#I love Taffy more than I ever loved you and you can suck it

[god-of-knk]

I'm going to draw Taffy ship art tomorrow solely out of spite.

And perhaps post it in the server.

If I'm feeling extra petty.

[kakashixhatakesxwhore]

A Chilly Trip to The Sugar Dealer

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi x f!Reader

Summary: In the middle of the (mild) Konoha Winter, Lord Sixth and his wife go out for a jaunt to the confectionary. Kakashi feels challenged in the small store, and gets you home quick to make a point. Smut! Lemon! Explicit!

W/c: 5.8k

Warnings: Swearing, jealousy, unwanted flirting, teasing, begging, demanding, possessive!Kakashi, oral (f receiving), p in v, cumming inside (lowk, the slightest talk of wombs)

Notes: ive got a sweet-tooth and I feel like kakashi would support me about that idk please enjoy this and lmk how you feel - btw Satō-Shō literally just means Sugar Dealer

Masterlist💿

The sun shone brightly on the two of you, for where else would it shine? Gentle breezes carried the two of you closer, for a chill is always a nice excuse to pull your loved one close. Konoha had never seen such a brisk day, for it was the dead of Winter.

Even on the coolest day of the year, the sun still loved you. It warmed your back, though the large hand of your husband was infinitely warmer. His fingers splayed on the small on your back, reminding you the he would always love you more than the sun ever could.

With an absent smile, you tilted your head up to him. You admired Kakashi, enraptured by the way the sunlight glinted in his hair.

"You're making me nervous," he admited casually without looking at you.

You just chuckled, "The most handsome man in the village should be used to lingering stares."

"No, darling, it's not that," he hummed deeply, curling his fingers around your hip. Kakashi pulled you closer, leaning low to your ear as he whispered, "Nervous to call off our little excursion and hurry back home."

"It's a gorgeous day, today," you beamed, twirling away from his hand, making the skirt of your dress puff out in your spin. Purple fabric swished around your thighs as your husband put him arm back around you, now draped over your shoulders. Bringing his dangling hand to your lips, you pressed a kiss to the side of his pointer finger and teased, "Won't you let me enjoy it, before I enjoy you? Or must I beg for that privilege, too?"

Knees bending slightly, Kakashi's arm weighed down on your shoulders. You smiled, squeezing his hand still in your grasp. With his smooth tone, steeped in licentiousness, your husband groaned, "Let's go home, it's not even that nice out."

"We'll have to agree to disagree, dearest," you tittered, ignoring Kakashi's huffs. Spotting your favourite confectionary around a street corner, your feet steered the two of you right. "If you get me a couple taffies, we can go home."

"I'll get you a kilo later."

"No," you sang, squeezing his hand again. "I want something to suck on now."

As your husband delivered a craven look, you just smiled at him, popping up on your toes to rub your nose against his masked one. With a rumbling chuckle, Kakashi pulled you into his body, causing the two of you to walk in a very strange, haphazard fashion.

"Do you hear yourself, pretty lady?" He asked lowly.

For a second longer, you looked at your husband. His gorgeous Onyx eyes were filled with adoration, and you could see a deep smile stretched across his face through his mask. Tracing your features, Kakashi stared at you lovingly, as if he were almost certain you were but a dream that he never wanted to part with.

"Do you see yourself, Lord Hokage?" You replied.

Biting your lip salaciously, you stared up at your husband through your long eyelashes. His head turned away from you, glancing around the area. The weather was only inviting you to bask in it, as it seemed most everyone else was rightfully in the comfort of their home. A few stragglers milled about, going between markets for essentials, but the streets were relatively empty.

You restored yourself to a proper walking position despite your husband's subtle protests. Only a few more paces and you were at the step of the confectionary, going up to the door as Kakashi stuttered in his movement.

"Give me five minutes, yeah?" He asked nonchalantly, taking his arm away from your shoulders and letting his long fingers trace down your arm, lingering in a hook around your fingers.

Looking at him, you couldn't help but smile back as Kakashi's eyes danced with thought. You grinned, leaning up to kiss his masked cheek, "Four minutes, fifty-nine seconds." You came back to your feet. "Fifty-eight seconds....fifty-seven."

"Fine, shave off a whole minute, if you want to really challenge me," Kakashi snickered before turning to walk in the direction that caught his eye. His pace was frighteningly quick, bordering a run, and you sighed contently as you watched him lock onto his target, a florist's shop.

Suddenly feeling strange for lingering outside of the confectionary for so long, you bit back a smile and opened up the glass door. The old shopkeeper smiled at you sweetly, having seen you standing outside for a minute or so.

"Back again so soon?" He asked kindly.

You nodded, coming further into the store. The fragrance of sugar enveloped you, making your stomach ache for something a sickly red. "Nothing can keep me away from the Satō-Shō."

"Well, have no fear, the Sugar Dealer is here!" He exclaimed with a hearty laugh, coming closer to the counter.

The old man pulled out a wooden crate from behind, setting it right in your eyeline. You approached happily, and the shopkeeper began pulling out a massive bag of caramel drops, making your eyes widen and your mouth salivate. He held it to his nose, and through the plastic, he inhaled.

"Made fresh this morning, they're still soft," he told you with a sigh, waving the bag of sweets around between the two of you. The warm caramel wafted to your nose so tauntingly.

"Have you got any taffy?" You asked hopefully, smelling a fruity tone in the air.

"Have I got taffy? Have I got taffy, in spades!" He laughed, setting the caramels on the counter as he dove back into the crate. Rooting around, he asked, "Is it the saltwater taffy you're after, or the chocolate taffy?"

"Saltwater if you made cherry or that nice, wild watermelon again - otherwise, probably chocolate," you replied cheerily, hearing the crinkles of the bags and soft clacks of not-yet-set hard candies getting thrown around.

Your excitement and anticipation clouded your senses, overwhelmed by the bright colours and mouth-watering smells in the store. Caught in the shopkeeper's presentation, you hadn't even noticed the other person in the shop. Only when the person moseied up the aisle, basket in hand, did you finally notice him. But, from his eye, he had noticed you the second you entered the store.

"You really know your taffy," he chuckled, sidling up to you.

Allowing your smile falter, you looked back at the shopkeeper as he came from the crate with a large, red package in his hand. Gently, you hummed, "No, the Satō-Shō knows taffy. I just buy it from him."

"Touché," the other customer replied. "From the looks of you, you don't eat a lot of taffy, or candy for that matter."

Narrowing your eyes, you turned over what he said in your mind. You felt a bit gross, like you had been looked at in a certain way by someone who shouldn't have been looking in the first place. Besides, you looked like you ate candy, you were sure you did. You didn't know what a candy-eater looked like, per say, but you were sure it would be a picture of yourself in that dictionary.

"Anyway," the shopkeeper interrupted pointedly. Your eyes snapped up to his kind, old face and the ghost of a smile returned to your lips. The old man's eyes twinkled and the corner of his lip curled as he said, "I've got something special for you, my best customer."

"Is it another gobstopper?" You gasped, "No, another one of those massive lollipops? Or is it something new, something experimental? Might I die, just at the sight of it?"

Recieving your waves of excitement, the shopkeeper chortled, "I won't be selling it, because of the special ingredient, but it is a new idea. And maybe you will just die when you try them."

"The mystery is eating me alive," you said very seriously. The shopkeeper smacked the counter lightly before coming around it.

"Alright, give me a minute, it's in the back still."

Stars, you hoped it was something wacky. That lollipop was bigger than your head, and it took you over a week to finish - but the Sugar Dealer could always have a crazier idea. He won't be selling it, which confused you some, but made you feel wildly special. It had you wondering what special ingredient would make a candy unmarkettable. Perhaps it-

"How about, this trip, you let me pay," the man offered, ripping you away from your thoughts. You looked at the dark haired man beside you, who smiled as nicely as he could, rubbing the back of his neck. "It seems you come here a lot. A pretty woman like yourself shouldn't be spending all of her money on sweets."

"I'm sorry."

"I was asking-"

"No, I heard you, I heard you," you mumbled, looking behind him to check for the shopkeeper. "I'm sorry," you repeated more firmly, looking into the man's hazel eyes. "My husband has no taste for conversations like these - I suggest you quit while you're ahead ."

Your warning wasn't enough, as the man shamelessly flirted, "How can I, when put in front of a woman so beautiful?"

"Isn't she just the prettiest lady in all the Land?"

Oh, thank you, Stars.

Turning the other way, there Kakashi was standing, a single rose in hand. You smiled up at him gratefully as he put the rose into your fingers and his arm around your waist, pulling you as close to him as you knew you needed to be. The rose in your hand was perfect, without the one blemish or tear anywhere in the petals.

"One flower? Couldn't have sprung for a bouquet?" The dark haired man quipped dryly.

Before Kakashi could say something harsh, you just hummed, holding the flower to your nose and putting your free hand over the hand of your husband as it clutched your waist posessively, "It's rare that a man can appreciate the value of one perfect rose."

"Here we go!" The shopkeeper exclaimed, hurrying out of the back. When he returned to the counter, his eyes immediately landed on Kakashi, morphing his cheery expression to shock as he bowed. Hurriedly, he said, "Lord Sixth! I didn't know I would be graced with your presence in my meager, little shop."

"My wife loves this place dearly, I would never call it meager," Kakashi replied politely. He took a deep breath, eyes darting to the man who stood on your other side, mortified.

Flirting with the Hokage's wife was a massive issue, it was just lucky that Kakashi's mind wasn't terribly dark that day.

Waving off the praise of his store from the Hokage, the shopkeeper set a bag of light brown taffies on the counter. Drawing forward, you ooh'd, which diffused a grand amount of tension in the store. The Sugar Dealer's special something turned out to bless you before you even had the one.

"Why don't you want to sell these?" You asked, looking at the bag from a couple different angles.

The shopkeeper chuckled, "It's Amaretto taffy. I can't let a child experience the bliss of Amaretto so early on."

Eyes the size of dinner plates, you pulled out your wallet immediately. You riffled through the bills, collecting a thousand yen at least.

"Keep your m- Lord Hokage, please, I don't-"

"Don't set that precedent," Kakashi remarked deeply as he set two thousand yen on the counter. You threw a few hundred extra down, knowing you owed that shopkeeper so much more from all of his free samples and special somethings.

"I cannot accept your money," he insisted, going to pick up the bills to hand them back.

Plucking the bags of cherry taffy and Amaretto taffy into his free hand, Kakashi just laughed, beginning to steer the two of you away, "Seriously, Satō-Shō, she'll come back here and clean you out."

Nodding in agreement, you waved goodbye to the shopkeeper while pressing the soft rose petals to your cheek. You didn't spare the dark haired man a glance as you turned forward, leaning into your husband's large body. Warmth radiated from him, even more noticably when the two of you stepped back outside.

"What am I going to do with you?" Kakashi asked in a sigh, mainly directed toward himself as his hand drifted from your waist, up your spine.

Brow furrowed, you joked, "You can start by giving me one of the Amarettos."

"Would you have let him buy these for you?"

It was a stupid question, you both knew it, but Kakashi always worried. Worried about everything, but nothing made him as anxious as a potential threat to the sanctity of your relationship.

"You would turn down free candy?"

His expression darkened as he hooked his arm over your shoulders. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking up at his gorgeous face with the halo of cloud. Slowly, he said, "You should be."

"Oh, my dearest, so green with envy," you hummed, holding the hand that rested over your shoulders again. You kissed the back of his hand, promising, "I only jest. I knew you would come to my rescue. My pretty boy always swoops in the save the day."

"Fuckin' right I do," he huffed, pulling you into an alley.

In an instant, his mask was down and his lips were on yours, moving assertively. Like a wire becoming live in your stomach, you could feel electric shocks throughout your body, going all the way down to your fingertips.

Stealing a kiss in a darkened alleyway was so juvenile. It reminded you of all the times the two of you had been in this situation before, especially before you were wed. Not often was the reason for these desirous kisses another man, but the subject had been raised before.

"You're mine, all mine," he snapped, the vibrations of his baritone voice sending ripples against your lips. You let a whimper pass through you as you gaze at your husband's bare face. You leaned forward to kiss your husband again, but he pulled away gently, pressing you against the brickwall of the alley. Looking at you with cloudy eyes, Kakashi purred, "Tell me. Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Kakashi, I'm entirely yours- until the end of time," you replied breathily. Eyes scanning your face, Kakashi apparently decided your words sincere as he came forward again to press his soft lips to yours.

He tasted so divine, you couldn't help but moan softly. His tongue slipped past your lips slyly, making a pool form in your stomach. As Kakashi's tongue swirled around yours, the two of you were locked in a dance. A duet, that you and your husband had perfected over the years. You whispered a complaint when Kakashi takes a breath, but it falls on deaf ears.

"Not here," he growls while pulling the fabric back over his face, snatching your hand up quickly. Through the mask, Kakashi places a chaste kiss to your forehead before swiftly pulling you out of the alley. Hushed and hurried as he barreled the two of you down the street at a blistering pace, Kakashi promised, "I'm going to have you screaming those words all night long, my pretty lady."

Supressing the squeal that bubbled up from the pit of heat in your stomach, you happily scurried along as Kakashi led the way to the Red House under Hokage Rock. It was a darling place to live, and you enjoyed decorating it, but even just the residence wing was huge - you almost preferred the apartment you and Kakashi had before he became the Hokage. But, anywhere was the perfect place to live, so long as you were living with Kakashi.

In half the time it took the two of you to get to the confectionary, you were home. Not wasting a second, Kakashi threw the bags of taffy onto the console table in the foyer, immediately putting both of his hands on your hips to pull you in. You hadn't even caught when he pulled down his mask again. But, with his speed, Kakashi caught the single rose between your two bodies and you yelped, holding the flower high.

"You took all four of your minutes to pick out the perfect rose, be gentle with her," you chided, inspecting the slight dents on either side of the rose's bulb.

"I'll be gentle with her," your husband replied, plucking the flower from your fingers.

Gingerly, Kakashi placed it on the console table, just on top of the taffy bags. He turned back to you, eyes darkened a shade further, and he replaced his hand to your hip. Kakashi snapped your body to his with a chuckle, making you gasp. His gorgeous, pillowy lips were all you could focus on, taken by the flushes of self-inflicted bite marks that dotted the center of his mouth.

Muting any remark from you, Kakashi began kissing you again. This time, in the comfort of privacy, his lips were enflamed with passion and desperation - the two ingredients mixed so deliciously to deliver you a kiss that made your knees weak. Kakashi wrapped his thick forearm around your lower back, allowing you to lean on him. As you did so, his other hand travelled lower, squeezing the plump flesh of your ass before nudging you to jump. You do, and Kakashi caught you firmly, one hand squeezing beneath your thigh while the other remained to support your back. The jump gives you the friction both of you crave, but doesn't satiate further.

Pressing you against the growing tent of his pants, Kakashi whispered, "There's my good girl."

"Am I not always your good girl?" You whined against his lips, letting your left hand rest on the back of Kakashi's neck while the other pressed on the ample muscle of his chest.

Peppering your jaw with kisses and nips, Kakashi shook his head and began to walk you down the hallway to your bedroom. The ache within you grew, upset at his lack of validation. You had tried your best to ignore and warn the man from the confectionary, and yet he was the reason Kakashi wasn't giving you what you wanted.

"Kakashi, please, kiss me," you begged as he pushed the door to your bedroom open with your back. Your husband continued pressing warm, sloppy kisses to the angle of your jaw, laying you down amongst the linen bedsheets. Feeling so criminally empty, you pleaded, "Please, kiss me- my lips... let me show you I'm your good girl."

"You'll only get my lips on yours after you've proved yourself," Kakashi hummed, adding a modest suckle right on the sweet spot under your ear.

You could've melted beneath your husband, but the nagging knot of nerves in your abdomen kept you intact, barely. Clenching around nothing as Kakashi slid his leg between your thighs, you let a shaky breath fall from your lips. Kakashi's head perked up from your neck, looking at your face amusedly.

"What are you supposed to do when another man starts flirting with you?"

You shrug, feeling like you did as much as you could have without being rude. You threw your head back into the sea of white linen and replied, "I dunno. Wait for you, like I always do?"

"You do know, pretty lady." You freeze as Kakashi's right hand floated to your thinly clothed cunt. Drifting his finger over the fabric that covered your slit, you sucked in a moan and Kakashi hummed, "You know, and once you give me the right answer, I'll give you what you want." A stifled scream passes through your pursed lips as his lithe fingers graze your sensitive clit. He repeated, "What are you supposed to do when another man flirts with you?"

"Talk about you," you answered, bucking your hips against your husband's hand and thigh.

"And...?"

With a small amount of pressure, Kakashi's middle finger began laying small circles onto your clit. You gasped, "Tell him... tell him h-how frightening you are... when you're mad."

"No," Kakashi snipped, taking his hand and leg away, making your thighs snap shut. He corrects you, voice filled with a dire intonation, "You tell him I'll kill him."

"Kakashi-"

"If another man ever comes so close to you, tell him his body will be found in five different places."

Despite how sharp his words were, you could feel wetness pooling in your panties. Kakashi's eyes were so serious, and there wasn't a hint of humour in his tone. Just fanning the flames of your arousal, Kakashi still did nothing to quench the heat that devoured every nerve in your body.

"I will," you swore, trying to look as sterling as possible.

Kakashi hummed, slowly letting his left hand slide down the inside of your thigh. You went to squeeze your knees together, but Kakashi immediately separated them with either hand. With a shake of his head, Kakashi slotted himself between your legs again, his massive length straining against the black fabric of his trousers as he rubbed against the sopping cloth of your underwear.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he sighed, hanging his head. Then Kakashi looked up at you, the corner of his mouth twitching so hungrily. "I do believe, me having saved you falls under the you-owing-me-one category." You nodded quickly, swallowing the excess spit in your mouth. Kakashi smirked so cruelly, "Look at you, my pretty lady - so eager to please."

"Eager to please you," you affirmed, making Kakashi groan your name as he leaned down to finally give you a proper kiss.

Rutting your hips up, you ground against the twitching bulge in your husband's pants, getting ready to pull turn yourself around. You weren't in a terribly good position to suck Kakashi's cock - he greatly preferred it when you hung your head over the edge of the bed, opening up your throat so perfectly for him to slide down. You could never fit more than half of his length before he was hitting the back of your throat, but if your head was over the edge of the-

It didn't matter. Kakashi moved before you could, slowly moving away from your mouth and down to your jaw. Holding you down slightly, he interspersed your soft neck with gentle sucks and bites, sure to show up as a million love bites the next day.

You had plenty of turtlenecked shirts for the such occasions, but you still found yourself pulling down the neck at various parts of the days you wore them, bragging to each and every one of your friends. They always demanded such lewd details, and you were much obliged to offer up every juicy facet, if only in a private setting. All of them were jealous, so fucking jealous of you, and this was why.

Trailing down to the valley of your chest, Kakashi groaned deeply as his left hand massaged the flesh of your right tit through the fabric of your bra, kneading and squeezing so strongly it elicited a shaky thrum from you. While his hand went up to your shoulder, Kakashi pressed a myriad wet, lingering kisses to the exposed skin of your bust. He pushed the short sleeves of your dress and the strap of your bra off of your shoulder, doing the same to the other side, before Kakashi began tugging the purple dress off of your body entirely. Hastily, he pulled his two top layers off as one, throwing them to the ground with your dress.

"Now who's eager?" You teased as he thumbed the waistband of his trousers.

Feeling a breeze with how quick he is, Kakashi's fingers were nearly sinking into you through your panties. You inhaled sharply as he replied adamantly, "Me. I'm eager."

He would always admit it, quite happily too; Kakashi loved your cunt, in any way he could have you.

Battling his urges, Kakashi was much slower to pull your cotton underwear off than he was with your dress, seeming to greatly enjoy watching strands of your slick pull away with the fabric. He groaned lowly, flicking the soaked cotton to some corner of the room. Cold air flushed against your flaming core, making you clench at the contrast. Slowly, Kakashi lowered to his knees, face to face with your already moistened pussy, and he smiled as you threw your legs around his shoulders.

"Tell me what you want," he commanded lowly, hot breath fanning over your folds.

You swallowed thickly and answered, "I want you, Kakashi, how-ever you wish to have me."

"Fuck, I love you," Kakashi groaned, leaning forward to lick a stripe up your slit. You can see your white and translucent slick on his tongue as he hummed, "You taste so good for me, darling. All that candy, it makes you sweet."

"I love you," you whimpered breathlessly as Kakashi's tongue licked another stripe, entering your folds to get as much of your wetness as he could on his tongue. He swallowed it up, humming to himself lowly before capturing your clit between his lips in a soft suckle. Instantly, you're throwing his headband away and letting your fingers find purchase in your husband's silver tresses. "Stars almighty, Kakashi."

"Mm. That's right, say my name."

Without question, you give in, your husband's name becoming like a prayer as he lapped at your pussy. His tongue swirled around your clit as his long fingers danced around your inner-thigh. The tickle made you shiver, which only seemed to make Kakashi hungrier. Bringing his fingers to your folds, your husband began teasing your entrance with his calloused pads.

Looking down at him, you let out a heavy moan that was felt even in your cunt. Kakashi's eyes were half-lidded as he locked them with yours, and you could recognize how ablaze with desire they were.

"I'm all yours, K-kashi, please," you bit out, starting to feel a whirl in your mind. The fog began to lift, and you could see the light of an orgasm at the end of the tunnel. You ran toward it, calling out Kakashi's name until-

Cold air hits your folds, making you shutter your eyes open. You didn't remember closing them. Looking down to your husband, still with your legs over his shoulders, you babbled a plea, only to be met with another cold blow from Kakashi's very own lips. You whined loudly, throwing your head back into the sheets.

"Where's my good girl gone?" Kakashi wondered aloud in a light tone. He slid down his trousers, lazily pumping his impressive length. Even after so many years, so many encounters, Kakashi's cock always made your lip quiver. As you stared, entranced, he came up your body, slowly pressing your legs up to your chest, and made eye contact with you.

The way Kakashi looked down at you... it almost brought you to tears. Tears of elation, of disbelief, even after all this time. His expression was of playful adoration, of the man you had fallen in love with most ardently so many years ago. But his eyes - they screamed of a dark desire, thousands of thoughts flitting behind his charcoal irises. The uncomfortable nagging of your denied release faded as your heart swelled five sized too big.

Sliding the leaking tip of his cock through your folds, Kakashi lowly chuckled as you squirmed, "I asked you a question, pretty lady."

"You'll just have to ask me again - your eyes are far too distracting," you purred, trying to sound as sultry as you could.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, darling."

Despite his candied tone, Kakashi slapped the tip of his cock against your clit. The jolt made you stutter away, but Kakashi pulled you back with both hands clamped on your hips, before leaning down to hook around your back and remove your bra.

As he threw the plunged bra aside, he murmured, "Be good. Don't you want my cock? Or... would you prefer-"

"I'll be good! I'm good!" You wailed, dragging your slicked folds over your husband's girth. "I want your cock so fucking bad, Kakashi, please, please- I want you, please-"

"Not very good of you, interrupting me," Kakashi mumbled under his breath, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock to line himself up with your velvety entrance. He sighed as the tip of his dick spilled into your warmth, "Oh, but who am I to deny my pretty lady?"

Inch by inch, Kakashi squeezed into you, filling you beyond your wildest imagination. You whimpered, calling out his name as your nails dug into his muscular thighs. No corner of your mind could capture how stuffed-full Kakashi made you feel, it was something you were blown away by every night.

"Fuck- yeah, just a bit more- fuck, you're taking me so well, pretty, pretty, pretty lady," Kakashi groaned lowly as he sank into your warmth, your wetness squelching with the vacuum seal. His hand cupped your cheek, so warm that you couldn't help but lean into his touch as his fingers curled under your jaw. He bottomed out, giving you a second to adjust, cooing, "Such a good girl for me. This pretty pussy's mine, mine alone."

"All yours," you gasped in a squeak. Kakashi groaned, rocking his hips against you. He reached so deep inside of you, you could feel him just below your belly button. You hissed, gripping his thighs, "Kakashi- fuck- you're so- fucking big."

"Mm, and you take everything I give you." Oh, how true the statement was. But your agreement melded to a guttural groan the second Kakashi started moving.

Finally beginning a slow pace of deep strokes, your eyelashes fluttered. Soft moans accompanied every breath as Kakashi started pulling more out, making you feel even more full with every thrust. The sounds of your cunt squelching to accommodate his rapidity fill the room, undercut by the soft slapping of skin.

Putting more pressure on the backs of your knees, Kakashi pushed your legs deeper into your chest. He fucked into you so lovingly that you could see the passion emanating from his body, making all of your muscles simultaneously tense and relax. In a stutter, Kakashi put his left hand on the bed, beside your head, while the other travelled lower to grip your ass. His entire body came closer to you, deepening his movements that much more. Breaths mixing between the two of you, a humidity arose in the room, with a very particular scent.

Enthralled by the sight of his cock disappearing within you, Kakashi's head was tilted slightly down. A stupid smile plastered on your face as you choked back a moan and kissed Kakashi's forehead. His eyes immediately found yours and his hips snapped into yours.

Leaning to connect his lips with yours, Kakashi quickened his pace, swallowing every wanton sound that came from your lips. His tongue Waltzed with yours, leading you in a lovely dance. You reached up, moving one hand over your husband's gorgeously chiseled face as the other squeezed the plump muscles of his shoulder. For a moment, Kakashi let you really get used to his pace, allowing your orgasm to climb to the forefront of your mind once again.

As you climbed the mountain, your walls clenched around your husband's dick, sucking him in further, ushering his precum into your womb. Right on the edge of bliss, your body twitched around, moans becoming more and more obscene.

"Maybe I should stop right now," he groaned, slowing his thrusts painfully.

Vehemently shaking your head, your eyes flew open. "No, K'kashi, no, ple-ase, I was s'close, please, you feel so- so good."

"Tch, how can I deny such a good, beautiful girl?" Kakashi tittered, gradually going back to his original speed. As you sank back in, he pulled you out, asserting firmly, "Look at me when you cum on my dick."

"Kakashi-i-i-" You moaned for a prolonged time, eyes fighting to stay open. Your husband's lip was curled into a darling smile, and the thoughts behind his eyes finally settled. A wide smile stretched across your lips, mouth falling open as you could feel Kakashi's eyes caressing your very soul.

When his hand ghosted around your thigh and intuitively found your clit, shockwaves were sent through your entire body. Just a few beats behind the tempo of Kakashi's thrusts, his middle and ring finger whirled the sensitive bundle of nerves. In only a few more thrusts, you're screaming Kakashi's name as he finally gives you the sweet release.

"Fuckin' stars," he gasped, stilling in your cunt as your walls fluttered and spasmed. "You're s'fuckin' tight, so fucking beautiful."

Smiling up at him, Kakashi pressed another hungry kiss to your lips, before pulling back entirely. He gripped your hips and began snapping into you with more force than he had before.

"Kakashi! Fuck!" You yelled out, hands left to grip his thighs again. Digging your nails into the back of his thighs only seemed to give your husband more vigour. You gasped, "Fucking sensitive, Kakashi, stars-"

"I'm the only one who gets to fuck you like this," he groaned, bottoming out with every thrust. His timing grew uneven, and his strokes got messy, telling you he was nearing his light too. "Such a good girl f'me. Me. Only me."

"I love your cock," you whined, feeling blood rushing to your head, a slight spin percolating.

"M-my perfect wife, fuck- I'm gonna cum, pretty girl." Pulling your flushed body up, Kakashi took you in his arms as he fucked into you, delivering his last few plunging strokes, before he stuttered entirely. He groaned so deeply, you could feel the vibration in his cock, pressed against your cervix, "I fuckin' love fillin' you up."

A heat trickled into you, making you smile as Kakashi thrusted into you a few more times at a relatively lazy rhythm, bringing you a swell of relief. Your husband's cock twitched within you, filling you more and more. With a contented breath, you clenched around him, beckoning his cum further into you.

Bringing you up for another kiss, Kakashi hummed against your lips as he stilled, keeping all of his spend nice and secure within you. He took you up fully, then turned and fell back into the bed. The position had you sinking onto his cock so deliciously as you leaned against his chest.

"I love you, more than anything," you murmured as Kakashi's eyes roamed your face.

A small smile tugged at his lip, bestowing you with a dashing look. "I love you too, pretty lady."

"So, what's your verdict?" You asked with a soft chuckle and a tired undercut.

"What's my what, darling?" He asked, voice slightly rasped.

Reaching to your face, he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear lovingly, which had you biting down on your lower lip. Kakashi's eyes danced over your puffy lips, smile deepening on both of your faces as you laughed,

"Can I have an Amaretto taffy now?"

[issa-wasteland]

Lisa Frankenstein 🧟‍♂️💖

I truly love Lisa Frankenstein for many reasons. From Taffy actually making the effort to include Lisa in the their family and her social group despite being the popular cheerleader. We don't see that much in movies as it is refreshing to see that in a character who wants to be more than what social role she fits into and caring for her step-sister. As for the step-mom, Janet was the one who needed help and took every opportunity to blame Lisa for anything. She most definitely projected the "wanting attention" onto Lisa cause she brings it up almost every conversation as you can see she does her little theatrics in front of Dale and Dale gives her that attention and less for Lisa.

*I found it ironic how the creature was wearing a shirt that says "Violent Femmes" on it as they chuck out a worm in Janet's bowl then murdered Janet with a sewing machine, and stole her ear.

*Most of the boys and men in this movie suck and perverted. From Dale being a negligent father to Lisa but supportive of Taffy, Lisa's boss is a weird perv who commented on her "flat chest," Doug being the "Nice guy" who's downright terrible and could've SA'd Lisa, That bigot old man who started a fight with the creature, and Michael Trent who is a loser.

*The outfits in this movie was so fitting for the time that it takes place in. It doesn't feel forced (?) If that makes sense whenever a movie or tv show takes place in the 80s.

*I wonder if Lisa ever re-drew that lighting on her hand cause she has it on her hand throughout the movie. And, if Lisa continues to raid Taffy's closet for clothes then it's correct to assume she also lends Taffy's clothes to the creature?? The pj's Lisa wore were cute especially the cowboy one.

*Lisa gets on the creature for murder and how the car they were in is probably tracked yet hardly cover up the blood stain on the carpet?? Plus she's so aware of knowing the things they did is wrong but not entirely sorry for it.

*Her speech to Michael totally made sense cause I'm sure people knew a guy who is exactly what Lisa was talkin about and that does make them a loser.

*I love how the creature wasted no time to cut off some peen as they turned up the music, slashed, and collected what was needed before going on their merry way.

* Also the creature is most definitely trans and Lisa was very understanding to tell them that pretty much peen is not the only way to feel satisfied during sex 🏳️‍⚧️

*Cole sprouse really nails on showing the creature yearning for Lisa especially when they're back at the cemetery.

*Hand kisses 💋 💖💖👌 as the sex scene  surprisingly doesn't feel cringe or uncomfortable to watch like some intimate scenes in movies.

*Using a tanning bed as a way to bring life into the creature is an interesting concept as does a reverse and "kills" Lisa. Plus she just has bad luck with electricity, the girl gets shocked using the "back massager."

This movie was just overall fun to watch 💋

[pondslime]

??? FINALLY got the chance to sit down and read this

jfc, meg. ur really sending my ass straight back into the swamp. u have pitched me directly into the bayou and now I'm being pursued by a blue-eyed gator. how DARE u (I love u dearly)

FIRST OF ALL!! the prose in this is absolutely stunning.

u really captured this feeling of heavy, dense, INESCAPABLE heat. we're back in ambrose and it's SWELTERING. oof. reading this was like crashing ur car straight into a bog and having to trudge thru the muck!! waving ur 2005 flip phone in the air desperately trying to get service!! so u can call roadside assistance!! but surprise!! there's no reception and the only roadside assistance u get is some vile hick w/mommy issues!!!

bojangles in a wifebeater. the fact that u gave me that mental image. wild....................much. to ponder

favorite lines under the cut bc I'm howling about them. as we speak

The quilt sits scrunched at the foot of the bed for the season and he kicks the sheets off around midnight like something forcing its way out of a soft-shelled egg. 

LOVE THIS WORDING !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SO VERY MUCH !!!!!!!!!!!!!! REPTILE BOY !!!!!!!!!!!!!! CROCODILIAN MFER !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The day languishes. They all do. You kill a thousand flies. You mop the floor and track your own footprints across it before it dries. You hang his shirts on the clothesline in the side yard and feel like an insect trapped in the sap of time. You shave your legs in a cold bath and examine your skin:  sunburn, bug bites, bite marks. 

NOW THAT'S THE JUICE RIGHT THERE

He brings home a bag of saltwater taffy, all raspberry.  “Thought of you,” he says when he hands it to you. To your recollection, you have never mentioned taffy or raspberries or anything of the sort. You wonder who he thinks you are, whether he has you confused with someone else. 

I cannot. physically put into coherent words. how much I love this bit.

just............OOF. the reader stuck in this house with who she is vs who he thinks she is vs who she has become!!! and @ the end of the day she decides it doesn't matter and eats the candy bc whatever. one of them should probably enjoy it.

THE FAIR DON'T COME AROUND HERE NO MORE AND THE TAFFY WILL ALWAYS GO DOWN WRONG !!!!!!! OH MY GOD !!!!!!!

oh. ILL. ill and diseased. excellent stuff

Your hips bump against his like a car on a back road, lost, no cell service. You wish there was music playing. 

You are drowning here, surrounded by trees, surrounded by more green than you ever knew existed in the world.  Somewhere out there, someone is mourning you. You can feel it tonight, crackling in the ozone like the storm that won’t break. 

You can’t remember your home address. You can picture the house, the sidewalk in front of it, cracks in the driveway. The rest is like a dream. The house behind you doesn’t have an address. No number, no mailbox. You can feel it sucking at the base of your spine like a leech, coaxing you in, tipping you backwards all wrong like a gravity hill. You feel eyes on you, all the time, no matter what room you’re in. 

You live sideways amid the boxes and bottles and beer cans. He refuses to let you throw anything away.

n o w o r d s

gagging. throwing up even. ur prose. ur P R O S E

I'm in space...............the stratosphere..............I suspect

This might be her house, will always be her house. But you do not belong to her. You have been spoken for again and again, and perhaps you should thank him for that.  In the daylight you remember that you aren’t scared of ghosts, and that you have nothing left to give. Plenty of dead women have laid claim to you already. This one cannot have you, and for that matter, she can’t have him either. 

No one can kill you if you’re already dead. You believe that so hard sometimes you can’t see your own reflection.

my jaw absolutely DROPPED at the transition between the nightmare to waking up in bed jhsdfjhsfdjhdf getting eaten out by this FREAK!!!!!!!! do alligators eat each other???? I'M ROTTING AWAY!!! love love LOVE that SO much. god. that's the juice that's my JAM that's everything!!!!!!!!

“You love me?” you ask him before you can think better of it. Before the rain stops. The corner of his mouth twitches. His gaze slides past you, goes somewhere else, above the sea of trees. The sky is in his eyes. “Sometimes.”

U M ?????????????????????????? thinking thinking THOUGHTS

wow??????????????? wowza???????????

ANYWAY. any shred of coherency that I have left is steadily dripping out my ears and I'm just yodeling gibberish @ this point. this is SUCH a drop-dead gorgeous piece. your prose is so so so immaculate. it's so wonderful to get to read ur stuff again. u always knock it out of the park. luv this and luv u

fever dream

Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

7.6k words. dubcon ofc. reader is absolutely mentally bankrupt. stockholm is where we live, it's where we are, it's where we'll die. sporadic smut, pnv, fingering, and oral (fem!rec). blood and sweat everywhere. Bo calls reader a bitch a couple times but like, it's out of love or some shit. somno. alcohol use. nightmares. ghosts. swamp things. the ever-looming threat of death and depersonalization.

welcome back to my youtube channel. I have been. working on this fic. since May of last year. and it's finally done(?) it is long and weird and maybe bad and meant for you to get lost in. a journey with no destination. a haunted house only you are the haunted and the haunt and the house. tbqh I'm rewatching HoW today for the first time in months and months and I had to get this out of my drafts so I can check back into the sanitarium with minimal baggage, y'know?? I hope it makes you feel some type of way.

The summer heat is in your blood and the swamp is in your lungs and he is under your skin. 

You’ve never known an August like this, like a blister. You go to bed sticky and wake up drenched in sweat. The ceiling fan is a hurricane agent that offers no respite, just blows the humidity in vicious cycles. There’s no air conditioning in the house; it’s too old. Instead you wrap ice cubes in dish towels and press them to the back of your neck. 

A storm’s been hanging on the horizon for days. Thunder rolls out of a wall of iron gray, an idle threat. The air is soupy and super-charged. No rain comes. 

The nights are delirium. You go to bed on opposite sides of the mattress, oil and water. He sleeps naked, sprawled out like a water skeeter. The quilt sits scrunched at the foot of the bed for the season and he kicks the sheets off around midnight like something forcing its way out of a soft-shelled egg. 

You lie awake, listening to the cicadas and waiting. Just when you’ve started to cool down and drift off he reaches over and fumbles at your leg, grabs your arm. He pulls you on top of him, hands on your body beneath his old t-shirt. You ride him with your eyes closed and your breath hot on your lips. It’s a fever, the sweating, the shaking. 

You wake every morning suffocating under his arm in the center of the mattress with honey between your thighs. 

.

He drinks his coffee hot even though the steam can barely rise above the rim of the mug in the humidity. You pour yours over ice and savor the feeling as it seeps down your throat and into your stomach. You curl your toes on the linoleum and almost smile at him across the table. He’s golden from all his time in the sun. You can trace the lines of his wifebeater over his shoulders, across his chest. You stare at him across the table and think about the taste of his skin. You want to run your tongue along that tan line. 

He catches you staring. “What?” he says flatly. 

You redirect your gaze to your hands. Shake your head. Wait for him to move on so you can resume your perusal of his body.

When he looks away, out the window, the sun catches those eyes and turns them to sea glass. He needs a haircut; walnut curls crest over his ears like kudzu. When you get up to clear the table your skin peels from the vinyl seat cushion with a sting that makes you wrinkle your nose. 

“Be good,” he tells you before he leaves. You wonder what he means, what he thinks you might get up to in this house full of dust and guns and ghosts. You know better than to ask, and you nod and kiss him goodbye and feel his lips on your lips for hours afterwards. 

The day languishes. They all do. You kill a thousand flies. You mop the floor and track your own footprints across it before it dries. You hang his shirts on the clothesline in the side yard and feel like an insect trapped in the sap of time. You shave your legs in a cold bath and examine your skin:  sunburn, bug bites, bite marks. 

When he pulls into the driveway you’re on the front step eating a popsicle and counting the minutes. He saunters across the gravel like John Wayne, shoulders exposed, hair plastered to his neck. You meet his eyes and wrap your lips around the cherry-flavored mess dripping onto your fingers. He spits into the weeds and eyes you through his lashes. 

“What’s for supper?” 

You suck on your sticky thumb. There’s a full spread on the dining room table, ready and waiting. “Whatever you want.” 

He licks his lips. 

Supper gets cold. 

.

He brings home a bag of saltwater taffy, all raspberry. 

“Thought of you,” he says when he hands it to you. To your recollection, you have never mentioned taffy or raspberries or anything of the sort. You wonder who he thinks you are, whether he has you confused with someone else. 

You sit on the porch steps and amass a pile of wax paper wrappers beside you. It’s soft and melty, peels out of the wrapper with a sticky crackling sound. It’s salty and sour and tastes like cheap sugar. Like a memory of summer that may be real, or maybe not. Could be yours, or could be someone else’s.

You eat more than you want, until your teeth hurt and you can feel the hot spot on your tongue where a canker sore will form. You rake that spot back and forth across your incisors. You can’t help it. Sometimes it feels like things have to have a hurt to them. 

“You ever been to the fair?” you ask him over your shoulder.

He grunts from the porch swing. “Used to go when Vince ‘n me were little. Took Les a couple times when he was old enough.”

“You ever take a girl?”

“Nah.” His boot thumps on the porch, an offhand punctuation mark. “Couldn’t find one to go with me.”

You doubt that; you’ve seen his yearbook photos. But then again, maybe he was off-putting as a teenager. Spooky. Hadn’t quite learned how to camouflage yet. Came on too strong, wore too much cologne, used too many teeth.

You survey the vast swath of woods that surrounds Ambrose and try to imagine a ferris wheel, red and blue and blinking, rising from the green like the hump of a whale.  “I’d go with you.”

He snorts. “Yeah?”

You look down at the piece of taffy in your fingers. You don’t really want it. You unwrap it anyway. “Yeah.” You gnaw on the candy like a dog savoring a scrap. “Be like a date,” you say thickly.

“What, you wanna skip down the midway holdin’ hands? Makin’ out in the Tunnel of Love?”

You can picture it, sunset and a sundress. He’s laughing. You’re laughing. The crowd is made of wax. “You could win me a stuffed animal.”

He scoffs again, but then he asks you, “What kinda stuffed animal you want?”

You think for a second, unstick the taffy from your molars and push it around your mouth with your tongue. “A Louisiana crocodile.” A souvenir from your time in the South. Maybe it’ll be wearing a little trucker hat and a smile that doesn’t reach its eyes.

“Ain’t got crocodiles here, sugar. ‘S all alligators.”

“Fine, an alligator then.”

You run your hands over your shins, sticky with the humidity. The chains of the porch swing creak rhythmically behind you. The sea of trees is dark and still and endless.

“Fair don’t come ‘round here anymore,” he says finally.

You force the taffy down your throat, swallow hard, and reach for another one.

“Figures.”

.

You’re buzzed and reckless, sucked down a pair of beers too fast just because they were frosty. The shears snick like some needy, nipping thing. You found them upstairs under the bathroom sink once upon a time and you always put them back when you’re done. They’ve been there longer than you’ve been alive. You comb your fingers across his scalp and loose locks drift onto your clean floor. 

“Don’t take it too short,” he admonishes into the mouth of his beer bottle. “You butcher me, I butcher you.” 

You roll your eyes behind his back. “Have I ever?” 

He grunts in acquiescence. That’s as close to a win as you’ll get. 

The windows are open; the thunder presses against the frayed screens. A gigantic moth flings its feathery body repeatedly at the ceiling light. You run your hand through his hair slow just to feel it between your fingers, thick and soft. Your thumb glances off the scar on the left side of his skull and comes back for another pass. 

He jerks his head, puts a stop to that. “You done?” 

“Almost.” 

You’re particularly fond of the curls at the nape of his neck, always save them for last. You coil one around your finger. You want to ask him if you can keep it, but you’re afraid he’ll say no or worse, that he’ll say yes. He’ll ask for something in return. You’ll give it to him, no matter what it is. You give him anything he wants, everything he wants. It’s the least you can do, the most you can do. 

You snip them one by one, bittersweet. 

“Done.” 

He leans over in the chair to examine his reflection in the window. “Good enough.” 

He stands up and drains the dregs of his beer. His hand finds your waist and he pulls you in and you bend like a reed, peering up at him, inspecting your work. He smells like sweat and sun. You grip his shirt in your fists and move with him as he sways lazily side-to-side. 

He gives you the gift of a smile, half-cocked and handsome. “You wanna dance, mama?”

Your fingers spider-creep up the shield of his chest and lock behind his neck. His skin is hot and sticky against your wrists, clipped hairs poking and itching. Your hips bump against his like a car on a back road, lost, no cell service. You wish there was music playing. 

He tilts his head towards you and you get caught in the trap of his mouth. The thunder moans. You can feel the sweat beading on your upper lip, in the pit of your elbows. His hands are heavy on your bones. 

His jaw scrapes along your temple like a razor blade and a fever chill rolls over your skin, hot-cold. “G’on upstairs, get those clothes off.” 

Have you always been such a good listener? 

.

He comes home drunk and fucks you on the table, in the midst of supper left cold and waiting for him. You knew he’d be hungry. You are right about some things and wrong about others.

You wince every time a dish topples off the table and shatters on the faded linoleum. He doesn't look at you, not once.

Afterwards, he disappears for a while and leaves you to clean up the kitchen. You are dazed, legs unsteady, leaning on the counter like an old friend. It’s been a bad day. Dinner has soaked through the back of your shirt and so you take it off, hang it over the back of a chair for later, and set to work on the mess.

You cannot puzzle out how he managed to get blood on every dish you are trying to wash until finally you realize it is yours, seeping quietly from a slice on your palm. When he comes up behind you your spine stiffens, arching like a snake making a final stand. He puts his hands on your bare waist and his lips against the back of your head like a sweetheart, like a husband, like a different person.

“Leave it, darlin’. Come sit on the porch with me.”

You bite your lip, lift your palm so he can see it, watch the world blur with saline. “I cut myself,” you say, and only then does the sting set in, so sharp you can feel it in your teeth.

He makes a sympathetic noise and cups your hand in his. “Now why’d y’go and do that?”

You open your mouth to answer but only a moan comes out as he lifts your arm and seals his lips over the cut. He sucks, gently at first and then harder, hard enough you feel the seam of skin separate and your fingers jerk like puppets to the pain. He lets you go and you cradle your hand to your chest as he laps your blood off his lip.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, takes your arm, tugs you from the sink. “C’mon. I need a smoke.”

You follow him onto the porch, curl up in his lap with a dishrag pressed to your palm and watch smoke and moths float around the light.

Your blood dries on the dishes with the gravy.

.

The clouds boom a reminder that they are still hanging above the house, but you are already awake in the split second beforehand. You are cocooned in the sheets and panic for a moment, arms pinned to your chest, bedroom black as a coffin. When you claw free, gasping, the air is like moss draped spongey and damp across your face. 

You worm out of the bed, out of the room, stagger into the hallway and down the stairs in the dark. You are mere steps ahead of some emaciated beast, its breath muggy on your cheeks and the back of your neck. You twist your shirt off and throw it on the floor of the den before it can strangle you, wrench the front door open and slam through the screen with both hands. 

The night is wet in your nose. One hundred million insects scream to God. In the back of your mind you think about joining them. Your toes scuff to a stop on the precipice of the porch and you peer into the darkness with round eyes, bare chest heaving for more air than you can hold. You are drowning here, surrounded by trees, surrounded by more green than you ever knew existed in the world. 

Somewhere out there, someone is mourning you. You can feel it tonight, crackling in the ozone like the storm that won’t break. 

You wrap your arms around yourself and sink to the ground, sit perched on the top stair in your panties and sweat-drenched skin. The nail of your index finger rips apart the cuticle of your thumb. Mosquitos float open-armed to your legs like swamp angels. It’s too hot to cry. 

The yellow porchlight struggles to life. The screen door bangs flatly behind you. He can’t ever pick up his feet, scuffing through the dust you haven’t swept. 

His fingers brush the bone of your shoulder. You don’t flinch nowadays, usually. “Y’alright?”

You don’t have to answer that. Let him wrap his hand around your throat and fishhook his fingers into your mouth to pull your jaw open, you don’t have to answer that. You grit your teeth and dig crescent moons into your thighs with all ten fingernails.

Your silence doesn’t bother him. He leans on the railing to your left, curling his toes on the concrete, looking out into the night. Sleep has mussed his hair to one side and left imprints of the sheet fanning across his chest. There’s a hickey in the shape of your mouth in the curve of his neck. Lightning flutters shy among the clouds and the thunder reprimands it. There’s something stuck in your throat, something you can’t swallow down no matter how hard you try. Moths flock to the porchlight. If anyone was alive in the town to look up the hill, they’d see you haloed, and him too. 

“‘S late. Come back to bed.”

You can’t remember your home address. You can picture the house, the sidewalk in front of it, cracks in the driveway. The rest is like a dream. The house behind you doesn’t have an address. No number, no mailbox. You can feel it sucking at the base of your spine like a leech, coaxing you in, tipping you backwards all wrong like a gravity hill. You feel eyes on you, all the time, no matter what room you’re in. 

“You listenin’ to me? Let’s go.”

You can’t go back inside. You can’t go back inside. Something in you doesn’t line up right. Someone is holding a pillow over your face.

“No,” you think you say out loud. The word flutters off into the night. You watch a mosquito drift beyond the reach of the porchlight and disappear. The stars bow gracefully into the arms of the clouds. 

After a beat, he shuffles out of your periphery. The screen door slams. Maybe this time. When you least expect it. Maybe he's sick of you at last. You pick at a scab on your knee until it comes loose and flakes off, and then you pinch the skin around the wound and squeeze until a bead of blood, scarlet-black, mounds and breaks and gets all over your fingers. You raise them to your mouth and suck them clean and it tastes familiar. Safe. 

He doesn’t come back with a knife, or a gun. He comes back with the quilt and sheet from the bed, a pillow stuffed under his arm. He unfurls the quilt on the porch. The pillow flops to the ground like something hunted to extinction. He follows suit. 

“C’mere.” He wrestles with the sheet, props himself up on an elbow and punches the pillow into place. “C’mon.” 

You breathe, just for a minute, watching him. You want to hate him so bad it hurts. You want him to hit you so you’d have a reason to hit back. You want to fight for your life because you can feel it slipping away, waning, evaporating in the heat. Already you’ve found shreds of yourself under the couch, covered in dust. You are drowning. You are thirsty. He is water, cold and brackish. 

You rise from the stairs and come to him because you need him, because he is all you have. 

“Get the light,” he says. 

You go and come back and his hand finds your calf in the dark, slides up the back of your knee, guides you to the ground. The quilt is a mockery of softness, the porch unyielding beneath. You curl up with him at your back and he folds his arm around you, thumb worrying aimlessly at your nipple. His breath is hot on the nape of your neck. 

The air roils in your lungs. The night surges in. You are alone, so alone, aching with loneliness, now and always. You close your fingers around his wrist and guide his hand between your legs. He rubs the cotton of your panties with something like pity and you let a moan seep from your throat. 

Your face lolls into the pillow and it smells like fever dreams and cold-sweat nightmares. The fabric of your underwear catches on your clit and you gasp, arching against his chest.

“Easy,” he murmurs as his fingers drag back and forth. He hooks his foot around your ankle, forces your legs open. You asked for this. You’ll take it and thank him. 

Lightning silhouettes the world beyond the porch in black and purple. When you close your eyes, you see the rooftops of the town in the colors of heaven. You rock against his hand and pretend you’re someone else somewhere else. You feel the thunder in your teeth and wish with all your heart the rain would fall. 

He puts an abrupt end to the friction and cups you in his palm, wide and warm. You make a plaintive sound and wiggle your hips, push your ass against him. You need to feel something. You need him to help you. Otherwise, you might disappear beneath the horrible blanket of the night. 

“Please,” you moan. 

He presses his lips to the back of your neck, whispers into the shell of your ear like a lover. “You love me?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Yes.” 

His teeth graze your skin as he slips his fingers past the waistband of your panties. 

“Good.” 

You wonder if he knows he keeps saving your life. 

.

The house is a midden of family misery. There’s barely space for you between heaps of clothing and glassware and mass market paperbacks. You live sideways amid the boxes and bottles and beer cans. He refuses to let you throw anything away. No matter how much you sweep and dust and tidy, the clutter seems to crawl right back across the carpet like morning glory. 

Late morning finds you in the master bedroom. It’s sweltering up here. The air sticks to your face like tattered gauze. The junk in here is of a particular breed, more meaningful—photo albums, baby clothes. Much of it has been stacked high just inside the door like a battlement. A fortification between this room and the rest of the house. You’re not allowed in here. 

Neither is he. 

Beyond the wall, everything sits untouched. A layer of dust rests primly on the bedside tables, the vanity, the yellow quilt still neatly made up on the bed. The art on the wall is sun-bleached in evenly spaced lines from the half-open blinds. The silence crowds your ears. It feels like standing in a tomb, the family crypt. 

With courage paper-thin, you've decided you'd like to confront the heart of the horror. Like shoving your fingers down the throat of the beast trying to bite you. Like making a home in its mouth, a bed in its bed. You want to eat me so bad, you’ll have to savor every scrap. 

It’s eerie in here. This room is brighter than the rest of the house by far. You can feel that parasitic presence all around you, cajoling you with hands that are soft and dry. There is a faint, floating smell of faded flowers. You breathe slowly to keep yourself from sprinting back downstairs.

You gaze at yourself in the vanity mirror. The dust almost erases you from sight, almost. You reach a finger out and draw a single streak across the silvery surface. You’re in there, somewhere. Sometimes you forget. 

The front of the vanity holds a trio of slim drawers with tiny gold handles. You catch one with the tips of your fingers and tug, just slightly. It creeps open without resistance. The inside is lined with green velvet. You pull it open all the way and search through the contents with your eyes. Blush, lipstick. Eyeshadow in seven shades of blue. You slide the drawer closed and move on to the next one, the widest one in the middle. 

This one holds a treasure trove of golden baubles:  a jumble of earrings, half a dozen hairpins, a long, thin cigarette holder. A string of pearls that look too chipped and dull to be real. And a locket, oval-shaped and decorated with a halo of tiny vines. You pick it up and the chain slips over your fingers like a thin, shining snake. 

You dig your nail into the seam and pop it open. To your muted disappointment, it is empty. No husband. No children. 

It’s yours, you decide suddenly. You want it. You've earned it. A prize, a consolation for the hell you’ve been through. For the fact that you have survived him, and she has not. You wonder if he’ll recognize it. Part of you hopes that he does. You imagine the look on his face and his hands on you afterwards. Your mouth is wet. 

This might be her house, will always be her house. But you do not belong to her. You have been spoken for again and again, and perhaps you should thank him for that. 

In the daylight you remember that you aren’t scared of ghosts, and that you have nothing left to give. Plenty of dead women have laid claim to you already. This one cannot have you, and for that matter, she can’t have him either. 

You hear the rumble of his truck out front and the thrill of fear that shoots down your spine is so cold it’s almost welcome in the stuffy room. You shove the locket into the pocket of your shorts and fling the drawer shut. It closes with a soft, complicit thunk. 

You pick your way back through the boxes and slip through the door like a reptile into water; smooth, silent. You make sure it latches behind you before you hurry to the top of the stairs. 

Out of the corner of your eye, just before you dip out of sight below the banister, you see something bend the light that reaches through the crack beneath the door. You freeze, turn your head only slightly. You see nothing. Only sunlight. Certainly no feet, dainty and bare, padding across the carpet with red-lacquered toenails. 

Panic, delayed, breaks loose. You gallop down the stairs so quickly you forget to skip the ones that creak. 

By the time he comes inside, slamming the door fit to shake the frame of the house, you are hunched over the dishes in the sink like you’ve been there all morning. If you are unduly quiet, he doesn’t seem to notice, and if he notices, he doesn’t seem to care. 

.

“I think I love you.”

You say it half-casual, half-pronouncement, the way you might tell your mom you’re dropping out of college. Tell your boyfriend you’re over him. Tell your boss you’re moving to Louisiana. “I mean it this time.”

Bo snorts, lifts his beer to his lips. “That so?”

You shoo a bee from the rim of your glass and suck down the last of your drink. You just might be drunk. “Yup.”

“Think that’s the bourbon talkin’.”

You roll your eyes, shimmy a little in an effort to make the busted lawn chair more comfortable. You thought he’d be more excited. “Why don’t you ever believe me?”

He smacks his lips like he’s considering his answer. The sunlight shifts through the trees and you close your eyes, blissful. “Lemme ask you this. You ever set a snare, baby?”

You can feel it in your blood:  the sun, the breeze, the brook bubbling over your toes. It’s not so bad, you think. Sometimes. It’s not so bad.

“Hey.” He leans over in his chair and snaps his fingers, splintering your peace. “I asked you a question.”

“Nah. Never set a snare. Some of us were normal kids.”

He ignores this and you feel like you’ve gotten away with something. “Well, sometimes you catch a critter, but it don’t strangle to death like it’s s’posed to.” 

You frown. 

“So you gotta do somethin’ about it, right? But you gotta be real careful. Can’t get caught up by the sufferin’. Gotta keep your head about you, y’know?” He’s not looking at you, but you can picture his lips, twisted in something like a smile. “‘Cause it don’t matter what it is…raccoon, possum, bunny rabbit…that sucker’ll take your hand off if y’let it.”

Your throat is sensitive all of the sudden, feels closed off. Maybe you swallowed a bee. “What are you even talking about?”

His head lolls lazy to the left and he stares at you for a second in a way that makes your hair stand on end. Then he chuckles, winks at you, turns away and leans back in his chair. 

“Nothin’, sugar. You’re awful cute.”

.

The heat wreaks havoc on the lifeless inhabitants of the town. You trail behind him like a listless kite as he makes the rounds, checking for damage, hauling the worst afflicted home to Vincent. It baffles you how much he seems to care about them. How much investment he has in keeping the rot contained beneath a pristine cosmetic veneer. For what? For who?

You don’t tell him it’s all rot, all of it, the people, the buildings. The trees. The air. Him. You. 

Some days, most days, you can’t quite look them in their faces. It’s guilt, you suppose. Guilt and acknowledgement of a fear so pervasive you no longer notice the way it clings like a second skin. You’ve convinced yourself if you meet their eyes you’ll find them glaring at you, envious and accusatory. Or worse–you’ll see the future, suspended in the flat, glass pupils of a dead game animal.

Occasionally you punish yourself by looking too closely. You note the receding hairlines, where the skin beneath the wax has dried and pulled taut and shifted the scalp along with it. You observe the way the light shines through plump round fingertips that are only hollow shells of wax, all that soft flesh desiccated and shriveled to a skeletal wedge underneath. You wonder, sometimes, whether Vincent smoothed over any flaws–scars, moles, asymmetrical lips. You touch your face subconsciously and think about the things he might fix for you.

It makes you feel like you are tiptoeing on the precipice of sanity, arms wide, just waiting to topple.

You take a particular interest in their clothing, wonder whether it belonged to them or to someone from the town. You never ask Bo, although you know he could tell you. You ignore the obvious parallels like a badly stitched seam. None of the clothes you wear belong to you either.

There are more residents than you ever imagined, half the houses not as empty as you assumed. Ten years, three brothers, three hundred and forty-nine holes to fill. You were decent at math in a past life, but nowadays, you try your hardest not to solve problems, no matter how they howl and scratch at the door. You’ve become adept at avoidance of the obvious in favor of learning how to assimilate into the cobwebs and shadows. No one can kill you if you’re already dead. You believe that so hard sometimes you can’t see your own reflection.

You believe it so hard that when you find it, on a girl in a house on a street you’ve only been down once or twice, you can’t make sense of it for several long seconds, staring dumbstruck and stupid while the static subsumes your brain.

“Let’s go,” he barks from the sitting room. The couches are pink and floral and faded.

You cannot move. You are made of wax.

“You deaf? Come on.”

She’s wearing cutoff jeans and the t-shirt you bought on a trip two years ago, or maybe three. There’s blood, brown and faded from half-hearted washing, streaking the collar and left sleeve.

Her hair is lighter than yours, and shorter. Her feet are smaller. Her nose is bigger. But the shirt is yours, and so is the blood, and for a second, you know you are a ghost.

“Hey.” He grabs your arm and turns you around. You think maybe she’ll move, now that you’re not looking. “You got a problem?”

You cannot answer him, because you do not have a voice. Because your lips have been glued together and painted the perfect pink. His gaze flicks from you to the girl and back and you wonder if he kissed her the way he kisses you. You hope he can see it, the way you are withering under the wax. You hope he will pick you up, cradle you in his arms, take you home and take care of you, make you whole, make you human.

Isn’t that all you’ve ever asked for?

He snaps his fingers in front of your face and you flinch, because you are real after all.

“Let’s go.”

You let him push you towards the door, hear him close it behind you, feel the floorboards shiver as he follows you down the hall. He puts his hand on the small of your back and ushers you out of the house, down the sidewalk cracked and stuffed with weeds keeling over in the heat. You can feel your feet melting to the concrete, skin crawling, sagging. You try not to stumble. You don’t want him to leave you behind.

“She ain’t you,” he mutters at the end of the street, so low you barely hear him over the buzz of the cicadas.

You aren’t sure if he’s lying, now or ever. You don’t ask him where her clothes are and he doesn’t offer. She might not be you, but you might be her. And you both might be someone else.

Either way, the shape of her is burned into your vision in blue and green, and she shakes her head at you when you close your eyes.

.

You wake to the sound of rain on the roof and it pulls you immediately from bed, stumbling sightless over your feet to get to the window. You yank on the mangled cord to raise the blinds and sure enough, the dust of summer is melting down the window in waves.

“Bo,” you say hoarsely. “Bo, look.”

It is then that the silence of the room seeps into your brain, the conspicuous lack of snoring. Your heart sinks into your wringing stomach. 

In a perfect world, he’d be taking a leak. He’d stumble back to bed and wrap you in his arms, press a kiss to your temple, and you’d drift back to sleep in the bliss of air conditioning. 

Your world is a few dirt road miles south of perfect.

You have to go find him. Find him and haul him out of whatever dark place he’s waded into, before he comes back worse than he went in.

The hall is a throat you have to fight against to get to the stairs, black and humid with walls that breathe. You feel cobwebs on your face and slap them away only to realize it’s your own hair caught on your lashes. The glow of the TV laps at the bottom step like floodwater, makes the carpet undulate like something just sank below the surface. You hesitate, for just a second, before you step down and feel solid ground beneath your feet.

He sits slouched on the couch in front of a screen full of static, deadeyed, jaw clenched. He doesn’t seem to notice you, quiet, creeping thing that you are. The static sounds like rushing water. Mangroves rise from the shadows in the corner of your eye. Lilypads part around your feet. If you turn your head just right, his eyes flash red in the light.

You stop halfway between the stairs and the couch, unsure what kind of animal you’re approaching. Your hands float up like a shield, like a bridge. “Bo,” you say softly, and it echoes in the night. “Are you okay?” 

He blinks, like a person. You notice a bite mark, a purple half moon in the meat of his forearm. Your skin is well acquainted with the shape of his teeth. 

“Bo,” you whisper. You don’t want to get closer. “Come back to bed.”

You hear a splash in the kitchen. The carpet squishes between your toes. Something brushes your ankle and wriggles away. You need to get out of here. You can’t leave without him. 

“Baby…please.” You step towards him and freeze as he lurches forward, sits up straight. His hands dangle between his knees, his gaze still locked on the fuzz of the television. 

“I killed my mama, y’know.” 

His voice is pitched, low and dull. A sheen of sweat glistens on his upper lip and cheekbones. The color is gone from his face and here, in this place, he looks almost green.

You fight to form breath into words. “I…I know.”

He’s speaking again as though he didn’t hear you. You can see in his eyes he is far, far away. “I watched her die. Took a real long time. But I stayed…waited. Had to make sure.”

The water is rising, cold and slick, over your ankles and up your calves. Panic rises with it, packs into your throat like silt. “You were real brave, baby. You did it. You made sure.” Your voice is thin as a reed. 

A terrible, empty grin cracks his face and then vanishes without a ripple, and now he looks at you for the first time and his eyes are hollow and blue as marbles and he whispers, “Then why ain’t she dead?”

The water surges to your knees like it’s been displaced by something large, something prowling. You teeter forward, heart hammering, splashing as you regain your balance. Too loud, too loud. Do alligators eat each other?

“She’s dead, Bo. She is.”

“Don’t lie to me, bitch!” He rises to his feet so fast you lose your balance again, flinching back from him. “She ain’t and you know it. You’ve seen her, she’s here! In this fuckin’ house!”

You shake your head quickly and in your periphery something ducks beneath the surface of the water. “No. She’s not.” Convince him, convince yourself, make it true.

His chest is heaving, his gaze darting around the room, searching. You can picture a shadow in shadow, curled up and waiting in the corner of the ceiling like a fat black spider, fingers splayed wide and tipped sharp and red. 

Bo grips the back of his head and moans and it echoes off the trees, too loud, too loud. “Fuckin’...everywhere.”

Faded flowers. Blush, lipstick. A trick of the light. A locket wrapped in vines. Something hunting, just below the surface. If you let it rip him apart, would it come for you next?

“She’s everywhere…in my goddamn head….” He sways on his feet like he might fall and if he does, if the swamp swallows him, you’ll die here in this place.

“Hey.” You close the distance, push through the muck, brush his elbow. “Hey!”

He smacks you away, snaps his jaws closed. “Don’t touch me!”

You cringe and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. Something groans in the dark. Something moves near the ceiling. 

His eyes on you are predatory, cold and empty, and his brow furrows. “Who are you?” he demands.

Wide-eyed, you open your mouth to answer him, but there is nothing on your tongue but moss. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

He leans toward you. “Who the fuck are you?”

You hold your hands up in front of you, backing away, mud between your toes. Your fingers are skeletal. Your nails are painted red. “I don’t know!”

A terribly low, vibrating sound is rising from the water, sending ripples in all directions, freezing your heart in your chest. He moves towards you and the swamp parts around him, allows him to pass like he is a part of it.

“You ain’t leavin’, baby.”

His teeth are sharp.

He lunges.

You scream.

The sound gets caught in your throat like a wad of feathers and bones and you choke, twisting, coming to in your bed. In his bed. Disoriented, you gasp for breath and release the death grip you have on the sheet. Your brow is so sweat-soaked your eyes are beginning to sting. The air is dry on your skin; the blanket is gone. The lower half of your body is tingling.

His head lifts from between your thighs and he looks at you with eyebrows raised. “Easy, sugar. Ain’t done with you yet.”

“Wh…what?” You rub at your eyes, trying to shake the sensation of water closing over your face. Somewhere, some version of you is bleeding in the silt.

His tongue makes another pass and you whimper, arms shaking with the effort of holding yourself up, of treading water, of fighting the maw of a monster. “Relax, baby. Go back to sleep.”

It’s all so insurmountable, the weight of it on your chest, and you sink back into the mattress without a ripple. His mouth is wet and warm. His dark hair is disheveled and you wonder absently if he misses it, that lock you stole. The room is silent save for the sound of your drowning.

“Is it raining?” you whisper, and hate yourself for the hope behind it.

He pauses, meets your gaze over the watery surface of your body. All you can see are his eyes and you could swear, for a second, they reflect neon red. “No.”

You let your head drop back onto the pillow, let him devour you, feel a tear slip over the brim of your lashes and disappear into your hair.

.

The storm breaks on a Wednesday. 

At first, you don’t register the rain on the roof. You don’t even take note of the thunder anymore, after weeks of torment. It’s become a fixture like the dust, like the pervasive smell of decay.

It starts slow, cautious, rolling into town like a tourist with a busted GPS. You mistake the patter for the familiar buzz of TV static even though that makes no sense, even though you’re the only one in the house, even though the TV is off in the next room. All you can hear is the rough swish of the scrub brush on the hardwood floor, coaxing flecks of blood from the gaps between the boards. It’s already beginning to reek in the heat.

You wanted to clean it up last night when it was fresh but he wouldn’t let you, strongarmed you up the stairs and pinned you to the mattress. You’d never admit it to him, to God, or to yourself—and really, is there a difference in Ambrose—but he fucks so good when he’s riled up like that, when it feels like he can’t get enough of the killing so he’s going to take it out on you, take everything you have to offer him plus a little bit more.

The cut on your palm is half-healed and hurts when you put your weight on it. There’s something about that—familiar, comfortable, not grounding, not really, but like static. Stable. Buoyant. Like the bruises on your knees. A constant that cradles you and takes you up and out of here, not too high, just above the trees.

A stair creaks behind you and you freeze like a hare in the shadow of a hawk. It could be Vincent, but he’s busy with last night’s batch. It’s not Bo.

You ease yourself up onto your knees, rock back, stand up, and creep to the foot of the stairs. They are empty. You are alone with the sense that someone has just disappeared out of sight, retreating up into the aching cranium of the house, skirt swishing.

You are never alone, not really.

It’s only then that the sound of the rain seeps into your brain, soothes the hair standing up on the back of your neck. A weight you have been holding on your shoulders since the end of July dissolves like sugar and your spine lengthens by inches. You drop the brush, forget the ghost, walk barefoot through the bloodstain on your way to fling open the front door.

It rains.

It rains even though the clouds are thin, the sun forcing its way through in places like it just can’t bear to admit defeat. It rains and pools in the potholes of the driveway that have been waiting open-mouthed to be filled. It rains and the grass and weeds release a sigh of bliss, stop begging for mercy.

You step down from the porch in a trance, palms up and open, trailing pink-tinged footprints that melt across the concrete like raspberry taffy. You walk across the lawn, scuff your feet in the grass, wonder if maybe you’re dreaming and decide you don’t care.

You sink to the ground, sprawl on your back, feel the damp soak into your clothes and your skin and it makes you whole, makes you new, makes its apologies for taking so long. You are floating, only eyes above the water, surrounded by salvinia and duckweed.

You hear his footsteps just before he calls to you. “The fuck you doin’, girl?” he shouts, but when you open your eyes, he’s losing a fight with a grin, picking his way up the slippery hill.

You sit up halfway. “It’s raining.”

“Y’don’t say.” He drops to his knees beside you, slumped with relief.

His wifebeater is splattered with blood and water but you grab it with both fists and pull him to you, catch his mouth and coax him to the ground.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters, but he guides your hands to his belt and grips your ass with both hands as you fuss with the buckle, even rolls onto his back to ease your way and lifts his hips so you can tug down his jeans. “Right here, huh?”

“Yes.”

“In the front goddamn yard.”

“Yes!”

“It’s fuckin’ rainin’!”

“I know!”

He laughs and the heavens giftwrap it with a roll of thunder. You're giddy, beaming at him, and he traces your smile with the pad of his finger and something akin to admiration.

You're brand-new, him too, and both of you together. Like it's the first time, a better first, another universe. His hands are on your thighs and his shirt rides up above his stomach. Water drips off your nose and onto his lips and he licks it off like it might save him and maybe it just might. Maybe it’ll save you both.

Exhausted, exalted, you wash the sweat and grime off each other with filthy hands and thirsty mouths. You wrap your fingers around his bare shoulders and ride him with your eyes open and your breath hot on your lips. It’s a fever breaking, the panting, the shaking.

The locket taps against your chest, the lock of his hair tucked inside it. He cups your face, slips his thumb in your mouth, and there’s blood beneath his fingernail. You suck it clean with greed and obedience, savor it, turn your face to the sky and let the crocodile tears run down your cheeks.

“That’s my girl,” he growls, and you bask in the rare and wondrous glow of his approval.

You come apart in splashes like raindrops, small, staccato swells in your core while he kisses the rain off your skin. His hands find the bruises they’ve left on your hips and squeeze and it’s all you could ever ask for, to be held. To be hurt. To be his.

Maybe it’s not so bad, you think. Sometimes. It’s not so bad.

“Y'know, girl, maybe you're right,” he says. "Just this once."

You’re confused until you realize you’ve spoken out loud. You look down at him, cold skin, wet curls, a smudge on his jaw that could be mud or blood, his or yours or someone else’s. He looks back like he sees you.

“You love me?” you ask him before you can think better of it. Before the rain stops.

The corner of his mouth twitches. His gaze slides past you, goes somewhere else, above the sea of trees. The sky is in his eyes. “Sometimes.”

You don’t smile, don’t sigh, just push the hair off his brow and sink slow and gentle beneath the surface and into the green, not a ripple made in your wake.

“Good.”

[softgrungeprophet]

WIP ask game, what's "I'll be the light"? 👁️

oh this one i have mentioned to you before, it's the one that’s a fullblown au i probably won’t ever actually write in fic form, because tbh the ideal form in my head is a longer running thing w/ minor plots in addition to the main plot and i’m not doing all that lol but, it’s the au where dr doom kills the silver surfer and also, accidentally, the fantastic four, and then johnny forms a new f4 w/ wyatt, becky and jen mostly out of a sense of responsibility to his friends more than a desire to replace his family...

it’s not like, “written out” but i have fairly detailed notes for some scenes:

So killing the Silver Surfer and taking his silver skin as armor—in a renewed attempt to bring his mother and father back from the dead, Victor von Doom (ruler of Latveria) attempts to open a rift to the negative zone. The intent is to use the power cosmic and the negative/opposing energies of that opposite universe +magic and science to counter the main timeline, thus making their deaths opposite: so they are alive. Using his silver surfer armor.

Naturally the Fantastic Four go to try to stop this new chrome-coated doom (full skin-tight armor deal, no cloth, just cloak), and this is where some of the inspiration comes from the mega-doom stuff and Fraction's run (even though there's a lot to criticize about those runs). Victor von Doom, empowered with the power cosmic and negative energies and his own mix of magic and science, fights the Fantastic Four, all chromed up.

His rift stuff is once again chaotic, the energy a powerful rift lashing out with pulses of power, almost like a small sun which he struggles to control. Plasma and shit. He is weaponizing the chaos tho and using the rift itself + his new silver surfer powers and regular magic to fight the f4. These bursts do weird shit to whatever they touch. Also gravitational pull. Things happen—a burst makes Ben's rocks into flesh, makes Reed melt, makes sue… something… fireworks… explodes against johnny's flame (extinguishing him in parts sporadically)

So we have the fantastic four trying to persevere… ben with his rocks crumbling off of him in the cosmic wind of the rift, reed like so much taffy slowly melting and struggling forward, sue a bundle of lit-up neurons and sparkles, and johnny's fire flickering on and off, parts of him exposing and burning and other parts getting fire, all over. Pieces of the castle are coming off and being sucked in or vaporized. Each member of the fantastic four is grabbed by a beam of negative zone, drawn up into the air as victor too levitates, like the spokes of a wheel.

Weakened, Reed snakes over to reach for doom, and doom grabs him by the face. And reed asks victor… why? Reed knows how dangerous the negative zone is. And doom killed the silver surfer for this. Why? Can you not accept that your parents are dead? Why?

NO! doom says "I cannot accept that which I have the power to remedy!" Says "My reflection in the mirror is, every moment of every day, a reminder of my failure! A mistake which I seek to correct! Which I have the power to rectify!" And to that Reed says, "no. your scars are not a failure, victor. They are a testament to the fact that you cared enough to try in the first place. And that's what matters more than anything else. That you cared. But you don't have to do this, Victor. They're dead, and that won't change. That cannot change. But as you said, you have power. Look at your kingdom." And doom looks. "Your people. They love you. You use your position of power to do right by them. Is that failure? Using the past to change the present. Preventing future deaths like those of your mother. Your father. Is that failure? You don't need to bring them back to right a wrong, Victor. You've already righted so many just by being where you were needed, when you were needed."

For a moment, Victor is mollified. Gentled, even, with his armored hand on Reed's face.

Reed continues: "Doing this, though… Repeating the past… Doing the same thing, expecting anything different to happen. Victor, that's just foolish." Vulnerable to attack—Reed tightens around him like a snake and shouts "Johnny!" as Victor realizes he's been tricked and grabs Reed's face back with a howl (also offended at being called a fool)

(J: "But—") R: "NOW, LAD!" in the midst of a struggle

johnny heats victor's armor, burning reed's face and all of victor, but as victor throws the injured reed down, he begins to pull johnny's energy into the armor and it builds and builds, and johnny can't stop him.

The rift is gaining power with doom at the center of it all, chrome and glowing with power, the silhouettes of his parents' shadows slowly easing into being even as his castle crumbles, the f4 held up in the air unable to escape… reed wounded, sue???? doing something? Shielding them? ben hollering.

And linked to Victor and the rift… Johnny's power goes nova. Through himself and Victor simultaneously, growing and growing—He goes either nova or supernova, not sure which… it expands and expands and expands and he and victor are screaming and sue is struggling and flickering and then—it goes inward.

The rift implodes with its own power and the power of johnny's nova, briefly just whiteness, and sends out a shockwave almost like a nuke but it encompasses the globe in a wave of shimmering pink and blue cosmic waves like TAKATAKATAKATAKA sort of an EMP that briefly causes a global blackout and auroras in every inch of sky before the power comes back. Not even sue's shields can withstand this power.

Within a 100 foot range at least, it's just… a crater where victor's lab used to be, with johnny at ground zero, extinguished, burning flesh, for all appearances a bubbling corpse—and everything and everyone else is gone. Vaporized. The f4 are gone. Victor is gone. The rift is gone. It is empty, and silent. Just… johnny… lying unconscious.

Johnny twitches and opens his eyes. The left pupil is opaque. One earring has evaporated, the other melting down his ear and now cooling. He is already healing because of his fire powers and how they relate to burns. He's still gonna be blind in one eye and scarred. Also half naked because not even his unstable molecular suit could withstand the blast (nor any of his jewelry). His hair is partially burned off. He sits up, slowly, and tweaks a loose lock of singed hair.

[ambivalentmarvel]

he he for celebratory Reasons (and also because i love The Boys) i decided @sreppub deserved some fluffy, mit-era ironhusbands, so here we are!! enjoy and interact with ali’s content for good health

not quite (puppy love)

The night Tony figures out he’s in love with Rhodey, he’s sixteen, Rhodey’s nineteen, and they’re at the movie theater.

They don’t have any special reason for going, but Tony doesn’t need one with Rhodey. It’s a Friday night, and for the moment, they’re both tired of picking a frat house to party at—their haunt of choice still hasn’t replaced the appliance they stole the last time the two of them got bored there, anyway—so they decide to go to a late-night showing, one of the not-as-recent movies the theater puts on just because, Tony guesses.

A New Hope isn’t that great, even if Tony is a little into the dude who plays Luke and can enjoy looking at him for a few hours, but Rhodey likes the story and the effects.

Tony’s thought about telling him that some of the backgrounds they use are realistic paintings—the director told him as much at some stupid event his dad made him go to—but he likes to let him speculate, sometimes, because Rhodey’s tangents about the things he’s interested in are rare but passionate when they get going.

Tony could listen to Rhodey talk, could watch his eyes glitter and hands gesture in circles like he always does when he gets carried away, for hours, and really, that should’ve clued him in long beforehand.

But it didn’t.

(As Rhodey would say, Tony’s both the smartest person he knows and dumb as a box of rocks. For his part, Tony appreciates the honesty.)

So they have a few beers each at their apartment—just enough to get tipsy, to make the room a little warm, to make their conversations about nothing and everything stretch long, like taffy, into the frosty night—and Tony says they should do something.

Rhodey shakes his head. “Kappa Sigma hasn’t gotten a new—”

“Toaster, I know, but it’s the weekend, and finals week is coming up, and then you’ll be stressed, and I’ll be stressed because you’re stressed, and neither of us will really feel like going out.” Tony takes a swig of his beer. He swindled the twelve-pack out of a douche from his microeconomics class trying to suck up to him, and it’s a Coors—not Tony’s favorite, but it gets the job done. “I don’t want to sit around all night and waste our time before then.”

Rhodey raises a brow consideringly. “Fair.” His eyes slide to Tony, on the other side of the couch from him so that Rhodey can use his lap as a footrest. “What were you thinking?”

And while Tony has ideas, like breaking into the zoo (hence the nickname platypus) or seeing how many packets of candy they can shoplift from the corner store with the sleazy owner (hence the nickname sour patch) again, Rhodey shoots those down, unfortunately.

“I can’t study as well when I’m worried about a court date,” he declines with a sigh of disappointment because, whether Rhodey will readily admit it or not, the shit Tony thinks of, while illegal, is fun.

In the end, Tony can’t come up with anything else, so Rhodey chooses. Ergo, the movies.

They’re both still a little buzzed, and the extra-buttery popcorn—Tony’s request, though Rhodey says the sogginess is gross—they share leaves kernels between their teeth that they pick out shamelessly, alone in the theater and not in the habit of being embarrassed besides.

It’s not the first movie they’ve gone to together, certainly isn’t the last, and it’s not even the best time they’ve had at the theater. However, as they sit, Tony drifting off here and there as he puts the armrest between them up to rest his head on Rhodey’s shoulder, it strikes Tony that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The realization alone is enough to make Tony melt into his sweater, more content than he ever imagined possible growing up in a house where he stayed perched on his tiptoes in case he needed to take flight.

Tony stares at Rhodey adoringly in its wake, admiring the bridge of his nose, the slope of his brows, the depth of the eyes beneath them, and then there’s a dumb-one liner in the movie that makes Rhodey laugh. Tony, taking in everything about Rhodey while he remains oblivious, watches his grease-shiny lips split in a grin, and the dim light of the movie makes the expression sparkle with something Tony can’t find a word for but feels down to his toes.

It’s the fizz of champagne, the crackling of a fireplace, and the texture of a favorite blanket all at once, as homey as it is electrifying, and an oozing warmth spreads across the plains of Tony’s cheeks as his lips part in surprise at the intensity of the experience.

Rhodey never looks away from the screen, but though Tony is young, knows that, even if the emotion flooding him means as much as he suspects it does, he has a ways to go before he can do anything about it, he understands he’s never ever felt that way about a friend before.

(About anyone before.)

Rhodey shakes his head in amusement and takes a sip of his coke. “I love this movie,” he mutters, and though he’s said as much a thousand times before, Tony doesn’t mind hearing it again.

“Mhmm,” Tony breathes, unable to summon a more coherent response as he cuddles back into Rhodey’s side—an action that seems much more intimate than it did a second ago—and sends a flushed, grateful prayer up to any entity listening that he got assigned his best friend for a roommate. And if he’s pink in the face until he dozes off twenty minutes later, unable to stop wondering what Rhodey’s lips might feel like against his own, no one except himself knows. Not until much, much later, anyway, when Tony isn’t so little and Rhodey has only gotten more gorgeous with time and both of them beat around the bush for far too long when it comes to a silent, infallible affection they’ve nursed for each other over the better part of a decade.

But until then, Tony is sixteen, Rhodey is nineteen, and when Rhodey laughs, Tony thinks the whole world could hinge on the sound and still stay balanced from the way it fills him up to the brim.

(It always will, even if he has to wait.)

[p-artsypants]

I’ll Handle This (5)

In Which There is an Akuma

Ao3 | FF.net

Plagg was laying on the bed when he returned. “Oh good, you’re back. I was kind of worried about you—“ 

“There’s an Akuma!” Adrien interrupted. 

Plagg’s eyes lit up. “An Akuma, you say? How interesting...” 

“Yeah yeah, just do the thing that sucks me in the ring!” 

“I’ll warn you ahead of time, when I’m in your body like this, the suit becomes factory default. Oh, and you’ll be able to see and hear everything I do.” 

“Great. This whole ‘Invasion of the Bodysnatchers’ episode is getting better and better.” 

“Adrien, Claws out!” 

That was an odd sensation. Now Adrien knew what Taffy felt like. He felt his whole body grow long and thin, before spiraling smaller and smaller. There was every color in the rainbow, flashing in a nauseous wave, and then, he was looking through his eyes again. 

“Ha!” Said Plagg with a little satisfaction. “Feels good to be on the other side.” He walked over to the mirror, where Adrien could finally see what ‘factory default’ meant. 

He looked like a ninja. Not like a Naruto ninja, but like a real Sengoku period, 15th century ninja. An all black, cloth ensemble, with foot wraps and a thick belt. Instead of claws on his fingertips, there were long blades attached to the back of his hand, almost like wolverine. Instead of a mask around his eyes, he wore one over the lower half of his face, and only left his eyes exposed. But his eyes looked different enough. The sclera was a toxic green instead of white, and his pupils were slit. Thick black eyeliner traced the eyes and framed them, making the color pop. His hair was a complete disaster and stood up in every direction. 

Finally, the ears. They were real, genuine cat ears. Complete with fur. 

“Not too shabby, if I say so. Though, the first guys that wore this had black hair, which made the ears less jarring. But I can’t complain. We mustn’t leave our lady waiting!” 

Plagg threw open the window and leapt into the city. 

He rushed over the rooftops, doing impossible feats of parkour and agility. It actually made Adrien dizzy. 

“Oh, one other thing I forgot to mention,” Plagg said aloud. “You know how when you’re in the suit, you can be body slammed into a building and be okay afterwards?” 

Yeah? 

“Well...you’re going to feel all that pain instead. That’s why I’m always so wiped after a fight.” 

What?!

Plagg glanced at his baton, the screen looking more like parchment than the usual LED screen, and found where Ladybug was. 

A hop skip and a jump, he landed next to her. “What are we up against?” 

She didn’t look at him, eyes glued to the akuma. “Stretchy guy. Like Mr. Fantastic. Can’t figure out what ticked him off, but he’s able to reach anything and even shape shift. Might be difficult to fight.” Then she finally looked at him and her eyes bulged. “Chat? What’s with your suit?” 

“Plagg’s having a hard time right now, so I’m factory default.” 

“O...Kay...are you going to be okay fighting like that?” 

“It feels fine, my Lady. Nothing to worry about. In fact, do you mind if I take the lead on this one? Give you a little break?” 

She chuckled. “You know I could always use a break.” 

“Great! We need to lead him over to the construction site over at Notre Dame, where all the scaffolding are.” 

She smiled at him. “I think I know what you’re planning, Kitty. Lead the way.” 

He dropped the bottom part of his mask, and wolf whistled quickly, before Ladybug could place his face. “Hey stretch!” He shouted. “You up for a little race?” 

“Ladybug and Chat Noir! You’ll give me your Miraculous as soon as I reach you!” 

“Good luck with that!” And he vaulted backwards on to the street and darted towards Notre Dame. 

Plagg was fast. Faster than Chat Noir normally was, and Ladybug was surprised at how hard it was to keep up with him. 

“H-Hey Chat! Don’t leave me behind!” 

He only stopped a second to scoop her up into his arms before running off again. Her added weight didn’t even slow him down. 

“Sorry, Bug. The Akuma has long legs, so he’s faster than usual. I can’t slow down, so hang on!” 

She did, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. 

Adrien was going to kill Plagg if he didn’t die from ecstasy first. He could feel Ladybug pressed tightly against him, and he loved every bouncing second of it. 

Soon they reached the construction site, with the Akuma hot on their tail. 

“Split up,” Plagg commanded and Ladybug gave a firm nod, following right along with him. 

While Adrien was basically on autopilot, he noted that this fight felt a lot like being on the jungle gym when he was a kid. He swung on the bars, twisting up levels onto the scaffolding, the akuma chasing after with each turn. 

Except, the akuma was long, and he was starting to get tangled in all the bars. 

“Oh no!” Ladybug feigned a cry. “I’m stuck! He might be able to get my Miraculous!” 

“You’re mine!” Called the akuma, twisting around a pole and darting for her. As he was about to snag her, she dropped and spun on her bent knees away. 

“Whoops, not so stuck after all!”

“I’m going to—“ The akuma reached out their arm, stretching and stretching to grab at her ears. But he never reached her. He was out of length, and hopelessly tangled in the mass of wood and metal. “No! No!” He wriggled, trying to untie himself, but Plagg had already found the akumatized item in the akuma’s back pocket. A roll of measuring tape. 

“Akuma, coming in hot!” He called, as he smashed the tape. 

The black butterfly emerged, and Ladybug caught it and purified it easily. “Bye bye little butterfly!” 

One cure later, the relative damage done to the scaffoldings was repaired, and the akuma victim, a short man, was returned to ground level. 

“Wow! We didn’t even have to use our powers today! Great work, kitty!” She praised as he raised her fist.

He bumped her back with a grin. “Thank you, Bug. Hope you didn’t mind me taking charge. I just figured with you being the guardian and all, having some shared responsibility would really help you out.” 

She exhaled with a breath, her shoulders relaxing. “Ugh, you have no idea. When that akuma alert went off, I was already dreading it. It’s been a long day.” 

Plagg frowned. “A long day?” Even after their shopping spree and awesome lunch? “Do you need to talk about it?”

She ground her toes on the roof of the church. “Are you busy? Plagg said you were doing something…” 

“Oh, I was napping. I have all the time in the world for you, Ladybug.” 

“Want to get some ice cream, then?”

“Only if you let me pay.” 

She dramatically put a hand to her forehead, “oh, if you must!” 

Plagg chuckled with her, and then took off running.

“Hey! I never said it was a race!” She called back. 

“You never said it wasn’t either!” He shouted back.

When she finally located Andre’s ice cream cart, he was already sitting and waiting with her order. “Your ice cream, my lady?”

“You’re so fast! Have you just been holding out on me all this time?!” She huffed, taking the cone from him. 

He shrugged. “Oh, I have a couple of tricks up my sleeves.” 

They enjoyed their ice cream in comfortable silence for a while, before Ladybug asked, “hey, you’re a boy, right?”

“Last I checked.” 

She shook her head at her dumb question. “Right. Um…I have a friend. Guy friend.” 

Plagg crossed his legs. “OoooOOoooo is it him?”

Ladybug blushed. “Yes.” 

“Tell me everything.”

Inside his head, Adrien started to panic. This could only end badly for them!

“Well today…he was acting really weird. Usually, he’s really nice and reserved and polite…I know he can be silly and rambunctious, but…today, he was larger than life. He took us out for an expensive lunch, and then shopping for clothes that would make his dad angry. I think it’s a rebellious streak, but my gal friend said his money has gone to his head…” She scuffed her foot on the floor. “I’m just worried. I don’t want him to change…but I don’t want him to fake being someone he’s not just to make others happy. I guess I’m just confused. What do you think?” 

Plagg finished his cone in one gulp, hiding his face right after. “I think it’s just puberty.” 

She did not think that was amusing. “Yeah right.” 

“Has handsome rich boy ever shown signs of materialistic superiority?”

“No, he wears the same clothes all the time, and never flaunts the things he owns—“ 

“Then I think your gal pal is off base. It probably is rebellion. Just…be a safe place for him, and I’m sure it’ll end up okay.” 

“A safe place? What do you mean?” 

“I’m not sure what this dude is rebelling for. You’d probably know. Is his family…strict?”

“Very.” 

“And controlling?”

“Extremely.” 

“Okay, so if I was in his shoes, I’d want a friend that was trustworthy for me to confide in. Rebelling is liberating and exciting, but also extremely scary, because it’s risky. He needs to have someone to have his back in case things go south.” He massaged her shoulder. “And it would be best if that friend was soft and smelled nice.”

Ladybug smacked his shoulder. “When did you get so wise?”

“I hide a lot of wisdom under my ‘dumbass’ veneer.”

Ladybug cackled loudly, making Plagg smile and Adrien swoon.  

“You can be a dumbass sometimes,” Ladybug admitted. “But you’re my dumbass.” 

“Aww, thanks bug!” He grinned. “So, handsome rich boy is all that’s on your mind? I know identity clues have to be avoided and all, but I like knowing stuff that’s going on in your life. And I think I can manage another golden nugget of advice as well, if needed.” 

Ladybug frowned, obviously something else cropping up in her mind. “Actually…there’s something I haven’t told you that I probably should have.” 

“I’m all ears. I literally have four of them.” He twitched his cat ears.

She reached up and rubbed them, an affectionate look on her face as she felt the fur under her fingertips. “Not too long ago, I was expelled from school.” 

“Ladybug is a bad student in her civilian life?” He joked.

“No! I’m not!” She damn-near cried. “Sorry, I just…ugh. I was framed. There’s this girl in my class that…she lies with every breath. I know she has a crush on my crush, but she’s lying and manipulating to get her way to him. She works with him now too.” 

Plagg knew there was certainly more to the story than that, but he had to play dumb as Chat Noir. “Lying is bad and all, but it’s not really your problem, is it? She’ll get caught in her web eventually.”

“Argh, that’s what Ad—my boy said too. Take the high road. And it made sense, for what he knew about her at the time…but what he didn’t know was that she threatened me. Threatened to take all my friends and him away, just because I told her to stop lying.”

This was a shock to both kwami and holder. “She threatened you?” 

“Yeah. And she went through with it. She got me expelled. Apparently, according to my boy, he sort of convinced her to double lie to get me un-expelled. She’s been quiet ever since, which has been a few weeks, but…she keeps staring at me. It’s unnerving.” 

“I suppose it would be, with her track record.” 

“I didn’t want you to find out about this, but I have to tell you. She’s almost gotten me akumatized, twice.” 

Plagg slapped a hand over his mouth with a gasp. 

Lila was a nuisance for Adrien, but she was a problem for Marinette. No, an imminent threat. This changed his attack strategy…though it started to look like Adrien’s three problems were weaved together. The whole situation was a little more delicate than he had considered at first. 

“I’ve beaten both akumas off, but I worry about the future. I’m trying to come up with a contingency plan, but for right now it’s just ‘don’t get upset’.” 

“I’ll try to come up with a plan too. Maybe next time, you could hand your earrings off to Tikki for a little while, if things start to get dicey. She can bring them to me, since she knows who I am.” 

Ladybug gnawed at her lip. “Tikki’s been my greatest ally in fighting them off. If she’s not there…” 

Plagg rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Bug, you’re the practical one here. What happens when you don’t give Tikki your earrings, and you don’t fight it off? When you’re so consumed with pain you don’t even see the Akuma coming? What then?” 

She shook her head. “You’re so right, I hate it.” She sighed. “That happened the last time too…I was only spared because Hawkmoth suddenly stopped his attack. That was the day I got expelled.”

“And I’ll follow the plan too. I haven’t gotten akumatized or anything, but it might only be a matter of time.”  

“Yeah…” It was awful to think about. Having to fight her partner was not something that Marinette wanted to do. But this loose plan was better than no plan. “Hey, it’s getting pretty late. I have a project I have to finish up.” 

“Oh, of course, go on home.” Plagg insisted. 

“Thanks for the Ice Cream, and for lending an ear. You’re the best, Kitty.” 

Plagg smiled at her, though she couldn’t see through his mask. His eyes crinkled in mirth. “I try.” 

“Tell Plagg I still have that cheese danish if he wants it. Night, Chat.” 

“Night, Bug.” 

And she swung off into the distance. 

Plagg took out his baton and made his own way home. He knew Adrien didn’t really want to be transformed any longer than he had to be. 

He landed inside the mansion, and called, “Claws in.” 

Adrien came flying out of the ring, and Plagg caught him carefully in his hands. “How you feeling, kiddo?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” said Adrien, weakly. “You didn’t even use my power, why am I so tired?” 

“How much cheese did you eat today?”

“None.” Adrien scrunched up his nose. “Come to think of it, I didn’t eat anything today.” 

“That would certainly do it.” Plagg said, with a sigh. He took out a wheel of camembert and took out a wedge for Adrien, holding it in front of his face. 

Normally, Adrien couldn’t stand the smell. It was putrid and foul and moldy…but this…this was on a different level. Curse Plagg’s disgusting body! He sat up and helped himself to a nibble of cheese. A nibble turned into a bite, and a bite turned into a full inhale, almost taking off his fingers. 

“Better?” 

Adrien sighed as his energy started to return. “Remind never to complain about your eating habits.” 

Plagg grinned. “Oh it's a deal!” 

Adrien’s phone rang, and Plagg reached to answer. 

“Who is it?” Asked Adrien. 

“It’s Marineeeeeeetteeeee~!” Plagg sang, and connected the call, putting it on speaker for Adrien to hear. 

“Hey Pooh Bear.” 

“H-hey uh, Tigger? No no that was dumb. Sorry, hi Adrien.” 

Plagg and Adrien shared a look of fondness. She was just too cute sometimes. 

“Whats up?” Pried Plagg. 

“Uh, not-not much! I just finished your second shirt! I can do more tomorrow, but for now…” 

“I’ve got an outfit picked out for tomorrow, don’t worry. And you’ll love it.” 

“Will I really? Or will it turn me into a pillar of salt?”

“Have a little faith in me, Mari.”

“I—of course. Did you just call me Mari?”

“Yeah, I thought it was about time I gave you a nickname. Is that okay? Or are you okay with Pooh Bear?”

Marinette’s giggle was adorable, as it was filled with thinly veiled embarrassment. “Call me whatever you like! I don’t mind!” 

“Great! What’s my nickname?”

“I don’t know? Do you want one?”

“Only from you, Pooh Bear!” He sang. 

“Um…I’ll have to think about it. I think I’ve heard Lila and Chloe both call you ‘Adri’, so I’ll try to come up with something else.” 

“I appreciate that.” Plagg said, as Adrien smiled fondly at the phone. It sure was considerate of her to think about that.

“And Adrien?” Her tone conveyed so much. So much more than Adrien could understand. But it brought a warmth to his face. 

“Yes?”

“I’m here for you. You know that, right? Whatever you need. An ear, a h-h-hug. Whatever. I…I care about you.” 

Adrien wiped a paw under his eyes, fully prepared for tears to take him. 

“I care about you too,” Plagg said, not faking the genuine appreciation in his voice. “I appreciate everything you do for me.”

“I-…” She trailed off, and Adrien wondered if she was going to say something else. But instead, she just exhaled and said. “It’s getting kind of late. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course, Pooh Bear!” 

She laughed. “Thanks Adrien, goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” And he ended the call. 

“She took your advice.” Adrien noted.

“She took Chat Noir’s advice. She trusts him after all.” 

Adrien sat on the desk, still feeling a storm brewing inside of him. He was still upset about Plagg’s behavior with his father…but he was starting to come around. Marinette never called him, and her conversations with him were never so easy. Was this actually working?

“Adrien,” Plagg started, scratching between his ears. “I’m sorry for hurting you. If there was a way to humble your father without hurting you in the process, I’d do it…but right now…”

“I understand, Plagg.” Adrien said with a hopeful smile. “It sucks but…that Chloe-tantrum you threw was really funny.”

Plagg beamed at him. 

“And,” Adrien added. “After hearing the whole truth about Lila, I’m fully on board with whatever you want to do to her.”

“Fully?”

“Absolutely. This bitch needs to go.”

The mansion was nearly silent in the night, so Plagg’s evil cackle echoed and echoed, sending goosebumps down the neighbor’s spines.

[acousticcheeze]

Here's my 100 questions for my OC thing!

My OC is Laureli, a 6'2 Altmer trying to make his way in Skyrim

1. What do they smell like?

Whatever alchemy ingredient he’s been working with, really. Lavender is what he smells like most often, though.

2. What is their voice like?

A smooth-ish medium pitch Altmer voice that has elements of calm and irritation.

3. What is their biggest motivator?

Helping others through his alchemy. He wants to improve medicine for Skyrim, as well as all of Tamriel.

4. What is their most embarrassing memory?

He had a whole scientific presentation one year that ended up being completely wrong. He got humiliated in front of everyone.

5. How do they deal with/react to pain?

Winces at it, curses, and then gets to treating the problem.

6. What do they like to wear?

Functional clothes that keep him warm and allow him to carry alchemy ingredients in his pockets.

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively?

The relationships with some of the people he’s helped over the years. It gave him a sense of purpose and fulfillment knowing that he could help people, save people.

8. What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever eaten?

He’s an alchemist...in Skyrim...I’m pretty sure there are a few contenders… (giants toe, large/small antlers, ectoplasm, the list goes on)

9. Describe the way that they sleep.

Normal side sleeper. Prefers to sleep on his left side.

10. What is their favorite food/kind of food?

Horker stew. It’s actually way better than he thought it would be.

11. What do they feel most insecure about?

If what he’s doing is good enough. He has big problems with perfectionism that still persist with him even after leaving Summerset.

12. How do they like to dress?

Robes with an alchemy enchantment and a hood.

13. How do they react to feelings of guilt?

He tries to shake them off, but has panic attacks and whatnot sometimes as a result of them.

14. How do they react to/deal with betrayal?

Is completely shattered by it. He’s dealt with this so many times before, though, so he keeps his cards close to his chest.

15. What is their greatest achievement?

Creating potions that help much more than the average cure disease potion would, as well as all sorts of other concoctions. Also, he’s created a sort of disinfectant and is working on a hand sanitizer.

16. What are they like when they’ve gotten too little sleep?

Cranky, cranky, cranky.

17. What are they like when they’re drunk?

Drunk? Oh no no no no Laureli does not drink (and even if he did he’d be out real quick)

18. What kind of music do they enjoy?

He isn’t really into music, but he enjoys the songs the bard plays at the Bannered Mare.

19. Are they right or left handed?

Right, but is practicing with his left hand too in case something happens to his right.

20. Fears?

Death and failure, mostly.

21. Favorite kind of weather?

As the sun rises and there’s dew all over the grass, the light reflecting through each drop.

22. Favorite color?

The color of eyes. Or, more specifically, the hundreds of little pinpricks of different colors inside of eyes, It’s really quite fascinating.

23. Do they collect anything?

OH YEAH. So many different alchemy ingredients and random stuff to be used in his next works-

24. Do they prefer either hot or cold weather more?

Cold, which is good since he lives in Skyrim.

25. What is their eye color?

Chartreuse (like most Altmer)

26. What is their race/ethnicity?

Altmer

27. Hair color?

White

28. Are they happy where they are currently?

Yup. Breezehome is small, but manageable, and Whiterun is a decent hold to live in.

29. Are they a morning person?

Yes. He gets tired around 9 and can’t stay up past 12.

30. Sunrise or sunset?

Sunrise.

31. Are they more messy or more organized?

Very organized. Again, he’s a perfectionist.

32. Pet peeves?

People touching his things as well as people inserting themselves into his business.

33. Do they own any objects of significant personal importance?

An amulet of Talos a Nord gave him. He hadn’t gotten the chance to learn much about Talos at home, and he found it very interesting talking to the local Nords about their beliefs. That amulet reminds him of his first day in Skyrim, the first day of his new life.

34. Least favorite food?

Taffy treats, or anything with that sort of texture and stickiness that can get stuck to his teeth very easily.

35. Least favorite color?

Very pale green. It looks gross.

36. Least favorite smell?

Death. (Yes, death has a smell)

37. When was the last time they cried?

Recently.

38. Were they with anybody the last time they cried?

No. Oh Auri-el, no no no no. He cries alone and he makes sure of it.

39. Tell us about one of the times they got injured?

Was in a fire when he was younger, he has a burn going up the inner leg on his right leg.

40. Do they have any scars?

Only mental ones. (and the burn scar on his leg)

41. Do they struggle with any mental health issues?

Perfectionism, past abuse, self hate, among others.

42. Do they have any bad habits?

Picking at his nails. He knows it makes them hurt and get bloody, but sometimes he just can’t help it.

43. Why might someone dislike them?

He can be very rude if he’s working, but to be fair, it is really annoying to be bothered in the middle of your work.

44. Why might someone love them?

Who wouldn’t love an overworked science boye? But in all seriousness, if he loves someone, he will be very caring towards them and is also just great listener. Tries not to care any more though because of personal trauma.

45. Do they believe in ghosts?

Yup. He’s heard of people’s encounters with them. Honestly, you’d be stupid to not believe in them.

46. Is there anyone they would trust with their lives?

At this point? No. Farkas later down the line? Yes.

47. Are they romantically interested in anyone?

Farkas, but we ain’t talking about that yet~

48. Are they dating/married to anyone?

No

49. Do they like surprises?

No. Please do not surprise this poor man he will stagger back and crash into everything.

50. When is their birthday?

9th of Hearthfire (September 9th)

51. How do they usually celebrate their birthday?

He takes a few seconds to acknowledge it and then gets on with his work.

52. Do they have any family?

Yup! A Mom, a Dad, a younger sister, and a male cousin that lives nearby (he’s in the Thalmor and the whole family has very Pro-Thalmor views)

53. Are they close to their family?

HAH- no~

54. What is their MBTI type?

INTJ (Damn this list for making me look up stereotypes for this. Honestly I hate the MBTI system so much-)

55. What is their zodiac sign?

Virgo

56. What Hogwarts House would they be in?

Ravenclaw

57. What D&D alignment are they?

If lawful chaotic good was a thing then yes

58. Do they ever have nightmares? If so, what about?

Yes, but they are often so tangled up that it’s hard to get any real meaning from them.

59. What are their views on death?

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I’ll be fine-” Hopes that he’ll be fine but is really scared about it.

60. What is something that they’re sure to laugh at?

Bad science puns. He will stifle a chuckle before telling you how bad your joke was.

61. When bored, how do they pass time?

This man does not get bored. He will always find something alchemy related to study or look into.

62. Do they enjoy being outside?

Yes. Laureli loves the Skyrim weather (for the most part. Places like Dawnstar and Winterhold suck)

63. Do they have an accent?

Yes. He has the typical Altmer accent.

64. Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, what is their first reaction?

“Why is this here? This isn’t mine.”

65. If they knew they were going to die, what would they do/say

He would probably take too long deciding and die before he could do/say anything.

66. How do they feel about sex?

Sex repulsed asexual.

67. What is their sexuality?

GAY

68. Do they become squeamish at the sight of blood?

Nope.

69. Is there anything that they find really gross?

He’s seen so much it would take a lot to surprise him here.

70. Which TV Trope(s) best describes them?

Grumpy scientist with no people skills.

71. Do they enjoy helping people?

Yes, definitely

72. Are they allergic to anything?

Not really. (Lucky)

73. Do they have a pet?

No

74. Are they quick to anger? What are they like when they loose their temper?

Nope, unless you press his buttons. His anger is pretty much “What in the name of Auri-el is wrong with you?! Don’t touch my equipment!!”

75. How patient are they?

Very...until you hit his limit. Then he gets passive aggressive.

76. Are they good at cooking?

Not really. He can be good at it, he just chose not to learn in favor of working on his projects. Can make enough to live on, though.

77. Favorite insult? Do they insult people often?

He doesn't have a favorite insult (he rarely insults people).

78. How do they act when they’re particularly happy?

Talking fast, pacing, flappy hands.

79. What do they do when they learn about other people’s fears?

Try to avoid bringing those fears up around them and avoiding making fun of them. If their fear is nearby, he will either tell them or take care of it. (which is good because Farkas is scared of spiders)

80. Are they trustworthy?

Yes, but you have to be a very certain kind of person to work with him.

81. Do they try to hide their emotions? Are they good at it?

Sometimes, especially romantic feelings. Romantic attraction? Nope, not possible- (It totally is; he’s in denial)

82. Do they exercise regularly?

With all of the walking he does around various holds, yes.

83. Are they comfortable with the way they look?

Yes. He’s a perfectionist with many things, but has learned to let go a bit more when it comes to his appearance. He still will take ages to get ready, though.

84. What are some physical features that they find attractive on people?

Tattoos, braids, basically everything you’d see on a typical Nord. It’s so different from his home and he’s completely enamored.

85. What kind of personalities do they find attractive?

Himbo nord men. Sweet morons basically.

86. Do they like sweet foods?

Not really. Sweet foods do have their place, but he isn’t wanting to get any cavities, so he tries to limit his sugar. (Especially since Altmer live 200-300 years aprox)

87. What is their age?

52 (~20s for an Altmer)

88. Are they tall or short or somewhere in between?

Tall, but about average for an Altmer

89. Do they wear glasses or contacts?

No, but if he did he would have half-moon spectacles.

90. Do they consider themselves attractive?

Not really. He doesn’t really think anyone is attractive. (Well, except for Nord himbos, but he doesn’t know that until he meets Farkas)

91. What is their sense of humor like?

Practically nonexistent, but when there is humor it’s mostly dry and sardonic.

92. What mood are they most often in?

That sort of focused work mode you get in when you’re really concentrating, as well as somewhat-sociable-but-still-kind-of-tired-and-grumpy

93. What kinds of things anger them?

People messing up his equipment. Oh sweet Auri-el, if you touch his things he will explode. Also, he hates the racism that the Thalmor promote. (He hates racism in general, but he hates the Thalmor’s views the most).

94. Outlook on life?

“It sucks, but I do find quite a bit fascinating and I’ll help where I can.”

95. What kind of things make them sad/depressed?

His perfectionism, how lonely he knows he is, and more.

96. What is their greatest weakness?

Again, his perfectionism, as well as having his work dictate more in his life than he should.

97. What is the greatest strength?

His brain. He remembers small details extremely well, and is practically an encyclopedia when it comes to alchemy.

98. Something that they regret?

How awful he used to be to everyone back home. He got a lot of pushback on his dreams and who he was, so he lashed out. Even though there wasn’t much he could do there, he still regrets hiring his family and wants to try at a relationship again with them (lol good luck).

99. Biggest accomplishment?

How is this different from “Greatest Achievement”?

100. Create your own! (Why is his alchemy so different from the norm?)

Because he’s trying to do something much more along the lines of modern medicine as opposed to just potions.

101. (Bonus!) Why is he in Skyrim?

Because it’s rather lacking in the medicine department compared to the other provinces, so he decided his talents would be best used there. Obviously, his family protested, but he went anyways.

[catharrington]

13 from that prompt list is so cute🥺💖

13/ This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home…

I’ve already done this one but I’m doing it again anon because I love you just that much!!!

***

Trick or treat! (Give me something good to eat)

Billy thinks he was in love with Steve before walked up to stand next to him in the middle of the street dressed as Michal Myers, but now he knows. The rest of the kids all piled out next to him, in their own nerdy costumes, the boys giddy as fuck joining where El and Max stood waiting. Billy’s breath caught in his throat as Steve casually got close enough to touch.

“Hey,” he greeted easy, trying not to give away the affect the pretty boy has, “ready for a- wait a second, Harrington?”

Steve was wearing his light blue zip up windbreaker, some stone wash true blue jeans, hands on his cocked hips, a preppy attempt at the blue jumpsuit Myers wears in ‘Halloween’.

Billy’s got his eyes focused on that goofy rubber mask, the mess of plastic hair on top. “Please tell me you didn’t take the time out of your life to style that fucking mask’s hair?”

And Steve turns to him, the mask moving, his big browns showing through the cut eye openings. “Maybe I did, Hargrove.” He casually mumbles. “Did you glue leaves on that ugly net to make it look like Jason Voorhees coming up from the bottom of the lake?”

So Billy’s smiling behind his own mask. A cheep hockey mask hand painted with red slashes and some brown paint to make it appear worn, dirty. To look like Jason as close as Billy could get inside his small budget inside his small bedroom. He shrugs and the dark green net laying over his shoulders with Melvald’s general store olive green leaves and moss dollar floral picks glued to it jostles with the movement. He spent too long on this dumb costume.

But it’s totally worth it when he’s standing next to Steve. Michael Myers with gel and hairspray locking his hair into a handsome swoop. At least he’s not the only teenager taking this too seriously.

“I told you guys before, we so don’t need babysitters for trick or treating,” Mike opened his mouth from behind Billy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, no,” Steve sighed, his voice still muffled from the mask but still sharp with authority. “Dustin told me all about the kids who stole your candy last time. Sent Will into a full panic attack. That’s not happening this year, not with us here.”

“Very heroic,” Mike drawls back, he rolls his eyes. Such a fucking headache. “But we’ve got El for that! She’s stronger than anyone-,”

Steve shakes his head, cutting mike off with a wave of his hand. “We are also here to make sure nothing happens to El because she’s still not supposed to be in the open like this. Hopper’s orders, Mike. Why don’t you go argue with him, hum?”

“How ‘bout this,” Billy interrupts Mike as he opens his mouth to say something else bratty, “I want some punk kids to pick on you so I can bash their fucking teeth in. Genuinely looking forward to it. I’m here trying to have a fun night- and you are my nerdy bait!”

Max rolls her eyes, kicks some dirt across the road. But Billy’s words shut Mike right up. And the rest of them look warry, but on board to say the least. Billy side glances Steve, wishes he wasn’t wearing that mask so he could see if that made him laugh.

The kids all look exasperated in their own ways. Billy doesn’t miss the way Will gives a shy smile turned only for Mike to see.

Steve traces one hand down Billy’s arm, cups over his shoulder with all the scratchy net and thick hot glue. Runs comfortingly and steady down the back of his arm, curls around his elbow soft, then brushes off the end of his jacket. Like smoke evaporing off graveyard soil on Halloween night.

Billy snaps his head to watch as Steve leaves. Following the kids as they start walking. Billy jogs to keep up.

That’s how they find themselves in the Wheeler’s upper middle class basement huddled in the corner while the kids sort through their plastic pumpkins. Making confusing piles of candy bars and taffy, some pixie sticks and gum, one huge mountain of jaw breakers Billy wouldn’t mind snatching a couple off the top of. Or a whole handful.

Mrs. Wheeler had opened the front door in a full saloon girl get up, dark mole drawn on her upper lip, smiling in a tight frisky coil as her eyes trail over the tightness of Billy’s jacket across his shoulders. Steve’s already ripped his mask off as they came up to the porch, whimpering in his pretty voice how much he messed up his pretty hair.

“I’m all sweaty,” he whines, pushing both his hands through his hair so his zipped up jacket raises off his hips. His skin pale blue in the cold porch light.

Billy gives Karen one glance, a smile as he lifts his own mask to rest on top of his head, before he offers to hold Michael Myers’ rubber head. Holds his hands out all gentlemanly. It’s worth it for the surprised perk in Steve’s glossy brown eyes. And the annoyed start in Karen’s perfect smile. Billy holds Steve’s mask so he doesn’t mess up the hair as they follow inside.

That’s how they find themselves sitting so close their shoulders are touching. Arms flush and warm feeling, the muscle of Billy’s flexing and taught. Steve’s softer, relaxed, letting his body’s weight tilt ever so to rest against Billy.

The shitty costume net bunching up to make room for Steve. Billy sucking in a breath as he lets Steve get comfortable.

He feels so damn warm on the cold October night. His hair is messy, smells like roasted pumpkin seeds. Billy can’t help it, must be how tired he is from walking around until midnight with a bunch of kids. He must be deliriously high from spending all night trailing behind Steve’s perky ass in those tight jeans. Must be all the sugar going to his head and making him damn near drunk on it. Because Billy knows better.

Knows he shouldn’t. But he wants, he so wants. And Steve’s made it so easy. Made it smell like roasted pumpkin seeds his mother used to make, one of the few smell of home.

Billy leans over and nuzzles his nose into Steve’s hair. Uses one hand to cradle the back of his neck gently, if not possessively, as he does it. Steve jostles alert, his eyes drowsy from dozing off. But he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t startle or even stiffen in Billy’s hands.

The hands that could beat him, have beat him. The hands that know blood more than chocolate. Abuse more than love.

Billy’s breath catches in his throat as that word ghosted around his head, love.

Steve turns from where he’s leaned. Shifts so he’s pushing himself off Billy’s shoulder to look into his eyes. Bracing himself up on one of Billy’s thighs.

“Hey,” he says dumbly, like they haven’t been shackled together on babysitter duty all night long. Brown eyes move over his face, across his dark circles and ratty mustache to his lips. Billy slightly parts them.

“You made that mask look really good,” Billy compliments him like an idiot. A full on skeeze brain. “You can make anything work, Harrington. Like a super power.”

“Think I could work a mullet?” Steve snarks back, and it serves Billy right for how embarrassing he’s being. His hand tightens in Steve’s long hair slightly grown out in the back, a baby mullet, strands gossamer across his fingers that don’t deserve it.

“Yeah,” he nods.

Steve smiles as he leans forward, nuzzles that sharp nose right up next to Billy’s chubby one and seals their lips together in a kiss. Eyes flutter closed. Billy wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulls him in close. Gasps into the kiss while Steve’s still smiling.

He tastes like chocolate and peanut butter, kisses deep and sucks on his tongue like he means it. Because he does. Steve’s hands come up to cradle his cheeks as if Billy’s something precious to be held.

They part for beath and Billy can still taste him. Never wants to stop. Laughs because he’s so far gone. So in love he’s making Halloween costumes in his room and babysitting brats when there’s perfectly good high school parties to hit up. Got him complementing a stupid Michael Myers mask with stupid pretty boy hair.

Steve swipes his thumbs over Billy’s cheekbones before leaning down to kiss him again. He’s sure it’s been the best Halloween of his whole life.

[shoutosteakettle]

NSFW Alphabet ~ Katsuki Bakugo

Word Count: 1.7k

Key: ☆,♤

Ask: Okay for one, I love all the hcs you did for Todoroki! Would you be able to do something like that for Bakugo?

Thanks, Anon for requesting this, I was already planning on doing this but then I put it on the back burner to focus on other things and kind of forgot about it. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy.

Aftercare ~ What he’s like after sex.

➯ After sharing such an intimate moment with you Katsuki’s tough-guy façade waivers for just a little while.

➯ He’ll be super caring (more than usual), checking up on you every two minutes to make sure that you're okay, and asking you if you need anything so he can provide for you. 

➯ He wants you to know that he loves you and not just something that he uses from time to time to release stress.

Body part ~ His favorite body part of his and also his partner's.

➯ Katsuki’s favorite body part of his own are his hands because they are the very thing that drives you over the edge over and over and over again.

➯ Katsuki loves all. Of. You. He loves the shape of your eyes, the way that your collar bone pops, your stretch marks, your belly button, the softness of your lips, the way that your hair smells. Like for real, he can’t get enough of you.

Cum ~ Anything to do with cum.

➯ Suki’s cum is always very thick and completely opaque, it tastes sweet but also salty like saltwater taffy.

➯ Katsuki 's favorite place to cum is inside of you, he loves it, he believes it to be the most intimate part of lovemaking. 

➯ If you're not game for that his second favorite place to cum is on your stomach, though it doesn’t do the same for him as the former, it’s close. 

Dirty secret ~ Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of his.

➯ Katsukis has always wanted to try anal. Not for any particular reason, he just thinks that it might be interesting, hell it might even be fun.

Experience ~ How experienced is he? Does he know what he’s doing?

➯ He has had a couple of girlfriends before, but compared to you, it’s like night and day. 

➯ Dating you is like nothing Katsuki has ever experienced before. Half the time he has no idea what to do, but when you're in bed that's a whole different story. You had to teach him one or two things, but aside from that, he is amazing, every time he leaves you speechless.

Favorite position ~ This goes without saying.

➯ It’s Katsuki's personal goal for him to bury himself as deep as possible inside of you, he wants to feel all of you, and he really does mean all. 

➯ That being said his favorite positions include the following: The Anvil, Head Over Heels, Cowgirl/Reverse Cowgirl, Doggy Style, and Missionary.

Goofy ~ Is he more serious during the moment? Is he humorous?

➯ Katsuki isn’t super, super serious during sex, so if something funny happens he’ll chuckle for a second before carrying on with whatever he was doing.

➯ However, he’ll never purposely joke around while having sex. Even though he isn’t super intimate sex it’s still a special moment between the two of you.

Hair ~ How well-groomed is he? Does the carpet match the drapes?

➯ Blonde pubes as far as the eye can see! 

➯ I don’t see Katsuki as the type of person to trim his bush. It’s not that he doesn’t try for you, he just honestly never thought twice about things like that.

 ➯ Though if you were to say something about it he wouldn’t hesitate to fix things up for you.

Intimacy ~ How is he during the moment? The romantic aspect of it all.

➯ Katsuki usually isn’t very romantic, he knows that he loves you and thinks that is enough.

➯ But on special dates like Valentine's Day or your anniversary he tries his best. He’ll make reservations at your favorite restaurant and take you to see the movie that everyone has been talking about. 

➯ Once your outside adventures are done you can expect a very steamy lovemaking session to take place in the bedroom, which he decorated with rose petals scattered on the bedspread and candles that illuminate the whole room.

Jack off ~ Masturbation headcanon!

➯ I’m not going to lie to you, Katsuki is one hell of a horn dog.

➯ When you're not around for him to pound you senseless then jacking off is the next best thing.

➯ He'll be quick about, fast strokes, and he'll be thinking about you the whole time.

Kink ~ One or more of his kinks.

➯ Though he would never admit it he is really into choking and bondage. There is just something about the dominance of it all. He loves to be large and in charge.

➯ He is also super into overstimulation, spanking, and teasing, he enjoys watching you squirm underneath him.

➯ So basically he’s a total dom, in fact, he might even be a little bit of a sadist.

Location ~ Favorite places to do the do.

➯ Anywhere literally anywhere.

➯ In the car, on a table, against a wall, in the pool, on the roof. 

➯ Seriously anywhere, just say when.

Motivation ~ What turns them on, gets them going.

➯ Anything that you do. Anything that you say. Anything that you wear. 

➯ Kacchan is already a massive horndog with barely any self-control, so when you come around wearing your PINK boyshorts with your hair tied-up any ounce of that so-called self-control that he did have goes flying out the window.

No ~ Something he wouldn’t do, turn-offs.

➯ Anything that will cause you pain that’s not pleasurable for you. As soon as you say stop he doesn’t hesitate to do so.

Oral ~ Preference in giving or receiving.

➯ Prefers receiving or giving.

➯ When you suck him off he likes to put his hands on each side of your head and trust hard into your face.

➯ Of course, he’ll return the favor. His tongue will help you experience new highs that will leave you shaking and begging for more.

Pace ~ Is he fast and rough? Slow and sensual?

➯ Sex with is Katsuki almost always fast, hard, rough senseless pounding.

➯ On days when he is feeling more romantic than usual, he likes to take things slower. Foreplay will be longer and incorporate much more teasing, once you arrive at the main event things will be slower and intimate than normal.

Quickie ~ His opinions on quickies, how often.

➯ Katsuki thoroughly enjoys quickies. It’s already been established that he is always, always horny for you, so I would say that quickies are pretty frequent.

Risk ~ Is he game to experiment? Does he take risks?

➯ He’ll never be the one to suggest anything because he thinks that you are more than enough for him.

➯ But if you were to suggest something he would be all for it, as long as you’re safe.

Stamina ~ How many rounds can he go for? How long does he last?

➯ This man has stamina for days.

➯ He can go for as many rounds as you need and then some. Like seriously, it’s almost as if he doesn’t have an off button.

Toys ~ Does he own toys? Does he use them? On a partner or themselves?

➯ He does not own any dildos, when Katsuki is in bed he wants to be the one who is making you scream his name.

➯ That being said he does have a couple of pairs of handcuffs (his favorite are the fluffy ones with the leopard print), very, very occasionally he’ll use a vibrator if he needs that extra “oomph”, and he has a scarf that he uses specifically for tying your wrist to his headboard.

Unfair ~ How much he likes to tease.

➯ Katsuki’s tease game is top tier. He’ll leave you a moaning, shaking mess before he even gets inside of you.

➯ Especially if you feel hornier than usual, he’ll take full advantage of the situation, and you’ll be in tears by the end of the night.

Volume ~ How loud is he, what sounds does he make.

➯ When he is not kissing you, you’ll hear grunts, pants, and the very occasional moan.

➯ Kutski is very vocal during sex, his favorite quotes include: “Your Daddy’s little slut aren’t ya”, “You like that, huh” and of course “I fucking love you so fucking much!”

Wild card ~ A random headcanon for the character.

➯Katsuki is big on cuddling. He might seem like a mean jerk on the outside but on the inside, he is a slightly less mean jerk.

➯ He’ll always find an excuse to have you in his arms, he’ll never admit it but he is desperate to be with you. He wants to stay with you in his arms forever.

X-ray ~ Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes!

➯ Katsuki is super strong (duh!) and has the muscles to prove it. You notice the way that his biceps and forearms are in a state of constant flex whenever he supports you while you ride him.

➯ His dick is definitely above average 6.8 maybe 6.9 inches (172.72 mm, 175.26 mm).  His girth is also something that he has the right to be proud of, he is quite thick so every time he thrust into you he fills you up completely.

Yearning ~ How high is his sex drive?

➯ Pshh!

➯ It’s literally all he can think about.

➯ He’s thinking about where it’s going to happen, when it’s going to happen, and if he should try out that new position he saw on the internet.

➯ Often he’ll find himself wondering if you are just as obsessed with him as he is you.

Zzz ~ How quickly he falls asleep afterward.

➯ He’ll make sure that you're okay and that you have everything that you need,

➯ Then he’ll doze off pretty soon after.

➯ He likes to fall asleep with your head on his chest so he can play with your hair as he listens to talk about how your day went.

[rawiswhore]

Brian Pillman x Fem Reader- "Free the Nipple"

@proundpowerful98, on my littletroubledgrrrl main blog, you liked the gif of Brian where I confessed that I had a dream about him and might turn that dream into a fanfiction.

You commented how there should be a fanfic about Brian, and this is the fanfic based on the dream about Brian I had!

I've typed fanfics about Brian as well as type fanfics that feature him.

_____________________________________________________________

Brian Pillman was such a breath of fresh air when he joined the World Wrestling Federation in 1996.

During a time when you had wrestlers playing lame, childish, less than TV-PG gimmicks as evil dentists, racecar drivers, garbage men, and plumbers, Brian Pillman offers an alternative to that and he's no longer that mulletheaded pretty boy you might remember from WCW.

It was only a matter of time until Brian would join the WWF, the most famous, recognizable wrestling company in the world and still is today (although it's now known as the WWE), because Brian wasn't just an alumni of WCW, but had a short stint in ECW as well.

Despite that Brian was a favorite amongst female fans during his run in WCW for his nonthreatening surfer looks, in your opinion, he's sexier than ever in 1996 with his disheveled blond hair with brown roots peeking out and facial stubble.

His look in 1996 can be best described as Kurt Cobain meets Sammy Hagar.

Brian has always been a ladies man, he even has 3 kids by 3 different baby mamas, and when you joined the World Wrestling Federation roster in 1996, you were nearly at the right place at the right time, because Brian looked sexier than ever.

He, too, was in lust with you the first time he laid eyes on you, and one night in 1996, you were in a hotel room with him sharing a bed with him.

This was during a time when he didn't have to walk on crutches and didn't have that cast on his leg.

You were lying in bed stark naked whereas Brian was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.

The light sitting on the nightstand in between the beds was turned on, giving this room the only light in the room.

Even though you enjoy comforting Brian while his leg is in a cast, because you can dress up as a sexy nurse and touch him in his private area, at the same time, you wish he didn't have to fall asleep at the wheel when driving that year (which led to his leg injury!) because you want to have sex as well as snuggle with him.

Brian was slightly lying on top of you, where his fingers grabbed the thick, heavy comforter and thin white blanket you and he were sharing together, pulled the comforter and blanket over your head as well as his, until now you and Brian were lying underneath the blanket and comforter, lying under the covers.

Brian was hovering over you with his iconic shit eating grin plastered on his face, and while he lay right next to you, he wasn't trying to push his weight onto you since he weighs more than you do.

You smiled right back at him, and he leaned his head down into one of your breasts until your nipple was in his mouth.

Once your nipple was in his mouth, he began to suck it like he was breastfeeding, circulating his mouth and lips around your nipple.

Not only that, but he turned his body slightly until he was lying on the bed on his side, one of his hands behind your back pushed you until you were now lying on your side.

Strange, but whatever, whatever he wants.

As he sucked your nipple, he closed his eyes, sometimes he even moaned as if to gush over how good your nipple tastes.

Though, he opened his eyes at times as well.

He didn't just suck your nipple, but lick it as well, the tip of his tongue nudging your nipple and licking it vertically up and down as well as horizontally across, left and right, back and forth.

You have very sensitive nipples and you love it when anyone sucks your nipples.

He's driving you crazy, blood is rushing into your clitoris and filling it up, your head is arching back and your eyes are rolling to the top of your sockets, your toes curling up.

"Mmmmmmm, Brian..." you moaned, biting onto your bottom lip.

His lips are fumbling a bit on your areola while he sucks your nipple, and his tongue eventually evolved to his entire tongue in general licking vertically and horizontally across your nipple, not just the tip of it.

Your pussy is getting moist while his tongue wets and pleasures your nipple, your nipples are becoming more and more erect while he's sucking them.

He's tempted into sliding his hand between your legs and rubbing onto your clitoris.

When he got tired from licking your nipple, he directed his tongue to your areola, where the tip of his tongue caressed and stroked your areola in circles.

Again, you have very sensitive areolas, such sensitive areolas, you're thinking of pinching and tweaking your other nipple, Brian, too, is thinking of tweaking your nipple, maybe horizontally rubbing the pads of his fingers across your other areola.

While he's licking your areola, his teeth are slightly sinking into your nipple, gently biting your it.

He plays a madman off his rocker in the World Wrestling Federation and ECW, so he's somewhat staying in character while he's sucking and biting your nipple.

Your nipple is now in between his teeth, not like dental floss, but between his jaws of teeth.

It doesn't bother you that he's biting your nipple, no.

He's biting and pressing his teeth a little bit harder onto your nipple this time, but not enough.

One of your hands has moved to the back of his head, where your fingers are buried through his thick blond hair, running your fingers through his strands of hair as well as playing with it.

Your other hand is behind his back, roaming around his back, stroking and caressing it.

While your nipple is in his mouth, he began to gently pull and tug your nipple in between his teeth, stretching it out.

This widened your eyes when he did this, but he isn't hurting you.

Your nipple is stretching and pulling out like taffy almost.

He eventually let go of that nipple his teeth tugged on, your nipple going back to your breast.

He lifted one of his hands and placed it over your other breast, where he gently and quickly squeezed that tit twice.

One of your feet nudged against his foot, not the foot he injured that year, but your toes played and tickled his toes a bit, playing footsy with him.

You're surprised his fingers aren't pinching your other nipple.

[heli0s-writes]

V. The damn truth

Summary:  What is the damn truth?? AKA time to get those feelings out and stop being weird y'all. Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N:  So I thought this was the last chapter, but it looks like we got one more, kiddos. More Cincy adventures and another further away. And more Steve time.

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

In the morning, you brew coffee and pour it into one mug set out next to two others. You’re surprisingly the first up, senses dulled and head lightly rickety with a loosened brain from last night’s whiskey. Venturing to the garden, you sit cross-legged on a chair and watch Buckeye roam across the grass, rubbing his back over the silky blades still damp with morning dew. 

It’s all green and lush under the summer sun as your eyes trail over to the steps leading down, disappearing into the glass sliding door of the lower living room. The tablet tucked under your arm gets propped up on the glass table and you begin to work. Even in summer, it never ends. 

I’m a way, you’re glad for it because it keeps you busy and tethered to something resembling a schedule. Would you rather lie in bed with Buckeye eating pretzels watching Netflix? Yeah. But your therapist keeps telling you its not healthy .. so… 

Your fingers are clicking away, focused on one window, typing notes into another when the rattling doorknob draws your attention to Steve exiting the house with a mug in his hand, blowing gently on the surface. 

“Hey.” He calls, looking up, then greets Buckeye with a scratch on his wet rump. 

You give him a smile because you don’t quite know what to say, choosing instead to watch your dog pad off again, as if him sniffing the same spot in the yard is more interesting. 

Steve sits down in the bench next to your chair, freshly showered in jeans and a grey t-shirt-- too small, as always. You’re fresh, too, changed into a pale blue jersey romper. “Did you sleep okay?” 

“Mhm,” You reply, but can’t help the way your eyes return to his chest where you rested your head just five hours before. 

Last night ended on a solemn note. The two of them went back to their room and you and Buckeye upstairs, all heavy-hearted and tired of reality. You remember dancing, and crying, and kissing. You remember feeling so shredded, thinking about them. You remember Steve’s warm lap and Bucky’s beard rubbing against your palm. 

 “C’mere,” Steve calls softly, reaching his hand over and tugging on the waistband of your outfit. You comply, carefully balancing the cup in your hand and sit down in his lap again. Your tummy is flipping, because Steve Rogers nuzzles his nose into the back of your neck and wraps his arm around your waist. The denim of his jeans rubs against your thighs as he shifts and sets your coffee cup down. 

Change flutters all around you now, after taking flight last night. It hovers and clings, seeping into your skin like the humidity of morning. You’re not sure where or how to begin talking about this strange relationship, because you’ve never entertained the possibility of its arrival. 

Yes, Captain America is a thicc ass bitch and you’re hot for him, but Steve Rogers is your friend and you care for him more than you want to see if he’s actually a smooth-crotched Ken Doll. You can’t even start to think about Bucky right now, or else you might cry again. 

And certainly, to probe the intricacies of their relationship in order to carve a space for yourself is something so unbearably selfish you would never dream of doing it.  

“What—um, what is—” You pause because the rest of this sentence could push your friendship in any way and you’re fearful of every way. 

“Don’t think about it too much.” Steve comments as you tense inside of his grasp, “We try not to.” Then, he laughs, “I suppose that doesn’t help you feel better, huh.” 

Your arms wrap around yourself and they come to rest on his forearms. “I like what we have. I don’t want to get between what the two of you have. It’s… a massive, wonderful thing-- deep, and—” 

Steve shushes you, “Buck and I really do like you. You’re not intruding on anything.” And then, he turns you so that he’s facing your side and not your back. One hand slides up your face and then his mouth is on yours … and is it too stupid to say that when Captain America kisses you, fireworks pop off in your brain and some patriotic tune   starts blasting itself in the background? 

He tastes like coffee and freedom. Breath warm and sweet like a breeze on the 4th of July— saltwater taffy and the outdoors. There’s an eagle screeching proudly in the distant void of your mind. 

Suddenly, Steve pulls away and you’re sure your face is stuck in some tragically half-frozen mask of sheer dumbstruck. 

“Are you humming America the Beautiful right now?” He asks, incredulous. 

“Huh.” You respond, dazed, “I thought that was just in my head.” 

He tilts back laughing and takes you along with him, your shoulder crashing into his chest and your head knocking into his as you flail, trying to catch yourself. Steve holds on tightly, fingers digging into your arm and thigh—and when the hell did he get fresh and put his hand there? Sly fuck. 

“Wanted to do this for a while now.” He grins as he pulls your face down onto his once more. It is a shock to you that Captain America, the Star-Spangled sunofabitch, can kiss like it’s his damn job. His tongue is in your mouth.  Your heart feels like a gerbil spinning wildly on a wheel and might burst out of your chest any moment until— 

The rattling of the doorknob for a second time this morning catches you off guard. You yank back, fearfully aware that Steve’s spit is glistening on your lips. And goddamn, it is hot. 

Bucky joins with a mug of coffee in hand and slides the door shut. He steps past the doormat and plops down on your old seat, crosses his left ankle on his other knee and stares off into the yard as if he’s there alone. As if you’re not pitched over and crushed against his partner’s chest while one of his hands is so high up your thigh it’s practically on your ass. 

“Morning,” he grunts, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Mornin, Buck.” Steve replies breezily, and you can feel his mouth twist into a smile against your collarbone. “How’s your coffee?” 

Bucky takes another sip impassively, “Pretty good. A little burnt. How’s your lap?” 

You shoot up and nearly knock the whole table over as you brush your clothes off with a nervous laugh, “Well! I’m going to… Jesus. Christ. Uh. Let’s uh. Meet me at the car in fifteen minutes and we can go get breakfast. Or church. Fuck me with a broom.” Your brain is a bag of ferrets thrown into a dumpster fire. 

The door slams shut as you nearly break the entire frame running inside and Steve sends Bucky a shit-eating grin before patting the thigh you were just on top of. 

“You gonna come take her place over here, or what?” 

— 

Breakfast is weird. It’s weird like The Twilight Zone is weird.  

You’ve opted to leave your hair down for today, letting as much of it cover your face as possible because if either one of them looks at you, you think you might just combust. You’re ready to go back to being a bastard at any time now, but your nerves are wringing themselves into knots. Another pancake gets cut into a triangle by your fork. 

And then Steve steals it right off your plate. 

“You candy-ass mother-!” You yelp defensively. 

“There she is!” He replies, stuffing it in his mouth and pointing at you with the prongs. Bucky only raises his eyebrow behind a glass of water. “I thought we were past this.” Steve urges. 

No, making out on the patio is not equivalent to a conversation about joining a relationship as the fucking third partner, you think. Your eyes say as much as you glare at your plate and then up to Bucky, pleading with him to help you. 

“Don’t look at me,” Bucky shrugs, “I wasn’t the one playing tongue hockey with ya.” The fork in your hand clatters as you shove your face in your palms with a groan. Absolute filthy bastard. He’s chomping on hashbrowns open-mouthed as he looks at you expressionlessly. Could anyone be more annoying? Probably not. 

“Well, she did tell you she loved you twice.”  Steve points out, “So maybe I’m not the one who should be playing tongue hockey with her.”  Never mind, apparently Steve can be more annoying. Figures. 

The neckline of your romper is now pulled completely over your face until only your hairline is visible. Inside of your albeit thin, but somewhat safe space, you groan as your entire body rises to sweltering degrees.  

“You guys are bullies.” You complain. 

“What’s that, hon?” Steve asks— and you can just hear him smiling. “Didja say somethin’?” 

“I think she called us bullies, Stevie.” 

“Bullies?! Sweetheart, you made us listen to Sad n Sexy Santa for two hours on the drive here and would not stop screaming until we let you sing along.” 

You’d never imagine Steve Rogers as someone who would so easily distribute pet names like this, but apparently once you cross the bridge of sucking on each other’s face, they don’t stop coming.  

Your stomach is fluttering unbearably, but you snark back anyway, “Sad n Sexy Santa  is a true effort of musical talent,” you proclaim, still glaring at the darkness under your romper. “Christmas songs sung in a minor key changes both the tune and the connotation of their lyrical content. Have you ever thought that “All I Want For Christmas Is You” could be so unsettling? Didn’t think so!” 

A sharp tug is all it takes for your head to return to the world and Bucky’s arm fixes the wide collar so that your bralette isn’t exposed for the entire café to see. “Stop being a baby.” He scolds. 

“You !! Baby !” Nice. 

They both sit back against the opposite booth, arms crossed, smirking, as you pretend to enjoy your meal under their scrutiny. Oh, how the tables have turned, you lament. This is just divine punishment, after two months of being the most infuriating person to them, now they’re giving you a double dose of your own medicine.  

“I love eating breakfast by myself.” You announce out loud, reaching over to take some of Steve’s bacon, “Love getting three plates just for me.” 

Bucky’s laugh makes your ears go bright pink the same time your teeth crush the sliver of meat in your hand. 

-- 

The Cincinnati Zoo returns you to sweeter childhood memories of elementary field trips where the kids went ballistic and the adults spent most of their time counting heads. Your parents never partook in chaperoning, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy it. 

Today, the weather is overcast, and upon the first drop of rain, Steve goes inside a merchandise store to buy two umbrellas. He returns just a bit too late and there is already a huge downpour, soaking half of Bucky’s arm who’s standing over you, acting as a shield when the awning of the building across the store isn’t enough.  

“Get over here!” You’re yelling, tugging on Bucky’s sleeve and stomping your foot, “What’s the point of you getting wet just so I don’t get wet? You’re so stupid!”  

Steve watches him relent with a smile as he opens his umbrella and tosses the second one to Bucky. Then, the three of you trek through puddles and make your way to the covered exhibits. 

Fiona the hippo is asleep in a little alcove of her aquarium, head tucked away. You explain to them the majesty of Fiona’s sonogram, birth, and her subsequent celebrity, but they don’t understand her like you do. They can’t even see the damn creature, Bucky scoffs, but you glare at him and he rolls his eyes away. 

You coo and tut, waggling your finger when her tail flops side-to-side and her back legs kick. When she has a bowel movement in her sleep and it disperses into the very water she’s resting in, you back up and gag, pushing Steve and Bucky away. 

“Alright, let’s go look at some other chonkers.” You proclaim as you lead them to the manatees.  

 Three enormous, alabaster, and smooth-skinned sea cows float serenely in the murky blue. Two of them have green heads of lettuce clenched between their flippers and are chomping away, bits of leaves floating around their heads like vegetable halos.  

You press your hand against the glass and sigh. Steve and Bucky step closer, looking down curiously when you wipe at the corner of your eye. “Look at these giant fuckers.” You whisper, “I haven’t known peace like that since I was a fetus.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “God, you’re dramatic.” 

It’s quiet in the chamber with only the faint splashing of the rain falling on the water outside and plunking drips from your umbrella onto the concrete floor. Between a family’s departure and before the next one’s arrival, Bucky pushes you up against the glass and kisses you in front of an audience of marine mammals and Steve Rogers’ smirk. 

“How’s that for peace?” He mutters, mouth still pressed against yours. Your heart is thumping in your ears like a battle-drum. Bucky snags your bottom lip with his teeth and licks the sting away.  

“I think you—” you gulp, feeling your bottom lip snap back into place and giving it a slow suck just to see if it’s still there, “maybe need to consult a dictionary. But—you know, good try...” 

-- 

They are relentless. 

In the café while eating greasy cheese and ham sandwiches and cold vegetables, they take turns knocking their knees into yours, grazing your thighs and legs. 

Between the big cats and the painted dogs, Steve squeezes your waist and rests his hand there until you shuffle away.  

Under the shelter of a tree by the elephants, Bucky blows on your ear and laughs when you shriek in surprise. Good God Almighty. There are goosebumps all over your skin even though you are burning. 

-- 

Bucky drives home after deftly fishing the keys out of your bag. He could have thrown a grenade in there and you wouldn’t have noticed, being too distracted by the big and daunting reality of being… whatever it is you are now.  

Currently, Steve rides shotgun, glancing back to you once or twice every few minutes as you gaze out the window. The rain only let up a couple of minutes ago as all three of you exhausted every open exhibit at the zoo. Your feet are blistered from the repeated chafing of your toes against the wet front of your sandals, and the bottom of them hurt like the devil.  

A tiny buzz alerts you to the phone tucked away in your pocket. 

Natasha: So, you guys fucking yet?  

Your heart leaps into your mouth. 

You: What the fuck!!!! Did you plan this? You have cursed me, Natasha. I am broiling in the deepest layer of hell and they are feasting on my bones you asshole!  

Natasha:That’s too kinky even for me. Enjoy being feasted upon. Later.  

Steve twists his head around like a goddamn owl and looks at you, “Everything okay?” 

You refuse to meet his gaze, “Uh-huh.” 

Bucky finds your eyes closed tightly the rear view. “Are you actually shy ?” He ponders, grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. When you say nothing, he continues, “I would have never guessed if I hadn’t seen it first-hand. Today.” 

“Be quiet.” You groan. 

“Don’t be like that, princess,” he chides, pulling into the driveway. “You’re a pretty good liar.” 

“You’re a pretty good liar! Heh!” You sneer back, imitating the way his voice might sound if he inhaled a lungful of helium. When the car stops and Bucky shuts off the engine, he turns around through the middle console and sends you a fanged grin, reminiscent of the way he snarled at you the first time he came to your apartment. 

Then he’s out the door, closing it with a quiet bang. Steve whistles lowly and looks over his shoulder, “You’re in for it now.” 

-- 

Bucky throws you into the pool.  

He at least has the decency to take your phone out of your pocket before he chucks you in like a dead fish. Since it’s drizzled all day, the water is cold as all fuck and when it hits your back the shock stifles the scream wrenched from your throat. 

You resurface with a shriek, teeth chattering as you break the water and try to swim to the edge. You can barely get your hair out of your face before an enormous splash creates a wave that slams itself on the top of your head. Another cannonball goes into the blue and by the time your eyes are dry enough to see what the fuck is going on, you’re sandwiched between them and the cold slips right out of your skin. 

Steve’s hands have faithfully returned to your legs where the opening of your romper floats around in the chilling water. The tips of your toes are pointed, and your mouth is barely above the splashes of chlorine licking at your chin. Bucky and Steve are standing flat on their feet, barely wet at their collarbones. 

“Better hold on, ‘less you’re interested in drownin’.” Bucky teases. A mouthful gets spit out onto his neck and for a second you think maybe that point is worth it until Steve picks you up by the waist and dumps you two inches left and the water goes right over your head. 

You scramble and splash, regretting not taking those swimming classes seriously because all you can do is (sort of) float on your back and doggy paddle for about three minutes. Bucky chuckles when you finally relent and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your burning face into his sopping hair. 

“Is this your idea of getting me wet.” You mumble as your cheeks scorch against him. Steve is behind you, kissing your nape until you lean back onto his shoulder too, both inflamed and anxious by their rapt attention. 

“Is it working?” Steve asks, and your silence is enough of an answer all on its own. You feel as if you might be brave enough to look up into Bucky’s eyes, maybe kiss him again, but a third and final cannonball crashes into the tranquil waves and then Buckeye breaks the water with a series of grunts and pants.  

His fat head bobs up and down as he paddles about, tongue hanging limply from his jaw. As he makes his way past the three of you staring blankly at him, Buckeye gives Steve’s face a long, slow lick.  

You swear you can hear Captain America faintly call your dog a “goddamn cockblock”. 

-- 

Steve is in the shower when you snuggle up with Buckeye on the couch. A thick wool blanket covers your bare legs as you lean over, placing your head on your dog’s coiled body. He’s still a little damp from pool water, and the velvet grey of his coat is speckled with dark splotches. From downstairs, Bucky arrives, wet hair behind his ears and quietly lifts your dog up and places him on the sofa couch across from the coffee table. He smells like peppermint body wash.  

The sudden thought of him wearing red and white and kissing you under a mistletoe wriggles into your brain and you could scream. Instead, you steel yourself, scold the fantasy until it leaves.  

Your head lays on Buckeye’s former seat, dampening the leather, staring up into the ceiling.  

Bucky wordlessly smooths the blanket over your legs, sits down on the floor, and props his head up on his arms until he’s looking into your eyes. “Hey,” he says, biting on the tiniest bit of his bottom lip in a way uncharacteristic of him—nervous, careful. “Y’know, if this is too much—say somethin’—I’d rather be your friend than nothing at all.”  

A smirk tugs the corner of your lip and he huffs at the sight of it, waiting for a comment but still, he feels uneasy. You’re not looking at him, not yet, at least. It’s still up in the air if you’ll laugh or cry; your emotions have become overwrought when thinking of them. The quips here and there have been tiny little bandages over the aching wound. 

“C’mon,” Bucky whispers, “Thought you were gonna be bastard about it.”  

“Sorry…” You mutter, turning to face him. A single tear drops out and rolls over your nose bridge, plunking down onto the leather. “I think I am... feeling both overwhelmed and…” You close your eyes, trying to find your words. “I think I’m also feeling inadequate.” 

Bucky’s brow furrows, creating fine creases on his forehead. 

“I guess as a normal person, now faced with something … very serious-- two entire lives that have started  way  before me and will last long after me, I’m just wondering how exactly I will fit? It’s certainly selfish... ” 

“It’s not.”  

A jerk of your mouth catches his gaze, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” You laugh, knowing fully well that the statement sounds silly because he’s right in front of you now, as he’s been for the past few days. And your comment makes it seem like he’s leagues away. “I want you to be happy. I think you‘ve spent so long not being, I just want you to be happy.”  

Against your better judgement, you turn until your entire body is facing him and brush your fingers along his chin, then trail up until you are holding onto the side of his neck, thumb under his ear. Bucky smiles that lopsided boyish smile at you, set in the angular, firm face of a man, and closes his eyes. 

“Thanks.” 

He opens them, letting the gray-blue dance over your features. You feel brave again, because Bucky Barnes is inches away, looking at you like you could be part of his world. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his softly. He is already a part of�� your  world, more ingrained than you ever thought could be in the short time you’ve known him.  

You kiss him again. For good measure. And then again, for luck, maybe. “You know I meant it, last night.” You sigh against his mouth, “I do love you two.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky dismisses it playfully as he lifts himself up just a little more to hover over your face, turning so that his mouth slants on yours just right. “No time to talk now, darlin’.”  

He scrubs his beard against your neck, and you start giggling uncontrollably at the way it tickles. His nose brushes against your ear and his tongue traces your jaw before he peppers kisses up to your mouth. His fingers tap a staccato of morse code up and down your sides as you squeal.  

Who knew The Winter Soldier could be so... cute? 

“I’m ready for a nap!” Steve calls from the hallway, stopping short of interrupting the moment. “Think all of us can fit on the bed?” 

“Steve, man, it’s like evening time.” Your voice is muffled against Bucky’s face once more as he takes the opportunity to kiss you again. 

“I’m trying to find an excuse to lie down,” Steve grumbles. You hear his footsteps stop behind Bucky as he peers over his shoulder and into your upside-down face. “Will ya come to bed or not?” 

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you hide behind Bucky’s hair. “Well, fuckin’ twist my arm...”  

-- 

Steve sleeps like the dead. It’s comical how he sprawls out and snores softly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And maybe he doesn’t, now that he’s retired. 

You and Bucky have moved to one side where he lies with one arm tucked behind his head and the other one under yours. He tells you Steve usually isn’t so ridiculous, sleeping very lightly and wakes up at the slightest noise, but now there’s a conversation being carried centimeters away from his face and he’s not stirred at all.  

Bucky smiles at this, says thank god, he needs it. 

“He’s gonna be up at three bouncing off the walls.” You warn. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. He’ll sprint fifty miles and go to bed.” 

“Jesus, why?” 

“Super serum bullshit, and because he’s a show-offy asshole.” 

“Aren’t you... also serum-ed?”  

“Yeah, but I also love my bed.” 

At that, you whistle, “Man after my own heart.” 

His face lights up as he turns to peer at you resting on the crook of his arm, leaning so that the top of your head is barely on his chest. “Oh yeah?” The silly conversation takes a turn when Bucky tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, finding excuse to let his fingers roam along the edge of your eyebrow, trailing down until he’s past your cheek, further down to your shoulder.  

It’s his left hand that’s touching you, the cold metal of the appendage sending shivers down your back. You can’t help but gaze at the way it reflects the setting sun slipping through the cracks of your blinds. 

The hand under your head is shifted until he’s propping himself up on it.  

Your mouth goes drier each time he squeezes your arm, closing your eyes to concentrate on the contradicting sensations—your warm body, his cold hand, quickly losing its chill. He travels down, down, until his palm is on your hip, then your thigh, then, ghosting between your legs. 

Against your back is Steve, sighing softly. 

“I feel like I’m living out the thirst tweet ‘bout your arm.” You mutter, eyes closing with a tremulous shudder. Bucky laughs, fingers diving between your thighs, hand wrapping over one. 

“You got a thing for getting choked, too?” It’s a joke, but he pinches your flesh and when your tummy flutters, you suddenly grow a bit afraid of your own desires.  

Behind you, Steve stirs. “Don’t let him do it.” His gravelly voice pipes up, muffled by the pillow his cheek is pressed against, “He toes the line of erotic asphyxiation too closely.” Then, he turns, spooning you, and falls back asleep. 

Why the fuck does Captain America know anything about erotic asphyxiation. 

Bucky is laughing again, pulling you to his chest before he stills. “I wouldn’t. Unless you really wanted it.”  

“Jesus would you stop.” You mumble, but peek up at him anyway, lips parting in anticipation. He gives it to you, curling his hand around the back of your neck and murmuring nonsense into your mouth. Witticisms that you quickly bite off with a teasing snap of teeth. Bucky pulls away with a sound of surprise. 

“Oh, kitten. You got claws, huh?” 

You show him your canines. “Always had ‘em, bee-itch.” He doesn’t know how a person can make the word  bitch  into two annoying—maybe endearing— syllables, but you’ve done it. 

Bucky laughs joyfully, smothers his face into the pillow like he doesn’t want you to see, because Bucky Barnes’ reputation as a stone-cold motherfucker has been completely ripped to shreds in your hands and he is trying desperately to retain some semblance of it. 

You grab his face, grinning, eager to see that winsome smile of his.  

“Fuck, I like you.” He says with a chuckle. 

“Aw, don’t be a bee-itch, Buck.” Steve calls from your back, apparently not asleep after all. “Tell ‘er the damn truth!” Your spine picks up the humidity of his breath, shivers running all the way up to your neck when he kisses your shoulder blade with sloppy presses of his mouth. 

In the sunset glow, Bucky groans dramatically as you and Steve wait, smirks shared between two utter bastards, he thinks. He groans and groans and when he’s out of one long breath he picks up another. 

“Fine, fine.” He relents finally, letting you bask in the glory of that gorgeous wide mouth, stretched so sweetly. He laughs.  

“I love you too. Twist my fuckin’ arm.”  

Next

[murderousginger]

Deep South

Original spooky fic based off of Deep South by Cartel.

Word Count:1,736

She closed her eyes and hummed. She could smell the storm coming in. Feel the lightning light up the distant sky. She could hear her feet tap against the cobblestone walkways in a steady rhythm with her heart. She could feel the weight of the summer air press against her as she perspired a prayer for a breeze. 

She knew the way. It just took one step after another. The sun felt good on her skin and her eyes opened when she heard the moss shift in the trees. 

Instantly she was back into her body like a rip chord went off. She slumped from her pose on the floor and huffed in annoyance. So close. So very far away. 

She slapped her hands upon the wood floor of the tiny apartment as she stood up and went to the window to see the freak ice storm that roared outside. The day was dark from clouds but the ice and snow twinkled anyway.

She glared at the weather as if it was openly mocking her before she kicked the wall below the window and went back to her spot on the floor. She took a deep breath. 

"Again, honey," she muttered, "Try again.I can do this."

She exhaled slowly, squeezing her eyes shut before relaxing and trying to find a rhythm to breathe in. She crossed her legs before purposefully extending her arms and planting her palms flat onto the floor. 

She inhaled slowly, and with her exhale she pressed her palms deep into the floor. Her muscles flexed and instantly she was back on the beach, feeling the breeze across her face like opening an oven door. She felt her hands press into warm sand and water the temperature of bath water caressed her forearms. 

This time, she didn't open her eyes. Instead, she could feel the lighthouse in the distance, it's visitors cooing and taking photos of the old place. She felt the boardwalk down the way bustling with families and couples buying ice cream to beat the southern heat. 

She slowly lifted her hands from the sand and water and turned her back to the sea, squinting at the waterway that turned into a river and led back to her home. She shifted along the waterway until her memory could place her along the riverbanks and her feet touched the cobblestone again. She thoughtlessly waved at the statue of the woman waving her laundry at the sea.

She strolled along the shops, her hands wistfully touching the old buildings as she went. No one that passed her even took a glance. She licked her lips as she passed the taffy store, watching the man pull the sugar long and slow in the window. 

She did not stop. If she stopped now, she might not find her way back. 

She ran her hand along the brick hotel that was once a mighty cotton gin company. She could feel the old building breathing, expanding and contracting with memories. She almost paused, but continued on.

Her time was short, and her energy was constantly depleting. She had to reach him. She had to see. She only had this much energy because she was stronger on the day she was born. Sunday. And time was short.

The day was winding down and street lamps slowly came on. She passed one of the dozens of beautiful squares. This one had a memorial fountain under the massive oak tree covered in moss. 

A sudden urge to sit on the edge of the fountain and touch the water moved through her so violently that her steps faltered for a moment. The breeze whispered in her hair, begging her to stop and touch the water. Her breath stilled. She took another step. 

One more trip past the old cemetery, she thought, pushing herself on. 

She thoughtlessly ran her hand across the metal fence as she walked past it, looking at the unearthed headstones across the far wall that had been desecrated by union soldiers. Names were changed, dates were scratched over. Sorrow poured from it's gates as it beckoned her in. She walked by, gently squeezing the metal gate before letting go. 

"Not today, honey," she said. 

She was almost to the flat. It was a quaint little apartment space in the attic of an old Victorian home, repurposed to be a string of low-income apartments rather than a massive plantation for an elite family. Her steps felt heavier as she locked her eyes on the attic window beckoning her with it's soft yellow light. 

Would he be there?

"You don't want to go up there, baby," a soft voice called from behind her. 

She startled before turning her head and seeing a middle aged woman walk across the street to stand beside her. The woman's black hair was expertly curled, and her dark dress shirt and slacks were covered with a charcoal apron that the woman patted as she looked at the house. 

Her skin was deceptively smooth with minimal aging lines around her dark eyes, and her voice was soft and smooth with the native twang of the south.

"He's not there no more," the woman said. Her tone held an edge as the girl stiffened beside her. "Child, don't be mad at him. Time works differently on the other side. He still thinks of you. Life continues on, just like we do."

"Who --" the girl started, "how-- how do you know? How do you see me?"

"You can call me Momma E," the woman said as she slipped her hand into her apron, bringing up a red wrapper decorated like a strawberry and pushing it toward the girl. "I'm here to smooth things along, honey. Sometimes people get lost and need a push. That's what I do."

"Momma E," the girl says incredulously. "How am I lost? I know where I am. I belong here."

"Baby," Momma E said, dark eyebrows raising like angry wasps, "you might know where you are, but you don't KNOW where you are."

She took the strawberry candy from Momma E and inspected it before popping the candy in her mouth. 

"Why can't I return here?" She asked quietly, deflated. 

"Do you remember how you got to that apartment?" Momma E asked softly. 

She jerked her head down with short images of running, blood, screaming. She inhaled sharply before slowly shaking her head. Momma E patted her on the shoulder.

"There, there, baby," Momma E soothed. "You just suck on that candy and focus on here. We don't have enough time for you to blink out now."

She focused on the taste of candy and crumpled the cellophane wrapper in her hand before shoving it into her jean shorts. Momma E nodded in approval. 

"Now," she drawled, looking down into the girl's eyes, "Listen closely because there isn't time for repeating. They're gonna find your body in three days, child. That could feel like a minute or a hundred years. We all move differently through time here. But in three days, they're gonna find you and they're gonna put two and two together. You ain't gonna be stuck no more. They gonna find your parents and they gonna bring you home."

She inhaled a sob of relief as tears started to form around her eyes. Momma E hushed her and with quick fingers rubbed the tear off her cheek.

"I ain't done yet, baby," she said, gently holding her chin. "You gotta go with 'em. You gotta go with your bones. 'Else you ain't ever comin' home, child."

She hiccuped with a jolt, grabbing the woman's hand. 

"But that means---" she started.

"Shhh," Momma E said, putting her finger to her lips. "I know what it means, child. You're gonna have to go back to that dark place and wait. I know it's scary, but it's only the only way to bring you home. Don't you wanna be home?"

She nodded, gasping in between sobs.

"Alright, then," Momma E soothed. "Then you're gonna have to go back, honey. You're almost used up as is, you gotta let yourself go back and be found. Then you can be here." 

She clutched the woman's hands, looking up into her dark eyes and tried to steady her breathing. Fear was etched into every feature as she slowly let go of Momma E's hands and disappeared slowly. Momma E quickly grabbed the candy wrapper out of the air and stuffed it into her apron. She looked back at the house in front of her and let out a sigh. 

"Poor child," she whispered. "Soon, baby, soon." 

------

He sometimes walked this way, remembering how it was her favorite. Not often, mind you, because it was so out of his way, but just often enough to remember.

She loved the moss-filled trees, the cobblestone, the meandering trail of it all. Most of all, she loved the graveyard. 

He never understood why she took solace among desecrated gravestones, but she always had to go and trace her fingers over them. 

It had been years and he still thought of her. Of their fight and breakup before she uprooted her life to go to college up north. Of how they found her body. She'd always be the 'what if' in his life. He'd never forget her. 

He thoughtlessly put his hand up on the metal fence like she did, slowing to peer in like she always did. He froze in panic.

There she was. She was sitting on the memorial, book in hand, hair behind her ear in the shade of the trees. She smiled softly to herself, lifting one knee to her chest to lean on as she continued her book. 

He inhaled sharply, hands clutching the fence spokes until his knuckles were white. He almost said her name, but hesitated. 

Her back straightened suddenly and she looked up at him, eyes locking. She gave him a soft smile before blinking out in the afternoon sun. He paused, searching the graveyard for her. No one had been buried there in hundreds of years. She was there. He knew it. With no other indicator of her presence, he exhaled the breath he had been holding.

"Hi darlin'," he whispered softly, letting go of the fence and stuttering his footsteps until he found an even rhythm again. "Hi, darlin'," he said even softer, but what he meant to say was goodbye.

Masterlist

[lennyisdyeing]

synesthesia!keith

this was just in my drafts so I decided to make it a Happy Birthday Keith! thing

pre s3

for you, babe

enjoy

The weirdest fucking mixture of warm cookies and salt water.

If you ever asked me what Lance’s words tasted like, that’s what I’d tell you. And, hey, I never lied about that. That is what he tasted like. But I always managed to leave things, vital things, out.

Like how he tasted like the ocean during a storm when he was angry, and salt water taffy when he was on a mission. 

Like how his cookies had rainbow sprinkles and chocolate chips, and it was cookie batter, not just cookies. And we all know that batter is much, much better. 

The sweet of the batter and the salt of the sea contrasted horribly and beautifully at the same time, almost the same way complementary colours made no sense but at the same time, it totally did.

The two vary, depending on his mood, of course. I remember at one point he smelled like sea spray after a storm and half baked cookies (at the point where it’s still gooey in the middle). This was after Lance and I had finally had our first real talk after arriving at the castle for the first time. That was also the moment I fell in love with the taste of his words.

He fell in love with his excitement for missions, his yearn for “home”, his voice, his smell, his entire being had engulfed mine in just a week.

Months later now, it’s getting harder and harder to hide my condition from him, much more the team.

At this point, it’s just easier to avoid them. 

Train. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

Of course, I go to all of our missions, but I can tell my distancing from the group is affecting our bond as Voltron.

That means, so can Shiro.

...

...

...

“Keith!” The strong voice cut through the sound of my sword connecting with the metal of the training bot.

With a huff, I make a final strike, defeating the bot, and this level. “End training simulation!” 

“What’s up, Shiro?” My bayard disappears with a flash. I walk over to Shiro, who has a concerned look and water bottle in hand. I take it with a curt thanks and chug it down, only now realizing my thirst and, how long I’d been in there. How many levels have I beaten?

Shiro watches me carefully until I’ve successfully chugged the entire bottle, not seeming to care that I couldn’t tell if the stain on my shirt was from sweat or the water. “How’ve you been feeling lately, Keith?” he ponders like the true dad he is.

Now I’m watching him carefully, trying to decipher what he’s up to. “I’m good,” I respond, not able to hide the suspicion in my voice.

Shiro’s voice had always tasted like strawberries and pineapple. Today though, it’s more of a freeze-dried strawberry, pineapple syrup taste. This was what his worry tasted like.

“Shiro, I’m fine,” I sigh. He’s also the only person on this ship who knows about my synesthesia. 

“You don’t seem so fine lately, the team notices, hell, Voltron notices. You can’t pull this right now, buddy. The team needs you to be at your best,” Shiro chastises.

The water bottle crackles in my hand. “I know, Shiro. It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose though. Do you know how hard it is to keep this from them? It’s hard to explain sometimes you know. It’s not easy.”

The black paladin lets out a short whistle and a shrug. “Soo, why not just tell them?”

“Are you crazy? Of course I wouldn’t-” Wait. Why don’t I tell them?

“Uh, I don’t know... I don’t want to freak them out,” My hands rub at my face on their own, like even they know I’m being stupid. 

Shiro clicks his tongue before placing a supporting hand on my shoulder. “You know they won’t think of you any differently.”

“Don’t people think it’s weird? Like, what do I say? ‘Hey, so whenever you speak in my vicinity, I can taste you,’ like? That’s weird!”

Shiro shakes his head, “Maybe initially, Keith, but we have very accepting and kind friends. It’s not a huge deal that they don’t know, but it might make it easier for them to understand you.”

“Maybe... I can tell them, I guess. From what I understand, knowing less about me... make me less approachable? I’d like to be more comfortable around me, and if them knowing about this condition somehow brings us closer together... that wouldn’t be too bad?” I say, filling in the blanks as I go.

Before I could say anything else though, the sirens went off, indicating an attack on the castle. 

I sigh dramatically and Shiro only laughs. We begin jogging off to out rooms, and before we part, he pats me on the back and says, “Maybe when we get back, Keith.” 

...

...

...

The attack dies down quicker than usual, making me way more nervous than I need to be.

Before I know it, the battle is over, everyone is showered, dressed, and chilling in the lounge. I make my way over, head held high, an air of confidence surrounding me, and... run right back. I can’t get anywhere, though, because Shiro’s big annoying chest is in the way.

...

I think I’ll write more later maybe but uh, this was some stuff I wrote because my ex gf liked it and hah,

that fucking sucks

[dumbbitchenergy17]

I’m Sorry (Part 3)

Summary- You are Michael’s vessel as you are dean’s kid and letting him use you instead of your dad

Dean x daughter!reader

Word count-2,374

A man sits in a small motel room getting ready to pray. “Glorified be you, all praise is yours, perfect is your name, most high is your majesty and greatness. None has the right to be worshipped but you, the only one God.” he speaks in Arabic placing his knees and hands on the floor, “Glorified be my God, the highest. Glorified be my God, the highest. Glorified be my God, the highest.”

He looks up. In front of him, Michael is sitting on a chair and staring down at him, wearing Y/n’s vessel. He falls back, scared. “Hello, Jamil.” Michael greets “Who are you?” the man quivers “Oh, we’ve never met. But you’ve read all about me. How does it go?” “Whoever is an enemy to Allah, and His angels, and His messengers, and Gabriel and Michael then indeed, Allah is an enemy to the disbelievers.” He declares resting his hands on his knees as his eyes glow blue.

“You’re… God?” Jamil wavers

“Close, but… not quite.” Michael sighs “Gabriel?” he questions “The other one. The better one.” Jamil replied“Michael.” “There we go.” Michael clasps his hands “No, no, no, no. Why are you here?” He asks Michael stands up brushing the invisible dirt off him “Well, that is the question, isn’t it? Why are we here? I know why I’m here to ask you a question.” Jamil wonders “What question? Michael leans in closer “The same question I’ve spent weeks traveling around this world asking all sorts of people. Holy men, leaders, killers. And now I come to you, Jamil Hamed...What do you want?” Jamil stutters “What? “Do you want? Exactly. If you could have anything, name it.” the archangel pressed “Peace. And love.” Jamil answers Michael hums “If you cared about peace, you never would have left Syria. You never would have ran and abandoned your friends to die – and they did die.” “No.” “And if you cared about love, you never would have gone into that broom closet with – What was her name?” Michael continues “No.” Jamil breathes shakily “Darlene? Your wife would have never left and you wouldn’t be living in this... rat hole.” Jamil tries to attack Michael, who throws him on the floor without even moving. “And that’s the problem with you. You’re lost... And not worth saving.” Michael sighs “Wha—what—what do you want?” Jamil cries

“What I always wanted... a better world.”

Survivors from the Apocolypse are preparing their weapons. Mary approaches one of them. “Hi.”

“You got silver. Devil’s trap. Holy Oil.” Russel lists pointing at various bullets as he grabs a gun “And these here, they’re dipped in Dean Man’s blood.” Mary takes the gun and loads it. he continues “Basically, you need some freak dead? I got you.” Mary checks the gun. In front of her, Maggie is helping another survivor with his wounds. “A rawhead did this?” she asks “Yeah. Outside Phoenix. They’re faster than they look,” Howard winces as Maggie extracts a fang from the wound, “Meaner, too.” he said “So, so gross.” Maggie gags

The door creaks open. Trevor walks in. “Soup’s on. Who’s eating?” “Right here.” Howard lifts his good arm up “Yeah, I’ll –” another began just as Sam enters the bunker making his way down the stairs. “Yeah, right here. How about you guys?” Trevor asks Mary looks up to her youngest “Sam.” she smiles pulling him into a hug “Hey, Mom.” “How was Atlanta?” she asks walking with him “It was, uh... It was a bust. The woman who claims she saw an “angel”... was,” he laughs, “Let’s just say I think she had one too many hits of the brown acid, you know?” Mary frowns“Sam, we’re gonna find her. Ketch is working that thing in London. Castiel is in Detroit. I know it’s been three weeks since Y/n...Something will break. It has to.” Sam nods yawning “Yeah. Yeah, you keep saying that.” Mary sighs “Have you slept? At all. Sam, you need to rest. Go and lay down.” trying to convince her son “Mom –” Sam sighs “Chief.” Someone cuts into their conversation “Hey.” Sam gives a weak smile “Good to have you back.” he says handing a bowl of soup. “Thanks.” Sam nods

“Don’t thank me yet. Word is we got some vamps heading East on I-90. Gipsy types. Pickin’ off truckers mostly. Last body got drained and dropped just outside La Crosse six hours ago.” he explains  Sam sighs before talking

“Okay. Um... All right. Get me teams of two. I want watchpoints every 50 miles. If you see something, say something. Maggie, can you hack the traffic cams on the freeway?” he questions

“Um... no,” Maggie says sheepishly

“Right. Right. Of course. Sorry. Um, I got it. Thank you,” Sam says passing the untouched food to Mary “Uh, please. Would you call in Sharon and her crew? We’re gonna need all hands on deck here.” the man nods walking out the war room Sam sits down, starts typing on his laptop. Mary approaches him again.

“Sam..” Mary starts “I’m good,” Sam replies Mary puts a hand on his. Sam looks at her. “I’m good. I am you should be asking Dean that he’s the one with the missing daughter.”Sam says giving her a sad smile  “Hey, how’s Jack?” As devotees are leaving the Church. A couple stops to talk to sister Jo. “You saved me, Sister.” The man thanks “Thank you.” Sister Jo smiles “God bless you.” the woman states “He does, every day.” Sister Jo walking down a dimly light alley, counting the money she made. Suddenly, a flutter of wings “Hey, Jo.” The feminine voice stops her in her tracks. She turns Y/n Winchester but not her. “Who are you?” Jo queried “You don't recognize me with this pretty face?” stated Michael Jo frowned “You're not -- You're not Y/n Winchester. You're,” she trailed off seeing his true form, “oh god.” she inhales sharply

“People keep calling me that.” Jo turned to walk away. “Ah, ah. We need to talk.” Michael tsked “You're the Archangel Michael, from another world, and you're possessing Y/n Winchester.” Jo confirmed

“Sounds more complicated than it is.” Michael shrugged “Why would she ever say “yes” to you?

“Love.” Michael spat walking towards Sister Jo. “Really? That's very Hallmark Channel. So, I'm just gonna go now.” Jo chuckled “No, you're not. Not until I ask you... what do you want?” He remarked

“I don't know. Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton.” Jo joked “You think this is a joke?” Jo shook her head “I don't know what this is. You asked I answered. We done?” Michael scoffed “No. I asked, and you lied.” “I didn't.” Jo crossed her arms Michael walks closer to her placing a hand on her cheek. “I know about you, Jo. Because he knew about you. You're the rebel, the angel who doesn't like playing by Heaven's rules or whatever. You pretend to care about these things -- pretty things. But that's all it is -- pretending. These trinkets, they don't make you happy. They just pass the time. They're not what you really want.”

“And if you're so smart, what do I really want?” Jo sassed

“Love,” Michael stated, “To belong, to have a place -- a home, a family. It's very very human of you. And so, so disappointing,” he smirked, “I can sense how many angels are in this world. There aren't many left. I thought... maybe I could help. But if they're all these sad, lost, fallen things -- things like you -- maybe they're not worth saving, either.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam walked out of Nick’s room sighing running a hand down his forehead. his phone goes off seeing it’s Cas he picks up “Hey, Cas.” He greets “Hello, Sam.” A voice answers Sam straighten up at the unfamiliar voice “Who is this?” he demands the voice laughs “Oh. I'm the boy who's got your angel. And if you want to see him again, you know, alive, we should probably chat.”

Sam begins to pack some weapons to rescue Castiel, along with Bobby, Jack, Maggie, and Mary. “It's a trap.” Mary sighed closing up her bag “Yep.” Sam nodded continuing packing

“This guy's a-” bobby asked “Demon.”Sam cut him off as he closed up his bag “He just told you he was a demon?” Jack questioned

Sam nodded “Yeah. He seemed pretty proud of it, too.” Bobby grumbled, “Yeah, they ain't a real humble bunch.” Maggie looked at the group of people “So, what do we do?” Sam loads his gun speaking “We get Cas back. All right, grab holy water, Devil's Trap bullets, angel blades, because whatever we're walking into-”

“It's gonna suck.” Bobby groaned “Exactly. Maggie, you're with Bobby. Mom, you're with me.” Sam continued Jack stood up looking at Sam “I'm coming, too. I know I'm not as strong as I used to be, but... I can help...I have to.” bobby placed a hand on jack’s shoulder “Listen, kid..” “Okay. Grab your gear.” Sam interrupts him Jack smiles at him and hurriedly leaves to prepare. Bobby looks over at Sam shocked “Sam, I mean -- Jack's a worker, but he ain't ready for a full-on demon smackdown.” Sam sighed “So... we keep an eye on him. He needs this, Bobby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kipling grabs a cup of coffee from the bar. Castiel is still chained to the chair, bloody from his previous fight with the demons. “And danke, sweetie.” The demon raises his glass towards the bartender as he sits next to Castiel. “Castiel, you sure I can't get you anything hot and black?” Cas replied, “Coffee has no effect on me.” Kipling shrugged “Hm. Me either.” he takes a sip “You know, not anymore, but it's like saltwater taffy or infants -- you know, I just like the taste.” “Why are you doing this?”

“I'm just trying to be a good host like Mother would have wanted,” Kipling answered

Castiel sighed “No, Why are you using me as bait?” He said shaking the chains around him Kipling looked over at him “I mean, it's kind of what you're for, isn't it? And I need something... from Sam Winchester.”Castiel laughed “You really think that he's gonna make a deal with you?”

“Oh, he's dealt with worse. You see, recently, I had a revelation. You know, somebody asked me what it was that I wanted, and I realized that after 600 years as a demon walking the planet, destroying, drinking, defiling -- you know, the Three D's -- I didn't know. So, I sat back, and I gave it a good think, and I realized exactly what I wanted.” Kipling continued now standing above Cas

“And what is it?”

“Everything.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Impala speed down the road, followed by another car Sam focuses on the road as Mary is sitting shotgun “Sam, it's gonna be fine.” she tries to reassure him. Sam scoffs “Stop saying that, please.”

“What?”

“It's gonna be fine,” that everything's gonna be fine, we're gonna find y/n, and..” Sam started thinking about his niece out there with Michael having no clue what he could be doing to her. Mary placed a hand on his shoulder “We are.”

“You don't know that....Y/n's gone, and we have no idea where she is or-or if she's even still alive. You know, Michael could have... burned her out or... worse, and...” He sighed

Mary frowned ”I know. I know she's out there, scared and alone. I know. I know she might never come back. Never think I don't know that. But -- I can't -- I have to think about the good, Sam, because, if I don't, I will drown in the bad. For Dean's sake for his kid, I can't do that. We can't do that.” She answers for the sake of Dean Sam and the rest had left after killing Kipling and most of the demons before heading back. Sam sits at the table, pressing a cold beer to his forehead as he talks on the phone “Yeah. Yeah, yeah. I -- No, I don't care. I -- just keep looking. Yeah. Thanks.” he hangs up sighing another dead end.

“Who was that?” Cas said entering sitting next to Sam “Uh, Ketch. He's in London searching for the Newton-Dee Hyperbolic Pulse Generator.” Sam answers

“The what?” Cas tilts his head in confusion

“It's the -- It's the magic egg that kicked Lucifer out of the President. I thought we could use it on Michael, but -- Ketch can't find it. So, that's another dead end, which is just awesome.” Sam explained sighing

Cas glanced over to his friend “Sam, are you all right?

“Yeah, I've been better. I've been worse. You?” Castiel looked down ashamed “I'm-I'm just sorry. I should never have gone to those demons.” Sam placed a hand on his shoulder “Cass, I -- No, I-I-I don't blame you. I... Honestly, I-I wish I'd have thought of it first. If it meant finding Y/n, I-I'd work with -- I'd do anything. Dean hasn’t been himself since.”

After Cas left Sam headed to his room he turns the light on and leaves his phone on the table. The phone starts vibrating Sam grabs it answering “Hello?”

“Sam?” The voice of Sister Jo calls through 

“Jo?” Sam handed heard from her since Lucifer 

“Yeah. We have a problem.” Jo answered

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Now, you -- you know exactly what you want. You don't pretend to want to help people or save the world. Your want is pure and simple and clean. And that's why you are worth saving. That's why we are going to work so well together. Because you -- you just want to eat.” Michael smiles looking over at the pack of hungry werewolves and vampires.

Dean sits in his room staring at an old photo of him and Y/n it was her 17th birthday they were sitting on impala talking about life when Sam took a photo of them together so happy and pure. A tear lands on the glass as Dean realizes he’s crying, wiping the tears from his face he stares at her face in mid-laugh. The door opening tears Dean from his thoughts.

Sam looks at him with a small smile “Dean we found her.”

[archiveofidentityconstellations]

cass won't share her cheese nibs and bruce doesn't love me and i think?? that i deserve better??? than this???? i'm moving to alaska where NO ONE CAN TELL ME WHAT TO DO

the sequel to that one trix yogurt fic

I feel like I should tell you that I am MASSIVELY fucked up right now 

 like i am such a garbage heap that oscar the grouch took a look at me and said 

 “fuckk off!! i have standards!” 

anyways

it’s Brimothy, bitch

what is UP mothertrucksrs it is Me i am back here to write a report on the UNBELIEVABLE SHIT I JUST HANDLED.

okay so u know how Gotham city is on crack cocaine all the time. with like some LSD and heroin and never ever any weed except for like who is that pig guy?? nevrm he doesn’t have weeeed but like he is definitely a Pig. what the fuck is his name. what the fuck.

 okay so anyways 

 is it Goyle

 Doyle

 Pigoyle 

 tin foil? lmao

OKAY FUCK anyways the City, who Also May Be My Lover, is in a constant life crisis (which i relate? a Lot) and do you want to know this s h i t

Crocodile

Killer Croc

who Steve Irwin would be v disappointed in

Is climbing

into people’s FUCKING TOILETS

???????????????

THIS ISN’T FLORIDA

THIS IS NEW JERSEY

WE WEAR SHOES IN THE WINTER

WHAT SORT OF FLIP-FLOP WEARING CUCKER DOES HE THINK HE IS

okay so obviously KC is a big guy. a Dude. a whack-o whaler of a Male. a Big Boh. the largest banananana in the pack. he is Big. so he cAn’t fit into most people’s toilets. he can, however, fit into Big People’s toilets (big as in wealthy, not As in Tom Hanks)

so KC (crispy,,,nuggest…i wonder if fried alligator is good—not that im thinking of eating him, though someone really should threaten him with cannibalism, like if you’re going to be a bitch about it then you deserve the same done to you, it’s just manners) is in cahoots and canoodles with Someone Who Shall Not Be Named (not bc i don’t know, I do, that’s how detectives work. it’s my JOB to know, and i was a prodigy) but bc there is a whole other report detailing this person and their movements and its case file #4461 if u don’t believe me, but i ain’t no snitch, but i will say that tonight’s events connect to file #4461 so Dad if you’re reading this you should already have it out bc it’s your JOB

speaking of jobs ding ding here is mine coming round the mountain as she comes bc the apple bottom jeans the boots with the fur will be coming round the mountain when she comes shE’ll be coming round the mountain she’ll be coming round the mountain she’ll b e coming round and getting low low low low low l ow low

It was a crisp October night. The sun was blinking its sleepy lids, setting the ballroom with an incandescent glow. Bruce Wayne strode across the floor, his daughter Cassandra accompanying him. They wore matching expressions that the privileged always wear: guarded, yet hungry. Hungry for what? Probably for the crab cakes just out of reach. Neither of them had an allergy, and Cassandra in particular had a propensity to shove anything edible in her mouth, so it really was a tragedy that those crab cakes were all the way across the room. There should really be a table right in the middle of the dance floor just for snacks. That way caterers wouldn’t have to do so much leg work, which is actually a good thing, because that ballroom floor is slippery af. This narrator should know, he has Died A Few Times getting there. Suddenly, the night’s festivities were interrupted by a social faux pas: a scream.

You don’t just scream at regular parties, it’s uncouth and hysterical. But you can scream if the social boundaries have already been crossed, and boy, were they crossed.

You see, Dear Reader, there was a man in the toilet.

I use the term “man” loosely, as his glaring yellow eyes do wonders when you might just crap your pantaloons. You start imagining things, like dinosaurs whcih i am personally a big fan of bc Jurassic Park has a kid named Tim in it and I am also Tim.

 hI y is our toilet so big that Killer Croc could wiggle his way up? also how long can he hold his breath. 

 it seems to be impressively long

 hey Bdad how long can he hold his breath? please let me know if you can, and if you won’t i will eat all your wafers becauzs i wa

Mrs. Trenton screamed and fled the impertinent bathroom guest, who wasted no time in ripping the commode to pieces. There was a roar and all the guests paused, unsure if it was merely pipe problems or if they were under attack.

Reader: They were, in fact, under attack. 

The guests, deciding that Mrs. Trenton was a social entrepreneur, followed her lead and began to scream. Killer Croc had made it to ballroom, standing at an impressive height just outside the doors.

He was Not wearing a shirt.

okay have u ever noticed that Killer Crog hasn’t got any nipples????? where are they? he’s got pecs but no nipples?? 

where did they go where are his nip nops i kno people don’t like to think about this but i hAve wondered since i was like 13 like where did they go. has anyone ever asked him. 

did they fall off

“Take the crab cakes!” shouted Matthew Fielder, a lil bitch.

“No, take me!” said Cassandra Wayne, who would literally rather die than give up those crab cakes.

Killer Croc paid them no heed. He desired one thing and one thing only, the sweet satisfaction for his carnal craving: Humain Flesh.

(alliteration hell yeah hell yeah take that Mrs. Johnson i do know shit and im creative as well u jusy don’t know how my brian works it’s like a golden goose egg trap ye ye ye)

 i just Realized 

 i am…a high school drop out

 i don’t know why im doing this

Dear Reader, as an Aside: Smoking can lead to many health issues, especially if one begins smoking at a young age. Harmful side effects include increased risk of stroke and brain damage; muscular degeneration, eye cataracts; cancer of lips, nose, tongue, and mouth, and nipple loss.

 Jason you may want to have a talk with you and your mipples

The terror in the air was stifling. Cannibalism conduct was not something conveyed in etiquette classes. Rich people never expect to be eaten.

Reader, everyone hardly breathed. Something deeply primal had occurred. 

From the doorway the golden eyes struck. Deadly. Lethal. Hungry. 

This was more than vengeance. It was a sadistic occasion of play.

  okay good thing Dames wasn’t there because he fucking HATES KC he gets all huffy and shrieky about him like “he’s a HYGIENE PROBLEM” and it’s like,,,,,.ur right but i don’t want to agree with you because where do we stand if i do that?? as brothers???

 i think the fuck not 

anyways i just realized i’ve been calling Waylon Jones KC the entire damn time (NEWSFLASH ASSHOLE) but to be fucking h, he wants to to be called that. i called him Allen once and he was so PISSED so i can only think of actually calling him by his name. he wouldn’t even be chill with me naming the sewer alligators even tho they were awesome names. i called one Dundee. that’s fucking genius. that’s just. i’m fucking amazing. stupenous. and unappreciated.

 maybe his nipples fell off because he swims in shit every night?????

 question: why do i swim in shit almost as often 

 what the dfck

 what are my life choices

 i feel like there should have been some fine print involved here 

 “Robin duties include scraping shit off your asschreks 3 times a week”

 mahbe,,,,maybe not what i want 

 personal choice

though i haven’t really seen any alligators in the sewers for years now, which is

oh my god OH MY GOD HE ATE THEM  HE ATE THEM OH MY GOD  OH MY GOD !!!!!!!!!!

HE FUCKING  HE FUCKING. HE. HE ATE HIMSELF  HE FUCNING ATE HIMAELF AND HIS FAMILY HIS COUSINS HIS CPOUSINS  HIS FAMILY OH MY GOD  THIS IS LIKE MY 8TH GRADE GRADUATION ALL OVER AGAIN

im so disturbed……..i like, need to eat something. Fucking hell. this Not what i had in mind when i decided to be alive.

i feel like as if i woke up one day and i was the only one in the entire world who remembered Caillou. also could pull off my face and eat it like taffy. imw so. i.

mom i know i refused to go to Shabbat when i was ten so i don’t get to say this but:

this is Not kosher 

oh heyy i want some pIckes

i was also thinking of takin a spin class?? like fuck it i like to bike. fuck it. and maybe iwdont want bruce and nigtwink fucking watxhing me with their beady eyes. like get those off my calves. my cleavage is up here, gentlemen. stop talking about proper form. some people can do things and suck at them. i’m never going to be like a professional ice curler. and i shouldn’t feel bad about that. who the fuck curls for fun. maybe Canada???????

note to self: look up the history of the sport of curling 

i’m going to get good at it to piss off Jason

Back On Topic:

Killer Croc took a step forward. His mouth trembled, watering in anticipation. He took another step.

Mrs. Trenton drew in a breath. 

The room was silent. 

Far across the room, Bruce Wayne clenched his champagne glass. Cassandra Wayne stopped chewing the crab cakes.  Reader, I won’t mince words: Waylon Jones crossed the threshold.

  and the instant he put his foot down on the ballroom floor he fucking slipped like a drunkass toddler

like when Damian is really really tired bc he’s like 2 years old (only an evil 2 years old like chucky) and Jason tries to give him a high five 

gremlin still doesn’t get that “down low” precedes “too slow” 

and he like. faceplants

onto the fucking concrete 

and then Bruce yells at Jason 

and then Jason yells back

“I NEVER ASKED FOR SIBLINGS”

like it was something we all did, like wrote it down on our batmas lists for Brucie Claus 

and im sitting there, a perennial Forgotten Middle Child

and Damian is like still. on the ground.

anyways KC is just slipping across the ballroom, slippering and sliding bc the floor was just waxed and it’s silent except for the wet slaps of his feet against the floor and the screech his tail makes every time he trips (sort of like this) and when he sometimes falls it makes that sound of when your thighs SLAP against the mats and it sounds like a wet walrus coming to cheer you on while a Giant simultaneously swallows a liquid-filled gummy worm down his throat like QAWAGGHHHHHHH only his falls reverberated against the ceiling panels and the cherubs looked down in like. disgust.

Cass began chewing the crab cakes again by the time Killer Croc fell for the twelfth time so idk it was an embarrassing situation

 we all did that Thing people do when a social barrier is breached 

 we like…..avoided each other’s eyes and made light conversation 

 meanwhile Killer Croc’s body screeched in the background

anyways Matthew Fielder was like “so I hear you dance ballet” and Cass responded “uh huh. tap too” and the chewed up crab cake crumbs fell out of her mouth and onto the floor

 i CAN’T

scrambled cock on a cracker, Cass why does Alfred let this happen????? what is this??????  like she can snort creme puffs like cocaine but GOD FORBID i put my elbows on the table and call damian “a poisonous little bitch” because he ate my croutons

 the standards in this family are unbelievable

So everyone is just talking and Mrs. Trenton is sipping champagne now and Luis Alvarez is doing that thing where he starts trying to eat caviar one teeny tiny egg at a time and KC is just like WHUMPH for the thirtieth time

finally dad takes pity on him and crouches down and is like “hey how you doing slugger” which???? Offended me. Very Much.

that’s MY nickname 

has Waylon No-Nipples Jones been adopted by Bruce Wayne??? has Waylon No-Nipples Jones retrieved HIS sorry ass from time?? i don’t fucking think so 

the audacity of this man

but before Killer Croc can reply

Red Hood

BURSTS INTO THE ROOM

guns out, voice modulator kind of fuzzy like a broke refrigerator that makes an “eeeeeeeeeee” sound ever since i tripped over it and fell on it

 which wASN’T MY FAULT 

 IM NOT “deformed baby zebra clumsy” FUCK YOU JASON 

 MAYBE HE SHOULDN’T KEEP HIS EXPENSIVE HELMET ON THE FLOOR THEN 

 you know what? I’m GLAD i tripped over it.

 yeah. suck it. 

 im glad you sound like a 90s japanese transistor radio 

 off brand too

 fuck you 

 I GOT A BRUISE NOT THAT ANYONE CARES 

 even Bruce was like “hey tim you need to watch where you’re going”

 ???

 how about YOU watch where YOU’RE GOING 

 “where” as in TIME TRAVEL 

 REMEMBER THAT BRUCE 

 REMEMBER THAT?!???????

 HUH BIG GUY?!???????!!???

 no one is allowed to criticize me from now on

 i am Above Reproach 

    anyways yeah Red Hood appears at the party and shoots KC and Bruce was like “why the FUCK would you SHOOT HIM” as if he has some misplaced paternal feeling for Waylon No-Nipples Jones because he called him slugger which is something he calls one of his other kids but whatever im not bitter im just insecure and sad all the time but don’t worry about it maybe i’ll die one day and you’ll all be sorry especially about Certain Things like not sharing cheese nibs huh Cassandra

so RH and Bruce Wayne kind of argue. like. literally sniping at each other bc SOMEBODY forgot that Red Hood is a criminal and not their misplaced son and RH is like “it’s!!!!! a tranquilizer!!!!! ya big hoe!!!!!” only he doesn’t really say it like that but everyone isn’t even listening at this point because this party has already been so goddamn weird and we’re all suffering from secondhand embarrassment

i am Assuming,,,,,that Killer Croc Jones “Jonsie No-Nipples” has been taken away to be put into jail and studied for his non-nipple properties but at this point i’ve been sitting here huffing that cold medicine or whatever Bruce gave me. which

 oh yeah i was crushed earlier 

 it was by “slugger” but whatever

 yeah his body broke mine 

 it was because Bruce and Jason were fighting again and not paying attention so 

 KC was tranquillized and like 

 fell on me 

 he drooled on me too 

 those ballroom floors really hurt 

 like my head feels like mush 

 Alfred’s oatmeal 

 on its second day 

 because i refused to eat it on the first day 

 that man has a spine of Steel and he Does Not Let You Waste Food 

 btw he fell on me because i pushed Luis Alvarez out of the way 

 he was really transfixed by those tiny fish eggs 

 it’s fun to put them on your tongue and let them like slide around 

 so i pushed him out of the way and was promptly crushed to death 

 B said something about a broken collarbone 

 i am more worried about a broken butt 

 fuck

 my coccyx

PROFESSOR PYM wait no shit that’s a comic book character

anyways my butt is broken and im hungry and dad wouldn’t let me get out of the chair so i write up this report because I am A Real Life Detective and I do my JOB

once again im the best

hey red jood can you get me some cheese nibs cassandrA won’t share which is p mean especially since i was all for being eaten to give her those crab cakes  red hoof red  why isn’t he responding to me i want xheese nibs red hanz  red  red  Red Hood please I require sustenance  red fhau red gjji red hhood ted joood redb hood red red edds red red edd dedd red red red red red wd red  what the fuck what a right bastard sometimes oh hi Badaman

EDIT: His name is “Pyg.”  Fucking. Pyg. Points taken off for unoriginality.

decided to have a tumblr version too ¯\_(ツ)_/¯