#op i am going FERAL over this idea you have NO IDEA what you have just awakened in me

[theredengineapologist]

They each get a unique transformation sequence, complete with music and sparkles!

If they're going from default engine forms to Magical Girl Human forms, their engine bodies will lift into the air by the power of Magic as their respective theme music plays. The frame of the engine becomes the silhouette of their human form, and as they move their hands and arms we see their paint coat become their dashing, smart, and frilly outfits! Then, at the end, they all do a unique pose and exclaim their names!

Or, vice versa! Default human forms into engines! They all have some kind of accessory (I'm thinking a watch probably) where Sir Topham Hatt can communicate to them that the railway is in trouble! There is confusion and delay! And they need the Magical Engines to help. Thomas and his friends run to the scene. And as they transform, you see the silhoutte of their human forms grow drastically in size until they become their engine forms (with a new, sparkly paint coat)! And then they gracefully land onto the track with a Peep! Peep!

t&f humanizations but theyre magical girls..........

[weldingmetal]

Possible fic ideas for transformers

So like I have a few ideas for some docs I want to do so I am just gonna voice them here.

Most of these are Megop fic ideas so bare with me.

Megs Reincarnated

So like what if at some point in the war Megatron died but because he was on space crack he couldn’t join the allspark/well so Primus sent his spark to live again in the hopes that over time his spark would be purged overtime. Megs becomes a human woman and eventually meet Optimus. Hijinks ensues.

I also thought about doing a shattered glass version of this as well.

After Primasy

So what if Optimus met Megatron after he became a prime. This was inspired by two fic I saw on Ao3. I can’t remember what they were called but I will write the names when I can.

Miko Plays Cupid

After Miko gets captured by Megs she learns things about before the war but things don’t add up. After she is rescued and asks Op some things she realizes that there were some major misunderstandings that were and still are the cause of the continuing war. So she decided that the best way to resolve this was to play match maker. What could go wrong.

Can You Feel It Shockwave?

What if Shockwaves emotions canes back after an experiment gone wrong? I have a theory that shadowplay didn’t take away everything but left what emotion he had that was strongest, a sick and twisted form of curiosity and everything else was repressed. Then what happens when he gets them back? I plan for this to be very angsty. Can’t comfort them unless they’re broken right?

Twelve Kids, Twelve Primes

What if team prime had twelve kids to care for and through some kind of hijinks they found out that the kids were twelve reincarnated primes.

Some smaller fic ideas include

G1 bots finding out humans have valves/spikes

Bots finding out about car washes

Miko being a little troublemaker and adopting all the vehicons

Soundwave making a soundboard

Stabby by the roomba. Enough said.

Bots finding out about nuclear weapons and atom bombs.

Bots finding out humans can feel when you look at them.

Now if you want to use any of theses all I ask is that you tag or tell me so I can look over the counter as you use my fic recipes to create delicious fics that I will grab and consume like a feral animal.

[unforth]

i don't know if you are still into 2ha? but what would you say if someone asked you what makes 2ha stand out? It's full of tropes that have been done before and there is nothing new. it's full of cliches according to some people. So, what makes it stand out?

I am still into 2ha, I'd consider it one of my top fandoms right now.

I'll own I find this whole ask rather odd? It implies that novelty is a. possible and b. what I'm looking for in a book.

For a... Name me a book that isn't full or tropes, name me a book that isn't full of "nothing new," name me a book that isn't full of cliches. Enjoyable books aren't ~original~, and imo original is a myth. It's about how the ideas are strung together, not about them being fresh and different and new.

For b... look. I'm almost 42 years old. I've been reading a ton since I was 8. I've read a l.o.t. over the years. And I've come to learn the things I love in characters and books.

Give me a main character (or, in 2ha, BOTH main characters) who thinks they're worthless and will give everything they have to save an innocent stranger. Give me archetypes of self-sacrifice and martyrdom and low self-esteem and adoration and obsession cooked so deep into their bones that it extends over multiple life times. Give me that adoration reciprocated but the pining, oh, it is mutual for these idiots who should be and will be lovers. I'll eat that up every time. Give me someone who thinks they're unlovable but loves the world anyway, and give me someone who loves them so much they'll tolerate the claws.

Give me epic length I can sink my teeth into. Make the plot sprawling, the side characters lush, the world developed. It's okay if some parts drag a little, it's hard to keep momentum over an epic, and one person's "that dragged" is another's "that rocked." Anyway, the slow bits makes the more exciting parts that much more thrilling.

Give me whump, and hurt/comfort, and pain that burns the soul. Make the characters deep and compelling and then confront them with nothing but bad choices, force them to pick... and then see them pick each other, everytime, even in the midst of the darkest night imaginable. Give me unreliable narrators and angst and characters with nobility that shines like the sun even when they're covered in shit.

I adored this kind of story when I was 12 and I started the Wheel of Time and fell in love with Rand al'Thor, and I adore this kind of story now, in Tian Guan Ci Fu and The Husky and His White Cat Shizun and Modu. The patterns in the kinds of books I enjoy most, the ones that make me feral and obsessed, are very consistent, and being Old means I know what those patterns are and I can seek out books that have them, and recognize them when I find them again. It's happening with the book I'm reading now, in fact, and I can feel the feral obsession growling in delight in my brain, lmao.

Ya know how some people go into fanfiction because they love a character and want to see iterations of them over and over a little to the left? Well, that's why I started fanfic, and through fic I found a genre of original fiction that does that for me. I want similar character archetypes in endless iterations of stories, and danmei gives that to me, and that's why I'm up to my nose in danmei fandoms, and why the specific ones I like best are my favorites.

What stands out about 2ha, for me, is that it fits my taste in character archetypes and plot type. If someone out there shares that taste, they'll probably also love it. If they don't share that taste, they may not, but they may, because it's a complex enough book to cater to more than just one specific type of taste. Someone who likes OP control fantasies will also probably like it, for example. I wouldn't recommend it to everyone, and that's not a bad thing. Stories that appeal to everyone tend to be shallow and not attract deep obsession, having sacrificed the depth to draw a wider audience.

Anyway, anon...you phrased this like an anti. 80% of your ask is trashing the book on false premises about tropes and cliches. I genuinely can't tell if this is meant as a troll or if it's sincere, but I've answered as if it's sincere. But regardless, you'll be a lot happier as a reader if you forget originality. Books aren't original. Find an author, genre, series, whatever, that fits your taste, and frolic there. That's the route to happy reading.

I've found mine. I hope you find yours.

[wildymoon]

if I hadn't slept at 4am last night and played for 8h today I would do more, here is my recap

(act 2-3 spoilers)

I GOT THE FUCKING LEVELS BUT THE ACHIEVEMENT DIDN'T PROC

on the bright side because Siffrin's at max I get to obliterate everything in sight and that makes fighting funnier

OVER 1000 ERASED SADNESSES. I AM GOD /silly

obliterated the King very easily (forgot I had the bomb too but shhh)

and flames and flood that glitch effect. oh by the stars above. oh wow. YES. but also that was spooky despite me having been spoiled for that

the fact that the smell of burnt sugar was so prominent and yet Siffrin hasn't commented at all on the nostalgie (AND THE TEARS???) smelling sweet is driving me up the wall

adhd moment everything gets a speedrun

ghost jumpscare is very fun, I read through the achievements but seeing one still gives me the urge to just go "WHAT THE FUCK."

Bonbon. is going to make me cry. help they're so cute and they just wanna help and not see their found family get hurt and then shrug it off forever, Siffrin-

this image. by the skies. look at them.

I do not normally actually laugh out loud at my computer when not on voice call. "we have one of those at home" in Mirabelle's hangout got a big laugh out of me. Well played, game <3

poor Odile went on a wile-d goose chase (this pun was a stretch but I Had To)

impatience moment from me but it's easier to manage than the sugar thing

Isabeau trans moment??

this and Mirabelle's hangout make me really want to stream this game to a friend of mine. they may end up crying tho.

urge to murderhobo. but scared. ask multiple sources and places whether it's a loopending thing if I go feral. get no answer. chicken out because the anxiety always wins in this scenario because FAMILY ON THE LINE. this is probably in character tbh

otherwise vibe through loop as normal

temptation. to pineapple. cause completionist and "what does the button do". but I don't wanna upset them. and I'm scared. hhhhhhhhhh

WHAT THE FUCK?

CHANGE GOD??????

change god is an uwu I'm going to explode (it's hilarious but I am lowkey dying here)

ring ring ring ring ring, banana fone!!!!

oh

oh god oh fuck

....

you BITCH /lh

the final snacktime of this run nearly killed me I don't usually cry but this nearly made me tear up. found family really do get me

giving the King a flower may not have been the Smartest idea, but for some ungodly reason it's giving me Hollow Knight vibes and that makes it worth the confusion

I know this isn't the end but new dialogue!!!

ISABEAU YOU CHICKEN. PLEASE. I am too soft to call you a useless gay even in jest but COME ON MAN

welp here we go again

poor Siffrin

uh

oh

FUCK

GUYS????????

I stopped after the loop ended but it feels like a cliffhanger.

MAN. MY BRAIN. I wanna keep going but it's been 8h and now that I have the memory of family there is literally nothing keeping me from going for OP 2 Electric Boogaloo when I get back to playing. and I don't wanna stay up until 4am again.

I don't have to chain fam runs in order to get You Are Loved, right? I mean I probably will but I'm tempted to make Odile suspicious of me and that might fudge it a bit.

[sylvies-chen]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤️

Ahh ok this is so cute I’m glad I was sent this because I feel like I never promote my own stuff on here and wouldn’t unless prompted lol.

Hopelessly Devoted To You - anyone who’s read my stuff has probably read this one, it’s my most popular fic and my first ever AU. I was so proud of this story, and met some of the most wonderful fandom friends through this story

Spinning Out - this is my most severely underrated fanfiction ngl!! I was so proud of this when I wrote it and was in my Burzek feels. I owe @fighterkimburgess for this, who championed this fic for me, like I was writing it solely for you at one point cíara! you were its biggest fan for sure. anyway y’all can pry ballerina kim from my cold dead hands it was glorious.

Violin Concert in D Minor, Op. 47: I. Allegro Moderato - MY KENSTEWY FIC MY BELOVED yes I absolutely wrote a fic because of a violin concerto I’d heard it’s the geekiest thing ever but I lovedddd getting to write college!kenstewy and this was right after the succession finale too so I needed a win (or at least to write a little smut).

Where the Mind Wanders - one thing about me is that I LOVE the “dream sequence where deceased loved ones visit them” trope. think that episode of Sherlock where he gets shot, think 8.15 of Bones, things like that. because you get such an insight into a character’s psyche while also getting feral worried energy from character B who’s in love with them, and it’s just. SO GOOD. so I tried writing that for Chenford because we have yet to experience any true whump from established chenford now that they’re actually together and I wanted to write Tim losing it over Lucy being in danger!!

Love & Metachrosis - listen I love getting to write sort of higher concept fics and getting super creative with it, but this fic is none of that. it’s heartfelt as all my stuff is, but I’m proud of it for its comedy and humour. I genuinely did try writing it as a real scene from a (hypothetical at the time) season 2 episode of OFMD, and added in some comedy in there (I hope) so I’m proud of it precisely because it is super kitschy and silly and fun, but there is still a lot to sink your teeth into and it slowly sinks into the emotional stuff just like the show does. Idk, it was just the first fic I’d ever written for a show that is technically a comedy so I was really happy with the balance!

bonus points for my new chenford AU that I’m writing right now which is probably the best thing I’ve written and my favourite new idea, because I haven’t posted it yet but I still am so excited for it!! Title is TBD but @morganupstead knows what’s up (morgan it’s my superpowers fic and it’s coming along beautifully I totally need to send you the first two chapters or something because you kept me going with writing this)

[mamamittens]

Well, I've made minimal progress drawing my weird little alien alter (the face and appendages keep fucking with me, ngl, I really don't draw animals often lol) but I've had fun mentally plotting out a little story to entertain myself at work.

I thought it'd be fun to explore identity, disassociation, and relationships through this funky little dude. Mostly cause several of my earliest OCs are low-key excuses to explore myself cause I'm not very socially aware. I won't say stupid but like, it took 20+ years to even consider that I've never had any real attraction towards someone before in my life.

It's the tism

Anyway! So I was playing around with the concept of what would happen to your sense of self if you were stripped of your previous physical form and given a new one totally alien that didn't change with time. There's no aging. You can't grow into this body. Bond with others over the unique difficulties time gives you as you age.

Any friends you make, it's a real possibility now that they won't be there for anywhere near as long as you are. This clashes with the curse idea I started with but only if I dedicate to naming what it even is to start with. Whatever it is, it definitely isn't working like it was intended to.

And so, to do this for OP, I needed to start sometime before the main story to let this existential horror really sink in. And because I liked the idea of the timing, I figured the island Roger and Whitebeard fight would be a fun meeting point.

First idea was that they (cursed OC) go there recently-ish. Enough to know the island but not establish any super dedicated base. This goes into shenanigans where they steal a weapon to reach their only remaining human clothing item from a branch that it caught on when they fell into the verse. Naturally talking to the blade and promising to leave fruit as an apology for taking it. Maybe with an audience of a very amused owner.

The second idea is that they've been there for a very long time. The WBP and Roger pirates fight taking place just around the time their only human companion has passed, leaving them bereaved and alone. Extra sad points here. Maybe they lived together for several decades in a cabin and now it's so empty the prospect of leaving it behind feels as necessary as it is upsetting.

The third is even worse, the fight taking place several years after their friend's passing and with the lack of human company they've sort of devolved into something closer to an animal than a person. So much so that they have trouble talking for a while after suddenly being prompted to speak up. Initial idea is that Buggy is eaten by a giant frog and is saved but they tell him "wash. No hurt, wash" when they mean to say "you need to wash off the stomach acid or get 3rd degree burns in under an hour". Eventually leading the two captains to the abandoned house for tea but finding all the supplies for it having gone bad for some time.

Naturally, regardless of which one I go with, the custody battle is epic. Though I'm leaning with the third, ngl

Kiwi (their name for now, it's just my baby nickname lol) either goes with the WBP or Roger. If it's Roger the split goes badly and Kiwi ends up half feral again having been aggressively on the run to draw attention away from Shanks and Buggy. It's a few years before they're found again.

I'm leaning on the size thing being connected with state of mind. Like, vulnerable and afraid is the smol bean version. Feral is either the middle 'grown' version or full space dragon depending on how bad it is. Wholly aware and in control is usually smol bean but when talking to people 'on their level' or super comfortable, it's the grown version. So this fighting ring is a very feral, growly grown version with cat pupils.

I had a really horrible and sweet idea that Kiwi ends up in a fighting ring and nearly guts the newly appointed commander Thatch (like I could resist, who do you think I am???) Before noticing his jolly Roger tattoo.

"...friend?" And feels really bad about injuring him. He's confused but rolls with it, busting them out and is delighted to discover that Kiwi is in fact, an old friend of his captain. The rehabilitation is easier this time cause it hasn't been quite so long since Kiwi talked to people and didn't just exist in a fugue state.

Kiwi keeps more animalistic traits such as climbing people, chirping, purring, grooming, and expressive ears/tail body language. Maybe some face rubbing. You know. Like a cat lol

Not sure how human form comes about. But it'd be funny if they admit they miss certain aspects regardless of form. Like having four arms and finding clothes that fit without messing up thick fur.

[sashi-ya]

~💟 Sashi's Valentine's Corner 💟~

NSFW~ Law, Sanji, Zoro, Ace & Sabo ~ HCs on Which Kinks They Have

So here I am with my ideas of what they enjoy during sexy times, related to their past experiences in life and how those events could have led them to have such preferences. This a personal hc, pls do not hate if you are not agree.

tw: MINORS DNI. Well, pretty much self explanatory. Kinks mentioned: blood kink, masochism, somnophilia, medical play, sadism, switch, dom, sub, daddy/mommy kink, feminization, sweat kink, bondage, restraining, caning, spanking, voyeurism, breeding.

wc: 2.3k

Switching in between a sadist and a little victim.

Medical play

Oh wait, but did you think this man was into acting like a doctor like those mild porn movies? Oh no, man… Law, Law has the Ope Ope no mi fruit and he knows how to use it for medical -and not so medical- purposes.

He won’t be willing to cut you into pieces at first, of course not, much less without your consent. But if you give it to him… well, prepare yourself. Law could probably tie you -on those darkest nights- and leave you there, alone, without any part of your body he chooses. You can feel the stimulation all of a sudden, but you don’t know what’s next. It’s like blindfolding but to a new whole level.

Also of course, electrical shocks. YES. But soft. You know his “Counter Shock” ability? He can use both fingers or just one, toning down the amount of joules (energy unit that we use with defibrillators) just to make it pleasant for you. He uses those soft shocks that creates in between his fingers to stimulate any zone you would prefer. He is more into the nipple play with them, but you can ask and he will deliver.

Law is a SWITCH.

whereas he loves to be the top, and it’s kinda weird for people to think otherwise, Law needs to let go of all of his worries sometimes. How does he do it? By submitting to you. He leaves everything to you, and he's the kind of sub who needs love and care, almost like a little boy. Most of the time he won’t go into the “age regression” thing, but he will sometimes.

He is a man that’s absolutely not afraid of anything and understands his body and his needs. He is not embarrassed to admit he likes pegging or any other practices that could stimulate any erogenous zones of his anatomy.

He is also into the mommy/daddy kink. Yes. He is. A guy who has a heavy past related with the loss of his caregivers (twice) has developed a dependency for his lover in more than a romantic way. He enjoys being treated sweetly; he enjoys being cared for. He also enjoys sucking tits (not a surprise) and calls his partner mommy/daddy.

Feral or Sleepy…

Blood kink (Hematolagnia)

Our marimo loves to taste the ferrous flavour of the red vital fluid. He also has a need to bite. Since he is into blood, of course, he would get a little aroused by the adrenaline of subduing and subjugating enemies while making them profusely bleed. His demonic side takes over very often.

If you are a person with periods, yes, Zoro is into that. He doesn’t mind you fucking during those days, and he wouldn’t mind of course… you know…tasting some…

Pain Kink (Masochism)

LOVES to inflict pain, but even more, feel it.

Since that time when “nothing happened” during Thriller Bark, his mind went on a dark dark place. He became obsessed with being able to tolerate huge amounts of pain, so he trained hard, really hard. It is difficult to determine where kinks come from, but psychology has its role on them for sure, and so since that new obsession the idea of getting pleasure from pain deeply sat on his mind.

What type of pain? any, really. If you happen to be fighting by his side and he receives a little cut or hit, he will dedicate you a devilish sight and smirk showing you how much he is gonna fuck you when the fight is over.

Somnophilia (with consent)

We all know Zoro and his love for sleeping, right? what if I told you he enjoys a LOT to fuck you while in bed, both sleepy. He loves to hug you from behind, bite shoulders, use his heavy hands to slowly push you against his crotch and sometimes he even has his dick in between your thighs or even inside you in a cockwarming way. There is nothing Zoro loves more than the intimacy of not saying anything, but just feeling his lover close, close, and warm to his body.

He adores grunting into his partner’s ear, while he begins to move in and out, wetting his lover's thighs, using one hand to masturbate them and the other to cover their mouth.

He also loves to be woken up with his lover’s mouth around his shaft, he has begged them to do so, he enjoys it as much as drinking a cup of delicious sake.

Also, if of course his partner has given previous consent, he would wake them up equally.

Needy, lovingly, useful

Oh sweet freckles… he is the sentimental person of the group. Ace is the type of man that would enjoy orgasming a little too much, the guy who has a kink for making love to you.

He enjoys every single part of your body, fixing his eyes into yours, slowly at first burying inside you. Classic missionary, and probably some tears while reaching orgasm with you. Ace wants to finish at the same time as his lover.

The fire freckles boy is all about intimacy and connection. He is indeed into romantic love making. Ace considers that someone loving him, someone willingly wanting to share his body with him and giving him the possibility to be “useful” to them is peak pleasure. The twinkling star has still to work with self-love and feeling proud of himself, so feeling others' love and need for him is all he could ever ask for. That’s why Ace at first, would be a little embarrassed to come a little too soon, as he feels so extremely joyful his hips would move in an ambrosial and feral motion, in and out of you.

He likes to grunt, and moan. And he also likes to hear you do so. There is no better sound for him to hear than your moaning calling his name. “Say you need me” “Say you love me” “Tell me how much you want this”.

Breeding kink

Should I specify why? This youngster is the embodiment of the word “daddy issues”.

Filling you up, romantically, but willingly to impregnate you is a typical practice for him. He gets instantly hard at the thought of your clenching walls being bathed by his warm release. Ace has always stated that he is ready, ready to be a dad, and he is absolutely not worried about getting you pregnant besides the arousing fantasy. “I want my seed inside you, and I will be here to care for you and the little plant growing from my seed”

Guess Ace is trying to unconsciously fill a void and a resentment he still holds deep inside his heart.

Aftercare and praising

Praising you like the queen/king, as a god, as deity for him as he goes deep inside you is also a must for him. Sweet words full of love and lust will flood your ears while he makes you reach heaven with slow, deep thrusts.

After care also is a must. He needs hugs and cuddles after sex. Ace would bury his freckled nose into the crook of your neck while you brush his black wavy locks back as he drifts into sleep. A total sweetheart, a needy man that enjoys the warmth of your love as if it were the last time, he would be feeling it.

SUB.

SUB

OH ALSO, YES, A SUB.

No but really, do you really believe that Sanji is able to act all pervy with a partner when they are alone? Absolutely no. Sanji is a sweetheart, and even if he had created a whole aura of “perviness” around his character he is nothing but that -I mean, he still has pervy thoughts- but when it comes to acting, it is really different for him.

So, what does Sanji enjoy the most? Being used. Being used and probably humiliated, in every possible way. A guy who has suffered that much abuse during his childhood could only lead to extreme behaviours. Sanji has always been a sweet kid and also, he enjoys serving others… but to which extent? A lot. From walking on all fours, to any activity you could ask for, he would obey.

As he enjoys being used and humiliated, he also loves the aftercare after. Red knees are his favourite thing to look at while his partner gives him a bath. Unfortunately, the bath would be something quick, since the moment he feels energized again he would be running to the kitchen to make his lover a delicious plate.

Sanji… hold on a sec, man. Let people love you!

Feminization.

A man who is constantly so aware of women, is probably also interested in more than their bodies. He has spent 2 years with the Okamas and has gone through a whole process from being ashamed to feeling comfortable with women’s clothes on.

Of course he would deny such preference but, deep inside his mind and when solitude hits, Sanji would dare to look at the mirror and paint his lips in bloody red with a lipstick he has in one of his secret drawers. Is not that he is not comfortable with identifying as a man, absolutely no, he loves his masculinity, but sometimes he feels curious and aroused. And that curiosity and the many barriers he creates against his own pulsations, makes him absolutely aroused. Sometimes to the point of coming by the simple touch of women’s lingerie on his sex.

He would be very careful with this topic, though. Sanji will take a long, long time to communicate these preferences to you if he ever does. Is not that he doesn’t trust you, but he is the one who still hasn’t accepted his kink fully.

Sweat/body odor kink.

He is a gentleman, right? He bathes every day; he uses perfume and he wears classic suits…. but Sanji has yet another kink hidden…

This is highly specific, and I’m sure not all of us will agree, but this man is crazy for smelling his lover skin scent while fucking. What’s more, he actually adores the scent of any partner (man/woman) *cof Zoro cof* after training. Also, the little drops of sweat while fucking/someone fucking him that fall into his face drives him CRAZY.

Bondage

Yes, you know it, we all know it. Sanji enjoys being tied up as a part of being a sweet sub. And it’s not a secret, please refer to this post to see how Oda has stated this through all of the years.

Obey the Chief

Ah the sweet blonde that could crush you with just a hand if he wanted to…

Dominance and restraints.

Sabo has a sweet dark side when arousal hits him. He is the chief of personnel in a huge paramilitary organization, what else could you expect but him being a dom? He likes control, he likes to order you up, to assert dominance over you.

Dark grey eyes that turn into the darkest when he hears you moan, he can’t stop himself when he sees you all tied up. Because yes, this man enjoys restraining his “victims.” Leather cuffs and straps, having you like a slave makes him go feral. And it’s actually funny how he is a walking contradiction, he hates nobles yet dresses as one, he frees slaves but enjoys fucking you like one… who knows? Maybe after all the trauma and his fixed ideals, “being abusive” is what turns him on to the fullest.

Of course Sabo is a true man, he would always go further if you have positively agreed to do so. He would never, ever, hurt you and if someone dares to… well… hell will rise.

Spanking and caning.

This man loves to have you over his thighs, and leave your ass cheeks red, red like his scar, red and maroon. He would make you count each and one of his spanks with his gloved heavy hand (pray for him not to use haki).

But, there is a special technique he dearly loves… and that is caning. He is always carrying a pipe as if it were a cane, so, do not be surprised if he wants to use something similar with you. Like spanking, he would use the punishment long tool to leave red marks at the back of your thighs, and he would dearly enjoy you squirming and wetting your panties under his control and discipline.

Voyeurism and breaking the rules.

This man also has a problem with controlling himself. The lack of it could make him feel as pathetic as aroused, and even if he never did it without consent or out of his imagination, he fantasizes with watching his lover/any person he gets aroused by touching themselves while he jerks off hidden and unnoticed.

Even during threesomes, -because he has been involved in some before-, he is usually the one who lets morality put a foot over his actions, making him go painfully hard and drippy inside his own boxers while he sees the others fuck. He would end up succumbing to his needs, allowing his hardness and horniness to take over, turning himself into a demon shortly after.

[heresathreebee]

Silver Ghosts

[A Rick Flag fic]

On the first of each month, each member of GFS will write a drabble of 1k words or less based on a selected prompt and using a character played by Joel Kinnaman. 

March 2022's prompt: The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to him was that she was alive.

Masterlist other GFS projects

Tag(s) 16+ | mature language, descriptions of sex, first person Rick Flag POV, noire overtones, vague religious references, implied necromancy. 

The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to me was that she was alive. 

Dubois was right, maybe I am whipped. 

The year is 2015, just before I met June. Everyone in the world is obsessed with Capes– all excitement and not enough fear. And I was supposed to be running black ops missions to hunt felony committing metahumans for capture. 

I was never meant to be here. 

Here. Champagne and an indoor hot tub, our shoes littered on the clean, carpeted floor. She tugs on the ends of my loose bow tie to pull me into another kiss, not caring that her $2,000 dress was soaked through. She'd steal another one, a better one. 

My hand caresses the back of her head to pull her deeper into me. She always wants to be close and I always need her closer. I had pulled her into the jacuzzi knowing come daylight, she'd be gone without a trace again just like always. 

Damn that woman...

Breaking the kiss, I can feel her smile against my lips as she whispers, "can you use those handcuffs on me tonight, Colonel?" 

She knows I love it when she calls me that. My pants are tight and it's not just the water making them so. When we fuck, it's slow and sensual. Every sigh that falls from her lips is soft, sometimes it's my name or a curse, and she doesn't mention that the fingers of my right hand are tangled in her bound ones. When I spill my seed inside her welcoming warmth, I cannot hold back those three little words that terrified me the most. 

"I love you," I breathe into her neck. I roll my hips harder as I come down from my high and say, "I love you darlin'", over and over again. 

She doesn't say it back, but I was sick with love and thought she meant it when she wrapped her legs around my hips after. I was such a hopeless fool back then.

I didn't see her again after that. 

For years after my failure to capture, Waller never stopped wanting her. "She could be the single greatest asset this country has ever seen." 

Magic users were our greatest allies in the purely hypothetical dogfight that Waller expected from Superman, who most considered a god amongst men. But my part in her life? That was over. I searched and I searched under the pretense of imprisonment at Belle Reve, but I never got close to her again.

Always one step behind. 

We both learned about each other during our time together. If she didn't want to be caught… then she simply would not be. It was a fool's errand we were after. She was powerful beyond limitation and could not sit still long enough to trap physically or emotionally. 

I tell myself I wish I had just another chance, but even while I was with Dr. Moon, I knew my idiot heart would have told her I still loved her all over again. 

It is 2021 when I realize just how stupid I've been. Waller's back up plan stabs me in the heart with a piece of ceramic tile and looks like he's going to cry doing it. I'm on my back bleeding out. I can feel every desperate and frantic pump of my heart like a feral animal trying to claw its way out of my ribcage and it hurts. 

The last thoughts on my mind are not of giant alien starfishes and corpsified Corto Maltesian children. They are of her and what could have been if she had just let down her walls and admit she loved me back. Did I ever truly think she would? I realize I never knew fantasy from reality when it came to her. 

I have no idea how much time has passed. All I know is the taste of copper and ash like dirt in my cottonmouth and a sharp ache over my heart. My lungs burn as they gasp for air and the world is dark grey around me. I cannot move my arms nor feel my legs except for a cold chill that creeps in on me. I have never in all my ears been so afraid. I am buried alive in what I can only surmise as rubble. 

When I try to scream, nothing but a troubling, quiet wheeze escapes. I try again, this time something like a pained grunt escapes. But who would hear me from my grave? 

There's ringing in my ears that decrescendos into the sound of shifting rock and something else. It sounds like voices from so far away and it stupidly gives me hope. I try to scream again but I can't– despite my desire to live, I have not the strength to beg for it, so I pray instead. It is the first time since my childhood I remember believing someone could hear me. 

I feel a weight lifted off of me. For a moment I believe I have died again as bright light spills over sensitive eyes, but the pain of breathing and seeing and being is too great and too familiar to be of heaven or hell. I can hear shouting but it's muffled like an ocean lives between myself and them, all I can make out is my name. 

Rick. Rick. Rick. 

I do not realize how cold my skin is until I feel warm hands on my face, each like a caress from the summer sun that makes your skin tingle. Something bumps my nose, something brushes my cheeks, something blocks the blinding light all around me. I open my eyes just a bit and see her. 

The world was collapsing, and the only thing that mattered to me was that she was alive. I croak her name hoarsely. 

"I love you," I say, "I'm sorry…" 

I have so much to tell her that I'm not even sure what exactly I'm trying to apologize for.

In return, she shakes her head, tears pouring down her beautiful face as she replies and her voice is sweeter than any church choir and stronger than any hurricane, earthquake, or tsunami combined.

"You're not allowed to die, Colonel." 

And where she wills, the grass bends and the wind whips and the mountains bow. If she commands it, the universe obeys. So I will not die, at least, not today. 

[eatsbop]

Tulio anger management post

It's like what Annie Wilkes said, he didn't get out of the cock-a-doodie car.

Peetee let me down and if anything, it's because he's lazy.

Maybe I'm not qualified to nitpick like wtf I ain't shit but you know, it just pisses me off like I've been holding this in, bro. I tried my best. I'm here for the hell of it but it's been pissing me off so bad for so long.

Anyway, idk where to even start.. but let's just talk about my major beef.

He didn't get out the cock-a-doodie car. In the last chapter rocketman was stuck in a car and it careened down a cliff.. but then next chapter they show us, rocketman is safe. He got out of the car after all.

Annie was right about that one thing, that ain't playing fair.

It's just fucking lazy writing, bro. Like sure, I'm glad my guy is fine. Han Wanguk gets squashed by the hydraulic press one chapter then NO he ACTUALLY didn't, fooled ya. Baek Seongjoon had given up the last of his ghost, NO actually he didn't. He's actually fueled by the power of love. What the fuck, Romeo.

Okay, sure. Let's say we can forgive the whole Wanguk thing. Things happened before Jenny left the cargo container. But can you explain what SJ's little office tantrum was for then? What about his 5 ep flashback? Okay, let's say the whole beating up and almost crippling a bunch of teenagers is his attempt to maintain his cover cause you know, he's still hoping his little jig to infiltrate Taesan's ranks hadn't completely collapsed just yet. What was he being so dramatic in his office for? Did Jenny install security cameras in SJ's control room to monitor him like a lab rat? Doubt it. Then later he showed us a panel of SJ calling his dad-in-law, "ooh don't get mad at yoo hobin uwuwu". What? What what. Make it make sense.

You know the whole bad-guy-actually-sweet-guy worked for Taehoon's case cause meowmeow had a build up. I don't know why Peetee's so keen on recycling ideas that he sold before. The only thing it does is make the entire meal bland and over chewed.

Seo Seongun goes feral. Cool, show-stopping, fresh, spicy.. but every other character going feral during fights too? Don't these mofos have any integrity. I only need one Sammy. That position is already taken. I'm good. Stop copy-pasting him over everyone, it makes Sammy look regular.

I don't understand why Peetee needs to do this except out of laziness. He could write characters like Olly and Jiho. Why would he cut corners when he could do better? I'm happy how he handled Jiho. He didn't turn op like everyone else. He just kept doing his little Jiho deeds as little evil Jiho within his little Jiho bounds.

Uuurghgg.. I'm so pissed.

Anyway. Must you really spell out the situation for Yoo Hobin. It's so fucking literal, it hurts my pride. Oooh he's the good guy, the protagonist. He does good things. He's the hero. Because SJ is actually a good guy and he's working for the common good because love.. wins. No, it didn't. That's fucking bullshit, my guy. Can't you dig more into Hobin's character? Say, what's wrong with falling victim to the consequences of your actions? Can't a dude struggle because he made bad life decisions? Might it not be homeboy burrowed himself too deep into this fucking mess with no way out and now he's trying to wriggle away and survive and.. and.. cause man.. the economy is just this bad. Making a living is so fucking complicated. Making a living while having a conscience is sheer fucking torture. I wish I can sell everyone out but nah, I'm better than that uwu I'm Yoo "The Man" Hobin.

But no it's just, Yoo Hobin is.. good guy. He is.. good guy and he do.. the good things. Because I'm too lazy to explore his character uwu.

(Can you fucking tell I'm sitting bored in a waiting room? Yes, I'm sitting bored in a waiting room. I don't have the energy for any of this but I am full of spite and I'm so fucking bored.)

As for the stuff regarding him being a bigot.. Okay, let me just say.. I never had any real hope or expectation for any form of media, series, title, whatever else in regards to things like representation and all that. I don't, I'm fed up. And Peetee is too fucking fan-servicey to be trusted. Like he gives us a dick shot and call it a day. I'm sick of all the marketing ploys and all the fucking rainbow filter slapped in every fucking logo every pride month.

Anyway, whatever. Didn't Yeonwoo's dad recognize SJ's lady as uh.. some politician's daughter? Like yea, let's all pretend you build that up, Peetee. Good job, man.

[solari-writes-things]

Boxing Day

requested by: @kind-wolf​

Solari says: I feel like this is a little more brief than some of the things I write, so I hope that it provides a little more of the comical vibe to make up for it.

Prompts -

#11: “You didn’t tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I going to do?”

Happy Lowman x Reader

WARNINGS: Language

gif credit: to the OP (pulled from Google).

SoA tag list: @thebookishfeminist​ :|: @sazafraz​​​ :|: @crimsonheart01​​​ :|: @kind-wolf​ :|: @tsumethedrifter​ :|:​ @chibsytelford​​ :|: @supervalcsi​​ (To be added to the tag list, please message me, or comment below!)

MORE HAPPY | MORE SOA | > MASTERLIST < | REQUESTS OPEN

It took you awhile to convince yourself to finally visit the SAMCRO clubhouse. Not for any particular reason, it’s just that the party scene just wasn’t your preference.

However, you had known Harry Winston for years. You once lived in Charming, when you were a teenager, before moving a little further South of the small town. Finally deciding to move back, you rekindled your friendships with him and Jackson Teller, which prompted an invitation for a clubhouse party. 

You almost didn’t want to accept just on the idea of a party. You weren’t too much of an extrovert, preferring to meet everyone on your own accord; however, you didn’t plan on making any trips out of your own time. This was the chance that you had to meet the other people your two friends mentioned prior, their loyal brothers in arms.

They always spoke highly of them, confident that you would get along swimmingly. You had the talent of getting along with almost anyone, though, within reason.

So here you were, sitting in a crowd that surrounded a rinky-dink boxing ring outside of the bar itself. Harry, or Opie, had been sitting to your right to watch the men brawl. There was two in the center, dancing around one another and swinging harshly. One was Tig, whom you had met on arrival to the party, and the other you hadn’t quite met yet.

Opie had been calling him Happy, which you weren’t sure was his real name. The man was anything but that, tall and tattooed all over the parts of his body that you could see. His hands were wrapped tightly in tape, stained just a slight shade of red from the beating that he had been giving Tig these last five minutes. His eyes were serious, feral even, as he shuffled around the ring.

You tapped your fingers against your beer bottle calmly, watching the two of them circle. The jerking of their arms, followed by the sounds of their skin being beat made you cringe where you sat. Something about the two of them in the ring together almost made you a little fearful.

Two opposing, wild forces clashing against each other.

Tig managed to land a couple of back-to-back punches, which seemed to have Happy in a bit of a daze in the corner of the ring. He would try to follow up with another barrage of hits, but the President of the Sons of Anarchy stood up from his ringside seat and called the match to an end.

Both men were almost coated in a matching shade of red, and you almost didn’t notice until they had been called to a stop.

Instead of them sauntering out, their expressions went from wild to smiling; the quickness of it all was enough to give you whiplash. They bring each other in for a hard hug, before both of them duck through the ropes on opposing sides.

Happy dropped down calmly in front of you and Opie, giving a nod of greeting to Opie before approaching. The longer you paid attention to him, the longer you seemed to realize that he wasn’t a bad looking man--blood and all. Your eyes scanned the different types of ink that he had strewn all over his body, intrigued in the different art styles that he had decorated himself in. God, you had hoped he didn’t notice you staring just a bit too much.

“Fuckin’ badass match, Hap,” Opie commented, taking a drink of his own beer bottle. “You look like shit.”

Happy had an almost wicked grin on his face, amused at the fact that he was in such a shape. “I’ve had worse, man. Shit will get cleaned up quick.”

You were almost startled by the sound of his voice. You didn’t know what to expect, really, but the tones that left his mouth definitely weren’t it. Honestly, it kind of added to the face-level fascination.

Opie nodded his head to you, directing Hap’s attention to you. Your eyes dart up from his tattoos, and you offer a smile that feigned your innocence. “Happy, this is [Y/N]. She just moved back to Charming, I’ve known her for years.”

“Hey,” you said simply, trying to keep your responses as brief as possible to hide the fact that your eyes were wandering just a bit before.

“Hey,” he greeted. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are kinda covered in blood.”

“Noted,” you replied quickly. “Great match, had me worried you were gonna kill each other.”

“If Clay didn’t call it, someone probably woulda gotten close,” he casually admitted. If speaking to anyone else, they’d probably take that as their first warning.

But here you were, completely ignoring that notion. “Can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Situational,” he retorted, before looking down at himself. There was a bit of blood clinging to the skin of his chest and his face, which prompts him to speak again. “I gotta fuckin’ wash this off. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He trudges off, pushing through the crowd of patched members trying to pat him on the back in praise.

You look back to Opie, almost in disbelief, not even paying attention to the fact that he was drinking out of his beer bottle again when you opened your mouth. “What the fuck, man? You didn’t tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I gonna do?”

It was almost comical, the reaction that Opie immediately gave to you. With your mild infatuation with Happy out in the open, he had almost choked on the beer that he was in the process of swallowing. He lurched forward, coughing into the shirt that he wore underneath the kutte. You grimaced at the coughing fit, reaching over and patting his back as if to encourage him to let it all out.

Once he was finished, he sat back up again and wiped his mouth of any remnants of his fit. He began to grin, laughing just a bit once the spasms in his chest has settled down.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, man, I hate you,” you said jokingly, giving him a gentle shove; inevitably causing him to laugh even more.

“To answer your question, you can come with me to get a beer,” you heard an answer, causing your head to whip around once more in a start.

Your heart picked up it’s pace. Happy had come back, slightly leaned over to pick up something that was laying on one of the wooden tables you were sitting near. He had forgotten to pick up his rings, placing them on the palm of his hand calmly as he waited for you to respond.

“Oh... Shit, Happy, you sure about that?” you ask, nerves settling on your shoulders once it really sank in that he had heard your comment.

“Yeah. Why the fuck not?” he asked, standing straight once he had all of his rings in his hands. “Come on. Just gotta wait for me to finish up.”

So you stand, slowly, just in case Happy decided this was no longer a good idea. You wouldn’t be angry if he did, you kind of embarrassed yourself in front of him and Opie. However, when nothing of that notion left his mouth, you relaxed your shoulders. 

He turns, connecting eyes with you once again. With a serious expression, one that he wore since coming back, he nods towards the door that led back into the bar and begins to walk towards it.

And you follow, with an approving nod from Opie, towards the black painted door frame that contained the comradery inside. 

[hostilehospitalbeds]

now I do agree with the points being made above, certainly I do not like when people seem to take joy in killing any animal invasive or not (people will turn native species into the equivalent of invasives with the term “pest”) and the use of poisons or leaving an animal in an unchecked trap to starve to death (or drown apparently, that was a new one for me from this article 😬), and most of what I’m about to say is aimed at comments I saw in the notes and not really anything op or the other two blogs above said:

but I just think there are still too many people who inherently view killing an invasive species as inhumane, who will immediately label anyone who does this no matter how humanely as a cruel sadistic monster, and so while stuff like the lantern fly campaigns have gone too far in the opposite direction towards “no no, cruelty is ok if it’s invasive!” we have GOT to find the balance.

Birth control/TNR programs do not remove the harmful species from the ecosystem it’s damaging, they rely on the idea that at some nebulous end point this species will stop reproducing and the remaining individuals die off but the idea that we’re ever going to get a 100% success rate is so absurd.

We don’t want randos who are going to take pleasure in torturing animals to get involved in eradication programs but that doesn’t mean any public involvement is completely bad (from what I’ve heard lion fish derbys are a useful tool and always staffed with biologists; this isn’t necessarily possible with other things like the python derby and so we do need to consider when it’s appropriate and when it’s not! And in some cases hunting is NOT effective even when done by professionals - feral hogs for example. Extremely carefully monitored trapping is required).

and like I read an article about how they want to move to birth control for the red squirrels in the UK b/c the current methods are viewed as cruel but the current method is to trap a squirrel, put a bag over its head, and one quick blow with a hammer and it’s over. They even eradicated it from one small island (I can’t remember the location or if it was a true island or more of an ecological island with barriers to prevent future colonization). But it is inherently assumed that to take a hammer to that animal’s head makes you a sick sadist. But shooting a squirrel in the head is a little harder than a large swine! And plenty of people as I said find even shooting too unpleasant. And even humane euthanasia in a controlled setting - I’m sorry guys but as much as I want every cat to have a safe loving home that isn’t possible and some are gonna have to be euthanized. It is a better death than them getting hit by a car or attacked by another animal or dying of disease. (Obviously I am talking about the massive feral cat colonies and do not condone the trapping and euthanasia of anyone’s pet, for those situations we need to encourage indoor cats and leash use and please if you must let your cat free roam outdoors (there is no situation in which you must do this btw but I know some people have to deal with unwilling parents), microchip it so if it did get trapped it could be identified as your pet and returned to you!).

and lastly big fuck you to every ecofascist in the comments saying humans are invasive species. Nope nope nope. In fact I’d like to see us move from saying things like “humans shouldn’t be culling sharks for attacking/insert other similar example, you moved into THEIR home” and instead say “hey it’s their home TOO. They deserve to live here as much as you do.” to avoid that “humans don’t belong here” narrative!

Oh they're fucking FINALLY having this discussion. You would not believe how I see even "nature lovers" (especially nature lovers) talk about invasive species like they're evil demons you can go ahead and burn alive. Article is more about phasing out some exceptionally cruel types of trap but maybe that'll get regular people reconsidering how they treat stuff in their own yards, too.

Because what I feel I consistently observe is that, they might not even realize it at all, but it's like people are playing "acceptable target" with invasives and letting out all their bloodlust. I am not vegan and not against killing organisms in all sorts of contexts but there's no excuse to be callous and spiteful in the process.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

193 for... maybe nanahiko? Really just do whatever ship you feel like :D

193. "Are you crazy? The kid is upstairs!" | VestigesTorino [Yes. OT8. The orgies are fantastic, and Torino is Holder bait, 8th and 9th exempt.] | WC: 2,222 of an OFA!VampireCoven!AU except op has taken liberties with worldbuilding.

TW: Blood-drinking. Outrageous flirting. Mildly spicy!

//

“Vampires,” Sorahiko echoes blankly.

He looks from left to right, trying to spot the differences between himself and the six adult men and one adult woman sitting at this round table. Most atypical appearances can be attributed to the strange and wondrous natures of Quirks, so Sorahiko could excuse the fourteen red eyes (every iris the identical shade) as a matter of Quirk heritage. However, none of the Shigarakis resemble the other.

They still might be pulling his leg.

The leader of the household (presumably) leans his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “Torino-san,” he says in a gentle voice, “we greatly appreciate your timely rescue of our youngest. And believe me when I say I would have preferred you stay ignorant of my coven’s true nature.”

“But the boy wants to be a professional hero,” one of the men interrupts. His arms are crossed, and his hair sticks up in rakish angles. An X-shaped scar has been carved over the bridge of his nose, just missing the eyes.

He sounds dismissive of the kid’s dream.

Fair. When Sorahiko had stepped onto the moonlit scene, the kid was frantically scrabbling at a thick-skinned villain’s hand, trying to save his bag from being rummaged. The villain had planted a knee in the kid’s stomach in an attempt to menace him into silence.

Sorahiko pounced on the villain, called in the location to pick up the too-heavy bastard, and escorted the boy home. He fielded questions about heroics and U.A. High for half an hour before they finally reached the Shigaraki compound.

And now he is here, trapped in a gigantic dining room, being told about vampires.

“We agreed to let him try,” says the singular woman sharply.

“If you three hadn’t filled his head about saving the world,” a man with a spiky ponytail shoots back, “then we wouldn’t have this problem. And you too, Yoichi.”

“Nevertheless,” the leader says. His red eyes gleam in the low light, and Sorahiko feels his skin prickling at the attention.

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“Ah, who hasn’t heard of the toughest teacher of U.A.?” another man asks, sly and teasing. His voice is soft like the leader’s, but perceptibly younger. His coloring is similar to the woman’s, but he’s lean where she’s muscular. “Yoichi believes we should give you a head’s up. Toshinori is a good child, but even he will slip from time to time, and that will draw undue attention to himself.”

Sorahiko considers these seven faces. Slowly, he says, “You think he’ll be accepted into U.A.”

“Three of us are active pro-heroes, and we’ve been training him when we can,” the woman informs him. “I’d say he’s got a headstart compared to all of your first years.”

“My students have always been terrible. That’s what schooling is for.”

She flashes a smile at him, toothy and amused; his throat works through a sudden dry spell. Belatedly, Sorahiko realizes that every adult in this kitchen is eyeing him with intense interest. Even the ones that haven’t spoken yet.

Yoichi speaks again. “He’s smart, and he’ll be strong. U.A. will accept him. I ask you for your discretion and help, Gran Torino.”

He could refuse, but Sorahiko assumes they’ll simply kill him. Being blackmailed is a low possibility; Sorahiko doesn’t have much to be blackmailed about. And pro-heroes disappear all the time. No one really knows why. Principal Shi might demand an investigation on Gran Torino’s behalf (and possibly at the behest of Recovery Girl, who grudgingly acknowledges Torino’s efforts to raise the survival rate of U.A.’s graduates), but otherwise…

Still. Vampires. Another subset of humanity, among the Quirked and Quirkless. It’s weird enough to be true.

“Is this a verbal agreement?” Sorahiko asks.

A bark of laughter from the square-jawed man in the leather jacket, who leans forward and grins like a shark at Sorahiko. The light glints off the yellow lenses of his goggles, and the play of light and shadow highlights the muscle definition of the man’s shirtless chest. In a rich, low voice, he says, “We’ve got something better. A contract.”

“Using what?” Sorahiko bites back. “Paper and ink?”

“Skin and teeth, teach’.”

“Daigoro’s correct,” says Yoichi mildly, snatching Sorahiko’s attention away. “Torino-san, allow me to introduce my coven. I am Shigaraki Yoichi, second of my line. In the order of which my coven grew: Kenzo, Sanjuro, Hikage, Daigoro, En, Nana, and you’ve met our Toshinori.” As he speaks, he points to each person in turn.

He wonders when the kid got folded into this group. The kid’s affection for his home had been sincere, and he greeted the adults (well, Hikage had only come out of the forested grounds at Daigoro’s call) with merry cheer.

Is Toshinori even a vampire? U.A. conducts its business in the daytime.

Sorahiko nods in acknowledgement and doesn’t offer his full name in return. Instead, he says, “If I accept this contract, will you tell me whatever I want to know? About anything I ask?”

“Even vampires aren’t omniscient,” Yoichi answers.

Rolling his eyes, Sorahiko clarifies, “If the kid’s going to develop vampirism over the course of high school, then I need to know things. Like whether or not he’ll go feral over spilled blood. Or if sunlight’s going to be an issue.”

Yoichi’s smile is kind, and surprisingly not patronizing. “What we can tell, we will. The contract will have a mutual hold on us all.”

“What could break it?”

“A different coven, not that you should seek one out,” says Nana. “Trust us, we’re as nice as you get in the supernatural world.”

Sorahiko does not have many options. He hates the idea of agreeing to this without a safety net or a contingency plan. How can this woman ask him to trust them immediately? He’d have to be a gullible idiot, or a fool in lust, or...

He exhales. Sighing in resignation, Sorahiko tips his head to Yoichi and says, wry, “I accept the contract. Don’t kill me if your kid comes crying home about how mean I am.”

Yoichi shrugs, casual as anything. “Toshinori’s quite brave for his age, and stubborn, too. You’ll have your hands full training him.” He then stands from his chair; in measured, unhesitating steps, Yoichi approaches where Sorahiko sits at the opposite side of the round table. What he orders, Sorahiko complies with. “Take your cape off, Torino-san. Your gloves as well.”

“You may have to unzip the top half of your suit,” advises Hikage. “You won’t want the signatures to overlap.”

“Signatures,” Sorahiko repeats, pausing.

One glove’s already off. The flight suit’s sleeves extend up to his wrists, and they don’t have a lot of give. Similarly, the collar is skin-tight and provides ample coverage.

Daigoro playfully snaps his teeth at Sorahiko, once, twice. He says, “Paper and ink, skin and teeth. You forget already?”

The man barely flinches at the snarl directed his way. Seven pairs of eyes are honing in on the exposed flesh; Sorahiko shoves his self-conscious thoughts away. He focuses on the sheer outrage of being asked to strip by strangers, hissing, “Are you crazy? The kid is upstairs!”

“I’ll make sure he stays in his room,” Nana volunteers. She winks at Sorahiko. “We’ll be quick, Torino-san. You just have to keep quiet.”

“You—!”

She slips from her chair and darts off, exiting the dining room and ascending the stairs, floating off the floor. Sorahiko glares after her but snaps to attention as Yoichi stops by his chair, hip resting against the table, red eyes expectant.

Grudgingly, Sorahiko works off the second glove. As he does, Yoichi continues to lecture.

“The signatures can be made in two ways. A lighter bite will result in less pain, but will fade sooner. And I’d like for this arrangement to stand for several years, Torino-san. A lighter bite necessitates more renewals. Possibly, seven bites every two weeks.”

“And a stronger bite?”

“Seven every month.”

He scowls at the thought. The only silver lining he can see is that his suit will cover the marks, which will save him from his colleagues’ gossiping tongues. “Monthly, then. Are you drinking my blood? I don’t think I’ve got enough to cover seven appetites.”

Yoichi offers him a gentle smile. “A mouthful will suffice.”

Sorahiko works his jaw, and then he reaches backwards for the hidden zipper. It’s incongruously loud in the dining room; Sorahiko feels his face burning as he hurriedly rips his arms free of the sausage casing sleeves, letting the slackening front of the suit crumple to his lap. He hears an appreciative whistle.

“Daigoro, he can give you a run for your money,” Sanjuro jokes.

“He’s softer,” Daigoro deems, and Sorahiko bristles. “Must be the suit, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he snaps. “And proper hydration, asshole.”

“I’m not complaining!”

“At ease,” says Yoichi, calm, and that’s when Nana makes her reappearance. She swings back into the dining room, expression confident and content, until she spies Sorahiko’s half-naked appearance.

“Are we going in order?” she questions Yoichi, even as her eyes are trained on Sorahiko’s.

“That’s how it works, Nana,” Kenzo answers for their leader. “How’s Toshinori?”

“Watching his martial arts dramas. We’re good for like, fifty minutes.”

“You said you’ll be quick,” Sorahiko rasps, and his hands are clenching into fists, anticipatory and anxious. This is all so incredibly weird. “You all need more than five minutes to bite me?”

Yoichi laughs. It’s a bright sound, attractive and human and not at all like something that should be coming out of a self-proclaimed bloodsucker. When Yoichi moves, pushing off the table, Sorahiko nervelessly allows himself to be pinned to the back of his chair. One hand cards through his hair and lightly tugs; the other hand settles at his shoulder and presses it down.

His throat is exposed. Though Yoichi bends close, Sorahiko knows it isn’t the jugular he’s aiming for.

“Torino-san will need a moment to recuperate,” Yoichi whispers, and Sorahiko shivers, swallows past the apprehension, and spends half a second regretting his decision to let this happen. Yoichi adds, “We will not harm you, and you will not harm us. Your help, in exchange for ours. Let it be so.”

Teeth sink into the join of Sorahiko’s neck and shoulder, sharp and surprisingly hot. Sorahiko chokes out a garbled sound and jerks in his seat, until Yoichi’s bite goes deeper, deeper, and then Sorahiko gasps. Adrenaline bursts to life in his system; his Quirk sputters a reflexive Jet through his boots, but Yoichi’s slender frame hides an unseen strength.

He holds Sorahiko down.

He draws blood from the wound. Sorahiko barely feels the drain, fixated he is on the pressure exerted against him. Every single one of them is going to have the capacity to do this. If Yoichi, whose frame is most similar to En’s, can keep Sorahiko from bolting—Sorahiko arches his back, an involuntary moan escaping him.

It feels good. It feels really, really good.

Yoichi hums against his skin, pleased as punch, and his teeth retract. Sorahiko feels the tongue lap over the mark, heavy with spit. As Yoichi rears back, Yoichi rolls his neck lazily, licking his lips like a cat full from its meal.

“The saliva is a coagulant,” he explains idly, watching Sorahiko slump back against the chair, lungs still stuttering. A faint sweat has broken across his forehead, and Sorahiko distantly suspects that he’s going to need all the time he can get before the kid grows bored of his dramas.

“Oh, he already looks wrecked,” En observes. His awed tone elicits a laugh and encouraging clap to his shoulder from Daigoro, the latter of which requires En to brace against.

“You think he’ll last seven bites?”

“To be fair,” Hikage says, “that is a common erogenous zone. We’ll focus on less stimulating areas.”

Sorahiko, somewhat nettled at the implication that he won’t last (and what the hell does that mean? That he’ll back out? Start begging for mercy?) all seven signatures, musters his strength and shoves himself upright. He scoffs exaggeratedly, masking a shaky exhale with it. He challenges the coven, “Do your fucking worst.”

Yoichi blinks. Behind him, Kenzo is leaving his seat and stalking towards Sorahiko’s, red eyes gleaming. Before Kenzo can dive at Sorahiko and probably tear an artery out, Yoichi holds him back with one placating hand.

“Do not,” Yoichi warns. “We’re not trying to induce a thrall, do you all hear me?”

“Yoichi,” says Sanjuro, “if the man gets off, he gets off.”

A sigh leaves Yoichi. “Be that as it may. Please try not to leave him resentful for the months ahead.” He pats Kenzo’s collarbone; Kenzo catches the thin-boned hand and raises it to his lips.

“Understood, Yoichi,” Kenzo murmurs into the knuckles. He lets go, and Yoichi moves aside, now more fond than exasperated. A safety net, maybe.

In any case, Sorahiko gazes up at number two, who studies him back.

“The shoulder?” suggests Sorahiko, half-heartedly offering the right one up to sacrifice.

Kenzo inclines his head. “Just above the bicep will work,” and he goes on to prove his point, keeping Sorahiko locked in position, unable to do anything but wriggle and fail to contain strangled moans.

This is going to be a long hour.

[certifiedceraunophile]

Hi! A fan of your writing here. I just love the way you write Caroline. An Avoidable Heart is my comfort fic and I am constantly in awe with the way you write and craft the dynamics in that story. Caroline's inner monologue is just priceless and God! I just love that intro scene where Caroline is walking into the Mikaelson compound with vampires and hybrids in the surrounding ready to pounce on her.

I would love to hear how you would have visualized Caroline crossing over into TO or not? Like in what season and why? How it would have likely gone?

Thank you!

First of all lovely anon gimme a moment to breathe, asdfghjkl why are people so lovely 😭😭🥺✨ It means sooo much to me that you’d take the time to jump into my inbox and send these kind words, like please I’m not worthyyyyy, But you make me smile and feel really freaking warm so *handcuffs your hand to mine* you aint leaving 💖✨💞🙃

But OK ALSO oh my god dude THAT CAROLINE WALTZS INTO THE COMPOUND AND TAKES ON A COUPLE HUNDRED VAMPIRES BY HERSELF SCENE???? Ughhhhh I’m sorry but I have SUCH a boner for Caroline in that, like my badass -I admit kinda op- QUEEN IS HERE and she’s fucking shit up, I’m sorry but I love that scene so much it’s so dear to me I was killing myself over how self-indulgent and grossly Over powered Caroline is but like idgaf man it’s such a hot scene and Caroline is practically invincible and we just love to see that, so seriously lovely anon, you telling me you LOVE that scene??? Puts the biggest smile on my face and reassures me a LOT bc I was whining and cribbing over how absolutely unbalanced that scene is to literally everyone BUT LIKE YOU JUMPING OUT OF NOWHERE and pointing that exact scene UGHH…...meant to fucking be the both of us 💖💞✨

And ALSO Caroline’s monologue is quite honestly the easiest inner monologue out of the three voices I wrote for that work, Klaus’s is the real pain in the ass tbvh like it is NOT easy writing pretentious besotted losers with a Kardashian complex especially when you need to make them sound cool when they’re the lamest OP dude bros to ever exist - and no I don’t hate Klaus although I seem to try my darndest to convince ppl I do- I just personally believe that a feral fucker like that with a thousand years of existence under his belt can grow a pair and graduate from his kindergarten level of emotional maturity to adult sometime soon, But then on the flipside he’s so grossly adorkably smitten and feral for Caroline plus hella horny for her all the time that its usually easy to write the trashed and devoted idiot he is into something pretentious and powerful and potent when relating to his unflappable arrogance and his narcissism, but sometimes I also need him to be *deep* and ffs profound for the sake of the plot and jfc my muse just wont work with me on that, she’s like I’m sorry I’m not about to bust my ass to make this mongrel intelligible like no sir all I wanna do is make him uncomfortably horny for Caroline and leave him like that.

So smh yeah the struggle is real….but lmao Caroline is just so precious and fiercely protective and just so achingly lonely in that story, so desperate for connection and trust and intimacy yet so guarded and impervious to everyone like it hurts me to write her like that but it really challenges me as an author to balance out her inherent light with the “void” I create in her and through her, so yeah it’s a very fulfilling task and I wouldnt change it one bit, and also I had to balance out her physical op-ness w half a millennium of the ugliest emotional trauma lol so I guess that figures, but the point being….once again I am overjoyed knowing that you liked a facet of the story that I tried so hard to make as authentically Caroline and achingly real and moving as I can and I cannot possibly feel more accomplished than rn for it so ty ty ty ty for reaching out to me and telling me *tackle hugs* It makes me GIDDY knowing that you enjoyed that particular part of the story like ugh stab me please you're too sweet.

And ok NOW, coming to The Originals part of the ask, (also please note that when I say TO headcanon; Hope does not exist, Hayley is a dead in a ditch and ofc Klaus will stop being that lil bitch they tried to pawn off as Klaus in TO) 

HEADCANON 1

Honestly my biggest headcanon when it comes to TO crossovers somehow always include non-humanity!Caroline like it’s just so perfect to me?? The opportunity to make shit BLOW UP b/w them like imagine the DEBAUCHERY, the heat, the SEXUAL TENSION, the repression of one Klaus Mikaelson, the EXPLORATIONS, and omg the role reversal when Klaus has to be the voice of moral reason between them and not bc he believes Caroline would not be able to stand herself if she does something heinous and monstrous but bc he wants her to be completely and utterly herself, and yk *aware*, when she DECIMATES ppl to the ground and is in full-on predator mode, like he wants her monster to come out and play with him when no part of Caroline is locked away or suppressed, so obviously when she is w/o her humanity KLAUS exercises restraint on her behalf, like can you imagine that, Klaus restraining himself and being the vague, extremely broken and just largely inaccurate moral compass between the two of them for ALL the wrong reasons- and the entirety of NOLA just standing there watching him herd this baby vampire who seems to be intent on riling him up and angering him when all she is doing is giving him a massive hybrid hard on, like IMAGINE THE GOODNESS of non-humanity Caroline wrecking NOLA and Klaus letting her wreck it bc he is helpless in the face of Caroline Forbes and also bc he is quite honestly *enjoying* the debauchery himself so why put a damper on the festivities.

-I might wanna add that I favour this headcanon a lot bc I genuinely do not even remotely *like* the idea of NOLA as Klaus's chosen place to set his roots so like I would love Caroline going to NOLA and destroying everything there just bc I detest NOLA and the storyline behind it in TO. (yes is it petty? Obvi, but like I am a petty soul and I make no apologies ma’am)

HEADCANON 2

So yeah that’s my main TO headcanon, but my other one being, one I talk about very frequently, scream about in tag rants to an obsessive level, and like this is a cracky one but still very valid, where Caroline rolls up to NOLA humanity intact and all, finds Hayley preggo and is just laughing her fucking ass off bc anybody ANYBODY, with half a brain and a two minute convo w klaus would know how UTTERLY stupid the entire baby shit is especially when it’s with an immemorable one night stand, and Caroline’s just losing her shit about how like an entire city is obssessed w this baby and she just straight up tells Klaus he’d SUCK as a dad (which he really does tho like he was a shitty fucking dad canonically too) and Klaus is just like *sigh* girl tell me about it. I mean basically he’s finally relieved that someone is on his side about the whole baby thing and how he definitely does not want his entire millennium of life to finally sum up to this one squalling leaking stinky infant/unicorn Hayley is apparently baking in her oven, and I say this headcanon is cracky bc klaus would never have put up w this mess long enough for Caroline to come in and sort it out, there’s this preferred method of disposal of his called heart ripping that would've been employed quite early on and honestly saved us all a lot of brain cells and minused years of life, bc let’s be real any Klaus who’s NOT a lil snivelling bitch wearing a Klaus skinsuit would’ve yeeted the baby and the mama first chance he got, and that’s just how I see it.

Lmao I really hope I didnt scare you away w my *strong* opinions Ik they can be a bit much but I enjoy having them so theyre not going anywhere, anyways this ask answer got WAYYYY too long but I’m hoping I answered your question well with this or atleast left you slightly confused and bemused over my feral screaming....either ways I’m really really really happy to have got your ask and the chance to rant so much bs, Twas cathartic and honestly I had nothing to do today so I was more than happy to dish this baby out for you. Thank you so much sweet anon for putting a smile on my face today I am absolutely HONOURED by your words you’sa cutie 💖💞✨🗣🗣

[secret-engima]

A Dissidia AU where all the Good Guys(tm) are various Noctis’ (allowing you to have the Noct’s that make you say, “interesting, but what’s the rest of the story? Hello? Hello?”). Regis, via Crystal-o-Vision is simultaneously a joy (so many sons!) and a sad (I can’t be with the sons). And the opponents? Eh, uhm. Hadn’t got that far. Nox and Ardyn’s? With maybe a few Glaucus? (The hell am I doing on this side? I have Idiots to Sheppard in a vaguely ordered fashion.)

Hmmmmmmm I’m still not sure what to DO with this but like- okay?

-Materia tries calling for Champions and it goes ... not well.

-All the various Nocti stare at each other. Canon Noctis, who has never done this before is an Internal Scream. While Nox is chill with it until he spots Little Nox. Noxtaur has jumped into the nearest perch and is Staying There while he laughs himself sick, N!Noctis is gently patting his big brother’s shoulder in sympathy while sporting big eyes, LN!Noctis is holding his little brother’s hand protectively, and NT!Noctis has joined his brother up in the rafters. Night King (NK)!Noctis is spacing off into the distance hoping if he ignores this problem his sanity will return, Yoru has broken out the sake and is looking honestly amused by all this, Au Ra Noctis is slowly climbing up to join the Taurs in their Perch of Hysteria, Youkai!Nox is looming in the far side of the room because he’s in his animal form and that animal form is Big™, and Deleantur-

-Deleantur, sitting in the corner watching this madness unfold, just kinda- sighs pathetically as he realizes that he’s technically the eldest and that means he’s theoretically in charge of this fiasco. Then he spots Fem!Nox & Fem!Noctis skulking over to his corner for peace and quiet and his brain shorts out.

-There’s also a Noctis lurking in the background who looks like he’s halfway daemonified but doesn’t FEEL like the Starscourge. Nobody is brave enough to ask for clarification and he doesn’t seem too keen on answering (he also seems about 80% Feral and none of the time-traveling Nocti want to think on those implications so they don’t). Next to him is a Noctis dressed in what looks like an Imperial uniform and while he’s acting polite enough he’s also welding a cane like it’s a weapon and his smile is DEFINITELY just this shade of Ardyn Scourge Crazy.

-Nobody is talking to that Noctis.

-Which suits him just fine.

-Eventually Deleantur and Nox (the OG Nox) manage to call order among all the Nox and Nocti and confront Materia about this issue. Materia very confused and apologetic but they ARE here now so maybe they could fight for her anyway?

-Since a minimum of all the Nox’s + Deleantur have lived through this plot at least once in their lives before, they are chill with the idea. The others less so.

-Imperial Noctis just kinda laughs in a way that gives no one any reassurance and the maybe-daemon Noctis has joined Youkai!Nox in his corner, they appear to be conversing via growl. All the Nocti elect to ignore this for their own sanity.

-Spiritus calls up material and he kinda laughs at her for accidentally calling so many copies of “the same soul” while HE managed a diverse cast (aka the regular Dissidia baddies) but Nox spots both his Ardyn and a Taur Ardyn at their respective Titus’s so hah jokes on you Spiritus.

-The Ardyns, of course, insta defect with the Titus’s following along behind Sighing™ at all the stupidity in their lives and OH LOOK AT ALL THE MORONS THEY HAVE TO BRAINCELL. At least Regis isn’t here.

-More than a few brains break meeting fem!Ardyntaur (and Fem!Nox & Noctis), but it’s STILL not as creepy as Imperial Noctis lurking in the back staring at Ardyn in a way that’s simultaneously Death™ and Perfectly Blank™ so.....

-Also Maybe Daemon Noctis has abandoned the strategy of “Stick Together and Get This Over With” in favor of chasing around the Clown Guy trying to rip his spine out. Or maybe eat him. No one is 100% sure.

-The Nocti and Noxs take turns holding Little!Nox and staying in the back under the watchful, massive eye of Youkai!Nox, and Deleantur leads a small group of Nocti to retrieve the various summons so they can get info on the World-Eater. it still takes a few days to get Materia and Spiritus to agree to cooperate and then a few more to find the World-Eater, during which such shenanigans occur as-

-All the compiled Nocti, Noxs, and Ardyns taking a nap on Youkai!Noctis because he is Large and Fluffy.

-The Titus’s exchanging tips on handling their idiots.

-The Ardyn’s having too much fun weirding people out with their existence (especially the Noxs and Nocti who are used to a male Ardyn)

-Fem!Nox, Fem!Noctis, and Fem!Ardyn all having some Girl Time because Female Solidarity in this Insanity.

-Little!Nox befriending Maybe Daemon Noct.

-Little!Nox getting a piggyback ride on Noctistaur’s back while Noxtaur quietly dies in the corner from embarrassment and cute.

-Little!Nox in general being an Utter Gem of Cuteness and leading the charge in all the Noxs adopting a very confused Sephiroth en masse.

-Little!Nox managing to befriend Imperial Noctis via having a sick day and suddenly deciding the only lap he can nap his sickness away in is Imp!Noctis’s. Who bears it with a grace more born out of bluescreening but hey.

-Everybody gets confused about Deleantur, who refuses to answer their questions (the Noxs figure it out and are kinda a Horror tho).

-By the time the World Eater is found and it’s time to fight, all of Spiritus’s champions minus Sephiroth and the Ardyns and Tituses are thoroughly terrified of anything Lucis Caelum. XD

-The fight is big and Epic and there are armigers everywhere and somehow Deleantur manages to out OP everyone else present with OG Nox, Imp Noctis and the Ardyns as close seconds.

-Needless to say, the World Eater is Very Very Dead™ by the time they’re done and honestly Spiritus and Materia are very glad that these lunatics are going home.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

LISTEN!! I don't usually read about Bruce Wayne but every time op posts I immediately change my mind. This fic checks every box, I am going FERAL over it. I'm so serious when I say you have to read it. Cowboy Bruce Wayne has changed my brain chemistry. I talk about my favorite parts under the cut!

"Above you, clouds collect over the stars, leaving nothing but the large bright moon. If you’re killed here tonight, you hope that’s the last thing you see."

Devouring this already, ahh, the way op sets the scene up is beautiful.

"You watch in stunned silence as he unties a rope from the boulders, wrapping it around the dazed group of men. When his work is done, the man straightens up and turns towards you. Yet again, you’re stunned by the blue of his eyes. In the moonlight, they look almost ghostly."

Amazing, flawless work, I can see the entire scene in my head and I know his eyes are unfairest color of blue.

“Are you alright?” he asks, stretching out a hand dressed in black leather for you to take. His voice is gruff, the words clipped. In his other hand, he holds his hat. He took it off as soon as he approached you.

I am so not normal about the black leather gloves. Fr, I'm giggling over them and the way he took off his hat. Ever the gentleman.

"He hand still reaches out towards you like he knows you’ll take it. You do. He hoists you onto the horse behind him. Up close, he smells like earth and sweat and the smoke of a bonfire. Your arms wrap around his sturdy torso."

hehe, yes, very good. Zero hesitation for the handsome stranger with manners.

"He stares at you. Already, this man prickles your nerves in a way no one else ever has. You’re not used to silence like this; he’s using it against you, but for what, you’re not quite sure."

Bruce Wayne the man that you are. He has no idea how to talk to people and I adore him for it. (We are the same, him and I)

"“Bruce,” he replies. For what feels like the first time in the very short period you’ve known him, you get a straight answer. You return the favor by giving him your name. He repeats it like he’s savoring a treat. His loneliness is a ghost, threatening to haunt you if you turn him away."

!!! wow, wow, wow. There's so much in that paragraph and it's all amazing writing!! I can't even put it into words. He wants that connection, but when is he ever going to get doing what he does? The reader throwing him a bone and trying to be understanding? Him latching onto it? !!! WOW

"He looks surprised. Or maybe his face hasn’t moved and it’s just your imagination. But he doesn’t respond right away. His horse shakes its mane. You turn away from him, grabbing your horse’s reins to lead it to it. You’re in awe when Bruce follows."

Giggling over this, I am absolutely dying to get in his head at this moment.

"He’s tall. You were able to more passively figure that out when you first saw him, but up close, it’s even harder to ignore. Not only is he tall, but he’s broad. You see manual laborers all day, but Bruce is something else. “I call her Bats.”"

Drooling over the imagery, but also calling his horse Bats because he found her by bats is scratching an itch in my brain.

You don’t mind Bruce’s presence, even if he might mind yours. He’s still a stranger in your home, but you’re becoming more convinced that he isn’t unkind, even if he is maybe unlikable. But unlikable feels like too harsh of a word, even for a harsh person.

AH, honestly this sums him up so well!

"You wonder how much of this is just who he is, or if it’s at all just a result of the world he navigates through. How many strangers has he encountered who took advantage of his trust. But surely he must recognize up against him, you’re not much of a threat. But maybe your attempts at getting to know him are threat enough."

ooo, OOOO! I read this paragraph three times because it's just that good!! Especially that last line, I am going insane over the character analysis!

"A nod doesn’t seem to be a sufficient reply, but what are you supposed to say? The kindness of this man sleeping out in your barn when he has a bed inside leaves you speechless."

pleeease, I'm weak in the knees over this!

"His large palms reach for your waist, keeping you firmly in front of him. Your heart leaps. You want his hands all over you. You want to relish in him, marvel he is. Make this lonely man feel a little less lonely."

Wait, I am SWOONING! Let me just grab his hair and pull, please and thank you.

"You like to feel needed, too. Like knowing there’s a purpose you have here. You have a way to thank him for helping you, something more than a roof over his head. Something less temporary, because at least when he rides away, he’ll have something to remember you by."

I am loosing it over here. There's desperation, desire and all of it's driven by the fact he's a passing ship. You'll stay here on your ranch, he'll go save lives, and even it could be more, there's no way it would. AH, this idea is making insane. Will he think of the reader while he's lonely and the sky is empty save for the stars? Will he wonder if, in another life, he could stayed on her porch and helped tend the cattle and eventually learned to wake up to the sound of running feet against the wooden floors?

"If Bruce minds, he certainly isn’t giving any signs. He guides you as you blindly walk backwards through the ranch, his arm hooked around your waist to keep you upright."

eeee, strong man makes my brain go brrrr

"Bruce sighs against your skin. The rush goes to your head; here you have a very skilled man with a reputation for being unstoppable in your bed. He’s surrendered himself to you, and you imagine that’s not something he often does."

I am giggling and kicking my feet!!!

"His eyes are intense in the dim light. Steely eyes fixed to you with such focus, you’d maybe be unnerved if having all his attention to yourself didn’t fill your stomach with butterflies."

I typed and retyped for so long trying to get my thoughts out on this. I'm literally stuttering and tripping over myself.

“Relax, cowboy,” you whisper, your cunt fluttering around him. You take his hands and pin them next to his head. “Lemme say thank you for saving my life.”

OP! you had to know what you were doing when you typed this, my jaw is on the ground!

"“Let’s see if you can handle some bucking better now than you did earlier,” he growls. You’d feel embarrassed that he’d seen your horse throw you if you weren’t so cock drunk. But it’s just enough to embolden you."

!!! !!! oh my god??! I'm fanning my face and clutching my pearls (amazing. delicious. op, you are insane for this one)

"With his hands on your ass, he moves you up and down onto him. His grip is secure. With what little focus you have at this point, you find yourself fixated by watching the muscles of his arm work your body weight with ease."

I am a puddle on the floor.

“How’s that for a thank you?” you ask when you finally catch your breath. He chuckles softly, the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin of your back. “Well, next time you’re in trouble, just call for me. Me and Bats’ll come running.”

Gonna go read the whole thing again. It is really that good. Thank you for your work!!

Beneath Some Old Moon

Summary: After a close call with the Two Face Gang, you offer your savior--the mysterious Crusader--some hospitality.

(alternatively, save a horse...)

Pairing: Cowboy!Bruce Wayne x reader

Words: 5.9k

Content/warnings: old west cowboy au, historical inaccuracies probably, threatening scenario, guns, p in v sex, cowgirl (get it?), sort of sub!bruce, unprotected sex, reader is not described, reader's horse is not named

Wind whips across your face as you ride as fast as your horse will take you.

The Two Face gang hoots and hollers behind you. At the front, Harvey ‘Two Face’ Dent, leading his group of men.

You’d stayed in town too long, caught up in the gossip of a stranger riding in. The rumors were he was the same guy who stopped some bandits down in the prairie. Of course, your current predicament doesn’t really seem worth the whispers, because wherever his Crusader stranger is, it’s not here. It’s just you attempting to outrun a gang of five as they quickly gain on you.

Your horse may be well trained, but she isn’t used to this speed the way the gangs’ likely are.

Shots ring out around the ground by your horse’s hooves, drowning the men’s laughter. Dirt kicks up into the air. Before you really know what’s happening, you’re flat on your back, the air knocked from your lungs. Above you, clouds collect over the stars, leaving nothing but the large bright moon.

If you’re killed here tonight, you hope that’s the last thing you see.

The gang circles you on their horses. Yours runs off towards the ranch. You imagine it waiting by the stable for you, only for you to never arrive. You think of your cows, come morning waiting to be fed. You take what little solace you can knowing the widow nearby will notice when the animals begin to get rowdy from their hunger if the neighbor boy’s late to help as he often is.

Hooves trample around you as the men trap you. You feel something damp along your side, and for a moment, you think you might be bleeding. As you raise a trembling hand to your side, it takes you a second to realize it’s not blood at all. One of the jars of canned peaches you picked up in town shattered when you hit the ground. Shards of glass jostle in your satchel as you try to sit back up.

You’re still gasping for air, trying to fill your aching lungs with everything that had been knocked out of you. Thoughts race through your head as you try to think of any good way out of here, but you’re surrounded and unarmed.

A sudden yell snaps you from your oxygen-deprived daze. Dent is now on the ground with you, outside the ring of horses, and being dragged away.

Yelling and hooves trampling deafen you before you can process what’s happening. Shots ring out again, and you flinch, anticipating impact. Instead, powerful legs race by you as the horses charge towards a single man.

A full moon’s light illuminates the fight. You wheeze and stagger back. Two Face wriggles on the ground in the restraints of the lasso around his shoulders.

Though you can’t really be certain, you feel an innate sense of knowledge that this is the stranger people whispered about in town. You’d accidentally met his eyes this morning. They were bluer than the sky on a clear day. Like peering into a stream of crystal clear water.

Now he lures the gang away from you, his horse weaving to avoid their shots. You keep waiting for the moment he pulls his gun out on them, but the moment never comes. The stranger ducks as he guides the men between two boulders. Your vision still swims slightly as you squint to figure out why.

Your questions are answered when the first two men following the stranger hit something and spring back from their horses towards the other two men behind them. Dirt kicks up around them as the horses fall into disarray, bucking and crying out before running in all different directions.

The stranger turns his horse, dismounting before the pile of outlaws sprawled out onto the ground. You watch in stunned silence as he unties a rope from the boulders, wrapping it around the dazed group of men.

When his work is done, the man straightens up and turns towards you. Yet again, you’re stunned by the blue of his eyes. In the moonlight, they look almost ghostly.

He takes his horse and leads it over to you by its reins. He towers above you where you’re still on the ground. Embarrassment creeps up your spine as you think about the fact you should have stood up by now.

“Are you alright?” he asks, stretching out a hand dressed in black leather for you to take. His voice is gruff, the words clipped. In his other hand, he holds his hat. He took it off as soon as he approached you.

After a moment’s hesitation, your hand wraps around his. He pulls you back up to your feet with ease. You nod and manage to breathe a thank you, finally beginning to catch your breath. Your eyes drift towards the gang tied up on the ground. The sound of the stranger’s voice pulls your gaze back up to him.

“Were you out walking at this time of night?” he asks. His voice makes it sound as if he’s accusing you of something.

You huff slightly. “No, I wasn’t walking out here,” you snap. Guilt quickly takes over for your short fuse, but the stranger doesn’t seem startled either way. You imagine he encounters far worse than the likes of you. “My horse ran off when they started chasing us. They were shooting at the ground. She threw me.”

The stranger nods. “Where were you going?” he asks.

You have half a mind to lie. It would be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it? All you know of this man comes from town gossip, and the incredible feat you’d just seen in front of you, neither of which give complete promise that you’re safe with him. What’s to say he isn’t going to want something in return for helping you? What good would giving this man your address do?

At the same time, however, you realize this really is no place for you to be wandering round at night, even with the moon so full and bright. The silvery light casts shadows over the man’s face, and you catch sight of a scar across his jawline.

“My ranch. Just that way,” you say, eyes flickering towards the small outline of the ranch at the top of the small slope ahead.

Wordlessly, the man mounts his horse again, gloved hand yet again out for you to take. What he expects of you is obvious.

“What about them?” you ask, looking back to the gang.

“Sheriff’ll pick ‘em up,” he replies. He hand still reaches out towards you like he knows you’ll take it.

You do.

He hoists you onto the horse behind him. Up close, he smells like earth and sweat and the smoke of a bonfire. Your arms wrap around his sturdy torso. You get the feeling that the display of skill you’d seen earlier is only a portion of what this strange man is capable of.

You catch yourself wondering what he must look like beneath the dust-coated clothes he wears. For your own sake, you write it off as being flustered from the whole ordeal.

You trot back to the ranch, your grip tight on the man. You realize he might be going slow for your sake. You could get there in half the time if you told him he could ride faster, but you don’t. The slower you go, the more time you have to digest everything that’s happened.

Silence falls between the two of you. You’re thankful he doesn’t ask questions. For a man of his reputation, you can only imagine what he must think of you getting thrown from your horse so easily.

Above head, thunder rolls, filling the lull. People in town talked plenty about the storm that was going to roll through. After the man your arms are wrapped around, that was the hot topic. You won’t admit it out loud, but you’re relieved then to have gotten a ride with him. At least you wouldn’t get caught in the rain.

From a distance, you spot your horse trotting around in front of the stable at home. The man slides off the saddle before holding out his hands to help you off. His gentlemanly charm catches you by surprise. The gruffness of his voice had led you to expect something else.

“Thank you,” you say again.

He regards you carefully with his icy eyes for a moment. “You should be more careful,” he says.

Suddenly, being whisked away by a mysterious stranger loses the allure.

You cross your arms over your chest. “That’s awfully presumptuous for a man who just road in,” you reply. “How do you know I’m not careful?”

“Because I had to scare the Two Face Gang off of you.”

The scowl deepens on your face. “How do you know I’m not usually careful?”

He holds your gaze a second longer than is comfortable. “Two Face isn’t in the business of asking if you’re usually careful,” he replies.

Your eyes narrow to slits at him. His expression has never changed—always a carefully guarded, unreadable frown—but you imagine he’s being smug, or whatever his version of smug is. You don’t appreciate this man you don’t know telling you what to do, and you’re sure as hell not going to let him think otherwise.

You scoff. “You have been here all of a couple of hours. Forgive me if I take whatever it is you think I should or should not do with a grain of salt.”

He stares at you. Already, this man prickles your nerves in a way no one else ever has. You’re not used to silence like this; he’s using it against you, but for what, you’re not quite sure.

“What’s your name, anyway?” you ask. Your weight shifts into one of your hips.

“They call me the Crusader.”

You try not to roll your eyes. “I know that’s what they call you. But what’s your name?”

Silence. Your eyes narrow even more.

“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?”

“Nope.”

You curse under your breath. “Fine. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for the ride home. You can leave.”

He doesn’t budge, nor do you. You want to scream in his face and ask him what he wants. If he’s not going to talk, why is he haunting your doorstep? You’re not sure what kind of response to expect from him with that kind of outburst, though, and you’ve pressed your luck enough as it is for the evening.

Finally, he speaks.

“I’m not...good at this sort of thing,” he says. His fist is clenched at his side, yet you’re not sure it’s meant as a threat.

“What sort of thing?”

He scowls at you like you’re supposed to understand someone you just met.

“What, talking to people?” you add when he doesn’t explain himself. “Yeah, I can kind of tell.” And everything starts to click. The silence isn’t that of a grumpy, worn cowboy—at least not exclusively—but of a man who spends so much time on his own, he no longer knows how to connect with anyone.

“What’s your name?” you ask again. This time, there’s more patience in your voice.

“Bruce,” he replies. For what feels like the first time in the very short period you’ve known him, you get a straight answer. You return the favor by giving him your name. He repeats it like he’s savoring a treat.

His loneliness is a ghost, threatening to haunt you if you turn him away.

Thunder cracks in the sky again. A heavy drop falls from the sky, splattering on your shoulder. The stars are blocked out by the heavy clouds that had been collecting all day. “You aren’t thinking about going out in that, are you?” you ask.

“Just some rain. Never hurt anyone.”

You purse your lips together. There isn’t a single reason you should trust this man enough to invite him into your home while you sleep. But you can’t just let him wander off into the storm, can you?

You don’t want him wandering around soaking wet, shirt clinging to his broad chest, pants tight across his thick thighs He’d catch a cold. Plus, the man is lonely. You can imagine the isolation of the prairies are something that could wear on a person. He could use someone to talk to. He saved your life, after all.

“You should stay,” you say.

He looks surprised. Or maybe his face hasn’t moved and it’s just your imagination. But he doesn’t respond right away. His horse shakes its mane. You turn away from him, grabbing your horse’s reins to lead it to it. You’re in awe when Bruce follows.

“Your horse have a name?” you ask, turning back over your shoulder to look at him. It’s a peace offering, of sorts.

He’s tall. You were able to more passively figure that out when you first saw him, but up close, it’s even harder to ignore. Not only is he tall, but he’s broad. You see manual laborers all day, but Bruce is something else. “I call her Bats.”

You laugh softly. “Why’s that?” you ask. Something about the name tempers your nerves. A name isn’t enough to totally give your trust over to Bruce, but you hear the fondness as he speaks of her. A man who has proven himself to be very gruff, with his reclusive nature, has a soft spot for his horse.

“Found her over in some canyons by a bunch of bats.” He rustles her dark mane. Your lips quirk up into a smile.

Bruce waits at the front of the stable as you stable your horse. You pretend like you aren’t unnerved by his staring.

“You’re welcome to keep her here,” you offer again.

A bright light flashes behind Bruce’s back. A few seconds later, a loud clap of thunder. Bats lets out a startled whinny.

“Alright,” Bruce says, though he makes no pains to sound happy about it.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” you ask. Your knees are pulled to your chest. You watch the flames from your fireplace flicker across Bruce’s face.

He took his hat off when he came inside like a gentleman. Despite his brusque attitude, he has manners. One that seem deeply ingrained in him. You have more questions you’d like to ask, but considering you have to wrestle every piece of information about himself out of him, you decide not to press your luck.

“Nope,” he replies. Flames flicker in his eyes.

“Where are you from?”

The fire crackles. Rain patters against your roof. Thunder rolls in the lull of the storm. Bruce says it’ll come back. You trust him on this.

“Out east.”

You nod. “Did you save people out there, too?”

“No.”

A thin scar runs through his thick, dark brow. He stares into the fireplace like he’s hoping to learn a secret. You feel like you’re interrupting something every time you say something, so this time you don’t.

With how unwilling he is to speak, you worry you’re bothering him. He said he’s not good at talking with people, but you wonder if it’s because he just doesn’t like it. Or maybe he doesn’t like you. So you let the storm and the fire fill the silence.

You don’t mind Bruce’s presence, even if he might mind yours. He’s still a stranger in your home, but you’re becoming more convinced that he isn’t unkind, even if he is maybe unlikable. But unlikable feels like too harsh of a word, even for a harsh person.

“You get lonely out here on your own?” he asks. You hadn’t been expecting for him to ask you anything at all, let alone something so personal. Maybe you are a little lonely; you’d been pondering this man’s loneliness, hadn’t you? You’d guess he was something of an expert.

“I suppose I do.” A beat. “Do you get lonely out there?” You nod towards your rain-speckled window, though you mean the greater world outside of it.

“I’ve got Bats,” he says.

You nod again.

What’s he looking for doing the things he does? Despite your best attempts, he’s still a mystery to you. A hard shell with some sort of kindness buried inside, though what kind and for what reasons, you’re not sure. He helps people. You heard about his reputation in town. He’d helped you. He takes his hat off and helps people down from horses. That has to count for something.

Bruce doesn’t seem like the kind of man to get attached. Beyond that, you shouldn’t be so optimistic or naive to believe he’s the sort of man you want attachments to. A lifestyle like his isn’t one that lends itself to a long life.

“You’re welcome to wash up, if you’d like,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you saying I smell?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m just offering the accommodations I have.” But, truth be told, you were concerned about the dirt you’re sure he’s picked up traveling around. You’re the one who will have to wash the world out of your sheets once he leaves you behind.

He doesn’t argue with you, but there is a brief hesitation. You wonder how much of this is just who he is, or if it’s at all just a result of the world he navigates through. How many strangers has he encountered who took advantage of his trust. But surely he must recognize up against him, you’re not much of a threat. But maybe your attempts at getting to know him are threat enough.

You were the first to turn in. After tossing and turning for a while, worrying about the unattended stranger in your home, you fell asleep.

Darkness still swallows you room when you next open your eyes. You’re not sure what rouses you. The once violent storm has subsided to just pattering rain on your window. The house is still. For a moment, you think Bruce may be asleep, but the stillness feels more firm than that. It’s not a house asleep; it’s a house emptied.

You get up, and slip your robe on. You carefully avoid the creaky floorboards you know by heart as you creep to your door. You turn the knob slowly, not wanting to alert your strange new friend. But as you sneak about your own home, you realize he’s not here. The bed he’d been laying in is empty, sheets turned over.

Your sleep-addled brain wants you to rummage through the house, make sure he didn’t sneak off with anything while you slept. But an unfamiliar worry knots your stomach for a reason you can’t seem to pinpoint. Almost like you’re disappointed he’s already gone.

As you run out into the rain, you decide you’ll blame this all on waking up in the middle of the night. You’re clearly not fully awake just yet. You stagger through the mist and into the stable, expecting to see an empty spot where Bats should be.

Instead, you see Bruce, back against the gate, chin slumped to his chest. His black hat covers his eyes, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh,” you breathe.

As quiet as you’d tried to be, the soft utterance is enough for Bruce’s head to snap up. His muscles tense, and he looks very suddenly ready for a fight.

His eyes land on you, standing in the frame of the stable in your night clothes, and he relaxes some. “Just you,” he says, laughing to himself. He takes off his hat, and his heavy-lidded eyes land on you. You realize he’s expecting you to say something for interrupting his sleep.

“The storm’s passed. I thought you might have…” You trail off. What would it matter if Bruce had gone off? What difference would that make, and why do you you care?

He looks at Bats’ sleeping form in the hay. “She’s not much used to being alone.” His deep voice is rough with sleep. Your mouth feels dry. “Didn’t want her skittish from the storm.”

A nod doesn’t seem to be a sufficient reply, but what are you supposed to say? The kindness of this man sleeping out in your barn when he has a bed inside leaves you speechless.

“Right.” Your gaze follows him as he stands up.

“Everything alright?” he asks. He takes a half step towards you.

You nod again, your feet deciding to move up a step in return. “Yeah. Just…”

Just what, you don’t know. This is another silence with Bruce you don’t know how to fill. You watched this man outride the Two Face Gang. You watched him best Two Face himself when you’ve heard the whole town talk about how fierce he was supposed to be. And he’s sleeping out in your stable because he doesn’t want his horse to be spooked.

He’s a few feet away from you. Too far. Even when you sat beside the fire together, you were still too far away from him. You can’t stand it anymore.

You cross the stable, stopping only a foot away from him. You could reach out and brush your fingertips along his jaw if you had the nerve to raise your hand. He doesn’t step any closer, but right now, his attention is only on you. You feel naked before him, stripped just from his survey. Your breathing grows heavy just from the way he looks at you.

His dark, heavy brows only add to the intensity of focus. His chest rises and falls; you realize now he’s down to his undershirt, the cotton thin and worn. You catch sight of the dark chest hair sprawling across his skin.

Finally, just when you feel like you’re going to explode, you wrap your arms around him, your face angled towards his lips, hovering just before them. He doesn’t look away. His gaze is fixed on you, but he never makes any sign he wants you to stop.

His large palms reach for your waist, keeping you firmly in front of him. Your heart leaps. You want his hands all over you. You want to relish in him, marvel he is. Make this lonely man feel a little less lonely.

His lips are dry as yours brush over them. Riding out in the sun and the cold is tough on the skin; you know that well. You wonder what the last real taste of tenderness this man has experienced is.

If Bruce needs another place to surrender, let your body be it. Let him find peace with you, even if for a fleeting moment.

Finally, you press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips to test the waters. His fingertips curl into your clothes as if that touch alone would reassure you’d kiss him again. He may not have much to say, but even buried beneath all the stoicism, you find he needs touch just as much as anyone else.

You wonder how long it’s been since he’s touched someone else with tenderness.

Your drive comes from the eagerness of his response. You like to feel needed, too. Like knowing there’s a purpose you have here. You have a way to thank him for helping you, something more than a roof over his head. Something less temporary, because at least when he rides away, he’ll have something to remember you by.

When you kiss him again, you’re more eager, more confident of your goal. Bruce responds in kind. He kisses you like a man starved. You know almost nothing about him, and yet, you feel as if you understand him. Maybe it’s just the close call with a bad crowd. Maybe it’s just the fact that a man so worn by the weather shouldn’t be that gorgeous, and you just want a reason for wanting him this badly. Whatever it is, you feel like he might understand you, too.

He leans against the stable, holding you to his chest as a hand cups the back of your head. Your fingers fold into his hair, wishing you could wrap yourself around him fully. Wishing there was a way to get rid of all of the space between the two of you.

Your teeth graze his lip, poking the boundaries again. His grip on you tightens even more. You take that as a positive reaction and gently bite down on his lower lip, pulling back some.

By the time you pull away, you’re breathless and dizzy, drunk off his presence.

You grab him by the front of his shirt, tugging him out of the stable, still crowding in his space. If Bruce minds, he certainly isn’t giving any signs. He guides you as you blindly walk backwards through the ranch, his arm hooked around your waist to keep you upright.

The security of his touch has you pulling him back to you, crashing into a kiss yet again as the brim of his hat keeps your lips sheltered from the rain. He keeps the both of you moving. You let him; he’s been inside the house now. You know he knows where he’s going.

And soon, you feel your back hit the door. You reach behind you, not bothering to look as you fumble for the door handle, one hand still gripping onto Bruce like you can’t stand to lose him. He has you pressed onto the door. When you finally find the handle, the door swings open. On a different day, you would have fallen flat on your back. Bruce catches you. Not even that, because he’s holding you, you don’t even begin to fall.

You manage to tear apart long enough for him to pull his shirt off over his head. Your eyes widen at the sight of his scarred skin. Dipping in some parts, puckering in others. Carefully, you run a hand up the skin, fingertips brushing over the coarse hair on his chest.

There isn’t time for more observation before he’s working your clothes off as well. When you’re clothes are scattered all around the room, he pulls you back to him. Warm skin presses into warm skin. The feeling of him even just like this is intoxicating. You could bury yourself in him and be the most peaceful you’ve ever been in your life.

Bruce doesn’t resist as you turn him around, pushing him down onto the bed. It squeaks with his weight. He looks up at you, sitting off the end of the old mattress. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap.

He holds you against his chest. His lips brush over the skin of your neck. You sigh, fingertips tangling in the ends of his hair yet again. You feel a growing bulge against your thigh that has the corners of your mouth pulling into a smirk.

You grind your hips down, breath hitching at the rise of pleasure. Bruce sighs against your skin. The rush goes to your head; here you have a very skilled man with a reputation for being unstoppable in your bed. He’s surrendered himself to you, and you imagine that’s not something he often does.

Once more, your hips press down into his. Your head falls back as you let out a soft breathy moan. Bruce groans into your skin as his kiss trails down your chest. His calloused hands run up the exposed skin of your legs, gripping onto your hips. When you don’t move, he moves you himself. He grinds against you while rolling your hips towards his.

You let out another pleasured cry. Your nails bite into his shoulder, and his breath picks up. Figures he’s the kind of guy who wants it to hurt at least a little.

Bruce rocks you against him, but it’s just not enough. Not close enough, not full enough. You need more of him. You pull back slightly. The hand that isn’t clawing at his skin pulls his face back from your chest. Your nails drag across his back as you slide off his lap, bending down to undo his pants.

His cock springs up. The outline of it presses up against the thin cotton of his drawers. Warmth pools in the pit of your stomach. Your ache for him comes to a desperate mount.

When it’s nothing but the two of you stripped bare, you rest your hand back on his chest, pushing him down into the mattress. He smirks and goes down willingly, cock twitching as he stares up at you.

The mattress dips as you lean a knee onto the bed, moving to straddle him yet again. His eyes are intense in the dim light. Steely eyes fixed to you with such focus, you’d maybe be unnerved if having all his attention to yourself didn’t fill your stomach with butterflies.

You wrap your hand around his cock as you slowly sink down onto him. The weight of your head tips back yet again as you adjust to how very full he makes you feel. Burying him inside of you alone is enough to have you seeing stars; his cock hits a spot deep inside of you, something blinding you can’t quite reach on your own.

Bruce’s hands dig into your hips again like he wants to take charge, but he holds back.

When you get used to the sensation of him inside you, you pull his hands away from your hips, threading your fingers between his.

“Relax, cowboy,” you whisper, your cunt fluttering around him. You take his hands and pin them next to his head. “Lemme say thank you for saving my life.” You lean down, so slick you slide up his cock with ease. You feel him jerk against your walls as you press a soft kiss just below his ear.

You’re positive it would take no effort for him to flip you over, take you exactly the way he wants to, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even struggle against you. He’s at your mercy, but only because he’s allowing himself to be.

Oddly, you feel honored.

You sit back up, hands sliding down Bruce’s scarred arms, pussy engulfing his cock yet again. A breath catches in your throat as you hit that same spot deep inside. Your palms rest on his chest, fingers splayed out, and you begin to rock your hips against him. He doesn’t protest the weight of your hands. His palms ghost over the skin of your arms, sliding up your back to wrap into your hair. There’s no escaping his gaze except in the moments your eyelids flutter with bliss.

Grinding against him has a sweet warmth building in your stomach. You groan and sigh as you ride him, and he starts to smirk.

“You sound beautiful, darlin’,” he says, pulling you to his lips again. Your cunt is still wrapped around his tip as he cups your jaw with one hand, the other smoothing down the skin of your back. From this angle, you can’t sink back down onto him, and your pussy feels woefully empty,

But Bruce shifts suddenly, legs bent, and begins thrusting into you. His lips don’t dare to leave yours, muffling your gratified cry. He grips your ass, lowering you onto his cock as he thrusts up, getting deeper than even before.

You gasp, knowing you won’t be able to keep back your climax at this rate.

“Let’s see if you can handle some bucking better now than you did earlier,” he growls. You’d feel embarrassed that he’d seen your horse throw you if you weren’t so cock drunk. But it’s just enough to embolden you.

“I told you earlier, Mr. Crusader,” you say, swatting his hands away. “I know how to take care of myself.” You lean back onto your knees again, bouncing on his cock. His hands run over your chest, your ass, whatever he can reach, but he doesn’t seem to be able to get enough.

You can relate.

“Sit up,” you order breathlessly.

“Yes ma’am,” he complies with a playful smirk. The contrast between the gruff man who’d swept you away from danger is staggering. Now, you would even go so far as to say he seems to be enjoying himself.

His chest presses up against yours. You crash your lips against his as you ride him. He winds one arm around your waist again, the other back in your hair. For leverage, you keep your palms onto his shoulders. Your teeth graze over his bottom lip again before biting down. His grip only tightens.

The pleasure is mounting. Your rhythm begins to get sloppier, less steady as you try to chase your orgasm.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme see you take care of yourself,” he teases as you pull away from the kiss, working him deep inside of you.

Your nails dig back into his skin at the words. Your breath catches again. You grind down onto him at just the right angle and everything seems to fall away.

You cry out. If Bruce wasn’t there, you’d fall just like before, but he catches you as you release. Your cunt squeezes around him, and he growls again.

“That’s right. You got one more for me?” he asks. As you ride out the afterglow of your orgasm, Bruce takes your hips again, using his strength to keep you sinking down onto his cock.

“Uh-huh…” you pant, nodding as you give the work over to him.

With his hands on your ass, he moves you up and down onto him. His grip is secure. With what little focus you have at this point, you find yourself fixated by watching the muscles of his arm work your body weight with ease.

Without a break between your first orgasm and the now furious pace at which Bruce fucks himself with your cunt, you feel another climax approaching. Bruce knows. His focus has never waned from your face, infatuated with the details of your expression as you ride him.

Now that he’s doing all the work, you take your hands and cup his cheeks, your lips finding his again in a messy kiss. You’re ravenous for him, wired off of your own bliss. If you don’t ground yourself with him, this seemingly endlessly grounded man, you’d fly away.

Bruce bites down on your lip now, a forceful grip that has you moaning.

His hips stutter. You feel it just as you’re teetering over the edge. One hand moves from his cheek, tugging onto his hair. He moans, and the sound alone pushes you until you’re throbbing around him yet again, body shivering with the force of your release.

Bruce marvels at your open mouthed cries, eyes pinched shut. He slams you down onto his cock, his grip almost bruising as you feel him twitch and cum inside of you.

There’s a beat as you both float on your high, still clinging to each other. Your heart hammers against his chest. Bruce breathes against you. It’s still not close enough, but it’s the closest you’d likely get.

You duck your head into his neck, resting your forehead against his sturdy shoulder. Half-moon indents linger on his skin from your nails. You just smile.

“How’s that for a thank you?” you ask when you finally catch your breath.

He chuckles softly, the tips of his fingers brushing against the skin of your back. “Well, next time you’re in trouble, just call for me. Me and Bats’ll come running.”

AN: huge shout out to @janybabyy, @fic-over-cannon, and @youknowwhoiamperiod for helping me with brainstorming this 💛 i appreciate it big time

[hansols-yoda-boxers]

(pt. 1) as an allo, i will say i experience the things on the first list, but like most of the time. it's not a constant thing where i just constantly get horny seeing or thinking about people i'm sexually attracted to. sometimes when im super not in the mood i don't feel anything, and that feeling can last for weeks. but when i am in the mood, it's that first list on overdrive omg. there's other things going on and not just me being allo (hormonal cycles, etc.)

[I’m gonna jump in with two things. This is long so I’ll put most of it as well as my response under a cut. And if any other allos or gray-aces wanna tell me about how they feel sexual attraction feel free to I am fascinated and confused]

Some of that I get, like libido is attached to hormones as well as mood and general well being at times. And if libido and attraction are linked for you that would make sense. Idk how you would get anything done if you were constantly distracted by this kinda stuff

(pt. 2) so yea i feel the first list semi-regularly, and it can happen with people i've never personally met, or even fictional characters (*stares in yelena from black widow*). and the level of sexual attraction and how intensely i feel that first list, that can differ from person to person. and the intensity can go through ebbs and flows as well. for me anyway it's not a static state of constant high arousal or constant medium arousal or anything like that. there's other factors that go into i

(pt. 3) there's other factors that go into it. but to answer one of your questions yes, this is why some people ask about dick sizes. that visual helps fuel the fantasy more and can increase sexual attraction once there's a visual to attach to the person you're attracted to. for me personally, i can experience that type of attraction, very intensely, for a bunch of different people, some at the same time (this is why on my blog you'll see me jumping from person to person so much). and idk how tm

You know, it occurs to me that I don’t ever picture their dicks? That’s just not a thing that I want to imagine. But I’ll come back to that in a bit. 

(pt. 4) and idk how tmi this is (this whole thing might be so if it is feel free to ignore) but when i'm in my "i wanna be railed and that's the only thing on my mind" mood, i can fantasize about anyone i'm sexually attracted to, or multiple people i'm sexually attracted to, and it'll give those intense orgasms op was talking about. this is part of why i insert myself in reader inserts, bc if i don't i just can't get into it as much.

(pt. 5) i can't always imagine someone i'm sexually attracted to fucking someone else and kinda reading it like a voyeur. often that doesn't do anything for me. i gotta imagine myself in those situations. that's part of the reason i'm so picky when it comes to reader insert stuff (and why it's so easy to get my feelings hurt when there aren't proper warnings). i just really immerse myself and during those times where my hormones make me extra horny, honestly any orgasm i have will be intense

I do know that being more mentally into something makes the feelings better and more pleasurable. And I do remember talking about that. It’s interesting that it makes it better for you. I think you mentioned once something about it tying to who you write for as well. 

But yeah I could never insert myself. If I try and picture myself I get really grossed out (for more reasons than one though) and can’t keep reading. I have to have a disconnect from what I read to some level. I can sort of step into the shoes of the pov character a little bit (and I do get invested somewhat, there are some kinks that that I can’t read about with a reader insert that I would happily read in member x member) but there has to be some distance or I can’t do it. And for writing even more so.

(pt. 6) but especially if i'm imagining doing something i'm into with someone i'm sexually attracted to. and for me personally, it's usually not just looks that'll get me sexually attracted to someone. when i say i like funny people, i mean on many occasions, i can't be sexually attracted to a person unless i find them humorous. this doesn't always happen, but most of the time if you're not funny or i don't enjoy hearing you talk, i can't be sexually attracted to you.

mmmm yes, other factors can go into primary attraction other than just looks. 

(pt. 7) there's a bunch of people i know that, bc of other physical factors that i generally like in a person, i may have been sexually attracted to, but i never have been bc they're just not funny to me. so as soon as someone makes me laugh or smile or i find them humorous, even if i'm just watching them in a video, other factors about them become attractive to me and i end up sexually attracted then. this goes for some ggs where, i like them, but i can't write smut for them bc i don't find

(pt. 8) bc i don't find them funny. this goes for bgs as well, but bc of the difference in presentation this happens more often with ggs for me. this went all over the place so i guess in conclusion, for me, i go feral when people make me laugh and generally have physical traits that i tend to find sexual. i can feel sexual attraction to people based on looks alone, but in general they gotta make me laugh first. and this fluctuates i'm not in a constant state of feral. sometimes i feel nothing.

It is really interesting cuz there are so many things I like in other people but those things don’t turn me on. I realize that I have been using the term feral different from y’all lmao. 

At the moment I’m trying to parse out if, in my last relationship, I wanted sex because I wanted it with him, or because I was comfy with him, it felt good, and I knew he would be caring. At this point like like sex with the right person and I know I desire it in a sensual sense, but not in a person sense (I’ve been in a very don’t touch me mood lately. Like I wanna feel these sensations but I absolutely do not want a person to cause them)

Also I never fantasized about my partners. I can with idols sort of? But there’s a massive disconnect. It’s more of a character with a story line than just, imagining have sex. And any imagining of having sex, suddenly I’m not thinking about their voice or face because doing that makes things supremely uncomfy. I kinda wonder, do y’all fantasize about your crushes sexually? Cuz that was another thing I could never do. If I explored the ideas it just felt really weird and any sexual dreams about friends always make me feel real uncomfy.