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ourfleur · 1 year ago

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「Who Do You Belong To?」 [Johnny Cage x Fem Reader]

Summary: Being in a relationship with someone like Johnny Cage isn’t easy, especially when they have the same reputation he does, always so much attention always on you and your relationship. But maybe you can use that to your advantage, make them all know who this A-lister belongs to.

Tags: nsfw (basically just porn with a tiny plot lmao), semi public sex, au, dom&sub, switch reader, switch johnny, jealousy, possession, pet names (mostly baby)

An: hiii so this is my first time not only writing smut but also posting anything i write lol, i hope its not shit.. i pretty much only wrote this because i had this idea and no one had written anything like it so i wrote it myself.. anywaysss enjoy :3

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3 months. It had been only 3 months since you started dating the “infamous” Johnny Cage. 3 months and yet you were already more famous than 99% of the population would ever be.

You were still getting used to the fame, the constant cameras flashing in your face and the constant attention. You knew so many women would kill to be where you are, in the arms of Johnny, knowing that didn’t make life any easier. Constantly, new drama would stir up, rumours about you or your boyfriend breaking up or cheating on each other. But that… that was bearable. What wasn’t bearable was Johnny's co-star on his new movie. She wasn’t shy about wanting him and when the rumours started circulating of him ditching you for her she laughed it off and played stupid. “Oh really?”, she laughed, “I cannot confirm nor deny anything, it’s up to the fans imaginations.” That bitch made you livid.

This was supposed to be a relaxing day but you spent all of your time on Johnny's yacht reading the nasty and idiotic comments from the media. It was also extremely hard to relax considering the paparazzi was so close by, it seemed no matter where you went you could not escape them. But that revelation gave you an idea.

Getting up off the lawn chair you were lounging on, you pranced your way over to your boyfriend, who was occupied with writing his own movie. Taking the notebook out of his hands as you got on top of him. He was surprised at first but then smirked, eyeing the way your little body looked in that tiny bikini.

“Johnnyyyyy…” You whined while looking at him through half lidded eyes. Slowly, you grinded yourself on his clothed dick. “I need you right now.” You smiled, seeing the way his face contorted as you moved yourself across his lap. You leaned down to whisper in his ear, “I need everyone to understand who you belong to, so do me a favour and fuck me where they all can see.” You felt him hardening underneath you at your words. “Fuck, whatever you say baby.”

You leaned into each other, mouths crashing together in an aggressive kiss. Continuing to grind on each other while making out, only breaking to release some particularly intense whimpers. His large hands running all over your tiny body. Moving your hands down his chiselled abs, you reached the prize. Palming him through his shorts, which elicited the prettiest moans from his mouth.

Finally, you took his cock out, glistening with precum. You ran your delicate hand up and down his shaft, fingers tracing his pretty little veins and squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. You raised yourself up, letting him pull your bottoms to the side. You aligned yourself with him and slowly sunk down, making you both moan. You looked out across the water, seeing the many cameras, all focused on you and him. You began moving, listening as he moaned out your name. The way his thick cock stretched you always took you over the edge. You grinded your pretty pussy on him, over and over, not even paying attention to the poor mess of a man beneath you, only staring out at the cameras. Making sure they caught every glimpse of the way you could so easily destroy this big-shot A lister.

“No one else can make you feel this way, right baby?” You purred. “Yes.. fuckkkkk baby yes only you.” You could feel him twitch inside of you while he spoke, he was close. You frowned, “Well that cunt you work with seems to think she owns you.” You pulled yourself off of him, watching him groan with annoyance, his orgasm being denied. “What the fuck? I was close.” Cursing out your name. “Well it’s no fun if we just sit here…” You said, getting off him and leading him to the edge of the boat, your body facing the paparazzi across the water. You bent down in front of him, putting on a show as you pulled down your bikini bottoms. As you did he felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your cunt. You turned back around and moved towards him, arms reaching to grab his hair, suddenly shoving him down on his knees. “Be a good boy and eat me out while your adoring fans watch, maybe then I will let you have what you want.” Your sultry tone doing indescribable things to him.

He started by slowly nibbling and biting at your thighs, hands wrapping around them with ease. You groaned, “Don’t tease me Johnny.” Eyes staring daggers down at him. “Whatever you say…” And with that, he dove right in. His tongue flicking and circling around your clit in ways that could only be described as heavenly. Your hands dug into his hair, shoving his face closer to your aching core. He then moved his mouth down, lapping like a dog at your slick, his nose lightly grazing over your clit, leaving so much more to be desired. Your moans were getting so loud at this point you wouldn't be surprised if everyone on the beach could hear you. “Fuck Johnny, I’m close, you’re doing so good… You look so good on your knees.” Your brain turning to mush as you babble random praises, your orgasm steadily approaching.

And when it hit you were a mess. Moaning out curses and his name, legs turning to jelly. The only thing to stop you from collapsing was his hands, which were glued to your hips. After you finally regained the ability to stand on your own Johnny stood up. Licking the left behind slick on his lips with his tongue. You were about to bark another command at him before he interrupted you. “Agh fuck this. I can't take this anymore.” You were about to question him before he grabbed you, turning you around so he can bend you over on the edge of the boat. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Im fucking tired of this, it’s my turn to ruin you, sound good baby?” His voice sent chills down your spine. You nodded, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. He leaned back and soon you felt his cock between your thighs, gliding along your folds. Then, suddenly, the feeling was gone. You turned back to face johnny only to see him walking towards his chair. He grabbed his phone and then winked at you. “For safekeeping yknow?” He finally was back behind you, stroking himself a bit before finally easing himself into you. He groaned your name, taking you fully. You could hardly contain your whimpers when he started moving.

“You look so good on camera, fuck, you should star in one of my films.” He laughed, now moving at a pace all too slow. “I’ll only star in it if I get to fuck you in it.” You responded, releasing a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a moan. He took his free hand and moved it to your clit, rough fingers circling it at an insane pace. The combination of him pounding into you and hitting that special spot inside if you and him rubbing your clit had you seeing stars. With the way you were moaning and the way your cunt was tightening around his cock he could tell you were close. “You’re so beautiful when you’re whining around my cock.” He chuckled. “F-fuck.. Johnny please I'm so close.” You stuttered out. Suddenly he grabbed you by your hair, pulling you back into his chest. He held the phone out in front of the 2 of you while beginning a relentless pace. “Smile for the camera while you come undone babe. This is your glamour shot.” You could barely focus on what he was saying due to the pleasure that was shooting through your body. He moved his hand from your hair to your neck and squeezed a little. “I said smile.” His tone was stern and that was the last straw. The knot in your stomach snapped and you came, making sure to look into the camera and smile, per his request. Your moans were near pornographic as you shook from your orgasm, falling back onto the edge of the yacht. He pulled out of you and you couldn’t help notice, he still hadn’t cummed. You turned around and glanced down to his still-hard cock and then to his face.

“You gonna come over here and fix this or what?” He questioned, smirking while he spoke. “I guess it’s only fair… you have been so good to me today Johnny.” You turned, falling to your knees. Now eye level with his length. You moved your hands to it, gently stroking your boyfriends dick, trying to see what reactions and noises you could get to come out of his pretty face. You brought your mouth to his tip, doing short kitten licks to his slit. You moved your tongue all over his cock, licking and tenderly tracing every vein with your tongue. “Come on.. don’t punish me more than you already have..” He begged, looking down at you with those puppy dog eyes you just couldn’t resist. “Grab your phone Johnny, let’s see if that whore will understand who you belong to after this.” He was taken aback by your request but nonetheless complied. The moment he started recording you were ready to put on the performance of a lifetime.

Never taking your eyes off the camera, you stuffed his cock into your mouth. Johnny quietly whimpered at the feeling of you taking him in his mouth but before he could savour it, you pulled his dick out of your mouth with a ‘pop’. “Don’t try and quiet those moans Johnny, I need to make sure everyone knows that you’re mine.” He nodded and you eased your mouth back onto him. Johnny had never seen something more beautiful than you choking on his cock. The way your mouth worked had him sure he was in heaven. His breathing sped up and he grabbed your hair. “Fuck i’m so close, let me fuck this pretty face.” You nodded and he gripped your hair tighter. He was so rough, whimpering and crying out with pleasure while shoving his dick as far down your throat as he could. His thrusts started to become sloppy and before you knew it he was painting your throat white and releasing the hottest groans and praises. He pulled his cock out of your mouth and bent down to inspect his work. “You are so gorgeous, I can never get enough of seeing your little mouth filled with my cum.” He smiled, ending the video and throwing his phone to the side while you swallowed.

Safe to say that the internet was going wild for a few months after the paparazzi released those pictures… and safe to say that his stupid co-star didn’t do shit like that again.

#mortal kombat #johnny cage #mortal kombat 1 #johnny cage fanfiction #smut #mk1 smut #mortal kombat johnny cage #mk1 #mk1 2023 #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage smut #mortal kombat fandom

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galaxymagitech · 20 days ago

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Batman's Daughter

Inspired by Batman #50.

For @casscainweek Day 3: Silence | Music

Summary: When they don’t have the right words, Bruce and Cass reach each other by fighting. It has always worked for them. However, Dick and Barbara take exception to their unorthodox method of communication.

Characters: Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence. A large portion of the fic involves an all-out “sparring” match between Bruce and Cass. They both want to fight, but it's kinda an unhinged parenting method, so...be warned, I guess?

You can read it here or on AO3!

Cass is angry at Bruce. She doesn’t know why.

Bruce is angry at Cass. He knows why, but he doesn’t know how to say it.

They’re like this, sometimes, when all their words have gone away. Most of the time, they communicate with ease. Neither of them requires words to speak. But sometimes—sometimes, there’s this chasm between them, wide and uncrossable and filled with silence.

It’s rare that Cass and Bruce fight. Jason joked that he wasn’t even sure it could happen because Cass and Bruce are “basically the same person.” Cass knows it was half a joke, half not, but all wrong. They ended up in the same place. Vigilantes. No killing. Family. But Bruce functions on lines and rules and patterns, while Cass slips through the world guided by her heart. And yet, there’s an understanding between them that doesn’t need to be voiced. So, yes, this silence between them—not just of voices, but of bodies, of thoughts—is unusual. And because it’s unusual, everyone in the family has noticed.

Jason jokes. Alfred politely suggests that ‘perhaps the pair of you should discuss your grievances, Miss Cassandra.’ That makes Cass bristle, though she doesn’t know why. But most of the family don’t say anything, because they have nothing to say. They don’t know why Cass and Bruce are fighting. Cass doesn’t know why Cass and Bruce are fighting.

Barbara calls Cass to the Clocktower after patrol. “Maybe you should stay with me for a little while,” Barbara suggests. “I think you need some space.”

“No,” Cass says sharply. She does not need space. How is she supposed to fix this if she can’t see Bruce, can’t read him? Cass needs to understand. She can’t understand from the Clocktower. And she does have space at the Manor. Bruce is almost never around anyway.

“Being around Bruce when he’s like this is stressful. I can see you two giving each other death glares. If you stay here, things will calm down and then you can talk about it.” There is a twisting feeling in Cass’s stomach. She hates it. Why would Barbara even suggest this?

Cass clenches her fists. “No!” she shouts with her eyes closed. And then, she leaps out the window.

***

The next night, Cass stands in the cave across from Bruce. She had been assigned to patrol on her own yet again and got back to the cave far later than Bruce, but he waited for her. Their uniforms are off, but neither of them has gone upstairs. They both know what happens next.

Cass steps forwards. She can see the anger radiating off Bruce like a neon sign. Yes. Tonight will be the night. “Tell me,” she says.

Bruce’s jaw clenches tighter. “Let’s spar,” he says.

Cass grins.

The two of them walk past the bench and to the training mats. The label of “Cassandra Cain” on the case with her weapons taunts her. Cass turns away. Neither vigilante takes any of the weapons. Instead, they simply face each other and slide into fighting stances as easily as breathing. And then, they begin.

There are two ways to spar in this family. There’s sparring, where you fight to train. Blows light, stopping before they hit. Gentle. Safe. And then there’s this. It started when Cass and Bruce were drugged, and it worked then. It works when they do it now, too. This is called a spar, but it’s really a fight—and a conversation.

Bruce starts this time. When Cass is the only one angry, she moves first. But she’s still trying to get a read on Bruce, so this time, she waits until Bruce’s kick flies towards her face, hard enough to break her nose. Angry. He’s angry. But Cass already knows that, so she needs more.

She ducks the kick. Easy. Cass leaps into the air with a kick of her own, landing on a hand and springing up to send a second kick flying towards Bruce’s face. He blocks with his arm. No pain shows in his body. Before Cass can flip back onto her feet, Bruce’s knee catches her in the back, sending her sprawling on the training mats, the breath knocked out of her.

Cass stands, just barely dodging out of the way of Bruce’s palm strike on her way up. She sees Bruce’s next punch before it even begins, blocking his punch and redirecting its motion. Cass’s counterstrike hits with a dull thud. Bruce reels back, then works his jaw and spits to the side, his saliva tinged with red. First blood.

Cass is angry at Bruce, but it’s a sick, tired sort of anger. Anger that pools like poison in her gut. Not anger that burns like fire. Cass doesn’t like the pain that she reads in Bruce’s body.

But it’s not just pain there. There’s also satisfaction. Bruce is satisfied. Cass doesn’t understand. But it’s something. It’s more than she knew before the fight began.

Cass lunges towards Bruce, exchanging a flurry of blows with him. She blocks his every strike and he blocks hers. They are getting nowhere with this, so Cass throws a roundhouse kick, leaving herself open. Bruce takes the opening. Cass reads his punch as it chambers and dodges it, only for Bruce’s elbow to strike her just below the neck. She stumbles, and then Bruce’s feet slam into her chest, throwing her back.

She needs to recover. Cass is already falling—she can’t stop it. But she spins as she topples over and launches herself forwards, sliding past Bruce. It gives her enough of a delay to get back to her feet. Her chest aches as she stands.

It’s on. Cass’s next move is a nerve strike. If it hit, it would temporarily paralyze Bruce. It doesn’t hit. She curls her hands into fists.

Bruce lands a punch to her cheek, but she repays it with two blows to his jaw and a two-legged acrobatic kick to his chin. Her bare feet hit with a crack! that echoes through the cave. When Cass springs to her feet, Bruce catches her in an armlock. Her bones creak beneath his hands. Cass pauses a moment, lets him think he’s won. Then she twists, reverses the lock, and flips Bruce over her head. The moment he hits the ground, he’s already springing to his feet and catching Cass with a hard blow to her ribs. On Cass’s next punch, he catches her off guard and topples her to the ground at the edge of the training mats. Stupid. Cass wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings, too focused on Bruce. Her skull bounces off the stone floor, sending a wave of pain through her head.

“Fight harder,” Bruce grunts. His body echoes his words. Please, it says. It screams. It needs. Fight harder.

Cass understands now. She understands what Bruce was trying to say. But she still doesn’t know why she is mad.

“Angry,” Cass says as she lands a palm strike to Bruce’s chin that forces him back and allows Cass room to get up. She stands, dizzy. “Scared. You think I’m reckless.” Bruce kicks. Cass dodges. “I am not.”

Bruce tries a spinning kick, but Cass knows early enough to catch him completely off guard. She could land a nerve strike. She could end this fight. Instead, she shoves him away with all her might.

Cass thinks she is beginning to understand. A smile starts to work its way onto her face as she dodges Bruce’s next punch and gives herself fully into the fight. She strikes again. Bruce parries. Blood drips from her nose. Side kick. Punch. Dodge. Duck. Flip kick. Elbow. Blood stains the mats. Careful not to slip.

This is good. This is working.

And then Cass hears the sound of boots slamming on the cave’s stone floor and, before she can react, Bruce is stumbling away. Not from her, but from Dick.

Dick, who is standing there eyes blazing, knuckles white as his hands clench his escrima sticks. He thinks—he thinks he is protecting, Cass realizes. He doesn’t understand.

But before Cass can find the words to explain, Dick shoots forward, twisting around and hitting Bruce in the neck. And then, Bruce is on the ground, hands raised as Dick stands over him.

“Dick,” Bruce says. “Listen, it’s—”

“Stop talking,” Dick orders. He points an escrima at Bruce. “I don’t want to hear you speak.”

Cass needs to explain. But she’s still in fighting mode. Body mode. Motion mode. Not word mode. She doesn’t know how to tell Dick what she and Bruce were trying to do.

“We were sparring,” Bruce tries.

Cass knows immediately that he has made things worse. “Sparring?” Dick spits. “That’s really where you want to go, Bruce?”

“Stop,” Cass tries to say, but the sound doesn’t cross her lips. She breathes heavily, raising one hand to press against her head and dull the pain.

But Dick turns to Cass anyway. “Go upstairs,” he says. “I’ll deal with this.”

Cass shakes her head. How does she say this? How does she explain? There is blood on her face and on Bruce’s. One of her ribs is bruised. She thinks she may have fractured Bruce’s jaw. But she’s beginning to understand, and that’s worth all of this.

Bruce is scared. Bruce thinks she’s putting herself in danger. Bruce wants to keep her safe. That’s why he’s angry. He didn’t know how to say it with his words until they were fighting, until he told Cass to try harder to protect herself. And Cass was so close to understanding her own anger before Dick stopped the fight.

“We were talking,” Cass says. She gestures to herself and Bruce. “Sparring. To understand.”

Dick looks away from Bruce. The anger remains in his body, but his face grows softer when his gaze falls on Cass. “That’s not sparring. If it was sparring, you wouldn’t be bleeding.”

Bruce starts to get up. Dick’s attention switches to him in an instant. He slams a boot into Bruce’s chest. “Stay down.”

“Stop it!” Cass insists. She rushes at Dick, striking his chest hard enough to send him stumbling away from Bruce. Then, she reaches out a hand to Bruce. Bruce takes it. She pulls Bruce to his feet and reaches to wipe away the spot of blood at the corner of his lips. “Him too. Bleeding.” Dick’s grip on his escrima sticks loosens. Just a little, but to Cass, it’s clear as day. “We didn’t…have any words,” Cass says. “So we spar.”

When Dick speaks, he sounds lost. That gets across to Cass more than the words. “Babs thought you would pull something like this, Bruce. She told me to be here. And she was right. I can’t—I can’t believe you’d do this to Cass.”

“She grew up with no human contact,” Bruce says quietly. But there’s confidence in his voice. Good. Bruce listens to Dick, but he can’t listen here. Cass doesn’t want to lose the only way she knows she can talk to Bruce. “Just violence. Fighting is Cassandra’s language. We needed to fight to understand each other. This—” Bruce gestures to the sparring mats. “It was a conversation, Dick. Nothing more.”

“Babs told me you’d say that.” Dick shakes his head violently. “You don’t talk to your daughter by hitting her.” Dick is—scared. Angry. Protective. He thinks Bruce is hurting Cass. That’s wrong. Cass needs to fix this.

And Dick is still talking to Bruce. Not Cass. Even though she is the one he thinks he is protecting.

“Bruce is right,” Cass says, angling her body so she’s between Dick and Bruce. She hates playing mediator. Especially when she’s still angry and doesn’t fully understand why. But she can’t bring herself to hate Dick for forcing her to do this. Because he cares. He’s trying to help her. Cass is Jason and Tim and Duke and Damian’s big sister, but she is Dick’s little sister, and that matters. “It works. You fight to hurt. I fight to understand.” Cass reaches out, turning her back to Bruce, and places a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “This is good.”

“You can’t work out your issues like this. It’s wrong, and—”

“Then how? I don’t have words. Bruce doesn’t have words.” There’s silence between them. Cass can’t let the silence be between their bodies too.

“Well, I have plenty of words,” Dick says. “Words like, ‘Bruce is a bastard’ and ‘What the hell?’ and ‘Are you freaking crazy?’” He directs the last two at Bruce, anger momentarily flaring in his eyes once again.

Hand still on Dick’s shoulder, Cass turns him gently away from Bruce.

“This isn’t right,” Dick says.

“Silence isn’t right,” Cass counters.

She doesn’t think that’s quite the right word, but Dick seems to understand. He finally replaces his escrima sticks on his back and sits down on the bench a few feet away, burying his head in his hands. “You two can’t resolve your arguments by attacking each other,” Dick says.

“Do you have a better idea?” Bruce challenges.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Dick says. “And yes, I do. If you can’t find the words to talk to each other, then you both talk to me. And I’ll help.” But Cass doesn’t have any words at all. “And if you can’t do that, then you—I don’t know, you dance battle or something. Or you just stay angry. But this? This isn’t okay, Bruce. I think you know that.” And Bruce hangs his head. Guilt. He shouldn’t feel guilty. “If this happens again—” Dick swallows. “If—You can’t do this. Do you understand?”

Dick is the one who doesn’t understand, though. He’s taking the way Cass has learned to talk since birth. He’s stealing her voice. Just because he doesn’t like the idea of— Cass doesn’t even know what’s making Dick so upset. “Why?” She asks. There is anger in her, and grief, and frustration. If she were looking at herself, she would see it. But Dick can’t.

Dick looks Cass in the eyes. “Because he’s your father,” Dick says.

And Cass realizes why she was angry. She turns away from Dick, stepping towards Bruce. Then, she throws both hands out and pushes him, hard. Just like she did in the spar. “You push me away,” she says. “I patrol alone. Too much space.”

“I’m trying to—”

“Stop it,” Cass says. Her voice is calm. Her body is not. She thinks Bruce can see that, at least. “Please.”

“Okay,” Bruce whispers.

Cass closes her eyes. The fight is finally over. She leans forward, wrapping her arms around Bruce’s chest and holding him. She will never stop feeling awe at the fact that she is allowed to do this now. Allowed to hold him close.

When Cass pulls back, she points at the weapons case where her not-name sits. “You changed it,” Cass says. “You said you changed my name. Cassandra Wayne.” Cass sees her older brother watching them from his reflection in the cases. He is still angry and scared and hurt. But less, now.

Bruce’s gaze falls on the case. The guilt returns. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Cass doesn’t want him to be sorry. She just wants to hold him again. Not fighting, just arms and warm and safe. “No sorries,” Cass says. “Just fix it. I am Cassandra Wayne.”

“Yes,” Bruce agrees. “You are.”

#CassCainWeek2025 #dc #batman #cassandra cain #dc comics #dcu #batfamily #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #cass cain #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #batman fanfic #batman fanfiction #batfamily fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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havendance · 1 month ago

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Tagged by @acediscowlng and @dustorange!

Tagging: uhhhh, I don't know who has or hasn't been tagged and I am too tired to figure out so if you haven't been tagged yet and you're interested, consider yourself tagged by me!

number of stories posted to ao3: This is the year I got involved in multiple niche archives so counting up everything gets a little more tricky. I posted a total of 26 fics this year! (17 to ao3, 3 exclusive to Superlove, and an extra 6 on CFAA). I also did a lot of prompt events and writing challenges this year so a lot of these works are shorter, only 8 being over 1500 words.

word counted posted for last year: 41,501! Less than last year, but I got into a really good writing grove last year whereas this year I had to worry about graduating and finding a job and actually driving on my commute instead of writing.

fandoms i wrote for: It’s all DC comics baby (except for the short Saga fic I wrote)

pairings: A bit of everything really. I think Helena & Barbara is the combo that stands out. Been thinking more about Helena/Dick as well though I only wrote a little thing for it.

stories with the most kudos, bookmarks and comment threads: Batman for Dummies comes out on top, but since I only posted the epilogue for it in 2024, I’m ignoring it in favor of Help! I was Reborn as Robin’s Father! which makes since as the fic I wrote that’s probably the most accessible to the larger fandom audience.

work i’m most proud of (and why): Hmm I think probably either Delta T or Cassanda Cain: Orpheus Special #1.I’m just really happy with how both of them turned out.

work i’m least proud of (and why): I as a manner of policy, don’t like to talk about my negative feelings towards my fics publicly, but I have to say probably white knight | black knight. This was my first time doing a mini-bang event and I feel like this fic could’ve used about 6 months of time to sit and a second draft but with the pressure of the deadline, I couldn’t give it that. I’m hoping I can look back and appreciate it more later, but for now it’s still got that feel of it in my mind.

share or describe a favorite review you received: I have gotten so many lovely comments this year and you all are wonderful, but I want to give a shout out to Scilly’s comment on Fatherhood for Dummies because you are like the Jack and Dana expert to me so I was so glad that you liked it <3 Also Melo left a wonderful comment on Wild Roses that I treasure.

a time when writing was really, really hard:

white knight | black knight 😔 I just hit a wall there and needed to keep pushing. Figuring out how to write the first scene between Cass and Shiva in Cassandra Cain: Orpheus Special #1 was also tricky but satisfying when I was able to get it done.

a scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Hmm I’m not sure if anything really did. There was a whole Helena & Barbara subplot that sprouted up in Delta T but I don’t think that was really a surprise lol.

a favourite excerpt of your writing:

how did you grow as a writer last year:

I tried a lot of new things last year, a chunk of which has not actually seen the light of day, but whatever. I signed up for a lot more things and wrote a lot of little stuff.

how do you hope to grow this year:

Hmmm, I think I’d like to work more on tackling my multi-chapter fic ideas. So far I’ve been able to do it with ideas that have a limited number of chapters, but I have ones that feel less structured that I keep foundering on and I want to get them on page! (See: the spyral fic, the knightfall fic I still think about sometimes, I have a War Games idea that probably won’t come to anything, Black Queen)

who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer, beta, cheerleader, etc.):

I would like to give shout outs to Zahri for always leaving lovely comments, Mika for my Cass week stuff, and Scilly whose posts have given me several ideas to poke away at <3

anything from your real life show up in your writing last year:

I actually don’t think so. Though I did write that one self-insert…

any projects you’re looking to starting (or finishing) this year:

I sort of touched on this already but I really want to get back to the Robins don’t make great roomates universe this year! I’ve got a few different wips I want to get finished up and some ideas I’d love to get to (Nightwing: Year One, that Spyral fic) but I’ll have to see where things take me!

#havendance writes #carthago delenda est

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harpersdragons · 6 months ago

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Doomed by the Narrative

Jason messed up on a mission, and like his usual dramatic self, blows it a little out of proportion and panics.

AKA 2800 words of Jason spiraling

TW: panic attack, dissociation, mild suicidal thoughts? (There’s a bit where he thinks he’s better off dead)

If there’s something else let me know

Fic below the cut, and here’s the link on ao3:

The wind sweeps through Jason’s hair, his helmet behind him on the roof. Gotham has an over abundance of gargoyles, some which are still stable enough to hold his weight. The ledge he’s in is small—more suited to teenaged him, but this was his favorite roof.

It’s tall, positioned where you can see most of the city.

He breathes deeply, head braced against the gargoyle behind him—looking at where stars /should/ be—arms resting on his knees.

He’d fucked up tonight.

He’d fucked up massively.

Dick almost died because of him.

/Damian/ almost died because of him

/Tick

Tick

The sound echoes in Jason’s head, his bones, his very being.

Why tonight, why this mission?

He should move, do something. Maybe warn the others?

He’s supposed to be clearing the warehouse with Dick and Damian, he should warn them, get them out. But he can’t move, he’s frozen, his mouth won’t form the warning.

Tick

Something slams into him, right before heat sears through him.

Dick’s groaning on top of him, taking most of the heat of the fire.

How did he let this happen?

He’ll never be allowed back now.

The bomb was far enough away to not kill them, but it still sucked ass.

He drags Dick up, tosses him at Bruce, and runs./

He can’t help but draw similarities to his favorite tragedies.

Running away, never looking back like Orpheus saving his wife.

There’s more, Jason’s mind is racing between the self deprecating thoughts and the analogies.

But the height of his perch, the way the gentle breeze brushes through his hair, brings him out of his spiral briefly. He can almost pretend it’s Bruce, running his fingers through Jason’s hair, soothing him after a nightmare.

That’s his Achilles Heel, his weakness: the way he craves the comfort of a family he drove away.

Gotham’s air could never be considered fresh, too smoggy, too polluted, but it’s home.

It’s /his/ home.

His home, which he may have to say goodbye to.

Everything he’s been working towards with the Bats, gone.

Gone in a single instant.

All because Jason froze.

It was a damn warehouse, they were locked in, and there was the ticking of a bomb.

A sick parody of his death.

Except

This time he wasn’t alone.

There’s no way they’ll invite him back now.

He’d tried.

He’d tried /so hard/

And it wasn’t enough.

Bruce doesn’t want him, won’t want him, /can’t/ want him.

He’s a danger, why would any father want him around their kids? Even his own father shouldn’t want that..

Jason can’t even keep his head in the field. All the work he’s done to reclaim his trauma, to prove he’s /better/ than that, failed.

Looks like he’s a long way from Prometheus, he’s never been able to reclaim his fire.

He’s still fucked up, still useless.

All it took was a ticking noise and a warehouse.

The circumstances were vastly different.

There were no chains, no joker, no /crowbar/—barring the one strapped to his back, now laying next to his helmet. Hell, he even had company! He wasn’t facing it alone, and yet he still froze.

Boots thump against the ground—clearly intentional, it’s the Bat after all—accompanied by the quiet swish of a long cape.

Of course, there are other bats with capes: Red Robin and Robin, Spoiler and Black Bat, pretty much everyone but him and Dick.

But with the weight behind the drop, and the fact that Batman’s cape has a distinctive sound—if you know what to listen for—all leads to it being the big Bat.

Exactly the person who’s arrival he was dreading.

He knew it was inevitable. Hell, he wasn’t even hiding, or running. He just wished it wasn’t the case. He’d wondered if Bruce would give him a day or two, wanting to be with his real children, to reassure himself they survived despite Jason’s fuck-up.

“Hood.” Bruce growls. His voice is low and dark, only spelling out the anger hiding beneath.

“I know. I fucked up, it was dangerous and reckless and I endangered everyone. If I say I’m sorry,” he’s not really, is he? Can you be sorry if it’s something you can’t control? “Will you spare me the lecture?”

He knows the lecture is coming, almost nothing is a big enough excuse to get out of the lectures. He may be resigned to it, but he’d like to at least pretend he’s not used to it.

It’s all he gets now.

/“Jason, you’re being reckless”

“You’re dangerous”

“You lack control”/

And on and on and on

He’s /sick/ of it. Yet he can’t yell, or fight, and god knows he can’t /leave/.

He can’t force himself to give this up, he can’t leave his family. Even if they don’t want him. Even if he’ll never be a true member again.

But was he ever?

He was never truly accepted. Not by Dick, not by society. Who knows if Bruce actually wanted him there or was pitying him.

He’s just the /poor, starving street rat.

“Are you ok?” Bruce’s low voice shocks him out of his thoughts again.

“I…am uninjured.”

Is he ok?

He’s not totally present, he wouldn’t know.

Or rather, he’s /too present/, and yet disconnected from his feelings.

His mind’s spinning, it’s racing and it won’t stop.

But there’s no emotion tied to the thoughts.

How can there be?

He’s been waiting for this moment since he started reintegrating back into the family. The moment where they kick him to the curb, tell him he’s not worth it and he never was.

He could still leave, he has his grapple. He could jump off, run away /again/.

He could stand and fight. Turn around, close the distance, and scream at Bruce until he’s hoarse, or it escalates to something physical.

His heart stutters at the thought.

He may love fighting, he relishes in seeing that vein pop out in Bruce’s forehead, the way his lips purse in displeasure, but he can’t do it tonight.

He can’t—

“—ood!” Apparently Bruce has been talking for a while. Interesting. “Jason!” That really startles Jason. Bruce has rarely ever broken his “no names in the field rule”.

Whatever it is must be important.

“Jaylad, I need you to answer me, son, I need you to breathe.”

Wait. That was him, wasn’t it? Bruce was calling to him? He was calling him son, breaking one of his most important rules, for /Jason/?

He turns his head, making eye contact with Bruce. He must’ve retracted the white lenses at some point.

“There you are lad,” Bruce’s voice is soft, he must’ve turned the voice modulator off at some point. “Can you come over here? I can’t get to you on that ledge.”

Bruce is crouching on the edge of the roof, arm outstretched to him.

“You with me, bud? I just need you to grab my hand.”

Jason can do that, right? That seems easy.

Bruce isn’t asking a lot.

Seems hard though. His limbs aren’t obeying him, he can’t raise his arm, can’t force himself to stand up.

He manages to shake his head ever so slightly, eyes pleading with Bruce to understand, to get what he’s saying without having to say anything.

“No? No what, Jay? Can’t move?”

Jason nods at that, trying again to force his arm to work.

“Ok, ok we can sit here a bit longer. How about you try taking some deep breaths for me? I’ll lead, just try and follow.”

Jason acknowledges Bruce the best he can, and his father starts the familiar breathing sequence.

Jason begins to feel his body again, he didn’t even realize when he stopped.

On his last exhale, he’s able to shift, bracing his hands against his knees and pushing up.

“There we go, chum. Take it slow, alright?”

Jason stands, keeping a hand braced on the gargoyle. For the first time in a very long time, his vision swims when he takes in the height.

“D’d?” His tongue feels heavy, mouth not quite cooperating enough to form all the sounds.

There’s a sharp inhale from the figure across from him. The swirling black against the—mostly—gray sky.

“I’m here, Jaylad, I’m here. You can do it, just come to me.”

His limbs are still sluggish, but he can do it, right? It’s just 2 steps. Two steps and he’ll be near Bruce, he’ll be with his dad.

But…

Does his father really want him there?

His thoughts keep coming back to that.

The endless circle of self doubt.

Everything about this situation points to Bruce caring about him. Wanting him back.

But does he actually?

Is this a ploy?

“Deep breaths, Jay, you can do it, I believe in you.”

Oh, his breathing sped up again, didn’t it?

Jason just needs to get to Bruce, take the two steps off the ledge and back into the roof.

He starts forward, breathing fast, heart pounding in his chest.

One step,

Just one more,

He stumbles and—

He falls.

Distantly, he can hear Bruce yell, see the black shape dive after him.

They say Icarus laughed as he fell.

Overcome with joy, with freedom, he laughed.

Jason…didn’t quite laugh, but how else can he explain the sense of calm, of peace settling over him.

This was always his favorite part of flying through Gotham, this falling.

The swoop of his stomach before he shot the grapple line.

He knows he should be grabbing the grapple, it should be instinctual.

It always has been. Until now.

What if this is how it’s meant to be?

Surely his family is better without him.

They made it through his death once, surely they could do it again.

He’s always been a Greek tragedy, doomed by the narrative, right there with Achilles, Patroclus, and all the other Greek heroes of old.

At least they were worth something, they were /good/ (mostly).

A force slams into him, knocking out whatever air was left in his lungs.

Bruce had caught him, Bruce knew what to do.

He was twisting them in the air, firing the grapple line in the same move.

The line pulls taut, yanking them upwards /hard/. He hears Bruce grunt at the impact on his shoulder.

It still wasn’t enough, they slam into the ground, with just enough momentum taken out if it so that the fall doesn’t seriously injure them.

Bruce takes the brunt of it, covering Jason with his body, his free arm covering Jason’s head.

Bruce groans, body twisting under Jason.

This is Jason’s fault.

Bruce is hurting because of him.

First Dick and Damian, now Bruce. Jason hurts everything and everyone around him.

He needs to leave. /Now/.

He shoves himself up, forcing heavy limbs to work, and stumbles off of Bruce.

He can hear the alarmed shout and Bruce scrambling to get up, but he doesn’t stop.

He /can’t/ stop.

He doesn’t make it far, his legs give out and he collapses back to the pavement. He can’t help the way he curls up, trying to force himself back to his feet and ultimately failing.

Heavy arms encircle him, propping him upright against a broad chest.

Bruce’s fingers find his hair, stroking through it soothingly. Jason’s muscles are tense, he sits rigidly in Bruce’s arms.

It shouldn’t be comfortable, and yet it is. It’s the most comfortable Jason’s felt in a /long/ time.

“I got you, you’re safe now. Everything we’ll be ok, we’re going to go home.”

Home.

Does he have a home? It sounds nice. He finds himself relaxing, slowly intending his muscles, breathing finally evening out.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jason is bundled into the Batmobile. Bruce never lets him go, setting the autopilot and then holding him tight the whole way back.

He’s starting to come back to himself when they pull into the cave. He can’t bring himself to worry about what that means, what his punishment will be for screwing the mission up and almost costing Dick and Damian’s lives.

Aforementioned brothers are pacing the cave when Bruce pulls him out of the car. Well, Damian is pacing and it looks like Dick is following him and trying to herd him upstairs.

“—just wait upstairs! B will bring Jason up eventually!”

Damian is ignoring Dick, and is the first to notice their arrival. The kid has one arm in a sling, and a couple visible cuts and bruises, but otherwise appears fine.

Dick is outwardly limping, his posture slumped as if compensating for broken ribs.

Jason can’t see the burns, but he knows they’re there. Because of him.

“You /both/ should be resting upstairs. It’s been a tough night.” Bruce cuts in from his position next to Jason. He’d been guiding Jason towards the med bay, keeping him close.

“C’mon, B, did you really think we’d listen? The only reason the others aren’t down here is because Alfred put his foot down.”

Bruce settles Jason on the cot, and Jason slumps forward to rest his head on Bruce’s chest. Now that the adrenaline has bled out of him, he’s just /tired/.

“Hey, Jaylad, just a little longer, ok? I need to get your armor off.” Jason grumbles his assent, but makes no move to help. Bruce finds the latches on his chest piece, jacket ditched a while ago—maybe in the car? Jason’s not quite sure—and slips it off. It’s followed by his guns, which are unloaded and put safely into his locker.

Bruce feels along his ribs and chest, asking Jason to take a couple breaths as he does so.

Jason follows all the orders mindlessly, anything to get him closer to sleeping.

Eventually, Bruce finishes his check up and hesitates, “I need to go change, lad, will you be alright here?”

“Mmph.”

There’s a sigh from above him, and Bruce’s fingers return to his hair.

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

Hands—Damian’s one good hand, both of Dick’s, he guesses—and towards the wall. He’s dimly aware of Bruce stepping away, and one of them helps him change out of his uniform pants and into sweats, leaving. When that’s done, Damian and Dick slip into place on the table next to him, holding him tight.

“Akhi?”

Jason hums his acknowledgment, but can’t bring himself to actually speak. He knows he should be embarrassed at showing this much weakness to his baby brother, but he can’t help it. He’s barely in control of his body, and he feels like Atlas, weighed down by an impossible burden.

Or maybe Sisyphus is the better analogy.

He’s been working nonstop to redeem himself, prove himself worthy, until his body gave out, like Sisyphus pushing the rock uphill for eternity, always a battle, a struggle, he can never win.

But maybe it’ll be different for Jason? Maybe this can change. Maybe he can accept help, maybe his family /does/ want him.

Dick’s fingers slide through his hair, Damian’s hand is at his back, rubbing soothing circles. One of them is humming, and he doesn’t know which.

Eventually—Jason’s unsure how much time has passed—Bruce shows back up in front of them, dressed in loose sweatpants and a soft t-shirt.

“Come on, Akhi, come with us.” Damian’s voice is soft and coaxing, he and Dick guide Jason off the table and towards the elevator. Bruce is close at their backs, and Jason leans heavily on Dick.

Jason is only dimly aware of being led through the manor, pausing briefly at the heavy oak door leading to Bruce’s room.

The rest of his siblings are all there, Tim, Steph, Cass, all curled up in the bed. Cass sits up and blinks owlishly, tilting her head as she takes in Jason’s body language. He fidgets under the scrutiny, and Damian still tugs him forward.

Cass’ face softens at whatever she sees, and reaches out her hand. He takes it, and they all climb in the bed.

After some maneuvering, and careful jostling of Tim and Steph, Jason is situated in the middle of the pile, with Bruce at his back holding him securely. Damian fits himself between Jason and Tim, and Dick between Damian and Tim.

This is even better than being held earlier, now there’s no hard armor digging into him.

He can hear soft murmuring, but surely it’s not important. Not when he’s so tired, and wholly safe for the first time in years.

Nothing is quite fixed, yet it feels like it might be able to be fixed.

Whatever happens later, right now Jason is safe.

Without anything else stopping him, Jason finally lets Morpheus pull him under, dropping into the comforting darkness.

#batman #jason todd #bruce wayne #batfam #my fics #Jason is a drama queen #he just wants to be loved #and accepted by his family

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little-annie · 1 year ago

Text

Tape N⁰1

---

Steddie | 4.6k 🔞

Read on ao3 ⤵️

---

Okay, so maybe Steve Harrington was a little, just a touch, Bi- Curious.

A term he'd learnt from Robin when he'd mentioned his curious thoughts from his teen years-

Everyone feels this way, right? Like, guys dream about other guys but also girls, so that's not gay, right? And it's totally normal to feel my heartbeat pick up when a man gets naked on TV, right? Everyone feels that way about Johnny Depp, he's a good looking guy.

-and she explained to him, quite simply, "Steve, honey, that's kinda gay." To which he responded with a simple "Huh," and then was instructed to maybe watch a gay porn and see how it makes him feel. He supposed it was the safest option anyway. Going out to a bar and picking up a guy could go wrong in more ways than one. He liked his face, thought it was quite pretty actually and didn't want to have it rearranged along with his brain for yet another time. At least with watching a tape, he was safe and not using another person for his self exploration. Well, like with porn that's what the actors expected and consented to upon filming. Right? So what's the harm?

—

Their morning was the usual, Steve waking up at the ass crack of dawn to go out for a run, getting home just in time to witness Eddie shuffling from the kitchen to the living room, settling onto the couch with his feet tucked beneath him, holding a large mug that contained probably a pound of sugar and a few dozen ounces of coffee. His hair was ungodly, smashed flat on one side and frizzy to all hell on the other. Always ringless and clad in simple grey sweatpants or sometimes just his boxers. The sight alone made Steve's stomach flutter, let alone the fact that he was the only person on the planet that got to witness Eddie in this form.

Sleepy and a touch grumpy because "Jesus H. Christ, Steve, close the damn blinds, it's too early for sunshine,” Eddie was never a morning person or for as long as Steve knew him anyway. The young metalhead getting out of bed and wanting pure silence and dim lighting to slowly ease him into the land of the living, plus needing a terrifying amount of caffeine and sugar to consider him a functional human being, maybe some people would think he was a dick in the morning but if Steve was honest with himself, he kinda loved it.

On the mornings where Eddie didn't come shuffling out of his room like a grumpy gremlin, maybe because he had a nightmare and couldn't sleep and didn't want to wake Steve up for the third time that week to climb into his bed for moral support, Steve would brew him a cup of coffee, make his favourite for breakfast (chocolate chip pancakes) and knock gently on his door, to say a quiet good morning and set the tray of goodies on the floor in front of Eddie's door for when he got up.

But this morning, the pair had some time for each other, a rare occurrence for their mornings. Steve's classes didn't start until 1pm and Eddie was up before he'd left. Steve drew the blinds closed, allowing only a gentle flow of sunshine to enter the room and sat on the opposite end of the couch before taking a chance to talk to Eddie before 9am.

Gently nudging the other man's thigh with his socked foot, Steve gained Eddie's attention, though his expression with something combined of a scowl and smile, like he was trying to keep up his grumpy morning routine but didn't entirely hate Steve.

"You sleep alright last night?"

The doe eyed man simply shook his head before he took a long sigh, slouching deeper into the couch and spoke, voice still gravely from sleep or more likely the lack of, "No, but I have to mail a few packages and actually have shit to do today, so here I am, amongst the living far too early for a man who only just fell asleep at 4am."

That wasn't totally out of the ordinary, Eddie was a bit of a night owl, but he looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and complexion somehow whiter than usual. "Nightmares?" Steve asked, knowing the answer was more likely than not a yes.

Eddie hummed an affirmative, taking another sip of his coffee and scowling out the window when he heard a car alarm outside begin to go off

"You know, if it still helps, you're always more than welcome to wake me up or join me. I don't mind. I'd rather lose a few minutes myself while you climb into bed versus you losing several hours." If anything, it made Steve's nights easier too, he still had nightmares but after years of coping with them on his own, he had a system down. Wake up, have a shower, maybe go for a walk and just start his day from there, as long as it was after 4 am anyway. But with Eddie by his side, he felt safe, hardly had nightmares when the man was in his bed and conscious of it or not, Eddie always seemed to know when they did occur. Rolling over in bed to pull Steve against his chest or carding his fingers through his hair.

But last time that happened, they woke up nothing short of tangled together, morning wood ever present and Eddie quite literally springing from bed upon the realisation. At first Steve was hurt, but like he kinda gets it now, he knows Eddie's gay, the guy probably felt guilty or something of that sort upon realising their predicament. But it's not like he knew Steve was (probably/ realising he was at the time) Bi-Sexual and honestly was kinda into the metalhead. Hell, if Steve woke up hard and cuddled into a friend he thought was straight, his reaction would probably be the same.

"Eddie I mean it,-" Steve persisted after receiving a noncommittal nod as an answer, "-if you're worried about last time,-" Eddie's gaze shifted to meet his once again, amber eyes hooded by dark thick lashes, a subtle blush creeping up the young man's cheeks, "- don't be, I didn't mind."

"You didn't mind," Eddie quietly scoffs, "-you didn't mind your raging homosexual of a roommate getting a stiffy in your bed? Ha, sure Harrington. Let alone it digging into your thigh?" He scoffs again, averting his eyes back to a random stain on the carpet in front of him, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks behind his coffee mug.

Shrugging, feigning confidence and totally not freaking out over his minor confession, Steve remains persistent, "Didn't mind it."

It was then that he watched Eddie's nose crinkle and brow furrow, an indecipherable look on his face that only grew more puzzling to understand as his eyes shifted back to meet Steve's. Almost like he was searching for something but wasn't quite sure what.

They remained silent for a few minutes, the ambient sound of the city bleeding through their brick walls and into their bones, the sound of coffee being sipped and shallow almost anxious breathing.

Then it occurred to Steve, if Eddie was going to be out this morning maybe he'd finally have time to watch one of those tapes Robin suggested. "Hey, um, wh- when are you gonna be back?"

Eddie hummed in question, taking a sip of his coffee, refusing to look at the man next to him.

"When will you be back? I uh, I could try to have lunch ready for you before I leave for class." Not that he wasn't asking an honest question, he was, he'd probably pop a frozen lasagna in the oven to be ready for when Eddie got home, but he also wanted to know how much time he had to himself for his 'research' while Eddie was out.

"Eleven, maybe." Eddie quietly spoke into his mug, downing the rest of his coffee, getting up and quietly padding back to the kitchen.

Before Eddie could disappear back into his room, Steve spoke up glancing at the stack of boxes piled by their front door, "Okay, well, I'll have something ready for lunch before I leave then. Hey, uh, you need some help getting those boxes down to your van?”

Eddie worked his jaw, seeming to consider the offer before drawing in a silent breath and waving Steve off with a flick of the wrist, "Don't you worry your pretty little head Harrington, I got it."

—

Twenty minutes later Eddie was making his way out the door, boxes in hand as he smiled and wished Steve a good rest of his morning.

And okay, so maybe the indication of how excited Steve was to watch those tapes should have been proof enough.

Perched by the window his heart hammered in his chest as he waited to watch Eddie drive off in his van. No more than seconds later did Steve find himself scrambling to his room, digging out the tape from under his bed and popping it into the VCR in the living room.

Much too eager to even take the extra few steps to the couch, Steve plopped down feet from the TV and sat crisscrossed, waiting for the tape to roll.

Whoever had the tape before (which ew, now that Steve thought about that, hopefully the guy washed his hands) neglected to rewind the tape and apparently so did the video store. Without much warning the deep growl of moans began to pour from the TV in front of him and a blur of bare, tanned, hairy skin danced across the TV. It took a moment for Steve to process what was actually happening, but at least he wasn't appalled so that meant something he guessed and the sound of a man's deep groan made his briefs tighten, but immediately he knew this specific tape wasn't for him. He supposed he didn't find the men attractive, they were good looking, sure, but cookie cutter and lacking anything that he'd consider to be unique, alluring. No tattoos, pricing, scarring. Nothing that set them apart from the rest he supposed.

With less reservation then he probably should have had, Steve popped the tape out and without a thought pushed to look back in his and Eddie's tape collection. Behind the mix of horror, action and rom-coms, Steve found Eddie's not so secret, secret stash of porn tapes.

Was this over stepping some boundary ... maybe… but Eddie was a gay man, supposedly one with taste so it couldn't hurt to look. Out of the handful of tapes, they were surprisingly similar to the one Steve just ejected. Tanned, muscular, hairy men, some in gym shorts or cropped sports jerseys, but there was one, unmarked black case and a sticky tab on the tape that read "N⁰. 1" . It was weird but weird had to mean something other than cookie cutter right?

So Steve popped the tape in.

Sitting on the floor in front of the TV, Steve watched as the static turned to a dark, poorly lit bedroom, the only light being that of a lamp covered with a hanky. The low droll of metal music played in the background, audible enough to drown out the steps of the man walking into the frame. He was hardly visible, the dark glow of the room set a beautiful cast of shadows over his toned back and mess of long dark curls.

Already Steve was intrigued, this tape had a set of mystery, darkness and need. He felt his heart hammer in his chest sending the blood rushing south and he hadn't even seen anything other than this man's backside. But what he had seen was breathtaking.

Yeah this would do.

Before he missed anything too important Steve checked the clock, he still had over an hour until Eddie got home. With more haste than necessary, he ran to his bedroom, retrieving a box of tissues and a bottle of lube. By the time he settled back on the floor in front of the TV, the man on the screen was laying on a bed, leaning back on his elbow as his one hand lazily stroked his generous length. Steve wished he could see the guy's face, wanted to watch his eyes and the twist of his lips as he let subtle gasps escape into the air, but the man's identity was hidden in the shadows. His lower abdomen to toes only visible in the frame.

Fucking good enough though.

Soon enough Steve mirrored the man's position, leaning back on an elbow, sweatpants wrangled just low enough to expose himself, heavily lubed hand matching the steady pace in front of him. Breathy gasps began to climb their way up his chest while he continued to take in the body before him. A slender toned frame and subtle muscles flexing with every twist of a wrist.

'Fuckin’… Christ …' followed by louder gasps and shaky breaths, the voice on the screen groaned, its owner's pace quickening once again, the bed beginning to gently shake under his haste.

The man's voice alone nearly sent Steve over the edge, for some reason it sounded so familiar but good god did it do something to him. "Oh fuck," Steve gasped, digging his nails into the carpet below him, toes curling and ecstacy boiling in his veins. He was so close. Moving quickly Steve pulled his shirt up his chest, exposing a blank canvas ready to be painted. Biting his lip, until nearly painful, he moaned along with the man on the screen, hardly being able to keep his eyes open from pleasure alone.

He wanted to watch the other man come goddammit, he wasn't going to finish until he did. Thankfully he didn't need to wait much longer, staggered movements and a deep rattling groan later Steve joined the man in toppling over the edge. The sound alone made his bones ache for more.

Chest and stomach painted white, air hot and breaths staggered, Steve took a minute to collect himself. Listening to the man on the screen pant, barely catching the smattering across his lower abdomen, Steve wanted to crawl through the TV screen and lick the dark haired beauty clean. Though apparently he was capable of that himself, moving into the light enough to expose a dim shadow of his lower face the man lifted his hand to his mouth, licking off any and all traces of his own release with a deep groan of satisfaction.

"Holy fuck," Steve gasped, out of breath and taking more effort than he deemed typically necessary to lean forward and stop the tape to rewind it. As the VHS spun back to its beginning, Steve took his time lazily cleaning his chest and stomach, come getting stuck in his copious amounts of body hair as he went. He'd have to shower before he went to class for sure.

With a groan and shaky knees Steve got off the floor, tucking himself back into his sweats when he remembered he'd promised Eddie lunch. "Fuckin' Munson," he huffed to himself, knowing for a fact if he didn’t feed Eddie the man would forget to himself. Making his way to the bathroom to wash his hands and start a shower, Steve soon found his way back to the kitchen, popping the frozen lasagna into the oven and heading back into the living room to clean up the disaster he left behind.

Shoving the tapes back in their designated spots, porn in the back, rom-coms in the front, it eventually looked as if Steve was never there. Minus the image burned into his brain of his dick in hand and another man's body on TV.

Carrying on like normal, almost an hour later Steve found himself in the shower thinking of the man again. Long dark hair, lean and toned figure, a raspy groan that'll forever be ringing in his ears and how badly he'd wished he could have seen his face and feel his skin beneath his fingertips. Maybe the guy had more tapes. Oof, imagine that. Would it be weird to ask Eddie if he had any more of this guy?

Probably.

After painting the walls of the shower white and gasping so aggressively his throat was sore, Steve wrapped a towel around his waist, the fabric irritating his overly spent cock and padded back into the main living area.

Perched on a bar stool at the kitchen island he couldn't help but chuckle to himself knowing he'd have to give Robin an update on his research findings. That'd make for an interesting conversation. But before he could even begin to dwell on the topic the buzzer to the oven sounded signalling the Lasagna was ready.

Hair damp and still only in a towel, Steve made his way to the stove where he pulled on a pair of oven mitts and opened the oven door to feel the rush of heat wash over him. Typically soothing, the warmth was a bit much after his recent activities so with a huff of lingering exhaustion Steve removed the lasagna. And because his mind was too preoccupied with 'Holy Shit, I'm 100% Bi-Sexual & Jesus I just watched Eddie's porn,' he didn't quite hear the door to the apartment open but he sure heard as Eddie's loud, sing songy voice bellowed, "Honey, I'm-"

Though he heard it, it scared the shit out of him too, causing him to jump and brush the metal pan against his gut. Searing his skin he tossed the pan on the stove top with a yelp, "Ah! FUCK!"

The motion of the jump in pain also caused his towel to hit the floor.

"Steve you alright?" Eddie called from the entryway where he was probably toeing off his shoes, voice bleeding concern before he rushed to the kitchen.

Buttass naked and cursing under his breath at the pain blooming on his stomach, Steve tried to gather his bearings before Eddie entered the room, "Don't come in here, give me a sec."

But of course it was too late, Steve was bent over grabbing his towel, ass facing out of the kitchen, pointing directly to Eddie who was rounding the corner and stifled a rather obvious giggle at the sight before him.

"Fuck man," Steve huffed in embarrassment, standing upright wrapping his towel securely around his waist, wincing when the fabric brushed his fresh burn.

Cheeks growing redder by the second, it took Eddie a moment to meet Steve's eye but when he did, he couldn't help but appear concerned, "You okay there, Big Boy?"

Steve deadpanned, moving to the sink to get a cool cloth to soothe his burn, "Please do not call me Big Boy after you just saw me naked"

"All I saw was your ass! Nothing else, I swear!"

"Uh-Huh," Steve laughed to himself, wincing once again as the miniscule movement of his skin pulled at his new brand.

The room silent for all of two seconds, Eddie took the time to glance over Steve's nearly nude form while he searched for the source of the younger's outcry, only noticing the blooming red mark above Steve's towel as the man moved to drench a rag in the running water.

"Oh, you burnt yourself," Eddie's voice was concerned, caring, almost soothing in itself. With careful steps he approached Steve who was now leaning against the sink, cool cloth pressed to his scorched skin. Eddie was close, his breath would have ghosted Steve's skin if he stepped any closer, the atmosphere suddenly felt so intimate, the wooden floorboards creaking under his feet with every motion. Eddie's hand hovered mere inches from Steve's that held the cloth, "Let me take a look?" He asked, looking up at Steve through thick eye lashes.

Butterflies swarming in his gut, Steve nodded, eyes never once leaving Eddie's face while he pulled the cool cloth back to reveal his burn. He watched as Eddie's lips turned down and he quietly spoke, "Oh Stevie," the man's eyes remained on the brand as he gently squeezed Steve's wrist and continued, "wait right here, I think I have some burn cream in my room."

What Eddie had burn cream for, Steve didn't entirely know, but he didn't question it, the man was a walking hazard so he supposed it made sense to have precautionary supplies. Before he could ponder the thought much longer Eddie had returned with a small tube in hand.

He was back in Steve's space once again, but now his eyes were focused on Steve's, watery from the pain and pupils still blown wide from his post release bliss. Eddie pursed his lips into a flat line, waving the tube of burn cream between them before he quietly spoke, a nervous tinge to his voice and a blush to his cheeks, "You, uh, you want to do this or you want me to?"

Really Steve should have thought about it more, he was still only wrapped in a towel, dick and balls, a gentle breeze from being revealed or truthfully jolted back to life in what would be an even more embarrassing turn of events, but he didn't think about it much more than that. The want to have Eddie take care of him, forcing the word from his lips before he could second guess himself.

"You," he quietly breathed, knowing his cheeks probably matched the colour of the burn on his tummy.

Eddie swallowed, eyes searching Steve's, working his jaw for a beat before he confirmed, "Yeah?"

Steve nodded, the feeling of butterflies in his gut feeling comparable to a tornado.

"Okay," Eddie gave a single tight nod, eyes focusing on the sink while he waved Steve off to the side, "scooch over then Sugar, I need to wash my hands first."

The nicknames weren't anything new, but they still made the blood in Steve's cheeks churn, he loved them, probably more than he should honestly. But he listened, stepping off to the side while Eddie scrubbed his hands clean, tube of burn cream pinched between his front teeth.

And then he turned towards Steve, cheeks red while he gave him a nervous smile and softly spoken, "Let me know if it hurts too much, ‘kay?"

Steve nodded and tried his damndest to suppress the shiver that racked his body as Eddie stepped back into his space, placing one hand on his bare hip, cool rings a welcome contrast to his flushing skin while he steadied Steve. With soft, gentle movements, Eddie brushed the cream over Steve's burn, if it didn't hurt so much he'd probably be suppressing a moan as opposed to a wince.

Eddie bent closer to the abrasion, checking it over, dull breath barely ghosting over Steve's abs, "You're staying home today okay? I want to keep an eye on that."

And if Eddie was being selfish, wanting to take care of Steve for a day, that was his own secret to keep.

Standing up, Eddie turned to wash his hands in the sink, looking over his shoulder to talk to Steve, "Go put on some sweats, no shirt, we don't want fabric clinging to that and I'll pop in a movie for us."

Steve knew there was no point in arguing but if he remembered right, Eddie had shit to do and he voiced that concern, to which the metalhead responded, "Don't worry your pretty little head. I got my stuff mailed, everything else can wait. Now go get changed, I'll meet you back in the living room."

So that's what Steve did, changed into a pair of sweats he wasn't entirely sure were his or Eddie's, passed on a shirt and settled onto the couch to wait for his roommate. A few minutes later the older man returned in comfy clothes himself, a beer in each pocket, weighing his sweat pants down to a dangerous depth, dark hair peeking out from between the cropped band shirt and hemline of Eddie pants. He deposited two plates and beer onto the coffee table then proceeded to move towards the TV, evidently plopping down where Steve jacked off an hour ago. He picked through the movies until he settled on some Rom-Com.

He turned back to Steve with a smile, "I know, not quite my jam, but you're injured so I guess I'll concede."

Eddie joined Steve on the couch where they cracked a beer and watched the movie in silence until the lasagna had cooled enough to the point where they could actually eat, to which Steve groaned and teased Eddie about his odd choice of topping his own lasagna with Ranch, like a psychopath.

They continued to playfully banter back and forth for the remainder of the movie, Steve nudging Eddie with a socked foot anytime he said something dumb (read: something that made the butterflies in Steve's stomach worse.)

And that's how they spent their day, watching movies, teasing one another and eventually doing the dishes and laundry together. Several movies and a few loads of laundry in, they found themselves perched on the fire escape, night sky hanging above them, backs against the warm brick wall and asses aching from the metal grate beneath them. Shoulders and thighs pressed against one another they smoked in silence, taking in the sounds of the city around them.

"Today was nice," Steve softly spoke, shuffling to sleepily lean his head on Eddie's shoulder, wincing as his burn rubbed against the fabric of his sweatpants in the confined position.

Eddie stilled for a moment, breath hitching while Steve sunk deeper into his position. Eventually taking a shaky breath, he settled and replied, "Aside from burning yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah it was hey?" Eddie's hand found its way to Steve's hair where he gently carded through Steve's once famous locks, "Wish we could do this more often."

Leaning into the touch and ever so slowly melting from the sensation alone, Steve quietly asked, "Why don't we?"

Eddie shrugged, jostling all of the parts of Steve that rested against him until he came up with an answer, "Guess we're both just so busy."

"Well let's not be so busy." Steve yawned before drifting into a momentary slumber, nuzzling deeper into Eddie's shoulder as the city around them soon joined.

—

Later that night Eddie helped to wash Steve's burn and reapply the burn cream, adding a bandage to it for the night to shield it from the blankets that could potentially rub against it and cause irritation. With burning cheeks and a whirlwind of butterflies in their tummies both men found their ways to their own bedrooms, settling in for the evening, reminiscing the last several hours they'd spent with one another. They couldn't remember the last time they'd had a day like that, if they'd even had. But they both knew it was nice, something they could get used to, something they wanted more than just in a blue moon.

That night Steve dreamt of calloused hands brushing over his skin and the moans of a man he'd only heard on the TV.

While Eddie, the night owl, stayed up until the early hours of the morning, withering in his bed under the dark glow of a hanky covered lamp, hand clasped over his mouth to silence his sounds. Simultaneously completing his 'work' for the day and adding to his (and now Steve's) not so secret porn stash beneath the living room TV.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #steddie #steddie fandom #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie smut #pre relationship #gay eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #steddie post vecna

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delopsia-archive · 1 year ago

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Robert "Bob" Floyd Masterlist

Ask Archive

Fics

Better ₊ ˚ ✧ It's cruel how easily you fit together. You have a sea of options out there, and yet only Bob Floyd's lips fit against yours so flawlessly. Only your backseater smells of suede and jasmine because he can't stay out of that Polo Blue cologne to save his life. The hand that curls around your cheek feels as if it belongs there. This is how things always should have been. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Cinnamon, Coffee & Vanilla ₊ ˚ ✧ You’d figured you would be able to smell him by now. Truly deduce whether or not he’s an alpha, beta, omega, or something in between the lines, but even as you breathe in, you can’t catch a damn thing. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Don't tell me your secrets ₊ ˚ ✧ "Are you expecting me to jump for joy after you don't contact me for eleven years?" It shoots out of your mouth before you can stop it, "roll out the red carpet and pray you don't turn around and ghost me for a second time?" AO3 ♡ Tumblr

If You'll Have Me ₊ ˚ ✧ If anyone were to walk in right now, you fear they might just faint from the sight of the Kingdom's beloved heir to the throne being dicked down within an inch of their life. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Honey ₊ ˚ ✧ “Rich, hot, and a virgin. What’s wrong with you?” Or, Bob’s coworkers jokingly summon you, a succubus, to take his virginity, but everyone gets a lot more than they bargained for. You included. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Ma'am ₊ ˚ ✧ You shouldn't be standing here and just...watching, but you can't help yourself. Who knew such a shy little thing could make such noises as these? AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Moonshine Rain ₊ ˚ ✧ What are you so upset about? Is it because of what happened on that lonely little night? The crippling silence that comes with being separated? Is it the overwhelming reality that your heart has chosen to long for a man that the Navy says you can't have? AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Paper Airplane ₊ ˚ ✧ Careful, you bend over the counter, resting your head in folded arms, "do your worst, Admiral." A switch flips, eyes darkening as his face hardens once more. Big hands take hold of your hips when he steps behind you, yanking you backward until your ass is pressed directly against him, "do my worst, huh?" AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Polaroid ₊ ˚ ✧ "I'm not jealous," sharp teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his hot breath tickling the skin there, "I'm being perfectly reasonable." Because being reasonable involves him bending you over Maverick's motorcycle. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Rocking Chair ₊ ˚ ✧ Just you, him, and this old rocking chair, like always. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Santa Dress ₊ ˚ ✧ "Who knew I was comin' home just to find you in the tiniest little dress I've ever seen." AO3 ♡ Tumblr

One More Time ₊ ˚ ✧ "Cum one more time for me; come on, I know you’ve got it in you." AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Wolfish ₊ ˚ ✧ You can't seem to keep your hands off each other today. AO3 ♡ Tumblr

You Problem ₊ ˚ ✧ The breaths gracing your ear are becoming heavier, the only indication of how you're affecting him, "Sweetie..." daring teeth bite at the shell, "you're gettin' me, ah, all riled up for nothin'." Not missing a beat, you lean your head forward, freeing yourself of those devilish nibbles, "that sounds like a you problem." AO3 ♡ Tumblr

Edits

₊ ˚ ✧ Every time Robert “Bob” Floyd is on screen

₊ ˚ ✧ The Mockingbird & The Crow

Moodboards

₊ ˚ ✧ Forbidden things have a secret charm

₊ ˚ ✧ Lewis Pullman as Colors of the Rainbow: Green

₊ ˚ ✧ Lewis Pullman as Colors of the Rainbow: Yellow

Warmups

₊ ˚ ✧ Hot Air Balloon

₊ ˚ ✧ How They Like To Cuddle

₊ ˚ ✧ How They Like To Kiss You

₊ ˚ ✧ Something in the rain

₊ ˚ ✧ The Little Things They Do When Dating You

₊ ˚ ✧ What it feels like to date Bob Floyd, but it's described using specific experiences.

₊ ˚ ✧ Winding Bob up in public

#delgato's masterlist #Updated 12/21/24

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lurkinglurkerwholurks · 1 month ago

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2024 AO3 Wrapped - For Writers

Taking a page out of @frownyalfred's bag and am compiling the stats that are most interesting to me (from various wraps I've seen) rather than using any one set template. I'm also going to stick to published stats because I've written chapters for Like the Cryptkeeper that have not published yet, in addition to a few WIPs I've gotten stuck in.

Works Published: ~12

Includes two works started in an earlier year but finished this year and one work started this year but not yet finished. Read all twelve-ish here.

Chapters Published: 18

The majority of my fics were single-chapter one-shots. Not all, though.

Words Published: 45,970

Hits: 29,829*

Comments: 649*

Kudos: 4,817*

Bookmarks: 1,230*

These last four stats I find interesting from a statistical perspective but also maddening, and I'm hoping one of you out there knows a trick. Because these three numbers are wrong.

Firstly, they include all hits/comments/kudos for Hey, Sister, but I wrote and posted half of that in 2022, so some of these are 2022 stats. Same goes for Nowhere Safer, which first posted near the end of 2023 but concluded in 2024! Augh.

And secondly, if I filter my stats down to 2024, it only shows me hits, comments, and kudos given to fics from 2024. My 2024 fics are little babies. Not only are they new and therefore less well-known, but they're also significantly shorter than, for example, The Return and Nature & Nurture.

AO3 is an archive. My older fics are FAR more popular than my shiny new fics! I WANT MY ACCURATE STATS. /endrant

Top Relationship: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd (3)

Shocking. Genuinely stunning. This wholly comes down to me getting really interested in some of the relational mechanics between Dick and Jason and churning out a bunch of fics for Whumptober about exactly that. ("A bunch," I say. Three. I mean three.)

Top Tag: Grief/Mourning (4)

If I exclude the Whumptober tag, grief/mourning was my #1. I'm not sure why.

Fic With Highest Stats:

Because I don't know how to properly segment Hey, Sister or Nowhere Safer, I'm going to present stats with and without that those involved. Stuff with multiple BatKids likely would have done really well even without the multi-year spread, but I can't prove it.

Hits: Hey, Sister (or Nowhere Safer or Like the Cryptkeeper)

Kudos: Hey, Sister (or Nowhere Safer or Open Line)

Comments: Like the Cryptkeeper

Bookmarks: Nowhere Safer (or Open Line)

Fic I'm Proudest Of:

I'm always proud of all of my fics but I am particularly proud of:

Like the Cryptkeeper because it's been a bit since I've done a fic longer than two chapters (we'll see how proud I am if I stall on my current chapter for much longer)

The morning and what came after because it was deeply angsty and made me cry

Searchlight Burning because @audreycritter said it was one of the best "Bruce returns to Gotham pre-Batman" fics she's ever read and I want to die with that on my tombstone

Fic I Wish Received More Attention: Searchlight Burning

Y'all are allergic to Alfred fics and it's such a pity.

WIPs Still Sitting In Drafts: 3.5

lol. Okay so of actual "things I actually attempted or am attempting to write" drafts, as opposed to just ideas, I am sitting on:

The rest of Like the Cryptkeeper

A mega-angsty little thing I've been poking at for a couple years

A Dick & Jason fic I started for Whumptober and got stuck on

An Alfred POV for The Rain Again that I started, had to back out of when it wasn't right, and if I ever use again will need to be for an entirely new scenario—hence the .5

Given Or Received Gifts: 3 received, 0 given

More indicative of my pre-Whumptober writing slump than anything else

Learn Anything New?

It was such a relief to finally feel like I got a little bit more of a handle on Dick. I didn't expect that this year.

I noticed while drafting Cryptkeeper that Jason was being VERY sweary in a way I don't usually write that felt appropriate and inappropriate for the setting at the same time. I finally realized my own internal distinction that he tends to stick to lesser swears when communicating verbally, while his own internal monologue will have a lot more f-bombs.

I love the "Batkids trust Bruce enough to crawl into his bed after a nightmare" but it's a trope that only ever squared with me in an uncomplicated way for Dick. I didn't see Jason falling into it without hesitation even as a younger kid and I really couldn't see Tim doing it, except for maybe much, much, MUCH later. I liked being able to solidify the uncomfortable middle ground for myself in Nowhere Safer.

It's not new knowledge that getting Jason and Bruce to talk honestly to each other is a difficult thing, but MAN has Cryptkeeper really driven it home. Yikes.

2025 Aspirations Or Goals:

Finish Like the Cryptkeeper.

Beef up some of my other pairings. I do want to keep writing my most delicious faves, but I'd like to explore some different combinations.

Tied to that, I'd like to build out my own understanding of some other characters within the Wayne universe. Steph and Duke remain a cipher to me, but so does Kon and Jon and Lois. I don't know that I would write more about them, but understanding them is at least more in that direction.

Tied to that, I'd like to find more new-to-me authors to read. My fic reading has fallen off a cliff for various reasons, but it's always a thrill to find talented writers who tackle the Fam in a cogent and engaging way.

Not necessarily specific to 2025, but I've never officially collaborated on a fic with anyone. That might be fun.

#ao3 wrapped #fanfic writer problems #ao3 #fanfic stats

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ao3feed-superbat · 1 year ago

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It's not mathematically possible

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/f9P127O by andromarche Kal'dur said, "Who exactly is a Wayne?" Kara said, "This stupidly rich celebrity family out of Gotham. Bruce Wayne is infamous for adopting a lot of kids. But we can't all be dating a Wayne, right?" "It's not mathematically possible," Kon began. "Is it?" The silence in the room was deafening. Roy seemed to be counting his fingers. Or In the aftermath of a mission that brought together the Titans and the League, Arsenal makes an off-hand comment about being invited to the Wayne Holiday Gala by his boyfriend, and Artemis knows that he damn well doesn't have the socio-economic status to pull that off, especially because her and Wally have both been personally invited to the same Gala by their boyfriend. It doesn't take long for Jon, Kon, Kara, Steph and Clark to join in. They can't all possibly be dating a Wayne, right? (Tagged teen for swearing, light descriptions of injury, and kissing) Words: 2050, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Andromarche's Batfam Meets JL fics Fandoms: DCU, Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Batfamily Members, Members of the Team (Young Justice), Justice League (DCU), Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Wally West, Artemis Crock, Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Jonathan Kent, Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Kara Zor-El Relationships: Batfamily Members & Justice League, Batfamily Members & Members of the Team (Young Justice), Justice League & Members of the Team (Young Justice), Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Artemis Crock/Dick Grayson/Wally West, Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon/Kara Zor-El, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Batfamily meets the Justice League, Batfamily Meets Members of the Team (Young Justice), kind of, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Wally West is Flamebird, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Roy Harper is Arsenal, Cassandra Cain is Black Bat, Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Damian Wayne is Robin, Jonathan Samuel Kent is Superboy, Kon-El | Conner Kent is Superboy, they're both superboy, they're both super boys, Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Kara Zor-El is Supergirl, Duke Thomas is Signal, Duke Thomas is a Batfamily Member, Batfamily Shenanigans (DCU), Isolated Batfamily (DCU), again only kind of, no one knows they're related and that's about it, Titans and Young Justice are the Same Team, Good Parent Bruce Wayne, Secret Relationship, they're not trying to keep it secret, it just hasn't been said yet and its very new and their family is scary, no beta we die like jason todd read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/f9P127O

#ao3feed #superbat #world's finest #Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 9 months ago

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Just go along.

by Sandra_Cisne Bruce give up on being the single sex toy friend, so he come up with a brilliant plan to gaslight, gatekeep and girl boss his way into Diana and Clark's relationship, it's risky, overcomplicated and we don't talk about the ethics of it. They won't even notice when he snuck up until it's too late. The only problem with his perfect plan: Diana and Clark had been in a relationship with Bruce for the past six months (?) Words: 6446, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi Characters: Batfamily Members (DCU), Justice League (DCU), Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Diana (Wonder Woman), Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne's Pets, Duke Thomas, Stephanie Brown Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Batfamily Members & Bruce Wayne, Justice League & Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Clark Kent Additional Tags: Past Relationship(s), Past Abuse, Past Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Past Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne, Past Harvey Dent/Bruce Wayne, Crack, Past Minhkhoa Khan/Bruce Wayne, All of Bruce's previous relationships are toxic in some way, Consider this a warning if you really like any of them., Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, But results may vary..., Established Relationship, But Bruce hasn't realized it yet, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Relationships, DC stands for Disregard Canon, Crack Treated Seriously, If somehow this looks like canon, I apologize for that., Batkids are menaces, Batkids want Bruce to be happy, we don't spend so much time with the exes..., But the bat kids gonna bring it on A LOT., This whole fic is ridiculous, ¿What's my life?, T because Jason, No beta we died like everyone in the batfam, No brain like Bruce in this fic, Or in the Canon..., english isn't my first language, Please be nice, Also first time writing anything remotely creative on english, My First AO3 Post via https://ift.tt/9rvK21q

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the caped crusader #gotham #dcu #dc #ao3 #ao3feed

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ollieofthebeholder · 1 month ago

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And If Thou Wilt, Forget: a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 32: While all things wax and nothing wanes

“You know what confuses me?”

“Quantum physics? Non-euclidean geometry? Why the Tory party is still in existence, never mind in power?” Tim put the cap back on the eyeliner and turned to Gerry. “How’d I do? Is it even?”

“Looks good to me. Also, you’re a dick,” Gerry grumbled. “I’m being serious.”

One corner of Tim’s mouth turned up. “Lay it on me. What’s confusing you that’s relevant to our immediate lives?”

“Well, the Tory thing might qualify for that, actually, but…” Gerry propped his hip against the sink. “How the hell did Jane Prentiss get into the tunnels without you noticing?”

Tim’s smile slipped. “I’ve been asking myself that for months.”

“No, that’s—not what I meant. I just meant…” Gerry flapped a hand helplessly. “Not you specifically. Just…general ‘you’. The worms could squeeze through the floorboards but Prentiss herself couldn’t. How did she get into the tunnels without going through the Archives? Did Jon let her in?”

“Not bloody likely. Even if he is a killer, he wouldn’t have wanted to risk the Corruption getting a foothold in the Archives, it was as much a danger to him as to the rest of us.” Tim shrugged. “She probably went in another entrance.”

“There are other entrances?” Gerry asked, surprised.

“Gerry. Millbank Prison covered most of what’s now Chelsea, and the tunnels—some of which look like they were eroded by curls of the Thames—go at least that far if not further. Statistically, the likelihood that there aren’t other entrances is virtually nil.” Tim sighed. “I don’t know how Prentiss found another entrance, let alone how to get to the Archives afterwards, but that’s almost certainly what happened.”

Gerry mulled that over. “You think Jon knows?”

“No. He wouldn’t use the one in the Archives if he did. Too much risk of being detected.” Tim gave Gerry a quick kiss. “Hey, how do you feel about sushi for dinner? I can pick up some on the way home, and then we can talk a little bit more about what we’re doing about those tunnels tonight.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Gerry said softly.

He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that there were other way into the tunnels, but Tim was right; it didn’t make sense for there not to be. And he had a point about Jon not having found them, too. They hadn’t been able to get all the way to the end of Jon’s arrows, although they’d found one pointing down a flight of steps that didn’t look right that he knew Tim wanted to investigate further, but if there was another way out he’d have marked it…somehow. It stood to reason he hadn’t found one yet. That didn’t mean he was okay with the way Tim had come out with that information. It wasn’t that he thought Gerry was stupid—far from it—and he’d always had a talent for picking up on hints and piecing things together. But sometimes…just sometimes, he said these sorts of things in a way that implied he thought it was incredibly obvious, and Gerry genuinely wasn’t sure at this point if it was because he assumed Gerry had already pieced it together too, because he thought it was common knowledge, or because he was trying to keep Gerry from asking how do you know that so he wouldn’t have to give an answer neither of them would like.

He kept mulling that over as he started downstairs for the shop, as well as the possibility of the other entrances. The last of the books had been packed up and put into storage, and the walls were hung with examples of his artwork. He was currently working on a commission to hang in a drawing room, and by rights he ought to spend the day working on that, or possibly on a new sign for the front of the building to make it clear they no longer sold rare books, but…

But it would make their lives a lot easier if they found another way in. The sooner, the better.

After spending most of the morning halfheartedly painting while debating with himself, he went back upstairs to fetch Rowlf before heading out.

He didn’t exactly blend in around Chelsea ordinarily, but he had a few things of his father’s—at least he assumed they’d been his father’s—that would help with that. It was about thirty years out of date, but at least it fit him, and it looked pretty decent. A bit of extra makeup covered those tattoos not hidden by clothing, and he and Rowlf were on their way. Gerry figured he would start looking relatively close to the Institute—under the assumption that Prentiss wouldn’t have found the Archives so quickly otherwise—and go from there. It had to be admitted that he had no earthly idea what the other entrances would look like. Still, he reckoned he could at least make the effort.

It was close to the lunch hour when he made it to Chelsea, which he deduced from the number of people milling about. Still, that was all to the good, it meant he was more likely to escape notice, dog notwithstanding. He let Rowlf sniff about, getting the canine news bulletins, while he peered at rocks, bushes, and random structures, wondering if one of them might be what he was looking for.

He noticed a figure coming out of the side door to the Institute, the one that led directly to the Archives, and for a moment he wondered if it was Tim. Instead, it was a petite, curvy woman with black curly hair that he guessed to be Sasha James. Rowlf, always on the outlook for a potential new friend, went on the alert, tail waving excitedly, but he knew better than to pull.

As most people did, she stopped to address him. “Oh, what a cutie! Can I pet him?”

“Sure.” Gerry let a little bit of German into his voice, just to be sure he wouldn’t be recognized.

The woman bent down and rubbed both of Rowlf’s ears vigorously. From the way his tail wagged harder, he must have liked that. “Who’s a good boy? You are! You are! Oh, you’re such a soft baby. What’s your name, sweet thing?”

Gerry could have given any part of Rowlf’s name without giving away that it was Tim’s dog, even though Sasha had met him once before and might have known his full name, but what popped out of his mouth was, “Rowsby Woof.”

“What a silly name for such a majestic beast.” The woman gave his ears one last rub, straightened, and smiled. “Thanks for letting me pet him. I love dogs…have a good day.”

“You, too.” Gerry clucked his tongue at Rowlf, who followed obediently as they moved off in opposite directions.

Gerry had just decided to widen his search a little bit when he saw another figure peering around the corner in the direction the presumed Sasha had gone. He’d only seen this figure once before, and that in deep shadow, but it wasn’t hard to suss out who he was. If nothing else, the worm scars, significantly worse than Tim’s, gave it away.

Jonathan Sims, the Archivist of the Magnus Institute, was watching his assistant with open suspicion—probably because he didn’t think he was being observed. His posture—flattened against the wall, chin craning to just hook over the corner, tense twist to his shoulders—spoke of an attempt to be stealthy. That he was bundled into an oversized trench coat, clinging to the wall in a way that immediately drew attention to the fact that he wasn’t meant to be there, and completely exposed on three sides spoke to a lack of practice at it. Gerry shook his head in despair and turned back to Rowlf. He was definitely going to get caught following her if he kept that up.

Two things occurred to Gerry simultaneously. The first was that if Sasha caught Jon following her, she was going to be furious. The second was that Jon was not paying enough attention to his surroundings to know if anyone other than Sasha noticed him. Word had gotten around that Gertrude Robinson’s body had been found—the Archivist is dead, long live the Archivist—and that probably meant that most servitors of the Fourteen knew there’d been an attack on the Archives, and that it sure as hell hadn’t been the new Archivist that had stopped it. He was weak, he was vulnerable, and all it would take was one strike to take him off the playing field, so to speak. Depending on how close the Unknowing was—he and Tim really had to get back into investigating that—the Stranger might try to take down the Archivist as a preventative measure. And while he wasn’t actually much less convinced than Tim that Jon had been the one to take Gertrude out, that didn’t mean he wanted anyone or anything else to take him down. In the first place, Tim, however reluctantly, was still somewhat protective of him, and if anything happened to him on his watch, he’d never get over it. Something—they weren’t sure who—had already tried once, and might very well have succeeded, had it not been for Tim’s timely arrival and intervention.

In the second place, if anyone was going to kill the little bastard, it deserved to be Tim.

Gerry turned around and, sure enough, Jon was heading in the same direction Sasha had gone. He heaved a sigh and looked down at Rowlf. “You up for an adventure, boy?”

Rowlf perked his ears up and wagged his tail ferociously. While Gerry knew he’d have got the exact same reaction if he’d asked if he wanted to have his balls reattached and taken off again—he did that every single time one of his dads talked to him—he decided to take it as assent and set off down the street.

Unlike Jon, Gerry had a lot of practice at being stealthy, and also with not being noticed in general. Creeping about, ducking behind signposts and shrubbery and around corners whenever you thought you’d been spotted, and moving in short, quick bursts were all great ways to get yourself spotted; it made you out of place, unusual, something to draw the eye. This was especially true if you were wearing a trench coat, for God’s sake, and especially if you were doing so on one of the warmest days of the month, when normal people were in their shirtsleeves. The streets they were walking down weren’t very populated, either, which meant he stuck out like a sore thumb. A very, very paranoid sore thumb.

Gerry knew better. Confidence, that was the key. Look like you belonged somewhere and nine times out of ten people would assume you did. His piercings, metal t-shirts, and dyed hair were akin to protective coloration—it warned people not to mess with him, but it did make him obvious. Look at me—now walk away. Having grown up being shoved into the background, he wore that with pride, usually; he wanted to stand out in a crowd, wanted to be noticed, wanted to take up space. But there were times he did want to blend in with the crowd and become a nonentity. Going to church with Tim and his grandfather. Strolling through small towns where their status as “outsider” made it hard enough to get answers and it was more than their lives were worth to even let their fingers touch for the briefest of seconds. Stealth missions.

Having Rowlf did help with following. Not because the dog was a skilled tracker, he absolutely wasn’t by nature and they hadn’t trained him otherwise, but because he stopped periodically to sniff a lamp post or low stone wall, giving Gerry the chance to stop in a perfectly normal and natural way. He did worry about how long this was going to take but, he rationalized, it couldn’t be that far if Sasha (and by extension Jon) were planning to walk it. Those sandals Sasha was wearing looked like the kind that were worse on the feet over long distances than actually going barefoot. And Rowlf’s stamina was pretty good—he was young, and of course he was a spaniel, so he would probably run the length and breadth of England without stopping if Gerry let him—so walking at a reasonable pace wouldn’t be too bad.

Keeping Sasha in sight wasn’t difficult—she obviously hadn’t figured out she was being followed, so she just kept moving in a straightforward manner—but Jon was going to be a problem. His jerky, erratic progress meant that if Gerry stopped every time he did, even he’d be able to figure out he was being stalked. Ordinarily he would have walked past him without looking in his direction, then moved aside and waited for him to pass again before resuming following, but since half the reason he was following was to make sure nothing attacked him, that wasn’t much of an option. He didn’t have eyes in the back of his head; the ones tattooed on his skin were more in the nature of protective charms. There was also the issue that Jon had met Rowlf before, and vice versa, which meant there was a chance of them recognizing each other. He could probably play it off by claiming to be Tim’s dog-walker—or, in a pinch, make up a fake name for himself and make sure Tim had never called him Gerry in front of Jon—but it wasn’t going to be optimal by any means.

Just as he thought it was no use and he’d have to try the ruse, Sasha turned into the entrance of the Tube station, which was…interesting. As far as Gerry knew, this was her lunch break; at the very least, he assumed Jon wouldn’t be following her if she was investigating a case and he knew it. Even though everything around the Institute was on the expensive side, there were plenty of places within easy walking distance that did a quick and inexpensive lunch. Gerry should know, he’d eaten at most of them with Tim over the past three years. If she was taking the Tube somewhere, she must be planning to take an unusually long lunch.

Jon hesitated, then strolled into the station with such obvious nonchalance he might as well have been humming his own theme music while doing it. Gerry rolled his eyes and looked down at Rowlf. “Come on, Brian, let’s go make sure Uncle Gadget doesn’t get taken by the Claw’s men.”

Rowlf lolled his tongue happily at Gerry, and they proceeded together into the station.

The Circle train was just pulling into the station, and somehow Gerry wasn’t surprised to see Sasha rush for it in a flurry of beads and gauzy cotton. Nor was he surprised when Jon turned up the collar of his trench coat, wrapped it more tightly around himself, and darted into the same car. He took his time and selected a car that had a seat by the window where he could watch to see when Jon and Sasha got off. They would be far less likely to notice him if he didn’t insist on sitting with them. It did mean leaving Jon relatively unprotected, but he took comfort in the fact that there was a limit to what anyone or anything could do to him without alerting the rest of the train…or at least those who knew what was what.

He almost missed Sasha getting off, and probably wouldn’t have noticed had he not seen Jon hurrying after her. He clucked to Rowlf and stepped off the train just before the doors closed, then emerged into the sunlight.

They were at Baker Street, an unusual choice for lunch, but Gerry was no longer certain that was what Sasha was up to. Rowlf, of course, was delighted by all the new things to see and smell—they’d not brought him up this way before—and it was more prone to tourists, even in late September, than Chelsea was, which meant far fewer people minding their own business and more wanting to pet the nice doggy. Rowlf ate the attention up, and Gerry answered questions as best as he could while keeping an eye on Sasha and Jon. The crowd wasn’t so thick he lost them, even as short as they were, but he wasn’t sure he could help Jon from this distance. Maybe the crowd of people taking pictures of themselves in front of the Sherlock Holmes Pub would provide a bit of a buffer, but not much. To his interest, Sasha kept going until she got to Marylebone—still crowded with tourists, at least enough that he and Rowlf weren’t conspicuous, except for all the can I pet your dog people.

He finally managed to extricate himself from a little girl whose mother urged her to go have lunch and let the nice doggy finish his walkies and made his way down the sidewalk just as Sasha finally turned into a building. Jon, of course, stopped dead a few feet away, standing by the lamp post at the curb like the main character of some 1940’s noir detective flick who had suddenly and unexpectedly found himself transported into a family musical comedy. Any minute now—yep, there it was, he reached into the trench coat and pulled out what Gerry could tell, even from a distance, was a pack of cigarettes.

Gerry kept walking down the sidewalk without seeming to look in Jon’s direction, not that he would have noticed if he had; as he lit the cigarette with shaking fingers, his eyes were firmly fixed on the building Sasha had gone into. Rowlf, thankfully, stopped to investigate a fire hydrant a couple of feet past it, which gave Gerry the opportunity to look back at what restaurant she’d gone into. He had to look twice, because it didn’t make any goddamned sense, but…no, Jon was still staring at it, too, that was the right one.

Sasha had come all the way out to Marylebone on her lunch hour…to go into Madame Tussauds?

That was…certainly a choice. Gerry was familiar with the museum, of course. He’d been once or twice, although he hadn’t particularly enjoyed the experience. The waxworks were works of art, of course, and remarkably well done; there’d been more than one incident of celebrities whose sculpture was due to go up coming out, to this one or to one of the branches elsewhere in the world, and posing as a waxwork without anyone seeming to realize this one wasn’t fake. Still, something about the glassy stares in the perfectly smooth, perfectly still faces gave him the willies. He’d never been able to last more than about twenty minutes or so before he started having a hard time convincing himself he wasn’t the only actual living person in the entire building. And the self-portrait Marie Tussaud had done of herself reminded him uncomfortably of his mother.

There was a café just across the road that had outdoor seating and advertised itself as pet friendly. Gerry stopped in and bought two sandwiches, a large lemonade, and an apple fritter, then settled outside. Rowlf snapped up his roast beef quickly and lay down at Gerry’s feet; Gerry ate at a slower, more decorous pace and gave the air of people-watching in general while actually keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Jon.

He made a mental note to talk to Tim about going out on Saturday to get him a mobile phone. He’d resisted, largely because as a young man he hadn’t wanted to give his mother an easy way to get hold of him and now he just didn’t want to always be in reach for any Tom, Dick, or Harry who might want his attention, but there were definitely circumstances when it would be useful to be able to contact Tim while they were both away from the flat. Now, for instance. It seemed like something he ought to alert him about, and now he’d have to wait until he got home…or, more likely, until Tim got home. Somehow, Gerry didn’t want to talk to Tim where anyone else might overhear them about this. It was just…bizarre.

Why a wax museum? He really didn’t think it was to do with a statement; quite apart from the fact that Jon wouldn’t have felt the need to stalk Sasha if he knew she was just doing research, if there was a real statement involving waxworks it would almost certainly be to do with the Stranger, and Tim was ruthless about doing the practical research on those. Unless Sasha had sniped it out from under him. If she wasn’t meant to be doing the research, that could explain why Jon was following her. On the other hand, her movements had seemed…purposeful. Deliberate. She hadn’t had to think about anything, she’d just done it, which spoke to this being a well-established route. Tim had mentioned Sasha was taking extra long lunches a couple times a week without saying so in advance.

Frith in a fog, Gerry thought, which was proof he’d been spending too much time with Tim lately.

Half an hour later, Gerry caught the shift in Jon’s posture and guessed what was happening a moment before Sasha emerged from the front of the museum, smiling faintly but otherwise showing no signs of what she’d been doing in there. Gerry tossed off the last of his lemonade, placed his dishes in the receptacle designated for that purpose, and clucked to Rowlf, who got to his feet eagerly.

There were no surprises this time; Jon and Sasha both went straight back to the Institute. Gerry tailed them both until they were safely inside, then stood for a moment in indecision. He had come out here for a purpose…but Rowlf was probably getting tired, or at least restless. He ought to take him for a run in the park and then go home.

The mutt in question suddenly pricked his ears up and started wagging his tail hard enough his back half nearly lifted off the ground. Gerry didn’t need to think too hard about why, and sure enough, a moment later, Tim emerged from the side door, looking tired. Gerry rested a hand on Rowlf’s head and gave a low whistle.

Tim’s head jerked up, and he came over, smiling but also uncertain. “Ger? Everything okay? What are you two doing out here? Hey, boy,” he added to Rowlf, who immediately tried to put his paws on Tim’s shoulders and clean out his nostrils despite being too short for either. Tim kindly knelt and scratched his neck.

“We’re about to pack it in, but if you want company we’ll walk you wherever you’re going,” Gerry offered.

“Thanks. I’m just grabbing lunch. Sasha and Jon were both gone forever today, and I made Martin take his whole lunch break, so I’m starving,” Tim grumbled. “I just hope whatever they were doing was worth it.”

Gerry waited until they’d gone a few steps away from the Institute before he said quietly, “Madame Tussauds.”

Tim blinked at him. “What?”

“Sasha went to Madame Tussauds. Jon followed her.” Gerry shrugged at Tim’s incredulous look. “I actually came out here to see if I could find one of the other entrances to the tunnels, and Sasha was just coming out when I did. Jon came out a few minutes later and did the world’s worst job of sneaking after her, so I followed to make sure Jon didn’t get killed.”

“Thank you. I think.” Tim rubbed a hand over his face. “And they went to Madame Tussauds? Why?”

“Dunno. I couldn’t follow her in with Rowlf, and Jon didn’t go in either, so I stayed outside to watch. She was in there for about half an hour, then came out and came back to the Institute with Jon following.”

“And Jon?”

“Stood outside smoking a cigarette.”

“Damn him, he said he didn’t smoke,” Tim muttered. “And that means he didn’t actually eat. I’ll have to try to get a sandwich in him or something. Martin might have better luck, I don’t think he trusts me enough to accept any food I give him in case I’m trying to poison him.”

Gerry suppressed a smile. “Aww, it almost sounds like you care.”

“I have to keep him safe.” Tim’s eyes took on a distant look. “That’s my job. To keep him safe and whole.” He stopped and shook his head, then said in a more normal tone, “Anyway, even if he did…you know…that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him destroy himself. That’s also my job. I’m not going to let him take my revenge from me because he’s too stupid and obsessed to look after himself properly.”

“That’s my Tim.” Gerry kissed Tim’s cheek. “Go get lunch and go look after your Archivist. I’m going to take the nice doggy home and try to get the underpainting finished before you get home with the sushi. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Tim stopped him, pulled him around, and kissed him properly. That he was doing so in public, and so close to the Institute, spoke to how worried he was about what he’d just learned. Then he bent down, gave Rowlf one last pat, and disappeared into the café they were stood in front of.

Gerry watched him go. Then he sighed and, with one last glance over his shoulder in the direction of the Institute, he headed back to the Tube station he’d already seen one too many times today.

Next time he came looking for tunnel entrances, he thought, he was leaving the damned dog at home.

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #and if thou wilt forget #gerard keay #tim stoker #not!sasha #jonathan sims #paranoia #anger #canon-typical Beholding content (especially early canon)#unreality #deception #stalking #implied/referenced homophobia

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edlingao3feed · 8 months ago

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If Ed could sue Truth he would have (believe him hes working on it)

ILikeThis_CanIKeepIt https://archiveofourown.org/works/56385592 by ILikeThis_CanIKeepIt Ed is currently not having such a great time. He is fifteen years old, and lots of shit has happened. Apart from the obvious (his sins from the past, Automail, You took him, bastard, give my brother back!-, he is moving on), Maria Ross was just killed by his superior officer, a serial killer nearly murdered him and his brother, Nina is still dead, there are homunculi, and there is this prince of Xing that eats way too much (and isn´t attractive at all, mind you). Yes, the latter is the most traumatizing, because who eats that much? That can´t be healthy or normal, it´s even more than Ed eats! He´s just rambling here, because of course that´s not the main issue. That award goes to something else. That something being wizards. Yes, you heard right. Wizards. Or: Truth is a dick. And a kidnapper. Ed is literally so angry that he can´t press charges against God. That asshole deserves the firing squad. Words: 1477, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Edward Elric, Truth (Fullmetal Alchemist), Harry Potter, Voldemort (Harry Potter), The Golden Trio - Character, Hogwarts Staff, Team Amestris-mentioned Relationships: Probably - Relationship, Edward Elric/Ling Yao, but not yet - Relationship, it´ll happen later, Updating these as I write Additional Tags: Dimension Travel, Edward Elric goes to Hogwarts, how is that not a tag?, I´ll update if anything new comes up, No updating scedule, english is not my first language This post was automatically generated from an RSS feed of all new AO3 works tagged 'Edward Elric/Ling Yao'.

#edling #edward elric #ling yao #fullmetal alchemist #fma #fmab #IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #fic

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reddie-ao3feed · 5 days ago

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who can blame a boy? (call me hot not pretty!)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/W7My2oG by reddiemylove, thighsbrak Well, today, the universe must’ve decided to laugh right into his face, to throw him to the dogs while making him pure bones. Because the famous TikTok celebrity Richie Tozier is standing right there on the sidewalk, his back to Mark and Eddie and yet being extremely recognizable anyway. He also happens to be Eddie’s ex whom he had broken up with a year and half ago. What the fuck. or: Eddie runs into his ex at Pride Parade while out with his boyfriend whom he had broken up with a year and half ago. He definitely shouldn't go out in the middle of the night to go see him again... right? Words: 51285, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Original Male Character(s) of Color Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheating, Dom/sub, BDSM, Degradation Kink, Degradation, Richie Tozier Has a Big Dick, Spanking, Feminization, (both light), Masturbation, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Grinding, Rimming, Hand Jobs, Riding, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Somnophilia, Consensual Somnophilia, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Porn with Feelings, Chappell Roan References, Taylor Swift References, E is for Eddie is a Whore, just when you think they can't get freakier outfreak themselves, Sabrina Carpenter references read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/W7My2oG

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #it 2019 #fic rec #reddie fic red #stephen king it

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berenwrites · 1 year ago

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Dreams in the Night - Stranger Things - Steddie, Chapter 1 of 9

Dreams in the Night: But Vampires Aren't an Upside Down Thing!

Summary: Steve has been having nightmares, seeing through the eyes of a vampire like creature in Hawkins as it hunts. He puts the dreams down to past trauma and too many horror movies at Family video. He’s checked and no one’s been hurt, so even Robin agrees. However, his world is about to be turned upside down yet again as the nightmares become far too real.

Tumblr Master Chapter Listing | Also on AO3

For: @lady-lostmind (lady_lostmind on AO3)

Relationships: steddie, platonic stobin

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: ~18600

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: vampire!Eddie, Kas!Eddie, hurt/comfort, bisexual!Steve, bisexual!Eddie, platonic stobin, steddie

This fic is a part of the @steddieholidayexchange

Chapter 1: Dreams & Portents

Robin gave him a look the moment she climbed into the car and Steve knew exactly what she was going to say.

“How much sleep did you get this time?”

“A couple of hours,” he admitted.

He had been hoping he looked better than he thought he did, but apparently not.

“The dreams again?” she asked.

He nodded, waiting for her to buckle up around her thick winter coat. It was threatening to snow, and the air was crisp and cold.

“I take it you checked?” she added.

He nodded again.

“It was one of Dustin’s neighbours,” he replied, pulling away from the curb. “Went by there this morning. They were fine, cleaning the ice off their car to go to work.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he tried to push back the headache that was threatening. The final battle with Vecna had come and gone months ago. They had gone back into the Upside Down like an army unit in August. El had taken the bastard down while the rest of them hit him and his creatures with everything they had. There had been injuries, but nothing fatal, and Max was even talking about getting back on her skateboard now. It was just under three weeks to Christmas, and yet his stupid brain had decided to throw nightmares into his path even though it was all over.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t tell the others?” Robin suggested gently.

“Tell them what?” he replied. “They’re just nightmares, Robs. I don’t want to worry them over nothing.”

“Nightmares that are getting clearer and clearer,” she countered.

“That’s just my subconscious being a dick,” he said, pulling onto the main road. “The gates are closed. The Upside Down is back where it belongs. El would have told us if anything was happening. She made Owens swear to it before she would help him when they reopened the lab to monitor everything. It’s just winter blues getting to me. All the darkness.”

“But you’ve been having them randomly for nearly two months,” Robin said.

“And I had nightmares for months after Starcourt as well,” he replied. “You did too.”

“But this isn’t …”

“Robs, please,” he interrupted her, “they’re just dreams. Vampires aren’t even an Upside Down thing. I probably saw too many vampire movies on the run up to Halloween, my dumb brain latched onto them, and it mixed it up with everything that happened this year. Every person I recognised I checked on and they were perfectly fine.”

He glanced over and Robin was giving him one of her contemplative looks.

“Okay,” she agreed after he looked back at the road, “but tell me all about this one so I can be sure.”

Steve sighed, pinching his nose again. He didn’t really want to talk about it, but Robin deserved answers.

“It was the same as all the others,” was how he decided to start. “I’m seeing through the eyes of someone else. I know it’s not me, but it’s like I’m an observer. All I can do is watch. He…”

“You’re sure they’re a he?” Robin asked. “You haven’t been sure before.”

He considered that, because it hadn’t occurred to him.

“Yeah, definitely a he,” he replied.

“How do you know?” Robin asked.

This was what she was good at, digging out the details he hadn’t thought of. Although he wanted to dismiss the nightmares as just that, he appreciated how Robin was willing to help him talk it out.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just feel it, I guess.”

“So still no details about whose eyes you’re seeing through?” she said.

He shook his head.

“No,” he replied. “I don’t really see anything about him. I think maybe because he’s the completely made-up part he’s not distinct.”

“Okay,” Robin said ticking something off on an imaginary clipboard, “proceed.”

He managed a small smile at her attempt to lighten the tone.

“This time it started where he was hiding in the bushes of someone’s backyard,” he explained. “I recognised it from Dustin’s birthday party, where we could see into the neighbours’ gardens. It was the grumpy guy’s on the left, with the awful carving on the back step.”

“Ugh, still don’t know if that was supposed to be a bear or a beaver,” Robin commented.

They hadn’t had much reason for celebrations between spring break and when Vecna had finally been finished off, but they had tried to make sure the kids got at least parts of a normal life, even if Hawkins has still been split apart at the time.

“Yeah, well clearly I have not forgiven him for yelling at the kids,” Steve went on, “because he came out to smoke. Guess his wife doesn’t let him smoke inside.”

“Good for her,” Robin said.

“And we moved forward, stalking him,” Steve said, shivering slightly at the memory. “He was standing in the middle of his yard, wrapped in a dressing gown and a coat and we crept up behind him. We tapped him on the shoulder. He spun round and we laughed, even as he froze. I could see the fear in his eyes, before it kind of drained away until he looked like he was sleepwalking. The cigarette fell from his lips, like it does when people are shocked in the movies.”

He paused as the crystal-clear memory moved through his thoughts. Dreams didn’t usually stay with him long, but nightmares were a different matter, especially these ones.

“It was like I could sense the vampire’s hunger then,” he said, using the traffic on the road to distract him from the recollections. “He could smell the man’s blood. He was desperate, like he hadn’t eaten in days. We moved in and he bit him on the neck.”

He had to pause again.

“You okay, Steve?” Robin asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It was so intense. I could taste the blood this time, like I was actually drinking it. It tasted good, which is weird, because I’ve tasted blood and it’s not good, but it was like the vampire perceived it differently. It was euphoric, he felt euphoric, and that’s what woke me up.”

“And you’re sure this guy didn’t have any marks on him this morning?” Robin checked.

“Well, he was wearing a scarf, but I’m pretty sure if you woke up with two holes in your neck, you’d be heading for the doctor’s office not cheerfully cleaning off your car,” he replied.

“Point,” Robin agreed. “And none of the others you tracked down had marks,” she added.

“Exactly,” he said. “They’re just dreams.”

“Hmmm,” she said, nodding when he glanced over. “You have a twisted subconscious. If it wasn’t giving you sleepless nights, I’d approve.”

“Thanks, I think,” he replied. “’Don’t get on my bad side or I’ll send my dream vampire after you’ doesn’t sound particularly threatening.”

“Might make a good movie,” Robin decided and pulled out her mascara.

“I’d rather my deep dark secrets not be plastered across the big screen, thank you very much,” he replied to that.

He just hoped it would be a quiet day at Family Video so he could nurse his headache in peace. Shifts were much easier now that he had Robin there most of the time. She was considering her options and working to make up extra money for college, so they were mostly a pair for their shifts at the job now. He’d barely heard from his parents since the “earthquake” in the Spring, but they were still paying the bills for the house, so he wasn’t about to complain. Robin had her own room there these days which she used most weekends, that was unless they fell asleep on the couch together without even making it upstairs. Saturday nights were platonic soulmate nights, and they were sacred. Friday nights the kids usually descended for a movie evening of some kind. As far as he was concerned, Friday and Saturday were the best nights of the week. He’d kind of given up on dating since Vecna. Maybe he’d make a New Year’s resolution to jump back in, but it seemed like so much effort for little return now. It wasn’t as if he could risk a date staying over at the moment anyway, not with the nightmares.

End of Chapter 1

On to Chapter 2

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve x eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #platonic stobin #vampires #kas eddie munson #vampire eddie munson #eddie lives #fanfic #fanfiction #dreams in the night - steddie #steddie holiday exchange

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