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confessedlyfannish · 19 days

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Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

#i feel like I'm going to reread this and want to add other stuff #but I also just want to post it and get it out there #fun fact i scribbled a bunch of lines down at 2am bc i didn't want to forget them #im bad at multiple drafts #my writing #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #batman #i live to make everybody dramatic #but also i subscribe to a world where clockwork doesn't know how NOT to be dramatic #lol he's a ghost from all of time he doesn't know how to speak to humans and tailor it to the century let alone the decade #and his favorite little girl who calls him clocky loves how he speaks so #he doesn't need to change for nobody #nor feels inclined to #also I feel like as god he's way more inclined to threaten to get what he wants than like...be vulnerable #jazz: let's unpack that #clockwork: we never do #jazz: are you saying that because it's true or because that's what you want to be true?#clockwork: ...#also I cannot take credit for BITCH I MIGHTWING #wish i could #that is cash money right there #shoutout to 11thsense

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ministarfruit · 3 months

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day 2: please be gentle ♡

(femslashfeb prompt list)

#minifemslashfeb2024 #ace attorney #trujinxie #trucy wright #jinxie tenma #WEIRD GIRL NOT-WEDNESDAY!!#they're sooo wacky and goofy. please interact more #ok why did I say 'evil prompts' and I'm still drawing fluff #I am so squishy and weak and I love happiness and joy #I'LL DO SOME EVIL ONES LATER THIS MONTH #I loove jinxie I loove trucy this is just self-indulgent for me #I know you trujinxie enjoyers are out there though!! rise up!!#OH BTW THERE'S SOME MORE STUFF IN THE TAG NOW #PLEASE CHECK OUT MINIFEMSLASHFEB2024 #WE GOT SOMEEEE SAPPHICS EVERYBODY

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egophiliac · 1 month

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(almost) four years in, and I finally had time to draw something for the anniversary! woo! 🎉🎉🎉

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #because i need to talk for a minute about how the plot of the anniversary story so far is literally just #crowley jumpscares us in our living room to demand we make him lunch and yuu is just like 'i need to start locking the door'#oh twst you always know just how to get me #the qol updates though! CONVERTING SINGLE KEYS INTO 10-SETS YES THANK YOU OH MY GOD #SKIP LESSON TICKETS!!!!#3X BATTLE SPEED!!!!!!!!!!!!#SAVE TEAM BUILDS AND SUPPORT CARDS FINALLY AHHHHH #oh and some other stuff too but look i NEEDED these things #also master chef grim! he's so precious!#though he's not going to get a little sporty uniform after all?#grim canonically flies in the nude i guess #no it's okay chef grim is ADORABLE #if you zoom in on his card you can see little smoodges from his inexpert cake decoration 😭#which on the one hand is cute but on the other hand i'd been convinced he'd just slapped some frosting and candles on an actual can of tuna #anyway happy (a few days until the) fourth anniversary everybody!#i've been here since the beginning (preregistered during the dorm reveals babyyyy) and it REALLY doesn't feel like it's been four years #you know what they say: time flies when you're watching anime characters have emotional problems

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starcurtain · 15 days

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Please someone redraw this with Dr. Ratio and Aventurine because this is the exact vibe they have in my head post-Penacony.

#ratiorine #aventio #aventurine #dr. ratio #honkai star rail #hsr #not exactly #2.1 spoilers #but the vibe isn't present until then #this is canon I'm Hoyo #just trust me #I think my favorite thing about this ship #is that I went in expecting slap slap kiss #but came out of 2.1 convinced that these two could #in fact #get their shit together faster than virtually any other Hoyoverse pair #they're gonna be two years into their relationship before Seele manages to ask Bronya on a date #they're gonna be married before Renheng get their next ship tease #I just think they deserve to be those two guys who show up together #in the background of every promotion and event #and Hoyo never confirms anything #but you never see the one without the other #so everybody just KNOWS #LISTEN HOYO #I'm available for hire #you can pay me to print the money for you

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castametric · 2 years

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this is a confession to the star wars fandom because I have to get this off my chest. last summer just for fun I taught myself to read aurebesh and. you fanartists have Got to Continue putting the most Hilarious stuff into the background of your art because it is literally my favorite thing

here’s a couple of excellent things I’ve read since I started keeping a list just last month:

- “I hate drawing lightsabers”

- “Idk what to put here”

- “stupid fucking sign”

- “eat paste, it’s good”

- an entire news article on a phone screen which I actually found really impressive

- a few funny misspellings but the best one so far was ahsoka somehow becoming “asock”

- wanted poster of obi wan that read “wanted for fashion crimes”. the caption translated it as “wanted for high treason”. like blatantly lying to my face. love it.

- door on a ship was labeled “cake storage”

- “shopping list: frogs, hair gel, lightsaber polish”

and my personal favorite:

- “if you’re reading this you’re a fucking nerd”

#star wars #star wars art #sw art #this is the dumbest nerdiest skill I have #but it’s so fun to see everybody’s little messages #it’s especially funny when they’re just what the artist wanted to put #because then you know they were probably thinking like #oh no one’s going to know what it says haha #but I know #lmao #clone wars art #star wars fanart #aurebesh

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dollsome-does-tumblr · 10 days

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which group do you find the most absolutely delightful at bringing the lolz together??

#this poll brought to you by: i was watching wwdits last night and thinking 'DAMN this ensemble is magical'#i have also been thinking that a lot in my b99 rewatch #so now: FIGHT!#dollsome does polls #(everybody i know being influenza-ridden including future me has got me crazy for polls these past few days)#(nothing briefly saves you from reality better than a tumblr poll!)#i think my answer is wwdits but choosing between wwdits and new girl brought me suffering #and also these are all my favorite and that's why i listed them

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anna-scribbles · 14 days

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if the agrestes weren't rich i think that gabriel would be the normal one. like gabe's problem is that he stopped running into natural limits due to absurd wealth and his obsessive nature led him to develop some kind of god complex where he won't accept that anything is out of his control. I think that if gabe was broke again and just simply couldn't afford to go on an international goose chase for ancient magic artifacts of untold power, if he had to work a 9-5 to live and couldn't just disappear into his basement lair to commit domestic terrorism and say evil monologues to himself, then he would be way more normal. he'd just be some guy. he might even let himself have a mowhawk again. but I think that emilie would be way LESS normal if they weren't rich. like emilie needs so many people to be obsessed with her so much all the time in order for her to function. and gabe would still have his toxic codependent obsession with her, sure, but that wouldn't be nearly enough. emilie has to be at the center of the world's spotlight at all times because she doesn't know how to exist if she's not performing. anyway all this to say I am so certain that if the agrestes were not disgustingly wealthy, emilie agreste would one million percent be running a massive family vlogger youtube channel

#this post is sponsored by the version of emilie agreste who lives in my mind #in this scenario adrien still exists so maybe he's a normal baby somehow. but the important thing is that he's still exploited #this is just an exercise for me in thinking about how much of the agreste family dynamic you could preserve if they were middle class #how much wealth is an enabler of the terrible things happening in that house #but yeah agreste family vloggers au. I guess.#where adrien shows up at school and everybody knows him because his mom posted his potty training videos online and everything since #he has no secrets every milestone he's ever had has been packaged up and sold to the public #until he becomes chat noir of course. etc #oh god emilie would vlog her own death😭 help #get ready with me to die and haunt the narrative🤩#ml #anna rambles #I wrote this because im not finishing my homework:(

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uncanny-tranny · 2 years

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The weirdest double standard is trans people can only ever "identify as" and cis people just "are," and the more time goes on and people start realizing this, I hope this will change

#trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #ftm #mtf #nonbinary #at this point somebody saying 'you identify as male' to me is an instant red flag #because 'identify as' language is a good way to say 'well you just IDENTIFY that way that doesn't mean you ARE'#do i identify as trans? sure if you want to dig and dig at me to get me to say. but i also AM male and AM so much #this goes double for when somebody just assumes they know how you want to be referred to as #i think trans liberation will start to happen when trans people can just 'be' in the same way which everybody else can #when being trans matters perhaps but it matters in the same way people wear glasses or have grey eyes or are left-handed #being trans CAN matter but people amplify somebody's transness in often insidious ways

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jekyllnahyena · 15 days

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Give it some time Fox, he's trying his best

more dumb doodles in the Fox is the fav and thus has somehow ended up with an allpowerful evil grandpa

#commander fox #sheev palpatine #yan dooku #in his lil form here #'what do you mean you love your family and care for their well being? fascinating concept. I've only ever used it for manipulation'#im sorry to all the people coming up with deep thoughts for this au #but seriously #it all boils down to palps being saved by the power of friendship #well. more like #'i didnt know why people cared so much for their commander and then I got one of my own'#'if anything happened to Fox then I'd destroy the galaxy and then myself'#thats it #thats the au #i see what everybody is doing with thinking about implications. but this is just. dumb and silly. sorry :/#ajekyllsart

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hungharrington · 9 months

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Steve thought! I’ve thinking about steve lazily fucking you in spooning position 😇

yeah this has crossed my mind maybe several thousand times so hope u wanted some sweet sweet LOVIN anon cos that’s what i’ve GOT for u !! MDNI this entire blog is 18+, gn!reader, ooey-gooey loving, that’s all enjoy <3 this one goes out to @boyfriendstevie

Some mornings with Steve are just pure warmth. Sleepy cuddles, neither of you that awake, but still reaching out to one other. Love intertwines both of you easily, warming you as much as the pillowy duvet and when you kiss his skin, it’s with your eyes closed. You could find him in the dark.

Other mornings, there’s this sweet alluring lust that intermingles with the love. You love it — how you and Steve always seem to be on the same wavelength, how you both seem to know.

This morning, you know from when the first moments of consciousness trickle in. His lips scrape along the nape of your neck, pressing a soft kiss there. You can feel the shape of him up against you, his hairy chest scratching lightly at your shoulder blades, the two of you cuddled close together.

“Good mornin’.” Steve murmurs against your skin, his voice low and gravelly with sleep. You smile, eyes still closed and let yourself bask in the warmth as his hand sneaks over your waist.

“Mm, it is a good morning,” You says as you shimmy back into him, your ass pressing into his crotch purposefully. You hum, pleased when his hand on your middle tightens in response. You feel his lips against your skin quirk into a smile.

“Oh, is it that kind of morning?” He asks knowingly.

You cover his hand with your own and guide it, beginning to push the waist band of your pyjama shorts down an inch. You grin, eyes still closed as you hear his breath catch.

“I don’t know…” You tease. “Is it that kind of morning?”

Steve’s hand finishes what you started, pushing the fabric down your thighs until you’re wiggling to kick them down yourself, lost beneath the covers.

You finally peek your eyes open, just to close them again in a sigh when Steve soothes his hand up your thigh. He sweeps it back down and this time when he drags it up, his fingers slide eagerly closer to your inner thigh.

“Do you need…”

“Mmhm,” You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his question. You twist to peer over your shoulder, relishing in the sight of his mussed hair and chocolate eyes. “Was already dreamin’ bout it, Stevie.”

It’s worth craning your neck to see the arousal flutter over his face as Steve groans, tucking his head against your neck. Head flopping back against the pillow, you can feel him shuffle behind you, his heat leaving you for a brief moment, to shed his sweatpants— and when it returns, your stomach blazes hotly at the skin-to-skin contact.

Another kiss to the back of your neck. Steve hums against your skin as his hand travels up, skimming your hip and trailing up your chest. His thumb brushes your peaking nipple and you gasp appreciatively as he pinches it, pairing his rubbing with sweet words. “Baby, my baby, so good f’me.”

You keen softly and your hips rock backwards. Steve gets the hint— another kiss on your neck, then your shoulder as he moves to touch your hip, drifting down to hold your thigh. He urges your legs apart.

The pillow crinkles as you push your face into it, capturing your sweet sigh as he eases himself into you, slow and gentle. It burns deliciously, his hard and achingly hot cock stretching you out just the way you like it. A dozen more kisses melt along your shoulders, like little lightning bolts, as he pushes in further, his breathing a little heavier. He stills to give you a moment.

You breathe in, feeling your tummy boil up with desire before eagerness takes over and you push back against him. Steve moans softly, his breath stuttering as he bottoms out inside you. You moan, clenching around him.

His hand slides off your thigh to wrap back around your middle, properly spooning you as he cuddles in closer. Your hand moves to clutch his, lust spiking as he starts to move, deep, lazy thrusts that force sweet little noises out your mouth that mix with Steve’s low moans.

“Fuck,” Steve curses breathily. He’s moving slow, rocking in and out, but it’s enough to have both of you unravelling into each other. Slick, wet sounds fill the bedroom. His kisses get a little sloppier, messy marks of love all up your neck. He squeezes your tummy. “Fuck, honey, y’feel so good, baby.”

You moan, your hips rolling back with a mind of their own, meeting him in the middle. It’s a perfect haze of lust and warmth and love and you shiver in his arms, already feeling the coil in the pit of your belly. It won’t take much for either of you this morning, you can tell.

“You feel so good,” You whisper back, words tainted with a moan. “You, fuck, Steve— ngh, you’re so deep, fucking me so good,”

Something close to a growl scrapes out Steve’s throat and he grapples you closer, his thrusts speeding up a fraction —but still deep and lazy, enough to make you want to squirm beneath him. You keen back into him, back arching to get the angle just right and Steve’s hand slithers out from under yours, reaching up to toy with your nipples again. You gasp loudly and Steve whines a little at your obvious arousal.

“Can I—” He starts, voice choppy from his pants. His cock is achingly hard inside you and when you clench down on him, you adore the twitch and resounding whimper it draws out of him. “Can you kiss me?”

Your heart burns for him and you don’t waste a single second to twist around, capturing his hungry lips with your own. Steve groans into the kiss, his fingers flexing on your skin. Heat flushes your body as the kiss breaks and his forehead presses to your own, his hazel eyes gazing into yours as he fucks into you. You moan brokenly, pleasure screwing the coil in your tummy tighter. It feels good, so fucking good, Steve always makes you feel fucking good.

“Steve,” you whine.

“Yeah,” He rasps back, voice all whimpery now. “Yeah, I know, baby. Me too— shit, me too.”

You want to stay like this, spread open on his cock while he holds you. While he takes and gives, kisses and moans and wraps the both of you in the warmth of the morning. You pant into his mouth and lean forward to kiss him again.

Steve hums and this time, when the kiss breaks, he nudges your head back forwards— his hips still for a moment as he rolls you both forward onto the mattress so you’re facedown.

“S’okay?” He checks, even though you can feel him still pulsing inside you. You nod, breathe jagged and try to raise your hips to signal him further. Steve needs no more invitation.

He settles down on you, his chest pressed against your back once against but this time when his thrusts start up again, you’re pushed downwards as he fucks you into the mattress. His arms bracket your body and one shifts, scooping around your torso to lift your hips higher. You cry out, the angle perfect as he finally picks up the pace, drilling into you, slick gathering at your thighs.

“Steve, ah! Steve, fuck, feels so..” Your words dribble off, muffled by the pillow as you bury your face in it. Heat flashes through you, fuelled by Steve’s whiny moans, all his fucked out rambles.

“F-Fucking love it when you moan my name,” He praises, barely speak coherently through his whispering panting. “So fucking good f’me, taking— ngh- shit, fuck, taking me so well.”

You wail, burning hot want crawling up your stomach so suddenly that you don’t even get a moment of warning before the heat explodes and your orgasm breaks— you cry out his name and clench down, hard, cumming on his cock.

Steve tucks his face in your shoulder and whimpers at the feeling, fucking the snugness fast and hard. It takes only a couple more thrusts til he feels himself fall apart with a strangled moan, burying his cock deep inside you. He milks it, fucking you gently both through the waves of pleasure, until tiredness saps his energy. He slumps, resting atop you for just a moment. You’ve never felt more safe, squished beneath him and filled completely.

He kisses behind your ear, then nuzzles it with his nose. Faintly, you think about how no one has ever kissed you there ever before — just Steve and the sun.

“I love you.” He says, nearly a whisper. Words just for you.

There’s not an ounce of a lie in your words when you cheekily say, voice still out of breath, “Hm, I think I love you more.”

#she writes! it’s a miracle! EVERYBODY CLAP #stayed up to finish this #i’ve just been so fixated w gooey love. like more than usual #i NEEEEED this. rn. u know?#jay writes #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x gn reader

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useful-boy · 1 year

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So a friend told me about Maushold today and I knew immediately what I had to do

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon s&v #kangaskhan #maushold #the one on the right can be explained... sort of... how do they do it so Fast though #but the one on the left? fresh out the egg? that baby has a baby #top 10 questions professors still cant answer today #officially my most popular post on my main blog now thanks everybody #edit: stop telling me the mice fucked i know that the mice fucked #but are you trying to tell me a whole goddamn baby popped out in the three seconds it takes to level up? they fucked at the speed of sound?#gave birth in two seconds? is that how it happens now?

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fawnarchive · 6 months

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mutuals i am your biggest fan do you know. do you know. i love the things you make and the things you say and your selfships and YOU very dearly and you make my day better

#fawn.txt #im feeling soft #i dunno… seeing everybody talk about their f/os makes me happy.#day bad. i will go read about how everyone loves so deeply #and i think hm. maybe everything will be okay you know #it’s the simple things #that make me a little pleased #anyway!#i have work to do #i love you BYEEE

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elitadream · 10 months

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Kids say the darndest things! xD

#true story #I swear they have no filter 😂#NONE #and it's hilarious #also I needed an excuse to draw a little Toadie again ^^#I love them #so chaotically cute #and very observant ;)#they know #I mean- everybody does #But kids have a way of pointing out stuff in the most awkward yet epic fashion LOL #Mario #Princess Peach #Mareach #Super Mario Bros #Fanart

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egophiliac · 11 months

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oh no, I love them

(super quick doodles done between other stuff, there will be better things later I promise :')

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers #spoilers spoilers spoilers #me when the shroudparents walk in: what. why. what is this.#me thirty seconds late: never mind they are AMAZING #i mean yeah idia kind of offhandedly mentioned it way back when #in episode 6 when he was like 'my parents have to wear special equipment to deal with the debilitating effects of the curse'#'and to hide their identities as a french electronic synth-pop duo' I GUESS #no no it's okay. mrs shroud you are kind of insane and i love you #GROUP HUG EVERYBODY!!!!!#mr shroud you put up with a lot but somebody's gotta remember to do the paperwork #daft punk bert and ernie is the best possible dynamic for them #and THEY LOVE THEIR ROBOT SON #i'm so happy for ortho #(hovering around the subject of dreamworld ortho. ...we'll get to that)#man though now that i know what they're like #when idia busted in to show them how he built himself a replacement brother #mrs shroud was probably just like 'this is exactly what i would have done. let mama give you some pointers on joint mechanics'#i know i'm in the minority on genuinely unironically loving overblot idia #(YES he's weird but it's a weird i'm into!)#i am DELIGHTED by the design parallels. he looks like his dad!#but with his mom's ears!#ah it's so good

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stevebabey · 3 months

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steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

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