#look at that stinky bastard man

[flexedandmyarmfelloff]

You know what, it's pride month. It's really not fair of me to keep my SIM commission from @sreppub to myself.

Plus a link to their commission page ❤️❤️!

[marclef]

Day 10 of October Pizza Stuff.

bastard man. stinky. if Fake Peppino licked this man he'd probably get drunk instantly. didn't know how to draw him, so put as little effort in as i could. it's what he deserves.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

the spiritual successor to the spiritual successor of the spiritual successor of this first interaction

[squirrelno2]

sometimes when i ponder clones and their rights it’s very in depth and thoughtful and sparks lengthy fanfics. other times this is all my brain gives me.

[holylulusworld]

Goldilocks

Summary: Tony had to ruin Steve's plans.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Reverse Trope: Too many beds

Warnings: mentions of sex practices/toys/anal fisting (nothing happens, no description), too many beds trope, fluff, love-struck Steve, teasing

A/N: This story is part of my reverse tropes' collection.

“Y/N!“ Steve almost yells your name when Tony asks who will accompany Steve on the next mission. “I mean, Y/N should be my partner for this mission. She knows the region, and we will draw less attention toward us when we pretend to be married.”

“We need to pretend to be married.” You cock a brow. “I thought it was an easy mission. Get in, get the information, and get out.”

“Uh—we found out that the target likes to watch pairs get intimate. He’s a…” Tony clears his throat. He’s by all means not a prude, but the footage he saw last week was more than kinky. “Let’s say he has a certain taste.”

“Leather, crops, pegging, fucking machines?” You count all the things coming to mind while switching back and forth between the notes on your iPad. “Is he a dom or a sub, maybe a switch?”

Tony makes an odd noise while Steve, uncomfortable, shifts in his seat. He stares at you, his eyes glued to the pencil you push into your mouth to chew on it. It was a habit he always hated, but right now, he’d love to replace the pencil with something else. Steve swallows thickly at all the dirty ideas, drowning him like a tidal wave.

Steve opens his mouth. He wants to say something, but nothing comes out. You giggle when your eyes meet Steve’s. His face is flushed, and he drops his eyes to your chest, pretending to find the button on your Henley interesting.

“What kind of flavor is he?” You finally look up from your iPad to find your fellow Avengers staring at you, mouth agape. “What? I like to do my research, guys. We pretend that we are married. Therefore, we need to know if he must fuck me through the wall or just cuddle with me.”

“Fuck…what?” Steve hiccups. His eyes widen as he tries to keep the problem in his pants in line. He can’t think about you like that. Steve is a gentleman and wants to court you before taking you to bed. “Language, doll!”

“Sorry, Cap.” You grin at Tony, who barely hides his interest in your knowledge. “What is it, Tony?”

“Uh-it’s nothing. We should get back to the mission,” Tony nervously stammers. He tugs at the loose tie around his neck. “After all I’ve seen and heard about our target, I can tell you that he’s a kinky bastard. And if I say kinky, I mean it.”

“What are we talking about, Tony?” You lean back in your chair and cross one leg over the other. “Are we talking about nipple clams kinky or my fist up his ass kinky?”

Steve spits the water he drank onto his shirt. He coughs and wheezes, making you suck in a breath. You jump up to gently pat his back. “Hey, Cap. You shouldn’t drink so fast. We don’t want you to choke.”

“I think he’d love to choke on something else,” Tony chuckles when you give him the stinky eye. You know, Steve is a little shy and prude when it comes to sex and fecal language.

“Tony, back to my question.”

“He’s ‘you’re injured and can’t walk for a week’ kind of kinky.”

Tony snickers at Steve’s pained expression. He didn’t plan on hammering you through a wall but to ask you out. Steve is a man out of time, but he slowly opened up to you. His heart beats a little faster close to you, and that makes him feel more alive than the adrenaline pumping through his veins during a battle.

“Steve, you better pack the riding crop!” Tony exclaims, making everyone but you and Steve laugh.

You square your jaw. “Don’t worry, Tony,” you coo. “I’ll bring the crop. Stevie only has to bring himself and his strong hands."

“This house is huge!” You giggle while running from room to room. While you are over the moon because there are six bedrooms at the mansion Tony rented for your mission, Steve is in a sour mood.

Steve is not amused—not at all. Tony talked about a small apartment. One bedroom. One bed. ONLY ONE BED. Steve had it all planned. He’d offer the bed to you, only to accidentally end up on the ground—because he’s a tall man.

You’re sweet and kind, no doubly offering to share the bed with him. Now there are six bedrooms and not a chance for Steve.

“I gotta choose one bed,” you call from inside one of the bedrooms. As you jump onto the bed, grumbling because it’s too soft, Steve sighs deeply. “Not that one.”

Moments later, you run out of the first bedroom and into the second, jumping onto the bed too. “Ouch, that one is too hard!”

“You can choose whichever room you want,” Steve says, and grabs his bag. He walks toward the first bedroom to claim it. You already decided the bed was not for you.

“NEXT!” You giggle and run out of the room to sprint toward the third bedroom. “What the fuck!” Cursing under your breath, you slip off the third bed. “This bed smells odd.”

“What?” Steve calls from inside the first bedroom. He had already unpacked his belongings and was on his way to the bathroom. “Do you need my help?”

“No, all is well,” you grumble and trot out of the room, heaving a sigh. This is not as funny as you believed it would be. The fourth room doesn’t offer much more comfort. It’s too clean, almost sterile, and the bed is as hard as stone. "Fuck, this is awful.”

The fifth one is no better. The bed is too hard, and the carpet is scratchy.

You get back up and walk out of the room to enter the last bedroom. Slowly, you feel like Goldilocks in the fairytale, trying all the beds. This one must be the right one, or you won’t get any sleep.

You’re not picky when it comes to food or clothes. But when it comes to a mattress, you need the perfect mixture of hard and soft.

Taking a deep breath, you drop your duffle bags to the ground and run toward the bed. You jump onto it only to groan again. It’s too fucking soft.

“No, you bitch!” You huff and slam your fists into the mattress. “This can’t be true.”

Meanwhile, Steve steps out of the shower to get ready for bed. Tomorrow will be an exhausting day, spent with observation and faking a relationship.

“This is awful,” you sigh deeply while aimlessly walking from bedroom to bedroom. You switched into your pajamas, hoping to find a bed on your second round.

“What’s wrong?” Steve calls from inside the first bedroom. He lifts his head from his pillow when you sneak into his room.

You yawn and longingly look at the bed Steve occupies. It would be a bitch move to ask him to switch rooms with you.

“Y/N, you look exhausted and...cranky.” He worriedly watches you step toward his bed. You huff and drop your bags before climbing over him to settle behind him. “Y/N?” He asks as you fluff the second pillow and crawl under the covers.

“That’s the best bed,” you murmur while scooting closer to Steve. He’s warm, and the room is a little chilly.

“I can use one of the other bedrooms if you want this one,” he offers, already moving toward the edge of the bed.

“No,” you say, stopping him before Steve can slip out of bed. “I think you make the bed more comfortable. You warmed it up, and the mattress feels much better now.”

Steve’s breath hitches in his throat when you tell him to turn around and open his arms. Steve watches you move closer to snuggle in his chest, sighing because you finally found the perfect bed.

You close your eyes, enjoying Steve’s warm embrace. “Doll?” He wonders if you are already playing your role or if this is real.

“Shush, Stevie. You need your sleep too,” you softly say and pat his chest. “You need all your strength to fuck me through that wall tomorrow.”

Tags in reblog.

[applepie-enthusiast]

Modern SaneSabiGiyuu ft. adopted child Tanjirou

Sabito, holding up Tanjirou: stinky

Giyuu, drunk: no!!! don't be mean!!!

Sabito, swaying Tanjirou back and forth in the air: stinky bastard man

Giyuu, still very drunk: no!!!!!!!!!

Sanemi, not looking up from scrolling on his phone: naughty boy, brat kid

Giyuu, distraught: Nooooooooo!!!!!!!

[umbral-archives]

ECHOOOO

I have no wORDS

Killer (Murdock)

For @umbral-archives on their birthday <3

[littlemissferret]

CHRONICLES OF HOUSECATS [ part 1 , part 2 ]

sypnosis: you finally manage an uninterrupted date with isagi

no prns used (reader). established relationship with (loser bf) isagi. 2.2k wc. cw: nothing(?). made them a lot tamer for this (less chaos). kaiser & ness still cats ofc.

Do you remember the feeling of awkward cringe, when you watch third-rate actors on screen put on an act so atrociously bad? The kind of feeling that forces your skin to crawl- a chill sent down your spine while simultaneously warm blood rushes to your face from second hand embarrassment?

“MEOWWWW MRREOWWWWWWWWW”

Yeah, you’re feeling a whole hell of that right now. God, he’s so embarrassing…

You pinch the bridge of your nose, breathing in much needed fresh air to cool down the horrendous headache your darling housecats are causing you right now.

“Enough, Mihya. I told you to save your little theatrics for the talent shows.” You lift up the blue cat carrier to chastise him.

Michael bats his eyes, staring up at you with the eyes of a pitiful, heartbroken widow.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that,” You deadpan at his attempt to win you over. “C’mon, it’s just a spa. You love getting pampered, don’t you? Well, they’re gonna give you lotsss of love and attention there.”

He furthers his meowing and whining at you, pretending he didn’t hear allat. Determined to not drop his act anytime soon.

Isagi walks next to you, this sweet boy has been trying to hold your hands when you were busy arguing with your rebellious cat.

He finally manages to grab onto your hand, a smile blossoming onto his face as he internally celebrates his success.

“Um, will it really be okay for us to just leave them at the spa?” He eyes the magenta cat carrier in his other hand. “I mean, we can do this another time.. It’s not that much of a hassle, really.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, and start swinging your held hands. “It’s fine. Really!” You turn to him with a smile, “I bring them to the spa every two to three months anyway. Mihya usually loves it! He’s just being whiny for attention right now.”

Ignoring the blond cat’s yowls of protests, you continue, “Besides, I’m looking forward to this date with you-” You glance down at the blue carrier, “-without them interrupting this time.”

On your previous romantic dates with Isagi, the two cats had stalked and caught up with you both. Causing a scene every single time, thanks to Michael’s dramatics and Alexis’ surprising animosity towards your sweet boyfriend.

You swear Alexis is usually a good, well-mannered kitty. He never had any problems with strangers. Maybe he just doesn’t like Yoichi’s smell? You oughta talk to him about showing up right after practice in his stinky sweat drenched jersey.

You hum, stepping into the doors of ‘Magic Whiskers Pet Spa & Hotel’. The bell chimes, alerting the workers and other pets in the building of your arrival.

It doesn’t take long until the old manager walks up to greet you. “Hello there, dearie! Michael and Alexis back for their appointment?”

“Hi, gramps. And yeah, the usual, thank you.” Placing the cat carriers onto the counter, you open the locks for them.

Michael huffs, strutting out and stretching his legs, then immediately basks in the old man’s praises at his big boy stretch.

Little bastard giving you the silent treatment.

Alexis walks up to you the moment he’s let out of the cage. Purring as he rubs his head at your waist. Finally, he thinks. Normally he’s comfortable with his carrier but god when Isagi is the one handling him does it make the experience a hundred times less enjoyable.

Oh well, at least he’s in his second favourite place now. Being in the magic themed store slash spa makes him the happiest feline alive.

Great memories were created here in this magical place, after all.

“Good boy, ‘Lexis. You watch over Michael for me, yeah? He’s being a petty prick.” You whisper to the cat. “I’ll stock up on your favourite kibbles when I come back later.”

You scratch at the spot behind his little flicky ears, sinking in his purrs as you stare at Michael’s overgrown blond fur.

“Hmm. You know what, old man? I think you can try something new with them this time.”

The cats stare up at you curiously and the manager only gives you a warm smile.

“I thought you’d never ask. Leave them to me!”

—

“Ahh, some peace and quiet..” You sigh in bliss as you hook your arm with Isagi. You’re both now walking leisurely on the sidewalk. “Soo, what’s the plan, Yoichi?”

Isagi blushes when you turn to look at him, “Ah, right.” He fumbles with his jacket, “Well, I didn’t plan an itinerary or anything. But..”

He lists off the places you both can visit together, rambling off. Occasionally stuttering and tripping over his own feet.

You admire his side profile as he continues his meandering. He’s such a cutie, still so awkward and shy this far into the relationship.

You wonder if you’d get to more sides of him as you both continue to spend more time together.

“-so i think it’s really worth a visit too. You wanna go?”

His dorky smile paired with a soft blush on the apple of his cheeks. How could anyone say no to that?

You’d go anywhere this man brings you to.

“Sure. Anything for you, pretty boy.”

—

The faint smell of clay envelopes the both of you as you step foot into the pottery studio.

“Hello, we booked a session under the name Isagi Yoichi.” You glance around the cozy studio, admiring the array of works displayed. The muted colours of each piece of art blend well in the modernly designed room, adding a spark of personality to the mundane aesthetic.

“Yes, of course. Over here, please.” The receptionist brings you two to your designated workshop.

You place a thumb to your chin as you stare at the unpainted pottery in front of you. You never really had any plans to paint on some clay. Now that you think about it, you jumped at any idea Isagi had suggested- and pottery painting just happened to sound the most romantic to your dear Yoichi right now.

Oh, well. Now that you’re here with him, might as well show-off whatever amount of talent you have for painting.

Yoichi’s hand finds yours, before he quickly releases it to wipe off the sweat that has collected onto his palm.

“Sorry! I- It’s too hot in here, aha..”

Help this poor guy. So many dates into the relationship and he can hardly tell if you’re as excited as he is. Is your heart beating as quick as his right now? Do you feel the immense urge to hold him the same way he wants to hold you?

You choose to reach out for him, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Are you nervous about pottery painting? I’m sure you’ll do great, ‘Ichi.”

Ah, that’s not.. Yoichi sweatdrops. You have trouble reading him too, it seems. At least now he feels better about being unable to read you.

A talent to be reckoned with, really. How you both have been with each other for years and still stuck in the awkward guessing stage whenever you go out together.

But weakass communication skills aside...

Uh oh. What if you think of him as a loser, one that is jittery at the notion of.. painting?

No way! He’ll save this, he thinks. Right, he was good at arts and crafts back when he was in school. He can woo you with his crazy painting skills!

With newfound confidence, Isagi picks up an unpainted mug. A blank canvas- for him to turn into one of his creative works, and sweep you off your feet. He picks up a brush, brainstorming ideas of what he can paint onto the mug.

You browse the options, settling on matching mugs with Yoichi’s. Sitting by his side, you dip your brush into the paint of your choice, and start to draw strokes of what you have in mind onto the delicate surface of the mug.

“Has your season come to an end? You’ve been more free lately,” You ask, just to start a conversation. “As in, you’ve been coming over a lot more.”

Isagi’s mouth forms an ‘o’, “Right. Yeah, it's my off-season right now.” He pauses to think, “I’ll be free until next month, I guess.”

You hum at his answer, “You still practice a lot, even on your holidays.”

“Ah, well. That’s just..” He blushes, feeling a bit shy that you’ve noticed his passionate attitude towards football.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” You laugh at his embarrassment, “You love football. That much I know of.”

Isagi feels his heart flutter at that. God, you remind him of how much he loves you every time without fail. Doing so much to him while you haven’t even started on pampering him with kisses and sweet words.

He swears you’re perfect- just for him. You fit perfectly, providing all kinds of comfort and support that he never knew he needed. All on your own accord.

You love, care and recognize his dreams. What more could a man ask for?

The world's best lover for the world's best striker. (an overkill but he's delulu like that)

He swallows hard, wanting to let all the bottled up giddy feelings burst out and embrace you. He wants to make sure you know how much he loves and appreciates you.

Maybe he’s not the best with words. The peak of his creativity with verbal finesse is really just spitting flame on the field- something that he secretly hopes you’ll never get to witness.

Most he can do now is to paint what he loves the most- you, and his football of course, onto the mug.

With each delicate stroke of his brush, he carefully fills in the colours with love. Painting a simplified version of your general features, he then adds the football next to you. Ending the piece by tracing a giant frame of heart around both you and the ball.

He checks his work, scanning for any small mistakes then carefully writes ‘World’s #1 Striker’ onto the free space next to his painting.

He smirks proudly at that.

You send him a side-eye then chuckle at his satisfied look, touching up on the details and colours of your own piece of art.

Seems like you both share very similar sentiments in your paintings. You opt to paint what you love the most- your cats, with your lovely boyfriend in between.

Instead of acting up on your ego like him, though, you settled on painting mini hearts to fill out the free space.

Give it a week, and your mugs will be delivered back to you. The previously plain ceramics painted over with a sheen of love, reflecting the experience you both created and the bond you’ve both strengthened over the date.

—

“Meow”

Alexis runs up to you the moment you enter the door. Eagerly pawing up at your legs.

You notice his faded magenta is re-dyed, and his usual pressed down fur is now more fluffed up. The natural caramel brown is now more contrasting with the bright magenta.

“Hi, ‘Lexis. Did you have a good time?” You pick him up and start to kiss him all over his now very soft and fluffy fur. “I missed you too, baby. You look so pretty. Do you feel pretty?”

The now fluffier (re-dyed) magenta cat basks in your attention, lapping his tongue at your chin while purring happily.

The old man walks up to you with Michael strutting along next to him.

“I’ve given this one a whole makeover,” He muses, “Alexis was the one who chose that colour for him.”

Michael glances up at you proudly with his pretty blue eyes- now matching with the new dye he wears on his blond fur: on the top of his ears and the ends of his tail. His fur is noticeably shorter, and a little choppy around his head, framing his usual fluffy face.

It makes him look so silly, to be honest. But he’s so satisfied with it, you decide to not comment on the choppy part.

You do, however, comment on his new dye job.

“What a beautiful shade of blue,” You coo at him, giving into his attempt at flaunting for compliments. “Look at you, my little emperor. So royal.” His fluffy tail stands up high, and wags in approval.

Returning your attention to the old manager, you teasingly ask, “Were they on their best behaviour, old man?”

He chuckles and nods at the two cats now staring at him, “Yup. They’re good alright. I’d say they deserve some new toys and some premium kibbles.”

You smile, satisfied hearing his response. “Well, I did promise to restock Alexis’ favourite kibble.” You pick Michael up along with Alexis, then place them on the seat of a trolley nearby.

Turning to your idle boyfriend (who has been nervously eyeing a certain magenta cat), you ask, “Could you help me get the premium kibbles, ‘Ichi? I’ll bring these two around for them to pick their new toys.”

Isagi smiles crookedly, “Sure, honey.” He tries to shrug off the way the blond cat is narrowing his eyes at him, but mostly at the ominous smile the magenta one is sending him. “Take your time.”

He’ll just have to find a way to counter the two jealous kitties soon.

© littlemissferret 2024 ✦ do not repost, translate or modify .

a barking cat video made me write allat

- im ngl i feel kinda shy writing lovey dovey romance, u can tell its really stiff - probably will resort back to chaos dumping or maybe will try to put myself out there

[nonranghaes]

seungcheol is a dog person.

and yet two years into your relationship and post-him moving in with you... he's fallen asleep on the couch with your cat curled up in his lap. seungcheol is a dog person, he tells himself. he still loves kkuma, who eventually grew to adore your cat after she grew used to him. he still loves seeing puppies when he takes her for walks. he always teases you about getting another dog to keep kkuma company--a puppy that'll grow to love the orange bastard you own (your words, not his).

and now he's woken up because the your cat is kneading at his stomach, slowly blinking at him before settling back in. he curls into himself, round like a big loaf of bread. kkuma is watching him from her bed. your stinky little man (again, your words, not cheol's) just dozes off without a care, nuzzling his head against him like he hasn't done the exact same shit to you while looking cheol dead in the eyes to say this is my person, not yours.

(yes, seungcheol did have a short, one-sided rivalry with your cat. he swears he knew what he was doing whenever he climbed in the way, demanding your attention during date nights. those days are long gone, sure, but he still adamantly swears that it wasn't so one-sided whenever you tease him about it.)

seungcheol is a dog person. but for you and your orange bread-loaf of a son... he'll make an exception. especially when he feels the accepting purr from your cat, happy to live in harmony with him.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

This Didn't Happen

Notes: Just a silly thing; prompts 7 & 15 taken from this Morning After prompt list.

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Sexual implications; behavior expected of our fave billionaire stinky bastard man

Summary: Had you gone to the conference planning to sleep with Nathan Bateman? No.

Had you? Yes.

Were you regretting it? Absolutely.

"Stop smiling at me."

"I'm not smiling."

"Yes you are."

"How do you know? You're not even looking at me."

"I don't need to look at you, I can feel it from here." You tried to smooth your rumpled clothing before drawing in a deep breath to steady yourself, gathering your thoughts.

Had you gone to the conference planning to sleep with Nathan Bateman? No.

Had you? Yes.

Were you regretting it? Absolutely.

The sex had been (insanely, mind-bogglingly) good. You were still sensitive, still buzzing from your orgasm as you tried to plan a graceful exit. It was proving difficult, given the circumstances—but there was no smooth way to dip out of a one night stand. Almost all of the conference attendees were staying at the same hotel as you were. What if you ran into someone that you knew in the hallway? Your wrinkled clothes would give you away immediately.

You gathered your courage before you forced yourself to turn and look at him.

Nathan was smiling—lounging in the bed with a satisfied smirk as he put his glasses back on and fixed you with a knowing gaze. You wanted to slap the look off of his face, but some part of you was certain that he would enjoy it. Not only was he smiling, but he looked criminally gorgeous. His cheeks were still slightly flushed from exertion; his forehead was still dotted with sweat; you were trying to ignore the few streaks of irritated skin where your nails had dug into his shoulder.

"We're not gonna cuddle?" He teased, brows waggling. You scoffed, turning away and beginning to hunt around his hotel room for your shoes.

"Listen, Bateman—"

"You have my attention."

"Good, 'cause I'm really gonna need you to focus up right now." You faced him again, planting your hands on your hips and forcing a stern set to your brow. "This didn't happen. Got it?"

"Didn't it?"

"No."

Nathan blinked at you a couple of times, lips curling into a teasing smile as he glanced toward to marks on his shoulder.

"Huh. Then I wonder where these came from."

"The mystery may never be solved." Son of a bitch, where are you goddamn shoes—

"So if anyone asks what we got up to this evening—?"

"Make something up," You snapped.

"What's your alibi?"

"I'll figure it out when I get back to my room."

"What if you run into someone in the elevator and they ask?"

"I'll make something up."

"You oughta brainstorm now. You don't improvise well."

"Thanks for the tip."

"They're under the desk."

"What?"

"Your shoes."

You went still, slowly glancing in that direction, and wincing when you spotted them. How the hell did they get under there?

"You kicked them off," Nathan added. "Almost broke your neck. Remember?"

You ignored the goad, picking them up and hurriedly pulling them on before heading for the door. You heard the rustle of sheets as Nathan pushed them off of his lap and stood.

"Hey," He called out.

"What?"

"You sure this never happened?"

"Positive."

You reached for the doorknob, freezing as Nathan crowded up against your back. You shivered at the feeling of his body pressing against yours, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"I hope it doesn't happen again sometime," He murmured. You began to turn to look back at him, only to spot yourself in a small mirror by the door. Your eyes narrowed as you spotted a mark blooming on your neck, and you couldn't stop yourself from whirling around to look at him.

"Did you really have to leave a giant hickey on my neck?!"

Nathan smirked, gaze sweeping over your face before he tipped his head to the side, getting a better look at the hickey.

"What makes you think I did that?"

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @writefightandflightclub ; @thedukeofcaladan ; @beepboopyoda ; @foxilayde ; @rachelwritesstuff

[aurorapillar]

Di Feisheng, talking about Li Xiangyi: Stinky Fang Duobing: Noooo! Don't be mean! Di Feisheng: Stinky bastard man Fang Duobing: NO!!!! Li Lianhua, not looking up from cutting vegtables: Arrogant boy, awful sect leader Fang Duobing, distraught: NOOOOOO!!

[dreamwatch]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Prompt: Wrath | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: T | CW: child abuse, self harm (slapping/hair pulling) | POV: Eddie | Pairing: None | Tags: Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Jeff Stranger Things, Uncle Wayne Supremacy, Good Uncle Wayne, do not fuck with that man

Eddie shivers on the front porch of his uncle’s trailer, hand curled in a fist ready to knock. Wayne works weird hours and Eddie’s brain trips and stumbles trying to do the math; it’s six p.m., would he still be in bed? But he feels the sting of the pelting rain on his back, can still feel the burn in his legs from running and the bare truth of it is he’s got no place else to go. So he knocks politely on the front door and waits. 

It doesn’t take long for Wayne to come to the door, pulling it back sharply, scowling, and Eddie just can’t deal with any more people being angry today, so he shuffles backwards. But Wayne’s eyes widen as he steps outside, no shoes on, his socks getting soaked.

“Eddie? The hell you doing out in this?” Wayne asks him but then his eyes turn sharp and beady, just like Dad’s, as he takes in the bruises that Eddie can feel pulsing under his skin, at the eye he can’t see out of anymore. He pulls Eddie inside and tells him to sit.

“Your dad do this?” Wayne asks, handing him a towel. 

Eddie shrugs. “It was my fault.” He pull his top off and Wayne’s eyes flick down to his ribs. The bruise isn’t that bad, just Dad caught him funny with that stupid ring he wears, and there’s no meat on him so it’s sore. He dries himself off best he can and Wayne gives him an old flannel in exchange for his t-shirt. It’s soft and warm and he realises how tired he is, how much he just wants to curl up on the couch and sleep, but his jeans are sticking to him like wet cardboard.

Cupboards bang, draws crash, and Eddie flinches at the noise. But then he feels the warmth of cigarette breath against his cheek as Wayne sits close to him, dabbing at a cut.

“And how’d you figure that?” 

Eddie flushes with shame. “I used up the last of the milk and bread.” He leaves out the bit where his dad called him an inconsiderate bastard. “He had nothing to eat.” 

Wayne let’s out a heaving breath, like a dragon finding its flame. “He heard of stores?”

Eddie shrugs, and shit he has to stop that, Dad hates it.

Wayne sticks a couple of plasters on him, one on his eyebrow and one on his cheek, and it dawns on Eddie he has to go to fucking school like this. Has to walk through the halls with everyone knowing his business and it makes him feel sick. 

When he’s done, Wayne puts his shoes on over his damp socks and grabs his keys.

“I got a couple of errands to run, wasn’t expecting company. You got a friend you can stay with for a while?”

He nods, quick as a flash. “Jeff.”

Eddie’s wrapped in Wayne’s big coat, sitting in his stinky old truck as he drives them to the other side of town, the one with the nice houses, and the nice yards with the flower beds. Eddie’s only been here once or twice and he wasn’t sure if Jeff’s mom actually liked him or not, she was awful religious, but then so was Wayne so maybe they’d get on.

They pull up and Eddie leads the way, feeling the comforting weight of his uncle’s hand firm on his shoulder as he rings the doorbell. It only takes a moment for the door to open, Mrs Williams standing there looking like the lady from the Dawn advert, all smart blouse and apron. She sees Wayne first and then looks at Eddie and lets out a little gasp.

“I’m awful sorry to bother you ma’am, but Eddie says he’s friends with your boy?”

Mrs Williams looks shocked. “Jeffrey didn’t do this!”

“No, no,” Wayne says quickly. “I know that. It’s just that, I wasn’t expecting Eddie this evening and I have to take care of a couple of things and I just didn’t want to leave him alone. I wondered if he could sit with your boy for an hour or so?”

She thinks on it a little too long, and Eddie has no doubt she’s about to give them some excuse on why he can’t come in, but Jeff is bounding up the hallway.

“Eddie! Holy— what happened?”

“Jeffrey,” she scolds. But then she sighs and says, “I guess that would be fine.”

Jeff drags him to his bedroom and they flop to the floor together, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee. 

"Your dad’s an asshole,” Jeff whispers. 

Eddie sniffs. “Yeah.” 

“Wanna play Atari?”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t have the energy for words tonight but Jeff seems to get it and they play Street Racer in silence before Mrs Williams calls them for dinner. It’s a real hot dinner, too. Not that he minds Sugar Smacks or Kraft Singles, he fucking loves Kraft singles, but it’s cold out and he hasn’t had lasagne in a long time.

Sitting at the table with Jeff and his sister and Mrs Williams is warm and cosy, but it strikes him hard that this isn’t his life, that Wayne will take him home tonight, once Dad has had time to calm down, and he’ll smooth it over like he always does and then Eddie will go back to that miserable house that hasn’t been a home in six years.

It’s nearly eight p.m when Wayne finally returns. There’s hushed voices on the doorstep before Mrs Williams calls for him. 

“See you at school tomorrow?” asks Jeff, pulling Eddie into a crushing hug.

“Yeah, I guess.”

They break apart but he doesn’t want to leave. He feels such a deep stab of jealousy at Jeff’s perfect family and perfect home, at his Atari and his nice clothes. At his safety. All the things he will never have. 

He says thank you to Mrs Williams and trudges up the path to Wayne’s truck.

Wayne pushes the passenger door open for him and the cab light comes on, shining harshly on Wayne’s face. There’s a deep red mark under his eye, like he got caught with a ring, and he’s wiping at his nose, dots of blood on his shirt. But it’s his hands that Eddie fixates on, the knuckles purpling, scraped and split, his right looking swollen and painful, and Wayne’s face pinches as he tries to stretch it.

“Uncle Wayne?” he says with a shaky voice.

“I got your things. You’re staying with me now.” Wayne turns the key in the ignition and glances across at Eddie. “That okay?”

He says it like it holds no weight. Like it’s nothing that Eddie doesn’t have to go back. Like it’s nothing that the weight that crushes his chest all the fucking time just got lifted.

And with the weight gone it all rushes to the surface, a pathetic little choked sob at first while he tries to keep it in, because you must never cry, it’s fucking weak, you’re so fucking weak, Eddie, you’re nothing, Eddie, you’re stupid, Eddie. He smacks his face, tries to pull at what’s left of his hair but Wayne’s got his hands on him, hard and unyielding but not mean. Not angry.

“Stop that now. It’s okay, Eddie,” Wayne says, gently. “He won’t lay another hand on you. Promise.”

Wayne pulls him in, awkward across the console. He’s not a toucher, Wayne, not big on hugs and kisses, always used to shake Eddie’s hand when he was little rather than kiss him goodbye, but he wraps Eddie in his arms and squeezes now, erases the fear, makes him feel wanted. Eddie feels like he can breathe, like there’s actual air in his lungs for the first time in so long. 

Eddie doesn’t stop crying, because now he doesn’t have to.

@the-unforgivenn ❤️

(Please god let me have caught all the typos)

[adoregojo]

what do i do when i have writing block? write a drabble for reo of course, the cure for my halt and depression, a man that i need in my life

reo knew this is a bad idea.

maybe if he had a little piece of mind and considered the fact that you will end up inebriated to the point where you were wiggling around like a spaghetti, leaping joyfully every short second you got. even chanting a random melody, handing him a non-existence microphone as if you were in a karaoke, 一a place he grew to love because of you一

don't get him wrong, reo loved a lot of things about you, most of seeing you carefree, like a free bird. shuffling around the street for all what you cared for the world, he couldn't feel anything but the universe thumping in his ribcage.

it was you two engagement celebration. nevertheless, he scored nothing more then be enclosed by other reeking riches bastard, he spent the whole night seething at whoever laid an eye on you. violet hues filled with cold acquisitive greed. that left him drying sober, he just couldn't drift away his eyes of you. and if it wasn't for the cockblooker 一aka his parents一 crawling his way to guests that he bet reading a newspaper would have been more fun than keeping a chat with them, he would've been spent the whole night glued to your figure.

before he knew it, you were all drunk and barely able to walk two steps straight. reo wanted any reason to leave early anyway, so he take off your shoes ever so mildly, caressing his fingers cautiously beyond the pained parts, mainly the heel to the achilles tendon. you mumbled something about the pairs suffocating you throughout the whole night. so now they were hung by his two fingers.

all what he had of despair glided into ashes the moment it was only you and him, it may be left uncharted, but reo always felt like it was only the two of you in this world, a world where he doesn't have to carry the burden of being judged, where he can spin you around without worrying about slamming flatly onto the floor, where he can slow dance with you in his arms without feeling like an idiot every time he stepped on your feet 一out of nervousness, not his fault that your face was too much of a distraction.

"heyyyy, reoo, look at me! don't i look enlightened under the sunlight." you sluggish, a hand under your chin as you posed, feeling yourself as you blow your fiancé's a kiss. reo cold feel an arrow keening throughout his heart, and somehow he still managed to gather himself to not collapse on the dirty ground.

"dearest. as much as you look astonishing as ever, this is a street light, and it's almost midnight."

your face fell off onto a sulk, flipping your thumb downward at reo. "booo, haterr." you say as you stick out your tongue at your soon to be husband beaming back playfully, he wasn't even bothered.

"I assure you, my love. no hater is willing to carry these pair of shoes. they hella stinky." says reo, shoving your pairs away as possible, even blocking his nose holes merrily. and he couldn't be happier when you gasped dramatically, slamming your palm on your chest where your poor, fragile heart shattered at such painful words.

"nonsense! i will not take such a fails accusation! these twins of mine will remain memorized forever," you say heedlessly, whirling around in circles to prove your pointlessness.

reo says something about being careful, but you keep spinning yourself until your vision becomes blurry and your eyes were drifting in different directions. you were dizzy, so dizzy your feet were betraying you, you couldn't keep your balance, and before you meet the ground, a firm arm caught you midway.

"hey! i told you to be careful," reo's hand made it way to your waist, keeping you in shape. you almost felt like a slimy baby in his grip, he wanted to scold you more, for being reckless, for smiling broadly and making him gush, for holding his soul hostage, but he was far, far a goner to be rescued.

"haha, i did it because i knew you'd catch me." your chuckles overcome him any sense of life within him, the amethyst eyes of his only sees you, only felt the wreck of yearning pouring on you, reo's heart was pinning under your spell.

"yeah?" he asked, a stupid lovesick smile on his face.

"mhm! you'd always come to catch me when i fall." you were right, he'd jog his way to the end of the world for you. to make sure your save and sound.

"always," he assures you, tightening his hand to pull you even closer that no such thing as personal space exists between him and you, your light cologne blending with his heavy one. he snuggled his nose against the skin of your neck, drinking on your scents, as if it was the only air that bloomed his lungs. it was ticklish that it made you laugh inwardly, which was a balm on his chest. presses a quick peck on your warm cheek along the way. then carrying you with one hand like a lightweight tool to him.

"let's go home my prince charming, i need to take a looong bath." you babbled, fondling him a sloppy kiss just an inch away from his lips. a little dumbfounded, he still drags you alongside with him, you were a farther goner to notice the struck expression he had glued to his face, a faint reddish hue across his cheekbones and tip-ears.

"I'm already embracing it." maybe you were too drunk to hear that, maybe he didn't say it out too loud, maybe he's too in love to care, who knows.

[mynameisjag]

Because I gotta.

Give me the feral man, give me the beastie who has probably been avoiding human contact as much as possible except to get drunk off his ass. This man has no idea of his own universe's tech, you think he has a chance understanding the one he has been kidnapped into? No. Bastard stinky man, feral, sad looking fucker…I adore him.

He needs to be more animalistic.

One would think by now, Wade would have experienced and seen what the multiverse had to offer.

Working with people over seeing different timelines did that.

So did being aware of the ‘audience’ and their many eyes.

Still, watching an almost naked knockoff werewolf scuttled across the room on all fours with what appeared to be a bloody carcass of some kind of animal in his mouth while growling like a demented cat, it was surprising.

“Well, chat, can I ask, what is this r rated looney tunes bullshit? Hey, Tasmanian Devil’s estranged cousin, you better be cleaning this up soon! We just got these floors!”

And Logan was already in the bedroom with his catch, probably hunkered down in his hammock and going to town some poor innocent creature’s remains.

“Whatever, I do cocaine, I have no room to judge.”

Sure enough, stepping over the trail of blood and pushing the door open revealed what he already expected to find. The crunch of bones and squelching of raw meat being chewed on, blown out brown eyes were glaring at him and a gutteral snarl giving warning.

“Easy there, boy, just checking up on ya, seems you brought home dinner for yourself tonight, didn’t even get me anything?”

The snarling stopped and the bloody remains were held out to him, the little head tilt would be cute if not for the smear of gore across his concerned face.

Actually it was still cute.

“Awe, thank you! But I’m good…and he’s going back to eating that, well…I’m going to go throw up now and contemplate the merits of becoming a vegetarian…so…how about a time skip for everyone's sake?”

With a time skip activated, cleaned floors appearing and a still half naked Logan chilling on the couch scratching Mary Puppins behind the ears as she chewed on bone with drool going everywhere.

Some of that drool might be Wade’s but who could blame him, but he had to pull himself together and not be distracted by the feast for the eyes and focus on the feast of the flesh that happened in the bedroom and not the fun type.

“Hey, honey, can we take a minute away from the,” he glanced at the show, “huh, didn’t think that was still going…no, focus Wade…right, Logan, my little murder puppy…the fuck did I just witness?”

“Got hungry, went hunting, ate.”

“Right, and the, not that I’m complaining about the view because I should be taking pictures, but why were you half dressed on all fours, should I be concerned?”

“Easier to hunt…comfortable…”

“Alright…”

Okay, let’s give the big guy a moment…

Shrugging before plopping down nearly on top of the man, Wade just grinned at the sharp look sent his way as Dogpool jumped down and carried her prize off somewhere.

It took two episodes in before Logan huffed, voice barely audible over the TV as he finally spoke.

“…people hated me back home…when they hate you…you tend to be unwelcomed in most if not every place…hotels…bars…stores…”, bare hands were flexing, dark fingernails just slightly pointed and severely cracked, “you get used to the surviving…you get used to avoiding those places…”

Wade reached over to grab one of the hands, flipping it over to trace a pattern in the rough palm, “but they don’t hate you here? You can go in and if they try to stop you or have anything to say about it…then they won’t have a choice in the matter after I visit them.”

The smirk he sent to the ex X-man, wasn’t that a strange combination of words, was met with huff.

“…it’s the crowd of people, the smells, the sounds…it brings back the memories…but staying inside is like a slow torture…hunting and losing myself made it easier to cope.”

“Trust me, if anyone knows anything of trying to make yourself disappear using whatever is available for just a moment of not having to think of what kind of shit haunts you…its me…”

“Hmm…”

“So if being the feral little man you are makes you feel better, just little heads up next time, your hammock is still dripping blood on our new floors.”

[holylulusworld]

Livid

Summary: Lloyd is livid.

Pairing: Alpha!Lloyd Hansen x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, fluff, daddy Lloyd, a hint of lactation kink, Lloyd being Lloyd

Lloyd is livid. He huffs and runs his index finger over his mustache.

There he is the bastard daring to steal his omega. His concurrent looks at Lloyd, and even winks at the alpha.

“How dare he!” He grits his teeth. “I can’t believe him.”

You giggle at his possessive behavior. “Lloyd, it’s not like that. Baby, just calm down.”

“No, I won’t calm down,” he growls and points his index finger at the young man stealing your attention. “He’s younger, that’s it. Huh? I knew the little grey in my hair would turn you off. You will exchange me, your alpha, for him!”

This time, you roll your eyes. “Stop being overdramatic, Lloyd. No one wants to replace you, alpha.”

He stands a little straighter when you address him with his presentation. Lloyd puffs his chest and struts toward you.

“I never was overdramatic,” he harrumphs. “I only want that little shit to know, this is my omega he tries to…” His features darken when you unbutton your blouse. “What are you doing?” He licks his lips, his eyes glued to your chest. “Cupcake, do not tempt me!”

You sigh deeply and exasperated. “Lloyd, stop making a fuss. I need to focus on,” you groan as Lloyd tugs at your bra. “LLOYD!” You slap his hand away. “Don’t ruin my bra. You destroyed more than enough over the years. I can’t believe you sometimes.”

“But—” he pouts and tries to grope one tit, “you love me, Cupcake. How can you not only ignore me for some other guy but forbid me to touch what’s mine too.”

Lloyd pouts even harder when his younger concurrent greedily takes your offered breast. While your son suckles happily on your breast, Lloyd grunts. “See, he’s suckling at my tit!”

This time, you snort. “Lloyd, we talked about this. You must learn to share my breasts. No arguments, alpha. That's your four-month-old son. Lloyd Jr. is hungry.”

“Hmm…” he nods thoughtfully. “You’re right,” he finally says. “If he wants to grow a mustache as hot as mine one day, he must drink lots of milk. Oh, and he can practice for the ladies, you know”, he grins when you give him the stinky eye. “Aw, omega. He’ll break all the hearts in no time.”

Lloyd licks his lips while staring at your exposed breast. He wonders if your milk tastes good. His son seems to be obsessed with your breasts, and sucking you dry.

“After Lloyd Jr. is done,” he suddenly says, “can I have a taste too?”

Tags in reblog.

[some-eldritch-bats]

W H A T .

HUH