#the only thing that stands out about movie knuckles I like is that he seems like a total foodie that guy likes to eat lol

[spoiledskullz]

sonic movie monkey paw: knuckles is more popular now than he was prior to 2022 but it's movie knuckles and his character is still misunderstood

[saltwaterburns]

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ SMUT - read at your own discretion, fingering, slight spit kink, daddy kink, overstimulation, kind of mean!logan

a/n: i very much disliked the og deadpool movie (please hear me out guys i liked the plot and characters and most of it but i cannot STAND torture filled backstories </3) but i loved the new one!!! And there's just something about condescending!logan that's got me so ... ALSO !!! MY FIRST EVER SMUT pls im so terrified i would love feedback on what i can improve ily guys

LOGAN HOWLETT who swore he'd never go for a sweet, innocent thing like you, but somehow one night finds himself two knuckles deep inside of you. He's got you pressed up against the wall, mouth hungrily nipping at the supple skin of your neck, leaving a trail of deep purple marks in his wake. His moans that could almost be mistaken for growls are vibrating against your neck, his stubble painfully dragging across your skin as he continues to practically maul at you, the pain of it so exhilarating it's only making you wetter. His mind is hazy with carnal need to devour you, fuck you stupid like the little dolly you seem to be while his senses are clouded with the scent of your arousal. You were absolutely soaking wet, soiling your cute little panties before he even got to lay a hand on you, and now as his fingers are pumping in and out of your weepy cunt, he can feel your juices drip down his forearm. He uses his thumb to press down on your clit, the action making you mewl. The pleasurable pain startles you, making you throw your head back and in the process, hit your head against the wall with a bang. You groan softly and Logan stills all his movements, chuckling at you, his tone borderline mocking.

"Aww, pretty honey hit her head, huh? Am I fucking you stupid? Are you unable to think with daddys fingers buried deep inside your cute little pussy?"

"Please, Lo...didn't mean to, please keep goin'," you mumble back, your eyes half lidded. You shift your hips, taking his fingers even deeper, your mouth falling open as the pads of his fingers brush against that spot inside you that's making you see stars.

He chuckles, but to you it sounds like another lighthearted growl and something about it fills you with absolute primal want. You want to press your mouth against his in the filthiest kiss possible, where your tongues are tangled together and he's doing that thing where he suckles on the tip of your tongue and it's so wet and nasty that your spit mixes together, dripping down your chin and down to your tits that are peeking through your little blouse.

Before you manage to tug on his hair and do exactly that, these thoughts alongside his thick fingers pumping inside you and his thumb that's doing sharp flicks against your nub becomes too much, and before you realise what's happening, you're creaming all over his digits.

The orgasm catches you off guard, knocking all wind out of your chest. Your cunt clenches and clenches, your cum dripping all over his arm thats the same size as your thigh, now slick and shiny.

You hope that he's gonna slow down, ease his fingers out so he can fuck you properly now that you're all wet and stretched out for him, but he only seems to pick up the pace. The afterglow of your orgasm fades away and the way he's flicking your clit and massaging your g-spot starts to hurt.

"Logan, stop, no more...please, it hurts. Want you to fuck me now, need you in me," You whine softly, trying to squirm away from him.

He only laughs and grips your hip with his large hand, pushing you harder against the wall so you have nowhere to go.

"We're not stopping, doll. Did I say you could come? Disobeying won't go without punishment. We're only getting started. You're giving me two more, baby"

[motorsportbarbie13]

Forbidden - Part 2

In which you go to Max's hotel room to watch a movie. And only watch a movie. ;)

Warnings: alcohol use (but really only if you squint), steamy but not smutty, use of pet names.

Word Count: 2.6k Part One

Master List

AUSTRIA 

You knew you were playing with fire when you sent that text to Max. Judging by how Charlie’s head had nearly exploded when he (quite innocently) caught the two of you catching up on the couch a few weeks ago, you knew that he would lose his mind if he knew you were in Max’s hotel room late at night. Even if it was with the purest of intentions. Because of course it was. 

But, Charlie had left you alone in Austria on a Friday night without anything to do other than watch Austrian TV so really, this was all his fault. Alexandra was at home in Monaco, having some work to finish up at the new art gallery she’s curating. Pierre’s girlfriend Kika, who was fast becoming your other best friend in the paddock, wasn’t going to be here until tomorrow before qualifying, so you were left to your own devices. 

Which is exactly why you found yourself standing outside Max Verstappen’s hotel room at 8 o’clock at night, arms overflowing with snacks and a bottle of wine, knowing that you had everything but watching a movie running through your mind. 

The thing was, you had spent the entirety of today trading glances with Max from his garage three doors down from Charlie’s. It seemed like every time you looked towards the Red Bull garages, Max was already looking at you. He even managed to manufacture a lunch invite from Charlie and Carlos while you were standing right there, so the four of you had gotten lunch in Ferarri’s motorhome today. You were quite pleased that Charlie spent the entire time looking like he had swallowed a lemon every time you and Max even looked at each other. Even Carlos had noticed, asking your brother several times if he was okay. Every time, your brother’s response was a strained ‘yes’.  

But you weren’t teasing Max just to make your brother mad. You knew that. You were genuinely interested in the driver. Ever since the afternoon you two spent catching up in Charlie’s apartment in Monaco, the two of you had been trading random text messages and had even run into each other while out. What started off as an innocent crush had spiraled into something more, even if neither of you had voiced it quite yet. You knew Max was quite shy when it came to his feelings, side effects from growing up as Jos Verstappen’s son you supposed. You’d always been able tell what he was thinking though, ever since you were kids.  

Which landed you here. Tonight you had been bored and feeling a little attention starved, so you had been thrilled when Max invited you up to his suite for a movie night. It was something you had done frequently with friends at the track when you were younger, those movie nights being some of your favorite memories from growing up. 

It took Max a few moments to answer the door when you knocked that evening. He had to psych himself up for it, finding himself suddenly nervous about having you over. It felt like every time he looked towards the Ferrari garage today, he had instantly found you. And more times than not, you caught him staring. Gone was his usual cool facade that he kept so securely in place when it came to you and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t unnerve him. 

“I brought snacks!” You proclaim the moment Max opens the door and he can’t help but feel all the anxiety he’d been feeling moments before evaporate into thin air with a single look at your pretty face, hair tied up in a messy top knot, oversized Ferrari sweatshirt hanging so low just the bottoms of your sleep shorts poked out. It took every bit of control Max possessed not to bit down on his knuckles and groan then and there. 

Max chuckles and you try to ignore the shimmer of pleasure that danced down your spine at the sound. It doesn’t work though. Probably because making him laugh was one of your favorite activities lately and it had all started that afternoon he showed up at Charlie’s door. 

Your brother was going to be so mad. 

“Did you think you were feeding the entire grid, beestje?” 

You shove the bottle of wine at him while rolling your eyes. “Hopefully you have a bottle opener, Maxie or else we’re going to have to go on an adventure.” 

“That sounds like a terrible idea. You out in public without your brother to control you?” 

Max expertly dodges the pillow you lob at his head before taking the bottle of wine to the little kitchenette in his suite. “I’ll have you know I am a whole grown ass adult that has lived on my own in a big city for the last six years, thank you very much.” You snip. 

Spreading the snacks out on the bed, you do your best to ignore the fact that Max is looking so very attractive in a pair of grey joggers and black t-shirt. Seriously, what was it about a pair of slutty grey sweatpants and tight tshirts that got you all worked up? 

“I’m surprised you don’t have a sim rig set up somewhere in this giant room.” You tease, settling down on the large king sized bed that takes up most of one side of his suite. 

Max looks at you, a bit puzzled before saying, “That race isn’t until tomorrow night after quali, I just haven’t set it up yet.” 

The laugh that leaves your lips sets Max’s skin tingling with pleasure and he tries to remind himself that Charles would quite literally kill him if anything happened between the two of you. But with each passing moment, watching you settle back into his pillows on his bed, he’s finding it harder and harder to really care what Charles thinks. You’re a grown woman, after all. Max’s eyes drag over your body, admiring the miles of legs on display for him. Yep. You certainly were very grown up, that’s for sure.  

“Just don’t stay up all night. I don’t want Buxton to have an excuse to call you out in post-race interviews again.” You smirk. 

“That was one time and it hasn’t happened since.” He argues, shooting you a glare that has you giggling under your breath.

You hum in response but don’t respond, needing to focus your attention elsewhere now that Max is searching for the bottle opener and the concentration on his face is making you squeeze your legs together just a bit. 

Max does, in fact, locate a bottle opener and before you know it you’re both settled on his bed, side by side, wine glasses in hand, bag of chips open between you. You try your hardest to ignore the head radiating off of Max and Max tries his hardest to ignore the fact that you’re wearing the tiniest shorts he’s ever seen. Neither of you do a very good job of it. 

“I’m surprised you’re not out with Lando and the rest of the boys tonight. Getting a little tired in your old age?” You tease (always with the teasing, you two) as Max scrolls through Netflix, trying to find something you can both agree on to watch. 

“I went out with him and Carlos last week.” 

You pop a chip in your mouth before responding. “And from what I saw on Instagram, you’re probably still recovering from it.” 

You remember the night he was talking about. The jealousy that washed over you when you saw his private Instagram stories from that night, girls falling over him in a dimly lit Jimmy Z’s, him and Lando on stage with the DJ clearly wasted on his favorite G&T’s, was a feeling you were entirely unfamiliar with. You never got jealous, not over someone you were dating and certainly not over someone like Max Verstappen. Absolutely not. 

“Are you keeping tabs on me, beestje?” Max bumps your shoulder with his as he hits play on the OG Jurassic Park movie. 

You can’t help the pout that materializes on your face. “Stop calling me that.” You whine, unashamed at how bratty you sound in the moment. Frankly, you were tired of being treated as the little sister of the group, never being taken seriously and always being teased. “If you’re going to be mean to me, I’m going to leave.” 

You lean forward to go, not really intending on leaving but wanting to teach Max a lesson. A strong hand wraps around your wrist before you make it off the bed though and he pulls you back so quickly you nearly end up in his lap. “Don’t leave, schatje.” 

Schatje? Oh. Oh. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you realize Max hasn’t let go of your wrist. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s pulled your wrist closer to him so your hand is resting on his thigh and he’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon. He’s only ever called you beestje before. His little beast. You never really hated it if you were being quite honest, thought it was quite cute actually. A name that Max reserved only for you. But he’s never called you schatje and he’s absolutely never called you schatje in that tone of voice before, all husky and raspy like just saying the word does something to him. 

All at once, there’s a fire in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. Something akin to a lion stalking his prey. He knows what he wants and it’s like something finally clicked for him. You sitting there, pouting away at the nickname he’s always only reserved for you, plump bottom lip popping out, just asking to be bitten. He follows your gaze to where you’re staring at your hand in his, giving your wrist a little squeeze to get your attention back up to his face. “Don’t pretend you came up here just to watch Jurassic Park with me tonight.” He murmurs, leaning in incrementally more. He’s so close now you can feel his heated breath fan out over your cheeks. 

“Max.” You whisper, thoughts moving a mile a minute and sluggishly slow all at once. You’d been wanting this exact thing for weeks now, his hands on yours, hadn’t you? So why were you suddenly so unsure of what the fuck you were doing. 

When he tugs you into his lap, bag of chips crunching under your knees, you feel a flush creep up your neck. Knees straddling his thighs, you’re suddenly in a very compromising position and feeling something very…thick pressing into your center. A single roll of your hips is enough to have Max tipping his head back on a groan. 

“We shouldn’t Max.” Where in the hell did that protest come from? Your body practically screams, desperately needing your mind to shut the fuck up just this once.  

“I will happily stop if you want me to, schatje but your hips are telling me a very different story right now.” Max stares up at you and almost shudders at the look on your face. It’s a look he’s never seen on you before, all unabashed want and need and heat and fuck if it does something to him seeing that lusty gaze aimed his way. 

The two of you stay like this for several moments, the movie long forgotten, Max’s hands resting on your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh. It’s almost like you’re both daring the other one to make the first move. You both know you want it, the tension thick in the air. Energy crackles between you as Max drops his gaze from your eyes down to your lips and then back up again. You find yourself slipping deeper into those icy blue eyes of his, unable to tear your eyes away from how he’s looking at you. Like he’s seeing you all at once for the very first time. The sheer awestruck look on his face has you catching your bottom lip between your teeth, a smile begging to be released. 

“I want to kiss you.” Max breathes, voice barely audible but in the silent room, you don’t miss the whispered confession. 

“What’s stopping you?” You probably should be embarrassed at how breathy your voice is, how needy your hips are as they roll into his again. 

And then, it’s happening. He’s leaning in, eyes never leaving yours as your breath catches in your throat, dizzy with anticipation. You’ve kissed people before, of course you had, but never in your entire life has the moment before a kiss been this torturously pleasurable before. 

And if the anticipation of the kiss is enough to have you groaning with pleasure, the moment his lips connect with yours is astronomically better. A spark ignites when he presses a kiss to your mouth, one hand snaking up your body to frame your face as you tip your head down to allow a deeper kiss. The sound that you make when he licks into you the first time is obscene, a throaty purr rumbling out from you. 

Max can’t help but smile against you when he feels you try to press your legs together, the fact that you’re straddling him completely lost on your distracted thoughts. The way you tasted was something straight out of a romance novel and he instantly found himself addicted. He could win every fucking Grand Prix for the rest of his career and it still wouldn’t compare to the first time he got his lips on you. His other hand skates up your slender back, finding heated bare skin under your Ferrari sweatshirt. 

“We’re going to need to get you something Red Bull, I can’t have you in my bed wearing Ferrari colors.” Max grumbles, mouth barely leaving yours. 

You giggle, “In your bed, huh? Someone’s cocky.” You lift an eyebrow at him, liking the frown that tips down at the edges of his mouth when you pull away. 

“Confident, schatje. I’m confident.” 

Your lips find his again and they continue the exploration Max started, your tongue slipping between his lips, teeth first nipping at his lush bottom lip before sucking it back into your mouth. The soothing sensation on his swollen lips has Max’s hips tipping up towards yours, seeking more friction than your grinding hips are already causing. 

When you reach for the hem of your sweatshirt, intending to take it off so you can get your skin closer to his, Max lifts a hand to stop you. The confusion that clouds your face has him shaking his head, “We should stop before we get carried away.”

“What? Why?” You pout. 

Max brushes a calloused thumb over your swollen bottom lip before looking at up at you. There that look was again. Only this time it was like you’d hung both the moon and the stars and were trying to give him both. “Because if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.” 

You blink down at him, somewhat surprised and very caught of guard. “And what exactly is this?” You’re almost too afraid to hear his response, not sure if it’s the one you need to hear. 

“I don’t know but I know that it’s not a one night thing. It never could be with you.” 

You melt into his arms, your head finding its home in the crook of his neck. Dragging in a steadying breath, you allow the clean, sharp scent of Max’s shirt bring you back down to earth. He was right. You knew that. It would be a monumentally bad idea to sleep together so quickly.

“Oh Maxie.” You sigh, wondering what the hell you’ve both started here tonight. 

[rosenclaws]

So imagine- Leopold x Michelin Star chef reader who shares his adoration for food- and everyone knows the way to a mans heart is through his stomach so readers love language is gift giving/cooking/baking. Just had to share this idea with someone cuz i was immediately freaking out over him after watching the movie🫣 and i ❤️cooking. (id cook for him any-day)

warnings: fluff

wc: 1.2k

a/n: Okay I know nothing about cooking so i apologize if its not accurate but this was such a cute idea and I really hope you like it <3

"This place is amazing Leopold trust me." Kate says happily as Leopold and Charlie walk behind her. The restaurant was fancy. The atmosphere was dim but held an elegance as they were promptly seated.

"How did you manage to get us a reservation?" Charlie rips off a piece of bread and pops it into his mouth.

"My old college friend ended up going to culinary school and now they're the head chef for this very restaurant." Kate says proudly. Also you promised a free meal if they came to test out your new creations. But she left that part out.

Leopold was ecstatic. Now this was real food. The first course was incredible. Simple but plated so perfectly and the flavors danced together in his mouth. The main course was utterly divine. He couldn't stop raving about it to both Kate and Charlie and by the time dessert came he was pretty full. Still he couldn't pass up chocolate cake now could he.

"Kate!" You smile as you finally catch a break in the kitchen. Only because the restaurant is now closed but a break is a break.

"It's so good to see you." You reach over and give her a hug.

"Charlie! It's been forever." You greet him with a warm smile.

"And.." You trail off as you see the man sitting next to Charlie. He's as handsome as ever. A bright smile and to your surprise he stands as you look at him.

"Are you the chef who made our meal today?" He's got an accent too. You nod wordlessly and he bows in appreciation.

"Oh there's no need for that." You wave him off but he doesn't sit.

"The meal was extraordinary. You're an absolute culinary genius." He compliments. You feel yourself start to fluster as you thank him. You aren't used to someone be so interested in food like this.

"Yeah it was really good." Charlie adds on. You smile and thank him too. That's the reaction you're more accustomed to.

Both of them make your heart happy but this strange man has a way with words and a deep appreciation for the culinary arts it seems.

"Leopold, pleasure to meet you." He take your hand and kisses your knuckles.

Smiling as he meets your eyes. You take your hand away and rub your thumb over where he kissed. His lips felt so nice.

"Well, I have to get back but I would love to cook for you guys again." You say to all three of them but keep your eyes on Leopold.

"Dinner at my place?" Kate offers her apartment and you quickly accept.

Waving goodbye to the three of them as you steal another look at Leopold. He's so handsome, so well spoken, and such an appreciation for food. You were already planning the meal for dinner in your head, hoping to impress him even more.

-

It didn't take long for you and Leopold to become friends. You brought fresh bread to Kate's to find that he was staying there and after that well, you visited often.

When you were at work you were crafting new ideas and Leopold was your taste tester. He spent hours with you in the kitchen Marveling at your skill and creativity. He even became your little sous chef. He listened to your every direction and you could see the glimmer in his eyes when a dish was done. It was nice getting to share something like this with him.

While you cooked you talked a lot. Telling him about your life, your hobbies, your dreams. He told you about his childhood, where his love for food came, and his favorite things about modern day New York.

Even though you had just met him, it felt like you had known him for a long time. You were practicing pastries next you were dead set on adding Macarons to your menu. Leopold had so graciously volunteered to help.

"Almost done?" You were in the process of perfecting the right flavors of french buttercream while Leo whipped the meringue.

You looked up to see him whisking. His brows were furrowed in concentration as his hair bounced slightly from his movements. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and despite his best efforts, he had meringue on his face and clothes.

"Just about." His arms flex as he continues to whip and you can't tear your eyes away. He looks up and smiles warmly at you.

"Oh! Taste this." You take a spoonful of buttercream and without thinking bring it to his lips.

Standing close as you gently place your hand on his arm. He looks taken back at first and you realize what you've done. Still he takes a taste, groaning in satisfaction at how lovely the taste is. You set the spoon down but stay close to him. His mixing has gotten slower as he reaches the right consistency.

"Delicious as always." Leopold says.

"You have some buttercream on your face." He points out with a playful smile. You wipe your hands on your cheeks as he laughs.

"Did I get it?" You ask, suddenly feeling a little shy under his gaze.

"Not quite darling," He lifts his hand and gently wipes buttercream from the corner of your lips.

"There." He whispers. He can't take his eyes off of you and you don't want him to.

"Leo..." You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you lean closer to him.

"Yes" He gently caresses your face as you smile nervously, praying you haven't misread the signs.

"Kiss me." He doesn't hesitate to fulfill your wish.

Cupping your face as he leans in for a kiss. Lips so soft, so gentle yet it he's taking your breath away at the same time. Your lips move in sync as your hands rest on his shoulders. His other arm snakes around your to your back, pulling you close as he deepens the kiss.

When you finally pull apart you're left standing there in awe, a dopey smile on his face as you brush your lips with your fingers. Almost in disbelief of what just happened. You lick your lips as you taste the buttercream from earlier.

"Sweet." You say and Leo grins.

"Not as sweet as you." You try and hide the smile that forms on your lips but fail miserably.

"We should really finish these." You say looking at the mess of your kitchen.

"Yes we should, but afterwards perhaps you would join me for dinner? Allow me to show you how much I've learned." He offers, a hopeful look in his eyes.

"You want to cook for me?" You sound surprised because you are. No one ever wants to do that for you anymore and the gesture makes your heart soar.

"If you would let me. I cannot promise it will be as delicious as your cooking but, I will try." God he could serve you burnt toast and you'd be happy.

"Anything you make will be perfect." You swear you see a faint blush creep up his neck as he grabs a piping bag.

He hands it to you and looks at the bowl of meringue. You work together seamlessly, matching each others movements and getting work done with ease. You can't help but steal glances at each other. There's no one you'd rather have by your side. In the kitchen and in your life. And Leopold feels the exact same way.

You make a note to cook Kate her favorite meal. Anything to thank the woman who brought you two together. Hell you'd make her a thousand meals.

As long as Leo was by your side to help.

[defectivevillain]

indigo

pairing: Eddie Brock/Reader/Venom Symbiote/Agony Symbiote

reader's pronouns are they/them; race and gender are ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used

summary: “You’re….” Eddie chokes out, not wanting to get his hopes up. But he recognizes the fatigue in your eyes; the tension in your shoulders; and the hidden synchronicity stringing you together. “Like you?” An alien voice growls. A deep blue mass stretches across your face, seeping through your cheekbones and down your neck. You bare your teeth and Eddie is surprised to see inhumanly long sharpened teeth and a drooling tongue. The sight is painfully familiar: it appears nearly identical to Venom, save for the color. In the blink of an eye, the mass is gone, leaving you to stare at him with a sympathetic smile. “Yes.”

word count: 4.2k | ao3 version

I did some research on the wiki and watched a few clips of the movie, but that’s the extent of my canon knowledge. As such, this won’t be canon compliant.

In this fic, the reader (you) is an experiment of the Life Foundation. Dr. Drake decides to try bonding you with a symbiote. While the union works, it ultimately backfires for him—as you manage to make your escape and go into hiding with the symbiote. Without a symbiote to bond to her, Dr. Skirth ends up living… and once Eddie escapes from the facility, she introduces the two of you.

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, cannibalism, and human experimentation; vomiting and sickness

There’s someone Dr. Skirth wants Eddie to meet. He hates meeting new people, but he owes Dora a favor, so he agrees to meet up with you in the park under the cover of night. Eddie doesn’t know anything about you, other than the fact that you’re a friend of a friend. According to Dora, you’re also tied to the Life Foundation (how that connection manifests, Eddie isn’t sure). Honestly, Eddie just hopes his meeting with you will be useful. Meanwhile, Venom is, understandably, skeptical about the meeting. They make sure to complain to him several times as he makes his way to the park, and they are only satiated with the promise that they can eat you if you somehow turn out to be a villain. 

Unfortunately for Venom, you don’t appear to be a villain. Rather, you’re wearing deceptively casual clothing: a simple sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. Your hands are shoved in your pockets; there are dark circles under your eyes and you’re staring down at the cracks in the pavement as you stand under a flickering streetlight. There are scars marking nearly every visible part of you—stretching up your collarbone, running down your face, laced across your hands. One thing is abundantly clear to Eddie in that moment: Life Foundation has left its mark on you, too. 

If you sense him staring, you don’t comment on it. Instead, you just look up and send him a hesitant wave. “Hi,” you say, extending a hand to shake as you introduce yourself. Eddie blinks at you for a moment, before introducing himself in return. After a second, he takes your proffered hand and shakes it firmly. His eyes catch on your cracked knuckles and everything seems to fall into place. It appears you’re far more similar to Eddie than he first thought. 

“You’re….” He finds himself choking out, not wanting to get his hopes up. But he recognizes the fatigue in your eyes; the tension in your shoulders; and the hidden synchronicity stringing you together. 

“Like you?” An alien voice growls. A deep blue mass stretches across your face, seeping through your cheekbones and down your neck. You bare your teeth and Eddie is surprised to see inhumanly long sharpened teeth and a drooling tongue. The sight is painfully familiar: it appears nearly identical to Venom, save for the color. In the blink of an eye, the mass is gone, leaving you to stare at him with a sympathetic smile. “Yes.”

Eddie stares at you in disbelief, amazed by your composure. Right now, he feels as if Venom is in complete control. Yet you seem able to switch between your symbiote and your own visage at will. It’s as if the two of you are in complete agreement. “How…?” He trails off. 

Half of your face is overtaken with the alien entity. “We are Agony.” A warped voice responds, a blend of your voice and the alien’s. Slowly, the alien—Agony—drips down your face and disappears from sight. You’re staring at him with a patient expression now. “We can help you.” You state matter-of-factly. 

Eddie isn’t sure what to do with that offer. He finds himself mechanically proceeding through the rest of the conversation, just barely staying afloat amidst the realization that there may actually be someone willing to help him. A few days ago, Eddie would’ve maintained that he didn’t need help; today, he’s grateful for the offer of assistance that he knows he needs. He has no idea how to navigate this tumultuous new existence he finds himself sharing with the alien creature inside him. 

He locks eyes with you, and an unspoken understanding passes between the both of you. There is a visceral fuzzy feeling in Eddie’s chest, as he stares into the eyes of the one person who could ever truly understand his new life. You stare right back at him, evidently having similar thoughts. The two of you are tied together by fate and its cruelties; you have virtually no choice but to lean on one another, lest you both return to your loneliness. 

Eddie leaves twenty minutes later with your number in his phone and plans to meet with you the next morning. He’s fairly hopeful about it—from what he could tell, you seem like a genuinely kind person. Worn thin from the trials you’ve been forced into, but kind nonetheless. Eddie tries to puzzle out how you could still have sympathy for a world that has shown you nothing but malice. 

“Don’t trust them.” Venom growls, breaking Eddie out of his thoughts. He feels the symbiote’s restless energy humming along his skin, creating goosebumps that run down his arms as he walks home.

Whether Venom’s remark is a profession of their suspicion or a warning, Eddie isn’t sure. He sighs. “Let’s give them a chance,” Eddie maintains, shoving his hands in his pockets as he continues down the street. “If they somehow turn out to be evil, you can eat them. Okay?” 

Venom is silent for a while. “Fine.” They eventually respond, clearly not happy about it. But the renewed promise of food must be too good for them to turn down. 

Eddie nods, secretly relieved. Admittedly, he’s pretty optimistic about you: you appear healthy, sane, and most importantly, comfortable in your own body. You don’t appear to be constantly at war with yourself, which is rather similar to how Eddie feels at the current moment.

“War,” Venom remarks. There’s no telling whether they possess the same spectrum of emotions that humans do, yet they’re speaking with clear sarcasm. “Very dramatic, Eddie.” Eddie just rolls his eyes. 

The rest of his day passes without much fanfare. He eats a rather bland dinner and falls asleep earlier than normal, if only to quiet his restless thoughts. Before long, it’s the next morning—and he’s freshening up before heading out to the diner you agreed to meet at. 

You’re waiting for him in a brightly-colored booth. Eddie walks over to you, muttering a greeting as he takes the seat across from you. You slide a coffee mug over to him, which he drinks gratefully. His curiosity seems to linger in the air around both of you, until you’re relenting and telling Eddie about yourself. He told you about himself when you met last night; now, it’s your turn to tell your story. 

What Eddie hears is enough to turn his stomach and effectively rid him of his appetite. Essentially, you were one of the human captives used as experiments by the Life Foundation. You describe a constant state of numbness at war with dread and fear. You explain how you were practically left to rot behind those glass walls, until it came time for you to be the next test subject. You recount how you were exposed to the blue symbiote… and how, upon your successful union, Life Foundation planned to experiment on you further. By the time you’re describing your escape, Eddie is resisting the urge to reach out and place a hand over your shaking one—desperate to provide comfort to the one person who understands what it’s like to have a parasite living inside them. 

“Not a parasite,” Venom hisses, breaking Eddie out of his thoughts. They sound strangely offended by the remark.

“Right, they don’t like being called that,” you murmur, tapping your fingers rhythmically against the table. Eddie blinks, thrown back into reality. “Symbiote is better.” Agony interjects. You seem entirely unbothered by the interruption. 

An awkward silence descends across the space for a moment, before Eddie blurts out the first thought that comes to mind. “I’m hungry,” Eddie frowns. Indeed, his stomach aches with emptiness—despite his knowledge that he ate just before falling asleep the previous night. 

“We’re hungry.” Venom corrects him. 

You’re looking at him—them, Eddie reminds himself—with amusement. The expression is fleeting. “Right,” you then say, as if you’re just remembering. A grimace rises on your face. “Well. There are two options: chocolate… and human brains.”

Eddie stares at you warily. He didn’t think you were the type to joke about things like this, but it just sounds too far fetched to be real. He must’ve misjudged you, somehow. As if sensing his doubt, you attempt to explain further. 

“I know, I was skeptical too,” you admit, rubbing a hand over your face. While your relationship with Agony seems a lot more clearly defined than Eddie and Venom’s, there’s still a lingering exhaustion written in the lines of your face. You take a slow breath. “Their species requires different nutrients than ours: namely, phenethylamine.” 

“Human brains are better.” Agony states. 

You sigh. “It’s true. Chocolate is really only a temporary fix, because it doesn’t last nearly as long. The two of us have struck up an agreement to only eat bad people, so there’s at least a bit of morality involved...” You break off, clearly sensing Eddie’s impending dread. 

There’s no way around eating humans. It takes him several seconds to process this. Eddie doesn’t want to believe it—doesn’t want to think about the feeling of human matter stuck between his hooked teeth; doesn’t want to think about waking up in the morning, sweat-soaked and stained with the dried blood of a dead stranger. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, your brows furrowed. Eddie hates how sincere you are. And he especially hates how he takes comfort from your reassurance. It shouldn’t mean anything to him—he never cares what people think of him. But the fact that you can not only sympathize with him, but also empathize with him, is rather significant. 

“We can do this,” you promise him. Eddie finds himself oddly appreciative of your choice of wording. You chose to say “we,” as if explicitly confirming your support for him. “We’ll help you.” You repeat. 

“Okay,” he responds stiffly, not trusting himself to say anything else. The two—four—of you spend the rest of the meal in silence. Eventually, the warm sunlight trickles through the windows next to you and breakfast is over. Eddie and you leave the restaurant and stop on the sidewalk outside, turning towards one another. 

“I’ll text you,” you promise. “Let me know if you need anything.” Eddie nods quietly. As if sensing how overwhelmed he feels, your expression morphs into one oddly reminiscent of… affection. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Eddie assents and tells you to do the same, at which a smile rises on your lips. Oddly short of breath, Eddie manages to tear his eyes away and utter a goodbye—though your smile remains in his thoughts for the rest of the day. 

Eddie begins to make progress, slowly but surely. With your guidance, he learns how to communicate better with Venom; fight with their assistance; and even nourish himself better. None of it seems to be important, in the face of the realization that his life will never return back to normal. But, somehow, the satisfied smile on your face when he accomplishes something is enough for Eddie to keep pushing himself. 

Since your first meeting, Venom has warmed up to you a lot more—to the point where they have started speaking to you directly, instead of just speaking to Eddie. Agony has still remained a bit more withdrawn and silent, but their presence is keenly felt regardless. 

Eddie still has moments when he feels as if the world is caving in on him—as if the faces of passerby are contorted in disgust and fear (which was an unfortunate reality in the beginning days of his union with Venom). There are nights when he wakes with dried blood flecked across his skin, but he has grown accustomed to washing it off and forgetting it in the morning. You are a constant companion during these moments, and, sometimes, your touch is the only thing that grounds Eddie to the world around him. Safe to say, the two of you have taken to staying at each other’s apartments more often than not. 

On a few rare occasions, Eddie is the one to hold you—as you remember confinement behind cold glass walls and calculating eyes watching your every move. Eddie can’t imagine what your captivity and torture at the hands of Life Foundation was like… And he’s certain he doesn’t want to think about it, because it will only make him feel even worse. While you’ve both been bonded with symbiotes, Eddie escaped the cruel experimentation that you were subjected to. He was just visiting to get information for an article; you were bound in chains and thrown behind nearly impenetrable barriers. 

Overall, though, things are going well. At least, Eddie wants to think so. But then the universe wants to spite him, and he wakes up one morning feeling as if he was hit by a truck. He’s practically stuck to the cushions of his couch, his limbs as heavy as bricks. His throat is overwhelmingly dry; there’s a bitter taste in his mouth; and, try as he might, he can’t seem to wrench his eyes open. 

“Eddie? …Eddie? Shit.” 

Eddie wakes to a frigid cold. He shivers instinctually, blinking past a strange sheen over his eyelids. It takes his vision several moments to clarify past a swirling blur. His temple is nearly pulsating with pain; his stomach aches and his skin is coated in sweat. Eddie twitches, recognizing your blurry silhouette and realizing you must’ve dumped cold water on him to wake him up. Even now, as he’s been torn from sleep, he’s struggling to stay awake. 

“Eddie?” You ask, sounding very concerned. Eddie isn’t sure he can remember the last time someone was so worried about him. The thought saddens him. Your hands move to his shoulders and you shake him slightly, your brows furrowed. “Can you hear me?” The most Eddie can manage is a weak nod in response. 

“Doesn’t… feel right.” Venom adds. This may be the first time Eddie has ever agreed with Venom.

“Eddie’s sick,” you respond to the symbiote. 

Eddie isn’t able to register much more of your conversation with Venom—not when his ears are ringing and he feels a familiar prickling nausea at the back of his throat. Eddie slowly pushes himself up. Upon realizing that the feeling is steadily climbing up his throat, he clumsily gets to his feet and stumbles towards the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before vomiting. Eddie can’t quite comprehend what’s happening, other than the burning sensation assaulting his throat and the sudden feel of someone rubbing his back reassuringly. You’re crouching next to him, saying something he can’t make out. Venom responds for him. 

At some point, he stops throwing up and attempts to rest his head. You put the toilet seat down and flush it, before allowing him to do so. Eddie feels a foreign gratitude for the kindness you’re showing him, despite the monster living inside him. The cold porcelain is a welcome sensation on his sweat-soaked skin. 

“Not a monster,” Venom reminds him. Even his companion’s voice is quieter, as if accommodating the headache migrating through his temple and down into his cheekbones and jaw. Eddie doesn’t have the energy to argue. He blinks slowly, the lights of the bathroom only making his headache worse. He feels rather woozy. 

“Here, let’s get you up,” you suggest. Eddie can hardly move, yet your hands bracket his arms and you’re pulling him up as if he weighs nothing at all. (That is likely due to Agony’s help, but he doesn’t exactly have the wherewithal to recognize that). Eddie lurches to the side ominously, but Venom extends a makeshift arm and rights his balance. With Agony, Venom, and you combined, Eddie makes it back to the couch easily. You help him sit down before walking into the kitchen. You return moments later to press a glass of water into his hand. 

Eddie gulps it down greedily. Or, at least, he tries to—only for you to reach out and stop him from drinking any more. “Not too fast,” you remark, taking the glass from his hand and placing it on the adjacent coffee table. “Wait ten minutes or so, just to make sure you can keep it down.”

Eddie stares at you for a long moment, frowning. He hears himself blurting out his thoughts before he can think any better of it. “Why are you here?” Eddie croaks. He is the complete opposite of presentable at the moment; the last thing he wants is for you of all people to see him looking so pathetic. Eddie isn’t exactly sure why he wants to make such a good impression on you, but… he supposes that doesn’t matter now. He can muse on the exact nature of his feelings towards you at a later date, when he doesn’t feel so uncomfortable in his own skin. 

You blink at him for a moment, evidently contemplating the question. “Alone.” Agony responds. Eddie squints at you, watching as the symbiote’s midnight blue mass crawls up your shoulders, as if wrapping an arm around you in reassurance. You don’t even flinch at the sudden presence of your companion. Instead, you take a slow breath and look at Eddie once more. “When it happened to me, I was alone. It was… an isolating experience. I don’t want you to feel the same way.” You explain. 

You then reach down, as if to touch him, only for Venom to protrude from Eddie’s shoulder and snap at you. At least, they attempt to—only for Agony to intercept them and snap threateningly in return. Eddie watches the whole scene through hazy eyes, half-convinced that he’s having a fever dream. Eventually, Agony and Venom seem to resolve their dispute and you reach out towards Eddie again, placing your hand on his forehead to check for his temperature. Eddie can’t stop himself from sighing in relief at your cool skin. You only frown, looking more worried. “You’re burning up,” you say to him. 

“Hot.” Venom adds, clearly feeling a bit of Eddie’s own discomfort. “Like flames.” 

“He has a fever,” you respond, getting to your feet and moving to the kitchen once more. You come back moments later with a towel in hand. Eddie dazedly watches as you approach, folding the towel before placing it on his forehead. He exhales slowly as the cold fabric brings a welcome sensation of frigidity trickling down his temple, fighting off the flames licking at his skin. He’s not sure how long he sits in silence until you’re breaking through it. “Here, it’s been ten minutes. Can you sit up a bit?” You ask. 

Eddie lets out a pained whimper, practically sinking back into the cushions of the couch. Venom stretches out of his back and props him up to a sitting position. Thank you, Eddie thinks. Then the symbiote rises to grasp his forearm, guiding him to grip the glass of water and take another sip. Venom and you then help him return to a reclined position. 

Eddie’s eyelids are stinging with exhaustion. He’s desperately fighting off sleep—blinking tiredly with extra effort. “It’s okay, you can rest,” you reassure him, noticing his fatigue. “We’ll be here when you wake.” 

That comforts him far more than he’d like to admit. Before long, Eddie is slipping into sleep once more. 

“Cared for you,” Venom says days later, when Eddie has mostly recovered. They’re sharing a quiet moment in Eddie’s apartment, sitting on the couch and staring at the television on low-volume. “For us.”

Thinking about his sickness last week, Eddie can’t help but feel humiliated and weak. He’s still embarrassed that you saw him in such a state; frustrated that he needed assistance with even the simplest of tasks; and… grateful, despite it all. You stuck with him in the following few days, giving him medication when needed and ensuring he had enough to eat and drink. You were a constant presence, to the point where Eddie found you asleep on the armchair in his living room numerous times. That sight will be forever burned into his brain: the peaceful expression on your face as your chest rose and fell calmly. He had never seen you look so vulnerable before; and even in the midst of his sickness and the ensuing vulnerability he was forced to show, he felt himself wanting to protect you. It was a foolish thought: Eddie knew you were more than capable of protecting yourself. But perhaps it was just the domesticity of it all—the thought of you becoming a permanent fixture in their life. 

Venom breaks him from his thoughts with a gentle tap at his wrist. Eddie recalls their prior statement and hums. “They did care for us,” he agrees. Venom crawls down his forearm, stretching to inhabit the space between his fingers in what he assumes to be an imitation of hand-holding. There’s an unsettled energy to the symbiote’s presence. Eddie feels a frown overtake his lips. “What’s wrong?”

“It was too quiet.” Venom’s confession settles in the air around him, inhabiting every nook and cranny of his dimly-lit apartment. 

“Sorry,” Eddie eventually murmurs. He’s not sure why he’s apologizing, when the sickness wasn’t under his control. But that tone in Venom’s voice provokes guilt and remorse in him, for reasons he can’t quite elucidate. 

“Don’t do it again.” Venom commands. 

“I don’t really have control over that,” Eddie huffs, attempting to diffuse the sudden tension that settled over the space. Venom lets out a threatening growling noise and he quickly caves. “Fine, fine. I’ll try.”

“Try.” Venom repeats, equal amounts of wry amusement and frustration in their voice. Eddie just hums in response, grasping the symbiote’s tendrils with renewed vigor. Now that he thinks about it, Venom seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn during his sickness: as if they were afraid of pushing him too far past the brink of his energy.

“Sorry,” Eddie whispers again. Venom tightens their grip on his hand in response, and the two of them sit there for a long time after—hands conjoined and fates lovingly intertwined. 

Eddie doesn’t get a chance to thank you until a few days later, when he’s sure his sickness is gone and can safely dismiss the thought of getting you sick. Eddie and Venom meet Agony and you as the sun sets over the horizon, in the same spot where you first met all that time ago. 

Standing under the flickering street light in the park once more, Eddie is unspeakably thankful that he took a chance on you. He can’t imagine where he would be now, without your support. The thought dominates his mind, to the point where he finds himself uttering it aloud moments later. “I don’t know what I would do without you,” Eddie says. 

“You’d be just fine,” you remark with a smile. The way you look at him only adds more fuel to the fire of Eddie’s foolish hopes. When he sees that gleam in your eyes, he can’t help but envision a shared existence: not among two beings, but among four. The thought is misguided and horribly insistent, popping up during the most inopportune of moments. 

Eddie sighs. “I’m serious,” he maintains, trying to convey his sincerity. It seems to work, because you pause and look at him with widening eyes. “I- I couldn’t have done this alone. We couldn’t have done this alone.” Eddie corrects himself, when he can sense Venom about to object. The symbiote drags a tendril down his ribs, in an approving movement that makes his heart race. 

“I’m happy I met you,” you admit. “Selfishly speaking.” Agony crawls up your skin and pops out of your shoulder; Venom does the same, and the two have a conversation in a chittering language that Eddie and you can’t hope to understand. Meanwhile, Eddie is unable to deny your magnetic presence; he can’t help but gravitate towards you. He takes a step closer—past a socially acceptable distance—and stops, trying to study your expression and ascertain your comfort. Eventually, he surrenders and decides to just speak his thoughts.

“Can I…?” Eddie breaks off, unsure of what he’s asking for at the present moment. His thoughts are quickly cascading into a territory far past platonic companionship, but suppressing them is a lost cause. He’s spent too long denying himself the life he wants. Venom crawls up his chest and stretches across his shoulders in a reassuring gesture. Comforted by the reminder of Venom’s presence, Eddie clears his throat and summons the courage to finish his sentence. “Can I kiss you?”

You take a step closer, rendering the distance between the two of you nearly nonexistent. Your hand falls to his forearm and Eddie looks into your eyes, a nervous anticipation running through him as he sees you nod in agreement. “Yes.” You whisper, so quietly that Eddie nearly convinces himself that he imagined it. But before he can second-guess himself, you’re closing the gap between you and kissing him. 

You’re standing so close together that the two of you are practically fusing. Eddie’s hands fall to your waist; your hands cradle his jaw. Agony and Venom prickle along their partners’ shoulders, dripping down your chests and mixing together. Distantly, Eddie remembers how lost and alone he felt when Venom first fused with him. He has long grown out of the feeling, and wonders if, perhaps, that sensation was trying to tell him something. Perhaps, this entire time, existence was meant to be shared amongst three others—rather than just one. 

These philosophical thoughts quickly fade to the back of his mind, as your fingers trace his jaw and slip down to the nape of his neck. Venom rises to meet your hand, just as Agony trickles down your side and runs along Eddie’s knuckles. One realization immediately takes precedence over everything else running through Eddie’s mind: 

He’s never felt so alive.

endnotes: this is definitely the queerest fic I've ever written. and I love it.

Me: I can hardly write kissing scenes with two people. My writer’s brain, cackling: Hear me out. What about… two people and two symbiotes? Me: What. The. Fuck.

thanks for reading! <3

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general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[sseastar]

✶ what we do.

info. song eunseok x reader. fluff, suggestive if you squint. established relationship. description. little things in your relationship. word count. 1k. warnings. they take a shower together but literally just for the purpose of a shower. a single word in parentheses makes it suggestive.  listen to. fire and the flood by vance joy.

as always, please leave feedback and reblog with feedback tags as it’s the most important thing when it comes to motivating writers on here! without feedback, i have less motivation to keep writing so pls pls pls do not just like and empty reblog! it gets very draining and unmotivating to see when that happens!

Loving Song Eunseok is loving your best friend. It involves him turning off the light in the hallway as soon as you get home from class or work, so that you have to grope around in the dark following the sounds of his giggles just to greet him with a hug. “Song Eunseok!” you’d say, to which he turns the light back on to appear right beside you, before pulling you in towards him by the small of your back and leaving a lingering kiss and smile on your lips.  Loving him is pretending you’re anything but in love in front of your friends, until they finally take the hint that you are together when you quietly get up to join him at the stove. “To help him cook,” you say, but you do nothing to deny their allegations when they tease you about the way the two of you had just kept giggling and nudging each other as he mixed the fried rice. Your lingering touches on his arm and the way he dipped his face a lot closer to yours just to speak to you before laughing said too much. 

It’s going to the same university, having met him through your friend Sungchan during a club meeting. Loving Eunseok is walking to different buildings to help set up labs during your shift at work and moving past the table he's sitting at as he waits for the current lecture to get out. He only winks at you when you make eye contact then, not wanting to disturb you during your shift, fully pleased with the little smile that creeps up on your face. Song Eunseok also refuses to let you leave your shared apartment without a kiss, so loving him includes trying to wriggle out of his grasp before you go to class, and beckoning him over to your front door for that little good luck charm in the form of physical affection if you already have your shoes on. Loving him involves the little ways he keeps you close at the grocery store or mall, gently hooking his finger into your belt loop to make sure you don’t stray too far in your excitement, or by slipping his hand into your side pocket as he stands behind you to help you pick the ice cream flavor. It's how he orders both flavors of ice cream you were torn between getting, allowing you to pick the one you wanted more and eating the other, even if it was his favorite. 

Loving him is loving the way he always follows the sidewalk rule, silently shuffling your body towards the inside of the sidewalk without a word, and the way the two of you link arms and huddle together with your shoulders scrunched up like you’re freezing as you walk, regardless of the weather. It’s gently moving your hair that got stuck underneath his hoodie or under your backpack after putting it on so it’s not pressed against your neck. It’s letting you sit between his legs when he’s propped up against the headboard or against the foot of the couch, his arms encasing you over your shoulders and how he dips his face to look at you whenever you turn your face to tell him something about whatever you’re watching. It’s him letting you smush your face into his shoulder the entire time you’re watching a horror movie that just might be too much for you, but can’t bear to leave his side. 

Loving Eunseok is loving the way he kisses your knuckles, bringing his soft lips to the back of your hand and letting the sweet scent of your skin linger against his face. It's the way he always seems to admire the way the silver band on your right ring finger looks when paired with an extra hair tie you always have wrapped around your wrist (for you or for him…or probably Wonbin, but it doesn’t matter). You’re used to the way he seems to just stare at the way the combination looks against the steering wheel when you’re driving, and sometimes you have to remind him that you’re not the best left hand driver when he tries to take your hand in his. It’s the way he takes the chance to kiss your palm when the light turns red, because he just can’t wait until you’re parked. Either way, Eunseok plays with your hands regardless, just cradling them in his own because he loves the way your fingers look next to his. 

Loving Eunseok is showering together for the actual sake of saving water, without arousing desire in any way (usually). It's gently bumping each other's hips to get the other to move out of the way of the water running from the shower head, and arguing over the temperature setting. “You’re insane, I’m literally gonna burn!” he’ll exclaim when he feels how hot you set the faucet as if he isn’t used to it from the past two years of being together. It’s passing the bottle of shampoo to him after squeezing out your own quarter-sized dollop, and moving the loofa over each other’s backs. It's how Eunseok notices the little bruise on your shin from when you had run into the leg of the coffee table and the way he reprimands you to be more careful. It’s giggling when he accidentally gets soap in his eyes and helping him wash it out, and him draping your towel over your head and face as soon as you step out of the shower. He’s always got that little smirk when you lift it up from your face, finding it funny no matter how many times he does it. Loving Eunseok is sharing the same lotion and body wash, and allowing hints of lavender and chamomile to unite the two of you whenever someone associates the scent to either of you. 

It’s loving the way Eunseok doesn’t mind going shopping with you. Sometimes he’ll see something he likes (it’s obvious by how he stops and starts hovering around it) but won’t say anything about it just because he doesn’t want to carry it around. You notice, nevertheless, and you play it off as wanting that same hoodie and buying it for yourself (read: him) because you know he won’t mind carrying stuff if it’s yours. It’s Eunseok silently leaning against the bedroom wall or the door frame as you try on the new pieces of clothing you bought, full attention on the way you twirl and pose jokingly, but he finds you adorable anyway. He may be straight faced and silently observing you, but the way he picks you up to plop you on the bed and hover over you before letting his lips land on yours tells you everything you need to know.

⌕. author’s note ; i'm so easily influenced by beautiful boys with big brown eyes...was supposed to be studying for my midterm when i wrote this but song eunseok, jung sungchan, and park wonbin on my brain 24/7 recently.

⌕. taglist ; @enhacolor @soobin-chois @koishua @chrysbibi

[mama-qwerty]

It would've been cool if Wade at least tried to put up a fight for the Master Emerald, even bringing in the gauntlets he used to protect Knuckles from the Buyer

Honestly, I can't see them having an actual fight fight between Sonic and Wade, as there'd be no contest, really. Even with the gauntlets, Wade would be no match for Sonic.

But I would have liked to have seen Wade take his role as guardian a little more seriously and not used the ME as a freaking hockey puck. I mean, really? They could still be a little silly with it--like he built a little 'shrine' for it and stands in front of it like og Knux does--without making it seem really disrespectful in his treatment of not only the ME itself, but of Knuckles' trust in him to keep it safe.

I really hate how they portray Wade in the movies. With very few tiny exceptions, he's been nothing but the "idiot deputy", behaving in ways that are embarrassingly stupid. He's the Boom!Knuckles of the SCU, and he doesn't even have the benefit of his friends caring about him even though he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Boom's friends love him. The only person who seems to genuinely like Wade in the movieverse is Knuckles.

I was hopeful by how they portrayed him in the series. He was still him, but he showed growth, and that he could take things seriously when the situation demanded. Being with Knux gave him confidence, and faith in himself he didn't have before. He respects Knux, and wants to make him proud, and I don't think he'd view this gem, a very sacred thing to Knuckles' people, as something to just goof around with. (That's why I rewrote that scene.)

I'm going off on a tangent, sorry about that. It's just so frustrating to see a character I like be turned into nothing but the slapstick 'he's so stupid' one note joke that everyone else laughs at. I hate those kind of characters to begin with, and Wade has a really sweet personality. He deserves better.

~~~

Check out my other Sonic 3 analysis posts

[msrosey]

No Such Thing as a Friendly Ghost

Rant on the differences between Movie-verse! Shadow and SA2! Shadow real quick because I am suffering! Suffering!

So Movie-verse! Shadow is so absolutely grief-stricken it was killing me to watch.

Like. SA2! Shadow was grieving, but he was driven towards revenge from pretty much the beginning (adjusted memories non-withstanding). He was the one who went to Eggman when he was freed, he was the one who set up the events of the game. He had agency.

Movie-verse!Shadow...doesn't. He gets woken up and immediately just wants to get away. No blowing up the base, no searching for answers from the guys still in the glass watching room, just defending himself against the armed guys trying to keep him in and then immediately bouncing. And when they chase them, he fights some more - he doesn't go looking for it. He even says it to Sonic - "Why can't you people leave me alone?"

And he goes straight back to the old G.U.N. facility. Like, it's so clear he had no clue what to do! He just sits in the wreckage of the only home he ever knew, with no clear next steps, just. There. Gerald is the one to tell him what to do. Gerald is the one who pushes him towards to revenge, who tells him its the only way. And Shadow just...follows?

In the game it was clear that Gerald had to mess with Shadow's memories to make him think that this is what he wanted, what Maria would have wanted. In the movie it's clear that Shadow is just looking for someone to tell him what to do. He even joins Agent Stone for guac, just cause Gerald said to stay with him! That's unthinkable for Game! Shadow or IDW! Shadow, both of which are big ignore-plan-jump-into-the-fight characters. Movie-verse! Shadow is strangely, like, innocent?

Like, Shadow is grieving, so badly, but its devastating because he also doesn't seem to realize. Like there's this underlying confusion when he's not actively fighting, and it's clear he has no frame of reference for anything he's feeling? It's like if Sonic had lost Longclaw and then never been exposed to the Wachowskis or Green Hills, just festered in his own guilt until coming across Knuckles or the echidna tribe.

AH and this is already so long but guys, can we talk about how the moment when Shadow starts to realize Maria would not want revenge and he no longer had someone telling him what to do, he like. Immediately tried to die. Several times.

He taunts Sonic to finish him off, despite him having the upper hand multiple times in the battle! He returned to the Eclipse Cannon alone to keep it from blowing up!

Like, yes the latter was the heroic things to do, but there's something so self-sacrificing about both, especially when he could have gotten Sonic's help with the ship? The rest of Team Sonic's help. This Shadow has (somehow) innate Chaos teleportation abilities, you're telling me he couldn't just teleport Sonic back to the ship and get things fixed with Knuckles and Tails' all together? But he doesn't even try, and it. feels like it's all tied back into this intense guilt and barely hidden desire to just not be there anymore.

Also I just can't get the image of him in the blown up base out of my head. He's just...standing there. Walking the halls. Haunting it.

And I know Knuckle's mention of Casper being scary is largely comic relief, but he has a point. Someone who doesn't care about their own life anymore, who stays replaying awful memories trapped in their own head, and who sees no future where they're in is terrifying.

They can't be friendly, or kind. Not even to themselves.

[itneveroccurredtomeatall]

Random snippets from Poolverine fics that are in the works

I 100% failed kinktober this year for a variety of reasons and ended up with just one fic, but I did start several other ones (so maybe that counts for something?)

We have:

-something inspired by the Platform movie (this feels like it would be on the longer side)

-something where Wade accesses a TVA monitor and sees different versions of him & Logan (probably shorter)

-something that combines Gutenberg! The Musical! and Poolverine (this is definitely ridiculous and not sure who the audience is for this other than me, but if you are also super into Gutenberg & Poolverine, please reach out!!!!!! Also, I've tried to think about what an actual Gutenberg fic would look like for months but haven't managed to come up with anything yet)

-something where Wade keeps trying to tell Logan he loves him but things go really wrong (until one day they start going really right)

And then there's all the planned kinktober ones I never finished, but hopefully I'll finish some those eventually and also get to some of these!

Snippets below:

Something inspired by the Platform movie When Logan woke up, the first thing he noticed was just how uncomfortable he was. His back was aching, and he didn’t have to wonder why. He could feel his weight pressing down on the metal bars through the thin mattress.

He had known prison, much less the Pit, wasn’t meant to be comfortable, but he had hoped for a little more than this.

Then again, he deserved worse.

He groaned as he sat up, the bed’s creaks echoing the creaking in his joints.

“Well, good morning, sleepy head! Or should I say afternoon? Or evening? You know, it’s pretty dark down here 24/7 and I’ve completely lost track of time, so let’s keep it simple and stick with good morning.”

Logan snapped his gaze in the direction of the voice and found his cellmate sitting cross-legged on an identical bed on the opposite side of the room. A large, square gap in the floor separated them.

“Don’t tell me your name or your food, I’m gonna guess.”

Logan had never been a morning person, which meant he was far too groggy to protest.

“Let’s see. Your personal item is,” the man leaned forward, his bed groaning unhappily under his shifting weight, “brass knuckle claws? I promise I’ll be on my best behavior, pretty kitty.”

Something where Wade accesses a TVA monitor and sees different versions of him & Logan

The thing about Wade is he can’t help himself. He never has been. Not that he has really tried all that hard.

So, when he’s left unattended in the TVA and explicitly told to, “Sit. Stay. Don’t look at the monitors,” he stands, walks across the room to get a better view, and stares at the fucking monitors because he really wants to know why Thor was crying.

Only that blond hunk of Asgardian God isn’t on any of the monitors. Instead, nearly every screen shows him and Logan. Well, different versions of them. Their multi-verse selves.

There’s one where they’re both drinking at the same bar sitting right next to each other but don’t seem to know each other. Wade hopes the other version of him goes home, realizes what he’s missed out on, and posts on Craigslist Missed Connections.

Then, there’s the one where they’ve got wings. Like actual fucking angel wings. Only Wade’s are cancer-ridden, judging by the looks of them, and Logan’s are going gray. And he’s not gonna lie, it’s kind of hot. They’re fighting in this universe, too. Only it’s at least four times as cool because they’re doing it mid-flight.

Apparently, there’s a universe where they’re both… cats? (And not like those cute pet kitties you find in a box on the side of the road and beg your mother to let you keep. They’re closer to Andrew Lloyd Weber nightmare fuel cats.) And they’re tussling in an alleyway. They’re feral and kind of hideous, and Wade appreciates that, for once, he and Logan are equally unattractive.

But what really catches his eye is the one where they’re them — and they're making out. It’s hot and heavy, but also surprising sweet.

And, yeah, he touches himself that night.

Again, he can’t help himself.

Something that combines Gutenberg! The Musical! and Poolverine

Schlimmer was a shitty place, to be honest.

Wade knew it. Honestly, everyone knew it.

It was right there in the name. Worse.

It was filthy. Full of dirty floors, large rats, and thatched roofs.

And the people weren’t much better than their dreary surroundings.

Beef Fat Trimmer would never shut his goddamn mouth about trimming the fat off the beef. Doctor had never saved a life in his life. Bootblack and Daughter had some weird relationship going on. Wade couldn’t quite pinpoint what was off with them, but there was definitely something wrong there. Another Woman was a major gossip.

And Blind Al. Well, Blind Al was alright sometimes, he supposed. But she was old, blind, cranky, and, quite often, very high on cocaine. (To be fair, Wade was also regularly very high on cocaine.)

In Wade’s opinion, the only thing worth a damn in Schlimmer was Logan.

Yes, Logan was technically his boss. But what’s a little inter-wine-press-shop romance in the 1400s?

Something where Wade keeps trying to tell Logan he loves him but things go really wrong (until one day they start going really right)

The next time, they were walking down the street side by side snacking on hot dogs (kinda Freudian, if you ask him). The sun was just starting to set, and the way it splashed across Logan’s face as he devoured his hot dog in a few short bites made Wade’s stomach clench.

“Hey, Logan. I think I—”

And because the universe hates him and they were strolling around in New York City with street cart hot dogs, a group of pigeons flew overhead. One nearly beamed him with its wings. Then, one actually clipped his hot dog with its wings, knocking it to the dirty concrete. And another shit directly on his fucking head.

Moment. Ruined.

But he’s not even particularly mad about that because the bark of laughter Logan had let out when he’d realized what had happened still plays through Wade’s mind every now and then.

[imtrashraccoon]

This chapter turned out much different than I planned but it's a good change. I have learned that my biggest writing weakness is impulse. I usually only struggle when I impulsively decide to change or write something else.

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Nightmare - PJs

Word Count: 2,153

You were thinking about going to bed soon when a gentle knock sounded on your front door. You were already in your pajamas and it was rather late, so who could be at your door?

You retrieved your brass knuckles and slipped them on just in case. Taking a peek through the peephole, you were relieved to see that it was only Nightmare standing outside. Then the absurdity of this situation set in and you did a double take, looking again.

What was he doing outside your door?

Setting the weapons aside, you unlocked the door and opened it. "Hi, uh... I wasn't expecting you..." You chuckled and rubbed the back of your neck before adding, "What's the occasion?"

His permanent smile widened and he let out a soft chuckle. "I just wanted to come see you in person, my dear. I hope I'm not intruding?" His tentacles slowly undulated behind him as he spoke.

You shrugged your shoulders and stood back from the door to let him in. "Nah, I don't mind," you answered.

Once he'd come inside, you shut the door again and turned to him. "It's a bit late to really do anything together. So, unless you wanted to do something, is this like...a sleepover?" You couldn't help teasing him a little bit as you still weren't sure what he thought of you.

He seemed kind of confused and he studied you quietly for a moment. "Did you want me to stay over?" he asked in a soft voice.

You hadn't expected him to seem actually interested but you nodded. "Yeah, if you're able to I wouldn't mind. I've been a bit lonely lately, you know?"

His bonebrows furrowed with concern but he said nothing. He didn't need to anyways as you both knew what the reason for that was. You hadn't heard from any of your skeleton friends all week, and while spending time with Nightmare in the dream world was nice, you couldn't help missing your other friends too.

You decided to focus on something else rather than spoil a potentially fun evening. So, you started to pull out a bunch of extra blankets and pillows from your closet. Nightmare just sort of watched while you set about arranging them into a comfy nest of sorts on the floor in the living room.

You'd experienced very few actual sleepovers growing up, but thanks to the magic of tv and movies, you knew approximately what to do. It helped that you were already in your pajamas, even if they weren't cute ones and literally just a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. While you didn't feel like making snacks, you could watch some random television together if Nightmare wanted to join you.

He was still just quietly watching you and it was making you wonder if he was alright. So, you decided to try and distract him.

"Do you have like...a favorite pair of pajamas, like something that's really warm and comfy? Or do you not care for that sort of thing?" You glanced over at him once you were satisfied with the blanket nest and tilted your head curiously for his response.

He got a bit of an amused look and shook his skull. "I do have pajamas but I don't actually require sleep, with the whole being a god situation." He hummed in a thoughtful way and added, "I can sleep I suppose but it doesn't give any real benefits whether I do or not."

"Huh... I guess that makes sense." You pursed your lips thoughtfully. "I didn't even consider you may not have to deal with fatigue like the rest of us."

He chuckled, "That's not entirely correct... Using too much magic is still tiring of course but that's not usually an issue." He glanced around before adding, "Give me a minute and I'll be back."

You nodded and watched as his body seemed to liquify before sinking into the floorboards and completely disappearing. You guessed that was his way of teleporting? Of course, he had to be much more dramatic than the boys were, who all just sort of disappeared with no melting involved.

He reappeared about a minute later just as he'd said but he was dressed differently this time. He wore gray plaid button up pajamas with a black silk bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. Honestly, it was kind of basic considering his usual penchant for finery, but pajamas were supposed to be comfortable to make sleep come easier.

"It's a little over the top for sleeping, isn't it?" you joked. You kind of felt out done right now in all honesty.

Nightmare sat down next to you with a huff. "I very rarely even try to sleep, okay?" His voice had a slight growl to it and there was the faintest hint of a cyan glow over his zygomatic bones. While he was quick to mask how you'd managed to fluster him, you knew what you saw.

"I think they suit you though," you said with a hum and leaned back against the couch. "You wanna just hang out and watch tv for a bit until one of us passes out?"

"Maybe until you pass out, my dear," he teased and lightly ruffled your hair.

You shot him an annoyed look but there wasn't any malice in it. You both sat there for a while just enjoying being close and watching some random reality tv show.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" you asked after a couple minutes.

He turned, giving you his full attention. "Of course, what's on your mind?"

"I've been thinking about what you said last night and I think I would like you to draw me into an Encounter. I want to know what my soul looks like."

He studied you for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Why do you really want to know?" he asked. His voice had taken on a much more serious tone now and his eye socket was narrowed as he continued watching you.

You were a bit taken aback by his question. You were just curious as it wasn't something society had allowed you to know. There wasn't anything wrong with that, right...?

Nightmare clicked his non-existent tongue and tilted your chin up so you'd look at him again. "I don't need to be a god to know that there's another reason you want this. However, I can feel the turmoil in your soul and you really should be honest with yourself."

You sighed and fiddled with your nails. "I guess... I just want to know what all four of you see in me that's so special... Why else would any of you continue to hang around?"

You felt his tentacles slither around you and he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your body as well. He held you close and gently leaned his skull against your forehead.

"You've been worrying about this for a while, haven't you?" he murmured.

"Yeah... It's only gotten worse lately..."

He ran his claws through your hair in a soothing way. "I'm sorry, I certainly didn't help with matters either I'm sure. Your soul is what makes you...you. None of us would have gotten so close with you if there wasn't something special."

You sighed, "That's the thing though... I just want to know what that is."

"It's your ability to be kind, dear." His tone sounded so confident and sure of himself that you found yourself speechless. He gave your body a light squeeze and continued, "Or rather, your ability to be kind despite everything you've been through and how you put yourself into other's perspectives."

You hummed quietly as you thought over what he'd said. Anyone could be kind though. You still didn't understand why you were different from anyone else. Surely other humans weren't so heartless like the boys had sometimes hinted at...

"That being said, would it help you feel better if I showed you?" Nightmare asked in that familiar velvety voice.

"I don't know. I want to believe it will but what if my soul doesn't look right? I don't know if it would convince me."

He gently chided you. "Your overall appearance and personality are greatly influenced by your soul. I highly doubt it will...not look right."

You sighed and wiggled in his grip until he released your body. "Okay, then I'd like to see my soul. I trust you, Nightmare."

He studied you for a moment before nodding. "Very well. I'm honoured to know that you can say that with such conviction as not many people would."

He moved his hand so that it was hovering just above your chest but he hesitated for moment and glanced up at you. When you didn't change your mind, his cyan eyelight began to burn brighter and he focused intently for a moment.

You felt a sort of pressure in your chest just below your collarbone before a small teal heart slowly emerged from your body. It glowed softly and the living room seemed to get even darker than before, even though you hadn't turned the tv off.

You knew now why Nightmare had been hesitant to actually draw you into an Encounter in the beginning. Not only did you suddenly feel incredibly exposed, but you could also see several hairline fractures criss crossing along the surface of your soul. You didn't know what they meant but you could sense that the fractures couldn't be a good thing.

Nightmare was silent and when you finally tore your gaze away from your soul, you saw the expression of contemplation that graced his skull. He seemed to sense that you were staring and his eyelight flicked up to your face again.

"Do you still doubt that you're special now?" he whispered and brushed his knuckles against your cheek.

"I..." You found yourself at a loss for words and struggled to articulate exactly what you were feeling at the moment. "I...didn't know souls were this beautiful..."

He let out a quiet chuckle. "Indeed. Not all are as beautiful as yours though."

His eyelight briefly glanced down at your soul before he looked back into your eyes again. "Your primary trait is in fact Kindness and your secondary is called Empathy. Incredibly fitting, wouldn't you say?" His tone sounded kind of like he was teasing but there was still a genuineness in his gaze at the same time.

"Yeah, it is..." You could feel yourself tearing up a little and desperately tried to keep yourself from actually crying. "What do the cracks mean?"

His eye socket narrowed and he pulled you a bit closer against himself before answering. "That's something only you can truly know. Everyone goes through events in life that can affect them in various ways. Cracks usually signify moments of hardship or negative experiences that affected you so deeply that they left a mark."

"I see..." you muttered. "It's still beautiful. Thank you for showing me, Nightmare."

He nodded and carefully guided your soul back into your body. You couldn't help letting out an inadvertent sigh of relief as the room became brighter again. He wrapped your body up in his tentacles, giving you a gentle hug.

"You're very welcome, my dear," he purred against your hair.

It was hard to focus on anything but what you'd just experienced. You felt like you should feel freaked out or at the very least embarrassed, but you didn't. Maybe it would set in at some point, but for now you had a lot to digest.

You knew what your soul trait was and yet your life seemingly hadn't changed. You were grateful that Nightmare had been willing to show you, but you weren't sure if he'd had his own reasons for doing so. It probably didn't even matter at this point anyways. If he was going to hurt you, he would have already or he could've done it while you were so vulnerable moments ago.

You were rapidly becoming more tired the longer he continued to hold you. You felt oddly safe with him though and so you didn't even question it when you inevitably fell asleep leaning against him. While you had a dreamless sleep for the first night this week, you weren't too surprised when you woke up tucked into your own bed again.

There was a note taped to your alarm clock in very intricate cursive writing, like the writer had used either a calligraphy pen or maybe an actual quill. While you had to squint and adjust how close it was to your face for a bit like a nearsighted person, you eventually were able to read it.

"Good morning dear, I am sorry that I had to leave before you woke up but please know that I enjoyed our little impromptu sleepover. I will see you soon and I hope you slept well after everything. Yours truly, Nightmare."

[moongreenlight]

U already KNOW what time it is baybee!!!! WIP WEDNESDAY!

Been riding the Gaz high and this has been in the works recently (I wrote 2k words yesterday) so here's this!

Director!Gaz x Actress!Reader

Summary: It’s the mid-1970’s and you’ve recently made the unshocking discovery that it’s difficult to find good work acting. Lucky you stumble on the wrong opportunity at the right time!

You’re not dumb enough to fall for the advertisements in the papers looking for actors in ‘up and coming independent films.’ Not anymore.

After being burned so many times by ‘pay to audition’ schemes and sleazy directors only looking to collect videotapes of girls doing porno auditions, you gave up on that front.

But what’s the stipulation on extenuating circumstances? Like when you’re working at a bar a few blocks away from the community theater and a man comes up and sits at the counter all by himself.

He’s gorgeous and a sweet talker. Seems intent on chatting with you even though you really should be polishing glassware. And once he’s finally caught you in his snare, he drops a bomb that up until this point you’d only ever heard stories about.

He says he’s a small-time director and he saw you in the last production the theatre put on. He laughs and makes a lighthearted self-deprecating joke about being “one of those wankers in the paper” to which you wrinkle your nose and give him a weary smile.

But, Jesus, if he can’t make a bad thing good. He’s got all the makings of a politician the way he’s able to talk circles around you until you agree to show up to an audition for his latest project. ‘Trouble in paradise’ or something to that tune.

He tips you twenty pounds and his business card on a coke he barely touches. Uses your pen to write your audition time on the back of the card.

Wednesday at 11a. x

He doesn’t give back the pen.

Your roommates do no good talking you out of it. Hushing your half-arsed arguments about scams and serial killers and all kinds of things. It ends with the four of you in a pile on the couch, wine-drunk and giggling yourselves into hysterics.

So two days later you go. Forcing your roommates to promise no less than five times that if you’re not heard from in an hour that they’ll send in the authorities.

You find your way to the address on the card that now looks tired in comparison to when you first got it. The edges are fussy and dog-eared from your worrying with it and passing it around to prove its legitimacy.

It doesn’t look like any studio or office you’ve seen. Far from. And that should have been the final nail in the coffin. Should have been the reason you turned tail and went back home. But something pulled you up the worn steps of the house. That same something, now cowering a bit at the looming possibility, brought you to rap your knuckles sharply on the part of the door with a few different layers of paint chipped away to expose the cheap metal underneath.

You’re left standing on the stoop for a few moments too long with no answer. And just as you were about to come to your senses and return home with some sliver of your dignity still intact; the door swung inward and exposed the same man from the bar - Kyle - with his horrible, beautiful, toothy smile.

“Thought you were going to stand me up. Wouldn’t have known what to do with myself.”

You catch yourself thinking it’s a shame that he’s directing and not starring in movies. His devastating good-looks and all. Must be a terrible read.

There’s a card table set up in the living room. Two folding chairs behind it that look flimsy at best. Three thick packets that have been three-hole punched on the side, but held together by a binder clip in the top center.

The rest of the furniture is pushed up against the wall. A hodge-podge of mismatched chairs and a sofa that very well could have been your grandmothers and a few banged-up side tables.

He offers water. Offers to take your purse. You decline both. Opt to stand a bit stiffly on the faded rug in the center of the room with your bag tucked snugly under your arm.

Maybe you should make a run for it. Maybe you were stupid to come at all. He’s a total stranger for Christ sake.

Before you can will your feet to move, there’s s bang from behind you. A screen door slamming shut and rattling on its hinges. It startles you almost a foot into the air.

“Nervous?”

Kyle is cool as ever, sliding into one of the chairs, waggling his eyebrows at you. It whines under his weight and you’re suddenly very aware of just how bulky he is. Doesn’t look it on passing glance, but when all you’ve got to look at is the way his shirt fits it becomes glaringly obvious.

“Easily startled.”

You correct, trying to decide whether or not it’s passé to turn over your shoulder to find the source of the heavy footsteps behind you.

He hums and grabs one of the packets, taking off the clip and leafing through it. Pulling out a few odd pages and setting them on the table.

The footsteps reveal their maker when he rounds the corner into the room and shuffles behind the table. If you thought Kyle was big, this man is properly a behemoth. A bit taller, broader in the shoulders, a layer of fat packed on over his muscles. He looks to be older by a few years. He gets crows feet when he nods and smiles at you before taking his seat.

The chair looks as though it would be happier pulling its own legs out from underneath itself.

“Cap’.”

Kyle doesn’t look up from his papers when he addresses the man.

You get no formal introduction to ‘Cap’ though he doesn’t seem to be truly involved in the audition process. He barely glances up from his packet. Content to nurse a fresh cigar and lean further back in the chair than you think should be plausible.

You read from the stack of pulled-out papers with sloppily highlighted lines and try not to shy away from meeting Kyle’s watchful eye.

The audition goes normally, all things considered. You’re instructed to read three different scenes. Without the time to read the blurb on the project, you draw the conclusion that “Trouble in Paradise” is some sort of short suspense film centered around a woman living, shockingly, in paradise.

The writing isn’t first-rate, but you suppose that’s to be expected. You have a hard time piecing together how the scenes flow, but that’s not your largest concern.

“Lovely. Really, darl’.”

Kyle stands when he talks. Commands the attention even of such a small audience. Takes up space in the room like he’s owed it.

You smile, feeling a bit more at-ease now that things seem to be wrapping up.

“N’ how do you look in a bathing suit?”

The question takes you entirely off-guard. It makes your jaw fall far enough open that you’re left looking like a fish out of water.

“I- sorry?”

Kyle’s face doesn’t change. Fantastic at keeping up appearances. He’s still casting that warm smile over you. The focus of it makes you feel like you’re sunbathing.

“Bathing suit, love. How d’you look?”

Disappointment drops like a stone in your belly. Heavy and fast. It’s another scam. Of course it is.

“Oh. I don’t- I don’t do dirty movies.”

It must be palpable on your face even more than it is in your voice.

‘Cap’ glances up at Kyle when he ashes his cigar. The smell is nauseating. He seems to be chewing on a smile. Kyle meets his eye for only a moment, amusement painfully evident on his face.

“You’ve just read the pool scene. Hardly anything dirty about costuming.”

[glitchy-npc]

The Chicken Whisperer

Another far sillier thing for the gift exchange for @silvery-bluish.

Fallen Hero - Arsinoe/Ricardo if you squint - couldn't even begin to categorize this one kdfjskl.

565 words.

Arsinoe Becerra cannot talk to chickens. 

This is not a particularly unusual failing, after all, most people can't, but telepathy has always been a form of communication that doesn’t discriminate between the minds it interacts with, human or not. 

The minds of animals don’t utilize verbiage that telepathy can easily translate, no matter how many languages Arsinoe was implanted with, they’re no help to them now. Animal minds only give off impressions, no clear lines of thought, just a rapid fire barrage of emotions and half formed decisions to which this particular hen’s seems to be obstinate immobility. 

Arsinoe sighs, regretting not speaking up when they had the chance to choose which chores around Elena's ranch needed doing. How could they have known? They were never trained for anything like this. Egg gathering had seemed like a simple task at first but that was before they were staring down a stubborn hen, at a standstill, not unlike two gunslingers in a western movie, each waiting for the other to make the first move. 

I’m not going to hurt you. Arsinoe tries to impart that impression into the chicken’s mind but they have no way of knowing if it takes. The hen simply blinks at them. 

I just need a few eggs, then I will leave you alone. The hen ruffles its feathers making itself seem bigger than it is and Arsinoe doesn’t need to read minds to tell that it would prefer to be left alone now rather than later.

They crouch down, trying to present themself as unintimidating as possible. Being intimidating isn’t something they usually have to worry about but chickens are small and, apparently, picky about their company. They reach out, slow and careful.

I’m not going to hurt you.

The hen, however, has other ideas and stabs its beak forcefully at the intruding limb. It's a lucky hit, striking sharply against the knuckle of Arsinoe’s index finger.

“Ow, you little-” Arsinoe stands back up, rubbing the fresh red mark on their hand. It's far from the worst injury they’ve ever had, but it still smarts. If a chicken can look smug, this one certainly does. 

A warm hand comes down on their shoulder, making them jump.

“Need a hand?” Ricardo offers. Arsinoe had been so focused on the hen they hadn’t even heard his footsteps approaching, Ricardo could be surprisingly sneaky when he wants to be. Something to remember. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” It never feels good to admit defeat but in this they know they are woefully underskilled. 

“It helps if you talk to them.” Ricardo takes the basket from Arsinoe’s hands, crouching in front of the hen who regards him with a tilt of its head. 

“I tried…sort of.” They’re not sure if they want to admit to having tried to telepathically manipulate a chicken.

Whatever Ricardo suspects happened during their showdown he only chuckles, murmuring softly in Spanish as he retrieves the eggs with the deft ease that comes from years of practice. 

And popularity. Everyone likes Ricardo, even chickens. 

Show off.

“Come on,” Ricardo straightens, securing his prize under one arm while wrapping the other around Arsinoe’s shoulders.“Mama wants us to help cook.”

“That I can do.” Arsinoe replies, trying not to feel flustered by the sudden closeness. 

They amble together towards the ranch house, happy to leave the chicken coop and its prickly residents behind.

[steviestits]

I Move the Stars For No One - Part 1.3

Written for a prompt dmed to me, which can be read in its entirety on this fic’s masterpost.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: T (E for later chapters) Summary: After running away from home after an argument with his father, Steve storms off into the woods only to accidentally stumble into the unseelie king's lavish party. The king, Eddie as he likes to be called, is taken by Steve and dances through the night with him. Though Steve enjoys himself, he feels the need to return to the mortal realm, but soon learns that he can't as he has become property of the king after trespassing on a sacred fairy circle. Steve is forced to stay and begins to learn that all is not as it seems, especially in regards to his own past. (Labyrinth inspired story but they share zero plot points.) Trigger Warning: None for this chapter Eventual Trigger Warning: Feminization, Mating Rituals, Heats/Ruts but not the Omegaverse kind

(Link to previous part)

Steve inhaled sharply as he was tugged near until he could see every freckle on the fae king’s face. He was dazzled for a moment, only able to stare into Eddie’s big, brown eyes, but he quickly regained his senses and tried to shove the other away roughly. It felt like pushing against a steel wall as the other refused to budge.

“I don’t want to learn!” Steve huffed, punching his fists uselessly against Eddie’s chest. “You can have anyone in this room! Choose one of them to be yours!”

“Those fae aren’t half as beautiful as you, sweetheart. I mean, you have to see how jealous they are of you.”

Blush dusted Steve’s cheeks. He knew he was good looking in the human world, but here? Everyone had a deep otherworldly feel that added a strange depth to their allure. Though, he supposed the same could be said for Eddie since he was used to seeing these types of people and hadn’t been exposed to those outside his realm. Once Eddie got used to Steve’s unnaturalness then he’d tire of him and move on, just like everyone else he’d dated in the past.

“Just empty words and empty phrases,” Steve said. “It’s the passing fancy of a king, like a child with a new toy. Nothing more.”

“I can promise you that it’s not,” the fae king whispered, staring Steve down with a smoldering gaze. “Let me show you.”

Eddie then ran the knuckle of his index finger down Steve’s face, and the next thing Steve knew he was standing in a circular room that had a giant tree growing in the center. Branches strewn with light pink apple blossoms stretched up towards a starry lit ceiling. Steve would’ve thought they were stars, but they twisted down the tree like vines and wrapped around the posts of a bed nestled against the tree’s trunk. Sheer, white drapes hung between the posts, which matched the pure white linen sheets spread across it.

Moments after they arrived, a table and two chairs appeared in front of the bed. It matched the other wooden furniture in the room, except that it was a bit fancier as carved, gilded vines wound their way around their legs and the backs of the chair. Spread out atop the table were several frosted pastries on a three-tiered silver stand accompanied by a porcelain teapot, painted with a sprawling array of the most detailed meadow flowers that twisted and curled along its sides. Steve had honestly never seen anything like it except in historical movies.

“You missed the feast at the start of the ball,” Eddie explained. “Eat as much or as little as you want. If there’s anything else you want, then it’s yours.” Steve opened his mouth. “Anything but letting you go,” he added quickly as if sensing what Steve was about to say. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Going to spoil you rotten.”

“How do you know that I’m not already spoiled rotten by my own family?” Steve challenged. “They could be searching for me right now.”

Eyes lingering on the bruise forming on Steve’s face, the fae king said, “I highly doubt that.”

Shame and embarrassment ran through Steve as he hated how obvious it was that his parents cared so little about him. Or maybe it was Steve’s own fault for falling short of the plans that were laid out for him. Either way, no one at home would be looking for him as he knew his dad was waiting patiently for Steve to come crawling back.

“Enough talk about the mortal realm,” Eddie said. “Eat. Unless you’d prefer something else. I can change it to whatever you prefer.”

“This is fine.” Steve paused as his stomach grumbled. “They look tasty.”

“They’re yours. You’re free to have your fill.”

Steve stared longingly at the food on the table. He hadn’t had dinner because of the fight and had skipped lunch due to nerves after receiving his latest rejection letter. Legends had it that if one ate food in the fae realm then their fates would be sealed, and they would be unable to leave ever again. However, Steve didn’t know this due to his lack of fantasy education, and even if he did, his stomach gurgled loudly, demanding to be fed.

The rumbling was so loud that Eddie must had heard it, because he walked over to the table and picked up a flaky, round pastry with chocolate frosting to bring back to Steve. He held the pastry up to Steve’s mouth, waiting patiently. To Steve’s surprise, the fae king’s eyes were soft, gazing at Steve with a heated emotion that he’d never seen directed towards him until now.

Hunger gnawed at him further, and coupled with Eddie’s gaze, Steve leaned forward cautiously in order to bite the offered treat. His teeth dug into the flaky shell, only to be surprised when he bit into a pocket of sweet custard filling. The taste of the custard exploded on his tongue, causing Steve to groan with pleasure as he’d never had anything quite like this before, mostly because his dad thought sweets were girly but also because the flavor was just so good.

Eddie smirked affectionately. “Like it?”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a nod. “It’s amazing.”

“Then have the rest. This is all for you.”

With less reservation this time, Steve ate the remains of the pastry in Eddie’s hand, blushing when the fae king’s fingers brushed softly against Steve’s lips. Eddie didn’t stop, however, and soon another pastry was against Steve’s mouth as the fae king eagerly fed him. He could’ve walked to the table to get his own, but he instead allowed Eddie to serve him, as if Steve was the king instead of an outsider.

Heat pooled within the core of Steve’s being, only he barely noticed. He was too caught up in the moment to realize that there was something strange about the way he was feeling. A change was about to happen, one that would change his life forever and throw everything he knew into question, not that Steve noticed. Not that Steve could look anywhere except the fae king’s eyes.

Part 1.2 ~ Masterpost ~ Part 2.1

[bts-hyperfixation]

Repercussions

A Hoseok x Namjoon x Reader Fanfiction

Summer madness 7/32 Y/N is fed up of not being the center of attention because Namjoon and Hoseok are busy. But can she handle it when bratting gets her EXACTLY what she asked for? Degradation, name-calling, fem oral, Dom/sub

"I'm kinda busy here sweetheart." Namjoon dismisses you.

The rapper is bent over his mixing boards, hard at work on what is sure to be the next big thing on the Korean music scene. Too bad you didn't really care all that much, the South Korean public had monopolised more than enough of his time, especially with enlistment coming up. It left you feeling particularly sour about the lack of attention you had been receiving of late, both from Namjoon and Hoseok.

You drape yourself over Namjoon's shoulders and sigh dramatically. He rolls his eyes but continues with his work, largely ignoring you in favour of his new album.

You walk your fingers along his arm, tracing the veins that stick out along his biceps.

"Love we can play later." He says shrugging you off.

"But I want to play now." You whine in the most petulant voice you can muster.

He looks up at you finally, but it's not the look of defeat you'd been hoping for. His tongue is buried in his cheek, one eyebrow raised. It's a look that tells you he is not in the mood for you to be bratty right now...

It's a look that might've worked on you ordinarily, sent you whimpering off with your tail between your legs to wait for him on his terms. Except he has told you later twice this week and fallen asleep before later ever arrived. This time you weren't willing to back down.

"That look has never been followed by anything good." You tease.

You make yourself comfortable on his sofa as he watches. You make a point of laying against the arm and arching your back in a way you know accentuates your curves, a pose he wouldn't normally refuse. You close your eyes and run your hands down your body, groaning as you ghost over your breasts. They continue down past your belly button, hovering at the tops of your thighs.

You open one eye to glance at him, to make sure your audience is truly captive. His knuckles are turning white from holding on to his knees too tightly.

"Y/N..." It's a warning, his voice low and gravelly.

"What? If you don't want to play I might as well make myself comfortable."

Your hands continue. You let your skirt fall upwards exposing your thighs properly. You dig your nails into the unmarred flesh leaving red marks in your wake.

"Y/N stop." He commands, but you've gone too far to listen.

You play with the seem of your panties. Your finger dips across the growing wet patch in the middle of the fabric, the coolness of your hand making you shiver. A hand reaches out and covers yours and you think you've won.

You open both your eyes to look at Namjoon but your triumph is quickly replaced with dread when you meet his eyes.

"Y/N I love you so much, but right now you are testing the limits of that love."

Your stomach drops and immediately you sit upright. He brings his hand up to your face and caresses your cheek as you whimper under his touch.

"I said later, sweetheart."

You nod this time and he releases your face. He turns back to his work and it is clear that is all that will be said on the matter for now.

You decide to go in search of Hobi. His mood hadn't been particularly cheery this morning, but perhaps he might be easier to sway than Namjoon.

You find the man in your 'everything room'. A spare bedroom that you had converted for use as a dance studio, gym, movie theatre, and other recreational activities. Your favourite feature happened to be the closet that turned around to reveal Hobi's favourite toys. It fills you with hope when you see him standing near the door only to find it facing the other way and filled with boring things like ankle weights and sweat towels.

You loiter in the doorway watching him wipe away the sweat that accumulated along his collar bones. He doesn't seem to notice your presence, or at least he ignores you if he does. He tosses the used towel across the room towards the hamper and presses play on his phone.

A song from his latest album blares across the speakers and like clockwork his body springs into the routine he has been practising for days. He moves harshly in time to the beat, meeting each step with perfect timing any mistakes he makes are completely imperceptible to the untrained eye. But he sees them. And you can see each one on his face as he becomes more annoyed with himself.

As the song comes to an end he grumbles to himself and finally turns to look at you.

"What's wrong Jagiya?" He asks.

"Missed you." You pout.

You jut your bottom lip out hoping to goad him into kissing you. It fails.

"I need to get this perfect before the weekend Y/N... How about we spend the evening together?" He suggests.

"But I'm lonely now..." You groan.

"Don't use that tone of voice with me." He rolls his eyes "You know that only works on Joonie."

"Not today apparently." You grumble under your breath.

He catches it anyway.

"OH! So I'm not even your first choice today? Silly Brat couldn't take no for an answer?" His voice turns cold.

You stammer for a response but he raises his hand to stop you.

"I want you to go to our room and stay there until I come and get you. Don't ask for things you've already been told you can't have Y/N you know better than that." He chastises.

You want to protest, not ready to give up on your endeavour. You're certain if you could just try for a little longer he will give you exactly what you want.

"But Hobi..." You pout, fake tears threatening your waterline.

"Don't. I've given you your orders, I'll deal with you later. Now go." He waves you away and starts his music again.

You huff loudly as you leave ensuring he hears your displeasure.

You glance at Namjoon's closed studio door one more time but decide better of it. And so you sulk for the rest of the afternoon, lounging on your shared bed and flipping through different shows on Netflix.

______________

Almost five hours later the door opens to reveal an irate-looking Hoseok. He flicks on the lights and unplugs the TV.

"You're so annoying. Did you know that?" He pauses like he expects a response.

But you know better than to give one.

"You think you'd be grateful, you know? So many others would kill for the life we've given you, yet you take it for granted..."

You whimper as he stalks closer to the bed, scrambling against the headboard.

"But maybe you're right. Maybe we haven't been indulging you enough. Maybe the unlimited credit cards and a beautiful apartment aren't enough for you? Maybe we've been selfish working so hard to provide for you, hmm?"

He crawls across the bed towards you leaving you nowhere to escape to as he cages you in. He reaches out and hooks a finger under your thumb, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

"Clearly you've been neglected, so let me fix that... strip."

His hand drops down into his lap and he gives you just enough room to dispose of your clothing. You do so quickly, knowing better than to leave Hoseok waiting when he gets like this. You sit with your back against the headboard, legs spread wide with space for him in between. He appraises you, gaze lingering in all his favourite places. He looks hungry. But he doesn't touch, not yet.

"Show me how needy you are."

You place your hand between your legs, using two fingers to part your labia exposing your little pink hole. You can feel how wet you are with just a small motion, the skin sticky from waiting so long. The cool air causes goosebumps along your skin.

"Touch yourself." He growls.

You whine, realising he has no intention of touching you himself, at least not yet. You start reluctantly, teasing at your entrance with no real conviction hoping he might take over if you do it wrong.

Instead, he slaps your thigh, making the skin jiggle and leaving a bright red print in his wake.

"I know you're dumb Y/N but you're not that dumb. Show me how you pleasure yourself." He sneers.

This time you try harder, dragging your hand up towards your clit. You circle the sensitive bud, eyes closing as you focus on the pleasure.

Another slap lands on your leg, this time he digs his nails into the flesh leaving behind little halfmoon bruises. His free hand tucks back under your chin, forcing you to look at him. He doesn't need to speak his command this time, clear in his intention. Your eyes don't leave his as you play with yourself.

Your hand moves quicker and in more erratic rhythms as you get close. Cramps start in your wrist as the movements become more jolted the closer you get to the edge but you don't dare stop. Your head flops back against the headboard as you cum, eyes squeezing shut, unable to focus them any longer.

"Colour?" Hobi asks as your high fades away.

"Green." You affirm.

Hoseok grins at you and leans forward to kiss you quickly.

And then just like that, nice Hobi is gone again.

He attaches himself to your collarbones, marking across your skin with ugly red and purple bruises. His hands press your legs outwards, making them burn as he stretches them further apart than naturally possible. Slowly they inch down towards your centre so close to their target before you are interrupted by a cough at the doorway.

You look up to find Namjoon looking annoyed with his arms crossed, but Hoseok barely bothers to acknowledge his appearance, fingers finally finding their target as he pushes two inside of you with no warning.

"Hob-ah... I thought you were going to wait for me." Namjoon frowns.

"Got impatient." Hoseok shrugs, mouth refusing to detach from your collar.

You try to reach out for Namjoon but Hoseok curls his fingers at just the wrong moment, all thoughts of getting to your other lover abandoned instead for incoherent moans.

"I don't think you're doing a good enough job Hob-ah, the needy brat is still verbal." Namjoon scoffs.

Easily provoked, Hoseok immediately abandons his attempt to completely repaint your collar bones and drops into his stomach. His lips wrap expertly around your clit as his tongue dives into the centre of the nerves. You squeal and writhe as he attacks the sensitive bud.

Namjoon is quick to cross the room, pacing his lips on yours to swallow the noises that escape you. He bites hard on your bottom lip making it swell, a reminder of him that will likely last for days. His hand comes up around your throat holding you in place.

Hoseok pushes a third finger inside of you. The stretch proves too much and he works you through your second orgasm. His fingers maintain their pace and his tongue continues to wiggle against your clit preventing you from seeking any relief from the intense wave as it washes over you.

You try to moan out for Hoseok to stop, hands seeking his hair to tug at the strands but Namjoon stops you. His free hand bats yours away easily and his lips capture any noise that manages to escape past the hand constricting your throat.

"I thought this was what you wanted slut? Didn't you want our attention? Don't tell me after two orgasms you're ready to throw in the towel?" Namjoon whispers cruelly, biting at your earlobe.

Hoseok chuckles at Namjoon's taunts, the vibrations making your overstimulation worse. The man between your legs keeps going until your thighs are shaking, threatening to close in around his head, a third orgasm rattling through you. When he eventually does pull back, you're panting for air, Namjoon's hand finally fully releasing your throat.

Hoseok doesn't allow you much time to catch your breath, claiming your lips with his own, allowing you to taste yourself all over him, his chin dripping with you.

You're so wrapped up in what he is doing, you drift away from Namjoon, no longer aware of what he is doing. It's too late when you realise he is between your legs, dangerously pillowy lips torturously close to your clit. The bundle of nerves is still throbbing from Hobi's onslaught, not yet ready for more.

But Namjoon isn't always known for his patience.

He lays his tongue flat against your heat and licks a long slow line upwards, gathering your cum along his tongue. You try to scramble away as he flicks the tip over your clit, but are met by the headboard with nowhere to escape. Hoseok bites along your shoulder to distract you, settling in at your side so he can watch Namjoon go down on you. He reaches out and threads his finger in the other man's hair, guiding him along your sensitive pussy.

He is messier than Hoseok, much less precise in his movements. His tongue dips inside of you, pushing as far as he can manage before pulling back out and dragging upwards to circle your clit. It's just enough stimulation to keep you hanging, but never quite enough to push you over the precipice.

His hands dig into your thighs, pushing them away as they try to close around his head. Tears roll down your cheeks as he pulls back and bites at your legs in warning. You try to force them to stay open but the closer you get the more you tremble. Just when you think your legs are going to snap like a rubber band he lets you cum. Your thighs suffocate him as they rush to close around his head, shaking from the force of your fourth orgasm.

He doesn't seem to mind as he emerges beaming moments later. He reaches out to caress your face, wiping away the tear tracks.

"Are you okay love?" He asks.

You nod in response, not trusting your voice to have returned just yet. Namjoon wipes your cum from his face using his t-shirt and tosses the soiled garment towards the door to be dealt with later. He then pulls you forward into his lap, cuddling you closely.

Hoseok brushes a hand lovingly through your hair before disappearing from the room. He returns with wipes and snacks. He plugs the TV back in as he walks past and settles in on the bed next to Namjoon, playing with your hands.

"I'm sorry we've been busy lately, love," Namjoon whispers, kissing your head.

"Once I've finished this weekend's performance, all my schedules are finished, I'm all yours," Hoseok says.

They turn the TV back to the channel you had been watching when Hoseok had come in and set about cleaning you up as you lay limp in Namjoon's arms.

"You guys didn't cum..." You say as Hoseok pushes your legs apart to clean you up.

"I'm sure you'll make that up to us next time, I don't think you could handle anymore today," Hobi says.

As if to illustrate his point, he merely ghosts a wipe over your clit and it causes you to flinch.

"As long as next time is soon." You pout.

"Very soon," Namjoon promises " You have some very bratty behaviour to make up for..."

Masterlist

Prompt from: @hobizjagiya

[dearlymrme]

“if we weren’t in public right now i’d have my head between your legs” and “i love the way you look with my fingers inside you” could pair together nicely with Terzo? (That second part with makes me think about the Cirice microphone stand thing 🫠)

Thank you very much for the ask, and you're right. They do go together quite well. Figure I'd add getting caught in the act to it as well, just as a little treat.

Rated R (Terzo x Reader)

Terzo x Reader || Public Sex || Fingering || Caught In The Act || Exhibitionism

You keep your face still, betraying nothing of what is happening besides that the movie is the best in the box office even thirty minutes in. Terzo's attention span, however, left twenty-five minutes ago. Or perhaps it was never there to begin with. Maybe this was his plan all along. You should have known to be suspicious when he showed off those romcom tickets with that boyish smile.

You bite your lips and try to stifle a moan. Glancing around the movie theater, gauging the crowd, it seems nobody has noticed has noticed you. Then again, the movie theater wasn't that full. There were more people sitting in front of you and behind you rather than in the row beside you. There was a single lonely woman at the end of the row, but her attention was transfixed on the movie and chewing away at a large bucket of popcorn. If anyone was going to notice you, it would be her.

"I think it would be more suspicious to see someone looking around and away from the movie instead of watching it." Terzo whispers, snickering from beside you. You take deep breath through your nose. The man glanced in the direction you were looking to see you eyeing your long-distance neighbor.

He smirked and pressed his lips to your war, whispering hotly.

"All she needs to do is glance over, and she'll see." You shake your head and try not to believe it, paranoia rising because he's right. One errant glance in your direction, and she'll notice. Despite how much you hate it, how flushed and embarrassed you feel, it sends zips and shocks of tension to your core.

"Stop it." You weakly whisper back, bite with no teeth. It fails to be threatening to him, especially when he angles his hand just right and causes a ripple of shakes to move through your body. He'll admit, he is rather impressed with you. You're normally very vocal in bed, and he's amazed that you haven't made a peep yet before soft sighs and hitched but quiet gasps.

With his free hand, he takes a gulp of his drink and smacks his lips. Clearly, he needs to up the ante.

One of your hands holds the arm rest in a white knuckle grip as the other keeps the popcorn bucket settled in the middle of your lap. It's your is the best chance and only chance at hiding Terzo's hand as it delves between your legs.

He watches your face with a side smile. There is the smallest white of teeth as you bite your plump bottom lip and chew. Your eyes are half-lidded, and pupils blow wide enough he can hardly see the beautiful color of your iris. They stand out so well, despite the dark, because of your makeup, which looks fantastic. You really dolled yourself up for the night. Despite the work you went through to put yourself together, the plaid skirt and spaghetti strap tank top, the cute shoes and leggings, he'd much rather see your clothes on the floor and mascara running.

It will be a challenge for later today, once the movie is over and you're back home. Or maybe perhaps he could convince you to detour into the handicap stall.

"I love the way you look with my fingers inside you." He admits. Then he curls his fingers and your walls clench as he strokes that hard spongy spot inside of you. You bite back a curse and turn your head and gaze upwards, praying for strength as his palm grinds against your mounds, and he plays you like a fiddle.

"Dammit." You squeak and your legs clap closed as his fingers persistently lick at your g-spot. You're close, you've been trying to hold it off, trying to act uninterested but he just took it as a challenge and kept at it. He's winning, damn him.

His foot hooks around yours and pulls your legs back open and you take a deep and uneven breath as you hear the wet slide of his fingers while he curls and thrusts them inside of you. He slips them out for a second, spreading slick across your drying folds, before sliding them back in with a squelch that barely audible above the loud action of the movie, but to you it might as well have been as loud as a gunshot.

"You know, if we weren't in public right now, I'd have my head between your legs." You suck shallowly for air. Then, hiccup as your lower stomach trembles. You toss your head back when he twists his fingers, pressing harder against that delicious bundle in your cunt before he scissors them apart and repeats it.

You're getting close too quickly.

"We have an audience." Terzo smiles when he catches her, his voice not rising much higher than the whispers of a dramatic kiss in the movie. His admittance has your head jerking to your neighbor, who stares at you, catching you in the act, with her eyes wide and mouth hanging open in shock.

It stricks the match, sparks the flame, and then the fire engulfs you. You come hard. Your mouth opening in a silent scream, breath halting as you catch and ride out the tide while your cunt throbs with the waves of your orgasm, slicking around Terzo’s fingers even more.

It bubbles through you like soda fizz and spills over every nerve. You whimper as your walls clench down on his forceful digits and sucks them in and Terzo hides a mean smile in your shoulder before he pulls out his fingers and then begins to roughly stroke your clit, a button he's been avoiding that he now attacks to help guide you through your oragsm and wrings out every bit of pleasure he can. He's smug, managing to get you off without touching your clit once before now.

Your back bows forward in reaction, and your teeth chatter as your body shakes from the force of your climax. You hode your face in his hair, all the while he's expertly milking your climax from you.

Finally, the shocks wear out, and you're left to catch your breath and weakly slap his hand away, like you should have done at the beginning. You shyly peak back at your neighbor to see her gone, likely to go make a complaint and get you kicked out.

Terzo chuckles beside you, finally granting you mercy. He glances at his fingers, parting them, and looks transfixed at your wet slick, linking them together. You certainly did a number on him. The pads of his index and middle are pruned from your juices and how long he was going for. He hums at the sight before stuffing his fingers in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he flicks his tongue against the tips, licking all the residual cum.

He pops them off, darting his tongue out to lick it once more while he looks you dead in the eye and gives you a thousand dollar smile. Then, he adacously starts watching the movie.

"Fuck you." You groan, in post orgasm bliss you don't bother holding back your disdain or your volume.

You earn a loud shush from the back row and slide back in your seat in defeat.

[abarbaricyalp]

If Only In My Dreams

It's not Christmas anymore. To be fair, I had this dream on the 27th anyway Some SarahBucky Christmas chaos You can find this fic on AO3 here

It was well past two in the morning, but Sarah was nowhere near sleep. She could feel exhaustion swirling at the edges of her subconscious, but adrenaline, fear, and a fair bit of anger was keeping it at bay. It was Christmas Eve (Christmas Day now?), and instead of being at home, putting out her mama’s reindeer food with the boys and wrapping last minute gifts, they were all sequestered to the new Avengers Headquarters in DC. The building wasn’t even finished yet–there were no other heroes here��but the threat against Sam “and his family” was severe enough to land them here.

She was pretty certain the boys hadn’t realized how serious this was yet. Sam had the same voice their mama did when it came to pretending that things were fine when they were not. Sarah hadn’t inherited it. She developed her own as a parent, and she was sure the boys were slowly beginning to pick up on it the longer she used it. But they didn’t recognize Sam’s, so they believed him when he called this a ‘fun sleepover’ and a ‘secret mission’ instead. But Sarah had heard it. It had sent her heart roiling against her ribs and it hadn’t stopped since she’d answered the phone.

She hated this building. It was so industrial. There were few windows. By design, she supposed. The living quarters were small and bland. There were no colors, no soft spaces. Someone had put two beds into the same room for the boys to use. Someone–Sam or Bucky probably–had thought to grab their blankets and pillows from their rooms at home, but there were no other comforts for them.

Not that they seemed to notice. Someone–again, Sam or Bucky–had converted a meeting room into a movie theater with every other set of bedding in the compound, she thought, laid out on the floor to make a huge movie pit. They’d had full run of the place for the last few days and had charmed all of the extra security that had been assigned to Sam for this threat.

Sam stayed near her and Bucky stayed near the boys, which meant they were all usually in the same room. For the boys, she imagined this did feel almost completely right. All the important people were around them. They were baking and watching movies and concocting ridiculous games with indecipherable rules. 

Sarah, though, knew that tomorrow there’d be no presents, no tree, no reindeer prints on the front porch. The stockings were left over the fireplace, along with the CDs that always played all morning. There’d be no Christmas service and no community party afterwards. She knew it was ridiculous to worry about things like that when there was real danger, but it was Christmas. The boys deserved those things.

Behind her, someone pointedly knocked their knuckles on the doorframe and then came into the kitchen. Sarah looked up from the sugar cookie she was decorating and found Barnes making his way along the perimeter of the space, clearly counting cabinets as he went. He was barely dressed down for bed, in a t-shirt and athletic shorts, rather than the half-done gear he’d been wearing during the day. She imagined he only wasn’t fully done up because he was entertaining the boys, rather than standing sentinel. Still, he looked terribly real like this. It brought some of the comfort of home to this sterile place. She’d woken many mornings to find him halfway through cooking breakfast in an outfit very similar to this. Usually he was barefoot at home, but the even the sneakers he wore now weren’t his typical ready-to-go-boots. 

He finally stopped in front of a cabinet and opened it to reveal rows of blank white mugs. He took down one of a handful that didn’t match–a huge blue thing with the Captain America shield on it–and then set about getting an electric kettle going and tearing open a hot chocolate packet.

“Sam said you were practically nocturnal, but I didn’t believe him ‘cause you sleep like the dead at my house,” Sarah greeted as she went back to the cookie she was decorating.

Bucky snorted. “Sam only says that ‘cause I’m better at napping than him. Sorry to bother you. I didn’t know you were up too. I mean, I thought you might be when the door was open but…”

The kettle turned on and Bucky came to sit in the chair next to the one Sarah was sitting in at the head of the table. In front of her, four pans of sugar cookies sat with various degrees of decorating completion done on them. Most of them were simple. Stars and trees and stockings. But Sarah had created royal icing and found, of all things, a piping set. The decorations were elaborate and lovely. Also kind of boring to do over and over again. She kept jumping to the next shape to keep her mind and hands occupied.

“These are like the videos Sam’s always watching online. This is great. I didn’t know you could do this,” Bucky complimented. He reached out for a Santa hat and traced the seams of the icing colors.

“My college roommate was a baker,” Sarah explained. She’d had to take a deep breath, center herself back to someone pleasant and accommodating, rather than scared and scatterbrained and feeling particularly solitary. Bucky, of all people, would understand, but Sarah still wouldn’t take the risk, wouldn’t put all of that one the man trying to keep them safe. “I spent a lot of time helping her decorate. She’s got a whole confectionary shop in New Orleans now. It’s amazing. The best beignets I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, Sam said you knew what you were talking about when it came to sweets. I couldn’t just bake my way out of the doghouse.”

Sarah chuckled softly. “Now I can say, Sam only said that ‘cause you can absolutely bake your way out of his doghouse. Boy’s got about 32 sweet tooths.”

“Yeah, I noticed that in his coffee order,” Bucky agreed. He fell quiet again, watching her studiously.

Barnes was something else. From what she’d seen of him, there was nothing to complain about. He was helpful and kind, fiercely loyal and protective. The boys, Sam included, had taken a shine to him that probably would never tarnish. He was handsome and charming in a way that made her stomach get kind of swoopy sometimes like it hadn’t in a while. And she wasn’t blind. She had seen him trip over all his suaveness in an attempt to impress her too. She’d seen him blush when she caught him staring. And she caught him quite a lot. His stare was easy to feel on her.

At the same time, she knew about his history. Sam had told her quite a bit and then Bucky had sat her down as well, before he’d moved to Louisiana himself. The conversation had taken days as he recounted terrible things that he’d done and that had been done to him. She’d read what she could, tried to remember all those news stories from 2014, but she’d mostly been so angry and worried about Sam at the time that she hadn’t paid much attention to the other actors in the whole spectacle.

She tried to find the threads connecting that man to the one beside her now. It was something she did often. But they were expertly tucked into seams and embroidered over. No more puppet strings. No more leashes. Just the foundation strands he’d built upon.

“I’m sorry about all this,” he said suddenly.

Sarah glanced up at him from where she was dotting lights onto a tree. “Did you call in the threat?” she humored.

Bucky ducked his head and then shook it. “Nah, I just mean taking you away from home and all. These things happen all the time.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Bucky blushed deeply. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean…I don’t want you to worry. You’re safe here. We’ll get this taken care of.”

“I know,” she said and let her own doubt into her voice. She finished the lights on the cookie and then looked at him again. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you part of the team trynna find the guy threatening Sam?”

Bucky looked surprised for a moment. “Sam wanted me here. He gets antsy when I have the chance to make a bad decision. There was this woman a few weeks ago who–” He clicked his teeth together with an audible snap and glanced at her apologetically, though he hadn’t gotten to the bad part yet. “Uh, well, anyway. I just don’t like people messing with him. Or any of you guys. And with the kids and you here, we thought it was best if we both stayed.” He was quiet for another second and then added, “I am helping. Going through the data. Directing teams.”

“Strike Team Winter Soldier?” Sarah teased softly.

“Ha! That would be a great name for a team. You’re a natural at this. Let me see about getting you a job with us.” He smiled his dazzling smile and Sarah had to look back to the cookies she was decorating.

It was different than the way the butcher down on Main would wink at her as he air-boxed with Cass and complimented her outfit, no matter how messy she was. Different than Carlos’ shameless flirting when he wanted some free fish. Something about the way Bucky smiled at her, like the way he looked at her, warmed her straight down to the soul. There was no pretense, no hiding, no airs.

Which was to say nothing of the way he hugged her too. The world could stop spinning during those hugs.

Even just his presence in this ridiculous cutting-edge, bland, silver kitchen had warmed the space more than the oven running for hours as she baked.

Just for now, she was going to put away the fear and anger and worry. She was going to set aside all the things they weren’t getting this year. She wasn’t going to think about her house and its lights and the tree in the window. She was just going to enjoy a few minutes with a handsome man who liked her so blatantly it made her go lightheaded.

“Nah, I couldn’t work with you,” she said flippantly, even as her stomach somersaulted. “You’d be too distracting.”

“Oh, would I?” Bucky asked and raised an eyebrow. He scooted his chair closer in some slick move that meant his hands never left the table as he moved them closer to hers. His long fingers trailed over hers until he could coax the icing bag from her grip, and then he pressed her open palm to his, held his other hand over hers. “How could I possibly be that distracting?”

Sarah turned her hand over between his and traced the inside of his wrist. His metal hand was beneath hers, so his pulse fluttered against her touch now. Nothing, other than a hitch in the base of his neck, gave away the tripping of his pulse. He kept his face smooth and amused and endeared.

“Well, take tonight for example,” she said. He hummed encouragingly. “I was here, working away, and you showed up and literally took things out of my hands.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” he apologized dramatically and made as if he was going to get up.

Sarah curled her fingers around his wrist to keep him still. His pulse jumped again as he settled back into the seat. “And I think you’d be very serious at work.” He tilted his head at her. “So I might spend a lot of time trying to make you smile.”

A small, shy smile came out then, like it was summoned. “And why would you do that?”

“I like your smile,” she admitted. “I think you should do it more often.”

“Even at work?” Bucky asked. “That’s hardly fair, Ms. Wilson. I like your smile too but I don’t think you do it at work very often either.”

“Well, maybe you’d need to figure out how to make me smile too,” she suggested.

“So we’d both be distracted.”

Sarah inclined her head now. “Maybe we would. So it would be a terrible idea for me to work with you.”

Bucky’s pulse, which had leveled out at a steady gallop, surged beneath her fingers. “I don’t mind being distracted. Not if it’s you distracting me.”

Of all the corny lines Sarah had ever heard, there was something about the sincerity in Barnes’ voice that made that one one of the best. “Maybe I don’t like being distracted.”

“It wouldn’t actually be a problem,” Bucky promised. “See, if you’re worried that you’ll be too busy thinking about how to make me smile, all you gotta do is come into my eyesight. I’ll smile right away for you.”

“Well, now,” Sarah said, refusing to let all of the emotions trying to make her lovesick win out, “that makes its own problem.”

“Oh, what is it now?” Bucky moaned dramatically.

Sarah stifled a laugh against her shoulder. She pressed the pads of her fingers closer to his skin, traced along the pale blue vein on his forearm to his elbow. He moved closer like she was reeling him in. “If you smiled too much around me, then I’d want you to do something else too.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked. “Name it. I’ll do it. Anything to keep you distraction free.”

“No, this would be a pretty big distraction,” she said. Bucky, several steps ahead of her, was also swaying in towards her. She took another moment to enjoy the warmth of his arm before she pulled away entirely, leaning back in her chair and bringing her hand with her. Bucky deflated as soon as she wasn’t touching him. “So I wouldn't be able to work with you.”

Even pouting, he still looked smitten. “Ma’am, you were just the distracting one.”

Sarah laughed and shook her head. “Another reason to keep us apart during the work day. Case-in-point, your kettle’s been done for at least five minutes.”

Bucky startled a little, glancing over his shoulder at the electrical kettle, which had switched to its ‘warm’ setting and was condensating on the inside. “You want some chocolate?” he asked as he stood.

Because she was still not thinking about how terrible these few days were, she said yes and pointed to a Wilson Family Seafood mug in the cupboard. He made the hot chocolates in record time and came to sit knee-to-knee with her again.

“How did you possibly extricate yourself from the cuddle puddle the boys had you in?” she asked as she waited for her drink to cool down.

“Have I mentioned I’m an expert spy?” Bucky asked with a teasing grin. “I can get outta most places without being noticed.”

“Nah, I saw the way AJ was clinging onto your arm. I’m surprised you didn’t just take it off and leave him with it.”

Bucky laughed with his head thrown back. Sarah’s whole core warmed, from her stomach to her chest. “Now, why can’t I ever think of doing something like that?”

“Work smarter not harder, Barnes.”

Bucky grinned and drank his hot chocolate because apparently being a super soldier gave him super heat resistance. “Well, I have to admit, I didn’t come straight out here,” he confessed. “There were a few things I wanted to do first. Could I show you? It’s just in the common room.”

Sarah couldn’t imagine anything that Bucky had needed to do in the common room would have any bearing on her, except maybe if he’d actually fixed the TV so the boys didn’t have full control of the one working one in the compound. But she picked up the mug of hot chocolate and followed after him.

The common room was bathed in a warm light from the one lamp in the corner. The overhead fluorescents were off. And there Christmas lights tacked up to the wall. It transformed the entire space from something cold and foreign to a warm welcome. Beneath the lights, there were a pile of gifts.

“Are those…” Sarah started to ask, though she knew the answer. She knew what wrapping paper she’d bought for this year. She knew the sizes of the boxes.

Bucky shifted a little nervously next to her. “Yeah. When I went back to secure the house, I found them. I figured you’d want them.”

The stack looked more like a mirage, a dream, than something real. She kept expecting them to disappear when she blinked. Suddenly, all the roiling emotions that had kept her company for the past several days turned over onto their heads. She was almost so happy and grateful that it was starting to circle back around to tears.

“I, uh, had to wrap a few. I’m really not any good at it. But hopefully the kids won’t even notice,” he continued to explain in embarrassed little starts and stops when she didn’t immediately respond. “You shoulda seen the guys making fun of me on the ride back. Taped my thumb down at one point.”

Sarah reached for his hand quickly, curled her fingers around his and tugged him close to hug him tightly. “You did this for them?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate to hug her back. He held her tighter when she started to shake with emotion and rubbed her back in soothing, grounding motions. His cheek rested on the crown of her head. “Of course I did. For you too, Sarah. You’ve gotta know it was for you too.”

She pressed her face to his neck and collarbone, took in a deep breath of his clean, sharp smell beneath generic laundry detergent.  “Thank you,” she breathed and squeezed her eyes shut.

“You don’t gotta thank me for anything. This is still part of the apology. You should be at home. I just wanted to bring a little bit of home back for you.”

Sarah was still too overcome to say anything, so she just held him tighter. It wasn’t until his palm found its way to her cheek that she finally lifted her face to look at him again. In the dim lights, his blue eyes were practically sparkling, like he was some kind of Christmas card come to life.

“Hey, I got you something too. Figured it’s already Christmas, right?” He pulled a light colored jewelry box from the coffee table beside them and offered it to her. “I don’t know what makes this artisan jewelry, but I’m pretty sure these are the charms you wanted.”

The necklace had a sunflower and a butterfly charm hung on it, with a dainty stone bead between them. They were, in fact, two of the charms that she’d mentioned passingly when the catalog had come in the mail months ago. There was also a ring in the box with three hearts–one big and two little–tumbling across the band.

“Bucky,” she started to say, looking up at him. “This is–”

His hand was on her cheek again–he really did have the longest fingers she’d ever seen–and suddenly they were falling together. She’d never have really thought about the scant inches of difference between her and Bucky’s height, but now, as he dipped his face towards hers and she felt the girlish need to tiptoe up, it was all she could think about.

Bucky was as good at kissing as he was at hugging. His mouth was softer than she had imagined it would be. Not that she did a lot of imagining about Bucky’s mouth, of course. He also leaned into her like he wanted to become the thing that kept her upright, held her face preciously, swooped his thumb over her cheekbone. It all made her lightheaded. She had to place her hands on his chest to stay standing. Otherwise she might just pitch right into him and melt between his ribs.

Somehow, a stuttered breath escaped her lips and Bucky pulled back just enough to brush their noses together. Still, she could see his wide eyes and worried expression.

“Sorry, I forget I don’t have to breathe the same–”

Sarah leaned up to kiss him quiet. He made a pleased, shocked little noise into her mouth, but easily kissed her again. “I was right,” she said when she was sure he wasn’t going to argue again. “You are distracting.”

Bucky grinned and shook his head, dark hair falling into his face. “No, I was right. You’re the distracting one. I don’t know how I’m gonna do anything else again now that I know what that feels like.”

“You better figure it out, ‘cause I need you to put this necklace on.”

Bucky preened and jolted into action, taking the box from her hands and freeing the necklace. He offered the ring out without trying to put it on her finger for her. Then he brushed aside her braids, trailed his fingers over her bare neck, leaned down to kiss some number of her vertebrae reverently, making goosebumps erupt over her skin and a heavy flush follow after his lips. He pulled away after a moment, when her fingers had found his wrist again, and he carefully clipped the necklace in place. He smoothed the chain down over her collarbones, to the top of her sternum before remembering his manners and going no further.

“It suits you,” he said when she turned to face him again, eyes bright. He brushed his thumb over the chain where it sat against the curve of her neck, his hand resting high up on her shoulder, ready to go to her cheek again, pull her close once more, kiss her senseless all over again.

She reached up to touch the charms gently and smiled shyly. “Thank you, Bucky,” she said softly. “This means so much. Especially now.”

“You deserve the world, Sarah,” Bucky said earnestly, shifting his hand just enough to brush his thumb over her cheek. He took a half step closer to her. “Every happiness and beautiful things and joyful Christmases.”

Sarah finished crossing the distance between them and draped her arms around his neck. “Well, superhero, you might’ve just managed to save this one.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about, Ms. Wilson,” he teased, leaning down until his mouth was almost against hers. “This is the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time.”

“How’re you gonna beat it next year?” she wondered, closing her eyes and enjoying the warmth of his body against hers.

“Oh, you want me around next year too, huh? Already got plans?”

“So many plans, Barnes.”

He hugged his arms around her waist and nodded. “I’m all yours,” he promised.

And they kissed again.

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