#anyway this post is about sitting with no shirt on in the dark . my brain says it’s spikecore | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

transbunnyboi · 9 months ago

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Okokokokok I have to detail this because its still fresh in my brain and I don't wanna forget it so !!!! ALSO This is gonna be a long post sooo!!! So what happened was, we were talking about automatic pianos and he said had one and that he could show it to me because he had it in his apartment. So we go and THIS DUDE ACTUALLY HAS ONE I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST A PLOY TO GET ME TO HIS PLACE BUT NO. So he shows it to me and we talk about that and other stuff for a while and he asks if I wanna stay over for a bit and watch something with him so I agree and we get on the couch and I'm a feral idiot and I asked "Oh so is this when you pretend to yawn so you can pull me in for a kiss?" and we. Ended up making out on his couch without even turning the TV on >//////<

He just tastes soooo so so so good aaaaa I'm blushing just thinking about him!!!! You guys already know how I am and how feral I've been recently so I actually was very uhmmmmm rough with him kinda slightly a little bit (I pushed him down and got on top of him while kissing him and he bit my lip and it bled anddhfgsgdfjhgf >/////< !!!!!) and he kept calling me a pretty boy and oughhhhhhh (btw he really likes the colour brown, everything in there was like being at a really old dude's place. OKAY. I will say this in the middle of describing sex. His place is kinda exactly how someone would expect a professor's house to be. Like. It's like looking up dark acidemia on Pinterest and selecting the first image to be your entire house 😭 he also has old Halloween decorations still up 😭 this dude) ANYWAYS So I, a WHORE, started begging him to fuck me and I ended up with my pants and underwear at my ankles and him on his knees without his shirt and he… wasn't very good at oral but that's alright because his tongue felt really really good inside of me and he kept saying I tasted good sdfhgjsdgjfhd, and when his jaw got tired he leaned his head against my thigh and started stretching my boycunt with his fingers and then after a bit of that he went back to sucking my tdick. And okay. Okay. This is the part I. omfg.

He pulled back again and looked up at me and there was blood all over his lips and I guess it turns out that he ?? accidentally cut me or scraped against me too hard or something with his nails (his fingers are so big) or something but I didn't feel it at all and so I got kinda embarrassed and I started apologising and this bitch goes "It's okay, I like the taste of blood." AND WENT BACK IN AND OH MY GODDD Eventually he stands up and I'm practically frothing at the mouth because I can see how hard he is in his pants and I'm praying that he'll fuck me because my boycunt is literally stretched and my thighs are spread open for him but he ends up sitting next to me and pulling me onto his lap (having me face away), and this bastard moved my hair slightly and started biting me and. I haven't mentioned the fact that I get VERY limp with love bites, my entire body gets really really weak because my neck is extremely sensitive and dhsgdjfhgdhfg

And he starts asking me random fucking questions and I can't even respond because of the fact that I can fucking hear him biting and sucking on my neck and I'm WHIMPERING and squirming so fucking much and he fucking laughs slightly and makes fun of me for not being able to talk and fucckhdfgjdhgsjhdgf After me begging for so fucking fucking long he finally fucking buried his fingers back into my boycunt and hsdfghgfhjdsgfh gOd it felt so good and he kept palming my poor tdick and I swear to god it made up for him not being great at giving head I swear it felt so fucking good. His fingers felt so so so good inside my wet boycunt and he kept asking me questions about stupid shit and I couldn't pay attention at all and it felt so so fucking good !!!!!!!

two of the things that stuck out to me were "Does it feel good, baby? You're soaking my hand so well right now." And (this one made me whine and buck my hips sooo so much oguhh), "You always talk so much. What happened, honey?" AND OUGHHH FUCK. I feel the need to emphasise that he's. Southern. That he has a heavy southern accent, and a low voice. When I say that he fucking growled that petname in my ear I mean it, he fucking growled it and went back to biting my neck oughhh fucccck.

My cunt felt so fucking good and he ended up making out with me again before making me cum. He literally made me feel so fucking good and ough my god.

I asked if he wanted me to reciprocate but he said he didn't need it and we kissed for a really long time afterward and talked. I'm still at his place right now. I feel. Weird??? Idk just pray that he has like. idk a really weird hobby or is an actual murderer or something because I???? Idk aaaaaaaaaaaaa

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mykuup · 1 year ago

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Remember me from Middle School ?

Summary : As you start your high school year, you meet one of your classmate : Eddie Munson. You don't understand why your biggest crush since primary school is here with you, as he's older than you. The thing is, for Eddie, you're a total stranger. Will he remember you ?

wc : 1,3k

Warning : mention of drug selling // angst and fluff // use of "y/n" // kisses

A/n : It's been a while since I haven't posted something here. the thing is that I want to write but nothing comes out of my brain that is fried bc of the heat where I'm living. Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this one ! Also, this is lightly proofread and english isn't my native language (if u read my previous posts u already know ahaha) so all the mistakes are my own. Feel free to let a comment if u liked the story ;) Love ya

Originaly posted on Ao3

You thought your first day of your last year would feel like a relief. You woke up early this morning with a wide smile on your face. Putting on your favorite outfit, you were ready to go to Hawkins High for the last year. Finally you were close to your biggest dream : leaving Hawkins. You needed to get out of there, you wanted to live something else in a big city. You broke up this summer with your ex so you would not have any link with anyone else than your best friend, Veronica.

But.

As your first French lesson starts, the door swings open and your heart misses a beat.

“S’rry I’m late.”

You and all the students turned their head to the voice. Dark hair floating around his face, a denim jacket over a black leather perfecto opened on a Hellfire club t-shirt. As you look at his dark brown eyes, you couldn’t be wrong.

Eddie Munson was walking his way to your classroom.

Everyone followed his walk with their eyes until he sat at a desk at the back of the room.

As the lesson begins, you couldn’t stop thinking about the man who sits a few desks behind you.

How could this be possible ?

You tried to glare a few times in his direction to picture him better. Last time you saw him was in middle school. His style and look were a complete turnover as he looks so adult and teen at the same time.

Darker also.

You remember a weird but sweet kid, always smiling and making the other laugh. Here, he looked mysterious and… angry ? Maybe it was just a stressful day for him as you see him biting his nails and his leg trembling. Looking back at his hands, you could notice the several obvious silver rings. He just looked like the former of a rock band or something. Maybe the hellfire t-shirt was a clue ?

You could hear the teacher asking every student to quickly introduce themselves and your turn came quicker than you expected. With a bit of apprehension, you also rise and try to speak as clearly as you could. But all you were thinking about at this moment was the reaction of the dark haired man behind.

Does he remember your name ?

You changed too so you wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t recognize you at first sight. As you sat back, you immediately turned to see Eddie’s reaction but you saw nothing.

No-thing.

He was still biting his nails but was now writing something on his notebook. He doesn’t even take a look around him. You were a bit shocked as you were kinda friends at the school music club…

You spent the rest of the hour trying to not think about him. As the bell rings for the end of the class, you see him rushing outside without looking back.

You needed a talk with your best friend. You find her at the end of the day.

“Veronica !” you blurted out, and your friend saw that you looked panicked.

“Looks like you saw a ghost or something.” she says calmly.

“You’re right ! Do you remember Eddie ?”

“Hum…” Veronica faints to think hard. “Yeah maybe…”

“Don’t laugh Veronica !” you were angry at this time. Your friend saw your face and tried to calm you down.

“Of course I remember ! How could I forget !”

“He’s in my French class.” you don’t even manage Veronica and the news felt like a bomb, even for her.

“How?” she remembers he’s two years older than you both.

“I don’t know !”

“Are you sure it’s him ??”

“Well, yeah, I’m pretty sure. Even if he looks like a real man now.”

“I want to know everything from the first second you saw him!”

And here you are, for the first day of your last year, telling to your best friend the story of you seeing Eddie Munson for the first time since something that felt like decades.

Senior year started a few months ago and you are still obsessed with Eddie Munson.

Veronica and you were hanging out a lot at the arcades or the mall to have some fresh air. This senior year wasn’t going to be easy for sure and you both were talking about a few uni you dreamed of going to after your graduation. You already know that your path will part away after this year but you promise to each other to stay in touch and to see each other at least once a month.

“So, how’s French class going?” Veronica asks with a grin.

“Not that bad, Mrs.Flora is very kind !”

“I wasn’t talking about your teacher y’know…”

You sigh.

“I told you there’s nothing more to add. I already said everything you needed to know.”

“I know, I know !” she replies, hand rising like redemption. “I just found it weird he didn’t say anything to you after class. I mean, he heard your name right ?!”

“I’m not even sure he was listening during the whole hour. And he ran outside at the second the bell rang. He was late somewhere else for sure… as always.”

“How so ?” inquire your friend as she raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t really know how to explain it but he’s always late for French class. And everytime it ends, he runs to God knows where. And he always looks stressed or something.”

“You should simply ask why.”

“I’m sorry what ?!”

“Every problem or question has its own solution or answer. It’s… Basic science.”

“It’s not science Veronica, it’s being human ! And no, I will not ask him what he’s doing. I’m not his mom.”

“Hum… you really don’t want to solve this mystery ?”

“Don’t start Veronica!”

You both laugh. Truth is you both love investigation stories or movies. And when you were younger, your parents could watch you playing cops or secret agents to solve some imaginary scenarios.

“We’re not kids anymore.” you add, a bit of sadness in your laugh.

“I know, but hey, I know you ! You’ve always had a thing for this guy. You know that I’m a pragmatic girl but -and I hate to say that- it’s obvious that the universe is sending you another chance.”

“I thought you were a pragmatic girl…” you tease.

You laugh again. But your friend didn’t know the whole story. You’ve never found courage to talk about this. To talk about how you’ve been rejected by Eddie during middle school. You remember what you wrote on that note that day. You remember that you gave this piece of paper to someone so he could give it to Eddie.

But maybe your friend was right. Maybe you could try to make something work out with Eddie ? You’re not sure why this guy was so much present in your brain. But anyway, you feel something for him, as you always did since you first met him.

You spend the next week trying to find out Eddie’s schedule.

During meal break, you heard about how dangerous the Hellfire Club was because of the freaks that were in it. You also find out that this wasn’t a music band but a Dungeons & Dragons thing. Whatever it was, you couldn’t see Eddie or his friends as freaks. Sure he was different since you knew him. But you were pretty sure he wasn’t all the things you heard about him.

Especially a drug dealer.

You only hear a few parts of a chat between three -not really reliable- students. You recognize one of them being in the same history class as you. And without thinking another second, you choose to follow him after class to see where he was going.

On your way to follow your classmate outside the school, you see a piece of paper hanging on a wall. Looking at it, you see a picture of a few students, all wearing the Hellfire Club Tshirt.

Between them, a bit on the left, you spot Eddie.

Every guy in the picture was smiling, obviously happy to be there at this time. Eddie was smiling too and you feel your heart missing a beat again. You felt weird. Something between angst and happiness. A bittersweet feeling that left a weird taste in your mouth. Thinking about the thing you never said to your friend Veronica made you remember this moment in primary school your wish to forget.

You shake your head.

“No time for this.” you say to yourself.

You have to find out the truth. You look at your classmate in the crowded corridor. When you find him a few feet in front of you, you keep following him.

Few minutes later, you find yourself walking in the closest forest to school. You could hear the footsteps from afar as you kept yourself low to not be seen. You stop to hide behind a tree. From your point of view, you could see Eddie, sitting at a picnic table. He had a black metal box opened in front of him. The student you were following took something out of his pocket before giving it to Eddie. You see him give something back before the other student leaves without saying anything. You couldn’t believe that the rumors were true. Eddie was really a drug dealer. You felt disappointed. How this sweet child turned into someone completely different ?

“I see you.”

You froze as you heard the voice. Your heart misses a beat when you hear him again.

“Hey, hello ?”

Your breath was heavy and you didn’t know if you had to run or…

No, the truth is, you didn’t want to run. You were curious. You wanted to see if he would recognize you this time. You walk out of behind the tree you were hiding to join him at the picnic table. You didn’t sit even if you saw your classmate gently inviting you to. You toggle on your feet, clearing your throat, not knowing what to say.

“Are you okay ?” he asks, a bit concerned.

You look straight at him. You dive in his eyes so easily you couldn’t believe it. You remember the last time you saw him and this weird feeling came back. You swallow hard before shaking your head.

“Sorry it was a mistake.” you say dryly before turning away.

“Hey !” he calls you, gently grabbing your arm so you don’t run away.

You turn to face him and you see his wide smile enlighten his face. He let go of your arm and raised his hands in surrender, taking a step back.

“Nothing to be afraid of.” he adds.

You offer him half of a smile before sitting on the bench. He sits too, facing you before opening his metal box again. Then he put his hand on his mouth, looking at you. He was waiting for you to speak. But as you start to open your mouth, you understand that he wanted to sell you stuff. Eddie sees your sudden change of mood and tries to calm you down.

“Hey hey hey ! I’m sorry ! Hey y/n , I'm sorry !”

You froze as you heard him calling your name.

“What did you say ?” you ask, uneasily.

“You’re y/n right ? From French class ?” he hesitates.

This was too much.

You decided to walk away without looking back at him. You could hear him trying to catch you again but you didn’t let him have the chance to. After that, you walk back home furious and a bit sad too. You had to bury the feelings you had for him or you would chase him desperately.

But the thing you didn’t know was that your best friend got your back. As she always did.

“Can I come to yours after class?” Veronica asks you, as you were entering your science class.

“Yeah sure ! We walk together ?”

“No, I have an extra hour. I will join you after.”

You could see your friend hiding a smirk but you couldn’t guess why. Anyway, you had a lot in your head today as you had a chemistry test this afternoon.

You were exhausted because of your day. You were close to the middle of the year already and all your teachers gave you tests every week or so.

Finally home, you try to relax a bit before greeting your friend. You prepare her favorite tea and take some ice cream out of your freezer. After a few minutes, you hear your bell rings. Usually your friend would come in like it was her home. But maybe you lock the door behind you this time.

It wasn’t locked.

As it wasn’t Veronica behind your door, it swings open on a dark haired boy, wearing a Hellfire Club t-shirt.

“Hi !” he waves at you with a shy smile.

You look at him in awe, your mind boiling with any insult you knew, thinking of Veronica. For sure you will kill her for that.

“Don’t blame Veronica please !! It was my idea to come here...”

Could he read your mind ?? He could see you were lost at his words.

“I hum… I wanted to talk to you. Last time I tried you… just ran away…” he explained quietly.

You sigh.

At his surprise, you take a step back to let him in, then close the door behind. Without a word you walk to your kitchen to take the cup of tea, bringing another one for him. You walk back to the living room to sit on your sofa, legs crossed. You invited him to sit in front of you. He nodded, quiet as you were, and took a sip of the hot tea you just prepared.

This was a weird moment. You both didn’t want to break the silence around you. So you were both drinking tea without saying anything. You notice he glances at you a few times. Clearing his throat you could see he wasn’t comfortable with the situation. So you decided to talk first.

“What d’you want ?” you ask, maybe a bit too rudely.

He put his cup of tea on the coffee table before looking at you. You could see he was a bit embarrassed but he found some courage.

“I think we started the wrong way. I guess it’s my fault.” he adds. “I can see in your eyes that I did something wrong. But I need your help to tell me so I can understand why you seem to… hate me.” he laughed nervously.

“Wait.” you say, pinching at the bridge of your nose. You were lost at this time. “Eddie do you… Do you just remember something ? Like anything about you and me ?”

“What the fuck ?! y/n, you're my biggest heartbreak ! Of course I remember! How could I forget…” he added with a sad laugh.

You froze at his words. How could it be possible ? It was him who broke your heart back then. How could he blame you? He continues.

“I remember one day at school. You stopped talking to me. You were even avoiding me ! I never knew why.”

“What ?” you say with a quaver in your voice.

Eddie sees your face and he was as lost as you were right now.

“YOU were the one rejecting me Eddie ! I did nothing ! You do !”

You were now letting all your feelings out. They were like a tornado at this point and you couldn’t stop yourself.

“You’re the one who broke my heart ! I tried… I really tried to forget you. But when I saw you in this classroom I… I couldn’t believe it.” you sigh, looking down at your feet. “It felt like you were a ghost, haunting me.” you almost whispered.

Eddie was completely lost. His throat felt like a big knot where his voice couldn’t come out from. He stares at you and slowly walks closer, kneeling in front of you. Still looking at your feet, his hand came into your sight as he gently put it on your thigh. You look up in the sudden to meet his eyes. You could see he was truly sorry about how you’re feeling right now. He cleared his throat.

“y/n… What happened between you and me ?” his voice was soft as he was only trying to understand.

“I wrote you a note.” you could feel your tears coming. “I… it was a piece of paper from my notebook. I gave it to one of your friends because I was so scared to give it to you.” You shut your eyes to stop the tears and shake your head. “It said : Would you go out with me ? A : Yes B : No. And then the paper came back to me, it was ripped and everything was crossed out except the “no”. I was so afraid to ask you to hang out with me. And I was right…”

You couldn’t keep your tears anymore and you felt ridiculous to cry for that in front of him. You suddenly rise from the sofa to run to your room. You couldn’t stay in the same room as him.

“Wait !” you hear him as you are climbing the stairs.

You wanted to shut your bedroom door behind you but something came in the way. Eddie was here, holding the door.

“Leave me please.” you ask as you dry your tears away.

“Hey y/n !” Eddie came closer to you. “Hey, look at me. Please, look at me.” he gently put his hands on your face so he could see you better.

You blink a few times to clear your vision.

“Hey…” he whispers, wiping your tears with his thumb. “I’m sorry. For everything.” he was even closer to you by now, one of his hands behind your neck. “But y/n, I’ve never had this note from you. And believe me, I would say yes without a doubt.”

His words felt like a bomb. Your eyes widen as you part your mouth.It feels like a knockout. You sat on your bed, still stunned about what you just heard.

“I’m so stupid.” you whispered, almost for yourself.

“No you’re not.” he adds, kneeling again in front of you. He didn’t let you go, his hands still on you. “But again, I’m sorry. I should have asked you out myself back then but… I’ve never had the balls to do it.”

His choice of words makes you laugh a little and you could see his face enlighten with a smile.

“I love this sound of yours.” he admits.

You smile back at him.

“So what about now ?” you add with a bit of hesitation in your voice.

“Well.” he whispers. “I could try to be brave and find the right words but… I’m not very good with words.”

You were about to say something when Eddie closed the gap between you and him. His hands gently caressing your cheeks, you could feel him smile against your lips. You only needed a few seconds to relax and let him kiss you harder. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you.

As you thought he would directly throw you on the bed, you can feel one of his arms under your butt as his other hand finds its way to your breast. Delicately, he starts kneading your left boob through your t-shirt, making you gasp at first.

You kiss him more deeply and he lets your tongue play with his. You loved to french kiss. There was something so passionate about that kind of kiss. And you quickly understand he loved that too as you hear him groan a little under your touch. And it makes you shiver instantly.

“Are you okay ?” he enquires between two kisses.

“Yeah.” you sigh as you kiss him again and again.

He smiles and places a hand behind your head before bending over to lay you onto the bed gently. He crawls up to you and places himself between your parted legs. He raises himself on his elbows so he could admire you under him.

You caress his cheek gently, smiling at him. Your eyes flutter as you feel his powerful hands on you. Eddie lost his mind at your touch and that was all he could manage to say.

“Sweetheart you’re beautiful.”

You giggle. He was so cute with his blushing cheeks and his wide smile. You locked your eyes with his and Eddie blew you a kiss in a silly way before kissing you for real.

Finally, you will have to thank Veronica for making this up.

#eddie munson #stranger things #friends to lovers #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie lives #eddie munson fluff #fluff and angst #y/n #hawkins high #mykuup

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mylevisdontfitanymore · 1 year ago

Note

Thinking about your spooky Feederism post but buckyyyyyyy

Hear me out Bucky’s daily nighttime fall attire is just some cute pumpkin pj pants that are pretty loose and fall low on his waist (bc he’s a slut) but I imagine he’s pretty toned not super muscular but not not muscular yk anyways he does his nightime routine shower pjs watch tv scroll on his phone and it happens by some freak coincidence he eats a pumpkin (or sweet potato) pie at 3 am on the first day of fall anyways from the midnight snacking at the witching hour triggers the seasonal expansion starting slowly when the moon waxing as just him feeling a tiny bit more hungry then it gets worse (better) I’m sure you can expand (get it ) on that idea 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Spooky belly kink

Okay okay okay okay this put an idea in my horny brain. SO. IMAGINE:

Buckle in fuckers, this got out of control. It's long. Warnings for unbeta'd stucky belly kink (Bucky centered, though), magical weight gain, magic, rapid weight gain, stuffing, immobility, etc.

It's early in October, so very early that it's still hot outside. Unfortunately. Seriously, like, Bucky just would like to sleep in his cozy and perfectly hideous Halloween themed pajamas and sip on a hot pumpkin spiced drink, but he can't. It's too damn hot. He will end up a festive puddle if he does.

So, his fuzzy, orange pj pants have gone from comfortably resting around his waist to sitting low on his hips for some ventilation, to... dammit, fine, as he's lounging around the house one early fall evening, waiting for it to cool down so he can sleep, Bucky pulls his fussy, festive pajama pants fully off. Leaving him just in an oversized pumpkin t-shirt and his underwear.

But it's still too fucking hot. He's still sweating. Fuck. This. This is not how fall is supposed to be!

Bucky grumbles and pads into the kitchen of his apartment so he can open the little window over his sink. He unlocks, opens, and then turns his back to it, blatantly ignoring the footsteps he can hear in the alley outside in favor of starting to return to his couch where he can lie (mostly) comfortably and grumble to himself about the heat. The footsteps are fine. People walk out there all the time. Whatever. He's fine, other than maybe melting to death.

As a result of the alley being relatively busy usually and Bucky's back being turned, Bucky doesn't notice the curling, semi-transparent tendril of purple, sparkling magic that reaches in through his now open window. It shivers and curls to the best of an ominous whistle. A whistle coming from someone's mouth outside - whoever is making those footsteps.

With his back turned, he doesn't notice its immediate lightning-like strike against his back, the tendrils wrapping around his sides and over his belly even as he continues to put distance between himself and the window.

By the time Bucky is flopping back down onto the couch, the unseen, unheard lightning is gone. It's absorbed into his lean, muscular frame. His back and sides and belly. His belly-

Now prone, Bucky scratches his tummy through his shirt, feeling a bit of an itch. It's nothing, though. Just the fabric of his shirt pulling against his body hair, probably. Whatever.

Whatever.

It's too fucking hot. It'd ruining his fall. That's all Bucky can think about.

Bucky intermittently complains to himself and scrolls on his phone until it's really time to get to bed. Just in his t-shirt and in his boxers with a light blanket over him, Bucky falls into an easy, blissful sleep, only waking up when...

At about 3 AM, according to the blinding light of his phone (when he takes it off the charger to check, rookie mistake), his belly is rumbling. Loud. Bucky rubs the sleep out of his eyes, frowning before he's even really awake.

God!

He feels hollow!

The moment he's done with his eyes, he blinks and glares down through the darkness at his gut. He had dinner! And he snacked before bed while melting his brain into goo on social media. Why is he so hungry?

So. Hungry.

Bucky just wants to go back to sleep. He tries to have a drink from his bedside water bottle - maybe he's just dehydrated? He rolls over to lay on his stomach. He...

Nope.

He's starving.

It feels like his stomach is trying to gnaw on his spine.

So, with a sigh, he has to push himself out of bed and wander through the darkness of his apartment, one hand on the wall and the other outstretched before him so as to not walk into anything, before eventually reaching the kitchen.

What can he have to settle his stomach before he goes back to sleep? Cereal? Nah. He's not in the mood. He's fresh out of granola bars, so not that either. He polished off the last few slices of leftover pizza for dinner. Maybe-?

Bucky opens the fridge, standing in the illuminated pool, feeling the chill wash over him, staring at the slim pickings aaaand -

Huh?

How-?

When did that get there?

Bucky is shameless with buying himself little treats to get through life, in general, but... he likes to think he would remember if he bought himself an entire fucking pumpkin pie and a canister of whipped cream to go with it. Before he can really investigate, Bucky's tummy growls again. A slice of pumpkin pie does sound really good right now. His mouth is flooded with saliva. With a glass of milk. Fuck. That would hit the spot.

Bucky doesn't really think about the fact that he ran out of milk two days ago and hasn't had time to go to the store yet. He feels dazed. Maybe this is a dream? Maybe he did fall asleep again after chugging water, satisfied enough to sleep but not satisfied enough to really fight the hunger off, so it's seeping into his dreams?

If it is a dream, what's the point of getting a plate and a cup? What's the point in real life anyway? He lives alone! Bucky's belly grumbles once more, this time in agreement with his sluggish thoughts. Suddenly, he can't wait. He can't even spare enough time to get himself a fork. It's just him. Just him and his belly and his dream.

Fuck it.

He digs in. Lifting the whole pie out of the tin and nibbling at the crust. It's mild and sweet. Mmm. He takes a deeper bite. The explosion of flavor takes over his tongue. That's it. Yeah. His eyes slide shut. The creamy pumpkin and dancing spices; the sweetness; the crumbly, delicious crust. Bucky takes bite after bite after bite, barely taking the time to swallow. He wants to fill his entire mouth with the taste and texture of the pie. He stuffs his face until his cheeks puff out like chipmunks.

Bucky swallows a few times to get all of the pie he's eaten down, feeling the chilly, smooth pie slide down his throat and drop into his empty belly. The pie tastes good in his mouth, but it feels even better. He already feels sleepier. He can feel his heartbeat slowing down in his chest. His breathing, too. His eyes are shut, but nevertheless, his eyelids feel heavier.

His belly feels heavier.

Apparently, while he was reveling in the pleasure of this mysterious pie, his body continued to eat. Stuffing his face.

Stuffing. his. face.

Bucky has both hands on the pie and so he can't reach down to explore his tummy. He doesn't even think to do that, though. He's dazed. He's in the process of eating. Eating messily with his hands. There is nothing else. Nothing but eating. He is biting and chewing and swallowing, and his belly is slowly but surely going from painfully empty to heavy. Full. He feels round. He can't touch himself, but he feels bloated. It's meditative.

Stuffing.

The entire pumpkin pie goes down so easily, so smoothly that Bucky doesn't really register that he's just put away an entire pie. He's living in the timeless, foggy, and nonsensical reality of what must be a dream. It's not his fault that he doesn't realize he's run out of food to shove into his hungry mouth until he finds no more filling or crust and instead just his dirty fingers.

Rather than panic over how much he's thoughtlessly consumed or be astonished about his sudden massive stomach capacity, Bucky simply licks his fingers clean with a satisfied, weighty sigh. His left hand, then his right. Then, Bucky licks his lips, too. He blinks slowly. He feels good.

He licks his lips again, savoring the taste of the pie. Moaning over the fact that he doesn't have anymore. Oh, wait-!

Bucky's eyes flick open urgently, his mouth makes a click sound, dry. Mindlessly, he sets the empty pie tin back onto the fridge shelf he found it on. He has whipped cream still! He has a gallon of milk still!

The little logical voice peaking through his dreamy haze and rich satisfaction clouding his midnight reality tells him he can have a taste, just a dollop. The amount that would be put onto a single slice of pie. Reasonable. Not too greedy.

But...

Then Bucky's swollen belly gurgles. It has other plans for him. So, even though Bucky's head tells him he's just going to have a little, his suddenly gluttonous belly overrides it. Big time.

The aerosolized sound of the whipped cream coming from the canister is hypnotizing from the moment he tips his head back, puts the nozzle into his mouth, and presses down, releasing the sweet, silky sugar and cream to the moment the canister squeals. Empty.

Bucky swallows.

Did he swallow at all when he was emptying the whipped cream into his mouth? Did it all pour directly into his gut?

Bucky sets the empty can next to the empty pie tin. The idea of investigating his throbbing, tight, overpacked belly enters his peripherals but... he gets distracted.

Bucky chugs an entire gallon of milk, moaning through it, feeling it flow right into his tummy and slosh around. The crust of the pie absorbs it, expanding. His belly gurgles and grumbles. Bubbles. Bloating. Oh.

Oh.

The whipped cream went in heavy and sweet, and the milk adds to it. It's not as sweet, but it is heavy.

Bucky knows without looking at the label that this is full fat milk. He never buys full fat milk anymore! He must've picked it up by mistake! Oh, well.

He's not going to return it.

He couldn't.

He's done with the gallon.

Oh.

Bucky burps, he hiccups - he sloshes.

Fuck.

The milk container isn't in his hands anymore. He's free to slap his hands down onto his struggling belly. Feeling the way it sloshes and swirls and vibrates with a few more hiccups.

The tightness of his belly is exhilarating. He feels like a drum. The weight of his belly is comforting, familiar but also new. Instinctually, he knows he's safe. Yet, he's never been so thoroughly gorged before. The heat coming from his taut, heavy gut is like his own personal heater soothing him into sleep. And the sounds coming from his globe-like tummy are like a white noise machine. Bucky is practically falling asleep on his feet. He can't open his eyes. He can't move.

He can't move.

"Oooh," Bucky moans, staggering back one step, then two. His hands are flat on his gut, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing away. His entire center of gravity has been thrown off with an entire pie, can of whipped cream, and gallon of milk.

He stands in place, wobbling. Waddling.

Bucky waddles back to bed, arms around his belly to try and keep the burps and hiccups and moans in. He doesn't want to be jostled too much. He might pop. He hardly remembers how he got back into bed, let alone if he closed the door to the fridge. It doesn't matter, though.

The moment Bucky is on his bed, he's out like a light. On his back, weighed down, hot and tight and good, and snoring softly. His hands never leave his belly. He's stuffed it, he's grown it, he's--

And as he's drifting off, he's wishing it was like this all the time. Not just in his dreams. Full. Taut. Swollen. Big.

The next time Bucky drifts into consciousness, it's much later. It's still ungodly early, but... later. There's a light from the full moon drifting into his room. It's not light enough to really wake him up, but enough that he realizes he's...

Heavier.

Bucky realizes, half-awake, that it's harder to breathe now than it was when he was last conscious. Huh? Why? Does he have an oncoming cold? Is he congested? He sniffs. No. So, what?

Bucky attempts to roll over. He doesn't make it, though. Instead, he just groans.

Yeah.

He's, uh, he's -

Heavier. Definitely heavier.

Rounder.

In the limited moonlight, Bucky can juuust make out the way his shirt has filled out with, with a solid, thick belly that's ungodly round.

A faint tickling of, oh, that's right, appears at the very back of his mind, but mostly Bucky is bewildered and awed. The pumpkin face on his shirt is illumated by the light of the full moon, and it's stretched and warped by his body. His belly.

His belly looks like a pumpkin. It would look like a pumpkin even without his festive shirt. It's that large. Heavy. And tight.

Holy shit.

How? What? When?

Bucky lies there, panting, sweating, feeling swollen and sleepy, with his hands on his gut, contemplating his existence for a while longer. What the fuck happened to me? Where did this gut come from?

He's on the cusp of the thought of did I have a midnight snack? And the following, was that dream(?) real? When -

Oh.

"Ohhhh," Bucky moans around his panting breathes, scrambling to lift himself higher on the bed and finding himself unable to do anything. He's too heavy. He's -

Is he growing?

It is harder to breathe.

Yeah.

He's, he's growing.

The face of the pumpkin is stretching, stretching, streeeetching. In the silence of the night, beyond his heavy breaths, the only sound is the complaints of his shirt fabric and the seams.

Under his hands, he's heavier and harder. Oof. He even feels fuller, the larger he grows. Bucky pokes his fingers into his gut, and out comes a deep, brassy belch despite the fact that his fingers don't sink into his belly at all. He's so fucking bloated. It's like he's shoved a basketball up under his shirt. Hard as, as a pumpkin!

And he's as roooooound as a pumpkin, too!

He watches the growth, the swelling, the bulging of his middle as he pants harder and harder. It's... it's... again, he slips into a hypnotic headspace without his knowing. The visual makes him feel sleepy. Hot. Heavy. Weighed down and comfortable. His eyelids droop. And, in no time, with his pumpkin tummy expanding out from his body, over top of him, Bucky is lulled to sleep. A soft, sleepy smile on his face.

Yet, his sleep is no longer dreamless. It's still blissful, but it's colored by visions of being a pumpkin. A huge pumpkin. Prize winning. The kind you see at a county fair being lifted by tractors from the beds of trucks to industrial scales. He's not on a scale in his dream, though. Which is good - he might break it! Instead, he's growing in a pumpkin patch, tethered to the ground by thick, feeding vines, but really, he's stuck in place by the massive weight of his pumpkin belly on top of him. Pinning him. Legs splayed out. Arms splayed out. Tummy growing and growing and growing. Rapidly. Impossibly. Crushing him.

Outside of his dreams, lying back and unconsciously in his bed, Bucky rubs and rubs his gut, obsessed with the taut, hard, spherical surface. He's practically vibrating with warmth. He is still smiling. He's snoring softly under the heft of his gut. His cock has worked itself to throbbing hardness in his underwear but even his physical arousal can't overpower the bliss of his dreams.

He can't shake himself out of the dream -

Growing. Swelling. Widening. Fattening.

Late the next morning, Bucky wakes up disappointingly thin and flat-bellied. He frowns down at himself. The only evidence left of his dreams is the sweat covering his body and the wet spot in his boxers. His shirt... he, his, his shirt might be a little looser than it was yesterday. Stretched. But. He must be misremembering. Also, his tummy, it must be his imagination, but it feels... tender.

As it turns out, Bucky isn't going to have a dreamless night in all of October. Not after that first night, his unconscious mind full of greed and gluttony. Stuffing. Stuffing. Stuffing. Growing. Growing. Growing. Heavier. Heavier. Heavier.

His dreams have him gorge himself, an unending tide of food and lust that can't be satisfied until he physically can no longer reach whatever food has appeared to him in his dream. Or, his dreams are full of nothing but unending growth until he drifts back into consciousness from his sunny, pleasant dish in the cool earth of the pumpkin patch. Rising above the rest of the pumpkins. He's big. He's huge. He's giant. He's impossibly massive. Much more pumpkin belly than man.

His starting size in his dreams climbs throughout the month until when he shuts his eyes, he's so huge that he can hardly move. Crushed by the fantastic, humongous blimp of his belly. He can not describe the way it feels to begin so large and only swell more.

More.

He didn't know their could be more! Bucky moans to himself, thinking about it. More. It's such a good word. How did he never know before? More.

How big could he possibly get?! Bucky craves to know so badly. He starts stealing naps in the middle of the afternoon. He starts hitting snooze more often. He puts candy bars that he's been trying to save for tricker-or-treaters on his nightstand to open and stuff into his waiting, salivating mouth the moment he's unfortunately pulled from his dreams. Big, big, bigger.

Yes.

Bucky won't complain about the shift of his dreams; not the content or the frequency; he can't complain! Especially not when on the Halloween night, with the moon perhaps the fullest he's ever seen it, round and fat and bright, his dreams take him to the fridge again.

He hasn't been back to the fridge since the first night.

Bucky licks his lips, and he rubs his chubby hands together even though it makes him giggle, it's such a cheesy gesture. But. He can't wait to tear into whatever is in his fridge. All of it. He's going to eat all of it. He fantasizes about destroying everything in there and in the pantry and cabinets and everything he has to eat. Every little morsel possible. It's all going down his throat and dropping into his fat, fat belly.

His firm, heavy enough to leave him sweating and gasping, heart thudding, waddle-inducing belly growls. Despite the overfed size of him, he feels starved.

With a jerk, Bucky opens the fridge and groans. He's brought to his knees. All that delicious food. Take-out containers galore. Each heavy and sticky - the sign of good, really good food. There's an entire three pizza boxes in there, too! Each box is full of with a complete, delectable pie. A gallon on chocolate milk. Full fat chocolate milk. Eggnog, too. Unseasonal, but... Bucky doesn't fucking care. It's going to be so thick and rich and good. He'll chug it straight after the milk. Further inspection reveals that in one of the drawers, there's an untouched pumpkin pie. Fuck, yeah. Fuck, yeah! Underneath the pie, there's a container stacked full, so full it almost can't shut, of fudgy brownies. Bucky finds cookies, too. The take-out includes Chinese food and Thai and Italian and -

"God," Bucky moans happily, stroking the parts of his heavy, gravity-defying gut that he can still reach. He hopes he won't be able to reach hardly any of it soon. All this food.

He's going to expand.

He's going to get so fucking fat.

Bucky empties the fridge. Then -

THEN

T H E N because Bucky is a true glutton now, by the end of his month of training, he goes on. He eats more. He finds the cabinets and the top of the fridge equally, fully stocked. The dream melts further from reality at that point, and lightning bolts, friendly, helpful lightning bolds of sparkling, neon purple begin to tangle around packages and bags and dump the contents into Bucky's mouth. All he has to do is stand there, which is a good thing because even the dream can't rescue him from the weight of all his gluttony. This feast has made him fatter than fat. He's engorged. He is massive. So fucking round. His knees shake. He moans and shivers around the candy bars being ripped open by sparkly purple magic to be shoved down his throat. Sticky. Sweet. He's eating them whole. With each bar, he feels the fat on his frame grow. Thicker. Rounder. Heavier. Abruptly, Bucky crashes back onto his monsterous, dimpled ass.

And he wakes up on the kitchen floor. Bathed in moonlight. There is no food in sight, although there is -

There's

All around him, littered are the remains of his feast. Wrappers. Crumbs. Empty containers.

It was real.

But

How?!

Bucky palms his flat, tender belly with a moan. He lets his head drop against the floor rather than craning down to stare at his disappointment of a belly. He wants it to be real so bad. That fat, hard, tight gut. His mouth waters and his appetite roars. Please.

Please!

His cries are heard.

It must be a dream! Right?! That's a thing? Isn't it? Waking up into another dream?

It must be a dream because it hits him all at once. The growth happens as footsteps start to echo through the alley outside Bucky's apartment building.

Step. Step. Step.

Bucky is trying to get himself back to bed to sleep off this weirdness (and maybe have time for another gluttonous dream before he has to go about his day), getting onto his elbows to stand up when BWOOOPH.

Bucky swells.

Sudden.

Hoooly shit.

Heavy and round and hard as the fattest pumpkin in the whole patch.

Bucky is knocked entirely onto his back with a heavy crash. The wooden floorboards creak under his massive frame. Ballooning. He's ballooning. He hasn't stopped yet. Bucky moans ungodly loudly. It's real. It's real! This is everything he wanted! The sensations. The heat. The pleasure. Christ. He wants to be a pumpkin forever.

He's awake! He has to be! It's never felt like this before. It's so real! Every detail is clear and fucking hot as shit. He can't reach his other arm to pinch himself, so he pinches the thick, firm fat of his expanding gut. He pinches as it grows. Bigger. Bigger. He whines with how hard he pinches his blubber. It hurts! He doesn't wake up!

It's real!

And it feels so fucking gooooood.

He's a fucking pumpkin. Ripe. Overripe. He's a whale. Blubbery. Too heavy to swim. He can't move. He's just -

Oh, fuck.

He moans out all the limited air he has in his lungs. Loud. Outrageously turned on. Pulsing and throbbing tightly, hotly. His cock but really his belly. It's pulsing, it's gurgling, moving, sloshing like he really did consume all of that fucking food and all those gallons of thick, fattening milk and Eggnog and juice and his poor tummy has no idea what to do with all the rich calories.

Laughter floats in from the alley outside. It's followed by a voice, deep but sweet, too, "I can make that happen, darling."

Bucky has no time to ask what? What will you make happen? He has no time to even think about thinking. The seductive tone of the voice feels like fingertips against his most sensitive flesh. All of him is sensitive now, plumped. Fattened. Ripened. He would shiver if he could move. If he wasn't so fat that he's immobile. He loves it.

Following the voice, eyes, blue eyes, appear outside his kitchen window.

Bucky should be afraid, but he's not. He's -

He's intrigued.

He's the child lured into the witch's house and fattened for eating. Too stupid and gluttonous to dream of putting up a fight.

"I can make you my fat pumpkin all year around, not just as a Halloween treat," the velvet voice purrs. A hand appears next to the stranger's attractive face. His fingers flick and -

Purple, shimmering magic bolts from his fingers to somehow cradle all, all of Bucky's heavy, massive body.

BWOOOPH

Bucky bloats, packing on at least another hundred pounds.

"Oh!" Bucky moans, fingers scrambling over his rolls, trying to touch himself. He wants to touch himself so badly! Frantically, he nods his head, feeling his chin double and triple, "pl-please! Please! I wanna be-" he groans. "I wanna be your pumpkin!"

"Good," the attractive witch purrs.

"Grow me! Please!" Bucky cries.

The witch does as he pleads, humoring him. "What do you wish to eat, my pumpkin?" he asks as he slithers in through the open window. Standing before him, his cold, electric-sparking hands against his sensitive, taut skin and the underlying blubber.

"Anything!" Bucky whines. "Anything! I just wanna, I wanna be bigger!"

"Ohh, what a greedy pumpkin I have." He slaps his gut, laughing. Bucky ripples like thick jello. Holy shit. His toes curl. "I can't wait to make you bigger." His fingers and sharp nails dig into his tight flesh. "You, pumpkin, can call me Steve."

"Steve," Bucky moans immediately, "g-grow me."

#ask #mylevisdontfitanymore #belly kink #text #stuffing #weight gain #rapid weight gain #magical weight gain #bucky barnes #steve rogers #chubby bucky #stucky #witch steve #human bucky #fat bucky #immobility #tight clothes #magic #plant transformation

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i-literally-cant-with-this · 1 year ago

Text

Part I ::: Dad's Best Friend, Reiner

Part II

Yep. I'm pumping out more Reiner stuff. Yesterday (Nov. 6) was my birthday and I couldn't get enough of the man. So I started writing again today and he was just wrecking my brain. STILL proofing. My laptop went a little haywire. This will be straightened out by tomorrow afternoon. Thanks for your patience ♡.

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This will be in 2 parts. I'll attach links as I post and finish them up.

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Warnings ::: Flirting with your dad's friend, older man kink (newly discovered, kinda?), accidental exhibitionism, accidental voyeurism, accidental kiss, erection. Implied plus size//chubby reader The good stuff (HA, listen to me) will be in the second part. That's already almost done. I'll probably post that tomorrow morning or afternoon. Enjoy!!

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Part I WC ::: 2,557

It was Thanksgiving break and you were heading home from college. It's always been a big deal with your family to have everyone over to their home and have them leave well-fed.

Well, it was, anyway. Since your mom left last year, it's fallen entirely on your dad's shoulders.

But this was his time to shine. His time to show you and everyone else that he could go above and beyond the regular turkey dinner. You were a little nervous about it. He didn't exactly have the best track record when it came to cooking turkey. But you'd be here to help him out however he needed.

You and your dad's best friend, Reiner. There wasn't a holiday that he hadn't been around. In fact, there weren't any special events that you couldn't remember him being at. He was sort of like a second dad to you. If you had to put a label on it, that's probably what it'd be.

It's been over 4 months since you'd last seen him. You were both at your dad's house on the 4th of July. You stopped by to have a quick burger before you went back to your dorm room. All you remember is that his best friend was really, really drunk, and really happy to see you.

You called your dad as you hit a red light.

"Yell-o?" The voice at the other end of the call said.

"Hi, dad. I'm on my way. I'll be there in less than 30. Do you have everything you need for the great cook-off? Let me know, I'll call when I get clo--"

"Hey! Hey, y/n. It's Reiner, your dad's --"

"Oh! Hi, um, Reiner. My dad's ... best ... friend. W-where is he at?"

"He had to run to the store to pick up a few last minute things. But he'll be back. Either before you're here or right around the same time. S' I guess, just keep coming, uh, home. I'll be here. We'll be here, I meant. See you soon, sweetheart." He said before hanging up. "Y-yeah, ok. Rei-, um, ok. Bye, see you soon."

You suddenly felt really hot in the face. Was his voice always that provocative? Did it always sound like that when you talked to him on the phone? So deep and alluring? Snapping your head from your daydream as the car behind you honked at the green light you were mindlessly sitting through, you drove on to your childhood home. Not sure what you're in for when you get there. But feeling a little giddy about it, all the same.

Pulling into the driveway, you didn't see your dad's truck. But you saw Reiner's. It wasn't huge, but it took up over half of the drive. You loved the color; a deep blue. So dark you couldn't really see your reflection on the side of it. It was nice.

"Hello? I'm here. Dad? Are you home ye--" you called out to your dad. But he wasn't there. It was just his friend, still. Just you and his friend.

"Hey, sweetheart! Welcome home! S'good to see you, baby girl!" Reiner came to you with open arms. You looked at him. He wore a nicely fitting light blue button-up shirt. It was accentuating his very large, muscular arms. Shit, did he always look like this? His hair was a little longer than you remember it being. But it was slicked back as much as he could get it. It was in that awkward phase between too short to get it to do what he wanted and should he get a haircut. You thought it looked fantastic. Even the little bits that hung down against his forehead.

You let yourself be wrapped up in his arms as he pulled you into a close, tight, and very warm embrace. His body was so hard and so soft, simultaneously. It made your head spin.

A little while later you realized he'd already let go but you hadn't, so he kept hugging you until you were ready for him to loosen his arms. He chalked it up to you missing him or missing your dad after being gone from the house for school.

"You ok, sweetheart? *Heh* I don't remember you ever letting me hug you like this. But that's ok. I don't mind. I'm happy to fill in for any dad energy--"

Dad energy? No. No no no no no. You thought. This had nothing to do with 'dad energy'. Maybe 'daddy energy'.

"Not 'dad', god. I just ... s'just, well, guess I missed you. Dad energy. God." You laughed. He leaned down and brushed your hair from your face and kissed you on the cheek. Twice. You hoped he wouldn't notice how your heartbeat quickened. Or your breath got caught in your throat. Or how your face turned a deep shade of pink.

"You good, baby girl?" Nodding you put your hands up on his pecs and it took every ounce of will power to push him away from you. All you wanted to do was drop to your knees and lick his stomach. Just for starters.

"Hello? I see my daughter's car in the driveway! Where is she?" Reiner dropped his arms and let his hands glide down from the curves in your waist and turned quickly. You saw him start to adjust something, but your dad's voice drew your attention away from his best friend tucking his cock away.

"Dad! Hi! Happy Thanksgiving, pops. Thank you for doing all of this."

He hugged you and kissed the top of your head. "Well, I wouldn't be doin' this if it wasn't for my dumbass friend over there. He insisted that I do this. Y'know, to keep things 'normal' and to entice you to come home for a nice meal."

You looked at Reiner. He shrugged his broad shoulders. Fuck, how had you not noticed how hot he was before today?

"Well, thank you. Both of you. I can't wait to get started on everything. Are you working over the break?" Your dad was a veterinarian and often the one who was on call over holidays. Even on his vacations he'd still find the time to work for his patients. He was just that kind of person. You always admired it about him.

Your dad sighed. "I think you already know the answer to that, baby girl." Reiner's head whipped around at the sound of your dad calling you what he had called you minutes before. Maybe he should lay off.

But your dad called you that. Reiner has been practically a part of the family for over 25 years. He decided to try it out in front of your dad to gauge his reaction to the pet name. He'd go from there. It just had to be the right time.

"Don't worry, though. I sent home fliers about all the foods animals should stay away from over Thanksgiving. And how they shouldn't have bones that can get lodged in their throats."

Reiner choked on his beer. "Shit, shit. Sorry, {Dad’s name}. I ... *aheh*, shit. Never mind. Sorry." You and your dad stood there looking at Reiner, puzzled. You knew what he was choked up about. But your dad was most likely clueless. And that's probably better for everyone.

It was around 8pm and your dad and Reiner were watching football and reliving their high school days. Reliving their game nights when they were in (what they felt like) was the prime of their lives. Reiner jumped up from the second recliner that your dad moved in for him after your mom left. "Go. Go. Go go go go go go!!! YES!! Whooo! Fuck, I love this team." His honey-colored eyes met yours and you couldn't help but get all bubbly in your tummy at the slight squint as he smiled so widely. He genuinely looked the happiest you've ever seen him. And for some freaky reason, that made you happy, too.

"I'm going to grab a shower and go to bed. Can I bring you guys another beer or anything?" You asked, still maintaining eye contact with Reiner.

He shook his head, "'S fine ..." Now! He thought. Now is the perfect time to test out calling you baby girl in front of your dad! "Think I'm done for the night, baby girl." He waited for the ramification of calling you such an intimate thing. But it never came. Your dad just followed suit, "Yeah, I'm 'bout to turn in too, sweetheart." You nodded with heavy lids at Reiner and rubbed your thighs together the whole way as you walked to your room.

Sitting on your bed for a minute, you did your best to compose yourself after that pithy exchange between the two of you. If you could even call it an exchange. All he did was look at you while you asked if they wanted anything before you went to get cleaned up and tucked in for the night.

Maybe it was the way he hung on to the gaze. How he lured you in to maintaining the shared glance. No, it was more than a glance.

You stood inside of your room, feeling no relief whatsoever, and pulled your t-shirt over your head and tossed it on the chair. Unhooking your bra, the little clasp in the front separated without much effort.

All you could think about was Reiner's hands on you. How would he take your bra off? Would he do it slowly and make you wait as he teased you? Would he be frantic and grab and pull it off?

"Fuck. I, I gotta stop. Gotta get a grip on this shit. Goin' to drive myself nuts." Slipping your jeans and panties off in one motion, you kicked them aside and left them on the floor by the standing mirror near your desk. There was a small wet spot on your panties that could only be from one thing: Reiner.

Looking around your room for your bathrobe, you remember that you saw it hanging in the bathroom down the hall. "Sh- shit. Ok, g'na make a run for it. I'm just going to run for it. They're both in the living room watching football. I can do this." You bounced on your toes a couple of times to hype yourself up for the mad dash you were preparing to make. Slowly, you opened your door and stuck your head out to survey your surroundings.

"H-hello?" You whispered, testing the population. "Ok, 'm gonna ... gonna go ..."

From out of nowhere, Reiner's face popped into yours as you stood there, naked as the day you came into this world. Oh, how he tried to not let his eyes wander from your blushing face down the front of your body. But he couldn't. He couldn't make himself look away. He was hypnotized by your curves. How your thighs nestled together. Your soft stomach. The soft, silvery glow of light stretch marks.

"F-fuck, sorry! I'm so sorry!" He shouted. "I came to tell you that your dad had to go out on an emergency call for someone's horse. Broke its leg or somethin'. Sssshhhhit. I'm sorry. I'll go now that you know where he's going to be."

He was so flustered he couldn't bring his eyes around to yours. He just stared awkwardly at the floor, hoping you wouldn't see how hard he'd gotten over something so simple and awkward as bumping into you at your bedroom door that you were about to make a break from. Granted, you were naked.

"Oh god, Rei-ner! Oh my god!" You yelled back. But it was more out of sheer surprise than embarrassment. Ever since he answered your dad's house phone today, you couldn't get his voice out of your head. And when he hugged you, it was impossible to forget what his arms and hands felt like on you. There’s a 99.9999999% chance you’ll never forget how he smells. But you couldn't really act like you enjoyed exposing yourself to him. Could you?

Reiner finally found his footing and looked you in the eye. He saw your eyes and felt bad that he made you feel uncomfortable. But he couldn't help but notice how your nipples pebbled in the cold air. How they were a lighter shade of pink than he expected. He just wanted to cup them in his hands and roll them between his fingers. Fuck.

"I-I'm sorry. I thought you and my dad were still in the living room watching tv. I - ugh. Fuck." You turned back and grabbed your throw that lay across the foot of your bed and wrapped yourself up in it. You couldn't get away from him fast enough, but he stood right in the doorway.

"S'ok, sweetheart. It's alright. I just came to let you know that your dad's gone and that I'll be here. Least until he gets back tonight. Just lettin' ya know." He smiled his dazzling smile and you felt your heart skip a beat. "I can come back later and ... and ... you can leave your door open." He stuttered out, not entirely sure what he was suggesting. "You can leave it open while you're getting dressed or whatever. So you don't have to worry about me barging in again."

You nodded, "O-ok? That sounds good, Reiner." You whispered, holding the throw clutched to your chest, you managed to look up at him.

"So, are we in agreement that your dad doesn't have to know anything about this?" Reiner asked and you laughed. "Yes, oh my god, that would be mortifying. Let's just keep it between the two of us."

"Ok, sweetheart. Can do." He leaned down and let his lips sit on your left cheek for far longer than a simple smooch should have lasted. As he was pulling back, you turned your face and looked up at him. What you didn't know was he was going to do the same thing to your other cheek and your lips met with his.

They were so soft and warm. You weren't expecting to actually kiss him when you did this. You were going to say goodnight and slip passed him down the hallway. But instead, you just stood there. Initially wide-eyed, your mouth puckered out slightly. When did that happen? When did you push your lips out to meet his?

Reiner stepped back slightly. He didn't look like he was in as much shock as you. But he had a stupid half-grin on his face where your lips had just been. Like his little scheme had panned out perfectly. You couldn't believe you'd just kissed Reiner. Your dad's best friend. He was practically family. Even if it wasn't on purpose.

You both stood there for a moment longer. You couldn't believe how amazing it felt to kiss him. His lips were so sweet and perfect. But you knew it couldn't go any further. Your dad would lose his shit. And Reiner was his best friend. And he was old. Well, not old. But older.

"I, um, I'm going to hop in the shower." You said, quietly. "Yeah, yeah, I'll leave you to it. Sorry, baby girl." He turned on his heel and walked back down the hall.

He didn't sound like he was sorry. He sounded excited. Like he was about to win some kind of prize.

And that prize?

Was you.

Taglist ::: @darkstarlight82 @callm3senpaii @reinerswarrior

#reiner smut #reiner x y/n #reiner x you #reiner x reader #reiner aot smut #reiner attack on titan smut #attack on titan smut #aot smut #reiner braun #reiner braun x you #reiner braun x y/n #reiner braun x reader #aot reiner braun #aot reiner #reiner braun attack on titan #plus size reader x reiner #chubby reader x reiner

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oneinathousand · 1 year ago

Text

I'm halfway through Gravedale High and I think I get the gist of it, so here are my random thoughts about it:

Of all the celebrity cartoons, this is one of them. Joking aside, this probably is legitimately one of the better ones from this time period. I am not distracted by Rick Moranis's presence, and I'm glad he's not going full nerd as in his usual typecasting. I keep expecting to see a Ghostbusters or Little Shop of Horrors reference, since this show sure does love its pop culture references, but so far, they've had the restraint not to do it in a direct way except for one of the background characters in one episode looking like a terror dog, but that could be a coincidence. I guess I'll find out eventually if they actually do make a reference.

I can't watch a lot of it in one sitting because if I try, I know I'll be filled with homicidal rage at all the constant catchphrases and verbal tics and schticks that every character has.

Gotta love how the creativity of the main cast ranges from "Personifying the trope of zombies as commentaries for consumerism with a wealth-obsessed, literal mall zombie" to "what if creature from the black lagoon but surfer".

J.P. doesn't seem to be any kind of monster in particular, Peter Lorre parodies are just their own Halloween species lol

Vinnie may be the Fonz as a teenage vampire, but it was very big-brained of whoever the character designer was to give him black nail polish in 1989-90. For all this show's problems, the character design for the most part is not one of them, even with how dated many of them are fashion-wise they're still very charming.

Sure, I ship Vinnie and Reggie. Before I watched this show, I assumed it was just typical shipping of best friend characters, but when I got to the famous ear-scratching scene from episode four, I was like "yeah okay I can see where they're coming from".

Of the main cast, Sid is probably my favorite because everything about him is so hilariously dated above all the rest, which is saying something: The rapping, the baseball cap, the pattern on his shirt, the random impressions... he's so lame that he circles back around to being funny. And apart from the irony, an invisible kid becoming a class clown so people won't ignore him anymore is one of the more genuinely creative concepts here.

Oh, but speaking of Sid, who's voiced by Maurice LaMarche... It was pretty awkward to watch Sid whenever he talked about his dreams to become a stand-up comedian, knowing what I know about what happened with LaMarche's own desire to rise up in the stand-up world on the same month that Gravedale High coincidentally premiered in. I don't know if this is common knowledge, but I won't go into it here because this post is supposed to be about a silly cartoon. If you're curious and can handle emotional matters, go read about it on his Wikipedia page under the Career section and see the events leading up to him becoming a full-time voice actor after September 1990.

Anyway, this is one of those cartoons where you can see a lot of potential, but since this came before or at the same time as other more ground-breaking cartoons like Ren and Stimpy or Tiny Toons, you get the feeling Gravedale is still shackled by 80's cartoon trappings despite its occasional dark jokes and pop culture references. If I were to make a new version, with or without Moranis, I would go for something a little edgy to make it stand out from Monster High and other shows of its ilk, do for horror what Clone High does for teen shows, either in a PG or TV-14 way.

#gravedale high #90's cartoons #rick moranis

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signiorbenedickofpadua · 7 months ago

Note

"lecturing" for the wip game! xo @hardly-an-escape

Certainly, my dear ❤️ I believe I've described the premise once before, but I'll give you a little recap anyway as well as a snippet! Perhaps this will somehow help this poor fic get out of WIP hell... I know how I want it to end, but I just can't figure out whether to throw some smut in the middle or just...skip it, uncharacteristically enough... A wise reader may at this point ask, "Why don't you just write the ending first then and decide later if you feel like calling it done or if you want to add a sex scene?" Well. That's a good question. Hm. I'll have to think on that.

So, anyway, it's a human AU wherein Professor!Hob (well, lecturer, technically) holds a series of intro lectures on Literary History. A certain tall, dark mysterious stranger sits in the front row every week without fail, watching and listening very intently. Of course, Hob does his best to ignore how attractive this guy is, because god dammit he's trying to be a better person these days and hooking up with his students does not help with that. Except...is he actually a student...? *the soundtrack in the background turns mysterious*

You may find out if you read the snippet below and also PART TWO and PART THREE since several of you asked about this WIP! (List of titles in the og WIP game post here.)

PART ONE

Part of the problem was that the man always sat in the front row, thus giving Hob far too good of a view of his full body, which was just as unfairly gorgeous as his face. His proclivity for the skinniest of jeans did nothing to help Hob in he Sisyphean task of keeping his eyes away, nor did the fact that he kept looking right back.

Of course, Hob was lecturing, and so it was to be expected that his students would look at him when he talked, but he also expected them to look away at least some of the time. At their notebooks or laptops as they took notes, for example, which this bloke never ever seemed to do. Sure, it was not an advanced course by any definition, and he might have a good memory, or was one of those people who preferred not to distract themselves with taking notes during lectures, instead refreshing his memory by studying at home later. Or perhaps he didn’t care about getting more than a barely passing grade for a basic course like this—except he appeared to be paying rapt attention at all times. It was likely this intense focus which made it so hard for Hob to just ignore him. He had taught plenty of good-looking people throughout his career, and it had never been a problem until now. He was quite practised at turning off the part of the brain that noticed such things, and, even when he did notice, it normally didn’t fluster him like this. The man just had a…a weight to his gaze, somehow. His pale eyes were piercing, and Hob could practically feel them boring into him even when his back was turned. He also believed that he had caught them wandering over his body every so often—lingering on his arms when he rolled his sleeves up to combat the heat of a fully packed and poorly ventilated classroom, homing in on the sliver of tummy skin exposed as he had to stretch up to turn the projector on with a pointer when the damn remote control malfunctioned again, and fixating on the hint of chest hair visible that one time he had accidentally left one too many buttons undone on his shirt. He really, really wished that he had not noticed any of this, because the only thing worse than being attracted to a student was being attracted to a student who reciprocated. Fortunately, the man had done nothing to indicate that he intended to actually make a move on Hob, which was some small consolation. In fact, many tortuous weeks passed without him saying a single a word, never raising his hand to answer one of Hob’s questions or ask one of his own, never approaching him after lectures with queries about the curriculum or the final exam, never even talking to his classmates. All he did was sit there, in the same place every time (front row, third seat from the right), silently staring at Hob while nursing a cup of coffee from Bennie’s café two buildings over. Then, every week without fail, he quietly slipped out of the room exactly five minutes before the time was up and the lecture ended, presumably to rush to some other lecture on a tight schedule. Hob could only hope that he checked the information he put up online about suggested reading and the end-of-term examination, since he never stayed to hear Hob’s reminders at the end of the lectures.

#ask games #wip game #tag games #my writing #snippets

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clonerightsagenda · 1 year ago

Text

Sick

We're most of the way through disability pride month and I'm not sure if I'll ever finish this WIP because I'm stuck over how literal to make some of the elements. So, I am posting it because I am curious if any of the weirdness resonates with other people. Enjoy my magical disability cure codependent haunting thing, and also I am going to post a rambling author's note about it.

The morning after the surgery, your Sick is sitting at the kitchen table. It looks good, for a corpse. It’s wearing the ‘I love dying and being dead’ t-shirt you joked about buying two diagnoses ago, pulled over a laced-shut hospital gown.

“What?” it asks. “You had more of a sense of humor when you were sick.”

The doctors warned you that your neurochemistry might be out of balance. You’re adjusting to the sudden lifting of brain fog after moving through the world in a protective cocoon of pharmaceuticals. They didn’t mention hallucinations.

“Think of me like a phantom limb.” Your Sick sips one of those awful plant-based protein drinks that still lurk in the back of your pantry. “Why did you do it?”

Talking to hallucinations probably makes them worse. You do it anyway. “You were killing me.”

“This world is killing you. But you finished yourself off first.”

You sit down across from it in one effortless motion. “That’s not what happened.”

“Right. I’m the enemy. So it doesn’t matter if I’m rotting at the bottom of a biohazard bin.” It considers you. “What’s it like not to hurt?”

What is it like? You’d woken up and lain there for a while, waiting. “Like holding my breath.”

“You’re in charge of all that now.” It nods, the motion referencing the length of your body. “Need to stay on top of it.”

“Like I need advice from you,” you say, but you blink, and the phantom’s gone.

60,000 pieces of microplastic. 7.2 micrograms per liter of per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances. 1:640 antinuclear antibody titer.

That's what they peel you out of. A second nervous system of petroleum products and misfiring T cells, the stuff that's been running your life via mob rule for a decade. They tell you that you weigh five grams less now.

They tell you, don't be surprised if at first it feels like something is missing.

I thought that was just for rich people, your friend says. She messaged you to remind you to take your meds, and you told her that you would never have to take your meds again. Celebrities and politicians.

Work decided it was cheaper to fix me than replace me, you message back. Score one for being essential.

Perks of your top-secret job.

I promise it's boring. Critical infrastructure usually is.

Did you look?

Some people share post-op pictures. They’re usually underwhelming if you don’t know what to look for - the subtle swelling over an aggravated nerve, hints of boniness in the knuckles. Shadows of bruises that never go away. No. I should’ve, though. I asked for hospital socks when they were prepping me but then obviously after I didn’t have them anymore. Who knows if I’ll get another chance.

You might be finished with surgeries forever and you’re disappointed because you can’t get any more grippy socks.

I'll miss the warm blankets too.

Your Sick crawled inside you when you were nineteen years old. It wouldn’t let you get out of bed.

“Help,” it croaked.

Your roommate (only your roommate then) came the second time it called. She was in her pajamas, her hair a dark tangle. You never asked for her help, even when your hands got so sore you couldn’t open jars without five minutes of struggle. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel right,” it said.

Her face softened. “I thought you looked rough yesterday. I don’t have class this morning; do you want me to make something? Call anybody?”

No, you tried to say. I can handle it.

“I think I need to go to the doctor,” your Sick said instead.

You had been putting it off. The doctor meant admitting something was wrong, meant – most importantly – a $30 copay. But healthy people never understand when you try to tell them. At a certain point, your body stops being yours.

Your Sick turned up its nose at greasy slices of campus pizza. It politely but firmly refused invitations for a night out. It sanded the branching tree of your life into a wooden sphere it could cup in the palm of its hand.

“You’re ruining my life,” you told the mirror.

It tilted your head. You read your own confusion. “I’m protecting you.”

“Mask,” your Sick says from behind you. It looks worse today – skin gone gray and patchy, with a shimmer of microplastic shards risen to the surface like body glitter. The shine complements the sequined mask secured over its own face.

You scowl, bag swung over one shoulder. You haven’t gone out since the surgery – you can work from home, you haven’t canceled grocery delivery yet – and now that you’re venturing through your front door, the phantom is back. You had reached for one of the masks on the table by the door before dropping it back into the bowl. “I don’t need it now.”

“So respiratory diseases don’t exist anymore? Dumbass.”

The objection reminds you of your own aggrieved complaints: why don’t people plan events with us in mind, don’t they know how many people there are with immune systems one shove away from collapsing, the world’s not getting any safer.

That was your Sick talking. You don’t have to worry anymore.

“You weren’t doing a good job taking care of me before, and you’re not doing a good job of it now.”

Its eyebrows rise. Black liquid has seeped through the cloth of its mask. “And fuck everyone else like you?”

“Like you,” you say, and slam the door in its face.

Outside, the breeze brushes your cheeks. You don’t have to sit down because you miscalculated the balance of meds and breakfast. You start to scan your surroundings for bathrooms, just in case, and then dismiss the impulse because you’re fine.

You’re better than that.

Three hours in, you realize you’ve been curling your fingers into a fist and then opening them again. You only notice because the joints start to ache. It feels familiar.

Nothing else does.

A notification flashes in the corner of your screen. There’s new activity in one of the forum conversations you’ve been following.

It’s rich people doing what they always do. Wreck the planet? It’s fine, we can get a new one! Wreck your body? It’s fine, we can get a new one of that too. There’s no incentive to improve the situation if you can buy your way out of the problem.

I’d buy my way out too, but there’s no way I could afford it

Then you’d eat your first plastic salad and get sick again. See what I mean?

The new ones are supposed to be more resilient

But it’s not yours

Remember any theological debates go in the quarantine thread

I don’t mean it like that. I just think you’re interfering with your relationship with your body, and that’s a fundamental part of who you are, right? Whether or not a s*ul exists

There’s not a bot monitoring this thread. You don’t have to censor it.

Sorry, habit

Mod is human, asterisks don’t stop me. But they are a screenreader issue, so please edit your post.

You used to frequent disability forums. They had useful resources. Jokes, too, like the t-shirt your Sick wears over its hospital gown. But you can’t understand the people who embrace their disfunction. You took a time-honored approach to your medical misfortune. Cancer. Pregnancy. Demonic possession. Petrochemicals. There is something inside me, and I want it out.

These people helped you, but you don’t need them anymore. So instead of saying anything, you log off the forum for the last time.

You do tell your coworkers, who are excited for you. They pester you with questions over Slack: How long did it take? Did you look? Does it hurt?

Your boss messages you, When can you come back to the office?

You frown at the screen. The work you’ve been doing from home is good – better than what you’ve produced for years now that your head is clear. But your boss has always been old fashioned. Remote work was a concession that there’s no justification for now.

Monday, if you want, you type back.

That gets you an immediate thumbs up reaction, followed by, We’re all so glad you’re ok.

That chafes you in a spot rubbed raw. Everyone assumes once the problem they know about has been addressed, everything else must be resolved too. You must be ok.

Which you are, this time.

Your best friend comes to visit. She brings beers you couldn’t drink with your meds and a greasy pizza that settles in your stomach like a snake planning to strike later. It tastes amazing – you run your tongue over your teeth to capture the last traces of salty richness and tell yourself next time your body will recognize good food.

She’s spent the whole visit on your sofa. You have an air mattress from when she used to sleep on your floor while you were recovering from surgeries. She hasn’t asked you to bring it out, and you’re not sure how to ask if she’s staying. Instead you keep stealing glances at her, the curve of her cheek that’s the first thing you’d see when you looked over the side of your bed in the middle of the night, the hands that have held your hair back from the toilet bowl and now rest on her lap.

She keeps looking at you too. You wonder if she sees a difference.

After the silence and sidelong glances build into an itchy layer on your skin, you lean over, clutch the front of her shirt, and kiss her. She freezes and then kisses you back, gingerly, the way you'd investigate an unexpected bruise. There’s pizza grease on both your lips. Rich and unfamiliar.

You’re the one who pulls away. "I'm sorry," you say. "That's not what I want."

She’s stiff under her softness, like an examination table. "I didn’t think so. I didn't think you did that kind of thing."

You don’t. It’s the silence. Your empty floor. Her hands, resting on her lap. "I just thought…” you try. “That kind of closeness is enough for everyone else."

Your fingers are still clenched in her shirt. She looks at them until you untangle them, one by one. The knuckles don’t ache.

She shakes her head. "It's like you don't want to be better."

“That went well,” your Sick says after the door swings shut.

“It’s your fault.”

It tilts its head on a neck that’s looser than it should be. “I didn’t do anything.”

It’s right. When you were sick you could request a shoulder rub to loosen tight muscles or hike up your shirt, no seduction, no bullshit, to ask if that rash looked bad. You could open your mouth and let the truth of your predicament outweigh prudishness or shame.

You don’t know how to ask people to touch you anymore.

It leans in close. “You need me,” it says. Oil bubbles over its lips and slicks its chin. “I was always your excuse.”

That weekend you watch your phone sit silent on the table, no pings from forum posts or medication reminders. Your Sick drifts over. It’s no longer a rotting corpse leaking garbage. It looks dead in the way you used to whenever you looked in the mirror.

Wherever it is in the real world, it doesn’t look like that anymore. From what you remember from the booklets they gave you, it’s already gone.

“Not going to explain yourself, huh?” asks your hallucination. Your haunting.

You shrug. What would you say to her? I took away the foundation of my life and don’t know what’s underneath. You only started being my friend when I needed help, so what’s left for us? There was always another medication or appointment or symptom but now everything’s fine and I’m still holding my breath.

You’ve gotten used to letting someone else talk for you.

“I was killing you,” it says.

That’s what you said. You look at the lines around its eyes and imagine a billion tiny swords raised against invaders that poured in every time you took a breath to light your joints up with friendly fire. “You were protecting me.”

“I was the worst part of you.”

“You were.” You flex your perfect, painless fingers. “Do I miss it?”

It grins and leans against the back of your chair, wrapping chilly arms around your waist. “I just wanted to make you say it.”

The grip around your belly aches in a way you recognize. Dull pain that makes its home in you. Cozy as curling up in bed with a headache. You look back at your silent phone. “Which one of us did she come here for?”

“Only one way to find out.”

You could reach out, but you don’t move. You have never known how to ask for help.

Your Sick sighs. It loosens its grip and reaches over your shoulder to lace corpse-cool fingers between yours. Then it lifts your combined hands in a swoop like the first dose of anesthesia, when the orderlies wheel you away and everything is out of your control. “Come on,” she says. Her breath is a puff of disinfectant on your cheek. “Let’s do it like we used to.”

After you came out of the anesthesia, the surgeons asked if you wanted to see your old body. You said no. You’d spent long enough inside it – it was something you wanted to leave behind. Besides, even after all the pamphlets and counseling sessions, you worried seeing your vacant face would jar something loose. Convince you like those cranks on the disability forums that you’d severed a connection that was irrevocable.

If you could do it again, you’d say yes. Step inside the morgue – no, they wouldn’t have moved it to the morgue yet, they’d want you to have a better venue to say goodbye – and catalogue the subtle changes only you could see. The swollen knuckles, flushed cheeks. All the other differences locked inside.

You imagine bending down and lifting the body the way it lifted you once, cradling its head in the crook of your arm. Imagine kissing your Sick and feeling poisonous tendrils creep down your throat to coat your insides with grime.

You imagine saying, welcome home.

(Author's note)

#kat writes

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sollucets · 1 year ago

Note

I saw you asking for touch prompts and okay. Imagine. Aye having a nightmare + touch prompt 5 and 28. Maybe? If you want to write a little something!

hi nonny :')! i made a little post about it right after getting this ask, but i've written something that i'd consider to be close to the more obvious interpretation of this prompt already, in on our way up ch5, so i did take this a little to the left of that, but i think it still suits

5 (feeling their pulse) + 28 (reaching for each other in the dark) from this list for my lil event; around 700 words of soft/sad/sleepy akkaye, rated t for trauma nightmares :')

💜

Akk wakes abruptly in the middle of the night. His room is pitch-black, the soft sound of the waves the only thing he can hear, and —

He reaches out to the other side of the bed, blindly, fingers searching for a body that should be there, and finds nothing.

Blearily, Akk gets up, throws a sheet over his bare shoulders, and goes out the door. His room is separate entirely from the rest of the house, and if he were going there he’d need to wear real clothes to cross part of the beach. But he isn’t, because as he’d expected, he finds Aye sitting on the steps, hands hooked around his knees, looking tiny in one of Akk’s sleep shirts.

Carefully in deference to his own half-awake state, Akk descends the couple stairs to his boyfriend then drops heavily down next to him. Aye, who apparently had headphones in, startles and turns to look at him with wide eyes.

Akk frowns at him, still barely awake enough for words.

“What are you doing up?” Aye asks quietly, pulling one headphone out. He has prominently visible eyebags.

“You’re gone,” mumbles Akk.

Aye’s expression does something funny, maybe a little wistful and maybe a little achingly fond, and he sighs. “I’m sorry. I— had a nightmare. I didn't want to wake you."

“Yeah,” says Akk, who’d also expected that. He frees a hand from its sheet cage to take one of Aye’s. “Okay now?”

Aye looks down at their hands, gently running his thumb back and forth over Akk’s skin, and doesn’t answer.

It’s fair. If it was all okay, Aye would be back inside where he’s supposed to be already. Akk leans their shoulders together and tries to think.

They’re on break, school out after term exams for a little while. Aye has been visiting Akk’s parents, coming out on the boats with them and trying his best to help with the catch and holding Akk’s hand in public. It’s good, it’s easy, it’s — impossible, he thinks sometimes. Like there should be a catch to being so happy. Like there should be a punishment.

Only for him, though. Never for Aye, not like this. This is the second nightmare this week; the first time only Akk had woken, laying silent in bed and watching Aye toss and turn and call alternately for Akk and for someone who’d never hear him. From looking it up, Akk knew better than to wake him if he didn’t have to; all he could do was inch close enough to hold him, careful and soft, and try not to cry.

When Aye hadn't seemed to remember in the morning, he hadn't said anything. He hadn’t wanted Aye to feel bad about it, or like he was ruining their vacation. But maybe he really should’ve, because it looks like that happened anyway. He should’ve said something so Aye could know it was fine, that Akk is fine with it, that he’ll carry this without complaint.

None of that has any path to make it out of his mouth here in the dark, sleep fogging his brain and his throat, so Akk just holds his hand tighter and says, “Don’t leave unless you want to, next time."

“Next time,” repeats Aye, bitterly, then sighs. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Aye feels a little colder than he should be against him. Akk untangles their hands long enough to drape the sheet over both of them, then scoots down enough on the step to put his head on Aye’s shoulder and holds out his hand palm-up between them. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, warm and held and sleepy again. “Be my pillow.”

Snorting, Aye leans into him, letting their heads rest together. “Spoiled,” he murmurs, tired and warm. “You missed me that much?”

Normally, this is the kind of thing Akk has to deny as part of their forever game of chase, but he can’t remember why that’s important right now, so he just says, “Yes.”

“Baby,” says Aye with a near-silent laugh and takes his hand back, grip warm. “It’s okay. I missed you too.”

They go silent. Akk closes his eyes. Faintly, he feels Aye’s thumb running over his pulse point, in time with a rhythm he can hear thudding in his own ears. He wonders if it was him who died in Aye’s dreams this time, resents himself for haunting them, hopes it’s enough to sit together and love him and weather it.

He holds on. It seems like it could be. It seems like it will be.

#the eclipse #akkayan #my fic tag #arbitrary milestone prompts #this is not the followup to last prompt that i promised you may notice #but i'm filling these in mostly chronological order so.#this is the way it must be #this was SO easy to write haha. i am a master champion at gentle emotional distress surrounding sleeping it is my firmly established niche

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saucedxlls · 3 months ago

Text

you ever have a weird dream where once you wake up you sit there like "why tf did my brain think that"

(i feel like because of how weird this shit is CW: pedos & cutting pedos dix off)

i'll start, had a weird ass dream where i was on youtube and there was a video where ashnikko & like 10 other german girls go to 2 pedos house, who for some reason looked like rhett & link if rhett & link went throught decades of alcohol abuse and lack of self-care, they break into their houses, cut both their d!cks and sew they together.

i would put like "an artist rendition" of how this happened, but i'm 99.9% sure that being on the internet would be a WHOLE lot weirder knowing there's a drawing out there where i tried to draw what i'm about to describe, so imagine two... things, one cut in half & sewed on top in the MIDDLE of the other one & the other one's... head is cut off & replace with the rest of the first one, i know you're uncomfortable, i'm uncomfortable, everyone in this god forsaken process is umcomfortable, let's move one.

oh and did i mention this was a commentary video? cause the beginning was an uncensored video of what i just described and then some guy comes on screen to reveal that right after she did this, ash released a line of merch that... like, idk how to explain this so like here's a drawing:

my memory of this is foggy but i remember it being bright and looks like something you'd find in hot topic, and than in this dream she made an animated shocksite gore series, btw in this dream this vid was posted in 2019 and it was 2024 and in 2024 the internet had pretty much been wiped from any proof of this show and the site it was on, the only thing i could find of it was a screenshot of the homepage on google and i spent too much time on the drawing of merch i thought in a fucking dream so i'm not drawing this out, just imagine this homepage

with a dark teal and light teal theme, ashnikko's face in the top left corner and shockvideos

so like the dumbass i am, in this dream after a few minutes of searching i managed to pirate the show a.k.a. i found a reddit post from 2020 with a mp4 file that was a compilation of every episode, there was only 3 and each were barely 10 minutes long, y'know those neon animal posters from the early 2000s? like these

so imagine that combined with happy tree friend if the plot of each episode of cleary written by 2018/2019 "stupid boy" & "slumber party" ash, also one of the characters was wearing a slutever t-shirt so that's useless info but i may as well

anyways insert that weird dream switch and i'm back in my shitty neighborhood i just moved out of a month ago, yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, anyways i walk into my friends houses which is just my old house but if my old house was from the show hoarders, i walk into the bedroom and a homeless man "breaks in" even tho they left the door wide open and all the windows were unlocked, i don't think literally anything happened after that and i'm suddenly in the school from the girl from nowhere but even more plain, one of my friends from my old school gives me a birthday card to give to my brother even tho his birthday's in may and it's the beginning of august, and just when i try to talk to her, her friend goes "umm no fuck that" and swoops in to take her to lunch

last thing i remember is me using microsoft word and i'm trying to write "emily youcis" but for some fvcking reason a type "elmly enncis" also the alfred's playhouse theme is playing at one volume on loop

i wake up, pondered my sanity for a few seconds, had to write emily youcis out on paper because i know that i know how to spell this woman's name and some what moved on

thanks for reading my rant!!!11!11!

#rant #weird dreams #idk what else to tag

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not-alien-girl-v · 1 year ago

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Vampires Will Never Hurt You (Harry Styles)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

"What do you think you're gonna get, girls?" Charlie had his head buried in his menu, sitting across from Donna and me in a small booth at IHOP.

"Not pancakes," Donna added nonchalantly. I turned my neck and gave her a look.

"You're going to the International House of Pancakes, and you're not getting pancakes?" Charlie put his menu down for this conversation.

"They have other things on the menu for a reason," Donna and Charlie continued to bicker on like that about why they should or shouldn't get pancakes, and I couldn't help but let my mind wander.

I spotted a man wearing a bright orange and blue shirt and was sent back into my memories.

It was June, 1978, back when Donna was still new to the coven, having arrived a mere 9 years before, and her, Charlie, and I were walking along a beach in California.

"No, no, no! You're wrong, just accept it!" Charlie bickered with Donna. Only 9 years ago they had met, and since that day they've been bickering like an old married couple. They're practically soulmates.

"Look Charlie, cats can see IN THE DARK. If they can see in the dark, werecats in a human form wouldn't need glasses! It's part of their whole supernatural thing! Shut your mouth!" Donna argued.

I was about to chime into the argument with my opinion when I saw a strange man staring at me across the sand. This guy was a textbook vampire. Sure, he didn't dress like an 18th-century governor, but he was crazy pale and strangely charming.

The more I thought about it, the more the idea of vampires intrigued me. What would I do if I met one?

That was the very first day that vampires consumed my every thought. If only 40 year old me could see me now.

"Faye, what do you think?" Charlie pulled me out of my daydream, and I suddenly realized my friend and my brother were now staring at me expectantly.

"Um, I think I'm going to get pancakes, sorry Donna." My best friend simply rolled her eyes and picked up her phone.

"Do you guys remember my accent?" I asked out of nowhere.

"Yeah, I do, why?" Donna replied while scrolling through Tumblr.

"I just miss it. It's weird to think I sound American, but then again, I don't sound remotely the same way I did a two hundred years ago," I looked out the window with a solemn gaze.

"Not so loudly Faye, we only moved here 20 years ago, I'm not ready to get the locals suspicious," Charlie warned with a pointed look.

"It's Los Angeles, this isn't even close to the weirdest conversation I've heard. Also, what do you mean by locals? We haven't had a stable neighbor for more than a year."

"Well, perhaps that's more us problem than a them problem. Remember the cotton incident of '06? Or the socks in the bathtub mishap of 2014?" Charlie said.

I shivered at the memory. A bathtub filled with socks is fun, but let's just say throwing up 3 pounds of cotton is not.

"Anyways, I'm gonna go out for a smoke. Don't order me anything," I excused myself from the table and walked outside.

I lit my cigarette and opened my phone, scrolling through my Instagram feed.

Suddenly, a post caught my attention. Harry Styles posted for the first time in a few months, with a selfie with his bandmate Louis, and the location was Los Angeles.

Maybe I'll run into him, a very old, very dangerous, yet hopeful part of my brain thought.

No. I thought we agreed to not listen to head-voice Faye. Remember the time that we-, shut up Donna! No, she wasn't telepathically communicating with me, I've just known her for long enough that her little voice comes into my head whenever I'm about to make a bad decision. That's how I know the decision is terrible, when I can immediately imagine Donna scolding me, but sometimes I just don't listen to it.

On that note, I put out my cigarette and walked back to the entrance, but was stopped by a now hiring sign.

I decided to walk inside and ask the man at the counter if I could get an interview, and ultimately got myself scheduled for two days from then.

I peered through the restaurant to see Charlie and Donna once again, in a lighthearted argument, and I decided to stay outside until they were finished.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

After I got back to the table, Donna and Charlie managed to behave themselves for the rest of the night. All the way through dinner, which was when Charlie gave us a stern talking to about using the new spell, to when he dropped us off at our shared house and went home.

"Did you end up getting an interview while we were there?" Donna had asked me while cleaning the dishes.

"I did yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm going to get a job there. By the looks of it, they were understaffed, I don't think the bar is very high at the moment," I replied and suddenly got the idea to perfect the spell now that I had some brotherly advice on it:

"That's good," Donna finished up with the dishes, "I'm gonna go to bed, goodnight, Faye." She walked off to her room.

"Night," I mumbled and pretended to be invested in my phone but once I made sure she was in her room, I scrambled to grab my grimoire.

I followed Charlie's not so specific instructions, and figured which item I'd link the spell to, which I decided would be an old dagger I found in the garage, and then got to work on my sigil.

I studied the base sigil I wanted to use and drew it in my own grimoire, then added in some jazz to make it my own.

I carefully tiptoed to my room and slid open my closet door to find a suitable outfit. I pushed aside several old dresses and jackets, and once my hand pushed aside one jacket in particular, an old Polaroid fell out of the broken pocket.

I got that heavy feeling in my heart, you know, the kind you get when you're about to remember something you're trying to forget.

I reluctantly bent down and grabbed the Polaroid, inspecting the outlines of my face 40 years ago placed beside none other than Jesse Kellerman himself.

Like always, I was sent into a flashback.

"Wait, so does that mean that you do magic and shit?" Jesse asked me with an ecstatic grin on his face as he sat at the foot of my bed.

"Yeah, I guess it does," I played with a small ring I had on my finger.

"Turn me into a frog!" He shouted, and I snorted at him. "What?"

"Why do you want to be a frog?" I asked him through my laughter.

"It's not about wanting to be a frog, it's about wanting to see you turn me into a frog," he explained and he scooted closer to me.

"I don't think I know a frog spell. Believe it or not, us witches, we try to focus our magic on more serious topics," I attempted to explain to him. Keyword attempted.

"Well then just make one up, you can do that, right?" He looked like an excited puppy, and I couldn't just say no to him.

"Fine, I'll see what I can do."

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

About half an hour later, I had found a spell for amphibians, so there was a chance he could turn into a frog, but he could also be a toad or a salamander or even a newt.

In the end, he turned into a toad, which was close enough to a frog, and it wasn't like he could tell the difference; he was a toad.

After a solid 10 minutes of me laughing my ass of and him making toad sounds (A/N I looked it up turns out toads make different sounds than frogs) I whipped out my Polaroid camera and took a picture of him. Once it came out I shook it, then wrote down 'Faye + Toad Jesse 1978'

I assumed that one day in the future we'd look back at the picture and I'd tell him how the spell didn't work quite right, but I never got the chance to.

As soon as I snapped out of my daydream, I shoved the picture into the other pocket of the jacket as fast as it fell out.

I quickly yanked on a jacket and walked back out to the living room where my grimoire resided.

From what Charlie told me, the spell can't be completed until it's tested, so I needed to find my test subject.

I decided that it could wait until I found a worthy creature to be the world's first vampire. It's a big role, I can't just hand it out to any old guy!

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #harry styles fic #louis tomlinson #louis tomlinson fanfic #louis tomlinson fanfiction #2014 aesthetic #2014 vibes #2014 core #2014 grunge

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buffywatching · 3 years ago

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me just existing vs the spike gender envy hitting me like a truck

#bro.#when the 3 am gender envy hits..#it is very strange. bc i don’t usually feel that way for blond characters which is silly but my brain tries to keep my options realistic -#- as i am . not blond #by the way i’m literally going as spike for a con in like..#in like 2 weeks? ish?#and yes i was him for halloween but like. hair is an issue!#i’m such a coward i don’t rly wanna bleach it………… however i’ve never had a wig in my life idk how to do that shit but i’m . thinking ab it #ANYWAY i just wanna be a really Good spike . i need a makeup artist fr #dilemmas..#anyway this post is about sitting with no shirt on in the dark . my brain says it’s spikecore #giles talks #edit: damn okay. first of all trying to find spike cosplays be like NO not mlp or cowboy bebop!!!!#second of all. everyone’s hair is bleached i think…….. might have to take the piss………… i worry i will loook so shit bc everyone else’s #cosplays r so much . better than mine #MY DUSTER ISNT EVEN FULLY BLACK :( it’s just a very dark brown BUT ITS NOTICABLE IN THE LIGHT…. dies #and makeup too………oh lord this is hitting me harder than i thought LOL um.

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unholyhelbig · 3 years ago

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Crescent 1/? | Natasha Romanoff x MoonKnight!Reader

Summary: When Natasha Romanoff takes a job as head of security for Dina Jackson she has an ulterior motive- to find the tomb of Egyptian artifacts that the art world is racing for. Dina's disgraced niece is charming, awkward, and under the influence of Khonsu, the God of the Moon.

Warnings: Subtle Violence, Family disputes, scary bird diety, and probably horrible grammar.

[A/N: I'm working super super hard on this one, and would appreciate some feedback 😭 I also don't have a posting schedule and know that I have a million other fics going right now- but I couldn't help myself!]

Masterlist | Request a Prompt | Join my Taglist

There was always a stillness to the air in the museum that was hard to find anywhere else, a soft scent of something old that lingered within the light that streamed through the windows. It was four floors of knowledge and wonder, and paintings that were slathered with vibrant colors yet to fade. Dinosaur bones that were reconstructed by hand, guarded with velvet ropes and motion sensors, mummies that crossed their decaying arms over their chests, dead crystal eyes sweeping the room.

You found solace here among other things, that kept you coming back day after day. Your hands were blackened by charcoal, the neckline of your t-shirt suffering a similar fate. That was a nervous habit that you kept, toying with the fabric as you struggled to capture the light shading on Lady Madja’s coffin.

There was a small spot that you often made your own, your back against the marble wall of the room, one leg folded to your chest while the other was outstretching in front of you. For reasons that you personally did not understand, not many people found interest in the same Egyptian exhibit that had been at your local museum since you were a child.

“Didn’t you draw that yesterday?”

“No,” you grumbled, making a dark slash against the far end of the coffin. “I drew the outer coffin of Tamutnefret. You work here, shouldn’t’ you know the difference?”

You glanced up at Tommy. He had his thumbs in his belt loops, limp next to his heavy flashlight. The security guard wasn’t armed with anything except for a discontent with his job and a walkie talkie that could trigger a silent alarm. No one had tried to burglarize Hell’s Kitchen’s least frequented place yet, but they kept him around just in case.

He scoffed “They pay me to make sure this stuff doesn’t’ vanish, not to know everything about it. You should apply for a position here, tour guide or something. At least you’d earn some money from sitting here all day.”

“I like being here. I don’t need to get paid.”

He blinked at you, brushing his silver-blonde hair of his eyes as if he had never actually heard that phase before. You closed your sketch book, folding the flimsy notebook and shoving it into your back pocket before standing. The place was pretty slow today, not a field trip in sight.

Truth was; A little extra money wouldn’t hurt. Of course, you had your art, your studio that had been operating in lower Manhattan for the better part of a year now. It was doing well, well enough for you to fund the three-dollar admission fee to hold yourself up here. It was what some would call procrastination, but you deemed it a way to get out of the building.

“What is it about Egypt anyway? Plenty of other things to see here. Like space. I wouldn’t judge you for watching the light show every day but this” He gestured vaguely to the room “nothing is interesting about a bunch of decaying old bodies and sand. A shit ton of sand.”

“Egyptian deities are cool as fuck, Tommy.” You deadpanned “They represent not only power, but things in the everyday world like the sun, and the moon. 1500 of them, dude. Every single abstract concept you can come up with in your brain is represented by a deity.”

“Wow,” He drew out the word, his crystal eyes widening, cupping the back of his neck. “I never knew how much of a big fucking nerd you were. What plague did you plagiarize that from?”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at him. Instead, you settled for a muted growl before glancing at your watch. It was hard to keep track of the day when you really focused on your sketches. Dinner, you were going to be late to dinner if you didn’t’ get on the subway now.

With a mock salute, you made your way out of the museum, giving a half-hearted goodbye to the receptionist and exiting onto the large stone steps. The spring air replaced the stale scent of the Egyptian exhibit. A quiet rain fell from the sky- the lights of passing taxis and buses reflected from the damp world.

You can’t be late for this dinner.

“Can you alter time and get me there faster?” You mumbled, shoving your hands into your pockets as you made your way down the steps. “Yeah, didn't think so. If you don’t have any constructive solutions, I could do without the mocking.”

You need to learn better time management.

Getting scolded by an ancient Bird God wasn’t on your list of things to do today. You had made a mistake by gassing him up too much back there. Khonsu lurked in most reflections, including the wet sidewalk. He rarely interfered, but the scheduled dinners made him nervous, an anxiety that you could feel up the center of your spine.

You wouldn’t be late.

Manifestation was a good part of how you got where you were today, and despite the strong stench of sweat and smoke in the overly crowded car of the subway, you knew that you wouldn’t’ miss your dinner with your aunt. So, help you, if you did. So, help Khonsu more.

Nervously, you glanced at your watch and shoved your way through some disgruntled New Yorkers that mumbled profanities under their breath. They’d get over it, you knew they would. Your family, however, had a harder time forgiving you. It was only three blocks, three blocks that you would have to sprint in order to get to.

I don’t know why you sit through these things. We don’t need them. I can get us everything we want.

“Shut up,” You mumbled, panting under your breath. His voice was all-encompassing, and a little bit bored. The only reason you continued to attend these family get togethers was because it annoyed him. Bothered him that you still cared. You mothers roast chicken sealed the deal too.

By the time you made it to the all too fancy lobby of the apartment building, you had a stitch in your side and a coat of sweat against your skin that instantly made you regret being a little late in exchange for general hygiene.

“Y/N, you’re cutting it close.” Bennet gave you a tight smile, reaching out his white gloved hand and opened the gold-plated door. You shot him a tender look and nodded before gulping in a breath of air.

There was thankfully a bathroom in the back corner of the lobby. It was fancier than your own apartment, with lavender smelling soaps and towels that were warmed to perfection. Mumbling profanities under your breath, you stripped your backpack, and your coat before grabbing a towel, and loading it with soap.

You worked hard to scrub the sweat and charcoal from your collarbone and then you moved to under your arms, scrubbing hard until the only thing you could smell was a floral sweetness.

It was then that you noticed you weren’t alone in the bathroom. The granite stall door behind you opened, and you froze in your movements. This woman- this woman was stunning enough for words to get caught in the web of your throat.

Her auburn hair was styled into waves, rolling over her shoulders, a black blouse hugging her curves. The bright bulbs above the sinks reflected brutally in her forest green stare. It seemed to pierce you, regard you as she made no effort to disguise the way it lingered. Your stomach felt hot.

“Am I interrupting something?” She asked, taking a few steps towards the furthest sink. She flicked on the water and pumped a few globs of soap into her palm. You awkwardly, lowered your arm, throwing the wad of towels into a basket.

“Ah, no” you cleared your throat “public… restroom”

Okay, you could do this, talking to a pretty woman wasn’t anything new. You did it on a daily basis when you ran into one of the actual tour guides at the museum. Of course, you spouted off about Egyptian lore and barely took a breath between words- but it was considered talking.

This time, though, you swallowed hard and grabbed your jacket, your bag, and fumbled your way out of the bathroom before she even had a chance to dry her hands. Another deep breath, another mortifying moment before you’d have to worm your way through an uncomfortable family dinner.

Just as the doors to the elevator closed, the stranger from the bathroom slipped into the small space. You nudged yourself into the corner, offering the beautiful woman up a timid smile. “Going up?”

Of course, she’s going up. Where else would she be going?

Fucking bird brain loved to watch you squirm. You wished this was one of the moments where the God of the Moon found a different use for his time instead of following his avatar around. There had to be something else to preoccupy him other than your horrible rapt sheet of talking to women.

“Penthouse, please.”

You hit the button and it lit up a stale blue. Khonsu watched you from the plated mirrors that encircled the elevator. If he could have a shit-eating grin, he would. Instead, he just regarded you from his unnatural height. You had practice ignoring him.

“Small world, me too.”

“Really?” She lifted an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I mean” You shoved your hands into your jean pockets “after awhile it doesn’t benefit you to dress up for this kind of thing. Not that you look bad. You look very nice I just…should stop talking now.”

“Huh,” She smiled at you then, a soft gesture that nearly eased all the tension in the elevator. Nearly. Khonsu had flickered out entirely. You couldn’t feel his looming presence anymore. The higher the floor the lighter you felt. He wouldn’t accompany you here, he had his own agenda.

When you glanced up, the woman’s eyes were on you again, trying to figure out how someone like you had gotten invited to the meal of the cities most famed art curator. You still held your jacket, your bag in white-knuckled hands. But still, you offered up your own smile in return.

The elevator lurched to a stop. A separate keypad lit up and you reached for your keyring before buzzing both of you in. The entryway was large and sterile, a mix of cherry red wood, stainless steel and elegance. The penthouse had two floors that overlooked the city, it’s flashing lights, it’s large windows.

You could smell the Italian that wafted from the kitchen. It was usually served family style, in large basins filled with marinara and pasta. Your stomach clenched at the thought of food, having half-heartedly eaten a bagel from a bodega this morning.

At least you weren’t the only one that had strolled in late. When your mother rounded the edge of the stairs, she had a disapproving look on her face that was soon schooled into something that was semi acceptable for company that wasn’t family.

“Darling, you’re running late.” She moved close and placed a kiss against your cheek “I see you’ve met Miss Rushman, our new chief of security, or so we hope.”

“My apologies, I hit a particularly bad patch of traffic. I hope Aunt Dina isn’t too displeased.”

She waved you off “Nonsense. A nice bottle of wine and all will be forgiven. Let me take both of your coats.”

A nice bottle of wine was enough to reduce you to ramen noodles for the rest of the month, but you would never admit that to your family. That would be a fate worse than death. You took your mother up on her offer, passing her your coat in succession to the woman next to you.

Your family, namely your aunt and her husband, supplied the museums with all of their greatest exhibits, including the Egyptian one that you spent so much time in, sketching the same things over and over again until you got the shading right, got the shapes and the colors and the way the light shifted around the items throughout the year.

When you were young, you’d accompany her around the world, clutching your tiny passport and taking in the wonders of the trade conventions she would go to, the dig sites and castles that had been reclaimed by nature.

She could barely stand to make eye contact with you now, and part of you didn’t’ blame her for that. Being invited to their family dinners had been your mother’s idea, she prodded and poked at her sister until the woman agreed. Though, showing up late never boded well.

You blew out a small breath and made your way to the kitchen, trying to shake off the nerves that buzzed through you. A beautiful woman wasn’t going to knock you off your game. You had a dignity to uphold, though half the people here had seen you stumble through dance lessons as a kid.

There was a platter of different meats and cheeses set out on the kitchen island, a few bottles of chilled red wine. You reached for the wine wrack and pulled down two glasses, free of smudges. “You can’t get through one of these without a little bit of a buzz, Miss Rushman.”

“Natalie, please.” She stood across the island from you, watching carefully as you popped the cork and filled both glasses generously with alcohol.

“I’m Y/N,”

She took the drink that you had offered, taking a few generous gulps. You smiled into your own glass, the sour scent. It hit the back of your throat and the edges of your jaw but quickly cooled your nerves. You’d have to get some food into you fast, a spare cracker or fancy cheese that you couldn’t pronounce.

“Don’t take this the wrong way. I certainly wouldn’t want to offend the family that has offered me such a generous position,”

“I don’t look like I belong here.” You finished her thought process with a swallow of wine.

She chuckled, a sweet sound. “No, you don’t.”

“I get that a lot, don’t worry. As far as they’re concerned, I’m not supposed to be here.” You frowned and shoved a cracker into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Head of security, huh?”

“Not yet, I think this is supposed to convince me.” she sighed, leaning against the counter. You directed your attention to the flashing time on the oven behind her. Her blouse dipped low, eyes scanning you. More than anything, you fought the urge to look respectfully. “Best behavior and all”

When your aunt walked into the kitchen, you couldn’t quell the way your pulse picked up against the inside of your wrist. Instead, you straightened up and adjusted your collar as if you weren’t still wearing a t-shirt, slightly damp with the idea of lavender.

Natalie righted herself as well, pulling her shoulders back and taking in your aunt much like she had regarded you earlier, this time her stare was less honeyed and more tactical. The woman carried a certain elegance to her; Deep golden eyes, and long blonde hair that was died a lighter beige at the roots.

“Miss Rushman, I’m so pleased you could make it.” She took the woman’s hand in her perfectly manicured one. “I see you’ve met my niece. Don’t let her change your mind about accepting the position.”

You rolled your eyes and finished off your glass of wine. It was better not to argue with her, seeing as you had already stirred the pot with your tardiness. This was fine, everything was fine. You just had to breathe through it.

“Actually, she’s been perfectly charming.” Natalie said, shooting you a smile “We had a great conversation on the way up. She convinced me to take the position.”

The drink you had just downed threatened to make a second appearance as you choked on air, swallowing hard to stifle your shock. If standing there nervously sweating was enough to push a woman like this into accepting a position at the company, you weren’t aware of it.

“Y/N did?” Your Uncle Chip placed his hand on the small of Dina’s back. He was nursing a scotch that he would gingerly sip until the fire died down as well as the conversation. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to have you on the team, Miss Rushman, but our Y/N? She tends to be-“

“Right here,” You spoke up.

He chuckled “Socially awkward. Passionate about certain things.”

Fuck. You really did need to count your blessings. If Khonsu wasn’t here, that was enough for you for the time being. You seemed to trade hands from the God to the family that would rather shun you.

“Passion is good,” Natalie said, “Do I smell spaghetti?”

Aunt Dina clapped her hands together and let out an excited noise before leading the way to the dining room. Chip grasped at the tray of food that you handed over to him. You palmed your glass and a small wicker basket of rolls to busy yourself.

“Thank you, Miss Rushman.” You whispered to her as you made your way to the dining room, swearing that she fought back a shiver. She gave you a pointed look “Natalie.”

You couldn’t help but feel a heat bloom against your abdomen, despite being wedged between your Aunt Dina and your own mother. You’d rather be back the museum, or home, or doing anything but this. But Natalie seemed to ease that in the slightest, as she met your eyes across the table.

Taglist: @pianogirl2121 @strangegardentaco @iwishforausername @tforjatp @lenam07 @143bc @littlebluestone @ohmy-godyes

#Natasha Romanoff #natalie rushman #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x moonknight!reader #Moonknight #moonknight reader #moonknight fanfiction #y/n moonknight

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kitasfox · 3 years ago

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If you’re still taking requests, could you do Oikawa+Degradation please ? Something about him calling us a dumb bitch just makes me act up 🥴🤚🏾. Thank You! And if you think you’re awkward then oh boy i don’t know what to call myself. 😂

a/n: she said radio silence for 2 weeks 🤪🤩 im really sorry about that but my exams ended today!! So I'm free to thirst my dudes. If you have requests, send em in!! ANYWAY!! ENJOY!!

Also this ask gave me massive brainrot sorry gor answering late it was amazing

THIS POST IS NSFW!! Minors do not interact or I'll bite.

warnings: BIMBO! kinda dubcon, not in my perspective, but still. Manipulation, virgin slander but actually a corruption kink, corruption kink ^^, oral (reader receiving), mentions of taking virginity, possesive behavior, heavy degrading yall

Find suna's bimbo girl here!

Find atsumu's bimbo girl here!

Find sakusa's bimbo girl here!

Find tendou's bimbo girl here!

Your best friend was a charitable, charitable man.

Wasn't that why you sat on your knees in front of him, so desperately trying to fit his cock in your mouth?

To know that this is the first time you've ever held a cock gives him a kind of thrill nothing else had given, to watch your clueless eyes as to what to do as you hold his cock, hot and heavy and foreign, an urge to take it between your lips, irresistible.

"Spit on it, pretty girl, just like that." He instructs you, as composed as ever. Long fingers threading between your hair, he gives you an appreciative pat. "What a good girl," he smiles, "she learns so quick."

"T-tooru?" You whisper the brunette's name, not sure if he'll hear you since he looks so immersed in the movie he's watching, eyes locked on the screen-

"Yes, baby?" Of course, he heard you. He doesn't avert his gaze to you, still focused on what's on the tv, but you know he's listening. You gulp.

Your body entangled with his, you laid between his arms as both of you faced the tv, your ass right on top of his-

"What's up, Y/N?" He now turns his gaze to you, face leaning slightly forward as his nose almost touches the top of your hair; you feel his breath against your ear. He stands so close, but it's okay; Oikawa has assured you this was normal for best friends. As well as the dark purple marks he leaves on your neck, sometimes on your chest. "They're lovebites," he says, rubbing his own neck that you've left your marks, "don't you love me?"

Of course, you do. You love him more than everything- and it's not like you dislike his lovebites, too. They feel... they feel nice. And if Oikawa said it was normal, who were you to doubt him?

"I had a- had a question." You detach your body from him, the loss of warmth and the feeling of him making your body tremble. Or maybe it's the anxiousness of what you're about to ask.

You turn around to face him, coming face to face with the soft trails of pink and red you placed on his neck (he always gets the loudest when you kiss his neck), and as always, he doesn't have a shirt on.

"Uh-huh," Oikawa raises a brow questioningly, pretty eyes narrowing with annoyance, "on with it, already." He knows how much you struggle with words, his dumb little girl, but it's okay, he can wait for your little brain to form sentences.

You turn your gaze to your fingers, tracing shapes on the sheets of his bed. You look so embarrassed; Oikawa can't help but get excited. "I have a- uhm, date tomorrow."

You admit, missing the slight frown that sits on his pretty lips.

"But I don't know how to- I mean,-" you bite your lip, your gaze so innocent and pretty as it meets his eyes, trying to gather the courage to- "How do I please a man?"

Oikawa almost chokes on his own spit, trying to hide it with a series of fake coughs. "You what now?"

"Y-you heard me!" You protest, bottom lip slightly wobbling as you have to repeat it, to your horror, maybe even explain, "how do I- umm, you know."

"I don't, actually." Oikawa raises his brows at you, smiling cruelly and relishing in how you avoid his gaze, how utterly embarrassed you stand before him. "You mean how to fuck better-?"

"No!" You exclaim, a little too fervently; it has Oikawa's grin spreading wider on his lips. "N-not that, but- uhm, blowjob, maybe-?." You finally speak the words, closing your eyes and fisting your hands; as if closing your eyes would pull you from the situation.

"You're asking me how to give a blowjob?" Oikawa repeats your question, almost about to laugh before he realizes what this means. "Wait," his eyes grow impossibly wide, a feeling of burning excitement washing down his back, "don't tell me you've never given a blowjob before."

Fucking hell, there's no way you-

Your gaze widens in embarrassment, like a dear caught in headlights, mouth opening, and closing to say something, deny it, but can't. You can't lie, not to Oikawa. "D-don't say it like that!" You say, instead.

you are.

It feels like the discovery of a century, Oikawa can't contain his excitement, a twisted one, as he leans forward, cupping your chin and tilting it up to meet your gaze better as he stands a breath away from your face. His smile wide and predatory, you wonder if you said something wrong.

"But it's true, isn't it?" He whispers, a smug smile almost kissing your lips. "Has anyone ever even touched you before?"

The question makes you whimper, you want to avoid his burning gaze but he wouldn't let you. "No." He finally get his answer, and oh- fuck, he's getting hard.

"You're a virgin?" He repeats, but it sounds more like an amusing fact he just discovered.

His thumb traces your bottom lip, swiping over it in a lustful motion, watching the way your eyelids flutter with excitement. The only light source in the room is the one from the tv; it shadows on Oikawa's pretty face- not, however, enough for you to pick up the predatory tilt of his lips.

You feel a lustful warmth bloom in the pit of your stomach, this feels d-different, but it's nice, exciting, your mouth falling agape as hot, shallow breaths fall.

You wait for a kiss, you really think he might- might kiss you, Oikawa pulls back, falling deaf to your needy whine.

"Pretty girl," he sighs, thumb caressing your cheek, almost as if what you're asking is too much. "Hasn't anyone told you guys don't like virgins?"

It takes you 4 seconds to process the words.

"Wh-what?" You gasp, oh, your eyes are getting glassy, too, what a prize to see. "But-"

"You didn't tell him you're a virgin, did you?"

You shake your head no; you look so sad all of a sudden; he probably should feel bad. But it isn't Oikawa's fault you're so dumb. "Only you, 'ru."

Fucking hell, how can you pick the one answer that'd make him want to ruin you even more? All he wants to do is to pry your legs open and fuck you till you pass out, and fuck how amazing would you look with his dick in your cunt, your face smushed against that table, drooling like the dumb bitch you are.

He should- he should control himself. Just for a few more minutes, just until he has you in the trap.

"Good- he would've left you immediately!" Oikawa laughs lightly, as if he's not telling you how insecure you should be by being a virgin. "You can't tell anyone that, okay? No one would want to take a girl's virginity; it's so much work, you know."

He says nonchalantly as you stare at him with a wide, helpless, broken gaze. "Tooru, but what am I- what am I gonna do?"

You sob, trying to be subtle about wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes when Oikawa coos at you, pulling you to his chest. "Shh, shh," he coos, hand coming up to pat the top of your head. "Okay, pretty baby, don't worry, I'll help you."

As he says that, you feel the pads of his fingers trace the skin of your tighs, right where the hem of your short little skirt ends.

"I should show you how it should feel like first," he breathes into your ear, voice just slightly strained, "so you can make me feel the same."

When you nod, he chuckles.

"What a pretty skirt," he laughs as his touch trails higher on your leg, now bordering on the soft material of your panties. "Wore just for me? Did you plan this from before, Y/N?" He teases, watching closely to see your reaction.

"N-no! I promise I haven't-"

"Of course, you havent," Oikawa rolls his eyes, "my dumb little baby, you're not smart enough to think this far, are you?"

You would've protested in any other circumstance, but he aligns the time he spits the words with when his long fingers push your panties aside, the tip of his finger grazing your folds.

Even the slight touch of him has you squirming on his lap, your head falling on his shoulder when his thumb finds your clit, rubbing the softest circles.

"Fuck, you're so sensitive," he groans, wondering if you can feel his cock pressing against your ass. Even with one finger, he has you moaning his name. "So wet, too. Just like a fucking whore- do you hear yourself?" Oikawa laughs at you, mocks you, relishing in the way you get embarrassed over the wet sounds you make, the way you moan his name.

You press your face on his neck, trying to hide your humiliation, the drool trickling from the corners of your lips leaving trails against his skin. "'m not a- mmh! Not a whore!" You muster out as he finally slides a second finger in your pussy, his thumb still circling your clit and making you squirm, jump on his lap that he has to hold you down. "Mmh- 'ru! That feels- h-ah!"

You squirm so cutely, jumping over his lap, rubbing yourself right on his cock and making his breaths fall shallow, as well. "You like this, pretty girl? Like how my fingers feel in you? Have you ever done this yourself?"

The question catches you off-guard; you heave hot breaths against his neck when his free hand grabs you by the hair, pulling with enough force to have you face him. Your eyes rolling back I your head, mouth open like a dumb girl, a silly expression settling on your features.

"Answer me." He spits, he sounds so- so demanding, you don't know what washes over you as you find yourself answering. "Y-yes."

"You do?" He smiles darkly, chuckling at your embarrassed gaze. "You're not as innocent as I think you are- you really are a needy little bitch."

You shake your head no, but why did you squeeze his finger so tight just then?

"Don't be- don't be mean, Tooru." When you- when you say that while his fingers stuff you full, Oikawa thinks you're doing it on purpose.

"Sorry, sorry," he laughs when he hears how your voice shakes. "Forgot how much of a crybaby you were. A stupid little girl, letting her best friend fuck her- don't you feel any embarrasment?"

You're getting close, he can feel it. Oikawa picks his pace, laughing when your voice gets louder, moans turning into short screams, mouth falling open as your tongue lolls out and eyes close- you look lost in bliss.

"'ru, Tooru, Tooru!" You chant his name like a prayer, your muscles tightening with what's coming, toes curling, your body putty over his lap, melting into his embrace as he fucks you dumb on his fingers. "You feel that? Come on scream my name, baby, scream my name, tell me who's making you feel this good."

"You- Tooru you make me- mmh, you make me feel so good, please!"

"Cum for me then, pretty girl." He whispers and you're cumming, body shaking and spamming violently as he holds you down, pressing you on his chest, letting you ride the orgasm out.

You stay like that, molten into him and a heaving, stupid mess for a while as he pulls his fingers out from beneath your skirt, making sure you watch him as he brings his digits to his mouth.

"Mmh-" he smiles, "tastes delicious."

You whimper.

He leans forward, pressing his lips against yours, giving you a taste of yourself. "Are you okay?"

You nod, you seem to have pulled yourself back together from the mind-breaking orgasm as your eyes sparkle with hunger.

"M-my turn?" Your gaze falls lower on his lap, widening at the sight of the tent straining his sweatpants. "Your turn." He nods, opening his legs to give you better access.

You look excited as you bend forward, placing yourself snug between his legs. As you settle on your knees, Oikawa takes a shaky breath when your fingers grab his print from over his sweatpants.

"What am I..." you raise your clueless gaze, unsure of what to do with that thing in your hands. "Should I- um, take it out?"

Oikawa smiles down at you, it's the kind that gives you shivers. "Look at you, a dumb clueless girl- take it out, baby." He whispers against your lips. "Let me teach you how to please a man."

He'll teach you everything, you don't have to worry. He just has to ruin you enough to make you forget that unnecessary man's name. You belong to him now- he'll make sure to carve your insides just for his dick- enough to have you a babbling mess, enough to have you blabbering his name and nothing else.

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tsunderedoctor · 3 years ago

Note

I don't know if the orders are open. If not, please feel free to discard this request!

but if that's not the case…

I would like to see Kid, Ace, Law and Sanji getting jealous of their wives who seemed very excited about the messages coming in on their cell phones. And look! Looks like they mistakenly saw a picture of a man on the screen... hmmmm, how will they react?

I AM CRAZY ABOUT YOUR WORK! 💕✨

I do my best to keep my requests open at all times, haha! But, that just means I have a lot of requests so they take a bit longer to get out-

But thank you for your kind words!! 😭😭

Babes Below~!

Eustass “Captain” Kid

“Who is it?”

Turning your head to face your husband, you gave him a confused look, not understanding what he is asking from you.

“Who is who?”

A harsh glare was your only answer, as he reached over to grab your phone to prove his point. He didn’t expect you to be a cheater, but he had no problem putting you in your place and showing both of you your true colors.

Seeing him reach for your phone, you pulled it back, hiding it behind the pillow you were laying on. He only got more irritated at your behavior and wrestled you on the bed to get your phone. You would have called this moment cute, but with his fiery glare in his amber eyes, you only grew more irritated with the man.

“I’ll let you see my phone once you tell me what the hell you are going off about.”

He huffed, sitting up and crossing his arm, also not in the mood to play games, he stated he saw you were looking at a man and wanted to know who the asshole was you decided to cheat on him with. Hearing this only made you roll your eyes, as you pulled the phone out of its hiding place.

‘I wasn’t cheating, dumbass, I was looking for a gift for your thick brain. Guess it’s ruined now.”

Handing him the phone, he opened it to find a website with a model wearing a tulip printed shirt. Feeling a bit stupid over his accusation, he threw the phone on the bed and pouted.

“It’s a stupid ass shirt anyway-”

Portgas D. Ace

Seeing your smiling face, made the brunet wonder what meme or TikTok you were looking at, doing his best to be inconspicuous, he check and felt his heart drop as what he saw.

You were smiling over a photo of a good looking guy, he did his best to ignore the negative thoughts that were racing through his head as he went about his day.

Throughout the day you could tell something was bothering him, he didn’t talk unless asked questions, and even then it was one worded, and he held a soft expression that showed he was dealing with something.

You finally had enough of his moping behavior and asked him what had happened. He eventually admitted what he had saw on your phone, your own heart sunk at seeing him look so weak and fragile.

“Baby...no, that photo was of my cousin, he just graduated, look.”

You showed him the photo he remembered seeing, reading your own post on the bottom of the picture, congratulating them on their success. He blinked back a tear and smiled softly.

“So, you still love me?”

“Of course I do, you big baby.”

Trafalgar D. Water Law

He stared daggers down at your phone, your sleeping body next his. Your phone at went off, only going to put it on the nightstand to not disturbed your sleep, he was taken aback reading the text: ‘How about him?’

And now here he is going through and seeing you and a friend rating men, for what reasons, he didn’t know nor cared to find out. Debating on waking you up now or waiting until the morning filled his mind. He just wanted some damn answers.

Stirring in your sleep, your eyes could tell a difference in the darkness, that something was disturbing the nighttime bliss. Waking up and seeing Law staring down at your phone didn’t ring any sirens, you had nothing to hide, but it did confuse you on what he was doing.

Hearing you wake up, he got to work on his interrogation, asking who the men were and why you had the audacity to rate them when you were in a happy relationship, at least he thought it was happy.

Starring down at the screen as your eyes adjusted to the blaring light, you moved the phone aside and looked at the brunet.

“We were looking at guys a friend got matched with, trying to see which one looked like a serial killer and all that, that one must have been the most recent candidate of “Are you a killer?”“

Blushing slightly that he should of known better, he put your phone on the nightstand and laid with you on the bed, curling up against him you smiled and kissed his head.

“Don’t worry babe, we did the same with you too when we first met.”

“You did what-?”

Vinsmoke Sanji

It was difficult to throw a party for Sanji, he either knew every catering company in the city or Luffy would spill the news to him before the party occurred.

This year however, was going to be different. Firstly, Luffy is not involved in the party making plans and has no idea there is a surprise party for that manner. Secondly, you reached out to a caterer out of the city, you had found his website and loved his work.

He had recently sent a picture of the cake design for Sanji’s birthday, you replied that it looked great, and he sent you a photo of a thumbs up, letting you know he was going to get to work.

Hearing your blond prince come back from work, you hid your phone and greeted him with a welcoming kiss. However, sadly, you weren’t quick enough for the cook and he asked what you were hiding, thinking it was some gift of sorts. After back and forth, you pulled out your phone.

For the rest of the evening it went smoothly, going to wash the dishes, you had left your phone on the table. Sanji quickly went to work, wanting to know the surprise he knew had to be in there, but was greeted with a man giving him a thumbs up.

“Who is this man, trying to woe my love?!”

Coming out, you signed, taking the phone away you glared at the blond annoyed. “Should have known better, there’s goes your birthday surprise.”

Looking at you and then the phone in your hand, he puffed annoyed. “Could have at least found a cute girl to make my cake.”

Maybe a birthday party wasn’t what he needed-

Tag List: @chloe-nanami @musical-apple @luxiditea @macdonaldsmanager @onepieceya @undercoverweeeb @fantasyfairysworld @athenaportgas @my-one-piece-experience @iam-gaaras-loveintrest and whoever else wants to join in!

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outlustings · 3 years ago

Note

Can you do some super romantic Chris Walker headcannons please

(i tried to go for romance but my brain jumped into sadness mode instead. oops. also pre!ME chris is fascinating and needs love. soft chris but also head ripping chris in the same post??)

BEFORE MOUNT MASSIVE

Since his job isn’t exactly the most well-paying job in the world, he will take you on affordable dates. Chris is pretty sad about not being able to spoil you the way he thinks you should be spoiled, however, you’re just glad you’re able to spend time with him and that is more than enough for you. Whenever you bring this up to him, he blushes furiously and turns his gaze to the ground and mumbles something you can’t quite catch. Just reassure him and say that you prefer handpicked wild flowers over synthetic-smelling roses anyways.

He does shiftwork so getting your schedules to line up is pretty hard, however, he doesn’t mind coming home to find you already sleeping in one of his old t-shirts. To him, it’s the best sight in the world, even to his tired eyes. He creeps around to the bathroom, takes a quick shower and slips into bed, trying to be quiet – of course he’s not that quiet, you always wake up whenever he comes home but you’ll just yawn and outstretch your arms as an invite to come and snuggle, and he can’t refuse it.

Visit him during his breaks or just pop into his little corner of the clinic whenever you please. There’s no better way to cheer him up during a work day than popping into the room with rain-soaked clothes and a grin on your face. There to just spend some time with him, enjoy some lunch together, something like that. Bring him his favourite coffee and a donut as a little treat and sit on his lap while he keeps his eyes on the security feed, sipping his coffee, acting like he’s still fully focused on his job – but the way he leans his head against your shoulder is a clear indication that he’s with you and not the monitors. He hates saying goodbye when you have to leave but the goodbyes probably won’t be for long, since you’ll probably meet up in the evening anyway.

Lunch break dates!

He lives on coffee so expect a lot of coffeehouse dates. His clothes always smell a tiny bit like a dark roast, and you’ve come to associate the scent with his hugs.

Walking in the park or even taking a hike in some woods is one of his favourite ways to spend a free day with you. Sitting on a park bench, holding hands until the sky turns dark and the streetlamps light up, bathing the two of you in orange, just talking about your day or some deeper stuff for hours on end.

If or when your feet get tired during a hike, he’ll carry you on his back. Even if your feet are not tired, he’ll scoop you up and carry you around just because he can.

Chris’ love language, for some reason, is play wrestling and just overall goofing around, but he loves hearing you roar in laughter as he tackles you to the ground and the two of you struggle in an attempt to tickle each other to death. He always lets you win, because he knows you’ll give him a kiss as a consolation prize.

Spontaneous hugs from behind whenever you’re cooking or putting away laundry are very common. He loves how you relax into his touch and turn your head to give a peck to his jaw before going on with your task.

Will call you piggy in private because he’s a dork.

IN MOUNT MASSIVE

Chris is more desperate for a gentle touch after being experimented on. He just wants to not hurt after so long a time where all he knew was pain. He feels so much resentment towards everything but you and your hands on his cheeks makes him feel like there might be something good in this world.

He tries to give you kisses, but since his flesh is torn and ripped, he can’t. He can’t feel your lips on his and it drives him mad. The wounds hurt so much. feels a mix of frustration and guilt and so, so much sadness whenever you reach up to him and give him a kiss on his jaw, and he can’t do anything. He’ll press his bared teeth to your lips, close his eyes and breathe heavily, fighting back bitter tears as he tries to mimic what the two of you once had. He’ll make up for it though, with his hands, with the way he holds you against his chest so gently, pressing you into him and rubbing his cheek against yours.

Pressing your foreheads together has become a kind of “kiss” for the two of you. He likes it.

Chris is protective, so protective. He wants absolutely nothing to happen to you and if there is even as much as a hint of danger anywhere near you, he’ll escort you back to safety by flinging you across his shoulder and carrying you away to your safe spots in the complex. He frets and fusses over every bruise on your body and will only relax when you tell him that everything is fine for the hundredth time. He loves you too much to let anything hurt you.

He wants to get you out of the asylum, away from the horror, but he’s silently very glad you’re sticking next to him. It makes him feel conflicted, because on the other hand, he feels he has to do something about the Walrider and its influence, but he also wants you to get the fuck out. You will not leave, though, not without him.

“Turn away,” he’ll growl, his low voice trembling for a moment as he fixes his milky eyes on yours. He waits for a nod and for you to slink to the shadows before digging his talons into the softness of a neck and twisting, tearing the flesh. He hates it. Hates that you have to be there. You wrap your arms around him as he mutters apologies to you, his blood-soaked hands gripping you as he settles his head on top of yours and sighs.

He’ll carry you around the asylum whenever you’re feeling out of it. He never leaves you alone, and if you’re not that keen on moving, he’ll just have to move you.

The two of you sleep together in a warm embrace underneath hoarded blankets, your soft breathing about the only thing he cares to hear in the middle of the night as he sits awake, your head in his lap and his eyes fixed on the door lest someone attack you in your sleep. He’ll stroke your hair and mumble feverishly about keeping you safe.

He’s so warm. Everything about him is so warm. His skin is almost hot to the touch, but he makes for a great radiator when you snuggle into him in the coldness of the asylum’s buildings.

Everything else is so cold in this world but him.

#outlast #outlast: whistleblower #outlast x reader #outlast headcanons #chris walker #chris walker x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #violence /#pre!engine chris walker #outlast fanfiction

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