#dirty fucking hippies were right

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the End - Post-Apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - They're starting to think maybe this omega isn't so sweet.

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader, injuries, masterbation

Masterlist

Patreon, Ko-fi and Throne

Now you were back in your little cabin in the woods. You had even lit a fire and dragged your mattress with its nesting contents into the small living room to get properly cozy. You sighed as you buried your face into the nest and relaxed further into the arrangement of blankets, pillows and dirty laundry.

Despite yourself, your omega whined and paced. She wanted their scent here too. You hadn't smelt them when they were up close because of the cotton up your nose but just that whiff on the wind had begun the beginning of the end.

You whined into the sheets and buried further into them. The idea of one of them surviving the traps sounded better with each passing moment. A feral alpha that was strong enough to withstand your defenses and persistent enough to find you. The thought made your chest warm and small purrs leave you.

"She has us running in fuckin' circles Cap," Gaz said to Price before he even noticed that he was upside down. "Trap get you?" He asked as if it wasn't obvious.

"Gettin' cheeky are you?" Price shot back and Gaz grinned as he grabbed the knife off the forest floor and walked towards his Captain.

"Nah, just takin' the piss Cap'n," He walked to the rope keeping him upside down and cut it. Price was fine, he was only a few feet off the ground. 

"Do you know where Soap and Ghost are?" Price asked as he put his beanie back on and took the combat knife back from Gaz.

"I found Ghost, he's stuck in a pit. And I don't know- oh speak of the devil and he shall come!" 

Soap emerged from the bushes, his hair singed at the ends and soot on his face. "Damn omega nearly blew me up!" He cursed and Gaz snorted which got him a dirty look. "Awa an bile yer head," Soap huffed and Price chuckled. "Where's LT?"

"In a pit." Price and Gaz responded at the same time. Soap let out an amused huff.

"So how are we gonnae get 'im out?" Asked the Scot and Gaz nodded to the rope.

"Reduce, reuse, recycle right?"

"Always ken ye were some kind o' hippie."

Ghost looked up into the snowing sky when he heard the rustle of bushes. A deer? A bunny? Maybe it was the omega coming to put a bullet through his head. "Oi, don't fall in too you idiot!" Gaz barked and Ghost laughed silently.

"You still alive in there Ghost?" Gaz asked as he peered his head into the hole.

"Unfortunately," Ghost replied and Gaz rolled his eyes.

"He's fine. Tie the rope to that tree."

After a few minutes the rope was tossed down and Ghost climbed up with a grunt. "My ankle is throbbin'," he grumbled to himself. It wasn't going to stop him or really slow him down significantly but it was a pride thing really. "Let's go get that 'mega."

Words spoken so easily are not actions done with ease.

They should've expected that it wouldn't be easy but some part of them hoped that you hadn't set up more traps. Gaz cursed as he fell into a pit and screamed, "Fuck!"

Price rushed over and his eyes darkened at the sight before him. This pit was not like Ghosts, instead it had sharpened sticks waiting for whoever was unlucky enough to fall in. Ghost pulled Gaz out, "You broken?" Price asked immediately even as he fussed over the puncture wound in Gaz's thigh.

"Negative," Gaz grunted. Ghost looked down at the two of them, a storm brewing in his dark brown eyes. "I'll be fine, just need to patch it up."

Price couldn't help the growl that left him when Gaz tried to stand. "No, you're gonna sit back down and we're gonna make camp."

You peaked outside as night fell and took in a deep breath then recoiled when you smelt them on the wind. They're closer warned your omega even as heat built up in your abdomen. 

You close the door quickly and wiped away the cold sweat. The near beckoned to you and you went back in, a dull throb from your clit making it harder to relax this time. 

You hissed defiantly and tried to ignore it until it became near painful. You growled to yourself and shoved your hand down your pants, no preamble or work up. Your body wanted an orgasm? You could give it an orgasm.

You were completely soaked, your slick coated your thighs and panties as you circled your puffy clit and bit down on your lower lip at the shocks of pleasure. Your mind wandered to territory where it shouldn't. That pretty one with his slender fingers toying with your clit while the one with a beard lapped at your gushing pussy like it was the fountain of youth.

You hissed out a breath and gyrated your hips against your own hand as you dipped two fingers down and sunk them in with embarrassing ease and a squelch. Your palm applied pressure to your clit as you pumped your fingers in and out. Petting that spot you could hardly reach and your legs tensed up as the pleasure built.

Your hips bucked and small moans left your mouth as you came on your fingers, slick gushed out around them and coated your thighs and soaked your panties. 

It was embarrassing just how quick you came from just those images, the other two weren't even in it but you refused to think about it. Your body hummed, the small waves of pleasure bringing you down into a cozy sleep.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

kappa and reader while on their roadtrip decide to go out on a cutsie date they end up in some bar there’s live music great atmosphere they get p drunk & things escalate as they get back to their van 🤭…

Someone send help, I want him so bad 😩😩

Fairy Lights

Summary: Just a silly, little drabble about van life with Kappa 😌🌻

Pairing: Kappa x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Content Warnings: Soft Horny Hippie Smut 18+!, Unprotected P In V, Oral (F Receiving), Fingering, Cum Eating, Mentions About Alcohol And Being Drunk, Kappa's Dirty Talk, Breeding, Possible Impreg

A/N: We are gradually working towards Dad!Kappa and I see absolutely nothing wrong with that 🥴

Tagging the horny horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine

Let me take you to the movies

Can I take you to the show?

Let me be yours ever truly

Can I make your garden grow?

- Houses Of The Holy By Led Zeppelin

"Fuck!", You sighed while hastily wiggling your ass out of your lacey slip, "The guitarist did a damn good job, no?"

"Maybe, but I don't give a wet fart about that right now!" Kappa huffed as he shimmied himself out of his pants equally clumsy, his already rock-hard, eager cock thudding against his lower abdomen.

With a wide grin playing around his lips, he looked at you, his pupils blown wide in desire and adoration as he propped your thighs on his shoulders before thrusting himself into you as far as he possibly could.

"Good lord, Kappa!", You exhaled sharply, your head lolling back deep into a tie-dye patterned pillow, "You fuck like a madman when your drunk!"

"All I hear is you saying that I don't fuck you just right when I'm sober, honey." Kappa quipped right back, the palms of his hands snaking themselves around your thighs to pull you impossibly close to him.

"That's not..ugh, fuck.." You heard your trembling voice flailing as he started rolling his hips against your lap, rendering your mind blank with each jut.

"That's not what?" He teased with a mischievous grin spreading all over his face whilst the tip of his nose lovingly caressed yours.

You smelled the alcohol in his breath, the countless cheap beers and whisky shots both of you had oh so eagerly chugged down at the bar. In a feverish shot of sudden worry, you gasped at your man.

"Shit, fuck…what if anybody sees us?" Your brain abruptly recalled the fact that the two of you were fucking in a goddamn parking lot.

"We're in the van, sugar.", Kappa cooed into your ear from above, "The car might be shakin' a lil' but that's all, don't worry."

He pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple while thrusting into you, his girth stretching you out just the way you liked it.

"You sure?" You couldn't quite let it go just now.

"Just shut up and let me make you feel good, been thinking about that all night long.", He groaned against the shell of your ear, effectively sending a wave of goosebumps down your back, "Nothing on my mind but you since you started dancing, practically eye-fucking me while twirling that dress of yours."

" 'N I thought we were having a cute date night out, babe.", You giggled out of breath, turning your head to catch his mouth, teasingly biting down on his bottom lip, "All while you were just thinking 'bout filling me up, huh?"

"Uh-Huh.." It rolled over his tongue in a low moan, his face following the gentle tug of your teeth as your shaking fingers wrapped around his forearms, holding on to him, "Been thinking about knocking you up lately. How'd 'u like that, hm?"

Just the mere thought of it had your throbbing cunt clenching down around his cock, pulling him deeper into you.

"Oh, okay…", Kappa huffed in surprise, picking up his pace and practically ramming himself into you without holding back, "Getting you all worked up, no? Wanna be a momma so bad?"

"A little mini-us… a ranch, big garden and all, maybe?" You rambled out in between raggedy breaths, feeling your body buzzing with the mixture of intoxication and an oncoming orgasm.

"Shit, fuck…that sound so good, babe.", His hips progressively faltered in their rhythm, "Gon' fill you all up, sugar."

It took but a few more thrusts, his balls slapping against your ass, before he spearheaded deep into you for one last time, his cock pulsing and pumping out hot ribbons of his seed.

"Hmhmm…don't stop, please, boutta cum, too!" You whined as you felt him stopping, moans and filthy curses cascading out of his mouth as his climax washed through him.

"Fuck, sorry, lemme fix that, sunshine." Kappa groaned, reluctantly pulling out of you but leaving your twitching legs right on top of his shoulders as his head wandered down amidst your quivering thighs.

He wasted absolutely no second thought about parting your cum and slick soaked folds with his tongue, directly aiming for your needy clit while his release trickled out of you.

"Taste so good.." He hummed into your cunt, sending a tide of pleasure through your body, your nerves starting to tingle and buzz again.

"Have ta make sure all that stays nice 'n put…" Kappas low tone vibrated through you as two of his fingers pushed into you, gently fucking his cum back into you.

Just that sent you right over the edge, your walls clenching and pulling all around his fingers as you involuntarily wiggled your ass over the mattress in orgasmic convulsions, practically riding your climax out on his tongue that was flat against your throbbing clit.

"There you go, sugar." You heard his shit-eating grin before you even saw it as he slipped your legs from his shoulder, his face rising back up to yours again.

With a content humm, Kappa let himself slump down next to you, cradling your form in his arms while reaching out to the side to fish for a halfway full cup of tea from way earlier in the day.

"Drink up, love, don't wanna deal with a hangover later, no?" He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his sweaty skin glowing in a post-orgasmic shine and the soft hue of the tiny fairy lights stuck to the ceiling of the van.

"Even if…'m just gonna pout at you until you fuck the hangover out of me, hm?"

[omgthatdress]

I have a lot of feelings about Julie’s collection. After the election of Richard Nixon, the deaths of Janis Joplin, Jimmi Hendrix, and Jim Morrison, and then the Manson murders, the peace and love happy hippie 60s had given way to the dirty, strung-out scumbag 70s. Even though Julie is living in San Francisco, the hippie era had long since passed by 1974. As Hunter S. Thompson beautifully put it in Fear and Loathing in Los Vegas:

“There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . . And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . . So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.””

I love the hippie aesthetic. I get that AG would want to have a doll that reflects that. A lot of Julie’s story revolves around her fighting for environmentalism, which is one of the aspects of hippie culture that managed to stick around, largely because of backlash to the consumerism of the 50s. But in Julie’s collection there’s plenty of times when her looks lean too far into the 60s and miss the mark of the 70s. As much as I appreciate AG doing the hippie thing, an accurate collection for the 70s would drag us to polyester hell and never let go. The 70s are one of those special eras in fashion where everything is ugly as fuck. The fashion of the 60s was much more aesthetically pleasing, but the fashion of the 70s is ironically appealing. It’s so ugly you love it. It’s ridiculous. It’s camp.

Granted, the fridge that was 1974 fashion still had plenty of hippie leftovers in it, and her original meet look with its crochet cap, embroidered tunic, and fringe belt feel true to the era.

Hand crafts like knitting and crochet had a resurgence in popularity, so I’m glad that both collections have a knitted accessory.

Part of the history lesson Julie gives is that Title IX meant schools could no longer forbid girls from wearing pants, so that’s why Julie is in jeans.

Julie’s BeForever look is straight 60s hippie. The inspiration seems to be Janis Joplin, who had been dead for four years:

AG seems to be wanting to have it both ways with Julie, and I honestly wish they’d just commit to the 70s:

On another note, the 70s would have been a great chance to have another doll of color (American Indian Movement, much?), but they went with a White girl with blonde hair. Which honestly I kiiind of get. Like if I were going to select ONE decade of the 20th century to have a blonde doll, it would be the 70s. I cannot emphasize enough how ubiquitous long blonde hair was to 70s pop culture.

For an era that still claimed to be progressive, the 70s were whitebread as hell. Outwardly there was women’s lib, civil rights, and the sexual revolution, but inwardly, the 70s were an extremely conservative decade when Jerry Falwell and the Moral Majority were just starting to lay their slimy hooks into the American political system. It’s a decade of contradictions and extremes that I wish AG would fully commit to.

[kelyon]

Courtship 5: Outfit

Lacey figures out what she's going to wear on her date

Read on AO3

The pile of clothes covered Lacey’s twin bed. She’d spent the better part of an hour matching blouses with slacks with sweaters in a vain attempt to find the magic combination that would make her look less like the president of the student council and more like Mr. Gold’s perfect slut. 

Nothing worked. So far, her best options were to wear her summer sundress in the middle of winter with no coat, or to take a pair of scissors to the long black skirt she had worn to her mother’s funeral. That last one might have been an option, if she had a sewing machine like Mara. But she didn’t, and showing up at Mr. Gold’s house wearing unhemmed rags was probably as bad an idea as showing up wearing pants. If she had a sleeveless top, she might consider wearing the skirt as it was. She could try to go for a sort of hippy, Bohemian look. But the most revealing blouse Lacey French owned had puffed-up sleeves, like a fucking five-year-old. 

Groaning, she fell backwards onto the pile. Some of this stuff she had got in middle school. The fact that they still fit her had been an advantage every time she’d decided to spend her limited funds on books instead of clothes, but it also meant that Lacey had never aged up her personal style. She didn’t have anything that made her look or feel like an adult. 

The purple-blue dress shimmered in her dirty clothes hamper. She had jumped the gun by wearing her only sexy outfit on her first date with Mr. Gold. She had set the bar too high. Now he would have expectations of how Miss French liked to dress. More than that, Mr. Gold in his suits had standards. If she met him looking like a mess, he’d drive off and leave her on the curb.

At least he didn’t seem to mind if she left him looking like a mess. He hadn’t minded bringing her home with a wrinkled skirt and no stockings or underwear. She wanted that to happen again, but before it could, Lacey had to look presentable. None of her clothes were cutting it. She had to take action. 

She pulled a white button-up off the pile and rubbed a smear of foundation over her hickey. Then she went downstairs into the shop. Dad was sitting by the cash register, looking through a faded design book. 

Mom had known all the designs for bouquets and arrangements by heart, but Dad always needed to double check with the book. 

“Anything happen today?” Lacey asked.

He shook his head, didn’t look up.

“We should call up everyone who ordered from us last year and remind them that V-day is in less than three weeks.”

“They know,” he grumbled. “This time of year, no one has any money. The men at Fish King will get paid on Friday, that’s when the orders will start. But they won’t really pick up until the next payday, the eleventh.”

He was right. It happened like that every year. All the orders came in at the very last minute. Valentine’s Day weekend was two solid days of constant work getting everything put together. 

And it was too far away to do Lacey any good.   

“So I’m guessing this is not a good time to discuss the subject of me ever getting paid for the hours I put in?”

Her father looked at her like she had just told an offensive joke that wasn’t even funny. Had his eyes always been so bloodshot? Had he always looked like a sad cartoon dog?

“You keep your tips.” He looked down at the book again. “You have money when the store has money, when we’re not racking up daily fees from that bastard Gold.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Lacey rubbed her hands on her jeans. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Of course Dad didn’t have any money to give her. That was their whole problem. Game of Thorns was a family business, the only income any of them had. For as long as she’d worked in the store, her pay had come in the form of food and shelter. Her reward for helping keep the place open was that it stayed open. It might not have been unreasonable to ask for more, but she knew it was unattainable. 

“Ask again when Valentine’s is over,” Dad said. “We get out of this hole… I’ll try to make something work.”

She’d heard that before. Her father always had all kinds of plans and dreams for when things got better. Not that things ever did get better. Not that they ever would. The only thing worse than knowing that fact would be admitting it. So Lacey gave her father a tight smile and pretended she believed him, just like she always did.

****

She made her way over to Marine Automotive, where her Uncle Manny was locking the front doors from the outside. When he saw her loitering, he beamed.

“Hey! There’s my favorite niece!”

Uncle Manny looked like Dad if nothing bad had ever happened to him. He had the same height and stocky build. He had the same curly hair that was also the bane of Lacey’s existence. But where Moe French was loud when he was angry, Manny French was loud when he was happy--and he was always loud. He wrapped Lacey up in a bear hug.

“How you doing, Ace? What brings you by?”

She cut to the chase. “Are you going to the Rabbit Hole tonight?”

Her uncle wasn’t a huge drinker, but he was the only person Lacey knew who regularly went to Storybrooke's only bar.

“I wasn’t planning on it. They’re aren’t any games tonight. But I take it you need an escort?”

Lacey raised her shoulders in a half-apology. “They won’t let me in without a parent-slash-guardian.”

“Ah, to be young again!” Uncle Manny wrapped one arm around her. “You’ll miss it one of these days, I promise you. But yeah, we can have a night on the town. I’ll even buy you a Shirley Temple.”

“Oh come on,” she gave him a playful nudge. “I am an adult, even if I can’t drink. I should at least get a Coke and Coke.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

****

The Rabbit Hole was dead. Between the lack of sports on TV and the town-wide lack of money until payday, most people were staying home. The only ones here were people like Leroy Miner, people who had nowhere else to go. Like the old song said, sharing a drink they called loneliness was better than drinking alone. 

Undeterred, Lacey took her uncle-approved non-alcoholic beverage over to the pool table by the fireplace. She took off her hoodie and unbuttoned her blouse a little. This whole thing was a risky move, but it was the best plan she had. Hustling pool paid off more often than it didn’t.  

Eyeing the room, she bent over the pool table, just far enough to get a little attention. She lined up a shot and missed on purpose.

“Oh crap!” she said too loudly. “Must not be my night.”

After ten minutes of staged failure, Lacey let herself land a shot. She squealed when the ball went into the pocket. The sound made people’s heads turn, and she treated them all to a too-wide, too-apologetic smile.

Only one person smiled back. Keith Sherwood turned on his bar stool to watch her. Lacey tried to remember her other encounters with Keith. Did he usually stare more at her ass or her boobs? For safety’s sake, she did both. She leaned far enough over the table that Keith could look down her cleavage, then moved around to the other side for the next shot. She stuck her ass in the air, practically humping the felt to keep his attention.

“Boys always make it look so easy,” she pouted after another ball just barely missed the pocket.

When Keith began to walk over to her, she turned her back to him. That way she could pretend to be surprised by his arrival. With careful concentration, Lacey managed to get a ball a full foot away from what anyone watching would have assumed was her target. It was actually harder to be bad on purpose, but it paid off.

“You having fun, sweet thing?” Keith leaned against the pool table, beer in hand, right in front of her.

Lacey giggled. “It’d be more fun if I had someone to play with.”

Keith chuckled. A lock of his hair fell down into his eyes. “I bet it would be. You had a lot of fun playing with me last time, didn’t you?”

How much money had she taken from Keith the last time she had tried this? Sometimes she got cocky and her marks got mad about being taken. Lacey couldn’t remember if she had ever crowed about fleecing Keith. Unfortunately, he probably did. 

She fluttered her eyelashes. “It was a lot of fun,” she cooed. “I think I got lucky that night.”

“I bet you’re gonna get lucky again.” He was standing too close to her. “I bet your luck will get better and better all night, especially when we start playing double or nothing.”

Crap. She had definitely rubbed Keith’s face in it last time. Now he was wise to her. That was the problem with a small town. Oh well, at least she’d tried.

“So is that a bet?” she said in her real voice. “Do you wanna put money down on whether or not I’m actually hustling you? Cuz I’ll take you up on that one.”

Keith shook his head. He put his hand down on top of hers on the edge of the pool table. He was still smiling.

“You know there’s another game we can play together. It’s a lot more fun than pool.”

Ugh.

Lacey backed away. “It might be fun for you, but I don’t think I’d get much out of it.”

He followed her. “How do you know? Maybe it’d be more fun if you hustled me. That’d make things interesting, wouldn’t it? Twenty bucks says I can make you see heaven.”

She snorted. “Did you just say you’ll pay to screw me?”

Keith kept smiling. “You were gonna screw me all over this table and take my money anyway. I like my version better.”

Lacey’s blood suddenly went cold. This wasn’t funny anymore. It wasn’t a game. This asshole would seriously give her money if she went home with him. It would be so easy to go along with it. Twenty dollars for two orgasms--his would be real, hers would be fake. 

Would that be enough to buy a new skirt? Was she seriously fucking considering this?

She clenched her jaw. 

“I’m not a fucking hooker, Keith.”

He raised his arms in a pacifying gesture. “No harm, no foul,” he said. “I just don’t see how it’s any different from taking a girl to dinner first. Man pays for sex either way.”

Turning away, she slid her pool cue back on the rack. 

“You’re a pig.”

“Go ahead, darlin’, keep talking dirty. See what happens.”

Lacey kept her head held high as she went back to the bar where her uncle was nursing a beer.

“I need to get out of here,” she told him.

“Sounds good.” Uncle Manny took out his wallet and tossed a few crumpled fives onto the bar. “I’ll walk you home.”

****

 Outside, Lacey pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her hoodie and hugged her arms over her chest. This stupid button down was too frumpy to make her sexy and too thin to keep her warm. 

“Pool wasn’t any good for you tonight?” Uncle Manny asked casually.

“No,” she admitted. “Fricking Keith threw me off my game.”

“What do you need money for anyway? That dad of yours not feeding you?”

“I need money cuz I don’t have any.” Lacey kicked at a chunk of dirty snow. “Nobody does.”

“I’ve got a little, for the smartest kid in Storybrooke.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “You wanna tell me what it’s for?”

Lacey bit the inside of her mouth. She didn’t want to lie to her uncle, but she sure as hell didn’t want to tell him the truth. She walked in silence for a minute. He stayed with her. Finally, she said it.

“I wanna get some new clothes.”

“Like a real coat?”

She shrugged. “I mean, maybe. I could. If I had enough.”

“And this is a sudden yearning that couldn’t wait?”

She shrugged again. There was nothing like being around a parent-slash-guardian to make her feel like a complete child.

“Ace, what’s going on?”

She took a breath. “I… don’t want to tell you.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Lacey French, if you’re doing things you don’t want people to know about, then you shouldn’t do them.”

“It’s nothing bad!” Lacey pushed him away. “It’s just… personal.”

“That’s not reassuring,” he said. “What’s going on? What do you need money for?”

“I told you, to buy clothes!”

“Clothes for what? You can tell me, Lacey. I’ll help you out if you’re honest.”

“I just want to look nice on a date!” She shrieked the words out into the night. They hung in the air with the cloud of her breath.

Uncle Manny looked at her, confused and sympathetic at the same time. Eventually, he broke out into a broad smile.

“But that’s great, honey! You should go on dates. Why-- why didn’t you say so to begin with?”

She pulled her hands up through the neck hole of her hoodie to rub her face.

“I’m… It’s because of who I’m going out with.”

Uncle Manny scoffed and put his arm around her as they walked. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of dating someone. Unless it’s someone you should be ashamed of, but then you just don’t date them. It’s not a girl, is it?”

Lacey shook her head, to which Uncle Manny nodded.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that, not in this modern world. You know I’m with you no matter what.”

She nodded. 

“And of course, no boy is ever going to be good enough for you. But as long as he’s not married, or some kind of asshole like that bastard Gold, there’s no reason to sneak around like--Lacey?”

She had stopped in her tracks. She looked up at her uncle and chewed on her lower lip.

Realization dawned. Uncle Manny let out a long breath. 

“Lace.” His voice was rough. “Tell me you’re dating a married man.”

Lips pressed together, she shook her head. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Standing in place, Uncle Manny stomped his work boots onto the sidewalk. The intent seemed to be half to warm his feet and half to cool his head.

“Gold,” he whispered. He pointed in the direction of Mr. Gold’s pawn shop. “That Gold? The guy that has every working person in Storybrooke by balls? The guy who’s practically the reason all of us are living paycheck to paycheck? You’re going on dates with him?”

She shrugged. “It’s only been one date so far, but he asked me to come to his house on Friday.”

“And you said yes? What, does he have something on you? Is that why you need money?”

“No!” Lacey insisted. “I was telling the truth! I just need clothes that are good enough for him.”

“‘Good enough for him?’ He’s not good enough for you, Lacey! That man is a scourge. He’s a parasite. He’s--he’s old enough to be your father!”

“If he was my father, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I’d actually have a good life.”

“You have a good life.” Uncle Manny wasn’t angry anymore. Or if he was, his anger had become still and stern. “Your parents worked every day to give you a good life.”

“And where did it get them?” Lacey snapped. “Where did it get me? Yes, we work hard, but our only reward is getting to work even harder. And I’m so tired.” Her face was hot. God, she was sniffling. “Being with Mr. Gold feels like a break, and that’s all I want anymore. Just a freaking break.” 

Uncle Manny’s arms were around her. He pulled her against his coveralls that smelled like motor oil and sweat. He squeezed her tight and patted her back as she tried to stop crying.

“Sorry,” she sniffed when they broke apart.

“Hey,” he tilted her chin up and looked her in the eye. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Despite her tears, Lacey laughed. It was an old joke for them. She knew what her next line had to be: “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”  

He hugged her again, kissed the top of her head. They didn’t talk until they were in front of Game of Thorns.

“I’d stay for dinner, but I’ve had Moe’s cooking before.”

She snorted at another joke she’d heard a thousand times, then she turned serious. “Um. You’re not going to tell anybody, are you?”

“About your…” he searched for the words, then shrugged, “love life?”

“Yeah. You know my dad will blow a gasket if he finds out I’m even talking to Mr. Gold, let alone--”

“Yeah, I know.” Uncle Manny cut her off. Clearly, he didn’t want to hear what she was doing with Mr. Gold.

“So, please don’t tell him? Promise?”

Her uncle sucked his teeth and slowly shook his head in silence. It took a long minute before he looked at her again.

“Okay,” he said. “You’re an adult. You know your own mind, you can make your own decisions. It’s just--be smart, okay? You are an adult, but you’re also our little girl. Me, your dad, your mom, rest her soul--we don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I promise I won’t get hurt, if you promise not to blab my business all over town.”

“Aright,” he sighed. He pulled her in for a tight hug. “I promise. Just--please, take care of yourself.”

  She squeezed her uncle, then headed for the door. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

****

Lacey spent the entire working day on Thursday psychically willing the phone to ring with orders, preferably orders that had to be filled as soon as possible. Doing a rush job would give them an excuse to charge extra. She wouldn’t wish a funeral on anyone, but wouldn’t this be a great weekend for an impromptu wedding? So many of Lacey’s problems would be solved if just one panicked bride would come in and beg them to fill Dodci’s Dance Hall with centerpieces and garlands, not to mention all the bouquets and boutonnieres and flowers for the church too. Or maybe someone important could get sick and everyone in Storybrooke would send flowers to the hospital. Wasn’t there anyone in Storybrooke who was celebrating anything? Did people not have birthdays in late January? There were so many reasons people could need flowers. But this wasn’t a day when people did.

Hustling at the Rabbit Hole wasn’t an option anymore. If this were any other occasion, she would borrow a skirt from Mara or Janine, but that didn’t seem like a possibility. They wouldn’t take the news of her going on a date with Mr. Gold any better than Uncle Manny had. Mara’s store, where she also lived, was rented from Mr. Gold, and Janine had taken out a loan to pay for her beautician supplies. Both of them--really everyone in Storybrooke--saw him as the enemy. As far as they cared to think about it, he was the reason they were poor. If Lacey told her friends how much she wanted to be around him, they would think she was crazy, or morally degenerate.

Maybe she was. 

Or maybe they were wrong. Had her friends ever eaten at Bella Notte? Had they ever worn a dress that made them feel like sex on two legs? Had they ever watched a hapless waiter get strong-armed into breaking a stupid law for them? Had they ever been inside Mr. Gold’s house? Had they ever taken clothes off just because a man had asked them to? Had they ever known the thrill of promising to do whatever another person told them to do? Had they ever known the peace of being an object, of kneeling silently at someone’s feet?

Could they even understand why that was something anyone would want? Let alone that it was something Lacey craved in a place deeper than her bones? Some dark, hidden part of her soul wanted Mr. Gold, like she had never wanted anything else. 

And not having enough money to buy a stupid fucking skirt might keep her away from him forever. She could not abide that thought.

When Friday was another dud--a few orders came in, but they wouldn’t pay until delivery--Lacey knew that she was out of options. Since Mr. Gold would be picking her up tonight at eight, she was also out of time. So she did what everyone in Storybrooke did when they had nowhere else to go.

She went to the pawn shop. 

****

Lacey had always been intrigued by the phrasing of Mr. Gold’s store. The sign said Mr. Gold Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer. Most stores advertised the goods sold inside, but Mr. Gold advertised himself. This was who he was, this was what he did. No one came to this store because they needed things, they came because they needed what only he could offer them. Usually, they needed it enough to pay whatever price he set. 

When it came down to it, Lacey really wasn’t that different from any other desperate soul who came to Mr. Gold. The only difference was what she wanted.

It was three in the afternoon. Not technically her lunch break, but it wasn’t like she was getting paid to stick around the flower shop. Lacey changed into some gray dress pants and covered her work shirt with her least-frumpy cardigan. She stuffed her purse full of old toys and oddities that might--cumulatively, optimistically--be worth about ten dollars. She yelled at Dad that she was going out for a minute and then walked over to Mr. Gold’s.

The bell rang over her head when she walked through the front door. Mr. Gold was behind the counter, writing something in a ledger. He looked up at the sound and gave the slightest grin when he saw that it was her. 

“Miss French,” he said, with just a touch of warmth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lacey bit her lip, but forced herself to stay cool. She looked around at the shelves and display cases, slowly making her way forward. Another time, she would have marveled at the art and jewelry and historic do-dads, but now she slunk past them.

“I…” she dragged out the word, unsure of what she was saying as she said it, “was wondering… if you have any clothes for sale.” 

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. “Clothes?”

“Yeah.” She stopped in front of a spinning rack of necklaces. She couldn’t look at him. “You know, like vintage stuff?”

He walked over to her, behind the display case. “I’ve got some historic naval uniforms, but nothing that would suit you.”

He was in front of her now, so they were separated by nothing but two feet of glass and gadgets. She didn’t raise her head. Some of these necklaces were really pretty. One gold chain with a mother-of-pearl pendant spoke to her for some reason.

“What do you need, Miss French?”

His voice was gentle, coaxing. He understood how much she hated what she was doing. He probably talked to a lot of people who were feeling what she was feeling. At least he didn’t seem to be enjoying her discomfort.

Lacey took a breath, and looked up at him.

“I need a skirt,” she admitted. “I don’t have anything to wear on our date tonight.”

He blinked. Then his face grew infinitesimally softer. 

“I see,” he said. 

“I brought some stuff.” She set her purse on the counter, began to pull out the junk she’d brought from home. “I thought I might--”

“Please,” he held up a hand. “You don’t need to do that. I’m more than happy to assist you, Miss French.” He turned away from her, went back over to his antique cash register. 

“I can pay you back…”

“Oh you will,” he grinned. He took a bill out of the cash register and set it on the counter. Lacey came closer and saw that it was a fifty. “Will this be enough?”

She fought the urge to snatch the money and run all the way to Modern Fashions. It was the same feeling she’d had when he’d given her the money to tip that stupid waiter. The thrill, the rush, of having cash and knowing she could do anything with it. Fifty dollars was more than she had spent on clothes in the past year. Fifty dollars could cover the bill at Granny’s for her whole family--or at least for Janine and Mara to have real lunches.

Fifty dollars was more than twice what Keith had offered her to have sex with him.

Lacey pulled her hands back. She dug her fingernails into her palms. 

“I… I shouldn’t accept this,” she said.  

“Why not?” Mr. Gold asked, unperturbed. “Are you worried I’ll take advantage of you? Wouldn’t you say that ship has sailed, Miss French?”

She looked down at the dirt-stained sneakers she wore for work. In a resigned whisper, she told Mr. Gold the same thing she said to Keith at the Rabbit Hole.

“I’m not a hooker.”

“Of course not.” Mr. Gold’s voice was smooth and confident. He came out from behind the counter to stand in front of her. Slowly, he raised his hand to cup her cheek, subtly forcing her to look at him. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants and who will do whatever she needs to do to make it happen.”

Lacey’s breath shook. Her eyes were hot and she was trembling.

“What do you want?” he asked her. He really was being very patient. 

“I want to go on another date with you, Mr. Gold.”

“And what do you need to do in order to make that happen?”

“I need--” she stopped. I need a skirt wasn’t the right answer. Mr. Gold had asked her what she needed to do. “I need to get some money, Mr. Gold.”

“Ask me for it.” He gave the order like it was a caress. “Ask me for the money and I’ll give it to you, Miss French.”

 This wasn’t like with Keith. This wasn’t being so desperate for money that she’d have sex with a stranger. This was being so desperate for sex that she’d take money to make sure she’d get it. She’d let Mr. Gold pay her like a whore just to make sure he kept treating her like a slut. 

She swallowed. She had to swallow a few times before she was brave enough to speak.

“Please, Mr. Gold, will you give me fifty dollars so I can have something suitable to wear for our date tonight?”

“I would be happy too, Miss French.” He lowered his hand from her cheek and picked the bill up off of the counter. Gently, he took her hand by the wrist, placed the fifty on her palm, and closed her fingers over it.

He grinned at her.

“Buy yourself something pretty.”

Lacey clenched her jaw. Now he was enjoying this. She bit back words that would make him take the money back. Instead, she said what she knew he wanted her to say.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“You’re quite welcome, Miss French.”

He turned around then, went back behind the counter. Lacey understood she was dismissed. Facing the door, she took a breath and checked to make sure none of her tears had spilled out onto her cheeks. 

Before she opened the door, Mr. Gold called over to her. 

“Miss French,” he said. “If you happen to buy a red skirt and wear nothing underneath it, I will eat your cunt for dessert tonight.”

Lacey’s eyes went wide. Her shock was less for what Mr. Gold had said and more for his nonchalant tone. He was talking about sex in the same way he would talk about running errands.

“Do you understand me, Miss French?”

What about it did he think she didn’t understand? Then Lacey realized she hadn’t answered him. Mr. Gold expected an answer when he spoke to people. 

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she said. Shock had made her voice a little breathy. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Gold.”

He gave her a nod. 

Dazed and excited, Lacey left his shop and made her way down the street to Modern Fashions. She had a red skirt to buy.

[chancedarling]

Location: Adventuring!!! (Huts & Warehouses) Target With: @lindiwe-in-camelot

The milling bodies seemed to split into two. Those indulging in the feast. Those eyeing it with caution (fear?) and using the remaining strength in their bodies to push onward and explore.

Chance is more interested in the explorers. These are the curious minds. The ones who are not distracted from the task at hand by shiny baubles and baked boar heads (complete with apple in mouth if the glance he'd given the table was anything to go by). These are the ones he may have to pay more attention to.

Of course, they could just be driven by desperation. A need to find answers. A link to the outside world. An explanation. A thread of... (and he smirks to himself even as the word floats within his mind)... hope. BUT - the desperate were not to be discounted. The hopeful were not moot. They were the ones who would most likely need friendly face. A little... Comfort.

He can already hear someone arguing over a little yellow hut. Voices raising. Tempers fraying. It could be a good opportunity, but he's frankly too fucking tired to play peacemaker right now. So he turns his attention to where a few shadows are disappearing into the larger buildings. Chance opts for the furthest one. And he's rather surprised at the flickering lights... Well illuminated, revealing row upon row of stacked shelves and boxes. A little conclave of supplies already prepared and waiting.

Prepared and waiting. Another little 'gift' from their gracious host? Fuck them and their twisted fantasies.

He can hear someone already rustling and rummaging around. So he picks a shelf and flips open a box at random. Fingers finding what seems to be some kind of coarse linen shirt. Well, the clothes he's wearing are a little worse for wear - slightly bloody... Very dirty. The next box has long trousers of similar design. Simple cut, drawstring waist. Boring. Hippie commune vibes (or cult... probably cult) but he takes them anyway. It's not easy to get close to people when you start smelling like wet dog. He's not really that interested in the stores though... More the seekers among the shelves... So he tosses his 'prop' over one arm and peers around the next stack.

"Hi there!"

"Uh... Do you think it's okay if I borrow these?"

Stepping fully round the corner - holding up his little 'prize' and gesturing at the mess of his current self. Still careful with his words - even now. Borrow... not TAKE.

"Just till I get my stuff cleaned up, I'll bring them back. Promise."

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Longass for the nights and days of life Chapter Eight RAGE Notes

I had a LOT of strong opinions on this one, babes. Oh ho boy it’s time. 

-I thought the Olangi were absorbed into the Omaticaya and not other plains clans, I wonder if there’s a particular reason they weren’t in this fic… I'm always suspicious of every decision Lottie makes.

-Tonowari getting an invite to this gathering from Jake: nah.

-Listened to Cover Me In Sunshine on repeat reading this. That’s what Spider and Ninat were singing, I don’t make the rules. 

-Jake fighting the English innuendo has to be every Na’vi hearing him speaking Na’vi every day. He has to be fucking it up in a way that makes it dirty some of the time.

-The heard stuff has me like, on the edge, I think it means some shit.

-The absolutely hilarious idea of Jake and Neytiri keeping maskless-only-human-left Spider around and thinking no one is gonna question it is so fucking funny to me. I also love them keeping their GOD CHILDREN secret. EYWA IS THEIR GOD WHO IS GOING AGAINST THIS? Like, if literally God blessed me with kids in an obvious miracle way to people that all super believe in God I’d be like, so this happened. Crazy right? Anyway- I also love that they didn’t discuss it beforehand, like they just figured it’d all be literally fine. They are so goofy and fucking stupid as fuck.

-Spider giving Neteyam bits of fruit makes me want to die! That’s aDORABLE! He is a PROTECTIVE older brother. They are not going to survive his kidnapping.

-Neytiri really came for Neteyam’s ass with that intro. "Here is my brave, cool, son, and my loser son who can't say hi."

-Ah, it’s because the Olangi are our dissenters it seems. I also really like this idea of an anniversary mourning period, I haven’t seen that yet. Every time I see a new idea in this fandom I get hard as a rock (figuratively), like I didn't even tHINK of this concept and I thought we were running out of new ideas.

-Love Jake public speaking king. I always forget he is a natural born leader and speaker.

-We love an Eytukan spirit tree moment. Although, now that I'm thinking about it, he may be the character that means the least to me.

-For some reason I cackled at Jake “the fire is too hot on my legs, Neytiri!” Sully.

-INFORMATIVE AND EYEOPENING IS THE WORST THING TO SAY EVER ABOUT SOMETHING THAT WASN’T A FULL LECTURE, THAT MEANS U HATED IT AND YOU’VE BECOME A WORSE PERSON BECAUSE OF IT. This man Tsantu is a school shooter that everyone saw coming.

-Lol Jake and Neytiri both feeling wary around Tsantu because he’s just them if they didn’t find each other to heal for. I am laughing through my tears. It's a great in depth character analysis though. Usually, I hate the concept of healing for each other, and I hate how much I adore codependency, but if you think about it all Na'vi are pretty codependent with their mates. Jake and Neytiri though? They are a whole 'nother level. They built their second chances on each other. Without the other they don't have the life they have, and they functionally have nothing to live for.

-Lol maybe he won’t assassinate someone and instead will be fixed by fucking Peyral. 

-I didn’t ask this before, but MOE?? WHY IS HIS NAME MOE. IT MAKES ME LAUGH EVERY TIME I READ IT, I AM PICTURING ONE OF THOSE TERRIBLE HIPPIE GUYS ON SURVIVOR.

-Yeah, nope, we are still scared of Tsantu. He’s still school shooter vibes. 

-Ah yup, there he goes, time to murder a whole family?? Sure that’ll fix it all buddy. Eywa knows and that’s why you haven’t seen ur mate, psycho. A lot of people have lost people and haven’t tried to murder families, my guy. 

-LOL FAMILY ANNIHILATORS FEAR ONE MAN AND ONE MAN ONLY, AND IT’S SPIDER SULLY. HE MAY NOT BE ABLE TO COUNT BUT HE’LL STOP A FAMILY ANNIHILATOR IN HIS TRACKS. 

-Lol I get the point but to say this shit to Neytiri of all people is batshit. She has lost literally so much, I was waiting for her to be like “Hey, my sister was murdered in front of me, then my entire home was burned down and my father and my best friend died in front of me as well, what more do you need me to loose until we’re even buddy? Murder all three of my children and my mate and then we are good?? This isn’t the grief olympics, man. We aren’t competing.”

-Tbh they are all being A LITTLE FUCKING GENEROUS with this guy imo. I have always been of the mindset that trauma is a reason and not an excuse. This dude attempted to kill an entire family. Three children. Babies. The only reason he didn’t is because one kid woke up. He is not the first or the last person to have lost family, lost a spouse, lost a child, or even to have witnessed this specific loss personally. He’s not the first person to have wanted someone else to feel that pain with him. But making the decision to cause that same pain, attempting that, that’s unforgivable to me. That makes you no better than the person that did that to you. Idk man maybe it doesn’t fit here, but that’s my continuous domestic abuse argument. “Oh, he was abused too,” well, that makes it even worse to me that he knows what it feels like and still actually went to go cause that same feeling for someone else. It’s disrespectful to those who have been through the same trauma and don’t repeat the cycle. Anyways. No justice for Tsantu. Throw him to the wolves. Jail for attempted child murder? He also did assault a kid. The last fic I read with this premise only Jake was attacked (although much more successfully) and when I tell you the attacker was given the death penalty I am not joking. Forgiving this guy alone is crazy (although I understand the investment in moving on, and improving and being better than those who hurt us), bUT TO MAKE HIM AN AMBASSADOR?? Jesus fuck, I might as well hire a bank robber to be my accountant. How can we trust this aTTEMPTED CHILD MURDERER with any ambassador position on Pandora, after this he wouldn’t be allowed within 300 feet of schools. 

-Neteyam being shy and Spider being a clown is ADORABLE.

-BOB TRIPPING AND JAKE LAUGHING AT HIM IS SENDING ME. I'M WAITING FOR THE DAY THE FICS BECOME LIKE ROUGE ONE FICS WHERE K2S0 IS JUST A REALLY TALL AND UNEMOTIONAL GUY. BOB IS JUST A BIG GUY WITH A SKIN CONDITION WHO IS JAKE'S BEST FRIEND.

-SWAPPING KIDS MID FLIGHT, HILARIOUS AND CRAZY.

-I loved the repeated family version of the toruk chase, almost the same ending but with the kids laughing instead. It’s like they’re all having their out of danger relief moment, and this time Jake and Neytiri are the adults and seeing first hand how bonkers they were lol.

[egipci]

Hi Em!!!! Happy Dadfucker Friday <3

There’s a very popular picture in the John/Dean community of a guy with a dirty boot print on his chest. Can you tell us a little bit about how that boot print got there? (Eg. was it consensual? Was it a punishment? Was it a sex thing? Did Dean ask for it? etc.) Thank you!!! <3

Cannabutter

What happened was, the first time, they were somewhere in rural Colorado, like near the mountains, and Dad had been gone for a couple of weeks on a case, and there was a girl. This girl, let’s call her Maggie, she was over one night in the little townhouse where they were staying, and she’d brought these brownies with her. And the brownies were really good, like objectively very fucking good brownies, fudgy at the center, etc., and Dean was hungry, had been eating mac and cheese everyday for a week straight, or you know, like feeling snacky or whatever, and he was seventeen, plus the girl was hot, and they were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch and he had sort of a lot of brownies. Like, half a sheet of those things. So good were these brownies he was like, “Yo, these brownies are so good. What’s in these brownies?” and it was all the usual stuff, of course, eggs, cocoa, sugar, etc. but you had to use brown sugar, that was the key. “You get the brown sugar,” she said, “and then you whisk in the cannabutter,” and he said, “A canna what?” And she said, “The cannabutter,” and he said, “Oh,” and as he said that he felt it, his heart banging against his ribs and face warming up, a shiver between his shoulder blades. And she was like, one of those hippy chicks with hippy parents and she and her parents smoked pot together or whatever, like they grew it themselves and made butter and tea and whatnot. And he said, “Oh, cool, my dad and I are really close too. He’s coming back soon,” except he couldn’t be sure if he’d actually said any of that or if he’d only thought it, and he must have been freaking out a little because she put her hand on his arm all fucking solicitous and asked, “Are you okay?” and of course he said yes, because she was hot, plus the roofies had felt different. And when he smiled at her she kissed him and pushed him to his back and got on top of him, put her hands under his shirt. And that was nice for a while, making out and her kissing up on his neck and pulling his shirt off.

Then: the sound of the car, and the girl whispering conspiratorially, “Is that your dad?” And at that point he was shaking and trying not to shake and he said, very seriously, “You have to go now,” like a freaking chick from a movie where the dad chases away all the boyfriends. And then he was vaguely aware of her getting up and putting on her shoes and saying something to Dad on the way out, and Dean thought if he got up he might throw up or something and Dad would find out how fucked up he was. So he just stayed there very still on the floor in front of the couch. Pretending to be asleep so that when Dad saw him he’d just leave him there. And Dad was moving around, taking off his jacket and washing his hands, etc., and Dean could feel him coming closer, to kill him or something probably, his boots making the floorboards creak, until he stood right there over Dean, and then he bent down with a grunt and stood up again, his knees cracking twice. And of course, because it was Dad and he’d been away so long, Dean opened his eyes and looked up, overjoyed to see him, having missed him so much, and Dad held the ziplock with the rest of those brownies up to his face, and he said, “Oh, man,” and just his voice made heat flash everywhere, sent Dean white-hot like a magnesium flare. “Dad,” he said, and Dad said, “Come on, dude. Get up.” And Dean said, “Dad. Dad, I’m so high,” and saying more than three words sent him laughing hysterically that something popped in his neck, or almost, and Dad toed his shoulder, said, “Get to bed,” except even then he didn’t sound super serious, like if Dean could see his face he would find him smiling, because he can tell things like that just by hearing Dad’s voice. And then, out of nowhere, Dad just put his foot right over Dean’s chest, almost straight across, but diagonal a little, with his boot still on, and like, shook him, like you would put your hand on someone’s shoulder and then rattle them a little. And the ridges on the sole were hard and wet from the dewy soil outside, but Dean’s hand latched around Dad’s ankle, over the boot, and then up around his skinny shin under the leg of his jeans, and Dad let him, just pressed his foot down hard. Not hard enough that Dean couldn’t breathe but there, good, like when he’d hold Dean down with his hands on his chest or his back, except even better because he was high as shit and the tip of Dad’s toe was grinding against his nipple, painful almost, but he could feel it everywhere, like this current to his balls, but it wasn’t just that, it was that it was Dad standing there over him, holding him down, watching him, and he made this embarrassing sound, whiny, so humiliating he couldn’t even do anything about it except call out for Dad again, and Dad said, “You’re good,” and his voice was so low it made Dean shiver, because he liked watching Dean and he was watching him now, even spread out pathetic on the floor Dad liked watching him, wanted to watch him even like this, even as he held onto Dad’s leg with one hand and unbuttoned his jeans with the other and pulled his dick out and his balls over the elastic of his boxers and came so hard in twelve seconds flat, even then Dad liked him. 

[4emfox]

Tasteful Was Never My Style

I was born a very free-spirited kid; never a full tomboy, never a full girly girl — though I dabbled in both. However, I was always a tree-huggin’, animal lovin’ hippie. Constantly dirty, always outside, building forts in the woods, and trying my best to connect with the wildlife around me.

As a very free-spirited kindergartner, I saw a beautiful Black woman with teeny, tiny braids in her hair and immediately envisioned myself with the same, little braids — I had never seen anything like them and I was drooling over their uniqueness (context: true diversity was rare where I grew up in Utah). I didn’t just want them. They had become a representation of my authenticity. I had to have them. Needed them.

My mom typically humored my eccentric, harmless requests so she went to the store, bought a bunch of colorful rubber bands, then spent the better part of 2 hours braiding teeny, tiny braids in my hair.

I loved the feeling of power that swelled within me once the braids were complete. Something I had envisioned had come to pass. I couldn’t stop touching them. I was so excited to share my hair with my friends when the carpool came the next morning for kindergarten, I could hardly sleep.

Sleep found me and morning came; I threw on some clothes, packed my backpack, hugged my mom goodbye and shot out the door to hop into the trunk of the station wagon that was waiting for me outside. When I popped into the car, my best friends Teresa and Stephen had already been picked up…and my nemesis, Whitney. Stephen and Teresa were up front which left Whitney and I in the trunk alone (ahem…for those parents who might be freaking out right now, these were open, wagon trunks. Granted, there were no seat belts, but we could breathe — [insert shrug here]).

Upon seeing my hair, Whitney immediately blurted, “I don’t like your hair”. I had never been faced with cattiness before. Ever. For the record, I don’t care if you’re 5 or 95; if you can’t say anything nice (unless it’s completely honest and it’s holding someone accountable for some terrible bullshit they pulled on you and calling them out makes you feel empowered [takes deep breath]), don’t say anything at all. I furrowed my brows and thought for a second — sincerely. I wasn’t angry. Then very honestly and thoughtfully I responded with my squeaky, five-year-old voice, “Well…I like it. My mom likes it. And we don’t really care what you think.”

Right after the Braid Incident, my teachers figured out I couldn’t see shit. I was getting in trouble all the time for chatting to my neighbors because I was nearly legally blind and unable to focus on anything happening at the front of the class. That, and I was going cross-eyed to focus on the board.

My mom took me to a pediatric ophthalmologist, and sure enough, I was severely far-sighted. We started trying on various, tasteful frames — but tasteful was never my style. I then laid my blind eyes upon the most beautiful, weird, exciting sight my eyes had ever “seen”: light opaque pink, Mini-Mouse-themed, thick-as-fuck frames. I had to have them.

I have two words to accurately describe what my intense prescription did to the lenses: coke-bottle. Think Professor Trelawney in the Harry Potter movies. I was a mini version of her. And totally comfortable in those weird-ass shoes.

[taxfraudhousewife]

i miss you i know you couldn’t personally solve everything

but i miss the illusion of someone actually knowing what’s going on

you at least acted like you outgrew your anger

i know the whole point of extremism is being pissed off instead of so fuckin depressed

it is so much easier as fuckin depressed as i am to just hate

i learned it from where i think you sent me but i didn’t learn it from you

except i fully fuckin learned it from you but i don’t think i would have if you had one single fucking iota of self preservation instinct

basic material needs aside and glorious revolution aside i just wish i could’ve seen what kind of art you might have made

in some socialist utopia where you had the time and the health

i still really wish you’d written books i hate reading i would’ve read them

you’d be so dangerous if you were some kind of alt right religious fundamentalist

no one who’s as autistic for politics as you should be so charismatic and likeable and eloquent in so many languages

everyone is so lucky to have you on their side

you really were on everyone’s side

still i’d trade the life of every person you saved if i could have you back

i’d burn the whole fuckin world down

and like yeah maybe that’s the problem

i’m not like you as hard as i try

the thought of giving up access to raw food for mushu is enough to steer me away from glorious revolution

but these fuckin hormones are raging in me

they’re boiling and i’m gonna burst

the hormones that make me so unsure of my gender

just because i never got to live and love with a woman as angry as me

the internet tells me the revolution is a girl but all i know is angry teenage boy type shit

angry grieving bottled up feelings don’t talk about it type shit

taking your anger at the government out on your family and yourself and whoever will take it

when the system is fucking you so life is fucking you so there is nothing more than this except for the hypothetical ashes if you burn it all down

i don’t trust my ideals of what to do with the ashes

not anymore

i’m so desperate i’d back some really reactionary shit i’m not like you

and you were kinda the only person i could just fucking blindly follow because i don’t care you might be the smartest and also leftest person i know and i don’t care if you’re wrong

you felt like real living proof that there’s hope

like for real material hope and now both are dead

thank you for that i’m doing great everyone is doing great

it’s not like no one wants to get fucking down and dirty with this shit except for like thirteen people in the world who are actually serious about it

but now it’s twelve because somebody can’t just chill the fuck out for a second

I KNOW IM CONTRADICTING MYSELF

“YOUR VALUE TO ME COMES FROM THE MOTIVATIONAL SOCIALISM YOU PROVIDE BUT ALSO YOU SHOULDVE NOT DONE THE SOCIALISM BECAUSE ITS DANGEROUS”

I KNOW

i know

idc i just miss you a lot

any excuse to negotiate you back to earth

like you weren’t extremely aware of the risks

like you didn’t voluntarily sign up for that shit but you did

and it caught up with you and i respect your decision to be a good fucking person or whatever

but your absence is really affecting my ability to attempt to be a good person and it is terrifying

i don’t want to do this without you

i wanna say i can’t

but I can because i have to and i have to because i can

like you i guess

but i have no plan

no one to blindly follow

and the revolution won’t come all at once like a messiah

and my messiah will not come back a third time

cause you are as dead as ground beef on the pavement

and finally i know that ghosts are only real when you know they are

i can hear you

i want to like it

but it’s like the smell of salt when you’re starving

and there is nothing to binge on

still i obey when you tell me to be good and safe and kind and all that hippie shit

and yeah maybe it’s because you’re the only person who ever directly taught me to be kind

and yeah i should be grateful that you haven’t fully left me yet

but how long is it until your ghost spends so much time in my head

that it becomes just as sad and desperate and afraid as i am

when does it stop being you and start being me

i’m scared of the thought of that

i try to keep your ghost pure but fuck i am so angry at them

yeah for facism and whatever but personally i hate the individual people who tried to make specifically you inhuman

i’m sure it’s an anger you would understand but it didn’t fucking eat you inside out

your ghost is made of sunlight and the steam coming off black tea

and i am polluting it with wildfires and fireball

and i’m sorry and i’m trying but i don’t even know what im supposed to be trying to do

i’m trying so desperately to be kind

it’s a hard thing to do when you just want the social interaction to be over

but you never wanted the social interaction to be over

your whole stupid ideology and my whole stupid religion is the social interaction

maybe it’s exhilarating because it’s terrifying and gratifying and heartbreaking

maybe i just have social anxiety or autism or both

fucking shit dude

i wish you’d tell me what to do

im just a dumb stupid woman i can’t do this shit

man up resurrect devise a fucking plan for me to blindly follow

i don’t want this shit

i do

but i really don’t

but there’s only one way to sustain a slightly less depressed baseline depression

how glorious it is to be a socially anxious socialist

and how glorious to be autistic and standing at the precipice of freedom

but i can’t break surface tension

cause i’m scared of not fitting in

you wouldn’t understand

and that’s why it had to be you

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 || (very dark) 70s!Bucky x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: he tried to be sympathetic to your cause, he really did, but he couldn’t just let you get away with disrespecting him like that.  

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: smut (noncon, plus breeding kink and tons of degradation, like very heavy degradation, and multiple orgasms/overstimulation), misogyny, a bit of dumbification, housewife kink, ‘sir’ kink (brief), choking, implied anal, spitting (not on the reader, unfortunately lmao), quite a bit more than period-typical sexism, awful awful awful this fic is absolutely awful

                            Brooklyn, 1970.

Bucky’s mornings were sacred.  He had his rituals: showering, cooking breakfast, reading the paper and having his first drink and cigarette of the day, all before he left for work.

But throughout this entire week, his mornings had been ruined by the stupid fucking protest in the park just outside his window.  And to think he’d actually paid more for an apartment with a view of the park— he hadn’t realized then that the “view” was gonna be a bunch of hippies creating awful music and an unbearable smell that left his whole apartment reeking of reefer if he dared to open his window.

Attempting to ignore it for a week only made him more resentful with each passing day.  Each time he figured the crowd would surely leave soon or at least be quiet for the night, they seemed to somehow get louder just to spite him.

He probably should've waited until he was a bit less agitated to go down and try to bargain with you, but he stormed down there instead and tapped you on the shoulder when his presence alone wasn't enough to distract you from your incessant chanting.

“Would you consider being quiet?" he asked firmly.  "I have to work in the morning and—”

“We won’t be quiet until women have equal treatment under the eyes of society and the law,” you interrupted to explain condescendingly, shocking him with your icy tone.  He could hardly believe your attitude, in fact he couldn’t remember any woman speaking to him that way in his life: so far, he wasn’t enjoying it.

“I just thought you could be a little more respectful,” Bucky shot back, even more stern.  “You’re not making anyone wanna support your movement by acting entitled and inconveniencing everyone.”

“I’m sorry the revolution is inconvenient for you,” you replied, but it didn’t sound much like an apology. 

He wanted to say more but you blew him off and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him confused and irritated and livid.  Up until now he had been quietly skeptical about all this talk of liberation but now he saw it for the poison it really was.  A girl like you— who could've been a real looker with some willingness to try and a better attitude— talking to a man like him with so much hate and over what, a polite request?

This could not be tolerated; he couldn't let you get away with acting like that.  And lucky for you, he was exactly the guy you needed to teach you your lesson.

The good thing about hippies high on shrooms is they aren’t the most observant.  When he returned to the demonstration area the next night, he was able to grab you roughly and pull you back from the crowd with almost no trouble at all, dragging you into an empty alley and clamping his hand down over your mouth as your eyes went wide and your throat vibrated with silent screams.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed against your ear, “whatcha fightin’ for?”

He liked the way it felt to have you squirming against his grasp, using all your strength and not even getting close to escaping.  

“How does it feel to know I can do anything I want to you?” he growled against your ear.  “C’mon, sweetheart, can’t you put up a better fight than that?  I thought you believed in equality… you should be able to get away if you’re as strong as I am.”

He felt your warm tears trailing down around his fingers which held your face tightly, the struggle of your limbs slowing and weakening slightly.  His cock was already getting hard as he imagined the moment you would finally give in.

“You remember me, don’t you?  You didn’t need to be so rude, darlin’.  You could’ve just been nice and none of this would be happening.”

Your elbow shot back into his ribs and he exhaled sharply but didn't let go, grabbing your wrists and holding your arms to your chest as he pinned you to the wall.

"Oh, that's not gonna work, babydoll.  I'm so much stronger and bigger than you, all you're gonna do is make me angrier.  Is that what you want, sweetheart?  To make me angry?" he asked mockingly, leaning in to lick the shell of your ear as you tried to turn away.  “Pretty girl like you would make a great wife, why would you want anything else?”

Ignoring your struggle, he reached into your shirt and purred as he groped your chest, your nipples hardening when he pinched them.  “Maybe I can get behind this bra-burning thing if it means having easier access to your tits all the time,” he grinned.  “How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when I can see them through your shirt?  Shouldn’t be showing ‘em off if you don’t want any attention.”

As fun as it was to play with your tits, he had bigger plans, so he reached lower to start tugging down your jeans, your legs uselessly kicking as he exposed your ass and thighs.

His cock was already rock hard as he hastily opened his fly and pulled it out with one hand, leaning back to spit on it quickly.  He spread the fluid with a few strokes over his length, figuring it would be enough to get inside you even if he didn’t really care if he hurt you.  

Your eyes went wide and your head bucked wildly as he poked the head of it against your opening, your body fighting a little harder once again.  The irony of that, though, was that you were already plenty wet in spite of what he had expected; it was so much funnier to watch you struggle now that he knew you were not-so-secretly enjoying it.

“Don’t be so dramatic," he chuckled darkly, "I bet you can take a cock real easy since you believe in all this ‘free love’ bullshit.”

He groaned as he pushed into you, impressed by how tight you were— so tight that it made his cock throb right away, your walls pulsing and rippling around him as he filled you to the brim.

“Oh fuck, there you go…” he hissed, smiling as you sobbed harder and struggled a bit more before finally relaxing into his tight embrace.  "You're gonna take it all, baby, every fuckin' inch of me."

A hard sob choked out of you every time he slammed himself to the end of you; he could feel the hatred radiating from you, the way you would kill him in a moment if only you weren't so weak.  But he could feel your reluctant acceptance, too, and the way it was slowly turning into euphoria— you were finally starting to like how it felt to be helpless to him, it was obvious with the way your pussy gave him such a warm and willing welcome while your pretty tits got even harder.

You clearly wanted to hate him, but your body knew better.

"You think I'm a sexist pig, I'm sure," he chuckled, "but I'm really not— I love women!  And you know what I love most?  Huh?"

He felt you nervously shake your head behind his hand and he laughed.

"I love the way you get so dumb when you get a cock in you.  All those useless little thoughts leaving your head when you're finally getting fucked right."

Your cries got louder even though they were still muffled by his hand, your sweet little pussy giving him a squeeze of encouragement.

"It's okay to like it, babydoll, it's what you were meant for.  Made to be my brainless fucktoy… born to serve me," he growled.  “You really should learn to appreciate," he grunted between brutal thrusts, "that your only purpose is to keep my dinner hot and my cock warm.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and he felt your walls bear down on him tightly, wetness seeping down around him.

"Oh fuck, are you coming?  Shit," he moaned.  "Looks like you really needed to be put in your place, just needed to be used... god, you made a fuckin' mess, too, you soaked my cock…"

Your little hands tightened into fists, pushing against where his arm held them back, but he stayed steady as he pumped into you, letting himself get a bit lost in the feeling of you while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

It felt so damn good to have a cunt coming around him, but it was even better knowing that you were fighting it and still couldn’t stop it, completely helpless to how good he was making you feel.

You almost screamed under his hand when he reached down to quickly rub your clit, your back arching to try to run away from his touch; poor thing, you were so sensitive it probably hurt you, but he was having too much fun watching you realize you were going to come again.

"Yeah, gimme another one, slut," he grinned, your legs quivering as waves of slick coated him and started to even drip down your legs.  "Can't stop coming like the dirty whore you are, huh?  Bet nobody's made you come like this before— cause nobody's given it to you right.  Nobody's shown ya what it's supposed to be like when a man takes you and makes you his."

From the way you moaned softly, teary eyes fluttering shut, he knew you liked the sound of that.

"Yeah, wanna be mine, baby?  Wanna be my little slut?  Or do you want me to pump this pussy full and leave you here on the ground for any other man that comes by to use you if he needs?"

You groaned softly, a weak little noise, and he felt his cock flex; as much as he wanted this to last as long as possible, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“M’close, honey,” he breathed.  “I’m gonna come.”

He laughed breathlessly when you shut your eyes, like you were trying to go somewhere else in your mind, trying to pretend this wasn’t real.  But it was real, and he wasn’t going to let you forget that.  He was elated to make your nightmares come true.

"I sure wouldn't mind pulling out and covering that pretty face you've got,” he hissed.  “It'd be funny to see you go back to your little march and show them how owned you are.  But not today, babydoll, I think there's only one way you're gonna learn your lesson."

Another muffled gurgle from you, and this time it didn’t even sound like protest.  Maybe you were just too tired for that at this point, but it gave him hope that you could finally behave.

"I'm gonna take my hand away from your mouth and you're gonna beg me to come inside you, is that clear?" he grunted, feeling you nod vigorously.  "You're not gonna scream are you?"

You shook your head, and he slowly pulled his hand from your mouth as you gasped for air.  "Please— come in me," you panted.

"Address me as 'sir'," he instructed.

"Please, sir, I— I want you to come," you whined.

He chuckled right against your ear, feeling you shiver in his grasp.  "Honey, I don't give a fuck what you want."

To think you ever resisted your natural desire for submission was absurd now, considering the way that statement made you openly moan, your walls fluttering around him.

“Gonna fill you so fuckin’ deep you’ll never get it outta you, sweetheart.”

One more orgasm washed over you, making him laugh darkly while he watched you bite your lip to attempt to stay quiet; but that was impossible once he fucked you harder just to spite you, having to hold you tight to make sure he got as deep in you as possible.  Your whole body shook as he slammed into you, and he laughed at how dumb and helpless you looked.

"Bet you're on those new birth control pills," he grimaced.  They really weren’t that new, but he still hadn’t gotten used to them.  "Makes me sick to think you're letting a perfectly good womb go to waste.  Betcha want me to breed you nice and deep, yeah?  Wanna get knocked up?  You don't even care that I'm a stranger, you wanna get your pussy filled by any random man's come so you can have any random man's baby, ain't that right?"

At first he had worried that you would scream or cry for help, but now his concern was more that your moans would be too loud and somebody would catch the two of you in this alley.  Even if it was obvious now that you wanted it, public indecency was still a crime.

Good thing he had a new way to shut you up: his hand tight around your throat, silencing your sobs to blessed silence.  It was so hot to have you entirely at his mercy like that, to feel your pulse beneath his fingers, that he couldn’t stop himself from speeding up his thrusts suddenly.

"Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasped, “fuck, y-you… little whore…”

He had a habit of running his mouth when he was right on the edge, and the way your pussy was milking him for all he was worth made him spit out whatever filth he could think of.  

“Stupid fuckin' bitch," he mumbled under his breath as he fucked you as fast and rough as he could, chasing his high with no regard for your pleasure or your pain.  "Dumb whore, fuck, you stupid— ah, shit— stupid fucking cunt!"

He cried out as he filled you, groaning loudly with every pump of his seed into your waiting body.  Only when he was sure every drop was inside you did he release his grip on your neck, a loud gasp coming first before a few coughs and chokes that only made his cock harder despite having just filled you.

You started to struggle again, and he couldn’t believe it— after everything, did you still not know your place?

There wasn’t much time to relax and enjoy the afterglow when you were already trying to get away, and so he had to hold you tight again while he smiled exhaustedly.

“N-no,” you stammered, and he covered your mouth again as he pulled your head back to rest on his shoulder.  Clearly he hadn’t done enough yet to fuck that word out of you.

“Where ya goin’, sweetheart?” he panted against your ear, still catching his breath, his chest covered in a thin layer of sweat where it was exposed by his shirt.  “You’ve still got another hole to fill.”

[riddikulus-writings]

Take A Nap

A/N: So yeah. I have a long, in depth fic for these two that's chock full of secrets and fluff and Actual Backstory but for some reason all I can write is smut. This is part two to Escapades and takes place just after the police van rolled down that hill. Also, can someone let me know if that link I tried doesn’t work? I’m still new to writing on this blue hellsite

Word Count: 1734

Pairing: Rick Flag x Female Reader [Codename Nyx, after the Greek Goddess]

Warnings: Still not really any plot, sorry guys. The plot for this is hidden elsewhere. Vaginal fingering. Semi-public sex. Dirty talk. Rick still won't shut up but he really should, though, people are trying to sleep. Choking. Uh, nothing makes sense, really? Movie innacuracies due to the fact this is now a bigger vehicle than the hippie van they were cruising around in, but the same concept still applies. 

Apparently, the van was on fire. One by one they stepped from the wreckage, walking out into the road, weapons in hand. Nyx wished she could’ve taken a picture, because she was positive they probably looked pretty cool.

Disoriented. Possibly concust. But cool.

And suddenly, rolling to a stop, was the small dusty van they'd rode to town in. Abner was in the open slider door, waving them in. DuBois puffed out his chest, "Alright. To Jotunheim."

"Not yet," Rick stopped him, "There's something else we need to do first."

"Stop standing like you have an American Flag waving behind you and get in the fucking mini bus, Flag."

Nyx's voice shook him out of his reverie; he was the last one outside. He jogged to catch the bus before it began moving faster, piling in the door and sliding it shut behind him. His eyes immediately found Nyx, seated in the very back. Rick beelined for her through the others and took up the space on her right. Peacemaker called to him from a seat up, "So, where are we going, now?"

"The Mayor's mansion in town," Rick told him, "We need to get Harley."

"Oh, I miss her," Nyx mused quietly.

Oh yeah. Rick cringed to himself, remembering the three missions he, Nyx and Harley had been on before he’d requested to Waller that Harley be benched more often than not. The first had gone by fine, minimal issues. The second was better. No deaths, no infighting amongst the Squad. Nyx had loosened up around other people by then and banter even happened. And the third--

Ain’t it normally the gal makin’ heart eyes at the guy and not the other way around, Ricky?

He’d shaken his head and given Harley a stern glare for assuming things. Harley had simply given him her smuggest million dollar grin and continued about her own business and not his.

“Suicide Squad to Mr. Flag,” a hand was waving in his eyes, slowly coming into focus. It was Nyx’s hand, but Cleo’s heavily accented voice, “What’s the plan?”

Rick cleared his throat, looking among his teammates, “Peacemaker high up, across the street. Sniper for any possible danger. Cleo,” he pointed at her, “Abner and, uh… Sebastian… are around back. Take out any guards back there. DuBois scales the wall to the top, Nyx and I keep watch.”

“Question,” Nyx raised her hand up, “Why can’t we just walk in the front door?”

"That would give us away," Peacemaker told her blatantly, "Instant capture. Dumb idea."

"You're a dumb idea," she retorted, "Actually, a bad idea was bringing you along."

Whoa. Everyone's eyebrows shot up, "Nyx, what the fuck? No infighting. Knock it off," Rick's voice was low but firm with authority.

"He's-- he's got bad vibes about him," Nyx's words slurred, "I-I just don't like him."

"No one does," DuBois told her, patting the very quiet Peacemaker on the shoulder, "Everyone try to get some rest before we get to town. It's going to be a while."

The rest of the team hunkered down in their seats, leaning against their respective windows or leaning forward with their heads against the seat ahead of them. Cleo snuggled into Nanaue's side, and Peacemaker went as far as laying completely flat on his back, his thick splayed legs hanging in the aisle.

Rick reached over and tugged Nyx across the bench seat they were seated on, sliding her into his side, "What’s up between you and Peacemaker?" His voice was quiet, muffled against the hair at her temple.

She ducked away from him a little, tucking her head under his chin, "I've been with him a bit longer than you have. I just… can't explain it but I don't like him. He makes me uneasy."

Rick's thumb started rubbing circles in her hip, "So many trust issues."

"I have my reasonings," she yawned up at him, "Secret reasonings."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," he whispered, grabbing her chin with his free hand so he could look her in the eye. The dim moonlight through the window made her eyes seem almost black, "Extra secret reasonings, huh?"

Nyx leaned closer, staring at his mouth instead of his eyes, "Top secret."

Rick hummed in agreement and closed the gap, sealing his mouth over hers. He wasted no time dipping his tongue into her mouth, drinking in her moans before they could get too loud. He gently pushed on her, laying her down across the length of the seat. Rick followed her down, nestling himself between her legs. Nyx planted a foot on the seat beside Rick’s thigh as he hitched the other into the crook of his elbow, “Gonna be quiet?” he asked quietly, lightly peppering kisses down her neck. Sucking on her now-exposed collarbone.

She whined, a breathless whisper as she nodded desperately, trying to grind her hips against something. Rick moved back up, his free hand moving around her neck, “Quiet.”

He slowly lowered her leg, her boot softly hitting the floor. Rick sent a sidelong glance through the rest of the dark bus, and so far no one had moved from their previous positions. Thank God for that. What a sight they’d wake up to; Nyx spread over the only bench seat here, Rick looming over her, a hand around her throat. They’d either think he was trying to kill her, or get very uncomfortable very fast and ask him to stop.

Which, he wasn’t about to do whether someone woke up or not.

He turned his attention back to the panting woman beneath him, raising an eyebrow at the grin spread over her face. The more pressure he applied to her throat, the wider her lips spread. His right hand worked at the buttons of her black pants, “Filthy little thing,” he muttered, “There’s other people on this bus.” Rick snaked his hand down the front of her pants, stroking down her dripping sex, “All for me?”

“That is you,” she panted out, grabbing the back of his head to pull him down for another searing kiss. When he scooped his cum back up with two fingers and pushed them inside, Nyx bit his bottom lip so hard he was sure she’d drawn blood. He leaned into it, pushing his tongue on her mouth again as he worked his fingers and scissored her open.

“Quiet,” he admonished, again, pressing his free hand against her throat once more. He pinned her to the seat, squeezing his hand as tight as he’d let himself, “Gonna wake everyone up,” he breathed out, his nose brushing against hers.

Again, Nyx’s grin grew, her pearly teeth glowing in the shards of moonlight passing through the windows, “Good.”

Rick almost growled but couldn’t without fear of waking someone up. Instead he buried his face in her shoulder, “Fuckin’ filthy little thing,” he repeated, curling his fingers against that certain spongy spot he’d found that made her grind hard into the palm of his hand, “Gonna be a good girl and keep me in there?” She whined out a high pitched yes but otherwise stayed breathless, quiet pants crawling up her throat and Rick wanted nothing more than to shove his cock in her open mouth. He pulled up from her neck, almost sneering with the strain of trying to stay quiet as he worked his thumb up to the peak of her cunt, “Want you to cum all over my hand, sweetheart. Gonna do that for me? See if you can stay quiet.”

“Bastard,” was the whimper he got.

“That’s not very nice,” he told her, pressing his thumb hard on her clit. Her arm suddenly flew up to cover her face, Nyx burying her face in the crook of her elbow as Rick buried a third finger deep in her cunt, his thumb rubbing fast circles. He moved his hand from her throat, sliding it instead to her hip to hold her down as she bucked into his hand, “C’mon, almost there. I got you,” he muttered.

Her hips stuttered, low whines coming muffled by her elbow. She was choking his fingers and he had to remove one so he could keep them moving, working her through her orgasm. Rick’s hand got soaked suddenly and she went limp, her only movement coming from her chest that moved with rapid breaths, “Bitch.”

Rick tugged her arm from her face as he slid his hand from her pants, “What’s the matter, Nyx?”

“I--” she panted out, “hate being-- quiet.”

He flashed her a bright grin and tugged her pants back into place, giving her stomach a gentle pat, “You didn’t have to,” a quick peck on the lips, “But it would’ve been a bit awkward for the others. Especially when I wouldn’t stop.” Another whimper, and he raised an eyebrow at her, but simply stuck his fingers in his mouth.

“I’m going to sleep,” she whispered, dropping her hand off the side of the seat. Her knuckles brushed the floor. The other arm folded behind her head.

“I sure fuckin’ hope so,” DuBois grumbled from somewhere up front. “You two are disgusting.”

"No one told you to listen," Rick shot back, his whisper loud enough for DuBois to hear over Nyx's stifled giggles. Rick was grinning, though; thankfully Bloodsport couldn't see it.

"Someone needs to nap," Nyx murmured, a small smirk plastered over her mouth, "He sounds cranky."

“You ain't laying down there,” Rick suddenly tugged her back up to snuggle into his side, his arm draped over her shoulders as he scooted them both to the end of the seat, “Leanin’ or layin’?”

“Lay,” she yawned.

He turned and pressed his back to the window, head lolling to the side to lean on the seat. After some shuffling, she was between his legs, back to his chest. HIs arms wrapped around her, one leg from each of them on the seat and the other leg on the floor. They looked like they had the same boots on. Nyx nuzzled her head into his shoulder, “Y’smell nice…”

“I smell like jungle and sweat,” he chuckled, his laugh vibrating through her, “And blood. Go to sleep.”

And they both dozed off like that, just as they had several times before on Nyx’s couch. Their breathing evened, Nyx drooling a little onto Rick’s bicep. Rick shifted in his sleep and snugged her closer to his chest.

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Pack Loving - Divergent A/B/O (Part three)

Part three of four

Warnings: Polyamory, angst, fluff and smut, Alpha/Beta/Omega pairings, Foursome and Dubious consent

Pairings: Eric x F!Reader x Tris x Four

Word count: 2,491 words

Universe: AU, A/B/O

Reader gender: Female

Author: Ilariya_Lavoro writes

Tagged: @elaacreditava

Previous / Next

You didn’t have a moment to think as Eric begins on his mission to completely consume every delicious inch of your bare flesh. He roughly pushed his way between your thighs, parting them without hesitation to reveal the treasure that had been hidden from his gaze. The way he stared, was much like a starving wolf did when it finally caught it’s prey.

Famished and ready to devour you

The path that he took was a complete rush, as if electricity ran through his veins. It was shockingly pleasurable. You could feel each and every intentional stroke as his fingers brushed along your innermost thigh, heading straight for his goal.

His fingers drove in without a second thought, firmly caressing your increasingly soaking folds once then once more before plunging a single finger inside. A small amount of pain shot through you at the sudden penetration. He moved without delay, brushing ever so slightly against your clit. Drawing a gasp of pleasure past your lips at the building of an unfamiliar sensation before pushing another finger in to join the other, thrusting them in a slow teasing motion. Before tragically pulling them out before swiftly driving them right back in. Driving you wild, mad as you were sent high but never over the edge. Your toes curled as the pressure began to build once more, it was a sweet tasting ecstasy like no other.

He groaned in response, feeling the velvet tunnel clutch around his fingers as he teased it into life. “So fucking tight, I’m going to enjoy fucking you Hippie” That name never died down, never faded away even though you were no longer part of Amity. That part of your life had long since been over. You had chosen this path, this was your home. Dauntless now flowed through your very veins. You were Dauntless through and through, to the end of line and beyond.

Eric's touch was as pleasurable as it was painful, you’d never been touched like this before. You had only ever ridden your own trusty hand but this was more intense, this was nothing like the sensations that you had experienced before. This was so much more heavenly but yet so very addictive. You never wanted to go back now.

Your head fell backwards until it collided with his solid, firm and muscular chest as he continued to toy with you, edging you closer to falling into a welcoming embrace of oblivion. Eric leaned in close, you could feel his breath briskly ghost the back of your neck. You shivered as another moan broke through. His lips mere inches away from your ear, whispering dirty promises as his fingers never slow in their relentless rhythm, in and out.

Four remained frozen, his gaze lingered upon the intoxicating sight before him. The bed shifted as you began to rock your hips in time with the alpha’s thrusting digits. It was enough to shake Tris into the waking world. When she turned to head in the direction of your cries of ecstasy. She was not prepared for the sight of Eric teasing you, building you up to your first of many orgasms.

In that moment, neither Tris or Four could find their voices, there were no words to be spoken but yet they couldn't bring themselves to shift their gaze away from the sight of the alpha beginning to consummate his bond with their shared omega.

Your eyes flickered away for a moment, finding Tris and then Four. Their concerned collective gazes staring back at you. It was enough to briefly break the spell that Eric had casted over you. However it did not last long, before Eric pulled you back under.as he found that glorious sweet spot again and again in rapid succession. Your eyes rolled back into your head, out of ecstasy as you started to ride the pleasure wave again.

For Eric wasn't in the mood to share you, HIS omega, his prize but they could spectate and watch as he cemented his claim, his bond with you. He would be your primary alpha in this pack. Of this, he was most certain and almost single minded in nature to see through to completion, his self fulfilling prophecy. He would be the one to take you first, claim your virginity before sinking his teeth back into your swan-like neck and reopen his mark and make you his once and for all.

For he would be one that you would come to, before all the others within the pack. Whenever your heat started to harshly bear down upon your body, he would be the one to fuck the pain away before turning it into nothing but sheer ecstasy, strengthening his claim and bond with you each time your heat and then his rut reared itself..

The others would be nothing more than second hand thought in the depths of your mind. For by the time, he was finished with you. You would be hard pressed to think of anything, other than he, your primary alpha. Yes, Eric was well aware that he would always have to share you with Tris and Four. For they too had forged a connection with you in that dingy corridor when their teeth had slid into your flesh alongside his own. A desire that he had longed to fulfil with you. The pair would always be part of this pack whether he liked it or not, for there was no way of escaping that little fact now.

There remained a slight chance that Four could challenge him for his position in the distant future but not that little beta, who had wrapped herself up in the arms of the man he viewed as his rival. She was seeking comfort and shelter in the only one that would vie for control over the pack. He was geared for such a struggle, if it ever arose.

Tris had no authority, nor power to try and prevent him, an alpha from moving any further with you, his Omega. His mind was set to complete the task that he had begun. The threads of the bond pulled tightly in his mind, urging him forward to solidify his bond with you. He was all he could think about. He needed it, no he craved it deeply. He had never felt such an all encompassing desire that burned through his veins. You were now in his blood, pulsing in every cell of his being.

Eric turned his attention to Tris, lifting his gaze momentarily away from you. What he found pleased him immensely, as he watched her begin to bite down upon her lower lip. She was trying to resist the glorious sight before her glazed over expression present upon her face. Tris was fighting a losing battle, as the scent of her own arousal spiked. A reaction that could not easily be ignored, it would bring pain in the end. Your heat was calling out to the beta, testing her patience and resilience to finish her own claim on you. His ear perked up as a needy whine escaped from the omega beneath him. You were calling out to Tris, trying to draw her in.

He pressed his hardened length into your thigh, reminding you of what was to come. Of what would soon be upon you. His thumb roughly pushed down upon your clit, flicking it with purpose. To drive you wild with passion and desire for him. To bring you closer to your boiling point and push out a primal scream that could no longer be held back.

From the depths of your quivering core as you started up the slope of the final climb before the free fall into complete and utter ecstasy. “You’re so fucking wet, you want it, don’t you?” His voice was dangerous, intoxicatingly as it pulled at the strings of your innermost desires. He was playing up so very well, pushing all the right buttons.

You didn’t want this most delicious method of torture to end. It was agony, but if this was only a small morsel of what was awaiting you. You simply couldn’t wait, your mouth watered at the endless possibilities that lay ahead.

You wanted Eric to take you up to the very heights of heaven before sending you plunging back down straight back down to reality. He growled, his words heavy with lustful intent. For Eric and for you, there was no turning back from this. This was the point of no return. You didn’t know how to exactly answer, for there were no words in the heat of this moment for they had all but abandoned you. Yet one lingered on, on the tip of your tongue dripping like the sweat that ran down the length of your bare form.

“Please…” You whimpered out, your voice soft and meek. it broke through as you tried to keep up with the feverish pace of his thrusting fingers as they curled deep inside of you pushing you closer and closer. It was maddening. Your eyes rolled back into your head, as you pushed yourself further in the soft mattress beneath you.

Tris tried to move closer, tried to reach you but Four pulled her back into his warm embrace, shaking his head gently from side to side. Telling her bluntly, that this was not the time to intervene. For the mere simple fact that it would not end the way she hoped it would. Getting in the way of an alpha going through their rut was a thing, but getting in the way, as they claimed an omega never ended well, especially for the one who dared to intervene. Tris couldn’t understand why. She had long been sheltered within the walls of Abnegation and given the vaguest details when she had questions about alphas, betas and omegas. In the elders opinion, she and her peers needed to be saved from the painful and awkward details, hidden from the truth. However now, with her instincts screaming out at her to get in between you and Eric. To keep you safe and protect you. She did not know why, what to do. Tris was on the edge of tears as she turned to face her beloved Four.

“Four, I need to..” She pleaded with her partner. As he shook his head, answering no once more. Disappointment rushed over her but he explained why, giving the answers that she needed. Words that she always needed to hear.

“Her heat has triggered Eric’s rut” He plainly spoke, cutting Tris off mid sentence. It was clinical, cold and straight to the point but this was necessary, regardless of what he thought.

Four was almost too ashamed to admit that your heat had pushed him towards his own, dangling him over the edge. He could feel it burn through him, it was mere moments from kicking in life and consuming his every thought. The power of an omega in heat could so easily affect the unbonded. Alphas would be drawn to the intoxicating aroma, like a moth to a flame. Whereas the beta would be triggered into a more protective state but that too would eventually give away to desire and lust. It would just simply take longer for Beta to find themselves subjugated by their own feral nature.

“It would be unwise to try and get between them Tris'' He continued, his knowledge was greater than hers. Four knew that if someone dared to try and stop that Alpha mid-rut that it would most likely end in violence, injury and potentially death. For disturbing an alpha’s consensual claim had always been highly warned against.

Four was struggling with the heady, sweet scent that had perfumed around the bedroom. Eric’s touch was exasperating, pulling at his own primal needs to go over and cement the bond, sink balls deep within your heat before sinking his teeth into your swan-like neck once more. The mere thought of it caused a wave of slight pain spark through him, he gritted his teeth, pulling Tris closer than before. He was using her scent as a shield, knowing the effect of his lover’s scent would be enough for now. However it would last only so long before the mating haze took control..

“He’s not going to stop until he’s got his end away” Four’s blunt tone hit home with Tris. She knew that he was ruthless and almost unstoppable but you were her friend. She had to do something, anything! Tris began to struggle in his arms, her eyes fixed upon your face as she tried to ignore the fact that both you and Eric were both completely naked. There was a dreamy expression upon your face as your hips rocked in time with the alpha’s prodding, thrusting fingers between your thighs.

This was making her terribly uncomfortable. Tris wasn’t going to deny that there was a tugging at her core, a building heat directing her towards you. When she had bitten you, Tris had felt something unlike anything she had felt before. A connection, from her to you which splintered outwards finding its way to Four and then Eric. She had felt the pack form in that moment.

It was swirling with the depths of her, Tris needed to protect you, needed to hold you and keep you safe. She also pictured herself burying her fingers knuckle deep between your thighs and consuming every inch of your desire. She envisioned taking Eric’s place, losing herself with you. Tris’s face flushed crimson, as such thoughts took a sudden left turn, one she was far from expecting. This had been a first, for outside Four, no-one else had stirred such feelings within her. Her stomach tightened, as she pushed her thighs together, feeling more uncomfortable than she had moments ago.

“Seems like the stiff wants a piece of you too Omega” Eric taunted Tris more than you, leaning forward to brush his lips against his mark that soon never truly heal. His mark would scar to show that you had been claimed. His scent would then intermingle with yours. “She’ll have to wait her turn” He continued as his fingers slowly slid out of you, the digits glistening under the soft light of the morning sun.

He lifted his hand to his mouth and proceeded to lick his fingers clean of the slick that now coated them. You couldn’t stop as your head turned to face Eric, it was then that you found that you were unable to look away, watching his tongue clean each individual finger from the bottom all the way up to the tip then moving to the next one, drinking up your nectar. Your chest rising and falling, panting as you tried to catch your breath. Your face flushed with sweat.

His eyes were fixed upon you, a smirk pulled across his lips. Eric was far from finished with you.

[harkerriver]

“Don’t you just love the smell of misogyny first thing in the morning?” The comment was met with a low chuckle from Edda, her only friend in the accursed place, but scowls of distaste from the other students in the room. River had always found it funny ( in a humorless way) how they never knew enough English to converse with her, but knew exactly what she was saying and what to say back when it was useful to them. She shrank back in her seat a bit as the stares lingered a moment longer before turning back to the aforementioned pissing contest between two of the other hunters in training of a girl. The girl in question was failing to hide a smile. Tall, but not too tall, slender but with just a hint of curves, pale blonde hair and smooth fair skin, Elin had come all the way from Sweden to train to be a creature hunter, and as she fit the European beauty standard to the letter, it was no wonder that all the boys at the academy were smitten with her. She loved every bit of the attention, too. She smiled and gave a weak attempt at stopping the argument as she propped her chin in her hands, watching the two fight over who got to be her sparring partner for the day. 

It was enough to make River sick, the young trainee quickly losing her appetite and pushing the last of her bacon into her friend’s plate before dropping her dirty dishes in the sink and leaving the room. It wasn’t just the immaturity that bothered her, however. Elin had guessed correctly once that River was jealous, but not over some stupid meathead. She was jealous of the attention. While it had been her own choice to move to Europe, being mixed race wasn’t something she considered to be a problem until she’d stepped off the plane to stares and shock. That feeling carried on over the months, and being the descendant of a legendary hunter did little to impress and in fact, seemed to make people dislike her more. Be it racism or jealousy over her lineage, River found most mornings unbearable in the massive estate that served as a Charles Xavier-esque training facility. 

She returned to her room with a heavy sigh, plopping on her bed to pull on her boots and fix half of her hair in a ponytail before grabbing a backpack and heading out for the day. The sun outside was oddly warm, but having grown up in hotter climates, River still found a light sweater needed. Her boots crunching on gravel as she walked, River thought of home, both nostalgic for it but repulsed at the same time. Her parents, vegan hippies who lived out of a camper since she was born, loathed the idea of her going so far away, but RIver was dying to carve her own path. One where she could use mass produced products and eat bacon as a fuck you to the people who kept her out of school, choosing to teach her from old books instead.  She wanted to be something more than they could offer, and even if it meant being the flunky at times and running pointless errands, River was glad for the chance to prove her worth.

Popping in her newly bought airpods with her allowance, another great perk of this school, given her parents worked nowhere and hadn’t believed in cell phones and technology, River took her time walking into town. She had plans to stock up on just about everything a young hunter-in-traine would need, feeling a bit like Buffy as she imagined herself sharpening stakes in her room and doing cool flips and maneuvers. The daydream sank it’s claws in as she walked into the hardware store, waving to the friendly old man that ran the place before she began wandering the aisles. Her hands held carving and woodworking tools, thick gloves to prevent splinters, duct tape, and really strong glue as she wandered, realizing she could only hold so much.  “Fuck,” she muttered to herself before glancing around. As luck would have it, there was an abandoned cart right within her grasp, and River, being a person who never had much good luck, eagerly went to set all her things down without even noticing things in it. It was only when someone's voice called her attention that she paused.

“Huh?” She said as she dropped her items and pulled a bud from her ear. Heat flushed her face, hidden by her skin (thankfully) as what he’d said dawned on her. Her lack of experience with peers growing up and likewise her general hatred of confrontation had made River somewhat awkward over the years, she fumbled with her words for a moment before swearing and stammering out an apology. “ I didn’t even see your stuff, dude, I’m so sorry.” she spat, hastily grabbing back up her things into her hands. “Huh? Oh, um… DIY project…” She blurted out, unsure how she would explain going camping with tape and glue. Overthinking just about everything, the last thing she wanted was to look like a serial killer. “Hold on, just lemme-” she stammered again, trying to balance everything in her hands again and dropping her earbud in the process. “ Aw, crap!” She hissed, moving to get it and promptly kicking it under a shelf. “No! She gasped, reaching out to catch it and dropping everything in her hands in the process. " Fuck me!" She muttered as she looked at the items now scattered around her feet.

@harkerriver

Sunlight flickered through the slits in the trees, wind beating against resistant leaves. It was a windy morning, topped off by blue and cloudless skies. Rene had to admit his own delight in this small luxury, being able to see all cycles of the moon and sun while most other vampires in the home had to hide from the light. He had always loved the feel of the sun, the mornings a quiet reprieve from the long nights that preceded them.

Today, Rene’s objective was to replenish some of what Leda called “party favors”, which really was just means of having repeat customers. Sometimes people came and went without being taken at the neck, but never in completion. Sometimes they’d slowly drain their human of choice, keep them coming back until they were done with them. A short death or a long, drawn one it was all the same. The cycle was smooth for the most part, but not faultless. No life was ever understated in value, each soul entering the castle bound to meet the same fate upon entry.

Death in this manner was unimportant to Rene. Most were vile, nearly as evil as the century old vampires that hunted them. The world was better off without them, anyway. His condition leaving him able to thrive in a world where he did not have to feed on others gave him more of a sense of humanity, with all the benefits of immortality. It also gave legitimacy to their secluded home, and a security of real human inhabitants to throw off any hunters.

Rene left in the earliest hours of the day, when less people seemed to be roaming around. He would divide his shopping into spurts, grabbing some items from each place to keep suspicions low. He already carried a bag full of tools that would have otherwise seemed irregular next to the plastic ponchos he was picking up in this hardware shop. Rene dropped a few brushes in the silver seat holder of his cart, half for himself and better cover. Chimes twinkled from the creek of a wooden door opening, the frame of a petite woman slinging a bag over her shoulder entering the shop and waving at the shopkeeper behind the register like an old friend. The light drawn in from the window seem to shadow over her, pulling new tones from the edges of her brown, curly hair.

He was all the way at the back end of the antique shop, and he could hear her voice, a sonorous sound, almost familiar. Her footsteps were concise, like she’d be there dozens of times before. Pushing a little cart around the store until she stopped to browse, humming then muttering to herself, immersed in thought. Rene was looking too, but now more intrigued by the newcomer than continuing his morning errands. So enthralled in whatever her list was saying, she grabbed his cart and kept on unphased. Rene circled the corner to grab his, meeting her at an intersection where she finally broke her spell and noticed their mixup. “I think you stole my cart.” He smiled, taking stock of some of the things she was beginning to collect. “You going camping?”

[goodgirlofglory]

A hairy situation / One-shot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 4,3k

Warnings: 18+, Explicit sexual content, Explicit language, smut, oral (m/f recieving), slight fingering, hair pulling, pubic hair pulling, pubic hair!kink, dirty talk, fluffy dirty talk, slight soft dom!Steve, some standard fluff in there too.

Summary: You usually keep yourself neatly shaved for when Steve returns from missions, but this time things change and you find yourself with a full blown bush by the time Steve’s about to remove your pants. His reaction is quite different from what you expected (*wink* *wink*) …

Author’s note: This has not been proofread by anyone but me, so all the mistakes are mine<3 Hope you enjoy<3

The warm water ran down your back as your hand absentmindedly caressed your naked stomach. Nowadays the shower was the only relief for your touch-starved body.

Usually, Steve would be gone for about three months when on missions. This one was bordering on four, and he had warned you the prognosis was five. You were already wallowing in self pity, your body practically humming with built up arousal at being left untouched for so long.

Only a month left, only a month left, only a month left...

Your hand found your mound and started playing in the curls that were adorning it. An impressive mop of dark curls had grown there during your months of loneliness, and you had now grown quite used to feeling the soft hair between your fingers. 

Usually you kept yourself bald except for a neatly trimmed triangle or heart above your slit - one time you even managed to make a circle with a star in the middle, which had made Steve both cringe, blush and laugh his eyes out at the same time. 

He’d fucked you all the same though, quite fervently too if memory served you right.

Now, however, you had let the razor lie for a while and suddenly you were sporting the bush of a 60’s hippie.

You quite enjoyed it, and would actually miss it somewhat when you’d shave it upon Steve’s return.

Steve always gave you a heads up when he returned from missions. Several actually. Usually he would call once he had landed at the compound, so he could hear your voice and how happy you became once you realized he was back. 

Then he would text once he had debriefed, showered and was leaving the compound, and then again once he had reached your apartment complex, mostly because he couldn’t help his excitement. 

That last text was usually just a heart emoji (you had laboured hard to teach him texting - especially emoji use - so those hearts were particularly satisfying).

So you always had plenty of time to clean the apartment up a bit, shower (and shave), dress in something sexy and maybe even light some candles and put on some sweet 30’s jazz (a special treat for Steve).

That’s why you weren’t stressing about letting your hair grow out down there, it would simply take a bit longer to shave once you got the notice from Steve.

Which would be a month away at least.

God

You stepped out of the shower, got dressed and left for work, ready to throw yourself into your tasks at the gallery in order to distract yourself from your misery. Maybe you’d even get some Ben and Jerry’s on your way home.

§

You struggled to push through the front door with your work bag on one arm and a bag of groceries (Ben and Jerry’s included) on the other. That’s when you noticed the music softly playing from the living room. Weird, you didn’t remember leaving the radio on…

When you’d closed the door and shook off your shoes, you noticed the distinct smell of your honey and rose body soap lingering in the air. There was no way that had kept since your shower this morning. Something was amiss...

You barely begun to feel anxious when a large pair of hands clasped around your face and a pair of familiar lips crushed onto yours. Your yelp was muffled by the passionate kiss, and a second later your mind caught up and you realized. 

It was Steve! There, in your apartment, his tongue sliding passed your lips and into your mouth as it opened willingly for him. 

The bag of groceries fell to the ground along with your bag and you flung your arms around his neck as he whipped his hands around the back of your thighs and hoisted them up to wrap around his slim hips in one, smooth movement.

You broke away from the kiss with a gleeful squeal. 

“You’re here!?” You were dumbfounded in your joy. 

“I couldn’t stay away from my best girl any longer,” he responded with a smile, pushing you up against the front door.  

“But I didn’t get a call! Or a text. Or even a heart emoji,” you said, more incredulous than anything else. It was a wonderful surprise that caught you completely off guard, blizz surging through your body. 

“Yeah, I wanted to surprise you, actually see you when you got the news for once. I had the team do the debriefing on the jet so they could drop me off here directly,” he said as he leaned in for another kiss. “Totally worth it to see your reaction,” he said against your lips, and laughed when you slapped his chest.

“You scared me, you asshole,” you exclaimed, but you were laughing with him.

“Sorry,” he answered as he kissed his way down your jaw and onto your neck, warm hands squeezing your thighs. He didn’t sound sorry at all, teeth nipping at your pulse point, drawing a tiny gasp from your lips.

Touch-starved indeed. 

Your mind started to fog over with a wave of arousal as you started to feel down his back. The muscles rippled under your fingertips, and you raked your nails back up to his neck, eliciting a quiet groan from his throat. 

That’s when you noticed he was completely nude except for a rather tiny towel around his hips.

“You showered here? And you used my body soap?” you asked.

“I had to shower, I don’t think you could have handled the smell. Three months undercover in the Croatian black market, the last three weeks on a pig farm in the countryside. Plus, your body soap reminds me of you. Got me hard just smelling it,” he said, letting you down on your feet again as he started ripping off your layers of clothing, breath coming out in pants.

Hard indeed, you thought, as you looked down to see the tiny towel struggle against the tent at the front. 

Instinctively, you reached for it, throwing the towel off as he threw your jacket and scarf aside, grasping his hard cock in one hand, feeling how hot and heavy it was in your palm.

He threw his head back and let out a shuddering breath, hands loosely wrapped around your neck as you gave an experimental tug. He seemed pretty much as touch-starved as you. 

There was a reason you reacted so quickly once you got the heads up. Aggression, stress, adrenaline plus his enhanced physique usually meant a lot of pent up energy needed release once Steve got back from missions. You had no qualm at all being the vessel through which that energy was released. Steve would put you through the mattress two to three times during the first night back, and you absolutely fucking loved it. And you loved him, and were pretty sure he loved you back.

“I love you,” he muttered against your lips as he started pushing you towards the bedroom, your hand still wrapped around his cock, pulling at it slowly as leakage began to spring forth at the tip. Your mouth watered at the sight. 

“I missed you, I need you. Now,” he continued, voice breathy as his eyes gazed sweetly into your own. Your breath caught in your throat at the piercing blue. 

“God, Steve, you have no idea how much I’ve longed for you,” you heard yourself saying, emotion washing over you almost making you whimper. You still couldn’t believe he was here, a whole month before time!

The back of your knees hit the bed and he gently pushed you down onto your back, hands going straight for your pants when you froze.

Shit. A month before time. Fuck

Without the heads up you hadn’t had the opportunity to shave. You hadn’t even gotten your bag off your shoulder before he had practically thrown himself over you in the hallway.

You had no idea what this would mean to Steve. Would it be a turn off? Did women sport bushes in the 40’s? Had he even seen a woman’s pussy before he went in the ice?

The thought of this moment being ruined sparked a panic in your mind and your hands shot up to grab Steve’s wrists as he was undoing the button of your pants. 

His hands stilled and he gave you a confused look. 

“What is it?” he asked, concerned.

You gave a strained smile and bit your lips as you stared into his curious eyes. Why were you suddenly being so unsure of yourself? This was Steve, you could say anything to Steve!

“You know, since you were a month early, and didn’t text before you came over...I didn’t have time to...freshen up...down there,” you said slowly and gestured awkwardly to your crotch.

He huffed a laughter. 

“Honey, you know I love the way you taste. Just let me get these off you,” he said confidently as he undid your sipper swiftly and started to tug at the waistband of your trousers.

“It’s not that,” you said, again stopping his hands mid-movement.

You took a deep breath.

“I haven’t shaved...in four months...so it’s kinda...bushy” you said, averting your eyes in embarrassment. 

This was truly uncharted territory, seeing how you couldn’t even keep eye contact. This was the man who’d had his whole tongue up your ass. 

“Oh” he said, surprised, though there was a hint of curiosity in it. 

His eyes grew wider as he stared at your pant clad crotch, hands still on the waist band. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he focused intently on the space between your legs. You couldn’t read his expression, he didn’t seem to know exactly what he was feeling himself.

Then he slowly pulled your pants down your legs and threw them on the floor. He sat down on his knees in front of the bed and pulled at your thighs with ease until your butt was right at the edge. He never let his eyes away from your crotch, you watching him intently.

When his eyes darted up to meet yours, they were dilated to the point where only a small rim of blue shone around the black pools of...lust?

“You’ve grown a whole forest for me, have you?” he asked, voice suddenly gone dark and ruff, and he looked back down between your legs. 

You tiny lace thong concealed your slit and puckered back entrance, but not much more. On all sides of the light purple fabric was wild, dark hair, some even springing forth through the lace. You thought it was actually quite a pretty sight, but was still holding out on the verdict from Steve. 

He let a finger trail the hair that was growing on one side of your panties, and a hum rang through his chest. That seemed like something you could recognize. It was a hum of approval. Of appreciation almost.

He took one of the curls sticking out of the lace between his fingers and pulled lightly. The tugging sensation provoked a gasp from you, and the responding grunt from Steve’s lips caught both of you off guard. Your eyes met briefly in surprise, before you both returned your focus to your hairy core.

You were starting to understand his reaction now, intrigued. Reaching down, you tugged your panties to the side, letting him see your slit and the puckered lips between the two mops of hair. 

His breath came out harder as he spread his fingers through the hair before pulling at the lips, spreading them open to reveal your weeping hole and red clit, swollen and needy for attention. Without another word, Steve leaned in and gave a swipe of his tongue up the entire length of your slit, and you moaned at the pleasure that bolted through your core. 

He started licking and sucking at your leaking sex like a man starved (which he to some degree was), hands gripping your hips and holding you down as you sqiurmed at the stimulation. 

As he worked you, you threw your shirt off along with your bra, and his hands automatically reached up to your breasts as you lay back down on your back. Deftly, he rolled and pinched your hardening nipples with coarse fingertips, all while lapping at your clit with quick and wet expertise. He moaned into your core, sending a shiver up your spine and you started to rock your hips against his face in rhythm with his licks. 

You knew you wouldn't need long tonight, and when Steve pulled his right hand down and slipped two fingers right into your cunt, he only needed to curl his fingers a couple of times before you came undone, back arching and lips open in a silent scream as you came, convulsing around his fingers. He languidly licked you through your orgasm, groaning into your wet heat as you relaxed back down on the mattress, breath ragged. 

He removed his fingers from within you, and you lamented the absence. He put the fingers in his mouth, sucking greedily on the digits. He kept your eyes in a locked gaze as he moaned at the taste, and you whimpered at his unabashedness. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he said between licking the residue of your orgasm of his knuckles. 

America’s golden boy was such a dirty bastard in bed, and you couldn’t help your proud giggle at being the one who unleashed his inner beast. 

His eyes went back to your quivering cunt and he let his fingertips gently play at your entrance. You didn’t quite understand where he was going with the gesture, but didn’t mind at all. He looked on entranced as he moved his fingers around your weeping hole, and you looked at him.

“God, what a sight,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Such pretty, wet curls”.

Your cheeks flushed and you let out another giggle. His attention drew to your face, and he laughed as well as you hid your face in the crook of your elbow. He raised himself to his feet and crawled over you on the bed.

“What?” he asked, smiling from ear to ear as you giggled again.

He was so darn cute, and still rock hard, his engorged length brushing against your inner thigh.

Instead of answering, you lifted your head up and caught his lips in a kiss. Enthusiastically, he threw himself into it, gasping when you took his bottom lip between your teeth and sucked lightly. A shiver went through him, a near pornographic groan leaving his throat. 

Oh he was on tonight 

You couldn’t wait to taste him. To feel his throbbing cock stretch your mouth, salty on your tongue. 

You gently pushed at his chest, and he let you roll him over on his back. Lord knows you would never be able to move him without his help, but you both liked the feeling of you being in charge. 

He watched you intently with those breathtaking blue eyes as you slithered down his body, laying wet kisses to his strapping chest, dipping your tongue into every divot of his abs. He let out these wonderful, small gasps every so often, his hands going into fists at his sides. 

You wasted no time when you reached his cock, only licking once at the small drop of clear fluid sitting at the tip before taking the purple head into your mouth, sucking lightly. 

Steve let out a strangled moan and threw his head back, eyes falling closed. 

"Oh my god, baby, that's it," he panted.

Spurred on by his words, you started to work your head up and down his throbbing length, pushing him further in each time. When he hit the back of your throat, you pushed through your need to gag and swallowed around him. 

He groaned, a deep, vibrating sound that went straight to your core like a lightning bolt. 

You felt his hands on the back of your head as he held you in place.

Yes, yes, yes, you thought through your body's surge for air. 

Tears pricked at your eyes as your throat convulsed around him, and Steve called out in that stern and commanding voice above you. 

"Look at me" 

And you did. His heavy brow furrowed, cheeks flushed and lips red, swollen and slightly parted. He was a vision and your cunt clamped around nothing, screaming for attention. 

He gripped a fistful of hair and dragged your face off his cock. Your ragged breath ripped out as oxygen finally found your lounges, long strings of saliva connecting your mouth to his red and angry cock. 

You could feel him losing control of himself in the way his look darkened, his muscles twitching. You eagerly anticipated it. He gripped your jaw and slammed his mouth to yours, spit and precum mingling between you in an open and obscene kiss that was mostly tongue.

He drew you up to straddle his waist with the hand on your jaw and you eagerly obeyed his manhandling. 

You splayed one hand on his chest, while the other reached between you to grab his cock and lining it to your entrance. He let his hands glide up your thighs and settle on each ass cheek as he spread them slightly. 

You locked eyes with him as you felt his tip breach you, forcing your flesh to yield to his massive girth. 

A groan escaped his gritted teeth.

As you tried to lower yourself though, you felt his hands holding you put, not letting you move a centimeter.

You looked down at him, and you saw him smugly cock a brow at your obvious frustration. A needy whine escaped you. 

"Tell me what you need, baby," he commanded, almost encouraged. 

The cocky bastard was getting off on denying you, enjoying torturing you. 

You secretly loved it. 

"Come on, baby, tell me. What do you need?" 

You knew the questions applied to more than just the serious fucking you craved that moment, and had craved for months now. 

"I need you," you whispered, staring into his intense eyes. 

He moved you with ease a few inches down on his cock, relishing in your gasp as he stretched you so sweetly. 

"Tell me how you feel about me," he demanded, keeping you pinned in place as you squirmed in his grip. 

You whimpered in your desperation to be filled. 

"I love you, Steve. I love your face, your tongue, your cock. Even your sadistic pleasure at torturing me like this," you gritted out, nails digging into his chest. 

He groaned at your words and pushed you down on his cock in one swift motion until he bottomed out inside you. 

You struggled to take in air as he kept you put with his hands on your hips, the new torture not being able to get away.

He looked on, eyes hooded as you gripped him like a vice. 

"That's it, baby. You need this, you need me. You love me. You’re so good at taking me, swallowing me so greedily," he kept repeating as he rocked you slowly on him, waiting for you to adjust. 

"Yes,” you repeated breathily as you started moving your hips in tandem with his hands. Soon he removed them, letting them hover over your waist as you moved on your own, riding him harder and harder. 

You started riding in earnest, slamming yourself down on his cock as the squelching sounds of your arousal filled the room. 

“Fuck,” he exclaimed. Your chest swelled with pride.

His eyebrows started to raise in a telling way that made you think you were actually gonna make him come, and you moaned at the prospect.

That's when he caught you by surprise, sitting up and flipping you over so you were under him, remaining inside you the entire time. 

He wasted no time before he was pounding into you, the bed protesting the vigorous movement underneath, you encouraging it above. 

He threw one of your legs on his shoulder, sitting up on his knees to get that angle that always made you see stars. 

And boy, was he right on cue. His cock punched right onto your sweet spot and you arched your back, cunt involuntarily squeezing him. 

"G-god," you choked out, hands clasping at his thighs, feeling how his taunt, bulging muscles moved under your touch as he fucked into your yielding body, bringing you closer to the edge with every thrust.

You looked up at his face, and saw how his hand reached around your thigh to ghost above your lower abdomen, seemingly contemplating.

You were right on the edge, vision blurred, sweat on your forehead as you looked on. 

That's when he ran his fingers through the hair on the top of your mound and closed his fist around it. He took in a sharp, shuddering gasp and his movement faltered for a moment. His brows raised again. 

His hand tugged harshly at your pubic hair and to your utter surprise, your orgasm exploded within you, your mouth opening in a small whine as your body went rigid. 

Steve groaned deep in his chest before his eyes rolled back. His hand tugged harder on the fistful of hair, sparking your prolonged orgasm with a painful sting. 

He gave a few, deep thrusts as his own release coursed through him and into you, filling you up with four months worth of pent up juice. 

Through your haze you squeezed his thighs lovingly, nails digging into the skin. He was so goddamn, fucking beautiful. 

Steve released his grip on your hair and let his softening cock slip out of you. He collapsed beside you on the bed, one massive, hot hand on your thigh to keep you connected.

You had early on learned that The Captain's love language was touch, and he would usually keep himself physically connected with you at all times during the first 24 hours back from missions - to your varying delight.

You lay there, listening to your pants as you came down from your high. It was all so strange, and all so good. 

You turned your head towards him, taking in his glorious side profile with his straight and imposing nose, strong chin and ruff stubble, piercing blue eyes concealed by pale eyelids and a flutter of thick, long eyelashes. 

“I gather the bush wasn’t a problem?” you teased.

The way he had reacted to it had been anything other than what you expected. You thought maybe you’d get some mild discomfort, some awkwardness and then just ignoring it all together. 

Not ...that. 

You mound still stung a bit from his harsh tugging at the end there.

He smiled and turned to meet your eyes, cheeks slightly pink. 

“You gathered right,” he said, and averted his eyes in the cutest way possible. You rolled onto his chest and made him look you in the eyes. His hands found your back and started stroking a couple of fingers lightly up and down your spine.

“Where did that come from? If I’d known you’d react like that, I would have grown it out a long time ago!”

He laughed.

“If I’d known, I would have let you know a long time ago. Everyone I’ve been with before you sported the same...baldness as you normally do. And it’s not like I saw a lot og nude dames back in the day, ya know.”

Ah, that answered that question

As your thoughts lingered on his response, he saw his opportunity to grab the back of your head and bring you in for a sweet kiss. Starving and deprived, the kiss soon turned heated, and his tongue effortlessly slid into your mouth as you moaned at the intrusion. 

You broke the kiss before it became too consuming, earning a disappointed pout from Steve as you quickly threw yourself from the bed. You pointed a finger at him.

“No, no, no, I am going to shower before you go any further, mister!”

He raised his hands in defense at your tone, but a smirk was playing at his lips. 

“Plus, I think I need to shave a bit, don’t you?” you asked innocently.

Before you knew it, he had rushed forward, grabbed your wrist and waist and hoisted you back on the bed, effectively pinning you under his weight, one wrist in each hand at the side of your face. You felt your body humming with energy at his power demonstration.

“You’re not going to shave a goddamn thing,” he said matter-of-factly, though there was a playful tone to his voice. 

You giggled at his words, which turned into a gasp as he leaned down and nipped at your neck.

“Do I need to go down there and remind you who you belong to? Eat your wet and hairy pussy like cream, taste my stain as it leaks out of you?” he rasped in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and right to your core. The dirtier side of your Captain still took you by surprise sometimes.

Then your eyes flashed open as realization hit you. Cream.

“Oh my god, Ben and Jerry!” you shouted as you pushed at your restraint, and Steve, ever the intuitive, let you go immediately when he understood the moodshift.

You darted out of the bed and sprinted from the room.

“That better not be someone you're expecting,” Steve called from the room, and you couldn’t control your laugh as you bounded for the discarded grocery bag in the hallway.

As if...

Author’s note: This was my first one-shot, and a hell of a lot of fun. I don’t really remember where the whole pubic hair!kink-idea came from, but once it entered my mind, I couldn’t get it out until it hit the paper. I just imagine Steve being a real lover of natural bodies and natural body hair, ya feel<3 Thanks for reading, love you<3

[moonlit-imagines]

Way Down We Go

Arvin Russell x fem!reader

warnings: well, just about everything from the movie is mentioned, death/murder/suicide, (non-descriptive) sex, pregnancy mention,

a/n: im begging you to read this in a southern accent - i did change it up JUST a little i hope thats okay (y/n was just w/ arvin when he did some of the stuff he did)

prompt: anonymous: “uhm, oneshot for being arvin russell’s girlfriend and him coming back for you after he kills the sergeant? and maybe you two run away and get married and name your first kid after lenora?”

Soon enough, you and Arvin needed to split from your boyfriend’s hometown, Knockemstiff. He’d just shot down the sheriff and you weren’t sure if any authorities were going to believe your story. You two had to run.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. ‘Shoulda never got you involved in any ‘a this.” Arvin was beating himself up as the two of you dragged your feet on the side of the road, hoping you’d find a less murderous ride along the way.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Arvin. They all had it comin’ and you know I wasn’t gonna let you go off alone.” You halted your step in the grass and grabbed your boyfriend by the bicep, forcing him to stop, as well. He hesitated to turn around and look you in the eye, but when he slowly did, you could see tears brimming in his eyes. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want to do the same, but someone needed to have a level head right now, and after everything Arvin just had to do, you were prepared to take that responsibility. “Baby, we’re gonna be fine, I just know it.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” He mumbled as the tears began to flow. Your hands found themselves gliding up his dirty arms and shirt, finally reaching his clenched jaw and helping him to relax. “You’re so good to me an’ I just made our lives so much harder.”

“So we start somewhere new, okay? We’ll take a ride with someone on the interstate, make it to Georgia or Florida. I’ve been hearin’ some good things ‘bout Florida, they’ve got it all.” Arvin nearly cracked a smile at your optimism, he never knew how you’d be able to find light such a dark situation.

“I was thinkin’ about doing what my daddy did all them years ago.” He mumbled to you, as if he were unsure about going down that path.

“You gon’ keep on going or leave me hangin’ over here? You never talk about your father, tell me something new.” You pushed on, finally getting a smile out of him as the two of you continued your trek away from trouble.

“Well, he met a girl, fell in love, settled down far from home...” Arvin told you, trying to remember wha his mother’s face looked like.

“You’ve done two ‘a those things so far, go on.” You laced your fingers through his and gently swung your arms back and forth with each step.

“They started a family.” He said, looking up at the cloudy sky. Almost as if he could see the two looking back down at him. “A family could be nice. Maybe a dog, too. Jack really was man’s best friend.”

“I could see us doin’ that. We just gotta find the right place and we’re as good as gold.” You nudged Arvin with your elbow and he forgot all about the heinous scenes he’d left in the hours before, all that was on his mind now was what your future may look like. And to him, it looked amazing. Maybe you two could put the past few weeks behind you and just be happy again. No more pain, no more fear, just love for one another.

“We’re gonna be okay, huh?” Arvin asked, knowing already that you’d agree. A good deal of time went by before any cars passed by, but sooner or later a Volkswagen slowed down beside you and let you hop in. You knew hippies were a little weird, but they loved peace more than anything on this planet. Your odds were pretty good, so you climbed right inside and took a seat in the back, making conversation with the driver while Arvin got some much-needed shut eye.

“So, where are you two lovebirds heading?” The long-haired man asked, thankfully snapping you out of a daze consisting of dropped bodies and images you may never get out of your head.

“Oh, nowhere in particular. Just south.” You nodded along with your answer and the hippie chuckled, liking the answer you gave him.

“Looking to get a little lost? I like it.” You were distracted by his long hair flying around with the window cracked open just a bit.

“Yeah, I guess we are. We were thinking Florida would be a nice place to go, ever been?” You sparked a bit of conversation.

“Definitely! ‘The Sunshine State,’ doesn’t that have a nice ring to it? You guys’ll love it, I’m tellin’ ya.” The man’s enthusiasm was no joke, you needed the upbeat attitude he gave you, though. For a while longer, you talked about travel and this mystery man’s eventful life, it gave you hope that this new life you were about to start wouldn’t be as scary as you were thinking.

—————

Arvin woke up from yet another nightmare, it seemed like it would never end. It’d been four damn years since you two had left Knockemstiff and ended up in a little town by the name of “Palatka.” It was home and it was just the way you liked it.

“Hey, hey? I’m right here, Arvin. We’re safe.” You raised your hand and placed it on his bare, sweating chest as it rasised and fell from his panting. His eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and he saw the concern on your face while he just stared back at you. “You alright there, hun?”

“Yeah...” Arvin sighed, wishing that he’d stop seeing the faces of the people he’d shot down all those years before, they always seemed to haunt him in his sleep. He leaned back against the wooden headboard he’d crafted himself and reached his hand out for yours. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Your husband’s thumb trailed over the back of your right hand.

“It’s alright, I was just about to go check on Lenora anyways.” You gave him a kiss on the forehead and threw the covers off of yourself, swinging your legs off the side of the bed so you could get your slippers on. You shuffled out of your bedroom and across the squeaky floorboards, reaching the door of your daughter’s bedroom. Slowly cracking the door open, you tiptoed inside and found Lenora, still sound asleep in her bed.

She was a good namesake to her daddy’s late sister, you know she would’ve loved to meet her niece. What a shame it was, but at least you honored her memory the way you did. It was Arvin’s idea, after all. God, she looked so much more like Arvin every single day. You couldn’t help but smile as she let out a little moan while stretching in her sleep. And you couldn’t believe you created that, you were a mother with the man you loved most.

You made a stop in the kitchen real quick so that you could get your husband a glass of water, then went back on to your room. Arvin was now sitting there with his bedside lamp on, swiveling his head towards you as you came back inside and closed the door. “Water?”

“Please.” He reached out and grabbed the glass. “Thank you, y/n.” Arvin said into the glass before taking a sip and setting in down on the bare wood of the nightstand.

“Ahem.” You cleared your throat and cocked an eyebrow, leaving Avrin puzzled. “Coaster.”

“Right, sorry.” He lifted his glass up and put it on the coaster directly next to it. “There we go.” He told himself. You crawled back into bed and scooted closer to your husband, leaning your head on his shoulder and draping your arm across his body. He gently rubbed his rough, working hands over your upper arm and gave you a sweet kiss on the forehead. “How was Lenora?”

“She’s still asleep, thankfully.” You answered with a hopeful little smirk. Your daughter obviously wasn’t a sleeping angel every night.

“That sure is news.” He traced his finger back up your arm and to your chin, guiding it to move up so that you could face him. He placed his lips to yours and drew back ever-so-slightly. “You wanna fuck while we have a chance?”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered and he had spent no extra time jumping on top of you and getting right to work. Before becoming a parent, he never stopped to think about how he’d absolutely have to find the right time to do what he wanted, because the rest of that time was dedicated to caring for his kid in one way, shape or form. In the end, he didn’t mind a bit. Being a father and a husband were two things he’d loved more than life itself and he hoped that his parents would be proud of the man he’d become. But right now he just wanted to spend some time with his loving wife, and that’s that.

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm //

[piratewithvigor]

My first thought in regard to every band that gets played on my radio station

ACDC: Every dad’s favourite band

Adams, Bryan: Every mom’s favourite singer until Michael Buble came along

Aerosmith: haha they thought Vince Neil was a lady

Alice Cooper: he’s a Game Of Thrones fanboy and I have proof

Alice In Chains: my sister doesn’t like them because she decided AC were Alice Cooper’s initials ONLY

Allman Brothers Band: good music for dropping acid to

Allman, Gregg: That’s too many Gs for one name

Animals: House Of The Rising Sun, or who even cares

Argent: Sometimes Hold Your Head Up is really catchy

Asia: Tuesdays

Autograph: one of the members went on to be a pharmacist

Bachman-Turner Overdrive: There are just so many pop culture jokes about Taking Care Of Business that whatever I say won’t be as funny

Bad Company: with their song; Bad Company, off their album; Bad Company

Benatar, Pat: Always getting her confused with Patti Smith

Black Crowes: I like them for Lickin, but it doesn’t seem to exist outside of one shoddy video on youtube and my old CD

Blackfoot: this band name feels kind of racy

Black Sabbath: Dio was not better or worse than Ozzy; just different

Blondie: I like Call Me, but Blondie confuses me stylistically

Blue Oyster Cult: MORE COWBELL

Bon Jovi: Hello, childhood trauma, I missed you

Boston: ONE GUY. ONE GUY DID IT ALL AND NO ONE KNOWS

Bowie, David: Don’t let your children watch The Man Who Fell To Earth, or David Bowie’s will end up being the third penis they see in life

Browne, Jackson: Another musician ruined by Supernatural

Buffalo Springfield: Jack Nicholson was at the riot they sing about

Burdon, Eric: no ideas, brain empty

Bush: ditto

Candlebox: ditto once more. Who are these people?

Cars: This band feels so gay and so straight at the same time, I can only assume they’re the poster children of bisexual panic

Cheap Trick: I played Dream Police on Guitar Hero so fucking much because it was the only song anyone who played with me could keep up with

Chicago: Chicago 30 exists, but they do not have 30 albums. Fucking riddle me that

Clapton, Eric: 6 discs in one Greatest Hits is too many. That’s called “re releasing your discography”

Cochrane, Tom: For some reason, everyone thinks Rascal Flats did it better

Cocker, Joe: Belushi did it right

Collective Soul: who?

Collins, Phil: If his biggest hits were done by MCR, they would be emo anthems, but because he’s 5′6″ and from the 80s, they’re not

Cream: *Vietnam flashbacks on the hippie side*

CCR: *Vietnam flashbacks on the war side*

CSNY: David Crosby; meh

Deep Purple: THEY’RE SO MUCH MORE THAN SMOKE ON THE WATER

Def Leppard: the only music for when you’re a heartbroken bitch but also a sexy one

Derek And The Dominos: Clapton and ‘Layla’ broke up

Derringer, Rick: Tom Petty if he was from the midwest

Dio: You thought it was an anime reference, but it was me, Dio

Dire Straits: You can tell how bigoted a radio station is based on how much of Money For Nothing they censor

Doobie Brothers: I have yet to smoke weed, but I listen to the Doobies, and I think that’s pretty close

Dylan, Bob: I take back everything I said about him in my youth

Eagles: Hotel California isn’t their best song, but the memes that come from it are second to none

Edgar Winter Group: @the--blackdahlia

Electric Light Orchestra: Actually an orchestra and sound a fuckton like George Harrison

ELO: I really hesitate to ask what happens with the 7 virgins and a mule

Essex, David: no prominent memories of him

Fabulous Thunderbirds: cannot spell

Faces: Who on earth thought that was a good album name?

Faith No More: I got nothing

Fixx: One Thing Leads To Another is a damn bop

Fleetwood Mac: I ain’t straight, but I’m simply not enough of a witch to enjoy them to full potential

Fogerty, John: He got sued cause he sounded like himself

Foghat: Slow Ride slowly becoming less coherent feels like a drug trip

Foo Fighters: He was just excited to buy a grill

Ford, Lita: deserved better

Foreigner: dramatically overplayed

Frampton, Peter: a masterful user of the talk box

Free: dramatically underplayed

Gabriel, Peter: leaving Genesis changed him a lot

Genesis: if someone likes Genesis, clarify the era, because yes, it does matter

Georgia Satellites: sing like you have a cactus in your ass

Golden Earring: Twilight Zone slaps, but it doesn’t slap as hard as this station thinks it does

Grand Funk Railroad: Funk

Grateful Dead: I like their aesthetic more than their music

Great White: there are so many fucking shark jokes

Greenbaum, Norman: makes me think of Subway for some reason

Green Day: the first of the emo revolution

Greg Kihn Band: RocKihnRoll is literally the most clever album name I’ve ever seen

Guns N Roses: They have more than three good songs, but radio stations never recognize that

Hagar, Sammy: I’m still trying to figure out where he lived to take 16 hours to get to LA driving 55 and how fucking fast was he driving beforehand?

Harrison, George: He went from religious to rock, and if he had continued rocking, he would have gotten too cool 

Head East: I respect people who use breakfast foods as album names

Heart: Magic Man and Barracuda are played at least once every goddamn day. They’re not even the best songs!

Hendrix, Jimi: I have both a cousin and a sibling named after Hendrix references

Henley, Don: Dirty Laundry gives me too much inspiration

Hollies: Somehow sound like they’re both from the 60s and the 80s at the same time

Idol, Billy: he’s doing well for himself

INXS: Terminator vibes

Iris, Donnie: knockoff Roy Orbison

James Gang: too many funks

Jane’s Addiction: if TMNT had a grunge band representative

Jefferson Airplane: *assorted cheers*

Jefferson Starship: *assorted boos*

Jethro Tull: The only band to make you feel not cool enough to play the flute

Jett, Joan: icon

J. Geils Band: I requested them on the radio once and it got played

Joel, Billy: he really did just air everybody’s business like that

John Cafferty And The Beaver Brown Band: literally wtf is that name

John, Elton: yarn Elton sits in my basement, unstaring. Please someone take him from me

Joplin, Janis: Queen

Journey: Stop overplaying Don’t Stop Believing. It takes away from the rest of the repetoire

Judas Priest: literally started the gay leather aesthetic

Kansas: another fucking band Supernatural stole

Kenny Wayne Shepherd: the man confuses me to the point where he isn’t in the right place alphabetically

Kiss: Mick Mars and I will simply have to disagree on the subject

Kravitz, Lenny: runaway vibes

Led Zeppelin: Fucking fight me if you don’t think they’re the most talented band (maybe not the most talented individually, but collectively, no one comes close)

Lennon, John: My least favourite Beatle for reasons

Live: I got nothin

Living Colour: slap a decent amount

Loverboy: do you not get TURNT the fuck up to the big Loverboy hits? Who hurt you??

Lynyrd Skynyrd: Sweet Home Alabama is a Neil Young diss track

Marshall Tucker Band: no opinion

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band: VERY STRONG OPINIONS THAT THEY AREN’T GOOD

McCartney, Paul/Wings: Power couple

Meatloaf: I have nothing but respect for a man who willingly named himself Meatloaf

Mellencamp, John: voted cutest lesbian of 1987

Metallica: I liked their appearance on Jimmy Fallon

Midnight Oil: I get them confused for Talking Heads a lot

Modern English: who?

Molly Hatchet: Hollies vibes, but also Georgia Satellites vibes

Money, Eddie: DAN AVIDAN, IF YOU SEE THIS, COVER TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT

Motley Crue: Stan Mick Mars and John Corabi. They’re the only ones who deserve it

Mott The Hoople: no one loves them except for David Bowie

Mountain: props for naming an album ‘Climbing’

Nazareth: I want to make a John Mulaney joke here, but I can never come up with one

Nicks, Stevie: witch queen

Night Ranger: I get them confused with Urge Overkill

Nirvana: Kurt Cobain was the ally grunge needed

Nova, Aldo: he’s Canadian, at least

Nugent, Ted: *serves a ghost as jerky*

Offspring: nothing here

Osbourne, Ozzy: this bitch crazy

Outfield: Your Love is kind of a sketchy song, but it slaps hard

Palmer, Robert: low quality Eddie Money

Pearl Jam: *grunts in Eddie Vedder*

Petty, Tom: I have so many feelings about Tom Petty and they are all good

Pink Floyd: which one is Pink?

Plant, Robert: solo career is a crapshoot, but his voice is unparalleled

Poison: I want them to write a song called ‘Alice Cooper’

Pretenders: I want to say good things, but I have nothing to say

Queen: A doctor of astrophysics, a screaming girl, a disco queen and a diva walk into a bar. It’s Queen; they’re there to play a gig

Queensryche: neutral opinion

Quiet Riot: they got big because of a song they hated. I love that

Rafferty, Gerry: the second-sexiest sax opening in all of music

Rainbow: Ritchie Blackmore created something very magnificent

Ram Jam: one good song and they didn’t even write it

Ratt: I’m sure they have more than Round And Round, but I don’t know it

RHCP: funky, but if you have paid money to hear them, you’re going to The Bad Place (I don’t make the rules)

Red Rider: basically Golden Earring

Reed, Lou: Walk On The Wild Side would be such a cool song if it wasn’t so dull

REM: American Tragically Hip

REO Speedwagon: Props for having a dad joke as an album title

Rolling Stones: Never in my life could I imagine the drummer being named anything but Charlie

Rush: How to make being uncool the coolest fucking shit

Santana: The world needs more Santana

Scandal: There’s something really funny about The Warrior being my brother’s “song” with his girlfriend

Scorpions: Was Wind Of Change written by the CIA? Only the spotify podcast I got an ad for once could say

Seger, Bob: A different variety of Eric Clapton (frankly a better variety, but that’s just me)

Simple Minds: we ALL forgot about you

Skid Row: Sebastian Bach is prettier than all of us

Soundgarden: music that makes you feel like you dunked your head underwater

Springsteen, Bruce: my arch-nemesis. Maybe someday, he’ll find out about it

Squeeze: according to my friends, the stupidest band name ever, but they’re theatre kids, so you know

Squier, Billy: If he can make it through 1984 alive, you can make it through whatever bad day you’re having

Stealers Wheel: Yet another band who I always mistake for George Harrison

Steely Dan: my house’s nickname for the Robber in Settlers Of Catan

Steppenwolf: Either makes me think of Jay & Silent Bob, Jack Nicholson, or that time I had to cut 6lbs of onions

Steve Miller Band: when you’re in the right mood, they slap hard

Stewart, Rod: my soundtrack to summer 2015

Stills, Stephen: Love The One You’re With Is Catchy, but the lyrics are questionable

Stone Temple Pilots: the only band to write a song about goo you smear on yourself

Stray Cats: an obscene amount of merch is available for them

Styx: Supernatural would have ruined them for me too if I hadn’t been into them previously. 

Supertramp: I hunted for Breakfast In America for two years and it was worth every hunt

Sweet: I will never understand my two-month obsession with Ballroom Blitz when I was 15, but it was legit all I listened to

Talking Heads: you may find yourself in a pizza hut. And you may find yourself in a taco bell. And you may find yourself at the combination pizza hut and taco bell. And you may ask yourself; ‘how did I get here?’

Temple Of The Dog: I keep confusing them for Nazareth

Ten Years After: somehow still relevant

Tesla: not the car or the dude

The Beatles: Evokes a lot of opinions from people. Mine is that I love them

The Clash: I showed my sister the ‘Lock The Taskbar’ vine ONCE and it still kills her

The Doors: evokes teenage terror from deep within my soul

The Guess Who: Canada’s answer to confusing question-themed band names

The Kinks: kinky

The Police: wrote the theme of 2020 and everyone somehow forgot it was about a teacher resisting becoming a pedophile

The Ramones: playing all of their songs in a row wouldn’t take more than 2 hours

The Romantics: you don’t think you know them, but if you’ve seen Shrek 2, you have

The Who: If someone can explain Tommy to me, I’d be glad to hear it

The Zombies: I think they happened because of the 60s

Thin Lizzy: Could the boys maybe leave town?

Thorogood, George: blues, but make it modern

Toto: the most memed song behind All Star

Townshend, Pete: just makes me think of the end of Mr. Deeds

T-Rex: Mark Bolan is an icon

Triumph: The no-name brand of Rush

Tubes: like the yogurt

Twisted Sister: they did a christmas album and my mom does NOT hate it

U2: U2 Movers; we move in mysterious ways

Van Halen: RIP Eddie

Van Morrison: honestly, who’s named Van?

Vaughn, Stevie Ray: Steamy Ray Vaughn

Walsh, Joe: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get

War: Foghat, but even groovier

Whitesnake: the most successful band to be named after a penis

Wright, Gary: the 90s thanks him for writing the song every movie used for the “guy sees cute girl and it’s love at first sight” scene

Yes: To Be Continued

Young, Neil: The best part of CSNY

Zevon, Warren: the album cover of Excitable Boy makes me deeply uncomfortable for reasons I don’t understand

ZZ Top: has been the same three guys since 1969. Lineup unchanged. 

3 Doors Down: They feel a little modern to be on a classic rock station, but whatever

38 Special: Why 38?