#But nope the mimic is better...

[connectionterminated13]

You guys remember when Vanessa was built up to be the main villain? You were remember how hyped you were when it seemed like we were going to get a cool, awesome murder rabbit lady?

You remember when steel wool decided that actually an end of skeleton that you have to read 7 books to even understand and has literally no personality/motivation would be a way cooler character?

[peterpandiedtoday]

seen the wonka movie twice now, once dubbed, would have gone again today but am sick aff (coincidence.. sign from the lord to not harm myself.. who knows) and am still fuuuming literally tf is this movie. obvs trying to be a 71 prequel but by trying to be that they shoehorned so many references in to the point it doesn't make sense as a prequel anymore???? and why is the oompa more wonkaesque than wonka? down to quotes (eyeroll through the galaxy) and mannerism? the second time around i managed to separate it more from wonka and see it as its own wintery movie which i suspected before going might work better anyway and it does but hooo boyy this is a mess

also mad neither cinema had a wonka popcorn bucket or cup.. i would've sold outttt

[a-lying-elysium]

"Do You Want to Dance Too?"

[Bucky Barnes x fem!reader]

Summary: After a very rare date with your boyfriend, it starts to rain and you two find yourselves stuck in a cafe with no way to get home without being soaked.

Warnings: none! Just fluff

Word Count: 1104 words

(A/n: First attempt at a fanfic. I thought about this when I was trying to sleep and I really wanted to write it down.)

You curse under your breath as James and you quickly run to the small cafe at the end of the empty street. The rain started just a few moments ago, so it wasn't bad now, but you had a feeling it would only get worse.

You finally make it through the door, only slightly wet.

"Nice end to the day," he mumbles, clearly unhappy.

You sigh and take a seat at your usual table when Ella, a good friend of yours, pops up behind the counter.

"Well, this is a surprise," the barista says. "Thought I was finally going to be able to go through the whole day without you showing up."

"Ha ha," you muse, "Get us some hot chocolate."

She rolls her eyes but goes to make the order nonetheless.

James takes a seat next to you, glaring out the window as if that would stop the rain. The rain didn't take kindly to that as it starts a downpour, confirming your earlier suspicion.

He grumbles, and you take his hand in yours.

"Tonight was nice," you say gently.

"It could've been better."

You shake your head, "You can't control the weather, love."

But you could understand his frustration. You rarely got to spend much time together as it was.

You usually only see each other at night but by then are too exhausted to do anything other than eat and sleep.

James and you had started dating a few months ago, but you had known each other for years before then. You used to be an Avenger, but you quit after Steve left. First, it had been out of grief from your best friends; then it changed to you not wanting that kind of life anymore.

James was still very much in it—he was a soldier first, after all—and, as long as he didn't get himself killed, you were okay with that.

You unconsciously trace a small scar on his palm as Ella brings you the hot cocoas.

"Okay, here's the deal," she starts, "I have to close up in 45 minutes. You guys can stay to try to wait the rain out."

"Do you at least have an umbrella we can borrow?" you ask.

"Nope. I even gave mine to an old lady."

"And you can't let us stay?"

"Nada."

It's your turn to grumble, "Fine."

Ella shrugs, "I need to clean up," she says before making her leave.

James is still glaring out of the window when he suddenly turns his stare on you.

"This is why we should've taken the car," he concludes.

You are taken aback, "So it's my fault for suggesting that we walk for 20 minutes to the restaurant?"

"Guess so."

You scoff, "You are on very thin ice here, Barnes."

He raises an eyebrow, "Are you threatening me?"

"Guess so," you mimic.

"What are you going to do?" he asks, amused.

"Do you want to sleep on the couch?"

He scoffs at your threat but doesn't say anything else.

Smart man.

You sip your hot cocoas in silence.

Then, suddenly, you're laughing. James looks at you with an amused grin.

"I can make you sleep on the couch," you say, still giggling.

You poke his chest, and he starts laughing too.

"I know you can, dear. I know you can."

He grabs your chin with his right hand, tilting your head so you look him directly in the eye.

"What would I do without you?" he wonders out loud.

"It's too awful to think about," you joke.

He laughs again before pressing his lips against yours.

You sigh in the kiss. It's difficult to think you were once distrusting of the super soldier you had grown to love. Now you trusted him with everything you had and more.

It took a long time for you to see the ex-Winter Soldier's true nature. His gentle, shy yet annoyingly protective nature.

Too long.

He breaks off the kiss with a small smile.

"We should finish the hot cocoa before it gets cold," James suggests.

"Hot cocoa is more important than kissing your girlfriend?" you pout.

He shrugs, "It's good hot chocolate."

You don't deny his statement.

It's your turn to look out of the window. As rain bangs on the roof and glass of the small cafe, it seems to play out a rather aggressive tune. You don't like when it rains. It brings back rather painful memories, but you've learned that countering the bad memories with good ones helps make peace with the pain caused in a moment.

That gives you an idea.

"Do you want to sprint for it now?" you ask randomly.

The super soldier nearly spits out his cocoa, "What?"

"It's probably only gonna get worse, and we are going to have to eventually."

"Do you want to dance too?" he says sarcastically.

Your eyes light up at the idea, "Can we?"

James' eyes widen, "I meant it as a joke."

"But why not? It's as cliche as dancing in the apartment," you point out, "Besides, it'll be fun."

He shakes his head, "We are not dancing in the rain."

"But—"

"It's way too cold, and the last time you got sick, you couldn't get out of bed for a week."

You try to hide your wince by pouting, "Fine. No dancing."

He sighs, "But maybe we should go soon. It does look like it's going to get worse."

"So let's go then."

~~~

"Wait up!"

James' voice is nearly lost in the rain. You keep running, knowing full well he could catch up with you within a minute.

Or maybe he couldn't. You are pretty fast.

You laugh into the wind, your mouth filling with water as the painfully large raindrops hit your face.

You sprint in the direction you think is your house and try to calm the leather jacket that James gave you by wrapping it around your torso.

While doing so, you accidentally stumble on your feet and go flying forward.

Strong arms wrap around you within a moment, one made out of a now freezing metal.

"I got you," Bucky assures, "I got you."

You hear him loud and clear now despite his voice barely being above a whisper. The drumming of rain seems like an irrelevant background noise.

You turn to him, grinning like an idiot. His hair is stuck to his face. He shakes his head at you but is unable to hide his own smile.

No words need to be exchanged in the moment as his hands rest on your waist, and your arms loop around his neck.

You look at James with possibly all the love you hold and softly press your lips against his. It is easy to forget everything with him, even easier to forget the bad things.

He puts his arm on your neck and pulls away. "You're going to get sick."

"I've accepted it," you confess quickly, chasing his lips.

He shakes his head again but lets you kiss him regardless.

You got sick for a week afterward, but it was well worth it. Especially when you had James looking after you.

[marzipanandminutiae]

You don’t like 1920s, 1940s AND 1950s fashion? Damn what did the mid-century do to you lol. K but seriously why not the 50s? The skirts had volume and were long-ish (at least in high fashion) and blouses were well structured and fitted and often had embroidery or embellishments.

Obviously I don't hate ALL of it; no era is a monolith. But there are a few things these eras have in common that I hate:

The rise of synthetic fabrics, AKA Using Plastic To Make Clothing. We're now at a place in terms of clothing where its actively harder and more expensive to wear natural fibers than to wear clothing made entirely of a substance that leaches into our water, holds odors, makes us sweat more, doesn't generally last as long or admit as much repair over time as most natural textiles, and just Kind of Sucks all around except for a few very specific purposes. Synthetics weren't invented in the 1920s, and natural fibers were common in all of these eras than they are today, but it was definitely increasing amounts of "BUY THESE NEW EXCITING PROGRESSIVE MODERN FABRICS!!!" throughout the early and mid-20th century. Which pisses me off in principle.

Less practical garments unless you lived a very specific lifestyle- namely, access to washing machines and a willingness to launder clothing after just one wear. Modern clothing is just not great unless you have access to very frequent washing (see above re: holding odors more than many natural fibers) and barrier garments to keep sweat away from them and stretch the time between washes aren't a thing anymore for most people. In the eras mentioned, everyone was getting so excited about machine laundry capabilities- and who wouldn't? washing machines ARE a huge boon! no denying that! -that they shifted away from modes of dress designed to minimize the necessity of laundering outer clothes. Except now, with concerns about the aforementioned microplastic leaching from washing machines draining into municipal sewers and less mendable clothing- washing is a huge strain on garments, and wears them out faster if you do it too often -we need to be getting back to the system of having fewer but higher quality garments and washing them less often. Except we can't. Because some idiot in the 1920s said "whoopee nobody will ever need linen combinations or chemises that actually serve a purpose anymore!" and the subsequent decades continued it.

The silhouettes generally do not spark joy for me. 1920s actively makes me fly into a rage and scream into pillows, with the exception of robes de style MAYBE. 1940s...well, let's say there was a reason the New Look was so popular, and that's "no more boxy utility wartime clothes." I will give 1940s the hair prize here, though, because I like it better than any other decade 1920s-50s. I actually DO like the New Look! ...but not its combination with the bullet bra; yikes. This is highly subjective.

Some of the textiles, patterns, colors, and common embellishments used are just not my thing. I don't go in for Bold And Graphic And Geometric anything, usually. With a very very small number of exceptions. Polka dots and florals are also not my thing (unless the florals are on a dark background). Plastic jewelry? Hard pass. ~Fun~ motifs like fruit (except pomegranates which have Goth Appeal), the poodles on a poodle skirt, household objects, transportation, etc? No thank you; reads too Kindergarten Teacher for me. Again, not universal or exclusive to those eras- witness the 1880s chicken-print dress I saw an illustration of once -but more prevalent, to my eyes.

Hair. 1920s bobs make most people's heads look blocks. I love a good bob, but those are not Good in my opinion. 1920s Up Hair is usually meant to mimic a bob. 1930s was only a little bit better. 1940s, as I've said, was skirting the line for me and marginally acceptable. 1950s took us right back to a solid Nope with either short poodle cuts or pageboys as the main options for adult women. An occasional chignon maybe, but nothing else that appeals to me personally. just not great all around.

All of these eras were holier-than-thou about the Victorians and their fashion, which I love, so I'm petty about it. Yes please tell me more about how your plastic bullet bras or potato sack dresses are inherently superior to Grandma's elegant and comfortable long wool skirts with the perfect center back pleating. Oh, the 1860s were the ugliest fashion period ever in your opinion? Fascinating. I am setting your car on fire.

I actually DO like the New Look...which is heavily inspired by mid-19th century fashion, so that's not really any big surprise. Still has the issues with synthetic materials and the end of practical undergarments, though. Also, why stop at mid-calf for everyday skirts? Instep Or Bust You Cowards.

[steviewashere]

Kisses to Make it Better

Rating: General CW: Vomiting (It's Kind of Gross, Sorry) Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Sick Fic, Sick Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Migraines, Steve Harrington Has Head Trauma, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Forehead Kisses, Lots of Kisses, Star Wars Reference, Steve Harrington is a Dork, Eddie Munson is a Dork, Teacher Steve Harrington (Briefly Mentioned), Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is the kiss on my forehead."

💕—————💕

When Steve wakes up, it’s to the sharp, piercing sensation of a migraine attack. He immediately closes his eyes and groans. His senses are heightened miserably.

Soft bird song is like screeching. The gentle rustle of tree leaves like the scrapes of fingernails on a chalkboard. (And god does he know that from working with a bunch of butthead eighth graders.) Any sunlight is like a laser aiming to obliterate him onsite. He’s warm and boiling and the blanket sears where it touches. But when the removes it, he’s frozen to his core and shivering. The dull sounds of Eddie’s snores—Steve almost wants to suffocate him; he may not usually be a motorboat, but wow does he mimic one amazingly right now.

He can’t take it. The space in their bedroom is too much for his everything. So, he grabs his pillow from under his head, stands on unsteady legs, and ventures out into the hallway. Snatches a spare quilt—one made by Joyce Byers some short years ago for his and Eddie’s makeshift backyard wedding—a wash rag to put under cold water, and a towel. Just in case he has to lay on the bathroom floor. It’s humiliating knowing that the migraine could reach that point, what he wouldn’t give for his uninjured pre-1983 brain.

The couch is lumpy and distinctly firm and uncomfortable under his mutilated back. He’s sweaty, cold, too hot, nauseous, and dizzy. Really, he should’ve stopped by the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for his Imitrex. But the mere idea of standing longer than he needs to, the floor like ocean waves crashing at his feet, his entire body an uneasy cargo ship ready to crash into lighthouse rocks—it makes him shiver. Though, whether that be from his body’s inability to regulate his temperature, he isn’t sure.

But he manages to find a comfortable enough spot. Left arm squished and folded awkwardly by his head, the other tight at his side. Legs crossed at his ankles. The rest of him completely supine to the cushions. Head nestled and drowning in his practically flat, definitely overused bedroom pillow. He sighs, agitated.

This is his life.

Probably should’ve woken up Eddie. Probably should go to the landline and call in sick to work. Probably should get a puke bucket, too. But…nope, he’s somewhere between comfortable and dying on the couch. The perfect in-between. He closes his eyes against the next wave of dizzying nausea that overrides him. Breathing through his nose in sharp, hot exhales. Willing it, or at least attempting to, away. This is one of the worst attacks he’s had in a very long while. Beats out the infamous migraine attack of 1990, a story that ends in a bed at urgent care, accompanied by heaving puke, with Robin’s and Nancy’s cold hands to his sweaty forehead, and Eddie nervously chomping away at his fingertips. Should he go to urgent care? He grinds his teeth together at the thought.

Distantly, there’s some shuffling around the bedroom. Steve grimaces at the noise. Then, some light footfalls in the hallway. And all at once, God’s heavenly light is cast around him, though now it’s like the swallowing pits of Hell. He groans, tight and muffled in the back of his throat.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses. “Sorry, baby, sorry,” he whispers. Eddie’s not that great at whispering. Or, maybe he is. Maybe Steve is Dumbo level sensitive to every sound in the world. The light is flicked back off and Eddie comes closer to the couch.

Though, the aromatic scents of Eddie’s Axe musk body spray overpower every sensation Steve’s experienced in the short span he’s been awake. Did he fucking spray it before going to bed, Steve wonders, gagging. He puts out a weak hand, palm towards Eddie. “Don’t,” he strains. Even his voice is grating. “You—“ He gags again, throat clenching, stomach turning, bile rising. The palm draws back, flapping in the air, landing harsh around his mouth, squeezing his skin and lips. Steve rolls up onto his right elbow, pointing his face down at the floor, puking—into the kitchen garbage can that Eddie has, somehow, brought in super human speeds.

Eddie hushes above him. He must be crying if that’s how Eddie’s reacting. But he can’t care to notice. His head trapped in the kitchen bag. Coffee grounds and an empty container of baked beans, combining in a hideous concoction that could be compared to that of fresh, steaming dog shit. The sour stench of himself, his insides, the rest of the putrid garbage around his spewing mouth and snotty nose—it all makes him puke harder. A hand traces up and down his spine, the heavy touch barely noticeable unless he’s gasping for air.

When he’s done, he collapses back onto the couch with a resound thud. His breath exhausted and the blood vessels in his face probably bursted. Closes his eyes to block out everything, to try and ground himself again. Eddie shuffles as quietly as he can out of the room. The front door is open, cold morning breeze tickling Steve’s skin, the trash can placed on the porch for now. It’ll get changed out, Steve knows Eddie will do it. He’s getting the Imitrex, some Zofran. Water and a straw. Steve can only hope that Eddie will take a quick shower with some unscented soap, the cologne musk too infuriating to his nose.

He’s carefully sat up. Body loose-limbed and aching all over. Propped up into sitting on the middle cushion. Hair swiped away from his forehead, clipped back by a couple alligator clips. Eddie gently taps the underside of his chin. The nonverbal request, Please open your mouth for your medicine. Steve drops his jaw without hesitation. Pills set on his tongue and a straw placed between his lips. Eddie’s hand goes to his left arm, running up and down in slow stripes. Please take slow slurps, is what that hand motion means. And Steve does what he’s told. Careful to not upset his already agitated stomach.

“Eddie,” he croaks. A hum lightly vibrates from above him. Hands nestled on his skin, laying him back down on the couch. He doesn’t open his eyes, squeezes them tighter in fact. Sighing into the horizontal position of his body. “Eds, please take a shower.”

A light snort. “Saying I stink?” Eddie whispers, though there’s no offense drawn tight in his voice. Just amusement. Maybe some concern if Steve could only focus on the sound.

He shakes his head, but grimaces at the light-headed sensation it causes. Settles and whispers, “No, I can smell your cologne. Too strong.”

“Oh,” Eddie mutters. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let me take care of that.” He sets something clunky on the floor. Another bucket, most likely. And stands, his shadow blocking the sunlight streaming in through their living room windows. He must take notice to the light because then, the curtains are all shut at once. Or, something quick like that. Steve isn’t really aware of reality right now. Floating somewhere between comfortable and dying, laying in that still, too.

In the blink of an eye, Eddie is back by his side. Though, when his right hand tangles with Steve’s, he’s noticeably damp. Either he took the quickest shower in existence. Or Steve’s time blindness is on another level today.

“Pain level?” Eddie murmurs.

Steve sighs through his nose. “Started as a nine,” he mutters, “down to a seven.”

“Poor baby,” Eddie sweetly coos. He gently squeezes Steve’s palm. I’m here, I’ve got you, you’re safe, he says. His other palm settles softly on Steve’s forehead, over the cold wash cloth he placed there. Thumb pressing between Steve’s eyebrows. “Want me to massage?”

“Yes, please,” Steve murmurs.

Another squeeze to his palm. Then, Eddie carefully maps his fingers over Steve’s scalp, pressing down minutely into the tendered areas. He sweeps his thumb down the bridge of his nose, under his eyes, pushing gently at the surrounding bone and sinus pockets.

But then, he does something he normally wouldn’t do. He peels the washcloth off. Which is fine with Steve, it’s already gone warm. He’ll need the ice pack in the freezer in a few. Eddie puts his hand back on the crest of Steve’s head. And leans down.

A warm, barely damp, sweet peck to the center of Steve’s forehead.

He opens his eyes. Steve—already sensitive, strung up beyond belief—tears up. Whimpering lowly, attempting to not be heard. Though, of course Eddie heard. He’s extra perceptive when Steve has migraine days. He immediately draws back, eyes wide and frowning. “Fuck,” he spits, muted. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

Through his weeping, however quiet it is, Steve stutters, “It’s fine—it—You didn’t hurt me. Just—Sweet.” He preens up into the hand still on the back of his head. “Wasn’t expecting it.”

“Oh,” Eddie whispers. He settles back down, having risen up on his knees from where he’s situated on the floor. Another little kiss to Steve’s nearest temple. Then between his eyebrows. Under his eyes. Tip of his nose. Back to the center of his forehead. “Just kissing the hurt away,” Eddie murmurs on Steve’s skin. Smacking one more on the crinkle Steve didn’t even know he was doing. “Is it working?” He lowly whispers.

Steve chuckles. “I don’t know,” he says. “Do it again?”

“Of course,” Eddie promises. A kiss here and there. But, the most prominent spot being his forehead. Eddie’s hand slides away from Steve’s, instead splaying over his heart. Pressing firm to his chest. Steve briefly wonders if Eddie can feel how his heart speeds up with each press of his lips.

Another to his forehead, drifting down his nose, one on his chin, and the last on his lips. “Ew, Eds,” Steve murmurs, “I got barf breath.”

“Don’t care,” Eddie mutters. Back at Steve’s forehead. “You aren’t contagious,” he says as if that immediately overrides how disgusting it is. “In fact, the only thing I’m catching from you is feelings,” he flirts, or at least Steve thinks he’s attempting to do that. If the stupidly endearing little wiggle to his eyebrows means anything.

Steve fondly rolls his eyes. “You’re such a dork,” he states.

“Your dork,” Eddie whispers. “And I love you.”

“I know,” Steve whispers in turn.

Eddie draws back from kissing again. To lock eyes with Steve, who is glowing with mirth. Probably paler than he’s ever been and tinted green. Yet, with fake annoyance in Eddie’s eyes, all that’s directed at Steve is unashamed love. “Did you just Han Solo me? Who’s the dork now?”

“Me,” Steve proudly murmurs. “Kiss?”

And Eddie obliges.

With the kisses as distraction, a hand over his heart, the nausea receding for now��Steve is filled with warm love. He believes that Eddie may truly heal him.

Migraines are always the worst days. But it’s a good day, if Eddie is there beside him.

💕—————💕

[onskepa]

Humans living with the Metkayina clan headcannons

Helloooooooo everyone! so I made a pole almost a week ago, and this is the winner! Sorry it took me a bit longer cause as I was seeing this being the lead winner, I had to thing of what would fit in the pandora world. So here is what I made! And as usual, if you like what you see and wish to use it for a fic or something of sort, you have my full permission but please do credit me. Any who, lets get on with it!

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

First an foremost, I believe when creating their base on the island, water would be the main source for everything just like for the reef na'vi.

By source, I mean using water as the main power source for the base to be functioning, better than mining the earth and flora.

Their base I say would try to mimic or have it look similar to the home pods the metkayina have. More clear windows to let the light in, and not be so clunked and enclosed like the forest base.

The humans be living the same diet if not somewhat similar to the metkayina diet. Such as fish, herbs, and plants that are edible.

Swimming being the importance for the humans, even with their mask making it better to swim longer. Swim to do their part of the clan such as hunting, gathering, or making.

the communal dinners are the humans favorite part of the day, to sit and chat with the reef na'vi and become good friends.

Sign language is the best language to communicate between the na'vi and humans. Since I can guess speaking it is trickier than doing the sign language. Of course the humans would do their best to speak the language.

I think the Ilu would still approach the humans, obviously not being able to connect together but the ilu looks very friendly that is might not see humans as a threat and would approach them.

There for, I think the humans can ride the ilu's like the na'vi can, but have to hold on much tighter. Skimwing? Nope.

But the tulkun? perhaps. Still using the sign language to speak, the humans can communicate with the tulkun, while stilling trying to understand the sounds and language the tulkun speaks.

The tulkun themselves would be wary but have keen interest on the humans, maybe if one is lucky, a human and a tulkun becoming spirit siblings.

Tattoos. Oh yes. Aside from living like the reef na'vi and liveing among them. Tattoos would definitely be what ties the humans and na'vi together.

When bodning together, I feel as though the humans would tell their sea stories from Earth, like pirates', ocean gods and goddesses, sea creatures similar to the pandora sea.

The reef children would definitely seek the humans out, often go the base and bother them until they have the undividing attention.

The children would more than often raid the base and mess with the humans, wanting to see what they are doing and demand to play with them. While it be a tiny bit annoying, the humans would happily oblige and play with the na'vi children

The parents would be happy to see that their children arent alone and are being entertained while they go attend their duties.

No doubt love would bloom between a reef na'vi and a human, making the two beings become one as a whole.

If it wasnt for the war, I see the metkayina and other reef clans be more welcoming and humble to the humans if given the chance. Create friendships and special bonds between the two. Better than the forest na'vi.

that is all for today! I hoped you liked it! tell me what you guys think. If you are interested, I have more headcanons. Check them out if ya want!

[unhinged-waterlilly-2]

"Do You Want to Dance too?"

[Bucky Barnes x reader]

Summary: After a very rare date with your boyfriend, it starts to rain and you two find yourselves stuck in a cafe with no way to get home without being soaked wet.

Warnings: fluff

(A/n: First attempt at a fanfic. I thought about this when I was trying to sleep and I really wanted to write it down.)

I curse under my breath as James and I quickly run to the small cafe at the end of the empty street. The rain started just a few moments ago so it wasn't bad now but I had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

We finally making it through the door, only slightly wet.

" Nice end to the day," he mumbles, clearly not happy.

I sigh and take a seat at my usual table when Ella, a good friend of mine, pops up behind the counter.

"Well this is a surprise," the barista says, "Thought I was finally going to be able to go through the whole day without you showing up."

"Ha ha," I muse, "Get us some hot chocolate."

She rolls her eyes but goes to make the order nonetheless.

James takes a seat next to me, glaring out the window as if that would stop the rain. The rain didn't take kindly to that as it starts a downpour, confirming my earlier suspicion.

He grumbles and I take his hand in mine.

"Tonight was nice," I say gently.

"It could've been better."

I shake my head, " You can't control the weather, love."

But I could understand his frustration. We rarely got to spend much time together as it was.

We usually only see each other at night but by then are too exhausted to do anything other than eat and sleep.

James and I had started dating a few months but we had known each other for years before then. I used to be an Avenger but I quit after Steve left. First it had been out of grief from my best friends, then it changed to me not wanting that kind of life anymore.

James was still very much in it, he was a soldier first after all, and, as long as he didn't get himself killed, I was okay with that.

I unconsciously traced a small scar on his palm as Ella brings us the hot cocoas.

"Okay, here's the deal," she starts, "I have to close up in 45 minutes. You guys can stay to try to wait the rain out."

"Do you at least have an umbrella we can borrow?," I ask.

"Nope. I even gave mine to an old lady."

"And you can't let us stay?"

"Nada."

It was my turn to grumble, "Fine."

Ella shrugs, "I need to clean up," she says before making her leave.

James was still glaring out of the window when he suddenly turned his stare on me.

"This is why we should've taken the car," he concluded.

I was taken aback, "So it's my fault for suggesting that we walk for 20 minutes to the restaurant?"

"Guess so."

I scoff, "You are on very thin ice here, Barnes."

He raises an eyebrow, "Are you threatening me?"

"Guess so," I mimic.

"What are you going to do?" he asks, amused.

"Do you want to sleep on the couch?"

He scoffs at my threat but doesn't say anything else.

Smart man.

We sip our hot cocoas in silence.

Then, suddenly, I'm laughing. James looks at me with an amused grin.

"I can make you sleep on the couch," I say, still giggling.

I poke his chest and he starts laughing too.

"I know you can, dear. I know you can."

He grabbed my chin with his right hand, tilting my head so I looked him directly in the eye.

"What would I do without you?" He wonders out loud.

"It's too awful to think about," I joke.

He laughs again before pressing his lips against mine.

I sigh in the kiss. It's difficult to think I was once distrusting of the super soldier I had grown to love. Now I trusted him with everything I had and more.

It took a long time for me to see the ex-Winter Soldier's true nature. His gentle, shy yet annoyingly protective nature

Too long.

He broke off the kiss with a small smile.

"We should finish the hot cocoa before it gets cold," James suggests.

"Hot cocoa is more important than kissing your girlfriend?" I pout.

He shrugs, "It's good hot chocolate."

I don't deny his statement.

It's my turn to look out of the window. As rain banged on the roof and glass of the small cafe, it seems to play out a rather aggressive tune. I don't like when it rains. It brings back rather painful memories, but I've learned that countering the bad memories with good ones helps make peace with the pain caused in a moment.

That gives me an idea.

"Do you want to sprint for it now?" I ask randomly.

The super soldier nearly spits out his cocoa, "What?"

"It's probably only gonna get worst and we are going to have to eventually."

"Do you want to dance too?" he said sarcastically.

My eyes lit up at the idea, "Can we?"

James' eyes widened, "I meant it as a joke."

"But why not? It's as cliche as dancing in the apartment," I point out, "Besides it'll be fun."

He shook his head, "We are not dancing in the rain."

"But-"

"It's way too cold and the last time you got sick, you couldn't get out of bed for a week."

I try to hide my wince by pouting, "Fine. No dancing."

He sighs, "But maybe we should go soon, It does look like it's going to get worst."

"So let's go then."

"Wait up!"

James' voice was nearly lost in the rain. I kept running, knowing full well he could catch up with me within a minute.

Or maybe he couldn't. I was pretty fast.

I laughed into the wind, my mouth filling with water as the painfully large raindrops hit my face.

I sprint in the direction I think is my house and, try to calm the leather jacket that James gave me by wrapping it around my torso.

While doing so, I accidentally stumble on my feet and go flying forward.

Strong arms wrap around me within a moment, one made out of a now freezing metal.

"I got you," Bucky assures, "I got you."

I hear him loud and clear now despite his voice barely being above a whisper. The drumming of rain seemed like an irrelevant background noise.

I turn to him, grinning like an idiot. His hair was stuck to his face. He shakes his head at me but was unable to hide his own smile.

No words needed to be exchanged in the moment as his hands rested on my waist and my arms looped around his neck.

I look at James with possibly all the love I held and softly press my lips against his. It was easy to forget everything with him, even easier to forget the bad things.

He put his arm on my neck and pulls away. " You're going to get sick."

"I've accepted it," I confess quickly, chasing his lips.

He shakes his head again but lets me kiss him regardless.

~~~

I got sick for a week afterward but it was well worth it. Especially when I had James looking after me.

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 3: Is he hot, or are you just lonely?

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 4

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

The night is cool, practically verging on freezing, but the bar is teeming with people and chatter. You weave in and out of bodies and follow the three doctors ahead of you. The bar’s within walking distance of your work, so no one has changed. Albeit, their white coats are abandoned. They lead you to a table, set deep into the corner of the bar, and together you squeeze into the tight space. Your thigh is flush with Chase’s and if you stretched out an inch further, you would be playing footsy with Foreman.

Cameron breathes out a sigh of relief and relaxes in the faux leather booth. You try not to cringe when you place your palms down and feel the table is sticky or that the light fixture above you flickers every few minutes. Chase seems like a proud patron of the bar, nonetheless; he folds his hands behind his head and closes his eyes in contentment.

Cameron’s nose is tinged red from being out in the cold air, but she follows suit as you all take off coats and scarves, prepared to bask in the warmth of the crowded bar. Beside her, Foreman smiles and faces you. “So… give us your rundown, Newbie.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that obviously mimics House.

You laugh. “I don’t really have much to say.”

Chase chortles to your left. “You managed to get the patient’s complete history when Foreman and I could only get three words outta her. What, no family, or pets or boyfriends?”

“Girlfriends?” Cameron says, and Chase practically sputters, whipping his head to you.

You raise your hand in defence. “At the moment, no one. It’d be pretty hard to do so; I just moved to the city about a week ago. As for family, I’m not really in contact with them.”

“Ohh,” says Chase scandalously beside you. “They didn’t approve of their brainiac daughter becoming a brainiac doctor?” Foreman kicks at his shin and he painfully exclaims “Ow, man! What was that for?” Foreman scoffs. “Don’t ask people stupid questions, man. Do you want her to ask about your dad?” Chase tuts and Foreman replies. “That’s what I thought.”

You scrunch your nose. “Brainiac?”

Chase nods in confirmation. “Yeah! When House told us we had a new doctor, he said they were a real nerd! I mean, he also said he thought they’d get confused between the textbook and the real, living patient, but you seem like you’re doing great so far.”

When your eyes widen, Foreman is quick to jump to your defence. “That’s a good thing, coming from House. He told us he’d rather have a team full of nerds than full of Chases.”

Chase’s jaw drops and he starts interrogating Foreman, who smugly repeats himself. Cameron rolls her eyes at their squabbling. “So, you moved here recently? Whereabouts are you staying?”

You tell her your neighbourhood, and she gasps. “House lives about 15 minutes from there.”

The table erupts in sound as Chase exclaims “How do you know that?!” and Foreman shouts “Oh my god, you’ve been to his house?! House’s house?!”

Cameron flushes darkly and buries her face in her hands. “It’s not like that! Remember when we went on that date?”

Chase gags and wretches like a cat. “Ohmygodpleasedon’ttellusyoufuckedHou-”

“Chase! I did not sleep with him, my god!”

Foreman’s eyes are blown wide like an owl and he faces you as if to say ‘what the fuck is going on?’. You just laugh, “Cameron, you dated House?”

“It was one date. One. And, he’s made it clear there won’t be any more. I think I dodged a bullet.” She still has the faint flush you saw on her cheeks earlier, but you realise you diagnosed her too quickly.

Cameron wasn’t in love with House. She was moving on from him. Slowly, painfully, but one shaky step at a time.

She waves her hands in front of her as if to physically brush away the conversation. “If we’re going to talk about House, I need to be drunk. Let’s order.”

Foreman nods and breathes deeply. “I think I need to be five steps past drunk to hear about you and House.” Chase fake wretches again.

The food you order is the cheapest option, but above all, it’s hot, greasy, and melts in your mouth. It’s heaven after the day you’ve had, running around for House like a lapdog. You sip from your soda, and eye Foreman when he guzzles down his beer.

“What?” He says, putting it near-empty on the table.

“Rough day?”

He huffs and sips again at his drink. “House is just. The biggest pain in my arse. ‘Do this. Do that. No, you did this and that wrong, you should’ve done it like those.’,” he side-eyes Cameron. “I don’t know what you saw in him.”

Chase sips from his own beer and reaches over to grab at one of Cameron’s cheesy fries. She swats at his hand but he puts it in his mouth triumphantly, and he replies for her, still chewing obnoxiously. “Obviously, it was his kind heart and tender words. And massive dick.”

“W-what?” You say, near scandalised.

You pin Chase as a lightweight very quickly (and that was coming from someone who didn’t drink). His nose is rosy, and he laughs loudly before repeating himself. “I mean it! I see the way Cuddy looks at him. For such an arsehole, he’s got to have something going for him, right?” You see his leg shift and he nudges Cameron across the table. “Amiright?”

Cameron scoffs and swipes at his food now, pulling away a chicken tender. “What is it with boys, and their obsessions with dicks?”

Foreman laughs alongside you, and the age-old question is again left unanswered.

The conversation gradually shifts around the table. Foreman tells you of the time Chase had piss thrown on him by a patient. Chase tells you of the time Cameron nearly vomited at the sight of maggots in a wound. Cameron laughs and tells you of the time Foreman did vomit after watching House lick a patient’s swab. Eventually, it returns back to you, when the three doctors are more tipsy and filled with liquid courage.

“So,” says light-weight Chase, who seems to be battling to keep his head steady. “Why do you not have a boyfriend?”

You chuckle. “You’re all doctors. When was the last time you got to go out, meet someone and have time to put in effort with them?”

Chase wiggles his eyebrows back at Cameron and she swats at his arm again. Now, she turns to you and speaks. “Well, you’ve seen the hospital now. Anyone catch your eye?”

Foreman bursts out a laugh. “Just because you want someone to share in your House-being-loveable delusion doesn’t mean it’ll happen.”

You shake your head. “I’ve been around more blood and guts today than people.”

You decide to omit the part where you dropped off patient results to House and a hastily scribbled recipe.

It was nothing. Honestly nothing. You didn’t even know the man. You had a total of three conversations with him.

Despite that, your body had committed a crime when you handed both papers over. A near felony. Your hands had brushed against each other, for the briefest second. And you blushed. Like a goddamn school girl. It was bound to happen. You were almost…pathetic in a sense. No, no that was too harsh, but you still thought there was some truth to it. Studying and working were more your thing than dating or flirting. It had left you, expectedly, alone. Relationships were a far-off fantasy that you let yourself indulge in occasionally. Sex was not so much a fantasy as it was a frantic, feverish desire that ebbed and flow; some days, you could deal with the fact that you had no one to return home to, or to tell about your day or to simply touch and hold. Other days? You were a self-loathing, horny wreck that wanted nothing more than to find someone who would fuck you and stay in the morning for breakfast.

It was bound to happen that one day your body reacted before your brain could. No action in a few years would do that to most people. Make you giddy and blushing over the smallest things.

There was nothing to worry about though. Your blush, your tingling hand, your giddy feelings that had only sprung to life in the flash of a second. They all died when House recoiled and said “Ew. Girl Cooties.”

You shake your head and draw yourself back to the table. Chase is practically making out with his food, and Cameron is watching him with intense disgust while Foreman laughs.

It’s later in the night when you all decide it's time to head home. You barely open your mouth when Cameron shakes her head at you. “We take turns shouting. Tonight’s my go, so it’s on me. No fuss.”

You blink but nod when you see she’s unrelenting. “Okay then. Put me into the roster and I’ll shout when it’s my turn.” Something you would have to set aside money for, but you would get paid in a fortnight- if you made it that far at your new job. The money was far better than what you had previously received, and even though it would pain you to some extent, you’d be able to do your part in the team’s weekly outings.

You walk out of the bar together and stand alongside the sidewalk. Cameron slings an arm under Chase, who nearly topples her with his weight and height. She sighs, but she speaks with a smile on her face. “I’m gonna get him home. He can’t be driving like this.”

Foreman chuckles and nods along. “What was it, Chase? Three beers?”

Chase’s eyes widen and he jabs a finger at Foreman’s chest. The movement nearly throws Cameron off balance, but she steadies him as he slurs, “New record!”

Chase swivels his head to you now, and he drawls out your last name. “You! Pretty lady! Why don’t you take me home? She,” He swings his head back to Cameron, “Slept with House! Yuck!”

Chase detaches himself from Cameron with flailing limbs and races towards you. The rapid movement seems to upset him however because, by the time he reaches you, he bends at the waist and vomits.

You step back, but the damage is done and you stare down at your shoes with disgust.

“Dude!” Shouts Foreman, and Chase wipes at his mouth, before looking back at you. “Preetty ladyyyy. Don’t fuck House.”

You nod along with his drunk ramblings and grab him under his armpits to pull him up. Cameron takes him from you and you can see her contemplating letting Chase drop onto the concrete. But her jaw just twinges. “I am so sorry about him. I hope he didn’t ruin your shoes.”

You shrug and try not to breathe through your nose when the acidic smell of vomit drifts up. “It’s fine. A patient would have done it eventually.”

Cameron smiles, but you can see she still feels guilty. Chase is practically asleep on her shoulder “It was great getting to talk with you. We’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

Foreman groans and runs his hands down his face. “Don’t remind me.”

With that, Cameron and Chase hobble off into the night. Foreman turns to you, and breathes a warm puff of air. “I’m getting picked up by a friend.” By the pause in his voice, you’d guess the friend was a bit more than just his buddy. “Are you alright to get home?”

Almost as soon as he’s finished speaking, a car glides up to the sidewalk, and Foreman turns to it. You spy glinting acrylic nails on the steering wheel. He’s torn, however, and turns back to you. You wave him off. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His eyebrows are drawn together. “Are you sure? It’s a new city and dark and cold and-”

“Foreman. I appreciate the concern, but I didn’t even drink. The worst I’ll have to deal with tonight is cleaning my shoes. I’ll be fine.”

He nods at that, eyes dipping down to your feet before he throws one fleeting glance at you. But then he’s in the car with his ‘friend’ and driving away. You tuck your hands into your coat pocket and begin walking. While the bar was crowded, the streets you navigate are quiet. It’s only the moon and the stars staring down at you now. Their gaze is heavy and you quicken your pace.

The air quickly takes away any warmth you found when you were eating. It nips at your ears, and your nose, and you vow to be more prepared next time you go out this late. Maybe some gloves. A balaclava. A scarf. Anything to add to your coat’s limited warmth.

You make your way back to the bus station near the hospital and blow heated air onto your red fingers, and down your own neck. The metal seat stings when you tuck yourself atop it, and you hiss quietly when the cold sinks into the back of your thighs. You wait for a few minutes, before you decide to do the clever thing, and check your watch. You curse, and it’s loud and angry, and for good measure, you curse again. No one is around to see you, so you allow yourself to scream into your palms. There were no buses now; the route to lead you anyway near your apartment had stopped nearly 45 minutes ago.

You could call a taxi. But that would need a phone, and a wallet, which you realise with a startle, you have neither. You still had to set up a phone with one of the local providers, and your wallet, while thinner than most, was in your bag- your bag that was sitting in the conference room.

“Fuck,” you say and begin walking again.

It begins raining when you’re halfway there, and you decide to run. In spite of your efforts, sheets of rain slide down your spine and freeze your body. Your teeth are chattering, you’re dripping and your hair is plastered to your scalp when you finally reach the foyer of the hospital. Despite the lack of people out on the streets, the hospital is still thriving. It’s different at night, you think, as you step around nurses and cleaners and patients. The lights are dimmer. The halls are quieter. It’s as if the hospital, while still alive, is holding its breath.

You duck into one of the washrooms and cringe as you step out of your shoes. Your socks are soaked and squelch against the floor, but at least it's some barrier of protection. You don’t let your brain catch up with you while you scrub at your shoes. The smell, however, catches up with you and you gag. No matter how much you scrub, the smell resists. Eventually, you’re defeated and relent, drying your shoes with paper towels before slipping them back on.

You get turned around from there and have to retrace your steps twice. Each white corridor seems to mirror each others, but you recognise one floral plant and use it as your guide. Soon enough you find yourself outside the conference room, and you push at the door.

It’s locked.

“Fuck. Fuck.” You say again, running your hands down your face. If you braced outside now, walking all the way, you’d freeze or drown before you even saw your suburb. Fuck, indeed.

A voice startles you. “That’s not very nice language. Didn’t Daddy teach you better?”

You whip around, and your gasp catches in your throat. House is leaning against his cane. He stands next to the very chairs you met him by and raises both eyebrows in shock. "Oh my! I forgot my belly dancing skirt! Again!” He face palms, and you have to breathe through your nose to not snap at him.

“Can you unlock this door? Please?”

He clicks his tongue. “No can do. That’s the janitors job.”

You swallow dryly and try to keep the rising annoyance from your voice. “Please. I forgot my wallet, and it’s in there.”

“Saying please with a pout won't make me say yes any faster. That was stupid.”

Your jaw drops open. “It wasn’t intentional. Haven’t you ever forgotten something?”

His lips purse and he looks off in the distance as if he’s contemplating it. But then his eyes draw back to you. “Nope. If you’re forgetful enough to forget your wallet, how can I know you’ll be attentive enough to give a patient 2ml of medication instead of 20?”

Your eyebrows nearly reach your hairline. He was questioning the integrity of your work, because you forgot your wallet? “Because one of those is something I tucked into a dark corner that no one ever touches, and the other could literally kill someone.”

“Mmmhmm,” House’s eyes scan you. “But you’re also showing back up to work drunk, which says more about your character than any forgetfulness could.”

“W-what?!”

“You’re. Drunk. Had a little bit too much fun on the duckling’s night out?”

You huff. “I’m not drunk. I don’t, jesus I don’t even drink.”

His lips flatten. “You’re red in the face. You smell like alcohol. You’re stumbling over your words. Therefore, drunk.”

At that, you laugh. And laugh some more. “I’m nearly hypothermic from the torrential rain. Chase threw up his beers on my shoes. I stumble over my words when people accuse me of things I don’t do. For such a great detective, I would think that would be pretty obvious.”

He shuffles forward and leans in. You’re finding it a very annoying and invading habit of his. He stares at you intently, inches away from your face. You feel his breath fan over your cheek, and you shiver (certain it is only the air and cold water reacting on your face. Nothing else). He draws back, leaning onto his cane again. “Fine. Your pupils aren’t blown. You’re off the hook, newbie.”

There’s no use in fighting him and you just speak curtly, “Can you just unlock the door before hassling me more, House?”

His voice turns somewhat serious. “Honestly. The janitor’s job. They lock up everything and then go home for the night. Did they not teach you how to pick locks in all those courses you did?”

You’re reminded of his ‘nerd’ comment that Chase passed onto you earlier, and feel yourself shrink a little bit. Your head fall back against the glass and you slide down the glass until you’re a puddle on the floor. House peers down at you. “That’s not really sanitary. Cuddy was walking through here earlier, and you never know what kind of diseases she’ll track through.”

When you don’t respond, he sighs gruffly, as if he would prefer to be anywhere else. “Why do you need your wallet?”

You blink away tears that suddenly spring up. Foreman was right.

It’s dark.

It’s cold.

It’s a brand-new city.

And you’re entirely alone.

“There’s no night bus routes and I’ll have to catch a taxi. I need my wallet to pay.”

“I’d give you cash, but I just spent it all on drugs.”

“Wow.” You say bluntly. ”I hope you have a great bender.”

House rolls his eyes. “Get up. Really. It’s gross down there.” When you make no movements, he pokes at your leg with his cane. You have the idea to kick it out from under him. Instead, you raise yourself and glare at him. He glares back at you and pokes his tongue out, turning away. He speaks over his shoulder, “Come on. My car’s down in the parking lot.”

There’s a second where he continues walking, not even glancing back at you, and you wonder if you should follow him. You could stay here. Find a comfortable couch or chair. Try to fall asleep to the droning beeps of machinery and hacking coughs of patients.

Instead, you cross your fingers, hoping that curiosity doesn’t kill this cat, and follow him.

He does in fact lead you to the car park and to a blue-grey Dodge Dynasty. It would suit any other doctor; practical, comfortable, and overtly pedestrian. But, for House, you think it an odd choice. There weren’t even furry dice hanging from the mirror.

He unlocks the car with a flick of his keys and turns to you. “Well come on. You’re being slower than the cripple.”

You stare at him confused and he limps towards the driver's side. Across the roof of the car, you raise yourself onto your tippy toes and manage to maintain eye contact with him. “What’s going on, House?”

“I’m kidnapping you, duh. Don’t look now, but I already have a bag and some cuffs in the trunk.” You don’t laugh or even chuckle, and he sighs. “I’m taking you home. Get in.”

Do you trust him? You didn’t know him. Today you had seen him trick a patient and give the medicine she didn’t want, just to confirm his diagnosis. Cold. Dark. New city. What options did you really have?

You open the door and slide in. You tug your soaked coat off, and fold it over your lap, shivering when his AC blasts cold air towards you. House turns towards you, seemingly ready to mock your poor thermoregulation, but instead, he whistles low. “Wow, Newbie. That’s what you wear under those button-ups?”

You follow his gaze directly to your chest and blush madly when you see your laced, black bra visible through your top. His AC pushes a new breeze past, and your nipples pebble and raise even more. You try to save face and scoff at him. “What happened to girl cooties?”

He licks his lips, and faces forward again, muttering a ‘cooties-schmooties’. He peels out of the parking lot rapidly and you can’t make eye contact with him as you mutter your address to him. He makes no move to turn the AC off.

It’s ten minutes into the drive when he looks over at you and sneers slightly. “Stop that.”

You freeze. “Stop what?”

“Bouncing your knee. It’s distracting.”

You look down, not even realising your knee was moving. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be nervous about. I’m not actually kidnapping you; I think it would make work lunches complicated if you were my sex slave at home.” You huff. “Do you really have to be so inappropriate?”

He flicks his head towards you momentarily. “Do you really have to think that everything to do with sex is inappropriate? Newsflash, your boss gets horny like everyone else.” His eyes dart back to your chest and linger. “I may seem like it, but I’m not a saint.”

Your cheeks were on fire, and you turned to face the window, adamant to not let him see. “Talking about sex is not the same thing as bringing up me being a sex slave for you. And newsflash, most bosses don’t tell their employees when they’ve got a hard on.”

He laughed. “Double newsflash, sweetheart. I don’t have a hard on.”

You turn back to him and your eyes dip to him, “You sure about that?”

You whip back to the window, afraid to see his reaction. But, a streetlight passes by, and the interior is reflected perfectly in the dark reflection. You see House’s head peer down at his tightening pants. He swallows dryly and turns his face back to the road, with a simple “Ah.”

It’s at that moment when Chase’s face springs into your mind. It's vomit-covered, but he slurs the words 'Massive Dick' towards you

You squeeze your legs tightly and try to quiet your breathing, ignoring the sudden coil tightening itself in your stomach. You could reach over. Ask him to stop somewhere. Finally address that decaying hole in your heart that you’ve been avoiding- not fix it with the love and warmth you need, no, but patch it up with lust and sweat and desire. Have him touch you and stroke you and fuck you until you forget everything. But then you remember this is your boss you're thinking of; above all it's House. He had proved himself to be arrogant and rude in the few days you had known him, and you didn't want to put yourself through the same pain Cameron did. You weren't strong enough for that. You simply tuck your hands under your thighs and pray you’re not stupid enough to reach for him.

There’s awkward silence and minutes of absolute stillness. When you’re confident that the tingling in your stomach was just car sickness, your hand finds it’s way to the radio. You flick through all the stations and settle on Country. You see House’s eyes dart to you when you relax back into your seat. “Really? I didn’t take you for a farm girl.”

The streets whip by and rain begins to pour against the rooftop of the car. “I’m not. It’s just the only channel that won’t play ads every five seconds.”

“Ah,” he says, and you’re trying not to think about him groaning it in your ear. “So bad music is better than none?”

You nod. “Yes. It’s either that or I can talk your ears off.”

His only response is reaching for the radio and raising the volume, and you cross your arms, pushing yourself into your chair. He doesn’t say anything when you mumble some words to the songs, and you don’t say anything when you hear him humming along to one of the songs.

You rub at your arms where goosebumps have raised and force your body to not shiver. He seems to know where he’s going, and you’re grateful for that. You’re not confident you would be able to direct him if necessary. Street lamps whizz past and the car is repeatedly illuminated and then immediately left in darkness. Your eyes are drawn to his hands. The tendons flex as he tugs at the wheel.

You look back to your window and focus on breathing steadily.

House pulls up to your apartment soon after, and there's only a slight sprinkling raining down. You unbuckle quickly like the seatbelt is molten metal, and step out. On the pavement, you turn back, more confident with the distance between you, him, and your lustful thoughts, you prepare to bend down and thank him through the window.

His car is already halfway down the street and you stand there, long after his headlights have faded into the night.

You don’t see it, but House reaches into the pocket of his jeans, where his thick, full wallet was digging into his hip bone, and sets it on the, now empty, seat beside him.

[tanglepelt]

Dp x dc idea 25

Danny is forced to flee when pariah is released. The armor didn’t get done before pariah unleashed his terror. Pariah destroyed everything in his way. Danny was not able to save or protect his family and friends. He is all alone now.

Pariah takes to earth to conquer it. Danny was prepared to keep fighting a lost cause when clockwork appeared. He tells Danny that this isn’t the timeline that was meant to be. As it was the ghost king he was unable to rewind time.

To secure a better future tells Danny he needs to flee and when the time came fight pariah once more. Danny was not gonna listen to this man? Elder?? Child….. whatever it was.

He just gets pushed into a portal. Now he is in the dc universe. He had been forced through as human.

Here he does get questioned by the heros. I mean he did fall out of a green portal and land on earth. All Danny reveals is that he was fighting a tyrant who killed his friends and family and was set in destroying his planet. That some random dude pushed him through the portal.

Danny decided not to reveal he was half ghost or the words the nutjob left him. Danny being able to use his powers as human slowly gets used to them and better at using them. Learning the ghostly wail by watching canary. When his ice core forms he mimics Superman’s ice breath. Watching Martian manhunter helps him with his shapeshifting, invisibility and intangibility.

The heroes definitely think that he has some form of mimicking power. Danny can’t fly as a human tho. So no late night flights. Danny does slip info on who he fought so they have basic anti ecto weapons. Not that they realize it’s specific for ghost.

He’d probs end up with the teen titans given his age. Or maybe a hero snags him 🤷‍♀️.

One day giant hands rip open a portal in the sky and out comes fright knight and a horde of skeletons. Nothing they have works on pariah but keeps the skeletons at bay.

Danny decides this must be what the man was talking about. And for the first time since being here transforms.

JLD is here at this point and just is like you didn’t think it was important to tell us it was the fricken ghost king or the fact your a halfa. Danny just says nope.

Will Danny get a lecture. Most likely. Does he win. Yes. Did he become ghost king. Also yes.

[misc-obeyme]

CC! CC! omg CEEEECEEEEE

I see kinktober prompts are still open and my other beloved, Mammon is open

May I request sub!mammon with Shibari (aka Mammon is the one being tied up) pretty pls 🥹👉🏻👈🏻

If we’re allowed 2 requests I’ll send one in for flufftober too 🥰 ty ily

Hi Silver!!

Okay okay I loooove shibari. I just think the rope patterns are so pretty??? I definitely did not spend a lot of time scrolling through pictures of it for "research purposes." Nope that is not a thing that I did.

Anyway, this is the first time I've written a scene about it, though, so hopefully it turned out okay!

Thank you for submitting a request!!

KINKTOBER 2023

GN!MC x Mammon

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: shibari, penetration (reader receiving), begging

Mammon watched you from where he was kneeling naked on his bed, his eyes roaming over your hands and the rope you held in them. It was a thick black rope, shot through with tiny strips of shimmering gold. Just the sight of it made his stomach clench, a combination of thrill and uncertainty.

When you first suggested this to him, Mammon was worried that he wouldn't be able to handle it. After all, how often had he been bound by Lucifer's ropes? Could he experience this with you now without having flashbacks of those endless hours spent strung up to the ceiling?

And yet Mammon knew it would be different. It was you. He trusted you. He had a hard time saying it, but he really did. And he was sure that you knew it, too. Because of that trust, he had agreed, willing to let you try. He was nervous, but he was also excited.

Already, things were different. That rope you were holding was beautiful. He knew you had chosen it for him, something that you thought would look even better in knots against his skin.

"Are you ready?" you asked.

Mammon nodded.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to, you know," you said, clearly picking up on his nerves.

"No," he said firmly. "I want ya to tie me up. I want ya to use that pretty rope on me."

He saw the way your eyes filled with heat when he said these things to you. You nodded solemnly and he could see that you were trying to remain calm yourself.

Carefully and deliberately, you began to wrap the rope around his body. He shivered every time your fingertips brushed against his skin, shifting slightly as you pulled the rope into knots.

It was a slow and sensual process. You kept the rope taut while still keeping it loose enough to prevent damage. Mammon didn't know that you had studied the pattern you would be using, but he did notice the way you tied the ropes to mimic the white markings he had when he was in demon form.

The rope weaved across his body, a stunning symmetry of knots and geometry forming on his chest, around his hips, binding his wrists, and enclosing each of his thighs.

When you were done, you stood from the bed to look at him from the front.

Mammon strained slightly against the tightness that held him and met your eyes, face flushed and cock already erect.

You smiled, reaching out to brush back his hair and caress his cheek. "You're such a beautiful boy."

Mammon closed his eyes and breathed in sharply. He was overcome by his desire, by the sound of your voice, by your words. He opened his eyes and looked down at himself, down at the ropes that held him. They dug in just enough to bring him a sweet hint of pain.

"MC," he said and he flinched at how your name sounded like a whine, he was so desperate for your touch. Your fingertips against his cheek were not enough.

You came closer to him, looking into his eyes and he knew you could see the need in them. You ran your fingers down his neck, letting them trace the lines of the ropes until they finally moved ever so lightly up his cock.

"Please, MC, please," Mammon begged. He was squirming now, unable to hold still, wanting more sensation, but hardly able to move due to the way he was bound. He looked so perfect, his skin flushed, his eyes wide, his mouth open and panting, the rope winding around him so exquisitely.

You shrugged out of your own clothes, which you had kept on up until that point, and knelt in front of him on the bed. You took his cock in one hand and pushed the fingers of your other hand against his lips. Mammon opened his mouth for you obediently, happily sucking your fingertips into it and moaning around them.

You slowly ran your hand up and down his length, careful not to go too fast. Mammon whimpered against your fingers, and he knew he would be begging again if they hadn't been occupying his mouth. It wasn't enough and you both knew it.

You kept this up for some time, turning Mammon into a blubbering mess bit by bit. He was trying so hard to get you to give in, making all the sounds, reacting to every little thing, hoping that you would be overtaken by the sight of him in that rope you had so carefully picked out.

Just as he thought he couldn't take any more, you took your fingers out of his mouth. He was embarrassed by the way the air instantly filled with his voice, first a moan and then a flood of begging, most of which was just your name repeated over and over.

You pushed on his shoulders and Mammon fell back, squirming a little beneath you as you straddled his hips. His bound wrists rested neatly in the small of his back. He saw how your inner thighs were pressed against the ropes around his hips, watched as you sank onto his cock, your hands on his chest, gripping the ropes there.

Mammon moaned, unable to handle the way you looked as you rode him hard, your hands moving all over him, holding onto and slightly tugging the ropes here and there as you chased your pleasure. He arched his back to meet you, thrusting up to help you along, but also to feel you more.

Mammon couldn't think, he could only feel your heat, your weight on top of him, the grip of the rope against his skin, the sound of your heavy breathing and gasping moans.

Mammon couldn't keep his eyes off of you and watching you moan his name as you came above him caused him to lose himself entirely. Even as the ropes remained tightly tied, Mammon himself came undone beneath you.

Later, when the two of you had caught your breath, you would gently untie him, revealing ridged lines across his skin where the ropes had bit in. He shivered as you kissed along each one, the light feathery kisses so sweet against his still hot flesh. And as long as those marks remained, he would absently rub his fingers against them, his mind wandering to when he could next feel you tying the knots of those ropes around him.

flufftober | kinktober | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

taglist: @anxious-chick @t0tallycoolname @libidinous-weeb

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi! Would you write Astarion x Rogue!Tav ? I always liked the idea of two rogues together, getting up to a bunch of mischief.

Inspired by my friend @psychicdreamlandpizza whose Tav is Tiefling Rogue

Thanks @rachelle-on-the-run @leomonae @glassphinixfor the ideas! NSWF version is coming later!

Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

You are a street urchin, abandoned as a child.

You can only rely on yourself and no one else.

However, such a life didn't make you bitter.

You are a sarcastic rogue with a heart of gold.

You know lockpicking, deception, and many illegal stuff.

Of course, you knew stories of vampires using, the streets as their hunting spot.

You met them twice.

A tiefling woman. who tried to offer you a profitable job.

And an elf. who was selling his body.

You knew who they were and escaped.

Gods, why isn't there a vampire hunter when you need one?

You recognize the said elf at the shipwreck.

Before he manages to jump on you, you knock him down and put a dagger to his throat.

"Just tell me the reason why I shouldn't tell everyone you are a vampire?"

Now it's his dagger against your throat.

"Tell me the reason why I shouldn't tell everyone you are a thief and a criminal?"

Fair enough. It's not like you manage to keep secrets from the party, but you have an arrangement for a while.

You have a lot in common.

Basically, two feral cats, who try to gauge each other's eyes.

You have lockpicking races trying to open a door or a chest.

"I saw it first!", "I got to it first!", "I've been picking locks since before you were born, you little wretch!", "Exactly! Move, old man!"

Sometimes, failing perception checks and having to face a mimic.

You have charisma 20 and can make people love you without putting too much effort.

You can overdrink anyone and anything, but Astarion has to carry you away because you never know when to stop.

You always can get better deals and contracts, but your desire to help people (even for money) often goes sideways.

And it's Astarion's turn to get you out of trouble.

The intimacy of your partner helping you disarm a trap, knowing that a misstep could kill you both but also knowing that you've nothing to worry about because both of you trust the other's skills and steadiness.

And stitching wounds if one of you fucks up.

Sometimes it's you both.

Post-game, you stay together in Baldur's Gate, working as mercenaries and dreaming of earning a fortune.

You have a thing about luxury too, though, you've never had a chance to experience it.

You are two stray cats, finally having home.

The idea of sleeping comfortably in your bed feels weird.

Wearing clothes which are beautiful but not practical, too.

And you know when Astarion brings you something he hasn't bought it.

And you are more than fine with it.

You steal things for him, too.

Mostly, pieces of clothing. Sometimes jewelry. Often - books.

Date nights? How about breaking into someone's mansion whose owner has hoarded pieces of art and hidden them from people?

Goine through private galleries with Astarion giving you a lecture about art?

Or maybe swimming in someone's private pool?

And having sex in the rich people's luxury beds?

There are a lot of ways to have fun if you are two rogues!

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

Powers post!

I wrote something up on COG yesterday which explains the entire cast's powers in a little more detail, and I thought it'd be nice to crosspost here.

Here you are!

Altruists

Dion - Can create energy projections which emerge from terrain, e.g. walls, floors, ceilings. These can also extend from each other to a more limited extent. They specifically seem to manifest as geometric shapes, as in, rather than just a vertical energy barrier, it would be a cube-shaped projection

Mal - Exceptional durability/resistance towards physical harm (cuts, blunt trauma, etc.) Capable of altering their own appearance, including height/bulk, but not precisely enough to accurately mimic others (could maybe hold up to a cursory inspection, but nothing more)

Kay - As well as having sheeplike physiology, she is able to absorb impact (and energy to some extent?) and ‘charge’ herself with it, resulting in an electrical aura. More charge = harder hits and greater speed.

Teddie - Constant bone growths that push through his skin. Luckily for him, his body works with these to not be, y’know, constantly bleeding everywhere. Unluckily for him, he still feels the growth. And he can only get rid of them by breaking them off. He’s able to influence/stimulate growth to an extent, allowing him to construct exoskeletal armour for missions (hence his more elaborate setup on the two jobs so far)

Wil - Able to drain energy from others via touching them, temporarily boosting their own strength and speed. Apparently works on constructs like Portrait’s too, neat!

Hounds

Surpass - Super strength, durability, and speed. Doesn’t work quite as straightforwardly as advertised, but we’ll get into that in time. ; )

Vantage - Creates precognitive simulations which enable her to predict roughly how likely a given course of events is to happen. The more information she has on the topic, the better her prediction. Has limitations: introducing outside factors to a simulation will likely render the previous simulation useless, and she’ll have to do it again, and she doesn’t have infinite concentration/mental energy to constantly run every possible permutation of events at all times. 97.65% was a bluff.

Arcade - Shoots lasers!! - fires colourful lasers from his hands, growing in intensity the longer he charges them up. Easily capable of causing burns/starting fires.

Enfilade - Augment. Cybernetically enhanced in various ways, boosting physical capabilities. Most prominently, her arms are almost entirely artificial, and one forearm houses a powerful bolt launcher.

Portrait - ‘Paints’ constructs from inorganic material, with the creations taking on some characteristics from the material (i.e. a concrete construct would be hard-skinned). The constructs have limited autonomy and are heavily reliant Portrait’s orders, which as you can imagine is a significant weakness. Struggles to maintain more than three at a time, though there’s no diffusion of overall power (they don’t get weaker as he makes more) Unclear whether the animal theme is a preference or a requirement.

Phalanx - Telekinetic manipulation of metal (so nope, she’s not Magneto). Metal she’s manipulating exerts force roughly proportional to the weight/size, meaning she’s liable to dragging herself around. Though that essentially renders her capable of flight, score!

Coven

Hypothesis - Still a secret!

Catalyst - Physical attacks are repeated threefold. He punches you once, you feel it thrice. One two three.

CG - Superhumanly perfect balance. As in “can run on walls and stand on pretty much anything capable of bearing her weight” perfect.

Variable - Can teleport themself a short distance, leaving behind a weird membrane like they just shed a shell.

Gremlink - Augment. Cybernetically enhanced with a particular view towards integrating tech with her senses. Absolutely none of this was done through legal channels. Tinkers her own cyberware because, to be frank, she’s possessed of a reckless disregard for her own safety.

Lullaby - They sing, you snooze.

WPP

Ranger - Can produce a temporary chameleon-like effect, allowing him to blend in with his surroundings. Maybe chameleon isn’t quite the right word as it’s maybe a bit more like stealth camo from Metal Gear? Anyway, he goes gloes to invisible, albeit still possible to make out a silhouette, with effort.

Hit - Greatly enhanced accuracy, especially with projectiles. Technically works in close combat but uhhh he’s kind of shit in a fistfight.

Mis - Greatly enhanced reflexes. Operates on kind of a scale depending on how close and direct something threatening physical harm is. Hence, in a straight up brawl it’s nigh-impossible to land a clean strike. Nowhere near as effective with grappling or indirect attacks, and, well, she doesn’t have eyes in the back of her head and she’s no stronger than any other young adult in decent shape.

[thevirtualvalentine]

001. ONE PIECE, RORONOA ZORO.

content warning: drug use, nsfw, spanking, getting destroyed by zoro, cunnilings, maybe more.

plot: you smoke him out and have to deal with the consequences.

a/n: reposting the only fic I had saved, as requested by @kingofthe-egirls it will see the light of day again.

“Like this..?” he asks, plucking the well packed joint from your hands, placing it in between his lips as he takes a slow inhale. Zoro lets the smoke fill his mouth and then his lungs as he tries to mimic your movements.

“Woah that’s en—“ and of course he starts violently hacking, the cloud of smoke that hovered the air smelt loud as it filled your nostrils. The hits you took previously are already settling into a nice buzz as you chuckle much to Zoros dismay.

“W-what’s s so funny” he chokes out in between coughs as he hands you your spliff back, almost dropping it with the force the coughs were shaking his body.

Not to worry, you prepared for this. You didn’t think Zoro was the type to smoke, let alone the type to let you smoke him out. “Here tuff stuff,” you tease while handing him some water you set out earlier, “breatheee” you say while patting his back and rubbing soothing circles, taking another hit as he recovers.

“Oh fuck you,” he says as he watches you ghost the smoke so effortlessly, it was attractive to him the way you handled it with ease for some reason. “Lemme try again,” he challenges, never one to be one upped by anyone. His hands reach for the joint before you tug it away out of his reach.

“Nope. Don’t think you can handle it,” you joke while sticking your tongue out at him. Not wanting to waste your good weed, you take another two puffs before turning your attention back to a very ‘neglected’ Zoro.

“No fair,” he pouts, letting his head rest back against the railing of the ship. As he closes his eyes he feels his mind start to blur, whatever this shit is has a smile creeping up his face. He lets his body relax, shoulders dropping as he exhales through his nose.

“Aw, poor pirate hunter,” you tease while taking the last drag. He huffs at you before feeling your weight shift on the deck. “mhmp,” you tap at his shoulder trying to get him to understand what was happening, but to no avail. He just looks at you all confused tilting his head to the side like a dog.

You didn’t think you could hold it in anymore so you just grab his face, inching in closer as you try to blow the smoke into his mouth. You’ve never been this close to him before so he’s startled by your proximity, brushing your lips with his slightly as he inhales what you gave him.

The way you’re staring at him watching his lips as he inhales the smoke that was just in your mouth makes his head even fuzzier. “What the hell was that woman?” He asks defensively, scared of whatever weird feeling he’s getting in his chest. Must be the weed.

“That,” you say while sitting down on your hands in front of him, “was us shotgunning. Thought it might help you and your weak lungs you big baby,” you say preparing for backlash.

Instead he laughs. Zoro let’s out a genuine belly laugh at your quip about him, coughing a little as he calms down. You’ve never heard him laugh like that before which makes you start to giggle. Now the both of you look like baked idiots on the deck of the sunny as you laugh about nothing. “Be nice, it’s my first time,” he reminds you as he goes to take another sip of water.

The two of you sit around and talk until his high kicks in, you notice him start to space out as he gets used to the feeling. “Feel good?” you ask while pulling him out of his trance, you place a hand on his thigh innocently to ground him. The first few times you smoked you weren’t ready for the way it makes your mind wander. That’s why you wanted to make sure he was holding up alright so he didn’t have a bad high.

You weren’t any better though, a smiling giggly mess as you watch him splay himself out on the wooden planks. “Yeah, just ..” he starts, hesitant to say what’s on his mind. “Hot, I feel so hot,” he finishes while spreading his legs. Your eyes trail down his chest but dart away before you look any further.

You smack yourself to regain your composure. No sexy, shirtless, scar having, built swordsman will tempt you right now. “We can go inside?” you offer wanting to make sure he’s comfortable throughout the entirety of his high.

“N-not like that ..” he stutters over his own words, a rare occurrence for him actually, all of his usual confidence smothered by the growing heat in his body. He covers his face with his forearm, embarrassed about the fact he’s so fucking horny from doing nothing but smoking your weed and looking at you in a way cremates shouldn't.

Suddenly the lightbulb goes off for you, “OH! Oh..? Oh— my god. I forgot to say that,” you blurt out sheepishly, even though you were aware that this happens, it went over your head as you grounded up your bud, packing it into your rolling papers. “It doesn’t happen to everyone but it’s normal..” you say while finally looking at him in the eye. Bad idea.

His rugged breathing causes his chest to rise and fall as his posture leads him to manspread in front of you, imprint on full display. He’s looking at you like you’re his current attraction, but that would never happen .. right..? But he won’t stop eye fucking you, gears turning in his mind as he debates what he wants to do.

“Zoro..?” you say, but he’s not listening. Not when the blood in his ears is rushing so loudly, and all his mind wants right now is to touch you, to feel you on him, to fuck you. He doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to talk, just you.

When did you two get so close? You notice your knees touching as your body involuntarily gravitates towards him. “If you don’t stop me, I can’t promise I won’t,” he says as a warning. Zoro's unsure of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on you, that’s why he wants to make sure it’s ok now rather than later.

“Who says I want you to?” You whisper, less than an inch from his face. Teasing him as you let your lips ghost his, who knew pirate hunter Zoro could get so needy? Letting lust control his cognition processes is a rare anomaly indeed. Lucky you.

Impatient. He kisses you and it’s all teeth and tongue. While you weren’t against it, you could just pick up on his lack of patience opting to take the lead for him. Immediately you slow the pace down, letting your hands roam into his short pretty green hair as you cup his face, tilting his head so you can deepen the kiss.

He hums in approval as your tongue invades his mouth, all his senses are drowned out by you. Your tongue fighting his for dominance, how you smell so good just like fresh baked cookies n vanilla, your warm breath fanning his face each time you dive in for more.

“More, need more than just your mouth,” he pants with heavy breaths as he wipes your spit off his lips. He’s getting so worked up from a simple makeout sesh, but he needs to satisfy his craving, a sweet tooth if you will.

Zoro is a sight to behold, disheveled hair obviously played with, half lidded heavy red eyes, swollen and puffy lips parted as he asks you to make him feel good.

Your high has made you so cock hungry you just want him inside you now. “Gonna give you everything, all of it,” you practically drool out as you push him back against the railing and crawl up his legs. Letting your drenched kitty sit on top of his lap. His hard bulge pressing against you as you rub against him for any sort of friction. It's desperate and it's hot, but he makes you feel so good you don't want to stop.

His eyes trail from where you’re mounted up to your pretty face, taking you all in. “I love this ass,” he says while slapping your left cheek, gripping the fabric of your jean skirt. He can feel the recoil in his palm as you squeak from the force and it triggers his carnal instincts.

In one movement he's picked you up, throwing your figure over his shoulder as he makes his way across the ship. "Z-zoro hey! What are you doing?" you ask confused, head spinning from how easily he picks you up like you're nothing.

Another loud slap, "takin' this sweet ass somewhere I won't be disturbed," he says and you can do nothing but accept it.

Honestly the way he's manhandling you is kind of a turn on, "no objections here," you giggle while his strong arm keeps you bolted in place. You're like a doll in his hold as he ascends up to the crows nest, locking the door behind him.

You feel your back hit the sofa but not before you're distracted by his hot mouth all over you. Zoro is groaning into your maw with each kiss, shoving his tongue impossibly deeper down your throat. He's on his knees with your legs spread on either side, his hands push your skirt up your waist while sliding himself up further and further.

"Stop teasin' me Zoro," you say while breaking the kiss, you're too hot and needy for just some bumpin' n grindin'.

"Anything you want baby," he says in your ear, the octaves of his voice have dropped a few pitches and it's so sexy. The way he slips in a pet name so casually like he's called you that a million times before is new but not unwelcomed, it sends butterflies to your stomach.

He slips your panties down your hips as he lowers himself eye level with your cunt. It's a bit embarrassing to see him staring so intently at your bare sweetness but hesitations leave you when he pushes your legs bak to to spread you wide open. "Can I?" he's so respectful even though he's visibly throbbing in his pants. Drooping his head and letting spit roll off his tongue onto your already wet cunt as he waits for your permission.

"God yes," you say carelessly, fuck he looks so hot between your legs. You want him to make a literal mess of you. Your hands grip his short tussles as he licks his own spit up and down your slit, shaking his head side to side as his tongue licks you clean.

He's pussy drunk on your taste, flicking his tongue on your clit to get you to moan his name like that again. He keeps pushing the back of your legs further apart just to get a better drink of you.

When his fingers come into the mix? You're shaking. "Ahh- you're so good at this Zoro, fuckkk." you're melting as he brings you pleasure in the form of his tongue and hands. Two thick fingers working in and out of your pussy as he fucks you on his digits, your juices running down his wrist.

He sucks in his cheeks as he devours your clit like it's some kind of sweet treat. Middle and ring finger ripping an orgasm out of you as he prods against your g-spot over and over again. "Just like that, keep cumming pretty girl," he says while reluctantly removes his mouth from your clit. Zoro's enjoying the sight of you panting on his fingers more than he thought he would.

"Gonna fuck you now, yeah? That ok?" he says as he kisses up your jaw, removing the rest of his clothes. You meekly nod as you take in all of him, he looks like he was carved out of marble by david himself. You're unsure if all of that will even fit inside you, but there's only one way to find out.

He resumes kneeling in front of you, holding your legs in his hands as he massages your inner thigh with his thumb. "Gonna make it fit baby, don'worry," he says as if he's reading your mind, holding his heavy cock as he lines himself up with your entrance.

"Shitttt.... hah- and all that work I did to make sure it'd fit," he tuts as he pushes through your tight walls. One of his hands moves from where it was holding your legs open to rub slow circles on your clit as he bottoms out.

Oh fuck does it burn, but it stings so good that you're mewling out for him to move despite the fact it could very well split you in two. "Shhh, you'll get it baby, all of it." He's repeating your own words from earlier and it's vile, showcasing his trademark smirk thats usually reserved for enemies he's about to slice in two.

Whatever this weed is doing for his libido is insane, his thrusts are sharp as they increase in speed. Maybe it's just the truth he's been wanting to deny, those fantasies where he fucks you like a jackrabbit in your room with his fingers down your throat trying not to wake up the entire sunny. But he's here, now, plowing open your cunt wide open, making a mess of you.

How your head turns to the side as you bite your lip, tits bouncing, with your curls framing your face so beautifully does something to him. "Been wanting to fuck this sweet pussy f'so long," he confesses, disregarding all inhibitions. You can't even hear him he's fucking you that good, each thrust filling your cunt up as his tip kisses your cervix.

He pushes your legs all the way back till your knees hit the sofa, ass lifting off the plush surface. "Zo-" but when he plunges back in you’re struggling to even think coherently. He's so deep you're seeing stars with each drag of his cock along your gummy walls.

"Takin' it s'well, knew you could baby. Good girl," he praises as he feels your walls grip his dick like you don't want him to pull out. You're practically folded in half as he uses you like a hole to fuck. "Gooood fuckin' girl," he says letting his head roll back, eyes closing as he focuses on how you feel around him.

He's truly beating that kitty up, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass and the back of your thighs reverberates throughout the room. The only thing drowning that out is how you're crying when he grips your ankles in one hand, making your cunt impossibly tighter. "Oh ff-fuck," is what you think you're saying but it sounds like a jumbled mess as he drills all 5 senses out of you.

"Gonna let me cum all in this pussy, yeah? Fill you up to the brim," he implies while bending over further, tip dragging against your g-spot each time he pulls out.

"Please Zoro, n-ngh.. need it, want it s,bad," you dont even realize what it is youre truly asking for, but you want his load so bad you'll worry about it later.

He grunts hearing that you want, no .. need it. Need him to stuff you full of his seed. He flips you over in seconds, giving you no time to adjust to the new position. He's holding your wobbling lower half by the hips as you're bent over, meant to brace yourself against the sofa with your forearms. He has a perfect view of your ass as your cunt struggles to swallow all of him.

He's making your shit clap, you're fucked dumb into the sofa as he brings you both to your climax. He doesn't even have to rub your swollen clit to coax it out of you, just another slap to your ass that leaves heat in its wake. Drool coming out of your mouth as tears of pure euphoria cascade down your face.

"That's it, cmon, milk it out of me if y'want it," he goads, relishing in the feeling of making you finish a second time. You're spent, knees buckling in his hold as you twitch from oversensitivity. He continues to fuck you senseless until his balls contract and he's spilling his load into you in thick ropes. Your walls are painted white as his thrusts become uneven, curses under his breath barely audible.

As his pace finally slows down, you push your ass back against him to feel all of him again. You could definitely get used to this. Too tired to talk, you show him you enjoyed it by reaching your hand back to touch his abdomen.

"I t..told you," he starts trying to catch his breath, "I wasn't gonna stop." You can only laugh but you're sure you'll have trouble walking for at least three days. He wraps you both in a blanket before taking you to the showers to clean up (and for another round).

[everybodyshusband]

mushy may 2024 - day 2 ; late night snacks

pairing(s): swiss/cumulus tags: fluff, snacks, thievery, implied sexual context/fade to black words: approx. 450

read under the cut or on ao3 :)

“I swear to fucking Satan,” Aurora shouts, stalking her way around kitchen area of the bus as if she’s on a mission. “If whoever keeps stealing my snacks doesn’t own up soon, I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

Cumulus shushes the ghoulette, gently reminding her that it’s much too late for her to be shouting on the tour bus filled with exhausted ghouls but Swiss smiles to himself; it’s nice to see Aurora finally feeling comfortable around the pack.

“Swiss I see you smirking! You better not be the culprit or you’re so gonna regret it…”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart. I promise.” As Aurora gives up questioning him and turns back around to go and rummage around in her bunk for an emergency packet of snacks, Swiss’ eyes flit briefly over to Cumulus, whose hand has been suspiciously hidden behind one of the couch cushions during this entire encounter. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything to do with this, do you, Lus?” His tone is falsely innocent, eyes overly wide and questioning.

“Of course not, Swissy.” She mimics his tone perfectly, even managing to curb her grin as she pulls out the last packet of Aurora’s snacks from out behind the cushion. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“No,” he agrees, watching with careful eyes as Cumulus opens the packaging as quietly as possible. “Because that would be unfair and wrong.”

“Extremely wrong.” She pops a sour watermelon lolly in her mouth, her eyes half-rolling into the back of her head at the delicious taste. “Mmm, fuck, why are these so good?”

Swiss snorts. “Sounds like you’re having fun,” he teases. “Those snacks showin’ you a good time?”

Cumulus nods, replying with a muffled “Mhmm” through a mouthful of the sweets. Her eyes are closed now, head tipped back in ecstasy as she chews. Once she swallows she turns her head to look at Swiss, grin wide and mischievous. “Hell of a lot better of a time than you ever do.”

Swiss gasps in mock offense, bringing a hand to his heart as if she’s betrayed him. “You take that back!”

“Nope.” She sticks her tongue out at him, smiling widely. “Not unless you wanna come and reclaim your title…”

That gets his attention. He sits up straighter and leans towards her, lowering his voice slightly. “Here?” He’s not a prude by any means and everyone knows he’s always more than happy to engage in the most lustful of sins in the most public of places but the tour bus feels different somehow; they’re all exhausted enough as it is, no one needs to be woken up at this late hour just because neither he or Cumulus could keep their voices down.

She nods. “Right here. C’mon, big boy. Prove it.”

[looniecartooni]

Mimic's reaction to Clutch getting angry is very telling....

I mean- up to this point, Mimic's told him time and time again, "Hey this thing might be a threat." to which Clutch has usually replied with a calm and collected demeanor on how to control the situation. This is probably the first and only time he has seen Clutch lose his cool and while it's not much, Mimic's already shaking in whatever is left of his boots. And knowing what Mimic does when threatened- its a miracle Clutch was able to do his classic touch of the arm trick.

If someone grabbed me right in the middle of losing their cool, I'd be a bit more freaked out that I couldn't escape, which is probably how Mimic feels.

A part of me wants to think that when Mimic pretends to be the Phantom Rider as well as this seemingly off-color Clutch Belle remembers earlier in the new issue, is Mimic kind of testing the waters on Clutch (like he did with the security camera thing) or preparing to be able to betray Clutch and get away like he does. In case things go South or so he can go back to his own agenda. Same thing with the pretending to be Surge- he didn't have to do that. He didn't have to cause that big of a distraction or draw attention to anyone on his side (in fact- he was asked to unmask the Phantom quietly and privately). He could have been just trying to target the Neo Diamond Cutters and/or Whisper, but he probably thought he was pulling the strings at this point. That maybe he'd have an escape plan. Until Clutch lost his demeanor.

As soon as Clutch dropped the calm in control act, his hand shaking on a literal gun, Mimic was instantly ready to nope out of there. Like he knows better than to mess with him now. Or- like always is afraid for his own life.

If I were to take this analysis a step further from the presented narrative, I would headcannon that maybe also Mimic has been in a situation where someone did lose their cool easily- like an abuse situation. Or perhaps a situation where Eggman confronted him.

[thought--bubble]

Kitty -Cat Part 4 (Revised)

Ettore X (Neuro-Divergent Reader)

Warnings Below

Word Count: 1,683

Kitty Cat Master List

Ettore Master List

Full Master List

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings:: Ettore, swearing, male masturbation, heavy petting, violence (imagined)

"You bastard! Let her go!" A shrill voice breaks through his reverie, but he doesn't move. Not until he feels cold hands literally peeling him off.

Ettore wore a face of indifference. On the outside, he looked aloof, uncaring as he simply stated, "she rubbed up against me," making his way out of the laundry room.

On the inside, though, was the monster he was forced to hide. His rage made him feel almost light-headed as he made his way back to his room.

"You bastard!" Ringing through his head on an endless loop. He can still smell the soap from your hair feel your hair slipping through his fingers.

So. fucking. close.

He lays down in his bunk. Arms lay beside him fingers, tapping on the mattress. His entire body pumped with adrenaline. His plan had gone perfectly. Better than perfectly. Until Boyse, if she didn't already irritate him to no end now, now he feels the want to crush her. Stomp her. Anything. To keep her out of his way. He felt like a lion after a hyena stole his meal following a successful hunt.

His need to stalk his prey is heightened by the unfulfilling conclusion of their first encounter.

I will get what's mine

And hunt he does. He hovers like a vulture just outside your existence flittering around the edges. But he can't get close. Kitty like a nonsuspecting kitten just continuing about while Boyse acts like an overly alert mother cat. Sensing danger and protecting her young. The internal struggle not to lash out, coming close to overwhelming him.

Bide your time. Find an opening.

The following weeks drive him closer to madness, pushing him to the end of his patience. He tries moves he believes will be slight as to not arouse suspicion.

Get behind you at meal times. Nope. Boyse positions herself between you, and he fights the urge to take her and throw her from his path.

He stands behind you during exercises. Nope. Boyse moves you and stands in front of him.

He imagines himself punching her in the back of her head until she stops moving. Crawling over her dead body to you and finally claiming his prize.

It's coming. It can't be stopped now

He lays in his bunk, unable to get sleep. He has been running scenarios in his head, each one ending the same. With Boyse standing and laughing at him as his pretty kitty oblivious behind her purrs about.

No. I will take what is mine. I'll take it now

He slowly pulls himself out of his bunk. His feet lightly touch the ground, hardly making a sound. His eyes flit around the room to make sure his bunkmates are all still asleep. Luckily, they are. He moves quickly and silently out of the room and into the hallway of the ship. The hallway is dark lit by only the blue light they have all become accustomed to.

He moves straight across the hallway, moving stealthily and keeping close to the wall as he makes his way over to the women's quarters. The door is open, and as he moves into the doorway, he stops. He sees you. Head moving just slightly, no doubt rubbing that cute little face into your shoulder. His body starts to tingle, and his breath hastens as he imagines himself crawling atop you and shoving himself into your welcoming warmth.

Do it.

He sees an arm hanging down from the bunk above.

Boyse.

Even in her sleep, she puts herself between you. She isn't strapped down, and she didn't get her pills tonight. She will be easily woken. He starts to feel the anger building back up in his chest.

This bitch is always in the way

But you turn your head ever so slowly and look directly at him he feels his anger start to disappate leaving room only for that deep hunger he longs to satiate. You bring your hand up to your face and start petting your cheek.

He mimics the action, running his hand on his stomach. Up down, up down. Imagining that the skins he feels is not his own, but yours. He then slides his hand into his sleep shorts and grips himself tight. The need for release becomes ever present in his mind.

Eyes on me kitty

He starts to stroke himself languidly. Up down, up down. That familiar sensation and heat start building in his stomach as his speed slowly increases. Up down, up down. You haven't taken your eyes off of him. You simply move that pretty hand on your cheek. Up down, up down.

Ettore increases his speed, a fire blooming in his lower stomach and his breath coming out in pants. Watching that little hand and those sparkling eyes. Up down, up down. He can feel the band in his lower stomach is about to snap as his eyelids lower while he keeps his gaze locked on you. He grips the door frame with his other hand and bites his lower lip in an effort to stifle any sound. Finally, the band snaps, and a wave of euphoria rushes through him as he releases himself into his sleep shorts. He grunts and closes his eyes for a second, riding out the sensation.

He loosens his grip on the doorframe. As he comes down from his high and returns to his senses, he immediately turns and heads back to his room. Skating down the hallway in silence tight to the wall. He slips back into his room back into his bed undetected. Grabbing his second pair of sleep shorts to swap them out. After changing and cleaning himself up, he lays back on the bed, ready to fall asleep.

No more waiting

He awakes the next day determined to make a plan. He is smarter than Boyse. He has no doubts about that. So, how does she keep outsmarting him?

He late night escapade, coupled with the hours he laid awake plotting, made him a late riser today, He is late to morning meal, and the only other person remaining is Monte.

The high and mighty Monte. The pervayer of all that is honorable. Ettore rolls his eyes, grabbing his tray and sitting at one of the empty tables.

Ettore again tries to work out different scenarios in his head. Mapping out the layout of the ship, thinking he could use that to his advantage.

He hears your whine. He loves that whine. Sounds so..... pliable. He looks up to see you, his little kitty rubbing your face into your shoulder, looking between him and Monte.

Ettore's eyes scan the room.

No boyse. Boyse. is. not. fucking. here.

A smile spreads across his face. Here is kitty all vulnerable and alone. Desperately in need of a handler. He gets up, trying to mask the excitement he feels. He discards his tray, making sure to run the front of his body along the backside of yours. The contact caused his mouth to water, and when you let out another whimper, he knows. He knows he's got you. He goes to the doorway and looks out into the hallway, which is empty right now, so he needs to move quickly.

"Come Kitty," he motions you to follow him, and he knows you will. You're a good little pet. Well trained.

There has been a change in ownership

He leads you down the hallway to the metal ladder that leads down to the box. "Go down the ladder." he waves his hand towards the ladder while looking down both sides of the hallway, confirming that no one saw you.

He starts down the ladder. As his feet hit each wrung, he feels his anticipation building. That familiar fire burning in his gut. His feet hit the floor, and he looks at you. In an instant, he lunges for you, pushing you up against the wall. He shoves his hands in your scrub bottoms. You whine and try to move away from him.

He's confused for a second. He expected you would let him do as he pleased. That type of noise will surely draw attention.

"Shhh kitty shhh," he runs his fingers down your face in an attempt to sooth you, and as if all his prayers have been answered It works. Your body relaxes, and you lean into his touch. You put up no more resistance.

Curious

He kicks your feet apart and cups your heat while continuing to rub your face, and you let him. He runs a finger through her folds, and again, you let him. He can't help the noise that escapes his throat, a mix of a sigh and a growl

"This is perfect," he whispers. He knows how you operate. He knows how to make you bend to his will, and it's all too easy.

He yanks down your scrub bottoms, making sure to keep his other hand caressing your face. He gets them down enough goes to grab your hip.

Tap

His shoulders tense and that fire in his lower stomach travels up to his chest

Tap

He yanks your scrub bottoms up and looks towards the ladder

Tap

Tap

You take a step towards him and he glares.

Stay.

Tap

Tchemy jumps off the bottom of the ladder, eyes flicking back and forth between Ettore and you. Ettore is so filled with rage at this point that he is sure Tchemy can either see it on his face or sense it in the air.

Say it. Come on. Say it

Ettore's jaw clenched, and his biceps grew taught. He is trying with all his will to keep himself in check. Luckily for him, Tchemy just slightly lowers his head and bypasses you both, making his way to the box.

Ettore springs toward the ladder, shuffling up quickly. Interrupted again.

Almost had it. Almost had it!

He wants to punch walls. He wants to throw things. He wants to hurt someone. He wants someone to hurt him. He smiles. Yes. He wants someone to hurt him.

This will work.

A/N: I already wrote the next part because I got carried away writing this. Excited to edit and post it cause it's wild. 🤣🤣

Part 5

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