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sirxlla · 3 months ago

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Okay I have a request if you could do it, btw I love your bat bros writings

What about how would batboys be if the reader was a tailor?

You're Their Seamstress/Tailor (Batboys)

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Dick: You had bent over, and since Dick was feeling cheeky (pun intended), he swatted your ass.

"I will choke the life out of you with my tailor tape, Grayson." You smacked his arm with a laugh and a smile.

"Hey, you do it to me all the time and it's not my fault you tailor your pants so well to your body."

You roll your eyes before measuring his hips, having to slightly press your face to his stomach.

"Hey there, do I gotta pay extra or does that come included in my fitting?" He remarks, being a smartass as per usual.

You finished up measuring him and started working on his suit, at some point while watching tv he passed out on your couch. You grabbed a blanket and covered him up before returning to your work tailoring his suit. He had a gala to go to and navy really brought out his blue eyes especially when paired with a baby blue tie. The color combination was so simple but it always made him look so handsome.

"God- Fuckin- Shit! Fuck me!" He had slept for a few hours but woke suddenly when he heard you cuss.

"You okay?" He asked with concern as he pushed the blanket off him and got to his feet before quickly making his way over to you.

"Yeah, I- I'm okay, I just sliced my finger open with the scissors." You got up and rushed over to the sink and let the cold water run over it. Dick was quick to grab the first aid kit to bandage your finger.

"It's alright fingers tend to bleed a lot." He said as he noticed the worry and pain on your face. Dick opened the triple antibiotic that has pain relief, thankfully. He dried your finger, put the antibiotic on it and then the little Spongebob bandaids youd picked out which made you smile. You had always thought it was worth the extra couple cents to get themed bandaids cause they gave a smidge of dopamine as well as protection for your finger. Having Star Wars, Hello Kitty or Spongebob bandaids did a lot to help you and others feel a little bit better after an accident.

Dick kissed your finger over the bandaid as he looked into your eyes. "My- My mom always said if you kiss it, it'll heal quicker. I know it's bullshit but little things like that help a lot when accidents happen." Remembering how his mom would kiss his boo boos when he was a kid, he didnt talk about her much so when he brought her up it was heart-warming to know he trusted you with that.

"Thats why I get the themed bandaids! Its the little trivial things that mean a lot." You smiled as you were so glad he had the a smiliar outlook as you.

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Jason: It was very unsurprising when it came to how rough Jason was on everything from his guns to his jacket, to his boots so it was almost weekly that you were fixing something of his.

"Jay, how do you even tear this area?" You said as you held up the jacket that had definitely seen better days, a massive hole in the upper bicep.

"Easy, I've been working out." Jason says being a complete smartass, which you suppose is a good thing, considering if he wasn't, you would know there was something wrong with him.

"Hardy Har Har." Giving him an annoyed smirk flipping him off before grabbing your needle and thread. Unfortunately, a lot of the things that Jason needed patched up had to be hand-sewn, and so you painstakingly spent hours fixing any little holes he had.

"Angel, you know that's not nice." He laughs as he quickly quips back at you, sitting in the desk chair next to you, spinning around.

"I know, that's why I said it." You grabbed his chair and stopped him from spinning. "With the damage being the way it is, I'm most likely going to have to hold on to this for a couple of days, but I did work on something for you."

You put the jacket down so you could get back to it later and got up from your seat. Expecting him to get up and follow, but of course, him being him, he decided that it was a good idea to roll the desk chair across the floor behind you. You rolled your eyes and opened the cabinet to a fairly badass and upgraded suit.

"I worked with Lucius to improve a few things; the fibers are thicker but still breathable and light. Kneepads, chest plate, bracers and the helmet is the same design as before, but we added a better filtration system and a heads-up display on the helmet so you can track blood and run an analysis of whatever you need. The cargo pants are more tear resistant, the jackets new material but the old design." You ran him through all the little bits and pieces of the upgrades, and he almost looked in shock.

"You just did this? Like I didn't even need to ask you, you just did... I have been wondering about a new suit." The smirk that always seemed to lace his tone seemed to slip, now laced with appreciation. "How do you know I needed all this stuff?"

"Well, I talked with Bruce and Barbara on exactly what you needed technology wise and then I spoke to Lucius about the way you fight and things that are tearing and such. Considering he's done so much work with Bruce I figured he would know best and we got it figured out. If you end up not liking something let me know and we'll tweak it as needed."

"Holy shit, this is just..." He stands up from the desk chair and pushes it away from him a little bit. The wheels roll against the tile of the floor as he gazes at his new suit. "No, Angel. I have a feeling this is gonna be amazing." He grabs youand gives you a big hug, In this moment he felt so cared for and so appreciated as he squeezed you a little. "You're a goddamn genius, Angel."

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Bruce: You worked with Lucius on Bruce's suit, working with him on design and functionality. You and Bruce were arguing, the two materials he wanted to pair would make his suit heavy in the rain and he wasn't listening.

"You know what, do it your way, Bruce. Cause you're always right." You stared into his ocean blue eyes with annoyance and anger. Usually those eyes mean the world and could bring you to your knees but right now all you felt was annoyance and irritation.

"I will." He said it with a bit of a smartass tone, he was glad you backed down because he wasnt used to being questioned by anyone.

Guess what happened? The dumbass's suit was too heavy, and he ended up falling off a three-story building.

Thankfully, he's okay but now youre taking care of him. You didn't need to tell him I told you so, he knew he was wrong. While he was passed out in his bed you fixed up his suit and replaced the material that made it so heavy.

Bruce was never one for customizing his things too much but you knew how much he cared about his parents and sewed a small black rose into the undershirt of his suit. It was something he may never see or notice but it felt right considering how often he'd place roses where his parents were killed in Crime Alley, it was like they'd be with him at all times.

Bruce found it months later and immediately thought of you. He'd been thinking of you a lot and he realized how much you truly care about him by doing such little things like refill the water bottles in the batmobile and clean his suit without him asking. He sent you black roses as a thank you so you knew he saw it.

"You do so much for everyone and my family wouldnt be nearly as safe without you. I cant thank you enough. Let me take you out to dinner when you have time. - BW"

Your heart lept into your chest, you and Bruce bumped heads but it was in the same way an old married couple did, you both wanted what was best for the other. Bruce didnt want that other material cause he knew it'd be a pain for you to sew, even if he wouldn't tell you that. You wanted him safe, he knew that but you'd been busting your ass for the whole Batfamily so he asked for the other material even if in the end it did make him look stupid and dislocated one of his shoulders.

So due to that, he could at least get you to take you on a date, he needed a break too and it would be nice to get out and get away from all his kids to spend time with someone he was growing quite fond of.

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Tim: When it came to upgrading Tim's gadgets it was a pain in the ass because he always needed the newest tech and a way to upgrade it. Fortunately, when it came to the gadgets he handled that himself or he had Lucius help with it.

When it came to the suit itself it didn't need to be upgraded unless it had some serious degradation and it was getting to that point, it had holes and rips everywhere.

"No, Tim. We cant talk about it later." You spoke to him through comms as he was on patrol.

"I'm a little busy." You could hear the wind on his cape as he glided over and through the city.

"You're always busy, Tim. The suit needs upgrades and if we dont get to them now it'll be too late. If you dont wanna miss a night of patrol then we need to do it now."

"Alright, Jesus. Why do you always gotta be right?" He said with a easy-going joking tone as he landed on a roof somewhere and there was the sound of the rain patting down onto his cape.

"So I was thinking maybe some titanium coated armor, it'd be stronger but definitely wouldnt add much weight...then maybe we could keep the boots but the pants wear too quickly-"

"Yeah, all that sounds good. I trust you but I gotta go, just do whatever you want." He said as it sounded like he started fighting a group of thugs. "I gotta go, getting my ass handed to me over here. You know? Normal stuff." He said with a laugh.

You worked like a mule trying to get his suit together, referencing his measurements and the sketch you had done several versions of trying to figure which looked the best and was the most functional. Tim bounces around like a ping pong ball so you just put the new suit in place of the old one so he could try it when he got around to it.

"Hey, have you seen this suit?! This is amazing!" He asked you as if he didn't already know you made it yourself.

"I'm glad you like it." You smiled as you worked on other garments.

"I could kiss you, this is so amazing! I- I- I mean...Um, yeah. Thank you." He says as he quickly leaves the room in his suit before his face matches the red on the new chest piece.

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Damian: Being Bruce's son meant Damian would regularly have to attend galas. Damian wasnt so rough on his armored suits so mainly he needed to commision you for suits and the like.

He wasn't very talkative or sociable but secretly it was your favorite thing to do to dress up Damian like your own little Ken doll. Of course he'd never tell you but something about you lighting up everytime he needed something tailored just made his black heart just a very shades lighter.

"Mmm hmmm hmmm." You hummed to your music, your headphones on as to not disturb Damian while you fitted him with the new suit you had just finished but minutes before he walked in.

"You know you don't have to do that?"

"What?" You asked a bit concerned that you'd upset him in some sorta way.

"You can play your music out loud. I don't mind." He wanted to let you in and he could see how much you relaxed after he said that.

"I um- I don't know if you'll like it." You said concerned as you fiddled with your tailored tape.

"Well, we don't know if I will if you dont show me." Damian was in uncharted territory on talking to people and getting to know them but this felt good?

"I'm just listening to the Arcane soundtrack for this last season. It was so good." You almost started rambling but stopped, you liked Damian and didnt want him to think you were weird by going off about your interests.

"Yeah, it was pretty good, I really didn't expect that ending..."

"No, No, No! Wait! I haven't finished it. I just- I haven't had the chance. I'm on like episode four or five." You stopped him before he went on and accidentally spoiled it.

"Oh, so you haven't even got to the big parts then..."

"No, I've been working on your suit." You said as you smoothed the suit over his shoulders. The suit is a beautiful deep burgundy, the collars black with a black tie and white undershirt, simple but unique. He looks stunning, your hands held his wrist as you put on his cufflinks for him.

"We'll, I um..." Holy shit he was nervous, he'd not done this in ages...and he was never nervous but he wanted to make a good impression. He took a deep breath. "Hey, why don't you and I watch the last episodes together? Like make it a night tomorrow or something? I mean- Actually... do you have time tonight?"

"Tonight? I thought you were busy with the gala." You asked him, you didnt wanna say yes then make him feel obligated when he was actually meant to be somewhere else.

"I was but Jason and Dick can deal with it. I'd rather spend my night here with you if that's okay." You turned your face away from him as it was probably obvious that your heart was beating in eyes like an old cartoon.

"I'd love that." Your eyes glancing up at his a lot less nervous and a lot more hopeful.

That night was full of a lot of emotion from the show and you ended up a sobbing mess against his chest, thank goodness he'd changed out of the suit otherwise it would be soaked with your tears. He held you all through it and by the end of the night he was sure he was crushing on you.

-> Masterlists <-

#batboys #batboys x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #damian wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #red hood x reader #red hood #tim drake x reader #batman x reader #damian al ghul x reader #damian al ghul #damian wayne #bruce wayne x reader #red robin x reader #dick grayson #nightwing x reader

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genderlessghoul · 2 years ago

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I've been wanting to do this post for a while now so here is EVERYTHING I CAN TELL YOU ABOUT THE GHOULS' IMPERA COSTUMES.

Buckle up because I have a LOT to say about those, this is gonna be a very long one.

The costumes were designed by B Åkerlund, a Swedish costume designer who's worked with Ghost since at least Meliora (that's as far back as I was willing to scroll on her Instagram page lol). B Åkerlund has also worked for many other musical artists such as Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Madonna, the Rolling Stones, Ozzy Osborne, Blink 182 and Hollywood Undead (information from her own website)

The masks were made by Bob Basset, a visual artists who works a lot with leather. I find his work fascinating, you can look him up on Instagram (nsfw warning, there's a few naked ladies).

Fun fact! The horns are real cow horns. That's the reason some of them have gold tips, to hide the imperfections that come with working with actual horns.

He does have a shop where he sells his items, there's a mask there very similar to the Impera ones. You can also buy Papa's batwings if you happen to have 2500$ lying around!

The jackets are made on the same model as one of Papa's. The back is decorated with a spine-like design made from leather and cording. It's adorned with a few of our classic Impera buttons. Some of the hems were left raw and some deliberate weathering was done to make it look old and worn.

Fun fact! The shoulder pieces are not sewn into the garment, I would assume for easier cleaning. I don't know if they're held by strong magnets or snap buttons.

The vest (my beloved 😩) is made from flocked velvet in a paisley pattern, the front hems embellished with satin piping. It closes in the front with custom metal clasps that are riveted into the garment. The D parts are attached with what seems to me like wide elastic, which would lessen the pression on the clasps when moving around a lot. The back is made from two different types of fabric, I'd have to touch it to be able to tell you what they are. I assume the panels closer to the sides have some mild stretch to them. The top of the shoulders are decorated with Impera grucifix patches.

The shirts were not custom made for the ghouls, altho they were altered. The original shirt in the vintage painter linen shirt from Punk Rave and it is still being sold. Some of the cuffs were altered, removing the ruffles for some of the ghouls, but not all. They were removed for Dew, Mountain and Phantom, Aether's didn't have them either. As far as I can tell, all the ghoulettes still have them.

An unfinished piece of linen serves as an ascot, that piece is decorated with a metal devil skull. The colour of the skull doesn't appear to be consistent between each ghoul, Dew's looks gold almost bronze while Phantom's is a silver-like colour.

Another modification is the buttons, a small portion of them were removed in favor of our Impera buttons. Some of the ghouls have more buttons replaced than others, which is still a mystery to me.

The pants are called Jodhpurs, they were invented in the 1800s as horse riding pants. The wide part at the hips and thighs allowing for better movement. The ones the ghouls wear don't reach all the way to their ankles, they stop a bit past the calf muscle, hidden by the boots. (Yes, the ghouls are effectively wearing capri pants)

The boots are motorcycle riding boots, decorated by a grucifix. Like the shirt, they can still be bought online through the All American Boots website, altho the price tag is... Headache inducing to say the least.

The cape is a piece of costume that was only briefly worn on stage by the ghouls, Aurora being the only one who still wears one. I would assume it gets in the way of playing very easily. The cape itself is made of two fabrics, a light blue satin and a dark grey suede. The two pieces are not sewn together at the bottom, they move freely from each other. The cape is attached on the left shoulder with a harness piece that has one strap across the chest, decorated with a metal buckle, and one under the armpit.

Aight that's it for me, have a nice day byyyyye!!

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wedgiesfromhell · 18 days ago

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Jacob had made it barely three days into boot camp before the barracks wolves pounced.

Maybe it was the way he walked. Maybe it was his innocent, over-eager answers in orientation. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the telltale waistband of his tighty whities peeking up from his PT shorts every time he bent over to tie his boots.

Whatever the cause, the guys had picked their prey. And that morning, while the rest of the recruits were reporting for formation, Jacob was hoisted—literally.

They gave him the Hanging Wedgie.

It was a clean lift. Four guys, full effort. They hauled him by the waistband of his briefs up to the metal bunk frame, looping the elastic over one of the support beams. Jacob was left swinging in the air, suspended by his own cotton, toes dangling inches off the floor, legs twitching, briefs stretching with each slight sway.

He looked like some twisted parade decoration: arms flailing, chest rising and falling in panic, and his tighty whities so stretched they had gone from snug to sculpted.

The white cotton strained around the curve of his cheeks, deeply buried in the crack and climbing so far up his back it nearly touched his shoulder blades. The front of the briefs had ridden so high that the y-front was pinned tight against his sternum, turning every breath into a wince.

And then…

Drill Sergeant Brickhouse stormed in.

The door slammed open with the subtlety of a thunderclap. His boots pounded the floor in rhythm, and his sunglasses stayed on indoors—not because he needed them, but because authority doesn’t squint.

He took one look at the empty bunk, then at his clipboard.

“Private Jacob… AWOL from formation…”

Then his eyes raised—and froze.

Jacob, dangling. Wedgied. Face bright red. Cotton stretched to maximum.

There was silence. Then…

“Oh my god,” the sergeant said with a slow, astonished grin.

“You’re actually dangling from the ceiling by your tighty whities. Bro… you’re asking for it.”

He strode forward, arms folded, boots stopping inches from Jacob’s twitching feet.

“You chose these, huh?” he said, poking at the waistband.

“White briefs. Not compression. Not boxers. Not even black. Bright white tighty whities. What are you, ten? Of course you’re dangling from a ceiling, Private—these things are like grappling hooks for bullies.”

Jacob whimpered, still swaying, his briefs now a shiny, stretched-out torture device, visibly clinging to every inch of his swampy glutes. The cotton shimmered slightly in the barracks light, and even from a few feet away, the sergeant could see the stress lines etched into the fabric, forming veins of pulled thread that radiated out from every pressure point.

“You smell that?” the sergeant said, wrinkling his nose.

“That’s the smell of a poor laundry schedule, bad decisions, and straight-up regret.”

Then, with a smirk, he stepped behind Jacob.

“Let’s get you down, princess. And since you missed formation, you’re gonna earn your landing.”

The sergeant gripped Jacob’s ankles, spreading his stance like he was about to deadlift a sandbag.

YANK.

Jacob’s body dropped an inch. The cotton didn’t snap—it screamed, groaning under the sudden pull as the wedgie burrowed deeper, turning Jacob’s tighty whities into a high-tension harness of agony. His cheeks clenched. His toes curled up. A strained moan slipped out.

“No pain, no gain,” the sergeant muttered.

YANK.

Another inch. The briefs were now skinned to his body, the leg holes acting like pulleys, digging so deep into his thighs it looked like they were sewn into him. The waistband was stretched far beyond its intended size, the tag twisting violently, barely hanging on.

Jacob let out a long, high-pitched groan.

“There it is,” the sergeant said, nodding. “That’s the sound of discipline entering through the cheeks.”

Then came the final pull.

The sergeant adjusted his grip.

“This is for every minute you were late to my field.”

YANK.

The cotton finally gave up.

Rippppppp.

One seam. Then another. Then a final SNAP!—and Jacob crashed down in a heap, his shredded briefs fluttering like confetti as he landed flat on the cold tile floor.

He lay there, dazed, one leg twitching, half a waistband still looped around one ankle.

The sergeant stood over him, arms behind his back.

“Next time you’re late, Private,” he said, “you’ll wish it was just your underwear that got shredded

#@wedgiesandwhities #tighty whitie wedgie #wedgie boy #wedgie kink #wedgiemen #atomicwedgie #wedgie time #atomic wedgie #deep wedgie #frontal wedgie

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monbons · 3 months ago

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Stitch Sunday

Happy Sunday all! Although it seems quiet on here today, I did want to share my most recently completed stitch projects. I’m super proud of them, and who doesn’t like a behind-the-scenes post? Everything is below the cut because the first is smut and the second is my Valentine's Day card for the Discord exchange. (I agreed to do the full list, so if you haven't received yours yet, stop reading after naked Simon!)

I am so pleased with how my first submission for EGF turned out. If you haven't seen it yet, find the post here. I created no less than FOUR body designs for Baz while trying to find one where he looked good naked from every angle. As promised, here is EVERY angle.

One of the unexpected challenges I ran into was that once the harness arrived, it was not the perfect fit I'd hoped for. Baz's angle made it so that there was a sizable gap between his back and the leather straps, so another skill I have now added to my repertoire is leather-working! I bought a kit, cut the straps down to the right size, poked new holes where they were needed, and hammered new studs in myself! Progress pic below.

Once I nailed Baz and his harness, I made my Simon pattern. The biggest difference is how exaggerated I had to make every curve in order to give Simon the fluffy body he deserves. Here are his angles!

Look at that little fold of felt where his thigh meets his torso. I love it so much!

As for my valentines, I knew I wanted to lean into my reputation as "the doll artist" somehow, so I sent everyone a Baz finger puppet! While you may have seen a version of this puppet before for COC, he got a slight upgrade for the exchange. I lined his jacket to make it sturdier, developed a better pattern for his widow's peak, and his shirt now boasts three hand-sewn seed bead buttons. (I grew more confident with the later models, so some of those puppets also boast real lapels on the jacket.)

Overall, I am super proud of myself for making just shy of 40 of these adorable puppets and spreading a little bit of the doll joy to as many people as I could!

Until we meet again, hellos and high-fives from the doll factory.

@alexalexinii, @argumentativeantitheticalg, @aristocratic-otter, @arthurkko, @artsyunderstudy

@best--dress, @blackberrysummerblog, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @bookish-bogwitch, @bookishbroadwayandblind,

@confused-bi-queer, @cutestkilla, @drowninginships, @emeryhall, @facewithoutheart

@harrie-leithillustration, @hushed-chorus, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ic3que3n, @ileadacharmedlife

@katatsumuli, @larkral, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @messofthejess

@mooncello, @noblecorgi, @orange-peony, @prettygoododds, @raenestee

@rbkzz, @rimeswithpurple, @roomwithanopenfire, @run-for-chamo-miles, @shrekgogurt

@skeedelvee, @stitchyqueer, @supercutedinosaurs, @talentpiper11, @technetiumai

@the-beard-of-edward-teach, @twinkle-twinkle-up-above, @theimpossibledemon, @thewholelemon, @valeffelees

@whatevertheweather, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold

#behind the scenes of the felt smut factory #i appreciate naked dolls because the clothing is a pain and takes forever #i may never clothe a doll again #stitch sunday #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #a monbons doll #a monbons finger puppet

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peariote · 5 months ago

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AFTER MIDNIGHT ꩜ .ᐟ quinn fabray x reader

character study (partially.) loved writing this. butch!reader implied, i hope my love for butches comes through. 1.75k words exactly.

Her momma always said that bad girls were the ones who ended up in nightclubs, indulging in alcohol and not God's teachings. The girls like that never found good husbands and never formed the families they were meant to. That's what she always said.

It was frequently hissed in her ear, the unfamiliar curl of the word "heretics" confusing her yet nestling unpleasantly in her mind.

Her momma made her promise she'd never become one of those girls. Would be pious, follow the Gospel, and find a God-fearing husband.

So, little Lucy Quinn Fabray, all of seven and sat on her momma's knee, did the only obvious thing when confronted with her seemingly imminent future.

She murmured a soft "yes, momma," and clutched tighter at her momma's modest yellow cardigan.

She was immediately chastised for that. There wasn't much she wasn't reprimanded for.

"Don't call me 'momma'." Her momma mother had huffed, pretty face tightening with annoyance and the hypocritical smell of alcohol on her breath. The line of her mouth thins contemplatively. "You make me feel old enough already. And don't wrinkle my clothes. I'll have to steam this. Again."

Now, some sixteen years later, here she was—going against the words she'd held as gospel for so long.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She nervously smooths down her too-short dress, trying to tug it past her upper thigh. She's not very successful. The amount of sequins sewn onto the garment would make her father red-faced and Kurt proud. She'd know—he picked it out for her.

"Please, Quinn. You have to get this one! It'd look so good on you." Is all she remembered before having the pink silk thrown at her. She had squawked indignantly at the impact, the hanger hitting her temple and catching in her hair.

Despite her (and Santana's) protests—"Oh, you are not letting Jesus Girl wear my nice dress from Sacs!"—she ended up in the form-fitting fabric regardless.

They hadn't even bothered to accompany her, leaving her to traverse her first club alone.

Sure. She was Quinn Fabray. HBIC, Head Cheerio, ex-Skank and a generally competent person. But she was competent in Nowhere, Ohio. Or in the friendly town of college students and old people that was New Haven. Sure, it was the third biggest city in Connecticut, but it was Connecticut.

This was New York City. This was shady alleys, dark, dank corners and the widest variety of people she'd ever seen.

The people in front of her in line were two obviously gay and already intoxicated men. At eleven at night.

The person behind her? A woman so tall and in heels so high she's sure if she turned around she'd make eye contact with her stomach.

She's not used to these types of people. This type of place.

The bouncer is burlier than ninety-nine percent of guys she sees at Yale—nice Polos and slim, toned arms replaced by a regular black tee, a... leather harness and arms like boulders. He scowls where they smile, but his hands are gentler when he takes her ID than they'd been with her. Hm.

She's visually assaulted by bright lights of every color. They flash against the wall and in her eyes, periodically illuminating the people around her.

Some taller than her, some shorter. Some slim like a willow with curling limbs, others sturdy with strong hands and a solid stance. Men, women, people who's gender she can't discern, with long hair, cropped cuts or anything in between in any color she could imagine.

She doesn’t have long to take in any of this. There’s a swell of people at her back and a melting pot at her front. She’s been here before, knows the rules—acclimate or die. Same as high school.

She’s seen the movies. She knows what’s supposed to happen. She’ll walk up to the bar, order a drink, and a handsome, tall man will hop out of nowhere and pay for it. A couple months of nondescript dating, they’ll be married.

Not exactly how her mother hoped it’d happen, but she won’t be too disappointed. She’ll just be glad Quinn is married and she can finally talk about her in church without the pitying coos of other moms.

All she can think is "yeah, scratch that." when the person who saddles up next to her is not a charming, dark-haired man with dimples and is, instead, the most handsome woman she's ever seen grinning at the bartender over her shoulder.

"Yeah, Mike. She's on my tab. Thanks, man." A regular, clearly. And... not the man she expected. Not a man at all.

She'd always thought wry smiles and crooked grins were inherently smug. They'd always been on the faces of boys trying to trick their way into her skirt, thinking themselves clever.

But this grin, the one you direct at her? She likes it more than she should.

"I haven't seen you around here before." Your voice is loud, elevated over the pulsing music. You'd turned to face her, elbow on the bar and strong-looking hand under your chin.

"You're either new to the city or new to the queer scene."

...they sent her to a gay bar. She's going to wring Kurt's neck. And then apologize so he lets her stay in his apartment while she nurses this humiliation.

Is that why the bouncer was in leather?

"...yeah. I'm new to both. I'm here visiting friends." She's not used to raising her voice—it's unladylike, her mother would say. Women were to be seen, not heard. Her volume is low, too low to be heard over the deafening music.

You have to lean closer, shift and tilt your head so she can repeat herself straight into your ear. The music booms, but she swears she can hear you inhale when her hot breath brushes the cartilage. Or when she cups a bare bicep, leaning into the warmed skin.

She had to catch herself, she justifies. She definitely lost her balance.

Except for the fact that she can dance in six-inch platforms and these are only four. There's no way she'd be tripping into you, especially only one drink deep.

Speaking of dancing.

It might be the shot (or three) she'd downed while you two were conversing and laughing and flirting but she wanted to dance. She'd missed it. There isn't many places to go dancing in New Haven, and not many people she'd go with.

So she tugs your elbow, says something that's not much more than an enthusiastic, unintelligible giggle and tears off towards the floor. You stubble behind her, chuckling under your breath when she bumps into some guy. Evidently, you're better at holding your alcohol.

She knows the lessons from bible camp. She'd gone there seven years—they're practically ingrained in her psyche. The most important one, plastered on posters and said by any adult in hearing range at the Summer's End Dance?

Leave room for Jesus.

But alcohol's a funny thing. And her head's all wrong—she feels mushy.

She likes your biceps. And your hair. The ease at which she wraps in your arms, her own fingers curling around the back of your neck, is atypical of her.

And there's definitely no room for Jesus when the sturdy line of you presses right up against her.

She'd like to say it was the press of people keeping you together, but even through the intoxication she knows she's lying to herself. She likes you. It's weird. Even among cheerleaders, with teasing skirts and flouncy hair, she'd never felt... this.

The short crop of your hair is increasingly more appealing. The strength in your muscles, and the charming black slacks that hug you nicely draw her more than long, batting lashes.

There weren't people like you in Lima. A voice in her mind traitorously murmurs, sounding too much like Santana. Maybe that's why this took you so long, Q.

The beat's fast, but you're both too drunk to articulate anything more than a stationary sway.

That's fine with her. She gets to feel your arms around her waist and rest her head on your homely shoulder. The swaying motions keep her steady, stop the stumbling she's bound to do once she's out of your grip.

As songs go by, she starts to go down, down, down. Sobering up, yes, but not expecting the wave of drowsiness that comes with it. She clings to you ever tighter.

"I think I need to go home..." Is mumbled into your ear, her lilting, quiet tone laced with breathiness. It makes you shiver, and she bites back a grin. Your body shifts, supporting more of her weight to help her out of the club—hand splaying over her lower back. So she did find a gentleman tonight.

Once you both slip out of the club—though a backdoor you were totally allowed to use, ignoring the Employees Only sign—she smiles. The city air is cool, brushing over her skin and making her sigh. As you release her, she looses her footing, but is able to recover with a (still slightly tipsy) laugh.

"Get home safe, Quinn." She hears you murmur. A pleased sigh escapes her at the kiss you press to her cheek. Naturally leaning into the touch, she almost misses how you grasp her forearm—deftly scrawling a phone number in Sharpie, big enough to span the whole area.

"Call me." And then you're off. The bouncer gives you a wave as you stroll past, shooting you a grin once he catches sight of her.

Whew.

...should she call a taxi?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She stumbles up to Kurt's apartment door, firmly feeling the effects of the alcohol. Bracing against the doorframe, she can't help but huff as she drunkenly fumbles with the key. Not quite sober yet.

Opening the door causes her friends to freeze—Santana and Kurt being in the middle of putting up a... rainbow balloon arch?

"Oh, there's no way I was wrong. You weren't supposed to be here before morning! Why aren't you with a lady friend, Q?" Santana says, eyes narrowing with discontent at her arrival (typical) and at her... lack of a lady friend.

Santana sent her out to hookup with someone. With a woman. She tried to orchestrate her gay awakening.

She's too drunk to think about that. Or the fact that she did, in fact, have a gay awakening. She doesn't even say anything. She doesn't need to.

She just raises her forearm—dark with the digits of your phone number—and grins at the cheers she gets in response.

#kiera's fics.#quinn fabray #quinn fabray x reader #glee #glee x reader

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stvmotorsports01 · 3 months ago

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Sewn-in Harnesses: Built for Safety, Designed for Off-Road Thrills

Off-roading is an adrenaline-fueled adventure that pushes both drivers and vehicles to their limits. While power, suspension, and tires play crucial roles, safety should always be the top priority. Sewn-in harnesses are a game-changer for off-roaders, providing superior security, comfort, and stability on rugged terrain. In this article, we’ll explore why sewn-in harnesses are essential, how they enhance safety, and what to look for when choosing the right one for your off-road vehicle.

What Are Sewn-in Harnesses?

Sewn-in harnesses are a type of racing and off-road safety harness where the shoulder and lap belts are permanently stitched together. Unlike clip-in or bolt-in harnesses, these offer a more secure fit, reducing movement and improving stability during high-impact driving.

Why Are Sewn-in Harnesses Ideal for Off-Roading?

1. Unmatched Safety and Security

Off-roading involves unpredictable terrain, sharp turns, and steep inclines. Sewn-in harnesses provide a snug, locked-in feel, reducing the risk of ejection or injury in case of a rollover or impact. Their integrated design eliminates weak points found in traditional buckle systems.

2. Reduced Movement for Maximum Control

A driver’s stability is crucial when navigating challenging trails. Loose seatbelts or harnesses can cause unnecessary movement, making it harder to maintain control. Sewn-in harnesses keep drivers and passengers firmly in place, allowing for precise maneuvering.

3. Durability for Extreme Conditions

Built with high-strength webbing and reinforced stitching, sewn-in harnesses withstand the toughest off-road conditions. Unlike conventional seat belts, they resist fraying and wear, ensuring long-term reliability even in muddy, sandy, or rocky environments.

4. Quick and Easy to Use

With no separate components to attach, sewn-in harnesses simplify the process of gearing up. Whether you’re racing or trail riding, getting secured in your seat takes only seconds, allowing more time for adventure.

How to Choose the Right Sewn-in Harness for Your Off-Road Vehicle

1. Harness Point Configuration

Choose between 4-point, 5-point, or 6-point harnesses, depending on the level of security you need. A 5-point harness is a popular choice for off-roaders, as it includes a submarine strap for added protection.

2. Material and Stitching Quality

Look for sewn-in harnesses made from high-quality nylon or polyester webbing with reinforced stitching. These materials provide strength and longevity even under harsh conditions.

3. Adjustability and Comfort

A good sewn-in harness should allow for easy adjustments to fit different body sizes. Padded straps can add extra comfort, especially for long rides.

4. Certification and Compliance

For maximum safety, ensure your harness meets safety standards such as SFI 16.1 or FIA certification, commonly required for off-road competitions.

For any serious off-roader, sewn-in harnesses are an investment in safety and performance. Their secure fit, durability, and ease of use make them the ideal choice for tackling rugged terrains and high-speed adventures. Whether you’re a weekend trail explorer or a professional racer, upgrading to sewn-in harnesses can make all the difference in your off-road experience.

#sewn in harnesses #off road vehicle parts #off road accessories las vegas #off road parts and accessories #motorsports

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wickedsmille · 5 months ago

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batman, robin, sentient super suits, oh my! part 2

Here's Part 1 and somehow there's going to be a part 3 too because I'm apparently incapable of doing anything short. Just ain't made for it. I've become resigned to my fate. But, hey, here's part 2! ;3

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“What is going on with this thing tonight,” Tim murmurs harshly with an irritated huff.

Jason would like to know, too, since Tim’s comms patched into his private line without Jason’s say so. It could’ve been the Red Hood fucking with him again but the suit has been tame. Well, okay, as tame as his suit gets. Which is suspicious all on its own but that’s a problem for a later time. Right now, he has an unsuspecting Tim on the line.

“Come on you stupid piece of shit,” Tim whispers like a man at the end of his rope.

“Woah, woah, language there, RR,” Jason chides him because he can.

Tim makes a noise somewhere between a squeak and a grunt which would normally have Jason laughing except Tim chokes off the sound and mutters, “Uh oh.”

He’s never liked uh oh’s.

“What?” he demands, feigning annoyance but honestly a little worried.

“So,” Tim starts hesitantly. The rest of the words spill out of him in a rush when he says, “I was trying to get a hold of Batgirl because I’m on a stake out that isn’t a stake out anymore and I’m currently hiding from about thirty heavily armed and trained mercenaries but all the exits are covered so I can’t exactly sneak out.”

Tim trails off while Jason’s stomach churns. “You’re what?” Jason responds, this time truly annoyed.

“If I have to repeat myself and I give away my position,” Tim warns him absently. There’s another pause and Jason much prefers Tim’s word vomit to the ominous sound of Tim’s measured breathing and the growing din in the background. “Uh oh” Tim says but with more feeling this time.

“Don’t you fucking uh oh me. Where are you?”

“It’s the home goods warehouse southeast of the docks. 1334 Har-." Tim doesn’t get a chance to finish rattling off the address. If Jason has to guess, he would say it has something to do with the sudden sound of gunfire.

This is not happening. He got butt dialed into a backup call and now the littlest bird is a sitting duck in a den of lions. With only Jason to lean on. Who isn’t even sure where he is. It’s not like the actual contents of Gotham’s warehouses isn’t ever shifting between legitimate goods and illicit ones or anything. Property rights and leases exchanging hands between asset management teams and gangs. Money is money after all. The area around the docks is all warehousing and logistics so, over all, Tim has been completely unhelpful.

He knows better than to divide Tim’s attention when he’s in the middle of a serious fight. One wrong word and Jason could be the reason Tim gets a bullet to the brain or pushed off a two story catwalk. It doesn’t exactly leave him with very many options other than immediately changing his trajectory to take him over to the industrial center by the docks. It’s a quiet night. He should be able to hear the gunshots.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to waste valuable time playing Where’s The Fire Fight? because Red Hood has it handled. Or Tim finally made use of one of the many panic buttons he’s sure are sewn all over his less-than-stellar, non-magical-mystical-whatever suit. No matter how, Jason gets a ping on his HUD and a map of Gotham pulls up into the corner with a neat little red dot for Tim’s location. Now knowing where he’s going, Jason pushes himself to hurry the fuck up.

Getting back to his bike is a blur but he’s ripping down Gotham’s streets as soon as he gets the engine started and kickstand up. One irate cab driver has the audacity to honk at him when he blows through a red light so Jason gives him the middle finger and few choice words. The guy must be new to the city if he doesn’t know to look both ways for high speed vigilantes. Jason would be more than happy to teach him the lesson if he didn’t have places to be and things to do.

Thanks to his incredible driving skills and his innate ability to not turn himself into a pavement pancake, Jason gets to the warehouse in record time. If only Guinness had been watching. He would’ve gotten a medal or whatever it is they do when someone breaks one of the many, many pointless world records the books have immortalized.

Since all the doors and exterior windows do appear to be fortified and armed, Jason grapples himself to the roof and is delighted to see the unsecured skylight. Whoever these guys are, they must be from out of town too. Any Gotham-ized gangster, goon, villain or otherwise knows to board those up first. Out of towners, he swears. No problem, the cab driver got him primed for a teaching moment so he’s about to take these motherfuckers to school.

Handling Vigilantes 101:

-Never leave your skylights or exterior vents unattended.

-Before engaging in criminal activity, make sure you have active health insurance.

-Prepare to get your ass pounded into paste by some douchebags in tight leather (and not in the fun way).

In true Bat-fashion, Jason makes his dramatic entrance via ziplining through the skylight after cracking the glass with the steel-toe of his boot. He’s already got a gun out by the time his feet touch down with a jarring thud. The total amateurs, by Gotham standards, startle enough Jason has ample time to start putting them down. A flash of red and black from the corner of his eye lets him know Tim has darted out to either pull some shifty, sneaky shit or find better coverage than the shot to hell crates he’d been keeping between himself and a .22 to the dome.

Even when the mercs gather up their wits and retaliate against the new threat, the Red Hood does its job. About a minute of getting shot at, knowing he’ll be sporting a myriad of bruises from it but trusting his suit to keep anything fatal at bay, and the idiots start second guessing their current line of attack.

What’s a bruise or two for the ghost tales that’ll get spread around about the Red Hood being impervious? Jason may be all too human but the Red Hood allows him to pose himself as something more, something greater. Obviously unnerved, the shooting stops as the guys start back pedaling. Too bad Red Robin is there to greet them when they turn tail to make a run for it.

Jason watches as Tim neatly dispatches the leftovers. He might not have been able to properly appreciate it before, but Tim really is good with that stick of his. Liquid grace in motion, slipping under the mercenaries’ guards easily and transitioning from one opponent to another with a little flair and a lot of skill. Bits and pieces of it Jason can recognize from his own training regimens as Robin, some of it from a couple people he’s run into as Red Hood and can’t help but wonder how Tim met them. The weird amalgamation is all Tim though in the way he takes the best from what he’s learned then takes the discordant moves and shapes them into a symphony of movement. And pain cause, hot damn, Tim isn’t playing. Jason swears he sees one guy's molars get smacked right out of his head.

One of the assholes groans from where he fell at Jason’s feet after getting hit with a couple rubber bullets point blank so he kicks him in the head to shut him up. Jason is appraising his ally’s fighting skills, thanks. People can be so rude sometimes.

Tim downs the last merc and, with a satisfied smirk that has Jason’s gut twisting, he leans against his staff with his hip cocked. The tight fabric of his suit is clinging to him like a second skin. Enough so to make Selina and Dick proud. His cape falls in a wave at his back, held in place by the bandoliers crossing his chest. The damn things make Tim’s tiny waist painfully obvious. Small mercies Tim decided to ditch the cowl a few months back. The elegant fall of his too long hair suits the whole Red Robin look a lot better than the gimp cowl.

“Are you going to help secure them?” Tim asks, frowning and looking over his shoulder at Jason as he zipties one of the guys starting to wriggle around.

Jason’s higher thinking kicks back in. Tim does make a good point. They should probably truss up the trash before they’ve got another scuffle on their hands. He hadn’t even realized he drifted off a little bit there. Weird but it has been a long, strange night. Brushing it off, Jason crouches down to start hog tying the mercenaries closest to him.

Nothing, nothing, will ever beat the hilarity that is criminals awake and wriggling while they’re literally hog tied. Tim may not have approved while he was doing it but, standing next to each other on an adjacent roof to make sure the GCPD carts them off as they should, Tim isn’t saying a bad word about it. In fact, his lips are pinched together like he’s trying to hold back a snicker. One of the mercenaries jolts awake when an officer takes their arm to start hauling them away. The man startles hard and starts grunting and thrashing.

Tim loses it and, man, Jason has never heard him laugh. Like really laugh. It’s a good look on Tim.

“I’m not saying you should’ve,” Tim pushes out past a couple more chuckles.

“I’m sensing a but,” Jason says, his grin all charm and completely wasted since Tim can’t see his face because of the helmet.

“But,” Tim parrots, “that was pretty funny.”

Jason bows with a flourish which has Tim laughing anew though it is softer, quieter this time. In the middle of drinking up the delicate lines of Tim’s face and the curve of his smile, Jason’s HUD goes dark. Totally dead. There’s a couple emergency lights built inside since small, dark places don’t mix well with him anymore. Otherwise, nothing is working.

The Red Hood isn’t subtle one goddamn bit and the stupid suit is lucky he bothered with slapping a domino on before he went out tonight. Quickly undoing the security panels on the underside of his jaw, Jason pulls the helmet off. He shakes out his hair and swipes at the sweat beaded along his brow. A couple strands are stuck to his head and refuse to move so Jason reaches up and musses his hair in an attempt to not feel grungy and gross.

When he looks up, Tim is staring at him so, without the barrier of the helmet, he whips back out the ol’ Jason Todd charm, smiling wolfishly. Then Tim sort of, freezes up. Jason looks over his shoulder to make sure some new big bad isn’t lurking nearby that they missed. But, nope, nothing there. As he turns his head to meet Tim’s gaze again, he’s back to normal. Tim’s approximation of normal at least.

He’s tapping a hand against his thigh and looking off towards the cityscape of downtown Gotham. His other hand is settled firmly on his waist while he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Alright, well, thanks for the backup. Talk about a happy accident,” Tim says after clearing his throat a couple times.

“Don’t mention,” Jason tells him. “But really, don’t mention it. I don’t want all the Bats breathing down my neck.”

They’re a give an inch, take a mile bunch. If he green lights as a solid reach out for back up, the next thing he knows he’ll be on the main comms listening to inane chatter. Probably have a shadow or two trailing him on patrols like he needs help running his happy, shitty section of the city. Invitations to the Cave will shift to dinners and movie nights. As pleasant as that all sounds, he’d like to avoid it at all costs.

Tim nods easily and readies his grapple. “Fair. Well. Have a good night?” The awkwardness of Tim’s polite goodbye has Jason laughing and shaking his head. Tim bristles as he shoots off his line. “Or not, whatever,” Tim mutters.

“Yeah, alright, awkward bird,” Jason calls out to him as Tim swings away.

Next time, it’s Jason reaching out to Tim. Not even Red Hood calling out to Red Robin. He’s literally phoning Tim's personal cell on one of his burners and asking for a favor. There’s a little cell of nasty drug traffickers from down south with their sights set on Gotham. Although he could wait for them to make the egregious mistake of coming onto his stomping grounds, Jason has decided to gift them the honor of a house call given the sheer viciousness they’ve been using to move their product.

Problem is, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be undercover snuffing them out and Crime Alley rarely rests even with the Red Hood’s impressive shadow looming over it. If he goes dark for more than a week all hell breaks loose. Usually Roy will step in for him and his suit has been accommodating to the temporary trade off in wearer. That’s not an option this time with Roy otherwise occupied. As are his second and third options so he’s had no choice but to ask for help from the Bat he can best stand.

He didn’t even need to threaten or bribe Tim after promising a rubber bullets only policy would be fine. The agreement may have come readily but Tim did sound distracted. A niggle of doubt has him pacing his apartment as he waits for Tim to show up. For all he knows, Tim might’ve been less present in the conversation than he thought and not show up at all.

The knock at his window comes as a mild surprise. Twisting his head around, hand twitching towards the gun he has lying on the counter next to him, Jason relaxes when he sees Tim standing on his fire escape clad in dark clothes with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. Tim waves at him and gestures to the window with a raised brow.

Jason doesn’t scramble to open it but he might do it a little too eagerly. Thankfully, Tim doesn’t comment on it as Jason steps back to let Tim in.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Tim asks dubiously once he’s standing in the middle of Jason’s living room with his hands jammed in his pouch pocket.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Jason responds without actually being sure. The Red Hood could always reject Tim. Only one way to find out though. “Follow me,” Jason says as he gestures Tim down the hall to his bedroom where he keeps his suit stored.

“Alright. Sorry I’m late, by the way. My suit has been giving me issues lately.”

“Like what?” Jason asks curiously as he pushes open the door to his room and goes to unearth the Red Hood.

Tim shrugs and absently looks around Jason’s room. It’s uncomfortable to have Tim here, for him to see where Jason lives. He does his best to ignore it as he spreads the suit out on his bed. Approaching slowly, Tim takes his hands out of his pocket so he can run a finger down the chestplate. The whole thing does a little shimmy shake. Jason has a bad feeling about this.

“I’m not exactly your size,” Tim drawls, looking Jason up and down.

A spark of molten heat sparks deep in his core so Jason smothers it with extreme prejudice. “If you’re not lookin’ like a kid in daddy’s clothes then we’ll be fine. It’ll adjust. If it likes you.”

“If it likes me,” Tim murmurs.

There’s a sad, bitter edge to Tim’s expression as he stares down at the suit. Once more, Jason realizes he has stepped on a sore spot for Tim. The same one even. Let no one ever accuse him of being great at interpersonal relationships.

Tim banishes whatever he has going through his mind with a shake of his head. His face shifts to one of determination as he shucks off his sweatshirt. And his shirt. Then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants.

“Enjoying the show?” Tim questions sarcastically.

Right. Right, he was staring. When he shouldn’t have been.

“I want a refund,” Jason throws out to cover his folly. Tim snorts so Jason takes it as a win. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if the suit gives you a hard time. It’ll listen to me sometimes.”

“Sometimes. That’s comforting.”

“I try. Now get your tiny ass in it.”

Jason excuses himself from the room, shutting the door, before making his way to the kitchen where his open duffel bag is already stuffed with the essentials. To keep himself busy, Jason checks over the contents. Then double checking and tossing a couple other things in the bag. Once satisfied, he zips it up and pats the thick canvas of the bag. When he looks up from his distraction, Tim is there in the hallway.

I fucked up, Jason bemoans internally.

Not because the Red Hood is being antagonistic and obstinate in letting Tim help. The stupid suit must not have a single qualm with letting Tim wear it. Everything fits so damn well. There’s only so much reshaping the suit can usually do given the difference in size between himself and others but whatever bullshit gives the suits a brain has pulled out all the stops to make it work.

Tim looks good in it. Still short although the heels on the boots are higher. The extra armoring pads Tim’s form, making him look bulkier than he is but the suit nips in at the waist. He’s pretty damn sure the tac pants aren’t supposed to be that tight, either. Tim tosses the helmet from hand to hand under Jason’s scrutinizing eyes before popping it on.

“Wow, okay, I want one of these,” Tim says through the voice modulator. The mechanical growl has a shiver running down Jason’s spine. Because he keeps his apartment cool and there’s a draft somewhere he hasn’t fixed yet, of course. “The tech in this thing.”

“Great for concussion prevention, too.”

“I’m hoping to not put that to the test.”

“Yeah, try not to. You’re still smaller than me, shrimp, so keep moving and maybe nobody will notice.”

Pulling the hood off, Tim glares at him. “I’m not that much smaller.”

“You’re like, what, a buck forty soaking wet?”

Huffing, Tim puts the helmet on again. “Excuse me while I prove that doesn’t matter.”

“Go off,” Jason cheers flatly.

Tim flicks him off while he walks back towards the window. “Just getting in character,” he says as he gracefully slides back out onto the fire escape.

I am so very, very fucked, Jason thinks with no small amount of dismay. There’s only so much a mantra of ‘Don’t stress, repress’ can do and it’s getting really hard to ignore the way he’s been responding to Tim. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to keep trying to savagely squash what he’s starting to suspect may be the beginnings of attraction.

It all comes to a head when Tim asks him to partner up on a counterfeiting case. The request shouldn’t have surprised him. After Tim successfully patrolled Park Row as Red Hood, reporting no issues, they’ve been crossing paths more often. On one occasion, the tracker Jason stuck to a mobster’s car brought him to Tim instead. By some stroke of luck, Tim was tailing the same guy so, aside from the momentary hiccup, the takedown went smoothly. Then Tim’s grapple jammed when they were set to part ways another night after running into one another. Jason ended the night red faced and unable to think of anything but Tim’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck, hanging on for dear life, as he flew them back to Tim’s bike.

A few weeks ago, he’d ended up battered, bruised and bleeding in some dark, dank alley in the East End. Willingly, Jason hailed Tim for an assist. Tim got him to a safe house and patched him up efficiently. The weird thing is, Tim’s cape was being weird. Sure, that makes him sound slightly insane and maybe a civilian would think so but Jason has been a mask for what seems like half of forever now. He knows these suits. So, the way Tim’s cape had fallen around them, stretching itself so it covered the both of them to create a safe, quiet space all their own, was suspicious. Then it got really suspicious when Tim tried brushing it aside to get some better lighting while doing the stitches but the cape kept somehow slipping over his back to go back to embracing the both of them.

There isn’t a single doubt in Jason’s mind that Red Robin was a plain,ol’ regular mass of fabric when Jason got it. None. He’s starting to suspect that isn’t the case anymore which is only cemented when they walk into the hotel room they booked for the night to serve as a base of operations in New York while they follow a trail of counterfeit money.

See, Jason was right next to Tim in the car when he called the hotel and made the booking. He personally heard Tim ask for a room with twin beds and the front desk agent confirm there was one available. Then Tim had tossed his phone into his bag, the same one with his spare clothes and suit, and they’d blared hyper pop and grunge on the radio without a second thought. Jason vividly remembers pulling into the hotel parking lot and Tim grabbing his bag, fishing his phone out and frowning thoughtfully that the screen was on with his email open. After a cursory check, he’d shrugged it off and they got out to settle in.

Getting comfortable is going to be a Herculean challenge for Jason since there’s only one queen bed in the room.

Tim pauses in the entryway and blinks before glancing down at his key card, backing up to look at the room number and back down at the card again. “They must’ve made a mistake,” he says blankly.

Before Jason can put his two cents in, Tim shoves his bag into Jason’s arms and snatches up Jason’s key card. Tim books it back down the hall towards the front desk. Which, okay, that’s fine. All’s the better because Jason will literally go insane if he has to share a bed with Tim. Years of freezing on the streets taught him to gravitate towards whatever heat source possible. Including people he trusts in his general vicinity when he’s sleeping. He simply won’t survive waking up with Tim as his personal teddy bear.

Storming into the room, Jason throws Tim’s bag onto the bed and yanks it open. He opens the hidden pocket where Red Robin is neatly folded and glares down at it.

“I don’t know what your game is, but cut that shit out,” Jason hisses at the suit. It doesn’t move but Jason gets the distinct impression it’s smug. Or he could be projecting. Can regular suits gain consciousness? Is that a thing? Doesn’t matter, not like anyone is around to judge him for talking to a maybe, maybe-not inanimate costume. “Seriously. I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it.”

Jason doesn’t get the opportunity to further threaten the Red Robin costume. A harried looking Tim pops back into the room, two key cards in hand. When he looks at Jason, he seems a little lost.

“This was the only room they had left,” Tim tells him, tone carefully calm and even. “There’s some business conference going on.”

He swallows hard and nods, remembering a couple news articles he’d read through on it before leaving. “Okay, yeah, no problem.” There’s no couch either. Just a dresser, nightstand, bed, desk and one of those armchairs with cushions hard enough to use as a bludgeoning weapon. “I’ll take the floor?”

Tim doesn’t look at him but his face pinches in distaste at the idea. “No, it’s fine. We can share, right?”

“Nah, it’s alright, I’ll take the floor,” Jason insists.

Now Tim looks him in the eye and the steely determination takes Jason by surprise. “I can’t even fathom what the stains on this carpet are and there’s no padding. You’ll wake up an aching mess and be useless on the mission tomorrow. We can share the bed,” he says firmly.

Well, what is Jason supposed to say to that other than, “Good point. Bedfellows it is.”

The time they spend organizing their things and then getting ready to lie down is just as awkward as Jason thought it would be. On no fewer than five occasions, Jason nearly calls the whole thing off. There were other hotels in the area, right? Not all of them could possibly be full from the corporate HR consulting conference being held in town. Anything would be better than the fragile silence between them.

He doesn’t though. The thought of backing out like a yellow bellied coward had his gut souring and his mood shifting from placid dread to irritation. Each time the impulse comes up, he kicks it to the recesses of his mind along with every budding fantasy of what the night may bring. It’s getting pretty cluttered in that dark corner of his mind.

Tim doesn’t appear to be quite as affected. Some of his movements are stilted and he’s giving Jason a wider berth than normal but otherwise he does his own thing while Jason does his. If Jason weren’t harboring an incredibly inconvenient crush, he’d even say things were companionable. But he is, so suffocatingly uncomfortable atmosphere for him. Woe is his life, seriously.

Those feelings of giddy anticipation and mounting horror go sharply into focus as he and Tim, dressed down for bed in sleep shirts and comfortable pants, stare at one another from either side of the bed. Tim has a corner of the blanket in his hand, fiddling with a loose thread on the side of it. Otherwise, he’s completely still and everything he’s thinking is locked up tight behind the pale blue of his eyes. Jason can’t help but fidget too, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he feels a prickle of embarrassment slithering down the back of his neck. This is the weirdest game of semi-gay chicken he’s ever engaged in.

Jason breaks first if only to end the game. Grabbing the edge of his blanket, Jason tosses it back before flinging himself onto the bed. After a brief shuffle, he gets himself covered up to the chin with the blanket and his back facing Tim. Carefully, slowly, Tim crawls in beside him with much less flair and flourish. The blanket tugs for a second before settling again. While the bed is a good size, Jason isn’t exactly your average guy. Despite his best efforts to get as far away as he can, he can still feel Tim’s warmth brushing against his back like a phantom caress.

Man, sleep isn’t happening. He may as well get up and do some more research on the case or something. Screwing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, Jason wrestles with himself on if he should ditch the idea of sharing the bed and how he can get out of it without being overtly disrespectful.

#tim drake #jason todd #dc comics #jaytim #dc #timjay #red hood #red robin #wicked writes #or at least tries to #i'm doing my bestest #imagine the poor tumblrians here for the elf on the shelf joke and they find this

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justanothermemestrider · 4 months ago

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Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 3

Okay.

Is this part basically that one scene from Arcane with Jinx and the flare? Yes. Yes it is.

Did I listen to Guns for Hire by Woodkid nonstop while I was writing this? Yes. Yes I did.

Am I ashamed? Absolutely not XD

Thank you guys so so much for the support this fic has received so far. I've been having an absolute blast writing it, and that's largely because I know you guys have been enjoying it. So thank you :)

Oh also, you missed part 2, all good, you can read it here

As usual, there is violence, angst and general 40kness under the cut, as well as hella lore inaccuracies both for the sake of the story and bc research is hard (I did try, though lol). Apologies for any spelling and grammar mistakes.

Thanks so much for reading and I sincerely hope you enjoy!

"Down there. You see them?"

Ellicent followed Gadriel's outstretched hand with the optical scope. She adjusted the knob on its top, focusing the lens on where his index finger was pointing.

Her eyes widened. "No way."

"Oh yes, " Gadriel chuckled. "I've been following them all day."

Ellicent lowered the scope to look at him. "The hell are a bunch of topsiders doing all the way down here?"

Gadriel shrugged. "Same reason people go to zoos, maybe?"

Ellicent rolled her eyes. "Har har." Crouching on the edge of the rooftop now, she put her eye to the scope once again. The tourists looked like Mid-hivers: merchants, maybe, other some other kind of artisan-type. No where near as wealthy as those who lived in the spires, but compared to what those in the Underhive had, they might as well have been. There are two groups of them- roughly three in each. They're walking on opposite sides of the street, as if pretending not to know each other. With their real-cotton clothing and long embroidered coats, however, they're more than conspicuous anyway.

"Seriously though," Ellicent said. "What are they doing down here?"

"If I had to guess? They want to hit the marketplace."

"You mean the black marketplace?"

"Guess there are still things topside doesn't have that we do."

"Yeah. It's nothing good, though"

"Who knows, then," Gadriel said. From his tone, Ellicent could tell that he had no interest in discussing the topic any further. She rose to her feet, folding the scope up and handing it back to him. "So. What's the plan?"

"Simple pickpocket, I think. Anything too loud, and we risk alerting the Arbites."

Ellicent nodded. "One group each?"

"Yeah. But we'll stagger it. Make it look random, lest they think we're working together."

"Gotcha."

Gadriel smiled. "One other thing." He stuffed the scope in his trouser pocket, then opened his jacket and reached into the pocket sewn into the lining. From it, he extracted two, metal objects. Ellicent thought they looked a little like pistols. She looked at him sharply. "What are those?"

Reading the expression on her face, Gadriel shook his head. "Don't worry. They're only flare guns."

"Flare guns?"

"Yeah. You know, the things soldiers use to signal each other with? They shoot a big bright light into the-"

"I know what a flare gun is, Gadriel," Ellicent said. "What I don't know is where the hell you got two of them from."

"Same place I got the scope from."

"Which was?"

Gadriel chewed the inside of his cheek- the way he always does when he's thinking. "Do you remember... uh... you remember that Arbites supply drop that landed the other day... "

Ellicent's mouth fell open. "You didn't."

He shrugged. The non chalance of the gesture absolutely infuriated her. "Gadriel!" she hissed.

"I know I know," he said. "And before you say it, yes, if the Ultramarines were to somehow hear about it, they'd never let me join."

Ellicent hadn't been about to say that. Now that she'd heard it, though, she couldn't resist. "If that's the case, maybe I should tell them," she muttered.

Anger flushed Gadriel's face. But after a second or two, it fades into resignation. "Ellie," he said. "Can we please not do this now?"

Ellicent clenched her jaw. On her tongue, a retort waited impatiently to be spoken. But in the end, she swallowed it. As grated as she was feeling, she also empathised with him: she didn't want to do this right now, either.

Gingerly, she reached towards him, plucking one of the flare guns from his hands. She held it up to her face, rotating it in her grip as she examined it "What have you got these for, anyway?" she asked. "If their not good for sticking up the top siders, why do we need them?"

A silent "Thank you" flashed across Gadriel's face. Then, holding up the remaining flare gun, he said. "I thought we could use them as warning signals. You know for when we're not together. If you were to find yourself alone anywhere and you needed me, you just fire it in the air, and I'll come find you. I'll do the same with mine."

Ellicent tested the device's grip in her hand. Felt just like holding a pistol, except lighter. "Are they loaded?"

"Yes. But I wasn't able to get any other shells for them. The only one they've got is the one in the chamber."

Ellicent smirked. "So it's only a one use thing?"

Gadriel's cheeks coloured slightly. "It's better than nothing," he replied.

Ellicent rolled her eyes again. But, nevertheless, she decided to humour him and pocketed the device anyway. "Was there anything else?" she asked him.

Gadriel shook his head. "No."

"Time we earn ourselves dinner, then. I'll hit my topsiders first?"

"As always."

Ellicent gave him a smile. Stepping in close, she wrapped her arms around his neck while he wrapped his around her waist. Craning her neck slightly, she kissed him hard on the lips. "Be careful," she whispered.

"You too," he said.

Without another word, they parted ways; Ellicent scampering down to the street while Gadriel followed from the rooftops.

* * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That little job had gone off without a hitch. Ellicent had chosen the mid-hiver in the middle of her group: a fat man in a three piece suit and a ridiculously large moustache. She'd pretended to be a beggar, stumbling out of an alleyway and shoulder checking the old man. As he struggled and swore, trying to shove her off him, Ellicent had swiped a purse from the inside of his coat. There'd been an entire handful of gold in there. Between that and what Gadriel had scored from his group, and they'd been fed for two whole weeks.

She hadn't need her flare that day. And for all the days that followed, she hadn't needed it either. But she'd kept it anyway. Even after Gadriel left and never came back. Even after her life became the hell scape that it is now, and the last of her hope had shrivelled and died, she'd kept it. Just in case. Just in case she needed it.

Just in case she needed him.

Just like the day he had given it to her, Ellicent stands on the edge of a rooftop. She doesn't know what sort of building this is: only that it's the tallest she could find in the time she had. Her gauss cannon was heavy on her shoulder- the alien gun was almost as big as her- but she couldn't not leave without it. Even if Gadriel didn't come, Severus almost certainly would. He knows about the flare. When he sees it, he'll know what it means, she's trying to do, and he'll want to kill her for it.

It's not worth it, her mind tries to reason. It wasn't even him. You know it wasn't.

That's the thing, though, she argues. I don't know. That's why I've gotta try.

Just in case.

Ellicent clasps the flare gun in both hands. Rests a finger on the trigger. Slowly, almost cautiously, she raises the device above her head.

If you were to ever find yourself alone... just fire it in the air, and I'll come find you.

Anxiety is a serpent in her gut, wet, heavy and slithering. Her throat is dry as sand and as she clutches the flare gun its metal clatters from how much she's trembling.

Just fire it...

... I'll come find you.

Before she has the chance to have a second thought, Ellicent squeezes the trigger.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The flare shines more brightly than any star or ship light. Its smoke is the colour of blood; its light, that of a bleeding heart. It hurts Ellicent's eyes to stare at it, but she can't being herself to look away. Half an hour, it burns for. Feels longer. Like an eternity. Like another fifty years. Hope and despair war within Ellicent's chest as she watches it. She doesn't know which is winning, they're both so evenly matched.

The smoke is the first to dissipate. Shedding layer upon layer until its colour is no longer discernable. The flare hangs on a little longer, spitting and spluttering like a soul clinging onto life. But, eventually, it too runs out of strength. Ellie watches it tumble from the sky, a shrivelled blackened husk of solid ash. The dark of night returns with a vengeance, and all Ellicent is left with is a hazy, silhouetted view of the city's jagged skyline. Tears prick her eyes. Seems the war in her chest finally has a winner.

"Stupid," she whispers. Dropping her arm, she looks at the empty flare gun. Her lip curls with contempt. With all the strength she has left, she hurls the thing off the rooftop. "Stupid!" she shouts after it. The only reply she receives is deafening, sickening silence.

Ellicent covers her face with her hands. Another self-reprimand is already poised on her lips, but when she opens her mouth to voice, the only thing that comes out is a sob.

Stupid girl, she thinks to herself. What were you thinking?

The plating of her necronian hand is freezing against her face. She presses it so hard into her brow, that she reopens the cut that Severus had given her just hours earlier.

It wasn't him. It was never him.

He's gone.

He left you.

He's never coming back.

So consuming is her anguish, that Ellicent doesn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her. Even if she did, though, she wouldn't have reacted. Only person it can be is Severus- if he's going to kill her, she'd rather his face not be the last thing she ever sees.

Then she hears his voice.

"Ellie?"

Ellicent's heart stops dead in her chest. She drops her hands from her face.

It's not him, her thoughts cry. It's not him. It's not him. It's not-

Ellicent turns around.

She has to look up to see his face. He'd always been a little taller than her, but whatever procedure the Astartes use to turn boys into Angels of Death has swollen his body to almost five times its original size. Dust and grime stain his blue armour. The aquillia on his chest is severed down the middle by the particle beam she'd fired at him earlier that same day. The right side of his head is a mottled mess of angry red skin and silver cybernetic studs.

But, just like his voice, his face is just as she remembers.

"Gadriel," she whispers.

His face is a riot of emotion. Shock, disbelief, sadness, joy, everything else in between.

Gadriel walks up to her with hulking steps, heavy enough to shake the roof. They bring Ellicent back to the night's on the roof of his mother's house; how it too, would rattle and shake under his weight. Dropping to one knee, he sets his hands on her shoulders. The ceramite gauntlets they're encased in are cold and heavy.

His expression, though, is anything but.

"Oh, Ellie."

Before Ellicent can speak, he embraces her. Careful not to bruise her on his armour, crouching low enough that her head can reach his neck.

At first, Ellicent doesn't react. She doesn't know how. Her mind is still playing catch up. Trying to process what's happening, what it means, whether or not it's even...

"Is this real?" Her voice is weak and frayed. It feels like her mouth is full of broken glass. "Are you really here?"

Gadriel draws away and slips his thumb under her chin. As gentle as if she were made of porcelain, he tilts her head up so he can look her in the eye.

"Yes," he says softly. "It's me. Gadriel. I'm here. I'm right here."

Ellicent's heart detonates. A fresh wave of sobs rises up in the back of her throat. The first one escapes as something crosses between a whimper and a cry. She throws her arms around his neck. Buries her face in its crook. Breathes in his scent and feels his skin against hers.

It's him. It's really him.

Her sobs return stronger than before; almost enough to knock her off her feet. This time, though, they are not of despair. They are of sheer, unadulterated joy.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gadriel does not remember the last time he'd been embraced. He doesn't remember the last time he'd given one, either. Astartes do not partake in such displays of affection. Forearm grips and shoulder clasps were common enough, but anything more than that is just simply not done. Such things are for humans- for families, friends and lovers- and Astartes are not human.

That message has been drilled into Gadriel ever since he had joined the Ultramarines; ever since he was eighteen years old. And yet, when he sees Ellie standing on that rooftop- the tears in her eyes, the blood on her brow, the emotion on her face- he wasn't an Astartes anymore. He was a teenager. A boy. Back in the Underhive, on the roof of his mother's slum, staring up at the stars with the girl he loved curled up in his arms. Like his cheek-chewing habit, these are things that his re-education could not stamp out. It may have quietened them, covered them, forced them into the recesses of his thoughts. But they were always there. And while first seeing Ellie had awoken them, the sight of her flare and the sight of her standing before him now brings them to the very forefront of his mind.

Gadriel holds Ellie as tightly as he can without crushing her against his armour. Her tears are hot against his skin. Her arms, both human and robotic, squeeze his neck so tight it actually hurts. But Gadriel couldn't have been happier. He doesn't think he's ever been happier. Not since the last time he had held her; the last time he had been human.

That's it. That was the last time I was embraced.

It had been her...

Gadriel's eyes start to sting. Before the tears can fall, he buries his face into Ellie's hair. But the feel of it, the smell, the memories they both bring flooding back, only chokes him up more.

"I can't believe you're here," he breathes. "I... I thought you were dead."

A shudder runs through Ellie's body. It's difficult to tell, but Gadriel thinks it might be a laugh. "Yeah," she says meekly. "Yeah, I've thought that a few times myself, too."

The quip takes him completely off guard. Despite himself, he lets out a short choked laugh of his own. "I... Throne, Ellie. I can't even..."

"Things changed when you left," she said. The way her voice breaks across the words wrench Gadriel's hearts like nothing he's ever felt before. "I changed."

Drawing away from her slightly, Gadriel frames her cheek with one, enormous hand. Throne, she looks so small. Small and fragile. Nothing like the tough young woman he remembered. "I know, Ellie," he whispers. "I know. But it's not your fault. You did what you had to to survive. I know you did."

Ellie's arms unfurl from his neck and fall to her side. The leather tunic she wears is sleeveless, giving Gadriel a full, unimpeded view of her necronian left arm. The grafting is expert, but untidy. The edge where it attaches to her clavicle, shoulder and chest is ribbed with scar tissue. As her shoulders tremble in time with her sobs, that tissue stretches and flexes, as if they were wires buried underneath her skin.

"Where have you been, Gadriel?" she asks. "You mother and I, we waited for you. We waited and waited, but you never came back."

Gadriel can't bear to look at her. Dropping his gaze to the ground, he winces as a vice closes around his chest. "I'm so sorry, Ellie. I wanted to come back, I promise I did. But..."

His voice trails off. But what? How could he possibly explain it? That he'd been forced to forget her? That his duty had left no room for him to think about anything other than service? That, as part of his transformation, his heart had not only been duplicated, by reprogrammed to beat for the Imperium instead of her?

No. He couldn't say that. Couldn't say any of it. It's not an excuse. Even though they are the truth, they don't justify what he's done. What's happened to her.

Gadriel's tongue turns to sand in his mouth. Without anything to say, any answer to give her, all he can think to do is pull Ellie into his arms again.

She does not return his embrace, this time. It's the most excruciating thing Gadriel has ever felt.

"Sergeant!"

Gadriel freezes. Under his breath, he mutters a curse.

Ellie wrenches away from him with unnatural strength and speed. Her face twists with fear and her hands reach to grasp the gauss cannon hanging from her shoulder. The weapon is too large for her to hold like a rifle, so instead, she holds it like a heavy bolter; down low and aiming from the hip. She points the weapon past Gadriel's right side, at something to his back. But Gadriel already knows what- who- it is.

"Who's he?" Ellie asks.

Steeling himself, Gadriel turns. Titus stands on the other end of the rooftop with his helmet on and his bolter raised. His face is completely hidden behind his visor's permenant glare, but Gadriel knows that whatever expression he's wearing is even fiercer than that.

Eyes never leaving Titus, Gadriel extends a palm towards Ellie. "It's alright," he says gently. "He's a friend."

"He doesn't look like a friend."

"Sergeant!" Titus' voice booms over his vox speakers. "Step away from her now!"

"Titus," Gadriel pleads. "Listen. We can work this out. "

"There is no working with heretics." The lieutenant takes a step forwards. "Get away from her now! I will not ask you again."

"I knew it," Ellie says. "I knew it was too good to be true."

Gadriel whips around. "Ellie-"

"This is a set up!" She steps away from him, levelling her cannon so both he and Titus are now in her sights. Her fingers touch the trigger, and the gaping maw of the alien gun glows a sickly green. "You're not here for me," she hisses. "You're only here for Severus. You're trying to play me!"

"That's not true." Gadriel's voice is thin and desperate. "I couldn't care less about-"

"Watch what you say, Sergeant," Titus warns.

"Damn you, Titus!" Gadriel shouts, throwing the lieutenant a vicious snarl. "Just let me-"

Ellie's shriek cut both space marines off. "Both of you shut up!"

The look in her eye, Gadriel can only describe as wild. Terror, anger, grief, pain, they're all raging within her expression. Twisting her features so terribly that for a second, Gadriel struggles to recognise her.

But he doesn't give up. He won't.

"Ellie, listen to me," he says, striding up to her. Ellie points her weapon at him, but with his forearm Gadriel shoves it to the side. "I'm here for you," he says. "Only you. I don't care about Severus. If I'd known you were here, I'd have abandoned my mission sooner.`

Ellie stares at him with wide, watering eyes. She breathes hard through her mouth. "I..."

"Fire that thing at me if you want, but I'm not going anywhere." As the next words leave his mouth, Gadriel's breath hitches in his throat. "I will not abandon you again."

He reaches for her again, this time to touch her arm. Ellie flinches from him, glaring like she's anticipating an attack, but not before Gadriel's fingertip brushes her shoulder. Startled, she steps away, the grip on her gauss cannon visibly tightening.

Gadriel swallows a mouthful of tears. "Ellie-"

"Did you hear that?"

He blinks at her. "What?"

Ellie shifts her aim away from Gadriel and points her weapon towards the sky. "That noise," she whispers. "Like humming."

Gadriel pauses to listen. She's right. If the night hadn't been so still, he doubts anyone could have heard it; but just beneath the whisper of the moving air, there is, in fact, the a slight, energetic hum. Stranger still, it's a sound Gadriel recognises. From where he isn't sure, but he can't shake the feeling he's heard such a thing before.

"Gadriel!"

He turns at Titus' voice. The lieutenant's visage is unchanged, but his tone is suddenly laced with alarm. "Get out of there, now!"

It's then that Gadriel's mind finally clicks.

The humming... It's the sound of a cloaking device.

Without a second thought, he leaps for Ellie. Grabbing her around the middle and holding her to his chest, shielding her body with his own. The moment he does, hundreds of sharp, heavy projectiles start raining upon them.

The humming sound ceases as the cloaking field disappears. In its place rise the thunder of a spacecraft and the scream of firing weaponry. Gadriel recognises both; not from experience or even from training, but from the mission brief he and his brothers had received just this morning.

"Severus is a known xenos collaborator. Specifically, he has formed some twisted working relationship with a war band of Dark Eldar..."

The thunder is the engine of a combat skiff. The screaming, the sound of shredder weapons unleashing a hellfire of razor-sharp spikes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And part 3 is done babyyyyyyy

Hope you liked it ^^

Part 4 should be up in a couple of days

Till then, stay safe out there kids

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi @justfreakynothingelse

#warhammer 40k #space marines #primarchs #adeptus astartes #sergeant gadriel x oc #gadriel #sergeant gadriel #demetrian titus #ultramarines

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enbyenvy666 · 1 year ago

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personal pornstar part 3/? cis!ver

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

after a little spending spree courtesy of your pro-hero sugar daddies, you send the pair some pictures of your new clothes, as well as a couple other outfits, leading to a late-night sleepover.

established!kiribaku x masc!reader part 1 | part 2 cis!ver trans!ver | part 3 trans!ver

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, reader wears lingerie, threesome, anal sex, top!kirishima, switch!bakugo, bottom!reader, semi-rough sex, mating press, sexting/sending nudes, cuck chair lol, aftercare, no beta we die like men w/c - 3.2k

a/n - I figure out how to add the song this fic is named after!!

The payments you were receiving for spending time with Kirishima and Katsuki were relieving some of your financial stresses. You had bought new nice clothes with the money Katsuki gave you earlier that week, even sending him pictures of the clothes you tried on to get his opinions.

Once home, you wanted to use the rest of your day off to do housework, but as you went to put away your new clothes, you couldn’t resist the urge to try them on again, posing in front of your thin, floor-length mirror. A form-fitting blazer on top of a black button-down that had a rose pattern sewn into it in a kind of thread that looked black until in the right light it would shimmer silver. A classic silver wallet chain added a bit of spice to your new black slacks, all of which not only looked good together but also looked good on you.

Unbuttoning some buttons here and there, and rolling up a sleeve or two made you feel like a kid playing dress-up again. Sitting down on the edge of your bed, still in view of the mirror, you looked over your reflection one more time, grateful for Katsuki’s help. You also realised he hadn’t seen you in the completed outfit yet.

Holding up your phone, you posed in front of the mirror. A couple of buttons undone on the shirt, showing off your collar bones, legs crossed at the knees and leaning your weight on one hand planted on the bed beside you. Holding your phone up beside your face, you were looking at it as you took the photo, making sure it was in focus.

After sending it to the group chat with the two heroes, you started to strip off the nice clothes, hanging them up in your closet to avoid creases. Your phone buzzed on the bed, and you giddily picked it up, excited to see their reactions. What you had received back surprised you, but it didn’t disappoint.

It was a mirror picture of the both of them, similarly in a floor-length mirror, but you could tell theirs was wider as you could see what looked to be a significant portion of their shared bedroom. Both were in their base hero costumes, bare of the extra things like gauntlets and masks.

Katsuki was taking the picture, with the phone held up to his chest while he was looking down at it. Kirishima stood behind him, his muscular arms wrapped around Katsuki’s thinner waist, his bare chest against the blonde’s back. Kirishima had his lips pressed to Katsuki’s temple, but his sparkling jewel eyes were staring directly into the camera. As you were admiring the picture, you received another text from Katsuki, saying how he wanted to see you in that outfit in person.

With an almost childlike excitement, you continued to carefully put away the new clothes, wanting them to stay pristine until you saw the heroes again. As you put on some comfier clothes, your foot knocked on a cardboard box that sat on the floor of the closet, gathering dust. That procrastination curiosity got the better of you and you opened it, wondering what you could have put in there.

Oh…

Lacy underwear, thigh highs, garter belts. Impulse buys you got when you were feeling good about yourself but never had a reason to wear. Underwear that was made purely of leather straps around the crotch, waist and thighs, meant to mimic the look of shibari. A lace garter-jock strap-thigh high combo, leather harnesses, classic lacy thongs, all gone to waste.

But the giddiness and excitement from Kirishima and Katsuki gave you an idea.

The sun was setting by the time you were ready to send them a collection of pictures. Trying on the different pieces and trying to find the perfect angle and pose for the pictures. Showing your supple body in scantily clad underwear that barely covered your most intimate parts. Eventually, you had a nice collection on your hands, and without hesitation, you hit the send button.

But then the realisation hit. Here you were, sending them risqué pictures out of nowhere, when there wasn’t much of a build-up other than you sending a nice, somewhat sexy picture of yourself, and the two of them sending one back that you may have taken out of context. They had just gotten off work, they were probably tired and just wanting to relax, and you were sending them borderline nudes. Oh god, where’s the unsend button?!

Before you could even try to delete them, you saw the three little dots of Katsuki typing. They disappeared and reappeared a couple of times, making you chew on your bottom lip nervously. The dots disappeared, and you waited for them to reappear, but they didn’t return. With a sigh of defeat, you limply fell back on your bed.

Your phone began buzzing in your hand, the ringtone singing louder than you expected. Fumbling the device between your hands as you sat up, trying to recover from your freight before you answered. Katsuki’s contact name was on your screen, and it only served to make your already frightened heart beat faster.

“Hello?” You answered meekly, phone to your ear, cringing at the way the metal piercings scraped against the screen from you placing it there too fast.

“Oi! Do you know what ya doin’ t’me?” He shouted into the phone, but you swear you could hear the twinge of a smirk.

“S-sorry, I was just-” Your cheeks were warm, unable to hold down your cheeky smile.

“You know exactly what you were doin’. I’m callin’ you a cab.” In the background, you could hear Kirishima playfully scolding Katsuki.

“Really?” You gawked into the phone.

“Uh-huh, and you better wear one of those outfits f’me.” Looking around your bed at the various sets of lingerie and sexy underwear, you bit your lip.

“Which ones?” You asked, feeling a tingle between your thighs as your mind started to wander to dirtier thoughts.

“Dealers choice,” he huffed.

“Get here fast.”

———

Katsuki was waiting by the door, ripping it open the second he heard you shut the cab door. He dragged you inside as soon as you were within reach, slamming the front door closed before slamming his lips onto yours. Backing you up against the wall, his hands groped your hips, desperately grinding his own against you.

“Katsuki,” came Kirishima’s warning voice. He was standing on the nearby staircase with stern yet playful eyes, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. Katsuki pulled away, your lips popping, as he glared at his partner with a low grumble.

“Katsuki,” he mocked. Kirishima could only chuckle and shake his head, slowly descending a few more steps.

“Be gentle.”

“He said he likes it rough,” the blonde smirked, pulling you off the wall by your hips, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep yourself steady.

“Dontcha baby?”

You smiled meekly and nodded, fingers fiddling with the baby hairs at the back of his neck. With a smirk and a huff, he stepped back and took your hand, leading you towards the stairs. Kirishima ended up leading the way to the bedroom, and it was just as nice as it looked in their picture.

The bed was made, ready to be tussled and disturbed. A couple of candles on the bedside tables created a soft glow around the room, and a rattan chair sat in the corner, facing the bed. You weren’t able to admire the room any longer as Katsuki pushed you down onto the bed, standing over you with a smirk.

With a knee between your thighs, he slipped his hands under your shirt, pushing it up until he revealed the lace garter belt around your waist. His tongue ran over his lip, quickly pulling down your pants to reveal the sheer thigh highs clipped onto the garter belt with thin straps. Kirishima stood behind Katsuki, watching his partner rush to undress you.

Finally, bare of clothes except for the lingerie you had hidden underneath. Kirishima had his arms slinked around Katsuki’s waist, both of them staring down at you. It was like the picture, but now the two pairs of red eyes on you felt even more intense. Like two predators watching their prey. But you weren’t scared, you trusted them. As a silent signal, Kirishima stepped back, leaving a lingering hold on Katsuki’s hips until he finally let go, letting the blonde do as he pleased with you.

Katsuki began to tug on his belt, aggressively undoing it as his almost glowing eyes wandered over your body. Your thighs pressed together, feeling vulnerable under his intimidating gaze. You watched him undress, leaning back on your elbows as button after button came undone. You hadn’t even realised Kirishima disappeared from your sight until the drawer beside the bed slid open. Finally breaking your glare from Katsuki, you turned your attention to Kirishima, who was digging through the top drawer of the nightstand.

A bottle of lube and wet wipes were placed on the tabletop, Kirishima smiling softly at you as you watched him, his lips parting to show the pointed tips of his teeth. It was comforting, if only for a moment. While you were distracted, Katsuki had completely stripped off his clothes and swooped down, trapping you between his arms. With your neck craned to watch Kirishima, Katsuki used the opportunity to place a hot kiss on your neck, teeth dragging against your skin. You gasped and moaned as you grabbed onto his shoulders, back arching up until your torso was flat against his abs.

His cock felt hot and heavy against your thigh, yours barely contained by the matching lacy panties you wore. With your attention back on him, his lips travelled up your neck until they met yours, his hands running over your bare skin, stopping for brief moments over the garter belt and thigh highs, until his fingertips slipped under the elastic of your panties. Featherlight touches against your cock were accidental, his focus on the underwear itself.

He broke the kiss to retrieve the lube, squirting some on his fingers. His dry hand pushed your thighs apart and pulled your underwear to the side. The lube felt cold on your hole, gasping at the wet feeling as he slowly but firmly started to finger you open. Katsuki bit his lip as you mewled below him, rolling your hips in hopes of the digits slipping in further. You had almost forgotten about Kirishima until you heard the chair in the corner creak as he shifted himself on it to get a better view of Katsuki prepping you for him.

After fitting three fingers inside you, Katsuki pulled them out and slicked up his cock with lube, pressing the tip to your tight ring of muscle. With little resistance, he penetrated you, cock stretching your walls. Moans and curses flowed from your lips, twisting the bed sheets in your fists. He was quick to set a fast and rough pace, hips slapping against your thighs. Each thrust had his cock brushing against your prostate, sending pleasureful shocks through your nerves like electricity.

His strong hips made the bed creak, his grip shifting to your thighs to push your knees towards your shoulders. Without Kirishima’s calm and grounding touches, your body felt electric and like you were in another world. Eyes rolling back, back arching and moans turning to mindless babbles as each thrust against your prostate brought you closer to coming.

But Katsuki’s hips began to slow, your orgasm falling with it. Your eyes snapped to him, and through blurry vision, you could see Kirishima behind Katsuki, guiding him to lean forward. As he leaned over you, pushing your knees further against your shoulders and his cock slowly thrusting at a new angle, Kirishima held a strong grip on the blonde’s hip, lining up his cock to his husband’s hole. He could barely hold Katsuki still long enough to insert himself, but once he did Katsuki started to thrust even faster inside you, fucking himself on Kirishima’s cock.

Kirishima stared lovingly at the back of Katsuki’s head before he aggressively grabbed his hair, yanking Katsuki upwards. The blonde’s face was twisted in pleasure, Kirishima nibbling at his neck as his powerful hips set the pace. He had taken control of the whole situation, his staunch hold on Katsuki reigning him in, and he seemed to like it too, maybe even love it by the way he grinned.

“Fu-uck!” Katsuki groaned, his raspy voice sending a throb to your core. He still had your knees against your shoulders, so as much as you wanted to run your nails across the muscular landscape of his body, you could only clench the bed sheets. Each forceful thrust from Kirishima was felt inside you, your underwear growing dark as precum leaked from your cock, soaking the lace fabric. Drool dripped from the corner of your lips as you let out a chorus of moans, Katsuki’s grip on the underside of your thighs growing tighter, leaving crescent moons to dot your skin.

“Ka-Kats-ki,” you stuttered, eyes clenching shut as your peak grew closer, toes curling. Katsuki moaned at you calling his name, biting his lip to muffle the sound. A couple more muffled moans from him had you peaking your eyes open, catching the two heroes locked in a passionate kiss. When they broke apart, they stared deeply into each other’s eyes as Kirishima finally let go of Katsuki’s spiked locks. It was as if they were silently communicating with each other as Katsuki pulled your calves against his shoulders before leaning down, his chest almost against yours if your legs weren’t in the way.

Kirishima started thrusting intensely, forcing Katsuki’s cock deeper inside you. It felt like he was rearranging your guts with each stroke until the coil snapped as you stained your underwear. Clenching around Katsuki brought him closer to coming, Kirishima feeling the way his partner’s hips stuttered as he tried to match the pace of his hips. With a Herculean grip, he held Katsuki’s hips in place and started pounding him. Each thrust from Kirishima caused Katsuki’s cock to stimulate your prostate as it pressed against the sensitive spot perfectly at that angle.

With your lips parted as you whined and moaned, Katsuki kissed you, his tongue against the back of your teeth. Another orgasm started to build, barely coming down from the high from the first one, as you started clenching down on Katsuki’s cock once more. This combined with Kirishima’s superhuman speed brought Katsuki to cum, the feeling of his seed filling you bringing you to cum as well. Katsuki’s hole tightened around Kirishima and with a few more staggering thrusts, he came.

The combined panting of Katsuki, Kirishima and yourself harmonised in the room, everyone slowly coming back down to earth after being sent to cloud nine. Kirishima pulled out of Katsuki with a shiver, which allowed the blonde to pull out of you, just in time as your legs started to ache. Katsuki lazily rolled down beside you, sweaty back hitting the cooler sheets. Kirishima retrieved the wet wipes he left out earlier, cleaning himself off first before nudging Katsuki’s thighs apart to clean him.

In response, Katsuki pulled the red-headed hero down to kiss him once more. You looked away, feeling almost as if you were intruding. Your underwear being pulled down had you looking between your legs, where Kirishima was attempting to remove the soaked garment. You sat up, reaching down to take them off yourself.

“You don’t have to-” You were silenced by his hand cupping your cheek delicately, his smile just as soft.

“It’s okay, just relax,” he spoke, waiting for you to lay back down before he continued to remove the lingerie. Most of it had been stained by cum and lube, and most likely couldn’t be salvaged. Katsuki must’ve caught your frown, as he playfully squeezed your thigh before he climbed off the bed.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he said as he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. The wet wipe felt cold against your abused hole, but it was better than feeling slick and sticky.

“What time is it?” you asked once Kirishima was done cleaning you, looking around for a clock. From the bathroom you heard a tap squeak before the water hit the tiled floor, the rhythm broken up by Katsuki cleaning himself up under the stream.

“Don’t worry about it,” Katsuki called over the water.

“I have work in the morning,” you replied as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, searching the room for your discarded clothes. Kirishima was fluffing about around you, stripping off the pillowcases and tossing them aside. Before you could ask him why, Katsuki peered out of the bathroom, scowling at you but the threatening look was diminished by his wet hair and water droplets running over his rippling biceps.

“Shitty Hair has late patrols, he can take you,” he explained shortly. With your brow furrowed and head tilted in confusion, he sighed.

“You’re staying the night, get in the shower.”

You blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing before Kirishima’s large hand found your back, leading you to stand up. Deciding not to fight it, you let the redhead lead you into the ensuite, where the shower was running, steam clouding the air.

“Kats likes it a little hot, turn it down if you need to,” Kirishima whispered to you before leaving you to bathe. The caddy hanging from the base of the tall showerhead was stocked with various skin care products like scrubs, moisturisers, and shampoo that, when you squirted it onto your palm, smelt like Katsuki’s hair. There was also a bottle of 5-in-1 body, hair, face, shave and moisturiser which you correctly assumed to be Kirishima’s. When you were done, the redhead was waiting and gave you a fluffy towel, pressing a chaste kiss to your wet hair as you passed him.

The bed sheets had been changed, candles blown out and only a lamp lit the room. Katsuki was now dressed in only his underwear as he carried the soiled sheets away. By the time you had dried yourself off, Katsuki had returned, now holding some folded clothes, which he handed to you. It was an old shirt and sleep shorts, both baggy on you, but smelt like the explosive hero. He dragged you to the bed, pulling you close on the crisp, clean sheets. You tried to ignore the fact that he was barely clothed, but you still felt your cheeks grow warm.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he smirked as he pulled you to his bare chest. “Red is a human heater.”

Speak of the devil, Kirishima exited the bathroom, a towel hung low on his hips as he used a separate towel to dry his red locks. He strutted through the room, displaying his gorgeous body decorated with scars from his years on the hero scene. Digging through a dresser, he found a pair of sweats and a faded t-shirt, slipping them on before climbing into the bed. He pulled Katsuki until his back met his chest, Katsuki pulling you along with him. After switching off the light and snuggling into the bed, Kirishima sighed, all the tense knots in his muscles slipping away.

“Goodnight Kats, goodnight baby,” he called into the dark room.

“Night Ei,” Katsuki replied, words slurred as sleep quickly took him.

“G’night,” you whispered into his chest, melting into his arms as your eyes drifted shut, the soft hum of the washing machine down the hall lulling you to sleep.

#bnha x reader #bnha x male reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #kiribaku x reader #kirishima x reader #gay #kirishima eijiro x male reader #eijiro x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo x male reader #kiribaku #bakugo katsuki x male reader #mha x male reader #mha x reader #SoundCloud

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lanawinterscigarettes · 5 months ago

Note

From the clothing prompts can i ask is it possible to have football jersey with either Peter Parker or Eric van der Woodsen and male reader? Thanks

let me tell you I was absolutely ecstatic to see someone request something for eric so he's who I chose to do the fic with! this was originally supposed to be something short but then it spiraled into a big long thing so I hope that's okay <3

the original prompt list can be found here btw

Meet the Family (Eric van der Woodsen x male reader)

Warnings: mild swearing, implied sex/some suggestiveness, very mild angst I think??, fluff other than that <3

When Eric woke up that morning, he was in a football jersey. Your football jersey, to be exact, one that you'd left over at his house by accident the day before.

His mom had been on a trip somewhere, and his sister was out with her friends, which meant you two got some much needed alone time. One thing had led to another, and before he even realized it you were both tangled up in the sheets of his bed. You must've put on one of his shirts by accident before you left, and he'd grabbed your jersey thinking it was his in the dim lit room.

He knew why you were gone, of course. It was an unspoken rule for you to not be there when his family was so they wouldn't interrogate you on your "intentions" with him.

A sigh escaped from him as he laid back in his bed, bringing the fabric of the jersey up to his face and inhaling it deeply. It smelled just like you. God, he missed you already.

Honestly, he probably should've known better than to go down to breakfast while still in your clothes, but for one he was starving after the eventful night he'd had before and for another he didn't actually expect his family to already be there. Certainly not both of them at the same time. Great.

Part of him hoped he'd be able to sneak in, grab something small and scurry back up the stairs before being spotted, but unfortunately he had no such luck.

"Eric, darling. Come join us for breakfast," his mother's voice called out from the dining room, prompting him to let out a heavy sigh. He should've known it would be one of those days where she'd tried to cram all her years of absent parenting into one morning where she pretended like she actually gave a damn.

"I'm still in my pajamas," he called back hesitantly, hoping it would be a good enough excuse for him to at least change before having to sit down face-to-face with her.

"Nonsense, your sister's still in her pajamas, too. You'll be fine."

Damn it. Today really just wasn't his morning, it would seem.

He slowly trudged into the dining room and sat down at the table, hoping if he sat slumped over enough he could hide the jersey he had on. That didn't work, obviously. Lily might not have been the most present parent, physically or emotionally, but she knew when one of her kids was hiding something, and she certainly knew what a cheap piece of fabric sewn into a makeshift shirt looked like.

Her eyes narrowed as she gazed down at the jersey he had on, studying it closely. "What's that you're wearing?" She questioned, his sister looking up from her own breakfast at the matriarch's question.

"It's just something I borrowed from a friend," he responded a little defensively. Serena let out a snort of muffled laughter in response, clearly not believing him in the slightest. He shot her a dirty look, knowing if she didn't believe it, Lily wouldn't, either.

"Oh, really? And what's your friend's name? Have we met them before?" She tried to make the questions seem casual, but he knew better. It was an old and tired tactic she used when she wanted to know about her kids' social life without having to put in the actual work to be deserving of knowing the answer.

"Um, I'm not really sure," he mumbled in response, still sitting slumped over while buttering a piece of toast, trying to avoid eye contact with either of them.

"Eric, don't slouch. And take your elbows off the table," Lily chastised, clearly not intent on trying too hard to be seem like the caring mother she so often liked to portray to outsiders who weren't aware of the inner family dynamic.

He scoffed, clearly not appreciating her scolding so early in the morning. "You know what, I'm not that hungry anyway," he declared while pushing his chair back, stalking out of the dining room without giving them so much as a second glance.

His mother knew she messed up just from that response. "Eric, wait-" she tried to call out after him, but he was already gone, rushing back up the stairs and flopping down onto his bed.

He felt like crying, he really did. It was stupid, honestly. He didn't know why their opinion mattered to him so much. It's not like Lily or Serena were that present in his life, anyway. Still, they were his family, and despite his better judgement he didn't want them to hate you right away, which is probably the real reason behind him hiding you.

Just as he was about to break down into tears, his phone rang, and he instantly knew it was you from the ringtone that played. "Hello?" He mumbled, hoping his voice sounded like he'd just woken up rather than he was about to cry.

"Good morning, baby," your chipper voice came from the other end, something that caused him to smile. "I know it's still a little early, but I was wondering if you wanted to meet up for coffee."

He let out a quiet sigh of relief at the question. "Coffee sounds great right about now." Anything to get him out of that house. "Do you want me to bring your jersey when we meet up?"

"That's right, I did leave it with you, didn't I?" You commented, thinking out loud as per usual. It was such an endearing trait in his eyes. "Nah, it's fine, I can just pick it up some other time. I'm sure it looks much better on you than it does on me, anyway."

His cheeks heated up at your comment, not missing the slightly suggestive tone in your voice. He let out a breathless sort of chuckle before replying. "Okay, well, I've got to go get changed so we can meet. I'll see you in about twenty minutes at our usual spot?"

"Of course. Love you, babe. See you then."

It was hard for him to ignore the way his heart fluttered about in his chest like a caged bird trying desperately to break free from the walls that were his ribs. You always seemed to have that affect on him. "I love you, too. Bye."

Laying back on the bed, he dropped his phone on his chest after hanging up and stared up at the ceiling, unable to push away the giddy feeling he had. Leave it to you to somehow make an awful morning immediately better.

He headed back downstairs after he was finished changing, a pep in his step as he went. Lily was already gone, which made him think he was in the clear until his sister stopped him.

"Hey, wait up a second," she called out as she met up with him in the front hallway. "Why are you going so early in the morning? And dressed so nice, too," she added with a sly smirk that suggested she already had a bit of an idea.

"I'm, uh- I'm meeting a friend," he lied through his teeth, though Serena wasn't buying it for a second.

"Oh, really? And does this happen to be the same 'friend' from earlier that you borrowed the jersey from?" She lightly teased, giving him a playful shove.

An awkward chuckle escaped from him at her words, one that was obviously forced. "Okay, I've gotta go now. Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone," he said quickly in an attempt to change the subject, about to leave when she reached her hand out to stop him, resting it on his shoulder.

"Wait, I just wanted to say that-" She paused, trying to find the right words. She searched for a moment or so before finally settling on, "I want you to be happy, you know that, right?"

"I know," he replied, not really sure where she was going with this as she took extra time to properly formulate her thoughts into words.

"Look, I don't know who this guy is that you're seeing, but if he makes you happy then I'm sure he's great. You should bring him around sometime." She gave his shoulder a squeeze before adding, "Maybe we can meet your new boyfriend at the same time we meet mom's."

He let out a scoff at her suggestion. "Yeah, I'm not subjecting him to that. But..." He sighed, seeming to know what she was getting at. She wanted to be in his life more, and this was her way of trying to connect. At least she wasn't overly judgmental like Lily could be. "If you really want to meet him, I'll introduce you sometime, okay?"

She smiled brightly at that, clearly getting the response she was hoping for. "Great! I'd love to meet him." She dropped her hand from his shoulder and watched as he started to leave again. "Have fun, and be safe," she called after him as he left.

"I will," he said while leaving out the front door, still filled with the utmost of glee at getting to see you. It sounded so stupid when you'd been over just the night before, but when you were gone he missed you like no other. Sure, he had Lily and Serena as his family, but with you was where he really felt at home.

He couldn't stop from grinning the moment he spotted you at your usual meeting place, two coffees in hand. "Hey, stranger," you greeted in a friendly manner while holding out his coffee. "I got you your favorite."

"You're the best," he replied before leaning in to give you an appreciative kiss. It seemed as though your lips got sweeter every time he tasted them.

"Yeah, I know," you joked in response, your eyes twinkling with that familiar hint of mischief he always loved. He took the coffee from you, blowing on it gently before taking a small sip. It was touching how you always remembered his order.

"So, my sister wants to meet you," he said after a moment or so after you started walking together. His voice was a little tentative when he spoke, as if it was a subject he was hesitant to bring up.

"Oh, yeah?" Your hand reached for his as you drank your coffee, making his heart flutter with affection. The action was so natural when you did it, as if you'd been together forever.

"Yeah. I think she feels guilty for all the times she's been absent in my life, which is why she's trying to make up for it now." Part of him had regretted leaving his gloves at home when he felt how cold it was, but that regret disappeared instantly when he felt your warm hand envelope his.

"Do you want me to meet her?" was your next question, which didn't surprise him very much as you were always pretty mindful of his boundaries and what he felt comfortable with.

"Only if you feel okay with it. I don't want you to think that it's, like, required in order to be able to date me, because it's not," he stated before taking a sip of his own coffee.

"Well, from what I've heard from the tabloids, she's quite the party girl," you began before continuing with, "but from what I've heard from you, she's just your big sister who's been through some pretty hard times." You were always like that, so open-minded and unjudgmental. It was a refreshing change from the usual Upper East Side crowd. "So if you're okay with me meeting her, then I'd love to do it."

"Really?" He couldn't help the way his jaw dropped a little. Most of the time whenever he had a new boyfriend, he tried his best to keep his love life separate from his family to avoid unnecessary drama, and they agreed to it because of that. But you were different, always finding new ways to surprise him, like offering to meet his sister with no problem.

You let out a good natured laugh at his response. "Oh, wow, you should really see the look on your face when I said that, you look ridiculous," you teased before continuing. "But yes, really. I know how important your sister is to you, and I want to make a good first impression. I can't do that if I spend all of my time trying to hide from her because I'm worried about what she'll think when she finally meets me."

He watched you with a gaze that was full of pure awe. Every time you spoke, it seemed as though he was falling more and more in love with you. "I just can't get over how amazing you are, did you know that?"

"Aw, baby, you're much more amazing than I am." You squeezed his hand and gave his lips a loving kiss to help emphasize your point. "Now, am I going to have to dress up and wear a suit to meet her, or do you think what I have on now is okay?"

It was his turn to laugh, his fingers lacing through yours as he held your hand a little bit tighter. "I think whatever you choose to wear will look great on you," he answered honestly.

"That's good to know, because I plan on showing up in a clown suit," you deadpanned, causing him to let out another snort of laughter at your dry sense of humor. "Yeah, I'll get the big shoes and the red nose and everything. I'll pull up outside in one of those tiny clown cars, and when you open the door about five of us will fall out."

"Oh my God, shut up. Now you're just being ridiculous." He tried to make it sound like he was chastising you, but it was clear from the smile on his face that he was highly amused.

"What, you don't like the idea for my outfit?" You questioned in mock offense, clearly being overdramatic. "How dare you. And to think I was even going to give you a fake flower that spits out water as a gift."

By this point, the disastrous breakfast he'd had with his family was completely forgotten as you'd successfully distracted him from it. Even if he didn't say something was wrong, you always knew regardless and did your best to cheer him up, which was just yet another reason to love you.

"I love you," he blurted out suddenly, unable to stop himself. "And I'm sure my sister's going to love you, even if my mom doesn't."

"Aw, baby. I love you, too." You stopped walking, letting go of his hand only so you could reach out and touch his cheek. The act was so simple, yet so intimate at the same time. "Your face is all flushed."

"Yeah, that's probably just the cold," he muttered while staring at you with what could only be described as the biggest heart eyes ever.

He was certain you must've been aware of how flustered you made him, which was the other reason behind his flushed cheeks, but you chose not to point it out. "Come on, let's get you somewhere warm then." Taking his hand in yours, you began to walk again, leading him God knows where.

"Hey, where are we going?" He asked in curiosity, though he didn't seem at all bothered by the way you were dragging him along like a dog on a leash.

"My place. I need to look through my clothes and find something to wear for when I meet your family," you casually replied, finishing your coffee before dropping the empty cup in a nearby trashcan. "Hopefully my clown suit isn't still at the dry cleaner's," you added with a cheeky grin, proud of yourself for the joke you'd made.

Eric just scoffed in amusement, throwing away his own coffee cup as he followed after you (something he had to do given just how tightly your hands were intertwined). "Again, I told you what you wear doesn't matter as long as it's not something utterly ridiculous, like a clown suit."

You let out a playful huff as you tugged him in closer while walking together. "Well, maybe that's not the only reason I think we should go back to my place," you purred suggestively before pressing a kiss to his jaw.

By that point, the redness of his face couldn't be blamed solely on the weather. "Ah, so that's how you're going to get me all warmed up," he lightly joked, clearing his throat as he tried to appear unbothered.

"Absolutely, it is," you eagerly replied, your grin from earlier back and plastered proudly across your face. "Maybe I can even give you another piece of my clothing for you to leave with, since you seemed to love that jersey so much." God, you were going to be the death of him, but he loved it, just like he loved you.

"I'll make sure to wear it when you meet my family for the first time so they know that we're serious," he said in a manner that was only half joking before giving you a kiss of his own.

He really didn't want to get his hopes up, but he was already certain Serena was going to love you, and that maybe even Lily would give you her stamp of approval. No other past boyfriend ever made him want to introduce them to his family, but you did, and that's what made you so special.

"You know, I really can't wait to meet them," you said after a moment or so, your voice genuine and not joking like earlier.

The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a soft smile when he heard that. Maybe he was still a little bit nervous about you meeting them, but knowing you were actually excited about it rather than worried made him feel much better about the whole ordeal.

"Yeah, me too," he agreed, and for once the thought of his partner meeting his family didn't terrify him completely.

End notes: I really do love Lily I promise but I'm also aware of the strained relationship she has with her kids so I wanted this fic to be accurate and reflect that haha

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#gossip girl #gossip girl imagine #gossip girl x reader #gossip girl fic #gossip girl angst #gossip girl fluff #eric van der woodsen #eric van der woodsen imagine #eric van der woodsen x reader #eric van der woodsen fic #eric van der woodsen angst #eric van der woodsen fluff #male reader #x male reader #gossip girl x male reader #eric van der woodsen x male reader

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the-seelie-court-official · 1 year ago

Text

i cant wear a collar i can always Feel it on my neck, bad stim type. im one of them dogs what needs a harness. bright yellow. the word 'NERVOUS' sewn all over it. im actually aggressive but not everyone needs to know that

#they just need to stay the fuck away from me #memos from the embassy

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ilminnestrone · 8 months ago

Note

Genesis' reaction to seeing Sephiroth in drag? Make this as horny as you want.

When Sephiroth goes more than an hour without answering his calls outside office hours, Genesis gets very annoyed. When he fails to answer more than three messages in a row, he starts to worry. But when even Angeal can't tell him where he is, or worse, admits that he can't reach him either, the facade of carelessness collapses miserably, and he drops everything he's been doing and rushes home. He doesn’t knock, he doesn’t try the doorbell, he simply uses his spare key card and storms his apartment unannounced. He already knows that if he is not at home, the next plan would be to search the entire Shinra building starting with the science department.

The flat is as tidy and clean as ever. An almost empty mug of herbal tea sits abandoned on the coffee table next to the sofa, right on top of the dust jacket of a historical novel he didn't know he was reading: Genesis moves it, and the material is so smooth that he can wipe the round halo with the back of his hand without leaving a mark. Vaguely jazzy music plays softly from the bedroom, and when Sephiroth's voice reaches his ears, anger gives way to relief: he’s humming wordlessly to the notes of the song, sounding serene.

Genesis reaches the room in silence, absentmindedly flipping through the novel to see if it is as tasteless as the cover design suggests, and leans his shoulder against the doorframe, one leg crossing over the other. Sephiroth does not notice him, and the string of notes continues undisturbed with more than adequate intonation.

When Genesis looks up from the page, any consideration of the literary quality of the work disappears. Sephiroth's back is turned, facing the full-length mirror, his white hands gently running down his sides, smoothing the fabric of a black dressing gown: it's good quality chiffon, so sheer that Genesis can count the lines of his muscles beneath it. His milk-coloured, tapered legs are wrapped in silk stockings adorned with lace and a thin line sewn at the back, garters lap at his thighs and hips. That perfect ass seems to have been put on this earth to wear lace culottes, revealing enough to be cheeky without being vulgar. The top is little more than a harness, something not very different from what the public is used to.

Genesis, on the other hand, believes he will never get used to the sight. To those hands grasping the dressing gown and releasing it a moment later, feeling its weight brush against the skin. To those hips swaying to the rhythm of the music. To that foot sliding along the calf to feel the texture of the stocking. To those black embroideries on his skin that make him look like a fugitive moonbeam.

Sephiroth moves closer to the mirror and runs his thumb along his lower lip, wiping away a smudge of lipstick: a desaturated mauve, practically the exact shade of his lips; the same shade that fades his cheekbones. A thin line of eyeliner makes his eyes even more feline, even more languid and tender. And he’s smiling. A soft, carefree smile, the kind that even Genesis would swear he saw on rare, cherished occasions. He smiles as he gathers his hair in his hands and looks in the mirror to see how he would look in a ponytail. The smile turns into a giggle, something so sweet that Genesis could die from it sitting down.

But suddenly the smile dies on his lips, his eyes open wide in horror as he sees him over his shoulder in the mirror: “Genesis!” Genesis feels like an idiot, and not just because of the stunned look on his face, the unhinged jaw, the book slipping out of his hands: he had frightened, perhaps embarrassed him. “Sephiroth, I'm so-” “I'm so sorry, Genesis.” Sephiroth hides as best he can in his dressing gown, curled up on the bed, his face hidden in his hands. "I'm sorry you had to see..."

Genesis wants to laugh, but Sephiroth's broken voice suggests it might hurt him. He sits down beside him on the bed, closing the distance between them before he can pull away. He takes his hand, trying to move it away from his face without forcing it. “Hey…” “I’m sorry… I’m…” “For what?” This time Genesis can't hold back a chuckle. “For being a stunner?” Something tells him that the only right thing to do is to bring those fingers to his lips and kiss them one by one, like precious things, and hold his gaze as he blushes. “You look…” he wants to keep going, but something the size of a hard-boiled egg, complete with shell, gets stuck in his throat and he has to stop to swallow it, “you look beautiful. Sorry, I should have knocked.”

They sit in silence for a while, Genesis' thumb stroking Sephiroth's hand as if to soothe the embarrassment. But his gaze is averted, fixed on the mirror. "I look stupid." This time Genesis sighs. He slips one hand under his silk-covered knees and wraps the other around his hips, hoisting him into his lap, preventing him from continuing to scrutinise himself in the mirror. He touches his leg with exhausting slowness, his fingers lingering on the embroidered hem. He doesn't know where he finds the courage to look up into his eyes. Fuck, he's perfect. "Does it feel right?" Sephiroth nods immediately, the shadow of a smile forming on his lips. “Does it feel… you?” He nods again, the smile even wider; he looks... mischievous: “You know what else I can feel, Genesis?” “Uh?” Genesis raises an eyebrow, curious, as Sephiroth leans in, his lips grazing his ear “You’re extremely hard.”

#ask #headcanon #genesis rhapsodos #sephiroth #ff7 #final fantasy vii #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #genseph #sephgen #allusive

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