#captain cold and me

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[leonard-cold]

on a father's rage

[leviraaaaaa]

Cold outside.

“Levi, whatcha making?”

“Mm.”

-

It was a question you asked him everyday. Everyday when you caught him back in the couch with his crochet tools, his hands moving as he looped the hook one after another. And it was a question he ignored everyday.

But you watched eagerly. Even without two fingers, how he managed to keep working so effortlessly and flawlessly was mind-blowing to you, because the last time you attempted it, you ended up with only a huge mess of yarn. Yet, he did it as easily as if he’d been doing it for years.

After the war ended, the two of you found yourself with these huge stretched periods of free time that none of you know what to do with. It was specially harder for him, living his whole life constantly working, never taking a second to relax. Work is all he ever knew. Now that it was all over, he was overwhelmed how absurdly long days are. Not that he actually minded, he absolutely loved having more hours to spend with you. But it was the feeling of uselessness that took over him. With his physical state, there wasn’t a lot of physical activities he could do to keep himself busy either.

That’s when you started experimenting. You started trying out things with him, cooking, reading, sewing (He was good at all of them) but surprisingly it was crochet that stuck with him. (Despite his initial protests that it was for old people and how it doesn’t suit him.) So, since then, you often found him sitting on the couch, fiddling with his yarn and hooks and whatsonot. He’s even made a lot of little household things and so, though he gets embarrassed whenever he sees you actually using them. You adored them though, they were beautiful.

It was only recently he started working on a certain something. Something he refused to tell you or even let you see it. And curiosity ate you up from inside, (Because what could it possibly be that he has to hide from you?), but you always gave up after trying for a few minutes, because first of all, the man was absolutely stubborn and pestering Levi usually never ended well.

But you asked the question everyday.

“Are you ever gonna tell me what you’re making?”

“Maybe. If you stop bugging me.”

“Is it for me?’’ You asked, grinning. “Is that why you’re shy?”

He never answered, only shifted his work a little more out of your sight.

You still watched him though. How could you not? It was such an elegant sight, the way he has his eyes all narrowed in concentration, fingers working carefully. Sometimes, he does this thing where he bites down on his lip, and you don’t think he even realizes that, but holy shit, did it get you feeling all gooey.

But then again,everything Levi Ackerman does has you feeling that way.

-

“What’s taking you so long?” You called out, rubbing your hands together. It was the end of December, it only started snowing since last weekend. To say the weather was freezing would be an understatement, Levi practically had to drag you out of the covers every morning. And even now, all bundled up in jackets and sweaters and gloves and socks, you could still feel the cold poking your skin. You puffed out little foggy breaths, watching them as they faded away.

“You’re shivering, idiot.”

Hand clasped on your shoulder, turning you around. Before you even got to blink, Levi was wrapping something warm around your neck clumsily.

"It's cold outside." He muttered under his breath as an explanation.

You let out a sigh of relief almost immediately, soaking in the bundle of heat. It was so soft, fluffy, warm and…

A scarf?

Your hands reached out to feel it, and it was as you thought.

You looked up and Levi was already turning away, grabbing your hand and tugging you forward.

“Wait!” You stopped him, pulling back your hands.

“What? Weren’t you the one eager to go for a walk?” He turned around, looking at you, confused.

“But..” You trailed off, looking down at the white wool, fingers still feeling the softness. “Did you..did you make this Levi?”

Levi was silent for a few seconds, then gave the slightest nod, his eyes on the ground.

Your jaw dropped.

“No way.”

“...do you not like it?” He glanced up, voice timid. Almost as if he’s scared you’ll say no.

You stared at him in disbelief.

“Are you kidding?” You blinked, you were feeling so many things, you couldn’t even begin to sort them out. “Levi..that’s what you’ve been doing? This is for me?”

“You’re the one wearing it, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, choking on your emotions. Levi showing affection such way was so rare, but when he really did, they were always things you never even thought of. When he did something, he always gave his most.

You brought up one hand to wipe the little tears that formed on your eyes. “Oh wow, I’m crying.” You let out a little laugh. “I might start bawling,.”

“What the–” He frowned, reaching out to you but hand pausing midair, unsure what to do. “I’m…sorry?”

“Oh, Levi, it’s not that.” You let out a half snort. This absolute clueless idiot.

“Well, you’re acting weird. Did you like it or not?”

“I..” You inhaled. “Levi, you fool. I love it.”

And Levi exhaled, his shoulders finally relaxing. “That’s..” He mumbled, glancing at you. “That’s good then.”

And you stared at him for a few seconds, relief washed over his features. His cold gray eyes holding a warmth that was only ever reserved for you. The tips of his ear and nose were red, as it always was when he was flustered or embarrassed. There were flakes of snow on his hair, the night breeze blowing his bangs away from his face, ruining what was always so carefully combed.

He looked like an angel. Something ethereal sent from the heavens above.

It was so surreal, you had to pinch yourself.

“Ow.” You mumbled.

He was quick to grab your hand. “Now, what the hell was that for?” He demanded.

“Huh?” You looked up, still in a daze. “Just..” And your face broke into a stupid, stupid smile. You suddenly felt so unbelievably gleeful. “Just really happy.”

He wasn’t sure what one had to do with the other, but he stared at you. Unpredictable, always so. But it was so easy to make you happy. It makes him feel sometimes as though he doesn't deserve this.

Even after so many years of being with you, your smile had never failed to tug his heart. And suddenly, he felt like that young teenager he was when he first met you, when he couldn’t even greet you casually without stuttering over his words. Just as flustered, just as stupid, just as shy.

Next thing you know, he was pulling you by the very scarf, leaning down to press his lips against yours, trying to tell you all the things he never really had the courage to say out loud. That he was so grateful. And he wants to say thank you, thank you for staying alive, for not leaving, for giving him a chance, for always sticking with him, for giving him a taste of what living feels like.

And he's telling you I love you over and over, he hopes this is enough. Enough for you to convey how his heart feels because his tongue geys tied up everytime he tries. He wishes he could burn the words against your lips. Because he's always so scared that you might never really understand how grateful he is and how important you are.

"I love you."

You pulled away to breathe, stumbling out the words, exhaling out a cloud of fog. You looked up, wide eyes reassuring him you know. Reassuring him that It's okay if he never really says it, but you know.

“I love this and I love you.”

Levi gulped and nodded, hoping to let you know that he felt the same. Except he was a coward and you were not.

It was enough for you though. You shot a bright grin, cheeks all red. Giddily, you grabbed his hand, pulling him along.

“Easy.” He said. “You’ll slip.”

You hummed, waving away his words. “I’m never taking it off by the way.”

“Yeah sure.”

"I'm gonna become like Mikasa."

He snorted slightly. "Uh-huh."

“I’m serious. And I’m going to show it off to everyone.”

“Right.”

And then you blabbered some more nonsense things that he couldn’t really focus on as he was more busy watching you and the way your eyes shone.

“I love you,” He whispered quietly to himself.

Maybe one day, he’ll finally be able to say that out loud.

[soranatus]

Don’t worry, Barry… we have the Flash on our side

Barry Allen & Leonard Snart in The Flash: Season Zero

[teehee-vibes]

Agonized over the fact that when Chip reunites with Arlin, no matter how it happens, whether Arlin is dead or alive, corrupted or stable, preserved as he was or aged by time and magic… whether it’s a moment of joy and relief at a long-awaited reunion or a heart-shattering episode of grief because Chip is too late, Chip can’t even cry about it.

[twobellsilence]

bro I don't understand how people don't catch that Jimmy hits Curly the second time he gives him his meds. Like you can hear Curly's confused "huh?" sound after the first blow, and he groans and yells in pain as more rain down on him before he eventually breaks down SOBBING. If it was him thrashing maybe there would be muted thumps, maybe he'd choke more forcefully, but he clearly isn't in a state to flail and toss with enough strength to create the noises we hear. Not only that, but Jim is very openly aggressive in his dialogue... And Curly becomes eerily still after the audio finishes playing, so much so that you can't even hear his usual labored breathing. I've seen very few people acknowledge this or even notice during gameplay and simply go "man curly really doesn't want his meds huh" and I guess it's a relatively small detail in the grand scheme of things but personally I really feel like it's an important indicator of just how much Jimmy resents Curly and how he sees him as subhuman when he can no longer be of use to him and realizing what actually happened is important to understanding Jim's relationship with Curly

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

What comic is the one where Len makes it snow for Barry?

It's from the short "Christmas: Cold and Fast" from the holiday anthology Tis The Season To Be Freezin'

On an unseasonably warm evening before Christmas, Len is ringing a bell dressed as Santa on a street corner calling for donations to help the less fortunate. A Banker Type makes fun of him, and Len steals his watch, but Barry zips in to take it.

The two squabble, Barry questioning whether any of the money is going to anyone who actually needs it, and Len explains that he was going to use it to hire some people to help him with something. He (after arguing back and forth over it for almost a whole page) convinces Barry to open a truck...

Which is filled with toys.

Len was originally going to sell them all, but he decided instead to give them to kids in need.

Barry then asks Len to give the people of Central City a Christmas miracle

by freezing the ice rink for the tree lighting ceremony.

Len agrees on one condition...

That Barry wears his Santa suit.

Barry races around Central delivering toys (Pretty much all Flash themed, which makes me wonder if he keeps a warehouse of his own merch...), then they meet up on top of a building to watch people skate.

(Yes, Len just jumped off the roof of five storey building. What a dramatic little shit.)

Also, there's a short in DC Rebirth Holiday called A Flash Christmas Carol that tells the story of how the Rogues and Flash started a holiday truce so Barry can make sure kids in foster care don't miss out on presents. This was Len's idea, and he gave up a big score to make sure it happened.

[miramelindamusings]

The moment there is a bit of cool weather where I live, all I can think about is rumbelle. I've been thinking alot about Lacey too so here are a few of the sketches I've done :)

[gender-luster]

dc needs to let men wear skirts more often. that's it. that's the post

[baihujun]

Don't do this to me...

Dick Grapeson

Martian... Melonhunter...

Raspbarry Allen (and bonus Lemon Snart)

OK I am done

[dragoncorniouwu]

sketches

[the-californicationist]

TF141 husband reactions when you come home with lipstick on you.

TW: arrangements prior discussed, established relationships, safe sane consensual, there is some dubcon though, so tread lightly

MDNI ever.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

When you walked in the door, the sun was just coming up. You found him in the kitchen, drinking a tea and working on his laptop, getting ready for the day. He peered over the top of his screen as you tried to quietly shut the door. You were still dressed in last night’s clothes; the straps of your heels unbuckled, your dress half-zipped, your braid a total mess.

“C’mere.”

His voice was more than a command. It was an edict. It was as if he was some ancient emperor calling you to the carpet in front of his feet and preparing you for his appraisal.

You were a bit nervous, but you dropped your purse on the floor and kicked off your heels, standing before him, complying.

“Did you have fun?” He asked, snaking his hand up around your knee, traveling north along your smooth thigh, disappearing under your gold, glittering gown.

You nodded, raising your eyebrows a bit. Communicating all sorts of things without saying them.

You have no idea how much fun I had.

She was a dream.

Feel the results of her affection, my love. I dare you.

Finally, his eyes locked on yours, his fingers find your panties missing, and in their place, a swath of soaked skin. Your come has painted your lips and thighs like a mural, telling the stories of tens of orgasms and almost-gasms, and all the mushy, gooey, honeyed activities in between.

Then, leaving you feeling empty, Simon pulls his hand away and studies his wet fingers. One of them comes back pinkish-purple, and he smudges it in confusion.

“Is that lipstick?”

You nod again, holding back a wide smile at the memory of its arrival.

He stands, looming over you, darkening the room like a thunderous cloud, and commands, lifting up the hem of your dress,

“Show me.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

When you showed him her picture a few weeks back, Kyle had given you a sly look,

“I know what you like about her, babes.”

You rolled your eyes, playing coy,

“What! She’s nice. And she has good taste in books. She even plays the piano.”

“She’s got a gorgeous fuckin’ rack, don’t she?”

He laughed at you, cuddling you closer in bed, ribbing you mercilessly. And he was right. You couldn’t stop staring at her incredible breasts, and you wanted to feel their softness against your cheeks.

When you got your wish, he came to pick you up in the car, and Kyle had noticed right away.

“What is that, missus?”

He pulled down the edge of your shirt to reveal a messy trail of red lipstick that started at your mouth and disappeared down your chest.

“Naughty, naughty thing… You know you’ve got a hungry man at home who still expects to be fed. Hope you’re ready to do double duty.”

You shrugged, winking at him,

“She asked if you were coming with me next time.”

John “Soap” MacTavish

You couldn’t tell if he was asking because he wanted to know or because he just wanted to hear you say it. He’d met her, so he didn’t need to give you the twenty questions game, but as he suckled ravenously at your already-punished clit, he asked you anyway.

“What’s ‘er name again, bonnie? Hm?”

His tongue fucked your swollen, hypersensitive pussy with its soft, smooth form, slipping through your spent come and greedily taking it from you, lick by lick.

“Did she eat you like your man does?”

His fingers joined him, pulling an orgasm from you easily as his knuckles pounded against your core, sweeping upwards across your walls and finding the perfect spot every time. Johnny knew exactly where it was as if he had been born with a map.

You grabbed his mohawk, trying in vain to get some relief, but he was too strong.

“Tell me, lass,” his lips were shining like wet glass he was so soaked by your pleasure, “Did you make her lick you?”

“…y-yes. Yes, Johnny…”

“Greedy minx…”

Sitting up, he tapped his heavy cock at your entrance,

“Must’ve done. ‘Cause you’re wearin’ so much lipgloss on this pretty wee cunt of mine, it’ll look like she gave me head after I fuck you.”

Captain John Price

His fingers traced over the near-perfect imprint of her mouth where she had latched onto your breast. John’s other hand had both of yours pinned cruelly above your head, so you couldn’t wipe it away.

His bright, blue eyes studied your face, watching you as he explored your body. Then, he fit his mouth over her lipstick stain nearly mimicking her exact placement, and the familiarity made you moan deeply.

John sucked your nipple into his mouth, obviously pleased he’d gotten it right, and he continued to work you like a puzzle, looking around your flesh for lipstick-colored clues to lead him to success.

His belt made a popping noise as he ripped it from his jeans, the end of it biting across your naked skin as he did so, since he was standing right over you. He used it to tie your hands and loop them over the doorway, and you were trapped.

John found his next target, a stain on your ribs, and he kissed you languidly there, kneeling to reach. Another on your hipbone, and another right against your mons.

While on his knees, he licked across your clit, and you felt your whole body respond to him. You were still reeling from her earlier efforts, and he knew it.

“Did she take care of my pretty little pussy, love?”

“Yes, sir…” you whispered, quivering and swaying against the door.

“Did she use her hands…” he let his fingers dip and play in you just enough to rekindle your flames, “…or her mouth?”

He sucked against your folds furiously, then, eating you not like a man but an animal starved. He pushed your legs apart to get to more of you, sinking his tongue deeper than you’d ever felt it go. It writhed, warm and greedy, against your sensitive hole, tasting the evidence you were hiding.

“She… she did both… sir…” You answered obediently, hoping he was not done with your interrogation just yet.

He stood, towering over you with his huge, hairy body. He was so warm, and you could see the flush on his chest through his dark fur. John smiled down at you like a wolf to a lamb,

“But, no cock, hm?”

You lost what little poker face you had when you looked up at him, the whites of your eyes giving away your shock at his tone,

“…n-no…” You were confused, but you caught your mistake quickly, “No, sir…”

“And after I left you with all of your toys, too… oh, well. Guess I’ll just have to give you mine. Let’s show her what she’s missin’.”

He left you pinned to the door and pulled his fat, flaccid rod from his pants and started jerking himself hard, looking over to where she was laying in your bed, face-up, tied shibari-style to a whirring vibrator, drooling over her ball gag.

John took two of his fingers and dipped them into her, wetting himself on her fluids, using her as lube. Then, he picked you up in his arms, lay you flat on top of her, and fed himself into your body, inch by inch.

Your sweaty skin made you slide against each other. You kissed her mouth around the ball gag, sucking the skin of her neck, hungry for whatever you could reach.

As he fucked you, the vibrator would rock against her clit and yours, clumsily, but just enough to send you both reeling from the shock.

Then, he pulled himself out of you, and you wondered where he had gone, but when you looked down into her face, pupils blown wide with pleasure-filled panic, you knew.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Let's lock our neural patterns together, leading to extreme risk of permanent brain damage and death ♡

[agenttexsflippedshit]

Curly’s lack of teeth haunted me to the point of unpicking the stitches and hand-embroidering them in.

NOW back to commission sewing

[firecooking]

Did this little number recently. Thinking about a modern human au where all the tugs are human, so of course I did some stuff with the Z stacks.

I think it’d be an interesting au to do something like modern harbour in port tugging systems, having a captain and a deckhand on a ship, maybe Zero Marine has 5 ships but only three ever get used at a time, maybe they have only three, or two even, but the job requires complexity. Maybe the Z names are nicknames, they dont even think of their real names anymore. Lots to think about.

This was me thinking about a smoke break, maybe the AU is in the early 2010s? Late 2000s? The main harbour tugs are all more oldschool still, enjoying a smoke break to take the stress and edge off the paeing of this job. Zips young, fresh outta school probably and the first new blood they’ve gotten in a while, with it he’s ready for his smoke break with his new fangles vape that smells like sugar and will probably give him popcorn lung within the decade. Zug meanwhile hates smoking but needs his break all the same, so slots on his phone is where he breaks his time. Zero’s a little less receptive to that break, but aslong as he doenst look down Zug’s not getting caught.

Even beyound that, The three harbour tugs deff have their own prefrences they argue about. Zorran winging on about how he rolls his own cigarettes at the end of a long week to destress, and how they are so much smoother and taste better than that shit the other two smoke. Zebedee doesnt give a flying fuck about his cigs as long as they do the job, and he only smoke a two packs a week so it’s no big deal what he gets. Meanwhile Zak Carries around a custom cigarette box but is clearly smoking premade cigs, only for them to eventually discover he smokes untralight slims, misty rose’s type deal, because he’s asthmatic as hell and in denial.

Zero thinks they are all stupid but goes through a pot of coffee an hour while managing the office, that or worse there is a convience store near by and he’s hyped on 128oz fountain drinks and slurpies and is actively melting his organs with energy drinks and sugar. He can’t smoke he has a kid at home to live for but doenst realize his resting heart rate is 120 and he’s going to have a stroke from all the caffiene. No rest for the wicked of course.

[denebolablack]

Sooo, I have this HC that Tony needs to be using his hands with something while watching series, a movie, or simply listening to someone. Otherwise, he won't be able to concentrate, and he will end up biting his nails, scratching some part of his body, or biting his lips.

Well, his Brooklyn's boys found out about it very quickly. And ever since then, they make sure Tony always has some object to "play" with if he needs to.

*On a meeting*

Fury: Why is Stark dismantling a gun in the middle of our meeting?

Bucky: *With his arm around Tony's weist* Because I asked him to.

Fury: I won't even ask why. Just don't shoot anyone in this room.

Tony: If I wanted to, I would've done it long ago.

Fury: ...

Bucky: *Smug smile* He's not wrong.

*While watching a movie*

Tony: *Scratching his fingers anxiously*

Steve: *Put a notebook and a pencil on the genius's hands* Why don't you try drawing a plan of the house of the movie, sugar?

Tony: *Stops moving* That's a great idea! Why didn't I think about it sooner? *Starts drawing while mumbling to himself*

Steve: *Smiles and kisses the genius' forehead*