back again!! hope y'all are doing well <3 another one-shot (that might turn into a pt 2???)
WC: 1.4k
Batfam x Constantine!Reader (also Lucifer Morningstar x Niece!Reader)
Description: platonic bat shenanigans. reader is the daughter of John Constantine and Zatanna called in by Batman to deal with a...magical problem.
a/n: sooo i kinda just put a bunch of things in a blender and ta-da! so reader is a magic user, daughter of Constantine and Zatanna (think justice league dark vibes) and she's on a team with nightwing (i'm thinking titans, but might switch to yj if i do more with the constantine reader thing). oh yeah and Lucifer Morningstar is also in this (inspired by dc ofc, and the show Lucifer) so yeah! honestly this is just a little for fun thing of some fun characters, nothing serious. still figuring out this writing thing. but enjoy!
disclaimer: i do not own any dc characters mentioned
You sighed as you walked up the steps of Wayne Manor, adjusting the sleeves on your sweater as you went. You had never been to the manor before, only interacting with Batman whenever your dad brought you to the Watchtower (which was pretty much never). You knew Nightwing through the Team of course, but other than that you haven’t met the plethora of other bats that you’ve heard of.
Bats had called you in on a “matter of utmost importance”. He would’ve called your dad, but Constantine was off making deals with devils, as if there weren’t enough in Gotham already. Your affinity for your dad’s magic in combination with your mom’s apparently made you the perfect emergency contact for anything suspiciously magic related happening when your parents were unavailable.
You hesitated briefly as you reached your hand up to pull on the large brass knocker. Taking a deep breath you squared your shoulders and pulled it back, knocking hard on the door before stepping back to wait.
A few seconds later, an older gentleman wearing a suit answered the door.
“You must be Miss Constantine, I am Alfred. Master Bruce told me he was expecting you. Please, come in.” The man smiled warmly, stepping aside to let you walk past him. You smiled back with a small “thanks” before taking in the foyer around you. Large, ornate paintings that probably cost more than the apartment you were renting.
A beautiful mahogany staircase was in front of you, its thick, lush red carpet leading up to the second floor. You stood in quiet awe for a second before turning back to Alfred.
“The manor is beautiful! I love the art.” you smiled genuinely, looking back up at the large paintings.
“Well thank you very much Miss Constantine. Although I must admit the frames are rather difficult to dust.” Alfred chuckles slightly as you laugh back.
“I can only imagine!”
Suddenly you hear footsteps quickly approaching you and turn to be met with a very stern Bruce Wayne, quite the contrast to the playboy persona you saw all over the papers.
“Hey Bats, I heard you had a demon problem?” you nodded up to him.
Before he could even respond you hear a voice from behind him, “Is she here about Damian? ‘Cause it’s about time someone looked at him.”
You look around behind Bruce to be met with a dark-haired man with a tuft of white sticking up from his hair, with a brown leather jacket over his wildly broad frame. You looked up at his eyes, noting the familiar shade of jade green, a sign of someone who’s taken one too many dips in a Lazarus Pit.
You furrow your brows and turn back to Bruce, “There’s not really much I can do about someone who’s been in the Lazarus Pit. Dad might know more about the side-effects than I would.”
Bruce looks at you with a slight pinch in his brow before turning back to the man behind him, who is staring at you with pure shock.
“How did you-”
“Jason? No he’s not who you’re here to look at.” Bruce grunts, eyeing you suspiciously now. Not a lot of people outside of the family knew about the true cause of Jason’s return. You nod, eyeing the man–Jason–with a look of interest.
“Your eyes,” you answer, “that’s how I knew.” You shrugged at the question hanging in the air.
Jason stares back at you, still shocked at your blunt delivery and seemingly uncaring attitude of how he came to be standing there in front of you. You turn back to Bruce, smiling brightly.
“So, where’s the patient?”
🜂🜂🜂🜂🜂🜂
“Um…well…” you stare at your friends, holding your hands over your cheeks as you try and think of a solution.
Bruce had brought you down to the Batcave, Jason following closely behind. As you followed Bruce he explained how Dick had gone on a mission with him and Raven where they ran into a few lesser demons.
But, unbeknownst to Batman, Nightwing, or Raven, one of the demons was carrying an artifact that–apparently–turned whoever was not allowed to handle this artifact into a…well..
“BAAAA!” the two black goats looked up at you, blinking rapidly.
“I’m gonna be honest, I’ve never seen this before.” you blow out a breath, putting your hands on your hips.
“Can you fix it?” the guy you’ve learned was Tim asks.
“Or not. They’re a lot more bearable like this.” Damian responds, deadpan.
You fiddled with your necklace as you stared down at the goats. The rest of the family was looking between the goats and you, not sure what to think. You had already tried a reversed esrever spell that your mom had taught you, a magic, should-reverse-anything-and-let-me-win-poker-night card that your dad had given you, but no luck.
You assess the goats carefully, each embodying one of your team members, before an idea pops in your head. You snap your fingers and turn to Bruce,
“Do you still have the artifact? Can I take a look at it?”
Bruce nods and leads you over to the artifact that had most likely been dropped after they had touched it, sitting on the middle of the floor in the Batcave, everyone giving it a wide berth.
You walk closer to it, and it appears to be a small wooden puzzle box. Nothing stands out to you until you walk around to the other side, bending down to get a closer look. There, you see a small, familiar symbol carved into the side. You gasp and stand up quickly clapping your hands together excitedly.
“Oh! He’s been looking all over for this!” you smile happily.
“Who’s been looking for what?” Tim watches you, confused.
“Is it dangerous?” Jason asks, keeping a safe distance from the box.
“It’s not dangerous; he just put a security spell on it in case it got stolen,” you turn towards Bruce, “Do you mind if I call my uncle? It’s his box, and he can reverse the spell.”
Bruce looks at you, he doesn’t recall John or Zatanna having a brother. He nods and reaches into his pocket for his phone before you cut him off,
“Oh no that won’t work. One second!” you walk over and sit in front of the box, putting your hands together in front of your face, closing your eyes. You miss the way all the bats are staring at you like you’ve grown a third head.
“What’s she doing?” Duke whispers to Tim.
“Uh…maybe a spell?” Tim responds,
“Tt. Maybe she has no clue what she’s doing, it’s just a bunch of hocus pocus” Damian snorts.
Bruce squints at your posture and the gentle smile on your face.
“It looks like..” Jason starts, head tilted in confusion,
“She’s praying.” Bruce finishes.
“Well, quite the interesting lot we have here isn’t it?” remarks a smooth, British accent from behind the bats.
Tim and Duke jump in unison, grabbing each other's arms as they look over their shoulders. Jason’s hair stands on end, the voice familiar for some odd reason he can’t seem to identify. Bruce whips his head around, slipping into a fighting stance, Damian doing the same.
In front of them stands a man in a well-tailored suit, fixing his cuff links as he smiles devilishly at the group in front of him.
“Uncle Luci!” They hear you laugh and watch as you run over to the man, giving him a big hug.
“It’s good to see you too love, when I heard you calling I just had to come see what all the fuss was about.” he hugs you back before he notices the box on the floor.
“Ah! I see you’ve found my box, I have been looking everywhere for the nasty little thing, well thank you for finding it love.” the man walks over to the box and picks it up, turning it over in his hands as he looks it over.
The bats watch this whole exchange with a mix of shock and confusion on their faces.
“I didn’t know John had a brother.” Bruce is the first to recover. You tilt your head and scrunch your nose,“What do you mean? He doesn’t.”
“You said ‘Uncle Luci’” Damian points out.
“Well yeah…he’s my uncle?” you look at them confused.
“How did he get in here?” Tim yells in shock.
“He just appeared!” Duke agrees.
Jason just eyes the man suspiciously, something nagging in the back of his mind, telling him he should recognize him.
The man tucks the box inside of his coat before walking over to the group, “Yes well of course, I shall give a proper introduction for those who seemed to have found my box…as I can see by the two barnyard animals,” the man clears his throat before holding his hand out to Bruce.
“I’m Lucifer, Lucifer Morningstar. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
summary: your horrific arranged marriage with Theodore Nott. However after one fateful evening; it turns out to not be as horrific as you both thought it was.
pairing: arrangedmarriage!theodorenott x reader
word count: 2.5k
a/n: my second fic! inspo from the song something there from beauty and the beast. i only proofread like half of this so bear with me and i apologize ahead of time for grammar/spelling mistakes. enjoy!
Theodore Nott. The snob man you were forced to marry. You both swore on everyone's graves to never fall in love. You also swore to yourself there's no way you'd fall for someone so…inconsiderate. Mean. Coarse. Unrefined. Bossy. Smug. Rude. Vulgar. Arrogant. You could go on for days thinking of insults to throw at him. You were sure he could do the same to you.
Ever since the large, luxurious wedding and moving into a private manor far from most civilization; there had been an awkward silence between the two of you. Whenever he’d arrive home for work he'd eat whatever was prepared for dinner, shower and promptly go to sleep in a separate bedroom. It wasn't necessarily ideal for either of you, but no one spoke up. Until one fateful night.
You had not been able to sleep due to the roaring thundering storm. So you started to explore parts of the manor you hadn't dared go before. The cold air was nearly suffocating. Shivering and shaking you started to turn back and return to your respected bedroom. As you turned, a large painted portrait in the corner of an abandoned room used for storage caught your eye. Naturally, out of curiosity getting the better of you, you approached it. Furrowing your eyebrows as your teeth lightly chattered. You noticed how it was clearly a mother and presumingly her son. The mother had her arms wrapped around the young boy. The mothers smile was so bright and joyous as the smile reached her eyes. However the young boy's face was unrecognizable in the painting. It looked like there were knives taken to the face, cut and clearly demolished. Yet the mother stayed in perfect condition. You continued to examine the painting. The gold detailed frame seemed fairly heavy. You traced the frame of it, looking at the bottom and nearly gasping in genuine surprise. It read: “Portrait of Lady Nott and Theodore Nott.”
You suddenly felt like you were trespassing in Theodores memories. Despite not knowing Theodore well, nearly everyone who knew the last name ‘Nott’ knew the tragic story of his mothers passing. The air felt far more suffocating than before.
Theodore had woken up from the storm outside as well and he felt an uneasy feeling. He decided to get up and investigate why he felt that way. Just like he was summoned, he practically snarled out as he saw your figure staring at the sacred painting of his mother.
“What on earth do you think you're doing?! You're not supposed to be here.”
You stumbled back, your eyes wide with fear. He seemed to notice that undeniable look of fear. He soon felt bad for snapping. Theodore never thought of himself as an angry person. He liked to believe he was well tempered. He scoffed and avoided your gaze. Though the snarl on his face wasn't subtle at all.
“I was just leaving..” you soon said, trying to flee the scene before it got any worse.
As soon as you tried to slip past him, grabbing your bicep, he could hear the chattering of your teeth and spoke in a firm tone.
“Living room. Now.” his tone was firm, yet you could've sworn you heard a slight hint of casualness. Or at least a failed attempt of it.
You both made your way downstairs, you walked into the living room and immediately settled down by the large crackling fireplace to warm yourself up. Theodore immediately walked into the kitchen, making you both some hot chocolate. He didn't really care for the sugary drink but he drank it because he knew how much you loved it and didn't like to enjoy sweet treats alone. He figured it was worth it to see you be able to enjoy something rather than reluctantly drink it while feeling bad. He mindlessly, without even thinking about it, was mixing in a dash of cinnamon, a drop of peppermint extract and topping it with whipped cream. He stared at the decked out mug and sighed to himself. He was thinking over the fact he had accidentally memorized your drink preferences. Something he hadn't even bothered to do with his past girlfriends despite how they always begged him for the bare minimum, like memorizing their drink order. He tried to convince himself he didn't care about you as much as he unconsciously seemed to.
He took the two mugs into the living room. As soon as he saw you, curled up by the fireplace, he suddenly felt a soft pang in his chest that throbbed through his left arm. Not a violent throb he used to feel with his ex girlfriends, but a gentle, almost soothing throb. Like your presence in his life. Soft, yet unforgettable, truly unmistakable.
He moved to sit next to you, sitting crisscrossed. His cheeks felt a bit warm as he handed you your mug of hot chocolate. You immediately accepted it gratefully.
“Thank you..” as you took a small sip from the drink, you let out a soft hum, looking over at him surprised. You hadn't expected him to know your drink order. “Cinnamon and peppermint?” you questioned him, yet you both knew the answer.
“oh–..um, yeah. Do you not like it?” he asked, immediately cursing himself for asking. He repeated in his head that he didn't care if you liked it or not.
“What? No. I love it..just didn't expect you to know that I did like it.” you replied honestly, internally wincing as you recognized how harsh it might sound.
He shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. Staring at the fire ahead. Desperately not trying to make eye contact as he could feel your eyes on him. He felt weak under your gaze, he turned to see you and spoke “Honestly, I didn't either. Guess we were both wrong.”
You laughed weakly, tilting your head as you mirrored his actions, shrugging your shoulders. Taking a long sip of your hot chocolate, accidentally leaving a whipped cream mustache right above your upper lip. “Not the first time I've been wrong and certainly not the last.”
Your laugh sent what felt like an internal earthquake through him, his pupils dilated and his stomach felt all twisty and flipping. He nearly cracked a smile but quickly caught himself before he did. He hesitantly brought his thumb up to your mouth and wiped the white mustache away. He felt like a schoolboy again when he met your gaze.
He turned to look at the fire ahead again. He couldn't handle looking at your face anymore. It made him feel good. Too good. If that was even possible. But he hated it. He hated the way you were able to make him feel that way. All he wanted out of an arranged marriage was a wife he could ignore. He had too much heartbreak in his life to want someone like you in his life. Because he was afraid. Afraid he'd meet someone like you, someone so captivating and angel-like. Someone that was capable of flipping his whole dark and dreadful life into a life of joy and genuine connection. He had always believed that love always came at a price and he'd never be able to get something like that for free. And if he did? If he foolishly believed that someone would give it to him? It would cost him everything. Or at least that's what his father taught him growing up.
He suddenly broke the silence, still looking straight ahead as he spoke. Too afraid to see your reaction to his words.
“My mother married my father.” he shook his head and spoke again, clarifying “That's a stupidly obvious sentence. What I meant was…My wonderful, caring, mother married my wretched, horrible father. She died because of that mistake. She died because she tried to love something broken. And you….you're making that same mistake. And I can't let you do that.”
You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at his words. You spoke up, “What same mistake? I don't understand.”
He scoffed, as if it was so obvious. “Isn't it clear? I'm a horrible person. I've done things I'm not proud of. I've stared into the eyes of dead people. Seen things that most people would be traumatized by. You can't stay with me. You need to go, marry some good guy that's able to give you what you need. I'm not able to give you what you deserve.”
That was it. The one thing you had prayed and begged the universe to send you. But now that the opportunity was here to leave him and find a real connection? You were second guessing everything you had felt in the past.
“No.” you stated, your voice firm and nearly demanding him to give up this debate.
His head shot towards you, his thick eyebrows furrowing, nearly angry at you for not taking the opportunity to run from him. Far, far away so he'd never be able to get attached to your wonderful self. “No? This isn't up for discussion. You can't stay. I won't let you.”
You furrowed your own eyebrows and shot back “What are you gonna do? Throw me out on my ass?”
You both knew he wouldn't dare do that to anyone, and certainly not you. He knew how it felt to be thrown out on his ass. Literally. His father had kicked him out after an argument one summer and had to stay with the Malfoys until his father let him come back.
Theodore spoke, more demanding than before “You…you can't. We can't. I'm the beast in this situation. You should be running far away! You have no idea what I'm capable of!”
Your heart ached as he called himself a beast. Your eyebrow unfurrowed and your gaze softened “A beast…? No…you're human. Hurt, yes. But certainly not a beast. As for what you're capable of? I know that you're capable of being a good friend. A good listener. You're able to smoke more than what I could in a lifetime, which has to be some sort of achievement somewhere.”
As you listed off those things he sighed, he looked at you, he could feel his walls around his heart he had spent years putting up were slowly cracking.
“You're beauty and I'm the beast. We all know how that story ends.”
You shrugged your shoulders and said in a matter-of-fact tone “yeah, they end up happy and break the curse. For a better analogy, you could've used belle and gaston.”
Theo sighed, shaking his head and laughing faintly despite the tension in the air “God, you're such a nerd. A cute one, though.”
His cheeks flushed as he heard what he called you, immediately regretting it but not able to take it back. You smiled and spoke in a very appreciative tone, not teasing him for complementing you like his ex used to do which he was so annoyed by.
“Thank you, Theo.”
He groaned softly and muttered his response “Yeah, whatever..you're welcome.”
As you smiled at him, staring at his side profile, watching him stare into the crackling fire. You felt a small flicker in your chest. Like the burning of something new. There was something there. New, and a bit alarming.
You reached down to place down your hot chocolate mug. Accidentally brushing his hand which moved down at the same time to pick his own mug up. You glanced at him, and looked away. His gaze on their hands which touched, after you happened to look away, he glanced your way. Looking at your side profile and promptly looking back at the fire, as the silence bared down on them, he couldn't help but mull over the fact you hadnt shuddered at his paw hand. But, no. It can't be. He’ll just ignore. But you'd never looked at him that way before, so soft..almost loving.
True, that Theo was no prince charming, but he certainly wasn't a beast. There was something in him that you simply didn't see. Or had been too ignorant to see in the past. Being too busy hating him for a wedding he didn't have a choice in either.
Perhaps there's something there that wasn't there before.
in which someone insults you infront of husband!sukuna, but you are the farthest thing from y/n coded
cw : suggestiveness, sukuna is OVULATING and he needs it bad, lots of cuss words, some demeaning terms, mentions of.. unconventional pregnancy.. just a silly crackfic, reader is a bad bitch rocking louboutins
AN : also not proofread cuz idgaf (the only reason i wrote this was for the last line)
it was obvious the skank in the corner of the work party hadn’t meant for you to hear her insult, it was cowardly. they were words you utter of someones name when you are positive they arent nearby. well, this one was a little stupid, you assumed. not a whole lot going on upstairs. she thought it was appropriate to shoot a crude, vile, frankly nasty comment at you during a work party. and the icing on the cake? it was infront of your husband, sukuna. he was a man you held utmost respect for, and he held even more respect for you. so no, you would not let this slide.
“god, look at her in that dress. she looks huge. how could she embarrass her husband like that?”
it was not a mouthful of words, only one or two sentences, packed with insults. the minute the words grace your ears, you don’t freeze. you don’t look up at the ground and tear up. you don’t keep the sharp, yet steady look on your face for show. because it wasn’t pretend, you just really never gave a fuck. hell, the words didn’t even bruise your ego. you just cocked a brow, the corner of your lips twitching slightly into something that’s not quite a smile, not quite a sheepish grin. no. it was something.. uncomfortable. something silent.
and you weren’t keeping your composure solely because your big ego was fueling you, no. you were unaffected because her words simply had no truth to them. sure, you were on the bigger side. but you filled out… nice, to say the least. full breasts, soft and plump hips. sure, you used to be obsessed with the reflection that you would dread to face in the mirror, obsessed with the measurement of your waist. but now? you just really do not care.
it’s clear that your dear husband also hears the words, because his jaw goes slack. he simply does not bother hiding the absolute look of pure, unadulterated disgust on his face. he was in the middle of a conversation with one of his colleagues, uraume, but he went silent. his jaw ticked once he finally realized he needed to shut it. he set his wine glass down, getting ready to stomp over there and rip that bitch a new one. but, sukuna is taking one glance at your face, and he grins. he knows that look.
you were.. bold. bold, but never lacking class. that’s one of your traits he liked to take pride in.
he doesn’t even try to stop you, just keeping that same proud grin on his face as you curtly spin on your red-bottoms and walk calmy to the corner where the perpetrator resides. when she sees you, her eyes go wide. she chokes on her spit slightly, straightening up immediately. you bite back a scoff. it was pathetic. now, by no means did you have a superiority complex, but.. she was a mere intern at the business firm you managed. who does she think she is?
“hi-…” you cut yourself off, narrowing your eyes pitifully to observe the name on her name tag. her face flushed in pure embarrassment, even more so when she looks up behind you to see sukuna, just standing there. “hi, louisa. i couldn’t help but over hear a few words you said about me, my looks in particular.”
you fight the urge to laugh. “now, im not the type to be over-confrontational. by no means do i have a big head. but — quite frankly, your words are nothing less of uncouth.” you couldn’t help but spit the last word, a sickeningly sweet smile on your face. her frame goes rigid, and her friend doesnt even try to hide how fast she scurries away.
“do not get me wrong, i’m not offended. i would be very disappointed if you assumed that, if you thought so little of me. but, i do not necessarily enjoy hearing my name being harassed by a skank with a cuckold for a husband. honestly , it’s embarrassing, if you were to ask me. your bottom teeth look oddly similar to the kraft mac n cheese i cook my husband, and im not sure how yours can bear you.”
you look behind you briefly, mimicking the smile on your husbands face, you latch onto his arm sweetly. he almost grins wider once he hears the last part. hell yeah, you cooked him kraft mac n cheese. and hell yeah he ate every ounce of it. he was completely confident in his masculinity. louisa is shaking. literally trembling, she looks as if her dog just got massacred. you almost felt bad. almost.
“now, mrs. louisa, i mean no disrespect whatsoever. i very kindly ask that if you have a problem with the clothing i wear and how much you believe im.. whats the word you used… ah! yes - embarrassing my husband — i ask that you come to me instead of gossiping like a schoolgirl. i hope you enjoy the party!”
and then you walk away without another word, arm intertwined with sukunas. the party will go on, and louisa will most likely lose her job. you fail to notice sukunas hardening member straining against his work slacks. lord, the things you do to him.
once you guys finish up the conversation with uraume, you two head to a corner of your own, free of whiny bitches. sukuna has been eyeing you all night, of course, his eyes are always on you. but even more since you told the intern off. he liked seeing you aggressive, it reminded him of himself. he was so incredibly turned on right now, and he had no problem announcing it. well.. thats a lie. he USUALLY had no problem announcing it.
leaning down, his chapped lips brush your ear and he lets out a shaky breath. was he.. nervous? he brushes the hair off of one side of your neck to the other, an action that undoubtedly makes you shiver.
“y’know… i might have to take you up on your offer from yesterday.” he grumbles, his voice laced with need and embarrassment he cant contain.
humming in slight confusion , you furrow your perfectly done brows and crane your neck to look at him, a small pout on your lips. he groans, disappointed you cant read his mind, leaning in so his nose is almost against yours. and lord, maybe somebody slipped your husband aphrodisiacs, because the next words that leave his mouth almost cause you to have a brain contusion from laughter.
✮ I did it again. Can’t tell if everything I write is cringe. Yikes. ✮
MDNI 18+
✎ SUMMARY: Dean shares an embarrassing confession with you—somehow, you don’t exactly find it “embarrassing” (Thank you Rhonda Hurley the freaks say in unison)
Dean would never forget her. He had been nineteen and somehow managed to bag a fiery older chick, who he thought was way out of his league—little did he know she was into…some pretty weird stuff.
But Dean liked to dabble in new things. Especially if it meant making some chick happy (or horny). So…he tried it out.
Pink, satiny, panties.
Yeah.
And Dean would take the fact that he kind of liked trying them on—to the grave.
Knowing his own luck he can’t say he’s too surprised when the confession comes out prematurely, and to you of all people. He had been way too drunk and exchanging embarrassing stories was like asking for disaster.
He watches as you go weirdly quiet at the barstool beside him. He traces the ridges of his beer bottle nervously. Oh fuck. He said wayyy too much. He might have to go out back behind the bar and shoot himself with the Colt.
You aren’t entirely sure what to say. He has rendered you nonverbal with that confession. It isn’t that you’re judging him, oh no. The issue lies in the fact that picturing such a thing has you crossing your legs and clenching your thighs. You consider you may have lost it, but Dean can just…pull anything off. Make anything sound so hot, it wasn’t fair.
He opens his mouth to spew out some bullshit like ‘just kidding!’ but you interjected before he could get the words out. “Well…you wouldn’t believe this time I—“ He doesn’t even register the rest of what you’re saying, only completely and utterly relieved you’ve decided to glaze over the most horrifying confession of his life that will haunt him for years to come. Unbeknownst to Dean, you have that piece of information filed away in your spank bank.
Maybe it was wrong. Having your good friend in your spank bank, but Dean was just as much a freak as you, whether he’s surfing bustyasianbeauties.com or perusing raunchy magazines. Having justified it to yourself mentally, you take a swig of your beer, and the night carries on easily. Tipsy conversation flowing between you both.
━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━
Dean failed to include a crucial bit of information to his confession. Not only the fact that he liked it, the fact that he liked it…a little too much. The nights he allowed himself to indulge in slipping on some panties, were the nights he was cumming so hard he forgot his own name. It was the memory of it that had his head spinning from how fast he started to chub up.
The feeling of Rhonda pulling at his hair, his cock head peering out the waistband of those too-small-too-tight undergarments. The glisten of his pre-cum staining the silky smooth fabric, the taut fabric scrunching with every jostle of his hips into the almost-nothing pressure, Rhonda pressing her hand to his face to obstruct a means of oxygen, playing with his breath like a toy, running her thumb over his weeping dick till he was the one weeping.
Yeah, Dean’s not sleeping till he gets rid of the hard-on he just gave himself.
He rolls over, pushing himself up off the cushy blankets of the motel bed. He stands up, erratically whipping his head over his shoulder to ensure the door—leading to where you’re sleeping—is still shut. He’s jacked it to the thought of you walking in on him, but that happening right now? He might die of shame. Dean was a proud man, but he also had some dignity (and sought after masculinity like no other). He kneels down beside his duffel bag and rummages around. He feels like a druggie crawling back to their stash.
He grabs a pair of pale green, satin panties, with the daintiest of dainty bows in the center of the lacy waistband. He obtained the item at random after so much pacing outside of a Victoria’s Secret. Does being into this make me a woman? Is it gay? God, I’m pathetic. A mere glimpse into the turmoil he felt standing outside the hot pink and frilly filled store. He thinks he may have blacked out and somewhere along that timeline between standing outside the store and walking out with a pink and black bag, purchased the item. Kinky bastard.
Just letting the silk run through his grasp like liquid was enough to make his dick twitch in his boxerbriefs. He checks your door one last time (for good measure) before stripping as quietly as possible and pulling the panties on. Sneaking around like he’s nineteen all over again. The cool smooth garment slides up over his legs, he looks down, just the sight of his cock’s outline has his face feeling a hundred degrees warmer. He situated the waist band to follow the line of his hip bones, the head of his cock already leaking, making an indecent wet spot into the fair fabric.
Any slight shift or movement has the silk sliding over his dick. So good, yet not enough, and he loved it that way. Skirting along the edge of ecstasy.
He has no blood left in his brain to feel an ounce of shame any longer. Dean just barely grazes his thumb, feather light down his length, a shuddering sigh (higher pitched than he would’ve liked) escapes him. Slowly he walks back, the backs of his knees knocking the edge of the mattress and he sits down, that unrelenting fabric constricting over his balls. “Oh, fuck…” His breath halts and he casts yet another paranoid glance over his shoulder.
He really should stay quiet.
Damn these cheap motels and their paper thin walls.
His hands are splayed out on his tense thighs, almost scared to touch. Slowly sliding them up, goosebumps trailing in their wake, he slides his leftie over the obscene bulge in the midst of sage green. His right hand tweaks his nipple. Something Rhonda did. Still just as good. Oh fuuuck. He can’t even tell if he swore out loud or not.
He wills his hips to stay still, remembering how Rhonda forced his hips down, making him take it. Suddenly in his mind’s eye, Rhonda’s face is replaced with yours. Weird. Dean Doesn’t know why that happened, but another bead of pre drips down to taint his quivering abdomen at the thought. On second thought, he does know why. He absolutely knows why. He wants you so bad, the way your lips had closed down around the rim of your beer earlier that night. Your deft hands caressing the neck of the bottle how he wished you’d caress his.
Wearing your panties. Letting you mouth at the fabric until he’s sobbing and shaking and begging for more.
“Oh…oh shit—“ He gasps when his thumb circles over his flushed red tip, he knows it was out loud this time. He can’t find it within himself to care. Suddenly he’s whimpering your name. He can’t believe he’s doing this, he can’t believe he’s thinking about you—actually he can, but that’s besides the point—He can’t believe how turned on this is making him, he could fuck a hole in the wall from how bad he just needs to satiate the ache of his dick, quell the need to thrust into something with reckless abandon.
He fists around his panty-clad cock and jerks it over the fabric, fucking up into his hand, head hanging low, face contorted into an expression of pathetic pleasure.
He doesn’t even hear the door open over the pounding of his own heart in his ears.
Damn these cheap motels and their paper thin walls.
You had first walked out because he sounded like he was in pain. Whispering your name with hoarse undertones, voice trembling like the man was on the brink of tears. What kept you glued there watching was the sight of Dean’s knees jostling as he jerked into his hand in pale green panties, complimenting his pale green eyes that were currently screwed shut and almost brimming with tears, his teeth biting into his kissable bottom lip so hard you think he may break skin.
“Oh fuck…oh fuck…oh—fuck!” The final expletive is shocked out of him in a strained shout when he opens his eyes and sees you staring at him in this incriminating state. “I- you…oh, fuck me-…I mean—“ He’s fumbling for words trying to rush the blood back to his brain. Did you hear him say your name? Did you see the panties? How could you not? Why were you staring at him like that?
Abruptly, the questions stop, because holy shit you’re walking over to him and you’re straddling his lap and his mouth is hanging open with a startled choked whine and you’re covering his mouth telling him ‘Shhh’. His hips jolt up into you, and to his perverse delight he finds that you’re only in underwear and a t-shirt. Less obstacles.
“Oh, god, sweetheart—“ His hands clamp down onto your hips holding you down over him out of pure desperation. That gives you a pretty clear go-ahead that he wants this. You let him fuck up into you, slick fabric on slick fabric, sliding and pushing and pulling all at once. The bed creaks beneath you two, sweat beading on his temple, your cunt drooling in your own panties at the feel of his bulge.
His teeth graze over your collarbone as he pants into your skin, “Need- need you. Need this.” He rasps, nails digging into your flesh with a painfully good sting. “Ff- feels so goood…” He babbles out nonsensical praise. Your nails dig into his cheeks, forcing him to open his eyes and look at you. A wrecked little sob escapes his throat. You’ve never seen the rough and tough hunter look so pathetic. You love it.
You halt in the hurried animalistic grinding and slide the panties down to bunch at the base of his dripping cock, they skirt along his perineum and cup his balls, his whole body buzzes with need. His eyes widened exponentially as you started sliding your panties to the side.
“Oh, fuck, yes.” He practically hisses out under his breath. You start to slide down, wet upon wet, clamping down on him, his length filling you up and hitting that spongy spot that had your eyes rolling back. His hands slide up your waist, groping at your tits, rolling your pebbled nipples between his fingers and you feel sparks of arousal dance along your skin. The silk of his panties sticking to the plush of your ass.
“Fuck me, Dean.” You whisper those three words and god he’s like an animal, thrusting up into you slow and deep, like a good boy. all while clinging onto you for dear life, hands gripping at your waist. His hand slides down, thumb brushing over that bundle of nerves that has your pussy clenching and hips jerking.
“So. fucking. good.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, the movements are becoming erratic and quick. He feels his climax building up quick, he can tell from the way your walls tense and constrict around him, “Please, please…” Like the snap of a band you come around him after another swipe over your clit. You mewl a praise in his ear, hand locking into his hair tugging him so close, his face burrows into your neck. He gasps against your skin, nose running up the column of your throat and his hips jerk up, a guttural sound punched out of him.
You feel his cock twitch within you, his cum spilling into you, filling you up. His vision whites out. He doesn’t stop. The sensations are sharp and intensified from the overstimulation but he doesn’t want this to end just yet. He’s seen your birth control pills on the motel bathroom countertop, he trusts it.
He fucks up into you with little rolls of his pelvis, his hand sliding to your abdomen, pressing down to watch the little bump, bump, bump of his cock in you. He keeps his dick there with a perfectly pathetic whimper, thats more of a choppy sigh.
Bless these cheap motels and their paper thin walls.
A/N: Second fic ever! Thanks anon for this request! I've been wanting to get more into writing, sorry if this isn't the best😓
The diner was quiet when you entered, the midday rush having emptied out by that time. It was at the counter where you found Jess, cleaning some coffee spilled by a careless diner patron earlier in the day. Jess’s shift should be over soon, and time for your weekly study session. What had started as Luke convincing you to help Jess not fail senior year, had weirdly developed into a friendship. Total opposites, you and him. Jess, who was rude to everyone, always snappy and guarded. You, however, said hi to everyone you passed, always wearing your heart on your sleeve. The dynamic was odd, but it worked for you two, you even managed to bring some softness out of Jess’s cold heart, though he’d never admit that. That friendship had then developed further, you two catching feelings for each other. Well, you caught feelings; Jess would never admit that he likes you as more than a friend, that you make him want to be better.
Back to now, you spot Jess at the counter and take a seat on the barstool on the opposite side. “Figured we could start with history, since the test is tomorrow,” you make your presence known–not like Jess didn’t notice you as soon as you entered the diner–
“Is that how we start conversations now?” Jess teases with a small smirk as he glances up, “No ‘hi’ or ‘hello’?”
“Hi, hello, we’re starting with history,” you quip back as you playfully roll your eyes and take your notebook out of your bag, setting it on the counter between you two. Jess rolls his eyes with a small huff, but accepts his fate nonetheless. “So, the Vietnam war started in what year?” you prompt him as you look up at him.
Jess, ever the one to avoid actual work, decides to switch the subject. “Hey, I heard that Rory and Dean broke up,” he grins.
“And that relates to the Vietnam war, how?” you furrow your brows, already annoyed with his diversion.
He shrugs, “Well, she’s single now. Think I can get in there?” That statement alone makes your stomach churn. The thought of Jess with anyone who isn’t you, especially perfect Rory Gilmore, didn’t sit right with you. But, since you were too much of a wuss to tell him how you feel, you had to deal with Jess’s teenage boyism.
“No, now c’mon Jess, focus. Vietnam war started in what year?” A small frown graces your features as you try to redirect the focus to more pleasant topics. Well, maybe the war wasn’t pleasant, but right now it’s better than thinking about Rory and Jess…you mentally shudder at the thought.
“1955, now why are you adamant that I don’t have a chance?” Jess tilts his head as he gazes at you, searching your face for anything that might give away your thoughts.
You huff softly in annoyance, “It doesn’t matter. What was the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution?” You try, and fail, to redirect the conversation back to history.
“Are you jealous?” Jess doesn’t even attempt to answer your question about the war. His eyes bore into yours, trying to figure you out. Your cheeks burn against your will, “That’s stupid. C’mon Jess, focus. If you don’t pass this test, you fail the class.” But Jess doesn’t focus, he doesn’t remove his gaze from your face. “Why are you jealous?”
The words catch you off guard, your breath hitching as your eyes widen. “I…I’m not jealous.” Your words are forced. “Bullshit,” Jess immediately catches. “You totally are, what, it’s not like we’re dating”
Ow.
The words sting, even he silently regrets them. “Yeah…we’re not.” Your voice is quiet as you stare at him. If you say something, you’ll regret it. He doesn’t like you, he just said he likes Rory. The voice in your head whispers little doubts, “But y’know what Jess? I wish we were, dating that is. I mean, we’ve spent all this time together. You let me into those twelve foot walls you keep up. We…we’re different. Aren’t we?” A hint of vulnerability creeps into your tone at the end, insecurity quickly slipping in as you realize what you just said, what you just confessed.
Jess stares at you, slightly wide eyed. “You like me? Like, as more than a friend?”
Its too late to go back, you nod your head, “Yeah, I do”
He continues to stare at you, before a small smirk stretches across his face and he lets out a small chuckle. His reaction shocks you, he finds this funny. He finds you funny. He doesn’t like you-
“I like you too,”
What? Your eyes are as wide as saucers as you stare at him. Did he? Those words…came from him?
“I didn’t think you would like me that way,” he admits softly. “I mean, I know my reputation around here. You’re too good for me, too smart, too nice, too…perfect…” he exhales softly.
“Jess…I…you…” Your brain tries to wrap itself around his confession. The words don’t seem to come out as your mind flies, but one thought makes itself present, kiss him idiot. So you do, you grab the collar of his shirt and smash your lips against his. He stiffens for a moment, shocked at your action, before he relaxes. His eyes close as he kisses you back, his hands cupping your cheeks as he pours his unsaid words into this kiss.
You both break away for air, foreheads still together as you laugh softly. “You’re an idiot,” you murmur softly. He chuckles quietly, about to respond before something, or someone, hits the back of his head. You two quickly break apart as he turns around, Luke. “Get back to work, kid. I ain’t payin’ you to sit here and makeout.” His words are firm, but you can see the teasing glint in his eye and the small smile of happiness now that Jess finally pulled his head out of his ass.
Jess huffs softly before turning his gaze back to you, “We um, can finish this after my shift,” he smiles.
“Yeah, yeah. After your shift,” you return his smile as you return your gaze to your notebook, history is the last thing on your mind right now.
you leapt from crumbling bridges (watching cityscapes turn to dust)
Chapter 1: I've got the strangest feelin'
Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Fandoms:
Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics)
Relationships:
Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Characters:
Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson
Additional Tags:
Damian Wayne-centric, Hurt/Comfort, the comfort comes very very later tho, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Angst, Damian Wayne is Robin, Hurt Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, i think, not sure if this qualifies, Not Beta Read, How Do I Tag, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, i guess, Dimension Travel, Self-Hatred, Self-Blaming Damian Wayne, Kinda, Depression, Not explicitly mentioned, but i think its understandable, im not tagging the damian wayne has a heart, cuz, i saw this tmublr post, that said tagging that, implies he doesn't normally have a heart, AND I FELT THAT, SO
Language:
Summary:
English
Now, Damian wasn’t one to be easily scared, normally. But something about the sudden change in the atmosphere was making him vaguely uncomfortable — it felt eerie. The Batcave was chilly as it is, but now, the air had turned frigid. He could hear a low buzz of static as he hesitantly neared the computer. But before he could even lift a finger, the screen suddenly flashed a bright white, and Damian was momentarily blinded by the intense glow.
When he recovered his sight, Damian found himself standing on a deserted Gotham street. Okay, weird. But as he looked around, he realized, with a growing pit of dread in his stomach, this was not the Gotham he knew.
Notes:
Or: Dami feels unloved by his family and hates himself. Unrelated: he gets transported to a different dimension where he has to face challenges — both emotional and material — as he fights to get back to his own world.
this was meant to be a one-shot dick and dami hurt/comfort but I procrastinated for so long that I lost the plot and it devolved into wtvr this is
Fic name from: Apocalypse by Cigarettes after Sex
Chapter name from: Past Lives by Slushii, sapientdream
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Formula 1 RPF
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri
Characters: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri
Additional Tags: Lando's POV, landoscar, lando's discovery, fixed thought, Messing up, the usual lando, Introspection, lando's soul, deep fears, things that get out of hand
Series: Part 2 of You complete me
Summary:
"But the truth is I like pleasing him. It makes me want to be better, more deserving of his special affection. Because now I think I don't deserve him, that he's obsessed on smoke, on something only seemingly beautiful."
Lando discovers that Oscar likes him and can't stop thinking about it; it becomes an obsession and begins to torment him until he goes too far.
