#also the square one says ‘eat ass’

[borom1r]

it’s Bean!!!!!! a sparklerat ‘sona bc cringe is dead so literally why not make a sick as fuck scene fursona?

i love him im so proud of hiiiiiiiiimmmm idk what else 2 say

EDIT some of his kandi are actual flags!! for funsies!!

(base by asher-grimm + bg by miyuthescenekid)

[playnextdoor]

dating modern abby headcannons

cw: both sfw and nsfw

Abby didn’t know naps could be a luxury until she met you. She was always on her feet, never stopping long enough to close her eyes for a "weak" 30 minutes. But now? That quick nap became her personal slice of heaven. Her cranky, sleep-deprived self would curl up next to you, her face buried in your neck. By the time she woke, she’d be all sunshine, grinning like she hadn’t just been grumbling an hour ago.

Sweet tooth!!!!!!! She loves sweets, especially dark chocolate. If you ever peek into her bedside drawer, you’ll find a nearly demolished chocolate bar waiting for her nightly ritual.

“What?” she says with a shrug, stuffing a square into her mouth. “I like a piece of chocolate before bed,” Her eyebrows furrow as she chews, eyeing you like you’re judging her life choices.

“Nothing,” you chuckle, watching her puffed cheeks work overtime. “I never met anyone who would do that.”

Her arms crossed immediately, mock-offended. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh my god, Abigal, nothing, it’s cute.” You lean in, silencing her pout with a kiss, the faint bitterness of chocolate lingering on her lips.

Abby has a thing for books. Not just reading them—collecting them. We’re talking first editions, special releases, and rare overseas copies. This girl gets down. Her study practially a library, shelves nearly touching the ceiling filled with books, some on display and some in special casings. You even catch her one day, headphones blasting as she carefully and meticulously cleaned some of the books. The music was so opposite to what she was doing, her hands handling the covers so carefully. Instantly wet holyyyyyy

This goes with her being veryyyy clean and organized. It was so cute when you snooped in her drawers, her undergarments folded up so neatly in rows, and her socks in perfect little squares. 

She likes her space, which you understood very early in the relationship. Sometimes, the two of you would be on separate ends of the couch, her playing some game on the TV while you color in your coloring books, or when she would carve out days for the two of you and then days for just her. She loved you dearly, and it was just that she needed the only time to recharge.

Really into speakeasies. It’s her preferred place to grab a drink with you. The dim lighting, quiet atmosphere, and cozy corners make it her ideal date spot. She also likes sitting with you in some dimly lit corner, you more tipsy than her, laughing hysterically at some awful joke she said. If you really wanted to go to a club and shake ass, you bet Abby is going to take you, but she’s just gonna stand behind you like an awkward teenage boy getting grinded on for the first time.

This girl is not big on PDA, sorry not sorry. She’ll hold your hand, wrap her arm around you, maybe a kiss here and there, but she will most likely shy away from anything else, not that she’s embarrassed, she prefers to keep things just for you and her.

Food is Abby’s love language! Loves cooking, loves trying new places, loves eating, period. How else do you think she keeps her physique?

Speaking of muscles, the gym is practically her second home. She’s not a gym rat per se, but she’s got a solid routine, especially when it comes to upper body days. She loves how her arms look in T-shirts, but she loves that you love them even more.

Keys clanked into the trinket dish as Abby slipped off her shoes. Just getting back from the gym, all she is thinking about is going straight to the shower; once wet with sweat, her shirt feels disgusting on her. She sees you eyeing her from the kitchen, occasionally looking up from your phone, eyes lingering on her bulging arms; the pump did her good today because you’re ready to strip naked right there. She flashes a knowing smile as she puts her things away. She strides towards you, coming next to you to place a kiss on your head.

“How was the gym?” turning off your phone to provide her the full attention she most definitely deserved, hand creeping to caress the veins that littered down her forearms all the way up to the hard muscle on her bicep, squeezing it.

Abby just watches you, smile bitten back as you look almost in awe at how fucking massive her arms are, your sweet eyes meeting up to hers.

“Good,” she murmurs, watching your fascination. Her voice drops, low and teasing. “Something on your mind?”

“Mmm,” you hum, nails raking lightly over her back. She groans softly, and you know exactly where this is going.

nsfw

Boobs. Loves boobies. Likes to look at them, have them in her hands, in her mouth. Sure, she appreciates your ass—who wouldn’t? But there’s just something about slipping your nipple into her mouth, especially in those early morning hours. The sensation wakes you in a frenzy, loving how Abby does this for herself. Or when the two are cuddling, she’ll sometimes lay her face in them, the warmth of your scent lulling her to sleep.

Pronebone is her favorite position aside from missionary. Any time and any day, she is tightening the straps and fucking you into the mattress.

Speaking of tightening straps, the first time you did it, Abby nearly came, hips stuttering as she felt the firm tug of your hand tightening one of the straps that sat at her hip. Lord have mercyyy just thinking about how she would just pant above you, her golden hair cascading around your face like a curtain. Her hips moved against yours in a rhythm so devastatingly slow hnghhhhhhh

Stone top AT FIRST. She told you right before your first time together, you didn’t mind, genuinely. You have always been on both the receiving and giving end, so you were willing to be open for your girlfriend. And fuck how much it turned you on when Abby would slip a hand in her own pants as she ate you out, nearly heaving into you as you both came. It wasn't until a couple of months into the relationship that you asked.

Grinding down on her jean-clad thigh, the rough seam pressed perfectly against your cunt, drawing out a needy whimper that matched the low groans spilling from Abby’s lips. Her soft “mhm’s” spurred you on, the delicious friction pulling the two of you deeper.

Abby didn’t know what shifted in her—it might have been when you slid to your knees with a slow, deliberate grace, your nails dragging down her thighs. Her body moved instinctively, thighs spreading wide as if something had taken over her.

Or maybe it was when you pressed your cheek near where you needed her the most. Her hand came to caress your head, finding it so endearing how eager you had been all night, your fingers lingering for just a second longer, lips finding solace in her neck as you murmured how bad you needed her. She should have known you were going to beg eventually.

“Abby, please.”

You didn’t even need to elaborate, eyes were locked on the belt still fastened at her waist, the buckle catching the light and taunting you. Her own gaze, glossy and heavy with want, flickered down to meet yours.

Fuck. How could she possibly say no?

She can get rough if you would like, but she prefers to cuddlefuck than to fuck you upside down and sideways.

This goes back to the pronebone position, something you didn’t even know had a name until you tried explaining it to Abby in a very clumsy, very horny way. After that, Abby does it at least once when you guys have sex.

She’ll have your face down, your elbows digging into the bed as she fucked your leaking cunt with two thick fingers. Abby always took her time, kissing up the curve of your ass, her lips soft and warm against your heated skin. When she finally slipped her fingers out, you’d whimper in protest, only for her strong hands to press you further into the bed, spreading you open as her groan mingled with yours. The blanket so warm underneath you, mixing with the weight of her body and hands on you, have you in such a blissful haze.

“Yeah?” Abby asked, her voice low and breathless. You could barely process what she was saying, too lost in the feeling, but you nodded eagerly into the pillow, pushing your ass higher in response.

Chuckling, she sat perched on the backs of your thighs, holding you in place as she made your body tremble with anticipation. Sliding up and down with the tip of her black 6 1/2-inch faux cock it only makes you wiggle around impatiently. With a teasing pinch to your thigh to remind you to relax she finally shifts, pushing its length into you so slow you nearly grab it to put it in yourself. The stretch had your whimpers climbing into desperate, high-pitched cries muffled by the pillows. The pillows do what you need them to do because if you remove them, people will think someone is dying in there. Well, kind of, don't the french say orgasm means "tiny death"? Yeah that was happening.

Prefers if you orgasm first. She claims her own release isn't as satisfying when you don't.

“I dunno, Abby.”

The words escaped in a soft gasp as you abruptly sat up. Abby’s lips popped off your mound, glossy and parted, her wide eyes locking on yours in utter confusion. “I can’t…”

Her brows furrowed, her head tilting slightly as if to ask why in the world you’d stop her now. “Can’t what?” she asked, inching closer like she didn’t plan on letting you go anywhere.

“Cum,” you admitted, pushing her head away gently, though you both knew she wouldn’t take kindly to it.

Sure enough, she shook your hand off and gave you a look that could only be described as determined.

“Stop. Lay your ass down."

Before you could protest, she scoots you closer, which causes you to fall back into the mattress, her lips finding the inside of your thighs, skin slightly tacky from her spit and your slickness.

“No, like actually,” you said again, sitting up despite her best efforts to keep you in place, your legs starting to close instinctively.

Abby pouts, and you can’t help but mimic her expression because this poor girl has been following you around like a lovesick puppy ever since you got home from work, clearly bored and horny, while you were too stressed and tired to even think about anything else. She was all smooth with it, too, claiming she was going to “put you to bed,” but your head was still spinning with thoughts of annoying coworkers and unfinished tasks. You were too far in your own head to focus on the woman between your legs who was clearly trying to help.

Her warm hands found your shoulders, pressing with that unique weight only she carried, her thumbs kneading gently. The gesture softened you immediately.

“We can totally stop, it's just..." Her lips find yours in a gentle yet hungry kiss, her teeth nipping then soothing it with the wet of her tongue. You nearly moaned into her mouth, your body betraying every word you were about to say. “I have been wanting to taste you all fucking day. I know you had a shit day, but please, baby, I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight if you don’t come on my face”

You couldn’t help it; you burst into laughter, and Abby froze, staring at you ???????

“Oh, you’re serious,” you managed between fits of giggles, your eyes watering as you met her utterly unamused glare.

Two minutes of laughing later, Abby had had enough. With a firm nod, she launched herself forward, tackling you onto the bed and pinning you beneath her. Her body weight pressed you into the mattress, her lips hovering over yours, and you could see that look in her eyes that she was really going to put you to bed this time.

a/n: this sucks butt lol but i hope you all enjoy still.

[idioticidoms]

The Enemy Within

| Schlatt x Afab!reader

Summary: After a chilly night out, you and Schlatt decide to get "warm" but are interrupted by a hidden enemy.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: swearing, implied alc use, Schlatt yelling at Jambo. minors dni, 18+, slight smut not really though, rpf

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It would’ve been a perfect night out if Schlatt hadn’t been proven right. The pair of you were returning from a last minute dinner party invite in SoHo. You wanted to make an impression on the glitzy L.A. influencers Schlatt shits on constantly (plus it’s Soho, who wouldn’t want to dress up?). So naturally, you had to wear your tightest little black dress and your slightly overpriced red bottomed heels that would seek their revenge in the morning. But, unfortunately for you, New York City winters have a reputation to maintain of their intolerableness. Tonight was no exception. Schlatt (ever the gentleman) gave you a shot of his unbearably expensive Japanese whiskey beforehand to give you both a nice liquid coat. He also conveniently “forgot” to remind you to bring a real coat and was subsequently “forced” into giving you his coat. 

Schlatt’s coat was a suitable defence against the chilly New York air. The material was thick and wooly just as any proper East Coast coat. But the collar had the lingering smell of Schlatt's cologne. Notes of smokey pine and fresh cedar filled your nose, perfuming the cold air as you both walked back to Schlatt’s apartment. The walk was comfortably silent. No doubt both of your social batteries were drained from having to fake laugh at one too many bad jokes. Taking the moment in, you turn slightly to look at Schlatt. His usually hard, distinct features were dusted with that signature Cold Girl™ flush. His exhales were followed by tiny wisps of fog, tinting the lens of his glasses. Two months into your relationship, and you still caught yourself staring at him and all his little details. 

“What’s the matter? Something on my face?” He asked abruptly, rudely cutting your gazing short. 

You let out a huff. 

“No.” 

Schlatt’s hand found yours in his coat pocket. He squeezed your fingers, his cold skin prickling your warm hand. The touch though gentle was almost searing. 

“I should ask for this back.” He smirked.. “You’re not freezing at all.” 

You rolled your eyes in response. You both knew Schlatt would readily strip down to his boxers in Time Square if it meant keeping you warm. 

“What’s the saying? A hoe never gets cold?” He teased.

“Shut up.” You said muffled, your face partly covered by the cuff of his jacket. You had hoped the cuff covered enough of your mouth so that Schlatt couldn’t see your big cheesy smile at such a crude remark. But eyes have a way of giving people away. 

After a few more blocks, you finally arrived at his apartment. Walking up the steps of his  brownstone was a challenge you didn’t expect. The ice threatened to take your knees out via your already precariously too tall heels. You stood by the stairs for a minute, contemplating the best way to get up without eating shit in front of your new boyfriend.

“C’mon princess. I’m freezing my fucking ass out here.”

“Give me a minute, I’m trying to figure out how not to break my skull open.” You said, reaching down for your heels. 

Frustrated, Schlatt opted for the quickest maneuver which was to pick you up, throw you over his shoulder and carry you up the icy steps. 

“Jesus fuck you’re really spoiled aren’t you?” Schlatt muttered under his breath, setting you down inside the entrance of his apartment.

It wasn’t your first time in Schlatt’s apartment. That moment happened on your first date which now felt like a small lifetime ago. But it was your first time being in his apartment like this. In a beautifully typical, utterly domestic way. A natural scene in the intertwining of your lives together. You stayed in the living room while Schlatt went over to his bedroom. Thus began the process of winding down for the night. You set your purse down and kicked your heels off. You opted to leave the coat on though for a few more minutes. The oversized coat was so cozy, so Schlatt. It’s almost impossible to want more from him. Almost. 

“Hey sweetheart?” You saw Schlatt’s head peek from the bedroom door. 

“Do you want to change? I can give you one of my old shirts. Nothing too fashionable though sorry.” 

“No, not yet. Still cold” You whined.

After a few more minutes, you finally gave in: slowly unzipping his jacket and placing it neatly on the couch. Looking over your shoulder, you manage to catch Schlatt in his act of putting the dots together. Originally, Schlatt started to come out of the bedroom upon hearing of your condition. It took only one glance in your direction for him to stay right where he was. He understood the game you’re playing. You both needed a different way to warm up. Clothes would only slow you down. You walked towards him and the bedroom door, eagerly ready for whatever he had in store for you. 

“How cold are you?” He said mockingly. 

“Very. I’m nearly hypothermic.” 

“Ah we can’t have that happening. Here, let me help you.” Schlatt whispered, pulling you in his room.

If there is anything Schlatt is famous for it’s his impatient attitude. True to fame he acted swiftly, pressing your body against the door with his. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your expectant face up towards his. You tried to close the gap but he held you steady.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He cocked an eyebrow at you, waiting to see if you were going to play along with his ideal of you tonight.

You bit your lip. On any other night, you might have tested his patience. But, needs are needs. 

“P-please?” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

How could Schlatt deny your request now? He quickly pulled you in for a needy kiss. Eagerly your hands found themselves tangled in his hair, pulling in him as if there were more room between you two. Somewhere in the frenzy, Schlatt bit your lip, causing a soft whine to come from your throat. Schlatt took this as a sign to start trailing kisses from your lips to the corner of your mouth before finally reaching your neck. More soft moans escaped your mouth, only couraging his endeavors. It didn’t take long for Schlatt to get on his knees, start hiking up your dress and pulling down your panties. 

“You’re such a good girl for me. Such a good girl.” He said breathlessly against your thigh. 

“Only for you.” You managed to say, breathless and dizzy from all his kisses. 

That line alone would have sent Schlatt over the edge. He may be impatient, but he prided himself on being a civilized man. You might’ve taken him there against his bedroom door, but he wanted to drag this charade out. After all, you were cold, desperately cold. Surely you needed a better warming up than a quick fuck. 

Schlatt opted to once again pick you up, messily kissing you as he brought you over to his bed. He sat you on the edge of his bed. Wasting no time, your hands stumbled on themselves as you hurried to undo his belt buckle. Everything quickly turned into a frenzy of kisses as he pinned you down onto the bed again. You were both so caught up in the endeavor that neither one of you noticed Jambo popping into the room until Schlatt shot up unexpectedly from his towering position over you. That damn cat managed to open the door and hop onto Schlatt’s back. 

“Jambo I’m going to fucking kill you!” He yelled, chasing the orange tabby away from the room. 

“Don’t be mean to him! He didn’t know!” You said while trying to bite back your smile. Despite this effort, you couldn’t resist laughing. 

“Bullshit, that cat wants to give me blue balls.” He huffed.

The mood was killed effectively. Yet, despite the sex being ruined that night, it was nice to cuddle up to your handsome boyfriend with his two insane cats. A part of you reveled in the fact that there were many more nights like this awaiting the two of you now. The other could hardly believe that fact.

[lostintransist]

The Price is Wife | Bonus Material

The Price is Wife | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist

Shout out to @lialucis for going back and forth on these ideas with me for nearly an hour late at night.

John, after ace!reader mentioned divorce because he found a boyfriend and left for the hotel slammed back into their flat at looked at Nik so seriously and said, "You need to date my wife."

"John... Why would I date your wife? I do not want a wife." "But she gives great cuddles and I can't lose her. I love her and I love you and and and," John tears up unable to force the words out of the vulnerable space in his chest.

@lialucis had this spectacular take from reader's POV "IM MARRIED TO JOHN AND HES YOUR BOYFRIEND WE CANT DATE RAGHARAGHA"

They also thought about John setting his wife and his boyfriend up on "toddler play dates" so they can learn to get along and love each other so he can keep both of them.

The thought was also thrown around of John making it seem to each of them that they are helping the other. "Nik needs to go out, take him with you to the butcher so he isn't bored," he says to his wife. "She really will need help carrying everything home, the butcher she likes sets up at a farmers market," he says to his boyfriend.

There is so much more under the cut I just didn't want to force a forever scroll through the nearly hour of back and forth we had.

@lialucis had the tastiest of ideas of Nik and ace!reader going to a movie without John and him being upset™ when he found out because he really wanted to see that one.

When they offered to see it again with him, John declined and took Kyle to see it instead.

We laughed about SimonxJohnnyxKyle being confused and concerned when Nik and ace!reader getting closer and them thinking Nik is being a homewrecker.

@lialucis "Simon about to cut the fucking fuel lines to the helicopter if he sees Nik giving her a tour of it again"

When Nik and reader get comfortable they laugh and chat in a way that just looks flirty.

NikolixPricexreader go to a bar with SimonxJohnnyxKyle and someone touches reader's ass. Nik jumps into action hauling the guy over by the neck.

"You owe my friend apology."

@lialucis "That bar fight Johns the voice of reason trying to fight Nik back from murder and his wife from assault with a deadly weapon. John squared has to body Nik and Simon has to drag wife away like a feral wet cat Gaz has to get the fuck out before he's evocerated in public"

More silly thoughts from @lialucis about the guys not knowing the agreed dynamics between Nik, Price, and Reader. "And then Nik and Wife start fucking with the boys"

Because of course they do.

Ways that Nik and reader fuck with the guys: reader brings Nik lunch, but not John. Reader and Nik sit in the heli's and eat lunch together and gossip like old hens. Laughing behind their hands at the looks they get from Simon, Kyle, Johnny. It gets worse when John joins them.

@lialucis "Did you see wife today? She had the audacity to kiss Nik's hand better where he cut it. Behind Prices back!" "Ends up calling Nik the homewrecker tramp and hussy" "Because we respect wife in this household" "And Nik dies laughing at being called this"

"You're a fucking homewrecker mate." Nik proceeds to fall out of plane laughing. Replies "me? Wife would gut me if I sneezed wrong on her period last week," wipes tears. Starts chuckling again, "homewrecker."

@lialucis threw out the idea of matching bedazzled shirts "Wife wears a matching one with Nik that says 'home' and 'wrecker'"

She would make some for the guys "Good at making bad assumptions"

When Nik and John piss off reader she goes on dates with the Laswells.

Photos of them kissing being sent to the guys literally just to fuck with them. Like a Laswell on each cheek and a wide wife grin.

@lialucis "The girls having matching rings that wife swaps out with prices"

"I'm going out!" "With who!?" "My wives, they listen to me!"

@lialucis had the stellar idea of "Los Vaqueros visits and Rudy and Alejandro instantly, I see what's going on here"

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Tap Out

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count: 600

Summary: After saying some mean things about Steve he takes his aggression out during sex. Will he make you tap out?

Warnings: Fingering, Rough Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Edging, Brat Reader

A/N: For @avengers-assemble-bingo AA-Kinky Bingo with squares “That’s a good girl” + fingering + doggy style. Card (KB010)

A/N 2: thanks to my beta readers @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @late-to-the-party-81 Also thank you @late-to-the-party-81 for the header.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

Steve’s sitting sternly on the bed next to you, fingering your wet pussy. Every time he curls them you sing for him. He’s keeping you just on the edge of an orgasm and your naked body is sweating, begging to cum, but he won’t allow it.

“That’s a good girl. I can feel you want to cum but you know what you have to do first. Say it and I’ll put you out of your misery.”

Your mind is swirling with emotions. What you want to say was ‘fuck off’ but you know he’ll just keep you on edge all night with no chance of release. You moan when he lightly flicks your clit with the fingers of his other hand.

He slows down and then stops all together when you don’t respond. “Don’t make me be the bad guy here. You know I can do this all day.” He says in a serious tone.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you Captain Small Dick in front of the group. I was just mad that you left me alone in bed without you eating my pussy or even a morning kiss. It put me in a bad mood.”

“And…” He thrusts his fingers hard into you then pulls them out, licking his fingers clean. His eyes flutter at the taste of your arousal.

“And… I’m sorry I said you have a limp cock for a man of your age.”

“I’ll show you who has a small, limp cock, brat I’m going to split you open and fuck you senseless. You won’t be walking straight tomorrow.”

He flips you over onto your stomach and pulls you up onto your hands and knees. With a snap of hips, his cock is sheathed inside you, stretching your pussy so good that you cum all over his cock. However, Steve doesn’t stop there; he continues to fuck you hard and rough. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, joining with your moans. “That’s right, doll. Scream my name. Let them know who’s fucking you this good.”

Your arms finally give out, your face and shoulders crashing to the mattress, leaving your ass in the air, with Steve holding your hips tightly as he takes you harder and faster. He makes you cum another three times and you’re a wreck. You start hitting the bed near your face with your hand, tapping out. There’s no way you can keep going.

“Please, Steve! I’m sorry. I can’t cum again. My body’s too weak.” You plead with him but it doesn’t work. In fact, it seems to turn him on more.

“Just cum one more time for me, sweetheart. Show me you're really sorry.”

Steve keeps his hard pace up until you finally cum again. Your walls flutter around his cock, milking him, and Steve cums with a shout. He pulls out of you and lets your body collapse completely on the bed. He curls up next to you and pulls you to his chest, as you gasp for air. You feel wrecked by him but in the best way possible.

“Next time you have a hissy fit I will strap you to our bed, Mrs. Rogers, and edge you even worse with one of your vibrators. Do you understand me?” Steve nuzzled your ear as he spoke firmly to you.

You nod your head like crazy. “Yes, Steve. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” You both know that it’s a lie. You’ll be running your mouth by next week and being punished all over again. Oh well, that’s the way you both like it.

Tag List:

@americasass81

@awesomerextyphoon

@awkwardgiraffe726

@b3autyfuld1sast3r

@caplanbuckybarnes

@denisemarieangelina

@fictional-affairs

@get0verit

@joannie95

@jobean12-blog

@jtargaryen18

@jvanilly

@kmc1989

@labella420

@lfnr-blog-blog-blog

@madscape

@mcira

@mdemontespan1667

@missvelvetsstuff

@mrsmischief209

@mycrazyasslikestoread

@nekoannie-chan

@noellez-best-life23

@notyourtypicalrose

@obsessedwithcevans

@patzammit

@princessofdarkwinter

@rayofdawnworld

@sarahowritesostucky

@spectre-posts

@stellar-solar-flare

@steviebbboi

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@wolfsmom1

@yenzys-lucky-charm

[zepskies]

Lost in Translation

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female POC!Reader

Summary: Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you? 

AN: So after getting requests for a Soldier Boy x POC!Reader, I’ve had a short series in development called Unravel Me. I’m a bit stalled on the outline right now, so I thought this could be a fun way to introduce their relationship and see if you guys think I should continue with the prequel, kind of like how I did with Checkerboard and the Break Me Down-verse.

This story would take place after Unravel Me, after a fair bit of character development lol. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Prompt: “Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!”

Song Inspo: “Damage” by H.E.R.

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, bit of dirty talk, fingering, edging, some angst, fluff and feels. The reader is a mixed race POC (Afro-Latina), with textured hair. 

The apartment was quiet, but not peaceful.

You were in the kitchen washing the Mt. Everest of dishes piled in the sink, partly because someone hadn’t rinsed off his own plate of carne guisada.

Ben had asked for beef for dinner yesterday, and you’d graciously delivered with your grandmother’s recipe for the stew. It was filled with chunks of tender, fall-off-your-fork beef, garlic, onions, carrots, and more—all marinated to perfection, if you said so yourself. You even added in some little yellow potatoes, both for taste and texture.

Apparently, he couldn’t be bothered to put those meaty man muscles to good use, aside from shoveling three helpings into his mouth.

A bottomless pit and a freakin’ man-child, I swear to God, you inwardly groused as you scrubbed the ceramic a bit too hard with the rough side of the sponge. No matter how many times you asked, nicely, it seemed your boyfriend couldn’t manage to pull his weight around here.

Okay, you knew his job could be demanding, but so was yours.

What the hell is this, Maid in Manhattan? Newsflash: I’ve got shit to do too! 

“And I cooked!” you muttered in indignation. That reminder propelled you to scrub a bit harder. The least he could do was clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash. Or toss the laundry into the washing machine once in a while. Like you really wanted to handle his dirty boxers all the damn time.

Did he have no shame? Couldn’t he do anything for you without you having to ask him three million times?

Es que él es bruto, mija, as your Dominican grandma would say about your grandpa, often while swiping a tired hand over her long braids. Es como un animal con ropa.

Just then, you heard his heavy steps creaking on the wood floors in your bedroom. Today was his day off, so he was probably taking his sweet time rolling his ass out of bed.

Meanwhile, you were hustling to get the place at least decently clean before you got yourself together for work. The thought made you simmer as you continued to place dishes on the counter rack. Each one clacking to rest was satisfying, but it also ticked up your internal dial to a fine boil. 

You heard him bang the bathroom door open and cringed internally, your teeth grinding. You’d reminded him three times already about the neighbors and the noise.

Sabes que, supe or not, I’m about to— 

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Ben’s voice washed over you, deep and still a little rough with sleep as he stepped into the kitchen. His old man loafers slid against the floor with every step when he approached you from behind, and his heavy hands found a familiar resting place on the curve of your waist.

He swiped your slightly wild curls to the side and pressed a tantalizing kiss into your neck. His voice, his touch, the brief scrape of his beard; it all caused a small shiver of delight up your spine.

“Hmm, you smell good. Good enough to eat.” And he teased you with the graze of his teeth, biting gently enough where your neck met your shoulder. You flinched with half a huff, trying not to smile. 

Just like that, it took the edge off your irritation…a little. You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could…

“Hey,” he said, “since you’re already up and about in here, how about some breakf—”

Your spine tightened once again.

“Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!” you snapped. You moved out of his arms to grab a hand towel to dry your hands with. They were all pruny from washing dishes.

“I’m already running late. Why? Because this place is a fucking mess, and the only one who seems to care is me!” you exclaimed. First, you gestured to the dishes now drying on the rack. “Hmm?”

You then opened up the lid to the full-to-bursting trashcan. “What do you call that, huh? You said you’d take this out last night. After I asked you twice. What, was I not speaking English? Did something get lost in translation, or are you already losing your hearing? Just let me know, ‘cause I can sure as hell crank up the volume for you!”

Ben raised a brow. You read his thoughts in his surly frown. You have some fucking audacity, talking to him like that, but it’s still early. He hasn’t even had his coffee, for Christ’s sake.

If he was more awake, no doubt he’d be barking back at you. Instead, he heaved a sigh, drew closer to you and shut the trashcan lid. At least there was one lid he knew how to close.

“All right, it’s just a little mess. No need to get fucking hysterical,” he said, trying to grasp your arm to placate you. You shrugged out of his hold and crossed your arms in anger.

“Ben, it’s not just a little mess. And what is this, 1945? I’m not hysterical!”

His lips twitched at a smirk, making you even angrier. But he’d caught enough smoke from you in the past to know he didn’t want it at 8:00 in the morning. He grasped your arms and rubbed them up and down, trying to sooth you.

“Okay, okay. It’s a little early for all this Latina temper, don’tcha think?” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your gaze snapped up at him with a glare.

Oooh, this man. He knew how to get you mad fucking tight.

Not in a good way.

Instead of exploding like Mount Fuji, you kept it all under your skin. You turned away from him and aimed to continue getting ready for work, but first, you took out a Greek yogurt from the fridge and wholly ignored him taking up space in the kitchen. You wouldn’t answer him when he called your name. In fact, you were going to give him the most frigid of cold shoulders—so cold he’d get hyperthermia through that invulnerable skin.

He waylaid your plans when he grabbed your hand, swinging you back into his arms. You gasped at the suddenness of it, looking up into his cocky, charming smile. You couldn’t stare too long at his green eyes, or the rest of his handsome, bearded face. Not when he knew exactly how to use it against you.

“Don’t think that’s gonna get you out of this,” you warned him. You set your yogurt on the kitchen counter and pushed at his chest, but it was no more effective than pushing at a mountain and expecting it to move.

His hands spanned your waist, his fingers beginning to press into your soft sides. He bowed his head, brushing his lips against your neck and the shell of your ear when he said, “Out of what, baby doll? Looks to me like we can still have a good morning.”

His voice once against trilled heat and tingles through your body, but you managed to lean back, holding the pads of your fingers to his lips.

“Hey, I’m not playing around here. If we’re gonna do this,” you pointed between him and yourself, “then let me make one thing really clear. I’m not la sirvienta around here, okay? I’m not your fucking maid. I’m your girl. Your partner. And since you live here now, I’m gonna need you to do your part.”

Ben almost rolled his eyes, but you grasped his chin. He frowned at you with furrowed brows. There was a time where he would've been inclined to grab your wrist and try to intimidate you with his temper. You saw it lying in wait behind his pursed lips and irritated stare, but you weren't afraid of him. Not anymore.

“Listen to me. I get that you haven’t lived like us commoners for most of your life, but this stuff is important,” you said. You took a deep breath, and you counted to three. You met him with a calmer gaze. “Ben, I love you.”

You let go of his chin and lowered your hand, letting it splay over his chest. He softened, ever so slightly, even though his frown remained.

“I love you,” you repeated, “but I don’t need a man-child.”

"Excuse me?" he did snap this time, his hold loosening from around your waist. "The fuck did you just say?"

You narrowed your eyes right back at him.

"You heard me," you said. "I want a man. A man who's going to be my rock when I need him. Can you do that for me, like I do for you? Are you gonna be my man, or do I need to claim you as a dependent on my taxes?"

His expression sharpened again at your thinly veiled accusation…but the longer he looked into your eyes, no longer angry, but earnest and imploring, the more he actually listened to what you were saying. His jaw worked for a moment in annoyance. You subtly softened him with your hands soothing up and down his arms, a slow back and forth over solid, warm muscle.

Eventually, he was able to curb his instinct to bark a callous reply. He nodded, expelling a breath through his nose.

“Fine,” he said.

Your brows rose. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” he said flatly.

You knew it was the closest you were going to get to an agreement, as well as an apology. You were still working on that last one, but dating this man was a work in progress, for both of you. With a sigh, you patted his arms that were slowly wrapping back around you.

“Okay, I’m really running late now,” you said.

“You should probably get a move on then,” Ben said.

Still, he didn’t release you. He stared down at you with an amused smile while you struggled against his hold. You uttered a laugh.

“Babe, I need to get to work.” You leaned over and spied the oven clock. “Oh, shit! it’s almost 8:30! If I’m not there by 9:00—”

“You sure you want to go now? Tense, body all tight,” he said, his voice deep with sensuous suggestion.

His lips neared yours, but he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. His lips veered away to brush against your cheek. He inhaled deeply as he moved, taking in the floral scent of your soap, mixed with the army of products you styled your hair with, and the faint imprint of your perfume from the night before. He skimmed down your neck and along the shell of your ear.

“Wouldn’t you rather I fuck all that tension right out of you?” he offered. “Leave you nice and warm and satisfied, have that pretty pussy coming hard on my cock.”

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as his filthy mouth and the timbre of his voice struck a chord through your body, tinging warm arousal between your legs. Your fingers tightened on his strong arms, digging into the fabric of his loose robe. Ben took that as a wordless confirmation. He bent at the knees and grabbed you up by your plush thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck on instinct, with a small gasp.

But you recovered quickly. Taking his face into your hands, you met his lips roughly with yours in a devouring kiss. He set you down on the kitchen counter hard enough to make the clean dishes rattle. His hands were just as claiming as his mouth, squeezing your hips and thighs as he spread them open to make more room for himself.

While your tongue dueled with his, you shoved the robe off his shoulders, followed by his sleep shirt pooling to the floor. His hand slid under your top as well, and almost ripped it at the hem in his haste to get it up and over your head.

“Ow, ah-ow!” You giggled when the collar got caught on your hair. Ben’s breathy chuckle reached your ears. He was gentler in how he helped get the shirt off the rest of the way. Your mane of hair fell into your face, and you huffed.

Ben did you the favor of brushing the thick curls away from your eyes, tugging several strands behind your ears, even though most of them didn’t obey him. He framed your face with his big hands, and his thumbs swept along your skin, the rich complexion shining in the morning light filtering through the kitchen window.

There was more care in his touch now, his strength tempered just for you. Fond amusement colored his features. For as much shit as you gave him, you still gave him more of yourself; more of your trust, your patience...and all the rest of it. You gave him more than anyone that had come before you, and deep inside, he doubted anyone that might come after you.

You smiled up at him, a little wryly. You leaned up and met him for a gentler kiss. Your eyes fell closed at the feeling of him, and the spicy hint of his aftershave. It was a scent that often clung to his pillows. When he was gone on a mission for days on end, you wouldn’t admit to clinging to one of them to help you sleep, and make you feel safe. 

“Mmm, you smell good,” you whispered. And it was true. He smelled like mint and spicy aftershave. You plied his lips with deeper kisses, licking into his mouth with a sensuous tongue, before you stole his words. “Good enough to eat.”

He uttered a groan deep in his throat. It satisfied you, enhancing the warm flood between your legs.  

Fuck it. You were calling in sick today.

You drew him back into the pull of you, winding your arms around his neck and your fingers in his hair. It was getting long again, but you liked it. You liked something to hold onto, just as much as he did. Your nails brushed against his scalp, down the back of his neck, earning a hum of pleasure from him. You wound your legs tightly around his hips and invited the press of his hard cock against your throbbing core, even through your panties and pajama pants. A faltering groan caught in his chest.

“Needier that I thought this morning,” he remarked. His warm hands drifted down to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over dark, pebbled nipples. You sighed into his mouth in response.

You heard the cocky grin in his voice, but for once, you didn’t care. You did need him. You wanted him to fuck the stress and chaos out of you.

…Well, he’d caused most of it, but still. He was gonna damn well fix it.

And he aimed to do just that, with his hands sliding farther down your body with purpose, grabbing the waistband of your pajama pants and roughly sliding them down, along with your panties. Your bare ass felt cold against the tile counter, but you didn’t have too much time to think about it with Ben’s thick fingers probing between the wet, glistening folds of your pussy. He soon found what he was searching for, circling firmly over your clit.

Your hips raised off the counter as you whimpered against his lips and ground yourself against his hand. You broke from his kiss to bury your face in his neck. Ben’s free hand grasped your hip and pulled you right to the edge of the counter.

There he held you down, his brows furrowing in concentration. His fingers sought your entrance and slipped inside you with ease. By now, he knew what angles would have you squirming, writhing, your body arching into him, while your inner walls clenched around his hand.

“Fuck. That’s right, baby doll. I’ve gotcha,” he said roughly, continuing to fuck your pussy with his fingers. His thumb rubbed against your clit between strokes.

The coil in your lower belly began to tighten, the delicious throbbing deep inside beginning to make your thighs shake. But just as you felt yourself tipping over the edge, Ben withdrew his fingers from your sopping channel.

You struggled to catch your breath in shock. Your head raised from Ben’s shoulder to glare at him. When your mouth opened to deliver an indignant protest, he silenced you with his mouth claiming yours. Your nails bit into his shoulder in retaliation, even though you knew it wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest. In fact, it only curved his lips into a smirk against yours.

You slapped him on the shoulder, immensely frustrated, but also laughing. “You’re such an assh—”

Before you could even finish cursing him, he gathered you up again and lifted you off the counter. He walked you over to the couch in the living room. He would’ve loved nothing better than to lay you out across the two-seater table in the kitchen, but he thought the shitty old wood might just give out under the strain of him fucking you. So the living room was a close second, and in this tiny-ass apartment, it was barely a few feet more to walk.

He laid you out underneath him on couch, and it groaned and squeaked under both of your weight. You squeaked too, if for a different reason. It had Ben smirking down at you. He freed himself from the confines of his pajama pants and coated his rock-hard arousal with the leftover wetness coating his hand.

“I approve of the scene change,” you said breathlessly, once again stroking his arms. Your fingers slipped over every dip and plain of muscle.  

“Didn’t think you wanted to be fucked on some cold tile,” he said, even if the sentiment behind his words warmed you. You were pretty sure he didn’t used to care about that. At least, before he met you.

He grabbed your hips, lined himself up to your entrance, and his cock breached you smoothly, pushing into you until his hips fit snugly against yours.

“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, your thighs squeezing around his frame.

“Feel good, sweetheart? All fuckin' filled up,” Ben teased, a bit breathless himself. You were a tight fucking fit. He slid out of you experimentally, drawing a moan from your lips. You nodded.

“Yeah, baby. So good,” you freely admitted, panting all the while.

Ben’s hot gaze drew over you as he continued moving hard and fast inside you. He took in your every bare curve, the way hot breaths and sexy moans fell from your lips with every thrust, the way your hair fanned out underneath you and hung off the side of the sofa cushion, the way your hands still explored him and touched him, demanding, but still loving.

For that, it was all the more tantalizing against his skin, warming even the darkest places he tried not to show you.

And every drag of his cock inside you stretched your inner walls in the most delicious of ways. It wasn’t just that he was able to fill you to the fucking brim. He also just knew his way around a woman’s body. He knew you, and he knew exactly how to make you come undone. Even quick and dirty on your couch, he made you feel brand new. 

He was right, damn him.

The coil deep inside you snapped. Pleasure crested through you and made your inner walls squeeze him tight, fluttering and pulsing with warmth. You came hard on his cock, hard enough to milk his release shortly after for all he was worth.

His forearms fell to the cushion on either side of your head. You were basically being smothered, but for the moment you didn’t mind. You just held his sweat-slick body against yours while you both caught your breath, each of your heartbeats falling back into a steady rhythm.

He was always so damn warm. It was nice, considering how cold it was this winter, but the thought always made you a bit sad. It reminded you of the power housed in his chest, and every memory he caged there as well.

You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder. In return, his lips found the side of your head and hesitated there.

“You’re not going to work,” he said. It was more an observation than anything else.

You laughed breathlessly and shook your head. “Nope.”

He nodded. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

You could get behind that. Your kitchen was finally clean, which meant your kitchen was closed until further notice.

“Shower first,” you stipulated.

You felt Ben’s smile grow against your dewy skin. “All right.”

You sighed, and he guided you to your feet along with him. You had a feeling “breakfast” was going to be lunch by the time you and Ben finally escaped this apartment.      

AN: Lol hope you had fun with this one! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these two! 💚💚

Spanish Translations:

Es que él es bruto, mija. Es como un animal con ropa.

It’s that he’s stupid, my daughter. He's like an animal with clothes.

However, “bruto” can also mean brutish, crude, and/or like a beast, so it fits in more than one way. 😂

Sabes que, …

You know what, …

La sirvienta

The servant (or maid) (female)

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[holylulusworld]

Extreme tight places (4) - Kinktober 3

Summary: You’re stuck with a soulless Sam again.

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x fem!Reader

Warnings: soulless!Sam being his asshole self, anal sex, smut, unprotected sex, degrading, creampie, voyeurism, outdoor sex, sex in front of others, violence, possessive soulless Sam, forced cum eating (not the reader)

Rating: Explicit

Kink: Anal sex

Square filled for @samwinchesterbingo: Square 18: Plot what plot?

Square filled for @spnkinkbingo 2022 (expired): Square 1: Anal Sex

Catch up here: Cramped (1) & Tight places (2) Very tight places (3)

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2024

“Sam! Sam, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You desperately try to drag Sam off a fellow hunter. You don’t like the hunter, but the last thing you need is rumors spreading that Sam Winchester killed another hunter. “Sam, please.”

“He tried to touch what’s mine!” Sam is like an animal. Not only because of his soullessness but also because the hunter tried to hit on you during a get-together to celebrate the life of a deceased hunter. “No one touches what’s mine.”

You huff. It’s not like you’re together or shit. Sam is simply obsessed with fucking you. There’s no love or even feelings between the two of you.

“SAMMY!” Dean and Cas finally come to your aid. They grab Sam by his arms and drag him off the hunter. “What the fuck!”

“He tried to grope my girl’s ass.” Sam tries to apologize that he tried to beat the life out of the man. “No one touches what’s mine, Dean. Not even you.”

“Sam, get your shit together,” Dean snaps at his brother. Lately, he’s struggling to see Sam as his brother. Death brought Sam’s soul back, but they are still trying to figure out how to turn the new version back into his former self.

Sam squares his jaw. “Let go of me, or you’ll get a taste of my strength too.” Dean shakes his head. The thing possessing his brother is so unlike the Sam he raised. “Y/N, come.”

He holds out his hand for you. You could tell him to fuck off because he flirted with one of the huntresses, but it would only cause Sam to go rampant and find a reason to fight with someone else.

“Sam,” you huff when he drags you toward the back of the place, away from the crowd. “Where are we going?”

“I need to fuck you,” he states, ignoring that you wiggle in his tight grip. “You need to feel it in your bones that your holes are all mine.”

“Says the guy flirting with some bitch moments ago. You’re only angry because the guy was nice to me.” You bite back.

He stops in his tracks to look you up and down. His eyes darken, and you bite your tongue. One wrong word and he fucks you right there, in front of everyone.

“He touched you,” he snarls. “I told her to go down on her knees and suck me off if she wants my help on a hunt.” Sam shrugs. “She was an uptight bitch. Not wet and soft like you.”

“What the—?” You can’t believe Sam sometimes. He tells you he wanted some bitch to suck him off after he almost beat a man to death because the hunter dared to talk to you. “You’re unbelievable!”

“I know, kitten,” he purrs and presses you against the wall. He slips one hand between your bodies to hastily unbutton your pants. Your eyes round. Sam can’t be serious. “That’s why you’re always so needy.”

“I hate you so much,” you argue, but don’t fight his hand slipping inside your pants to pinch your clit. “Sam, not here. Let’s go somewhere else.” You know Sam is pumped up and needs to release some steam. “Please.”

“I love it when you beg me.” He presses his lips to yours, swallowing the tiny moans escaping your lips. Sam smirks when you buck your hips, silently begging him for more. He hums against your lips as he slips his index finger inside your cunt. “Already so wet for me.”

“S-am,” you whimper against his lips. “Pl-ease. Somewhere else.”

“I want them to know you’re mine,” he growls and removes his hand. You don’t argue. Fighting with Sam is a lost cause. Instead, you let him grab your hand and guide you out of the bar.

Sam leads you toward a car you don’t recognize. He twirls you around to bend you over the hood. Sam rips your still unbuttoned jeans down your legs, taking your panties with it.

“That’s how I like you.” He slaps your ass, roughly groping your globes. If you weren’t in a parking lot, he’d spank your ass raw tonight. “Always so ready to take my cock.”

Sam uses his large hand to spread your ass-cheeks. He smirks when you wiggle in his grip. You know he wants to prove your ass belongs to him. Literally. A warm liquid hits the crack of your ass, making you whimper. “Oh, kitten. This ass is mine.” He hums. “It opens up like a slutty hole to me.”

“Sam, not here,” you try one last time, but Sam throws the empty bottle of lube over his shoulder. He unzips his pants and slaps his cock against your ass.

“You’ll let me fuck this tight asshole and take it like a good slut. Maybe I’ll let you cum this time too.” Sam laughs when you hiss his name. He ignores you’re angry at him for flirting with the other woman. While you lie on the car, giving in to his demands once again, he runs his hard cock up and down the crack of your ass to get lube all over his massive erection. “You’re my whore.”

He presses the tip inside, making you hiss. It’s always a struggle to take Sam up your ass. At least he’s less impatient tonight and slowly inches his way inside. His hands grip your hips hard enough to hurt.

“Fuck, Sam…”

“Yeah, I’m going to fuck this hole open,” he growls like the possessive caveman he turns into when it comes to fucking you. “Watch me ruin her ass.”

You don’t have time to think about his words. Sam pushes you down onto the hood of the car and holds you there as he shoves the last inches inside. You’re panting because his massive cock feels good in your tightest hole.

“You’re an ass whore. I knew it.” Sam leans over your body to whisper in your ear. “Say it. Say, I’m Sam Winchester’s anal slut.”

“I’m—” you choke out a moan when Sam slowly starts pushing in and out of your ass. He barely moves his hips, only pressing his cock into you with short strokes, but you feel immense pleasure. You don’t know why, but no matter how Sam fucks you, it always feels good. “I’m Sam Winchester’s anal slut.” You breathe out, making Sam laugh.

“Yes, you are,” he pants in your neck while his hips mercilessly crash into your ass. “Always full of my cock, only mine.”

“Yes…”

“I bet you’ll cum like the whore you are with my big cock up your ass,” he taunts. “Right? You’ll squirt like a slut because you’re my anal whore.”

You should be ashamed. Sam is fucking your ass over the hood of someone else’s car. He calls you his whore, but you couldn’t care less. The bastard ruining your ass isn’t wrong. The pressure in your ass has you tethering on the edge of an orgasm.

He’s pounding you deep, hard, and fast. Sam groans in your ear, getting more excited. His desperate groans get you more excited. Your body is ready to give in to the pleasured pain. You whimper his name, telling him to cum inside of your ass.

And he just lets go, slamming one hand between your legs to swipe left, right, left, and right until you squirt all over his hand. “Perfect whore, isn't she?”

Sam pulls out, stepping away from the car to let whoever watched him fuck your ass watch his cum drip out of your gaping hole.

“Perfect hole.”

You try to catch your breath as you lie on the car. Total spend. Sam eagerly spreads your cheeks to look at his cum. He hums before thrusting one finger inside to scoop a large amount of his cum with his finger. “Come here and have a taste.”

“Dude, I’m good over here,” the man grunts. He’s holding his bruised ribs and glares at Sam. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but I’m out.”

“I said,” Sam growls in the man’s direction. “Come over here and have a taste. That’s what you wanted, right? To fuck my girl’s ass.”

“Sam?” You slowly get up from the car and pull your pants back up. You turn around to watch the man Sam punched earlier stand a few feet away. “What the fuck!”

“Buddy, if you ever get close to her ass again, you’re dead,” Sam smirks darkly. He wraps his hand around the man’s throat and forces his finger inside his mouth. “That’s the closest you’ll get to my girl’s ass. Now swallow like a good boy and get lost.”

“You found a way?” You whisper to not wake Sam. After the fucked-up stunt, he pulled his brother, knocked him out. “How can I help you?”

“You need to distract him. Stay inside the room until Death arrives. It’s only a few hours; Y/N. Sammy will be back soon,” Dean gives you an apologetic look. “I know you liked this one, but...”

“Not after tonight!” You hold up your hand. “He risked my safety, Dean. If that guy was a little more..." You sniffle. “If he knocked Sam out, it would’ve ended badly for me, Dean. If we can bring the normal Sam back, I’d do anything to help you.

Screams echo through Bobby's house. You press your hand to your ears and try to blend out that Sam is suffering inside Bobby’s panic room.

Death brought his soul back and finally found a way to get the old Sam back too.

If only it weren’t so painful...

“It’s going to be alright.” You look at Dean, nodding. You don’t know if he wants to convince you or himself. “It must…”

The screams abruptly end. Death slips out of the room. He ignores you and whispers something in Dean’s ear. “I know, we will be careful.”

You gave the brothers time and space to reunite, promising to stick around for the next case. The procedure was a success. Sam is back to his old self.

What Dean didn’t tell you before Death got to work was that Sam wouldn’t remember your time together. The truth is, Sam doesn’t remember anything after he jumped into the pit.

Maybe it’s for the best. What you let his soulless version do to you was something the old Sam would never understand.

“Y/N, hey.” You look up from your book when Sam calls your name. He leans in the doorframe, eyes glued to your exposed legs. “I heard you helped Dean while I was gone.”

“Uh-yeah. Kinda,” you lie. It’s all you can do. Death warned you and the others not to tell Sam what happened over the last months. If you do, the consequences will be dire.

“Hmm…” He pushes off the doorframe, stepping inside your motel room. Sam slams the door shut and hums as you flinch at the sudden motion. His eyes are softer, and his behavior changed, but the smirk creeping on his face is not different from his soulless version’s smirk. “I see, you liked riding my dick.”

“What? I—what?” You splutter. He can’t know. It’s impossible. Death said Sam won’t remember a thing.

“I can’t remember much, but the videos on my phone helped me. I must say, you have been a good little slut for me.” He laughs darkly as you stare at him like a deer in headlights. “How about we refresh my memory and you let me fuck that pretty cunt and ass again?”

Tags in reblog.

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

BuckTommy Fluffebruary Day Eight: Surprise. Tommy's had a really, really bad shift (off-screen), and he shows up to the greatest surprise ever: his boyfriend, pasta, and comfort. Edit: I just realized Tumblr somehow lost my tag for @bucktommyfluffebruary and my AO3 link. Why, Tumblr. Why.

It’s been a terrible shift, and Tommy is ready for it to be over. He’s going to plaster a million posters around the Hollywood sign that say: “If you fall/slip trying to climb on or around this, LAFD will no longer rescue your dumb ass and you’ll have to live with the fucking consequences.”

Lucy, Braun, and Melton agree with him, Cap thinks it’s a bad idea. They’re spitballing less extreme alternatives to keep their minds off the calls that came before the Hollywood sign incident, because if Tommy thinks about a couple of them for too long he’ll probably start crying.

When he pours himself into his truck, he drives home on autopilot and parks in the driveway, because he has the Chevelle on the car lift at the moment. He blinks at his front door, because the three small square windows at the top have light filtering through. There’s no way he left the lights on when he left for work two days earlier, but he also might have. He can’t tell anymore.

He unlocks the door and goes inside, and the house smells like food. He can hear a podcast or something in the kitchen and follows the sound just in time to see Evan close the oven door.

“Oh!” Evan says when Tommy sets his bag down on the island. He whirls around and grins, tapping his phone on the counter and cutting off the man who was talking about something related to the Manhattan Project. “Hey, baby. I wanted to surprise you with dinner.”

And the sight of Evan in his kitchen making him what smells like something with sauce and cheese and herbs and who knew what else after one of the worst shifts Tommy’s had in years is what breaks him. He covers his hand with his mouth to muffle a sob, and Evan’s arms are around him so fast it’s like he teleported across the room.

“Hey,” Evan murmurs in his ear, rubbing his back. “Hey, I know. C’mere, you’re okay, you’re home, everything’s okay here.”

He’s kissing the side of Tommy’s head and his hair and his forehead and whispering reassurances that Tommy actually believes, because Evan knows. Even if he doesn’t know exactly what happened, he knows, and it’s worth everything.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, but after a while they’re just hugging each other and Tommy has his cheek on Evan’s shoulder and his nose against the side of his neck. When he straightens up, Evan’s hands come up to his face and wipe away tears and brush over the scratch on his cheek. His eyes are so blue and clear and full of concern and love, and Tommy fights down everything inside him that wants to tell him he doesn’t deserve this.

“Are you hungry or do you want to go lay down?” Evan asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“I can eat,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds thick and nasally. He needs to blow his nose. “I should eat.”

“I’m making stuffed shells, and there’s some sprouts and stuff,” he says, massaging the back of Tommy’s neck with gentle squeezes of his hand. “And there’s cheesecake after. Or we can have it now.”

Tommy melts under Evan’s touch and smiles. “I can wait.”

He kisses the corner of Evan’s mouth and then gives him a soft kiss before stepping away. He really needs to blow his nose, but he’s back at Evan’s side as soon as he’s done. Evan’s putting a salad together, so Tommy doesn’t feel so bad about draping himself over him while he does it.

“Did you know?” he asks, his voice muffled against his stolen flannel that Evan’s wearing.

“I had a feeling,” Evan replies, pausing to reach up and hold Tommy’s hand where it’s resting over his heart. “You didn’t text back much, and I heard about last night before I left the station.”

Tommy shudders and squeezes his eyes shut, and Evan’s other hand comes up to also squeeze his forearm, and lips press against the inside of his bicep when Evan turns his head. Tommy will talk about some of it, probably, but it’ll be later. He needs to just not be immersed in horror for a little bit. He needs carbs and cheese and his boyfriend.

“This is ready, you wanna eat?” Evan asks, and Tommy nods. “Okay, let’s go, I’ll get your plate.”

They end up eating curled up on the couch so Tommy can turn on a movie. He’s been showing Evan some queer movies, because Evan’s actually been interested in those, and they watch Big Eden. Tommy needs something warm and fluffy, and it’s like the cinematic equivalent of a warm hug.

They pause about two thirds of the way through so Evan can grab them dessert, and he comes out with the entire cheesecake and two forks.

“We’re adults,” he says to Tommy’s raised eyebrows. “We could’ve had frosting for dinner if we wanted.”

He eats almost a quarter of the cheesecake—it’s a small cheesecake—and ends up stretched out on the couch with Evan on top of him until the movie’s over.

“I liked that one,” Evan says, rubbing his cheek against Tommy’s chest. “Tired?”

“No,” Tommy says, because he’s really not. He’s exhausted, but he doesn’t know when he’ll sleep next.

Evan looks up at him and reaches up to stroke his knuckles over Tommy’s jaw. “Want to watch another one?”

He leans into the touch and sighs. “Yeah.”

They make it through The Birdcage and halfway through Love, Simon before Tommy falls asleep. When he wakes up, Evan’s drooling on his chest and the Roku screensaver is on.

“Baby,” he whispers, kissing Evan’s curls and inhaling the smell of his shampoo.

Evan inhales sharply and slow blinks at him like a cat. “Mm. ‘Zit?”

Tommy looks at his watch. “It’s 3:30. We should go to bed.”

His boyfriend nods and sits up. They strip down to their underwear and crawl into bed, and Tommy pulls Evan’s sleep-warm body against his under the cool duvet.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you so-o much,” Evan mumbles back, stroking Tommy’s side.

“Thank you. For everything.”

He can see Evan’s smile in the dim light filtering in through the window. “Anytime.”

[laurrelise]

someone talk with me about an AU where delores is a real girl who somehow survived the initial apocalypse and spends it growing old with five and keeping him sane

someone talk with me about delores being five’s age when he discovers her body in the rubble and thinks she’s dead before he notices the small rise and fall of her chest before he pulls her out and desperately tries to help her breathe normally again and watches the life fill her eyes with tears in his own that he’s finally no longer alone

someone talk with me about delores being an only child to parents who she wasn’t close with leading her to become dependent on herself until she meets five and learns to trust other people before finding out about his huge family and doing everything in her power to help him not only because she cares about him and wants him to be happy but also because she wants to experience the family she’s never had

someone talk with me about how delores never had powers but survived for the 40+ years in the apocalyptic wasteland of the future due to her seriously genius mind (and five’s help) and lives to help five figure out how to save his family

someone talk with me about young five and delores searching for anything they can find to survive before they stumble upon a half-broken mannequin with a surprisingly intact polka-dotted blouse that five says would suit her so she puts it on out of boredom from looking for materials before five looks at her with the most genuine, in-love eyes she’s ever seen and she decides to keep it just for him

someone talk with me about five always making sure delores has a comfortable place to sleep, to rest, to eat, etc

someone talk with me about five explaining his childhood so nonchalantly one day once he realizes that he can trust delores to her surprise, and she asks why he suddenly had the strength to tell her and he looks her in the eyes and says “believe it or not, you’re stuck with me, and i’m stuck with you, and i want you to know who i am when we’re kicking this apocalypse in the ass”

someone talk with me about teenage five teaching teenage delores how to defend herself with the training he was given during his childhood but reassuring her that he’ll always be there to protect her if something were to happen (to which she reminds him that she appreciates it, but knows she can defend herself with the spite and sheer willpower she has to survive)

someone talk with me about five and delores having a makeshift wedding and five’s vows being along the lines of “even if the rest of the world was alive, i don’t think i could ever hope to find someone that makes me as truly happy as you do, and i will be eternally grateful that of anyone i could get stuck in this goddamn apocalypse with, it was always you, and it will always be you”

someone talk with me about the handler showing up from the commission to recruit five as a temporal assassin and delores as a case worker because they’re both dangerously smart and incredible at surviving in harsh conditions (also, the handler approached them separately to see where their loyalties lied and they both firmly explained they wouldn’t go anywhere without the other)

someone talk with me about delores getting fed up with the handler repeatedly making moves on five despite him clearly being uncomfortable until it bubbles to a climax and she punches her square in the jaw, which results in an ER trip and zero regret (plus five falling even harder in love with the woman who endlessly sticks up for him)

someone talk with me about five and delores plotting an escape plan to get back to 2019 which all goes well, except five had once again messed up the math (or so he thought) and he and delores are placed back in their 13 year-old bodies, but she confesses that she doesn’t mind seeing the boy she fell in love with all those years ago once again

someone talk with me about delores learning to trust and love the hargreeves just as much as five, as they learn to love and trust her just as much

someone talk with me about five always keeping track of dates and specifically remembering the exact times of significant events for himself and delores, like the moment she looked at him for the first time, the moment he knew he was in love with her, and the moment they decided they were going to stop at nothing to keep each other alive and stop the world from ending

someone talk with me about five and delores, the 58 year-old couple that they are, snuggling up on elliot’s couch together because they can’t fall asleep without the other one there to remind them that they’re safe and out of harm’s way (mostly)

someone talk with me about how delores has never been the type to step down, and she continues to stand her ground and be brutally honest when shes upset or wants five to listen to her, and he admires her bluntness (and frankly, needs it) due to his impatience and expectations of honesty at all times

someone talk with me about delores knowing exactly when five needs his time alone and stepping away to help his siblings as much as she possibly can, usually by encouragement or (again) brutal honesty hidden behind a kind and genuine smile

someone talk with me about five reminding delores of his love for her whenever it’s too quiet or he thinks she’s gone too long without him showing it, in every way he can think of, like letting her know that he would’ve lost his mind in the apocalypse without her (which.. he kind of did?), finding little things that remind him of her and bringing them to her, and holding her hand whenever he sees frustration or discomfort bubbling behind her eyes

[silksandcravats]

Birthday 👋

Dean would never miss an opportunity to put his hands on you, so naturally, he's a big believer in birthday spankings. He's also nothing if not a tease, so your spanks are delivered one by one when you least expect it. Meaning you spend your entire birthday on edge, with a stinging ass and thoroughly soaked panties.

Content: established dean x fem!reader, spanking (duh)(f receiving), excessive foreplay, slight fingering (f receiving), light dom!dean x sub!reader undertones, for “plot” purposes reader needed an age so in honor of season 1 dean she's 26

You woke up to a familiar warm, solid surface beneath your cheek. You let out a soft, happy sigh of contentment as you lazily blink your eyes open.

"Mornin, sweetheart," Dean's rough morning voice greeted you. From your spot tucked against him, you could feel the gentle rumble in his chest as he spoke.

"Morning," you replied quietly, rolling in tighter towards him, your chest pressing against his as you shamelessly buried your face into the crook of his neck. His body responded naturally, tucking you in tighter, leaving a soft peck at your forehead.

"Happy birthday beautiful," he hummed against your forehead.

His hand which had been resting against your lower back shifted, his fingertips lazily tracing up your spine and back down again.

“Thank you” was at the tip of your tongue when you were jolted by a sharp smack to your backside. You yelped instead, hand reaching back to the offended area as you looked up at him with an expression that was half glare, half shock. 

“One,” he looked at you with a shit-eating grin. 

“Dean, no,” you groaned, collapsing against him again.

“Rules are rules pretty girl,” he shrugged casually, as if he had no say in the matter. His hand resumed its slow trail up and down your back as if he hadn’t just sparked a fire in your ass.

Last year Dean had insisted on 25 good, hard birthday spanks spread out through your special day, plus one to grow on of course. 

“For good luck, baby, can’t have enough of that in our line of work,” he had informed you with a wink the first time you protested.

You had spent the rest of your birthday making a conscious effort to keep your backside out of his reach, but you never stood a chance. Dean was a practiced hunter, meaning his calloused right hand met its mark every. single. time. It wasn’t fair, it was your birthday after all, you were supposed to be spoiled not punished. 

Despite your best attempts to seem irritated at the game, you knew that he knew you spent the better part of the day soaked, the final proof coming when he laid you down and yanked your shorts and panties down in bed that night.

You had hoped, foolishly, that last year's antics were a one-and-done, but clearly you were going to have to spend another birthday with your guard up.

Once the two of you had finally made your way out of bed, you did your best to keep out of arm's reach, slipping on a pair of sleep shorts to match the t-shirt and panties you’d slept in. 

“You first,” you nodded towards the doorway, eyeing him carefully. He snorted but obliged.

“I’ll get you now, or I’ll get you later, but you know it’s coming, sweet thing,” he taunted, leading the way down the hallway.

Breakfast was waiting for you in the kitchen, a white box tied in twine, stamped with the logo of a bakery you loved from the next town over. 

“Oh Dean,” you gasped, happily hurrying towards the table, your objective momentarily forgotten as you yanked the string and opened the box. Inside was a neat pile of the works; croissants and danishes and muffins and squares of coffee cake all rested atop a doiley.

“Good?” Dean asked slipping behind you and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Good,” you grinned, surveying the lot of treats in front of you trying to make a decision. 

“Just make sure to leave Sammy one or two,” the last word was punctuated with a firm swat to your rear.

“Dick,” you grumbled as he walked away to grab plates.

Dean was somehow already up to five by the time breakfast was finished. Only five in, and a subtle warmth was already beginning to settle into your backside.

Number six you saw coming when Dean “accidentally” bumped his fork onto the floor as you were clearing off the table. You shot him a glare before bending down but still let out an involuntary gasp as he spanked you. 

If you hadn’t known Dean as well as you did, the rest of the day would’ve given you whiplash. Your boyfriend put all his efforts into pampering you, countless sweet kisses across your face and loving little touches. You took full advantage as he followed you around, willingly engaging in whatever activity your heart desired. You had his full attention the entire time; he didn’t touch his phone once, nodding along as you rambled through your interests. Even when he didn’t understand what you were going on about, he watched you with a smile, enjoying how much you were enjoying yourself. 

But he also cracked his hand down meanly against the soft curve of your bum any chance he could get, despite your valiant efforts to protect your poor backside. Slowly, the sting in your ass grew from a dim, annoying heat to a hot, aching burn.

Still, as you leaned against Dean that evening, tucked under a blanket with his arm tight around you, thumb running slow circles against your thigh, you felt fairly pleased with yourself. Sure, he had gotten a few good hits in, but as the night was drawing to a close he was short, significantly short. 

You yawned softly as the credits rolled onto the screen. It wasn’t your favorite movie. Instead, you had opted for a movie Dean would most likely protest any other night because if tonight was your only chance to watch it, at least not by yourself, for the next 365 days, you were going to take it. And Dean, to his credit had diligently watched the whole thing alongside you with nary a complaint.

You even caught him chuckling once at the dialog, though he’d never admit that.

The names of the crew rolling across the screen grew blurry as your eyes began to fall shut. Before they were all the way closed, you felt a hand cupping your face, his thumb running along your bottom lip as his other four fingers squished into your cheek softly. 

“Tired already?” Dean questioned, arching his brow suggestively. 

“Mmm, but I might have an hour or so left in me,” you smiled lazily, mind drifting to the sweet, sloppy sex you’d like to end the night with.

“Good,” he winked, pulling your face closer, brushing his nose against yours.

You weren’t sure how it happened, but one moment you were halfway in his lap, the next you were yanked up. Suddenly your stomach was against the top of the back cushion and the edge of the couch, face staring at the floor behind it. Dean shifted behind you, hand coming to the small of your back to hold you down over the back of the couch.

“Because I’ve still got nine to go.”

“No!” You squealed, pressing your palms against the back of the couch, trying and failing to push yourself up against his grasp.

“C’mon baby,” he teased, yanking your shorts and panties down in one swift motion. “Take your birthday spanks like a good girl and you might get a reward.”

“Oh fuck yo - ow!” You shrieked bucking harder. 

“Nineteen,” he counted off, you didn’t have to see his face to know, the smug enjoyment was clear in his voice. 

Twenty and twenty-one were even harder, the sound of his large palm smacking against your soft, sore skin echoed through the room. You gasped and squirmed as he gave you swat after swat, each one harder than the last. 

Tears welled in your eyes as number twenty-six landed, cracking against both cheeks so hard you wanted to wail.

“Okay, that’s enough!” You begged desperately as his hand rubbed along your hot, sorry ass, preparing you for the last one.

“Ah ah," he tsked, pushing you back down when you tried to lift yourself up.

"And one to grow on,” he kissed the base of your spine gently, a sharp contrast to the harsh, final blow that landed a moment later. 

“Shit!” You yelped, jerking forward with the force of the strike. You sucked in a breath, curling and uncurling your toes. His offending right hand came down again, softer this time as he soothed some of the immediate sting out of your burning skin, admiring his handiwork.

“You’re cruel,” you pouted, breath hitching as his hand dragged down your ass and slid between your legs, two fingers running along your soaked, puffy folds.

“That why you’re dripping on my hand baby?” He tsked, one finger dipping between your folds to run right along your slit.

“My ass hurts,” you whined, pushing yourself up and turning over your shoulder looking for sympathy. 

“Want me to make you forget about it?”

“Please,” you answered quickly, eager to focus on something other than the pain in your ass.

“Hold on like a good girl then,” he warned plunging two thick fingers into you suddenly, then curling them back towards him in a practiced, come hither motion. He grinned wildly as you gasped in shock, your fingers grasping to find the edge of the couch for purchase.

“Oh Dean,” you cried as his fingers brushed against the soft spongey spot inside of you.

“Happy birthday beautiful.”

[tactical-jellyfish]

Watcher 1-1

Part Seven <3

Warnings!: The 141 will be criminally stupid, fumblers, all of them. Death (canon-typical), Violence (canon-typical), loss of limb (I will cover the symptoms as well as possible, but any and all corrections are welcome) They do get kissy, but no smut (that I'm writing, but it's very much implied).

Warnings for this specific chapter: (technically) main character death, written descriptions of injury, gore and blood talk. Included reference and experience with post-surgery symptoms of various degrees of seriousness. One character affectionately refers to another character as "slutbag"

Keegan is a good man.

You learn this quickly, as you get into moderate, common spats with the United States healthcare system.

In the days that narrowly follow the surgery, when you're more often unconscious than awake, you often wake with the nurse (technically certified, but you really have no idea if he actually works here) at your bedside who's just... doing whatever in the corner.

You're lucky you haven't been snippy enough to shove him away from you, just yet.

In your own defense, your dignity has been directly removed by most of this terrible shit.

You can't even get up to use the bathroom, anymore. It's a bedpan.

And apparently, you're still lucky. Because you're going to get your drainage tube out of the lovely leg wound in a few days.

You are, for all intents and purposes, about to kill someone or yourself. But Keegan is still often there, answering your questions or giving you just a bit of humor to hold onto as you go increasingly stir-crazy from waiting for Laswell to finally come and give you the rundown of the tatters that must remain of your career.

If you got lucky, she wouldn't be too upset. Maybe, if you were really lucky, she would tell you where the boys are. Why none of them have dropped in to see you yet.

It'd only be another week. You weren't sure you could last that long.

As if an angel somewhere has answered this thought, the door opens again.

"Hey, slutbag. I finally found you some enrichment."

Keegan's voice is playful, and he wears a shit-eating grin as he tosses a small bag to your bed, hitting you almost-square in the chest.

"Mm. Poor aim, Mr. Russ."

You may be tired, in pain, and you may be in a frankly terrible mood, but that doesn't mean you're not funny. Your name isn't Price.

Still, you open the little bag, and there's a box inside. You open that too, as Keegan plops himself in the chair that hurts his back because he can't be assed to bring in something better.

It's... a lock, casted out of clear plastic, with a small set of tools to pick it. Also a set of keys, which you already know you'll refuse to use for pride's sake.

Two watchful, fond blue eyes are scanning your motions and you can feel him smile, without even looking.

"I could have given you a manual, but I think you'd like it better to do it all yourself. Was I right?"

The tool's handle is smooth as you hold the lock steady, fighting to not immediately fiddle with the thing in front of Keegan. He would be too damned smug about it.

"...Thank you, Russ."

He did deserve that thanks, as far as you thought. You were pathetic right now, useless and bed-bound and panicky. And still, Keegan was willing to look upon you, he still willingly chooses to see you.

This thank you encompasses all of those things. You know you've been less than fun. Less than useful. And you know Keegan deserves to know that he's been good to you. Better than you've ever deserved.

He's quiet, for a time, but then you hear a warm chuckle as he reaches forward to give you a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"Don't say that like you owe me anything, kid," You really should interrupt him, tell him that, if you're not older than him, you definitely outrank him, but you don't. "You're much better than working in a shit-hole like this."

Your eyes find his, and you can see him smile as he lowers his mask. You're noticed that he only seems to do this in the room, with you. And only when you're both alone.

"...I know some people who could change that."

"Really?"

"I'm missing my leg, I still have my connections, Keegan."

His smile is worth the scolding you know Lawell will give you for trying to promise to pull him into the service.

You don't care. He's medically smart enough, and pliable enough to train into shape.

Maybe, if you can't serve anymore, you can bring someone who was more brilliant that you ever were. Maybe, your debt is still something you can repay.

His smile isn't wide, but it's happy. Something in your chest squeezes too hard, but he's kind enough to ignore how your heart monitor beeps faster. You know he notices, because his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"D'you want me to give you some hints to pick that lock faster?"

For once, you see that offer for help, and it doesn't strike you as a direct insult to you. You can see, right there before you, someone who wants to get close.

And it's so very stupid to trust someone. But something tells you that you will never be too slow for Keegan.

He seems fine with waiting for you to catch up.

Maybe that's why you nod at that question.

Maybe that's why he sits on the side of your bed, and starts to explain the basics, gently leading your hands into proper position as he starts to gently wriggle the tool agains the pins.

You would have never allowed this, otherwise, but it feels surprisingly good to have him there. Not because he thinks you're weak. Not because he thinks you'd be better if he taught you this.

Keegan is teaching you this because he thinks it's something you want to learn.

The tool turns before you're ready, and the lock pops open under your hands. Keegan's hands too.

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[kortac-sweetheart]

more romantic oni headcanons please?👉🏽👈🏽

i absolutely love that you write for him and nikto!🥹

sure, cutie!

oni is not a man to half ass things, no matter what it is. whether that be his job or his life goal of clearing his family name, and even his romantic relationships.

when you get together with him, it’s after a pretty long time of being friends. he’s not one to open up easily, there needs to be a iron clad foundation of trust before things develop any further.

i think that after he thinks it through, really thinks his feelings through and realizes it’s more than friendship and admiration he quickly makes plans to confess.

he’s a very traditional man through and through, takes you out to dinner or a slightly more casual date at your favorite tea house. he smiles gently at you from across the table as you order all your favorite little treats, and for a while, he just admires you as you eat and chat happily. (he’s paying for your food btw.)

it’s only at the end of your little unofficial date that he clears his throat, clasping both your hands gently in his, looks you square in the eyes and confesses.

“for these past few weeks, i have been… coming to terms with a realization of sorts. i like you. more— more than friends. i want to be your partner; for life. my feelings for you are not fleeting ones, i can guarantee that. i just—“

god. he can feel himself getting more and more flustered by the second, face heating a bright pink and his forehead slightly sweating. didn’t he have a script for this? why is he blabbering so much?

but you don’t look at him any differently than you already do, (were your eyes always that beautiful?) instead, you squeeze his hands back and let out the cutest little giggle ever.

“hiro, don’t worry. i like— love, you too. i wouldn’t want to be life partners with anyone else… you really don’t know how long i’ve been wanting to hear you say that.”

he immediately slumps over with a sigh, immensely relieved, holding your hands to his forehead before giving the back of each a small kiss.

you’re his first (and last) relationship, and that means that he’s going to make a lot of mistakes trying to navigate the uncharted waters of love together. but he’s nothing if not determined. after he has you, he has no plans on letting you go, he only dates to marry after all.

you’d think that he’d be as stubborn as mule, and while he is, he’s not with you. ever the pragmatic problem-solver he is, he’s always trying to come up with a compromise that you’re both happy with. that’s also why he’ll never let arguments (as rare as they are) go unresolved. you two will never go to bed angry and frustrated at each other.

ever a creature of habit and a man of routine, he doesn’t like a single part of his day being disrupted. and that goes double for his special time with you. you know that man loves you because he carves out a pretty significant part of his day for you. he needs your sleepy morning kisses and to hear about your day before bed or else he’ll be off kilter and pissed all day.

he’s pretty miserable when he has to be away from you on deployment. misses your warm hugs and soft kisses and stellar cooking too. his desire to be around you is never fully satiated, even with the long facetime/call sessions before bed, until you’re safely tucked into his arms.

you can expect to get a lot of gifts from him. some expensive, some not, just a plethora of things that reminded him of you. from that pretty flower you saw on your walk together, or that cat plush keychain he saw in the storefront window. more often than not, they’re also accompanied with a small haiku. always meticulously handwritten, and signed off with a small heart to accompany his name.

he has an impeccable memory, don’t worry about him forgetting your birthday, anniversaries, special holidays you celebrate, your pet’s birthday, you name it, he remembers it. he doesn’t expect for you to go all out pampering him on valentines day, but if you do, oh boy— expect to be positively showered in love and adoration on white day.

speaking of his great memory, he always expects your daily life updates through text while he’s away. looks forward to them a lot actually. he gets upset and concerned if you forget to send them, even calling you when he’s free so he can make sure you’re ok. don’t worry about “bothering him” with your texts, he does want to see the outfit you’re wearing, the book you’re reading, and especially the meals you’re having. (don’t you dare skip meals, he’ll know, and he’ll be extremely upset.)

with every little mundane life update text you send him, he falls a little more in love with you. filing away all the new info about yourself, your new interests, and favorite things, he’s an accomplished scholar, and his favorite field of study— is you.

when you’re out together, i think he’s fine with a bit of pda. he’s definitely not going to shy away from holding your hand, or hugging you or giving you a chaste kiss on the lips, if he wants it and you want it, then who cares what others think?

it also lets people know that you’re spoken for, he doesn’t like being possessive over you in very visible ways like hickies and such, he thinks it’s tacky. he thinks that his hand in yours, and in the future, a gleaming ring on your finger is enough.

after getting rid of his father and clearing his family name, he proposes to you. he waited for this for a while, desired to see a lovely ring on your finger, but you deserve the version of him free from his past baggage.

he pops the question in the early hours of dawn, sky awash in warm rays of pink, orange and purple. when the sun is slowly climbing over the horizon’s edge and the world is waking from its gentle slumber. you’re sat together, shoulder to shoulder on the beach, and it feels like nothing else exists outside this very moment you share with him.

although he’s facing the sun, his eyes are on you. they were always on you, even when you didn’t notice. watching the way your eyes sleepily flick to his, and your face melt into a drowsy but adoring smile, his mouth speaks without his mind comprehending.

“marry me. please marry me. i am so sorry that i have made you wait but— i wanted to make sure that i could dedicate my life to you without fear of the past, without my father intervening. you deserve the best that i can give you, and now i am finally ready to wholly lavish you with my love and affection for the rest of our lives together. so…will you please allow me the honor of— hmph?!”

you cut off his speech with a kiss, he’s so cute. he hasn’t changed his habit of rambling when he’s nervous, and you hope he never does. he’s smiling, crying and leaning into your touch, clinging onto you like a life-raft amidst stormy seas, and he never wants to let you go.

after that, you get married pretty quickly. it’s a small and very intimate wedding, it doesn’t matter to him if it’s a traditional western one, a japanese one, or one that’s from your culture, hell— even a courthouse wedding is fair game. as long as you’re marrying him he’s fine with it.

likewise, he’s not too picky on where to choose to settle down together. he’s happiest anywhere besides you, but for convenience sake it’s probably easiest to live in his familial home or yours. no matter where you live, one thing remains the same. he retires from the military of course, he’s not leaving you alone and widowed if he can do anything about it.

now i can see him either picking up another job as a civilian or becoming a househusband while you work. once again, he doesn’t mind it either way, (he has all he could ask for in life, so he certainly doesn’t mind going along with your whims as long as you two talk it out first.)

the latter option is more interesting (maybe i just have a thing for strong househusbands) he’d be an exceptional househusband.

he keeps your home neat and tidy, dinner is ready as soon as you step foot through the door, and he’s always there to greet you home with a smile on his face.

it’s— very different from what he’s used to, but it’s way more fulfilling than being behind the barrel of a gun. knowing that you’re well taken care of, and he’s the one making sure that you’re happy and healthy, oh he simply can’t get enough of it.

his days are now spent in domestic and marital bliss, nice and warm and loved, a complete 180 from his life on deployment. he’ll never go back to the military after experiencing such idyllic bliss, not ever in a million years.

how could he ever give up his days of taking care of you? of cozy naps with you, squished together on a recliner in your living room, napping the afternoon away as your beloved cat squeezes itself between you.

nothing in the world is worth more than seeing the amazed and adoring smile on your face when he cooks your favorite food to perfection. nothing at all.

he’s finally gotten the life he’s always dreamed of. dreams that were once so far away, just beyond reach, now a reality. together you made them real, and nothing and no one will ever take that away from him. ever.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Eccentricities

Yandere!Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, DDDNE, Yandere themes, mental manipulation, obsessive behavior, allusions to violence, blackmail, angst, masturbation, Tyler Stone is also a warning lmao

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Yeah, after a million years, it is me! I'm sorry it's been so slow to update, y'all; things have been... *A lot*. Seems like every time I get a one-up something else happens, like my dad being in and out of the hospital for example.... As I stated in my previous post, this story won't be continuing for much longer!

Part 3

Taglist: @vineberries9 @irmiki @autismsupermusicalassassin @obi-mom-kenobi @rin-matsuoka345-blog @loosecan @6thhokageswife @selarus @heyohalie @sapphire-and-ruby @night-spectrum @famouscattale @thespaceinbetweennothing @lazy-idate @toshimoshiko @saharadesertaj @flaps200 @amelialysm @fried-milkfish @zaunsin @darksidescorner @renareyouhere @vide0-vamp @reverieblondie @bunnibitez @kaqua @peterbparkersburger @tojishugetiddies @aisyakirmann @itslariette0 @xxeclipze @oharasfilipinawife @amber-content @ixanne2006 @miguels-aranita @scaleniusrm @stopxplease @blueapplesiren @ruexvn @jadeloverxd @theitchbbbb @realifezompire

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Pt. 4

You had gotten so used to the quiet and privacy of Miguel's mansion that you weren't entirely sure how to handle when the infamous Tyler Stone dropped by for a visit. You certainly didn't enjoy the energy the man put off, nor the looks he would send your way as you "entertained" him until Miguel arrived home; having sent word to Lyla that he arrived.

You noticed that even Lyla seemed uncomfortable with Tyler's presence, her holographic avatar was actually fidgeting when you looked at her. Whatever went on between Miguel and Tyler must not have been very good, judging by how perturbed Lyla was with the older man.

"So... You're the little mouse that my boy Mike has hired, eh?" Tyler grinned, swirling the wine in his glass around as he watched you wipe down and clean the bar. You were well aware of his eyes tracing the entire shape of your ass as you kept your back turned to him.

Yes, having him leer at you wasn't enjoyable... But you preferred it if he looked at your ass instead of your chest or face. Something about that man's gaze made you very uncomfortable; it wasn't at all like with Miguel. You felt safe with him... Even if sometimes he came home from work with the energy of a man ready to catch a criminal charge. You had chalked it all up to the stress of running Alchemax; and now, having his former boss just show up out of the blue while he was gone...

How the hell did Tyler Stone even get in? You assumed only you and Miguel had the passkey to get in. So, how--

Tyler grinned once again, tapping the rim of his glass with one of the gaudy rings on his fingers, catching your attention once again. "Well, sweet-cheeks?"

You grit your teeth and turn, giving him your best sweet smile, "Ah! Right, yes, sir. I'm Miguel's housekeeper."

"And a damn fine bartender..." Tyler hummed, downing the rest of his wine in one swift gulp, licking his lips of the excess as he eyes you up and down once again. "In fact, I'm thinkin' about snatching you out from under my boy... What do you say? Your job will come with all the perks I'm sure Mike holds from ya... A nice fat check..."

His hands constantly groping you...

Your shoulders stiffened, his offer making your blood curdle; "I--"

"She's off-limits, Stone." Miguel's deep voice rang out from the threshold.

You sighed with relief, looking over at him, holding back a shocked gasp. Miguel looked... Disheveled. His face was sweaty, chocolate locks stringing around his forehead, droplets of sweat rolling down his sculpted cheeks.

He straightened his posture as he stalked towards the bar, casting you a soft look before focusing his attention squarely on Tyler, the look in his eyes from behind his red lenses just exuded one word: murder. You almost swore Miguel was about to reach out to snap his neck, until Tyler clasped Miguel's larger hand in his, shaking it with a laugh.

"Ah, don't be so serious, Mike." Tyler laughed like Miguel wasn't currently staring daggers through his skull. "I was just proposing a business deal with your lovely little maid, here!"

"You wouldn't be trying to poach my own employee from me, would you, Stone?" Miguel asked, his voice relaxing to a more soft pitch; his body language still tense but not so aggressive. You could tell there was some definite bad blood between the two men.

Your fingers fiddled nervously with each other at the obviously thick tension in the air, "Miguel..."

"Ah, don't worry, querida." Miguel assured you with a smile, his gaze softening once it landed on you. "Tyler and I need to have a private discussion. Go ahead and take the rest of the day off..."

You nod, swallowing hard. Something was off, but you weren't willing to risk pissing Miguel off in any way, despite how gentle he seemed with you, even in the face of the former CEO of Alchemax. You quickly placed your cleaning supplies in the cabinet and scurried out of the room, closing the doors behind you.

Tyler didn't fail to notice how Miguel tracked your movements from the corners of his eyes as you left, and a shark-like smirk made his lips quirk dangerously. "Oh, now I see why you're not so keen to let me take her from you."

Miguel scowled at the older man, "Why the hell are you here, Stone? Don't bullshit me."

Tyler pressed his hand over his own heart, feigning innocence. "Why, Mike! I would never bullshit you, my boy... Wouldn't dream of it, in fact."

Miguel glowered, his temper already short from dealing with a troublesome Kraven variant that wrought havoc in another universe, plus an "incident" in one of the labs at Alchemax. Tyler's sudden manifestation was testing his patience.

Oh, he had so looked forward to coming home, having a nightly drink with you... maybe work some aggression off. Maybe he could have convinced you to help...

But now, that little fantasy faded in the light that was his sperm donor's annoying fucking mile-long smile. That stupid fucking face that reminded him so much of his own, sometimes he couldn't stand to look in the mirror.

"Don't play coy. Tell me why you're here."

Tyler raised his thick brows, his forehead creasing from the slight wrinkles, there. "Mike--"

"Miguel." The tall man hissed.

"Mike." Tyler corrected, pouring himself another glass of wine. "I've heard you've been a little distracted, lately. A little... scatter-brained. So unlike you. I came to see what was bothering my boy in his personal time--"

"I'm not your fucking child, cabrón." Miguel snarled, breaching Tyler's personal space and standing almost nose-to-nose, "Now stop. Fucking. Pontificating."

He sighed deeply, frowning softly at Miguel's "mood". Oh, how he hated when he got like this. Too uppity for his own good, too ambitious. And after what happened between them... rather dangerous.

Oh, if he only knew how dangerous he was...

"Fine. I checked your financials and saw you had arranged a payroll to a rather cute houseworker." Tyler peered at Miguel almost boredly over the rim of his glass. "As well as some purchases for very small cameras, a number of which happen to be waterproof..."

Miguel felt the hair bristle on the back of his neck. Tyler had.... He had implanted a bypass-shunt program into his personal files? Without Lyla picking up on it? How the fuck did he manage that?

He must have hired someone to do it. He had to have hired someone to do it!

His fists clenched and his jaw tightened microscopically; but Tyler seemed to pick up on it anyway as he casually sipped his wine.

"Oh yes, I've been keeping an eye on you. Can't let my most promising progeny be left to his own devices for very long, now can I?"

"You--"

"How often do you spy on the girl, hm? I imagine watching her undress is rather titillating." He smirked, "She has a very nice body... Almost wasted just being looked at..."

Miguel grabbed Tyler by the collar of his 10,000-credit suit, bunching his fists and lifting him off the stool, sending some of the wine splashing from the glass and onto the bar top; snarling Miguel spits at him. "You stay the fuck away from her, you hear me, Tyler? If you so much as lay a pinky on her, I will--"

Tyler laughed, completely unfazed by Miguel's aggression. "Careful, now, Mike... Wouldn't want some evidence of your little Rapture addiction slipping out and making its way to your pretty little doll, no?"

Miguel snorted, his nostrils flaring as his face heated up. He dropped Tyler back in the stool, turning to stomp away, his fists balled and chest heaving to control his rage, just barely controlling himself enough to avoid burying his talons in the meat of his palms.

Tyler sighed, downing some more of his glass, "We wouldn't want the public finding out that the great Miguel O'Hara was a junkie, now do we?"

His head was abuzz; adrenaline pumping so hard through his veins, he could feel that primal urge to just reach out and snap Tyler's neck. Hiding or disposing of the body would be easy enough, concealing any other evidence would also be a snap. Unfortunately, if anybody knew he was coming over to Miguel's...

Fuck. Tyler also probably had some kind of implant to contact emergency services in the event his heart stops or he's severely injured. Then, Miguel would obvious be a shoe-in for a brand new jumpsuit; not one of his own design.

The multiverse would suffer, another Spider-Man demonized by the public for murdering a man who outwardly appeared somewhat decent...

Then, it felt like a tension wire snapped; realization dawned on Miguel as clear as a sunny summer day.

Tyler was baiting him. He wanted him to snap.

He wouldn't give in to his cheap taunts.

Miguel forced his body to relax, reaching up to slick back a stray strand of hair, and turns to give Tyler a cool smile, "Well... if that were to happen... I would have to tell them where the Rapture came from. How you used it to control me, manipulate me, threaten to kill me."

Miguel felt sick glee at how Tyler's smile instantly fell, and the Hispanic man tipped his head to the side, his smile eerily calm.

"Oh... You thought I didn't have evidence of that? Now, imagine how the public will react when news of me being your illegitimate son--the result of a disgusting affair--gets out?"

"You--you wouldn't." Tyler spat, throwing the wineglass to the ground and shattering it, the red liquid running out to pool around it, soaking into the grout in-between the tiles like a thin, watery pool of blood.

"Your mother would be--"

"I don't give a fuck what Connie deals with. She's had her dose of karma a long time coming... and it's honestly only fitting that I be the one to deliver it." Miguel sneered, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Tyler swallowed, glaring up at his own flesh and blood like it was Hercules fighting the lion. Only... it was up to anyone's guess who would emerge the victor of this bout.

But... He knew that Miguel was much larger, much stronger, faster--younger...

It was an uphill battle and he currently had a bullet wound to his knee.

So, Tyler Stone relented in the seething rage that was Miguel O'Hara. He adjusted his coat from where Miguel has mussed it before, wiping up some of the wine on the counter with his handkerchief before tossing it to the floor indignantly.

"Very well, Mike... I'll leave your little toy alone. But... do be careful enough to take care of your toys in the future. Don't want to forget what happened to your last girlfriend..."

That slight sting didn't hurt as much as he'd hoped, Miguel merely jerking his head to the side, his lip curled in an irritated snarl. "Get out of my house."

As the smaller man began to walk briskly out, he gave Miguel a smirk over his shoulder; "Y'know, my boy... some stuff really is genetic. You don't realize just how much like me you really are."

Miguel scoffed, his body finally relaxing as he turned to clean another one of Tyler Stone's messes, wiping the bar you meticulously cleaned for him clean, tossing the piece of cloth into the nearby trash bin, and turning on the little disc-shaped cleaning bot to clean up the shattered glass and suck up the wine.

"Lyla." Miguel sighed as he took off his sunglasses, his hand shaking as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, boss man." She greeted hesitantly. "Whaddya need?"

"Find out how Tyler got into the system. How he got past you. I'm going to upgrade your code later with stronger firewalls, too." He said, staring at her flickering avatar.

"Yeah, believe me... I don't like him getting past me. It feels... gross. Violating." She shuddered.

Despite changing her programming to see the logic in his words by default, Miguel was emotionally attached to Lyla. For a long time, she was his only true friend. She was there for him after the Rapture incident...

And to now watch as Tyler had essentially brute-forced his own program onto Lyla felt akin to some form of assault on her; one of his greatest creations to date.

But... the shreds of his conscience began to thread together as he remembered you. The cameras, the stalking, having Lyla be hypocritical and spying on your personal business...

"You... You know everything I do is to keep her safe--both of you safe, right, Lyla?" He asked softly, staring down at the little robot as it chirped as its cleaning cycle was finished, returning to its charging dock.

"Well, yeah.... I saw the crime reports... saw how that guy probably would have killed her... and... well." She shoved her hands in her pockets and looked up at him, a brow quirking upwards. "I mean... the cameras are just as good for safety, right? Like how people put baby monitors in their kid's room, or to spy on the nanny. Keeps her from getting hurt even where she should be safe..."

Miguel smiled warmly at her. Yeah... she was programmed to see his logic, but... hearing it made him feel much better.

"Thank you, Lyla. Let me know if anything goes wrong with her personal stuff, alright? I want to make sure Tyler isn't spying on her, too." He turned to begin leaving the room, "I'm going to work this adrenaline off. Make sure my Pequeña Ave is relaxing like I told her to, hm? When you're not busy sorting through the bullshit Tyler pulled, that is."

"Can do, boss!" Lyla chirped happily, giving him a little salute. "Have fun gettin' those reps in!"

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You couldn't find Miguel in his office, the lounge, his bedroom, the bar, at the pool... the only other place you could think of was his small gym.

He didn't seem to have had a good day at work, and Tyler's presence only seemed to worsen it when he came home. You wondered what exactly happened between them to make their relationship so hostile in the first place...

But, you shoved that curiosity to the side. You decided to try and give Miguel a little pick-me-up. You remembered the story he told you of he and his little brother sneaking off to enjoy their snack of mango and chili salt.

You cut the mango in half, pulled the large seed pod out of the middle, and halfway sliced the halves into little cubes; and finally sprinkled on the chili salt. Afterwards, you placed the snack on a tray with a nice, ice-cold bottle of his favorite sports drink. If he was in the gym, he would definitely need to replenish some electrolytes after working out.

As you walked down the hall, you noticed Lyla's avatar following you. "Hey, Mamacita." She said. "I'd steer clear of the boss. Mr Stone-head reeeeeeeally made him mad."

You wiggled the tray a bit and gave her a smile, "That's why I'm bringing him this, Lyla. Snacks do wonders for mood improvement!"

She tilted her head, taking a moment to respond. "Oh. Right. Good idea, actually..."

You noticed her seemingly distracted nature today, which was almost unheard of for the AI. "You ok?"

"Yeah, going through my files before Miguel puts in a new update for me tonight. Gonna get me a niiiiice makeover, program-wise." She grinned, wiggling her eyebrows at you. "I'll be pretty indisposed however; one, from going through my millions of lines of code, and two; he's gotta put me out while he works on me."

You chuckled, "Ah, well I'll leave you to that, then. Hope the update goes well."

Lyla gives you a snarky salute before her avatar disappears as you near the gym. As you reached the arching threshold--no door, you noticed some time ago; he apparently liked a bit of an open floor plan when it came to that--you could hear the sounds of him grunting, huffing, and swearing. It sounded like he was working hard.

You round the bend and open your mouth to announce yourself--until you see why Miguel was really making those sounds.

His back was to you, shirt abandoned on the floor by the dumbbells. He sat in his boxers, pants discarded the same way his shirt had been in favor of working out almost entirely naked.

Or, well.... maybe it started with him working out--until he went to the weight bench and it devolved into something else entirely.

The mirrors lining the opposite wall gave you a perfect view of him despite him sitting with his back to you. His boxers were shoved hastily down to his thick thighs, leaning on one hand as his other one slowly stroked up and down his rigid, leaking cock. Miguel's head was tipped back, his eyes closed in frustrated pleasure, sweat making his body shine as though he had almost appeared oiled-up. His usually well-kept hair was messy, tacking to his forehead and scalp with thick layers of sweat.

The sight immediately sent a throb down to your core; heat roiling and pooling low in your belly and had you biting your lip in equal parts mortification, shame, and arousal.

He grunted, grinding his teeth as he tipped his head down again. You quietly jumped back out of sight as he looked down and opened his eyes, growling as his hand circled the head of his dick before twisting and stroking back down.

"Fuuuuuuck." You heard him sigh. "That's it, bebita... fuck, I'm close."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you imagined who he could possibly be picturing in his mind's eye; what dream woman he probably had at his feet, between his legs, worshipping the thick shaft he stroked in his hand

You pinched your thighs together, feeling your arousal already begin to soak through your panties, threatening to breach the fabric of your pants. Your face heated up, flushing with color as the sounds of him pleasuring himself assaulted your ears in the all-too quiet house. Hell, it felt like he was being so loud, his sounds of self-pleasure drowned out the blood rushing in your ears.

You couldn't contain your curiosity, and peek around the corner again. Miguel had his eyes closed again, a blissful crease prominent on his brow as he bucked his hips in time with his hand.

You watched as he snagged his plush bottom lip between his teeth, his face twitching as his hand jerked faster, the thick precum dripping down his cock and coating his fingers, assisting in the glide as he fucked his own hand, his release imminent.

You squeezed your legs together even tighter, taking care not to jostle the tray in your hands and not make any noise that would give you away.

This was... wrong. You should turn around, and leave your treat to him in the kitchen for him to find on his own. You should...

You swallowed the gasp that wanted to come from you as he muttered something to himself, something you couldn't quite make out--before the thick ropes of his cum spurted from the tip of his cock.

Continuing to stroke and pull, to lengthen his orgasm as long as possible; to ride the high further, Miguel rolled his head back with a gutteral moan, his cum splattering on the floor mats below him, his legs trembling.

As he began to even his breathing out, you turned and as quickly and quietly as possibly rushed back down the hall to avoid being caught--and maybe attend to the pressing matter that stained your panties.

Miguel however--

Miguel knew you were there. He could smell your perfume as you made your way down the hall, hear your soft footsteps and conversation with Lyla.

He grinned as he looked into the mirror, his eye tracking where you had once been peeping in on him. He could smell you the moment you got wet; hear the way your heart thudded in your chest as you spied on him.

He had been edging himself; not intentionally of course, but with how frustrated and angry he was, Miguel had been dancing on the edge of a climax for most of the time. Until he caught your scent, the smell of your wet little cunt filling his senses and making his mind buzz with his budding orgasm before driving him over that peak.

He wondered what you thought of the sight. You were aroused, certainly. You very much liked what you saw. He almost hoped you would walk in, and offer your own soft, sweet little hands to stroke him to relief.

But ah, you were a polite girl. Scurrying away like a frightened little mouse before getting caught and possibly pissing him off.

Miguel heaved a heavy sigh as he grabbed his sweat rag from beside him, wiping at the mess he made of himself. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but smile.

Maybe getting into your head was going to be easier than he anticipated.

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Part 5: I have no idea Imma be real with y'all

[late-to-the-party-81]

If everything changes, will it stay the same?

AN: Here’s a little thing for @stuckygeekevents bingo, Square L3 - Howling Commandos. It’s a bit angsty, but I hope you enjoy it.

Beta'd by @zenaidamacrouras1

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and mood board by me.

Join my tag list here

Master list

Summary: After Steve’s one-man assault at Azzano, Bucky takes time during the walk back to allied territory to try and make sense of, well, everything. 

Relationship: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

WC: 2k

CW: Trauma, Bucky Barnes has PTSD, Confused Bucky, Worried Bucky, The Howling Commandos are good bros, The Howling Commandos know what’s up, slightly insecure Steve, bittersweet ending (cos we know what happens next), smoking.

All he had to do was put one foot in front of the other. Easy. Something he’d been able to do since he was 11 months old apparently, but, at this moment, it felt so goddamn hard! However, there was no way on God’s green earth that James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was going to ask for help. He’d walked into this war on his own two feet and he’d walk out of it too, torture or no torture.

Sergeant James Barnes. 32557038.

Rifle in hand, he scanned the group of men a few feet ahead of him, easily picking out the newly gigantic form that was Steve. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. What had those military pricks actually done to him? 

What had been done to him?

A hand clapped down on his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts, and Bucky turned to look up into the grinning face of Dum-Dum. There’s nothing like serving in the same regiment with someone else to speed up the friend-making process. Especially when you end up as POW’s together.

32557038.

“So that’s little Stevie, huh? You told me that you hadn’t had any head injuries prior to joining up.” Dum-Dum’s tone was light and teasing and Bucky couldn’t help but flush.

“Ah, fuck off. He was when I left. Not my fault some wacko military scientist pumped him full of super-steroids and turned him into Charles-fucking-Atlas.”

Dum-Dum snorted. “Guess it’s gonna take you some getting used to, though?”

Bucky shrugged, trying to give off an air of nonchalance. “Won’t make any difference to me. As long as what they did didn’t give him any brain damage, he’ll still be the same old Stevie underneath.”

Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own.

“Hate to break it to you, sport, but the way he came charging into that hell-hole? Well doesn’t seem like a man in full charge of his faculties to me.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to snort. “That? That wasn’t nothin’ new. That was classic Rogers - running in where angel’s fear to tread. The only difference now is that he’s apparently strong enough to not get his ass kicked from here to Sunday.”

“Well,” Dum-Dum conceded, “it must be a weight off your mind, an’ all. Gonna go check on some of the others, Barnes. Don’t push yourself too hard. Though suppose you do, little Stevie could always carry you.” His expression split into a shit-eating grin at the jibe and he ducked away before Bucky could gather himself to punch the guy in the arm.

Bucky’s lips twisted up wryly and he shook his head. Fuckin’ Duggan. Guy was a shit-stirrer of the highest magnitude, which coming from him was saying something. He had a point though, about not pushing himself too hard. To be honest, he wasn’t actually sure how he was still walking, given everything. To top it off, his brain still felt as though it had been chopped up and poured back into his head. 

32557038.

He tried to remember what had been being done to him, but it was a hazy blur of sleep deprivation and pain. He thought there had been needles. And a creepy little man with a round face and round glasses talking about hopefully ‘this one’ would survive the procedure.

Sergeant James Barnes.

He plodded on, keeping an eye on Steve as he walked ahead, but also trying to keep that gaze above the waist. The guy was wearing tights, for Christ’s sake and now he actually had an ass on him. It hadn’t been as bad when Steve had still had a pair of fatigues on over the top, but he’d loaned those out to one of the other survivors who’d had the misfortune to fall in a puddle. The pair of them definitely needed to have a talk, as soon as they got a semblance of privacy, but how Bucky was supposed to concentrate when all of that was gonna be standing in front of him, he had no idea.

“Sarge!”

Bucky whipped his head round at the sound of the familiar voice and tried not to groan. Morita jogged up to him, a grin on his bruised and dirtied face. The guy was great, even if he was sometimes a little too much.

“What is it, Morita?”

“That guy,” he jerked his head in Steve’s direction, “is really your… umm… friend?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a small smile. “He’s my friend. Grew up like brothers, I suppose you could say. Why?”

“Because he’s Captain-freaking-America.” Morita’s voice had dropped into a theatrical hiss. Bucky had often thought the guy could easily get a job on stage, once they all got out of here, of course. “And,” he continued, a small wheedling tone creeping in, “I wondered if you could ask him to autograph something for me to send home. My girl would be over the moon if I could tell her I knew him.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Jim. I don’t know if he does stuff like that. It’s not like we’ve had the opportunity to really talk yet, what with escaping and all.”

Not without you!

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, slightly chagrined. “Well, if you get the chance to ask. But no rush, or anything. How’re you holding up, anyway?”

“Alright, I suppose. A little achy and a lot tired, but I’m alive, so that’s the main thing, right?”

Morita reached out and squeezed Bucky’s forearm. “That it is, Sarge.”

Sergeant James Barnes.

They walked together for some time in companionable silence, and were eventually joined by Jones, who was carrying three cigarettes he’d managed to obtain from somewhere, and passed them both one each. Bucky shouldered his rifle and lit his, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes as the nicotine hit him. “Damn that’s good. Thanks, Gabe.”

“No problem, Barnes. I think we all deserved one. Probably deserve a boat load if truth be told.”

“Damn straight, “ Morita chimed in, before blowing a plume of smoke into the air.

“You spoken to your buddy yet?” Gabe enquired.

“Umm, not really. I’m still a bit in shock, to be honest. Asked him for some space, and as loads of others were, are, buzzing round him like flies round shit, it wasn’t too hard to get away for a bit.”

Morita elbowed him. “He keeps looking over his shoulder at you, Sarge. Think he’s making sure you haven’t disappeared. Looking a bit like a lost puppy when he’s doin’ it too. I think you should go and walk by him for a bit.” Bucky thought Morita should just shut up…

“Yeah, Barnes. He did become a one-man army to save you. Least you could do is say thanks.” Gabe’s bright grin split his face as decided to join in with the ganging up. Fucker.

“It wasn’t just to save me guys. It was to save all of us. That’s Stevie through and through - always championing the underdog and doing what’s right, regardless of the rules. He hates bullies.”

“If you gotta tell yourself that, then you do so, but we all know it was ‘cause you was in danger that put a rocket up his ass. So with all due respect, Sergeant Barnes, go talk to your boy because he’s quickly becoming the most pathetic white man I’ve ever seen. And considering I shared a cell with Dernier, that’s saying somethin’.

Bucky took one last drag on his cigarette. “You two should go fuck yourselves, you know that?” He flicked the butt into the bushes as his two comrades just grinned at him. Then, with an eye roll, he stalked forward, catching up to where Steve was leading the rag-tag group of men back to the allied encampment. 

Steve’s smile as he realised it was Bucky coming towards him was so warm, Bucky felt as though another sun had risen into the sky. He barely noticed the others walking with them melting back into the main group of men.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said shyly.

“Hey, yourself.” Bucky felt just as awkward as Steve looked. During the rescue itself, Bucky had thought that what he’d been seeing was a drug induced fever-dream, but in the cold light of day, with his adrenaline levels returning to normal he could really take in all of the changes that had been wrought upon Steve. 

I thought you were smaller.

However, he wasn’t looking for those changes. No, he was trying to see beyond them to find the tell-tale signs of his Stevie. 

There was that familiar crooked nose, no weird science could apparently fix that. And Steve’s cow-lick - that lock of straw blonde hair that just wouldn’t stay in place, no matter how much of Bucky’s pomade Steve had stolen. However, the most important thing was Steve’s eyes. Deep blue with flecks of green, a colour he wanted to drown. His hand itched to take hold of Steve’s and interlace their fingers, but they couldn’t. Not now. As much as some of the others may suspect and tease him, there were some things that were definitely private. And that was assuming that Steve still wanted to hold his hand.

“You doing okay? You’re not too tired are you?” There was concern in Steve’s voice and it was enough to make Bucky laugh through the awkwardness of the situation.

“That used to be my line,” he joked. “But somehow, you’re now the motherhen. All two hun’red and sommin’ pounds of you. You better not get into any fights now, ‘cause there’s no way I’m gonna be able to carry your fat ass home.”

Steve went beet red - a look that was also familiar. “You think my ass is fat?” he whispered, aghast.

Bucky smirked. “ Well it sure ain’t skinny anymore, that’s for sure.” He received a glare and a set of pursed lips in response. “But, yeah. I’m okay. All the better for seeing you, pal, even if you won’t fit under my arm any more and you could probably bench press me.”

They walked next to each other, silence falling between them and Bucky was at a loss of what else to say. What were you supposed to say when the person who’s not only the centre of your world but who’s also supposed to be safely across on the other side of it, is actually standing by your side, having rescued you with his dramatically altered body. Nothing inside any of the fantastic stories Bucky had read in his youth had prepared him for such a mind-bending situation. “How are you doing?” was the only thing he could say.

“Buck…” Steve tried to speak, but his voice almost immediately cracked and he had to suck in a few deep breaths. “I was so scared,” he continued in a hushed tone. “So scared that you wouldn’t be there, or that you’d be…” He tailed off. He didn’t need to say it. Bucky was certain if Steve had been even fifteen minutes later there wouldn’t have been anything of him to save. He couldn’t comfort Steve the way he wanted, couldn’t hold him and pull Steve’s head into his own neck and let the pair of them cry the way they wanted, but he could lean a little bit to the side and let the back of his hand brush against the back of Steve’s. 

For a heartbeat their pinky fingers hooked together before falling away from each other again. However, that gesture was enough to both reassure Bucky and get his heart racing, just a little, before a sense of foreboding settled upon him again

“Everything’s changed, Steve,” Bucky mumbled, downcast. “And think you’re the least of those changes. I didn’t know it was going to be like this. I suppose everyone thinks they know, but nothing can prepare you. Not really. It’s brutal, in a way you can’t imagine, Stevie.”

32557038.

Bucky bit back a sob, and opened his eyes wide, willing the wetness gathering there to dry out. He wasn’t going to fall apart, especially not when he had Steve by his side, something he’d resigned himself to never having again.

The clap on his shoulder from Steve was nothing like the one from Duggan earlier. He could feel the warmth of Steve’s hand through his ragged top, his lean, artist fingers gripping him with surety.

“It’ll be alright, Buck. I got you out, and I’m right here with you. Til the end of the line.”

And as they continued to walk toward safety, Bucky just had to believe that was true.

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds,

@crayongirl-linz, @mightstill, @nicoline1998enilocin, @king814318,

@scram1326, @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989,

@kombatfather1796

[formosusiniquis]

sandra bullock eat your heart out

inspired by this post and the tags by @stevieharringtonwifeguy

Without putting too fine a point on it, Eddie wasn't exactly the type to watch beauty pageants. They didn’t really think about them, didn’t really care about them, didn’t really realize they were even still a thing outside of sitcom plotlines from the 90s about women’s self image. What Eddie was was extremely online. And when Twitter went fucking batshit because a plus sized transwoman had the nerve to be talented enough to make it to the Miss America competition; they figured they should support the home team -- or whatever shit Wayne says when the wrong horse boys makes it to the big football game.

So sure, they expected her to be pretty. It is in the name. Imagined she’d be good looking in that classic, sort of boring way. A blonde with a nice smile, a fucking button nose. A non-threatening, homegrown sort of beauty. It being the internet complaining, they kinda also figured plus size meant a size 2 dress and a C cup. 

They couldn't in their wildest dreams picture the woman who would appear on their TV, when they finally figured out where they could even watch the damn thing. Statuesque with a squared jaw and swimmers shoulders, moles dot her face and neck, it looks like her nose has been broken before. Plush thighs and a biteable ass fill out a royal blue evening gown, when she smiles it’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

Alone in their apartment, Eddie has no one to scream the thoughts ricocheting in their brain at. It leaves them with nowhere to turn but the place that got them here to begin with.

The Eddie Munson ✔ @CorrodedEddie

I'm used to people having bad taste but at this point I'm wondering if we're even watching the same thing

The Eddie Munson ✔ @CorrodedEddie

Miss Indiana is the most beautiful woman I've ever seenThe Eddie Munson ✔ @CorrodedEddie

How do I do the added context thing, i need to make a note on some posts. Reader’s noted: User is actually a sad loser who’s cockroach wifed themselves and can’t appreciate what’s in front of them

Read the rest on AO3 cause this baby has formatting

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Okay so, I know everyone's caught up in the whole dmc netflix fiasco right now and I get it but there's people on twitter doing history revision on dmc 2 and I just have to nip it in the ass right now.

No. Devil may cry 2 is not a good game.

I know it has Lucia in it, I love her too and yes she and her story is the one of the only good things about the game, yes I know. But that alone doesn't make a good game. And I know for a fact the people who are claiming so have never actually played it because there is scientifically no way. I have been in this fandom and have loved this series probably longer than probably 95% of dmc tumblr, since 2005. I'm a very Oldhead. I think I'm qualified to talk about this as someone who has grown up and seen this series grow for the better and how dmc 2.... 😮‍💨

People meme about the guns, but when actually the guns are the very tip of the iceberg of a very very very shitty overall issue;

Melee combat in this game is one of if not the worst melee combat feelings in any video game I have ever played. Ever. That with the on lock system also being the worst lock on mechanic in any video game. Ever. I want you to imagine the N64 lock on, okay? But drown and murder and burn it and make it even more barely functional and barely usable (BUT YOUR FORCED TO USE IT BECAUSE ITS AUTOMATIC, WHICH MAKES TRYING TO DO CERTAIN PUZZLES SO MORE INFURIATING THAN IT HAS TO 🤡) Oh and enemies just..... never stop respawning sometimes or it feels like they never do and you have to fight them with the most weakass sword hits than most the time don't even hit known to man or keep hitting square and don't blame you for hitting square!

This game also has the worst bosses in any video game I've played - and I mean this very literally I would rather eat glass than fight any of these bosses that take 20 fucking minutes to kill. Do you know how many Vergil fights that is? Actual fights where I could be having actual fun with fun and fair challenge?

Next point:

I'm not even going to talk about him if you've actually played the game and somehow managed to get this far you know exactly the issue. No hyperbole, worst boss in video games. Ever. I'm being actually serious.

Devil may cry 2 is one of the worst functioning(?) games there is, I know with other famous "bad games" arguments can be made and such - this is not one of them, everything people say about is true it is that bad. However, thankfully, the one saving grace of it turning out the way it did...

We got devil may cry 3 and what it introduced into the franchise in response 🤷🏻‍♂️