#biker butters

[major-general-marjorine]

HEAR ME OUT BRO HEAR ME OUUUUTTTTT PLEAASSEEEEE

[namelessbutters-doodles]

The Biker & the Worker info/plot -

Nikki is a traveling 55 year old biker who travels all over the world on his motorcycle, doing little side jobs with a group known as motley Crue who's also known for doing some things that attracted the law such stuff like tax evasion, etc. He goes from place to place, not staying anywhere. just lounging around and hooking up with some people then leaving them behind.

Not looking for anything.

Until he stumbled into a bar or party where he met a Worker named Paul (37), who works a 7 to 5 job to make ends meet. Working all day then coming home to a empty apartment, he's a shy and quiet person who rarely goes out and barely has any friends but once the both of them get talking, they really start talking, chatting, forming a weird connection thus....

Ending up in bed together that night, which changed everything.

_________________

What does Paul look like?

In the beginning, he looked casual. Nothing special or anything to look at until he met Nikki and started dating him after a few more hookups with the biker. Changing his appearance and getting out of his shell more.

Dying a few strands of his hair, being more talkative and having a phone. He got a tattoo above his butt, an array of stars that are beautifully colored and smoothed, Nikki loves to trace his fingers over them when Paul's asleep next to him.

Paul did sleep with a few people before but it never worked out, due to them ignoring him for a few days, talking shit about him after the sex which made him find out They just used him. Resulting him closing off and thinking awful of his body but no worries....

Nikki makes everything better.

_________________

What do they do when they're busy and can't see each other?

they send....certain videos and pics to each other, calling each other late at night, sending letters if coming home or business is taking a long while than usual, chat on the phone or laptop.

think about each other when they're dreaming.

Nikki sends a good morning text and did you get home safely text when he notices the time over there, just making sure his lover gets home from a rough long shift.

________________

They fuck immediately when they see each other, emotions and feelings are super high it's so hard to talk but really easy to fuck them out which results in wild and feral sex between them.

they mostly do it in bed but they do it alot in other places like....

Mick's or tommy's car.

they were being chased by the cops one time and Paul lost the anal beads or the plug (it came out) due to Nikki speeding on the bike which resulted in hilarity when they got to a cabin or motel in the woods.

Nikki hides out at Paul's apartment a lot which leads to some sexy events throughout the day ;)

When they started to date officially, Nikki deleted all the photo's of his old hookups even the phone numbers of them since he actually loves Paul and cares about him.

_______________

People do notice the change in Paul and questioned it but don't bother him at all, instead they observe~

which is fine by both of them ;)

____________

if you guys have any questions or want to know more, message or inbox me about it!

oh! here's some more food shandi! 🥞 @ladyshandioftheendless

Enjoy!

[quietmtntown]

I want to say why cartman hating Marjorine canon wise makes Zero sense

that whole idea was Cartmans who wanted to put his TOP MAN to the task of getting that fortune teller thing from the girls. The pigtails, the dress, Cartmans idea.

Butters dressed as courtney love

Cartmans idea

Butters in a hulu skirt in douche and turd

Cartmans idea

Minus the tutu everytime butters was in girls clothing that was CARTMANS idea Ergo Cartman being transphobic to butters =ooc and again Marjorine was Cartmans idea

[nocontexthorny]

[taegularities]

ooooh the bike one with the ponytail- 😳

I KNOW, oh my god, someone tell him it's hella dangerous to drive around on a bike like this, for his well-being as well as for mine, i– 😭

[mariocki]

I predatori di Atlantide (The Raiders of Atlantis, 1983)

"It's terrible, Mike. It's like living something unreal."

"Unfortunately, it's all very true."

[tojisun]

…yea sure why not?

-

baker!simon who’s known for the bit he’s got going on – something you wished your friends would’ve told you because the first time you walked into the niche bakery (at six am to boot) and saw simon, big and tall and inked and masked simon, you screamed bloody murder.

“jesus-!” he yelled back in surprise, almost dropping a tray of freshly baked shortbreads before whipping his head up to see what was going on only to feel like he’s been punched in the gut because there you stood by the entrance, bundled up with thick jackets like you’re preparing for winter even though fall was just settling in, your hair a haggard mess and your face gaunt from exhaustion, and looking like all parts of simon’s dream woman.

“um,” you stammered, staring at him with wide eyes and trembling hands, your heart hammering in your chest as you began to panic. “i, uh. i’m…?”

simon watched as you continued to stammer before finally taking pity on you. he placed the tray on the counter and turned to fully present himself to you, spreading his arms out in hopes that it would show you that he’s not dangerous. that you would see his flour-covered apron and see that all he’s got going on in life is baking, and then instantly be enamoured with him.

“you here for breakfast?” he asked, clearing his throat upon hearing the awkward croak of his voice. thank god for his mask because he was able to hide the flush of his cheeks, allowing him to continue to play it cool in front of you.

“yes?” you replied, still confused as to why the… baker? was wearing a homemade skull mask.

“sure,” he said and you watched as he wiped his hands on his apron. “come over here then. what’d you want to order?”

baker!simon who isn’t really a big sweets enthusiast but whose desserts are the best in the block. you asked him what made him pursue this career and you watched as he stilled, his face falling slack like he can see something you couldn’t – like he is reliving a memory – before shaking himself with a deep inhale and finally whispering, “for my brother.”

you did not probe any further, your heart heavy with guilt, but simon just turned to you with a small smile and asked, “wanna hear about ‘im?”

he gathered you in his arms as he recounted the few fond memories he has of his childhood, and you breathed him in, smelling the faint smell of macaroons and toasted butter on his skin.

baker!simon who begins dedicating his daily special treats to you. “for the apple of my eye,” when it’s apple fritters day. “for my beloved cheri,” on cherry pie day. “for my precious sugar,” on sugar cookies day.

baker!simon who proudly prances around in his frilly pink apron that has “husband material” embroidered on the chest. you gave it to him as a gag gift but simon loves it so much that he began to wear it to work, showing it off to his friends with a deep chuckle.

“my girl got it f’r me,” he says to johnny. “pretty, isn’t it?”

johnny nods amidst laughter, his body folded into himself as he clutches the counter for support.

-

fuck. baker!simon might even be better than biker!simon

[arieslost]

you have pushed me to ask so here I go

I present my idea of motorcyclist!oscar and his gf who is afraid of motorcycles. He convinces her to try it onc3 and BOOM hands around him holding on the dear life.

I want to hold on to him

I can't stop thinking about that tiktok

here's a ss I took from the tiktok edit

what a yummy man

the entire time i wrote this i kept coming back to look at this picture because oh my goodness gracious. i hope this lives up to ur expectations <33 definitely wanna write more biker!osc after this

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

hold on tight | op81

“Just one time?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No way.”

“Do you even love me at all?” Oscar asks dramatically, jutting his lower lip out for extra effect. 

“That’s not going to work on me, Piastri.” You shake your head vehemently. “I refuse to get on that death machine. It’s bad enough that you ride it all the time.”

“Come onnnn,” he whines, tugging you up off of the bed and into his arms. 

The two of you look like polar opposites— him with his leather jacket and riding gloves still on, smelling faintly of exhaust, and you in plaid pajama pants and one of his worn out t-shirts. You suppose that’s what makes your relationship work so well, opposites attract and whatever. All relationships take compromise though, and this is one “compromise” that, thus far, you’ve refused to make. 

In your eyes, it’s not a compromise. But Oscar has been asking you to be his “backpack” practically since the two of you met. 

“What do I have to do to convince you?” He’s asking, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

“Hmm, nothing.” You smile up at him, and it fades just as fast when you see the excitement in his eyes. “Because it’s never going to happen. I like being alive, thank you very much.”

“Baby, you know you’ll be safe with me. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” He says sincerely, his pleading tone now gone. “I’ve been riding my entire life. I did all the crashing before I got my license. Haven’t crashed since.”

“Yeah, that makes me feel better.” You mutter, hiding your face in his chest so he can’t see your resolve slowly starting to crumble. 

“It would be so fun,” he continues, arms tightening around your frame as he starts to sway you both side to side a little. “All you’d have to do is hold on to me. I’ll do all the work. You trust me, don’t you?” 

“With all things except the death machine,” you say, voice muffled by the material of his jacket. 

“I love you, but I’m gonna need you to stop calling her ‘the death machine,’ honey.”

“Her?” You look up at him, affronted. “I’m definitely not doing it now. Wouldn’t want to get between you and the other woman in your life.” 

Oscar laughs. His laugh has always been more of a giggle around you, which is such a contrast to his outward appearance that it never fails to make you melt. 

“You’re the only woman for me, which is why you’re the only woman I’ve ever asked to be my backpack.” He says. 

“Don’t try to butter me up with the whole backpack thing again.” You roll your eyes and try to pull away from him, but he somehow manages to twirl you and bring you right back into him. 

“It’s not me buttering you up, I’m just telling the truth. Come on, baby.” he leans in and gives you a long kiss that leaves your head spinning a little. “One time. And if you don’t like it, I promise I won’t ask again.” 

You let out a frustrated groan, because he has to know that he’s won at this point. That kiss was nothing but tactical. “Fine. Fine. But you can’t just kiss me like that every time you want something from me, it’s unfair.” 

“Yes, yes!” He squeezes you into him, kissing the top of your head over and over. “You won’t regret this.”

“I already am a little bit.” You grumble. 

That’s how you find yourself standing on the sidewalk with Oscar in front of you adjusting a helmet on your head. 

“This is making me claustrophobic,” you complain as he flips the visor up so he can see your face. 

“I’m just making sure you’re safe, baby.” When you furrow your eyebrows, he sighs and drops his hands to his sides. “If you really don’t want to do this, you don’t have to, okay?”

This makes you relent a little bit. “Osc, I’m sorry. I’m just scared. I don’t like motorcycles, like, at all.” You smile as best you can with the helmet on, hoping it goes to your eyes so he can see it. “I want to do this. You just… you really have to help me.” 

He nods, the tension in his shoulders dissipating. “Of course, honey. C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you over to his motorcycle. While you’re terrified just looking at it, you can’t deny that it’s absolutely beautiful. Streamlined and sleek, like he literally just bought it, even though you know he’d already had it for a year when you first met him. 

He looks almost the same as he did when you first met— all black getup, signature leather jacket, riding gloves, and of course, his strangely colorful helmet that doesn’t match the rest of him. His hair was long when you met him, and you still remember being absolutely starstruck when you saw his face for the first time. It had felt like everything went into slow motion when he took his helmet off, pushed his hair back, and instantly made eye contact with you from where you were just exiting the bookstore. 

Needless to say, you were done for. And now here you are, a year later, letting him help you onto the death machine. 

He never said you had to stop calling it (sorry, her) that if you were thinking it to yourself. 

“You okay? Comfy?” Oscar asks, reaching to adjust your helmet one more time. 

“Yup. Mhmm. Totally.” You nod, not even trying to sound convincing considering your heart is in your throat and he hasn’t even started the engine yet. 

“Great,” he kisses the top of your helmet and smiles at you cutely before climbing onto the bike so he’s seated in front of you. “Just hold on tight, okay baby? Like this.” 

He reaches behind him, grabbing your hands that had been anxiously scratching at the material of your jeans and pulling you forward so your arms are wrapped around his waist. He doesn’t have to say anything else– you’re quick to tighten your hold around him, fingers clutching at the material of his open jacket. You immediately feel your anxieties begin to dissipate as soon as you’re holding onto him, and you shift your whole body forward on the seat so your front is pressed as close as it can be to his back. When he lets out a quiet grunt, you release your grip a little. 

“I’m sorry! Am I holding you too tight?” “No, no,” he huffs out a laugh, patting your thigh. “Do whatever you need to do. Just warn me if you’re planning to suffocate me at all.”

“Listen, Piastri–” you begin, and he cuts you off by twisting around to look at you.

“Okay, I get it, I’m sorry.” He’s giggling now, and you let go of him to smack his helmet. “I’m done, I promise. As long as you feel safe, honey.”

“Come on, let’s go before I chicken out.” You say, quickly reassuming your hold.

It’s times like these where you appreciate just how buff your boyfriend is. He has something of a sleeper build, so one quick glance at him wouldn’t really reveal much, but when you’re pressed up against him like this, you can feel the muscles in his back and shoulders and his abs through his shirt when your hand slips past his jacket. He’s warm and solid against you, and that in itself is comforting enough that you don’t go flying off the seat when he starts up the engine and you instantly feel your whole body start to vibrate from the force of it.

“I’ll check in with you, okay?” He says over the loud rumbling. “Hit me in the head or something and I’ll pull over. Sound good?” Having him to hold on to is nice, but your throat is still dry thinking about all the dastardly possibilities that could occur when the bike starts moving, so you have to swallow a couple times in order for him to hear you over the engine. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Your heart falls out of your ass and lands on the pavement when he pulls out onto the road, the engine roaring as he accelerates. 

“God, please spare me,” you say out loud, grateful that Oscar can’t hear you over the engine. 

As soon as he gets onto the freeway, that’s when you realize just how much fun you’ve been missing out on.

It’s never been a secret to you that Oscar loves going fast. There have been plenty of occasions where you’ll drive somewhere, do whatever it is you have planned, and then you’ll turn to him and ask if he wants to drive home just to give him some peace of mind knowing that the journey back will be cut down by a few minutes at least. Being in the car is fun enough, but being on the back of his motorcycle is different.

You thought you’d be more scared. You’re terrified, sure, but even though you can feel the wind whipping against your clothes and you’re flying past cars on either side of the freeway, you’re holding on to Oscar, and you could easily do that forever. You’re quickly warming up to the concept of being his backpack, and you can feel yourself relaxing your death grip around him. This is actually kind of fun. Okay, really fun. You actually can’t believe you were so adamantly refusing to do this this whole time. 

Every so often, he reaches back with one hand and rubs your thigh, or holds one of your hands that is now tucked comfortably into his jacket pocket. You thought you’d be freaking out about him taking a hand off the handlebars, but he exudes confidence on the bike, and he never wavers no matter what he’s doing with his hands. 

He doesn’t go very far; the whole ride lasts maybe 20 minutes, but it feels like half that with how quick the bike is. Your arms ache from all the muscles in them working the whole time, and when he helps you off the back of the bike your legs feel like jello.

“How was it?” He asks, helping you pull the bulky helmet off your head. 

Your hair falls in your face and he brushes it away for you before you can even lift your hands. He cups your cheeks, a small smile on his face as he admires you.

“We are definitely doing that again.” 

His smile grows, and he places a sweet, adoring kiss on your lips. “I knew I finally found my backpack.” 

word count: 1,787

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: writing this has me thinking up a whole biker au for multiple drivers... thank you for this gold mine of a request <33

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings

[hldjpg]

[Racer/ Biker AU]

It’s eating my brain up so I had to draw more

This AU mainly revolves around Craig so that’s why it’s called Racer, but in general it’s just their adult ver I did for fun🫡 (Tolkien, Craig and Clyde ride sport bikes)

(Some extras)

- Tweek tries to avoid drinking too much coffee so now he lacks caffeine and sleepy all the time

- Craig is the cause of road rages but drives away before people get out of their car and beat him up

- Kyle plays basketball, football and hockey (because he wants to play with Ike)

- Kyle & Stan often hangout together at a cafe where Tweek works

- Butters is an automotive technician

- Kenny is a mechanic

^They meet Craig all the time bc he won’t stop crashing his vehicle

[dearmura]

rev it up

☆ c.w. not proofread oops

☆ pairings. biker bf! riki × gf! reader

☆ an. inspo after seeing an unholy amount of booktok biker bfs on my fyp 🤭

"riki it's been 10 minutes since I sent that text, don't tell me you sped here...again" you try to scold the boy despite burying your face in his chest the second the door flung open

you don't miss the way the boy's eyes widen for a second as he recalls the unholy amount of horns that were honked on the way here, riding well over the speed limit

"speed limits are more of a kindly suggestion, princess, and I'm not dead yet"

the boy sports a grin too proud for the confession of the laws he technically broke

"you're gonna kill yourself one day, or get yourself in jail, or both, riki" you try to sound mad but you've had this conversation one too many times with him to know it'll just go in one ear, out the other

the boy only wraps his arms around your waist tighter, trying to butter you up so you don't end up killing him first before he could do it himself from speeding

"but I'm safe now, with you, my love. isn't that all that matters?" he attempts, brushing your baby hairs out of your face, leaving you less than amused

frowning, the boy taps his chin theatrically, thinking up a way to wipe that "I'm not mad, just disappointed" look off your face

"would it make you feel any better if I, your very responsible, top-notch, safe biker boyfriend, were to take you, my pretty little backpack, to get your favorite ice cream?"

he coerces you with a grin, caressing your hair gently as the little cherry on top, knowing this could end one of too ways: one, you agreeing and thanking him for being the best boyfriend ever (his delusions talking), or two, you kicking him where the sun don't shine for trying to distract you with treats like a puppy...yet again

he prays for the former

you narrow your eyes at the boy, pressing your tongue up against the side of your cheek, stumped by his disgustingly good distraction skills

"with sprinkles?"

the boy only chuckles softly at your quirked brow and innocent question, grateful you didn't seem to choose the latter of his guesses

"come on, princess, I would've gotten that for you regardless, you actually have to punish me somehow with these conditions of yours" he grins playfully, caressing your cheek flirtily, making your cheeks warm

"no weaving between cars on the way there and....below the speed limit by 5 mph" you retort, now sporting a similar smirk on your face as his smile drops in disbelief

"how much extra sprinkles are we talking..."

fin

a.n. back from my fifty-year long hiatus....

[superiorsturgeon]

The Great Cupcake Caper

Glynda: *storms out of her office* Everyone, front and center, NOW!!!!

Ren/Pyrrha/Yang: *scramble to the center of the room and stand at attention* 😰

Glynda: *stalking up and down the line* I was just in my office, about to enjoy a delicious red velvet gourmet cupcake as a reward to myself for the CONSTANT mayhem I have to deal with on a daily basis…

Glynda: But when I opened the box…I FOUND NOTHING.

Glynda: Someone in this room took my cupcake, and nobody is going anywhere until the cupcake thief confesses!

Interrogation #1:

Glynda: *leans over the table* …and where were YOU when my cupcake was being stolen?!

Ren: I didn’t take your cupcake! I wasn’t even here!

Ren: I was at home, slow-roasting a Mistral duck for my son’s lunch tomorrow! It’s a 24-hour process! 😤

Interrogation #2:

Glynda: *steeples her fingers and leans back* …Pyrrha, I’m not angry…I just want to understand. Please, tell me what you know.

Pyrrha: I’m sorry ma’am, but I didn’t see anything! I actually left early to go to the gym for a session on the cardio machines.

Pyrrha: It’s my anniversary tomorrow, and Jaune’s making an elaborate romantic dinner! Pyrrha’s gotta EARN those calories! 🥰

Interrogation #3:

Glynda:*folds her arms* All right, tough biker girl, why’d you do it?

Yang: *also folds her arms and matches Glynda’s glare* I didn’t do anything. Couldn’t have! I was in the garage changing the oil on my bike for a solo bike ride this weekend.

———————————————————

Glynda: *standing at the front of conference room, gazing out the window* Well…it seems all of you have an alibi…

Ren/Pyrrha/Yang: 😮‍💨

Glynda: *rounds on the room* EXCEPT YOU DON’T!! 😡

Glynda: Ren, I pulled your credit card history, and you know what wasn’t on any of your grocery receipts? DUCK!

Ren: …

Ren: …all right, fine…!

Ren: All Magna wants to eat and drink is plain milk and buttered noodles!

Ren: *face in his hands* …my son is a basic bitch! 😩

Glynda: …okay…

Glynda: *points at Pyrrha* …but that doesn’t change the fact that YOU, Mrs. Muscles, couldn’t POSSIBLY have been working out last night, because your gym was closed yesterday for renovations and won’t reopen for the next week!

Pyrrha: *crumbles* I’m sorry! I was running around town looking for a last-minute anniversary gift for Jaune! I forgot all about it until he hinted that he had something special planned!

Pyrrha: I just didn’t want anyone to know that I’m a terrible wife and partner…! 😭

Glynda: *turns to Yang* …so, that leaves you…!

Glynda: If you’re really going on a cross-country trip, why is your motorcycle’s tank only half full?! J’accuse!

Yang: You dipsticked me?!

Glynda: Spill it!

Yang: …fine! I admit it!

Yang: I’m not actually going on a solo motorcycle trip, I’m going to see a musical with Blake and my parents!

Yang: *opens her jacket to reveal a CATS t-shirt*

Yang: I’m trying to reconnect with my mom, and I’m introducing Blake to my dad at the same time! Musicals are the only thing we can all bond over…

Yang: I just want my family and my girlfriend to all get along! 😢

Glynda: …so…

Glynda: …if none of you sad sacks took my cupcake, then who did?

Weiss: *carefully backing out of the room while frantically wiping red crumbs off her face* 😅

[buckyshoneybunny]

Their Babydoll

WinterWidow + Shy!Stark!Curvy!reader 

Summary- Bucky and Natasha take a liking to the shy designer. 

W.C.- 2212 

Warnings- Smut, fluff, cursing, unprotected sex, oral (fem, reader), cum eating, let me know if I missed anything. 

A/N- I hope you guys like! Sorry if the smut sucks, I was tired lol. I know these fics are usually Bucky x Reader x Steve but I would want Nat more. Anyway I already have an idea for a new series and it includes Biker Bucky! Not proof read, all mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy it my lovelies!  

Masterlist 

“Please Uncle Tony!” You beg for the hundredth time.  

“No,” he says, not even looking up from the device he was tweaking.  

“But-” 

“No,” he interrupts you.  

You stick your bottom lip out and give your best puppy eyes. It would always work when you were younger. Now though? 

“No”  

You groan and cross your arms. You smile to yourself. “You know, Aunt Pepper has been wondering what happened to her-” 

“Okay! Okay,” he sighs and pushes the protective glasses further up his nose as he looks at you. “There’s no need to bring Pepper into this.” 

You giggle and lean your hip against the table he’s working at. “You always were afraid of Aunt Pepper.” 

“I’m not afraid of her,” he huffs. “I just happen to have a healthy amount of respect for her.”  

“You’re afraid of her, Tony,” Bruce pipes up from across the lab.  

You giggle as Tony sends you and Bruce a glare.  

“Why do you even want to use the holographic interfaces?” Tony asks. 

“Because it would make designing floor plans so much easier! Using your tech would help me with the critical parts of my job.”  

“But you don’t even know how to use them.” 

“You could teach me.” 

“But I don’t hav-” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he huffs.  

You squeal and hug him. “Thank you, Uncle Tony!”  

He pats your arm, “Yeah yeah.” 

Most people didn’t know Tony had a sister; hell no one knew he actually had any siblings until you showed up with your stuff one rainy day. 

Freshly 19 and ready to make a name for yourself in the world of Interior Design, you’d moved to New York thinking this was the best place to do so. 

Your mother, Tony’s younger sister only by a few years, called to express her worry of you moving there and being alone.  

So, Tony being the ever so giving person he is, and a few not-so-subtle threats from your mother, told you that you could stay at the Avengers Tower. You were furious, ranting about how you wanted to make it on your own and didn’t need any help. But when he mentioned you’d get to meet and spend time with the Avengers, you quickly got over it. 

You were so excited to meet the Avengers, you’d always had a major crush on Bucky. You even wrote a paper about him for your history class in the 6th grade. His sparkling steel blue eyes taking you captive. You wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through his shoulder length brown hair, hoping it’s as soft as it looks. And you can’t forget those full, pink lips that could make a gal melt like butter on hot asphalt.  

But he was taken, by your second favorite Avenger, Natasha Romanoff. You definitely had a girl crush on her. She was so strong and skilled, every womans idol. She was the reason you tried and failed at learning how to fight. So what if you were thicker than the other girls? Yeah okay, you had thick thighs, a pudgy, soft stomach and flabby arms, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t learn some moves like the other girls. To be fair though, that instructor was a womanizer. 

He said, and I quote, that you’d ‘never make it anywhere in life looking like that’. Boy did you prove him wrong. You were one of the best Interior Designers in New York, you had a special touch that other designers didn’t have. And you loved your job, you loved bringing peoples dreams to life and seeing the joy on their face.  

You enjoyed it, but it wasn’t always easy. The meticulous planning, writing up contracts, getting a crew for certain aspects in and out on time could be grueling at times, but seeing the looks on your client’s faces when they’d see the finished product was always worth it.  

You had been worried when you first got to the Tower, worried the other Avengers wouldn’t like you. It was all for nothing though because they absolutely loved you, you were a part of their dysfunctional family now and they had no plans of letting you go. Everyone had really taken a liking to you, especially Bucky and Natasha. 

When you introduced yourself to them with your cheeks flushed, hands nervously fidgeting behind your back, and your shy little voice, it made Natasha want to wrap her arms around you and protect you from the world.  

But, on the other hand, seeing your long thick thighs on display, juicy ass just barely covered by the shorts you wore, and your tank top that hugged your curves just right made her’s and Bucky’s mouths water. That body paired with your shy, innocent demeanor made them want to swallow you whole. 

They had been happy just the two of them, rekindling their love once they both were free. They never thought about having someone else in their relationship, never wanted anyone else, until you.  

One knowing look and desire fill conversation later they knew they had to have you. They just had to be careful so they wouldn’t scare you away, and make sure Tony didn’t find out and do something crazy. He was very protective of you. 

So, the next couple of years were spent with heated looks, lingering touches, and subtle hints thrown at you that you never seem to catch. They were tired of this game of chase, frustrated and on a level of horny so high that they couldn’t fuck down no matter how hard they tried. Bucky was this close to fucking up against the closest wall, Natasha not far behind. But they’d soon get what they longed for.  

You studied your reflection in the mirror again. The thin strapped, black dress that stopped mid-thigh, and had a slit going up your left thigh, hugged your body perfectly. You wouldn’t normally wear something so revealing but Wanda said this dress was perfect.  

She’d said you’d definitely be getting fucked tonight. She may or may not have read Bucky and Natasha’s minds and knew this dress would make them lose it.  

Tonight was Sam’s birthday party, although his birthday wasn’t for two more days, he’d be in Louisiana visiting his sister so Steve wanted to throw him a party before he left.  

Making sure your curls were perfect, you sprayed on some perfume and put some black heels on and headed down to the floor the party was being held at. 

Natasha and Bucky were sat at the bar area, formulating a plan on how to make you theirs. Natasha wore an off the shoulder, floor length, blood red dress that fit her just right, with matching lipstick and heels.  

Bucky had a tailor-made, black suit that showed his defined muscles. His face clean-shaven, displaying his sharp jaw and his hair tied back in that low, sexy bun he’s always sporting.  

Natasha was the first to see you, choking on her drink as she takes you in, causing Bucky to follow her line of sight. His cock rock hard instantly. She bit her lip and one shared glance; they knew tonight was the night and they had just the plan to do it. 

You lock eyes with Natasha and she beckons you over.  

“Look at you, firefly,” she grins and you blush.  

Bucky whistles and looks you up and down. “You’d give poor old Steve a heart attack in that dress, doll. You look amazing.”  

“You think so?” You shyly ask. 

“Definitely,” Natasha adds.  

You do begrudgingly do a shot with them after the persisted you do at least one to help loosen you up, even though they knew you didn’t like alcohol. They didn’t leave your side the rest of the night, not that you minded, you loved being the center of their attention. They were waiting for the perfect moment to sneak you away, that moment came after the cake and presents, everyone having gone back to drinking and dancing.  

Natasha loops her arm with yours. “So, firefly,” she smirks. “Me and Bucky were thinking of changing up our room, think you could help us?” There a devious sparkle in her eyes that you miss. 

Your eyes light up. “Yes!” You smile.  

They lead you away from the party and up to their room. Once inside Bucky locks the door. You look around as Natasha comes up behind you and puts her hands on your waist. She runs her nose up the side of your neck, taking in the scent of your perfume. You freeze. 

“Nat?” You ask on a shaky whisper.  

“Yes, firefly?” She nibbles on your ear, causing you to shudder. 

Bucky stands in front of you and cups your face, tilting your head to make you look at him. His lips inches from yours. Your follow-up question gets stuck in your throat. 

“Do you know,” Bucky starts, leaning forward to nudge his nose with yours. 

“How long we’ve been waiting for you?” Natasha finishes, kissing your shoulder. 

“What?” You ask through the already forming fog in your brain. 

“We want you, firefly. Will you let us have you?” She slides her hands up to just under your boobs, waiting for your consent. You whimper and nod. 

“Words doll,” Bucky says. 

“Yes,” you whisper breathlessly.  

Bucky smashes his lips to yours as Natasha cups your boobs, squeezing them. You moan and grab Bucky’s forearms.  

He steps back and takes his suit jacket off, instructing Nat to take your dress off. She slowly unzips the dress and pushes the straps off your shoulders. It gets bunched around your middle, you blush, insecurities sneaking up on you. She just pushes it the rest of the way down. 

Your hands itch to cover yourself but stop when Bucky lets out a deep groan. He whispers a fuck and reaches down to squeeze his throbbing cock. You let out a whine. 

“Get on the bed and spread those gorgeous thighs, doll,” he rasps. His eyes black with lust. Your bra and panties come off and you get on the bed, laying on your back and shyly spreading your thighs.  

Natasha moans. “Look at her Buck.” He hums and pushes the straps of her dress off her shoulder, revealing she had nothing on underneath. He groans and kisses her; she unbuttons his shirt. You whine, more slick coming out and coating your folds. They break apart and grin. 

While Bucky finishes taking his clothes off, Natasha comes beside you and starts to play with your breasts, pinching and tugging your nipples causing you to moan. Bucky, now naked, kneels between your legs, taking in the sight of your soaked pussy.  

“Already so wet and we’ve hardly touched you babydoll,” he taunts. You whine, the feeling of his hot breath causing you to shudder. 

“Don’t tease her Buck,” Natasha says as she takes one of your nipples into her mouth.  

She nips lightly at the bud as Bucky presses his tongue to your clit, you let out a high-pitched moan and grip his hair. As she teases your nipples, Bucky eats you out like a starved man, mumbling out how good you taste in between slurps and gasps of breath. 

Bucky can’t handle it anymore and stands up before you can cum. “I gotta be in you, doll, fuck.” He gets in between your legs and lines his leaking tip up with your entrance.  

He slowly slides in and your eyes roll back. He gives you a second once he bottoms out, letting you adjust. Natasha rubs your clit as he starts to move. 

“How does she feel?” She asks 

“S’fucking good, so tight, shit” He groans and pounds into you. 

Natasha oscillates between making out with you and sucking you breasts and leaving hickies. She keeps rubbing your clit. You grip the sheets, panting and moaning. Bucky angles his thrusts just right and you scream as he hits that spot inside of you that causes you to see stars. 

“I-I’m go-....gonna...” You can’t even finish your sentence. 

He speeds up his thrusts, “Cum, doll, soak my cock.” 

Your eyes roll back and your back arches as you squirt, soaking his balls, thighs, and the bed. His hips stutter as he cums unexpectedly, he rides out both of your highs, his cock not softening at all.  

Natasha motions for him to pull, when he does, she immediately gets between your legs and eats you out, moaning at the taste of your slick and Bucky’s cum. He groans and starts to fuck her. 

This goes on for hours, both of them pull orgasms out of you. By the end of it, you lay cuddle between them, exhausted. They say that they want you to be a part of their relationship, you agree, feeling like you’re dreaming. The two people you’ve had the biggest crush on actually wanted you to be with them, you couldn’t have been happier. 

When Tony finds out he whacks both Natasha and Bucky in the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper. He also now carries a spray bottle with him for when y’all get a little too handsy.  

All in all you’re living your dream and you couldn’t be happier.

[justhere4kpop]

Home

Biker!Seonghwa x Nurse!Reader

Your pregnancy cravings kick in at 2am, unfortunately, your partner is part of a biker gang....and unfortunately, he loves trouble. At least you love him, and at least you can patch him back up.

warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, and slight gang-related activity. brief mentions of Self-doubt.

w/c: 2020

tags: @cromernet, @starillusion13

Masterlist

~~~~~~

This wasn’t the first time you had asked your partner to go and get you food at 2 in the morning, it certainly wasn’t going to be the last with the cravings setting in. You looked down at the swell in your stomach, much further along than comfortable, with the constant pressure on your bladder, the backache, your feet getting more swollen every day, the mood swings, the constant feeling of maybe this is a heart attack, everything feels like it’s going too slow and too fast at the same time, honestly the whole situation is overwhelming. Not to mention your partner's less-than-desired lifestyle, the danger, the fights, the injuries….sometimes it’s too much. Trying to convince him to get a van and not attach the car seat to his motorcycle, okay that was a joke he got you a brand new car with everything you could need the next day.

Yes the world sees Seonghwa as a hardened criminal in one of the most notorious biker gangs in the country, but to you, that’s your partner, soft, doting, loving, caring, sweet. That’s your Hwa, even when you call him crying because you’re scared, when you called him apologizing for even getting pregnant in the first place, when you found out you were having a girl, and when you wake him up at 2am because you can’t sleep now that your daughter has decided she wants ice cream. He’s always there to take care of you. 

“Hwa I’m sorry.” you mumbled into the phone. “I should’ve gone myself.”

“Nonsense it’s just around the corner, now do you want Chocolate? Strawberry? Peanut Butter?” he smiled looking at the ice cream selection. He loves you.

“Whatever is on sale.” you pick at your fingernails sitting on the couch.

“I know your favorite is Strawberry right now does that sound good?”

“...yes.” you blushed a little. “Hwa I’m-”

“Darling, please…it’s the least I can do. I’ll be home soon.” he smiled into the phone, he can’t wait for his daughter to be here, his little princess.

Always comforting. Always just what you need. Your Seonghwa, your home. Everytime he’s there it reminds you why this isn’t so scary anymore. He’ll always be there.

-------

“H-Hwa?” your voice trembled holding the phone up to your ear. It wasn’t possible you were careful, you were just feeling a little ill and Seonghwa wanted you to see the doctor.

“Darling? What’s wrong? Did everything at the doctors go ok?” he questioned worry lacing his voice.

“I-I’m so sorry!” the tears began streaming down your face. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful I’m sorry!”

“Hey hey baby please, you’re scaring me, what could possibly be wrong? Are you ok?”

“I….I-I’m pregnant.” you whispered in the phone, sobs beginning to bubble up in your throat. “I understand if…” you want to leave…. He was in a biker gang, he couldn’t possibly want a baby….Just then he let out the most enthusiastic yell he’s ever felt come out of his mouth.

“We’re having a baby?!” you could hear the smile through the phone. “You and me? A baby?”

“Hwa?”

“Where are you? I’ll come get you! Stay right there I’ll….Appa is on his way!” he smiled and held the phone tighter.

When he got to you it was like your world froze, he ran up to you and spun you around.

“You’re happy?” you looked at him as he held your face.

“If you think for one second I had no intentions of keeping you forever you are mistaken. In fact I’d say just plain wrong. A baby….our baby.” he smiled and moved one of his hands to your hip and then just in front to your stomach.

----------

Here you were….sitting on the couch crying again over remembering how excited he was to learn of the pregnancy, a surprise for sure but now…a much welcomed surprise. Sure you had doubts and fears, would you be a good parent, would your daughter even like you….would Seonghwa still love you? He proves the last one every day, never complaining once about having to help or that you’re asking too much. You’ve seen him on the streets, he’s harsh, angry, mean…but that’s not the same Seonghwa that’s not the same dork who comes home and wraps his arms around you and hums into your ear, that’s your Seonghwa, that’s your home. Seonghwa sure is taking a long time to get home…Let me try his phone again.

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

“And just what is one of the Chili Peppers doing here?” a voice sounded behind Seonghwa as he hung up the phone holding two containers of Ice Cream.

“I should be asking what a member of the Wolfgang is doing here, since this is Pepper territory after all.” Seonghwa turned seeing their main rival.  “Hello, Minho.”

“Seonghwa.” he nodded. “Ice Cream? At 2am?”

“Could be asking why you’re here as well.”

“Oh you know the wife and the cats….all very needy especially with a little one on the way.” he smiled before taking the bag from the cashier.

“Oh congratulations, I’ll have to send a gift.” Seonghwa smiled bagging his items up.

“Depends is it going to be like the birthday present you sent 4 years ago?” he held up the side of his shirt revealing a scar.

“Not with a little one on the way, I was thinking more like a breathable blanket, in case they put it over their head so they don’t hurt themselves.” he smiles thinking about what you told him.

“And the Ice Cream?” Minho raised an eyebrow.

“Craving. Sometimes I just get hungry.” he wasn’t about to reveal that he wasn’t single, let alone you were 7 months pregnant with his child.

“I am sorry I have to do this….just business.” Minho shrugged.

“Well hopefully the Ice Cream doesn’t melt before this is over then.” Seonghwa dropped the bag as they stepped into the nearby alleyway. Don’t worry, he’ll be home soon.

-------

“And why didn’t you answer your phone, I’ve been worried sick sinc-” you berated him walking through the front door, stopping upon seeing his condition. “Seonghwa!��� you waddled over quickly seeing the blood on his face.

“Don’t move too fast.” you both said to each other as you pulled him to the bathroom and told him to sit on the counter.

“Darling I’m okay.” he held your hand as you held a worried expression on your face cleaning him up. 

“You’re bleeding.” you stated.

“You should see the other guy.” he chuckled.

“Did you??”

“No it was Minho. He’s probably going to be feeling that for a while.” he winced when I applied alcohol to the wound on his forehead.

You sighed. “His wife is going to make sure he feels it for the rest of his life. They’re a perfect match honestly.”

“Oh you two have met?”

“Oh yes we see the same prenatal doctor, told me her husband was in a biker gang and is reckless, likes to fight this one a lot, always gets injured…I told her it was relatable.” I gave him a pointed look.

“Except I usually win.”

“I wouldn’t call this winning.”

“Reminds me of how we met.” he has a dreamy smile on his face.

“Oh you mean when you barged into the clinic I work at bleeding out onto the floor?”

“Ah you remember it too beautiful.” he takes my hand in his.

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

“H-Help.” came from the unkempt looking man. He put his arms on the desk blood hitting the papers. “I-I think I was stabbed.”

“Y/n!” the front desk attendant called over and in rushed who he would describe as an angel, the most perfect person he’s ever seen….why does she look so worried for him….why are the corners of his vision going dark.

He faints.

When he wakes again his in an all too bright room in a lumpy bed with IVs and monitors hooked up to him.

“Morning sleeyhead.” came a voice from beside him “You’ve been out for three days due to blood loss…don’t worry you should make a fine recovery.” she looked at him. Wow. even more beautiful up close. “I have to change your bandages so try to sit still for me.”

“S-Sure.”

“Do you have a name or should we keep calling you John Doe?” she got out the gauze and everything needed to clean the wound.

“S-Seonghwa. My name is Seonghwa.”

“Well Seonghwa, due to your great observation skills you were in fact stabbed. Luckily it was a mindless blow nothing more than a big bleeding wound.” she looked up at him. “I’m your nurse, and the one who stitched you up, y/n.”

“y/n.” he liked the way it felt on his tongue, liked the way it sounded hitting his ears. He enjoyed your sarcasm and the slight smile you gave him, he enjoyed the scent of you perfume hitting his nose. “Thank you.”

“Kinda my job.” she smiled up at him.

-----------

“You changed you shampoo scent since we first met.” he looked at me cupping my cheek.

“A lot of things have changed since we first met, I think the biggest one is between us.”

“I love the snark you have.”

“Hopefully you’ll get a double dose here soon.” I finished cleaning small cuts and putting bruise cream on him. “Hopefully one of these days I’ll ask you to go get Ice Cream and you won’t get into a fight before coming back.”

“He did start it.”

“I know love.” I kissed his cheek.

I went to open the ice cream now that my partner was home and bandaged up.

“Well what do you know.” he chuckled holding me from behind. “I guess I did run a little late.”

“You think?” I looked at the soup of strawberry ice cream leaking out of the container into the bag.

“Here, you can still drink it…and I’ll hold you while you do.” he ushered us over to the couch with a straw and laid me down with him as he held the bump that was his daughter and I sat there drinking what was my Ice Cream.

Yeah this is my Seonghwa….My Home.

Bonus!

“And here comes the Strawberry for my angel Junghwa.” he smiled holding up the mashed strawberries on the spoon for the giggling child.

“Appa!” she smiled and threw her arms up at the fruit on the spoon blubbering and other noises coming out.

“Did you….did you just say Appa?” Seonghwa had tears gather in his eyes. “y/n!”

You ran into the room thinking there was an injury of some sort. How could there be the apartment was completely baby proof, she barely got a scratch running into anything and if she did Seonghwa was there to call for you and act like she was dying.

“She said…she…she said,..”

“Appa!” the girl chimed in again laughing at his shocked expression. “Appa-pa-pa-pa.”

“Oh sure I carry her for 8 and a half months, and you feed her strawberries and she says dad first.” I chuckled and held him as he cried tears of joy being his sweet princess’s first word. 

“I love you so much princess.” Seonghwa picked up the smiling girl and kissed her face as tears fell down it. “Take that Minho….my daughter is smarter than your son, already talking. And you look just like your eomma, beautiful and smart, the whole package.” he gleams.

“Ok finish feeding her Appa, then its nap time.”

“Appa.” she says again making him smile over and over hearing his daughter talk to him.

After she ate and was put down to nap we finally got our alone time, no rushing out to go to work or do any dangerous activities like get Ice Cream. I finally got to sit there in the presence of my now fiancee.

“I love you y/n. Thank you so much for Junghwa.” he kissed my temple.

“I love you too Hwa.” I smiled and he snaked his hand around my front, holding me so preciously.

“Let’s have another.” he smiles.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 14 - Kevin Bacon

Y'all talk about space dongs, before being rudely interrupted.

On AO3.

Your mouth tastes real weird when you wake up. And you’re more tired than you were when you went to sleep. Like that line from that Bilbo Baggins guy about being butter scraped too thin.

You lie on your stomach, numbed arm beneath your cheek (all of it crusted in drool), and the other arm twisted up all weird beneath you.

“Mgrghngh,” you say as you roll to your side.

You’re more tired than you was when Astarion pulled you outta the river he left you to drown in.

A voice lilts all pretty nearby. Speaking of. The man (elf vampire) sits a few feet away, needle in hand, working surprisingly quickly for a man with no sight.

Oh fuck. You lost your whole, entire corn-husking mind last night. And he fucking heard you do it.

“’M good,” you manage and reach for your bag for a dirt potion.

 And then wait for him to respond. Because he’s the type of asshole that relishes in the kind of barbed commentary that comes from watching somebody lose their whole corn-husking mind. Only he sits quiet. Sews a couple more stitches before tying off his work and snipping the thread with his teeth.

It’s your pants (trousers). He’s slit the sides and rigged them up with leather cording. It’s a real Mad Max kinda biker look, but it’s so much better then running around a refrigerator cave in a shirt and a fucking breechcloth (that shit was for summertime in fucking North Carolina, goddamnit).

“Try these on,” he says and holds it out. His back is mostly to you.

You stand all awkward. One knee cracks. And you shuffle over as pins and needles sweep up and down both your arms. Astarion sits all placid, tucking his needle into…is that a sewing kit? Man’s got a sewing kit? It even kinda looks like a goddamn cookie tin.

You slip one leg through, then the other. Gotta fiddle with them laces, and in the end, they really are side chaps.

“These’re great,” you say. You can even wiggle around without it pinching nowhere. It’s a little loose in the crotch, but that don’t even matter. Only thing it don’t got is pockets.

“I have something else,” he says. And reaches into his back and pulls out…

“Panties,” you say, in fucking Chondathan (at least he told you that’s what it was, this time).

He grins. “Well done. Now, I only had enough material for three, and you’ll need to belt them, but it should be more comfortable than stuffing that bundle into your trousers.”

That sounds like an innuendo. Shit, man made you panties. It’s the most weirdly personal gift you ever got in your whole life.

Great timing, too, if the general achiness curling low in your gut is any indication. Bitch is late. Not surprising, given all the fuck shit that’s happened. But still. She was gonna show up at some point.

What he made is kinda like ancient Roman bikini bottoms (which was a thing). Ties on each side and still a little baggy, but weird, old-fashioned granny panties is still panties that you didn’t have a minute ago.

You consider tapping his shoulder and thanking the man. Wonder briefly at how you’re more comfortable in your own head about like, physical affection with everyone else (imagining swooning against Karlach and frenching Shadowheart when she closes gashes you didn’t even notice). But when it comes to him, you just…can’t. Can’t even entertain the idea of joke kissing him, not even in your own head. It feels…weird. Like standing on the edge of a cliff.

“I did make a few hasty modifications,” he says as you start to unlace them trousers so you can slip on the panties. Which is when you catch his smirk. You seen that smirk before. That one’s goblin shit, right there.

“What did you do?” you say.

He waves a hand. “It’s merely cosmetic. And not my finest work.”

Did he leave one of them panties crotchless or something? Rig it to rip up the—

Nope. They’re all solid enough. And decorated with a simple piece of sloppy embroidery. Heat rushes up your face and you almost cringe away, until you realize that he wasn’t putting a dong on each one, but what you think is supposed to be a mushroom.

Because he’s a fucking goblin and is incapable of passing up an opportunity to poke at you.

“Cute,” you say.

“Aren’t they just?” He grins wide enough to show off his fangs. “I felt we should commemorate your first brush with hallucinogenics, darling. Consider it a souvenir.”

“And you thought the best thing for that was stitching them into my new drawers.”

“I had to contribute something.”

You stare at him for a long moment.

This all reeks of guilt. The whole “cutting you loose” thing. And goddamnit, it’s working. You still ain’t sure what you should be feeling about that. What the just thing is. Part of you thinks you should be pissed. Any maybe you are? But he’s also just…it’s difficult. It was a shit decision. Making it would have been a shit decision either way. And what saved you wasn’t him or even you; it was your bag getting caught up in some rocks. Ones you might not have come near if he hadn’t cut that rope. And then you woulda drowned for sure and been a bare-assed ringwraith in a fucking cave forever.

This might be him manipulating you. Making sure he does nice things so you don’t get mad—cause he ain’t fessed up on it. You noticed that.

Then again, he was acting all weird about this whole thing even before that cavern, when he realized he couldn’t see and you realized he’d have to rely on you. He really doesn’t like owing people.

What a fuck shit mess.

“Everything all right?” he says because you been quiet for a solid moment.

You wriggle back outta them trousers, pluck them up. Eyeball the tent. “I’m gonna go get changed, and then what’s say we get the hell outta here?”

***

You got three dirt potions left. You been down here, on y’all’s own for about three days already, you think. You should start rationing the fuckers. When you tell Astarion your plan, he starts speaking Chondathan at you. And he’s somehow even more pedantic about it than Gale makes you repeat yourself over and over until he’s satisfied with your inflection (fucking language rolls its goddamned r’s, which you was never good at).

After thirty minutes of you spitting all down your chin like a dumbass, he finally lets up.

He’s so quiet behind you, after that. Man’s got his pickup lines; can turn on the sleaze in less than a second. But casual conversation that ain’t complaining about something or imagining killing something or someone?

“So,” you say. Go for the tried and true, “You got any hobbies?”

“What, aside from murder and picking locks?”

Jesus, he ain’t never gonna let that go.

“Yeah,” you say.

A long pause. The cavern y’all are in now is lit up a little by them mushrooms. Y’all skirt around another bigass crystal somehow lit up from within. Probably some bullshit magic. It’d all be pretty if it wasn’t a giant cavern filled with fuck-knows-what hiding in the deep dark between the glowing fungi.

“No, not really,” Astarion says.

It takes you a second to connect it back to your last question.

“Huh,” you say. “That sewing was damn good for a man that can’t see. Better than most who can, I reckon. A fuck of a lot better’n what I can manage.”

“Considering your solution was to simply wrap a cloth around yourself, that’s not really high praise, darling.”

“Take the fucking compliment,” you say. “It’s good work. Even if them mushrooms look like dicks.”

His footsteps fucking trip. He sputters. “Excuse me? They look like what?”

“It ain’t really your fault. Technically, that’s what all mushroom is, anyway: space cocks.”

He makes a kinda muffled “ugh” sound.

And then a thought hits you. “Does your language have different words for genitals depending on the vulgarity? Is it even a vulgarity to y’all?”

“I…yes, actually.”

And the word he used translated to “cock.” Possibly the most vulgar, but also the least casual. Interesting. You do notice he don’t actually use hard swears (or whatever translates to hard swears). Combined with his fancy pants accent, you wonder what he was before that whole fuckface turning him thing.

“You know,” he says. “I didn’t expect this sort of conversation out of you. Though you do have a fine phallus of your own, so color me wrong.”

“Back to them space cocks,” you say, in an attempt to cut him off before the teasing can creep back in. It ain’t fucking weird having a goddamn sex toy. You’re a grown ass fucking adult.

“Space cocks. Do tell.” He literally purrs the last part of that. If y’all wasn’t walking, you’re sure he’d prop his chin up on one hand.

“Pretty sure I was babbling about them last night. But the parts we see, the parts that grow above ground? That’s just the reproductive parts of the organism it grows from. Which I always thought was funny since a lot of them look pretty phallus-like. When they ain’t being a cosmic horror and all.”

“And this amuses you, being a connoisseur of cocks, does it?”

Ooh, he’s digging.

“I seen enough,” you say. You ain’t folding that fucking easy.

“Forgive me darling, is there a point to this topic of conversation, or did you just really want to talk about cocks?”

“I want to talk about how weird mycelium are. You don’t need to—”

The rope tugs on your waist and you turn. He’s stopped. Grin dropped. Eyes open and unfocused, staring hard out into the darkness.

“Do you hear that?” he says.

You do not. There’s the hollow echo of the huge fucking chamber, your own breathing, and y’all’s footsteps crunching about in what has turned into dirt (must be the mushroom’s doing).

But his head tilts, and you know he’s tracking something. Intently. And the shadows around y’all become real dark.

“What is it?” you say as quiet as you can.

He don’t answer. Just frowns. Head turns this way and that, eyes darting around. Until his frown deepens. And the man looks down.

“There’s something beneath us,” he says.

A hidden chamber full of albino orc people your brain throws at you because it’s a motherfucker.

Then Astarion’s face goes blank in a distinctive way that opens ever, single floodgate of adrenaline you got into your circulatory system.

“It’s coming up beneath us,” he says, right as y’all both reach for each other’s hands and you holler, “Run!”

You catch the sound, now. Thunder shimmies up your shins through the thin soles of your stolen boots. With a couple steps, the ground shakes so bad you stumble. Astarion’s iron grip is the only thing that wrenches you back up.

“There’s a rock ahead,” you pant. Your throat already burns. “Next to a cliff. Mushroom…big’un. Growing on the side.”

The two of you stumble sprint over. Hit the edge of the rock right as the ground six inches from your heel erupts in a spray of dirt that knocks you to your knees.

Astarion manages to keep his feet. Once again hauls you scrambling up to the top of the stone as something roars behind you.

You don’t look. All effort is focused on the edge of the rock and the leap you’ll need.

“Three foot gap!” you gasp. “Plenty wide—”

“I can’t—” Astarion starts.

And you shove aside all your cringing and grab the man’s shoulders and point him in the direction he needs to go. But it’d be terrifying to leap without seeing. You remember the cavern where he found you, all the times he touched something. He needs guidance.

“Gimme the stick,” you say as a roar rumbles the air so hard your ribs rattle. You finally glance back.

Something big with a huge fucking mouth.

You barely fumble the stick, barely manage not to drop it. Skirt around Astarion. Judge the distance and leap. And it’s only once you’re airborne that you wonder if that bigass shroom can take your weight or if it’ll snap clean off the cliff like a rotten tree branch.

You land hard enough to go down to one knee. The shroom is squishy, yet firm enough that it only shivers under your weight like a hard mattress.

“Eleanor?” Astarion says, voice sharp.

You whack the cliff with your stick, at foot level, just beside you. His face snaps to that direction.

“Three feet! Here!”

He gives a single nod, waits for you to tap again—the thing below roar and its bulk moves up the rock oh fuck.

Astarion jumps. Lands right next to that sound, and you reach out to steady him and pull him further onto the shroom. Right as the big fucking monster comes bounding up the rock after him. You all but drag the both of you back, fall on your ass (Astarion stumbles over you) and scoot further away.

Up until your hand hits the edge of your little platform.

“Fuck oh fuck fuck.”

Somehow, it did not occur to you that the fucking ground monster might, like, climb.

Now you’re gonna die. Torn apart by a fucking armored hippopotamus-mouthed fucking tank of a thing that snarls and snaps…from its perch on the rock. Three feet of air between y’all.

Astarion claws into your shoulder. “What’s it doing?”

Big fucking monster makes a low sound. Paws at the edge of the rock. Then its head twists left, then right. It’s got little, beady motherfucking shark eyes on either side of what’s actually a massive, fuck off beak. It leans forward, one stubby foot reaching…

But then it pulls back. Makes that sound again. Leans real far forward to…nibble at the edge of y’all’s shroom and then make what you can only describe as a disgusted sound.

“Well?” Astarion says.

“I…” you say. Watch the thing growl and snuffle around. “I think it’s afraid of the mushroom.”

“What? What is it?”

“The fuck am I supposed to know?”

And the blind man rolls his fucking eyes. “Yes, yes, you’re a yokel from another plane. You’re sure it’s not about to pounce on us?”

It fucking stares at you, is what it does. Stands motionless, maybe a total of eight feet away, just fucking staring with its dead eyes.

Every muscle in your body goes limp and you almost swoon.

“I think we should be quiet,” you whisper.

To his credit, Astarion frowns, but crouches down to whisper back, “What does it look like?”

Stumpy legs, thick body, all of it plated in some armor looking hide. Big bitch has a face halfway between a shark and an African hornbill. All of it about the size of a rhino.

Which you tell him, leaving out the animal names. And to which he swears.

“You’re of no help, dear,” he says.

“You fucking asked me—” And cut off as the birdshark snorts. Like a cat watching a squirrel and dreaming of murdering the ever-loving shit outta it.

“We should stop talking,” you say.

“And what would you,” he starts. Seems to reconsider. Then lowers himself to sitting pressed against you. You manage to contain your fidget away. Mostly. And you both settle in for the worst staring contest of your life.

***

Birdshark gets bored after what has to be an hour. Huffs and moans, and then ponderously half slides back down to the ground. It gives you another glare. Then turns nose down, makes a chuffing sound, and all them armor plates fucking buzz and the big bitch slides into the dirt like it’s a fucking cow pond.

“What was that?” Astarion whispers.

The ground don’t move again. The buzzing stops. The whole cave falls silent.

“It went back underground,” you say.

Then Astarion starts to stand. “Well then, we’d beset get out of here before the beastie changes its mind.”

But you’re still staring at the dirt. You grab the bottom of his leather armor to stay him. “Did you hear it leave?”

The man pauses a long moment. Then sinks back down, silent as a whisper. “No.”

It hunts from underground, don’t it. It’s got eyes, and it for sure saw you, but sound seemed to really set it off. And the fucker is down there, buried, and it’s mcfucking waiting for you, ain’t it.

“It’s fucking Tremors rules,” you say. “Fuck me.”

Astarion shifts. You turn and catch the most baffled expression on him.

“It’s a story,” you say. “Monsters show up in a desert town. Big worm things. Hunt from underground. We can’t get on soft ground without it knowing and coming up right between our legs, I bet.”

You didn’t even know the man could get any paler. Granted, it’s like the difference between eggshell and dairy cream at some fucking hardware store paint aisle, and you can only tell the difference by holding up them swatches next to each other under the glare of a noon day sun. But it’s still impressive for a guy whose complexion can, at best, be charitably described as corpseriffic.

“Perhaps your people’s stories aren’t as fictional as you think,” he says.

Which one: they got them the concept of fiction vs. non-fiction and you got to learn how to fucking read here, hot damn, and two:

“I’m really starting to wonder,” you say.

So tremors rules. Fucking waiting at the base of that rock. You scan around the expanse of gloom and flat ground. Them other mushrooms is too high to climb, and you ain’t putting it past birdshark down there to uproot the damned thing and bite y’all’s legs off when it topples over.

But then, off in the distance, the color of darkness changes. You can barely see it (can only see it by looking around it), but there’s a slash of black about a hundred feet to the right. Beyond that, the soft glow of more magic cave mushrooms, all about level with the floor here.

“I think that might be a crevasse to the right,” you say. Scan it again to try to tell if it’s maybe just a ditch. No, no, you think the light reflects off stone on the other side, like a sheer cliff. Goddamn, it’s too dark. Fucking caves.

“What of it?” Astarion says.

Birdshark didn’t wanna leave that rock. It was only a short hop to get to y’all’s tender ass meat, but it seemed nervous. It would make sense for a subterranean predator to be skittish of open air.

“I don’t think it likes being away from the ground,” you say.

You can feel the man lift an eyebrow.

“Or we can stay here until I starve to death. You can feed on me if that happens, and good luck after that.”

For just a second, he looks at you like you done slapped him with a trout. Then he’s back to his usual sass and an eyeroll.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll have to run for it. I can’t see, and I’m rather sure it’s faster than the both of us. What’s your plan for that, darling?”

You think back to that movie, and remember some of the goodies y’all still got left over from that goblin camp that you are one hundred percent sure Astarion commandeered.

“You still got them bags of spark powder?” you say.

[pathetichimbos]

hey… I just wanted to say that I think you’re wrong about Tommy having no ass. If you’ve ever seen The Program (1993) you would know that man has two giant ass cheeks the likes of which is rare to behold.

That's not Thomas though. That's his actor, sure, but that's not him.

And logically, it makes sense for Thomas to have no ass.

See, there's a good few exercises that you have to do in order to actually get an ass when you aren't naturally blessed with one. Squats, hip thrusts (he gets NO bitches /affectionate), glute bridges, etc, etc. Stair master over treadmill, lift weights, all things that can happen pretty naturally in regular day to day life, but given Thomas' lifestyle, I doubt he legitimately has an ass.

Working on a farm is it's own natural workout, that would give someone an ass if their form was on point. And Thomas isn't exactly the kind of person to respect the lift with your legs rule.

For one, he hunches his shoulders a lot, and slouches. He's ashamed of himself, and the way he looks, and people who are taller, that don't want to be tall (people have treated him like a dangerous monster ever since he got big, and he hates that) tend to hunch their shoulders and have terrible posture in an attempt to make themselves look smaller (and in his case, less threatening). This happens a lot before he gets his new face. So, we know he has terrible posture.

And as we can see here, when he lifts and pulls the biker girl out of the car, he bends his back, leans down, and picks her up. He doesn't do a proper squat, he doesn't lift with his legs, etc. We can easily assume that he does this every time he picks something up because let's be honest, most of us don't do the proper lifting posture.

So, due to living on a farm, and working at the slaughterhouse, it's very very easy to assume that he lifts a lot, just like that. This is how he got his strong arms. And, given the time frame, and the fact that he was able to come back to the slaughterhouse without anyone realizing, we can also assume he walks back and forth a lot. And walking alone will not give you an ass. It's quad dominant, not glute dominant. All of that muscle will go to his legs- his thigh and calves. That's why he has thick legs, but no ass.

And let's not forget about diet, because that matters a lot in ass gaining as well.

Southern food is filling. It's mostly carbs and proteins, with little to no vegetables. And even those are most likely smothered in some kind of bacon grease or butter and a shit ton of seasoning. Eating home-cooked southern meals are one of the easiest ways to put on weight. That's why he has such a big tummy.

Now, if you were to eat mostly carbs and proteins with a steady workout, you'd easily get an ass, but we've already established he doesn't work out or properly lift things or any of that. So, no, I don't believe Thomas Hewitt has an ass.

Maybe he could start to pick one up after he starts wearing his new face, but honestly, that's a big maybe.

We know his posture improves due to his confidence increase after he starts wearing the mask, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop picking things up the wrong way. Hell, he might not even know there is a proper way. Who knows for sure.

But, yea, if he started doing the exercises (hip thrusts wink wink), he could get an ass pretty easily, but until then, he's a got flat ass pancake cheeks.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk! <3

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Part three. I realised I never specified an exact timeframe so I'm clarifying that this is the last few year/months of him being undercover, about '94 Rust. I'm an ao3 girl so I'm figuring out how to lay fics out on Tumblr. Deeply appreciate everyone who's reading

Warnings: Drugs, drinking, swearing, smut insinuations and references to past violence but it is a True Detective fic, so

'Do you think we can ever truly talk about God?' Cassandra pipes up, as she's smearing herself in her pre-work lather of coco butter. When the sheen of the grease hits the light, it emphasises the taught expanse of her stomach and the tendons in her calfs. An amalgamation of divinity and delicate mortality; the pathetic fragility of the flesh, blood, skin and bones all knotted together, craving cosmic importance. 'Our soul, if there even exists such a thing,' Rust thinks, 'is just a ghost in a machine.'

Rust glances over to where she is standing in a matching lace, navy set, leg elegantly poised on the counter as she continues smoothing the ointment onto herself. He's lying on the mattress, still fully clothed, as he pinches his cigarette and stares back up to the ceiling. The events of the past few days, a visit to a meth lab in Galveston with Ginger followed by a drug and booze binge, have fucked his cognitive workings into a scramble of old memories and new sounds: the smell of gunpowder on his biker jacket, Cassandra's absent minded humming of an old Willie Nelson song, the brown sludge in his nail beds from when he was draining his Harley's oil, the black grease mixing with the residue of the red, Texan dust. He wills himself to give her a semi-coherent answer,

'I don't believe there's anyone there to talk to,' he drawls.

'I said about, not to.'

'What's your point, Cass? I ain't got the fuckin' will, tonight.' Rust thinks he can feel the chemical reactions behind his eyes; his enzymes breaking down proteins, the Speed throbbing through his neurotransmitters.

She rolls her eyes at him as she swaps leg, 'Chill out, I'm only wondering what you think. You know I value your opinion.'

He stiffens at that. 'Don't do this, baby,' he thinks 'It ain't worth whatever you think it is.' She's been doing this more often, letting that docility seep through the crevices of her impassible constitution. She hates herself for it, he can hear it in the acerbic tinge of her words, when she says shit like that to him. Sometimes, when he really concentrates at the expression in those dark pools of her eyes, he knows she believes she has deserved every horrific thing that has ever happened to her.

'I ain't really got an opinion on this matter, yet,' he says through an exhale of smoke, 'Why don't you tell me yours?'

'I know why, like, logistically we talk about God in modern languages, that's self explanatory. But it feels wrong, like we're corrupting the actual concept of a god.'

Rust doesn't look at her but says, 'Go on.'

'I think speaking about God in a dead language preserves him. Dead languages are frozen in time: absolute. They don't allow the transmutation or fucking corruption that modern languages do which are always evolving with dialects and younger generations,' she pauses, slipping her leg down from the counter as she slides her loose Budweiser t-shirt over her body, much to Rust's dismay. She continues,

'Also, on a more personal, aesthetic note, I think worship sounds a lot more metal in a language that isn't the one I use to order at fuckin' Waffle House.'

Rust snorts at that. He hears the slight smile in her voice as she replies,

'I know it sounds dumb when I condense it like that but that's literally my entire point. Worship is so often so dependent on the words we use and we venerate God in the same language that the televangelists or politicians use to con people on TV, the one that the girls at work use to sweet talk a customer into a lap dance? Seems fucked and incoherent to me.'

'I'm sure you can do that shit in a dead language too.'

'Nah, they existed before us. Whatever we try to imbue them with means fuckall, they don't participate in the reality of our information anymore.'

That gets him to sit up, the conversation staring to sober him up, 'Reality of information, huh? You've been stealing my books again, Cass?' a trace of a smirk on his lips. She huffs at him, stood in the middle of trailer,

'You were gone for three days and class is off for Spring Break, what the hell else was I supposed to do?'

'Buy some decent nightwear?' he remarks dryly. The reference to another one of her seduction tactics gets a mischievous smile from Cassandra . The past couple of weeks, she has been going to bed in some very short and, sometimes, very sheer nightdresses. Despite having made the chivalrous choice of sleeping on the floor of the trailer, chivalry being a virtue Rust is largely unacquainted with these days, his isn't unaffected by the sight of her sprawled out, almost beside him. Especially, when the nightdress naturally rides up during the night; a factor that has forced him to take too many a late night smokes outside.

'Nah, not when I know you enjoy it so much.'

'Cassandra,' Rust warns.

'Shit, full name?' she teases, 'You know, you're the only person who I let call me Cass.' She walks towards him, crawling onto the mattress and lying down next to him to look up at the ceiling. Rust doesn't move, not a goddamn inch. 'She'll know,' he thinks, 'Fuck, she probably already does.' Girls like Cassandra, girls too sexy and too tough for their age, always know. They have to. Growing up in a trailers, apartments and halfway houses, knowing that their tips which become their meals are based on how long they'll allow a drunk patron to stare at their tits or pat their asses as they serve them. They can smell male attraction from a mile off, tongues running over canines in mouths addled with whiskey and cigarettes. Oh yeah, they can tell and they know exactly how to play that game.

Rust wonders if he should feel some resentment towards her for it. He doesn't.

'Oh yeah?' he mutters, unimpressed.

'Yeah.'

'Lucky me.'

'You are. You know how many of your brothers would kill to give me a nickname?'

'Sounds to me like they already do,' his tone being harsher than he intended.

She goes silent and Rust hates himself more now than he did the other day, when he smashed a meth cook's head into a sink 14 times for screwing the Iron Crusaders' supply. The fragments of teeth and filaments of saliva mixed with blood that were left in the sink have nothing on the current look in Cassandra's eye.

'Don't be an asshole, Crash. You know I don't enjoy any of it,' her voice hoarse.

For the first time this evening, he looks her in the eye. 'I know,' tone steady but with a trace of true acknowledgment. Cassandra picks up on it, nodding her head. In these two innocuous actions, both have apologised and are forgiven. She stands up and grabs her duffel bag,

'You gonna swing by, tonight?'

He fucking wants to. Badly. He'd stomach the neon lights fucking with his Synesthesia, the lurid couches and the other Crusaders betting on how well each girl would 'take it'. He'd endure the fucking mire just to have Cassandra looking at him when she's on stage, the lights making her white smile a cool lilac.

'Nah. Can't tonight. Something at the clubhouse.'

'Oh, ok.'

'Poor kid. Like a kicked puppy,' he thinks. For the second time tonight, he can't stand that look in her eyes. He offers,

'You want a ride to work, baby? I'm headed in that direction, anyway.'

Something shifts slightly in her eye. The ball is back in her court. She savours it, rolls it over her tongue as victory coats it in something sweet and tart. Never one to show mercy, Cassandra toys with him,

'You'd give me a ride even if you weren't headed anywhere.'

Rust scoffs, fixing her with a look of chagrin; gleam of affection ,almost, trepidation in his eyes,

'I know, baby. I know.'