#he also out here eating chicken out of a wall sometimes

[chibishortdeath]

Random assortment of silly doodles of Simon being silly cause I think he should be allowed to be silly sometimes.

The text says (in order):

1. “God won’t let me die” on the back of some shorts lmaoooooo

2. CAUTION: Smokin’ Hot Dad and there is a grill in the middle of the shirt too. Especially hard to read cause he also has a cross necklace over it.

3. Knows exactly the abomination he is wearing and is just waiting for someone to notice it -> and the shirt itself says “Je-Sus” and as an AmongUs Jesus on it.

4. <- Looking up cool rocks (on Google)?

5. He says “eh?”

6. No text for this one but that is one of those gag shirts that has the NES controller on the chest in a specific spot, if you’ve seen them you know lol idk how else to explain them.

7. (Imagine the Simon’s Quest text box sound) HAVE SOME CHOCCY MILK CAUSE UR AWESOME! (Choccy as in chocolate, every time I read this one I think of chalk-y milk and then die a bit imagining the texture of that eeee)

8. No text, but haha dragon ball death pose

9. The one in the bottom corner says “evily scheming” in quotes cause whatever he’s thinking about is not evil at all lol

10. No text for this one, but I doodled this cause I kept missing the jump in this level, it was my first time playing it when I drew this so I was not very good yet. I love how the rings have little bats tho, like that’s such a cute detail. :3

[tiktaalic]

s1 dean: it's not gay to suck a dick or three or ten you're just making sure you're not gay

s2 dean: getting notes from my team that sometimes it is gay to suck a dick . i would like to formally announce that i never did that. and i never would.and also i'm masc. i'm masc. i'm literally masc.

s3 dean: too busy with dying to think about being gay i'm pretty sure.

s4 dean: really enjoying that cas is unaware of social norms so that dean can oscillate between preening when he teaches him how to be a man (+1 masculinity for being more of a man than cas +1 masculinity for being so much of a man that you can teach others how to do it) and. taking advantage of the no social norms thing to rationalize his OWN behavior with cas because he knows cas isn't going to call him on it not being normal which MAKES it normal because there is no one to refute that.

s5 dean: much of the same but there are now emotional stakes in play because they Are friends he is now Emotionally attached in a real way to this man he was engaging in one way gay chicken with.

s6 dean: mfw my brother tells me to be normal so i marry a woman. ratchets him all the way back to i have never liked a man and i never will.

s7 dean: very similar emotionally to endverse dean / s14 dean in my mind. kind of in the same place as s6 dean but crucially s6 dean was sad and wet and s7 dean is walled off and apathetic. attraction to men does not factor into his worldview.

s8 dean: he literally was in a foxhole with benny and got a spraytan and had a gay thing. this man begrudgingly puts one (1) rainbow ornament on his christmas tree after sending out christmas cards of him embracing another man while their gay ass dog sits at their feet. the sticking point HERE is "cas doesn't feel stuff like that".

s9 dean: We Cannot Get Into All That but. they literallyyyyyyyyy had to make cas sleep with a woman and get banished forever to sidestep The Implications. which are. dean winchester would fuck the gay angel given the FIRST opportunity. i'd probably fuck cas but my brother is dying so idrc about that rn. etc. this is a man who is conscious of his attraction to 1) men and 2) cas and WOULD act on it given the chance.

s10 dean: this is where it gets love triangle-y with crowley and cas. this is because dean DID fuck crowley and WANTS to fuck cas. textually. this is where he stands. moc dean has sex with men and doesnt care because hes normal. POST moc dean is like. the same sex attraction was a metaphor to show that i was evil and corrupted by the mark.

s11 dean: i'll be honest. i remember fuck all about season 11.

s12 dean: his mom is around which means he will not be out. this is also. iirc? where dabb gets his grubby little showrunning hands on things. which of course. means dabbification. which of COURSE. means destiel eating plain toast and raising a baby domestically. which. of course. translates to dean using cas as a girlfriend stand in. which. imo. is reflected in dean's mindset. like s12 dean is aware that cas is the most important person in his life, and he is not interested in deviating from that formula with a woman at all.

s13 dean: gay man realizing the love of his life is dead and he never said or did anything -> gay man whose love of his life comes back so he doesnt have to grapple with the consequences of never saying anything and they can jump back into pseudo relationship.

s14 dean: this is a gay man coparenting with a gay man and telling his father that he has a family. has accepted his fate as a life long ambiguous bachelor who lives with a man and sometimes sleeps in his bed nonsexually. very much dead inside staring down the barrel of throwing himself on a grenade does not have Time to push the boundaries of his relationship.

s15 dean: too many twists and turns to get into in the stinger of a post.

[ataraxiaspainting]

The Floor is Breathing.

Yan Overhaul x F Reader. 

Synopsis: You feel like both the witness and the victim in an uncommitted crime.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, manipulation, stalking/non-consensual recording, mentions of binge eating, and some infantilization.

Word Count: 1k.

*~*~*~*

You can swear that these white walls blink.

Something, somewhere here, has eyes that look you up and down – you feel its breath on the back of your neck when you fall asleep facing a wall, the only decorated wall you have ever seen in this facility, actually. 

You’re not crazy. You have to remind yourself day in and day out of that fact, but you’re not crazy; you know another living being is in here with you, watching attentively.

Overhaul – no, “Kai” is what he forces you to call him now, says that there are no cameras in your room, but your gut screams otherwise.

You asked if he was sure, once, two days or four days, or six days ago – it should still be recent as you did not feel as isolated as you do now – and he responded by saying if he really wanted to keep a closer eye on you, he would just become your new roommate.

You’re unsure as to if that was a threat. He seemed happy when those words came out of his masked mouth, so perhaps it was just some unfunny gest. He made those sometimes, especially when he tries to coax you into taking vitamins every mealtime. Those jokes were as dull as the light brown and white pills piled up in a little cup meant for dipping sauces. Perhaps it was repurposed or Kai had ordered some from somewhere or he has some restaurant under his control somewhere.

Somewhere so dirty and filled with sugar and oils and artificial coloring. You’d die for just a sniff of pizza being served at an all-you-can-eat buffet or deep-fried cakes being served at a pop-up carnival. If health inspectors didn’t approve of such spots, or at the very most give them a C rating, then Kai wouldn’t go within two blocks of them. Much less let you. You’d stuff yourself to the brim like it is your last meal and compared to the boiled chicken and rice and broccoli you were given daily, chips and cookies may as well be.

A call of your name makes reality come back faster than a slap to the face – and hurts just as much.

“I asked you something, sweetheart. What do you want to do today?” Kai asks.

He didn’t seem angry or irritated as he repeated himself. His voice was still soft and the way he taps his foot against the pastel pink heart carpet reflects that. Times like these almost make you wish you were deaf. The words feel rehearsed but also feel as though they are straight from the heart like the actor was passionate enough in reciting their lines or was grossly in love with the story of the show. 

“I don’t know,” Unlike Kai, you forget your script quite often – aside from that one saying.

“You don’t know?” He’s still smiling. You know it.

“No.” You murmur. He puts an elbow on the small white table, stabilizing his head with his gloved hand. “I don’t.”

“I have some ideas,” The feeling of dread makes your stomach drop. Or was it your heart? Lungs, perhaps? You don’t know how to breathe right now, after all.

“I… don’t know, Kai.”

“You said that already.”

For your sanity, you choose to look at your freshly remade bed instead of his eyes. The rabbit plush you were given on your third or so day here lays alone on top of your singular pillow. The bars surrounding the sides reminded you of a crib. You’re only allowed to put your legs over the railing when Kai comes to your room in the morning and you’re not allowed to get out by yourself; he grabs your hand to assist you.

“Do you want to know what my ideas are?”

You’re not allowed to say no to anything Kai suggests. It’s an unspoken rule, unlike the ones for your room. “Um… okay…”

“Well,” Kai begins, his other arm being laid out on the table. His palm is facing upwards and you know what that means.

Your hand moves towards his – you try your best not to flinch this time in response to his slight grip, but you fail.

Kai chooses not to notice it for now. Just a small treat for this morning’s hug.

“I was thinking we could go to my office. Just for a change of scenery.” His thumb moves back and forth across your knuckles. “We could bring your colored pencils or your book if you’d like. It’s still noon, so we have some time before your daily check-in.”

“Okay…”

*~*~*~*

You had opted for your book in the end, although you regret your choice now because two of the four walls in Kai’s office have windows, and just outside of them were uncrowded streets that lead up to small hills on either side. The hue of the grass was off – a dull brown – but considering it was about time for autumn to roll around, you didn’t judge. Not that you could, anyway.

Could you ask to go back and get your colored pencils? You attempt to dismiss the thought by imagining future possibilities. Kai seems to be working on his computer right now though, and the guards outside wouldn’t let you leave by yourself anyway.

To hell with it, you think. It’s fine. He won’t get mad. 

At least… you hope so.

You walk over slowly until you are nearly touching his left shoulder. “Can I please get my colored-”

It’s you, from different angles and at different times of day – even some videos of you before you were kidnapped. They are of you sleeping, of you eating, of you looking under your bed. They are of you putting on socks, of you microwaving dinner after a long workday, of you talking on the phone with friends for hours. They are long and short – you can see some of them even repeat. Oh fuck. Is there a camera in this room too, or-

Before you can continue analyzing, Kai slams his laptop shut.

“Go back to reading, sweetheart.” It’s an order – you know it from the way he does not blink and the way his arms cross. He didn’t want you to see his screen; that fact is as clear as a cloudless sky. “You can color another day, okay?”

[frannyzooey]

The Dinner

Marcus Moreno x f!college reader

The Secret Universe

Rating: Explicit, Daddy Kink™ (seriously, like a lot)

A/N: I have many people to thank for this one: @imaswellkid @the-ginger-hedge-witch @whatsnewalycat @obiknights and the amazing @the-scandalorian - every single one of them gave me the most amazing advice, but also gave me endless reassurance when I needed it, and I could never thank them enough. Sometimes it really takes a village ❤

--

“How is stats this semester? Need any help?” 

You take a slow sip of your ice water, listening. 

“It’s okay,” Missy replies. “Better, now that I signed up for tutoring during my free period, which — “ she points her fork at her father, who currently has a slightly smug expression on his face, “— totally sucks. I know you said it would help, and it did, but at what cost, dad?”

His shoulders move as he huffs a laugh and he pokes around his dinner plate, spearing some roasted broccoli. Shrugging, he glances at you. “Is a couple of hours a week impacting your guys' social life that bad?”

“No, sir,” you answer with a polite smile. 

The title slips off your tongue with ease, and his playful expression falters for a moment. 

Clearing his throat, he shifts in his chair. “That’s what I thought.” 

He takes a swallow of his water — a small sip, then a larger one — and the three of you continue to eat. 

The dining room where you sit is seldom used, but cozy. The lighting dim but inviting, the sparse surface of the table lends it a more formal appearance and you think about how much you would have preferred to eat at the table in the kitchen. The one you passed earlier, cluttered with mail, magazines, keys, and other things that never really have any other home than a flat surface in the kitchen. 

Eating there would have made you feel more at ease. Eating here makes you feel more like a guest. And with Marcus at the head of the table, the formality of the seating arrangement pulls at you: a constant reminder of who he is. 

Forks slide against plates, glasses being set down with a muted thud on the wooden surface of the table and when Missy reaches for another bread roll, a glance over at him has you noticing his body language.  

He’s looking everywhere but you – at a painting on the wall, at his half eaten plate, at the condensation gathering on his glass. He lets his hand rest around the glass, his thumb swiping through the water and a thrumming, heady pulse that Missy seems oblivious to grows until it fills the space between your chairs. 

Swallowing, you place your elbow on the table near his own. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and his attention turns back to Missy. 

“What else is new?” he asks. “I never hear from you anymore. The room still okay? The bed still make that funny noise?”

Missy frowns, holding a bite of chicken aloft in front of her mouth. “How did you know about that?” 

Marcus sits up straight, shifting again in his chair and opening his mouth as if getting ready to speak, but Missy interrupts him. 

“Oh yea, it was there on move in day,” she remembers. “Whatever. No, we got that tool kit out that you gave me at the beginning of the year and fixed it yesterday. A real girl boss moment.”

She looks over at you and grins, and you return it despite the rapid beat of your heart.

“Yea,” you add, not allowing your eyes to stray from her face. “You killed it.”

You can feel his eyes on you, aware out of the corner of your eye how they slide down your frame and back up again. Whether he’s conscious of it or not, he’s been doing it all night and you want nothing more than to return the look, but you don’t. 

“You ladies have any plans for the weekend?” Marcus asks. 

Missy nods, excitement filling her eyes. “Yea, I think so? I got laundry and stuff to catch up on, but there is this party tomorrow night I wanna go to. I got a text about it earlier, I think it’s around 8ish?”

A small frown appears between Marcus’s brows. “Where’s it at? Around here?”

“Yea, I think so? I’m not really sure. I’ll have to look up the address or something.”

He doesn’t like that answer, you can tell by the way his frown doesn’t go away and you chance a peek at his face while he’s distracted. A pulsing beat gathers between your thighs, at both the sternness of his expression but also the care behind it. 

“Well,” he continues, taking another bite of dinner. “Let me know, okay? I’ll drop you off and pick you up.”

“Dad,” Missy playfully whines. “You’re embarrassing me.”

He rolls his eyes, stretching his legs out under the table and when one of his knees knocks into yours, you still. 

His eyes glance down, a short, apologetic smile showing briefly in your direction but he doesn’t move it. It stays there, his leg shifting just enough to press against yours with intent and as the dinner goes on, you resist the urge to smile. 

–

You met them both for the first time on move-in day. 

Cars lined along the driveway to the dorms with their trunks crammed full of new bedding and boxes and the bare essentials for kitchens and showers, you noticed them right away. 

Missy, true to the picture she emailed you weeks ago when introducing herself as your new roommate, and Marcus, when he stepped around the side of the car to open the trunk. Close-cropped dark hair shone browner in the sun, the strands neatly combed into place, yet slightly curled with the humidity. His shirt stretched tight across his wide shoulders, tucked neatly into dress pants that fit him perfectly. The fabric pulled across his back when he leaned forward to reach in for the first boxes and when Missy shouted your name, he turned around. 

You had to pull your eyes away from his face to greet her with a shy smile. 

He stuck around the entire morning – making sure the lofts were set up correctly, helping move furniture, his kind, good humored eyes on his daughter as he took in her first day at college. He offered to take the two of you out to lunch in celebration, but before you could reply, Missy shooed him away. 

“We’re gonna go grab a coffee or something. Get to know each other. You can get outta here, dad. Thanks for the help.”

You could tell she genuinely meant it, but the paltry thanks wasn’t enough in your opinion. He had already done more than your parents had ever done for you, and you wondered what it was like to grow up in a house where it happened so often you took it for granted. Your parents hadn’t even bothered to give you a ride on your first day, you had taken the bus with your meager boxes. 

He humored her, giving her a soft smile and when he turned to say goodbye to you, you made sure to hold his gaze when you thanked him. 

“Not a problem,” he replied sincerely. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

–

The two of them clear the plates while you grab what you can from the table, and it’s apparent that they have their own shorthand method of communication with each other. She clears, he starts the dishwater. She empties scraps into the trash to stack plates neatly by the sink, and when you help her, his eyes linger on your mouth when he turns to say thank you. 

A routine that had never taken place in your own home, you revel in the roles everyone plays. The comfort of them, the domesticity. You imagine the two of them doing this every night before Missy left for college, and the mental image of Marcus standing at the sink with his t-shirt stretched over the strong muscles of his back warms you from the inside out. Even more when you think about him reminding Missy to clear her place, or asking her what she wants in her lunch tomorrow. 

The qualities of a dad: one who does because he cares, but also guides. 

Done clearing, Missy leaves the room, the telltale sound of the washer door opening down the hall, and Marcus stills at the sink, listening. 

“Listen, don’t jam it all in there like last time, okay?” he warns, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. “You can do more than one load. No rush, Missy, okay?”

“Yea, yea, I got it,” she yells back, and he sighs, shaking his head. You meet his eye in a knowing look, and the corner of his lips pulls up in a rueful smile. 

“She almost broke it last time, trying to fit about a month of clothes in all at once.”

You laugh, and nod. “She does that at the dorm too.” 

He shakes his head, pushing his hands into the water. 

“You don’t need to use those machines — either of you. You’re always welcome to come over and do it here,” he offers, searching in the sudsy water for a plate. Finding it, he begins scrubbing it with a rag. “Either of you. Even if she can’t come, you can.”

A pause.

“Anytime you want.”

The invitation hangs between the two of you in the silence, and you keep your eyes on his forearms as they flex above the suds. A sudden, unbidden image of them flexing between your thighs flashes through your mind, the weight of his fingers felt inside you. 

His voice lowers. “We could even plan it that way, so we don’t have to keep…“

He gives you a knowing look, and guilt gnaws at you as you listen to Missy hum in the next room.  

“It’s not that I don’t want that,” you explain, your voice keeping quiet. “I just don’t want…” Uncertainty flashes across your features and when you look up, you find that he’s already looking at you. 

“Don’t want what?” he asks. 

Unsure how to put your fear into words, you hesitate. Moving your meetings to his house somehow makes them more of an offense in your mind. In the space he shares with his daughter; their family home. 

The duality of the man standing next to you has been messing with you all night: the Marcus that stands beside you now versus the Marcus that you know. The unassuming, kind face of a good father masking the hooded lust you know his eyes contain. The strength held in his arms when he takes the trash out; the flex of them under your bare knees when he spreads you wide. His plush bottom lip in a soft smile for his daughter; the same pressing against your skin, your mouth, between your legs. 

A secret shadow follows him around constantly, fleeting slices of the man you know appearing if you watch him long enough. His throaty laugh, the spread of his thighs on the couch, the flex of his jaw.

Seeing him here in his kitchen or at the head of the dining room table has the men merging in your mind despite your ability, until now, to keep them separate. You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth, thinking. 

“Don’t want what?” he repeats, softer this time, tenderness curling around the words and you’re about to answer when Missy walks back into the kitchen. 

“Hey, you don’t have to help him with that. I got it.”

He stands taller, shifting away from you and you back up from the sink, making room for her. She immediately scoops a delicate mound of bubbles and flicks them at Marcus, laughing when he grimaces with a chuckle. The teasing makes you smile.

He’s so good with her — so patient, and kind, and attentive. So genuinely invested in her answers in a way you’d never experienced, and though you are happy for your best friend in that she has such a doting parent, you’d be lying if you said a little jealousy never crept into your heart when you watched them. 

Not because you wanted either of them to choose you, but because they so clearly had each other. Someone to depend on; a traditional parental/child relationship full of trust and respect and love. 

You watch them for a moment as they work in tandem, their mannerisms similar from behind. 

“I’m gonna take a shower before bed,” you announce, and excusing yourself from the room, you leave them to finish the dishes. 

—

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.”

Down the hall from his room and across from Missy’s, the guest bedroom door clicks shut quietly in the dark. The shuffle of sheets whispering as you shift to make room for him in the bed, the mattress dips when he joins you, the heat of his body felt close. His hands reach for you, pulling you closer and there are no other words spoken as his mouth meets yours, deepening the kiss immediately. 

His tongue slides against your own, your taste familiar and maddeningly addictive, and he groans deeply into it, rolling you onto your back. 

Beneath the solid weight of his body is your favorite place – secure, safe, desired, wanted. Trapped between the soft bed and the scent of his warm skin, his mouth takes and takes and takes from yours until you’re drunk with arousal beneath him, wanting to stay there forever. 

“I wanted you so bad at dinner,” he breathes in a low confession. “So fucking bad, even when you walked through the door.”

Every one of his words is matched with a weighted grind of his hips into the cradle of your thighs, and you roll right back against him, a soft sound catching in your throat at the delicious pressure. There is something that makes you weak about his voice in general, but when he swears – especially in his desperation to express how much he’s wanted you – it lights a path straight from your ears to your center; need blooming fierce and bright.

You would tell him how much you thought about him just as much if his mouth didn’t immediately cover yours again, and pushing your fingers through his close-cropped dark hair, you match his urgency. Your knees hitch higher around his broad torso, your thighs tightening with every flex of your hips up and the stiff length of his cock underneath his sleep pants fits perfectly along the damp seam darkening your underwear. 

You can feel the thick ridge of it, aching for the filling heft as he grinds his hips against you again and again, and whimpering for more underneath him, the words slip out. 

“Please, daddy.”

He stills for a split second, breaking the kiss as a shudder slips through him and a wash of embarrassed heat floods your face, but it’s quickly replaced with arousal when he groans as if in pain, his furrowed brow pressed into the plane of your chest. 

His hand splays against your side to keep you in place with a pained press of his fingers. “Jesus Christ, baby, you can’t — you can’t say things like that. Please. Please.”

“But I want it,” you whisper. 

You do. You’ve wanted it ever since you met him, just knowing by looking at him that he would give you what you need. So thoughtful, so considerate and kind, so attentive and warm but also very much a man – a handsome, understated man with needs that showed clear on his face every time you met him after that first time. 

The second, third, fourth time you met him, the flicker of interest in his dark brown eyes. 

The magnetic, heady pulse of attraction that filled the small room when he showed up once while Missy was at class. 

The lunch that he invited you to instead of her, and the undivided attention he gave you from across the table. The way he reminded you to buckle your seatbelt, and the way you leaned over and kissed him when he waited a beat too long reluctantly saying goodbye outside your dorm, on the street.  

That first, tentative kiss after he followed you back to your room at the reassurance Missy had classes that afternoon, and the frown furrowed between his brows, both at how wrong it was to want this and relief at finally giving in. 

The soft cotton of your sheets sliding against your bare back, the way his body seemed too big for the narrow twin. 

His giving mouth, soothing guidance rumbled in his deep voice. 

Something that’s taken root in your mind with every time he brings you to bed, you don’t know how else to describe how you want to be tucked into his side to be made felt safe and secure, while also fucked deep into the mattress until you’re sobbing with fullness. 

Being here with him has made the need for it unbearable, and what you do know is that no matter what you want, he’ll give it to you. 

Your confession is a quiet one that lingers in the air and he looks up, his doleful, brown eyes finding yours. They stay there, searching for the truth and when he finds it in your slightly ashamed expression, he pulls himself up until you are face to face. 

“Yea?” he asks, soothing stray hairs at your temple. “You want a daddy?”

The word gives him pause, but his cock hardens painfully against the cool sheets and when you nod, the vulnerability shown on your face is so open that he finds himself mirroring it, wanting to soothe. 

He not only understands but wants, so very badly.  

“Okay, okay,” he agrees. The tension in your body drains as you soften underneath him; pliant and moldable for his needs. “Say it again, baby.”

“Daddy,” you whisper in a relieved rush, your plush lips parting only just. 

His hooded eyes watch the word slip from your mouth, and his thumb skates along the plump cushion of your bottom lip, before pushing just inside. He slides his thumb over the wet muscle of your tongue, letting you suck on it. 

Bright need swells and aches between his thighs, your soft, lush skin slipping against his as you squirm in need underneath him and he slips his thumb from your mouth before pressing his lips to yours with a rough kiss. 

Desperate to feel the clutch of your tight, wet cunt, he reaches down to open you up for him, his hand slipping beneath your panties and his fingers sliding with a familiar swipe through your soaked curls. He finds the dip where you need him most, your arousal soaking the pads of his competent touch and his breathing quickens, his eyes flitting between your face and his cotton covered hand. 

The same fingers that made dinner, that queued up the movie, that clasped under his chin when he listened to Missy talk. The same ones that held the steering wheel in a loose grip as he drove you to the store.

They’ve slid into your mouth before, and then your cunt. Brushed against the puckered rim of your asshole, swirled with divine pressure over your clit, and filled you to the brim until you cried out, your cunt a snug slip around them. 

Two fill you now with an urgent slide, the action making him swallow the soft catch of your whine and the ease in which he slips them in and out is aided by how wet and ready you are for him. 

Always so wet; his perfect girl.

“When you called me ‘sir’ at the dinner table,” he pants, nuzzling the bridge of his nose along your jaw as he looks down at his hand. Your thighs open wider for him, and you softly moan, chasing the thick fill of his fingers. “I almost fucking lost it. So sweet. So sweet, baby.” 

“Just – just for you.” Your brow furrowed in pleasure, you chase what he’s building inside you, your small hand slipping down to cover his larger one. Your fingers push over his, guiding him as if he needs it, and the both of you get lost in the slick, consuming motion; his eyes glued on your parted mouth. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to say it. The daddy thing, I –”

“Don’t be sorry. No, fuck. Don’t be sorry, baby. I wanna hear it. I want it.”

His soothing words wash over you, your cunt accepting him deeper as he adds a third finger and before he gives you time to adjust, he’s slipping them from your wet heat, sliding them into his mouth with a suck. He groans with a frown, his lashes dark against his face as his eyes flutter shut and he shifts abruptly down the bed. 

His fingers grip the band of your underwear and tug them roughly down your legs before the width of his shoulders forces your knees apart. The heat of his mouth felt in a humid gust against your spread, bared seam, he tugs you tight to his face, and the emptiness left by the sudden absence of his fingers is immediately replaced with his thick, eager tongue. 

“Marcus!”

His whiskered cheeks brushing roughly against the tender skin on the inside of your thighs, he devours your cunt, his back flexing as he nearly pushes you up the bed in his hunger if not for the way his hands curl around the top of your thighs to hold you in place.  

“Shhh, baby. Shhh,” he reminds you, and you let out a quiet sob, clasping your hand over your mouth. 

He’s so much, a sensory overload being amplified by the darkness around you: the needy grip of his large hands, the slick slide of his tongue, the muffled groans he’s letting out between your legs. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he breathes, his mouth dragging damply over the inside of your thigh with a thick kiss before he licks your clit with the flat of his tongue. He slides it from side to side with pressure, a motion that makes you bow off the bed. 

Mindless with pleasure, you’re overcome with the need to anchor yourself to something — the direct attention is so much, too much — and your hands fist the sheets, your back arching. 

“I washed it just for you, daddy.”

You should be embarrassed but all traces of shame are turned to cinder the second he groans deep and loud, the sound muffled by the way he immediately buries his face with an open mouthed kiss. It’s messy and decadent, his tongue pushing inside you and then it swipes lower. 

Your hips jolt up to meet it; his low, satisfied groan sounding between your cheeks. 

“Fuck,” you whine, the tip of his tongue pressing against the tight ring of muscle before he flattens it to lick a wide, wet stripe from the seam of your ass all the way to your clit. Another one, before he gives your soaked entrance a hungry kiss and the pressure of his face being buried so deep makes you grind against him, your hips moving in time with his, as he seeks his own relief against the sheets. 

“I’m gonna — I’m gonna fucking come. Daddy, you’re gonna make me come.” 

It’s a plea if he’s ever heard one, and he zeroes his focus in on your clit — circling it with his tongue before giving it a light suck. He keeps going as you thread your fingers into his hair with a tug, keeps going as you press your lips together to try to stifle your moans, and keeps going when your thighs tense around his cheeks and you come with a breathless whimper; his tongue swiping hungrily through the salt of your release.

All tension in your body gone, he kisses a path slowly up your body while you lay and catch your breath – up over the top of your thigh, the rounded curve of your hip, the soft, plush underside of your breast. 

He cradles you to his chest, tugging you onto your side as his mouth drags along the line of your neck. He kisses a path over the skin and your hips shift, seeking his out. He can feel you squirming, looking for relief and bellies together, he rolls you onto your back, your hands working together to push his pajama bottoms down and off. 

Your touch is back to frantic as he pulls from your mouth, his hands cradling the sides of your head to keep you in place as he gets his fill and you wind your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push inside. 

He does – a motion that makes your moan get lost underneath his deeper one – and the snap of his hips is immediate and hard, the filling weight of his cock pushing the air from your lungs. 

His lips kiss your closed eyelids, his tongue sweeping over the salt rimmed lashes where a tear lingers and his mouth finds the fragrant, soft skin below your ear. His lips press against it, his mustache tickling you, the roll of his hips never ceasing. 

“You’re being so good for daddy. So good.”

Your eyes open and find his, and he throbs with how sincerely vulnerable you look underneath him right now, desperate to know you’re being good. 

“You’re such a good girl. Always letting me fuck you the way I want. Always letting me take care of you, like you take care of me.” His lips find the corner of your mouth, the delicacy of the kiss in contrast with the way you have to dig your nails into his broad back to hang on as he fucks you harder and he pulls back just enough to look at your face.

“You’re so good, aren’t you, baby. Aren’t you.”

It’s not a question for you to answer, but rather a statement he needs you to confirm and you nod, a tiny frown of pleasure appearing between your brows as you shift rhythmically underneath him. 

“My baby,” he murmurs, catching your mouth in a deep kiss. “My baby.” 

Your hand trails down the line of his spine and splays over his tailbone, sweat beading along the skin as he fills, fills, fills and you widen your thighs, digging your fingers into the swell of his ass to force him deeper. 

“Please, daddy. Please.”

His hips shift into a slow, weighted grind when you beg using those words. He never pulls all the way out, rather forcing himself so deep into the heart of you that you tremble with the need to come underneath him. 

“You’re so fucking pretty. So pretty when you’re gonna come.”

His praise fills you with light from the inside out, pouring out through your sweat damp skin where it’s flush with his own and another tear slips free; your release both a bright, shining edge that he’s guiding you towards and a strong, powerful current that threatens to pull you under. 

“Give it to me.” 

His voice is husky and strained, a quiet plea for you to let go and when you do with a silent cry, the deep dimpled smile on his face is a proud one, equal parts awe and lust. 

He follows shortly after, the tight, wet clutch of your cunt too much for him – but it’s your relieved face that makes him spend every ounce inside you with slow, smooth strokes until there is nothing left. You look so light underneath him, so content and drowsy and drunk with relief. 

He can’t help himself when he bends to kiss the tear track that runs over your temple, giving you another kiss on the apple of your cheek. 

“So good. You were so good.”

You’re so spent you can’t even kiss him back, rather letting him gently nudge you to meet his mouth and even then you let him take what he needs from your kiss swollen lips, opening up for him when his mouth demands it. 

Eventually he shifts, just enough to settle beside you rather than on top, but you automatically follow the heat of his body, curling into his chest. 

“There’s, uh —” he starts, closing his eyes. You watch the thud of his pulse under the tanned skin of his neck. He licks his plush lips, trying to catch his breath. “There’s milk and cereal — or eggs, if you want those in the morning. I didn’t know what you guys would want, so I —“

Your quiet laugh stops him and he looks down at you, smiling when he sees your expression. 

“Are you really telling me about my breakfast options, like some kinda guest?”

“Yea, I guess I am,” he grins. “But you are a special guest in this house,” he replies, tugging you closer. His mouth finds the curve of your collarbone, his smile felt against the skin there. “Especially for me.”

“Guests really get the full treatment here, huh,” you tease. “Dinner, laundry, breakfast, their ass eate—“

You can almost feel his blush in the dark, his fingers immediately digging into your side to stop your sentence, and your stifled giggles fill the dark room but he doesn’t let up until you’re squirming underneath him, breathlessly begging him to stop. 

“What?” you laugh, trying to keep quiet. “I liked that part of the turn down service.”

He grins, the knowing smile of a pleased man who is well aware he did good. He leans in, putting his mouth by your ear. 

“Good to know. Maybe tomorrow the service will include it again.” He pulls back and winks, leaning back in to give you a quick, full kiss. 

“I wish I could stay, but I better get back to my room.”

“I know.”

“See you in the morning?” he asks, so soft and mussed and hopeful yet grown; his voice low and husky. His eyes are soft with affection, his unwavering gaze showing that he genuinely wants to make sure you’re okay before he leaves. 

His hand cradles the curve of your cheek, his thumb swiping along the line of your cheekbone and you tilt to press a kiss against the heel of it. Relief like you haven’t ever known floods through you, but more than that is what you feel underneath that earnest gaze. 

Safe, secure. In both yourself, and what you mean to him. 

“Yea. See you in the morning.”

He smiles, bending to place a delicate, warm kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight, baby.”

You sigh with contentment. 

“Goodnight, daddy.”

[jrswritings]

Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Seven - Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, and Chapter Six! Masterlist :)

Chapter Seven - Playin' Games

After driving for a half hour, your stomach decided to make an appearance by growling loudly just when the radio was switching songs. Your arms immediately covered your stomach, not like it mattered, you both knew where the gurgle came from. 

“Food is only five more minutes away, think you can last that long or will you wither away into nothing?” He asked, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. 

“I think I’ll be okay,” you said, rubbing your belly, “I’m not sure about my stomach though.” 

As soon as you rounded the corner, there was a cute little red barn-shaped building next to a little convenience shop. The outside sign read ‘The Barn.’

“Is this where we’re eating? It barely looks like it would fit 50 people!” You said, sitting up in your seat. 

“Yep! My mom and I used to come here when I was a young kid and get breakfast on our way to Wyoming to watch my dad in one of the rodeos out there,” he said, “He started my love for riding but after so many accidents I had to switch to tornadeos.” 

“We’ll have to go to one sometime, there’s plenty of them down in Salado,” you said, “They use one of my parent’s bulls.” 

Once he parked, you opened your door and slid out of your seat. 

“Little lady you get back in the truck and let me open that door for you!” Tyler said in a rush, getting out of the driver's side and jogging around the front of the truck to grab the door. 

“Ty, I’m a grown woman and can open and close doors all by myself,” you said, patting his chest and walking by him. 

“But I’m here so that means you don’t have to,” he said, catching up to you while you walked into the little diner. 

“Let me be independent while also being a gentleman,” you said. 

“Hello, kids! C’mon in and sit where ever you’d like!” The waitress called from behind the small wall of delicious pies. 

Tyler led you over to a booth near a window, rolling up the shade slightly. 

Another waitress came over with menus, silverware, and glasses of water.

“Howdy, my name is Brandi and I’ll be your server, is there anything else you’d like to drink besides the water? We have lemonades, sweet teas, and Coke products,” she said while setting everything down on the table and taking out a notepad. 

“I’ll have a sweet tea, please,” you said, picking up the menu to start mulling over your options. 

“I’ll do the same, thank you,” Tyler said, rubbing his foot on yours under the table. 

“Comin’ right up, sugar,” she said and walked off to the counter with a little too much pep in her step. This started a little fire inside of you that you didn’t know could be lit. 

Tyler saw your facial expression change over the top of the menu as you gave Brandi a slight glare. 

“Calm down, baby girl,” he said softly, reaching across the table and putting a hand over yours, “You’re all I have eyes for.” 

You sighed, looking up at him. “What are you getting?” 

“Well, probably a burger,” he said, glancing down at their menu. 

“I’ll probably do the same,” you said, closing the menu and setting it at the front of the table, “Burgers are usually my, what I call, safe meal. It’s hard to mess up on a burger and fries.” 

“I get that, as a kid my meal used to be chicken tenders and fries,” he said, taking a drink of his water and looking at the menu.

The waitress came back over, setting the teas down on the table, “Alright you two, here are those teas and what can I get started for you?” 

“Let my wife order first, I usually wait to see what she gets before ordering as I most times end up switching because she says mine looks better,” he said gesturing to you with a smile. 

Hearing him call you his wife shocked not only you but the waitress as well. You looked over at him and he winked at you. 

“I’ll have a California burger with no onions, fries, with a side of ranch please,” you said, trying your best to remain calm after being called Tyler’s wife when you two aren’t even dating. 

“And for you sir?” The waitress asked, keeping her eyes on her notepad. 

“I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger with fries,” he said, “Along with a slice of apple pie for us to share, it’s her favorite.” 

“I’ll put your order in and it should be out in 10 minutes, would you like whipped cream on the pie?” She asked, grabbing the menus off the table. 

“Honey, what do you think?” He asked, grabbing your hands on top of the table.

“I would love some, thank you, Brandi,” you said, smiling up at her and rubbing his knuckles with your thumb. 

“Will do,” she said and walked to the kitchen. 

“Your wife?!” You whisper shouted at Tyler. Granted, you didn’t fully mind as Mrs. (Y/n) Owens had a ring to it, but it was more so unexpected. 

“I didn’t like how upset you got by her callin’ me sugar, so I had to improvise and that’s what I came up with,” he said, “Are you sayin’ you wouldn’t want to be married to this teddy bear?” 

“Only time will tell, Owens,” you said, taking a drink of your tea. 

“Playin’ games, are we now, honey?” He asked, leaning onto his elbows that were resting on the edge of the table. 

“No, but need I remind you that this is technically our first date?” You asked him quietly. 

“Nope, I just love seein’ you blush,” he said, reaching over and pinching your cheek softly. 

You slapped his hand away playfully, “Okay Grandpa, you can quit pinching me.” 

“But why? Your cheeks are just too cute,” he said, making his voice sound like he was 40 years older. 

“Oh stop it, baby,” you said, noticing how smoothly that slipped off your tongue. 

“See honey, by the end of the day you’ll be calling me hubby and all will be well in the world,” he said, a cheesy smile coming to his face. 

“Don’t test your luck, Owens,” you said, wagging one of your pointer fingers at him. 

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up as a surrender. 

“Bacon cheeseburger for you sir,” Brandi said, sliding a basket in front of Tyler. 

“That looks good,” you said, ogling over his burger. 

“See? In five minutes we’ll have different baskets,” Tyler joked with the waitress. 

“And a California burger with fries and ranch for you, ma’am,” she said, “I’ll be over with the pie in a few minutes. Is there anything else you two need?” 

“This will be all, thank you,” he said, looking over at you and then at the waitress. 

As she walked away, Tyler looked at you practically drooling over his burger basket. 

“Do you want to trade?” He asked, nudging the basket towards you. 

“No, no,” you said, “That’s what you ordered, I’ll let you enjoy it.” 

“If you say so,” he said, taking a big bite of the burger. 

You grabbed a few fries and dipped them in the ranch, then stuffed them in your mouth. As you chewed you did a slight wiggle in your seat. Tyler watched you do that while taking a few fries and eating them. 

“Do you always wiggle after you eat fries with ranch on them?” He asked, using a fry to point to you, the fries, and the ranch. 

“Just think of it as the negative, hangry mood leaving my body per se,” you said, taking a bite of your burger. 

“Is it because you love fries and ranch?” He asked, smiling slightly. 

You nodded and grabbed a few more fries while you finished the bite you just took, not wanting to look like you were starving and shoveling the food into your mouth faster than you could chew. 

“I’ll remember that,” he chuckled, taking a big drink of his sweet tea. 

“Here’s that warmed apple pie with whipped cream on top for the lovely couple,” the waitress that originally greeted you said as she placed the pie with two spoons in front of you. 

“Thank you,” you said after swallowing your bite. 

“Is there anything else I can get you, or is it alright if I grab the tab?” She asked, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like to keep out of the Oklahoma heat.” 

“Maybe a box and to-go forks for the pie? The burgers have been more filling than I think either of us realized,” Tyler said, patting his stomach. 

“Let me go put it in the container for you, hon,” she said, grabbing the plate and walking to the kitchen. She came back two minutes later with the pie in a styrofoam container, two plastic forks, and the tab. 

“Thank you so much, we appreciate it,” you said, finishing the last of your burger. 

“Of course, sugar! Thank you for choosing The Barn, please come back anytime!” She said, walking back to the kitchen. 

Tyler left cash on the table for the bill and put his hat back on, then slid out of his seat after finishing his tea. He stood up straight, grabbed the container with the slice of pie, and then held out his hand for you. You sucked down what was left of your tea and grabbed his hand while sliding out of the booth. 

“Have a great day!” The older waitress called out as you both walked out the door.

“Damn, you must have scared off the other waitress by calling me Mrs.Owens,” you laughed, “She never came back.” 

“Good!” He said, giving you a wide grin while holding the door open. 

Want more? Here's Chapter Eight!

Taglist: @fanboyswhore9 @faith719

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

imagine… julian mercer x fem reader ; tw(blood, fear, nsfw), dr julian is not what he seems. chase gif by @scarlettspectra

on a lovely getaway to a very secluded cabin in the mountains.

you get inside, marveling and cooing about the woody fresh bookcase that seems to be stocked with all your favorite reads, the sprawling kitchen with the skylight that illuminates the cozy boho theme—he’s even bought some new plants for you, and no doubt the fridge is prepared with chicken and cream and fresh veggies so he can conjure a delicious meal tonight with those magic hands.

your boyfriend is just short of a saint. holds doors open, cooks and cleans, carries both suitcases, takes your strappy sandals off for you and places them by the doorway. the just short part entails the way he fucks, or rather the way he prefers to have you while fucking. you’re starting to really like it, though, being tied up to his bed and at his total mercy even if maybe he bites or smacks or pinches too hard sometimes.

“what would you like to do, darling?” he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and kissing the top of your head. “we could watch a spooky movie, go for a hike, take a bath, hm?”

you giggle at him, and it feels strange in your throat. not because it’s not genuine, but because before him you weren’t such a girlish, blushing idiot. of course, before him you genuinely also thought you could win a fight. but when he’s pinning you down effortlessly with one big hand wrapped around both your wrists, it’s hard to keep that confidence hot.

“let’s watch a creepy movie,” you suggest. “not too scary, though.”

“oh, honey,” he coos, playfully nipping at your cartilage. “i’ll protect you from the monsters.”

“you promise?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him, playing along. “you won’t let them eat me?”

“the only monster that’s going to be eating you is me,” he grumbles against your hairline, somehow encapsulating soothing and terrifying with his voice all at once. shivers pimple over your skin, and he laughs at the squirming you don’t realize you’re doing.

seems he likes that idea—eating you—because his teeth gnash the air right above your jugular, and for some reason you have the vivid vision of him ripping it out of your neck and juicy red blood spurting over the polished oak walls.

you push him away, laughing nervously, backing up towards the couch. “julian, we just got here.”

he takes a long minute to roll the sleeves of his crisp button down up, putting on a show with those beautiful thick forearms. “you’re right,” he says, his eyes shiny black, wet and hungry. “how silly of me, to forget that it needs to be christened properly.”

“j-julian,” you warn through bubbling nervous giggles, hand up in front of you in flimsy self defense. too slow, too late. he’s inching forward, eyes narrowed, sly cat grin sitting so sinisterly on his handsome face.

he lets you get to the bed before he tackles you, those long legs tangling with yours, his hips pressing you down into the give of the pillowy mattress.

hysterical laughter screams and dies in your throat, paving way for little breathy whines and huffs when he pins your hands up above your head. “oh, come on.”

“i plan to,” he muses, sizing you up, “just where is the question.” he pretends to look at your for a minute and really think about it, eyes taking in everywhere from your painted toes to your pretty puffed cheeks. “hmm, what do you think honey? maybe your tits? or perhaps the soft little tummy she tries to hide from me—oh no, don’t you pout…you want me to bruise your ass or cum on it?”

“julian,” you admonish, eyes unable to keep his own as such filthy words roll off his posh tongue.

“oh,” he murmurs, pitch dropping your heart into your stomach. “i think i have a better idea.”

you look back at him, and his grin has flipped on a sharp axis. his face is strangely calm, eyes wide and unblinking, matte black. you worry for a minute that you’ve fallen into some mirror world, some upside down alternate reality where your boyfriend has turned into a statue that will keep you pinned on this bed until your heart beats it’s finale and your body rots to bone.

when your friends and family used to balk about your overactive imagination, they were never really wrong. that’s why you can’t trust yourself when you get too afraid of julian, when you start thinking he’s not so nice—because he is, and he’s never done anything to prove you wrong. jesus, the poor guy just can’t catch a break around you.

julian begins operating again, like someone slipped a coin into his slot, face starting in a slow upturn that hastens your heartbeat. he tilts his head at you, and it would look adorable in another circumstance.

no, you’re being ridiculous. julian is your boyfriend, probably the love of your life, if you’re being honest. he’s perfect. a man that could have been a famous actor, with women throwing themselves at his feet, and playgirl magazine begging him for a front cover spread. instead, he chose to help people, get his hands dirty and become one of the best doctors on long island’s golden coast. so what, he likes kinky shit. we all have our vices.

“we should play a game,” he suggests. you feel him shaking on top of you, and quickly realize it’s because he’s excited, adrenalized, giddy.

eager to please, you smile timidly. “oh yeah?”

“hide and seek,” he tells you, leaning down to lay a soft kiss on your top lip. “make our own little horror flick—x rated, of course.”

“who’s hiding and who’s seeking?” you ask.

he chuckles, and it ties your belly up in knots. your brain doesn’t know whether to be scared or turned on, so it settles for a torturous mixture of both. “noes goes.”

he keeps both your wrists pinned above your head with one of his hands while he touches his index finger to his own perfect nose. “looks like you’re hiding.”

“jerk!” you laugh, squirming under him. “and what do I get if I win, huh?”

“when i win,” he teases, running his pointer across the goose flesh on your collar. “i get to do what i want to you, whatever i want.”

“and if i win?” you ask.

his smile widens just a little too much at that silly notion. “same deal.”

getting to tie him up and pay him back for some of the wicked things he’s done to you doesn’t sound too bad, and you did excel at this game as a kid…

“deal,” you say.

tbc…

this is all thanks to @johnwickb1tsch and @sweetwolfcupcake for being diabolical gremlins. please, anyone feel free to continue… 😈

[lucky-clover-gazette]

Obligatory Volo romantic/🥰 hc?

well if you INSIST (assuming the romance is with the player character here. also keeping these pretty positive and healthy, even though obviously there are plenty of uhhhh messier hcs to be made for this character specifically. i think tumblr will auto-shorten this post but please let me know if it doesn't and i'll add a cut)

in general, any iteration of volo wishes to demonstrate his devotion and usefulness to his partner through action. while he imagines a lot of grand gestures, it usually ends up being pretty mundane in practice. like getting things off tall shelves and tidying up a living space (he's a total neat freak). the exception is volo in a canon divergence where he actually becomes a god, in which case every gesture would be a grand gesture, and it probably gets out of hand

it's extremely important to him that togepi/togetic/togekiss loves his partner. he is genuinely so concerned about this, and fears what would happen if she didn't, despite togepi/tic/kiss being the literal embodiment of joy and love. this insecurity almost certainly stems from the fact that he still can't believe that togepi/tic/kiss loves him

he has read a lot of books and he loves to hear himself talk. also, he's been method acting for like five straight years and makes a living selling people things. the man has a way with words, take that as you will

he's a strict vegetarian (also doesn't eat eggs) for ethical reasons and knows how to cook extremely well to fit his dietary needs. one might expect him to be an "i'll eat a chicken because a chicken would eat me" kind of guy, but because humans have higher intelligence and the capacity for morality, volo holds them to higher standards than animals. therefore, it wouldn't be wrong for a chicken to eat him, but it would be wrong for him to eat a chicken. anyway this is a romantic headcanon because he really really loves to share his cooking, especially if it's a traditional recipe he found while researching history

he has a naturally pleasant singing voice and near-perfect pitch. the volo i write grew up on the mainland and came to hisui as a young adult, so i like to think that he grew up playing the piano and is very skilled, although out of practice. he occasionally hums or sings in front of his partner and it's very nice to hear

he knows how to sew and offers to help the player character make some modern clothing garments they miss from the future. also makes some clothing for them based on his own ideas, because he thinks they would look nice dressed up to his tastes :)

doesn't half-ass anything, especially not in terms of relationships. if he says it's casual, it's because his partner asked to keep it casual and he wants to respect their boundaries and honor their wishes, which is within itself something he does with intention and care

he is simultaneously very aware of the fact that he's beautiful in situations where it benefits him, and completely blindsided by his partner's unprompted acknowledgements of his beauty

loves going on hours-long walks with his partner and sharing/listening to enthusiastic diatribes about niche interests. bonus if the interest is totally unfamiliar to the other person. basically, ancient sinnoh video essays

he likes having regularly-occuring shared activities to look forward to. like, weekly game nights with his partner or taking their pokemon to battle at the training grounds as a team when they know some highly-skilled opponents are going to be there

likewise, he just really likes battling as a team. like if he and his partner run into the bandits in the wild, it's a genuine pleasure, because it means he gets to wield train his pokemon alongside someone on his level (also he likes being the hero sometimes, especially if he's upstaging arceus's chosen hero)

volo loves pda for several reasons: he's touch-starved, he's possessive, and he's a performer at heart

some fourth wall breakage, as a treat: he'd absolutely read romantic fanfiction about himself and leave multi-paragraph comments making corrections and highlighting lines he particularly appreciated

[differenteagletragedy]

HI i have a domestic brainrot lately and I wanted to see your take on how the olba boys (individually) would be living with mc? either romantic or platonic is ok!

take a flower 🫴🌸

I thiiiink I've done something like this before so apologies if there are any repeats! But yes, domestic boys!!!

-- Cove is not a cleaner, not because he wants to be a messy guy, but he just doesn't think about it. Maybe just talk about a routine, a division of household responsibilities, that sort of thing and he'll be all over it.

-- Like I'm not saying to make a chore chart for him where he gets gold stars for doing his chores and after so many gold stars he can get treats like a pretzel down on the shopping street or a trip to the aquarium (that one is gonna be a lot of stars) but whatever works!

-- I def know I've said this multiple times, but Derek is Mr. Fix-It. If he doesn't know how to fix something (rare), he will figure it out and then he will know forever.

-- This is so serious, like if you end up buying a house and you mention that it might be nice to have like a sunroom or a playroom built onto the back of the house for kids or whatever, the guy is going to learn how to build a whole entire room. Putting up walls, putting down floors, other ... room stuff. It'll be a big project, obviously, but he'll get it done.

-- Imagine going outside and seeing him up on a ladder, banging a hammer against something all sweaty and concentrating hard. Or like imagine respectfully.

-- Derek is also a big time holiday guy. Tons of Christmas lights, the house is all decorated for Halloween and he's got on a costume and a wide variety of candy and treats to hand out to the kids. Your house is THE house to hit up on Halloween.

-- If you have kids and do an Easter egg hunt, Derek is going to be the king of this. Cove is gonna come over and hunt too and he's gonna be mad when he can't find them all.

-- Anyway.

-- Speaking of decorating for holidays, have you guys ever seen those little goose statues that people put outside and dress up for different occasions? Here, let me link it in case you think I'm crazy, this is a thing. You can get silly little outfits for every little holiday you can think of. You and Baxter saw one once and he joked about it, then you got one as a joke, then you got it outfits as a joke, and now no one knows if it's a joke anymore but you HAVE to make sure the goose has an appropriate outfit on.

-- Baxter also has some expensive candles. So expensive that you're kind of taken aback (they are all just wax, where does they money go), but the place DOES always smell really nice. He has seasonal ones he rotates, then some general favorites that work anytime.

-- If you try to light one of the pumpkin-y candles after December starts, he will treat you like you are actually insane.

-- Dance parties with Cove! We always talk about dancing with Baxter, but sometimes you and Cove just have a good time, putting on those songs that were popular when you were kids and being silly. This is really very cute.

-- Cove can't cook, but he goes through a phase where he tries real hard! Please be nice, but if you cannot safely eat something, then you don't have to (this is going to happen at least once or twice).

Cove: *gestures to chicken breast that is clearly pink in the middle* It's like when you go to a restaurant and order a steak rare!

You: No baby it really is not.

-- Derek is a grill guy. He has a "Kiss the Cook" apron and no one ever knows if he's wearing it ironically or not. Please kiss him anyway.

-- What if whenever you and Derek finally move in together, he goes through a stage where he doesn't really want to leave for long stretches of time because he's just so so happy to finally be living how he wants, to have told you how he felts after YEARS and to have you reciprocate those feelings? He would probably get too much energy, he's used to wearing himself out everyday, so he'd be running around the house like a puppy, just all excited.

-- That's not really anything, it's just cute, sue me if you want.

-- Living with Baxter is going to make you surprised that he survived for years on his own, that's how bad he is with mornings. Sleepy Baxter is a menace to himself and everything around him. What if you move into a house and he tells you he's going outside one morning to get the paper, and it's taking too long so you peek outside and he's just like standing out there in his pajamas, vaguely confused but also just not totally there. You're going to have to pull him back inside, it's not safe out there.

-- Derek and Baxter are both very clean, we already know that. They might like a chore chart too though, everybody likes treats!

-- Cove is going to be bringing home little presents regularly, you'll have like a little shelf just with trinkets he's found that made him think of you. Think little sea creature keychain from Step 1, like just so many little items that represent special things to you.

-- Derek is going to take care of you like you've never been taken care of in your life. Also wowee, the cuddles! Derek is a grade A cuddler, super warm and cozy.

-- It might take Baxter a little bit to get truly comfortable with living together, he's going to be scared you're going to leave or change your mind, like you'll realize that he's a mess (like you didn't already know and made it clear that you love him anyway) and be done with him. He'll get there though, please be patient!

-- And if he has to work late, please change the goose's clothes, he doesn't want the neighbors to see it in a pilgrim costume the day after Thanksgiving, how embarrassing.

[roomsofangel]

GROWING PAINS . . . # CHAPTER EIGHT !

synopsis you hated christmas. simple. this year was no different, the only thing changing was the scenery when you decide to let your older brother, yunho convince you to visit your grandmother who neither of you had met but hoped it would do some good. everything was still the same — writer’s block, the winter loneliness, the way yunho won’t stop singing jingle bell rock, yeah, everything was the same. at least, until a certain blonde haired boy made it his mission to melt your iced heart.

warnings mentions of vomit due to recalling a past experience (mingi being mingi)

wc 1.3k

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated! ^_^

chapter is separated into two! next will hopefully be out sometime this week

you were nervous — so god damn nervous. you walked into the living room, watching as yunho was setting up most of the snack bowls due to fact mingi always ate more than he could genuinely stomach but it always was just part of your nights all together. yunho glances up and smiles at you when he noticed your presence, “hey bub.” he greeted, shifting his focus back to making sure everything was altogether.

“heeyy..” you mumbled, getting out some of the games you all usually play and setting them on the coffee table

yunho let out a huff of air before settling down, collapsing himself onto the couch and throwing his head back onto the soft cushions, “they should be here soon.” he voiced, hand on his forehead and eyes closed. “did loverboy say he’s coming?”

and you couldn’t help but blush, “yah—! don’t call him that!” your voice quieting at the end into a mutter, glancing down as he laughed, mumbling a ‘he totally is’ under his breath with a fit of his own giggles

“not funny.” you huffed, trying not to grin at your older brother’s teasing

“go nuts, eat your weight in pretzels and chips again.” yunho told mingi who was getting comfortable onto the couch after the three of you ate some chicken that was brought when they arrived, criss crossing his legs while yeosang stood next to you near the kitchen, still getting a good enough view of the two tall guys who seemed to be bickering and acting as per usual, unable to stop your little teasing comment of “and nearly fall into a food coma”

mingi gasped and sulked, looking at you and pointing, “that was one time!” a pout on his lips before yunho snorted

yeosang leaned in to the side to whisper into your ear, “i’m so glad i didn’t witness that.” his voice slightly amused and lips curled up, while his gaze was still on mingi and yunho who were trying to decide on the movie you all started with first

“oh yeah— be glad.” you snorted quietly, “he ate more than he knew he could handle, threw up everywhere then fell asleep for nearly two days.” you explained, cringing slightly at the visuals of that night flashing in your head again and yeosang let out a low whistle, brows scrunched and then shook his head

mingi’s whine could be heard again, nearly falling over as he tried to lift himself up in defense, “it was not!” but yunho pulled him back onto the couch, “yes it was! i thought you died!” yunho exclaimed

“anyways..” you turned to look at yeosang who was amused at the sight of your brother and mingi before glancing to you through the corner of his eye, “do you want a drink?” you asked

he turned to face you, “oh please, i’ll just have a water.” he nodded his head and you smiled, hand on the wall as you were getting ready to get back into the kitchen to pour him a glass of water, “are you sure?” and he hums, “mhm.”

part of you felt like a school girl with her first crush, constantly checking the time and looking to see if there was any signs of san on his way yet or that he was near. you poured yeosang his water, iced and in one of the hello kitty cups you made yunho get when the two of you were out shopping, and then made your way back into the living area where they were all more situated. yeosang sitting across from a cuddled up yunho and mingi, in his own blanket that covered most of his lower half resting on the recliner.

“here you go,” you smiled and he thanked you, his eyes looking at the cup with a little grin and took it, having small sips of the water before you took a seat on the other recliner that was across, next to mingi’s side more specifically.

and of course you knew eventually the topic of san would come up, but you didn’t expect it to be as soon as you sat down, yunho’s grin was evident and he looked at you while munching on chips, “so when is your lover boy getting here?”

mingi’s eyes widened, head whipping towards you in surprise, “whaat! y/n has a loverboy?! how did i not know this?” he exclaimed, eyebrows raised

you groaned, ears red as you looked at yunho, “do not!”

“do too!”

yunho shifted his body, leaning back and offering more chips to mingi who happily took some as he continued on exposing you and your little crush that was developing, “its san from across the street.”

“oh shit! that guy? i’ve seen him around, he’s too pretty.” mingi coughed slightly from his mouthful of chips and yeosang muttering a ‘close your mouth’ as if instinct which you weren’t surprised — anyone that knew mingi had one or developed one

and you couldn’t help but smile, not even realizing you were looking down with that little lovestruck look, mumbling a soft “yeah he is pretty..” to yourself

and as if on cue, the doorbell rang and the sound of mingi’s loud screech made you jump up. “mingi!” yeosang scolded, trying not to laugh while he watched you get up to answer the door, yunho lost in his own belly laughs

you mentally begged to anything that was out there that your older brother and his best friend wouldn’t embarrass you too much but that was too much to ask for, you hurried to the door and attempted to straighten out your clothes and make yourself look more presentable before letting out a breath.

when you opened the door, you felt that same breath dissipate. san, oh san. he didn’t have his glasses this time which bummed you out, he looked so pretty with those. but his hair was less messy, you could see he fixed it up and he wore just a regular black tee shirt and black jeans, something casual but he made it look like something that could be on a runway. how was that humanly possible? to make something so mundane look expensive and extraordinary?

“san!” you wanted to slap yourself, you said it too quick and excitedly for your liking but that all went away at the sight of his dimples and slight chuckle,” hey y/n” he greeted with a slight bow, glancing down at the floor, “i hope i’m not too late.”

you waved your hand, as if dismissing his worries, “no no, definitely not!” you reassured, the sounds of yeosang telling mingi to stop being nosy and wait being heard in the background making you press your lips together and hope things would work in your favor, “you’re just on time.”

“is that san?” you could hear mingi

“it definitely is.” yunho’s voice was quieter

“hi san!” mingi’s voice erupted which made san chuckle, looking at you with a little grin while you only have him an apologetic one, “mingi shut up!” yeosang scolded through a snort of his own laugh

“yeaahh.. i’m sorry about him.” you tried to apologize on your friend’s behalf but san shook his head, laughing a bit more at how you reacted

“it’s okay, i have an wooyoung.” he smiled before walking inside fully, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself — you assumed wooyoung was someone like mingi, but you also couldn’t recall ever seeing this wooyoung person. did they not live around here? have they been friends long? you often wondered who san was, what made san… san.

as you walked with san into the living room, all eyes were on you two. mingi’s loud greeting with a mouthful of popcorn, waving while yeosang pinched the bridge of his nose and muttering a ‘what have i done to deserve this’

“i’m sure you remember my brother, yunho.” you said to san, whispering a little in his ear when you leaned in a bit and he nods with a kind smile, “and thats mingi, the dumber in the dumb and dumber.” you pointed to the gasping guy who had his hand on his chest, “and then yeosang.” you smiled, motioning to the brunette who waved slightly. but you didn’t miss the glare he and san shared for a glimpse second

but maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you.

previous | masterlist | next

taglist (open) @myonlyloveseungmin @itsvxlentine @rockstarsanie @brown88 @barbielibra @vixensss @satsuri3su @yessa-vie @yoichiislovie

[wraithprint]

Housewarming ;

✖ a twisted metal fic

⊱rating: explicit ; minors dni ⊱summary: you handle a knife like the world ended before your parents taught you how to cook and Sweet Tooth loves like the world ending finally gave him the chance to. ⊱pairing: sweet tooth x gn!reader ; primarily sweet tooth pov ⊱wc: 4.3k. help ⊱contains: no beta, no use of y/n, established relationship, age gap - Sweet Tooth is in his late 30s/early 40s and you are a 20something apocalypse baby, no gendered pet names, descriptions of blood + murder, brief mention of child abuse, fluff, yearning, ruminations on codependence, smut, piv sex, creampie but i don't focus on it, kitchen sex, dom needles if you squint, gloves stay on mask stays on, a whiff of yandere if you squint, narrative and tonal delineations between sweet tooth / needles kane / marcus kane, extremely specific early 2000s reference, general inability to write a short and punchy sex scene, sweet tooth can't fuck without being a little annoying about it ⊱a/n: this was supposed to be short. this was supposed to be a bullet list. help. i also dug up my CD + CD player just to relive my cereal box kid's choice awards CD memories. that synth opening on Sometimes is so bad.

Sweet Tooth kind of hates houses.

Not in a gestalt sense — he'll spend all day watching reruns of HGTV if given the chance; he's developed more opinions on farmhouse decor than what should be healthy. No, houses just happen to be the vessel in which household dynamics were inflicted upon him. He feels the same about dollhouses, too: It's less about the house and more about it being the stage upon which Mommy Doll screams at him for not making enough in residuals to afford another trip to the Bahamas this year, and where Not My Daddy Doll ruins the plaster every time he gets upset.

But there's something about this house.

Maybe it's the lack of an open concept floor plan. Maybe it's the adrenaline from killing the couple who lived here, still warm in the foyer in their matching tennis outfits. It could be the polished marble floor, which is complimented so well by all that blood right now, or it could be because it's a mansion. Those high ceilings and vacuous rooms feel spacious enough to house his baggage without it piling up against the walls.

Or, he thinks, at the sound of you shrieking in delight from the kitchen, it could be you.

He's cleaning his machete on the wife's tennis dress when he hears you from the room over.

"They've got fucking chicken in here!" Your voice is half-muffled from inside the fridge; back end jutting out from behind its open door.

"The chicken is doing what now?" Sweet Tooth calls back to you.

There's a thunk, then the distinct sound of produce hitting the floor and rolling. You're glowering at him when he rounds the corner. The hair on the back of your head is disheveled; several potatoes roll aimlessly along the glossy tile. He doesn't have to say it. You already know he knows.

"The chicken," you enunciate laboriously, "is about to get chef'ed by yours truly."

"You cook?" he asks, mildly incredulous. "I got the impression you just ate whatever fit in your mouth." And, according to recent sordid memory, some things that don't quite fit—but you're creative. You find a way.

"Well, that's because I haven't had anything worth cooking." You intone as you rummage through the crisper.

"You mean aside from that possum you made last week."

This time, you dip lower before you snap your head out of the fridge and pivot on a heel towards the counter with purpose. He doesn't mind that you're stubbornly avoiding his gaze—he's busy moving behind you to shut the fridge, watching the line of your hips as he does it.

"Aside from that possum I killed and you insisted I try to cook with aerosol and a lighter."

It came out charred on one side and nearly raw on the other. Absolutely abysmal eating. Also sixty percent his fault.

"You listened to me. That's on you, sweetheart."

You shoot him a bird, he shoots one back, and the two of you descend into banter about everything from the tiles to the backsplash to the enormity of the kitchen itself and what all it could be used for (murder, cooking, fucking - in that order). You've got some crushed garlic and pat of butter (real butter!) going on a bougie ceramic skillet and the air sings with the scent of aromatics.

"Hey, Needles?" You call a bit louder than necessary, as if he could ever stop paying attention to you. "Put something on, would you, please?" He follows the nod of your head to a swanky-looking CD player sitting on the counter a safe distance away from the sink. There's a CD rack beside it, the rotating kind, like a seasoning rack for disc jockeys.

"What're you in the mood for?" Asks Sweet Tooth. In two strides he's there and thumbing through the collection. Rock and grunge, mostly. Nirvana, Foo Fighters, The Cranberries. Soundgarden—he'll save that for you—and...Weezer, for some reason. It's completely possible that the previous homeowners put all of their taste points into music rather than interior design. Too late to ask them now, he supposes.

You make a noise just north of indecisive before saying, "You pick. Surprise me."

He gives it another spin, ignoring the ones that feel too easy, rolling his eyes at some others (Loggins and Messina? Really?) until he settles on one that stands out. It's in a ragged paper sleeve. There's a faded General Mills logo on it, and by the look of it, it must've come from a cereal box. The disc itself is glossy, embossed with a clean pattern of rings that feel pleasant to run a thumb over. He entertains himself with the aesthetics of it for a few seconds before reading off the disc to you.

"How about...The Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards 2003 Volume 2?"

You say nothing for a long moment. Sweet Tooth keeps reading the CD face.

"Featuring music by Britney Spears, Nikki Cleary, Backstreet Boys..."

"...NYSYNC and other hot artists?" You say automatically.

"And other hot artists indeed." Sweet Tooth taps the lid of the CD player and it eases open. You watch him so intently he can't actually tell if you want him to play the CD or snap it in two.

"I ate so. Much. Cereal. To get all four of those CDs."

Sweet Tooth loads the disc and presses play: swears he sees your pupils dilate at the sound of the disc whirring into place. After a few seconds of cheesy synth, the beat kicks in and Britney Spears drifts through the speakers, singing about Sometimes.

"Holy shit." Your garlic is starting to burn, but you can't bring yourself to care about that right now. "This is it! This is the one. I got this on the morning of a spelling test and listened to it all the way to school. It was in a box of Cookie Crisp," You start nodding your head to the music, mouthing words you half-remember, swaying to the back beat. Sweet Tooth falls into rhythm with you, albeit with far more gyrating than necessary for a Kid's Choice Award-winning song.

"Cookie Crisp," Sweet Tooth echoes fondly, voice rumbling through his mask. "A cereal after my own heart. Did you P-A-S-S the T-E-S-T?"

"Dunno." You shrug. "School blew up right before I handed it in."

The rhythm leaves your bodies, then.

He tries to imagine you school-aged; tiny and swallowed up by a uniform that runs too big in some places and too small in others. Hair flying wild after recess, dried spaghetti sauce on your cheek after lunch. Your little hands gripped tight around a pencil, trying to remember your i's before e's except after c's. Did you have a favorite subject? A favorite teacher? A favorite animal you secretly wanted people to ask about?

When the bombs started dropping, where did you hide?

Before you, Sweet Tooth never questioned what it was like to have been born at a different time. Time lined up well for him: old enough to have learned everything he needed before society collapsed, young enough to still enjoy it all when the doors to Blackfield flew open. He'd already seen his 21st birthday in the asylum by the time you learned your times tables. But moments like these get him thinking about if.

If he was born a little later.

If he had a different family.

If he had grown up in your neighborhood .

If he had gone to the same school as you.

Do you think we would have been friends?

Instead he says, "Hey, chef. Your garlic's burning."

And when you say, "Good. That one's yours."

He wonders if this is what a house is supposed to feel like: full of light, music, and the smell of vaguely burnt garlic.

Sweet Tooth has never known what domestic feels like, but he's seen movies. Read books. This—you, gushing about eating something that doesn't come from a can, mocking the leathery tans on the bodies by the door—it's gotta come close. It has to.

Sweet Tooth crosses the kitchen and moves the skillet for you, and it's on his return trip that he sees how utterly wrong you're holding the kitchen knife.

Almost the wrongest he's ever seen it. Cutting way too close to your knuckles, chopping a hapless carrot like you're trying to sever a limb and he's wincing each time the blade comes down like a guillotine. You handle a knife like the world ended before you had to cook for yourself, and it shows. A sense of duty settles itchy between his rubs and Sweet Tooth slots behind you, thick arms framing you as he settles his gloved hands over yours.

"Your knife etiquette is atrocious." He corrects your grip, shows you how to form a claw to protect your fingertips while you hold an onion. "Who taught you how to chop?"

You lean into him, slack and trusting as he guides your hands and Sweet Tooth has to remind himself how to hold a knife. How to cut. How to breathe. He curls himself around your shape and you let him, the both of you twisting into a single being and he likes the idea of that. The two of you, joined, forever. He could chop carrots for the rest of his life with you and he doesn't think he'd mind. Not if he got to be like this.

The question turns over in your head and finally, you answer.

"No one," You say blandly. Like you're discussing gas prices. "I lost my folks in the collapse. I think...the first time I put thought into holding a knife was when I was about to kill someone with it."

A beat.

He sees that same school uniform, sticky and ruined with blood. You probably still had baby teeth. If he had known you then...

Would you have trusted him?

He can't say he knows.

Instead, he holds onto what he does know: how your weight settles in his arms. The smell of your skin, the lye from the bar soap you use, so old that any real scent it had has faded by now. That scar at the base of your neck you got from a fishing accident, and the knowledge that if he kisses it right now, your breath would hitch in that secret, shuddering way he loves. He knows he would die for you.

And he longs to ask:

Do you know?

What he says is,

"I'm showing you, then. It's like this: a rocking motion. Tip to hilt. If you hold what you're cutting like this," he slides his hand under your palm, curls his fingers up into it for yours to rest against. "You won't lose your fingertips. Keep your fingers pinched at the base of the blade and you'll have more control."

You hum, considering this.

"It almost feels like an extension of me." You say more to yourself than the man attached to you. Your weight leans in the direction you're cutting, bringing Sweet Tooth with you like a shadow. He watches you work that thought down to the bone along with the remaining onions and potatoes on the cutting board.

Something about clicking the skillet back on after you add the vegetables puts two and two together for you, like remembering something once you get to the bottom of the stairs.

"Is this what it's like with your machete?"

Sweet Tooth makes a low, thoughtful sound. It reverberates through your bones, settles into the marrow and he doesn't miss it when your pulse stutters into a sprint at the sensation.

"Most good things should feel like an extension of you, I think." His voice is bright, smile wide behind his mask. "Some things feel that way because they're made well. Other things, it's like you grow into it. You take the time to understand it, nurture that bond, and you become..." He stops, then, brain wholly preoccupied by you taking a slice of carrot from the board and bringing it to your lips, taking his hand with it. Something hot braids slick in his in gut. The heat of your breath bleeds through the skin of his gloves and he can't. He can't say it.

Intertwined.

"Want one?" You've already got a slice of carrot up to his chin. He separates from you just long enough to expose his mouth, and in a moment he's eaten it.

In another, his mouth is on you.

His lips find your neck, settles on the sensitive skin of your throat. Feels it contract when you gasp. Gloved hands retreat from yours, take up residence under the hem of your tank top, travel the expanse of soft skin around your navel, the base of your ribs. The ribbed knit of your top sticks a bit when he peels it up, soaked through with arterial spray from earlier that's dried and set into the cotton by now. It leaves a scaly, sticky texture under your bust, and before you can protest the behavior Sweet Tooth's tongue is laving it from your skin in hot, wet stripes.

"Right now, Needles?" You try to keep your tone even, you really do. But he's licking what you know is someone else's blood off of you and the blood in your head is rushing to needier places at the moment. "With food on the stove?"

He ignores you, of course. You pry yourself from him, force yourself to drop the stove to min once again and all the while he's muttering little apologies as he follows you:

"'m sorry. couldn't help it. didn't mean to."

He's not apologetic for very long.

There's no shame in the way he positions you against the sink, bent slightly at the hip, elbows bowed to brace yourself between the counter and the weight of him behind you. That weight lessens a moment, just long enough for the sound of zipper teeth to catch the air. Your nostrils flare at the sound, and Sweet Tooth can't help but admire the way your hips cant back for him on reflex. Your tank top and sports bra are in a bundle at your armpits, your pants are still fully on, but nonetheless you react. Smooth leather slides over the swell of your hips. One hand settles where you've pivoted for him to hold you in place, and the other moves forward to unfasten your jeans. He only opens it enough to fit that hand in, to press the seams of his gloved fingers against your cunt through the fabric of your underwear and like many other things he knows this before touching you: you're already wet.

Sweet Tooth eases your pants off of you. Your underwear comes with it, and he lifts you up with that other hand just enough for you to kick the heap of fabric off your ankles. He lets you reposition yourself on the lip of the sink for all of three seconds before he removes the space between you. That first finger slides in, all the way to the knuckle and in a moment you're folded against the counter. The beveled edge of the granite is cold against your skin, bites into your hips and promises to bruise from the pressure but you don't care.

It's the first stretch you like the most - the sweet tension before your body goes slack and he starts finger-fucking you open in earnest, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto the backs of your shoulders and your neck, dragging his teeth against you until raised marks form. With your weight settled properly against the counter now, that other hand finds your clit. He pinches it just to make you clench around him before he sets a steady pace of rolling it under the pad of his middle finger.

"W-E-T," Sweet Tooth spells. His voice is rough, but you can still hear the chuckle in his throat when he asks, "What's that spell?" And he adds that second finger, curls them both inside you in a way that makes you hiss with pleasure.

"It spells—ah!—fuck you," you snipe back, but it's toothless. Stars swim in your vision. Your lower half tingles and all you can think about is the heat of his cock rubbing against the inside of your thigh each time he ruts against you.

"W-R-O-N-G. Might have to spell 'detention' next, sweetheart." There's just a drop of venom in his voice, the part of him that gets off on having power over you. It's this part of him that dips his head into the crook between your neck and shoulder and bites down hard. Hard enough to pull a strangled cry from you, half-surprised, half-pleasured, wholly addled by lust. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave two parallel rows of bruises blossoming under the skin.

Needles catches the white of your eyes flash up at him in the reflection of the glass. You're clever, keen enough to sense that shift in his tone even three fingers deep and he'd reward you for it. If you earned it. His hand leaves your clit to palm himself finally, allowing you just a moment to focus on him. "Next one's a twofer, honey, so pay attention."

You try. It's hard, with his fingers scissoring slow, deliberate strokes inside of you, but you bite down on your lip and you try.

"C-A-V-I-T-Y. What's that spell, hmm?" There's an edge to Needles' tone, like he's testing a blade against his thumb to see how much pressure it takes to pierce. A fresh wave of ache, raw and new from his teeth on your neck, pulls you away from the edge of an orgasm just enough to form a response.

"Cavity," you breathe, and your voice warbles from the effort. You can barely see the whites of his eyes under his mask in the window, pupils blown and locked on you. There's a tacky sound - skin on skin - and without seeing you know it's him squeezing himself faster. Needles shudders against you, some low, animal noise coming from him that makes your blood feel superheated in your veins.

"Clever." And it doesn't quite feel like a compliment when Needles says it so much as it feels like the other shoe preparing to drop. "And what do we do with cavities?" He sounds twice as pointed, voice a ragged thing in his throat and you want to stay cogent, you really do -

but you really need to come.

It's too much. You know the answer but your brain strains to grasp the word and bring it to your lips.

We fill them.

You can't say it. Tears prick your eyes, the apple of your throat bobbing on a wordless cry and that tell-tale tension starts to seize you, just before the dam breaks, just before -

Needles takes his fingers out.

You're almost mad at him for it.

"What do we do?" He enunciates, unimpressed, or...impatient?

Was he...waiting for you to finish his setup? It seems he is, because he lets you get a few breaths in you without punishment before tapping the leaking tip of his cock against your cunt as if begging the question.

"Fill them," You finally gasp. "We—"

Marcus Kane sinks into you.

It's like this: tip to hilt, a rocking motion, like you're an extension of him. All good things feel like an extension of the body, and from this angle he's not sure where you end and where he begins. He likes you like this, wet and trembling and split open on his cock, all the air in your body dedicated to him.

He doesn't let you move at first; he just holds you there, lets you feel the steady and relentless pressure of him spreading you on the length of his dick until he bottoms out so deep inside you that for a moment you can't stop clenching around him, some nerve hit and held down inside you. There's some confusion on what to call him. Sweet Tooth, Needles, Baby, please, rightthere, fuck - he'll answer to any and all of those, but he leaves you hanging on his length until you say his name.

"Marcus—" you finally sob. You're unbearably full. Each time he twitches inside of you, you clench around him like a sympathetic response, your body attuned to him on some synaptic level. "Please."

It's all you have to say.

Marcus breathes your name like it's precious in his lungs, and then he moves. His hips stutter forward, just that much deeper inside of you after having spent so long around him and it hits that spot in you, soft and vulnerable and you finally come undone. It starts with a litany of gasps, your core squeezing and spasming until your whole body feels like a clenched fist. He fucks you through it , relishes the staccato of your voice on the pace of his thrusts until that last moan climbs up and out of you with such volume it echoes off the tiles. He brings his hand down to your clit, circling it with each squeeze you give him, thrusting shallow and persistent against that spot until your legs dangle nerveless over the lip of the sink, until your orgasm rides the road of your body and all that's left is the two of you, intertwined.

You're dripping when he starts moving again.

He's vaguely aware of the CD starting over when he starts pumping in and out of you, filling and hollowing, shaping you to fit the bend and weight of his cock. This is how it's supposed to be—he belongs here. Inside you, with your head turned to kiss him so he can swallow each moan that spills out of you, with your legs hanging slack and open, swinging to the rhythm he fucks into you. Your chest heaves with effort, eyes glassy, already fucked out and touch-wrecked but you still lean into him, seeking his touch like a lizard to a hot stone. He could kill you right now and you'd let him. You could kill him right now and he'd let you, so long as he dies like this. So long as the last thing he feels is you.

Wet, vulgar sounds echo off the counters and the walls, and Marcus absently wonders if the neighbors can hear you. Can hear him, grunting so deep in his chest that his teeth feel like they're rattling. They could show up and moment looking for their tennis partners and neither of you can bring yourselves to care. It's a conscious effort to look at you, to hold you in his mind's eye what for the way his eyes keep rolling back in his head each time your walls press around him. You're both sticky from sweat, your thighs a mess of your own release and his precome steady forming a rope from the join of you to the floor. It's when you start babbling again that Marcus picks up his pace, feeling his own release creeping up in kind.

"Fuck! I'm gonna—" You swallow suddenly, hearing yourself for the first time in several minutes, voice foreign in your throat. "Gonna come." You're secretly glad he doesn't ask you to spell it.

"You're doing so good for me, baby." His voice thrums against the shell of your ear, calm, quiet, breathy. Like he's somewhere else, somewhere only the two of you can go, and only like this. "Almost there, just...hold on."

You hum, or as close an approximation you can get with a raw throat.

"So well."

Marcus makes a low questioning noise, slows just enough for you to say,

"Doing so well."

You can only moan, then, when he shifts his angle and drives into you from a new angle, driving the breath from you, but you hear him chuckle. It's a quick, biting thing, like he didn't mean to let it out but you hear it and Marcus fucks this new pattern into you it's what you focus on when your second, screaming orgasm shoots through you from gut to the space between your eyes and everywhere in between. Marcus comes just after with a desperate groan of his own, hips pumping sans rhythm until he unloads all he has inside you. He thrusts a bit more for good measure, slave to the feel of you tightening obediently around him — or bound by the need to make you utterly his. He can't tell anymore, and he can't care. His only cogent thought is how lovely you look folded over the sink like this, dripping in sweat, chest rising and falling in gasping, labored breaths. You're looking up at him in the reflection, ignorant of the world on the other side of that glass.

The sunlight filters through leaves now, the day landing on your skin from a different angle. Marcus resolves to kiss each dappled spot of sunlight from your skin and he's well on his way to do it until you start squirming desperately. Wordlessly, he lets you down, holds your hips to support your ambitious efforts to stand after such a thorough fucking and it's you who speaks first, after everything.

"The chicken..." Is all you can say. "I forgot the fucking chicken."

And the bubble pops, the music drones back in. Your afterglow is interrupted by the sight of your poor veggies sitting wilted and dried-out on the skillet, not quite burnt, but not exactly Michelin dining, either. Browned patches of butter cling to various spots on the skillet, a few degrees away from scorching. The chicken lies neglected and uncut where you'd left it, never even a contender in the morning's itinerary.

Sweet Tooth laughs. "We got the 'fucking' part down, at least!"

You turn to him, a pout set deep into the lines of your face, and that's all it takes for Sweet Tooth to get roped into cooking while you shower, raid the pantry, and spend the afternoon resting your aching legs on the chaise with Harold. Sweet Tooth doesn't mind. You've got this way of making anywhere feel like home, and even if the two of you won't be sticking around here, he might be convinced to spend a few days. At least until the fridge gets emptied...and definitely after you try out the beds.

And the shower.

And the couches.

There's something he's been meaning to ask you, now that you're stretched out catlike in the other room. He shouts for you, the shape of your name upturned in a question.

"Yeah?" You call back, voice wrecked, but he can hear the smile on your lips.

"What's your favorite animal?"

[chiharuuu22]

About Whumpee's Meal

Here's a look at what Whumpee ate and felt over time.

When Whumpee was with Whumper, Whumpee never got a decent meal. Maybe it's just leftover food being piled up, food that's starting to go stale, or even not being fed at all. To get water, Whumpee relies on seepage in the walls. If Whumpee got his share of food still in shape, Whumpee would consider it a lucky day. Whumper will force Whumpee to eat roughly or make Whumpee eat in a miserable position.

When Whumpee is rescued, Whumpee may be unconscious and in a critical-weak condition, Whumpee will eat high-calorie food in the form of pasta or liquid. However, Whumpee do not eat through the mouth; they have to use an NGT tube from the nose, which is directly connected to their stomach.

After Whumpee regains consciousness but is still in a condition that does not allow eating by mouth, Whumpee still gets food through an NGT tube, but the Caretaker will stimulate Whumpee's mouth with warm water, or milk, or maybe juice little by little (of course this is with the approval of the doctor who treats Whumpee).

When Whumpee can remove the feeding tube, Whumpee will start the first meal with a thin porridge, or soup, or broth. Of course, this food tastes bland. I mean, what do you expect a sick person in recovery to eat? However, the Caretaker can always make Whumpee eat spoon by spoon. At first, Whumpee was only able to eat a few bites or sips, but it often ended in vomiting, so the Caretaker had to feed Whumpee several times.

After a few days, Whumpee could eat a full bowl of his watery food without vomiting, although it still took longer than a normal meal. However, this is a sign that Whumpee's condition is improving.

The caretaker then introduced Whumpee to more solid foods. Porridge that is already denser, soup with a thick texture, or broth with thin and small pieces of chicken and carrots The taste of the food is better, even though it is still relatively bland, but Whumpee likes it. Whumpee has also started learning to eat on his own, although Whumpee is still messy because the hands are not strong enough to hold a spoon. You can imagine Whumpee's hands shaking or maybe it's because Whumpee's body is still weak. The Caretaker will end up feeding Whumpee slowly until the food runs out.

Several times in the middle of the night, when Whumpee wakes up from nightmares due to the trauma caused by Whumper, the Caretaker will give a glass of warm milk for Whumpee to calm down.

Whumpee is finally starting to be able to eat normal food, although the texture is still adapted to Whumpee's chewing ability. Whumpee started eating slightly soft rice with meat and vegetables in small pieces. Oh, of course, this time the food tastes much better than the previous meals. Whumpee can feed himself well, although sometimes Caretaker still feeds him on the pretext that they don't want Whumpee to push himself too much (and Whumpee feels that Caretaker is too much).

Then Whumpee recovered and was able to eat normally. Food like humans, with portions that suit their bodies. Maybe several times he will ask for extra food, which makes the caretaker happy because Whumpee has an appetite again.

Oh, you guys can't forget the fruit. Fruit is great for Whumpee to eat, especially during the recovery. At first, it was just fruit juice, then soft-textured fruit such as bananas that were scraped like pulp or fruit that was cut into small pieces, until finally, Whumpee could eat normal pieces like dice.

Caretakers also like to give snacks after Whumpee starts to eat solid food. Like homemade biscuits that crumble in Whumpee's mouth and even give some ice cream.

Caretaker often asks what Whumpee's favorite food is so Caretaker can cook it for him, and Whumpee's answer is always the same, namely that what Caretaker makes is his favorite.

After recovered, Whumpee will eat everything Caretaker puts on the plate without any leftovers. Because Whumpee knows how unpleasant it is when they can't eat anything. Whumpee really appreciates the food they eats.

You can also imagine that when Whumpee's body can support itself, the caretaker takes Whumpee to eat in the living room on a lazy sofa with a pile of pillows near the fireplace or in the garden so they can change the atmosphere. The goal is to give Whumpee an appetite and speed up recovery.

Ah, one thing too. The time when Caretaker slipped a small piece of chocolate into Whumpee's mouth when they felt their tongue was bitter (by the way, this is what my mommy often did when my brother and I were sick and we complained that our tongue was bitter :)). When Whumpee is finally healthy, they try to eat the same chocolate, but it doesn't taste as good as when they were sick.

[bee-saucee]

Hello, again~!

I've been doing all I can to not bombard you since last time, so now here I am. I love seeing men and people in general being able to show their ability to cook and nourish their loved ones through food. What does that look like for Shinso and Denki? Are they adventurous in their cooking? What kinds of dishes and foods are always in the fridge? Snacking? Who cooks the most? And when is a time that they would eat food outside the house? Anyhoo, hope you're doing well this first month of the year. And go bonkers sksk wherever your thought train takes you. ^-^

summary: ShinKami’s habits with eating, snacking, and cooking!

word count: 496

warnings: eating/food centered content

a/n: Hello again, friend! I’ll start with the important thing: This request is split up into three separate ones. I have a headcanons (this post), a short oneshot, and a longer oneshot. They have different vibes so I didn’t want anyone to not be able to read something or be put off because of one of these pieces. I’ll link the other posts at the end of this piece as well!

Anyway, I am so sorry I’m getting this back to you so late. I started my new semester at University when you sent this so I’ve been reeling trying to get back into the swing of things. That being said, I wanted to try and write something substantial for you to make up for the long wait. I’m also taking two writing courses the semester for fun so hopefully you see a bit of improvement here!

Hope you’re doing well. Thank you so so much for the request. I’d love to write something for you again.

I think that ShinKami has a lot of fun in the kitchen! When they met, they weren’t the savviest in the kitchen. They’re the type to know how to make maybe 3 dishes well but when they got together they decided to start on the journey of learning how to cook together! Cooking along with YouTube videos every night is a time that brings them together and they love cooking a homemade meal for date night

Even before learning how to cook for one another, Shinsou grew up on homemade soup when you’re sick so he always always makes Denki some chicken noodle soup when he’s sick and it never fails to make Denki cry a bit and get even snottier from the tears

Denki knows he’s not the best chef but he likes baking because the steps and measurements are a lot more clearly defined so he has an easier time with it. For just about every holiday, Denki will make some cookies for his loved ones. They come out lopsided and aren’t fully cooked a lot of the time but it's the thought that counts for these and he’s gotten better over the years.

From watching so much food content on YouTube to learn how to cook they have become hardcore sauce people

Shinsou is by far the more organized between the two of them so he keeps everything in the fridge in Pyrex tupperware they got as a housewarming gift from Aizawa. He also writes the date they made the food on masking tape he slaps on the tupperware because the thought of eating expired food makes his toes curl

They are busy pro heroes so while they like fresh food (especially Shinsou, see previous bullet point), they tend to keep rice ready to go for each night and they usually have pasta sometime during the week because they can never finish it (Denki swears you have to use the entire box of pasta each time. He’s working on scaling it back)

For snacks, I think that they always have peanut butter pretzels and apples in the house but they also love going to the store and trying out new snacks, especially those chips with with odd combos

They really do try to cook together but Shinsou will wind up picking up cooking by himself a bit more than Denki does because he tends to forget about things or tag along for hangouts last minute while Shinsou is a homebody

Shinkami also LOVES eating out! Of course for celebrations but they also love going out to a restaurant for date nights to slow down and get a chance to just talk. They’ll also stop at hole-in-the-wall type places near their work at the end of the day when they don’t have the energy to cook. They’re not super big takeout people because they hate the delivery fees but they will get it occasionally!

Lots of eating batter off the spoon when they bake

Check out the other posts based on this request: short oneshot | longer oneshot

or see my masterlist for more!

[jessysapphireblue]

How it all began Luffy x Oc

As always, Nickname is Je, which you can replace, a female magician. ROLL IT!

It was night on the Going Luffy-senpai of the Barto Club pirates. While the others held a party, with the crew of Bartolomeo, chicken head for Luffy, you were away from all the party, resting by the stern, which resembled Choppers head all to well.

Looking out, Dressrosa was out of view, and on the way to Zou. Closing your eyes, you let the sea breeze dance with your hair, a smile painting itself onto your lips.

"There you are. Come, the party is going on fully!", the voice of your captain broke you away, turning around as you saw him eating, the bone of his meat clean.

"Ah, I came here to have a rest from the party", you admitted. "Why? Is Chicken Head fawning over you?", he came to you, resting next to you. "Barto? No. He´s a fan, and quite amusing at that. Just what happened at Dressrosa-" "You were so amazing!", Luffy interrupted you, eyes sparkling.

"How did you even make this water giant?! You held Doflamingo in check! Usopp and Franky are praising you all the time!", he sparkled at you. "well, a lot of concentration and practice", you admitted. "You could´ve crashed Dressrosa! It was so cool! How you moved in the water, how you connected back once he cut you, it was so cool!"

You began to laugh. "Why, thank you", you bowed your head. "No wonder you have a higher bounty than Zoro now, plus you restored it how it once was! You´re incredible!", Luffy praised you endless, making you shy, rubbing your neck.

"Captain, you flatter me", you chuckled and Luffy looked at you. "Je, why do you sometimes call me captain? Say my name more" "It´s your position, plus, it shows that I trust you fully!", you admitted and pulled his strawhat more into his face. "You...trust me?" "Luffy, I trust you with my life! I know you´re reckless but I also know that you would never put any of us in danger. I trust you, now and forever"

You beamed at him, as he pressed his lips together, looking at you. "Luffy?" He simply took your hand and put it onto his chest, directly where his heart was. "Do you feel that?", he asked you. "Your heartbeat" "No...how weird it goes" "Weird? But-" "Yes! I was always so happy when you agreed to spend time with me before we seperated but now...whenever I see you, you make my day! Your laughter and smile is what I always want to see"

"Well, it´s not hard", you admitted, hand slipping from his chest to his cheek, stroking it with your thumb. "I don´t know why but when I hear your voice, I feel warm, happy and feel like I can even beat my Grandpa" "Uhh, when you do this, he will follow you over all oceans" "I know", Luffy groaned, making you laugh.

Your Captain only looked at you, your closed eyes, how you laughter escaped your lips, one finger wiping away a tear, while your other one rested on the wooden head of Chopper. His eyes soften, a gentle smile on his lips before his eyes fell on your lips. They looked so inviting to him, ready to dive in.

You finally stopped laughing, steading your breathing before you turned back to Luffy. His gentle eyes and soft smile towards you made you blush a little, neither of you talking. "Should we?", you asked, looking at him.

"Yes, come", he took your hand and you gave it to him. A little part on you were sad, since you thought about Luffy a lot and he was probably hungry right now.

What surprised you was that Luffy pushed you softly against the nearest wall, eyes locking with yours before he smashed his lips on yours.

Your eyes widen and you felt the blush on your cheeks before closing your eyes and cupping his cheeks. his arms wrapped themself closely around you, pulling you against his body before he pulled away.

"Wow! That felt amazing", he admitted with a big grin that almost reached his eyes. "Luffy, what?", you were still a little confused.

"Rayleigh told me I harbor more than just friendship for you and yes. When I see you, i want to hug you constantly. I want to know about you and your magic, I want you to hug me when you´re sleepy, when you need something. I know I´m not the best at anything but fighting but I promise, I want to be the best forever nakama!"

"Luffy" "Please, Je. You don´t know how many times I wanted to kiss you but I always forgot" "Oh, Lu. Yes" "Yes?!", he looked at you with wide, happy eyes, and you nodded. You swore he shined like a star at that moment.

"I have a question, though" "Yes! Anything", he looked at you. "What is a forever nakama?" "Hm? Like this. being close, kissing, cuddling" You snorted a little. "It´s called boyfriend, Lu. You´re my boyfriend, I´m your girlfriend. And I promise to be a good girlfriend" "...oh! I forgot the word"

Bursting out into laughter, Luffy joined in, noses brushing against each other before you kissed him.

Robin began to chuckle before dismissing her ear, smiling. "And? And?", Usopp asked her. "Not telling", she hummed, walking away. "What!? Robin come on! We have a bet running!!", the sniper yelled.

"A bet?", asked Trafalgar "Yes. If Luffy will ever confess his feelings to Jessy. He´s down hard", admitted Zoro. "I doubt it", said Trafalgar. "wanna bet?", smirked Zoro. "Why not"

Trafalgar Law lost a bunch of Berry once they arrived in Zou

[indigo-o]

Hi!

Can I request a fic for Poe, where reader (gn or fem) reads one of his novels and gives it back to him. And they made a bunch of drawings of the characters and some of the scenes from the book and gave those to him as well, becouse they like to draw and just wanted to make him something, so they made him a bunch of fanarts. It can be before or in relationship, it's your choice.

If you don't want to write this, that's okay too, have a nice day!

(Also, I apologise, english is not my first language)

you visualized the story in eyes I couldnt

THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST!!!!

AM I STILL SICK???

WHY YES!

DOES THIS MAME ME HAPPY TO WRITE THESE THINGS

YES SOOOOO

HERE IT IS!

Because I've been to a boreding school I've read all of his books. So the one I'll be using is the Cask of Amontillado

FLUFF FLOOFY FLUFFYYY

Edger Allan Poe x reader

"Hey sweetheart can I read this?".

He said yes, and now I'm here drawing. His book to the side of me. Charcoal on my fingers. All over the desk. But God Damn this was looking good.

I mean even though the scene I was draw was a little dark. I liked it. A drunk Fortunato hung up while Montresor bricked him in behind the wall.

Now the fun part, show poe with out actually being there. (I mean I can relate). I folded up few papers, placed one in the book. And held the other ones as I wandered around our house hiding them in obvious places.

I went to the kitchen to prepare tea for him. I poured the tea and placed it on a small tray, and walked to his office. Then I went into poe's office to great him with some black tea and his book. I knocked on the door.

"I'm coming in darling.". I pushed opend the door.

"Oh come in sweetheart.". He smiled.

I walked over to him, handing him the tea. Then walking over to his bookshelf putting the book away.

"You enjoy the story darling?". He asked

"of course I did.". I opened the door to leave.

"I'm going out so I'll see you tonight.". I smiled and closed the door

•••time skip•••

I walked in to our house. I didn't buy much just some flowers. I walked to the kitchen and placed the flowers in a vase. Then bringing them to the dining room table.

I really know what to make for dinner so I made chicken and dumplings. Sometimes easy yet delicious. I set the dishes on the table, along with the meal.

"Darling! It ls time for dinner!". I yelled to him.

I heard him walking twords the dining room. He peers around the entrance with karl on his head.

"Seems like you had fun. You bought roses and calla Lillys.". He walked to the table and let karl jump off.

He grabbed his bowl and went to pour him some chicken and dumplings. And I did the same.

We then ate down across from each other.

"I liked your little drawings.". He said while eating.

My face went red.

"You found thoses...". I giggled nervously.

"Yes, they were amazing, you visualized the story in eyes I couldnt.".

[respectthepetty]

Just had to leave this here to unload. Moonlight Chicken is really messing with my anxiety levels. Everything in this episode was too real, too hard, too tense, too much. By the end I was exhausted. The scene with Heart and his parents broke my heart. The scene with Wen and Alan in the restaurant was way too real. The different types of heartbreak and sorrow in this show...

Anyway... just had to let it out. Hope you don't mind. Thanks.

(on a side note, I will throw things if LiMing and Heart kiss before TinnGun. which is almost certain at this point.)

@nothingsbetterthancoffee, I wrote about the possibility of a Li Ming and Heart kiss, but since you mentioned Tinn and Gun, I really like that My School President had the band lose. I like the lesson that sometimes even when we try our best, we fail. I like a show set in a high school teaching the youth that sometimes, your best isn't good enough.

And that's okay.

This is the same reason I love Moonlight Chicken, and, like you, I find it exhausting. In the QL world, I like my characters to exist outside of reality where there is no homophobia, where everyone gets what they want, and where there are only happily ever afters.

Moonlight Chicken isn't giving us any of that. It has traces of homophobia (internalized and externally), not everyone is going to get what they want, and not everyone is going to end up riding off into the sunset with their soulmate. It's harsh, but just like My School President, sometimes our best isn't good enough.

We've all been guessing for the past week what Alan could have done that pushed Wen away. We found out today, he stayed exactly the same.

People change. If they don't change together, their differences are spotlighted. Nobody does anything wrong. People just grow apart. The Taiwanese BL Plus and Minus had a storyline like this, and people HATED it. It's too true to reality. But it's something people need to see.

Heartbreak is unavoidable. Sometimes there is nothing we can do to stop it. Sometimes, even if we do our best, we will still get our hearts broken. But what this show is also giving us is the love between found family. Wen calls Gong. Saleng goes to Jim. Gaipa gives the deed to Jim. Even when our hearts are breaking, it's the family that we make who support us.

And sometimes that family can include the people who once broke our hearts.

That's the beauty of love. It can be found in many shapes and many ways. It doesn't just end when a relationship does. Jim allowed his love to turn into a wall, but his found family will show him that his love has been a shelter to all of them, and he has made a home with them.

Jim might not be real, but his heartbreak is, so remember to treat people with kindness. And Keep Calm. Eat Chicken. Unless you are Catholic, then don't do it today.

Oh, and if you ever have a kid who is deaf, learn sign language before THREE YEARS!

Susu!

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

13, 24, 27 for Pyro

and

3 for a Dark Shadows character of your choice!

13. Dumbest thing they've ever done.

Oh boy, where do I start here? So many contenders.

I'd probably have to say that time that Freedom Force attacked the X-Men (without Mystique's permission and behind her back), and Pyro tried directly challenging Storm. This was during the time that Storm had lost her powers, but Pyro's flame reacted with the fog in the air to cause rain, so Pyro basically took himself out.

Runner up - that time in TAS that Pyro did not recognize Rogue despite her having formerly been in the Brotherhood, and tried to flirt with her by torching a chair and making a bad pun. I want to emphasize, he literally just torched a chair and didn't actually manipulate the flame at all, which means he was trying to impress Rogue as "guy with a flamethrower."

Toss him through the wall, Rogue.

Also that same episode he shot fire at Cable, a huge hulking guy strapped with guns, for no good reason, and got himself knocked out and nearly drowned. "Don't call me darling."

Second runner-up - That impulsive drunken skull-face tattoo. I am 100% certain Pyro had some next-day regrets about that, even though he would never admit it.

24. Most annoying habit

He's definitely a show-off and braggart, and can often be quite petty and mean. Probably a conversation one-upper, and a million "When I was in Vietnam/the Brotherhood/jail" stories of dubious credibility. Although I also think those are fun aspects of his character.

Probably smoking. Pyro is a smoker and I doubt he's very considerate about second-hand smoke. Also, if you lend him your lighter you will never see it again.

27. Their guilty pleasure

Soap operas. Pyro loves watching soaps for all the plot twists and drama, many of which he rips-off uses for inspiration in his novels. Although I think Pyro would be defiantly unashamed of watching soaps. "I'm a romance writer, what the fuck do you expect?"

Pyro's real guilty pleasure - light-hearted romantic comedies and occasional sappy Hallmark movies. Sometimes St. John just needs a pick-me up in the form of a feel-good movie about a career woman moving back to her small town and discovering both love and the true meaning of Christmas. If you walk in on Pyro watching one of these movies he will switch it off faster than actual porn.

3. Obscure headcanon (for a Dark Shadows character)

Bless you for asking me about Dark Shadows. I like to imagine a lot of moments of Willie (Barnabas's servant/vampire thrall) introducing Barnabas to 20th century culture, especially post-Wyndcliff when Barnabas was being a little nicer to Willie. Like Willie getting Barnabas to try pizza and hamburgers during his "cured" non-vampire times when he could actually eat real food. "C'mon, Barnabas, you gotta try it at least once, it's really good, and people will expect you to have eaten pizza before, it'll help you fit in."

Barnabas eats pizza and hamburgers with a knife and fork, no one can convince him to do otherwise.

Barnabas trying to relate to Vicky: "Willie prepared some.....spa-ghe-tti for me the other night, such an interesting, flavorful dish, although a bit inconvenient to eat."

Willie had no idea what to do when Barnabas asked him for some salt-pork, he just ran out and got Barnabas a hot dog. Barnabas became surprisingly fond of baked beans with cut-up hot dogs, and would offer it to guests.

Willie was similarly troubled when Barnabas wanted roast pigeon. "We, uh....we don't really eat that anymore, Barnabas. Maybe some fried chicken instead?" Thankfully, Barnabas loved the Colonel's 11 herbs and spices.

(I feel like this works even better for the 91 Revival Willie and Barnabas, who don't have as contentious a relationship. Like 91 Willie would be eager to take Barnabas to the movies or play the Beatles for him or introduce him to Chinese food.)