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madschiavelique · 10 months

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𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : miguel didn't like very much the way you left him all horny for you in the toilets during the unexpected mission, so once the anomalies have all been maintained, he decides to teach you proper manners

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, lots of tension, soft!dom miguel, quick boob job, cunnilingus, "it's too big", pnv sex, miguel teaches reader magic words, so much kissing i swear, no use of Y/N, biting, mention of scars (from fights, miguel's) - let me know if i forgot any !! word count : 7,7k

note : i'm sorry i took SO LONG writing this baby, but here it is (and not yet proofread but i couldn't wait hehehe). the end is corny i AM SORRY but it was already long and this is to keep a pretty open. thank u all so much for ur support !! we passed the 400 subscribers today and i'm literally jumping to the ceiling of happiness. this is the last part of the 4shot, i hope you liked it <33 i was super inspired by Shameless by The Weeknd (one of my favourite songs hehehe). enough of me talking, love u guys !!

the previous parts : 1 - love bite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission

tag list : @marit332 @coralineyouareinterribledanger @sunnyx07 @mamamiriamxo @l3laze @amy180801 @gojos-goth-gf @readingfan @cheezit-luv3rr @scaleniusrm @cowboyharrryy

Miguel hadn't followed you, so you decided to lure the creature back by calling out to it:

"You're really terrible at hide-and-seek, you know that?”

Suddenly, it turned towards you and charged at you as you leapt into the air to keep it at bay, at least long enough for Miguel to finish... what he had to do. The sound of his breathless voice replayed in your head, the heat in your cheeks rising. You propelled yourself silently up to a floor above, observing the behaviour of the dough.

The feel of his fangs on the skin of your neck, his tender kisses on your cheeks, the hard feel of his erection against your thigh as his claws pressed into the skin of it...

"Oh my god you're going to be the end of him!" exclaimed a small voice beside you.

The anomaly turned towards it at the same time as you: Lyla.

"Lyla?" you choked out, swivelling your head just in time to avoid the anomaly that had climbed extraordinarily nimbly to your floor.

"His pulse quickened, his body heat increased and his muscles contracted amazingly hard!" she chirped as you mimed shutting up or lowering her voice, but she wasn't listening and you started darting from floor to floor as she continued "You've got him completely wrapped around your finger! No pun intended."

"Please Lyla, keep it down!" you begged her, feeling like a huge red tomato as you blushed and above all hoping not to be chased away by this abomination.

"Oopsie," she smiled, placing a hand over her mouth.

The anomaly swung a ball of paste at you, and you narrowly avoided it as it crashed and exploded with power, splattering you as it went, a large drop smearing across your suit.

"I didn't know you had access to... all this," you muttered breathlessly as you ran down a corridor to get away from the unspeakable thing. "It doesn't matter... Yes, it does matter actually, how come?"

"Don't be angry, you've just given me what little fun I'm allowed to have," she said with a pout, "you know, programme life isn't always fun."

Out of breath, you let out a sigh that relaxed your shoulders with its depth. You shook your head for a moment.

"Well, we'll talk about it later, can you identify this for me?" you asked breathlessly, silently, as you spooned some of the substance and held it up to a small metal support on your watch, which lit up when you dropped a little on it.

"My pleasure, sugar," she said with a quick clap. "Hmm, that looks like a basic bread dough mixture to me. Flour, water, salt, yeast, not forgetting the anomaly gene, otherwise it wouldn't be any fun."

"It's true that I'm bursting with laughter," you say, putting both hands on your hips, still trying to catch your breath. You looked at her for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek, hesitating before asking, "Is Miguel... Done?"

"Yep, he's on his way," she said, giving you an amused wink, and you couldn't help but let a little laugh slip from your nose.

"Right," you said, clearing your throat so the anomaly could hear, "I'm going to lure this thing towards the exit!" You could hear the oily, slimy sounds coming in your direction, turning to Lyla one last time to ask: "Make sure you send Miguel my location, okay?" you said as you started to trot off.

"Already done!" she replied, blowing you a kiss which she pressed onto her hand before disappearing in a cloud of pixels.

You ran on, stammering aloud to keep the beast at your heels: " Come this way! You know, I think you'd really like rock, I've got two friends who play really well, I think you'd love to meet them!"

The pile rumbled behind you. You leapt into the air, grabbing the glass dome and hanging upside down, standing with your arms crossed over your chest.

"No, really, I think you'd like it. Oh well! You've got a head that could listen to metal, plus you've got exactly the right mouth shape to sing it, you know."

It was rumbling from the ground, right underneath you.

Then, just above you, you felt a tap on the thin glass roof, and when you looked up, you saw Miguel. It was a funny sight, the way you were standing made it look like you were reflecting yourselves in a mirror.

"Oh, hi there," you smiled behind your mask, taking on a slight intonation as if you hadn't been the cause of his delay. "Did everything go well?"

He let out a desperate sigh, the red glasses on his suit narrowing, before simply saying:

"Something unexpected came up, it was very... frustrating. But I'll wait."

I'll wait. The very word made you gulp.

"Observations?" he asked, jerking his chin in the direction of the anomaly just below you.

"It's dough, we'd just have to find something to bake it with," you suggested.

Outside there was a loud bang: the lorry Gwen and Hobie had been chasing had started to roll over, and the anomaly, just as alert as you and Miguel, leapt towards the first bay window to get out.

Gwen and Hobie seemed to have managed to deal with their anomaly, the truck was completely dented, sideways, and luckily for you, the oil from the truck was starting to spread on the ground. You got out, Miguel following to examine the situation. All it needed was a spark...

"I'll try to coat it with a bit of oil, find a lighter, a box of matches, whatever," he warned, before dashing off towards the pile of dough.

You looked around, and there, as luck would have it, was a convenience store. You leapt towards it. Managing to light a lighter with your costume on would be complicated, so you managed to find a box of matches, rushing towards the street again.

Miguel kept jumping up and down to coat the anomaly, and when he finally saw you coming, he shouted: "Light it up.

So you grabbed a match, struck it against the side of the box and threw it into the oil. You stepped aside and ran further to avoid taking any damage from the fire. It immediately licked at the anomaly, which let out horrible, high-pitched screams as the paste on its body cooked and smoked, turning golden and thinning little by little.

And so, you launched the multidimensional cell that had been given to you, and finally imprisoned the anomaly.

"I think 'the more the merrier' is a phrase I like less and less," said Gwen as you catalogued the anomalies.

"Are you kidding me? This was so much fun," said Peter. "It was like doing MMA!"

"Speak for yourself, we took care of the Magic Bus driver," Hobie huffed.

"I think Gordon Ramsey would be proud of our muffin," you agreed.

"You have to admit it smelled good," confirmed Pavitr.

Everything had gone well, Gwen had finished her exam period and you were all filling in your reports. Everything was going well, and everyone was pretty relaxed, except maybe you.

It was a pretty nasty trick you played on Miguel, leaving him like that, so close to the climax, and then leaving. And somewhere in there, you feared and waited impatiently for what was to come.

You couldn't help glancing at him from time to time. He seemed to be concentrating, but sometimes you could feel his gaze on you, insistent. You found him incredibly calm, and maybe it was just because he hid it well, but just to see him lose a little of that control, you managed to brush past him for a moment when no one was looking, your knuckles deliberately brushing his thigh before joining the others. Pretending to be interested in their conversation, you couldn't help but glance over at Miguel.

Death stare was probably the closest you could come to defining the look he was giving you at that moment, and a shiver of dread ran down your spine as you swallowed. He seemed to chew the inside of his cheek for a moment, trying to act as if nothing had happened.

You weren't going to get out of this alive, or entirely.

"Well, I don't know about you, but the lack of sleep knocked me out, so I'm going to bed, see you later!" said Gwen before leaving.

"Same here, see ya," said Hobie.

And successively, the only ones left were Peter, Miguel and you.

He waited patiently, with you beside him, until Peter had finished his report and, like all the others before him, had gone to sleep. The seconds seemed to stretch out painfully, every movement and possibility accentuated by the wait. Miguel seemed tense, and you had no idea whether Peter could feel it from his side too, but you could feel your skin tingling with anticipation.

Every moment, every second tickled your mind and body like tiny needles, Miguel's gaze resting insistently on yours.

"Well, that's not all, but I think we've all got better things to do than hang around making a report," Peter yawned. "Good night, sleep well."

Oh, it won't be sleep.

He then waved goodbye one last time, turning his back to you as he headed for the exit. Miguel turned to look at you, taking a deep breath as he tilted his head back to look at you from an even higher angle.

The footsteps echoed around the room, fading away little by little as Miguel's eyes turned red, yours watching them and stifling a gasp. He took a single step closer, no more, but it was enough to intimidate you and for you to take a step backwards.

It was when the door finally closed behind Peter that he grabbed you powerfully around the waist and pinned you down on one of the desks, causing you to squeal in surprise as you widened your eyes for a moment, blinking frantically. In less time than it took to say 'empanada' Miguel had you completely under control, immobilising you faster than poison and more powerfully than a pair of handcuffs.

His nose wrinkled slightly.

"Did you enjoy your little act?" he asked, his tone extraordinarily calm, which made him all the more menacing. "Leaving me like that without finishing what you'd started?"

Your heart was racing, and suddenly just meeting his gaze seemed too powerful to maintain eye contact, so you turned your head to the side. Was it simply because you were embarrassed by your own little prank, or was it just that the intensity of his eyes on yours was too much? But Miguel wasn't going to have it any other way, so with one of his hands he grabbed your jaw and redirected it so that you were facing him.

"It's very rude not to look into someone's eyes when they're talking to you, you know that," he whispered, moving a little closer. "We're going to have to correct that, and teach you polite forms of address."

And you couldn't argue with that, because right now it wasn't a choice you had to make.

"Speaking of politeness, I realise that you haven't used any magic words so far for our little encounters," he said, his thumb pressing and digging into the skin of your cheek.

He moved a little closer, tilting his head to one side as you felt his nose brush against yours, moving a little closer still to feel his lips brush against yours, the simple touch of them sending little electric currents of excitement through you...

But nothing, he just grazed his lips against yours, not moving any further, but not backing away either. Your breaths collided softly, his eyes still fixed on yours with insistence.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice composed and contained, as you tried to free yourself a little from the hold his hand had on your jaw, to no avail.

His lips, so close to yours and yet so far away, gave you electrifying sensations, but you wanted more. You wanted the two of you to kiss, for your lips to become one again, for you to be able to offer him the body's 'I love you'.

So you tried to move a little closer, meeting his lips to satisfy your desire, no, your need. But he pulled back slightly, causing you to sigh in disappointment. No, you'd have to tell him.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice small but audible, as if you were pouring your desire into his plump lips.

A smile, the stretch of his lips pulling them a little further away from yours.

"Where," the question sounding more like a command.

His thumb eased a little in its pressure and caressed the skin of your cheek for a moment before sliding across your chin, settling just below your bottom lip.

"There," you replied, your desperation for more contact growing stronger by the second as the only thought on your mind was his kisses.

You wanted to taste that rainy, woody flavour on his lips again, and feel them assault your body with kisses.

"Only there?" he questioned, provoking your cravings even more as your impatience was felt almost painfully.

It didn't seem fair, he seemed to possess incredible composure and cold-blood as your veins pulsed through your body like lava flowing from the volcano of your heart.

The little game Miguel was playing with you almost felt like a little revenge. Could you blame him? He wanted all this as much as you did, but he liked balance, he liked things to be even, and he was making you pay for the advance you'd dared to take from him.

His thumb pressed against your plump lip, his skin barely brushing against it, and it felt like a thread sticking out with no way of pulling on it.

"Yes- No!" you moaned, feeling like a child who was denied a sweet treat, unable to hide your longing for more as his touch confused you, "everywhere."

His lips were parted, as close as ever, his warm breath spilling over yours. His thumb had moved up the curve of your lips to press against the volume of her, his eyes fixed on it.

"I didn't hear that properly," he said, his eyes returning to yours.

Their carmine colour reflected your face: eyebrows slanted back, eyes almost watery, his thumb resting on your lips as he continued to caress it mathematically to elicit a reaction from you.

You tried to squirm away for a moment, but Miguel's hand on your waist held you in place with incredible ease.

He raised an eyebrow, obviously your attempt was in vain, he hadn't started hand-to-hand training the day before like you had, he'd been an ace at physical power and combat for much longer, so of course he could immobilise you in less than no time and much less delicately if the mood took him.

His lips brushed yours a little closer, and you could almost feel them completely. But this tiny glimpse of heaven wasn't granted to you, and you whimpered for a moment before finally just saying:

"Kiss me," you whined, "please."

His eyes crinkled with his smile.

"Mira que buena."

He finally kissed you, and it was like you had taken cotton candy in your mouth and as it melted you could feel all the little crystals of sugar that were hidden by the fluffiness of the sweet, a moan of relief vibrating from your lips against his lips.

Millions of tiny sparkles crackled under your skin, rising to the surface like champagne bubbles as Miguel cupped your face and kissed you. He took your lips as if you were holding the air that allowed him to breathe, his hand going round your side to slip under your back, pressing against your pelvis to bring it close to his.

He bit your lower lip lightly before pulling away, his half-closed eyes looking into yours again. His hand came to caress your cheekbone gently, with a tenderness that was almost unlike anything he had ever offered you before.

"Tell me more about these desires you mentioned.”

Your breath caught slightly, and you suddenly felt your face heat up fiercely, as if you were leaning over the hearth of a fireplace, its fire licking your face and your being from afar. You swallowed, formulating out loud your desires, all those thoughts you'd had about him even after your meeting at the Conditioning Centre and what had happened in the cabin, seemed difficult.

"Come on, don't be scared," he murmured before leaning over to kiss your forehead gently, offering you soft, sweet words to help you get the burning out of your soul.

All those thoughts you'd had, those warm nights during that week when you'd imagined the feel of his fingers, his lips, the sweet words that interested you as he searched inside you to expose you to him emotionally, all of them could be said, especially the one that was vibrating immensely inside you at the moment.

"I want... I want you to..."

You had the impression that the words you were about to say would be like throwing a tiny stone into still water, like stepping on ice and feeling it crack, like throwing alcohol into the fireplace that was warming you up.

The hand that was resting on your cheek ran down your neck, brushing your chest as it slid to your hip and slid all the way down to your thigh, stopping in its descent at that very spot, his hand gripping it.

"Hmm?" he asked, his humming vibrating against the skin of your cheek and tickling you.

You bit the inside of your lip, your teeth pressing into your flesh and trapping some of the wet skin against your bottom teeth. You released this clutch with a gasp as your voice dropped to a whisper when you whispered :

"I want you to fuck me."

His eyes crinkled as he smiled, an eyebrow raised, his proud grin stretching across his cheek as his lip parted wide enough to reveal his fangs. He came to kiss your cheek, his soft lips caressing it as his lashes offered you butterfly kisses.

His grip on your thigh softened, his thumb making circular movements against your covered skin as a warm cloud began to form in your lower belly.

"Say that again," he said, his breath landing on your neck as his thumb began to move slightly up your inner thigh.

You tilted your head back, closing your eyes as the simple sensation of his fingers on your body caressed you sublimely, a sigh of ease slipping from your lips. Miguel then took the opportunity to kiss the corner of your jaw, laying a trail of kisses that mixed sweetness and hunger, kissing and biting your skin. He lowered his lips a little further down your neck and kissed you lazily, the coolness of his lips meeting the fire burning at the back of your head. His lips reached a sensitive corner, causing you to let out a moan.

You moistened your lips, your cheeks burning as Miguel's fingers traced the sensitive skin of your thigh and his other hand rested on the small of your back, close to the cloud of heat.

And he expected you, with all these delicious distractions, to be able to string a sentence together properly and clearly. So you tried to speak louder, swallowing before saying:

"I want you to fuck me."

His lips came away from your neck, just brushing your ear before coming back to face you. The red of his eyes was deep, hungry, but above all attentive to your every move, which made him even more intimidating. His lips were so close to yours that you could feel them moving close to your skin as he spoke.

"There must be something with my hear because I can't hear properly what you said," he said, his tone a little less contained than he had managed to convey before, less composed, "say it louder."

His fingers continued their trajectory, very close to you, to where your desires came from, the knot in your lower abdomen tightening even though he never reached the spot. So this was the intense despair he'd felt earlier? The pain of his desire overcoming his thought and logic in the simple hope that he would be touched to turn the pain into sweetness?

You tried to move your hips a little, in the simple hope that he might go further, touch you, but he steadied you in an instant with his hand on your back, making you let out a little cry of longing.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your gaze meeting his for a moment, and you saw it in the reflection of his eyes: the breadth of your desire spreading through your whole body.

You breathed in, gathering your strength and thoughts to say, "I want you to-"

His hand went up your back to the nape of your neck and traced up and down your spine, your body undulating uncontrollably as you concluded with a strangled sigh:

"Fuck me, please."

His carmine eyes watched you through his long black lashes, a proud sneer stretching his lips, your request seemed to have pleased him greatly.

If you had something to ask him, you might as well ask him politely. He tilted his head to one side, the light illuminating his jaw over his massive shoulder, it was so sharp it could have cut glass. Did he have any idea of the hold he had over you?

"Muy bien, bien hecho, muñeca," he murmured before kissing you again, gently.

His kiss was demanding, hungry, eager for your lips to be captured by his. Your hands, until now too afraid to touch anything or attempt any gesture, were tempted by the need to touch him in turn. They came to rest on his face, cupping it as he devoured your mouth relentlessly, his kiss a mixture of thirst, craving and the occasional sensation of his canines scratching your skin.

His thumb had moved up to your groin, deliberately avoiding and brushing very close to the part you'd been dreaming of him touching. Both his hands were now on your hips, gripping them to draw them to his.

And the electrifying sensation of his erection meeting in a single touch the excitement of your cunt that had grown inside you caused you both to moan together.

Your hand snaked through his hair, his sighs of comfort rushing into the depths of your body, blowing on the already burning fire inside you making it blaze and shine. His pelvis had begun to undulate against yours, the friction he was exerting against your covered flesh, against your throbbing clit, sending sparks throughout your body.

"Coño," he let out between kisses, one of his hands gripping your hip a little tighter to pull you closer to him and hold you in place while the other moved up your body like ivy on a statue, pressing against the back of your neck so that you were even closer. He wanted to eliminate any space between you, and you wanted it just as much, arching your body to his touch.

The kiss went from gentle to passionate, from passionate to hungry, and from hungry to needing more. Your tongues exchanged a waltz, and the next moment Miguel was back at your neck as your hand rested on his hip.

You needed more closeness, more of everything, but less clothing. He pulled you in again, straightening you up so that you ended up sitting on the desk, both your mouths still dancing.

He placed both hands firmly under your thighs, ready to lift you up.

"Hang on," he whispered between two kisses.

Without missing a beat you wrapped your legs around his waist, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as he lifted you with incredible ease, heading for a door at the back of the room: Miguel's quarters.

To avoid being bothered by anything during his precious, absent sleep, Miguel didn't belong to any of the dormitories, sleeping in secluded quarters. One of his hands came up to grip one of your buttocks, grasping it with his full hand and kneading it, a little hum of pleasure vibrating from your lips against his as you nibbled on it. You kissed his cheek, tracing his jaw with your wet skin.

As he depixelised his hand from his suit and placed it on the digital recognition pad, you gently kissed his neck, a rumble rising in his throat, a mixture of threat and plea for patience. But how could you still be patient? It was impossible, you were each other's tinder box and lighter.

As soon as the airlock opened, he came to kiss you dangerously, not tiring for a moment of the sensation of your lips caught between his. He walked quickly and eagerly, his erratic breathing colliding with your warm skin.

You rounded a corner, and the familiar sensation of a mattress under your back met you almost brutally. You were out of breath, lying back, looking at Miguel.

He stood there, looking down at you. His hair was dishevelled from the passage of your hands, his eyes shining like two rubies in the half-light, watching you hungrily. He towered over you, dominating you with his size and power. You shuddered, because at the moment he looked like a predator facing the prey he was about to devour.

He chuckled, moving closer as he put one knee on the mattress, one of his hands coming to rest beside your head, leaning gently over you, crawling up to spread your thighs as his face came level with yours.

And it was with the sensitivity that only lips possess that he whispered to you:

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," his mouth hungrily came to reclaim yours, his other hand sliding up your waist to reach your hip and hold it in place as he consumed you.

You were in his grip, entranced, trapped in the web of desire he had woven in your mind, every thread of which you touched bringing the spider back to its prey.

His hand came up to your head and nestled under the nape of your neck, looking for the zip to take off your suit. You helped him, pressing a little harder against his lips in your kisses as you raised your head to help him pull it off.

He found it, and you could feel with what composure he was pulling it. You knew perfectly well that if it had only been up to him, your suit would have been ripped to shreds and it would have been impossible to reassemble it properly and put it back together in one piece. But he was holding back, with difficulty.

The sensation of all those little metal teeth coming loose against your back and letting your abundantly heated skin breathe sent tingles through each of your ribs and down your spine, your back arching all the more at the sensation. Maybe having absolutely nothing under your costume could be complicated in certain situations, but it had never been as practical or as pleasant as it was right now. And Miguel seemed to agree.

His hand came to pull at the fabric, exposing your shoulder, and feeling his fingers run over it made you shiver. He continued to pull gently, your chest meeting the cool air until your breasts were bare.

He broke away from your lips for a moment, watching your skin like a flame and its enchanted dance. And you were burning, your whole body aflame with his touch, his kisses, his eyes. You couldn't undress him on your side, his costume knew no beginning or end other than pixels, and you found that profoundly unfair.

Then, very gently, his hand came to hover over your skin. It barely grazed, not even touching it, passing over the roundness of your shoulder, following your collarbone up to your cheek. He placed his hand on it, and it was as if your body was a diamond, every facet of which was illuminated by the light from his hand.

"Tan linda," he whispered, nestling back into the crook of your neck, kissing the warm, tender skin there. His kisses trailed down to your collarbone, sucking on your skin from time to time to reveal violet and pink flowers.

You hummed with delight under his touch, your body lighting up and glowing a little more with every touch of his lips against your skin. They came to rest between the valley of your breasts, his red eyes meeting yours as, while one of his hands pulled a little harder on the part of your suit that was still in place, his own suit began to depixel as he straightened up to face you.

Lips parted, you watched his body reveal itself, his tanned torso sculpted like a god. But above all, you couldn't help letting your eyes wander along the countless scars that marked his body.

Various shapes were mixed in, cuts, burns, strange, sinuous lines, all marking the traces of past dangers. And he had survived them all.

Gently, your hand came to rest on his cheek, pressing against your touch and kissing your palm as you let your fingers move down his torso. You let your fingertips trace a scar, caressing it gently, Miguel's breath shuddering against your skin for a moment.

Your breath caught in your throat as his bare hand grazed the skin of one of your tits, his thumb gently tracing the bouncing skin. His lips moved down the ridge of your breasts, kissing the soft, tender skin of it.

He looked into your eyes as he stuck out his tongue and ran it over your nipple slowly, the warmth of his saliva and the roughness of his muscle sending all sorts of little stars into your body.

It was as if your flesh was bare soil, and with his hands he brought forth flowers of many colours and intoxicating scents that enchanted you, making you drunk with his touch and the colours he painted under your skin.

His tongue traced the separation between your skin and your nipple, his hand resting on the other, pressing it gently between his large fingers. Then he kissed it gently, sucking lightly as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. And as the moans multiplied between your lips, he stopped, a smile stretching his lips as his hand dripped down your waist and clutched the rest of your costume.

As he pulled it off, in a slow motion, he kissed his way down your belly, letting buds of caress blossom on your body. Reaching below your navel, he exchanged a glance with you, seeking approval.

As a simple response, you raised your hips, and he gently pulled the rest of the costume down, his bare fingers brushing your buttocks and thighs as he pulled until you were covered by nothing but your panties.

One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other settled on your waist, lazily tracing your skin until it reached your groin, stopping there, drawing indescribable patterns as the fire in your lower belly heated up.

He stayed there, eyes riveted on yours, his other hand moving slightly up your inner thighs but not reaching your core either. The tingles it sent through your being were delicious, but you were getting impatient. Your pussy was almost starting to ache from the lack of touch and contact.

"Lower..." you murmured, your desires taking possession of your body, your reason silenced.

He tilted his head to one side, and the same words you'd said to him earlier in the bathroom came back to you:

"Say that again."

A grunt of frustration rattled against your teeth. Your own cards had just been used against you in your own game, and you had no say in the matter. His fingers continued to draw as if nothing had happened, sometimes reaching for half a second a little lower than where they were staying. You needed more.

"Touch me lower," you said, looking into his red eyes, which raised an eyebrow as if to say 'aren't you forgetting something?', so you punctuated your sentence with a little "please."

He smiled, dark, his tongue passing over his canine and his lip as he ran his fingers between your skin and the elastic of your panties, pulling the latter so that only the air, his hands and his warm breath covered you.

His fingers returned to your now naked groin, and he gently traced your skin, finally coming to touch your cunt, a sigh of respite taking hold of your chest as he gently passed a single finger between your lips.

"Hmm?" he hummed, raising his fingers to the height of his head, observing the sticky substance that glued to his skin, "would you look at that." Evidence of your arousal was placed before your eyes, "Am I the reason you're so wet ?"

Your head tucked into your shoulders, your cheeks heating intensely as he smiled wider.

"Tengo suerte," he murmured as his finger returned to your entrance, coating itself in more of your wetness as his thumb settled on your clit, making slow, hypnotic circular movements that tightened the knot in your lower abdomen.

Your hands clutched the sheets as you drew in a shaky breath, but he reached down and guided one of them to his hair, which you grabbed without hesitation.

"Like it when I touch you there?" he asked, echoing the words you had said to him in the cabin.

"Mhm," you agreed, unable to formulate a coherent sentence, inhaling more air as he pushed in his first finger.

His hands were big, his fingers thick, and he manipulated them all to perfection. His finger was streching you out, undulating to awaken exceptional sensations in you.

"How does that feel?" he asked, his tone composed and almost teasing in the way he asked you things.

"Good," you assented as he inserted a second finger, causing you to gasp out a moan, your eyelids closing of their own accord.

His fingers worked you out, curving up to touch the spot that made you see stars.

"Keeps your eyes on me," he whispered as his head lowered against your cunt, his hot breath falling against your damp skin, "I want you to see me."

With difficulty you complied, and he brought his tongue against your pussy, a moan of pleasure rising from your throat. The sensation of his hot, wet tongue licking your clit made your whole body burn.

Your hand gripped his hair more firmly, needing something to anchor it so that you didn't succumb entirely to all your vices. Miguel groaned at this gesture, and the sensation of his vibrant voice on your sensitive skin almost made you come in an instant.

Your pelvis moved of its own accord, and Miguel immediately grabbed it to immobilise you, his fingers and tongue working together to make you moan even more.

The sight reminded you immensely of the bullet incident: his eyes reddened, his tongue and lips resting on you while your fingers were knotted in his hair.

You were beginning to feel as if you were flying away, but it was at that precise moment that Miguel stopped, pulling his fingers out and his mouth away. You whimpered, a whiney complaint filling your mouth as you laid your head back in disappointment on the pillow, Miguel moving up to your face.

"I just wanted to make sure you'd know what it feels like."

The torment was unbearable, and you bit your lips for fear that, on the instant, you might send an insult into his face.

"Oh," he said, raising an eyebrow, "did I make you mad?"

His tone seemed almost condescending, addressing you as if you were a child. He brought his face close to yours, his eyes falling on your lips.

"Want me to fuck you, querida?" he questioned, his lips brushing yours "want me to fill you up with my cock?"

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, simply nodding in response as his simple words managed to make your hair stand on end.

"Use your words," he said simply.

"Yes," you said, beginning to learn from his lessons, trying to find more strength in your voice, "fuck me, please."

He nodded, proud.

"Good," he said, bringing his two fingers, still covered with yourself, close to your lips, "open up."

Timidly, you parted your lips.

"Wider," he ordered in a calm voice.

You obeyed, and soon felt his moist fingers on your tongue. You licked them, his eyes watching with great interest. They were thick and having them both in your mouth wasn't easy, but by relaxing your jaw you eventually managed to suck them off properly, your eyes returning to his, feverish with desire.

Without further ado, he removed his fingers from your mouth and came to kiss your lips, hungry. The entre-met you had offered him wasn't enough, and he was fasting from it to be able to taste all the other parts of you that were still untouched by his lips.

His naked erection pressed against your cunt, and your hips undulated against the sensation as you let out an excited moan against his lips, your walls closing in on nothing.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he splayed his hand across your lower back, undoing the kiss to press his forehead against yours. He adjusted his cock in front of your entrance, coating himself in your juices, and just by that gesture and the memory of your hands, you knew it would be too much.

"Miguel it's," you breathed softly against him, "it's too big. I'll never-" but he cut you off.

"I'm sure you can take it, muñeca," he murmured softly, kissing your cheek.

He returned to kiss your lips, then asked before doing anything else:

"Ready?"

You inhaled softly, your eyes plunging into the red of his, before murmuring against his lips:

"Ready."

He nodded, coming to kiss you chastely before lining up his cock and thrusting in. A moan slipped from your lips, he was big, way too big.

"Shh," he soothed, kissing your temple, "you're tense cariño, breathe through your nose."

So you followed his instructions, trying to relax as much as possible as your nails on his back began to dig into his flesh. Your breath was coming in shaky gasps, your teeth sinking into your lip as Miguel whispered:

"You're doing so well," his hands gently caressing your arched back and thigh.

His voice relaxed you, your breathing a little more settled as he thrust deeper, stretching you out. He kissed your forehead tenderly, brushing the tiny tear from the corner of your eye with his lips.

"Just like that," he groaned, finally managing to fill you completely, "look at you taking me so well.

He kissed your lips gently, caressing the skin of your side. He kissed your cheek, then the side of your neck, sucking in one more mark.

Full, that's how you felt. He stretched you out fully, filling every inch of your being, meeting the warm cloud as he kissed you to contrast the sensation. And soon enough, you relaxed a little more.

"Are you ready for me to move?" he murmured, his thumb resting on your cheek.

As a simple response, breathing softly, you moved your hips on him. He smiled, kissing your lips softly as he pulled back slightly to push into you again, a shaky breath mingling with a moan that he swallowed from your lips.

His tongue came to meet yours, curling around it, sucking it between his lips tenderly as he took a slow rhythm to get you used to him.

He sprinkled kisses across your face, sloppy ones running over your warm naked skin, inevitably coming back to your neck, nibbling lightly. He traced your collarbone with his lips, running along it until he reached your shoulder, where the rounded skin was bitten and a moan was torn from your lips.

His hand came to take your arm, kissing the skin gently as he raised it, straightening slightly to manipulate and kiss it better.

His lips came to linger on the inner skin of your arms, depositing his lips gently as he traced that softened area, his pelvis taking on a slightly faster rhythm.

After the little treatment he'd given you, you weren't going to last long, so you let yourself be carried and touched by his adoring lips.

His tongue traced the skin on the inside of your wrist, his teeth grazing the separation between your hand and it. He came to kiss your palm, then delicately placed his lips on each of your knuckles before pressing it against his cheek.

Your thumb caressed it, and he surrendered to your touch. He then guided it to the side of your head, his fingers nestling in the crack of yours until your hands were intertwined.

"Qué guapa," he breathed.

His rhythm quickened, and you could feel the knot in your belly gradually tightening as Miguel's thrusting in and out of you became sublime, and the sounds you were making multiplied as he hit all the right spots.

Your fingers tightened on Miguel's hand as your other reached down his back to grip his arm, squeezing hard as you felt you were going to come.

"Miguel," you sobbed as he returned to kiss your lips, "I'm close."

It was a miracle you managed to get those few words right. The hand that wasn't intertwined with yours came to cup your face before moving down your body to grab your hip, a deep sigh escaping from his throat.

And you felt his canine gently bite your lip as the knot burst in your lower belly and a moan echoed in your throat. It was like a bolt of lightning striking against metal, spreading out in a powerful electric shock in your entire body as the pleasure beat like a second heart. Miguel's voice growled against your skin as you closed around him spasmodically, your nails clawing at his arm.

You twitched, Miguel kissing your forehead, your eyelids, your nose, your lips. You were slowly coming down from your clouds, the sensations you had gradually fading.

"Tan buena..." he whispered, close to your lips, "but I'm not done with you yet.”

His fingers loosened from yours as he grabbed your arms with both hands to pull you against him and straighten you up. He was sitting, still inside you, making you sit on top of him, facing him.

One of his hands grabbed one of your buttocks, guiding you to move back and forth on him, while his other was on your back, caressing it.

He came to attack your lips again, the sound of your two bodies meeting clapping in the air as you felt completely disorientated by the pleasure. The speed with which he entered you was exceptional, and the sensations he triggered were even more so.

His lips moved over the back of your neck, then settled on your shoulder, his breathing becoming more and more jerky.

You tilted your head back, your voice interspersed with the feeling of him pounding you, the heat in your belly not entirely gone and tightening again.

Then the hand that had been resting on your back slipped between your two bodies and caressed your clit, your breath catching as you felt the cloud spread once more to the small of your back.

Miguel's voice grew less hushed as his rhythm quickened, his fingers working your clit with speed as you felt the climax building up again.

And all at once, you felt his fangs penetrate your beloved as he gave a powerful thrust, and you both came. The earth stopped spinning as you felt like you'd been sent miles above the clouds, both your bodies warm against each other, both of you breathless.

Everything seemed soft, floating, an inner peace had taken hold of both of you as you came down from this peak of pleasure.

He held you against him gently, running his tongue over the two slits he'd made in your skin. He pulled out of you, placing you so gently and carefully on the mattress that it was as if he had a spider's web in his hands.

You snuggled up to him, and he pulled the blanket over you as he kissed you again.

You felt safe here, cuddled in his huge arms that wrapped around you, his hands caressing your body with pure adoration and softness.

You kissed his chest, on one of his scars, and he breathed a profound sigh.

"How did you know?" he whispered.

The end of his question never came, but it was simple: how did you know I wanted to be kissed here? Probably no one had ever touched him this way, here, like that.

"There's nothing like tenderness to soothe the scars." you smiled.

He breathed out, his eyes had returned to their natural brown. He pressed you a little closer to him, his eyes locked in yours. Blue words are the ones you say with your eyes, when your lips are too tired.

"Maybe we'll have to find a name for this pseudo-friendship?" he smiled, the little chat you'd had on the first mission coming back to you as you smiled and kissed him sweetly.

"Why when we already have two letters?" you replied, placing your hand on his cheek, kissing your palm as his hand caressed your waist.

"Two letters?" he asked, curious.

"Yeah," you confirmed, your voice becoming a whisper, "us."

He gave you a candid, sincere smile before kissing your lips softly.

"Yes," he nodded, "we could make a great us, muñeca."

Us, two letters, a whole world.

#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel x reader #astv x reader #miguel ohara #miguel x you #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x y/n #miguel spiderman #miguel astv #smut #Spotify

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dcxdpdabbles · 8 months

Text

Respawn and Relive

@thenightwolf51 who tagged me in this months ago, but I didn't know enough about Respawn to write something. I didn't forget! I just still haven't found much on him, so sorry if I get his character wrong.

They don't give him a name.

It's one of the first things he notices they do to dehumanize him. It's not like they see clones as humans- he's just a science experiment meant to keep the legacy of the League of Assassins alive, even at the cost of his life.

He is just there to be trained to follow commands, and if needed, he is spare parts for the Real Son. He is made from part of the same DNA as the Real Son, but that hardly matters to what should be his mother, as she does not feel anything for his biological father and thus feels nothing for the being created from the two DNAs.

He is the clone created by Slade Wilson- alias Deathstroke- and Talia al Ghul. She may not had a hand in his creation, as that was done by her father, but she had no issues using him.

Torment him. Rip him apart and put it back together just to see what happens.

She looks at him with the same gaze she would a sword. Valuating his worth by how well he can do in training, how healthy his organs are, and how he should be nothing but a loyal dog.

But he isn't. Not really.

If this was all he knew, maybe he would be the weapon they wanted, but he knows more. Remembers more. Yes, he doesn't have all his memories, but he has flashes- glimpses- of the life he had before the Leauge.

They would disapprove of the memories, which makes them all the more precious.

He can still clearly remember his mother- his real mother- a brilliant mind, his father's warm, solid hugs, and his sister's gentle eyes. He can recall his home's layout even if he can not remember the street or how far it was from his school. He can identify his two best friends' faces even if their names slip through his fingers like falling sand.

He also remembers his first name and the initials of his last.

Danny F.

He thinks he died before, waking up as the clone. He remembers standing inside a metallic cave- or a large hole in a machine?- and being electrocuted. He remembers the screams, the flashes of light, the pain, and even a glimpse of his best friends' horrified faces but not much else.

The next clear memory is looking in a mirror to see white hair and green eyes. The same combination he now sports as the Leguage's weapon and spare organ farm.

The memories after that are filled with harsh training, even more, brutal torture, and the reintegration that should his half-brother ever need them, he would give up his organs for the Real Son.

He is, after all, Damian Wayne's gift. He was created to harvest his super healing for the boy's body parts. Danny thinks he hates him, but he's not sure he can remember what hate is supposed to feel like.

He does remember what love is supposed to feel like.

Sometimes, when all he can do is lay in his cell, body aching as they test his healing factor beyond its limits- they cut off his left arm once, just to watch the tissue slowly regrow- he lets himself drown in his old memories, in the few dream-like sequences.

Some make sense, others don't. For some, he's a black-haired blue-eyed boy, and for others, he has white hair and green eyes.

Danny is sitting in class, eagerly taking notes on a topic he has been having trouble with-

-He's playing fetch with a small green dog, throwing snowballs into the air, flying after the excited creature-

-Danny is playing video games with a goth girl and a nerdy boy, laughing so hard he can't see the buttons on the control correctly-

-He's flaying alongside his sister, aiming his outstretched arm at a figure in the sky, shooting a green ray at the same time she does down below in her mechanical armor-

-Danny is helping his mother mix the dough for the cookies. He is swaying his hips to the song she has on the speaker. She's in her teal jumpsuit, having come up from the lab to do mother/son cookies as they do every Thanksgiving-

-He's testing the latest blaster with his father. They wanted to see if the auto-aiming feature was interfering with his flying. He flickers the white bangs out of his eyes as his father cheers from the roof while he takes aim-

Yes, Danny knows what love is supposed to feel like, even if he can't remember all the details, even if his full name evades him. He will escape the Leauage of Assiagins and find that feeling again.

Maybe he'll track down his biological father. Deathstroke does not know a clone was created by him, so maybe he will be willing to take him in.

It takes months, but eventually, they tell him Damian Wayne needs a kidney. Why? They don't say, but Talia knows her Beloved will donate his own, and she won't stand for it. She orders him to fulfill his duty as guards drag him to the operation table.

He grits his teeth as they strap him down and prep for surgery. Thankfully, they don't apply any anesthetics- they don't deem him worthy of a painless operation- so he has a clear head for escape.

The surgery has a thirty-window opening with no guards around. He waits until they are about to begin when he taps into the powers his memories tell him. He makes his limbs intangible, slipping through the restraints with great effort.

The medics only have a few seconds to be shocked before he is upon them. They lay in a pool of blood- not dead. His chest flares up in pain if he kills, so he tries to avoid it as much as his environment allows- as he flies through the walls. He has been planning here, so he knows what to do. Turning invisible, he passes under a helicopter scheduled for a month supply run.

By doing so, he does not appear on any radars using the large cargo as camouflage. Danny drops into the ocean as the alarms go off on that wrenched island, allowing his whole body to turn tangible. This way, the water does not slow him down as he flies deeper and deeper down, praying that they won't be able to track him the further he goes. When he gets to the part where everything is too dark to see- he picks a direction from where he came and hits top speed.

Traveling three hundred miles an hour, Danny escapes the League of Assians with all his organs intact, so take that Damian Wayne.

He has no real destination in mind but maybe, he can find the little town of his memories or maybe he'll find Deathstroke.

Maybe he will discover what the F. in his name stands for.

For now, he'll work under the name Respawn because that's a name he picked out for himself, and he'll do what he wants. He's no one's tool any longer.

(Miles away Tim Drake squints at the small dot darting from Nanda Parbat on his spying map. He's not sure what kind of misle Ra's just shot, but it's traveling fast, and he feels like he needs to phone this in.

"Hey B, we may have an issue." )

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Respawn and Relive #Danny wakes as Respawn #He's out in the world #Sort of resents Damian but it's not like his half brother knows about him #Yes he escape earlier because of his somewhat memories #Partial amnesia #TW: Mentions of torture

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metalhoops · 1 year

Text

The place was Chicago. The year was 1990.

It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters.

Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment.

The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by.

So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there.

As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe.

Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums.

Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.

The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting.

It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two.

He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms.

The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.

All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated.

Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago.

The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.

It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal.

He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.

It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another.

He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers.

To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might.

Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now.

See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.

Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be.

After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore.

When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him.

Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you.

Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag.

The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket.

He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones.

Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear.

They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene.

He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.

“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.

Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable.

“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.

His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell.

“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf.

It was almost six. Shit.

Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie.

“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face.

The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked.

And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation.

The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.

“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected.

No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson.

Then Eddie remembered.

This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve.

“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose.

“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly.

“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself.

“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer.

“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair.

That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak.

“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied.

“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered.

A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention.

“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely.

“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive.

“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head.

“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves.

Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.

He really needed to get a hold of himself.

“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly.

Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears.

“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began.

Eddie screwed up his nose in response.

“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort.

“Stevie, you didn’t.”

Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush.

“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches.

“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned.

“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.

Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck.

“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands.

“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.”

Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.

“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.

“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living.

“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.

The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath.

Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead.

“Do you want to get a drink?”

And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans.

“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze.

“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.”

There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself.

“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone.

Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy.

“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.

“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt.

He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention.

The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular.

“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth.

“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve.

“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie.

“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table.

“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,

“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve.

“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject.

They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.

“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless.

“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on.

To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways.

He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak.

“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.

“Yeah, all on my own.”

The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up.

“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.

Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.

After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth.

“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin.

“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed.

“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan.

“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.

“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.

“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively.

“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit.

“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand.

“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy.

“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke.

It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking.

“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.

“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.

“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

“Let’s get out of here and find out.”

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mariasont · 19 days

Note

THE BIMBO RECEPTIONIST WAS SO CUTE

now id like to introduce, goth/metalhead!bimbo!reader x spence ( more of the opposites attract vibe )

super dark clothes and jewelry and looks like elvira a little bit, maybe a few piercings and tattoos for spencer to oogle at

Brooding - S.R

a/n: EEK i hope u love this as much as i loved writing it :)

bimbo reader has my heart <3

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x goth!bimbo!reader

warnings: mmm none! fluff! just two cuties being cute!

wc: 0.6k

Your pen was a flurry of motion, streaking bold lines upon the sketchpad. Technically, you should be sorting through the endless stack of files, keeping them pristine and accessible for the agents. You were always ahead of your tasks, and this job, while not earth-shattering, mattered to you. But when you had a muse as captivating as yours, it was hard to put the pen down.

That muse being the man rifling through the files before you, his face a masterpiece of pretty lines and angles, unaware of the intensity of your focus. You contemplated expressing your admiration aloud, but the idea seemed a little too forward. So, you poured that impulse into a portrait, tracing the contours of his handsome face.

But it proved difficult to accomplish with his relentless pacing. Each step he took sparked another round of redos on the pad. Your tongue, tipped with a silver piercing, unconsciously found its way to your lip as you wrestled with the proportions of his nose, erasing furiously to get it just right.

You let out a sigh, louder than intended, and it was enough to pause his steps. "Sir, can you please stand still?"

He looked utterly baffled, lifting his brows toward his hairline. As your eyes met, he pointed to his chest, his question simple and unsure, "Huh? Me?"

A quick nod sent a ribbon of dyed hair fluttering before your eyes as you beamed at him. "Yes, you! Please, if you don't mind," you murmured, your fingers racing over the paper. "I just need, like, one more second."

He stood frozen, brows remaining quizzically raised. Why he complied, he couldn't say, but the sight of you, so engrossed in your art, your necklaces chiming in time with your movements, and how your bold makeup seemed to frame your face perfectly kept him rooted to the spot.

You peered up through your lashes, giving him a sheepish grin, cheeks lightly flushed as you set the pen down.

"All done! You're free to go. Thanks for being so patient," you chirped, gently waving the paper in the air as if to dry the ink faster.

"Can I at least see the result of my patience?" Spencer asked, his approach casual yet expectant.

You hugged the sketchpad to your chest, a gentle laugh escaping you. "Well, I don't usually just let anyone see my work, especially strangers."

Spencer's smile was tinged with amusement.

"Considering I'm the subject, I think I have some claim to it," he joked. "And by the way, I'm Spencer Reid. There, we're practically acquaintances now."

You couldn't contain the goofy grin that spread across your face, and a giggle bubbled up from your throat.

"Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I can make an exception," you said, drawing out the last word with a wink.

The portrait made Spencer do a double-take--it was him, but as if seen through a gothic, moody lens. His usual composure cracked, and a deep, genuine laugh broke through.

"I never knew I had such a brooding side," he commented with a smile. "I look like I stepped out of a Brontë novel. Perhaps Heathcliff on one of his better days?"

Your head cocked to the side, hair cascading over one shoulder, looking at him through lashes heavy with mascara as you shrugged.

"Heathcliff, huh? I'll take your word for it, but I get the brooding part," you said, with a bubbly laugh. "Come on, it's so you."

Spencer fiddled with his tie, raising a brow.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or concerned," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he felt a pleasant heat rise to his cheeks.

You squinted sightly, pretending to mull it over.

"Flattered, for sure," you said. "Broody types are just secretly plotting world domination, right?"

He grinned. "Well, maybe not world domination, but certainly plotting something."

Your voice was light, but your question was pointed. "So, what are you plotting, Spencer? Should I be worried?"

He tried to remember what Morgan had taught him.

"Absolutely. But some things are worth the wait--patience, you'll see, can be quite rewarding."

And with a promise like that, you found yourself more than willing to wait.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x goth reader #spencer reid x bimbo reader #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic

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fictional-actors-bracket · 5 months

Text

Quarterfinals 2

Propaganda under the cut

Hermie the Unworthy: "Known for his method acting. Originally preparing for his role as the Joker in a stage play adaption of the 2019 movie, he then cycles through many other DC villains as various thematically appropriate traumas happen to him. (Half his face burned - two face, poisoned by a tree witch - poison ivy, needs to trap people with riddles - riddler). But he can do more than just Batman villains, hermie can become anyone. He can become a manager at a pizza place, Kiera knightly from bend it like Beckham and even a goth girl whose dad is about to die. This is because he’s just such a great actor (and also because one of his biological dads is revealed to be a shapeshifting trickster being. The other one is Satan, yes he’s the product of mpreg dont worry about it). He doesn’t act for the money but for the love of the craft (and crippling identity issues) and he deserves the win bc he never wins anything fucking else."

More propaganda for Hermie

Bonus

Extra propaganda

Even more propaganda

Juza Hyodo: "Juza had been wanting to be an actor since middle school, but because of his scary appearance he didn't get to try it until his senior year of high school. He wanted to act in order to "become someone else", but in the process of acting he learnt to embrace himself instead, and to use that as fuel for his acting. He's extremely passionate and this passion is contagious to his fellow troupemates. He may not be the leader of the troupe, but he sure is its heart. Despite his wanting to change himself at the start, even from his initial scenes he's ready to face who he is, and to show vulnerability on stage. This and passion are key attributes for any performer to have."

More Propaganda for Juza

Even More Propaganda

If that's not enough propaganda check here

Guess what, more propaganda

Have some more

There really is a lot to say about him

#poll #dungeons and daddies #dndads hermie #dndads #hermie the unworthy #juza hyodo #a3 #a3! act addict actors #a3!#actors bracket

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hotvintagepoll · 2 months

Text

Propaganda

Theda Bara (Cleopatra)—One of cinema's first female sex symbols. Nicknamed "The Vamp" due to her looks. The OG Goth Girl. She would be HUGE on Tumblr if she were around today!

Helen Gibson (The Hazards of Helen series)— If you voted for Buster Keaton, VOTE FOR HELEN GIBSON! This woman threw herself onto things, off of things, under things, and over things (mainly trains and horses). She started in Hollywood as a trick rider and stunt double, eventually headlining a series of action films called “The Hazards of Helen.”

This is round 2 of the tournament [EDIT: YES IT SAYS ROUND 1 IN THE POLL. OOPS. IT IS ROUND 2.]. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman. (remember that our poll era starts in 1910, so please don't use propaganda from before that date.)

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Theda Bara:

She was simply nicknamed "The Vamp". Her sex appeal and typecasting was so intense that people actually thought that she lounged around half-naked and seduced men left and right in her free time.

She is one of the most famous and enduring faces in silent film and yet only 6 of her 43 films survived the 1937 Fox Vault Fire! 6! Think about what we could have had!

*Theeee* celluloid blueprint for both goth chicks and sexually-manipulative women--her persona was that of a "vampire", in the sense that would eventually be shortened into "vamp", although in truth she blended both definitions beautifully. Alas, the prints of most of her back-catalogue were lost to a studio fire in 1937, but enough survives to clearly demonstrate the fantasy of enticing danger that she was so kind as to serve us.

my favorite goth icon i want her gender

She's the original Vamp and first film sex symbol! She said: “The vampire that I play is the vengeance of my sex upon its exploiters. You see, I have the face of a vampire, but the heart of a feministe.” Many of her films were banned or severely cut by state and city censorship boards due to her revealing costumes and suggestive acting. She even sued the Chicago Funkhouser censorship board to let her film Cleopatra be shown in theaters. Riots broke out in theaters during showings of her film Kathleen Mavourneen. In contrast to her film persona, her private life was pretty quiet. She grew up in Cincinnati as Theodosia "Theda" Goodman, the Jewish daughter of immigrants, and had one happy marriage that lasted 30+ years until she died at age 69.

Helen Gibson:

#helen gibson #theda bara #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 2

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lemon-natalia · 3 months

Text

Gideon the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 20

i just wanna apologise in advance for how long these posts are getting lol, i have a lot of Thoughts about this book

oh wait nope they are going back to the creepy lab where two people just got murdered. great plan guys

Dulcinea wanting to team up surprised me a little, but it really shouldn't have. she's been paying a lot of attention to the Ninth, and especially Gideon.

'thousands of years after you're gone ... is when you really live' this is such a different, almost warmer, perspective on death and necromancy, and i can see why it appeals to Dulcinea specifically, who's clearly had to come to terms with her mortality pretty early on in life. but its also part of the more disturbing theme that the past never really goes away, and can't help but view this line along the same lines of discovering the ancient study last chapter, and the ancient laboratory, and Canaan House in general, which are only just now having their secrets revealed, and the terrible consequences of those secrets becoming apparent, after thousands of years

'she grasped a railing, leaned over, and proffered her hand' well this is getting very courtly romance

ah yes lets go through the door decorated with a swirl of human teeth, i'm sure there's happy fun times to be had in there. harrow, resident goth interior designer who specialises in bone decor, is probably taking notes as we speak

even after hurting her hand twice, Harrow really just can't resist experimenting even further huh. she's so very reluctant to accept that her existing powers aren't enough by themselves for this

ooohhhh, having to literally suck the life force out of your cavalier to win?? thats so sick and twisted and i love it. these challenges are, again, clearly relying on this intense relationship between the pair, both in trusting them absolutely and in this literal soul-siphoning/melding link thing.

however, it feels like Gideon's really getting the brunt of it in these challenges. Harrow's absolutely putting in an awful lot of effort and power, but it's the cavalier who has to fight the bone amalgamation, the cavalier who has to have their life literally siphoned out. they're about trust and a bond between them, but also seemingly about a willingness to sacrifice your cavalier to achieve that goal, and i have a really bad feeling about where exactly this is going in terms of how exactly one achieves lyctorhood

'under no circumstances will i ever desire your juice' Harrow you may wish to revisit this sentiment when you guys (to my limited knowledge) eventually become girlfriends

'none of this is worth it, at all [...] i'm sorry. We take so much' i'm like 90% sure the voice talking to Gideon throughout all this was Dulcinea, largely because it doesn't really make sense for it to be anyone else, but there were certain lines, specifically these ones, that made me suspicious at first it might be some(one? thing?) else. but it also feels fitting that its Dulcinea coaching her through this.

wow, just wow, i'm really impressed with the writing in this chapter, and how the pain Gideon is feeling is expressed. its such an abstract experience/feeling to describe, but i think its done incredibly well

'Ha-ha, said Gideon, first time you didn't call me Griddle, and died' ok i know she didn't but THANKS for giving me an absolute heart attack with that sentence Tamsyn Muir

Harrow i get understand u are protective of Gideon but let Dulcinea comfort her plz

'you can't just ask someone why they want to be a Lyctor'. ahh the duality of Gideon the Ninth. this just evocative prose about how it feels to be on the brink of death, and then immediately afterwards hits you in the face with a mean girls reference. beautiful, iconic, effervescent.

#lemon natalia reads the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb liveblog

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gay-wh0re-slut · 7 months

Note

Heyy, I just wanted to know if you could write a story with rhea x Fem! reader where the reader is ashamed of her body hair and Rhea comforts her,ending with a big smut✨️

Sorry for this request but my body hair makes me very uncomfortable and I need to read something like this🥺

don’t be sorry! body hair is normal and everyone has it! society has told us (women esp) that body hair is bad but it’s not, it’s natural! you can do whatever you want with it, shave it, don’t shave it, hell braid it if it gets long enough lol, i know it’s easier said than done but never be ashamed for things that happen naturally as a human being but don’t worry friend, i got you.

Ever, Ever

rhea x fem!reader

content: talks of body hair but then turns to hot sexy times with hot buff goth wrestler gf ooooo (slight choking, praise, oral, fingering, squirting hehe)

You giggle at a funny post you found on instagram, “look!” you turn the phone to Rhea who was sitting beside you on the bed.

She was doing some work on her computer but she turned to look, “oh, that’s a good one,” she laughed with you.

The two of you continue to sit in comfortable silence as she types away and you scroll away. You both loved nights like this, nothing going on, just being together, relaxing and enjoying each other’s presence. It was a good reset for both of you, with your nine to five job and her crazy one, it was good to just be.

She slammed the enter key one last time and closed her laptop, “finally,” she sighed as she placed it on the side table. “Do you want a snack?”

“Ooooh, yes please!” you smile at her.

“I’ll be right back,” and she walked out of the bedroom.

You smile thinking that there’s no where else you’d rather be. You’re with the love of your life, having a night in, doing absolutely nothing, well, now you were. She comes back in with a lot of things.

“I wasn’t sure what I wanted or what you wanted so I brought options,” her arms were full with cheez-its, fruit snacks and who knows what else.

“Oh,” you chuckle, “thank you, baby.”

She displayed them all out over the bed, she gestured dramatically over them twinkling her fingers to show you the options.

You decide on the fruit snacks, two bags because one is never enough.

“Good choice,” she said picking up the protein bar.

“C’mon, live a little,” you joke to her.

“Fine, fine,” she throws the bar down and taps her chin thinking. Finally she chooses the potato chips, “better?” she held them up, they were still the healthy ones.

“Yes, thank you,” you laugh.

“I’ll take the rest back,” she gathers up the remaining snacks and heads back to the pantry.

The two of you sit on your phones, enjoying your respective snacks, showing each other funny tiktok’s, memes, and cool drawings people made of her.

Her hand landed on your thigh, but you thought nothing of it, she loved to be touching you whenever she could.

You didn’t notice her put her phone down but you did notice when she moved herself closer to you and started kissing your arm. You kissed her head in a response but she kept going. Gently kissing up your arm until she made it to your neck. Wave after wave of pleasure sent through your body with every kiss. She took your phone out of your hand, that you weren’t really paying attention to anymore, and put it on your side table.

The hand on your thigh moved up to gently caress your hot center, “c’mon baby,” she whispered.

You moaned softly into her touch but suddenly stopped her, “no wait-”

“What’s wrong? You okay?” she immediately pulled her hand away.

“Yeah, it’s just… you’ve been away so I haven’t, uh… shaved,” your face was red from embarrassment.

“Baby,” her face softened, “I love every part of you no matter what. A little hair isn’t gonna hurt me.”

“But I don’t want-”

“Unless you got some crazy thing going on down there, like teeth or something,” she chuckled, “I don’t mind one bit.”

You tried to talk, “But it’s gro-”

She put a finger over your mouth, “It’s not gross, it’s not ugly, it’s normal. Do you care when I don’t shave?”

She didn’t move her finger so you just shook your head.

“Exactly,” she finally removed her finger, “if you don’t want to continue, that’s perfectly fine, but unshaven or not, I’m still gonna love you,” she smiled.

You gave her a weak smile, “are you sure? Because it’s pretty gnarly.”

“Baby…I promise.”

You stared at her for second to make sure she was really sure, “okay.”

“Now, can I get back to what I was doing or…” she said jokingly.

You giggle, “yes, please.”

Giving you a devilish grin, she bows her head to kiss your neck again, leaving soft slow pecks on your skin. She moved herself on top of you straddling your hips. Your hand tangled into her hair keeping it out of her way.

She nibbled at your ear until she whispered, “You’re so…” she kissed your jaw, “hypnotizing…” she kissed down your jawline, “and beautiful…” one of her hands snuck to your neck and gently squeezed, “and…” her hand clutched to your neck hard as she looked you in the eyes, “don’t you ever, ever think otherwise.”

Your eyes were wide but your smile was huge at the sensation, “yes Mami,” you choke out.

“Good,” she barked as she released her hand, “my sweet girl,” she then she dragged her hand over your shirt down to your pajama shorts, sneaking it under the waistband. Her fingers found your dripping center, “look at you,” she gently swiped her fingers against you, “barely even started and you’re already ready for me.” She teased at your entrance, but decided against it. So she settled for teasing your clit instead.

Your back arched as a long moan left you, “mmmmcan’t help it,” you released your breath. One of your hands was behind her neck while the other was on the back of her thigh pushing her in closer, digging your nails into the tattoos as she continued to work her magic. You pull her neck down so that she could kiss you, and that she did.

You didn’t expect it to be, but it was hot and sloppy and you begged for more. Her hand below went faster as the kissing became more intense. You made small whines into her mouth between labored breaths. Her lips finally let go of you as she pulled her hand out.

You huffed at the loss, but she quickly got off of you and yanked your shorts and underwear off and threw them onto the floor. Without hesitation, she spread your legs and immediately began to lap at your wet folds.

“Fuck,” you groan as your hands found their way back to her hair.

Her arms curled around your thighs, “you taste so good, babygirl,” then she began to suck on your clit.

You tightened your grip at her words as your eyes pinched closed but you could feel her smiling against you. You were squirming but she was holding you perfectly still with her insane strength. She finally let go of one of your legs, teasing her fingers at your entrance once more.

“Mhmm…yessss, please!” you whine.

“You know I love when you beg,” and she pushes her way inside.

“Oh fuck,” as your back arched again.

She was pumping in and out of you at a steady pace as she continued to use her tongue on your pulsing bud. You writhed under her grip but she kept your hips still. The pressure in your stomach was quickly building, “harder, mami, please!”

“Oh, you want it rough today, princess?”

“God yes, please,” you beg.

“As you wish,” she grinned.

You barely noticed but in one second she removed her hand, flipped it over, plunged back into you so now the heel of hand was facing up and her two middle fingers were pumping into you at an outrageous pace. She kissed your thigh before she maneuvered herself back on top of you. She kissed you, making sure that you could taste yourself on her tongue.

She trailed her kisses down your neck, then began to bite, rolling your skin in her teeth, “you’re doing so well,” she whispered, she sucked at your skin not caring if she left a mark, “you feel so good on me,” she said in your ear.

You were untangling beneath her, your eyes were in the back of your head, your hands were gripping at anything you could reach, her arms, her back, her hair, the sheets. You barely had any air in your lungs, your hips were riding her hand that was setting the ungodly pace, trying so hard to keep up.

“I know you want to, baby,” she grinned at the noises that were spilling out of you, “I’m not going to stop you,” her voice was calm and sultry, it was driving you insane, more than you already were.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” you screamed.

“C’mon baby!” she yelled over your deafening whines.

You gasped for air as you curled up with your mouth wide open and your eyes rolled back, “FFFUUCKK!!” the pressure inside of you released so violently that you slammed your head onto the pillow beneath.

She immediately pulled her hand out of you as you squirted all over the sheets and her hand that couldn’t move fast enough.

“Holy fuck,” you heard her say over your loud moan. She plunged back into you when you were done and continued her pace smiling from ear to ear, “again,” was all she said. Though this time, her free hand found its way back to your neck and squeezed.

Your hands gripped her arm as you gave her a wicked smile. Just a minute later, the pressure was back and ready to be released again. You groaned, whined and moaned as well as you could under her hand.

“Just one more time, princess, one more for me,” she commanded.

You followed orders and the knot in your stomach untangled again. You couldn’t say anything but a loud scream of pleasure, as she removed her hand, still not fast enough, and you squirted once more.

She released the grip on your neck and you immediately pulled her in for another sloppy kiss. Your lips smacked as she pulled away, “You’re so fucking hot,” she breathed.

You couldn’t fathom saying anything you were so weak so you settled for the wicked smile. You kissed her once more before going completely limp underneath her.

She sat on her heels next to you. She looked the mess you made underneath your bottom half and chuckled, “We gotta wash the sheets.”

#rhea ripley #wwe #rhea ripley x reader #god i need her so badly

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specialagentlokitty · 1 year

Text

Wednesday x reader - what I wouldn’t do for you

Can I request a waterbender!reader where she becomes the Hydes master (in a nice way, they need some love) instead of...you-know-who (VOLDEMORT?!??), and helps at the end with the whole Quad scene? Any pairing you like, don't mind student or not! - @casserole-from-dads-asserole 💜

A/N: so a lot of this has been changed to avoid spoilers and I haven’t mentioned anything that could be important for the same reason :))

You were scared you were going to be late, and in a way you were, you watched as the Hyde and the werewolf fought, and crouched down.

Quietly opening the small bottle, you raised your hands and swirled the purple liquid around.

Giving a low whistle, you stared at the beast as it came charging to you after throwing the werewolf to the side.

“Come on…”

You were shaking in fear, you had one chance to make this shot, and as the beast came rushing up you did.

As it roared you forced the liquid down its throat and watched as it stumbled back.

It made a few noises before it finally stopped and sat down on its hunches, looking at you.

“Go.”

It huffed and ran off and you turned to the werewolf, walking over you gently placed a hand on her back and gave her a smile.

“Good job, I’ll meet you with the others soon.”

With that, you ran away.

There was one more thing you had to do, and you had to get there soon before it was too late.

You could smell the burning before you even got close to Nevermore, the bright oranges raged in the night sky and ashes fell down like snow.

Slowing down to a walk, you found Ajax and Xavier rushing students out.

“What’s happening?!” You yelled.

“We don’t know, we just need to go!” Ajax yelled.

You looked at all the students, most of which were looking back at whatever was going on in the quad.

“Get everyone gone, I’ll be right behind you!”

You pushed past students trying to make their way out, Xavier followed you, his bow in hand and you froze as you saw.

Wednesday was stood there, facing off a man you had never see before.

Xavier readied his how and shot an arrow, the pair of you freezing as the man froze it in mid air and flung it back.

It pierced Wednesday shoulder and you screamed her name.

“No!”

Rushing down you looked at her wonder with worry in her eyes.

“You need to leave now.”

“Not a chance, stay here…” you whispered.

You looked at the fountain then at the man and raised your hands, water swirling all around you as you stood in front of the fallen goth.

You weren’t going to let him get anywhere near her, and you certainly weren’t going to let her get herself killed.

“A water bender… such families used to be so noble…” he sneered.

You looked down your nose at him.

“We still are…” you growled.

You attacked, throwing everything you had at him. Everything you had every learnt.

Wednesday watched in silence, it was like watching a dance.

You moved so quickly, so elegantly and the water followed your command, lashing out at the man, opening small cuts along his body as you dodged his attacks.

You weren’t fast enough to miss one, and it sent you flying backwards into a stone figure.

“This ends now, I will rid thee disgusting creatures from this world forever!”

He stalked towards Wednesday and you held out your hand.

You were trembling, your body was in so much pain, and pushing yourself to go this far was making everything even worse.

You weren’t supposed to do this, it was outlawed.

But you didn’t have a choice.

Looking up at the full moon, you drew a small breath and closed your eyes.

“Forgive me…”

Pushing yourself up, you focused on the man right in front of Wednesday.

You focused on the water inside of him.

His blood.

You focused on how it flowed, and took control of it, forcing him to stand like a statue in front of her.

His head snapped towards you, trying to raise his hand.

“Thou dare break ancient laws?” He sneered, “practice forbidden bending…”

“If it means saving these people, then yes.”

Foolish! They shall smite thou down! Much like I shall do to all of these creatures!”

You didn’t reply, you walked forward on shaky legs.

You could feel the blood slowly dripping down your face, but you ignored it.

Clenching you’re fist a little, you watched as he tended up, groaning in pain.

Wednesday saw this as her chance and stabbed him through the heart, and you let your control over him go before it was too late.

Raising your hands, you drew the water of the fountain, and water of the lake over the school, carefully dropping it on the fires before they grew out of control.

Once it was done you dropped to your knees, coughing harshly.

“(Y/N).”

Wednesday was immediately by your side, looking at the blood that covered the ground.

“Are you hurt?” She asked.

You shook your head and looked up at her, giving her a gentle smile as you gestured to the entrance.

“Go, they’re waiting for you, I’ll be right behind you.”

She hesitated but nodded her head and started to walk away.

You waited for her to vanish from sight before you started to tear up.

You screwed up.

Big time.

The burning in your veins told you that you had screwed up, and you doubled over in pain as you let out a small groan.

“I’m… sorry… Wednesday… everyone…”

You coughed up more blood, trying to reach out for the water to heal you but it wouldn’t, it wouldn’t obey you like it did.

You weren’t connected to the spirit world anymore, you weren’t connected to the water like your parents and their parents before them.

You were severed from your bonds, from your heritage.

It was either going to make or break you. And if it broke you, then here you would die.

And you accepted that fate.

Wednesday had rejoined the others, and as the celebrated she looked around for you, a scowl on her face.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” She asked.

Enid turned around and shrugged a little.

“I haven’t seen her.”

“I thought she was with you?” Xavier asked.

Wednesday spun around and broke out into a sprint to the quad, everyone else shared a look of confusion but no one dared to follow her.

They were scared about what she’d do to them if they did.

She ran all the way back to the quad, and slowed to a walk as she entered.

“(Y/N)?” She asked.

She didn’t get a reply and she started to looked around, and she found you near the fountain, hand in a puddle of water.

Kneeling next to you she reached out but stopped.

“Wake up…” she whispered.

You didn’t stir.

Her heart sped up just a tiny bit.

“(Y/N) wake up…”

Wednesday tried to shake you.

You still didn’t move, blood was drying on your cheek, a few drops falling from your lips as she moved you.

She felt the same feeling rise up in her when she saw Thing a few days before.

Standing up, Wednesday grabbed you and dragged you over the ledge into the fountain.

“Heal yourself!” She yelled at you.

You didn’t move and Wednesday sat in the water, holding your head in her lap as she looked around, making sure no one was nearby.

When she was sure it was just the pair of you she leant down, forehead just above yours.

“If you die I swear I will kill you…” she mumbled.

She looked at your hands to see if the water was moving and it wasn’t, but she did hear someone approaching.

Her head suddenly snapped back, and her eyes closed as a vision over took her.

She was standing in the middle of a glowing forest, and in front of her was you, on your knees with your hands behind your back.

“We aren’t alone…” a woman whispered.

Wednesday looked at the woman, a white hue surrounding her.

“What’s going on?” Wednesday asked.

“We are deciding the punishment for the young water bender who broke an ancient law.”

Wednesday turned back to you.

“(Y/N)…”

You turned your head and cast Wednesday a sad smile, a few tears slipping from your eyes.

“I’m so sorry love…”

#wednesday addams #netflix wednesday #wednesday x y/n #Wednesday x reader #Wednesday x you #Wednesday imagine #Wednesday Addams x reader #Wednesday Addams x you #Wednesday Addams imagine

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

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fic rec friday 8

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

After The War I Went Back To New York by @buoyantsaturn

now that everyone else has written their three-days fics heres mine

first of all -- hamilton title. giggle was giggled. second of all, will being soft on nico day ONE and nico noticing immediately is so so real. fave solangelo dynamic of all time. this is lichrally one of my top five three days fics bc its such a CLASSIC

2. Bones by @buoyantsaturn

“Did you just throw a handful of bones outside?” she asked carefully. “Yes,” Will answered immediately. “Why was there a pile of bones in here in the first place?”

will being super excited over nico's powers >>>>>> literally EVERYTHING else bc he is a huge massive nerd!!! and will's powers are SO SO SO cool!! and theyre basically the same coin anyway. what is necromancy if not healing magic but goth

3. Sunshine and Daisies by @buoyantsaturn

Whenever Will needed a break from studying, or had spare time between classes, he liked to walk around the city, wandering into random shops and looking around for a little while.

Will wanders into the di Angelo siblings' flower shop.

flower shop fics have a little je ne sais quoi, and oumph, if you will,,, they’re irresistible. also. ALIVE BIANCA???? its nearly impossible to do in canonverse but in au....i do adore. she does indeed deserve to be around to tease the shit out of her dweeb brother. it is ever so lovely to see.

4. Two Minutes for Hooking by @buoyantsaturn

He blinked his eyes open, glaring up at Will. “Who the hell are you?” “I’m the medic you’ve been avoiding every practice,” Will answered. “Who the hell are you?”

I LOVE THIS AU. i think its my fave buoyantsaturn fic tbh. like not to reinforce canadian stereotypes or anything but hockey aus are the BOMB, and short king hockey player nico x absolutely takes no shit will??? immaculate vibes. i adore. i adore so so much. i have literally read this series so often that im reasonably certain i could recite the first 500 words from memory

5. Hey There, Darlin' by @buoyantsaturn

Will was pretty, and Nico was angry about it. He knew he shouldn’t have come here. He knew he should’ve just gone back to his cabin and stayed there until breakfast the next day, but no. He saw a cute boy and had to go after him. Of course he did. And then Will had to act like Nico was some kind of savior during the wars, and he smiled at him. That smile alone was enough to make Nico realize that this trip was a mistake.

first of all -- #everything is the same except will is the epitome and they dont meet until now is THEE most intriguing tag maybe ever, i needed to read no more. second of all -- whipped nico. god hes my favourite. third of all the big house scene made me GIGGLE it was so fun and silly. adore.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

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in1-nutshell · 5 months

Note

How wwould mtmte Swerve, Cyclonus, Tailgate, Rewind and Drift react to a human buddy who's style is goth?? Basically wears nothing but black and white, even her makeups black and white and looks really intimidating but is actually super nice and sweet?

Goth Buddy the cinnamon roll? Goth Buddy the cinnamon roll. Tiny goth Buddy on the Lost Light.

If this isn't what you wanted please let me know.

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy who like Goth style with Swerve, Tailgate, Rewind, and Drift

SFW, Platonic, Human reader

MTMTE

Swerve

Swerve likes the style.

Well, he likes a lot of human related things.

He’s never seen the style in real life, give him a second.

Would absolutely compliment Buddy’s choice in clothing. Out of the entire outfit, Swerve’s more drawn to the random streaks of color that he sees on Buddy’s outfits.

“Hey Buddy!”--Swerve

“Hey Swerve!”--Buddy

“What streaks do we have today? Purple? Navy blue? Or are we doing traditional Charcoal black today?”--Swerve

“Oh, I tried some cherry red this time. Your paintjob gave me some inspiration, so I used the darker color of your red.”--Buddy

“You-you got inspiration from my paintjob?”--Swerve

“Of course! Sure the red was a bit bold at first but with a bit of tweaking I got it dark enough to compliment the outfit!”--Buddy

Fans start kicking in.

Tailgate

Tailgate finds the outfit to resemble a lot like Cyclonus.

It’s dark, meant to be intimidating, and edgy. But just like his taste in aesthetics, Tailgate finds Buddy’s outfits adorable!

He has definitely taken Buddy to see Cyclonus so he can see Buddy be a ‘mini Cyclonus’.

Tailgate nearly tore the medbay doors seeing the alarming blush covering Buddy’s face. He thought Buddy might have been sick.

He is a fan of the cute fishnets Buddy has.

“Let’s try on theses ones next!”--Tailgate

“How about we take a break Tailgate? We’ve been trying on different fishnets for the last half hour.”--Buddy

“But we need to find the cutest one for your outfit! I mean how can you say no to these ones?”--Tailgate

“… give me the nets.”--Buddy

“Yeah!”--Tailgate

Rewind

Rewind has seen enough Earth movies at Swerve’s movie nights to be familiar with the style.

Not his style of preference, but its still a nice style.

Buddy gave him the rundown of the basics on the goth style while showing him some of their other articles of clothing and accessories.

For research purposes, Rewind asks Buddy to try on several outfits and accessories so he could document them. This is totally not because he has suddenly gotten invested in the different types of clothing that go under the goth category. Nope not at all.

Buddy knows this, but this also gives them an excuse to try some new clothing combinations.

Win-win situation.

He likes the different corsets Buddy has.

“Oh, I like that one!”--Rewind

“Really? This one get kind of itchy after a while.”--Buddy

“How about the one with silver studs in the middle with the silver chainmail?”--Rewind

“Hmm. Haven’t tried that combination yet. Well, I’ll try it on for the video.”—Buddy

“Oh yeah, the video.”--Rewind

Cyclonus

Cyclonus is introduced to the style after Tailgate showed him Buddy’s new style.

He had to admit that part of the style did seem to copy him in a weird way.

He likes the style and aesthetics of the goth style. Cyclonus has been one of Buddy’s supporters in trying and mixing different sub styles of goth together.

Do some of them end up going together? Yes.

Do some look like dumpster fire? Also, yes.

Secretly like the shiny silver jewelry Buddy has adorned on their body.

“Cyclonus! Cyclonus!”--Buddy

“Buddy?”--Cyclonus

“You won’t believe what I found in my jewelry box while cleaning out the silver studs!”--Buddy

“Hmm?”--Cyclonus

Pulls out a silver necklace with a skull that is shaped similar to Cyclonus’s faceplate.

“That’s…”--Cyclonus

“It’s cool right! I mean it’s like I’ll always have a part of you with me!”--Buddy

Trying to process cuteness because he was going to say uncanny--Cyclonus

Drift

Drift is familiar with the style.

He had seen plenty of humans using the style while he was on Earth.

The only problem he had with it was that a lot of the humans he encountered wearing the style gave off a bad aura. Not all, but a good portion.

He is glad Buddy isn’t giving off the bad aura.

Drift likes seeing Buddy experiment with the article of clothing especially ones with different textures. So many unique feelings under one’s digit at once.

He is a huge face of the makeup, specifically the makeup around the eyes. He is surprisingly good at doing them too.

“Drift, have you seen—”--Ratchet

Drift mass displaced holding eyeliner carefully doing Buddy’s eyes as they are peacefully laying down with their eyes closed and a small smile on their face.

“You need something Ratchet?”--Drift

“…I’ll go find First Aid to help me. Carry on with whatever you’re doing.”--Ratchet

#transformers #transformers x reader #idw mtmte #maccadam #mtmte x reader #human buddy #mtmte drift #mtmte cyclonus #mtmte rewind #mtmte tailgate #mtmte swerve

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dragonfirerogue-writes · 1 year

Note

Could you please write a Wednesday Addams x reader where Wednesday let's Reader warm their hand under Wednesdays shirt, as in wrapping her arms round her waist under her shirt (if that makes sense).

Wednesday x Reader

It's been cold lately. Really cold. It seemed like no matter how much you layered up, a chill would find its way to latch onto your body. While you didn't entirely dislike the cold, it was getting really tiresome lately. That's why you found yourself indoors right now, listening to the sounds of a typewriter.

Yes, you were hanging out with Wednesday today. Enid was out having a snowball fight with friends and neither of you wanted to join. So you found yourself wrapped in the goth's blanket and oversized hoodie.

"Wednesday, love. How are you not freezing?"

The pigtailed girl was in a sweater, sure. But there wasn't any indication that she was cold. Wednesday just was always cool to the touch, but you thought that the weather would affect her more.

"I'm not as affected by the cold because of my general state." Her typing didn't stop at all. "I just remain in my normal temperature."

You pause and blink. "That... Doesn't make sense at all.'

"It may not, but it's true."

A sigh just sounds from you and you flop back onto the bed. "No fair..."

The clacking of the typewriter stops and it makes you look up at your girlfriend. When you sit back up, you find that Wednesday is straddling your lap. You smile, letting your hands rest on her hips.

"I know it's not fair, mi amor. But you need not suffer when you're with me."

It's a rare moment of affection from Wednesday and you're more than happy to make the best of it. You realize that you must seem really pathetic for her to allow this, but you don't care.

You wrap your arms around her torso, pulling the goth close and you nuzzle into her neck. The way Wednesday begins to play with your hair soothes you into your core and you sigh contently. Compared to the chill of the outside, Wednesday was warm to the touch. Unconsciously, your hands move to hide themselves under Wednesday's shirt. Your frozen appendages find a surprising warmth, even if it causes your lover to shiver.

"The fact that you're colder than I am is baffling." The goth pulled away slightly to look at you. You just whine and pull her close again.

"I'll warm back up soon, thanks to you."

Your hands started at her waist, but soon moved to caress the expanse of Wednesday's back. The smooth skin called to you and you just couldn't help but feel it under your hands.

"Thanks for this, love."

"Don't mention it. Never. Enid will have a field day if she sees this."

You make sure to indulge just enough, even when you've been warmed for a while.

#a dragon tries to write #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday (netflix)#asks #requests

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rainybyday · 2 years

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twin au but Danny sorta knew who his father was

(this sounds sadder in my head but)

Danny may or may not have an idea that he was adopted, courtesy of Jazz, but he didn't mind it. It was when he started to grow over the years that he started to have second doubts about those thoughts.

You see, Danny has a dad, a mom, and a sister. A complete family and normal family if you were to ask Danny when he was younger. Now though, after a few years of being cared for by Jazz 24/7 and his parents coming to tell him that they love him before leaving to work all day in their lab had twisted his perspectives of the family to only Jazz.

Then he started having thoughts.

What if he had stayed with his original family?

What if they gave him away?

Can he find them?

Questions turned into a need to find a family that he once had. He doesn’t know for certain if his family gave him away since even Jazz didn’t know where their parents found him, but it was worth a shot trying to find out.

So, he turned for help.

In retrospect, maybe asking both of his best friends to help his search for looking for his family isn’t the best idea when one of them has the funds to do so and the other is able hack a bit too well.

He also doesn’t know if he should cure or bless the fact that Danny has all the equipment needed under his home to scan his DNA and use that sample to find his birthparents.

But it any case they found out who his father was at least.

Bruce “Brucie” god damn Wayne.

The chaos that erupted was just-

On one hand, he was known to adopt orphans left and right, the billionaire label next to his name, and Wayne Enterprises.

On the other he was also known as a playboy.

He gets brownie points when Sam was once complemented by the man on her goth attire when she went to one of their galas once.

I mean, he can’t be all that bad, can he?

Because he’s a playboy, maybe this might hint that Danny was born from one of those nights and he never knew? It would be reasonable and maybe that was why he was adopted or given away. Would mister Wayne want him? Would he be happy to see him?

His friends let he have space and time and Jazz told them that she would always be there for him, so it was nice to know that even if mister Wayne didn’t want him, he still had his family.

Danny decided to wait and watch for a bit and became obsessed with learning all about the Wayne’s, the history, the family and even news on Wayne Enterprises as well. He wanted to know everything about his family (even if they’re not family yet) and to understand them a little bit more before he made his decision.

Was this some form of level of stalking? Yes. Did Danny care? A little. Was he going to stop? No.

Damian wondered what it would be like to have a brother like Dick who seemed to be very sunny. Or maybe a sister like Cassandera who traveled all around the world. Or maybe to have a genius brother like Tim or what it would be like to have met Jason before he passed away.

He wonders and wonders and decided.

Then finally, finally when Danny felt that maybe, just maybe that he was ready something big happen.

Damian Wayne came into the picture.

And the world turned over its head once he saw his face.

Because his face looked just like Danny’s.

Danny didn’t come out of his room for days.

He had a twin? Maybe? I mean, Damian looked exactly like him in so many ways except for his green eyes. But if... if Damian, from what the papers said was true, then Damian was Bruce’s, Dad’s(?), biological son. Which means that Damian is biologically Danny’s brother at least.

To make matters worse, Damian was given by his mom to live with Bruce.

His mom was out there, and she didn’t even bother with him but she chooses to keep Damian?

Was he not enough?

Was he a burden?

Did Damian know about him?

Will his dad even want him?

Would his entry now be bad since it would look like he would be exploiting Mr. Wayne?

Would he even want him now if Damian is in the picture?

Danny didn’t know what to do so he did nothing.

(He was glad he had Jazz to cry on. He was glad to have Sam and Tucker to protect him at school. He was glad that he would still have someone even if his family rejects him.)

So, he watched in silence once again for years to come, falling in love more and more with the family he never reached out to.

A few years pass by and the love for his family grew and grew until he wanted to be a part of the picture too.

He went up to Jazz one day with a smile and told her it was time.

Then...

Then he died and that changed everything.

Why why why whywhywhywhywhWHYWHWYHWYHWYHYW

WHY?

WHY DID HE HAD TO DIE?

HOW CAN HE FACE THEM NOW?

HOW HE CAN HE FACE THEM WHEN HE WAS A MONSTER?

A monster that was now being hunted down!

What good would it be?

What good would it be for someone like him to be a part of their family?

Who would want him?

No...

How can he live with himself if he leads someone like Shulker to their home?

How can he protect them?

How would they love him if he might be the reason they might get hurt?

And the anti-ecto act! Bruce Wayne is funding the Justices League, so they also work with the government. Would try too arrest him? Would they just turn him in?

What does he do?!?!!

...

What does he do....

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #batman #batfam

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daemon-in-my-head · 11 days

Text

Past Dark Urge Asks - 10th Edition:

Listen, fellas, I really thought 'go hard or go home'. Let's humanise some demigods. Oh yes some are hella vague, you are welcome.

Any major physical changes? Any impairments? What are they and when did it happen?

Post-Tadpole Durge is pretty messed up, what does past Durge think of these changes? Do they think it won't matter as they'll still be daddy's favourite assassin even with a head injury?

Out of all the companions, which one would've been an easy victim for past Durge and why?

Would any companions have had any chances with past Durge? Who and why?

What sort of 'real world' clothingstyle would past durge have loved? Are they the type to join a subculture like punk, goth, etc. (Aesthetically at least)?

Speaking of clothes, streetwear or formal clothes?

Durge is old money incarnate, but what do they think of new money? Did their view change after their homemade lobotomy or meeting a young man with a quick and easy smile?

What's their aesthetic like? Describe it to me. Or better yet, hand over the link to that Pinterest mood board we all know exists (at least in theory, go do it).

Any favourite flower? Did they actually decorate things with it or was it a secret hidden pleasure? Do they maybe just like the symbolism, smell, what have you?

Did they ever get to enjoy receiving gifts? From whom and which one was their favourite?

Hot or cold foods?

Do they drink? Which is their favourite liquor? In what situation would they prefer a nice glass of a little something?

How entitled is Durge on a scale of 1 to 'gods favourite little gorebaby deserves the world (or its end)'?

Favourite body part? And of whom?

Can durge ride a horse? Did they sneak around the cities rules pertaining the ownership of horses?

Bribing or threats, which is their preferred method? (Murder excluded)

Bhaal, of course, has his favourite colours, but which colour is your Durges absolute favourite? Did it change after their brain was messed with? Can they even see colours?

Their love language? Did anyone ever experience it in the past? Did they survive it?

Did they ever consider leaving the gate? What for and where would they go?

Did they maybe even leave the Gate in the past? Why or why not? What kept them there or drove them away?

Bhaal despises hope, but what does Durge think of it? Is it fun to play with? A lil bit of sadism never hurt somebody or do they despise it too?

What's their favourite crime? Excluding murder of course, pick another one beside that.

Did they carry money around with them or was their name enough to pay for anything they'd desire (or the explicit death threats they'd mumble)?

The temple has a lending library. Did Durge use it too? What was their favourite genre or did they stay far, far away from books?

City or village? What would they choose if they were given the choice?

Durge is well spoken and presumably well read as well. Who taught them? Did they attend an academy?

At one point or another Durge had friends. What were they like? What was Durge's position in the friend group?

Did they ever attend a street fair or similar city festivities? Did they enjoy it? What was their favourite part?

Did they ever attend a ball or banquet? Run me through their typical evening at one of these 'parties' and tell me whether they hated or reveled in it.

Which of the seven deadly sins would represent them best? Also pride is banned from the list, pick a 2nd one that would fit instead (listen I know y'alls Durges)

Gambling? Yes, no, are they good at it?

Cigarette baron lord Enver Gortash would like to know if Durge would indulge themselves in his business or if they prefer not to? Did they try before or quit already?

What's one unique trait that you think really sets them apart from other Durges? It may be physical, mental, a worldview or a part of their backstory.

Flowery, sweet or spicy scents? Not to say, perhaps, musky?

Melee or ranged? Arcane? Sketchy deals in a dark ally? (Fighting style, I mean fighting styles.)

About the author; do you love them in a 'oh my precious baby' sort of way or rather 'I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do to you' way?

Do they like fish? Baldur's Gate is a port city, I'd imagine they've tried it at least.

Also can they swim? How did they even learn it?

Heat. How do they deal with it? Do they deal with it? What's their body temperature like, as in warmer, colder, perfect average?

If you have any other ocs, do they exist in the same universe and did they ever meet Durge? What was it like and if they didn't, what would it be like? Would anyone survive?

Dragons, Bhaal, Bane and Gortash love em. How about Durge? Are they somehow incorporated in their design?

What's a trait they have that you could never, ever guess from the way they look?

Children, yes, no, how many, what's the best way to prepare them?

Abdirak my baby girl, what would their interactions have looked like? Did they ever meet pre tadpole? What is the gore baby thinking about the lady of pain's priest?

Can Durge drive a carriage? Are they good at it? Would anybody survive if they were in control?

Night owl or early bird?

Also, open book or mysterious stranger?

Pants or skirts/robes? And I mean this for every durge regardless of gender.

Top 3 favourite past times, cannibalism and vivisections excluded.

Do they do their own laundry or is it Scels job? How many shirts have been ruined by Scels hands already?

What do they prefer to be addressed as? Their name, title, nickname, pronouns or just as 'you'?

Open and honest duels, or back handed trickery? What do they prefer?

Art gallery, opera or hunting tournament? Let's just play pretend those exist.

Are they more of a sweet tooth, do they love it savoury or do they prefer their mouth burning from the hot spice? Perhaps they just prefer a neutral taste?

Did the gazette ever print an article about them (or their deeds), what's the headline and what did they feel about it?

Outdoors or stay at home kinda person?

Did they ever hear about the great Wizard of Waterdeep, Mystra's Chosen and if they did, how? What do they think of him then vs now.

Was it them who came up with the cipher or Gortash?

Story behind their name? Is there any story?

Their most treasured memory with Orin? Why do they treasure it? Love, spite, sibling rivalry win?

Dear creators, would you like for your own Durge to meet the Durge of another creator? How would that look like? Who would survive?

Hats. Yes, no, why? Took too long styling their hair? Everyday is bad hair day?

The sweet sweet smell of gore, we've all heard about it. But is it really sweet to them? Or does it just smell like metal and rot?

Did they debate stealing anything else from Mephistopheles vault while already down there? If so, what item was it and what can it do? (Maks up some stuff)

Their sign(s)?

Jealousy, is it a problem, could they care any less?

Speaking off, did they have any partners before the whole tadpole in their brain bit? If not was there a reason?

Pretty much 99% of the nobility and political leaders in Baldur's Gate is corrupt. What did they think of it? Did they enjoy the infighting and maybe took advantage of it?

Worgs or Gnolls, which species is their favourite?

Have they ever been imprisoned? Why, by whom, how fast did they escape?

Would they survive in modern times? Could they adapt easily or would they be desperate to return home?

They don't exist in Faerûn, but hypothetically speaking, which TV show/series would be their absolute favourite?

What's their usual mood/state of mind like? Happy, focused, grim, about to snap someone's neck from irritation?

Graveyards, a nice place to hang out or a crime scene to be avoided? Did post tadpole Durge ever discover a gravestone dedicated to them?

Would they prefer a small and cute pet or a large and scary beast? Besides Gnolls and Worgs that is. Just as a vibe.

Did they ever tell the other Chosen about their own plans to rid the world of all life in father's name?

Also, did they know that the others would probably betray them? Did they perhaps even prepare for it already, or were they oddly naive enough to trust them?

Do they wear accessories (earrings count)? Which one is their favourite?

What languages does Durge speak? Is there any interesting story as to how they've learned them?

What went through your head when you crafted these little Durge doll, dear creator? Are they a self inserted of sorts or as far removed from you as possible?

What do they think of bugs and arachnids? Annoying, gross, fun little creatures? How do they treat one of these things when they see them?

Sleeping. Do they do that? Do they avoid it? Are they generally unable to for one reason or another?

Coffee or tea and why?

Realistically speaking, would Durge be able to sit down long and still enough for a portrait or would they move within 5 minutes tops? Any reason for that?

Would your durge like you? Why or why not? Would it depend on whether it's pre or post tadpole and would it change if they knew you're the reason for what happened to them?

Most Durges have piercings, tattoos or both. What's the story behind them? What's the story behind the lack thereof?

Durge needs to spend a day with someone and they aren't allowed to simply murder their companion. What would they do instead? How would they spend that day?

How do they wear their hair? What's their preferred style? Did their hair go thru any kind of changes, whether length or texture, at any point during their story?

What's the easiest way to piss them off? Interrupt them when they're focused, wake them from a nap, ignore them?

Old blood gets crusty, a feeling most don't particularly enjoy. How do they deal with the plethora of blood and viscera they often face?

Does Durge have a loud voice or are they always asked to repeat what they said because nobody audibly understood em?

Nail Polish. Yes, no, what colour, do they get someone else to do it for them? Do they even take care of their nails are they crusty and each one has a different length?

Dried fish/meat and jerky, apparently a really hot debate, but where does Durge fall? Do they like it, do they detest it, do they have a secret stash hidden somewhere?

Hyperfixation. Yes, no, what topic has their mind in a chokehold and how much do they enjoy info dumping?

What's their personality type? Talking about the '16 Personalities' test. (You can find it here if you haven't heard of it yet)

How many blankets and pillows are in their bed at any given moment? Just one set for them to catch a bit of rest or is it more akin to a fabric fortress with comfy things galore? Any teddies?

What's their sexual/romantic orientation? Do they themselves know? Do they simply not care as they're too busy being gods favourite little flesh baby?

Their favourite piece of clothing? Any story behind it or is it just too darn comfortable?

Wild card - tell us a story, fact, idea you'd like to share about Durge or their creation.

Wild card 2 - followers ask whatever they want (ofc, keep in mind to be nice y'all).

Psssh, cool people ask the person they're reblogging from a question in turn. And if their social anxiety can handle it, ofc. Don't pressure yourself, author's and those who ask, this is for fun, but this is a hell of an essay for one person to just create so ask each other stuff, it's impossible otherwise. If I do see someone genuinely pull it off and actually answer all questions in 1 post again though, I'm sending you a coffee or nice snack or smth. Brother you've earned it that's some real dedication to sit down and answer all 100 questions. Anyway thus the series is concluded and I shall get back to wrapping up other WIPs rotting away.

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