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gassydumbjocks · 7 months ago

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Do it like a Macho

Joel finished putting on his favorite shirt to go out, and checked his chat again, he could hardly believe that he had agreed to go out with that guy his best friend had told him about, he had broken up with his ex months ago, and didn't seem to feel ready to take on another relationship, but, well, a date was better than staying depressed on his couch all afternoon eating junk food watching rom-coms.

He finished by adding his perfume, checking himself once again in the mirror, and sighing "Please dont be a jerk this time" he wished for his next date, when the bell ring got him out of trance.

He ran when he heard the doorbell, and to his great surprise, a tall boy, with a some-what tanned skin, clearly showing latino roots, beefy complexion, large muscles, showed out of his door. There was only one detail, the hunk boy was shirtless, only wearing some gym shorts, and if that wasnt enough, a slight stench was present almost immediately, making obvious it came from the big jock, Joel wrinkled his nose a little trying to be discreet.

"Ehh.. Hello, can I help you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, the jock frowned. "Are you Joel?" He limited himself to ask.

"Yes, uh, are you the boy with whom I had a dat..." his words were interrupted as the animal of a man simply proceed and grabbed him by his head, within a second, he had his head to remain below in one of his armpits, receiving directly that aroma he lingered before, making him cough on the manly scent.

"Shut up! Faggot!" Saul said with an expression of disgust, without any effort he grabbed Joel's shirt collar while he tried to gasp for some air "I don't go to dates with sissys like you! I only hang out with my bros" he told him furiously. "This should put some hair on that chest of yours" Not having time to react quickly, the stinky hunk let out a deep, nasty burp right in his face.

BOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPP!!!

"Now lets start... Real men don't cook, that's for the ladies" the jock said as he blew the remains of his burp towards the poor, scrawny nerd.

As Joel forcibly inhaled Saul's putrid smoke, his brain began to be penetrated by the stench, new memories being created that would replace everything that made Joel him, memories of his mother teaching him how to cook and take care of himself, became in memories of his mother cooking for him, his father and brothers.

"Ugh, God... That's disgusting" Joel swallowed the burp while trying not to vomit while gagging.

"Come on man, you have to get out the machismo inside you... Real men don't clean, we are made to be crude, and ought to be grotty" Saul raised a leg and squinted an eye, before grunting.

PPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTT!!!

After letting out a loud fart that rumbled through his shorts, with a quick maneuver Saul brought Joel closer to his butt, being greeted by the toxic smell emanating from it, Joel swore it would be enough to knock out an elephant, coughing violently.

Again, his mind felt blurred, his thoughts changing with more memories again, since he was a child, the nerdy boy had always been a clean freak, tidying his room and cooperating with his sisters to clean the whole house. now, for some reason he could only remember him and his brothers watching soccer games in their undies, dirty plates of food filling the kitchen sink, dirty clothes scattered throughout the all the house, the toilet bowl up and dirty.

"What's going on?" Joel said, now more dizzy and confused than ever, his nausea preventing him from reasoning clearly and making a superhuman effort not to smell that foul bomb.

"You're becoming a man, that's happening, you better brace your pathetic self, this is a damn combo" Saul warned, then his stomach growled fiercely, while a smirk appeared in his mouth.

"NO!" Joel pleaded, but it was too late, as his please were overshadowed by Saul bending down to be at his height, only to blurt out in his face "MAAAAN UUUUUUUPPP-UUURRRRRRP!!!!" He belched his words out, while forcing the weak gay boy to sniff the nauseating blast.

By that point Joel had already fallen to the ground, crying and suffocating, pleading that this was some kind of nightmare, Saul rolled his eyes and growled "What a fuckin baby, it's just a little man gas, what are you?! Uh? You're a guy, you should be proud... Real men always let the gas rip" he said. , before bending over again, putting his big ass in those smelly shorts scented with all those gases dangerously close to his face, to let one last fart finish his job, poor Joel just having a final view of the ass getting closer "NOOOOOO!!..."

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTT!!!

...

"And he is right..." was the first thought that Joel had after the abrupt attack in that gas chamber "Men always let it rip... A Man loves to let it rip, its just a dude thing we have to assert our dominance" was what came out then of his lips, before Saul heard and turned to see him, and a huge smile of satisfaction formed on his face.

"Fuck yeah man, nothing like dropping a fat one with your bros for a good laugh, right? We guys should always think farts are funny, they're manly" he remarked.

And as if it was a cue, a growl in Joel's stomach began to growl and make him uncomfortable, he simply patted himself and raised his leg.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRTTTT!!!

"ahh, that felt good" he sighed and letted a dumb chuckle "i have to quit that chipotle next time" he said with a grin, and Saul hit his shoulder playfully.

"haha that's nothing bro, the burping contest we had on our boys' night was brutal, man, you can even belch out the alphabet like a maestro, eh? Show off those roars" Saul added with a huge smile.

"AHHH.. BEHHH... CEEHH.. DEEEHHH" His mind was blank now, a simple order like that was enough to control him and make the burps start to come out of him, even when he didn't feel the need to burp, he just wanted to show off with his bro... It is what real men do.

"That felt good" He said, with a stupid grin forming in his lips too.

"As it should be! You gotta take pride in your machismo, huh? Machote" He said before slapping hiss ass, causing a small but putrid fart to come out of his now plump ass, making both of them laugh. "damn yeah, bro, its fuckin great to be a man" Joel said and Saul nodded proudly.

With that putrid gas, Joel sealed his new persona, letting his old gay and scrawny being fly away in the form of that smelly fart, to become a dumber, grosser, sexist, loud, and obnoxious version of him, a real man, and a real macho.

Seconds later he got a text from his best friend, or his best bro, and read it "Broo, hurry up and bring your fuckin ass here, we gotta have a boys night and watch the game, bring the beer, haven't Saul picked you up yet?"

He smirked and responded "On our way brodah, don't nuke your room too soon, I want to breath some fresh air for the match" He joked and chuckled dumbly, as he squinted one eye and simply lifted his leg to rip a fat deep one before going out his place, fist bumping with Saul.

#iq loss #male farts #male burp #macho #alpha man #dumbing down

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gutsby · 1 year ago

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Pregnant Pause

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Babymaking is a bit trickier than anticipated, and months have passed with no sign of pregnancy. When your period finally doesn’t show up on time, you and Daryl act fast and head straight for the pharmacy—and get a little caught up along the way.

Warnings: NSFW. Unprotected p-in-v (duh). Daddy Daryl + daddy!kink Daryl. Difficulties trying to conceive.

Note: Part 2 to Grow a Uterus and We’ll Talk. I fully blame @murdadixon and the Blood Ties series for all the pregnancy-related one shots lately - veryyyy much in my Daddy Daryl era now 🫣💓💘

If trying to get knocked up was an Olympic sport, you would’ve won the gold.

On the merits of your efforts alone you and Daryl probably should’ve had several hundred babies under your belt by now. Thousands. The past six months had been nothing but babymaking, a steady stream of rawdog bedroom rodeos and two-person pushups being your primary form of sustenance. But, try as you might, there wasn’t so much as a whiff of a kid in sight after all this time. You were starting to lose hope.

When, one month, your period didn’t make its usual appearance two days after the time it was meant to, you were over the moon with excitement.

Swinging one leg over Daryl’s sleeping form to straddle him in bed, you leaned down and shook him hard.

“Daryl!” you hissed, pinching him under his shirt.

The man below you grunted, shuffled, and blinked uncertainly up at you before slowly raking his eyes over your body and starting to smirk.

“Climb on, cowgirl,” he purred, already starting to tug your panties down.

Your hands quickly covered his and stalled their movements, a giggle bubbling up in your throat.

“Not that, not that!” you whispered, “I’m late.”

“Fer what?” Glancing over at the clock on the nightstand.

“My period.”

Daryl’s gaze darted back to yours. A beat as he processed what you meant.

“No shit?”

“Shit.” You were nodding, beaming.

Daryl hauled himself to his feet in a second, taking you with him. Then he slipped you onto the floor and raced you to the door, practically fighting you through the threshold of the bathroom to get to the cupboards first.

Together, you flung cabinet doors open far and wide and went foraging for little blue boxes in somewhat of a frenzy. Daryl was chucking pads and tampons and rolls of toilet paper over his shoulder while you stuck yourself waist-deep in another stuffy wooden space, searching in earnest for that stupid Clearblue logo.

“Got it!” Daryl chirped. You almost smacked your head on the sink coming out so fast.

“Yeah?!”

Daryl thrust a blue-and-white stick in your direction, grinning with pride.

Your eyes narrowed just a little. Your stomach sank.

“Daryl, that’s a thermometer.”

Your boyfriend’s mouth hung slightly ajar in an ‘o’ shape, and you couldn’t even be mad at his attempt.

Trying to hide your dismay, you sighed and told him to keep looking. You crawled back over to the cupboard and felt a gentle coil just then start to take shape in your stomach—whether that might’ve been a real-life baby or another burst of anxious nerves, you couldn’t be sure. You and Daryl continued to comb over the boxes and bottles lined across your shelves.

That was how your day had started. It continued, at present, outside a largely dilapidated Target Superstore, with your hands on your hips and your eyes scanning a sea of the undead that occupied its front entrance. Shit was worse than any Black Friday crowd you’d ever seen.

“You sure you don’t wanna check the Walgreens?” you asked, tightening your grip on the rifle in your hands.

“Place was overrun last time I checked. Got a camp of military types stationed nearby too. Best ta leave ‘em be,” Daryl answered.

You suspected if anyone came across the two of you now they’d be put off just the same—with the AK-47 in your arms and the crossbow/M4 Carbine combo on Daryl’s person, you probably looked every bit as lethal as you’d ever been.

All for an itty bitty pee stick and some snacks.

You sat down on one of the red cement balls to your left and crossed your arms. You watched the herd. If there was just some way to slip in, sight unseen, and sneak past their rotting bodies to get to the Sexual Wellness section, maybe rappel from the ceiling and drop dead on the spot, go in guns blazing or else just—”

“Mask it,” Daryl said, suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow but quickly had your curiosity quelled when Daryl nodded toward a throng of walkers down the way.

There were four or five of them stacked together, crushed between shopping carts and pinned, interminably, in place as they stood, hissed, and clawed in your general direction.

Daryl had a hatchet in hand in a second. You watched, enthralled, as he made lightning quick work of the walkers, hacking off their arms, dismantling their jaws, and slinging rope around their bodies like they were little more than a miniature herd of cattle. He came back smiling, probably thinking to himself how proud Michonne would be if she could see him now.

“Here,” he hummed. He passed over the rope attached to two jawless walkers like they were pets on a leash.

You accepted it and joined him as he walked, eyeing your newly-tripled group with a curious look.

“Should we—” you started.

“Not naming them,” Daryl said before you could finish.

The six of you trudged along a path of broken glass and steered toward one of the semi-shattered doors. Your stomach started to twist when the sounds of the groaning walkers within reached your ears.

“’S’okay. Nothin’s gonna hurt us with these ugly fucks around,” Daryl murmured to you, glancing back at the doe-eyed, mutilated geeks at your rear.

You nodded silently and followed his lead. The pair of you were practically halfway through the entrance now, making your way past piles of debris and gradually drawing closer to the hissing mob inside. You eyed the looming horde, chewed the inside of your cheek, and yanked your brand new friends a little closer.

And, like magic, the herd hardly stirred when you approached the perimeter. A few parted ways enough to give you entry and, when you’d stepped inside, proceeded to close right back around as if you were one of their own. Not a single snarling mouth or clouded eye turned your way as you and Daryl shuffled ahead, mimicking their moans and hisses and occasionally trading looks as if to say, ‘No fucking way this is working.’

You carried on. Followed by sight where streams of light went pouring in through the caved-in ceiling. Even looked to a couple worn and faded aisle numbers and quickly learned you were much closer than you thought.

You slowed your pace.

“Condoms, 2:00,” you whispered, trying to direct Daryl’s attention to the right.

The pregnancy tests were always stationed somewhere near the condoms—like a warning, you thought. You never could’ve imagined you’d be so happy to see that silent admonition in your life, now, as you and Daryl sidled over to the scattered rows of sexual wellness products and took a closer look.

Daryl reached down, seized a box, and held it up to you.

“Nope. Ovulation test,” you shook your head.

Another.

“Pantyliners.”

“Goddamn, how many pussy products do y’all need?” Daryl groaned, stepping aside to let you check the shelves yourself.

You found a pregnancy test in four seconds flat. You chucked the box his way and grabbed half a dozen more.

Internally, you would’ve loved to celebrate this momentous occasion, but rationally, you knew there were several hundred flesh-eating horrors just waiting for you to fuck up and serve yourselves on a platter a stone’s throw away. Moreover, you were ill at ease—almost fearful—of the result you might get from the tests. After six months of setbacks and cyclic, habitual frustration, you almost didn’t want to know one way or another. You weren’t fit to face another disappointment.

When your gaze flitted to Daryl’s, you saw his expression had softened. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms and cradled your head to his chest.

“Don’t matter what the test says,” he murmured into your hair, stroking it softly, “’m gonna put a damn baby in ya if it’s the last thing I do.”

You surprised yourself by bursting into laughter, not tears, on his front, trying to stifle the sounds in his shirt as he hugged you tighter. You squeezed him back, held him close, and almost forgot your four drooling companions and the many more still prowling about the store. You turned your head up to Daryl.

“I love you,” you said.

“I love you too.”

Daryl leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips.

He probably meant it to be a peck, nothing more than a second or two, but when you pulled him in and really kissed him back, he didn’t mind at all.

He walked you back into a shelf, pushed your body as careful as he could so as not to disturb any items behind you. You brought a hand to his hair and threaded it tight through your fingers, prompting the smallest of groans between you. Daryl stepped a little closer.

The second your tongue breached the seal of his lips, you felt a hand slide down to your backside and nudge you up a little, so you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist. Your tongues delved deeper, hands roamed further, and moans took on a volume that likely wasn’t safe at all for your current surroundings. Your four gummy-mouthed comrades stood as silent and still as ever.

“Wanna— have another go for good measure?” you muttered against Daryl’s lips. Hips grinding with his against all your better judgment.

“Couldn’t...hurt,” Daryl groaned in return.

Undoubtedly, it could do more than just hurt you—if those walkers sniffed you out, they’d kill you—but, as it was, neither of your hormone-charged bodies had the presence of mind to say any differently. You and Daryl shed clothes quicker than either of you could comprehend and, within a minute, were back on each other with another flurry of quick, frantic kisses.

Daryl gripped your bare hips, pinned them to the shelf, and almost cursed in your mouth when the whole damn thing threatened to give way.

In a blink, he’d grabbed the metal behind you and was slowly, desperately trying to yank it back while you cast a look around you.

Nothing roaming nearby. At least as far as you could see.

You shifted as though you were going to slide out of Daryl’s arms, but he just drew you closer. Once he’d righted the shelf, he secured his arm underneath you and grinned.

“Wanna take this someplace a little more private?”

You nodded and motioned toward the big ‘Rx’ sign at the end of the aisle. Daryl followed your gaze.

The pharmacy counter would have to do.

You were propped up against the cool surface in no time at all—right after Daryl had tied the walkers to a nearby pole—and suddenly you felt warmth all around. In spite of your nearly stark naked stature, you were enveloped by Daryl’s body, pressed flush against the counter and feeling his touch run every which way he pleased. He kissed, licked, and sucked every supple inch of your skin and acted like it was the first time he’d tasted you in ages. Like it wasn’t last night, and the morning before that, and every day preceding that he’d gotten his fill.

Daryl watched with eyes that drank you in like a novelty, and somewhere deep within you both, you knew you needed this now.

You hardly had a moment’s time to think before Daryl was thrusting inside you. Laying you flat on your back and fucking you hard against the counter with your legs draped over either one of his shoulders.

Daryl fought back a moan when your walls first welcomed him, slow at first, but maddening all the same. You felt a hand drift to your neck and seize it at the base, saw Daryl lean in a little and say, through gritted teeth,

“Tha’s my good girl— take daddy’s cock.”

You whimpered in response, feeling him rut his hips even harder. Daryl squeezed your throat as he did, and, seeing how much you loved it, held it there as long as you could take it before you came gasping for air.

He’d fill you to the hilt, pull out, and do it all again, quietly moaning your name as he pumped in and out.

“Fuck, Daryl, I— fuck,” you tried, and failed, to speak a coherent sentence as the archer picked up speed.

“Wha’s’at, honey? Ya say sumn’?” Daryl pried, pretending like he wasn’t already sending you straight to the brink of orgasm with the force of each stroke.

You hummed in an effort to conceal your moan but ended up letting loose an even louder sound, punctuated by something of a shriek when Daryl delivered a particularly hard blow. You clamped a hand over your mouth and watched Daryl shoot a look over his shoulder. Then he turned back, smirking.

“Didn’t quite catch tha’, honey,” he managed between ragged thrusts, “Wanna moan a little louder so the whole fuckin’ store can hear?”

You shot him a look as if to say, ‘Get fucked’—then pulled him even deeper with your fingers wrapped fast around his forearms. Daryl hardly seemed fazed, simply dropping a hand between your legs and offering another shit-eating grin when your body jolted under his touch.

“Feel good, baby?” he hummed.

You nodded and whimpered. Couldn’t help but clench when he leaned forward and angled your legs higher. Daryl let out a throaty moan.

“Gonna cum f’me?”

Before you could answer, he lowered himself even closer, ‘til your legs were all the way up by your ears and your body was chock-full of pleasure, all but brimming with tears. You tried to nod, found that you could scarcely move, and felt Daryl cup your face in his hand as he continued to fuck you, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip,

“Cum fer daddy, then. Cum all over this cock.”

Daryl knew he didn’t need to tell you twice. In a matter of seconds he felt you come undone beneath him, hands gripping him tight and walls clenching even harder. He caught your lips in a sloppy kiss, tried to quiet your moans, but found himself chasing that high not too long after. He spilled his seed inside you and watched your face contort with pleasure—not from your climax alone, but that pure, primal feel of his warmth spreading out deep within you.

The two of you parted, panted, and grinned in each other’s faces like that wasn’t the single dumbest, and most dangerous, fuck you’d had in your entire lives.

You didn’t need to exchange a word; you knew you shared identical thoughts. Daryl squeezed your thigh.

Twenty minutes later, with your walker quartet in tow, you paced a nervous path back and forth before your car in the parking lot. On the hood sat half a dozen, urine-soaked pregnancy tests with the screens facing down. You stopped and turned to Daryl, eyes locking on his.

“Ready?”

“Flip ‘em.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #smut

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a-killer-obsession · 5 months ago

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Whoops, you got hit by a bus, and now you're in the world of One Piece. But not everything is quite as you remember it...

General Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, isekai, monsterfucker reader, vampire!kid, werewolf!killer, wyrm!heat, minotaur!wire, everyone has a human form, smut heavy, unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, serious violence, spoilers for Wano arc, starts pre-timeskip. There will be a lot of more intense kinks, please check AO3 for all current tags.

Chapter 6 - Puppy

Killer gets pegged 😊

WC: 3.7k

Masterlist | AO3 | Chapter 1

A/N: in case you're someone who relies on the upload schedule to check in for chapters, there was a bonus chapter posted between tuesdays 😊 Be sure to read ch 5 then come back here ~

You woke up in Kid's bed, awkwardly laying across it, his heavy leg draped over you as he slept the right way up, snoring like a fucking truck. You couldn’t have been asleep for that long, no doubt woken by the snoring, so with the intention of going back to Heat's bed, you put all your strength into shoving his leg off of you. Unbeknownst to you, the venom Kid had injected you with had a healing effect, helping you regenerate your blood as quickly as possible, so the vampire could feed again quickly. It meant you felt none of the lightheadedness you felt earlier, in fact other than your hips hurting a little from Kid's harsh treatment you felt perfectly fine. Nothing a hot bath wouldn't fix though, which sounded like a nice idea right about now.

You threw on your shirt, wondering what had become of your pants, and quietly slipped out of the room. You considered using Kid's bathroom, but didn't want to push your luck with him. You made your way downstairs, about to open the door to Heat and Wire's bathroom when the door at the end of the hall opened, revealing Killer in his mask and sweatpants, his hair messy like he'd just gotten out of bed.

“What are you doing out here on your own, mouse?” Killer asked, leaning against his doorframe.

“I just left Kid's room,” you explained, “I was gonna have a bath before I went back to Heat.”

“You'll wake Wire running the bath this late,” Killer replied, stepping aside and beckoning you into his room, “come use mine instead.”

“Alright then,” you agreed. It didn't matter to you which bath you used, as long as you got some soothing hot water on your hips. You followed him into his room, not seeing much of the bedroom itself before the light from the hall disappeared as the door was shut. From what you could see, it looked tidy, decorated in blues and whites, with minimal decorations. He opened the door to his bathroom, flicking on the light and giving you another short look at the immaculately clean room before you followed him through, finding his bathroom to be a mirror image of the one Heat and Wire shared. Basic white porcelain amenities with tan tiles lining the bottom half of the wall and floors, the top halves tiled in white. The identical bathrooms each had a sink with decent counter space and drawers, a toilet, and a shower bath combo, the bath being large enough to fit someone tall and wide like many of the Kid Pirate crew were. For someone like you, that meant the bath was massive. Even for Killer, who was the smallest of the commanders, the bath was overkill. Not that you were complaining though as Killer went ahead and started filling it, adding oils and potions that made the water bubble and flooded the room with pleasant floral scents. Killer seemed like he was being extra nice to you, and you weren't sure why. In reality it was due to the fading scars of Kid's fangs that Killer could see on your neck. He appreciated you feeding Kid, knowing Kid would be in a much better mood tomorrow because of it, even if he didn't know that you didn't know you had done so.

Killer pulled down the toilet lid and sat on it as he indicated for you to get in the bath, so you slid off your shirt and sunk into the water, groaning at the pleasant temperature that Killer had gotten exactly right. You let yourself relax, enjoying a little the fact that Killer was definitely observing your naked body wherever the bubbles allowed him a window. “Do you want to join me, Kil?” You offered sweetly. He considered it for a moment, and finding no reason not to, stood and stripped his clothing, twisting his hair into a makeshift low bun to keep it dry. You pulled your legs up to make space for him as he slid in, the water almost spilling over to account for the extra displacement, and once he was settled you stretched back out, resting your feet on his thighs. He took one in his hands and rubbed it, making you sigh at the skillful massage.

“You know, you can take your mask off Kil,” you offered, “I know you don't trust me, but I have already seen your face. You must be getting awful condensation under there. Or I can close my eyes if you want. Whatever is most comfortable.”

Killer sighed to himself, feeling the uncomfortable dripping of sweat under his mask. He supposed it didn't matter much, since you'd already seen his face anyway, or at least you said you had. Either your story would be proven false and he'd never see you again anyway once they sold you, or you'd stick around and he'd get used to showing you his face at some point anyway. He hoped, since you had said he was one of your favourites, that you would be a safe outlet for him to explore the desires he had that required his mask to be off. Even something as simple as making out was not a luxury Killer usually had. You were so sweet with the way you doted on Heat despite his visual flaws, you didn't seem like the type who would make fun of him. And if you did, he could just kill you, so what did it matter? Perhaps it was worth the risk to feel his mouth against another's, or to be able to eat a woman out without needing to blindfold her.

With one last deep breath he reached back and unlatched his mask, sliding it off and placing it on the tile beside the tub, letting his messy bangs fall freely over his brows. You practically squeaked as you saw his unmasked face properly for the first time, his lips currently bare of lipstick since he'd previously been ready for bed. “My god, you're even more handsome in person!” You exclaimed, making him flush bright pink. You closed the distance between the two of you, sliding into his lap and pressing your breasts against his chest. “I bet your smile is even prettier in person too,” you purred, running your thumb over his lower lip, making him let out a small whine. He could tell you were being genuine, that this wasn't you just mocking him, and it made his dick twitch. “I can think of a few ways to make you smile too…”

“Yeah, like what?” Killer flirted back.

“Like, I could make you cum over and over until the only expression you can manage is a fucked out grin,” you replied, running your tongue along his jaw as you hand reached down between your bodies to find his cock. It was already hard as you grabbed it, making you smile mischievously. “Like that idea, do you? You're already so hard for me.”

“Fuck,” Killer growled as you started to pump his cock, focusing on the base while you brought down your other hand and rubbed your thumb over the sensitive head. Killer's head lolled back against the porcelain as you jerked him off, small groans escaping his mouth as you serviced him. You licked and nipped at his bared neck as your hands worked, leaving little red marks over his skin as he started to more openly pant, his cock throbbing in your hands as you moved faster.

“Does that feel good baby?” You purred. All he could give you in reply was a needy whine before he brought his head back up, looking at you with icy blue eyes that were black with lust before capturing your mouth with his, groaning as you forced your tongue into his mouth. “Good boy, Kil,” you purred as you pulled away, sucking on his ear lobe, “good boy, you gonna cum for me?”

“Fuck, yes, gonna- gonna cum,” he groaned, his hips trying their best to buck under your weight to fuck your hand faster. You took the hint and increased your pace, squeezing a little harder around his shaft. “Ah- fuck, mouse, ah, cumming.”

“Good boy Killer,” you purred, “good boy.” You slowed your pace but didn't stop entirely. As expected of his stamina, he hadn't gone soft yet, so you kept stroking him despite how overstimulated he was, enjoying the way he whimpered. “We're not done yet though baby, not until I see that pretty smile. Let's go to the bed though, shall we?”

“Mmm,” Killer replied, dazed from his orgasm but more than keen for another. You slid off his lap and stood, watching with amusement as he hungrily watched the water drip down your naked form. He shuffled forward and wrapped his arms around your thighs, pressing his face against your mound and looking up at you with pleading eyes.

“You want to taste me baby?” You cooed down at him, pushing his fringe out of his face. He nodded eagerly and nuzzled against you, but you pulled his hair hard, forcing his face away from you as you bent down a little to scold him. “You can taste me when you've been a good boy and given me what I want. Cum for me lots and show me that pretty smile, and I'll give you a reward. Can you be a good boy and do that for me, Killer?”

“C-can you call me puppy?” He asked with a whine, enjoying the way you pulled on his hair. You blinked in surprise at the request but certainly weren't opposed to it.

“Of course, puppy,” you replied, watching Killer's eyes light up and his cock twitch in response, “now be a good pup and go dry off and get on the bed, kay?”

“Okay!” He replied eagerly, almost knocking you down as he scrambled out of the tub and grabbed a towel. He grabbed one for you too before scurrying off to the bedroom, turning on a bedside lamp, knowing you wouldn't give him his reward till you got what you wanted. You took your time drying off, and when you came into the bedroom you were surprised to find Killer waiting for you with something in his hand. What looked like a series of attached belts, and a large dildo made to look like an enlarged version of a dog's cock, knot included. “Will you… use these?” He asked anxiously. He wasn't sure how far he could push you to indulge his kinks, but thus far you had shown you were more than willing to do whatever any of the commanders asked you to, so surely pegging him wasn't outside your comfort zone. Your mouth watered looking at him, his sweet handsome face waiting for you to reply, his cock red and needy. The great Massacre Soldier Killer, begging you to peg him. What a fucking day.

“You've been so good so far, I don't see why not,” you replied as you made your way to him, trying to hide how wet you were. If you'd slipped you were sure you would have just slid the rest of the way to the bed. “Come help me put it on, sweet puppy.”

Killer moved quickly to get the harness on you, tightening it so it fit like a glove. He was kneeling in front of you by the time he was done, showing you how eager he was by running his tongue over the silicone dildo and sucking on the end of it. “Look at you go puppy,” you praised, “you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth. I can't wait to see how pretty you look with your tight little asshole stretched around it.” You threaded your hand through his blonde hair, forcing him deeper onto the dildo, “Gag on it, puppy, show me how much you want it.”

Killer obediently took the cock as far as he could into his mouth, his eyes watering as he choked around the thick dildo, unable to take the knot in his mouth. “Good boy, pup,” you told him as you pulled him away, his lips releasing the silicone cock with a pop, “go lay on your back. You got lube for me pup?”

Killer grabbed a bottle from his sidetable for you before laying on his back, stroking his cock eagerly as he waited for you to touch him. Not in your wildest dreams did you think you'd get the chance to finger fuck, let alone peg someone as strong and proud as Killer, or call him puppy for that matter. It was frankly adorable, and it made your cunt ache. You weren't sure which of the two of you was more looking forward to him eating you out at this point. But first, you had a very needy puppy to attend to, as you knelt on the bed between his spread legs.

You coated your fingers in a liberal amount of lube, dripping some onto his asshole and spreading it around. Your other hand grasped his thigh, pulling him open as he fisted himself and hissed at the first touch of the cold liquid on his ass. You teased his entrance with your index finger before pushing it in, Killer immediately balling the sheets in his free hand and moaning. He was relaxed and willing, so it was easy to slide in a second finger, pumping him slowly at first as you eased him open. The dildo he wanted you to use was decently large, and your fingers were slim, you would need to work hard to work him open enough. You leaned down and sucked on his balls as you slid in a third finger and worked it to the last knuckle, sucking one marble into your mouth and playing with it with your tongue as your fingers moved faster. Finally you managed to fit in a fourth finger, working him wide open while he groaned and squirmed. You replaced his hand with your own, pumping him fast as you sucked on his balls, working his cock with your hand at the same pace you were working his ass until he cried out, his ass clamping around your fingers and ropes of cum spirting from his cock, splashing against your face and dripping over your fingers.

“Oooooh fuck,” Killer groaned as you slowly withdrew your fingers from his ass, running your tongue over your other cum coated hand and cleaning the remnants from his cock.

“You're being such a good boy, puppy,” you praised, making him whine. His cock was softening but it wasn't going to deter you, he didn't need to be hard for you to fuck his ass. “You got one more for me puppy? Ready for me to fuck that tight ass?”

“Yes!” He replied, “Yes, please, please fuck me.”

“You're so cute when you beg,” you cooed, saturating the dildo with lube and fisting it to spread it out, as well as adding more to his gaping asshole. You lined the tip up with his ass, more than excited to use the dildo on him. “So very pretty,” you slid in slowly, watching his whole body tense as he groaned and balled the sheets in his fists, his hips raising off the bed as you worked the dildo in deeper and deeper. “Good puppy, just like that, there you go.”

With slow, patient movement you were able to get the dildo up to the knot, the bulbous base pressing against his ass and stretching it a little further with each movement, threatening to squeeze inside. You stayed still as he adjusted around you, trying to treat him as you would hope to be treated, being careful and gentle, adding more lube when you felt necessary. “Good boy, just let me know when you're ready baby, okay?”

Killer groaned and nodded, panting already as he rolled his hips, beckoning you to move. You moved slowly at first, his cock slowly twitching back to life as you thrust in and out of him, “That feel good, pup?” You asked him. Killer couldn't answer in words anymore, too lost to his pleasure, his hands digging into your hips as he pulled you to fuck him harder and faster. His hips rolled in time with yours, fucking himself on the dildo as thin precum began to leak from his cock. He looked divine like that, the low light shining a warm glow across his well sculpted torso, his hair spilling out around him, his eyes closed and mouth open in a small ‘o’. You could tell he was getting close, his movements sloppy and desperate and his moans getting deeper and more akin to growls.

“The- the knot- please,” Killer groaned, trying to push himself further on to the strap. You pushed back against him, his vision going white as the bulb at the base of the dildo slipped inside his ass and his cock spurted a pathetic amount of cum, already spent from his earlier orgasms. His body shook, his thighs clamping around you and squeezing you as he whined. Then you got what you wanted, a fucked out smile spreading on his face as his eyes rolled back, just as pretty as you thought it would be, before finally his body went limp against the mattress.

“Don't pull out yet, please,” he pleaded. You stayed right where you were, letting Killer catch his breath as well as your own, having put your all into fucking him. After a while he gave you a nod, and you began to pull away, but he winced as the knot caught. You reached under and slid your pinky finger inside him, making him groan with the sting of the extra stretch, which was quickly remedied as you relieved the air pressure that was keeping the dildo trapped. With the suction finally released you were able to pull out, leaving his asshole gaping and clenching around nothing.

“Good puppy,” you praised, cupping his face tenderly and running your thumb over his cheek as he whined softly, “stay right there baby.”

You disappeared to his bathroom where you removed the strap, leaving it in the sink for him to clean later. You rummaged in his drawers until you found a handcloth, dampening it in the sink and returning to the bed where Killer was half asleep. He whined as the cool cloth touched him but allowed you to continue, wiping first the cum from his stomach and cock, before cleaning away the lubricant from his ass and thighs. You were about to get up to dispose of the cloth when he tore it from your hand, throwing it to the floor and rolling you to your back. Before you could protest, he was burying his face between your legs, his groans vibrating your needy cunt as he found how wet you were. He was pleased that you seemed to have enjoyed pegging him, and he ate you out as best he could to show you his thanks, sucking on your clit and lapping thick stripes up your pussy.

You gripped his hair hard, remembering from earlier how much he enjoyed when you pulled it, moaning as his whines sent another wave of vibrations through you. “Oh fuck, good pup,” you moaned, “what a thirsty puppy, drink up all you want my sweet pup.”

Killer moaned against you at your praises, dipping his tongue inside you and using the strong muscle to fuck you while his thumb rubbed your clit. His other hand reached under his chin, his middle finger rubbing at your asshole which was drenched with your dripping arousal. He pushed in just the tip, making your clit tingle pleasantly as he worked the three sensitive points simultaneously with his hands and tongue. “Oh fuck, just like that,” you groaned, pulling his hair hard, “yes, yes, fuck, good boy, gonna cum, fuck, fuck.”

His finger slid deeper into your ass and the extra pressure was enough to put you over the edge. You came with a scream as you gushed on his tongue, almost yanking his golden locks from his scalp with how hard you pulled. He withdrew the finger from your ass but continued to rub your clit hard, forcing an additional gush of release from you and making you see stars. You went limp against his bedding, shaking and panting, your whole body tingling with your orgasm as he gave one last wide stripe up your cunt. He crawled up the bed, kissing his way up your abdomen until he was looming over you, his mouth meeting yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he rubbed it against yours, your face getting wet as your cum transferred between your faces. Finally he rolled off you, laying beside you with a sated sigh. “Thanks,” he said softly.

“Mm, no need to thank me,” you breathed, “that was fun.”

“Please don't tell anyone though…” he said softly, a nervous tint to his voice, “about the… puppy thing. They'll laugh at me.”

“I won't tell a soul, Kil,” you smiled, rolling to your side to cuddle up against him, “it's nobody else's business.”

“Mouse,” Killer's tone turned serious, “your story, are you telling the truth?”

“Of course I am,” you replied, tracing his collarbone with a finger. The finger slid up his neck, catching on his chin and forcing him to look at you. “I would never lie to you, Killer. Never.”

Killer sighed softly and buried his face in your breasts, holding you tight. He desperately hoped you were telling the truth, feeling like he had someone he could be himself with. He'd be disappointed if they had to get rid of you afterall. Your heart was beating steadily though, no sign of fear or uncertainty, and he let that steady beat lull him to sleep, holding you close to him. He couldn't even remember the last time he slept unmasked next to a woman.

[Next Chapter]

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#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #one piece x reader #kid pirates #kid pirates x reader #killer x reader #heat x reader #killer one piece #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #kid one piece #eustass captain kidd #kid x reader #eustass kid x reader #wire x reader #wire one piece #monsterfucker #monsterfucker smut #monster au

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piratefishmama · 2 years ago

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Nest | Part 2

A Steddie A/B/O ficlet

The welcome packet was a scripted welcome delivered so robotically that Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, it eased the tension, it did its job. It was also an informative tour of the room. The room wasn’t large by any means, the facility was underfunded, it wasn’t a five star hotel, it wasn’t even a three star hotel.

The room was around the size of a single-sized bedroom, with an ensuite bathroom attached with a bath/shower combo, and a toilet and sink. It had closet space, cupboards, a fold away bed, a few lamps, and a fridge to keep food fresh during the week.

Basic didn’t even begin to cover it. It was what was in the cupboards that made all the difference.

“Holy shit… that’s… that's a lot of blankets.”

“Hah, yeah, this is the soft furnishings cupboard, this is where you’ll find the basics for building the structure of a nest, pillows, blankets, there’s a fluffy rug in there for the base, have you… built a nest before?”

“I’m an omega dude, of course I’ve built a nest. But uh… it’s… it probably wouldn’t really… count I guess… it’s not—I’m not the best at it? The structure never really… stays.” It was a mess. It was an organised mess, that’s what Eddies nests tended to be. Just a big pile of stuff arranged in a sort of circle in his bedroom that just looked like he was adding to the mess that was already there.

Intentionally throwing his and his packs clothes on the floor in a sort of shape basically.

“There’s no ‘counting’ when building a nest, Eddie. A nest is unique to the omega, if yours is of the funhouse variety then it’s the funhouse variety, we can work with that.” He’d never been one for a perfectly perfect nest either, the magazines that boasted the perfect circular nest with perfectly tucked in walls and blankets artfully strewn and folded to create some kind of haven of comfort, it was all too artificial.

There was no personality in them. It was obvious at least several omegas at a time had built each of those nests and not one of those omegas would be fully comfortable in any of the end results.

“…We?”

“Yeah, we… if you want, I can help build it with you. Sometimes it helps to strengthen the trust between us and our patients to build the nests together” trust was important. “Sort of… mind-fucks the omega part of that brain of yours into thinking we’re mates, to be perfectly honest.”

“…Mates build nests together?” Hesitance, curiosity but seeped in hesitance, like he wasn’t sure if he should be asking, common for inexperienced Omegas.

“Mhm, sometimes. Sometimes the Omega can want to do it all themselves though, would you pref-”

“Help me.” Eddie had never had anyone to help him with a nest. His uncle stayed out of his way, didn’t want to even attempt to throw his hat into that chaotic ring, and while Eddie had always claimed that he was fine on his own… there was always just a lingering part of himself that wanted someone there to help him.

Someone to help him tuck in blankets properly, someone to help him find the perfect spot for the pillow he’d stolen from Jeff, or the flannel Gareth had given him, someone to help him find the perfect spot for that one oversized sweater he’d pilfered from Frank, or find a safe spot for the stupid graphic tee he’d snagged from his youngest pup, Henderson where it wouldn’t get soiled by activities.

He wanted someone there.

“Okay” it was that easy. Steve Harrington, of all the Alphas in Hawkins, was going to help him build a nest. Holy shit, thanks Gareth. Best wingman ever. “But first, the rest of the tour. That door there leads to an ensuite bathroom, it’s not big but it’ll do, the bed is fold away for space saving purposes, aaaaand—” He led Eddie over to another cupboard, lower to the ground and easily within reach of the open space on the floor where a nest could be built. “The contents of this cupboard will only be useful to you during the final stages of your heat, but it’s good to familiarize yourself with it and make your choices early so as to not overestimate what you can take in the moment while out of your mind.”

He crouched down and opened one of the doors, expecting the choked little sound Eddie made as he revealed what was inside. Heat aids. Ranging from small, to extra extra-large. All with knots. The small one's knot being about the size of his own fist.

“I don’t need to know what you pick, it’s none of my business, I wont be in the room when you use them. But it’s good to know which ones you want while coherent and lock away the others because a heat-broke mind will go for the biggest thing there to fill the ache and it’ll hurt you if you’re unprepared.” If he had no experience he meant.

An Omega, unlike what porn may suggest. Was not built to take something massive on the first go right out of the gate. Yes, they had ample amounts of slick, they self-lubricated enough to not need artificial lubricant, but stretch was still a thing that’d happen, and tearing was also a thing that could happen.

“…What would you suggest with what you know?” With what was on the clipboard.

“Have you used a heat aid before?”

“W-well, yeah I mean-pfft who hasn’t—of course I’ve use—”

“Eddie.”

“Shit’s expensive okay? I live in a trailer park for fucks sake, the only reason I can be here is cause my heat brain has become a danger to my own and others health. Not everyone can afford some fancy schman—” it was no longer optional for him, he had to have help. Steve was up, he was up on his feet and oh, oh now he understood the need for an alpha.

He got it.

The second that scent filled his senses, he got it.

Cinnamon, hot chocolate spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, a warm log burning fire, and that voice, that soft crooning voice “easy… easy, it’s okay, Eddie, it’s okay, can I touch you?” He nodded, half expecting hands on his face or something but no, Steve kept it to his arms, his touch gentle, but grounding, those soft hazel eyes of his damn near hypnotic when mixed with that scent, all that building anxiety and stress just drifting away with each exhale “it’s okay to not have used one before, they’re not accessible for everyone, I know” his heats must have sucked.

“I’m older than you, Steve… it’s pathetic, I can’t even get laid by a fake dick…”

Steve couldn’t stop the little laugh even if he tried, just a soft little burst of laughter, thankfully… Eddie smiled over it. Just a little smile, a curve at the corner of his lips but it counted. His scent was levelling out, it counted. “Well, we’ll fix that this week, wont we?” Oh god they would, he’d fix it that week.

After that heat, he’d no longer feel the ache of a first stretch. Would he even remember it? Heat brains were so out of it he probably wouldn’t. Didn’t know if that was for the best or not. “…Should I have tried… y’know… to get laid before it came to this?”

“That’s not my place to say, Eddie, people go at their own pace. Think of it this way—” Eddie was honestly bracing himself for a sports metaphor or some shit, something he wouldn’t understand, and yet— “would you rather have a long, lengthy, slow paced campaign with intriguing twists, fun NPC’s, and unexpected turns, or a one shot that lasts ten minutes cause everyone rushed past all your cool little traps and NPC’s to reach the climax?”

“…Did you just D&D analogy me?” With accurate terminology?

“I did do that yes. Well?” He’d soaked up a lot while keeping Gareth company, the guy talked! Steve found it interesting. Eddie found that deeply attractive. Dammit Steve.

“…Lengthy campaign.”

“That’s what I thought. Now pick a heat aid and we’ll lock up the rest, professionally speaking, I suggest the small to medium. Small to start with to ease the stretch, but it won’t be enough to keep you satisfied, medium will do the trick for the long haul.” It was actually kind of impressive how nonchalant he was about it all. But Eddie supposed he did work there. That was his job.

Eddie would have probably spontaneously combusted by now if not for Steve pumping that calming cinnamon scent into the air.

“The long haul” Eddie parroted with a little grin

“Hey, that shit usually lasts the longest, you don’t wanna be stuck with a tiny heat aid for the entirety of it, I won’t be coming in to help you.” He was entirely on his own for that.

“Will that be okay though…?” Eddie picked out the two Steve suggested, the small being about the size of a coke can, while the medium held a little more length and girth to it. “If I’m—if we’re tricking the omega brain into thinking you’re my mate, wouldn’t I be freaking out if you’re not there for that bit?” Steve clicked the cupboard shut and latched it.

“You’ll have a weighted blanket that sort of matches my weight, it’ll have my scent all over it. That’s the best we can do. We’re not allowed in the room during that stage, hell even the cameras get turned off for your privacy.” Cameras off, of course nobody would be allowed in, anyone could take advantage with the cameras off “A female Beta will check on you regularly to make sure you’re eating and getting enough liquids, but for both your safety, and ours, Alphas can’t be in the room. I dont even get access to your door key when that stage hits, only a Beta can have access. But I will be there for the come down, I promise.”

“…The come down?”

“Ehh… kind of like aftercare, all the soft stuff you’ll be craving after all that intensity.” That made sense.

“W-What if I hurt the Beta that checks on me? I almost hurt Wayne, I’d definitely hurt a stranger.” A very valid point, he’d ask Robin what the protocol for that was, she’d know the specifics.

“We’ll make it work, Eddie… that’s what we do here, we’ll make it okay for you” that touch was back, gentle, he held Eddie’s biceps, thumbs pressing gentle circles into the fabric of his sleeves, Gareth was right. Steve was perfect, reassuring, and his calming scent? A dream. “You’ll be okay, you’re gonna get through this week, and everything will be okay.” It’d be okay, everything would be okay. “Now… how about we get started on your nest?”

Steve had no idea how much he needed dimples in his life, before a huge beaming grin introduced them to him. Good lord that was a smile.

He knew Eddie was all kinds of loud and theatrical from school, knew he laughed, he smiled, he lived his life in a way that he enjoyed regardless of what others thought of him, but… god that was a smile.

“You get the rug, I’ll get the pillows!” And he was off. Excitement replacing anxiety, a bundle of wild energy begging to be chased, and Alphas were nothing if not excellent at chasing Omegas, especially ones as cute as Eddie.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #NestFiclet #Steddie #CW: A/B/O #No Upside Down AU #Omegaverse #Omega!Eddie Munson #Alpha!Steve Harrington

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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Adorable 1904 fairy tale cottage in Ephraim, Utah was reduced $40K to $359K and it's 3 homes for the price of one. Not surprisingly, it already has a pending sale. The cottage has 3bds, 3ba.

Elegant French-looking living room is pretty spacious and has a great French stove. The fixture looks like it's a kerosine lamp that's been electrified.

Sweet vintage kitchen. Look at the original stove, it's still connected to the wall. The sink looks original, too. It looks like all of the lights are kerosine. They must've all been converted from the originals.

Cleaned up, with some decorative touches, this will be an elegant little house. The dining room is lovely.

Bath #1 was modernized with a large shower but the sink was placed into an antique dry sink.

Laundry room has cupboards under the stairs.

Small staircase to the upper floor.

And, here we are upstairs.

Look at the cute little stove and vintage toilet. Interesting little closet, too.

This home is deceivingly larger than it looks. It has a finished basement.

There's a sitting room with a potbelly stove and original cupboards.

Bedroom #2 is in the basement and looks like it may be the primary.

This is another room that looks like it could be a bedroom, also, b/c it has a closet.

Look at this property. Besides the cottage, there's a large garage with a studio apt. above it, plus a 1 bedroom cabin.

Entrance to the studio apt. above the garage.

Living room/bedroom combo.

The kitchen is cute.

Nice little shower room.

And, this is the log cabin. Wow, all the homes need some work, but they will be too cute.

I don't see any appliances in the kitchen but it's large enough.

Bath with a small clawfoot tub.

The bedroom upstairs.

The property is .40 acre.

#cottages #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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dcficrecs · 6 months ago

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I'm A Good Pretender - Chapter 2: I Got Lots Of Problems

By shipNslash on AO3

My last post was an excerpt from the first chapter of this fic. I've finished it now and I like most of it, but there's something in Chapter 2 that I just have to talk about. This whole fic is a Robin origin story. It has seven chapters, so it drawfs in comparison to the 'Firework' fic by paganpunk2 on fanfiction.net (I posted about that too, maybe my favorite fanfic ever). Still, I really like it. It's written with excerpts from days. It starts with day zero, where Dick's parents are killed and Bruce comforts him. Day one is him meeting Alfred at the orphanage, and it goes all the way to day 262, where Commissioner Gordon meets Robin.

Anyway, in this particular excerpt, Dick is scheming to sneak out of Wayne Manor and kill Tony Zucco himself, and has to guilt trip Bruce in order to be alone long enough to escape even though he feels bad about it. He likes Bruce, but he isn't quite a father figure to him, yet. Dick has inherited Bruce's old bedroom, something very sentimental to Bruce. The excerpt starts with Bruce giving a tour of his old room. Bruce also gave Dick a note, saying to ring the service bell when he wakes up. He does, and it calls Bruce to his room. Dick keeps the note in his pocket. Also, a slight trigger warning for mentions of sexual abuse against a child.

So Bruce awkwardly shows Dick around the cavernous bedroom. The dresser is full of generic clothes in his size and Bruce promises they can get his stuff from their trailer later today and go shopping soon for anything he's missing. He shows him how to work the computer at the desk and the TV on the wall, and even points towards the staff lift at the end of the hallway that will take him directly to the kitchen. The bathroom is in the bedroom and almost as huge, with a sink and toilet and a big shower/bathtub combo already filled with a bunch of different soaps.

"I wasn't sure what you'd need," Bruce mumbles when Dick comments on the variety. "We have different hair types."

That's…surprisingly thoughtful, Dick thinks, and Bruce's folded note feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket.

He ignores the guilt and smiles. "Thanks, Bruce. I appreciate it."

"I want you to be comfortable here," Bruce whispers back, even quieter than normal.

Dick pushes the guilt down, down, down. Now is as good a time as any and Bruce is already uncomfortable. Now if Dick can just get him to leave…

(Never talk about sex, Mama always says, grown ups hate when kids even mention sex.)

"What about rules?" Dick asks, pitching his voice a little higher and widening his already big eyes just a little bit bigger. "One of the older boys at the detention center said rich people only foster kids to warm their beds. I don't know what that means, but I'll try, if you teach me."

And bingo.

Bruce's pale skin goes practically gray and he flinches back until he's outside of the bathroom. "That- No, I- You won't ever-"

"Did I say something wrong?" Dick asks, adding in a small sniffle and not letting up on the eye contact. (He's already learned that Bruce Wayne hates eye contact.)

The man is still backpedaling, now well to the hallway. "No! No. I'll… see you at breakfast." When he steps out of the room, his shoulders sag. "Kitchen. Eight." And then he's gone, latching the door shut behind him.

Dick sighs and flops against the bed. That was almost too easy. He feels… kinda bad.

Still. Eight o’clock. That's just over three hours, according to the clock on the wall.

"Alright," he mumbles to himself and carefully rocks to his feet. "Like Mama says, make a list."

So, he does.

Stretch my poor, atrophying muscles

Shower off the scent of the detention center

Find out where Haly's went

Sneak out

Catch and murder Tony Zucco

Run away to (re)join the circus

There, that doesn't seem hard now that he's made a list- Mama's always right.

Something about "I don't know what that means, but I'll try if you teach me," is literally so well written. Obviously, gross, but Dick using something that makes Bruce obviously uncomfortable to his advantage against Bruce is so Dick coded. Dick absolutely knew what it meant and purposefully used it to horrify Bruce. Guilt tripping Bruce Wayne is so easy, as long as you're Dick Grayson. He's a little gremlin and I love it. Also, the list he makes is adorable, literally went from zero to a hundred real quick.

#batman #bruce wayne #dc #dick grayson #fanfic #fic #ao3 #dc comics #fan fic #robin #robin dc #dc robin

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papaver-decervicatus · 1 year ago

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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 5, Royally Caught

While tied down in a cartel interrogation room, König is forced to his mental breaking point when a certain sniper makes an appearance. Is she a rat, or here to chew him free...?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care, graphic mentions of sex trafficking victims, abusive language, mentions of sexual violence.

Author's note: Please notice that warning have indeed changed for this chapter! Nothing happens in the story, but many hard themes come up as intrusive thoughts. Please be weary of these and feel no obligation in reading if doing so would make you uncomfortable!

Ahhh, well well well... it's finally here. Originally the concept of this chapter came from this YouTube Video as inspiration, specifically Labyrinth by OOMPH! And it sort of... wrote itself? The title is supposed to be a play on the phrase "Royally Fucked" because I did not feel like using a swear as a title. Anyways, you'll notice from my headcanons on König that I believe working as an insertions specialist for human trafficking seriously fucked him up. I also believe that he typically does not act out violently against women. So... what happens when he thinks Mouse is doing the very thing he hates so much? Well, you will have to see!

This chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, but the inspo was taken from the El Sin Nombre mission in MWii. Mouse is in the cartel house, undercover at a party and in an attempt to take out her target she saw an interesting video feed....

I must admit, this chapter has my favorite single or one off lines. I am really proud of it, please enjoy! But be warned, this is unabashedly horny/desperate/angsty/and the pining goes fucking nuclear. Have fun!

Also, if youre into the fake interrogation thing, then next chapter stays good for you, especially if you want mouse in the hot seat...

❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀 PREV | Pt. 5, Royally Caught | 4.2k words | König POV | NEXT

König did not expect his Friday night to end up with him locked in a storage container turned jail cell in Mexico.

Yet here he is.

At some point while raiding the Cartel Mansion in Las Almas, or more appropriately, trying to open an exterior wall so that KorTac could raid it, he had been shot with a tranquilizer gun. The shot didn’t knock him out entirely, the dosage was probably not completely calibrated to his weight, but it was enough to slow his escape down. He got about two miles out before men in an armored Jeep jumped him.

And he woke up, here, about three hours ago.

Two hours ago he broke his thumbs in an effort to get out of his cuffs, but someone must’ve caught his plan because immediately afterward two masked cartel members came into his cell and stuck a syringe into his arm. When he awoke for the second time, there was a durable cord keeping his wrists together instead. Feeling around he could tell that the rope had been burned into itself, creating a lack of weak spots for him to abuse in escape efforts.

His legs were in a similar position, chorded down thick and heavy to the legs of the rusty metal chair he was in. He was still in most of his combat outfit, save his vest, weapons, and any tools he had on him when he was captured.

They’d kept the hood on his face and they hadn’t removed his helmet. This, to König, showed an extraordinarily eerie amount of understanding for his position within KorTac. None of his comrades would recognize him by his face, and judging by the multitude of cameras in the room, he was intended to be… recognizable.

At first, anyways.

This cell was, unfortunately, familiar to him. The layout of the cot, the chair, the metal table, the haphazardly soldered-in door and door frame, the holes drilled into the sides of the metal container, and even the rudimentary sink and toilet combo was something he’d become viscerally acquainted with.

This was a typical Al Qatala human trafficking cell, specifically designed so that multiple humans could be chained up in one space without sacrificing the capacity for good camera angles. Typically, these were set up in storage containers twice the size of this one, but he doesn’t really have any room to be complaining about getting put into a non-standard torture chamber.

His specialty was cracking these when he was with the Austrian Special Forces. His real calling in life, his one true hatred.

Fall on the sword you forge, he thinks. The understanding of what will become of him in short order is horrifying. He’s one of the few people on the face of the planet who’s seen this exact routine played out for other prisoners of war, usually at the behest of desperate governments seeking his expertise in getting their soldiers out of such dire confines. He wrote the book on what happens in these situations, when it happens, and where the person ends up.

They never end up alive. Prisoners of war are different from sex trafficking victims. In some terrible way, it’s almost better to be the prior because at least then you don’t have to live the rest of your life after what’s happened to you. Death is a shitty kind of freedom, but it’s freedom nonetheless.

Of his 86 consults, only seven were successfully rescued.

Two of those died in trauma surgery.

The last five had been in custody for less than 24 hours, he had personally rescued that group. To his knowledge, they’d all recovered decently well. Their mental health, however, could be a different story. Not like he was allowed to ask.

He’s going over every possible route of escape when he’s shocked out of his plans.

The door directly in front of him opens, and his dark cell erupts with sickeningly bright, white light. His eyes strain trying to adjust to the intrusion as he takes in the form.

A silhouette stands in front of him, all soft edges of black, arms braced on either side of the door frame. The backlighting gives the figure an almost angelic quality, a soft and fuzzy etherealness blends outlines and light. It’s the telltale curves of a woman, of soft thighs, of ample hips, of a woman’s bust. Little strands of fluorescence peek through a crown of hair on her head.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, meine majestät.” The cruel Angel hums, voice like forbidden fruit any man could be forgiven for falling for.

“Maus?” He calls out, desperate and confused and ready to shatter.

“Quiet as a.” She calls back, composed as if entrenched in amber and equally as unmoved by his predicament.

He’s always wanted to get his teeth around her pretty neck. He’s always desired to have his hands around her waist. He’s always hoped to be able to pound down into her quaking form. He’s been desperate to have her underneath him since their very first chance encounter. These feelings have been constant since he heard her beautiful voice, but suddenly they’re not the same.

Now he wants all those things, but instead of their motivation being love, it is bloodlust.

And intense bloodlust at that.

He’s never wanted to kill a woman, he finds it despicable that women more or less get turned into cattle during war. He’s sure that Freud would have something to say about his neurotic insistence on not harming the fairer sex even with his typical caliber of violence, but he’s never once cared to self-examine that. His entire military career, in fact, was dedicated to saving women and children from the horrors of a very male, very sexual world. Insertions specialist, yes, but specifically for human trafficking situations.

Looking into his wartime paramour's eyes, the intensity of hellfire overcomes him. His entire world crashes around him. He’s breathing in debris and dust as comes to the terrible conclusion that this entire time, it’s been her that has been perpetuating the injustice he so hates. That it’s been the thing he’s romanticized that’s been the fall of Rome. That it’s his savior that’s really been the perpetrator all along.

Perhaps the devil was once an angel, but to see his Angel for the demon she is? It breaks his heart into gory chunks of splintered bitterness and hacked arteries where once love pumped.

Never in his life has he ever wanted to kill a woman, never in his life he had loved a woman so completely either.

Those two ‘never’s die loudly and crudely in his chest as he recounts how to kill her most painfully in his own mind.

For her now obvious position perpetuating his most loathed evil? For tricking him into loving her? For both and neither? He doesn’t know. He’s about two seconds away from frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal that’ll break its bones escaping a trap. He’s got nothing in his brain, just white-hot anger from the tips of his combat boots to the tips of his ears.

Not even the outfit, or more appropriately the lack thereof, that she’s wearing can dissuade his anger. In any other circumstance, to see her in a black draped silk dress with hip-high slits on both sides and a full set of harness garters holding up sheer pantyhose would make him go feral. It would make him kneel, it would give him all the power to break out of these bindings on his own with no help and slam her down into the metal floor and have her right here. He has the desire to do all these things right now, but for all the wrong reasons.

She’s taking something out from beneath her left breast as he recounts every thought he’s ever had about her and how foolish they’ve all been. He thinks that the only consolation he may ever receive for this betrayal is if he can crush her windpipe in between his teeth.

“If you can get your teeth around it, it’s yours.” He remembers her saying to him in one of her flirtations during their secret radio romances.

The phrase echoes rough and screeching in his head as he thrashes against the metal chair and restraints. He doesn’t formulate any words, he can’t, she doesn’t even deserve them, as she takes the lighter and cigarette she’s produced from her brassiere to her mouth. Her expression is unconcerned when she takes the flip-top lighter (that has a fucking crown carved into it, the audacity, his teeth clench and voice roars at the implication she’s been planning this for a long time) and its little flicker of brimstone to the end of the cancer stick.

She takes a short drag and holds it between two perfectly manicured fingers. She’s gotten a little lipstick on the filter.

“You don’t smoke.” That is all he manages to spit out. The only thought he can think of. Nothing makes sense and he’s liable to maul her to death over it. Her tongue darts quickly and sinfully across the filter, her eyes never leaving his. She tosses her stare towards him playfully, her hips swing wide as she waltzes closer to him.

“No,” she says, as she takes another step towards him. Even in those ridiculously tall, faux leather heels meeting the tips of his combat boots, she doesn’t particularly dwarf his size. She's got the tips of her shoes to the tips of his, her stance is wide to accommodate the positioning. The edges of the stockings on her legs disrupt in wave-like patterns where they collide with the rough edges of his tac pants. He looks and thinks about how if his clothes were a little thinner he may be able to feel her warmth. He wonders just how long it would take her corpse to go ice cold, because she clearly does not deserve to be alive. He forces himself to look up at her and he thinks about clawing out her eyes.

“But you do.”

She reaches her hand towards his hood and strokes his cheek through the fabric. He snarls and snaps his head away from her, reeling from the touch he’s so deplorably yearned for. Her placid expression drops entirely as she sees his reaction.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that his perfect little Mouse looked heartbroken over his refusal of her blandishments.

He wants to rip her still-beating heart out of her chest for the sheer nerve to display that sort of emotiveness to him. That she acted like there was something there when there very clearly wasn’t. That she lied so thoroughly to him.

That she made him love her when now he can see she never loved him back.

She takes a shuddering breath in and makes a concerted effort to put her expression back into place, to impose some sort of divine rule back over her features. It’s strange to see her trying so hard when she’s obviously been such a good actor for so very long.

“I just need some information, darling. No need to be so skittish, I brought you creature comforts for your cooperation.” She purrs, flicking some ash from the cigarette. “I know you could use a smoke right now, handsome.”

The bile in his stomach flips at the pet names he would usually kill for. Pet names he’s never had until this moment. His two addictions lay in front of him, together, wrapped up in black silk, and the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to tear it all to shreds.

Her hand follows his cheek to where it’s escaped her grasp. He is powerless to stop her as she rolls up his mask.

To his surprise, she stops rolling it up just high enough to expose his mouth and leaves the bunched cloth on the bridge of his nose. He wants to scream at the tenderness of the action, she’s giving him as much of his well-loved privacy and solitude as she can while bringing him, an active prisoner of war, a fucking cigarette while wearing the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

The cruelty of it all had found the border of divinity and reality and ripped it open like C4 explodes plywood doors. There must be a God, and he must be in hell.

She gets dangerously close, close enough for him to bite, and her hand with the cigarette makes contact with his jaw. Her sharp, black, fake nails trail from close to his ear, down to his mouth at a tantalizingly languid pace. She bends down and puts her lips a hair's breadth away from his ear and he is about to actually bite her neck to kill-

“I’m trying to get you out. Play along.” She whispers and flips the cigarette into his mouth.

He takes a long drag.

He feels the relief of nicotine in his lungs.

He closes his eyes.

He thinks about what she said.

He doesn’t quite believe her as she takes the cigarette out of his mouth before he has to fumble to exhale around it. Her thumb traces the outline of his thin, scarred lips. Her eyes bore into his from above.

She puts it back into his mouth.

He takes a long drag.

She takes it out of his mouth and puts it into hers. She takes a shorter drag. He doesn’t miss the way that she keeps all the smoke in her cheeks, not actually smoking it at all. A little taste of non flavored-wax sticks to his mouth from the lipstick and he wonders if she can taste his mouth too…

The takes the lipstick-stained tube out of her lips, taps it clean, and puts it back into his.

He takes a long drag.

She takes it back out of his mouth and wipes at his lips with the pad of her thumb. His brain is too busy switching between wanting to bite her thumb off and wanting to suck on it like a dog for him to decide what to do before the obtrusive digit has been taken away.

“Sorry, big guy. Got some lipstick on you.”

She retreats from his form and goes to sit on the metal table slightly adjacent to the chair he’s strapped to. She puts the still-lit cigarette to rest in an ashtray next to her hip. She also puts the flip-top lighter down. On the bottom of the lighter, he sees some engraving, but he can’t make it out from how far away it is.

She crosses her legs on the edge of the table and the black silk she’s wearing all but flees off of the expanse of her now exposed thigh. She taps her fingers slowly on the metal, the pitter patter of plastic-press-on-nails on metal goes in time with his heartbeat.

“Who are you with?” She asks, and he laughs. She knows.

“Nein.” He responds. Is he refusing her, or this little game? He doesn’t know. She seems to understand, though, when she leans into his personal space and he has to fight the urge to look down her lack of dress and perfect tits-

“That’s no way to act after I got you a present, now is it?” She hums at the pulse point between utter cruelty and complete levity. He tests the restraints keeping his hands tied and sighs at the realization that they are still tighter than he can manage to worm out of effectively.

“I will not repeat what you already know.” He bites out.

“Clever boy,” she smiles and he can’t help but think and hope that maybe this cruel Angel is being genuine, maybe she really does want to get him out of here. He murders the hope in his brain the second he recognizes what it is. “So tell me, what were you doing here?”

“You know.”

“I’m afraid I do.” Her lips tense into a thin line and she looks down at her watch. She begins to swing the foot of her raised leg idly and-

She puts her foot onto the back of his chair right on his shoulder and oh my god her cunt is right next to my mou-

“Audio just cut out. I’m undercover here. Site goes dark for 2 minutes or less in 30 seconds. I’m going to pretend to interrogate you for a little while after we come back online to sell it. And then I’m out.” She warns, voice low and quick.

Once again, he has to fight every electric cell in his body to not lunge at her and rip her clothes to tatters (and maybe her, the jury’s still out on her trustworthiness) as he breathes in the smell of fresh nylons and her cunt like a fucking dog. Not making eye contact with her panties is also a losing game, and it’s one he seriously wishes he had decided against playing because it’s a sheer black lacy pair, because of course it is, and he can very nearly make out the curves of her sex through it.

“How do I know how to trust you?” He spits and blood flows out of his brain when he sees a tiny, minuscule amount of his saliva landing on her clothed cunt. He snaps his gaze back to her face. She looks rather smug and pleased with herself, he scolds his inner monologue when he dares to notice just how hungry her beautiful eyes look... He wants to wipe the smile off her face, through a kiss or through slicing it off with a knife, he’s not sure yet.

“You don’t.” She shrugs and somehow scoots even the littlest bit closer to him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, if I was I’d have brought a little more stopping power.” Stopping power? What is she talking about? Her beautiful features soothe themselves into a giggle and Gott, she’s very pretty with eyeliner and lipstick on, the little vixen. I want to ruin it.

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it. Put your cheek against my thigh.” She laughs.

Even if it’s a trick, König decides that if he’s going to die anywhere, it might as well be in between Mouse’s thighs in mere milliseconds. The throbbing in his pants also suggests that he’s probably forgiven her by now as well. He leans his cheek and feels cool metal hit it. He whips his head to look and tucked into her garter is a sizable knife.

When he looks back to her eyes he notices dumbly that she must be able to tell how desperately he’s in love with her because she’s smiling something wicked down at him. Angels aren’t supposed to be cruel, but he’s forgiven anything and everything she’d ever done wrong in exchange for the expanse of her thigh and the promise of a knife.

“If you can get your teeth around it, it’s yours.” She says with a smile like absolution. His mind alights with a terrible test of faith for her, with a truly awful proving method to try her loyalty to his rescue. He turns his mouth to the knife, and instead of taking it in his teeth, he takes her flesh in his teeth.

She whimpers as he teeth attempt to gain purchase through the nylon of her stockings. He gnaws at them until he makes a little opening, and through it, he punches down his teeth until he’s sure he will leave a mark, but not draw blood.

“Does that include you, mein Mäuschen?” He purrs into her now-exposed flesh. He peers up at her and he revels in the shock on her face. She shudders at his words and attention and something worse than pride finds a home in his hollow but newly hopeful chest.

She doesn’t move her leg away and he hums in satisfaction at the gesture. Instead, she looks worryingly down at her watch.

“You have 1 minute. Take the knife, keep it in your mouth under your hood, and give me 30 minutes to get out of here before you escape.” She says instead of responding.

While realistically he knows that she doesn’t really have an option in leaving him, that it would be too dangerous to leave together, that they are still technically enemies even on neutral ground- he can’t help but be disappointed that his Angel intends on leaving without him. Even more so that she doesn’t seem to want to answer him when she made the rules in the first place.

“Why are you helping me?” He asks, hoping for some clarity, for some tell-tale sign that this isn’t some weird horny fever dream he’s made up in his own little hell, worried that she will drag him back down from heaven and reveal that this, too, was part of the ploy to destroy whatever of him remained.

“Because I know you’d do the same for me.”

She says it without question but instead questions the motive. She says it like someone prays, like believing in the possibility of salvation but not quite sure how to get there. She says it like a guardian angel takes missions, unsure of her exact purpose but faithful in her understanding that there is one.

The deep cavern of his obsession temporarily closed and covered by the implication of her treachery, widens and deepens impossibly as he smiles into the knife on her thigh. It’s just a knife, but she believes in him enough to offer her only protection to him, and she believes that it is all he will need to make it back to her on the field.

He plucks the knife from her garter with his teeth. He tries to memorize her smell, her taste, the feel of her soft and plush skin on his cheek. It’s an intoxicating experience he isn’t quick to squander, but the implied hope that when not if he can get out of this she will be there waiting for him? That makes ending this warm-up worth it if it means he can get to the game and maybe, finally, win the prize.

She retracts her foot from his shoulder and lets down his hood from his face. She leans in terribly close and whispers, “After 20 yards, take your first left outside the second retaining wall. There’s only two guards there, it’s your best shot.” He hums in affirmation and adoration and she sits back into her position on the table. She looks at her watch and gives a curt nod: the game is back on.

She takes the cigarette back and draws the smoke into her cheeks and lets it flow out like a deadman’s soul floats to heaven, somehow rushed and languid all at once.

“We’ve been having quite the time trying to figure out your-“ he completely zones out whatever she’s saying in favor of watching the mark his mouth gifted her turn darker as the seconds draw on. It’s not like he could respond even if he wanted to, that would risk the knife she’s so lovingly gifted him into his lap and ruining the whole escape (and worse, endangering her.)

So, instead, he stares at her like the goddess she is. He burns the curve of her stomach between her hips behind his eyelids, he imagines resting his head there and kissing the smooth skin. He savors the way her ass flattens ever-so-slightly where it meets the metal table she’s sitting on, he thinks about holding her up by her ass alone and the plush yet firm give of her flesh. He drinks in the sight of her cleavage heaving when she emotes after a particularly loud question, he hopes what little he can’t see is the same type of perfect as the rest of it. Every once in a while he lets out a quiet huff around the blade in his mouth, in a vague response to something she’s said. Mouse gets “angry” in response, she even slaps him once or twice.

He doesn’t mind. It’s all a waiting game, after all.

König is many things, and a competitor is first and foremost.

If Mouse knows where he’s staring for the duration of their play date of an interrogation, she doesn’t mention anything. With one last stinging (and dizzying…) strike to the cheek, she all but yells “Fine! Let’s see if you’re so tough after 8 hours alone in this hell hole.”

When she turns to walk out of the door she came in, König feels a part of his heart leave with her. He breathes harshly over the outline of the metal in his teeth as he admires the confident sway of her hips. He bites harder on the metal when she tosses a sympathetic look back to him and blows a fucking kiss.

Sitting, alone in the dark of the converted storage container, he spends the most excruciating thirty minutes of his life occupied only with her phantom touch and his depraved fantasies.

“Because I know you’d do the same for me.” Echoes in his head in time with his heartbeat, in time with his imaginary minstrations on her form, in time with what he is sure will be the death of him.

That and so much more, he thinks when he finally, finally, manages to rid himself of his binds with the knife his Engel so graciously snuck him, 27 minutes after she leaves when some cartel member comes to check up on him.

König loses himself in the beautiful catharsis of stabbing the man who comes to fetch him so violently, that the blade to the knife literally snaps off somewhere in his bowels. He loots the cadaver for his gun and ammunition as well as another knife. He feels awful to leave one of her gifts discarded in the abdomen of some filthy cretin of a man, but he recognizes he really does not have much of a say in the matter when he hears the footfalls of his fellow cartel members rushing towards his location.

With one last sigh and a wayward glance to assure himself that he really did get his mouth around her and this wasn’t some dream, he prays in the form of bullets as he guns down anyone stupid enough to get in his way to escape.

Be safe, my darling Maus. I will be back for you.

I promise.

taglist! @kneelingshadowsalomegshadowsalome @sprout-ficsout-fics @bucca2cca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyyy @haisebo @crowbird

#Navigation -> Cat/Mouse/Den #König #König x reader #König x OC #König MWii #König COD #Char: Mouse #CW: human trafficking

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jaylynn1318 · 18 days ago

Text

Wolf’s time in the closet

By popular demand

Wolfie is a trans man here, also some bodily content and swearing, nothing too extreme, but no harm in giving a warning, so don’t like any of this, don’t read.

Timeline, 10-11 years before the first film

Cramps suck, Wolf thought to himself, especially when he was trying to convince his friends that he was a cis man during his period. He can’t ask for help, since that would out him, he doesn’t have a heating pad, at least he didn’t stain his bed, maybe he can just take some pain med? That can work.

Thanks to planning which bedroom goes to which, Wolf got his own bathroom, it was small, but it had the essentials, bath/shower combo, toilet, and sink, with most importantly right now, a cabinet to hold his pain medicine and hygiene supplies(mostly pads) Snake also got his own bathroom, and the other three had to share one, but that wasn’t important right now, what was important was when he got to the cabinet and got the med to deal with his pain he noticed with horror…

He ran out of pads😨… well sh#% he was on his last one, and don’t even ask why he doesn’t go for tampons, that’s none of your business. He had to go out and get more.

His cramp woke him up earlier than usual, he doesn’t usually get up at 5:45 am, so everyone else was asleep. Wasting no time, he’s got his clothes on, put on some heavy cologne on himself so that the gang (mostly shark and Snake) can't smell the blood, and left, hoping he would be back before anyone else could wake up.

———————————

1 hour and 25 minutes later

———————————

Everyone was up when he got back. Shark and Snake were watching tv, Webs was on her little laptop, hacking into a bank intel for a heist, and piranha was cooking breakfast, smelled like he was making eggs, bacon, and sausage for breakfast. Snake was the first to notice Wolf at the front of the entrance and holding a bag.

Snake: Wolf?😕 where were you, it’s 7:10 in the morning?!😧

Wolf: Oh oh umm.. I um

Wolf(thinking): come on, think of a good lie

Wolf: thissss is… I thought Webs was low on pads so I got her some more before anyone did

Webs looked away from her laptop and began snapping back in a bored, snarky tone

Webs: I don’t get periods, I’m a tarantula, we lay eggs, not ovulate

Wolf(trying to hide his anger and jealousy): Oh lucky lucky you >;D

Wolf: well then, I just put this in my bathroom then.

Piranha: why not return them?

Unlike with Snake, Wolf already had a answer for the little green guy

Wolf: One, we’re criminals, we don’t return anything, and Two, have you ever tried to return pads? I like to see you try, trust me the social embarrassment will kill you

Piranha didn’t have a response for that and returned to making the eggs, bacon and sausage, it looked like he was also done.

Wolf started to leave to his bathroom when all of a sudden, Snake and Shark looked like they were gagging and having a coughing fit

Snake: Wolf, did you have to wear that heavy cologne? It’s making me feel sick😡*sticks his tongue out* and why am I tasting blood?

Shark: Oh God that smell is strong🤢

Maybe Wolf should’ve lighted up on the cologne if Snake and Shark could smell him in the kitchen, while they near the tv, he did purposely go heavy on the cologne, but he didn’t mean to go THAT heavy if he’s also overpowering the smell of bacon and sausage.

Wolf: heh heh oops uhhh, what are you two watching anyway? The news? The food network?

Snake: no Saw

Wolf:😧 isn’t too early for watching horror?

Snake: What? A marathon of the series is on and we just took it. Too much of a wuss to watch it?😏

Wolf: NO!!! I’m brave enough to watch it, I’m manly enough to watch, because that’s what I am!! A-a man!!

Snake had a confused and worried look on his face when he turned to look at Wolf when he said that.

Snake: are you ok Wolfie?

Wolf: fine, just a little nauseous.

———————————

Maybe I’ll do a part 2, because admittedly that doesn’t really feel like an ending, just give me some time to think of more scenarios to write of. Maybe I’ll do a three parter.

Thanks to @xandriagreat for helping me with some writing and planning, the heavy cologne idea came from her, and if anyone have any other ideas or suggestions for prompts, both before and after Wolf came out, or anything related to my Badguys/Blue Diamond AU, please put them in the asks.

One more thing, because something tells me that’ll get questions about this, no Wolf wasn’t nauseous because of the movie, one of the side effects of periods is nausea.

#the bad guys #steven universe #blue diamond au #the banana splits #the bad guys x steven universe au #Wolf’s time in the closet #story

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autumntouched · 2 years ago

Note

omg i am a firm believer that 1.) jake was born to be a girl dad and 2.) nat notices her tiny bump one day before showering and she calls him into the bathroom and she’s standing there all giddy and is like “do you notice something different about me” and he immediately starts crying when he notices the little bump 🥹🥹

Day 20 of Ode to Phoenix

Did I want to write the Hannix Football Rivalry AU requests in order? Yes. Did that happen? Apparently not. This one just jumped out of me, and I was in too deep to write anything else for today

Jake as a girl dad has me 😍🥰🥹 He definitely was

Omg, I am giggling kicking my feet at this thought about her baby bump discovery 💗

Summary: Hannix Football Rivalry AU. Natasha has a Baby on Board, and it's not Bob

Pairing: Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Warnings: Pregnancy symptoms, early pregnancy partner struggles, mention of oral sex but nothing explicit

A/N: To whoever requested, I hope you enjoy my love xx

Do You Notice Something Different?

Natasha stumbles into the bathroom and pushes her hair out of her face, grateful it’s finally Saturday. Despite listening to her family and friends talk about their pregnancies for several years, nothing prepared her for the level of exhaustion she’s felt these last few weeks. Jake has pretty much taken over everything in their life that isn’t her job. Including making an early morning run to the grocery store because she’s craving lemon, blueberry ricotta pancakes she once had at a restaurant in New York City.

She strips off her pajamas before emptying her bladder for the third time already this morning. While she pees, Natasha closes her eyes and drops her head into her hands. Outside of deployments, the last few weeks are the longest she and Jake have gone without having sex since they started hooking up. Whether she’s been too tired, too sick, or too sore, usually some combo thereof, he's taken it all in stride. He's even been understanding about her not wanting him to touch her, although she can tell that part has been the hardest on him. Until recently, she hadn't realized how important their physical connection is to him.

But it finally seems like she’s coming out the other side of the miserable first weeks with her appetite, for food and sex, starting to return. At least this morning she'd been able to think about giving Jake a blow job without triggering her gag reflex.

She flushes the toilet and leans forward over the sink to wash her hands. Tentatively, she ventures a look in the mirror. Her face is getting its color back, although the faint lines around her eyes and mouth have deepened. Her breasts, well, those are definitely different. They're fuller and heavier, stretching her bras to the brink of their adjustments. She'll have to buy new ones soon.

Her hands freeze as her gaze drifts down further. Is that a trick of the reflection? Hurriedly, Natasha straightens and looks down at her stomach. It's slight, but it's there. A little bump in her abdomen. She sucks in her stomach, but it keeps its shape.

She turns off the water and dries her hands, accidentally pulling the towel off the rack in her rush. She tosses it onto the counter and places her hands flat on her sides then slides them to meet in the middle of her stomach. They rise slightly before they stop over her belly button. Definitely a bump.

Hand over her mouth, Natasha looks in the mirror and turns to check her profile, to be sure. There it is. A small, round protrusion. The first sign of Jake's birthday baby.

"Jake!" she shouts. "Jake, come here!"

In her excitement, she doesn't realize that screaming for her husband while pregnant might send the wrong signal. "What is it!" There's a commotion in the kitchen and then the sound of Jake's footsteps pounding through the house. "Nat! Sweetheart, are you okay?" he yells. Oh shit, he's going to break his neck thinking she's hurt.

"Wait, I'm fine, but come here!" she calls back. It doesn't sound like he's slowed down. "I'm fine!"

He bursts into the bathroom with a look of panic on his face, hands still covered in flour from making her pancakes. But she's too excited to wait for him to calm down.

"Do you notice something different about me?" she asks giddily, holding her arms out at her sides.

For a long moment, Jake looks like he's still trying to process that he didn't find her in a heap on the floor. Then his eyes drift down her body, and she can't really blame him when they get stuck on her breasts. His face goes bright red, although there's an aroused gleam in his eye. He swallows but doesn't say anything.

She knows why he's silent and finds yet another reason to fall in love with him. Not that she'd dwelled on having a smaller chest much, because it's generally convenient as an aviator, but it was always something that made her self-conscious in bed. Since the night early in their relationship when she'd drunkenly apologized to him for it, Jake has always made sure she knows how much he adores her perfect little chest. Which isn't quite as little anymore.

She giggles and reassures him that he won't hurt her feelings for appreciating the change. "Okay, yes. You can enjoy those later." His face gets even redder. "Besides that, notice anything different?" She turns to the side as a hint.

He drags his gaze lower and the arousal blasts right out of his face. His jaw slackens, and his eyes are bright and already glistening when he looks back up at her. "Is that?" he checks but chokes up.

Natasha bites her lip, feeling tears prick at her own eyes in response to his. She cries at the sight of a dryer sheet on the floor these days so she's not going to be able to withstand him crying. She nods. He takes a step toward her then hesitates, and her heart clenches with guilt. The last time he'd touched her, trying to help while she threw up in a bag in their car, she'd pushed him away and yelled at him to leave her alone. After apologizing for lashing out, she'd miserably told him she needed space and watched as he hid his hurt while promising her he would do whatever she needed.

She reaches out and takes his hand to bring it to her stomach. His touch remains light and uncertain so she steps into it until his large palm lies flat across the bump of their baby. She closes her eyes, feeling the protective warmth and curve of his fingers, dry and slightly rough from the flour still on them. Relief washes over her when she realizes that she's missed his caresses, the tender way his thumb strokes across her skin, the firm pressure of his love expressed in a touch.

A warm drop hits her bare shoulder, and Natasha looks up to see Jake standing over her, tears running freely down the handsome planes of his face. A few get caught in the corners of his trembling smile. "Is that our baby, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," she says softly, her own vision blurry as she thumbs away the tears from his lips before standing on tiptoe to kiss him. "That's our baby, sweetheart."

As hungry as she is, Natasha doesn't want him to leave her yet. She leads him into the shower and settles her back into the curve of his solid chest. They stand under the water, his temple pressed to hers, arms circled around her and hands splayed over the little bulge of their baby.

"Jake?"

He squeezes her then starts to drop his hold, but she catches his arms. "No. I don't want you to let us go."

Jake kisses the curve of her ear. "I won't," he promises.

Tag List: @melodiousoblivionao3

Ode to Phoenix Masterlist

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misforgotten2 · 2 years ago

Photo

The Deluxe Bachelor Pad edition with the combo sink-toilet didn’t sell as well as hoped. Many customers didn’t see the need for the extra expense.

American Home April 1953

#vintage ad #vintage ads #advertising #advertisment #1953 #kitchen appliances #vintage appliances #refrigerator #1950s #1950s ad #1950's #1950's ad #funny #humor #humour

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hometoursandotherstuff · 10 months ago

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Housing has gotten so ridiculous that a small shipping container/shed is now a townhouse.

Tiny House - $13,500 (Sacramento)

And, b/c this one is in Sacramento, CA the same one is $4,500 more: "2023 Tiny House, Tiny Home, Office, Casita etc. Brand New, Never Used. We Purchased this For our Pond Setting and Changed Plans. Cute Little Factory Built Tiny House. Steel Construction with Insulation. Portable and Easy to Transport. Measurements are 12’X7’X8’. Living area with Sofa-Bed Combo, Desk-Table, Sink Cabinet, Faucet, Mirror, Microwave, Bathroom with Toilet and Shower. Overhead Lighting and 110 Power Receptacles. Just Hook up Hot/Cold Water Lines, Power Source, Sewer and You are all set."

So, you've got your cot/bedroom in the corner, kitchen cabinetry w/microwave next to it, and bathroom/kitchen sink.

Corner kitchen table and seating. This isn't even remotely appealing and the sad cheap furnishings come with it.

Thank goodness they made a separate space for the toilet and shower.

It has to be moved to your own property with water and electrical hookups, plus a sewer.

https://sacramento.craigslist.org/for/d/sacramento-tiny-house/7715424421.html

#converted sheds #shed homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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whump-card · 1 year ago

Text

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 12

1922 words

CW: implied noncon, forced to listen, gun violence, bombings

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Tao woke suddenly, blinking up at the underside of a bed. The only thing he could think about was the pain in his leg. The kind of pain that made his brain go holy shit holy shit holy shit are we dying?

Until he remembered how it happened.

He rolled his eyes around. He lay on the lower of a pair of bunk beds, in a tiny cinderblock room with a toilet-sink combo in the back corner. The door was metal, with a small safety-glass window.

He pushed himself up on his elbows with a grunt, and took stock of his knee. It was covered by loose orange pants – he wore a shirt that matched – but when he reached down to feel it, it seemed to be immobilized by some sort of slim-fitting cast underneath that stretched from mid-thigh to mid-shin.

Exhausted by even that small amount of movement, Tao dropped back onto the threadbare pillow with a sigh. The bunk above him shifted.

“Tao? You awake?”

Vic dropped down from the upper bunk, and crouched at Tao’s side.

“Hey,” he said when he saw Tao’s open eyes, “How’re you feeling?”

Tao took a breath and turned his face away.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Vic,” he said slowly, “But fuck you.”

“Woah, what?” Vic laughed nervously.

“I know about you and Lark,” Tao hissed.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh!’” Tao looked back at Vic, suddenly filled with rage. “Why the fuck would you do that?!”

Vic sat back on his heels, the guilt clear on his face.

“He begged me to, Josh,” he said quietly, “I didn’t understand what… I just didn’t understand.”

Tao fumed in silence for a minute.

“If it weren’t for my leg,” he said eventually, “I’d kick your ass, right now.”

“Yeah, that – that’s fair,” Vic yielded.

“And now Lark is… fuck!” Tao pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to push away the visions of Lark, lying like a broken doll on the stone stage. But it wasn’t just Lark – it was all the rebels who had died that night. Tao’s friends, his comrades. And who knew how many more had fought to the death rather than be captured. The sense of loss threatened to overwhelm Tao, clawing at the inside of his chest and stealing his breath.

“I’m so sorry, Tao,” said Vic, his voice hollow with unshed tears, “I’m so sorry.”

Tao didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what would happen to them. He didn’t know what would happen to what once was the United States, now that the Commander was dead.

Somehow, he felt that it would be bad.

~~~

Marina was inconsolable when they reached the rendezvous point and Karlo and Tao weren’t there.

Faye had revealed a rare human side, and held her tightly as she screamed and cried.

They set up camp in the penultimate level of a parking garage, the only structure left of an otherwise leveled town. It gave them good visibility of the surrounding area, and a long radio reach.

They listened to coms chatter all night. The news that the Commander was dead was met with solemn silence – as was the announcement that a group of captured rebels were being taken to the Capital prison.

Marina started looking at maps.

In the weak light of early morning, Marina approached Becca.

“Is it possible to make bombs out of car batteries?”

Becca didn’t reply. But when Hannah said, “Oh hell yeah you can!” Becca didn’t exactly say no, either.

~~~

Being trapped in the prison cell was torture. Tao was provided no pain medication, so he sweated, and groaned, and writhed. The lights never turned off, so he slept in fits and starts, daydreams seeping into nightmares spilling into daydreams. The axe coming down. The deathmasks of his friends. A car in flames.

Food was delivered to them through a slot in the door at odd hours and in inconsistent portions, as if to keep them confused. Or perhaps, with the Commander gone, his systems were falling apart. Who knew.

It felt like days before their monotony was finally interrupted by the door flinging open with a bang, startling Tao and Vic out of their restless dozing.

General Gordon stood in the doorway, a wild smile on his face.

“Tao, right?”

Tao kept his mouth shut, watching the General warily, but Gordon shrugged.

“Don’t bother lying, Lark told us everything.”

“He’s alive?” gasped Tao, pushing himself upright.

“Of course he’s alive, why would I waste an ass like that?”

Tao gritted his teeth. “What do you want?”

Gordon’s eyes glinted above his smug grin.

“I want to make a trade.” He stepped further into the cell, and a soldier moved to take his place in the doorway. The soldier held a pair of crutches.

“You get these,” the General proposed, “As long as you listen very nicely, very politely, to this recording that I have.” He pulled a small device out of his pocket.

It would be nice to not need Vic’s help to use the toilet, Tao thought, but there was no way this was that simple.

Gordon didn’t wait for an answer, however. He continued on.

“Yes, Lark’s been a very good boy for us. After we patched him up, I decided the boys in the barracks deserved a treat. They’ve been so loyal. I stop by every once in a while, and Lark makes… just the prettiest noises.”

He hit a button on the recorder. Wordless, rhythmic, painful cries, high and plaintive, came through tinny and small from the recorder’s meager speaker.

Tao felt every muscle in his body tense. The pain in his leg pulsed as his heart rate picked up. Horror and rage flooded his system.

“What the fuck?” he hissed.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Gordon scolded him cheerfully, “You have to listen quietly if you want-”

“Fuck your crutches!” With nothing else at hand, Tao threw his pillow at the General. It hit him in the face, and when it fell harmlessly away he was no longer smiling.

“Fine.” He clicked the recording off, just as a voice was asking, “You like that, don’t you, you dirty-” “Have it your way.” Clearly pissed that his mind-games hadn’t gone according to plan, he turned on his heel to leave. But as he was passing through the doorway the whole building shook with an unholy, cacophonous crash. It sent Gordon stumbling, and reverberated through Tao’s bones.

“What the hell is that?” the General shouted over the continuing rumbles, then, seeing something off to the side exclaimed, “Oh shit!” He took off, slamming the cell door behind him.

Vic jumped down from the upper bunk and pressed his face to the little window in the door.

“Oh shit indeed!” he echoed the General, “Tao, you’re never going to believe this!” He grinned over his shoulder.

“What?” Tao demanded, his hopes rising.

“It’s the Watch, they blew the fucking wall open! And…” Vic took a step back and tried the door. It opened. “Yes!”

Tao, grunting with pain, heaved his injured leg off the bed to rest on the floor. “Come help me!”

“Hang on!” Vic ducked through the door out of sight for a moment before returning, bearing the crutches. “They left something behind!”

He helped Tao to his feet and situated the crutches under his arms. Outside their cell, the building continued to rumble and shouts echoed as orange-suited prisoners ran past their door. Tao followed Vic out of their cell into the chaos.

The prison block, Tao could now see, was a two-story structure of cells encircling an empty, open space in a U-shape. The side with no cells, to their left, was blown open, with clouds of dust yet to settle over scattered rubble. Through the hole in the wall was another chamber, but it obviously reach the exterior somewhere beyond that – the prisoners, who had all at this point realized this was their chance at freedom, were making a collective mad dash for the open wound in the building. Standing within the tide, but letting them through, was a group of Watchmen; kitted out with stolen and scavenged weapons and tactical gear, blacked out with spraypaint. One of them held two prison guards on their knees at gunpoint off the to side; looking around, Tao couldn’t see any other guards.

“Let’s go!” Vic started across the atrium towards the Watch, waving an arm, “Over here!”

“Wait!” Tao shouted, “Where did that rat-fuck General go? He knows where Lark is!”

Two of the Watchmen had spotted them and run over. It was Hannah with a rifle, and someone else with a pistol, who shouted, “Where’s Karlo!”

Tao did a double take. “Marina?!”

Indeed, it was Marina’s face peeking out from under an oversized helmet. Her angrily determined expression was a familiar comfort.

“Where’s Karlo? Is he here with you?” she demanded.

“No, but a man was just here…” Tao scanned the room, and almost dropped a crutch when he pointed, “There!” A face flashed in one of the cell door windows before ducking down. “He knows where Lark is!”

Hannah unslung an extra rifle from her shoulder and handed it to Vic. “Let’s get the bastard!”

They charged towards the cell where General Gordon was hiding, Tao taking a second to figure it out before finding he could swing himself along fairly fast on the crutches.

“How the hell’d you get here?” he asked as they moved.

“It’s fuckin’ wild out there, boss!” Hannah replied, “Everything’s falling apart now that the Commander’s dead, soldiers are abandoning the Capital or holing themselves up in barracks, Capital civilians are rioting, this prison was being run by a skeleton crew!” They reached the cell door. “Once we started blowing shit up, motherfuckers ran.”

Vic looked into the cell through the little window.

“There are more of us than there are of you!” he shouted, “Drop your weapons, now!” There was a pause, then he looked over his shoulder with a grin. “Fuckin’ cowards!” He flung open the door and lifted his rifle. Inside stood Gordon and the soldier who had been carrying the crutches, their arms raised and their pistols on the floor. Gordon’s face was a twist of fear attempting to hide behind rage.

“Kick ‘em to me!” Vic ordered, and they had no choice but to scuff their guns across the floor to the rebels. Hannah scooped them up, sticking one in her own belt and handing the other to Tao. Tao tucked it into his waistband, and stepped forward.

“You’re going to take us to Lark now,” he said, “You got that?”

Gordon was breathing hard, trying to sneer but failing as his chest heaved and his hands shook.

“Fine,” he hissed.

Vic gestured with his gun for the General to walk forward. Then he swung his weapon towards the soldier.

“Eh. We don’t need you.” He aimed down and shot the soldier in the foot.

“Vic!” someone shouted over the solder’s scream, “Geneva convention!”

Tao turned to see Becca and the rest of the Watch had joined them, along with the surviving captured rebels and what looked like a few new volunteers, in their orange prison uniforms.

Vic beamed at her. “Sue me later?”

“Quit fucking around!” Tao shouted, and turned on Gordon, “Take us to Lark, now!”

Gordon slowly walked forward, keeping his arms raised. He was doing less to hide his fear, now, and watched them all warily.

Becca stepped aside to let him through.

“Lead the way, fucker.”

~~~

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @whump-em, @morning-star-whump, @thecyrulik, @honeycollectswhump, @pumpkin-spice-whump

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #this death that i chose #cw implied noncon #cw forced to listen #cw gun violence #cw bombings

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