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[snpcmachine]

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[claybrickmachine]

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[astralnymphh]

thinking about painslut!ellie who likes getting scratched up by long nails.. ✮

nothing— and i punctuate nothing, compares to the painful bliss of feeling nails as whetted as a great white's jaw of knives tear red valleys into her shoulder blades. hell, ellie encourages you to mark up her back. not necessarily by words, though. a sort of fucking frenzy will kick in, and she'll embolden those claws to bite with her hips, rolling on yours, dragging her soppy folds all over your cunt. ellie angles herself in various ways; draws her groin under yours to hump your clit directly, positions and splays her pretty bush as she bounces on your bud, plasters her pussy full–on and circles the skin 'round. an unorthodox aim to get you wailing, "yyesss ellie!" as you cum against her puffy pussy and straightaway, without hesitation tracing your fingertips up her supple, dry–scored skin, you dip pressure beneath the jut of her shoulder blades and shred the flesh. "fuck! fuuck!" els' winces to your ear, growlish on the lobe as she nips it, "yeah, make me fucking bleed baby, fuckin' bleed." almost knurling her back into your clawing palms, seizing and clenching up her rump on your cunt as her cum spills lubricous and frothy inside your pussy lips, hiking herself up just so you could visual the honeyed webs keeping you two connected. "hurts so good, mhmm, so fucking.." but she is nay of breath and hazy of her heart and eye, the added zap to her climaxing core and the throbbing affliction of fresh crimson dashes oozing tiny beads of blood, sanguineous delight, offering of the pale mistress moon— has her merry to pass out. collapsing, her orangey sweat breasts fall to yours and squish like two pancakes, damp waist laying next, and lastly her chin hooking a home upon the nook of your neck, parting breaths she longs to not be livened of soon enough. "thank you.. thank y' thank— mhh, thank you." ellie recites a push of praises through your collarbone, her hand draped limp on your bicep wiping it's thumb so gentle with care, the ghostly graze dithers your brain a second— a moment you skip and fuzz the realization of a warm drip streaming on your rib during, the grasp of what that dribble was hitting you like a brick. "ellie, ur' back— y'need to.. huhh.. band-aid.." exhausted, little heaves clog your throat through the words, but ellie slacks her head up and renders them useless regardless, "mh–mm, it's fine. don't need 'em tonight." she gauzes your light worries in a tone that sifts through you, relaxes you, crafts you a reason to wonder 'why bother', and lie there lackadaisical as her kisses pepper cold on searing skin, a dozing meadow under the twilight sky of her sleepy gaze and in her arms like earth crust and soil fertile. sprouting in you a drug–like miasma that eats your thoughts and lulls your physical senses into a numb horizon, the last thing perceptible is the wash of air above you and a weighted thump beside you, leading you to believe ellie had bet on falling asleep as well, happy as a parakeet with liquid–iron proof of her bloody lovemaking flowing like a waterfall of bitterness down her back.

however, that proof had leaked and dotted the bedsheet come virgin daylight, adding one more thing to the laundry basket. ౨ৎ

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 3: Please Remember to Take Your Happy Pills

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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Despite your insistences for Ben to just go away, he walked with you to “Please Don’t Die,” the plant shop that you’d been working at since you moved to New York, all the while complaining about the fact that you didn’t have a car.

You wondered if he'd ever had friends that didn't have as much money as he did or if he just lived in the asshole rich dude bubble.

You never hated walking. Something about walking through Central Park invigorated you, being surrounded by all the plants made you feel grounded  and more in the moment. It made you feel alive. Not to mention you liked walking past all the flower shops and perking up the bouquets of flowers wrapped in plastic and placed in black bins as you walked. And even though you were late, you figured that you always had time to use your powers just to make everything a little bit greener.

Maybe it was cliché, but you hated seeing dead plants and dead flowers. Whenever you went home you always spent time in your grandmother's garden making sure that everything was growing as it should and even the plants in your home never seemed to wilt.

Which probably meant that you were working in the right place.

The shop you work at is the same as it’s always been. Outside the brick was painted a cheerful white, with black trim that frames the large glass windows and a black glass door the proclaims the name of the shop in strong block letters. Each window display was changed every other day and were both currently crowded with multicolored plants that stretched towards the warm sunlight on the street while the glass skull planters your boss, Jake, had placed artfully inside glittered black.

When you open the door, the smell of soil, earth, and water greet you, wafting out to envelop your body in a layer of comfort.

You feel your body physically relax as you step over the threshold. The thrum of your abilities reaching out, flowing through the branches, stems, and leaves of the plants, soaking through your bones to connect you to them. You could feel every twig, every small push of roots in the soil, every unfurling of new leaves from each plant in the shop. It was impossible to see beyond the rows and displays of potted plants that trailed languidly on the clean concrete floors. Wooden shelves were bolted to the walls covered in layers of green foliage so dense you couldn’t see the red brick behind. Displays of bouquets sprouted dark purple, deep red, vivid blue,  and warm orange, sat wrapped in plastic and ready to be purchased on the left wall, next to coolers filled with even larger bouquets in ornate glass vases.

Herbs crowded the front of the register at the back of the room, sending the sharp scent of mint, the spicy scent of chives, and the soothing smell of rosemary into the air. Vines wove above your head hanging from the ceiling to cover the plastic squares that lined the roof making it seem as if you had entered under the dark canopy in the jungle. The rest of the shop was hidden behind rows and rows of potted plants, on long wooden shelves and tall potted plants that reached up to the ceiling, giving the illusion that as soon as you entered the shop, it was like you entered another world, cut off from the rest of New York.

It honestly felt like home, felt just like your apartment as you stood there in the humid air, the sound of the misters turning on and off echoing the deeper you went into the store.

Plants were easier than people. You learned that early on.

It didn’t matter where you were, plants always called out to you, from the smallest seedling to the mightiest oak, you were connected with them. When you were away from them it was almost painful. As a kid whenever your parents took you on a plane, you had to carry seed packets in your pockets, nursing small seedlings as you left the earth behind and took to the sky. When Annie had a weekend off from her patrol back home, she had suggested that the two of you go on a cruise. Neither of you had seen the ocean and it had seemed like a good idea up until you stepped foot on the ship.

At first you thought that you were seasick, the dizziness and the puking that followed seemed to be due to the boat rocking back and forth, but the only way you were able to get out of bed and avoid puking your guts out was when Annie brought you some grapes from the buffet and you covered your entire cabin in grape vines to make you feel better. And the rest of the trip you had woven vines in your hair to stay just a little more grounded to the world you left behind when you stepped foot on the ship.

“Y/n is that you?” You hear your boss, Jake, call from somewhere inside.

“Yeah I’m sorry I’m late!” You shout back. He was still hidden by the dense displays of plants that stood like silent watchmen just at the front of the shop.

“It’s fine.” He replies.

You turn to glare at Ben. “You can go now.”

He’s not paying attention to you, he’s surveying the room, surprised by how green it is.

He’s going to have to get used to that if he’s going to force himself into my life.

Jake pushes through the wall of plants in front of you, holding a giant Monstera in a gallon bucket. The leaves were easily as big as your head and you’re surprised that Jake can move it, given that he wasn't a supe. He stumbles slightly under the weight and you rush forward to take it from him.

But just as you take it from Jake, your own super strength buckling slightly under the weight, Ben pulls it from your arms and holds it in one hand. You were only slightly stronger than the average person, enough to hold your own, but not enough to lift a car over your head.

“Where do you want it?” He says looking from you to Jake.

Jake is… Jake. He’s taller than you, with sandy blonde hair that curls slightly behind his ears and hangs long and shaggy on top of his head. His bright blue eyes are hidden behind tortoiseshell glasses. Today he’s wearing his usual flannel pushed up to his elbows that reveals tanned, freckled, and muscular arms, not as muscular as Ben, but enough to notice, and a pair of blue jeans.

They were his favorite pair, worn in just right at the knees. You gathered that by how often he wore them. Not to mention you appreciated how he filled them out.

In the way that Ben was tall, dark, and handsome, Jake was tall, bright, and beautiful. He always smiled when he saw you, always tried his hardest to make you laugh on a day that never seemed to end, and he always seemed to have the best advice when everything seemed hopeless. He was a good friend. A good friend that you had kept separate from the supe world. He didn’t know what you could do and you wanted to keep it that way at least for now.

Your record with non-supe friends was dismal and you didn't want to ruin your friendship with him.

“Whoa um-" Jake clears his throat. "Just over by the calatheas.” Jake's eyes widen seeing how easily Ben holds the gallon sized barrel in one hand, hefting the monstera easily.

“The what?” Ben frowns rudely.

“The striped plants over there.” You point at the collection of lemon lime prayer plants that sit prettily on a circular wooden table in one of the front displays.

Ben walks away still toting the monstera like it weighs nothing in his right hand.

“Do you know him?” Jake watches Ben curiously.

“Unfortunately.” You frown, but shake it off when you look at Jake. It was easy to smile at him. “How are you?”

“Good. Got here early. The shipment of Christmas cactus came in. Needed to start breaking down one of the displays to find a place to put them.” Jake returns your smile. “You doin' okay? You look a little frazzled.” His southern twang slips into his honeyed voice.

Jake like you, wasn’t from the city, he was from the south and moved to New York to go to get a degree in environmental law, but when he got certified he opened “Please Don’t Die” and the rest was history.

You glance over at Ben who is now walking back towards the two of you, still frowning. “I didn’t have my coffee today.” It was the truth, but you didn't want to say that the reason why you looked so 'frazzled' was that you were spending time with the bane of your existence.

“I figured. Which is why I grabbed you one. It’s on the register.” Jake nods back in the direction of the antique bar top turned desk where a cup of coffee sits slightly steaming in the humid air.

“You’re officially the best part about today.”

“That’s what I say about you every day.” He winks making you flush. “Oh wait you’ve got an eyelash.”

Ben stiffens beside you as Jake steps forward into your space and gently brushes his index finger under your right cheek. Pins and needles trace behind the movement and you can feel your heartbeat stutter. “There you go.” Jake wipes his hand on his flannel.

Ben huffs and mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch.

Jake looks up at him, because Ben was about three inches taller. “Hey I’m Jake.” He extends his hand towards Ben.

Ben eyes it. “Ben.” He grunts not taking Jake's hand and deepening his frown.

Jake's smile falters a little.

“Please ignore Gramps, he forgot to take his happy pills this morning.” You nudge Ben with your elbow. "Be nice." You whisper low enough for only Ben to hear.

“I think he took them for me sweetheart.” Ben mutters back. "It's nice to meet you." Ben says tightly, in a way that doesn't seem like it's nice to meet Jake at all.

“Gramps?” Jake looks confused as he retracts his hand.

“Nickname for sunshine.” You gesture with your thumb to where Ben glowers at the mention of the nickname. “But he was just leaving.”

“Oh. Well if you need me I’m going to be over by the hydrangeas. Do you think you can start working on the plants in the back? They need a little TLC.” Jake rubs the back of his neck. "I know you're better at that kind of thing."

“Of course. It’s what I’m here for.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you darlin'.” Jake laughs and walks off towards the blue and pink flowering plants in sleek silver pots towards the door.

Ben eyes your boss up and down, watching how he turns away from the two of you but stays within earshot. “He wants to fuck you.” Ben says a little too loudly.

“What?” You whisper yell, dragging Ben away into the dense foliage on the other side of the shop. “Shut up he can hear you! And we’re just friends.”

“You’ve never heard about friends fucking? I mean if you and I started to-"

“Not going to happen. And we’re not friends!” You frown at him.

“I mean, I am living with you.” Ben crosses his hands over his chest and shrugs.

“You’re not living with me. How many times do I have to say that?” 

“As many times as you want. I love the sound of your voice. I bet you could say some pretty kinky-“

Your eyes shift to a dangerous bright green, the entire room vibrating with energy as the plants begin to bend to your will.

“I know you think that using your powers is supposed to scare me, but I think it’s sexy when you do that.” Ben smirks. “Your eyes turn that gorgeous shade of green.”

“Please go away.”

“Fine. But he does want to fuck you.”  Ben smirks. He cocks his head to the side examining you for a moment. "You want him to, don’t you Petals?”

"No I don't!”

I mean I could do a lot worse than Jake.

He was exactly what you were looking for. Someone sweet, who  understood what love was, and actually cared for other people. He was smart and funny, and he loved plants almost as much as you did. He understood how important they were and how to take care of them. Not to mention he actually had feelings and knew how to express them, unlike the toddler standing in front of you.

You grab on to Ben’s arm and drag him further into the shop away from your boss to make sure that you’re no longer within earshot. “Contrary to whatever belief you have, not everyone is focused on sex all the time-“

“They are.”

“No they’re not. There are other things-“

“Like what?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Um.”

You honestly couldn’t think when Ben was standing so close to you, towering over you, staring at you with those bright green eyes that always seemed to consume you. Your eyes slide to a cork board filled with seed packets on the wall above his head.

 “Like watermelon and blueberries and-“ You begin to say, reading the names.

“You’re just listing fruit sweetheart.” Ben chuckles under his breath. “You know what I think?”

“No and I don’t care.”

“I think you think about having sex with me.”

“What?” You shout louder than you should

“Mhmm." Ben traces his hand along your cheek, but you swat it away. "This morning you were awfully red when you bumped into me in the hallway. Not to mention in the kitchen when you were against the counter. Your heart was beating so fast. And I could practically smell how w-“

“Finish that sentence and lose your tongue.” You snarl grabbing the front of his shirt tightly in your hand.

“Doll I don’t think you want to rip my tongue out. Not with what I could do to you with it.”

You groan and withdraw your hand, fighting the urge to punch him. “Can you please leave? Don’t you have anyone else to sexually harass? Like Hughie maybe?”

“Hughie’s a guy?” Ben looks confused at your mention of Annie’s boyfriend.

“So? I kinda think you’re overcompensating for something by sleeping with that many women.”

Ben only laughs. "If you slept with me I'm sure that you'd see what all the fuss is about." He looks over through the walls of green leaves to where Jake is standing, watering a display of hydrangeas. Every few moments Jake would look over in your direction over his shoulder as if to check if you were okay. “How long have you worked here?”

"What does that have to do with anything?" You cross your arms over your chest confused.

Why does he care about that?

"Just answer the question doll-face."

"Two years."

"And you've liked him this whole time?" He cocks his eyebrow.

"No."

"You're worse than Mike doll."

"I am not."

"Mhmm."

"And I don't want him to sleep with me."

"Sure."

"Again, not everyone is focused on sex. And maybe you think that's the most important thing, but I'd rather have a relationship with someone." You turn to busy yourself with straightening the seed packets on the cork board, wishing that you weren't about to have this conversation with Soldier Boy of all people.

"So no sex?" Ben taunts.

You bite the inside of your cheek, transferring a packet of potato seeds back to the correct peg and reach for a packet of watermelon seeds to avoid eye contact.

I can't believe that I'm about to say this.

"I think that sex is better when you have a deep emotional connection with someone.  Someone who cares about you, who sees every part of you, even the bad things and they don't care. I wouldn't expect you to give a fuck about any of that."

"I don't." He breezes and you can imagine just how carefree he looks. You could feel his breath on your neck reminding you of your position earlier today.

"Exactly." You roll your eyes. But deep down you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed with his confession and you hated that you were disappointed.

What? Did you think that he was going to change? That he was going to suddenly be the kind of guy you wanted after he practically forced his way onto your couch?

“You’re serious about him though? Looks like the kind of guy who would cry when he fucks you. You really want him instead of me?” Ben leans into the space next to you, trying to catch your eye, which you successfully avoid. "I mean, come on Petals, he's not even a supe."

"What?"

"He's-not-a-supe." Ben says it again, slowly like you're an idiot.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh please, you think that guy is the one? The one you've been waiting for? I've seen you in a fight and there's no way he could handle you. He couldn't even carry that fucking plant! If he tried to fuck you, you'd snap him in half."

Your cheeks flare an angry red that creeps back into your neck, and up your ears. "That is none of your business."

"It would be if you'd just let me fuck you. Show you what you've been missing." He cocks an eyebrow.

You fight the urge to slap the look off his face. “I can’t do this with you right now. I haven’t had my coffee.”

"He brought you some." Ben sing-songs, but you ignore him. "Fine. I’ve got to go anyway. Butcher wants me to meet him at some park in fucking Jersey.”

“You need me to write it down for you? Using your newfangled doohickey probably might be too much huh?” You turn and shake your phone for emphasis at him.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I think I’m capable of finding it.” He turns to go but stops glancing over his shoulder at you. “Are you gonna be at the apartment tonight?”

“What apartment? My apartment? The apartment that you're squatting in like a hobo?"

“No Butcher’s.” Ben glowers.

“I mean maybe?” You shrug. “I’ve still got to make a list of auto shops to visit this week. Butcher wants me to try to go to at least a dozen to see if I can get any leads on this guy.”

Ben nods once.

“Why?”

Why does he care?

“No reason. I’ll see you later Petals.” Ben smirks when he uses the nickname again, before turns once more and vanishes into the foliage that leads to the front of the shop. It was very difficult not to make the closet branch smack him in the back of the head as he did so. You hated that nickname about as much as he hated Gramps, but you knew that asking him not to call you that wouldn't do any good.

You make your way to the register at the back of the shop, feeling like you could finally breathe again. You hated how Ben wound you up so much, how angry and annoyed he made you. You hadn't met anyone else in your life that could do that to you and you liked to think that you were an easy going person, but not around him. He always knew exactly how to push all your buttons.

The memory of him pinning you to the counter earlier surfaces from the events of the morning, how his body seemed so strong above you, how he seemed to curve it protectively around you as he stood there waiting for you to tell him that it was okay for him to take the next step. The kiss from last night follows, how wonderful it was to lose yourself in him, how he tasted just a little bit like whiskey-

The hibiscus plant to the right of the register poofs into bloom, the bright red flowers unfurling and shining like beacons.

Shit. No. Get it together. Ben literally just said that he didn't think that emotions were important.

You glare at the plant until the flowers wilt back into submission, hoping that Jake couldn't see from where he was watering the hydrangeas.

That's the last conversation that you wanted to have today with your boss.

The coffee he got you is just how you like it and you’re reminded again that you deserve a relationship like that. Someone who remembers the little things, someone who cared about you, someone who was willing to hold your hair back when you threw up, not someone who annoyed you without end and the only emotions he ever expressed was anger or arousal.

“Your friend leave?” Jake asks. His clothes were flecked with water, hands just a little dirty, hair tousled just the right way to make him look like he'd just woken up.

It hit you again how different he was than Ben. Where Ben was ruggedly handsome, Jake was boyishly handsome and he had a younger less angry quality that made him seem lighter. You supposed that was because Ben had spent the last forty years in a Russian lab, but sometimes you liked that about him, not that he had been tortured obviously, but that he seemed real. He didn’t sugar coat things, he told it to you straight. Sometimes Jake was too happy.

No no no. I am not going to compare Ben to Jake, that's not going to happen.

“He’s not really my friend. He’s more of an annoyance.” You smile tightly, flicking your thumb against the cardboard coffee collar on the outside of the cup.

“Oh. I kinda thought he was your boyfriend.”

You spit out the coffee in your mouth. “What?”

“Well the way he was looking at you. And the way you guys were talking." Jake clears his throat embarrassed. "Sorry I didn't mean to assume that."

"It's alright. I'm sorry that he was rude to you. He's rude to everyone honestly."

It was the truth, Ben was always rude to everyone, though you didn't understand why he was rude to Jake. All Jake had done was try to shake his hand.

"How did you meet him?"

"Butcher."

Jake didn't know much about what you did for Butcher, only that you had another job on the side and he was your boss. Butcher had picked you up once from work to go on a case and Jake had caught a glimpse of him and had been confused as to why you knew someone like him.

"Ah." David nods in understanding. "He looks like Butcher's kind of guy."

"Yeah." You take another sip of coffee, shifting from foot to foot. "Thanks again for the coffee. I kinda needed it to deal with him."

"He was bothering you?"

"Only a little." You wave your free hand as if brushing away the thought.

"You should have said something, I could have thrown him out of the shop." Jake grins wide, leaning against the register.

The image of Jake trying to drag Ben out of the store was ridiculous. You doubted that Ben would go willingly, he hated backing down and you suspected that he would rather die than let another man throw him around. And the last thing you wanted to do was have to pull Ben off of Jake.

"It wasn't anything I couldn't handle. He's more bark than bite." You walk around the back of the desk to look at a box of lavender plants. They were in relatively good shape, a few brown spots, but nothing you couldn't fix when David wasn't looking.

"Sure." He is still leaning on the counter watching your fingertips stroke along the purple flowers. "Hey y/n?"

"Mhmm?" You sigh, inhaling the soothing smell.

"Um-" He bites the inside of his cheek. "Never mind. I'm gonna go start the Christmas Cactus display."

"Okay. I'll be in the back if you need me." You shrug, picking up the coffee Jake bought you and walking through the dark curtains that covered the doorway that lead into the back of the shop.

Your thoughts shift to how Ben acted around Jake, how he seemed to be an even bigger jerk, how Ben seemed to hate the idea of you and Jake together, and how Ben kept watching Jake like he wasn't sure about him.

Was he… jealous?

You gently touch the browning leaf of an African violet, feeling the fuzzy outer covering beneath your fingertip.

As if.

And as you stood there gazing at the plants that needed a little extra care, something else began to stir, something that you couldn't put your finger on, something that you felt when you were only around Ben, but you shake it off and clear your mind with the earthy smell of soil and the soft green leaves that needed your care.

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“I can’t believe you let Soldier Boy sleep on your couch!” Annie exclaims before taking a bite of her sesame seed bagel.

The coffee shop was crowded for a Thursday afternoon, and although most came to Calamity Coffee Co for the Rocky Top frozen choco-molten mocha swirl , Annie had settled for a oat milk latte and watched you eat your Rocky Top with a spoon. It was making you feel better after the night you'd had.

 People sat with their laptops along the long table that lined the front windows writing emails or the next Hunger Games, others lounged on the purple velvet sofa and high backed green armchairs by the decorative fire place chatting about a new movie in theaters that you'd seen a commercial for, and a man and a woman sat at the glass topped wrought iron table looking at their phones and not speaking.

I love what romance has come to these days.

“It was a moment of weakness.” You spoon another bite of the chocolatey frozen treat into your mouth still trying to forget exactly what happened last night when Ben kissed you in the hallway.

As if you were going to tell her that.

The rest of your shift at the shop had been uneventful. You fixed up most of the plants in the back and helped Jake make the new displays of cactus in the front while making small talk. He was going to a plant show this weekend and had invited you along, but you had declined, told him you had to work.

You did. Butcher had this crazy idea about sending you to different auto shops around the area where the supe had been jacking cars, to see if anyone knew anything about him.

It was getting harder to track him down, it would be easier if y'all could put a name to the face, but no one had seen him. Not even when he tried to fry you two days ago. He always wore a hoodie and pulled a dark scarf over the bottom of his face.

“So you did sleep with him!” Annie accuses.

“No I didn’t. He just slept on the couch and I slept with my door locked.” You reply, touching the vase of wildflowers in the center of the table to perk up the colorful blooms.

Annie's smile drops. “You thought he would try something?” It was something that she didn't joke about and she had reason not to.

When you found out what the Deep had done to her, she had to hold you back from marching up to Vought tower and implanting a watermelon in the Deep's stomach until he exploded. Something that you'd thought about trying with Ben when he really annoyed you.

“No not really.” You press your lips together. “Ben doesn’t really seem the type-“

“Oh so it’s Ben now.” She flutters her eyelashes and you kick her shin under the table.

“Shut up. It’s his name-“

“You never called him that before! You always just call him Gramps or the Bane of your existence.”

“He is the bane of my existence." You roll your eyes at her, leaning back in your chair. 

He really is.

“Well the bane of your existence is kind of hot. You know for an older guy.” Annie shrugs.

“I can’t believe you’re saying that. You literally were gung ho for locking him away for all eternity or whatever.”

“I mean yeah he’s done some shitty things.” She takes a sip of her almond milk latte. “But it would have been a waste.”

She’s not lying.

You don't answer her, instead your mind shifts to how good Ben looked in a towel this morning, slightly damp from his shower. And then inevitably begins to dip back into the waterfall fantasy.

When Annie had told you that Soldier Boy was back, you had done the research, watched his movies, commercials, and music videos, read his file, and gazed at older pictures of him. Yes he was handsome, but something about the Ben who existed in the 21st century was better looking than all the rest. You didn't know why, just that you were crazy not to admit how good looking he was.

Maybe I've got issues and I'm attracted to the wrong type of man.

“Come on so you locked your door.” Annie nudges your leg under the table.

“Yep.” You avoid her eyes, because you knew as soon as you did you might let it fly that you wanted to sleep with him or rather that he'd kissed you so hard that you'd seen stars and it had only lasted eleven seconds.

Why do I know how long the kiss lasted?

“Why are you making that face?”

“This is my face Annie.”

“No no no. You’re making your suffer in silence face!”

“That’s not a thing.”

“What? Did you lock your door so you wouldn’t go out there?” She jokes with a snort.

You take another sip of your coffee.

“HOLY SHIT Y/N!” Annie's smile is almost too wide, as if she's discovered a new kind of chocolate that you can eat and never gain any weight.

I'd invest in that.

“What?”

“You wanted to sleep with him!”

She shouts it so loud that the people staring at their phones glance over to the two of you. Even a few of the writers on the long table under the window look back over their shoulders at you.

“Keep your voice down." You shush her. "Just because my body wants to doesn’t mean my mind does!”

It does. Who am I kidding?

“Uh-huh sure.”

You slump further in your chair, avoiding the gaze of the couples at the other tables looking at you. “Annie come on. You’ve known me since we were four.  You almost blinded me when I took away your my little pony doll-“

She purses her lips. “I recall you making a tree rain acorns down on my head.”

“It was my doll.”

“It was mine! And I said that I wanted it back. You didn't have to have a tree do a reenactment of the ten plagues garden edition."

You hold up your hands in surrender not wanting to get into this fight again. “Whatever the case. You know me. You know that I always think stuff like this through-“

“Maybe you’re just thinking too much.” She sing songs.

“I can’t believe you’re for this. I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“Why not? You obviously want to.” Annie shrugs. "I mean I guess I'm not his number one fan, but maybe it will help get you out of a slump."

"What slump?"

"You haven't really been with a guy since Newton-" Annie begins to say, referencing your ex-boyfriend that you locked in a tree in high school. Because he deserved it.

"Because I never meet anyone that I'd want to sleep with. And yeah maybe I want to sleep with Ben, but he really just pushes my buttons and makes me crazy and-" You stop for a second considering your next words. “I don’t want that kind of relationship with someone. I want a relationship that means something. And I don’t think that sleeping with him is going to do that for me. He doesn’t want more than one night and I’m worth more and I want more.”

"You are worth more sweetie." Annie's hand covers yours where it rests on the table. "You just need to find someone who understands that."

"The only other single man in my life is Butcher and trust me I'm not going down that road." You bite the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. "I mean he is pretty hot in a rugged sort of way-"

"No." Annie squeezes your hand. "If God put me in your life to prevent you from dating William Fucking Butcher then so be it."

"Fine." You roll your eyes at her.

"And what are you talking about? What about Jake? He's cute and he likes you."

"He does not. We're just friends. And I don't know if I want to drag him into all this supe shit. It's not exactly easy."

Being with Jake will just complicate everything. He's my boss and he's not a supe. What if I accidentally killed him during sex? I don't think that I'd ever be able to get over that.

"Yeah. But maybe he'd be okay with it-"

"Like Newton was okay with it?" You raise an eyebrow, saying the name of your high school boyfriend for the first time since you'd locked him in a tree.

"He was an asshole. Not all non-supes are assholes."

"Just because you struck gold with Hughie does not mean that all non-supes are like that."

"You just have to broaden your horizons a little bit. Maybe you could try online dating."

"What like Tinder?"

"Fuck no." Annie groans. She raises the sesame seed bagel with a perfectly manicured hand to her mouth, reminding you that you probably should get your nails done. You hadn't done them since high school, because sometimes you thought it was a waste of money given how much time you spent with your hands thrust into potting soil.

"Because Ben seems to really  like it. Has no problems working that app, I'll tell you that." You roll your eyes thinking about him again.

It was one of the first apps that he had downloaded on his phone by himself and one that he did not have any trouble navigating, given the parade of women that came through Butcher's apartment and the amount of nights Ben spent going on "dates." For a guy born so long ago, you noticed that he really didn't have any old fashioned values.

"You sure are focused on him."

"I am not." You glance down at your phone noting the time. "And are you going to spend our date mocking me about Ben the whole time?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re going to fuck him or not.”

“I’m not so let’s move on.” You sigh loudly, moving your hand as if ushering in the next topic.

“Well if things don’t work out with Mr. Blast From The Past, then you can always date Mike.” She sniggers.

“Oh I don’t think he’s going to be a problem-“ It slips before you meant it to.

Shit.

“What do you mean?” Annie perks up when you say that.

“Nothing.”

She punches you hard on the shoulder.

“Ow. Annie-“

“Tell me!” She punches you again.

“What are you the mob? You’re gonna keep punching me til I tell you?”

“Exactly.” Her small fist hits your shoulder one more time.

“Fine!” You avoid her next swing. “Mike came out of his apartment last night when Ben and I got in and Ben he-“ You bite the inside of your cheek to try and phrase it in a way that isn’t going to make Annie freak out.

Yeah there’s really no easy way to say this.

“He pretended to be my boyfriend.”

“He what?” Annie squeals.

“And he kissed me.” You mutter into your drink.

“He kissed you!?”

“Say it a little louder, I don’t think they heard you in Canada.”

She punches your shoulder.

“Ow, Annie! I told you what happened!” You rub your hand over your sore shoulder, which given Annie's enhanced strength was sure to have a bruise.

“That was for not mentioning it earlier! Because What the fuck?! You KISSED!?” You could practically see Annie mentally kicking her feet and giggling.

“Yes.”

“Was it good?!”

You pause. Fuck yeah it was.

You were trying to forget that. Forget how he held you, like you weren’t close enough, forget how he deepened the kiss as if he wanted to swallow you whole, forget how everything else in the world seemed to fade into shades of gray and kissing him was the only thing in color.

Damn it. This isn't going to end well.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

A/N: Honestly thank you for all the love and support on this series. I know it's kinda slow going at the beginning, but I promise I have a plan for this one! :)

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd liked to be added to the Taglist please let me know :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

[ebodebo]

Red Is Dead

previous

—you find a familiar friend in an alleyway

—red hood x f!reader

—2.4k

wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !

The rain fell gently, a soft patter that barely disturbed the stillness of the evening. The smell of damp soil and blossoming flowers filled your nostrils as you made your way home. You felt a sense of calmness wash over your body as you walked. It was honestly pretty surprising that a city as crime-ridden and lively as Gotham could invoke any serenity.

You weren't even from the city, but people talked. They criticized the city for being perilous since it was full of criminals and villains alike reaping havoc on the city every night—well, except from the looks of it, tonight.

Maybe tonight was their night off, you thought, before following with a small laugh.

You glance at Tom, your newish bodyguard, steadily walking behind you—poised as always. Your father had insisted he hire one since Gotham was unsafe, and some people would love nothing more than to see your father hurt—even if it meant going through you to do it.

Your father had insisted, more like forced, that you take him with you on your little expedition. Truthfully, you had really no idea why you had decided to leave the apartment you stayed in when you were in town and walk down the strip.

It was most likely to try to get a certain blue-eyed boy out of your head. It was odd; you couldn't get that guy out of your head since Bruce's gala. You two had slept together—on a roof. It was a one-night stand, and you couldn't forget about it. What was wrong with you?

"It's quiet," you say, trying to hide your embarrassment from laughing at seemingly nothing.

"Quite," Tom agrees. You sigh as you drudge your legs, irritated by his lack of conversion.

"Did you have to take a communication class before you got this gig?" You offhandedly ask as you walk past an apparent new burger place with a flashy sign that reads 'Between The Buns.'

"I don't believe so," he hums, not sparing the tacky sign a singular glance. You glance back at him, humming a sound of acknowledgment.

"You didn't need to trouble yourself with walking me home, Tom," you assure, stopping in front of him to admire another storefront, this time of a flower shop named 'The Flower Pot,' which is oddly next to an alleyway.

"It's my job to protect you, Miss," he informs, voice steady.

"I know, but—" you begin, turning your head to look down the alleyway, noticing a figure hunched against the shop's bricked wall, softly cursing. Your eyes widen, taking note of the reflective shiny red of his helmet that you could see even in the shitty lighting.

"What's the matter?" Tom questions, wondering what you're looking at. You spare him a glance before sprinting over to the hunched-over figure. Tom yells your name, trailing behind you.

Once you reach the figure, chest heaving, you look over the side of his abdomen, seeing blood spatters seeping through what looks like a shirt. You breathe out, hand coming to cover your mouth.

"Oh my—oh, he's, he's dead! Oh my—Tom! Tom!" You squeal, pointing at the bloodied and beaten person in front of you—that looked a helluva lot like a certain vigilante you spotted in a tabloid. Tom stepped closer to the guy, carefully observing him to see if he was in fact dead.

As he tried to reach down and grab the guy's wrist, his hand came up to grasp Tom's.

"Not dead," the guy murmured, moving his hand to hold his abdomen. "Kinda wish I was, though." Your eyes widen again, eyes scanning his helmet and the guns strapped to his thighs, and ears taking notice of the modulation of his voice.

"Hey, wait. You're that Hood guy," you announce, pointing a finger at him.

"Maybe, maybe not," the guy shrugs, clutching his side tighter, clearly trying to suppress losing any more blood.

"No, you're totally him," you tilt your head, bringing your hands to rest on your hips. "I heard about you from the Gazelle—Red Hood, right?"

"Hey, hey. Keep your voice down," the guy urged, slightly sitting up, hissing at the action. He leaned back against the wall, throwing his head back as he did. He flicked his eyes back to yours, briefly taking note of your soured expression.

"Fine. You caught me," Hood groaned, raising his hand to observe it and cursing as he saw it caked in a mix of fresh and old blood. You look at Tom before bending down, putting your body weight on your toes.

"Fuck. You need to go to the hospital," you murmur, looking into his eyes.

"No hospital," Hood's gaze flicks to yours; his tone is unmistakably serious.

"You'll bleed out and die," you attest, eyes glaring at his.

"I'm not going to a hospital," he says, turning his head away from you.

"I can't—are you serious?" You dryly laugh.

"Dead," he insists.

"Well, I'm not leaving you to die," you cross your arms over your chest, clearly not budging.

"Why? Would it hurt your feeble conscience?" He gibed, hissing as he brought his hand to grip the gash.

"I—you can't just ask me to let you die, Red," you affirm, bringing your hands to put more pressure on where blood seeps out.

"I'm not," he hisses. "I just said no hospital."

"So, then, where do you suppose we take you? You hiss, agitated at his lack of cooperation and appreciation that you didn't just leave his ass to bleed out. "That fucking burger place across the street?"

"Wouldn't chance it," he begins, wheezing as Tom picks his shirt up a little to expose the bloody gash, carefully pressing his handkerchief that was tucked nicely in his coat pocket onto it to try and stop the bleeding. "They might put me in the burgers."

"Gross," you roll your eyes at Red before turning to Tom. "What the hell are we going to do with him?" Tom takes a breath before pulling his phone out to text someone.

"No, seriously, they would put me in that meat grinder," Red deadpans.

"Shut up," you grumbled, pressing his abdomen harder. "Let me think."

"And then feed me to everyone," his voice is indifferent before it turns curious. "Wonder if I'm tasty?"

"Oh my god, you're impossible," you deeply sigh.

"The limo is pulling up," Tom supplies, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket and glancing at Red and then at you. “I'm sure you don't want to hear this, but I work for your family, so it's your call. Where do you want to take him?" Tom says coolly.

You look back at an anguished Red, silently cursing from pain. Taking a deep breath, you look at Tom, nodding towards Red.

"I'll take him to my apartment," you declare. Red lets out a dry chuckle as Tom helps him up, bringing his arm to grip Red's lower back tightly, while Red's arms drape over his shoulders.

"Woah, woah. I'm not just some stray cat you can take in cus' I'm cute," Red groggily says.

"I don't think you're cute," you plainly say as you and Tom guide him into the back of the limo. The driver holds the door open, paying no heed to what is happening.

"I actually think you're a bit of a dick," you shrug, getting him situated in his seat as you sink into the seat next to him, gently placing your hand to put more pressure on his wound.

"Do those things have to be mutually exclusive?" Red quips, tilting his head back on the headrest.

"To me, yes," you simply say, hearing Tom mutter something to the driver. "To be considered cute, you can't be a dick, and if you're a dick, you aren't cute."

"Mhm. You're an odd one, alright," Red murmurs, putting pressure on the wound himself. Your eyes flick to his as you feel his hands lay on top of yours on his abdomen, surprised to find his eyes already dulling into yours.

"You—we probably, um, we probably only need one pair of hands for pressure," you feel your face heat as you pull your hands off of him, laying them on either side of your thighs instead.

"Okay. We'll be there in fifteen," Tom says, turning to look at you and Red. He raises a brow at how you sit straight up in the seat and your hands tightly tucked to your side. You are grateful when he doesn't question why. "Also, just for the record, I had no prior knowledge of this happening. Yes?" Tom asks, tilting his head towards you.

"Got it. You don't want to be my accomplice," you amend, tipping your head towards him.

Once you reach your apartment, Tom helps you bring Red inside to rest on the couch. You assure him you will be fine. He says he is only a call away if you need anything.

You were honestly surprised that Tom willingly left, but maybe he was finally starting to see you as an adult and not a child, or perhaps he didn't want Red's blood on his hands if he did die while under your roof. You hoped the former.

"So, uh, are you thirsty?" You yell from your place in the bathroom, opening the cupboard under your sink and fumbling with the cleaning supplies to try and grab your small first aid kit. "Hungry?"

"Not really," Red gravels, pressing a button on his shiny red mask to open it before ripping it off to reveal a simple black domino mask.

"You should probably have some water at least," you say, heading into the kitchen to fill a fresh glass with tap water from your sink. You walk into the living room, gently placing the water next to him on the side table while you sit on the coffee table, shuffling through the first aid kit.

"Thanks," he gruffed, reaching for the cup of water and chugging down almost the whole glass, wiping some of the water that dripped down his chin with the back of his gloved hand.

You looked up, a hint of humor in your eyes at his chugging before you saw it. His lips. You knew those lips. You were sure of it. You fiddled with a piece of gauze you dipped in saline in your hand as your eyes examined him further.

"What?" Red curiously says, taking notice of fervent staring. You dart your eyes back to his before moving back to the gauze.

"Sorry. You—you just look a little familiar," you admit, moving closer to him. He gently lifts his shirt just high enough so you can clean the wound.

"Ya," he winces as he feels the gauze gently pat around the gash. "Knew that wouldn't last long," he utters as he rips off his black domino mask, tossing it to his side.

You are slightly startled by his swift movement, pulling back. "Wha—Jason," you exclaim, shock and disbelief coating your face. "You—you're," you stutter, unsure of what to say.

"Ya," he awkwardly says, cringing from pain as he scratches the back of his neck. "Fuck."

"Shit. Okay, okay. We need to take care of this before we dive into—you use your hand to gesture towards him—that." He lightly nods as you delicately place the gauze onto the gash.

"Fuck—fuck!" He curses, throwing his head back, jaw clenching as he grinds his teeth.

"You okay?" You halt your actions, staring at him with more gauze in hand.

"Does it look like I'm okay?" He grits, tipping his head down to look at you. Your eyes are wide at his tone. He sighs. "M'sorry. Just—just keep going," he exasperates, laying his head back down, inhaling and exhaling slowly as you finish placing the gauze and taping it thoughtfully to ensure it was secure on his skin. He pulls his shirt down almost immediately after you finish.

"It should be okay tonight, Red. But you should really get it checked out tomorrow," you begin, closing up the kit. "You know, by a doctor."

"You can," he pauses momentarily. "Just call me Jason."

"Okay, Jason," you smile a little, "Please get it checked tomorrow." He nods as you get up to put the first aid kit back in your bathroom. You come back to see him staring up at the ceiling.

"I, uh, died," he mumbles as you take a seat on the couch cushion farthest from him. You let out a laugh, turning your head to look at him. His face is still looking at the ceiling, but it lacks humor.

"What do you mean?" You question.

"Just—I don't know," he raises his hand, trying to shoo away the question. "Forget it."

"Jason," you softly say, hand lingering closer to his own. "Tell me." You bring your hand to lay on top of his; he turns towards you swiftly at the contact. You lightly smile to let him know it's okay. He takes a deep breath before revealing more.

He doesn't go into detail about what occurred during his time in Arkham, but he did talk about his resurrection from Lazarus Pit; you didn't even know what the hell that was. He just said it can revive someone from the dead if they have just died.

"Then you became Red Hood?" You quietly asked, your hand gripping his tighter. You had not even realized it, but sometime during the conversation, you had scooted closer to him.

"Then I became Red Hood," he agrees, a light glint of humor dancing across his face. You hum a sound of acknowledgment, contemplating your following words.

"Does your dad know?" You ask, tilting your head a little. He raises a brow, clearly confused.

"Does my—" he begins to question before he lets out a slight huff, "Bruce?" You nod.

"He does," Jason affirms without the sarcastic commentary he would typically enforce since you just looked so sincere.

You both sat in silence for a bit, heads leaned back on the headrest of the couch, staring at the ceiling, fingers now interlaced. Oddly, it felt so casual—like you had just done this a million times before. You had only met him once before, but you felt like you could just trust him with your life—I mean, he had trusted you with his.

"You should sleep," you break the silence, slowly turning your head to face him, cheek smushed against the leather of the couch.

"Nah. Sleep is for the weak," he mumbles, turning his head to look at you. "Would you mind just, uh, staying here?" He awkwardly asks. "Please."

"No need to beg, Jason," you snicker. "I won't leave. I promise." He slightly flinches at your words. You don't question why; instead, you interlock your fingers tighter so he knows you aren't fibbing.

You get the feeling he's never really had anyone to take much care of him. So, you'll sit on the ugly brown leather couch you despise while the air conditioning turns on, sending shivers and goosebumps down your bare arm because everyone deserves to have somebody.

Even if that 'everyone' just so happens to be a stray vigilante with a massive ego.

a/n: posting this then running away (also still very new to dc so plz don’t be mean to me about the lore if it’s inaccurate)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[onim5]

The worst conversation

Portgas D. Ace x pregnant reader.

But it's not really about that. It's more about ASL brothers.

Warnings: Just read at your own risk.

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

Ace stood proudly before everyone, as they all cheered. It was just such great and unexpected news.

"I'm gonna become an uncle!" Luffy yells happily. Ace nods and finds Luffy giving him a bone crushing hug. Sabo joins in and gratulates Ace.

"So where's the baby?" Luffy asks, looking around.

"Uh, it's still in Y/n's stomach." Ace answer, as they all broke lose from the hug.

"It's in her stomach! Did she eat it?!" Luffy yells.

"No, no, Luffy, don't you know how babies are made?" Sabo asks.

"Not really. How are they made?" He asks. Sabo and Ace look uncomfortably around. Before taking Luffy to another room, where they could speak in private.

"Ace, how did you and Y/n get a baby?" Luffy asks innocently, making Ace blush and look away.

"It's, it's um, complicated." He stuttered out.

"What did you two do?" Luffy asks, curious. Ace blush darkened.

"Um, well, when two people love each other." Ace began, but Luffy interrupted.

"Like brothers?"

"NO!" Both Sabo and Ace practically yelled.

"Like food?" Sabo face palmed while Ace groaned. They had both assumed Luffy had figured this out himself a long time ago.

"Not like food either. But like one you wanna spend your life with and such, get married." Sabo tries to explain.

"Wait is a wedding the process to get a baby?" Luffy asks.

"No, it happens more often than not, after marrige." Ace shrugs uncomfortably.

"But what do you do? How did the baby end up in Y/n's stomach?" Luffy suspiciously asks.

Ace sighs. And figures that he need to tell him. "When two people spend the night together and love each other, very, very much. Nine months after that, a baby will arrive." Ace explains, waiting for Luffy to come to the crushing realization.

"Wait, don't you and Y/n sleep with each other every night? Do you guys have a lot of babies on the way!"

Ace choke on his own spit. His face turned deep red as he heard Luffy's question. "Luffy, no, the hell we don't. That's not how it works!" Sabo stood at the side and covered his cheeks. This was embarrassing, to say the least.

"But you and Y/n love each other, very much. And you sleep in the same bed every night." Luffy points out.

"Listen, Luffy, I do not get Y/n pregnant every night." Ace clearifies. Secretly cursing his little stupid brother.

"What's the difference?" Luffy asks, confused.

"It only happens when we want it to." Ace answers.

"And what do you do then, some kind of ritual?" Luffy asks curiously.

"Um, kinda." Ace answer while frowning.

"A ritual huh. . . . . Can I come next time?" Luffy asks innocently. Ace and Sabo feel like a brick slammed to their heads.

"Absolutely not!" Ace almost yells.

"What, why, I can be on the side." Luffy suggests with a pout.

"Just, no, no, no, no, no." Ace states clearly while blushing madly.

"But why?! I wanna see the ritual. What if I want a baby one day. You need to show me how to make one if you wanna become an uncle." Luffy uses as an argument.

"I can also make Ace an uncle." Sabo mutters, embarrassed. Ace groans and looks at Sabo for help. Not whatever that was.

"Anyway, Luffy, it's not some kind of spirit summoning ritual. Do you know how plants grow from seeds?" Sabo asks.

"Yeah, but we aren't plants." Luffy answers.

"No, but it's kind of the same idea. You need two people to make a baby, like you need two parts to make a plant grow - a seed and soil." Sabo explains.

"So . . . . Ace has a seed?" Luffy asks, his face scrunched up in thought.

Ace face turns bright red, his hands coming up to cover his face. "Sabo, I hate you for this."

Sabo chuckles at his brothers misery. "Not literally Luffy, but kind of, yeah."

"So you and Y/n planted a seed? But why did you plant it in her? I'm sure we have a pot here somewhere." Luffy says, looking around.

"It's not literally a seed." Ace repeats, still blushing in frustration.

"Can you give me one? I wanna try." Luffy states. Ace face turns beat red, and at this point, he might as well bang his head on the wall. Sabo bit his tounge, he really shouldn't laugh.

"Wait, aren't I'm supposed to have one too?" Luffy mumble, more to himself. As he walks away, he grabs a pot and puts a strand of his hair in it.

"Luffy, if you think a pot will help you make a child, I smack you on the head." Ace mumbles. Then glance at Sabo to see him just as dumbfounded.

Is he for real about to shove a strand of hair down a pot and expect a child from that? They both think.

"I wanna try." Luffy answers, confirming he actually thinks that.

"First of, it won't work. Second, I give up." Sabo sighs.

"So do I," Ace says, smacking Luffy on the head.

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

"I don't know what this is. Comment if you want."

Masterlist

[jyoongim]

OKAY I DID THE GAME AND GOT PROMPT 4 SO IM REQUESTING AN ALASTOR X READER WITH 50 AND 58 PLEASEE 🔵

(also I did the game with my gf and showed her all the stuff I'm into 👀)

Prompt 4, #50 & 58: smut no plot “behave, I wouldn’t want to have to punish you now w/ act like a brat, Ill treat you like a brat”

Alastor x brat!reader

The lounge was buzzing with people.

You were nursing a drink, looking at all the people dancing.

You wanted to dance.

”c’mon Al lets hit the dance floor” you chirped. The red demon shook his head and went back to talking with Mimzy.

You pouted.

You had got all dolled up and he wasn’t even paying any attention to you.

So you took matters into your own hands.

You slipped from your seat and headed to the dance floor, spotting an attractive demon who would love to feed your ego for the night.

You flashed him a flirty smile as you began to dance, encouraging the man to approach you.

He took the bait.

A warm body slithered behind you, hands grasping your hips.

You happily accepted his advances, keeping your smirk hidden when you saw Alastor turn and meet your eyes.

He beckoned you back and you threw your hair over your shoulder, giving your dance partner your attention.

You rubbed yourself the demon, letting his hands roam as you danced to the music.

Warm breath grazed your neck ”why dont we get out of here huh?”

You giggled and before you could utter a response you felt a familiar shadow wrap around your leg, tugging.

A warning.

Behave dearest

You ignored it, shooing the shadow away. You didn’t have to listen to him. You were out to have fun and if Alastor wasn’t going to pay attention to you, then another would do just fine.

”Buy me a drink at least” you purred and the demon happily wrapped his arm around your shoulders, guiding you back to the bar.

Alastor was staring into the side of your face as you flirted with the demon.

The demon excused himself to the restroom and Alastor gripped your arm, lips at your ear “I suggest you stop this behavior darling, wouldn’t want to ruin our night” his voice was void of the radio filter.

You huffed, glaring at him “I am having fun! Something you seem to want no part in”

His claws tightened around you, pulling you into his lap “now now dont go acting like a brat, you dont want to be punished do you?”

You swatted him away when your date came back.

You ignored his warning and turned your attention back to the male.

Alastor had had enough of your antics and bid Mimzy a goodbye, as he plucked you away from your date.

You resisted, pouting and huffing as he dragged you out of the lounge.

”Al! Let go! i was just having a bit of fun. There was no harm-”

He pushed you into a dark alley, your back hitting a brick wall.

You grunted as he pushed you to your knees, shadows restraining you.

He leaned down, fingers gripping your chin, sneering 

“You want to act like a brat, then Ill treat you like a brat”

You went to make a smirk remark when a tentacle slithered against your pulsing cunt. “!” You bit your lip.

”You’re not to cum until I see that pretty face smeared in tears and even then I wont stop until you soil the ground”

You jerked against the feeling of the appendage toying with your slit, slipping into your panties and playing with your clit.

You whined as it dipped into your cunt, curling and  wiggling around your gummy walls.

In the quiet alleyway, the sounds of your wetness echoed as you tried to hold your orgasm back.

Your face was buried in Alastor’s pant leg as you panted and push your hips back against the squirming tentacle.

Your thighs were sticky with your slick and a small puddle had formed underneath you.

”A-Al please…I-I fuuuck” you whimpered, tears running down your face, smearing your mascara as your cunt tightened.

Alastor hummed, running a hand through your hair 

“Brats dont get to cum darling”

[annebd]

prompt: scotty and max fucking dirt nasty about daniel

My first ask prompt! Thank you for turning my own horny tags against me! I don’t know if I managed to get all the way to dirt nasty, but I feel like we can at least call this “potting soil rude.” ;)

Below the cut and also here at AO3.

Max and Scotty have a tenuous agreement. A custody arrangement, Scotty calls it. When Daniel had first introduced them all those years ago, he’d clearly assumed that since he loved them both, naturally they’d like each other, too. They did not. Instead, they spent the first few months of their acquaintance doing their damnedest to avoid each other’s presence while fighting over who got to spend more time with Daniel. Neither of them wanted to share their time with him with the other, and each felt that they had a more compelling reason to lay claim to Daniel’s attention. Max declared teammate dibs, while Scotty argued for compatriot rights. The arguments escalated- furious text messages interspersed with angry glares and whispered squabbling away from Daniel’s ears until, eventually, they decided that the only viable option was to share custody.

Max gets Daniel on race weekends, from Thursday all the way through to Sunday night (and if they’re celebrating a good race result, well into the wee hours of Monday morning). Scotty has free rein over the rest of the week and any non-race weekends, except for times when Daniel and Max are both in Monaco at the same time, in which case Max gets first dibs on invites to dinners, clubs, or padel dates. Scotty had tried to argue that this rule unfairly favors Max, given that Max and Daniel both live in Monaco, which immediately gives him way more Daniel-time. Max wasted no time in pointing out that Scotty also lives in Monaco, so that’s a dumb argument, and with the amount of travel they all do, there’s very little overlap in their schedules anyway, which was the whole point in the first place.

The most important rule in their agreement, though, is that Daniel remains absolutely unaware that any of this is going on. If he knew the lengths Scotty and Max were going to in order to rearrange their schedules and his, he would make that face at them. The one where his eyes go wide and soft and red rimmed. He would shake his head at them, and he would use words like “childish” and “manipulative” and “disappointed.” No. It’s better that Daniel doesn’t know.

He’s somehow never managed to catch on that Scotty doesn’t ever hang out with him on race weekends, even if he’s at the grand prix and chilling with Chloe in the Aston Martin hospitality. He’ll give Daniel a wave, a pat on the bum if they pass each other in the paddock, but he's never asked for a pass to Daniel’s garage, even though he could easily get one as a Red Bull athlete himself. And Daniel’s also never noticed that Max pretty much disappears after race weekends, only to pop up in the background of one of Martijn’s Instagram stories or on stream with the other Twitch boys, even if Daniel mentions he'd be happy to hang out if Max finds himself in LA whenever he’s there.

Over the years, they’ve reached a tentative truce over their shared time with Daniel, but neither of them has ever gotten what they truly want: Daniel himself. He’ll flirt with them all day long,  but they know he’d just as easily flirt with a brick wall if given the chance. Flirting sometimes leads to more: Daniel will get up close behind Max on the crowded dance floor at a club, brush the tease of a half chub against Max’s ass as he scoots past him, a drink in each hand and a grin on his face. He’ll wrap one arm around Max’s waist from behind, a gesture with a flourish to present him with the G&T he’d ordered for Max, and whisper “just for you, Maxy,” as he hands him the drink and presses his cock against the seam of Max’s ass. And then he’ll flounce off again, shimmying to the pulse of the music and unaware of, or simply uncaring about, the state of Max’s shorts.

Max has seen him with Scotty, knows that he acts just the same way with him. Always standing too close, legs intertwined, sharing jokes murmured under his breath or whispered too loudly in his ear. He’ll tuck himself under Scotty’s chin, fingertips of one hand tugging teasingly at the collar of Scotty's shirt, while the other hand reaches out to take a selfie that he’ll send to Max and caption “wish you were here!”

But Daniel never lets them get any closer than that. He’ll tease, flirt, hint that he wants more, but he never takes the next step- or lets Scotty or Max take it, either. Somewhere along the line, they realized that if they can’t have Daniel himself, they’ll have to settle for the next best option.

That option is this: Scotty has Max face down, ass up on his driver room floor. There’s no space in here for this, but neither of them had cared about the logistics of anything beyond getting the door shut and tearing off enough clothing to get started. Max is still wearing his Red Bull polo- the hem rucked up to his armpits. His jeans are hanging off one foot, caught on the shoe he didn’t bother to take off before he started peeling out of his clothes. Scotty is no better off- his jeans are unzipped far enough for him to have pulled his cock out, but he’s otherwise still fully clothed.

Max watches over his shoulder as Scotty coats his fingers in lube. It’s the shitty kind in a packet that Max swiped from the complimentary amenity kit in the hotel this morning and tossed at Scotty’s head as they stumbled into his driver room and started pulling off their clothes. It’s sticky and a little goopy, but it’ll do in a pinch.

Scotty opens Max up brusquely, stretching him with two and then three fingers in quick succession. Max bristles at the burn, the way he can feel a flame lick up and down his spine, unsure of whether the sensation is pleasure or pain. He breathes through the too quick stretch and the way Scotty intentionally avoids so much as brushing past his prostate. Max knows they don’t have time for gentle. The first free practice session starts in barely more than half an hour, and Max still needs to go through his warm up routine and check in with GP about the set up plan for the run. But even with all the time in the world, Scotty still wouldn’t give him the courtesy. His focus here isn’t on Max’s pleasure.

“Come on already,” Max complains. He’s reaching back with a free hand to pull Scotty in closer, trying to grab at his cock. At least when Scotty is buried in him, Max can fuck himself back onto him, guide the angle exactly where he wants it.

“Shut up,” Scotty hisses, pushing Max’s polo further up and stuffing the hem into Max’s mouth. Max is loud. Always. But here, they don’t have the luxury of being able to hide behind the anonymity of a private hotel room, where the sound of Max’s drawn out groans or high pitched squeals can be passed off as coming from one of the other rooms down the hall; nor can they rely on the ironclad NDAs of the staff on Max’s private plane, who may have overheard him more than once begging for Scotty to stop fucking around and fuck him harder. Checo’s driver room is just next door. He’ll hear if Max starts shouting the way he wants to.

Assured that the makeshift gag will do for now, Scotty grabs a handful of Max’s left ass cheek, pulling him wide, fingers of his other hand moving unceremoniously in and out of his hole. Max can feel the cool metal of Scotty’s wedding ring against him, a twin sensation to the cold slick of the lube dripping down his rim. He wonders if Chloe knows. She’s probably lounging in the Aston Martin hospitality right now, sipping casually on a glass of wine as she chats with Fernando or jokes around with Lance. Does she know that her husband is only a few dozen yards away, wiping the excess lube off his hand and onto his cock and lining it up with Max’s hole? He wonders what she’d say if she knew. He wonders what Daniel would.

He groans as the thought hits him. Imagines Daniel’s face if he walked into Max’s driver room right now, saw him splayed out like this, moaning like a whore as Scotty takes that moment between breaths to push in, his first thrust already a zero to sixty full send that has Max sliding further to the floor. His knees slip wider and his hip flexors stretch beyond the point of a pleasant ache. Rupert is going to kill him if he shows up to his pre-race warm up with a limp. Maybe Daniel would help soothe the ache. He could slide to the floor beneath them, tuck himself under Max’s juddering hips, suck the tip of his cock into his mouth as Scotty keeps pounding into him.

Max gasps and clenches down as he imagines it. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for Daniel to burst through the door. Through the drool soaked fabric held between his teeth, he moans out a barely coherent “Daniel!”

The room is immediately quiet as Scotty stills inside him and Max inhales sharply at his own outburst. For a long moment, neither of them moves. They breathe in the shared silence for a beat, and then Scotty pulls back to sit on his haunches and grabs Max by the back of his polo shirt to haul him back with him. The change in angle has him sliding, somehow, even further down onto Scotty’s length. Max groans. From his new position on Scotty’s lap, he can feel the bite of zipper teeth against the back of his thigh. That’s going to leave a mark- another thing he’ll have to explain away to Rupert when he hops into the ice bath tomorrow.

Scotty wraps one hand firmly around Max’s chest, brushes the sharp edge of a thumbnail over Max’s nipple, drawing out a hushed squeal. He pulls Max tight against his body, cock buried balls deep inside him. As he starts moving again, stabbing staccato thrusts aimed directly at Max’s prostate, intended to tease but not satisfy, he leans in to whisper directly into Max’s ear. “Come on, Maxy. You’re not trying to get us caught, are you? Not trying to get Daniel in here to see what you look like getting fucked like this.”

Max huffs out an annoyed moan. “Like you don’t want it, too. You would be putting on a show for him. Trying to show him how good you can fuck. Which, of course, isn’t even very good at all.” 

Max knows he’s hit a nerve. It always comes down to this for them. Sometimes they’ll spend the entire time just egging each other on. It usually doesn’t take much more than the mere mention of Daniel from either of them to get things ramped up. Like clockwork, he can feel Scotty’s rhythm start to falter behind him, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. Before he even has time to reach down for his own cock, he feels Scotty stiffen and then grind hard into him. 

Everything immediately feels wetter, the slick combo of lube and come mixing inside him as Scotty starts to pull out. Max whines, tries to clench down and keep Scotty’s dick inside him. “Don’t fucking stop, you fuck!” he whisper-shouts, trying to bounce on the flagging cock already slipping free from his hole. It’s too late. Scotty pulls out completely and shoves Max off of him to flop back to the driver room floor. He’s still fully dressed, just his bare wet cock out, lying limp on the precarious biting edge of his unzipped jeans. 

Furious and still achingly hard, Max clambers on top of him, knees spread on either side of Scotty’s hips. He grabs at Scotty’s hand and forces two fingers together before lifting up and shoving them between his legs. He refuses to look down at Scotty’s face. He knows that if he does, he’ll see that fucking smirk. He closes his eyes and throws his head back instead, so that in his mind’s eye, he can imagine that it’s Daniel beneath him, whose hand he’s riding quickly to climax. Scotty’s doing nothing to help him along, but his fingers are serviceable enough as a makeshift dildo for Max to ride, and quickly enough, he’s approaching orgasm. He comes and chokes back the cry that threatens to spill over. 

He catches his come in one hand to save it from landing directly on Scotty’s shirt. He’d deserve it, the asshole; but Max knows those aren’t risks they’re able to take. Can’t explain away the random stain or have to come up with an excuse as to why Scotty’s wearing a borrowed Red Bull t-shirt and walking away from the Red Bull end of the paddock on a weekend he’s supposed to be hanging out in the Aston Martin garage. So Max catches his come in his hand. But he can’t resist the opportunity to fuck with Scotty at least a little, so he pushes up his shirt- some obnoxious NFT branded thing- and smears his cupped hand across Scotty’s abs, painting his stomach with it before Scotty even realizes it’s happening.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Scotty complains and pushes Max off him for the second time. He grabs randomly for the first thing he can put his hands on to serve as a rag- the balaclava that Max is supposed to be wearing for free practice today- and uses it to wipe himself off. He tosses the balaclava at Max to finish cleaning up and then stands to tuck himself back into his jeans and zip up. 

Once they’re both mostly presentable, Max pokes his head out of the room, checks that there’s no one around to see Scotty exiting. Satisfied that they’re clear, he steps out of the way and jerks his chin at Scotty, a nod towards the door for him to get out.

“Yeah, I’m gone. See ya never, mate,” Scotty throws over his shoulder as he saunters out of Max’s driver room.

“Fuck you, too,” Max throws back at him. He glances at the clock. He’s almost late for his warm up with Rupert. Fuck.

***

The rest of the weekend is mostly business as usual. He has to sit through a lecture from Rupert about having to rush through his warm up (“Where’ve you been? And why are you so stiff in your hips today?” he asks as he takes Max through the exercises. “Do we need to add more stretching to your routine?”), and then another from GP about having to rush the prep for the practice session, but neither is out of the ordinary. He puts it on pole the next day and wins the race the day after. He takes a moment to celebrate with the team and then makes sure to seek Daniel out for the biggest hug, an arm looped around Daniel’s waist and a hand clasped at the back of his neck, holding him close. He’s only got a few more hours of custody time before he’ll have to hand him over to Scotty, and he intends to make the most of them.

After the champagne, the ceremony, the interviews, he follows Daniel to his driver room, chattering all the way about the race and how the car is finally feeling like they’ve got a handle on it this season. Daniel nods at the appropriate moments, points out things he’d noticed on track, too. Max beams. He loves talking about racing with anyone, but most especially with Daniel.

In Daniel’s driver room, Max makes himself as comfortable as he can on the small padded bench and watches as Daniel strips off his race suit and fireproofs and tosses them in a heap on the ground. He wanders around the tiny room in just his boxer briefs, which are molded to his thighs, still sweat-slick from the race. Max’s own briefs start feeling a little tight as he takes in all of the skin on display in front of him.

“What are we doing to celebrate tonight?” he asks. “Carlos told me about this new club that he and Charles have visited. We can go there together, if you want. Few G&Ts to end the weekend?”

Daniel nods while he throws on his regular clothes, and Max sighs as all that golden skin disappears from view. “Sounds good, mate. I’m all in!”

Max smiles back at him. Perfect. He’s riding the high of the win, and as the blood rushes from his brain to locations further south, he decides to press his luck. “And then tomorrow, do you want to fly with me in my plane? You can come with me to Greece for a bit, if you want.”

“Sorry, no can do, Maxy. Got plans for this week already. Besides,” he pauses halfway out the door, gives Max a sharp look over his shoulder, “it’s not your custody week, is it? Scotty wouldn’t approve.”

Max stares after Daniel as he skips down the stairs out of his driver room. Fuck.

[elfgirlcraftworks]

Let America Be America Again

By Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.

Let it be the dream it used to be.

Let it be the pioneer on the plain

Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—

Let it be that great strong land of love

Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme

That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty

Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,

But opportunity is real, and life is free,

Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,

Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?

And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,

I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.

I am the red man driven from the land,

I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—

And finding only the same old stupid plan

Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,

Tangled in that ancient endless chain

Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!

Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!

Of work the men! Of take the pay!

Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.

I am the worker sold to the machine.

I am the Negro, servant to you all.

I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—

Hungry yet today despite the dream.

Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!

I am the man who never got ahead,

The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream

In the Old World while still a serf of kings,

Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,

That even yet its mighty daring sings

In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned

That’s made America the land it has become.

O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas

In search of what I meant to be my home—

For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,

And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,

And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came

To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?

Surely not me? The millions on relief today?

The millions shot down when we strike?

The millions who have nothing for our pay?

For all the dreams we’ve dreamed

And all the songs we’ve sung

And all the hopes we’ve held

And all the flags we’ve hung,

The millions who have nothing for our pay—

Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—

The land that never has been yet—

And yet must be—the land where every man is free.

The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—

Who made America,

Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,

Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,

Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—

The steel of freedom does not stain.

From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,

We must take back our land again,

America!

O, yes,

I say it plain,

America never was America to me,

And yet I swear this oath—

America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,

The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,

We, the people, must redeem

The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.

The mountains and the endless plain—

All, all the stretch of these great green states—

And make America again!

[snpcmachine]

SnPC Machines, your brick making partner

SnPC Machines, A leading manufacturer of world first fully automatic machine with moving technology, the latest brick making machine produce bricks while moving on wheel like a vehicle as hence can be mentioned as brick making truck as well. With the help of this machine kiln owner can revolutionize their business at a very rapid rate and they have to manage minimum human labours. This machine is eco-friendly and budget friendly as it requires about one-third of water compared with other brick making methods. Bricks produced with these machines are 3times more stronger that others and cost reduces about 45%. Raw materail needed can be clay, red soil, flyash or a mixutre of these. Bricks can be produced anywhere and anytime due to these machines. Three main types of mobile brick making machines are BMM160, BMM310 and BMM410. Just buy Snpc machines and enjoy automatic brick production. These brick making truck are durable, compressive and can be easily handle while operating. Customer from any country, state or provinces either can contact us via our website email or contact for order or more enquires or can visit our place and can physically enquire for their own satisfaction.

[1hoverman0k]

dogs have begun appearing out of the soil and breaking out of concrete paths and bricks with glowing red eyes

[crguang]

RAHHHHHHHHH *ahem*

Fluffy Prompts 54, 44, & 8 w/kafka?

i have another req with #8 for kafka as well so i used the first two! also, im now realizing that this might not be as fluffy as you meant it im sorry hfejbfkf i feel like there are certain things kafka would only say in serious-ish situations

There’s blood on your hands. It stains your skin with a red that makes you uneasy, and you stare at your open palms for what feels like a lifetime; the seconds stretch into years spent immobile and helpless, rooted in a soil where nothing else will ever grow. A veil of near silence covers you and in the dim streetlight, only the unnerving dripping of water can be heard. Drip, drip, drip— each droplet falls in tandem with each beat of your heart and their synchronized melody disorientates you completely. You don’t know where you are, why you are here or what you’re meant to do. You don’t feel the cold despite the fine layer of snow blanketing the deserted street you stand in. You look up at the night sky and see no stars. Your tongue is numb and heavy with a sense of doom that you can’t place and your mouth stays shut in uncertainty. 

You look around in search of anything remotely familiar and in your peripheral vision, another streetlight flickers to life. Your steps are measured as you make your way to it like a moth to a flame. It stands in front of a narrow and dark alley that seemingly extends for miles. You can’t see the end of it, and the uncomfortable feeling that looms over you at the thought is amplified by the sight of a shadowed figure slumped against the bricked wall. You hesitate to get closer but your gut forces you forward, one foot after the other, until you’re planted in front of the black mass. It moves, the shape of its head slowly tilting up to meet your horrified eyes, and the breath is sucked out of your lungs at once. Even without a reliable light source, you recognize the soft color gradient of pink and lilac, dulled with the allure of death. The figure reveals itself to you; its shredded over-shoulder coat, ripped shirt, torn high-waisted shorts and distinct custom-made gloves as tainted as your hands slowly unravel under your nose to form what you instantly know is your biggest fear. A steady amount of blood seeps from a wound near the abdomen and stains what is left of the white shirt. Broken sunglasses lay on dirty magenta hair, and you are unable to look away. The figure— Kafka’s— mouth moves, murmuring words you can’t hear as there is only blood and water in your ears. Your eyes, frozen and unblinking, sting with the weight of unshed tears and your chest burns from the lack of oxygen. You don’t register your trembling hands or the world that spins beyond the two of you, you can only stare at Kafka’s dying body in dizzying terror.

A thick layer of sweat clings to your forehead as you awake with a sharp gasp, sitting up on the bed with a hand on your chest to make sure that your inability to breathe was only an effect of the nightmare you woke up from. Your breathing is heavy and labored, warm tears wet your cheeks with every quick blink of your eyes adjusting to the darkness of your bedroom and you sit there for long minutes just regaining your bearings. The glowing numbers of your digital clocks show that it’s only a little past midnight. Panic lingers in your tense muscles and your shaky fingers desperately reach for the phone atop your nightstand. The light hurts your eyes but your hazy mind can’t focus on the feeling, you fumble with unlocking it and opening your contacts, scrolling down the list of names until you find the one you’re looking for. 

A shuddering breath parts your lips, weak sniffles occasionally escape you, and the line rings and rings before the call goes to an automated voicemail. A pitiful sound leaves you. You redial. If you had all of your senses, you would have recalled that you had not heard from Kafka in almost three weeks. She does this sometimes, she disappears for weeks at a time due to the high stakes and stealthy missions she’s given. Depending on the risk, she can’t afford communications with you. Every so often, she tells you how long she’ll be away so you don’t miss her too much— her words. However, you presently cannot think straight, still haunted by the gory sight of her injuries. The call goes to voicemail. You redial. Voicemail. Redial. You start picturing the worst, the same constricting feeling of fear from earlier curling around your limbs until your knees are to your chest and your ragged breathing makes no sense to your ears. 

The line rings and your tears dampen your collar. After the third ring, someone picks up.

“What’s wrong?”

You hear commotion on the other end but the sound of Kafka’s raspy voice brings you relief so intense your whole body shakes with your next exhale. No doubt your labored breaths can be heard through the phone, and there’s a pause amidst some distant, unintelligible shouting.

“What happened?” Your eyes shut as you concentrate on the way Kafka’s words soften a touch.  

“When… When can you be back?” Your voice sounds weak and pleading, quiet in contrast to the racket of the other line. 

“I’m a little busy. Why?”

You don’t know how to explain your state of mind. Your brain needs to perceive her in front of you, in the flesh, to appease its morbid concerns and fully register the fact that she is alive. 

You sniffle. “I need to see you.”

More muffled shouting, an insistent alarm going off in the background, and Kafka’s annoyed sigh. You think she’s irritated by your demand but, like her previous ones, her next sentence is underlined with concern. 

“I’m wrapping something up, right now. I can be there tomorrow.”

You feel fresh tears well up in your eyes at the idea of waiting half a day to have her near. You try to steady your breathing and fail. You’re crying softly into the phone, now.

“No… Please come home, this doesn’t feel right…”

There’s another pause, and then, multiple gunshots ring out in succession. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, the noise worsening the rising panic in your chest. You don’t want to think about what she’s doing and the chaos happening around her, anxiety nips at you with each bullet being fired because it reminds you of the dangerous life she lives and that your worries are not entirely unfounded. The shots keep coming until the shouting dies down to complete silence. It seems the blaring alarm has also been dealt with during the ruckus; you can’t hear a thing save for what Kafka says next.

“It’ll take three hours. Sit tight, alright?” Her tone lifts at the end, meant to be reassuring in her own subtle way. 

You nod even though she can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Bye, bye~!”

Kafka ends the call. You inhale slowly and find that breathing comes a little easier. 

By the time the second hour passes by, you can barely bear the weight of your eyelids, but sleeping isn’t an option. Your mind is still restless and you dread the possibility of your nightmare coming back, so you distract yourself by playing games on your phone. You check the time regularly, anxiously, and when the clock announces exactly three hours after your call, two firm knocks resonate through your apartment. You practically jump to your feet to open the front door. 

Kafka stand on the other side with her usual, easygoing smile. It widens an inch as she sees you and it takes everything you have not to throw yourself at her immediately. A quiver runs through your hands. You step aside to let her in, fiddling with the handle, and quickly close the door behind her. 

“So, what was— Oof!”

Her sentence is cut off by your arm around her waist pulling her flushed against you. Your nose burrow into the crook of her neck, amidst her soft strands of hair, and you embrace her tightly to convince your brain that she’s here, alive and with you. You breathe in the faint scent of tobacco on her skin as her steady heart beats against yours and gently encourages your pulse to follow her lead. Kafka brings a hand up to pat your back somewhat hesitantly, then eases into the hug enough to rub along your spine when you don’t let her go. You both stand in the entrance of your apartment for some time, the soothing sound of your heater in the background. The remnants of fear your nightmare left you with are squashed by Kafka’s arm around you and her body pressed to yours. 

“...Better?” Kafka speaks up after a while, voice soft in the quiet of the room. 

You reluctantly loosen your hold on her and lean back slightly. Her bare fingers rest under your chin and tilt it upwards so you can meet her eyes. There’s a hint of concern in them that she lets you see despite the small smile on her lips. 

“Are you going to tell me what this was about? Or do I have to guess?” Her playful words mean to ease any lingering trace of turmoil. 

Now that you’ve fully calmed down, you start to feel the effects of your interrupted sleep. You blink slowly to keep your eyes open a bit longer. 

“Can we lay down first?” You ask quietly, rubbing your eye withh one hand while the other searches Kafka’s limp one at her side. 

She looks at you for a few seconds, thinking thoughts you’re not privy to, before replying, “Of course.”

You lead her to your bedroom and prompt her to lie on the bed, uncaring of having her outside clothes on your clean sheets. Kafka settles against the pillows and you follow suit, half of your weight on her as an arm snakes around her waist to keep her pressed to you. In the dim yellow light, with your face on her chest, you notice some blood spatter on her shirt. The sight brings you back to the tattered clothes soaked in her blood that you dreamed of a few hours prior. You close your eyes, willing the mental image to fade away. Kafka’s fingers brush the back of your neck and trail down your spine in repeated motions. You’re much more relaxed in her embrace and can talk about what happened without being gripped by emotion. 

“...I had a nightmare that you were dying in an alley,” saying the words out loud makes you feel ridiculous in hindsight, but she shows no sign of amusement or mockery. “It felt real. And I had no idea what you were up to these past weeks, so I… It felt real.”

Kafka doesn’t say anything for a long time, you wonder what she could be thinking about. Her touch doesn’t falter on your back, the only indication that she heard you at all. Exhaustion creeps up on you, but you’re getting a little nervous at her lack of response. You feel the need to explain yourself further. 

“Sorry if I pulled you from something important… All I could think about was your— your body laying there, bloody and alone, and I got so scared because your work is dangerous and I never have any way of knowing if you’re okay until you come back. I wasn’t thinking straight, I thought—”

“Don’t think about anything. Just tell me that you love me and hold me tighter.”

The rest of your excuses die in your throat. She pulls you impossibly closer and you mutter low confessions into her chest until your speech slows and sleep claims you completely. Kafka holds you through the night, fingers playing with the hairs on the back of your neck, staring at the still shadows on your bedroom ceiling. She doesn’t tell you that no one has ever worried about her death before and that it’s a strange feeling to know that this primal instinct to fear finality is born out of your genuine love for her. She sits in that thought for hours. When the sun begins its ascension in the sky and her consciousness is starting to slip, her lips brush the top of your head as she murmurs her own well-kept love confession.

[d8tl55c]

orange with a diamond sword.

rage.

shiny blue tip towards green's neck

where he lies knocked down in the grass.

orange takes perfect care of this sword - it's his best. even a brush of the tip cuts.

all see him, and remember

and flinch.

orange raises his sword over his head.

it would be a killshot.

the rest are too shocked, angry, worried by how angry, stalled by cognitive dissonance to act.

the blade falls.

he stabs the grass, deep through the roots and soil and stones below.

orange storms off, leaving his best sword behind.

red sees.

remembers.

follows him.

blue is frozen down in the flowers by the pool.

yellow gathers blue. his scattered pieces, so to speak, come back together briefly from her coaxing.

green, trying to salvage it, approaches them.

laughs- wrong- jittery, measuring in his mind the distance orange's sword was from his neck... less than a short blade of grass

(tasted horrible)

but the show, the show, the show must go on.

he smiles, opens his arms wide with bravado.

"it was just a-!"

"get back," blue barks.

he's angry, but it's wrong.

he's angry and something else, something which rises and intensifies and sharpens the details as much as it swirls them.

it's just green, green and his insensitive gags, and a nice cherry forest under the sun.

it feels too warm, too bright, too dangerous.

"but," green approaches.

blue backs up.

green has less of blue's trust than that zombified hoglin.

yellow steers blue away, glaring at green.

"just LEAVE IT," she says. less loud than the others, but the most stern.

green wilts, alone in the clearing.

"we need a break."

red finds orange hiding behind a cherry trunk a few minutes away, trying not to mutilate too many flowers.

upon eye-contact,

they remember their own thing... in the desert. the lush caves. it got bad before. good on him that he left to cool down.

red is twitchy, too. can't unflatten the cat ears, so frustrated.

what to do?

red offers a duel.

orange accepts.

1. normal duel?

or

2. cat duel? lol.

mostly unserious from the beginning, they crouch to all fours and leap and swipe at each other. tussle and roll and work up to that genuine, playful competitiveness.

it always devolves into tickling. red gets orange to laugh. orange retaliates by scratching red under the chin. this instantly paralyses him. /pos

that was fun, and red is happy now

but...

orange wishes it was this easy with green.

he huffs sadly. still furious!! mostly sad.

orange tries to get up and do something.

red, purring, pins him to the ground for a snuggle.

orange struggles.

red deliberately-accidentally kicks him in the head while readjusting.

so instead of jumping into some fool plan

they get comfortable

and talk.

red is a little better at hiding it... (or suppressing it...) but he wishes it was that easy for green too.

if you try to hold green back,

he might just drag you through the mud with him.

blue is more fragile.

he never liked pranks, much less...

he can't even think about it. everything's fuzzy. focusing his eyes makes him more dizzy.

the pink looks darker, swims together into a uniform texture, red red red and the trunks are the same dark purple of the brick and he's falling-

yellow doesn't know what's going on, but she suspects that blue understated back then,

"oh yeah! and i got knocked into the lava pool, haha. wow, that hurt."

so she's approximately half-ready when he stops walking.

she halts too. "you okay?"

blue squeaks.

yellow steps in front of him.

he grabs her shoulders, like she's a ladder dipping into the-

ah. lava. yep, definitely some unresolved trauma there. she spots the bark color of the cherries and nods, theories forming in her mind.

the blue sky sure is a different color.

. .. ...

oh!

Yes!! there are zero cool colors in the nether, except for that dark teal fungus biome.

"hey, blue."

blue is still clinging to her shoulders.

"check out the sky right now."

he trusts her, so even while unsteady, his head jerks up. "whh...?"

slowly, his eyes begin to focus through the clouds.

it's overcast, but only the Minecraft version of cirrus clouds that let the deep blue atmosphere peek through.

it's a perfect Minecraft Overworld day.

the delicate pinks and greens of the trees compliment an endless pool of sky.

this is the opposite of the hard, brutal Nether.

blue's grip on yellow loosens.

she gets worried for a moment- but it's then clear it's because he's started to stand on his own again.

she pats his shoulder - his "good side," he jokes, the one that spent the least time cooking in service of the baby piglin - and leans against him.

he leans back.

a few minutes pass.

"i need to get that checked out," he laughs softly.

"yeah," yellow sighs. "you really do."

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Even If...

No one could argue the Fenton's weren't weird, but that didn't make them preternatural.

For the prompt: All the Fentons are a bit more ghostly than they know. [from @datawyrms]

Read also on AO3

[no applicable warnings]

The Fentons were... weird, but not inhuman.

Even if Jack Fenton could barrel through a solid brick wall without getting a scratch on him. Even if, despite his size, he seemed surprisingly light sometimes. Even if he could run across soft soil and leave only shallow footprints, if any at all. Even if he seemed to produce a wave of static off him when he got excited. 

If anyone ever tried to take a photograph off him, they would quickly grow frustrated by the inescapable red-eye, and the fact that his figure was always out of focus, and often seemed to blur, even when he was perfectly still. And even though his voice was nearly impossible to understand over the phone due to some kind of unexplained interference, that was just a quirk of his, and nothing more.

He was weird... but not paranormal.

Even if Maddie Fenton could lift twice her weight right over her head with seemingly no exertion at all. Even if her eyes were strangely luminescent, so when she pulled down her red goggles they appeared to glow like some kind of magical beast, even if she moved so quickly or so subtly that she could, at times, seem to almost disappear.

Few people ever saw, but sometimes, when she worked in her lab, the tools she needed moved on their own, sliding across the table until she found them under her fingers. She assumed it was her husband moving them for her. She often forgot he wasn't there when she stayed late and worked alone. Coincidence maybe, or luck.

She was weird... but not supernatural.

And Jazz could sense things sometimes... how people were feeling, even if they showed no outward signs. And if she went out to walk at night, grown men twice her size would sense something uncanny about her and cross the street rather than cross her path. But even if her freckles shone like flecks of gold, and even if her long hair sometimes drifted when she turned like gravity was a suggestion, and even if she could talk for nearly half an hour and never seem to take a single breath....

She was weird... but not unearthly.

And Danny Fenton, he was the strangest of them all. He was always dropping things like they slipped right through his fingers. His eyes would flash a brilliant green sometimes. If you looked closely, you could see his hair floating up above his eyes instead of falling down. When he walked into a room, the temperature would drop, and the lights would flicker when he got upset.

His teeth were abnormally sharp, his ears slightly pointed, his skin almost glowing with how pale it was, and his freckles actually glowing, like teeny, tiny stars strewn across his cheeks. The sound of his voice could sent a chill down someone's spine, and if any looks could kill, they would be his.

But he was just weird... not metaphysical.

Yeah, the Fenton's were a strange bunch. Their eyes a little too sharp, and their smiles a little too wide. And when they stood together, everyone around them had a strong, inexplicable urge not to get too close to them. 

And all of Maddie's cooking may have smelled faintly of decay, no matter what she did to it, but it tasted alright.

And Jack was a bit absent-minded, but a brilliant inventor whose devices worked perfectly satisfactorily... even when they weren't connected to any sort of power source.

And though she often knew things she couldn't know, things you had never told anyone, Jazz was a perfectly kind and attentive young woman, agreeably and easy to get along with, if you could shake the feeling of unease.

And none of Danny's friends seemed to mind his abnormalities, whether they were physical or behavioral, and they were always understanding when he somehow always knew just before a ghost was going to attack.

Yes, it couldn't be denied that the Fenton's were weird... but they were human....

Weren't they?

[cookeybg]

Gotham Possesses

A cryptid Batfamily AU in which Gotham is the main character and follows its journey to consciousness as it follows its Bat and Birds. Chapters are short and a bit gloomy.

Main Characters: Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

Honorable Mentions: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Mr. Freeze, Riddler, Cobblepot (Penguin), Two Face (Harvey Dent), Superman (Clark Kent), Superboy (Jon Kent)

No romantic relationships

Stuff to know: Cryptid Batfamily, grim, Melancholic mood, Angst, this chapter has mentions of drug use, murder and unsolicited touching

Word Count: 933

[Here's my table of contents]

Chapter 10 - Gotham Watches

Death. That’s what happened when their warmth seeped into me, emptying, leaving behind a husk, a body no longer needed. Death. I had been born because of it, awakened. Death. It hung over me, clung to my Bat and our Birds. It tittered in the jester’s presence, in his arrival, in his exit. In the wake of a bullet fired. In the hands of anger and in the perception of love. In the tumbling of a dear butler, a father, when his neck snaps as he lands crooked. A kiss to the lips and he’s back, dazed, in pain, bound to me and the manor he holds so dear. Tethered to my shadows, forever serving in our love for our Bat. He moves on, dusts himself, there is dinner to be served. It is the thing that the living must always meet, the thing I greet and make my own. Their souls and warmth fuel me, a near endless supply. It is a curious thing, to watch them. I float around a young girl, she sits in the dark, I’m her only company. She is not afraid, not happy, used to it. She was told to never turn on the light, never answer the door, the phone. When she was alone she was to stay hidden and wait. A door opens quietly, she stiffens, then relief as her mother calls for her in a tired voice. I move on. I linger in a building where the jester laughs maniacally in his glass cage. He suddenly stops and stares, his gaze following me, his smile widening, unnerving. I stay away. Slither past the female jester, the blue cold man, the green woman who sprouts life on my soil, the man who mumbles riddles, the female cat whose too familiar with my Bat. All uninteresting, captured. Much more fun when they are free. I slip through old brick loosening the mortar. I caress a young woman, passed out on the cold floor. Her skin nearly as cold as the stone. She smiles as her final, shuttering breath escapes, a needle tumbling to the ground. My senses alert me to look up. I see a red cape fly by, avoiding me. As he should. His presence casts a heavy shadow, my Bat does not see me when he’s near. Leaves with him for periods at a time, far from my gaze. More often than not my Bat tells the red cape, whose skin is far too warm and whose smile reflects the sun, to stay away. It’s satisfying. I dance in the clubs, enjoying the manic thrum, the unbridled joy of its patrons. Some if not most, using something to increase their vivacity. Not all will make it through to morning. A hooked nosed man in a black hat smiles from the second floor window. Plotting, monocle gleaming.

A boy steals a half drunk bottle that his father was hugging in his sleep. The boy tosses it out the window, the sound of shattering glass echoes down in the street, not uncommon. He huddles under his blankets a bag of frozen peas pressed to his let eye. His mother won’t be back for another few hours. I hear the mumbling of a man, arguing with himself. A silver coin gleams under the dim light of an abandoned building. He shoots his gun when the coin lands, a body falls to the ground, warmth seeps into my earth, salty. Another body to be sunk into my harbor. Laughter distracts me away. I sweep in on a lovers cuddling, enjoying the images playing on a screen. His arm loosely dangling over her shoulders. Her gaze is reminiscent to how I stare at my Bat. The man will be gone by morning, he was never planning to stay, he will not let her know. Life glows within her belly. New potential. I sink down into my depths. There’s a meeting, men and women in white masks. Myths, creatures that should not exist. Watching, just as I do. Abominations that must be purged, a new mystery for my Bat. I waft upward through the grates. I watch a man, shivering, digging through the trash amongst the rats. Searching for something, maybe food, maybe something to numb. Unsuccessful, he moves to another dumpster. I wrap around the clock tower, a red headed woman sits typing furiously on a computer. She also watches and observes as much as I do. I help her steer the cameras in the right direction. A female bat stands beside her, stitched mouth, silent. My first bird sleeps contorted, on the manor’s couch. Tired from a long grueling night. My second hugs his knees to his chest, woken from his sleep. I encourage him to calm and close his eyes. My third hasn’t gone to bed, wide eyed and wired, placing theories on a board. My fourth has escaped, our bond shows me that he is in another city, asleep next to a body far to warm to be human, far too bright. My Bat, with labored breathing, is forced to dream. Forced in bed by the older man. I shape my shadows into hands, they aren’t perfect, sharp ends. I slide them down his overheated chest. My shadows press into his skin, ecstatic with the proximity. I lick his wounds to try and heal them quicker. He tastes sweet. He is not bound to me, not yet. I wait in anticipation for when we can be one, and settle on his side content. I will continue to watch, I doubt I will ever tire of it.

The end!

I hope you have enjoyed Gotham Possesses. I will be posting it on Ao3, maybe tomorrow. I'm a bit sad about it ending but also proud of myself. This is the second thing I wrote that I posted and was super nervous to do so. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with reading this and endured my lack of editing.

I will be planning a series of POVs from the birds. I hope you look forward to them :)

Please feel free to comment, I get rly happy when I see your reactions.

[minty-drop]

Pitaya dragon x reader

Tw: yandere themes, protective and possessive behaviour, kidnapping, isolation, murder, forced relationship

Type: angst, depression, fear, anger

Kinda crappy near the end, because my friend had asked this of me and I had no idea how to put this idea together so here my attempt

It was well know for the Queen, hollyberry, to venture out of the kingdom to chase down the legendary red dragon, a hunt that had been going on for years. Though even if those constant trips of coming back bruised or bloody, she still stood proud and tall in keeping her kingdom safe within its walls. Including her subjects.

When the dragon striked, it was like all hell had clawed it’s way up from the soil into the kingdom, burning building to the ground, killing the inhabitants almost out of the blue. Even hollyberry did not know what had angered this beast to cause this much chaos that the kingdom had to endure.

But oh you knew..you knew exactly what had angered them.

The wind was crisp as the autumn glow of the sun seeped through the cracks in the wooden door. You struggled to get the slightly tattered boots on, out grown them years ago but to poor to get a new pair. A small jacket would do, as well as thin gloves and a hat to keep your dough of your head warm. You planned on enjoying a cold august evening in a small but rather beautiful part of forest beyond the guarded walls. But you long have been able to avoid the eyes of the particularly wary guards that stood on the bricks and bricks of the carefully constructed mountain like walls. Today would be no different, you would anticipate for this day each week to spend quality time with the outside world.

With a quiet yet heavy sigh, with all your warm covering on, it would be a breeze to get around without a freeze. The door to your house flew open gently with the help of your hand twisting the doorknob, a prickle that tickled your nose had just arrived. It did not take long to passed the walls, and when on the other side and out of view, you snuck carefully into the bushes where a crooked and bushy dirt path layed behind its green vibrancy. Continuing on this path you did, hoping over fallen branches after branch, already have mapped out where to step and not to step. But a groan had stoped your cookie legs from walking any farther, another much louder groan of pain echoed out through the surrounding area, followed by a quiet mutter of profanity’s.

Both out of curiosity,concern, and a hint of fear, your body had turned to the sound, the fur lining on your jacket gracing the side of your face and tickling the outer parts of your neck. Footsteps of yours pattered over to the trees, in which those trees thick branches had been broken. With some difficulty, you managers to wiggle your way through the sharp edges, only to be greater with piercing red eyes staring back at you, a large spiked sword raised to point at you as the owner layed on the ground helplessly. The interestingly dressed cookie had a gash on his right side, claw marks, stretching from there rib cage to the upper thigh area. A-few other injuries littered the dough, but not as closely as how much blood had leaked out there side. “Back the fuck up or I’ll-“ in a flash the cookie had started to cough up thick red liquid. Now with the blood seeping from his mouth and the now noticeable swelling on his left eye, the cookie suddenly fell backwards on there back, coughing up more of the liquid that invaded there throat, and soon passing out.

And you just watched his happen…wait..I JUST WATCHED A COOKIE DIE? griping the sides of your jacket, running and sitting down beside this stranger you had encounter, and checked for a pulse…there still was one..I can do this..I’m training in medicine I can actually do this..I can help them.

And somehow you had been able to drag this EXTREMELY heavy beast of a cookie back through the wall and to your house. Now you stood over him with a light frown, finishing up the bandages that wrapped around the torso and arms, a-few here and there were not the best bandages you’ve done, but not the less they were secure and keeping the stitching, medical cream and other oddments from beings damaged/ wiped off. The more you got into cleaning the gashes to stitching them up, you had noticed that..he shouldn’t have survived such wound for that long. then it dawned, this wasn’t a cookie..this was a DRAGON. Panic you did, scrambling through your house at the thought. You had just brang a dragon, a fucking DRAGON in the hollyberry kingdom, a kingdom where it’s queen hunter these creatures. But you’ve never seen them in cookie form, you thought it was a myth that dragons could turn into cookies!

It didn’t help that when this beast had finally awoken, they were already trying to kill you while you tried to explain what was happening to him and where he was. The dragon was in raged…until you had offered him food that is. With that words uttered from your mouth, this previously raging dragon made sat down onto the couch that he had previously ripped up, grumbling a “hurry up then”

That’s how you met them, the legendary red dragon, a feared foe of the queen, chaos itself, raw power in one being. That was months ago. You had grown fond of each other a-few weeks after helping him, and they would visit’s regularly with that same aggression but now almost friendly attitude. He was a friend of yours, a good friend of yours, so much of a good friend you told him about a cookie you had been seeing lately. And oh, that’s when he flipped. He left that day, as quick as he came. Not seeing them since that terrible day, well, until now that is. That rage that had built up over the few days of the incident, was now being let loose on the people of hollyberry kingdom.

Like any cookie would do, you ran. You ran away from the friend that now was tearing apart your home.

Power gusts of wind barrled at your form, making you tumble to your feet. The dragon you once thought had held some sliver of kindness now stood in front of you, towering over you with wing wide and teeth bearing. This was your end. Right?

This was worse.

Pinned to his side with the strength of his wing, forced to lay beside the red scaled dragon in what looked like there den. It smelled like old blood, magma and a hint of sugar, it made you sick to your stomach to look around at the lifeless cookies that had tried to save you from this nightmare. But they promised himself he would never let you go, even if he has to go through the witches themselves.