#Is this what an old mans body looks like?

[emacrow]

It took the Justice League 5 months to catch the two kids who were stalking Flash.

After Batman has figured out why a little girl were stalking and air kicking flash in the middle of attempting a time run while the other one, a little boy beat the problem in like it a rabid animal.

Superman need 2 hour to physically calm himself the first time he caught the girl once as carefully as he could, only for her heart to stop completely, become inverted, going through his hands with her body literally melting like some sort elderitch horror film hearing that scream if it weren't for the little boy flew by catching her at high speed and diving into a emerging green portal that disappeared.

Clark broke down right there and than, chokes with tears dripping heavy like a child in front of batman with his hands shakenly uncontrollable coated in blood and lararus pits goop. Batman and Diana comforted him as much as he could as he had lois and his adopted parents on sped dial.

Later Clark refused to let go as he kept hugging Jon for 5 hours straight with Conner petting his head and Lois comforting him after he went home. Ma kent making pies in the kitchen like there was annual pie competition.

Diana had tried to talk to them a couple times softly, only to end up fighting in the most impressive yet terrifying amazonian fight she has ever went through against two kids that made her mother talk of battle seem like childplay.

She was fully convinced on the theory they're demigods that Flash somehow erase their existence.

Surprising the one who has caught them long enough to actually convince them to come was J'onn.

Mainly due to the little boy rambling question with the pace of 60 mph with literally stars in his eyes wrapped, tightly wrapped to J'onn's arm like a snake and one little girl, stuffing her face with a bat burger on J'onn's left shoulder.

Apparently due to Flash's time running that he saved a wandering pilgrim man from falling off a cliff that would've led the discovery and making of their modern town. All their loves ones, friends and life were erased out of existence is what Elle, 3 and half now currently told them.

Danny, the sleepy 7 year old boy who still wrapped around J'onn's arm, is going through a crash after a obsession induce manic high because he is an Alien! A real life Alien!! There wasn't any in his timeline, but why did they get real living Alien in this one?! They're in space in a space station!!

Elle is very sorry for traumatizing the flying guy with her destabilizing a bit, she wasn't supposed to change into ghost form yet, but she did what she had to do to escape his grasped.

Frostbite and clockwork did fixed her up thankfully or else danny would've destroyed the world like a grape.

The Justice League concerned looks didn't help when she laughed a bit nervously about it.

Part 1 here <-

[hrrtshape]

think it, know it, live it.

you change your reality like you change your mind. except most of you don't even change your mind. you sit in it, like a cat curling up in the same sunspot, convinced that because it's warm now, it'll always be warm. but reality isn’t a sunspot; it’s a flickering bulb, and if you know anything about quantum mechanics or mid-century romance films, you’d know that a flickering bulb can be rewired, replaced, made to hum at a different frequency entirely.

if you know something, it is. that’s it. fin. the end. we wrap, we go home. reality’s a yes-man, an old-school studio exec who never met a leading man he didn’t want to overpay. it doesn’t argue. it doesn’t negotiate. you say, 'i have a mansion,' and reality goes, 'of course you do, sweetheart. here’s the keys, watch out for the marble staircase, she’s a real ankle-breaker.'

what you don’t do is wake up in your two-bed semi, take one look at the ikea bookshelves and go, 'oh no, my mansion didn’t manifest, i must be doomed to a life of particle board and existential despair.' no, you step onto that linoleum with the full-bodied conviction. you know the mansion exists. you know the funds are cleared, the champagne’s chilled, the guest rooms are done up in a tasteful but deeply unaffordable way.

this isn’t delusion, it’s direction. nobody looked at the wright brothers and said, 'ah, but have you considered that humans can’t fly?' no, they said, 'alright, fine, make it aerodynamic and make sure nobody dies.' and then they got on with it. that’s you. you get on with it. so no, you don’t wake up in your desired reality and then self-sabotage by asking where it is. 

this is not about waiting. you don’t send a letter to reality and refresh the tracking info like a lunatic. you don’t ask, 'but where’s my dr? where’s my new life? where’s my starring role in the blockbuster that is existence?' you are the blockbuster. you’re in post-production. you’re in distribution. you’re already on the awards circuit. this is a done deal. it’s only ever been a done deal.

assume it, know it, live it. because if you know it, it is. and if it is, then. well. pour the champagne. the credits are rolling.

that’s a wrap.

[rec-flies-away]

This is about using the right words for the context.

If you're talking about the gender someone presents as in their current life: Male, female, nonbinary - prefer these when the gender is used as an adjective (like "male bus driver"). Man, woman, enby - prefer these when referring to the person by using their gender as a noun (like "a 28 year old man" or "the woman at the door asked for you", or "person" if unsure).

If you're referring to the gender society decided they should be at their birth: AGAB. This is the only time AGAB is the right term.

If you mean how they were socialised within a specific set of social norms: Socialised as male, socialised as female, raised as a boy, raised as a girl. Like if you're pointing out how girls are raised to be timid and unassertive about boundaries, that applies to people who were raised as a girl, regardless of AGAB.

If you're talking about something where specific body parts are crucial to the context: People with [body part in question]. Like if you're talking about an ovarian disease, say people with ovaries. If you're talking about prostate health, say people with a prostate.

If you're talking about something where the body's dominant/primary sex hormone is crucial to the context: Testosterone based, estrogen based, etc... How to phrase this sensibly depends on context - point is using the words "testosterone" and "estrogen" if the hormone is key to context, NOT just AFAB/AMAB.

Overall, it comes down to this: If you're talking about a specific human thing where there's a difference between Men and Women, just name that specific thing. Using AMAB and AFAB instead is literally the same as just saying Men and Women, you are just swapping the words as if they are synonyms (they are not). It's not as inclusive as you think, it's still binary and it still does not make room for different combinations of factors.

This is all heavily based on trans-related theory and conventions. If you're trying to be inclusive to intersex people specifically, you should also look up intersex people's own writing and resources as there are more nuances that you can't learn about without learning specifically from intersex people. Some things, like not assuming someone has boobs just because they have a vulva, still apply. But there's more to it and trans voices cannot replace or standin for intersex voices. If you're talking about a specific person you know who happens to be intersex, please just ask them what they prefer and respect their answer.

Also, I'm just some creature on the internet yelling about how to compartmentalise one gendered factor from all other gendered factors. And how to apply that to language. And how AFAB/AMAB are just annoyingly used as synonyms for Man and Woman. Use your own critical thinking and decide what makes sense in the context of your point, your audience, and the goal of your message.

really not sure when it happened or why but personally I'm pissed that the queer community at large seems to have given up ground on the "people with penises/vulvas/testes/ovaries" language to sex & gender essentialists in exchange for the much less precise, much more demeaning "AGAB" language.

is it because you're scared of the word vulva? of acknowledging out loud that some people have penises? of recognising that many many people, including but certainly not limited to trans people, have mixed sex characteristics that cannot be accurately summarised by "afab/amab" as shorthand for "female/male"?

"in [GENITAL RELATED] situation AFABs will need to do X and AMABs will need to do Y" there are "afabs" with penises and "amabs" with vulvas. Saying this shit makes you look so unserious & honestly transphobic (given the ongoing erasure of post-op trans people within broader community). Intersex people and GRS have both existed for long enough (fucking forever and, decades, respectively) that we should well past making this basic fucking mistake.

quit referring to people by a vague & often violent event that happened at their birth as though it defines ANYTHING about how they & their body currently operate, and start using precise language so you at least look like you know what you're fucking talking about.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Thinking about old man Logan struggling to… get it up with reader and he gets all insecure 😭😭

It's Natural

Old Man Logan X F! Reader

Logan has some trouble getting his one eyed trouser snake to wake up

A/N: I was giggling writing this. also my search history has really become awful and weird since i started writing fics.

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, Allusions to sex, Logan can't get it up, Logan being extremely dramatic, peepee touching(blowjobs people, blowjobs), did you know men can orgasm and/or ejaculate without an erection? Greek god punishments mentioned lol, a lil fluff, I put F but this actually could be gender neutral!

Huh....So this is what it feels like

Logan avoided your sympathetic gaze.

"It's okay baby-"

His face burned hotter.

"It's natural"

He scoffed.

Your arms wrapped around his waist as you hugged him from behind, your chest, pressed into his firm back, you gave him a squeeze. He moved to stand up from the bed, but you held onto him.

Why, why does God have to keep playing this cruel joke on him? Is this his punishment for his sins?

He rather be cast down by lightning.

Let the pits of hell open up and swallow him whole. Give him punishments fit for the Greeks. He'll gladly let himself be bound, where an Eagle will eat his liver every day; He'll push the damn rock up the mountain only for it to roll back down, and repeat; put him on a fiery wheel, spinning through the sky.

Anything

Anything but this.

He used to laugh at men who were in a position that he has found himself in. A bit of arrogance from aging and never having an issue before. He didn't believe he was invincible, he just thought maybe his body would give out before he would have to worry about a problem like this.

In fact his younger self was always full of piss and vinegar. His stamina unmatched. His refractory period just mere seconds after coitus.

It's not like you didn't get to experience that with him.

You've had to beg him to slow down before. He held a certain pride in being able to make a pretty young thing like you out of breath. Bury himself in you over and over, playfully taunting you because you couldn't keep up with an old man like him. He reveled in your whines and praises.

He never thought that you'd have to experience this, with him.

"You're making it a big deal." You say softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"Because it is." He snapped turning his head towards you.

"You're just tired. You've been overworking yourself baby." You rested your head on his shoulder as you hugged him. He tensed up. "It happens."

"Not to me." He grumbles sitting up from the bed. The mattress creaked from his weight disappearing.

"Lo." You sigh, dropping your arms in your lap as you watch him walk across the room, nude, reaching for his coat as he pulled out an cigar and his lighter from the inner pocket.

You admired his form. Muscular, hairy, fuck how could you not? He was sculpted, every curve, every divot, every muscle, made your mouth water.

He wouldn't look at you while he smoked, brows creased in frustration as he dragged himself deeper into a pit of self-hatred. A cloud of cigar smoke hazed the room and made you a little light-headed.

You had been fooling around. Logan came home early tonight, claiming he missed you. He was all over you, kissing and touching and you were loving it. One by one your clothes were yanked off - Logan had nearly ripped your pants off you - again.

Course time went on and you were becoming more eager for the main course- not that you didn't love the foreplay. You noticed Logan's frustrations as he kept grinding and kissing you. Before he finally pulled himself off you, shame in his face, and a glance downwards told you what you needed to know.

It really didn't bother you. Of course it didn't! You loved him. Things happen. He was already older than an average man, and to be honest his libido had surprised you at his age.

No words were going to making him feel better.

Fuck it, stiffy or not, he's your man, and you wanted him.

You climbed off the bed where he was leaning against the creaky old dresser you had thrifted from a local shop.

"Lo." You say, and his eyes only glanced at you for a second before glancing away. "If you're going to be like that, then I'll just do it myself."

Logan looked at you, a small bewilderment across his face as you dropped to your knees. You took his flaccid member into your hand, and began stroking him. Slowly and gently.

"Jesus-" His breath hitched. "Baby what are you doing?"

"Lo..." You hummed, looking up at him with a sinful smile, you leaned forward, playfully tapping his cock against your lips. "I want you. Okay?"

He watched in surprise, as you took him in between your lips, swirling your tongue over his tip. His stomach tensed, and flexed, as his lips parted as he watched you take him in between your lips.

Fucking hell

He tipped his head back, the feeling of your tongue swirling over his soft cock was different. You acted no difference from him being hard or soft though, taking him down your throat, bobbing your head over him. Your spit soaked his cock

Your hand came up to fondle his balls, gently squeezing and groping them, as your other hand ran soothingly up and down his thigh.

Just when he thought he couldn't love you more

The humiliation was there still. Yet every suck, pop, and lick as you worked over him pushed it farther and farther away. You devoured him as he were desirable.

A deep moan reverberated from you, and that was the nail in the coffin for him.

A hard grunt escaped him as his shoulders lurched forward and his hand dug into your hair, gripping you as he pushed himself further down your throat making you gag. His cum coming out in short, hot spurts.

His chest heaved, and he tipped his head back.

Not quite as powerful as normal orgasm, but as he looked down at you, it didn't matter.

You stood up, wiping your lips of spit and cum before leaning forward to kiss him, your arms wrapped around his waist.

"See? No biggie." You smile up at him.

He observed with you fascination.

"I love you. In every way." You reassured him, pecking his lips again.

The both of you stopped, surprise on your face as your felt something hard on your hip. He raised his brows as he looked down at you, a faint grin growing across his face. You hummed, leaning in to brush your lips over his, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace.

"Well, Bonjour Monsieur"

[salemsinss]

(AN: 18+ MDNI reader is GN but there are some feminine terms. This is not really edited I wrote it during my lunch break, this is also my first time writing anything period 😭)

Something something I had a dream about this idea, Old Money!reader and Gardener!Simon Riley, he not only knows how to tend to your garden, but is great at tending to you.

Gardener!Simon Riley who love to get down a dirty adding new flowers to the garden beds on a weekly basis, and always comes into the kitchen for some water smelling like an absolute man.

Gardener!Simon Riley who is suspiciously always adding new garden beds around Old Money!Readers property, just days after they go on a nice a date.

Gardener!Simon Riley asking reader what their favorite flower is so he can get ready to plant them when they are in season

Gardener!Simon Riley surprising reader with a whole planter of their favorite flowers, and a herb garden next to the kitchen he had been secretly working on.

Gardener!Simon Riley he’s not great at expressing his feelings or emotions but he tries to tell you things via the language of flowers and gift giving.

Old money!Reader always thanking Simon for the beautiful garden with a peck on the cheek

Old money!Reader always waiting in the kitchen to have a glass of water ready for Simon to come inside, so they can give it to him and see him all roughed up from taking care of their land

Old money!Reader making lunches themselves for Simon specifically rather than having the help prepare him something

Old money!Reader hoping Simon is pining after them the same way they are

Old money!Reader kissing Simon on the lips as a small thank you the garden bed full of their favorite flower

Gardener!Simon Riley pawing at them like a beast while deepening the kiss, and forcing his tongue into your mouth so he can taste all of you.

Old money!Reader breathless when they pull away from the kiss pleasantly surprised by it

Gardener!Simon Riley who refuses to let go of readers waist and ass dragging them off to the garden shed

Gardener!Simon Riley who bends reader over a stack of bagged soil in the shed, nipping at the back of their neck and feeling the up, groping their ass and playing with the fatty flesh of their hips.

Gardener!Simon Riley who pulls down the readers pants, spreading their legs with a kick of his boot, “you’ve been driving me insane-“ he’d growl into readers neck before kiss along the nape and down their back

Gardener!Simon Riley who leaves a trail of kisses over reader’s clothing and down their hips and ass before he’s on his knees inbetween readers legs

Old Money!Reader who’s still a virgin shocked by the sensation of getting eaten out for the first time trying not to cum to quickly afraid of looking easy in from of simon

Gardener!Simon Riley who could care less about readers body count since reader wouldn’t be sleeping with anyone else anyway

Gardener!Simon Riley who gives reader a mind blowing orgasm within 3 minutes, slick covering his chin and nose, sticking to readers thighs as they shake and dig their fingers into the bagged soil in front of them

Gardener!Simon Riley who doesn’t stop with the first orgasm and keeps going till the reader is begging him to stop from overstimulation but is also so close to cumming a second time

Gardener!Simon Riley who drives reader to and through their second orgasm feeling the small amount of squirt dribble over his face and he smirks into their cunt over that

Gardener!Simon Riley who finally stops eating you out and pulls you back so he can kiss you hot, nasty, and sloppy style making you tase yourself on his lips

Gardener!Simon Riley cleaning reader up with his dirty wife beater and pulling their pants back up before kissing them again more gently and sweeter while patting their ass

Old Money!Reader who’s stumbling out of the garden shed on wobbly legs after two life altering orgasms face flushed as they head back inside and go make lunch for Simon just thinking about when they can do that again

[manicandobsessive]

You’re my lady, I’m your fool | L.H.

Summary: Logan missed his girl.

Warnings: fluff fluff and more fluff, the man is lovesick, cursing, pet names, SUGGESTIVE, mdni please, reader is shorter than logan, based on a wham song, not really proofread im lazy, kind of rushed ending but its still cute

WC: 1.5k+

I had a vision after listening to this song and I wrote this in approximately 1 hour. I’m a wham girlie.

Home. You. Dinner.

That was the mantra Logan chose to repeat in order to remain sane on his drive home. Pedal to the medal, at least 30 over the speed limit at all times. The truck rumbled and groaned with the weight of years of memories and use under him, but he continued his trek home regardless.

Gonna have to change the fuckin’ oil soon, too. He thought. The mere inconvenience adding to his already ever-present irritation.

Every douchebag in Canada had decided today was the day to test his patience. From his dumbfuck coworkers at the lumber yard to the asshole currently riding his tail. He’d had enough. He wanted to be home with you. His girl. His sweetheart, angel, darling, the list goes on. The thought of you was the one string pulling him back to reality. The tether to his life he cherished with every bone in his aching body. He truly didn’t know where he would be if he didn’t have you.

Probably jail.

But you taught him the beauty of kindness. Yours being a beacon of hope for him when he accidentally spilled beer on you at a dingy bar. He’d been staring at you anyways, but humiliating himself wasn’t on the agenda for the night. Yet you didn’t scoff at him, didn’t look at him sideways, not even a curse under your breath. You didn’t bat a fucking eyelash and without skipping a beat, you asked if he was okay. The first example of many showing your unwavering selflessness. It was admirable, you were the better half of the pair of you- in his opinion. He often found himself frustrated with your lack of regard towards yourself, brushing it off like nothing. He’d tried time and time again to tell you to take care of yourself, not to worry about him. And you always, always told him the same fucking thing:

“Can’t control it, Lo. Just care about you.”

Hugging him tightly around the waist, resting your chin on his pecs and looking up at him with that sweet, sweet smile. Your bright eyes and soft face making him huff as he instinctively moved his own arms to hold you closer to him. He never could find himself angry with you.

He reminisced on those memories often. On top of plenty of other moments with you that brought a pleasant smile to his face.

He had no idea that accident at the bar almost 3 years ago would bring him to this point, but fuck if he isn’t overjoyed that it did.

Love was never on Logan’s radar. Written off as another extra thing he didn’t need to bother with. He was certain that life would never be for someone like him- that he’d never find someone to accept him for what he is. For who he is. And you did without a second thought. You’d blown life right back into him, showing him what real happiness is. He swears that when he met you the sun shone brighter each day. Something you would always roll your eyes at, calling him cheesy. But he wholeheartedly believed it- which is saying a lot coming from a man who no longer believes in much else.

The soft glow of your shared cabin came into view, practically calling to him by name. The visual had already calmed his racing heart, knowing you were waiting for him. Probably in one of his flannels and old socks. Your hair flowing freely and your entire demeanor relaxed. It was his favorite look on you, other than when you were begging for him, caged between his thick arms. An endeavor for later, to say the least.

He slammed the truck door shut, moving with a newfound purpose to the front door. He kicked off his boots, leaving them on the front porch. If you took care of the house, the least he could do was be mindful of it.

And laundry, he knew you fucking hated laundry.

The door swung open. Logan made a silent note in his head to oil the hinges of that thing, the creaking got on his nerves.

He’d heard faint music from outside, the notes only getting louder the closer he got to where he needed to be- near you. He knew you were cooking, he could smell the various seasonings and vegetables. But most of all the music. You always had something playing, but it was only ever this loud and upbeat when you were in the kitchen. He’d found you dancing and singing enough times to know what the deal was.

And tonight was no different.

He knew you loved this song, something your dad had you listen to as a kid. A song you grew up on and still loved to present day. He was never a big fan of 80s pop, but whatever you enjoyed he was right there with you. Bopping his head along or tapping his foot lightly, it always made you giggle.

He leant against the wall, watching as you moved with ease throughout the kitchen. How you weren’t an extraterrestrial being was beyond him. He swore you had a halo sometimes.

The grace of your smile, the lightness in your steps, even your voice as you sung along to the music entranced him. Like a siren call. He made his way into the room, smiling when you weren’t even phased in the slightest at him catching you mid concert.

He was however surprised when you pulled him in by his arms, swinging them back and forth as you laughed. He was so caught up in your smile he didn’t even register you telling him to dance with you. Slowly but surely he gave in, a deep, warm chuckle erupting from his chest as you jumped and sang with the energy of a kid on Christmas morning. Your soft hands and sweet scent making him all the more taken with you, if that was even possible.

He spun you, lifting you off the ground in his arms as you let out a squeal.

“Logan!”

He put you down, not bothering to even try removing his arms from your waist as he looked down at you with the most lovesick expression on Earth. Scratch that, every universe. There wasn’t a single one where he hadn’t been head over heels in love with you.

“Hi baby.” He smirked when your face flushed as it always did when he called you that. He loved seeing it, it gave him butterflies. Even after all this time.

You slowly inched your arms around his neck, entangling your fingers with the hair on the base of his neck. He hummed and buried his face into your own, making you giggle. He pressed feather-light kisses on your neck and jaw before pulling back to look down at you once again.

You sung along to the rest of the song, Logan even joining in for one part:

“You’re my lady, I’m your fool.”

He sang, making you smile as you pecked his lips and he drew you in for a much deeper kiss.

“How was work?” You asked as he rested his forehead against yours. He groaned, not bothering to ruin the moment with the laundry list of complaints he’d had about people.

“Hell.” He simply replied, “Missed ya too much.” He mumbled against your lips, kissing you yet again.

You hummed in contentment against his mouth, pulling him impossibly closer. He was so intoxicating you nearly fell to the floor every time he kissed you. Always making you forget your name with the way his lips and tongue moved against your own.

He slowly walked you backwards, not breaking the kiss as he led you to your bedroom. He’d needed to show you how much he missed you since he left this morning. He was a lovesick fuck, and was damn proud of it.

You obliged without hesitation, allowing him to take control and softly rest you on your back on the bed. He kissed your eyelids, cheeks, nose, forehead. Anywhere that was accessible to him, he worshipped it- worshipped you. Your breath hitched, arching into him. You’d nearly forgotten you were in the middle of cooking when he came home. The realization hitting you in the face as you squirmed.

“Lo, dinner.” You huffed, trying- and failing- to push him away so you could finish cooking. Of course, you couldn’t fight off a man with a metal skeleton, let alone want to. You needed him, desperately. But you also wanted to make sure the house didn’t go up in flames.

“Logan.” You groaned, he growled against your skin. Pinning you down effectively as he continued his trail of kisses down your body.

“Logan Howlett.” You said with all the authority you could muster up in the moment. He stopped, lifting his head from your stomach and looking at you with a raised brow and that stupidly handsome smirk.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I gotta finish dinner.” You tried to look as stern as you could, but the way his rough hands were gently stroking your thighs made it impossible. Not to mention the look on his face. You knew him well enough to recognize it. Whatever he was about to say would solidify the one thing you knew: you weren’t leaving this bed anytime soon.

“I’ll cook. Jus’ lemme have this, sweetheart. I missed ya.”

[sugardaddy-glucoseguardian]

Amazing yes

- Danny is visiting Gotham and the big ass lizard man is throwing a tantrum in the middle of the street. Danny who is used to his rogues doing the same shot when they wanna play fight just body's croc. Everyone is confused, croc is snapped out of it and instantly goes, fuck it. And throws down. Bats show up to croc and some feral meta out of towner rolling around throwing punches and snapping teeth at each other while growling.

- Danny is sick and tired of the smog in Gotham, between not being able to see the stars and Sam complaining about the pollution he wanted it fixed. Together with Sam, Tucker said nah fuck that, they went to Dr.Pamela Isley in Robinson Park. Ivy is very amused by the young adults that come into her park complaining about pollution.

She's actually intrigued when the girl has the same pull to the green she has. The flowers in the garden tilting towards her when she got angry.

- Danny HATED clowns. Freakshow made it an ingrained response. You can't control him if you aren't conscious. So when he goes to Gotham to visit Jazz at GU he sees the Joker and it ON SIGHT. No warning, just Joker monologuing in the street to some Bats and a crazy out of towner comes sprinting from an alleyway and just takes him out at the waist. Full body collision before Joker can even react to being tackled and point his gun the feral little shit is already punching his face in.

The Bats aren't sure if they need to rescue this civilian from the Joker or the Joker from the civilian. By the time they move to at least separate the two, the Joker is beaten black and blue and unconscious and the random guy is growling with bloodied fists hunched over his body like a wild animal defending its kill.

- Selina Kyle was expecting her haul tonight to be diamonds, maybe a ruby and this cute cat sculpture she saw yesterday. Her plans are completely derailed when a small whimper comes from the alley below her.

Quickly circling back she sees a little girl, probably 12 and softly glowing... melting. She quickly hurries down to her, she looks terrified and in pain.

"Hello, my name is Catwoman, can I ask what happened sweetie? And how can I help?" The little girl has green tears running down her face and Selina watches as she seems to shrink before her eyes, 10, 8, her eyes scream fear and Selina has no idea what to do. She presses the panic button Bruce gave her for emergencies.

"I-it hurts. Please, I don't wanna die, please it hurts, i don't wanna go again!" The little girl sobbed and Selina had a horrific realization.

This little girl was gonna die and there was nothing she could do to help her.

So she stayed and whispered comforting words and held her in her arms, smaller and smaller she shrunk, 6, 4, 2 she seemed to stop there. A sobbing glowing 2 year old with melted feet and dripping hands.

Bruce landed behind her. She could tell he didn't know what to do either. Finally Selina pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and the baby stopped crying, looking up at her with eyes far older than her tiny body and she collapsed into herself, all that was left was a small gemstone with swirls of blue and green cradled in her arms.

Selina sobbed. And Bruce held her as they mourned a child they never knew.

(Oops sorry was gonna go cute and it got away from me, I'm thinking dani will reform with Selina and Bruce taking care of her core and she eventually grows as a normal child instead of the forced growth she was originally created with. Also since she was actually 2yrs old that's how old she'd be when she reforms)

- Jazz moved to Gotham for an internship at a local therapy office, her goal being to gain experience and move to Arkham. Her liminal abilities have made her an empath. With low levels of compulsion. She was walking into work and some girl was just standing outside the building staring.

The emotions that rolled off her were, nervous, scared, angry, confused, excited, scared, determined. Jazz approached and carefully moved into her line of sight. She had shoulder length black hair, deep dark eyes, pale skin and looked to be of some possible asain desent. She was beautiful but looked at Jazz with the blankest eyes and emotionless face she's ever seen.

"Hi, my names Jazz and I work here. I don't know if you have an appointment you're working yourself up for or something, but I know therapy can be a scary experience for a lot of people. I can walk you through it if it'll help?" The girl opens her mouth then hesitates.

"How?" She whispers and Jazz feels relief and confusion though nothing shows on her face or body language.

Jazz assumes the question is how she knew? "Ah well, you looked like you needed some encouragement, you've already down the hardest part, you're here and looking for help." Again no expressions but emotions zap through the air, more confusion, weariness, and the breiftest hint of hope.

The girl slowly raises her hands and Jazz takes half a second to recognize the sign language.

Can you understand me?

She smiled and quickly thanked herself for learning signlanguage in highschool.

Yes! Can I help you get in?

She nodded and they walked in together. Jazz ended up staying for Cass as her translator and the relief pouring off of Cass was so strong she thought she was gonna cry just from being in range. Hopefully Cass gets the needed relief she's looking for in therapy. And maybe Jazz gets a friend out of it too.

- Jason is sick and tired of his siblings prodding making jokes that cause he was dead for a good chunk of his teen years he never got to sleep around or even go on a date.

So he tells himself he's gonna go to a bar, pick someone up and have a one night stand and get this shit over with so his siblings leave him alone. The bar was crowded and loud and Jason hated it.

The wall he was leaning against was sticky and the alcohol in his hand was only half drank. He couldn't relax and he felt so uncomfortable, this wasn't a stake out where he had something to focus on, he was supposed to be chatting and dancing and making out with someone. He knocked back his drink, annoyed with himself.

He left.

He came back three more times in the next week, each time he was just as uncomfortable and no one approached the dude who glowered in the corner of the room. No one except Danny.

Danny was a bartender and trying to make ends meet. Alcohol was easy to serve and he was strong enough no fights made it past a single punch before they were thrown out. He'd been watching the guy come and go for several days now and each time the guy looked like it physically pained him to come in. Danny wondered what the hell he was trying to do clearly forcing himself to come to a place he definitely didn't enjoy.

On the fifth time the guy ordered and moved to his wall Danny decided he wanted to know more. Curiosity killed the cat but you can't kill what's already dead.

"Hey man, what's with the face? You look like you've been dragged here against your will." Danny joked as he slid up next to the guy on his lunch break. The dude glanced down at him, clearly doing a once over of his body, top to bottom, and Danny raised a brow. Really? Dude was here for a lay and decided the best way to do that was to stand in the dark and glare?

"Wanna hook up?" He asked, well more like hurriedly demanded. Danny raised the other brow. Not that he wasn't interested but the guy looked like he was gonna throw up. Danny glanced at his drink, he knows he'd only had the one but the man was so clearly out of his comfort zone Danny felt like maybe the hookup should wait till the guy actually wanted to instead of looking like he was forcing himself.

"Hm, how about we start with names? Like hi, my name is Danny Nightingale what's your name?" The guy blushed from his chest to the tips of his ears. His shoulders curled in and he sheepishly answered, "Jason, names Jason Peters.. Sorry, didn't mean to jump you like that, im... trying to.." He trailed off, looking mortified. Danny giggled. Jason was cute ok?

"Well how about this Jason, ypu clearly aren't the type to pick up one night stands and I'm not sure why you think you need to. But if you wanna get laid that bad, pick me up tomorrow at GU and take me on a date. I'll see if we can get you laid." He smirked leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek and walked away.

He hopes he will take him up on it.

Write below a Batfamily meets Danny Fenton story but choose the wildest relationship that you can think of that isn’t adoption or a romantic relationship

For instance:

- breaking into a building for a drug bust but they got the wrong building number and broke into Danny’s apartment.

- gets met over and over because Condiment King of all people continuously kidnaps him for plots

- was brought to the GCPD for wrestling Killer Croc at 3am high as a kite over a new fear gas drug that’s been making its rounds through Gotham.

- accidentally smacked the coffee out of Danny’s hands while catching a perp.

[pedroscowgirl]

In your hands

joel miller x fem!reader || main masterlist

Warnings!!smut! so minors DNI

no!outbreak ,use of sex toy, no specific age gap mentioned but joel is an old man (he's suprised by the new technology), praise kink, joel is in controle, oral job (m receiving), squirting, reader has hair (lenght not specified), size kink, crying but in a positive way, lmk if i forgot something! wc: 2.2k

A/n: the poll was so close between joel and aaron hotchner and it made me realise how long its been since i wrote something for him but i just have hyperfixations on these men from time to time and rn it's joel so i apologize. And as always pls lmk what you think of this :)

You and Joel had been seeing each other for a while now. It was casual, unspoken, and mostly physical. You’d find yourself at his place most of the time, tangled in his sheets, his rough hands exploring your body like he was mapping every inch of you. It was electric, intense, and always left you craving more. But today was different. Today, Joel had come to your place.

You were in the kitchen, trying to open a stubborn jar of pickles, when the lid finally gave way,but so did your grip. The sharp edge of the lid sliced into your finger, and you hissed, dropping the jar onto the counter. “Shit,” you muttered, clutching your hand.

Joel, who had been leaning against the doorway watching you struggle with that damn jar, straightened up immediately. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and concerned.

“Yeah, just a cut,” you said, holding up your finger to show him the thin line of blood welling up. “I think I have bandaids in my nightstand drawer. Can you grab one for me?”

He nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned and headed toward your bedroom. You busied yourself with rinsing the cut under the faucet, trying to ignore the way your heart raced at the thought of Joel in your room, rummaging through your things. It felt… intimate, somehow. More intimate than the nights you’d spent together.

But then you heard it, the unmistakable sound of Joel’s voice, low and teasing, calling your name. “Sweetheart?” he drawled, and something about the way he said it made your stomach flip. “You might wanna come in here.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You dried your hands quickly and walked toward your bedroom, your mind racing. What could he have found? You didn’t have anything embarrassing in there… did you?

When you stepped into the room, you froze. Joel was standing near the edge of your bed, one of your bandaids in his hand, and in his other hand, he held your vibrating dildo. It was long, thick, and veiny, and the sight of it in Joel’s large, calloused hand made your face burn. His eyes were dark, his lips curled into that cocky smirk you both loved and hated.

“Damn,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “You tired of me already?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Your mind went blank as you stared at him, his smirk widening as he turned the toy over in his hand, examining it like he was appraising it. “This thing’s got some… heft to it,” he said, his tone teasing. “You been holdin’ out on me, darlin’?”

“Joel, it’s not—” you started, but he cut you off with a low chuckle.

“Relax,” he said, setting the toy down on the bed beside him. “I ain’t mad. Just… curious.” 

He leaned back, his eyes raking over you in a way that made your skin prickle with heat. “You been usin’ this when I’m not around? Thinkin’ about me?”

Your breath hitched. There was no way you were admitting that to him. But the way he was looking at you, like he already knew the answer, made your knees weak. He patted the bed beside him, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that always sent shivers down your spine. “C’mere.”

You could feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity of it making your skin prickle with anticipation. He had that look in his eye, the one that told you he was in control, and you were going to do exactly as he said.

"Take off your pants and underwear," he commanded, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine. "And sit on the bed."

You hesitated for just a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, but the look he gave you -a raised brow, a slight tilt of his head, was enough to make you move. You quickly slipped out of your clothes, your hands trembling as you pushed your pants and underwear down your legs, letting them fall to the floor. You sat on the edge of the bed, your legs slightly apart, your body exposed to him.

Joel didn’t say anything at first. He just watched you, his eyes trailing over your naked form, taking in every detail. Then he moved, stepping closer to the bed, his hand reaching out to the nightstand drawer. He opened it, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out the bottle of lube. He held the dildo in his hand, turning it over, examining it like he was studying some kind of weapon.

"Goddamn that new technology is impressive" he muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and disbelief as he found the remote control. He pressed a button, and the tip of the dildo began to move, a slow, rhythmic motion that made your breath catch in your throat. Joel’s lips curled into a smirk as he watched it, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "You ready for this, sweetheart?"

You nodded, your throat dry, your body already responding to the thought of what was coming. Joel didn’t wait for you to second-guess yourself. He squirted a generous amount of lube onto the dildo, spreading it evenly with his fingers before holding it out to you.

"Sit on it," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated again, your heart racing, but the look in Joel’s eyes—the way he was watching you, like he could see straight through you—made you obey. 

You positioned yourself over the dildo, your legs trembling as you slowly lowered yourself onto it. The sensation was intense, the size of it stretching you in a way that made your head spin. You gasped as you took it all in, your body adjusting to the fullness, your hands gripping the edge of the bed for support.

Joel stood in front of you, his eyes locked on yours, his lips parted as he watched you take every inch. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Look at you, takin’ it so well."

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your body trembling as you tried to steady yourself. But before you could fully adjust, Joel’s hand moved, his fingers pressing a button on the remote. The dildo came to life, vibrating inside you, the sensation so sudden and intense that you cried out, your back arching as pleasure shot through your body.

"Fuck, Joel!" you moaned, your hands flying to your hair, pulling it back from your face as tears welled up in your eyes. The vibrations were relentless, sending waves of pleasure through you, your body trembling as you tried to hold yourself together.

Joel’s smirk widened, his eyes dark with lust as he watched you fall apart. "Oh, baby," he growled, his voice low and rough. "You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous like this. Gettin’ fucked by some stupid piece of plastic, takin’ it like a good girl."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body responding to the way he was watching you, the way he was talking to you. You could feel yourself getting closer, the pleasure building inside you, your moans growing louder as the vibrations continued to push you toward the edge.

Joel stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice a low growl that made your stomach clench. "You gonna let me watch you fall apart?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as the pleasure continued to build. Joel’s grip on your chin tightened, his eyes locked on yours as he watched you, his own desire evident in the way his chest rose and fell, the way his jaw tightened.

"Come on, baby," he urged, his voice rough with need. "Let me see you come."

And just like that, you did. The pleasure crashed over you, your body convulsing as you came, your cries filling the room as Joel watched, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He didn’t let go of you, his grip on your chin firm as he kept you looking at him, forcing you to endure the intensity of your orgasm as it ripped through you.

Joel’s finger hovered over the button, his dark eyes locked on yours as he watched you squirm beneath him. The vibrations had been relentless, driving you to the edge of pleasure and desperation, and when he finally pushed the button to make them stop, you sighed in relief, your body trembling. You lifted yourself up, ready to take the toy out of you, but Joel’s hand shot out, stopping you mid-motion.

“No, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine. “Not yet. I wanna try somethin’ with you. Sit back on it.”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head slightly, your voice barely a whisper. “Joel, please…” you pleaded, your body still sensitive from the vibrations. But Joel just shushed you, his tone firm yet gentle, and you knew better than to argue with him. Reluctantly, you obeyed, lowering yourself back onto the toy, feeling it press deep inside you once more.

Joel’s lips curled into a smirk as he watched you, his hands moving to his belt. He undid it slowly, the sound of leather sliding through the loops making your breath hitch. He pushed his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion, and your eyes immediately dropped to his cock, already hard and leaking. The sight of him made your mouth water, and Joel noticed, chuckling darkly as he gave himself a few slow strokes.

“Eyes on me, darlin’,” he said, his voice rough with desire. You looked up at him, your cheeks flushing as he stepped closer, his free hand cupping your jaw. “Open up,” he commanded, and you parted your lips without hesitation. He guided himself into your mouth, groaning softly as your tongue swirled around his tip.

You moaned around him, the vibrations from the toy still faintly buzzing inside you, making it hard to focus. But you wanted to please him, to show him how much he meant to you. You took him deeper, your lips stretching around his girth as you bobbed your head, your tongue working in tandem with your movements. Joel’s hand tangled in your hair, his grip firm but not painful, guiding you as you sucked him off.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, his hips thrusting gently into your mouth. “You’re so damn good at this.” His praise sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and your pussy clenched around the toy, the sensation almost too much to bear. Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to focus on him, but the fullness and the vibrations were overwhelming, making your mind hazy with need.

Joel noticed your struggle, his hand stroking your hair soothingly. “Shhh, baby, it’s alright,” he murmured, his voice thick with arousal. “You can take it. Just relax for me, yeah?” His words were comforting, but they only made you more desperate, your body trembling as you tried to hold back the tidal wave of pleasure building inside you.

The toy shifted inside you, the vibrations intensifying as Joel adjusted the settings, and you cried, tears falling down on his cock, the sound muffled but full of need. Your eyes met his, pleading for release, but Joel just smirked, his grip on your hair tightening as he thrust deeper into your mouth.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groaned, his head falling back as he lost himself in the sensation. “Take it all. You’re doin’ so good.” His praise only fueled your desire, and you moaned around him, your pussy clenching tightly around the toy as your orgasm threatened to overwhelm you.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, Joel pulled himself out of your mouth, giving you a moment to catch your breath. But before you could fully recover, your orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing as you squirted onto the toy, your juices soaking the sheets beneath you. You collapsed onto the bed, your chest heaving as you tried to come down from the high.

Joel watched you with a satisfied smirk, his hand stroking his cock as he admired the mess you’d made. “Damn, darlin’,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty ” He stepped closer, his hand tangling in your hair once more as he guided your mouth back to his cock.

“One last thing,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. You opened your mouth obediently, and Joel thrust into you, his movements rough and desperate as he chased his own release. It didn’t take long,his hips stuttered, and he groaned your name as he came, his cum filling your mouth. You swallowed every drop, your eyes never leaving his as he pulled out, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand stroking your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was slow and deep, a stark contrast to the intensity of what had just happened, and it left you feeling warm and cherished.

As you lay there together, Joel’s arms wrapped around you, you couldn’t help but smile. He was rough and demanding, but he always took care of you, always made sure you were satisfied. And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew there was no one else you’d rather be with.

[snoopychris]

TA!matt discovering camgirl!reader online

warnings: masturbation, kinda sub!matt, matt's kind of an ass, cammy used in place of y/n

11:03am

“ok… professor thomas isn’t here today. you guys are stuck with me. i’m not legally… allowed to teach so just. do whatever. you can leave if you want.” matt speaks, his voice booming clearly throughout the room. the tests you had taken the week before were sitting face down in front of each seat. you’re almost scared to look at your grade. your friend, melissa, takes her seat next to you, flipping her page over instantly.

“78. how’d you do cammy?” she asks, glancing at the marks on her paper before you flip yours over. 65. “what the hell?” you whisper, looking around the room. nobody else seems to be freaking out over their scores. you make your way to matt’s temporary desk, setting your paper down. “a 65?” you mumble, glancing between matt and the paper. he sets his phone down on the desk, looking up at you. “well, yeah. your determinants were wrong and you did the wrong method. i was being generous with the grade.” 

you shake your head in disbelief, glancing over matt’s features. “i didn’t… i was so confident in… is there anything you can do for me?” you whisper, biting your lip so hard that it begins to bleed. matt shakes his head, flipping through his textbook. “do the problems on page 117. give them to me on friday and ill use some of those as proof that you know what you’re doing. daddy’s money can’t pay its way through college” you scoffed at his words. sure, you had a lot of materialistic things, always having the best backpack, the best notebook, dressed in the best clothes, but was always from your own pocket. “that’s not fair.” “oh no... you actually have to work for something for once. crazy isn’t it?” matt replies, looking back down at the papers he was grading. 

it feels like the walk of shame on your way back to your seat. when you sit down, melissa elbows your ribs, making you chuckle. “i mean shit, cammy, i’d give anything for him to talk to me like that. at least he’s hot though, right cammy?” “i’d never ever think that man was attractive. i would never. ever. do anything with him. matter of fact. hit me if i ever do.” 

11:03 pm.

matt had been going through the worst dry spell of his life. chris and nick had been making fun of him for it nonstop. he just felt desperate. in the back of his mind, he knew what he was doing was pathetic and probably frowned upon by some people. a wednesday night isn’t typically spent looking through a camgirl website hoping that one of them is cheap enough for him to afford them walking him through an orgasm. he was twenty two years old for gods sake. he shouldn’t be doing… whatever this was. the girls on his screen were all beautiful. they all had a confidence he wishes he could have. he didn’t judge the girls on the other side. he’s been desperate for money too. it’d be a lie to say that he hadn’t considered pornography. the scrolling continued for a while, only coming to a halt when he saw a free livestream.

on the other side of the city, you were growing bored. there can’t have possibly been that many other cam girls available at this time on a wednesday night. you had been live for about an hour, talking to nobody other than yourself. your face was hidden from the camera, only your lips and lower body visible. still, with no audience, you tried your best to make it seem like you were doing anything. a bullet vibrator sat near your clit, attached to your fingers by a holster. it was off, and you weren’t doing anything other than moving it in circles. maybe this whole free thing hadn’t been the best ideas. your face brightens slightly when a user finally joins. mateo81. “hello mateo… y’got yourself a private show tonight. everybody’s too busy for me.” you pout, your voice covered by a voice changer. they were common on this app. 

matt thinks it’s almost too corny. then again… you look good. just his type. and free. he would’ve paid if he had too. was it too good to be true? he should find out right? matt puts the website on full screen, typing a message out in the chat. completely free? NSA?

“completely free mateo… no strings attached.” you smile, tapping your bullet vibrator on the camera. “unless you wanna tip. i do a free stream every once in a while… you got lucky today and got it allllll for yourself. you’re gonna be such a good boy for me aren’t you?” you whisper, your voice like silk. usually matt’s not into this stuff. he’s not submissive. there’s something about you that’s making him do it all. he types another message, swallowing roughly. he doesn’t even remember getting as hard as he is right now. please. so hard rn. he pushes his boxers down, staring intently at the screen. every word you say is like a potion, drawing him further under your spell. he hopes there’s no antidote. 

you chuckle as you turn your vibrator on, holding it on your clothed clit. you bite your lip, holding back a small moan as you await another message. how much for you to take it off? you giggle once more, shrugging your shoulders as you press your tits together with one hand. “just gotta ask nicely baby…” you smile, slipping the small panties—if you could even call them that— off of your figure. 

matt watches with full attention as you do so, fisting his cock faster and faster. he wasn’t trying to cum so fast, but he had gone so long without any form of release that he felt like he had to. besides, it’s not like you’d see him. the precum that was coating his tip is rubbed away gently when matt rubs a thumb over his slit, biting the hem of his t-shirt as he reaches his first orgasm of the night. he doesn’t send a message regarding his cum coated hand, but opts to send one anyway. tits look nice. he hopes he doesn’t sound too pathetic or weird. 

your top is quickly discarded, gently jiggling your breasts on the camera for the person watching over the screen. matt groans at the sight, his sticky hand beginning to move up and down again. you continue to rub the vibrating toy on your clit, letting out small whines and whimpers. you always made it a point to not fake moan like other cam girls. you’d rather be authentic than seem fake and money hungry like some girls on the app were. 

“you’re doing such a good job… wish i could touch you right now. bet you’re dripping aren’t you? you dripping out of your dick over the fact that i’m fuckin myself with this toy for you?” matt could hardly type at this point with how covered in cum his hands were. he didn’t even remember having a second orgasm. or a third. but he knows that he did.  your words were making him feel something so different than anything he’s ever felt before.

with shaky hands, he types a yes, sending it to your screen—wherever you are. you chuckle at the message , pouting your lips for your sole viewer. “such a good boy mateo. so so good… fuck i’m gonna cum… gonna cum for you okay? do it with me yeah? unless you’ve already done it… won’t judge you…” he nods even though you can’t see him, meeting his climax once more. you whine loudly as you release, your body squirming as the feeling takes over. “f-fuck.” you whisper, pressing a small lip gloss kiss to the camera. matt chuckles at the sight, using his discarded shorts to clean himself off. 

his computers pointer moves to the follow button, clicking it as he begins typing a message in the chat. this was fun. do it again sometime? i’ll actually pay haha. he sighs of relief when you nod on camera, giggling quietly. “i can’t wait. i gotta go now. have to pee and all. i’ll see you next time okay, mateo?” you smile, turning your live stream off. matt feels a pang of sadness when he audibly says goodbye and gets no reply.

he glances at his clock, noticing that the minutes are just ticking by. there’s still a pile of math tests on his desk waiting to be graded. he throws his head back and groans, standing up to wash his hands before sitting back down at his work area. the first test he grades is almost a perfect score. 98%. he always tries to avoid names when grading test to avoid any unintentional bias. he chuckles to himself when he reads the name after he’s done grading it. cammy.

you whine as you shut your laptop, walking into the kitchen. you’re still in minimal clothes after putting your top back, but it’s decent enough to be seen by your roommate. he walks into the room, clapping slowly at your performance on the other side of the wall. “you did great, cammy. truly. always put on a show! you get this months rent yet?” he asks, handing you a cloth towel for you to wipe off any sweat with. you chuckle at his words, downing the water bottle in your hand. “free show tonight tucker. y’shoulda seen em! all… one of them! the art of camming is dying and i am going to bring it back. mark my words.” tucker chuckles at your words, grabbing his own water from the fridge. he pops it open, taking a long swig before ruffling your hair. “no judgement here. i support your whore career so long as you support my music career.” you can’t help but smile at his words, knowing he’s being genuine. he supports you in everything that you do. he always has. “yeah whatever. you’re such a good role model.” tucker rolls his eyes as he opens the fridge once more, grabbing some precooked pasta to heat up. 

“did you ever get that math test back? i got an 85. i think that matt guy really likes me or something cause i did so much shit wrong and yet here i am” you shake your head at his question, putting on a tshirt that was thrown over the couch. “no he doesn’t like me much. in fact im probably the last person on his mind 24/7 and when i am on his mind its probably all about how he dislikes me and how bad of a linear algebra student i am.” you shrug, taking a bite of your roommates pasta. “im sure that’s not true.” “oh no. it’s definitely true. there is absolutely no way that I am on his mind right now.” matt got through the stack of papers faster than he had expected. he used your nearly perfect example as an answer key of sorts. he began getting ready for bed, properly this time, knowing that he had an early start to his day with a few morning classes, followed by his nightly internship. he needed to find more time for himself. as he nestles into bed, jellycats at his side, he stares up at the ceiling for a few minutes. his mind keeps drifting back to the camgirl from earlier. cherry. he hopes she’s okay right now. that she’s had a good meal and that she was safe, wherever she was. it was all that was on his mind. the only person on matt’s mind was you. and it had absolutely nothing to do with your mathematical abilities. in fact— he wasn’t even thinking about your test grades anymore. you were absolutely on matt's mind right now, even if neither of you knew it.

tags(reply/message to be added!): @mattsstarlet @oopsiedaisydeer @marrykisskilled @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @freshhhloveee @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @emely9274 @princessesgarden @cykss @throatgoat4u @blahbel668 @ivyyyyyysposts @h0e4fictionalme-n @sofieeeeex @littlebookworm803 @allylovescody @ribread03 @cheesecakedolll @chrislova @ikyoudreamofme @jetaimevous @muwapsturniolo @sturnsrecord @13hoax @whore4mattsturniolo @sophsturns @chrissweetheart @cl1tlover3000 @applecidersturniolo @babytrapsosa @backwardshatnick

dividers by rose @bernardsbendystraws !

[hcneymooners]

⋆ i was young and sweet, and then something happened.

truck driver!sevika x female!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you're back home after burning out your new york dreams. mississippi has been waiting for you and comes with the old and new—including the delivery driver that frequents your mother's boutique.

cw: truck driver!sevika, female!reader, age gap, older woman/younger woman, reader is in her twenties, modern!au, unresolved sexual tension, slow burn, strangers to lovers, returning to the hometown you worked to escape from, complex mother daughter relationships, non-sexual intimacy, mentions of grief and loss of a loved one, open (but very positive) ending.

notes: i hate this, just a bit. but please, please tell me what you think. send long asks, even. i love them. i love you.

It's the rat that skitters over your foot that sends you home.

You'd just climbed out of the endless well that is the New York subway, steadfastly avoiding eye contact with the man rocking back and forth right outside the stairwell. You feel a sense of shame as you refuse to look at him, a horrible aching feeling that speaks to you losing sight of your roots and where you came from.

Your most recently created playlist was blasting—aptly titled "songs that are what's wrong with me"—when you'd felt it. A heavy brush against your ankle and across the top of your foot. You looked down, almost in slow motion, and watched as the plump body of a well-fed city rat finished its travel across the top of your square-toe black flats.

You resist the urge to scream, cautious of seeming just as crazy as the man you keep refusing to look at. You hear him laugh and it makes you press your lips together until there are only two thin lines on your face. You contemplate dragging your heels out of your bag but you still have at least three blocks to go and you're tired and so sick of it all.

A billboard flashes across from you as you turn the corner: a woman's bright face with bleach-white teeth advertising a new aesthetic clinic that just opened approximately two streets away from where you live. You feel insane.

You open your phone and buy the plane ticket.

On the plane ride home, you dream of Talladega County. 

You haven’t been in years. The last time was when your mother took you on a “girls’ trip” where she told you that she didn’t love your father anymore, that she was leaving him. You had started crying, begging to go home because you could feel somewhere deep in your gut that he’d be gone by the time you came home. She told you he wouldn’t, promised you. 

You stared into her face, her features shadowed by the halo of the sun behind her head. She was tanned and beautiful—and everything you believed in. You’d calmed down, called him to tell him you loved him. He had said it back, his voice weary. 

He was gone when you got home, somewhere out in the thickets of Alabama where you had been only moments ago. 

In the dream, you stand in the fold in a tiny triangle bikini. It’s blue, but sometimes pink, and you have long black wet hair streaking all over you. Behind you, there's a field and dilapidated shacks—or maybe they’re houses only broken down by shame and time. 

In front of you hovers a buck with tall antlers. He's come and found you, pushes forward until his face is against your stomach and your upper body is in between his antlers like a sun. It's only this close that you can see the other antlers trapped on top of his, dripping blood off the bone. 

He's killed something. One of his own, maybe he’s gutted you. You begin to twirl in a circle as he herds you, Ethel Cain's throaty vocals invading you spiritually through your wired headphones until you settle your chin on a shotgun (when did that appear?) and look back at the buck. 

But beyond him now. Someone is looking at you. Come to me. You don’t know which of you is asking, including the animal.

When you land, you text your mother about your dream. She tells you to go see her psychic, that you can drive there straight after she picks you up. You’re not here yet? You text her. She doesn’t respond. You don’t check her location. You were never one for seeking answers. 

Welcome to Mississippi, the flight attendant tells you as you step out of the door. Her voice is chipper and bright, someone who clearly doesn’t see anything past the palm trees and pale Marlboro Lights. Thank you, you respond, for getting me here. You wonder if it's a little too intense to say thank you in this manner to someone who hasn’t talked to you for the entire flight.

But her eyes soften and maybe she sees something, maybe she knows that in your blood runs the waters of the Gulf Coast. Her mouth parts and out comes, welcome home.

🪽♱

Your mother is waiting outside baggage claim, leaning against her faded blue Cadillac—the one your grandmother always said would be the death of her. Her hair is different now, lighter where it used to be the same shade as yours, cut in a bob that frames her face and makes her look younger than her fifty-three years. You feel a sense of irritation at the change in color as if she’s taken something away from you. As much as she could annoy you, you loved that the resemblance between you used to be uncanny. 

When she sees you, she straightens, takes one last puff of her bubblegum pink vape before tucking it into her denim shorts’ pocket, and bounces on the tips of her white sandals. You can see slight redness along her brow this close to her, and needle marks from where she’s gotten her “preventative” Botox. It’s only a matter of time before she starts suggesting you join the club. 

"Look what the Gulf dragged in," she says, arms outstretched.

You let her sweep you into a hug, her perfume a perplexing mix of caramel and cinnamon. Maybe it’s the tightness of her hug, the silent admission that she missed you (because you never spoke about your feelings to one another) that causes your face to crumple and your body to shake. Your mother coos, the sound throaty from years of smoking, and rocks you back and forth. You’re blubbering about that fucking rat in New York, but she just knows you need this. 

Somehow, she gets you into the car and stuffs a stick of celery into your mouth, depositing a tiny tub of ranch and breaded chili wings into your lap. The drive from Gulfport to Bay St. Louis takes you along the coast, windows down despite the July heat. Salt air whips your hair around your face as you stare out at the water. It's different here—softer somehow than the aggressive Atlantic you'd grown accustomed to. The Gulf looks like it's breathing, with gentle rises and falls that match the rhythm of your chest.

"Angels is doing well," your mother says, referring to the boutique as if it's a third person in the car. You nod to show your listening, your front teeth break apart the body of another piece of celery. "Tourist season's good this year. The snowbirds are spending money."

You nod, watching pastel-colored houses roll by, their wrought iron balconies and weathered shutters telling stories of hurricanes survived and summer loves forgotten. Spanish moss hangs from live oaks like old women's hair, swaying in the breeze off the water.

"Shit, we need to stop for gas. I knew I should’ve filled her up before leaving," your mother announces, turning into a station that looks like it hasn't changed since 1975. The sign—Silver Cove Gas & Grocery—flickers in the late afternoon sun, neon just beginning to glow against the darkening sky. "Get me a Diet Coke, would you? And whatever you want." Yeah, you think, on my card.

As you step out of the car, the humidity wraps around you like a blanket, familiar in its weight. The feeling makes you think of your childhood best friend Ella, a broad-shouldered girl who used to come up behind you and hug you with a quarter of her true strength. Last time you checked (you’re always checking) she was a professional athlete, free from this town. 

The concrete beneath your feet is warm, and for a moment, you stand still, feeling the heat rise through the soles of your worn down ballet flats. It's nothing like New York pavement, which always feels cold somehow, even in summer. Maybe this is what makes you unlock your phone, find Ella’s Instagram, and send her a message. She probably won’t even see it, given she’s verified and has over two million followers. 

The bell above the door chimes as you enter, and the cashier—a teenager with braces and freckles—nods in recognition. "You're Nina’s girl," she says. Not a question. It doesn’t need to be. You have her face.

You're picking up your mother's Diet Coke from the cooler, and grabbing a Cola Lacaye for yourself, when you hear it—the deep rumble of a diesel engine pulling into the lot. Through the window plastered with faded beer advertisements and fishing tournament flyers, you see it: a massive black truck, clean despite the dusty roads, commanding the space around it like it owns the whole town. Maybe it does. It’s been a long time since you were back anyway. 

The driver's door opens, and a pair of heavy boots hit the ground first. Then legs in well-loved jeans, and finally, her—tall, with arms corded with muscle and dark hair pulled back in a short, practical braid. A scar runs down one side of her face, but it doesn't diminish her beauty; instead, it feels like a warning. This woman has survived things you can't imagine.

She walks steadily toward the store, and as she reaches for the door, your eyes meet through the glass. For a second, neither of you moves. Something passes between you—recognition, maybe, though you've never seen her before. Or perhaps it's just that you both seem out of place here, returned to a world that's both familiar and foreign.

The bell chimes again, and she's inside, the small space suddenly feeling smaller. She nods to the cashier—"Evening, Annie"—and heads straight for the cooler where you're still standing, Diet Coke clutched forgotten in your hand.

"Excuse me," she says, her voice lower than you expected, rougher. When you don't move immediately, one corner of her mouth quirks up. "Unless you're planning to buy all of those."

You step aside and say, “I was thinking about it.” 

She smiles fully as you continue watching as she reaches for a Diet Coke of her own and a package of cream-filled cookies in a blue wrapper. As she moves past you toward the counter, you catch a whiff of diesel and something sweeter—maybe vanilla, maybe just the sea.

"You're new," she says over her shoulder.

"I'm home," you correct her, surprising yourself with how right it feels to say it.

She smiles again, and this time you smile back. You stand in line behind her, your mind following the thick lines of her back as she reaches for her wallet and counts out some bills. Soon enough, she’s finished, and you pay for your own things before slipping out the door. Your mother waves giddily from the driver’s seat and you laugh a little, slightly touched at how glad she is to see you over and over again.

“You’re Nina’s daughter?” that gravelly voice asks and you turn your head to look over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Your mom’s shop just got added to my delivery route. I see her every Thursday evening,” the woman says. “Guess I’ll be seeing you too.”

“Um, guess so,” you push out, your chest warming at the way she’s gazing down at you. She’s taller by a few inches, but the inches matter. You’re used to being the tallest around. 

She eyes you for a minute longer before making her way back to her truck. You watch until she’s back in the cab, then walk quickly to the Cadillac. As you slide in, your mother presses a kiss to your temple in thanks for her Diet Coke. 

“I see you’ve met Sevika,” she comments. “Strange little woman.”

“Little is not the word I would use to describe her.”

Your phone vibrates with a notification and you check it. It’s a rather sweet response to your Instagram DM. Hey, wow! This was a pleasant surprise. I’m doing great, how are you? You still look the same.

Sorry? You type back without thinking.

Lolll, don’t apologize. It’s not a bad thing. You always had a timeless face. 

Maybe you aren’t forgettable. At the same time you receive the message, your mother laughs.

🪽♱

"Absolutely not," your mother says, setting down her wine glass firmly on the kitchen counter. "You're supposed to be resting, [Name]."

You tilt your head, watching the condensation gather on her glass. The kitchen is the same as you remember—blue and white tiles with little anchors, ceiling fan that clicks when it spins too fast, the refrigerator covered in magnets from places neither of you have actually been.

"I need something to do, Mom. I didn't come back to sit around and count the ceiling tiles."

"What you need is to recover. Work is what made you break down and come back in the first place."

You sigh, picking at the label on your beer bottle. "That was different. That was sixty-hour weeks with a boss who thought weekends were a suggestion." You look up at her. "I’m afraid despite my best attempts, I’ve been corporate-pilled. I will collapse without any work. Just let me take the opening shift. You know you hate mornings anyway."

She narrows her eyes, looking so much like you it's unsettling. "Only mornings?"

"Only mornings," you agree. "I'll have the place ready when you come in at noon. Or one."

Her eyes narrow at the extra hour you’ve added on, but she looks away as she considers.

"Fine," she relents. "But if I see those little crease lines between your eyebrows coming back, I'm firing you."

“Harsh,” you quip, but you squeeze her shoulder as you get up to begin washing the dishes.

Angels by the Sea sits at the corner of Harbor Drive and Magnolia Street, a converted Victorian house painted the palest shade of pink, like the inside of a seashell. The sign—written in your great-aunt’s handwriting and preserved all these years—hangs from wrought iron brackets above the porch. Two white rocking chairs flank the entrance, inviting passersby to sit and watch the Gulf waters in the distance. You think they shouldn’t sit down. People tend to get stuck here. 

You unlock the front door at 8:15, earlier than necessary, but there's something about the morning light filtering through the stained glass transoms that feels sacred. Inside, the boutique is a carefully curated treasure trove: whitewashed wooden floors, antique display cases salvaged from a New Orleans department store, and clothes hanging from driftwood racks your grandfather made decades ago. 

Nothing has really changed and the way the store seems to be waiting for you lances through your chest like a harpoon.

The inventory is eclectic—sundresses in gauzy fabrics, handmade jewelry from local artisans, vintage-inspired swimwear, and the salt scrubs your mother makes in her kitchen. Everything smells faintly of spice and sea salt.

You feel the urge to break down again, but you refrain. Instead, you slide off your converse and socks, let your bare feet rake in the unswept gravel from travelers’ boots as you flip the sign to "Open" and turn on the small record player behind the counter. You sort through the stack of vinyl until you find it—A dusty handmade pink vinyl, titled “Unreleased.” As the needle drops and "Dust Bowl (Demo)" fills the space, you can't help but sway, your hips finding the rhythm naturally.

Ethel’s rich voice singing about blood-stained blondes feels right for this moment—this return to something that feels like yourself. You let your arms drift above your head, spin once in the empty shop, bare feet sliding across the whitewashed floors. No one's watching, and there's a freedom in dancing without worrying about looking graceful or composed. 

You twirl and twirl until you stop with a hand clutching over your stomach, dashing madly to the small employee restroom in the back to vomit into the rusted sink. You scrub it for the next twenty minutes with bleach, humming along as the record still spins. For the first time since stepping off the plane, you feel your shoulders drop. 

Your outfit today—a simple white spaghetti-strap tank and low-rise jeans you found in your old closet—feels like a revelation after years of pencil skirts and blazers. You'd forgotten what it feels like to have your collarbones exposed to the air, to feel fabric that moves with you rather than constrains.

When the song ends, you're slightly breathless and barely smiling. You can't remember the last time you danced in New York—maybe at some corporate happy hour where movement was performative rather than joyful. You try not to think about it for too long, lest the sadness finds you again. 

The morning passes quietly—a few early tourists browse without buying, a regular picks up a special order perfume, and you rearrange a display of sea glass earrings, picking a few out in between to try on. It's mindless work, but it's yours, and there's something satisfying about the way your hands remember how to tie the perfect bow on the pale green gift boxes.

The bell above the door chimes just before eleven, and you look up from the sales ledger you've been updating.

"We don't usually get deliveries until—" The words die in your throat when you see who's standing in the doorway.

Sevika fills the frame, a clipboard in one hand and a small package tucked under her arm. Today, her hair is loose around her shoulders, dark waves that catch the sunlight streaming through the windows. She's wearing a faded black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing more of those arms that seem designed for gripping steering wheels and lifting heavy things. You notice one of them is a prosthetic, and your gaze caresses it, tracking the graffiti-like doodles alongside it. It’s as if she’s allowed a child to paint all over it.

"Usually Thursdays, I know," she says, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Had to reroute today. Accident on the causeway." Her eyes move from your face to take in the rest of you, lingering for a moment on the strip of skin visible between your tank top and jeans. "Nina usually signs for these."

"Mom’s still in bed," you reply, moving toward the counter. "I'm covering mornings while I’m around."

She nods, crossing to you and laying the clipboard down. "Signature on the bottom line." As you sign, she glances around the shop. "Nice place. Never been inside before."

"Seriously? You deliver here every week."

"To the loading dock in back," she clarifies. "Never through the front door."

You hand back the clipboard and accept the package, your fingers brushing hers in the exchange. Her skin is warm and slightly rough.

“God, that’s awful. When I was younger, we used to give the drivers something sweet for the road, sometimes savory.”

“Yeah, well,” Sevika sighs. “People got creepier, meaner. Women got wiser. I’m fine without a treat if that means my customers feel safer.”

Your eyes soften minutely at that, and she notes the way you look down, your lashes brushing your cheek gently as if not to spook yourself.

"You settling back in okay?" she asks, and there's something in her tone that suggests genuine interest rather than small talk.

"It's... an adjustment," you admit. "But this helps." You gesture around the boutique. "It's quiet here."

"Too quiet for some," she says. "That why you left in the first place?"

The question is direct, almost intrusive, but she asks it without judgment. Just curiosity.

"Partly," you say, surprised at your own honesty. "I wanted to see what else was out there. Had dreams for a big life."

"And did you? See what else was out there?"

You think about the rat, the subway, the billboard with the too-white teeth. "I saw enough. Then life got…too big."

She nods as if this makes perfect sense to her. "Well." She taps her clipboard against her thigh. "Guess I'll be seeing you mornings now instead of your mother."

"Guess so."

She turns to leave but pauses at the door. "You know, there’s nothing wrong with trying something and it no longer being what you want."

"I wish someone told me that before now," you say quietly.

"I’m saying it now." Her eyes flick down to your outfit and back up. "Have a good day…"

“[Name],” you supply.

“[Name],” she repeats. “You seem like a sweet girl. Those big places? They tend to lure you in, then swallow you up. From the looks of it, you gave it all you got. And in some ways, you won the fight. You made it back home.”

Before you can respond, she's gone, the bell announcing her departure as clearly as it did her arrival. Through the window, you watch her walk back to her truck, the confident stride of someone who knows exactly who she is and where she's going. Maybe she could keep you on the path.

You look down at yourself—at the simple clothes that feel more like you than anything you've worn in years—and breathe in. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you didn’t fail. Maybe this was the true mission.

Or maybe, you think as you watch Sevika's truck pull away, there was no mission. Only the decisions you made. 

🪽♱

It continues the same way for a while.

You see her in the mornings, and when you do, you talk more. Spend less time inside of yourself. The days bleed into one another like watercolors on damp paper—pink sunrises giving way to white-hot afternoons, then purple dusks that settle over the Gulf like a bruise. Through it all, Sevika arrives with the steadiness of tides, her presence an anchor in your drifting days.You feel more alive, less like a child with their face toward the wall.

You start collecting moments like shards of glass: the way morning light catches in the joints of her prosthetic. How she smells like motor oil and salt air and something sweeter underneath. The low rumble of her laugh when you say something unexpectedly sharp. You hoard them, these fragments, turning them over in your mind at night while ceiling fans spin shadows across your childhood bedroom. Sometimes you start crying, not understanding why its so difficult to allow yourself to want this.

There's something almost holy in the ritual of her arrival—the bell above the door, the heavy tread of her boots, the weight of her gaze finding yours across the shop. You're twenty-something and already tired of a world that promised more than it gave. She's forty-something—maybe you should ask—and somehow both weathered and unwavering, like the cypress trees that survive hurricane after hurricane.

You learn she lives out past the old lighthouse in a boathouse painted midnight blue. You ask her if she’s lonely. She takes a long sip of her Diet Coke, looks at you for a second too long, then says no. That the prosthetic came after an accident offshore—something with machinery and poor timing and the sort of pain that changes a person forever. That she keeps a three-legged cat named Commander who sleeps on her chest at night. That she has nightmares about drowning despite knowing how to swim since before she could walk.

You learn about her makeshift family, about Jinx and the way she and Sevika sort of fell together after some job they’d done in the military had blown out. We were mercenaries, she lets slip and you raise a brow in surprise. Are you supposed to be telling me that? You ask. Nope, she says, popping the ‘p’. You laugh.

She talks about Isha, the little runaway they found rooting around in their shed. Isha, who they adopted. Isha who got sick. Isha’s who’s gone. 

“Jinx didn’t take it well,” Sevika says and you hold her hand. “She left, went somewhere. Called me to tell me she couldn’t come back. Told me—told me loved me. Took on some job and…”

You know what she’s about to say next, and you brace for it. You still flinch.

“Blew up. That’s what they said. I think she gave herself a way out.”

You tear up but manage to tell her about your dad. She strokes your back as you cry about the way he left, about how he’s well and alive and newly married. How the two of you are Facebook friends but never speak.

She learns about your failed escape, about the way New York chewed you up and left you hollow. About how sometimes you wake with your heart racing, convinced you're back in that cramped apartment with the subway rattling your windows. About the recurring dream of the buck with blood-soaked antlers, how he's started appearing with Sevika's face, her dark eyes watching you from between points of bone.

It's a Thursday in late July when something breaks open between you. The air hangs heavy with coming rain, pressing against windows like something desperate to get in. You've spent the day rearranging displays, moving in slow circles to music that feels like church—Ethel's voice coating the empty shop in honey and ash.

The day has stretched too long, customers sparse in the gathering storm. You're supposed to be closing, but instead you're dancing alone, barefoot on whitewashed floors, arms raised toward the ceiling fan as if in supplication. "American Teenager" fills the space, and you're spinning with your eyes closed when the bell chimes.

You stop mid-turn, eyes flying open to find Sevika standing in the doorway, rain-damp and beautiful in her severity. Water clings to her eyelashes and the sharp line of her jaw. Behind her, lightning splits the sky, illuminating her silhouette in electric blue.

"You're late," you say, breathless from dancing or from the sight of her, you can't tell which.

"Roads are flooding." Her eyes track over you—bare feet, tiny jean shorts, hair wild from spinning. Something in her gaze feels like hands on skin. "Should've been closed an hour ago."

"I got lost in it," you admit, gesturing vaguely to the record player, to yourself, to the empty shop that feels suddenly too full with her in it.

She crosses to you, boots leaving wet prints on the floor. Places a small package on the counter, but doesn't pull away. "You’re always lost in it, honey" she says, voice lower than usual.

"Yeah. I think it’s my way of staying alive." The words slip out, heavy with meaning you didn't intend but don't regret. Her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn’t respond. 

Thunder crashes outside, close enough to rattle the windows. The lights flicker once, twice, then go out completely. In the sudden darkness, all you can hear is the rain, the needle skipping on the record, and Sevika's breathing, closer than you expected.

"You can say," you whisper, the words a prayer in the dark. "The streets will be underwater."

Her silence stretches long enough that you think she'll refuse. Then her hand finds yours in the darkness, flesh against flesh, warm and rough with calluses. Foolishly, you think of asking her to go swimming.

"I'll stay," she says, and the words feel like a covenant.

You find candles in the storage room, arrange them in a circle on the floor. In their glow, Sevika looks carved from shadow and stone, all sharp angles and dark depth. You bring out the emergency bottle of bourbon your mother keeps behind the counter, two little shot glasses because there are no proper glasses. Your dad got them from when he’d served back in Vietnam.

"To all the light going out," you toast, and she echoes it, eyes never leaving yours as you both drink.

The bourbon burns sweet down your throat. Outside, the world drowns, but in here, you're closer to floating.

"Tell me," she says after a while, voice rough with liquor and something else, "what are you running from? Really?"

You stare into your cup, watching amber liquid catch candlelight. "I’m not sure. I guess mainly the feeling that I've already used up all my chances," you admit. "That I'm in my twenties and already failed at the only thing I tried to be."

"And what's that?"

"Someone who matters. Someone who left a mark." You look up at her, finding her closer than before, drawn into your orbit through some gravity you don't understand. "I thought New York would make me real. Instead, it made me into a ghost. Everyone could see right through me."

She reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek, tucking hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. Her prosthetic catches the candlelight, metal warmed to gold.

"I think a lot of New York is faking it. You’re real, and it’s hard to recognize the disingenuous when you only ever are real," she says, and the words feel like truth.

You feel something fall away inside of you, and you put down your glass before leaning forward. When her lips find yours, it's like breaking the surface after too long underneath a lake. You gasp against her mouth, hands reaching to hold yourself in the solid reality of her—fingers digging into her shoulders, sliding into her rain-damp hair.

She kisses like she does everything else: with absolute certainty, with a focus that makes the world still. Her prosthetic arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until you're nearly in her lap, the heat of her body burning through your thin tee.

"I've been watching you," she confesses against your throat, words pressed into skin like secrets. "Since that first day."

“Me too,” you murmur. “I watched you get in your car.”

It’s an intimate confession, and the candles gutter around you, wax pooling on the floor like offerings. Outside, the storm rages, but it's nothing compared to what’s been building inside of you. Your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, so you shift until you lie beside her on the floor, your head on her chest, listening to the steady drum of her heart.

"Are you ever going to stop driving?" you ask, voice small in the vastness of night.

Her fingers trace constellations on your bare shoulder, connecting beauty marks like stops on a roadmap. “I don’t know if I could.”

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of her—rain and metal and skin. “Would you take me with you?”

She says nothing, and then,

“I’m not sure, baby. Will you ever be happy right where you are?”

🪽♱

Eventually, your mother asks you about her. Well, she more so asks you what’s wrong. 

You weren’t aware something was wrong with you, and tell her as much. She gives you a look as she sucks a cloud of apple from her pen.

"I'm not stupid," she says, exhaling sweet vapor that curls around her face like morning mist over the bayou. "You've been floating around this house like someone cut your anchor. One minute you're singing in the shower, the next you're staring at the wall like it's showing you visions."

“Maybe they are.” She lets out a dry laugh, and you was more time picking at a loose thread on the couch—the same floral pattern that's been there since you were fifteen, though faded now where the sun hits it through the blinds. "It's nothing."

"It's that Sevika lady." Not a question. Your mother has always seen through you like water, clear enough to count the stones at the bottom.

"I don't know what we are," you admit finally, the words tumbling out like shells from a broken net. "I don’t know what I’m doing. I always know what I’m doing, Mama.”

Your mother shifts and brings you to lay your head against her chest. You close your eyes and sink inside of her skin to the best of your ability.

“She's rooted here but always moving. I came back home because I couldn't survive out there, but I don't know if I can stay forever either."

Your mother sets her vape down, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear the way she used to when you had night terrors. "Baby, there's a difference between running away and moving forward. One's about fear, the other's about growth."

The ceiling fan clicks above you, marking seconds with metallic persistence. Outside, cicadas scream their summer chorus.

"When your daddy left," she continues, eyes fixed on something beyond the window, something maybe years away, "I thought I'd never breathe right again. But then I realized I'd been holding my breath our whole goddamn marriage."

Her accent slurs around the admission, and you think about Sevika's truck disappearing down lightly flooded roads, about her callused hands on your skin in candlelight. About her question: Will you ever be happy right where you are?—that's been haunting you like a malevolent spirit.

"I think I could be happy with her," you whisper, more to yourself than to your mother. "Maybe even without her. But I don't know if it's fair to either of us that I’m unsure."

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. Sevika's name appears—no contact photo, just her name in plain text. Delivery tonight. Meet me at Silver after your shift?

Your mother watches your face change as you read it, catches the slight upturn of your lips you can't control. "Go," she says with a sigh that's half exasperation, half fondness. "Figure it out. But remember, staying isn't the same as giving up."

You stand, watching the smoke haze around her face as she blinks up at you. It forms a murky halo around her head, so you bend and kiss her cheek. You stay there for a minute, tilting your head so that your cheeks press together and share their warmth. This close, you swear you can hear her pulse. You hope she never dies. 

“I love you, Mama,” you whisper, like its some great secret. In a way it is.

She says nothing, only kisses your temple and cradles your head. You know what she’s thinking.

🪽♱

Silver Cove glows neon against the twilight sky when you pull in, your mother's Cadillac purring beneath you. The same teenager mans the register, barely looking up from her phone as the bell announces your arrival. You still tell her hello and call her by name to let her know that you see her. You grab a Diet Coke from the cooler and add a package of the cream-filled cookies you've seen Sevika buy before and a Mountain Dew.

When you step outside, her truck is there, massive and gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She leans against the hood, arms crossed, waiting. In the harsh overhead light, the scar on her face looks deeper, the lines around her eyes more pronounced. Sometimes you forget she carries a whole life before you in her bones—years of things you'll never touch or understand.

"Thought maybe you wouldn't come," she says as you approach, voice graveled with something that might be hope.

You hand her a Diet Coke, fingers brushing hers in the exchange. "Why would you think that?”

She smiles for some reason. You continue.

“I've been thinking about what you asked me. During the storm."

She takes a long sip, eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the bottle. "And?"

"I don't know if I'll ever be completely happy anywhere," you admit. "New York was crushing me, but sometimes I still wake up missing the noise. The possibility. I don’t think this could be my life forever. It couldn’t sustain me."

The night air wraps around you both, thick with moisture and the scent of gasoline. A moth batters itself against the nearest light, desperate for something that could destroy it.

"I'm not asking you to stay forever, honey," Sevika says finally. "Just asking if you can be present while you're here."

You step closer, until you can see the flex of muscle in her jaw, the pulse at her throat. "What if here doesn't have to mean one place? What if it just means wherever we both are?"

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition. She sets her drink on the hood of the truck and reaches for you, prosthetic arm cool against your skin as she draws you between her legs.

"I have routes that go to Mobile, to New Orleans. Sometimes farther," she says, her breath warm against your temple. "Doesn't mean I don't come back."

"I could go with you sometimes," you suggest, fingers tracing the tattoos that wind up her flesh arm. "See places without having to leave for good. Or you could find me halfway. Like a long-term scavenger hunt."

She laughs, the sound vibrating through your shared space. "Never thought about it like that. Being alone for so long…staying or going were the only options I saw."

“Me too,” you tell her.

Above you, stars punch through the darkening sky, more visible here than they ever were in New York. You think about constellations—how stars can be millions of miles apart but still form a picture when viewed from the right angle. You think about how scientists have heard black holes sing. Sometimes, your heart feels like a black hole. Sometimes, you sing.

"I'm scared," you confess, forehead pressed to her collarbone. "Of getting it wrong again."

Her hand—her real one—tangles in your hair, holds the back of your head like something sacred. "Getting what wrong?"

"Life. Love. Whatever this is. My daddy was a carpenter. I don’t do well without a plan, a blueprint."

Sevika tilts your face up with gentle pressure, studies you with eyes that have seen oceans rise and machinery fall. "There's no wrong way to build a life that lets you breathe, baby."

When she kisses you this time, it feels different from the thunder-charged intensity of the boutique floor. It feels like an option, a detour, rather than an escape. Like coming home to a place you're still building.

"So what now?" you ask against her lips, tasting hints of her soda and what feels like mint.

"Now…we could get in my truck and drive somewhere. It could be down the coast, could be to my place. Could be just around the block until we figure out the next step." Her prosthetic arm traces your spine, sending shivers despite the summer heat. "I'm not promising forever. Just promising to keep showing up as long as you want me to."

You think about what your mother said—about staying versus giving up. About the difference between running away and moving forward. About how sometimes growth means finding new ways to be rooted.

"I can work with that," you say, and it feels like the truest thing you've said since coming home. “But I don’t want to leave my mom just yet. We need each other right now.”

Sevika lifts you easily, sets you in the passenger seat of her truck with a gentleness that belies her strength. As she rounds the hood to the driver's side, you watch her move through the gauzy light of Silver Cove—solid and certain and somehow yours, at least for now.

The engine rumbles to life beneath you, vibrating up through your bones like a second pulse. Through the windshield, the Gulf Coast stretches dark and infinite, full of places you might go, places you might return to.

"Ready?" Sevika asks, hand on the gearshift, waiting for your answer before putting the truck in drive.

You reach across the console, lace your fingers through hers—flesh against flesh, blood against blood.

"Yeah," you say, and as the truck pulls away from Silver Cove, you feel something inside you flatline—not with the finality of death, but with the quiet understanding of choice. “Take me home, please.”

© hcneymooners.

⚚ wife tag: @s-4pphics

[avaredava]

Sooo

You're "coworkers" with Toji/Shiu. Let's say you're like an independent contractor, similar work as them. Shiu walks in on Toji bending you over a counter and fucking you?

Oh man. I 100% believe Shiu has a filthy mouth and would tease you through it. Better yet, him AND Toji talk you through it.

I also think Shiu wouldn't really join. He MIGHT jerk off. He would definitely take pictures if he knew you were okay with it and tell you he would use them later.

I'm barking-

Damn marry me Malice 😩 YOU MALICE make me scratch at the walls and bark istg

MDNI

Master list

⯌Sum

Shiu helps you and Toji fuck like dogs ◖⚆ᴥ⚆◗

⯌ Wc

1.3k

(Not proof read)

⯌ Warnings

Shiu rubs your clit for a second, masturbation, toji's insane backshots, shiu smokes (duh), some killing, consensual groping (toji killed him), blood splatter, guns, crying, overstim, Shiu directing what Toji should do to you, size kink, size diff, praising, degradation, unprotected (wrap before you tap ya'll), creampies

୨୧・・・・୨୧

It was late at night and the air was crisp as you walked into this big mansion for this fancy gala. You needed information from a rich guy to effectively know what he does and also effectively kill him.

But he was also a horn dog...

So your objective was to seduce him while Toji and Shiu stay on the lookout.

When you were finally settled in, you went to the target, dancing and swaying beautifully. But Shiu's eyes were clearly planted on your ass. Toji elbowed him to focus on the targets movements and if he runs and shit like that.

What he really wanted was for Shiu to stop looking at your ass.

Eventually fucking ugly ass old man target (what Toji thinks he was), let out his obvious perv tendency's and the guy groped your ass. The objective was to kill him anyway and get information.

But Toji fully forgot about the last part and shot him in front of everyone. All the women in the fancy dresses screeched, scrunching their front of the long dresses up then running out.

The men screamed like little bitches it made you chuckle but the blood on your face made you disgusted. What made you more pissed is that you didn't get information that you needed since Toji got fucking jealous or something.

The three of you ran out and as soon as the cold air hit your skin in the skimpy dress you were wearing sent a shiver down your spine but you were still livid.

You and Shiu scolded Toji. He just smirked the whole time then you lost it. "Toji take one fucking thing serious! You can get us into big trouble! Just because you don't know how to control your stupid fucking emotions! You're so full of yourself! We can get in very bad danger not just from the cops knowing what we look like, but from the very dangerous people!"

You were panting heavily after the very long rant. Toji grinned at Shiu and he fucking smiled back, you were about to continue calling them both immature this time but you got cut off.

Toji was the one to talk first. "Such a brat." Shiu nodded and let out a huff before replying. "Last time I checked they need to be punished."

You should be yelling more but the way that Shiu grinned with a cigarette poking out of his rosy lips and Toji's deep raspy laugh just made your thighs squeeze shut and you get wet.

"Well she got quiet." Shiu commented. "Lets get her back to the office, eh Toji? Maybe make sure she makes other noises. Not the bratty ones; but the bratty ones are cute though."

_

You all eventually get to the office from the long car ride. Before Shiu even fully closes the door Toji's stuck to your body, kissing your neck like a hungry man. He really was hungry for you, for your body.

Shiu lights one of his cigarettes, some smoke filling the room. "Toji put her on the desk." Shiu commanded in that cold stern voice that made your juices practically drip down your legs because you were so wet and needy.

Toji picked you up throwing you over his shoulder smacking your ass and you let out a small needy whine. While Shiu sat down on the chair at his desk still smoking.

Toji put you beside the area where Shiu was sitting so he could get a full view of what he's gonna do to you. Shiu just kept smoking as Toji undressed you.

Toji slid up your dress and made out a deep chuckle, you tried to close your legs for some friction but obviously Toji didn't let you.

"No panties or bra? Such a little slut, you wanted this." He was about to take off your red heels that have ropes that wrap around your calves. But Shiu obviously thought it was hot. "Keep the heels on."

He did just that.

Toji tried to quickly undress but you were letting out needy whines so Shiu stood up and put his cigarette in your mouth. He put his lips to your forehead and rubbed your clit to keep you stimulated.

Toji let out possessive growls he really wanted to touch you.

Once he was finished he pushed Shiu to the side and took the cigarette out of your mouth and threw it back at Shiu. "Don't want the pretty girl to have damaged lungs huh?" He glared at Shiu.

He pumped his big cock. You let out a nervous whine. Shiu held your hand gently as toji lined up with your entrance. Your ass was still on the desk while your legs were around Toji's waist.

"Biggg stretch." Toji mumbled in your ear getting you ready for his big cock. He pushed in and his veins were hitting spots you didn't know existed.

"Toji be more gentle." Shiu commanded. He looked at your poor small hole that was on display for him and chuckled. "Is he big baby?" You nod already cock drunk and it hasn't even been a minute.

Shiu noticed Toji was more pleasuring himself, not even trying to hit your g-spot so he stood up and whispered in his ear. "Thrust up a little, and go a little deeper."

He did exactly that and you practically screamed. Shiu had a small (big) problem. The way your pants and whines got louder because of his help just made the tent in his pants tight.

He sat back down before taking out his cock and pumping it slowly, teasing himself. "Thrust harder." Shiu said breathy. Toji's lips pressed to yours in a way that made your legs shake around him.

"I-I'm gonna cum!" You holler out. "Take it from the back." Shiu whined this time and that beautiful noise he made just made you squeeze around Toji so hard and get impossibly wet. Toji pulled out and made you get off the desk and bend over holding it. He slapped your ass before plunging in.

"Fuck your tight..." Toji moaned out. Shiu took some shaky pictures of your fucked out face drooling on his desk.

"Rub her clit- fuck." Shiu grunted out, once again Toji complied to his exact requests. He wanted to make you feel good! He never wanted to admit but, a big reason why he's listening is because, Shiu is a bit more experienced.

Toji wanted to cum so bad but he kept thinking of the ugliest things. It was worse especially when someone was watching. His fingers quickened on your clit making sure he was safe from cumming first.

The pleasure was mind shattering, the combination on his tip hitting your cervix and sliding out and massaging your g-spot made you feel absolutely nothing but his dick and those throbbing veins making you feel so good.

You felt your orgasm coming quick. "I-I'm gonna cum Toji!" You let out a little high pitched moan. "Harder and rub her clit quicker." Shiu commanded once again in that breathy tone that made your knees buckle.

The way his cock bruised you so nicely, Shiu's commanding tone that makes your mouth water. His hips smacking your ass so fast, his thick cock makes you squeeze so tight around him.

"Cum inside Toji."

That sentence you spoke in that breaking voice, that voice that clearly wants your insides painted white. The gross things didn't work anymore, he came instantly with a loud groan, you came right after with a beautiful moan.

You squirted, mixing with his cum as he fucked it back in with his cock. He pulled out, both of your juices and cum rolled down your legs.

He kisses your neck and grabs Shiu's tie that was hanging loosely around his neck to clean your messy thighs and pussy. Shiu grunted when he messed up his tie but he's gonna use it for personal matters later anyway.

Toji picked you up kissing your fucked out face as you leaned into his warmth. Unfortunately Shiu hasn't had an orgasm yet and has just been teasing himself.

"Well Toji you had your shot, my turn."

୨୧・・・・୨୧

A/N: omfg i had to re-write it twice bc it deleted the draft i'm so pissed

[revelboo]

Can we ask for a 'my favorite accident' update? I'm dieing to know what brakedown does and how knockout would react seeing the reader not at home

Breakdown isn’t having fun

My Favorite Accident Pt 11

Knockout x Reader x Breakdown

• Half tempted to just let you run off into the desert and die, he snarls and shifts on his shocks. It’s not like Knockout would ever know it’s his fault. Knowing the medic cares about your horrible, squishy self for some reason is what guilts him into transforming and chasing after you. And you screech like you’re being bloodily murdered the klik you realize he’s chasing you. Somehow much faster than he’d anticipated, little legs fueled by terror. “Stop running!” He snarls.

• Heart racing, you’re sprinting full out, honestly surprised you’re faster than he is. Very aware that if it had occurred to the big moron to stay in vehicle mode, he could have easily run you down. And you don’t have a plan except not getting murdered and buried out here, your lungs already burning and a stitch tearing into your side to make it very clear you should have worked out more. Because you’re faster, but you doubt your stamina is going to outlast the big, killing machine. Who has apparently decided you’re a little home wrecker.

• Pulling into the lot for the hovel you call home, Knockout waits. Growing more and more irritated when you don’t come out. Deviating from your routine. Or just ignoring him. Growling softly, his avatar flares into existence, getting out and crossing to your door to knock. Silence. Your ugly car is here, so you must be. Banging harder on the door, annoyance flips into worry when he doesn’t hear any sounds through the thin door. Humans are stupidly fragile creatures. Maybe you’re hurt in there? Who’s going to race with him if you’ve done something inconsiderate like die on him?

• Stiffening as the door next to yours opens and a grizzled, ancient human man with a smoking brown thing clenched between his yellowed teeth squints at him. ‘Ain’t home,’ the man grunts and Knockout leans to snag the door knob before the human can close it. “And did you see where they went?” He asks, smiling angrily. Who you left with. Pulling at the door insistently before realizing he’s not winning, the old man scowls. ‘Some big guy dragged ‘em off to their vehicle.’ Real body shifting on his shocks, his avatar bares its teeth at the man. “And did you try to stop this?” Doubts it given the way the man cringes away. Had probably just watched you get kidnapped, kicking and screaming. Oh, he’s going to have fun dismembering whatever fool took you. You’re his.

• How are you so fast for being so tiny? Everytime he almost has you, you throw yourself down, scrambling on all fours like an animal. He’s almost stepped on you twice by accident when you’ve tried to run between his legs. You’re wearing down though, face flushed and breathing raggedly. “Games over, human,” he growls, crouched and servos splayed. He’d backed you to the edge of a drainage canal, there’s nowhere for you to go. Something you seem fully aware of, trembling with exhaustion to almost make him feel guilty. And you tense, looking over your shoulder at the steep concrete incline. You wouldn’t. Calculation in your expression, you suck in a deep breath. “Don’t you dare,” he snarls, swearing when you drop and roll over the edge. For Primus’s sake, what is wrong with you?

Previous

[writingwithgeoffrey]

You stared down at the crisp twenty-dollar bill. It was the nicest one you’d ever seen, and you’d seen plenty of them in your time on this earth. Why, just looking at this one, you could remember them all.

The old lady who gave you twenty dollars to save her cat. You recalled fondly how it gave you the power of flight—even if temporary.

The young man who gave you twenty dollars to hang a proposal sign off the side of a building. Learning how to stick to walls and climb them was exhilarating.

Then there was that time the government gave you twenty bucks just to fix a water treatment plant. Swimming around in waste was disgusting, but the money had given you the ability to breathe underwater and resist the horrid stench.

You didn’t know how your power worked, but you didn’t really care. Twenty bucks was twenty bucks, and you honestly liked helping people out. The smiles on their faces, the joyful reunions between owners and pets, the ability to bring fun … That was why you were a hero. Sure, you could’ve been doing multiple smaller odd jobs for the money, but why bother?

This job, however, was the literal definition of getting the most bang for your buck.

“I’m sorry, what?” You’d been so distracted by the newness of the bill that you hadn’t been paying attention. The government guy across from you seemed on edge. As he should’ve been, you thought. They’re always desperate when they come to me.

“There’s an asteroid coming right for us. We’ve tried everything in our power to stop it.”

“Nukes?”

The guy nodded.

“How about a team of drillers trained to fly in space so they can plant a bomb?”

The guy scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, we tried that.”

“What about taking the problem and pushing it somewhere else?”

“Tried that, too.” The guy got upset. “Look, are you gonna take the money and do your job, or do I have to take that back?”

If there was one thing you were defensive about, it was someone taking away your twenties. You’d grown quite a varied collection over the years, and this one would’ve made a great centerpiece.

“No,” you said as you pocketed the bill. “So, what? You just need me to stop the asteroid?” Already, you were excited to find out what powers you’d get. What would possibly help you stop an asteroid?

“Preferably destroy it so that it doesn’t return on a destructive arc.”

“Right. Destroy it. You looked up toward the night sky, where a faint glow was visible far off in the distance. You pointed at it. “That it?”

“Do your thing, sir.”

You took in a deep breath, moved a few steps away on the off chance your powers developed poorly, and leaped into the sky. Your vertical jump had always been horrible without powers, and this time was no different. You hardly made it a foot off the ground!

“Okay. No flight. How about …”

You stared intently in the direction of the asteroid, remembering that one time you’d gotten laser eyes to help someone slice up a watermelon. You just ended up looking like a fool with constipation.

“Okay.” You began to grow nervous. This was the longest it’d taken for your powers to develop. “Maybe this?”

You held your fist out front, hoping you’d gotten some kind of light-projection powers, like that one time when you’d used them as an umbrella and someone had called you Green Lantern. Nothing came out.

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s wrong?”

You glanced at the government guy, trying to hide your lack-of-powers. “N-nothing! Just, you know, building up suspense.” You let out a nervous laugh, then hunched over your balled up fists. “Come on,” you hissed at them. “Work.”

You clenched, focused all the energy in your body, felt it build up, and then you farted.

“Oh, come on!”

By this point, the asteroid was close enough that it was beginning to illuminate the world like the moon would.

“Anytime now, sir!” the government guy said.

You whirled on him. “It’s not my fault! You gave me twenty dollars! It should be easy for me! I should be able to solve this problem with a snap of my fingers!”

You snapped your fingers for effect. The sound of a bell tolling rang out across the world. It echoed in your skull, reverberated through your entire body, treated you like an amplifier for the universe’s will.

Then, the light cut out. You glanced over your shoulder, but there was no asteroid to see. The world was normal, too. There was nothing wrong with the city or the people who lived in it.

“Did … did you do it?”

You gawked as you stared up at the empty night sky. Well, not empty, there were still stars and the moon, but the threat was gone.

“Um … I guess.”

The government guy stood beside you, similarly shocked by the revelation, then pulled an envelope from his pocket. “Well.” He gulped and turned to face you. “On behalf of the world’s governments, this is for you.”

You took the envelope, broke the seal, and looked inside. “Aw, sick. Twenty bucks!”

You're a hero with a weird name: "Anything for $20." You gain the ability to do anything, as long as you're offered $20. Everyone takes it as a joke, until one day there's a cataclysm, and someone offers you $20 to end it.

[worksby-d]

Give Me More Than Just Some Butterflies

Pairing: Steve Rogers x grad student!Reader

Summary: You begin to learn the shy Steve Rogers from your art class isn't so shy with you. Read the setup for these two here 🫶

Warnings: Age gap, unprotected sex I fear, 18+

Word count: ~700

Your chest rises and falls as you take in and let out slow, steady breaths. You’re sprawled out on your bed with Steve beside you, still half on top of you. His flushed, damp skin presses against yours. 

You can’t help but let out a quiet laugh, thinking to yourself thank God you let him take you out first if this was the return. 

But his first thoughts are somewhere else. When he finally speaks up, his voice is low and rough as he lifts his head to look down at you. 

“Was that okay?”

You slowly blink up at him, not immediately following what he’s asking.

“What?”

He drops his forehead against your shoulder and breathes out a small laugh. His hand on your hip squeezes gently. 

“It’s been a while,” he admits. “I feel like I got a little carried away.”

“Oh,” you giggle, but stop yourself not wanting it to seem like you’re laughing at him. He was a little rough, sure, but it was good. “No, I liked it.”

His look of relief is cute. He leans closer to you again, brushing his lips against yours. “Yeah?”

You nod and complete the kiss. “Yeah.”

His response comes in the form of trailing slow kisses along your jaw and down your neck. 

His deliberate movements coax a gasp out of you. “Steve–”

He smiles against your skin. “Hm?”

You feel the bed shift as he moves – His leg that’s resting between your own nudges against your thigh, guiding you to spread your legs and make room for him between them again. 

As you follow his lead, you can feel a faint ache that’s setting in from how thoroughly he fucked you the first time, but it’s not enough to impede your desire for it again. 

You tilt your head, giving him better access to your neck and collarbone. Your hand slips between your bodies to find him hard again. He lets out a deep groan when your fingers wrap around him, stroking gently. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mutters. 

“Think you can handle one more round, old man?” You tease, referencing the first night you talked.

“See, I knew you were thinking about my age,” he scoffs. 

He rolls his hips, pressing his cock against your wet pussy. He gives you a second before thrusting into you in one deep stroke. A cocky smirk appears on his face hearing your loud moan and he lifts his head to watch a look of pleasure take over you. 

His name falls from your lips again, this time as a whimper. 

He groans, feeling your fingertips dig into his sides as you hold onto him. “God, you feel so good.”

He moves torturously slow at first, making sure you feel every inch of his cock dragging in and out of your tight cunt. He holds a hand against your waist as he sets a steady pace. 

Writhing beneath him, you arch your back, trying to feel him even deeper. “Please,” you beg. 

“Please what?” He asks in a teasing tone. 

“Fuck me, please.”

“What do you think I’m doing, sweetheart?”

Asshole.

“Harder,” you plead. 

He hums, acting like he’s thinking about it, and he ultimately decides to oblige. His lips meet yours again for a deep kiss as he snaps his hips forward, harder this time. 

As his movements become more intense, the room fills with the obscene sounds of his hips meeting yours and heavy breaths from both of you. 

“That’s it,” he grunts. “Just like that. Good girl.”

It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re right on the edge of coming for him again. You whine as the overstimulation begins to set it. 

“Steve– I’m–”

“I know,” he pants, fucking you even harder. “Let go for me.”

That’s all you need. Pleasure crashes over you in waves as you cry out his name. 

Your climax spurs his own. His hips stutter and his movements come to an abrupt halt as he spills inside you.

Silence takes over as you both focus on catching your breath again. 

It’s a chuckle from Steve that pulls you out of your blissful daze. 

“I think the question should be whether you can keep up with me,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

Through heavy breaths, you let out a laugh. “No fucking kidding.”

Tag list: @patzammit @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @astheskycries @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @turtoix @harrysthiccthighss @mrspeacem1nusone @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @xoxabs88xox @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @rogersbarber @dilfbarber @payperhearts @vintagestarlight @miss-ariella @bemysugarbean @t-stark35 @seitmai @reginaphalange2403 @raelorns21 @mrsgweasley @pandaxnienke @brandycranby @pursuedbyamemoryy

[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan Being Bossy and Domineering

Really need Logan to just take control rn.

just need to be his mindless princess while he takes care of me

Anyhoo, both fluff, and nsfw stuff (logan is a hardcore dom in this btw, beware) under the cut, enjoy!

Love me a man who can take control

I think deep down, logan can be a little bit of a control freak. He doesn't make it obvious to anyone

dont get me wrong, he's still a HUGE sweetheart, esp with you

but years of trauma has made him antsy to jump in and take care of things

because only he can do it right anyway

he can be a great leader. an even better partner.

its starts almost immediately

you're doing chores, laundry, other random tasks, he'll come in and take over for you. "Don't worry bout it bub, I got it."

He'll kiss your forehead and forcefully take over. He doesn't mind if you stay and watch. You just need to sit there and look pretty for him

If you're an independent bitch (lovingly) (like me!) this may cause you to butt heads a few times but admittedly as your relationship flourishes, you found a little relief knowing logan is willing to take on the load, take care of you, make you feel loved and not a nuisance over it?

personally, I know I can do everything, but having a partner who wants to take care of me just as I do for them? *swoon*

He won't let you do any heavy lifting. Why should you? He's the one with the metal skeleton and is freakishly strong anyhow.

When he does tell you to do something, and you tease him about being bossy, he'll smack you on the ass and tell you "Damn right"

If you do get stubborn about something, he'll get damn firm with you. he doesn't like to use that tone but dammit quit being a brat

Will manhandle you. If youre refusing to do soemthing, go somewhere. Hell throw you over his shoulder

And he wont put you down till youre where he wants to be

he'll tell you things like to get undressed and wait in bed for him

but he'll also be bringing you water or food and telling you to eat. it's not asking. he's telling you what to do.

i personally get a little pissy with authority, so if you get shitty with him about it, he will bend you over on a table and smack your ass a few times

(by the by, theres a time and a place, he'll know when to let it go.)

he'll jnow your moods quickly.

takes on the maintenance of the house/apartment/mansion. it's quite hot.

stands over you a lot, watching what you're doing. it's a little bit of being curious and wanting to be close honestly, but there's a hint of him keeping an eye on you

you may win the arguments

but he's gonna be real arrogant later in bed when he undos you perfectly, you're begging and whining and he's like "oh, look who's wanting me to take of her now?"

If you're out in public, he gets pissy about others looking and talking to you

he's not so bad that he's gonna tell old mrs.wilkins to fuck off, but if that fucking mechanic calls you sweetheart one more godddamn time....

In a bar, it's a rule that you are to be glued to his side at all times. The most leeway he gives you is if you go off with one of the others, like Jean or Ororo, to go to the bathroom/mutual friends for the other variants

Don't worry, it's not a trust issue with you. he's trust you 100 percent

its the world he doesn't trust

Honestly though, he wants you to be happy. What he really like is for you to sit there and look pretty for him. Preferably on his lap

Once youre both settled in the relationship he is definitely glued to your side

its a mixture of him being an attached puppy and secret service body guard

if you're getting shitty/bratty with him, hes not gonna raise his voice

but he is going to manhandle you

get your bent over his knee and spank you as many times as needed till youre compliant

dont worry, he'll make it up to you

but it is for your own good, sweetheart.

He demands cuddles btw

Actually, that means that he's asking. he doesn't ask

you walk by the couch he grabs your arm and pulls you onto him, your curled into his lap- unsure what happened while his arm is around your shoulder, and hand stroking your thigh as he continued watching his show

Sometimes you both are existing and he looks at you and clears his throat to get your attention

he pats his lap, beckoning you over, the ever familiar bossy look in his expression and you know you better listen

recently discovered the appeal of being a brat because you know you're not truly getting in trouble, allowing you to argue, or be moody just because

and WHEW boy that was a whirlwind for me

doing that with logan tho? You're in for a good time

he'll be smoking a cigar when you start up and that just tells him you need a lil taken care of

he (once again) gets you bent over his knee, spanking your ass till youre crying.

then he fucks you dumb. pliant and happy again, he'll go back to finishing his cigar while you're curled in his arms

with trilogy logan, he gets domineering over your safety. you and him have probably gotten into arguments over missions, you going out on your own, etc etc. it usually ends with him fucking out his frustrations on you (you work it out too tho...) "Got me acting damn stupid out there. now look at you, practically drooling as i fuck you."

old man logan. oh boy. that man is the definition of telling you to sit the fuck down. (IM SAT). You're arguing and a simple look from him has you backing down. hes too old to being dealing with your tantrum. can and will force you to suck him off just to get you to shut up (lovingly). he knows you just need his cock in your mouth to feel better. "there you go darling, just needed to suck on my cock to feel better huh?"

DOFP (70s) logan, will simply just like the power over you. he likes you compliant. he'll tie you up simply because you didn't tell him you were going out with your friends tonight. make you beg him to fuck you and when he finally does he'll be cooing and telling you "see? see how good i make you feel baby?". it's all fun and games...for the most part.

DOFP future will literally just be a soft dom. Hes ordering you around but he's being so sweet about it. its for your own good love. if you rebel a little bit though, you might see some of his 70s self come out. "Thought id' put up with your antics huh?"

Origins Logan? You'd honestly think he'd be the sweetest out of all of them. I think he could be a very aggressive dom. Go on bub, test him. See what happens. You're not gonna be able to walk straight for days. "That'll make you behave,"

worst logan, he's very pissy over it. hes telling you to knock off the tude, to let him carry the groceries, paint the walls, fix the leaky sink etc, then he's pinning you down and you're being dealt the roughest, nastiest fuck of your life. "Obviously you just needed to stuffed full of me to get you to calm down."

wolverine (2013) is a mix of everything. probs the meanest motherfucker out of them all. he genuinely loves you, wants you safe, wants to take care of you. just fucking let him. Try anything and you're gonna be sobbing as he shoves your face into the carpet, fucking you roughly and telling you "you brought it on yourself princess". He knows whats good for you, he's been around the block more than a few times. Don't push him too far- otherwise you will get tied to the bed and he won't let you go.

he can and will be a very sweet control freak though

making you breakfast, lunch, dinner

brings you cut up fruit

fills your gas tank

the sexy stuff put aside, logan genuinely wants to take care of you. he wants to ease the burdens off your shoulders.

you may wonder is it too much for him but he actually couldn't love it more. the fact that he can devote himself to you, the one he loves. is healing for him. he's spent a lot of time being lonely. let him take care of you

He does listen to you, he'll listen to your vent and your feelings. you talk things out and everything

but BOY is it sure fun to get him riled up huh? ;)

[on-the-clear-blue]

I am thinking about, what if Jason, fresh from the grave, actually managed to get to Wanye manor?

Like, some Gothamite stumbles upon this kid in a muddy silk suit, with hands bleeding and bruised, whos hollow looking eyes are filled with tears, trying to draw in weezy breaths and let's out a long desperate whimper that sounds like..."help me"

But instead of running and calling the police because clearly the dead are starting to raise in Gotham and that is like, actually the worst, they notice something, they have seen that face before, fucking hell nearly all of gotham had, maybe a little younger, maybe with a happy smile and a twinkle in his eye even in a black in white photo put out by the newspaper, cus that's the Wayne kid, that's Brucies little boy that got killed.

And they take him home, to the Wanye Manor clearly some bullshit happened, because in Gotham the even the dead arnt allowed to rest it seemed.

Even if nobody ever made it past the front gate, everyone knows where the Manor is, it's the seat of power for like, the most important family in Gotham, criminal or otherwise.

And they feel horrible ringing the gate bell, they would wince because it sounds like a sick joke to just to roll up, and say "I got your dead kid, you want em back?"

Imagine the pain that Alfred has to go through hearing that? Some stranger has just rung in that they have his youngest charge grandson who Alfred personally dressed in his finest to be laid to rest. The same Alfred who did the same for Thomas and Martha, who cried over their bodies in secret just as he did Jason.

He let's the stranger through the front gate, while Master Bruce has a rule against killing, Alfred is more than willing to, and his shotgun is loaded as he watches a older car slowly wind up the long driveway.

He is standing at the door, gun lowered as the stranger pulls to a stop, they don't even look surprised at the gun in the old man's hands, simply nodding at it before heading to the back seat of their car and-

Dear God they dug up his boy, anger pulses through him, the gun raises to shoot down this utter scum before...the body twitches as the stranger speaks to it, gently shaking it and...and Jason blinks awake, a strangled gasp coming from his chest before coughs, and Jason is stumbling out of the back seat.

Alfred can't move for a second, can't think as he sees Jason alive once more, the boys pained expression lessens slightly as he seems to spot thr butler, and a soft, hoarse whisper came from his lips, "A-Alfie..."

Imagine Bruce, drunk beyond the point where it should kill him, laying in Jason's bed, the curtains drawn closed, leaving the room pitch black, the only lights coming from the smattering of glow in the dark stars, done up in constellations across the ceiling, and a small night light by the door.

His son still needed a night light, his darling boy was still young enough to fear the dark, even if it was at an instinctual level.

Bruce felt disgusted by himself, hatred of the pathetic excuse of a man that he was, his son was gone gone GONE.

The lights of his life was gone, and he deserved it, he shouldn't have been so greedy, so selfish to want Dick in his life, so what if Vruce saw himself in the boy, commerserated with the searing pain of his parents, Bruce should have kept the child away, to not allow Dick to become anything like him.

It was good that Bruce was pushing him away, making the wonderful young man Dick turned out to be hate him, Bruce only deserved that, it hurt so much to turn his back on his son, but Bruce couldn't allow anymore of himself to befoul the boy he loved so dearly.

The man longed for another drink but he refused to bring the bottle into Jason's room, he wouldn't desecrate his sons space with something he had hated so much.

It was the only reason Bruce rolled out of the bed, his body felt like lead, numb and dull to the world, and as he opened the door into the hall, he saw him.

There Jason was, yet more to hunt him, his child's phantom back to torment him again.

Mind clouded with pain, Bruce would stumble up to that ghost the figment of his imagination that sought to torment him, stopping only a foot away and falling to his knees, fresh tears sting at the man's eyes. A gutteral sound of agony tearing through him as he wails in sorrow, of a future, a life snuffed out.

Only to be silenced by a weight on his shoulder, followed by a smaller body drapped across his own, the cry of pain was choked out by shock, eyes that shut fly open to see that the phantom, the ghost of his son...was not just a figment of his foul mind.

And Jason's body was not cold, not stiff with rigor mortise, it was warm and soft, the thrum if a weak heart beat pounded across his back where his sons chest was across him.

With shaky hands Bruce would, almost reverently, reach out to touch his son, pulling his hand back as if he was burned went he felt the boys body.

In a moment the man was latched onto the boy, holding onto him as if he let go Jason would fade away and he would lose his son once again.

Of course they run tests, though Bruce is never not in arms reach of Jason, always trying to keep the boy in his eyesight, and went they come back that it really is Jason? That their boy is returned? Bruce clings to his son once more, tears renewed, this time filled with relief not sorrow.

Though sadly, we don't get this, instead after digging himself out of his own grave, Jason gets hit by a car and gets kidnapped by a murder death cult and gets dunked in the evil mountain dew before getting turned against the people that love him, fed lies to fuel his pit madness and then set off on a killing spree of revenge.