#mmm brain worms are wiggling

[machveil]

thinking about John MacTavish not understanding why you find him so attractive when he’s wearing multiple layers when you first start dating. like, what do you mean? none of his muscles are out on display for you! his tattoo? what about his tattoo! don’t you go nuts for his legs when wears shorts? why do you always paw him when he’s wearing a t-shirt and a thick hoodie? he can understand your fondness for him in sweatpants, but, like, all the layers?

and then it clicks for him when he sees you snotty and sick. miserably sweating, but freezing cold. bundled up with one of his thick ass hoodies, swimming in its soft fabric, a thick blanket around your shoulders. fuzzy socks and baggy sweatpants, trying your best to keep warm. he’s cooing ‘poor you’s while trying to slip his hands under his your hoodie, ignoring you when you say he’ll get sick right before kissing you. you’re all hot and cozy, and don’t worry! he doesn’t mind the sweat - if anything, it gives him a reason to corral you into the shower. of course he can’t let you shower alone, what if you get dizzy? he should really be in there with you for safety

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Grow Old With You - Reykha’s Birth

IF YOU ONCE READ THIS FIC AND WANT SOME CLOSURE HERE IS A LINK FOR YOU/OR IF YOU’RE WONDERING WHERE THE HECK THE REST OF THIS FIC IS IT IS EXPLAINED HERE

Summary: lol this is the last thing I wrote for Grow Old With You/Build a Home With You. I felt y’all deserved to read it cause I do really like how it turned out. Also Ara and Din are space MILF and DILF that deserve the world. 

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x OFC (Ara Obagh) 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: fairly graphic depictions of birth and labor, major fluff, a lot of feels, Ara’s glorious return 

With one hand, Ara gripped a rung of the ladder while the other tried to soothe the underside of her belly as another spasm ripped across her abdomen. It was the worst pain she had ever felt. She had been stabbed, shot, and tortured. But nothing compared to this. Her lower back now throbbed. The weight, and pressure of the baby against her pelvis nearly made her knees buckle. Her mouth opened in a silent groan as the pain peaked, her belly stiffening in her hand, and then it slowly began to fade. 

For a moment, she believed it was over. The doctor had warned against false pains that could be mistaken for real labor. Something similar happened at the beach just a few days earlier. She hoped that was what it was. Ara wanted to have the baby back home on Naboo. In the solace of her own bed. Not on the Razor Crest, a cold ship that left much to be desired when it came to comfort. 

But then she felt a soft pop between her legs. Like a balloon filled with too much air. Then a sudden gush of liquid between her legs. Did I just wet myself? Ara thought. That would be an embarrassing thing to have to explain to Din and Cara when they got back. But when she looked down at the floor to the small puddle she now stood in, her eyes widened at the sight. There was a tiny amount of blood mixed in with the clear fluid. 

“Oh no,” Ara whispered. 

Her water just broke. On the Razor Crest. On Denon of all places. 

The next contraction hit about thirty minutes later. She hadn’t moved from her spot in front of the ladder, afraid that would make the now constant ache even worse. Pain, like an iron belt wrapped around her middle, coursed through her stomach and into her spine. Ara whimpered as she swayed back and forth, her free hand rubbing soothing circles into her abdomen. Hot tears, which she felt betrayed by, built up in the corners of her eyes and threatened to fall. She had felt pain before. She had been through worse. But Maker this kriffing hurt and she had no idea when Din was going to be back. And the more she thought about that, the more her tears blurred her vision and her lip began to quiver. She didn’t want to go through this alone. What if something went wrong? What if the baby was breach or something worse? Ara rested her forehead against the cool metal of the ladder as her tears finally fell. 

“Just a little bit longer, fierce girl,” she whispered, voice trembling, “Please.” 

Ten minutes. Another contraction. They were getting closer together and the pain was getting worse. Both hands on the ladder, Ara breathed through it as Vaisha had told her to do. But she couldn’t stop the choked sob that broke past her lips. Din should be there. Breathing with her and massaging her back to help relieve the pain. He should be whispering encouragements in her ear. But he wasn’t. She prayed that he would be back soon, even as she gathered all her courage and moved her hand between her legs. 

She was about halfway dilated. It was almost time. 

_______________________________________________________________________

“I get that you wanna go in there blaster first — but we need a plan,” Cara argued as they walked back to where the Crest had been parked. 

“Fine,” Din relented, feeling agitated, “Make a plan. Attack his safehouse first thing in the morning.” 

Cara agreed with a slight nod of her head as they approached the Crest. Din pulled the comlink from his belt and held it up to his helmet. “Ara, we’re back. Release the ground security protocols.” 

Nothing. Complete and deafening silence. 

Din felt panic, like a sudden harpoon through his chest. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Maybe she was asleep. Or perhaps the comlink ran out of batteries. He could always just pound on the ramp if all else failed. She was fine. Perfectly fine. 

He repeated, quieter, his voice strained, “Ara?” 

The Crest hissed to life as the ramp popped open and then slowly lowered. Din heaved a sigh of relief as Cara slapped him on the back. She knew everything was fine. Ara was way too capable, even when she was about to have a baby, to let something happen to her. But then they both got a good look at Ara standing at the top of the ramp. She was soaked in sweat. Her cheeks red. She stood hunched over, her knees buckled, one hand against the wall and the other clutching her stomach. Tears had stained her cheeks. Her entire form flinched as her face crumpled in pain. The concave of her back bending even further. 

Then she looked up at them, desperate and in agony before whimpering, “Din…” 

Cara had seen the Mandalorian move quickly. It always impressed her how hard he could haul ass with all that armor on. But in this instance, he truly surprised her with how swiftly he moved. He was up the ramp and inside the Crest within seconds. One arm supporting Ara’s back while the other wrapped around her middle to keep her upright. Cara stared for only a moment longer than either of the Mandalorians liked. 

“Dune!” he shouted, “Get in here!” 

She quickly did as she was told. Scrambling up the ramp and it was immediately closed behind her. 

“What’s happening?” Cara asked, voice edging on panicked. A new emotion for her. Stars, is she dying? 

“Baby…” Ara struggled to answer, grunting in pain and clutching at her stomach, “The baby…” 

Oh shit, Cara thought, eyes gone wide. 

Ara panted, tears of sweet relief now flowing down her face, as Din lowered her slowly to the floor. Back leaned against the now-closed ramp and her knees bent. The pain was nearing on constant now. She felt like she was going to vomit or pass out because of it. Din quickly whipped his cape off his shoulders and threw it down on the floor. Followed by his gloves. Then he started working on getting his vambraces off, and it was only then that he noticed Cara still standing there. Staring at Ara like she was about to explode. 

“Can I…Help?” the ex-shock trooper asked unsurely, eyes still trained on Ara who threw her head back against the wall and groaned loudly in pain. 

“No.” Din grunted as he finally pulled one vambrace away from his arm. His fingers fumbled and shook as he began working on the other one. “Get into the cockpit and set course for Naboo.” 

“Mando, you can’t be serious — ?” 

“Just do it!” he shouted roughly, shocking even Cara with his harsh and frantic tone, “And stay up there till I say.” 

As soon as he heard the hatch up into the cockpit slide shut behind Cara, Din ripped his helmet from his head and took in a massive lungful of air. His entire body seemed to shake as an autumn leaf in the breeze, ready to break free from its father branch and fall to the ground in silence. Did this have to happen now? Right now? When he was so close to getting Gideon and ridding them of their fears for good? Maker, he wasn’t ready. He thought he would have more time to prepare for this. To prepare for helping Ara, for helping the baby, for being the firm foundation that both of them needed right now. He worked, hands trembling, on getting at least the top half of his armor removed. The first time he held his Creed-born child, he would not be covered in the armor he showed the world. He would be just himself. What if he did something wrong? He had gone over the procedure a million times with the doctor and had bothered Vaisha with far too many questions. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to be there for Ara. He wanted her to be comfortable. And Maker he really wished they were not on the Razor Crest, on some foreign planet where a man who wanted them dead was located. This was not like anything he had pictured.  

Fear, as worm in his brain, wiggled and took hold of him. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t do this. He needed more time. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Ara panted from behind him, “But I — mmm — I knew this would happen.” 

The next contraction crescendoed and Ara’s steadily increasing pants for breath turned into a scream. Throat exposed and a vein popping out on her forehead as her sweaty palms scrambled for purchase. Din turned immediately and knelt down before her on his knees, taking her hands in his and letting her squeeze till his own mouth dropped open in pain. Her screams reduced to panted groans and her grip on him relented as the contraction subsided. But the pain never fully went away, only became less intense. 

He looked deep into her face. That beautiful face that still threw him into a state of shock and awe. Covered in a layer of sweat, red-cheeked, pinched in agony, and she still looked like the sun-rise. Constant and devastating in its beauty. It didn’t matter that Din wasn’t ready. It didn’t matter that Ara wasn’t ready. This baby was coming. The circumstances were not going to change. Ara needed him. The baby needed him. And he was always going to be there for them. No matter what. 

 It was on this ship that they were delivered from a burning Mandalore. And it seemed that on that same ship the next generation of a planet burned would be born.

“How far apart are they?” he asked as he let go of her hands and flexed his fingers. 

“Three minutes — I-I think — Maker, I don’t know,” she whimpered. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Din reassured, reaching up and unwinding her scarf from her head. Her hair was drenched in sweat. But she needed to be fully uncovered when the baby was born. “Just take deep breaths. Just like that. You’re doing great.” 

“Did you — Did you find Gideon?” 

Of course, she would still be thinking about that at a time like this. 

He debated, for an instant, if he should lie and tell her that Cara’s information had been wrong. But he always had been a terrible liar. Or Ara had always had a way of seeing right through him to the truth.  

He sighed, his chin dropped to his chest before mumbling, “Yeah.” 

He lifted his head just in time to see guilt take over her face and a fresh wave of tears build up in her eyes. They wouldn’t be able to attack his safe house now. Din wouldn’t stand being parted from her or the baby once she was born. And Cara couldn’t take down that squadron by herself. They could wait a few weeks and come back, but by then Gideon might move to a different safe house. Who knew what kind of rotations he and the other wanted Imperial warlords had going on. And as each of them felt the familiar pull of takeoff, they knew Gideon was slipping through their fingers once more. 

Ara’s lip had begun to bleed with the abuse her teeth had been putting it through. She tasted copper in her mouth as she let go and whispered, “M’sorry.” 

With a shake of his head, Din reached out and pressed his thumb flat into her chin. Nothing to apologize for. 

He then pulled down her underwear and checked how far along into labor she was. “You’re almost completely dilated. I’ll go get the supplies.” 

Ara didn’t want him to leave her. She whimpered slightly as he got up from the floor and made his way into the refresher. He got a few towels and a bowl of hot water. In this moment alone, he paused. Turned to the west on instinct, he began to pray. Ara always had been better at it than he was. But right now, she needed his prayers more than ever. So he tried to remember the words.

Protect my child whose name I’ve yet to know as mine, but so desperately want to. If I must die in order for that to happen, let it be. Protect Ara, who is one with me when together or parted. By the Star, you created all, and by it, you shall destroy. And by the Star, you will give us the strength to deliver this child into the world. Please…Keep them safe. I can’t lose them. 

A peace that he would never be able to bring himself washed over him as he opened his eyes. Another scream echoed through the Razor Crest. And Din, with this newfound peace and confidence, stepped out of the refresher with the needed supplies. A bowl of warm water. A few towels. The sheers from the medpack. 

He quickly kneeled back down between Ara’s bent legs. 

The legends say that when a warrior died honorably in battle, paint across his helmet and blood upon his chest plate, it was the closest anyone could get to holding the Maker’s star in their hands. To holding the greatest power, the greatest glory, and the greatest light in their mortal grasp. But when that baby slipped from Ara and into Din’s steady, awaiting hands — screaming and squirming and covered in fluids — the legends were proven wrong. 

All of time seemed to stop. The entire universe tilting it’s chin to get a better look at the life that had just been born. To hear the joyous, in-awe laugh that bubbled from Din’s throat. 

“Ara,” he whispered, cradling the tiny body in his much larger hands, “It’s a girl.” 

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the babe in his hands. In those sinner’s hands that had caused so much destruction. And yet he had made this most precious thing, with Ara, with the breath of his life. This perfect, fragile thing that all at once told him that life was so fleeting and that life was so very beautiful. He didn’t need the warrior. He didn’t need battle paint on his helmet. He didn’t need honorable death to hold a piece of the heavens in his grasp. She was right there. Wiggling and screaming at him for being born. 

Tears, testaments to his absolute joy and rapture, spilled from his eyes without his permission. But he wasn’t going to berate them or curse them. As he had his entire life. He welcomed them with open arms. 

Ara finally broke him from his revere with her panted reply, “A girl?” 

Din looked up into his wife’s face and laughed again. A quiet, breathless thing as he pushed himself up and placed the wailing baby in her arms. She looked exhausted, pale, but happy. Tears fell from her eyes as well. Ara cradled the baby in her arms and laughed softly. She was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

A tuft of dark hair on her head. A small, squished face that was angry red. But her screams turned slowly to whimpers, and then faded out completely in her mother’s arms. Ara reached up a weary finger and brushed a knuckle over her soft cheek. 

The air had suddenly become thick as the baby slowly opened her eyes for the first time. Ara’s ragged breaths seemed far too loud in her uncovered ears. But the air became caught in her throat when the baby looked into her eyes for the first time. Dark and endless, just like her parents. 

So this was what it was like to be seen. To be really seen by someone else. 

“Hello, my fierce girl,” Ara whispered, voice horse even at such a volume, “I know your name as my child — Reykha.” 

Din made quick work of snipping the umbilical cord and cleaning the baby off with the warm water. 

“Mm — Din,” Ara grunted while he cleaned the fussy baby. 

He looked over his shoulder to see her face pinched in pain. Legs tucked back up against her chest with her hands. 

“Afterbirth?” he questioned, laying Reykha down on a towel and drying her off. 

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed back. 

The pain wasn’t as intense, but it still kriffing hurt. And she was tired. So very tired. 

“Shit — okay.” 

Din couldn’t find the blanket they had packed. He could have sworn he had grabbed it from the baby’s room before they left. And he could have sworn he had dropped it down to the floor along with the rest of the birthing supplies. But the blanket Yasima had gifted to Ara, with their signet stitched into the soft fabric, was nowhere in sight. Din cursed under his breath as he looked back over at his wife. Her face pinched in pain and resisting the urge to push again. He really did not want to clean her placenta up off the floor. But Reykha needed to be wrapped up in something to keep her warm. But what? He forgot the damn blanket and Ara was never going to let him hear the end of it — 

There. His cape balled up in the corner. That would do for now. He quickly snatched it from the floor and swaddled the baby up in it. Then, cradling the baby in one arm, he pushed the empty bowl he had grabbed between Ara’s legs just in time. 

“You forgot the blanket didn’t you?” she panted as she let her legs fall back down to the floor. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled lightly, taking the bowl in his free hand and sliding it across the floor towards the refresher. 

Then she got a look at them. Unannounced tears pricked at her eyes. Little Reykha, bundled in her father’s cape and tucked into the crook of his elbow. Safe, fast asleep, not even five minutes old. Din, half of his armor tossed carelessly onto the floor, hair disheveled, and sweat sheening on his brow. Safe, tired, a smile quirking his lips and creating a singular dimple in his cheek. Good Maker, he’s beautiful. Ara’s mind had gone blank of anything else in the universe. Her heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to go at lightspeed or stop altogether. She couldn’t help but take in the little scar across the bridge of his nose, the one on his top lip. Evidence of years of fighting, of resentment, of a life that felt like a deep and distant dream. 

After all this time. After all the waiting. After the heartache of losing Mandalore, the rage of being with Ran and his crew, the monotony and restlessness of their years with the Guild, the fear and running from the remains of the Empire. All of it was leading up to this. Kha’s last command, last request on a dying Mandalore — You must carry us with you always — and you must keep Mandalore alive through the warriors you will raise — she waited thirty years for them to fulfill their vow. And now she could march beside her fellow warriors in peace. And Ara could feel it, feel that eternal peace wash over her as Din sat down beside her and placed Reykha into her arms. 

“I wish the kid was here,” Ara commented as she leaned into Din’s shoulder. 

“Me too,” he whispered back, unable to look away from the little pink face poking out of his cape, “But we’ll be home in a few hours.” 

“Maker, I hope he likes her.” 

“He will. We’ve been talking about it.” 

Ara looked over at him with an incredulous smile. “You have?” 

“Mm,” Din grunted, reaching out and tracing his fingers over Reykha’s hairline, “How he’ll be a big brother. The responsibility — the care. How she’ll need a lot of your attention.” 

Ara stared at him a moment. At the way his kind, warm, brown eyes were transfixed by the babe in her arms. At the soft smile adorning his hard features. At the crook of his nose. At the soft tumble of his hair. At the love and peace and warmth that seemed to radiate off of him. 

In Mando’a there are two words for breath. One of them is kar’am. This word translates into Basic as the literal air inside a being’s lungs. The breath of life. The thing that can get knocked out of someone during a fight or stolen from them in a moment of emotion. The other word for breath is haal. This word has no direct translation. A rough sort of definition is that haal is the thing that gives you a reason to breathe. The thing, beyond air, beyond oxygen, that gives one meaning and gives one a reason to keep going. The life-force, the light, the purpose for drawing air into your lungs. Even to say the word, haal, it sounds like an exhale. A declaration that what one is calling their breath owns it. 

“Kiss me,” Ara whispered softly, too softly, ���Ner haal.” 

Din looked up at her with raised brows and wide eyes. But then his every feature softened. He was her reason to keep going. The man who had given her everything she had ever desired. Who had painted the picture of their lives with her at the center of it. Who worked to the point of breaking his back nearly every single day. A man who lost everything and now had all that he had ever desired. The love of his life at his side. A Foundling and a Creed-born child of his own. A house with transparisteel hanging above the door and his armor stowed away in a shed. He was the very breath inside her lungs. Her very reason for living. 

With a tender hand, Din reached out and cupped her cheek in his calloused hand. He marveled in the way she leaned into his touch. Then he kissed her. Slanting his lips against her own and molding his mouth into her own softly, reverently, slowly. He pulled away just enough to whisper back to her, ner haal, letting his breath mingle with her own. Tying them together like the breeze through forest branches. 

A breath of life shared between them.

[spritewrites]

Day 2 - Diego

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & Lila Pitts

Word Count: 766

Author’s Note: Day 2 of @anasticklefics​ TUA tickle fic week! Information can be found here. Enjoy!

“FUCK!”

A leg thumped against Lila’s back as her fingers tripped up trembling ribs and dug into Diego’s armpits. He snorted on a laugh, nearly choking.

“Please, I – I can’t, I can’t, I really – shit!” he cried, jerking as her hands slipped nimbly out from under his arms and sending him tumbling back into giggles with ticklish pokes to his sides.

“Language,” Lila chided, giving an electrifying squeeze to his left side. Diego jumped, shrieked, and kicked out once more, only succeeding in getting his legs tangled in the sheets. Another squeeze, another yell.

“Okay, okay, just – god, please, Lila!”

The dreadful squeezing stopped and her touch lightened, but she kept her hands on his sides, giggling and tracing designs up and down as he caught his breath a little. “Okay, yeah, prioritizing oxygen, fair enough.”

Diego chuckled at that, then groaned. “God, my abs hurt.”

“These?” Lila poked gently at his stomach, and Diego sucked in a harsh breath. 

“Watch it,” he growled, but Lila only laughed.

“Threats from the most ticklish vigilante known to man? I’m terrified, sweetheart.” Finally, finally, she let go of his sides and collapsed on top of him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Diego hugged her close and buried his nose in her hair.

“Mmm… squishin’ me,” he mumbled, squeezing around her middle. Lila snorted.

“You don’t mind.”

“Might mind. If you keep being so snarky.” His arms tightened.

“Okay, knife boy, lemme go,” she wheezed, wiggling and trying to burrow her hands between his arms and her body to release his hold. In her efforts, her fingers wormed their way over his triceps, and Diego – well, Diego snorted. 

Lila stopped short. “What was that.”

“Nothing.” His eyes were as big as hers, and he could feel heat creeping up his neck to his cheeks. 

Lila raised one eyebrow, and Diego gulped – or at least, he tried to, but he ended up almost choking on it as her fingers, trapped between his upper arms and his ribs, wriggled again.

“Oh?”

In an instant, his hands were back over his head in a pin that he knew from experience was nearly impossible to break. He bit his lip.

“Lila…”

“Now this—” a nail dragged slowly from the joint of his elbow about halfway down – “This is interesting.” Diego let out a whine, drawing Lila’s gaze back to his face. “You’ve been keeping this from me.”

“I haven’t, I swear,” he stammered, trying to subtly detangle his legs from the sheets. The muscles in his arms clenched. “Listen, I—”

Lila wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes were locked on the soft insides of his upper arms, the plane of quivering skin that stretched between his elbow joint and his armpit. “Arms, Diego? I thought you couldn’t get any cuter.”

“M’not—” he started, then broke into a peal of giggles as she trailed her fingers gently down his right tricep. Christ, that was even worse than he thought it was going to be.

Any hopes he had of keeping himself even somewhat under control vanished as Lila’s ticklish touch reached the edge of his underarm and lingered, drawing little shapes right at the edge of the hair there and driving Diego nearly out of his mind. Exactly at the point where he was certain he couldn’t take anymore, that his arms or his lungs or his brain would give out, her fingers turned and traveled back the way they came, up toward his elbow.

He kicked, squealed, squirmed, and tried his best to beg, but Lila seemed relentless. At one point he let out a noise akin to a squeak as her nails touched the curve of his inner elbow, and he felt his face burn at the amused scrunch of his girlfriend’s nose.

Eventually, right when he felt his ribs start to ache from the endless giggling and his eyes had closed long ago in an effort to stop the tears of laughter, he felt the grip on his wrists slacken. A quick pressure on his nose – a kiss – shocked his eyes back open, where he met Lila’s smiling gaze.

“Have fun?”

“Fun?” he choked, still taking in air. “You tortured me!”

“Not what I asked,” Lila shot back, grinning. “Did you have fun?”

Diego opened his mouth to answer, closed it, opened it again. He felt his face turn red. “Not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war sweetheart,” she laughed, kissing him on the cheek and resuming her cuddling position.

Diego grumbled to himself, hiding his smile in her hair. “I’m so getting you back for this.”

[sherrybaby14]

Good Boy

This is my entry for Buckysthot’s challenge.  Thanks for hosting!

Prompt:  Degradation

Summary:  You are a Hydra Agent and have Captain America held captive.

Warnings:  Smut, degradation, fem!dom, you do some nasty stuff to Cap, blood, NONCON (please do not read if this offends you).  

Words: 2k

All the bullshit you’d put up with over the years, the constant training, the crap manifestos you didn’t agree with, the missions, no asking questions, being a good soldier,  they were worth it.  Because right now you found yourself in complete control of the world’s favorite son.  

“What are we going to do with you?”  You walked around the chair he was chained to, your hand scraping his shoulder.  “You’re trying to hide it, but I see you struggling.  The chair is bolted down and the chains are made of vibranium.  You’re not going anywhere sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”  Even with the beard he still looked the part of the golden boy.  

“You will be, by the end of the night you’re going to beg for me.”  You stopped in front of him,  his shirt was off, but he still had those pants in the way.  You pulled out your knife, noticing him trying not to flinch.  “They all do and you will be no different.”

You grabbed the waist of his pants and dug the blade in, slicing all the way down to his bare foot.  He was trying to kick, but his ankles were chained to the chair.  

“I bet you’re hard already.” You laughed. “You pathetic little boy.”

“You’re never going to get anything from me.”  Steve held his chin up as you sliced the other leg of his pant. “I’ll never talk.”

“Talk?”  You pulled away his shredded pants, leaving him in his boxers. “What in the world made you think I wanted you to talk?  Quite the opposite.  If you open your mouth too much I’ll have to gag you.”

You grinned at the shock on his face.

“I don’t understand.”  He was genuine. “What do you need?”  

“Absolutely nothing.”  You dragged your knife across his thigh, teasing the fabric of his underwear. “Of course you don’t understand. You’re too stupid.  Stop trying to use that brain, it’s too little to process whats going on.”  

A tingle went over your body at the powerful man you were about to destroy.  He was going to fall quick and hard.  You were certain of it.

“Let’s see what I get to play with.”  You flicked the knife up, shredding his boxers.  “Look at that.  You are turned on honey.”  

His cock was impressive.  Another perk.  You wrapped your dry hand around it and jerked a few times, enjoying the discomfort on his face.  

“Fuck you, you fucking bitch.”  He ground his teeth.  

WHAM! You slapped him as hard as you could across the face.  Before he had time to recover you grabbed his chin and made him look you in the eyes.  

“Talk to me that way again and you will regret it.”  All playfulness left as you locked eyes with him.  

“You’re a cunt.”  He glared at you.  

You brought your knife up to his chest and pressed the blade into his skin, dragging it hard enough to make him bleed and sting, but not enough to do any permanent damage.  When you were done you brought the blade back to the same spot and repeated your method.

“Apologize or I will keep going, digging deeper and deeper each time.”  Your voice didn’t carry a hint of anger.  “I can do this all night.”  

“Fuck. You.”  Steve didn’t want to break yet.  Good.

He continued to swear at you, but all you did was drag your knife across his chest, enjoying the way the blood was dripping, each time going slower and deeper across the same wound.   You weren’t paying any attention to what he was saying or the passage of time, too focused on your work.  

“I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! PLEASE STOP.”  The pleading broke your trance.  

You looked up to see tears in his eyes and wondered how long he had been apologizing.   Then you looked back at his chest.  It was barely a wound.  Other’s had lasted longer.  Still the change pleased you.  

“What do you want?”  He slouched on the chair.  

“I don’t want anything baby.”  That was a lie.  “What do you want?”  

You grabbed his chin and ran your nails down his neck, leaving beautiful red scratches in their wake.  

“Tell me.”  You dropped your head to his for a kiss, but instead bit his lip, hard pulling it back.  

“I want you to let me go.” Steve regained some composure, no where close to crying.  

“But you’re my new toy and we’ve barely had any time to play.”  You dropped down to your knees, taking his cock in your hand.  

There was pure terror on his face as you opened your mouth and took his semi-hard cock into your mouth.  You dragged your teeth on the underside.  He was sure you were going to bite him.  You had no intention of ruining something so new…yet.  But you loved seeing the fear.  

You wrapped your lips around and began blowing him, wanting him as turned on as possible for the next part.  He winced and it turned into a moan as he stiffened in your mouth.  

“What are you doing?”  His voice was breathy.  “Please.  I don’t understand the point of this.”  

You ignored him and kept going, bobbing your head and using your tongue with expertise he’d only dreamt of.  Soon he was moving in the chair again, but not to get away.  No, he wanted to go further into your mouth.  This was right where you wanted him.  

Without warning you stopped and stood up again.   The frustration on his face was undeniable as he attempted to lunge toward you.  

“I’ve already told you little boy.  You’re a bad listener.”  You put your arms on his shoulders and straddled his lap.  “So pretty and so dumb.  I love it.”  

You started to grind your body against his, rubbing your clit against his waist as you dug your fingers into his shoulders.  

“What are you doing?”  His range of emotions made you hotter.  

“You really are good for nothing.”  You grabbed his chin with one hand and scratched your nails down his chest, reopening the wound that started to heal.  “Except for humping when I feel like it.  You’re nothing more than a post to me.  A kitten toy.”  

He bit his lip as you brought your hand to his face, your fingers coated in his blood.   You pressed them to his lips.  

“Taste?”  

Steve pressed his mouth shut.  

“Come on Stupid.  Try and be a good boy?”  You reached your other hand behind you, still rocking your body against him, and grabbed his balls.  You squeezed hard and tugged them away from his body.  

That brought a gasp and you slid your fingers right in.  

“That’s it little boy.”  You pressed them on his tongue as your eyes flashed.  “Now suck.”

You were shocked when he did as he was told, his tongue wrapping around your digits.  You dropped his balls as a reward and watched him as he went to town on your hand.  This was much easier than you anticipated.

“Oh, you like this.  Don’t you?”  You ground down harder on him.  “You’re so sad and pitiful.  It’s wrong that this is turning you on you disgusting pervert.”  

Steve moaned around your fingers and nodded.  Fuck.  Captain America was a sub, who would have thought?  

“You’re so lucky someone like me found you.  To take care of you.  To give you the disgusting things your body craves.”  You pressed your fingers down his throat, enjoying the way he gagged.  “Isn’t that right.”  

There was still a part of him fighting, but you grabbed his shaft with the other hand.  He was rock hard.  

“Mmm hmmm,” he mumbled around your fingers between gagging and coughing.  

“Good boy.”  You pulled your fingers out.  “Tell me what are you?”  

“I’m stupid. I’m dumb. I’m worthless.  I’m disgusting.”  Steve was getting into it.  

This was was a strange turn of events, but you weren’t complaining.  

“Please Mistress, do whatever you need to me.”   He was coming undone.

SLAP! You smacked him hard across the face.  

“Don’t think for a second you can tell me what to do.”  You dropped your head and bit his ear.  Hard. Grinding your teeth against his lobe.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

You lifted your head back up and looked at him.  The proud solider was replaced with a weak little boy.  You were in love.  

“You’re nothing to me.”  You wiped your hand over his chest, gathering as much blood as you could from the healing wound.  “You’re as useful as a fucking post. But you like that don’t you?  Being my pretty dumb fuck stick?”  

“Yes.”  His eyes were glossing over with lust.

You reached behind you and wrapped your blood soaked hand around his cock and began to stroke with your movements.  

“I’m going to cum soon.  It’s your choice if you want to join me.”  You rocked your body harder against him, knowing what you needed to orgasm.  “But there will be consequences if you don’t.”  

You rode him, pressing your body to his as you jerked him.  

“What a sad sorry little boy, being jerked off with his own blood.  But that make it hotter for you doesn’t it you little worm?”  You loved the looks he was giving, confusion mixed with pleasure.  

“I want to cum.”  He locked eyes with you.  “Please.”  

“That’s a good boy.”  You squeezed him harder and jerked faster.  “If you don’t, I’ll be very disappointed.  And you don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

“No.” His lips parted as he shook his head. “Please no.”  

“Then.”  You wiggled your hips, putting the exact pressure you needed to rise your orgasm.  “Cum.”  

You went wild, riding him like he was nothing.  This super solider completely under your control and loving every second of it.  You were the most powerful person on the planet at this point.  That knowledge was enough to send you toppling over the edge.  

When you caught your breath you lifted your head to see arousal all over Steve’s face.  You stopped stroking him and stood up.  His cock was red and hard.  You smiled as you shook your head.  

“What a bad boy.”  You folded your arms.  “You didn’t cum.  That disappoints me.”

You walked behind him to your tools.  

“I’m so close.”  Steve tried to twist his head. “Please. Come back.”

“Oh baby.”  You looked at your paddles. “I’m not going anywhere.  We’re just getting started.”  

[hoodoo12]

Music To His Ears (4/4)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

NSFW. Beetlejuice/f!reader. Hands, genitals, teasing, big finale!

He didn’t give you time to answer. Not as if you would have disagreed anyway!

Beetlejuice idly stroked you, his finger delving a tiny bit deeper with each strumming. You were wet, but apparently not enough to his liking, because he took his hand away from you and held it up. He made sure you were still watching him as he brought his hand to his face and as he put his first two fingers in his mouth. He licked them shamelessly; you could see his lower jaw flex as his tongue went around them. 

When he extracted them, they were shiny and dripping with spit. 

“Open your legs a little more, babydoll.”

You complied immediately.

His hand dropped back to your pussy. It had lost some of its warmth, having been off your body and his fingers in his mouth, but the combination of the chill and his saliva was an interesting one, so as he repeated dipping his fingers through your folds you canted your hips to allow better access.

Once you were slick enough to his liking, his first two fingers settled on your clit. He was gentle, making barely-there touches to your most sensitive spot. Although it was delicate, you shuddered and a thin sweat broke over you. 

The same reedy whine managed to escape your throat again. 

Beetlejuice grinned and raised an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything this time, though, he simply increased the pressure on your clit. 

Still making small circles, his fingers’ movement deepened the pleasure starting to worm its way through you. Once again you tilted your pelvis to encourage more, and after another quick lick to the tips of his digits, he complied, pressing more heavily onto your clit. 

That pleasure ratcheted upward and your lower half jerked in response. He was good at that, at knowing exactly how to stimulate you, at bringing you to the edge of orgasm with just a touch--

--Beetlejuice stopped. 

The break in the wave of pleasure when he removed his hand was unwelcome and you almost, almost groaned. 

He didn’t leave you hanging, however, with a knowing smirk he sucked his fingers once again and since you were still laying beside him with your legs wantonly open, he dropped his hand back to your pussy. Instead of teasing your clit again, however, his fingers slipped lower and drove into you.

Despite the hand over your mouth and your conviction, you moaned. 

Immediately you felt panic in your chest. 

“Oh baby, that sound is beautiful,” Beetlejuice praised in a voice that was leaden with his own arousal. 

You tried to believe him. 

“Ready to continue?” he asked, with his fingers still buried in your pussy.

Although you didn’t remove your hand from your mouth, you nodded. 

“Good . . .” 

He began finger fucking you in earnest. The two fingers he used were just narrow enough that there was no resistance as he plunged them in and out of you. A third might have been nice, but from experience you both knew that would be a different kind of pleasure: less movement, more stretching. With two fingers he could also curl them more easily inside you, searching for that spot inside that made you grind down onto his hand. 

When your response informed him he’d found it, he grinned and didn’t repeat the motion. Instead, he kept his fingers second-knuckle deep inside you and pressed into your clit with the meaty part of his palm. 

Electricity shot through you and you sucked in a breath. Not exactly a noise, but close. 

Then he left that pressure off too, and managed to earn a slight groan of protest in return. 

That made him smirk, like he just learned a secret.

With no further warning, Beetlejuice alternated what his hand did: from fingers pushing into your g-spot to his palm against your clit. He repeated the movement over and over and over and--

--it was too much. 

From deep in your chest, up through your throat, despite the muffling effect of your palm pressed tightly against your mouth, another moan erupted out of you. 

For a moment Beetlejuice didn’t say anything. His hand continued its rocking, pushing you closer and closer to a peak of bliss that was so good and now so close. 

You moaned again, and for a second the fear and shame that had shackled you fought against your pleasure. A strangled noise, a mixture of the warring fractions, the worst noise ever, slipped out of you. Mortification wanted to gag you; you wanted to be mute and less embarrassing--

“You sound so good,” Beetlejuice said quietly, in your ear. There was no hint of sarcasm or deceit in his voice. “I love it, baby. That moan--knowing I did that to you, hearing that you’re feeling so good, fuck, babydoll, your voice is so pretty--”

Fear and shame stumbled in their attempts to suppress you. A louder moan came from you.

“--that’s it baby, I love it, can you be louder for me? Do my fingers in your pussy make you feel so good you could cry out? Is it so good you could you say my name, baby?”

Fear and shame retreated, rolled over by one moan after another as Beetlejuice’s hand continued to work its relentless magic on your pussy. The edge of that peak was approaching at breakneck speed, and after only a few more moments, you tumbled over it with a sound that started as an open-mouthed cry that you choked off in the middle. It stilled his hand with pressure on both your g-spot and clit. 

The ecstasy undulated through you, and your voice wavered down to a whine. When you ran out of breath and the muscles throughout your body released all their tension, you melted into the mattress. You felt weak and drained, and your throat was itchy. 

Carefully, Beetlejuice eased his hand away from you. Your pussy felt warm but empty.

You kept your eyes closed, because you didn’t want to see the imagined look of ridicule or disgust on his face. 

Instead of any of that, however, Beetlejuice stayed close to your ear and told you, “That was a wonderful start, baby. You want to keep going? I’d like to hear you again . . .”

Only slightly worried that agreeing would make you sound needy, you nodded, thinking he’d finally move between your legs to fill the spot his hand had vacated. It surprised you, then, when he did move, it was to lay prone on the bed while pulling you over him. 

“I want you on top, baby. I want to watch you, okay? You get to decide how fast or slow or deep or anything you want, so long as it makes you feel good. So long as those wicked sounds come out of your mouth. Okay? Christ, listening to you made me so horny--”

You still had some difficulty wrapping your brain around his praise and the fact that he was so turned on, but you couldn’t deny his arousal as he continued to shift you so you were over him.

On one knee, you reached between the two of you to hold his cock steady, then lowered yourself down onto him.

“--just like that, baby, oohhh--” Beetlejuice groaned. 

As he filled you, a groan wiggled from your lips too. He grinned up at you through his pleasure. 

In a moment, he was completely seated in you. You readjusted your leg so both knees were on the mattress at his sides. You paused to catch your breath. 

“It’s hard not to fuck you, babydoll. I want you to just hang on and enjoy the ride, but I also wanna have you in control--”

“You mean me do all the work?” you teased. 

The ghost grinned, and that was enough of an answer. 

You shook your head and rocked. His cock slipped easily in and out of your pussy, and feeling bold, your moan matched his. Beetlejuice’s hands grabbed your thighs in response, and you did it again. The friction made a sweet vibration blossom in your core, and you let yourself gasp and groan in time with it. 

“That’s it, that’s it--” Beetlejuice encouraged below you, “--that’s a beautiful sound--”

Suddenly, him being able to form words was too much. He kept saying that he wanted to hear you, but you wanted to hear him. 

You planted your palms on his chest to steady yourself, and you fucked him hard. 

It took him by surprise, but he didn’t protest. Beetlejuice lost his words, and the moans that you helped create in him made it easy for you to copy. Because you didn’t have a hand over your mouth, you felt exposed, but that feeling faded and soon the sounds that erupted from you came easily, explosively.

You were speeding towards another orgasm and you laughed. You laughed. His cock so deep inside you, your decision setting the pace, your control of your own pleasure filled you with an all-encompassing bliss. You came and halted your movement so his pubic bone was perfectly situated on your clit as the ecstasy overtook you. The cry you gave was loud, just as he’d requested. 

When you were finally able to open your eyes again, Beetlejuice was still grinning up at you. 

“That was amazing, baby,” he told you sincerely. “You sounded so hot.”

A blush warmed your cheeks as you panted to catch your breath. “Thank you, I think . . . ?” 

He tugged your arms to make you lower your torso to his. 

“What position would you like now?” you asked, your mouth almost on his. 

“None. I’m good.”

You lifted your head to look at him more clearly. “No really. What do you want now?”

“I think I’d like to just rest up till round two.”

You knew you looked confused, until realization dawned on you, and you asked, “You came?”

He shrugged a shoulder and nodded at the same time. Immediately you were aghast. 

“I didn’t know! I’m so sorry!” you babbled. “I was so caught up in me I didn’t even realize you’d come--”

“It’s okay, babes,” he interrupted. “It is perfectly okay. I’m glad you let loose and were so overwhelmed you didn’t realize it!”

You searched his face for any indication he was lying or upset, but didn’t find any. As a matter of fact, he shifted one hip and pushed you to the opposite side so you’d move off of him. The sensation of his cock slipping out of you elicited another small gasp as you settled beside him. 

“Mmm. That was good. I could get used to hearing you,” he said. 

“Me too,” you admitted quietly.

fin!

[simplyclockwork]

Prompt Fic

Was given this prompt idea by @nottoolateforthegame

“Sherlock/John drunk and giggle and snuggly on a cold/stormy night”

See below page break for the full post.

The wind howled against the sides of the flat; rattled along the edges of the living room windows and whipped leaves and debris through the streets. Inside 221B, a fire crackled below the dusty mantle, but despite the cheerful light, it did little to warm the chilled space with its cold, hard wood floors.

The living room was silent; empty of sound and occupants. Down the hallway, soft voices, speaking in warm murmurs, slipped from beneath a closed door. Inside, Sherlock and John huddled beneath the comforter on Sherlock’s bed, glasses of whiskey in hand, their faces gently flushed.

“Sherlock!” John groaned; his voice was very slightly slurred by the effects of strong liquor. “Stop putting your damn feet on me—they’re like ice!” He wiggled in the bed, shifting away. He was nearly successful when a long arm wrapped around his shoulders and yanked him back, a head of dark curls pushing into the dip between his neck and shoulder.

“If you weren’t so warm, I wouldn’t do it.” Sherlock quipped from his resting spot. “Not my fault.”

John rolled his eyes, but there was a faintly pleased glint to his face. “Seems like nothing is ever your fault.” He replied, lifting his arm and letting the detective worm his way closer: despite his aloofness, Sherlock seemed to enjoy cuddling, often wrapping himself around John like a curly-haired snake.

“Correct.” Sherlock hummed, finishing his drink. Placing the empty glass on the bedside table, he pressed himself back against John. They sat together like that, naked beneath the covers, and he relished the feeling of Sherlock’s warm skin against his. Except for those damn cold feet. John winced, gritting his teeth as Sherlock pressed his frigid toes against John’s leg.

“Bloody hell,” John gasped, pushing at Sherlock with his hands. “Why are your feet so damn cold?” Sherlock shrugged beside him, a malicious smile spreading across his face.

“All the blood goes to my brain, John.” He smirked. “My feet don’t solve cases.”

“Well, they certainly solved this one.” John muttered, jabbing at the other man’s side. To his surprise, a low giggle erupted from Sherlock’s lips, and he jerked away. They stared at one another, John’s eyes wide with surprise. The detective watched him warily.

“Sherlock…” John began, his words slow and thoughtful. “Are you—ticklish?”

“I most certainly am not.” Sherlock huffed, but his eyes darted away, and his face appeared redder than the alcohol could explain.

John grinned, a slow, almost predatory expression on his intrigued face. His own head swam with the whiskey, and he set the glass aside to face Sherlock fully. The other man was already leaning away from him, half out from under the covers, eyes narrowed.

“John…” he warned, holding up a hand. “I am not ticklish.” His voice was insistent, but, as he stepped off the bed, John still advanced after him, that same predator-like look on his face.

When Sherlock made to flee the room, John lunged, locking his arms around Sherlock’s waist and bringing them both to the ground. As they fell, John shot forward, grabbing the back of Sherlock’s head so his hand hit the wall instead of the back of Sherlock’s skull.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the man sprawled across his chest. “Impressive reflexes, Watson.” He noted, and John smirked.

“I was a soldier.” He quipped. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Going to use that one often, are we?”

“Oh, you bet. Hey—” John grabbed at Sherlock as the detective tried to wiggle away. Pinning the tall man between his thighs, knees on either side of his waist, he planted his hands on the floor, bracketing Sherlock’s head. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Sherlock scowled up at him, faint trepidation ticking along the edge of his jaw. “Look here, John—” he began, then jackknifed as John twiddled his fingers swiftly over Sherlock’s ribs. An absurd burst of giggling laughter slipped from the detective’s full lips and John snorted in shock, his eyes squeezing shut in glee.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “How did I miss this?”

“Very droll, John.” Sherlock snapped, wiggling beneath the other man and finding himself held securely in place. He slumped into a pout, glaring up at John. “Come now, you’ve had your fun. Now get off.” He kneaded his hands insistently against John’s bare chest, frowning when the other man captured them, leaning down to brush his lips over the arch of the detective’s cheekbone.

“Mmm, but I already ‘got off’, remember?” John breathed, and his thighs gently squeezed where they pinned the other man to the floor. Sherlock shivered and lifted his head to bring their lips together, sinking into the long, heavy kiss as his eyes slid shut. John’s tongue danced with his, delicate, deliciously wet contact.

When their mouths parted, Sherlock lay limply beneath John, face flushed and eyes dark. “Does that mean you’re not up for a round two?” The detective asked, his voice husky and rough.

“Maybe,” John hummed, leaning back and smirking down at him. “But first…” the smirk grew into a malicious grin, and he descended upon the other man, twitching fingers moving over Sherlock’s chest, sides and lower stomach. John laughed helplessly as Sherlock snorted and wiggled beneath him.

“John,” He gasped, slapping uselessly at the other man’s hands “Stop.”

John finally sat back, a satisfied look on his smug face. “I knew you were ticklish.” He triumphantly announced, flicking Sherlock’s side when the detective petulantly rolled his eyes.  

“Yes, John, very good deduction work.” Sherlock muttered, moving to his feet as John rolled off his legs. As John stood, Sherlock turned and splayed a hand over his lightly haired chest. “Now it’s my turn, and I—” he moved forward until John backed against the bedframe. “Deduce…” he gave John a gentle push, and John let himself fall onto the bed, laying on his back, legs hanging off the edge; a faint smile twitching along his lips as his eyes moved slowly over Sherlock’s body. “…that is it time for round two.”

[secretblog1212]

Study time

Steve and Nancy study for her Chem test.

“The two non-silver metal elements are?”

“Gold and copper.”

“Correct, which element is 2P3?”

“Nitrogen.”

“Correct once again. How many valence electrons are in the Alkaline Ea-“

“Two.”

“Slow down there speed demon. We’ve been studying for hours Nance, how about a break.”

Steve has been sprawled across Nancy’s bed for an hour, flipping through card after card after card for her Chemistry test tomorrow. How she could stay focused for that long on something so boring was a mystery for him, he could barely even stay awake in class.

He could tell by the look in her eyes, she did not agree. He sprung up just as she opened her mouth to argue, giving her a quick peck but staying only centimeters away.

She stiffened and sat up straight, “I guess a small break wouldn’t hurt… but only ten minutes.”

Steve nodded, leaning back down and pressing a flurry of kisses against her cheeks, lips and finally ending on her nose. His heart drummed steady in his chest, he knew he probably looked like a love sick idiot, but couldn’t help staring up at her.

He must of looked dumber than he thought because she could only look at him for a few seconds before breaking down laughing.

He rolled off of the bed and landed on his feet, ninja style, before announcing his newest idea.

“I’m going to go grab some brain fuel, anything in particular you wish for oh humble student.”

Nancy rolled her eyes with a snort to accompany. “Grab some fruit you idiot, not any junk food it’s bad for studying- Steve are you listening!” But he had already started his journey down the stairs.

Nancy shook her head and sighed, “Idiot.”

Thinking it better to do something rather than waiting hopelessly for Steve to return, she rolled into her stomach and reached for a pile of flash cards.

‘Electron configurations.’

‘Phosphorus.’

‘Halogens.’

‘Sunny, Pink, dog-‘

A weight landed on her legs and the flash cards were ripped out of her hands, “Hey, hey, hey! This is a break, no studying smartie pants.”

She pushed up against the bed and did her best to turn around with her legs trapped under her boyfriends big butt.

“Steve, come on it was just while I was waiting for you to get back. And now that your here we can eat whatever you grabbed, hang out for a bit then get back to it.”

“No, no, no.” Steve shook his head. “You’re breaking the rules Nancy Wheeler. Come on, relax, have a little fun.”

The last word was paired up with a quick poke to the side. She flicked back and pushed his hands away. “Steve, come on, let’s-“

“Hmm? What’s this Nancy?”

Another poke to her side had her pushing at Steve’s wrist and holding back a laugh. She wasn’t even that ticklish, Steve was way worse then her any day, but ever since she found out about him he had been obsessed with getting her back.

“I think I’m just a little confused.”

Poke. Nancy turned around to shove her face into her mattress.

Poke. Poke.

“Oh wait! I think I figured it out. I found something.”

Poke. Poke. On both of her sides.

Nancy shoved her face into her duvet and held his wrists in a death grip.

“I found a giggle button.”

He switched onto her lower ribs and squeezed. Within the second Nancy had tried her best to fling herself up only to fall back onto her face, a squeal escaped before she could bite it back down.

His hands moved up and down her ribs playing them like a piano as she giggled and wiggled against him. He could feel her legs pounding into his back as she fought to get out of his evil, ticklish, grasps.

Steve even had the audacity to lean down next to her ear, pressing kisses up the nape of her neck and whisper with confidence he would never have if their roles were switched, “Giggle giggle Nancy, because I think I’ll just keep tickling you all night. Maybe I’ll even switch spots soon, I know your hips are killer, don’t you think that would be fun?”

Her body flung right and left with the frantic shakes of her head. “Nohoho! Steheve, I need toho studehee!”

“Mmm, no studying on your break, that’s what got you into this mess. Now you have to deal with your boyfriend, he’s real good friends with the tickle monster.”

Steve’s face must of been as red as Nancy’s at that point but she couldn’t see him so it didn’t matter. She was much too preoccupied with his hand worming it’s way under her arm, and the other reaching back to squeeze along her thigh.

Her laughter picked up as well as the feeling of her heels crashing against his back.

She didn’t try to speak, well if she did Steve wouldn’t of known. All that came out of her mouth at this point was a mumbled mumbo jumbo mess of giggles and squeals.

“I guess if you really want to study…How many electrons fill up the pink room?”

He knew Nancy knew this one, it definitely wasn’t one of the tickly ones she wanted to work on, the real question was if she could get the words out. And she did try her best.

“Sihihi, Sthehevehe! Ihi, sihihix six sihix!”

Deciding to go in for a big finale Steve jumped his hands to meet at her center, and worst spot. Her hips.

He clawed at the protruding bone, not really expecting the scream that followed.

His hands stopped in their tracks, did he go overboard? Nancy was catching her breath, hands holding his wrist, not pushing them away from her hips but not holding them captive either.

He slowly sat himself down on her bed and leaned against the headboard before dragging her by her hips to lay against him, her back against his chest, and his head resting on top of hers.

He reached for the bowl of grapes he brought up from her kitchen and set them down in front of her before popping one into his mouth.

“Correct yet another time. Fuel for the brain by dearie? Your gonna need it after that.”

She snorted, settling harder against his chest, reaching out for a handful of her own.

“Watch out Steve. I might just decide to use this energy to fuel my revenge instead. Besides, with all that big talk of yours you probably jinxed yourself. I’ve tickled you enough this past week alone to know you don’t blush for anything else.”

Steve’s still slightly pink face heated up at the threat. His hands curled on her waist. “Two can play that game Wheeler, but for now I vote we get you ready for that chem test.”

[riverdalepoet]

ALL I EVER WANTED (part 2)

PAIRINGS: Sweet Pea and OC (Emma Carter Wilson), Kevin and Fangs, Toni and Cheryl, Betty and Jughead

Warnings: language and suggestive themes

WORD COUNT: 3052

A/N: I own nothing.

The first few months after bringing Carter home were disastrous. Our tiny cottage, that barely managed to support the two of us, was bursting at the seams with our new addition. Piles of dirty burp rags and onesies threatened our sanity daily, no matter how many loads of laundry we battled. Nights of mindless shushing and swaying and begging our little boy to sleep for longer than twenty two seconds left us weary.  But sweet gurgles and drooly grins from our son kept us going with dreamy smiles ever present on our faces.

               Slowly, we find our flow.  Out of the blue, Carter blesses us with a manageable sleeping schedule, giving us all the fuel we needed.  The mountain of laundry becomes less intimidating, as our home adjusts to our new family of three.

               Sweet Pea, notoriously recognized for being hard as stone, was a puddle of mush when it came to Carter.  I spent much of my mornings, admiring them both as Pea has our little guy tucked carefully in his arms.  Today is no exception.  My place in the bed provides a picturesque view of my two guys cuddled up in the living room.  My husband lays sprawled out on the couch in his sweats, with Carter curled up against his bare shoulder, both facing the television set.  Sweets shared his love for Saturday morning Westerns from the very beginning with our baby.  When I was pregnant, and getting kicked and attacked from the little boy inside, Pea would turn on Bonanza or whatever he could find, and Carter would calm down immediately, giving me instant relief.

               “Listen here, little guy, if anyone ever tells you that John Wayne is overrated, you just hit them.  No questions, just sock em right in the jaw.  You don’t want to befriend anyone with those standards,” he spoke eagerly to a very attentive four month old.  In response, Carter giggled and flailed his little fists, swiping Sweets in the process. Pea turned Carter around and lifted him in the air before peppering his cheeks with noisy kisses. “Easy now slugger, you don’t get to hit me. I’m on your side.”

               I couldn’t stand it any longer, and pulled myself out of bed.  I padded swiftly across the floor and stole my baby from Sweet Pea’s arms, twirling him around.  “Are you fighting with Daddy already? Huh?  Don’t worry, Mommy likes to fight him, too.”

               “Mmm, yep.  And that’s how you got here, buddy,” he responded, lifting himself off the couch to kiss the top of my head.  

               Carter gurgled happily from my arms, and I turned my attention back to my little dark haired, dark eyed clone of my husband. “Daddy thinks he’s funny.”

               He laughed and slapped my butt before making his way to the kitchen to start the coffee pot.  I  grabbed the outfit I laid out for Carter and started to wrestle him into it.  “Em?” Pea called

               “Yeah?”

               “What time is everybody coming over today?”

               “Oh, well, Betty said she and Jones were going to come around three to help us set everything up.”

               “Really?” he asked, reaching for two mugs and for my favorite creamer.  “They don’t have to do that.”

                 I was having a hard time wrangling the wiggle worm into his little pants, but managed to reply.  “Yeah well, it’s Betty.  That’s kind of her thing.” He nods as he sets my cup on the table beside me.  “Toni and Cheryl will be here at four, and the rest of them around five, I think.  Oh, except Fangs.  He text me this morning, and said he’d be a little late.  You think he’ll bring Jonathan?”

               “Oh Christ, I hope not.  Didn’t you say Kevin was coming too?” He reached for the remote, and clicked off the t.v. before starting to fold the laundry.

               “I mean, I invited him, obviously, but I honestly don’t know.  I hope he does, I miss him. And he hasn’t met Carter yet.”

               “Maybe he’ll show up.  If not, we’ll hunt him down tomorrow.  I know Betty will help us corner him.” He threw me a wink and a fresh bib from the pile of clothes. I fastened the bib and set Carter down gently in his swing so I could get a few things done to prepare for tonight’s dinner.

               Sweet Pea may have marked our son with his love for older movies, but I passed something other than my fair complexion to him, as well.  He loved my old records, and often fell asleep swinging happily along to Jimmy Reed. Hoping he would get a good nap in, I turned on the record player.  Before “Ain’t That Loving You Baby” was over, he was out, and I breathed a sigh of relief, slipping off to take a shower while I could.  

               It wasn’t long before the door creaked open, and Sweet Pea slipped in behind me.  “Can I help you?” I laugh when he yanks the bottle of shampoo out of my hands. “Yes, you can. Turn back around.”

               “Truly, I don’t know why you insist on doing this these days.  I can wash my own hair, you know.” I joked, but hoped that he wouldn’t stop massaging my scalp.

               “Remember that time you had my baby?” He hummed, continuing to lather the shampoo.

               He had me in such a trance, I had to remind myself to respond. “Oh yeah, vividly.”

               “That’s why.”  That was a good enough answer for me, so I shrugged, and let him continue. Much too soon, the water turned cold and the list of everything we needed to do popped back into my brain. Reluctantly, we dried off, got dressed, and started bustling around the house as quietly as possible.  

Keeping the records playing as Carter slept worked wonders, buying us two hours of uninterrupted work.  By the time, he started moving around I had the food prepped and ready to go.  Sweet Pea had finished with the house, and had it smelling as fresh as lemons.  However long that lasted was up to our son.

               He played happily on his mat with a few of his favorite toys in front of him while we got ready.  I had a hard time picking out what to wear.  My post- baby body was nothing like it used to be, and none of my clothes looked right.  I was starting to panic when Sweet Pea wrapped me up in his arms, and told me to stop. A few kisses and sexual innuendos later, and I was, surprisingly, feeling a little better. With his help, I finally settled on something that didn’t make me feel entirely uncomfortable. If Sweet Pea, had it his way, I’d walk around in one of his t-shirts 24/7, but he knew how important tonight was to me.

               Feeling a little nervous, I laid back against the pillows and watched Sweets get dressed.  The crinkle that formed between his eyebrows while he was trying to decide something always made me giggle.  He wasn’t always the careful one.  In high school, Sweet Pea was notorious for his short fuse and quick reflexes.  As the years went on and a few bits of rage bit him in the ass, he mellowed out and learned something I never thought he would- patience. These days he’s very meticulous and intentional with each decision he makes, no matter how small. That’s not to say he’s no longer useful to the Serpents.  Anything something needs to be handled, Sweet Pea is calculated and lethal in every situation.

Soon enough, there was steady knock on our front door.  Sweet Pea pulled his shirt over his head and ushered our guests inside.  Carter squealed when Betty scooped him up and bounced him around.  Jughead handed me a bottle of wine before taking his usual seat on the couch.  After Betty had her fill of cooing at Carter, she dropped him into Jughead’s reluctant arms and turned to me, clasping her hands together. “Where do you want me, Em?”

“I hate to spoil your fun, but I think we’ve just about got everything ready.” I looked around the kitchen and remembered, “Oh, we can go ahead and get the table set, and maybe plate some of the finger foods.  I know our dudes are probably already starving.”

“Right,” she replied militantly, and went straight to work.  I squeezed her into a one- armed hug when the work was done, and all that was left to do was relax and wait for people to arrive. “Thanks, Betts, I couldn’t have done this without you.” She smiled in response, and went to join the boys in the living room.  

“Does anyone know if Kevin’s coming tonight,” I ask pointedly to Betty.  

She hesitates, stealing a glance at her husband before answering, “Have you heard if Fangs is bringing Jonathan?”

“Unbelievable.  He told you to check if the coast was clear, didn’t he?” She avoided my glare, picking at a loose thread on the hem of her skirt. “Okay, no, I don’t know.  I have no earthly idea.  I just know that I want Kevin here. I know he’s still upset, and I get that, but Carter is four months old.  He hasn’t even tried to come meet him,” I huff, trying my hardest to let it go…and failing.  “You know what- enough is enough! You tell Mr. Keller that if he doesn’t have both feet on my porch by 5:15 pm, I will come to his house, and I will drag him out by his teeth if I have to, got it? Fangs and Jonathan be damned.”

Jughead and Sweet Pea exchange nervous looks, but Betty nods and immediately types my message out to Kevin.  Her phone dings in reply almost immediately, and she chuckled.  “Done and done.  He says he’s hopping in the shower now.”

Sweet Pea shakes his head and leaves to grab drinks for Jughead and himself.  “If that one can’t light a fire under somebody and get them moving, nobody can.  Freaking drill sergeant, I swear.”

Just as I wave my middle finger at him in retaliation, Cheryl and Toni walk in.

“Geez,” Toni laughs, “Parenthood has no peaceful effect on you two, does it?”

“No, no.  We still fight like cats and dogs, it’s just now we do it with a baby on my boob or in my arms.” I smile and stand up to hug them both.  “How was the trip?”

Cheryl sets a pile of presents on the table by the door, and gushes.  “Tres bien, per usual.  Now where’s our little nephew?” She looks around our living room before zeroing in on him bouncing on Jug’s knee.

Toni follows suit and crosses the floor to snatch Carter up.  He grins as she holds him high, looking him over.  “Well, aren’t you the spitting image of your bone-headed daddy.”

We both ignored Pea’s “I heard that” from the kitchen. I nodded in response, expecting as much.  “It’s insane, right? They’re identical.”

“Wait until he pouts,” Sweets interrupts, pulling me to sit on his lap. “His bottom lip pokes out, and if you pay him attention right then, he throws a full on fit.  That’s all his mama.”

I heave a  sigh, and melt into his strong hold.  “Why are you the way that you are? I earn a few laughs with my Office reference, and we all fall into comfortable conversation.  I notice how eager and attentive Sweets and I both seem, and chalk it up to us both missing the excitement of adult conversations.

Soon enough, more people pile in.  The buzz of friendly voices and the savory scent of our dinner that’s nearly done makes me smile.  Having our friends here- basking in the cuteness that is Carter James, and filling every bit of our home and hearts makes me feel whole.  I fight back the happy tears that the hormones are supplying, and go to open the door, when I hear a timid knock.  As promised, Kevin Keller stands at my door with flowers in hand, and a guilty expression heavy on his brow.  All my resolve melts at the sight of him, and I burst, pitifully, into tears.

Sweet Pea, not able to see who was standing on the other side of the screen door from his place on the chair, was on his feet in second flats.  He hesitates, seeing Kevin scrambling to calm me down.  Fighting every instinct I know he had, my husband merely crosses his arm, and fixes his hard stare on Kevin’s nervous face.  Kevin merely nods at Sweet Pea, and ushers me out on the porch with him and into a chair.

“You’re mad at me,” he says softly after a few moments.  

I choke out a small laugh through the tears and swallow the remaining sobs. “I’ve missed you…and I’m hormonal.  So this isn’t all you, I promise.”

He leans back against the house, and stares out towards the road as I calm down. Kevin and I got really close when he and Fangs were together.  Having boyfriends that were attached at the hip didn’t really leave us much of a choice. Kevin was there when Sweet Pea proposed, keeping my soon- to -be husband from hitting the bottle too heavy to fight his nerves.  He was beside me at my wedding, managing, miraculously, to keep an unruly group of groomsmen in check. He was the third person we told when I got pregnant, and was just as excited as we were.

Sometime in my second trimester, he and Fangs decided to go their separate ways, and Kevin quit coming around. Shortly after the split, Fangs introduced us to Jonathan.  I remember that day pretty vividly.  Sweet Pea tried his best to diffuse the situation, knowing by my shaking leg that something was about to happen.  I kept my composure, right until Jonathan mouthed off something about ‘that tragic ex of Fangs’’. I ignored the sharp hiss of Sweet Pea’s warning, and whirled around quickly.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”  There was no stopping me.  I let him have it, banned him from my home until he learned how to act like an adult, and even gave Fangs a good cuss-out by the time it was over.  During my whole tirade, Sweet Pea sat at the kitchen table with wide eyes and his fist resting against his chin, knowing that it was better for all of us to let me get it all out.  It took a few months for Fangs to come around after that. I regret nothing.

“I haven’t been doing so well, Em,” Kevin muttered, pulling me back from the flashback.  “I know that’s no excuse, and I will do better.  It’s just, I don’t know what to do at this point. I still feel so stuck.”

I took a few steadying breaths, and stood up to loop my arm through his.  “I can’t tell you what you need to do.  I can’t fix it for you, and I hate that, because I wish that I could.  But what I can do is make sure you know that this house is open anytime you need it to be. I have a comfy sofa, a cuddly baby, plenty of comfort food, and a pot of coffee that can be ready in five minutes flat.”

He smiled, and ran his hand through his hair, “I like the sound of that.”

“I hoped you would say that.  Now can we please go inside and eat?”

“Yes, let’s go, hot mama,” he chuckled and pulled me with him into my house. Carter and Kevin were fast friends, and they stayed glued together until dinner was ready.  Around six, Fangs did show up, finally.  I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that Jonathan was not at his side, and pretended not to notice the bashful glances he threw at Kevin for the most of the night.

Our evening was winding down, our child was passed out, and our friends were slowly making their way out the door.  I made sure to pack leftovers for those that thought that a burger from Pops was a home- cooked meal, and threw a few extra helpings in the bowl that would be leaving with Fangs.  He reached over the counter to take it, but I quickly grabbed his hand, effectively catching his full attention.  “Where’s Jonathan?”

He laughed nervously and shrugged, leaning against the cabinets, “Who knows, who cares.”

I quirked my eyebrow, considering what that might mean for a possible reconciliation with Kevin.  “Noted… I packed enough food to feed you for two days.  This is not to be eaten in one sitting, Franklin Fogarty, ok?”  All he offered in response was a half- hearted ‘yeah- yeah’.

“Also, I saw you.” With that, I cleared the rest of the counter top, and breezed past him into the living room.  He followed me, clearly caught off guard by my accusation.

“Saw me what?” I reached for the remote only to have it ripped from my hand by my leather clad pal.

“Well that was rude.”  He pursed his lips and waited. I let his agitation stew before a small, mischievous grin spread across my face.  “I saw you looking at Kevin.”  To my surprise, he didn’t deny it.  In fact, he provided no response except for a sly wink and a quick hug goodbye.

My mind was racing with the possibilities when Sweets dropped on the couch beside me, resting his feet on the coffee table, despite my constant begging for him not to do that.  “Little man’s in bed.  I don’t think he’ll be waking up too much tonight.”

I grinned, sleepily, and cuddled into my husband’s warm side.  “Yeah, he’s all played out.  We should have people over every night.”  Sweet Pea placed a kiss on the top of my head and agreed. We fell asleep that way, not bothering to make the short journey to our bed.  I was scared if I moved a muscle, I would disturb this incredible feeling of gratitude that was pulsing through my body.

I meant what I said wholeheartedly.  If I had it my way, nights like these- gentle reminders that we were loved and in good company- would be plenty.  

[leona-florianova]

One of my most vivid memories of high-school was on the day of initiation ritual for the first year students.. We were torturing the students by giving them the choice of willingly eating some worms or force feeding them some weirdly colored pasta which looked like brains.. we wouldnt really give them the worms.. But there was one student who was like “MMM YUMMY YOU GOT WORMS CAN I HAVE SOME?!” and he ate the wiggling worm. .. And i stopped snarling and creepily whispering for a moment and just normally said... “Dude...These worms really are not prepared to be eaten like this” and he went: “That doesnt matter can i have some more?” And we were like... 

[verdigrisprowl]

May 24 Blurr’s Horror Stream - The Host (2006 film)

Prowl wasn’t there. Not a whole lot happened. Film was pretty good though.

Welcome to the 'speedxstealer' room. The chat room has been cleared by the moderator. Scorponock: [ he is settled in the middle of the floor, gears turning in circles in his back ] ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave trudges in and sits a little to one side of his usual spot. He doesn't know if Prowl will show in the state he's in, but if he does, Soundwave means to obey the "nothing".* Scorponock: [ clicks claws at Soundwave in greeting. Chitters ] ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble and Frenzy trudge in tiredly after. The birds are absent getting repaints and everyone else is working.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave nods hello to Scorponok.* Scorponock: [ blinks all four optics. Huddles back on the floor. ] ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Back again?]] Scorponock: [ looks around. Blinks] Me? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Nod.* Scorponock: Yez. Scorponock: I ztay with Blurr, yeez. Whirl: *trots on in and makes his way for the hammock* Hey, Scorp. Where ya been? Scorponock: Deeging for mateeerialz ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave twitches at this song. If looks could kill, he would be thinking about murdering someone right now.* Bevel: *trundles in finally* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Memories of that human who connected it to Jazz all the time. Bah.* Scorponock: [ taps claws on the ground ] But had to ztop deeging... Whirl: *flops back and gets settled* Teach's got you on mining duty? Lame. Scorponock: ... [tips helm this way and then that ] Nooo. I like to deeg! [ happy chitter] But Captain zaid no more! Whirl: *shrugs with one arm* Suit yourself. What're you lot up to, now? Scorponock: Zitting... not allowed to leeave zhe zhip! Scorponock: Part of deal. Scorponock: [ curves tail upward and then flexes it back down. Swish swish side to side ] Scorponock: (( lemme know when yall are ready. ) Whirl: ((i am!)) Bevel: [[ready ItsyBitsySpyers: ((ready)) FakeProwl: ((ye)) Scorponock: [ wiggles a little closer to Soundwave's pedes. Going to settle here and chitter ] Whirl: *sticks one leg out to push himself, rocking the hammock idly* Scorponock: Thankz for comeeng to moovie. Iz fun, yeez? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Will rest his fingertips on Scorponock's back. The twins make their way over to the hammock and knock on Whirl's back from below. Mind?* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Yes. A good break from work.]] Scorponock: [ chitters and rolls helm under the fingertips for pets ] ItsyBitsySpyers: *Pets he will get.* Whirl: Sure thing, Scorp. *sticks his neck over the edge of the hammock and nods at the twins, shifting to make room for them. Scorponock: [ yes good. He might huddle closer ] ItsyBitsySpyers: *They hop in and get comfy, each giving a tired punch hello.* Whirl: *snorts and returns the gesture with his claws* You two look whooped. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Jus' a li'l.// Rumble lifts his head and squints. //Yo, Big Bit.// Scorponock: ( a perfect representation of me falling )) Bevel: Hey, Lil' Bit. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Sticks his tongue out at her and blows a raspberry* Whirl: *gonna swivel his helm in Bevel's direction as she's indicated and bob it at her in greeting* Bevel: *returns the gesture and waves to Whirl* Scorponock: [ climbs onto the couchand wiggles to Soundwave suddenly. Yes good. This sneak attack is going well. ] Scorponock: [ no one suspects athing ] ItsyBitsySpyers: *Can see Scorponock doing this. Doesn't mind.* ItsyBitsySpyers: //Always wanted to try that scrap.// Whirl: Alcohol? Or archery? Scorponock: [ half crawls on Soundwave and chitters at for nuzzles ] ItsyBitsySpyers: \\PFFFT.\\ //Archerin'. I had plenty of booze before, ptch.// FakeProwl: ((it's gorgeous and i love it)) Scorponock: (( yas! )) Whirl: *snickers* I was more referring to HUMAN high-grade. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave doesn't nuzzle, but he'll rest his arm on Scorponock in a half-afted not-quite-hug and scritch.* Whirl: And, hey, I know a guy. *pauses. ...Whirl's dispoisition towards Atomizer has gotten complicated recently* Whirl: I could /probably/ snag ya something. Scorponock: [ he will take this hug and whatever he can ] Whirl: ((the beb)) Whirl: ...holy damn, look at it. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[It's disgusting.]] Whirl: Kinda reminds me of Killer, in a weird way. Scorponock: [ chitters and wiggles claws ] Is monzteer! Scorponock: eet lookz cool! ItsyBitsySpyers: //Yeah? Like what?// Whirl: I think it's the face. That sort of unfolding... beaky thing. Whirl: I dig it. ItsyBitsySpyers: \\LOOKS LIKE THEM TREMOR WORMS.\\ FakeProwl: ((lmao what is this guy, a captain america knock off)) Whirl: Aww, what a face! Scorponock: (( he sure was )) FakeProwl: ((stupidly strong american heroic dude in a tight shirt)) ItsyBitsySpyers: \\KID'S DEAD.\\ Bevel: Oh no. Whirl: What a graceful leap! Scorponock: [ crawling more onto Soundwave to snuggle on him. Yes good ] Scorponock: I kneew feesh like deez. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Oof. Okay. Well. Not so much unlike Zori.* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[They ate humans?]] Scorponock: I keeled them! But not eat. That waz more of dee otherz jobz. ItsyBitsySpyers: //Nasty. Who wants t' eat fleshies?// Bevel: Lots of things. :( ItsyBitsySpyers: ((is this a horror or a comedy))' Bevel: [[I'm not sure at this point Scorponock: (( both )) Scorponock: Zhe Fallen keeled lotz of deez humanz. Scorponock: Not zhure if hee ate zem. ItsyBitsySpyers: \\HE AIN'T EATIN' 'EM NO MORE.\\ ItsyBitsySpyers: //Not without a face, heh.// Scorponock: He eez dead! [ clicks claws ] I deedn't like heem anyway Scorponock: (( me )) Scorponock: (( thats me )) Whirl: Yeah, Optimus relived him of that burden, didn't he? *dryly* Scorponock: Yeez... [ pouty tone ] He ruinz everyzhing. ItsyBitsySpyers: \\DUNNO. HE GOT DYIN' RIGHT.\\ Scorponock: No, hee came back. [pouts more ] Whirl: Need help killing him again? ItsyBitsySpyers: \\OURS AIN'T. PROBABLY ON ACCOUNT OF YA CAN'T BRING BACK SCRAP EARTHQUAKES SMASHED.\\ Scorponock: No... [huff] Scorponock: I leev wizh Blurr now. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Rumble gives Frenzy a solid punch in the jaw and points at Bevel with a hiss* ItsyBitsySpyers: *For once, Frenzy shuts up.* Scorponock: Beezidez.... wee might be in trouble. Scorponock: [ clicks claws and chitters at Soundwave ] Bevel: *very obviously trying to pretend she didn't hear that* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Let him guess. The bounty.]] Scorponock: [ shakes helm ] Landed on wrong planeet. FakeProwl: ((pet humans)) Scorponock: I don't zhink zhey know about zhe bountee. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Then why trouble?]] Scorponock: Captain eez de... dee [chitters and hisses in his Cybertronian. Clicks and whirrs and screeches] Deetained. Whirl: *tilts his head* By who? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave's free hand rubs at his temple. Of course Blurr got detained. Starscream's going to be upset.* Scorponock: [ clicks claws and looks at Whirl ] I zheenk he can talk heez way out. Scorponock: Blue mech took heem away. Whirl: That doesn't answer my question. Scorponock: He hazn't come back. Whirl: Blue mech? Scorponock: [ taps claws and chitters ] I recognize... but hee lookz deeferent. Scorponock: Zhey call heem Dreeft now. Whirl: Drift. Like--the one from your dimension? Scorponock: Zimilar, but not mine. Scorponock: Zame verze, deeferent deemenzion Whirl: *nods* Whirl: Well, I guess if he needs a rescue, he'll say something. Probably. Scorponock: Heez commz don't work.But hee can talk heez way out. Scorponock: [ snickering ] Hee made zhe Prime very mad! Make Capteen very exzited! Whirl: *snickers back* Hell, I'll BET. Maybe he'll get stepped on, like he always wanted. Scorponock: Maybee! Whirl: ((I like this movie but it's been mostly a slideshow urgh, and it's getting late)) Whirl: ((I'm gonna duck out, but assume Whirl stays, at least; he'll conk out on the hammock)) FakeProwl: ((man, don't kill it. eave it alive so you can follow it back to the girl)) FakeProwl: ((*leave)) Bevel: [[Seriously Bevel: [[I still don't get this monster's motivations. Is it keeping people for food? FakeProwl: ((that's my best guess)) FakeProwl: ((... if there's no virus then why are they cutting him up.)) FakeProwl: ((like, what is the benefit and who is benefitting from spreading a fiction about a virus)) Scorponock: Maybe it'll seem like less of a mistake? That guy poured that crap down the drain so that's probs the cause )) Bevel: [[...to keep him from telling anyone? Bevel: [[I want to know how these kids haven't starved tbh FakeProwl: ((was HE the guy that poured crap down the drain?)) Bevel: [[Maybe??? Scorponock: (( I don't know. The guy had like the mask on so I didn't really see his face)) FakeProwl: ((even so, tho, pretending that there's a virus doesn't cover up the fact that there's a mutant monster running around?)) Scorponock: (( mmm true )) FakeProwl: ((and also, who cares if he tells people that there's a virus? it wouldn't matter if he told people there's not a virus if they hadn't said there was a virus when there wasn't in the first place)) FakeProwl: ((**that there's NOT a virus)) Bevel: [[Ok so it is eating them. FakeProwl: ((apparently!)) Bevel: [[I thought they lobotomized him? FakeProwl: ((maybe he actually HAS been mutated and they just don't know that it's for real yet)) FakeProwl: ((he also didn't respond to anesthesia right)) Bevel: [[The dad did say he'd been, I guess addled or something that's probably not the right word at all, so maybe that impacted him somehow? FakeProwl: ((you would think that being brain damaged as a kid would, yknow, make things worse if he gets lobotomized as an adult. not cancel it out.)) Bevel: [[Just a little yeah FakeProwl: ((~fuzzy movie psychology~)) Bevel: [[Is Agent Yellow a joke on Agent Orange because this movie's been pretty anti-American with all the horrible US people and I would buy it FakeProwl: ((probably yeah)) Bevel: [[the blond guy at the beginning throwing the stone like a disc is still my favorite Scorponock: (( you mean mini Captain America? )) Bevel: [[yes FakeProwl: ((Private America)) Bevel: [[this whole family is a bunch of superheroes or something like wtf they're just sitting in the agent yellow cloud just fine while a bunch of other people are like vomiting blood Scorponock: (( right ? )) FakeProwl: ((i think the brother was vomiting too?)) Scorponock: (( I dig this guy throwing these endless cocktails )) FakeProwl: ((and he's bleeding out his ears)) Scorponock: (( it's like he has an inventory )) Bevel: [[isn't that the brother throwing cocktails? FakeProwl: ((yeah but wasn't he also bleeding earlier)) Scorponock: i believe so )) Scorponock: he is bleeding out his ears )) Bevel: [[Oh so he was Bevel: [[I missed that. It's skipping a bit Bevel: [[Aw yes archer to save the day FakeProwl: ((mmmm. barbecued mutant)) Scorponock: (( its probably gonna drop in a minute )) Bevel: [[I'm so proud of this *** up family avenging the little girl and the dad Scorponock: Right? )) Bevel: [[Sucks the kid died tho like dang way to break movie rules as I know them FakeProwl: ((maybe get the kids out of the cloud before trying to wake them up)) Scorponock: (( He's a cute kid )) Bevel: [[and they killed river monsters happily ever after Scorponock: (( yee )) Bevel: [[That was genuinely enjoyable Bevel: [[Not what I was expecting but still really fun FakeProwl: ((I liked it.)) Scorponock: It was fun )) Bevel: [[Thanks so much for streaming! Scorponock: Sure! ))

[georgipopovich-voiceblog]

Writing prompt to distract you?: Overworked Serik and Overworked pregnant Georgi (pregnatn with Sergei? Or any other future babies or au babies)

“Serik!”

“Pot, down.” Serik says, grabbing the large soup pot from his hands. “Too heavy.”

The omega groans, watching the alpha pull the pot over towards his study area, the place where the books, the laundry basket, and all the mail has been piling. “Right, the pot is too heavy, the laundry basket is too heavy, the fucking air is too heavy. Let me do things! I’m pregnant, not dying!” He turns back to the pot cabinet, and settles his hand on the counter above it, attempting to pull out a different pan, perhaps get away with something small. The weight of a massive belly before him is hard to bend down with, but, if he puts his feet wide, he can do it, with a deep breath, and if their son doesn’t start stretching a storm. 

There’s a short growl, that’s bitten back behind him, from the alpha. “Please....”

He glances behind him, once he manages a very useless tiny pan, in time for a big stretch from that baby in his tummy, earning him a grunt as he stands back up, and rubs at his side. “You know I’m right. You have to eat, and so do I. We can’t just do carry out every night until the baby’s born. And, not only that, but I have to do the laundry. That’s unavoidable, since I’m a walking sweat storm, and you gotta let me actually take the laundry basket, with the clothes in it, for me to get it folded ANYWHERE!” The pan is taken again. 

The past two weeks, Georgi hasn’t been able to do anything, without Serik hovering over him. He values his independence, he thrives on the fact that he can do things on his own. Right now, though, his boyfriend may as well scoop him up and chain him to the bed for the most unsexy reasons in the entire world. 

Groaaannn. The Russian reaches over, snagging both pans from him to set on the stove. “I can make simple shit, like eggs, or soup, something, because you’ve got your test coming up, and studying isn’t going to do shit for a brain that doesn’t have any fuel. I will be done in like, two minutes!” He turns his head towards the fridge, to perhaps grab some ingredients to just throw together, to find the alpha there, again, standing in his way, though, this time, his eyes aren’t their soft rested way they usually are, the way his brows settle looks stern. To most.... the expression does not mean much, but to Georgi, there’s eyes on the way he stands. It’s almost.... eerie.

For once, Georgi finds it in him to shut up.  That look could murder a man. A chill goes up his spine, as he hears the low rumble of frustration. It makes his hair stand on end, not that he fears Serik, not that he thinks he’ll be hurt. But, he’s never seen him look at him like that before. 

His large hands grab the large pot, and the small pan, before he walks over to the cabinet once more, and pulls them all out, to take with him towards the study area, and set beside the laundry basket. In the corner where Georgi can’t fit, right now. It’s the side of the table where, with the chairs scooted in, it’s difficult for him to wiggle back there, and he’s too out of breath to make it there. Though, the alpha doesn’t stop there, he returns to the cabinet, where the pans are, and grabs the remaining four, stacking them, and walking them over to that corner to place on top of clean laundry, that he will be getting to later, after he finishes.  The heavy ones go on top of the China Cabinet, scooted way back against the wall, where he can easily reach, but, Georgi, while pregnant cannot. The laundry basket is lifted, and placed right under the table, where he studies, where he will be able to keep an eye on it.

The alpha turns back around to his chair, and plops down heavily, as he hunches over the next book, and grabs a highlighter, to get back to what he’s doing. Each strike of it is harsh, now, loud enough that Georgi winces at the way it squeaks. He’s in place, staring at the large man over the books, for a good few moments, as though he’s worried to make a noise. A lump in his throat, thick and dry, arises, as well as the heat in his eyes, from welling up tears. 

He slowly backs out of the room, and makes a rushed waddle for the stairs. He’d never made Serik mad like that before, he’d never felt the air grow so heated. Reaction like this is far outside the norm, when Serik is in the mix. Georgi, yes, he’s hormonal, he hasn’t slept well, he can’t eat big meals anymore, he can’t exercise without getting out of breath. He’s a vessel of frustration, at everything he says and does. He can’t even stand up without help, right now.

Selfishly, he hasn’t even thought about how Serik may have also been frustrated. Georgi’s tossing and turning all night long, having to get up to pace, to get rid of restless energy, to relieve aches and pains, surely that may be felt in the bond mark. He’s keeping Serik up, and he’s not cooking as much, anymore, which, Serik hardly knows how to boil water during study time, it’ll be forgotten. In the mix of trying to take care of him, in ways he would do without being nine months pregnant, he hasn’t considered that he’s creating extra steps for his mate. Serik is making shortcuts, because he’s the only one who can do most of the housework, now that Georgi, who’s working almost forty hours a week on his feet, is exhausted by the time he gets home. It’s come to the point where he’s got a leotard to wear under his clothes for work, he can’t fit into his clothing, let alone stay upright after six hours straight of choreography. His ankles are swollen, his back aches, but, he still wants to hold onto this little piece of himself that can do it alone.

“You can’t just call me sobbing like crazy, boy. I thought you were in labor.” Yakov sighs on the other end of the line. “Come on, now. How bad was it? Did he yell?”

“N-No....” Georgi hiccups, hugging onto his pregnancy pillow, resembling a rather colorful worm. “N-No yelling.... He just..... he looked so.... so tired of me...”

“No, no, he’s not tired of you, Gosha.....” The old man on the other line seems to plop down in his chair, judging by the thump. “You two are nearing the end of this pregnancy fast. You have had only five months to prepare for this baby. Tell me. Have you two eaten today...?”

“I-I had some fruit, h-he hasn’t... -hic- left the table.....”

“Mmm..... have you two slept?”

“I-I didn’t, I th-think he was...-hic- pulling another study night.....” Georgi wipes his eyes, and rests the phone beside him on the pillow. “I-I just.... I-I wanted to make dinner, and h-he wanted me to.. to not.”

“I wouldn’t let you either. You look like the wind could knock you down. You have to let him help you, you can’t be the stubborn mule that you always are. You are carrying his child, you are his mate, and it is your responsibility to take care of yourself, and each other. You have to do that, if not yourselves, than for the baby. Which, you have to tell me the name, please. ‘the baby’ is so informal.”

“Y-Yakov.....”

“Right, off topic... You’re both stressed the hell out. You need to focus on yourself for a minute, so he can focus on school. Okay? You know he wouldn’t hurt you, never on purpose. He’s not taking the pans away from you to piss you off. You get your head out of your ass, you’ll be just fine.”

Why does Yakov have to be so harsh? He called him for emotional support, and instead.... he’s getting reamed, and he knows that the coach is right. Georgi wants to do everything, but, his legs are ready to give out after all he does, his back is killing him, and if he runs into something sharp, he’s certain he’s just going to entirely pop. There’s a sigh to his voice.  “......Can.... Can you just... tell me about your day...?” He asks, voice trembling still. 

Yakov is silent for a moment, before clearing his throat. “..... Had my morning tea outside this morning...... Got to listen to the birds. That damn raccoon is back... I’m thinking about asking the neighbors to stop feeding him, he’s fat enough already......”

"This is bullshit, why did Viktor get Laundry Duty? Why did I have to fucking cook?”

“You didn’t.” Viktor snaps back to Yuri, pulling some laundry detergent out from the back of his car, and a spare basket. “You bought it.”

“I bought the veggies frozen, dipshit. I made the other stuff.” Yuri sneers, holding up the various tupperware in his possession, along with a shopping bag of ready-made veggies to steam in the microwave.

Yakov grumbles, turning to smack both of them upside the heads. “The both of you heathens shut your gobs, this is not a competition, this is you helping someone who needs it.” He grabs at the grocery bags. “Stop flinging these around everywhere, you’ll drop everything.” A stern finger points to Mila’s face, who seems to walk up the sidewalk from her faraway parking spot, still in pajama pants, holding a DVD case in her hand. “As for you, you’re late. Where’s your contribution?”

“Brought “The Miracle of Life”.” She holds up.

Insert Yakov losing his hair.

 “And Sara’s bringing her grandmother’s favorite noodle casseroles from the trunk, she was making the pasta all night, because apparently, it’s the devil’s temptation to buy hard store bought noodles.”

“Congrats, Mila.” Viktor smiles. “You brought the most useless gift.”

“As always.” She finger guns at him, earning a groan from Yakov.

“The lot of you are going to kill me, you’re killing your poor coach. He has done nothing but give to you, and you’re killing him.” He turns, and rings the doorbell. Surely, they wouldn’t be asleep now, it’s ten in the morning, and both parents-to-be are avid morning people, who constantly run. “Now, don’t take no for an answer. Don’t stress them out. Don’t fight. Bully Georgi into sitting, and putting his feet up, and give Serik privacy for studying.”

The door clicks, the sign of a lock being undone, as Serik’s face appears in the door crack, his same face that he ever wears still on, save for some dark circles. “.....Uh.”

“You didn’t invite us.” Yakov holds a hand up, and pushes the door the rest of the way open, leading a parade of assholes behind him. “Come get some food, and get back to the table. Is Georgi up? ... Don’t answer that. We’ll find out, we don’t want to wake him if he’s still asleep.”

“Morning, Serik!” Viktor chimes, as he heads straight for the laundry room, only to be stopped by the basket still sitting, unfolded on the kitchen table. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I’ve got this.” His long arms yank it over, and he walks over towards the couch to sit while he gets to work.

Mila opens the door for Sara, who’s carrying in three medium sized casserole pans carefully, and the pair move towards the kitchen with Yuri. “I brought some veggies that you microwave, and some potatoes, I guess. I just got what we had. But, Beka says these are his favorite that I make him, so I guess it’s good.”

They scatter, like ants. Silent cogs in a working machine, of who is folding laundry, who is working on unloading the dishwasher, who is putting food away, and also making Serik a quick bowl of food, to place at his study station. They leave the alpha at the door, staring at the directions they’ve all run off to. Georgi is still asleep, he suspects, but....not for long, if they keep all muttering to each other.

There’s a slight lift from his shoulders, as he glances to the bowl of food, and then to the family members, who avoid him at all costs. No conversation, after the food was placed, just towards each other. Yakov even points at Serik to return to the table. 

His long list of things to do is slowly cutting down, from the foot traffic through the house. Even Athena leaves her spot on his chair, and goes off to follow them.

Leaving a very confused, very..... relieved man, at the front door.

[ang3lc]

this is making me woozy

thinking about John MacTavish not understanding why you find him so attractive when he’s wearing multiple layers when you first start dating. like, what do you mean? none of his muscles are out on display for you! his tattoo? what about his tattoo! don’t you go nuts for his legs when wears shorts? why do you always paw him when he’s wearing a t-shirt and a thick hoodie? he can understand your fondness for him in sweatpants, but, like, all the layers?

and then it clicks for him when he sees you snotty and sick. miserably sweating, but freezing cold. bundled up with one of his thick ass hoodies, swimming in its soft fabric, a thick blanket around your shoulders. fuzzy socks and baggy sweatpants, trying your best to keep warm. he’s cooing ‘poor you’s while trying to slip his hands under his your hoodie, ignoring you when you say he’ll get sick right before kissing you. you’re all hot and cozy, and don’t worry! he doesn’t mind the sweat - if anything, it gives him a reason to corral you into the shower. of course he can’t let you shower alone, what if you get dizzy? he should really be in there with you for safety