1) The power rangers decided to call male reader to group up to form a plan to beat the bad guy just to find out they called at the worse time because they find him sweating, blushing just a mess in general as he is constantly looking behind his wrist watch because Jessica is pissed that her moment with male reader is interrupted but the moment Make reader tries to get up to go Jessica tells him to stay and the whole group just watches as the whole thing and find out that he's a bottom and now they teases him constantly and now Everytime a member is gone because of a lover they joke that they're 'pulling an Y/N'
2)... Just watch a recap but if you want to watch the whole thing just watch it on YouTube... The whole thing is there...watch dino charge and dino super charge
Ain't gonna lie this sounds interesting, you should actually write this yourself man
I might make the "people making fun of a guy for being a bottom" in other ways that don't include the power rangers (this is a "might make" not a "will make")
MAKE DOM JESSICA CRUZ X MALE READER WHO HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE LANTERN CORPS BUT HAS ASSOCIATIONS WITH THE MORPHIN GRID...Y'KNOW...THE THING WHERE THE POWER RANGERS ARE CONNECTED TO... BUT MAKE IT A SINGLE HERO...and he folds under Jessica with enough pressure leading him to be out of commission for that whole time before jess goes out for patrol
I'm gonna be so real with you, this sounds interesting but I have never watched power rangers in my life
I know I haven't updated much. I have been busy with stuff (nothing drastic) and now I am at a spa resort where the wifi is ass. I have written some things tho
I know I haven't updated much. I have been busy with stuff (nothing drastic) and now I am at a spa resort where the wifi is ass. I have written some things tho
I see that your requests are open, I would like to request something, since your writing is very very good and high quality.
Pretty pretty please can I have some Cassandra (my love, my life) and gender neutral reader. Reader is like, very soft and kind in contrast to Cassie but throws down when need be. They're not even a vigilante or anything, they're just like that.
I'm not too sure how'd Cass would feel at first coming across them, I'm in two minds about whether she'd like it or hate it, but perhaps that's something you could explore?
Regardless, thank you in advance <3
(Phases out)
I'm so sorry this took so long but it's finally out!!!!
When any one of Bruce's kids were asked what they think about Cass’ partner, the answer was “the nicest and kindest person, and Cass is lucky to have them. They are the type to help old ladies cross the street and feed stray cats on the way from work”.
If they were to ask Hunter Smith, a reporter for the Gotham Gazette, he would answer “an unhinged psychopath”.
The scene was set. You and Cass were leaving a caffe, while you held your cat, Crow, in one arm, the other one intertwined with Cass. You were both dressed for the weather, and the black cat had a little yellow sweater, matching with the yellow collar. It was late enough in the evening for you to be yawning, but the sun hasn’t set yet.
A few steps from the caffe, you hear a small child scream “kitty!” in delight, and you turn around, showing the black puffball to him. The child, excited, tugs on his mother's hand and wants to pet it.
You’re delighted as you crouch slightly - after letting go of Cass - to instruct the little boy how to properly pet Crow. She meows (to everyone’s delight) as the boy gently lays a tentative hand on her back and feels the soft fur.
In that moment, Hunter rounds the corner, on his way from work.
Cassandra Cain-Wayne is… usually unapproachable. Rarely leaving the Wayne Manor (as far as the magazines know), and private to boot, fiercely protected by her adoptive father. She spoke rarely, even in group interviews, and solo ones were few and far in between.
The last one was a year ago, done after a Wayne Industries showcase. She barely spoke more than three words for every question, and the interview lasted for less than 2 minutes.
Hunter's eyes lit up. His thoughts were going a mile a minute, but all pointing to “a Wayne with public training would never make a scene if he cornered them to talk”.
—
“Gotham Gazette reporter under-fire after altercation with partner of Cassandra Cain-Wayne” Damian reads outloud, looking at the screenshot of a video printed into the newspaper, filmed right as you started reprimanding the man.
He is the only person at the table that actually reads the morning newspaper, and the sole reason the paper delivery guy has to trek outside the borders of Gotham (and gets a handsome monthly tip for it). Even Alfred has switched over to a laptop, after much deliberation.
All of this gives Damian a profoundly serious yet unserious vibe, as he folds the newspaper with his fingers enough to be able to look at you over the rim of the paper.
You’re sitting at the massive table right next to Cass, munching on your morning cereal, pointedly not looking at him.
After the encounter two days ago, you opted to stay with your girlfriend, mostly waiting for the media attention to die down. Your coworkers did text you, a little worried, after you requested time off for a week, but you reassured them everything is alright.
Despite the outburst being mostly in Cass’ defense, things with her have been a little tense - at least from your point of view. She observes you more, looking with those slightly unnerving big brown eyes, all over your body, every move.
The relationship is only four months old, albeit after a long while of friendship, so the two of you are still learning some things about each other, even if the dust has settled on the honeymoon phase.
And Cass has learned, that apparently, you take no shit when it comes to her, and will not allow her to take shit either.
Damian straightens the newspaper and goes back to eating his eggs, leaving you to stew in silence. Your eyes flick over to your girlfriend’s hands as she eats, and then go back to your bowl as you finish your cereal, put the utensils in the sink, and nearly bolt back to Cass’ room.
It feels like you are wracking your brain, wondering if she will break up with you, the opening of the door snaps you out. You expect Cass to come in and change out of her pyjamas into training gear, or to sit next to you in silence.
You don’t expect her to speak.
“Thank you. I love you.”
You let out a short, aborted noise of surprise.
During your entire relationship, Cass rarely spoke, but did more as you were together longer. When she speaks in private, it’s not empty words with no tone, like in interviews. She puts thoughts, meaning and her heart into a single sentence, and you love hearing her voice every time.
“Didn’t know how to say it. Thank you,” she says again, coming closer.
You stretch a hand out in her direction and beckon her closer.
She does, and sits next to you. You let your head fall on her shoulder, just to exist in her bubble.
the temperatures have gone down from 40°C to 28°C is this what paradise feels like?🙏🙏 on serious note slovakia having higher temperatures than egypt is fucked up
I bullied my parents into getting AC 2 years ago because my gayass cannot handle the heat (antidepressant side effect) and I have never been more grateful
To my sister's great dismay that shit is blasting 24/fuckin/7 when I am home
a/n: a request i received in the askbox that i put my own twist on hehe
cw: smut/18+ only, reader is riding Wally, reader is drinking Wally's blood, Wally is into everything, sub!Wally, ambiguous genitalia, gn!reader
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
Wally loves it when you drink from him.
Wally West/Vampire!Reader (18+)
What he doesn’t know, or perhaps, what he doesn’t realize, is the fact that you can very astutely tell how fast his heart is beating whenever the two of you engage in this.
You have eyes to take in the way that his pulse jumps in the caging of his throat, a staccato beat that indicates the adrenaline that wracks down the track of his veins, the excitement that spurs him to devoted attention upon you.
After so much time devoted to the blood, you can tell the measure of a person’s heart: and where it indicates they are on the emotional compass. He radiates a joyful thrill whereas others that you have slaked your thirst from have shied away in muted terror.
Of course, the other indicator of his enthusiasm is the way that his cock juts out fully erect from the fine hair curled in the junction of his legs. The muscles of his bare thighs twitch against the soft sheets that the two of you take occupation upon—he lying, you reclining further down his legs to prepare him.
He’s enthusiastic about the way that you prepare him, rolling your hand up the length of his cock, lingering at the curve of his head. Letting your thumb slink down the head of his cock where a bead of precum pearls in tantalizing, mouthwatering manner.
“Please—”—He groans, and it’s best described as a wanton, broken plea for catharsis, for gratification—“—I need you, honey.”
You let your eyes drag up from the view of your hand gliding down the shaft, just in time to catch the way that his mouth opens in perfect, blissful agony. His eyes remain fixated upon you, a silent plea of desire.
“I need you too,” You hum back against the full of your lips, a pleased chord. Always so willing, always so needy, always so lively. “Are you ready, Wally?”
In answer, his hips buck into you, the slick of his exertion making the glide easier up your hand. Another word finally breaks from the last modicum of propriety he has, a barely uttered whisper. “Please.”
You laugh, though it’s without malice—only endearment. “As you wish, Wally.”
There’s a degree of relief that makes foundation in his face, though it’s quickly replaced by lust as you clench your thighs to rise up. And it’s replaced by abject pleasure as you press your entrance against his cock.
“Fuck—”—He breathes, the entire meter of his body drawn rigid under you, his cock jerking against you in instinctive manner—“—You look so hot like that.”
“Yeah?” You ask, letting a sly smile make appearance as you sink down. As you deny him the chance to reply as his brows twist in euphoria, as you let his cock glide into you, filling you up.
“Oh, fuck—”—He shucks a ragged breath out of him as you sheath him to the hilt with marked ease, a perfect fit for you. You keep a hand on the toned plateau of his stomach.
Under the pads of your fingers, you can admire the way that his abs roll with the need to satiate himself with you. You may as well accommodate him; you let your legs pitch against his thighs and rise up in torturously slow ascent.
“God—”—His fingers twist into the sheets, the whites of his knuckles protruding through the tender flesh of his skin—“—Oh baby, please go faster.”
“World’s fastest man—”—Your grin is beatific, wicked as you sink back down, his eyes rolling back with overwhelming pleasure—“—Can’t handle going slow?”
“Not—”—He grits this confession through his teeth as you seat yourself fully on him again—“—Not with you.”
“Charmer,” You giggle, before you adjust your angle so that you may inch along the taut muscle of his torso, his pecs, his shoulders that are tacky with the sheen of effort. Until you have finally reached the zenith of your journey, where you may huff steamed breath over the pulse that hammers in delicious pace.
“Do you want me?” You ask, punctuating your inquiry with the wet lave of your tongue upon his lifesblood. All he gives you is a roll of his hips that has you sigh in delight at the shock of pleasure through your body, sweet and honeyed and perfect.
“Please,” He begs once more in dire evocation, “I need you.”
You pitch your hips so that you sink down on his cock once more—letting his breath catch in his throat—before you sink your fangs into the give of his skin. And when you take your first heady swallow of his blood, you’re rewarded with an oath muttered on his lips before he groans at the sheer ecstasy.
It’s here you have to take over—Wally’s busy on two fronts, after all. But you’ve grown good at multitasking, at working the breath through your nostrils as you take greedy swallow from his body, and ride the thick length of his cock as it pumps into you.
As the skin of his thighs slaps in lewd manner against you, the whimpers of his rapture taking sinful harmony with it. As you take what is his—and he happily gives it to you.
But you don’t need much—after all, you still have your ride to think of, as you rise back up to allow a moment to bounce on the curve of his length. To take in the way his eyes are glassy, glaze-over, at a satisfaction he only achieves with you; you wipe a droplet of blood away that skirts down from the corner of your mouth.
“Let me taste it,” Wally begs, his face flushed with desire only you can sate him with.
You smile, knowing that he can regard his blood that stains your teeth. As you close the distance back down to him, his thrusts into you jerky and disoriented but still eking out pleasure yet to be fulfilled.
And when he tastes himself on your tongue, you can savor the tang of his moan on yours.
