#gonna clean out my drafts lol

[joenateuser]

[greghatecrimes]

foreman my man, I don't know what you expected

[cultivating-wildflowers]

me, at noon on a Thursday at the office: what if I whipped up a new costume piece before Saturday?

[batsplat]

[psplf]

#Btw before anyone says 'ooooh that's not very insane relationship drama' this is just a summary. They for sure had more shit going down#I simply cannot see far enough into their universe to know the details

I've been gifted visions into their universe, so here's my version of what I'm seeing! I'm speaking my truth about them!! Hope you like ;)

...

The band started all thanks to Danny.

He convinced his father to let him play his guitar all those years ago, and never put it down since. He soon became one of the best guitar players this side of the tristate area. Yet, he almost lost his way when he couldn't find members for his band. It should've been easy! It was, but he couldn't find people that were created from the heart, the soul. Ones that spoke out and searched for more in their world, those who wanted to play music and feel it underneath their skin and share that with the rest of the world.

He knew Sherman was perfect for it the moment he met him.

The first time he heard Sherman play was one night in their Sophomore year. He had stumbled across the music building late at night when he was returning from a late night study session. There was a deep beat rumbling through those thick walls. It coursed straight into veins and called him. It led him towards that small supposedly soundproof booth tucked away in the basement. And there was Sherman, playing the loudest and craziest he's ever done. All because he got a C on his exam, the first one he's ever gotten, and he wasn't taking it well.

Danny was the charmer, even more so than Bobbi, much to his chagrin. Danny was the one that talked his way through anything. Yet, when it came to Sherman, his tongue seemed to have a mind of his own, catching and slipping against his teeth incomprehensible sounds that barely resembled words.

Somehow he was able to convince Sherman despite his mind going blank in his presence. He promised to help Sherman study to make up for his bad grade. He promised to be there for him no matter what. He might not be the smartest man when it came to school, but he exceptionally excelled at statistics. The numbers resembled music notes to him, composing into a complete song in the mind. Sherman promised that if Danny got him that A on the next exam, then he'd play in his band. Sherman didn't think it was possible, but it turns out that Danny was the perfect teacher, and Sherman quickly aced the next exam.

Danny and Sherman get closer and closer over their time as bandmates. When they weren't practicing or performing, they studied, rocked out, and hung out together.

Sherman was always the nerd, quiet and shy despite his talent at drumming, and Danny was his first friend that liked being around him, which he'll always be grateful for. His presence brought other people that wanted to hang out with him, without Danny being his friend, Sherman doubts his ability in surviving in college. Though Danny would greatly disagree Sherman wouldn't have been able to do it without him. Sherman was finally getting the recognition in how great and kind he was, still is, and Danny merely helped bridge that gap for people.

It was only the two of them for a while, performing with temporary bandmates, performing at small local dives and bars, until a Mr. Bobbi Fabulous caught wind of their growing fame. Bobbi was one of the most popular students on campus. With the influence and prestige that could rival royalty, Danny didn't question it when he wanted to join their band.

A perfect addition to their little growing band.

No one else had shown the potential Bobbi had. His talent was promising, much like him, it shined brighter than the sun, and even brighter than the other previous bass players that had applied. Most didn't have the right vibe and drive.

Bobbi had that, though his ego often got in the way, and sure, that would lead to their downfall eventually, at least that's what Danny wanted to believe, the band needed its obligatory selfish member. What was a band without one?

In hindsight, Danny should've thought about it more, but their band needed another member, and he couldn't find anyone who was better than Bobbi.

Sherman wasn't sure about Bobbi at first. He was comfortable with just him and Danny performing together. The intimacy of singing into one mic, breath and sweat mixing in a haze of blazing energy under those bright, flashing lights of their future, glimmering in the audience and back at them. A myriad of symphonies that thunder out into his heart and soul.

Yet, Sherman accepted the change, if only to see Danny smile more. He wasn't enough for Danny, he had long since accepted that, but if it meant that Danny was happy then he'd gladly accept what was given to him. As long as he was able to stay next to him and continue to be his friend for years to come.

love handel probably had the most insane relationship drama i know this in my heart

[daryltwdixon]

So could you write a pretty angst-y fic where Joel and reader are in an established relationship and they've been settled in Jackson for a while, taking part in patrols and all. And one day, reader and Tommy go out on patrol and they're taking longer than they should to come back and Joel is anxiously waiting by the gate. Then he sees Tommy approaching on his horse with reader's limp body in his arms and a scared look on his face. Reader's been badly hurt while saving Tommy's life. Joel thinks he's gonna lose her but thankfully she recovers (so happy ending!!!)

Thanks! I hope you can understand the general idea, English is not my first language so bear with me lol

first ever Joel request :') thank you anon!!!! had this in the draft for the past few days

The air bit at Joel’s face as he paced near the gate, his boots grinding against the frost-touched dirt. The sun had started to dip, its light staining the snow a faint amber, and still, there was no sign of them. He glanced at Maria, who stood a few feet away, her arms crossed and her expression tight.

“They’re late,” Joel muttered, more to himself than her.

“Give them time,” she replied evenly, though her voice carried no conviction.

Every nerve in Joel’s body felt like it was stretched thin, pulled taut by the silence. He wasn’t the type to panic—he’d seen too much, lost too much that he'd grown a thick skin—but this was different. You were different. And Tommy... Hell, he couldn’t let himself think about it.

When the sound of hooves finally broke the stillness, Joel’s head snapped toward the horizon. Relief flickered in his chest, but it was fleeting. The sight of Tommy riding toward the gates, his horse kicking up fresh snow, sent his stomach lurching.

You were slumped against Tommy’s chest, your body limp as a rag doll.

Tommy’s face was pale, his jaw tight. “Open the gate!” he shouted, urgency sharpening his voice.

Joel’s feet moved before his brain could catch up, his heart thundering like a war drum. His hands felt clumsy as he helped Maria shove the gate open, the cold metal biting into his palms.

“What the hell happened?” Joel demanded, his voice rising as Tommy reined the horse in.

“She—she saved me,” Tommy stammered, his breath fogging in the cold. “Raiders. She pushed me outta the way, Joel. Got hit bad—”

Joel didn’t hear the rest. His eyes were locked on you, on the blood soaking through your jacket and the way your head lolled against Tommy’s shoulder. He reached up, his hands trembling, and carefully took you from Tommy’s arms.

“Jesus, no—no, no, no,” Joel muttered under his breath, his voice cracking as he cradled you against him. You were too still, your face too pale, and the warmth of your blood seeped through his clothes.

Maria was shouting something about getting a stretcher, about calling for a doctor, but Joel barely registered it. He carried you toward the infirmary, his steps uneven and frantic.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he pressed his face to your hair. “Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare.”

The hours that followed were a blur of blood-stained bandages, hushed voices, and Joel’s chest so tight he could barely breathe. He sat by your bedside, his hands gripping yours like they were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

You didn’t stir.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Joel rasped, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His voice was low, hoarse. “You hear me? You’re gonna be fine. I’ll kill anyone who says otherwise.”

Joel hadn’t moved from the chair in hours. His back ached, his legs felt stiff, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The only thing grounding him was the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of your chest.

The infirmary was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the heater. The blood had been cleaned off your skin, the deep wound on your side stitched and wrapped. But the pale cast to your face still gnawed at him, clawing at the frayed edges of his composure.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve fought through worse, haven’t you? Don’t make me sit here and talk to myself like a damn fool.”

He didn’t realize he’d drifted off until he felt your fingers twitch in his. It was subtle—barely there—but it sent a jolt through him. His head shot up, his heart hammering as your lashes fluttered.

“Hey,” he breathed, standing so quickly the chair scraped against the floor. He leaned over you, his hand cupping your cheek as your eyes cracked open. “Hey, there you are. You’re awake.”

You blinked sluggishly, your gaze trying to focus on his face. “Joel?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me.” His voice cracked, his forehead lowering to press against yours for a long moment. His breath was shaky, his hands trembling as they cupped your face.

Then—in a move that to anyone but you that knew Joel would be uncharacteristic—he kissed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—his lips lingering as if trying to will you back to life.

But the reprieve didn’t last. When he pulled back, the familiar furrow of his brow returned, and his jaw tightened.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he growled, stepping back just enough to meet your eyes. The raw edge of his voice sliced through the haze of your exhaustion. “Throwin’ yourself in front of Tommy like that? You tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

The gruffness in his tone didn’t surprise you—it was Joel’s way of dealing with fear. But the storm in his eyes made your throat tighten.

“Tommy—he… needed help,” you rasped, your voice weak.

“I don’t give a damn what the excuse is,” Joel snapped, his hand raking through his hair. He paced to the foot of the bed, then back to your side, his frustration barely contained. “You think I can just sit here and watch you—watch you almost…” His voice broke, and he turned away, rubbing a hand over his face.

Your heart twisted at the sight. Joel Miller wasn’t a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, but here he was, raw and undone.

“Joel,” you whispered.

He turned back to you, his jaw tight. “You don’t get to do that,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You don’t get to make that choice for me. For us.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and you reached out, your fingers brushing his hand. He hesitated for a moment before taking your hand in his, holding it tightly like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you murmured.

“Well, you did. You scared the hell outta me,” he shot back, though his grip on your hand softened. “Don’t ever do that again. You hear me?”

You managed the faintest of smiles, your lips quirking despite the ache in your body. “Bossy.”

Joel let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Damn right I’m bossy. And you’d better start listenin’.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the hum of the heater and the quiet, shaky breaths Joel took to calm himself. He sank back into the chair, his head bowing as he rested his forehead against your joined hands.

“You’re stuck with me,” you whispered, echoing the words he’d once said to you.

Joel huffed, "Got that right.”

When he lifted his head, his eyes were softer, though the tension in his jaw hadn’t fully eased. He kissed your knuckles again, lingering for a moment.

“I mean it,” he muttered, his voice gruff but tender. “Don’t scare me like that again. I can’t…” He trailed off, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’ll try,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his.

“That’s all I’m askin’,” Joel replied, his lips twitching into a small, reluctant smile.

He stayed there, his chair pulled close to your bedside, his hand never leaving yours. And for the first time in hours, the storm inside him began to quiet.

[thegnomelord]

me very patiently waiting for that mothussy :3

oh and here’s another wittle thing i thought…i tend to hc price as a bear hybrid or other so i think he would go into hibernations,, since hes still on duty he wouldnt go into a long-term one like other bears, but simply sleep a LOT of the day…i would wanna cuddle big bear price so bad awaawaewfgwh 🥺 hes really hairy but instead of it being coarse hair, its more fluffy cause its the winter!! so his facial hair puffs up a bit…and his chest hair…and the happy trail…you get the idea :3 idk i just like bear price i want him to pound me into the mattress and suck my cock until it falls off hug me!!

-❀

Give me like a couple more days lol, I got ghost and soap more or less done in a rough draft format, just need to write out price and gaz then a quick rewrite to clean up the draft. Cause rn all mini drafts are about 1k and very rough so when I clean it up they're probs gonna be bumped up to like 2k? Just knowing me and how my drafts end up doubling in size lol.

Also duuude you are a treasure trove of ideas lol. I want bear price now and now I'm horny so here's a bunch of bear price

Help a Bear Out

CW:NSFW, MDNI, daddy kink, dom/sub, oral, somno, edging, foodplay, cockwarming. Bear Price x Top Male reader Ao3

Imagine Bear Price who is by no means a small man any time of the year, bear genetics + having to be physically fit to take down terrorists leads to him having a very strong and imposing build befitting a Kodiak bear. The fur only adds to the striking image, making him look larger and his arms appear thicker, letting him scare many young boars from trying to tussle with him lest he crack their skulls.

But he turns massive in winter.

He can't help it; There's no escaping the iron clad control nature has over his body as his dark fur thickens and gains a fluffy golden color. No evading the instinct telling him to eat and rest and grow fat for winter until his hard earned muscles disappear beneath the cloak of fat. No ignoring sweet lull of sleep's song when he's yawning every five minutes and the words on the report swim in his blurry eyes.

Imagine Bear Price who, in his younger days, used to be self conscious about the changes his body went through. Growing up surrounded by humans was tough, dread would start building in his heart the moment the first leaf from the trees would fall. He's lost count how many times the kids would laugh at him when he'd show up to school after winter break with a chubby face and barely able to run a lap with how tired he was.

As he grew and started being curious about sex, it only got worse. He'd snatch the porn mags his sisters would buy behind their parents back, spending hours looking in the mirror and comparing his pudgy belly and fat thighs to the chiseled abs and lean muscles of the models. He'd spend hours exercising and trying to loose the weight he'd gain, but it would be all for naught.

And it didn't stop when he graduated and went into the military. His superiors may have tolerated the extra sleep and rations Price needed because he was a monster on the field, but they by no means were happy about it. He'd end up with thrice the amount of work and run ragged in training until he returned to his pre-winter weight.

Imagine Bear Price who doesn't give a shit about how he looks like now. Why would he, when he sees how you look at him? How you touch him? How you worship him?

Your hands wind around his waist and the groan you let out when you realize the space between your fingertips has gotten bigger is hungry. Your face burrows into his chest, his soft fluffy fur tickling your face as you nuzzle his pecks. The way his pudgy belly and love handles jiggle under your wandering hands makes you wish you had more arms so you could feel every part of him.

A content growl rumbles from the bottom of his chest, eyelids open just enough to watch you. "My boy's forgotten his manners." He chuckles, but there's no way to hide the wagging of his little bear tail. The reverent way you touch him makes him feel like a king.

"Sorry sir." There's absolutely no shame in your voice or your actions, not when your mind is held captive by the soft fluffy fur and the warmth of his skin. Without thinking you slide your hands up to grope his chest and you groan — the squishy fat covering his muscles and makes his pecs so large they don't fit in your hands anymore, fat plumping up between your fingers and his flesh jiggling as you press his pecs against your head and motorboat him.

The surprised laugh you earn is like ambrosia to sweeten the heaven you're drowning in.

Imagine Bear Price who gets so sleepy as the nights get longer and colder. While he still gets the work done, and for the most part doesn't mind the 'old man' jokes his boys make, it's obvious how irritated he gets when he's forced to stay awake longer than he needs to; each extra second spent explaining to a muppet how to do his job makes his eyes darker and voice rougher until he's passively growling like a construction engine.

Luckily you're there to calm down the beast.

Groping his ass or scratching the base of his tail to distract him so you can kiss along his jaw and rub your cheek against his beard. "You're doing it again sir." You mutter, voice smooth and low enough to soothe his prickled mind. Kissing him sweet and slow so you can tug his lazy body back into his room, into his den, where you can give him what his mind and body craves the most — sweet sweet sleep. . . and you.

Imagine Bear Price who's chest rumbles with a purr without stopping the second you settle into his den, his clawed fingers sliding over and groping your naked skin with just as much love and adoration as you show him.

Wrapped in so many layers of blankets and furs, engulfed by his bulk and his own fur, you are so so warm that neither one of you need clothes. Price's favorite position is to hug you like a Teddy bear. Despite the irony, it lets him wrap his body around you so you're safe and protected, practically suffocating in his fur. Not that you mind, especially when Price can nuzzle his nose into your hair or skin, to breathe in your scent to his heart's content and purr low praises into your ear: "Good boy,"

And, if you're especially good, he lets you use his ass as a pillow. He'll growl and grumble about not being able to scent you or hold you, but he'll soon be sleeping peacefully with you slumbering on his large ass.

Imagine Bear Price who, between the long stretches of sleep, get's horny. It's a natural reaction from sleeping next to his naked mate, wanting to feel you and hear your moans, but he doesn't have the energy to actually fuck. His lethargy turns the feeling of languid arousal into Hell.

Both of you try to initiate a couple of times; fumbling beneath the sheets, wandering hands roaming and groping as far as they can reach, his teeth nibbling on your neck and your hungry lips laying hickeys on his thick neck. Not wanting to undo the tangle of limbs you two end up grinding against each other, breathing the same air between kisses as sweet pleasure burns in your belies.

Then you stop just long enough to grab the lube, and Price's mind, still half way in lala land, only needs a couple of seconds of inaction to pull him back into deep sleep. By the time you return to him he's already snoring, limbs reaching out to grip you tightly and pull you close, but all thoughts of sex are forgotten.

And Price is so, so, angry with himself when he wakes up and realizes he left you high and dry again, shame eating away at his stomach because what kind of bear leaves his mate unsatisfied? The unworthy kind.

Imagine Bear Price who's mind is blown when you suggest cockwarming. Hibernation is about sleeping and relaxing, not strenuous sex, so the thought of being able to feel you while still fulfilling his body's need to rest? Oh it gets him hard.

It takes a while to figure out the perfect position, Price is too big and heavy to lay on top of you without crushing you, and his fingers earn to grip and hold you close so spooning him viable either.

Finally you end up with him laying on his back, legs spread with you laying on top of him and oh, it's perfect. You can feel him purr as you slide inside his blistering hot hole, his strong arms wrapping around you and claws scrapping along your spine. "That's my boy, perfect f' daddy." He mumbles through the fog of sleep, throwing one heavy leg over yours to keep you close.

You can't help the shudder that races down your spine, his musky earthy scent curling in your nose and making your cock throb inside him. You only stretching him long enough to be able to take you without tearing something, and Price relishes the slight sting of pain nibbling on his nerves when your cock hardens.

You don't try to fuck him, by the time you're fully settled inside him he's already snoozing. A slow roll of your hips and the resulting tightening of his hole is enough to sate your lust when it arises, enough to keep you half hard and stretching him out. His pecs make such a good pillow, thick fluffy fur and chest hair tickling your skin, the slow and calm beating of his heart lulling you to sleep before you know it.

Imagine Bear Price who gets an insatiable sweet tooth. There’s not a single secret stash in his room that doesn’t have his favorite bottle of honey in it. Hell, there’s more honey hidden in his room than cigars.

And his lazy mind decides to combine his hunger with honey with his hunger for you.

"Hold still for daddy, baby boy." Price mumbles against your abdomen, big hand gripping your hip to keep you still so not a drop of the honey he drizzles on your cock goes to waste. "Good." He purrs, wide tongue lolling out of his mouth to lap at your tip, claws massaging the skin beneath them.

He can spend hours laying between your legs, lazily lavishing your cock with attention while satisfying his craving for sweets. Whine and moan as much as you want, uselessly buck your hips as best you can against his unfair strength, nothing will make him rush — with his energy drained he'll spend meticulous minutes following every vein on your cock with his tongue before he even thinks of gently suckling on your tip. "Relax my boy, just enjoy this." He mutters, lips pressed against the sticky flesh of your shaft.

And when he does take you into his mouth, it's just as slow. His mouth hangs open so you can see your tip resting on his tongue before he laps at your slit, drool and honey running down his chin and sticking the strands of his beard together. When all the honey is in his stomach he just drizzles more, nibbling on your thighs or stomach to keep his mouth and mind occupied with you before starting the torturous process all over again.

The slow torturous pleasure is easy to endure just so you can see his eyes light up when you start leaking precum.

Imagine Bear Price absolutely loves loves loves the salty tang your cum adds to the sweet honey, the delicate combination of flavor dancing on tongue and only fueling his gluttonous mind to demand more.

The distinct taste is the only way to cut through the fog of lazy pleasure in his mind, turning him greedy. Price mumbles and growls incoherent words around your cock as he swallows you down to the root, swallowing around you and holding you down when you try to buck up. "My boy tastes so good." He mumbles as he rises up, nuzzling his cheek against your weeping tip, looking up at you with hungry blue eyes. "Just for daddy, yeah?"

"Ye-yes sir." You whimper through your clenched teeth, your head lolling back against the pillows when he swallows you whole again, your tip bumping against the back of his throat. "Just fo- fuck, fuck,- just for you." You don't know how he doesn't choke on you but you don't have the mental faculties to even think about that when your brains are leaking through your cock.

Price smiles around your cock, the purr rattling his chest and making his throat vibrate around you. "Smart boy," He praises after he pulls off, precum and honey swirling on his tongue as he takes the moment to savor the taste. He knows how close you are, he can feel the cum churning your balls when he rolls them in his rough palm. "You can give daddy a bit more, can't you?"

You honestly don't know how long you will last.

Imagine Bear Price who can get so insatiable he growls like a tractor when you try to weakly push him off your cock, so aroused that you think even the slightest gust of wind will make you pop.

Price bites your thigh enough to hurt and only his hand squeezing down on the base of your cock keeps you from cumming. "And where do you think you're going boy?" He demands, claws digging into your skin to pull your hips closer, little kitten licks of his tongue driving you to the brink of madness.

"S-Sir!" You moan before you can stop yourself, your hips twitching uselessly against his hands, thighs shaking. "'m sorry, I'm fuck, I'm so close." You whimper, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Every nerve in your system is on fire, pleasure so strong it's turned to pain along your body.

Price huffs, but his tight hold lessens. "It's alright sweet boy," He hums, placing a sweet kiss on your cock head. "I know how you can make it up to daddy."

Imagine Bear Price who's only placated when you slide your cock back inside him. Your muscles ache from the strength it takes you to hoist his heavy legs over your shoulders and keep them there, but your rewarded with the tightening of his sweet hole, a pleased rumble leaving his throat.

“G-good boy-.” He growls, long claws scratching down your back as you pound into him. Your thrusts are slow but deep, making his toes curl every time you bottom out, tip scraping his prostate and making his cock spurt a dollop of precum with every thrust. “Fucking daddy so deep. I taught you well, yeah?”

"Yes, yes, yes!" You agree to everything he says without hearing any of his words, your body moving automatically to bully your dick into him. Every thrust is heaven and every second spent pulling out from his tight heat is hell, the sensitive veins of your cock scraping against his walls.

He moans when you manage to clip his prostate with your thrusts, one clawed hand sliding down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise. "Harder boy," He demands, rolling his hips to meet you half way, other hand raising up to scruff you. "You can go har-hm!- harder. . . don't you wan- fuck, want to make daddy feel good?"

Clenching your eyes shut you slam into him as hard as you can, feeling the fat widening his frame jiggle with every hard thrust. Without thinking Price pulls your head down to smother you in his pecs, soft fluffy fur tickling your face as the ample flesh suffocates you. The sweet scent of honey mixed with his musk erases any vestiges of sentient thought in your head, leaving your animal brain to pick up the pieces — Pin him down harder and mate him, rut into him until he's roaring with his full chest, his hard cock slapping against your stomach.

Price reacts to the change in your behavior by pressing your face even harder against his chest, his walls clenching around your cock like a vice so you have to try harder to push into him. Price’s lips brush against your ear, voice low and rumbly. “My boy, come in daddy.” He urges you on, both legs now tightly wound around your waist so you can only hump your aching cock into him. “Co-mh!- cum, cum in me son, you want to be good for daddy right?”

That's all it takes to drive you over the edge, mind going black like a piece of paper as your orgasm rocks through you with the intensity of lighting. The sensation of your hot cum spilling into his hole triggers his own orgasm and he cums with a thunderous roar, sticky seed shooting across your abdomen.

You collapse on top of him, his legs keeping your softening cock inside him, not that you have even a single functioning muscle to try to pull out. His big hand cradles your skull, honey flavored lips placing soothing kisses on your temple. "That's my boy." Price murmurs, his chest rumbling with a soft purr. "Did so well for me." He yawns, eyelids fluttering as that fog of lethargy settles over both of you. "Now rest," The order is spoken in the softest voice he's ever used, and it works like a horse tranquilizer on you.

As you drift off to sleep, you feel his hole clench around your soft cock, the cum inside him squelching as his body unconsciously tries to persuade yours into filling him up just a bit more.

It's gonna be a long winter.

[theloveinc]

any hobie and/or miguel icks? 😟

whoever sent this: thank you + i ADORE you. i hope you don't mind i'm switching up the formatting/style a it in comparison to my older icks... shorter list, more detailed <3

(warning: some fem terms used at the end, such as “mama!”)

-

Miguel O'Hara

- This guy... has some long ass toenails. Type of toenails that poke you at night in bed, and tear holes in his socks.

It's maybe somewhat related to the claw thing he's got going on? Has a lot stronger and faster-growing nails than the average person... but the real problem here is that he's TERRIBLE about clipping them. Claims it doesn't bother him even remotely and that you're the one overreacting when you ask him to... but hardly anything gets through to him about it. You probably even offer to do it for him one day, thinking the offer of a foot massage would sway his thinking and that it'd actually work... but he fought you on that just as easy...!!!

...which is how you came to the conclusion that you have a man who'll even argue w/ you over toenails. Petty boy.

- Miguel is also tired 24/7. AND yeah, it's pretty hard to be un-sympathetic towards that, but he's tired in the... I'm-gonna-prioritize-this-one-last-email-over-saying-goodnight-to-you way. Which gets real irritating when you're asking him to help you out w/ anything, like cleaning up or answering a question or JUST HAVING A DAMN CONVERSATION W/ YOU and he's using "I'm tired" as an excuse when his response is shitty or distracted.

Like one of those stupid guys whose always squinting at their damn iPad when you ask what he wants for dinner... which is ironic given that he'll get snippy at you for not giving him your full, entire attention whenever he wants it. Type of man to start picking imaginary lint off your head when you're simply trying to finish up a text before engaging him so that you aren't distracted.

- Odd about Lyla. Not that he loves her or anything, but she'll like pop up to give him updates about whatever even if you're MID-MAKEOUT session and he won't change that setting. Pulling away from your lips all pouty and squinty only to glare at his watch for thirty seconds before trying to go right back into kissing you.

No. No sir.

(Lyla will also always say something to or-but-usually-and about you, which... Okay, she's an AI and doesn't Get It... but it's still weird because it feels like someone you don't know just walked into the room.)

- Picks his nose when he's too busy to find a tissue, and forgets to sanitize his hands after. Denies this when you tell him.. but you've witnessed this multiple times (he's weirdly kind of whiney for a dude and lazy for a workaholic LOL).

Hobie Brown

- Lovely boyfriend because he doesn't give a crap about your appearance or the idea of needing to "look nice" for a man... but also stupid, nuisance boyfriend because this means he doesn't give one hoot if you try to get all gussied up for him. Nags you about wasting time getting ready because he doesn't need you to do all that instead of just saying "THANK YOU, YOU LOOK NICE." Even probably complains about you feeding into gender stereotypes or w/e when you do something like shave your legs or pluck your eyebrows😭

You try to talk to him about this, ask if he even cares that you tried to look nice, and he skirts around admitting it because he has an argument for everything. "'oughta know I think you're pretty either way"-ass when you just spent an hour trying to look all good for him.

- Tries to share the most obscure music with you... which is like, sweet in concept, but weird when it actually happens since it's never like a generic love song but an eleven minute underground jam session.

Which isn't to say he has bad taste in music, usually it's fine if not fantastic... but you try to tell him you don't want to listen to some dude's first draft of himself banging on a drum set for a full album and he's like: "tsk."

HOBIE. TSK??? FUCKING TSK????????? WHAT ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE LIKE????????

(He'll also use his to get out of listening to your music. Claiming his "inconsistency" is why he liked your playlist yesterday but not today. Stop!!!)

- And you know I gotta say it, he's a punk, after all: absolutely refuses to clean his favorite leather jacket, and it smells RANK. He's genuinely sentimental about it, though... and if you even try to bring up cleaning it somehow (even if very gently), he's acting like you betrayed him. Goes through the five stages of grief over you asking him not to wear it on one of your dates, and teases you by TALKING to it:

"Mumma didn't mean that, jackie. She just doesn't understand our lifestyle, does she?" while giving you a (lighthearted) stink eye.

[mydearesthrry]

baby honey - h.s.

a/n: long time no talk! ive had this in my drafts for the longest but didnt know how to finish it. it has a bad ending anyway but its seriously been collecting dust. i missed u guys sorry i disappeared lol. enjoy!!!!

wc: 1.9k

cw: nothing just fluff

*part of the honeyed moments universe! parts one and two here! ❤️*

“Okay Daisy baby, say cheese!” YN grinned, holding her film camera up to her right eye to snap a picture of her precious daughter surrounded by a mountain of different sized presents.

Today was Daisy’s sixth birthday, which Harry and YN basically made a national holiday. It was the day their perfect little girl was born, bringing nothing but love and light into their lives– how could they not go all out?

Harry was out getting breakfast– per the birthday girl’s request. She’d wanted pink french toast, pancakes, and pink eggs, which had Harry dashing out to the store to get food coloring and pancake mix. They were having a small get together with a couple of friends that Daisy had made back in London, as well as YN and Harry’s closest relatives and friends. It was princess themed, to no one’s surprise, and all of her aunt’s and uncle’s were assigned a princess or prince to dress up as.

YN and Harry were assigned to dress up as Rapunzel and Flynn Rider from Daisy’s favorite movie Tangled, while Daisy chose to toddle around in a dress that had all the famous Disney princesses on it, the skirt part of the dress covered in pink sparkly ruffles that left a trail of glitter wherever she went. YN could cry right now thinking of all the mess she’d have to clean up following this party, but the wide grin on her daughter’s face made every speck of glitter worth it.

“Mommy, y’have to get Bear in the picture!” Daisy whines, catching the attention of the puppy in the corner. Now, Y/N uses the word puppy very lightly, seeing as said puppy was as tall as her hip just standing on all fours. Y/N sighs, but calls the dog over anyway.

“Bear, come here baby,” She calls to the chocolate lab. “Good boy, okay, now sit riiiiiight here.” Daisy’s smile had grown exponentially, if it was even possible. She leaned forward a bit to place a soft hand on the top of Bear’s head, petting it softly and treating her furry best friend with the utmost delicacy.

Harry had walked in during their mini photoshoot, dropping the bags silently next to him as he leaned against a pillar that separated their dining room from the living room. He watched with a fond smile at his tiny family, his daughter in her ‘perfect princess dress’, his wife on her knees with a wide smile, a film camera held tightly in her hands, and his dog laying at his daughter's feet. He watched on, not wanting to disturb the domestic moment, though his attempt was interrupted when his perfect little Daisy caught a glimpse of him in the entryway.

“Hi Daddy!” She squealed, gaining the attention of Bear who got up to greet his dad. Harry leaned down and greeted his puppy back, scratches soothing the pup as flashes of white from his nails played hide and seek with the brown fur.

“Hello, birthday princess!” He grinned, squatting down to greet his daughter who was already running toward him at full speed. Her dress flowed behind her, glitter literally getting everywhere. Harry snorted at the grimace his wife was wearing on her features, a soft groan coming from him when Daisy had connected with his chest harshly.

“Are we makin’ pancakes, Daddy?” Oh, bless her sweet little heart. A pout was on Harry’s lips when she pulled back, his hands remaining on her back in an effort to keep his growing baby close to him.

“Of course, baby. Gotta go get everythin’ set up, though. Can y’go get washed up so we can start? ‘S gonna take me a mo’ and ‘M gonna have Mama help me.” He makes a deal with his baby, nodding while talking, Daisy mimicking his nods.

“Yes Daddy, be right back!” She zips away, running toward her bedroom with Bear in tow. Harry stands from his crouched position, walking over to meet his wife who was sat in the middle of the living room, turned to where Harry and Daisy once were.

“Hi,” He greets, sitting down on his bum in front of her, kissing her sweetly. “Got everythin’ y’wanted, Mama.”

“Mm, thank you, H. Ready t’tell our little big girl that she’s gonna be a big sister?” She whispers through a big smile, voice hushed to keep the secret as safe as possible from her daughter’s ears, even though she was out of earshot.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, my sweet Honey.” He grins, standing up out of his sitting position and offering his hands to his wife, who takes them with zero hesitation.

The two work like a well oiled machine, dancing around each other and never once accidentally bumping into each other as they prepare everything to make Daisy’s dream breakfast. They’re just about done when Daisy comes back into the kitchen, making her presence known when she knocks into the back of Harry’s legs, wrapping her tiny arms around the full of his thigh. She hangs on and giggles when he turns her around to have her sit on his foot, continuing the work with his baby wrapped on his leg like a koala bear.

Y/N has a bittersweet smile on her face, knowing this was gonna be one of the last times that was blissfully theirs, the three of them (with the exception of Bear) together before the new baby came. She felt herself getting emotional by the thought, pushing away the fact that she had yet another 6 months to wait, trying to soak in the moment even though there were gonna be more to come in the next few months.

The space is filled with loud laughter, sweet kisses, and tiny barks as they meander around the kitchen, Daisy assisting like a proper angel whenever asked. She’d gotten comfortable on the kitchen counter while her parents cooked her pink breakfast, the small speaker that was next to her blasting the Tangled soundtrack.

“Okay Peanut… I think we’re all done!” Harry said finally, plating the last of the pink pancakes and turning to his daughter who had an excited gleam in her green eyes that matched her fathers.

“Yay!” She squealed, holding her hands out for Harry to grab her. He walked up and wrapped his arms around her, twirling around when she grabbed on, filling the air with laughter.

The family walked over to the dining room, plates in YN and Harry’s hands, a jug of apple juice in Daisy’s tiny arms. They all sit around the table, two chairs on the long sides of the brown spruce table, with two fancier chairs on the narrower end parts. YN and Harry place the pink plates in the center, YN moving the vase of purple and pink peonies bought specifically for the birthday princess to the small table that held their vinyls and record player. Daisy hands the half full jug to her dad, hugging his thigh tightly before skipping to her spot on the opposite side of Harry. YN grabs the seat next to her, plopping down into the chair and turning toward her daughter, brushing her dark unruly curls back out of her face.

Settling in her chair, Daisy grins widely and shimmies in her chair in a small dance, her parents cooing and settling in their chairs as well. Breakfast goes off without a hitch, the tiny family conversing about the princess’ upcoming party. Daisy holds her tiny plastic fork in her hand as she gesticulates with her hands as she talks. Her parents have always been patient with her and let her vocalize whatever was on her mind at any point of the day, not scolding her if she even came into their room at the early hours of the morning to excitedly tell them about the dream she had. After all, she was their little miracle, and they’d do whatever it took to make her happy.

Harry and YN shared a knowing look as they approached the end of breakfast. Daisy’s princess sippy cup was almost empty, and her plate was cleared. YN clears her throat, making Daisy turn her attention to her mom. “Baby, we have something to tell you.”

Daisy tilts her head in childlike wonder, a confused expression on her face, her eyebrows furrowed and turned in toward each other. “Wha’ s’it, Mama?”

YN smiles as she reaches down between her and Harry, a tiny gift bag sitting on the floor between their chairs. Grabbing it and placing it in front of Daisy, Y/N giggles at the gasp her daughter lets out.

“A present? Already?!” Daisy squeals, grabbing the paper bag and placing it onto her lap, eagerly pulling the ribbon that held the straps shut.

“Ah- hold on, Dais,” Harry says, Daisy complying instantly. “Before y’open it, Mama and I wanna say that we love you, and want you to know that you’ll always be our sweet little girl, okay?”

Daisy tilted her head to the side, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, looking like an exact replica of her father. “Oh, um— I love you too, Daddy, and you, Mama.”

“I love you too, Dais. Okay, you can open it now.” Y/N approves, phone hidden against her chest, now recording her daughter.

“A baby doll! Oh my goodness!” Daisy squealed, holding up the box about 2 inches from her face. “Thank you Mama! Thank you Daddy!”

“Wait, peanut,” Harry started, reaching into the bag and pulling out another box, which had another doll similar to the baby. “Look! It’s a big sister for the baby doll! It’s like you, tiny!”

“Huh?” She said confusedly. “But I’m not a big sister.”

“Yes you are, Daisy girl. Or… you will be, soon at least.” Y/N grinned, not being able to contain her smile at this point.

“Wait…” Daisy collected her tiny thoughts as she tried to connect the dots, before her eyes brightened when she realized what her mother was saying. “Baby?!”

“Yeah, Dais. Mumma’s havin’ a baby!” Harry exclaimed, toothy smiles and dimples out.

“Oh my goodness!” Daisy gasps, jumping haphazardly out of her chair. “Mumma!”

“Oh, careful, sweet girl!” Y/N giggles, scooting her chair out to prop her daughter on her lap comfortably.

“Y’really havin’ a baby?!” She squawked, frantic eyes drifting between her parents.

“Yeah, peanut, we are!” Harry giggled, ruffling his daughters hair.

“This is the best present ever!” She squealed, aggressively wrapping her arms around her mother’s neck. “Thank you, Mommy, and Daddy.”

Y/N placed a hand on the back of Daisy’s head, a big pout on her lips as she turned her head to look at Harry, who matched her expression with a similar frown.

“My sweet Daisy girl, you’re so welcome. Gonna be the best big sister ever, hm?” Y/N whispered, pecking small kisses onto her head.

“The best, I promise!”

[studiogrimm810]

hii!! this is my first fic i’m posting here so excuse the not-put-togetherness of this post lol, i just really wanting to share this!! also i would love any and all feedback please!! :)

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x you, dean is also there

summary: you get shot while on a hunt and the brothers work to patch you up on the scene

warnings: blood/blood loss, gunshot wound, graphic depiction of retrieving bullet from stomach

word count: idk, i typed this out in a tumblr draft, i’ll do better next time haha

_______

God, if it weren’t for that damn gun…

This was a vamp nest they were hunting and Sam still had brought his gun. Yes - of course it’s good to have extra protection, but if he knew that a vamp would used it against you he would have never brought it.

And now there you were, sprawled out on the icey basement floor, slipping in your own blood. Sam lunged for the vamp as soon as he noticed the creature had his gun, but the monsters trigger-finger was more determined and his heart sunk as he heard the gunshot ring out.

Sam didn’t dare to look over at you until the vamps head was clean off it’s body. The slice of Sam’s machete sprayed a spit of blood across his cheek and he huffed for a second before his memory caught up with him and he snapped his head to where you whimpered on the floor - breaths ragged and pained.

“Hey- hey, hey…” Sam crawled over to you, his hands slipping in the puddle of blood growing beside you. Your mouth gaped open, chin quivering as you tried to get out a word - any words. Sam pressed his hands into the wound and you only gasped because there wasn’t enough air in your lungs to scream.

“I know, honey, I know,” Sam fingered his phone out his pocket and called Dean, putting him on speaker and throwing the phone back down so that he could remain the pressure on your stomach.

“Sammy?” Deans voice flowed through the phone right next to you on the floor. You turned to the phone, seeing Deans name light up the screen and the timer going on the call. It was blurry and you blinked to try and focus but it didn’t help. You realize your eyes were full of tears.

Sam rambled out what had happened, his voice tight with worry and his hands trembling.

“We- we’re in the basement, I need you to get the kit from the car and get down here- now!” Sam’s voice left no room for questions or concerns so Dean didn’t even respond past saying “2 minutes”.

“Look at me, honey,” Sam cooed, tilting his head so that it lined up better with yours but it just made your vision spin more. You felt sick.

“Fuck-“ you mumbled, pressing your head back into the concrete floor. You just noticed your ears had been ringing because now the sound was starting to dull and the buzzing in your stomach started to tickle away into a searing pain.

“Baby, I need you to look at me- can you hear me?” Sam had removed a hand from your stomach and brought it up to your face, trying to snap you out of your shock. The overwhelming weight of the past 60 seconds of reality slammed back into your brain at full force and now your breathing was quick and you tried to sit up to look at the wound. “Woah, okay, baby. Calm down, Dean’s coming with some help and I’m gonna fix you- I’m gonna fix this,” he stated like a prayer, willing it by just his own desperation.

You could hear footsteps clunking around upstairs but Sam assured it was just Dean. Your mind was all over the place, constantly getting reset by the wash of pain ripping through your abdomen. The back and forth of what you tried to focus on felt like your metaphorical neck was about to snap from the emotional whiplash.

‘God, this sucked…’ you thought.

Sam continued to mumble reassurances and praises and you weren’t too sure if it was for him or yourself. He seemed to just be on autopilot. He gently lifted your torso which earned a soft cry from your lips, making Sam want to retreat further into the corner until he couldn’t hear or see or feel the secondhand of your pain.

“I know, honey, I just need to check something,” his voice was soft, or at least he was trying for it to be. You saw his face stiffen and you knew what he was about to say. “There’s no exit wound.”

Your jaw clenched and you closed your eyes. You tried to focus on the pain to gauge to location of the bullet.

“Where- where is it?” You stutter, looking up at Sam. Due to your current consciousness and Sam’s eagerness you can hope that it isn’t fatal.

“Uh- it’s…” he pulled up his hand to point to the side of his stomach, “you’re- you’re gonna be fine.”

He still looked completely freaked and pale, more worried about you bleeding out than from organ damage. He looked up as Dean descended the basement steps, Deans face falling at the sight before him.

Blood. There was a hell of a lot of blood. Sam’s hands were stained and his sleeves soaked. Dean fell to his knees right beside her and ripped open the kit.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean addressed you, smiled softly and looking into your eyes for just a moment, “You’re gonna be just fine.”

Dean pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and a pair of scissors then he looked up at Sam, “Sammy, you with me?” Dean demanded, knowing it’s hard for him so see you like this.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m here,” Sam cleared his throat and took the kit, Dean tore the fabric of your shirt and poured the antiseptic over your gaping bullet hole. You cried out.

“Fuck- Dean… maybe a wa-warning next time?” You stuttered out, your hands started to shake and you stared up at the ceiling, your vision blurring.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, working quick.

“Dean- the bullet is still in her,” Sam almost whispered and his face contorted into a cringe. Dean met Sam’s eyes with a sigh. Dean looked down at you and called out your name.

“You know what that means, don’t you sweetheart?” He asked, jaw clenched and hands already stained. You continued to look at the ceiling and just nodded, digging your fingers into your ribs to try and redirect your pain. It didn’t work, but you couldn’t stop. “Sam, tweezers,” Dean ticked his head to the kit that was now besides Sam.

You heard the clanking of metal and your own feared breaths. You wanted to sob but you felt frozen, completely and utterly in shock. The noise around you started to echo.

“-…2…1”

You scream. You scream as the cold tweezers claw their way past your freshly, air-exposed insides. Dean keeps the tweezers clenched on purpose and if you could think straight you would thank him.

Your body tries to squirm away but Sam is holding you in place and again- if you could think straight you would curse him.

Your jaw is clenched so tight that you worry your next injury may be a cracked tooth and your eyes are so screwed shut that you’re starting to see dancing colors and shapes on the back of your eyelids. You can hear Sam’s voice trying to reassure you but you can also feel the stiff metal fishing in your insides for the last piece stiff metal that fucked you over. It was agony.

Sam felt a thick, bunch of worry almost blocking off his windpipe. He could barely get a proper breath and he just stared down at your pain contorted face wishing there was something else he could do besides wait for Deans next instruction. Sams hands were sticky with your blood as he caresses your cheek and he knows that he should wipe off the blood first but he so desperately wants to comfort you and to be something more than what he is now.

Deans expression is stiff, his eyes unfocused and hands almost cramped from how tensely he’s holding himself. He created a mental image of the tweezers in your abdomen, working carefully and slowly, waiting for the… tick! That’s it, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and nodded at Sam, signaling he found the bullet. Dean almost glanced down at you but knew if he did he would loose his sense of collected attention. He positioned the tweezers to open them and latch onto the bullet and began to pull directly out of your flesh.

The motion earned a deep groan to rip through your throat that made Sam want to throw up but once the bullet was out, you all took a moment to catch your breath and look at the pebble that caused you so much pain.

“Honey, hey,” Sam pulled your cheek to look up at him, your eyes were glossy and crossed but you could see him enough, “Dean got it out, you’re gonna be fine okay?” Sam nodded, trying to get you to catch up with him mentally. You slowly lolled your head in an attempt to nod but the weight pressed against your skull like a magnetic ball trying to escape, you groaned again.

“Sam- gauze,” Dean commanded and Sam immediately listened, moving away from you just far enough to reach the requested item. Sam hands it to Dean. “Need a hand, Sammy.”

And Sam listens. It’s a rhythm that the brothers have learned over the many years working together, how to fight, work, stitch. Dean always took the lead while Sam held their ground and that’s exactly how they worked on your wound. Sam cleaned up excess blood and surrounding areas while Dean disinfected and readied a bandage. Quickly, the wound was patched up enough for them to move you and get you all the hell out of that musty basement.

“Think she can walk?” Dean asked Sam while he wiped your blood off of his hands, packing the kit back up. Sam looked down at you, a sweet, open look of wanting to absorb any and all details of your face, he smiled softly at you and shook his head.

“No, I’ll carry her,” Sam said without asking you first, not willing to risk you any more pain. He gently pressed a kiss to your forehead and held it for a moment. “You’re okay,” he repeated, this time for himself.

He slowly pulled away and worked his arms beneath you to lift you and as your body contorted you let out a soft, pathetic whimper. You were too tired to make any real noise.

Sam held you close as Dean lead the way out of a building they never wanted to see again.

[hysterikan]

Good morning (Damon Albarn x Reader)

I've had this in my drafts for AGES and I finally decided to clean it up (and against my better knowledge post it lol) I apologize for any spelling and/or grammatical errors as english isn't my first language and it hasn't been beta-read by anyone. Anyways, I hope you will enjoy and if you did it would make my day if you leave a comment or reblog it! I also uploaded it to my AO3 here

Summary: Reader has a wet dream about Alex and somehow her boyfriend Damon finds out, but doesn't seem to be as upset as she thought he would be. As a matter in fact he might even like it

Wordcount: 3,277

Warnings: SMUT

She felt his teeth drag along her collarbone, making her shudder and then suddenly the sharp pain of his bite, making each nerve ending in her body crackle like a little firework. 

Letting out a sound halfway between a squeal and giggle, she grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging on it harshly. 

 He groaned and looked up from her chest, his brown eyes glazed over. He had covered her breasts in dark purple hickies and red teeth marks, nipping and biting every centimeter of skin.

“Alex.” She whispered softly, slowly grinding on him where she sat in his lap. Both of them gasped at the movement, his cock twitched inside of her and he gripped her hips hard.

He reached up to take her jaw in his hand, thumb dragging over her lip as her eyes fluttered shut and mouth fell open. 

She could feel how his thighs tensed up under her and she knew with a little more teasing he would let her have her way. 

“Alex,” She moaned again, opening her eyes as his name fell from her swollen lips and looking directly into his. His mouth twitched before he kissed her, harsh and nibbling with sharp teeth.

Carefully he leaned her back, getting on top of her while still kissing her. There was both gentleness and a feverish need in his movements. 

They both shuddered, and she moaned when she felt his chest pressing against hers and how his hair brushed over her shoulder as he leaned in to kiss her neck. She wrapped her legs around him, never wanting to let go when she felt him sink deeper inside her. 

With slow thrusts and featherlight kisses he teased her, coaxing out whiny moans from her. Alex chuckled breathlessly when she mewled, clawing at his back and she reached down to his ass, trying to push him further into her. 

He got the hint, he just wanted to hear her say it.

“Tell me what you want.” He whispered. His voice low and gravely in her ear, making her skin prickle and her walls throb around him.

“I want you-, I want you to fuck me.” She answered in breathy moans, catching his lips in a slow sloppy kiss. 

He obliged, slowly picking up speed in his thrusts. 

Her hands found their way into his hair, tugging on it relentlessly, knowing it would drive him mad. 

And it did. 

He pinned down her hands, making her let out anexhilarated giggle and he couldn’t hold back his own smile. 

Her smile soon faded into a little o-shape as he started thrusting his hips harder and harder, drawing a loud gasp out of her with each thrust.

She felt dizzy from the pleasure, she didn’t know where he started and she ended, all she knew was him in her and his voice as he moaned her name, his sweat covered body that pressed against hers and the safe pressure of his hands on her wrists.

“Alex, ‘m gonna- ” She cried out, clenching her thighs and writhing, her entire body aching to cum.

 To cum for him. To cum on him.

“Bloody hell.” he whined, feeling her clench around him and hearing her needy cries brought him closer to his own release. 

The orgasm washed over her without a warning and for a split second her mind went blank, the only thing that existed were her and Alex. 

With soblike moans she clawed at his back, her legs quivering around his waist as she came. Her back arched up, meeting Alex's hips as he came closer and closer to his own release, and he bit back a loud groan when she clenched hard around him. 

Alex's breath was ragged as he saw her, still shuddering and moaning. With a last hard thrust that made her whimper, still high on her orgasm, his brow furrowed and his body rippled as he came, whimpering her name.

It took her a second to realize where she was, with Alexs' loud moans still ringing in her mind. She was in her bedroom, with Damon next to her in their bed. 

The sunlight that filtered in through the blinds made little golden lines over his naked back that rose and fell with his steady breathing.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, almost hearing her heartbeat in her ears. Slowly she reached a hand down, and gasped. Her underwear was soaked through, the wetness even staining the inside of her thighs.

Drawing another shuddering breath she realized she must’ve had an orgasm in her sleep. 

With burning cheeks she came to another conclusion, that in the dream she had been cumming on her boyfriend's best mate's cock. 

She pulled her hand up and feeling a wave of shame wash over her, she closed her eyes. 

It had felt so real, and she could still hear Alex's moans and teasing whispers as he thrusted into her. His lips, searing kisses on her skin, his hands-

A sudden movement next to her made her open her eyes to see Damon sleepily pull the covers closer around him. 

His hair was messy, with his mouth and cheeks flushed from sleep and it made her heart tremble. 

She reached out a hand, softly stroking it over his cheek, making him stirr and eyes flutter open. 

“Good morning” She whispered and smiled softly when he groaned low, closing his eyes to shield them from the light that sneaked past the blinds.

Damon hummed, eyes still closed as he reached out for her and she chuckled as she crawled into his embrace, nuzzling her face against his neck. 

“Did you sleep well?” He murmured as he stroked her hair. His voice was low and hoarse from sleep, making her heart jump. It was ridiculously sexy. 

“Yeah” She mumbled into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of him. His scent with a little left of yesterday's eau de cologne sent a warm current through her body, down between her thighs. 

 Damon drew circles with his fingertips over her back, nuzzling his nose against her hairline and inhaled. 

“You talk in your sleep, did you know that?” He murmured and her eyes snapped open.

“Oh?” Was all she could muster, voice faint.

“You said Alex’s name.” 

It felt as if her heart stopped and she felt her lungs tightening up with shame.

 She looked up at him, and could see a slight smirk on his face. 

“What?” 

“You said Alex.” He repeated, stroking her cheek, his fingertips following her jaw down to her lips.

“Did I?” She felt her cheeks flush and Damon raised an eyebrow, still smiling. 

“Yeah,” His thumb rubbed her lower lip as he licked his own, making her stomach summersault.

“Did you dream of him?”

She swallowed, looked away and felt the blush on her cheeks betray her. 

“I don't really know. I don’t remember much.” She looked at Damon again as he kept stroking her cheek. He leaned down, their lips brushing against each others as he whispered;

“You know, I heard you moan, love. You moaned his name.” 

Her breath hitched in shock but Damon caught her little gasp in a kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth and before she knew it she gripped his bicep, biting and nibbling on his lower lip. 

 She could feel his hard on pressing against her stomach and how his heart pounded in his chest, almost forcing hers to beat in the same rhythm. The warm tingling feeling from her dream washed over her again, and she could feel her entire ache and long for his touch. 

Damon pulled away too soon, his cheeks flushed and his breath ragged as he tried to compose himself. He stroked back a stray strand of hair from her face as he cleared his throat, smiling:

“Now my love, tell me about your dream.” 

She bit her lip, a stern tone in his voice that she had never heard before, and it made her heart flutter and press her thighs together.

“Well, we were kissing.” She whispered, remembering Alex’s panting breath as he kissed her. 

Damon licked his lips as he leaned in, ghosting his lips above hers.

 “Yeah?” His breath tickled over her cheek and it sent shivers down her spine.

 “And he kissed my neck.” She moaned. 

 “How did it feel?” 

 “It felt good.” 

His breath hitched, and she could feel how his cock throbbed against her, making her gasp.

 “And then what?” 

 “He...” She blushed furiously, biting her lip and he couldn't tell if she was just playing innocent or if she was actually a bit embarrassed to say the words out loud. 

 Damon's breath hitched again, his pupils dilated and his heart pounding. He couldn’t understand why, but her dream turned him on so much. It sent a sting of jealousy through him, yes, but it was outweighed by the forbidden and intoxicicating thought of one of his best mates shagging his girlfriend. 

 “You shagged him?” He whispered barely audible, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear. The hot breath made her skin prickle and she felt her nipples harden under the shirt she wore to bed.

 “Yes.” She whined, closing her eyes as he pulled up said shirt, and softly stroked his hand down her stomach.

 “Did you like it?” His voice was low, and she could only moan yes as his fingers passed the lining of her underwear. His teasing, the embarrassment and excitement of him knowing about the dream, the dream itself, it was all making her clit throb.

 “You liked having Alex inside you, didn’t you? You liked fucking him, didn’t you, love?” 

As he almost hissed out that last question his hand dipped down between her folds. 

He gasped when he felt that she was soaked and she bit back a yelp, the light pressure of his hand enough to send crackling electric currents throughout her body.

 “Damon.” She whined, feeling his arms wrap around her and the way he pressed her against him made her shudder. He leaned in to kiss her, his kisses almost bruising and sloppier than before, little moans and pants escaping as she tugged at her shirt. 

He pulled down her undies, throwing them across the room which earned a giggle from her as they landed on the table lamp on the desk.

 “Get these off!” She groaned and tugged on his boxers, her mouth watering when she saw his cock twitch through the fabric. God he was so hard. 

“As you wish,” He smirked and pulled them down. A low smacking sound as his heavy hard on hit his abdomen made her bite her lip in anticipation. For a few seconds all she could do was stare at him where he laid, naked and on display for her. 

 “Stop staring.” He groaned, a faint blush dusting his cheeks, and she giggled, crawling up to him and he immediately pulled her close to him, his lips crashing onto hers.

She moaned into his mouth, nipping at his lower lip with her teeth as she felt his hand stroke down her naked body, pushing her onto his back.

“Did he make you this wet?” he murmured against her lips, as his fingers trailed down between her legs to lightly brush over her throbbing clit. 

 Between little breathy moans she managed to get out;

 “No, it’s you.” 

He lightly pressed his finger against her clit again, making her quiver. The ache was unbearable. 

 “I need you in me.” She begged and looked up at him with hazy eyes.

 He looked at her, her lips swollen and glistening with saliva and if he hadn’t been so eager to be inside her, fucking her senseless until she forgot about that dream, and about Alex of all bloody people, he would’ve loved to see those lips around his cock. 

Slowly he pushed a finger into her, making her suck in a sharp breath he teased;

 “Like this?”

 She couldn’t form an answer, her mind went completely blank and without noticing she whimpered his name. He watched her flutter shut and then close completely when he pushed in another finger, wanting to hear her make that deliciously needy moan again.

Slowly pumped them in and out, looking at her as he did and felt his cock twitch as he saw her bite her lip in an attempt to suppress a loud moan.

His mouth brushed against the shell of her ear and sent tickling shivers through her. Just as she let out a shaky moan he pulled out his fingers, making her whine at the loss of contact and she was just about to loudly complain when he pressed them to her clit instead, rubbing firm but slow circles. 

 “Oh God” she clutched her hand behind his neck, feeling his hot breath on her face as he laughed softly. He nibbled on her lip and chin as he continued to rub harder and faster. 

The room was filled with sounds of his kisses, her wetness, their heavy breathing and her loud sob like moans. 

She rocked her hips against his fingers, her moans getting louder and needier and god she was so close that she clawed his neck, she could feel herself tense up, cunt aching for the release. A mental image of Alex on top of her, deep in her as he groaned flashed by, but then her eyes fluttered open as Damon moaned when she squelched over his fingers. 

She was millimeters from the edge when he suddenly stopped. With cheeks flushed and breath stuck in her throat she almost screamed:

 “Wh-, what the fuck Damon, why did you stop?”

God she was so beautiful like this. Animalistic almost and completely unhinged.

 “Do you want me to continue?”

 “Yes!”  

He tapped his finger against her clit again and smiled when she threw her head back and moaned.

 “Ask for it.” He whispered and that alone was almost enough to make her cum.

 “Please Damon, please, let me cum.”

Almost instantly he resumed rubbing her clit, making her back arch and she cried out his name over and over, so close that she forgot every other word. All she could think of was him, him, him.

 “Damon!”

Her cries and moans made his breath hitch as he saw how she came undone for him and he groaned between clenched teeth;

 “Cum for me.” And she did.

With a moan that was almost a scream she fell apart and became a blabbering, whimpering mess in his hands. She sobbed his name, head spinning and heart pounding so loud in her ears she could barely hear him whispering her name 

He stroked slowly but firmly over her clit until she pushed his hand away, her voice quivering as she let out a broken whisper;

“I can’t-, I can’t do another.” Making him chuckle and through her foggy brain she could muster a weak smile.

Damon looked at her where she lay with her tendrils of hair clinging to her forehead, a slight sheen of sweat covering her chest and her cheeks blossoming with a deep crimson blush.

“Was that good?”

She chuckled, still not sure how to get back to breathing normally and smiled;

“Do you really have to ask?”

Leaning in until their lips brushed and his breath tickled he teased;

“I just wanted to hear you say it.” before licking her lips and kissing her. 

She felt his cock twitch against her thigh and suddenly the flame she thought had been doused started flickering. Acting on instinct she bit his lower lip, hard, making him gasp and she wondered if maybe she had been too harsh when he pulled away, his eyes huge but then a smirk formed on his perfect lips.

Rising on shaky elbows she laughed as she said;

“Don’t you wanna finish?” tilting her head to her side.

“Looks like you might need it.” She nodded towards his cock, dripping precum, red and swollen. The warm pooling in her stomach threatened to scorch her when he raised a brow, stroking himself and inching closer to her.

“You think so?” 

Biting her lip she nodded, opening her trembling legs and looking him up and down. He pulled her down to him, making her gasp as she fell on her back and then giggled at his sudden roughness. He looked at her, his pupils blown out and his chest falling and rising as he gripped her thigh hard.

Slapping the head of his cock against her clit he hissed and she bit back a whimper, feeling herself tremble in his grasp. She was a bit sore from her earlier orgasm but it didn’t matter as he slowly pushed into her, both of them gasping.

“Fuuuck” He groaned, feeling her clench around him and she shuddered at the slight over stimulation.

“You okay?” He panted and stroked her hips, pulling her down onto him slowly.

“Uh-huh.” She hummed before adding; “Please.”

Her quivering voice, dripping with lust and pleading eyes made him snap. There was nothing he wanted as much as making her scream his name again, begging and moaning, only this time she would be dripping all over him.

He moaned, wrapping his arm under her hips and hoisting her up so that he could thrust into her at whatever pace he pleased.

“Please.” She whispered again, her hands on his back, clawing.

Damon's hips snapped up, the pace he set was hard and unforgiving and with each thrust she whimpered loudly. 

He couldn’t think of anything else but how her body moved with his, the sweat covering them both, her whining and moaning and how much he loved her.

“Oh fuckin’ hell, you feel so good, fuck” He moaned, leaning in to kiss her. It was a sloppy kiss, their lips barely touching as he sped up his thrusts. 

She reached up, carding her fingers through his flaxen of hair and tugging on it slightly, making him moan and bend his neck back. Knowing he couldn’t hold it for long he closed his eyes and focused on her gasping breaths, the smell of sex, the wet slapping noises and the burning sensation in his stomach. 

“Cum in me” She moaned, her breath hitching when Damon leaned his forehead against her shoulder, his breath tickling over her neck and she raked her nails down his back. 

His breaths got shorter and shorter, his thighs tensing up, the warm coil in his abdomen burning, and when she locked her legs on his lower back, pushing him deeper in, he came. His mind went blank as he thrust into her, making the orgasm last as long as possible and she kissed his ear, nibbling at it and whispering: 

“I love you” over and over. 

With a moan and a string of profanities he relaxed, shuddering and with heavy breaths.

She stroked his back, trying to slow down her racing heart and erratic breathing. She didn’t know how long he laid there, nuzzling his face to her neck as his breathing slowly became normal again, but she enjoyed every second of it.

Carefully he pushed himself up on his elbows, smiling slightly and running a hand through her messy hair.

“Well, good morning to you too.” She said and smiled up at him, stroking his arm softly.

“Good morning indeed. Wanna join me in the shower?”

“Yes please.” 

He leaned in to kiss her, muttering, “I love you” which made her heart jump. Before pulling away completely he added with a cheeky grin:

“So for the next round I’ll call in Alex?”

“Damon!”

[rimaiahwrites]

My sick little baby (a mini read)

Finally finished this, been sitting in my draft for about a year and a half tbh:( When reader gets sick and and anddd she’s super subby and eren is soo daddy (fave eren) and just wanna baby her :) Sweet 🧁 (not proof read mb lol I’ll edit later)

When y/n got home from school she didn’t feel the best but she still pushed herself to clean up a little and make dinner for her husband Eren before he gets home from work, but when she woke up the next morning her head was pounding and her stomach was dropped when she sat up and the next thing she knew she was up and running to the bathroom and leaning into the toilet letting the rest of last nights dinner out. When she was done her eyes were watering and she was dizzy as she walked back to her bed.

She pouted when she realized her husband had already left for work and laid on his side of the bed. It was not long before tears was streaming down her face because she hated being sick especially when her daddy wasn’t there with her. She grabbed her phone from the other side of the bed and called him. She was in no shape to take care of herself and she knew it. It rang twice before his smooth voice hit her ears. “Wassup baby?”

“Papa…I don’t feel good.” Her lip quivered and her voice cracked feeling her stomach cramp up. “baby what’s the matter?” He cooed stopping his hand movement from writing on his paper now feeling worried for his little princess.

“Can you come home? I think I have the flu.” She whined, wishing he was home already to make her feel better. “You did feel hot when I was in bed with you this morning…you need daddy to come home to take care of you?”

“Yes please I need you, I already throw up and I feel so weak..” she whispered. That was all she needed to say before he was packing his suitcase up and headed to his car to get to his beloved wife.

When he got home he found her curled on the couch wrapped in her pink and white fluffy blanket watching finding Nemo. When he sat his keys down her head popped up he could tell what kind of mood she was in with the pout on her lips, his subby whiny baby.

“Oh my poor babyy.” Eren cooed picking her up bridle style sitting her on his lap. Her bottom lip wobbled and she grabbed on to him tightly. “My princess doesn’t feel good?” She shook her head cuddling his neck. “Have you eaten yet?” She let out a quiet no in the sweetest voice and it melted Erens heart. He sat her back down and headed to the kitchen looking around for something to give her to eat then his mom’s chicken noodle soup recipe popped up in his head. Whenever eren was sick as a kid she would make him chicken noodle soup and crackers and it alway made him feel better..So he got to it, it was a easy and quick recipe and it took no longer than 15 minutes, He also made a her a cup of liquid iv in her pink and white teddy bear water bottle.

Erens pov—

“Here drink this princess…” I shook her awake and gave her the cup, her shaky hands reached out to grab it. My baby was so weak it broke my heart, she was mostly dehydrated from barely drinking or eating for the whole morning. I put my hand on her forehead and she was burning up, i cringed a fever was a good sign because I knew that her body was fighting off whatever it was but I definitely needed to check her temperature.

I went and got the thermometer and her medicine, soon as she saw me coming with the bubblegum pink bottle of liquid she whined loudly, being very overly dramatic. She hated taking medicine with a passion but of course I wasn’t going to just let her sit there with a runny nose and a headache and not do anything.

I poured her a big tablespoon of the medication and lifted it to her mouth, her lips sat in a pout.

I sighed, “baby please open up, it’s gonna make you feel better, promise.” She shook her head no, she was in no way ever a bad girl but as soon as she got sick she was very testy with me.

I hated to get stern with her at a time like this, her eyes glossy and lips pouted so prettily on her face.

“Open, now I’m not going to say it again.” I tilted her head up with my two fingers.

“But pap—“ soon as she opened her mouth I shoved the spoon in her mouth, her little dramatic ass gagged as she swallowed it down, scrunched up face like she just teated the most foul thing in the world. I chuckled as I rolled my eyes.

“This will make you feel better promise, now let’s get some food in you.” She whined and rubbed her stomach.

“My tummy hurts I don’t wanna’ papa” she whimpered but of course she still ate, because no way was I about to let her go all day without eating or drinking. She drank half her cup of water and was all ready feeling a little better.

I grabbed her and carried her up stairs to our bathroom to run her a hot bath.

My bath was a jet tub so when I poured some of her favorite bubble bath there was more bubbles than water at this point, I made the water hot because she normally liked to be boiled alive every time she takes a bath or shower.

“I just wanna lay down..” I turned around to see her standing in the bathroom door way, her teddy bear in hand.

“I know but you’re sweaty baby, C’mere.” When her head touched my chest her whole body went limp and supported its-self against me.

“Let’s get you outta these clothes” I mumble, tossing her shirt to the other side of the bathroom, into her hamper. I lifted her up and placed her in the tub. I smile, Her aching body begins to loosen up from the warm water, her chunky little cheeks squashed from pressing them against the cold edge of the tub finally feeling like she’s able to relax she lies her head down on the edge of the tub, whimpering every time I gently message her scalp. Her once fresh braids now a bit frizzed for tossing and turning on my cotton pillow case without her silk hello kitty bonnet.

“You feel good baby?” I smile, she nods her head only before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep. I grabbed her bath rag and wiped her runny nose gently trying to not irritate it more than it already was, red and raw from blowing it all day. I wash her body, starting from face to chest, to her bottom half to her feet, trying not wake her.

I grabbed her towel and carry her, her legs dangling at my side secured with my hands interlocking under her butt. She let a huffed breath, coddling her face into my neck.

I putt lotion on her whole body, head to toe. I placed my shirt that looked like a dress, stopping mid thigh to her.

“Papa?” I heard softly, looking up from sliding her panties on. Her big brown eyes filling with tears. Worried, I moved up to her face and wiped them with my thumb stroking her face. Her skin so soft and clean

“What’s the matter pumpkin?”

“I..I love you so much, you’re the best husband I could have ever asked for, you take such good care of me.” She cried her lip wobbling, my poor baby was always so emotional whenever she was sick.

“I know baby, I know, I love you and I’ll always take care of you. Through sickness and health till death do us part baby I mean it.” I grin seeing a giggle creep through her pouty face.

“You’re so corny.” She smiled, for the first time today.

“I know as long as I get to see that beautiful I’ll say whatever.” I mumble kissing her lips softly.

“You feel better?” She nodded closing her eyes briefly before answering me with a quiet yes. “M’ sleepy ..”

“Yeah? Alright let’s go to sleep.” I pulled her to the top of the bed and wrapped my arms around her, her arms tucked between us both, while her head rests in my chest.

My sick little baby .. I thought before kissing her on the forehead and drifting off to sleep myself

[coquitokisses]

Alex Summers NSFW Headcanons

I think it’s only fair to make a nsfw version 👀

first part 👈🏼

I feel like he’s a giver

He would definitely make sure you enjoy it, that’s what matters the most to him

He wants you to be comfortable

He loves giving head!!!

Loves receiving it too, but giving? And to watch you? And hear you? He loves it

And he’s damn good at it 🫦

I mentioned this in the first part, but i feel like he’s an ass guy

Ass and thighs kinda guy 🙂‍↕️

His favorite position is definitely you on top, he just loves watching you and run his hands all over your body

He also loves missionary

He just needs to see your face

He’s noisy! (💳💥💳💥💳💥)

He groans, he moans, he’s very vocal (we love a vocal man 🛐)

Loves quickies. A n y w h e r e

Loves morning sex

I feel like he doesn’t really have any kinks, but he will try some things if you ask him (nothing too hardcore ofc)

He def talks you through it (im unwell, hold me)

Lotsss of make out sessions

He’s a tease (I mentioned this in the first part) but he is!!!

He usually wears condoms, but whenever he doesn’t, he cums on your stomach

His favorite place to fuck would either be the couch or just the bed

He can either do it fast or slow, but he’s more on the rough side

Hickeyssss. Mostly on places only you both can see them

Eye contact!!!!!

He definitely whispers sweet things in your ear while he’s pounding into you (we love a sweet and caring man <3)

Let’s be real, he has good stamina, he can go a few rounds 🙂‍↕️

Aftercare is a must

And after he’s done helping you get cleaned up (or if you guys decide to shower) y’all are definitely sleeping naked, he loves it 😇

masterlist

A/n: we’re not gonna talk about how this has been in my drafts since october 14 and I never posted it because I completely forgot about it 🤡💀

A/n #2: let me know if I should do more of these lol

Likes and reblogs will be appreciated!

divider creds @bxd-decisions

[internetgiraffekid1673]

Bring Back the Bombshells Batgirls!

In helping a friend of mine map out who all has been Batgirl across various DC continuities, I remembered a little jaunt to TVtropes where it mentioned that in a charming little number called Bombshells, the batgirl identity is shared by a baseball team.

This reminded me to actually go READ Bombshells, and oh. My. GOSH. It is the BEST FUCKING THING EVER!

What is Bombshells?

Basically, almost every male superhero got yeeted from the story or relegated to side character/civilian, while every female superhero takes the spotlight and gets to KICK SOME NAZI ASS (it's set during world war 2). Plenty of people get spotlight, but I'm gonna argue that the MAIN characters are probably Kate Kane's batwoman, Diana of Themyscira's Wonder Woman, Mera's Aquawoman (she hates that name, lol), Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, Zatanna, and Kara Starikov's Supergirl. All the storylines tend to revolve around them.

Oh, also it's super gay. Like, every single character is a lesbian or bi, there's tons of ladies kissing and dating and having implied sex, and at least one character---one of the batgirls actually---is trans.

In summary, go read bombshells it's really good, but today I'm here to specifically talk about:

The Batgirls (and boys)

"One for the ribbon, two for the pearls! Three for the crimefighting---

So first off, Bombshells is an elseworld, so it can do whatever the fuck it wants with backstories and shit.

Subsequently; this version of Kate Kane is a major league baseball player, and her Batwoman costume is literally just a pallet swap of her baseball costume (plenty of people figure out her "secret" identity because of this, but she's not super concerned about it). She uses an actual bat as her main weapon as Batwoman, and it kicks ass. More fanfic writers, and hell, comics writers need to hand the Batfamily some baseball bats, because it gives us scenes like this:

Or this:

(Yes her bat has a gun, it's supplied by Amanda Waller through goverment money, don't question it. Her baseballs are also explosives).

Oh, and also this:

Anyway, point is, Batwoman has a bat and it's great. But this means when Gotham's bat-weilding protector gets drafted into the Bombshells to go fight Nazi's, some new faces have to pick up the slack in Gotham.

And so:

Inspired by their vigilante/baseball hero, Harper Row, Kathy Duquesne, and Nell Little pick up some bats of their own and start busting up crime! The three of them are mechanics, that old car is their batmobile, and they're the best of friends!

Of this original trio, Kathy is "the brass" or the leader, and she remains nominally in charge through the whole thing. Nell is "the brawn" and while every batgirl is good in a fight, Nell is a bit of a demolition specialist. Finally you have Harper, "the brain" who invents their gadgets, works on their batmobile, and also jokes that she's the mascot, as this whole thing was her idea.

They don't stay a trio for very long though! They're quickly joined by "the beauty" Alysia Yeoh, an old friend of Kathy's, in an effort to break Cullen Row out of a prison-like orphanage (she's the t-girl btw):

You may notice another girl crouched in the corner up there too! That's Bette Kane, Kate's niece and the rightful owner of Kane Industries who will forcibly take it over, clean it up, and use it for good on her 18th birthday in like a week!

In the meantime though, she heard about the batgirls and decided she wanted in! She crashes their jailbreak and helps them wreck shop! She mostly shares the "brass" role with Kathy---a leader in her own right.

Anyway, their now quintet quickly finds the awful headmistress of the Pinkney orphanage berating one Tim Drake, who still has a living dad somewhere, but was snatched up by a dirty cop because this whole city runs on Newsies rules (not even kidding, I'll get there in a sec). Turns out Tim and Alysia are old best friends. Anyway, Tim fills them in on the sitch: the headmisstress has been using the orphans as slave labor to build war robots for the nazis.

The batgirls (now including Tim!), bust up the basement and the robots, free all the orphanage kids, including Cullen, toss the awful headmistress and the dirty cop helping her to one Detectice Maggie Sawyer---Kate's wife---and the day is saved!

In the subsequent week, Bette takes over Kane Industries, starts funneling funds into housing for immigrants and refugees and relief and aid and all that good stuff, and also recruits the final batgirl of the team: Felicity Smoak (the chick in braids)! Thus we have a full team!

Who's who in the alt text

I'm only halfway through Bombshells, but the batgirls and their adventures are a recurring plot thread, since protecting Gotham is entirely up to them while Kate is away. They gain lots of other allies and enemies (including one hispanic immigrant Lois Lane who does straight up help them pull a newsies and make their own newspaper with the real news in it at one point), and their sections are probably one of my favorite parts about the comic. It just feels so sweet and high school, while still feeling Batman-esque/Gotham-typical.

Why You Should Care:

Now. I may only be halfway through Bombshells, but I am in LOVE. With the story and the characterizations and everything!!! And the batgirls are a personal fave of mine cuz I'm a sucker for found family and teens fighting crime and bat-weilding superheroes!

But my point is: for all that fanfic loves these tropes too, there is NO fanfiction for them (or at least not on ao3). There's practically nothing for the Bombshells continuity PERIOD, which is a shame, but also to be expected for an elseworld.

But that's why I'm here and telling you about it!

You guys! This is fanfiction! We love flinging the batfamily through alternate universes and making lots of different characters take on the familiar Batgirl and Robin roles!

Why not bring forth the Bombshells Batgirls?

If you're writing your own elseworld, I suggest you nab this adorable team, or something like it! If you're writing an alt universe crossover, feature these guys!

They are the Batfamily found family you want! They CALL THEMSELVES a Bat-family! They all move in together! They loooooovvveee each other! And, as is the nature of the Batgirl mantle, they do what they do largely as independent operatives without adult supervision!

I would really love to see these guys yeeted into an alternate universe and have to cope with just HOW different their continuity is. Not only will they inevitably be flung way into the future, since they're around in the 40s, but in most continuities they're completely unconnected from each other and are absolutely not a team of bat-weilding crime fighters! It would be so baffling for any mainline batgirl and robin to meet a team that is so disconnected from them and so unconditionally supportive of each other and so Badass Adorable!

In Summary:

I may have lost the plot a little with this, but my points are:

Bombshells is really good and you should all go read it

Bombshells has a team of adorable bat-weilding batgirls that has all the found family crime fighting tropes you could want without the bad blood of the mainline batfam

More people should write fanfiction for Bombshells

The Bombshells!Batgirls in particular I think are a great place to start with that. Nab the premise of a baseball team being crime fighters, or Gotham being protected by a group of scrappy children whenever the big bad vigilantes are away, or give these colorful kids their Bombshells!backstories.

Also use the Bombshells universe in particular when you're flinging bats across the multiverse. Yeet these babies into a mainline comics verse and let the juxtaposition and chaos run WILD! There's a million and one of these fics for the Young Justice cartoon, I know ya'll can do it for Bombshells

Also. Take every opportunity to give your Batfamily, and your Batgirls in particular, an actual bat. It'll be so much fun, I promise

Anyway, I'll probably be back with another Bombshells rant later, PEACE!

[solardrop]

I wanted to post some excerpts from two of my Hotch wips to see which one people find more interesting! I included a poll at the bottom because I know a lot of people don't like commenting but I'd appreciate comments, asks, etc about the one you like more as well! There are a lot of typos and issues in these but they are just first drafts!

Both of these will end up being nsfw stories so minors please do not interact with this post (because you won't be interacting with the actual fics anyway)

this one is the first hotch fic I ever tried to write. I abandoned it because I felt like my first fic being a smut was too horny (only for my first posted fic to still be a smut...lol). But rereading it I actually still really like the idea I just need to actually figure out where I wanna go with it. Its currently very lovingly titled: "A sad attempt at a hotchner fic". WIll definitely be changed before I actually post it LMAO. Maybe to "strawberry salt" or something

He grabs you by the hips as he leans against the headboard. Sliding you until the soft curve of your belly meets his, and the swell of your breasts push against his collarbone. The wiry hairs across the top of his legs tickle your inner thighs. His eyes drift downward for a brief moment, distracted from his original mission, before he places a quick kiss on your sternum. “What was that again baby?” He smiled up at you. An absolute shit-eating grin if you say so yourself. Trying to sweet talk and ‘baby’ you out of this wasn’t going to work. Neither was the mischievous hand sliding under your robe towards the curve of your ass. “Aaron,” you swat his hand from below you, “how many times are you gonna use my body wash  and leave me with nothing!?” This makes him grin wider, his dimples teasing and tempting for a kiss. Your belly warms as you look at him beneath you. How could a man so damn infuriatingly be so annoyingly sexy? His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, it takes all your self-control to stop from moaning at the sight. You force yourself to look up from his lips and raise your hand to lightly pinch the very tip of his nose. A soft blush forms on the skin there when you remove your fingers. “Not funny Aar! Now I smell like Alaskan sea salt and thunderstorms instead of Strawberry sugar.”  “Well. I think you smell amazing.” He buries himself in your neck, inhaling deeply. “If you think so, then use your own body wash!”

This second one is just called "shower" it's my longest wip so far and I like it a lot but I need to rework a lot of things about it because its a lot of word vomit right now:

Your thoughts are interrupted by Aaron reapproaching you, still dressed in his button-up, the sleeves now rolled up his thick forearms. He tries to get the detachable showerhead when you reach up — with your good arm— and stop him.  “What are you doing?” you question. “Getting the showerhead so I can help you shower?” “Your clothes are still on.” “Yes? What’s wrong—” He pauses, face marked with confusion until he slowly pieces together your meaning, “Honey, you’re injured. I’m showering you, not showering with you.” He laughs reaching for the hose again before you stop him. “I’m not a patient. I’m your fiancee,” you seethe, “You’re not gonna scrub me down like I’m some sweet little old lady. Get in here, Hotchner.” His arms cross over the expanse of his chest, staring you down like he was giving you a field order to comply to. Too bad you weren’t scared of him. You stare back at him, the water streaming down your body as the moment passes. He breaks eye contact and begins unbuttoning his shirt. “Alright,” he sighs, “but we’re just getting clean and getting out.” He shrugs off his shirt, revealing beauty of his broad body to you. You eyes travel, admiring the way the muscles move under his skin as he scratches the soft pudge of his belly. He unbuckles his belt and pants. You bite your lip as he finally hooks his fingers in his pants and boxers, sliding the fabric down, slowly exposing the hair lined down his lower belly before his hands just stop. Your eyes flick up to his at the clearing of his throat. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “No funny business. I promise,” you whine.

[alnilaem]

a toxic ghoap wip i had in my drafts from months ago but will no longer be continuing. i just wanna dump it here lol

cw for misogyny, smut, (internalized) homophobia, hedonism, sacrilege, prostitution mention, ghost is an ass

pls heed all tags, this was a vent fic, and also bare in mind im never gonna finish this lmao

-

Johnny's world is asymmetrical.

His world. His beginning and his end. Humvees and Dauphin 2 helis and deployments around the globe. Undercover operations, saving women and children, the comforting carbon steel of a rifle in his hands. 

It’s an unspoken stigma, but it’s there. Materialising as insults while his lads take the piss out of each other, and in the form of dishonourable discharges. 

The stigma has always been there. It has no start and no finish, so Johnny can’t remember where it came from, but he knows it was there since primary, where boys would kick girls at the bends of their knees and yank on their pigtails, squatting to the floor to get a look-see up their chequered skirts and cackle, all while Johnny stood off to the side, overtly uncomfortable. 

Mum’s complained. Teacher’s were involved. Dad’s simply said, “Boys will be boys,” and the situation was brushed under the carpet.

The stigma tailed Johnny into secondary school. His older cousin lent him a suit for formal, which prompted Johnny awkwardly standing on his doorstep with his date—a pretty lass named Rory—as his mam snapped a spate of photos. 

Johnny’s disposition was a grave juxtaposition to Rory’s. She was all grins and giggles, cantered into Johnny’s arm, while he was inelastically poised with tight lips. 

His mam wouldn’t stop pinching his supple cheeks, trying to shepherd a smile out of him. She gave up, throwing her hands in the air and wheedling them off the porch, tacking on an ornate, “Have fun, kiddos!” as they pooled into Johnny’s scrap metal car. 

Johnny felt as if he was lacking something. As if his wings had been clipped by the world a little too soon. It’s always been like that. A piece of him plucked from his wracking ribs and stolen, ever since he was a little boy. So in a lapse of judgement, in order to prove himself, to shatter the bubbling stigma, Johnny sought out the most masculine thing to offset his failure: follow in the steps of his cousin, and enlist. 

It was a rashly undertaken decision, but a decision he stuck with, because, for the first time in forever, Johnny’s old man clasped his shoulder in pride. 

But stigma was an incessant little thing. Because even in military school, it followed him closely. As Johnny’s school brothers had Playboy rafts and pin-up girls folded into their pillow cases, he would blunder upon being asked, “Who’d ye shag?” by his mate. 

In boot camp, he was a lowly private, whose hands would jade and cramp from cleaning rifles. They gave him blisters. And so his bunkmate—a nice lad from Glasgow with a crooked nose—would tend to his fingers during their lunch routine. Hidden somewhere in the corner, making jokes about their Drill Instructor. Callum, was his name. He’d swathe Johnny’s hands in gauze and garnish it with a lopsided smiley face. It always sucked, fell apart half way, but he did it anyway. 

That’s when Johnny started blistering his hands on purpose. 

Wedging his thumb in the dip of a garand and not pulling it out until it was swollen. Then he’d snivel, seeking Callum out in their barracks. There was a pull in Johnny’s stomach, half of an ebb that finished Callum’s flow. It would give him rashly undertaken ideas—such as fixing his hand in the lid of an armoury shell—for Callum to fix up. Johnny would find him among their other friends, beseeching with his cobalt eyes, holding out a hand.

In enlistment, his confusion ripened into a gravely miscalculated realisation. That it wasn't an affinity for men Johnny wanted to be—to attract ladies with his chest candy and the brandished title of military man—no, it reared its ugly head when Johnny finally became his own private. Grinning, at the time, clean-shaven and giddy as his mother snapped a spate of photos of him saluting in his new uniform, plaintively whining when she reached out to adjust his garrison cap because “It’s lopsided, pumpkin!” To which Johnny, under the searing gaze of his fellow privates, would clip, “‘Cos it’s meant to be like tha’, ma!”

Johnny didn’t know when it started. He just remembered realising how good Callum looked one day at the range—sweat sluicing down his pale neck, disappearing behind his lapels, ass filling out the space of his pants as he would squat to the ground and aim for the faraway target. Before he knew it, Johnny was seizing lights out. Using the time to sneak off to the bathrooms and cramp a fist around his leaking cock, beating his dick to the thought of him. Him, him, him. 

Johnny’s sordid thoughts didn’t emulate what his granny had planned for him—to pass down her old wedding stack once he “Found the right lass,” to bring home to her; it wasn’t what the Orthodox spiels of sermons and hymns and praise on Sunday’s drilled into him; it wasn’t what his uncle was anticipating—“Got a girlfrien’ yet, Johnny-boy? Ah, why’re ye frowning! Soon enough, ye will.”

His fantasies rivalled those of his squadmates. Because on his first tour, a summer ten years ago in the chilly expanse of Northern Ireland was a woman that approached them. Denim skirt and a mulberry red halter top. Kitten heels, sunglasses. Shiny lipgloss. She tried to ply them by batting her eyes, offering her services. She was smart. Military men always paid. It’s the desperation that got to them most of the time, a tinge of worry, and a hint of entitlement. They took the bait. Rode her back to camp and took their turns with her.

When it was Johnny’s turn, he listlessly declined and hung his head. He said he had a lass waiting for him back home—Rory—that’s the first name that popped in his head. His secondary school girlfriend in which he sobbed on when he tried kissing her. Johnny said he had a bird, just like all his other lads, with pictures of their wives and girlfriends pinned to the massive cork board in the middle of their camp. But they had no problem indulging themselves. 

They were shoving him around, calling him all sorts of names, bullying him into following them. And that’s when Johnny caved. A cacophony of hollers flared out around him as he ducked into the tent where the woman lay, thin bed sheets hiked up to her collarbones, her previous lipgloss smeared over her chin.

Johnny said, “Hi, how are you?” Because that’s what his mother taught him. She softly giggled. 

Not at him, but with his overdue respect.

Johnny shucked off his uniform with trembling hands, mounting her with his dick flaccid and stomach flipping. He remembers ruminating, “Why don’t you like it? You should like it. Love it,” but his heart leapt to his throat and his navel twisted, heart seized as the head of his cock kept slipping around her messy opening, poking her thigh. His throat constricted, dry, then slackened. A muffled sob wracked through him. Barely concealed by the threshold of his thin lips. He pushed his tongue into the roof of his mouth and buried his face in the crook of her neck, collapsing into her bare chest, furiously wiping his tears into the inflatable mattress.

Then, the body beneath him quivered. Johnny hoisted himself up, a spiel of apologies curling off of his tongue, when he realised she was crying too. The same type as him—wrung out, jaded, tired. She blindly reached out for him and pulled him close. Not reaching for his dick nor biting sensual whispers into his ear. They held each other for a little while, coalescing as their cries muffled into each other’s skin. Then, she pushed him off. Slid off the mattress and snaked her into her clothes. 

They both left the tent shaking. She was still sniffling. His lads cheered as she walked away and clapped him on the back. 

That’s when Johnny realised there wasn't a place for him in his world. Johnny shrunk himself, half the light he used to be, pushing himself into a little box as his world around him clipped off his wings. 

Now, Johnny’s world consists of something a little different. 

Something sinewy and rough around the edges. Gruff, but tactical. Calm, akin to the placid sea, but could flip a switch and emulate its choppy waters if he wanted to, too. Big, striking, with eyes that could kill a sailor. A deep timbre mandated by Manchester. Wide-set shoulders but a willowy waist, hips that sway as he walks. A macabre mask and skeletal gloves—ones that have Johnny wrapped tightly around his fingers.

Johnny grew into himself between serving in the parachute regiment to selection for the SAS. He got rougher. Learned how to hide himself better. Perfectly fit himself within the Task Force, around men who would become his best friends and brothers. He’s otherwise your normal guy. Goes to the bar with the team when they’re able. Shooting darts with Gaz (“You’ve got a Marksman badge but can’t score more than two points? C’mon, mate…”); pool with Price; and drinks with Ghost.

Beer always sloshes over the lip of Ghost’s glass when they clink their drinks. It crashes up and over the Brit’s fingers, dripping down his hands, between his thick fingers. Johnny always resists the urge to lean in close and lick the wash of alcohol glistening Ghost’s knuckles. 

But they’re just friends. Apparently. Because friends don’t fuck.

It started way down in Chicago’s heart, after another op. Gaz—ever the exploiter of his puppy eyes—managed to ply Price into stopping at a bar instead of heading straight back to base for paperwork. So they stopped at a little hole-in-the-wall, still rife with adrenaline, spreading out and all doing their own thing.

Johnny and Ghost were sat around a rickety table with wobbly legs. A spread of peanut shells around them and sticky rings of alcohol from their glasses glossing the surface. Ghost raised an arm to wipe his eyes, knocking over Johnny’s beer in the process. An expletive crossed the Brit’s tongue and he apologised, grasping a fistful of napkins and scrubbing it over Johnny’s soaked shirt. 

It ebbed and flowed in long, rough strokes. Ghost’s hand gliding over Johnny’s legs, Ghost’s middle finger and thumb snapped around Johnny’s thigh, his grasp cutting into the sinews. 

It wasn’t that different from suturing a teammate up after a mission. But with the unsaid admiration Johnny had for him, tempered by the hint of alcohol on the roof of his mouth and the hazel canopy of Ghost’s lashes, over his focused eyes, arousal quickly seized Johnny.

Ghost’s hand brushed over a tent on Johnny’s jeans. One that hadn’t been there before. He cut his next stroke from the root, pausing, and blinked up at his friend. 

The Scotsman felt a wound up spring in his stomach. He turned away, smacking Ghost’s hand, and ran a hand through his black tuft of hair, slapping both sides of his shaved heads. He felt his lungs betray him—squeezing like dried fruit and refusing to expand—to yield to his sudden heavy breathing and quick succession of heartbeats.

Johnny shook his head. Sputtering. “Lad, y’know, sometimes we can’t control ‘em–” 

The words died on his tongue when Ghost flattened hand against the bend of his knee. He was testing the waters. 

Johnny looked back, gulping, and took the bait. He inched his knee closer, until it met with Ghost’s thick leg. It’s something he’s done so many times. When he was starved for friction but couldn’t make it overtly obvious—grazing Ghost’s hand passing him a flare; knocking his foot under the table during debrief (“Sorry, lad,”); applying extra gauze to a slice in his torso just to feel Ghost’s chest throb below his fingers a little more.

But this is different. Something Johnny’s chased for so long. A tangible ghost on his tongue for a flavour he’s longed for with just fantasies while he fucked his fist late into the night. 

Ghost tightened his hold on Johnny’s thigh. “Sons of bitches, ain’t they?” 

His voice was taut. As was the muscle between Johnny’s shoulders.

They exchanged a glance. Soundless, but not wordless. Then Ghost slunk his hand down and wrapped it around Johnny’s swelling cock. 

The feeling of it—a sensation so foreign, so yearned for—penetrated Johnny’s core. It made him yelp and jerk his knee into the table, sending more beer spilling over the rim of his glass and onto his pants. 

Ghost hummed, shook his head. “C’mon, Johnny, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” And he inclined his head towards the bathroom in the back. 

Johnny blindly nodded, yielding to Ghost’s hold as he hoisted him from his seat. Ghost directed them through the sea of gyrating bodies and towards the toilets. They bursted inside, and the Brit pulled Johnny into the last stall. A seedy little thing, with graffiti and the ash of cigarette butts welded into its walls. 

The succeeding acts were a blip in the streamline of Johnny’s memory. He remembers Ghost shucking his pants down, then settling himself behind him. He remembers Ghost’s gloveless hand reaching around and working over his drooling cock. He remembers a voice in his ear, “What the fuck are we doing,” and a bulbous cockhead poking his ass. He remembers the shrill rattle of the stall hinges as he withered against it, trembling under Ghost’s deft hands, the finger that swept over the slit of his cock and slipped down to fondle his balls. 

Before white-hot pleasure seared his vision, Johnny remembers emptying his come into the crotch of his denims, shaking, as it dampened his pants and as Ghost commanded him to pull it back up. 

They left the bar alongside each other, meeting everyone else on the pavement. Johnny’s lips were popped open and swollen. Peeling, from how his teeth had sunk into them. His eyes were glossy and his hair was tousled in the middle of his head. He had a wet patch on his jeans.

“Oh, you are pissed, mate,” Gaz exclaimed, “I– that’s pee?”

“Spilled some water,” Ghost lied to the other teammates, “had to sort him out.”

They made it back to base within hours, signing off to their quarters. 

The next day, Johnny didn’t see him at all. 

The day after that, too; Ghost didn’t even spare him a glance.

He tried reassuring himself. Ghost hadn’t talked about men before—not in this calibre—so Johnny told himself it’s because he was digesting what rashly happened in Chicago. 

That was, until, he was paged one night. A command from Ghost to meet him in his quarters. The message was succinct: one sentence, leaving no lines to be read between. Johnny walked ambled to his room with his heart in his stomach and his blood rushing to his ears. Nudging the door open, Ghost was on the edge of his bed, legs parted, smarting denim-washed jeans and a black pullover. A simple, soft gauze balaclava. 

His eyes slid upwards first. Then the rest of his head. Ghost pinned Johnny under his smouldering gaze, then beckoned him forward with the tilt of his head. No words were swapped. Ghost simply tugged Johnny forward, between his thick thighs, and bullied the Scotsman to his knees with a hand splayed over his half-shaved head. 

Johnny’s eyes widened. He popped his lips open to speak—lips Ghost whispers his thumb over to seal shut, uprooting his words from its step. Ghost shook his head, undid his belt with a single hand, and shucked down his jeans. He palmed himself for a while, watching Johnny’s eyes sheen over, before pushing his boxer-briefs scarcely over his meaty thighs, pinching the head of his cock. 

Ghost didn’t even bother pulling his balls out. Just his dick—long, thick, a comely vein running beneath it—better than anything Johnny’s ever wanted. Better than the images he’s fucked his fist to, memories of Ghost, freshly out of the shower after sparring, his thin towel outlining the barest hint of his dick. 

Johnny reaches out, but Ghost swipes it back. He tuts and softly smacks his cock against Johnny’s ruddy cheek, watching as a string of his precum connects to Johnny’s face. 

“How bad do ya wan’ it, Johnny?” Ghost had prompted, swiping his cockhead over the Scotsmans lips, then pulling it back whenever his jaw readily slacked. 

“Real… real bad, Lt.” He breathed. 

Ghost tapped his cheek again. “Open.”

And so Johnny did. Like it was second nature, like he’s been wanting for so long. Waiting for so fucking long. 

Johnny’s lips popped open and closed around Ghost’s wet tip. He swirled his tongue around it, clumsy in his movements, teeth grazing Ghost’s skin.

He winced. “Easy…”

Johnny blinked in a rapid succession, nodding, sucking him in a little deeper, mindful of hollowing out his cheeks and relaxing his jaw. Ghost’s eye twitched, hands digging into his tuft, hanging his head back, softly bucking his hips up into Johnny’s mouth. 

“Atta boy, Johnny, fuck– where the fuck’d you learn this, eh?”

Johnny replied with a gargled purl of precum and saliva coalescing in his mouth, gagging over the wide girth splitting his jaw open. Ghost laughed, his gloved hand settling on the scruff of Johnny’s neck, pulling him a little closer; sinking his cock a little deeper, rutting his pelvis into his squadmate's pliable mouth.

Ghost cums. Johnny laps it all up. And in an undertaken lapse of judgement, rises to his feet, puckering his frosted lips, ready to hike Ghost’s balaclava above his nose and share his taste with him. But Ghost set a hand to Johnny’s face, shaking his head. He tucked his softening cock back into his pants.

That was the first instance Johnny disregarded. One he ignored in favour of indulging himself in something he yearned after for years. He didn’t realise his grave digging began there—when he witlessly nodded in response. 

And from there, it became a cycle. It was always on Ghost’s call. Never Johnny’s. When Ghost wanted his dick sucked; when Ghost wanted a wet and tight hole wrapped around his cock. Johnny knew better. He knew he was being shepherded into something bad, but he couldn’t help himself.

Trembling under Ghost, his whole world encompassed by the Brit’s towering stature, was all that mattered to him. Getting spread over a cock he’s wanted for so long, a long ways from the taboo fantasies that’s collected cobwebs in his thoughts for so long.

Johnny was less of a teammate, more of an outlet for Ghost to exhaust his frustrations into. Even then, it was a pill Ghost had trouble swallowing. As if he’ll acknowledge it, and a relationship will materialise. So he stays still—fucks Johnny like a dirty little secret then turns the other way. 

Johnny tries talking to him. Tries telling him he struggled with the same thing. That he isn’t alone and that he belongs here. That there’s no shame in it. 

Simon collapses Johnny’s pleads with a final, resolute bark. “I ain’t gay, mate. You’re a friend helping a friend.”

-

basically it ends with Simon shepherding Johnny into some hedonistic, one-sided relationship. Johnny just accepts it bc if Simon wont love him, he’ll do it by proxy, because hes all fucked out and desperate for him🖤🖤