#i fucking love drawing this fucked up bull and his crooked ass look as you can tell with how often i repeat it

[soundleer]

okay apparently im still fixated on that trend thing i drew so imma dump in some bite-sized warmup doodles i did before i drew that piece

okay so unapologetically id let this man shoot me

[someonestolemyshoes]

Hello, My Queen of Steaming Levihan Content...!!

If you want/whenever you can, could you please bless our ship with Levi getting hot watching Hans training in sport bra and tight ass shorts? (Like, he absolutely dislike mess but watch Hans goes all sweaty, with fire in her eyes and smile as she pulls her shirt out, and then all her muscles flex and go taut, grunting and breathing deep doing heavy exercises or competing with Nanaba in weight lifting would definitely make Levi wonder or remember how powerful it would be to feel her body hot like - alive like that - because she was having the time of her life f*cking the brains out him.)

Or, Captain Levi body worshipping Squad Leader Hans during heavy exercises because she.is.just.hot.as.hell.from.brain.to.toe.

Many thanks!!!!

I love your writing!!!

I played around with the prompt a little because I had an Image in my head as soon as I read this, I hope you don't mind :)

Order up! Careful, this one is spicy.

Hange stretched her arms over her head with careless ease, popping her spine and rolling her shoulders with a nonchalant grace. If she sparred with the same manic fervor she slayed titans, she’d stand no chance against this soldier bare-handed—for all Hange was tall, she was too slight to take the great oaf out by strength alone.

The lumbering recruit seemed to have come to the same conclusion. He leered, mopped sweat from his heavy brow and blew snot out one of his nostrils. Levi’s lip curled in disgust. Hange’s grin broadened.

**

Levi despised sparring.

It was an activity Erwin seemed to reserve solely for blistering summer days, when the sun arched high overhead without so much as one solitary cloud to temper the heat.

Today was no different. Levi stood at the inner edge of a great circle of onlookers, all gathering around a chalk ring etched unevenly into the dirt, where two measly recruits were heaving and wheezing as they grappled, feet scrambling for purchase in the dry earth. The rules were simple; the first to set foot outside the circle lost. Winner stayed on to face the next challenger.

The taller of the two soldiers won out. He slammed his opponent into the ground outside the edge of the ring, a ploom of fine dirt puffing into the air right at Levi’s feet. The sandy earth scratched at his throat and stuck to his lips and tongue, grainy between his teeth. The elation from the brats victory gave way quickly to a nervous gulp as the next recruit entered the ring. He was a tall, bulky thing, far more brawn than brain, with a crooked nose and deep-set eyes. He sniffed hard and spat into the dirt, rolled his neck on his meaty shoulders. The victor shuffled his feet into an unsteady brace and raised his fists. The poor bastard should have done himself a favour and stepped down with some modicum of dignity—his opponent left him face down ass up on the filthy floor before he could throw a single punch.

The burly soldier naturally attracted more meatheads. Testosterone fuelled idiots with no combat sense, barrelling in with heavy handed offense. Levi watched with disinterest as shirtless bull after shirtless bull took to the circle, feral and uncalculated in every move, baited by the hoots and hollers of their peers and the dizzy prospect of victory.

The reigning champion shoved and grunted his way through four successive rounds undefeated. He broke a sweat only from the heat. Despite their vigor, none of his opponents had enough weight to throw around to stand a chance. Levi took a liberal swig from his water bag, dangling it at his side and looking idly around for the next contender; he saw plenty of men pushing and shoving one another, snickering like fucking kids, while others averted their gazes, less than willing to draw attention. Plenty of the women looked about as bored as Levi felt, none fooled by the show of muscle and bravado.

And then somebody new stepped into the ring, and the excited buzz dulled to a murmur of intrigue.

Hange Zoë was grinning brightly, tying her hair up into a scruffy ponytail. Most of the soldiers had stripped themselves of their shirts, leaving the men bare-chested and the women clad in the black, military issue chest bands, but Hange was still sporting a loose vest, a size or two too big for her thin frame. Her face had a dewy glow from the heat, a band of pink over her cheeks and nose where the sun had caught her. She had kicked off her boots and rolled the tight legs of her pants up to the knee. Her bare feet sank lightly into the loose dirt as she stepped up to the edge of the circle.

From behind her, Mike called out. “Fight fair, Hans.”

Hange turned to shoot him a thumbs up, and hollered, “You’re getting the drinks in, remember!”

“Only if you win.”

Hange waved him off with a throaty laugh. The burly recruit eyed Hange with some confusion as she wandered closer, pausing briefly to tug her goggles off and chuck them over to Nanaba, who caught them deftly and shoved them into her back pocket.

Levi dipped slowly into a crouch, gaze following Hange’s idle path into the centre of the ring. He’d sooner shit his pants than admit it out loud, but Hange, despite all her pestering and prying and endless racket, still intrigued him. He found himself watching her often, across the mess hall, out in the courtyard, zipping through the trees during regular training drills, or else tuning into the sound of her voice while she talked Erwin’s ear off about some bullshit theory or another.

He preferred keeping Hange at arms length, but the distance made it difficult to get a good read on her. Levi had tried valiantly to ignore her existence as much as possible, but there was something about Hange that captured his attention time and time again. Something in her wide smile and bright eyes, her long, lean frame, in the way she carried herself, made his gut uncomfortably warm and tight, at times. Levi didn’t particularly enjoy this brand of curiosity.

Hange stretched her arms over her head with careless ease, popping her spine and rolling her shoulders with an easy, careless grace. If she sparred with the same manic fervor she slayed titans, she’d stand no chance against this soldier bare-handed—for all Hange was tall, she was too slight to take the great oaf out by strength alone.

The lumbering recruit seemed to have come to the same conclusion. He leered, mopped sweat from his heavy brow and blew snot out one of his nostrils. Levi’s lip curled in disgust. Hange’s grin broadened.

“You need a break before we go? Grab some water? Take a piss? I can wait.” She said, bracing her hands on her hips. The recruit’s knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists. He squared himself, and Hange shrugged. “Take that as a no. Alright then.”

Hange planted her feet, weight on her front leg and arms drawn up in defense. For a moment, the pair of them stood tense and still. And then Hange lunged.

Her opponent reacted in kind. He barrelled forwards, shoulder low, ready to plow Hange’s smaller frame right back out of the circle as soon as she locked with him—but at the last moment, Hange stepped cleanly to one side. She teetered on the balls of her feet, centring her weight while the soldier skidded to a halt, kicking up great clouds of dirt and throwing his weight back, barely stopping inside the ring. Hange blew her fringe out of her face.

“Damn. I was banking on a big bastard like you taking longer to stop.” Despite the setback, Hange’s smile was manic. She lunged again, but this time the soldier held back. There was some satisfaction in his caution, and Levi was pleasantly surprised at the way Hange weaved around his haphazardly thrown punches, quick on her feet, efficient in a way Levi hadn’t expected. His eyes were drawn to the bulge of muscle in her calves, in her thighs as she propelled herself around inside the ring. His gaze lingered on her back and shoulders as she threw her punches, thick knots swelling beneath smooth, tan skin.

The crowd hissed as one when the huge recruit landed a fist square into Hange’s gut. She buckled over his arm, air gusting out of her, but she sprung back smartly out of his reach while she caught her breath. Her gaze turned steely as she looked up. Sharp. Calculating. She wiped spit from the corner of her mouth with the back of her wrist. Exertion had flushed her face and sweat glistened on her brow, running in thin rivulets over her cheek, her jaw, down the column of her throat to pool in the dips at her collar. Levi’s stomach tightened, heat flooded his face.

Hange’s chest heaved. In the quiet that had fallen around them, he could hear each rasp of her breath, quick and catching in her throat. Strands of hair hung wild and loose around her face, damp with sweat, sticking to her brow and the side of her neck. Thin veins protruded on her forearms, wrapping around tense, twitching muscle as she flexed and clenched her fingers, gathering herself. Levi swallowed, his mouth painfully dry.

Hange held her ground, this time. She squared her feet, but waited in place, eyes locked on her target. The recruit kept his distance. His trepidation demonstrated one thing—he was marginally smarter than Levi had originally given him credit for. The change in his challenger's tactic made him think.

Unfortunately, Hange was smarter. And faster.

She darted around behind him and cut the heel of her hand up under one side of his jaw. His head snapped sideways but a great meaty foot slammed flat into the dirty, keeping him from toppling over. If Hange were a more desperate fighter, she might make the mistake of hitting him again—but she predicted him perfectly. To counterbalance, he threw his weight back round, twisting towards her. Hange sunk low, jammed her leg against the back of his calf and caught his arm in both her hands, and with a loud grunt and a solid heave, Hange pulled him over her shoulder. His back hit the ground with a resounding thud and a huge huff of fine dust.

Hange straightened up. The crowd erupted with cheers, and Hange smiled, delighted, as she offered the soldier a hand and yanked him up from the ground. She pulled the hem of her shirt up to wipe the sweat from her eyes, exposing her flat stomach and the grid of muscle bunching there, tightening with each panted exhale. Levi’s gaze caught on the waistband of her pants, slung low on her hips, exposing a defined V that dipped out of sight beneath the fabric. An involuntary groan slithered out of Levi’s throat. He masked it with a quick, gruff cough, and took a few long gulps from his water.

The circle of onlookers disintegrated slowly. Mike and Nanaba approached Hange with small, proud smiles, Mike clapping her between the shoulders. Hange strapped her goggles back into place and took the water bag Nanaba offered her with a grateful smile, swigging greedily from it. Levi watched the way her throat bobbed with each swallow, eyes stuck on the hinge of her jaw where skin pulled tight over sharp bone. His tongue darted out to lick involuntarily at his dry lips.

Hange swilled the gritty dirt from her mouth with one last mouthful of water and spat it out. Saliva dripped from her full lower lip onto her chin. Levi forcibly pulled a face—he should be disgusted, because she's fucking disgusting. He schooled his features into his signature look of distaste, just in case anybody caught him looking at her. Hange licked her lip with a grin, tongue red and wet against sharp, white teeth.

"Good fight, Captain?"

Levi trained his gaze intensely forward. Erwin had snuck up on him. He grunted, and sipped slowly at his water.

"Hange's full of surprises, as always."

Another noncommittal hum. Levi rolled his eyes up and to the side to where Erwin stood, arms crossed over his chest, taking in the scene. Levi clicked his tongue loudly and drew himself up to his feet.

"She's an idiot," Levi said. "He would've beat her to shit if he caught her."

"Mm. But he didn't."

"Lucky."

Erwin looked down at him with his brows raised. "Not skillful?"

Levi shrugged. He caught another glimpse of Hange between the dispersing soldiers—she had shed her vest completely now, and flung it over one muscle-bound shoulder, one hand braced on her cocked hip while the other articulated wildly in the air. She was still all smiles, the sun glinting from her goggles when she turned her head this way and that, threw it back in a laugh that carried over the space between them. Her chest was bound tight in a breast band and her stomach, all subtle lines and lean muscle, defined sharply as she cackled, bunching and shifting beneath her sweat-shiny skin.

"She's fast."

"She fights smart." Erwin smirked. "If a little dirty."

Levi would never have called Hange's technique dirty. He'd seen his share of dirty fights. He'd been in enough of them; Hange using her wit in lieu of matched strength was strategic. It was fair. Dirty was reserved for knives and broken bottles, and extra hands hidden away in dark corners.

"It was a stupid risk," Levi said, in favour of the compliment. "If he'd had two brain cells to rub together she'd never stand a chance."

"You're not giving her enough credit. You think Hange would pick a fight if she didn't think she could win it?"

"Yes," Levi said without pause. He had seen one close call too many because Hange had thrown herself in the path of one of the freakier titans, without a single thought for the consequences. Erwin chuckled quietly at his side and shrugged.

"It's nice that you care about her, I suppose."

"Who said I gave a shit about what trouble that freak gets herself into?"

Erwin said nothing more. There was an irritating smirk pulling at half his mouth. Levi curled his lip up in anger and turned to storm away, when a loud voice rang out behind him.

"Erwin! Levi!"

Levi tensed. He turned slowly back around and eyed Hange as she approached, still barefoot, still shirtless, still glistening under the afternoon sun. Her skin was mottled with dirt, lines smudged on her face where she had fruitlessly wiped the sweat away. Up close, Levi could see the way the military issue pants clung to her legs. The fabric was thin and flexible, ideal for use with the manoeuvre gear. It hugged her thighs in a way that made Levi's stomach flip. He ran his tongue over his teeth and looked somewhere past her right hip.

"Came to watch, Commander?" Hange stopped in front of them, hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Had to see what all the fuss was about. Who's round is it?"

Hange jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards Mike. Try as he might, Levi couldn't keep his eyes off of her for long—he found himself staring, transfixed, at the way her bicep swelled when her arm curled. He followed the line of her arm to her shoulder, and across her collar, all the way down to the fabric of her chest band before he caught himself. Face hot and gut tingling, he turned his face to the side.

"Big idiot never wins," Hange said.

"Rude."

Levi glanced up. Mike had arrived at Hange's shoulder, floppy hair falling over his eyes, but he wasn't looking at Hange or at Erwin. He stared at Levi with a horrible, smug expression. Levi scowled at him and shifted uncomfortably, surreptitiously hanging his water bag in front of his crotch to adjust his pants.  Fucking ridiculous. Half hard like a horny teenager.

"New bet," Mike said. "Fight Levi next. I'll buy Sina's finest vine if you kick his tiny ass."

Hange shot him an open, considering look, cocking her head. "You know, I've never seen you spar before."

Levi made a gruff noise in the back of his throat. He felt uncomfortably beneath her intense stare, like one of her specimen samples, pinned and mounted. Exposed. His groin tightened at the unbidden thought. After a moment's consideration, Hange shot him a sunny smile and threw her arm over his shoulder, jerking him into her side.

"I'll need a few practice rounds first. See what I'm working with. You'll do it, right, Levi?"

"Fuck off."

Levi kept his hands clenched around the neck of his water bag. Hange smelled strongly of sweat, salty and earthy from the dirt clinging to her skin. Gross. But to his own mortification Levi found himself drawing a deep, unsteady breath through his nose. Warmth flooded his gut. Hange felt hot against him, and solid, strong. The arm hooked around his neck held him tight, and the thigh pressed against his own felt like rock, unyielding.

Levi's mind offered him obscene involuntary thoughts, of digging his fingers into her thighs until the flesh bruised white under the pressure, using that firm grip to yank her hips back onto his—

He dug his elbow into her ribs. Hange shimmied away in discomfort, and Levi stepped neatly to the side.

"Mean, Levi," Hange pouted. She rubbed at the sore spot and sighed forlornly. "Sounds like a bust, Mike. We'll settle for Trost's piss water whiskey this time."

Hange shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Are you two coming? It's on Mike."

"Oi."

Mike's fingers pinched at Hange's waist for her cheek. Levi stared at the spot where they gripped her, and his own grip around the water bag twitched and tightened. Her skin looked soft, and Mike touched her so easily, unbothered by the way her firm body felt in his hands. A rush of white hot envy pulsed through him, then. Levi struggled to swallow it down.

"Can't," Erwin said. "I have early meetings and I know too well what the three of you are like."

Hange shot him a wicked smile. "Excellent company?"

"Terrible influences. Levi will go though, I'm sure."

Hange turned his way again, a bright  hopeful look on her face.

"Like hell."

Hange's shoulders dropped. She recovered from her disappointment quickly enough, slinging her arm around Nanaba's neck instead, and clenching her fist into the back of Mike's shirt. "More for us then! We'll be at Smokey’s, if you change your minds!"

Hange dragged her friends around and the three of them set off in the opposite direction, to the place Hange had abandoned her boots. Levi looked slyly at Erwin, then back at Hange's retreating form. He bit back a groan when she bent over to scoop up her discarded shoes, cloth pulling sinfully tight over her ass as she did.

“You shouldn’t stare so much, Levi.” Erwin had a small smirk on his face, watching Levi out of the corner of his eye. “It makes it seem like you might be interested in her.”

Levi glowered up at Erwin, cheeks flushing. “Mind your damn business.”

Erwin held his hands up in placation. “I just thought I’d let you know. In case you didn’t want anybody getting the wrong impression.”

Levi wanted to punch the sly, shit-eating grin off of Erwin’s face. He turned sharply on his heel instead, throwing the darkest look he could muster for good measure, and stormed past the small crowds of recruits, lazily getting back to their own sparring practice.

**

Levi stepped under the dribbling shower head, cursing as the tepid water slipped through his hair and down the back of his neck. Most days he grumbled at the temperature, but between the scorching summer sun and the relentless heat burning low in his belly, Levi was thankful for the chill.

He knocked his forehead to the cool tile wall and stared down at his stubbornly hard cock.

He had escaped to the privacy of the officers bathroom as soon as he left Erwin, locking himself in the stall and willing his erection to subside, but no matter what unappealing images he focused on, Levi couldn't wish the damn thing away. The skin of his neck tingled where Hange's arm had wrapped around him. He could still feel the heat of her on his thigh, smell the sweat on her skin.

Levi growled in frustration, slamming a palm roughly into the wall. This entire situation was foreign to him. Levi prided himself on very little, but he had thought that he, at least, had some substantial control over his own body. He knew with some base instinct how to move it, how to utilise it and make every move to the best of his advantage in any situation. He had trained it well, built powerful muscles and honed sharp reflexes. Levi had never found himself so out of control of it, before.

He grabbed the soap and scrubbed roughly at his hair. Cleaning was always a cathartic exercise, a release of stress. Levi washed the sweat and dirt from his scalp and ran the soap over his face, his shoulders and arms, down his chest and low on his belly. His fingers trailed over the thin trail of hair beneath his naval. Muscle twitched beneath skin. His cock throbbed for attention.

Fucking Hange. Somehow she was a pest even now, when she was nowhere to be seen, out drinking away Mike's measly dividends in some sleazy back alley bar.

Try as he might, Levi couldn't shake the image of her sparring out of his head. No matter what he did to divert his attention, she crept her way back in, glistening skin and strong muscle, mussed hair and heavy breaths. Levi ground his forehead into the tile and clenched his jaw, hand still low on his belly. He wasn’t some fucking pervert, he didn’t make a habit of jerking off over his comrades and he didn’t particularly want to start now—and about Hange of all people.

In fact, Levi didn’t make a habit of jerking off much at all. Now and then, a quick, perfunctory thing, to relieve a little tension, blow off steam. But there was never a great desire behind it, never this insistent, unwavering need. This feeling was new. It was infuriating.

Recognising that he was fighting a losing battle, Levi sighed and closed his eyes. He let his hand wander lower, gripping his length and stroking over it. His belly tightened and his hips pressed helplessly forward into his fist. A low moan bled out of his throat.

It should have been easy to make this quick. To rush to the finish, clean up and pretend it never even happened, but every flash of shiny bronze skin or shifting muscle made him pause, guilt pooling like acid in his stomach. It was just so hard not to think about her. Impossible Not when he could so clearly picture the way those thighs might feel curled up around his hips, hard, firm, holding him close; not when he could so vividly hear her heavy, panted breaths in his ear, and the choked moans bleeding up from low in her throat.

The shower sputtered overhead. Levi drew his palm over the flushed head of his cock, smearing the thick bead of pre-come over his hand, gliding it down over his shaft. He wondered, idle and shame-faced, how Hange’s hand would feel wrapped around him. She has calluses, like him, but her fingers are longer and rougher than Levi’s, and would she grip him as firmly? Would she tug at him roughly, make him hiss and twitch under her touch, or would she treat him with the same reverence she does her titan samples—slow, methodical, analytical. Trail a line up the underside of him, from root to tip, maybe press her nail into his slit just to see the way he squirms.

Levi thumbed at his slit, too, and aborted a loud, choked groan at the sensation. He could imagine the way Hange would toy with him all too well; the glint in her eye as she catches the fluid leaking from him, spreading it around with the tip of her finger and revelling in the way his cock jumps, oversensitive. Draw her slick finger up to her mouth, maybe, push it past her plump lips and lave her tongue over the digit, tasting him. Levi sucked in a shuddering breath, hips bucking.

Maybe she’d taste more. Lay herself down between his legs, palms pushing his thighs apart to make room for her broad shoulders. She’d tease him, brat that she is, trail her lips across his lower belly, barely a whisper of a touch, not nearly enough—nip her sharp teeth into the pale flesh of his inner thigh and suck at the skin until blood pooled beneath it, red welts that pulse and throb when she runs her tongue over them.

Levi nudged the head of his cock against his tight, closed fist, pushed into the squeezing grip as he conjured lude pictures of Hange with her lips pressed against him, suckling at his head languidly, until Levi raked his fingers into her scruffy hair and applied enough pressure to coax her down. He fucked into his own fist with a breathy moan, squeezing his eyes closed. In his head, she takes him right to the back of her throat, laves her tongue over him and swallows him down, and her mouth is all hot and tight and the way she moans vibrates right through him—the thought alone sent a zing of pleasure racing up his spine.

Levi’s knees trembled beneath him. He braced himself on the shower wall and stroked himself faster, huffing heavy, unsteady breaths through his nose with his lip caught between his teeth, biting hard enough to sting.

Hange would stop, if he got too close. Drag her lips over the head of his cock and slip him out of her mouth. She's all wicked, challenging smiles, in his head, eyes blown wide when Levi pushes her back onto the bed and crawls over her. Her blunt nails would claw at his back as he sucks hot, open kisses on her belly, scrapes his teeth over the peak of bone at her hips. She'd tunnel her fingers into his hair and push his face lower, use the strength of her thighs to trap him between her legs. Needy. Unreserved.

And when he's had his fill, left her spent and trembling, he would nudge her legs apart and settle his hips between them. Slide his palms over the smooth skin, dig the blunt tips of his fingers into the tense, shivering muscle. Its so fucking easy to imagine the way Hange would look, splayed out on his bed. Her long body stretched out across the mattress, fingers clutching at the sheets as he teases the head of his cock against her—so fucking wet for him—and pins her hips down with a palm pressed low on her belly. The muscle would quiver under his touch.

There was no room left in him for guilt, now. Only the bright spark of pleasure like flint in his gut, striking and catching fire as he pictured just how hot and tight she would feel wrapped around him. She'd throw her head back against the pillows, exposing the long line of her throat to Levi's hungry lips and tongue and teeth, and he would fold over her and fuck in deep, until their hips are flush and Hange is panting raggedly into his ear. The way she whines his name is sinful, high in her throat, and breathless. Desperate.

She would grip white-knuckled at the sheets as Levi rolls his hips into hers. Plant clumsy, hungry kisses against his jaw, lips wet and trembling—and she'd lick into his mouth, when he's close enough, draw him into an intoxicating kind of kiss. Levi jerked himself quick and uneven, gut clenching, imagining the way Hange's legs would squeeze hard at his hips to keep him close while he fucks her. Her breath would hitch as he grinds down into her, strong arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close as she chokes out his name, all high and airy in her throat when he tucks his hips close and pushes impossibly deeper.

Levi sucked in quick, heavy breaths. His hips stuttered forward, clumsily meeting his own unsteady strokes as his groin tightened—the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until the tension broke, and Levi came with a muffled grunt, spilling obscenely against the tile wall.

He stood still for a long while, catching his breath. The subsiding pleasure made room for shame; guilt and embarrassment flooded into the empty space, making his face hot and his stomach knot unpleasantly. He felt dirty. Some creep, unable to control his most basic urges. He scrubbed the wall down thoroughly and washed himself again, but stood in the cubicle for a long while even after the water shut off.

Worse still, he felt unsatisfied. The orgasm had relieved some of the building pressure, but it had awakened some terrible hunger, and an awful realisation.

He wanted Hange. He wanted Hange.

Fuck.

[loversandantiheroes]

not to come yell at you or anything but i saw those frankie tags 👀 and i am in *need*

Lord, that is a whole-ass mood.  Needy!Frankie lives rent-free in my brain 24/7.  Like this exact scenario has been in my head for w e e k s and I just haven’t had the braincells to get it down.  But hey, no time like the present, right? *cracks knuckles*

1.5k of unbeta’d and unedited Needy!Frankie smut, f!receiving oral, with a side of frankie x floor (I kid, mostly).

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

As soon as Frankie pulls in the drive, you know something’s wrong.  He takes the turn just a little too sharp, engine running too hot and too loud before he kills it.  There’s a long beat of silence, long enough that you begin to think that maybe you were just overthinking things.  But then there’s the unmistakable sound of the driver side door slamming shut, and your feet are already carrying you towards the front door.

You’re halfway down the hall when you hear his keys rattling in the door – and they keep rattling, the doorknob twisting as far as the lock will allow before releasing back.  Either he can’t get the key in the lock, or he can’t quite make it catch.  The mechanism clicks, straining, and for a second you’re afraid he’ll break the thing out of pure frustration.

“Ease up, Frankie,” you call through the door.  “I’m here, baby, I got it.”

The rattling ceases, and you hear the unmistakable thump of Frankie’s head coming to rest against the wood.

“Querida,” he says.  “I can’t...I can’t get the fucking door.”  It’s muffled through the wood, but there is a catch of tearful frustration in his voice that makes your heart beat a little faster as you undo the locks.

When the door swings open you’ve only got a second to take in the look of him – his eyes strained under the shadow of his crooked ball cap – before he’s pushing against you, crowding you back into the hall.  He catches the door with a heel and kicks it shut so hard the windows rattle in their frames.

“Hey, hey,” you try to soothe, pushing his hat off to smooth his hair back.  “What is it, what’s wrong?”

He only shakes his head, breathing hard and quick through his nose like an agitated bull.  His throat works, fighting to swallow or to speak, you’re not sure.  His hands fall heavy against your hips, fingers curling into the waistband of your jeans and tugging.  “Please, baby,” he mutters in a voice so strained it’s on the verge of breaking.  His fingers slide around until his thumb rests on the button of your fly.  “I need it.  I need you.  I–”

You nod, stroking your thumbs over the overgrown stubble on his jaw.  This isn’t the first time you’ve been here.  Something's gone wrong today.  It might be something big, it might be nothing, but whatever it was was enough to shake him down and leave him feeling like he can’t do anything right.  He’ll explain it to you later when he can breathe again, when his shoulders aren’t pulled up in one solid knot and his jaw has finally unclenched.  He always does.  But right now, more than anything else, he needs to prove that he can do something right. 

And that’s you.

“I’m right here, Frankie,” you tell him with a willing nod.  “You got me.”

Frankie makes a soft, desperate little noise in the back of his throat and carries you wordlessly to the floor, unable or unwilling to wait long enough to get you into bed.  His mouth is on yours only for a moment, just long enough for a hard, grateful kiss before he moves down your body.  He’s too needy to be gentle, too desperate.  You’re sure you hear stitches ripping as he yanks your fly open and drags your jeans and underwear both down to your ankles.  They bunch up around your sneakers, but Frankie's normally dexterous hands are too unsteady for that, clumsy with need and agitation, so he just pushes your legs up and ducks under them, settling on the floor between your bared thighs.

When his mouth finds you, you sigh and he groans.  The sound resonates through his whole body and into you, buzzing against your thighs and the closed seam of your cunt.  His hair is rough with the salt of dried sweat as you work your fingers into it, tipping your hips up as you press his head down.  His hands slide up between your thighs, pushing them aside, and it takes a little effort to keep your ankles from knocking into the back of his head as he opens you wider.

On a good day Frankie Morales is one of the most patient men you’ve ever met, in bed or out of it.  He’ll coax you open slowly, work you over with his hands and mouth – and always his whole mouth, none of that timid tongue-flicking bullshit – until you’re wet and open and ready for whatever he wants to give you.  Even if it’s just more of his graciously worshipful mouth.

But this is not a good day, and in place of that gentle patience there is an almost feral hunger.  Frankie parts you with his fingers, opening you up to drag the flat of his tongue up from your entrance to your clit over and over in hard, aggressive strokes.

You keep your fingers moving through his hair, breath turning ragged as he fits his mouth to you, lapping and sucking eagerly at your sex.

“Baby,” he murmurs, lips dragging against your clit.  It’s pitched up and plaintive like he’s begging, but he can’t find the words to fit what he needs.

“Yes, Frankie,” you answer, shuddering as his teeth press briefly against your tender flesh.  “God yes, baby.  You’re always so good.”

And there’s that desperate little sound at the back of his throat again as his broad hands grip the soft flesh of your thighs tight.  His shoulders shift under you, your legs rocking up and back, and you look down to find him rutting his hips shamelessly against the floor.

There.  That’s what he needs.  And that’s easy enough to give, praises flowing out of you steadily as you roll your hips against his voracious mouth.  “So good, Frankie,” you breathe.  “You’re getting me so wet, baby, I can feel it.”

Instantly his tongue trails down, delving into you with a strength that always takes your breath away.  He moans deliriously, the taste of your arousal only serving to whet his appetite further.  Two thick fingers curl into you, pressing up and drumming insistently as he devours you like a man possessed.

The praises dissolve on your tongue like sugar, your voice gone tight and ragged as he lights you up, the words harder and harder to focus on.  And that’s even better.  Your broken gasps leave him lurching, grinding down into the floor and moaning against you.  It’s good, it’s so good and he can tell how good it is for you, his shoulders rocking into you faster as you begin to quiver and jerk under the assault.

“Querida.”  The epithet leaves him in a whine.  “Baby, please.  I need you to come.”

“Close,” you rasp out, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and guiding him, holding him still while you rock your clit against the wet, yielding heat of his mouth. “Frankie, baby...f-fuck– ” 

The motion of his body falters as you use him, the sound of his belt buckle knocking against the floorboards now a hard, syncopated beat.  The pressure of his fingers inside you reaches a fever pitch and you shatter, shouting his name and pounding a fist on the floor as you come, shaking and rocking with the spasm.

And that, blessedly, means you get to watch him come right after, his body rigid, feet digging in for purchase as his hips knock stiltedly against the floor.  His shout is almost as loud as yours, and he muffles his cries against your still-twitching cunt.  You fall back on your elbow, head swimming, and you can feel the hard line of Frankie’s shoulders finally relax under you.

You unclench the fist in his hair, stroke down to cup the back of his neck.  “Come up, baby.  C’mere.”

Panting, Frankie nods dumbly, and pushes himself forward on his elbows.  He kisses you, gentle once more, his heart still beating hard enough to make his breathing falter. 

“Hey.  I love you,” you breathe into his mouth.

He knocks his forehead into yours, closing his eyes.  “Love you, too, baby.”

And then he curls into you, tucking his head into the side of your neck and pressing himself down.  His belt buckle digs into your stomach, and you can feel a broad stripe of wet warmth soaking through the front of his jeans under the slowly softening bulge of his cock.

With a contented hum you wrap your arms around him, holding him tight.  He smells of hot sun and dried sweat and the lingering sharpness of engine oil.  You cradle the back of his head with one hand, rub slowly up and down his back with the other. 

“Bad day?” you ask, kissing the corner of his jaw next to his ear.

He nods, scruff scraping along your shoulder.  “Yeah.  Bad day,” he agrees.  You feel the warm press of his lips against the side of your neck, slow and sweet, before he draws in a long, shuddering breath.  He holds it for a beat and then releases it slowly; a bone-deep sigh of utter relief.  “Better now.”

[littlefreya]

Bad Girls Don’t Get to Play

Summary: You’ve been a naughty girl, Private, thirsty for the Captain’s attention while he’s busy leading the base. Time for you to learn some freakin’ respect and patience. 

Pairing: Captain BDE Syverson x You

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: SMUT! Masturbation, really dirty language, abuse of power, pleasure denial. 

A/N: This was a request made by @hcfavoritegal I’ve been a good devil and happily obliged! Thanks once more to my amazing @agniavateira for being my editor! Happy FuckDay! Title: Bad Girls Don’t Get to Play

“Your bratty attitude has been on my last nerve,” his deep southern accent thundered behind you as the both of you walked into the stuffy little room. There was a small shove at the arch of your back, forcing you further inside before the captain shut his office door. You turned to look at him, crooking up one eyebrow, focusing on how his long fingers tinkered with the lock. 

Huffing like an angry bull, he walked right past you, his large body bumping into yours with obvious intent. He moved to claim his spot on the worn-out leather sofa, body slumping down so heavily a loud thud filled your ears.

You glanced quietly at the hulking man: legs spread out widely in his seat with his groin bumped forward for display, the outlines of his large cock were prominent, undoubtedly presented  like some sinful temptation. 

“You’re just thirsty for some attention, aren't ya, Private?” he asked with menace on his smooth baritone and in his piercing blue gaze. That look couldn’t be mistaken for anything but hot, angry desire. It made a chill run up and down your spine, spreading throughout every nerve.

“I…” 

You tried to speak, yet only one word came out, quivering on your tongue like a thin thread snapping with force. You always saw yourself as strong-willed, but this man had some power over you, and it wasn’t just the impressive size of his body against your smaller frame and his higher rank. He gave away an enigmatic force that left you burning for him. If he told you to come, you’d come on your knees. 

Syverson smoothed his hands over his thighs, drawing more attention to the forbidden delight between his legs. The worst part is that you knew the undisclosed desire that hid behind those camouflage trousers, and how satisfying it was. “You think I’m okay with you touchin’ me and flingin’ that hot ass of yours, while we’re both on duty?” he paused, sucking his pouty lips in and fleshing his tongue over them briefly. “Have no one ever educated you about patience, kitten?”

You frowned at him, clenching your fists tightly until your knuckles turned white. You’ve always been a hot-blooded woman and the fact that Syverson was the gods’ gift to women didn’t help either. It was as if your body constantly yearned for his touch, making you frustrated whenever he refused to provide it. 

For him, it was all about the army. He was patient, immune to your spells during those long hours of hard work. But when the sun came down and he’d finally have his break, he’d come and claim, plunging all his pent-up frustration inside you until you’re searing inside.

You wanted to either slap that smug smirk off of his face or spread your legs and sit on top of it, knowing very well how strong these arms are around your inner thighs.

“You don’t pay me any attention at all lately!” You snapped, raising your voice at him which only granted you a dangerous grimace. For a moment, you wondered if you should apologize to your captain. But before you even managed to muster a second thought, Syverson lifted his hand, fingers curling inside to gesture you to come hither. 

Not saying a word, you made your way toward him, feeling numb in your legs as if the blood began to drain from them. With just a gaze and a gesture you were already following his rules and it had nothing to do with him being the captain anymore. It’s just how Syverson was. Dripping of confidence and power, he made men and women cower at his striking presence. 

His hand went over his jaw, stroking his beard and looking up to meet your face while you stood waiting between his legs. 

“It’s called duty, Private.The job comes first.” He spoke dangerously low, letting his eyes trail up and down the pleasing shape of your body. “You wanna keep this bratty attitude up?” he tested and shifted slightly in his seat, adjusting the growing hardness in his groin.

“Yeah, at least until you’d pay me some attention. I’m not some toy you can pick up whenever you’re bored.” Your heart pounded in your ears as you spoke, knowing very well you’re only making things worse for yourself. But once that onslaught of complaints spilled from your mouth. it was hard to stop. “You’re not the only one with needs here!” 

Syverson sat listening to your whines while a wide, scornful smirk spread across his face. “Sit down over there,” he commanded, tapping the empty spot next to him. The glare he gave left you no place to even think of protesting. Submissive as you’ve never been before, you did  as you were told. With trembling legs you went to sit next to Sy while looking at him with fear and anticipation.

His hands still rested on his thighs, nails slightly digging onto  the fabric of his trousers. His eyes scanned you with dark lust, looking you up as if you’re a tasty treat.

“I think it’s time to teach this brat a lesson about patience.” 

Not saying anything else, Syverson began undoing his belt. The sound of metal clinking sharply as the buckle unclasped did nothing but make your pussy clench with excitement. When the zipper slid down and freed his bulge, you wanted to straddle his waist immediately and take him inside of you.

A delicate wanton moan left your lips instead, showering his beautiful cock with admiration as it stood vast and solid between his coarse fingers.

“You’re gonna sit there and watch like a good girl, without moving a muscle.” he threatened, allowing his long digits to run up and down the thick shaft while emitting a small groan that made your chest sink.

“And you’re going to say exactly what I want you to say. If you break the rules, I’m going to deny your pleasure for weeks. Is that understood, kitten?”

The sight of his cock made your mouth water and your cunt throb, wallowing in your own sticky juices with harrowing desperation. Your eyes flicked along the ridges and veins that decorated his huge erection. Syverson beamed at your response, his callous thumb caressing the bulbous head, circling and smearing the pre-cum drops at the tip.

“Tell me how much you want this cock inside you Private, and be specific.”  

You gaped, smitten at his demand and cruel set of rules. Sy had a nasty mouth and he would say the most profane things while fucking you. Secretly you loved it, but you were never able to bring yourself to speak back, you simply moaned or said yes to whatever it was that he said he was going to do to your body. 

His hand began to make its way up and down his girth with achingly slow tugs. This entire time he was looking straight into your eyes. His defined lips parted while he feasted on the sight of you, not missing how your nipples hardened through the fabric of your shirt as your entire body prepared for a joining which was brutally denied.

“Fuck, Sy…” 

The desire to touch yourself never felt this excruciating, even just to stroke and squeeze your breast or your fucking knee.

“You’re gonna keep me waiting, Private?” He teased you, a vicious smirk lighting his face.

“I want you to bury your gigantic cock deep inside my pussy,” you fulfilled his wish, nearly mewling these words came tumbling out of your mouth. In an instant, you realized they did nothing but increase your painful need to be stuffed by him. 

Syverson groaned with a grin, shutting his eyes for a moment while squeezing himself. He imagined your sweet warmth tightening around his cock while he pressures himself into you. 

“Yeah, you want me defiling your tight little pussy, babygirl?” he asked in his low velvety voice, now accompanied by small husky grunts while his breaths became heavier.

“Tell me, tell me how big my cock feels inside you.”

You bit your lip so painfully it hurt, your core pulsated as if furious for not being granted what it needed. 

“You’re so big, Captain.” You paused, having to swallow the dryness in your throat as he continues to squirm and groan “I want you to throw me on your desk and fuck me like a slut, you’d make me sore for days.”

A pleased guttural groan escaped his mouth, you finally began following his rules and hearing how much you wanted him made his cock red and aching for release. His hand locked tightly around his cock, squeezing in a pace that grew more and more urgent. 

Although he never broke eye contact, his eyes fucked you a dozen times harder than he ever did. His glare made you feel as if you were being defiled. You felt naked, wanting to be exploited by him in ways you never imagined possible.  

You couldn’t help but squirm in your seat, intoxicated by the sight of this beautiful man. His scarred face was covered with a sheer layer of sweat, his blue eyes were now hazy and the very vocal groans that came out his throat had you soaked beyond imagination.

“Fuck Sy, please, I need you to fuck me so bad.” You begged, pouting desperately and clenching your thighs together to fight that lonely feeling inside you.

His free hand reached for your knee in an instant, forcing your legs apart while he shook his head with a disapproving glare. “Nah ah. Patience, babygirl, you touch yourself now I’ll make sure you won’t come for a whole month.” 

The touch of his hand on your knee made you shiver and moan, increasing the raging flutter inside your core. You wanted to cry with how needy you felt. This beautiful beast had you locked in his twisted little game while he enjoyed every inch you were prohibited from having. 

As if you were locked out of heaven. 

“Say,” he rasped breathlessly, his control beginning to slip. “Say you want me to come inside that pussy.”

His hand stroked faster and faster, the sounds of his skin slapping reminded you of the sounds your bodies made together. And his breath, fuck, even the sound of his breath made your chest sink as if there were weights atop of it. 

“Please,” you begged again out of frustration. You were just as breathless as he was, and your lungs felt empty. “Punish my pussy, Sy, bottom me out and fill me with your cum.”

You watched as his testicles became stretched and clenched upward, his cock throbbed, swelling larger while he tugged himself with fury and growled like an animal. You moaned to urge him, biting your lower lip and shifting on the sofa helplessly.

“Yes, Sy! Give it to me! I want it so bad!” 

His hand landed on your knee with might, making you jump as he squeezed you hard. A loud grunt erupted from his chest and then a deep sigh of release as he breathed out with bliss. You gasped with him, watching as his thick liquids glazed over his hand.

He felt no shame, nor disgust, breathlessly staring as if what he did was liberating for both of you. Well, it wasn’t. You were flushed, breathing in fumes as you watched him climb down from ecstasy. His pupils were expended, his lips were slightly red and he licked them while smiling at you with mischief.  

“Next lesson, I’ll teach you how to clean that potty mouth of yours.”

__________________________________________________________

[that-gt-and-vore-stuffs]

Two Snakes and a Rat

Alrighty! Y’all asked so here’s my QuickFang story!

For those who don’t know the QuickFang AU is an au in which Vore exists. Davey is a mob boss known as QuickFang who is feared by all of Manhattan. This takes place some time into the plot and doesn’t touch on past plot points but they’re there I swear! I can expand if y’all want later. Anyway, here we go!!

Also this is shippy and Jack decides to be....Jack so uh yeah. Have fun!

Vore under the cut :3

——————

“Those fucking idiots.” The words were growled, slowly gaining volume and morphing into a yell as the door slammed against the wall. This was the last straw for him. “First the stunt pulled at the most recent brawl, then those imbeciles getting arrested and almost giving away our location, and then them letting a spy in! Why I ought to put a bullet through their heads the moment they’re shoved through that door.”

“S-sir!” A female voice called, the young woman in question running after the man as he entered the room. At least she wasn’t tripping over a skirt in the suit she had been gifted after having accepted her job as one of the man’s own spies.

“That’s- nevermind.” The man growled, anger barely showing for the first time in hours as he walked to the back of the room. One of the cabinets opened, revealing a multitude of dishes, silverware, and glasses. He grabbed the nearest wine glass and sighed. This. All of this. It was all at risk. All because of those bafoons.

“Ah! Right! Sorry, Boss-Sir.” The young lady corrected as a few more goons as well as a second man with a silver broach that separated him from the rest walked in. She made her way to the side. Standing against the wooden wall, a strand of her bronze hair that pulled itself out of the tight bun it was styled in blowing softly in the breezes made my the movement of the others in the room. Four goons, varying in height and muscle, stood at her sides in the same position as she. Hands together behind their back, standing up straight, with the straightest expression they could manage.

“I’d watch Yer words there, pretty lady.” The man with the silver broach hummed as he closed the door. “The boss doesn’t have the clearest mind while like dis. I’d say keep yer mouth shut.”

“Oh give me a break, Wits,” her boss, the man with the golden broach, growled as he filled his glass with the bitter red liquid from the wine keg he kept on the table behind his desk.

“I’s just sayin’, Mr. QuickFang!” The silver broached man said, hands up in a nonchalant surrender as he paced closer to the desk. “Yer mind, see- it does this thing when You’s is mad. It’s like you’s a bull and all you see is-

The brunette- legal name Marcell, mob name Scarlet- squeaked as her boss whipped around, pointing a blade directly at the throat of his right hand man. Dear god-

“Watch. Your. Mouth. Wits.” QuickFang growled, grip on the blade tightening to the point where his hand began to shake.

“Hey, is that not how I got my name? What about you, Mouth~?” Wits cooed in return, a cocky smile sitting on his face with eyes to match behind his mask.

“I- you fucking ass.” QuickFang grumbled, arm jerking to the side and the knife going flying. A dull thud sounds as the blade sticks itself right in the wall mere centimeters above Marcell’s head, drawing another squeak from her as she stares up at the knife. Oh sweet Jesus.

“I thought you loved that part of me though, baby~” Wits cooed, cupping QuickFang’s cheek in his hand for a second. The mob boss’s eye twitched, a growl forming in his throat.

“I do. You fucking know I do. Right now though I want to tear your vocal chords out with nothing more than a dull, rusty old spoon,” spat the man, slamming a hand on his desk as he took a sip from his wine glass. “Damnit. Where are they?! They were supposed to be here-“ he pulled up his sleeve, checking his watch, “-two minutes ago!”

Just as his sentence finished the door clicked open and in were shoved three men, each with their hands tied behind their backs and their mouths filled with fabric gags. Wits moved around the desk, leaning against the bookcase behind his boss now. His boss in question setting his wine glass down in favor of pulling yet another blade out of his pocket.

“Well well well. Look what we’ve got here~” he cooed, a sick smile spreading to his face. “Two traitors and a pathetic excuse of a spy.” He slammed the blade down into his desk, the metal cutting into the wood enough to make it stick upright.

The three on their knees stared up with wide eyes as the man known as QuickFang circled around his desk to stand over them, glimmering blade in hand. This- oh no. No no no. This is bad.

“Now, give me one damn reason why I shouldn’t gut you three like fish and roast you over an open flame for the next dinner party I host.”

The three on the ground shivered, eyes shaking as they stared up. They couldn’t speak. Oh god they couldn’t speak. They couldn’t give him a reason. He was gonna-

The man in the middle froze, feeling the cold tip of the metal blade press into the nape of his neck. Not enough to cut, but enough to remind him it was there. No. No. Nonono.

“You’re lucky I care about my carpet and floor. Blood is awfully hard to clean, you know,” QuickFang growled, removing the blade favoring to twirl it in his hands as he paced around them yet again. “Though I must do something. Letting you three go would be a death sentence to me and my group here and that’s the last thing I want. One of us has to go though to keep our little secret safe.”

There was a mumble of something under one of the three tied up’s breath. Something that sounded an awful lot like an insult. Something that relit the white hot rage in QuickFang’s core.

“Ah so you have a death wish!” He snapped, whipping around and pressing the blade into the man furthest to the left’s neck, Slicing a thin line. Not deep enough to kill, but enough to leave a little trail of blood dripping down. The crazed look in his eyes was something that would burn into those who saw it’s brains. “Those always make things more fun~! How do we start, hmm?”

Before he could do anything else, Wits rushed in behind his boss, arms wrapping around his waist and face burrowing into the crook of his neck. He breathed softly, feeling the tension in his lover melt away. Taking deep breaths, he cooed, “Good….good boy…..”

“Mmggh….baby….not here..” the taller groaned as he melted in the embrace, “...not now. You gotta- mmgh….wait….”

“Shhhh. I know. My mind is on something else though, darling~” the second in command cooed, gently placing a kiss to his boss/lover’s jawbone. He shot a glare to the five against the wall, a growl in his tone when he spoke. “Out. Now.”

And out they all went, Marcell closing the door behind her.

“What’s with the boss and Wits?” She asked, rushing up beside one of the older goons. Surely he knew.

“Those two have been inseparable since the day Wits joined. He stuck to the boss like glue and became his right hand man soon after.” The goon explained, voice rough. “He was captured once. Taken hostage and put in danger at one of the fights in the square. I’ve never seen the boss so mad. The only time he calmed down was when that boy was back in his arms and spoke to him once more. In short, the boss would end the world for that boy. Don’t cross either.”

“Ah. I see…” Marcell hummed, walking off to the spy’s quarters. Surely there was something for her to do there.

QuickFang groaned softly, lidded eyes looking to his partner. “Jackie….what are you planning?”

“Shhh...you’ll ruin the surprise if ya keep askin’ questions, Dave.” Wits, more commonly known as Jack, cooed, letting go of the boy in his arms. “Now be a good boy and go sit in that throne o’ yer’s, kay? Let Wits handle this~”

Davey groaned, stumbling his way to his chair and falling limp into it. “You’re a man of mystery, Jack Kelly. I’ll never understand how you do it.”

“Do what?” Jack asked, poking another one of the three men on the floor. Well, two now- oh! Only one.

“Make me melt like that. I don’t- mmgh- get it.”

“Heheh oh. That. Well Dave,” Jack cooed, smiling as the third man seemingly disappeared as he tucked them between his arm and his chest. “Telling you would ruin the fun~! Now, from how your belly felt my little baby is hungry. Is that the case? Does my little darling want a nice squirmy meal to fill his tummy~?”

Davey’s eyes locked on the three men in Jack’s hold. Oh. Oh boy. A squirmy meal did sound very very nice. But...he wanted to tease a bit. Just a bit. He looked to Jack with pleading eyes, cocking his head just a little. “Please?”

“Hehehe awe. Look at that~” Jack cooed, setting the three on the desk. Next to them he set the knife, blade glimmering in the light. With a grin he stepped back, hands up again in surrender. “The floor is yours, baby~”

Slowly but surely that same evil grin pulled itself across Davey’s face. Oh yes~ He was quick to grab hold of the knife’s handle again, twirling it for a second before stabbing the blade down in front of the three tinies. His weak state was wiped from his mind, being replaced with the confident, sinister mob boss who had a grip on all of Manhattan known as QuickFang. “And once again the games begin~”

The three tinies on the table felt a shiver shoot up their spines as the knife came slamming down in front of them, narrowly missing one of their feet. Sweet Jesus. What was he getting at?!

A low evil laugh rang in the boy’s throat, the knife being pulled from the table to be placed under one of the tinies chins and tilting it up to face the evil, icy blue eyes of the boy.

“Now now. Why the long face~? I thought you three liked to play risky~” he cooed, twirling the knife in his hand. QuickFang’s eyes burned holes in the three on the table. Oh how stupid they had been to have pulled this stunt. “I’m not gonna….pull anything~”

At his own words, Davey promptly grabbed one of the tinies by their bound hands. He brought them to eye level, stomach growling as he stared them down. A sound that struck fear in the hearts of the other two.

“Now you must know that by now I’m positively starving and in desperate need of a good meal.” The calm tone in the boy’s voice was enough to rattle the three tinies to the core. How could one be so calm while talking about something so….so…..terrible?! A Yelp, muffled by the gag, sounded from the poor tiny who was being dangled by his arms as the warm, squishy muscle of the boy’s tongue dragged itself up him. It repeated. Again, and again, and again until-

*clack*

Those on the desk still froze as their friend was closed in behind the pearly white gates of Davey’s teeth. They watched with drowning horror as the caught spy was pushed around, sucked on, and even nibbled at by the man. It was torture to see. Seemingly impossible to bear. Until things got worse-

Ulp~

Way. Worse.

They’re forced to watch as the spy slips further and further down the young man’s gullet, squeezing and slipping past the wet, soft, squishing muscles. To watch as the squirmy lump that was the man side down down down until it was out of sight. Oh but the gurgle from the boss’s stomach let them know where he was.

“Ahh~! Much better. One right where he belongs~” QuickFang hummed with a sigh. Oh to have something squirming fill his belly. The taste of vanilla sat on his tongue as he licked over his lips, a glob of thick warm drool dripping onto his desk. His gaze snapped to the two on the table once more, his grin turning sinister yet again. “And how lucky I have two more~”

The two goons on the table tried to wiggle away in hopes of escape. In hopes of living another day because they knew the moment they entered their boss’s gut they weren’t leaving. Ever. This was terrifying as is, even more so when they were seconds too late and were grabbed up in a tight fist back to back.

“Ah Ah Ah! Now where do you think you’re going~?” The man with the golden broach cooed, grinning at the two like some crazed lunatic. His teeth parted to reveal a soaking pink, plush tongue and shimmering fangs along with the dark, unforgiving tunnel of his throat. As if things couldn’t get worse, the slimy muscle of his tongue pulled itself up their tiny bodies as they squirmed in the leather glove’s grip.

“Mmmm….oh my. Tell me, why do people lacking the most brains taste the best~?” His signature grin spread on his lips, a thick layer of saliva coating his teeth as he licked them over. A low rumbling growl sounded from his gut, the tiny inside squeaking. “Oh who am I kidding. Look at me. Talking to my meal. Heheh. Oh I must be losing it. Well, down the hatch before I get worse!”

The jaw of the predator opened up like a gate, throat twitching at the end of their path. Their end. The thought made them shiver as they landed roughly on the slick surface of Davey’s tongue. Their shoulders dug into the taste buds as they skidded back. Back further and further until-

Glp-

Glk-

Glrk~

Down they go.

“Ahhh~ Oh...oh that’s good~” Davey sighed, a pleased tone to all he said as he fell back into his chair. Now that was good. His hand came to rest over his stomach as the two remaining snacks slipped in, causing a small bump to form under his shirts. A light blush dusted his face, a shudder coursing through every cell of his existence as the small bodies continued to writhe about in the dark, deathly confines of his gut.

“Awww heheh. Good job, baby~” Jack cooed, walking up behind the boss in the chair. He grinned, gently cupping the boy’s face to turn him to face him. “Awe. Dat’s the face of a full, happy lil Pred, now ain’t it~?” He slowly drew his hand back, drinking in the sight of the mob boss following it as if begging for more contact. A warm chuckle bubbled from his throat as he reached for the glass, holding the rim to Davey’s lips. He hummed small instructions to drink, giving praise once the action is done. With a smirk on his face he turned to leave, a hand grabbing his and stopping his movement.

“Oh? What’s that, Dave?” Jack asked, cocking his head. The most he got in response was a groan. “Dave. Words. Or you don’t get what you want~!”

“Mmmghhh…..Cuddles…..now….” the boy groaned, pulling at Jack’s hand weakly. A smile spread onto his face as Jack came to sit in his lap. He wrapped his arms around the boy, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Heh someone’s snuggly~” The boy’s voice was smooth, calming to the boy who’s lap he sat in. A gentle kiss found it’s way between their lips and they relaxed in the room. Before long soft snoring sounded from the boy with the golden broach, pulling a small laugh from his right hand man. “Sleep well, Dave. Yer belly’s got a job to do. I’ll run this joint for ya while ya sleep. I’ll see ya when you wake up~”

[gayorphanboss]

Christmas is hell in my world - To be continued

Blood rushing to my head, heart palpitations beating faster than an electronic dance music track and bleeding from my head with a flow like a river. 14-years of this shit, 14 fleeting moments of beatings in a time period of 10 minutes. I’m on my floor, concussed with a swollen face, blood dripping off my face into the floorboard cracks. As the blood dries on my face, then makes it hard to open my eyes with the drying of the blood working as a glue on my eye lashes. The rats in the walls hear silence and make their way near me. I was frozen from the previous events, so I probably came across as an inanimate object of my room. Who did this to me? My father. Why?

The morning before I’m immobilized on my bedroom floor.

Eyes heavier than a dumbbell. I’m Half-asleep and half-awake, before the sun beaming through my bent and crooked cheap aluminon cheap blinds, make me fully aware of the day. Waking up in my own personal hell. Today isn’t just any other day. Today is Christmas. Therefore, it’s a Christmas lunch today with my family which seem like a bunch of strangers who hate me. I’m very much the black sheep. You grow up thinking adults are mature, but sometimes they act like they are still in high school, like a peer I would come across in the hallway.  But perhaps I am the problem. Sigh, why do I always feel like I’m the issue for everything I do. Do all 14-year-old boys feel like this? Sometimes I feel like a fish being pulled backwards and drowning in my own environment. Having the resources like gills and still consuming toxicity.

We are taking a full car from Ballarat to Melbourne. Guess what, I’m in the middle even knowingly I am taller than my sister Shannon. Shannon is three years older than me; she is about to go into her final year at high school. She has a good work effort, quite pretty, has freckles and long thick brunette hair. When I encountered a bullying ideal at school, she mentioned to me “once you let people walk all over you, they will be doing it for the rest of your life. In some sense I could already understand what she was talking about, with my current abuser, my father. All I knew what to do, was freeze and take it like a punching bag.

I don’t speak up or challenge any logical statement of being taller to not sit in the middle, because the consequence is more physically brutal of having a boney ass and no leg room for an hour and a half. Much better than being whipped by a belt, smacked in the face and whatever my father feels like doing to me. He struggles with his own personal problems and looks me like a punching bag, then when he wants to release his anger, he hits, kicks, throws plates, belt and whatever he wants.

Have a small bite of Weet-Bix then straight into the shower. I close the wooden door and make way into the shower filled with moldy walls. Stare at the spider in the web before washing my hair. In this moment I’m fantasying dropping dead. Perhaps being turned into ash like some magical spell in some sci-fi shit on tv, sci-fi or fiction? Who the fuck knows, I don’t! All I know is I want my ashes being washed down the drain like no such thing as existence of myself Xavier. I relive a memory of watching Saw with my mother, while she was spaced out on crack and I was seven. Admired the beauty that they had endure the pain and mostly they dyed afterwards, while I was constantly enduring more and more abuse without being relieved of my pain through death. So… death seemed pleasurable today.    

I wash my hair quickly, since getting a “hurry up Xavier” from my other sister Nikkita, through the wooden door. Now Nikkita is a very amazing athlete, dual sports or being a national athlete, finalist and medalist, I’ve always admired her. Also admired her when she put her body on the line between myself and dad, when his red bull anger was bursting, and he was trying to hurt me. I was at the door, she was in-between myself and dad, while she was not letting him through. She was in a sense stronger than him. In this moment anyways, because she wasn’t backing down and she was firm, and he couldn’t get through. She was pushing him away, while was trying to her out of the way.

I get dressed in some shorts and a T-Shirt. Now we all make our way to the car. We drive to another suburb in Ballarat, to Nan’s home. We are taking her car, on the basis of ours was gross and my father looked after things very poorly. Nan is a, my way of the highway type of women. I have a Ying and Yang love for that part of her.

We arrive, say our hellos’. Then we pack the car with my Nans dishes. Now we are on the road to Geelong. I’m so wrecked and not prepared for this day. In this car trip, I’m quite quiet. I have decided that I won’t speak any more than I need to for the day. Because I seem to always tend to be the problem. The “know it all”. This remark stems from earlier years working out basic logical problems, which ignited hatred towards my intellect. These problems solving were over many different factors in life. But one what comes to mine, is trying to fit a couch through a doorway. I suggested another way, since the initial way of trying to force it through was not working. So, I suggested “how about we try putting it on an angle”. Then my father gave up, had a little tantrum, stormed through the door and slammed the screen wire, like a four-year-old not getting a chocolate at the checkout at Coles. Left my sisters and I, to work out how to get this fucking couch into the house while he is defusing his tempter in his room. Therefore, I have come to the conclusion to be polite and not react to any remarks made by the adults on this Christmas day. Since everything I do and say is just a problem. I sincerely saying this, I’m not being sarcastic, I just want everyone to have a good time and if I do not speak, I think that will be the easiest way.

Looking past the paddocks into the skyline. Listening to my tunes and minding my business. All is going to plan. Just a normal trip, nothing abnormal. Few remarks about us, made by nan. Some body shaming to my beautiful sister Nikkita, influencing Shannon to be more proper and you know, the “know it all” remark made about me even knowingly I am being dead quiet. So in short it is a shit travel from point A to point B.

We arrive. My uncle grant and his wife Christie are the hostesses of this Christmas lunch. Also, Uncle Brett and his wife Andrea are here. With their kids, Nigel and Glen. Greetings to all, I am being polite also a little closed off not to draw to much attention to myself. I have now just witnessed Andrea and Nan accidently peck while greeting each other. I’m moving gently throughout the space and saying hello. I’m sitting on the couch with my mouth shut, but the conversations are drifting between footy (AFL) and the cricket. Two things, I am no longer interested in, but I do not voice anything. Wow. I think I am the problem. The social setting is a dynamic with only signs of peace and joy in this festive. Dad’s laughing loudly. Nan’s smiling. Pa is being the beautiful soul he is. I’m sitting on the couch, identifying I am the problem. That moment of nothingness is followed through with the hollow feeling. The feeling of emptiness, and my thoughts are thinking, I deserve every shred of abuse in endure. I’m a broken piece of shit which brings my family anger.

I make my way out-side to pat the dog. This dog is a stunning Kings Charles, named Penny. Doesn’t bark and is very friendly. I’m patting Penny outside so I can take a breath. I need a second. A second to wrap my head around, that I am a fucking burden to everyone. I am this fucking know it all twat. I want to cry, but dry less tears are coming out since I’m so fucking empty. Soo fucking over everything. I am that “cunt” one of my friend’s parents at the time called me, when over afterschool in grade 6, yes, fucking primary school. I am also that “cunt” my dad called me at 5 years old. I am stupid and ugly which my step mum called me. I am weird. I am arrogant which the dads at the swim club called me. I deserve to be the laughingstock at the swim club’s presentation when dad was awarded the golden clip board award, for breaking one over my head when I was 7 years old in Melton. They all laughed so fucking hard over awarding him it, may as well created the term “lol” before the internet slang took over in later years. I’m all the names grant calls me, I’m worth $5 a day to clean a whole house like Christy said. I’m ungrateful like every single fucking adult in my life has told me, if that’s family or teachers and everything in-between. Perhaps, they can smell the homo on me. And I am an abomination against reproduction and to this conservative family. All the beltings for crying when I was younger. I fucking deserve to have my emotions beaten out of me. The ringing ears from being so consumed by my thoughts gets broken by the calling of me name. “Xavier” Nikkita slurs.

I shift my feet back inside, the realization of my own burden on others feels like my legs are twice as heavy… I’m just extra weight on others. Back inside. Sitting on the light-colored couch, and feet on the carpet-mat. Conversations are still that bleak short talk whether shit. Time passes and we all make our way outside.

It’s a scorcher of a day in Melbourne. I am now seated at the “kids table”, while the “adults:” are at the adult table. We are under a gazebo whole they are seated under a shelter. Everything isn’t still going to plan as I drown in my own guilt of being this factor of unhappiness to my family and a subject of pain for them too. Half or so hour later, we all make our way grabbing a white kitchen plate to plate our food. I get some ham, potato salad and lamb and of course gravy. Some salt and pepper and I’m ready to eat this delightful feed. Through the sliding glass doorway, minding my business while treading lightly protecting my plate of food. Bum to the plastic chairs, very similar to the ones in primary school. Fork and knife in unison eating this delicious plate in serenity.

[bing-fucker]

Winter Wolf Syndrome

This was requested by someone but I genuinely cannot remember their URL, I’m so sorry.

I am... so sorry this took forever. I kept getting distracted by things and then losing motivation and anyway I’m so sorry. I meant to save the original ask as a draft but I accidentally posted it and then had to delete it so I’m sorry for that.

To explain for anyone who is new, the Shifter AU is an alternate universe where all of the egos are animal shapeshifters and share certain characteristics with those animals, like their mating season and their height is generally influenced by the animal, like Jameson being small because he’s a rabbit or Jackie being tall because he’s a grey wolf. Most of the egos keep certain physical characteristics in their human form, for example both Jackie and Silver keep their ears and tails and Silver keeps his eyes like a fox’s.

And as much as I would adore to make Silver a literal silver fox, in general I imagine him as albino in my AUs (I genuinely have no idea why I do, to be honest, but I think it has something to do with I like his appearance to have a similar aesthetic to his suit) so he will be an albino red fox. He’s also trans, as usual for my AUs, because I make all the characters I relate to trans.

Jackie��s nickname for Silver, vix, is a shortening of vixen. Jackie uses it because it’s also used for flirtatious women, and he has specific permission from Silver to use it for him.

Henrik’s german line “Ich möchte mich recht herzlich bedanken” means “I would like to thank you sincerely.” It’s a formal way of saying thank you when someone has helped you a lot, and Henrik is definitely thankful for not having to deal with Jackie anymore.

Warning: Mating cycles, rough sex, slight aggression, use of cunt and clit to refer to a transman’s genitalia, slight breeding kink, fingering, mating press position, scratching, dirty talk, biting. As always, ask me to add any necessary warnings!

Silver hadn’t visited Jackie yet. It was mid February, smack in the middle of Silver’s own mating season but still pretty early in Jackie’s. As much as he would have loved to be able to visit his mate in the past month and a half, he’d gotten busy with helping Dark with their plans and fighting crime. Silver felt bad about it, honestly. Jackie always had it worse during his mating season than Silver did.

Silver groaned as he awoke to his phone ringing on the bedside table. It’d been a long day and he’d finally managed to get to sleep, only to be woken up twenty minutes later by his phone blaring. Silver groaned again and rolled over, grabbing his phone and answering without bothering to even check the caller ID.

“Hallo. Did I wake you?” Silver sat up at the German accent on the other end of the phone. In general, Silver didn’t talk to Henrik a lot. He and the crow could be considered acquaintances, but they never actively sought each other out. So either Henrik was bored out of his mind and everyone he usually spoke to was asleep or otherwise occupied or something was wrong.

“Schneep? Is something wrong?” Silver asked, all sense of sleepiness gone.

“Sort of. Can you come over? Jackie is getting a bit...”

“Much to deal with?” Silver finished for him, sighing deeply. “Okay. I’ll be right over. Try to keep him calm until then, okay?”

“I will certainly do my best,” Henrik replied, sighing as well. “Ich möchte mich recht herzlich bedanken.”

“Anytime,” Silver replied, setting his phone to the side after Henrik hung up. He didn’t know German, but he’d heard Henrik thank people enough times to know the gist of what it meant. Silver sighed and climbed out of bed to get dressed.

-

Silver could hear Jackie’s howling from outside the front door and he was pretty sure it was hell to Jackie’s housemates. Although Silver didn’t mind, and he couldn’t help the thrill of arousal that show up his spine at the sound. Jackie wasn’t really much for howling, especially not in his human form. If Jackie was howling, he was desperate.

Silver knocked awkwardly on the front door. It took about fifteen seconds before a very pissed off pit bull opened the door. Chase’s eyes were rimmed with dark bags and his ears were flat against his head.

“Hi, Chase,” Silver greeted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.

“You’re late,” Chase grumbled, glaring up at the fox.

“I came as quick as I could after Schneep called-”

“You’re about a month and a half late, my dude. Fuckin’ dick has destroyed the kitchen twice now.”

“Oh. Uh. Can I just... go up to him?”

“Please do,” Chase agreed, stepping away from the door and gesturing for Silver to go. “And shower next time, we can all smell your heat a mile away.”

“I woke up thirty minutes ago, Brody, give me a break,” Silver grumbled, pushing past the shorter man and making his way up to Jackie’s room quickly.

“Are you going to let me in or do I have to sit outside all night listening to you scream?” Silver asked, knocking on the door to Jackie’s bedroom. Jackie’s melodramatic howling quickly stopped as he opened the door, immediately dragging Silver into the room and hugging him as tight as he could.

“Hello to you, too, wolfy,” Silver greeted, biting his lip gently as Jackie pressed his face against Silver’s throat and gently dragged his teeth against the sensitive skin.

“You’re a jerk,” Jackie grumbled, nuzzling the smaller man lovingly.

“I know,” Silver replied, moving one hand to rub Jackie’s back. “I’m sorry, love. I never meant to be gone for so long.”

“It’s okay, vix,” Jackie replied, pulling away slightly to pull Silver’s shirt off before kissing down his chest. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

“Mm, me too,” Silver agreed, gently running his hand through Jackie’s hair. Jackie nodded and gently licked one of Silver’s nipples, drawing a soft moan from the fox.

“Your housemates aren’t too happy with you,” Silver commented, gently pushing Jackie away and pulling off his jeans. Jackie grinned and quickly shoved his boxers off, laying in the center of his bed. Silver grinned lightly and pulled his own boxers off before climbing onto the bed and straddling Jackie’s hips.

“I said I was sorry about the kitchen,” Jackie grumbled, gently placing his hands on Silver’s hips and leaning up in tandem with Silver leaning down to meet him in a kiss. Silver grinned and rested his hands on Jackie’s shoulders, carefully shifting to a more comfortable position as they kissed.

It was, perhaps, a bit sadistic of him, but he liked knowing that Jackie was desperate for him. Jackie was almost always firm and in control of himself and his desires. It was flattering in a way for Silver to know that his absence had caused this much desperation- even if it was really just because of the mating season.

Jackie moaned softly into the kiss, running one hand up Silver’s back into his hair and the other down past the curve of Silver’s ass and down to his cunt. Silver whined softly as Jackie pushed a finger into him, pulling away from the kiss to breathe and panting heavily. Jackie grinned and licked his lips, looking up at Silver and slowly pushing another finger into him.

“I knew you were as desperate as me,” Jackie breathed, crooking his fingers and rubbing them against Silver’s inner walls in a way he knew would make the younger superhero collapse against his chest, which he predictably did. Silver whined softly, pressing his forehead against Jackie’s shoulder and rocking down against his hips.

“This is a really awkward angle for my wrist,” Jackie commented, although he couldn’t find it in himself to shift to a more comfortable position with Silver’s soft breathe against his throat like it was. Silver whimpered and shifted, grinding his hips back against Jackie’s fingers and his cock.

“Ah, fuck,” Jackie hissed, jerking his hips up against Silver and pulling his fingers out of him quickly. Silver whined unhappily, clenching around nothing desperately. “You’re getting slick all over me, you know.”

“Don’t care,” Silver breathed, gently biting Jackie’s throat and sucking a dark mark into it. Jackie growled and quickly shifted positions, pushing Silver onto the bed and forcing him into a mating press position.

“Why do you always choose the most uncomfortable positions?” Silver asked, whimpering as Jackie teasingly rubbed the head of his cock against Silver’s clit.

“Genuinely? You relax more when you’re uncomfortable because you don’t want to get hurt,” Jackie replied, grinning and leaning down to kiss Silver’s nose. “it’s like yoga. Plus, I really want to breed you right now, vix.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Silver breathed, arching his back with a moan as Jackie thrust his hips against him. “Stop teasing and fuck me, Jackie.”

“Gladly,” Jackie growled, grinning wolfishly before thrusting his cock into Silver and moaning. Silver gasped and moaned loudly, arching his back and rocking down against Jackie’s cock desperately.

Jackie growled darkly and quickly started fucking Silver, thrusting as fast and hard as he could. Silver moaned loudly, scratching down Jackie’s back harshly as the wolf fucked him. Jackie groaned and leaned down, biting Silver’s shoulder sucking harshly to make a large mark on Silver’s pale skin.

“Fuck, vix,” Jackie growled, gripping Silver’s hips hard enough to bruise. “Gonna breed you so fucking good, vix. And mark you so everyone knows you’re mine. All mine.” Silver moaned in response and arched his back, tightening around Jackie as he came. Jackie growled and thrust into Silver brutally for a few more minutes, his hips stuttering until he finally slammed his knot into Silver’s cunt and came, biting the fox’s throat and sucking a large, dark mark into it.

Silver relaxed against the bed, breathing heavily and moaning very faintly at the feeling of Jackie filling him before he spoke. “Fuck, Jackie,” Silver whimpered, reaching up to feel the bruise on his throat Jackie left. “I’m gonna need a scarf to cover this up.”

“Don’t cover it,” Jackie replied, very carefully moving Silver’s legs back onto the bed and snuggling closer to the fox. “Let everyone see. Mine.”

“Yours,” Silver agreed, rubbing Jackie’s back gently when the other man started thrusting his hips again. “Wait, wolfy. Wait for your knot to shrink before we can go for round two.”

Jackie whined unhappily but stopped moving regardless, snuggling closer to Silver. “Sleep, then. Round two after.”

Silver laughed and nodded, pressing his head against Jackie’s shoulder and settling in to sleep. After all, he had been waken up less than an hour ago to rush over. Jackie grinned lightly and kissed Silver’s nose after the fox fell asleep before he snuggled closer and went to sleep himself.

[geminimoonbeamx]

I'm Not Your Toy

A/N: So I’m finally getting through my asks! This one was a request for an insecure reader and an over zealous flirty Bucky. I love writing him like this! So I got carried away and suddenly this was almost five thousand words so I’m going to have to split it into a two parter! Ugh, charming Bucky. You do things to my heart

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: A disgusting amount of pining, sailor like cursing, maybe triggering self doubt and insecurity, pretty SFW…for now.

Summary: You’d supported Steve and his decision to not kill Bucky. Fuck, you even supported Steve when he’d literally started a war over Bucky. Done jail time for him. But you what you couldn’t manage to do for the life of you, for the love of Steve, was get along with Bucky. Especially when he managed to make you blush every time you were in the same room as the man

💛💛💛💛

James Barnes drove you absolutely crazy.

And not in the way that he drove most to madness. You knew that both he and Steve( And Sam, Tony, Thor and the rest of the guys on the team) had their fan clubs. You’d nearly coughed up a lung when you’d found that Tumblr page dedicated to “Daddy Clint: A daddy and a father”. You could still clearly recall Wada choking on her cup of soda when you’d shoved your phone in her face. Women loved celebrities, fuck it was in human nature to admire what you saw on TV’s and movie screens. And who didn’t love a superhero? Pst, everyone did.

At first, when Bucky had first come to live in the Tower with Steve after the reconciliation of “the time period that shall not be named�� (the Sokovian Accords), he’d been stoic. Keeping mostly to himself, coming and going from therapy to the gym. Building himself up from the ground, with Steve as his foundation. Because Steve was the only thing he really knew.

And where there was Steve, there was you. The two of you had become more then close over the years of Avenging together. It had happened so…naturally. You couldn’t even remember when your friendship had even really begun. He just seemed so…lonely. And you couldn’t understand why no one else honed in on it the way you did. It gnawed you so much, you couldn’t help but butt in. Talk to him, be there for him. You’d helped him master the internet. You’d made a decent dent in that list of that he kept in his little journal; when you’d seen that Star Wars was on it you’d squealed and the two of you had spend an entire day curled up watching all seven of them. You’d been the one to encourage him to go the VA when he’d first met Sam, helped him decorate that apartment he’d had for a while. Followed him into battle over and over.

Steve had become your best friend. And you his. He wasn’t the Captain to you. He was Steve, you could lay on and watch draw for hours and who was way more sassy then anyone gave him credit for.

But- you weren’t his only best friend. You’d been there, when he’d discovered that Bucky was alive. You’d gotten your fair share of the Winter Soldier during that whole take down of S.H.I.E.L.D. You had the crook in your neck to this day as a reminder. Even though you agreed with Sam, that some people you just couldn’t save, you’d supported Steve and his decision to not kill Bucky. Fuck, you even supported Steve when he’d literally started a war over Bucky. Spent jail time for him.

But you what you couldn’t manage to do for the life of you, for the love of Steve, was get along with Bucky.

You tried, by god you know you did. First, you’d attempted to be warm to him, to get him to warm up to you. He would only acknowledge you with nods and gruffs. With one word answers and side ways looks. You didn’t take it too personally(that’s what you told yourself), you knew that he had been through seventy plus years of torture. He wasn’t going to turn into chatty Cathy over night. So you got used to him being push pop like frigid to you.

Until one day, after months of therapy, he wasn’t anymore.

He’d started to find himself again, surrounded by Tony’s top shrinks, the spark in his azure eyes came back…it happened to come back in his personality too. It started slow, him actually joining in on your and Steve’s teasing conversations. Putting his opinions, sharp ones. Funny ones. Looking at you straight in the eye with a confident quirk of his lips that you’d never seen.

And then it came all at once. Anoyone who spent a prolonged amount of time with the group had to be at least a little bit of a smart ass but the mouth on Bucky Barnes shocked you. Crude and dripping with 40’s charm. It was shocking, at first.

Now it just annoyed you.

Because some fucking how, you’d become the focal point of his affection.

You roll your eyes at the thought. It wasn’t affection. It was…attention. It was flirtation that made you squirm and blush. The blunt, outrageous kind. Where he’d compliment you(sometimes very raunchily) infront of everyone. It was mortifying. Not only because it got a rise out of the rest of the team but because you knew he didn’t mean it.

How could he?

When he’d regained a few puzzle pieces of himself, one of them happened to be his way with the ladies. And there was an abundance of them that would do just about anything to be seen with an Avenger. Even if he had been labeled an international terrorist only years before, you kept the bitter afterthought to yourself.

He never really dated any one, no he just flirted. With. Fucking. Everyone. He did it as easily as he breathed.

It was annoying and honestly a little insulting.

Especially when he did things like lean against the island in the kitchen, his biceps, both flesh and vibranium, flexing under the thin gym t-shirt as he complimented Natasha on her crazy fight skills.

“I like the way you move, Romanoff”

You literally couldn’t have scrunched your face harder at that moment as you grabbed a nectarine and tried to hurry away from the scene.

“Thanks Barnes. I’d return the compliment but your getting rusty, soldat” The redhead taunts and Bucky grins. It’s gross. Watching them flirt. Because they’re so perfect for each other. Beautiful and modelesque. You ignored the sinking in your stomach.

“Baby Doll, tell her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about” Bucky reached out and caught your waist as you tried to leave. He looked down at you with waggling eyebrows “You don’t think I’m getting rusty, do you?”

You frown and squirm away from his hand on your chubby waist “I don’t think about you at all, actually” You tell him before walking out of the large space.

Natasha full out, heartily laughs at the gob smacked expression on Bucky’s face.

Or what about when you walked around in your pajama shorts? You could never get by without a “You’ve got a gorgeous set of gams, doll. Anyone ever told you that?” You could literally feel his eyes burn holes into your thighs and it made you want to put on pants.

He could see the dimples from the cellulite. That’s what he had to be looking at. When Steve noticed that you were wearing pants a lot more he’d slapped Bucky on the back of the head and warned him to stop.

“Are you the sun? Cause your so beautiful it’s blinding me” that had earned him a little scowl.

“Your so cute it’s distracting, you know that, Sugar” You’d flat out walked away from him at that one.

“You look cold. You need me to warm you up?” He’d offered, genuinely but in that flirtatious voice as you stood in the frigid New York air. It was during one of Stark Industries many Fundraising Gala’s and you’d escaped out onto a balcony to get away from the politicians and socialites. You didn’t even care that the gown you wore was off the shoulder and it was twenty degrees outside.

“Thanks but no thanks” You grimace as you folded your arms over your chest, fighting shivers.

“C'mere, your shaking” He reaches out to you but you manage to shrug out of his grip and give him a warning look.

“Bucky”

“Y/N” He teases back in the same tone and you cant help but crack a smile. You let him give you his suit jacket, allowed him to drape it over your shoulders. Happy that his broad ones were much larger then yours. You’d never really been the small one in a relationship, always the big girl. The smart girl and defiantly the funny girl. But the big girl none the less. The fact that the fabric of his jacket was oversized and loose on you made your heart flutter.

“Holy fuck it’s clear out, the stars are you gorgeous tonight” You distract yourself, change the conversation as you stare up at the unusually clear starry night sky. Your breath coming out in little puffs of steam that clashed with the cool night air. Your eyes wide and trained above you.

Bucky feels his chest ache as he looks at you. His mouth feels dry and he licks his lips before he responds “They’ve got nothing on you”

You don’t react the way he wants you to. You don’t giggle and blush. You frown and look over at him, your eyes shrouded and almost hurt looking. It feels like he’s making fun of you, honestly.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” He’s confused. He really truly is.

“That. Flirt like that. It’s- It makes me uncomfortable” You huff, your bottom lip jutting out in a way that made him want to reach over and nip at it.

“Why? You like it?” He’s using a hellu'va lot of self control. He wants to kiss that pretty pout of yours so badly

“No. It makes me feel pretty shitty actually, because I know it’s bull, Bucky” It comes out in a white hot run on sentence “You don’t have to…do that with me. I mean there’s plenty of women here who would die to hear this shit coming out of your mouth. So stop…lying to me-”

“Lying to you? Y/N I’m-” You interrupt him by shrugging out of his jacket and handing it to him, almost robotically.

“It’s fine, Bucky. I’m going back inside”

“Hey, I think you’ve got the wrong-” But you, for what feels like the thousandth time, leave him standing there wondering what the hell he could have possibly said to make you react that way. He knows going after you would just make it worse. So instead he goes to find Steve, and ask him what the holy hell your problem with him was.

You kept your distance from him for the following weeks after that. Discreetly…or so you thought.

Bucky could feel you running every time he came close. You barley looked at him. You laughed, and pretended like everything was normal but he could feel the distance from you and it felt like a bullet hole. He would know, he’d endured plenty. But you icing him out…he thinks it feels more awful then anything he’s ever felt. An icepick like pain that had him reeling because even though Steve had explained to him that you had, had issues in past relationships, that you had one hell of a body dysmorphic complex, he couldn’t get how you didn’t believe he was sincere. In everything he had ever said to you.

It’s almost to a breaking point when most of the team is assigned to a mission. You and Bucky just so happen to be two of the people assigned, along with Steve, Sam, Nat, Tony and Bruce. It was supposed to be an in and out. If anyone could have guessed just how wrong everything would go, just how outnumbered you all would be-

You sigh.

But there were no rewinds in life. Not even with all of the technology- Alien and Human alike. Time didn’t do take backs.

Your limping, dragging yourself like dead weight into the Tower. Your honestly a little delirious, but isn’t everyone? The mission had been extremely taxing, and everyone that had been on it had taken a hell of a beating. Even Steve and Bucky- the genetically modified super soldiers looked like they had walked straight through hell. Tony collapses into a heap onto the couch once you reach one of the many common areas. Natasha and Steve were both on the med floor with Sam who had taken it the worst. The fall he’d taken after a Hydra agent had launched a missile at him had been gnarly. Luckily Bruce had been able to stabilize him back in the Quinjet.

You blanch at the thought, at the memory of Sam falling from the sky. At your legs working hard, burning from the strain, as you ran to him and found him so still- so…dead.

You cant think that. You wont. You lift your chin high, in an attempt to steady yourself and make a beeline for the elevator, wanting to get to your floor and wash off the grime. Wash off the fear and the gunpowder. Your so wrapped up in your self yourself you don’t notice Bucky’s hawk like gaze, his pale eyes that follow you all the way out of the room.

He winces when your out of sight. It physically hurts, for him to not be able to see you. After everything, after that mission, he just wanted to grab you. Hold you tight against him, never let you go. His heart had almost fallen out of his chest so many times during the duration of the assignment. He didn’t know if he could ever be paired with you again for work. He couldn’t focus, on anything else but you out in the field.

Where the fuck had all those years of learning to compartmentalize go? Right out of the fucking window when he saw you get shot at.

“Oh Elsa” Tony gives a little exaggerated sympathetic sigh from his place on the couch “You’ve got it so bad”

Bucky cant even deny it, there’s no use. So he just mumbles about going to check on Sam. Tony chuckles at him, at the way he looks like a kicked puppy but grips his ribs as the cackle agitates what he knows must be a fracture.

After what feels like hours in the scalding hot waterfall shower you pull on a pair of barley there stretchy black shorts and an oversized heather T-shirt that your pretty sure you’d stolen from Steve at one time. It’s always like this after a particularly hard mission, you feel…drained. Like there’s noting under the skin and bone. Hollow- and yet still in pain.

Because you’d gotten a nasty side graze by someone’s knife at one point during the fight. You couldn’t even remember getting it- but it stung like a bitch. You assessed it in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t too bad, it was big. Long and jagged. But not too deep. Plus it was on a meaty area of your body- your chubby love handles saving you from any major damage. You let out a humorless laugh and drop the shirt, grabbing a random bottle of pain pills that you’d acquired from another mission.

Battle wounds were nothing new.

Just another scar. Not like your body had ever, or would ever be perfect.

Whatever.

You’d swallowed the Percocet dry when you hear a knock on your door.

You figure it must be Steve. Or Nat. Or even Wanda. Coming to check on you. When you type into the key pad, opening it you cant fight the surprise.

Because it’s Bucky.

You can tell he’s just recently showered as well, his still wet hair is pulled into a little knot on the back of his neck and he’s dressed in a dark sweat suit, his feet bare.

“Hey?” Your voice wavers. You hadn’t really spoken to him much lately. He was the last person you’d expect to find on your door step.

“Hey” Bucky starts. It’s the first time you’ve heard him sound truly unsure in a long time “I thought I’d uh, swing by and make sure your doin’ alright”

You hadn’t even noticed he was holding a granola bar and a bottle of water in his hands until he holds it up, as kind of a white flag. You smile, sadly. Gratefully, as you take it.

“Thanks Buck, I really appreciate it”

“No problem at all. I figured ya’ might be hungry” He’s figuratively twiddling his thumbs as he speaks “I ate seven of those just a minute ago”

You laugh, even though your exhausted and hollow, he makes you laugh.

Bucky has never seen you look so…frail. Usually your bold and bright and now your pale and he doesn’t even know how your standing. His eyes trail down your body- and he only lets himself look because he’s trying to tally up all of your injuries. Every scrape and bruise- it just so happens that there’s a large blooming bruise on your right thigh. The plush flesh looks so- fuck he wants to grab it. He wants to grab you in his arms so bad.

The look in his eyes…scares you? Thrills you? God, it sets your nerves on fire because he’s never looked at you like this before. He looked at you a lot of ways, no doubt. But the way his steely eyes drink you in now is new.

“Have you been to the med bay yet?” Bucky knows you haven’t, so his brow is raised high.

“No, I’m fine” You wave him off, shaking your head. Your dripping hair swaying against your back.

“That bruise is nasty, Y/N. You should get it looked at” Bucky insists. You don’t know why he cares so much.

“I think they’ve got their hands busy, I’ll be fine. I’ve got my handy dandy pain killers” You try to not be affected by him or the pain in your side as he leans against the doorway. You can tell he’s not going away anytime soon. You don’t think you want him to. “Do you want to come in?”

Bucky answers embarrassingly quick.

“Yes! Uh- yeah. If that’s okay?”

Oh, the thrills this boy gives you. You hate them as much as you love them.

You just nod reassuringly and usher him in, the door electronically sliding shut behind him. You go over and take a careful seat on the edge of your bed, and he sits across from you on one of the accent chairs.

“Have you seen Sam, is he okay?” You toss out questions as you peel at the granola bar.

“He’s stable, they think he’s goin’ to be okay. Bunch'a broken bones, but his internal organs weren’t too shaken up. Bird brain got lucky…” Bucky trails off, giving one gruff laugh. For as much as he and Sam gave each other heaps of shit, they were close. He’d been worried- when the bird had been shot from the sky.

“I’m happy” You chew slowly, trying to absorb his words. “I really thought for a moment there-”

“I know. Me too”

That feels so good, hearing him say that. Me too. You weren’t alone. Bucky knows exactly how you feel, and at that moment in time, that’s all you needed.

Your phone chirps and your too fast as you go to grab it. The pained gasp that leaves your lips has Bucky’s head perking up. Of course him, with his enhanced hearing, had picked up on it.

Your hand flies to your side, because you know it’s reopened the scab. That more then likely your bleeding again.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine” You hiss through the sharp pain as you stand.

Oh shit that hurts. Bucky jumps to his feet and goes to you, his metal arm going to your shoulder, and his flesh to the small of your back. “Obviously not. Where are you hurt, show me”

“No!” You protest at his demand, half because who did he think he was? And half because it would be a cold day in hell before you lifted your shirt and let Bucky look at all your jiggly bits.

“Your bleeding through your shirt. Did you even dress it, Jesus” Bucky tries to angle you so that he can get a better look at where crimson has begin to poke through the gray Tee. “Just let me clean it up and bandage it”

“No, it’s fine. I can do it”

“Y/N!”

“What?”

“Why are you so difficult? Fuck, just let me help you, okay? Your bleeding” He’s almost yelling this at you…though at the end of the sentence he’s begging. Because he knew he shouldn’t have let you out of his sight.

“I-I” You stutter. Your terrified. Of him. Of this. Of your body, and of him seeing your body.

“Please” Bucky’s voice is low and his eyes hold you captive.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say no, or yes. So you just nod, and let him lead you to the bathroom.

You’ve never felt so exposed, as you hold up your shirt, it fisting right under your breast as Bucky bends don so that he’s eye level with your wound and tends to it. He’s gentle, but nimble. His fingers working fast as he cleans and bandages. You can feel your heart thundering against your chest. Is he looking at your tummy? At the stretch marks?

“I can hear your heart beat, doll. Calm down” Bucky sooths with a small chuckle, not looking up from his work. He’s not looking at your tummy or your stretch marks…he’s looking at how smooth for skin appears. At how soft it feels under his finger tips… “I’m almost done”

He never wants to finish.

“Your actually really good at this”

“Yeah, I had a little trainin’ back durin’ the war” He tells you as he finishes up, securing the bandage “Nothin’ too extensive, but I know the basics”

“Good for you” He looks up at your wit and shakes his head. “That sounded ungrateful. I’m sorry”

“No, it’s okay” Bucky reassures, his fingers trailing over the edge of the bandage…he knows he shouldn’t…but he cant resist leaning his head in and pressing a soft kiss atop the bandage. Quick, just a peck really but your head spins. He looks up to make sure your not about to slap him.

You don’t look angry in the least. You look…awed. He wants to kiss up your stomach. Wants to kiss every inch of exposed skin…but instead he reaches up and grabs the hem of your shirt from your grip, and pulls it down before patting you hip and grinning at you. Your in a haze, at his touch. At the intimacy of it all. Even when your back seated on your bed, your still…not all the way there. Your in your head, your thoughts going wild.

You decide you want him. Lord, do you want him. No one had ever been so…tender with you. None of your ex’s had ever shown that level of gentleness with you. You lay back against your pillows and he shifts unsurely at his place, standing at the end of the bed.

“I could go?”

“Please stay” You plead. The thought of being alone makes your teeth clench “I don’t really want to be alone…do you?”

“Nah, Sugar. I don’t” Bucky could scream. He’d wanted nothing but this for months. He goes to sit back in the chair but you sit up and reach for him.

“Lay back, you mook!” Bucky urges, coming to your side of the bed to place a hand on your chest “You’ll reopen that cut”

“Can you…lay with me?” It’s a big bed, it wasn’t like you two would even really even have to touch. Even though all you wanted was for him to touch you.

Bucky must be dreaming. He must have gotten shot during that mission. Maybe he’s dead?

He doesn’t ask twice though, after searching your desperate eyes for any sign of doubt, he climbs onto the bed next to you.

Part Two

————————————– @geekyweed hope you like this first part baby girl!

DUN DUN DUNNNN. Part two will be nothing but totally NSFW smut. Desperate and needy yummy smut. If you want to be tagged you know the drill, let me know! Leave me some feedback babies!✨

[taikoturtle]

Either "Bitch better have my money" or "Zero fucks given. Next please" for the five word prompts.

Pairing: Trimberly

“Bitch better have my money”

read it on AO3

Trini’s sneakers pound against the pavement as she scours the entire school grounds at the end of the day. Her eyes scan the passing areas acutely but fail to yield the results she’s seeking. Fingers fly across her phone’s screen as fast as her feet are carrying her across campus.

[Trini 2:44]

zack, you better b at school today

She checks his usual stomping grounds: the secluded utility shed near the football stadium, the bathrooms on the farthest outskirts near the chemistry labs, and the outside area at the back of the school. Each place is emptier than the last causing Trini’s scowl to deepen with every strike out.

[Trini 2:48]

this is really important where tf are you

Slowing to a stop near the flagpole out front, Trini sucks in gulps of fresh air to catch her breath. It’s quite possibly the worst day for their truant friend to be elusive, but Trini’s always had shitty luck so she can’t exactly blame him. After becoming a Power Ranger he has steadily upped his attendance, but the bar is set pretty low when you’re starting from completely absent all of the time.

Her phone buzzes and she whips it up to read whatever excuse he has cooked up for her.

[Zack 2:52]

was taking a dump. can’t a guy get a break?

[Trini 2:52]

you’re so gross why are we friends

[Zack 2:53]

you tell me crazy girl

Her lips crack into a smile before she shakes her head and remembers the urgency.

[Trini 2:53]are you at school today?

[Zack 2:54]

you’re lucky I was feeling studious today

[Trini 2:54]

studious my ass. fridays are pizza day at school

[Zack 2:54]

potato potato

[Trini 2:55]

what?

[Zack 2:55]

that was way less effective through text

[Trini 2:55]

whatever just come to the flagpole now and bring the money you owe me

[Zack 2:56]

sooo about that…

As soon as she reads his last text, Trini feels her blood pressure rising like a bubbling volcano. A couple of weeks ago she had lent him some cash to take a girl out on a date. Partly because it was satisfying to see him beg so desperately because he really liked this chick, but mainly because she was happy that he was happy. Honestly, she would have lent him the money regardless simply because he’s her friend, but the groveling really was a nice touch.

[Trini 2:57]

SOS

It’s their code for when shit is real, and now is the time to cash in on that debt because Trini has a date of her own—with none other than Kimberly Hart.  

Yes, the Kimberly Hart.

The very girl who she’s been pining for ever since they stumbled across the power coins on that fateful night that changed their lives forever. The very girl who she initially despised when she had first transferred because of ignorant stereotypes that shaped how Trini thought Kimberly was as a person without even getting to know her first.

The very girl who stole her heart after she realized just how wrong she was.

And one would think that when a girl tricks you and pulls you down off a seemingly bottomless cliff, the friendship would be over before it even started, but such was not the case with Kimberly. Maybe Trini’s just a glutton for punishment but something inside her that day compelled her to come back, and it certainly wasn’t Jason’s mildly rousing speech—all she knows for sure is that she fell into more than just that ravine.

Trini doesn’t do emotions very well. Anger maybe, sarcasm most definitely, but love? As far as she’s concerned, love is as foreign to her as advanced physics. She loves her family, but it’s a delicate and complicated love that’s riddled with frustrations, so navigating the complex feelings she harbors towards Kimberly is a treacherous endeavor to say the least.

But it’s worth it—it’s always worth it.

She’s always worth it.

Trini had finally mustered up the courage today, fueled by Billy and Jason’s supportive encouragement and inspiring pep talk, to ask Kimberly out on a date. It was the most nerve-wracking moment of her teenage life, standing so closely beside Kimberly as she unfolded the tiny note that Trini slipped into her locker that morning.

Passing notes is kind of their thing, so it only seemed fitting that she asked her to dinner with a note. She even tried to draw a picture of a pterodactyl and a sabre toothed tiger but Kimberly ruined the moment by asking why she scribbled a pigeon and a dog on the paper. Trini knows she’s no Michelangelo, but come on.

Despite Trini’s apparently poor fine arts skills, Kimberly beamed at her and breathed out a relieved “finally!” before pulling her into a warm, inviting hug. Kimberly always gives amazing hugs too, the kind where her arms wrap fully around Trini’s body, not too tight but just close enough to make her feel safe, to feel enveloped by affection.

They’re the kind of hugs you never want to end, but time waits for no one and the school bell rang so they had to go their separate ways. Trini still felt the lingering warmth from Kimberly and her body hummed with vibrating excitement, eager for the day to end so they can go on their date.

It wasn’t until her next class when Trini opened her wallet to determine where they would go later that night did her heart plummet into her stomach.

It was empty.

Sure, insisting to pay for the whole bill is an antiquated notion, but Trini doesn’t care—she wants to treat Kimberly on their first date, to really make her feel as special as she makes Trini feel, but how is she going to do that with no money whatsoever? There’s no way she’s going to have Kimberly pay for the entire dinner when the date was Trini’s idea to begin with.

Which is why Zack needs to get his ass over to the flagpole before she kicks it so hard he won’t have anything left to sit on.

“Bitch better have my money,” Trini mumbles under her breath as she crosses her arms, her foot tapping the ground impatiently.

Her phone buzzes again but before she can glance at its contents an arm slings around her shoulders out of the blue and startles her.

“Here you are!” Kimberly exclaims as she leans heavily into Trini with a broad smile on her face. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Sorry, I had uh… stuff I had to do after school,” Trini replies vaguely with her gaze averted downward.

Trini feels Kimberly tense up, the air thick with silence before her voice tentatively asks, “Are we still on for tonight?”

“Yes!” The word blurts out louder than intended and a blush overtakes Trini’s chagrined expression.

“Oookay, cool. I was just checking,” Kimberly responds quietly. “I mean, if you’re having second thoughts or like, you don’t feel like going out tonight I totally understand. The last thing I want is for you to regret anything or force you into something you’re not ready for or–”

“Hey, no no, stop.” Trini turns swiftly to face Kimberly and shakes her head earnestly. “Believe me, I do want this–” her hands motion back and forth between them animatedly “–I had something I needed to take care of first before we leave, really.”

The tension in Kimberly’s thin expression releases as she exhales, the worry and anxiety leaving her body upon hearing her words. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous I guess.”

“Aw, I make you nervous?” Trini grins smugly which garners a playful slap on the arm from Kimberly. Her pocket buzzes again, but Trini disregards it in favor of paying attention to the situation at hand.

“Seriously though, I haven’t really put myself out there since the whole Ty Flemming thing and I just don’t want…” Kimberly pauses, her eyes shifting left and right, heavy with the pain of her past and searching for the right words to continue.

…to get hurt is what Trini thinks to herself, because behind all of the confidence and bravado, romance is still very much a sore point for Kimberly. She knows she’s made mistakes and if you ask her what compelled her to do it, even she has no idea, but the repercussions of her actions still echo to this day and they’re impossible to escape.

Trini throws her arms around Kimberly and pulls her back into a close embrace. Her hugs may not be as good as Kimberly’s, but damn it she can try. She’d hug away Kimberly’s ghosts if she could, but life doesn’t work that way and it’s never that simple, so Trini offers her truest self and hopes it’s enough to keep the demons at bay.

Smiling softly in the crook of Kimberly’s neck, Trini breathes out barely above a whisper.“For what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty cool.”

A choked laugh escapes Kimberly’s lips and her grip around the smaller Ranger tightens. “Thanks.”

Trini ignores the questioning looks that the other students are conspicuously throwing their way because they don’t matter–nothing else matters right now besides the fact that Kimberly is in her arms and that they fit together as if it were meant to be and everything feels absolutely perfect.

“Trini!”

The moment ruined, Trini’s brow furrows upon hearing her name being shouted in the distance and both girls turn to seek the source of the noise.

Kimberly squints to get a better look and her mouth parts open slightly in confusion. “Is that… Zack?”

True to her observation, Zack is barrelling towards them at full speed from across campus like a charging bull, his arms furiously pumping at his side and long legs putting in work. If his attendance at school wasn’t so poor, Trini could picture him on the basketball team or track and field.

He closes the gap in an impressively short amount of time, coming to a halt several feet away. Doubled over with his hands on his thighs as he heaves in and out haggardly, Zack angles his head up and stares at Trini incredulously.

“This is your SOS?”

Sweat drips down the sides of his face and Trini nods seriously. “Yeah.”

Zack straightens up and lets out an exhausted laugh. “Oh this is great.”

“Dude, you can laugh about it later. Do you have it?”

He shakes his head, “Nope.”

“What?!” Trini nearly shrieks and Kimberly flinches out of reflex, taken aback by her unusually loud outburst. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Why’d you even run over here to begin with if you didn’t have my money?”

Zack shrugs casually with a shit-eating grin still plastered on his face, “You stopped responding to my texts.”

“What money?” Kimberly inquires, her head tilting to the side curiously.

“Oh, Trini didn’t tell you?” Zack starts, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “She’s fresh out of cash, which I’m assuming she needed for whatever she’s doing tonight, which, by the looks of it, might be you–OW!”

Trini cuts him off with a swift punch to the chest mixed with a little Ranger strength for good measure.

Kimberly snorts humorously and looks at Trini. “Is this what was bothering you?”

Too ashamed from being exposed, Trini could only stare at the ground and nod her head dumbly.

“You’re adorable.” Kimberly links their hands together and gives her a little tug. “You don’t have to pay for me.”

“But I wanted to!” Trini protests with exasperation. “Besides, I asked you out on a date. That’s just messed up that you have to pay when I was the one who proposed it.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Kimberly says nonchalantly with a cheerful smile, “tonight’s on me.”

Zack smirks, “That’s not the only thing that’ll be on you tonight.”

Trini punches him again, her face as red as a tomato, as Kimberly’s bright laughter rings in the air.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [147]

“Oh, I like this,” Bull turns in time to see El-ana crouched down next to some scrapped service-bots. She’s pulling some heads out of a pile and looking between their faces. Her eyes flash and he waits as she scans one of the faces, the features of her face flicker with a fine net of pale green as the hologram of her face rearranges itself.

The color of her synthetic skin fluctuates for a few seconds before settling on a pale green with a series of freckles over her nose, which has now changed to match the service-bot she just scanned. Her mouth belongs to a home-care droid they met a few weeks ago, and her shaped and fold of her eyes are borrowed from a very old photograph from some old film.

“What do you think?” El-ana asks.

Bull taps the side of his nose, “Your pixels are glitching. I can see your coating.”

El-ana immediately drops the projection to reveal her real face underneath as she quickly touches her fingers to the off-white shell of her cheek, “Oh no, already?”

“We’ve been out for a while and your coating isn’t made to last like mine is,” Bull says, slowly bending down to take a closer look. “Yup, must have been that last sand storm. We’re halfway to Dagna’s place. I’ll send in a message to let her know we’ll need more than just post-storm maintenance. You feel anything wrong with that part?”

“Running a diagnostic, wait,” El-ana says. Bull watches the cameras of her eyes return to their default setting as she switches her attention from him to her own parts, “It doesn’t feel off.”

“You know I don’t know what that means,” Bull reminds her.

“You know that I don’t believe that,” El-ana replies, “You might have been built a war machine, The Iron Bull, but you’ve been made into something far better. I don’t know why you like to pretend otherwise. It seems very contradictory to the rest of your personality matrix.”

“I don’t know why you ever left your commune,” Bull sighs then gestures towards the pile of service-bots and their unblinking eyes and jumbled body parts, “You done borrowing?”

“Maybe you could use one of their optic cameras,” El-lana says turning to them, “It won’t be anything as high tech or fancy as the rest of you, but maybe it would help your processors.”

“They’ve held out this long with the one eye,” Bull says, “For all we know it’d fuck them up if we introduced a new signal source to the equation. I’d rather not have to deal with a brain technician dicking around my operating systems for any longer than necessary.”

“You’d rather not have a brain-tech in your systems at all,” El-lana says standing up, her face flickering back up with that fine net of green before she creates a new face overlay again. “Alright, I’m ready.”

“You good with that face? I don’t want to get stopped because you’re unnerving people around us because you can’t choose if you want a crooked or straight nose.”

“It’s fine,” El-lana says, waving him off. Her face is now bright pink with lavender spots. A few seconds later the rest of her coating changes to match. “Let’s go, you’re so sour. I bet you’d be changing all kinds of colors if you had my camouflage coat. Besides, I know why you’re really sour. It’s because you like my default face.”

“What am I supposed to say to that?” Bull shrugs his shoulder, ignoring the warning whirr of his right shoulder. Something definitely got fucked up in the last sandstorm. Maybe he needs a new radiation coat? “It’s entirely true.”

-

“I am, head over heels as they say, in love,” Ellana says throwing the door of the lab open.

“Is it a cat?” Evelyn asks.

“Is it a dog?” Kaaras erases his section of their white board and starts to carefully and neatly write down new notes. They’re actually the same notes he just erased. Dorian thinks that Kaaras thinks that if he just keeps rewriting his notes he’ll eventually figure out something new he overlooked.

It’s worked before so Dorian can’t say he thinks the methodology is a wash, but somewhere in Dorian’s mind, he still thinks it’s a complete wash.

“Is it someone who took pity on you with your sad everything and gave you a bit of their lunch?” Dorian asks to give some variety to this conversation.

“No,” Ellana says, letting the door swing shut behind her as she walks in, getting herself settled at her desk, “No, and no.”

“Is it a reptile of some sort?” Evelyn asks, chewing on the end of her pen as she watches Kaaras write his notes over again, “Kaaras can you please just take over writing everyone’s notes? Please? Anything is better than Ellana’s experiments in calligraphy with dry erase markers.”

“She’s very good at it,” Kaaras says, “Also did you see dry erase drawing she did of our autoclave? It’s really realistic. She got shading in and everything. Is it a bird?”

“There’s a time and place, Kaaras,” Evelyn sighs.

“Is it a marsupial?” Dorian asks.

“No! All of you no!” Ellana says, “But thank you for noticing my talents and efforts in applying cross hatching to dry-erase art, Kaaras, I really appreciate you.”

“Alright, is it a plant?” Evelyn says, running her hands over her head to pull her hair into a pony tail.

“Is it a new drink from the tea and snack shop - the one just next to the bus stop?” Kaaras asks, “Or is it pumpkin spice season already?”

“It’s August.”

“I saw Saturnalia decorations at the wholesale store this weekend. I’d take pumpkin spice season a month early over Saturnalia half a year early.”

“Is it a video game character?” Dorian asks, having abandoned his attempts at further going into his own part of their research half an hour ago.

“No, no, and no,” Ellana says, and then wrinkles her nose. “Wait, maybe yes to the last one.”

“Maybe yes?” Dorian’s eyebrows raise. “That one wasn’t a question you could stop partway through, Ellana. That’s a question you have to commit to. A person can’t just be three fourths a video game character.”

Ellana turns a very serious gaze on him, puts her chin on her hands and says - incredibly ominously - “He’s a man.”

Kaaras gasps so loud he chokes.

Evelyn’s hair-tie goes flying across the room.

Dorian slips out of his chair and falls down hard on his ass, hitting his head when he tries to get up. He clutches to his desk for dear life as he gapes at her over his mounds of scratch paper and rough drafts.

“A what?”

“He’s a man,” Ellana repeats, “Dorian, I know you know what a man is because you are one and you happy to fancy a great many of them.”

“You what a what?” Evelyn gapes, auburn hair falling down over her shoulders and out of her hands as she stands there, frozen like a deer in headlights. “You what a what?”

“A man, Evelyn, you have sex with one! You had sex with one at our quarterly barbeque retreat!” Ellana throws her hands up, “Evelyn you are standing in a room with two men as we speak, why is this so hard for you all to understand what a man is?”

“Define,” Kaaras says very slowly, “Define love.”

Ellana gives the three of them a look of complete and utter disgusted disappointment.

“I respected all of you,” She says, “I’m going to go tell Maxwell because he’ll be supportive of me. I bet he won’t ask me what love is.”

And just as dramatically as she came in, Ellana stands up and strides out of the lab again.

“She’s coming back because she left her research here and no man will come between her and her research,” Dorian says. “Right?”

“I don’t know, Dorian,” Evelyn says shaking her head as she slowly sits down right on the floor, “I just don’t know.”

[gageef]

Uncle Negan : Part Ten

*****IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE PREVIOUS PARTS YOU SHOULD PROBABLY DO THAT BECAUSE I PROMISE IT WILL BE 100% BETTER AND WILL ALL MAKE SENSE.******

MASTER LIST

negan imagine / negan x you / negan x reader 

warnings: language 

“C’mon, Rick! Aren’t you gonna fucking say hello?” 

Time froze as you looked around the block, soaking in each and every detail of the situation. Everyone in Alexandria had crawled out of their homes to see this evenings entertainment. Rick and Daryl sat feet away from each other in front of you, both in an obvious shock. You exchanged fear with Tara as you could see her scheming in her head what she could do to keep you all safe. Negan continued to lock you into his prison of a body, one arm looped firmly around your neck with the other pressing a hand gun into the right side of your skull. You closed your eyes in an attempt to calm yourself down. “1, 2, 3, 4, 5..” you counted down to yourself, “Come on, just make it to 10.” 

“Look at that.,” Negan’s voice scratched at your ear as he whispered his taunts just to you. “Finally reunited after weeks of asking me to bring him back and now they won’t even fucking look at each other. That? That’s power.” 

“6...7...8...”

His gun pressed harder into your head, “I think we should give those shits a little nudge, don’t you?”

“8...9...-” 

“Al-fucking-right, Alexandria. Fasten your seat belts and listen up closely because we are about to play a very shitastic game I like to call, ‘answer my question, or I’ll blow someone’s fucking head off.” You suddenly felt sick as your eyes darted to the crowd, trying to watch everyone at once. “Let’s start with...” he trailed off as he squinted his eyes, scanning the crowd before landing on Eugene. “Mullet man. Arat, let’s get a shotgun on this fat ass.” Rick pressed his head to the concrete as he heard the gun cock on his friend behind him. Your quivering, heavy breaths filled the night as you saw Eugene break down into tears causing a chain reaction from those around him doing the same. “Question one goes to the lucky lady who refuses to leave my arms.” Placing his chin in the crook of your neck his stubble pierced your skin sending chills throughout your caged muscles, his grip becoming even tighter. “Do you love Rick?” Looked down at Rick who slowly lifted his head off the road, his head facing you but his eyes darting anywhere else but there. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you responded frankly, “Yes.” Negan looked between you and Rick, adding a dramatic pause to the game you couldn’t decide if he had planned out or not. 

“Question 2. Arat?” Pushing Eugene to the ground she locked the gun behind the next head. Aaron. “Rick. Do you love your wife?” 

Rocking back and fourth on his knees, he quietly stated, “She’s the best thing I’ve found in this world.” 

Your jaw dropped as the water works syndrome hit you, sending sporadic tears down your cheeks. 

Negan lowered the gun while leaving his arm, his voice mellowing out creating a calm before the storm. “Did you hear that folks? Damn that is..that is just, that’s fucking great. That warms my fucking heart. Isn’t that such a crazy ass concept: ‘love’. The light in the shit storm, the memory you can’t delete...” You felt his arm drop to his side as he fumbled with his pockets. You had noticed a small rectangular object in his pockets before, almost looking like a phone which you knew would be almost impossible to be usable in the new world. 

“HEY!” Carl broke Negan’s trailed off ramblings as he ran into the bull pit, his wide eyes assessing the situation. 

“Thanks for showing up, kid. Now we can really fucking begin.” Negan ceased stumbling with his pockets, returning focus to the obvious important matters at hand. “Let’s get some action on that pretty dark haired woman over there, the one with the nice titties.” Arat then positioned herself behind Tara, making you weak at the knees. You exchanged looks as she remained confident in the face of death. She was like a sister to you and while seeing anyone killed today would break you, seeing her die would kill you for months to come. “Alright, Dix. I haven’t heard enough of your talking today.” He walked the two of you closer to Daryl who had remained stationed on the gravel since he came out of the truck. “A few weeks ago you had the pleasure of walking in on this fine lady and I. You made some claims, said some shit, made a fucking scene of yourself. I can appreciate that. I get it.” Your head rolled back as you slowly put together where he was going with this. “What was it you said we were doing? I’m getting old and my memory is sad as shit sometimes. And of course out good friend Rick wasn’t at the fucking scene, so I’m gonna need you to bring us allllll up to date on what happened.” He sat motionless, his stubbornness getting the best of him. “Let me remind you of the rules for this little game were playing. You don’t answer? I’ll blow her head off. You give a wrong answer? I blow her head off. So this whole fucking silent stick up your ass cover you got going on?  Not your best decision. I’d think you would’ve learned after Lucille banged...oh hell. That Asian guy? Whoever the fuck he was, she fucked him real slow and sensual just for you!--”

“I walked in on them. Rick I-I saw them. Laughin’ and shit with the baby, sleepin’ in the same room.” Daryl spoke softly as if he was trying to only let Rick be the one exposed to this information, but naturally that wasn’t going to work for the big boss. 

“Alright, okay. Here’s what I’m gonna do. You got 5 seconds on the clock, and you’re gonna say exactly what you said in my room or Arat’s gonna fuck that woman’s head like a virgin.” You saw Arat put her finger on the trigger, almost expecting Daryl to fuck this up. 

“5, 4, 3-”

You strained in his arms, itching to scream out what he said. God, please Daryl just fucking say it. FUCKING SAY IT!

“-2-”

“I said you were fuckin’ and that he was never going to forgive you.”

Negan slowly backed up with you, pretending to look confused. 

“But hang on, they just said they loved each other? Does that make any goddamn sense to you?” Resuming his grasp around your neck from behind, he walked you closer to the hostages on the ground. “But wait, now I’m starting to fucking remember.” 

Shit.

“You and I had a conversation, didn’t we? Back when you decided to take advantage of my services,” With his every word, Rick cried his way further into his hands, “I offered to have my men take you home. To this fine ass town called Alexandria! But, but ya said something that I can’t quite remember. Something about...Rick, maybe?” You couldn’t stand his taunting any longer, but you couldn’t muster up the courage to say it aloud. “Oh honey, I know you heard the rules. Making me repeat them would be a choice you could fucking regret for the rest of your god damn life.” He motioned towards his right hand woman once again. “Arat, down in front on that feisty one we dealt with a few weeks ago.” Rosita fought as two saviors helped to keep her hostage with Arat, the ticking time bomb behind her. “How’s that memory now, any fucking clearer? Cause I have a feeling when that ‘holy shit’ feeling settles in, if it hasn’t already, is going to be pretty fucking shocking. Don’t make me as you again.” 

You had to do this. You had to say it, or people would die. There was no escape, there was no option B, this was it. Wheezing in one more glass of air, you closed your eyes and began your confession. “I--I told you that..that Rick and I..” You looked up at the sky, searching for help and strength from anything to get you through this, the tears slowly resuming. “weren’t married and that...that we weren’t married and Mary, Mary i-is his but-”

“But the baby was...”

“Only his idea...” You barely got the words as you quaked in his grasp, unable to look at Rick. 

“And what did I say when I offered you could stay.” His voice became low and stern, drawing out every word with more and more emphasis, his rage teetering on the edge. 

“I’m not holding you against your fucking will.” You whisper made it to Rick and back as you felt the people of Alexandria closing in on you with their hatred. 

“Huh.” He leaned into you, “And I’m the one he wants to kick out.” He laughed as he addressed the crowd one more time. “Alright you shitheads, we have one more question for you tonight.” He locked his head onto Rick. “Rick, Rick, Rick. Always the man of the fucking hour.” Knocking your knees out, you fell to the ground on all fours in front of him, both of you scheduling peeks at each other so it wouldn’t occur at the same time. Negan squatted behind you, completing the circle that looked like it was about to partake in some fucked up story time. “Now just a bit ago I asked you if you still loved your wife. I now realize that may have been insensitive, seeing as though you two are not exactly on the same fucking page with that. But I’m gonna ask you again and I really want you to be honest with me, alright? Just put your balls right on the fucking table so we can all see them.” he paused, “Do you love your wife.”

That was it. “God please, no stop i-” 

“Hold on there, Princess. I do believe that fucking question was not for you.” He situated the gun on your head once more before turning back to Rick. “You know I won’t ask this shit again.”

Between sniffles and sobs, Rick dug his nails into the pavement before letting out a broken, “Go to hell.” 

Taken back by his bluntness, you felt your jaw drop slightly as Negan barely had the same reaction. Standing up he rubbed his gloved hand over his face sweater, the stubble scratching his leather creating the only sound amidst the silence. “You know, Rick,” He stated with a sign, “I don’t have to, but she does.” With one whistle, you heard the shotgun echo throughout the streets as Rosita’s body tumbled to the ground, her life and brains blown right out of her. 

“You could’ve stopped that, Rick, you cocky son of a bitch!” You started to feel lightheaded as his words began to sound like tattered lines of string flowing in and out of your system. “Now where is that baby?” A savior came over placing Lucille in his arms. “I want to see that fucking angel.” 

“NEGAN!--”

He locked onto your jaw, choking you as he held you up with his one hand, Lucille in the other. “I said you fucking owed me, didn’t I? I’m a man of my fucking word.” He turned to the crowd yet again, “Uncle Negan’s ready to fucking play.”

LEFT ON ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER. SORRY NOT SORRY AT ALL.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK PLEEEASE AND WHAT YOUR LIKE TO SEE HAPPEN! REALLY I RESPOND TO ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING

ALSO THERE’S AN EASTER EGG FOR ANOTHER FIC IN HERE, READ IT HERE 

@killjoycametofuck  @fuck-yeah-lets-do-negan-ff @superwholoki @deeindarkwonderland @angelfuzzy2 @countryfire2 @laaadygisbooornex3 @bands-messed-me-up @narcoleptic-moose-winchester @lilred91 @knowurenemies @buckybarnesisalittleshit @the-walking-dead-smut @bowieisawizard @ofmiceandmel666 @opheliadawnwalker3  @the-walking-dead-imagines457@liljanajahwe @khyharah @isayweallgetdrunk @kellyn1064 @chrisevansthedoritobastard @robert-d-j-bernthal@namelesslosers @knowurenemies @jmackie1983 @awalkinghurricane @the-walking-dead-imagines457@bowieisawizard @straightestgay-voice @eliselulu23 @kawaiirepublic@killjoycametofuck @ali-pennell @missawkwardmarvel @chloelouisemaate @concertxjunkie @badsongwinchester @the-saminator @thejulietfarciertlove @thedeadwalks @namelesslosers @sleepyxsam @eliselulu23