#And probably shouldn’t be that big a threat

[ask-cloverfield]

you opened with Galactus struggling against Zarab and expect me to believe that Galactus going to the home planet of species made of beams is something to be concerned about

[peppermint-toads]

you know what would kill simon riley?

you and soap bullying him as he tries to ride his first cock.

“what? big strong military man can’t take a little dick?” how embarrassing.

johnny stands in front of the bed with his arms crossed, watching simon pathetically try to bounce up and down on the tip of the purple dildo without it slipping out. you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, antagonizing simon as much as you can before the moment ends.

“aye, bonnie. he can dish it, but he can’t take it. nothing new for him.”

simon grunts in frustration. “shut up. the both of you.”

you giggle, because he presently poses no threat to either of you, which is typically not the case.

“i remember when you took my ass virginity, simon. don’t you? told me to take it like a good girl. think you can take that fake dick like a good girl, huh?”

a strained moan tears from simon’s throat as the tip breaches his hole and he takes the first couple inches.

“fucking, jesus.” he’s panting and refusing to make eye contact with either of you.

“that one isn’t nearly as big as soap’s. how do you plan on taking his?”

“i can do it.” simon sinks halfway down the dildo.

that part is probably true, even if it hurts like a bitch and there are tears welling in his eyes, he’s a stubborn bastard.

it started with typical banter. simon and johnny having a bit of back and forth over dinner.

“you couldn’t even handle me, lt.”

there it was. you knew he shouldn’t have said that because it sounded like a challenge. and simon couldn’t turn it down. which led you here. with simon almost fully seated on your stupid dildo.

“hate to say it, but johnny’s right. he’d split you in half.”

simon groans, he’s been feeding off your degrading comments this entire time, and you weren’t about to stop.

“look at you, whining and crying on my dildo. couldn’t even have the decency to get your own? pathetic.”

simon’s ass hits the silicone balls and he keens. his dick twitches as he cums all over himself, untouched. he collapses onto his back, heaving.

you and johnny stare, open mouthed at him. you can’t help the laugh of disbelief that spills from your mouth. you immediately clamp your hand over your lips and look over at johnny. he’s just as bewildered.

[dark-fics-4-you]

Thinking about dark overprotective Rafe Cameron with pregnant clumsy reader 🥹💕

Love Plus One

A/N: i hope this lives up to your fantasies 😉

Warnings: noncon/forced sex, coercion, smut, forced pregnancy (but reader doesn’t know), pregnant sex, abusive relationship, guilt tripping, choking, slut shaming, slapping, controlling behavior, threats of violence, reader has some negative thoughts about her pregnant body

After the first time that you slipped in the shower without Rafe there to catch you, despite that fact that you had easily caught yourself before falling, Rafe had made you promise to not take any more showers without him. “If I had been there, you probably wouldn’t have slipped in the first place,” he grumbled.

Rafe suddenly became very involved in prepping and cooking meals for you. He gave you plenty of options, planning weekly menus for you and shopping accordingly, all to make sure that both you, and his baby, were getting all of the nutrients you needed. Rafe always did love your cooking, but now he chose to cook for you practically every night. “You shouldn’t have to be running around the kitchen when you’re pregnant, baby.”

You noticed one day that there was a location tracking app on your phone that you hadn’t downloaded, when you angrily asked Rafe about it, the look of worry on his face almost made you want to cry, “I just get anxious when you’re out sweetheart. The world is full of men that would love nothing more than to hurt you, and I did that to make sure you were staying safe, Y/N.” His eyes flicked between your eyes and your growing belly, which was now beginning to show much more. After that you apologized to him for getting mad about it, giving him a big hug.

Rafe would want to spend all of his time with you, which you found cute at first, but after a while, you started to feel a bit suffocated by him. Your boyfriend was so concerned about “keeping you safe” that he would barely allow you to leave your shared house.

Even walking around the neighborhood or, god forbid, running, was completely off limits.

You knew that it was because you were clumsy, he was right. You always had been, but now was not the time for being accident prone. Not when you had Rafe Cameron’s child growing inside of you.

However, you did feel like at times he could be overprotective of you. Even demeaning occasionally. Like he didn’t trust you to make your own decisions.

When you drove to the store at just 4 months pregnant, Rafe called you 5 times before you finally picked up. You had just wanted to get out of the house for a bit and enjoy the spring air while getting some chores done, but when you returned home one would have thought that you had been skiing on Mount Everest, given Rafe’s reaction. “Why would you leave without telling me? I would have gone to the store for you, Y/N! You shouldn’t have even been carrying those bags by yourself!” Pointing out how little you had actually ended up purchasing, just two plastic bags worth of things, was pointless. “You could have fallen or-or some guy could have kidnapped you!” He huffed, and you could feel the list of locations you could go alone, or even with Rafe, dwindling down to only one place, your apartment.

Rafe had always been incredibly touchy with you, one of the reasons you had gotten pregnant with his baby in the first place. It’s not that you didn’t want kids, you had just always imagined that it would have been different, you would be older and married, and living in a 2 story house with your husband of several years.

Instead, here you were, still in your early 20s, pregnant with your boyfriend of 3 years’ child. You loved Rafe and could see yourself marrying him one day, but you were both still so young! Getting pregnant this early had never been in the plans.

Despite using birth control and condoms, you had somehow gotten pregnant, a fact that took you a while to accept, and after Rafe urged you to not get an abortion, you begrudgingly accepted that you were going to be a mother a couple years sooner than expected.

Of course, you had no idea that this was no accident at all. Rafe had been swapping out your birth control pills for placebos and poking holes in every condom he put on. Of course one of his favorite things about you being pregnant was that he could finally fuck you raw now.

Pregnancy hormones had definitely upped your libido at the beginning of your pregnancy, a fact that thrilled Rafe. He had never felt so desired by you, and he was more than happy to oblige with all of your requests.

Anytime you were feeling under the weather or upset about something, Rafe would coax you into bed and eat you out for what felt like hours. He loved your changing body so much, always kissing and sucking on your full, sensitive breasts and rubbing your growing tummy. The blond would slowly delve between your plush thighs, gingerly kissing and nipping at your soft skin before turning his attention to your already slick pussy, eagerly lapping up your juices and teasing your clit.

Rafe loved to satisfy you, but he also loved to draw it out as long as possible, keeping you on the brink of coming for ten minutes before finally giving in to your begging whimpers. He loved the feeling of you coming on his tongue, the way you tasted and how you squirmed in his grasp, tears forming in your eyes when you whined that it was too much for you.

You would come again just from him teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it along your messy slit and tapping it against your already tender clit.

When he pushed all of himself inside of you, you hissed in a wonderful mix of pleasure and pain, wrapping your legs around his waist and digging your nails into his broad shoulders.

Rafe loved watching your face as he fucked you, the way your eyes would unfocus as you looked up at him, your plump lips separating and the beautiful sound of your moans and whimpers was almost enough to make him bury his load in you immediately, but the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his cock was a sensation he didn’t want to give up just yet.

He plunged himself into your dripping pussy over and over again, filling you up in a way that made your eyes squeeze shut, toes curling as you clung to him.

After you came a third time, tensing around him and crying as you mindlessly babbled through whimpers, Rafe’s large hand covered your mouth, and the doe eyes you gave him as he frantically rutted into you made him spill all of his warm cum into your soaked cunt.

Every time he pulled out of you, he would reach for your sensitive pussy, spreading your lips and watching his cum begin to drip out of you before pushing it deeper inside your pussy with two fingers. God he wished he could get you pregnant again while you were already pregnant. Just one kid wasn’t enough for Rafe Cameron, and unbeknownst to you, he had plans for the two of you to have a large family.

Gradually, as your body changed, so did your sex drive. Rafe showered you with compliments as always, reminding you constantly how much he loved your body and the way it looked now, which made you a bit torn. Personally, you felt you were now less desirable, and it made you much more reluctant to give in to his high demands.

Rafe respected your boundaries at first, although he never failed to complain about his needs not being met, and even though you were sure of your decisions, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that you couldn’t satisfy him sexually every night.

After a full week of you denying him, Rafe was fed up with your ‘no’s’

“Maybe we shouldn’t have sex tonight Rafe,” you nervously stammered. “I’m just not feeling the best about my body right now.”

“So let me make you feel good baby,” Rafe purred in your ear, sensually rubbing your thighs, which you were squeezing together.

You still didn’t feel up to having sex tonight, and you told your boyfriend as much, but it was like he wasn’t listening to you.

His fingers creeped down your thighs, his strong arms slowly pried your legs apart and you flinched when he began rubbing you over the fabric of your shorts.

“Rafe, please.” You begged with him, anxiety building in your chest when he still didn’t stop.

“Please what?” He mocked you, slipping his fingers past your panties and teasing your clit. You squirmed in his grasp, a sick feeling settling in your gut when you realized Rafe was determined to get what he wanted.

When you tried to push his hand away, the other flew out, slapping you across the face, hard enough to shock you without leaving a mark.

“Stop fucking moving!” He shouted at you and you could feel tears welling behind your eyes. “You’re gonna hurt our baby.”

You tried to tell him that you didn’t want to have to fight off your boyfriend of 3 years, that you were only resisting in the first place because he hadn’t respected your ‘no,’ but when Rafe pushed all of himself inside of you with one thrust, your mind went blank and you froze beneath him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, arms shaking slightly as he basked in the feeling of your unprepared cunt squeezing his cock. “I swear to god, you’ve only gotten tighter, baby. Y’feel so good.”

Hot tears were streaming down your cheeks, from both physical discomfort and distress at what your boyfriend was doing to you, the way he was violating you.

Every stroke of his cock was agonizing, and even after your body had adjusted and it began to feel good, the fact that you hadn’t wanted this at all tainted the entire experience. You felt ashamed by the delicious way his cock stretched you out and how your body reacted to his touch.

You had given up fighting back altogether, Rafe’s thinly veiled threat echoing in your ears every time you wanted to push him off of you, although his hands had yours gripped so tight, there was no chance you could have gotten away.

You were scared because Rafe was hurting you, but you were even more terrified at the thought of him hurting your baby.

When your release hit you unexpectedly, you felt utterly betrayed by your body. Your tear choked whimpers filled the room as you came around him, accompanied by the lewd sounds of Rafe plunging his cock into you repeatedly.

Rafe sneered down at you as he snapped his hips against yours, “I thought you didn’t want this, hm? So reluctant until I stuff my cock in you and then you can’t get enough.”

His words made your face burn with shame, and your stomach flipped in disgust at both him and yourself.

When his free hand wrapped around your throat, your eyes widened and you jerked against his touch, but his hold on you was unwavering and unforgiving.

“I’m not gonna let you walk all over me just because you’re pregnant.” Rafe seethed, his pace picking up as he chased his release. “You’ve got my kid growing inside you. Just means you belong to me now even more than you did before.”

His fingers tightened around your throat as he came, choking you so hard your vision started to grow fuzzy and black around the edges. The feeling of his sticky cum coating your walls made you want to throw up.

Rafe pulled out and you realized he was talking to you, but you couldn’t hear anything he said, you just nodded numbly, trying to come back to reality as your ears rang and his muffled voice filled the tense air that was permeating the room.

“-maybe now you’ll actually fucking listen to me,” he rambled on, and as you nervously laid in bed beside him, trying to doze off and forget everything that he had just done to you, you realized you were utterly terrified of your boyfriend.

[pucksandpower]

Blackmail Material

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you love your boyfriend more than life itself but who can blame you for keeping a folder of all the blackmail material he has given you over the years … just in case

You hear a bloodcurdling scream from the other room. “Y/N! Come quick!” Charles yells.

You rush over to find him standing on top of the couch, a look of sheer terror on his face. “What’s wrong?” You ask.

He points a shaky finger at the floor. “Sp-spider!”

You look down to see a tiny little spider no bigger than a blueberry crawling across the hardwood. You have to stop yourself from laughing at the sight of your brave Formula 1 driver boyfriend absolutely losing it over this tiny critter.

“Really? That’s what all the fuss is about?” You don’t bother to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Don’t laugh!” He says indignantly. “It’s a monster! Kill it, please!”

You kneel down and take a closer look at the offending arachnid. “Aww, it’s just a little jumping spider,” you say. “It’s actually kind of cute.”

Charles makes a strangled sound of disbelief. “Cute? It’s a beast from the depths of hell! I want it gone!”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “You race cars at over 300 kilometers per hour, but you’re scared of a little spider barely bigger than a piece of lint?”

“Yes! Spiders are my worst fear. Now stop teasing me and get rid of it!” He gives you his best pleading look from his perch on top of the couch.

“Alright, alright,” you acquiesce, grabbing an empty glass from the coffee table. You gently trap the spider under it and slide a piece of cardstock underneath, trapping the spider safely.

“Is it dead? Please tell me you killed it,” Charles asks hopefully.

“Of course not, I’m just going to let it go outside. Spiders are good, they eat other bugs.”

Charles visibly shudders. “Well get it out of here! I don’t want to see it ever again.”

You carry the spider carefully to the sliding door and release it on the balcony. When you come back inside, Charles is still standing on the couch looking suspiciously around at the floor.

“The horrible beast has been banished, you can come down now,” you say.

He hesitantly steps back down onto the floor. “Are you sure it’s gone? You didn’t just give it free reign to run wild in the apartment?”

You try and fail to hold back a laugh. “Yes, I’m sure. Your life is no longer in peril.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “This isn’t funny! Spiders are evil creatures with too many legs and eyes. They should not exist.”

You go over and wrap your arms around him comfortingly, though you’re still struggling not to giggle. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. But you have to admit, it’s kind of silly that someone who races cars at death-defying speeds could be so terrified of a tiny spider.”

He huffs indignantly. “It’s a completely rational fear. They’re all legs and eyes and they move so fast and erratically and some of them can be venomous. Absolutely horrifying.”

You smile indulgently and kiss his cheek. “Okay, I get it. I promise I’ll protect you if any more evil spiders invade our home.”

“Thank you,” he says, finally relaxing into your arms now that the threat has passed.

But you just can’t resist teasing him a little more. “It was just so small!”

He pulls back and gives you an unamused look. “You’re not going to let this go anytime soon, are you?”

You grin impishly. “Letting my big macho boyfriend stand on the couch and scream because of a teeny tiny spider? Yeah, probably not gonna let you live this one down for a while.”

Charles groans. “This is so unfair. The guys will never let me hear the end of it if they find out.”

You pat his shoulder sympathetically. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell anyone that Charles Leclerc is terrified of itsy bitsy spiders.”

And if you happened to save evidence of his freak out just in case? Well … it’s not technically telling anyone unless you share the video.

***

You can’t help but grin as Charles paces back and forth in your New York hotel room, running his hands through his hair in distress.

“Chill out babe, I’m sure the airline will find your luggage soon,” you try to soothe him.

Charles whips around, eyes wide. “Chill out? How can I chill out when my La Mer is missing? Do you have any idea how long it took me to perfect my skincare routine?”

You stifle a laugh at his dramatics. “I mean, it’s just skincare products. Not the end of the world.”

“Just skincare products?” Charles looks at you in horror. “That’s like saying a Ferrari is just a car! La Mer is the cream of the crop, the holy grail of skin care! My face needs it to survive!”

You can’t hold back your grin anymore. “Wow, didn’t realize I was dating such a high maintenance diva,” you tease.

Charles huffs, crossing his arms. “I am not high maintenance, I just have discerning taste and an appreciation for quality.”

“Uh huh, sure,” you say. “Is that why you made us stop at three different Whole Foods on the way here from the airport until you found your favorite protein shake?”

“That is completely different,” Charles protests. “My skin is very sensitive, I can’t just use any old drugstore products.”

You laugh and pull Charles onto the couch next to you. “You’re cute when you pout.”

He tries to keep a straight face but ends up cracking a smile. “I can’t help it, I’m freaking out! Do you know how dry airplanes are? My skin is going to be a flaky desert by tomorrow.”

You run a hand through his hair. “Aww poor baby. However will you cope without your six hundred dollar moisturizer?”

Charles narrows his eyes at you. “You joke, but this is serious stuff. Do you want a boyfriend with wrinkles and acne?”

“I mean, a few wrinkles never hurt anyone,” you say, kissing his cheek.

He gasps dramatically. “Don’t even joke about that! I’ll be twenty seven soon, wrinkle prevention needs to start now.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Most twenty seven year olds aren’t this worried about wrinkles. But I guess Formula 1 drivers really are high maintenance.”

“With good reason! We can’t have crows feet interfering with our vision,” Charles says matter-of-factly.

You give him a look. “You’re just making things up now.”

Charles holds your hands, looking deeply into your eyes. “Mon amour, you must understand. Athletes age in dog years. We need anti-aging products just to keep up.”

You burst out laughing, shoving him playfully. “You’re so full of it!”

Charles grins cheekily. “But you love me anyway.”

You lean in and give him a soft kiss. “Yeah I do. Even if you are a high maintenance diva.”

Charles puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I thought girlfriends were supposed to be supportive! My skincare is obviously very important to me.”

You snuggle up next to him, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Tell me all about this super special moisturizer.”

His eyes light up. “Well first of all it contains like crushed up diamonds or something. And they freeze each jar before shipping it to keep the ingredients ultra fresh.”

You make a mental note to Google this later, since it sounds completely absurd that diamonds would be an effective skincare ingredient. Though with Charles, you can never be too sure.

“Uh huh, diamonds. That’s totally normal,” you say, playing along.

“Exactly! And the founder makes sure each jar charges under the energy of a full moon before it’s sold. It’s really an intricate artisanal process.” Charles sighs longingly.

You smile and kiss his pouting lips. “You’re cute. I promise your skin will survive one night without magic moon diamonds.”

Charles snuggles against your shoulder. “I know, I know. Skincare is just part of my routine, it makes me feel relaxed and put together. And smelling like citrus blossoms is an added bonus.”

You kiss the top of his head. “I get that. Hopefully the airline finds your stuff soon. But in the meantime, want me to see if anyone sells La Mer nearby?”

Charles perks up. “Ooh yes, let’s check! I saw they have a Dior down the block too.”

You laugh and take his hand. “Of course they do. Come on, let’s go spoil you with new overpriced skincare products until yours turn up.”

***

You walk into the kitchen and see your boyfriend standing at the counter, a pile of uncooked spaghetti next to him. He takes a portion in his hand … which he proceeds to snap in half before dropping it into the pot of boiling water on the stove.

“Charles! What are you doing?” You exclaim in shock.

He turns to you, confused. “What do you mean? I’m just making sure the pasta will fit better in the pot.”

“But you can’t break spaghetti before cooking it!” You say incredulously. “That’s like a cardinal sin in Italy!”

Charles laughs. “Oh come on, it’s not that big of a deal. The pasta will cook just fine this way.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Il Predestinato is out here breaking pasta. Do you have any idea how offensive Italians would find this?”

“I’m sure they will survive the absolute tragedy of some broken spaghetti,” he jokes.

You nod to your phone. “It’s a good thing I’m recording this for posterity then. The whole country needs to know about this travesty.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. “What? No, don’t record me!” He reaches for your phone but you spin away, giggling.

“The people of Italy deserve to know the truth about their hero!” You declare dramatically.

“Mon ange, please give me the phone,” he pleads, trying to grab your arm. You dance out of reach.

“Truth and justice will prevail!” You continue recording as Charles chases you around the kitchen island.

“Come on, delete it! This could start an international incident if it gets out!”

You pause to catch your breath, phone held high. “An international inchident? Wow, look at you being all dramatic now. I thought it wasn’t a big deal?”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I didn’t think you’d actually record it as blackmail material! Please, mon amour, I’m begging you, delete the video.”

You pretend to think about it. “Hmm I don’t know … this seems like prime viral video content. Scuderia Ferrari Driver Destroys Pasta, Enrages Italy. Can you imagine the views it would get?”

“Y/N!” Charles lunges forward and tackles you onto the living room couch. You shriek with laughter as he tries to pry the phone from your grip.

“Noooo my video!” You yell dramatically.

Charles pins your arms above your head with one hand and reaches for the phone with the other. “Give it to me!”

You squirm underneath him. “Never!”

He leans down until his face is just inches from yours. “What’s it going to take for you to delete that video, huh?” His voice is low and gravelly.

You catch your breath, hyper aware of his body pressing against yours. “I don’t know, what are you offering?” You ask cheekily.

Charles brushes his nose against yours. “What if I made you your favorite dinner tomorrow night?”

You tilt your chin up in defiance. “That’s all I get for deleting potential internet gold? I don’t think so.”

He moves even closer, his lips just barely grazing your cheek. “Okay, what if I take you out for a nice date too? Dinner and a show at the opera, your choice.” His breath is warm against your skin.

You close your eyes for a second, affected by his closeness but not ready to give in yet. “Tempting, but I think this video is worth even more than that.”

Charles makes a small noise of frustration before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. You melt into it for a blissful moment before pulling back slightly.

“Well that’s certainly a start,” you murmur, your heart racing.

Charles lets go of your hands to cradle your face tenderly. “Mon cœur, please delete the video. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything.”

You search his eyes intently. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he confirms fervently before kissing you again, deeper this time.

You wrap your arms around his neck and give yourself over to the kiss. After several heated moments, you gently break away.

“Okay fine, I’ll delete the video on one condition.”

Charles looks at you warily. “Name it.”

“You have to let me drive your Ferrari.”

Charles groans and drops his head against your shoulder. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

You laugh and pat his head consolingly. “Those are my terms.”

He lifts his head to grin ruefully at you. “You drive a hard bargain. But for the sake of Italian nonnas everywhere, I accept your deal.”

You lift up your phone and pretend to wipe away a tear. “The souls of broken spaghetti can finally rest easy.”

Charles just shakes his head before leaning down to silence you with another deep kiss. As you lose yourself in the feeling of his body against yours, you quietly move the video into an encrypted folder. After all, you never know when it might come in handy.

***

You raise an eyebrow as you watch Charles carefully pour Red Bull into his Ferrari water bottle. “Do you buy those in bulk?” You ask with a laugh.

Charles gasps in exaggerated outrage. “Buy from the enemy? Never!” He screws the cap on tightly and gives you a sly grin. “Max and I have an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” You echo in surprise. This is news to you.

Charles nods, looking pleased with himself. “Yes, a secret trade deal. I provide him cappuccinos from the Ferrari cafe and Max supplies me with as much Red Bull as I need.”

You burst out laughing. “Are you serious? You and Max smuggle each other contraband caffeinated drinks?”

“Shh, not so loud!” Charles glances around furtively, but the motorhome is empty except for the two of you. “It must remain a secret.”

Still chuckling, you lower your voice conspiratorially. “So the great Charles Leclerc betrays his team for energy drinks. The Tifosi would riot if they knew!”

Charles winces dramatically. “Do not say such things! It is not betrayal, merely … creative problem solving.” He takes a long swig of Red Bull and grins. “The taste of the enemy is sweet.”

“I can’t believe you drink that stuff. And I can’t believe Max is your supplier!” You shake your head in amusement. “Does anyone else know about this arrangement of yours?”

“Only Lando. We needed a neutral third party to broker the deal and make the exchanges.” Charles leans in with a playful smile. “So do not be getting any ideas about exposing our scheme, yes?”

You mimic zipping your lips. “My lips are sealed … as long as you share some of that!”

Charles pretends to think about it for a second before breaking into a grin and handing you the bottle. The carbonated liquid fizzes pleasantly on your tongue, the familiar flavor mingling with the surrealness of drinking Red Bull from a Ferrari bottle. You take one more sip then hand it back to Charles.

“Just don’t let Fred or Christian find out,” you warn teasingly. “Pretty sure this counts as treason.”

Charles just laughs. “They turn a blind eye. The team knows I perform best when properly caffeinated.” He caps the bottle and adds, “But no more for you, ma belle. I only have a limited supply!”

You pout dramatically. “Fine, keep your precious Red Bull. I guess I’ll just have to tell everyone what’s really in your water bottle!”

The can of Red Bull that Charles rushes to give you tastes even sweeter than usual.

[euphoria-looney]

My heart absolutely breaks for (name) in the ‘Hold me, console me’ au, like they’ve gotten the short end of the stick entirely.

If the Batfam do like try to reconcile, I don’t think it could ever end well at all. Of course, it never really does in Batfam aus, but in this one especially it’s just so tragic.

(Name) can literally never have a normal family, even in ‘reconciliation’ the family employ the same treatment they use on D/n and M/n but it’s even worse on (Name) because they aren’t some little kid or a mother, no they’re an emotionally unstable teenager who has no qualms with absolutely destroying anyone’s self-esteem.

It’d probably be difficult but also really eye-opening for Bruce as well, that he’s made his child feel so unwanted that they reject everyone and make absolutely no effort to reciprocate anything the Batfam do at all.

You made this so well I should give the story right to you frfr/j

Anyways

Let me just write this on my phone Grammarly.

"may you never forget me" By Temachii

Divider Creds: @plutism and @miuji

So much more.

Special

3rd POV

It would be hard to track the [name] [last name] down, even if their face is on all the billboards that could be seen across the world.

They had become very popular in a matter of three years, three years of leaving Wayne Manor.

No surprise to them that no one tried to contact them through messages only that mother-daughter duo that seemed desperate. However, they couldn't help but facepalm at their own stupidity of not leaving Alfred a way to contact them.

But after tracking bombs, bomb threats, and villains, well, tracking down one big face in the world shouldn’t be hard for the vigilantes of the most crime-rated city.

That's what Bruce Wayne thought, he never thought that his child would arm their security so well, that it might as well have two arms. (THAT DUDE)

However, through peer luck, they found a breakthrough (they found them and followed them home).

[name] was surprised when their doorbell rang, one of their maids offered to get it but she refused and made their way to the door, opening to a family reunion outside or something.

“It’s time to stop this madness and come home [name], you’re putting a bad name on us.” Damian huffed peeking at the interior of this massive apartment/penthouse complex.

He couldn’t help but be a wee bit impressed, not only because these apartments seemed so expensive, it’s also that on top of owning this place they also owned the whole building.

“I hate to admit this, but Damian’s right. Don’t be a child [name], so what if we didn’t give you attention? Shouldn’t you understand we’re busy? Even finding the time to come here and retrieve you has impacted our schedules” Tim scolded the 21-year-old like she had used a Sharpie to draw on the wall.

They seemed to believe [name] would fold just by their presence.

‘‘Did you guys come to bring me back or have the door slam shut in your face.” [name] seemed serene but the more these strangers blabbered in their ears, they couldn't help but feel as if nails were on a chalkboard just for the peer satisfaction for themselves to let out their own complaints on the victim.

“Don’t be like that guys, you'll have to forgive them [name] that's just how they are, you know? Listen, [name], mom and [D/D] are worried about you, you don't want them to be nervous you're out here gone with no one keeping an eye on you, let's forget about this and go home." Dick tried to calm the tension but it only increased when he once again covered for mistakes his family made.

[name] could only narrow their eyes at this pathetic attempt to convince them to return to the manor and lock away.

"Even now, it's always, 'you know how they are [name]. You'll have to forgive them [name]. They had a difficult childhood [name]. We had a difficult childhood [name]. Me, me, me. That is all I'm hearing from your "convincing stories." You're ruining our family name, [name]. Stop acting like a child, [name]. Just shut up!" [name]'s words were rushed out sparing them any words of argument. They were breathing heavily regaining their composure.

"That's enough, out of all of you. [name], at the end of the day, those are your brothers, and you, their sibling. Besides, you're too young to be able to leave the house. As your father, I'm telling you to come home. No punishment will happen. You're making [M/D] and [D/D] very distraught, hm?" Bruce stepped in playing the role that was left empty for years.

[name] could only scoff.

"When did you want to be my father figure? Wait- no-, who am I kidding, you're doing this for [M/D] and [D/D] right? This isn't about bringing me home, is it?" [name] could only huff before motioning for the maid and they went to the living room.

“Let’s do this somewhere more comfortable.”

The maid lined up slippers making the family that arrived slip off their outside shoes and glance at each other.

The maid led them to the living room they could only admire the expensive layout before a bulter set a set of tea down at the table making each a cup.

After that heated moment, the atmosphere became awkward with nothing to bring up to kill the quiet tension.

"What made you think I would come back home?" [name] decided to break the silence. Taking a sip of the tea.

"[name], this isn't about [M/D] and [D/D]" Bruce decided to bring up the point they made at the doorway. They didn't give a reaction though, reverting back to the kid that was once hidden in the manor's wall not seen nor heard.

Guess they did learn one thing being there, poker face.

"We all want you home, we came here to apologize, we do want you home. We do. Didn't you love the house? When we go back all the attention will be on you-" Dick was about to approach them, holding their hand like a comforting sibling's, eyes that would convey 'it would all be okay.'

Tim was nodding his head, and Damian was just watching this all go down as he was advised not to speak at the moment since he was driven to say things that would make the situation worse, but can't [name] just see? It's because he also wants them back home.

"Do you think I'm still that child that would beg for a scrap of attention?" [name] wanted them to snap out of their delusions just like they had to, years back.

"For the longest time, I had believed I deserved to be treated like I didn't exist. I was known as [name] Wayne, only by name, only to myself was I even known by that last name. No matter how hard I would tug at someone's sleeve to come to a recital or a performance, and even competition I would only get to see my other competitors get something I didn't even if I was first or the best. familial love." They sat their teacup down.

"So I thought 'they're busy' since that's always the excuse right? I resorted to leaving card invites, and flyers, which didn't work so it may have been the event I was doing. No matter what I switched to, it never mattered. I only stopped when I took more notice of how many invitations I would see in the trash, thrown away like a candy wrapper. You couldn't even imagine how I had such a degrading mindset for myself at that young age."

They looked down at the hands of their lap. Finding it an old habit when they sat alone at the very center of attention of the event they were doing after scanning the crowd just to be disappointed each time.

"Did you even look at what was on the piece of 'useless' paper or did you just see my name and know it was a waste of time?" They stared at all of them, not expecting a response.

Their words sunk so deep into four of the most respected and influential people in the world, the four hero vigilantes.

"I think I've spoken enough for the day, so you'll have to understand my reasoning for not wanting to forgive and reconcile with you and your family, or wanting to go back with you and that those simple words of 'I'm sorry' doesn't fix anything. I'm sure you all are busy. You always are, aren't you?"

"Do see them out." [name] handed a maid their finished cup of tea.

"[name], we do care about you... no matter how many events we missed. We came here for you... didn't we?" Tim crossed his arms.

"How old am I?"

"What?"

"That might be a hard question. Let's give this another go, how old was I when I entered the manor?"

"I don't-"

"That's shocking that Tim does not know something for once."

"Well, that's not fair. I wasn't there when you first entered the house." Damian tried to make a point.

"You're right. When's my birthday."

"..."

"What's the first sport I tried."

"... Soccer? No- wait, ice skating."

It was ballet.

"No. What's the first instrument I played?"

"What's my favorite activity to do?"

"What's my favorite food?"

"When did I get into business?"

"When did I get into the medical field?"

Question after question was left with no answers just blank stares and idiotic guessing attempts.

"How long has it been since I've moved out of the house?"

"... a year at most?" Dick guesses again.

"Three years, I left on my birthday, since you don't remember when that is I'll just tell you it was on my 18th birthday when I became legally of age."

[name] turned to Bruce who kept silent the whole time during this trial, maybe it was because he didn't know the answers, but maybe it was also that even with the question he learned facts about [name] that he brushed aside before.

18th year of age? No. That couldn't be, you, who was once so little roaming around the halls with those small steps?

And that was three years ago, so that makes you what? 21? you could be drinking any day without him knowing.

"So Bruce, am I still too young to be throwing a "fit" running away, are these guys really my siblings and the others while I'm at it? Did you really come here for me? Or are you still lying to my face that you didn't only come here to make [M/D and [D/D] happy?"

They could only sigh at the sight in front of them, the Waynes acting shocked like this information came out of someone's left ass cheek.

"Send my regards to Alfred and I guess [M/D] and [D/D] I can see why they don't like it there, you're treating me like how you would with them, acting as if I'm incompetent, unable to do anything for myself. I pity them, I do."

With that, the mission was deemed a failure.

Escorted out of the building with the Valet driver handing over their cars.

Originally this was supposed to be a chapter before I started putting more ideas for my So Much More series. There will probably be a chapter like this but different as the chapter 3 I'm making is a major plot twist.

Also, I wanted MC to be calm in any situation and level-headed so that is also why this wasn't going to become a chapter until I saw this really amazing request!

I hope the request was done correctly halfway through writing this I was like 'Is this even right?' as if I didn't know what was going on in my own story.

I also didn’t include all of the family members bc that would be to many so we’ll just say they had missions and didn’t want anything to happen to [M/D] and [D/D] which making Alfred watch over them.

Also they didn’t sedate [name] as they weren’t able to with the amount of maids and butlers around and [name] is too smart and rich not to hire some sort of security or protection.

I will be working on my SG x DC series next chapter after this but also on fanfiction for another account, I have on Wattpad that I haven't updated in months and wouldn't want my readers over there to be too starved.

Anyway, with all that said and done tysm for reading!

(The interior of the penthouse/apartment I was imagining- can you tell I like K-Drama?)

(I'm not sure if you guys wanted to be tagged in this since it is not another part but just a special but here's a tag list)

@cozmie @nxdxsworld @overcaffeinatedfreak @strwberryglass @leiiasurez @randomlyappearingartist @sirenetheblogger @a-lurking-fae @darktrashpoetry

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

shen yuan, dragon god of cang qiong mountain sect, has a new mission.

[Mission {Master of Masters} at 2% progress. Subquest {Master of One} begins now! USER_002 must obtain protagonist [Luo Binghe] as a personal disciple! Continue to work hard!]

there are steps between, of course. shen yuan comes back down the mountain once he’s calmed down—just to check on binghe, not to make a scene! but yue qingyuan was alerted that their sect’s god had descended his peak, and a meeting of all cang qiong’s lords was called. every peak lord is called back to cang qiong. it’ll take a week for everyone to arrive—liu qingge is off on a night hunt, and shang qinghua is accompanying his head disciple to negotiate contracts for fabrics and dyes (and, shen yuan thinks resentfully, probably off doing traitor-to-the-sect business. fuck that guy).

while they’re waiting, shen yuan is invited to stay on qiong ding—as if he doesn’t have a perfectly good mountain he can ascend again until the peak assembles. but yue qingyuan seems anxious to have him, and shen yuan is kind of internally geeking out over getting to properly meet this sect leader. so he agrees, and he’s arranged in a manor fit for a visiting sect leader, which is kind of insane. rich, dark woods; silks in qiong ding’s deep blues and grays; night pearls illuminating every room. is this how people live in this world???

yue qingyuan…hovers a fair bit. surely he should be busy with sect-leader-y things, but apparently having shen yuan come down is a huge deal that requires yue qingyuan’s constant attention. bringing tea and snacks, accompanying him to meals on each peak with all the lords in residence (except shen qingqiu), escorting him to and from qing jing every day when he goes to check on binghe.

that always seems a little uncomfortable for yue qingyuan. shen yuan is still rightfully pissed about binghe’s treatment, but he hasn’t gotten that horrible feeling that his territory is under threat again, so he assumes binghe is alright. the first time he tells yue qingyuan that he’s going to qing jing to check on ‘that young disciple your shidi thought it right to whip,’ yqy gets this constipated look on his face before—before fucking defending sqq.

saying sqq isn’t a cruel man, really—or, he is, but not without reason. all of cang qiong’s disciples are disciplined when it’s appropriate, he says. shen shidi has had problems with that disciple before, and lord canglong shouldn’t judge him too harshly before he hears the full story.

the furious energy crackling around shen yuan is enough to cut yue qingyuan’s entreaty for leniency off. yue qingyuan always seemed like the kindly big-brother type in the novel, if a bit too indulgent of sqq. and shen yuan always wondered why he would turn a blind eye to sqq’s abuse of lbh when he knew it was going on. now he’s seen it with his own eyes, and yue qingyuan still has the audacity to try to cover for sqq, and it kind of makes shen yuan sick.

he’s been doing his best to play the part of the great immortal now that the upset of his initial descent from the mountain has passed. but when yqy defends sqq like this, shen yuan can’t help but drop all pretense of formality and glare, eyes blazing, at this sect leader. ‘do you think i’m fucking stupid?’ he spits. and yqy pales, horror in his eyes, trembling more as shen yuan lays into him.

to discipline a child is to teach them the way they should go. what does whipping a thirteen-year-old boy teach him? shen yuan knows what luo binghe has learned from his shizun’s instruction. that he is stupid, incapable, unworthy of his martial family’s care. that the sect who took him in—the sect shen yuan himself established centuries ago—only took him so it would have something to beat.

shen yuan is pissed. he doesn’t wait for yqy’s escort to qing jing; he takes his sword there himself, finds luo binghe, and brings him back to the guest manor yqy set him up in. binghe is confused, of course, to be faced with his savior’s fury, but when lord canglong makes a request of him, he’s all to happy to comply. and if he buries his face against lord canglong’s robes as they fly back to qiong ding, it’s only to protect his face from the wind.

there’s warmth in his chest whenever he walks near lord canglong, and as he’s led by a hand on his shoulder into lord canglong’s guest quarters, binghe feels like he might combust (in one part, from the overwhelming, humbling joy he feels at being the subject of his sect’s god’s attention; in the other part, because lord canglong’s grip is imbued with so much spiritual power it makes binghe’s skin tingle all the way down to his toes).

binghe follows lord canglong into the main room and, when it’s clear they’re done walking, he sinks to his knees in gratitude.

‘enough of that, luo binghe,’ shen yuan splutters, reaching to pull binghe up from his kowtow. honestly, he’s going to be the emperor! none of this prostration; it’ll only be a debt on his head later on! ‘get up. i won’t see you humble yourself to this—uh’ shit! System, help! What do gods like this call themselves?!!

[Answering USER_002, his title is {Lord Canglong, Shen Yuan, Grand Master of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.} ‘This Grandmaster’ would be expected and appropriate.]

god, that feels so pretentious. shen yuan swallows his millennial sensibilities and does his best to thicken his face a little. ‘—to this grandmaster whose sect has treated him so poorly.’

binghe looks up with stars in his night-dark eyes, and it takes every shred of shen yuan’s self control not to soften at the awe in this child’s face. how come no one told him little lord luo would be so cute?! of course he’s adorable; he’s the protagonist.

‘this—this lowly disciple wouldn’t dare—that is, he wouldn’t presume to, um—lord canglong is—”

poor thing! too cute, too cute!

‘luo binghe is not lowly,’ shen yuan says first, because that feels like the most important part to address. no humbling yourself in front of this old dragon, ah! no debts to this sect! ‘didn’t this grandmaster say in front of everyone that luo binghe is uniquely gifted?’

‘this disciple thought…’ luo binghe’s eyes are already trained on the ground, but he shrinks into himself at this. in this grand room, luo binghe looks so small, so unlike the menacing demon lord shen yuan knows he’ll become. ‘this disciple thought that perhaps, in his anger, lord canglong…exaggerated… to make a point to shizun.’

‘if i have anything to say about it,’ shen yuan mutters, ‘he won’t be your shizun much longer.’

at that, luo binghe’s gaze snaps up, his shoulders tight. ‘this stupid disciple doesn’t understand.’

‘not stupid,’ shen yuan says immediately. ‘what this grandmaster means to say is just that. luo binghe will not be a qing jing peak disciple for much longer. this grandmaster does not trust qing jing peak’s lord to raise luo binghe well, so he will do it himself.’

[revelboo]

You're feeding my Starscream addiction 😂😂 but I love your writing! Good job and keep at it for as long as your able/want to!! 💕

Everything is Alright Pt 11

• You stare up at him as he shakes the data pad at you in threat. Like it’s a rolled up newspaper and you’re a naughty puppy. Not that he’s going to smack you with it. You’re familiar enough with him to know it’s all bluster. Even if you’re not sure if you want to laugh or if you should be insulted. In your defense, he’d left it on the desk with you. What had he expected? You’d gotten bored and he never bothered to tell you not to touch it. So it’s actually his fault. “You scribbled all over my reports? What is this? Is this supposed to be me?” He demands, wings stiffly up and practically vibrating in annoyance and offense. Oh, he’s insulted by your little caricatures.

• After being stuck with him this long, your arsenal of weapons is mostly playing dumb or catering to that ego of his. “Sorry, I wanted to capture your magnificence, but I’m not much of an artist,” you say shrugging weakly, doing your best innocent puppy eyes. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

• He’s silent, staring at the crude doodles, but his wings droop slightly. And you know he wants to be mad. Is probably wondering why the hell you drew him with shark teeth- absolutely for your amusement. But he just can’t deal with puppy eyes. Something you’re willing to milk if it gets you out of trouble. “Yes, well,” he mutters falteringly. “Don’t draw on my reports.”

• You’re staring up at him with those big eyes and it’s doing uncomfortable things to his spark. That look makes him want to scoop you up and hold you. Certainly makes it impossible to reprimand you. And the drawings aren’t that awful. Well. You’d tried anyway. Venting he reaches to use a servo to tip your chin up. Had you really meant this as a present for him? A gift? You grab onto his servo, smiling at him and it undoes him so quickly it’s frightening. He shouldn’t care about such a silly thing, but he runs his servo affectionately over your cheek. “I’ll see about requisitioning an old data pad for you to make your art on.” Because he wants you happy. Wants you to keep smiling for him and that need is almost frightening.

• When did keeping one little human happy become so important to him? And it is, because he’s not alone. That feeling is something he’ll do anything to protect. Anything.

Previous Next

[p0orbaby]

Mission Impossible

summary: you’re an agent at the top of your game, until a certain footballer distracts you

warnings: SMUT 18+, semi public (car), fingering, top!leah, dirty talk?

a/n: thanks for the request ! this was super fun to write

word count: 2.2k

-

“Remember to mute yourself if you go to the toilet, yeah?” your new technician's voice crackles through the earpiece you’d pay your life’s savings not to have to wear.

“You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

“Of course! The female version of double oh seven, duh. This is like, super cool that I’ve been assigned to you, by the way”

You roll your eyes and tap your fingers impatiently against the steering wheel of your car. “It’s my pleasure”

“But seriously, not to tell you what to do or anything but, please mute if you need to go potty. It’s just that I’ve got PTSD from the last agent because they-“

“Can you reroute me? This traffic is starting to piss me off and I’ve got a finite amount of time to, you know, do my job”

“Right, right,” he stammers. You hear the rapid clicking of keys over the comms. “Okay, take the next left and then a right at the lights. Should get you there faster”

“Thanks.” You sigh, flicking on your turn signal. The city lights blur past as you navigate the winding roads, every rev of your engine a reminder of the ticking clock. Or was that your indicator? Who knows, who cares?

“You nervous?” the technician, Mikey? asks, trying to make small talk. “I mean, it’s a big deal, right? Going undercover at something like this?”

“Nervous? No. Anxious to get out of this car? Absolutely,” you reply. The GPS recalculates, leading you into a quieter, more upscale part of the city. The kind of place where people hide secrets behind perfectly manicured lawns and pristine facades.

“Just remember,” he continues, his tone growing serious, “we’re here if you need anything. But you’ve got this. You always do”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Coach,” you say dryly, but there’s a hint of a smile on your lips at his compliment. “I’m pulling up now. Keep the channel clear unless it’s an emergency”

“Roger that. Good luck”

-

You hated places like this. Sure it’s probably the attendees' tax contributions who pay the bulk of your wages, but still. Everything is always so uptight, stiff, dry as hell.

“Tell me again why I had to wear a fucking dress” you say to yourself really, but you get a response because of you damn earpiece.

“Because as progressive as the world has become, a woman in a suit doesn’t really slide in environments like this”

You scoff, readjusting the strap of your gown. “I might put in a formal complaint. Undue distress in the workplace,” you mutter, weaving through the crowd. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of forced laughter.

“Just focus on the task at hand,” Mark? reminds you. “You’re looking for a woman in a blue dress, diamond necklace. Shouldn’t be hard to miss”

“Got it,” you reply, scanning the room. You catch glimpses of the high-profile guests, all engaged in their own worlds, oblivious to the undercurrents of deception that flow just beneath the surface.

You make your way to the bar, figuring it’s as good a place as any to start. You signal the bartender for a drink, something that will keep your hands busy without dulling your senses. As you wait, you let your eyes roam, taking in every detail, every potential threat.

“Remember,” Martins’? voice buzzes in your ear, “you’re just here to observe and gather intel. No heroics”

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur, taking a sip of your drink. “Not my first rodeo, Champ”

What was with this kid?

A flash of blue catches your eye from across the room. You spot her, the woman you’re supposed to meet, gliding through the crowd with a grace that seems almost practiced. She pauses, scanning the room much like you did, and for a moment, her eyes meet yours.

You offer a slight nod, the briefest acknowledgment, before turning your attention back to your drink. No need to rush things. Timing is everything when it comes to these types of things.

“You look as bored as I feel”

A voice, smooth and unexpectedly unpretentious, cuts through your thoughts. You turn to find someone standing next to you, not in a dress, but in a sharp, tailored gray suit that makes her stand out in the sea of gowns and black tuxedos.

You muster a wry smile. “Is it that obvious?”

The blonde laughs softly, the sound genuine and easy. “Maybe just a little”. It’s her turn to gesture to the bartender. What gets placed in front of her is a tumbler of whiskey, dark and golden and a stark contrast to the champagne all the other women seem to be sipping on. “I’m Leah, by the way”

“Olivia,” you reply, shaking the confident hand she has extended for you. “First time at one of these?”

Leah shrugs, a casual gesture that is not encouraged at finishing school. She doesn’t belong here, you deduce. “Not quite. They get less and less interesting every time. You?”

“I’ve been to a few here and there,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “But really it’s a bit of a social experiment for me”

Leah grins, leaning against the bar. “A social experiment, huh? Sounds like you’re a people-watcher”

“You could say that,” you reply, glancing over the room again. Your blue woman is nowhere to be seen. “You can learn a lot about someone by how they navigate a room like this”

“True enough,” Leah says, her eyes raking over the crowd. “But mostly, you just learn who’s got the best bullshit and who can fake a smile the longest”

You laugh over the rim of your own glass. You’ve gone for vodka on the rocks. Clear liquids are recommended. “You’ve got a point there”

“I’m not just a pretty face”

Maybe she wasn’t, but she did in fact have a pretty face, that much was obvious. Those blue eyes. No, green eyes? Wait, was she talking to you? No, but she is smirking. Smirking at you like she knew all your deepest darkest secrets. Perhaps she did. Perhaps she can see right through you as you stand here staring at her like she’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N, focus”. Your conscience is talking to you again. “You haven’t got all night, remember”

You clear your throat, down your drink and ask for another.

“So, what does Leah do other than being a frequent goer of boring events, and a smart ass?”

She laughs and you feel it fizz through your body. “Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that. Mostly kick a ball across some grass and hope it hits the target”

“Football?”

She nods. “Looks like you’re not just a pretty face either”

You’re about to respond, unsure of what you’re actually going to say as your brain has shortcurited, when a butter knife is tapped against the side of a glass.

“Looks like dinner’s ready” Leah whispers in your ear. “Where are you sitting?”

“Table four” you respond as you watch everyone start to move around the room.

“Well, unfortunately for you you can’t be rid of me just yet”

-

This doesn’t happen.

You don’t do this.

You’re a professional, the best in the field, so why are you half naked in the back of your car?

“Look at you, look at how wet you are” Leah sighs as she cocks her head, looking at how you’ve exposed yourself to her.

Your mind is gone. Off into the stratosphere never to return. Partly because you broke your very stringent rule of not drinking too much on the job, and partly because you need her to touch you. Now. Which she is not granting you the pleasure of doing.

You whimper pathetically when her palms splay on the inners of your thighs. Warm and large and calloused. She’s not a keeper, you've found out, so you only suspect the coarseness of her skin if from when she grips around weights in the gym.

If her forearms are anything to go by, your suspicions would be correct.

“Leah, please”

“What do you want, hm?” She asks, cocky in a way that heats your skin. “Tell me what you want and I might just give it to you”

She leans forward and presses tortured kisses against your jaw. Bruising you, no doubt. But that is a problem you will deal with later.

“You” you say, strained and desperate as her breath tickles you and forces goosebumps to ripple over your skin.

“You can do better than that” she teases.

Sighing, you muster the strength to speak more than one word at a time. “I want your fingers”

“Fuck, sweetheart” is all she says before she’s peeling herself off of you, rolling her sleeves up further past her elbows, and to your shock, sticking her fingers in her mouth.

The first touch almost has you combusting on the spot. She knows what she’s fucking doing. The suit should’ve been a giveaway. The whiskey a second chance for you to catch on. But you had a job to do, your mind was elsewhere, until it wasn’t.

You did in fact get your intel, and now you’re getting your reward.

Leah works painfully slow. Her experienced fingers rubbing lazy circles against your clit. She’s testing you, or she is making the most of your time together. Whatever she’s doing it’s making you that impatient that your hips buck involuntarily in response.

“You like that? You like it when I touch you?”

“Leah, for the love of god, hurry up”

She laughs then. Soft and sweet as if she’s not got your dress tucked up under your chin, or that a film of her saliva is covering the most intimate parts of you.

“You ready, baby?”

So fucking ready.

You nod, and she smirks again. Smug cow.

Her left hand finds your leg once more, but this time she wraps her fingers around the underside of your knee and pushes. Opening you up and keeping you where she wants you. It’s her right hand that gets to work between your thighs.

She pushes a solitary index finger in first. With little resistance with your own doing and her spit making the job easy enough.

“Oh fuck” you whine. “Jesus fucking Christ”

“Saying the lord's name in vain? I must be doing a good job” she snickers.

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up and make me cum already”

To Leah’s credit, she is very good at fulfilling instructions. At least after a time. You think she’s had enough of toying with you and is actually looking forward to having her way with you now. Which you couldn’t be happier about if you tried.

Her finger slips in and out of you at a pace that has you teetering on the edge. Not quite enough to push you off. Which she must realise by the way your nails dig into the skin of those amazing forearms of hers. She is quick to change tactics.

Two fingers now, and you feel deliciously full. She has perfect fingers, you think behind the haze of your lust. Just the right length to hit that spot within you that has you reeling.

“Keep going” you beg, rolling your hips to meet each thrust. “I’m close”

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

“Uh huh” you breathe, nodding as you feel your insides tense up, the line ready to snap.

Which it does when her thumb finds your neglected clit. And the rest is history.

Your whole body goes up in flames. Seeing stars as your legs shake and the coil in your belly snaps at last.

“You’re so pretty,” Leah says. You think. The sound of blood rushing past your ears makes it hard to distinguish your moans from anything else. “Look at you, does that feel good?”

You can’t nod, you can’t speak. But fuck yes it does. And she knows it because even as you start to come down from the highest of highs, she leans down to capture your cries with her mouth. Keeping them for herself and her fingers curl gently inside you to ease you back to reality.

“You’re amazing,” she whispers, her voice a calming balm in the aftermath of everything. She shifts slightly, withdrawing her fingers carefully and wipes them on the leg of her suit trousers. Just breathe,” she murmurs, her breath tickling your ear. “I’ve got you”

You close your eyes, letting the remnants of your climax pulse through your body as you try to regain your composure. Something that you don’t misplace often.

“That was-“

“Better than the cheese boards they were going to force down our necks? I agree” she finishes for you as she leans back, finds her discarded shout jacket, and uses it to wipe you clean.

“Something like that” you say, your voice rough around the edges.

Leah straightens up, her eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place. “So, do I get your number, or do I have to crash another shitty event to see you again?”

You chuckle, stretching over to the glovebox. You pull out a sleek, plain business card with just a number printed on it and hand it to her. “Here. Use it wisely”

Leah takes the card, a satisfied grin spreading across her face. She leans in, pressing a dirty, lingering kiss against your lips. “Until next time, Olivia,” she murmurs against your mouth before pulling away and stepping out of the car.

As you watch her walk away, a crackle sounds through straight into your brain, followed by Mitch’s! disgusted voice. “Oh my God, I told you to turn off your fucking earpiece!”

[bluesidez]

Hi! I saw your opening requests!

I was hoping for Miguel O’Hara x plus-size reader. Reader is a regular waitress who meets both Miguel and Spider-Man. Knows Miguel because he’s become a regular and Spider-Man because the diner gets robbed, but Reader manages to save herself. Also if the reader could have glasses that would be awesome!

It’s up to you! You’re the writer.

Also I just wanted to say I love your Gym rat Miguel series! 😁❤️💙❤️

[Dual]

lab taster: Anonymous Participant 🩻

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x PlusSize!Reader

summary: There's something strange about that guy in the corner...

content warning: fluffy, definitely suggestive at parts, I kind of take a bit from the comic books, but it's still the ATSV Miguel, Kasey Nash is here + a certain someone for like a millisecond, talks of violence, guns, and threats (but nothing too terrifying), also LOTS of mentions of food. like lotsssss

word count: 3.6k, halfway proofread

a/n: I started writing this as if she worked at a fancy restaurant, but then I realized you said diner, so I had to backtrack. ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON GYM RAT MIGUEL!!! 🩵

“I’ve never seen one man eat so much.”

You looked to where your coworker was staring, eyes landing on the man that frequents the corner of the dim dining room.

“He’s a big guy. He probably needs it,” you flipped through your pad in order to avoid looking at the person who’s been wrapped in your thoughts for a few months now.

He always comes in just when the afternoon is turning into evening and the sun kisses his skin through the window. Most days he looks a little tired, lost in thought as he waits for his food.

His order is usually the same: a double-stacked burger with a large fry and a black coffee. Sometimes, he’d substitute the meal with a heavy breakfast, pouring syrup over everything. Other times, he’d order pork chops and gravy with a slice of apple pie to take home.

He always looked a bit sheepish when he asked for a meal to-go, as if you would judge him openly for being a working man.

On the contrary, you wondered why he always came here. From the shine on his watch to the material of his clothes, you could tell he could afford better establishments to eat at.

“If you’re done ogling at him, you can bring him the check,” Kasey snickered at you. “He keeps looking over here and it’s freaking me out.”

“You just don’t like anyone but that flying bug guy.”

“That’s Mr. Spider-Man to you,” Kasey moved so that you could print out his receipt. “And he does something useful with his time like save civilians. That guy just comes in here and looks at you like he wants to eat you for dessert.”

“What?”

You turn to him again and he quickly looks out of the window, plastic cup pressed against his lips.

“I don’t think he even sees me like that,” you mumble, ripping the paper from the machine and placing it onto the clipboard. “He’s just a man who enjoys comforting meals and ambiance.”

“Yeah. An ambiance that starts and ends with you and your ass, maybe.”

An affronted “hey” goes ignored by Kasey who disappears to go serve another table.

She really shouldn’t have put that thought into your head, because now you’re more hyperaware of your actions than usual.

You wipe at your apron and pull your dress down before you head towards his table, steps a bit hesitant.

As you get closer, he looks back at you. Maybe he is interested, but maybe you’re a bit delusional.

“Here’s your check, sir. I hope you enjoyed your meal,” you placed the clipboard on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, thank you,” he holds up the check up with a small smile. “Maybe a name so I know who my tip is going to.”

Your fingers press against the frames of your glasses, pushing them up a little.

Did you forget to introduce yourself to him when you sat him down?

When you say your name, your confusion must have carried over to your face because the way the man brings his hands up is quick.

“Ah, it’s fine Mr.-“ you take a glance at his card, never mind that you’ve already memorized his name, “O’Hara.”

“Miguel is fine.”

“Mr. Miguel.”

“Just. Miguel is fine.”

You nod and smile. Miguel was fitting for a face like that, and your heart felt the same way as you completed his transaction and handed him his receipt.

The thought of him being interested in you was cute to imagine, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up.

Kasey taps your shoulder as she carries a coffee jug back to the machine, “Go clear your table. There’s a tip.”

With a routined step, you start to stack his empty plates. Napkins get thrown into the bin, and utensils are gathered.

A gasp leaves your lips as a stack of 20s reveals itself. A note wrapped around it says your name and “Thank you for always making my nights.”

Maybe Kasey was right. She could never know that, though.

It’s about a week or so before Miguel comes back.

Oddly enough, too much happened at the diner within that time.

Your boss was on your ass about splitting your tips with a manager that was never there. Creeps kept lingering around the corner during closing time. Your schedule was insane and you’ve hit your monthly limit of rude customers.

When Miguel comes in, it’s almost as if white angel wings were attached to him.

“What can I get you today?” you ask with a smile.

“I think just a black coffee to start off,” he looks over you. “New uniforms?”

You glance down at your dress, the neckline of it plunging severely low.

“Yeah. The boss thinks it’ll bring in more customers,” you yank at the back of the dress, still a bit nervous about how high the skirt is on your body. It’s tight in places that no uniform can should be, hugging your curves, and exposing your chest and legs. “I think he’s full of it.”

Miguel is silent for a while, eyes roaming in a way that you couldn’t quite discern.

“He definitely was onto something.”

You blink.

“Uh, is he- He’s not causing any problems for you, is he?”

“No. It’s all good. For now.”

He stumbles his way through his order, corned beef on rye bread with swiss cheese and sauerkraut along with some homemade potato spirals.

“Will that be all for you?”

“Yes, thank you,” he hides behind his coffee mug as you walk away.

While you wait for his order to be done, you watch Kasey run around and chat with some of your regulars. Despite how grumpy she could be, she was a natural at keeping the customers entertained.

Refilling the drinks for a few people at the barstools, your mind drifts to what Kasey is saying to one of the old geezers who’s keen on superstitions.

“I’m just saying, there has to be a motive for why he only strikes in the afternoon!”

“Are you sure he’s just not an idiot desperate for attention?” Kasey removes his empty plate and tops off his water. “Leaving notes with riddles? That’s so been-there-done-that.”

“Kase, I don’t think you get it, doll. His attacks have gotten more and more severe. He’s starting to target a specific demographic.”

A shout and a ding by the window lets you know that Miguel’s order is ready. You place an extra pickle on his plate just because.

Rounding the corner of the bar, Kasey is still bickering about the city’s most recent villain.

“Listen. If I’m ever in dire need,” she turns and sighs dramatically at a news segment featuring Spider-Man flying across buildings, “I know who to call for.”

The old man clicks his teeth and throws a hand at the screen, “What a bunch of rubbish. That prick isn’t worth a hoot. The Fly-Boys are your best bet.”

“As if those douchebags can do anything for me. Hurry up and pay, mister.”

You place Miguel’s food in front of him, mouth moving before your mind.

“Spider-man seems like a nice guy.”

“What makes you say so?” Miguel reaches for the ketchup.

“Oh, I don’t know. Kasey is always going on and on about him, so any doubts I had, she’s already debunked.”

He’s silent, turning over his sandwich.

“And what do you think of him now?”

“I think he’s pretty cool. He must be stressed out from everything, though. I couldn’t imagine taking on so much. What about you?”

He coughs, “What about me?”

“What do you think of Spider-Man?”

“He’s practical, always gets the job done. Maybe a bit too ambitious for his own good.”

“You talk like you know him.”

“I’ve never met him,” Miguel hums. “ Just taking a wild guess.”

The clip switches to Spider-Man throwing a car right at a villain camping out in a park resulting in immediate flames.

“That’s practical, alright.”

Miguel clears his throat, “He’s probably had better days.”

It’s been raining a lot which meant slower business and slower tips.

You’ve spent most work hours folding and refolding the towel in your apron pocket or flipping through the songs on the jukebox to fill the stillness of the diner.

A few lone stragglers were enjoying their meal, keeping quiet to themselves.

The chefs in the back were roughhousing and Kasey was ticking down when she could clock out.

Two more hours and thirty until you could fight through the rain to get home.

The bell to the door rings, opening up to a drenched Miguel.

A smile comes to your face as if you won a cash prize.

“Hey, stranger,” Kasey says as she turns and starts up a pot of coffee as you round the corner. “Glad to see you here. She was worried sick! You haven’t come in for a while.”

“Kasey, hush!”

“No, no, let her speak,” Miguel taps against the counter. “I’d like to hear what she has to say.”

You elbow Kasey before she even thinks to respond, “Would you like your regular seat, Miguel?”

“I would love that. Had a long day.”

“That you should tell her all about over some coffee,” Kasey smiles. “Go ahead, I’ll cover you.”

You sigh as Kasey follows you to wear Miguel usually sits, and gets Miguel’s order down. She fights silently with you over sitting down across from him. Her eyes saying something along the lines of “we can split the tip,” “here’s your chance,” and “that old fart isn’t going to fire you.”

So there you were, sitting across the guy who you anticipate to come in every so often. The guy who loved simple, American-style meals. The guy with the nice build and a pretty face.

The guy who can’t stop looking at your chest right now.

“You said you had a tough day?” you peer at him from over your glasses, a little unsure of what his steady eyes meant.

“Um, yeah,” he stutters. “There’s been some changes in positions at my job. Some higher ups are giving me trouble, but I think they’re scared they’re about to lose their seats.”

“Oh, you didn’t tell me you were a big-shot.”

“I wouldn’t say all of that,” he grins as he bends his head down. The way his hair falls is dreamy and it’s no fair that he still looks this good despite the rain dousing him. “I’m just in an interesting spot.”

Kasey plops down a hot plate of chopped steak and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy with some steaming broccoli on the side. There’s a heaping amount of food on the plate and you give her an incredulous look before she whips out an extra pair of utensils.

“The guys in the back a closing up shop. They want as little dishes to wash as possible.”

“We don’t close until-”

“As little dishes as possible!” Kasey sing-songs, leaving you shifting in your seat.

Miguel picks up a fork, “I hope you like beef.”

He starts to cut into the meat and you’re slow to follow, watching his arms bulge through through his sweater.

You wonder if he could hear your heart rattling in your chest.

The conversation continues and you learn that Miguel works at Alchemax working as a head lab technician.

“Miguel, that’s amazing! I’ve seen old classmates nearly go to war for that position.”

“It’s not all that it’s chalked up to be.”

“It’s still astounding that you got to that level,” you push your fork through some potatoes and take a bite, “You should be proud. And if not, I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he looks up at you while you continue to chew. “You’ve got something here.”

“Oh,” you quickly take your fingers to your lips, embarrassed.

“Here,” Miguel reaches across from you and wipes he corner of your mouth with a napkin. “All better.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Time is lost as you two exchange words, Miguel making you laugh over the smallest things. He’s as sweet as ever, his compliments make you ecstatic, and he listens when you go into your own stories. Your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been grinning.

“Hey, so, I’ve been thinking,” Miguel starts.

“About?”

He takes a deep breath, shoulders tensing up.

“I would love to take you on a date. Somewhere nice and exciting. That’s if you would want to, of course. I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Miguel,” you stop his ramblings with a hand on his wrist, “I would love to go on a date with you.”

His shoulders relax, and his smile is wide.

The chime of the door rings, signaling another customer coming inside. His hands are in his pockets and his hoodie is pulled tight around him. Not an uncommon sight, but the diner was set to close soon.

You followed his steps as he sat in Kasey’s side of the diner, his leg bouncing repeatedly.

“For our date,” Kasey meets your eyes before she goes to his table. Her hospitable tone switched on. “Where were you thinking of going?”

Miguel begins to answer, but you continue to stare at the other side of the room. The guy is jumpy and from what you can tell, snappy. Kasey looks antsy as she walks back to the counter to grab a cup and a picture of water.

Miguel turns around to look where you’re watch and turns back, “Is something wrong?”

“That guy is making Kasey nervous. She’s hiding it well, but she’s freaking out.”

You both watch as he scans that side of the room, body rocking in the still chair.

It was daunting and quiet. The sound of the rain drowning out the idle noises of the dining room.

“Something’s not right,” you whisper.

From how Miguel gets up, you can see that he can feel the uneasiness, too.

Kasey walks over to him, a slice of thick chocolate cake on a small plate in her hands. She places it on the table, ready to ask if he needs anything else.

Time stops as he grabs her arm and yanks her towards him, the few customers left stopping to watch the scene. Kasey pulls her arm back, ready to put up a fight.

The man pulls something out of his pocket, Kasey’s voice reaching a shriek. You gasp as you see him point it right at her head, nerves nearly failing you. People scramble to corners of the room, some falling to the floor.

Miguel grabs your arm and drags you to the bathroom, your hands covering your mouth as you fight the urge to scream.

You can’t feel anything as he shoves you into a stall, your limbs trembling. Tears are running down your face as you try to think, but Miguel is holding you up to keep you from falling.

“Stay in here, and lock the door. Don’t come out.”

“But Miguel, he has a gun! We, we should call someone. You can’t go back out there!”

“I’ll be ok. I promise.”

“How do you know that?”

“Look at me,” Miguel takes your hands as you slide to the floor. He makes the trip easy, arms solid. “I’ll meet you when this is over, ok?”

“Ok,” your vision blurs as Miguel leaves, face worn with sorrow.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the gross bathroom floor, sobbing into your hands.

You could hear shouting and screaming, the yells of the man telling everyone to shut up. A few bangs of his gun went off and you bit your wrist in order to give yourself away. It didn’t feel right to be the only one to make an escape, but maybe you would be next to die, too.

The rain continues outside, a loud strike of thunder echoing off the tiles as lights flicker off. Your heartbeat picks up as you try not to make a sound. The lightning illuminates the room for a second, and the noise from outside stops.

You can’t tell what’s going on, the pit of your stomach falling with every second.

The door bangs open, and you feel like passing out. It sounds like the ocean is roaring in your ears as you try to listen for footsteps.

One second turns into two, two turns into ten, and you lose count of how long you’re holding your breath.

Your stall is pried open as the lightning shines through the window. Even as you see the masked hero, your throat lets out a weak cry.

“Come on,” he says, eyes on his mask squinting. “It’s safe now.”

With your eyes refocusing, you see Spider-Man standing tall and proud, with Kasey latched to his back like a koala.

Your hand moves across the stall before you feel yourself falling forward.

Spider-Man catches you with ease, lifting you into his arms.

“Thank you, thank you!”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

He carries you both back to the dining room where the robber is beaten black and blue, tied up in neon red webbing. People are huddled up together as policemen ask them questions.

Spider-Man places you in a seat and grabs a blanket from the pile that was brought in. You thank him with a soft voice.

“You can get off of my back now,” he tells Kasey. “He won’t hurt you any time soon.”

“No! I think I want to stay here,” she says. Her eyes surveying the side of his head. Her hands rub the side of his mask, “You really are as sturdy as they say. And this suit! It’s so cooling. What’s it made of? Silk?”

“No, it’s- Will you get off of me, please?”

Kasey jumps to the floor, face filled with glee, like she didn’t just get held at gunpoint.

“Where’s my phone? I have to get a picture. Look here! Say ‘whiskey’! Oh, wait, you can’t really smile can you? Can you sign something for me? My friends are going to be so jealous.”

Spider-Man stiffens up as Kacey flits around him like an excited puppy.

You try to be happy for her, but you can’t find Miguel. He said we would be ok.

There’s an old couple by the window, a mom and her son by the bar, a truck driver talking to the police. No Miguel.

“Shock, can you give me a second?” Spider-Man barks as Kasey tries to climb over him again, squealing like a schoolgirl.

“Excuse me,” you tug at his hand that Kasey doesn’t have a grip on, “Have you seen a man, about 6’8 or so? Sweater, khakis, and a lanyard. He- he was with me before the robber came. I don’t see him anywhere.”

“I’m sorry, this is everyone that was here when I came. Maybe he went to get help.”

“Oh, god,” you take in a watery gulp of air. “What if something happened to him out there? He told me he would be ok!”

“Hey, I’m sure wherever he is, he’ll be alright. No need to panic. Everything from here and a few miles out is taken care of. No one else is coming out here in this weather.”

The guy starts to wake up and fight against the webbing.

“I gotta take care of this,” he pulls Kasey off of him. “See you around, ladies.”

“But Spider-Man-”

Oranges, blues, and reds flash before you, Spider-Man flopping the man over his shoulder as he walks through, stoic silhouette disappearing before you.

You sit in horror as everything weighs down on you.

Something, no, someone, was taken from you before it even had a chance to begin.

Kasey’s hands are rubbing on your back as you cry into the blanket in your lab.

You had no idea where Miguel was.

“I’m sure he’s alright,” Kasey whispers to you, “And if not, I’ll kill him.”

A chuckle comes out of you, a bit half-hearted.

The lights of a car beam through the windows, doors slamming as people came rushing through the door.

You look up to Miguel and a man that looked almost identical.

“Miguel!” you run to him, his arms nearly taking you off the ground. “Oh my god, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Your hands shake as you touch across his face. He’s all intact, although still drenched.

“I’m ok, I promised you I would be. I went to go get help.”

“Hot help at that,” Kasey whistles as she looks at the man behind Miguel.

“Are you alright?” Miguel covers the hand you have on your face. “I hope I didn’t give you too much of a scare.”

“I’m better now,” you practically melt into him. “Is that date still on?”

“It was never off. I just need your number now. And we can get out of here, yeah?”

You nod and lean onto his chest listening to his heart sing to you.

It feels familiar.

As always, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and COMMENT! It felt very mysterious to write even thought I didn't really mean for it to be.

[artist-issues]

It sounds like Stitch but it just doesn’t have the Stitchiness of Stitch. His mouth is too small. His nose is too small and too low down.

His ears are too furry. There’s too much teddy-bear-bunny, not enough insect-shark.

His ears should look almost-translucent, with fine fuzz, like bat ears! His nose should look stamped onto his face with gigantic nostrils, like a bulldog’s. His eyes should look bigger and blanker.

His mouth should make you think shark, like his whole head is resting on the hinge of his jaw. And the fur around his eyes should be much thinner and more peach fuzz like so that you can see the wrinkles in his flesh when he squints or makes snarly faces.

Why

Why is that so hard

he’s not cutesy and only-pretending-to-be-fierce. he’s not a kitten. He’s not made to appeal to the Minions and Toothless-but-only-Toothless-in-HTTYD-3 crowd.

There are NO BLACK LIPS. He’s not a dog. There are NO CAT-MUZZLE-UPPER-LIP-MUSCLES. He’s not a kitty. OR a bunny. Why are those two-front-teeth so so much smaller than the rest of his teeth? Why are all of the teeth so small??

Don’t you guys understand why he’s supposed to look more than just cute-but-acting-naughty?

He has to be able to look convincingly disgusting, and genuinely fearsome.

Look how whip-thin his eyes and eyebrows are. Look at how, like a snake mid-eat, you can see some of Pleakley’s head swelling Stitch’s throat. It is important that he look like a monster when he needs to because he is a monster.

If Stitch doesn’t look like the kind of small monster that can take big disgusting bites out of you, with jerky, spider-like movements and tiger-scrunched eyes then the whole emotional weight of the movie looks flimsy. We’ll forgive a cat for scratching us and giving us cat-scratch fever because it’s cute. If Stitch looks too cute, then the human brain goes, yeah, he pushed that little girl down and laughed at her pain, but look at his wittle face, he’s a babydoll, who could stay mad at him

We can easily see why Lilo puts up with him.

When the point is, we shouldn’t be able to see why Lilo puts up with him—not in and of himself. Stitch does nothing to deserve Lilo’s love, including being cute— actually, he’s gross and unsettling. He’s not even cute enough to want around as a snuggle-buddy. He’s certainly not cute enough to look unthreatening. Nobody in the movie runs up and asks to pet him. Nobody even looks like they want to. He’s not appealing in that way. The dogcatcher screams at him on sight. The tourists just stare when he walks up dressed as Elvis. Her friends immediately think he’s the ugliest thing in the world and don’t want him anywhere near them. David is sure it’s not a dog. Even the aliens in an intergalactic council find him not-appealing, on sight. They take him, as a threat, seriously, even before Jumba lists his powers.

All of that is not because Stitch really looks outrageously ugly.

⬆️ THAT is ugly. Can we all agree? That’s ugly. Whereas this:

Less ugly. Obviously I know that. But there are a couple things about Stitch that are not traditionally appealing, when the filmmakers could have made him traditionally appealing. If they wanted his nose to look muzzle-y, they could’ve. If they wanted his spine to bend at the hips like a human toddler’s they could’ve. If they wanted his mouth smaller and more cartoon-y, with kitty-cat lips, they could have done that. They chose to do the slightly more ugly thing instead. He’s still appealing. But he can look and be convincingly threatening, unattractive, and disgusting when he needs to be for the story.

The cuteness was a by-product. It was an artfully-done side. It was not the main course of what he’s supposed to look like. Again I say to you—he is not your Minions-loving Facebook Mom’s bumper sticker. He is supposed to walk the line between most-disgusting-pet-you-could-have and Gremlin-meets-E.T.

These teasers are totally catering to the people who like Stitch T-Shirts from WalMart but probably couldn’t explain the first thing about him as a character. And whatever, that’s fine. But the design affects the story, and the original story was so good.

This does not bode well.

[azsazz]

What's Mine

Rhysand x Eris x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Hear me out: alphas are super possessive anyway, but imagine high lord/future high lord - way more protective right? Especially in a scenario where there’s other ‘big bad alphas’ around e.g. other high lords at a ball, or at the court of nightmares

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, smut, Rhys using his daemati powers, fireplay maybe.

Word Count: 6,337

Notes: IS ERRHYS MY NEW FAVORITE THING? This is prob the best smut I've written tbh i'm obsessed with these two.

_________________________________________

The ballroom is spinning as you make your way towards the nearest wall. You’re sweating, body hot as you retreat, and it’s not the faewine or the dancing that has you feeling this way, you know it.

You stumble on the sweeping tail of your dress, tugging at the high collar of it as you go because it’s suffocating you and you don’t know why.

People are giving you weird looks.

You slump against the wall, knees locking as you try to stay upright. You don’t know what’s happening, your mind swirling as the intoxicating scents of alphas, betas, and bonded omegas throughout the ballroom  sharpen, and your cunt throbs when you pick up the hint of the Night Court patrons within the mass of fae.

An unbonded omega will always be invited to a High Lord’s ball like this, especially one of Beron Vanserra’s parties, a feeding ground for worthy alphas to lay claim to their submissive species. 

You’d begged Rhysand to come. As another set of eyes, you’d offered to protect the omegas who were being forced into bonds they didn’t want. It was the only reason Rhysand attended these things, though you weren’t entirely sure why the unbonded alpha High Lord of your court never took one of the preening omegas home.

Probably because some of them were spies.

As a beta, you didn’t have to worry about ruts or heats, letting lust and the urge to be bred make your choices for you. You were free to fuck who you pleased and lived how you wanted, the unlucky female of Rhysand’s Inner Circle who never presented as either of the desirable genus’.

So you don’t have an inkling of understanding of what’s going on. Someone would have had to poison your drink if you’re feeling this way, which isn’t entirely off of the table of possibilities. Being a member of Rhysand’s Inner Circle meant that you were an asset to him and a threat to everyone else.

“Shit,” you groan, clenching your legs together. But why would it be a poison that’s making lust burn your senses into a fiery oblivion. Why do you feel the need to follow the strong scents within the room and jump onto the cock of the nearest delicious smelling one?

You’re trying to clear your mind, focus on one thought at a time but it’s draining. It takes more effort that you’d like, you’d always prided yourself for your quick mind and battle solutions. But the only battle happening right now is the war within your body, fighting for something to exude the swelling pressure between your thighs.

You blink harshly, once, twice, as someone approaches. Their height covers the bright faelights that have been stinging your eyes and making your swirling head pound, and their scent nearly brings you to your knees and have you whimpering like a pup.

Eris Vanserra, eldest alpha of his siblings, stands before you, curiosity gleaming in those caramelized eyes of his.

He leans forward, and you feel the sharp tips of his teeth as he drags them over your covered throat. The sound of him lapping up your scent makes the hair at the nape of your neck stand. You hunch lower, sweat beading at your brow as you desperately try to make eye contact with anyone else in the crowded ballroom, but Eris’ shoulders are too wide, blocking your view.

“Ah, little omega,” he drawls, the silken taunt of his voice is a low rumble, all alpha. Your thighs clench together as instinct tries to take over and your heart pounds in your chest. You shouldn’t be this much of a mess beneath his caramel gaze, pupils so wide you can nearly see into the depths of his soul. “You shouldn’t have come here all alone–”

His words catch up to you through the haze of your mind, cutting through the clouds like a lightning strike. Your brows pull tight into a furrow as your hands slap against his chest, trying to shove him off to take a gasp of air. The room is much too hot and your dress sticks to your skin in the most uncomfortable way.

“I’m not! I’m just a beta,” you plead to the lordling. He’s all but touching you right now, caging you in with his hands pressed firmly to the wall on either side of your head. Eris falters for a moment, but then his eyes narrow and he’s scenting your neck again to be sure. 

You’re overwhelmed by his proximity and the palms you’ve laid flat against his chest curl into fists, his finely pressed emerald shirt crumpling in your fingers as the heady scent of firewood and bourbon rushes your senses. It takes all of your self control not to pull his body into yours, not to let the cocky alpha heir slide his knee up against your dress-covered cunt so you can grind down on him like your body wants. Your arms shake with the effort to keep him at bay, both his and your own self control quickly dwindling. No. You need to find Rhys or Azriel or Cassian, someone from your own court who will know how to help you because this…this is not how betas are supposed to act.

“Don’t lie to me,” Eris hisses, pulling away slightly, just enough for you to catch the swirling black mass of darkness forming over his back. Your shoulders relax slightly, but Eris doesn’t take notice, too enthralled by the scent of your hormones spilling off of your body. “I know you want my knot, little omega, that you need it like the bitch in heat you are…”

Rhysand’s hand clamps down on the Autumn heir’s shoulder, sharp talons of onyx piercing the expensive shirt. The sharp twinge of blood has you drooling. If only it were up a few more inches, right on his throat and made by your teeth. The High Lord of darkness all but roars at the rivaling alpha. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

Eris doesn’t like being told what to do. He is an immovable force as Rhys squeezes with warning, pristine, red blood staining the dark fabric. Eris snarls and shoves off Rhys’ grip, lips curled in disgust from the way the Night Court swill has mottled his fine silks.

“I’ll touch whomever I please,” Eris spits, turning that heated gaze on you once more. His eyes are lit with not only the throes of lust, but anger as well. “Especially an unbound omega who wants my knot.”

Rhys falters at the lordling's words, smoldering violet gaze flicking to your pleading one. You see his lips part in response and the moment he catches a whiff of your new scent, pupils tightening to pins before blowing wide with darkness, shadows crawling up his skin.

“She’s mine,” Rhysand growls so low it makes the floor beneath you rumble. The sensation crawls up your legs and straight to your cunt. You clench your thighs together and keen softly, unable to control yourself.

You even almost bare your neck to him.

“She’s not,” Eris answers, flicking a dismissive hand in Rhys’ direction, attention fully on you.

“She will be,” Rhys fights, sidling up to your side. His arm brushes yours and you almost crumple in your spot, body screaming in response to the two hot-headed, unbonded alphas fighting to be the one to see you through your heat.

Eris seems more than pleased to taunt your High Lord. “And what if I were to claim her right now?” he drawls, stroking a flaming finger down your neck. You have to bite back the whimper threatening to slip from your mouth at his delicate touch. Damn your omega senses right now, you can’t be trusted with yourself because of how badly you need his knot. “I could just lean over and mark her right here…”

“Then I’ll kill you and fill this fucking court with so much darkness that you suffocate,” Rhys snarls, his tone predatory. It makes the alpha caging you in go stiff, muscles rippling in response to the threat. Let him go, and I will get you out of here, Rhys tacks on, slipping easily through your weakened mental shields.

I can’t, you cry in response. Your knuckles are white with the effort you’re using to hold onto Eris. If you let go, surely your knees will give out and you like the way that his body is up against yours, how his threatening words make your skin dance with pleasure. He’s protecting you.

You chance a peek up at the towering alpha and it's the biggest mistake you can make right now. His amber eyes are bright with fire, the ring around his pupil gleaming hot white. It makes you shrink lower in response, your body submitting to the male before you. Eris grins sharply.

“Are you threatening the future High Lord of Autumn?” he taunts. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even flick a glance to the brewing King of Night at your side. It infuriates Rhysand even more.

“No,” Rhysand responds easily, his fingers twitching to unwind yours from Eris’ shirt to take into his own. He wants you clinging to him like that, and by the Mother will he do absolutely anything necessary to take you home. “I’m threatening the fucking prick who’s trying to take what’s mine.”

Rhysand hadn’t ever told you, but you’d always caught his eye, since Cassian had introduced you to him centuries ago. But as a High Lord and an alpha, he hadn’t ever made a move, needing to find an omega to bear an heir. Old rules created before his own time. But now that you’re clearly an omega, and one in desperate need of an alpha's knot…the beast raging inside of him is moments from breaking free and claiming you for his own.

He will spill Eris’ blood in your honor. To prove to you that he is a male worthy of your time, deserving of the spot to knot you and see you through your first heat.

“And what does the little omega want?” Eris asks, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. Rhysand watches with dark eyes. You’re sure that you look a mess right now, damp with sweat, your legs shaking as they try to keep you on your feet. Your fists are still twisted in Eris’ shirt and you can’t seem to force yourself to let go. All you want to do is lie down and take his knot, let him fill you up and breed you until there’s a whole pack of firelings running around these halls.

But Rhys’ arm brushes against yours, his scent drifting your direction. It makes your eyes roll back into your head, the crisp scent of night and fresh cedar sharpening your senses. You want him too, want him wrapped around your body like the tattoos twisting up his arms, want to carry his darklings and see how he frets.

They are not safe thoughts but your body demands it of you. You hadn’t known that being an omega was so difficult, that you’d go into heat and would want all of the things you didn’t ever think you’d have some day.

You need to get out of here.

Eris tips your chin up and you don’t know when you’d buried your nose deep into the crook of his neck. The glistening skin of his throat shines and you know you’ve been licking over his scent glands but you’re too far gone to be embarrassed.

Through the haze, you make eye contact with Rhys, nervous that he’ll be furious with you for how you’re acting. His face is set in stone but you can read the rage in his eyes all too well, having seen it many times before. It isn’t directed at you. All he wants to do is rip the alpha away from you and take you home, back to the Night Court where the cool air will sate your senses and his cock will ease your pain.

“Both,” you gasp, choking on it as the thought floods your mind. “I want you both.”

“Fuck, darling,” Rhys curses. His hand finds your back, knuckles stroking down your spine in a motion you want to keep moving further south. “We can’t. We don’t have clearance to stay in Autumn longer than the night.”

You whimper loudly and their hands tighten on you, Eris’ falling from the wall to your hips to pull you closer. You nuzzle into him, the warmth delicious as the fabrics between the both of you brush the sensitive skin of your body as you writhe. His scent reminds you of cozy autumn nights spent before the fire with ciders in your hands and spices wafting through the air. He smells like comfort and protection.

“Take me back, then,” you pant, rutting against the autumnal heir as he slides a thigh between the slit of your dress to relieve some of the pain. You groan at the feeling. The friction is good but not nearly enough. Your hand finally melts away from Eris’ chest only to tug Rhysand closer behind you. The sharpness of night and forest reminds you of home. “Need you both.”

Caramel meets violet in a thunderstorm of anger, splintering apart when your panting turns uneven. You’re going to pass out if they can’t calm you down, and people are starting to whisper and stare at the sight of you pressed flush between both High Lords, making both of the alphas hackles rise.

“Like hell I’m letting her go,” Eris snarls, fingers brushing across your tight nipples as he slides them down your body. He wants to settle them on your hips but Rhysand is already there, trying to tug your hips to meet his straining cock in his trousers.

Eris bypasses Rhys’ grip on you in favor of slipping it between his leg and your sex, brushing against your clothed clit. He loves the way that your nails claw in response, nearly shredding the rest of his shirt, and he wants you to leave burning red marks across the planes of his pale back, wants to revel in the needy omega from Night.

He smirks at Rhysand as your head falls backwards onto his shoulder.

“Then give us permission to stay,” Rhys says darkly, hands sliding down your sides in wanton. His breath puffs against the sensitive skin of your neck and he takes the moment for a teasing lick that you want to turn into more, a claim on you, teeth deep in your flesh and drawing blood until you’re his, and then you want Eris to do so on the other side until you’re theirs and no one else can tell you any different.

The Autumn Court male would rather burn, but the tears in your eyes has him cussing and agreeing, “Fuck. Fine. You can stay until her heat is over. No longer.”

Rhysand’s eyes blaze at the terms, how the copper haired alpha hadn’t mentioned anything about you returning with him. His jaw clenches so hard you think you hear his teeth crack. “Agreed.”

The Night Court High Lord grunts as the pact is made, a deep purple burn branding his skin with an autumn rope of vine like cattle. Eris shudders with you in his hold as whispers of menacing nightmares slither across his skin like ice, wrapping around his wrist like a vice, locking the agreement into place.

As soon as the deal settles in his bones Eris winnows you away. Rhys growls in warning, his fingers are barely brushing against the Autumn Court heir at all, but the copper haired alpha smirks, not at all minding if Rhys gets lost along the way. 

Asshole.

Dickhead.

Rhys tenses as the room whispers into view, prepared for any trap the eldest Vanserra may have taken you to. He knows it’s no longer the Woodland House, the massive estate built for Beron in the clearing of orange and crimson leaved trees. This place…is quaint, warm sunset filtering through the soft curtained windows. It smells like fresh cotton but he can scent the underlying staleness in the air. 

Eris has never brought anyone here.

His gaze follows Rhysand like one of his shadowhounds, his grip on you tight like a vice. This is his home, and he will not be made to feel vulnerable nor ashamed of it when he’s the one who’s allowed the Night Court miscreant to stay.

“This is Briarhome,” he murmurs softly, the only reprieve he’s going to give the other alpha, who's still drinking in the room, “My home.”

Not the Woodland House. He never knots in the Woodland House. Not with his brothers and father so close, where everything can be – and is – used as a weapon. He hasn’t even brought an omega to this home, no, this is his sacred spot for him and his bonded omega…or future bonded omega.

And apparently Rhysand, for the night.

Maybe the High Lord has been wrong about him.

His bed looks like the perfect spot for nesting, filled with soft quilts and a mass of pillows that makes you want to climb into and never leave. Warmth fills your stomach and drips down your thighs at the thought of knotting the both of them in such a safe place. Your heart swells and Eris lifts you into his arms, the alpha all soft and gentle now that he’s in the privacy of his own home.

You whimper when he settles you and draws away, only to his knees to start undressing. The pain is overwhelming, and you’d feel bad for being the sweaty, needy mess that you are but it’s your new nature, and neither of them will let you feel bad about it.

Eris unbuttons his shirt, fingers moving deftly across the buttons as Rhysand circles the bed, searching for the best vantage point to grab at you. Your gaze moves to his violent purple ones, your breath catching in your throat at the predatory way he’s looking at you and Eris on the bed, nostrils flaring as your body reacts with a wave of arousal at his face.

You zero in on Eris as the silk shirt slips in rivulets down his pale skin, showing off an impressive set of muscles, adorned with freckles. Your hips buck and his smirk goes soft at the snivel you release, hands snaking down to relieve the ache between your thighs.

Rhys tuts from the side of the bed, slipping into your mind. It’s like walking through fog, with the amount of desire clouding your mind. He opens himself up, just for a moment, and is flooded with your intoxicating thoughts. The feeling floods straight to his cock and he groans, shutting himself out of your mind before his knot expands in his trousers.

He climbs onto the bed, fingertips dipped in night reaching for the high collar of your dress as Eris glides his hands up your exposed thighs, grabbing a fistful of the black fabric making up the bottom of your dress. You arch under their touch, moaning wildly and they haven’t even begun to touch you where you need.

Together, both alphas growling in response to your call, they tear the front of your dress open, collar to hemline, exposing your flushed, creamy skin. The air of the room laps at your overheating skin and you gasp as your nipples tighten.

Hands instantly find your body as yours fist into the sheets, Rhysand caressing your cheek as he turns your face to capture you in a blistering kiss while Eris tugs your panties down your legs in haste.

You jolt against Rhysand’s mouth as something flicks against your throbbing clit. The primal groan you hear in answer to your taste sends shivers up your spine, and Eris is diving in without warning, trying to bury himself in your cunt, sloppy tongue lapping at your slick, wetting his cheeks and marking himself with your flavor.

Rhysand’s teeth are sharp as they nip your lip, drawing your attention back to the Night Court alpha who’s demanding your time. He coaxes your fingers from the sheets and they immediately latch onto him, just as he wanted. His fingers trail across the tight skin of your breasts, dancing over your sensitive nipples as he licks into your mouth.

You don’t like the amount of clothes he has on. How the alpha is supposed to mount you with his body covered is impossible, and you tug at the collar of his shirt, showing your utter frustration through your actions because your mouth can’t form words.

Careful, omega, his voice reverberates in your skull and then he’s everywhere all at once. I’m the one in charge.

Are you sure? You pant against his open mouth, like he’s your will to breathe. And with the way that the alpha hands move, how he’s playing nice with the other High Lord right now, he might just be. Because Eris is the one–

I can be anywhere, be anything you want me to be, he purrs, power licking up your spine as you arch off of the bed. I can have you thinking that he is me, he continues darkly, and you know Eris is the one licking through your folds like a starved alpha, but when your head is forced up on Rhysand’s whim, it’s his face you see buried between your legs.

Off, you beg, pulling at his collar again. But perhaps your mind is so muddled with lust that he’s the one slurping at your cunt. Maybe it’s Eris who looms above you fully clothed…

A strangled cry spills from your mouth as the tongue licking at your clit burns. Your head clears and your gut coils at the sensation and it’s definitely Eris that’s down there, branding his mouth to your cunt.

Rhys slips out of his shirt but you hardly notice because you’re careening over the edge into a deliciously warm orgasm, gushing on Eris face as he holds your thighs open so he can continue flicking his tongue fervently. You drag his abandoned shirt to your nose, inhaling the roguish scent of him as you cum and Mother above if it doesn’t want to make the alpha fucking bond you right then.

But the orgasm hasn’t sated the heat that's burning through your body, the reprieve only lasts a moment before it hits you twice as hard.

You need one of their knots, and you don’t care which one gives it to you.

Rhysand steps around to the end of the bed, eyes pinned on the way Eris’ head is still buried deep in your snatch. He growls, getting a fistful of his copper locks and he rips the lordling away from your throbbing cunt. You let out a whimper so loud that it nearly makes him submit to you, but he cranes Eris’ neck backwards to admire the red of his swollen lips and your slick glistening across his cheeks.

You scramble to your elbows to see what’s happening and are entranced at the two alphas glaring at each other. Your heart and pussy throb in time with each other.

They must be having some sort of mental chat because Eris has a wicked gleam in his eye as he licks the remnants of your slick from his lips, making a show of it. Rhysand’s lip curls into a snarl and he jerks the Autumn alpha back, his neck straining at the unnatural angle as his unoccupied hand reaches for his belt, flicking the buckle open with ease.

Your hand snakes to your clit and you desperately need one of them but you’ll force your body to wait to be able to watch them like this. 

“Finish it,” Rhys growls down at the alpha on his knees so that you can hear. Eris doesn’t like it, wants to send his flames licking up the Night Court King’s arm, but the look in those violet eyes makes it known that his darkness will only smother him to smoke. He reluctantly starts moving when you whine and Rhys cranes his neck further when he tries to look at you, undoing his leathers and pulling them down the strong columns of his thighs.

The High Lords prick bobs, head pink and shining with precum, and Eris’ throat works to swallow. 

You think the male might take it into his mouth, and you know Rhysand would enjoy it too, because the fireling sure knows how to use that wicked mouth of his, but the alpha towering over him leans down, pompous and arrogant as ever, and kisses him.

It’s hot and heavy, the tension in the room thickening as the two alphas grapple for dominance. They’re all wide shoulders and primal growls, licking into each other's mouths like warriors meeting on the battlefield. Eris shoves his way to his feet without breaking the bruising kiss, and their bodies mold together in a striking image of chalk and bronze. 

Your gasping breaths tear them apart, fingers fisting and manhandling each other in brutal lust. You’re working yourself through a second orgasm, just the sight of them aiding your heat, the need for them almost unbearable. You’re a shaking, sweating mess, but beautiful nonetheless as they stare down at you writhing on the bed.

Eris is the first to slip away and Rhys curses, following the heir but he’s too late because Eris is consoling you with a gentle kiss as he presses his cock into your needy cunt with a groan. He presses all of the air from your lungs, stifling you in the best way. His body is warm, cock hot as he pistons his hips in and out and in again. 

His name is a prayer on your lips as he works, his hands everywhere, sending flickers of flames up your body every time he pulls out. He loves it, wants to hear you saying his name for the rest of forever, and he holds back a bark of ownership, body shaking with the effort it takes to keep himself from biting into the exposed skin of your neck.

Rhys climbs onto the bed again, watching with keen eyes how the lithe body of Eris Vanserra drags you to your edge. He’s muscled in all of the right places, ass flexing as he pumps into you, giving you everything your body so desperately craves. 

The High Lord can tell that the other alphas knot is forming, from the sounds that he makes and the look in his eyes, the barring of his teeth and the offering of his own throat as your nails leave pink scratches down his back as you cum on his cock, so close to having what you want.

But the heir freezes and you scream, tears leaking from your eyes as you’re overcome with blistering heat – no longer Eris’ doing – and the fact that his knot is no longer growing inside of you, trying to lock the both of you together.

Rhysand is a greedy bastard and even though he’s in the home of the Autumn heir, he will never be second.

Eris’ chest heaves against yours but he can’t move, couldn’t if he wanted to, and damn the Cauldron does he want to. Fear slithers through his veins like the darkness in his mind before his fiery anger tries to flush the High Lord of the Night Court from his mind. He can only blame himself, letting the brick walls in his head crumble for you, an offering to let you into his mind as part of the bonding.

Get the fuck out of my head, he spits at the other alpha, who’s smirking down at him with lethal intent. 

Are you sure you’re an alpha? Rhys teases, using his powers to tug the coiled male from your body. His limbs are locked, clutching to you like a vice as you squirm beneath him, chasing the knot that’s not expanding. You should be able to push me out.

Your words make no sense, coming out in high pitched noises and cries. Your body is burning, your bones hurt with the aching need for a knot, for their seed to spill into your womb like it's the only thing you need to live.

I’ll fucking kill you, Eris threatens as Rhys forces him away from you. He’s like a puppet, and he hates every second of his betraying limbs as he slides away. He’s frozen, on the edge of his knot growing and it will be painful the longer he holds it but Rhys is cradling you to his chest and playing every part of the hero he wishes he could be, soothing you and letting you clutch to him as he settles between your thighs.

He’s forced to watch the smirk Rhys tosses his way, paired with a wink that lets him know he won’t be moving unless he forces that alpha out, before the High Lord softens, turning to you and silencing your whimpers with a stroke of his tongue.

Rhys wastes no time, bucking into your slick cunt with ease. He shudders as you tighten around him, a whispered moan of his name crosses your lips like it’s your last breath and he can hardly take it, pistoning his hips faster for every sound that you make.

Your legs clamp around his waist and your hand falls away from the deep planes of his back, seeking out the other alpha who you can feel roiling on the other side of the bed. Your fingers find his hair, giving a light tug, showing him that you want him nearer, and it’s all Eris needs to break the chains of his mind with a growl so domineering it makes your cunt clamp and Rhysand’s knot form as he lies claim to your thrashing body.

“Yes, yes, please,” you gasp desperately, the feeling of his hot seed spurting into you, filling you up is everything. He’s so big, his cock expanding inside of you and trapping his cum there. Your mind spins with it and you let yourself go pliant when you’re sure that the alphas won’t kill each other over you.

Eris finds you, laying claim to your mouth as you slip into the blissful sensations of your omegaspace, feeling full and protected by the two alphas you’ve brought to bed. Later, you’ll need to knot again, and your heat will last for days on end, but with the both of them here you know you’ll be more than satiated.

The copper haired alpha murmurs into your ear but you’re too relaxed to make out his soft words but your hand tightens around his at the mention of him knotting you later. 

“I’m going to give you everything you need, fawn,” he brushes the damp hair from your forehead as Rhysand strokes your cheek. He may not have daemati powers like the alpha Night Lord, and he loathes that the smug male can hear his vulnerable admissions, but he needs you to hear them. “Just give it a little time.”

“You know,” Rhysand croons when you doze off. He gently rolls the both of you so you’re more comfortable, lying on his chest. You nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck while you sleep, reveling in the scent of the alpha that’s giving you everything you need. His fingers stroke down the length of your spine and he nearly preens when you melt against him. His gaze shifts to the Autumn royal. “I could make you stop again.”

Eris' eyes blaze and his teeth flash in warning but Rhysand stops his speech before he can argue.

In your head, asshole, the Night Court native warns and the other alpha glares.

Not all of us have fancy mind-speaking skills, his voice is rough with flames.

Another reason that she belongs in the Night Court with me.

Copper eyes slash to his and Rhys can see the fury rippling from the alpha beside him. Eris knows that he can’t react how he wants to, to rip Rhysand off of you and steal you away. He makes a show of taking a calming breath, but when he lets his eyes trail down your sleeping form does he truly relax.

I want her, he says.

Me too, Rhysand counters, his grip on your tightening as another wave of his cum releases into you. Only a single thought of you had triggered his ruts before, sealing himself away in the hidden cabin in the mountains because he wouldn’t be able to stop the beast inside of him if you had been nearby.

And you don’t know Eris, not truly anyway. You’d met him in passing, at meetings where he’d done nothing but snark by his father’s side, but you’d always known that there was more to them in that burnt caramel gaze.

She wants the both of us, Rhysand continues, but Eris’ temper is still hot.

Me too, he blurts, and the entire room plunges into stillness. 

Rhysand’s body goes stiff at the admission but you let out a pleased sigh like you’re agreeing with Eris. You want the both of them, and his accidental admission says he’s willing to share you, to share himself with the both of you, if Rhysand should want it.

Violet eyes rake across heated cheeks and red lips that part in nervousness, Eris’ tongue flicking out to wet them. He’s devastatingly handsome like most High Fae, but there’s an aura to him that makes something in the Night Court alphas gut churn.

But when he tries to catch the other alphas' gaze Eris won’t look his way. He’s busying himself by playing with your hair, fluffing the mass amounts of pillows on his bed, and gathering drinks and snacks from a nearby closet stocked specifically for this. You’ll need to keep your energy up and both alphas will have to coax you to eat, even though all you’ll want for the next few days is to fuck.

Eris, Rhysand calls and the lordling stops. He takes the moment to stare, eyes dragging down his pale skin from where his copper hair curls at the nape of his neck to his tapered waist and down. He knows that he’s hung, even if he couldn’t see the head of his cock between his legs from the way he’s standing stock still across the room, he’s seen it as it plunged into your body at a pace that made his cock bob. 

Slowly, the Autumn alpha looks over his shoulder, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. Rhysand waves him closer, he’s already too far away from the both of you, if the whimper that Rhysand wants to mimic slips from your slips. 

She’ll need you soon, Rhys says. He can feel the way that your body is already heating up, how his knot has started to deflate. We’ll need you soon.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

You wake to soft voices and even softer kisses. You’re sweating, body hot as you’re pinned between two muscular bodies, the alphas you’d begged to knot you.

Craning your head upwards you catch the sight of Rhysand and Eris, lips locked in a much sweeter kiss than the one they’d shared earlier. 

They look glorious, tongues lapping lazily as limbs brush across each other and yours in between. You don’t know what’s happened while you were asleep but it’s nice that they’re finally getting along.

You watch for as long as your body will allow. You know that they both know that you’re awake, but you’re not sure if their kissing is a reaction to your pheromones driving their alpha senses while they waited for you to wake or their own doing, but Mother is it a sight to see.

Eris’ hand strokes up Rhys’ cock softly, twisting firmer as he reaches the head and runs a thumb over his slit. The High Lord’s breath shatters, body vibrating beneath the fiery grip of the Autumn male. 

You moan softly, hands slipping down your body to relieve yourself but Rhys’ hand is catching yours and dragging it to his cock with Eris’. 

“Both of you,” he pants, voice raspy with need. Your cunt gushes at the vulnerability in his voice, the soft way he’s commanding your motions. “Eris will take care of you, darling.”

“Yes, fawn,” the lordling breathes, rolling so he’s flush to your back. You’re manhandled onto your side and receive no warning as Eris shoves into you with a keen of his own, filling you to the brim with his throbbing cock.

Neither of you has to worry about being stopped by the High Lord of Night.

He aides your sex, slipping into the both of your minds and sharing images of the both of you together, feelings of each other and how your hands feel around his weeping cock, how tight and hot you are clenching around Eris’ cock, sharing how full you feel with him so far deep inside of you.

None of you last very long.

You cry out at an image created of Rhysands imagination; you pressed between the two of them as they both drive into you, sharing you like you never knew you needed. You bare your throat to both of them, begging the alphas to bite into the flesh of your neck, to mate and bond and love you forever.

And they do, sharing a look with each other that says they’ll figure out all of the details later, but for now, and the next few days, they have you, and they have each other. They solidify the bond in the soft bed of Briarhome, and let you mark their necks the same way in the throes of your heat, the Mother allowing your souls to forge together like the deadliest weapon.

And with both High Lords by your side, you know you will be.

[hauntedhokage]

Day 6: Sex Work & Biting

Bakugou/Camgirl!Readerl

word count: 1.2k

warnings: filming, mentions of breeding, role play, THIS IS A SEX WORK POSITIVE SPACE.

kinktober on ao3

“You’re sure?” you ask, leaning back against the headboard and watching as he adjusts his gauntlets. This wasn’t just him fucking you on camera, that had been done before and multiple times - always being mindful to protect his identify since the number one hero probably shouldn’t be caught fucking his girlfriend on her cam show. This was him putting on his costume, being Dynamight, and fucking you on camera because a superhero role play donation goal had been met. When you’d set the goal up you’d planned on just getting a Uravity costume and asking him to pretend to be a villain you were seducing, but instead he’d met your suggestion with his own - you getting punished by the number one hero. 

“My idea.”

“Yeah but you’re allowed to change your mind. This could have a serious impact on your career if-“

“If it’s figured out then so what? I have a hot girlfriend who uses her beautiful body to make money - and I get to help while also showing off that you’re very much taken. And one day you’ll be my wife.”

“Who says?”

“I do. That’s not a proposal, by the way.” 

You shake your head, but hold your hand out for his mask while sliding out of the bed. You always felt small standing near as, as your neighbor-turned-subscriber-turned boyfriend was tall and bulky and just big. But when he was in his costume Bakugou just felt massive. Thick kevlar and other protective materials, the large gauntlets that made his large arms even thicker, the normally imposing man turned into a godlike figure. 

And you couldn’t wait to have him on top of you in that imposing costume. 

But first, formalities. 

His mask in your hands always felt heavy, it was mostly in your hands before he was leaving you rather abruptly to go stop a villain and you were left mildly concerned for his safety and the status of the situation that he’d be called during what should’ve been time to rest to handle it. But you always flipped it over, fingers carefully caressing the material as you leaned in to press a kiss to the spot that would rest over the bridge of his nose. This time would be no different, even if the villain he was fighting was just you in a skimpy costume made for him to be able to rip apart. The fight wouldn’t be punches and explosions, instead one of sharp teeth and tongues, grabby hands and filthy language that only comes out when you've got him on camera with you. 

“You ready?” Your voice is soft as you slide his mask into place, stealing a kiss as he grins. He takes your mask off to give it the same treatment before putting it back on your face, and you know he’s basking in the way you smile up at him when he does. 

“Let’s get the camera rollin’.”

And as you lie face down on your mattress, Bakugou’s teeth digging into your shoulder to keep himself quiet as he pounds into you from behind, you couldn’t be happier. He was so rough, bordering on feral as his hips met the cushy flesh of your ass. The sound of his pants slapping against the spandex you wore echoing in your ears as the background noise to his pleasured groans and threats to throw you in prison anyway despite your cooperation with his “investigation”. 

“You really think I can let someone like you go free?” He growls, hand in your hair to pull your head back so he could get close to your ear. “Gonna fuck some morals into you, maybe even a baby. Hard to be a villain when you’re having a hero’s baby, right?”

The bite to your jaw that follows has you whining, your cunt clenching around him and bringing a hiss out of the number one hero but he doesn’t falter in his rough pace in the slightest. He just presses his face into your neck and bites down harder, hard enough that you’re sure he’s broken skin but that was a problem for later when you had the ability to maintain a train of thought for longer than three seconds. 

“I’m gonna cum, and I don’t give a shit if you do or don’t,” he warns before shoving your head down into the mattress, his grip on your wrists that he’d been holding behind your back getting tighter as he fucks into you harder and without a care for your own comfort or completion. You feel your insides churn with each thrust, almost as if he was rearranging to ensure there was always a spot for his cock inside you and cement his spot in your life. 

It’s by design that you don’t cum, since a majority of your viewers liked when Bakugou treated you like a fucktoy and you both had agreed that it would fit the scene more if he just chased his own pleasure then got you off once the cameras stopped rolling. It was also by design that you and your boyfriend had abstained from sex for a few days, since Bakugou got a bit rougher when he’d gone without for a while and also had a much more eruptive orgasm because of it. The people wanted a show, and Bakugou Katsuki was quite the showman when you asked him to be - and the way he made himself just a bit more vocal than usual as he released inside you proved just that. He liked the losers hearing just how good you made him feel and loved showing it off - so much so that he leans over to grab the closest camera off of the tripod so he can film himself pulling out, and display your cum filled hole when he spreads your cheeks apart to give a clear view of your pussy - his pussy.

Once the cameras are all shut off, the light in the room dimmed, you hear him remove the gauntlets and gloves before his bare palm is on your back rubbing slow circles. 

“I’m good,” you answer before the question can be asked, turning to look at him to see his small smile. You loved that smile, since it was your smile. Nobody else got that but you (and maybe his mother if they weren’t screaming at each other). “You?”

“Perfect. Even when you’re a supervillain you take good care of me. Shower?”

“Bath then rinse in shower, hero?”

“I’ll get the water running and bring you some water.”

“Thank you, I love you.”

“Love you too, honey.”

When you started dating Bakugou you’d made it clear that you had no intention of quitting your streams or any other business ventures that you’d had running before you met him, and he’d been more than accepting of that. He didn’t want you to change for him, and he could give a fuck about the impact to his career because what mattered most to him was your happiness. Did you think that you’d be making amateur porn with the number one hero on a bi-monthly basis? No; but it was a unique aspect to your relationship that you loved, and appreciation for how confident and secure he was in himself and your relationship that he helped you make the content that you sold. Being wrecked by your boyfriend, to be covered in his bites and bruises left from his hands that would later caress you so gently as he took care of you afterward, was the sweetest balance that you hadn’t expected but definitely cherished. Katsuki Bakugou was yours, and he made sure you knew he was just as in love with you as you were with him. 

[puimoo]

The Brucie and Dick relationship.

[Obligatory ‘new to comic canon’ warning, where I use my Tumblr to process all my thoughts!]

While thinking today about the impact that Bruce and Batman have on Dick growing up, I realised there was a third person to consider.

What impact does Brucie have on Dick?

Because Brucie is a big part of the Bruce/Batman/Brucie identity triangle, although he often isn’t really taken into consideration when looking at their overall relationship with Dick.  However, Brucie is who the world in general sees – his colleagues, his ‘friends’, the women he dates and the people he socialises with.  There are articles written about him in the papers, paparazzi snapping his pictures.  Businesses and charities being set up in his name.

The thing is though, once Dick comes along, Brucie isn’t just a solo act.  Now, Bruce has to decide what role Dick plays in the persona.

Brucie is deliberately crafted to send particular messages: he’s not a threat, he’s easy to manipulate, he’s rather stupid and clumsy but well-meaning and incredibly likeable.  Which means that, when they are together in public (or even when Brucie is talking about him without Dick being present), Brucie and Dick are meant to send a message as well.  I can’t see their public relationship not being just as carefully crafted as the Brucie one – if it’s not, it puts the whole Brucie persona at risk.  This isn’t Bruce having a relationship with Dick, after all – it’s Brucie.

I haven’t seen enough of Brucie and Dick together to really formulate something based more deeply in canon, so a couple of thoughts instead about what that message might be intended to be.  Is the message supposed to be that they are a shiny happy family (completely normal, as much as a man and his ward can be)?  From what we know of Brucie, that would mean that Brucie would likely be more openly affectionate when they are together, much more tactile and prouder of Dick than Bruce or Batman would be.

Is the message more supposed to be the scatterbrained playboy who collects things that interests him in a well-meaning way but moves on quickly, meaning Brucie is more likely to be kind but dismissive of Dick and their relationship?

Both versions send a message: one that is we are a normal, functional family (who clearly are not Batman and Robin!), one where the relationship is more superficial and Dick isn’t really quite that important anymore and therefore you shouldn’t worry too much about him/think about him/consider him to heavily connected to Brucie at all (and all the risks that might involve for Dick, Batman and Bruce).

Both serve a protective role and both are deliberately crafted, but neither are necessarily healthy for actual Dick in the long run – especially as this would have all started when Dick was 9-10 years old.  He’s not only having to navigate his own, actual relationship with Bruce (and Batman), but manage a fake version of it as well.  And, while Dick knows that it’s all an act and probably at times finds the whole Brucie situation deeply amusing while being frustrated at other times with how people underestimate Bruce, I could also see how the deliberate choices that Bruce makes about how Brucie and Dick’s relationship is portrayed could have a deeper impact.

After all … Affectionate!Brucie potentially highlights that Bruce chooses not to be like that with him at other times - he’s clearly capable of acting that way but doesn’t necessarily feel that way.  Or, at the very least, it highlights what could have been but isn’t.  Dismissive!Brucie potentially highlights some of Dick’s greatest fears.  

There are also things that Dick could learn just from Brucie away from the Dick and Brucie relationship (you never show your true self to people, even if they are not a threat – they are ALWAYS a threat) that have the potential to shape how he sees the world.

Again, none of these are fully realised thoughts or ideas.  There are also a dozen other variations of the Brucie and Dick relationship that Bruce might have crafted, but I think the thing I am getting at is that Bruce would have crafted something – and that potentially this might have had some impact on Dick.  He grew up with Brucie alongside Batman and Bruce, after all.  I could see young!Dick absolutely leaning into it and loving to play whatever the role was (love the ‘it’s us against the world’ feel), but you get the sense that as he gets older, some realisations might creep in.

Which leads me to my last random thought: are there some versions of the Brucie and Dick relationship where Brucie of all people is actually a better parent than Bruce is (especially later on)?  Brucie – who is generally ridiculed and looked down upon by everyone who knows that he is an act?  Who is meant to represent all the things that Bruce and Batman aren’t so as to throw people off their scent.  Are there versions of the Dick and Brucie relationship where Dick might actually prefer some of those Brucie traits to some of Bruce and Batman's more harsher edges?  

From a purely evil head canon perspective, I kind of like the thought that, out of all the Batkids, Dick is the only one who actually enjoys Brucie at times, because when Affectionate!Brucie is in action he can lean into the warmth of the father-son dynamic without it being complicated or difficult, even if it is just for a short time.  And you know what the kicker would be?  Bruce would probably tell Dick afterwards how well he played the role.

…. I did not intend to have so much to say about this relationship as I did!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jay Kuo at The Status Kuo:

There’s a strange phenomenon occurring with the terminally online right. Ever since Vice President Kamala Harris announced that Gov. Tim Walz would be her running mate, many of the right have acted with fury. They’ve attempted to “Swift Boat” his 24-year service record in the Army National Guard. They’ve called him a racist for talking about “white guy tacos.” And they’ve dredged up a nearly 30-year old DUI—for which he took accountability and after which he stopped drinking altogether—to prove he’s somehow not so perfect a role model.

What they haven’t been able to do is make any of this stick. And yet, Walz continues to draw fire, which could otherwise have been directed at Harris. In other words, Walz is turning out to be a shrewd pick. At net 11 points positive favorability in polls, Walz is immensely more popular than his counterpart on the GOP ticket, JD Vance, who is underwater by nine. And as they continue to rail against him, the right keeps making his fundamental point about them: They are just really weird. In today’s piece, I explore some theories about why Walz brings out the worst impulses of the right just by being who he is. Then I’ll lay down some political tarot cards and prognosticate about where I think this leads.

Politico Uno Reverse

By most identity measures, Walz should be one of the MAGA right. He’s a midwestern white dude in his late 50s. He loves to hunt and is a sharpshooter. He served for decades in the military and achieved the highest enlisted rank of Command Sergeant Major. He was a football coach who helped lead his team to the state championship. And yet, despite all these identity markings, Walz in an unabashed progressive. He is for reproductive rights and an ally and protector of gay teens. And there isn’t a bigoted bone in his body. It’s as if when Harris picked him, she played, as writer Anna Gifty Opoku-Agyeman succinctly described it, a “political uno reverse.” The Walz card threw it right back at them, as if to say, “I’m a guy just like you, but without any of the weird baggage.” The MAGA GOP’s base is supposed to include white guys like Walz. But here is living evidence that they don’t have all of them or the best of them. That’s why they’re so eager to discredit him, because if they don’t, as psychologist Julie Hotard notes, then Walz will stand instead as a model of what is possible. On many levels, an appealing, white, male Democrat is a far bigger threat to their sense of identity than even a biracial woman candidate for president.

[...]

Attacking Mr. Nice Guy

For the past two decades, the GOP has shifted markedly toward being a party of cruelty, of “owning” the libs and drinking their tears, and of being as unpleasant and in-your-face as they can be. That kind of behavior has been rewarded with appearances on Fox and other right wing media, fundraising dollars from the MAGA base, and a spot at the side or in the tweets of the ex-president himself. As author Patrick S. Tomlinson observed, Walz represents what shouldn’t be an extraordinary notion: that you can be a nice guy, supportive of women, embracing of gay people, and still be all the coded masculine ideals of soldier, football coach, hunter and father that the MAGA right believed it had a lock on. Plus, you can be all those things without ever asking weird questions about menstrual cycles, chromosomes and genitalia. The right even tried to make a big deal about Walz’s efforts as governor to ensure free tampons were available to girls in school. Rumors circulated that schools had been required to also put tampons in boys’ bathrooms, but those claims turned out to be untrue, while demonstrating how off kilter the right becomes over sexuality and gender. The “Tampon Tim” moniker didn’t stick. On the contrary, there are probably many moms and dads grateful for a governor like Walz who is thinking about their daughters’ needs.

Jay Kuo explains the real reason why the right is being driven crazy by Tim Walz: The fact that he has a profile that would typify a MAGA voter (football coach, military service, loves to hunt) yet is a progressive white dude (solid LGBTQ+ rights ally before it became fashionable among Democrats).

[mochatsin]

Hihi!! I have an idea for the obey me brothers! What if mc is a child angel who has fallen and they find the fallen kid? And are wondering "what could a child possibly do to deserve this?" Just a thing of brainrot😭🙏 hope you have a wonderful day!

thank you for this ask anon! super cute idea of imagining how they'd help a child MC that had just fallen. The transition of becoming a demon would be difficult for them but i think it would be an easier journey with the brothers.

When you think about it? Yeah, it’s a little upsetting and screwed up that someone who claims to be a father for all angels, to rule over a realm that’s supposed to be about good morals and whatnot, could be so unforgiving enough to punish a little angel like you.

The brothers were summoned to the castle as it was an urgent matter and usually that’s never really a good thing. It could range to something silly like another one of Diavolo’s big fun events or it could be something serious that could pose a threat to Devildom. What they didn’t expect to find was a little child seated on Diavolo’s lap while the prince played with the wings.

Diavolo explains that he noticed that there’s an unexpected presence in Devildom so he went to investigate and to his surprise, he found you instead. All alone surrounded by shedded white feathers as your wings gradually turned black as a punishment. The prince finds it a little nostalgic, recalling the time when he first found the brothers. Of course, he doesn’t mention that as part of his monologue. 

“Get to the point, Diavolo.” Lucifer says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he can see where this was going. 

Diavolo stated that it’s best for the brothers to take care of you. As much as trouble makers they all are (and they probably shouldn’t even be near kids), they’re the ones who could sympathize with your situation the most as a fallen angel. You’re going to need a lot of guidance with the recent changes and Diavolo can only trust the brothers for this task. If they can’t handle it, then Diavolo will find someone else to enlist their help but for now, you’re in the hands of the seven Avatars. Despite the groans and protests, you went back to the House of Lamentation with them at the end of the day. 

There was a house meeting that night. 

Lucifer, being the mother-hen and older brother that he was, instructed each of his brothers what to do and avoid when taking care of you. You’re never allowed to go anywhere without a brother to accompany you, since they knew firsthand how wicked some demons were to fallen angels like you and the fact that you’re so young doesn’t help your case. Lucifer doesn’t want you to experience the hardships they went through before. When you express struggles on flying after you’ve fallen, Lucifer is patiently trying to teach you how to get used to it. He’s holding onto your hand while you flap those little wings, and later on he’d slowly glide with you around the gardens. He adores being able to help you like this, it reminds him of how he had to teach his brothers before. When you mess up on your chores, Lucifer is not as strict to you as he is to whoever’s the brother in charge that time. The most punishment you’d probably get is being grounded, but he never threatens to hang you upside down (unless you’re a rowdy child, then he’s strict) 

Mammon secretly dotes on you like how he does with his brothers when they were younger. Whenever he feels you clinging onto his leg if you get scared or nervous, a part of him absolutely melts and he’s trying not to show it. Plus, you never call him names and are much nicer than they are so he hopes you stay that way for a long time. During his big wins at the casino, he’s always coming home with a treat or a gift just to spoil you a little bit. His typical tsundere attitude needed to be held back though, because he once affectionately called you ‘stupid’ and you almost cried because you thought he hated you. Mammon panicked so badly and made a vow to himself not to do that anymore, to try to use nicer language around you specifically. Some find it funny to see their foul mouthed brother try to use age-safe words when he’s angry but you’re around, and the end result is that he just sounds a bit goofier than usual.

Levi doesn’t know how to take care of children at all, and he’s more nervous around you than you are of him. Though he starts to talk about his latest games, introducing you to some media that he would find safe for children. The last thing he needs is accidentally corrupting that little brain of yours, and if the anime showed any semblance of inappropriate fanservice, he’s immediately switching the shows to something more appropriate for you. He’s hoping you don’t ask any questions about what you almost saw, because he’ll never hear the end of it from his brothers if they find out. He’d get hung upside down in the living room with the wifi router chord for the whole night if it happens. Other than that, he lets you stay in his room and you can stare at the aquarium all you want as long as you don’t touch any of his collectibles and figurines. Levi would even sit you on his lap while he plays his games, and he’s snickering at the sound of his enemies who refuse to believe they’re being bested by someone who sounds like a child.

Satan is the one that would struggle the most with empathizing with you since he was never an angel in the first place. The only glimpses of the celestial realm he can remember was from Lucifer’s own memories. Such an annoyingly bright realm… He never felt the need for lights compared to his brothers since he was the only one born a demon. Though whenever you’re around, Satan would turn on a lamp just for you since he noticed how you always squint in his dark room. He always makes sure to either put away some books in case they’re cursed, or just carry you all the way to a safe spot by the bed if you want to hang out with him. He either reads a nice book with you, or you’d both watch some shows that either had detectives or cats in it. Satan would have a picture of you sleeping with a cat stuffed toy, he can’t help but stare at it sometimes in adoration. 

Asmo is the one that helps teach you with the proper grooming of your wings and horns. Given that you’re a young and new demon, you often feel an itchy sensation around your scalp while your horns are gradually growing. He’ll always have you seated on his lap while he applies some sort of soothing cream to relieve the itch, tending to your hair as well while he’s at it. He’s absolutely smitten at how small and cute you are, so Asmo enjoys all the times he’s teaching you proper hygiene care for demons. Asmo is even documenting how much your horns have grown so that one day, he can compile all of the photos and videos and look back on the progress eventually. He can’t wait until your horns are fully grown because there will be so many accessories he’ll want to try on you eventually. 

Beel decides what safe foods they should introduce to you first since they notice how repulsed you get over things that had “poison” or insect parts in them, not when you’ve been used to the cuisine back in the celestial realm. He’s always reassuring you that none of them are dangerous, and you could always give him the parts you don’t want to eat. Beel also offers to hoist you over his shoulders to give you a piggyback ride because he loves hearing you laugh while he runs around the house with you. In any other case, he’s very protective of you out of the rest since you’re so small and young. He keeps his gaze low whenever he walks around the house just in case he might accidentally bump into you, and given the sheer strength he already has, it’s a high possibility. Satan had to reassure him that Beel wouldn’t break your rib if you bumped into his leg. 

Belphie is normally with his twin when it comes to taking care of you since he’s not the best at babysitting when alone. Though when it’s just you two, he just makes sure you both stay indoors to keep you safe. You’re so young and innocent, it reminds him a bit too much of Lilith, Belphie would hate to see you get hurt so his best idea is that you both stay inside where it’s safer. He sometimes tells spooky stories of what bad demons would do if they get you as a warning (or as a joke), and the brothers scolded Belphie for scaring you. But that meant you couldn’t sleep alone that night, so they’re all silently hoping you choose their room to stay in. Regardless, Belphie is always there for you whenever you’re having nightmares. He has his tail wrapped around you while he holds you in his arms to help you fall asleep. Your nubby horns and wings may be a problem for him when it comes to napping together with you, so he hopes that you get to control your form better soon. 

Lucifer came back home after a meeting with Diavolo who wanted to hear updates on how you’re adjusting in Devildom and if there was a need to find someone else to take care of you in case the brothers couldn’t handle it. He planned on discussing it with his siblings to hear their opinions, but instead he finds everyone all inside your room. They’re huddled around your bed, with you sleeping so peacefully in the middle of them. Maybe there’s no need for a discussion after all.

[crooked-wasteland]

I’m weirdly torn about Lite’s character arc.

On one hand, feminine rage (yes please), she’s the only one who understands Hell can BE A THREAT (sure, Charlie and Pentious are nice and all, but there are other people in Hell who are probably not well intentioned), she’s rightfully pissed that her role as second in command was overlooked for some (admittedly sweet) guy who doesn’t even wanna be here, and she’s rightfully upset that her sisters and best friend/man she loved were murdered in a job that she was authorized to do by the supposed good guys. She shouldn’t be seen as the bad guy for being convinced by others that what she was doing was right, and is upset when she’s told all her work, her allies, and Adam being killed meant nothing.

On the other hand, she’s being depicted as the bad guy. I’m not saying she needs to be sympathetic, 100% likable, uwu babey. But her pain and issues are being brushed aside to make her appear like the stereotypical “crazy bitch�� who will probably be the villain of the season, or at least A villain. Not the antagonist, the VILLAIN. Her grief and valid opposition is more than likely going to be villainized, when in reality, she may be cold and sadistic, but I don’t this Lute is ultimately a bad person. She spent her existence fighting for what she was told is right by a holy figure. Not some cultist or priest who says God talks to them, but THE ACTUAL HIGH SERAPH. She was convinced angels don’t make mistakes, to the point she never questioned that in all her cruelty, if she was right or wrong. She believed she was right. If this were on Earth, on could compare this to crusaders or people who force conversions or kill anyone who doesn’t agree with their beliefs. But I don’t think that can really apply, because Lite isn’t human, she lives in HEAVAN. Religious asshole humans aren’t comparable to ANGELS who are familiar with THE SPEAKER FOR GOD HIMSELF. So her genuine belief she is doing good is understandable, but will probably be what makes her villainized. Or maybe it will be the fact she’s in mourning? Who knows! Viv will never skimp on presenting a woman as a villain for the flimsiest of reasons.

And on the other other hand. Yes, it suck a huge part of her motivation is her connection to a MAN (the first man, no less) who is a douchebag. But idk if that’s that big of an issue. For all her being sad her boss/love interest/a dude died, there’s also her being angry that her position as leader was passed over for some guy as well. I’m not saying it evens out, but maybe it does? Not to mention that even though Adam was a dick, he was more than just a man/asshole/boss/probably misogynist, he was also her friend, someone she looked up to as a leader, and still was comfortable enough to hang out with when not on the job. He called he names, but that might’ve been out of familiarity rather than genuine malice or sexism. Then again, Viv never really let us learn Jack shit about Adam as a person, other than CHARLIE GOOD, ADAM BAD. So while it is kind of iffy from one perspective for Lute’s arc to be connected to Adam, I don’t think it’s an issue of gender, and more of the fact that she meant something to him.

Sorry for the long ask, but what’re your thoughts?

I agree with pretty much all of this. I think she is an extremely compelling character and I think her deeper character reasons for being a real villain are solid. I even think the song itself is genuinely good at showing that Lite isn't only raging about some guy. The actual meat of her character is really well balanced on paper, and the song does a decent job of depicting that ...

Until it gets to Adam.

The issue is the poor pacing of the writers and how we never got to see Lute and Adam as much. Lute is extremely formal in most of the scenes in the early part of Hazbin. Calling Adam "sir" doesn't give the impression of "best friends", so she does come off as oddly obsessed, especially with the rushed "crazy bitch" routine as you pointed out. We don't actually have a strong foundation for their relationship. Additionally, the revival of Adam as a figment of Lute's imagination as she falls into some form of psychosis is just rather silly. I understand it's to give Lute someone to talk to, but it makes Adam as a love interest is the most important characterization.

I do completely agree with your points on Lute's character. She has excellent motivation, and a clear arc that I also think is worth the effort. It just suffers from weak world building and lazy shortcuts.