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I was listening to Rodeo (Remix) by La Paht and Flo Mili and Flo Mili's part made me think of Bruce in your SladexBruce fic. Particularly the parts where she says "I hop on it at night, I'm a menace" and "Fucking with me, he gon need sage" lmao
If Slade was into sage he would’ve been smoking out the whole Manor as he left LMAO. He almost made the sign of the cross over Bruce in case he was possessed while they were in bed. I could totally see him doing that.
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STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT | @mikelogan
A Loganstone Oneshot
Rating: E
Word Count: 4869
Summary: Mike hasn't seen Ben Stone since he resigned from the DA's office more than ten years ago, but two weeks into his own retirement from Major Case comes a reunion he never anticipated.
Frowny it just occurred to me that Clark casually managing to lock down not one but two billionaires has gotta be wild for the people in his personal life. Especially the people who have no idea who he is. Like his planet coworkers are just minding their business, not paying any attention to that clumsy, awkward-but-sweet-and-polite Clark Kent, and then the news breaks that he's in a relationship with THE Bruce Wayne and Pack Alpha to THE Lex Luthor. I know Perry's flabbers were ghasted. I know his coworkers are wondering how in the HELL he managed it lmao. Lois must find it hilarious. I need a "random daily planet worker" POV desperately 🤣🤣🤣
Oh 500%! I know I’ve been neglecting his work and Lois/Perry POVs. I’ve always wanted to write a fic with that kind of revelation, esp if someone has to come in and request THE pack alpha and everyone in the bullpen freezes as Clark sheepishly stands up and walks out. Or if Clark has to pull himself from a story because he’s publicly connected to it…
Actually I wanted Clark to be the one to write an article about Lex getting jumped in Metropolis, but if Perry and Lois know, they’d obviously keep him far away from that story. Just imagine all the stories he has to be pulled from for one reason or another — Lex, Bruce, Bruce and Lex, WE, the Wayne Pack, etc. someone in the office is trying to scoop details about the twins and Clark has a sixth sense for disappearing when they walk by…
i love writing obi-wan because imo he thinks himself into intricate circles and then goes "nvm this is STUPID! DUMB BITCH!" and forces himself to change the topic. for example:
In the first six months of working together, day-in and day-out, Obi-Wan finds that he quite likes his commander. (His commander. Such an odd turn of phrase, Obi-Wan muses. Really too possessive a thought for a Jedi to have, but it isn’t as though Cody is anyone else’s commander. An expression of familiarity, then, not ownership – he shelves the matter.)
watcher is the first tdick smut i’ve ever read and it took my by such surpriseeee omg (my partner has a tdick and) it’s crazyyy to read about the kind of sex that i have (!?) duh seems obvious but it was so hot and there’s no tdick rep in anything anywhere so i guess i wasn’t expecting it… great work baby thank you for ur service
☺️☺️☺️☺️!!!! THANK YOU!!! i have read a little bit of tdick in smut before but never in a way that quite captures what i find to be hottest about it. both as someone who likes my own tdick + my partners ☺️☺️ so i have a vested interest in good tdick erotica. I have that problem w a lot of lesbian erotica in general as a butch who likes butches- its hard to find people writing about the kind of sex i have. or the kind of people and bodies im interested in in general. Something that i am loving about writing these hollonova fics is finding what kind of language i want to use to talk about their kind of desire + sex (im still finding it ☺️ excited) I feel like in m/m theres kind of a more well worn path for how u describe sex acts in a way that makes them seem hot . and im trying to find that for the type of butchsex im interested in writing about🤗🤗🤗 So glad u enjoyed
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Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Interview with the Vampire (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Armand/Daniel Molloy, Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac, Armand/Louis de Pointe du Lac Additional Tags: Dubious Consent, Consensual but Not Safe or Sane, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Work in Progress, Suicidal Thoughts, Dom/sub Undertones, Slow Burn, no seriously like. the slowest burn Summary:
"Two years sober, two years clean, I'm still ruined, and you're still some kind of mean. You've always been so fucking mean."
Or, an exploration into what Devil's Minion could've been.
I AM WRITING THIS FANFIC BTW. IF U EVEN CARE
Currently writing Shane and Ilya on the warpath for a demented gym teacher's head
Sleeping Beauty
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83722396/chapters/234973531
It was dark now, as you flutter your eyes open. Except.. It wasn't. There were rays of sunlight in your peripheral vision, sneaking around the wall of whatever rested in front of you. Over you. It’s living.
You freeze, your vision still blurry as you hear a shaky exhale come from over you. You felt the tummy of the beast relax and the puffy fabric being worn squished against your cheek. It felt like multiple layers, maybe a suit, but your heart sinks as it or he readjusts over you to change his hand placement and the mattress sinks to your left with all his weight on his hand. His other hand cradles the side of your head, entangling his fingers into your messy hair. You hear him inhale slowly, his nose pressing into the crown of your head as he breathes the scent of your hair in. Your heart throbs frantically in your chest, unsure if to move and startle the monster you cannot see or to stay still and maybe go limp when it finally moves away. Your eyes glance around his body, spotting the silver head of a cane against the bedframe. You see that the suit appears to be a dark blue, but it’s hard to tell. You see sunlight reflecting off of a ring on the left hand he’s supporting himself with. It’s taking everything to keep your breathing slow, hoping he doesn’t notice you’re awake yet and keeping that decision in your control for once. There was no control since being admitted here to the hospital. It’s decrepit, haunting, and the director, your psychiatrist, is far too interested in you or “your case”.
“You always smell so nicely. How do you do it while imprisoned? I certainly don’t give enough for this..”
You resist a flinch when he speaks and your eyes shut with recognition of his voice. Of course it’s him. Dr. Chilton is currently smelling your hair and you feel like death is a reasonable option now. Your flimsy bed blanket is bunched at your feet, you feel it when you shift. That movement did nothing to deter him. In fact, instead of just hovering over you, you hear the mattress creak and the bed sink as he crawls onto the bed with you. On top of you. You can’t resist the whimper the escapes your throat and Dr. Chilton stiffens for a few seconds, as if assessing if you’re still asleep, then comes to the conclusion you are. His head tilts to bury his nose in your hair and you feel his stomach move against your face and chest as he smells your hair. You feel something hard, don’t think about it, pressing into your belly. His legs spread their warmth to yours as he straddles you. You swear you even feel the cold metal of his tie pin against your lips, but it’s barely registering while you hold back a want to cry, thrash, anything.
Dr. Chilton groans, “Fuck..”, then moves to rest your head back down.
You keep your eyes shut, but relaxed enough as to not cause suspicion and you pray he can’t feel or see how distressed you are in any other way. His hand that supports your neck lays your head down on the flat pillows again and you feel his eyes staring over your “sleeping face”. It feels like eternity, but you feel his hot breath hit your face with a sigh before he gets up. You feel that rub against your tummy and you hear his choked gasp, but then it’s over and he’s back on your feet next to you. You hear his cane tap against the floor. You feel relief in your stomach until you realize you don’t hear his footsteps to leave or the door. He’s still there. Leave, please leave, don’t-
Dr. Chilton leans over, his body blocking the light from intruding your closed eyes once again. He stays like that, his breaths far more controlled, then his lips press against yours. They’re soft, not chapped or bitten. His beard scratches the corner of your mouth and your cheek and it takes everything to not react from the ticklish feeling. It would make you almost giggle if you were awake, consenting, for it. His lips move against yours as if unsure, experimenting, then he pulls away suddenly. His breathing is ragged and you hear his stumbling back to quickly leave the room, slamming the door behind him. You hope this is the first time..
