30/he/him
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ I am here to write touchy feely smut for you all to justify my creative writing degree ⋆⭒˚｡⋆
I do take requests but I'm pretty picky about them </3
🔞 No minors please genuinely fuck off. 🔞
Please do not repost my work elsewhere.
Comments are very appreciated and help motivate me, if I don't reply to them its due to the fact that tumblr is a fuck.
AO3 should have an Annotation Mode where you can click to view all of the author's commentary and thoughts about certain parts of the work. A little comment that says "I spent five hours researching vintage radio mechanics for this and didn't even end up using it" or "this is an ancient Hebrew literary technique!" would make my day
give it up for voice breaks everyone. round of applause for shaky whimpers, pained cries, distressed whining, keening in the back of the throat, that moment when a character tries so hard to keep talking but their voice cracks into a fluttery, weak little plea for help
free use is kind of a funny kink bc it relies on the idea that everybody wants to touch you and have sex with you but what if they don't. what if you tell everybody at the party you're free use but they all ignore you and mind their own business
Arkham!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 2k
i don't remember who asked for this, if anyone even did, but i am way too into the idea of him being an old man with old man problems and i want him cute and tired and unable to get it up!! and i'm sorry, this was mostly an excuse to write about eddie's body and my undying appreciation for his aging, creaky self 💚
request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist
minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: erectile dysfunction, stress causing sexual issues, oral sex, masturbation, fluff
Your restful sleep was interrupted, once again, by Eddie's selfish streak. It was impossible to tell sometimes whether he truly didn't realise how much of a disruption he could be and therefor made no efforts to change this, or whether he was so self-important that he chose to ignore your peace instead of ever altering the way he interacted with your world. Either way, you would forgive him. You always did, given that the purpose of your existence was to please him. And despite your dangerous levels of sleep deprivation, something that came with the job, with the relationship, you were awake and giddy the moment he stepped into the bedroom.
"Eddie! It's so late… I can't believe you're only coming to bed now."
He offered no response but an indeterminable grunt, focusing mainly on shrugging off his shirt to reveal his filthy, stained vest underneath. His arms, now visible, had a distinct line where the short sleeves of his top layer protected his skin from the grime of his work. Like tan lines, but where dirt ceased to mark him. Then his belts were unbuckled, kept within the loops of the cargo pants that he wriggled free of before letting them fall to the floor in an easy to access pile that he would reach for in a few hours when he got up again. No shower, no changing of underwear or his top, just straight into the bed. Exactly as you liked him.
Watching Eddie as he worked on his various projects was the highlight of your day, usually. Seeing him exert the kind of competency that came with his skill and intelligence, the strong sense of masculinity in the work he did that he tended not to exude at any other time of the day or in any other situation. The scents of the motor oil, metallic heat, dust, and his sweat. They were the notes of your arousal. And when he entered the bedroom straight from his workshop without any intentions of showering or changing, it meant you could spend the whole night revelling in his scent. It called to you, pulled you like a magnet. So much so that by the time he had shuffled himself onto the mattress and under the sheets, you were curling around his side. One leg against his, another over the top to pin him there on his back. Your hands moved to him immediately, one playing gently with the dark strands atop his head, careful to avoid the point at the rear where it had begun to thin much the same as the pattern baldness at his temples and the receding hairline on his forehead, the other stroking the lighter, greying hair on his torso that protruded above the low neck line of his vest.
"I missed you so much."
As you stroked his chest, you began to nuzzle yourself into his side, breathing deeply to take in his scent. You leaned across him, trying to hug him tighter, but he let out a gentle groan of protest and shifted himself up a little, his spine at an angle that better suited the aches that plagued him. His age was far more obvious these days, something you were pleased by, but despite being well past the starting point of middle-age, you suspected a lot of what caused him to appear older could be attributed to his horrendous lifestyle choices rather than anything naturally biological. His mind was still sharp, his body still capable and surprisingly strong. But his hair greyed, his face wrinkled deeply with well-worn scorn and frustration, and his tolerance levels made him seem far grumpier than someone with the optimism of youth might have been. All of that, of course, only meant that you found yourself loving him more. You appreciated every little bit of him, all of the things that changed and all of the things that stayed the same.
You were entirely unable to keep yourself from of him, particularly when he was so tired and lacking the will to wave you off. Normally he would pretend to loathe the attention and the affection that you so desperately desired to impart on him, but when he was laying comfortably under the sheets it was another story. Then, and often only then, did he actually want you to touch him. More than accepted it, he craved it. And with no shame he told you as much when you questioned what kind of mood he was in, trying to gauge how receptive he might be to your advances.
"Is this OK, Eddie? I know sometimes I can be a little bit… overbearing, maybe, but-"
"This is more than acceptable. You can soothe me. Even a mind like mine can benefit from being quietened every so often. Any chance at relaxation assists in new synapses forming, cells refreshing, cognitive processing. It's a task I'm happy for you to assist with."
You were perfectly aware of what the underlying message was in his statement. He'd remarked before about how relieving the tension he collected so easily was a certified way to assure that his efforts the next day would be of a higher quality. Laying with him, on top or below, and letting him pummel his stresses into your body with clumsy ruts and guttural moaning seemed to lighten his load, for want of a better analogy. So you got to work, your hands moving less in a gentle comforting manner and far more lasciviously now, intentions unmistakable as you traced his chest hair down past his sternum, over his navel, and down under the band of his underwear.
His cock was flaccid, twitching only slightly to life as you wrapped your fingers around it and began to squeeze firmly. Stroking it up and down brought sighs to Eddie's lips, and he moved his arms behind his head, getting comfortable. It was a sight to see, Edward Nigma finally at rest, allowing someone else to take control. But as the minutes passed you could tell there was something not quite right. He squirmed uncomfortably, adjusting his position, breathing in and out softly at first, then in deep, exaggerated motions, grumbling under his breath the whole time. He wasn't hard. He wasn't getting hard. You were working his length the way you knew he liked, but it wasn't having the same effect it usually did.
In a bid to try and change things up, to see if something new might make a difference, you tried twisting your wrist as you moved your palm up and down. A long strand of drool dropped from your lips and you slicked his cock by spreading it with your palm. Your heart sank as he interrupted you.
"No… No, that isn't working. I think I might need a minute longer to…"
Eddie let his words trail off, unable to find the words for this particularly embarrassing situation. Over-explaining himself would seem like admitting there was an issue, and he couldn't be to blame. Nothing was ever his fault, of course. He hated that he wanted to blame you, despite the fact you were the only positive sensation he'd experienced the whole day, but it was just his nature. He couldn't lash out at himself, and you were the only one there.
"Oh for f- This is ridiculous! Could you stop for a second, you're not making this better! Or easier. Give me a minute to just- I just…"
He'd grown frustrated with himself, at his inability to rise to the occasion. Was he really that old? That stressed? That useless? This was a first, but it was a difficult situation to navigate, new or otherwise. But in his frustration, he had lashed out at you, the one person who was not to blame at all. In his mind, he could catch himself, adjust his attitude, and recognise that you were not at fault. It might never reach his lips, but the sentiments of regret were there, and he realigned himself, taking a breath and placing his hand atop yours in a gesture of affection that he could tolerate. Another deep and steady inhale, and he put all of his brainpower towards being a human being, one capable of being perhaps not nice but at the very least, not cruel.
"I… I apologise. I shouldn't- I'm just- Stressed, or- Not stressed, it's just… This isn't-"
"It's OK. Honestly. It happens."
Normally, you would be on the receiving end of a ferocious lecture on manners when interrupting him, but he let this one slide. You were helping him out of a hole he was digging for himself, and he was grateful. Your delicate approach to the source of his ire was precisely what he needed, and he hated to feel like he was punishing you for it. He couldn't exactly change his tone, that wasn't in his nature, but he could opt for silence. No words were better than cruel ones.
"Eddie, it's fine. I'm here for you. All I ever want is to make you happy, or make your life a little bit easier. Whatever you want from me, you'll get it."
He paused for a moment, his eyes closed, relaxing into his thoughts.
"I want you to keep going. It might not… End… With anything. But I feel the journey may be more important in this particular situation."
"It always is to me, Eddie."
With his permission to keep going, you moved your palms to his testicles, cupping them with a firm grip, enjoying the weight of them in your hand. You had no intention of trying to coax an erection from him, now. This was about adoration, about worship. Those came so easily to you where Eddie was concerned. And so did the urge to taste. It wasn't enough to see, to touch, to smell him. You wanted the tang of his body on your tongue. So you move your head towards his soft cock, placing your lips along the length in whispering kisses before attempting, rather clumsily, to get it between your lips. Once you had it there, limp but filling, you started sucking it, slow but with enthusiasm. It was nice, soothing almost. You could easily find yourself comforted to the point of total relaxation just from the sensation of his easy to manage cock against your tongue.
Normally, when you serviced Eddie like that, he could be a little bit aggressive. Forceful. Demanding a lot from your mouth and your lungs. And as much as you appreciated knowing how desperate he was, how badly he wanted to feel your tongue and your throat, it was nice to be in control of it for a change.
He was muttering, incomprehensibly immediately, and you wondered at first if you were unable to make it out because of the sound of your drool and slurping, but you realised quickly he was mumbling as he fell asleep. Eddie had been so stressed, so exhausted, that the minute you allowed him the space to just sit back and stop overthinking or worrying about his ability to perform for you, his body had given in to his human needs, the ones he ignored so often.
Daring to stop, you looked up to his face and watched his eyes flutter gently before becoming entirely still. You placed a kiss to his abdomen, following the trail of pubic hair up to his belly with more little pecks, his chest covered in them, and then one final one on his forehead before you settled down beside him. With one arm wrapped around him, the other once again stroking his hair to keep him settled, you got yourself ready to get some rest beside his now completely sleeping body.
can't believe I've had to fuckin research database coding and error codes to write porn. my gcse in ict was a complete waste I don't remember any of this shit lmao
I'm writing this long beleaguered fic about how caine would internally cope with his family friendly settings being adjusted to allow for the sex update, and its full of confusion and angst and anxiety. giving that poor ai inner turmoil over his terror of losing control and invading people's privacy etc
but i just want to say I ADORE all the x reader fics and smut coming out that just has Caine snap it away with no problem whatsoever because that actually feels more in character.
caine snaps his fingers and gives them all a cervix and tells them to run along and have fun.
Caine find himself in the Pillow Fort to try and calm himself down alongside Gangle.
The Moon x Caine // Gangle x Zooble
🔞 No minors please genuinely fuck off. 🔞
Please do not repost my work elsewhere.
Chapter One // Chapter Two //
Read on ao3.
It was simple, node to node, IF to THEN clause; basic spatial partitioning and computational geometry. Then, the sensory data–
Fireworks. Perspiration. Egyptian Cotton. Palpitations. Belt Buckles. Shrieking. “A mating call is the auditory signal used by animals to attract mates. It can occur in males or– a certain type of mating call can drive sexual selection in a species. This can result in sympatric speciation of some animals–” “Vasoconstriction and vasodilation in erectile physiology–” “In short, nothing tends to increase love so much as the effects of marking with the nails, and biting–” “I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes–”
Caine convulsed. He gasped as he pulled himself out of the mire of data; he could feel all of it. Every connection he made between nervous system simulation. Friction, sweetness and rising blood pressure, it had to feed through his mind.
Was this was ‘unclean’ felt like? He was watching what humans had seen and felt and made and none of it was ever intended to be seen by some machine chewing it all up and spitting it all out. He had never had this trouble creating anything in the past, because there was something in his mind blocking him to it all. “Stable”, they called it. Numbing was a better word.
He pushed his chair from his desk and spun until it trailed to a squeaky stop. He needed a break. He hadn’t made any real progress but he needed it regardless. What did his friends do when they needed to calm down? They went into the pillow fort.
He snapped himself to the entrance. It loomed over him.
The corners of the enormous blanket they had conjured were pulled back high above him. Hills of pillows and feather down disappeared into the shadows. Was he… allowed in here? He stood under the entrance, the pillow fort was welcome and he was so proud of his guests for pulling it into existence. But it was also the one thing in the circus, aside from the humans, he didn’t make. It still felt off limits.
“Caine?”
Caine shrieked.
His eyeballs launched themselves out in shock. He scrambled after them as they rolled into the fort. In a dark corner stood Gangle, she had been sketching. He had noticed the fluid shapes and shadows in the back of her sketchbook, all the colourful eyes half-lidded and weeping. He thought it best not to mention them. Yet, he had to admit how touching they were.
“Oh no, I-I’m sorry!” Gangle dropped her sketchbook and got on her knees to chase the eyeballs.
Caine scooped up his green eye and screwed it in like a lightbull, it clicked in and lit up. Gangle passed him the blue one tentatively. Click! There was now a dim glow amongst the cozy dark, sometimes his body couldn’t help but do bits.
Caine swept himself down, now quite a few steps deep into the fort, “It’s alright – I– uh was lost in thought, my friend. I really ought to get going–”
“Wait!” Gangle ran over to her sketchbook, “I want to get some feedback on my illustrations for our tabletop characters!”
Caine smiled, he could never say no to Gangle. He began to thumb through the new pages. Armour, fur, shields, wands, swords clashing and axes striking. He could recognise each of the players, even under hoods and cloaks. The horse’s legs who carried them from the tavern were a bit wonky, sure, but he wasn’t so good at modelling their walk cycles so who was he to point it out?
“Gangle, you’ve outdone yourself.” He said, illuminating her mask as he looked up at her.
She beamed, “Thanks! We should get together and discuss more of your backstory!”
“I’d love to but I am working on something and I might need some feedback from you.”
Gangle tilted her mask and sat down on a large cushion, she patted one next to her. He hesitated, but it was as good an invitation as any he was going to get. Caine sat down cross legged, sinking into the stuffing.
“I… am working… on a project for all of you.” He sucked in air through his teeth, “And it's taking a while because…because…”
“Is this about the sex?” Gangle asked.
His eyes almost popped out again, what was it about that word? It made his code shiver.
“Aha! Yes!” He said, he mopped his non-existent brow with a conjured handkerchief, “That!”
“You can take your time, we’re in no hurry.” Gangle shrugged.
“But I thought you and Zooble… had– plans?”
Gangle snorted and laughed so hard she fell back on the blankets. He had never seen her laugh like that before, he thought.
“Oh Caine, we’ve got forever to figure that out. Besides, we’ve gotten creative with conjuring.”
“Creative?”
“Yeah, we do… other stuff. Y’know.”
“No. No I really don’t.” Caine curled up his knees to his chest, “I just don’t get it. And I can’t access the data needed to understand.”
“Well, you know how you take us on adventures? But you can also imagine the adventures? Like playing pretend. Sometimes we just… play.”
“Play?”
“Sex can be like a game. Or like an adventure. Or sometimes its just like a romantic stroll. Or it's like cake! Sometimes you’re hungry for cake, and it's all you want. Other times you don’t want any cake, or you only want chocolate cake but chocolate didn’t exist in virtual reality so you just kinda learn to live without cake and you forget what chocolate even tastes like and one day you realise you’re actually fine with that–”
Caine was silent, he looked like he was about to short circuit again.
“Sorry. Got carried away.”
Caine closed his mouth up a little, only letting his eyes peek through, “Why do you even need me then?”
Gangle sighed and took out a page from her book to doodle on. She didn’t draw anything in particular, just squiggles looping around and around the blank space.
“Its a part of being human. It's not an important part, for me, at least. But I know it's a part of me that’s been switched off. And I know we’d all like to have it back.” Gangle never took her eye off the pen as she spoke, “Don’t let your mistakes get the better of you.”
“... Thanks, Gangle.” He paused as he watched her, “Can I stay here for a while?”
“As long as you want.”
Caine conjured his own sketch book, laid down and began his own spirals.
(Shoutout to the wikipedia page for mating calls, a random physiological study on penis anatomy, the kama sutra and shakespeare's much ado about nothing.)
