#//did he read too much into the duct tape? maybe. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

caxde · 9 months ago

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You said I can send requests and I'm gonna take you up on that offer, my friend.

I'm still in my SoftDad!Eddie brain rot. I'm rolling with the "Dada's Princess" here and imagining little Lua making a flower crown for Princess. Or them making them together to both be "Dada's Princess". Because I knowwwww just the sight of it would make Eddie just melt into a puddle.

Also, love your writing and your beautiful mind for creating such a cute story so far!

💜

Omg thank you soo much <33 i love getting request so this is ideal i ran with the flower crowns idea hope you like it <33 feel free to request anything you like!

bright eyes universe drabble ~1.6k girl!dad eddie

Spring was in full bloom.

You had a day off, and you decided to sleep in, letting the sun rays that sneak in through your window slowly wake you up. It was recomforting, the mundane feeling of it all.

So you enjoyed a hot long shower, singing every song that played on the tape that Eddie had gifted you as a thank you to watching over Lua. It had a little of them both, Bowie and The Smiths had been Lua’s idea -that much was clear- Metallica and Iron Maiden had to be his, but the Led Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac -you thought- Eddie had chosen because he had heard you singing them when you didn’t even notice you were doing so. A level of attention you were just realising now, in that moment as the hot water hitted your sore back.

A slow morning called for a hot tea, like the ones you used to make for yourself before you had any real responsibilities.

Your hair still somehow wet, brushed away from your face, and that gow that a much needed shower left on your face, you felt clean, soft from once. You grabbed the first clean top that was on your folded laundry pile, a baby blue colour that complimented your skin, some washed up dark jeans to cover your legs.

You walked to your porch, wanting to let your hair dry while you just drank your cup.

Little did you know, a little surprised waited in your door.

A letter was hanging on your door, with a small yet thick piece of duct tape.

Lilac drawings of misshaped stars and hearts decorated the page.

It read:

“Duchess Lua of the mighty Hawkins Trailer Park would like to invite Princess to her court outing this afternoon. We shall have a refreshing picnic by the lake, please, confirm your assistance with Eddie the Once Banished.

Sincerely your dearest friend, Duchess Lua Munson.”

It made you giggle, and blush at the same time. You could tell Eddie had put some thought into it, and the drawings Lua had made to the best of her ability made you want to keep this letter forever.

Which you did, you folded neatly, letting it rest on your bedside table, before you found a place in your wall to hang it on.

You walked back up. The cup let out a clicking sound when the little spoon made contact with it, once you set it down into the floor.

You sat on the little steps, writing on your little pad that was pressed against your thighs, a response that was just as grandiose as the ask had been.

It read:

“Princess is more than happy to accept her Duchess Lua Munson invitation, and would like to know at what time she’s expected to arrive at her delightful trailer for the outing. Princess would like to inform Lady Munson that she’s excited to see her, and will make a treat for the picnic.”

You decided to leave a little red kiss as your signature. A little present that Eddie will cherish for a longer time that you had thought.

A stupid thought crossed your brain -more than a thought, an image- the two letters resting side by side, the paper now turning yellow, framed on a wall that the both of you share, Lua’s older now, maybe not the only daughter.

You had to shake your head, so you wouldn’t get too caught into the dream, snap back into reality.

Maybe it was stupid, or a bit childish but you were excited nonetheless. You switched your jeans for a flowy white sundress, the skirt reached your knees, the fabric had a faded small flower print all over. It was girly, but it was also spring, and for once, you didn’t care.

Your hair was free of any ponytails, or buns or anything like that, and it felt good to let it fall down, being so used to pushing it away from your face when you were working.

Eddie was a bit lost in you, not really focusing on what he should.

Lua was holding your hand, and you both were walking in front of him. He was holding the bags with the food and everything you had prepared -with the added things he already had- and he let himself be lost onto the fantasy.

Lua was telling you about the book he had just started reading for her as a bedtime story, and you kept asking questions, and she yapped in her mumbling voice as much and as excitedly as she could. He saw himself in her in those moments, when her tongue moved faster than her brain and she’d choke on her own words. Her free hand swanged in the air, and when she got caught on a word, she touched it, as a way to comfort herself. Eddie was starting to struggle to not tell you right there how he was feeling. How he was starting to get those scary big feelings. How he could actually see a life with you in it.

Eddie didn’t want to scare you.

So when you got close enough to the Lover’s Lake, and while you and Lua looked around for some spring flowers, he set the cloth down, the little sandwiches he had made on one side, chips for Lua, and a bit of cheese that you liked on the left side. The sponge cake you baked, and the rest of your -half eaten- chocolate bar on the right side. He got the drinks, begging you not to spend more things.

He got a thermos of your favourite tea -he had finally learned how to make it and was eager to see your reaction- water and chocolate milk for Lua, and soda for him. Though deep down he knew he’d end up drinking your tea.

He opened his arms as soon as he saw Lua running to him, her arms opened, her fist holding tightly to the wildflowers she had picked, you followed her closely, your laughter filling the air in his lungs.

You kept laughing, everytime Eddie found something new to do, just so he could hear you. And in consequence, Lua chuckled along. From afar, it already looked out of a picture book, but what he couldn’t quite understand is how it felt like it too.

“Dada?” Lua asked, once she had finished her piece of cake, spinning around so she could look at him.

“Yeah?”

“Can you braid?” She pointed at her hair, a question he had to avoid a bit too often.

“Bug, I’m rubbish at it, you know it.” He tried to plead with her, once again his voice gave in, breaking a bit. He had a tendency to do that when he had to tell her no, as if it would soften the blow.

“Please?” She asked again, her eyebrows raising just like he did when he was asking for something he deeply wanted. You had seen that look when he didn’t want you to leave, or he wanted another kiss. With a soft giggle, you looked at the little scene, hoping to not intrude too much.

“I can, if uh… if that’s okay.” Lua cheered and sat on your lap before you even knew if it was okay or not.

You knew it was, Eddie had that thank you look on his face.

He decided to do what he actually had learned, way back when he wasn’t living here, back when his mother lived. He knotted some of the wildflowers together, concertraing enough on it that his tongue covered his top lip, hearing his mother's voice singing low one to the top and knot over and over in his head.

For once it wasn’t a painful memory.

Rather a joyful one.

Now it was his two little princesses and his mother’s voice.

He placed it on top of your head, a kiss on your temple following it shortly after.

“What’d you do?” You asked, touching your head with care.

“Your crown, you needed one.” He points out, Lua’s eyes widened as she saw it.

“No braid but yes crown?” She asked, not really believing the ability his dad had been hiding from her.

“You know what we can do?” You asked her, trying to distract them both from the way your blood rushed to your cheeks. “Look.” You whispered it to her, as if it were a secret you both shared.

You started grabbing the wildflowers that were scattered around the cloth, placing the stems in between the knots of her braids, small flowers blooming from her hair. As soon as Lua realised what you did, her hand touching it with as much care as she could gather she started screeching from laughter, a type of laugh that not only warmed you, but Eddie as well.

She kind of jumped, though it felt more like a push, to your arms, screaming thank you repetitively, her excitement evident in her tone and gesture.

Eddie just looked at the both of you, his little dream -much similar to yours, even if you didn’t know- nearing the reality right in front of him.

You whispered to him, still holding Lua close to you “You’re full of surprises, huh?”

“Anything for my girls.” The sincerity in which he said it made you blush, the widest smile on your face as you shook your head at him.

“Idiot” You mouthed, no actual sound coming from you, careful that she wouldn’t hear a bad word.

He inched closer to you, leaving a kiss on the highest point of your cheek, right next to your ear.

“Hopefully yours.” He whispered.

A promise he intended to keep.

requests! are open

@took-me-hours-to-steal-those @edens-vices-art @micheledawn1975 @peachystenbrough @mewchiili @bylermaxmayfield @yujyujj @honeymoonmunsonn @paleidiot @ali-r3n @sunshineandwitchery @supernaturalstilinski @womencriedpower @saramelaniemoon @cultish-corner @babyloutattoo89 @witchwolflea @serenadingtigers @readergf @guineveresghost @saramelaniemoon @angel-upon

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kayleighwinchester · 7 months ago

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Long Story

((Oh my god, I meant to post something on the 3rd and the 4th for @artyandink's Jensen-a-Thon and life just said 'mmm, no' - but here we are, my second entry! Another Dean x Reader! This can be read separately of Rocks and Rom Coms, but does follow the same reader insert, so they can definitely be read together! More coming soon! I swear to God, if this turns into an actual series... TW for mild mentions of injuries/blood.))

He had a key to your house.

Dean Winchester was one of three people (besides yourself, of course) that had a key: your mother, who lived across the country, over a day’s drive away in sunny, humid Florida; your best friend, who only really came over to your place for your once-monthly girls’ night; and Dean Winchester, who never, ever actually used the thing, preferring, god only knew why (he claimed it was more “romantic, or somethin’”, his exact words, not yours), to come in your bedroom window.

It was stupid, and maybe even a little dangerous – the half-dead tree he used to actually get up to the second story was one good thunderstorm away from falling, and the house itself was so old that you swore it was held together with duct tape and way too many instances of you calling your grandfather, who had built the house before your mother was even born, for advice and willing the house to stay in one piece.

With that in mind, you were thoroughly confused when, in the middle of the night, as you were making yourself a snack in the kitchen, you heard a key in the lock – or, well, the key missing the lock and hitting the door several times, and then finally making its way into the lock properly.

Even drunk, your best friend would have called first, even though, with how much of a struggle it had clearly been to get the key into the lock, she was your first thought. Your mother had just sent you vacation photos from her trip to California, which was even further from you than Florida. That left Dean – and the fact that he was using the front door at all left an uneasy feeling in your stomach. It was a clear break from a routine you’d established and held to for almost a year now, no matter what the weather was when he showed up at your window.

You turned, let your weight rest against the kitchen counter for a moment as you gathered your thoughts, and then pushed off of it, moving for the entryway.

“Y/N? You home?” Dean sounded decidedly not good, and you picked up your pace just slightly, rounding the side of the staircase, and – oh. Dean looked decidedly not good too, though as he saw you he stubbornly straightened up, tried to smile (it looked far more like a grimace) and kicked the door closed behind him. He wasn’t entirely able to hide the way his weight pressed back against it.

“What happened to you?” You breathed out as you drew closer. You didn’t know much about what Dean did when he wasn’t with you – you assumed he had some kind of job, even if it seemed like a pretty shitty one – he showed up bruised and sore and stiff more often than not, but this was far worse than that. There was a bruise already turning a deep shade of purple above his eyebrow, and there was a slightly distant, foggy look on his face. You were willing to bet money he was concussed.

“Long story.” Was all he offered in response, slowly pushing himself off of the door. You didn’t pry – you never did – just reaching out to steady him. There was a mild limp in his gait, one that favored his left side, and you offered a grimace of your own. You weren’t sure he’d make it up the stairs, so you half-dragged him to the couch instead. He dropped down to the cushions with a groan, green eyes closing – if you couldn't see the pain he was in, it might have almost seemed cute, like he was just sinking down into a particularly comfortable seat. You knew better, in any case – the couch was easily the least comfortable piece of furniture you'd had the misfortune of owning. The couch wasn’t comfortable – he was just hurting. You knew that feeling well enough – the point where anything mostly horizontal and not entirely covered in bees was comfortable enough.

He didn’t stay down for long though – in fact, he was only sitting for the span of time it took you to return to the kitchen for the glass of wine you’d poured yourself and to pour him one as well – before you could hear him moving around again, and his voice was still distinctly not okay as he called out, from the general direction of the half-bath under the staircase, “You don’t happen to have any floss lyin’ around, do you?”

Floss?

“What?” Is the only answer you could think to reply with as you rounded the staircase again, glasses of wine still in hand, the bottle carefully tucked into your elbow. He peeked around the doorframe at you, somehow managing to look oh-so-charming, even now.

“Y’know. Floss.” He motioned to his mouth, but you caught a glimpse of just a bit of exhausted exasperation, like he was explaining something incredibly obvious.

“In the – in the hall closet, I think; why do you need floss?”

He was looking at you like you were a little slow on the uptake, and you were staring at him like he’d gone insane, and it took a few heartbeats for him to seemingly process that his request was decidedly not normal. He made those, now and then, or said things, or asked things, that just didn’t quite make sense – this was one of them. You couldn’t tell if he was planning on actually answering your question – it didn’t seem like he was, at least not yet, because he moved for the hall closet, continuing his search.

“Dean,” You started, “you want to tell me why you need –...” Your eyes landed on his hip. The gray material of his tee-shirt and the upper portion of his jeans were soaked through in a dark, dark red, and for a moment, you felt a little queasy. “You don’t need dental floss, Dean, you need a hospital.” You informed him.

“Nah.” God, you hated it when he said that, because it was almost always followed up by something completely stupid. “I got you.” Yep. It all processed rather quickly after that. He needed dental floss for stitches. He couldn’t reach it himself – he had you. He had you, the nursing student, and he wanted you to stitch him up with dental floss. You set the glasses of wine and the bottle down on the side table before you could drop them.

“You want me to stitch you up.” You clarified. “With dental floss.” He finally found what he was looking for - the unopened multi-pack of little travel-sized flosses - and waved it triumphantly next to his head, finally turning around to look at you. You were struck again by how tired he looked – you could practically see the headache pulsing behind his eyes, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that the cheerful, charismatic smile he was putting on was incredibly forced.

“It’s easy!” He promised quickly, with the tone of someone who knew what he was asking was most certainly not easy. “I’ve been doin’ it since I was a kid. Had to stitch my Dad up all the time.” He caught your eye, giving a sheepish grin as he saw the horror on your face. “Long story.”

That was quickly becoming one of your least favorite phrases.

#jensen-a-thon #Dean Winchester x reader #Dean Winchester fan fiction

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kinglazrus · 3 months ago

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this isn't the beginning (but it's a start)

An AU where Portal Danny went missing his senior year of high school, and he's back home twenty years later.

Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 | Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Chapter Two: Amor

The man’s appearance isn’t particularly upsetting.

Words: 3827

A slim figure lingers outside the front doors of Casper High. They stand at the bottom of the steps, leaning against the stone banister. Amor first spotted them when she pulled up to the intersection in front of the school. She was scanning the parking lot, checking to see if anyone else had arrived early for their first official day back in the building—unlikely—when she noticed them.

She’s been stuck at the red light for three minutes now, watching.

The person hasn’t moved the entire time.

She has to look away when her light finally turns green, but the moment she pulls out of traffic and into the parking lot, she catches them in the corner of her eye again and takes them in properly.

A man, or so she assumes, dressed in a button-up shirt and dark pants. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and one foot taps against the backpack at his feet. His clothes are crisp and clean, but the backpack slumps forward onto the sidewalk, the kind of limpness earned from years of use. She can see the stains on the purple canvas from here. That might even be duct tape wrapped around one of the straps.

The man’s appearance isn’t particularly upsetting, and barely noteworthy beyond the white streaks in his dark hair, but a shiver runs down Amor’s spine.

Her phone is in her hand before she even realizes she’s decided to call someone. Too much has happened in the past few months for her not to be wary. The incident end of last school year; the ensuing investigation. Those damn suits who wouldn’t leave her alone.

She scrolls through her contacts, thumb twitching back and forth as she considers whom to call. If classes had already begun, a security officer would be in the building by now, but they don’t start work until the students start school. And the parking lot is empty besides herself, so no one else is here yet. Although, the custodian lives close enough that he often buses to work to save on gas. She pulls up his contact and keeps one eye on the man at the door while the phone rings.

He still hasn’t moved, and part of her wonders if he even noticed her arrival. That thought carries a degree of comfort, which makes it that much more dangerous. Amor has worked at Casper High too long to entertain such naivety. That part of her has been eroded by an ocean of experience, but she can’t even trust that most of the time. A shore worn to smooth sand might look safer than the rocks that once stood there, but anything can lurk beneath the grains. If she gives into temptation and digs for the gifts the ocean brings, she might cut herself on broken glass, instead.

Amor has dealt with enough glass slivers for one lifetime. She knows better, now. At least, better than some people. Perhaps, if Mr. Lancer had stopped digging at his own shores, he would be on the other end of the phone now. He was always reliable like that, but sometimes he didn’t know when to quit, and it was only a matter of time before he got cut too deeply.

Her stomach churns at the memory. Maybe if she shuts her eyes tight enough, she can squeeze the image from her brain. Let it drip and ooze until she’s wrung out every last drop of blood. And there had been so much blood. At the start of summer, she might have thrown up at the thought. She did. Now, it only takes a few deep breaths to push the nausea back, until she can smell her car air freshener again. Moonlight breeze, whatever that means. As long as it doesn’t smell like blood.

There’s a nice little coffee shop a block over that she could wait at until someone else arrives. She likes the coffee there. Her fellow secretary, Elliot, stopped there every day before work last year, often bringing her a drink or a pastry in exchange for gossip. While today is only the first day back for office and admin staff, Elliot is a creature of habit, so chances are he’ll turn up there.

Yes, that sounds like a good idea.

When she opens her eyes, the man by the stairs is looking at her. Amor freezes, grip tightening around her still-ringing phone. Neither of them moves for a long moment. Then, slowly, the man raises a hand in greeting.

He says something, mouth curling into a smile, and somehow Amor knows what it is, despite being too far to hear his voice, and her vision too poor to read his lips.

“Ms. Moreno,” he says, looking as startled as she feels to hear a name she hasn’t gone by for seventeen years.

The pepper spray fits nicely in Amor’s palm when she retrieves it from her purse. The bottle is small enough that she can hide it in her hand while still having her finger on the nozzle. She doesn’t turn her car off yet, but pops the door open and rises halfway out of the driver’s seat. It puts some extra weight on her bad leg, but she wants to see and hear the man clearly.

She doesn’t let her voice waver. “Excuse me. The school is currently closed.” And won’t be open for another two weeks.

The man doesn’t pull away from the banister, but he takes his other hand out of his pocket to leave both open, exposed, empty. His stare rests heavily upon her, although she sees no recognition in his dark eyes, despite the name he used. She finds herself just as lost.

He doesn’t raise his voice, but she hears him as clearly as if she had been standing next to him. “The principal told me to come in this morning. I’m the new science teacher?” After a beat, he adds, “Astronomy.”

Amor’s eyes narrow. “One moment.”

She ducks back into her car, locking the doors as she does, and checks her phone. Thankfully, the new principal is better at using the online calendar than Lancer ever was, and there is, indeed, a note about a new staff member stopping by to pick up his ID and a few other documents, along with a greyed out block from eight to nine for a possible meeting.

It’s only half-past seven, now.

Amor cracks her window open and calls out, “Name?”

The man twitches.

No, that’s not quite right. It starts as a twitch, a jerk of his head, but turns into a full body shudder. His hands, still loose by his sides, dig into his thighs. He goes somewhere. Only for a second, his mind is somewhere else, and Amor grips the pepper spray tighter as he drags himself back with a harsh breath and finally answers.

“Masters.” His face does a funny little thing halfway between a grin and a sneer.

And who in Amity Park doesn’t know that name? She searches his face for some resemblance, but, again, her poor eyesight isn’t doing her any favours. Not that she truly cares if this man is related to Vlad Masters.

Her attention lingers for another second before she checks the name in the meeting notes. It matches. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel and considers her options. In all likelihood, Masters is who he says he is and has come early to make a good impression. But there’s still a nonzero chance that he’s lying.

“I’ll need to confirm that before I can let you inside. Can you wait here?” she asks.

Masters glances toward the school, then back at her. “Okay.”

Finally, Amor shuts off her car and gathers her things. She tucks her purse and cane under her arm so that she can hold the pepper spray in one hand and her school lanyard in the other, the keys poking out between her knuckles. She won’t be able to move as quickly without her cane, even if it’s a low pain day, but she prefers the comfort of a weapon.

Masters’ eyes follow her as she walks toward the side of the building rather than the front entrance, his head turning smoothly to keep her in view, but he doesn’t move other than that. A moment before she steps out of sight, he turns his back on her, gazing out at the other side of the schoolyard.

Amor’s steps are quick, but not hurried, as she goes around the back of the school. She has to watch her feet to make sure she doesn’t trip on the cracked pavement, especially without her cane to steady her. While the school board saw fit to update the security system, they apparently had no issues with the rest of the school. They looked at the broken sidewalk, the parking lot light that always flickers, the music room that perpetually smells of smoke and thought yes, all this place needs is a fancy new lock on the furthest possible door from staff parking. A lot of good that did when someone still managed to break in not even two weeks ago.

Heaven forbid, the board something useful for once.

Amor approaches the door with her new staff ID clutched in her hand. The plastic card is no sharper than a butter knife, but it digs into her palm as she swipes it through the lock and waits for something to happen.

The red light on the lock holds steady. It doesn’t hum, or click, or acknowledge her in any way.

“Really?” she mutters. Thousands of dollars and it doesn’t even work. She swipes again, with the same result.

The back of her neck prickles.

Her hand trembles as she raises her hand a third time. Between that and the glances she keeps tossing over her shoulders, it takes her a few tries to actually get the card into the slot. She checks the corner of the building—both corners, to be safe—but she’s still alone. A hot coil of anxiety burns in her gut. She wants to blame it entirely on Masters and his strangeness, but she can’t fool herself.

She knows what door this is. What hallway it leads to. What other door she will happen upon as soon as she steps inside. Once again, she pushes back memories of a bloody room and the rush of white-clad men and women insisting this was all such a tragic accident and that of course Amor will never want to speak of it again. In fact, she shouldn’t, for her own health and safety. They’ll know if she does.

She grips the card so tightly it bends, and might even snap if she pushes it any further. She forces her hand to relax, massaging the deep red line left on her palm by the card’s edge.

She calls the custodian again. It rings, and rings, and rings as she stands with her back to the door, scanning the student parking lot back by the football field and equipment shed. Everything looks dull with the sun smothered by a layer of clouds. Moisture hangs in the air, enough that her hair is already frizzing up, and she’s started sweating beneath her sweater even though the temperature is one degree shy of cool thanks to the rain that fell earlier that morning.

Eventually, the answering machine picks up.

“Henry,” she snaps as soon as the automated voice finishes its spiel. “Are you at the school? I’m trying to get inside, but my ID card isn’t working.” While she speaks, she turns to the door and presses her nose to the narrow window, cupping her free hand around her face to see inside.

Bloodshot eyes stare back at her.

“Oh, goodness!” She flinches back. By the time she calms her racing heart and returns to the window, Henry has backed away. And it must be Henry, since he’s the only one who might be here with an empty parking lot. She can barely see him past her own reflection, though. He didn’t need to step back so far.

She hangs up her phone and waves her staff ID in the window. “Can you let me in?”

The last word has barely left her lips when there’s a buzz and a click, and the light on the lock turns green. She yanks the door open before it can lock again. Her cane knocks against the door frame as she rushes inside, and it slips from her grip, clattering against the floor. Amor gives it a dismayed look before checking the door behind her, making sure it closed and locked itself properly.

“Thank you,” she says as she bends down to get her cane, leaning against the wall for balance. “These cards are useless. Let’s just hope mine is the only faulty one. Oh, and there’s someone at the front entrance. Apparently, he’s Da—”

Amor rises in time to see Henry disappear around the corner, catching a flash of his grey pants and black shoes.

“Oh.” She rather hoped he would keep her company, at least for a moment, but he must be busy getting the school ready. A lot of dust can accumulate over one summer, and there’s much to clean. Including the trail of footprints that marks Henry’s path from here to the end of the hall.

There’s only one window in this hall, the small one in the door behind her, and with the clouds hanging outside, it lets in a feeble light. The kind that casts shadows so soft you don’t realize they’ve swallowed up all the light until it’s gone. She hadn’t even noticed, until this moment, that the fluorescents are off. But shadows are not quite strong enough to hide the rusty colour of the footprints.

Her hands twist around the top of her cane as she stares at those footprints.

Henry must have gone out to the equipment shed at some point, where the ground is hard, red clay, except on days like this when even the slightest rain turns it to mud. Amor shakes her head and strides away, staring straight ahead so as not to look at the basement door. But as it crosses the edge of her vision, a shaky breath pulls from her lungs.

The hall she emerges into is empty, and the footprints trail off as the last of the mud must have fallen from the boots Henry likes to stomp around in so much. Wherever he went, she hopes he’ll be back to clean this mess up.

She has to turn all the lights on as she makes her way back to the front of the school, since Henry apparently has no issues wandering around in the dark. The atrium is better, though. Plenty of natural light, thanks to the large windows looking out over the street. Through them, she spies Masters, still in his spot at the bottom of the stairs, although he flinches suddenly and brings a hand to his mouth as he turns to face the doors.

Smoke wafts between his fingers.

Amor scowls. With any luck, he can see her distaste from there. While she can’t judge someone for indulging in cigarettes, not after her own youthful habits, smoking on the front step of a school is plain inconsiderate.

As she unlocks the front office, she notes the light—a dim white glow through the frosted glass—coming from the principal’s door at the back of the room, and the silhouette seated at the desk. So, she’s not the first one in after all. The new principal must have come in early, as well, since he gave himself an appointment so soon in the day.

Amor hasn’t met him officially, yet. He held a video call to introduce himself to the staff after he was hired, although not many attended, since it was the middle of summer, and he made it clear in his email that the call was optional.

“Good morning,” she has to dredge his name up from her memory, “Mr. Szalay.” She slides her key from the lock and moves to turn on the lights. “Mr. Masters is here to—”

Her hand freezes against the light switch, and her eyes jump from the keys in her hand, to the door she had just unlocked, and back over to the principal’s office.

There hadn’t been any cars in the parking lot.

The light in the office is too soft to be the overhead. Nor is it warm enough to be the glow of the desk lamp. But it’s there, bright enough to outline the figure now standing in front of the frosted glass.

“Mr. Szalay?” she calls again.

How does this silhouette compare to the man she saw in the video call? Had his shoulders been so curved, or weren’t they more square? Broad? She had thought him stately, at the time. That doesn’t quite apply to the figure she sees here. They’re more rounded. More slumped. More familiar, almost like—

Their head turns when Amor moves forward, and she goes rigid. They’re staring at her; she knows it. Even if she can’t make out their eyes, their head tilts slightly as they regard her, and then they take a step back, their edges growing blurry. Because of the glass, Amor tells herself. And the poor lighting. Frosted glass always blurs you a little bit. She clings to that thought as the figure takes another step back and loses any notable form.

“Hello?” she asks once more, soft enough that she can barely hear her own voice.

Another step, and they dissolve into the shadows of the office, taking the glow with them.

Amor throws the lights on before rushing across the office. She lunges for Mr. Szalay’s door, throwing her weight down on the handle. It doesn’t move. Her key jams against the lock as she tries to shove it in, leaving faint scratches on the metal as her trembling hand misses the mark. She manages on the fourth attempt, and throws the door open to an empty room and a rush of cold air.

The door swings back toward her, slamming against the frame hard enough to vibrations up her arm, and misses her nose by a hair. Her heel catches on her ankle as she stumbles back, and her bad leg gives out when her foot hits the floor too hard. The image of her skull cracked open on the cabinet behind her flashes through her mind as she tips backward, and she cries out.

It turns to a shriek when a cold hand splays against her back, stopping her fall.

She grabs the nearest weapon—her keys, still stuck in the door—and throws them over her shoulder. They go sailing, the bright pink lanyard trailing through the air behind them, and slide across her desk, taking a stack of papers with them as they tip over the edge and onto the floor.

Masters backs away from her, hands raised, though not before making sure she’s steady on her feet.

“Sorry! Uh, here. Um…”

Amor, a hand pressed to her chest to calm her pounding heart, watches Masters glide across the office and crouch next to the scattered papers. Her focus lands on the thin, branching lines that creep out from under his collar and span the side of his throat, the furthest of which stretch up and across his jaw, one cutting a thin line over his lip, and the other touching the corner of his eye.

When he holds out the papers with her keys balanced on top, she spots similar lines on his hand, bursting from a point on his palm.

“Sorry,” he repeats. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just…You didn’t see anything, did you?”

Amor swallows past the lump in her throat. “Pardon?”

“Ah, never mind. I thought…” He cups a hand over his mouth again and glances away. “Never mind.”

Now that they’re face-to-face, something about him tickles the back of her mind. A former student, perhaps. That’s the usual answer to this feeling, but surely she would remember a student with a scar like that. She assumes it isn’t recent. While a few puckered spots hint that it had once been a gnarly thing, the lines are now stretched and smooth, having grown with him.

A relative of a student, then. But he doesn’t look old enough to be a parent, at least not to a high schooler, regardless of the white in his hair.

And yet, he looks familiar in a way she can’t place. His eyes, possibly the darkest she’s ever seen and weighed down by heavy bags, shift between her and the floor. He tries to brush his hair away from his forehead, slicking it back, but it falls into place as soon as he removes his hand.

Despite her earlier fright, Amor smiles. Unruly hair and sleep-deprived eyes. Now those are traits she sees often enough.

She finally takes the offered papers, cupping her hand over her keys so they don’t slide off.

Masters gives her a close-lipped smile. It reminds her of those few students who are so self-conscious they won’t even bare their teeth, and she can’t help but feel endeared.

“Did Henry let you in?” she asks.

“Sure. I can go back outside and wait, if you want, since the principal still isn’t here.”

Amor tosses a look back at Mr. Szalay’s door. The office is dark and empty behind the glass. It was always dark and empty. “Wait a moment.”

It takes a few moments, actually, and lots of rifling through drawers and file cabinets until she finds where all the staff IDs that haven’t been handed out yet are stuffed into a folder. And then a handful of seconds picking through those until she finds the one she’s looking for.

D. Masters, it reads, Science Department (4). She holds it up and checks the man against the photo.

It’s really a very bad photo. Not that Masters doesn’t photograph well, although she can’t really say from this alone. But the picture is blurry, hardly the quality one would expect, or even want, for an ID. But the white streaks are distinct enough.

“You can wait in here.” Amor passes him the ID. “I could use the company, anyway.”

Masters claims one of the chairs against the wall while Amor settles in. Every time the temptation to glance at Mr. Szalay’s office rises, she looks at Masters instead. The longer she stares, the deeper the shadows around him grow. Amor lets herself get pulled in, relying on the gravity of his presence to keep her grounded, even as the thought of that glowing figure threatens to pull her somewhere else.

When Mr. Szalay finally arrives and takes Masters into his office, Amor is almost sad to see him go.

—

Masterpost | Next chapter

#danny phantom #Invisobang 2024 #danny phantom big bang #phicc #danny phantom fanfiction #Unlucky Alis #portal Danny #void Danny #Eldritch Danny #space core #this isn't the beginning (but it's a start)

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canislupus-exe · 2 years ago

Text

Made for Each Other | eddie munson

fandom | Stanger Things

character | Eddie Munson

reader | he/him/amab (she/her/afab ver.)

requested | anonymous

warnings | smut/nsfw, mutual perversion, peeping, mild degradation

word count | 1,804

keys | (Y/n) = Your name

summary | can u maybe do an eddie munson smut where the reader catches him masturbating to a polaroid of him and then the reader fucks him 👉👈

editor | @feliscatus-exe

>> back to prev <<

Keep reading

You sighed as you checked your watch, the time read 9:17. The day had been surprisingly slow so you decided to hang out with your best friend, but found his company had barely changed that fact. You’d burned through two movies with him and were going to start a third when he suddenly realized something and bolted out of the room.

That was a few minutes ago and now you were waiting for his return, sprawled out on his bed. You yawned and laid your head against the pillow. Nothing happened until finally, you heard the bedroom door open. You lifted your torso and leaned on your elbows, raising your eyebrows at him. A bright flash caused you to blink rapidly and groan.

“Dude, what the hell?” You asked, sitting up fully and rubbing your eyes. You could hear Eddie laugh before feeling the bed shift as he sat next to you.

“Ain’t he a beaut?” He asks. You stop rubbing your eyes and look at what’s in his hand. It’s a Polaroid picture of yourself. Your shirt is slightly lifted and your pajama bottoms are slightly misplaced, revealing a small bit of your hip area. Your eyelids are slightly drooped, making you look sleepy and even somewhat sultry.

“When did you get a Polaroid?” You asked.

“I found it at the thrift store just outside of town. I seriously couldn’t believe my luck. It was a little busted right here, see, but nothing some duct tape couldn’t fix.” He raved, showing you all parts of the camera. You smiled fondly.

“That’s awesome Eddie.” You say, handing him the picture. He looks at it for a couple of seconds before looking back up at you.

“You don’t want to keep this?” He asks. You shake your head.

“Nah, what purpose do I have for a picture of myself?”

“Wouldn’t I have even less of a purpose for a picture of you?” He asks with a laugh. You shrug and smile.

“I don’t know. Use it to remember me or if you miss me.” You say with a snicker.

“That’s the corniest shit I’ve ever heard,” Eddie replied. You laughed before standing up from the bed.

“I should probably go home now Eddie. It’s getting late and we have school tomorrow.” You say, grabbing your car keys from his nightstand.

“Already?” He asks a twinge of sadness in his voice. You smile.

“I’ll be back, probably sooner than you even realize. Thanks for letting me hang and keep you company though.” You said. He nodded and stood from the bed, walking you toward his front door.

You said bye and locked up his door, hopping in your car and starting it up. Your house wasn’t too far from the trailer park, which you were thankful for. It made your visits to his place that much more convenient. You whistled to the song on the radio, mindlessly tapping your steering wheel while focusing on the road.

As you pulled up to a crossroad to take a right turn, you realized how cold you were. You always kept your windows rolled down when you drove but it was much chillier than usual. You were about to turn when it dawned on you that you left your jacket at Eddie’s house. No wonder I’m freezing, you think to yourself as you pop a quick U-turn and backtrack to the trailer park.

It doesn’t take long since you didn’t get very far. In a matter of six minutes, you’re putting your car back in park in Eddie’s driveway. You toss your keys in your jean pocket, knocking on his door. There’s no answer, and you can’t help but assume he’d fallen asleep. Normally, you wouldn’t intrude, but the freezing Indiana temperatures urged you to use the spare key he’d gifted you years ago. Just for emergencies, he told you, and if you stayed out there any longer without a protective layer you’d freeze your dick off, which was as close to an emergency as you could damn near get.

You opened the door and shut it quietly behind you, not wanting to wake him up. You quickly scanned the living room, searching for your jacket. It was nowhere to be found but you didn’t fret, you probably just left it in Eddie’s room. You walked toward his bedroom door, seconds away from pushing it open when you heard a noise.

Not just any noise, though. A very distinct type of noise that caused your feet to stay planted on the floor and your stomach to meet them there. It was a moan. A moan that no doubt belonged to your best friend. Your heart began to thump louder than it ever has but you tried to drown it out, listening for another noise to prove you weren’t going crazy.

And there it was again. A whiny, high-pitched moan that sent tingles down your spine and blood rushing to your crotch. You clasped a hand over your mouth in an attempt to regulate your breathing, scared you’d make a noise and alert him that you were here. Which you should’ve done, you knew that. You knew how wrong it was to listen to someone get off, but you couldn’t move your feet.

And to make matters worse, your eyes found themselves drawn to the crack in the door. You weren’t just listening now, you were full-on peeping on your best friend jacking off, and God was it making you hard.

The sliver in the door was small but if you angled yourself just right you could see enough. His right hand rapidly moved up and down his shaft while his left held a picture that looked almost familiar. Further up you could see his shirt lifted and his left hand holding a piece of clothing to his nose, which he was no doubt sniffing with fervor. The item of clothing was also familiar. It almost looked like…

“(Y/n)~” Eddie whined breathlessly, and the air around you seemed to turn cold. That couldn’t have possibly been…

“Fuck- (Y/n)…” He moaned again, and you were sure of it this time. He was, without a shadow of a doubt, moaning your name. That wasn’t the only thing he was doing. As he continued to furiously pump his shaft with his fist you realized why everything looked so familiar. He was holding the Polaroid he took of you earlier and sniffing your jacket. Eddie was masturbating to the thought of you.

“God p-please I need you~” He moaned, panting heavily. You got so warm in the face and so fuzzy in the brain that you acted without thinking. You pushed the bedroom door open and walked in, causing him to yelp and throw everything off of him. He scrambled to pull a blanket over himself to salvage a shred of his modesty but you’d already seen too much.

“Don’t stop on my account sweetheart. In fact, let me help you~” You say, popping the button of your jeans. His face turns bright red, staring at you in utter disbelief.

“(Y-Y/n) I can explain-“

“Explain what? That you were jacking off to a picture of me? Mmm, what did you imagine we were doing Eddie?” You asked, pulling the blanket off as you licked your lips.

“I-I wasn’t-“

“Come on Eddie~ You can tell me. If you ask nicely, I might even do it to you~” You whisper in his ear, gently placing your hand around his already twitching cock. He gasps and whimpers, covering his mouth to stop the needy noises from spilling out.

“You were so loud before, what happened to ‘I need you’?” You asked, moving your hand up and down his shaft. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he lowered his hands, babbling for a second as he presumably tried to find the right words.

“I was i-imagining you- ah- fucking me into the- hng- mattress.” He gasped out, balling his hands into the sheets. You smirked, pulling your hand away and watching him practically chase your touch.

“That can be arranged.” You reply, pulling your pants and boxers off all the way. He watched with wide eyes as your cock sprung out, standing at attention and making his mouth water. He watched you bend and spit on his hole, gasping at the sudden cold sensation. You rubbed it into his asshole, expertly spreading him out in seconds and causing him to turn to putty once again.

Once you were finished prepping him, you positioned your cock head at his tight asshole, teasing by gently prodding it. He whined, staring at you with pleading eyes. You decided to take mercy on him and finally push yourself inside, groaning as he enveloped you. He bit his lip harshly and squeezed his eyes shut, overcome with the pleasure of being filled.

“Look at you, you filthy little pervert. Getting fucked by the guy you were jacking off to.” You practically growled at him, an irregular dominance clouding your mind. He moaned and covered his face, too embarrassed to look you in the eye.

“Maybe we’re made for each other though.” You say somewhat fondly as you pick up your pace. He moans, face still covered, but he manages to get out two words of inquiry.

“W-We are?” He asks meekly. You laugh almost sadistically as you grip his legs.

“We are… wanna know why?” You ask, slowing your hips just the slightest bit to grab his focus.

“Why?” He asks breathlessly.

“Because I’m a pervert too Eddie. I watched you jack off to me. I liked watching you jack off to me.” You say, giving him no time to process what you’ve said before starting to plow into him again. This practically sends him over the edge, whimpering and begging to cum as you fucked into his prostate like never before. He wraps his arms around your back and begins moaning frantically

“Fuck fuck fuck I’m- agghn!” He gasps for air and scratches down your back, body shaking as spurts of cum shoot from the head of his cock. The sounds he’s making and the tightness of his ass proves to be too much as your hips sputter and you let out a low groan, emptying your load straight into his suffocating hole.

You gasp in an attempt to regain your breath, Eddie still latched onto you like his life depends on it. You chuckle and let your body weight fall onto him, electing to clean yourselves up later. You do however decide to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek at the moment, and you’re glad you do when you see his flushed face fondly smile.

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got-into-worm-by-mistake · 6 months ago

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Agitation 3.1 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

Bank Job Arc LET'S GOOOOOO!

(I Think?)

There was something appealing about being out and about before the city had woken up.

There are many things I'll never be able to relate to wrt Taylor, I'm sure, some already, but this

Yeah. this has to be on top of that list. Becoming a warlord villain of the city? Sure what the fuck I'm all for that.

Liking being out and about at an ungodly hour? Fuck that noise.

It was like Brockton Bay was a ghost town, in a good way.

Taylor? One question:

What The Fuck?

In February, Sophia had goaded some boys into trying to catch me, I think the goal had been to duct tape me to a telephone pole. I had escaped, helped mostly by the fact that the boys hadn’t really cared enough to run after me,

Huh. So that actually happened. I figured the fic I read here they do catch her (and then she accidentally goes wild with the Swarm, etc) just had that written as Sophia doing an escalation she didn't do in canon.

Christ, that bitch is just... someone really needs to stab Sophia. A lot.

(Like, yes, I can grant it's... not great when the story has so few black people and one of them is Sophia and she's written like... that, but still. Sophia - fucked up and vile)

Three and a half months had burned away the body fat, leaving me very lean, and had given me the stamina to run at a steady jog without leaving me panting for breath.

Lucky bitch. Three and a half months of jogging wouldn't do that for me.

(Maybe if I actually committed to it like she has, but I'm lazy so :rofl: )

There were only a few people out and about, which made it easy to find Brian.

Wait, you were here looking for Brian? Maybe clue is in sooner, Taytay?

“I want,” I said, then I felt dumb for the awkward lapse into caveman speak. I blamed the early hour of the day. To try and save face, I added, “Thanks.”

:rofl:

“Don’t coffees there cost, like, fifteen dollars a cup?” Brian chuckled a little, “We can afford it, Taylor.”

And? Still a waste of money I'm willing to bet.

Also, like whomst the fuck, in 2011, was selling $15 coffee to go? Is Wildbow mistaking US and Canadian Dollars? Even in canada that feels like a lot for coffee?

Did Leviathan make coffee more expensive or something?

These guys were raking in thousands of dollars on a given job, and they had given me two thousand dollars up front.

Yeah but you don't stay rich by just casually dropping $15 on your morning coffee.

I extended my arm, clenched my fist and relaxed it to demonstrate, “Only hurts when I flex it.” I didn’t tell him that it had been hurting badly enough to cost me some sleep last night.

Trying to seem tough in front of the guy you're into, or just used to pretending she doesn't hurt as much as she does? Or both?

“Makes sense,” I said, then I added, “I read her page on the wiki.” “So you’ve got the gist of it,”

An accurate wiki!? LE GASP!

I spotted a crab scuttling across the beach almost directly below us. I reached out with my power and stopped it in its tracks. Though I didn’t need to, I extended my finger and pointed at it, then waved my finger lazily as I made the crab follow where my my index finger was pointing. Since Brian and I were both leaning over the railing, and there was practically nobody on the Boardwalk that wasn’t busy with work or getting their store opened for the day, I was pretty certain nobody else would figure out what I was doing. Brian saw the crab dancing in circles and figure eights and smiled. Conspiratorially, he leaned closer to me and whispered, “You can control crabs, too?” I nodded, feeling just a bit of a thrill at how we were huddled like this, sharing secrets while the people around us were totally in the dark. I told him, “I used to think I could control anything with an exoskeleton or shell. But I can control earthworms too, among other things, and they don’t have shells. I think all it takes is that they have to have very simple brains.”

But there have to be other animals that also have simple brains she can't control? Some birds and mammals can, no?

It's time to say it again: POWERS

ARE

BULLSHIT

(I suspect I'll be saying that a lot. :rofl:)

Of course, it could be her powers run on what she conceptually thinks are bugs or buglike? Like, if she could convince herself that squirrels are bugs, could she control them?

I shook my head, “I gotta get home and get ready for school.” “Ah, right,” Brian said, “I forget about stuff like that.” “You guys don’t go?” “I take courses online,” Brian said, “My folks think it’s so I can hold a job to pay for my apartment… which is kind of true. Alec dropped out, Rachel never went, and Lisa already applied for and tested for her G.E.D. Cheated using her power, but she has it.”

It is kind of remarkable that Taylor doesn't just... give up on school, from what I gather she keeps going sometimes even well into her Villain career. I doubt Winslow would really care enough to reach out to Taylor's dad if she just... stopped actually attending.

“Ah,” I said, my focus more or less dwelling on the idea that Brian had an apartment. Not the fact that Grue the successful supervillain had an apartment – Lisa had mentioned that to me – but that Brian the teenager with parents and schoolwork to focus on did. He kept changing my frame of reference for trying to figure him out.

Villains are human and complex!

“That’s to our place,” he told me, “And I mean that. Ours as in yours too. You’re free to come by any time, even if nobody is there. Kick back and watch TV, eat our food, track mud on our floor, yell at the others for tracking mud on the floor, whatever.” “Thank you,” I said, surprising myself by actually meaning it.

Well fuck. Yeah.

Fuck.

All this poor girl wants is a place to belong. A place to be welcome.

I mean, not all she wants, really, I suppose, but a huge part.

That wasn’t to say I didn’t like Lisa, but just being around her made me feel like I had the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head.

Understandable.

Heading back home and preparing for school left me with a gradually increasing feeling of dread, like a weight sitting on my chest. I’d been trying not to think of Emma’s taunting and my fleeing from the school with tears on my face. I had spent an hour or two tossing and turning in bed, the event replaying over my head while the throbbing of my wrist jarred me awake every time I started to drift off. Beyond that, I had been pretty successful in avoiding thinking about it. Now that the prospect of going back was looming, though, it was impossible not to dwell on the subject as I headed home, got ready and caught the bus.

Taylor "Repress Repress Repress" Hebert!

I still had to face the consequences of missing two afternoons.

Do you?

This wasn’t the first time I’d needed to psych myself up to going to school. Deceive myself into going and staying. The worst days had been back in my first year at high school, when the wounds of Emma’s betrayal were still fresh and I wasn’t yet experienced enough to anticipate the variety of things they could come up with. Back then, it had been terrifying, because I hadn’t yet known what to expect, didn’t know where, when or if they would draw the line.

Ooof

Or, I thought, maybe I could just look forward to hanging out with Lisa, Alec and Brian. Outside of the part where I nearly got mauled by Bitch’s dogs, it had been a nice night.

I mean, that's like saying "Apart from the part where she mindraped and then actually raped her sister, Amy Dallon does wonderful things in Worm"

Okay, not really, not even close, but still. That is a very big 'apart from' to just... set aside. :rofl:

it had been a nice night. Thai food, five of us lounging on two couches, watching an action movie on a huge entertainment system with surround sound. I wasn’t forgetting what they were, but I rationalized that I had no reason to feel bad about spending time with them when we were – for all intents and purposes – just a group of teenagers hanging out. Besides, it was for a good cause, if it meant they relaxed around me and maybe revealed secrets. Right?

Capacity for self-rationalization, thy name is Taylor. :rofl:

Even though I knew, rationally, that I probably wasn’t on the list of their top five things to talk about and that they likely weren’t talking about me, I felt my heart sink.

No, you probably are. I'm pretty sure you live rent free in both Taylor and Emma's heads and always will. A year and a half of targeting bullying, day in, day out.

Honestly, like, forget the immorality and awfulness of doing that, just... committing to that much bullying to one person that consistently - It just feels like it would be exhausting.

One of the other girls noticed and chuckled, leaned closer to Sophia as Sophia whispered something in her ear, then they both laughed. My cheeks flushed with humiliation.

Like I said. Rent Free.

For one and three-quarter school years, I had been putting up with this shit. I’d been going against the current for a long time, and even though I was aware of the consequences I’d face if I kept missing school like this, it was so much easier to stop pushing so hard against the current and just step in the other direction. My hands jammed into my pockets, already feeling an ambivalent sort of relief, I caught the bus back to the docks.

Life advice from Skitter:

"Drop out of school, and become a supervillain kids!"

:rofl:

(But also, good on you Taylor. In this case, quitting school is the better choice. Fukitol and all that)

#Worm #Wormblr #Taylor Hebert #Brian Laborn #Kylia Reads Worm #Agitation 3.1

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slasherrcentral · 2 years ago

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Run, Rabbit, Run — Bo Sinclair. (18+)

Summary: after attempting to run away from him again, maybe you will finally learn your lesson this time around.

Note: this is so fucking filthy and i’m not the least bit sorry for it, bo sinclair has fully rotted my brain. please don’t read if you are sensitive to any of the triggers involving violence, stockholm syndrome, spit and blood or talks of murder. this is some shit below the cut and viewer discretion is very much advised.

Dedications: the wonderful @visceravalentines for inspiring this work with her fic “I’m so dirty, babe” because it’s changed my entire life. and also to the beautiful @bosinclairz , who inspires me to have a blog even half as cool as theirs. thank you !!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Warnings: predator/prey play, name calling and abuse, heavy stockholm syndrome implications, spitting, blood, choking, bdsm elements, topics that elude to past murders, slight voice kink ( if you squint ) ( not even if you squint ), extremely heavy and violent sexual content.

The morning air was frigid while your bare feet pattered against the concrete, your breath leaving your chest in heaving, tired gasps. He was right behind you, the tell-tale pattering of old, worn out black work boots was as clear as the day you’d stumbled into the tiny, vacant town of Ambrose, when he had to chase you down for the first time after discovering his horrible, malicious intentions. You’d been so stupid then, too naive and entirely too trusting. His low, sultry drawl had given you a false sense of contentment. Those piercing, wild blue eyes had drawn you in like bee’s to honeysuckle. He’d even gone as far as to call you darlin’, that wolffish grin peeking out behind sharp canine’s as his eyes scanned your figure, making you fidget in place. Denim shorts, white spaghetti strapped tank with a crimson red bra visible underneath the flimsy cloth. You should’ve ran right then and there, should have found something to clobber him over the head with. But you didn’t. You’d been begging for it then like you’re begging for it now.

“Run, little rabbit! Run!” Bo laughed manically behind you, sending a series of chills down your spine. He was taunting you now, always taunting and menacing. His disease lusted for the chase, for the terror he inflicted upon you. The deep, rumbling chortles and your pants were the only sound ringing through the abandoned, haunted town. Nobody was coming to save you. There was nobody for miles and miles. You should know, you tried to escape him before. Look at where that got you, restrained in an old medical chair and tortured for two weeks straight with no reprieve from your misery. Your body was still blanketed with scars from that incident, constant reminder’s of who you slept next to at night.

You could still feel the stitched up wounds, courtesy of Vincent, on your inner thighs, rubbing against the denim of your washed jeans, blue jeans that had belonged to another girl before you, a girl that had thought she could escape too. Her worn, tattered Polaroid picture was still hanging up inside of Bo’s makeshift workshop. It was taken not long before he’d grown tired of her whining, and put her out of her misery with the sharpened blade of his hunter’s knife. You wanted to rip up that picture, chew it to pieces and spit it out on the ground. You did not like the idea of him still looking at her after you fell asleep at night, when your hole was of no further use, thinking about all the things that he did to her.

He was right, when he’d spat in your face that you never learn, duct tape digging viciously into your wrists. You didn’t think he’d be in the house this morning, didn’t think he would catch you making a bee-line for the open porch door. But he did, and now you knew, he was not going to make the same mistake again. You were dead. Another poor soul forever incased in wax, just like all the others, and you could practically hear them laughing at you as well. Stupid, stupid girl. Thinking you ever even had a chance. Stealing a glimpse over your shoulder, he looked murderous. Pointed, narrowed blue eyes burning into the back of your head. His top lip was curled up into a snarl, growls burrowed deep in his chest, canine teeth exposed to the dewy morning air. You knew Bo wasn’t running as fast as he could be, choosing to make a fun little game out of this instead. You hated his games. It’s because of them that you’ve almost been killed, strung up from the ceilings with ropes and leather straps as he took his careful time ruining your body. A body that was no longer yours — a body that he molded to his darkest, most unfathomable desires.

You were tired. You wished he’d kill you, get it over with once and for all. Vincent would make you look beautiful again, maybe he’d put you in the movie theater, where you could always watch a film. Where you’d never, ever be alone again. Where you could fade into nothingness. Where you could forget about how pitiful you were and how disgusting it was for you to love the very man who stole everything from you. Your goals, ambitions, drive for the future. You’d been on your way back to campus from your spring break trip when your car broke down, leading you here. Leading you to him. Hell, you’d even heard your name on the radio some months ago. Your parents were looking for you, your friends are worried, your teachers insisted that it wasn’t like you to vanish. Bo had laughed when he saw the tears on your cheeks, spitting that they’ll never find you here, that you’re his.

In a move that surprised the both of you, and because the little spitfire that Bo came to adore so much is still buried somewhere deep down inside of you, you hook your heels into the gravel and duck to the left, where a house was awaiting your heady arrival. Slipping on the morning muck—you crash right in front of the steps, a pained groan leaving your chest. Get the fuck up now, he’s right behind you, are the only two things your mind kept shouting. Despite your gasps for air and the pain, you manage to dodge Bo just as he gets within’ arms length of you. He leered at you, twisting to follow you up the stairs and into the shabby, white house. You’d flung yourself into the residence, pressing your frame against the door. It doesn’t have a fucking lock, you’re fucking stupid to think that it did. Barreling all of your weight against the door, which wasn’t much because you’ve lost a considerable amount since arriving here, sustaining a diet of eggs and sandwiches. Your teeth rattled within’ your gums as Bo pounded on the front door behind your aching back, screaming expletives, demanding that you open it up or he’ll carve you like a thanksgiving turkey.

“You’re really in for it now, little bunny.” He huffed out a callous chuckle. And then like rumbling thunder on hot summer nights or heat lightning cracking in the air, he slammed up against the door with his elbow. You’re whimpering now, scanning the house for an exit, but it seems like there’s none. There is, however, a staircase. Hearing the wood split, knowing that he was getting in, you slipped away from the door and made a run for the stairs. He was inside in a matter of moments, his chest heaving and his fists clenched tight at his sides. You’re certain that he’s going to kill you. You’d die here, in the little sad house on the corner, staring into those ocean blue eyes all the while. You hoped that when he does it, that he looks at you. That he see’s you, one more time, and that you’d sit with him for the rest of his days. It’s the very least that he could do for you. You bolted, his glare burning into your back, clambering up the stairs.

It took no time at all for him to reach you, wrapping a meaty fist around your bruised, scarred ankle. You’ve screamed, you’re sure of it, throat burning and warm, wet tears streaming down your cheeks as you began sending hard kicks behind you— hoping one of them would land. One had to land. Had to give you time to make an escape from his rage. “Let me go right now, you fucking psychopath! Let me go! I hate you, I hate you and this fucking haunted town so fucking much!” You’re rambling now, jumbled and frantic. He laughs, that bastard laughed at your hysteria—dragging you down the stairs, slowly now, one at a time. Taunting, always taunting, his malice gave you enough time to send a brutal kick right at his nose. Your kick landed, right on the bridge of his prominent nose. He yelped, surprised for a fraction of a moment, then he roared. Blood poured from the wound, dripping onto his tee, down onto the dirty, blue carpet below. You gaped, waiting, terrified. And when Bo’s gaze fixed back on yours, you knew that you were in for a world of pain. You’d knocked his favorite truckers cap off his head, made him bleed his own blood. Good, you thought. Means you hadn’t lost every piece of your soul—yet.

“You wanna play fuckin’ games with me, sugar? We’ll play, then. Disobedient little bitch, forgettin’ all of the manners I’ve taught you.” Before you had any time to prepare for the blow, he sent a monstrous kick with a steel-toed boot directly to your rib cage. You gasped, couldn’t help it, your lungs attempting to suck in the sweet air that had just been knocked from you. Your head was swimming— small mewls leaving your lips, sputtering out some thick coughs. “Look at ya, poor thang. Writhin’ around, helpless and achin’. Soundin’ sweet for me, singin’ like a bitch in heat down there.”

You were flung onto your back, eyes wide and scared, still dazed from the blow to your mid-section. Bo’s on top of you within’ mere moments, hands now latched tightly around your throat. You’re squirming under the weight of him, heels digging into the carpet and your mind beginning to haze over. It was brutal, you were almost certain that your eyes were going to pop out from their sockets if he pressed down any harder. He was showing sick, twisted restraint— you hated him, hated him so much for it too. He could just end your misery and get it over with. He could extinguish that inferno that builds up inside of your gut when you’re sitting in the passenger’s seat of his truck, windows down and taking in the breeze on back road’s, sandy curls that framed the nape of his neck swaying in the wind, pillowy pink lips curled into a grin as you sang along, obnoxiously, with whatever song he’d chosen.

Or when you’re both in bed, crushed against his chest, strong hand clasped against the swell of your hip bone whilst the other cradles a cigarette and he’d murmur praises in your hair and the crickets sang outside your window. Or when he made you true Louisiana cuisine, snapping at you to stop munching on his goddamned vegetables and grab him a beer from the fridge. When you did, he’d kiss the crown of your head. You needed, desperately, to get away from him. You’re in love with him inconsolably so, to the point where it’s killing you, right here and right now.

He let go. He fucking let go of you and then wrenched calloused fingers into your mouth, hooking the long, ringed digits over your bottom teeth and under your tongue, pulling down with such force that your head rattled. Your mouth popped open—slick and waiting, sobs bubbling in the back of your throat. His iris’ are pitch black now, the dark has swallowed up the light, primality glinting in pools of midnight hues. So busy gasping for air after his attack on your neck, Bo was anything if a man of true opportunity. He hadn’t yet made up his mind what he was going to do with you, what he would have to do to break you. You noticed gears turning in his head, pillowy pink tongue jutting out, running across his bottom lip. He wanted to hurt you, he was going to .. but there was something else, something that you couldn’t quite pin.

“Keep that fuckin’ filthy mouth open, ya hear?” Bo’s leaned down now, snarling into your ear, the smell of sweat and blood swimming in your nostrils. It was so overwhelming, so intoxicating. Made you burn down below, made you wither into yourself with shame. “I don’t wanna have ta’ ruin this perfect little face, that beautiful little mouth. My cock has always looked so good nestled in that throat, don’t ya think so, sugar? Makin’ me hurt ya’, thought ya’ knew better by now.”

A white glob of his spit pushed past his lips; dangled past his chin, slowly lowering into your plump mouth, one of his personal favorite assets on you. Now you’re squirming again, keening at him, a silent beg to cease his infernal teasing and sink his knife into your throat, but you should’ve known. He wouldn’t let you go that easily, not without proving his point first. His saliva’s drooling into your mouth — sliding it’s way down your throat and you’re swallowing it without any command, with meticulously trained obedience, courtesy of the man currently pinning you down to the dirty floor. He was smirking again, tongue poking out to wet his lips, and sanguine curls sticking to his damp, tan forehead.

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He crooned, “There’s my good, dumb little baby. Just how I want ya’. Don’t need one thought in this pretty head.” And then he backhands you, sharp and fierce. It busted your lip, throws your head to the side, makes you cry out in terror as pain radiates in your cheekbone. One hand made a quick work of hooking into your jaw again, keeping meaty fingers pushed invasively into your tongue while the other slid into your flimsy underwear. It hurt so bad, those fingers in your mouth and pushing against the newly opened wound on your bottom lip. And it felt good, too. So fucking good. He made a house inside decay and rot, and you lived there with him, singing songs on the radio and making breakfast in his shirt. Those wax figures were all laughing at you now, you could hear them. You were filthy, utterly grotesque.

Two calloused, rough fingers were on your clit. You’re strained and babbling into his hand, whimpering like some bitch in heat, as Bo so kindly put it. His deep, thundering groans does nothing to help your current state, only aiding your back in further arching, heart thudding wildly against his own. Slow, slicked circles around your swollen bud sent you reeling, exhausted legs still kicking underneath of his weight, white dots speckling your vision. His fingers were still locked on your jaw and stuffed inside of your mouth, and when you’d whined at him again because you felt like your teeth were giving way to his brute strength— he had taken his hand out of your battered mouth to send a ferocious slap to the same cheekbone as before. Bo knew that it would only hurt more that way … it did.

“B-Bo! Stop, p-please, just fucking kill me!” You cried, fingers digging into his white v-neck, as if attempting to anchor yourself into him, into that moment. Sticky, warm tears were freely flowing now, and he leaned in your face to lick them off your bruised cheekbone. He always did love how quickly bruises blossomed on you, like paint to canvas. His breath, always so hot and wet, invaded your rattled senses. Then, all at once, he sinks two fingers into your core, giving you no time to adjust before setting a brutal pace that had your legs shaking, your head thrown back against the staircase. “Stop Bo, stop, stop! F-fuck, I can’t take it! Please, please!”

“I know you’re lyin’ to me, angel.” He kissed your inner earlobe—sloppy wet kisses careening down your neck, before he stopped at your jaw to bite down. It hurt so bad, the skin breaking, your moans turning into sharp, bellowing shouts of agony. The dig of his fingers were keeping you grounded, expertly finding the sweet spot inside of your body like all the times before, calloused fingertips rubbing into the sponge of your g-spot and pulling an animal-like wail from the back of your throat, hips wrenching in an attempt to throw him off. “Christ, this cunt is fuckin’ droolin’. Makin’ a big ‘ole mess. You don’t know what to do with yourself whenever ya ain’t gettin’ stuffed fuckin’ full, do ya? Fuckin’ empty inside, needin’ somethin’ to scratch that itch.”

Tears continued blurring your vision- chest heaving as you struggled to intake enough air underneath of Bo’s braun. Your heels have stopped digging into the filthy, dusted blue carpet beneath your feet. Your fingernails have stopped assaulting his neck and chest, leaving a litter of angry, crimson red welts and scratches behind, which had only seemed to spur him on. His lips found yours, another all too familiar occurrence, gnashing of tongues and teeth and blood and spit and regret and stone-cold hatred and unspoken love all at once, your peak lurking dangerously close to the surface. He was right, always right. You needed him, needed this. You craved it, actually, and the realization only made your tear ducts well up more. When he broke away, he was feral looking as he loomed above you. And when Bo’s lips pursed to send another big, white glob of his spit directly into your face; spittle hitting your sore cheek, chapped lips and bruised chin, you screamed out for him, fingers digging into his back and arching off the floor with a steady groan, eyes rolling in your skull as wave after wave of euphoria overtook your body. His teeth were digging into your collar bone now, tearing skin and growling like a rabid dog, his arm was under your back and holding you against him as the rest of your orgasm has turned you into a mewling, squirming mess in his tight hold. Like a little kitten, you thought, trying to wriggle free from grasp and scamper off into the woods.

“Right there, angel. Jus’ like that. Feels so good when you’re cummin’ all ‘over my fingers, don’t it, my sweet girl? Almost made me forget about your punishment.” His southern drawl, filled with false comfort and low, rumbling honey, turned venomous again. “I’m gonna fuck ‘ya into the ground now, little bunny. When I get done with ya, maybe you’ll finally fuckin’ understand exactly where this sloppy cunt belongs, after I fuck it stupid. Not that you need any fuckin’ help with that.”

You were thrown onto your stomach, head smacking against the staircase and making you simper in pain; although, not as much as the hard knee pressing into your spine suddenly did. You cried out, legs aimlessly flailing once again. You could hear him making hasty, frantic work of his black leather belt behind you, and grumbled curses leaving his blood-stained lips. Your entire body was sore and stinging, eyes filled up with tears and dried tears staining your purple and yellow cheekbones. Your lip was split, your cunt was aching, sputtering and clenching around nothing, your spine threatened to give way underneath the weight of his clothed knee. “I-I’m so sorry, B-Bo! Please, please, I won’t ever run from you again!”

And when you heard the metal buckle release, before that same belt looped around your hands — securing them to the small of your back, you felt the weight of Bo’s love for you. He didn’t want to kill you, he didn’t want you to leave him. He couldn’t fathom what he’d ever do without your scrambled eggs and toast thats always just a little too burnt in the mornings, without your pattering footsteps behind him while he worked about Ambrose, always lingering and always wanting, eager for any chance to be near him. Or without your perpetual, infuriating kindness, how you’d cradle the nape of his neck and press kisses to his sweaty head, whispering in his ear how good he is, how he’s worth something. No, he couldn’t kill you, couldn’t ruin this, but he could make it hurt— he’d always make it hurt. Snarling, he took his boot off of your spine and made quick work of shedding your denim jeans and undies, pulling them down your legs with jarring force. You’d arched back into him without realizing it, seeking his warmth and his embrace. He laughed at you— again, reaching down to pull himself free from the confined black slacks around his waist.

“Ya ain’t sorry for nothin’ yet, angel.” He made a noise similar to annoyance in the back of his throat, “But ya will be, that I can promise ‘ya. If ‘ya wanna act like yer some disobedient little mutt with no fuckin’ common sense or house trainin’, forgettin’ what i’ve taught ‘ya, that’s how yer gonna get fucked.” With one big hand pressing in between your shoulder blades, whilst the other found purchase underneath of your waist, Bo’s cock was pressed up against your heat. Your stained face was pressed down into the carpet, which smells soured and stale from years of abandonment. You’re holding your breath, still trembling, waiting for Bo to sheath himself inside of you. “Here I was, fixin’ to be sweet on ‘ya tonight for being so good ‘fer me lately, only to find my angel tryin’ to run away. Mama must have been right, i’m a damn fool. You wanna break it, darlin’? Break this old heart of mine?”

You sobbed into the carpet—fingers digging into the fabric. You felt guilty, felt so damned guilty. It’s part of your sickness, part of who you are now. You never wanted to hurt him, even when you had opportunity, even when he made you bleed and scream and beg. Never wanted to know a world without him, without ocean blue eyes and calloused hands and the smell motor oil left behind on his clothes. If you ever were found, a therapist would tell you that you have what normal people call Stockholm Syndrome. All of your friends would plead with you to see reason and stop thinking about him. Your parents would want him to spend his life in prison. And all the while, you would dream of being back here with him. You’d be in that small cell with him, refusing to leave his side. You’re filthy, and fucked up, and dirty, belonging all to him.

Your tongue wanted to stick out childishly, at all the ghosts who’ve been taunting you since your arrival; wanted to tell them all to shove it. He was yours, he cared about you. You had him in a way that nobody would ever have him again. You ruined him just like you’re ruined now, bound together by your vileness, something not even Trudy could say from her grave.

“N-no! I never want to break your heart, please,” You didn’t know what you were pleading for, pushing the warm clench of your pussy into the head of his cock, “Bo! I need you, I need you so bad, p-please fuck me hard and make it hurt! I-I need it to hurt please, sir.”

The levee broke. Bo slid into your wet, willing hole with an ease that was almost embarrassing. Almost. This is where you were meant to be, right here- pinned under the man who you loved more than life itself, even if it’s never going to make sense again, even if it’s so wrong. Even when you felt him push your body into the carpet, even more so than it already was, his breath steady on your goosebump-ridden back as he gains his bearings, hissing through clenched teeth at the feeling. You held your breath, wanting to savor the sound, knowing that it’s your body that makes him lose his composure. His ringed fingers dug painfully into your shoulder blades, but you didn’t mind. Your face was smushed down into mildew-coated carpet, and you still didn’t mind. You’d pry open your chest and wrap your fingers around your still-beating heart, handing it over to him if that’s what he wanted from you. When he grants you with another bone-shattering thrust, hard and deep, stopping for a moment to grind his pubic bone into the flesh of your ass, you snapped back to reality with a loud wail, that bounced from the walls of the small home and makes Bo’s pillowy top lip curl up into a pleasured sneer.

“That’s my fuckin’ angel. My good fuckin’ girl, always ready to be pumped full ‘o me, aren’t ya?” That damn southern drawl, you could live inside of it if he’d allow you to. You nodded, the best that you could with your face shoved so brutally into the floor. But that wasn’t good enough, not for the man behind you. Bo’s thick, veined hand took mercy on your shoulder blades and grabbed a fistful of your matted hair, whilst the other locks itself around your waist in an iron clad grip that made drool start pooling in the corners of your dried, cracked open lips. “Speak up when I’m talking to ‘ya, girl. Won’t bother sayin’ it twice, either. Use ‘yer cute little lips and start singin’ pretty for me, sugar.”

“P-please, sir! I need it so bad, need to be full of you, need to be yours! Please, fuck me, please!” You were absolutely wrecked before he even started, babbling directly into the carpet while his hand held your face there by your hair, scalp stinging so pleasantly, your mouth drooling and hanging opened, waiting for yet another sticky, wet surprise from his mouth. And he began fucking you, in earnest, balls slapping against your ass with a volume that should be disgusting, so damned raunchy that it could’ve hit top views on the latest porn channel. You couldn’t get enough, didn’t want to ever get enough — wanted to feel that cock, always so thick and angry, plunging into your achin’, soaked little hole for the rest of your life.

“Right there, sir! Oh, fuck yes!” You’d moaned into the creaking staircase—your body moving on it’s very own accord, pushing yourself back against his brutal thrust, desperate for any release that he we going to give you; crimson blood still leaking from his nose and falling on your bare back with little droplets that makes your toes curl into themselves, cracking at the bone. There was a prominent warmth in your belly, a dam that was sheer minutes away from breaking, a heat that made the chill, morning breeze seem piping hot. You’re clinging to the surface, grasping at whatever purchase you can find on the floor, screaming for him like a banshee. He felt too good, he felt so good, and you wanted to kill him for it, make him bite down on your rage and on your searing, weightless devotion to him. Get a taste of his medicine, make him bleed for your loyalty. He was pawing at you now, keeping you in place against him, driving his cock into you at a speed that should be considered brutality, hisses and low, thundering groans echoing. But you’re alive, your body on fire, your heart swelling.

“And If ‘ya really think that I’d let ‘ya slip away from me, you’re dead fuckin’ wrong.” Bo hisses into your ear as a coil began to tighten in your stomach. “Ain’t nothin’ on god’s green earth as sweet as this cunt and she knows who she belongs to. You’d just come back to me, baby, beggin’ me to take ‘ya back again. Thats if, ya don’t go blabbin’ to the pigs—like the fuckin’ bitch that ‘ya are.”

“I-I love you, Bo,” you’re sniffling into the floor, “Love you, so fuckin’ much. I’m not leaving- I need you, you make me so happy, sir.” You weren’t lying to him, and that’s the most devastating part. Bo hummed and he seemed pleased by your dramatic confession and the genuine sound of your voice, flipping you with a force that rattled your bones. You were dazed, whining and confused, the back of your head slapping against the staircase and further aiding your current state, all the white dots that danced in your vision returned, and it made Bo squeeze your inner thighs like he was trying hard to maintain his own composure, the sight of you reduced to nothing but a pliant, squealing little toy to use like a fleshlight was enough to make him tail spin.

Bo sits back on his broad haunches, pushing your thighs up against your chest and effectively folding you in half, before drilling into your core at a numbing pace that has your watery, puffed up eyes rolling back into your skull and screams that ran your throat ragged in seconds, the air between you both becoming so thick that you could practically taste it when you opened your mouth to keen for him, your hands reaching up to tangle in his tee-shirt, which you wanted to pull from his skin. He used the ball of his thumb to rub tight circles onto your clit, granting you one step closer to sweet, unabashed release. When Bo brought his hand up from his assault on your clit, to slap it without mercy, you began to spasm in his grasp.

“Keep those fuckin’ eyes open,” He snapped down at you, “Look at ‘ya, filthy fuckin’ bitch. Spread wide for me, cummin’ all over the carpet. You feel that, angel? Feel ‘yerself creamin’ nice and hard ‘fer me?” You do, could feel it starting in your toes, splintering it’s way through your body, spurting at the seams. You were delirious with pleasure— could hardly manage more jumbled whimpers and pleas for his mercy, for what heaven he’d be willing to give to you in this little hell, something that would be yours to keep.

“Y-yes, sir! It feels so fucking good,” You wheezed, “I’m gonna cum, sir! I’m gonna cum!” Jaw slackened, eyes squeezed shut, toes curled up, fingers bunched up into his old work tee-shirt. Your orgasm was a violent thing, turbulent and licking up your spinal cord. You felt your sticky, hot release spill down your thighs and onto his thighs, the wet clapping of your skin meeting his own sounded akin to the sweetest music you’ve heard, the symphony of your bodies colliding with a passion that you’d never, ever known before. Bo groaned, his peak wasn’t far behind, lurking just underneath the surface, his head lulling backwards to stare up at the cracking, white water-stained ceiling. This has to be his heaven, his own place of worship nestled between your thighs.

“Baby,” Bo’s body folded over your own, lips closed on your neck, red hot kisses left in his wake. “Gonna cum, gonna fill ‘ya up. Mark ‘ya from the inside out. ‘Ya ever pull this shit on me again, I’ll slit that fuckin’ gorgeous throat ‘an bleed ‘ya out like a snuffed deer. Hear me?” When Bo kissed you again, smooth as butter, tasting blissfully of copper and cigarettes — you hooked two trembling legs around his waist and pulled him deep, your hands finding purchase in his damp curls. Curls that you wanted to root your fingers through forever, anchoring yourself to him. You loved him, wanted to burrow into his skin and stay there for good.

“I-I hear you, sir! I’m so sorry, p-please forgive me Bo, wanna be so good for you.” You hiccuped, “Wanna be your angel. Please, let me be good for you, daddy. I’m empty without you, make it feel better.” It wasn’t very often that you flipped the daddy switch, made him so hot under the collar. But when you did, you knew you had him right where you wanted him. His groans, the resounding grumble that vibrated deep in Bo’s chest, was confirmation that you had him on a wire. There’s nothing left to do but send him teetering on the edge. When your hips came up to meet his thrusts, you did exactly that, wide eyes staring up in awe as his damp, disheveled frame succumbed to bliss.

“Jus’ like that, sweet girl, fuck!” Bo clenched his teeth, brows furrowed in concentration and head lulled while spurt after spurt of his spend painted your walls in the essence of him, marking his territory, making sure you understand who you belonged to. This was his, no one else’s, not even yours. After he collapses on top of you, panting and thoroughly exhausted from the chase you put him through and from fucking you into the carpet; he placed little, gentle kisses on your chest, up to your collar bone and neck line before finding your sore lips.

“Never run from me again, angel.”

“I won’t.”

With the world waking up outside and basking you in a glow of golden hue, you smiled up at him through dark, crimson blood stained teeth and when he returned the same smile back to you— his bloody canine’s showing, you know that you weren’t lying to him.

author’s note:

how are we doing? are we okay? yeah, me either. thank you all so, so much for reading! i have a lot more of ‘ole Bo sitting in my draft’s, more to come from yours truly.

#bo sinclair #brian van holt #horror #slasher #house of wax #bo sinclair brain rot #bo sinclair x reader #gore #blood #house of wax 2005 #house of wax fanfiction

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crazylittlejester · 6 months ago

Note

DAILY BRAINROT

Thinking about the AUs again because I was going through my Marked For Later and realized I missed a few when I was setting up the directory...

Anyway, someone swapped out Time for Mask in their AU (I can't remember if you also did this for FH9 or not) and you know what? Valid. In fact, I might even do the same thing because writing Mask is ridiculously easy compared to writing Time for some unknown reason?

Although due to the, uh, awkwardness of OoT I have yet to see much of teenage-bodied-Mask/Time. He's usually either in his canon form as a 30-ish year-old adult or around 9-12 post-MM. I feel like maybe I should take advantage of this to be a little extra mean to him, but I have been being a little extra mean to all the boys lately.

Also, shout out to all the AUs I've read in which Twilight is a sort of clueless, bumbling 17-21 year-old that accidentally kicks off like all the inciting events of the main plot. Like, look, he's not stupid, but he's definitely smart in the opposite direction of where he's supposed to be going. I think he's fairly well-read and is very kinesthetically intelligent (for lack of a better term) but he's also a Link.

Plus, I like to smack him with the general anxiety headcanon that makes him into an overthinking, anxious mess in addition to that.

OOOOOOH AUs

I guess I did sorta swap Time and Mask in FH9 😭 AND YEAH FOR SOME REASON WRITING MASK IS EASIER (and for some other unknown reason, I keep fucking writing Time pov fics)

This is exactly why I made my Mask in LTTC 17, I feel like we never see that character in his mid to late teens. I did also age him up a little in FH9, my memory is fucking BLANK rn but he’s 14 or 15 in that fic

ALSKDKKDKD I SO AGREE. Twi to me is very intelligent in an Odd Problem Solving kinda way. He’s not Warriors with the Chess Master type problem solving skills, but I believe in my heart a modern Twi could fix fucking anything with a role of duct tape. There’s an issue? He’ll find a way to fix it, it may be a TERRIFYING solution, but he’ll fix it it’ll be fine

I too love to slap him with the anxiety headcanon, he’s a bit of a mess. A big ol’ sweetheart who’s very kind and friendly despite his pissed off looking resting face, but also someone who’s screaming at the sky internally and overthinks a lot

also sorry if none of this is super coherent i am barely hangin’ on rn, i am exhausted and my brain is a puddle of goo

#jes talks #jes ask #DAILY BRAINROT

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soaps-hoe-141 · 2 years ago

Text

Back Together

Part 23

Pairing: Soap x Ghost

WC: 4.9k

Synopsis: Choo choo

Warnings: Lots of violence (if you read the last part you already know what kind)

Six hours since Johnny had been taken. Just six and the fuckers already knew enough about him to put a video on the internet to let everyone know they had someone of value. His fingers were dug into the leather of the chair as Price asked Watcher, "Have you watched it yet?" The young man shook his head, he felt a sense of dread as the cursor on the screen neared the play button. All eyes stared ahead, even Konig and Ghost, so close to one another, no longer paid any mind to their grievances. This wasn't about them, this was about Soap.

-------- (Soap POV)

Fingers dug at the skin underneath his arms, hauling him up from where he had been thrown a few hours earlier, or had it been minutes, he couldn't keep track of the time anymore. It had been so dark and so cold in here that he thought he was gonna freeze to death before they came back. Maybe that would be better though, no telling what these people had in store for him. His hands were bound by something sticky, duct tape probably, and when he tried to move his feet he could tell they too had been tied together by something. The fingers hoisted him up, he couldn't see their faces, he couldn't see anything really. Oh, there was a hood on him, now that made sense.

The fingers released him and he felt the cold floor seep through the fabric of his shirt and pants. He tried to crawl his way forward, but a boot pressed its heel on the back of his hand, pain shooting up his arm but it was secondary to the thoughts he let run through his mind and ground him. The rules, his rules, the ones his experience had taught him well. Rule 1: Do not make a sound, never let them hear you breaking. Rule 2: Little things, you tell them the insignificant details first if you have to, if you just can't take it anymore and you need it to stop if only for a moment. Rule 3: Never sell out your team, never put a target on their backs. Your team can bring you back but not if they're trying to keep themselves from getting killed or taken as well.

The hood slid off over his head, light blinded him and he closed his eyes against it while his head pounded and he had the overwhelming urge to sleep. Had the flash done this much damage to his head? Maybe he wasn't ready when he came back, his head didn't feel like it was healed now that was for sure. A foot rolled him over and then a hand was pulling his eyelids up, harsh light sending another round of pain through him. Don't flinch, whatever you do don't flinch, he forced himself to look up, to gaze upon his captors with the disdain that flooded every corner of his mind. The man he saw was not who he expected, but did you ever expect to see your HVT right in front of you? If your HVT knew who and where you were there was a problem and he already checked one of those off his list.

Ilya Barandin, Soap blinked for a couple seconds before the man smiled above him, but there was no warmth there, only the cold hard truth that he was internationally, galactically fucked. "I thought I recognized you, you're the one who came to my city and stole my favorite German."

His brows furrowed and he managed to croak out, "What?"

The smile dropped for a moment as he answered, "Konig, it was you on the cameras, I even have a recording. Much like the one I'm going to put of you on the internet for everyone to see."

Fingers pulled him up to his knees and watched the Russian as he moved towards a man holding a camera. His heart jumped as the red light came on, recording him and Ilya both. "Hello," he gave a little wave to the camera, his smile back on his face as he pandered to an audience that would soon be millions. How did he keep it there when he obviously felt no joy? "So you come into my city, take my friends, and don't even have the good manners to say hello first. And you don't stop there, you come to my country next, and think that I won't know?" Ilya paused to take a step back towards him, the dark eyes glancing over his shoulder to lock on to his target before a finger raised, pointing at him. "And you do it, all of it, with the same man? You think I wouldn't recognize the Sergeant John MacTavish? Say hello to the world John, tell your friends and family hello."

Ilya motioned to the camera, and Soap stayed stubbornly silent, even when hand pulled him up on his knees. The Russian sighed and nodded at someone behind him before he saw them come around and a fist slammed into his jaw. Lights flashed behind his eyelids, shit he could smell colors right now he was sure. That was red right there, warm and painful and metallic. His stomach tightened at the urge to puke but he had nothing to expel, instead he felt blood trickle out of his mouth to the cold floor under him. Hands pulled at him again, he had fallen over though he didn't remember hitting the ground. "Say hello John," the man repeated with a glare despite the smile on his face again.

Soap returned the glare up at the man before spitting out, "Fuck off ye daft cunt. I amnae saying shite for you, I don't speak for anyone I speak for myself ya prick." He didn't see the nod from the Russian but he still felt the fist land, on his other side this time, were there two of the bloody bastards?

"You know John we could have a lot of fun, you and I, but not if you are gonna talk like that. Now try again, say hello, I'm sure your team would want to hear it from you, da?" Ilya was watching him with narrowed eyes, don't blink, don't react, just stare straight ahead, give them nothing to go off of.

Soap stayed silent for a couple seconds before finally muttering, "Hello."

It seemed to satisfy the Russian at least as he turned back to the camera. "So you have something I want, and I now have something you very desperately want. How about we trade? You give me back Suheil and, let's say, a million UK pounds for emotional reparations and I'll give you back little John here." Someone handed Ilya a syringe, watching as the man backed up towards him. Soap started to move backwards but hands grabbed his shoulders on both sides and he couldn't escape. "You have four days to get me what I want," the needle slipped into his neck and he watched as the plunger pushed down, the liquid inside emptying into his veins. Everything went blurry and he couldn't keep his eyes open. He tried to work his mouth but all he could do was let out a strained gurgle. And then it all faded, the emptiness of the void protecting him in its womb, for now.

---------- (Ghost POV)

Soap’s head slumped forward and Ilya pulled the needle out, handing it off to someone. The Russian stared at the camera with his empty smile and kneeled down beside Soap. His fingers grabbed the dark locks and pulled his head up, face blank for the camera now, no longer carrying that telltale look of defiance that was just Johnny. "Four days. Each day you fail to comply, your friend and I will have a chat, nice and long. Don't wait four days, you won't like the outcome. Just ask Konig." The video ended then, Ilya still smiling at the screen.

Ghost felt the rage boiling in his mind, no longer was it a want, it was a need to kill the man. He turned his eyes down quickly to look at the German as the Captain questioned, "What does he mean by ask you Germ?"

Konig was still staring at where the video was, until slowly all gazes turned to him. His green eyes were wrought with disbelief as he answered, "He gave KorTac the same ultimatum, and you saw the aftermath of that. He tortured us for three days, the fourth day he killed us."

The pit in his stomach grew wider when Gaz spoke up then, "We need to get him back, Captain."

"Agreed," Price answered, standing up to look at Laswell. "When can we leave?"

Ghost didn't bother to wait for the woman's answer, he was at the door in a second as he growled out, "Now."

-------

Eighteen hours and twenty seven minutes since Johnny had been taken. Eighteen hours and twenty seven minutes since the world had shattered around him. Since he’d gazed over the precipice and known he couldn’t do this, couldn’t live without that little bastard annoying him at every turn and constantly being under his feet. Every room in this base had been cleared, every single one and there wasn’t even a trace of the Scotsman to be seen. Watcher had been tasked to their unit and was sitting behind a computer terminal now. Konig, Price, and Gaz were down the hall searching through every file, every piece of physical evidence they could find, for anything that could tell them where Soap was.

The ginger Scotsman behind him stood and said quickly, “I’ve got everything, we can go now.”

Ghost grunted and moved down the hall with Watcher right behind him, “Comin’ in Price.” They turned into the room where the rest of the team was sifting through everything.

The Captain barely even looked up as he skimmed a file before he took a phone out of his vest and snapped pictures of three flight manifests, all claiming multiple passengers on board but not having any names that were of note. He lifted his hand to his radio and his voice came over everyone’s headset, “Laswell, I’ve got three flight manifests here, sending you the pictures now.”

“I’ll start tracking them down now,” the woman said over the comms.

Price motioned for Watcher to get over there, he had become their designated pack mule for the time being since he was already carrying computer hard drives, what difference would a few files make to the Scotsman. He turned the young man around, unzipping his pack and shoving the files inside before he zipped it back up and said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Ghost led them out without a word, counting every second in his head that Soap wasn’t there with them. Thoughts focused on a single thing, getting Johnny back and alive in one piece. Not just for his own selfish thoughts but for Soap’s physical and mental wellbeing, so his family never has to bury a son, a brother, or an uncle. Johnny was gonna grow old living whatever life he fantasized about if it was the last thing he did.

A three hour flight out of the country and to the nearest motel they could find much to Ghost’s annoyance, if it were up to him they’d be sniffing that Russian bastard down with or without the intel they needed. But, realistically they had no information on where to go, they had no choice but to wait while Watcher and Laswell worked through all the information they had gotten from the base. Laswell was roomed with Price and Gaz, while Konig, Watcher, and Ghost were shoved into a room together. Laswell tracked the flight numbers down to each of their respective destinations while Watcher sorted through the digitized information.

The German and the Scotsman showered quickly, changing into fresh clothes after getting the gore off of their bodies. Ghost was reluctant to clean the blood off his hands though, to change out of the clothes that had been soaked in the blood of the men who had stolen Soap from them, from him. However, when he caught the German looking at him he let out a gruff, “What’re you lookin at me for?”

Konig’s glare hardened even more before he answered, “Trying to figure out what is going through your head.”

Ghost’s eyes narrowed and both men stared at one another for a few seconds, tension building in the room. He half expected to hear a Scottish accent cutting in, breaking their eye contact but it didn’t come. The only Scot here was the ginger typing on his keyboard as he sorted through the data on the hard drives they’d taken with a can of soda sitting on one of the night stands beside him. “It’s none of your fuckin business Konig,” he disappeared into the bathroom, showering quickly and staring at himself in the mirror. He reached a finger up to the scars that were etched across his face. The memory of Johnny doing the same thing flashed through his mind and he dropped his hand to the sink, rocking into it as his knuckles turned white. He gripped it as he tried to hold himself together, to not feel all the emotions trying to flood his mind. His chin fell and hazel eyes closed, head shaking as he forced the emotions back where they belonged.

Twenty four hours and three minutes since he’d been taken, he had to hold it together. Breaking down was not an option, get angry, see red, but do not break down. Ghost pulled his clothes on, hands shaking as he pulled his mask on in the mirror, hiding his face behind the black balaclava. He left the bathroom, throwing his bag on the seat near the door into the room. Watcher was still typing on his laptop, the soda can now gone and replaced by a bottle of water and a bag of chips. Konig had moved to the other side of the bed, elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands. The German looked up at him as he stood at the window, looking out at their truck with one shoulder leaning against the wall. He heard the other man huff and saw his head shake in the reflection of the window before he turned his attention to the reflection of the man on the bed, “I do not understand you.”

He felt a growl rise in his throat as he answered, “Good thing you don’t need to then.”

The German stood up, the bed creaking at the loss of his weight. His head tilted as he watched the Lieutenant, “You act as if you do not care. Why? You obviously cared enough when you tried to beat me for spending the night at his apartment.”

Ghost gritted his teeth, hazel eyes narrowing as he stared at Konig though he still leaned casually against the wall, “I do care. He is my teammate too. What happened the other night was a misunderstanding.”

Konig gave a cynical laugh at that, “Is that what you call it? A misunderstanding? You know as well as I do he was more than a teammate, do not say that quatsch to me Ghost.”

He pushed himself up from the wall then, watching as the German stalked closer now. There was a distinctive lack of typing now, Watcher’s eyes flicking between the two of them nervously. “The bloody hell do you want me to say Konig? That I’m sorry for breaking your nose? I’m not, deal with it.”

The big man was wearing the black mask that Soap had gotten him, the one that didn’t cover his entire face, only his mouth, nose, and part of his cheeks. He could see the way his face reddened, not in a blush but in a deep seated rage. The words flew out of his mouth seemingly without thought, “Du bist eine Verschwendung einer Existenz. Du warst, du bist und du wirst immer eine böse Kreatur sein, die seiner unwürdig ist. Jetzt wirst du nicht mehr geliebt werden.”

Ghost’s eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, “Say it in english, coward.”

The man didn’t hesitate, “You are a waste of an existence. You were, you are and you will always be a nasty creature unworthy of him. Now you won't be loved anymore.”

It finally set him off, he struck out smacking a fist into Konig’s face. He felt the cartilage give under his knuckles, still not completely healed from the last time he’d hit him. The German fell back a couple steps but when Ghost tried to follow it up, arms wrapped around his torso and drove him to the ground and the air was forced from his lungs. He kicked upwards, a foot smacking into hard abdominal muscles but the man didn’t budge. A fist came down at his face, then another, and another. He heard the room door open, catching the sight of ginger hair fleeing the room. Ghost kicked again, pushing Konig up and flipping him over his head. He was scrambling to get on top of him when he heard the door open again. He lashed out with a fist missing his mark when hands grabbed him, pulling him backwards. Ghost roared at the German as he watched the man stand up, trying to fight through the strong arms that had locked around his waist and now had him pinned against the wall.

It was Price’s voice that broke through the red haze in his vision, “Ghost! Stop! Bloody hell mate stop!” Konig stood fists clenching at his sides as the Lieutenant calmed slowly, Laswell and Watcher standing at the door looking between the two men.

Finally he stopped struggling, and growled at the Captain, “I’m fine, let me go.” Slowly Gaz and Price’s arms holding on to him released their tight grip. They were both unsure at first but when he pulled away and stalked to the other side of the room to stand on the other side of the bed. He distanced himself from everyone else and the tensions seemed to subside at least for the moment.

The Captain looked between him and Konig now, “What fuck are you muppets doing? We barely just get here to get some rest and you two are fighting like you’re each other's enemies? Are you fuckin kidding me? Use your fuckin heads!”

Konig was staring hard at Ghost but he didn’t say anything, neither in German or English. The Lieutenant had to break the silence, “We’re fine Price. Disagreement.”

The brunette shook his head, noticing for the first time he wasn’t wearing a beanie or the boonie hat. Soap would have had a field day with that, he never would have shut up about it. “No, I've had enough of whatever this is between you two. But we are a man down and a minute short we do not have the resources to be fighting right now. Shelf whatever the fuck is wrong with the both of you and deal with it after we get Soap back. Get your head out of your asses.” The Captain shot a glare at Konig and said, “You’re changing rooms Germ, get your shite. Gaz you’re in here with Watcher and the other big bastard.”

----------

Twenty five hours and forty two minutes since Soap had been taken. He couldn’t sleep and it wasn’t just because of Gaz’s loud snores, and Watcher having yet to close his laptop as he imagined Laswell in the other room was doing the same thing. When the typing stopped it took his mind a second to realize the absence before his eyes shot to the ginger who was staring at his screen, fingers paused over the keys as if time had frozen. “What’s wrong,” his deep voice rasped out, throat dry and cracking, as he took his eyes off of the truck for the first time that night other than his fight with Konig anyway. Watcher still didn’t move, frozen, and for a moment he thought he might be sleeping and just hadn’t realized it. He lifted the sleeve of his shirt, pinching the skin hard enough that it would undoubtedly bruise later. Everything stayed the same, the streetlight outside still flickered and the occasional car still chugged by slowly on the road outside. He asked his question again, raising the volume of his voice then, “What’s wrong, Watcher?”

Blue eyes found his face before the man finally answered, “There’s another video.” He felt like he’d been punched in the gut, the urge to panic trying to set in as he actively smothered it again. They were supposed to have four days. Twenty five hours and forty seven minutes, that wasn’t four days.

---------- (Soap POV)

The sedative wore off slowly, the dark world around him coming into focus groggily and it didn’t help that he was shivering so hard his teeth were clicking together. The concrete room was literally freezing and he felt, was he wet? He tried to move his toes but he couldn’t tell if they responded or not, he couldn’t feel them. He’d lost the pants and shirt he’d been wearing on his last mission, replaced by a thin pair of pants and an even thinner t-shirt all that clung to him, while the wet fabric chafed his skin.

Blue eyes scanned the room, his body spasming in an attempt to generate heat, far past just shivering now. Soap slid himself backwards until his back hit a wall, analyze your surroundings and get your bearings. There was nothing to analyze though, he was in a lightless room and his hands and feet were still tied. He didn’t manage to stay upright long though as he trapped his fingers between his thighs and his shoulder smacked against the cold concrete floor. Every surface sapped his warmth, whatever his shivering was creating didn’t stick long in his limbs.

It was timeless sitting in the dark, draped in wet clothes. When the door finally opened and light filtered into the room he couldn’t summon the energy to move, only his eyes could find the two men who stepped inside. Puffs of air were visible in the light as they grabbed him by the arms, dragging him out of what he feared might soon be his tomb. He continued to shiver even as they pulled him through the heated sections of whatever building they were in. Eyes examined every surface, trying to find something, anything of import he could use to his advantage.

When they lifted him up over a step and then threw him down he realized he was in the same room as last time. His body couldn’t stop shaking even when the Russian rolled him to his back with that same empty smile staring down at him. “Good morning, John, did you sleep well?” Soap stared up at him, he opened his mouth to answer but he couldn’t get the words out past his chattering teeth. “You should have said you needed a blanket if you were cold, your poor lips are turning blue. Oh and apologies for the wet clothes, you smelt like shit, so I told the men to give you a bath.” Ilya turned to look at the camera, nodding to the man who was behind it before the red light turned on and he knew he was being recorded for the whole world to see again.

The Russian spread his hands and shook his head as he paced in front of the camera. “One day down and poor John I have to tell you, I really thought your friends would care more about you. See I was even kind enough not to hurt your teammate 141, and you repay that kindness with silence. So John,” dark eyes looked down at him as he signaled with a hand to the men who had brought him here. He heard a chair slide across the floor before hands lifted him under his arms and sat his still helplessly shivering body into the chair. He knew he would have fallen over again if it wasn’t for the hands of the two men holding him in place. Ilya leaned down beside him as he looked at the camera, “Looks like we have to have that talk.”

The tape on his hands was cut and the men pulled his arms away from where he had been warming his frozen fingers in between his thighs, or at least attempting to. He opened his mouth, sucking in cold air that chilled him even further before he growled out, “Go stick…yer dick…in a blender.” He felt his hands press back together as he was rebound, and then his ankles were taped to the legs of the chair.

Ilya’s smile turned into a smirk then and his head tilted, “Where is Suheil, John?” Soap was finally getting his shivering under control, staring at Ilya with clear defiance. “If I ask again you wont like the way I do it. Don’t make your team watch that, I hate to be the bad guy.” The Scotsman stayed silent, even when the Russian sighed and gestured to the men who moved the chair closer to the camera. Ilya pulled his own chair forward, taking a seat beside him as a knife was handed to him. He tested the blade for a moment with the tips of his fingers before he glanced up at him again, “Where is Suheil, John?” Soap stared forward, not saying anything even as the knife neared his leg. The thin fabric cut like butter under the knife, exposing two huge gashes, one in his thigh and the other in his calf. They were both angry, red, and puffy and undoubtedly were infected by now.

“We should get you something for that, don’t you think?” Fingers pressed against the torn flesh and the small shivers still going through him hid the flinch he couldn’t stop. The fingers slid into the flesh, digging in as blood coated the man’s hand and wrist. His hand disappearing deeper than any foreign object should have been able to go. He felt like a worm was burrowing into his muscle. Soap couldn’t take in a full breath, his face contorting despite his best effort to control his expression. His breath halted when another finger pressed into the open wound, digging around like he was searching for something, “Just gotta make sure the dog didn’t leave anything behind, you understand da?”

Blue eyes turned to glare at the man, his breath shallowing even more at the pain, “Aye I understand.” He paused to strangle a groan in his throat before continuing, “I understand that every girlfriend or wife you’ve ever had walks away disappointed. Your fingers couldn’t satisfy the tightest woman on the planet and I’m sure anyone who has ever been with you is looser than your mother was the day she pushed out yer big head.” Ilya’s eyes narrowed at him and he added in a growl that could rival even Ghost’s, “The least you could do is play some bloody music so I don’t have to sit here listenin to your pre-pubescent voice, or maybe some fuckin earmuffs that’d be nice.” The knife struck out without thought, the pain in his thigh blinded like the sun. Despite it though, and despite his shaking head and muffled groans, he was laughing. He, the dead man, the victim, was sitting here torturing his captor mentally just as much as he was receiving physically. Wasn’t that some backwards shit?

---------- (Ghost POV)

Shut up Johnny, just shut your mouth for once in your fuckin life. The video went on for fifteen minutes, Soap’s emasculating and berating comments flying out so fast he was sure the Russian was going to cut out his tongue before it was through. He noticed just how bad his stomach hurt, the bile rising in his throat with every cut of the blade across once unmarred skin. Skin he had marked to hell once, skin he had claimed as his. “He’s cold,” the voice broke him away from the picture at the end of the video. Soap’s head once more hanging forward after being sedated with whatever fuckin drug they were shoving into him.

“What does that even mean?” Gaz asked, turning a questioning look over at Konig who was standing just barely in front of Ghost.

Konig leaned back, fingers lacing behind his head as he remembered what he had been through with the Russian. “When he had us he used the environment, the heat in my case, to try and break us psychologically,” a finger tapped against his temple as he indicated what he meant. “He put us into what turned into a sauna, packed together and radiating heat, sun beating on us every morning and evening while he tortured us through the afternoon. He used the desert to break us.”

Something in Laswell’s mind seemed to click and she nodded slowly agreeing with the German, “You think he’s doing the same thing to Soap.” She disappeared for a few seconds, returning with her laptop from the other room as she opened the files that Price had sent her from the last base. “One plane flew to Brazil, where it is currently summer so going off of what Konig is saying we can strike it off the list. Another plane took off to Estonia, and the other landed in Ukraine. It could be either one, John.” She turned her gaze to the Captain, neither one certain they wanted to make this decision.

Finally, Price steeled him as he made his decision and said, “Ukraine is more likely, we’ll go there first. Pack up boys, we’re leaving.”

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ask-hannah-blog · 9 months ago

Note

Hey, i'm a clown by profession and only managed to keep getting work because I'm seen as an "safe clown" since I was doing it before the clown flu was a thing. Recently I got infected though, and now I get horny putting on my act (which is super awkward) and my pretty delicious feet are starting to grow to fit my clown shoes. I'm starting to get ...urges... in regards to my feet too. I'm worried this will affect my livelihood, so what do I do?

Well I don’t see how getting better, and better tricks will hurt your business! You finally get to stop pretending and be that pretty clown you’re soul has been burning to be. I’m soooooo happy for you!

But 🤔

What do you do if your business goes down the pooper?

You can always become a hobo clown!

Hehehe now hear me out!

I know hobo clowns are bottom of the totem pole, above only fappers, Gimmick knows I wouldn’t want to be one! 👸

I mean they’re smelly, dumb, submissive, lazy, completely uncoordinated, just the worst!

But I mean, you do you!

You’re probably asking this because you’re already noticing a hit to business aren’t you?

Doesn’t really make sense right? Sure kids parties are out but it’s well documented that adult clown entertainment has never been better, bachelor parties, heck let’s face it, bachelorette parties too, and I mean who doesn’t like a party clown at their orgy?

But for some reason you’re failing?

At a time when clowns are raking in the cash? I mean I know no one can compare to me, but I’ve got more clients than time, I’m telling new clients to just read my blog for an hour and to pay me for it.

Doesn’t it sound like a you problem?

The only clowns who can’t make it is this economy are lazy ol’ hobos.

Face it, you got an offer didn’t you? Branch out, let a perv film those growing feet, rake in the dough, but you didn’t want to make the drive, right? Lazy.

Or maybe you went to that Bachelor party. Maybe you really tried, but for the first time you noticed your stockings had runs going through them, and your toes were poking out of holes. Your high heels were mismatched, and one was held together with duct tape.

Hehe I bet you were feeling pretty sexy huh, confident to be branching out, hypnotized by the dollar signs on the check. So you hopped up on the groom and gave him a lap dance, didn’t you? Hehe how long did it take you to notice he was holding his nose? Hehe did you stop? Or were you so excited about that gig that you just kept going?

Is that why you’re so worried? Because they left bad reviews about you?

Well here’s my advice, drop your prices. Not by much, I mean you’re still mostly human? Just a little trashy. Just cut your prices 10%, get used to a lower income. As you get worse, your prices will naturally drop, until you’re doing pretty much anything for a shiny quarter.

Get it dummy?

Get into adult work, you can’t afford to be a snob, and do it for cheap. Charging full clown prices for a hobo clown just ain’t right!

Kk, love ya babe. And hey, spoil yourself while you can. Treat those growing feet right, and take ‘em to the salon, while a human still willing to touch them! 🤭

#transformation #mind control #ask blog #hypnosis #clowntf #clown girl #clown #feet

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da-gamingojichan · 1 year ago

Text

Robooty's awezome itager sex fanfic (AIDS EDITION)

PREAMBLE: you all may know my hit fanfiction on the ao3.... but i mentioned in the tags theres an aids edition where practically all the dialogue has their accents completely horrible and inaccurately written out. the very last bits dont have that but its because I was fighting for my life against sickness and the school chromebook to finish the fic when i made it okay shit happened. ill link the ao3 version thats #normal and what you should read if ur gunna read this shit. but for the robootyling that begged me on mai blog to post the aids edition.... this is for you ❤️

LINK TO NORMAL ONE

PREAMBLE OVER. SEX COMMENCE!!!!!

Germany nervously thumbed the note cards in his hands as he awaited Italy's arrival. The man blushed as he skimmed over the contents he had copied down from The Beginner’s Guide To Sex For the Hard-Hearted German on said pieces of paper the night earlier. He shifted the note cards to face more inwards towards himself, despite the fact he was alone in the hotel room. And also that if anyone even were to steal the note cards it would take them at least five minutes to decipher what was written down in his microscopic neat handwriting. Nervously, he fiddled with the edge of the ski mask on his face.

Yes, he had a ski mask on his head for the past twenty minutes. Germany had realized that even thinking about the event to come made his entire face flush a noticeable red. He couldn’t even imagine how blushed he’d look during the actual activity itself and decided that sort of thing was much too shameful to show Italy, so he found a solution. Wearing a ski mask on his face would be the perfect fix to make sure his lover wouldn’t see all the blood in his body rushing to his head when it’s supposed to be going to his… vital regions.

He also realized that he would probably make all sorts of embarrassing sounds and maybe even get so overwhelmed he’d attack Italy by instinct once they got down to business. So to combat this he also procured a duffle bag that sat next to the bed with duct tape, rope, and a knife to cut both items with. The duct tape would be perfect to put over his mouth to make sure any strange sounds he would make would become inaudible, and the rope could be used if he felt that he might need to be restrained to protect his husband.

He also had a yak tranquilizer in there too.

Just in case y’know?

Sure it may be a bit strange, but Italy probably wouldn’t even find it noticeable after listening to Germany’s explanation and adjusting to it all. At least that’s what Austria said when he consulted him on the matter. Apparently he and Hungary did that sort of thing all the time or something.

The blonde country sighed as he tucked the notecards into his pocket and fiddled with his hands while listening to the clock tick by. He suddenly focused his eyes on said clock and squinted.

“Vait. Vat ze hell?,” he thought, “Zat clock iz vun quarter of unt second off! I must fix it!”

The country quickly stood up from where he was sitting at the edge of the bed and brought the clock down into his hands as started to tinker with it. He had momentarily worried about Italy arriving while he was adjusting the clock, but decided that it would be fine, he needed something to get his mind off of what they would be doing together once his husband arrived. Instead he decided to recount what had happened to bring him to the hotel room in the first place.

It all started two weeks prior on Germany and Italy’s anniversary. The German had as always agonizingly created a meticulous plan for Italy to ruin immediately. Although this year had been a surprise since the brunette ruined Germany’s plans not by his usual antics like flashing his dick in a restaurant and getting them kicked out or getting distracted by street cats a few too many times, rather he’d told Germany that he made their plans all by himself for a change.

Now Germany could have told Italy that he spent weeks creating the itinerary for the day already and would receive nothing but understanding sprinkled with bits of praise from the Italian for always being so prepared. But the moment he saw the earnest look in his husband’s eyes that showed he really did try his best making the plans for a change this time, all notions of following through with the reservations he had made flew out the window.

It was fine, sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good, especially the greatest good which was accepting Italy’s displays of affections. No matter how frustrating or unpleasant or downright humiliating they could be at times. Besides, few canceled reservations was still infinitely better than the time the brunette uploaded on his official country of Italy account a post captioned “pasta in the shape of Germany’s anatomy” with a rather… uncouth, but delicious looking picture attached. Not to mention how Italy later begged the referenced country to reblog the photo onto his own official country account.

He did reblog it of course.

Anyways, Germany was rather excited to see what Italy had in store for him. Even though he knew the plans would not be as elaborate or well thought out as his own usually are, he still highly anticipated seeing what his husband prepared for him.

But how was he supposed to expect that after a day of a surprisingly well thought out and romantic anniversary date that the Italian planned to bed him?!

Like seriously! He had already mentally prepared himself for kissing and hand holding and possibly even a heavy make out session before snuggling in bed– but definitely not going all the way! Sure it might have been because it was specifically their hundredth anniversary they were celebrating, but that still is moving a bit fast isn’t it!?

The worst part was that the way the German realized that his husband wanted to have s… se…

…coitus. With Him.

Was when during their make out session the Italian palmed his lover’s dick firmly in his hand through the man’s pants only for Germany to suddenly suplex him out of sheer battle instincts.

The taller man quickly snapped out of it and helped Italy up before grabbing an ice pack from his fridge for his head. Forgetting completely about Italy copping a feel after effectively giving his husband a concussion on their anniversary night, he apologized profusely for the wrestling move as he asked if he was alright. The brunette was only slightly dazed since his brain was already so damaged that a hit like that barely did any harm to him at all. Yet he still stayed silent and kept his head lowered as tears began to pool into his eyes.

Germany started to panic, but before he could get a word out the shorter man lifted his head to make eye contact with him and asked with the seriousness of a man on death row, “Germany. Am I-a rizzless?”

The German did not know how to respond to that. He merely gaped at him for a moment before sputtering out, “V-Vhat are you talking avout? Of courze you have rizz!”

Italy bore his gaze into his lover’s eyes. “Then why… why…,” he trailed off.

“Why vhat?,” Germany asked, panic now replaced with confusion since he now knew the Italian wasn’t badly hurt.

Italy trembled as he brought his head back down before surging upwards and yelling at Germany with a hint of desperation, “WHY HAVE WE-A NEVA BANGED?! I KNOW YOU’RE NOT TE ASEXUAL JAHMANY! I’VE SEEN HOW YOU CUT OUT-A PICTURES OF MAH HEAD AND PASTE IT ONTO THE BOHDIES OF ALL THE PEOPLES IN YOUR PORN MAGAZINES! AM I-A JUST NOT YOUR BODY TYPE? ARE ANEMIC BOYS LIKE SWEETZERLAND MORE YOUR-A STYLE?”

Meanwhile, in a house far away from the two other countries, Switzerland sneezed.

“VHAT!?,” yelled the German, leaning back from his lover’s outburst, “VHAT ARE YOU TALKING AVOUT ITALY?!”

“ONE HUNDRED YEARS WE’VE-A BEEN MARRIED AND NEVER ONCE HAVE YOU EXPLAINED WHY WE DON’T GO PAST KISSING! AN ITALIAN LIKE-A ME CAN ONLY GO SO LONG WITHOUT ANY-A ACTION! I USED TO HAVE AT LEAST THREE GIRLS-A NIGHT! NOW I’VE BEEN OVER A HUNDRED YEARS ABSTINENT,�� Italy cried as he threw himself into Germany’s arms, “do you know how-a bad that is for someone like-a me? My soul is degrading Jahmany. MY SOUL! Is it-a because you don’t like my body? You told-a me about how you think of-a me during your monthly scheduled jack off sessions! Just tell-a me why Jahmany– why!”

Germany was stunned beyond words. Italy’s indecipherable speech was something that the man had become fluent in for years, but the Italian had spoken so quickly and frantically that even he had to take a moment to process what exactly had just spat out at him at rapid fire.

As the man fully processed what his husband rambled out a flush rose up his neck to the top of his head. He looked down at the teary eyed brunette snuggled in his chest and quickly proceeded with damage control.

“n-NO! Italy it’z not like zat at all!,” he quickly reassured, “u-uhm I love your body! It’s not displeazing to me at all! I especially vike how your torso haz vun arm on each side! And-and how ven you open your eyez I can see your vhites in zem! The reason we haven’t… done things… like zat yet is uhm… vell I haven’t exactly zhought ve’d be doing zhose activities anytime soon…”

He paused as he downcast his eyes, looking away from the brunette for a moment.

Before he decidedly gave out a long exhale and mumbled under his breath, “vut it’z not vike I don't VANT to…”

The Italian abruptly paused secretly motorboating Germany’s tits once he heard the man’s barely audible confession. In an instant, his tears receded into his eyes (in a very frankly disturbing manner, since tears should not be able to do that; you know how Hetalia’s animation budget gets sometimes) and he immediately looked up towards his lover as he broke into an excited grin.

“REALLY JAHMANY?! FOR-A REAL-SIES?!,” Italy shouted as he lunged towards the German’s face, “YOU WANNA █████████████████████ AND THEN ████████████████ TO YOUR-A █████████████ SO I ████████████████████████ THEN I █████████ ALL-A OVER YOU AND DON’T STOP EVEN WHEN YOU █████████ AND THEN-A WE BOTH █████████████████████████████!!!!!!”

Germany snapped his eyes back to look at the Italian as he sputtered from all the profane and lewd things his husband had just shoved into his mind to imagine. He could feel his head steaming as he made a few choked noises trying to figure out how to begin to respond to something like that until he finally gave up. He sighed in defeat before he averted his gaze again and hesitantly mumbled, “Ja.”

Italy immediately glomped the man as hard as he could, making Germany fall backwards slightly as he let out a startled yelp.

“OH JAHMANY I’M-A SO HAPPY! YOU’LL REALLY LIKE SEX JAHMANY I-A KNOW YOU WILL I’M REALLY REALLY REALLLYY GOOD AT IT! I-A MAY NOT BE ABLE TO FIGHT FOR SHIT BUT I-A DO KNOW MY WAY AROUND-A PERSON’S ASSHOLE! OR WELL– A PRETTY LADY’S ASSHOLE, BUT YOU’RE A PRETTY MAN AND-A EVERYONE HAS AN ASSHOLE SO I’M SURE IT’S-A BASICALLY THE SAME! I’M SO SO GLAD JAHMANY! I’M-A SO GLAD YOU DO WANT TO BANG AND I’M-A SO GLAD MY BEAUTIFUL BODY IS-A NOT JUST IRRESISTIBLE TO EVERY-A WOMAN ON PLANET EARTH, BUT ALSO IRRESISTIBLE TO YOU TOO!,” he excitedly rambled into his husband's ear, “EVEN WITH MY-A WEIRD PENIS!”

Germany instinctually reciprocated the hug and patted Italy’s back as his head tilted downwards into the other man’s shoulder.

“Ja Ja. I do,” he muttered with embarrassment tinging his voice, “even vith your… unique penis.”

Italy made a content “ve~” and further snuggled into the German’s hug. A silence stretched as they mutually enjoyed each other's embrace.

That is until Italy grabbed Germany’s balls again and got suplexed immediately.

Italy let out a surprised, “VE-” and Germany made a panicked noise as he immediately released the other man and picked him up to sit him down in his previous spot. The taller man fumbled to grab the previously discarded ice pack while his husband sat dazed for slightly longer than after the first suplex. He still came back to his senses astonishingly quickly though, since getting multiple concussions in one day was just another Tuesday for the Italian.

This time though, the blonde was the first one to speak.

“VAT ZE HELL VAS ZAT?!,” he angrily scolded, “VHY DID YOU DO ZAT?? I SUPLEXED YOU LITERALLY TWO MINUTES AGO FOR TOUCHING MEIN DEUTSCH BALLS!”

Italy let out a confused ve as Germany rubbed his head on the spot that hit the ground.

“B-but I-a thought you said you WANTED to-a get-a down and dahty with me Jahmany.”

“J-Ja I do!,” the German replied as he quickened the pace of his rubbing to distract himself from his rising embarrassment, “vut obviously I need unt time to prepare!”

He paused in contemplation for a moment.

“Vun month should be sufficient, " he concluded.

“VE?!” Italy yelled as he shot up out of the man’s hold, “DEADASS??”

Germany startled backwards from the outburst and replied in an agitated tone, “Yes “deadass”! How do you expvect me to read unt annotate ze whole Guide to Sex for Ze Hard Hearted German series in less time zan zat? Zere’s five books to study and-”

Germany was cut off by the shorter man putting his hands on his shoulders with a face that could only be described as radiating the sentiment of “this faggot cannot be serious right now”.

“Jahmany. Jahmany. Amore mio. Listen to me,” He gritted out as he opened his eyes, “You do not need to read five books to prepare for sex.”

Germany gaped at him for a moment, not because he opened his eyes while saying his statement, but because while saying it Italy had dropped his accent out of sheer exasperation.

“Vut… Vut what if I do it badly?,” he hesitantly protested, all the fight draining out of him after hearing his husband get so tired of his shit he became normal.

Italy continued to stare him directly into his eyes with an alarming seriousness, “Germany. You will not do badly. There is no conceivable way for you to disappoint me. I have jerked off to you twice a day for the past hundred years without fail– yes, even while I had pneumonia that one time. I’ve imagined literally every scenario possible with you. In fact there is no scenario I’ve imagined with you that I didn’t like at least a little bit too. There’s no physically possible way for me to not like banging you.”

Germany’s blush deepened as he listened to the brunette’s confession, his embarrassment only amplified from being pinned down by the other’s intense stare. He instinctually averted his eyes while he hung his head in a bit of shame as he started realizing maybe he was being the ridiculous one here.

The Italian’s eyes softened as they slipped back closed and he cupped his husband’s cheek into his hand to bring his face back to his own, “But you-a know that if you-a really are uncomfortable or scared or-a anything at all we don’t-a have to have sex okay?,” he began stroking his cheek gently with his thumb, “I-a just want you to-a know that there’s no part of me that doesn’t desire you. It’s-a completely okay if you don’t-a want to do that-a sort-a of thing now or even ever. Even if we-a start and you don’t-a want to keep-a going suddenly then-a we-a can stop anytime. I just know how-a shy you can be about things and how you sometimes worry about-a me too much, so I need-a to push you to let-a you-a know you shouldn’t be worried about-a my end.”

The blonde brought his hand up to Italy’s wrist that was holding his face and forced his eyes back to his lover’s face. Furrowing his brow a little bit from fighting against his instincts to look away again, he responded, “Vell… if you really are svure you are fine vith me being less zan properly prepared… ven I zink ve could arrange somevhing next veek…”

The shorter man brought his face closer to Germany’s, “Are you really sure?”

“Ja,” the German replied, fighting for his life against his embarrassment and autism to maintain eye contact.

Feeling his nerves about to get the best of him, he moved his head back and closed his eyes while he quickly added, “vut not ze ██████████████ und ze █████████████ and also ze ███████████!”

He turned his face away as he muttered, “At least not for now… Zat’s vay too much for ze firvst time! And also ESPECIALLY not ze ███████████ too okay?!”

Italy had proceeded to pull him into a kiss and murmured something about how cute he was as he decided to continue what they left off at in their make-out session twenty minutes ago.

Afterwards while cuddling they both agreed to book a hotel room the next Saturday for their highly anticipated activities together and thus, led Germany to where he was now. Now having finished fixing and placing back the clock, he occupied himself by rummaging through the various items in the cabinets to see where the hotel bible was to read a few verses from it.

He was snapped out of his focus when suddenly, he heard a shriek from behind him and swiftly turned towards the source of the sound.

There he saw a teary eyed Italy quite literally shaking in his boots.

“AHHHHH!!!!! INTRUDER ALERT INTRUDER ALERT WHERES-A GERMANY?!,” Italy screamed as his eyes darted around the room and caught on the open duffle bag, seeing the tape and rope within it, “OH-A MY GOD HE’S TRYING TO-A HARVEST OUR ORGANS OR-A SELL US ON THE-A BLACK MARKET AHHHHHH!!! WHAT HAVE YOU-A DONE TO-A JAHMANY?!”

Germany, realizing that Italy could not recognize him with his ski mask on, quickly strode over to the man to reassure him that there was no intruder that was trying to hate crime them. Unfortunately in his panic it did not occur to him to remove his mask making the Italian only freak out harder.

The brunette immediately made a move to bolt away once he saw the other man start striding towards him, but was caught in the intruder’s arms and struggled to get away as if he was going to be forced to pay his bill at a restaurant. After about five seconds he gave up and pulled out two white flags seemingly out of nowhere and got to doing what he does best, acting like a total pussy.

“PLEASE-A LET ME GO YOU WON’T-A LIKE-A MY ORGANS–THEY’RE FULL OF-A PASTA AND WINE AND JAHMANY’S NASTY WAR BREAD WHICH IS-A CALLED STOLLEN BUT-A DON’T TELL HIM-A THAT I-A CALLED IT THAT BECAUSE I-A LIED AND TOLD HIM I-A LOVED IT WHEN IT-A TASTED REALLY REALLY REALLY BAD– LIKE SUPER DUPER BAD IT-A WAS HARD AND HAD-A NASTY DRIED FRUITS IN IT BUT I-A COULDN’T BREAK HIS HEART AND-A TELL HIM THAT AND ENDED UP HAVING TO-A EAT A WHOLE LOT OF IT– THE THINGS I-A DO FOR LOVE AM I-A RIGHT? SEE I’VE-A HAD A HARD LIFE Y’KNOW SO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON’T HURT MEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!,” he rambled while waving his white flags furiously.

Italy felt the grip on him soften as the masked man deflated and in a broken hearted voice said, “Italy… you lied avout viking mein schtollen? Vhy… Vhy did you lie to me…”

“G-germany?,” Italy asked himself as he dropped his white flags to take off the man’s mask, revealing a disillusioned Germany.

He made a startled yell of surprise realizing what he just confessed to the man.

“I-I DIDN’T-A MEAN IT IN THAT-A WAY JAHMANY!!,” he tried to reassure, “YOU-A KNOW I SAY SOME CRAZY THINGS WHEN I’M IN-A TROUBLE–”

He saw that his words were having no impact on his lover’s deflated mood and quickly changed the subject, “UHM! ANYWAYS– I’M-A REALLY GLAD YOU’RE NOT-A SCARY INTRUDER JAHMANY AND YOU DIDN’T-A GET CUT OPEN OR-A SOLD ON THE BLACK MARKET!”

Italy continued rambling about how happy he was that neither of them were going to become meat pies as he untangled himself from Germany's hold and took him by the hand back into the hotel room. He closed the door behind them and led them to the bed.

“Why were you-a wearing such-a scary thing anyways Jahmany?,” Italy asked while holding the ski mask out in front of him as they sat down on the mattress, “and what’s with all the stuff in the duffle bag? I-a thought you didn’t-a want to do anything kinky this-a time?”

Germany, having already forgiven Italy as usual, explained in an increasingly flustered manner his reasoning for the mask and the items in his bag, especially the yak tranquilizer. As the explanation went on Italy’s face went from confused into falling in a grimace-like smile.

“... so zats vhy I prepared all zese zings. Again, I’m sorry vor startling you earlier,” the taller man concluded. He reached to take the ski mask back only for it to be jerked away from him by the Italian.

“Jahmany,” Italy started with tight smile, “thank you for all-a these-a wonderful preparations. But I-a think we won’t-a need these things at-a all. Especially not-a the ski mask. Just-a trust me okay?”

The blonde knit his brows togethers in confusion thinking that Italy surely should have understood why his preparations were needed after his thirty minute explanation. Well, in daily life Italy did have trouble following a line of logic in general so it isn’t too surprising that he was struggling to become agreeable now too.

“Let me explain it to you again zen Italy, so-,” Germany started only to be cut off from Italy lunging himself on top of him, effectively pinning him to the bed kabedon style.

There was no fucking way Italy was going to listen to that thirty minute schpiel again. It was already 10 PM at night and he knew Germany was going to make them get up at 5 AM the next morning to run a few laps to satisfy his autistic need for schedule. He had to get things moving or else he’d be dead in the water with no sleep and no Germussy.

The brunette brought his face close to his lover’s ear and he whispered, “Jahmany, you know I find that-a worrywort side of you-a cute too, but right-a now let me take-a the lead alright?”

For emphasis he proceeded to place a chaste kiss on the back of his husband’s jaw.

Germany’s ears began to burn from the blood rushing to them. In all these years he never could get used to the feeling of the Italian’s lips on his skin. He fumbled trying to formulate a proper response to the man’s compliment and interruption, ending up uttering out, “Ja– y-you too.”

Italy took this as his greenlight to start attacking the man’s face with his own.

Before Germany could overthink about his failure of a response, he felt his husband’s lips press firmly to his.

The shorter man laced their fingers together as he pinned the German’s hands above his head on the bed. Knowing his lover was the type who would always forget to breathe through his nose (it was alright, at least he finally stopped keeping his eyes open while smooching), he broke the kiss before diving back down with more fervor. He swiped his tongue against the bottom lip of the man below him, asking for permission to enter his mouth. As always, his husband obliged and parted his lips modestly.

Germany always thought that feeling a tongue explore his mouth felt a bit weird at first. And in general the act was pretty unsanitary which wasn’t very pleasant either. But when he thought about how the kind of strange tasting tongue in his mouth was his beloved Italy’s, that alone was enough to make the experience enjoyable and start getting him heated up.

The blonde let out a few embarrassed sounds as Italy hummed in content against him before pulling away to see how the other was faring.

He was moving faster than usual since they had bigger fish to fry soon, but was pleased to see that the man below him was doing pretty well. Germany’s face was tickled pink as he panted heavily from, as usual, not breathing through his nose at all. He looked up at Italy in expectation as he unconsciously pursed his lips a bit in an attempt to get rid of the excessive saliva on the corner of his mouth.

The Italian, in an act of true chivalry, kissed the corner of his husband’s mouth to get rid of the excess spit and then began to trail kisses down his jaw and to the wide expanse of his neck.

Instinctually, the taller man craned his neck to give his lover a better angle to nip and nibble at him, but also gave a small protest of surprise, “vait Italy– usually ve–ah! Spend m-more time… mm… k-kissing don’t ve?”

The man paused his assault and lifted his head from the crook of the blonde’s neck.

“Well we have-a lot of-a things to do Jahmany! This-a time kissing isn’t our-a main-a course after all,” Italy replied, soaking in his husband’s flustered disposition to stop himself from diving back in to continue eating away at him.

“Zat iz true… but uhm…,” Germany averted his gaze and mumbled, “kissing iz mein favorite part… so uhm.. c-could we– do that a little more..”

Italy, in all honesty, had never been more aroused in his entire life.

Germany always had a habit of being overly considerate in their relationship in general and the Italian knew that when he didn’t ask for something it wasn’t that he didn’t care, it was just that he didn’t want to be pushy. Especially when it came to romance. So to hear him meekly request for something as sweet as a few more kisses– how could he deny him?

Italy smiled and let go of the blonde’s hands to cup his face and neck as he sweetly maneuvered his mouth to other’s for a little while longer. During which Germany found his arms settling wrapped around his lover’s torso.

As Italy pulled away he brought himself back to the man’s neck and reassured him, “don’t-a worry Jahmany, we’ll still be able to kiss-a later too,” finishing his statement with a chaste kiss behind his ear.

Germany only hugged his lover tighter as Italy resumed sucking dark hickies into his pale skin. He let out little yelps every time the brunette bit down on him and whimpered as the man licked away the marks apologetically afterwards.

“Ah—ah, Italien…,” the German mewled, into the crook of the brunette’s neck, “I- mm… I love you…”

“I-a love you too Germania,” the shorter man breathed into the other man’s skin only to feel him immediately tense up.

Germany swiftly moved his hands to his husband’s shoulder and pushed him away to make eye contact in a deathly serious fashion.

“Italy,” he said while looking him dead in the eye, “do not call me Germania.”

The Italian was startled by such a reaction and blurted out, “wh– why?” with an incredulous look on his face.

“That’s the name of my grandfather.”

Fuck.

Both men did not know how to proceed with their intimate moment together after an interruption like that.

Luckily, before Italy could make a stupid joke that would inevitably downward spiral into them sleeping in bed with awkward half boners together he remembered that in his pocket he had a small charm gifted to him by England. It was given to him as an aid in case something went wrong during his and Germany’s night together. Thank god for him going to England for that fortune telling beforehand!

He immediately pulled out the charm and threw it on the ground before Germany could react and a large poof of smoke surrounded him. As the smoke dissipated he realized he was in the same position he was in before he called his husband by his grandfather’s name.

“Ah—ah Italien…,” the German mewled, into the crook of the brunette’s neck, “I- mm… I love you…”

This time, a much wiser Italy breathed into his skin, “I-a love-a you too Germany” and he felt his lover bury his face deeper into his neck.

Hey guys so this is the part where you read a sex scene written by a guy who has never held hands with someone in his entire life

Through their close embrace, both men could feel the other beginning to harden through their clothes. But this time was different, since for once the two men would be able to do something about their soon to be full mast dicks and that thought alone excited them both further.

Now kissing Germany’s neck less aggressively with only slow, closed mouth presses to his skin, Italy moved his hands and began to unbutton his husband’s collared shirt. He trailed his sappy smooches down to the man’s vast chest that he was oh so familiar with. Shifting his hands to cup the German’s pecs he huffed in displeasure as he felt they were hard and flexed. The brunette rested his face in between his lover’s pecs and looked up at him with the best puppy eyes he could muster.

“Relax for me Jahmany, I-a like them when they’re soft,” he requested, still cupping the hard masses in his palms.

The taller man closed his eyes and muttered out a hesitant, “ja ja” as he willed his muscles to untense. The Italian made a pleased noise as he squished the man’s large pecs in his hands. Truely, a delight better than any girl could provide, he thought to himself.

He experimentally moved his thumbs to push on the other man’s nipples and felt the blonde’s pecs instantly harden once again.

Germany instinctually hugged him much tighter, causing the Italian’s body to press up firmly against his as he let out a surprised “ah!” and inquired, “V-Vhat do you zink you’re doing” through squinted eyes.

“I’m-a playing with your chest Jahmany,” the Italian replied in a cheeky tone, as he proceeded to continue gently messing around with his husband’s pink nubs.

“Ja… vut– nngh you’ve never done somezing vike– ah- zhis b—before,”

“Do you-a like it?”

“It- mmm feels… vierd.. I don’t know if– if it’z ze good… vierd,” the German replied, scrunching together his brows as he consciously loosened his grip on his lover to make sure to not hurt him.

Italy hummed in acknowledgement. It didn’t appear that his lover’s boner was getting any stiffer as he continued playing with his chest. So after a few moments he decided to hell with it and asked, “how does-a this feel then?” before he proceeded to roughly grind his thigh directly into Germany’s crotch.

He instantly felt his husband’s thighs squeeze around his leg as the German threw his head back; hand clamping over his own mouth to suppress the moan that erupted from him. His back arched as his body shuddered. Italy was momentarily concerned that his lover just prematurely ejaculated, but also thought to himself that it would still be kinda cute if he did. Luckily, he knew the man didn’t as he felt Germany unconsciously rock himself slightly against his thigh, searching for more pleasure.

The blonde reached down to grab at Italy’s thigh between his legs before jerking his hand away and choosing to modestly grip at the sheets near their lower regions instead.

“I–ah I vike it–,” he stuttered as he brought his head back forward to face the Italian, face burning red and eyes tightly shut, “I–I vike it down zhere, ah–”

Well then. If the man says he likes it down there then Italy supposes he could sacrifice the rest of the boobies time to indulge him.

Nevermind how Italy could physically feel the blood in his body rushing towards his vital regions after seeing a reaction like that.

The shorter man continued unbuttoning the rest of his husband’s shirt as he trailed kisses down his torso, slowly grinding his leg into the man’s crotch to keep him from becoming impatient. Germany gripped the sheets tighter as he let out a string of “ah”s with every rocking motion. Unconsciously, he tried to speed up the pace, but Italy held his hips firmly in place.

Once the Italian had finished releasing the bottom and final button of the other man’s shirt, he quickly unbuckled his lover’s belt as well and stripped the man of his pants and underwear in one go. Germany let out a squeak in surprise and wanted to kill himself for making such a shameful sound. That was until he felt the cool air hit his now fully hardened dick and realized Italy was staring right at it, now he wanted to double kill himself.

“D—don’t just stare right at it!,” he scolded while curling his legs inwards and covering said regions with both hands.

The brunette let out a confused ve, “ehhhh? why? I-a literally stare directly at it every time we-a go to the public baths with Japan. I already-a know what you’re-a packing”.

“That’s true but!-- Right now ze situation iz all different okay?!,” The German protested, “It’z not ze same vhen I know you actually vant to get— erm– i-intimate vith me!! Just vike how zis is different than all zhose times you made me zit next to you vhile you masturbated at night because you vere scared of ze dark! It’z not vike you vere masturbating thinking of ME!”

Italy decided to refrain mentioning how all those times he WAS masturbating thinking about Germany actually. The entire masturbating “scared of the dark” thing was an Italian way of flirting even, but that would be an explanation for another time. Instead he bent down and gently pried back open the blonde’s legs causing the blonde to let out another “eep” in protest.

“But you’re so pretty Germany,” he replied, pushing his lover back down with his hand as the other caressed the man’s thigh, “can’t I have a looksie at my husband?”

He didn’t dare let out the urge he felt to giggle when he saw Germany’s hard on twitch a little at the praise. The blonde didn’t respond verbally, but allowed his lover to continue his ministrations with no resistance as he buried his face into the pillow next to him to hide his shame.

He’s so easy, it’s adorable. Italy thought to himself.

He continued to massage out little whimpers as he caressed the man’s legs while unbuttoning his own shirt. He decided that tonight he wouldn’t force Germany to strip him back. Since even as adorable as it would be to see his husband awkwardly fumble with his clothing and somehow turn even more flustered from being teased, he himself was getting a little impatient and wanted to get to sloppy sex already.

He briefly stopped his ministrations for a moment to peel the shirt off himself and toss it to the side. Despite how much he wished he could see the blonde’s expression right now, he was a little grateful that the man still had his face buried in the pillow next to him, since half of him was worried that he would make Italy pause and fold his shirt if he saw him throw it to the side.

Germany lifted his head from the pillow after noticing that the massaging had come to a stop only to throw it back once again with an arched back when Italy began nipping at his inner thighs.

The blonde yelped and clenched the bed sheets beside him as he felt his husband wrap his hands around his cock, whispering sweet nothings into his soft flesh, “ha–AH!-”

“Ah— ahn– neughh–,” he moaned ungracefully as he felt the Italian play with the tip a bit with his thumb.

“Mio prezioso, are you-a ready to have your first blowjob?,” Italy asked as he kept the German’s legs spread with one hand while bringing his face closer to the member in his other palm.

Unfortunately, he never made contact. Right before his mouth touched the tip he heard Germany let out a high pitched cry and the penis in front of him sprayed him directly in the face with semen.

Both men went still for a moment, until Italy brought his fingers to his face and then brought them to his mouth to have a taste of the sticky white substance.

Watching Italy begin to taste his cum snapped Germany out of his trance and he immediately wretched the brunette's hand away from his mouth yelling, “ITALY DO NOT EAT ZAT!!!”

The Italian pulled his hand back, “no, no wait-a minute Jahmany.”

He scooped some more onto his index finger and placed it in his mouth for a moment, really contemplating the flavor this time. “Hey this actually tastes-a pretty good! Like not-a spread it on your toast everyday level-a good, but better than those-a nasty sausages you-a gave me that one time we pinky promised to be-a best friends forever! Do you think it’s-a because we’re countries?”

Germany was about to ask Italy what the hell was wrong with him until the weight of how he just not only prematurely ejaculated, but also prematurely ejaculated all over his husband’s face set in.

Oh mein gott what is wrong with ME? He thought to himself as a horrified expression crept in his features.

Italy, sensing the blonde’s mood change quickly grabbed his wrists before he could put his hands on his face and go full “I wish I was never born” on him.

“Hey-hey Jahmany! Don’t-a worry about creaming on-a my face! You know I honestly kinda like it–I just-a told you that you taste like-a solid 6/10 yummy!,” Italy rambled out, jerking the other man’s wrists around in lue of his usual hand gestures, “And it’s-a fine that you finished-a teensy bit early! It’s-a your first time you know? If-a anything, honestly I think it’s-a really cute! Lookit me I’m-a even harder than before!”

He looked down at his own tented pants to encourage his husband to do the same. In his peripheral vision he spotted a wonderful sight though.

His eyes trailed over to Germany’s penis that was still erect as ever, even after finishing once.

Germany had told him before that he could schedule his monthly masturbation time block since he knew that he was only physically capable of finishing one time. Despite being one of the youngest countries, he had the stamina of a grandfather and told the shorter man that it was simply impossible for him to do more than one round.

Italy knew his husband was not the type who would lie to him, so him still being erect in the current moment must be a very new and unexpected development. That much he could conclude from how also Germany seemed just as shocked as he was about his little guy still fighting strong.

In his head, the brunette gave a prayer thanking God for always being so gracious to him and promising to start attending church again. Once he finished he lunged back on top of the taller man, knocking him back over and under him and whispered in his ear, “Jahmany, if it’s-a okay with you, do you-a mind letting me-a take care of that for you?”

Still reeling from the mountains of shame he felt for finishing too quickly earlier he protested, “nein! V–vhat about yourself?! If anyzing I should be ze one taking care of you!”

He internally cursed himself for not studying the book series harder. He would say to hell with it and try taking the wheel, but flashbacks of buon san valentino flashed in his mind and he lost all confidence in himself. One book studied was not enough for then, so only one book studied for now definitely wouldn’t be enough to maneuver through this.

Italy felt his heart squeeze a little and kissed Germany’s cheek as he reassured him, “you’re so sweet mio tesoro. I love that considerate side to you, but don’t worry Jahmany, I’ll take care of both of us this time.”

“V-vut–”

“Trust me,” The Italian requested as he pulled himself up and grabbed a bottle of lube from the bedside counter, “what I-a have in mind will-a definately feel good for-a both of us thanks to-a my technique.”

The German watched as his husband poured a generous amount of the substance on his fingers, fully realizing what the man was alluding to.

“Now-a my Germany, will you-a spread your legs for me please?,” the shorter man asked with a smile.

The taller man felt his face begin to steam again and coyly opened his legs. He glanced back and forth between his lover and the wall until he closed his eyes and muttered, “be gentle… okay?”

Italy almost couldn’t contain himself from how cute his husband could be. He circled his middle finger around the rim of the blonde’s hole as he leaned over to his face and planted a gentle kiss. He reassured him, “don’t worry, just tell me if somethings wrong” as he slowly plunged the finger inside of him.

The taller man squirmed in discomfort and the Italian planted gentle kisses along his neck to soothe him.

“Is it-a alright? How does it-a feel?”

“It’z… vierd… it doesn’t hurt zhough…mmnn.. you can move…”

Gently as promised, Italy slowly plunged in and out with his lubed up middle finger, feeling the warm interiors of his husband. Soft squelches resonated within the room.

“...Italy… I zink I’m ready for anothzer vun…,” Germany mumbled as he became used to the intrusion.

He only squirmed a little bit when the second finger entered him. This time he quickly found himself becoming accustomed to the sensation and asked for another. He was about to mentally congratulate himself for adapting so quickly, but stopped himself once he realized he was about to feel proud of being able to get used to being fingered quickly.

The blonde felt a slight burn when the third heavily lubed finger entered him and let out a small, “ah—ah-”. He wrapped his arms around his husband and whined into his neck. Italy gently shushed him and continued soothing him with kisses and praise as he carefully stretched the German open.

He gently scissored the man’s hole as he went in and out, searching for his lover’s prostate.

Germany in all honesty was getting a bit tired, since the sensation wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it didn’t really feel good either. He had practiced on his own before for Italy, but he couldn’t figure out how to make it feel like much else than just fingers in his ass. Plus the rim of his hole was starting to burn from the fingers going in and out. But it did feel good to know that Italy was going to feel really good soon, and that part did keep him turned on and hard.

Suddenly, Italy’s fingers touched a certain spot and he felt as though a flash of lightning struck through him. He let out a loud moan as he white knuckled the sheets and forced his legs not to clench together.

Italy’s face lit up and he happily cheered, “Jahmany! Jahmany I finally found your prostate! I bet that-a felt really good didn’t it!!” He removed his fingers with a shlick and poured a generous amount of lube on his own dick that was now so hard it was almost painful.

“J… Ja.. zat did feel good,” Germany uttered in response, feeling a bit empty without the fingers.

“I’m glad Jahmany! After all, I want-a this to feel good for you too.”

The shorter man lined himself up against his husband’s hole and leaned the rest of his body down to meet their faces together.

“Jahmany, are you-a ready?”

“J—Ja, I trust you Italien,” Germany replied, meeting his eyes to show that he was serious with no doubts.

Italy smiled and leaned down to sweetly kiss the man below him as he slowly entered.

Germany wrapped his arms tighter around Italy as he carefully went deeper and deeper, a low burn growing from the intrusion. The blonde let out little “ah”s as Italy reminded him to relax and soothed him by running his hands down the man’s sides until he was fully inside him.

They paused for a moment to let the taller man adjust a bit to the member stuck inside him.

After a minute or so of Germany squirming and Italy fighting for his life not to bust a nut instantly, the taller man muttered, “I’m okay now… you can move Italy.”

Italy grit his eyes closed as he slowly moved in and out. Germany was tight– freaking too tight even– holy shit. Italy thought about making a joke about how he didn’t expect to get circumcised this way, but held himself back knowing it would ruin the mood. Instead he whispered in his husband’s ear, “Cuore mio, relax for me. It's alright, you can do this, just relax.”

“Of.. of course Italy”

He felt the taller man bury his face into the brunette’s neck as he slowly softened around him, still on the tight side, but at least it wasn’t a gorilla grip anymore.

Italy set back on his steady, slow pace. Each thrust eliciting a little moan from the man beneath him. He kept at it for a bit, trying to figure out what angle to thrust at to hit the man’s prostate once again until he did a thrust and felt the blonde clench harshly around him, arching his back as he did so.

Now having confidence in knowing where to hit, he quickened his pace and aimed towards that same spot. “You’re so good for me Germany, you know that?”

Germany’s face steamed even hotter somehow. “Ah, Italien— ah— mmm— mmmphh–,” he covered his mouth to muffle his moans that came spilling out uncontrollably.

“Jahmany don’t deprive me, I want to hear all the cute sounds you make,” Italy panted as he snatched the German’s hands away from his mouth.

“Good boy, good boy.”

He kissed the man once again as he continued to pick up the pace, whispering sweet words of praise into his husband’s ear.

The taller man whimpered and tears pricked his eyes as he arched his back. The Italian moved his hands to the German’s hips to get better leverage, while his husband hugged his legs and arms around Italy.

“Ah, ah, I love you– I love you Italy–,” Germany babbled into Italy’s shoulder, “I-I really love you– Ich liebe d—dich!-”

The shorter man knew his lover liked kissing best, but how could he expect Italy to kiss him when he kept saying these kinds of cute things when he didn’t?

“Anch'io ti amo Jahmany– ti amo tanto!,” he replied, feeling himself hitting the edge soon.

He needed to wrap things up soon, so he let go of his husband’s hip with the hand still slippery from lube and used that to start stroking the blonde’s cock vigorously.

“Ah– AH! Nuugh– that– that feels— Ah! r—really.. G-good—,” Germany mewled, “I– I feel —Ah, ah, s-something— build.. ngh— ing up–! I— ah– Ah– I think–”

“Do you– you hah— think you’re going to come?”

Italy picked up his pace, both stroking his dick and slamming into him.

“Then come for me Germany”

Germany spasmed and let out a broken string of moans as he came. He hugged Italy tight and the brunette could feel his walls clenching around him, bringing the shorter man over the brink as well with a loud groan.

He pumped into the man below him a few more times, riding out his orgasm as Germany whimpered from becoming a little overstimulated.

He pulled out slowly, before collapsing on top of his lover and instinctually burying his face into the man’s tits.

Both of them lay panting for a moment, as Italy maneuvered himself to lay next to his lover, and gathered him up in a hug that Germany weakly reciprocated.

“Well, Germany, what did you think of your first time having sex?,” Italy inquired.

Germany, now becoming fully lucid again, first realized how sweaty and sticky he felt, thus he replied, “Sticky.”

He thought for a little bit longer.

“But I also admit it was good. Even if I acted a bit shamefully…,” he lowered his eyes and averted his gaze.

Italy laughed and only hugged his husband tighter.

The blonde felt discomfort from the two warm and sweaty bodies pressing up against each other even closer, but nevertheless hugged his lover back because even though his body felt warm, his heart felt warm too. His body also felt kinda sore. Maybe even a lot sore. Actually he might have to rethink his 5 AM jogging laps with the condition his body was currently in.

But that was still fine too, since he probably would’ve only done a quarter of his laps anyways since Italy would be with him and get distracted by a cat or something.

For now, he settled with snuggling into Italy’s arms and began to doze off to sleep, exhausted from their activities.

That is until he felt the Italian bolt up after five minutes and shake his shoulder asking, “hey Germany wanna go for round two?”

#-fic #-germany #-hetalia #-itager #-italy #-yaoi #sorry the sex parts themselves honestly suck ass #i didnt write them good because you can tell i got shy and embarassed #i was too shy. gommene next time ill write them better 🙏

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