#OH MY GOD I GENTRIFIED HIM

[wutheringmights]

just wanted to pop in to say ur wars is so ingrained in my brain that when i read other lu fic where wars is a nice guy that isn’t going through the horrors im like His Ass Would Not Do That. anyways

thank you that is quite an honor, though it must be said that if anyone is writing him incorrectly, it is probably me lol

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Get a Little Action In

Set in The Shape of Youniverse 

Summary: A standard date night with your boyfriend ends by revealing a side of him you’ve never seen before.

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader (Reader eventually marries the system)

Word Count: 2.7k 

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

CW/TW: Minor violence involving a gun, references to Marc’s trauma and emotional distance, relationship angst and insecurities, shower sex, fingering, p in v sex, and a nearly unbearable amount of ~softness~

A/N: Despite the title of this fic being a line from a rather jaunty Elton John song, this came out with mucho feels and romance! It’ll be reflected on the masterlist, but for all you friends following along at home, this takes place in the first year of reader and the boys’ relationship where she only knows about Marc. 

Also special shoutout to darling @romanarose​, this is kind of a leftover, unrequested 500 follower celebration prompt that she inspired me to go ahead and write it!!

It began as a normal date night. You met up with Marc after work, your overnight bag in tow, since the plan was for you two to convene at the restaurant you’d all but harassed him to take you to, and then spend the weekend at his place. 

You didn’t think anything of the neighborhood Casa Fofó was in. Hackney, and the whole of the East End of London in general, had long been gentrified. Which is why, as you two ambled back to the Tube, the man accosting you came as such a surprise. 

“Gimme your wallet. And her purse.” 

Your heart dropped. Yet where you froze, Marc fought. He pivoted right away, moving so swiftly and smoothly his body nearly blurred, instantly disarming the mugger and wrenching the gun –oh my god he had a gun?!-- from his hands. 

Your boyfriend didn’t stop there. Although the mugger clearly admitted he’d been had, backing away with his hands in the hair, Marc advanced on him. 

“Hey…hey! Alright bruv…m’sor–” he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence however. Marc pistol-whipped him, forcing the attacker onto his knees with the weapon. 

Until then, you’d felt as if you were in the midst of an out-of-body experience, simply too stunned to act, reduced to merely watching everything unfold. Something about the image of Marc towering over the mugger got your mental faculties whirring back to life again, and you hollered, “It’s enough! Please…just stop!!” 

Marc turned to look at you, horrified, as if he’d forgotten you were there. You thought he would heed your request, but instead he delivered one final blow to the mugger with the barrel of the gun, so hard that it knocked him out cold. You watched in cold-blooded shock as the assailant’s body collapsed. Meanwhile, Marc calmly ejected the magazine from the weapon, wiped his prints from the gun, and tossed both at the unconscious man’s feet. 

“Holy shit,” you exhaled. Even though you’d spent the entire confrontation just standing there, you were out of breath. 

Marc approached you cautiously. “Honey…”

“Fuck, you really weren’t joking about the combat training, were you?” 

“Yeah. Listen, I’m–”

“I’m gonna to call an Uber,” you announced.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Well, yeah. We’re going back to your place, right?” 

“If you still want to.” 

“I do…don’t really want to be alone right now,” you confessed. Before Marc could respond, your phone trilled. “The driver’s 2 minutes away from the high street, I picked there because—“

Marc didn’t need you to explain. “Got it.”

He followed you to where you’d set for the car to collect you. All the while, he kept a safe distance, regarding you like a startled animal. 

It fit, didn't it? Marc had been quite the predator just now, and it was both jarring and concerning to see such a casual display of the lethal power your boyfriend could channel. You knew he’d served in the American military, and had even done some work as a mercenary that he wasn’t proud of, but it was one thing being told this information, and quite another to witness it for yourself. 

Even more distressing however, was how attractive you found it. It was one of those frustratingly primal things that your psyche couldn’t override your biological programming on. Your big strong boyfriend had protected you from a threat and as stupefying as the violence was, you hated the part of you that relished he was capable of it, and that he’d chosen you. 

Despite the ride back to Marc’s flat being all but silent, an internal war of reason versus instinct waged in your head. You were grateful that Marc had protected you, angry that he used such excessive force, turned on by the display, then angry at yourself for being turned on….your mind ran in circles. Only when the driver pulled up outside of Marc’s building did you shake yourself out of your thoughts. 

The quiet persisted until you two were within the privacy of your boyfriend’s place. Marc shattered it with, “So what, are you mad at me?” 

“I…I don’t know, actually.”

“You don't know? Because you didn’t say a single word in the car. Usually the silent treatment means you’re angry.” 

“Marc, I didn’t say anything in the car because I didn’t want the driver overhearing us,” you countered, “besides I was trying to figure out how I felt.” 

“Really? Because it’s written all over your face.” 

“Okay, you tell me then,” you challenged him, taking the bait. 

“You’re shocked and disgusted–”

“I’m not disgusted–”

“My mistake. You’re just terrified then, you’re looking at me like you don’t know me.” 

“I’ve never seen that side of you before, okay?” you replied, “It was intense, because usually you’re so contained. You’re the one who said we needed to wait until your contract was up before we started dating, and I know you’ve mentioned the military and the merc stuff before but God, Marc, you turned on a dime! I’m allowed to be a little freaked out.”

“So you are scared of me.”

“I didn’t say that!!” Marc was really riling you up now. “I was also…I don’t know, weirdly comforted that you protected us? Or my inner cavewoman was very pleased by it. I’m not judging you, alright? So why are you now all cross with me?” 

Marc muttered something you couldn't hear. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“As usual,” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Marc had a pesky habit of speaking under his breath to himself, and it never failed to piss you off, since you suspected he was saying something about you. 

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” Marc said, his voice so low and menacing it came out as a growl. “The door is right there!” 

“But I want to be here! I want to talk about this with you! I hate when you do this, you push me away and I haven't even done anything! And okay yes, I am scared. Not of you…I’ve never been attacked like that and it was fucking terrifying and I don’t want to go back to my place alone!” You tamped down on your quivering lip. Marc was not going to see you cry over this. You could handle yourself like an adult. “And you did take it too far actually! You didn’t need to knock the guy unconscious!” 

“I was trying to protect you! The safety was off on the gun!” Marc hollered. 

You didn’t know that. How could you? You’d never so much as touched a gun. 

When you didn’t reply, Marc continued, “You know I’d never lay a hand on you, right? Is that what you’re so worried about? Because I’d never, I’d rip out my own fingernails before I did tha–”

“No, no Marc,” you crossed to him, but he didn’t let you into his space just yet.

“The ride back here…it looked like you were doing the math if you thought I was capable of snapping on you.” 

“I wasn’t,” That was a lie. “It crossed my mind, I’ll be honest, but the thought left as soon as it came. My brain’s been a mile-a-minute, and I think I’m in shock, and I’m angry at myself because I completely froze. Baby, it’s clear you just saved my life just now, but I don’t want you hurting anyone for my sake either.”  

“I’d do anything for you,” Marc admitted quietly. 

You stepped toward him again, and this time, he allowed you to wrap your arms around his torso and lay your cheek against his chest. “I appreciate that, but I don’t want you to have to.”

“You think I push you away?” he asked in a murmur. 

You didn't think it so much as you knew it. But the fact Marc was even somewhat copping to it was major. You could work with that.

 “A bit, yeah. It’s something I’ve noticed,” you tipped your head up to look him in the eyes. “You’ve built some high walls around your heart it seems.” 

Marc bristled under the openness and trust in your gaze. This was hard for him. It occurred to you then that perhaps he was the frightened animal in this scenario. He needed to be approached with caution and compassion, otherwise he’d lash out like he did with the mugger. 

“Yeah. And then you showed up with a sledgehammer,” he added with a small grin. “It scares the shit out of me. I’d rather fight a hundred muggers.” 

You chuckled at his candor. “This doesn’t have to be a fight. At least, I don’t want it to be. Can we promise to give each other the benefit of the doubt going forward?” 

His back muscles under your hands at the suggestion. “I mean, I’ll try but sometimes I–” 

“All I ask is that you try,” you assured him. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

Both of you stood there quietly, simply reveling in the other’s closeness. The steady rise and fall of Marc’s chest lulled your still-racing mind, and you began to ponder what made Marc construct the walls he had. He’d never mentioned his family to you, though he did share that he’d been married before…whoever had hurt him had left quite the scar. As you continued to ruminate, it dawned on you that his defensiveness about your reaction likely came from his own shame and judgment over how he handled the mugger. Marc expected you to blow up at him for it, he’d nearly craved it. 

Problem was, despite not speaking it aloud yet, you were madly in love with him and weren’t going to give up on this relationship that easily. You could maintain your boundaries and meet Marc with compassion, something he seemed to lack in his life up until now. 

You gently extracted yourself from his grasp. “I’m going to take a shower.” 

“‘Kay,” he whispered. 

Halfway to the bathroom, you turned and tossed a come-hither glance at Marc over your shoulder, “Well, aren’t you coming with?” 

The corners of his lips quirked upwards before he followed suit. Despite the invitation to get naked and wet with you, your boyfriend was nothing but tender. You individually stripped while the water warmed, refraining from touching each other until you were under the spray. Strangely, the fact you hadn’t pounced on one another right away made the act feel more intimate, more domestic, as you were comfortable enough with each other to just be.  

…it didn’t last very long however. Marc offered to wash you, and the sight of him with his wet hair slicked back, his criminally striking bone structure so close, took your breath away. His sure, strong hands, capable of so much violence, delicately soaped the most vulnerable parts of your body, while he dropped gentle kisses on the length of your shoulder. His worship of your skin made you tilt your head back in search of his lips. 

Marc couldn’t deny you much, therefore he met your silent plea, slotting his mouth against yours, his palms tracing up the curves of your hips, then your waist, to their destination of your now-heaving bosom. He cupped your breasts as you traded passionate, desperate kisses. 

His erection bumped against the small of your back and the swell of your ass, and while your boyfriend didn’t seek any friction beyond the involuntary twitch and shudder he’d wring from your slick body against his, you were ready for more. You slithered out of his gasp only to shut off the water and step out of the shower. It was time to take this to the bed. 

After a cursory toweling off, you reconvened atop Marc’s turned down sheets. He coaxed you open with his fingers, his mouth all but devouring the sensitive skin of your neck as he did so. 

You communicated your readiness to take him inside of you with a particularly pitiful keen, and Marc straightened up, guiding you to the edge of the bed to straddle his broad thighs. You captured his lips once more, probing the cavern of his mouth with your tongue, then reached between your still-damp bodies for Marc’s straining cock. 

In an effort to draw out your lovemaking, you merely circled his tip around your entrance, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the feel of it. Marc groaned, his grip tightening around your waist, and unable to deny either of you any longer, you sank down on him. 

You let out your own strangled mewl of ecstasy at the feel of becoming one, and draped your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulders for the leverage needed to begin moving on top of him. Barely a word had been exchanged between the two of you since you stepped into the bathroom, tonight you and Marc were communicating with your bodies. Words were not enough, not to mention unnecessary, for what you two were sharing right now. 

While sex with your boyfriend was always stellar, tonight felt different. Instead of using sex to express your attraction, your appreciation for each other, it felt as if the meeting of your bodies were helping you to truly connect and express the depth of your emotion. If you could stay caged inside his bulging biceps forever, your bare skin pressed against his, you would. 

Marc glanced down to where you both were joined, where you writhed on his thick girth, and looked back up at you, his gaze heavy-lidded, blissed out, and oh-so-seductive. His hips began to meet yours. Usually, Marc liked to make a show of his strength in the bedroom, something you unabashedly enjoyed, but his movements were softer than usual. He moved languidly, using his grip on your waist to guide you further, both of you finding the perfect pace and force in which to bring your bodies together. 

“Wanna make you come,” he husked in a rumble that drifted into your ear. 

“Touch me,” you gasped. 

Marc didn’t hesitate, his hand dropped from your left hip to the apex of your legs. He took a quick detour to feel where you were stretched around his manhood, ripping a whimper from your throat, before his finger skirted back up to your clit. He brought you to release with confident, practiced strokes on your bud. 

You buried your face into the juncture of his shoulder and neck while your climax flooded you. All you could say was his name, coming in a fit of ecstasy and litany of “Maaaaarc”. Once the blinding pleasure had somewhat abated, you found the strength to lift your head from his muscled chest and collide your lips together once more. Marc welcomed the liplock, dominating your kisses until he had to break away, his respective peak surging through him. 

You watched him, bewitched, as your lover’s pleasure played across his face, a mix of grunts and groans leaving his lips as you felt his cock pulse inside of you. At last, his eyes focused and met yours, though neither of you knew what to say. You couldn’t think of a single word in the English language that could begin to capture how you felt. 

Marc lifted you carefully, still inside of you, to deposit you amongst the sheets. He gingerly pulled out of your channel, whispering “I’ll get you a towel” before disappearing and emerging from the loo.

His attentions made you feel like glass, not in the way earlier in which you believed he saw you as a fragile object, but rather a treasure to be adored. Your heart swelled at the thought. But after he’d toweled off, tossed it away to be dealt with in the morning, and collected you into his arms, your words, the ones you were so sure of, died on your tongue. 

It was too soon. Well not too soon for most relationships, but too soon for Marc. He needed time and more healing. An errant, reckless part of you wanted to say it anyway, but you couldn’t risk the inevitable devastation if your boyfriend couldn’t return the sentiment, or worse, left you altogether.

Marc surprised you however, when he asked you, “Why didn’t you get angry with me?”

“Because I could tell you wanted me to.”

He let out an amused short at your immediate reply. You burrowed impossibly closer into his side, demanding another kiss from his lips before you both surrendered to sleep. 

A/N: Sometimes Marc and reader just need to have tender, romantic, sexy sex, alright?!?! IS THAT A CRIME?! Working through the asks/fic requests in my inbox as inspiration strikes and time allows, but I’m also *dangerously* close to 1k followers and have a special fic planned for that milestone too! 

Taglist: @twwcs, @rmoonstoner, @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz​, @saahmi @unspokenmoon, @winterbiipp, @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia, @strawberry1042-blog @nikitawolfxo, @weirdo125 @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[nolita-fairytale]

call sign: tennessee whiskey | rooster x fem!reader & hangman x phoenix | chapter eight

summary: you and bradley spend three days in encinitas on your proverbial honeymoon and make a big decision about your relationship.

warnings: smut, fluff, minor angst, suggestive language, swearing, mentions of death, military & aircraft carrier inaccuracies, second person pov

wc: 4.8k

listen to: the playlist

a/n: this is an exclusively rooster x whiskey chapter and gets a little smutty. this is the second to last part, so next chapter i'll wrap up the rom-com of these four. i'm going back to work and very much want to finish this nine chapter adventure before i do. however, i AM planning on writing a more extended oneshot that catches up with these guys a year and a half later so i'm definitely not done with these four.

chapter seven | masterlist | chapter nine

Friday 

“Look at us! We’re almost normal,” you comment, optimistically as you breathe in the bright California air. Sometimes, when you’re on leave, you can almost trick yourself into believing you’re a civilian. “No one would know by looking at us that you just saved the world!” 

“And almost died trying,” Bradley grumbles as a reminder the job you share is rarely ever that glamorous. 

Bradley holds your hand in his as the two of you walk along the beach. The drive up hadn’t been long, but you’d been eager to go for a walk after arriving. Once you’d arrived, Bradley had barely been able to put his seabag down before you’d practically tugged him outside across onto deck, past the gorgeous private pool, and off to the beach.

“That’s what I mean! We’re not aviators this weekend. We’re not facing near-death today! We’re just… two normal people who don’t have to worry about deployments or fighter jets or top secret missions funded and backed by the pentagon,” you continue, celebrating the freedom you’re leaning into on this particular leave. 

“Probably shouldn’t say that too loudly,” Bradley coughs, scanning the beach for any curious listeners. 

“Ahhhh yes, you’re right,” you mumble, lowering your voice. 

“But I like where this is going. We’re just… Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” Bradley chimes in, playing along with you. “You know… the boring ones. Not like... the spy assassin ones.”

“Right, right. Because there’s a fine line, Bradshaw,” you fire back. 

He laughs in response with a shake of his head, his eyes full of endearment towards you. 

“Okay so… how’d we meet?” you ask, turning to steal a glance Bradley’s way. 

“How does anyone meet these days?! On an app?” he answers, in his best well-duh tone of voice. 

“No!” you cry out, giving his arm a little shake. He laughs again, giving your hand a squeeze in return. God, no one’s made him laugh this much in a long time. He shoots you a quizzical look as you clarify with, “C’mon! There’s no romance in that! No, we uh… we definitely had a meet-cute.”

“Who knew you were such a romantic, Mrs. Smith,” Bradley chuckles as he teases you, giving your hand another squeeze. 

“Okay then. Tell me more about this meet-cute.”

“Okay hmmmm… so you’re…” you trail off, before letting the silliest, furthest away from reality thing tumble out of your mouth. “... a yoga instructor.”

“What?!” he yelps, his eyes widening at the ridiculous sentiment. 

“And I'm… a chef who’s just recently moved to San Diego to open up yet another fusion restaurant gentrifying small surf towns across the nation,” you continue, making sure your faux-job feels just as silly as his does. 

“Wait. Why am I the yoga instructor!? I can’t even touch my toes,” he backtracks, alarmingly. 

You laugh, “Because it’s funny! And maybe the furthest thing away from what we actually do.”

“Okay fine. I’m a yoga instructor,” he grumbles, resigning himself to his new pretend-occupation. “But I’m not growing out a man bun.”

“No, the mustache alone gives you enough street-cred. Or rather, hipster-cred, if you will,” you reply, playfully. 

“You like the mustache,” he shoots back. 

“Oh, I definitely like the mustache,” you smirk. “In fact, that’s how we met. I spotted that mustache across the room in a coffee shop, made sure to let you know that, even though they don’t really do it for me, yours was pretty cool, which of course led you to inviting me to the yoga studio that you own.” 

“Which was just an excuse to see you again,” Bradley adds, playing along. 

“Exactly,” you giggle, as the story continues to grow more and more ridiculous. “… And well, you know what they say! The rest was history.”

“You are so silly,” Bradley chuckles, releasing your hand as he wraps an arm around your shoulders instead. 

“Gotta keep you on your toes, Bradshaw,” you giggle, your sliding around his waist. “Oh! That reminds me. We need to go to the grocery store.”

“I thought you said we could stay in bed all weekend,” Bradley challenges, his tone light. 

“Fuel,” you shrug, coquettishly.  

“Besides, I’m cooking you dinner tonight.”

“Well, you are the chef between the two of us.”

“Now, you’re catching on.”

It’s later that night that Bradley learns that while you gave him the job furthest away from reality, the possibility of you being a chef was a lot more probable. He watches you create a lemon-scented pan sauce, his mind wandering back to earlier when he’d been surprised by your knife skills. 

“Holy shit! You really cook?!” he practically exclaims in the middle of the state-of-the-art home kitchen you’re occupying all weekend.

“Guilty,” you answer, as if it’s some kind of confession. “If I hadn’t gotten into the Naval Academy, I was going to go to culinary school. Just one psycho thing for the next.”

You coat the back of a spoon so that you can taste the sauce for seasoning:

Salt levels are good. Shallots are perfectly caramelized. Capers add the right amount of tang to it. 

You scoop up another pool of the liquid in the spoon once more, offering it to Bradley. 

“Come try this,” you say. “It’s a lemon chicken piccata. I think you’ll really like it.” You hold the spoon up to his lips, watching as Bradley tastes the lemon butter pan sauce. 

As soon as the sauce hits his tongue, you watch as he closes his eyes, in total disbelief. 

“Holy shit. This is un-fucking-real, honey,” he says, the term of endearment making you blush a little. 

“Thank you,” you smile, leaning in to place a kiss on his lips. 

As you pull away, he pulls you back for another kiss before murmuring against your lips, “Though I think I like it better on you.”

Holy shit, is that hot. 

As Bradley releases you, it’s almost as if you’ve forgotten to breathe. Your head feels light and you have to remind yourself to take a deep breath. 

“I won’t distract you any longer. Sooner we finish up dinner, the sooner I get you naked,” he coos, his hands dragging across your hips as he pulls away. 

Jeez, this man is perfect, you think to yourself. 

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

As you sit down to dinner with your lemon chicken piccata and a funky orange wine, you learn that Bradley can’t cook to save his life. You can’t believe that after two and a half weeks of the craziest of training, you’ve managed to find yourself on your proverbial honeymoon with a guy you’re quite sure is perfect. Sure, he’s got enough baggage to sink the USS Roosevelt, but you’re not sure you mind. He is, after all, who he is because of it. 

He finishes telling you another story from his days at UVA and you’re caught in a fit of giggles as you watch how animated he gets as tells you about his college-day shenanigans. 

“What?” he asks you, seeing the look on your face. 

You know you probably look like you’ve got goddamn hearts for pupils at this point, so your answer is simple:

“The more I learn about you, the more I like you, Bradshaw.”

He blushes.

“I really like you too, Whiskey.”

Saturday morning: 

Rooster Bradshaw thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. 

It doesn’t feel real. 

As you stand there in the middle of the kitchen, clad only in his NAVY tee, it’s as if the domestic bliss he’s always craved is right in front of him. 

This is all he’s ever wanted. 

Bradley’s frozen for a second, paused in a moment in time. Ever since his mother died, there’s been a hole in his heart he’s never been able to fill – not with girlfriends, not with work, not even with himself. It’s this hole in his heart that yearns for a family – that allows himself to be taken care of, to be cherished, to be loved. But he can feel something, this feeling, swelling in his chest as he watches you make breakfast in the way-too-fancy home kitchen after knowing you for barely three weeks. 

Now that he’s proven himself in the Navy, maybe he could begin healing his relationship with Mav. He could let himself open up to you. Maybe the part of his healing he’s been missing… is letting himself be loved. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, but he figures it’s been long enough as you turn back around to him, sending him a curious look. 

“Good morning, handsome. Coffee?” you greet him, with the sweetest smile he thinks he’s ever seen in his life. 

And damn, he loves the way you look in his t-shirt. 

“That would be great,” he answers, a lovestruck grin plastered to his face.

You hear the sounds of his footsteps before you feel his hands on your hips, pulling you in close to him from behind. You giggle, turning your head for a good morning kiss. Bradley’s lips are soft – a stark contrast from the rough texture of his mustache – earning another giggle from you. 

You nod towards the french press on the counter that holds the coffee you’ve just made. There’s a second mug resting on the table that you pulled from the cabinets for him. He likes that you thought of him – thought to do that. He likes being thought of. 

“How’d you sleep?” you ask, plating up two plates of eggs, bacon, sliced avocado, and a mix of berries you’d purchased yesterday. 

“Great. How about you?” Bradley answers, a soft smile on his face as he watches you. 

You wrap a hand around the edge of the plate while your other hand carries your coffee cup. 

“Wonderfully. Why don’t you grab a fork and meet me out by the pool?” you tempt him, sending a wink his way before disappearing, heading towards the sliding glass doors that lead to the deck. 

Instead of following suit, Bradley watches, taking this all in. He takes a few steps so that he can see you through the glass door. You sit down with your copy of today’s paper, while you snack on a few strawberries before picking up your fork to eat your soft scrambled eggs. Bradley swears under his breath, still in disbelief that this is real, before fixing his cup of coffee and taking his plate outside to join you. 

“You know… I know we have the same one… but I think I like mine better on you,” Rooster says, taking a seat on the lounge chair next to the one you’ve posted up on. 

You can practically feel your heart speed up, as you watch Bradley pop a strawberry into his mouth. 

“Listen. I’m just relieved you own something other than the Hawaiian shirts,” you admit, a cheeky smile on your face. 

“What’s wrong with my Hawaiian shirts?” he teases you with a wink. 

“Absolutely nothing. But… it’s not like I can bring you as a wedding date in a printed shirt and jorts,” you tease him back, playfully.

 As much as he likes to banter with you, he’s more focused on the fact that you’re thinking of ahead – thinking of the future with him. 

“How do you feel about eventually making our way out to the beach today?” you propose, continuing with your breakfast. 

“If we make it out… yeah,” Bradley replies, suggestively. 

You smirk, “Well in that case, finish your breakfast. You’ll need the energy.”

You enjoy the poolside breakfast with him, handing him the sports section of the newspaper so that he can check out some of the baseball stats. You swap: the arts section for the sports section when he mentions maybe seeing if there’s a show you both could go to – making plans that you most likely won’t make anyways. 

After breakfast, you pull Rooster’s NAVY shirt over your head, revealing your barely-covers-anything bikini you put on earlier. 

“You wanna-?” you start asking, with every intention of getting in the pool. 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he says, grabbing your hand. 

Before you know it, Rooster’s thrown his empty breakfast plate on the small end table between both lounge chairs, pulling you back towards him. You follow, more than eager to explore exactly where this is going. As he pulls you down on top of him, you sit over his hips, just to feel how excited he’s gotten from seeing you in your bikini. 

“You are such a tease,” he growls, bucking his hips up into you. 

“I think you like it,” you smirk, leaning down to ghost your lips over his. 

“Uh huh,” he answers, and you can feel his breath on your lips. 

“Already, Roos?” you ask him, a devilish smile on your face as you grind your hips against him. 

He hisses, pushing his hips up again as he answers, “Baby, you’ve had me this hard all weekend.”

You giggle, your lips finally meeting his, your tongues easily tangling together as your lips move in perfect time. 

“I like these,” he says, his fingers dancing over your hips as works to untie your bikini bottoms. 

“Yeah?” you ask, your eyes filled with lust. 

“Yeah,” he answers, untying one side completely. 

Rooster sits up, flipping you over so that you’re now laying back against the lounge chair, earning something between a gasp and a laugh from you. Eagerly, he pulls your bikini bottoms off, tossing them somewhere on the deck as he covers your body with his in this new position. 

“Rooster,” you moan, his mouth moving lower. 

His lips and tongue are everywhere: your shoulders, your breasts, and rapidly making their way down your abdomen. 

His hands pull your legs apart to make room for his shoulders as he watches you with a fire in his eyes. You know exactly where this is going, waiting impatiently for him to touch you. Bradley licks a broad stripe up your already wet heat, his tongue stopping to move around your clit as you throw your head back, his name on your lips. 

“Bradley.”

“God, you taste so good, sweetheart.”

You close your eyes, the hot sun kissing the both of you as he eats you out, right on the freaking pool lounge chair. He works at your clit, tracing little shapes around it as you moan his name, trying to remind yourself not to be too loud since your friends do have neighbors. As his tongue moves further down, his mustache bumping up against your most sensitive spots, your hands move straight into his brunette waves, bucking your hips up against his face. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you cry as you feel him begin fucking you with his tongue. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

You feel him smile against you, your words having unleashed something within him. From here forward, Rooster is relentless. He’s holding your hips down, pulling all kinds of sounds from your body as he continues to bring you heavenly pleasure with his tongue and his fingers. 

“Fuck!” you cry, feeling that tight feeling in your abdomen as he pulls his fingers in and out of you. 

“You gonna cum for me again?” 

“Yes. God, yes. I’m so close!”

And it’s all he needs to hear to do whatever it takes to get you to cum, pulling you past the point of pleasure you thought you could feel. You come with a strangle moan, and before you know it, Bradley’s folding his body over yours once again. He presses his lips against yours and you can taste yourself on him, earning a moan from him as you kiss him with desperation. 

“I hope your friends don’t have cameras out here,” he chuckles, in between kisses. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” you tease. 

“Jeez, sweetheart. If that’s what you’re into….”

You were going to be the death of him. 

And, he decides, what a lovely way to go.

Sunday: 

“Bradley!” you gasp, feeling that all-too-familiar tightening in your abdomen, as Bradley winds you up.

“You gonna cum?” he grits out, his hips driving into at a rapid pace. “Go ahead. Let go for me, baby.”

“Yesyesyes,” you’re practically chanting as you feel him so, so deep inside of you. 

“Fuck, Bradley. I’m gonna-,” you pant, and he groans, feeling you squeezing around him. “Please make me cum.”

“God, I love it when you beg me. Shit. Holy shit, baby. Fuck,” Bradley grunts out, his face buried in the crevice of your neck. He whines your name so sweetly as he releases, finally stilling the motion of his hips. 

Bradley lifts his head, still inside of you as he leans down to press a passionate kiss to your lips. 

“Holy shit. How is it possible that it just keeps getting better and better?” you sigh, your back hitting the sheets as you catch your breath. 

“I don’t know but… if we get any better at it I might go into cardiac arrest,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. 

“No!!” you cry out, dramatically.

The two of you settle into a quiet intimacy, as you turn over onto your side, wrapping yourself up in the sheets. Bradley notices a shift in you, but remains on his back as you prop your head up on your hand. 

“I want to be with you,” you blurt out, causing Rooster to turn his head in your direction. 

He can’t even hide the smile on his face as he hears your words. 

“I want to be with you too, Whiskey,” he grins, his eyes as soft as the morning light. 

“Oh thank god!” you say, letting out a sigh of relief, eliciting the most amused look from Bradley. But you pause, and he can tell that you’ve got something else on your mind as you continue with, “I just-, I guess I’m just wondering if-. Do you… think we’re moving too fast?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, curiously, rolling over onto his side so that he can match your body language with his own. 

“I don’t know…” you hesitate with an ambivalent shrug. “We haven’t known each other for that long. Is it… totally wild to feel this way about someone after only three weeks?”

Bradley takes a beat, his chocolate brown eyes warm and filled with confidence. 

“Maybe. But stranger things have happened and… Whiskey, I-. I think I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time,” Bradley answers genuinely. 

“I think so too. Is that crazy?” you reply softly. 

“If it is, then at least we’re both in it together,” he reassures you, pulling you over to him so that you can cuddle.

“Okay.”

“What do you want to do today?” you ask him, shifting a little to something more lighthearted. 

Like you’d predicted, despite every intention of doing so, neither of you had made it out of the house this weekend aside from the occasional beach walk and for dinner last night in Leucadia. Not that you were complaining. The hot non-stop sex-a-thon and staying up to talk till the early hours of the morning were absolutely heaven… but you knew at some point you’d both have to resurface. 

“I think I might go for a run,” Bradley replies, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

“You haven’t gotten enough cardio?!” you practically shriek in surprise. 

He chuckles, “Can’t take too many days off or I’ll lose my stamina, honey. Wanna come with?”

“Hmmm… I think I may just stay here… take a shower. Unlike you… I’m not a psychopath,” you joke. 

He laughs, “Okay, okay. Then how about when I get back, I’ll take you out to breakfast and we can go from there.”

“Sounds perfect,” you agree with a totally lovestruck smile. 

After a few more kisses, Bradley manages to unwillingly pry himself out of bed to get ready for his morning run. He’s right. You both have to return to reality at some point, and it’s not a bad idea to try to work in some of your routine before you’re back on base. You might’ve even agreed to go on a run with him, but selfishly, you’d like the alone time because you have to call Nat. 

Once Bradley is out of the house, you slip a t-shirt left on the floor from the night before, hurrying into the master bathroom. You quickly FaceTime Natasha, praying that she picks up, considering this is the first time you’ve had a moment to call. 

“Hey! Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you till you got back,” Nat says as soon as she answers the call. 

“Oh my God, Nat. I am in love with this man,” you say, incredulously. 

“Are you talking about Rooster?” she asks.

“Yes, of course I’m talking about Rooster!” you exclaim, with a laugh. 

“Jeez, Whiskey. How much sex are you guys having?!” she teases, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“You… don’t want to know the answer to that,” you answer honestly. 

“You’re right,” she nods, her voice dropping. “I don’t. I guess I don’t even need to ask how it’s going then.”

“So well. Too well. I-, we told each other that we want to give this a shot. A relationship,” you fill her in. 

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“I mean... Whiskey, I think he’s ready to settle down with someone and… that’s why I wanted to introduce the two of you so badly. Don’t overthink it. Chalk it up to good timing,” she advises. 

“Okay yes, but do you think this is too fast?” you ask, nervously. 

“It’s… fast, sure. But it’s not like you’re getting married or anything,” she reassures you, before pausing. “You’re-... not getting married-.”

“Of course not!” you interrupt her, rolling your eyes playfully. 

“You know what the proverbial they say: when you know you know,” Nat adds, trying her best to offer up a little more reassurance. 

“Yeah, I guess I’m just trying to check in with myself. Make sure we’re being realistic, you know?” you vent. Truthfully, your hesitations have nothing to do with Rooster and everything to do with the fact that you haven’t chosen the best partners in the best. But Rooster? He’s near-perfect. 

“Have you told him about your deployment yet?” Nat asks you. 

You shake your head, “Not yet. I didn’t want it to be another thing to raise the stakes, you know? But I’m… I’m kind of nervous to.”

“Rooster knows how this goes. He’ll be fine,” she replies. 

You nod slowly, “How are things going on your end?”

“Uh… good. Just waiting for you guys to get back before I head back up to LA,” Nat replies with the most casual tone in her voice. You eye her suspiciously, knowing that that can’t just be it. 

“And Jake?” you ask, curiously. 

“What about Jake?” she asks back, earning a funny look from you. 

Okay, Trace. 

If she needs it spelled out, that’s exactly what you’ll do. 

“Have you guys talked or are the two of you still just fucking each others’ brains out?” you rephrase, putting it bluntly. 

Natasha rolls her at eyes at your crass comment before answering, “More so the latter,”

“Got it.”

You take a beat, not wanting to overstep, but then again this is the woman that quite literally parent-trapped you and Rooster. 

“It would be okay, Nat… if you had feelings for him,” you begin, cautiously. 

“Whiskey, I don’t-,” but she can’t finish the sentence. She knows she can’t finish that sentence because it would be a lie. And when has she ever been able to bullshit you? If anything, you’re the person who knows both her and Jake the best. 

She takes a beat before opening her mouth to say something else, “I don’t know if I’m ready. For that.”

You nod slowly, “And that’s okay too. You’re just gonna have to tell him.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs, dissatisfied with the resolution she’s come to. She changes the subject and you talk about a few other things. Who else is going on the next deployment from the Dagger Squad. Having lunch solo with Halo. That Maverick and Penny seemed to be a thing.

“Hey uh… I gotta run but, we’ll talk. When you’re back,” Natasha says, as she realizes what time it is.

“Yeah of course,” you agree.

“Okay. I’ll see you soon,” she smiles, signing off. 

“Bye, Nat.”

You take a breath after hanging up the phone with Nat. Maybe you wish that she and Jake could just figure it out, but you also know that they’re not exactly those people. They’re actually the most stubborn people you know. You run the shower for a minute or so, waiting for it to come up to temp before stepping in, letting the water help you think through things. 

You and Bradley were different. Both of you were looking for something – a relationship – and had found a connection with each other that felt good. It felt right to be with him, even if the idea of falling in love with him terrified you – even if it felt like the two of you were on the fast track. But Jake and Natasha? You’ve always felt like they were more similar than either of them would admit. They’d have to really want it, really want to be together to make it work, and it doesn’t seem like either of them are there yet. 

You finish up your shower, enjoying a little you-time before Bradley gets back. You haven’t exactly had that much since you got here, but you know you’ll have plenty when you return to Lemoore. After shutting off the water and drying your hair as best as you can with just the towel, you wrap a second towel around your body before heading back into the bedroom. 

Only, you see something you’re not expecting – something you weren’t quite ready for. 

“Bradley…” is all that comes out of your mouth as you see him. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, tanned skin glistening from his run while he holds loose papers in his hands. 

Papers. 

Those papers. 

Your papers. 

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asks, looking up from your deployment papers. 

“Bradley. I’m sorry,” you repeat, your voice shaking a little. 

You take a few steps towards him, stopping so that you can sit next to him on the edge of the bed. 

“I don't know…” you answer, honestly. “I guess I just thought-. We've clouded our judgment with hot sex all weekend….” You laugh nervously. “... and all of this has just been so intense – between the mission, and you almost dying, and… – I didn’t want my deployment to change the outcome of this weekend.”

You wait for him to answer, and you can see the gears turning in his head as he listens to you. You’re right. The parameters of the mission, your hookup, all of it has been so high stakes. He’d be a fool to deny it. But it doesn’t change how crazy he is about you. He thinks he’d feel this crazy about you if he met you in the supermarket, not in training for a suicide mission. 

“I understand,” he says, his voice low as he turns to you. “But I wish you had told me.”

“Would it have changed anything for you?” you ask, stealing a glance his way. 

“No,” he reassures you, his voice softening. He slips an arm around your bare shoulders, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. “I just-, I don’t know. I guess I thought we’d have more time before we had to deal with… all of this.”

You nod, “I know. I should’ve told you earlier.”

“You still want to do this?” you ask again, with a nervous flutter in the bottom of your belly. 

“Yeah, of course,” he admits with a smile. “But it’s not going to be easy and… I guess… these papers just reminded me of that.”

You turn your body towards him so that you’re facing him, no longer sitting side by side. Bradley runs his fingers through your wet locks, eventually moving to cup your face. There’s a sadness in his eyes and you can see that the reality of your jobs has set in. 

“I kinda wish I was still a yoga instructor and you were some hot shot chef,” he chuckles, trying his best to make light of the situation.

“Me too,” you agree. “It’ll only be a month. And… then maybe once Cyclone has all the data he needs… they’ll make our detachment official. We-... won’t have to be apart.”

Bradley nods, “Yeah. We’re gonna figure this out together, sweetheart. I know it.”

You smile in response. How is this man real?

“How can you be sure?” you ask him, hopefully. 

“I can just feel it,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you. He touches his lips to yours before pulling back to ask, “What would you say to getting back in the shower?”

You smirk, “Lead the way, handsome.”

read: chapter nine

[afro-elf]

hii if you've seen/read ballads of songbirds and snakes what are ur thoughts? I wanted to see some actual good takes after all the shit ones I've had to witness

Also if u have any thoughts abt the previous hunger games books/movies that you want to add pls do!!

any new hunger games content has nothing to do with me. i served my time with katniss in high school and don't regret a thing but it's behind me now. books good. flawed, but good. movies toothless but iconic.

with that being said stop making me look at that pasty white boy president snow oh my God oh my God you can find six of him at a lofi hip hop show in gentrified brooklyn Tonight what IS the appeal?

[team-heavenly]

Chapter 23 - Blizzard Island Rescue

And by the randomizer list, I dub thee... Chapter Name.

...Thank you, RNG 🙄

I guess I'm making title cards for the post-game chapters now! Well, this shot came out too nice for me not to use.

(Also this post was supposed to come out several days ago but my job had other plans for me... Sorry.)

Some days after the ascension of Sky Peak Cloudy Well...

Hey, Starmie? Any reason why you're standing <2 inches in front of Aerodactyl? Let him breathe!!

Seaking for Scizor, huh? Yeah, I can see that! Both names start with an S, anyway.

The... the what.

*Imagines a 4-way intersection made of rubber bands*

Wait... *processing*

Just to be a joy kill, I'm having the same thought I did at Sky Peak... Why couldn't Ice Types handle this rescue? Or were there none around? Or did they just go "F*ck this guy in particular"?

Incredible team? Saving the world? You could almost call us... a gift from Heaven!

...I'll see myself out.

👀 Would I? Would I?? You betcha! If nothing else, I want to know what the hell an Elastic Crossroad is.

...Just kidding, I don't want to know anymore. (Gee, this looks awfully familiar.)

Thankfully, unlike Nonsensical Castle, there's not too much for me to say here. To help me construct these posts, I take notes whenever something of significance happens. And my only notes for Elastic Crossing are as follows (verbatim):

Linoone spamming Dark Void in a single room floor and having Bad Dreams 🥲

Lots of one-room floors actually... 2, 8, 9.

Good job team, we made it through relatively painlessly!

So yeah, I'll just share the few shots I have and we can move on 😃

I believe this is the Icicle Forest aesthetic? Cold and foreboding indeed.

🥺️ Oh, honey. You're not in the world you think you are (thank god).

🎩 HE WAS NUMBER ONE!! ☝️

Ngl, a room full of poisonous frogs and snakes, violent piranhas, and god-tier apes would be mortifying irl. But here, we get through without too much trouble and eventually emerge to find...

Oh... Yaaaaaay...

Dirty Province 💀 This is two steps away from being... you know what, never mind.

Crevice Cave is a gentrified village?? Or perhaps referring to a certain Danish prince.

Uh. No comment on this one. ._.

Okay, Teresa officially has the BEST IQ group ever. Coin Watcher, Wise and Quick Healer, Self Curer, Brick Tough, Deep Breather, All-Terrain Hiker... Well, I guess that one is irrelevant with her Flying type. And now Trap Buster?? Talk about a GAME-changer!

In the lowest depths of the "Ghetto"...

I'm gonna posit their shock is due to seeing a Scizor instead of a Seaking...?

But suddenly! A wild Snow Storm appeared!

Ooooo, okay, who's our Froslass?

O-O YEAH OKAY THAT WOULD BE TERRIFYING! GOOD CALL, RANDOMIZER!

Ironically(?), this happened immediately afterward:

This was before anyone made a move, so I guess Steelix has Drizzle?

LOOK AT THAT DAMAGE!! SUPER EFFECTIVE CRITICAL HIT BABEY!!!

As this image suggests... Steelix went down after only two turns of Mud Slap and Octazooka. Not so scary now, huh?

Tee-hee... See you never ❤️️

May as well click here to advance to Part 2 and give Seaking time to thaw.

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

The Silt Verses chapter 3 review: Bro they fucking monetizing and gentrifying the rural religious cults D:

My thoughts-

Ok so first off we meet Hayward, who is ok I guess?? He seems to be your average jaded cop troupe. To be honest I wasn't as taken with him as I was with Carpenter whom I missed dearly while listening to this episode. He'll probably grow on me, or won't ehhhh let's see. However I did enjoy his perspective though. He seems to be more on atheistic side? Like obviously he does believe and even worships the Cloak and The Saint Electric but is nowhere near as devoted as Carpenter and Faulkner, even saying how the rural folk should be 'less intense' about their religion and gods. And of course that is the case, this man has seen the damage these gods do with his own eyes.

Another fascinating thing in this episode was the info about the gods, specifically a bit on legal vs illegal gods. At first I was thinking "oh the government most likely banned religions that required human sacrifice", but then we get this part-

Like this world's government is clearly willing to kill people (which should have been obvious to me but still). So the question is which gods they are allowing and which ones have they declared illegal. They are clearly A-ok with conglomerate sponsored gods like Sweet Jolly Crunchtooth (which I still can not believe is an actual name of an actual God in this series, let alone how it came to be) and a propaganda based gos for the coppers which can save them money, like The Cloak.

So is it like gods that the govt can control? Or can bring huge profits for the companies? A mix of both? Is there lobbying going on? Is that also why they are targeting local cults and making them illegal? So that the govt sanctioned gods can flourish? So many questions

Also the implications of how these gods came to be is also genuinely interesting! Simple things like a child imagining and playing or two husbands sharing an inside joke can create these guys. Invoking their name even if done in annoyance or as a joke gives them power and the more power they get, the hungrier they become and when that happens the more destruction they cause. Also with Mr Finch getting eaten was what caused the Hollow to finally feel sated, while the 4 people and multiple rabbits weren't? I feel like these gods especially want to feast on their loyal followers. But hey that's just a speculation.

(I also wonder if The Cloak and Sweet Jolly Crunchtooth also brought some form of death or destruction when they came to being. Hayward feels like an unreliable narrator)

I wonder if Mr Finch's husband survived or was he eaten too :(. Cause if it's the latter than it's truly a homophobic God.

Anyway point is these gods being creatures of name and belief is so interesting! The idea that these beings exist because people believe they exist, and their existence demands the worship and flesh, mmmm good shit! That's some good shit right there

That being said i also think this would only hamper the process of eliminating "illegal rituals". Because if their name and the fear of them is enough to power them, then trying to ban it and spreading propaganda about them is probably going to only make it worse. But then again this is just a theory and i am only on chapter 3

Also the last bit with Hayward saying that if system works then let it work. Yeah this was definitely a foreshadowing

Anyway great episode 10/10!

[the-great-horse-cocktail]

one of my friends asked me to write a fic abt him, so here I go

Contains: YouTuber Linus Tech Tips; A Highly requested God of War reference; Tentacles (non-sexual); Brief Explicit Reference to an iPad (but imo not enough to bar it from gen fic status)

@dildoboi69420 this one’s for you

Madness had always seemed such a slow thing to you. Like a parasite that festered under your skin, chewing at your nerves until all you could feel was a jumbled up stew of your worst emotions, set to a low simmer for 3 hours. You hadn’t expected to go so quick—for all your nerves to snap at once and send you down. Yet there you were.

It had seemed so simple. All you’d needed to do was jailbreak your new iPad, and you’d be free to fidget with the iOS to your little goblin heart’s content. And being the alpha sigma gigachad programmer that you were, you’d thought it would be easy. It was only two hours, three hormonal enhancers, and one new mental illness later that you realized the extent of your hubris.

They say that when you hit rock bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up. What they had neglected to tell you was how. Were you expected to scale your way to salvation with nothing but your own shriveled up bean brain to aid you? No, there was no escaping it. You would either finish what you’d started, or you would die, here, devoid of courage, bitches, and a shiny iOS to play with. But how? How did you expect to succeed where greater men had failed? You would need more: more than your wits, your guts, your coccyx. More than any man could muster. A simple hero would not do—you needed a god.

And so, in the face of a task too great for Heracles himself, you spat and cried out “Bye Felicia!” before promptly partaking in the time-honored tradition of paying someone else do it for you. Although in this case, you’d be using a more unconventional currency.

“LINUUUSSSSSS TECH TIPS, YOU BEAUTIFUL WAIF OF A MAN, PRETTY PLEASE JAILBREAK MY IPAD, AND MY LIFE WILL BE YOUURS!”

As soon as you had spoken, you began to hear royalty-free music playing in the distance. You didn’t dare move, didn’t even breathe, afraid that the smallest motion would undo the ritual. The music grew louder, its corporate approved beat quickening to the tempo of your pulse. Faster and faster until it seemed like the air was about to burst. Then, in a professionally edited transition, he appeared. He had a look that could only be described as gentrifier elf core: grey sweats, small, silver earrings, and brown hair no doubt tousled with product that cost more than your phone, giving him a ‘just got out of bed look.’ [Which, in all fairness, was a pretty effective way of convincing people you slept.] In middle school, he had definitely told people that his father worked at Epic Games, or whatever the Millennial equivalent of that was. Oh, and there were like ten tentacles sticking cut of his back.

You fell to your knees, awe-struck by his godly aura and twinkish beauty. “Mr. Tech Tips, I’m honored—truly honored—to be in the presence of such a—”

“Hey kid, that’s really nice and all, but I’m on a schedule. You’re lucky I was able to swing this. You got the iPad?”

You managed a shaky nod, and handed it off to him. As soon as he touched it, he began to glow. Molten gold ran through his veins, so bright it might’ve blinded you, had you not possessed the superior eyesight of a Gamer. When the light reached his eyes, his feet left the ground, tentacles waving every which way. The iPad took on his hue. He cried ichor. And so it was done.

“Now try it,” Linus said, handing you the iPad. It was warm, like a freshly baked brownie that had been sitting out for a bit. You opened it and nearly gasped. There was the iOS, laid out before you, naked. Vulnerable. Yours to deflower.

You let out a “thank you,” voice cracking as tears land on the grooves of your already-cracked screen. “I never thought that I would—this is. . . Wow. I can’t believe—”

“Okay,” Linus interrupted. “Now that your life is mine and all that, I’ve got something for you do.”

You nodded vigorously, your skull shaking like a maraca. “Anything, my king.”

“I need you to kill Neal Mohan in my name and make me the supreme god king of YouTube forever.”

The end. Like for Part 2

[traipseartist]

July 4th - 7th - Yokum's Right of Seneca Rocks, West Virginia

I claim to be a Rock Climber™ but the majority of my experience is actually clinging to plastic rocks inside of blissfully air-conditioned warehouses in the part of town that's definitely getting gentrified.

I discovered I liked to climb at a time in my life when I was desperate to find something athletic that didn't make me want to walk into the sea. My body image after high school was in shambles and I developed a certain hatred for treadmills and ellipticals--symbols of punishment for over-indulgence or a demand I adhere to some kind of standard that I never really could buy all the way into. Needless to say, exercise was always a means to an end. If I could have put my brain in a jar and made my legs run the necessary number of miles to make me a size 0, I would have. Gleefully. Surely athleticism was mastering the ability to fully disconnect your body from your brain? Who wanted to be present for the heaving and the sweating and the oh-god-oh-god-this-is-how-I-die feeling that hangs in the balance?

Then I had a long-distance boyfriend who fell headlong into the sport and in my soft loneliness, I connected to him via chalk-coated climbing facilities. We would chatter on the phone about climbing problems, the world of outdoor climbing, competitions, characters at our respective gyms. When his life drifted away from mine, I stayed close to the wall. I felt not just the urge to be stronger and solve more difficult problems, but the desire to start speaking my body's language instead of pulling out the duct tape every time I needed to push through something that felt physically hard.

-------------------------------

So, yes yes, a beautiful back story. An illustrative origin that does nothing to explain why I'm clenching a stubborn half-sapling between my thighs and trying to keep all of my pistachio shells in my hat as I dangle my ankles thousands of feet above the valley floor in Seneca Rocks, West Virginia.

My partner Vincent and I are out with the Explorer's Club of Pittsburgh (some 20+ riotous humans with a distaste for a particular kind of self-preservation) on this fine holiday weekend when we agree to do something relatively stupid and exactly what we came for. We want to stand on the top of the biggest piece of exposed Tuscarora Quartz in the north east and shake in our boots while doing it even though we're mostly little indoor-monkey gym-rats.

Seneca Rocks, West Virginia is not like other climbing destinations. Some crags, especially those on the west coast that attract climbers from around the world, have their own sprawling ecosystems born of their touristic revenue. Joshua Tree has the strangest assortment of desert-proof fast-food establishments. Yosemite and the Sonora Pass have many of the trappings of a mountain get away: Adorable high streets in small boom towns scattered throughout the region, themed restaurants, condos and vacation homes stacked high and wide for visitors and returning locals alike. Something (wineries and theme parks and tucked away spas) for the person who has no desire to really disconnect from society, thank you very much.

Seneca Rocks, West Virginia has:

Yokum's Vacationland - a truly grandiose title for a double-wide cabin that feels like a themed gas station with a root-beer stand tacked on the back and some motel rooms up top. All the same, totally beloved.

Harper's Old Country Store - honestly, much cuter than Yokum's but probably less trafficked unless Yokum's runs out of ice or chocolate milk

Princess Snowbird's Indian Village & Campgrounds - not touching this one. It's been here for a second. It has RV hook-ups and could not be more American in nature.

The Gendarme - your local spot for outdoor guides, good advice, and the climbing gear you forgot.

There are campgrounds (Seneca Shadows) up the hill from Yokum's, and a little science center filled with dusty art-deco furniture across the way. All of this within the cast shade of the mountain you came for, and that is that.

The end.

Yet, despite the almost video game-esque limited nature of this local map, Seneca Rocks is obviously its own ticking entity. There are people who live here. The pepperoni rolls for sale in color coded zip-block bags (RED - Pepperoni and Mozzarella, BLUE - Mozzarella only, GREEN - EXTRA Pepperoni and Mozzarella) deposited in big wicker baskets by the cash register at Yokum's are made by a woman named Betsy. The local guides that cart litters of injured recreationalists down from the mountain are no NPCs.

So when you're teetering on routes with names like "Muscle Beach" and "Ecstasy Jr." that drape the mountain high above our tiny valley below, it's hard to feel that same uncaring maw of the great wilderness that I've felt so many times before when I've been playing with my own safety for fun and un-profit far from the sympathy of other humans.

Still, when a rope strains on a carefully placed nut in the crevices of Whorl's Thicket or you see some cotton slings tangled in the branches of a marooned tree under Traffic Jam, you are reminded that your survival--that any human's survival on this little quartz dinosaur spike--is purely by permission and tolerance only. There is no conquering here; there is only playing on the shoulders of a giant. It's reckless, even though it is surely allowed and time-tested.

I learned very quickly that the people I was climbing amongst, however, did not always have a passion for the reckless nature that is the hobby. Some of them had the exact opposite problem with their bodies and their minds that I found I had. They did not wish to separate their mind from their body so that they could push through the soul-crushing boredom of exerting physical labor without feeling much reward or time passing. Instead, they wished to sever the connection so that they could overcome the crippling fear of hanging on the edge, of being too frightened to progress--something I enjoy playing with, fiercely.

-----------------------------

At the summit of Seneca, there is a small metal lockbox the size you'd see keep cash in a concession stand on the perimeter of a high school Softball field. This box is full of notes, little plastic figurines, found treasure, a cow bell, a whistle. Well wishes, banal little messages for those behind or in front that may find themselves up here soon and again.

At base camp, there is a loose huddle of chairs around a dimming campfire and the air of survival from something we chose. Another day on the rock, another meal to remember the day we didn't fall off of it. Someone mentions a plaque affixed to a large boulder along the path up to the crag, seen just before the turn off to a torturous route upward to some other famous trad classics named "Stairmaster." It's a commemoration to a woman who was part of the Explorer's Club of Pittsburgh. She stepped backwards off of a steep step-around route on the mountain and fell to her death a week before her wedding in the early 2000s.

Someone says they wish they hadn't named her specifically on the plaque--it made the club look careless. Untrained.

There is a long pause before someone else says that her fiance wanted to bury her in her wedding dress. I put my mind back into my body, and my body back into my tent, and I am thankful to sleep on a solid, flat surface yet again.

[vee-crytraps]

Good Luck, Babe! | Ch 1-5 | Ice Cream for Breakfast

{Trigger Warning/Themes Masterlist} This is split into a billion parts because it's long as hell! Read on Ao3 to avoid the headache!

The uptown warehouse turned gentrified party spot thrummed with heavy bass and colored lights. A mile long snack table lines one edge of the room, parallel to one stacked high with gifts. Almost every person in your grade that you could stand was there, along with a healthy smattering of ‘family friends’.

Several of your older guests were in and out, but made sure to greet you with kissed cheeks and generic comments about how much you’ve grown.

You didn’t bat an eye at the quick goodbyes, all too aware that even you couldn’t expect Superman clear his schedule on your birthday.

He earned his beads all the same, only stopping on his way out to boast about his birthday points to your bead-less father.

Lost in your snickering, you hardly noticed the figure that approached you from behind. 

Jonathan Kent wore a sheepish smile as he wished you a happy birthday. For a moment you found yourself shocked into total silence, having recognized his bright blue eyes and dark hair, but completely taken aback by his newfound height.

Puberty had hit you like a train, but it had hit Jon like a Kryptonian.

“Jon?! Jesus, you’re like a whole foot taller!” You laughed, pulling him into a hug. “Does Damian know? He’s going to be so pissed.”

“You look pretty great yourself,” he returns, shouting over the music.

“I know, right?” You can’t help but do a little spin, your plastic tiara and polyester ‘Birthday Girl’ sash clashing with your outfit. 

As soon as you’re done showing off, you grab his hands in yours and lead him to the dance floor. “Come on, let’s dance!”

You can’t help but notice that the steps he takes are much longer than yours. He must be something like six-foot-five.

Checkerboard LED tiles flash to the beat, silhouetting your guests in its neon light. You only know less than half of them, and of those people, most were more familiar with your brothers than with you. You try not to think about how sad that makes you feel, opting to fill yourself up with the compliments and birthday wishes they holler as you pass. You can feel the bass beneath your feet as you move with Jon, pulled out of your head by his laughter.

 He’s clumsy, sometimes tripping over his own feet in a way that almost makes you forget that he's an indestructible superhero. 

It doesn't seem to bother or embarrass him, and you can't help but envy that earnest Kent confidence he seems to absolutely sparkle with.

 “I can’t believe you’re wearing a tiara!” His unruly curls fall in his face as he moves with you, a charming grin plastered on his face. Jon laces your fingers together, spinning you in a purposefully ungraceful manner just to make you laugh.

It works.

You successfully fight the urge to play it off, hoping to match his confidence by owning up your silly choice in birthday accessories. “What’s wrong with it? I look adorable!” 

“You always look adorable!”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, hair falling out of place as you move to the song.

“Yeah!” He nods, pulling you close. “No amount of gaudy birthday junk could make you any less lovely!”

You wonder if he knows that the creeping warmth in your cheeks isn't solely caused by the heat in the room. 

“Oh my god, you’re so sweet!”

The modest heel of your shoe barely assists you as you throw your arms around his neck, using what little slight of hand you kept from your Robin days to slip the rest of your beads onto him.

“Damian doesn’t deserve you!” You joke, poised to kiss his cheek before you’re yanked back by your sash. Somehow you manage to steady yourself before you totally eat it, and you turn to face a furious Silas.

“What the fuck?” He asks, gesturing between you and Jon- who, to his credit, posts up behind you in support.

Thankfully the guests around you seem undisturbed. While you knew it wasn't okay for Silas to pull on you like that, you were more concerned that it was happening in front of an audience. For the first time in a while, you were thankful that none of your brothers were around to witness the budding scene. 

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” Jon frowns, setting his hands on your shoulders. “Is there something you need?”

“It’s okay, Jon.” You manage, patting his hand.

Silas grabs the wrist of your other hand, pulling you through the party. You don't resist, keeping your shoulders from tensing and your heart from racing. You'd much rather deal with this in private, beneath the radar of your more protective guests. Otherwise, this could get ugly. Fast.

Panic and confusion twists in your gut and you wave off a concerned looking Jon, calling over your shoulder as you’re led into a stairwell. 

“Go try a cupcake! I’ll be right there!”

Part 6

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

"Bishop?" Someone says as they walk behind him before turning and plunking down at the table next to him. "Why're you looking into that mess?"

Miguel turns in his seat to get a better look at the interloper. Black pants and what appears to be a very weathered but genuine Stark Industries Expo of '75 shirt underneath a moto jacket of such a dark purple it's nearly black. It's not leather, he notes. The pants aren't denim, either. Clothes meant to be quiet.

Sunglasses obscure half of her face and she's got a knit beanie pulled to the back of her head. If you weren't paying too much attention, she'd look like just another yuppie hipster gentrifying Brooklyn.

Miguel is paying attention.

"Thinking of investing," he finally says.

That earns a snort from the woman. "Word of advice? Don't."

"It's performed well over the past decade. It would seem like a smart choice."

The woman gives a disbelieving shake of her head and her sunglasses are too dark to know for sure, but he's fairly certain she's rolling her eyes. "Yeah, well Dow Jones doesn't know everything. Derek Bishop is a fucking idiot who thinks working with the Hand is a good idea, that he's going to wind up on top in that arrangement."

That's certainly interesting.

"Money laundering?"

"Nothing that would hold up in court."

Fortunately Miguel is not the courts.

"Did they do something to you?" The woman startles, turning her head from whatever she was focusing on. "You seem to have a vendetta."

She stands, line of sight back over his shoulder.

"He tried to have me killed," she says, casual as anything, before striding past him with and excited wave. "Oh my god! Dennis--Dennis Henderson? North Central Bobcats Class of '89?"

The man she's talking to stares, nonplussed.

"My mom went to high school with you!" Her nose wrinkles. "Oh. You are Dennis Henderson, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he admits. "Yeah, I am. What was your mom's name?" He reaches his hand out to her.

"Eleanor," the woman says, and slaps a thick envelope against his palm that his fingers close around on reflex. "Dennis Henderson, you've been served."

The man gapes at her, eyes flicking between the envelope, the woman, and his companion. He doesn't seem to know what to do but quickly settles on yelling.

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm on a date!"

"Well, if you'd answered your fucking door at any point in the past two weeks we wouldn't be here. Your wife is looking forward to seeing you in court."

"You're married?"

Former Bobcat Dennis Henderson turns red and Miguel is on his feet.

It's not needed--the man throws a clumsy punch and the woman ducks out of his way, using a flat hand to redirect him into an empty table. She seems bored.

She turns, sees Miguel looking at her, lowers her sunglasses and winks at him before vaulting over the flimsy wrought iron fence dividing the patio from the sidewalk.

Battered purple converse, he notices.

"Ohhhhh," Lyla hums in his ear. "Boss, I like her."

[kaldorei-shadows]

Opal shouldn't be drinking

Meanwhile at the Shady Lady in Stormwind...

Opal: *whispers* I shouldn't be drinking, I'm just here for the amazing--secret--Nathrezim ambience.

Balnazaar: *whispers back* Oh, of course! My lady, your husband is one of our best patrons.

Opal: I can't believe this is a swank winebar run by a Nathrezim in old Cut-throat Alley. This is Stormwind! A real dreadlord in Stormwind? Ah, that takes me back.

Balnazzar: *pours her another virgin cherry spritz* Oh? Were there many of us when you lived here?

Opal: Oh I am just flying! These are so tasty.

Balnazzar: Thank you, mistress.

Opal: I really shouldn't say. I mean I'm not drunk at all, but I just feel so good, I want to confess everything. *leans in* I used to be locked up here, in Cathedral Square. As a Twilight Cultist.

Balnazzar: Oh, that's A-list corruption! Exciting.

Opal: Opal's Bane, they used to call me. Stormwind was different then, a lot of evil thrived in the underground scene. This bar was built right over the site of Cut-throat Alley. Don't pretend you didn't know. *playful pout*

Balnazzar: Well, how could a decent dreadlord ever resist gentrifying such a choice property? *evil grin*

Opal: Back in those days, all the best cultists found me exotic. Irresistible. I was engaged to an old god. I was going to be bonded to him in ritual, as his high priestess. Well, before they caught me, dragged me here in shackles all the way from Silithus.

Balnazzar: Damn shame whenever the mortal races decide to get organized. *sighs, polishes a bar glass*

Opal: I swear I'm not bragging or anything, but I was going to be a virgin sacrifice.

Balnazzar: Cheeky! Now that's rare. No wonder you were locked away in the highest tower, as it were.

Opal: In my day, I was quite the spiteful little thing. I knew how to claw my way up the ranks. I was practically a celebrity among the cultist underground. But then, things change. You mature...

Balnazzar: More responsibilities.

Opal: A marriage, a child. I just didn't have time for it anymore. Becoming a high priestess of some powerful void entity seems so mundane now. Though, I guess it's also how Al and I met.

Balnazzar: Oh really? *finishes mixing a fel cocktail, tries a sip*

Opal: Al saved me by murdering all the cultists in this city, including the lead priest Father Benactus who turned out to be corrupt, and the the small cultist army that pursued us to Darkshore.

Balnazzar: *spits out his drink*

Opal: He's an assassin you know. He sat across this bar from you, day in, day out, and never told you that?

Balnazzar: I... I assumed a spy, but not--

Opal: Oh, he's sweet! Before all that, Al was a serial killer for, oh, near ten thousand years? After I went straight, I think I reformed him pretty nicely.

Balnazzar: *demonic face looks pale*

Opal: Now, then. You are going to stop trying to poison my husband whenever he comes in here, right? No more trying to turn him to evil and undo all my hard work to make him... Well, he's not exactly nice, but let's agree to keep him chaotic good, shall we?

Balnazzar: *sweats*

Opal: Because if I had no qualms being a virgin sacrifice to that handsome Night Elf monster instead of the terrifying old god I once worshipped, you'd better believe I'm a dangerous enough woman to handle the likes of you today.

Balnazzar: ...

Opal: Do we understand each other?

Balnazzar: Y-yes mistress. But, um, i-is this establishment within your gift? I can keep my bar?

Opal: Oh my, yes. The drinks are too yummy for that.

[payservewomen]

…..After she and her friend walked away into the dark night, I quickly got up, and gathered all the pieces of the toys that she’d thrown onto the concrete….as she disappeared into the darkness, a man walked up to enter the gate into the apartment building, ofc he took it all in, prob giggling but i couldn’t look at him ofc…I hesitated until he got in the gate, then hopped up and put everything in my bag, and scampered off into the night….When waiting for her, I’d walked around the area a lot, and recalled seeing a dumpster with tons of clothes in and around it..The reality of my situation beginning to hit me- i’m in downtown denver, wearing only a sheer thong and wife-beater, At least the wife-beater was size Large, and i pulled it down as much as i could and when i’d do that, it would just barely cover my very visible ass crack. As i’d run down the sidewalk, ofc any and everyone who saw would laugh….Didn’t bother me too much while still on the same street, as I’d assume that anyone looking had seen the beautiful woman who did it to me….I’m far more comfortable dealing with that kinda humiliation, ppl thinking “look at that pervert lol” rather than “wtf is THAT? Ugh god, some middle aged freak who’s flashing i guess? Fucker better not be tryna get near any women, prob a sexual predator”

Lol yeah, that’s a lot to assume and/or just make up🤷‍♂️ But ya know, must’ve been like 10ish when i saw her, and i didn’t walk into my front door until nearly 2:30am!

I saw that the last light rail train left at 1:30am from union station…I couldve gotten there much faster, if i’d have taken the free mall ride bus…but even just getting to where that bus left from, wouldn’t be easy….I did make it to that dumpster, and got a sweatshirt, and tied it around my waist; I used it to cover my front, figuring my thong-clad ass wouldn’t be quite as bad, if cops did indeed see me…Don’t think that’s quite enough for “public indecency” But when i did walk down the sidewalk, or where many ppl were around, I’d hear lots of shouting, laughing, and lots of “pull ur pants up motherfucker!” “Nobody wanna see that shit!” And lots n lots of more quiet talks about me…I still don’t know if i should’ve just walked directly where I wanted, or if the route i took was better…it was just…beyond embarrassing, beyond humiliation…oh and for those who know denver…I was relieved when i finally passed east colfax, but then realized “ah shit, i’m in Five points now”(historically black neighborhood w/lots of crime, recently they say it’s gentrified, but still mostly black) Now, I don’t mean that as a racist fuck, but 🤷‍♂️ just saying is all….I feel like in general? Most grown black men aren’t gonna be as passive as white neighborhoods…there, id expect cops to come and get me….whereas i’d imagine black ppl would wanna make sure i’m not gonna be sexually harassing women….but i think they prob saw my demeanor…anytime any woman was in sight, I did all i could to cover myself up…when passing ppl on sidewalk, i’d look down, tryna have a look/attitude that I’d had something crazy happen to me and didn’t want to be wearing what i was….In my mind, I’d created the story that “My gf and I had been together only few months, and i’d cheated on her. We were together in her car downtown, she’d told me to bring sex toys; said she was planning on punishing me for cheating…then had me put on the thong, and taken off my button up shirt, leaving me only in my thong and wife beater. She said she’d forgive me if i got out of her car, just like that and danced around for all to laugh at. I did this, she turned her headlights on…then threw my bag out to me, saying “have fun getting home! oh and i changed passwords on ur uber and lyft accounts! Ur wallet n phone r in ur bag, ur debit card will be in ur mailbox hahaha” and she started her car, just b4 she drove away, she threw out this pair of underwear too, saying she’d have mercy so i wouldn’t get a public indecency charge”

There was another little zipper pocket in the backpack that Goddess didn’t look in. It had teeny tiny see thru baby blue “boxer briefs” If u can call em that…Got em on Temu.com so sizes are all asian, meaning extra small, and these were size small, made for like 27in waists, so they left nothing to the imagination…Almost felt like they made it worse and made me even more visible due to being so bright. I still wrapped the sweatshirt around my waist, as I desperately needed to find a way to get into a 7-11 and get something to drink!

All the adderall, and vaping had made me incredibly dehydrated, along with the running around…on my journey, I’d be walking down a street and realize a bar was on the corner with tons of ppl partying(not exactly the groups of ppl i wanted to see me) and i’d double back the other way…after well over an hour of this, i went down an alley way to find that….I’d made no progress whatsoever!

Finally realized I had no options and would have to pass many ppl…so i did but ofc I’d run across any major road etc…even this proved to be very difficult, as i’d still change my course upon hearing women talking…Being seen/laughed at by them was bad enough, but the one thing I couldn’t have happen, is a woman thinking I’m some sexual predator or something!

During my journey, I remembered the recent news…about a man, i believe in either Golden, or Boulder, who’d been butt naked, and harassing women, not only harassing but it’s a big news story, and they’ve been saying he’s def dangerous!

Now i was scared! I still had an empty water bottle, that i’d brought with me, so if only i could find a faucet somewhere…I did see sprinklers on, watering ppl’s lawns. I went up to one, tryna fill up the bottle, but only got about a third of it…while doing this in a neighborhood, an SUV pulled up, i heard ppl talking, it stopped and obv they were watching me…the types of whispers i heard, the way the vehicle stopped, def had me thinking they were looking for someone to rob…dark residential area, Im alone and nobody in sight. After observing me for a min or 2, swear i heard, “nah, tf he gonna have? look at him!” and they pulled away….Just then i stepped in a deep puddle caused by the sprinklers…tbh this added to my humiliation(nothing i hate more than soaking wet socks!)which ofc turned me on..i went back to tryna gather water, as I realized i was in desperate need…but doing this wasn’t easy, and to get 1/3 of a bottle took time and eventually got me pretty wet! But it was worth it for the water….Just felt so exposed and vulnerable having to bend over and expose myself.

At this point, I’d yet to remember i had the lil boxer briefs in my bag, so just had my thong on, and the sweatshirt tied around, but u could def see half my ass and see i was wearing only a thong underneath.

I decided to go to 7-11, id just tie the sweatshirt well, and try to cover my ass with backpack….So i went towards it, ran across the street, and saw a long line inside…all ppl who were dressed up, obv had gone out partying all night; likely drunk..drunk being an issue cuz ofc ppl are a lot more likely to say things and/or DO things, possibly violent things…so i couldn’t and set a path for the next closest 7-11 even tho it was the wrong direction. Finally got there, and only a couple ppl inside, but it was right next to and across the street from bar/club with tons of ppl outside..so again, I just couldn’t…Got some more sprinkler water, and said fuck it, gotta get to union station before 1:30!

If ur familiar with Denver, I was close to where 16th st mall ends on the south side, close to Colfax and Broadway.(very busy intersection. if a weekday, would only be homeless ppl n junkies around. but weekend? Everyone’s around) and I knew i just had to go parallel to 16th st mall to get to union station, but this proved more difficult than i’d imagined!

Many more bars and people than I’d ever seen in the area; by this time i’d put on my tiny lil undies, figured they’d prevent the indecent exposure charge, but still tryna avoid ppl..took way too long and before i knew it, was no chance i’d make the last train. That’s when i noticed just how exhausted i was…the beating, the adrenaline etc was too much, so i began heading straight home

Finally, I knew i wasn’t too too far, but just had one final gauntlet of bars to pass, with tons of ppl outside….many commented, but by this point, extreme dehydration was what concerned me! i passed ball arena(where avalanche and nuggets play) followed by Mile high stadium, obv not the best areas…. finally got onto a bridge, passed “meow wolf” and was home free…except which way to take? Fastest way was straight down colfax(Thee road in denver, old rt 70) Which got plenty of yelling and even “catcalls” I suppose ppl saw the thong and had wishful thinking lol

oh and before this, i’d made it to 3 7-11’s and all were closed! Apparently they all close at midnight downtown cuz they all just get robbed….Eventually i made it to a 7-11 close to me, took a deep breath, said fuck it, and went in…as going in, a large black man approached from behind me, and fuuuuck, Tbh im more easily humiliated in front of black guys rather than white….Just in my experience, black men have far more common sense, and far more likely to state the truth of any situation…anyway, i tried to hurry but 🤷‍♂️ he was right there so I held the door long as i could then kinda pushed it and walked in, ya know so it’d be open for him, but i could save myself another moment of humiliation…ofc after i went in, everyone stared; I tried to get into the “ahhh these damn scornful women” demeanor, might’ve even said something like that aloud.

Got drinks, paid for em in absolute shame, and headed out….after leaving, the sweatshirt kept falling off…I chugged down a ton of the generic gatorade quickly as i could….sweatshirt fell again and i’d had enough and let it fall and began walking.

This is what i’d wanted! Part of me, deep inside, wanted to be stranded, half naked, with no option but to be seen by all….funny enough, i was directly across the street from Pleasures, a sex store. This location had the biggest “adult arcade” I’ve ever seen…Its just a dark place, kinda like a maze, with little booths to watch porn in…some had doors, others didn’t, but most have gloryholes…so yeh, lots of perverts around.

I ran across colfax, and headed down the dark street, i’m sure getting plenty of looks and i did hear lots of shouting…but at this point, i wasn’t horny in the least, just desperate to get home…the gatorade made my body realize how fucked up it was, and i immediately felt nauseous…with stomach pain as well.

So, i continued on in the sleepy quiet enough neighborhood…but ofc, every so often a few ppl walked by..was almost more humiliating since they’d be the only ones around….couple times i saw women walking their dogs and didn’t wanna worry them; or them to think i’m some fuckin rapist or some shit so i’d avoid them like the plague!

Then yeh, finally did get home, covered in sweat and shame…..barely enough strength to piss, and get water. I drank it, but slowly, as by this point, i realized i was extremely dehydrated. Thought i was gonna puke, but kept slowly drinking water…luckily barely had strength to wash my gross face…but not enough to shower…put on clothes to sleep in and passed out.

[brbremaking]

hmmm half delirious bc these painkillers are shit but today might actually be the day I make my here’s how I know ollie was raised muslim post hmm having thoughts

[allgremlinart]

Batman needs more hateable villains.

Sympathetic villains are great I love them but like people are forgetting WHY Batman being a force of brutal vengeance works so well.. its a fantasy. And without hateable villains the fantasy doesnt translate.

To elaborate: has there ever been a time when you desperately wanted to kick the shit out of someone?? When someone on the news was doing awful things and getting away with it so EASILY that all you could think about was slamming their head into the pavement cus oh my god they shouldnt be able to get away with this??? That's where the vengeful side of Batman works for me. Cus I wanna indulge in the fantasy of some untouchable person just ONCE getting their shit rocked.

My fave hateable Batman villain I think was Roland Dagget in the Animated Series. He was a greedy businessman who tried to BLOW UP AN APARTMENT BLOCK in order to gentrify it. I WANTED Batman to enact brutality on him.

[zachsreaderinserts]

sleepy boys inc x gn!teen! reader headcannons

trying something new! i like bbs and all, but i wanted to write for other youtubers! lemme know if yall wanna see more content like this lol.

this takes place in a minecraft au!!! also, mentions of bad parenting/abusive parents

wc: 2,319

okay the sleepy boys

chaos incarnated, all of them. you can’t deny it

so, when tommy invites a friend from a local village, at first, everyone else is skeptical. since when has tommy made a friend who didn’t hate him within 20 minutes from all the screaming and insults he spewed?

unlike his friends, phil is more excited than anything. though he isn’t tommy’s dad, he feels like it sometimes, so he really wants to meet this new person who has caught the youngest’s attention

techno is very much not on board. he has a hard time trusting people at first glance and having been friends with tommy for the longest, he knows that tommy readily jumps the gun and attempts to befriend literally anything just because he can

and wilbur? indifferent for the most part. yes, he feels the need to make sure tommy is protected and cared for, but he also recognizes that this situation is out of his hands. the best he can do is hope that their friend isn’t an absolute asshole

so, it’s saturday. all three men are sitting on the couch in phil’s cottage, talking amongst themselves as they wait for tommy to come back. techno makes a joke about murdering them, which leads to phil scolding him about his violent tendencies

“you haven’t even met them yet, techno, what the fuck.”

wilbur is simply adding fuel to the fire, making little remarks here and there and watching the whole thing escalate to phil lecturing the piglin hybrid.

because of this, not one of them had noticed that tommy returned, with his newest friend. they both stopped at the sight of phil in dad mode, tommy considering just turning around and taking his friend as far away as physically possible

too late, since techno’s sixth sense made him whip around and stare at the newcomer. this made phil stop lecturing and wilbur quit giggling long enough for tommy to introduce his friend

after saying their name, the friend lifted their hand shyly, face burning from slight embarrassment. their other hand was latched onto tommy’s, feeling intimidated.

can you blame them? the fucking blood god looks like they wanna skewer them and cook them over a campfire.

tommy took notice of their shyness and cleared his throat, “we were planning on going to the carnival in their village if you three assholes feel like tagging along.”

like there was any way they were gonna let tommy and his friend go out without chaperones.

tommy turned back to his friend, “give me a second, i’m gonna go grab my sword just in case.” and proceeded to run up the stairs and towards the guest bedroom in phil’s house that he claimed.

the millisecond he was out of earshot, techno grabbed his friend by the front of the shirt.

“what are your intentions with tommy?”

the friend blinked once, twice, then bit back a smile. “you’re asking that as if i’m about to date that motherfucker.”

this time, it was wilbur who bit back a grin of his own. who would’ve expected the originally shy kid to have replied like that????

techno’s brain short circuited and his grip on their shirt loosened slightly. did.... did this kid just brush off his question???

“can you put me down? you’re gonna stretch my shirt.”

techno’s brain blinked back into focus and he gripped the kid’s shirt harder, shoving them against the nearest wall. “i asked a question, kid.”

“you know, tommy told me something like this would happen. i’m glad i came prepared.” and then, tommy’s friend sucked in a deep breath. techno leaned back, expecting the worst...

“MWISTER TECHNWOBWADE, PWEASE PUT MWE DOWN BEFWORE I SCWEAM”

oh god, this was far worse than anything he thought of.

he dropped the teen out of disgust more than anything, reeling backwards. if there was one thing that haunted his dreams, it was uwu-speak.

phil started howling of laughter, clutching his stomach and hunching over. originally he was going to stop techno from threatening a literal child but this outcome was so much better than anything he was anticipating

wilbur was no better, already tearing up from how hard he was snickering. he started choking on his own spit at one point, smacking his arm against the couch.

tommy was so fucking confused when he came back down the stairs, seeing the mayhem that was, for once, not caused by him. he glanced at his friend, who had the world’s biggest shiteating grin.

yeah, they were gonna fit in just fine.

and they did! phil took them under his wing (both physically and metaphorically) and allowed them to come visit his home whenever they wished. and whenever they did, phil was the first to ask how they’ve been and what they were up to

to phil’s surprise, the kid was overall calm in their choice of activities. things like playing soccer or drawing or figuring out how to learn instruments in their free time. it seemed like they were desperate to get their hands on anything and everything just to learn

he found it funny, though, when their chaotic side shone through. they easily were on tommy’s level when they got into that headspace and it was so hilarious to him.

his favorite memory of the kid was when they walked into the house and marched right up to where techno was reading idly in the corner. planting their hands on their hips, they spoke.

“if you were to fuck a clone of yourself, would it be masturbation or would you be considered gay?”

phil, who was washing the dishes six feet away from them, just about crumbled into a ball on the floor from how hard he was laughing and sobbing.

of all questions, that was the one that came out.

but he had no idea that the chaos was a coping mechanism. he just thought they were naturally like that in their free time.

he soon found out the truth when they came home with tommy, who was cursing up a fit, visibly angry. his friend was slumped over, as if trying to hide themselves from the world

when phil asked what had happened, tommy exploded.

“their fucking dad took all their money from their savings! said he needed it more than them and when they asked for it back, he called them a fucking disappointment! that fucking bitch--”

phil can count very few times when he felt true anger and he can confirm that when tommy had told him what had gone down, he saw red.

but he knew better than to outwardly show it. judging by how hunched over and defeated the kid was, what they needed was a stable support system

so he walked over and shut tommy up with a hand on his shoulder, “why don’t we take the rest of the night to build up that game room you wanted in the basement. i’m sure if we knock it out before techno and wil are supposed to be back, we can all play something like monopoly.”

seeing where phil was headed, tommy nodded and brushed away his anger. he knew that what his friend needed was a serious cheering up. tommy ran towards his guest bedroom, claiming that he was going to find his blocks.

phil crouched in front of the teen, tilting their head up to look him in the eyes. “you’re not a disappointment. you’re an amazing person with a chaotic joke machine going 120 kilos over the speed limit in your head and you are talented. your dad doesn’t know shit about what you’re capable of doing.”

oh boy, the kid’s crying. those are tears, full on tears.

that night was one of the best nights of their life, however. they enjoyed the entire three hour long game of monopoly where they watched the light leave everyone’s eyes. it was funny when wilbur lunged across the table when he landed on a railroad, out for phil’s blood.

speaking of wilbur, he enjoyed every minute in the kid’s presence. they often asked creative and random questions and went along with the abstract jokes he made, the two of them laughing heartily the entire time.

when the kid first mentioned wanting to learn how to play the guitar, he practically burst through the wall of the room next door, breathing heavily and exaggeratedly.

“did someone say guitar”

yeah, he’s feral. that’s canon.

they proceeded to spend the entire day in phil’s garden, each of them equipped with a guitar. despite their outwardly smooth brain and stupid demeanor, the teen was a fast learner and could play the most basic chords by the time the sun was setting.

wilbur’s favorite moment was the first night they met, when they went to the carnival. there was the game where you shoot the water and fill up the balloons and the kid was going head to head against techno and tommy.

it was when techno won that the teen turned to techno with murder in their eyes and spoke in a deadpan tone of voice,

“you’re lucky you won this time, you gentrified mayo monkey.”

wilbur’s jaw dropped, as did techno and phil’s. tommy was already in hysterics, smacking his hand against the counter that held the guns.

needless to say, wilbur found his favorite, not-quite sibling in a heartbeat.

techno was the last to come around with the child. can you blame him? every time he tried to threaten them or had beaten them at something, they would respond in a cryptic threat--

“i’m going to pee your pants if you don’t let me win”

or just brushed him off. without a second thought.

“anyways, i was murdering a chicken the other day, and the fucker had the audacity to ribbit at me.”

to say he was confused was an understatement. he was terrified of the fact that a literal child held so much power and disinterest in things like their own life. so for the first few months, he avoided them.

but he had seen past that when it was around midnight on a weekday. tommy was hanging out with tubbo and ranboo in their village miles away from the area. wilbur was out drinking with schlatt, niki, and fundy, and phil was already asleep.

techno wasn’t too far behind, sitting in front of the fireplace and staring out of the window that showed the front yard. it was only then when he saw the flash of a familiar face and looked closer as the teen walked up to the house quietly. their head was down and they carried a small bag with them.

techno opened the front door with a long creak as they reached the porch steps. it was only when they jumped and looked up in surprise that techno had noticed a deep bruise on their left cheek in the moonlight.

despite the fact that he kept away from them, techno was very protective and territorial of tommy, phil, and wilbur. and since they were attached to the teen, he became protective of them as well.

so all the voices in his head went quiet for a second. before exploding into a mixture of screams and threats, all leading back to protecting the child in front of him.

without thinking, he reached forward and cupped their face for a better view of the bruise. at the warm and soft touch, tears slipped down the kid’s cheeks and they sniffed pathetically.

the voices quickly took a 180, all screaming to take care of them. make them feel better. so, techno led the kid inside and let them spend the night in his room, with them falling asleep on the bed and him falling asleep on the rocking chair in his room.

phil did not hesitate to officially declare himself as the teen’s official father, saying that their biological father was a “little bitch”

now somewhat living with the teen, techno found an appreciation for their quieter moments, when they were reading or simply daydreaming. it was cute, in his eyes. but he also grew to enjoy when they were absolutely feral, especially toward tommy.

his favorite moment with them was when they had gifted tommy a music disc for his birthday. it was sweet and sentimental and tommy just about burst into tears when he saw it.

all of the sappiness quickly vanished when tommy put it into a jukebox.

“FUCK THIS PUSSY, BOY, FUCK. FUCK IT RIGHT, BOY--”

tommy had let out the most terrified scream and it practically engrained itself into techno’s brain. it was the first time he ever laughed at something the teen had done and the teen felt proud of themselves.

and finally, tommy. he was already happy to call himself a friend of the teen’s. they were like peas in a pod, working together.

tommy came to them when his insecurity felt heavy and they came to him whenever their dad’s words got to them. they had a nice system of dependency on one another and neither of them would trade it for the world.

tommy’s favorite moment of being friends with them was during their first birthday living in phil’s house. it was a birthday befitting their personality, with brightly color streamers hung and confetti all over the floor. he knew that they enjoyed it severely and once the cake was cut, the kid turned to phil.

“phil, where’s the big tiddy strippers i requested?”

tommy was GONE

he all but choked on his slice of cake and walked away, shaking his head while trying to stifle his giggles. but when he heard phil’s scream of “WHAT”, he just lost it.

all in all, his friend had made a fine part of the sleepy boys. they were a happy face in an otherwise somewhat bleak and dangerous world. and all four men appreciated it.

[harryspet]

please don’t bite | p.parker, s.rogers, b.barnes

[Warnings] peter parker x reader, dark!steve x reader, hints of dark!natasha/dark!bucky x reader, vampire!steve/bucky/natasha, vampire au, vampire blood addiction, withdrawals, kidnapping, dubcon, intoxicated sex, oral sex (female recieveing)

A/N: hello, it’s been forever! I was in the middle of writing this when @cherienymphe announced her  “Cherienymphe’s 5K Twilight Renaissance Writing Challenge” so I decided to join in! She’s one of my favorite dark writers so please check her out if you haven’t. 

In which addiction leads you into a den of vampires. 

taglist: @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes  @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose @slutforsebstan

main masterlist

word count: 3.7k

You piled all the dollar bills you had in your pocket on the table, “There. We can just use this.” You plopped down beside your boyfriend on the couch, fully feeling the headache you’ve had for the past two weeks. It was like your brain was pounding against your skull and sending painful waves through your body. 

“This is twenty bucks and a … grocery store coupon for … shampoo,” After counting it, Peter flicked the money back onto the coffee table, leaning back with you. You tossed your legs over his lap and he wrapped his arm behind you, “So we have fifty bucks between us … great.”

“That’s enough, right?” You asked, barely able to hear yourself think through your headache. 

“It’s like two-hundred just for a small vial,” A shiver ran through your body and Peter pulled you closer. Not only did the heat not work in the shoebox you two called an apartment, you were starting to get random chills and it was another rough winter in New York. 

“Fuck,” You cursed, “Fuck, fuck-”

Peter shushed you, “We’ll be okay,” Peter said, trying to be strong for the both of you though his body was punishing him even more than yours was, “I got a gig by the pier, and by the end of the week, we should have enough.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you clutched his chest, “That’s too long. We’ll die before then.”

“We’ll be okay,” Peter insisted though he didn’t quite believe himself. 

Vampire blood was one cruel mistress. It was hard to remember your lives before you took your first sips of the addictive potion. You both had everything going for you, highschool sweethearts that became successful college students but that was all gone now. You can’t hold a job or go to school when you’re on vampire blood. The highs last hours and, when you have enough of it, weeks can go by without you noticing. 

“What was it like? Drinking from the vein?” You asked him, the taste of the blood was faint on your lips as you tried to remember the exact taste. 

Peter’s head tilted back as he stared up at the cracks in the ceiling, “Like Heaven on earth. Like eternal life …. like nothing any normal human would ever feel. So good … jesus.”

Sometimes Peter wished he never introduced you to the taste but he’d forget all about it when you were high together. The sex was unbelievable, vampire blood being a strong aphrodisiac, and your love felt even stronger, “I want to try it,” You thought out loud, “If I’m gonna die soon, I-I wanna try it.”

“You’re not gonna die. Our brains are just totally miswired right now,” Peter groaned, turning his face towards yours. He kissed your forehead and, for a moment, it eased the pain. You tilted your head up to kiss the sides of his mouth. He tilted his head to the side and you kissed deeply. He pulled away suddenly and his eyes gazed into yours, “What would you do?”

“W-What?”

“What would you do to taste it from the vein?” You swallowed and your throat ached. 

You nodded your head, “Anything. Oh god, anything, Peter.”

You’d sensed he’d had an idea and a weak grin began to pull at your lips. That quickly fell as Peter pulled away from you. You expected him to be excited but he was completely solemn, “I have an idea,” He said, “You can say no … but if you don’t say no, you have to promise that things will be how they used to be afterwards.”

“How they used to be,” You couldn’t even think that far back. You couldn’t imagine a single date, single birthday card or New Year’s Eve kiss while you were in so much pain, “Sure, Pete. We just need a taste a-and that’ll clear our minds and things we’ll go back to how they used to be.”

+

As if things couldn’t get any worse, your stomach growled. You’d gotten dressed up, put on light makeup, and styled your hair for whoever Peter had taken you to meet. You didn’t quite care anymore because your headache continued to cripple you over the past few days. 

You pulled your jacket tighter as you waited on the steps of the gentrified brownstone. Peter pressed the doorbell nervously, watching as you shiver in your small, black dress. Peter dressed in his finest slacks and button down but was very aware that he probably wouldn’t be the center of attention tonight. He reached out to grab your hand which you happily took. 

“Why is he making us meet him so late?” You whispered, shivering. 

“He’s a vampire,” Peter shrugged, “They’re like nocturnal, I guess.”

Peter had reached out to ring the doorbell again when the door suddenly opened. A red headed woman opened the door, her hair cut short and a sultry smile on her face. You could tell instantly by the shine in her skin and darkness in her eyes that she was not like you. 

“Peter,” She greeted, smirking, “You look … hungry.”

“And cold,” He added, sensing your uncomfortableness as she took him in like he was her prey. 

“Right, come on in,” Peter led you inside the expensive home and out of the cold winter. You pressed yourself closer to him, not only because you were still shivering but because you’d never been alone with a vampire, “Steve will be here any moment.”

The woman led you down a corridor and you passed modern art sculptures and other expensive decorations you didn’t quite understand, “Steve?” You perked up at the mention of someone else. 

“That’s, uh, who we’re meeting,” Peter said quickly.

“Unfortunately, I’m booked tonight. A sweet young thing I met a few weeks ago. British accent, total dreamboat, but Steve will take great care of you two,” She led the two of you into a dining room where wine and horderves were laid out, gesturing for the two of you to take a seat, “Let me take your jackets.”

You looked at Peter and he nodded, “It’s okay,” Hesitantly, you slid off one of your sleeves and you felt her eyes begin to burn into the skin of your neck. Your arms weak, you lifted it out to her and she graciously accepted it. Peter did the same, taking a seat and waiting for you to do the same. Your eyes were still on the mysterious woman until Peter grabbed your hand. 

“I hope to see you both soon,” She smiled again, leaving the room, “Keep your eyes on this one, Pete.” 

You turned to him, your eyebrows raised, “How do you know her?”

“That’s her,” Peter said, grabbing the bottle of wine, “I told you about the first time I tried it from the vein. I think she has a thing for young guys. Or young anything.”

As he poured himself a glass, you reached out for a cracker and tried not to eat too fast as you pushed them into your mouth, “Why’d she look at me like that?” You asked, covering your mouth. 

“You’re a virgin,” You almost snorted, “I mean, your veins are. You’ve never been fed off of.”

“Oh,” You swallowed, taking his glass from him as you washed down your food, “I don’t wanna be. That’ll hurt, right?”

“Don’t worry, that’s not what we’re here for.”

Feeling some of your energy return, you stood up from the dining table, deciding to look closer at all the artifacts, “Y/N, what are you doing?” Peter asked, his fingers rubbing his temples, “Sit down, please.”

“Why do they have food if vampires don’t eat?” You asked out loud, annoying him further. There seemed to be a million framed pictures on the wall and you studied them as you passed along. They seemed to transform from black and white to fully in color, polaroid to digital. 

“For their human prey, probably.”

“Prey?” A deep voice spoke up, surrounding the room, bringing Peter out of his chair and your head turning quickly, “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Mr. Rogers,” Peter rushed out, and you wondered how he could muster up so much energy to be nice, “I didn’t mean …”

“No worries, I try to be polite but I am a blood sucking demon after all,” The blonde-bearded man smiled. He was so muscular, you’d pictured someone skinny and frail. “Won’t you introduce me to your …”

“Girlfriend,” Peter said a bit sadly. He wasn’t sad that you were his but that this was the saddest excuse for a date night, “This is Y/N.”

You raised a hand to wave but he crossed the room to take your hand. He kissed your knuckles, smiling charmingly as he looked into your eyes. Blue eyes, you weren’t expecting those either. Despite the porcelain skin he looked quite human. His suit was black, and his white shirt was pressed nicely beneath it, like he’d just returned from an important event. You smiled back weakly, “Pleasure to meet you, doll.”

“It’s … nice to meet you too.”

You felt Peter’s eyes on you as your hand fell back down to your side, “You two look like you’ve seen better days,” You moved closer to Peter because, despite his kind smile, you didn’t fully trust him. 

Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Is it that obvious?” The nice clothes couldn’t hide the fact that they hadn’t had any vampire blood in almost three weeks. It was amazing that they were still standing. 

“I think I can help you both out,” Steve assured you two, “If you had enough of the horderves, you can follow me upstairs.” He turned and Peter grabbed your hand as you all left the room. 

“What exactly do we have to do … you know, for the blood?” Looking up at Peter, you worried that he was nervous for reasons that he was not telling you. Steve led you to the stairs and, as you climbed, you couldn’t help but look at all the photos that lined each wall. The upstairs wasn’t lit, making it feel like you were stepping into a story with a not-so-happy ending. 

“Peter didn’t tell you?” Steve asked, not bothering to turn around. He led you down the hall to what you assumed was the master bedroom. 

“Not everything,” Peter said quickly. 

You expected some kind of evil den but the room was quite normal. High ceilings, brown upholstered bed, a view of the neighborhood, and a fireplace. You and Peter stood awkwardly, looking around, as Steve made his way over to the fireplace. He leaned down to turn a dial and moments later, it sprouted with fire. 

“Peter,” You nudged him, your brows furrowed. He didn’t say anything which worried you more. Steve stood up, taking off his jacket which made your heart begin to race. Some of the fear disappeared quickly as he rolled up his white sleeves … exposing lower arms. 

Now, your mouth was watering, “There’s no need to worry, doll. I already promised Peter that no harm will come to the two of you. But you do understand that this is a trade? I give you my blood and you give me what I want.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted, “And what do you want?”

“I want to watch,” He stated, looking the two of you over, “I consider myself somewhat of a voyeur, I like to watch when people are intimate.” You looked back and forth from him to Peter. 

“Y/N, we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Peter spoke quietly, worry in his eyes. 

“Of course not,” Steve smiled, already a bit aroused by your shocked expression. He reached into his pocket to pull out a pocket knife, its handle having an old and intricate design, “But I think it’ll be very enjoyable on your side of things. The blood will certainly take the edge off and I won’t overstep my boundaries, I promise.”

“And we’re supposed to trust a vampire … ,” Steve stepped closer, pressing the knife to his skin. 

“We don’t have another option,” Peter said, his eyes focused on Steve’s vein. Peter let go of your hand, the addiction taking over as he moved closer to Steve. Steve cut into his arm, the crimson running down it but not a drop touched the floor before Peter pressed his lips to the wound. 

When Peter pulled away, his head tilted all the way back, as the sweet serum traveled down his throat. You were still staring in shock, the scent reaching your nose, and drawing you further in. It took everything in you to keep your feet planted and your fingernails dug into your palm as you watched. 

Peter smiled, blood on his lips and mouth, “Y/N,” He drawled, “Please, taste it …” He walked towards you, his hands outstretched. The blood on his lips, you could smell it, and you wanted to taste it so bad that it was hurting you. When he leaned into your lips, you didn’t stop him. His tongue entered your mouth and you felt the high he was feeling. 

Your vision began to blur a little as your head tilted back. Peter’s hands were holding you steady as the biggest smile spread across your lips. It was like tasting heaven, something beyond reality and you wanted to never let that supernatural feeling go. 

You felt a foreign hand against your back but you felt like welcoming any touch under the influence of the drug. As Peter pulled his lips away from you, your eyes opened to Steve’s as he was offering you his wrist. With the taste already on the tongue, you gladly accepted more, Peter’s hands roaming over your body as you drank. 

You weren’t sure how you made it to the bed, it felt like you had floated. Peter was right, he was so right, were all the words you could think. You heard those words, felt Peter’s hands, and watched as Steve’s lips turned into a mischievous smile. 

Steve stepped away, the cut on his arm already healing, as he made himself comfortable in a lounging chair by the fireplace. He had to give it to the kid, he seemed to know your body much better than he expected for a guy his age. Either that, or you couldn’t tell what was what at the moment and it was all just pleasure in your glazed over eyes. 

Your head tilted to the side so Steve could analyze every detail of your face. Your dress was pulled down at the top and the bottom rolled up past your stomach. Peter held your legs firmly, biting and kissing your thighs as he made himself comfortable between your legs. 

“God, I fucking love you,” Steve smiled at Peter’s words. Your back arched up as he finally pushed your panties aside, tasting your warm center, “You smell so good. You taste so good.”

You cried out his name, biting down on your bottom lip, and Steve imagined you accidentally drawing blood.  You wouldn't have noticed, there was already blood dripping down your chin. Steve liked how loud you were, he didn’t like the girls that held everything in, and he liked even more how Peter took your mewlings as encouragement to lap at you faster. 

“Fuck,” You cursed, gripping the sheets tightly. Steve felt his pants begin to tighten though he promised himself he would wait, “Fuck, fuck!” You finally came and Peter crawled up your body in order to kiss you on your lips. 

He fumbled with his belt and Steve felt his desperation to be inside you. He was still slow with you when he finally entered you, much more patient than Steve imagined he would be. He kept things slow so you could adjust. He made love to you, kissing your neck, “Is that good?”

You nodded eagerly, “Y-Yeah! Like that …. I love that, Petey. Feels so good … feels so good.”

It was more than ecstasy. The blood mixed with the love of your life, you thought you might cry knowing that no other feeling could compare. 

+

Steve watched the young lovebirds through several rounds and several different positions, your stamina never seeming to run out. Like any other drug, the high relieved the side effects but it didn’t last forever. Eventually, you and Peter floated to sleep. 

You slept through the entire morning and you thought you’d wake in Peter’s arms. You could face any shame and guilt if you were with him but, when your heavy eyes finally opened, you were alone. Your palm against your head, you sat up in the bed, a little bit of sun creeping through the curtains. Looking down, you were completely naked most likely from last night's escapades. 

You felt dirty, for more than one reason. “Peter,” You whispered, stepping out of the bed to look for your dress. Covering your chest, you kneeled down to check beneath the bed, “Peter.”

You breathed heavily, trying to push down your anxiousness as you struggled to find your clothes. When the door of the room opened, you panicked, grabbing ahold of the comforter and pulling it against your body. 

It wasn’t Peter or Steve but a dark haired man, abnormally muscular for a vampire just like Steve. He tilted his head as he looked at you, “Where’s Peter?” You asked immediately. 

“Who?” He raised an eyebrow, shutting the door, “Ohhh, Peter. Right. The boyfriend.”

“Where’s Peter and who are you?” You continued, your eyes wide with fear. Bucky ran his hand over his beard before folding his arms over each other. 

“I’m Steve’s … friend,” You began to recognize him from all the photos, “There’s a few of us who share this house, you know. And I heard you all last night, I asked Steve if I could join the fun but sitting on the sidelines is a bit boring to me.” 

You didn’t care, “If you’re not gonna tell me where Peter is-”

He rolled his eyes, “He’s with Natasha I think. He woke up still craving. Are you craving something too, dollface?”

“Nothing from you,” You shook your head though the idea of his bleeding wrist did pop into your brain, “I-I need to see him.”

“Be my guest. Are you going naked?” You scowled at him, “Go clean up first, please. There should be something for you to wear in the bathroom.”

The two of you stared awkwardly until Bucky realized you weren’t going to move until he left the room, “Fine,” He raised his hands in defeat, “They always get shy in the morning.” He mumbled to himself as the door shut. You quickly hurried to the bathroom, shutting and locking it. 

Why the hell was Peter with Natasha? She’d look at him like she wanted to devour him, in a completely non-vampire kind of way. And he’d left you all alone for that man to find you. Sure, you’d done things last night you weren’t proud of but he’d promised that things would go back to normal after. 

You freshened up in the sink, throwing on a night blue, silk nightgown. You had to scrub the dry blood off of your lips and your inner thighs and you were forced to relive the night. Everything was perfect but as soon as you thought about who watched and probably got off to it, you only felt guilty. You felt even more guilty that you were craving more blood. 

The room was empty when you stepped back into it. Tip toeing over to the bedroom door, you made sure to check to see if the coast was clear before stepping out into the hallway. You thought you could find Peter, snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and take the two of you home even if you had to carry him out on your back. 

“Natasha warned me to keep an eye on you,” He appeared in front of you so suddenly that a small shriek left your lips. You backed up quickly only to run into another tall figure. 

“Bucky, you’re going to hurt her,” Steve warned, his deep voice sending chills down your spine. 

Bucky smirked, “No blood, no foul.”

“You say that now.”

You stepped away from both of them, your back pressing against the nearest wall, “Would you like breakfast, doll?” Steve asked, catching you off guard. 

“You should get something on your stomach, doll,” Bucky seemed to mimic Steve’s concerned nature which caused Steve to press his lips into a frustrated, thin line. 

“Where. Is. Peter? I want to go home.”

“He’s-”

Bucky interrupted him, “You can’t go home.”

“Buck-”

“There’s no use in sugarcoating it,” Bucky stepped closer, resting his arm above you, “We need new blood bags and it’s not like you guys have much to go back to.” 

“We’re not blood bags-”

“We’re all blood bags,” Bucky chuckled, “You guys need us too. Anyways, it’s not a request. Steve is just nicer than me but we’re all going to take what we want.”

You slipped away from him, your feet pushing you even though you knew you were faster. The only reason Bucky didn’t chase after you was because of Steve, “Peter!” You called out, running down the hall, “Peter!” You frantically opened each door you walked past until you got to the end of the hallway. 

When you stormed in, you found him shirtless, sprawled on a bed. Natasha, in a robe, was in front of a vanity, brushing through her red hair. You hurried over to the bed, grabbing a hold of his shoulders, “Peter, we have to get out of here.”

He smiled, softly grabbing ahold of your arm, “My love, you’re so beautiful, you know that?” He was so high that you weren’t even sure if he was really seeing you. 

Tears pricked your eyes, “You promised, Peter. You promised.”

He shushed you, “It’s okay, just give me a few … hours. We’ll be … okay.”

You felt hands on your waist that you didn’t fight. She brushed a piece of hair from your face, touching your cheek with her freezing hand, “I knew you’d like her, Buck. They're both so perfect,” Natasha guided you away from the bed and towards the door where the other two vampires were standing, “So who gets the first bite?”

“Steve’s had his fun. She’s mine tonight.” 

+

hope you enjoyed that fun little one-shot!