#Axel Cluney Fic

[bouncehousedemons]

No Tricks, Only Treats

Rating: E Pairing: Axel Cluney x female character (second person, no use of y/n) Warnings: Anxiety, fear play, mild smut Word count: 600

Summary: A haunted house experience with the one and only Mr. Axel Cluney.

Read the full fic here.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

This song gives me axel and kitten vibes from the beautiful mind of @dreamtherapy. Not the video, just the song with their relationship through the years…

[hecohansen31]

I love it that you are writing some family prompts now!! So could you please write number 42 with Axel ? You can decide about the gender of the child(ren)

(WARNINGS): Child, Profanity, Single Mom! Reader, Slight Daddy Kink.

“Tomorrow is Take Your Kid to Work Day” your child muttered as he faced Axel, who had just come back from work, completely and utterly destroyed.

So he just tiredly nodded as if he was truly listening to your child and not spacing out, meanwhile you were doing the dishes, attentively listening in to your child’s speech.

Maddox wasn’t Axel’s natural son.

Before meeting Axel, you had been a struggling single mom with a nursing job and a child who loved nothing more than to scream at everything that moved and run around the house destroying everything that he came across.

So, when you had met at the ER Axel, who had accidentally burned his hand at the garage he worked at, you hadn’t expected him to stick around with all his flirting and smartass comments, as soon as you mentioned that you had a three-year-old child, at home waiting for you.

But not only Axel hadn’t seemed in the slightest put off by your admission, but he had also insisted on meeting Maddox, who had just sat down as Axel told him all the stories of his tattoos.

And you had never seen your child so calm and interested.

It hadn’t taken too much time for you to ask him to move together.

Maddox did everything that Axel did, but he had never called Axel ‘dad’ or intended anything that might hint towards that.

Till now.

“… and since I have already gone last year to mommy’s job…I thought… I could… go to yours, daddy!”.

Axel nodded, again too enthralled by the promise of sleep to actually realize those words, but if you didn’t say anything against it, he couldn’t have agreed to anything bad.

“Ahhh thank you, daddy” Maddox exclaimed, moving to kiss his cheeks and then sprint off, getting his backpack ready for his first day at the garage.

And then it hit him.

“Did he…?” he turned to you, as you moved to face him giving him a slight nod “… fuck...”.

“Swear jar” you reminded him, as he got up from the chair and sprinted to you, sweeping you off your feet and making you twirl softly meanwhile you giggled, at his immaturity and childishness.

Sometimes you thought that Maddox and Axel were so compatible because they were both children, mentally.

“… I’ll fucking pay you everything you want, but now…” he booped your nose making you smirk at hi,“… I have to fucking go help my child, doing his backpack, it’s a big day, tomorrow”.

“Just go and do your thing, daddy” you teased him, turning around to continue your dish-washing, just to feel Axel push himself against you, making you feel that he wasn’t simply excited for tomorrow…

“.. after I am done with him, I’ll help you a bit, be prepared”.

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

my rec list!!

fluff:

literally anything by @emmyrosee & @babyboy-cody u guys know how much ily and the fluff is SO SWEET 🥰

exchanging gifts by @spacedikut this is SOSO CUTE I LOVE IT WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING

linen and love by @gaymemeaesthetic this makes me SO soft i love cuddly spencer 🥺🥺

sweater weather by @beautiful-writings pure precious softness 

give love a try by @railmereid idek where to start but this is so sickeningly sweet and i absolutely adore diana trying to set them up its so precious & and morgan seeing how in love he is just makes me 🥺🥺🥺

angst:

to anyone who might care by @zhuzhubii this is so well written and realistic and just anything w spence & animals makes me 🥺

smut (under the cut):

(i don’t reblog a ton of smut but i have a couple recent faves)

@skrsgardspam the entire willard tings tag ohmyGOD

avoidance by @criminalmindzjunkie seriously i loved this SO MUCH sub!spence is my jam and this was everything to me

you ask me what i’m thinking about by @fellintotartarus idek what to say except i love this sososososososo much 

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sorry to anyone who didn’t consent to being tagged in this but i just want everyone to feel appreciated 😊😊😊

[hedonisthierophant]

Unveiled eyes and bloodless lips -A skarsgard multiverse thing.

A universe of many Bills, a couple AHAs, and a few others.

@grandpa-sweaters You asked for fic with The Kid and instead I somehow came up with this monstrosity. I’m not sure if you’ve ever read my writing before but I’m sorry.

Dedicated to my literary soulmate @ill-skillsgard I hope you don’t hate it.

Warnings: Smut, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, gore, spit kink, cuckoldry, degradation, injury, death.

   Unveiled eyes and bloodless lips

The witch had lost this game long before she even started playing, the final result such a foregone conclusion that it might be more accurate in fact to say she had lost before she had even been born. Forces much larger than her, to call them even titanic in scope would be an understatement, had been attending to the moves of the board since time immemorial. To say her fate such as it was had been decided back then is to grievously misstate the situation. Her exact destiny was fiercely contested on the board of play, it could’ve turned out completely differently, unfolding along anyone of the infinite myriad of paths of kismet. But her doom? That became inevitable she drew the attention of the game’s players. Naturally she remained unaware of the inescapable quality of her demise, she fought against it until the very last moment, her ferocious zeal, her skill and talent, all of it amounted to naught, For what hope does in an insect have against flood? Through no fault of her own, her perspective on this eons-long contest she had the misfortune of being prescribed to enter was…limited. In actuality the word “limited” doesn’t begin to convey the magnitude of her ignorance, imagine if you will placing your eye at a keyhole and attempting to catch a glimpse of a room darkened to pitch black. Some less astute souls might say that her involvement in the affair was rather like bringing a deaf person to the symphony but you dear reader know better, I should hope. Someone who cannot hear will have a different experience with music to be sure, but an experience they will have, the concepts on display remain within the realm of understanding. In our case a young woman became the toy of forces so far beyond her ken that she was to them as an amoeba might be to one of us beneath the prying lens of a microscope. As you may have surmised the tragedy that brings my voyeuristic audience to me unfolded slowly, spanning two lifetimes. Of course, this is only slow from the mortal point of view, to the beings that brought this about such a timeframe was less than the blink of an eye might be to us, for their machinations make glaciers seem to move with haste. Oh yes, they lack celerity but in exchange their actions carry the gravity of unquestionable certainty. However, I have indulged myself long enough. It is time that I recount, to the best of my ability the story which is brought you here today…whilst I remain able to do so.

           Her mother was possessed of a nearly singular lack of the talent that had been at the disposal to members of her family as far back as records would go. She did retain the gift of foresight. In the hands of anyone else this boon guaranteed an interesting life, if not necessarily a good one. The ability to see the future meant that so much of the world could be bent to your whim, fortunes raised, mistakes avoided, enemies destroyed before they even had the opportunity to transgress. For her mother though the only thing her visions brought was infinite sadness. She was many months pregnant you see. The result of an impetuous liaison with an excitable and impassioned thief several years who junior who quite literally stumbled into her lap, betrayed by his gangly limbs at a luxurious hotel bar he happened to be casing. He must have absconded with a waiter’s uniform for nothing about his outfit fit his exquisitely lanky form properly. Remembering the bowtie that hung limply and sideways from his collar still brings a smile to her face. The knave proclaimed she was the love of his life, his goddess and that he would devote his life to securing her happiness. It was quite a scene the tableau made certainly more…unconventional due to the fact that she was celebrating her first wedding anniversary at and sitting directly across from her husband at the time. Their marriage had been mostly a business arrangement, not entirely loveless but more cordial than intimate, but she thinks she could have grown to love him for the smirk that wound its way across his face after the blubbering young would be waiter realized his presence. She recalls watching the scene like a member of the audience at the theater, her face impassive, one brow raised. Her husband had a reputation for an incredibly violent temper, if you ever witnessed it though but she could never convince herself to entirely discredit the rumors. Both she and the scoundrel were frozen, he in fear, she in surprise. Her husband stood up, declare that their food had been awful and they were taking the waiter as recompense. Her husband, she couldn’t stand the pain that thinking his name brought even all these years later. He had made his fortune as proprietor of the “last heir to the great circuses of old, the man was a showman to his core and could have sold sin to the most pious of people. Sitting in the stands watching that man bewitch everyone around her, she certain she could’ve learned to love him had she been given more time with him. Her brother-in-law put a stop to any happy fantasies she might’ve entertained though, fratricide had a way of casting a pall over such things. Death took him from her, but that night he had been so very alive. He threw the reprobate onto their sumptuous marriage bed and ordered her in a voice that was equal parts chilling and gleeful to fuck him within an inch of his life. She did, hips canting madly as she struggled to match the thief’s exuberance for all he was worth, she was the only thing that grounded him as he shuddered through orgasm after improbable orgasm. His soulful eyes stared up at her as though she had hung the stars. After one particularly fierce climax she turned to look at her husband across the darkened room for all the while he had been orchestrating the performance as though being its sole audience member also burdened him with the role of conductor, she may have been having extraordinary sex but for all that the two of them were just  toys for her husband. He controlled them with such precision a note here,  a whisper there, advice for the two of them ghosting across the room. He was a master puppeteer, they may have lacked physical strings but that did not stop him. He ruled over them with the same exactness he employed with his beloved elephants, compelling them through routines to astound and amaze basking in the dazzled worship of the onlookers. That night though, he was taking full advantage of being the only onlooker. She still remembers the manic smile on his face and how his hair looked like flame in the moonlight spilling through the window as hysterical (euphoric) laughter echoed off the walls of their manor, as though her husband were the only one in on some wonderfully hilarious joke of cosmic proportions. Looking back on it, he may well have been. Following their final crescendo as her husband’s euphoria slowly waned into giggling, the criminal professed his love for her for the umpteenth time and begged her to come away with him to Florida, promising to dedicate the rest of his days to making her happy. His stirring gaze brimmed with imploring tears he unabashedly let fall from his eyes, his voice quavering beneath the immense wait of his need to keep her in his life. The scales she used to weigh her options were suddenly dashed as her husband took a great gasping breath, sprang up from his seated position in the sumptuous armchair he’d been occupying and began to flit around the room gathering things to him, mania rolling off him in waves. He’d hoisted the nude crook off her with little apparent effort despite being smaller than the rangy younger man. He spun him around and  slapped the sex drunk visitor’s bare ass as the man squawked in surprise and indignation, pale globes of flesh flushing an angry shade of red and leaving a print in the form of her husband’s hand at the sting. Her husband crouched for on his haunches for a moment to admire his impromptu work of art. She couldn’t see him but she could clearly picture his eyes growing wide with fascination as the mark took shape, his hands twitched with restrained desire, she could practically feel him warring with the impulse to throw him onto their marriage bed yet again, but this time for the purpose of sowing sharper and deeper blossoms of suffering across the entirety of the canvas that was the other man’s body. Disturbed smile still in place as he ground his teeth he muttered to himself in hushed tones. “No Jer, be a good boy. Almost done now, you can do it. Just gotta ape him. He straightened the conflict within him tucked away beneath the impeccable veneer of the consummate showman’s mask. “Would that I could have joined you crazy kids. I’d have loved to use all my fun little tricks on a tall glass of water like you. I’d have driven you crazy, stark raving mad really, shown you just how wild gingers can get, I’m talking showing you where the animals go.” He said with a grin that was only matched in lascivious by it’s lunacy and air of danger. She was certain the young man with the innocence and coordination of a newborn fawn would not have survived such an encounter He clapped the sex drunk young man on the back, sensually garbed him in a ludicrously expensive silken kimono, handed him a duffel bag of cash as though he had one standing by for just this occasion. That torn expression came over his face yet again, this time he surrendered to his urges. Quite suddenly he brought their lips together with the force of a devouring hunger, grinding his crotch against the other man’s leg. Judging by the surprised sound that issued from their visitor, her husband’s tongue had embarked on an enthusiastic exploration of the other man’s mouth. Then as suddenly as the whirlwind of passion had come, it stilled. He stepped back, a deranged smile lighting up his face. A single thin and determined cord of saliva still bound them together in remembrance of their embrace, her husband broke it with his middle finger, and then brought the digit to the other man’s lips. He sucked on it with a dazed expression for a moment before her husband withdrew with out warning. He clapped him on his back, said in perhaps the most jovial tone a cuckold has ever used with his competitor “I’ve always loved a good fireworks show.” and sent the befuddled young paramour on his way with a wink. The next day her husband left on “family business” to some crime on the east coast submerged seven layers deep in corruption and crime, this business ended in his demise. She remembers looking at him in the casket, smirk fixed in place as though even in death he had gotten the last laugh after all.

That had all been eight months ago exactly. Now here she was at a comfortable cruising altitude of 30,000 feet returning from a sojourn to the place where so many of her sisters had famously died along with innocents and hapless victims of circumstance. She buried her husband in the cesspool city and then communed with nature and the spirits of the sisters who came before her in Salem, now all that was left for her to do was return to her family’s modest estate in Canada and continue puzzling over the odd provision in her husband’s will for any child of hers regardless of whether that child was part of their union or not. The trouble began in earnest on that flight which should’ve been an entirely unremarkable trip from Salem to Halifax.  The first unusual occurrence was that her water broke and quite suddenly she was in the process of bringing a life into the world some 2000 stories off the ground suspended in what she’d always considered to be fragile contraptions held aloft by little more than a prayer. Her situation was odd and certainly less than ideal but not unheard of. The flight attendants rushed her to the back of the plane and by what many would like to think was a happy accident there were several members of an obstetrics team present aboard that very flight. The delivery was much more difficult than expected for the culmination of what had been by every reckoning a model pregnancy, with nary an over-enthusiastic kick. Whatever creature was inside of her head suddenly gained the claws of the most wicked of fairytale crones, and the weight of a giant every movement brought only piercing agony and precious little relief. Her screams echoed through the craft that was a dedication to mankind’s hubris as her pain intensified so too did an incredibly unforeseen bout of bad weather, the radar which just hours ago prior to takeoff had promised skies wonderful for flying was now proving itself to be a liar. It was as though passing above some insignificant little town in Maine that caused the storm spring up around them. Their vehicle was buffeted from every direction by winds and frost that were unseasonable even for harsh winter in upper North America. Around her people cursed and prayed, screamed and shouted as the pilots fought to deliver their charges to the ground in the same amount of pieces as they left it, rather than in so many more as was becoming increasingly likely. The town against all sense did have its own infinitesimally small airstrip, it wasn’t until many years later that she would begin to understand just how long ago the pieces had been set in play. As they began their harried descent people were struck by falling luggage and other debris that comes when you compress the lives of hundred people into the space of an aircraft and then turn it into a topsy-turvy. Some were killed, she even took a piece of glass to the jaw but any object that got within striking distance of the newborn child swaddled in a washcloth suddenly lost all momentum and dropped to the floor, this sort of power was most definitely beyond her she had no gift for telekinetics but she was simply too alarmed at the gravity of their situation as Earth’s own gravity began to make its power and its displeasure at having been flaunted known to the passengers. Someone with much more than was at her disposal was looking out for her daughter. And so, their airplane limped down from the sky thoroughly chastened by Zeus and his ilk for its trespass into their domain and Moira and her mother crashed into Castle Rock.

Moira and her mother had always been considered oddities by the town. Two outsiders literally cast out of the heavens and dropped into the midst of unwelcoming townsfolk. Her mother had made the best of the situation, for she had tried, made a very valiant attempt to leave this town but the moment that she crossed the boundaries she was wrapped in agony which would not abate until she took a step back into the town, this phenomenon persisted whether she tried by car or on foot and she refused to give air travel another attempt. She was no fool, she knew well that some incredible force was bent on keeping her and her daughter entrapped in this little nothing of a hamlet. She may not have had the gifts that her family had taken for granted but anyone could make rituals work with enough determination, she used her dead husband’s well to secure a small cottage on the outskirts of town for her daughter and set about turning it into a mystic fortress brimming with occult defenses. Oh the villagers looked at her askance when she went asking strange herbs or when rumors, true in this case, swirled about that she desecrated graves looking for bones or danced in the moonlight bared skin flashing as she circled her home and chanted in forgotten tongues. Castle Rock had a history with which is in their neighbor town of Salem’s Lot you see, they knew the signs even if many had forgotten precisely what they meant. When her mother realized she was potentially in the territory of other practitioners her theory became that a powerful coven existed here and they wanted her for as of yet unknown reasons, but the more she doubt the more it seemed that any true coven had long since died out or moved on to more fitting pastures. The occult in community the town consisted of one or two charlatans, and a few like herself with barely an iota of true power between them, capable of little more than the simplest cantrips, certainly not the massive feats of magic required to both down and trap her here. The first night she performed a ritual of crying beseeching a cracked bowl she’d stolen from the motel to connect her with her mother. Her family had always been a nest of vipers they were immune to their own poison but that did not stop the backstabbing that took place as soon as one was no longer able to defend oneself. Her mother made it clear imperious tones bringing out into the forest and stirring the leaves although in truth she was many miles away, that by allowing herself to be brought low and trapped in a backwater with even a lesser one of her families grimoires by unknown parties she had shamed the family and would be forgotten. They would not come to her aid. Cast out of the one coven she had known since birth she went about forming a tighter knit one as its replacement. She had asked the two charlatans out of town and gathered those with inklings of true power to her, she lacked her family’s innate command of the mystic arts, but her deficit had made her a master ritualist. And so she doled out their precious secrets to a few peasants in this town and made herself a new family. With helpers at her disposal she was able to enact more complex magic and had soon carved out a niche for herself and her followers as the area’s sole authority on matters of the arcane. People flocked to see her from all corners of the continent and a few from even further. She didn’t doubt that her mother, the rest of her family and their retainers were trying their best to end her life but as the years went by it occurred to her that whatever was keeping her here was also keeping her alive, the town seemed to repel anything more than passing outside influences and her family feared to enter its boundaries and become trapped themselves, better to let whatever invisible enemy had brought her there finish her off eventually. Their judgment proved correct.

Moira was an unusual soul, daughter of the town witch and perpetually mistrusted. Despite all that she had a sunny demeanor and those that matter couldn’t help but be charmed by her. For as long as she could remember her mother had forced her, even as a barely aware child to partake in odd rituals, from filling purple gossamer bags of strange herbs sends unknown objects and placing them in various spots throughout the house to keeping a bowl of water by the door and flicking a drop against the wood once it was shut to bathing in oils and strange concoctions by the light of the moon. She did all this because as she told Moira “Something was out to get them.” Moira always found it odd that her mother chose to say something as opposed to someone. Moira had always dreamed of being a doctor but her mother forbid her to leave town for any reason and although she could not explain why to herself even after all these years she’d never even thought of disobeying that particular rule. Her few friends in town and her mother concurred that she would’ve made a brilliant doctor but in a town like Castle Rock the closest she could manage was to be a nursing assistant at the local prison. Some days she bemoaned her life stuck in this little town, so small that it did not even merit a dot on most maps of the area. But she would gather up her natural cheer, take her sketchpad and pencil, sit in the park and draw on those days. Since Moira began drawing she’d been a prodigy, but even from earliest childhood when one has no attention span to speak of after she would dally with the subject and that she would return always to her first. A pair of haunting blue-green eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and your whispering pair of lips, cracked and dry, parched even to the drawings one got the impression that no words passed between them for a long time. The drawings of course worried her mother but try as she might she could puzzle out no theories as to their significance, the last time she’d tried describing ritual on the mysterious subject her bowl had been gripped by a powerful kinetic force shattered from the inside out embedding pieces of cheap ceramic into the wall around her and a few into her body as water that had been cool and tranquil moments earlier became scalding and improbably rose up to splash her in the face. It was then she decided that the drawings were out of her power.

Whenever she was outside of her house Moira always felt the faintest buzzing against her skull, the local doctor had considered it a prodromal symptom of a migraine, but the element never progressed beyond an irritating sound. Until the day she disobeyed one of her mother’s rules. She always looked forward to Fridays, it meant that she have the weekend to draw, but more importantly she would get to see Adrian. Adrian she suspected, that been an enigma from the moment he was born. A Scandinavian street rat with far too much charm and intelligence for his own good and somehow grifted his way across the Atlantic and ended up in her life riding a steed of criminal charges for allegedly attempting to traffic young women across the border. Adrian claimed he had been trying to rescue them and the promised jury of his “peers” such as it was appeared to have bought that story, but Adrian could sell water to a drowning man. Even Moira was unsure what the truth of the matter was. Still Adrian was a charmer, and incorrigible flirt and she had fun bantering with him, although when she asked about his plans his thoughts always turned to getting out and making enough money to support his little boy. About a month ago, Adrian had complained of awful whispering noises splitting his skull during the day while Moira was not on shift. She walked into his cell the later at the start of the graveyard shift and found him sitting as though he were a wounded lion whose legs had been caught in a trap, through his quick pained breaths he greeted her in a melodious accent that was related to but unlike Adrian’s own. She saw that his legs were twisted, broken and fractured at various intervals as though someone had taken a chisel up and down the length of bone within his limbs. No one at the prison could explain the origin of his injuries and beyond a cursory visit from the institution’s uncaring physician no one tried to. As long as word did not escape these walls no one cared, Moira had thought about telling but who was there to tell? How did one even begin to do that? She’d never even left this town once in her twenty-something years. He been an able-bodied, athletic young man at lights out, and had awoken as…

“A cripple! I am but a poor humble cripple and I throw myself on your mercy, my dear sweet Moria. How must I abase myself before you to obtain another of these wonderful puddings? I am willing to do quite a lot, to serve…no that’s not quite the right word, oh your language is so silly…Service! I am willing to service you in oh so many ways!” He said in his singsong voice, appearing quite proud of himself for hunting down his lexical quarry. He he had used the provided spoon merely  an implement to tear the thin film of plastic keeping him from his prize, flung it away and for lack of a better descriptor… began preforming cunnilingus on the pudding pouch in his hand, his performance was complete with moans and groans and little contented sighs. All the while never breaking eye contact with her, blue orbs burning into her own filled with indecent proposals. Unwilling to tolerate his antics anymore she snatched the offending pudding cup from his grasp, for the shadow of an instant she could have sworn a terrible look of feral rage had flashed across his countenance but it was gone before Moira could register whether or not it ever truly been there. “I am so terribly sorry dear Moira for my offense, it is just that in my day, we did not have such…culinary delights. He’d slowed to get the word “culinary” out properly but hadn’t stumbled and looked satisfied. In his day, that was the other thing, in the month since Adrian awoken the entire prison wailing about whispering in his cell, according to the doctors he developed a dis-associative identity. The young man that now occupied the cell which officially belonged to Adrian, called himself Ivar Lothbrok. He had been doing his best to convince Moira that he was the spirit of a long dead Viking who had for reasons unknown even to himself woken up in a body that was so similar to his own that it had frightened even him. The prison psychiatrist couldn’t have cared less about the situation in that cell, but to Moira it was quite the engaging mystery.

Today Moira decided to challenge him. “If you really aren’t Adrian, prove it if you’re not him then your innocent of the crimes that got him put in here and you should be angry, you should want out.” The smile that split the face in front of her should have been a warning. “I may be innocent of his petty crime dealing in flesh and weird…potions,” Moira decided to let the odd word choice go to spare his pride. “But I have killed and maimed, and lied,  and stolen, and coveted many times over. You’re correct though, I do want out of the cell but for the moment I’m right where I want to be.” Moira, ever quizzical couldn’t stop herself from asking “Why do you want to be here?” “Because here is where you are.” he said as if he were speaking to the dullest child in all the world. “I will indulge you however, I am not Adrian, Adrian had pure wholesome thoughts about you, he was going to be free, tell you that he wanted you to be his little boy’s mother, beg you to start a family and run away with him to whatever little speck of a town he found someone foolish enough to care for the child while he was here. He’d have trafficked poison and flesh slaves or slaughtered swine for the rest of his days for you. He used to touch himself here in the dark fantasize about reaching through the bars of the cage and touching your skin, used to dream of having pure loving sex with you on a blanket by fjords illuminated only by the stars and the moon, lest he seemed to greedy to want to see you in all your glory. He wanted to fill your cunt with his seed over any over until the two of you made a brother or sister for precious little Patrick. One big happy family.” He spat out the infant’s name like a curse most vile, and treated the world family as though it was unconscionable poison on his tongue. She took a breath intending to halt whatever sick game he was playing, but the moment she drew breath and opened her mouth his eyes blazed with danger. “Keep your tongue behind your teeth if you wish to keep it all wench!” He roared. “You asked for this, now you will listen. I am not Adrian because never in his wildest dreams would he have contemplated the fantasy of using your uniform to tie you down and spitting on your face over and over forcing you to swallow what you could, and what you couldn’t would slide down between those perfect breasts of yours and they would glisten as I played with them, sucked and bit until they were raw, then I would have kept spitting until your cunt was drenched from the inside out, I would have laid siege to it like it was my traitor brother’s last stronghold. Oh, the sounds and squeals I would have pulled from you. I would have lavished you with my tongue and fingers, bit and sucked and twisted and slapped and pulled and made you come over and over again until you understood what it is to be ravished by a god!” He broke off into a fit of chuckling then capped with a wistful sigh. “But alas all that is denied to me, and indeed you, for you belong to someone else, and as sweet as you would be, you are not worth the effort of challenging his claim.” He stated this with such nonchalance that it broke the terrible spell that she had been under and she fled the prison with eyes burning and tears streaming.

Ivar smiled as she fled, finally, finally. he was one step closer to being free of this accursed in-between place, he was getting home to his beloved Eira and their little girl. Or perhaps another sojourn through life with his healer who had the body of a tower. Or maybe he’d meet that lippy little puppy of an entitled young man in Pennsylvania again who secretly craved discipline. Whatever happened he would be home again, nothing would stop him.

In her haste, she entered her home, ran to her bedroom and threw herself down on the bed without observing her mother’s rules. Had she been paying more attention she would’ve noticed that the water in the bowl she was supposed to flick at the door suddenly evaporated and the gossamer bags filled with protective elements suddenly caught flame and turned to ash in moments. It was then that she heard his voice. “Please don’t cry. I’m here now, it’ll be alright.” His tone was nearly plaintive. She didn’t bother setting up she knew that the voice came from no place within her home. “I’ve been waiting…eternities for you Moria,” He whispered inside her skull. “Let me make you feel better.” There was a hand stroking her face. Her eyes shot open and she beheld a figure that was both present and absent, there was wait to him but light seemed to pass through him through him as though he was merely a projection. Even trapped in the in between as he was, he was gorgeous. Her angel. A completely bare towering figure with the chest and leg and back and ass seemingly having been sculpted from the highest quality marble by da Vinci himself, with cheekbones that could reduce adamantine diamonds to dust, with lustrous hair and sinfully plump and pillowy lips. His eyes, so soulful that she believed he had lived a thousand lifetimes, she realized she’d been drawing this face for as long as she could remember. To feel his touch was to experience euphoria. He kissed her and all her senses were expanded beyond human potential, she saw a kaleidoscope of colors behind her eyes, he smelled and tasted of every single enticing thing at once but instead of a riotous discord of scents and flavors, they were balanced in perfect harmony. His voice alone could reduce her bones to jelly in a way that would make Ivar fear she intended to stake a claim to his epithet. He worshiped her with his entire being, fingers and hands and tongue and colossal endowment yes, but in the midst of their lovemaking she was certain that their spirits were melding even more intensely than their bodies. He spat upon her face one and she felt as though she were being anointed in holy oil by a deity. He scored her flesh with his sharp straight teeth the color of shining bone, drew blood, and she was happy to give it. His enormous hand encircled her throat closed her airway and if she hadn’t already been experiencing what she thought might be Nirvana, the oxygen deprivation would’ve taken her there. After fucking her through more than 20 orgasms and claiming all her orifices for his own each first with the gentle fervor of a virginal lover at the end of an idyllic courtship and then with a harsh brutality as though fucking her two within an inch of her life was the only way he could properly express the hatred for her that filled his entire alien being. He finally unburdened himself of his seed deep inside her and sighed contentedly .

When she awoke after their tryst, he was seated in a chair opposite her bed dressed in a suit and other finery looking for all the world like a high-powered professional instead of some cosmic entity to take an interest in her. He then told her of the tragedy of Henry Deaver, how a Titanic battle with his wife over his infidelity with a young woman he had met at a business engagement led to him driving fueled by rage and sadness while rain pounded the car and obscured his vision, he’d crashed into the lake and been thrown into a myriad of alternate realities, “other heres and nows where the dominos fell in different patterns. His stories of lives spent with Charlotte, Oliver, Westly, as a professor, a soldier from West Virginia, a bounty hunter who fought for his life in a dystopia, the life he’d almost lived of a Viking, a philanderer with a beer-based pick-up strategy, a gangster, the searching for true love based on a scientific assessment ,they all brought tears to her eyes. He entreated her with every fiber of his being to free him from his cage and put an end to his cycle of loneliness, to save him and others trapped in this limbo. She swore to do it.

That was the day the matriarch without a clan descended on the prison, her chariot of choice, a limousine flanked by a motorcade of four SUVs each bearing the insignia of an elite private security firm denigrated the world over for unsavory activities, their detractors though couldn’t question their effectiveness. She and the battalion she paid for advanced through the prison like a storm, the guards normally employed were deferential and out of their depth. The only sounds echoing through the prison with a click of her heels and the thuds of the jackboots that accompanied her for she had brought silence to the prison with her mere presence. Moira had heard of her, the interim controller of a ludicrously wealthy and secretive biotech firm following the scandalous disappearance of her son and heir. Allegedly, the young man whom the newspapers referred to as the Brat Prince had somehow veered off the course of normally accepted philandering ways among the ultrarich and powerful and become involved with someone his mother deemed unacceptable. The matriarch had come because the vast network of informants that she plied with riches and sharp promises had imparted to her knowledge of a prisoner found here who almost matched her son’s description. The only thing he had left behind was a wheelchair covered in the blood of its owner, a crippled faggot whom he had dared to take for a lover. He would pay for his insolence, for the damage down to her reputation and company, she would break this mysterious prisoner and learn all that he knew, she swore it. When she reached his unusual cell a young woman in scrubs was fumbling with the keys, her son’s face taken on a different path through destiny than the one she knew stared back at her. He spoke to her in an antiquated dialect of that language from the Balkans she had left behind so many mortal lifetimes ago, she was not that frightened, trusting girl from Wallachia anymore, she nearly charged the cage to make him pay for daring to address her this way, but the meaning of his words stilled her. “Madame Olivia, I believe we can be of help to one another once this insect has served its purpose.” Moria broke the lock.

He nuzzled into her touch aching a contented sound as she ran her hands through his hair, it had been eons since he felt the touch of another, his eyelashes fluttered and tears swam in his eyes, he would allow himself this one indulgence. “Loyal Moria, you have played your part well and in appreciation I give you the greatest of gifts, the fulfillment of your destiny.” When he spoke it was with the voice of 100 different people at once both cacophonous and whisper quiet. She screamed as his lips brushed her forehead, for this feather-light touch broke everything inside of her all at once. She fell as her skin froze and burned all at once, her muscles liquefied and her bones turned to jelly, her ears, nose, and eyes ran with blood, then her eyes began to boil in their sockets fluids running down into her still shrieking mouth as her body contorted it this way and that trying desperately to contend with suffering that was beyond human comprehension.

The last thing she saw before death mercifully claimed her were a pair of unveiled eyes atop bloodless lips, her final sight was one she had been drawing her entire life.

As the wretch finally had the good sense to expire Olivia Godfrey watched as the death seemed to fill out the prisoner’s gaunt and wan features until she could almost confuse him for an older version of her son. He drew in a deep breath, stooped to kiss her hand and issued a request, eyes glittering with dark promise: “Take me to Derry.”

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Also, if y’all like Axel with a soft girl, @skrsgardspam is the master. I usually imagine him (and therefore will probably write him) with someone a little more rough around the edges.

[jj-lynn21]

Deadpool Presents: Once Upon A Zeitgeist Chapter one

warnings: Since this is my attempt at writing in a Deadpoolish way it could be offensive to some.  This first chapter is a set up for what is to come. Deadpool of course interacts with other characters and makes sidebars to the reader. This beginning takes place ten years after Deadpool 2. Deadpool will try to explain more as the story progresses. If you have a question for him feel free to send it me way. I will see if I can get him to answer.

Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch4

It is Christmas eve in the Cluney family home. Juliet is putting some finishing touches on the tree as the twin boys Peter and Axel Jr. are watching A Wolverine cartoon on TV. There is a knock at the door. The boys get excited as they and Juliet head over to open the door. As she looks through the peephole its Deadpool on the other side. He sees her eye in the peephole and gives her a little wave.

To you Deadpool says, “I know, you say Deadpool why would you visit the house of the man that Died in your second movie? Well, what you didn’t see was I made a promise to take care of his fucking acidic spewing offspring if anything ever happened to him. And well, you know what happened there, so here I am on Christmas eve baring gifts. At least they aren’t baby’s anymore. It was a bitch to regenerate after visiting. Those little bastards use to puke everywhere.”

Opening the door Juliet says, “Hi Wade, your just in time to tell the kids a story before bed.” She leans in to whisper, “Santa has to get their gifts wrapped and under the tree before dawn. And watch your language. I didn’t appreciate having to explain blow jobs to my seven-year-olds after you told them the true love Story of you and Vanessa.”

Deadpool says, “It’s not like I shared our international women’s day festivities.”

Juliet says, “No sex in the stories you tell my boys.”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, “Restraints on my story telling? Fine but later I get to use restraints on you.”

Juliet shakes her head refusing to acknowledge his suggestion.

To you Dead Pool says, “I don’t know about you but if I was reading this story and heard no sex, I would go read another Fanfic where Dead pool hooks up with you or that Pretty boy Ryan Reynold’s bangs you three ways til Sunday or if you’re here for that Zeitgeist actor, Bill Skarsgard you probably want to be fucking him. Hell, you probably want to fuck that IT, clown. I know I would. Don’t worry, I’ll put some headphones on the kiddies and this story could just end up being a fuckfest.”

When the boys saw it was Deadpool at the door their enthusiasm waned. They went back to watching Wolverine. 

Deadpool walks over to them., “Hey kids, look who’s here to tell you a story.”

Axel Jr looks up at him without moving his head, “We thought Uncle Logan was at the door.”

Deadpool says, “Didn’t he Die in the last movie?”

Peter sticks out his tongue. Then he spits acid which lands in the middle of Deadpool hand making a nice sized hole.

 “That’s not real. It was just a movie.” Peter tells him.

Deadpool says, “Sure, nothing in movies is ever real.”

He winks at the reader.

 Deadpool sits between the boys. “What are you watching?”

Peter keeps his eyes glued to the TV, “We are watching a cartoon X-Men with Wolverine. He is cool as fuck.”

Still putting up decorations Julia says, “Watch the language buddy or Santa won’t bring you that special gift you wanted.”

Deadpool grins, “Can I get a special gift later?”

Julia rolls her eyes, “We’ll see but I am pretty sure you have been a very naughty boy this year.”

Deadpool says to you, “As soon as these brats are asleep, I think I will be giving her a package for Christmas. That’s why I’m naughty. Don’t tell Santa.”

Deadpool turns his attention back to the kids, “How about a story about one of the coolest guys I’ve ever met?”

Axel Jr says, “Wolverine?”

Deadpool says, “Enough with the Wolverine. There are a lot of cooler heroes than him including your Dad.”

Axel looks up intrigued, “You know our Dad?”

Juliet says, “He killed him.”

Deadpool waves off her comment. “That is not true. It was the garbage truck that Killed him.”

Juliet yells, “He was jumping out of that plan for a mission that you convinced him was worth it to help humanity or some bullshit when he landed where he did. So, in essence you killed him.”

The boys stare at them fighting like they are watching a ping pong tournament.

He turns to the boys, “Go get ready for bed. I’ll tell you all I know about your father and how no part of his death was my fault.”

Deadpool says to you, “You don’t think it was my fault, do you? Besides, I read somewhere he was cut in half before and somehow came back with bionic parts or something like that so you never know if he will show up in the next Deadpool movie or an X-Force movie.”

The boys get their Wolverine PJ’s on and get into bed. Deadpool sees their PJs and shakes his head. “I think Santa needs to bring you Deadpool PJs”

Alex and Peter at the same time say, “No thank you.”

Alex says, “Mom doesn’t let us watch Deadpool movies because the swears and S.E.X. The X-Men movies we are allowed to watch don’t have that stuff.”

Peter says, “Tell us about Dad. I bet he didn’t swear at all.”

Laughing Deadpool said, “Of course not.”

Deadpool says to you, “He fucking swears more than me. He used the word Fuck to both describe how he enjoyed Julie and just to get his fucking point across. Among other words the actor chose during add libs that I guess are a complement in Sweden but are taboo here.”

Deadpool turns back to the kids, “Ok kiddos, snuggle down in your beds. I will tell you all about your Daddy.”

[bae-roman]

Send me cute (or not so cute 😉) lil prompts/drabbles

I write for:

Bill Skarsgård + some of his characters 

Roman Godfrey

Alex Cluney/ Zeitgeist

Merkel

Mark

The kid

Alex Høgh Andersen

AND, In honour of Stranger Things 3 coming out tn I’m going to try out writing for everyone’s fav bad boy

 Billy Hargrove

*Feel free to send in prompts from lists you’ve seen or just random ones !

[skarsgardclan]

New Bill Blog ✨

Hey, my name is Jocelyn and I’ve decided to start my own Bill writing blog! I’m open to thirst over concepts about Bill or any of his non- clown characters, and that includes anything from angst to fluff or smut ✍🏻

I’ve decided to tag a few of my favorite writing blogs for Bill so that I can get to know some people in the community a little better!

@lihikainanea @ill-skillsgard @dreamtherapy

@skrsgardspams @bscarz and many more!

[emmyrosee]

Can i have a mood board for our grease monkey boyfriend Axel and his little!reader baby? He would be such a sweet daddy, I love the way you write for him😊💙

You sure can!!

Fair warning though... I made this in a waiting room and I also am wicked new to making mood boards so this is probably trash. But I’ll do anything for you and sweet daddy Axel☺️

Here’s the final product-

I have mixed feelings and hope I get better with time💚🖤

[pollenallergie]

a lil update / what the fuck happened to “lady lust”

okay so, i’ve been kind of m.i.a for a while... meaning that i’ve been somewhat-actively on here but not actually putting out or even creating any new content, which i apologize for. i do, however, have, and have had, a new chapter of my fic “lady lust” ready to post, but i’ve been delaying posting it because i’ve kind of been having writers block for the last few months and i’m unsure if i want to just completely rewrite that story or if i want to continue with the narrative that i already wrote. in fact, the reason that chapter hasn’t been released yet is because i was/am waiting to write a second one to see where i can take this narrative or if i just need to redo it completely. however, just leaving that chapter to sit hasn’t been helping anything so, i’ve made a deal with myself to publish it sometime this week and then to dedicate some time to drafting another chapter because “lady lust” has gotten the most success of anything multi-part fic that i’ve written this far, so i want to give it my best shot to get it completed and out to all of you who enjoy/enjoyed it before i begin working on something else (as all of my other writing ideas are for characters from completely different fandoms than the skarsgård one). so be on the look out for the next chapter of that series and hopefully many more chapters to come for that. thank you all for being so patient with me!

Sincerely,

Cassie, you’re friendly neighborhood flake (get it cause i’m flakey as shit sometimes and i don’t always finish what i start 😂😂)

[hecohansen31]

(Almost done 🙈) could you please write something for Axel with the situation number 1 and the sentence 37?

WARNINGS: Angry! Axel, Screaming, Messy House

 - Roommates AU

“I am not sure that you understand what a clean living space means” you mumbled as you came again home to see your roommate, Axel surrounded by snacks half-finished and playing videogames.

You honestly had loved having Axel as your roommate, and not simply because he had helped you with your awful car so many times that he had even suggested getting a new one, but because he was the nicest with any manual job, around the house.

You also had to admit that he was extremely hot.

And from the moans you could hear from the few times he brought someone home, he certainly wasn’t one to disappoint.

But he had a problem.

He couldn’t fucking keep things in check.

And till it had stuck to his room, you hadn’t said much: you took care of the house usually, meanwhile he set up any problem around the house.

But you had left him alone for an entire week, having gone on vacation, just to return to your house being a complete and utter mess of pizza boxes, beer bottles and something that you hadn’t been able to truly understand.

And you weren’t even sure you wanted to know.

You had tried reprimanding him in the most adorable way you could have found, but still with an iron tone, but Axel’s chaotic attitudes had already started moving in outside his room, invading your shared spaces.

And it was starting to get on your nerves.

Enough that you dared it a step further.

You pulled on the electric socket effectively shutting off, Axel’s game, and the huge guy turned to you with a very pissed look.

“What the heck!” he replied annoyedly as he turned a light look at you.

“… I should be the one saying it” you mumbled, not being in the slightest intimidated by his tall frame as he raised up to come closer to you “… don’t you seriously realize that we are having a problem?”.

“What I know is that I was finally relaxing a bit after a shit day at work, just to come back to your bitchiness” he muttered, making you go up in flames at his arrogance, as if you hadn’t a tough day on your shoulder.

“I don’t have anything against you relaxing, believe me…” you uttered, pointing out each word “… but what I’d like is coming home to a nice house, one that I have cleaned just a few days ago!”.

Axel now looked even more offended.

“I am not some kind of pig!” he replied, as he tightly spoke between his teeth, coming closer enough that his chest bumped against yours.

“Yeah, you are!” you now weren’t anymore interested in nice words and such “… I have been extremely patient with you, because as long as you kept your chaos to your room, I didn’t mind it, but I came home… from fucking vacation! To find you living in a pig stall!”.

“Don’t even try” he replied, pointing a finger to your chest “… to blame this on me, the house is nice and clean because I fucking take care of it”.

“You don’t, Axel” you stated harshly, slapping away the finger “… you do some jobs around the house and fix my car, but that’s it! I come home from work just to fucking find a mess, which… I have to fucking clean!”.

“Oh c’mon, it isn’t so bad!” he protested harshly.

“… it isn’t, if you are a pig” you insulted him, maybe going a bit too far, because Axel was the closest he could to you, without it being straight up physical.

And although you were nervous, you felt wetness flood between your legs.

“Don’t call me a pig!”.

“Don’t be one” you stood against his tone, although you thought it had been enough, sending a quick look at everything out of order “… or I’ll seriously consider moving out”.

It wasn’t anything more than an empty threat, but it unlocked something in Alex, who leaned in and before you knew it smashed a ruthless kiss on your lips, almost making it a violent impact that broke you, and made you desperately want to do the same, as you reciprocated the kiss with same strength.

And when you broke apart you heard him utter, as you tried to gain again your breath.

“You’re stuck with me, like it or not” he muttered, as his lips tried to catch yours again.

But you stopped him, stepping back.

And no matter how much you wanted to try to utter the moans you had heard him make other girls do, you had one thing to say.

“Then clean this mess and then I’ll consider stepping a foot inside your room”.

[sketchesmick]

117 zeitgeist from x-force

check out more of my comics at mini dove comics & @retail-comics​, plus like the facebook page for all the updates. also check check out the twitter and instagram pages for more things done by me.

[faebirdie]

request rules and character list

Before requesting a fic or headcanons, please make sure that you have fully read through these rules and assured that the character or characters you are requesting are on my writing list.

Rules:

I am currently only writing fics based off of prompts

Headcanon requests don't need a prompt

If the request is for a prompt, please do not send in a bunch of extra plot requests with it, as this really limits my ability to be creative in my writing

If you send in a request for a fic please include the prompt number (unless the prompt doesn’t have a number), the prompt itself, the character you are requesting, and your preferred pronouns

Only request fics or headcannons when requests are open. If requests are not open I will delete the request

Only request for characters that I write for

Just because I used to write for a character does mean that I do anymore. The current list of characters I write for is below

Please don’t pester me about when your request will be finished, it will only make it harder for me to find the motivation to write

I won’t fill any requests that I am not comfortable with and I am under no obligation to give an explanation for why something might make me uncomfortable

I do not write about eating disorders, self harm, suicidal ideations, or other related topics as I find these subjects especially triggering

I have recently started to write smut, so feel free to send in smutty requests. All of the above rules still apply

I don't write watersports, ddlg/mdlg, or mlm smut. no shame or anything, it's just not in my wheelhouse.

Characters I write for:

Bridgerton:

Anthony Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

Kate Sharma

DC:

Bruce Wayne

Clark Kent

Diana Prince

Jason Todd

John Constantine

Rick Flag

Selina Kyle

Extended MCU:

Bucky Barnes

Druig

Frank Castle

Jennifer Walters

Layla El Faouly

Loki

Matt Murdock

Natasha Romonoff

Peter Parker (TASM)

Steve Rogers

Valkyrie

Wanda Maximoff

Xu Xialing

Yelena Belova

Peaky Blinders: (on hold until the i finally actually watch the new season)

Ada Shelby

Alfie Solomons

Gina Gray

Michael Gray

Thomas Shelby

Star Wars:

Boba Fett

Cassian Andor

Din Djarin

Fennec Shand

Han Solo

Kylo Ren

Poe Dameron

Rey

Stranger Things:

Nancy Wheeler

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

The Umbrella Academy: (on hold until i finally watch the new season)

Diego Hargreeves

Klaus Hargreeves

Viktor Hargreeves

The Witcher:

Geralt of Rivia

Tissaia De Vries

Triss Merigold

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Xmen:

Alex Summers

Axel Cluney

Erik Lensherr

Ororo Munroe

Warren Worthington III

Miscellaneous:

Gordon Merkel

Jay (Okja)

John Wick

Spencer Reid

Takeshi Kovacs

Poly Relationships:

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader x Kate Sharma

Boba Fett x Reader x Fennec Shand

Bruce Wayne x Reader x Selina Kyle

Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers

Eddie Munson x Reader x Steve Harrington

Gina Gray x Reader x Michael Gray

Nancy Wheeler x Reader x Steve Harrington

Rick Flag x Reader x Takeshi Kovacs (Bionic Exile Universe)

Geralt of Rivia x Reader x Yennefer of Vengerberg

[scxrsgxrd]

Masterlist

- These works are intended for 18+ ONLY

- These works are written for fanfiction purposes and all characters included are fictional

:)

Last updated: May 4th 2021

Bill Skarsgård:

Fics:

The vendetta

Overstimulation

Listen to daddy

Suspicious minds: part one , part two

Roman Godfrey:

Fics:

Daddy’s lap

Drabbles:

Roman being Roman

Gordon Merkel:

Fics:

Remedy: part one , part two, part three, part four part five

Drabbles:

The lies will keep you safe

The coat

When in Moscow

Axel Cluney:

Fics:

Dive bar

Drabbles:

Drag racing

Car troubles

Axel ft AHA

Willard Russell:

Fics:

No Good (complete): part one , part two , part three , part four

Henry Pearl:

Drabbles:

Going down on you for the first time

Mickey:

Drabbles:

Subby!Mickey series:

Being a good boy

Punishment

The game

Winners and losers

The cookie incident

The parents

The reward

Office hours (part one)

Office hours (part two)

Soft Mickey things

A Valentine’s treat

Alexander Skarsgård:

Eric Northman:

Drabbles:

Patience

When Pam and Eric met Roman

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Good morning friend ! (well morning for me 😌) 1, 9, & 17 for the fanfic q's 🤗

When did you start writing?

My entrée into writing was really roleplaying, and I started doing that back in the day when people interacted in chat rooms and message boards and AOL Instant Messenger, if that gives you a clue. I wrote some fan fiction in the era of FanFiction.net and LiveJournal. I didn't start writing original fiction on my own until about 2008, when I decided to take a few of the original characters I had developed in roleplay and write a novella about them. That same year, I participated in National Novel Writing Month and wrote a 50,000 word fantasy novel in the month of November. I also happened to get put into an English literature class for an elective in my first semester of college around the same time, and I suddenly realized that it was something I was extremely passionate about. I started to take it seriously as a senior in college and pursued it for my graduate studies as well. I wanted to write serious literary fiction. I have a lot of pieces in various stages of revision that I hope to someday get published in a literary journal. I know there is potential there, but... sometimes it's just more fun to write for a fan fiction audience.

If any, what music/artists do you like to listen to while writing?

What I'm listening to depends heavily on what I'm writing. It helps me to listen to music that sets the mood, so sometimes I will listen to a song on repeat while I write a corresponding scene. George Winston's "Lullaby" is sweetness and light after pain on a summer morning with your lover. Gavin Luke's "Delicate Transitions" is two lovers who explore each other's bodies silently before saying goodbye. Max Richter's "On the Nature of Daylight" is the way that sorrow colors everything that comes after it. On the other hand, Grimes' "We Appreciate Power" is a motherfucking brawl (thank you, @lihikainanea, I think, for bringing that to my attention). Glass Animals' "Gooey" is your lover's warm tongue on your skin when you're stoned. I don't make the rules.

Favorite fic that is not written by you?

Okay, this is the hardest question that I've ever fielded. But I'm going to break it down by a few different categories.

The one that I stayed up all night reading: Wanted by @dreamtherapy (Axel Cluney)

The one that I will hope for an update until I die: Remedy by @scxrsgxrd (Gordon Merkel)

The one that I would love to be more than a one-shot: The Ramsey House by @grandpa-sweaters (Mickey)

The one that I couldn't stop thinking about for ages: this drabble by @ill-skillsgard (The Kid)