#just laments how fucking regular it is until it's *not*

[trenchcrows]

Thinking about mag102 and the horror that is being able to understand french, truly the most terrifying thing to come from tma

[delirious-donna]

Kento finds your journal and vows to return it, but not before he accidentally sneaks a peek… or, the time he read that you wanted to climb him like a tree.

Oh fuck - no! No no no. Please don’t have read it. I’ll do all my weekend chores rather than playing videogames and I’ll even unpack that final box that has been sitting in the spare room if you’ll do me this one solid favour.

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

tw: embarrassing situations, teacher Kento and teacher reader, thigh riding, use of pet names (darling and sweetheart), dirty talk, Kento being more forward than usual, rewrite of an old story (it’s better now, promise), brief appearance of Satoru

The notebook caught his eye; magenta in colour, clearly well-thumbed and definitely not meant to be here, in the teacher’s lounge. He rolled his neck against the uncomfortably lumpy couch until the cracking noise of stiff joints popping made him wince.

With a resigned grunt, Kento sat forward and glanced at his watch.

His next class was due to begin in ten minutes and if he were honest, he felt rather unmotivated to inspire the next generation on this particular day, a feeling that was becoming painfully regular. Fixing the knot of his tie, which he had loosened upon entering the lounge, he lamented on how every day seemed to bleed into each other.

It had been so stiflingly long since anything new or of interest had occurred and he was starting to feel drained from the mundane, walking through each day like a zombie. Heaven help him, it was a frighteningly familiar feeling.

On his way towards the door, he picked up the offending notebook that was stuck between the couch cushions and glanced at it curiously. Your name was emblazoned on the front cover, written in glittery silver ink. Nanami passed a finger over the lettering, his lips tilting into a thin smile at how irreverent it appeared.

He knew you were a few years younger than he was, that you had only become a teacher at the start of this academic year after a sudden change in career, and to say you were a little shy would be a gross understatement. Kento could probably count the times you had spoken to him on one hand, and each one had been a rushed experience, as if you couldn’t wait to retreat from his presence–was he really that intimidating?

At that rather depressing thought, he resumed walking, intent on delivering your notebook before arriving at his own classroom to greet his darling little bastards charges for the afternoon lecture.

Of course, things would never be that simple, nor straightforward when you worked alongside Satoru Gojo.

The white-haired whirlwind hurtled into him as soon as he ventured into the hall. A barking laugh bounced off the walls as Gojo clapped him heartily on the back and effectively knocked the notebook from his grasp to flutter to the floor.

“Ah, Nanami-san, just the man I was looking for,” he thundered. “Could you do your bestest friend in the whole world a favour?”

“If you are referring to yourself with that sentiment, Gojo, then the answer is of course, no.”

Satoru pouted, Kento grimaced.

Celestial blue eyes peered over the rim of his round sunglasses whilst Kento bent to retrieve the book that had tumbled out of his hands and was now spread open at his feet. His eyes narrowed on the hastily scrawled text that he couldn’t quite make out, but… that was his name that he was staring at.

He was aware that Satoru was still talking, the man would continue to ramble away to himself forever, but Kento held his hand aloft to cease the incessant drone.

A strange, but not unpleasant heat coursed through his veins, and something he hadn’t felt in the longest time stirred in his chest. The wild thump of his heart drowned out his pesky colleague’s yammering as he was finally able to read the line of text that referred to him. A sentence that you had hastily scrawled and then ringed again and again with a fluffy cloud border.

Why does Nanami-san have to be so goddamn big and sexy? What I wouldn’t give to climb him like a tree…

He was sure that he could feel the warmth spread up his neck, his collar suddenly too tight, and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the runny saliva pooling inside his mouth.

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t admired you, although always from afar. He knew he wasn’t the most social of men, a sentiment his annoying friend constantly reminded him of. Added to the fact that Kento had been sure you were terrified of him, and he had no intention of making you feel uncomfortable, he kept his distance and his daydreaming to himself and the privacy of his bedroom and shower.

Only now, did he wonder if that discomfort had been something else entirely…

“Will you do it?” Satoru asked, shaking his arms with his long spindly fingers and offering a wide cocky smile.

“I wasn’t listening, and no. I’m going to be busy,” he replied, brushing his fellow teacher’s hand from his forearms and pushing past him to his classroom.

He could care less for the deflated look that the snowy-haired menace threw over his shoulder, there were more important matters on his mind and a knowing smirk curved his lips. The smirk was mirrored by the very man he gave his back to, and that was just fine in his book.

No longer did he detour to return the notebook. Oh no--he’d deliver it back to you safe and sound once the day was over and everyone else had cleared out.

~

It had been a long day. A tiring one too, and the prospect of spending your precious evening hours behind your desk marking exams and writing assignment commentary was unwelcome.

As if the universe could hear your lament, they sent you a curve ball you could never see coming…

A determined knock shook you from your thoughts. The pen in your hand fell to the desk at the same moment you leaned back in your chair, inviting your unexpected visitor to enter.

Your mouth ran dry as the very man you least expected to be calling in on you, walked inside. Least expected but most wanted, secretly, of course. There was no way you were earning yourself a reputation for flirting with your colleagues, even if he was so painfully handsome it made you chew the insides of your cheeks every time you were in his presence. Not because you were shy, because you were a little, but because you didn’t trust what might come out of your mouth! Best to keep those thoughts inside your head where they were safe.

Kento turned to shut the door, the lock flicking silently into place so as to avoid any embarrassing interruptions, before he bowed his head in greeting.

“Nanami-san, what can I do for you?” you asked, impressed that you had managed to speak without tripping over your words. It was certainly an improvement on previous attempts.

It was near impossible not to admire him as he stood near the back of the class. The collar of his azure dress shirt had been loosened, the tie askew as if he had been pulling at them both with insistent fingers. Fingers that were currently drumming against the taut muscles of his forearms. There was something about a man with his sleeves rolled to the elbows that never failed to send you into a feral kind of heat, and right now was no different.

Why did he have to look so downright tantalising? Why did your thighs have to clench together like you were some horny beast in an actual heat?

The aloof expression, the way that he seemed to caress you with his hazel eyes and the simple pleasure of how big he was. At the end of the day, you were no better than an animal, and you animal brain was saying that big was good. Big would rock your world given the chance.

“I found something that belongs to you and thought I should return it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh? That’s kind of you, what is it?”

You wondered what he could have found, mentally scanning your memory of something you might have misplaced or been looking for. Standing, you took two steps forward but froze in place at the sight of your personal notebook held in his large hand. Surely your heart had seized in your chest, it certainly felt like it had.

Oh fuck - no! No no no. Please don’t have read it. I’ll do all my weekend chores rather than playing videogames and I’ll even unpack that final box that has been sitting in the spare room if you’ll do me this one solid favour.

Your eyes widened, looking from the notebook to his face and back again. For a second you thought your silent pleas had been answered, but when had life ever been so benevolent to you before? Kento winked almost imperceptibly, and you wished that a sink hole would form beneath your feet to save you from this mortification.

Heat rose to your cheeks in rushing waves. You swayed unsteadily on the spot with your hand outstretched for the book, desperate for some distance but needing the offending item back in your possession.

Kento chuckled and the deep baritone rumble felt as if the sound resonated within your own body. It stroked at you with exploratory phantom touches although he hadn’t moved. Your every muscle tightened whilst you waited for him to hand over the notebook that held some of your wildest fantasies.

When he held it over his head instead of depositing it into your awaiting sweaty paws, you swore it felt like the air was sucked from the room. It seemed like he had read a very specific piece of information, and you would die of embarrassment.

“I suggest…” he drawled almost lazily. “That if you want it back, you best climb me for it.”

“You—you weren’t meant to read that,” you whispered, staring into the depths of the floor.

A pair of sturdy but unassuming boots came into view. You frowned, surprised.

Two fingers fit beneath your chin and raised your head up to meet his gaze. There was a prominent frown between his eyes that hadn’t been there seconds prior, and you couldn’t help but admire his sharply angular face even if you were doing your best to look anywhere but into his eyes.

“I apologise… perhaps that was a bit too forward. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but you see... I’ve thought about you a lot and not just because I found your notebook? Journal? Doesn’t matter.” Kento exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “You think I’m big? I don’t see it myself, but then I was never my best critic.”

You nodded in affirmation, where was the point in denying it now? His eyes softened, crinkles forming in the outer corners whilst his thumb lightly grazed your jaw. Roasted coffee grounds and notes of sandalwood invaded your nose as his head bent lower, towards your ear.

“Then I will repeat myself only once, sweetheart, climb me if you want it back.”

And so, you did.

You climbed him like a feral little animal.

You reached the offending notebook and hurled it to the floor without a second thought. His laughter was warm and the most boisterous you had heard from him. It made you follow through with your impulse to hook your arms around his strong neck, fingers curling into the rough undercut at his nape. Your legs were quick to follow, circling his waist until your entire front rocked into the wall of muscles that was his body.

“Tell me, what else have you put in that saucy little journal about me, hm?”

“You didn’t read it all?” you asked, almost shocked at his level of restraint if it were true.

Kento shook his head, and you believed him. He wasn’t one for lying. “I wanted to hear them from your mouth.”

“Oh… that’s… mm. Anyone ever told you that you’re as perfect as a fictional man, preferably one created by a woman? Don’t answer that,” you clamoured, pressing your hand across his mouth as it stretched open to reply.

“There’s—uh—this one thing.” You nudged the tip of his nose with yours, moving to speak directly into his ear.

Kento’s breath caught in his throat as you whispered about getting off on his thigh, his hold at your waist, which has stayed appropriate until then, tightened and moved towards your backside—squeezing.

With you still attached to him like a koala, he seated himself on the edge of your desk, lowering you until you were spread over one of his incredibly thick thighs. Your skirt bunched around your middle to accommodate the position as his expansive palms wandered your sides, pawing at your hips and palming your ass with a groan.

In no time at all he was dragging you along the length of his thigh. Your underwear was ruined by this point, your clit throbbed from the friction, the seam of yours and his clothing catching you in deliciously new ways and you still hadn’t kissed him.

You remedied this terrible oversight with enthusiasm, delighting when he startled at your forwardness before he melted, shoulders sagging. It was everything and more. No fantasy could live up to the reality. Kento kissed softly, thoroughly. Whilst he continued to lead the rhythm of your body as you rode his thigh, he was more than happy to let you lead here.

His mouth was surprisingly hot for a man who always seemed to remain cool and composed, a deep groan rumbled in his throat when you curled around his tongue and sucked on the warm, wet muscle. The warmly spiced scent and taste of Kento filled your lungs and evaporated any sense of reason you might have had about making out with a fellow teacher in your classroom. It didn’t matter. Only this mattered.

“Feel good?” he asked as you parted for much-needed air. His rough fingers gripped into the fat of your behind, reaching beneath the hem of your skirt to bunch the cotton of your underwear until he was forcing the material between your slick pussy lips.

You nodded enthusiastically, drawing his lower lip into your mouth and sucking on the tender flesh in earnest. Kento was manhandling you in a way that would make any staunch feminist blanch, but it was exactly what you wanted, exactly what you needed.

“You’re making a mess on me, darling.”

“So, I’m you’re darling, am I?” You quipped back despite sounding out of breath. He was right about the mess, there was an embarrassingly long wet streak on his tailored slacks from being manipulated along his thigh. You were fucking yourself against the strong muscles that flexed beneath you and leaving the evidence for anyone to see.

“I think I’d like that,” he admitted with a hum, planting kisses to your neck and collarbone.

Your orgasm was coming in fast; the combination of the friction against your clenching cunt, the large palms gripping into your ass as if he owned it and his delicious mouth teasing your skin was speeding you towards the finish line in haste. His admittance that he might like some kind of relationship with you was the final nail in your coffin, so to speak.

“Nanami-san!”

Blond hair fell into your vision, urgent lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to your cleavage and the swell of your breasts. His tongue flickered at your flesh, warming you up before sucking possessive purple bruises that would be hard to explain later.

“Kento,” he breathed against your collarbone, “call me Kento, my darling.”

Gods, could he be any more perfect? It was as if he knew exactly what to do and say to set you off like a firecracker!

You shrieked in surprise when Kento lifted you like you weighed nothing—you most definitely did not weigh nothing. He held you tight as he turned your body so your back was flush with his chest, rearranging you over his broad thigh once more but this time you could feel the prod of his prominent erection at the outside of your hip. It was thick and imposing, distracting but only in that you wondered what it would look like, feel like—in your hand and stretching your walls.

“Go on, be a good girl and get yourself off on my thigh,” he cooed, nipping at your earlobe.

Kento grabbed at your breasts, squeezing the doughy mounds between his fingers whilst you rode his thigh to completion, pinching you through lace and chiffon. The orgasm that hit was staggering; it stole the air from your lungs, the equilibrium of your body and the sight from your eyes.

White lights pulsed behind your eyelids as you gushed like a surging waterfall over his trousers, ruining your underwear and skirt in the process. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't for the primal-sound growl that emanated from his chest. The almost bestial sounding war cry that made you shiver whilst you floated back down from ecstasy.

“Atta girl. There it is. Mhm, so good for me. So receptive. Can I take you home?” Kento asked, his voice thick and strained with unspoken emotion. “Cause I think it’s my turn now, and I can't wait to see how goddamn perfect you’re gonna look taking my cock.”

You smiled, drunk on the bliss. “Sure thing, big boy, but let’s not make this our get together story for the grandkids, yeah?”

You were so glad he found your notebook, even if you had no idea that it was Satoru Gojo that you needed to thank in the first place...

[shotmrmiller]

soulmate au part 1

john price x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

unedited, forgive my mistakes.

since you were born, your world has been grey. you never thought anything of it, until at school, they started teaching you colours. the only ones in the room that could see more than just different shades of grey, apart from the teacher, were identical twins.

weird.

you went home and asked your parents.

"we are born missing half of ourselves. we have a fated one, and when you meet them, your world will look the way it was meant to."

oh. but... "in class, there were twins that could see colour. what about them?"

they look surprised for a second until your dad softly explains. "in rare instances, the soulmate bond will be platonic. which makes sense in this case, because twins grow up with a connection regular people like us will never understand."

you nod and lower your gaze to look at your shoes. you wonder if the person meant for you is interested in junie b. jones books like you are.

-

in high school, you crush on this pretty girl— a cheerleader. her hair is long and beautiful, her face is small and round, and she's so kind. just your type.

but no colour stains your vision, so you burrow your emotions deep and mourn the loss of what could've been.

-

in college, one of your friends ask you if you've met your soulmate yet.

"no, not yet," you lament. what she says after freezes the blood in your veins.

"my mom knew someone whose soulmate was already dead before they had even been born," she comments while stabbing a grape tomato with her fork. "it was really tragic, because she'll never know what it's like to know a love that has no equal."

your heart is in your throat, and you find it hard to swallow the food in your mouth.

what if your soulmate is already dead? oh, god. you might just throw up. your friend doesn't seem to notice the change in your demeanor and continues to babble carelessly about how she knew someone that knew someone who's soulmate had turned out to be a murderer.

oh my fucking god.

you quickly run to the bathroom and throw up your lunch.

how cruel is the universe? to have no control over who is meant to be for you.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lean against the stall of the bathroom. you should've known that this soulmate business was too good to be true.

cupping your hands, you rinse the taste of bile out of your mouth before walking back to your friend who stayed in her seat.

"jesus, you look terrible, you alright?" she asks.

running your fingers through your hair, you huff. "i've certainly been better. just got a bit nauseous, nothing serious. maybe it's a stomach bug."

"oooh, you better not be pregnant! what of your dreams of working in the medical field?"

you giggle at her response. "that'd be impossible unless i'm the virgin mary."

she gapes comically then leans in and whispers, "you're lying! don't tell me you haven't dated anyone just because they weren't your soulmate."

you shrug, and keep your eyes fixed on your half-eaten plate of food. "i don't really wanna talk about it, if that's alright with you. besides, you've got bigger things to worry about, like the upcoming exam for mr. richardson."

slapping a hand to her forehead, she exclaims, "oh, shit! i totally forgot! shit!"

you watch her inhale the rest of her salad and toss her trash before waving goodbye and sprinting toward the library.

with a sigh, you look down at your food. grey. lifeless. shaking your head, you pick up your plate and toss it in the bin.

you decide to focus solely on your studies. you have dreams of being a doctor and pining after someone you haven't even met yet would only serve as a distraction.

--

your white coat grazes your calves as you walk toward your new patient. standing outside the room, you pick up the clipboard.

Price, John. 34, Active Military.

he's the head of the task force! god, you've only heard stories of them from the other medics on base who have met them, so to finally come face to face with the man, the myth, the legend? you wipe your clammy hands on the fabric of your scrubs and clear your throat.

be professional, be professional. he's just another patient, it's no big deal.

rapping your knuckles on the door, you wait a second before twisting the knob with a shaky hand. you nervously keep your eyes on the clipboard as you walk in.

"good morning, captain price."

"mornin', doc," he rumbles.

oh, his deep voice just might be the end of you.

"you don't sound all that happy to be here, captain," you tease while flipping through his medical history papers.

he lets out a low chuckle, and you squeeze your thighs together at the sound. delicious.

"nothin' personal, doc. just don't like bein' here, you understand."

lightly laughing at his joke, you finally steel your nerves and look up at him.

only to have your vision bleed in something you don't understand. is that colour? is this what colour looks like?

the clipboard drops, clattering to the floor. john— being the courteous gentleman that he is— quickly kneels to grab it and lifts his head as he hands it to you.

he freezes in place, the clipboard slipping from his hands as he stares at you.

you thickly swallow, and dumbly question, "do you...has your....colour? can you see colour?"

unblinking, john's eyes are fixated on you as he remains silent.

your eyes dart around to take in his features. his brightly-coloured eyes are framed by lines that hint at his age, his strong jaw adorned by a mutton-chop beard. his nose is specked with a beauty mark.

"what colour are your eyes, captain?" you softly ask.

he closes his mouth and takes in a sharp breath. "i've been told they're blue."

"blue," you smile. the eyes of your soulmate are blue.

but then, your delighted smile melts off your face, in horror.

there's a shiny band on his finger. he's married.

john price, your soulmate, is fucking married.

your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. it feels like there are shards of glass in your lungs, cutting you open with each quivering breath you take. your pain is red-hot, searing under your skin, flowing through your veins like molten lead.

john knows exactly what you're looking at.

"love—" he starts but you cut him off swiftly.

"don't. you don't owe me anything, captain. uhm, but uh... maybe it's best that we switch your doctors, yeah? conflict of interest, and all that."

you all but run away, away from that room, from him.

how terribly unlucky.

you head towards your office, which is down the hall, and slam the door closed. only then, do you cry, and mourn what should've been.

[nevadancitizen]

-> ATOM BOMB BABY!

synopsis: you're a nomadic survivor in a post-apocalyptic wasteland until you get transported to a strange, new world. these demons were obviously expecting a human that was softer, less spikes-and-thorns and more fluff-and-wool. how will they react and adapt?

word count: 3.3k (~530 each)

characters: lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, belphegor, post-apocalyptic! reader

trigger warnings: canon-typical violence, it's implied that the reader has killed before and will kill again lol

notes: new vegas and obey me! have been kicking me in the head repeatedly recently. so there are some allusions/references to new vegas in this one but you don't need to know jack about new vegas to understand this :) also mammon's is longer than everyone else's and he's pining hard for mc because i'm soooo in love with him it's not even funny and IGNORE that there's a lot of holes you could poke in this.. okay? okay <3

It had been a… a miscalculation, really. An embarrassing one. Diavolo had accounted for many things to ensure the success of the Exchange Program, but he failed to account for the most important thing: the fact that, at the end of the day, humans are better at killing than any other living thing. 

Was it wrong for him to assume that things had been the same way they were two hundred years ago? Yes, of course. It was stupid not to check in on the human world, because if he had, he’d find that it was razed by nuclear bombs, the land and water still tainted with the fallout.

So, no, neither he nor the brothers know what to do when you quite literally fall out of the portal. They’re shocked when, instead of being confused and scared and fragile, you’re vile, scarred, spitting threats as if they came naturally. Wait – are you wearing riot armor? And – yeah, that’s a gun. Definitely a gun. A gun you’re currently pointing at them.

-> LUCIFER 

Honestly, this is the last thing Lucifer needed: another fucking headache. He supports Diavolo with all that he is, but he can’t ignore the fact that he’s sometimes so careless that shit like this happens. He’s the one who talks some sense into you and gets you to holster your weapon, as he’s the only one with a level head in the room. (Well, Diavolo would be the other, but he’s… weirdly excited that this human is challenging and has so many thorns you’d think they were born in a briar bush!)

He’ll try his best to accommodate you, even if that means teaching you that yes, you have to shower at least once every two days if you’re to continue living in the House of Lamentation. And no, you cannot hoard food and water in your room. He knows it’s instinct for you at this point, but it causes problems with Beel. 

He basically takes over teaching you how to be a regular, functioning member of polite society, kinda like how he did with Satan. (Really, he thought he’d never see the day where the Devildom was considered part of polite society, but after seeing snippets of the human world through you, he knows that this place is way better than the human world.) He teaches you how to use proper cutlery, how modern plumbing and refrigeration works, and how to solve your problems with words rather than bullets. 

Lucifer is also… oddly patient when it comes to you. As much as he hates to admit it, he sees part of himself in you – the part that had just been cast out of the Celestial Realm, the part that took months to adjust to the world of the Devildom. He knows what it’s like to be subjected to new and confusing ideals – but instead of just a completely different way of life, you’re introduced to the same on top of an legit, organized education system that you’ve never encountered before.

And if that trigger finger of yours ever gets itchy, he’ll take you to go hunting. He’s inexperienced when it comes to hunting with guns instead of claws, but this is the only time he’ll set his pride aside, sit back, and learn. What better hunter to learn from than someone who’s hunted everything, from mutated creatures to fellow man?

If you ever take him to the human world, prepare for him to be silent and observant. He’ll be that way for a while, just looking over the rolling hills and plains that were once green, killed and turned brown by radiation. Then, slowly, softly, unsure if he’s speaking to himself, you, or his Father: “What a splendid world you ruined…”

-> MAMMON

When Mammon comes into the Student Council Room (because he was running late, as per usual) to find you, gun holstered but hackles still raised, his first instinct is to get the fuck out. He’s been in situations like these before, and he knows when to bounce.

But, of course, he’s still assigned as your guardian even though you clearly don’t need one. He thinks that your guns and knives are enough to deter any demon, honest! (Even though that doesn’t deter him from trying to pick your pocket. What really deters him is when you catch his wrist and hit him with the most threatening glare he’s ever seen on a human. Jeez, you honestly look like you’re about to clean his clock…!)

But still, since the Great Mammon was assigned as your guard, he’ll stick around. He doesn’t really mind, because you’re kinda cool anyways – not that he’ll ever say it to your face. But really, with the kinda armor that you’re wearing, plus the grime of the wasteland that doesn’t go away no matter how many times you wash… you’ve got a unique style, and that’s all he has to say, okay? If you really want, he guesses he can hook you up with a modeling gig – but only if you’re with him! Uh – only because he wants to make himself look better in comparison, y’know?

Yeah, even with someone from the wasteland, he’s still absolutely head over heels in puppy love. He’ll show you stuff he got from the Old World (as in, the pre-war human world) because, as much as he denies and deflects, he wants you to have some sense of normalcy. A place that isn’t filled with raiders and ghouls and slavers and someone trying to kill you at every other turn. He’s nice like that.

But he still really wants to know what the New World is like! You can’t get those Old World Blues if he’s just as enthusiastic about New World Hope, right? He asks about your weapons (and takes the spent bullet casings from your guns because they’re shiny), your occupation, your lifestyle – everything, honestly. He wants to know about your family – assuming they’re still alive – and your friends – again, assuming the same. He’s eager to know as much as you’re willing to share, even the more gruesome things you’ve seen or experienced.

He also wants to know about what… ahem, what affection is like. Surely you can’t trust easily when people are willing to kill one another over a sack of rotten vegetables, right? So he’ll be gracious and allow you to playfight and get rough with him, since that’s your weird human way of showing affection! What do you mean that’s not – that’s not how humans show affection now? Humans show affection in the New World the same way they did in the Old World? Well, he just assumed because you hadn’t been showering the Great Mammon in praises and loving touches and – ugh! Just drop it, okay?

Yes, he assumes a lot, mostly based on the apocalypse movies he’s seen. Unless you actually have a sit-down with him and talk about what life is really like in the wasteland, he’ll ride on these weird assumptions. Assumptions like the existence of radiation-riddled zombies, super-mutants and their variants, and other beings that would otherwise be labeled as supranatural if not for the complex and long-winded explanations Mammon comes up with.

If you ever take him to the human world, he’d be delighted to see what remains of Las Vegas – or is it called New Vegas now? Who cares! He’s all-too-excited to bust out whatever human world money he has and get those dice rolling! Sure, he knows that the deck is stacked and the dice are weighted and the games are rigged in every possible way, but it’s about having fun with his human, right? (That’s what he says until he’s forced to fold and cash out. Then it’s “no fun anyway,” and “a waste of time,” and he’s itching to check out the nearby towns and settlements. For something to steal? Hell, probably.)

-> LEVIATHAN

The first thought that crossed Levi’s mind is that you’re obviously cosplaying the main character from It’s a Federal Offense to Mess with the Mail, Man!: Tales of Gunslinging Wastelander Couriers Solving Convoluted Demon Family Drama’s way less popular spinoff, I was Doing Fine Scraping by as a Nomadic Wastelander, but Then I was Transported to Some Strange, New World with Seven Demonic Suitors who are Fighting Over Me as we Speak! Though, if that were the case, where was your convention badge? And that armor doesn’t look fake. It doesn’t really click until he hears the very real sound of you cocking your gun that you’re not playing pretend, nor are you fucking around in any capacity.

He so desperately wants to cement the fact in his mind that you’re a normie, you like doing normie things like cleaning your guns and knives and talking about the politics of the wasteland, which actually reminds him of this game he’s playing and you’d totally love it and –! Oh no. It’s true. You’re cool. Like, really cool. Like, not-a-normie-at-all cool!

Even though you’re not an otaku (and depending on where you’re from and your education, you might’ve never even heard of Japan), Levi will slowly come out of his shell and try to ask you questions about the wasteland. Like Mammon, he has a lot of assumptions based on the games he plays, but they would actually be more accurate. Instead of supranatural things, he thinks about the logistics of the world at large – blame the RPGs he plays. 

But, this leads to him thinking he knows all there is to know about your life and how you live it. Depending on your temper, it may lead you to snap at him, telling him that your life isn’t a video game. This isn’t Grognak & the Ruby Ruins. The wasteland is grueling and cruel and unforgiving. You have seen starvation, debauchery, reignited fascism and misled democracy. You have seen people be crucified for not agreeing with the slavers putting them up on the cross. What you’ve lived through isn’t fun. It’s not a fucking game. You can’t respawn if someone gets a lucky hit. You die. And that’s it.

And of course it causes a blow to his ego, reinforcing the idea that he’s just a “yucky otaku” or some shit like that. You have to reassure him that you have nothing against him personally, it’s just that he was being kinda patronizing and acting as if he’d lived in the wasteland all his life instead of you. After some time alone to sulk, he eventually comes back around and realizes that you’re right, and that you’re really cool, and he wants to be friends with you, so after that brief period he apologizes. 

Good luck trying to drag him to the human world! Levi’s a shut-in, and much prefers experiencing the wasteland through video games than real life. Though if you’re bound and determined, call him up on whatever the equivalent of facetime is on your DDD and talk him through what you’re doing while in the human world, even if you’re just walking along an abandoned highway. He really appreciates your effort and might even work up the confidence to travel the wasteland with you, but sticks to walking the desolate wastes as opposed to going into towns and… ugh, socializing.

-> SATAN

Satan immediately wants to laugh in Lucifer’s face because he fucked up so immensely. Seriously, how could you not know a nuclear war happened? (This is ignoring the fact that he didn’t know, either. He just thought that humans haven’t put out anything worth reading in a little while. He’s a demon, so two hundred years is… not a significant amount of time for him.) 

He’s a hardcore nerd, so he wants to pick your brain about the politics, the logistics – everything about the wasteland. He’s kinda insensitive about it in the beginning, but will eventually turn and not treat the deaths of people close to you like a plot point in a book. He’s unashamed about it, too, and will ask you as soon as the question pops into his mind, lest he forgets it. This leads to weird topics of conversation over dinner, all spurred on by his question of “How many people would you say an average person has killed? Assuming they’re competent enough to kill, of course.”

Your weapons are another point of interest for him. Obviously big gun manufacturers aren’t around anymore, so where do you get your guns? Are there modifications on them? Are the mods homemade, or do you get them from a designated seller? Does the seller need a license, or is it a free-for-all? If it’s a free-for-all, how do you know the quality of the mods they’re selling? And other exhaustive lists of questions that leave you wishing that Mammon would just burst through the door with another stupid money-making scheme on the tip of his tongue. 

He knows how overwhelming school can be, and organized education in the wasteland is sparse to none, so he takes up the title of being your tutor. You’re obviously frustrated with this new thing you don’t have a choice but to partake in, and Satan can sympathize. You’ve never even studied in your life, so he tries his best with trying out different studying techniques to help you form healthy habits that promote a healthy school-life balance. 

If you ever take him to the human world, he’ll be elated. Not because of your trust in him to bring him to the wasteland, but because he can actually do a case study on humans! Not on anything in particular, he’s just curious. He takes soil and water samples to test the levels of residual radiation, talks with locals – both in small settlements and more populated areas – about their life experiences, their political opinions, their religious beliefs… basically everything under the sun, really. He comes back with a new appreciation for humans and a few books that have been published in the New World by doctors and the like. 

-> ASMODEUS 

Ew… what sewer did you crawl out of? Asmo respects people’s kinks and lifestyles and knows that someone’s yuck is someone else’s yum, but he holds the firm belief that it shouldn’t impact other people. And that blood on your boots and the… whatever that’s on your armor is seriously grossing him out. (Though the drop knife strap that’s hugging your thigh is really doing something for him. But that doesn’t make up for the fact you haven’t bathed in a week.)

At first, he distances himself a little because you distance yourself. You don’t want to be judged for something that’s considered normal in the human world. Purified water is a precious commodity, and people don’t want to waste it showering when they could be drinking it. A dip in the river – yes, the ones with the sediment and the radiation and the mutated fish – suffices for most.

Though after a while, he decides that it’s high time he’s bonded with the human that’s living under the same roof as him. Maybe you just need a makeover, then you’ll unleash your full potential as a scarred, gunslinging wastelander hottie? Some demons are into that.

So, with little to no warning, he decided it’s time for a shopping spree. Even though you’re uncomfortable wearing the “high fashion” that’s at Majolish (because it provides literally no protection, armor-wise), he’s able to compromise by getting you some loungewear that you won’t be going out in anyway. While you’re out with him, he drags you to a shop that sells soaps, perfumes, and the like. You’re obviously not used to things that smell good and it’s obviously overstimulating, so Asmo just picks some of his favorites and gets you out before you have a scent-induced breakdown.

Once you’re back at the House of Lamentation, he drops all the shopping bags in your room and drags you to his – it’s time for a makeover, because you’re in dire need of one! He gives you a nice manicure (and adds some nail polish if you’re okay with that) and breaks out the “Doctor Asmo” title to diagnose what kind of skin routine would work for you. If you take issue with the scars you’ve accumulated throughout your life in the wastes, he tries many gels and creams to heal the tissue and reduce the starkness of the scars (even if he thinks that it’s kinda futile because the scars have existed for so long or have been exposed to the sun too much). 

Honestly, Asmo cringes at the thought of going to the human world after having you describe it to him. Even the slightest dosage of radiation that’s above the regular background levels can be really detrimental to your skin, and he doesn’t want to risk radiation poisoning – even at a minor level! Raiders can’t be stopped by his beauty alone, and he doesn’t want to chip his acrylics while handling a gun. Instead, he’ll get the human world in little doses through you. 

-> BEELZEBUB

Not to sound rude, but when you first arrived, you smelled far too rank for Beel to eat. Yeah, he’s eaten inedible things before, but he knows when to suppress his hunger because eating something rancid will hurt more than it’ll help. But don’t worry, after you freshen up and bum some clothes off Mammon (because you didn’t bring any other outfit – obviously), Beel’s appetite is back! Good for you…?

He’s actually really excited to sample some New World food when it’s your turn to cook dinner. Even if you tell him it’s nothing to write home about, he’ll eagerly wait at the kitchen island, not-so-subtly sneaking tastes here and there while you cook. He’s not deterred by the weirder-sounding and even-weirder-looking foods like squirrel stew and coyote steak. If anything, that just makes him more excited!

If Mammon’s not attached to your hip while you’re walking the halls of RAD (and surely yapping your ear off all the while), Beel’s there. He mostly sticks around to see what snacks you can conjure up from things he never thought of eating before, like when you plucked a bug out of the air that was flying around the courtyard and snapped its head off before eating it. He stared at you for a second, just enough for you to start to fluster and get defensive, before doing the same. Protein is protein, after all. 

He also wants to introduce you to fangol! From what you’ve shared, he’s deduced that sports aren’t really a thing in the wasteland – you can’t waste your energy playing when you need it for your continued survival. But you’ve got a lot of energy from being cooped up in the House of Lamentation, so he can help you in a way that benefits both you and Beel: you get rid of your excess energy, and he gets to practice. Practice with someone who’s very inexperienced, yes, but still – it’s practice!

And if you ever itch to get a hint of your old wanderer lifestyle back, he’s all-too-happy to take you on a hike or to go camping with you. Even if it’s purely on a whim with no preparation whatsoever, he’ll grab whatever he can carry from the fridge, stuff it in a backpack, and, after sending a text to Lucifer detailing where you and he are heading, be ready at the front door, all within ten minutes. The food he brought won’t be enough, surely, but he can strip the leaves off a tree like an elephant if needed. 

If you ever take him to the human world, make sure to pack ample food for him because, if pushed, he will strip the nearby towns and settlements of their food supply that was meant to last the next three months. Yes, he’ll pay them for the food, but still – it’s a shock for the wastelanders to see this towering figure push a bunch of money in their hands without even counting it and rattling off what he wants like he’s ordering at a restaurant. 

-> BELPHEGOR

He’s in the attic and a wastelander like you has enough common sense to not trust him. Good ending he stays locked in the attic forever lol goodbye twat

[kkvqwrites]

"You're sure about this?"

Trying anal with Simon for the first time. That's it, that's the plot.

***NSFW! 18+, minors DNI***

Word count: 2,121

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, fem!reader

CW: explicit sexual content, anal sex, anal play, fingering, PIV sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, bedroom talk, praise kink, size kink.

a/n: I was lamenting the lack of fics about this specifically, when I remembered that that's what I do. Be the butt stuff fic you wish to see in the world, as they say. Also I'm sorry they keep turning out so long. Anyway, enjoy!

It was frankly silly how nervous you were bringing it up. You knew firsthand how positively filthy Simon was comfortable getting in bed, and had reaped the benefits on countless occasions.

To say he was a thorough and generous lover would be correct, but would also be an understatement. In the best way possible, satisfying you was treated like a mission and therefore executed with flawless precision and unwavering focus. In short, he wasn't done until you were walking like a newborn deer and didn't know your own name.

On top of that, despite being a meat-and-potatoes man in the sense that Simon didn't require any frills in order to enjoy himself, he was always down to try your suggestions and explore new ways to blow your mind.

And yet, despite all this, you couldn't meet his eyes as you mumbled your request, much to his amusement.

"What's got you all flustered, love?" he nudged you good-naturedly in an attempt to make you more comfortable.

"I want to try.... anal." You whispered that last part, but he heard it.

His eyes widened as he considered you carefully. This is it, you thought, he's grossed out. I pushed it too far. You two were silent for a few seconds, your face heating. You were about to take it back and say you were kidding when he chuckled, eyes suddenly alight with interest.

"Well why didn't you say so? S'pose we'd have to work up to it a bit..." he trailed off, eyes roaming your body. Clearly he was down to start practicing immediately if you gave the go-ahead.

He was correct; Simon was big, in every sense of the word, and you loved how he stretched you to your limits and made you see stars. Taking him in your ass wasn't going to be an overnight accomplishment. However, you knew how important it was to him to take care of you in all ways and trusted him implicitly not to rush things.

Pulling him in for a kiss, you gave the go-ahead.

_________________

It had started innocently enough. During a rather vigorous fingering, Simon's hand had slipped because of how wet you were and ended up accidentally breaching your other hole. It startled you, and he immediately checked in and apologized before continuing to make you squeal his name. He loved to overwhelm you with his mouth and his hands before letting you have his cock, loved how responsive and eager it made you for that final conquest.

What you didn't tell him at the time, both because it surprised you and because you were out of your mind with pleasure, was that you had liked it. A lot. So much so that you kept thinking about it for days after, the tantalizing idea weaving its way into your regular fantasies until it felt like the most natural thing in the world. You trusted Simon with your body, and you wanted him to have all of it.

Your play continued in much the same way, incorporating your ass into your other bedroom activities. It started with a finger, then two, while he sucked your clit until you couldn't breathe. You could tell by his low, throaty groan that he noticed how it made your toes curl and made your fingers tangle in his hair and pull hard. You could tell by how mercilessly he fucked you after that he liked it, too.

Toys came next, small ones at first designed to just get you used to the feeling of having something up there. The sensation unlocked a level of neediness you hadn't anticipated. Suddenly you couldn't have enough of him. Usually content to be his rag doll, all of a sudden you were pouncing on him seeking satisfaction. This thrilled Simon, who saw to it that you had a good selection of plugs that fit whatever the mood was when you decided it was that kind of night. His favorite had a little pink jewel on the end; it drove him crazy looking at it while he took you from behind. You slipped it in and wore it around the kitchen while you prepared his tea one morning, teasing him with the sight. Needless to say, you were walking funny the next day.

_________________

"You're sure about this?"

Simon's voice was husky with desire as he stood behind you and kissed down your neck onto your shoulder. You leaned back into his embrace, hips grinding into him of their own accord.

"Please, Simon..." you whined breathlessly as his hands explored your curves, riling you up. "I'm ready."

"Well, who am I to deny my eager girl when she asks so nicely?"

In a haze of kisses and intertwining limbs, you both found your way into the bed.

"Tell me again what you want me to do to you, you filthy little thing," he spoke into your inner thigh as he kissed and nibbled his way to his prize. Hovering, he planted kisses and blew light breaths around your pussy but refused to touch the spot he knew you wanted. He looked up at you, an unspoken directive in his expression. He wasn't going to give you what you were after until you obeyed. Bastard.

"I want you in my ass, Simon. I want you to stretch me and fuck me and - oh..." your words got lost as you felt his mouth close around your clit, sucking the way he knew you liked before pulling away with a wet smacking sound.

"Apologies, pet. You were saying?"

So that's how he was gonna be. No problem, you thought, two can play at that game. Rather than wait for him to continue, and certainly rather than give in and beg, you ran your hand in a slow line down your torso, stopping to tweak your nipple along the way. Simon sat still as a statue, eyes taking in your every movement with a greedy hunger. His lips parted once more as he watched your fingers slowly circle your clit, delicately caress your folds, and finally dip inside. With a luxurious sigh, you brought your fingers back up to rub small circles around your nub, biting your lip when it started to feel really good.

"I was saying," you said, voice becoming tight with pleasure, "how badly I want to feel you in every hole. I was saying how bad I want it, how I can't wait anymore, how-"

A large hand encircled your wrist, interrupting it from its task and pinning it to the bed beside you as Simon climbed on top, planting scorching kisses along your skin the whole way. When the two of you were eye level, he looked at you for a long moment.

"If it's too much, if I hurt you, you have to tell me."

A warm feeling spread in your chest despite the impatience you felt. You knew, in your bones, that he'd stop on a dime no matter the circumstance if you told him to. That he needed to know you would, needed to trust you the same way you trusted him.

"I will, I promise."

Seemingly satisfied, he kissed your forehead before pulling away. Gently and with great care, he positioned you on your stomach, propping up your hips with pillows until you were comfortable. Your breath hitched as you felt the bed dip under his weight behind you and felt his warm, strong hands cup your ass. Rather than linger there, however, his hands roamed lazily up and down your back. You sighed as you felt muscles relax under his touch, sinking further into the pillows and allowing your eyes to drift closed.

The lube was cold as it dripped between your cheeks, interrupting your cozy daydreams and making you jump slightly.

"Shit, sorry love."

"It's okay."

Your voice was small. You didn't know why, but you were suddenly self-conscious. This was it; this was the threshold. His finger slowly started to massage your hole in soft circles, loosening up the clenched ring of muscle and working its way in to the knuckle before pausing to let you relax around him. He waited for you to nod before continuing, adding a finger and grunting his approval at the moan that escaped your lips.

"That's it, open up for me," he coaxed as he worked his fingers in and out. Your hips began to move in time with his hand, a breathy whimper rewarding him each time his knuckles met your flesh. When he was satisfied and you were ready to tear your hair out in anticipation, he withdrew his hand. Just as you were about to whine in protest, you heard the cap to the lube bottle snap open. When you didn't feel it, you looked behind you to see him fisting his impressive cock, spreading a generous amount of lube from the tip to the hilt. You locked eyes with him, certain his dazed and hungry expression matched your own.

"Are you ready?"

You could only nod. As he brought his weight over top of you, you faced forward again, squeezing the pillow to keep still. Those hands, huge and warm and achingly gentle, spread you open.

"Such a pretty little hole. Can't wait to ruin it."

That deep, silky voice combined with his filthy words had you squirming despite your best efforts. You needed it now. As if sensing this, he nudged your hole with his blunt tip, gauging your reaction. You tensed on instinct, gasping. He was so big - this was never going to work. What had you been thinking?

Reading your mind once again, Simon planted a kiss between your shoulder blades, the warmth of his body enveloping you. His proximity calmed your racing thoughts and had you relaxing without even realizing it.

"Easy, love," he cooed into your ear. When he felt you relax, he pushed forward slightly, his tip invading you ever so slightly. Your face hit the pillow to muffle the gasp you couldn't help - your toys were nothing compared to this.

Simon eased into you with shallow thrusts, claiming you slightly deeper each time. The stretch was vaguely painful, yet exquisite. If he tried to stop, you thought, you'd lose your mind. Not that there was any danger of him stopping unless you said so; if you had turned around, you would've seen his lust-drunk expression, eyes locked onto where your most private hole stretched around his girth, his teeth clenched as he utilized all his discipline to keep his pace steady and slow.

Finally, what felt like an eternity later, his hips met yours. The two of you moaned in unison at the feeling of becoming one being, of being locked together in this obscene embrace. Simon stilled inside you, letting you adjust to him and letting himself adjust to the vice grip of your tiny hole. You felt so full, so naked, and yet so complete with him inside you.

"Good girl, taking me so well, good girl, good girl..." he chanted into your shoulder as he started moving again, truly fucking you the way you needed. It was nowhere near as punishing as when he fucked you normally, but it didn't need to be. The sensation of him filling you, again and again, had your thighs trembling in no time as you mumbled incoherently into your pillow.

Without needing direction - really, how did he always know?! - one of his hands reached around and began teasing your clit, causing you to throw your head back, finally letting him hear you.

"Simon, I'm.. I'm-"

"I know," he growled into your ear. "That's my girl, cum for me. Nice and loud."

As if he had cast a spell, your core clenched and throbbed as your vision went white. You could hear yourself, as if in third person, wailing his praises as you came undone.

"Fuckin' hell," he sounded almost pained as he thrust forward one last time, spilling himself deep in your guts with a delicious guttural roar. He collapsed forward, putting his weight on his arms to avoid crushing you as you both came back down to earth. When he finally moved to pull out, he trailed kisses down your spine and you gasped at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

"Was that alright? Are you okay?" He fussed as he cleaned you with a warm wet rag. You smiled and nodded, not willing to leave your pleasure-soaked haze and give a real answer. Vaguely, you were aware of him tucking you into the comforter. You had just about dozed off when he himself climbed into the bed, freshly showered and smelling of sandalwood and spearmint. Wordlessly, you rolled into his side and sighed as you sank into a contented sleep.

[kechiwrites]

not quite heart-shaped

simon “ghost” riley x medic!reader

synopsis: you and simon both have the 14th off, and by god you were going to make the most of it. pt. 4/?

wc: 2.3k

cw: afab + fem!reader, fluff, banter, cunnilingus, fingering, teasing, very light breeding kink, femme pet name (princess), no use of y/n ever.

an: the return of medic reader, special thanks to @weebitofaslag who with a single comment reignited my love for their dynamic. babes all my knowledge of the military comes from romance novels, mw2 campaign and my fleeting contact with the canadian armed forces. so like if i get something wrong…don’t tell me. happy valentines day!

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

"Three." The tense quiet of the bedroom is disrupted by your offer. 

Ghost stands in front of you, and despite his crossed arms his posture is deceptively casual.

He scoffs at your pitch. The standoff is common for the two of you. Basically foreplay at this point. Pretending to be irritated and annoyed with each other until you're basically begging to rip each other's clothes off.

"No way." He grunts, but doesn't provide a number of his own.

You can't keep the disbelief out of your tone.

"Less than three, Simon? You're losing your touch!"

That does get a rise out of him and he stops leaning against the bathroom door frame.

"More than three. Anything less than five is a waste of both of our days off. But you knew that, didn't you, princess?"

"I don't know if I have five in me to give, honestly." You choke out, already tugging off the sweater you wore. 

"If I'm eating you out, I'm spending the day down there." He huffs. 

You're breathless when you finally respond, your cool and collected demeanour crumbling in the wake of his assertion.

"Yeah okay, that's fine, but wanting to fuck me after? I may not even be conscious." When he doesn’t respond, you gasp dramatically, like a soap opera lead discovering a villain’s plot. "Maybe that's what you want! Simon! Who knew you were so depraved?" It’s easy to be silly with him lately, even more so when you’re both free of the oppressive air of the base you’re both stationed at.

"Get on the bed or get out of my house." His shirt’s already off, and it’s oh so hard to stay on the task of mocking him when the cut muscle and little bit of fat on his torso shine under the room’s low light. With the mask still on, and the dark fabric of his pants obscuring his bottom half, he makes quite the sight. The pale, wide expanse of his chest, only broken up by tattoos and healed, pink scars and sandy, blond chest hair makes your mouth water. He steps towards you, hooking the thumb under the mask and pulling it up. It feels as though the cloth is moving in slow motion, your heart beating loud and erratic with anticipation. When he stops so it rests on his nose, you exhale, not quite disappointed, but you sure as hell aren’t relieved. 

“Sex in a bed?” You question facetiously, willing your brain to revert back to being a little shit. You know he can’t stand when you're being a brat, it reminds him of just how easily he’d lost control, just how messily he’d fucked you the first time, but around Simon you just can't seem to stop yourself, “You're spoiling me.” You lay back on the bed as ordered, contorting your arms to shimmy out of your bra, then your bottoms, tugging your underwear along with them. Not a thong this time, a fact that seems to disappoint Simon when he notices your regular boyshort panties entangled in your discarded sweatpants. 

“Yeah, don't get used to it, I'm just tired of the smell of antiseptic.” He mutters, kicking your discarded clothes off to the side.

You snort derisively, spreading your legs so he can lay between them, allowing for him to brush the petal soft skin of his lips against your hip, your thigh, just above your knee. “Ladies and gentlemen, the last true romantic.” You mumble, patting the top of his head, lamenting your inability to card your fingers through his fine blonde hair. 

Your entire body jolts when his tongue comes in contact with your clit, a full body shiver alerting Ghost to just how badly you'd needed this. He hasn't shaved and his stubble scrapes the soft skin of your inner thighs, forcing a jolt up your spine, shuddering breaths escaping your lungs as his mouth gets better acquainted with the lips of your cunt. 

He drags his tongue over you in your entirety, taking special interest in the skin just below your entrance, he stays there, skimming, sucking, licking, until you're worried he'll manage to give you a hickey there, on your fucking taint. He has you dripping with his spit and your own slick, and the sound when he returns to your clit is obscene. He brings both hands up towards your abdomen, but neither continues the course to where you want them, on top of your chest, plucking at your nipples, or even around your throat, obstructing your airway. Instead, Simon's left hand pushes down on your abdomen, and his right gently shifts the hood of your clit up so he can abuse it better. 

All the soldiers in all the world and you had to hook up with the one who eats pussy like that?

"Fuck." You wince, and you twitch away from him as best you can, which only makes him suck harder, like he’s giving you ‘two for flinching’. You groan loud and unashamed, assured by the privacy afforded by not fucking on base for once. Your toes curl and relax over and over, the periodic tremble of your hips against his mouth has him holding you down as best he can, determined to pull more sounds from your wide open mouth. Your whole body tenses and you let out a litany of curses only disrupted by stutters of his name, all while you clench around nothing. He’s mumbling into you as you come, but whatever he’s saying ultimately doesn’t fucking matter when the vibrations of his voice make you want to cry or scream or kick Simon in his stupid masked face.

There's barely any hangtime between your orgasm shuttering through you and Simon circling his arms around your thighs before he tongue fucks you mercilessly, letting the tip of the muscle broach your entrance while he drags the edge of his teeth over the still buzzing flesh of your labia. He hooks his arms around your thighs and pulls you onto his face, until you get with the program and begin rolling your hips, pressing your clit against the bridge and tip of his nose, allowing his tongue to push deeper within you. 

Your body is already dripping its satisfaction all over his chin, and this time with breath barely in your lungs it takes longer for him to get you into a place of desperation again. But by God, does Simon Riley get you there. This time he takes a break from the constant contact between your cunt and his tongue to slip one of his thumbs into your entrance, fucking you with slow and deliberate strokes, like a promise of what he’ll do to you later when he finally fucks you. Long, greedy swipes of his tongue jar your brain like a hit to the head. You try to struggle away, levering up with your arms before he tugs you down again like a fucking ragdoll, like you trying not to lose your fucking mind is a slight inconvenience to him. He lays wet, panting, open mouth kisses over the pulsing heat of your cunt, and when you you raise your head to - fuck you don’t know - curse his entire bloodline, you can see he’s helplessly grinding his hips into the mattress, seeking some sort of friction while he tongues at your folds, while you soak him to the knuckle. It’s hot, hotter than it has any right to be and you flop back down, turning your head into his pillow to muffle your moans. Old habits and all that. Unfortunately, the pillow is steeped in Simon’s scent, and your eyelids drift closed when you inhale deeply. Your breath stalls and you ride out yet another climax on his tongue, this time very grateful for the way he fingers you through it, even if his thumb isn’t nearly big enough. The bed beneath you bears the brunt of your orgasm this time, damp sheets attesting to your fervent enjoyment. 

“What a mess you’ve made.” He speaks, once you stop huffing, voice disturbingly even, like he didn’t just factory reset your body. Which is…incredibly irritating.

“You know technically as a doctor I outrank you.” You snip, nose in the air. 

“So?” He lifts his head, but his eyes are still locked between your legs, not quite able to decide if he wants to move from where he is so clearly comfortable.

“So…” you mock him, squeezing your thighs around his neck, until his stare is redirected to your face. “you should be fucking nice to me, asshole.” He digs his thumbs into the back of your knees, until you release him. Slowly, he drags himself up, over your body until he can lay on his back next to you. 

“You know, I really should have finished inside you that first time. Knocked you up and had you taken off base.” And wouldn’t that have been a fun conversation for you to have with your CO. ‘I’m so sorry ma’am, he wears a mask and has big hands and knows my kinks. I had no choice, ma’am.’

“Stop talking or I’m gonna sit on your dick.” You whisper, shutting your eyes against the harsh beam of the light overhead. Your heart rate is finally starting to settle, and you’re grateful for the moment of reprieve, the few moments he gives for you to stitch your mind back together, to regain purposeful use of the human language. 

Shoulder to shoulder in his bed, and no longer occupied with singing Simon’s praises, your mind begins to harmlessly wander, unhelpfully cataloguing that you aren’t even halfway through what he’s planned for you. You also start to filter through your responsibilities due in the coming days. It’s automatic at this point, a system you developed during school, when papers and projects and your social life all constantly contradicted each other. You’d come, at the hands of yourself or someone else, and your orgasm cleared brain began building a calendar. Nothing today, of course, you’d cleared your schedule and no one had questioned why. Most people wouldn’t question anyone taking off Valentines.

The “holiday” never really stuck out to you in the past, for one reason or another. Work, med school, family stuff, hell sometimes you just didn’t fucking feel like it. But this year, today, you can’t help yourself. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Simon.” You puff, keeping your eyes trained on the ceiling, letting your brain make patterns out of the popcorn ceiling.

“Ah,” he vocalizes, voice gruff. “Right.” he shifts in his bed, and you figure you’ve got about 30 seconds before he gives you the dusty combat boot. Your face burns with embarrassment, why the fuck did you say that? When did he ever give you even the slightest inclination he gave a shit about some overblown, capitalistic, aggrandized-

“Here.” A bag of jellybeans is unceremoniously plopped onto your bare chest, right between your tits. 

“Where were you hiding these?” You gawp, struggling to string together a sentence as you examine the bag of colourful candies. It has a bow on it. You finger the pre-tied ribbon, stuck on with an adhesive pad.

“Under the bed.” He grunts, rubbing at his eyes and the bridge of his nose, like he’s fending off a headache, but you think he may just be embarrassed, if the pink tips of his ears are anything to go by. 

“This is sweet.” You choke out, and you have to sink your teeth into your already swollen lower lip to stop from giggling hysterically. “Thank you, Simon.”

“Mng.” He makes the noise in his throat, forgoing the English language for the easy comfort of grunts, watching you tear the bag open and chew on a handful of the brightly coloured beans. All at once, like some kind of animal. The flavours don’t quite go together, strawberry and buttered popcorn and root beer. Others you can’t even begin to pin down. But you're too frazzled to eat them how you usually would, your favourites first, then making combinations with whatever’s left, guided by the suggestions on the back of the bag. And ultimately, it’s not altogether too unpleasant. It works, in a fucked up, saccharine sweet kind of way. Kind of like you and-

“Alright, put it away.” He rasps, turning over to cover you with his weight once more, sliding down to get started on orgasm three. 

He plucks the bag out of your hands and drops it on the nightstand near you, devoid of any knick knacks or photographs, just a beat up 70s style alarm clock that acts as a pedestal for your candy.

“My beans!” You shout, trying in vain to secure the confection for further enjoyment. You give up your fruitless endeavour when Simon sinks his teeth into the flesh of your breast on his way back down to your pussy. 

“I didn’t get you anything.” You moan, pressing the cool palms of your hands to your overheated face, soothing the mix of embarrassment and giddiness stirring in your mind.

“I’ll live.” He grouses, bending your knees, holding your thighs up and together with both palms at the back of your knees. You can’t see his face. Have never seen the whole thing, but you’d bet all the jellybeans in the fucking world, that Simon Riley’s cheeks are pink.

the beans were soap’s idea for sure. poor guy’s definitely heard them fucking more than once. support city girls, reblog what u like. happy valentines.

[i-hope-this-is-a-phase]

Insult to Injury

A Test Drive by Zuesue for @honelle56 (T | WIP | 3k)

#injury recovery #emotional hurt/comfort My contribution to the End of the Summer Fic Exchange. Updates each day until complete

Thank you to @fujogie for sponsoring the collection, and thank you to @jess-total-mess and @dreastmilk for betaing.

Happy reading!

Fic underneath for those who prefer Tumblr over ao3

Dream remembers when George and Sapnap got the UTV.

He's not the greatest at keeping up with Sapnap's streams, but he tries to catch as many as he can. And when both his roommates are participating, he thinks it'd be rude to miss even with all the code he still needs to get done.

When they had gotten home, Dream had asked why they'd gotten a car they wouldn’t use.

“Bro lacks the vision,” Sapnap had said, making George cackle into his hands.

“I don’t lack anything,” he had retorted, which had made George wolf-whistle and Sapnap laugh. “No, shut up. George needs a car he can actually drive so he can learn.”

“He’s stupid too,” George chimed in, and if Dream had chucked a pillow at his head, that’s his business.

“No, no, listen,” Sapnap said. “It has all the shit a regular car has, brakes, steering wheel—”

“Wow, dude knows what’s in a car,” George drawled.

“—and it has a speed cap, so George can get all his fucking driving experience without being a menace to society.”

It had taken some convincing (because UTVs are fucking dangerous according to Dream), but Dream had come around to the idea, even if it was mostly lies so they could have a UTV. And even then, it had been a good source of happiness for them in the following rougher months, which Dream only saw as a positive.

It was a random day in May when George asked if he’d watch them ride it.

“You’re so boring, we’ve been at this all day, and you want to keep working,” George laments.

“It’s not that, I’m almost done—”

“You’ve said that already. Four times.”

Dream pauses and glances away from the monitor to where George sits. There's a computer now in the gym so they can fix code as they work. George is turned toward him in the office chair, and Dream notes the tiredness in his hunched-over posture. They’ve been at this for hours, he will admit, and George has been a great help the whole time. Has been for a while actually. “I have?”

George rolls his eyes, but he smiles. “Idiot,” he says. “Break for tonight. We can start again tomorrow.”

Dream looks back at the monitor. He is really close, he just has to adjust the rendering a tiny bit and—

“Dream.”

He glances over again. George is still smiling, but there’s a no-nonsense look in his gaze. “Please? Just for tonight?”

Dream looks again at George, at the days-old stubble, the hoodie he’s been wearing for two days just so he didn’t have to abandon Dream while he’s been working, and thinks he deserves a break.

He makes a show of rolling his eyes as he gets up.”You just want me to get you food.”

George’s eyes light up, but he still scoffs at Dream. They each have to play their parts. “That’s not true.”

“Is true.” He stretches up, feeling the cracks in his shoulders and spine. “Fuck.”

George laughs. “Bro’s getting old."

“Like you’re one to talk.”

George hunches over and makes a groaning noise. “Oh, I’m Dream, and my poor back hurts from all the dicks in my ass—”

“George!” he exclaims, scandalized, and George laughs again, bright and loud in the space.

“We should do something,” George says.

“Like what?”

“Like, go out, do something active. I’m too tired to sit.”

Dream walks toward George, and the two make their way out of the gym. “How does that even work?”

“Dunno, but my butt’s gonna fall off if we don’t do something.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want you to lose your best asset.”

“Asset. Ass-et. Get it?” He elbows Dream’s side.

“You’re so dumb.” They’ve reached the kitchen, and George beelines for the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of water and (quite dramatically) drinks it all in one chug. “We have a fridge in the gym,” Dream reminds him.

George shakes his head. “Doesn’t taste right.”

Dream doesn’t get it, but he knows George has his quirks, like only wearing a specific brand of sock because it’s “just right” or the way he tidies his sheets but not the pillows when making his bed. “Well,” he says, “since you’re no longer dying of thirst, what do you wanna do?”

George thinks for a minute before he brightens. “Have you seen me drive the UTV yet?”

He hasn’t. Every time George and Sapnap went to mess around with it, he politely excused himself. Although he likes that George is getting "driving" experience, he has his reservations about the safety of it.

Then again, George has been quite accommodating for his antics, so maybe it’s time he returned the favor.

“No, you wanna grab Nick?”

“Yeah!” George runs off, and Dream hopes Sapnap isn’t busy and George isn’t about to terrorize him.

Even if it’s fruitless.

An hour later, Dream sits watching his idiot friends drive up sandy hills on their UTV. The off-roading park allows members to keep their vehicles there, fueled and ready, and since it’s not on Dream’s bill, he’s happy to watch them goof off all night long.

Just then, he sees the UTV careen over a hill and come crashing down thirty feet away.

“Holy fucking shit!” Sapnap yells from the driver’s seat, a wide grin plastered across his face. George whoops beside him, clearly gleeful.

A few seconds later, he sees George and Sapnap undo their seatbelts and make their way over to where Dream is sitting.

“Impressed?” Sapnap asks, breathing heavily.

Dream hums. “Thought George would be driving,” he says, “since it’s his car after all.”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Sapnap gives him a puppy-eyed look.

Dream laughs. “You’re a good driver, Nick.”

“Hell yeah!” he shrieks. George pouts at Dream.

“I’m a good driver too.”

“Not from my point of view,” he says. George meets the challenge with a blaze in his eyes. He smirks.

“Alright.” George walks off, and this time, climbs into the driver’s seat.

Sapnap plops down next to Dream and pulls out his phone, aiming it toward George. “Woo!” he screams. “Kitten’s driving!”

He can see George scoff from where he sits. He takes off, doing a tight turn before hurdling up a hill.

Sapnap cheers beside him, and Dream thinks, This isn’t so bad.

“Dream, look!” he hears. He shields his eyes and looks to where he heard George.

The UTV is now on top of the biggest hill. George is standing next to it, waving.

“I’m gonna go down it!” he yells.

“Do it, pussy!” Sapnap yells back. Dream nudges him for the comment, but he joins the cheering.

George slides into the driver’s seat and straps himself in. Dream hears the motor roar from where he sits, and he watches the UTV gun it down the hill. Sapnap raises his phone higher, most likely to get a better angle as dust billows behind the truck. It speeds down the hill, toward the ground, and—

It happens.

The UTV catches on a rock. It flips.

One.

Two.

Three times.

It slams into a hill.

It stops.

Then, silence.

“GEORGE!”

Dream takes off running toward the UTV. He was wearing his seatbelt, he’s gonna be fine. "GEORGE!"

But then why hasn't he answered yet?

“George, are you good!?” He’s at the UTV. He climbs the hill to get closer. “George?”

George is hanging awkwardly in the harness, barely sitting in the seat anymore. His eyes are open, gazing forward. He's breathing, though. Dream can hear it. He reaches out a hand and presses it against George’s face. It’s an awkward angle, the UTV is slanted on the hill, but he needs to see, needs to feel that George is alright.

George’s face is sticky with dirt and sweat when he presses a hand to his cheek. But it’s still warm and soft like Dream always imagined, and he can feel the breath on his arm.

George blinks, and Dream breathes.

“George.” His other hand brushes the hair out of Georgge’s eyes. “You alright?”

George is still hanging in his harness. Dream leans over to unbuckle him and accidentally nudges George, causing him to hiss.

“Wha—did I hurt you?” Dream asks, pulling back a step.

“Head,” George groans, and something bad curls in Dream.

“Your head...hurts?” George tries to nod but groans again.

“I don’t—didn’t hit it,” George says. Dream gently, ever so gently, cards his fingers through George’s hair to feel for bumps or blood.

He finds nothing, but when Dream looks to George to tell him, he notices something.

Dream looks at people. A long part of his career was watching his friends on streams, and, since his face reveal, he has spent a lot of time memorizing what people’s faces look like outside of a screen. He knows what George looks like, can tell how long his stubble has been growing, when he needs to take George to get a haircut, what he looks like when he's tired, upset, in pain.

As he’s looking into George’s eyes, there’s something wrong. They aren’t focusing on Dream; they’re dazed and unfocused.

And the bad feeling inside Dream gets worse.

“Let’s get you out of there.” He’s careful this time as he leans over and unbuckles George, carefully distributing George’s weight onto him as he pulls him out onto the sand.

At that moment, Sapnap appears.

“I called for help, they’re getting another vehicle to come pick us up and take us to the road,” he says, and Dream loves him.

“Thank you, Nick.” He looks back at George, who’s squinting at Sapnap.

“Look funny,” he says, and Dream chokes.

“And you look stupid.” But there’s a tenderness to Sapnap’s gaze, and Dream understands he’s equally as worried as he is.

A vehicle comes over the hill and stops next to the UTV. With a bit of maneuvering, they get George secured into the back alongside Dream. Dream has his arm slung around George’s shoulder for support as they navigate back to their car.

“We’re gonna get you checked out,” he promises. “We’ll drive straight to a clinic.” George doesn’t respond, but he presses closer to Dream, and that's enough for now.

Time both moves fast and slow as they get George to a doctor. Fast in that it's a blur. Slow as in every bump that makes George wince makes fear twist inside Dream.

He was wearing a seatbelt, he thinks. He’s gonna be okay.

The nurse checking out George is thorough. She asks questions, flashes lights, and writes her findings on a clipboard. She gets George’s details from Dream (he has George’s insurance card saved into his phone) and tells them the doctor will be in soon before she leaves.

George lays on the hospital bed. They turned down the lights in the room, so George isn’t squinting anymore. But, his face still conveys pain.

“My head’s still hurting.”

“The nurse says she can’t give you pain meds just yet.” If he didn't know already that giving pain medication would only slow the nurses down, he would’ve gone to the pharmacy himself to grab some for George. But, his mom’s voice reminds him that pain is often a good symptom of where the hurt is, and so he stays put.

“Don’t worry, George,” Sapnap says. “When we get back, I’ll let you have some of my special gummy bears.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and George snorts.

“Thanks, I guess.” There’s silence for a second. “Did you get it on video?”

“What are you—oh yeah!” Sapnap pulls out his phone and taps in his passcode. “It was kinda sick actually.”

“Can I see?” George tries to sit up, but Dream (ever so gently) pushes him back down.

“No. The nurse said no light until the doctor returns.”

“Oh, c’mon Dream,” Sapnap whines.

“Oh, c’mon, remember? He used to say that.” George has his stupid grin on his face, and Dream is only a bit relieved that he’s at least feeling well enough for mockery.

Just then, the nurse comes back in with what Dream supposes is the doctor.

“Hi everyone!” she says, focusing her attention on the figure in the bed. “You must be George.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sapnap muffling a laugh.

“I am Dr. Smith. I’m the resident neurologist for this floor.”

“Neurologist,” Dream says. “So it is a brain problem.”

She nods, but there is no tightness to her face when she looks at George. “You seem to have a minor concussion. I was told he was in a car accident?” She looks toward Dream at that.

He clears his throat. “Well, yes and no,” he starts. “He was messing around with our UTV, but he was wearing a seatbelt though, so we didn’t—I didn’t think he’d get hurt?”

She hums. “Concussions don’t necessarily occur because of impact. They occur when the brain bounces around inside the skull.”

“The UTV flipped a bunch,” Sapnap says. “Could that’ve caused it?”

“Yes, that would explain the bruising. I would still be very glad you were wearing a seatbelt, for I’m sure we would be having a very different conversation if he was without it.”

George is still hurt though, Dream’s brain adds. He shakes it off.

Dr. Smith is talking again to George. “We’ll be giving you a list of what you can and can’t do during your recovery. You’ll most likely want to avoid computer screens, TVs, anything with bright lights. You’ll also want to avoid doing anything mentally strenuous for the first few days. We saw a lack of concentration in your testing, so we want to keep on top of that.”

George speaks up: “But, my work—it's all computers and screens.”

Dream turns to George. “We can figure stuff out or take a break,” he assures. “We can pause the project for now.”

George’s face looks pained again. Dream wishes they could give him medicine. “No,” he says, “I can’t, you—”

“We can provide a doctor’s note if necessary, but using electronics will stunt your recovery. For at least two weeks, you need to stay away from screens.”

Two weeks, Dream thinks, as Dr. Smith goes on about migraine recovery. George is gonna hate this.

George looks like he’s hating this. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and his brows are furrowed. For a moment, Dream wants to smooth the lines out from his face, but he knows now is not the time.

“We’ll be keeping you overnight for observation.” Dr. Smith gives Dream a form. “We’ll get George to a room as soon as a gurney frees up.” She hands him a pen as well. “If you need help, press the call button.”

And with that, the two leave the room. George turns to face the wall.

Dream looks over the form. It’s various medical jargon and information. He starts filling it out while Sapnap goes over to George.

“So, concussion,” he states. Dream hears George scoff.

“Glad you were paying attention,” he snarks over his shoulder.

“Well, since I’ve actually been concussed before, I was going to offer to grab all the usual shit you need, but since you’re being a little bitch—”

“Nick,” Dream interrupts. He would usually let them fight it out, but Dream sees the tense lines in George’s back, and thinks this isn’t the time. Sapnap glances over to him and must see something too because he huffs and backs off.

“Got it,” Sapnap grumbles. He turns back to George. “Want me to grab anything else while I’m out?”

George turns his head back over. “Sushi?” he asks, and Dream can see a glint of mischief.

Sapnap must see it too, because he softly laughs. “Should’ve guessed that.” He grabs his phone and stands up. “I’m assuming you’ll be staying too?” he says to Dream.

Dream nods. It isn’t a question in his mind, but it makes sense why Sapnap asks.

“K, see you at home.” With that, Sapnap walks out, making sure to shut the door quietly behind him.

Dream continues to work on the form while George stares at the ceiling. A few minutes later, a team arrives to help George get up to the observation room. Dream follows dutifully behind, carrying George and his phone.

Once they’re settled in, with George in the bed and Dream sitting in a chair beside him, finally done with the forms, he finally asks the question.

“How are you feeling?”

George continues fiddling with the sheets. The hospital provided pajamas for him, as it was long past the early evening it was when they took the UTV for a spin. The lights are dimmed low, shadows casting across the room and across George’s face.

“Could be better,” he mumbles. “Head still hurts.”

“The nurse gave you pain medication, right?” He’s sure at some point a nurse came in and gave George pills.

“Yeah,” he says. “Still hurts though.”

Dream nods and scoots his chair closer. There’s a beat of silence, then George says, “I’m sorry.”

Dream looks at his face. “For what?”

“The pause—it was only for tonight.”

“The pause,” Dream says again. “You mean…for the project?”

“Yeah,” George mumbles, hunching over slightly as he continues to fiddle with the sheets.

“George, I don’t—I’m not thinking about that right now,” he says. “I’m just so glad you’re okay and that it’s going to be okay.”

George rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna be able to work for weeks, Dream. How is that okay?”

“Because—okay, look.” He reaches out and grabs George’s hand to stop him from tearing the blanket to shreds. George’s hand falls still under his touch. “The project’s been delayed so many fucking times. One more time is not going to kill us.”

He feels George’s hand twitch under his palm. “But it’s not—it was stopped before because of the code,” he starts. “Not because of—not because I couldn’t help.” He hasn’t met Dream’s eyes yet.

Dream moves and sits on the bed. George’s hand twitches again in his grasp. Dream squeezes it, gentle, soft. “George,” he says, “two weeks is not the end of the world. This stuff, this technology, it’s gonna change the world. It can wait two weeks while my best friend recovers.”

He sees a ghost of a smile flash across George’s face. He presses on: “The nurse says no screens or bright lights for at least two weeks. So, you can’t code. But you can help me render shit, set stuff up once your doctor clears you, or we can sit in bed for two weeks. But all that really doesn’t matter, because I’d rather you get better quicker than you hurting yourself because you want to help me.”

“And I’m fine waiting for you,” he adds. “We’ve already gotten this far, and we’re this close. A two-week break isn’t going to change that. Plus.” He turns to smirk at George. “Weren’t you the one before now who was asking for a break?”

George groans, but he’s smiling now, and that’s all that matters. “Alright,” George says. “If you insist, I guess I could take a break.”

“I’m glad.” He’s smiling now too. George turns his hand over to squeeze Dream’s. Once. Twice. Three times. Dream’s smile grows wider.

“I love you.” Even in the darkness, he can see George’s blush, and it makes Dream’s heart flutter.

“Idiot.” But he’s smiling too, and that’s all that matters.

[spikedsoul]

Imagine the fanfic happening in the movie universe.

Honey is the maid (Human, maybe?) that takes care of Bowser, feeding him and listening to his new Peach songs. Until, one day, the songs aren't about Peach anymore.

Gently hold small husband with salad tongs-

CAN YOU IMAGINE also um I couldn't help myself. Did i get carried away? Yes! (Although I didn't include the last bit, sorry!) Hopefully I kept him in character from the movie lmao

You were used to hearing Bowser talk and sing about Peach as you made his food, did his laundry, cleaned his room like the giant manchild he was. The only time he acknowledged that you existed was when he needed to bend someone's ear about his plans (marrying Peach) and Kamek wasn't around... but you weren't complaining. It was steady work and steady pay, and you were taken care of well enough that for now, you could handle it. In fact the only regular direct interaction you had with him was bringing his food, and he usually just snatched it from you without a word.

You'd also been privy to some of his more tender moments, a mere anonymous shoulder to lament to. Over the years, you'd learned to see past the anger, past the obsession, to know he's got a heart buried deep inside that chest - if only someone could reach it. But you kept it all to yourself - he probably still didn't know your name.

And why should he? He was a king, and you were paid to be a maid, silent and invisible. And that was fine. Things didn't need to be complicated. It was a simple business transaction.

You slipped into his music room as you'd done so many times before, listening to him play as you quietly got to work tidying up around him.

Sometimes it felt like he didn't even know you were there - but that allowed you to sort of see under that spiked shell of his, so you really didn't mind. Although, he never stopped playing either way, so who knew?

"Tell me, sweetheart," you heard him rumble over the music, "what is it that keeps you here?"

You hadn't heard those lyrics before, but the spoken word style suited them.

He chuckled - well, cackled more like - as he continued playing. "So diligently taking care of my castle, and me, and never once caring to speak up. So content to stay hidden in the background. You've never recoiled from my touch or looked at me like the villain I am, nor have you let leak any of my.... hmm, less than proud moments. So tell me, my sweet little handmaiden, do you think you're invisible to me?"

You dropped your broom in shock and spun around to see him, but he wasn't anywhere in sight. The only sound that echoed through the chamber now was the clatter of the broom handle hitting the floor.

What the fuck just happened? Did you hallucinate all of that just now? Your wide eyes swept the room in front of you, your mouth hanging open; it's been a while since you'd been on a proper vacation, so maybe you had imagined it...

With a quiet sigh, you turned around to pick up your broom - only to be met with a massive, scaly paw wrapping gently around your throat, clawed thumb forcing your head back by your chin. Your face flushed brightly as you stared doe-eyed right into King Bowser's grinning face.

"L-Lord Bowser," you stammered, absolutely ashamed of how you felt about his warm hand encompassing your neck so easily. Through all your interactions, this was the first time you'd ever touched him, and you had to admit his scales were smoother than you'd expected.

His eyes narrowed as he watched you, his nostrils fluttering as he dragged you a little closer to him. That terrible, beautiful grin didn't leave him.

"My silent little human minion," he purred; his breath wafted over your face, the smell of woodsmoke heavy in your nose. "I've been thinking a lot lately, you know.... about you. About us. About what could be..."

"Wh-what can I do for you, sir?" Your voice quivered and you could feel your throat bob against his hand when you swallowed; his not so subtle implications were making you dizzy.

He hummed, bringing his free hand up to drag his claws through your locks. "I want you to tell me about me. I want to know what a mere human like you thinks of the great Lord Bowser - and I want your true feelings, got it?" he growled quietly. "You've seen more of me than even Kamek is privy to, and I demand to know why you stick around."

You resisted the urge to let out a sigh; he was just fishing for compliments, thank God, despite his thinly veiled threat. If you actually told him the truth, you feared you'd end up dead. Not that you really had bad things to say! Bowser was just a little unpredictable sometimes.

You brought your hands up to lightly rest them over the one that held your throat, but you didn't try pulling away one way or another. That seemed to confuse Bowser, his head tilting to the side as his grin slowly faded.

"Well, sir," you murmured, slowly relaxing, "even though you desire to dominate other kingdoms and crush your enemies... you still seem like you would treat your allies well. I mean, look at me: I'm a lowly maid, but I get paid well and I feel relatively protected on the occasion things get a little... ah, rough. As fierce as you are... I don't feel like I need to fear you, exactly. Which is a good thing as your employee."

Bowser's pupils dilated slightly as he seemed to consider your words. You just hoped they were honeyed enough to appease him instead of set him off, but either way you'd find out in a few seconds.

"...That ain't all, is it?" he finally huffed. "I know you got more opinions on me than that political shit you just spouted, so tell me. Promise I won't get mad." And then he gave you the best puppy dog eyes you'd ever seen.

Oh, heavens help you. There was zero reason for this koopa to be so.... cute.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage, and then practically blurted out one of your deepest feelings about him: "Sometimes you seem like you could use a real hug and a caring friend."

His jaw dropped as he stared at you in surprise. You stared right back at him, just as surprised that that's what came out.

The silence between the two of you stretched on until you couldn't bear it anymore and you finally turned around, chiming, "M-maybe I should get back to work-"

"Wait!" Before you could even blink, Bowser snatched you off your feet, holding you up in the air like he was afraid you'd try to run.

You blinked at him, a little surprised. "...Yessir?" you asked calmly despite the blush threatening to return. Momentarily, all he did was stare at you a little dumbly before recollecting himself a little.

"I-I, uh, just thought - I mean, if you wanted to give me a real hug, I'd - I'd allow that. And the... friend thing..."

Ah, you knew that code. He wanted a hug, but he didn't want to seem like he wanted it. Poor guy.

"...You know what, now that I think about it, I think a hug would be real nice. How about you let me know every time you're in the mood to allow me to hug you, huh?" you murmured. "And if you'd like me to-"

Bowser nodded, and without hesitation (or letting you finish) he held you to his wide chest, pressing your face right against it. Unfortunately your arms were pinned to your sides so you couldn't really hug back, but you could still feel some of the tension leak out of his body when he realized you weren't squirming or trying to get away.

"You know..." The vibration of his deep voice made your head buzz pleasantly, pressed against his chest as it was. "Between you and me, maybe Peach is just a siren trying to lure me into a false love, using her pretty face to keep me from seeing someone who'd really care about me..."

Since he couldn't see your face, you rolled your eyes. "Then does this mean you have your eyes suddenly set on someone else, sir?" you asked politely.

He set you back on your feet and crouched so that his face was level with yours, his large hands keeping a gentle hold of yours. "I don't know if "suddenly" is the right word... there's been a slow realization over a few years, but I suppose I'm finally ready to give up on Peach in favor of a more promising potential."

You smiled a little, daring to reach out; Bowser's eyes watched your hand as it fell gently on his nose. His pupils blew wide. Although you opened your mouth to say something, it was then that it dawned on you that Bowser wasn't actually crouching - he was kneeling.

"B-Bowser?" you breathed as, once again, your face grew hot with the intensity of your blush. But even as you stared at that adorably sweet face he was making, the sincerity and silent plea for some sort of consensual companionship was almost overwhelming.

"I'm gonna make you my bride one way or another... sweetheart."

[macabr3-barbi3]

God, That's Good!

Chapter 5: Pentious' Miracle Elixir

A few weeks after Lucifer's arrival, Husk is witness to a couple spectacles at the market.

Tags: Sera is Still the Worst™️, Huskerdust Beginnings, Niffty Shenanigans

THINGS ARE PICKING UP IN THE NEXT CHAPTER RADIOAPPLE FRIENDS 📻🍎 here is a secret lil apology to Sir Pentious (I'm sorry, I love you, but the plot must plot) and here is my weekly thank you and handover of my heart and soul to @fraugwinska ily 💕

Act 1:  Chapter 1 🥧 Chapter 2 🥧 Chapter 3 🥧 Chapter 4 🥧Chapter 5 🥧 Chapter 6  🥧Chapter 7 🥧 Chapter 8 🥧 Chapter 9 🥧 Chapter 10 🥧 Chapter 11

As soon as he saw the little kid running around and setting up a makeshift stage, Husk knew he was going to end up with a headache today, one way or another. It had been a few weeks now since that Morningstar character had come into the picture, and from behind the bar, opposite the wall to Alastor’s living quarters, he could hear the pair of them chatting all hours of the day. It was basically up to Husk these days to run the show since they didn’t have any ‘meat’ for the pies lately, not with Alastor so wrapped up in his new passion project that he didn’t have any spare time to scout for targets. The news was lamenting the fact that the Bayou Butcher seemed to be on vacation- great for the people he wasn’t killing, but bad for ratings.

He heard the story Alastor gave the man- that he valued ‘quality’ over quantity and waited until he had enough revenue from the bar to get decent meat rather than using whatever roadkill he could find like some others did. He didn’t tell him the truth, of course; only Husk was privy to the information about the real source of the filling of Lovett’s pies. He knew already, somehow, that this Lucifer was going to get sucked into it like he himself had.

Alastor wasn’t the kind of guy to get involved with if a person could avoid it, even before his extracurricular activities. He was too perceptive, too intuitive, too fucking good at getting people to trust him and then stabbing them in the back- whether that was literal or figurative. He didn’t know what the angle was that he was working with Lucifer, but it couldn’t be good if Alastor wasn’t even hunting because of it. If Alastor was interested then the guy was fucked.

And sure, Husk wanted to do the decent thing and warn him. He had tried to steer him right, steer him away, the first time he stepped into the shop; he had seen him outside looking at the place upstairs, abandoned for God knows how long, and knew, somehow, that Alastor would sink his claws in. His employer was borderline obsessed with the apartment above the pie shop, constantly going up there for no reason, checking the locks, making sure people stayed away, refusing to rent it out to the few people that did ask about it despite the stories that surrounded it. 

But Benjamin Husker was no fool- not when it came to Alastor Lovett, not anymore. He had made that mistake one time, and once was all it took.

They met at his speakeasy when it was still open- the height of Prohibition, he had a real popular one just outside of New Orleans, and Alastor had been a regular when he acted as the bartender. He went by Jack, keeping his real name off the record for both his business and his more pleasurable ventures, the weekly gambling parties he held in his back room where Lady Luck was his steadfast companion in keeping his wallet lined with bills and his establishment with flowing alcohol. Those with lesser luck were no fan of his, but he kept out of the public, kept his cheating on the low, and never let anyone close enough to betray him- before Lovett. They were friends, he and Alastor; good enough friends that when his place was raided, police pouring through every opening the building had and hunting down the bartender specifically, he had fled to Alastor’s newly acquired shop on the other side of town. He had expected support, sympathy, the normal things that one expects from a friend when their life had gone to shit.

Alastor had given him that shit eating grin and said, “why, they acted on that tip faster than I expected!”

He hadn’t so much as pulled his fist back before Alastor had revealed the dirt he had on him- “wouldn’t those you’ve bankrupted just love to know the real name of the man that’s been emptying their pockets?” - and he was backed into a corner. He was roped into helping Alastor with disposal of his hunting prizes, and while the Prohibition laws were now taken out of effect there were still members of the law trying to retroactively imprison those that had been operating the speakeasies; so Alastor still kept him under thumb by threatening to go to the authorities.

He wasn’t getting involved anymore. Whatever Alastor had planned for the poor guy, it wasn’t any of Husk’s business. He was only looking out for himself these days- caring about people, trusting them, it only led to getting fucked over in the end.

The kid he had noticed in the market had finished setting up their stage and now stood atop it, a drum that was far too big for them held against their body as they beat on it. “Ladies and gentlemen!” They called across the crowd, high pitched and feminine, waving their arms around to catch people’s attention. Looking closer, Husk realized it was a girl under the hat they wore, wispy blonde bits poking haphazardly from under it. “If I can have your attention! I am here to tell you about something absolutely stupid!”

A hush falls across the crowd and some laughter breaks out. From the curtain behind the girl, Husk hears a hissed, “stupendous! It’s stupendous, not stupid!”

She giggles. “Oh, right! Something stupendous! Do you, sir, have trouble growing hair?” She sticks her finger directly in the face of an older gentleman with a full beard, salt and pepper at the temples and seeming to have grown just fine. He raises an eyebrow at her and Husk stifles a chuckle- there’s a muffled sound behind the curtain, like someone smacking their palm to their face in frustration and another hissed whisper. “Ohhhh, the bald ones. You got it, sir!” She turns in place, finger still pointing out and redirecting to someone that might fit what she seemed to be looking for. “Do you have trouble growing hair?”

The man- properly bald this time, apparently- shrugs. “Sometimes, I guess,” he tells her, and she bangs on the drum harder, more eyes turning her direction.

“Excellent news! I have something wonderful for you then!” A basket is pushed from behind the curtain, overflowing with bottles of which she grabs one, holding it high above her head to show the crowd. “Introducing to you, New Orleans, Pentious’ Miracle Elixir! Hair falling out? Hair doesn’t grow at all? Take me for example- I was just as bald and ugly as that guy until I came across the illustrative-”

“Illustrious!”

“Oh, sorry! The illustrious barber and miracle worker, Sir Edward Pentious! He gave me this elixir less than thirty days ago and now look at me-” She reaches up to whip off her hat and tugs a little too hard. The hat sticks to the blonde hair beneath it, tugging back far enough that it starts to slip from her forehead- a wig, poorly applied, with luscious blonde curls falls to the floor before the girl can scoop it back up and tug it sloppily onto her head again, bits of a bright ginger sticking out from under it. “It’s grown back better than ever!”

The crowd laughs, likely thinking it was more of a comedy act than anything else, and Husk prepares to leave when he senses a presence at his side. “Whaddya think? Gonna get some of that miraculous elixir?”

Husk has seen this particular prostitute before, and has sent him off more than once- he always gets right into the innuendo and offers, so the teasing question is unexpected and maybe not entirely unwelcome. He’s taller than Husk by a good bit, lean muscles that fill out his buttoned shirt and too-short shorts well and fluffy blonde hair that hangs over his eyes. He’s looking away from Husk now, gaze trained on the girl on the stage, but it’s obvious that he’s chosen Husk as his potential mark.

Again.

The sleazy fucker that runs the brothel in town is watching the pair of them closely, thin arms folded across his chest and waiting for the young man to make a move like he does every week when Husk makes his way to the market for some bullshit or another. It’s the first time the man’s greeted him with a question about what was happening around them rather than a statement about what he could do for the right price- Husk doesn’t even know his name yet.

In answer to his question, Husk scoffs. “Fuck no,” he says, and the corner of the man’s face that he can see quirks up. “At best it’s river water with some food coloring in it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s worse,” he adds, as a man steps out from behind the curtain of the stage. He’s pulled the young girl back from the edge, hissing under his breath at her to stop handing the bottles out without payment and fix her wig correctly, that she was embarrassing him.

“Ya’d think if she was doin’ such a bad job he would do the advertisin’ himself,” the young man says, gesturing to the long, black hair that flows down the salesman’s back, sleek and shiny and definitely not a product of the green stuff in his bottles. “I guess people are a little easier with their ‘fuck off’ sentiments when it’s a kid.” His eyebrow creases, eyes dark as he watches the man grab the girl’s upper arm and pull her out of the way to address the crowd himself- she stands to the side of the stage wiping at her eyes, loading her arms up with the bottles again. Husk notices, at the front of the crowd, is Alastor; Lucifer stands just to the side of him, some combative expression on his face as the man speaks.

“Well, whether my ‘fuck off’ is gentle or not, I know when I’m being sold to- whether it’s some bullshit medicinal crap or a warm body.” Husk says, and irritation flashes across the young man’s face when he turns to him. Even if he was still turning him down, this was a lot more interesting than the simpering whore act he usually put on, and for once Husk thinks there might be more to him than is being marketed. “Take your goods elsewhere.”

And wow, Husk might be sick of the propositioning but he would never get tired of those eyes. That Valentino always brought the same kind of guys and gals on board for his whore house, short and skinny as a twig with tits or an ass to round them out; this one was different. His eyes, for one, were different shades, a brown and a green that complimented the shade of his hair; a tiny gap between his two front teeth that made his smile seem genuine even when he was leering; and he was tall, unlike what the pimp usually favored.

“My goods, huh? Usually it’s ‘getcha ass outta here’ when you’re turnin’ me down. Aww, are ya warmin’ up to me?” He slides an arm around Husk’s shoulders, leaning his non-existent weight on the bartender, and bends to whisper in his ear. “I could return the favor, ya know- warm you up instead. Whaddya think?”

Husk sighs, but doesn’t forcibly remove his arm like he normally would, instead turning to meet his eyes properly. “Look, I know your boss keeps sending you over here when I’m out because I look like an easy mark or whatever but I’m not interested in paying for sex- especially not from someone that could be doing better things with his time than being a hooker.”

His face twitches and he laughs. “Val does say you look nice and repressed,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder where the pimp has been distracted by another one of his wards. “But he actually told me if I couldn’t get ya in the sack today that I had to stop tryin.’ Guess it’s been nice gettin’ to know ya, even if I do think we would have a lot ‘a fun together.” He winks his brown eye, and the smile he gives Husk is soft and genuine. “Ya ever change your mind, stop by the house and ask for Angel.”

It startles a laugh out of Husk. “No way that’s your real name.”

“Might as well be- sounds better for business than ‘Anthony’ anyway.” He shrugs and turns back to the house where Valentino stands outside with an unkind smile on his face, crooking his finger like a ‘come hither’ at the young man. “See ya around.”

“You ever find yourself on Fleet Street,” Husk says before he can really think about the words, “come into Lovett’s Pies. Can’t recommend the main dish but I can hook you up at the bar. Ask for Husk if I’m not around.”

Angel- Anthony- chuckles. “Is that your real name?”

“Stop by and find out,” he replies with a grin, and when he laughs and heads back to the whore house Husk doesn’t miss the nasty glare that Valentino is shooting his way before he swings it to Angel.

His distraction gone, Husk turns his attention back to the stage- Lucifer and Alastor are on it now, off to one side with a random townsperson in the chair with a face full of lather as they watch Pentious flick shaving soap onto the crowd as he wildly gestures and waves his hands above the person that sits in the chair before him. Lucifer looks almost offended by the display, eyes narrowed and his mouth half open in shock; Alastor, as usual, wears a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and seems to be more focused on Lucifer than the raving madman beside them. He stops waving his arms and holds his hand out to the girl- she’s not paying attention, her mind clearly elsewhere until he snaps, “Niffty! My razor!” He closes his eyes and holds his hand out.

She startles, reaching into the pocket of the jacket she wears and pulling something out that she slaps into his hands- he immediately brings it to the face of the man in his chair, only noticing when the crowd begins to laugh that she’s handed him a drumstick and not one of his razors that she’s opened for him. She apologizes with a giggle, diving back into the jacket and bringing out a folded razor that she opens carefully. He takes it, more hand waving and gesturing before he actually brings the blade to the man’s face and starts shaving him in short, sloppy strokes. There’s shaving soap everywhere, streaks on the poor man’s face that have been missed, stubble peeking through where the blade wasn’t angled correctly. 

A murmur ripples across the crowd as Lucifer opens his blade, finally tuning the flamboyant man out- and Husk sees the glint in Alastor’s eyes as the razor catches the light before Lucifer brings it down to swipe in swift, smooth strokes across his impromptu customer’s face. Excited cries fill the air, and even Husk is impressed with the dexterity and skill of the shave. Pentious doesn’t seem to realize what had happened yet, still jerkily shaving away until Niffty tugs at his coat and he drops his razor to the ground in sheer shock.

“Beadle Dempsey, if you would,” Alastor says, snakeoil grin in place as he steps aside so the Church official can come forward and place a delicate hand to the faces of both men.

“Mister Morningstar is the clear winner,” she says, wiping her hand off on the coat of the man that still had shaving soap on his face. To Pentious, she gives him a stern look. “Swindlers are not taken kindly to in this area, sir. I think it would be for the best if you move along elsewhere.” And like that she has dismissed him, turning back to Lucifer with a raised eyebrow. Pentious mutters something under his breath to the girl and her face falls.

Husk creeps closer, not needing to hear the salesman berate the young girl for her failed performance but ready to step in if needed. She’s perked up by the time he’s close enough to hear though- “this area was a bust, but maybe if we go the next town over I can practice my lines!”

“Niffty dear, I’m not sure your idea is accomplishing much more than giving me a reputation as a grifter. Perhaps we dispose of the bottles and go back to the demonstrative shaves!”

She tilts her head at him in question. “But you’re not any good at shaving, we have to give people a reason to come to you! Let’s brainstorm…”

The pair wander off behind the curtain, leaving Husk to wonder who the brains between the two of them was and allowing him to catch the end of the conversation between the Beadle and his own employer and guest.

“I think Judge Cain would be pleased to be attended to by such a fine barber,” she was saying, “but of course I shall have to come see the establishment myself first- as a man of both the law and the Church it’s important that he not be exposed to an unseemly environments. No disrespect to either of you,” she adds with a tone that drips insincerity, “but you must agree that Fleet Street is in the less desirable part of town. So many nasty rumors, and such colorful, dreadful history.” She looks Lucifer and Alastor up and down, the way they stand closely together, the clench of Lucifer's fist. “I suppose I’ll try to stop for an inspection of sorts in the next week or so. In the meantime- Emilia, Charlotte, come along.” She snaps her fingers like she’s summoning dogs, and two young women part the crowd to stand beside her.

The taller of the two, blonde haired and blue eyed, waves to Lucifer, and he looks as though he’s been punched in the stomach. He straightens up immediately- which still only put him at about Alastor’s shoulder- and looks Beadle Dempsey straight in the eyes; a feat many men in New Orleans struggled with even when they weren’t significantly shorter than her.

“I can assure you, ma’am,” Lucifer says clearly, “that both you and the esteemed Judge are welcome in my parlor anytime. I’ll be sure to make it extra welcoming, just for you.” He smiles and it doesn’t meet his eyes, and Husk feels unease run down his spine, like he’s looking at something that shouldn’t be witnessed. He thinks he understands now, Alastor’s unspoken obsession with the man- there was more to him than met the eye, something dark that lurked beneath the facade he put up. Something dangerous and raw- and from the way that he was looking at Lucifer, it looked like Alastor fully intended to bring that darkness clawing to the surface.

Act 1:  Chapter 1 🥧 Chapter 2 🥧 Chapter 3 🥧 Chapter 4 🥧Chapter 5 🥧 Chapter 6  🥧Chapter 7 🥧 Chapter 8 🥧 Chapter 9 🥧 Chapter 10 🥧 Chapter 11

just poppin in here with the AO3 link just in case ❤️https://archiveofourown.org/works/57993799/chapters/147639037

[imavikingo]

Steve Rogers was a lot of things, but a two faced son-of-a-bitch he was not, have some respect for his mother Sarah. Thank you very much.

What he was though, is a liar.

He has lied plenty, more times than he can even remember.

Every time he arrived home with a new bruise before his mom, and stayed in his room until she was gone again he said he was A-ok, only tired.

All the times Bucky asked if he was fine after a fight, and if he was having fun after another rejection by a pretty dame. He said he was just peachy.

When he was on death’s door he said it was nothing.

He lied more than what he was willing to admit (Steve from New Jersey ring a bell?)

Every time people expected him to be the ideal man with a plan, THE Captain America, he just faked a smile and performed how they wanted him to.

Lie, after lie, fake smile after fake smile.

He was so tired of pretending. At least he used to lie for better reasons before, and for himself.

He was what they needed him to be now, and more times than not people didn’t need Steve.

No one seemed to see HIM after being defrosted either: Steven Grant Rogers, the person behind Captain America. They only saw what they wanted to see and expected to hear.

Thats why he didn’t try and be friends with his teammates after the New York incident. Thats why he let them do those shitty “educational videos” for high schoolers.

Thats why he stayed alone for the most part.

(Nick Fury didn’t let him be either, what an asshole).

They needed him, they wanted him. But not really, right? Because Captain America is an ideal, a superhero. It isn’t HIM really.

Steve Rogers is only a man after all, tired, lonely, a sad man out of time.

Who would need HIM?

Thats why he tried to contact Peggy and have a somewhat relationship with her again. He didn’t care if it was based on “what ifs” at this point and that she was old. He needed something, someone from his past, anything at this point that made him feel like Steven Grant Rogers, human again. Maybe she would need him in some way?

Once he knew she couldn’t even remember him for the most part, he went back to square one.

He missed her, the old her. The strong independent woman that she was, and sometimes he lamented the fact he didn’t give her the coordinates in time. Maybe he would have had a good life with her by his side. If he only loved her so…

Maybe he wouldn’t feel like dying in this new scary and terrifying world every single day.

Thats why he came back alive when he saw Bucky again.

Bucky was his home, his everything, always was, always will be. He never thought he would have another chance to be near him again.

So he once again became Steve Rogers. Sure before Buck he was friendly with Sam and he had a cordial relationship with Nat. But after knowing of Bucky’s existence in the present (he’s alive, he’s here) did he became friends with them.

He fought with tooth and nails for Bucky, because he wouldn’t let anyone tear them apart again. Not even the man himself (not matter what Sam said about co-dependency. What did he knew anyways?)

When Buck wanted to stay in cryo Steve wanted to scream and cry in his face. But didn’t, because he knew Bucky needed it, needed to have his own choices and for them to be respected.

So once again he started to lie. He didn’t want to make his friends worry about him after all, he was fine. Bucky was the one that needed all the attention, not him.

Then… The battle of Wakanda happened and…

Never in a million years Steve would have thought he would lie to himself without knowing.But he did, and for literal years until present.

See? Steve didn’t know he was in love with his best friend until he lost him for the sixth fucking time. He knew he loved him, but not that he was in love with him. He didn’t realize, but even then he couldn’t admit it. He was terrified, so he replaced his name with Peggys, even on his mind.

That was safer, more “normal”. He knew people weren’t that homophobic anymore but… he wasn’t a regular Joe, right? No. That would be a disaster.

Even if he didn’t have the mantle of Captain America anymore, he was horrified. He didn’t even want to think about Bucky that way. So he started to lie to himself.

He has lied to everyone else for literal decades, what was lying to himself now?

And well… talking about deluding himself and lying… he couldn’t let himself think that Bucky and Sam were… they weren’t! They could change things, they needed to bring them back. Bring him back.

So they planned and they succeeded, for the most part (Only at the cost of one of his best friends and people he cared about).

Steve was so happy once he knew he had Bucky with him again (he’s fine, he’s alive). But he couldn’t forget about what he now knew about himself. And couldn’t let himself be distracted by any of that, after all there was also a hole Nat and Tony left on his heart, on everyone's hearts and lives (And Wanda wasn't stable anymore, he needed to fix that too).

He wanted to lie again, be comforting to Bucky, treasure him, but he only seemed awkward and cold. He was uncomfortable with his own feelings and on his own skin, and didn’t know what to do to fix things with Buck. (I love you, I'm in love with you please forgive me, I’m sorry).

So he once again fucked things up and tried to bring back Nat, Tony and Vision with him. Only… he didn’t discuss this with anyone else so he had no back up, nor help. No one knew of this plan of his after all.

He was on his own. On a prison cell for what it seems. (For the crimes of creating new alternatives timelines apparently, huh. Who would have thought that fighting and talking with himself from 2012 would lead him here. Trying to bring back the others didn’t help either).

This place was bare of anything recognizable, it was ugly and cold.

He was a man out of time once again.

Bucky probably hated him now, Sam too.

What a joke.

Everything was fucked up

For what they told him a “Skrull” (what is even that?) replaced him and everyone bought it, even Bucky. (And no, no no no... Bucky would notice, he would know!).

And would you believe it, he wasn’t the only fucker that was here too, huh. What a weird place.

So yes, Steve Rogers is a liar and a disaster…

and what a good companion that would be for Loki, the God of mischief, no?

So both tried their best to escape that fucked up prison.

Together.

[thelonesomequeen]

Immediately no. //

RIGHT? I can see why he's off social media. So he can say dumb shit like this unchecked. He sounds sounds prickly and defensive in more than one part of this interview. He's certainly been on a roll lately. I get that he's sick of certain aspects of fame and the industry, and truthfully people should be able to play any role they want, but the flipside of that is there are going to be opinions, favorable and otherwise. That's life.

I think Seb needs to let his publicist do the talking from now on and just focus on doing a good job on film and looking pretty in pictures. He keeps putting his foot in his mouth. Like...read the room, pal.

Between this statement and Jeremy Strong on Colbert lamenting that society "likes to mock these people (politicians)"... they aren't passing the vibe check.

This part, specifically, was so rough to me. I like Seb a lot, but that excerpt is SO out of touch with reality and what everyday people are going through and how they feel. How does he not see why people aren't jumping for joy over this movie? It's a bit baffling to me. The right believes it's a hit piece against Trump, and the left is just so fucking EXHAUSTED by Trump and the feeling of political despair. So much so that it's affecting every day life for a lot of people. Trump has single handedly torn this country to pieces by bringing out the worst in EVERYONE whether they're for or against him. The era of division that we're all currently feeling easily comes back to Trump. How many of us have looked at people we knew personally and said "wow, I didn't know this person was this shitty and felt this way about ×, y, or z until 2016/2020" when it came to beliefs and publicly saying the quiet part out loud? He and his brand of politics have ended friendships, marriages, and ruined relationships for entire families.

This is literally a movie NO ONE asked for or wanted. On either side. And I don't think there are many people in the middle here. To not understand that is really, truly something. I do understand what he was getting at when he commented on it being judged and everyone having an opinion before seeing it, but again, Seb also needs to realize where regular people are coming from in terms of Trump. People are tired and the last thing anyone wanted was more Trump in our faces.

I’m sure it’s frustrating to put a ton of mental and physical work into a role just to have the public shit on it, and part of me does feel bad for the cast and crew who seemingly put a lot of effort into this movie, but they also had to know going into it that this would be extremely polarizing. They should have prepared for blowback and negativity. If they didn't…..well. It might just be time for them to go outside and touch grass and get a dose of the type of reality regular, non famous people are dealing with lately. Outside of fangirls who will follow anything Seb does, no one is excited to see this. I won't go as far as to say the movie shouldn't have been made, but I just think it's the absolute wrong time for it right now. I think different release timing could have easily changed public perception and judgement of the movie prior to its release, though. 🦎

[thebloodykarte]

an attempt of analysis of the bloody karte's eleventh episode; copy-pasted from a discord server

tbh while the gif i have lovingly dubbed "catherine 9/11" has absolutely brought me more laughs than this it has also led to my thoughts on the episode of the bloody karte it is from as a climax of her own arc and how, even if beyond saving of their own measure and faults, the residents of gregory house, in any form, are just as under gregory's manipluation as any regular guest who ends up there by chance. linking the episode it is from just in case and for context's sake while i write;

while the side-season's setting of a hospital might seme odd at first, it's kind of quickly obvious as well as outright confirmed that it is merely another form of the reality that these little freaks have always been a part of for the main show, just in a different form, a different building. also made obvious by how the last train functions and all but i feel like the biggest tell is actually the opening for the bloody karte sharing exterior decor with the loading screen for gregory house as a hotel from lost qualia; it really is only much different on the inside, which compliments the focus on catherine quite well. speaking of, onto her after all of that.

anyways, the episode's beginning and, abck to what started all of this thinking; the scene of a plane exploding right within her eyes. this is definetly meant to be taken as a sign to her, with the whole dimension being in some way, still controlled by gregory and all. but the sheer time it took from her to lament about her paths that seem exclusive to each other to that sign -- enough to, well, Obviously shake her up a bit ! but i really do wonder if this was intentional signage. to not think about it too hard, and yet, to not let it slide into fate's hands ever so. she does have at least a slight belief in superstitions if the collectable blood horoscopes in soul collecter are a sign as well.

onto what i want to actually get onto dissecting, though. that same issue of not trusting fate -- and her temporary decision to attempt leaving her position in order to seek what she truly wants despite her disturbing nature of aquiring it, the many failed attempts already within the bloody karte to take love into her own hands.

but, of course, the path of no return had been reached long ago by catherine, if not obvious by not only the fact that she is there in such a reptilian form in the first place, and everything else, but by the bloody karte existing as a season in the first place; in a more meta nature, catherine is pretty important as a character i feel to naomi himself -- more appearances than most, at least, as well as being one of few characters with a Name name, rather than a name that is more a title than anything.

and glorious shoutout both to catherine's rather pretty suitcase, as well as dr. fritz' kind of hysterical reaction to all of this being a relief about it. sorry fritz you're kind of stuck with her until the next episode where you get hit by a taxi and all of that can you wait a few minutes....

but also the sheer power of gregory over his own guests is not to be understated; his immediete rejection of her own path. such is the nature of gregory, honestly -- while his own murmoring might be to try and lead somebody somewhere, well. Don't Fucking Go There. but again, we are talking about a woman who's fate was sealed -- her destructive nature to be continued, lest the hotel and the lost world as a whole loses one of its most notable, powerful inhabitants.

and like YEAH gregory kind of has a point with how she already did love her career and these patients she claims to want to help, and YES there can always be both but like. The Cycle. Ohhhhh the Cycle of it all. and the way this love is expressed, well, we already know how abhorrent she is <3 even if i, personally, love her back for it, but maybe it is also the nature of the lost world that i shall never be let in it …

but ALL of this leading to that honestly more main-season esque scene of so, so many of the men, some of which we never see otherwise in the bloody karte, collasped on the hallway, a victim to that sickening love. and even if gregory does remorse about his regret with that, i do feel like such would differ if he just wasn't on the recieving end of it. refer to...catherine's first appearance in the nightmare begins, with the two speaking of leaving the first guest half-alive, half-dead -- he's in on this, and she's in on him.

ok i'm kind of losing steam here and it's not like i'm trying to say ohhhh catherine did nothing wrong because i wouldn't BE here if she did nothing wrong but like. somebody please understand what the fuck i am on about here. There's So Much To Be Said About Catherine Nine Eleven Gif.

[canidbutch]

Sorry if you've been asked this before or if it's too personal, but are you microdosing T or taking a 'standard' amount? I'm just asking because I'm a trans masc butch and I've thought about going on T, but I don't know if I want to micro dose or go with a more standard dosage. I have a lot of anxiety about the whole thing for many reasons! No need to answer if it's too personal. I hope all goes well with your job applications!

not too personal at all! gonna ramble a bit (also thank you!)

so i started T in 2020 after i got my top surgery (which was on destiel day... imagine waking up to That. whee!) pretty unorthodox way of doing things, but alas. started small of course, eventually worked my way up to the max dosage of 0.5, but then my blood started doing weird shit (it can raise your hematocrit and such, people with higher T levels can have more cardiac and blood stuff going on sometimes, just like E can affect your bones) so i had to be brought down incrementally until i was at fucking. 0.2 for fuck's sake.

after donating blood, i actually managed to get my hematocrit down to a nice regular number and bumped back up to like, 0.25-0.3, which is where i'm at now! it's a middling dose, but i take it every week. i try to do wednesdays so that my midcycle is a saturday, when i have more time to go to the doctor and get checked out. but also lately, i have been apathetic and lazy and Not Smart, so it's been anywhere from thurs to sat, lol. Don't Be Like Me.

so, really, there are a bunch of reasons a person might take a lower dose or not, you gotta go to your checkups and make sure everything else is in working order. nobody wants funky blood.

i totally understand your concerns, though. i'm about to say some Stuff but please do Not take my own flippity floppy feelings as me trying to discourage you from doing this; the benefits CAN outweigh the things that being Not A Man, Strictly™ can make feel kind of weird. every single person who transitions is going to feel different ways about the different aspects of how it changes your body and how it makes you feel is going to be personal, don't let anyone's mixed feelings influence your own true feelings and desires.

i'm personally torn between whether i think the lower dose i'm on is a good thing or a bad thing, because i am personally struggling with my transition right now and with feeling "attractive" (though for me a ton of that is internalized fatphobia more than being read as a guy)

so some part of me is like "let me go on the dose that'll make the changes happen Faster so i can lean into being more masc!" but then my nonbinary butch ass goes "but wait not too much" so it's like. uuuugh. it's not easy right now. but i don't know that stopping would make me feel better, especially because i do Not want my period back 🩷 lol!!!! like I do not want to Detransition necessarily, but sometimes i wish i read more as A Butch like i used to beforehand.

that's likely just because my personal life has led me to let other people think i'm a guy so they'll use my pronouns, though. people still ma'am me, my voice hasn't changed so drastically that people hear it as a man's voice yet, it just kind of Outs Me As Trans. totally destroyed my singing voice, too, which i do lament.

but overall i prefer my voice this way in the grand scheme, and i LOVE my body hair i am absolutely THRILLED by the body hair it's so much more comfortable this way and it feels sexy. the acne can be hard sometimes, but it gets easier. prepare for butt hair also that's one of the weird ones lmao and Scents changing can throw you off but you get used to it. it also impacted my hairline? but not too bad. my face shape Definitely changed like if i showed you a picture of pre transition me you'd be like "is that your cousin" because she is NOT me. i was very fem for a long time. had a short window of embracing being butch while i still had tits and felt really good. i don't regret my top surgery necessarily as much as I know that NEITHER option would make my nonbinary ass fully happy. i'd always, to some extent, long for the opposite of whatever i had going on.

shame we can't just take tits on and off. cmoooooon.

but yeah so that's my Journey and Current Place with testosterone. it's not the perfect happy story i wish i could give, but i wanted to be honest about how complex transition can be and how many things factor into how we can feel about it.

for me, fatphobia and a lifetime of comparing myself to women and always being insecure about how i look no matter what stage of my life i'm in kind of overtakes the joys sometimes, but that's just ME. that's my mental hangups and my things i need to unlearn, not a universal thing that will make Everyone regretful or upset.

there ARE joys, there are so many wonderful things about being on T, and i think if you've been thinking about it for a while and have things you want to see change, i say go for it! you only live once.

so! most important thing: you could always start by microdosing, and if you decide you wanna accelerate it, talk to your doctor! the same goes for if you ever wanna go back to a smaller dose. nothing is set in stone, it's a very fluid process that you can take at your own pace and you can start and stop (safely, by tapering) whenever you want!

i am sorry i ranted so much, there's a lot of this that i haven't gotten off my chest until now, hahaha. i genuinely hope this didn't disappoint or discourage you. transitioning medically has definitely changed my life in a multitude of ways, and there are some checks and balances to it, but at the end of the day, i'm making a new me! and that's a wonderful thing imo

best of luck with your decision! take your time, and just remember that if you're Super Happy, you can crank it up, and if you're not, you can dial it back down! very flexible. i hope you settle on an option that works for you and brings you so much happiness and excitement and comfort and peace 🩷

[blackbird-brewster]

2, 4, 5, 12, 13, 30, 32, 38, 47, 57, 69, 83, 84

I will answer your ask here shortly! But I didn't want you to think I forgot to ask you ✌️❤️😘

[Send my Writer Asks] TY for so many number!! <3

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

Basically any and every fic with JJ in it is this exact thing. JJ is notorious for going off-script and just doing whatever the hell she wants. I have had to re-write entire fic outlines bc of this. She's a nuisance (affectionate).

4. what is the plot bunny you’ve been carrying for the longest? optional bonus question: do you ever wonder why you haven’t written it yet and experience deep existential dread?

I often look at the 4 chapters I wrote for an early season CM fic that's sorta like 'You've Got Mail' (it's a 2006 online dating fic) and lament that I've never finished it. I even *know* the reason why too, it's simply because the coding to do entire chapters in 'e-mail' form on AO3 would require me to build custom skins to make it look like emails and such (yea, I know I don't HAVE to make it look like that, but my brain says You Gotta) and god, I just really hate coding.

5. have you ever made a playlist about something you were writing as an elaborate means to procrastinate when you could have been actually writing and if yes drop a link, son

I currently have over *30* CM character/fanfic related playlists. You should check out this masterlist for all the links plus summaries of each playlist, or just give me a follow on Spotify

12. do you ever have trouble focusing on writing? how do you get around that? 

Sorry, what? I missed the question because I was staring out the window and procrastinating again. The answer -- YES, of course I do. I'm AudHD and I live in a house with three other people, a cat who's an asshole, and on a street where multiple houses are being built. 😭 I try my best to be at my desk at regular hours each week, usually about 10am-4pm M-F. And I close any windows/apps on my laptop that aren't my writing one and put my phone out of reach. Then I set the focus timer on for a designated time and try to write until it goes off. This helps TONS.

13. talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you.

When I wrote what was supposed to be a Emily/Rebecca hate-sex one-shot, I didn't think anyone would read it. Then, when I expanded it into what became 'Do What I Want (Over What's Right)' I was absolutely blown away by the great convos I had with readers in each chapter's comment section. I even met a new best buddy via that fic! (hiiii @swpf)

30. most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you.

"We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." - Dr Seuss

32. do characters influence your writing style?

Can do, sometimes. My style itself doesn't change all that much, I don't think? I mean, I can look at old fics and see how far I've come since first writing them, but that's less about the characters themself and more about me as a weird little guy.

38. how many stories do you work on at one time?

One. As mentioned above, I'm far too distractable to have multiple-WIP at one time. The exception to this rule is, sometimes, I'll crank out a one-shot while working on a longer project too. But 99% of the time, I only have one WIP going.

47. what story are you most proud of?

Forever and ever, Head Full of Doubt (Jemily, High School AU). That fic explores mental health, friendship, depression, and the pressures of being a teenager. It is my forever proudest achievement as a writer.

57. what is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were reading it?

While reading? Hm, this is gonna sound so petty, but I recently pulled up the fandom wiki to double check a continuity point in a fic. Not because I was judging the author, more because my brain was trying to figure out the timeline they were presenting.

69. how do you write emotional scenes? do you ever feel what the characters feel?

I have such a visceral imagination. I not only see my characters, but I definitely also feel their feels too as part of getting into their heads. When I write emotional scenes, I am usually sobbing myself. On the flip side, my partner knows when I'm writing smut bc my breath gets all soft and short 🫠

83. less is more or more is more?

Do whatever you want forever. Period. No rules, just do you!

84. said: overused or underused?

Again, do whatever you want forever. I use said/replied lots, but I also use more specific indicators to get tone across depending on the conversation and scene.

[resisteverything]

I find it so annoying when homophobes want to hide their homophobia but also be openly homophobic so they just sort of act like they're talking about the overall concept of sexuality and think that fools anyone but themselves.

I heard someone unironically say with their whole ass chest that cartoons used to be essentially aromantic and asexual until Steven universe opened the floodgates for them to suddenly become obsessed with sex and romance. You know, Steven universe, a show that came after Regular show, after adventure time. after batman TAS, and after hunchback of Notre dame.

You know... regular show, where:

Mordecai has a crush on one girl for several seasons and there are constant episodes about/references to it all, and he stares at her ass and he is teased for being “friends without benefits” with her, then he gets a girlfriend after being rejected but then the first girl comes back and it’s a whole annoying drama with way too many episodes.

Outside of that there are jokes like Rigby laughing about a ballroom holding "huge balls" or clearly misinterpreting the term "muscle man's package" and multiple jokes about "dropped balls". Not to mention the line "What kind of lose would want a bunch of chicks tearing their clothes off?" or lamenting that a girl in a movie will be talking about her feelings "fully clothed" and stuff. And Muscleman talks about a love of "lady pecs” and “guests with breasts" and may or may not have had sex in a bag… on screen.

Around this time we had adventure time, where:

Finn has a one-sided crush on an adult woman who turns into a teen for one episode and kisses him but then becomes an adult again and then he gets a girlfriend and they stay together for multiple seasons until he gets so obsessed with the wet dreams caused by watching her fight the ice king that he ruins his relationship with her. Then Jake has kids with his girlfriend who he never marries for the entire show, meaning he had like 8 kids out of wedlock on a kids show, and the show goes out of it's way to confirm them to be not married at one point.

And when he's in a funk over losing his arm he decides to make out with every princess in Ooo, and even brings home a girl who looks like both his ex girlfriend and his old crush because he's not over either of them. He is implied to have had underage premarital sex with LSP, and it was implied to be at the very least questionably consensual. This is a kids show.

Not to mention the joke where the bounce house princess acts like a pervert, tries to convince Finn to get inside her, and opens her flaps for him, or the time he was forced to power a whole troll city with "sexy fun dancing" around a pole, or the comments LSP makes about Finns butt like calling it "tight" or asking if he does squats, or the time she has a vision in a dungeon of Finn coming onto her by taking his shirt off.

Then we get to Batman TAS:

Harley quinn emerges from a giant pie ass-first with tal well defined asscheeks showing through the pie, looking very naked, singing an impression of Marylin Monroe's birthday song to the president, asking joker to "take the night off and play" and asking him if he "wants some of her pie" because she's "sure he'll ask for seconds". If a gay man did this in a kids show republicans would literally stop the rotation of the earth.

I haven't seen that much of the show, but I'm sure there's going to be more of this as I keep watching.

And as for hunchback:

The whole male cast wants to fuck Esmeralda. She does a whole sexy dance and spins around a spear at one point, and Frollo's whole thing is that he's super horny for her but thinks it's sinful to be so he just sort of sniffs her hair all creepy and demands she "choose him or the flames", and sees her dancing sexily as a demon in his fireplace in one scene. Phoebus ogles her while she dances. I was surprised at how little there was of this movie because this was the sex disney movie, but I am comparing a movie to a TV show so yeah.

There is no way to avoid the sheer extreme horniness of all of these properties and the only way you make statements like this is if you literally just fucking lie.

Make no mistake of it, these people are fucking lying. Maybe they don't realize it but that's what they are doing, but they just are.

Cartoons never have and never will lack a focus on relationships, or a focus on sex. It will always be a thing. Most queer representation is actually very chaste, even at it's horniest. You're never going to see the "bootyquake" scene from sym-bionic titan in a modern queer cartoon. You're never going to see a homoerotic version of Esmereldas dance. You're certainly never going to see them do shit like Harley Quinn emerging butt naked from a pie. Even Megara's seduction routine would not fly.

The fact that anyone considers this point valid enough to even say aloud is fucking ridiculous.

[allianettemie5]

I was away on vacation when the 'platy learns about RPF' stream happened and I saw people posting lamenting it and I was like 'surely these people are overreacting? It was probably so funny and a short bit' and after watching the stream. Yeah I fucking hate what happened. Like Jeremy I can respect for seeming a little less mocking in his remarks but Platy fully fucking crossed a line. It's disheartening to watch a creator go from "there's fanfic of me and my friends?!" To "these fanfic writers deserve to be mocked, and their writing held up as a joke" it was so fucking embarrassing knowing that I am/was one of those people who read/write RPF. The first time I ever read fanfic was when I was like 12 and watching the video where Ze and Chilled read out fanfic! I had some ideas for PR1 fanfic floating around in my head but the chance of my writing it at all has plummeted, let alone publishing it. Idk sorry to just rant in your inbox a little but it's just like... i forget sometimes how niche fanfic is?? Like how do you not understand the concept of it, and mock it like that? Idk. Platy already kinda left a bad taste in my mouth sometimes but this is different.

I find myself not really worrying about publishing stuff, mostly because it's going to be a long time until that happens. I have a few ideas, I try my best to write stuff down, so it's all sitting in my wip folder waiting for its hour

I can give you this advice: write no matter what, lest you lose your inspiration for these ideas you have and they get lost forever. You don't have to publish them just yet if you're fearing a backlash, wait it out until the dust settles and Platy gets his head out of his ass, as well as his fans hyperfocus on something else. You don't write fanfics for others, you write them for yourself in the first place, and it doesn't really matter what anyone else says about it. You pick the characters you want to write about because you like them as a character, not because you want to appease someone or become popular or anything

If you get an itch to share your works with someone, just send them to one of your friends, although I do understand that your friends might not get it as much as you do they might not be a PR1 person, and it sucks so much. Another option is joining Emrys' Discord server, we have quite a lot ff writers there sharing their progress

*inhale...exhale*

You mentioned that ff-reading video... I think that video painted fanfiction in the same one-sided light, and it's mocked and cringed over. I wanted to say 'I am glad that the two of them don't care about fanfics' and remembered the TOS vods, but when I watch these vods I don't really see mockery or disrespect. They laugh over their own little thing and move on

Reeny read fanfics on stream once, and I remember how pessimistically ficwriters reacted back then, although iirc she was genuinly interested

Cheesy and Ozza seem to be regular readers, but not once they let out a disrespectful comment towards us, Cheesy even defended us before the entire vc. Em and Pasta read fanfics too, but they don't really call it a bad thing either

No one from PR1 group has ever come that close to the 'I am so pissed at him I'm never mentioning him anymore anywhere' (Several people fell over this line straight into 'Fuck no, I'm deleting everything that has his name', if you know you know). Platy's biggest problem is his f'ed up sense of humour that turns him from a fun guy into a bully here, but he does not exacly understands that he's doing something wrong