#i've decided that i really love drawing the squeaks

[askkirbyandthestarallies]

For Daroach, how you knew so much about necrodeus when you got to the popopo islands?

More specifically, Daroach in Mass Attack tells us that Squeakers gather intel for the Squeaks. This doesn't tell us how he knows anything about Necrodeus, but we can make inferences based on this information.

Hopefully the quality of this background makes up for the terrible one from last time I drew Daroach.

[societalenemynumberone]

Deadpool quotes but with my Lucifer's older sibling!reader idea-

Reader: [First day in Hell, in the middle of a fistfight] Have you seen this woman?

[holds up a bad crayon drawing of Charlie]

Sera: You've been warned, Reader. This is a shameful and reckless use of your powers. You will be coming with us

Reader: Look, Sera, I don't have time for the goody two-shoes bullshit right now

Alastor: Do you have off an switch?

Reader: Yeah, it's right next to the prostate. Or is that the on switch?

Reader; [after finding out about Charlie's existence] You're clowning. You're not clowning? I sense clowns

Charlie: Feeling a bit lonely?

Reader: Only sometimes when I'm by myself. Or other times when I'm with other people.

Reader: [First ever conversation with an awe-eyed Charlie] You're probably thinking, "My dad said that his older sibling is the second most just being in all of creation, but his sibling just turned that guy into a fucking kabab!" Well, I may be just, but I'm no hero. And yeah, technically, that was a murder. But some of the best love stories start with a murder. And that's exactly what this is, a family love story.

Reader: [to Sera] Listen, the day I decide to become a crime-fighting shit swizzler, who rooms with a bunch of other little whiners in the Lord's Kingdom with some creepy, [points to Adam] Heaven's Gate-looking motherfucker... on that day, [points to Emily] I'll send her shiny, happy ass a friend request

Reader [Helping in the second extermination]: Daddy needs to express some rage.

[starts firing their guns]

Reader: Listen, Angel, if I never see you again, I want you to know that I love you very much. I also buried 1,600 kilos of cocaine somewhere in the hotel - right next to the answer for getting out of a soul contract. Good luck.

Angel Dust: [Grinning] You fucking asshole

Alastor: Morningstar!

Reader: How can I help you? Besides luring women into dark, creepy basements.

Reader: [Just learned how to use a phone, looking at a text from Angel] What is that?

Husk: That's the shit emoji. You know the turd with the smiling face and the eyes. I thought it was chocolate yogurt for so long

Sera: I've given Reader every chance to join us but they'd rather act like a child. A heavily armed child. When will they grow up and see benefits of joining the Angelic Council?

Emily: Which benefits? Commiting genocide for amusement? Or the Angel that falls every few decades?

Sera: Please, falling out of Heaven builds character

Reader: Superhero landing. She's gonna do a superhero landing. Wait for it...

[Lute jumps from the platform and lands]

Reader: [clapping their hands] Whoo! Superhero landing! You know, that's really hard on your knees

Charlie: [Stopping Reader from killing Valentino] I can't allow this, Reader. Please, come quietly.

Reader: You blonde cock-gobbler!

Charlie: That's not nice.

Reader: You're really gonna fuck this up for me? Trust me, that squeaking bag of dick-tips has it coming. He's pure evil. Besides... Nobody's getting hurt.

[a dead body falls off an overhead building]

Reader: That guy was already up there when I got here.

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Hi, could I have Moxxie x reader where the reader is teaching Moxxie how to do magic. The reader could be a goetia or possibly a imp (idk how but it might be cool) have a good day

Today's lesson!

"Alright my dear Imp, let's begin today's lesson." You began cooly, waltzing around the little Imp as he stood in the centre of the courtyard.

"Now, as I'm sure you remember, Imps are naturally attuned to fire based magic, though very few possess the, well, spark to use it."

That got a giggle from the Imp, the man staring up at you in pure aduration.

"And so, today's lesson we will..." You paused, looking down at the man as he just smiled like up at you, wearing that dopey smile he wore when he wasn't paying attention.

Rolling your eyes, you gently swatted the Imp with your tail feathers.

"Pay attention darling, you know I don't like to repeat things~" you purred, smirking down at him.

Moxxie just smirked back.

"Oh, really?" He hummed. "Cause last night you didnt seem to mind going again and again and again-"

To that you just bumped your hip into him, the little Imp stumbling as the two of you shared a laugh.

Moxxie has always been fascinated by your magical abilities.

It wasn't surprising. Magic was a wonderful thing, something very few Imps got to witness up close. Moxxie always had a dreamers heart burried under all that paranoid and fearful flesh.

And so, after the man became increasingly curious, you decided to teach Moxxie some magic.

"Now, remember the finger lighter?" You hummed, the Imp perking right up.

With chest puffed out in pride, he proudly snapped his fingers, a flame pouring off the tip of his thumb.

"Excellent job!"

You smiled beaming with pride, as you gave the Imp a little clap.

Moxxie just smiled ear to ear, filled with pride, you always enjoyed praising the Imp.

Being an Imp, you knew Moxxie had limited magical abilities, so you couldn't teach him any particularly advanced spells.

But that wouldn't stop you from having some fun and teaching him some the spells you could.

You'd begin the lesson, working from that. You teaching him a few more basic fire spells. Nothing crazy, just enough he could use in a bind.

Moxxie was adept at basic magic, but while he was excellent at following instruction, the man lacked creativity, the Imp often time focused on the physical part then the instinctual.

Well... sometimes~

Youd teach him to the best of your ability, the Imp learning several basic spells, his favourite being able to throw fire, even if he was clearly limited.

And so, after a few hours of lessons, you taking several moments to ensure he knew the spells like the back of his hand.

Well, maybe not that well, but that he could do them without direct instruction.

"Now I'll be showing you perhaps the best spell I have." You told him sternly, pulling an armchair over as you sat down.

You always made a sure to show off some of your own spells, the man loving to see you preform a magical spell.

Moxxie, as always, was paying full attention, perking right up as you sat back.

With a a sly smile you'd wave your hand, a portal opening beneath him, and with an adorable little squeak, the man would fall into your lap, the portal above you disappearing with a 'pop', you instantly pulling the man to your chest.

"See? The best one I've got~"

You purred, leaning down to kiss the Imp.

"Stooop!" The Imp whined, giggling as you pulled back.

"Oooooh, but you love my kisses~"

You teased, Moxxie just giggling as you began kissing along his body, the Imp squealing as you kissed at his neck.

You'd both be a laughing, giggling fit as you held the Imp close, refusing to let him go.

Though it'd be in the midst of your kissing attack, the Imp squirming and giggling, he'd try and jump out of your grasp, only for him to slam the top of his head straight into your face, drawing a loud, pained squawk out of you.

You'd pull back, releasing the Imp, subsequently allowing him to smack against the floor as you gripped your now very saw beak.

While it didn't draw blood, the top of Imp heads were notoriously thick, allowing him to dish out an incredibly painful smack.

While rubbing his head, the Imp would look around before realising what he'd done, the Imp jumping up.

He'd apologise profusely, absolutely distraught at the idea of having hurt you, the little Imp almost in tears when you finally raised a hand.

Taking a deep breath you'd turn to him.

"It's alright my love, I just... mmmh... need a moment."

The Imp breathed deep, you taking the moment to touch your sore beak. Before you'd look down at the man, tears building in the Imps eyes as you chuckled, coughing softly as you reached down, grasping the Imp.

Holding him to your chest you hold the man close, the man sniffling softly as you pat his back. "It's alright dear, I'll be fine."

You cooed, doing your best to comfort him.

After a minute he'd pull back, the Imp wiping his eyes.

"Oooh please don't cry my love." You cooed, kissing the man on the face. "I'm fine. It'll take far more then that to really hurt me."

You spoke softly, kissing his forehead.

"Now, can I see that smile?" You asked, the Imp sniffling as he hesitated.

"I won't have to tickle you again will I?" You spoke sternly, enough to make the man pause, staring up at you. Before you'd smile, the Imp smiling back, chuckling as you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.

Being careful of your beak.

The two of you sat there for several moments, just holding the Imp close.

"I love you..." You spoke softly, hands coming up to cup his chubby little face.

The Imp froze for a moment before he blushed. He always acted so bashful when you espoused your love for the him, but that never stopped you before, smiling warmly as he responded.

"I love you too."

Your smile grew, you grabbing the man, dipping him down as we shared a passionate kiss, tongues wrestling with each other as the Imp held you close, absolutely in love~

(Come on, I gotta give you a little more of this dynamic.)

It'd be a dinner party, almost a gala, the denizens of Hells upper crust all gathered in one place.

And of course, you'd bring your beloved, the little Imp sitting on your lap as you caught up with an old friend at the bar.

It'd be as you were given a cigar from the bartender that you'd turn to the Imp, smiling down at the Imp with an expectant smile.

It took him a moment before he'd perk right up, snapping his fingers, summoning a little flame, allowing you to light your cigar.

You'd thank the Imp, kissing his cheek before staring down another goetia as they had the nerve to sneer at you.

You'd spend much of the night like that, you holding the Imp close, openly kissing the Imp, being sure to have him show a few of his tricks to your acquaintances.

It'd be as you left him at the bar, a terrible desicion in hindsight, but you'd had several drinks and you'd desperately needed to piss.

But upon returning, you'd find a small group around the bar, your stomach dropping as you rushed over.

You'd find some oversize royal bitch gripping his arm, Moxxie trying to pull free. The woman, obviously drunk, loudly demanding.

"I saw you do the fire thing! Do it again you little fire toad!"

She spoke with an arrogant, smugness to her voice as she yanked his arm.

But it'd be when Moxxie yowled in pain.

You snapped.

You were on her before she could get another word out, you'd grabbed her arm, ruthlessly twisting it until she released moxxie.

You'd stand over the woman, sneering down as you twisted her arm further, staring down at her, not stopping until you heard flesh tear and bone break.

You'd throw her to the floor, ignoring her screams and yowls of pain as you simply turned to the Imp, checking him over softly before softly kissing his arm, picking him up and kissing his cheek.

Turning to the shocked and aghast crowd of goetia before snarling at them.

"This one's Mine!"

You were sure to step on the bitches torn up arm, the crowd clearing as you carried him out, holding him close as you apologised, kissing him over and over as you stepped into your limo, the two of you riding home, you using a touch of magic on his sore arm.

"I'm sorry my love." You spoke softly, holding him close.

"I forgive you." The Imp told you, giving you cheeky smile.

Turning to him you'd wear your own smile, laughing as pulled him close, kissing the man as it rapidly grew more heated, the two of you rapidly shedding layers as you held him close.

You'd show him you loved him any way you could.

[vodika-vibes]

Gonna ask for a diamond with Scorch in some rainy winter weather please!

For Always And Forever

Summary: A sudden rainstorm on a blustery winter day, changes your plans with Scorch.

Pairing: Clone Commando Scorch x Reader

Word Count: 622

Prompts: Diamond - Everlasting Love

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Honestly, I was going to write this later, but I've been in a Scorch mood for days now, and no one makes requests for my baby boy, so I had to write it as soon as I could. Lol.

The rain wouldn’t be so bad, you decide as you peer up at the sky from where you’re sheltered under an awning, if it was cold enough for it to be snow. Rain in the winter is just depressing, after all. 

You huff and lean against the wall, folding your arms over your chest. You were on a date with Scorch, but when the rain started he ran off to do something, leaving you behind.

You’d be hurt by it, if he hadn’t shouted that he’d be back in a little bit as he ran off into the rain.

Honestly, that man is lucky that you love him.

You lift your gaze when you hear footsteps, and a small smile crosses your face as Scorch comes back into view. “I’m back! I brought you an umbrella.”

You press your hand over your mouth, to hide your smile, “Scorch, baby, why didn’t you use the umbrella to keep the rain off of you?”

He blinks at you, and color rises on his cheeks, “I didn’t think about it.”

You press your lips together, you will not laugh at the love of your life when he did something so sweet for you. “Scorch,” You step closer to him, and reach up to brush one of his dripping curls off his face, “I love you, you know that.”

He grins at you, “Even when I do silly things like forget to use the umbrella?”

“Especially then.” You pull the sleeve of your sweatshirt down over your hand to wipe some of the water off his face, “You’re going to catch your death if we don’t get you warmed up though.”

Scorch opens the umbrella and holds it out for you to step under, before he presses next to you, “I’m sure I won’t. I’m used to the rain.”

“You don’t become immune to the rain, Scorch. That’s not how it works.” You glance up at him, “Will you let me take care of you, please?”

You watch as he melts at your words, “Well, how can I say no to such a tempting offer.” He asks, “So, cyar’ika, how do you intend to take care of me?”

You hum as you start walking and Scorch falls into step with you, “I’ll draw you a shower, and throw your clothes in the dryer…and make you that stew you like so much.”

“You spoil me, babe.” Scorch murmurs, his gaze soft and adoring as he looks at you.

“Well, someone has to, so it might as well be me.” You reply with a slightly shy smile.

Scorch slows to a stop, and you stop as well, your head tilting to the side as you look up at him, puzzled.

His free hand comes up to brush against your cheek. His touch is feather light as his fingers ghost across your cheeks, over the bridge of your nose, across your eyelids, and then pause on your lips, “I love you.” He breathes out, “So much.”

You smile at him, and press a light kiss to the fingers resting on your lips, “I know, Scorch. You’ve never hid it from me.”

You squeak in surprise as the umbrella falls to the side, exposing you to the downpour of rain. But then, suddenly, you don’t care about the rain. Because his lips are pressed hotly against yours as he clutches you to his body.

And, really, what are you supposed to do other than wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back with everything you are?

After all, he’s your everything, and even if you don’t have the right words to tell him how much he means to you, you can at least show him through physical affection.

[lace-knots]

I jumped into bed, and lay down next to her. Her hair smelled like coconut oil and she was warm in bed. I wrapped my arm around her, over the soft, silky pajamas covering her. I tried to tell whether or not she was asleep, as her chest slowly rose and fell.

She gave a little yawn, and shifted her body down, curling herself into the crook of my hips. As she moved, my arm caught on her chest, and I felt her nipple as it brushed past.

I still wasn't sure she was awake. I moved my arm back down, again flicking her nipple, a bit more firmly than before.

Her butt stuck out, pressing into me, and my arm instantly tightened around her. I pressed my face close behind her, against the smell of her hair and the sound of her quickening breath. I moved my arm so that my hand clutched her chest while my elbow was pressing her hip down into the mattress.

I pressed my palm against her nipple and kneaded my fingers into her chest gently. I heard her exhale suddenly, and figured I should say something.

"Hey."

"... hey," she responded.

That done, I pressed my body against hers and started to push and pull, easily guiding her hips and body. I love hearing her squeak when I pinch her breast in my hand and she arches her back to follow my fingers.

I push my other arm under her, grabbing her with both hands and pulling her tightly against me.

Now she's at the point where she's moving on her own. Even if I leave my arms still, her chest puffs out and her ass twitches in my lap. I decide that I've been making it too easy for her.

"Stop moving, babe."

"Unh... okay."

She stays still, and I gently nuzzle my face into her neck as if I was done.

When I start again, I'm more rough with her. My nails dig into her soft skin, and I relish her gasping as I pin her hips down with my arm and grind into her.

God, I love all the things she says. So much of that "Oh - fuck - babe - baby - yesssyesyesyes" that makes her sound so sweet and needy.

I want to make her feel good. I run my hand along her, just above her waist.

"Do you mind if I touch you?"

"No, baby. Please..."

I felt her soft clit under her clothes. I pressed a finger underneath it and started drawing lines up to the tip.

I made the strokes faster and faster. She lifted up one of her legs, and I pushed my arm into the inside of her thigh to spread her out further.

I started drawing little circles right underneath the tip, just how she likes. She's whimpering and shaking and so insanely sexy.

"Oh - babe - babe."

"I remember the first time you called me babe. I was touching you just like this. You really like it, huh?"

She moans and nods, but I really wanted to hear her voice struggling to be coherent.

"Tell me you like it."

I can feel a twitch run through her legs, and her clit suddenly gets harder, pressing back through the fabric against my fingers.

"Yes, baby, I like it s- uh- so much."

"Do you love me for making you feel this way?"

"Yes!! Yes, I love you, you're so good - babe - mmhmm!"

God. She twitched while I yawned and lay back on the pillow. She turned around to kiss me, and I felt a wet spot through her panties as she pressed against my leg.

[wonderful-magician]

DAROACH HEAD CANNON RAMBLING???

More likely than you would think my friends.

Ok so I worked on the drawing above for maybe 10 hours and I'm very proud of it! And I felt like this post would be a good transition into elaborating MY VERY LONG LIST OF HEAD CANNONS for this rat.... Since he has very little backstory canonically similarly to most Kirby characters who have like a sentence of backstory. And unlike Meta knight or King DDD who have a general concept or idea. We know nothing about the silly rodents!! Nothing!!

( NOTICE THIS IS ONLY FOR MY GIJINKA VERSION OF HIM!! )

So I'm here to basically write a whole damn book for these guys. But specifically daroach because... I'm biased. Lmao. SO I decided to give him something! The life of a poor child from 1920!! ....woohoo?

I believe I've said this before, and I don't think it's that crazy- but I enjoy playing with the fact these characters are for the most part from different planets and have different cultures and experiences because of this. And I love to write little things about it. And just like many others. We have no idea where daroach is even from in the first place.

I like to think the original species of squeaks/squeakers originated from the forgotten land. But at some point they all moved to different planets and locations. You can find them on different planets, and they have a unique culture to each other. The only thing they all share is the bells! Which I shared on my post all about the bells!!

Anyway I figured I would have two bulletin lists about the fun head cannons of mine! But put both of them here for simplicity. And I hope this is coherent and doesn't come off too ... Wow! Tragedy! Daroach is really a chill, happy guy despite some of the things that happened to him in my personal canon...

Despite the events I list here, Daroach actually has a very positive attitude and outlook on life! Despite how his homworld has shitty living conditions and child labor.

Daroach lived with his father until he was ten, when his father was drunk and shot by an officer for being openly against the current mayor.

Daroach never met his mother. But he worries about it little. He cared about it more when he was younger. He also has no known extended family.

Daroach had to live in the streets for a while because of this. Working as a newspaper boy.

He met Storo during this time. The two quickly became good friends. As Daroach was fast and Storo was ... Big. Even as the two were only 10-12 year olds.

The boys became familiar with a lot of the adults in town. Knowing the baker or the locals well. Storo liked to speak to a specific man named doc, quite often.

One harsh winter. Daroach gets sick. And Storo starts to feel under the weather as well. Storo, worried for their well being. Begs doc for help one morning. Doc, after seeing the full conditions of the two boys. Let's them stay with him.

While this was originally temporary, doc ended up enjoying their company. And the three live together like a family. But none of them want to call it a family.

Daroach starts working at a factory and so does Storo. Doc trying to revive his career as a scientist. ( and failing.. miserably. ) around this time doc also takes in spinni. Who's only 7.

Daroach starts to become a more intense thief. While he was always good at it, he did live on the streets for two years after all. But he gets... Very good at theft. For he learns how to float and teleport.

As they all get older. They form a early version of the squeak squad. But it's more like a group formed against the current situations and political climate. As a civil war is occuring in the country and the city is very divided.

Daroach gets himself into a lot of fights. But is both loved and hated by the press. For his hatred to the government but attractive looks by squeak standard.

After daroach is wounded in a fight. They get money, and leave on their newly made airship. Never to return to this planet. As it's just miserable there.

Ok that was a basic outline of his story on my end! Time for more basic head cannons that can be applied much easier !!

Daroach has been smoking since he was like 13. This was normal for his planet. But nowadays he mostly understands his mistakes. But he still smokes, even if he's polite about it and smokes outside it matters little. Meta knight likes to absolutely mock him for this...

Daroach hates being hatless for an extended period of time. It's just ...weird...

Daroach is the only squeak/squeaker to stand on his tiptoes constantly.

Won the triple star in a bet with a certain wizard who plays star stacker.

Used to have a alcohol problem, as his father originally did. But he did actually recover from this.

Dated meta knight for a couple months before they broke up with no explanation.

Nobody but them and galaxia know why.

At the age of 11 he developed a limp and still to this day he doesn't even understand how he got this mysterious limp.

Owns like three of the same outfit and does his laundry often. Pure comfort

Hates not being formal. You won't find this man in public wearing slides and a T-shirt. Must be a poet shirt. Or something alike that.

Totally not weird that he dated meta knights reflection. When he broke up with the real thing.

Okay this better post correctly 🙂

[inhurtandincomfort]

AIlessWhumptober2024 day 3: It's Not Your Fault

I'm not super happy with this, but it's what I've got sooooo...

Featuring: Lady Whump, Grief, referenced murder and child murder

Liana was bored. Turns out being stuck in one room unable to make a sound and with no wi-fi did not provide much stimulation for ones brain. She'd looked at the books but they were mostly very old-fashioned, and many of them weren't even in English. She was allowed to play some records as Adelia claimed she sometimes leaves them on for the rats so no one would be suspicious, but Liana was nervous about doing so alone. She had a sketchpad, but lacked inspiration. Her life, when not filled with fear, was so terribly dull. 

So she decided to clean the room a bit. She was never someone who could enjoy cleaning, but it was better than nothing. There wasn't much to clean, to be honest; Adelia... didn't do very much in here bar change her clothes, and Liana couldn't clean those without leaving the room. So she straightened the bedsheets and curtains about ten times each, took all the books off the bookshelf only to put them back up again exactly as they were because she doesn't want Adelia to be mad at her (really though, who arranges books by age. She did however rearrange her clothes in the closet, sorting them by colour. Adelia didn't seem to have any particular order for them, so it should be fine. She sorted the makeup and perfumes putting the ones that were still usable at the front and not daring to throw away the ones that weren't - vampire seemed to like holding onto really old useless things. Apparently being old will do that to you.

And then she decided to sift through drawers of the bedside tables. One was largely empty, but the other held various trinkets, including a little notebook that may have been a diary, what looked to be some kind of antique lighter, a long blue ribbon and a black and white photograph, protected by an ornate frame. It was this Liana picked up, studying it curiously. 

It looked just like any other Victorian family photo. A tall, handsome man stood proudly with on hand on his wife's shoulder from where she sat in a chair, the other on his sons who couldn't be older than eight. In front of the mother stood two little girls maybe six years old wearing identical twin dresses with ribbons in their hair. As everyone else was fashionably solemn, the girls were smiling, wide gap-toothed grins. The father had a twinkle in his eye, like he just couldn't be stern with them. They looked happy. They looked a wonderful loving family, but Lianas eyes were drawn to the woman, an eerie sense of foreboding taking over her. I��shouldn't be doing this, she thought, but she couldn't tear herself away.

It was Adelia. She seemed healthier, even without colour,  her hair was done up in a tight bun very unlike how she wore her hair today, but it was undoubtedly her. Liana found herself transfixed, staring mesmerised when the door opened. Liana let out a squeak and hurried to put the things away, but it was too late.

"What do you think you're doing?" Adelias voice was cold, colder than Liana had heard before. She squeaked, fumbling with the frame mercifully managing not to drop it.

"I- I-" Liana stammered, flinching as Adelia stalked over and grabbed her wrist, nails digging deep into her flesh.

"You had no right," She snarled, snatching the frame from her hand. 

"I'm sorry!" Liana tried to pull the fingers off her wrist where they were drawing blood, but she couldn't compete with supernatural strength. She threw a panicked glance at the door praying no one would sense it. "I- I was just trying to clean up, I had nothing else to do and I didn't mean to pry, I'm sorry!" 

"I should have left you locked up! I've been so good to you, yet I leave you alone for a few hours and this is how you repay me, snooping through my personal effects? What else did you see!?" 

"Nothing! It was just this, I swear, I didn't look at anything else!" Tears welled up in her eyes as a harsh slap struck across her face with enough force to send her to the floor. There was no time to recover before Adelia grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the closet.

"Don't you ever look through my things again!" She hissed, and slammed the door closed leaving her in complete darkness. 

Liana curled in on herself and quietly sobbed, clutching her stinging cheek. Every time things are going well, she has to do something to mess it up.

*

It was some time later she heard the door unlock, a crack of light shining through. No one entered, but Liana knew by now that was permission enough to leave. Tentatively she opened the door wider and looked around, keeping her head bowed submissively. 

Adelia was sat on the bed clutching the photograph in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Liana contemplated before she cautiously approached, hesitating just before her. 

"Did I ever tell you about them?" Adelia broke the silence and Liana froze, slowly shaking her head. 

"No, ma'am," She whispered. Adelia patted the bed beside her and Liana shuffled over fiddling with her borrowed dress, awkwardly sitting down next to her. She kept her gaze in her lap, fearing looking anywhere else without permission. 

"Henry was my husband. We'd known each other since we were children, and he was the sweetest man I've ever known to this day. He'd always pick wild flowers for me even as children - sometimes he picked weeds, but coming from him they meant everything." Her voice was quiet and held a tenderness that told of so much love and sadness as she gently brushed the frame with her fingers, careful not to scratch it. "My parents didn't approve of course, but I never accepted any other suitor. He was the only man who ever wanted me for who I was, not what he could gain from me. And he was such a wonderful father. Our son John -he would have been a brilliant pianist- and our daughters Lettie and Sarah, they took so much after their father, and he adored them more than anything." A soft smile came over her face and Liana realised she'd never seen a genuine smile from. But it wasn't to last, and her voice shook as she continued. 

"When a vampire is first turned... You don't know what to do with yourself. Your new instincts override your humanity, you lose the ability to think to an intense hunger, a depraved bloodlust like nothing you've ever felt. Your mind clears once you've had your first meal, but until then..." 

A single tear dropped onto the frame, protecting a black and white photograph that depicted a cheery family. A tall and handsome man standing with his hand on his sons shoulder, next to an elegant woman with her hair tied up in a bun and standing in front of her were two smiling girls, twins, in identical white dresses. A shaky hand tenderly stroked the frame, claw-like nails careful not to leave a scratch as a choked sob filled the heavy silence. 

"My own family," Adelia choked, "How could I do that to them? They loved me, trusted me... And I loved them, so so much, how could I do that!?" 

"It wasn't your fault," Liana said softly, cautiously placing a hand on her shoulder. She was surprised when Adelia sagged into her touch, falling against her chest as she collapsed into sobs with her face buried in her dress. Liana wrapped her arms around her, rubbing her hand against the others back as she soothed.  "I killed them! I murdered them, in cold blood! My own children!" 

And what could Liana say to that? She doesn't know the circumstances of how Adelia was turned, whether it was willing or not. She doesn't know if blame can be placed upon her, if she's really the monster she makes herself out to be. But right now, as she wept in her arms, Liana couldn't see a monster. She only saw a grieving mother, wrought with pain and guilt of losing ones she loved, so long ago. Grief never truly fades. It just lies dormant, waiting to rear it's ugly head and catch you at your most vulnerable to drown you in it's depths. "It isn't your fault," She says again, more surely this time. She'd keep saying it as many times at it takes. 

She only wished she could believe it. 

[blueberry-lemon]

My 2022

I see a lot of people writing posts or threads about things they did in 2022. I don't usually do this sort of thing for a few reasons. One is that I'm aware that it can be a bit pretentious and a bit frustrating for others to read if they had a really bad year. For that reason, consider this a soft content warning for "yet another post reflecting on 2022." The other reason is that I don't think I've accomplished anything worth reflecting about, and am quite disappointed in myself and my 2022!

But...maybe that self-conscious feeling is exactly why I should force myself to write this.

A few things I accomplished in 2022:

I wrote some stuff

I put up the final chapter of my Sonic fanfic [although not the epilogue yet, sorry readers!] titled "Have You Heard From Sonic Lately?" Of all things I did this year, this is probably one of the things I'm most proud of? I think I'm decent at writing these characters and I like playing in this world in a mostly-canonical way, following guidelines painted by the games, the IDW comics, and ironically now Sonic Prime.

I put up Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 of Soul Symphony: Abandoned Encore. SS:AE is prose sequel story to my 2010-2015 webcomic Soul Symphony. These characters and this story mean a lot to me, but I left them behind as relics as 2015. I decided that the year of my 10-year high school reunion would be a fitting time to look back on these characters.

Side note: The comments I receive on Ao3 are so nice??? They're so heartwarming, they make my day. Something about someone enjoying my writing is 100x more satisfying than someone enjoying a drawing I did, and the way people express their feedback is really meaningful. I wanna cry every time. Thank you to everyone who has read my stuff.

I put out two meaty pieces: a review of Cam Marshall's comic "Matchmaker", and my year-end reflection titled "I Forgot How To Climb The Mountain."

I've wrote a few mini blog posts scattered across Cohost, Tumblr, and Patreon, which you can find in the #blogofkylelab tag.

Behind the scenes, I've continued my work as a Writer working on Rhythm Doctor as part of 7th Beat Games.

Art and Game Dev

I...barely drew anything, so that was kind of a disappointment. But the few things I did draw I mostly liked! The very little time/energy I have for drawing these past few years is always a tough pill to swallow, but I'm glad that when I DO make time for it, it is still pretty fun.

I've continued working on Rhythm Doctor and A Dance of Fire and Ice as a part of 7th Beat Games. We put out some cool collab levels.

I helped launch ADOFAI's paid DLC expansion, Neo Cosmos! Directed by TaroNuke, it's a really cool expansion with its own identity and I love the new mechanics and focus on character/narrative.

I worked on Squeak N' Seek, a short gamejam project we made as a birthday present for Giacomo, the Lead Programmer at 7th Beat Games.

Other Stuff

I've been running @IndieGamesOfCohost for a few months now! Shares of indie game posts on Cohost, posts spotlighting new releases of lesser-known titles, and a series of Indie Interviews with fellow gamedevs. This has been very satisfying for me, and I hope I can keep the momentum going in 2023.

I'm forcing myself to write these things down to convince myself that I accomplished something, because for the past few years I haven't been able to shake the feeling that "I haven't accomplished anything." I miss the days where I drew quite often, especially between 2015 and 2018, and I made illustrations that I still cherish to this day. I feel like a "shell" of my younger self still, which is a ridiculous thing to say. Someday, I'll find my way back to a place where I'm satisfied with my output.

I hope your 2022 was bearable! Let's all work together in the new year.

[generallybrontidefeelings]

Stressed: Marcus and Honey decide to buy a house

Title: Stressed: Marcus and Honey decide to buy a house

Rating: T (mentions of sex, nothing explicit)

A/N: thank you to all the wonderful friends who gave me time, and who encouraged me, and let me know I could take my time returning to Marcus and Honey.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!eader, Marcus Pike x you

Summary: Honey catches Marcus looking at houses, and their relationship gets more serious. 

Warnings: zero, this is 100% fluff

"Whatcha looking at? Porn?" 

Marcus grabs the laptop screen and almost slams it, but catches himself at the last second. He’s a grown man for God’s sake. 

"No!" He squeaks. Then clears his throat and tries again, "No."

You pause in the living room doorway in his townhome, and toe your shoes off. You'd just gotten back from work, and are aching to ditch your bra and tote full of files, and papers, and Tupperware. When you'd walked in you hadn't announced yourself, because you were practically living there. You hated to admit it, but you two were on the brink of cohabitation. In fact your roommates had asked about subletting your room. Since...you weren't using it. It was a task you had quietly ignored for the last week, and you knew you needed to tell Marcus. 

You planted your hands on the waistband of your blue trousers - Marcus's favorite - and put a little pout on. 

"You know I don't care if you watch it without me."

He puts both hands up, letting the computer rest on his thighs, secure in his grey sweatpants. He'd had a day off from the office and thoroughly enjoyed it. So it seemed. 

"I promise it wasn't porn." 

"Baby, it's really okay-" 

"It's not porn!" 

"Okay, then what is it?" His defensiveness is almost comical. It's a good thing Marcus chose to be a cop because he would make a terrible criminal for being a bad liar. Sweet man. 

He sighs. 

"Zillow."

"House porn is still porn," you say without missing a beat. 

"Just sit down here, please. I've missed your butt all day," he says, extending his arm and inviting you into his lap. You untuck your shirt as you go, then settle on his thigh, leaning back into his sturdy chest as his hand lands on your thigh top. The chair lets out a protesting squeak. With the other hand he settles the laptop on your knee and you help him reorient the screen. 

"I was looking at houses in the area. Nothing fancy, just the essentials: backyard, solid kitchen appliances."

"I've always dreamed of doing a fixer upper," you admit, leaning further into him. 

"With these prices that might be all the down payment I can make. I'm told the market is not a buyers market right now. Whatever that means."

You look down at him, and think about how much you love him. 

"This one is okay. I'd need to gut a lot of it, but some paint, some new counters and it would be nice. Original floors too." 

You look at the listing, reading about the old creation. It has plenty of character, from the outdated chandelier to the baseboards which are covered in dust, even in the pictures. You shift a little in Marcus’ lap. You don’t buy a major fixer upper just to flip. 

"Why are you looking at houses right now? What brought this on?"

He closes the laptop and draws your arm back to wrap around his neck so he can hold you and look at you. 

"I feel like I've outgrown this space. It was fine while I was a bachelor but-" he shrugs and looks at the couch and bookshelf in the cramped little room too "-I'd like something permanent. Or at least big enough for a dog."

"You want a dog?" 

He raises his eyebrows. "Do you want a dog?" 

"Uh, yeah I want a dog." 

"Then let's get a house." 

You play with his hair, and he shows you some of the houses he has bookmarked. None of it seems real, and you suddenly feel very young. 

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

As Marcus gathers all his financial information so he can start talking to a real estate agent, you start to have small, little second thoughts. The idea is nice, and you want to move in with him. But you are not anywhere financially ready to make that kind of commitment. Emotionally, yes. Mentally, absolutely. You practically live with Marcus as it is. 

But a house has the potential to become a home, and that is nerve wracking. 

And you still haven’t decided what to do about your apartment. Your roommate texts you just one long row of question marks one day, and you can’t put it off any longer. 

“Marcus?” you ask from the kitchen doorway. He looks up and his reading glasses slide down his nose a little. You smile fondly. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” 

Your feet pat against the floor until he can wrap an arm fully around your waist. “My roommates want to sublet my room. I’m here so often, but my lease is good for another year, so, they think it's time to…” push me out of the nest. 

Marcus looks at you with his forehead scrunched in the middle. You hope he can connect the dots. “Is this house stuff making you nervous?”

“Yes, very much.” 

“Honey,” he says, and closes the file with all his finance information for the realtor. “I want to buy a house because it’s time for me to live in a house. I love you, and I want to take you with me. I know this is a big step.” You pluck at his fingers pressing into your waist. “Are you feelings anxious about it?”

You are. Your face heats up. You say every word slowly so it comes out right. “I am anxious that if you buy a house I’ll have nowhere to go if we break up, and I am anxious because I want to help buy it and I don’t make very much money.” 

You glance at the manila folder on the table. It’s full of a lifetime of money making. A lifetime of jobs and investments and Christmas bonuses. You were so proud when you negotiated your salary up at your part-time job, but the income is barely enough for a mortgage. You doubt you would qualify. 

Marcus somehow hears every word. “Okay, I have three, maybe four thoughts. Ready?” You nod and smile. 

“One, keep your lease, sublet the apartment, and raise the rent a little bit. Thought number two: you will always have somewhere to go if somehow this doesn’t work.” Marcus swallows. He wants it to work so bad. “Three, I am buying a house. Don’t touch your savings.” 

“But-” 

“Nuh uh. I’m fiscally prepared to do this,” he leans in to press his nose against your cheek. “You give me the best company, and are so good at puzzles, and make the best pasta sauce. Let me give you a house. If we decide to stay together long term, we can talk about putting your name on the title and mortgage. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.” 

Wordlessly you lean into Marcus and bury your face in his neck. He wraps around you fully, arms criss-crossing against your back. You’re not sure you deserve this man. 

“You don’t have to be the man of my dreams everyday, y’know?” you say, your voice thick with waiting tears. “What was your fourth thought?” 

“I want a home with you. You deserve more than my bachelor pad.” You nod, unbelieving how this man wormed into your life and made it so much better.

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

“I like the beveled ceilings,” you say, stepping over a pile of broken plywood. Something crunches underfoot. 

“They were an addition by the last owner. I think it gives the place a lot of character!” The upbeat real estate agent - Cindy something - gestures with her pen like she’s Vanna White. Marcus looks skeptical. The ceilings are a little low, and the beveling does not help. This is the fifth house you’d seen today and the prospects were not what you were expecting. Even Marcus, ever hopeful, began to have doubts around house three. You had watched him scrub his hand over his beard, the tell tale sign of frustration. 

“This room has great southern exposure. And an extra storage feature,” Cindy explains. She pries open a cupboard built up high, the doors of which have been painted over. The paint snaps apart when Cindy gets them open. “Perfect for swapping things out in an ever changing room. Could be a guest room, or a craft room. Could be a nursery!” 

Marcus quickly steps in. “It would make a nice guest room.” He is just as done with Cindy’s nursery comments as you were. You knew Marcus wanted kids, and you do too. But one step at a time. 

You toe off your shoes in the foyer of Marcus’ townhouse. He’s behind you sorting out his keys, phone, work phone, wallet, shoes. You know you’re both thinking about Cindy’s comments. 

“I don’t think any of those were the ones,” you say quietly. You sound defeated. 

“Me neither,” he says, and kisses your cheek while walking past you to the kitchen. “I was thinking something older.” 

A baby. A family. A house. So many options for the future swirl in front of you. It’s terrifying, but you can feel a kernel of truth in all of it. It is a tiny voice but it says you should try. 

“Marcus?” you ask, standing in the door of the bathroom. He’s sitting in bed, hands folded. You look at each other. Without hesitating you crawl on the bed and sit next to him. You take his hand. 

“Marcus, I love you.” You say it confidently. You’ve said it a hundred times before but you need him to know that you aren’t scared. “I want to do this with you.” You’re not sure what ‘this’ is yet, but you thread your fingers with his. “I think we should get a dog first, though.”

“Cindy’s comment made me nervous too.” 

You huff and squeeze his hand. “Why are you so good at that?” 

“Hours of interrogating criminals.” 

“Ugh, bringing work to bed again,” you say, and dramatically throw yourself back on the duvet. Marcus follows, spooning you against his chest. 

“You liked the handcuffs,” he murmurs in your ear and you squirm at the reminder. He rises up to lean over your face. “You ready to do this?” 

You cup his jaw and feel the soft hair you’ve grown to love. “I’m ready to build a home with you.” 

He kisses your palm. “That’s very sweet, honey, but I meant the sex we’re about to have as practice for when we christen the new house.” 

“Marcus!”

Taglist: @leias-rebelion  @sarahjkl82-blog @honestly-shite @danniburgh @missredherring @whistlingbirdie @captainjaspenor @simsiddy

Taglist note* I have been gone a while so I used old urls from my old list, so if something has changed or you don't want to be included please DM me and I will fix it

[blue-jester]

I have three cats, Iris, Fern, and Willow

Iris and Fern are littermates and black cats, they're about 3 years older then Willow who's a little tabby cat some farmer found outside somewhere in 2022 and gave to us for free because no one else wanted her

Iris is a typical halloween kitty, but she has a little white crescent moon on her belly. You'd think she's super mysterious and graceful but actually she is so soggy and odd. She loves opening all of the doors to my dresser and wants to be a lap cat so badly . She likes being pwt behind the ears and will see you using your laptop of drawing tablet and go "Naptime!" and sit on your legs and you can't move anymore. Also she is fucking tiny but that doesn't stop her from taking up the entire bedspace whenever she sleeps with me. She doesn't get along well with the other cats and is kind of a bully, she likes Willow only sometimes, when they're not fighting for dominance via grooming. She loves to frame her stupid idiot brother for crimes that SHE commited, but also he commits plenty of his own crimes so she probably got away with it a few times. She is also pest control, i used to hold her up to windows so she could catch flies in our old house

Fern is like if an orange cat was black. He's so stupid. Not a single thought has ever formulated in that little brain of is. He's super big and super fluffy but for some reason can't grow ANY fur on his ears and instead grows it in-between his toes. His belly feels like petting a sheep and is a completely different texture from the rest of him. He's very talkative and the biggest attention whore I've ever seen. Giving Iris and Willow attention? Not anymore you aren't. He's yelling at you and rubbing up against your legs now. You have to shift your attention to HIM now or ELSE. He doesn't mind being picked up or held, you can hold him pretty much any way you want and he just won't care. His hobbies include stealing my dads keys, stealing my socks, sitting in every box he can find, and falling off of tables. One time when he was a kitten he fell asleep face first in his food bowl

Willow is a little baby girl, a little sweet baby thing. A tiny small. She's very fast she's very playful she ALSO loves stealing my fucking socks. And my plushies. She thinks my hair is fine dining and decided that god must die so that she may take his throne. She despises being held with every fiber of her being and clipping her nails is virtually impossible despite the fact that she really needs it because she keeps cutting herself with them. She got the cone for that one. She is a heat seeking being who will sleep directly in front of heaters, on top of electronic devices, and one time it was super cold and I was the only one in the house so she snuggled up next to me for warmth and I could feel her shaking because of how cold it was and babaababy,,,,,,,,,,,,,,. She also LOVES smacking the dogs. She's a little hunter. Also she doesn't meow she squeaks

pet owners of tumblr i have a Request of you. reblog/reply to this post and tell me about your pet. Please. I want to hear about them.

[ynisamenace]

Yo yo yo I've had this idea for a while but like bokuto with nipple piercings and like they just healed so you finally get to play with them and like he was already super sensitive before now the smallest touch makes him whine dikwowowjdbb

wow wow wow my favourite himbo with nipple piercings 🤩🤩🤩 he definitely got them done on purpose just so he could be even more sensitive to your touch akdkxhfuk

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: sub!Bokuto, dom!reader, nipple play, biting, himbo top bokuto, masochism, use of pet names (babyboy, sweetheart, good boy), overstimulation

Bokuto was excited. Very excited. He had been planning to get them done for a while now and coming home to see your surprised face as he raised up his shirt revealing his piercings was worth the pain.

“Well?” he enquiers still smiling at your stunned face.

“It’s um wow remind me never to doubt your impulsiveness again”, you answer, but Bokuto was too busy chattering about how much they didn’t hurt, he failed to realize how dilated your pupils had become. You would definitely have fun with him once they were healed.

It was practically torture having to see your boyfriend walk around your shared apartement, nipples out and peircings just begging to be played with. There were a lot of close calls, but you decided to wait for them to fully heal even though by the eight month, Bokuto was almost begging you to finally have your fun with them. You decided to make him wait a bit longer, partly because you didn’t want to hurt him and partly because you just loved when he begged. 

Although your patience was running thin as well and you finally snapped when you came back from work and saw him lounging on the couch, torso bare and piercings glinting in the light. He turns to you with a cherish grin as he hears the front door close.

“Babyyyyy I’ve missed you,” he whined pouting as he got up to lunge at you, “how was your day? I’ll tell you about mine! Akaashi called and we were talking about thi-”

He suddenly gets cut off when you grab him by his waistband practically dragging him to your shared bedroom. Throwing him on the bed, he let out a little whimper as he finally sees the look on your face.

“You really know how to rile me up don’t you babyboy?” you question him, only receiving a blush and low whimper as a response from him. Climbing onto the bed, you settle yourself on his lap and finally squeeze one nipple between your fingers, both of you moaning at the same time from the relief. Your other hand goes to work on the other nipple as you place your head in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent before biting into his neck making him release another moan from all the stimulation.

“F-fuck y/n plea-ase harder”, he moans and you give into his request pinching both his nippled tight between your fingers and biting harder into his neck as you feel the growing tent in his sweatpants. You knew your boyfriend was a masochist and how you’ve missed his begging for you to rough him up. You pull away, releasing his nipples from your grip and he’s about to complain until he looks up at you signaling for him to strip.

Gently placing you on the bed, he climbs off taking off his sweats hazardlessly and climbs back between your thighs, his eyes darkened with lust and a light blush covering his face. You place a hand on the nape of his neck, pulling him into a searing kiss which he reciprocates with much enthusiasm, putting all his lust and love for you into it. Finally breaking away, you look him in the eye and say

“Go ahead sweetheart”

And that’s enough for Bokuto to thrust into you, moaning at the feeling of absolute fullness and Bokuto’s face one of pure bliss as he pushes shallow thrusts into you, trying his hardest not to cum before you.

“A-ah y/n-n fuck you feel so good so uh fucking tight”, he praises you as he hooks your leg up onto his shoulder before ramming into you like there’s no tomorrow. Your brain practically turns to mush but you still remember to keep rolling his nipples between your thumb and index finger.

“S-so good for me Bo, you’re such a good boy for me making me feel so good a-ah right there.”

Thrusting more vigorously from your praise, you don’t even get a chance to speak before your first orgasm comes rushing out of you, stars in your eyes as Bokuto just keeps going, his hips stuttering as he nears his own orgasm.

“Baby I’m so close fuck you don’t know what you do to me so fucking tight shit thank you thank you thank you I’m cumming I-i I’m cummi-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as his lips from an ‘o’ shape, his orgasm washing over him as you keep twisting his nipples, tears forming in his eyes as he keeps shallowly thrusting into you, overstimulating himself from the pleasure. You push yourself up onto your elbows smashing your lips onto his, tasting the tear running down the side of his face into your mouths as he keeps thrusting, making the bed squeak after every thrust, both of you too blissed out to care.

His thrusts start turning erratic and hips shaky after a few minutes of you making hickeys on his neck and pulling his piercings and you can tell his second orgasm is approaching. You can feel yours as well, biting your lip as you guide his hand to your clit, him getting the memo and drawing tight little circles on your bundle of nerves. You keep spewing praises into his ear and soon feel him shake, a load moan rips through his body as he convulses, feeling thick ropes of cum shoot into you and that along with the clit stimulation has your second orgasm washing over you as your boyfriend basically collapses on top of you, still shalowly thrusting into you the overstimulation making him sob. 

He keeps thrusting, you caged in his arms and orgasms again, his sobbing mixing with his moaning of your name as his tears drip on your face. You wipe them off your face and his as slurred and jumbled thank yous and sorrys fall from his lips. You shush him with a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips as you roll him on his side and giving him a bottle of water from the side of the bed. He accepts it graciously as he chugs it down, giving you a small smile before he shakily gets up to get a wet rag to clean both of you up.

 Finally clean, he gets back into bed pulling the covers on top both of you as he spoons you, kissing the side of your neck spewing praises into your ear before you both succumb to sleep.

[intheticklecloset]

Dare You To (SK8 the Infinity)

Summary: During a game of Uno Dare, Reki is challenged first not to smile and then - failing that - not to stop Langa from tickling him for a minute. When he fails the second time, the others decide a little playful punishment is in order.

A/N: YES!! I LOVE lee Reki! I love writing for him, that cute little ticklish redhead!! *ahem* Anyway, I've never heard of Dodge or Dare, and I honestly didn't feel like watching a clip of whatever show it's from to learn how it works, so I modified things just a tad, but I think I got the general idea of what you wanted in there. Enjoy! ^^

Word Count: 1,758

~~~

“Ha! No way he’ll be able to do that,” Miya laughed, enjoying the way Reki’s face went red in response to both his challenge and the dare that had been put before him.

They were playing Uno Dare – a new take on the card game they were already familiar with – and so far, Reki wasn’t doing too great. He’d already failed to balance a single card on his head, stand on one foot until his next turn, and do ten push-ups in ten seconds. (Actually, he couldn’t even do ten, period.) And now Langa – who was seated on his right – had the audacity to play a dare card and dare him not to smile until his next turn.

“I can do it!” he insisted, pouting, shooting Miya and Langa a glare each. “It won’t be hard with you guys picking on me.”

Joe smirked at him, attempting to share a glance with Cherry, who promptly ignored him.

“Well? Take your turn,” the pink-haired skater said, gesturing to the pile.

Reki frowned, determined to win this dare so he wouldn’t have to draw another two cards. He already had more than anyone else in the circle. He glanced at his hand briefly, played a card, and stared at the discard pile. He didn’t want to see anyone’s faces. He didn’t want to accidentally slip up again. He would win this dare if it was the last thing he did.

Langa pinched his side.

“He-eey?!” Reki screeched, jolting to the side. Thankfully he was able to keep himself from smiling, but when he made eye contact with his friend it was difficult to keep a straight face. He saw the devious smirk and suddenly grew flustered. “D-Don’t…I know what you’re thinking, but don’t! That’s cheating!”

Cherry took his turn, which passed the flow of the game to Miya. But the evil little skater just sat there, smirking, watching Reki intently.

Langa reached for him again. Reki’s hand shot down to grab Langa’s wrist, the anticipation nearly forcing him to smile already, but he held firm.

“No tickling!” he cried when Langa’s other hand reached for him. Reki thought it was going for his side, but suddenly his friend shot down to his knee and squeezed, making him squeak. He broke into a wide smile in the split second before he could push Langa away and regain composure, but it was too late. With Miya watching him like a hawk, there was no hiding that he’d lost the dare.

“Told you!” Miya laughed again, taking the liberty of drawing two cards for Reki and handing them over. “Here, slime, take your punishment.”

“No way!” Reki exclaimed, looking around the circle at the two adults with them. “Langa cheated!”

“There’s nothing in the rules that says other players can’t try to mess with you,” Joe said, chuckling. “So technically, he didn’t cheat.”

Reki glared at Langa, who smiled calmly back at him, winking. The redhead demanded, “I want a do-over! Give me another dare, or let me try that one again without you cheating.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Langa replied. “I thought that had been established. Take your cards, Reki.”

“No!”

Cherry sighed, but Miya quickly piped in again before any of them could get scolded. “Fine, you big baby. How about this – if you can take Langa tickling you for one minute without fighting back or saying ‘stop,’ you don’t have to draw your two cards. That’s your new dare.”

Reki’s eyes widened. “What?!”

Langa laughed. “Oh, come now. You can take a minute, can’t you?”

“Of…of course I can!” Reki swallowed, setting his cards face-down in front of him and clenching his fists in his lap. “Bring it on!”

Miya pulled out his phone and got the timer set up, then counted down from three, and the challenge was on. Langa – sneaky, sneaky Langa – immediately slipped his hands under Reki’s shirt to scribble at his bare skin, skittering over his sides and lower ribs, and Reki burst into giggles, gripping his knees so he wouldn’t fight back on instinct. Langa was not going to make him lose two challenges in a row!

“You’ve always been super ticklish, Reki,” Langa purred into his ear, making him squeal and arch his back.

“Don’t – dohohohohn’t tehehehease me! Thahahat’s cheating, too!”

“Everything is cheating to you when you’re losing.” Langa smirked, moving gradually around to his belly, which they both knew was his worst spot. “Do you really think you can handle a whole minute of your tummy being tickled?”

Reki whined, starting to bring his arms in protectively but stopping himself just in time, squirming in place as Langa finally reached his weakest spot. “Hohohohohow muhuhuhuch lohohohonger?!”

Miya smirked. “You still have forty seconds.”

“Whahahahat? No wahahahahay!” Reki cried. Langa began to circle around his belly button, and his giggles grew into frantic cackles, his whole body shaking from the effort not to protect himself. “Plehehehehease, not thehehehehere, Langa!”

“Where? Here?” Langa dipped his finger into his friend’s navel, and Reki screamed, bringing his arms in at the same time he fell back onto the floor, pushing and kicking at his blue-haired friend.

Miya stopped the timer. “Dude, you lost again! How are you so ticklish?!”

“Shut up!” Reki snapped, blushing as he sat back up. “Fine, whatever, I’ll take the stupid cards. Let’s just move on.”

“No way!” Miya declared, putting his cards down as well and nearly lunging across the circle to tackle him back onto the floor, reaching up into his underarms in a flash. “As punishment, now you have to have two people tickle you!”

“Wha—?! Nohohohohohoho, Miyahahahaha!” Reki squealed, laughing all over again. He was just beginning to muster up the energy to push the little skater away when he suddenly felt fingers digging into his open belly once more, making him shriek and start thrashing more violently. “GOD, NOHOHOHOHOHO!! NOT THEHEHEHEHEHERE!! NOT BOHOHOHOHOTH OF YOU!!”

“Tickle, tickle!” Miya taunted, grinning. He kept digging and scribbling in the redhead’s underarms while Langa got back to work scribbling over his belly and eventually digging into his navel again.

Reki bucked and thrashed and kicked, laughing up a storm but unable to get away. He was in the midst of pleading for mercy when he suddenly felt another weight on him – this one sitting on his legs, pinning them to the floor so he couldn’t kick.

“Jeez, kid, you’re gonna hurt somebody if you keep that up,” Joe’s teasing voice came from somewhere by his feet. Seconds later there were fingers scribbling over his soles.

“NONONO PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, NOHOHOHOHOHO!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Reki begged, laughter coming out in shrieky, uncontrolled bursts. He flailed his arms wildly, unable to do anything else at this point. “WHY?! I SAHAHAHAHAHAID I’D TAHAHAHAHAKE THE CARDS, YOU JEHEHEHEHEHERKS!!”

“Because it’s fun,” Langa replied, leaning down to blow a raspberry over his belly button. “Plus, if you let us tickle you a little more, we might even let you off the hook so you don’t have to draw any more cards.”

“LEHEHEHEHEHEHET YOU?!” Reki screamed. “I CAHAHAHAHAN’T STOP YOU!!”

“Oh! Well then, this should be a pretty easy win for you.” Langa blew another raspberry. “It’s unbelievable how ticklish your tummy is, Reki.”

“STOHOHOHOHOHOHOP CAHAHAHAHAHALLING IT THAHAHAHAHAHAT!!” Reki’s voice was pleading now, mirthful tears springing to his eyes for how hard he was laughing, having three spots tickled at once. “AND NO RAHAHAHAHAHASPBERRIES!!”

“You’re so picky,” Miya muttered, sliding down slightly to squeeze at his upper ribs.

Reki started to push him off, finally able to muster up some strength once his underarms were left alone, but that was the exact moment that Cherry decided to join in, grabbing his arms and pulling them above his head, pinning them down, doing nothing more than making him more helpless and watching his companions draw laugh after screaming laugh from his core, now that he couldn’t move almost at all.

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Reki tossed his head back and screeched loudly, hysterically, unable to hold back or protest or anything anymore. All he could do was lie there and take it and hope desperately that they’d get bored soon and leave him alone. It was true – he was incredibly ticklish, but especially on the three spots that were being assaulted right now, and Reki wasn’t sure he’d be able to take much more of this impromptu tickle torture. “G-GUYS, NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Miya smirked. “Tickle, tickle, slime~”

Langa blew another raspberry. “You’ve got such a cute, ticklish little tummy, Reki~”

“Your laugh is pretty great, dude, not gonna lie,” Joe added, still scribbling over his feet, his touch lighter than the other two’s. “Don’t know if I’ve ever heard you this happy before.”

“I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T!!” Reki cackled, a tear sliding down his cheek as he laughed helplessly. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! I GIVE!! I’LL TAHAHAHAHAHAKE THE CAHAHAHAHAHARDS!! GUYS!!!”

After another few seconds, the three of them silently agreed that they’d had their fun, and all four of them let Reki go, climbing off of him and releasing his limbs so he could curl into a ball, still giggling into the carpet.

“Aw, man!” Miya whined, drawing the redhead’s attention to him. “Look! All of his kicking ruined the game!”

It was true. There were Uno Dare cards splayed everywhere. No one could tell where one person’s cards ended and another’s began, and the draw and discard piles were intermixed as well.

“S-So you…you t-tortured me for…for nothing?” Reki gasped incredulously, pushing himself into a seated position, staring at the failure of a game before them. “What was the point, then?!”

“For fun,” Langa replied, gently nudging his shoulder with a smile. “Come on, you didn’t really hate that, did you?

Reki’s blush quickly spread all the way to his ears and neck. He hunched his shoulders and looked away. “Shut up, dude.”

“Cheer up, dude.” Langa pulled him into a hug, poking his sides sporadically to get him smiling and giggling again. “Tell you what, the next time we play you get a free pass on any dare, and you don’t have to draw any cards in place of it. I think you’ve earned that much, don’t you, Miya?”

Miya scoffed, but he was smiling. “Yeah, whatever. You get a free pass, slime.”

Reki giggled, squirming in Langa’s soft, tickly hug. “Okay, okahahahay, I’ll take it!”

The others smiled at him, Langa let him go, and they got to work gathering up the cards so they could shuffle and play again.

Miya handed him the deck. “Your turn to deal, loser.”

“What?!” Reki exclaimed.

Everyone laughed.

[sciapod]

Bathtub Photoshoot 💦

Pairing: Henry Cavill x First Person-POV (Female, or at least X wears a bra and has breasts)

Summary: Little private photosesh' with Henners and then some.

Warnings: Dry humping but let's just call it grinding. Edging. 18+ to be safe!! Contains smut. You might be able to find the tiniest bit of angst. And bit of fluff.

Word count: 2.5K

Not beta’ed! I take full responsibility for this fuckup.

Inspired/prompted by this post by @cavillfics

Masterlist

I obviously don't own Henry Cavill, nor do I know him IRL, so it goes without saying that this is a figment of my imagination.

(I took the liberty to edit the photo just a bit and don’t know who to credit for the original edit. Let me know if you know, so I can give credit where it's due.)

Happy reading 💦

---

“Babe, I've got an idea! Can you do something for me, please?”

When I heard you coming through the front door, I rushed to meet you there. You were finally home again and was hanging your jacket on the coat rack when I found you.

“Oh, well,” you reply, “I really want to just lean back, maybe take a shower or something. It’s been a long week, babe. And hello, by the way.”

You step over to me, reach around my waist and pull me against your firm body.

“Mhm, you smell lovely,” you whisper in my hair. I sigh, then wiggle myself free of your embrace.

“Henry, listen,” I look up at you with my best attempt at puppy eyes. You breathe deeply and turn your face, scratching mine with your stubble. It sends shivers through my body.

“Okay,” you hum as your hands roam my body, finding their way to my bare thighs then sneaking up beneath my robe, “tell me.”

I grab your hips and press my core against your thigh as I lean backwards, looking up at you, “I want to take some pictures … of you.”

Your face goes through a range of emotions; surprised, suspicious, smirking, friendly and finally incredibly charismatic: Front-page-style smile.

“That’s the one!” I say with excitement.

“Which one?” you tease, furrowing your brow and looking all suspicious again.

“You know perfectly well, you buffoon!” I say, as I slap your chest playfully.

My entire body lifts when you laugh. You kiss my forehead and twirl some of my hair between a few fingers. Your eyes shift, gazing at various areas of my face. I sigh, then reach for your hands, the one playing with my hair and the other, which I find gently caressing the lace of my panties.

I hold your hands between us and look up at my man.

“You do realize, of course, that you are basically a Greek god carved out of stone.”

“I have been told so, yes.”

“And you do realize that every artist needs a muse, a model, to create from.”

“I have a faint idea of that, yes,” you say, smirking down at me.

“And I happen to be short of a project, and subject, for my portfolio.”

“I see,” your smile broadens, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“Henry!”

My declining patience must have been obvious somewhere in my face or perhaps my exclamation, because you burst out laughing, throwing your head back as you do so. I can’t help but melt a little.

“Tell me what you need me to do, darling,” you say, stroking my hands with your thumbs. I feel warmth spread through my chest. Your face softens and I feel the warmth spread further down.

“Fuck,” I breathe, casting my eyes to the floor. I’m suddenly filled with all kinds of insecurities, imposter syndrome and such, but there’s a reason why you’re my man. You sense it immediately and lift my hands to your lips, kissing them sincerely.

“You’ve got this, babe.”

I sigh, “I know, sweetheart. It's just… Urgh.”

You kiss my forehead.

“Tell me your idea.”

“I…” My voice breaks. You lift my chin up with a single finger, as if it were suddenly light as a feather, forcing me to look into your striking blue eyes.

“I don’t know,” I finally exclaim. “I didn’t have a concrete idea. I just knew that I wanted you to be in the photos.”

You smile, almost apologetically, “Okay, look. I really want to help. But I’m so damn tired. I’ve got an idea, though, of how we may be able to hit two birds with one stone.”

“Okaay?” I say, a slight tinge of hope seeping into my core again.

“I need a bath–”

“–I can’t take a nude picture of you!”

You laugh again, but shake your head, “No, silly. Let me finish.”

My cheeks flush scarlet.

“I need a bath, but instead of taking a shower, I’ll jump in the tub. Once in there, you can have me do whatever you want.”

I squint my eyes, then see a lightbulb flash on.

“YES!” I almost yell, running my hands up your torso and leaning in for a kiss.

“Yes,” I repeat, then press my lips against your sculpted ones. It is as if your lips curl to a smile amidst the kiss.

“Yes,” I say one last time, meeting your eyes, “If you get the water running, I’ll collect my gear.”

Your hands go wandering about on my hips again, dragging my robe up and making my hairs stand on end. You look down at me with a confident smile, saying, “great minds think alike.”

I fight off the urge to kiss you again and instead draw away from you. You catch the waistband of my robe and it slides off as I step away, revealing the new set of lingerie I’m wearing underneath. I stand, looking at you with what I imagine is the expression of a suspicious feline. You, on the other hand, make a low whistle and shake your head in slow motion, clearly surprised and pleased to see what I was hiding beneath. Then you nod toward the living room, signalling I get on with finding my camera.

It takes me a few minutes to find the right lens. When I enter the bathroom, you’re in the process of unbuckling your belt. The tap is running and there’s already a bit of water in the tub.

“Wait,” I say, stopping you just as you’re about to pull your jeans down, “I think I want you in the water dressed.”

You stare for a moment, shrug, say “sure,” then proceed to tug your jeans over your perky bum again.

“Right, erm,” I think for a moment, “No, you know what? Lose the pants, but keep the t-shirt on.”

“Lose the pants,” you repeat and let your jeans fall to the floor. As you stand back up, I realize something.

“We might have a problem,” I say, eyeing the hefty bulge in your boxers.

You follow my gaze, noticing the same problem, then nod in agreement.

“But then again,” you say, “what did you expect, looking like that?” you hint at my open robe and lingerie.

We both shrug, then burst laughing.

“I guess we’ll just have to make it work!” I say, “Now, in the tub with you, buddy.”

You feel the temperature of the water and deciding that it’s decent, turn off the tap, step in and lie down. There’s not a lot of water in there, but I’m assuming it will do. You look up at me with anticipation, “Now what?”

I squint at you, finding the bulge slightly distracting, basically towering above the waterline like another Burj Khalifa. Obviously, you notice my lack of response.

“Hey, babe!” you say, snapping me out of it. I feel my nether region clench.

“Okay, okay!” I shake my head to wake up. You shake yours too, smirking at me.

“We need to do something about that,” I say.

“I can try to hide it?” you suggest.

“How?” I squint. It’s a mastodon of a package you has stored down there, I think to myself.

“Anyway, I need to find a position to photograph you from.”

I begin taking random photos of you from various angles and perspectives, simultaneously adjusting the settings on the camera as I do so. Meanwhile, you roll around to one side, then the other, then back again. The squeaking sounds of your body rubbing against the sides of the tub while you change poses makes the whole situation rather comedic, and I'm convinced you're doing it even worse on purpose. Determined to be somewhat professional, I try to ignore your distractions.

“It’s a good thing we have such good lighting in here,” I say, gazing around the small room, pretending to be focused and ignorant of your attempts at sabotage.

“How do you want me, babe? I feel like… I don’t even know? A fish out of water,” you say, doubting your own wording, “or something like that.”

I sigh, “I know, I get it. I need to think. We’ve also still got that… situation… going on.” I gesture at the, no less apparent, tent between your legs.

“Okay,” you say calmly, “I’ll just lie back and relax, while you think of something.”

“Good.”

As you settle into a comfortable position, I mentally run through the various “golden rules” of photography that I can remember.

Then it’s as if I notice the obvious. The absolute god-like adonis carved in marble in front of me: My initial inspiration. Your white t-shirt, soaked from all the turning and splashing around you did, is sticking to your chest and abs, enhancing the lines of your muscular torso, yet still in a perfectly suggestive fashion; somewhat similar to the drapery you see on these same sculptures. In a fit of impulse, I crawl up to stand on the edges of the tub.

You open your eyes –awoken by my scramblings– fear in your eyes as you reach for me, “be careful, babe!”

“No no, darling! Stay put!” I say, “I’m perfectly safe. It’s dry. My feet are dry. I’m stable, but thank you.” I smile, reassuringly. Suspicious yet accepting, you lower your arms and lie back down. I notice your eyes trail down my exposed body. Lust now clear as daylight in your gaze.

“I think I’ve got the photo soon, babe, then we’re done,” I explain. “Just close your eyes for me.”

You shake your head and smile, then do as I said.

Your head rests on the back of the tub, but your fingers begin fidgeting … around your nether region.

“Are you uncomfortable?” I ask between photos.

“No…” you smirk, eyes still closed, but you shift and rest your hands awkwardly on your stomach instead.

“We can’t have that,” I say, “you’re covering the main part of the photo,” I tease.

You open your eyes, still smirking but not saying a word.

“And you’re revealing, exposing, what we need to hide,” I try to hold back my laugh.

“Okay,” I continue, “what about… what if you hold your t-shirt at the hem and stretch it down to cover your crotch. Place your other hand casually beside it. Yeah, like that! Exactly, babe. Beautiful.”

I take a couple of photos and look at them on the tiny screen.

“Right, hold that pose, but just… kinda relax, if you can. I’ll take a few shots more and then you’re done!”

You close your eyes again and begin taking deep breaths, lessening the tension that must have been building in your shoulders over the last few days. As peace falls upon your face and body, I take the last photos. After quickly reviewing them on the tiny screen, I decide that I’m done. I turn off my camera and place it on the shelf above the tub before crawling down to sit on the edge of the tub, my feet in the water between your legs.

“Okay, it’s a wrap!”

Your eyes flash open and you let go of your t-shirt. The fabric bounces back, revealing your hairy tummy, teasing me. You look up at me with mischief, then give your member a squeeze.

“Get down here,” you say, almost ferocious in your voice.

I feel myself get all giddy with sudden anticipation as you rise like Poseidon from the water. Before I can do anything other than yelp, you pull me down onto you and with a splash and a thud I land against your rock-hard body. I'm instantly soaked.

“Finally,” you mutter, drenching my face and neck with hungry kisses. Your hands tease the collar of my robe before sliding it over my shoulders. Your eyes explore the curves of my upper body, then you adjust me so that I sit straddled upon you. You don’t speak a word, but your eyes and body say everything I need to know.

I feel your girth throbbing against me. You slide my robe all the way off and without taking your eyes off me, you cast it aside. Then your hands slide up my body. You cup my breasts tenderly, admiring the lace and how the new style of bra suits my breasts. You lick your lips as your thumbs begin stroking my hardening nipples. I sigh and begin grinding against the tip of your member.

You sit up and proceed to kiss and bite the flesh of my breasts. Gently holding the lace aside with your fingers, you capture my nipples between your teeth, ever so gently, before circling your tongue around them with exquisite attention. While squeezing my breasts together, you kiss them one after the other, back and forth, before venturing up to my collarbone and neck. All I can do is whimper and moan.

Then you grasp my hair, pulling my head back. Between kisses and bites on my exposed neck, you breathe damp, sultry words onto my skin. Expressions of how I’ve been a tease, how patient you’ve been and how much you want me now. I want to answer, but I can’t do anything but mutter incoherencies; your throbbing cock eagerly pressing against my core and thus stealing all of my vocabulary.

My breath quickens as I grind harder, cursing the fabrics that keep our cores from meeting, merging. Then you push me towards you, allowing our lips to meet in hungry kisses. My bra loosens. You must have managed to open and take it off me with your other hand, before also casting it aside. You grab at my liberated breasts, then sit up and pull your drenched t-shirt over your head. It lands on the bathroom floor with a splash. My hands instinctively seek the wet fur of your stomach and chest, momentarily squeezing your pecs, then wander south again.

Your eyes read pure hunger and you buck your hips. As I fall back down from the jump, my core meets the powerful strength of your pelvis, bucking yet again. I gasp, overcome by a mixture of arousal and humor. You buck again, a laugh escapes me and somehow, after a few times of this, you’ve managed to free your erection from your boxers. I didn’t notice, but at some point you must have turned on the tap again, because I see you turn it back off. I guess this increased level of water also explains the more slow-motion-like sensation I experience as I land back down on your pelvis; a somewhat softer landing than before. In my own defence, I was entranced and my mind was not functioning at 100%, hence the questionable description. Anyway, both our hips are now submerged under water and I simply shake my head at your mischievous ways. You smirk and pull me down to a deep kiss, slapping my ass through the water, making more water splash all over the place. Everything in the room is certainly wet by now.

I grind against your exposed and infinitely hard cock as your fingers slider under the lace. Your hands grab my cheeks with determination, enhancing the force and enabling you to better thrust against my grinding motion. The friction is causing short-circuits in my brain, making me see colours that aren’t there. My first climax is staggeringly near, but just before I get to release, you buck your hips again, making me scoot off your cock. A devious grin is smeared across your chiseled face.

“You had me waiting, sweetheart. Now it’s my turn to tease.”

---

Thanks for reading my shitpost! Please leave a comment of your thoughts, however nonsensical they may be 💜🙏

Tags in the reblog 🖤Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list.

[earliebirb]

A prompt idea for you... There’s this post I've seen floating around tumblr of two rabbits and it's titled "how to surreptitiously stretch within reach of kisses". I have this image in my head of Steve sitting on the couch reading and Tony coming in the room and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He thinks, "If I gradually inch closer to Steve he will give me kisses." Steve is oblivious (not really, he knows what Tony's up to), but kisses are given.

Thank you for the adorable prompt! The rabbit video made my heart melt. I hope you like it! 🤍

peripheral

steve/tony, fluff, established relationship, 950 words

(inspired by this post)

Snugly nestled in the corner of a long leather sofa, Steve is enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon. One of his elbows is planted on the sofa’s padded arm and his hand holds his novel of the week open in front of him. 

As he flips to another page, he feels the sofa dip down with extra weight. He sees movement in his peripheral vision, but doesn’t bother turning his head to take a look. Someone has plopped down on the other end of the couch. 

He continues reading quietly. Although he feels a pair of eyes staring at him intently, he resists the urge to acknowledge the company.

After a while, he finally reaches the end of two pages and proceeds to flip to a new page. 

From beside him, Steve hears the person let out a heavy sigh. He tamps down on the urge to smile, maintaining a poker face and making sure his eyes never leave the book.

The person then proceeds to kneel on the couch, now fully facing Steve. In his attempt to bite back laughter, Steve reads the exact same sentence five times. He can practically feel the disapproval radiating from the far end of the couch, but otherwise his intruder continues to stay quiet.

Just to give his hands something to do, Steve flips to yet another page even though he hasn’t been able to follow the story. He struggles to regain his focus, too busy tracking his companion’s every move. 

In a bizarre twist of events, the person leans down to touch his forehead to the couch, still in a kneeling position. The arms are slowly stretched forward until he achieves the child’s pose in yoga, fingertips a foot away from Steve’s thigh. 

From the corner of his eye, Steve notices the way the person looks up, presumably trying to gauge Steve’s reaction while still maintaining the ridiculous position. 

Steve gives him none.

With another disappointed sigh, the man decides to crawl towards Steve. The leather sofa squeaks as he approaches, inching closer and closer. 

He finally stops with his nose a few inches away from Steve’s face, breath tickling his cheek. With the close proximity, the intensity of his gaze feels like a brand on Steve’s skin. 

Steve clenches his jaw so tight he feels a little lightheaded, but he is not going to back down when triumph is now so close within reach.

After what seems like forever, the man finally plops his head down miserably on Steve’s lap, mashing his own face into Steve’s thighs with a grunt.

Steve has a few seconds to enjoy his victory—the ends of his lips lifting up into a smug smile—before his intruder lets out a muffled whine.

“Steveeeeen.”

Breaking into a chuckle, Steve sets his book down on the end table beside the sofa and buries his fingers in Tony’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he croons sweetly, bending down to nuzzle the back of Tony’s neck in greeting. 

“You ignored me.” The words are mumbled into Steve’s sweatpants, bitter and accusatory, Tony’s breath warm through the fabric.

“How dare you ignore me. Your beloved husband. Who is much more interesting than your stupid book,” Tony continues to grumble into Steve’s thighs, punctuating each phrase with a jab of his finger into Steve’s calf. 

Steve chuckles again. His hand combs through Tony’s hair slowly, trapping soft curls in the spaces between his fingers and drawing them out. “I wanted to see how long you’d hold out. Not very long, it turns out.”

“Evil.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I wanted kisses,” Tony complains, not unlike a child who has been denied access to the cookie jar.

Steve has trouble holding back a fond smile. 

“I’m sorry, my darling.” He takes Tony’s earlobe between his thumb and forefinger, pulling on it gently. “Turn around so I can give you kisses?”

Tony huffs. “No.”

“No?” Steve mock gasps. “But I want kisses.”

“Tough luck. You had your chance.”

Steve grins, stroking Tony’s back appeasingly. Up and down, up and down.

“Sweetheart, please forgive me? I’m sorry. I’m truly the worst.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I am so, so sorry, my love.” Steve laughs softly. He covers Tony’s nape with his hand, thumb caressing the side of his neck. “Turn around? Please?”

Silence. Then Tony finally turns around to face Steve, mouth set in a deep frown.

“There he is. My handsome husband.”

Tony glares up at him, unimpressed. Steve smiles down at him, pressing his thumb down on the lines between his downturned brows.

“So handsome, even when he’s angry.” He leans down and manages to give Tony a few open-mouthed kisses, even with the odd angle. One kiss, two kisses, three kisses. A fourth one, for good measure.

“Am I forgiven?” he asks, lips brushing against Tony’s. He doesn’t give Tony the chance to answer, immediately going in for a fifth kiss.

This time, he lingers, taking his time to savor the feeling of Tony’s upper lip caught between his.

Kissing Tony is truly one of his favorite things in the world.

When Steve pulls back, he finds his husband staring up at him in a daze.

Tony’s pretty brown eyes are slightly out of focus. He pants lightly as he tries to catch his breath, slick lips parted.

Steve gives him a few moments to gather his bearings. He is considerate like that.

He catches the moment Tony realizes Steve is still waiting for an answer, staring down at him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Tony clears his throat. His eyes dart around to stare at anything but Steve, color high on his cheeks.

“Give me some cuddles and I’ll think about it.”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Day One | Persephone

Hey lovelies— so as per my usual shenanigans I've decided this will have no schedule and that I will play god to my own creation because what is life without some chaos? The pros are you might not have to wait a week between updates, the cons are you might have to wait a week between updates. In all seriousness, please enjoy my lovelies!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 3.1k

Previous | Next

Master List

She can’t hear what the man in the truck says to him— the walls of this house are surprisingly thick. She supposes that’s a good thing. It means she will be able to go about her days normally while cooped up here. Well, as normal as possible. She doubts she’ll be able to get away with her three am rom-com marathons and ice-cream binges. She doubts she’ll get away with screaming in her sleep— and in the shower and at the breakfast table and when doing any, little thing that makes her remember that her life is one, constant nightmare.

It’s only three days— all she has to do is stay awake for three days.

While his head— her body guard’s head— is turned she leans against the kitchen sink, inching back the white lace curtain for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s like a little game at this point. She peeks at him, his eyes snap to hers, and she squeals and drops the curtain. Thank god the walls are thick. It’s almost unnerving how tuned he is to every little movement— not almost, it is unnerving but she supposes that is what makes him a good fit for this job. A good fit for keeping her alive. Like she has been doing for months now, she ignores the way her chest squeezes painfully.

Through the little strip of window that she allows for herself, she traces over his features one last time. Cropped black hair, a square jaw, at least two days worth of stubble. He looks like a bodyguard— rough, dangerous, manly— and that’s before taking into account the sheer size of the man. She is on her tiptoes, one hand pushing against the stainless steel below her for dear life, and she still has to crane her neck to properly see his face. She refuses to let her eyes wander any further than that— she had already glimpsed at the rest of him when he had made the short walk from the truck to the house. She already knows he’s massive.

His eyebrow twitches and she drops the curtain— she may not be as fast as he is but she’s a quick learner. Had she held the curtain open longer she is sure his eyes would have flicked to hers again. Those are the rules of the game, after all. She hears a muted thumping and the door handle jiggle from across the room, spinning towards the faded farmhouse door. She watches as the door handle turns, her throat tight, wondering where all the air in the room went— it was there a second ago.

The door pushes open and she jumps away from the sink, only just realizing what it’ll look like if he comes inside to her still hunched over the window. Of course, he’s already seen her but that’s beside the point. Part of the game is not talking about the game. A boot comes into view— the black, military grade kind— and it hits her like a punch to the gut that this is real— there really is someone out there trying to kill her. Now she really can’t breath. She can only force her lungs to expand to draw in some oxygen before her bodyguard finds her sprawled in an unconscious heap on the ground.

The boot is quickly followed by a leg, which is then, by default, followed by a torso and a head. A head that turns and watches her freeze, red handed like a bandit, in the middle of the kitchen. Gods, she should have just kept leaning against the sink— this is worse! Her hands are up and everything, shot out in front of her like she’s about to jump him or something. Yes, her— the girl currently in a hoodie that pools around her legs, displaying her knobby knees and bad posture— about to jump him— the man who had to practically duck to get through the doorway. She could laugh. In fact, she almost wishes he would laugh at her. She wishes he would do anything but look at her with that blank expression and those ice blue eyes.

“Uhm—” she blinks, trying to think of something to say other than holy shit you’re a giant— which, for the record, is what she wants to say— “hi?”

Are you serious, y/n?

He tilts his head at her and she almost cries. Not the same fear ridden, heartbroken, panicky cries of late. More so the awkward, why the fuck would you say that to the man charged with keeping you alive brand of cries. The normal kind. She drops her hands to her sides, slipping them into the pouch of her hoodie and tangling her fingers together. She can only allow herself to display one embarrassing thing at a time.

The man stays silent for a moment, each second of which makes her cheeks flame hotter and hotter, before finally opening his mouth. “Hi.”

Her chest deflates— some of the heat subsiding. He copied her. Whether purposefully or mockingly it alleviates some of the stupidity she’s feeling. She takes a few steps backwards, her bare feet pittering rather loudly over the worn hardwood. Well, that didn’t last long— there’s that embarrassment again.

“I’m y/n,” she squeaks out— gods, is Mickey Mouse in the building? “I guess you already know that though, huh?”

It was a stroke of genius putting her hands in her pocket— at least now he can’t see the way they shake furiously. She has to resist smashing her head against the sink. Nothing about this situation is optimal, to say the very least. Here she is making small talk with a man who could tear her in half. Her eyes drift to where his red henley pulls taut around his biceps— are they bigger than her head?

“James—” her eyes flick back up, face hotter than the sun, both from her blatant staring and the deep gravel of his voice— “but most people call me Bucky.”

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t know why, probably because she’s an idiot or because she isn’t expecting him to say more than three words. He seems like the strong, silent type. Maybe that is just the rom-coms though. Maybe her brain is just mush now.

“Okay,” she all but whispers, backing further into the sink. His piercing eyes have yet to leave her— something which makes her knees knock together and fingers clench. “Which should I call you?”

He tenses, his dark eyebrows pulling together, and she has to swallow the bile that rises in her throat. It’s day one and she’s already offending him. She pulls her lip between her teeth, biting down until the tangy, metallic taste that she has grown too familiar with these past months floods her mouth. She tells herself that she does it to keep from cursing. Lying to herself is another game she likes to play.

The longer he remains quiet, the more she regrets asking the question. His blue eyes are still latched on her, drifting over the space between her eyes and her busted lip, but somehow they also seem miles away. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her— seeing her— or if he’s seeing something else entirely. It isn’t until she pushes off the counter, taking a hesitant step forward, her foot slapping against the wood like it’s trying to embarrass her again, that he blinks. She pulls one of her hands from the puddle that is her hoodie, sliding it over her hair. Can he see the way it shakes?

Probably.

“Nevermind, forget I asked. It was a dumb ques—”

“Bucky,” the word is rushed out, falling over her own stuttered babbling. He slows after that, his face remaining stoic but his cheeks dusting with the slightest hint of pink. “Call me Bucky.”

She doesn’t point it out— she doesn’t have a death wish. Her being here right now, standing across from a literal giant, barefoot and shaking, is proof enough of that. Instead she nods gently, lowering her hand slowly. He’s not going to attack her— he isn’t a wolf— but still she takes the precaution. Better safe than sorry.

“Bucky it is then.”

He nods stiffly and she pretends like it doesn’t make her hands shake harder. She waits for him to speak, eyes drifting over the blue cupboards and the breakfast nook, taking in the applications of the home and trying not to scream. She feels so out of place, not used to the warmth in the room— the lingering smell of yeast and the flowers in the vase on the table. She used to bake all the time. Now she can barely bring herself to microwave frozen dinners. The sun that filters through the crack in the curtains and lands against her cheek feels like pure fire. She spends her days in the dark— she wouldn’t be surprised if she was allergic to the sun itself now. Allergic to all the things she used to enjoy.

The silence is too much— she has to speak to keep her throat from closing. If she doesn’t then it may not open again.

“So—” she draws the word out, her eyes flopping to the floor where her toe scuffs against a particularly worn board— “we just kinda follow each other around then?”

His face doesn’t change, his lips remaining in the same, expressionless line— a master of one trade. “Pretty much. I follow you.”

“And make sure I don’t die.” She fills the rest in— there’s no point not to. He’s definitely seen the pictures.

Finally his expression shifts, his lips pressing together tersely. It’s an answer in it’s own right— he pities her. He shifts his weight between his feet, the floorboards creaking below him. It could just be her but the sound slices through the room— loud and unforgiving— and she can’t stop the way she flinches. He freezes, obviously noticing her reaction. She almost slaps herself. Leave it to her to make an already tense situation worse. Is it going to be this awkward the entire time?

“You’re not going to die.” His voice is softer than his boots, barely reaching her ears as it cuts through the rigid atmosphere.

She doesn’t know what to say— how do she tell her bodyguard that she doesn’t believe him? He’s supposed to be the one saving her life. It feels risky to suggest that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Like telling the universe that she wants to die. She doesn’t want to die. It’s just hard not to think about death when it follows her everywhere she goes. For twenty-four years she was just y/n. Now look at her.

The queen of death.

She doesn’t know what to say so instead she changes the subject.

“Are you hungry?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She makes grilled cheese for lunch. It is nothing special but the smell of the butter alone makes the energy she has to scrape together to make them worth it. She can’t remember the last time she cooked like this— the last time she tasted anything but freezer burnt macaroni and lumpy gravy. A couple times she almost drops the spatula, her fingers not used to having to be so coordinated, but the promise of melted cheddar has her fighting through the tremors. That and the audience of one, standing next to her with his arms crossed like he’s judging her culinary skills rather than looking for snipers.

It’s all in her head. That’s what she tells herself at least.

“You want extra cheese?”

She can feel Bucky’s eyes on the side of her face— is there something on her cheek? “Sure.”

It’s all in her head.

She flips the sandwiches, watching as the fluffy white bread is replaced with a perfect, golden brown toast. Her stomach growls, the sound somehow louder than the sizzling pan in her hand. The scream bubbles in her throat again— fuck. Why must everything she does be so humiliating? Why can’t she just keep it together for three days!

“Bacon?” Cue the voice crack.

“Bacon?” He repeats the word back like he hasn’t the faintest clue what a pig is— like somehow he’s a giant of a man but has never touched a piece of meat in his entire life.

Like it’s the dumbest question he has ever been asked. She swallows— hard— her cheeks pooling with heat again. She’s starting to wonder if it ever even left. If he asks she’ll blame it on the steam rising off the pan or her hoodie or both. But he won’t ask— he won’t speak until he has to. It did not take her long to gather that fact.

“You’ve never had bacon on grilled cheese?” It feels like he’s glaring at her.

It’s all in her damn head.

The floorboards groan underneath Bucky again and instead of flinching this time she tries to imagine what they might be saying. Save me, he’s crushing me! She flicks her eyes down, glancing at those military grade boots and then at her own toes, tiny and feeble compared to the size of his gear. One wrong step and her foot would likely be broken. She isn’t too worried about that though— he seems careful. His movements thus far have been slow and calculated, skirting around her and leaving at least a few feet between them at all times. Maybe that isn’t to keep from stepping on her though— maybe he just doesn’t like her. She wouldn’t blame him.

“You say it like that’s unheard of.” He doesn’t say it angrily but there’s no exuberance in his voice either— just the monotone she’s come to expect. It’s been one hour and she can already see how the next seventy-one are going to play out.

“Where I’m from it is.”

There’s a pause— the sound of butter crackling against the pan and of the steady picking up of rain against the kitchen window as it eats away at the sunshine— and she’s expecting the conversation to drop there. He isn’t there to entertain her, after all. That’s what the TV is for— what Leonardo DiCaprio is for.

But then there’s an answer. “Where are you from?”

The corner of her mouth lifts— an action so foreign she can practically see the dust shedding from her rusty smile— and she turns from the frypan long enough to meet his icy eyes and to throw out an arm, putting the front of her hoodie on display for the stoic man.

“SoCal.”

Her mouth lifts higher when Bucky raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. He could be mocking her but she chooses to believe he’s interested. She chooses to believe that they are making progress and that she won’t have to spend three days talking to the walls. She turns back to the sandwiches, flipping them for the last time before laying down a few strips of bacon next to them.

She isn’t expecting him to keep going but she also isn’t complaining when his voice tickles her ears again. “Caltech, huh? S’that Pasadena?”

She tries to keep her smile from morphing into a full blown grin— she isn’t sure if her poor lips would be able to handle it. It’s been too long since she last used her mouth this much; both for smiling and talking. “Yes sir— born and raised.”

He hums and she watches from the corner of her eye as he leans to the window, peering out of it for a moment. There’s no one out there— at least she strongly doubts there is. This place is in the middle of nowhere. She hasn’t even heard a car since the truck that dropped Bucky off drove away. It’s supposed to be peaceful. She doesn’t see it. All she sees is the dreadful but necessary silence— at least hopefully that way they’ll hear someone coming.

“How about you? Where are you from—” she flips the bacon, pushing it around the pan, her mouth watering at the thought of the greasy, gooey goodness she’s about to consume— “You mind finding some plates?”

She hears him rummage through the cupboard above his head— well, above her head, in front of his— before two mismatched pieces of dishware appear before her nose. Grabbing them, she lets the corners of her lips tick up just the tiniest bit further.

“Indiana— but spent most of my time in Brooklyn.”

“It shows.” She muses, not turning to see whether or not he appreciates the comment.

It’s true regardless— she can hear some of the mannerisms of New York in his voice. Not many. He hasn’t said enough for her to truly gauge just how strong his accent is. Still it’s there, in the gruffness of his tone, just like she’s sure the SoCal shines through in her. At least it normally does— lately she hasn’t exactly been the picture of sunshine.

She removes the sandwiches from the pan, layering them carefully onto the plates. After staring at them for a moment she settles on the one that she wants, handing Bucky the bigger of the two. It’s only fair— he could probably eat at least four. She watches as the giant gives it a glance, rolling her eyes when he hesitantly lifts it to his lips, taking the smallest of bites. Is he afraid of a sandwich?

“I promise I’m not trying to poison you— I need you to stay alive, remember?”

He only grunts.

She has to turn away when he takes a bigger bite, her eyes refusing to detach themselves from his lips. Unprofessional and inappropriate. The orphan and the bodyguard. She takes a bite of her own sandwich, shoving the thought to the back of her mind and replacing it with the heavenly taste of gooey cheese, melted butter, and greasy bacon. She doesn’t have to dissect the thoughts of her delicious food like she would have to the other ones. Cheese doesn’t require a checklist about whether or not her grief quota is up to code. Clearly it’s not— clearly she’s just sick in the head. She takes another bite.

The two eat in silence for a couple minutes, the tension in the room melting for the first time since she introduced herself. Thank gods for cheese.

After a few more moments Bucky sets his plate down, turning back to the window. At first she thinks she is hearing things— like her mind is now also playing tricks on her as well as making her feel like a terrible person— but then it registers and she has to fight back another inappropriate smile.

“You were right about the bacon.”

Maybe three days won’t be so bad.

____________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license​

[kagedbird]

I can't wait to move to my new home. I can't wait to endlessly draw. I have so much work to do!! Need to make so many references, need to get new furniture, set up my room, ugh!! I need like, 10 of me so it will all go faster.

I just ordered a new sit stand desk for work, I plan on giving away my recliner in hopes for a better one (or maybe a chair that reclines, idk, it's just that my current recliner is too short), and maybe a second desk that's just a desk? I really liked having an L shaped desk despite the absolute annoyance that was the squeaking whenever it moved.

There just so much to do now that Art Fight is next week, and I want to do art projects for DND, and I want to become a Vtuber so I need to work on stuff for That, and I have to catch up on so many games since I've been gone!!

I have to do NPC art for my Wednesday campaign, I need to decide on a character design for my future Sunday campaign, and I'll be going back to my Saturday campaign hopefully soon.

Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh this isn't even acknowledging the need for a part time job. I wonder if I could get something remote for a little while? Just until everything calms down. I did wanna eventually work at a Hot Topic, I love their atmosphere so much.

So much to do, so much to see (xinfinity)