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doomsdaybby · 3 months

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i’ve been plagued by the thought of steve cumming in your underwear and making you wear them for the rest of the day. so of course I had to write it 🤭🫶🏻 [1.7k words]

You had a bad habit of interrupting Steve at work. Not like Family Video had him rushed off his feet or bending over backwards, but he seemed to always point it out anyways.

“You’re gonna get me fired one day,” he’d jab under his breath, loaded with that honeysuckle sweetness that could make your teeth rot, not a hint of malice behind the words.

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me” you fired back, leaning over the counter with your chin propped up in one hand, elbows keeping you upright, busying the fingers of your other to twirl innocently through strands of your hair.

Somewhere between the shelves of the horror section, Robin was dry-heaving, having been forced into listening to your flirtatious conversations at least three times a week.

Which is how you ended up in the employee bathroom, Steve’s jeans and boxer shorts pooled around his ankles, your shorts discarded somewhere forgotten on the floor, panties peeled down your legs just enough for Steve’s weeping cock to slip through your slick folds without restriction.

Steve had already made you cum like this once already, having hiked up your leg so the back of your knee sat snugly in the crook of his elbow. A large hand cushioned your lower back, skating down to bruise the fat at the back of your thigh.

Steve had you standing on tip-toe, your hands buried in the hair at the nape of his neck, relying wholly on him to keep you upright. The odd squeak of your sneaker against the tile was the only noise that could be heard over the tangles of panting breaths and heated smother of kisses to exposed skin.

You were a moaning mess, the trust you had in yourself to stay quiet faltering, finding purchase in the juncture of his neck. You pressed hot open-mouthed kisses there, lungs working double time, the top of your ass burning where Steve had you anchored against the ceramic sink.

You would be bruised come morning, you could feel the promise of the blooming purple hues in every rut of Steve’s hips. Though the discomfort was drowned out by the sound of heavy huffing in your ear, his lips were so close he merely needed to whisper, the rhetorics flowing through his teeth with vulgar ease.

“You feeling good? I know, my girl, I know. You can’t get enough can you?”

Steve chuckled something wicked when a rather rough buck of his hips knocked your strained legs further apart, his bulging shaft running in and out of your slit at a pace that had you dripping down your thigh.

“God, Steve. Steve, please. Steeeve.” His name came out tightly strung, your pitchy mewls causing his cock to twitch at your entrance, dipping the head in just the tiniest amount, the lewd slip of your arousal making it far too fucking easy for him.

Steve could fuck you raw right here in the employee bathroom, but he couldn’t let you get away with being the only tease in this relationship.

How could he let you show up in your shortest shorts and cropped spaghetti strap shirts, making his work day all the more unbearable, just to give you exactly what you were after?

To his dismay, Steve was determined to show you that he had just as much power over you as you had him.

“Ssshhh, baby. You gon - fuck - you gonna get me into trouble, huh?”

Your mouth was then clamped shut, his palm pressing snugly against your lips, and Steve couldn’t help but roll his hips up that tad bit harsher to slide the head of his cock right over the bump of your clit.

“That’s it, pretty girl, gotta stay quiet f’me, okay? I know you can, you’re being so good for me” he cooed, tipping your head back away from the security of his neck to press his plush lips to your forehead, bestowing the gentlest of kisses there.

All you could do was nod your head dumbly, feeling the pull of his lips into a cocky smirk when you did so, glassy eyes rolling into the back of your head. The overstimulation was almost too much, causing tears to collect at the corners of your fluttering lids.

Steve’s breath was hot in your hair, stifled curses passing his kiss-bruised lips that were every so often interrupted by a hiss through the teeth.

You were burning all over, especially so where Steve had his hands on you, a blazing sun beneath each one of his fingertips. Steve was scorching twice as hot, cool waves of shaky exhale escaping your nostrils scattering goose-flesh down his forearm.

“Mmmm, mmm, mmmm” was all you could mumble over and over again behind the restriction of your gag, wiggling your hips to angle them up a little higher, lost in total euphoria when Steve’s cock slid down and the first few inches slipped in.

“Fuuuuck, baby,” he drawled low, sickeningly lustful, “You’re being a greedy fucking girl” Steve released your mouth then, inhaling a broken breath as he moved his hand down to grasp midway up his length, squeezing a little brutal. Your cunt fluttered, aching for him.

“This what you want, huh?” he teased your hole, the head of his cock barely disappearing into where you needed him most. Steve pressed further into you so you were chest to chest, pulling at your hips without mercy.

Forehead to forehead, shiny lips merely inches apart as Steve smirked when your mouth opened in a silent ‘O’, groaning a devilish rattle in his throat when your back arched somewhat grotesque as he slapped the tip against your sodden clit.

“This is what I want” you agreed, in complete mumbling nodding disarray, unable to change the angle of your hips now due to the threatening looming spasm in your calves, wishing that he would just give in already and fuck you like you both wanted.

“Please. Please Steve, I need you. I need you” your begging trailed off into fucked out drawls, air-headed demands dripping from your lips, another orgasm looming on the horizon as promising as the rising sun, cheeks flushed scarlett.

But obviously Steve wasn’t going to let you cum again. That would just be greedy now, wouldn't it?

Steve cursed, hitching your leg up even higher, marking the outline of a red handprint into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. It took everything in you not to cry out, sobbing because it felt so fucking good. Too good, a shock rolling up into the pit of your stomach at every drag of Steve’s weeping tip over the hood of your clit.

“Gonna paint this pretty pussy, honey. Gonna keep my cum in these little panties f’me, yeah? Keep ‘em on until I can fuck you like you deserve later” Steve grunted, nosing at your hairline.

You watched as Steve hauls himself back, granting you some relief when his weight wasn’t crushing you against the bathroom sink. Both sets of eyes snapped down to where you met, mouths dropped open and heaving as he took his cock fully in his fist, ensuring you remained nice and spread open for him.

Steve flicked his wrist once, twice, three times. Swearing and whining something filthy, taking his bottom lip harshly between his teeth. The neediness in his moans had you squeezing around nothing, and Steve saw the throb of your entrance. That alone was enough to have him keening.

“Fuck, fuck. Oh my god, i’m cumming i’m cumming for you” Steve’s jaw falls slack, eyes squeezing shut in almost pained release.

Just as he promised, Steve’s warm seed spurts just above your clit, flooding down the seam of your slit to puddle at the center of your underwear.

You wrap your arms around his neck again, pulling him into you so you can press sloppy kisses into his neck. Steve is almost wheezing, short-winded and completely drunk on the buzz of his orgasm.

“Such a good girl for me” he laughed quietly, finally releasing your aching leg so he could pull your panties up. The feel of Steve’s release slick in your underwear felt foreign, strange. But you knew that if you didn’t follow through with his orders, you would face the consequences for it later.

Which was both a good and bad thing, but you enjoyed the fizzing giddy warmth that encompassed the space between your ribs when Steve showered you with praise. It was a high you never wanted to come down from.

After some soothing backstrokes, and when you felt secure in the fact that you wouldn’t topple over when Steve no longer held you upright, you both apprehensively filed out of the bathroom.

Your legs were wobbly, though you played it off rather well. Steve was still fixing the wild strands of his locks that were now uncharacteristically out of place when you approached the front of the store.

Back to the counter, arms folded and looking far from impressed, Robin watched as the two of you reappeared, her brow quirking when you adjusted the strap of your shirt.

“You guys are disgusting” Robin tutted, her top lip curling upstairs to bear her top row of teeth, button nose wrinkling in repulsion.

“Can you please refrain from covering any other surfaces in bodily fluids whilst I go on break?”

“Oh my goooddd, Robin!” Steve’s eyebrows sank, drawing his forefinger and thumb across his eyelids to pinch at the bridge of his nose, the tips of his ears dusting the prettiest shade of pink.

She tapped at the non-existent watch on her wrist, “Twenty minutes!! Twenty minutes ago I was supposed to be perusing a Bill’s Deli turkey sandwich!” her gravelly voice cracking slightly under the pressure, “And where were you? Sucking face and becoming parents in the bathroom? Life is good for some!”.

Your cheeks filled with a laugh you couldn’t hold in, between Robin’s blatant abhorrence and Steve keeling over from cringe-induced nausea, you could barely keep it together.

“We’re so sorry, Robs. It won’t happen again.” you assured her through a giggle, rubbing your legs together to feel the now cool collection of cum sitting snugly there, running a comforting hand up Steve’s arm in an attempt to resurrect him from his premature death.

It won’t happen again, will it?

#okay so sorry if this is meh #I get halfway through writing something and then I go 🤠 ‘oh I hate it’#but I needed to rid this thot out of my head #my fics #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #stranger things #smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 11 months

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Eddie and Steve are dating. Steve talks about how great his parents are, and then he drops the ball that he wants to introduce Eddie to them. Yeah, Steve says they're great, but how great are they? Eddie dresses as nice as he can be when his boyfriend comes to pick him up. He's nervous on the ride over to his house, and Eddie realizes that Steve isn't taking him to his house. Where was he taking him? That's when Steve pulls into a driveway. It's the Sinclairs. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him.

"What? Oh, did you think that I was taking you to meet the Harringtons? Ew, no," Steve said, blowing a raspberry. "I should have told you. The Sinclairs adopted me a couple of years ago shortly after the Harringtons abandoned me, leaving me an ugly ass house to try to sell. The Sinclairs are my real parents."

"You didn't tell me on purpose so you could see the look on my face, didn't you?"

"Now, why would I do that?"

"Because you're fucking menace but it's lucky you're cute."

They got out of the car, and before they could even step up to the door, it opened. Sue Sinclair came out to meet them.

"Steve!" Sue said with a smile.

"Hey, mom!" Steve said as he wrapped her in a tight hug and kissed her on the cheek.

Sue leaned in to whisper loudly to Steve.

"You're right. He is cute," Sue said, and Eddie giggled.

He followed Steve and Sue into the house, smiling at how cozy it felt. There were pictures of the family hanging on the walls, with Steve included. Steve’s pictures of when he was younger were thrown in with Erica and Lucas's. This was Steve’s real home. Eddie grinned.

"Oh, it won't be long now before another white boy is added to our family," Erica said, rolling her eyes. "I can hear the wedding bells."

"Erica!" Sue hissed and then tried to whisper. "You know that's illegal."

"I highly doubt that's ever stopped Eddie," Erica said.

"Don't act like you didn't cry when they were both in the hospital," Lucas said.

"Shut up, butt much," Erica said.

"Make me, nerd!"

"You're the nerd!"

"Erica! Lucas!" Sue snapped.

Eddie watched Steve as he watched his siblings argue. He loved the fond expression on his face. It was so cute.

"Oh, please, you'd love to have me as a brother in law, Erica. Think of all the benefits you could reap in Hellfire," Eddie said.

"I'm listening," Erica said as she stopped throwing her bread at Lucas.

"Hey!" Lucas snapped. "What about me?!"

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c0mbatchameleon · 1 month

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@jegulus-microfic March 12, prompt: retire, words: 953

Aka optometrist reg au (part 1? maybe) loosely based off of this post

James is having trouble breathing.

The problem is, he can’t quite remember how to do it right now. His brain, rather impressively, emptied of all of its contents the moment the optometrist opened the door.

Right off the bat, the man had been straight to business; swift stride into the room, eyes glued to the clipboard in hand, a curt “hello” and introduction before he sat down and uncapped a pen with his goddamn teeth. James could only stare dumbly, mouth agape as he stumbled over half-sentient responses to the all routine eye exam questions (“See okay with your current prescription?” A black curl falling over the doctor’s otherwise perfectly framed face, cheekbones carved by the sea, like stones.

“Uh huh.”

“Taking any current medications?” Beautiful silver-blade eyes meeting his expectantly.

“Uh-“ James coughing and clearing his throat, “no. No medications.”)

Now, he's at least regained his ability to form sentences. But as James watches the doctor fiddling with machinery, silver rings glinting in harsh, sterile lighting, he is finding immense difficulty in breathing like a normal human being.

“So,” James begins, leaning to rest his elbow on the table and swelling his chest ever-so-slightly. He does his best to smooth out his voice as he speaks, going for casual with just a sprinkling of something sultry. “Dr. Black, did you say it was?” He may not be able to fully function but God help him if he can’t still flirt.

The doctor's eyes flick up for only a split second, but James counts it as a win. “That’s correct.” He maneuvers what looks like an avant-garde torture contraption towards where James is sitting. “Rest your chin on the platform.”

James does as he’s told, holding back from an absurd urge to respond with a Yes, sir. He's definitely not conjuring a medley of alternate scenarios in his head in which Dr. Black orders him around. “And what might your first name be?”

“It might be of no relevance to the matter at hand, Mr. Potter.”

“Call me James, please.”

Regulus sits on the other side of the torture-machine and begins turning dials. “You should see a red X on the right side, James,” he replies flatly. Still, the sound of his name on the man’s tongue is fucking intoxicating. It's echoing around his skull--James James James JamesJamesJames--he wants to hear it a million more times, every minute of every day until his last.

James usually hates these appointments. Hates the big machines he has to stick his face in, blowing air and shining bright lights in his eyes. Hates that stupid picture of the house that they make him look at a million times over while some old man who looks just about ready to retire asks “One or two?”

But Dr. Black is not some old man.

He’s new—James has been coming here for years and has certainly never been graced with the sight of this angel-fallen-to-earth before. He's young, too; despite the way he carries the poise of a man with years of experience under his belt, cool and confident and collected, there’s no way Dr. Black is old enough to be more than a couple years out of school. All sharp edges and smooth skin.

And god, his skin. It looks impossibly soft, stretched over slender hands and freckled cheeks, strong nose and cut jaw. As James runs his eyes hungrily over the landscapes of peach-pale skin--hills and valleys spanning the doctor's face and neck and fingers and knuckles--he considers how easy it would be to reach out and touch it, find out for himself if it's really as smooth as it looks.

“James,” Dr. Black's voice cuts sharp through his fantasy, one brow raised where he's clearly caught James drooling over him. “Please look into the eyepiece.”

It’s not like James can help it. He’s a bit entranced by the way the doctor maintains such a stoic expression, posture rigid and cold eyes unwavering, especially now. It’s all the beauty of a pointed blade, glittering in the sunlight, begging to draw blood.

But James doesn’t miss the light blush now in full bloom across the man’s cheeks. Silver-clad fingers have begun tapping a sporadic pattern on the table as storm cloud eyes sweep down and back up James' face, quick as a flash of lightning, and isn’t that just curious? Suddenly, James wants to know what it would take to get that stone-cold cast to crack.

He shoots back a sly grin. “Sure thing, nameless doctor.” He looks into the contraption. “Oh would you look at that. A red X.”

The doctor lets out a muted sigh. He fidgets some more with the dials and buttons on the other side of the machine as James watches the X shift in and out of focus. He breaks the silence only when it's stretched for just a moment too long. “My name is Regulus. There’s gonna be a bright flash now.”

Immediately, a blinding white light flashes directly into his eye, burning a goddamn hole into his field of vision. He swears he can see the inside of his pupil for a moment.

But James doesn't care. Once the shock subsides, he finds himself grinning ear-to-ear.

Now we're getting somewhere.

He looks back up from the eyepiece to where the doctor, Regulus, is still intently focused on the computer and equipment. Evading James' gaze. Cheeks still pink.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Regulus.”

#I can’t get them out of my head #so here’s a small little thing #didn’t even rlly finish the scene so might continue it some time #laughing at james trying to puff out his chest and strike a pose at this eye exam #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #starchaser #jegulus microfic #james potter x regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus fic #sunseeker #marauders #james x regulus #writing stuff and things #microfic tag

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 7 months

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Dialogue I Presently Have No Use For

(but might use later)

(LA Mihawk X Reader)

(Suggestive but basically SFW)

"You're going to need a safe word—"

"Yoru."

"...No."

"Oh, why not? I like your sword. *glances down below his belt* "Both of them." *grins*

*literally speechless*

*eye twitching*

"You can impale me anytime." *wiggling eyebrows suggestively*

"..."

"Get out."

#mihawk opla #mihawk one piece #mihawk #mihawk x reader #opla #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk #fanfic #one piece headcanons #headcanons #i will not apologize for how stupid this is #it wouldn't get out of my head #and it was distracting #i have work to get done dammit

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quoththemaiden · 2 months

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@mrghostrat This is now the third time since December that I'm writing about your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems (1, 2). Please come collect them, because they're causing a disturbance.

Or, if you aren't able to wrangle them, then please enjoy this scene inspired by Chapter 10 of Big Name Feelings.

For everyone who hasn't already seen the top portion of this on Discord, know that this is set sometime after the con but before the big bang.

—

"I think your hair might be getting long enough to braid now."

Crowley's eyes snapped over to him. "Braid?"

Aziraphale blinked at the sharp question. "I didn't mean anything by it." He'd still never figured out quite where Crowley's gender identity lay, or if it changed day-by-day. He suspected Crowley's public presentation of his gender was either "whatever's simplest for everyone involved" (around people he didn't know but generally liked, like at the con) or "whatever causes the most problems for everyone involved" (like with a particularly annoying security guard that had left Aziraphale remembering that being middle-aged, white, and extremely stuffy in appearance was its own form of armor). Aziraphale's own perception of Crowley's gender was just "Crowley." What Crowley felt about it was something Aziraphale had never quite managed to parse out. "You can do whatever you like—"

"Do you know how?"

"How...?"

"To braid hair." Crowley's tone was oddly urgent. "Like for your nieces or cousins or—"

"—for crafting, yes. Tassels for bookmarks and such. You want me to—" Crowley practically flinging himself down onto the sofa next to him was answer enough. "Oh."

Crowley's hair really was barely long enough to braid, Aziraphale decided as he gently freed it from its elastic band. He ran his fingers through it slowly and carefully, easing out the light tangles from a day's confinement. Crowley slumped forward in boneless contentment, and Aziraphale had to switch to prickling the top of his scalp with his fingernails to get him to sit up straight enough for Aziraphale to work.

Aziraphale determined his gameplan, then, and gently eased up a few locks of hair at the crown of Crowley's head, smoothing down the top with the flat of his palm. He started working the strands into a French braid, taking it tiny piece by tiny piece to ensure every section was balanced in size. If Crowley were doing it himself, he suspected he'd get it done in just five messy joins, but every strand he brought in gave Aziraphale another excuse to run his fingertips along Crowley's scalp and he luxuriated in each opportunity. "Has anyone ever told you your hair is unreasonably thick?" he murmured, his voice huskier with fond affection than he'd intended. Crowley spared him from a tease by being too utterly sedated to manage more than a vague hum in response. Aziraphale smiled at that and kept his progress blissfully slow and methodical until he had no choice but to tie the braid off at the nape of Crowley's neck — half a French braid, half a ponytail made bushy from having had waves worked into it. He placed a soft kiss to the back of Crowley's head, padded by the thickest part of Crowley's braid and somehow all the more intimate for it. "All done, love."

Crowley leaned back against Aziraphale's chest, tilting back his head to look up at him with eyes made impossibly soft with contentment. "I'm never putting my own hair up again. Just hope you know that."

Aziraphale chuckled softly, just as fond. "I'll manage somehow, I suppose."

—

Crowley's boneless appreciation of the hair braiding had turned into boneless napping, and while Aziraphale enjoyed having Crowley fall asleep against him at certain times of day, he had never been one for naps himself and there was a limit to how long he could stay motionless sans entertainment before even he got antsy. He eased his way out from under Crowley, grateful the other man was a heavy sleeper even during the day, and was left deciding what quiet amusement he could pursue until whenever Crowley woke up and started making noises about dinner. He could always read some fanfics, of course, but his eyes couldn't help but be drawn towards his favorite muse.

His muse who had, he recalled, tempted him into joining a rigged bang and had talked him into getting a digital tablet. Aziraphale still planned to do his official art for it traditionally, because he was sure Crowley's writing would deserve no less... and, if he was allowed to be vain in the privacy of his own mind, because he still remembered the feeling he'd had when Crowley responded to his scans with barely coherent keysmashing. He wasn't in deferential awe of Crowley anymore, although he still loved his writing just as much, but part of him still hoped that Crowley might respond with just as much enthusiasm at getting to see the finished piece in person, textured paper and unprocessed colors and all. Well, assuming he could be gutsy enough to actually give it to him in person instead of just leaving it on the drafting table for him to find, which was really the more statistically likely result. But anyway.

But anyway.

His muse was sleeping in front of him, and a stylus on an iPad would make hardly any noise at all. And if he got good enough at using it, maybe he could draw some extra digital art to celebrate the fic as well.

In any case, sketching Crowley while he slept was one of life's little joys. He didn't think Crowley knew how often he did it, and that was probably for the best. If he did it all in his notebook, it would have been too easy for Crowley to flip through and find the sketches (and removing sheets would have felt damnably like a guilty conscience). With his iPad, however, he was safe to sketch as much as he liked and there was no real way for Crowley to stumble across it. Aziraphale willfully shoved aside the thought that that didn't really sound any less guilty and started setting stylus to screen. It wasn't long until he'd settled into a comfortable rhythm, his eyes flicking back and forth between the screen and where Crowley was lying face-down on the sofa, his new braid highlighted in a beam of afternoon sunlight.

Something Aziraphale did appreciate about digital art was that white could be layered on top of other colors and be shockingly vibrant, which wasn't an effect he could get easily with his beloved watercolors. Something else watercolors didn't give him was the ability to pick out very fine details, and as his sketch started coming together, he found that was exactly what he wanted to do now. While Crowley's hair was a vibrant red in his selfies or on stage, when he'd had the opportunity to run his fingers through every strand, he'd found that Crowley's hair was showing his age just as much as his own was.

The first day Aziraphale had found a grey hair had come as a shock. He'd naively assumed that with his hair being as pale as it was, even if it started greying, he might well never know. Instead, he found that the grey hairs' texture was frustratingly different from the strands that were still blond, and until they reached a critical mass fifteen long years later, they had an unfortunate tendency to stick out unattractively if his cut was anything less than perfect. He had become quite a regular at his barber's.

With Crowley's hair being as long as it was, his grey hairs had worked smoothly into his braid. From even the small distance from couch to armchair, they melded into the red strands perfectly... but Aziraphale had just spent long minutes twining them into neat twists and didn't need to see them now to know they were there. Aziraphale zoomed in close (another marked benefit of the digital display) and set his pen to a thin, sharp line, layering sleek silver strands into the red braid he'd drawn. Following the way they weaved around each other and dipped in and out of view felt delightfully meditative.

Eventually, Crowley made a soft snuffling snort-groan as he roused from his nap, slowly turning to unbury his face from the pillows. "Wha' time'zit?" he mumbled, patting around blindly for his cellphone.

"Coming up on 5:30 now," Aziraphale replied softly, trying not to startle him into full wakefulness too quickly. He rose and fetched Crowley's phone, placing it gently into his fumbling hand. "There you go."

"Mmrrr. Don't need it now." Crowley tucked the phone under his side in what Aziraphale would have guessed would be a very uncomfortable fashion but which Crowley did without even thinking. At least it wouldn't be going anywhere from there, Aziraphale supposed. "What're you doin'?" Crowley made grabby hands at the iPad Aziraphale had brought over with him.

Aziraphale handed over the iPad without even one thought, much less a second. "Oh, I was just waiting for you to wake up, really."

"...Angel." Crowley had zoomed out on the picture (with a completely unsurprising lack of propriety) and was now staring, frozen and much more awake, at the drawing of himself. "You aren't going to post this on Tumblr, are you?"

Aziraphale laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of that, despite the ripple of shock Crowley's tense tone had caused him. "Come, now. When have I ever posted a drawing of you, my dear?"

"When have you ever made a drawing of me?" Crowley retorted. He waved vaguely at the screen, accidentally sparing Aziraphale from having to answer. "I don't mind being old, but I don't want the world knowing my boyfriend thinks I'm old." His frazzled waving turned a little more flaily.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale gently took the tablet back from him and set it down on the floor so he could take Crowley's hand in both of his. "I assure you, I'm not the kind of artist who spends my time drawing things I don't think are beautiful. And that includes every detail I put in."

Aziraphale would have hoped that was obvious, really. The strands of hair he had drawn weren't brittle grey; they were molten silver. They caught the light like a precious metal woven like a ribbon into cinnabar-red hair. Crowley could have been a queen, fallen asleep after a long day in her finery. He could have been a fae whose very essence was beauty, sleeping with no fear that it would be stolen away because it couldn't.

He could have been an ordinary man, who was so deeply, truly loved that even his grey hairs seemed to shine like the soft gleam of a newly-forged star when they caught the last strong beams of afternoon sunlight shining in through the windows.

Aziraphale hoped Crowley could see it, too.

Crowley made a grumpy noise. "I still don't want it on Tumblr. — Not that I can tell you what to do with your art, but—"

Aziraphale interrupted him with a warm smile. "I don't want it on Tumblr, either. I drew this just for me."

"...really? Even though...?"

"Just for me," Aziraphale whispered in confirmation, his eyes seeking out Crowley's and saving him from having to finish that sentence. "I've only ever drawn you for me." I love you to the point of creation, his heart sang. It wasn't quite how that quote went, he knew. It was the only way it had ever gone, for him.

"Hn..." Crowley shifted to look at the iPad where it lay down on the floor. "I suppose... Well. Despite the subject matter, you drew it well, at least."

"Well, thank you for that," Aziraphale jibed back lightly, completely devoid of malice.

"Ngh, you can't blame me for feeling self-conscious about my greys when you haven't got any."

Aziraphale let out a huff of a laugh. "Oh, Crowley."

"What?" Crowley looked defensive, then abruptly switched to looking shrewd. "Wait. Do you dye them??" He leaned forward eagerly, like this was taboo knowledge.

"Oh, where was that compliment two decades ago? No, not at all. Do you know how long I spent getting over feeling self-conscious about them, and now for you to not even realize I have them?"

"No way. You've been holding out on me!" Crowley's eyes had a light in them that Aziraphale had seen sometimes — the look of someone who has been wanting something very much and thinks he's just figured out how to get it. Aziraphale drew back instinctively in trepidation. He had no idea what Crowley could possibly be wanting, though a fluttering feeling in his chest suggested that it was, in some way, him.

Ridiculous. As if they hadn't had sex already.

"I'm going to go get dinner started."

Crowley let out a whine that cut off abruptly enough that Aziraphale suspected he actually hadn't intended to make it.

Aziraphale paused. "What?"

"Ehhh... just envious, s'all."

Aziraphale took a moment to muse about whether Crowley knew the difference between "envious" and "jealous" and decided, firmly, that he had faith that he did. "Of what?" he asked with an incredulous laugh, since he still had no idea what "envious" could possibly apply to here.

"Negghhh, you've gotten to play with my hair enough to know I have greys, and I haven't gotten to touch yours once."

Aziraphale blushed darkly at that, remembering some choice occasions in which Crowley had gripped his hair tightly enough to hurt. He cleared his throat and opted not to mention them. "That feels much more like your fault than mine."

"Just... tryin'a respect your boundaries, angel."

"Why would that be a boundary?" Aziraphale asked, baffled.

"I asked for it and you haven't."

Aziraphale didn't quite remember it that way, but it was a fair enough interpretation from Crowley's point of view, he supposed. "Well, no. It sounds perfectly nice, but I'd hate to bore you with it. I know you're much more fidgety than I am."

"Not bored," Crowley insisted, his eyes urgent. "Never bored when it's you, angel. Siddown."

Aziraphale laughed breathily. "Too late. I'm already up to cook dinner."

"Angel."

"You'll just have to wait," Aziraphale teased in a singsong lilt, casting a smile back at Crowley over his shoulder.

Crowley flung himself back on the couch with an impatient whine, leaving Aziraphale feeling very smug about his attempt at whatever the romantic equivalent of foreplay was. Crowley sounded very much like he was being left with blue balls. "Bastard."

"Only as much as you deserve, my dear," Aziraphale sang back as he went into the kitchen, acutely aware of Crowley's eyes following every step.

—

It wasn't really in question, at all, that Aziraphale would end the evening snuggled on the couch with Crowley's hands in his hair. There was also no question that he'd enjoy it thoroughly, and he also knew it wasn't the kind of thing that was likely to lead to anything more. So, instead, he just relaxed into it and let his thoughts drift.

"...do you really think I'd mind if my red fox turned into a silver fox?" he mused. The thought was languid, easy, relaxed. Crowley spluttered in incoherent surprise anyway, and Aziraphale laughed softly. "Yes, I know. There's a reason I'm not the writer of the pair."

"Y'are, though. Don't think I've forgotten that you are."

Aziraphale blushed a little at that. "Oh."

Crowley's hands resumed their meditative motion through Aziraphale's hair. "But... yeah. I'd rock it, wouldn't I?"

"You would," Aziraphale murmured with a smile. "And I'm quite looking forward to seeing it someday, my dear."

#good omens #ineffable husbands #bnf au #fanfiction of fanfiction #my writing #not actually about asexuality but let's be honest that hair-petting scene was my kind of ace #apologies for any misrepresentation about watercolors #seriously bilvy come get your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems out of my head #and be aware that if you leave time between posting future chapters then i might have to write more and nobody wants that

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slashmagpie · 7 months

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Look, he’s no idiot. He’s no cheater, either. He knows that it’s extraordinarily unwise to be sneaking around the dungeon of Decked Out when you’re not playing the game itself. But the thing is—the thing is, is that Bdubs dreams. And when Bdubs dreams, he can’t always control where he goes, and sometimes—sometimes that’s right into the heart of the dungeon.

Here’s the other thing: Bdubs sleeps a lot. More than most. Sunset to sunrise, he’s curled up under the covers of his bed, fast asleep and dreaming. Others—other people, they stay up all night, attract all the phantoms. Not Bdubs! He’s the only sane, rational person on this server. He sleeps. But the others—they stay up all night.

Recently, they’ve been staying up all night playing Decked Out.

Bdubs doesn’t know if Tango sleeps anymore. He certainly hopes Tango sleeps, but the man is too engrossed in his redstone for his own good sometimes. Maybe now that the game is done, is launched, is actively being played, he’ll take a nap or two. But right now, Bdubs is dreaming, and Tango is in the dungeon, and Bdubs, against his will, is here too.

Tango is not-quite-solid, ephemeral, and Bdubs gets the sense that if he were awake and standing where he is, he wouldn’t be able to see Tango at all. Tango doesn’t seem to see him, either, back turned as he approaches a ravager on the bank of the River of Souls.

Ghostlike, Tango presses his forehead against the (unknowing, unseeing) ravager’s, a smile on his face. The ravager slips through Tango’s form, leaving Tango pressed against its side, but he seems unfazed, patting affectionately at its flank with a hand. “Good job, Pumpkin,” he says, and Bdubs can hear the pride in his voice, the hint of a laugh. “Good job. You listened. I appreciate the effort.”

In his dreams, Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon; he’s toasty and warm under the blankets of the waiting room bed. (Okay, look, he may also be spending the night at Decked Out, but at least he’s sleeping—if he pays attention, he can hear the faint, unintelligible babble of voices in the waiting room, see the soft golden light through his eyelids. He flinches away from it, back into the dungeon, back into his sleep. The others may be content to spend the entire night waiting and dying to ravagers, but Bdubs needs his beauty sleep.) And—hey, what was he thinking about again?

Oh, right.

Bdubs can’t feel the chill of the dungeon, but a chill runs down his spine nonetheless as Tango looks at the ravager with cub’s blood on its teeth with affection and pride. And—okay, the whole point of the game is getting killed (or, preferably, not killed) by ravagers, they’d all signed up for this, they knew what they were in for—but did Tango have to look so… happy about it? So fond of the murderous beasts he’d wrangled for their entertainment? Did he have to look so—

Hm. Now that Bdubs is looking—

Tango’s ghostlike form doesn’t have a shadow, but it trails off towards the end, less him and more ghost, an echo of some sort, and the ghost tendrils stretch into the snow and the water and the stone of the walls. It’s almost like a spider’s web, Tango’s consciousness at the centre of it, flickering and ephemeral. Tango lets out a contented sigh, and Bdubs swears he hears the dungeon sigh too, and out of the water where Cub died the blood starts to drain, though Bdubs can’t tell where it’s draining to. It’s just—there, and then smaller, and then gone, and Tango swipes his tongue across his pointed canines, and Bdubs feels cold. Colder. The tendrils stretch long, and the more Bdubs looks, the more he sees, and he can’t quite tell anymore where the dungeon ends, and Tango begins, and hang on, is Tango a spider on his web or are those tightening more like puppet strings as Tango turns—

His eyes land on Bdubs, and he frowns, the smile slipping from his face. The dungeon feels darker than it did a second ago. Bdubs flinches back, because Tango shouldn’t be able to see him, even if he’s also not in his body right now—

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tango says. “Cheater.”

Bdubs opens his mouth to defend himself, but he doesn’t even get the chance before he’s gasping awake in bed, covered in a cold sweat, shooting straight upwards. The movement draws Scar’s attention, and he looks over, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re up late, Bdubs,” he comments, teasing.

It takes Bdubs a moment to find his words. “Hard to sleep with all this racket!” he grumbles, scowling as he pulls the covers back.

“Oh.” Scar blinks. “Do you want us to be quiet?”

“Yeah, we can quiet down for you man, if you need us to,” Jevin offers.

Bdubs shakes his head. “No, no, I’m up now.” In truth, he doesn’t think he could sleep again after that even if he wanted to.

And now that he’s thinking about that, he’s thinking about—

“Hello there,” Tango greets, dipping past Scar and into the room. He glances at Bdubs, and then just past him, not a hint of what just transpired on his face. He’s back in his body, solid and whole again, and he looks—fine. Frosty and blue, like he’s been all season, basically, at this point, but—fine. Tired, maybe, but they’re all tired. It’s the lack of sleep.

(Does Tango even need to sleep, anymore? Dungeons don’t need to sleep, after all. Ravagers don’t sleep. Do spiders sleep? Do—?)

Tango turns away from greeting Jevin to look at Bdubs, a grin on his face. “Bubbles, how you doing?”

Bdubs jumps, startled from his thoughts, and doesn’t get an answer in before Tango is distracted by Jevin once again. The two of them talk game mechanics, and Bdubs stares at Tango, trying to find any hint on his face, in his body language, of what exactly he is, but—

He’s too awake, darn it. If he’d still been sleeping, maybe he could have seen something, but it’s late, and he’s awake, and Tango looks as ordinary as ever.

“I saw you petting a ravager down there,” he says at last, and Scar gives Bdubs a weird look, but Tango doesn’t seem surprised. He just laughs, shaking his head.

“No, no, no, no. I was reprimanding them.”

“Yes, you were!”

“—for their vicious attacks—”

“You’re rooting against us!”

“—on my… friends, here.”

There’s a weird pause, a solid second or two where Tango seems to struggle to get the word friends out of his mouth, and when he does the tone is flat, insincere. Scar is still frowning at Bdubs. He doesn’t notice the way Tango’s expression flickers. Bdubs notices. Bdubs can’t tear his eyes away.

Hey, is it cold in here?

“I’m starting to learn something dark about you, with all the laughing and smiling you’ve been doing while we’re strugglin’!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tango says, then smiles, turning away to Scar, changing the topic of the conversation. They move on, teasing Grian for being AFK, and Bdubs—

God, Bdubs needs more sleep.

#hermitcraft #fanfiction #bdoubleo100 #tangotek #woo! tumblr ficlet time! it's been a while since i did one of these #anyway i came up with this concept like a week ago i just haven't had time to write it #based on a conversation that happened in tango's day 2 stream #i have a couple of decked out ficlets in my head. we'll see if i get to writing them all.#in the meantime have this one #magpie feather quill #< just realised I didn’t add my writing tag to this that’s how you KNOW it’s been a while

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moonsvillain · 13 days

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hotwings au where hawks is a vampire, dabi is a human, and they meet through the vampire equivalent of doordash.

dabi shows up at his door, scruffy and woozy (guy who's been doing this as a full time job and is not coping with the blood loss very well)

hawks is (rightfully) concerned and is ready to cancel his order but dabi immediately disagrees because "that'll fuck up my ratings sooo bad dude don't be an asshole"

hawks: "???"

dabi: "i really need this job man"

hawks kinda shrugs and asks if dabi's up to anything for the next few hours and dabi doesn't have anything going on so hawks invites him in and immediately sits this guy down on his couch to feed him and let him rest for at least four hours so he's not indirectly accused of manslaughter

one must imagine the disposition of an alley cat encountering canned food for the first time: internal battle of mistrust versus yummy treats

dabi goes down kicking and screaming

(the day he goes over to hawks' place it's raining so hard you can barely see and all dabi has is a cheap plastic poncho. hawks' place has heating—he very 'reluctantly' curls up on the couch)

hawks is probably the worst cook on earth but when he tells dabi this, he refuses to let hawks order food for him; dabi would literally rather die than subject another minimum wage worker to the storm outside just to come to this rich asshole's home

which ends up with dabi in hawks' kitchen, making himself a meal

(which, he probably wouldn't usually do this, but the blood loss is kind of getting to him. dabi's decision making has slowly trickled down to the average level it is when he gets drunk)

when he's fed and warm and hawks has forced him to watch two animated movies dabi could not give less of a shit about he finally turns to dabi like

"ok i know we're having a great time but also i really need to eat something. like. you. preferably."

dabi shrugs and offers up his arm, getting progressively more sleepy while hawks finishes his meal before falling asleep pressed against hawks' side

wakes up the next morning with a blanket pulled over him, cheek pressed to a throw pillow with a littleee bit of drool staining the fabric under him

sits up and looks around, armed only with blurry memories of the night before

("did i... sleep with this guy...!?!??!?")

finds a note on the table and unfolds it, trying to figure out what the hell is going on

(lovedddd hanging w u yesterday :P off at work feel free 2 make urself breakfast before u go. U should know where everything is. tip on the counter 4 u. xoxo hawks)

dabi, slightly mortified at the implication he rooted around in this guy's kitchen when he was out of it yesterday finds the tip

it's literally, like, $500 dollars

dabi scribbles down his phone number and sticks it on the fridge with a magnet

(half because he really needed that money and is pleasantly surprised that he got rent money a week earlier than he was expecting)

(half because he might not remember yesterday entirely, but he remembers feeling safe and warm and being addicted to that rare sensation)

hawks is very happy when he gets home, even if dabi isn't there, when he finds his little gift on the fridge

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after-the-end-times · 10 months

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omg I love this by @steddieas-shegoes, but for some reason that scene from Ted Lasso immediately popped into my head when I was reading it? Thus, this:

It's not long after Steve and Eddie finally slept together for the first time that Eddie walks into the house to Steve holding a baby, a baby with curls and big amber eyes.

And he doesn't want to assume, but it is dressed in a pink onesie, so he's gonna go ahead and say she's a girl baby. And Eddie definitely knows there's normal things to ask about a surprise baby, like what's her name or who's is she or, even, where'd she come from, but nope.

"Is- Is she mine?" he says, eyes widening and a hand drifting up to his chest.

Steve just looks at him, a bemused smile spreading across his face,

"Eddie, we had sex, like, a week ago."

"Riiiight right right, sorry, yeah bad math" Eddie says, huffing out a laugh. 'Cause yeah, it's the math that's the issue.

Steve turns to head back into the kitchen, blithely adding as he goes,

"And if memory serves, you finished on my-"

"Woooah nonono!. Steve! You can't- That's not-" Eddie says rushing after him, stopping in front of Steve and the baby.

The baby who looks up at him with giant eyes and fingers in her mouth and looks so much like SteveandEddie that Eddie's brain is still trying to work out some sort of science or magic that would explain this situation because he suddenly wants it to be-

And Steve's just looking at him with the most gentle half smile and crinkly eyes, but Eddie just shakes his head to clear his thoughts, gently covers the baby's ears, and says in the most scandalized tone he didn't even know he had in him,

"There's no reason to get into the science of it all in front of the baby, Steve!"

Steve smiles wide at that and he heads to the sink, patting Eddie on the shoulder as he goes,

"Well, why don't we get her a bottle and then we can discuss the science of it all while she naps, hm?"

#steddie #ok I'm not sure what happened here as I've never written steddie fanfiction before #but I guess that's exactly what I said about ted x trent just a couple months ago so idk lol #(neverminding the whole 'never wrote fanfic before in all my 20 years in fandom until ted lasso' thing)#but the scene popped into my head and I had to get it out #ficlet #stranger things #my writing #I guess I have a writing tag now

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skyward-floored · 2 months

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“General?”

Impa looks up from her papers at the question, seeing Link standing uneasily in the entrance to her tent. She knew he’d come here sooner rather than later, and inwardly steels herself, levelly meeting his gaze.

“Captain,” she acknowledges, and he enters her tent at the unspoken permission, looking oddly nervous as he stands a respectful distance away. It’s quiet between them for a moment, and Impa waits for him to speak first.

She already knows what he’s going to say.

“General, I... did... did you know my mother?” he asks quietly.

Impa blinks, slightly taken aback. Not the exact question she was expecting. “Why do you ask?”

Link shifts, looking uncomfortable.

“I heard some of what Volga said when you fought. It seemed like you might...” He trails off, and looks at his boots. “...You know that Cia said he’s my father. But I know nothing about my mother, and... I’d like to know more. If you know.”

Impa sets her papers aside, and turns, gesturing for Link to sit down with a sigh.

“I’ll tell you what I can,” she says carefully, watching as he sits. “I apologize you had to find out about Volga from Cia. She had no right to be the one to tell you that.”

Impa swallows, and folds her arms.

“I should have told you sooner.”

Her words take a moment to sink in, but once they do, Link snaps his gaze up and stares at her in shock.

“You knew?”

“Yes. Since before you were born.”

“Well wh— why didn’t you tell me? Why keep it a secret?” he asks in a hurt voice, then catches himself and steadies his tone. “...General.”

Impa lets out a long, careful breath. She bows her head and gathers herself, finding the sense of calm she learned how to harness in her training all those years ago. Words she’d considered speaking for years now grow heavy on her tongue, and a sudden lump wedges in her throat, full of old hurt. But she swallows it down and looks up at Link, meeting his eyes that are just as bright as his father’s used to be.

She studies his features, then sighs, and closes her eyes.

“Because I am your mother,” she whispers.

Link doesn’t move.

“What?” he croaks after a minute, his face pale as chalk.

“I am your mother,” Impa repeats, refusing to let her voice crack. It does a little anyway.

“And Volga is your father.”

#this has been rotting my brain sorry #couldn’t get this scene out of my head #hyrule warriors #hdw au #legend of zelda fanfiction #legend of zelda #writing from the floor

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bambiraptorx · 11 months

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This is as good a time as any to mention that Draxum is a polyglot and can swear in so many languages

#rottmnt #rottmnt au #minor interference au #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt baron draxum #leonardo hamato #michelangelo hamato #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt fanfiction #my art #I've had this idea in my head for months and just now got to drawing it out #(please ignore the inconsistencies in the line art styles #i didn't feel like fixing that lol)#real a+ parenting there draxum #i realize that this joke would have worked better with raph instead of leo #however i didn't realize that until after i drew the whole thing out so i'm not gonna bother changing it

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 1 year

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Danny thought the guy Tucker had dragged over to talk tech with was cute but there was something...off about him. He seemed nervous but not in a "a ghost is about to attack way" but in the subtle ways he checked the exits every so often or the way he made his body language purposely relaxed.

Sam would say he's just being paranoid since Tim Drake was the adopted son of a billionaire (and independently wealthy too) and Danny did not trust billionaires or wealthy people in general. Danny still felt something was off.

Seeing as Tucker and Tim were hitting it off he decided to leave them to it and continued to manage his own stall at the glorified science fair Bruce Wayne was sponsoring. Billionaire or not he really wanted that scholarship to Gotham University. He had pulled out the best designs he could make such as a fully functional portal gun, some variation of wrist rays that did different things and were disguised as normal watches, force field shield generators designed into bracelets, and even a modified version of of the fenton thermos that instead of working on ghosts it worked on physical matter such as chairs and other items...and it wasn't disguised as a soup container!

He preemptively put a note on it that it wasn't safe or designed for the containment or travel of organic beings.

He had some other things too, but these seemed to be the ones Tim were the most fascinated with. He asked a lot of questions to Tucker who happily chatted with him about the tech up until he asked a question Tucker didn't know the answer to and he turned to ask Danny.

Danny answered without looking up from the metal boots he was working on. They were going to allow the user to jump to great heights and deliver electrified high powered kicks. Tim then asked if Tucker wasn't the one who made these.

Tucker laughed and told him it was all Danny and jokingly mentioned that Dannys parents were evil mad scientists, hence his move to Gotham. Tim looked...alarmed. Danny pointed his screw driver at Tucker in warning, "What Tuck means is that I wanted to get away from the stigma of my parents being criminals, which is why telling everybody is counterproductive."

Tucker sheepishly apologized and admitted he had gotten carried away. Danny didn't think Bruce Wayne would disqualify him for having crappy parents but hes been treated pretty badly for less. Tim made an excuse to leave which Danny took as a bad sign. Crap. But he still had some confidence seeing as his inventions had caught the attention of Tim and kept it for so long. That had to mean something right?

---

Phantom knew that Gotham was "Batmans" territory and he didn't like others interfering on his turf but there was something so unnerving about Tim. He needed to find out more. He may have only been in this dimension for a few months but something smelling fishy had the same meaning in all the dimensions he's come across before.

So when he phased into Tim Drakes apartment under the cover of invisibility and found the cold case files of several murdered individuals going back the last two years alarm bells started to ring in his head. Last he checked Tim was in no way affiliated with the GPD and shouldn't have access to these. Then he noticed he had jewelry matching what one of the victims was wearing in thier photo. The same antique necklace that was noted to be missing from the victims body in the report. Upon further investigation Tim also seemed to have the murder weapons for a few of the crimes as well.

Wtf.

Tim Drake was a serial killer.

---

Tim stared at the batcomputer. He now had no doubt that "Daniel Nightengale" was some form of alias. It was a well crafted one he could give him that but after days of meticulous digging he found an inconsistency. Following that led to another and another until he finally had enough to unravel the lie.

Unfortunately it didn't give him a single clue towards the truth, at least not that he could see.

Yet.

All the same, Tucker didn't seem to realize the situation he was in. It was clear Daniel was dangerous if the gear he had at the presentation was anything to go by. Some of that stuff could give Bruce a run for his money.

Tim was sure Danny was up to something and would strike soon. Mad scientists usually have some sort of goal in mind after all.

---

This kicks off a period were Danny and Tim keep trying to stalk one another both in and out of costume. Both of them making flimsy excuses to escape one another- Tim because he's needed as Robin/Red Robin and Danny because he doesn't want to be murdered or outed as a "meta"

Jason finds out about both of thier suspensions by stalking them both as civilians and laughs until he cries. He then throws fuel on the fire by planting "evidence" that would point to Danny being evil/a serial killer such as hacking into dannys laptop while Tim is "visiting" Dannys apartment while he's away and making the screen show partial blueprints labeled "Death Ray Plans" only for the computer to crash when Tim tries to click on it, thus erasing everything.

He messes with Danny in a similar way, planting fake bloodsplatter in Tim's kitchen around the sink and watching the metas horrified face via Tims security cameras that he hacked into before later breaking in to clean it back up before his little brother got home.

Jason doesn't think he's ever had this much fun.

#two heros think the other is a serial killer #fanfiction prompts #prompts #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #tim drake #red robin #yum #robin #batman #robin iii #jason todd #red hood #robin ii #this was funnier in my head #the other bats find out about Tim stalking this guy and are like: oh he has a crush #dispite him vehemently denying it #most of the bats are like: yeah if my parents were well known supervillians id probably change my name and move towns too #Tim: You dont get it #Tim proceeds to show what little proof he has only to get a pat on the back and told he should just ask him out like a normal person #Jason is having the time of his life #i was originally going to have the cameras and fake bloodsplatter around the tub before i realised that was creepy in a different way #oops #tw: blood #tw: serial killer #i had fun with this #im still smiling like a loon as a type out the tags #long post

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dxckgrxsonx · 2 years

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I’ll Prove It

Pairing - Jason Todd X (F) Reader Words - 1.7k Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Graphic Sexual Content - Oral Sex (F!Receiving) - Jason Todd would absolutely kiss your pussy before eating you out - He’s a cocky son-of-a-bitch too - Swearing. Notes - hhHHhhh I couldn’t help myself. Jason would be so good at oral, I just know it.

MASTERLIST

There’s adrenaline and courage and a burning question in the back of your throat.

The question you want to ask doesn’t come easy. It sticks and bruises at the inside of your mouth, splinters like glass and punctures you straight through the tongue. You think you have one hand locked tight around your own throat to keep you from opening your mouth.

It feels disloyal, maybe even dirty that you want to ask, want to put the words out into the judgemental face of the world. Part of you is prepared to weld your mouth shut, prepared to twist the question into something less revealing, less shameful.

But you need to know.

If you don’t ask now, you worry that you’ll never gain the courage to do it again.

“Jay.” You say, and try to ignore the heat rushing up your neck. “Would you enjoy giving your partner oral?”

His reaction is immediate, and resembles being struck by a live wire.

“Wow. Did they seriously not do it? Not even once?” Jason queries, something unreadable in his voice. His focus darts to the person sitting by the bar, eyes narrowing in scathing judgement.

You don’t know what to do with your hands, “Uh. Not really, no.” You manage to get out, and Jason nearly chokes on a growl. “They said it was too much work, that it takes ages for me to, um...”

You trail off, the words roll around bitterly on the tip of your tongue. You’re not sure if you’re ready to admit that your ex thought you took too long to finish, that they thought that there was something wrong with you and had given up on trying to make you feel good.

You don’t know if you want Jason to know that. It feels almost like betrayal, not only to them, but to yourself.

What if there is something wrong with you?

“Say it.” Jason demands, voice utterly unyielding. He leans in to hear you better and your heart skips when you realise he’s almost looming over you. All quiet dominance and borderline protection. The focus in his eyes would be unnerving if you didn’t know him as well as you do, didn’t know that he’s offended on your behalf. “Come on, darlin’. Say it for me.”

You swallow, your throat feels like it’s going to close up. You can’t look him in the eye. You still don’t know what to do with your hands, “They said it took too long for me to come, that there was som--that something was wrong with me.”

Jason swears, and you think it sounds more like a snarl than anything else, syllables ground together and gnashed out from between his teeth. You look into his eyes, the vibrant green is mesmerising.

You swear they’re glowing.

And underneath all that beautiful colour, you see something challenging rush in like a storm.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” He finally says, tugging a hand through his hair. Jason throws another furious look towards the bar, quickly coming to a decision in his head. “An’ I’ll fucking prove it.”

You can’t look at him.

You’ve got your head tipped back to the ceiling, thoughts fraying at the edges like so much cheap rope. You try to duck your head, try to meet his gaze. But you can’t. Heat splashes over your cheeks and you chew on your bottom lip. It’s goddamn impossible.

Jason presses his palms over your knees, sweeps them back and forth in an act of comfort. There’s a flutter in your chest, almost like there's something alive and kicking behind the cage of your trembling ribs.

Jason pauses. Then says your name, softly, sweetly, like he aches right down to his bones, “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” You reassure immediately, finally dropping your head enough to look him in the eye. “Jay, I want to. Please.”

He presses a kiss to the sensitive skin at the inside of your knee and your fingers shake, throat suddenly thick, “If at any point you want to stop–”

“I’ll tell you.” You interrupt.

Jason exhales, you think it might be in relief. His palms skate up your thighs, nudging the hem of your dress higher and higher until he stops when the fabric just covers your underwear. Stroking the pad of his thumb up and down your slit, Jason sucks in a breath through his teeth when he feels your wetness start to soak through the thin fabric.

“Oh, you poor baby,” He breathes, “Your pretty little cunt really didn’t get much attention, huh? I’ve barely even touched you and you’re soaking through your panties.”

Your head thunks backwards against the mirror. A bathroom isn’t exactly the best place to be. But you think that if Jason Todd offered to eat you out in the middle of a crowded room, there wouldn’t be much protest on your behalf.

He slips the damp fabric down your thighs and tucks it in his back pocket.

“I’m getting those back, right?” You ask, head still resting against the mirror. “I can’t exactly walk out of here with no underwear.”

“Sure you can.” Jason says, and you feel him grin against your inner thigh. “I don’t see a problem with you not getting them back.”

You lean forwards, hunger shredding your insides, “You’re not keeping them.”

Jason growls, eyes flashing up from between your thighs, the green is glowing. His hands shove your knees apart, spreading you open in a way that has you wanting to hide your face. A dark smirk flutters over his face, teeth sinking into his lower lip when he sees the puffy lips of your pussy glistening.

“I’m keeping your underwear, baby. You don’t have a choice. I at least want something to remember this by.” He drawls, voice deep and low and catching on the wicked edge of his Gotham accent. Firmly holding your thighs apart you feel his gaze on your cunt. “Fucking hell, look at you. You’re so wet, sweetheart. I can tell you haven’t had much attention lately.” Jason spreads the lips of your pussy apart and you feel your clit twitch and swell under the attention. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I’ll show you what you’ve been missing.”

Embarrassment sinks its teeth into your throat.

Cockiness isn’t something you’d usually find attractive. But Jason pulls it off like it’s second nature, like it's something weaved into the very fabric of his being. He glances up at you like he’s better than you, like he already knows that he’s going to ruin you. And unsurprisingly, half of you wants to punch him directly in the face.

But he looks good.

He looks really fucking good.

And when he presses his mouth against your weeping cunt, the urge to fight him flickers and dies.

Jason kisses your pussy, kisses your clit. He moves, presses a light smattering of kisses over your thighs and stomach. His mouth is wet. You’re fidgeting, hips trying to chase after his attention. He moves further away each time, trails his mouth in the opposite direction to where you want him.

Digging your fingers into his shoulders you whine, “Jay, c’mon–please.”

Licking along the crease where the top of your thigh meets your hip Jason hums, thumbs still holding your pussy open. Finally dropping down, he presses his tongue against your leaking hole, collecting your wetness and smearing it up to your swollen clit.

It twitches against his mouth and you gasp when Jason sucks at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You’re so sensitive.” He mutters, sucking harder just to yank a jolt out of your body. “Bet I could make you come from just a few little kisses.” The thought of Jason kissing your pussy until you come has your head spinning, has you aching to the point of almost pain. Arousal leaks out of you, “Oh,” Jason smirks, “You like the idea of that, huh?”

Moaning in agreement your hips buck. Jason shifts his grip, uses his incredible strength to hold you still.

Dragging his tongue over your clit he gives it long, flat licks. The pressure has your eyes rolling back, fingers quickly sweeping through Jason’s hair. You never knew it could be like this, that oral could feel so good. He suckles at the little bud and you keen, muscles trembling.

“Shit-fuck-shit.” You gasp, chest heaving. “Jay, you’re s’good.”

Using one hand, Jason dips two fingers into your clenching pussy. Sliding them up to the second knuckle he twists his wrist, drags the pads of his thick fingers against that soft, spongy patch inside you and coos when you whine.

“There you go, baby.” He praises, crooking his fingers and fucking you slowly. “You taste so good. Gonna ruin you for anyone else, your pretty princess cunt is mine now, ain’t no one going to eat you out better than this.”

Grinding against his mouth you mewl, thighs shaking horribly.

Your slick coats his fingers, starts leaking over his palm and down his wrist. Jason moans into your pussy, sucks at your clit until it twitches hard between his lips. Tracing random letters over the swollen, twitching nub he catalogues your reaction to each movement, files it away in his head then pulls it forwards, uses it against you.

He gets you right to the edge with barely any effort at all.

Your head is spinning, you can’t think straight.

Jason sucks hard at your clit, fucks you with his fingers, and your limbs lock up tight. Shaking apart in his hands you choke on a garbled moan, hands grasping at his hair, his shoulders, anything to offer support as your pussy convulses against his wicked mouth.

Working you through your orgasm Jason refuses to let up until you start trying to pull away, start shoving his head in an effort to get him to stop licking and sucking at your sensitive clit. He lets you go, glances up at you, eyes fucking electric.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “Told you, sweetheart. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

#jason todd x reader smut #jason todd smut #red hood x reader smut #red hood smut #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #cannot get the thought of Jason kissing ur pussy out of my head #send help man down #ella writes

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hearts-hunger · 7 months

Text

affection || jake kiszka x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Standalone in the Cabin Fever universe

Summary: Nothing hurts when you're with Jake.

Pairings: Jake x Reader | Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, non-graphic smut | Word Count: 1k | Warnings: light talk of depression, non-graphic smut (minors begone!)

A/N: My very first standalone fic for Jake and Sparrow! I hope you like it! ♡

Tick, tick, tick.

In the darkness of your bedroom, you listened to the quiet sound of Jake’s pocket watch and tried to settle your breathing to the rhythm of it. Usually the sound was soothing, a reminder of the way Jake had filled up the quiet parts of your life and your home with a heartbeat of dependability and comfort. You tried to remind yourself of that now as you listened to the soft coppery music of it, but even its steadiness didn't help quiet the knot of sadness and anxiety in your chest.

You didn't know why you felt like this. Sometimes it just crept up on you, a tangle of feelings that had no explanation or obvious cure. They’d come less frequently with Jake, but nothing could stop them completely; you just had to ride it out, hanging on to what you knew was true, letting it wash over you until it was through.

You turned towards Jake, saw the soft curve of his bare shoulder in the moonlight filtering though the curtains. You didn’t want to wake him; you knew he was tired from a long day at the studio, and he needed his rest. You moved close to him, pressing against his back, wrapping an arm around his waist as you tried to get warm against him.

He moved his hand to rest over yours, holding you securely against him. Even in sleep, he was attuned to you; you felt a sob catch in your chest and rested your head against his back.

“Sparrow.” His voice was gravelly with sleep, soft and soothing. He drew your hand up to rest near his heart.

“Sorry,” you said softly, even as you felt the sting of tears. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He turned his head towards you a little. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Go back to sleep, honey.”

“Are you sick?” he asked. “Bad dream?”

You shook your head. “Just...” You felt so guilty for waking him, for not even having an explanation when you did.

“I don’t know,” you said brokenly. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

He turned to face you then, pulling you close, tangling his legs with yours under the blanket.

“You’re crying,” he said, brushing tears from your face. “Are you sad?”

“I guess,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t feel good, Jake.”

He hummed and brushed your hair back from your face. “In your body? Or in your heart?”

You couldn’t help a wobbly little smile, endeared to the simplicity of his questions while he was still half-asleep.

“In my heart,” you said. “I can’t sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

He didn't say anything for a few moments, and you’d thought he’d gone back to sleep. You didn’t hold it against him; you knew he was tired, and you knew this didn’t constitute a real crisis that he needed to be awake for.

Then, with a sleepy sigh, he pulled you close and hugged you tight.

“I think you need a hug, sparrow,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” you agreed, moving close to him.

You were a little surprised when he pulled away then, and you were confused when he sat up and started to pull up the hem of your sleep shirt.

“It’s like that kangaroo thing,” he said. “We should try that.”

Bemused, you let him ease your shirt off until both of you were in nothing but your underwear.

“What kangaroo thing?” you asked, wondering if he was maybe still asleep.

He lay back next to you and drew you as close as he could, your bare chest against his. His skin was warm and soft, and just the contact made you feel better.

“You know how they do for babies right after they’re born,” he said, running his hand up and down your back. “I think it’s called kangaroo care. Skin-to-skin contact.”

You gave a soft laugh, finally understanding. “Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right.”

“I’m always right,” he said. He kissed your face. “Is it helping?”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

You lay like that for a while, chest to chest, listening to the rhythm of each other’s breathing in the quiet of your bedroom. It was intimate, tender, patient; as he knew it would be, it was exactly what you needed. Gentle touches started to wander, and you eventually felt him warm to your touch.

“Jake,” you said mildly.

“Yeah, I know,” he said with a slight grimace. “Sorry. Ignore it.”

You smiled. “What if I don’t want to ignore it?”

You drew your leg over his thigh and heard his sharp intake of breath.

“We don’t have to,” he said, and you knew he meant it. “I wasn’t trying to get frisky when I started this. I just wanted to help.”

“It is helping,” you said softly, pressing your mouth to his in a gentle kiss. It wasn’t what you’d planned either, and you knew his intentions had been innocent, but you couldn’t think of anything you wanted more than to be as close to him as you could.

His hands moved lower on your back, trailing between your legs, slow and patient.

“We can stop any time you want,” he reminded you. “Really, sparrow.”

You kissed him again. “I know. I don’t want you to stop.”

You enjoyed long moments of his touch, warming to your desire, comforted and soothed by the tenderness with which he traced you like a beloved thing. When both of you were completely bare and vulnerable to the other, he moved to hover over you, cradling you close with one hand on the small of your back, tucking you into the protective lee of his body.

“Go slow,” you said.

“Of course, my love.”

He eased into you slowly, patiently, never thinking of himself as he filled you and held you close. You breathed a sigh of relief as he settled, awash in the comfort and familiarity of the feeling of him inside and out.

“Thank you,” you said. You held him close. “I needed this. I needed you.”

He kissed you. “My sweet sparrow. You always have me, you know that.”

He kept you there for a while, waiting patiently for you, telling you how much he loved you, his voice a lullaby.

“Beautiful,” he said softly, peppering your face with gentle kisses. “You’re so beautiful. I love you, Sparrow.”

“I love you,” you said. You started to move against him, and you loved the way his breath caught.

It was slow and soft and gentle, pleasure cresting with all the tenderness of a wave against a shore. You felt tears come again, your chest tight with love for him, and he brushed them away with a soft touch.

“Don’t cry, sparrow,” he said, his voice soft with compassion. “Are you alright?”

You kissed him, trying to tell him in more than words how much you loved him, how thankful you were for him.

“I’m perfect,” you said. “Thank you for loving me like you do.”

He sighed, relieved and tender for you, kissing you with every gentleness, and his touch eased every bit of the tangle in your chest until all you felt was warmth and safety.

“I love you, Jake,” you said softly.

He kissed you again.

“I love you too, sparrow. More than I could ever tell you.”

(i'll reblog with the taglist tomorrow bc it's late and i'm lazy! <3)

#i've had this idea in my head forever and i liked how it turned out and i hope you do too!!#i like how i always write jake and sparrow being so soft and tender with each other :')#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszk fluff #jake kiszka fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfiction #jake x sparrow #cabin fever fics #maddie writes stuff!

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bunnyreaper · 7 months

Text

as the newest members of task force 141, captain price has to make sure you and kyle settle in okay.

(nsfw/18+, f!reader, dark fic, non-con, gun violence, non-con voyeur, reader beware!!!)

you and kyle are already laughing and joking, getting on so well as you enter the captain's office--both of you are in such a good mood neither of you notice the tension in his jaw, or the way he rises from his desk to lock the door behind you.

he asks how the two of you are settling in okay, bonding with the team, with each other.

the pistol is in his hand before either of you can blink, moving between the two of you.

price trains the gun on gaz, as he makes him command you to your knees. gaz tries to protest, but then the gun is placed on you instead.

his voice is shaky, but he complies anyway, urging you to your knees with so much sorrow in his eyes, because he already knows what's coming. and price is making him complicit.

you're still looking up at him with so much trust in your eyes, but he can tell you're trying to be brave knowing the gun is on you. the apology is in your eyes too.

price's voice is rough, sharp when he tells you to undo gaz's belt and you comply with shaky fingers, going for the button and zip when told to as well. "go on son, put it around her neck, yeah?" price gestures to the belt, and gaz's hold on it is unconvincing when it slips around your skin.

the next command tells you to push down gaz's boxers, and the young man speaks up once again, convinced price is finally gonna stop whatever game it is before it goes too far, but he doesn't. he just growls, pushes the end of the pistol closer to your head, and watches and waits as you peel down the fabric.

"jesus gaz, already hard for her, eh?" gaz swallows, the guilt and shame washing over him as his cock stirs to life against his will, and you're staring scared because the thing before you only keeps getting bigger. "make her take it."

soft eyes meet yours as the fabric around your neck tugs. you can see the clench of kyle's jaw, and an understanding passing through him. the quicker you both comply, the quicker this will be over. his directions aren't harsh, even as he pulls you closer to him, waiting for your lips to part willingly before he slides himself inside slowly. he can't fight the groan, you can't fight your instinct to suck.

under different circumstances, you would've been desperate for this, but already you can hear the grunts coming from your captain as he frees his cock from its constraints, and it makes you flinch.

"harder, gaz." price purrs, and something in the young man's eyes darken as his hips push deeper, driving his cock to the back of your throat. he doesn't relent, even as you gag and choke on his length.

every command from now on is not from price himself, but through gaz as his mouth piece. it's gaz being made to call you a filthy whore, gaz's voice telling you to just fucking take it. it's gaz's hands in your hair, forcing you deeper. the sweet man you were just starting to call a friend, turned into a monster before your very eyes.

"up." price growls to you, as he gives his instructions to gaz. gaz tugs on the makeshift leash, splaying you over the desk before him. your head hangs over, and price takes a seat in the chair next to you, his slick cock just inches away from you.

gaz is peeling away every barrier to your bottom half, when more commands are sent his way.

the pull on the leash tugs you up, just a little, so you can watch as gaz lines himself up at your cunt. when he mocks you for being wet, you can't help but cry, it only turning louder as he pushes himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

his eyes don't leave yours, and you're not sure if it's better or worse that way, but between each harsh thrust you can almost hear the chanting of his mind. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry."

but he's so deep, and it feels so fucking good, and price is forcing you to admit to it all as it leaves you in the form of spaced out babble. you're enjoying it, and you hate that you are, as you hope gaz hears your thoughts too, "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry."

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick fanfic #cw: noncon #john price x kyle garrick x reader #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #DEAD dove?????#idk man this one is rough ik ik #needed to get it out of my head

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