#VERSE. ( don't open; dead inside. )

[lifefcrged]

@mxlusbastardis sent a meme.

☰ lock my muse a small room with bars keeping them locked in

She'd tried to tell him that she meant him no harm, but he'd seem ill inclined to listen and with his weapon and his frame, she'd been more inclined to obey his terse commands than try and argue with him. He'd not done any undo violence in securing her own weapons - a shotgun, a machete and a knife on her hip, though she'd not attempted to go for any of them when he'd made his presence known - and she'd taken that as a good sign. Her few attempts to ask him his intentions and where he was taking her had merited only frustration, so she'd opted for silence until after she'd heard the clang of a cell door slam shut behind her.

She reached to tug the cloth bag off of her head, a swift glance offering her very little in way of recognition of where she might be, other than the obvious. "I understand your need for caution," she spoke, after a moment, keeping her voice steady despite the anxiety that clawed at her chest and stomach. "But I promise you, I mean you no harm. I'm a doctor. You can check my things -- Food, water, medicine, provisions, that's all." Her bags looked diminutive slung over his shoulder. She took a step closer to the bars, her bound wrists held up and offered in his direction. "This seems a bit unnecessary, now, doesn't it, seeming as I'm in here, and you're out there?"

[grapejuice32]

older!raf fingering florist!reader with daddy kink?

florist!reader x older!rafe

warnings: fingering, daddy kink (if you don't like it, don't read it)

word count: 1.2k + a/n: the daddy kink felt like the perfect move for florist and rafe, I hope you like it anon <3

You’d been pestering him all day, but it wasn’t your fault. The shop was closed for the day as you were waiting for more flowers and so Rafe said he would work from home to keep you company. It wasn’t your fault that you were feeling needy, and as your boyfriend, Rafe was supposed to give you attention and tend to you. Your head, fuzzy from the overwhelming ache in your core, wasn’t able to comprehend that he was busy and unable to give you attention. 

In a desperate act, you had gotten into your shared bed to take matter into your own hands. But no matter how much you rubbed your throbbing clit, you couldn’t bring yourself to the edge. It just didn’t feel as good as when Rafe touched you, even when you tried to mimic his actions from memory. You worked yourself to tears, still unable to cum and your clit just sore from your relentless rubbing. 

You got out of bed, clad only in a pair of cotton panties and one of his shirts that fell to the middle of your thighs. His door creaked open, and you stood in the doorway, face flushed and tears running down your cheeks. 

“Oh baby,” he looked up, brows furrowed in concern. He pushed his chair back from the desk to make room for you in his lap, “What’s goin’ on?” You couldn’t help the sob that came out of you as you climbed into his lap, straddling him and hiding your face in his neck. “Oh sweetheart, what happened?” He cooed, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of your head, his other falling to your waist. 

“I can’t do it,” you whined, the skin of his neck becoming damp with your tears. 

He pressed a kiss to your temple, “Can’t do what, honey?” 

A frustrated sob ripped out of your throat as you spoke, “Can’t get myself off. Kept trying an’ trying but just can’t do it.” 

He hummed, rubbing your back soothingly. He rocked you back and forth in his lap, well versed in how to calm you down from your tears. “ ‘m gonna finish up and then I’ll help you out, okay?” 

“Want you to help now,” you countered, your breath still catching as you calmed from your sobs. 

But he only shook his head, much to your dismay. “I need to finish this, and then I’ll help you.” The words were firm now, and it had tears rising to your eyes again. 

Your bottom lip trembled, “Please, daddy?” 

Rafe’s heart stopped dead in his chest at the name. He pulled back to look at you properly, his blue eyes gazing into your wide, tear lined eyes. He reached up to smooth your furrowed brows with his thumb and sighed as he properly took in the desperation in your eyes, “Get in bed and I’ll be there in a minute, okay?” 

Eagerly, you nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek before climbing out of his lap, all but running to the bedroom. He took a moment to calm himself, running a hand over his head as he replayed what you’d said in his head. He delayed his meetings for the day until tomorrow and got out of the ones that he wasn’t urgently needed in before he followed you to the bedroom. 

He found you sat on the edge of the bed, eyes wide and hopeful as you looked up at him. He sat down in the middle of the bed, his back against the headboard and his legs spread. “C’mere,” he beckoned, gesturing to his lap. 

He didn’t have to tell you twice as you moved to sit on his lap, but he tutted and positioned you the way he wanted you sat, your back to his chest and your legs spread and resting against his. “Let’s get these off, yeah?” He murmured softly, kissing your cheek as pulled your ruined underwear down your legs and threw it to the side. 

His fingers slowly trailed up the inside of your thigh, one hand resting on your thigh as his other came into contact with your swollen clit. You jolted at the contact, “Oh, baby. Y’so sensitive.” He commented as he started to trace slow circles on your clit. You could only whine, the feeling of his hands finally on you was more overwhelming than you’d thought it would be. “Got yourself really worked up, didn’t you?” 

You only nodded, your body fully melting into his as your mind clouded over now that he was taking care of you. “Please,” you breathed.

“Please, what?” He tried, wanting to hear you say it again. You frowned, not quite grasping what he wanted from you. “Please, what?” He repeated. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling embarrassed that you’d even called him that in the first place. “I don’t know,” you whispered unconvincingly.

“Yes, you do.” He nodded, encouraging you gently. “Please, what?” He asked again as he put more pressure on your clit. 

Your breath hitched, “Please, daddy?” 

A groan of satisfaction ripped from his throat, and he dipped two of his fingers into your opening. He kissed your cheek again, “So smart, baby.” The praise warmed your chest, your blood singing. “You gonna be good f’daddy now?” 

You nodded, “Yes.”

He paused his movements, “Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy,” you moaned as he began to rub your clit again.

“Good girl,” he hummed, slipping two of his fingers inside you, your neglected cunt clenching around him desperately. Your hips bucked up slightly, back arching as he curled his fingers. He wrapped his free arm around your waist, keeping you pinned against him as he worked you towards the orgasm you so desperately needed at an alarming pace. 

You began to squirm in his hold, your hands wrapping around his wrist as he picked up the speed of his fingers. A cry left your lips, head thrown back onto his shoulder as you tried to get out of his hold, your oncoming orgasm leaving you overwhelmed. Rafe kept his hold on you, focused on the task at hand. “ ‘s okay baby, nearly there and you’re gonna feel better.” 

You could only nod, your toes curling as strings of moans fell from your parted lips. “Daddy, please, I’m –“ you were cut off as you moaned again, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as his fingers curled inside of you. 

“I know baby, ‘s okay.” He said, eyes trained on the sight of you clenching around his fingers. “Gonna cum f’me, yeah?” You nodded, your nails digging into the skin of his wrist. “That’s my girl. C’mon, cum for daddy.” 

You cried out, the words alone throwing you over the edge, your legs shaking as your orgasm hit you at full force, filling your body with white hot pleasure. He worked you through it, his fingers moving at a slow pace as you came down from the high. “Too much,” you panted, pushing his hand away. 

He stilled, slowly withdrawing his hand from you, his fingers wet with your release. Rafe brought his fingers to his mouth, cleaning off your juices before speaking, “Feel better now?” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, breathing still heavy and eyes half-lidded. He only nodded, his hands running up and down your legs to help calm you. “You didn’t um, you didn’t think that it was weird? What I called you?”

He shook his head, “ ‘Course not, sweetheart. I liked it.” He assured, shifting his hips to get comfortable, his bulge brushing against your back to show just how much he liked it. 

[janeeyrewannabe]

are we rockin with simon paired up with a reader who cries a lot 🤥

big cryer big sobber

oh we are

not proofread sorry 😕

wc: <1000

as a crybaby myself this is very close to my heart. Maybe you’re crying about something insignificant or maybe something just feels off. It honestly doesn't take much to set you off. I don’t think simon has a problem with you expressing emotion, i think that he just doesn’t know how to react. The way your shoulders shake as you sob with your head in your hands doesn’t exactly bring out a pleasant feeling in him.

I think that as time goes on he handles it with more grace. He knows what makes you feel better and what will make things worse (he’s learned that one the hard way). Simon says shit just to say shit and it does not help anyone 99 percent of the time. You’ve never witnessed someone screw something up so badly and find all the right words in the same sentence.

This time you’re crying about some asshole at work. Simon’s well versed in the mechanics of your emotional turmoil at this point. He’ll cradle you in his arms and whisper saccharine words of support in your ear. The pressure of his strong hold around your body and your heart calm you down better than any substance ever could. With your head on his chest, the smooth thump of his heartbeat is interrupted by Simon's voice, “I’ll take care of it for you baby.”

You take it as a joke with a breathy laugh and snort following his statement, but the stern look on his face shows he’s dead serious. You won't be surprised if you see him tomorrow with bruised knuckles and a busted lip. It’s not the first time and it won't be the last.

The only time simon likes to see you cry is when you’re having sex. Lithe body beneath him, face contorted in pleasure. Mouth wide open with loud obscene moans tumbling out that would make a pornstar blush, eyes glossed over with exhaustion. You’re on round whatever at this point. The friction of the coarse hair above his cock against your clit makes it all even more painful. He sees your pained expression, red eyes and mascara covered cheeks. “what’s wrong baby, hmm?” condescending tone dripping with honey.

“Please simon” your words are barely audible but the way his name rolls off your tongue makes him drop his head and groan into your neck. He’s taking his sweet time tonight, languid strokes in a painstakingly constant rhythm, tip of his cock kissing your cervix. “come inside me please, I need you” you say with furrowed brows and desperation creeping in your voice as hot tears stream down your face. He won't admit the effect that this has on him though, not explicitly. You can see it anyways, the way his grunts become more frequent and his white knuckle grip on the sheets beside your head.

You’re so far gone you can't even form words anymore, only gasps and incoherent jumbles of vowels. Simon slips one of his hands between the two of you, thumbing your clit with the conviction of a madman. The new sensation of his firm touch is the final straw that “Oh, god, oh my god, im gonna-” You reach your peak convulsing under his body with your slick running down between the two of you and onto the bed sheets. The atmosphere in your shared space hot and heavy with lust.

“Please,” you whine as you angle your hips towards him and the new position sends him over the edge. His orgasm has him seeing white. He collapses on top of you and his body weight crushed you only a little bit. The feeling of your fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck combined with a sniffle pulls Simon out of his delirious state.

“Feeling better?” he says with a familiar condescending tone.

sorry for not posting for like a month, every time I sit down to write I hate everything about it 😊 I have some more things cooking up don't worry. u guys know the drill, please comment and like and reblog!!!!! 🤍🤍🤍

[ur-mums-house]

Nightwing x Spider-Verse Reader (pt.1)

a/n: heyyyyy, this my first fanfic I've written since my eddworld days(est. 2018)... TomTord was a deep dark time... I'm planning on making this a series! Just kinda testing the waters with this fanfic before I start getting into the meat of it, kinda like a pilot episode. I wrote this at 0130 so please pleASE PLEASE bear (is that the right one?..) with me because this was have like 0 editing or feedback but the next one will! I will also definitely edit it later to fix it... warnings: mentions of the word "job" and spider, horrible grammar Image source: https://www.reddit.com/r/Nightwing/comments/12mbrn9/do_you_prefer_nw_using_normal_escrima_sticks_or/ word count: 1386 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being a full-time college student and a part-time barista was kinda time consuming. Assignments tended to pile up as you questioned yourself why you needed to take 20 credits this semester instead of being normal and taking like 16. As your rent kept getting higher, you had to take up several extra shifts at your job where the pay was shit and the tips even shitier. Oh, and you also worked with the Spider-Society for completely free! You had been perched on the ledge of a building overlooking the city. As much as you hated living in Gotham, you had to admit it was kinda pretty at night. It was about 4 hours into your patrol and no one had been mugged nor had petty crimes had been committed. It was you and your free coffee from work against the entirety of Gotham. 

That was until your web watch alerted you of an anomaly in your universe, no hints on what it could be. With a somber sigh, and a quick sip of your coffee, you were off. You swung from building to building, citizens watched only able to catch the blur of your body in contrast to the bright lights of skyscrapers. 

You knew you were getting close when you noticed a vacant car that had been flipped upside down seemingly as if a toddler had thrown a toy during a tantrum. Within the destruction of mostly public property, trail claw marks that seemed to be an indicator of what was here became more apparent. The sudden shifts of how the claw marks just stopped made it seem as if someone or something had already been trying to stop it. The lack of spider webs lead you to suspect Batman had found whatever it was before you. You weren't complaining, but it would be difficult to distract him from the fact you had just known it was there, and that you had a watch you could use to open portals to other dimensions. Cursing under your breath you pushed forward. You froze dead in your tracks seeing the shape of a human sized lizard tearing thrashing at someone who you first assumed to be Batman. It easily bodied the person as it growled and thrashed about. You knew you needed to help, scaling closer, you realized it fortunately was not Batman, but unfortunately was Nightwing. Due to your work, you had bumped into Nightwing countless times before on patrol, you had deemed him as your personal annoyance (most of the time). You both tended to respond to many similar villains-of-the-week, typically leaving you annoyed at the circus monkey. You had to admit, his tricks were good and his butt looked equally as good in his uniform. As Nightwinged seemed distracted holding one of his escrima sticks inside of Lizard’s mouth to avoid being mauled to death, you closed in on the scene. Only when you had enough momentum, you swung towards them both with your knees bent, and once close enough you kicked the anomaly off of the vigilante. 

"I got it from here, Birdie," you boldly claimed, hands on your hips as you stuck your landing.

"'Birdie'?" Nightwing is repeatedly amused. "Don't thank me," you responded cockily, "I'm just your friendly neighborhood Spider-" You were cut off from a swing of the anomaly's tail sending you flying into a car. The eyes on your mask narrowed as the car alarm blasted in your ears, drowning out Nightwing's snicker. Just for a second you cursed whichever of the universes had 10 foot lizards attacking innocent citizens as if your universe didn't have murderous clowns and their crazy girlfriends roaming the streets. 

Now Lizard's attention was on you. Fuck. You pushed off the car before Lizard hurled his body towards you, crashing into where you once were with a loud BANG. You already felt out of breath, god you wished you were more in shape. You didn't have time to ponder on that thought much further as you noticed Nightwing's smirk. You groaned as you felt a small tingle at your left side altering you to Lizard charging at you again as Nightwing watched. "Eye’s on the lizard, Spidey" Nightwing quipped as he leaned against a light pole amused. He was content with watching you fight this thing alone. You seemed confident about five seconds ago, so as you ducked right under Lizard's claws, he waited to see if maybe, just maybe, you'd ask him for help. Nicely, of course, but your pride wouldn't allow yourself to. "I was distracted," You argued, "and not by the tail." You smirked under your mask as you shot a web at a streetlight near you, pulling yourself up and kicking Lizard in the jaw in Nightwing's direction before shooting a web at its back and pulling the beast to the ground. You couldn't help but laugh as Nightwing flinched, his body tensed thinking he’d be tackled by the 600 pound mutant. He left out a deep nervous chuckle when he was spared the pain. Nightwing let out a troubled breath trying to play it cool. He steadied himself, ready to join you in the fight. Lizard stood up in between the two of you, definitely a lot more tense than before and angry. His eyes were wide, focused on you as he let out a booming roar. Lizard charged at you, his speed consistent with how it's been earlier. It left you with little time to react, slinging yourself over his head, tumbling towards Nightwing with as much grace as a demented turtle. He caught you mid air before you could tumble to the ground below. His hands ghosted over your waist as he steadied you on your feet, a second longer than necessary. Before either of you could speak, Lizard already found himself in search of you as a midnight snack. Nightwing's hands fell from your waist as he readied his escrima sticks with ease, electricity cracking towards the ends. You stepped back as you tried to read the Lizard’s body language and his distance. As the Lizard charged towards Nightwing, distracted by the light from the sparks, you noticed Lizard seemed to be off balance.  If you timed it right you could pin his arms to his sides and keep him down long enough for Miguel or Jess to collect this scaly nightmare back to where it came from. 

"What the hell do you feed something like this?" Nightwing asked, his words snapping you out of thoughts. "Judging by the breath," You fake gagged, "a mix of sewer, mice, and testosterone." "Sounds like Gotham's cuisine." Nightwing dodged as Lizard's claws swung dangerously close to his head, sliding under Lizard's arms. He wasted no time as he flung his fist up, knocking Lizard off balance as he tased him in the middle of the chest stunning him. Lizard stopped in place, stunned by the sudden jolt of electricity in his body. This was exactly what you needed. 

You launched yourself in the air, firing a web directly at Lizard to force him down. The strands of the web wrapped around his arms securely, and with a swift pull you yanked his arms behind him. You secured the rest of it on a streetlight before continuing to wrap him up. You weren’t sure if it was the taser or the web, but either way, Lizard wasn’t moving anymore.

Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to catch your breath, your muscles still tight and veins still coursing with adrenaline. You glanced over towards Nightwing who didn't even seem as phased. God did you envy him for that. Nightwing turned off his escrima sticks, the hum of electricity dying down as he placed them back in their harnesses at his sides. He pushed his hair back before his attention was turned back to you. He couldn't help but laugh as he noticed you seemed exhausted beyond comprehension.

"Ready to call GCPD to haul him off?" Nightwing inquired as he gestured back at your little lizard buddy. 

You shook your head as you leaned back to crack your back, your gaze lingering towards your watch, "I got someone else in mind.

"Hungry?""I could eat. But, if you're offering, you're paying,"

"You really know how to charm a guy."

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

[lovemybluebully]

Over My Dead Body

Got writer's block on the fic I mentioned with X23 so I wrote this to keep my creative juices flowing. 😁 Hope you guys don't mind. lol I swear this was just going to be a little drabble, buuuuuuut I got carried away. It was just like, I have an idea! Oooh I have another idea! And then it just spiraled. 🤣 I suck at writing short fics. lol

Probably not my best work, but just a little silliness between these two guys. Another fic where Wade discovers Logan is ticklish and goes all out on him. I very much enjoy tickle origin fics. 🥰

Again some somewhat movie spoilers, but if you haven't seen the biggest movie in the world by now then that's your fault. lol Then of course the typical foul language and Deadpool's dirty mouth.

"Deadpool and Wolverine"-verse

ler!Wade/Deadpool x lee!Logan/Wolverine

M/M Tickle Fic

Word Count: 5,139

"Fucking give me that remote, Wilson!" Logan let out a teeth-bared snarl while chasing Wade comically around and around the couch like in a Scooby Doo cartoon.

"But baby cakes, I want to watch 'Touched By An Angel'! Wade snickered, managing to stay just one step ahead.

"Fuck that shit! This is the final round for the Flames in the Stanley Cup, and I am NOT missing it!" He finally caught up to Wade and took him down with a flying tackle of heavy adamantium as they both crashed to the floor and the tv remote went sailing out of reach.

Logan quickly scrambled to his feet as he made a break for it, but Wade successfully grabbed his leg to trip him as he hit the floor again with the merc now up and giggling as he ran to claim the prize.

"Yessss! Home run! And the crowd goes wild!" Wade mimicked the sounds of a cheering stadium while triumphantly holding the remote over his head. However, this was instantaneously followed by a loud growl from Logan as he charged his roommate like a bull and slammed into him harder than a Mack truck.

Wade didn't have time to yelp as his body went flying across the room though the remote had been knocked from his grasp and dropped to the ground, exploding the case open as the batteries all popped out. Logan reached down to pick it all up, shaking his head in annoyance as he walked back over towards the couch and tried to jam the batteries back in properly.

"Motherfucking idiot. Just sit your stupid ass down and take the L. I'm putting on the hockey game and that's that."

But Wade wasn't through yet. He was having too much fun with this! He was always trying to get Logan to roughhouse and play with him, but with the X-man being such a stiff it was hard to get him to let loose. Alcohol usually played a big factor in getting Logan to loosen his inhibitions and engage, but at the current moment he was sober as a judge. 

Pissing him off was the next best thing, and Wade loved a good chase and the physical contact, even if it was of the more painful variety. They had a rule about not spilling any blood inside the apartment, but he knew Logan could be pushed too far sometimes and forget about that so Wade would usually back off before he reached that point.

Though at this present time he had only antagonized him a little bit so he knew Logan would be able to tolerate him just a smidge more.

Logan's hypersensitive ears easily picked up the sound of the energetic man coming at him again as he turned around just as Wade plowed all of his weight into him to tackle him onto the couch. Wade quickly took the position to straddle the man's thighs and started making grabs for the remote as growling curses were hurled at him.

"Goddammit! You juvenile fucking moron! Just back off! The only way you're getting this is over my dead body!"

"Bet," Deadpool nodded and kept up in his efforts.

As they played slap-hands fighting to get a hold of the controller it slipped from their grip, hitting Logan in the face on its way down before sliding inside his collar down into his button-up overshirt.

"Nice going, captain loser. Don't worry, I'll get it!" Wade immediately went after it as he haphazardly began squeezing and poking around Logan's midsection as he tried to find the location of the remote hidden beneath the fabric.

As irritated as he was Logan now found that he had a new problem as his body started involuntarily reacting to the way Wade was grabbing at him. It was making his skin crawl. Shivers running up his spine as he began to writhe underneath the other man, trying to avoid the touches.

"Stop squirming, would you? You're making this way harder than it has to be. And I can't find the remote either," Wade teased, always managing to slip in inappropriate innuendos, but Logan was too occupied to make a sarcastic retort as he frantically tried to grab and get control of Wade's busy hands.

"Q-Quit it, shithead!" Logan gritted through his teeth as Wade just clucked his tongue and shook his head.

"Oh c'mon! Stop fighting it and just give it up!" Wade's words held a double meaning in this situation as his hands moved lower, giving the grump a particularly firm squeeze around his hips as Logan couldn't hold it in anymore. 

His back arched off the couch accompanied by a loud snort; his nose scrunched as a soft string of giggles tumbled their way out. 

Upon hearing that Wade immediately stopped what he was doing; practically frozen in shock as he stared down at the bigger male below him. After a few long, tense moments a slow grin of realization started to spread over his face and Logan was suddenly overcome with a feeling of immense dread at what was about to transpire.

"Did...Did you just giggle?"

"....No," was all Logan could say lamely; his uneasy mind not allowing him to come up with anything else as Wade only smiled more.

"Now here's the plot twist that I never would have expected. You wanna tell me what that was all about? Forgive me if I'm finding it difficult to believe that a hardened tough guy like you could possibly be, dare I say it.....ticklish."

Logan's eyes betrayed him as they widened in pure terror; his brain frantically trying to figure out a solution to get him out of this mess, but his silence told more than enough.

"Ohohoho, you are, aren't you? Well this just made things a lot more sexy...I mean, interesting," Wade stroked his own chin, pondering the situation while Logan finally regained his wit and was now on the rebound to try to deny it.

"What? Are you kidding? Tch! I am not ticklish. Where the fuck do you come up with such stupid ideas?" He made his best attempt to sound convincing, but Wade could easily see right through his bullshit.

"I gotta tell you that all sounds exactly like something a ticklish person would say. A pitiful performance like that isn't going to win you any Oscars," Wade smirked before his eyes then drifted back down to Logan's torso, "Oh dear. It looks like the remote has fallen inside your shirt. Whatever shall we do?"

Wade was gently tugging at the front of his shirt as Logan narrowed his eyes.

"Just get offa me and I'll get it myself. Quit looking for excuses to grope me, ya fucking pervert," Logan growled deeply with his characteristic hard-as-nails Wolverine glare, trying to be as off-putting as possible to hopefully get Wade to lose the notion.

"But it's so confusing when your mouth says 'no', but your eyes say 'yes'," Wade grinned, giving a light tickle to Logan's sides that made him flinch, "By the way, what do you want your safe word to be?"

"Touch me and I will cut your useless motherfucking head off, Wilson."

Wade laughed chaotically and shook his head.

"Now that's kind of a mouthful to say. You should pick something easier like 'umbrella' or 'avocado' or 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious'-"

Logan realized he was running out of time for stalling and was now struggling to push Wade off of him before he could actually carry out this heinous act, but the merc simply shoved his arms aside and launched his attack, tickling wildly along his ribcage.

"Oh I get it! You don't want a safe word! Very kinky! I like your style! Well you did say the only way I was getting the remote was over your dead body. Who knew it was going to be death by tickling?"

Logan made a strained grunting noise as he steeled himself and began writhing about, still fighting to force Wade off despite the fingers running along his ribs. He in no way wanted to give Wade the satisfaction of making him laugh and would hold it in for as long as he could.

"Looks like we've got a tough guy, ladies and gentlemen," Wade grinned, momentarily looking out at the camera then turning back to his victim, "You know in all the fanfics I've read it's always the toughest guys that are the most ticklish of all. Look at you doing everything in your power not to laugh. How cute. Too bad you're not going to be able to keep that up. I pretty much wrote the book on 'lerring."

Wolverine had no idea what that meant but could hardly fathom the idea that he was going to have to listen to Wade's annoying jabbering and teases without being able to give him a piece of his mind. Because if he even dared to open his mouth it was game over and he was going to fucking lose it.

"So are you like one of those guys who are only ticklish around here...," Wade squeezed and massaged into his sides as an involuntary grin stretched across Logan's face while keeping his jaw clenched, "Or are you one of those head-to-toe ticklish kinda guys? I'm betting the latter."

While still keeping one hand digging into his side Deadpool now reached up to teasingly trace his fingers with a feather-light touch over Logan's ear and down his neck as the man wrenched his head away and scrunched up his shoulder to try to cover up that side of his head.

"Ooooh so sensitive. Am I going to have some fun with you. All we're missing is the sweet sound of your laughter. C'moooooooon just let it out already. You're not embarrassed of your laugh, are you? I'm sure it's wonderful. Don't be shy now, it's just the two of us here."

Every word that came out of Wade's mouth was slowly eating away at Logan's resolve along with his mental capacity to resist the laughter building up inside of him. Giving into Wade's demands was not high on his list of favorable activities, but he knew it was about to happen whether he wanted it to or not.

"You are one hard nut to crack, I'll give you that. But that's okay, it's just going to make breaking you even sweeter. Heheh, look how red your face is. You look like you're about to explode. I just need to find the right spot to poke that bubble and free you of your burden. Hmmm, I think I know where....," Wade smirked big time as he changed tactics to thrust his hands underneath Logan's arms and furiously tickle into his armpits.

The battle was finally over. Logan had fought for as long as he possibly could, but he just couldn't take it anymore. With Wade having honed in on one of his most sensitive areas he felt his lips make one last valiant effort to stay sealed as they trembled right before releasing his loud, pent-up outburst.

"HAHAHaahaha! AhahahahaStop! Stahahahap ihihhit!" Logan hollered as he managed to shove Wade's hands out of his pits, though they immediately latched onto his waist and dug right in. Wade was beyond pleased with this turn of events.

"Ahhhh there it is. And it's just as adorable as I imagined. See? Nothing to be embarrassed about," Wade's grin encompassed his whole face as he didn't let up and kept kneading his thumbs right above Logan's hips.

"I wahahahasn't embahahaharrassed, ya dehehehense fuhuhuhucking prihihihiiick!  Gahahahahaa! Just didhihihidn't wahahahaha-wahant to gihihihive you the sss-satisfahahahaction!" Logan struggled to speak clearly through his laughter as he twisted and squirmed, trying to wriggle out from under the other man.

"Well mission failed, my little stud muffin. I can't believe you've been hiding your ticklishness from me all this time. Think of all the fun we're going to have together now!" Wade exclaimed with pure glee as he moved back up to the ribs now that he was receiving the reactions he wanted, making Logan cackle uncontrollably.

"Fuhuhuhuhuuuuck!! Okaahahahay! You gohohohohot meheheee! I'm tihihihicklish! Now fuhuhuhuhuhuck ohhohohoff!" Logan's hysterical proclamation was accompanied by a series of hard snorts, making Wade's face light up even more.

"You're a snorter?! Oh that's just so precious! How can you expect me to fuck off after hearing that?! Nononono, I think I will keep fucking on, thank you very much! Besides if I stop now then this will be the shortest tickle fic ever written!" He increased his speed, probing between every rib bone as he played his friend's sides like a ticklish piano.

Logan surprisingly laughed even harder, wheezing for air as he continued letting out a snort every few seconds with his burly arms pitifully clamped as tight as he could against his sides. Nothing was stopping the devilishly dexterous fingers of his hyper roommate though.

"Wihihihilsonaaahahahahah.......sssstooooohahahahahahooooop! I'll....I'll gihihihihive you ohohone lahahahast chaaa-EEEHEEHEEHeheheheheheeh!" Logan literally squealed much to his chagrin as he broke into high-pitched giggles with Wade switching spots to now claw mercilessly at his stomach and waist.

"Oh I've never heard a Wolverine squeal before. It's just the gift that keeps on giving. Definitely going to need that as my new ringtone. But hmmm, I think this could be better...," Wade mused as his fingers kept scratching over the buttons going down Logan's flannel shirt, no doubt hindering his tickling efforts if only a little.

In the next second he grabbed Logan's overshirt and pulled hard in opposite directions to pop all the buttons as the remote was finally freed and clattered to the floor. The mercenary smirked as he saw that Logan wasn't wearing anything underneath as his hairy, heavy-muscled torso was now on full display.

Logan was grateful that it had all stopped and the remote was now nowhere near him as he leaned his head back and tried to catch his breath.

"........Fuck......Okay.....You win you win. Just take the fucking thing.....and go ahead and watch your stupid ass shoHOHohOhOHOhoW! NAAAAHOHOHOHOOOOO!!"

Logan had thought it was over, but his momentary sparkle of hope vanished instantly as Wade paid the controller no mind and lunged for him again.

"Ahh yes, that's much better! Now I can really get my hands in here!" Wade smirked in delight with his fingers currently buried and wriggling into Logan's armpits while the feral man roared with deep belly laughs before fizzling into helpless wheezes.

"Ohoho you're very tickly here, aren't you? Bet you wish you would've chosen a safe word now, huh? Or not. Maybe you're enjoying this. Is that it? Don't lie to me now."

"I'm gohohohohonna fffffff-aaahahahhahahah.....fuhuhuhucking k-kihihihill yooooou!" Logan wheezed out as he weakly smacked at Wade's arms and haphazardly kicked his legs around.

"Awww don't be mean, Peanut. I just can't get enough of the sound of your laugh. That's not a crime, is it?"

Logan couldn't remember having ever been tickled like this. It had been so long since he'd been this close to anybody, and his memory of such things was pretty fuzzy of anything that happened before his regrettable incident. After those events he'd become even more withdrawn and had fallen deep into depression from the unbearable guilt he felt, confident that he never deserved to be happy again.

And then this annoying little fucker appeared at that bar one day and dragged him on the wildest, most fucked up adventure he could ever recall being on. If at the beginning of all that someone had told him that Wade and he were going to become great friends then he would have laughed right in their face.

But it did happen, and Logan was taken-aback to finally be around someone again who actually cared about his well-being. Someone who wanted the best for him and to make sure that he knew that he mattered. Someone who wanted nothing more than for him to be happy.

And Deadpool was always trying to make him laugh. The look of genuine happiness on Wade's face was unmatched whenever one of his jokes managed to land and make Logan chuckle. The X-man seemed to smile a lot more these days, but laughing was still a rare occurrence for him, which is why Logan was so defensive against the tickling that was currently causing him to do so.

But could he say with complete honesty that he truly hated all this? The answer irked him a little bit because it was no, he didn't hate it, but he was conflicted because he still didn't think he should be allowed to feel pure joy again. 

He felt that guilt come up again when he admitted to himself that laughing like this actually felt good. He didn't deserve to feel good. Ever. But obviously Wade had a difference of opinion on that. Wanting him to smile. Wanting him to laugh. Wanting him to let go of his guilt and be happy in this universe that undoubtedly wouldn't be here without him.

"Don't think I forgot about this little sweet spot!"

Wade brought him out of these thoughts rather quickly once he began scribbling all ten fingers over his taut, bare stomach as the Wolverine tossed his head back in howling laughter with his eyes squeezed shut and tears forming in the corners of them.

"Coochie coochie coo! Awwww wittle Wolvie is so ticklish! Yes, he is! Yes, he is!" The merc cooed playfully, knowing all these teases were key to breaking down Logan's mental barriers. And it was working as Logan finally stopped feeling sorry for himself and just gave into it all.

"W-Waaade nooooo! Aahahahahahaah! Cuhuhuhut it ohohhohout! Pleeheheheheeease!"

The merc cocked his head in amusement, having never heard Logan even come close to begging for anything before.

"Oooooh this really is a killer spot, isn't it? Is this rock-hard belly of yours the most ticklish of all? How ironic," Wade mused while absentmindedly squirming a finger down into his navel, making Logan buck strongly and shriek with unrestrained giggles.

"Shihihihiiiiit! Aaaheehehehehehee! Noohohohooot in thehehehere! Fohohor fuhuhuhucks saahaahaakeheehehehehehahahah-st-stoohahahahop tihihihickling! You're kihihhihillin' meheeheehee!"

Wade's stomach did a little somersault at how vulnerable Logan was now being with him. It was all he ever wanted was to see his friend let go of all his anger and self-loathing of the past and surrender himself to the present day. 

Logan was laughing freely now. He wasn't grinding his teeth and trying to hold anything in anymore and he even stopped really fighting to get Wade off of him.  His face and chest were flushed, tears running down his cheeks as he just laid there in a squirming heap with his wide-open mouth releasing endless peals of laughter and pleas for mercy.

In all honesty Wade didn't want to stop just so he could keep Logan in this state for as long as possible where he was freed from the prison of his own mind, though he knew that he'd have to let him go eventually. Still not quite this second.

"Stop? But I couldn't possibly! Look how happy it's making you! I'd be an asshole to rob you of that! Lucky for you I'm such a good friend, huh?! Tickletickletickletickle! Laugh it up, buddy!" He kept ruthlessly tickling his heaving belly while his other hand slid up to creep back into his armpit, rendering Logan into a powerless wheezing wreck.

"Nohohohooot fahahahaaair! Baahahhhahahaha! Wahahade pleeeease! I cahahahaa-cahahaan't tahahake anymohohohore! Uhuhuhuhuncle!"

Between Wade's unrelenting yapping and Logan's loud fits of laughter they both failed to hear the sound of the front doorknob rattling right before it opened and in walked Dopinder with several plastic bags of take-out in his hands.

"Hello? Your UberEats order is here, Mr. Logan. I've got your hot wings and your pizza rolls and your-AAAH!!" Dopinder let out a scream as he rounded the corner to find Wade straddling and feeling up a howling, red-faced and bare-chested Wolverine. 

Upon hearing the terrified cry Wade immediately paused what he was doing as he looked back over his shoulder like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Uhh heeeey Dopinder. Ummm.....This isn't what it looks like.....," he had a guilty look on his face, but quickly revealed his facade as he broke into a devious grin, "Just fucking with you! It's totally what it looks like!"

"And-And what exactly does it look like?" The younger man dared to ask despite his better judgement.

"Well you see Dopinder when two men start living together they begin to develop these feelings; feelings that cause them to get these strong urges that they just can't ignore and-," Wade's tirade of nonsense was cut off as Logan took the opportunity to give him a hard shove and flip him over the back of the couch between pants for air

"Fucking idiot. Don't...freak out, kid. The asshole....was just ticklin' me...is all," Logan breathlessly grunted while moving to take a normal seated position on the couch as Wade then popped his head up from the back.

"That's what he wants to call it. Wanna get in on this action, Dopinder?"

"Oh uhh hehe, n-no thank you. I actually have some more deliveries to get finished. Ermm, next time perhaps," he stuttered nervously as he gingerly placed the food down onto the coffee table in front of them and began to make his exit from the apartment.

"Don't think I'm not holding you to that," Wade teased, making his former cab driver blush and dart out through the door as Wade chuckled and nudged Logan in the shoulder, "Hehehe, did you see how flustered he got? I'll bet he's even more ticklish than you are."

"Leave the kid alone, Wilson. You'd probably kill him. He doesn't have a healing factor like I do," Logan snorted, bunching up his shoulders as Wade lightly ran a finger across the back of his neck.

"Ohh I can be gentle if I want. But I'm pretty sure you're the kind of guy who likes it rough," Wade teased as he moved around to the front of the couch to sit next to the other man, surprised to hear Logan let out a low chuckle.

"Was that a laugh? Nice to see you finally start to appreciate my elite level of humor. Maybe I won't have to start with the daily tickle sessions after all."

Logan made a face at that and lifted his brow.

"Daily? Yeah fuck no, that ain't happening. Once in a while......fine. But I don't think I could take it every day," he mentally shivered thinking about what Wade just put him through.

"Tell you what, you start laughing a little more at my jokes and I'll consider it. But no fake laughing! Because I can tell the difference! Especially now that I know what your real laugh sounds like and let me tell you it's going to be hard for me to get enough of it," Wade experimentally grabbed his knee, giving it a firm squeeze and digging his fingers in around the kneecap as Logan instantly wheezed out a laugh and quickly wrenched the hand off of him.

"Alrihight! I get it! Promise I'll try!"

"I guess that's all I can ask of you. Of course I'm still making it my mission to find everywhere else you're ticklish, and what other really bad spots you have.....unless you just want to tell me," Wade suggested with a grin as Logan just smirked right back.

"Now where'd be the fun in that?"

"You know, you are so right, you smug little honey badger. I gotta say though I'm liking this mood you're in now."

"Well it's your fault. Ya tickled me so bad I couldn't even think straight. Seems like you pushed all the negative thoughts right outta my mind," Logan confessed as Wade began to reconsider his earlier promise.

"Is that so? Hmmm maybe those daily tickle sessions are a good idea after all...," Wade teased just to watch Logan squirm at the thought again.

"I don't think so, bub. Besides, look what ya did," he gestured to his wide-open shirt, pointing at all the areas missing buttons, "You ruined my favorite fucking shirt, dickhead."

"Hardly. You've got like twenty of the exact same one. That's all you ever wear," Wade was quick to point out as Logan just shrugged with a smile.

"So? What's your point?"

"My point is you're a walking fashion disaster. But okay, I'll try not to be so rough next time. We can do the gentle stuff if you prefer. So for research purposes can you tell me how you feel about feathers, hm?" He grinned as he saw Logan shift uneasily in his seat.

"You're gettin' a little crazy now, Wilson."

"Oh c'moooon, just imagine a nice, fluffy feather teasing that big ol' neck of yours.....circling your little tummy button....stroking the backs of your knees.....threading between all your toes....I can't imagine that your feet were spared of your adorable weakness."

"Wade...."

"Oooh! What about raspberries?! Those are fun! Bet it would drive you insane if I blew them on your belly. How about we test that out really quick?" Wade took a deep breath and started leaning towards him with his eyes locked onto his stomach.

"Alright cut it out!" Logan's hand caught him by the face and shoved him kind of hard, though couldn't stop himself from chuckling as he shook his head, "Fuckin' hell, you've seriously got a career in how to mentally torture a guy."

"At your service," Wade tipped an invisible hat as he then surveyed all the bags of food on the table in front of them, "So what did you order all of this for?"

"I told ya I was gonna watch the hockey game. Can't watch it without some proper snacks now," he reached into one of the bags and pulled out a tall can of beer as he popped the pull ring and took a long drink out of it while the other man began removing the take-out boxes.

"Chimichangas? Since when do you eat chimichangas?" Wade looked over at him questionably upon opening one of the containers as Logan gave him a half-smile.

"I got those for you, dumbass. Thought maybe you'd wanna hang out and watch the game with me." 

Wade was left momentarily speechless, truly touched by Logan's unexpected gesture.

"Well.....yeah of course. I'd love to. But how come you didn't ask me earlier?"

"Didn't get a chance to because you started bein' an idiot and going off about some other stupid show....'Touched By An Asshole' or something. What kinda pervy ass show is that anywaahaahaays?" Logan giggled, rubbing at his ribs where Wade had now just indignantly poked him.

"It's 'Touched By An Angel', you disrespectful twat. And it's a national treasure. But besides the fact that I've seen every episode, I didn't really want to watch it. I was just trying to get a rise out of you. You seemed tense," Wade admitted as Logan only shrugged and sipped from his beer can.

"When am I not?"

"Umm...Right now. Honestly I haven't you seen this relaxed in.....ever. Even when you're drunk sometimes you're still pretty moody," Wade pointed out as Logan took it in and knew he was right. He'd literally been forced into laughing off all of the burdens that he had carried for many years. His mind currently free from all the adverse feelings and troubles that he'd been endlessly plagued. 

The effects were likely not permanent but at least for the time being he felt good. Having to suffer through a vicious tickle attack to achieve that was more than worth it he decided.

"Hmph. Yeah. I guess you're right," a smile broke across Logan's face as he punched Wade in the shoulder, "Thanks asshole."

"Any time. And if you ever change your mind about the daily ticklings then I'm your guy," Wade was glowing from the actual genuine appreciation he'd just received from the normally cantankerous Wolverine.

"Heh. We'll see," Logan smirked as he bent over to pick up the remote off of the floor and turned on the television ahead of them, switching channels until he found the right one, "So do ya even like hockey?"

Wade nodded enthusiastically.

"Love it so much that I've never watched a game in my entire life," he said matter-of-factly before clapping his hands in excitement when he saw Dogpool trot into the room, patting the spot on the couch next to him as she jumped up.

Logan sighed as he handed his roommate a beer, realizing that the next few hours were going to be filled with Wade obnoxiously asking questions about every little thing that happened in the game. Though he couldn't help but smile as he watched the man-child start happily eating the chimichangas while simultaneously feeding little bits of them to his unusual looking dog.

Truth be told they all were an unusual bunch. Not just the three of them, but Blind Al, Peter, and Dopinder, to name a few. All these people that Wade had brought into his life and openly shared with him. Not to mention without Wade's intervention he never would have met Laura; someone he found he made a fast connection with and was now someone he cared deeply about.

Really Wade had rescued him that day. Rescued him from himself and gave him another reason to keep on living for. He felt his heart warm as he looked over at one of the side tables where Wade kept a framed photo of all of their friends; only now it was a new picture that included Logan, Laura and Mary Puppins in it.

Logan's smile grew as he reached over to pat the dog on the head before Wade made a whimpering noise and leaned his own head towards him to receive the same affection. He chuckled and obliged for a few moments before getting a wicked grin on his face as he snatched the hair piece off of Wade's head, prompting a momentary yelp of pain from the scarred man.

As the merc rubbed at his head while glaring over at him Logan found it impossible not to start laughing while jokingly dangling the toupee up in his hand. Wade then promptly broke into a smirk that told him he was dead, though even with that warning Logan made no attempt to escape.

Wade easily knocked him onto his back again to mercilessly tickle his sides while at the same time making the Wolverine shriek by blowing those promised raspberries into his stomach. And they tickled just as badly as Wade had said.

Yes, they were an unusual bunch, but they were his whole world now. And Logan was never going to let them down. Over his dead body.

[vase-of-lilies]

… for the tiny tiger au. How about Wanda and Nat freaking out thinking that R got out. Which we did, we’re alone outside. But instead of running like they think we did, we found a baby fox and start poking it and what not to see if it’s alive (cause it’s sleeping) and thinking it’s cute we bring it back to mommy and mama who are in hysterics trying to find out where we went, only to turn when tapped to find us covered in mud/dirt presenting the new friend we have to them, wide eyed kan we eep em? Mommy mama pweeesss?

Nat and Wanda don’t know what to do side eyeing one another because they don’t want their baby to cry, but also. It’s a fox.

Muddy Buddies

Paring: Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Little!Reader x Momma!Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: this is a dark AU, wandering off into the woods, finding a friend, fluff, heavy MD/LG, needles, rabies shots

A/N: This immediately reminds me of this video I saw where this kid found a raccoon and is crying because she can’t take him home 😭 Another small drabble for Into The Tiny Verse:) Also, I'm so sorry. I am so tired so if it sounds like a 10-year-old wrote this (my vocab sucks when I'm tired) then just- Idk bear with me here 😭

Your little self was none the wiser when an opportunity to go outside came up. You didn't have any intention of escaping from your new caregivers, all you wanted to do was go on an adventure with your lion! And when this opportunity came up, you took it.

Natasha had just returned from her trip to town, grocery bags in her arms. Usually, she was much better at keeping an eye on you when Wanda was busy, and when she didn't see you come running to the door to say hi to her, she figured you were asleep or with your mommy.

At this point, you were now a couple feet into the forest surrounding the cabin. Not wanting to scare your mommies, you never lost sight of the house. That is until a little hint of orange just a little further inside the trees caught your eye.

Your curiosity moved your feet closer to the unknown blob of color, and once you saw it you let out a soft gasp. Your hand covered your mouth and you moved just a little closer.

It was a baby fox!

Looking around, you grab a stick with some leaves still on it and you kneel down next to the still fox. Is it dead? Your head pushes. Why isn't the mother here? Another question you ask yourself. With the stick in your hand, you gently poke the soft bum of the fox. The animal twitches, and you jump in surprise. Dropping the stick, you crawl to it, not caring about the mud on your pants or hands.

The small fox squeaks, and opens her little eyes, looking up at you. However, it did not run away. Instead, she yawned and got up from her position on the muddy forest floor. She stretches and even approaches you. Carefully, you hold your hand out and you smile as the fox's wet nose sniffs your fingers.

"Aren't chu jus' the chutest ting?" You whisper, scratching the fox's chin. "Yous name is Butto! (Butter)"

Butter lets out a small whine and a raspy bark, and you pick her up. She looks around as you stand up with her, and she slightly starts to struggle. You hold her comfortably tight, and you walk quickly back to the cabin.

Upon entering the cabin once again, you hear your mommies' worried voices. They shouldn't be worried... I'm right here! They don't hear you come in through the front door, too focused on reviewing the camera footage from outside of the warm abode. The two women don't even hear you enter their office!

Holding Butter and Leo (your lion) in one arm, you gently tap Wanda's shoulder to get her attention with the other hand. Her head snaps to the side, her eyes widening when she sees you. "Tiny! Oh my- Oh, and tiny's friend..." She says with a hesitant laugh, pulling her hands away from your muddy self and your muddy friend.

You tilt your head at her reaction to you but shake it off to ask the more important question at hand. You look up at the woman with doe eyes, "kan we eep em? Mommy mama pweeesss?" Wanda and Nat look at each other, surprised to say the least, but not wanting to hear you cry if they take your friend away.

"Who- uh- who is this, little one?" Natasha says, looking down at the fox in your arms.

"Her name Butto'" You say nonchalantly, as if it was just a new stuffed animal.

"Butter?" Wanda confirms and looks at her wife, eyes wide and asking for some type of support. Natasha can’t help but chuckle, and she kneels down in front of you.

“Tiny, I know this little one looks like a friend, but these little guys are tedious. They aren’t very friendly,” Nat frowns, starting to take the fox from your arms.

“Nnnnooooo! No she fren, mama, she nice,” you protest, pulling yourself away from the woman. “She tan stay wif me in m’room, and she can snuggle wif us!”

Wanda and Natasha devise a plan to get the little fox away from you and back to its mother, and they do that by putting you outside with Butter. In the backyard of course.

Butter in fact wasn’t nice. She scratched you, bit you, and made you cry, but your intentions on keeping her never wavered. Your little brain was just seeing another friend, and that’s all you thought this little fox was.

Wanda offered you a deal. “How about we make a trade?” She asks with a smile. “How about I take Butter, and you take Pancakes?” Your mommy pulls a plush fox from behind her back, and you tilt your head. “Just like you need mommy to take care of you, so does little Butter, and we need to get her back to her mommy.” Wanda says, and you start to understand.

“Butter has mommy too?” You ask, tears forming in your eyes at the thought of being taken away from your caretakers. Wanda nods softly and takes Butter from your hands.

“Yeah, so let’s get her back to her home and we can play with Pancakes all night. How does that sound?” Wanda asks you, finally pulling the baby fox from your scratched up hands.

Natasha had contacted Bruce Banner. He may be a human doctor, but he knows where this little fox can go to get real care. He even said that you and your mommies could visit her too! While Wanda held you in her arms, Natasha was distracting you while Bruce gave you a few rabies shots, and a few other vaccines to help you stay healthy after touching a wild animal.

You were not a fan of needles, and the two women knew that.

As you waved goodbye to Bruce and Butter, you sighed softly. “Butto’ sc’atched me,” you sniffle, looking down at your hands that now stung.

“Oh honey, it’s ok, let’s go get you cleaned up for dinner, ok?” Wanda says, picking you up bridal-style and taking you to the bathroom to wash up.

Once your bath was finished, Wanda bandaged your hands and arms and got you all warmed up in your pjs. After dinner, your mommies kept their promise and you played with your new (fluff-filled) friend until you fell asleep!

“We need to watch her carefully…” Natasha chuckles, stroking her knuckle over your sleeping face.

Wanda nods, “Agreed!”

[devildom-moss]

February poll story

NSFW - Simeon x Barbatos x MC

(Barbatos x Simeon x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (switch!verse!Barbatos / switch(/bratty sub?)!bottom!Simeon / dom!top!MC) (poly/threesome; MC with cock/strap-on; partially outdoor sex; exhibitionism; voyeurism; oral - receiving/strap sucking; anal - giving Simeon and Barbatos; frottage; Simeon gets double stuffed because he's a good boy; slightly cruel and teasing MC; but also plenty of soft MC; multiple orgasms - but no MC orgasm specified; no condom (bad, don't do); anal creampie; cum used as lube (also bad); begging, fingering; handjob; overstim; praise; pet names "good boy(s)" "angel"; slight degradation (slut-praising?); slight aftercare mentions) (established relationship with Simeon; relationship hierarchy) (no plot, all horny)

Word Count: +2,900

“You’re so fucking pretty like this.” You bent down to whisper in Simeon’s ear, keeping your length still inside him as he squirmed, desperate for the slightest bit of friction. You smirked. “So. Fucking. Pretty, angel.”

“Please –” Simeon begged, grinding back against your hips “– more.”

You straightened your spine and placed your hand on the small of Simeon’s back, making him arch against the railing of Purgatory Hall’s balcony. A quarter moon hung in the sky, providing just enough light to make his skin glisten, highlighting every soft edge of his body. He was luminous. The view of the stars twinkling above mountains and over colorful city lights was overshadowed when you had Simeon bent over the rail and moaning on your cock/strap. His skin burned from arousal, and the cool night air felt nice against his burning cheeks as desperation rose in him. How much more would his skin burn if he could think about the potential of someone looking up and seeing him? It bore repeating:

“So. Fucking. Pretty.” You punctuated each word by sliding out of him and thrusting back in with a ravenous force, earning a soft groan every time. Dissolving into a mess of lust and pleasure, Simeon was reduced to whimpers and loud, needy whining.

Those noises echoed into the hall, where they alerted Barbatos, who had stopped by to deliver some sweets that he had baked. Simeon was supposed to be all alone for the weekend, and Barbatos was worried that the angel might get lonely. Upon hearing Simeon groaning, Barbatos used magic to rush into Purgatory Hall and scanned for the source of the noise. The doors to the balcony were left open. Barbatos felt a cold breeze blow in, carrying the sound of Simeon’s moans on the wind. He ran outside.

“Simeon! Are you –” Barbatos stopped dead in his tracks. He should have known better.

You and Simeon both turned to the entrance to see Barbatos standing there. Simeon wanted to look shocked, but all he could manage was a blissful, desperate stare – his mouth still agape and his eyes glossy. He tightened around you, and you smirked at the sudden sensation. Well, Barbatos had already caught you, and if you were going to get in trouble anyway, you might as well keep going.  Besides, you couldn’t resist teasing Simeon. You pulled out halfway, feeling his resistance, and bucked your hips back into him.

“Simeon,” you cooed, “You got so tight when Barbatos caught us. Do you like being watched that much, my angel? Should we give him a show?”

“MC, wait, please,” Simeon whined as he tried to push himself upright. But you didn’t wait. You thrust into him, rubbing up against his prostate. He steadied himself against the railing. His sweet moans flooded the air, and without thinking, Simeon started to rock back onto you. The pleasure grew until the cusp of an orgasm brought him back to his senses. “Wait, wait. I’m –”

Yet again, you didn’t wait. Why should you? He was still grinding on you like a desperate little cumslut. You brought his hips against yours as he came over the edge of the balcony with a loud groan. Simeon bent back over the railing and buried his face in his arms, absolutely humiliated.

The mortifying silence in Simeon’s post-orgasm comedown was broken by a chuckle from Barbatos’s direction. Barbatos mused aloud, “Oh my, you know, I was actually worried for a second. I should have figured even you would indulge in such activities.”

You laughed along with Barbatos as you slowly pulled out of Simeon. Despite your careful motion, Simeon still whimpered at the emptiness. He immediately stood upright, turned to you, and attempted to hide himself in the crook of your neck. The feeling of his hot breath and soft lips moving against you as he apologized profusely only made you want to tease him all over again.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized again, tilting his head so that Barbatos might hear him more clearly. “I didn’t mean to cum in front of you.”

When he was this adorably embarrassed, you also felt the need to dote on him. You scratched his head, massaging small circles into his scalp, and pulled back just enough to kiss his hair. With sweetness laced into your voice, you reminded him, “He stayed and watched, angel. I don’t think there’s anything to apologize for – not if that bulge in his pants is being honest.”

Simeon shivered against you and turned his eyes to Barbatos, catching his gaze before lowering it down the demon’s body. Desire reignited in him. Barbatos set the bag he had brought over down on the nearby table with a mischievous grin. “Can you blame me for getting aroused – watching a cruel, teasing master and their precious, little slut?”

The words burned in Simeon’s ears. You knew that Simeon loved knowing he was yours; to hear Barbatos call him your slut probably validated those sweet little fantasies in his head. As if you wanted to take him down a peg, you turned to Barbatos and asked, “would you like to try being a precious, little slut, too – if my angel doesn’t mind, of course?”

When you looked back at Simeon, he took your hand and brought it up to his cheek. He leaned into your touch and shook his head while nuzzling into your palm. Barbatos took his cue, and without another word, he loosened his tie and walked over to you. In one obedient gesture, Barbatos dropped to his knees at your feet and stared up at you seductively. Then, he shifted his eyes to Simeon, holding his gaze as he licked up your shaft before taking you deep down his throat. His tongue swirled around you as he pulled back, and he left kitten licks on your tip. Simeon squirmed under the heat of Barbatos’s eyes.

“Barbatos.” You clicked your tongue and tilted his gaze back to you. “I believe Simeon has had enough of your leering eyes.”

Your attention to his comfort gave Simeon butterflies; he leaned into your ear and begged seductively, “Can I help Barbatos while he cleans you up? Please?”

“Can he?” you asked Barbatos, placing your hand under his chin and running your thumb along his jawline. Barbatos pulled away from your cock/strap, saliva staining those pretty lips. He smiled up at you blissfully, showing off his sharp canines, and glanced at Simeon quickly. Then, returning his eyes to you, Barbatos bit his lower lip and nodded twice before opening his mouth and taking you halfway down his throat. You groaned and rolled your head back. Collecting yourself, you turned to Simeon and leaned over to kiss him – messy and heated. When you pulled away, you relished his lecherous gaze and gentle panting. “Play nice, angel.”

Simeon walked around Barbatos and kneeled behind him, crawling between his legs. Simeon’s hands wandered from Barbatos’s hips up to his chest. Slowly, with lingering caresses, Simeon helped Barbatos strip out of his shirt. He groped the demon and teased him through his pants with a touch unbefitting an angel. With your cock/strap still down his throat, Barbatos groaned, causing Simeon to giggle.

“You’re pretty cute, aren’t you, Barbatos?” Simeon cooed into his ear, feeling Barbatos twitch through the fabric under his hand. Still rubbing Barbatos with one hand, Simeon used the other to undo Barbatos’s pants, finally freeing his dick. Eagerly, Simeon stroked Barbatos, earning more moans from the demon. Simeon slowly stripped Barbatos of his pants and underwear as he teased him, “You’re so hard. Do my hands feel that good?”

Barbatos’s cheeks were flushed pink as he bobbed his head on your cock/strap, trying to match the pace of Simeon’s hands. You watched his brows knit together. His chest heaved. A loud whimper escaped him. Simeon hummed and showed you his cum-painted hands. Barbatos, as diligent as ever, continued to serve you.

“Good boy. That’s enough, now.” You ran your fingers through Barbatos’s hair and pulled his head back. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, shiny and slick with saliva, as he caught his breath.

It was hard not to lose your composure when Barbatos stared up at you like that – like he was silently begging for more. The dim moonlight illuminated his face, emphasizing the blush that rose up to his ears. Unfortunately, Simeon wouldn’t let your attention stay fixed on Barbatos for long, and he brought his cum-stained hand up to your cock/strap, using Barbatos’s cum to lube you up.

“Shit –” you hissed. That was sexy. You let Simeon do his job while Barbatos’s lower lip trembled in anticipation. When you were coated, you looked down, catching Barbatos’s gaze, and instructed him: “Turn around and bend over.”

Simeon tried to move out of the way as Barbatos turned, but the demon caught his arm. With one hand, Barbatos grabbed his clothes, balled them into a makeshift pillow, and set it down behind Simeon. Barbatos pushed Simeon down on his back, using the clothes to cushion Simeon’s head, and crawled over him. He scoffed through a wicked grin. “Oh no you don’t, little angel. After that, you’re not getting away so easily. I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable, but I need you to bear with it for a while.”

It was hard to believe that you had gotten so lucky as to get both Simeon and Barbatos below you. You joined them on the ground and aligned yourself against Barbatos’s ass. Without warning or preparation, you grabbed his hips and pushed into him, spreading him open with your tip. Barbatos gasped.

“MC!” Simeon glared at you over Barbatos’s shoulder, and scolded, “You should have prepared him.”

“Actually, my angel, you should have prepared him. Besides, I couldn’t let all of Barbatos’s hot cum go to waste, now could I?” Your tone was cold yet teasing, and Simeon’s defiance crumbled into a pout. You pushed yourself deeper into Barbatos’s ass – still only half-way inside. Barbatos groaned and panted, trying to relax and loosen up.

“I’m sorry, Barbatos.” Simeon sighed and brought his clean hand up to Barbatos’s cheek, caressing him gently as he endured the slight discomfort. “Do you want me to distract you with a kiss?”

“Yes,” Barbatos squeaked out as you pushed deeper. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned closer to Simeon, but to his surprise, Simeon’s lips didn’t meet his. Instead, Simeon reached between their bodies, grabbed both of their dicks in his hand, and started to stroke them simultaneously. Simeon whined and Barbatos moaned, rolling his head back and arching his ass up. He was so overwhelmed that he was able to take you to the base. Fuck, they were cute. When the initial wave of pleasure died down, Barbatos grit his teeth and growled. “You dirty fucking tease.”

Unlike you, Barbatos had the decency to prepare Simeon’s ass before fucking him – although he did have your cock/strap in him just a few minutes ago. Barbatos balanced himself on one arm and stuck his fingers in Simeon’s mouth, teasing his tongue. Being so obediently trained, Simeon sucked on Barbatos’s fingers until they were all wet. Between your hips slapping against him as you filled him up and the feeling of Simeon’s hot tongue, Barbatos found it hard to focus. He pulled his fingers out of Simeon’s mouth with a pop and slipped them into the angel’s ass, stretching him out slowly.

You took a wicked pleasure in watching them both fall apart, melting into pants and moans. Barbatos was at his limit. The sight of Simeon writhing under him, still stroking their cocks simultaneously, was too sexy. Barbatos took his fingers out of Simeon and pulled his hips back, forcing your cock/strap deep inside himself. He aligned his aching cock with Simeon’s ass and pushed into him – your thrusting nudging him deeper than he intended.

“You’re so tight, angel,” Barbatos groaned, finally burying himself to the hilt. “No wonder you’re MC’s precious little slut.”

“My favorite little slut,” you corrected him. Your tone softened to lather on a bit of praise, “and my good angel.”

Simeon’s face burned from both of your words – but your praise ruined him more than he wanted to admit. He would do anything to hear you praise him more – for you to call him “yours.” Your sweetness made his hard cock twitch against Barbatos’s stomach.

“What does that make me? Your good demon?” Barbatos tried to tease you through his moaning as his thrusting picked up. He synced up with you, slamming his hips back when you rocked into him. “Your second favorite toy? Better than eighth, I suppose.”

You chuckled in his ear, acknowledging his little joke. As good as he was making you feel, you were pleased that he knew his place. You rewarded him with quicker, harder thrusts. In a low whisper, you praised them both, “my good boys.”

Barbatos moaned your name as he tightened around you, and his thrusting got erratic until, at last, he came inside Simeon. He didn’t even have enough time to come down from his high before you pulled out of him, earning a pathetic, needy whine from the demon.

“MC,” Simeon interrupted, moaning your name like a sweet, desperate plea.

It was all too clear that he wanted more. As precious as Simeon was when he begged for more, and as much as that turned you on, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him unsatisfied tonight. You gently pushed Barbatos down onto Simeon – forcing him deeper but also giving you just enough access to shove your cock/strap into Simeon’s ass. They both whined and gasped.

“MC, please,” Barbatos whimpered.

“Don’t be selfish, Barbatos,” you scolded him teasingly. “My poor angel didn’t get to cum a second time yet.”

Barbatos looked down at Simeon’s pleading face and nodded. He started to rock his hips again and used one hand to play with Simeon’s chest, pinching and rolling his thumb over Simeon’s nipples. A bit of overstimulation was worth it to watch Simeon’s face twist up in desperate lust as he whined and moaned. Simeon wrapped his arms around Barbatos’s neck, and their lips crashed in a sloppy, hazy kiss. It was a sweet, tender distraction from the pleasure ravaging them both – and Simeon would do anything to savor the feeling of you and Barbatos filling him up. But Barbatos could feel Simeon throbbing against his stomach and tightening around you both, and he broke the kiss, causing Simeon to whine again.

“No more kissing, angel,” Barbatos growled through his panting. “Let me see that face as you cum again.”

Simeon’s eyes screwed shut and his moans hit a fever pitch as he came all over Barbatos’s chest and stomach. When he opened his eyes, Barbatos was staring down at him affectionately. Simeon craned his neck to catch a glimpse of you behind Barbatos. His voice was spent, and he wasn’t certain he had the energy to speak, so he mouthed the words “thank you.”

“Cutie,” you teased.

You grinned and slowly pulled out of Simeon. Apparently, his voice was strong enough for a quiet yelp. Barbatos sighed, trying to calm himself. As you got to your feet, you looked down at them and started to laugh. Barbatos’s back was covered in bright pink scratch marks – with some breaking the skin enough to form small pinpoints of blood.

“I might have to start calling you my kitten, angel. You really did a number on his back,” you informed him with a melodious chuckle.

Once again, Simeon was mortified. He slapped his hands up to cover his face, but Barbatos moved them aside by pinning Simeon’s wrists above his head with one hand. Barbatos gave him a reassuring smile. “Not to worry, angel. I quite enjoyed myself with the both of you. I’ve never had a threesome with a human and an angel before. It was an amusing experience – and now I have a temporary memento. Although, I suppose you do, too.”

Finally, Barbatos pulled out of Simeon. As if prompted by an all-commanding narrator, all three of you looked down to watch cum leaking from Simeon. You pulled yourself together, resisting the urge to milk another round out of Simeon that instant, and offered Barbatos a hand up. He took it, stumbling to your side with shaking legs.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I had a good time, too,” you told Barbatos. You leaned in to kiss him – just passionate enough to pull a content sigh from each of you without riling you up. When you parted, you both offered Simeon a hand, pulling him into your arms. “I think it’s about time to give my good boys a shower – or would you prefer a bath?”

“A shower is fine with me,” Barbatos replied.

“And you, angel? Is a shower good?” you asked, caressing his cheek. Simeon nodded against your hand. You cooed, “my good boy. My sweet angel.”

“Shall I prepare some tea afterwards?” Barbatos offered, slowly returning to baseline. “I can choose something to go with the pastries I brought with me.”

“So that’s what was in that bag,” you laughed as you guided them both back inside. “Yes, Barbatos, thank you. that would be very nice, my sweet demon.”

“Of course, master,” Barbatos teased. Simeon, still in a daze, could only bring himself to pout. Barbatos noticed and stopped in his tracks to snake a hand up Simeon’s neck. “However, I brought them for you, angel.”

Simeon’s face burned, but Barbatos was no better with a noticeable blush on his cheeks as he turned and continued towards the bathroom. You were in for an interesting weekend.

A/N: Sorry I'm a little late on this one. I hope you enjoy this everyone. I hope it's not too out of character... I just really wanted them to get ruined. It felt kinda dirtier than the other stuff I've done. Anyway, yeah. This one's really for the doms/dommes and tops. Also, expect a new poll up March 1st at midnight PST.

[blingblong55]

Christmas Kids-Simon "Ghost" Riley

Not a request but this idea is inspired by @suimon 's post ---- GN!Reader, platonic!relationship, fluff, comfort?, childhood best friend!Simon, civilian!reader ---- also this specific verse from christmas kids you'll change your name or change your mind / and leave this fucked up place behind / but i'll know, i'll know is SOOOOOOO childhood friends with simon coded. especially when you see him again after years and years thinking he died with his family

A/N: Simon is 35 in this and you're 34...and it might be slightly different from this idea

It's been twelve years since you last saw Simon. Two teens, Manchester and some booze. That is the last thing and place you remember from that night. 

You and him met because of your mums, they went to the same schools and so did Simon and you. It was like a movie, two best friends who have known each other since birth. Now all you have of him is a faint memory. He and his family died when you were around 22. It was the news of the city. 

"Mum, please tell me this is a lie," you cry and all she does is give you that look. "I'm sorry, love." The tears, the ache in the chest, it's all engraved in you. 

A knock on the door at two in the morning. 

"Never open the door to strangers," Simon reminds you. "But how will I know it's you?" He chuckles, "I'll use our whistle," he simply says and you nod. 

A knock and a whistle at two in the morning. You go pale. No, it can't be, he– he died, he's been dead for so long. Stupid nightmare, get me out of here. 

Another whistle, waiting for your response. 

You whistle back and get close to the door. You can feel the presence. It's there. He's there. That kid you ran the street with, the guy who took you home after one too many drinks. The stupid jokes and the constant lessons of life. "Simon?" 

"Please open, it's cold," his voice hoarse and once that door opens, a flood of memories comes through. 

His face is bruised, clothes are torn, blood is on them and the faint smell of his cologne is there. The rain filled the silence of the night. Police cars are in the background and he smiles at you. Once he stepped inside, it was a new man who did it, not your Simon. this man was taller, broader, he had tattoos and well...all that blood and those bags under his eyes. 

"You–you were dead, they...they recovered your body and–"

"I faked my death," he was breathless and you guided him to the stool of the kitchen. 

When your mum passed away, you were 27, that is when you needed him the most. Who else to give you a shit joke if not him? And now seven years later and here you are, waiting for a shit joke. 

"Your dad–"

"I know." he cuts you off. He needs no mention of that man, not ever. 

"If you faked your death then, does this mean they are all still alive?"

"No, I couldn't save them," he breaks down, finally. 

All this time, he played Ghost. The man, the myth and a persona that everyone saw as a tough and cold man. When he is here, in your presence, he is that 23-year-old who saw his family dead. He is the same man who cried to you. You were home to this soldier, the last home he had. You hug him and in that second, he turns into a child in need of his mummy and need of desperate comfort. For years he has been running away from the past, of that night and you. 

To be in the presence of the man he is, that is fear but to be in the home of the one person who knows who he is past the mask, is a nightmare. 

"I don't want to!" Simon cried to his father as he got the snake closer to him. 

"Dad, stop this isn't right." The same night when he was told to laugh at a woman who had passed out on the floor. 

But, you know what they say, Dead will follow, Dead won't leave, Dead won't rise, Dead and Gone all this except Simon Riley, he stays like the ghost he is. Now, he is a man who let all of his terrors catch up to him and as they haunt his head, he clings to you. 

In his head, his life flashes. From laughing with Tommy, getting scared by a skull mask, running in the streets with you, leaving Manchester, joining the military, the SAS, getting SA'D, hanging by his rib, crawling from a tomb, having dead friends, having a dead family, Task Force 141 and losing himself to Makarov and now, here he is, crying in a kitchen. If only his father would see him, he'd know his son is nothing but a bastard and a coward. 

"Simon?" Your voice breaks his trance and he looks up. "I'm lost, I don't know who I am anymore," he cries and in that instant, you see him. You see his past and the present. A frown forms on your lips, "What did they do to you?" your hands holding his face and all he can do is lean into that touch. "I'm dead, I'm nothing but a senseless killer," was the description he gave himself. 

In the world of Simon Joseph Riley, he was nothing but a cold-blooded killer, an apparition of his old self who was only meant to kill. 

As the night became morning, he said it all. From when he left to how he found himself at your door. Your heart broke more and more, he was the shell of a man. Nothing but a life of misery left in that stare he gives you. Simon knows he has nothing left for him. You on the other hand are the hidden treasure he left for when needed. 

His whole life– well, ever since the death of his family, he's been running away from the shadows and now he's running away from the military. With his captain being called a general killer, his friend Soap dead, and his friend Gaz lost, you are the last thing a man like him has. Tucked in a corner, the faint of the memory, that is what he has. 

"Please don't turn me in, they'll hurt me again," he cries. Those tears are not just from his current exhaustion, but from all the years he denied the feeling of regret and sadness. Sure he was forced to go to a therapist but after the first one was killed, who else could he trust?

"I'm scared, I'm so scared," he confesses and for the first time in his life, he does feel fear. He saw the shadow of fear when Soap was nearly caught and possibly killed by Shadow Company but he knows fear when all he has is you and the blood that drips from his wounds. "Simon-"

"I miss them, I miss them all, I missed you and I miss being normal," he cups your face and looks deep into your eyes. "Help me, please...I- I need to find myself again." Suddenly he was back at the park you two grew up in. 

"R/N!" His eyes with tears. His father must've scared him again, you thought. "Over here, Simon!" you wave your hand and you see him sigh in relief as he runs to you. His arms wrap around you as he once more confesses how his father hurt him. 

"Let's fix you up and maybe we'll head to the park," you suggest and he nods desperately. "Please, yes, let's do that."

Now, three weeks later, you find yourself hiding him from the world. Task Force 141 was deemed as a danger to others. 

Simon Joseph "Ghost" Riley, is no longer a danger to himself or others. He stares at the moon as he looks out the window, your cat on his lap, purring because they both found comfort in each other. He knows he lived through it, to get to this moment and he'll do anything to finally call a place home. 

A/N: Graceland Too by Phoebe Bridgers also inspired me, you can tell...

Tags: @fake-id-69 @stick-the-dumbass @uraritychain @aalxrose @prettyoatmeal @elowynnlane @infpt-zylith @dakaraissoisso @homicidal-slvt @honestlyhiswife @madsdawson @joyfulmarvelofavengers @qxclamation @nunezr29 @scoobysnakz @iruzias @vampsquerade @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @saoirse06 @ikohniik @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @kaoyamamegami @nobodys-coffee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely

[valentine-cafe]

2/3 rishen 1311

RAHHH SEDUCTRESS RISHEN IM ON THE FLOOR THROWING A PILLOW PUNCHING MY STUFFED ANIMALS CRYING SCREAMING ITS SO GOOD YOU HAVE THE MOST WRINKLY BRAIN :3333333

I need that man to finally get his shit together and stop holding back. HOLDING BACK FROM WHAT RISHEN?!!!! FROM RUINING MY LIFE?!!!!!!!! ILL LET YOU!!!!! ILL LET YOU!!!!!! GIVE ME ONE CHANCE!!!!!

Can I please have a down bad Rishen 1311 with a new cadet reader who's very extroverted and a yapper with everyone, very sweet and likeable that goes dead silent and very shy when they are around Rishen? Because ngl I would actually not be able to ven breathe around her, nor talk and eye contact would make me explode. Its not just the looks its their aura as well. Can it develop into a fingering scenario (rishen top)? Lots of praise, teasing and faux sympathy? :3333333

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : vada !! . . . spy director ⊹ fem reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕verse 1311 ꮽ  rishen herera

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a duty-driven and femme fatale spy director. authoritive and effortless. 

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... your director has been yearning for you for a while now. It is by time you stopped being shy and come be with her  ⊹ cw ٬٬ fingering . faux sympathy . praise kink .

Dazed days and blood spilt in the wine seemed to flow just fine through the waters of your fluster like it was nothing.

The admiral of aegis confused you deeply with the siren eyed stares you recieved on the days you visited the organisation to see your mutual friend who was helping you get comfortable in your new work surroundings.

Shalika had on multiple occasions attempted to leave you in the same room as Rishen without notice. Yet each time you noticed, you'd flee and rush after Shalika.

Your face is a fleeting moment for the admiral to bathe herself in. The rose coloured sheen a memory that continuously haunts her late office hours, wine spilling down the gullet while paperwork stands tall and finished by her side.

Maroon hues as deep as the blood that flowed through your veins, each speck of colour inside of the intricate and a puzzle to solve on their own with the unpredictable intention they carry. They refuse to leave your every step.

How can they? The shyness your body language screams at her whenever she's around is intriguing. Like a new wine to taste after the same boring ones that have found the seductive sharp tongue for the past years. Where you come from, doesn't matter.

She's more curious to know why the pretty vine of grapes caught in her grasp keeps rolling out of her hands when fingers part for eyes to get a peek.

Pleased enough she is, however, when the all the vine needed was a little tug of her hands. Ones that have known hurt, ruthless assassinations of all kinds. To simply squeeze and get you to stay behind one day to talk.

"Every time I see you, it's out the door as fast as possible." She croons against your ear, fingers plunged deep inside of your fluttering hole. Index and middle motioning into hooks and beckons as if urging your orgasm closer like a cat strolling down the street in heat.

Her breath fans against your neck while her eyes focus in on the sight of your fluttering heat. "Don't you think it's a little shameful of a cadet to leave their admiral everytime you see her?"

You can't stop the string of whimpers she effortlessly draws out of you. Tipping the bottle of wine just a little more to let it spill out its contents. "R—Ishen- mghh." Your desperate calls of her name flip away at her stomach, along with the lovely feel of your nails scraping down her back.

"I knooow- I know baby." She laughs against your lips. Tongue lapping against yours in the wet, languid kisses that the two of you share. Her fingers working wonders below you. With success to open up your mouth each time to drink you in. The intoxicating taste of you is more than enough to leave her greedy and wanting more.

Her fingers curl again before thrusting upwards hard, pulling the orgasm out of you so fast even the thoughts that stream throughout your mind couldn't follow. The blood in your system pumps away with adrenaline as a moan rips out of you. Immediately swallowed by the woman above you. Her lips hungrily eating away at yours in a heated kiss.

"Feel good? Oh it too much for you? Yeah, it's tooooo muuuuch." She teases and laughs at your whines and fucked out moans for her name. But at the end of the day, the wine she's giving you is one you want to keep drinking of. You'll take more of it, and come back like an addict begging for more after.

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[cossmoluck]

FINALLY finished this

turns out soon means one week+ in my little lizard brain, that's cool

anyways!!! meg

megalo don content,,, food

also, as a treat for making myself take so much to finish this, some of my AU lore rambling thing under the cut (warning, pretty long)

in my design, most of his exterior Nitro armor is removable, being an extension of the augument inside his body, which pumps Nitro both through his lungs and bloodstream, crossing from front to back through his torso. His tubes would be attached to certain openings around his body, which could also have 'lids' put on for safe closing. Every area where the Nitro pumps directly into his body would have 'Nitro burn'- a less proeminent glow than the one in his fueled up form. I, as many others also do, like to think that his mask actually comes off (I haven't drawn him unmaksed yet, but I'll get to that too eventually). One headcanon I have is that when you take his medallion in game, what you take is actually his mask and use it.

For his body I went for a slightly leaner strongman build, as he doesn't seem way too bulky in his non-fueled form, but he's still considerably bigger than most others. I tried to give him a 'scarred shark' look, and gave him burn scars on one arm from a misfiring Nitro Fist hit accident

also his hair look so so fluffy in game and for WHAT

(note, this is all to be taken as an AU. i am by no means well versed enough in Fortnite lore to make something close to canon or actual on point headcanons lol,,, tl;dr at the bottom!!)

i feel like the whole theory with Meg and big chuggus being somehow related is true, but not necessarily in the way others present it usually i don't think they're snapshots of each other in any way, i just think that they've been basically created 'for the same purpose', maybe in the different 'realities?' I'm not 100% sure how the zero point reset worked considering Midas was technically the same and all

so let's say Chaos had created the Slurp legends and Slurp creatures back during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict i like to think that Meg might have been created sometime during then too- a more refined variant of the technology used on big chuggus, enough for him not to end up as brain dead as big chuggus himself (sorry big chuggus)

Megalo Don could have been a fleet leader for the naval forces, as he has an overall very reoccurring military theme with his insignia and stuff. Maybe he was hired by Chaos to aid him and willingly allowing Chaos to modify him into the 'perfect leader', boosted by slurp into near perfection I believe his Oasis style would be what his 'original' look was, with Slurp coursing through his pumps instead of Nitro

so how did he turn into the Meg we know? during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict, his crew got destroyed, probably, and they somehow ended up punished to the Pandora's Box, but not dead like Midas, just punished there I like to think that there is not only one Pandora's Box, technically, and that they're basically some sort of even higher security 'prison' for things deemed disasters under certain circumstances, putting mortal beings into their own personal hell. The ones imprisoned in the Pandora's Box arent necessarily 'dead', like shade Midas in the Underworld, but they're not alive in the full sense either. This particular Nitro filled Pandora's Box sprouted there, leaving behind veins of pure Nitro in the depths of the earth through which the Box had erupted.

in the Pandora's Box, stuck in an infinite purgatory loop of fighting and dying, the slurp that fueled his crew quite literally rotted into Nitro, and Megalo Don himself basically 'rusted' from the rot. The Nitro, essence of death, in a way, compared to Slurp, slowly and surely altered Meg's brain, turning him from a calculated leader into a terrifying tyrant, with nihilistic views regarding his crew and conquest, as he saw them all die over and over again… Another case of 'rotten' slurp beings being Sludge, maybe, as he could perhaps be read as a Slurp creature gone 'bad' (slurp to nitro)

Meg's mind got clouded with the only thing he could comprehend anymore- Nitro coursing through his veins, through his ship, through anything in the living hell he experienced in the Pandora's Box. (Ultrakill flesh prison sounding aah) Obtained by conquest or murder, with destruction being the only method he could even comprehend using to get it, his very life seeming to depend on Nitro at that point, and being released into the world again brought him bo purpose than to seize back all of his Nitro and keep fighting more and more

after he and his crew escaped from the Pandora's Box, Meg had intercepted a boat droning the Island from SHADOW, which had went to scout out Helios after Midas' escape from The Underworld, unaware of the Pandora's Box opening right then, and getting caught in the sandstorm. Meg had just the luck to capture Chaos (or a snapshot), the very man who had taken away his humanity and turned him into a (now) Nitro-fueled beast. From them he also took the island plans, which helped his crew settle in as fast as they did, the Redline Rig digging for Nitro the very moment they got there and the Nitrodrome building itself over the abandoned Fencing Fields, repurposing the fizz machinery there into the dome's car destruction traps

i also like to think that Meg has a father/daughters bond with Scarr and the Machinist, with the Machinist maybe being one of the original scientists on Chaos' team, whom had helped him stabilize his new equipment at the time, and Scarr being a dedicated member of his fleet since before getting banished into the Pandora's Box. Initially, both Scarr and the Machinist would have admired him for his courageous leadership and respected him as a leader, but through their decline in the Pandora's Box, their found family bond only strengthened, with the two of them being probably his only subordinates he actually cares about

i also like to imagine that he had made most of the transmissions particularly silly in hopes of having them tune in on either patrol or at the Nitrodrome and make them laugh with the over the top commentary

tl;dr: i headcanon megalo don as an ex-slurp legend made by Chaos who had rotted to nitro in the Pandora's Box. His Oasis style is what he looked like pre-Box. Also the Mechanist and Ringmaster Scarr are his found family daughters

[lifefcrged]

TAG DROP. ( verses. )

VERSE. ( you are a weapon; not a shield. )

--> MCU / (reluctant) shield recruit.

VERSE. ( you are a weapon; and weapons do not weep. )

--> HYDRA (or equivalent)

VERSE. ( the world was not created in a deluge; it was covered by it. )

--> Waterworld (crossover.)

VERSE. ( a world divided; what a world it might have been. )

--> XMCU (geneticist. mutant / ally of the x-men.)

VERSE. ( if death is justice; what is injustice. )

--> TOG (crossover.)

VERSE. ( women do not forget; women do not forgive. )

--> HotD / GoT.

VERSE. ( i am become; what you have made me. )

--> post hydra au; mercenary / villain verse.

VERSE. ( peace is a lie; there is only passion. )

--> SW. ( dark side force user. )

VERSE. ( Ex Astris; scientia. )

--> ST.

VERSE. ( victims; aren't we all. )

--> unspecified fandom. vigilante.

VERSE. ( no man is above the law; nor no man below it. )

--> on the run, post hydra.

VERSE. ( don't open; dead inside. )

--> TWD / generic apocalypse / post apocalypse.

VERSE. ( this lonely road; trying to make it home. )

--> JUSTIFIED.

VERSE. ( such things must happen; but the end is still to come. )

—> DOMINION.

VERSE. ( the only thing necessary for evil to triumph; is for good men to do nothing. )

--> THE BOYS.

[safety-writes-noms]

Did someone say continuing hyper fixation with Spider-Verse?

You just like me fr. :')

Haha, anyway, here's a thought - do you think borrowers exist in 2099?

How would you imagine an encounter between Miguel and a borrower would go, either in his apartment or in his lab? Perhaps he's tired after a long day at Spider Society and just noms the borrower without asking questions - he'll interrogate them in the morning (maybe he'll feel bad once he wakes up and they're a terrified mess trembling in his gut).

~We love a bit of fearplay followed by comforting reassurance. :D ~

18+ ACCOUNTS AND MDNI PLEASE DNI!! I AM A MINOR!! yesyesyesyes omg imagine being a borrower in 2099

(I didn’t mean to write a whole little fic thing Jesus)

i don't think he's really at his apartment all that often (I'm going off of his original comics leading to atsv) since he's constantly trying to keep the multiverse together so to a desperate borrower, it must be a relief to find a seemingly deserted apartment with electricity and all working components.

and it's massive!! there are a bunch of nooks and crannies that any borrower could just make a nice little home in and it's so easy to get food from the seemingly endless supplies of care packages from some guy named Gabriel (who tf is that?) it seems like a heaven for a weary borrower who's braved giant cannibalistic flying men and flyboys who seem to enjoy stomping out your kind cruelly.

of course there's always a catch. you're sitting on the table when the lights suddenly turn on and a low voice rasps, "Lyla. Lights on, 25% brightness."

A massive figure stumbles through the window in the bathroom. Now, humans and other kind are usually large but this person? absolutely massive. they have to at least tower over any normal human. you freeze in place, blood turning to lead in your veins. Oh gods. You're exposed, terribly exposed. there's no way to get down from the table quickly unless you want to shatter all the bones in your legs.

The person -- seemingly male, blinks at you tiredly. shadows stretch deep beneath his eyes and he's in a sort of suit, a blue-ish black, embellished with angry red that leers at you in the form of a skull. you've seen it before in the snippets of newspaper you've scrounged up from the trash and the glimpses from the holospheres around the city low to the ground. Spiderman, reborn. Spiderman, back from the dead, futuristic and without qualms of killing unlike his predecessor.

Oh no. you've made a home for yourself in Spiderman's apartment. or worse, a Spiderite. But going off of how high-tech that suit is and how accurate it is, this guy is either the genuine article or a very devoted Spiderite. either way, you're doomed.

The man just stares at you for a moment, dropping off his bag and crawling in from the bathroom window he opened from the outside. definitely the real thing. He sighs and trudges over with an exhausted glare. oh, he looks pissed. super pissed.

you tryto escape, you really do, diving off the side of the coffee table with a split second thought. unfortunately, your home invasion victim also seems incredibly fast and a massive palm curls around your body before you hit the hard ground. it knocks the breath out of you entirely and you open your mouth soundlessly, too shocked and terrified out your mind to plead for mercy, to beg, to cry, to do anything.

it all happens so quickly. one moment you're being held in a warm palm, the next second you're confronted by a fang filled maw, sharp canines on full display as you're unceremoniously stuffed inside.

this time you find it in you to actually scream, fat load of good it does you. the massive tongue (oh gods, oh gods, you're in a mouth) curls around your body, soaking you in saliva, turning you over, squishing you in the fleshy side of a cheek. You're getting kinda dizzy and any protests to this confusingly gentle treatment are silenced pretty efficiently. While you're glad you're not being crushed to a broken mess by those horrifying teeth, you're still so, so scared.

Then everything pauses and you breathe, laying on the warm ground. you know ifs not actually ground, but if you dwell on this any more you're gonna give yourself a panic attack. then everything shifts and you're sliding downwards to your horror. please, you find yourself praying, don't let me die like this. Oh, whatever up there, whatever exists. don't let me die like this.

and on par with your usual luck, whatever up there just cackles in your face and you manage a small, hiccuping cry as you're squeezed down a tight, undulating tube. it's awfully warm and slick and with a loud gllk, you're sealed away. you squeeze your eyes shut and pretend that the warmth sliding down your face is just saliva and not tears.

It might take forever. It might take a second. You retreat into the foggy recession of your mind for a little bit until you register sliding somewhere more spacious. This is when it really sets in. You’re stuck. You’re going to die. In this soft, cushy place thrumming with warmth and gentle tightening squeezes, all you can think about is the fact that you are somewhere inside another person, you’re stuck, and there’s no getting out.

Hopelessness swamps over you immediately and you tuck yourself into whatever corner you can find in this ever shifting, curling, living space. You don’t want to think about the fact that you’re in a stomach. Or anywhere really. You can’t do anything. Maybe, if you close your eyes, it’ll be over soon. Faintly, you register the fact that you’re shaking like a leaf. Trembling.

but all you can feel is utter despair. Is it too much to ask for a home? Are you simply not born for happiness? It seems your luck has run out. Too bad there won’t be a next time to try again.

—

Okay. Maybe Lady Luck hasn’t forsaken you entirely, yet. You wake up (miraculously!) and though you find yourself still inside your captor’s stomach, you’re in one piece. It’s a slow, screeching, clawing way to full wakefulness because you feel so sleepy — something that’s immediately shattered to pieces once you hear a low, grumbly voice of the giant that’s sentenced you to a slow, painful death.

“You awake?” The walls around you contract a little as he seemingly pats his stomach lightly. You’re too petrified (and furious) to respond. Awake? What is this human playing at? Oh gods. You desperately pray that this one isn’t hoping to play around with you before killing you. “Come on, I can feel you moving in there.”

moving? More like shaking. But you don’t see a point to keeping silent much longer since he already knows you’re not asleep.

“What more do you want from me?!” You yell, and your words crack in the middle, splintering into stifled sobs. Maybe you lied, before. Warm wetness spills down your cheeks and you wipe away your tears with a soaked sleeve, sniffling pathetically. You think it’s warranted, at this point. There’s no one to make fun of you now (except the giant.) “Isn’t it bad enough that you’re gonna kill me slowly? Painfully?”

the reminder of it all just creates more fresh tears. This isn’t fair. All you wanted was a home. Somewhere that was safe. You suck in a breath through your teeth, burying your face in your knees. It does no good. You can still feel the muscles of the stomach beneath your feet.

There’s a thick silence for a moment, broken only by your stuttering cries.

“Shocking hell. I’m not — I’m not gonna kill you. I’m not gonna hurt you.” This time, the human sounds distinctly guilty. “God. No, no no. Shit.” He groans, and you sniffle. He should feel bad, you think viciously. Then your brain catches up with the rest of what he actually said, and then blue screens.

“What do you mean you’re not gonna kill me? You ate me!” You shriek, almost hysterical. The human sucks in a breath through his teeth, just barely audible from the gurgling ambiance and beat of his heart, somewhere inside the body.

“I… did do that, yeah,” he agrees slowly. “But you’re safe. I swear it. Look, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, you’re not gonna be hurt in any way, shape or form. My body is uh, weird like that.” The walls around you squeeze comfortingly, almost like a hug. To your immense dislike and surprise, it makes you feel just the slightest bit better. Gods.

“Then — why did you eat me in the first place?” You hiccup and the man sighs.

“I was. Tired.” He admits bitterly like he’s disappointed in himself for that. “I can fully own up on this — I really wasn’t thinking. I’ve got these instincts and — shock, these sound like excuses. What I’m trying to say is, it was a mistake on my part and I’m sorry. You’re safe. I’m just wondering what you were doing in my house..”

You don’t know what to make of his explanation so you just decide to keep it going. If he’s telling the truth, then you will personally make a shrine to Spider-Man like a full on Spiderite. Maybe.

“I was — I needed a place to live. My old one was demolished by some flyboys. I’m — im sorry. I didn’t know this place wasn’t abandoned. I just — I just wanted a place to call home.” You’re crying now, for real. You’re not ashamed to admit it.

The man sighs again.

“Shh. S’okay. You’re fine. You’re going to be okay. I’m gonna let you out in a bit, alright? I was wondering why Lyla kept tripping the sensor for mice… guess I got my answer.” He mutters that last part to himself and you blink at his rueful tone. This human is achingly gentle, or at least, from what you can tell. You’re hoping against hope he’s telling the truth… but he tried to comfort you. And to your disdain and slowed tears, it actually works. Damn him and his dumb deep grumbly voice. It vibrates through his body lightly, but you can feel it. “Don’t cry, I got you. We can talk more once you’re out, okay? My name’s Miguel. You’re okay.”

and because you’re that dumb, and that hopeful, you believe him. After all, Spider-Man has historically been for the people.

[takaraphoenix]

'trust' for the guessing game?

Thanks for playing!! ^^

Trust in Large and Satisfying, the upcoming (March 10th) latest installment of my Size-verse:

(Providing the line before it for context to make it a lil more teasing)

“So, if you’re not having sex with Danny, do we think he needs protection from being sacrificed?” Ethan asked curiously, leaning forward to look past them at Danny’s retreating form. “Because I would like to prevent him from being sacrificed. Deuc wants us to help out around here-” “I’m sure your Alpha didn’t mean for you to have sex with my best friend there,” Jackson growled, flashing his eyes blue in warning. “Stiles may trust you people, I’m still skeptical.”

+

Stiles’ cheeks darkened in an enchanting manner. “I think someone is killing virgins. More specifically sacrificing them. Marin said that the threefold death is suspicious, but that two dead people weren’t enough to go by, but now with Emily, I feel so sure about this.” “I trust your instincts,” Peter took his mate’s hand and lifted it to kiss.

And from my upcoming ABOverse arranged royal marriage Stetopher fic Second Spring (to be posted on March 5th):

Stiles’ lips twisted into a sad smile. “You’re lucky, you got two shots at love. Not everyone does. I need you to trust me on this, dad. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need true love, I need our people to be safe. Scotty got true love. And Lydia is going to be the best queen he could ask for.”

And from my upcoming Steter coffeeshop AU prequel to Welcome to the Mean Bean, Stiles Stilinski's Five Year Business and Romance Plan:

For just a moment, Stiles perked up, just to slump down again. Learning about his magic sounded cool, but he absolutely did not trust Deaton.

+

“You don’t trust Alan,” Dalia spoke plainly. “I… never liked my daughter’s pick in Emissary either. But while I was Emissary, I didn’t have an apprentice, and when Alan moved to Beacon Hills, he… mh, he quickly got on my daughter’s good side and when she became Alpha, it wasn’t even a question to her to assign her good friend that position.”

(Can you see Peter's momma scheming and plotting with Stiles? <3)

And ah, for fuck's sake, this actually made me open Lost Memories and Gained Trust and inexplicably I fucked up already. The premise I posted on my schedule is... a fully different one than the notes inside the document? How did this turn into a whole different fic ALREADY I haven't even wRITTEN ANYTHING FOR IT. I'm gonna cry.

Anyway, have the actual notes in the actual fic (it's Steter):

post resurrection Peter with no memories following Stiles around because he has a sense of “I can trust you” and Stiles is like “…I killed you??” but nope he is now stuck with a puppy following him around

And the blind trust was meant as a reflection of a True Mates bond. That. That was the original pitch. I'm gonna have to turn this into two fics again, don't I? *sighs exasperated* Gotta figure out who gets the title in this divorce...

WIP Ask Game

[ink-stains-and-constellations]

I usually write and post Undertale fanfiction on a different account, but I kept seeing those time-travel The Hobbit fics and I really liked the premise, so I wrote a small bit of one. I have no idea what else to do with it, soooooo here have the random fic I wrote at like 1 AM.

(Quick disclaimer, I'm not actually super well-versed in Middle-Earth lore. I've read and loved The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, but I haven't gotten around to reading The Silmarillion or anything yet. I probably got some stuff wrong in terms of lore, so sorry about that. This was written for fun and I'm not planning on making it into a longer fic, but I thought I'd share it because why not.)

Bilbo was dead.

He knew he was dead. He had died in the Undying Lands, finally succumbing to the age of his body, surrounded by Frodo and Gandalf and the elves as he drifted off into his very last adventure. He had lived a long life. A good life. One with regrets, of course, but also one with much joy and love.

Hobbit-lore had never said much about their afterlife - not like the lore of elves, dwarves, or even men - but Bilbo had always supposed it would be something like this, the comfort of home. For he had found himself back in his hobbit-hole, back in Bag-End, seated at his table with a lovely-looking tea spread out before him.

His aches, his weariness, were gone. His joints and back moved easily, without any pain to speak of. His eyesight was perfectly clear. Even his bald patches had vanished, his head and feet covered once again in thick bushes of curly hair.

"Why, I don't feel a day over fifty," he marvelled under his breath, grinning a little.

Leaving his food on the table, he explored his home, running his fingers along the backs of chairs and rifling through drawers. Most things were exactly as he remembered it - better, even for he had not seen his silver spoons for decades, yet there they were, sitting neatly with the rest of his cutlery. The only objects unaccounted for were the things from his adventure; Sting, the coat of mithril, the chests of gold and silver, and the ring (he caught himself a moment before thinking 'his ring'). But he had given Sting and the coat to Frodo anyway, the ring had been destroyed, and he didn't suppose he would need gold or silver in the afterlife, so he paid it no mind.

He had just sat back down to his tea when the doorbell rang. He was not expecting visitors, of course, as he had only just gotten to this hobbitish afterlife, but he was not nearly as fussy about that sort of thing as he had once been, so he got to his feet and went to greet his guest.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been a dwarf, and it most certainly hadn't been a very familiar dwarf with a long beard and a dark green hood, worn and stained from travel, his bright eyes glittering from beneath its hem.

The dwarf hopped inside as soon as the door was open, hanging his hooded cloak on one of the pegs, then sweeping into a low bow. "Dwalin at your service!"

Bilbo was frozen, one hand still on the polished brass doorknob, staring at his old friend, who now looked decades younger and was wearing the same clothes he had been the first time they had met.

"Dwalin?" he asked. "What are you doing here?" Even if the dwarf was dead too, he surely wouldn't be here, wherever here was.

Dwalin frowned slightly. "I am here for the meeting, of course."

"Meeting?" he echoed, mystified.

"Yes, the meeting." Dwalin gave him an odd look, as if he should have already known. "And, er, whose service do I have the pleasure of being at?"

Bilbo blinked. "What?"

"Your name," Dwalin elaborated.

After a moment of mutually puzzled silence, Bilbo took a closer look at Dwalin. The clothes. The appearance. The expression, politely confused. Asking for his name.

I don't feel a day over fifty.

He swallowed. "I - Bilbo." Slowly, he bowed. "Mister Bilbo Baggins, at your service." He straightened, gesturing to the hall behind him. "I, uh - I just set out tea. Please, help yourself."

Dwalin nodded, bustling off down the hall. Bilbo did not follow him, but sat down on the ornamental chair by all the hooks and put his head in his hands. This... wasn't possible, was it? He couldn't be back then. He had died, for goodness' sake.

Before he could get very far with his thoughts, the bell rang again. He sprang up, nearly wrenching the door open to reveal an old, red-hooded dwarf, who immediately hopped inside.

"I see they have begun to arrive already," he noted as he hung his hood next to Dwalin's. He then bowed, giving Bilbo an entirely unnecessary introduction.

"Balin, at your service!"

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," Bilbo replied, bowing in return. "Dwalin is inside - please, go join him, I'll bring out more tea. Unless you would prefer a little beer?" he added, remembering his old friend's preferences.

Balin smiled. "Yes, and some seed-cake, if you have any."

"Yes, lots."

Balin set off down the hall to join his brother, and Bilbo went to the pantry to collect the beer and seed-cakes.

Well, that settles it, he thought, a tad grimly. I am back at the very beginning of it all. He wasn't entirely enthusiastic about the prospect, given that he knew what lay ahead, but he resolved to do his very best with this second chance. To make their journey better with his knowledge. Maybe he could even save...

He shook his head and quickly delivered Balin's food and drink, right before the bell rang a third time and he had to rush back to the door.

It was Fili and Kili this time, and Bilbo's heart started aching when he saw them, young and whole and alive, their yellow beards clean of blood and grime, their eyes sparkling and clear.

"Kili at your service!"

"And Fili!"

He took their hoods and bags, setting them carefully to the side, and bowed back, fighting the urge to pull them both into a hug. Somehow, he managed to speak past the lump in his throat. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family's."

"Dwalin and Balin here already, I see," said Kili cheerfully. "Let us join the throng!"

Bilbo nodded and stepped aside to let them pass. He very firmly set aside his grief, his questions, his racing thoughts, and fixed his mind on the task at hand - namely, preparing enough food, drink, and chairs to host a company of fifteen.

While the four dwarves settled in and got to talking, he hurriedly set out more places at the table, then started raiding his pantry, bringing out everything from the wine to the cheese wheels. Halfway through, the bell rang again, and he practically sprinted to the door - in fact, he got there fast enough that Gloin had only just come puffing up to the doorstep.

Introductions were short, and the five newcomers soon joined the others at the table while Bilbo went back to emptying his pantries before they could do it themselves.

He had almost finished when a loud rapping echoed down the hall, the knock of wood against wood. Bilbo sighed heavily, thinking mournfully of the dent in his nice green door that he had never quite gotten around to fixing, and, whisking one last plate of food onto the table, set off to let his guests inside for the fifth and final time that night.

He made sure to open the door very slowly and carefully, so as not to repeat his mistake from all those years ago and end up with a pile of dwarves on his doormat. This time, all four of them hopped inside without incident, and Gandalf ducked through the doorway a moment later.

"Hello, Bilbo," he greeted with a smile. "I hope you do not mind terribly that I brought guests to our tea."

Bilbo sighed again, casting a glance in the direction of his depleted pantries. "Not at all, Gandalf."

"Excellent!" The wizard clapped his hands. "Now, allow me to introduce you to Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and especially Thorin!"

There were the usual bows and "At your service"s from Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, and none at all from Thorin, not that Bilbo had expected any. He gave all four of them a deep bow in return.

"Bilbo Baggins." He glanced up, meeting Thorin's proud gaze and ignoring the pang of grief, an old, old pain that had never really gone away. "At your service."

Thorin merely turned to toss his sky-blue, silver-tasselled hood onto a hook beside the others.

"Now we are all here!" declared Gandalf, hanging his hat at the end of the row of hoods. "Quite a merry gathering. I hope there is something left for the latecomers to eat and drink!"

"Yes, there's plenty," replied Bilbo, gesturing for the group to follow him down the hall.

Gandalf fell into step beside him, peering curiously down at him. He opened his mouth to ask something, but Bilbo quickly interrupted.

"Be careful of the -"

Thunk.

"Rafters," Bilbo finished with yet another sigh, watching Gandalf rub his head.

"A little low, these ceilings," the wizard commented, grimacing.

"Or maybe you're just a little tall!" called a grinning Fili from the dining room. "We seem to be managing just fine."

"Impertinent dwarf," Gandalf grumbled, hunched over to keep from hitting his head again.

Bilbo darted ahead to pull out a chair for Thorin, the grandest chair he could find in his little hobbit-hole. Thorin paused for a moment, then slowly sank into it, nodding his thanks. Bilbo gave him a quick smile and took his own place at the table, which he had made sure to include this time, as he didn't want to miss out on all the food again.

He wasn't much for conversation, as he didn't want to slip up and reveal all the things he knew, but he didn't bother asking if they would stay for supper after the meal was finished. Already knowing the answer, he just made to collect the plates, and didn't protest when the dwarves sprang up to clear them away instead.

The dishes were soon cleaned and put away, and the dwarves came back to find Bilbo watching Thorin and Gandalf blow smoke-rings around the room.

"Now for some music!" Thorin declared as his company filed into the room, snuffing out his pipe and setting it aside. "Bring out the instruments!"

There was a rush for instruments just as Bilbo remembered, and he sat back in his chair to listen to the dwarves' music. It was enthralling as it had been the first time, and he felt as though he was indeed fifty all over again and feeling a great desire for adventure. He found himself humming quietly along to the familiar tune.

It eventually stopped, of course, once dark had fallen, and Thorin stood to begin his speech.

"Gandalf, dwarves, and Mister Baggins! We are met together in the house of our friend and fellow conspirator, this most excellent and audacious hobbit - may the hair on his toes never fall out! All praise to his wine and ale!"

The ache in Bilbo's heart increased upon hearing his friend's typically long-winded beginning, and he barely managed to reply, "You are very kind." His voice came out with a funny choked quality to it, as if he was about to cry. Which was, of course, absurd, he thought as he blinked furiously against his burning eyes.

Thorin stopped, staring at Bilbo, his brow furrowed. "Is something the matter, Mister Baggins?"

Bilbo quickly shook his head, scrubbing away the tears that were leaking down his cheeks. "Nothing at all, Thorin," he whispered, unable to help the familiarity that slipped out with his friend's first name. "And, uh -" He cleared his throat, speaking a little louder. "Please, call me Bilbo, all of you. It seems appropriate if we're to - uh, work together."

Slowly, Thorin nodded, although he did not continue with his speech. He just... stared at Bilbo, a puzzled divot between his heavy brows, until Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, worried that he had made a mistake.

"Tell me, Mister Baggi - Bilbo," said Thorin suddenly. "Do you have much experience in the matter of burglary?"

Bilbo felt his lips twist into a humourless smile as images flashed in his mind. A golden cup. A large gemstone that could be called white, if you ascribed the same colour to the stars themselves. Before that, a set of keys, countless morsels of food, even the very dwarves who now sat in his dining room. All done while invisible, of course, but perhaps this time he could be a burglar before he found the ring as well as afterwards. (He was a little reluctant to take possession of the ring again now that he knew what it was, but he also knew that it had been an invaluable asset on their journey, and besides if he hadn't found it, it wouldn't have been destroyed, so he resolved to pick it up again as he had before.)

"Yes. Quite a bit, in fact."

A murmur of surprise went around the room. Even Gandalf's bushy eyebrows raised, although he stayed silent, still puffing on his pipe.

"How about travel?" Thorin asked, evidently set on grilling him now. "Fighting? Sword or axe, what's your weapon of choice?"

Bilbo sighed yet again. "I'm rather skilled at darts, if you must know, and I quite enjoy a good hike now and then," he answered, voice dripping with sarcasm that he never would have dared back at the beginning, but he was rather used to being treated with the indulgence afforded to eccentric elderly folk, so he didn't think much of it at all until Thorin snorted and he realised that the dwarf had taken his words seriously.

Another outbreak of muttering spread throughout the room, and amidst all the questions about his sincerity, he caught the fated words, murmured by Gloin to Oin.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

Bilbo's teeth gritted, and he addressed Thorin again, discarding the sarcasm this time. "In all seriousness, I favour a sword, although seeing how I am not currently in possession of one, the question seems moot."

Thorin looked him up and down, as if trying and failing to imagine him using a sword. "I see."

Electing to ignore the dwarves' doubt, Bilbo stood, heading towards the hallway. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I am going to -" His toes snagged on something, perhaps a hole in the carpet, and he stumbled, a hand darting out to steady himself upon Gandalf, who happened to be the nearest solid object.

"Oh, terribly sorry, Gandalf," apologised Bilbo, looking quite a bit less flustered than one might expect. "As I was saying, I am going to fetch a light. I will return in a moment."

"Excellent idea," replied Gandalf, peering down at Bilbo. The dwarves may not have found his stumble suspicious, but the wizard was well aware of the surefootedness of hobbits and suspected Bilbo to be up to something, which, of course, he was.

At fifty, Bilbo Baggins had been polite to a fault and wholly inexperienced in theft. However, having lived over a hundred and thirty years before his death, he now considered himself a fairly seasoned burglar and quite disliked being doubted or mocked. So when he saw the opportunity to prove himself, he took it, and by the time he returned with a lamp, Gandalf was rifling through his pockets in search of a map he was certain he had had on his person.

Bilbo placed the lamp on the table and tilted his head curiously at the wizard, struggling to conceal a grin. "Is there something wrong, Gandalf?"

Gandalf's shrewd eyes snapped to him, and he gazed intently for a moment or two before explaining, "I seem to have lost a rather important map. You wouldn't happen to have any idea of its whereabouts, would you?"

"Not the foggiest clue," Bilbo replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Oh - wait, what is this?" With a - perhaps unnecessary - theatrical flourish, he withdrew the map from his waistcoat, holding it up. "Well, it appears it's right here in my pocket. How odd." He dropped it onto the table in front of Gandalf, his grin breaking through his attempted poker face.

Gandalf stared at the map for a few seconds, then chuckled loudly and suddenly, patting Bilbo on the back. "Very impressive, my friend."

Bilbo laughed and went to sit back down, not noticing the suspicious look Gandalf shot him behind his back.

"Now, then," the wizard began, spreading the map out on the table. "This was made by Thror, your grandfather, Thorin. It is a plan of the Mountain."

Thorin glanced at it, then shook his head, disappointed. "I don't see how this will help us much. I remember the Mountain well enough, and the lands about it. And I know where Mirkwood is, and the Withered Heath where the great dragons bred."

"There is a dragon marked in red on the Mountain," put in Balin. "But it will be easy enough to find him without that, if ever we arrive there."

"Unfortunately so," Bilbo murmured to himself, his shoulders curling a little inwards.

"There is one thing you haven't noticed, and that is the secret entrance," pointed out Gandalf. "You see that rune on the west side, and the hand pointing to it from the other runes? That marks a hidden passage to the Lower Halls."

"It may have been secret once," Thorin countered, "but how do we know it remains so? Old Smaug has lived there long enough now to find out anything there is to know about those caves."

"He may, but he can't have ever used it. It is far too small for him - 'five feet high the door and three may walk abreast' say the runes, and Smaug couldn't have crept into a hole that size even when he was a young dragon, let alone now, after devouring so many of the dwarves and the men of Dale. In any case, the door should be closed and hidden, made to look exactly like the side of the mountain, and therefore kept secret from the rest of the world, if not from Smaug."

Bilbo leant closer to get a proper look at the map, which he had not seen for decades. The Mountain drawn in dark ink on the paper seemed a lot smaller than the Mountain of his memories.

"Also," Gandalf went on, "I forgot to mention that with the map came a key, a small and curious key. Here it is!" He presented it to Thorin, a key with a long barrel and intricate wards, flashing silver in the lamplight. "Keep it safe!"

"Indeed I will," replied Thorin, taking the key and fastening it upon the fine gold chain that hung around his neck. "Now things begin to look more hopeful. This news alters them much for the better. So far we have had no clear idea of what to do. We thought of going east, as quiet and careful as we could, as far as the Long Lake -"

Bilbo had heard Thorin's ramblings before, of course, and if this was an ordinary meeting with friends, he would have tuned him out. However, he was acutely aware of just how precious his time here was - every second with Thorin and Fili and Kili alive, every second with the others smiling and in good cheer, every second unburdened by deep, heavy grief - so he listened quietly to the voice he'd spent so many years missing.

"- but we none of us liked the idea of the Front Gate. The river runs right out of it through the great cliff at the south of the Mountain, and out of it comes the dragon too - far too often, unless he has changed his habits."

"That would be no good," added Gandalf. "Not without a mighty warrior, even a hero. I tried to find one, but warriors are busy fighting one another in distant lands, and in this neighbourhood, heroes are scarce, or simply not to be found. Swords in these parts are mostly blunt, axes are used for trees, and shields as cradles or dish-covers; dragons are comfortably far-off, and therefore legendary. That is why I settled on burglary - especially when I remembered the existence of a side-door. And here is our little Bilbo Baggins, the burglar, the chosen and selected burglar. So now let's get on and make some plans."

"Very well, then," agreed Thorin. "Supposing the burglar gives us some ideas or suggestions." He turned to Bilbo with mock politeness, although it was a bit less mocking than it had been the first time around.

Bilbo drew himself up, meeting Thorin's gaze with a determined look. He was the only one there who knew what was in store, and over the course of the night, he had come to the decision that he meant to bring them all through the journey and out the other side alive and more or less intact, if at all possible. "Certainly, Thorin," he answered briskly. "I should think that we ought to focus on actually getting there and finding the side-door before we worry about dealing with much else. I take it there is quite a lot of treasure?" he added, although he already knew.

Thorin nodded. "Yes, halls upon halls of it."

"It will be impossible for me to move it all by myself. I will be able to perhaps steal one or two pieces before the dragon notices us, so I would suggest you give some thought as to which pieces you should like." A large white gem glimmered in his mind again before he pushed the image away and forged on, ignoring the echoes of dread. "I would also suggest -" His voice trembled, and he cleared his throat, trying to keep his words steady. "I would also suggest that we take a moment to consider the possibility of things such as dragon-sickness, and how it may be overcome once the Mountain is in our possession."

"Sage advice," said Gandalf approvingly, filing away his suspicion to deal with later and patting Bilbo on the shoulder.

Bilbo threw him a quick smile, though he was unable to hide the hint of tiredness to it. He found that he didn't particularly want to speak of their journey anymore, not with the knowledge of what was to come weighing on him, heavy as a sack of dragon-guarded gold.

"And, well, don't you know, I think we have talked long enough for one night, if you see what I mean. What about bed, and an early start, and all that? I would appreciate some help with breakfast tomorrow, if anyone would be so kind."

"You're the host, are you not?" replied Thorin, raising a dark, heavy brow. "But I agree about bed and breakfast. I like six eggs with my ham when starting on a journey - fried, not poached, and mind you don't break 'em."

Bilbo crossed his arms, staring at the dwarf expectantly, until Thorin reluctantly added, "Please."

Bilbo nodded and grabbed a small notebook that had been laying on the mantlepiece, quickly jotting down Thorin's preferred breakfast. "Anyone else?"

The dwarves and Gandalf all ordered their breakfasts, and Bilbo managed to get a 'please' from every one of them. Afterwards, he had to find places for all of them to sleep, which was thankfully a much shorter affair than last time, as he had his previous experiences to go by. He did have to dig extra blankets out of the linen cupboard, and set several dwarves and Gandalf (who was much too tall for his spare beds) up on couches and chairs, but he eventually got them all stowed away and retired to his own little bed. The shock of finding himself back in the past, along with having to host thirteen dwarves and a wizard, had left him rather exhausted, despite the renewed strength of his younger body. Before he collapsed into bed, he remembered to leave a sliver of his curtains unclosed, so that he would be awoken by the rays of dawn.

He fell asleep to the sound of Thorin's humming from the bedroom next to his, and this time, it was comforting.

The Hobbit was created by J.R.R. Tolkien.

[senka-mesecine]

First times with the platoon boys? <3

---

― First time? Yeah, it's admittedly probably Chris's first time too, and if not, it might be the second or third at best --- the result of some casual college adventure that's only to be expected at a formative age on campus. What I'm meaning to say, regardless of his skill level, Chris approaches sex like he's a cherry himself in the literal sense, mainly because he's probably not that experienced or well-versed in the matter, so if you're shy, he's shy. If you're learning, he's learning. If you're uncertain the first time around, so is he, irregardless of the fact he's actually slept with someone before and you haven't. Meaning that there's something really sweet about it the first time around. There's less technical mastery involved, for lack of a better descriptor, and more closeness and general intimacy. Being soft and somewhat fidgety and unsure and landing on cuddling and holding each other a lot longer afterwards, once the deed itself is actually done, more so focused on the aftercare than anything else. Man starts out vanilla, at first anyway, what he becomes later is a whole different can of worms entirely.

― Now, O'Neill strikes me as one of those people who's gonna talk the talk and spin a lot of narratives about all the things he's gonna do to you, and my god, you'll see the stars, your back will be blown out, you won't be able to walk straight for weeks after you're hit with that O'Neill dynamite, you'll be ruined for every other cocksucker in the vicinity and a whole new dimension will open up for you, but the first time you actually get down to it, chances are he's entirely different from what he described himself as; no, his dick doesn't, in fact, split the fabric of reality, but it's still good, just not as hilariously unreasonable as he made it sound like to impress you, which, funnily enough, in ways, might just make him more nervous then you --- the virgin. You'll be pleased, but you'll also probably wonder why he embellished himself so much with standards no human being can ever live up to. Just as likely that he'll be beneath you and that you'll take charge of the whole thing yourself and end up enjoying doing just that. None of this ends up being as he advertised. Not bad, just unexpected.

― You know what's to be fully expected, though? Bunny being a madman. He's gonna be a madman if you have fifty bodies under your belt or if you haven't got a single one; chances are, he'll be equally turned on. He'll be rough, he'll bite, he'll bruise you with hickeys, he'll wrestle, he'll say the nastiest things known to mankind, he'll peddle out all the kinks at once, he'll offer to tattoo you with his name mid-sex because after all, he's your first and that sort of thing should be commemorighted and shit. Or was it commemorated? In either case, your first time having sex is simultaneously your second, third, fourth and fifth because he probably doesn't relent or let up for a good while, just running on some sort of manic energy that's hard to explain or replicate. At one point, a camera gets whipped out and he downright starts taking shots...you know, for keeping. Might just take a couple of snaps of those bloodstained, cum-soaked sheets and thighs too, almost as some sort of weird, bizarre trophy. Undoubtedly makes you sign it to like he would a celebrity giving a specialized autograph. He seems overly pleased with himself once you do.

― Rhah Vermucci initially doesn't believe you're a virgin; which serves both as a complement and as something simultaneously derogatory. Because what you don't know is that he is convinced someone as drop dead gorgeous as you must've been through the ringer (and all things considered, men are hungry, vile dogs you probably had at your feet countless times and it's so transparent you'd pretend otherwise) but also because women default to having that Jezebel spirit inside of them, and if a sucker isn't their first, he's definitely only their second, pinkie promise. Not that Rhah's falling for that age-old story! Of course, admittedly, for all his hang ups, the sex is spectacular, maybe helped along precisely by the fact that he dirty talks you into a mixture of guilt and erotic accusations that altercate and shift between praise and degradation; in one breath you're his perfect innocent that he's going to ruin and lead down a dark path and in another breath you're a lying little double-crossing minx he's bringing to orgasm. You're not sure if it was hatesex, worship, being dommed or being serviced, but it was sure an experience.

― For all his shortcomings and haplessness as an army Lieutenant, Wolfe is probably...Jesus Chris, and I can't believe I'll say...but somehow the most normal and stable minded in the overall platoon when it comes to your commonplace sex, furthermore, to first times and it's this precisely his fish-out-of-water characteristic that has his floundering on the battlefield and his failure as an authority figure that makes him the safest bet to lose one's virginity with. Why? Because there's not too many surprises there. What you see is what you get. Ironically, you aren't walking into a wolf's den. In fact, you might find him trying spectacularly regardless, being overly eager to please and unsure if he should let on just how much thought went into this for him. Yeah, there might be roses on some bedside table and he has no clue how those got there. He probably re-traced his steps on how this will happen depending what he figured you liked or wont like. He might tactically have his college sweatshirt on so you can take it off. Maybe he'll slip his pinkie ring finger into your mouth because he's heard that counts as kinky nowadays. Could very well pretend this is a casual occurrence for him purely so he would come off as cool. It's...stupidly endearing.

― -"Shit, how's that even real? Wait, you for real right now!? Really!? Ain' pulling my leg and no nothin'!?"- King might ask, smiling and amazed, already seeing an opportunity and overly pleased about the fact that he is about to get first dibs, unable to comprehend how this could happen to someone who looks like you, talks like you, is sweet like you --- like, hoo boy, you telling him someone didn't scoop you up by now? What are folks on if they ain't scooping you up!? Well, it must be Christmas, because he is absolutely making his move --- and a first time with King? It genuinely might be the most fun, carefree, relaxed, stress-free and easygoing out of the whole bunch, because you'll spend it laughing, hitting the blunt, getting worked over, eaten out, fingered, prepared, fucked, indulging in foreplay, fucked some more, falling into another fit of giggles and getting high some more, yeah. Maybe going for round two or three while you're both at it. Genuinely, somewhere along the way it boils down to something akin to two fuck buddies who just had the most amazing time together and proceeded laying around for hours just reminiscing.

― You know, Elias is hit by that blissed out high when he finds out and his overwhelming instinct is to just entirely corrupt you and have you liking it, meaning that your first time is less of an experience and more of a spiritual epiphany. People say that losing one's virginity doesn't change them in any way that matters, but with Elias, it legitimately does, because you'll be there high as a kite, on your fifth orgasm, having been eaten out, pleased, pleasured, fucked, despoiled, led to new horizons where what your body can do is concerned, whatever sense of shame you either have or didn't have entirely peeling off and you genuinely don't feel like the same person, rather, like a third eye has opened. You probably didn't realize how dangerous Elias was when you first agreed to do this; or, rather when he came to you. Maybe you came to him? In either case, you feel ruined for all other people. Maybe even overwhelmed. Like too much has been given to you too soon and you can't stop smiling. Maybe it's just the weed pipe you've been hitting together, blowing smoke into each other's mouths between rounds. Yes, rounds. You were chaste this morning and now, you're already talking in term of rounds. What happened?

― Don't ask me how, but I think Barnes quietly deduces it and puts two and two together himself; that is, somehow he already goes around figuring you're a virgin and by the time it comes down to it, his intuition and overall reading of you as a person proving to be accurate and contrary to his what his appearance and overall aura might suggest, if he's your first, he comes prepared and is actually almost uncharacteristically and startlingly careful, to the degree he personally could talk you out of getting down with him and finding yourself someone else to do the job even though, genuinely, that's the last thing he wants --- finding he could never trust you with some cocksucker. Not without getting that cocksucker killed; the overly realistic cynic in him mingling with this almost archaic notion that if he's going to break into you he might as well have the responsibility of not being entirely an animal about it, which means for a first time? Yeah, I can imagine Barnes being intentionally focused, hungry and torturously slow, constant eye contact, missionary face to face, body against body involved --- there's something very classically standard, no nonsense and traditional about it, almost like he is zealously convinced this is how it's ought to be for the time being anyway. Everything else? It comes much later. For now, this ended up being hair-raisingly intense.

[cambionverse]

By any chance are we getting anything for Jesse’s birthday this year 👀 👀 👀

something small! it has been one of those...years...and we don't want to begin posting more chapters of envesseled until we have the ENTIRE fic complete, because that's gotten us in a little trouble narrative-wise. so one thing we did was edited what we had so far, and those edits have been applied to the version that's on ao3 now! though probably no one will notice but us, lol.

that being said, we can't let the day pass without SOME kind of writing getting posted, so we do have a short excerpt (about 1200 words) that takes place early during chapter 7.

thanks so much for everyone who still cares about and is patiently waiting on an update to this verse <3 it is being worked on!! it'll just take time.

---

In another country, in another room, Claire falls through her nightmare again.

It's getting harder to wake her up, Jesse reports; on the rare nights when Claire manages to fall asleep at all, she goes so deep as to be nearly unrousable. He doesn't say sleep like the dead, but there are certainly nights where the weight of a blanket presses Claire down like grave dirt.

The car crashes. She feels Castiel outside, sees her father inside. Blinks, and her father's face becomes Ben's. He reaches towards her face with his blood-covered fingers, horribly gentle, and Claire is locked in her body as she tries to scream—

"You're okay! You're okay. We're in Veracruz, remember? Some hotel I don't remember the name of, but you're safe." There's the slightest fraction of a pause, and then: "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

Slowly Jesse's voice penetrates the blind panic. He's learned not to touch her when she's like this—the backlash of grace is too much for both of them—but the stream of reassurances, fruitless as they are, grounds her. She never sees Jesse in her dreams. He's one of the realest people she's ever known.

"Okay?" Jesse asks, when her breathing has slowed to a respectable degree.

Claire hates it when he asks her that. It's not like she can lie. "Go back to sleep."

"Only if you do too," says Jesse. He knows it won't happen; even before all this, Claire couldn't fall back asleep once she woke up. It used to be Jesse who woke up with nightmares, and Ben who talked him down from the ledge. She's listened to it from the other bed a hundred times. Now all that's left are the calm hum of Ben's bracelet on her wrist and Ben's words coming from Jesse's mouth.

She can't go back to sleep. She can't bear to see that empty face again.

"We're not far from the ocean," Jesse continues, nodding towards the window. "And it'll be dawn before much longer. Wanna step out for some air?"

Claire climbs out of the bed which is not her grave and follows Jesse outside.

It's warm here, even in February, the air humid with salt and the faint sound of waves. There's music playing at a nearby resort, cut through by a car speeding past with its radio blasting. They don't see any other patrons of this particular hotel, but Claire still twists at her braid, trying to look less like she and Jesse just left the same bed.

To her surprise, Jesse hasn't led them out the main hotel exit but through an interior door to the hotel's open courtyard. His face is lit from below from the wavy blue lights of the swimming pool. "So," he says. "You know how you said a fluke is just a skill you haven't practiced yet?"

Claire tilts her head. She remembers saying that to Ben, on one of the many occasions they were discussing how best to train Jesse's new powers without pushing him too far, but she doesn't recall saying as much to Jesse himself. Her heart clenches at the thought of Ben using her words for encouragement.

"Well, the first time was definitely a fluke," Jesse continues, leading her closer to the pool. It's at this point Claire realizes he too has gone barefoot. "But lately I figured, why not see if I could do it again? And I think I've got the trick of it now."

The chlorine-smell of the air reminds Claire of the last time they stayed somewhere with a pool, the hotel where she took an all-night "laundry trip" to have a psychic tell her her soul was eroding. She'd been so frustrated by the time she got back that she'd parked the truck and walked straight into the water, clothes and all. She screamed until she needed to come up for air and then kept screaming, cursing Castiel even though he never listened, until the sudden sight of Jesse staring wide-eyed over his cigarette had shocked her quiet. Somehow, Jesse is always sneaking up on her.

The Jesse of today gives a wry salute. Then, much like Claire so many months ago, he steps off the deep end.

Except he doesn't sink like Claire did. Jesse leaves solid ground and just keeps walking.

Genuine wonder breaks through the ice and grace surrounding Claire's heart. "Jesse," she breathes. He looks...proud of himself, for once, and Claire realizes she hasn't seen that expression in a long time. Even when Ben was here, he'd been too stressed tracking down a cure for Claire to indulge in learning new tricks just for the fun of it. He walks the length of the pool, does a little spin, and returns to the deeper water.

"Well?" he says, and holds out a hand to her. "Water's fine."

"I'll sink," Claire says at once, though her own hand reaches out by instinct—he's been carrying her so many places these days.

The pool water ripples gently under Jesse's bare feet. "I won't let you."

Claire realizes that she wants to try—just to see, just for herself, even if it ends with a cold plunge. She hasn't wanted anything since Seattle, not really. Something about Jesse's tricks makes her remember what that's like. "Don't drop me," she instructs.

"I haven't yet, have I?" Jesse replies, and tugs her forward.

There's a shock of wetness, not unlike the sensation of dipping her feet in the edge of a river, but gravity doesn't pull them down below the surface. Instead the water supports them with a gentle pressure unlike any ground she's ever walked.

"Jesse," Claire hears herself say again. Looking through the clear water below gives her the same entrancing vertigo as being on top of the Space Needle—better, almost, because for the first time there's nothing to separate her from the drop. She takes a few more steps, watching the water ripple out from her feet. When she tilts her face up to look at Jesse again, Claire can feel her face almost remember how to smile.

For a second she wobbles—one foot slips under, water lapping at her ankle—but the next moment Jesse's grip tightens and he's right there beside her, his other arm around her waist. "Sorry," he says, moving them both above shallower waters. "You looked—sorry."

Claire rests her free hand against Jesse's chest as droplets fall from her left heel. He's swaying a little, whether from her slip or from catching her out of it, but there's still distant music echoing from somewhere outside and after a moment Claire realizes their slow movement has aligned with the rhythm of the drums.

Here they are, a deadly weapon of Hell and a shattered glass of grace that an angel dropped, holding hands and looking at their feet like a boy and girl at their first school dance. It's the moment where, in a proper romance, the boy would tilt her backwards and kiss her under the stars. Claire feels her heart clench, and she doesn't even know if it's aversion or trepidation or something—lighter. Something like anticipation.