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sweet-by-and-by · 3 years ago

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Give Me What I Need- Arthur Morgan x Reader

summary: Arthur finally makes it home after a stagecoach robbery scouted by Uncle goes horrifically sideways. You have just the thing to set his sour mood right.

pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

warnings: smut🔞, small spoilers for "An Honest Mistake" in Ch.3

a/n: “It was a dark and stormy night” Just kidding! Kind of. The temptation to start this fic with that sentence was seriously too strong. Just a little diddy I came up with while sitting in a thunderstorm! With our first heatwave inevitably comes a string of wild thunderstorms, and I’m definitely looking forward to sitting in my sunroom and watching the rain. SO much love to @farbenfux for beta-ing this for me!! I can not tell you how much better this fic is now that she’s worked her magic on it ❤ Check her out to see her incredible artwork!

AO3

The crack of thunder startled you, making you jump involuntarily. You laughed at your reaction, chastising yourself for being frightened so easily. You shook your head and returned to your sewing, holding the needle close to the lantern to aid your sight as you slipped your thread through the eye and looped the knot.

It was late evening in Lemoyne, and based on the sound of thunder in the distance and the wind that had picked up after supper, one hell of a summer thunderstorm was rolling in. You and the girls had cleaned up quickly before retreating to your tents, them to their shared lean-to and you to the tent that you and Arthur shared.

As you returned to your mending, your thoughts drifted to your outlaw. The last you saw Arthur, he was riding out to rob some stage coach with Uncle, Charles, and Bill. He was already in a mood when he came to kiss you goodbye, and you were sure getting caught in a storm would do nothing to ease his temper.

You checked your pocket watch, your concern growing as you realized how late it was getting. They should have been back before supper, but the sun had long disappeared behind Flat Iron Lake and there was still no sign of their crew.

You pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, focusing on your task to distract yourself. It worked for a few more hours when the rain started, but when your watch read past midnight and your lantern flickered as the oil burned low, your stomach had sunk and your heart was hammering. Something had gone wrong and all you could do was wait for one of them to show up, yelling about how the law had got them and they were all fit to hang.

Just as your sinister thoughts had you rising to go find Dutch or Hosea and organize a search party, the canvas walls of your tent flew open. A crack of lightning struck in the distance, its accompanying thunder growing louder than ever. Rain wailed against the side of your tent, testing the waxed canvas for everything it was worth. You yelped as a very wet, very angry Arthur Morgan stormed in through the opening he had made.

Your heart fluttered at the sight of him, and relief flooded through you as you registered that he was okay. You took a deep breath and brought your hand up to your chest, settling yourself from your scare and your hours of worrying.

This was completely unnoticed by Arthur, who stomped over to the table to drop his soaking wet hat. You winced at the sound of water squelching in his boots, and you had to stifle a laugh at how deep the frown was set on his face.

“That man is the laziest, dumbest, drunkest no-good son of a bitch I have ever had the displeasure of knowing,” Arthur growled, sliding his satchel and gunbelt off and throwing them on the table beside his hat. “I swear, the next time he brings in some incredible tip, I’m throwing his pickled ass right into the lake.”

You blinked as Arthur continued his rampage, plopping himself on your cot and fighting to remove his boots.

“Arthur...” you said, drawing his attention to you. You moved to sit next to him on your bed, resting a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “...what the hell happened to you? I’ve been sitting here for hours worrying myself half to death.”

Arthur sighed and chucked his sopping boots, shaking his head and resting his hand on top of yours.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he said, “I didn’t mean to worry ya’. Things got a little out of hand with the stagecoach. Turns out they ramped up security after Uncle picked up the lead. Had to wait ‘em out in some barn and shoot our way outta the woods. Then this god damn storm came in and soaked me down to my bones,” he explained, gesturing to his dripping hair and soaked jeans.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline and your eyes grew wide. You couldn’t believe they had made it out of that glorious mess, and you couldn’t blame him for his frustration. Leaning in to kiss his cheek empathetically, you cupped your hand against the other side of his face and pulled him close.

“Tell you what,” you murmured, a smirk blooming across your face as you swung your leg over to straddle him, “why don’t we get you outta’ these horrible clothes and take your mind off of things.”

Arthur’s hands moved instinctually, settling on your hips. You worked the buttons of his shirt open, placing kisses against his skin as you revealed his neck and chest. You nipped at his collarbone, biting at the sensitive skin with just a hint of teeth before returning to kiss his neck. He hummed happily, the deep sound tingling against your lips.

You pushed his shirt off of his shoulders, forcing him to let go of your hips to free his hands. You took the chance to rise to your feet, hushing his protests as you backed away. He tossed his shirt to the ground with a splat, the sound of the wet fabric making you giggle.

Before Arthur could reach for you, you sank to your knees in front of him. You pushed his thighs apart and crawled in between, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes. Your innocent gaze was a sweet contrast to the movement of your hands, sliding up his thighs to reach for his fly. He groaned at the sight of you, his half-hard cock already straining against the buttons.

He threw his head back and moaned when you unbuttoned his jeans, cupping and squeezing his length through his union suit. You pressed the heel of your palm lightly against the base of his cock, stroking your thumb along the length of his bulge.

He whined quietly when you released him, shushing him as you hooked your fingers in his waistband. He arched to help get his jeans off, lifting his hips as you dragged the wet denim down his legs and tossed them behind you.

You turned your attention to his union suit, rising to your knees to start at the top. He roughly pulled you in for a kiss - all teeth and tongue in his impatience. A small bite to your bottom lip and the following soothing nibbles had you groaning. You forced yourself to pull back, leaning away as he chased you.

A firm push of your hand to his chest pushed him back into a half sitting, half leaning position on your cot."Ah ah,” you scolded, “you’ll get what you want, but you’ll get them on my terms.”

Arthur scowled at your words, glowering at you with unrestrained passion. His eyes narrowed and he grit his teeth, staring you down from his place on the cot. You laughed at his expression, keeping a hand on his chest as you leaned in to press a chaste kiss against his lips, appeasing him only slightly. You returned your focus to his buttons, baring him as you finally uncovered him.

The fabric was just as soaked as the rest of him, his skin glistened from the rain as you revealed him bit by bit. You ran your fingers through his damp chest hair, playing with the soft curls for a moment before resuming your work. Arthur’s hands rest anxiously on his thighs, squeezing the fabric as he tried to resist reaching for the buttons himself. He knew what your terms meant, and any disobedience would draw your motions out even longer.

You rewarded his patience one you were finished by letting him strip himself of his union suit before grabbing his thighs and pushing them wide. You lowered your face to his crotch, dragging your tongue from root to tip of his fully hard member. You wrapped your fingers around him, pulling back his foreskin to circle your tongue along the ridge below his head. He moaned loudly, his hands flitting to the back of your head as he threaded his fingers into your hair. You licked at the velvety crown with just enough pressure to send a shiver up his spine, savouring the taste as you lapped a bead of precum from his slit.

Squeezing the base of his cock lightly, your lips stretched over his head as you swallowed him whole. You felt Arthur’s grip tighten, pulling your hair as you pressed your tongue against him. You forced yourself to relax, taking him as deep as you could until his head brushed against the back of your throat. Arthur groaned at the sight of your nose pressed against the hair at his groin. Your eyes fluttered closed as you moaned in response, the vibrations making him thrust involuntarily as you held him down. You hollowed your cheeks and pulled off, the tip of your tongue teasing his frenulum before releasing him with an audible pop.

You looked up at him with a heated stare, pushing against his hands as you lifted your head. Arthur’s knees weakened at the sight of your pupils blown wide and your lips swollen and rosy, suddenly grateful to already be seated. He took his hands from your hair and held your face, pulling you up to press his lips against yours. He kissed you hungrily, bringing you up to sit on his lap once more. He dragged the tip of his tongue along your lip, seeking entrance while his hands worked at the buttons of your blouse. You let him undress you, complying as you deepened the kiss and allowed him to take over.

He made quick work of your blouse and skirt, fighting a little with your corset before getting you down to your chemise. He tugged the garment over your head, tossing it to join the rest of your clothing as he dragged his gaze up and down your body. You flushed under his attention, arching your back to give him a show. He growled at the sight, wrapping his arms around you to hold you against him as he thrust against you.

You gasped at the feeling of him pressed so close to your core, grinding down in search of relief. He ran his hands down your sides, reaching behind to squeeze your ass before slipping a hand between you. He rubbed his thumb against your clit, breathing hot against your neck as he circled your mound. You clutched him and groaned when he slipped a finger inside of you, surprised at how little resistance he met. He quickly added a second, your slick dripping as he stretched you out. You dug into his shoulder when he added a third, working you open perfectly as he crooked his fingers inside of you. He brushed against the spot that made you see stars, and it was your turn to throw your head back and moan. Your hips grinded against his hand, bringing you closer and closer to your edge.

You hissed at the loss of Arthur’s fingers, whining in his ear as he wiped his hand against the bed. He shushed you reassuringly and grabbed hold of himself, lining up until the head of his cock brushed against you. He pushed in slowly, rolling his hips and encouraging you to sink down onto him. You obliged, taking him inch by inch until you were fully seated.

You panted as you adjusted to his size, the tight heat making him whimper against your skin. You clenched around him at the sound, and he let out a broken moan. You rocked against him, his big arms wrapped around you as you eased off of him. He thrust upwards, meeting your hips each time as you set a steady pace.

You felt yourself clawing at his back as you took him deeper each time, the feeling of being so full sending your mind into a haze. Your world shrunk down to the feeling of him . Arthur slipped even deeper as he angled his hips and pulled you down onto him, leaving you gasping at the new stretch. You took him willingly, the sounds falling from your lips growing louder as you felt a familiar heat pool in your stomach. You quickened your pace, using your hands on his shoulders as leverage to ride him, the glorious feeling of him fucking in and out of you sending you barelling towards orgasm.

“Arthur,” you groaned, “I’m gonna-”

“Me too honey, don’t stop!”

The sound of thunder drowned out your cries as you tipped over the edge, the tight flutter of your walls bringing Arthur with you. He pressed his hips against yours as he came, moaning wantonly into the crook of your neck as he bit at the flesh there. You were sure it would leave a mark in the morning for all to see, but you couldn’t find it in you to care at that moment.

Your movements slowed as you both came down, the fogginess in your mind still hanging. You breathed heavily and reached out for Arthur, lifting his head to rest your forehead against his. You stayed like that for a moment, breathing together as you grounded yourself back to reality before dipping in for a kiss.

You pressed your lips against his softly, savouring the afterglow before you forced yourself to rise. Wincing a little when he slipped out of you, chuckling to yourself when you noticed he did the same. You crossed the tent to retrieve the wet cloth from his shaving kit, cleaning yourself up before bringing it back to where Arthur sat on your cot.

He had leaned back against the wagon, his eyes closed as he once again breathed steadily. You touched his knee, alerting him to your presence before you wiped up his spend with the rag. You whispered apologies at his grimace, still sensitive as he came down.

You tossed the rag off with the rest of your laundry and lowered yourself onto the cot. Arthur followed, pressing up against your back and swinging an arm over you. You nestled into him, shuffling to get closer while he drew up your blanket and wrapped you in its warmth.

“Feeling better?” you asked.

He tilted his head to press a kiss into your hair, humming thoughtfully as you squeezed against him.

“We can figure out what to do with Uncle in the morning, dear," you teased, closing your eyes and letting yourself give in to sleep.

“My vote is still on the lake, but I’m open to suggestions.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #reader insert #self insert #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #nc17 #my fic

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anothertimdrakestan · 4 years ago

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2 Times Jason Todd Took Your Breath Away (Jason Todd x Reader)

this is for the ppl who requested jason todd x super!reader fics!

words: 1.4k

“I thought we were city heroes, why the hell am I trekking through a forest?” you whisper-yelled into your comm, but Tim was having none of it.

“You know as well as I do that we’ve gotta win this shit, best team remember?” you rolled your eyes, but agreed nonetheless. It was the once-every-three-years trip when the supers and bats were forced to go on a “family” trip. The term family is used quite loosely by the bats but your family was quick to coin it as the family trip even against Bruce’s disgust.

“Um, I think I’ve got sight of a flag, oh- yup! Blue flag spotted let’s fuck ‘em up.” Kon came over the comm, you’d gotten paired with the love birds for capture the flag, but it was fine because your team was way overpowered, which meant when you won you’d get the pick of the night's dinner. The goal was to capture as many flags as possible without losing your own.

“Okay, stealth mode get the flag, y/n head back to base, if there’s no one at blue it means they’re going for the rest of us which is a code 2 alarm, especially with Todd and Dami on the blue team.” you suppressed a laugh at the literal make-believe codes Tim had decided on for this game, for the bats this game held some sort of bragging rights, but for you Kon it was just a chance to stretch your legs.

As Kon secured the blue flag you knew your team had won, Tim was at home base sitting on 2 other flags, and there was no shot anyone was getting past him. Strolling back through the woods you picked up on the light breathing on someone to your left. Whipping your head to the side you saw your own green flag waving in a pair of gloved hands.

“What the fuck?” you paced up to the tree. “Little birdie forgot to watch their own nest!” Jason’s laughter bubbled up as he twirled the little green cloth on it’s wooden stick.

“I- I wasn’t even at base? Isn’t Tim there?” you tried to play innocent, knowing if you got close enough you could snatch the flag and run. “Mhm he was, but he was too busy talking to Kon to notice me,” you inched closer, trying to look upset, “No fair! They’re always distracted.” you pouted, looking up at Jason who nodded in agreement. “So distracted,”

In what felt like a flash you were suddenly pinned to the ground, the air knocked clean out of your lungs. “GO GO GO!” Jason shouted; from your position flat on the ground you tilted your head to the side, watching Damian and Jon book it from your base towards theirs, a blue flag in Jon’s hands.

“Brats!” you called after them. With a breathless sign you brought your head up, face to face with Jason. There were black lines on each of his cheeks, and his hair was pushed back by a makeshift blue cloth he’d clearly ripped from the collar of his shirt, as it was ragged and ribbed from where he’d ripped it apart.

His face was just an inch from yours, warm breath fluttering on your lips. “Always too distracted y/n” he whispered with a grin, eyes flitting down to your lips which were parted, gasping for air.

You knew you could overpower him and stand up, his weight wasn’t fully crushing you, like he wanted to know if you’d stand up and leave.

You didn’t. There were far more fun things to do on the forest floor.

You used to be scared of heights. It was the dumbest thing too, a superhero with the ability to fly scared of falling? Your brothers had given you the most shit, especially when Jon was up in the clouds before you were flying above three story buildings. But you proved time and time again that you can be a damn good superhero and not fly like a plane- or whatever the old saying was.

You’d gotten better, months of forcing yourself to jump off varying heights just to prove you could fly, sometimes even hitting the ground just to assert that you wouldn’t even go splat if you tried, but it wasn’t ever really rational was it? Most fears aren’t.

Jason knew too, you guys weren’t exactly “dating” more like just being friends that do whatever friends do, it was easier that way. You’d gotten into a rhythm of visiting Jason after the sun set in Metropolis, swiftly sailing through city streets once all the lights were off. That’s how you’d landed perched on a lower roof in Gotham, sharing milkshakes and trying to point out stars through the Gotham haze.

“So this isn’t scary? We aren’t too high up?” Jason sat up, scooting forwards to dangle his feet off the ledge of the building. You sat up, letting your own feet hang, “not terrifying, there’s like butterflies in the stomach at the thought of falling, but I guess I know I’ve tested my ability to catch myself from here,” you explained, looking down at the sidewalk as your stomach did somersaults.

“Well, okay. Look at that building, how high up could you got before it’s too much?” he pointed to a Gotham skyscraper. Taking a gulp you assessed its height, “right there, sixth story, god that’s only like halfway up.” you mused, shaking your head at the thought.

“Cool, let's go then.” Jason snatched your drink out of your hands and grappled towards the top story of the building with light-hearted laugh. Your first reaction was to stand up, starting after Jason as he grappled higher, and higher, and higher, focussing solely on the familiar frame of one of your closest friends, and- suddenly you were standing at the top of a Gotham skyscraper.

“How the fuck am I up here right now,” you felt your knees buckling, your breath was staggered. Jason was at your side, letting you lean on him while he tilted your chin up to the sky.

As you looked up you leaned more into his embrace, your head resting on his shoulder as you looked at the stars.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, unable to fathom how beautiful they looked up close, god you were so high up you felt like you could reach out and touch the stars. But it wasn’t scary, because you had your rock there to ground you.

“There is so much more to see up here, so much beauty, why not fly a little higher?” Jason’s voice was deep and full, as you met his eyes you realized they’d been solely on you. With your face getting increasingly warm you let yourself hover just a little bit, trying to swallow the nerves as Jason took your hand, leading you to the very edge of the building.

“I’ve gotcha, look I won’t let go, just go a little further.” Jason was smiling, taking both your hands in his as he spun you towards the air. Letting yourself float with his support you focused on his eyes, trying to breathe as you know the only thing beneath your feet was air. “You’re doing so good, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, letting the silence of your achievement soak into your soul.

You could feel your hands shaking in his, but you mustered your strength to look down, noticing just how far you were from the ground.

“I’m doing it.” you said, almost astonished at your own feat. “No one ever doubted you except yourself.” Jason replied, letting go of one of your hands to twirl you in the air. With a giggle you allowed yourself to spin, it felt like power was soaking into you, you’d gone from feeling the air sucked out of you to truly breathing for what felt like the first time in your life.

Confident with your power, you let go of his hand, steadying yourself with a grin. Jason’s hands covered his mouth as he let out a strangled noise of pride as you began to twirl around in the sky.

Rushing up to him you crushed him in a hug, unable to show your gratitude. He hadn’t fully cured you, your hands were still shaking, but it felt so good to know you could fly as high as you wanted and there was always a person to turn to, a person to call home.

short n sweet! hope you enjoyed :)

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #tim drake #damian wayne #batboys #batboys x reader #dick grayson #batfam #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfiction #timkon

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spookysplatt · 2 years ago

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Scrap has worked* enough

*complained about the cold while wearing a tank top, fought a new kid over his selling spot while Arty profusely apologized, and objected when Spades took the money for his papers, many of which she ended up selling for him anyways.

(Just realized this is my first content for my Newsies ocs I've shared; should I do more?)

I just think this ad is really funny I wanna see drawings of the most decrepit mfs like this

Draw your character who's worked enough

#splat soaks 'em #newsies oc #newsies #newsies fanart #oc art #artists on tumblr #digital art #idk what else to tag #oh I know:#firealpaca #paintsplat

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years ago

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in support of Black Lives Matter, @butsamsd donated $50, and requested Sam/Dean/Jack. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After the craziness of their Halloween hunt, it’s good to be back in Kansas. Dean isn’t totally whole, probably won’t be for a while--Sam knows what it’s like to be possessed better than just about anyone else alive, he knows what the aftereffects are. Still, the hunt--getting out of his room, getting away from it all--Sam knows that it helped, too, and Dean’s happier on that drive home than he’s been in weeks, and even the crowd of cars parked up in front of the bunker don’t dim his grin, still wheedling Sam to try to get him to agree to a couple costume, for some future Halloween Dean’s thinking they might both see.

“Daphne and Velma,” Dean offers, parking the Impala in her pride of place down in the garage, and Sam squints at him, trying not to laugh, says, “Which one of us is Velma?” and Dean says, reproachfully, “Sam, please take this seriously,” and Sam looks around the empty garage, and pulls Dean in by that stupid plaid jacket, and kisses him soft, right there, because they’re--home. They’re finally home.

Dean blinks at him, when he pulls back. Surprised, uncertainly pleased. They haven’t really messed around, since he got Dean back from Michael. There was that first night, desperate and pressing together, and they had to be near-silent and it was more of an insane desperate renewing of something they’d both always promised each other than something that actually felt good. Otherwise--Dean too hurt, and trying to pretend he wasn’t, and the bunker too full, and things not right. Things still aren’t right but Sam thinks they can both live with them. “Think I’ll take a shower,” Sam says, pulling back to his side of the bench seat. “Then--my room?”

Dean breathes, presses Sam’s hand low on the bench where no one would be able to see, even if there were someone in the garage with them. “Sounds good to me, Sammy,” he says, and Sam squeezes his thumb, and gets out and heads into the bunker, smiling at the few refugees he sees, thinking--this is it. They really are home, at last.

Not all that many people around, really. Mom’s gone, like she usually is anymore, and Sam’s long-since reconciled himself to it. Cas in the wind, too, and what’s left is a half-dozen of the people Sam’s been training who aren’t on hunts, and he and Dean got back late enough that most of them are in bed, anyway, in the bunked-out rooms they reserved for themselves. Just Roland left up, manning the phones and watching Friends reruns on Netflix, and Sam waves at him but doesn’t stop, because--because Dean’s going to be waiting for him, and that knowledge is a heavy beating thrum in Sam’s blood.

Shower room’s empty, thank god. Sam strips out of the nerd gear, drops it all on the bench below the towel rack. Under the showerhead, that instant blast of heat and pressure carving the lingering worry of the hunt out of his shoulders, and he stands there for a second, soaking. Imagining. Dean, in his room, in the gold light. Dean’s skin under his hands. Everything else falling away. He drags his hands through his hair, decides to wash it another day because he can’t wait another ten minutes, and when he turns around under the stream of water there’s--Jack, standing there in his pajamas and bare feet, watching him.

Sam starts, moves a little out of the water. “Jack, hey,” he says, smiling--a little awkward, he bets, but Jack probably can’t tell. The showers are old-school open pans, not exactly private, but most people know not to just come in and watch when someone else is using them. Then again, Jack’s not most people. “You all right? Thought you were asleep.”

“I’m okay,” Jack says, and smiles. A little wan, maybe, a little pale, but he’s been different since Lucifer stole his grace. Sam’s still rinsing off suds, and Jack tracks his eyes down Sam’s body--deliberate, really looking, and Sam goes still. Jack nods, like he’s made a decision, and looks Sam in the eye. “Sam, I’d like it if we could have sex.”

Sam drops his washcloth with a splat. “What?”

Jack smiles, soft. “I thought that might seem weird,” he says, easy, but he also--strips off his t-shirt, and his pajama pants, and then he’s--jesus, naked, all of him right there, and he steps up into the shower pan and walks closer, makes Sam back up against the wall out of pure shock. “I know that isn’t the way our relationship has been going, but I think it’s something I need.”

“Jack,” Sam starts, and can only--laugh, kind of, like it’s some weird demented joke. “Buddy, this isn’t--I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

A tiny beat. Jack licks his lips. He’s not in the stream of still-running water and his body’s all smooth, pale. Perfect. Sam glances down, can’t help it, and Jack’s dick isn’t hard--just another perfect piece of him, soft and pink and curved gently over his balls, in a sparse nest of fine hair barely darker than the golden hair on his head. Cherub, Sam thinks, not for the first time, and then Jack puts his hand square in the center of Sam’s chest, over his sternum. Sam hitches in air, completely thrown. “I’ve just been thinking,” Jack says, softer. “All of the--stuff. Humans get to learn all of this when they’re growing up, but I’m already grown up and no one would ever--no one would get that. Nobody understands.”

“That’s--” Sam starts, and grabs Jack’s wrist. Soft, slipping under his wet hand. “You have to get to know people, Jack. Girls, or--or boys, I guess. Your own age, you know? This stuff doesn’t just happen automatically.”

“No one else is sixteen months old with a fully functional body and brain,” Jack says, reproachful, and Sam doesn’t have a lot to say to that, but then Jack’s mouth twists, somehow--sad. “I just want--I want to know what it’s like. At least once.”

Sam frowns--what does that mean?--but Jack shakes his head, and moves in closer, and puts both hands on Sam’s chest. “Sam,” he says, soft, and Sam should--should push him away, should demand answers, should ask why Jack doesn’t think he has other chances--only the door opens, and Dean says, “Sammy, what’s taking so long,” and Sam looks up over Jack’s head to find Dean there in the bathroom doorway, mouth half-open, staring at them.

“Dean,” Jack says, sounding glad. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, I am,” Dean says, slowly, and looks Sam in the eyes. He shakes his head, not knowing what to say. Dean’s in his undershirt, flannel pants, and he takes a step closer. “What’s up, kiddo?”

“I want to know what sex is like,” Jack says, again, firm, and Dean’s face does a thing that’d make Sam laugh any other time. “I asked Sam, but I want to know from you, too.”

“Kid,” Dean starts, but Jack shakes his head, looks back and forth between them, says, impossibly, “I know that you both have sex. With each other, I mean. It shouldn’t be a big deal for you to show me.”

“How did you know that?” Sam says, past the weird ringing in his ears. God, the shower’s still running. He shuts it off, and Dean’s just staring at Jack, his mouth set and his eyes narrow.

“My senses were better when I had my grace,” Jack says, shrugging, and looks up at Sam. “Castiel said I shouldn’t mention it, but it seems like--you know what you’re doing.” He looks at Dean, while Sam’s trying to dig himself out of the pit of what both of those statements mean. “I just...” he says, and he’s--so lost little kid, for a second. Immensely young, and sad, and Dean’s face changes again, settles.

“Why us?” Dean says, guarded.

Jack shrugs, again. He doesn’t even look turned on--just miserable, and there’s a wry curve to his mouth. “Who else could I trust?” he says, and Sam puts a hand on his bare shoulder. Something’s going on--something they should dig into.

Dean tips his head back a little, looks at Jack with full attention. His lips part, after a second, like he’s seeing something Sam doesn’t, and there’s a wash of compassion across his face. He looks up at Sam, and Sam thinks, something unlocking under his chest--this isn’t a good idea. They’re going to do it anyway.

The door to Sam’s room locks behind them. Silent, but Jack’s not nervous because he doesn’t know what to expect. Other than-- “I watched a pornographic video,” he says, and Dean closes his eyes and mutters jesus christ. “But it had a woman and a man, and I guess we can’t do those same things.”

“Some of ‘em,” Dean says, easy, and Sam leans his back against the door, holding his towel around his waist with what remains of his strength. Dean pulls Jack into the middle of the room, looks at him steady. “Jack. What are you--what do want to get out of this?”

Good question--better question than a lot of the ones Sam has. Jack frowns, seems like he really thinks about it. “I want to know--I mean, I’ve--with my hand,” he says, unexpectedly shy. Sam drags in a deep breath, imagining it. “But I don’t know what it’s like with someone else. In books they say it’s better with someone who loves you. You and Sam have that.”

Sam catches Dean’s eye. “Yeah,” Dean says, gruff, and then turns his full attention onto Jack, and smiles. Small, but full of promise. “You say the second you want anything to stop, all right?” he says, and his voice is--Sam’s gut revs, because he knows that voice. Dean, when he’s not laying it on thick as a charmer but when he knows someone wants him, and Jack blinks and nods, eager, and Dean lifts both hands and strokes his thumbs along Jack’s smooth jaw, gentle and easy, and then ducks and inch and kisses him, smooth and confident and simple, and Sam feels like the bottom drops out of his stomach.

Dean knows how to kiss. Sam knows that better than just about anyone, too. Jack makes a startled noise, clutches alternately at Dean’s shirt, his arms, and when Dean pulls back to let him breathe Jack’s chest is already heaving, his face all surprise. “Good?” Dean says, and Jack nods, more jerky than before, and Dean smiles at him, cupping his face. “Good,” Dean says, and catches Sam’s eye, and Sam walks over while Dean kisses Jack again, smooth, and again, soft and constant pressure, and Sam thinks with a burst of total insanity--this is like when Dean taught him to kiss, what feels like a million years ago--and he walks up behind Jack and holds his waist, watches up close. Soft, but insistent, and Jack’s hand creeps up to Dean’s neck like instinct’s driving it, his mouth following Dean’s lead like he’s learned everything they taught him, quick and eager. Dean makes a small, approving sound, and runs his knuckles over Jack’s cheek, and on the next press in he opens Jack’s mouth with his own and Sam sees the wet glance of Dean’s tongue and Jack moans, startled, and Sam dips and presses a kiss to his neck, says, “God, that’s good, Jack--you’re doing so good.”

Dean pulls back, mutters jesus again--grabs the back of Sam’s head and pulls him down and kisses him, too, over Jack’s shoulder, and Sam’s pulled close enough that his dick presses into Jack’s ass, and he breathes hot into Dean’s mouth and rubs his thumb in that soft sweet spot just below his ear, and god, this is--weird, weird, so goddamn weird but it doesn’t feel wrong, and Sam’s done a lot in his life that felt wrong and he knows the difference.

“Wow,” Jack says, small, and Dean laughs, pulls back from Sam and cups Jack’s cheek.

“Wow is right,” Dean says, warm with promise, and Sam knows then--whatever Jack wants, they’ll give him. They taught him everything else. It doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is. Anyway--it’s not like it’s something that’d come between Dean and Sam. Nothing ever will again.

Dean looks at Sam, expression as soft as though he heard the thought. “You ready for more?” he says, and Jack nods, so eager it makes Sam grin. Yeah, he’s ready. It’s going to be a good night.

#fffb #butsamsd #wincest #sam/dean/jack #my writing #full disclosure this doesn't get as sticky as i wanted :/#but i already spent more than the allotted time on it #i'll come back to it some other time i hope #but this is it for now

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classlesstulip · 5 years ago

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So, You Called for a Handyman?

(A little medly of a day in the life of a ‘handyman’ in the mob. One who doesn’t really take his job too seriously.)

“*che,* a tall and shadowed figure snorted as he flicked the long blade he held. The wet, viscous sound of blood flying through the air and splattering onto concrete was heard, the whistle of metal short but sharp.

Tiberius looked around the room he was in, sharp ears pricked, listening for any of the tell-tale sounds of life: breathing, twitches, the shuddering gasps one gives when in great pain. He was only satisfied when he heard nothing from the collection of bodies spilled around him.

'There’s a group of Mick’s boys over on 8th and North. Go and fix them.’

Heh, they’re fixed now, alright, Ty thought. Now he just needs to call in Lenore for disposal; he needs to pass over that new fertilizer recipe he’s got, using these mooks may be just what her flowers need.

*****

Storing his machete in one of the many caches secreted in Sepulveda territory, Ty swapped out his fingerless leather gloves for a new set. A quick check showed that even after all these years he’s still got it; not even one drop of blood on his 3-piece.

If even ONE of those mooks had spilled on his Armani, he would have rioted. This suite was a gift!

His internal rant was cut off when his phone chirped. Pulling it out of an inner pocket, he saw a new text from Little Cruzi: seem’s their Apa is done putting up with Jericho. Needs to have the jackass fixed. And-, oh!

'Apa says make it messy. The wetter the better.’

Ty can do that. He’s pretty good at getting things wet.

Oh, that was a good one! He’ll have to try that one on Val; the poor dear’s been wound up tighter than a spring the last few weeks. A good laugh followed by a good fuck should fix that.

*****

"Hey, Ty? Boss has a new stop for ya!”

What the fuck? Seriously!? "Uh, Amber? Ya can see I’m currently up to my elbows right now, yeah!?“ The wet squelch and Ty’s grunt as he pulled on Jericho’s lungs rung through the warehouse. It was dark and dusty; the perfect backdrop for a Splash-n-Dash.

Currently, Ty was bent over a stack of pallets, the beaten corpse of Jericho splayed across them. Scattered on the walls and floors around them were gouges and bullet marks, with streaks of blood interspersed, belying that a scuffle had taken place, the loser of which had his chest cracked open and Ty cleaning the innards like he was preparing a chicken to get roasted over open coals.

The driver held up their arms, shrugging. "Hey man, I’m just the messenger. Turns out, Jericho was fucking with not just the Sepulveda’s, but the Alnazar’s AND Satrinava’s.” Amber looked a little green at the sound of flesh and ligaments ripping as Ty finished his impromptu vivisection. He went even more green when Ty overhand-hurled his double-handful of offal at one of the far walls with a loud 'YEET!’, the wet splat and fanning of blood from the impact causing Amber to jump back with a heave. “Dude, what the fuck!?” The thick gurgle he swallowed back after his outburst showed just how DONE he was with Ty’s nastiness.

“Hey, Val says wet and messy, I deliver wet an’ messy! Now keep your pants on and drag over my duffle. My shirt is ruined.”

Keeping an eye on a blood-soaked Tiberius, Amber did as bid. It took him a few minutes to locate said bag, during which Ty lit-up a cig.

“Move it, cupcake.”

“Alright, alright, jeez. Go fuck yourself, asshole.”

“I HEARD THAT!”

*****

“Alrighty then,” Ty propped his feet up on the desk in front of him, ignoring the glare Asra shot him. “So, we gots a case of ol’ Jerry boy putting his fingers into too many pies, both literal, figurative, and colloquially. Drugs, rent girls, and laundering, right?” He pulled in a big drag from his cigar, having lighted up the moment he entered Fluff'n'Stuff’s digs.

With a grunt, Asra pushed the big booted feet off of his NICE mahogany desk. Getting a few smoke-rings blown at him in retribution, he glared at the 'handyman’ sitting across from him, but knew any more fussing on his end would be futile; the only reason Asra isn’t currently a smear on the wall is that Ty thinks he’s adorable AND they go way back.

That and Val and Asra once had a Thing, but that’s none of his business.

“Yes,” leaning back, Asra pulled out a thick manila file folder and dropped it onto his desk. The poor thing was only kept together by a single rubber band, and Ty’s surprised it hasn’t snapped already. “These are the places that Jericho’s Number Two and Three have holed up. Taking these two out will cause the whole operation to fall apart.”

As Asra was speaking, Ty secured his cigar between his molars, propping his jaw open as his fingers started pulling apart the file. Flipping through the first few cover papers, he soon got to the meat and potatoes of the lot. “As you can see, Vinny is in the heart of the Garment District…” Ty stopped paying attention as he looked through everything, Asra’s voice becoming a low, soothing drone. He leaned back in his chair, holding up a few A4-sized photos.

“Now, Illian was able to-” Asra was cut off at a loud, 'interested’ hum from Tiberius. Seconds later, the handyman turned the papers in his hand’s landscape, and a few sheets accordioned down. A slightly lewd chuckle floated up from behind the papers before Asra snatched at them, Ty letting out a disappointed 'awww’ at the loss of his smut.

“A-HEM!” Crinkling the purloined pornography in his fist, Asra pinned Ty with A Look. “This is no time to be looking at, at, uh,” he peeped at the rag, “PLAYBOY!”

“Azzy? That was IN the file. I had nothing to do wi-”

“REGARDLESS,” tossing the magazine at his wastebin (and making a mental note to speak to his son about leaving his 'reading material’ out and about), Asra huffed. “Just, get out of here and fix 'em. Oh, and…”, rifling through his desk, he pulled out a box. He pushed it across his table, a curious Ty picking it up gingerly, “wear this. We need proof of the job, to be a warning.”

“A body cam? Shit son, y'all mean business.” Snorting, Ty threw himself out of his chair, tossing the little box in the air before catching it and slipping it into his suitcoat pocket. “Got it. The usual fee to the usual account. Give hugs and kisses to yer fam for me, yeah?”

*****

Walking down a softly carpeted hall, a slight shadow was seen. Soft curls were piled atop their head, and one hand held a glass of wine while the other pulled their robe tighter. Light filtered through shuttered blinds, car head beams and static lamps fighting the darkness of night. Occasionally, the honk of a horn or the revving of an engine sounded out, despite being muffled by layers of brick and insulation.

Sipping their wine, they stopped just outside a cracked door. Peeping in, a soft smile curled their lips as they spied one of their little ones (though, being nearly twenty, they are fairly certain that Sol would object to such an endearment). Seeing them softly snoring away, the door was pulled shut. Checking on their other child, Cruz, showed the same result.

Once satisfied that their children (grown though they may be) were tucked away safely snoozing, Val continued down the hall. A few twists and turns later and they were in their office. Opulently decorated with heavy dark wood pieces and bold colors, it was quite a large and stately room. Near the far wall was their desk, and on the blotter was a thumb drive.

Knowing that it must have been left by Tiberius, Val plucked it up. Wandering towards the entertainment center, they plugged in the drive, turned on the screen, and got comfortable on the couch, sipping more wine as they navigated menus with the remote.

“Hey, is this thing on?” The sound of someone tapping a mic was heard before the picture abruptly turned on. A large brown eye was center stage, the corners crinkling briefly before the cam was pulled back, revealing the familiar face of Tiberius. “Alrighty, then! So, the usual drivel: Tiberius working on behalf of Don Valentino of the Sepulveda Family, yadda yadda yadda,” Ty’s eyes rolled, and his body moved like he was waving his hand. “Here to fuck some shit up and make a statement. So here’s,” he tapped the screen, “the mutherfuckin’,” more taps, “TEA,” a final tap. “Vinny’s been baaaaaaaad. Not only,” Ty brandished a finger, waving it around his head like a conductor, “has this bonafide dickfuck fuckface been doin’ Jerry’s dirty work, but this FUCKER has also been bringing in kids. KIDS I TELL YA! Now c'mon, Vinny, baby, ya don’t bring kids into your prostitution ring! Fucker! So, time to clean house! And Val?” Ty winked at the camera, “I’ll have a nice little pressie for ya when you finish this!”

Some fumbling and cursing later, and Val had a chest-high view of whatever was in front of Ty. Currently, it was the door to what may be a warehouse. The video jumped up and down a few times, and the cocking of a gun was heard. Something very familiar was playing in the background, and it came to a hard beat as Ty kicked in the door-

“Some-BODY ONCE TOLD ME,” duel-wielding, Ty buried a bullet into the head and gut of the bouncer standing guard as the kicked-in door bounced off of the wall. “THE WORLD WAS GONNA ROLL ME,” two steps down the hallway. “I AIN’T THE SMARTEST TOOL IN THE SHED,” one guy burst out of a room and got pistol-whipped for his stupidity, getting a few slugs to the back as he fell.

Hopping over the new body, Ty continued his song. “SHE WAS LOOKIN’ KINDA DUMB WITH HER FINGER AND HER THUMB,” this time, he peeped around a doorway into a room, squeaking out a startled 'Errol!?’ as a knife buried itself into the wall behind him. A feminine voice started spewing curses as he backpedaled, hands still clutching Glocks up in the air. “Aight, aight, I got it! Sheesh!” Huffing, he continued his journey down the hall, bellowing an 'IN THE SHAPE OF AN L ON 'ER FOREHEAD!’ behind him as he went.

Now Val wants to know what she was doing there. Did Jericho piss off Lucio, as well? They jumped as Ty continued his bit of Musical Mayhem.

“WELLLLLLLLL THE YEARS START COMIN’ AND THEY DON’T STOP COMING!” At some point, the handyman had swapped out his handguns for a combat shotgun, opening up rounds into the chests of three forgettable thugs in beat to the last three words of his stanza. “FED TO THE RULES AND I HIT THE GROUND RUNNIN’!” Coming to the end of the hall, Ty blasted through the door, revealing the large, empty space typical to warehouses was replaced with a sort of hotel-like setup. An open-air lobby, with staircases spiraling up, leading to floors with open walkways. It looked like someone tried to recreate the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, but it just went up and up, with each floor being closer to a balcony than a full floor. All of the open space allowed for the panicked cries and screams of the brothel inhabitants to echo in upon themselves.

There were also a LOT of fine rugs, marble, and gilt furniture. How long has this operation been going on, and how did fucking JERICHO of all people get this set-up on the DL?

“DIDN’T MAKE SENSE NOT TO LIVE FOR FUN,” *boom!**boom!**boom!*; a rapid release of shots into a group of mobsters as they tried to rush Tiberius, giving Val a front-row seat to the amount of kick a combat-class shotgun has as one man went flying, streamers of blood shooting from the stump that used to hold his head. “YOUR BRAIN GETS SMART BUT YER HEAD GETS DUMB! HAHA, FUCKER!” Ty’s voice was starting to get difficult to hear over the amount of sheer NOISE in the background.

“SO MUCH TO DO!” *blam!* “SO MUCH TO SEE!” *blamblam!* “SO WHAT’S WRONG WITH TAKIN’ THE BACKSTREETS!?” The bodycam started shaking at Ty charged over to a staircase, plowing shoulder-first into a group of people storming down it while waving their guns. The picture blacked out and the muffled scratch of fabric rubbing over the built-in mic took up a few seconds of footage before a bright light cut through. Val had to squint their own eyes, and everything came back into focus just in time to see Ty hurl a middle-aged, half-dressed wanna-be mafioso over one of the balcony floors, singing out 'YOU’LL NEVER KNOW! IF YOU DON’T GO!’ as the man plummeted. He landed with a rubbery thump.

“YOU’LL NEVER SHINE IF YOU DON’T GLOW,” more singing/screeching from Ty as he tossed a grenade down another balcony/hall. As it erupted, it covered the huddled gangsters in liquid fire. “HEY NOW! YOU’RE AN ALL-STAR! GET YOUR GAME ON! GO PLAYEEEEE! C'MON ASSHOLES! YOU WANTED TO BE A ROCKSTAR! HOW NOW! YOU’RE A ROCK STAR! GET THE SHOW ON! GET PAIIIIIIIIIIID! HA HAHAHAAA!”

Val made a quiet note to themselves that Ty, while very funny, can also be downright sinister.

“AND ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GO~OOOLLLLLLD!” And that Ty should also never attempt a falsetto that high ever. AGAIN.

“ONLY SHOOTING STAAAAAAAAAARS BREAK THE MO-OLLLLLLD!” Another flame-spewing grenade was thrown, this time hitting what looked to be a fire extinguisher. Seconds later, foam started jetting out of the damaged, high-pressure steel canister, turning what was once a life-saving device into a literal missile, which shot off and plowed into the chest of a woman in Jericho’s colors, launching her airborne before the canister exploded, spreading shrapnel and viscera into a mist.

Smothering their face with their hand, Val let out a disbelieving laugh as Ty continued to wreak unholy havoc on the hideout to the tune of an upbeat, mid-aughties pop-rock song. Knives were thrown, bullets buried in brains, and it all came to a crescendo as Ty unloaded a stereotypical tommy-gun down into a group of wannabe gangsters that had jimmied themselves into the lobby. The last note to the song was capped off with a tossed Molotov, the ring of shattering glass pairing well to the last guitar chord.

Chuckling in satisfaction, Val finished their wine before shutting off the television. Wandering out of their office, they refilled their wineglass before heading toward their bedroom. Humming in pleasure after taking a fresh sip of chilled wine, they gently opened their door, stopping in the doorway before raising a sculpted brow. “So,” they queried. “Is this my 'pressie’?”

It’s quite a nice present, Val thought. Tiberius was lounging on Val’s obscenely large bed, on his side and completely nude. If not for a strategically-placed pile of rose petals, the fit man would be putting on quite the show. As it was, Tiberius decided to take a page out of every cheesy romance novel/movie and had bedecked the bedroom in dozens of low-burning candles and scattered roses, capping-off the trope with a single rose clenched between pearly whites. It’s something the Valentino of twenty-some years ago would have swooned over.

Although, the Valentino of now is feeling quite swoon-y, now. "Heh,“ they chuckled as Ty wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I’ve got to say, this is a nice surprise, viejo amigo.” Quietly shutting the door behind them, they leaned against the slab of wood-encased steel and gave their 'present’ a heated stare. “What gives?”

“Eh, nothing much.” Pulling the rose out of his mouth, Ty tossed it aside with a flick of the wrist. “Just, ah, you wanted a job wet and messy, and I decided that you could use a little 'wet 'n messy’ yourself.”

Val barked out a laugh. “Oh, but that was horrible!” Wandering closer to the bed, they held out a hand, gently cupping a warm cheek. “What am I going to do with you- MERDA!”

Yanking Val towards him, Ty rolled them, stopping on his back with Val perched on top. “Well, first things first! Let’s fuck!”

*****

The room stunk of sex, and all of the candles had burned themselves out. Entwined under a thin sheet, a sticky but satiated couple cuddled. Bite marks and hickeys decorated soft skin, and Val laid with their head tucked under Ty’s chin, one set of fingers lazily tracing circles over the larger man’s lower back.

“So,” Val lazily purred. “Aside from the cam footage, did you learn anything else?”

Ty hummed. “You may want to speak to Head in the Clouds.”

“…about?”

A hoarse chuckle. “Seem’s someone’s son has a little crush on our Cruzi. A Playboy got mixed into my briefing file, and a VERY well-worn page had a model that looked startlingly like our bambino was on it.”

“…really?” Ty hissed as sharp nails dug into his back, relaxing when Val apologetically rubbed them. “I’ll need to set-up a meeting. But, that can wait until tomorrow.”

The last thing Ty thought as they both dropped off to sleep was that he was glad he didn’t let on that he’s pretty sure Lucky and Cruz have a thing.

But he’s not sorry for telling Cruz’s Apa. Serves the little brat right for shitting all over him as a baby and giving him heart attacks every week since they learned how to walk.

HA!

@agent-darkbootie @thraxbaby @lazyvoyager @magicianapprenticelyra @plaguedcount

#@agent-darkbootie #Mob!AU #valentino sepulveda #sol y cruz #tiberius principia #lenore #asra #illian #lucky #amber #the arcan AU #errol pyralis #short story #short ficlet

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spookysplatt · 2 years ago

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You have to imagine?

Newsies Imagines #33

@sarahjacobslover

#splat soaks 'em

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a-table-of-fics · 4 years ago

Text

Cull to Adventure, Chapter 3, Draft 1

Cull shouldn’t have been surprised. But here he was, caught flat-footed by five Octotroopers on a pyramid of boxes. They didn’t even hesitate to open fire – clearly the one with the phone had everyone on alert now.

He hid back around the corner, wincing as some of the splash from the purple ink landed on him and sent little stings up his legs.

Okay, so. Higher ground, five of them, and they were all prepared for an Inkling to come through. Not a good spot to be in. Cull wondered why he agreed to this. He never joined in Turf Wars. He didn’t know how to fight – He struggled against just one opponent. He heard several Inklings brag about how they wiped the walls with entire teams single-handedly, but a single tentacle could easily overpower him.

Cull instinctively grabbed to tug his beanie downwards, but it wasn’t there. Did he take the Agent title away from someone who could get the Zapfish in minutes?

“HEY! Is the mic busted?”

“H-huh?”

“I said, I think I saw some closer cover. See if you can get to that half-wall over there.”

Cull risked a peek out into the area. Before he ducked back away from the barrage of Octarian gunfire, he indeed saw another wall. It was closer to his enemies, but might offer him a better look. Cull took one last look for another way around. There really wasn’t one.

He swallowed hard, and opened fire. Hopefully he could at least make a path there first.

Unfortunately, as inky projectiles turned the green to purple, the Octarians obviously had other ideas.

Cull stared blankly at the trail of purple for a moment, before regaining what composure he had. He noticed they didn’t take out the green closer to Cull, instead focusing on the end of Cull’s aim. As he had been making paths by shooting by his feet and slowly firing outwards, this presented a problem. Could he even make a way there?

“What’s the holdup, Agent 4? The spread on that thing should give you plenty of time! Just go for the other wall!”

�� Shaky hands once again prepared to shoot, but this time they aimed directly at the half-wall from the get-go. Score! The Octarians only shot at the destination.

Now there was the issue of getting there. Cull sighed, and sunk into the ink. His nerves screamed at him to swim faster and get out of there ASAP, but there was no sense trying if all he could manage were pathetic splashes the enemy would definitely notice. So it was a slow, awkward, painful way to the other side, but he made it silently.

Now what?

He could throw another bomb to at least strip them of the high ground, but would that give his position away? He risked a peek; they didn’t seem to be on hovercraft, but on turrets. They couldn’t move to attack even if he brought them down to his level, right? But they could just run up to him and beat him up that way… Or capture him… or…

Well, he didn’t really have any other options. It was either this or fleeing, and Cull wasn’t sure he could even attempt that at this point.

He kept his back glued to the wall, readying another Splat Bomb. Hoping for the best, he hurled it behind himself, making sure to pull his hand back into cover before it got soaked in Octo ink.

He heard the explosion go off and saw bits of wood fly overhead. When the blast cleared, there were loud and furious splashes to accompany loud and furious Octarian shouts. Cull risked a peek, and yes, all their turrets were sunk in green, with the Octos pulling and struggling to keep them afloat.

However, all of them still had their tentacles on the controls, and their aim was still squarely on Cull. When they looked up from the ink puddles they were stuck in, Cull yelped and took cover again, watching as yet more shots flew over his head. Okay, no problem, he just had to wait for his ink tank to fill enough for another bomb.

Waiting felt so much longer when you knew there were people nearby who wanted your head on a plate.

Then Cull realized – the shouts and splashes stopped, being replaced with a brief sound not unlike a high-powered faucet, and then silence. Cull looked and the turrets were standing on puddles of purple, as if they were never disrupted. Frantically, Cull grabbed at the spot on his ink tank to produce another bomb. He had just barely enough, luckily.

Ten green eyes turned to follow the bomb. The Octotroopers swiveled their platforms to take aim, firing in the vain hope of doing something to stop the bomb. Cull averted his eyes instinctively; ink splashes in the eye weren’t pleasant, and he wasn’t yet used to splatting anyone.

Once the bomb went off, Cull only had one more enemy to deal with. He went forward to finish them off, and prepared to fire, forgetting that he used the last of his ink to clear out the other four.

He realized his mistake at the same time the Octotrooper did.

So there Cull was, hiding behind the wall again, covered in purple and waiting for his armor and ink to recharge again. At least it was easier with the ink puddle that remained behind cover. Soon, the pain and general physical discomfort stopped, only leaving the more general worry and inexperience.

A few more shots and the Octotrooper was splatted, which somehow caused a nearby launchpad to activate. Cull didn’t wonder about that right now, but if he did, he would have guessed there was some kind of pressure switch or something.

Next, Cull saw the slope ahead was well-coated in purple, but there was something large, rubbery and green in the middle.

“Pop that Balloon Fish!” Marie said. “The Octoslobs keep ink in ‘em; they’ll pick the ink color that hits them and POW!”

Under her breath, she added “shoddy tech, if you ask me…”

Shoddy or not, Marie was otherwise right about the Balloon Fish. A few shots, and Cull was glad to see a ramp coated in green ink. He ran up, but heard a slurping sound behind him. He turned to see that another Balloon Fish had formed and inflated on the stand of the previous one, sucking up some of the surrounding green ink to do so.

Huh.

Well, two patrolling Octotroopers were driving around… a metal cylinder. It had large golden lock on it… Cull could only assume the Zapfish was in there.

“If there’s a vault, there’s a key,” Marie said. “See if one of those Octoslobs have one.”

Cull nodded, squidforming to try and creep up on them. He was thankful this was an easy slope. He didn’t have to struggle so much to swim. Soon, he was up to the large pool of purple his enemies were circling around in. He waited for one of them to be on the other side of the vault, then slowly came out of the ink to open fire.

Spray-and-pray aiming wasn’t an issue at this range. Sadly, it meant the other Octotrooper was immediately on alert. Even worse, the recently-splatted enemy did not have the key. This was Cull’s cue to dive directly into the green ink left by his fallen foe. He could hide and recover ink before taking the other guard on.

It worked for a moment, up until the Octotrooper came up to where Cull was. They didn’t seem to have seen him, but they did notice all the green in their path. The nozzle pointed downwards, and Agent 4 yelped, shooting out of the ink. Doused in purple, he made short work of his accidental assailant.

“Hmm…” Marie mused, as Cull shook the ink off with a grimace. “He didn’t have the key either…”

“Well,” Cull looked around, “now what?”

“Come on, kid! You think they would keep that vault around if they threw the key away? Knowing the Octarians, it should be around here somewhere…”

He looked around. There were apparently two storage rooms on either side, with plenty of crates in them, and a grate to protect each. Picking one at random, he went left and quickly squidformed through.

“Wow, wasn’t expecting you to do that so quickly,” Marie remarked. “There something I should know…?”

“…Graffiti artist,” Cull explained, after an awkward pause.

“Ah. I’ve worked with worse; I was just curious.”

Cull nodded sheepishly, looking around. There was a large pile of crates here, but also a Balloon Fish…

He fired, and the Balloon Fish burst all the crates at once. Not only was there no key to see, several Octarians were apparently hiding in the crates.

Cull had already had quite a day; he wasn’t in the mood to question that.

He fired wildly, hoping his spray-and-pray approach still worked. Unfortunately, as he ran forward, the Balloon Fish re-inflated behind him, knocking him down onto his stomach. He kept a tight grip on the Splattershot this time, but that surprise still knocked the wind out of him. He took a moment to recompose himself, but that was a moment the Octotroopers could fire at him. Not having time to get up, he had to roll out of harm’s way.

It was too late to dodge two of the shots, though – Cull winced as his armor broke again. He was just glad he could get out of the way before the third shot—

His eyes widened in realization, turning back to see the Balloon Fish get hit. The green on its back quickly changed to purple, and as it expanded, Cull could only hope diving into the ink was enough to save him.

BANG! SPLAT!

It wasn’t.

Cull’s “heart” struggled to swim up, away from the enemy ink. He moved haltingly, as even in this form, he had severed and badly cut tentacles. This only compounded the issues caused by not having ink to breathe through. Thankfully, he could sense nearby safety. Green ink, though most of it wasn’t concentrated enough to help. But wait! Back there, ink a-plenty! Cull was completely unable to think of anything except to head there.

It only took about ten seconds, but Cull felt like he was out for an eternity. He clutched his head, slumping onto his knees. He couldn’t even remember anything that happened after the Balloon Fish burst. He looked around, and he seemed to be back at the bottom of the ramp leading up to the vault.

“…First time?” Marie asked, not unkindly.

Cull whimpered in response. He took long, shaky breaths. He had heard that the first splat is the most difficult, of course; it was definitely taught in school. But nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. He quickly patted around himself; his new ink body seemed identical to the old one – right down to his clothing and weapon.

“…You need to leave?” Marie asked, carefully.

He shook his head, slowly standing back up.

“I-I made it t-too far,” he said. “I c-can’t just leave if the Zapfish is s-so close…”

“…”

Cull walked back up, and the vault was once again guarded by two Octarians. They must have re-formed too. Luckily, Cull could still throw Splat Bombs. Unfortunately for him, the next one he threw landed right on top of the vault. The blast still put some ink on them, causing them to yelp in surprise, but it wasn’t nearly enough to defeat them.

Cull hesitated, but ran up to finish the fight quickly, before the ink faded. He stopped to look at the Balloon Fish, and popped it. Running back and forth, still only having a vague concept of aim, he was able to take the guards down a second time.

Well, the left was a bust in more ways than one. Cull sent to the right, and no Balloon Fish was in sight. Instead, an inflatable bumper stood before the mass of boxes. It was odd, but it seemed big enough for an Inkling to hide behind.

He prepared to clear all the boxes here with another bomb, but…no. For all he knew, there were other Octos packed in all these crates, for some reason. He didn’t need to be ambushed again.

As such, he headed to the left, and started to break the boxes individually with his Splattershot. After a couple of Octarians, he found a large orange crate wrapped in packing tape, which made it harder to break. Still, the haphazard reinforcement allowed some ink to seep through and break the wood down. It took a while, but soon the crate shattered, revealing a large, impossible-to-miss key with a crablike design on it. Cull sighed in relief; he was finally going to open that vault and release…

…Another launchpad. He wasn’t done.

“Yeah, sorry, kid. Listen, if you wanna bail…”

Cull shook his head, but inched ahead to the launchpad slowly, leaning back like it would jump up and bite him.

“Yeah, you don’t have to worry about those, at least. Launchpads are designed for safe landings, you know.”

As Cull safely landed, he saw multiple Octotroopers up ahead, and backed up a little.

“Hey, I finally have some good news, Agent! The Zapfish is on our radar! It’s still a bit of distance, but…”

He didn’t acknowledge this at all. All he could think was how awful it would be if he went down when he was this close. Maybe there’d be something other than Power Eggs in these crates. Not that they weren’t helpful in an energy crisis, or easy to pocket, of course. They just wouldn’t be much help in a fight.

He opened one to find…a black case? He opened it up to reveal it was full of…was this translucent ink?

“That’s a set of armor! Should help you out here…”

Cull smiled a little. Finally, some great news. He felt the armor bond with his form, and chose to make the surplus ink this made look like a hardhat, like the Jellies back home always wore. With this, he felt he had a chance!

***

About two minutes later, he was on the other side, panting. Not only was his armor gone, but his suit was once again broken.

“Well…” Marie said, and Cull could swear he heard that forced smile he saw with people who knew about his tentacles, “At least you’re through. Just take care of this guy and we’ll be one step closer to that Zapfish!”

Another shielded Octarian, and there was no running around this guy. They were on a ledge higher up, their back was against the wall, and they were guarded by a wall on either side of them. Cull had no real choices but to try the Splat Bomb again. He doubted his chances with inking that shield up.

Remembering the last one, he decided to aim higher. He grunted as he threw this Splat Bomb, but as he rolled his shoulder, he saw that he hurled it too high. It landed on the ledge above the Octotrooper, and they didn’t seem to notice it, assuming Agent 4 had missed entirely. Cull moved to dodge return fire, using the last of his ink on the shield. It held fast, but this gave the Splat Bomb time to tip over, right into the Octarian’s lap. They shook frantically as the bomb beeped, but to no avail.

Splat!

“Nice one, Agent 4!” Marie remarked. “You sure know how to use the area!”

“…S-sure,” Cull replied, weakly smiling while the platform raised to the green-splattered outpost. “Plan…Planned it a-all along!”

He saw the launchpad on the wall, and looked at the walls thoughtfully. He had tagged unusual places before, and this actually seemed like an easy place to climb, compared to some spots he went to. He just needed to keep his hands and feet on opposite walls, like that one time he clambered down a well. This was far wet, and therefore less dangerous and stupid, so it shouldn’t be too hard.

It was slow to start, but Cull was steadily ascending, and this would be a lot easier than swimming up a wall. At least, for him.

“Uh, Agent 4…? Not that I’m not impressed, but…”

Cull stopped as Marie started to question. He was about a third of the way up, he guessed. But this gave him a moment to look down.

Not the best thing when climbing.

“…Wouldn’t it be a bit easier to ink the wall and climb that way?”

“N-n…”

As Cull thought about how to explain this, he could feel himself slide down a little. He quickly adjusted himself. It looked stupid, and Cull would die if someone saw him like this, but he held fast.

“Ah, y’know what, never mind, kid. You do you. Just stay safe, kay?”

Cull nodded, slowly starting to shuffle up again. Yeah, maybe this was weird, and a little slower than most Inklings swimming upwards, but it was less exhausting, and Cull didn’t need another reminder of his cut tentacles. He just wished he wasn’t wearing gloves today. Still, he soon made it to the top, and found a crate containing a chunk of fish-shaped metal.

“Ooh, nice find!” Marie said. “I’m sure that Sardinium will come in handy!”

Cull pocketed the metal and looked back down to the ledge. This should be easy at least; just a swing down and a quick squidform. He carefully clambered down, letting his body dangle. Thankfully, this meant he was right up against the launchpad. It only took a second for him to be heading off to the next area.

“This crazy plan might work after all!” Marie remarked, more to herself than to Agent 4.

Cull swallowed. She expected failure, just like he did? What if he were to fail now? Oh Cod, he could die doing this! What then? Did he seriously follow someone who claimed to be a celebrity on her word that the Octarians stole the Zapfish? And someone who didn’t expect any of this to work?

Marie must have caught onto Cull’s hesitation, as she was quick to clarify: “…I meant getting someone to help me out here. You’re doing fine, really!”

Not that Cull believed her; he recognized that tone all too well. Still, there wasn’t much he could reasonably do except push forward.

Here, he had to walk over a narrow bridge. It wasn’t forcing Cull to balance, but he took it easy all the same. It looked all too easy to plummet.

“Don’t look down,” Marie said, helpfully.

Cull immediately did, and didn’t immediately regret it. There were hundreds of cramped…well, Cull could only assume they were Octo houses. They were earthly-toned, rounded, and warped in a way that vaguely reminded Cull of coral. Gazing at the unique architecture, it was easy to forget it was a thousand-foot drop between here and there.

“...Or do, whatever.” Marie shrugged. “Just remember this is a rescue mission.”

Agent 4 nodded, carefully walking to the other side, where he could see several crates serving as a barrier to the one opening in the building. He readied his Splattershot once more..

…and stopped. Surely, if he went through here, he would have a bunch of Octarians waiting for him, with weird nozzle-cannons loaded and ready. No, it would be better to look around for another way. There wasn’t much to look at, but Cull did notice a crate haphazardly placed on a ledge below. Not only could he bypass a potential box ambush, but he might have something handy to give him the edge!

When he climbed down there, though, all he found was a tattered paper, with a couple of photographs on it and something written in Inklish. Odd.

He looked it over, and the note talked about a shockwave at a Youth Folk Singing contest from quite a long time ago. But the young girl in the picture looked familiar… Was that Pearl?

This whole paper raised more questions than Cull was comfortable seeking out the answers to. Besides, this just reminded him of a couple years ago, when he had a crush on Pearl. That was…well, looking back, it was just an embarrassing period of his life.

Still, might be worth bringing back. If Marie turned out to be sane and right about the Octarians, maybe she’d know why they’d keep information like this.

Anyway, where to go from here…?

The trip to the next launchpad wasn’t terribly eventful. Cull snuck past the one shielded Octotrooper on patrol, and clambered over the boxes rather than breaking them, being careful not to disturb the Balloon Fish.

But there was no way he was going to be able to sneak past what he saw when he landed. This new area had tons of Octarians in tight little patrols around multiple vaults. No cover, and the floors were coated in purple.

Cull gulped as he looked down at what he was going to face. While Marie did say that inking should come before thinking, this seemed a little much. No cover, no safe ground…And he doubted his slow-to-refill Splat Bombs would get them before they got him. All he had other than what he brought with him wasn’t going to help with combat, unless the Octarians were easily distracted by Power Eggs. There were a couple of small boxes up here, but it’s not like any of them have been much good for Cull, either containing yet more Power Eggs to pocket or more Octarians to battle. The best they did for him was form a bit of weak cover, and these crates were far too small to fill that role.

Actually, that gave him an idea…

Cull began to pull the boxes apart. Maybe he could fashion something like a shield or armor out of the planks and – wait, what was this can? It had a label with an image that looked like a rocket launcher. He couldn’t read what it said, but he had the feeling this was a special of some kind. People talked about them a lot, but he hadn’t seen one up close before.

“Tenta Missiles!” Marie exclaimed. “Stewin’ these stooges should be easy now!”

Cull looked down at what he had made so far for a shield.

“Hey, now,” Marie said, gently. “That wasn’t a bad idea, either!”

Agent 4 shook his head and opened the can, pulling out two very rubbery rocket launchers. A bracelet appeared on his wrist as some more clear ink went into his hands. A big red button appeared on it as the launchers seemed to fade away into Cull.

Tentatively, he pressed the button, and a targeting reticule suddenly appeared in front of his eye and the launchers appeared at full size in his arms. He nearly fell over from the sudden weight, and he had to work to keep himself stable. Suddenly, four different markers appeared in his vision. Unsure of what else to do, he squeezed both triggers. His awkward stance was not enough to keep the recoil from flinging him to the ground, but he was able to see eight inky streaks fly across the sky, and plummet to one of the platforms. Multiple splashy explosion sounds could be heard.

He got up and saw that there was a lot more green on that platform, and no Octotroopers. One of them dropped a key, and he opened the vault to find another can of Tenta Missiles. He looked down to where the sizable squadron was still guarding three different vaults. Looks like he could get eight targets with this. Hopefully he could deal with any remaining foes.

It still took effort to keep standing, but he managed to keep both launchers somewhat upright as he fired more rockets. He kept his eyes shut as he kept steady.

When he opened them, both missile launchers had melted away along with the bracelet and targeting reticule. He heard several panicked Octos from the platform ahead, but it sounded like it was fewer than the squadron Cull had seen. He ran up to check, and yep, the number had thinned down to around five very confused Octotroopers, trying to clean up the splotches of green on their once-perfect purple flooring. In their panic, they missed the two keys their splatted had dropped.

“Now’s your chance, Agent 4! The Zapfish is close!”

Cull nodded, quickly running forward and dropping onto the platform. He hoped he could find the Zapfish quick; it was horribly cruel to keep one in a vault like this…

He opened one, and they were protecting… a can of Power Eggs? Really? He kept firing, making a trail in front of himself as he ran to another vault. Another launchpad. Cull groaned; this was just going to take him into another firefight, wasn’t it? So the Zapfish must be in the final—

“Hey, Agent 4? Where you going? That’ll take you to the Zapfish!”

Cull stopped, taking a second to sidestep an enemy shot, unfortunately back into enemy ink.

“W-w-ow-will it?”

He really didn’t want to be here any longer than needed. He felt like he already wasted enough valuable time on one Zapfish. He painfully stomped through the purple muck to get to the launchpad, and escaped the by-now-enraged Octarians.

He landed once again on a strange floating platform. This one was smaller, with what looked like a massive lightbulb. In it, a Zapfish, struggling against the light clamps that held her by the whiskers. Poor guy – Marie was right. It wasn’t Miffens, but Cull was sure he had seen this little fish around, what with her green-pupiled eyes and strange blue stripe on her lip.

So, he found one. What was he supposed to do now? There was an energy field that swirled around the fish, and it felt quite solid (as well as warm to the touch).

Well, this seemed like as good a time as any to ink. It was pretty much the solution to all of Cull’s problems thus far.

The field around the Zapfish absorbed the ink, but the ink started to swirl within it, and it expanded slightly. Agent 4 kept firing, and the field kept expanding, until it was more liquid than energy, and finally the ink was dense enough to dissipate the field. The last bits of energy had one last surge, causing the ink bubble to burst with a pop!

“Well done, Agent 4.”

Cull gently opened the clamps, and lifted the Zapfish into his arms. She struggled and writhed, but Cull was quick to comfort her with head-petting and quietly going “Shhh…” He figured if the Zapfish bolted now, it would just be trouble, and she would just get taken here again.

While preoccupied with the Zapfish, Cull missed the hum of a motor powering down. What he didn’t miss, however, was the ground he was standing on starting to move. After the initial jolt, he looked around worriedly, his pets and soothes unconsciously getting more frantic. He could do little more but watch while he tried to keep the fish somewhat more at ease than he was.

The platform glided lazily along, finally pivoting to face… the place where Cull started?

“All right,” Marie chirped, “you ready to blow this takoyaki stand?”

#cull goes to octo canyon #chapter 3 #draft 1 #cull to adventure full chapter

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