this gut feeling about you. Nothing personal, but I dont get good vibes from you."

"Is that so?" Bruce raised his brow before sighing. "I guess there's no reason to let you go then."

"What?"

He nodded to himself. "Yes, if I let you go now, you'll only cause more trouble for me, but also for yourself. If you post content like that, people will target you- yes, I definitely cant let you go. You're an impulsive idiot who'd endanger herself just to not be bored."

Your eyes widen. "You cant kill me."

Bruce scoffed. "Dont be ridiculous, I can, but I wont. I just want to take care of you, protect you from yourself." He stood up. "I did a little bit of research on you too, yknow? You keep your personal life super private, I have to give credit to you, it wasnt easy to find out about your family. But... money makes the mare go."

Your throat dried as you saw a glint in his eyes. He knew... he couldnt-

Bruce's footsteps echoed as he neared you and ruffled your hair. "Poor you... having to deal with a schizoprenic mom." He leaned down to smile gently at you, but you could sense the sinister intent.

"Dont worry, she'll be taken care of at Gotham Asylum while you stay with us."

girl idk where i was going with this, i just needed to get it out of my drafts (i have another long incomplete draft about platonic yandere dick x gymnast reader where he basically is intrigued by this mini tonya harding who lives for her dead beat father's approval who doesnt give a shit about her unless she comes first. so its upto dick to adopt u and make u a part of batfam)

#rich man has weird ways of adopting kids that dont consent to adoption #yandere bruce wayne #yandere batman #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #yandere dc #batfam x reader

[tarjapearce]

Poppy Blue

Blue Jones! Miguel x Baby Doll! Reader.

Art by @marbipa on x

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Power play, choking kink, rough sex, mentions of abuse, preying, toxic and perverted behavior, implicit clandestine and illegal activities, lobotomy, dissociation, implicit depersonalization, objectification, hate sex, manhandling, violence, sub space. No Proofread.

Summary: Messy things ~ (I guess?) Miguel as Blue Jones from Sucker Punch.

A/N: Watched Sucker Punch last night and... yeah. Had to get this out of my system. ~ Another one for the Miguelverse ~

Masterlist

All it took was a bullet. Aimed at your assailant with no intentions of missing. Yet you did. You missed, failed terribly so. His chest was your goal, instead it went directly to his shoulder.

Projectile ripping and scorching skin, tissue and muscle in the go, earning a shaky and pained yelp. But it was the least he deserved after trying to be sneaky on your sister, that laid cold and bled out in the floor. She was no match for his knife and his blood thirst of the night. The rest was a blur.

And now, you were dragged down to the wet and dull greys walls of your future home. Lennox House. Or rather Lennox Asylum for the Mentally Ill.

Everything about the place screamed danger, everything about the people working in the monstrosity of place yelled I'm no better.

Barefoot, soaked in rain, holding your new uniform and gazing at the biggest man you've seen in you life, holding a bunch of keys while his eyes bore into you.

The way he stared made your skin crawl and it didn't help your clothes clung to your body. Arms braced the uniform closer to your chest, trying to cover it up. His eyes wandered to the man behind you, a police officer with three scratched lines into his face. You hadn't left him unscathed. Not when he tried to play rough with you back at your old home.

The man showed you around, place was as depressing as it was from the outside, but The Theater took the prize.

Girls your age dressed in gray, socializing in the area. And by socializing it'd mean to watch them either receive therapy with a polish beautiful woman named Vera Gorski, or watch them fight over the stupidest things. But who could blame them?

Some probably had enough time inside that had memorized the cracks in the wall, the scratches on the floor, the number of chewed gums underneath the table or how many dust particles were accumulated in the windows. Gray. Everything was gray and dull.

Even the voice of the men behind you talking about a price for your silence were tiresome and dry. Two thousand. That's what your memories were valued as. A number you now hated.

Corrupt pigs

The police officer gave you a gentle push forward as a nurse came to fetch you. The simple touch of that man made your skin revolt and slapped him hard across his wilting face, a scowl on your grimace that slowly turned into a smirk as the police officer tried to catch you, but you were being dragged away by two nurses into a life that would turn your head upside down and backwards, the many times it saw fit until you'd understand that you weren't in charge.

Until you'd understand your purpose.

Dance.

"If you don't dance, you have no purpose."

Madam Gorski murmured to you. Pretty, dangerous and aware of the many many situations revolving in the brothel. Cause in truth, the asylum was just an alibi and a frontage for the real deal. House Lennox. A house of pleasure.

Bets, drinks, sex, meds and a hell of a show to anyone that filled Miguel's pockets.

The main attraction? Girls that society deemed unfit to keep within her picky guts. Too into messy situations to keep the pretense around relatives. Too fucked up to function properly but good enough to mold and shape into something useful, and too tempting to break even further.

She mumbled while circling you, her dark eyes scrutinized you unabashedly, taking in everything her sight could reach. Pursing her pouty lips upon your body.

Pretty, scared, still holding a grip on reality while trying to swallow a really hard to deglute pill, and oh so perfect for a new purpose.

"We do not keep things in here that serve no purpose."

The collide of her cane on the floor was like a metronome, setting the pace to enter a forbidden place, somewhere that none could reach but you. Mind splitting in two, dissociating soul from conscience, leaving an empty, moving vessel behind. You were free for a moment. And now you wanted more, more of that place where your imagination ran rampant.

Where Gorski's words meant nothing, where the guards had no power, where you were allowed to break down and feel without second intentions or being frowned upon. But mainly, without Miguel’s preying gaze licking you raw while undressing your form with it.

But the clapping and praising brought you back to this reality. Red eyes fell upon you, studying, raking over your body upside down, stopping at your thighs to then go back to your flushed and breathless face.

Mr. O'Hara. Miguel 'Blue' O'Hara. The asylum guard, the key bearer, perverted pimp, and your new shadow.

Ever since that dance many things changed.

Even though you danced, duties in the asylum weren't to be neglected. If you said no, you'd get a visit to the hole.

If you didn't dance, you'd get a visit to the hole.

But if you didn't do things Miguel's way, you'd get a personal talk with him, and then a visit to the hole.

And those talks, surely weren't words.

Scrubbing the floors gave you the chance to listen a bit of everything. Girl's derangements, psychotic outbreaks, mumblings that were filled in with regret and many more flourishing emotions; the ever loud music from the cook, and the unceasing mewls and obscene noises coming from Miguel's office.

Some girls misbehaved on purpose, just to get a taste of him. Others did anything to draw his attention to them, specially in the dance floor. But you knew better to anger him.

Sure, pleasure came in hand with a high price. He wasn't good, he wasn't nice nor gentle, matter-of-factly some girls cried during their one on one sessions and the degradation only enhanced the tears.

Sick fuck.

Gorski's alarms flared up upon seeing belt marks on their legs and ass, bites in their inner thighs and bruises on their hips. Eyes a bit too gone and tired to actually work in anything. They might have spread the gossip around of Miguel fucking them, and even enjoyed it.

But the aftermath of it, said otherwise. And it was enough to keep you on check, but even so he was pulled to you like a magnet so strong you could see the refrain in his eyes every time he approached you.

Hands shaky, tongue rubbing and wetting his plump lips, a soft flush on his cheeks and pleading eyes. A silent 'Let me play too' cause he wasn't allowed to touch, or taste you. Instead, he'd use the girls willing to please him to take his anger out. Their bodies meant nothing, they meant nothing cause they weren't you.

They didn't have your body, they didn't have your sweet voice that distorted into moans and gasps that he'd kill to induce every time you danced, but above all, they didn't have your spark.

That little interaction with the police when you first arrived, had him folding on a bathroom, stroking himself to oblivion at the mere sound of your slaps.

Unbeknownst to you, you held so much power over him. Power he was set to dull, because he was the only one in control. Not even Gorski and her stupid polish methods to get in the rest's head. He ran the place and had it under control.

For how long though?

You wanted out. His little Poppy wanted out and surely would get everything to be free and leave him, forsake him in this damned place.

Anger flowed within his veins like molten lava upon remembering how other men looked at you, how other men wanted you. They'd possibly been imagining how good and tight your insides would feel cause the way you moved when you were up in the stage, was surreal. It was like another person took over.

But he, a sick fuck through and through, would want both. No. He'd have both. He craved and needed both, even better when you were dressed in such things that only added more dry bones to his needy fire.

Fucking lucky of them to feel you and be a your second skin. Even that stupid and everything but innocent uniform you were to dress every day, stirring up enough to let him take a peek of your panties, or the stockings underneath that remained etched on your supple thighs he'd often fantasize in getting lost between.

He just had to wait for you to misbehave. But sadly you didn't seem keen into breaking the rules. He'd wait.

---

"Stormy, come."

Vera called another girl. Whoever gave their names either knew them too well or picked random words in a go. Gorski too engrossed into her lessons to notice you had been dragged away by other guards under Miguel's petition.

Had you forgotten about something? No. Surely not. Last week's chores were fulfilled completely, the bathrooms were clean, the kitchen's dishes turn were washed up, and so were the floors. Your wrists sore, a reminder to ask for a new brush.

And-

Shit.

Fuck.

The laundry.

Some dancers had ran out of stockings, lingerie, and some sheets from the brothel needed to be replaced ASAP.

But you, Poppy, as Vera had called you and it stuck with the rest ever since, had trouble. Just cause you had forgotten about the damn laundry.

Miguel's formidable frame came into view, he was on a call, lying on how well someone's daughter was doing after a lobotomy. How they didn't have to worry about her anymore.

Your stomach felt sick and your heart leaped on your chest once he ended up the call. The guards had been long gone, leaving you with your shadow alone.

If honest, you knew Miguel either followed or kept you watched under hawk's eyes. Time stopped as soon as he turned to face you.

Pupils wide blown as soon as you came into his sight.

"My sweet, sweet Poppy."

He inhaled deeply and clasped his hands together before his face. An uncontainable smirk morphed into a light titter.

"You've been a bad girl, princesa."

His hands slamming on the table before him made you jolt and blink at his sudden mood shift.

"We..." He wetted his lips as he came behind you, "We were counting on you, Mi cielo. But... you failed us. Failed me."

A gulp as his breath fanned over the crook of your neck.

"You see..." His big and long fingers brushing your hair away from the right side of your head joint, "Now I gotta improvise something for the next show. "

"I'm sorry, I forgot-"

His hand took a hold of your neck and the contact made him growl. Warm, smooth, feeling every heartbeat underneath his big and calloused palms.

Lips dangerously close to your ear, breathing and panting as he pulled you closer to him, your back colliding against his torso and abdomen.

"Shh"

He hushed while taking a big whiff off you. A mix of soap, perfume and cigarettes. His hand squeezed tighter, earning a lovely and sweet yelp from you as he pushed you against his desk.

Your eyes widened in surprise upon feeling the hardening cock in between the slot of your thighs, poking, begging to be released and finally take you.

"You remind me of someone. Too bad she lost her spark."

His hand riled the skirt of your uniform up, passing up some layers of extra clothing, your underwear and stockings. Hand plunged inside to finally allowing his fingers to have a sample of your flesh.

"But I'm keeping yours alight, sweetheart."

His cock twitched when he found your clit. Fingers dexterous and peeling the outer folds away to give a gentle rub before you closed your legs almost instantly. A little delaid reaction, your brain was still processing it.

You went completely still when he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips. He sucked them off with hunger, groaning and trembling at the taste.

"Por Dios, preciosa..."

You tried to pry his hand out of your neck but the struggle made his breathings more labored and needy as he humped and ground against you from behind. Letting his tip to speak volumes at how hard and wanton he was. How bad you made him react. How much power you had over him.

Of course.

The idea of having him subdued to you assaulted your mind. Pressuring you into pleading, just like your clit that clenched and twitched upon having his tip rubbing in a slow yet firm strokes.

His hands went back inside your panties, searching for the nub of nerves that had you melting. Tongue skimming at the tender skin of your neck.

Just as he was about to bury a finger knuckle deep, the ever annoying voice of Vera urging Miguel from outside the door, asking for you. Her dear and lovely Poppy.

"Chingada madre" (Fucking shit)

He sighed with an exasperated growl and looked at the door.

"The fuck you want?!"

"I need Poppy on the practice. Now."

Where was the shocking baton when he needed it the most?

For once, you were relieved to know that you didn't go unnoticed under Gorski's watch. She protected the girls in her own way.

Knees trembled as he kept the hand inside. A little miscalculation had you whimpering while his fingers remained trapped in your flesh. His eyes snapped back on you with a smirk.

A hand clasped on top of your mouth, suffocating any moans as he worked his fingers between your pussy. Touching and prodding at the forbidden flesh, a moan vibrated through his hand with a high pitched Hmm

"I'll get her to you right away!"

Miguel yelled while working his fingers harder and faster, alternating between rubbing and fucking your hole with them.

"Spread your legs wider, pretty baby" The husk of his voice made you close your eyes and hips hump ever shyly at his hands. Gaining as much friction as possible.

"Miguel, I need her now."

He grumbled under his breath while moving his hands faster. The wet smooch and sucking squelch had him humping against your panties, breaths agitated, muttering something you could only decipher as filth in spanish, your hands clenched onto him, tightly fisted on his clothes.

Just a bit more

He heard Vera cursing in her native tongue as he prodded his fingers inside, toying with your opening. Stretching and fucking it at his likings.

"You fucking little slut"

He tittered while rubbing furiously in your clit. A bit too rough that had you bucking and trembling in his arms. If his hands made you quiver and melt he couldn't wait to see what his cock could do. You drenched his fingers.

Said fingers were cleaned up again by his mouth with a droopy and pleasure drunk face.

Despite having your legs shaky, he held you by the hips, and forced you to grab onto his desk. His hands quickly fumbled with his pants and boxers, pulling his cock out.

He stroked a couple of times, tip susceptible to stimulation. He pulled the panties aside, your stockings the only barrier between you and his erection. The flimsy layer of clothes instantly adhered to your soaked skin, He pushed in between your thighs, rubbing his cock back and forth with slow thrust against your pussy. His hot length brushed against the already engorged and sensitive nub.

The tightness of your warm thighs smooshed together created the perfect friction hole for him without actually penetrating you. So close and yet so far of that forbidden territory. Soft mewls and whimpers came out your mouth, too enraptured in feeling than verbalizing your pleasure.

He also needed his toys. Specially his favorite. Stockings were thoroughly soaked the more he pushed his cock in and out. Labia clothed and slicked parted to feel his shallow moves. He used you as his fleshlight, his hips smacking yours. His chest rumbled with animalistic and low growls.

His hands were clumsy as the pleasure turned overwhelming, you could see the flushed tip of him peeking out your thighs, the urge of tasting him turned bigger the faster he went. You were trying so hard to keep it as quiet as possible.

"Wished I was inside you, don't you?"

You gasped as he purposely angled his tip in your dripping hole. A shivering breath was all he received.

He took you by your chin and squeezed

"Don't you?!"

"Y-Yes!"

"Yes, what?!"

"Yes, sir."

Jesus fucking Christ.

He pushed in deeper in your cunt, his cock pushed a bit of the stockings inside as he doused it with his cum, unable to hold back any longer, marking you.

You had never heard a man pant and wheeze like that before. So deep, raspy, needy, cradling you tighter, anchoring to you as he shook his orgasm out.

"Fuck- Ay Dios, fuckfuck-"

He slurred while engulfing your frame against the table. Breathings matching his erratic ones.

Your skin between supple thighs felt clammy and sticky. Black stockings ruined completely by the white and wet patch of his scent.

Hot breath fanned over your neck.

"Can't wait to feel the real de-"

The door banged.

"Boss! We need you!"

The guards and Vera had proposed to fuck around with him cause his patience had been tested many times.

Your steps marching away from him snapped him out of his thoughts, He blinked and held you by the wrist, pulling you once more to him to kiss you.

Your first kiss in years. Soft but needy and filled in with a promise to fulfill later.

Now that he had a taste, there was none to stop him. He'd take his favorite toy and go home.

----

Freedom was taken away from you, right before your eyes. Forsaken by your so called friends, marooned by the crew you had gathered within the depths of despair. Your hope had given them a chance at surviving, your courage had transformed you into a fucked up sisterhood, but it was their greed that made you the ultimate sacrifice to their success.

You could only watch while thrashing your way out, but the more you fought, the more guards came to you, but one in particular pulled you out of the mess like a feather. But you didn't stop fighting. Not even when your tabs were in absolute zero probabilities of winning, not when Miguel dragged you inside manhandling your crying form like a ragdoll.

Scratches, fists and other punches didn't move him in the slightest. His grip tightened once you both were locked up in his office once more. He tossed you on the floor.

"Why... Why did you want to leave?"

His tone menacing yet hurt.

The idea of you almost slipping away from him had sent him in a berserk mode that unleashed hellbent through the asylum. Just to find you and when he did, he wanted nothing but hurt you, just the way you've hurt him.

Wasn't his attention enough? , wasn't him being lenient on you and your chores enough? Wasn't he enough?

"WHY?!"

You were too dumbfounded to process his question. Too marked with shame at your failure and rage to pay him attention, and that alone sent him grabbing you by the neck and crash you against a vanity. Tossing everything above it to the floor.

Your back collided against the now shattered mirror, you yelped but still managed to slap him and that made him groan and nod frantically.

Yes

One of his hands was more than enough to hold your both arms as he positioned between your thighs, pressing further against you.

"You don't like me, Poppy? Why?"

"Let me go!"

His hand squeezed your neck tightly, cutting all air for a minute while he kissed you. Sloppy, angry and so full with lust and rage. It gave you no time to react while his other hand tore the panties from underneath your skirt.

You kept slapping him, but that only enticed him to spread you further

"Love that fucking spark on you, preciosa."

He then thrashed you against the table sending a painful jolt through your body, It made you still for a moment.

"No! No! Don't-" his eyes widened in panic, "Don't lose it. Please-"

"No" You panted, "Just found it" A flower vase was smashed in his forehead. And that granted you freedom from his hands as you fell on the floor, gasping for air and crawling away from him.

Heavy steps echoed, trailing dangerously after you. Miguel took you by the ankle and dragged you towards him.

"No!"

He hissed and pulled you upwards, like a statuette, and slammed your torso against the desk you had been clenching onto. All air knocked out your lungs.

A hand passed over his buckle and removed in a swift motion his belt in one go. The sight of your pussy peeking underneath the ruffles of your skirt made a smile that didn't reach his eyes to appear.

He quickly got the belt around your neck, your hands instantly pried, or at least tried to pry it away, scratching yourself in the process. The smell of copper filled in the air, the vase had broke the skin of his forehead.

"You fucking ungrateful bitch!"

He secured the belt tighter and you wheezed, hands flailed to get a hold of him. Fingers already prodding and toying with your cunt, to his surprise, the struggle and fight turned you on, knowing that a man wanted you so badly that would do anything to have you, and you denying such power had you soaked.

Specially when the man in question was this 6'9" cell guard that wanted nothing but to wreck you, destroy you the way you had destroyed his fucked up illusions.

"All I did for you, everything I did meant shit for you-"

He rasped before slapping your butt with such force it stung and left a red imprint on the now reddening flesh.

"I didn't... a-ask you for shit!"

He grunted at your broken words as he pulled the makeshift leash backwards, separated your legs and pulled out his cock once more.

"There we go, baby"

"Y-You're so pathetic-"

Words died in your throat as he slid inch by inch inside. The intrusion made you sob a feeble whimper, it burned and hurt, but in a way you weren't expecting and you liked it.

"Me? Pathetic? Ay muñeca, is not me whose gonna beg me to stop" He pulled your face towards him and kissed you once more, "You won't even remember your name once I'm done with you."

He buried to the hilt as he watched your expression. Troubled yet blissful. A little grip was loosened as he felt you were about to speak again.

"You talk too much shit-."

Part of you regretted said words, cause he smashed your head in the desk and dug his fingers around your hips.

"Is that so?"

Nothing had you prepared for the assailing onslaught of his hips. Fucking was a measly word compared to what he actually was doing to your poor and snug cunt.

It wasn't slapping, his hips thwacked yours with such force you were sure your cervix would be bruised and your legs wouldn't walk properly for the next few days, but as it hurt, it felt good. Too good for your own comfort. Specially when propped a leg ontop of a stool for more leverage to ruin you deeper.

A garbled moan came out your lips, before gritting your teeth together and shaking your head vehemently. He laughed in between deep growls and moans.

"Am I dulling that spark, muñeca?"

Your body lurched forwards, pussy drenched him with every remorseless push he delivered. Eyes struggling to keep on the front, but it was unavoidable to have them rolling back as your jaw slacked open.

High pitched wails rumbled out of your gaping mouth, permeating the once silent room. Two of his fingers slid in your mouth, hot breath colliding against them. They hooked forcing your mouth to keep open.

The desk shook under your weight, the room filled in with moans so sweet and delicious, unlike the many that had been under him.

You were experiencing first hand the danger. Miguel wasn't nice, he wasn't gentle. The latter made an emphasis on its own as he pulled the belt impossibly tighter. A gurgling and rasping noise came from your throat. He wasn't squeezing anymore, he was choking you.

And Dios mio, you were sure you'd die. But dying sounded way too much of a reward than staying in this awful place.

"Yes"

You hissed in between butchered pants and wheezing mewls. Mind set in welcoming the reaper as air was still cut out of your lungs. Legs too weak to keep on their own. Dizziness fogging your mind, fire engulfing your body, Your cunt slurped him in, wetness no longer an issue since he slid and out so easily.

The only indicator you still had consciousness was the little pathetic cries you did as his hips plowed you with a new intensity you didn't know possible.

He had been whispering the filthiest things into your ear, a couple of degrading words you couldn't quite hear, too busy being cock drunk and slipping in and out of consciousness.

Your torso and arms laid in between his arms and the desk, his upper body keeping you still as his hips did the whole assault. His face too snatched in a myriad of things.

Pride cause he finally got to have you and proved you wrong, lust cause you felt just like he had imagined, anger because of your previous words. He was the one that was rawing you into oblivion, had your brain turned upside down, not Gorski, and had you cumming with such an intensity it was overwhelming and too much for your brain to digest.

Too much.

The choking had your brain's fuse in a shortcut, shutting itself off for what it felt like forever, until he spilled himself inside. Renovating your walls white.

Hot cum spurted and not a single drop was wasted as he made sure you kept it inside.

His hulking figure trembled, torn in between subtle and violent spasms that shook him to his very core and raged pants that sent a shiver down your sore spine.

He finally had you and you were his. He wasn't letting you go. Not when he was about to give you a new purpose.

Being his.

---

Everything that he thought good and right blurred. Eyes filled in with tears at your state. Gone. Gone from this world, gone from him, the spark had vanished.

No

How this happened?

His mind raked through the memories, trying to find the right moment everything went to shit.

He signed a paper. A lobotomy authorization in your behalf.

No!, no!.

"Come back" He pleaded while kissing you and squeezing his hands on the joint of your head and shoulders, to pry something out of you. But nothing came.

The spark had been lost.

And so were you.

"Please, muñeca"

He sobbed and cradled you in his arms, but there was no push, no retaliation, nothing. Only a lovely vessel of his love.

You were gone. For real.

He had been so naive to believe that fucking you senseless meant to have you. He had been such a fool to fall for such a simple thing as that.

And now he had lost you. His own hand brought his demise. Guards and Gorski dragged him out, his hand latched on to you, but even your skin felt different.

"Poppy!"

He yelled but you didn't answer. Just watched him with a look that shattered his heart.

You were free. Free and far far away.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel smut #spiderman 2099 smut #sucker punch #t writes✨ #one shot #Miguelverse

[neil-gaiman]

Hello, Neil Gaiman. I am writing this letter of gratitude because I am in despair, but I am obliged to you. I am Russian, I live in a small town in the south of Russia, in the Caucasus. a month ago I turned 16, so now I am fully responsible for all my actions. I'm bisexual, which is now illegal. you understand what I mean, but I’m simply scared to write about such things. absolutely no one knows about this, and I have to hide every day. this is an unbearable burden, but I must say thank you. because your projects are what gives me life. you have no idea how much pleasure it was for me, at eight years old, to fearfully admire Mr. Bobinsky. when, at 14, I finally saved up money for the Russian edition of Good Omens, which I had to order via the Internet not directly, but through my friends, I was quietly delighted. it is worth paying tribute to: this edition is really good and very warms the soul, its design may not be filled with elegance with a golden border, but it is very homely, cozy and imbued with love for the work, this can be felt, even if the translation is not the best. and on the very first pages I felt something that I had never experienced, having problems with the nervous system and anxiety: I felt protected and happy. I felt complete. each line was a sip of life-giving water for me. let me be so bold but this book is perfect for me and it's hard to believe it wasn't written for me personally haha. like two pieces of a puzzle. I hold the book of Good Omens, and I cry almost every time because it feels good just to hold it in my hands. you shouldn’t put this next to fanaticism, it’s just personal happiness. sometimes I felt so safe with this book that I hugged it as I fell asleep. then I saved up to the translation of script book for the first season, and I must say that I am confused, because there are no deleted scenes in it with Crowley shopping or the opening of Aziraphale's bookstore and others, and this was not clear to me. and a month ago, on October 30, my cousin, who is like my own sister, gave me the original Good Omens for my birthday. can you imagine? in all of Russia she was able to find only one person who carried out such foreign orders (please forgive me, I have little understanding of this). so, in some ineffable way, a copy was delivered to me via America from Corgi Books, I think, 2014. soft cover and thin pages, of course, but I'm so happy. and I’m also grateful to myself, because I’ve been learning English since I was seven, and therefore I’m glad that I can read the original. oh, you should have seen with what rapture I waited for the release of the second season at three in the morning! and with what delight I watched it in English without subtitles, understanding what was happening. this is happiness. what I want to say is that you bring…indescribable happiness to my life. you give me strength, and I don’t give up. I cry every time I allow myself to dream that I am escaping from here. that I can meet you and say thank you in person with my stupid accent, not so much because of my native language, but because of the braces, hahaha. but I never stop dreaming about it, although even this is hard. thank you for everything. I wish only peace and love. with devotion, love and gratitude, A.

I'm sending thoughts of love and concern. Stay safe.

[reallyromealone]

This isn't a request but I'm brain rotting rn about imagining Emma is once again at a toman meeting with another 'girl' and Draken of course scolds her and is like "Don't go bringing your schoolmates to a gang meeting," but it's actually reader crossdressing and Mikey's new bf

Thank you, bye bye I had to tell somebody and I thought you would like it. 🤧

Title: cross dressing

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Pairing: Mikey x reader

Warnings: slight au, male reader, cross dressing, fluff

Notes: made some slight alterations for the sake of hahas

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

Mikey was slightly annoyed as he heard his younger sister brought someone to a Toman meeting, the girl making friends at university and he often saw her friends when he got home from gang stuff or helping shinichiro with his shop on occasion.

What he wasn't expecting was (name) to be dressed in cute feminine clothes and a mini skirt, tucked flat-- Mikey chuckled silently to himself as he knew (name) probably regretted letting Emma get into drag racing shows. Draken scolded the girl as (name) glanced around and saw Mikey leaned back on his chair with his legs spread, slicked back blond hair showing off his tattoos as he winked before blowing out smoke from his cigarette.

(Name) And Mikey had recently begun dating, the blond initially hesitant when he learned Emma had a male friend and Draken nearly hostile at his girlfriend being so close to the cute boy but they quickly realized that (name) was not interested in Emma or any other girl.

What Draken didn't know was that Mikey immediately went on the hunt, practically popping up anywhere (name) was to flirt with him and eventually begin dating him.

So when the twenty-one year old saw his boyfriends bare thighs swished slightly by stockings and that cute skirt, (name) looked nervous at the look he gave him though... The Toman underlings who stood in position in the back garden of Toman headquarters didn't see the look as their boss being a horny bastard but instead saw it as annoyed.

To be fair, Mikey was incredibly hard to read.

"She can stay but she has to stay out of the way, we aren't responsible if she gets hurt" Draken sighed and kissed Emma's forehead as the blond girl beamed up at the tattooed man "thanks Kenny!" She said sweetly and the giant of a man grumbled but didn't say anything.

(Name) Sat with Emma quietly as they started their meeting, Emma and (name) chatting amongst themselves and working on a project, (name) explaining his half and what he was doing.

They didn't even notice the meeting end until Mikey wandered to them "oi" he said passively as (name) looked up confused and Mikey raised his hand, many members holding their breaths only for Mikey to grip (name)s neck and kiss him softly "what" Baji said confused, he was fully ready to get the cute girls number but seems Mikey got to her first.

"What's with the clothes? They look weird" he asked confused and mitsuya looked up from his laptop, working on business expenses that he will be sending to Koko later "Mikey! Don't tell a girl her clothes look weird! That's rude!"

"But (name) isn't a girl" Mikey said bluntly as he plopped beside (name) and draped himself over the other "I just made (name) wear girl clothes, he owed me a favor" Emma said sweetly "besides he looks cute! Don't judge my fashion Mikey!"

"Wait, she's a dude?" Pah said confused and (name) nodded "yeah "

"Wait why did Mikey kiss you?" Chifuyu was also confused, a group of grown ass men who ran a notorious gang and made illegal millions couldn't figure out was a relationship for the life of them.

"(Name)s my boyfriend" Mikey said bluntly, Draken connecting the dots fast.

That would explain why Mikey went to a specific apartment often.

And based on how he played with (name)s skirt...

He would be going back pretty damn soon.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers fluff #male reader #mikey tokyo revengers #x male reader #mikey x male reader

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Picture credit: xbruised_peachx on Twitter

Sorry but I’m on my young recruit König & old colonel König brainrot again

CW: More polyamory headcanons with 2 Königs. Healthy relationship with old König and toxic relationship with young König, possessive behaviour, jealousy, NSFW 18+ only

The way he greets you when he comes back is so sweet you almost melt right there on the doorstep. He cups your face with both hands, gives you the most tender kiss known to mankind, and envelops you in a soul-warming hug. The love of your life sighs deeply as he holds you; his sweet, adorable wife. The Colonel may be a little tired but he's also extremely happy to be home again.

Colonel König, the older, calmer version of König is everything a woman could want. You married him early because he charmed you right off your feet.

You ride him on the first night because you simply want to show how much you've missed him. Colonel König never objects to you taking the reins every now and then. You see it from his eyes that he’s in seventh heaven whenever you bounce on his cock. He’s just happy to see you take your pleasure from him. He’s the luckiest man on earth because his needy young wife never gets enough of him – it strokes his ego that someone like you wants someone like him.

He always puts his things where they belong and takes a shower before walking into the living room and falling on the sofa with another deep sigh. He looks like he just fought an entire war by himself. When you go to make some dinner, he bounces back up and offers to help. You have to convince him that he can rest while you prepare some food. When you return with the meal, the tv is on but the Colonel is snoring softly on the couch.

He praises you and the meal, and you both talk about your days (or weeks). It calms your nerves just to talk with him. Colonel König is cultured and mature and you can talk to him about politics or the squirrels in your garden or some new documentary you've watched. He can hold any conversation.

He's illegally hot with his deep voice and loving stare, not to mention the thick muscles covered by a healthy layer of fat. You pride yourself on giving him some of that by feeding him so well. He already has a few laugh lines at the corner of his eyes – you pride yourself on giving those to him, too.

In the morning he’s much more vigorous. A good night's rest does wonders to any man, and König wakes up to cuddle you with a good, hard, thick erection. If you’re still sleepy, he will go down on you – he loves it when you’re too tired and warm and pleased to fight him.

He edges you for at least an hour: now it’s his turn to show how much he has missed you and how much he appreciates it that he has a cozy, beautiful home and a lovely, beautiful wife to return to. He’s sure he won the lottery with you, and you’re sure you’ve been blessed with the most attentive gentleman on earth. You feel like floating before you even get to the breakfast table.

Colonel König brings you small gifts and expensive flowers everytime he comes home, and takes you on a vacation to a new, exciting place every chance he can get, which is multiple times a year. You never have to ask for anything because he already got it for you.

You never have to fear you’re too much, or too moody, too this or too that: König appreciates you just the way you are and takes your fits and breakdowns and insecurities and PMS struggles like a champ. He stays calm during any storm and you can always trust him with all your troubles. You stopped apologizing for yourself an aeon ago because you know König doesn’t want to hear it: he only wants to comfort and console you when life has been hard on you. He will do anything to make it better, and if he can’t make it better, he will hold you long and fast until you smile again.

He takes such good care of you that you cried into his chest hair about it once. König only caressed you and said you deserve all of it and more. You could hear the calm, content smile on his lips while you were ugly crying about him being too good for you and spoiling you to bits.

When you asked if there’s anything you can do to return the many favors he’s given you, his face turned super smug before he suggested that you could always blow him. That’s probably the most obscene thing you've ever heard him say, which is why your face was all flushed when you travelled down to suck his already hard cock.

If only he didn’t have to repair the damage left behind by his younger version, you two would be the happiest couple this world has ever seen. Life would be peaceful and his home would stay nice and clean if the young, horny recruit had never walked into your life. He would have more energy and he could go back to work with a peaceful mind if it weren’t for this boy who has yet to learn how to be a man. A boy he couldn't deny you because you must always have everything you want; it's a law he lives by. You saved him from himself, and he will see you happy no matter what.

For some reason a troubled, violent young pup who shows a woman he loves them by bullying and fucking them to a quivering heap is what makes you happy at this point in life. Perhaps it's only a bonus that the rookie takes the blunt of your libido... otherwise he might be in trouble with his younger wife.

It’s just that the Colonel knows he can’t satisfy all your needs. You have a dark side, which he appreciates, and he thinks he’s being a good man when he allows this to happen. He's a good man, both to you and to the rookie who is the cockiest and also the most deranged, damaged little creature he has ever seen.

He tries his best to carve a man out of this poor, traumatized young bastard. He tries his best to give you the opportunity to live your life to the full by having two men who absolutely and utterly worship you... in their own ways.

Because when Young Recruit König comes home?

He’s not tired at all. He’s just excited and pent-up from being away from you for so long. He greets you by lifting you into a bone-crushing hug, sets you down when you whimper, and buries his face into your neck. You never get a kiss on the lips or a peck on the cheek: young König gives you a long, bruising love bite on your neck while you squirm and whine in his hold. He's something of a sadist when he only laughs and asks, “How has my sweet little Muschi* been...?” *Muschi means pussy in German :(

He doesn’t offer to help, he just throws his bags on the floor and asks what’s for dinner. If you have it ready, he nuzzles his face into your neck again and says how much he loves you, how perfect you are, and how he’s going to show how much he missed you after he's had a taste of your delicious cookings.

You watch how he eats almost all of it, a meal meant for an entire family. Colonel König eats like a horse, too, but he’s modest compared to our young rookie who goes to the gym in addition to his hectic job and probably burns 4000 calories per day just by daydreaming of filthy scenarios with you.

Don’t even think about riding him slowly into the sunset. Young König takes you while you’re on your knees, your ass and pussy exposed to his hungry gaze and hard cock. It borders on humiliating sometimes, the way he treats you. You grab for support from the sheets, knowing that it’s useless.

You’re in luck if you happen to cum, because the first round is just him using his little muschi, the tight, sweet hole he’s missed so much. He sounds like an animal until he cums, then kisses you all over when he’s done. You both sound like you're about to cry as he gives you hot, fond smooches where it tickles the most, getting some kind of sick satisfaction from the way you squirm and shudder in his hold again.

Round two is much more gentle and König is way more attentive, now focusing solely on you. Or at least on how you look under him, how desperate and wet your eyes get, how your tits bounce when he makes love to you. Well, you wouldn’t say that the younger version of König even knows how to make love – the old Colonel has tried to teach him, but he seems to get very pissed at anyone telling him what to do and how to do it. Plus he knows he can give you what the old man can or will not: a rough fucking that leaves you breathless, helpless and very much in love.

Because even if the first time is pure madness, the sessions that follow are made of intense adoration. König is obsessed with you and your desperate moans, your tight, wet cunt, the way he can make you cum three or four or even five times a day. He’s not the most gentle, attentive guy but he will do anything in his power to make you shiver, shake, beg, and clench. While Colonel tries to savour you nice and slow, the younger recruit lives for extremes. Sometimes it feels like he’s trying to drive you (or himself) mad.

The sheets have to be changed on the third day of his leave, and there’s not a surface in your house he hasn’t bullied you on or against. After a few days of fucking and living on takeaway food (König won’t let you from his sights for one minute), the young recruit finally calms down and agrees to watch some movies with you. You even get him to do some chores.

He won't help you in the garden like Colonel König because he's interested in the most dangerous, illegal or unnecessary jobs in the house, such as: can he fix the weather vane while balancing on a slippery roof, or would it be any fun if he did some DIY electrical work by himself. But he will help you with your computer, fix you some weed and turn a cooking session into a play fight that ends with you both on the kitchen floor and König sampling you instead of the sauce you tried to offer him.

This young rookie comes home with a wine bottle or some new sexy lingerie for you to wear (and him to tear right off). One day he comes home with a kitten, a scared little orange tabby, and asks if you like it while an evil grin spreads on his face. The poor thing tries to scratch and claw König but he has his gloves on, and when it gets released to your apartment, it runs under the sofa and won't come out, not before König comes up with a solution that involves some tuna. You're 100% sure he either stole that kitten or found it abandoned somewhere.

König leaves you in the good care of his older version, knowing that the aftercare he provided barely counts as aftercare because it’s filled with manic kisses and hugs that hardly allow you to breathe. The things he mutters in your ear when he holds you are usually about you being the best pussy he’s ever had, or about would you like it if he killed the old fart.

The cat turns out to be very vocal and cuddly but it also destroys your curtains and the Colonel's side of the bed. It grows up to be a violent bird hunting machine and an entire menace that, perhaps to no one's surprise, reminds you of your young lover.

Conversations with König mainly include him mansplaining things to you. He boasts a lot and you get the feeling he's actually very insecure under all that brash cockiness. But whenever you try to work on that with him, he soon gets annoyed, frustrated, or horny. Any attention is both poison and elixir for this man.

When you start to cry from him being so intense with you and mean to the man you love (the man who allows this young rookie to eat his food, fuck his wife and practically live in the house he bought with hard work) he says it’s only because he knows you’re not happy with him, not really.

But he can make you happy. He has money too. He can give you everything you want, too. And didn’t he just make you cum twice with his tongue and cock? Can the old man do that, eh? What else do you need? What else could you even ask for?

You have to make your calls and texts to the Colonel in secret even if your arrangement is known to all parties involved. It’s just that the young recruit becomes even more crazy and possessive in bed if he sees or hears you talking to his rival. You get the sense that he's not just crazy and self-centered: he's actually so desperately in love with you that he can't take the reminder that you're someone else's wife.

You tried to live together once, but it ended in both of your lovers in the hospital and you crying next to their beds. They made an uneasy truce after that, and agreed that they should take turns with you.

They mainly talk to each other through you nowadays. The "talking" mainly consist of threats which you never deliver.

Colonel König says he’ll snap the young prick’s neck if he ever hurts you in any way, your body or your feelings. You never say to him that the damage is already done – well, perhaps he hasn't hurt your body, which is sore from all the love, yes, but never abused. But he has hurt your feelings many times by being so callous, intimidating, and reckless.

Your nervous system is constantly on high alert with the young recruit who fantasizes very openly and cruelly about all the things he’d like to do to the Colonel (such as "if he tries to show me how to fuck this sweet Muschi again, I will fuck him to his grave with his own dick" or "I have a bullet with your lover's name on it. Have you ever held a gun, kleiner Schatz? Would you like me to show you how to load a rifle?")

When you remind him that you’re the Colonel’s wife, and won’t listen to such violent, stupid nonsense, the young recruit smiles with another devilish grin and says you needn’t worry: you wouldn’t be a widow for long. He would propose to you once the funeral is over and done with. Perhaps he’ll propose at the funeral. Would you like that…? Would it make you wet?

It's the only time you actually slapped him, and it only got him hard. When you were shocked about that too, he asked why do you think men go to the army in the first place, and urged you to slap the Colonel too and see what it does to him.

What you find a bit funny though is how this entitled young man seems to think about the Colonel everytime he’s inside you. He always brags about how he fucks you better than him, how he knows you prefer his mouth over the old man’s. He knows his cock is bigger too: he compared once when they were having a piss outside. He also knows you should make babies with him: they would be very healthy. Surely you’d choose him over the old Colonel if it came to breeding you? If you ever want children, you only need to ask...

#double trouble au #2 Königs one reader #könig x reader

[redwing4life]

Prettier Than a Van Gogh

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

WARNINGS: Bucky struggling with self image, a frankly illegal amount of fluff

SUMMARY: You suggest painting Bucky’s back to help him see the beauty he fails to see in the mirror

WORD COUNT: 1333

MASTERLIST

“Honey, I’m home!”

Your voice rings out from the entryway of the apartment, your tone light as you use the phrase you’ve come to love. Bucky said it once when you first moved in together, unaware of its old fashioned nature; you teased him for it in the following weeks, and yet you’ve come to find it endearing - now using it each time you walk through the front door.

“Bucky?” You call out, met with silence once more. While you’re used to coming home to a quiet apartment, the lack of a usual reception of hugs and kisses is worrying.

Concern tugs at your brows as you kick off your shoes. You consider for a moment that he’s been called away on a mission - something that happens every now and then - but his boots still sit on the shoe rack and there’s no sticky note on the wall from him.

“Bucky, darling? You home?”

Spinning round the corner that leads to the open plan kitchen and living room, your frown deepens upon seeing no sign of your boyfriend; the bathroom door is open and he’s not there either. Your eyes lock on the bedroom door that sits slightly ajar before your feet carry you forward.

You knock gently on the wood and peek inside, “Love?”

Oh how your heart drops at the sight before you. The reflection of the mirror Bucky is stood in front of shows you the shame etched across his features. He’s wearing the dark blue and green plaid pyjama bottoms you got him for Christmas with no shirt on.

You’ve found him like this before, him staring with disgust at the scars littered across his torso, but mainly his shoulder. It’s like a knife to the stomach every time you see him with that look in his eyes; if only he saw himself the way you do.

Feet pattering against the hardwood floor, you approach Bucky with eyes trained on his - though he’s yet to glance at you.

“I thought we agreed you didn’t have to do this to yourself anymore, sweetheart” You say, voice quiet and dripping with love. Coming to a halt behind him, you drag your fingers up and down his toned back a couple times before stretching them around his waist.

Bucky’s skin tingles at the warmth of your hands, now flat against his stomach. “I don’t know how to stop” His lips twist into a grimace.

“Then we’ll learn how to.” You reply, slowly stroking the skin beneath his belly button. “Cause you deserve to see yourself the way I do”

You almost gasp when Bucky finally meets your eyes through the mirror, wondering if you’ll ever get used to his beauty.

“Do I?” He asks with a frown.

“Oh, honey,” You press a kiss to his shoulder blade, “you deserve that and so much more.”

His lips turn up slightly and you revel in the way his body responds to you. Your right hand reaches out to grab his vibranium one, raising them up with your palms flat against each other. Still stood behind him, your fingers intertwine while your eyes never leave each others.

You continue, “You may not see that yet, but i’ll spend every minute of our lives teaching you to see it too”

He spins in your arms while still holding your hand and rests his flesh one on your hip. Naturally, you start swaying from side to side, dancing to the hustle and bustle of the street outside. You find yourself thinking of ways to help him while your head rests on his chest.

“Hey, Buck?” You mumble against his chest.

“Yes, doll?”

“I have an idea”

Bucky was skeptical of your plan at first, but your big smile and excited bouncing on the spot won him over. Not that it takes much persuasion when it comes to you.

So now he finds himself lying on his stomach on your bed while you straddle his back, slowly sketching out a drawing on his back.

“Can I at least get a vague idea as to what you’re gonna paint on my back, sweets?”

You giggle to yourself quietly, “Nope.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but can’t hold back a grin. You’re being very secretive as to what you’re planning; you said you want him to just enjoy relaxing for now.

“Okay, you ready?” You ask, dipping a brush into the paint on your palette.

“Yes, ma’am”

When the brush makes contact with the small of Bucky’s back, his back tenses at the unusual sensation. “Fuck, doll, it’s cold” His voice is muffled with the pillow beneath his chin.

You mutter an apology, gently running your hand up and down his side comfortingly, trying to counter the cool brush with your warm hands. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” He replies quickly, “keep going”

So you do. You spend nearly an hour swirling paint over your boyfriend’s back, incorporating his scars into your design. Blues and yellows blend together to form a version of Van Gogh’s starry night, curving round his vibranium shoulder and down to the middle of his back.

Bucky stopped fighting the fatigue that was tugging at him, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. He’s slept peacefully for the last twenty minutes to the bizarrely satisfying feeling of being painted; a content smile has graced your lips ever since he fell asleep, happy to see him so comfortable in your presence.

You never take for granted how Bucky lets his guard down around you. You may not be able to control his feelings toward himself, but you can certainly give him every reason to trust you.

The painting is nearly finished as the super soldier stirs beneath you, a sigh falling from his lips.

“How’s it going, doll?” He asks, trying to turn and look at your work only to have his eyes covered.

“No looking! I’m nearly done” You squeak, desperate to keep it as a surprise. “Just a couple minutes and you can see it”

Bucky hums in response, returning his attention to the movie playing on the tv.

Finally finishing up with some detailed strokes, you drop the brush in the water jar and tidy up. When everything is cleared, you help Bucky to stand up without smudging your work, leading him back to the mirror you found him in front of only a few hours ago. Your hands rest on his hips, drawing circles on his skin without even realising you’re doing it.

“Okay, if you don’t like it we can wash-“

“I already love it, y/n. You could’ve painted a rotten apple and i’d wear it for a week if I could” He interrupts you. You can’t help but admire him right now, a soft expression on his face.

“Okay, you can look”

Silence falls upon the room as Bucky turns to face you and plants a quick kiss on your forehead before looking over his shoulder.

“My god, sweets”

“Is that a good ‘My god’ or a bad ‘My god’?”

He can’t tear his eyes away from his body for the first time since the 40s. “It’s beautiful, y/n. I-“ Words fail him and you swear you see a tear in his eye.

“That’s how I see you, Buck.” You say. “You take my breath away every time I see you. Your scars are part of you, so I love them too”

He turns back to you and holds your face in his hands, “I love you so much, doll. You’re so damn talented, and to have you use it for me- it makes me wonder what I did to deserve you”

You raise your hands to cover his. “You deserve the world, my love. More than I could ever give you”

“Well,” Bucky grins and rests his forehead on yours, “lucky for you, you’re all I want”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: eeee my first fic, please like and reblog if you enjoyed - maybe give me a follow toooo ;)

#bucky barnes #bucky fluff #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #buckybarnesbirthday #buckysbirthday #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky barns x y/n #sebastian stan

[pandoraslxna]

hi luna, i found ur fics on ao3 and ran my ass to tumblr bc i just needed more of ur writing. you're so talented!!

i was wondering if you could write a lo'ak x reader story similar to the step bro!teyam fic where he makes contact with the sex pollen. it could be step bro!lo'ak or just reader's bsf idm bc i've been thinking abt that fic for agessss and i'd die for a lo'ak version even where reader is the one that touches the pollen instead 😭🫶 pretty pls and thanks in advance （╹◡╹）♡

Forbidden desires

adult Stepbro!Lo‘ak x female omatikaya reader

Words: 3.8k

Summary: Nine times out of ten, when you were sent to one of those old, abandoned RDA outpost facilities, it went just fine. But there's always that tenth time.

Warnings: explicit smut, stepcest (they’re not blood related), sex pollen, cowgirl position, creampie, teasing, praise

Nine times out of ten, when you were sent to one of those old, abandoned RDA outpost facilities, it went just fine. But there's always that tenth time. And of course it’s when your accompanied by your older stepbrother, who somehow seemed to magically attract any kind of danger ever since he was a kid.

Scavenging abandoned laboratories for essential supplies that the clan could use was usually safer than it sounded, but this place, it was far off your usual research zone and Jake- dad, he said you could call him dad. Well dad said, it would be better to not go alone this time, just in case.

The once bustling scientific havens now stands as a relict of the past, slowly succumbing to the relentless embrace of nature. The laboratory emerges from the foliage, structure weathered and worn by time. Moss and ivy clings to the cracked walls, intertwining with rusted metal equipment. Vines creep through broken windows and shattered glass, casting intricate patterns of sunlight onto the decaying floors.

This place smells sharp, metallic, so much like tawtutes [humans] and the rotting smell of death and burnt earth they leave behind. Not exactly a pleasant scent.

Inside, a sense of eerie tranquility fills the air. Dust particles dance in the faint beams of light that manage to pierce through the overgrown canopy. Dilapidated shelves line the walls, remnants of long-forgotten experiments, holding faded vials and forgotten notes.

Lab benches, once polished and pristine, now bear the scars of abandonment papers lay strewn across the floor, their text faded and illegible. The hum of electricity has long been silenced, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the fluttering wings of Riti [Stingbats] that were abruptly woken by the two na‘vi entering the long forgotten building.

Amongst the ruins, you search meticulously, your eyes scanning for useful remnants. You carefully examine cabinets, hoping to uncover unused medicine, bandages, exo packs that are still intact or any other useful tools.

Your stepbrother however, seemed to have other plans in mind.

"You shouldn’t touch that", you said, snatching his wrist mid way of him prodding at what you hoped was a fake skeleton. Lo‘ak let out a chuckle as he gazed down at you, both of his brows raised in amusement as he wriggled his hand free of your hold.

"Relax, tsmuke [sister]. Are you always this uptight when going on your little adventures?"

"I‘m not uptight, Lo‘ak. I‘m being careful", you said, shaking your head. "Jak– Dad taught me to be. You never know what the vrrteps [demons] could possibly be hiding here. And this isn’t an adventure, we‘re here to get supplies!"

"Right, of course. We‘re on a very important mission here", Lo’ak scoffs sarcastically, then proceeds to yank at the skeletons arm and point it in your direction, poking your hip with the boney finger when you roll your eyes at him. "You think they have traps set here to capture cute na‘vi girls? Ohh, isn’t that scary?"

"You’re an idiot", you giggle, swatting the hand away and playfully slapping your stepbrothers arm.

You both then take the steps up to the second floor of the building, and when you round a corner, you stop dead in your tracks. There was a "DO NOT ENTER" sign taped to the door that was slowly starting to peel off.

Experiments on animals or even na‘vi weren’t really uncommon, and you knew the horrors that the RDA was capable of, had heard and seen it yourself, especially in those research laboratories. Which is why you weren’t sure if whatever awaited behind this door was worth the few extra exo packs and bandages.

"We shouldn’t–"

"Oh, yes we should", Lo‘ak is quick to cut you off, all too eager to push the heavy metal door open. A rush of stale air fills your nostrils and you grimace at the smell.

"I should’ve just asked Neteyam to come with me", you mumble under your breath, closely following Lo‘ak into the room, who had a wide, excited grin on his face.

"And miss out on all the real fun?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "Yeah, you two would clearly make the better duo."

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help the feeling of unease that grew inside you, your eyes darting around the room, while your stepbrother's curiosity only intensified. Ignoring your trepidation, Lo‘ak stepped forward, drawn to a large, dusty table at the center of the room.

Among the scattered papers and broken equipment laid a few conical flasks, some of them still filled with droplets of a strange liquid.

Turning on your heals you took a quick 360°-spin. The room was small enough to get an overall view in less than a few seconds. There was nothing but this table and broken laboratory equipment. Nothing that seemed to be of worth for the clan, so you glanced back over your shoulder, already heading back to the door as you pleaded, "Lo‘ak, come on. There’s nothing in here, let’s just go back."

Lo’ak however, couldn't resist the temptation to tease you, playfully waving one of the glasses around. "Killjoy", he mutters under his breath, before shouting, "Here, catch", and throwing the conical flask in your direction. You shriek as you jump around to try and catch the glass in time, but it slips right past your fingers.

You both watch it fall like it’s happening in slow motion, until it bursts on the floor and the glass shatters in thousand little pieces.

As soon as the liquid inside makes contact with the tiled floor, it morphs into a small cloud of steam that smells awfully sweet and you end up coughing a few times before sending a glare in Lo‘aks direction. Sucking in a sharp breath, he makes an apologetic face and rushes to your side, careful not to step in any of the glass shards. "Shit, sorry! I‘m so sorry, are you hurt?"

"No, skxawng [moron]. I‘m fine", you clear your throat, "Great mother, you’re acting like such a child sometimes…"

"Yeah, I hear that a lot", he grins and you can’t help but smile at the coy flick of his tail. "C‘mere, can’t let you get hurt or dad will skin me", he murmurs, pointing at the glass, before scooping you into his arms and carrying you out of the room.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips and tickles Lo‘aks neck as you rest your chin on his shoulder. Your heart was still pounding from the scare, harder than you would like to admit. Nuzzling closer to his neck, you allowed your eyes to rest for a moment, just breathing in the natural, soothing scent of his skin, while he carried you downstairs. He smells so much like cedarwood, leather and freshly cut grass, you notice. And something else that you can’t quite put a name on, but it tingles your nostrils and makes goosebumps raise on the nape of your neck.

"You smell good", you mumble the words before you can throughly think them through, while pressing your nose against his throat. Your lips graze his skin and you can feel his upper body stiffen at that. "Was that a weird thing to say?" You ask calmly, almost a little too calm.

There’s a moment of silence before Lo‘ak shakes his head and murmurs a quick, "no."

Back at the main entrance, he gives a light squeeze to your hips, signaling you that he would let you down to your feet now, but your arms wrap around his neck tightly. He just smells so good, you want to stay here for a while longer. Lo‘ak is strong, you know he could effortlessly carry you all day.

"Can you hold me for a while longer?" Your own voice seems so far gone, so far away, you don’t even hear yourself properly, don’t even realize you’re speaking at all. Your skin tingles where Lo‘ak has his arms wrapped around you, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm, pressing yourself closer against him.

"Tanhì [little star], are you… are you okay?"

"Hmh", you hum, crossing your ankles behind his back like a Syaksyuk [prolemuris] clinging to it‘s mother.

"Are you sure?" There’s genuine concern in his voice, one of his hands running up your back, feeling your temperature at the nape of your neck. "You’re kind of burning up a little."

Your response almost sounds like a drunken mumble, "hmm strange. My heart‘s beating pretty fast too." It’s followed by a little giggle, and Lo‘ak frowns.

He‘s not panicking, not yet, but he knows something is wrong. This was really, really not normal behavior for you. He feels your face entirely too close to his pulse point, can feel your nose nuzzling against him, your lips brushing his throat. It’s not a kiss, he tries to make himself believe.

You’re not kissing up and down his throat. You’re not, because that would be wrong. Why would you— and then he feels it. Your tongue. His whole body shivers at the wet glide of your tongue on his throat, and Lo‘ak swallows thickly, before coming back to his senses.

"O-Okay, listen, uhm, I’m gonna put you down now", he scrambles, untangling you from his body to set you down to your feet. Your knees seem a little weak and Lo‘ak can’t help but reach out to hold you steady, ignoring the way it makes you blush and lean in on him again.

It doesn’t take a genius to come to the conclusion that whatever was in that glass container must’ve been some sort of drug or whatever. As soon as the coin drops, Lo‘aks heart fills with guilt. His expression shifts to that of worry and uncertainty as he ponders if calling his father would be a good idea. He knows he has to make sure you’ll be okay, has to get you to the tsahìk, but he knows just as well that dad will most definitely skin him alive if he finds his precious adoptive daughter in this condition.

"I feel weird, Lo'", you snap him out of his train of thoughts. Lo’aks hands are on your upper arms, holding you steady while simultaneously keeping some distance between you and him. His eyes scan you up down, and he almost chokes on his spit as he catches the way you clench your thighs together, squirming, and fiddling with the fabric of your loincloth. "Feels really weird… here", you tell him in a hushed whisper, one of your hands bullying it’s way between your clenched thighs. Your eyes are half lidded and glassy as you stare up at him through your lashes, your cheeks flushed in a dark red.

Now he’s panicking.

"S-Shit", he sputters. His eyes are wide as he adverts his gaze to somewhere, anywhere else but you, trying not to look at his stepsister touching and rubbing herself over her clothes. That’s bad, that’s really, really bad. "Let’s just get you home, yeah? I‘m– I‘m sure there’s a cure to whatever it is that you have."

One quick glance down to see if you had even heard what he just said, and he finds you still clumsily rubbing your hands between your thighs, seeking some sort of relief. "But you", he swallows thickly, "you really need to stop doing that, okay?" Lo’ak knows he doesn’t even sound half convincing, and it takes him more than just a bit of effort to not stare at you right now.

You look back at him under your lashes, bite your bottom lip and shake your head and he knows you’re doing that on purpose— working him up with those helpless little noises, sweet sounds of need and pleasure, thighs clenching and unclenching around your own hand.

"C-Can’t you just help me? Please, I- I need you."

One of your hands then closes around his wrist and before he realizes to where you’re guiding him, his palm cups your still covered cunt. He feels your slick drench the woven coverings under his fingertips and his eyes widen. "Need you here", you plead. "It hurts so bad, Lo‘ak. I‘m so empty."

"I– I can’t, we shouldn’t—" Lo’ak shakes his head, seemingly torn, but suddenly your lips press against his and he just can’t find it in himself to pull away.

Your lips are so soft, softer than he imagined (not that he imagined what kissing you would be like, ever) and the moment Lo‘ak finds himself kissing back you surge forward, the grip around his wrist tightens, urging him to stay right there, teeth nipping at his bottom lip until his lips part and he can taste you, your tongue slipping inside his mouth, your salvia mixing with his.

Your kiss is forceful and he’s so much more into it than he thought he’d ever be. And when you pull back your lips are red and wet, and he knows his mouth is probably a perfect mirror to yours.

"Fuck, tanhì, baby", he whispers, "Gonna get me in trouble…" And in an instant he’s on you again. His tongue tingles as it curls around yours, with drool running down his chin as he backs you up against a tree. You cling to him, desperate and wanting, not letting go of his wrist until he makes you understand that he’s only pulling away to get that damn loincloth out of the way. It nearly rips with the effort of getting it off, but when he finally succeeds you both clumsily pull each other to the ground.

This is wrong, he thinks as he spreads your legs opens. This is so wrong, he thinks as he runs his hands up and down your body, your chest, pushing your top out of the way.

You look so beautiful like this, chest heaving and covered in a thin layer of sweat. Hair messy and eyes dark with lust, pupils so blown it should make him worry, but he can’t bring himself to care when his gaze falls to the space between your thighs where slick oozes out of you in a concerning amount.

"Please- Please put it in, I need you", you slur, spreading your thighs further apart. "Need you inside."

Your pussy looks red and puffy, so sensitive as he runs two digits through your folds and then gently pushes them in. You gasp, but open up perfectly for him. It’s not enough, Lo‘ak can feel it. He curls his fingers, pumps them in and out a few times to hear those sweet moans tumble from your parted lips.

"You have to promise you won’t hate me after this", he says under his breath. His thumb glides over your clit, gently pushing its little hood up to bring the little nub into view and he can almost feel it throb under his touch. "I‘m just helping you out because you asked for it, alright?" Lo‘ak says it as if he’s talking to himself, reassuring that you want this, it’s okay, and maybe it actually is. Peeling his eyes away from the mouthwatering sight between your thighs he finally looks back up at you, swallowing the salvia that has been pooling in his mouth. "Promise you won’t hate me. Please." The restrain is clear in his voice, but he’s nowhere near as needy as you are. "C’mon, baby, say it. Tell me with your words."

"I won’t hate you, Lo‘ak just please–" Suddenly you shove him by the shoulders, rolling over until you’re the one straddling him, pinning him down to the ground. Your hand impatiently reaches between your thighs and feels for his cock, before repositioning it to prod his tip at your entrance. He bucks up into your hand as you give his cock a few pumps, pre-cum dribbling through your fingers.

The sight of him beneath you sends a throb straight to your cunt.

Lo‘ak sucks in a breath just as he’s about to tell you to wait, slow down, but then you‘re already slamming yourself down onto him without remorse. Fuck, it's so easy. Fits right in like a glove; overwhelmingly wet and warm, a terrible combination that scares him.

A punched out moan breaks from his throat as he feels the tightness of your velvety-like walls envelope his length. He’s so deep inside you, he can feel your cervix kissing his tip and it sends a shudder up his spine.

It's almost an out-of-body experience as you get on your haunches and lift yourself up, the head of his cock still nudged against your entrance, and he watches your gleaming lips part before you sink all the way back down again, taking him into the softest, most delicate parts of yourself.

Lo‘ak feels it and knows that he can’t change anything about the way he’s completely surrendering to your control- and he absolutely fucking loves it.

It’s so wrong, but that’s what brings a tingle to his fingertips. So dirty, but that’s what makes heat raise under his skin like a fire burning down a forest.

Lo’ak watches the way your belly contracts visibly, in time with the hitch in your breath at the first few thrusts. Your thighs tense and your fingers finds his braids to anchor yourself, and his hands find your hips and push you down harder on his length and he’s startled to realise how soft you are now, yielding to him in ways he’d never have imagined once. You’re putty in his hands, ridden by nothing but pleasure. A carnal need.

It’s luck that the adventures in Lo’aks life gave or showed him at least a bit of reservoirs of self-control that his karyus [teachers] never thought he had, because after those first few thrusts, you ride him vigorously.

Lo’ak doesn’t know how you’re this in sync, but he knows you want him to fuck you hard and fast. With his hands still gripping your hips tightly, he drives deep and eagerly into your weeping cunt, welcomed by that glorious softness again and again, and you wrap your arms around his neck and meet his thrusts as best as you can.

"Lo‘ak", you draw out his name in a long, pathetic moan, "more, need more!"

"Great mother, you’re greedy, baby," he huffs out in a laugh, grips your hips and holds you down on his cock for a second longer than necessary, just to feel your little cunt pulsate around him. You struggle briefly, before picking up the pace again, bouncing harder than before, but also more uncoordinated.

"S‘just so good," you slur, sounding almost drunk. "You feel so good inside me. Fuck me harder!"

Your tongue lolls out and he catches you mid way, tongues meeting in a hungry, filthy kiss. You taste awfully sweet as you moan into it, and Lo‘ak can’t help but think you would want spurs right now, to urge him on all the more. As if he needs that when you kiss him like this, when you hold him so close he feels your tits, soft and warm and perfect, press against his chest.

His cock throbs and you’re starting to quiver now, distinct from the more deliberate movements you both make. It shows in your breasts, makes your thighs tremble against his sides and makes tremors in your stomach muscles.

For a moment it switches from bouncing to grinding, and Lo‘ak knows what you’re trying to do. You grind and rub your needy little clit against his pubic bone, let out desperate noises of pleasure while you hump him.

Lo‘ak makes a hungry humming noise in return which he feels through his lips, once you break away from the kiss, then a breathy groan when he captures a nipple between his teeth. His tongue swirls around the little nub before he tugs and he enjoys the way you clench around him at this.

One of his hands comes up to palm the other, kneading your soft flesh and twirling a nipple between his digits.

"Come for me", he then says, flat tongue gliding over your breast before goosebumps raise underneath. "Come for me, tsmuke. Do it."

The scream you let out is borderline pornographic. It brings tears to your eyes and nearly tips you off balance if it weren’t for Lo‘ak holding you, fucking you through it with short but deep thrusts that send you gasping for air. "Hmh, there it is. Good girl," he groans, "keep coming for me, baby, just like that. Let it all out for your big bro, yeah? Let me feel how bad you wanted this. Look at me."

You force your eyes to stay on him, watch him as you fall apart, rocking your hips for that little bit of extra friction, and Lo’ak feels all of it. The wetness where you are slipping together, the tightness, the little tremors of your body, the pulse of your clit as it rubs against him.

Lo‘ak doesn’t even realize he’s coming himself because he’s entirely too focused on you. He’s bluntly staring at you, eyes half open, mouth agape. It’s like he is trying to burn the image of your pleasure ridden face and your picture perfect body on top of him into his brain forever. He wants to keep it stored away just for himself, to come back to after this is over because he knows he can’t have you again. Because this can’t happen again.

The wet plap, plap, plap of his thrusts continues until your thighs begin to shake and he’s sure he has emptied even the last drop of his cum into your core. It’s back to just grinding then, wet bodies pressing together, closer and closer until neither of you can’t move anymore.

You’re panting, exhausted and spent, your chest heaving to inhale big gulps of air into your burning lungs. Blinking a few times, Lo‘ak notes that your eyes are halfway back to normal, pupils not as big as they were, your skin feeling less feverish but all the more sticky than before.

Good, that’s good, right?

"You," a pause, he swallows, "you okay?"

Nodding and a little out of breath you confirm it with a quick, breathy, "yeah."

There’s a long, long moment of silence, with just the two of you looking at each other, sweat still pearling at your forehead and messy hair framing your beautiful face. Lo‘ak looks at you like he’s afraid breaking the eye contact would break the spell and you would shove him away and call him disgusting, but you don’t.

"I'm not sorry, you know" he says finally, when he can’t stand it anymore. "I would do it again. For you. I will do it again, in a heartbeat, if I...."

"If you have to," you finish for him.

Lo’ak considers pushing it, considers holding your face and speak more firmly so he could be sure he had your full attention while he tried to make you get it. "Yeah," he says gently instead, risking a half hearted grin that would surely give him away. "If I have to."

#avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #atwow #Lo’ak #lo’ak fic #lo’ak x female reader #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak x fem!reader #lo’ak x you #lo’ak x y/n #loak x female reader #loak x female reader smut #loak x reader #loak x reader smut #loak x you #loak x omatikaya!reader #loak x y/n #loak x sister!reader #loak #loak sully #atwow loak #avatar loak #loak smut #loak fanfiction #lo’ak sully #lo’ak te suli tsyeyk’itan #lo’ak avatar #atwow lo’ak #lo’ak smut

[wintertime-in-june]

Build-a-Colonel

Surveying the area. A common pastime of many KorTac employees. Checking out an environment before a big raid.

The EuroCity Mall, Austria, a favourite rendezvous for kids and adults alike.

You walked next to the Colonel, not in your military gear but in your civilian clothes, scouting out the vicinity. He was going to be the battering ram, the first through the main doors, and you, you were going to be crawling through the vents, making your way to the hidden mass weapon store, the only one on the team small enough to do it.

Other KorTac soldiers were swarming the place as you two walked, mapping out their own routs whilst inconspicuously perusing the shelves.

The illegal weapons trade that had been going on for months was soon to come to an end.

"Ooo, I didn't know they had a Build-a-Bear here!" You say to König with a smile, holding onto his large arm, looking like the lovely married couple you were... pretending to be.

You can't say you didn't like it. To be quite honest you were loving pretending to date the Colonel... even if it was only going to be for a few hours and König, he didn't hate it.

He looking down at his adorable not wife as she pulled him towards the store, looking at the latest collaboration they had on display in the windows.

He sighed, smiling lightly, he could get used to this, having a pretty woman on his arm, laughing at his jokes, looking at him as though he mattered... just looking at him to be honest.

"I always wanted to go to here as a kid." He said with a chuckle.

You look up at him, big doe eyes gleaming. It was getting more and more difficult for him to tell if this was an act or not... curse his inexperience with women.

"Did you ever get to go?" You ask, tilting your head to the side.

He shook his head.

"My mother sent out invitations for my birthday party, but no-one wanted to come. I didn't have many friends growing up, I've always been this... big. Too scary for ze other kids."

He tilted his head attempting to look indifferent and brush it off.

You literally thought you were about to cry.

"When's your birthday?"

He thought for a moment.

"...7 months away."

"Well..." you think for a moment, searching for an excuse, "well, it's going to be today, okay?"

He looks at you with slight confusion but doesn't fight back as you pull him into the store.

A few heads turn at the sheer size of him, but you pay it no mind, you are on a mission... and not the one you came in for.

"Choose your bear!" You say with a smile looking up at your not Husband.

"Schatz... it's okay really, I am too old for bears, I-"

"I said, choose your bear!" You repeated like a television announcer, showcasing the bears.

"Ooo, this one's so soft and he looks just like you." You say picking up a fluffy blonde one.

He rolled his eyes playfully at your determination, picking up a bear.

"And zis one looks like you." He said with a slight smile holding another fluffy bundle of fabric.

"We can make each other!" You said, beginning to smile broadly.

He didn't fight you, enjoying your excitement as you got one of the employees to help with hearts and stuffing.

He was a bit reluctant to do the dance and kiss the heart but he didn't mind so much after you gave the little stuffed heart a kiss first. Talking about how the bears need both parent's love.

His favourite part was picking out the clothes, chuckling as you tried to recreate his military look. He was actually very good at picking out your style, it seemed he had paid attention to your weekend attire around base.

When it came time to pay you put your card on the scanner and he was not pleased.

"You can't pay for your own birthday!" You say in protest.

"But it's not even my birthday!"

"It is today!" You say in rebuttal.

He couldn't stay mad at you, that sweet little smile. No-one had ever done something this spontaneous, this thoughtful, this selfless for him before... he wished you really were his wife.

A soft smile remained on your face throughout the rest of your walk around the mall. A smile that he couldn't help but steal glances at periodically, thank goodness for his height or he might have been caught.

Upon getting back to the base you each went to your own rooms to get changed.

Later in the evening you wanted to have a bear reveal.

König had just gotten back from dinner in the canteen, he was walking about his room, going about his evening tasks when he heard a soft knock on the door.

There stood you, box in hand, wanting to come in. You looked so precious in your little pyjamas, he feared he was becoming obsessed.

"I present to you, drum roll please, Colonel Junior!" You announce holding the bear up to him.

You were both sat in front of each other, cross legged on his bed. You were cross legged, he was trying to the best of his abilities.

A beat of silence passed, you thought he was just in awe of the bear... potentially.

"That is not me." He says, completely stone cold, deadpan.

Your face falls for a second. Did he not like going to Build-a-Bear with you? You felt your bottom lip tremble a little. Was it all just an act for the undercover surveying? How could you have been so stupid... You really thought the Colonel wanted to become your friend?

"He does not have a mask!" König finishes.

"Come on, I have some supplies in my office."

As he began to get up off the bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight you just remained seated. Then you snapped back to reality, quickly manoeuvring to follow him as a wave of relief washed over you, so he really did love Colonel bear.

The two of you spend the evening bleaching a mini mask made of an old t-shirt for the bear, getting the tear stain design just perfect.

You laugh about having dual custody of your children and König played along too.

Since the bears were made, the two of you brought them over to each other's barracks every evening. No matter how difficult training was that day, it was your little escape, smiling with each other as you watched a movie, had a tea party, played dress-up and more.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that these little play dates were not for the sake of the children, but an excuse to hang out with each other.

Only when the two of you sat on the Colonel's bed, bears in your laps, watching a movie, did he finally lean over and kiss you as the credits rolled by.

He had been waiting all movie to do so, finally, building up the courage by the end.

The kiss is long, but not rough, just calm, pleasant. Eventually the two of you pull away, gazing into each other's eyes.

"Not in front of the children." You say giggling a little, breaking eye contact and covering your bear's eyes with your hand.

He chuckled lightly but not for long as you leaned in this time, your lips meeting his once more.

He had finally gotten his dream come true... and he wasn't thinking of the Build-a-Bear.

#WinterTime #könig fluff #konig fluff #konig x y/n #konig x you #könig x y/n #könig x you #cod konig #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig x reader #könig call of duty #konig modern warfare #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig x reader

[spacedace]

Bruce is grateful for the fact that Damian has made friends, he is.

He's happy that his son has met children his own age at school and befriended them. That he is growing from that prickly, unhappy, scarred child he'd first been when he'd come to live with Bruce. That his friends are even normal kids - baring Jon, who is still normal enough despite being the son of Superman and occasionally a super hero himself - with no links to anything strange or dangerous or illegal.

"Oh, sup B."

He just wished that his son's friends were also just a little less...feral.

"Hello Elle."

Elle Nightingale gave him a little wave with the lemon she was holding - or as best as she could considering the space she was working with - and smiled cheekily at him. Bruce felt a headache budding behind his eyes.

"I thought Alfred banned you from the kitchen?" She shifted a bit, nudging a bottle of milk - farm fresh, courtesy of the Kents, passed along via Jon as thanks for looking after him for the weekend. Bruce wished he'd had the foresight to expect that Jonathan Kent staying over for the weekend would mean that Elle, her cousin Billy and their friend BL - the children refused to say the girl’s real name, likely to spite Damian, and thr initials had been a compromise to calling her Box Lunch - would take it as them being permitted to stay over for so long as well. Damian had just given Bruce a an unimpressed look when he'd expressed his surprise at the sudden influx of twelve year olds in his home. As if Bruce was disappointing him at being so foolish as to think his entire pack of hellhounds wouldn't be invading enmass.

"Just getting a snack." He assured her, not wanting her to being the wrath of Alfred down upon his head. The hellions liked doing that, for some reason. "I don't suppose you could tell me what exactly you're doing in my fridge." Bruce tried, looking at the girl curled up in what should have been a deeply uncomfortable position between a few shelves of the large appliance.

Elle grinned. Her canines looked a little too sharp in the odd light of the fridge. Bruce really had to stop thinking of his sons friends as demonic hellions, he was starting to impose impossible features on them when he was sleep deprived.

"We're playing hide and seek." She made direct, unblinking eye contact with him as she brought the whole lemon to her mouth and took a bite out of it like it was an apple. "It’s Day's turn to seek." She added, lemon juice dripping down her chin as she swallowed her bite, rind and all.

Well at least she was getting enough vitimin C.

"Right." He nodded, deciding that it wasn't cowardice that led him not wanting to get involved. No, it was just...good parenting. Letting the kids be kids. It was a sleepover, and Damian was actually playing a game! That was something to be encouraged! Bruce wasn't fleeing from this particular group of children's brand of chaos at all. "...could you hand me one of the fruit cups Alfred made earlier?"

Elle obliged on the condition Bruce didn't tell Damian about her hiding spot and returned to happily eating her...whole lemon...as he shut the fridge door on her.

As he returned to his office he glanced out one of the manor's large windows long enough to see Billy stick his head out from the top of the twelve foot tall topiaries out on the front lawn, checking to see if Damian was about. Bruce shook his head, kids and their ability to climb impossible structures never ceased to amaze him. Billy should be careful not to keep trying to peak for Damian though, he was going to end up getting found that way.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #batman #danny phantom #danielle fenton #danielle phantom #dani phantom #dani fenton #damian wayne #billy batson #jon kent #lunch box #bruce wayne #bruce truly has no idea what normal children ate like #he's only raised hellions #it doesn’t occure to him that any of this might be weird or slightly impossible for normal children #Elle - half phased through the fridge shelves: you want the melon or kiwi one? #Bruce - just happy his son has friends: kiwi please #Lunch Box always gets caught first because she always hides in the lunch boxes #Bruce just thinks she has a apecial interest in contortionism #Bruce thinks he just plays a Himbo on tv but no #the himbo was in him all along #fanfic writing prompts #IT'S BOX LUNCH NOT LUNCH BOX HOW COULD I FORGET 😭 #box lunch

[disneyprincemuke]

midnights, 2 * mv1

you were in the middle of eating dinner alone when you got the feeling of getting punched in the gut

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: i specialise in angst and heartbreak so B)

notes: man i shouldve just written this when my breakup was fresh, because when i tell you my heart was BROKE… (i love oversharing)

(prev) // (next)

your eyes are glued to your phone in your hand, as the other works the chopsticks to grab yourself some noodles. the tv is switched on in the background for some background noise.

the deafening silence in your apartment has haunted you for the past weeks since the breakup. to battle it, the tv is always turned on in your presence to keep you grounded.

you’ve been on instagram scrolling for about 5 minutes when a strange sensation hits you in your stomach. your throat feels weird, and your arms slowly start to feel numb.

you put the chopsticks down onto the plate that sat peacefully on your coffee table. you take a deep breath and lay your phone down on the carpet, looking around the emptiness of your apartment.

it’s the sudden realisation that you almost didn’t have a place to stay after the breakup. you had sublet the apartment your sister when you moved into max’s, and since she got engaged to her boyfriend and bought their own place, you’ve thought about putting it back on the market.

good thing you hadn’t.

it’s the weird void you felt in your chest sitting here all by yourself. being alone has never felt so definite until now.

the silence that creeps up on you every waking moment you’re in here miserably haunts you. you miss the sounds of clicking from max’s driving simulator, or the random clangs of things when the cats were in a mood, and the mews that conveyed dissatisfaction from the food bowl being empty.

your apartment is barely a shell of the home you’ve gotten used to.

you come home to nothing every day. no cats with their affectionate head rubs against your feet, and absolutely no loving boyfriend at the door whose hands cup your cheeks while he greets you with a loving kiss to your lips.

“-max verstappen scores at least three points in the sprint on saturday evening in losail, he will be crowned 2023’s champion.”

the mention of the name makes you lift your head to the tv. there’s your ex-boyfriend in all his glory, spraying champagne and having fun.

being this hung up about the breakup feels almost illegal; like you had the least right out of everyone to be so heartbroken, seeing as you did initiate it.

your phone lights up, notifications from alexandra and kika flooding your lock screen. you admire their determination — you haven’t picked up their calls and responded to text messages in almost 4 days.

you sigh and turn your head, eyes landing on the framed picture of you with the cats. you miss them terribly, almost as much as you miss the man himself. but it’s way more complicated than just dropping by into your old home to visit the cats.

victoria has mentioned to you that it’s no problem if you do in the week, since max is away for a race. you just couldn’t handle the thought to even be in that apartment. you’d just miss him way too much, and you would fold immediately.

but the constant fights that occurred towards the end of your relationship keeps reminding you to stay away. it’s unfair to keep holding on when it hurts you both.

your eyes linger on the frame that’s faced down on your entertainment centre. you have the picture in it memorised: you and max in abu dhabi under the fireworks when he won his first championship.

it was when he had first said he loved you.

how did it dwindle down so quickly? you could have sworn max was everything you wanted in a person. how did his little quirks you once loved about him be the same thing that drew you away?

you glance at the tv screen, the reporter moving on to other news. you’re holding your own hands back from chucking the tv remote at it.

“oh, god,” you mutter to yourself. the tv screen blacks out when you press the button on the remote.

you rub your forehead in frustration, feeling a headache creeping up from the back of your head. it’s the result from crying right before dinner.

the doorbell stops you from grabbing the faced down picture frame to hug— a habit you’ve gotten used to when you and max were separated due to work.

you tilt your head, eyebrows furrowing as you scramble to your feet. you push yourself off the floor and basically drag yourself over without asking who it is.

though, there’s a slight hope sparking up in your chest. could it be?

you unlock the door quickly, a small smile still stretching on your face when you realise who it is. it’s alexandra and kika, plastic bags decorating their hands and arms as they smile sadly at you.

“you really didn’t have to,” you frown, stepping aside and gesturing for them to come in.

“we can’t leave you all by yourself,” alexandra smiles, making a sharp turn for the kitchen.

you follow behind the pair, plastic bags laid down on the table slowly. it’s only then you realise the overnight bags on their shoulders, now neatly piled by the couch.

kika pulls out a bottle from a plastic bag, presenting it to you from where she is with a grin. “i am hoping you like red.”

“if you don’t,” alexandra pauses, taking out another bottle from another, “we have white wine.” she puts it down onto the table, slowly taking out bags of chips and tubs of ice cream. “but if you don’t feel like drinking, we have junk food.”

“we can eat our body weight,” kika smiles at you.

you frown, tears welling in your eyes at their thoughtfulness. “thank you,” you manage to huff out as your tears start falling out of your eyes. “this means so much to me.”

asking max for a breakup was never part of the plan that night. you still don’t even know where it came from because you know that you still want to be with him.

but when his silence filled the tiny room, eyes barely being able to meet yours, you knew that you basically had your answer. you didn’t fight for it any more after seeing the lifeless eyes that once used to be so bright.

maybe he had been beating around the bush. maybe he couldn’t bring himself to be the one to ask you for a breakup.

maybe you asking for it brought him relief, freeing him from the shackles of your deteriorating relationship.

in the flight back home, you were afraid that no one could ever love you as much as max did. but here are your friends, coming over unannounced to take care of you, despite the fact that you’ve been ignoring them.

kika and alexandra engulf you in a hug, one hand patting your hair and the other rubbing circles on your back. “we’re always here for you.”

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1