#(smoke bomb disappears)

[wolfchans]

LEE KNOW ♡ SCARS JACKET SHOOTING MAKING MOVIE

[lambs4slaughter]

unstoppable force and immovable object...

[ssapphos]

i just can’t get over shin hati’s dramatic ass entrance by dropping off her cape and doing that weird failed attempt force jump to impress her girlfriend along with the cocky flirting and there’s ahsoka side-eyeing the gay tension between shin and sabine before they start brawling at each other out like feral cats in the middle of the street because it’s how they bond yeah this is a love story

ahsoka, ‘fallen jedi’

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (X)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here and this is part ten oh gods this was gonna be short at some point oh fuck

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Bath boy took a bath! It was only a little gross! ...Ok JK it was quite gross.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Gifts from Medical, coming through!”

Wally barely feels the way Bart whacks him with a spare pillow case, but the whiffing noise is kind of a clue that the teen wants him to slow down. Or, in all actuality, Impulse probably wants Wally to buzz off, but Wally’s got boxes and boxes of tinker toys in his arms and nowhere else to put them down, so there really isn’t an alternative but a direct route to his destination.

“Go away!” Bart complains, and whacks the back of Wally’s head with the pillow case again. Wally hopes it’s one of the clean ones. He’s seen the ones that Bart’s favorite patient has…used. “No adults allowed! Bats said so!”

That's true. Batman had said that. “Well,” Wally says, dodging his way to the curtain to Bart’s clear dismay, “Medical said it was alright, and we all have to listen to them. They also packed gifts for your bud, so…”

Bart grabs onto the back of Wally’s suit and digs his feet into the tile. “Thatdoesn’tmeanyoucanbargeinhisspace!” the kid protests, teeth gritted, as Wally drags him across the floor with nothing but a determined gait and a tiny bit of the speedforce. (Just a little.) “It makes him nervous!! And then he’ll bite you!”

Oh, yeah, the biting. Wally stops at the edge of the curtain, hands on the gross gray fabric. Hrm.

“Uh.” There’s gotta be a solution to that. He looks down at Bart’s weird mop-head hairstyle. “Will he stop if I bring gifts?”

“Nah. He’s going to eat you.”

…Great.

“Bossy,” Wally decides, even if this is, in the end, for the alien-kid’s sake. Bart squawks. “Oh well. I gotta deliver these anyway. Hey, stranger; I come bearing gifts from your medical team! Uh…hiss if you get mad, I guess?”

Wally bumps the free-flowing curtain to the side with his hips, showing off the aforementioned pile of toys in his arms before poking his head in.

The cluster of darkness on the bed, being largely a mass of black in the vague shape of a humanoid, says nothing.

Bart crawls underneath Wally’s outstretched pile of deliveries so that he can go straight up to the bitiest occupant of the Watchtower proper. The teen kneels down on the floor, put his chin on the entity’s cot mattress, and leans up on the bed up at the shadowy mass of teenager up above him. “I can tell him to go away if you want me to,” he tells the entity, who sort of…turns? Towards the speedster. “I could beat him up.”

Wally snorts. No he couldn’t.

“…I could get Superboy to beat him up,” Bart immediately amends, which, hey! Not nice!

…True, maybe, but not nice!

The shadow-kid doesn’t get up and leave, and he doesn’t start hissing or throwing things—both things Wally is pretty sure he’s capable of. And, well, Wally has a job to do, and unless the alien entity teen actually discourages him from doing it, Wally’s going to do his best to help the kid out on this one.

“Bart, if you really want to help him feel comfy when I pop this on his bed, get between him ‘n me, please.”

Impulse, thankfully, holds off on sulking. He hops onto the alien kid’s medical cot-bed, carefully tucking in a blanket beneath him as to stay…sanitary.

Wally’s got to admit. It doesn’t smell so hot in here. Maybe he ought to have let medical wrestle him into some hygienic gear instead of zipping straight down. Eh. Too late now.

Wally carefully releases the pile of presents from the kid’s medical team onto the bed— snatching one or two bouncers out of the air before they fall onto the floor.

Bart and the nameless alien kid lean in closer to inspect the colorful packages. “Oh, sweet!” Impulse exclaims, eyes wide. “Hey, look, you got new stuff!”

New stuff is right. Finance lets medical essentially decide their own budget; purchase orders of new physical therapy tools are consistently approved even with oversight. In this case, it looked like the team was more than happy to take advantage of that goodwill with a run to the local children’s educational shop.

There are boxes upon boxes of colorful children’s toys on the mattress. Bart looks like Christmas has come early. The alien kid looks—at attention? At least? His claws gently rake over the rainbow-bright cardboard boxes, turning them this way and that so that he can see.

Wally zips away and zips back with a chair for himself. The cot is gross, yes, but more importantly, Wonder Woman has made very clear in her notes that the bed is part the kid’s perceived personal space. Violating that trust with the alien-entity-kid is largely a non-option. If they want to hold themselves up to the standard that J’onn was able to impart in their brief conversation, they have to be kind, careful, and considerate of his personal space.

The Flash (the second) hops into the chair. “Want to help the kid open the stuff, Impulse? Might be hard with his. Uh. Hand claws. Claw…hands?”

They both look at the aforementioned being’s hands. The claws look like hands and sometimes they look like claws, but they mostly don’t look like anything. If Wally stops paying attention, he legitimately thinks he’s alone in the room with Bart and a stiff breeze. 

“…Fingers,” Bart finally decides on. And then he beams. “Yeah! Okay. Hey, look! Let’s open this one!”

The kid-alien-thing mostly seems to respond to the brightly-colored and waving object in his vision and Bart’s cheery tone. Still, react he does. The amorphous form gets closer, tilts forward, and shimmers ever so slightly with attention as Bart begins to narrate his unboxing of colorful grip-shaped silicone toys, with little suction cups on the ends so that they can stick to things.

Bart sticks one to the kid’s side table. It takes the kid a second to observe, come to a conclusion, and then—fumblingly—claw the bright blue sucker off with his fingers until it comes free. The wobbly form of a teenage alien tries, misses, and then tries again to get the suction cup to relatch onto the table. The purr at his own success vibrates quietly through the room. It…the sensation shivers through Wally’s body.

It feels very, very weird. A little too personal. Like…the sound is embedded beneath his skin. Wally carefully scratches at himself, but the sensation of fingers on his suit doesn’t get rid of the feeling brushing against his muscle layer.

Bart doesn’t even react to the feeling, even if he can tell that Wally’s getting twitchy. “Tim thinks that most of his being is extradimensional. That’s why I can tell what he’s up to more; he zings in the speedforce.”

Wally slowly pushes himself up in his chair. “Wait, really?”

Bart doesn’t look up from his new project: unwrapping the cling wrap from dry erase lapboards. They look like they have the alphabet dotted along them in little spots of blue ink. “Mmhm.”

That’s… “Does Barry know?”

“I dunno.” Bart shrugs. He’s too busy watching his friend watch him unwrap preschool toys to give a clearer answer. “You can text him I guess. I think it’s just a theory, but he’s not biting you for being in his space right now, and he’s hissed at like everyone else who’s been here. Hey, look!! This one’s slime!”

Wally half gets up out of the seat. “Okay, okay, I think that one—“ He’s gone and back in a couple of nanoseconds, a plastic cafeteria tray clutched in his fists. “—That one needs a tray, I think. Don’t mess up the sheets with your new goo just because you’re excited.”

Impulse, teen speedster from the future, and a so-far nameless, bodiless alien teenage entity, share a vaguely textured cafeteria tray as they smush purple and yellow sensory beads around in rough circles. There are other toys that get opened, but are left largely untouched: a clock puzzle with insertable shapes serving as the numbers, and a 3D drawing pad with reusable cords on a velcro backing. The winner of the batch seems to be the colorful sensory beads in little tubs, considering that the two recipients of the stuff seem to gravitate back towards it with every new unboxing.

Of course, the favorite has to be the messy toy. Honestly, Wally should have guessed. Whatever. The plastic and wrapping trash is gone in seconds, leaving the kid’s space nice and clean, since apparently Wally is hanging around to be adult supervision. He might as well help out a bit.

And, apparently, the alien kid has something of a heart in his not-quite-present body; when Wally’s done throwing the trash out, the kid’s projectile of choice to chuck at Wally’s torso is a red block of floam putty sensory beads, matching the red of Wally’s suit.

…Wally’s going to take it as a nice gesture. The kid is purring and playing and generally disarmed, so this is probably an attempt at bonding.

The kid has a toy. Bart has a toy. Wally has a toy.

“Thanks,” he says, and unwraps the plastic on the stuff.

The alien might not have words to respond, but he purrs, and he purrs, and he purrs, and Bart hums right along with him.

And they knead putty together.

💚👻👽👻💚

Toys for injured ghosts:

Squigz™ Master Set

Squish & Squeeze Sensory Beads

Double-Sided Early Writing Skills Lapboard

Shape Sorting Clock

Rainbow Cord & Picture Pattern Maker

Yes I used real toys and went on a fake shopping spree; I used a combo of Lakeshore and Melissa & Doug, mostly looking for stuff that either aided with fine motor skills, language acquisition, or both. They know Danny doesn't speak English and they know he has trouble with his hands, and at least one of the Medical team has to have or has young kids, and this is what they came up with collectively. Do they resent that Wonder Woman got to him first? No, definitely not. :( They did try to find toys that weren't outrageously condescending, though; no dolls, no fine motor toys meant for, like, ham-fisted babies. The fact that the toys are, like, equally interesting to Bart, is, like...unique to Bart. Maybe Kon, too. I feel like Tim gets to watch Cassie, Bart, Kon, and the alien play around determinedly with the Squigz while he's defrauding Lex Luthor from his laptop nearby lol

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizontober 2023 | 23: magic

[givehimthemedicine]

I think narratively El has to say I love you to Max. she's been hanging everything on hearing those words and I think she has to realize saying it is important too, that she's not the only one who needs to hear it.

there's been so much in 4 (actually kinda in 3 too) about El finding the importance of other kinds of love than romantic, and we didn't spend as much time processing this part, but the end of 4 also gave us a lot to chew on about the importance of giving her own love, and not just waiting around hoping to receive it. she spent all this time waiting to find power in love from Mike but actually found it in her own love for Max. maybe the "I love you" she's waiting to hear is in her own voice.

[harkingspot]

the project reboot worked. rand finally had everything. a wife to wake up to. and a daughter to watch crappy movies with. but it felt wrong. 

he'd misjudged his desires. really the project reboot failed. jr was gone and rand had lost his everything.

[theunknownmasks]

@mahoushojoumonster / @crimsonandgoldthieves

He's onto you both just you wait. He'll find out.

[yantao-enthusiast]

bring back youtuber AUs pls. i need to read a fic about someone anonymously posts on reddit looking for advice about their troubles with love or something and the person of their affections, who is on a channel like smosh pit or something, reads it and gives advice and they’re like “i totally get it” all vague and stuff while thinking about the person and said person is like freaking the fuck out. bonus points is the initial someone is also on the channel, and even more bonus points if the audience already ships them but as like a mostly inside joke but there are people who are hardcore about it. i eat it up.

[thatsnotbuddies]

made the mistake of being like hey look at my drawing :) to someone irl forgetting i literally have my username as the signature end me

[wiccawrites]

no Feline Purrsuasion snippet for WIP Wednesday this week cuz rl put me in a sour mood 😑

instead I offer u these images

(spoilery)

[grandwretch]

I think hcs were the Harringtons are fine, actually, are cool or whatever, but I genuinely don't know how you justify "good parents" accepting their son was nearly beat to Literal Death twice in one year and apparently not doing a damn thing about it

[gingerbreadmonsters]

wrote a teeny leetle extra bit of something for motion capture that maybe..... maybe i'll post tomorrow??? idk it's kind of cringe but it could be fun yk

[jensenasskl]

sorry guys but i tried listening to sherlock & co. and i couldn’t get into it 🫥

[peachsukii]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 | 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 『 band au | strangers to lovers 』 ♡ artist!reader x drummer!bakugo

summary // In the middle of the night, six months apart, the stars align and allow yourself and Bakugo to make the much needed decisions to save yourselves from drowning in loveless relationships. content // backstory, angst & some comfort, mentions & descriptions of abuse from a partner (physical & mental), ex-bakucamie & ex-toya/dabi & reader, smoking, reference to alcohol & drug usage wc // 2.4k 『 ink & rhythm masterlist ⊹ crossposted to ao3 』

February

This is it, this is the moment you've waited for.

A familiar ache pulses in your chest, your heart begging you to reconsider your actions.

No, not again.

Never again.

There's no use in dwelling on empty feelings right now. You need to take advantage of the opportunity to finally escape from the demon that's shackled you to this hellscape called a relationship. His sharp tongue can't convince you any longer that this pain is love in disguise. There's nothing left to save, no more hope left in your broken heart to fuel the promise of change. Two years of holding onto a nonexistent future, forced to accept that this reality was the closest you'd get to having a happily ever after, full of fights fueled by drugs and alcohol. The screaming matches, shoving, threats…and the love bombing to make everything magically disappear in front of others.

There's no way in any circle of hell that this is love.

You tip toe across the bedroom under the moonlight, careful not to wake him from his comatose state. The soft green and purple hue around your wrists was a forceful reminder of the last time you woke him…no, you can't think about that right now. Grabbing a few odds and ends, you gently tuck your backpack over your shoulder and walk out of the bedroom, leaving the door cracked to not make any sound. Once you're in the living room and at the foyer, you can feel the freedom in your grasp. You're shaking while lacing your sneakers, biting your lip to keep all of your emotions contained, holding it in until you can close the front door and bolt to your car.

The sound of the wooden floor creaks from the bedroom, a jolt of lightning paralyzing every muscle in your body.

Please.

Please go back to bed.

A few moments pass with no additional movement, the breath you were unconsciously holding slipping past your lips. It's not much, but the things you managed to grab will hold you over until you get somewhere safe - your phone, car, and backpack with a change of clothes is all you can risk to take with you. Anything else would've been a dead giveaway to your plan.

The latch on the front door is the equivalent of a car backfiring in your mind, the slightest sound echoing through the silence of the apartment and keep keeping you on edge. One last look over your shoulder and the coast is clear.

You're free. You've done it!

Shutting the door has you internally celebrating with joy, not caring how loud the click of the lock sounds now that you're outside the apartment. Before any second thoughts come flowing into your mind, you find yourself sprinting for the stairwell, rushing faster than your feet could carry you to the car. You swing the driver door open, jumping inside and throwing your backpack into the passenger seat. The keys are in the ignition and your foot's on the gas before you have a chance to think about where the hell you're even going, laughing with relief that you managed to get away. Part of you feels psychotic for laughing uncontrollably - call it a defense mechanism, but goddamn, it felt fucking liberating to run away.

Until your phone starts buzzing in the cup holder, repeated cycles of vibrations rattling against the plastic. You already know who it is. Who else would be calling you at 4AM besides him? And that's when it hits you - your shared location is turned on. Pulling over to the nearest shoulder, you have to talk yourself out of the incoming panic attack and turn the damn thing off before he finds you. Opening the settings of your phone, you're trying to turn off the functionality when a passcode screen prompts you to input the correct code.

Fuck!

You forgot about the argument the two of you had about trust, resulting in him stealing your phone in the middle of the night and putting parental locks on every setting that could hide you from him. There's only one thing to do - ditch the entire thing. Scrambling for a pen and paper, you quickly jot down the important numbers in your phone into a random notebook before turning off the phone completely. Losing all of your memories, notes, and other precious things is bittersweet, but it's not worth keeping if it means he continues to have the opportunity to hunt you down.

And so, you smash it. It's poetic, in a fucked up way.

You don't stop driving until you're a few miles down the road, parking at one of the popular cliffside lookouts outside of town. The water below roared with intensity as it slammed up against the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff, taunting you to jump in. It's taken a lot of guts to run away. You'd considered throwing yourself into the abyss once upon a time, but realized that's probably what the bastard wanted you to do. Out of spite, you couldn't give him the satisfaction. It's shockingly difficult to let go of the broken phone in your hands, even though it symbolizes a new beginning, it's terrifying to think about starting over. You're already planning on changing your name, getting a new number, replacing your license plate, and anything else attached to the name he knew you as. The obsessive thought of him finding you again plagues your brain, constantly needing to watch your back in case he appears out of thin air.

…will you ever be safe as long as he's alive?

No more waiting, no more hesitation.

One final exhale fills you with the confidence to finally let go. Your phone drops to the rocks below, tumbling with a soft crack before being completely submerged in the darkened waters.

"Fuck you, Toya," you curse. "I hope you rot in hell."

Maybe you'll be lucky and he'll think that you jumped after all, tracing your phone to this location to find nothing but open water.

Driving away from this god forsaken town for the last time fills you with dread and glee, a weird combination of chemicals banging around in your head and chest the rest of the night. A few hours later, the sign for your hometown comes into view with the sunrise peaking over the horizon - a brand new dawn. The bastard never cared to learn where you came from, meet your family or your friends outside of college, and right now? That was a blessing in disguise.

You pull into the drive of your parents home a little before 7AM, the weight of your decision finally setting in. Holy shit, you left. You got out and survived.

You fucking survived Toya Todoroki.

~

July

2:05AM and Bakugo can't sleep.

He never rests while Camie is around, especially after a night of fighting about the stupidest shit imaginable. She laid peacefully on the opposite side of the bed, naked under the sheets with her hair splayed across the silk pillow. He can't stand to look at her.

Or himself.

Bakugo couldn't even give a valid reason as to why he stays with Camie. She's the poison and the antidote, stuck in a vicious cycle of hate fucking with no semblance of love, and yet…he lets her back in. A few crocodile tears and the flutter of her eyelashes up at him makes him crumble like ancient stone. She only comes around whenever she's feeling lovesick, desperate to manipulate Bakugo's feelings like a master puppeteer if she can't get another random guy to come home with her.

And goddammit, it works.

He throws on a pair of sweats and heads to the living room, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter before pivoting to the balcony. The stars feel like friends tonight - they were always there whenever he needed an escape from Camie. He hated being alone with his feelings, the incessant thoughts battling in his head as to why he gives a shit about her. Bakugo swears everything was perfect in the beginning…three years ago. It's been a shitstorm ever since, the longest one night stand he's ever dealt with. Camie has never shed a genuine tear over him. Not during fights, break ups or makeups. She knew all the ways to get under Bakugo's skin, how to break down his walls and use his insecurities against him while keeping him wrapped around her manicured finger. It pissed him off to no end that he sees through her charade, and yet, his heart yearns for connection and Camie is the closest thing he's got.

Sitting here and wallowing in his disgust isn't going to change a thing, and for whatever reason, tonight felt like the right time to finally give himself a kick in the ass. Bakugo grabs his phone and calls the one person he knows will hold him accountable - Kirishima. The line rings a few times before Mina's high pitched yawn echos over the speaker.

"Kaaatsu…It's 2AM," she whispers. "You okay, babe?"

Far from it.

"I know, sorry for wakin' ya. I need to talk to Eijiro."

She pauses for a moment, knowing Bakugo wouldn't be calling so late if it wasn't important.

"Sure, gimmie a sec to wake him."

It's faint, but Bakugo can hear Mina coaxing Kirishima awake. 'Ei baby, Katsuki’s on the phone for you.'

There’s more shuffling before Kirishima takes the phone from Mina.

“Heya Kats. Everything okay?”

“…no. I fucked up, Ei.”

Kirishima sighs. He knows what this is about before Bakugo even says another word.

"Camie?"

Bakugo pauses to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

"Yeah. Can I crash on your couch tonight?"

"'Course you can. I'll wait up for ya."

"Thanks."

What the fuck was Bakugo thinking? Is he really going to leave in the middle of the night?

Fuck it, it's what Cami deserves after all the times she's done it to him. This is nothing compared to the shit she's pulled. Changing the locks to their joint apartment and locking him out multiple times, bringing guys back to fuck loudly in their bed to make him jealous, letting her one night stands wear his clothes, burning his music collection in the dumpster out back of the building, threatening to off herself if he didn't stay with her…the list goes on.

He grabs an extra pair of clothes, his phone charger, wallet, keys and his favorite hoodie. When he throws it on, a whiff of Camie's obnoxious perfume clouds his senses, his stomach churning at the thought of her wearing it around the house. He takes off the hoodie and tosses it into the corner of the room - he'd rather be cold than have any lingering reminder of her.

Making his way to the door, he kicks his feet into a pair of sneakers and turns to face the living room. In his heart, he knew this would be one of the final times looking at this scene, but he needed to leave it in the past. Bakugo needed to leave Camie two and a half years ago, and he tried his damndest to do so. She always slithered back in and sunk her claws into him.

This time will be different.

It has to be different.

Bakugo opens the door, and as he's halfway out, Camie's voice travels down the hall from the bedroom. "Kiki? Where'd ya go?"

God, he fucking hated when she called him Kiki.

He shuts the door before his heart has a chance to give in to her saccharine pleas.

The sounds of his motorcycle underneath him as he drives to Kirishima and Mina's apartment soothes his nerves. The rumble of the engine and the breeze on his exposed skin, nothing but the night sky accompanying him. When Bakugo gets to the apartment, Kirishima's already by the door, waiting for him outside.

"Hey," Kirishima calls, nodding in Bakugo's direction. "Nice night for a ride."

Bakugo chuckles at Kirishima's attempt to lighten the mood. "Every night is a nice night for a ride."

The two of them go inside, Bakugo tossing his shoes to the side and plops face down on the couch. Kirishima comes to join him, patting him on the back.

"You wanna talk about it?"

No, he really doesn't, but he needs to get all this pain out of his body. There's no way Bakugo could go another moment without exploding if he didn't word vomit all of this pent up resentment and heartache.

"I fuckin' let her back in, Ei. I'm a goddamn idiot."

Kirishima tugs on Bakugo's arm to sit him upright on the couch, arm slung over his shoulder.

"We all fuck up sometimes, Kats."

Bakugo grumbles as his fingers tighten on his knees. "I hate her so goddamn much. For everything." He takes a deep breath before moving his head into his hands, the pressure behind his eyes becoming too much to hold in. "I hate that I love…loved her. She's the bane of my fuckin' existence. She's a two-timing bitch! Why…"

Kirishima tucks Bakugo against his side, letting him ride out the emotions as they continued to surface.

"Why was I never good enough for her?" His voice cracks before a sob escapes him. "Why am I never enough?!"

Mina slinks into the living room, sleepily rubbing her eyes as she makes way over to the couch, kneeling in front of Bakugo and cupping his face in her hands. She wipes away a few stray tears from his cheeks.

"Katsuki, you are enough, babe. That bitch doesn't deserve any ounce of you, including your tears. The hardest part is over, and now you can focus on yourself."

She's right. Bakugo knows she's right.

But can he focus on himself when all he's known is a life with Camie for the last three years?

"Mina's right, Kats," Kirishima chimes in while running a hand through Bakugo's hair. "You did the right thing, man. You can stay here as long as you need. Alright?"

In what world could he avoid Camie forever? Bakugo knows how she operates and she'll be making his life a living hell until his dying day. He agrees with a nod, moving away from their comforting grasps to lay down on the couch, curling into himself against the cushions. Kirishima and Mina retreat back to their bedroom, leaving Bakugo on the couch with his thoughts.

The worst is yet to come, but for once, he feels…safe, lighter than he has in a long time.

🎶 fans ; @bells-28 @nemisimp @hotttamalee

@slayfics @maddietries @starieqq

@liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3

@simp-plague @napbatata

[rush-the-stars]

Dogfight

pairing: nicholas d. wolfwood x reader, vash the stampede x reader, vashwood x reader

wc: 4k what the actual hell lol

cw: jealousy, mild smut/suggestive content, fighting, blood, biting, marking, possessiveness. the boys are jealous of each other sorta but then get on the same page. minors dni, 18+ only

a/n: this is for an anon that asked me about jealous vashwood and then i spent days working on this and it got too big so i made an Official Fic Post rather than just answering the ask bc im insane and unwell lol this is also probs more 98 vash and wolfwood than stampede! i hope you enjoy!! banner from @/cafekitsune

∘₊✧───────────────────✧₊∘

The first time they meet you, its through a shower of gunfire. Your wild smile is all that’s left when the smoke clears.

Wolfwood thinks he hasn’t seen anyone so damn beautiful in his entire life—streaked with blood and eyes lit up like a flame, twirling a twin pair of pistols like fucking ribbons.

And Vash thinks maybe he’s in love? And then he shakes his head and tries to clear it, tries to clear you from his vision, and at least the smoke disappears some. And the chaos stills. But you smile all crooked at them, tilting your head a little in greeting and he feels wobbly all over again.

“Happy to save your asses,” you say, “buy me a drink?”

Vash hears wedding bells.

(It’s just church bells tolling in the distance.)

“Happy to—happ—“ Vash trips over all his words.

“Shit, I’ll buy you dinner, too.” Wolfwood says.

Vash looks at him, Wolfwood looks back. And then they’re stumbling over themselves to get up, clambering and clawing and falling over each other and they must look like foolish, scrapping dogs in the dirt at your feet.

You laugh, though, warm and amused.

“Settle down, boys. bar’s still standing—you can both buy me a drink.”

And they’re left to watch you walk away and talk to Meryl, whose shaking her head and rolling her eyes at them. You introduce yourself to her.

And they both scramble after your heels, right on the tails of your skirts.

***

You sleep with Wolfwood first—

He’s surprisingly gentlemanly with you, even if you can feel the desperation and hunger that he tries to keep so far from the surface. He’s all bravado, all honeyed words and little growled praises as he squeezes the fat of your hips.

He gets you so wet it’s almost embarrassing, except that he also makes you come so hard that you forget about it almost immediately. He adores being between your legs, adores tasting and taking—being on his knees for you.

Wolfwood is a worshipful man. Devoted. Adoring. With a little grit and bite when you need it.

He leaves a mark or two. Around your collar bones or neck. One on your hip. He can’t help himself.

He takes good care of you in that brutishly charming way of his—fucks deep and hard, carves his way through you and makes you toss your head back into the pillow and pull at his hair. He loves to please, loves to be told what to do or what you want. Take what you need, pretty girl. He hums to you, groaning when you tell him how good he feels.

Rarely impatient except when you rile him up, Wolfwood makes a good lover. Fun and obedient and affectionate.

You adore him.

***

Wolfwood and Vash get testy with each other.

Tensions are high—Vash is surprisingly sharp with him, in a way that makes you a little wary, treating him like a bit of a ticking time bomb.

Wolfwood doesn’t help. He’s an instigator and if there’s one thing he loves, it’s to get under someone’s skin. Especially someone like Vash, whose usually easy and cheerful and kind.

“Would you leave it?” Vash snaps at Wolfwood, shoving the man’s hand off his shoulder. He bares his teeth a little and in the dim light you see the knife-sharp flash of his pointed canines.

“I was just trying to be friendly,” Wolfwood drawls in a way that indicates he most certainly wasn’t just trying to be friendly.

“Something the matter?” You ask and when Vash’s eyes land on you, he immediately softens. He looks guilty. Hangs his head a little and looks at the ground.

“No,” he says, “sorry—“

But Wolfwood says, “Blondie’s got his panties in a bunch about something and I was just trying to see what was wrong—“

Vash’s eyes flash.

“Nick,” you snap. Short and sharp, like reprimanding a dog.

He looks at you. You look back. Then you jerk your head to tell him to get lost, “take a hike.”

“And who made you the boss?” He snarks.

You level him with a more serious look, hand on your hip, “I’ll find you later.”

“You can’t just order me—“

“I wanna talk to Vash.” You respond firmly, “and you’re being a jackass.”

He stares at you for another long moment. You don’t back down, in fact you tip your chin up a little, meeting his eyes with a flash of authority.

He looks at Vash, who quickly glances away.

He scoffs, “whatever. You’re both a pain in my ass.” But he listens to you and skulks off.

You turn to Vash when he’s out of ear shot, “you okay?” You ask.

Vash can’t look at you. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that—“

“Not your fault. He can be a pest. Walk with me?” You ask and now you hold up the crook of your elbow.

Vash eyes you uncertainly for a moment, before he lets go of a small breath, and siddles up to your side. He loops his arm through yours and you begin to guide him through this little, nowhere town. The sun is setting. The dusk sky is smoky and golden, like a quartz glittering, shadowed and shining.

“You seem—“ You choose your words carefully, “troubled lately.” And then you amend, “more troubled than usual.”

“I’m sorry to worry you but everything’s fine.” Vash shakes his head.

“Vash,” you implore gently, shaking his arm a little. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Won’t you tell me?”

“Ah,” Vash says weakly, “it’s alright.” And he looks ahead, out at the horizon. You follow his gaze. There's nothing out there but the line of land in the distance.

“Thanks for standing up for me tonight but you should—you should go find him. He’ll be waiting for you.”

And then Vash drops your arm and walks away, his head down, a little furrow to his brows. And you watch him go, dumbfounded.

When you return to Wolfwood, he’s waiting for you on the porch of the little inn you're staying at, smoking a cigarette.

“What the hell was that all about?” He gruffs, blowing the smoke from the corner of his mouth.

You don’t answer him at first. You slip into his lap easily. He raises his eyebrows in slight surprise, but immediately adjusts, one hand around your waist, the other holding his cigarette away from you.

“You need to leave him be.” You say, sighing as you sink into his embrace.

He pauses for a moment, looks at you—really looks at you.

Then he says, “he wants you, you know.”

“Is that what this is about? Are you jealous? Is that why you’re pestering him?” You rub your knuckle against his stubbly jaw, pet him a little. He leans into the touch, nudging himself against your hand.

"You like him?" He asks instead.

"Course I like Vash." You hush, fingers moving to card through his hair.

He takes a slow drag from his cigarette before he leans away to blow the smoke away from you. It lingers in the air around him and for a moment, you look at him through the haze. The smell of it reminds you so thoroughly of him nowadays that you almost crave it when its not around.

"No," Wolfwood corrects, "do you like him the way you like me?"

"You think I like you?" You tease, but he doesn't take kindly to that and jostles you in his lap a little and even goes so far as to jerk his head away from your touch.

"Woah, take it easy," you say, realizing he really didn't like that joke, "I was only playin' with you. I'm in your lap, aren't I?"

He softens a little. Lets go of a breath. He squeezes your waist, maybe in apology. To soothe the ache, you lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw, pepper them lightly down his neck.

"You didn't answer the question." He mumbles and you feel more than you see him flick his cigarette down and crush it with the heel of his shoe. He pulls you closer now that his other hand is free, slots you tight against him, and leans back to give you more room at his neck.

"Would you be mad if I said yes?" You murmur, carefully kissing at the pulse in his neck. You hide there.

"If i was?"

"You aren't good at sharing?" You coo, nudging your nose against his jaw, up to catch him in a quick kiss. He nips a little in answer.

"Not usually," he finally says.

"Not even with Vash?" You ask, because you know him better than he'd like to admit. And now you pull away to look at him.

To really look at him.

His eyes flick away, maybe bashfully, "yeah, well—I don't think I'm the one you have to worry about."

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He shrugs a little, "you think cause he puts up the goody-two-shoes act that it makes him good with sharing?" He asks, "why do you think he's gotten so pissed with me lately?"

You hum in acknowledgement. "Have you been rubbing it in?" You ask.

"Not intentionally." He says. And then when you look at him more pointedly, he admits, "not intentionally most of the time."

"Well, we'll see if Vash can share." You finally say and lean again to kiss him.

But in a sudden move, he grabs your chin, forces you still. Forces you to look at him.

"Only Vash, you hear me?" He says. His eyes are dark suns, all encompassing and imploring and fiery, "anyone else and I'll lose it."

You can't tell if it's a warning with the slight waver in his voice or a threat, with the growl behind the end of it. And then you remember scared dogs bite.

"Only Vash." You swear, "only you."

He settles a little, leans back again, and this time, when you kiss him, it's harder. More a claiming than a kiss — more a damning than a passion. He gives it back tenfold.

He litters you in little marks, in his scent, and drops his blazer around your shoulders in the morning. At breakfast, right in front of Vash, he catches you in a sharp, burn of a kiss.

More of a claiming. More of a damning.

***

When you sleep with Vash for the first time, it’s after a near-death experience. You were being reckless. The room is charged.

And Vash kisses you not like it’s the first time, but like it could be the last. He's the heat of a falling star, searing you, devouring you. He's all desperation. All starvation.

You'd thought with how sweet he usually was, that he'd be even more well behaved than Wolfwood, but that is far from the truth. He's a little untamed, untrained and clumsy and ferocious.

He whines as he takes you apart and you think he'd probably take praise well if you could teach him but right now he's just so— raw. So yearning and famished with it all.

You've no choice but to try and give everything you can in hopes of soothing him in some way. Filling the emptiness in him. And even still, you're aching and sore and torn-up after all is said in done.

Vash is bashful and a little remorseful about it come morning.

But you twine your arms around him and kiss him hard in reassurance. In encouragement.

He's passionate and all-encompassing. He's all your world in this moment.

You adore him.

Later, when Wolfwood sees the marks he left on you, he curses.

"Is he a fucking vampire?" He asks, tilting your head to the side to see the dark bruise in the side of your neck. But then he realizes how tender you are still, how aching, and he coos all soft.

Tells you he'll lick the wounds Vash gave you.

Says. I told you it wasn't me you had to worry about.

Vash avoids you and Wolfwood for nearly two days.

On the third, he finally breaks.

And when he does, he bundles you in his red coat after a long day, fists his hands in the collar of it to pull you towards him, and kisses you hard in front of Wolfwood, underneath the dark heavens above. He says he'll be back later.

Your lip throbs from the nip of his teeth.

(When Wolfwood kisses you shortly after, pushing Vash's coat from your shoulders, he soothes the sting with his tongue.)

***

For awhile, all the boys do is fight when they're around each other. It's getting to a point where Meryl is avoiding them at all costs—and you're just short of joining her.

The worst of it is on one of the hottest days in a long time.

Wolfwood says something he shouldn't—asks Vash if he could smell his cologne on you. Asks if he likes it.

It's too far. Usually, they bicker and fight over unrelated, stupid shit.

But that strikes a nerve.

And it's so fast that you don't even catch it, and suddenly Vash has Wolfwood pinned against the wall, hands fisted in the front of his shirt.

You always thought, maybe just on height and weight alone, that Wolfwood was stronger. But looking at Vash now, easily pinning him, you aren't quite sure.

"Oh, you wanna finally fight?" Wolfwood asks, baring his teeth, too.

And really, it's like when dogs fight.

It's fast and vicious. It sounds worse than it is—snarling and growling and wrestling with each other. It's artless. You've seen them both in a fight and this isn't—this isn't that. It's better, maybe, on Wolfwood's end. He's not trying to kill Vash. But maybe it's also worse, more personal, more brutal.

You hear Vash yelp—Wolfwood curses. More fighting.

You yell at them, the way you shout at fighting dogs, grab hold of Wolfwood around the collar and pull hard enough that he stops from his place over Vash, panting.

His mouth is bloody and it drips down onto Vash, his teeth still bared and crimson.

For a moment, they look at each other.

(And Vash thinks wildly, looking up at Wolfwood, sorry about the blood in your mouth. I think I wish it was mine. He tastes blood himself and wonders if it is Wolfwood's. If he really did bite him.

Wolfwood thinks, hit me again. If that's all you'll give me now, I'll take it. Wolfwood looks down at Vash, feels his heaving chest beneath him, and thinks, if I can only have you this close in a fight, I'll take that, too.)

You're cursing them both out, hauling Wolfwood off of him. You're furious and shaking and you're scolding them both.

You're fussing over them both, too, angrily wiping at their mouths and inspecting their wounds.

And they both think, maybe I should pick more fights, to see you like this, too, flustered and livid and worried. Doting. Adoring.

You shake your head at the both of them but—

You adore them.

***

It takes another man sniffing around you for them both to finally get on the same page.

And if it's one thing about Vash and Wolfwood, for all their bickering and differences, they know when to shut up and work together.

The moment another man starts chatting you up at the bar, they both go still and silent.

"You see what I'm seeing?" Wolfwood asks.

"Yeah," Vash says, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as the man manages to make you laugh. He leans all close to you. Vash has a near visceral reaction to jerk up from his seat beside Wolfwood.

Wolfwood grabs his arm.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin' then?" He asks.

Vash spares him only a glance—his eyes are trained on you and the man at your side. He grimaces. "Probably not. I don't wanna kill him."

Wolfwood barks out a laugh as Vash adds, "but I don't want him here, either."

"You wanna chase him off?" He asks. "Or you want me to be the bad guy?"

Vash swallows.

"She'll get mad at me for being an asshole. She'll be all pleased with you for being so good." He says and there's a dryness to his tone, a certain resignation or—

"Why would you do that?" Vash asks and he finally peels his eyes away long enough to look at Wolfwood.

To really look at him.

He shrugs, "I don't mind being in the dog house."

Vash eyes him.

Wolfwood smiles a little, "and I think she's hot when she's mad."

Vash frowns at that, a little twitch of his lips, almost in a pout. "Besides that—I meant—why would you do that for me?"

Wolfwood looks back over at the man at the bar, whose gotten even closer to you, his shoulder almost brushing yours. You're smiling and playing nice. Wolfwood's hackles rise. He bristles. He finally stands, too.

He never feels this way when he sees you with Vash. He never feels this way on the nights when Vash has you. In fact, the idea of it is—it's—

Kissing you after Vash. Knowing he'd just kissed you. Sinking his teeth into the ridges of marks Vash leaves on you, like he's trying to get his own taste. Or compare his teeth to Vash's. Maybe he growls and snaps at him and bares his teeth the next day, too, but he never feels like this.

Scared and mean and angry and—

"What, are you gonna make me fuckin' say it?" Wolfwood snaps.

"Say what?!"

Wolfwood slugs his arm hard. The flesh one, so he doesn't damn near break his knuckles doing it. And Vash yelps all high and Wolfwood wants to shake him and he also sorta wants to hit him again. And maybe he wants to kiss him stupid, too—

"I don't—" Wolfwood swallows hard, "I don't mind sharing. With you. With only you."

Wolfwood looks at him.

Really looks at him.

And then Vash turns the deepest shade of red.

Wolfwood's face gets hot all over, too. "Oh, Christ, blondie—did you really not know?"

"I don't know what I thought!" Vash says and his voice gets sorta high.

"Well—" Wolfwood shifts, uncharacteristically nervous, "what about—I mean, do you—are you okay sharing...with me?"

"At first, I thought I wasn't." Vash admits, "and I was jealous of—" he swallows, "I was jealous of both of you, if I think about it. You're just—you push my buttons more than she does—so. I took it out on you, mostly."

"Ah," Wolfwood says, "you took it out on her, too. Just in a different way."

Vash cheeks somehow get darker with color and Wolfwood laughs, realizing that he's—it's relief. He feels relieved, finally, as he laughs.

"You're a dumbass." He says to Vash.

And Vash smiles at him, crooked and boyish and stupidly handsome. That smile that Wolfwood has always liked.

Wolfwood then turns his gaze back to you, back to the man at the bar whose leaning in all close. He sees you tip away, adjusting your space. And he says;

"Now let's go get our girl."

The moment Wolfwood comes up behind you, you know there will be trouble unless this man doesn't leave quick — what you aren't expecting, is Vash to come up on the other side of the man. You tilt your head.

You feel a broad hand on your lower back, "he botherin' you?" Wolfwood asks, leaning all into your space.

The man sizes up Wolfwood, weighing his chances still and you can nearly feel Wolfwood stiffen and bristle behind you. He doesn't like being challenged.

"He was just seeing if I wanted a drink."

Vash, on the other side of the man says, "maybe he'd like it if I bought him a drink instead!" And though it's said brightly, it's almost a little too bright.

Vash's eyes gleam like the cold edge of bright moons.

You look between them for a moment as the man says, "alright, what the hell is this? You her boyfriend or something?"

"Or something." Wolfwood agrees casually.

"And whose this guy?" He snarks to Vash, "her other boyfriend?"

"Or something." Vash says, still smiling, and that really pisses the guy off.

"Would you back up?" He snaps and he shoves at Vash enough that he stumbles away a few steps. And before he can do something stupid, you put yourself between Wolfwood and the man.

"Leave him," you say lowly to Wolfwood, whose hackles are raised.

Wolfwood isn't looking at you, he's looking at the man behind you and his eyes are hard and cold and mean looking.

"Nick," you say, "I don't want a bar fight."

"Worried he can't handle me?" The man asks, "no wonder you were letting me chat you up."

Wolfwood jerks a little in your hold and Vash speaks up, laughing a little, "no reason to fight! Wouldn't want to clean you up off the floor."

Well, that does it.

The man swings on Vash, who yelps a little, but easily evades him. When he ducks, the man connects with another person behind Vash.

Damn it all.

The bar breaks out in pandemonium. Wolfwood shoves you beneath him and Vash works on ducking and diving out of the way of the first few swings sent his way. Shouting and glass shattering, raining down from above, makes you curse.

Wolfwood dodges the first punch thrown his way and he shoves you out of the way, before he takes a swing himself. When he connects, it's a nasty punch. Blood erupts.

Food is getting thrown. Alcohol sailing overhead, soaking the fighting crowd and angering them further. The poor bartender is hiding, ducking behind the counter and shivering.

You clamber atop the bar to get a look and—it's a wild crush of people, fighting and wrestling and breaking glass over each other's heads.

You put your fingers to your mouth and whistle—the loud, piercing kind that usually gets everyone's attention. This time, there's so much noise and shouting, that not a soul stops their fighting.

You pull out one of your pistols.

The shot thunders in the bar, makes your ears ring.

Everyone gasps and yells in surprise, instinctively ducking, covering their heads. But they all finally turn to look at you.

"Everyone out!" You shout, "take your fighting elsewhere!"

Grumbles erupt. But you hold up your pistol and shout again, with more force and fire, "out!"

The bar begins to stir, all the patrons dislodging and shifting about, detangling themselves from their fights. They meander in knots of people, twisting out the door slowly.

When Vash and Wolfwood appear again, they look disheveled and Vash's lip is busted. Wolfwood's sunglasses are shattered. You put your hands on your hips as you look down at them.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with you two?" You snap.

Wolfwood reaches up to lift you right off the bar and back onto the ground in front of him. He shrouds you, "nurse our wounds?" He asks.

"You're a pain in the ass. I told you I didn't want a bar fight."

"He didn't throw the first punch, in his defense." Vash speaks up, but he's talking sorta funny because of his lip, which is swelling even now.

You sigh, "let me see."

Vash siddles up to you, a little sheepish, with that puppy-dog look on his face. He bends down a little, so you can get a better look at his face, dipping his head down in a show of submission.

Woflwood, behind you, whistles. "That's a good one, blondie."

"Hurts." Vash says as you carefully inspect it, debating if he'll need stitches or not.

"You gonna kiss it better?" Wolfwood asks.

"Why don't you?" You snark back, "since you two are finally working together it seems."

Vash smiles a little, which makes him wince, which makes you scold him. Wolfwood laughs, cooing a little, before he says, "alright, alright—lets get him patched up."

And you walk out with them at your skirts, hovering around you, dogging your steps. They follow you all the way back into your little room at an inn on the edge of the world.

And they settle in like they both own the damn place.

Wolfwood is tormenting Vash a little, whose whining and coming to your side for aid. But they're both—getting along, at least. And they're both demanding all your attention and taking up space in your room and—

And you adore them. You adore both of them, even with all their damn dogfights.